Into the Wild(54)

She frowned, thinking of the trumpet girl—that was when the questions had begun to flow. The trumpet girl had sparked this feeling of . . . She didn’t know how to name this feeling. Absently, Princess plucked at the feathers on her sleeve. The peacock feathers tickled her arms, and the shafts poked her skin. It itched. “Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know.” She half felt as if she did know him, and she half felt as if she didn’t.

“Oh, this is not good,” he said. “Not good at all.”

She scratched her arms through the feathers and had a flash of memory: soft hands rubbing calamine lotion on her arms because she had followed a cat—this cat!—into a field of poison ivy. Excitement bubbled up. A memory! A real memory! “I do know you. Don’t I?”

The cat flinched as if she had hit him.

There were memories beyond that wall. Gritting her teeth, she tried to push. If she battered at it long enough, would there be a point where the wall broke?

“You must climb into bed,” the cat said. He sounded oddly desperate. “If you don’t and you fail the test, the queen will kill you.”

Her memories scattered. “Kill me?”

“It’s the rules,” he said.

“But . . .” she began as a dozen questions rushed into her head.

“Please, climb,” he begged.

He sounded so insistent that she obeyed without thinking. The ladder bent and swayed under her weight. At the top, she found a nightgown. How did it get here? Was it for her? She leaned over the edge to ask the cat. He was curled on the floor as if asleep. “Cat? Hello? Are you awake?”

He didn’t answer. She sat for a moment, alone with her questions, and then she squirmed out of the itchy feather dress and into the soft nightgown. She kicked the feather dress to the bottom of the bed and lay down.

She closed her eyes, but she didn’t think she’d fall asleep.

She had to find . . . what? The dream was gone. She blinked around her at the ornate ceiling. She was on the mattress stack, she remembered. She hadn’t felt any pea.

Guess I’m not a princess, she thought.

Now that she was fully awake, her breath tasted stale and she needed to pee. Girl climbed down the ladder.

Stepping over the sleeping cat, she found a door on the other side of the mattress stack. She hadn’t remembered it being there before she slept, but it led to a closet-sized bathroom with a marble sink and toilet. She rinsed her mouth. “Boots, have you seen my toothbrush?” She studied herself in the mirror.

The cat ran into the bathroom. “Julie?”

Her hair was matted on the left side. She tried to fluff it out. Obviously, she wasn’t a princess. Princesses didn’t have bad-hair days. “Sorry—what did you say?”

He sank down to four paws. “I didn’t think it would be so bad to see you like this,” he said. “I’m a cat; you’re a girl—why do I care?”

“What’s so bad?” she asked. Her hair? She wished the fairy godmother hadn’t coiled her hair. It might have looked exotic at the ball, but not anymore. She had serious un-princesslike bed head. Whoever she was, she was definitely not a princess.

“You remembered my name,” he said.

Hands in her hair, she froze. Yes, she had remembered: Boots. His name was Puss-in-Boots. She had reached for the name, and there it was. She hadn’t even realized she’d done it. “I know you,” she said. “How do I know you? How do you know me?” He retreated out of the bathroom, and she followed him. “You said a name. What was the name? Who am I?”

The bolt slid on the bedroom door, and she heard the queen’s voice singsong: “Oh, love-ly prin-cess?” Girl knelt down on the floor in front of Boots and begged, “Quickly, please. Tell me! Tell me who I am!”

“If I do, I’ll lose her!” Boots said.

“Who?” she whispered back.

“The love of my life!” he said. “It was the bargain . . .”

The queen came around the mattresses. “Ah, there you are! How did you sleep?”

Girl straightened. “I wasn’t able to sleep, Your Majesty,” she found herself saying. “There was an awful lump in the bed.” Why had she said that? She hadn’t meant to say that. It wasn’t even true.

The queen clapped. “Marvelous! You are a true princess! You must come now. We will celebrate with a feast.”

She was so close to breaking through! She searched for an excuse to stay: “But I’m not dressed.” It was true: she was barefoot and in the nightgown.

“Pshaw, you would be radiant in a scullery maid’s dress.” Putting her arm around her, the queen guided her toward the door. Girl looked back over her shoulder. To her relief, the cat trotted behind her.