Julie and Boots rode on the rim of the ogre’s hat as he trampled the trees beyond the castle. “You know, I fought by your mother’s side in the Great Battle,” the ogre said, after introductions had been made.
Surprised, Julie almost lost her grip on the hat. “It’s true? She was in a battle?” she asked eagerly.
“She led the battle,” the ogre corrected. “And she organized all the attempts before that. She was the leader of the rebellion since its inception. Your mother was a great swordswoman.”
“Swords? Mom?” Mom, who always yelled at her to be careful with scissors and knives—Mom was a swordswoman? Wow. What else? She had to know it all.
“She learned in her tower,” the ogre said, “trained visit by visit by her prince—or so the story goes. She was the inspiration of many a knight in shining armor.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Julie asked Boots. When he opened his mouth, she added, “Before yesterday.” She had lived with Boots all her life, and he had never said a word. He’d kept this all a mystery.
“Do you like to dredge up all of your least favorite memories?” he asked. “Besides, she wanted to leave this behind, and it wasn’t my story to tell.”
No, it was Mom’s story.
Mom should have been the one to tell her. Julie felt . . . She didn’t know how she felt. Mom had kept secrets from her. She’d kept secrets from her own daughter.
Five centuries ago, Mom had written in her own blood, ridden a griffin into battle, and led a rebellion. And Julie never knew.
It hurt.
Julie wasn’t even sure she knew the woman who had been described to her. She thought of her mom in the kitchen the other morning, laughing, applying makeup, baby-talking with her ridiculous “oobe snooby uppy wuppy.” How did this mom mesh with the warrior?
Julie looked out across the landscape—hints of highways and houses buried under green—and tried to imagine how the Wild Wood had looked to Mom five hundred years ago. Mom had led a rebellion in order to leave her past behind. Julie tried to wrap her mind around this new image of her mother. Mom had masterminded the escape from the Wild.
And now she was back in it, and it was growing. Had it taken over all of Massachusetts? Did it control all of New England? How fast was it growing, and how much of its speed was due to Julie feeding it with her rescue stories? I’ll find you, Mom, she promised herself. I’ll set it right. “I think that’s Route 9,” Julie called to Boots. White City Cinemas had transformed into an ivory castle, and Stop ’n’ Shop was a peasant town. McDonald’s now had a thatched roof.
The ogre laid his hat on the ground. Julie and Boots lowered themselves over the lip of the felt. “He’ll be asleep now,” the ogre said. “You’d better hurry.”
“Can’t you help us get it?” Julie asked.
“Oh, no, you already have a companion,” he said. “Besides, I have to be going. Villages to terrorize. Peasants to eat. Ahh, I’ve missed this—at least the parts until I’m murdered.” Waving, the ogre stomped off, squashing a Hallmark hut and Ye Olde Blockbuster Shoppe.
Julie faced Spag’s warehouse store. Through the cobweb-coated, bat-lined door, all she saw was a whole lot of darkness. “You first,” she said to Boots.
“No, no, please, be my guest,” Boots said.
Julie poked a finger at a cobweb. It broke and clung to her finger. Ew.
You can do it, Julie, she told herself. She was so close now. One more of the Wild’s stupid games and she would be with Mom. If Mom could wield a sword in battle, Julie could get one measly ring from a magician. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d be the one facing down the Wild. Covering her face with her hands, she walked quickly into the cobwebs and through the revolving door. Cobwebs stuck to her hands, her arms, her legs, her hair. On the other side, she wiped them off as quickly as she could. Yuck, yuck, and very yuck.
Rubbing her arms, she looked around her. It wasn’t completely black inside the store-cave. Sconces with torches lit the walls instead of the normal fluorescent bulbs. Flickering shadows stretched across the hardware section. Under a layer of moss and lichen, paint cans still sat on shelves and drill bits in open drawers.
“Spooky,” Boots commented.
Julie agreed. The shadows looked like they could hold dozens of monsters. “Let’s go,” she whispered to Boots. She crept forward into the aisles.
Silently, they passed the jewelry cases. Her image flickered in dusty mirrors. She watched out of the corner of her eye as her image followed them into the cookware aisle.