In the Wild, Julie had gotten to be a hero. She’d flown on a griffin, outwitted an ogre, and danced at a ball. All in all, it was pretty wonderful.
Had Mom made the right choice? Was it worth it? Julie pictured her mother at home. She remembered how much they laughed together, like the time they’d thrown a surprise party for Gretel at the salon. She and Julie had made a cake, and the lit candles had come to life and cha-cha-ed out the door. They’d made it halfway down Main Street before Mom caught up to them with a fire extinguisher. Somehow, Julie didn’t think moments like that happened in the Wild. Or little times, like movie nights, where Mom and Julie would rent movies, pop microwave popcorn, and make up their own ridiculous dialogue for the dramatic scenes. Or pizza nights, when they ate on the living room rug instead of the table and watched TV.
I envy them, the dwarf had said. To have always been able to know who you are, to be able to change who you are, to make your own story . . .
In that moment, Julie understood. It felt as if all the spinning pieces inside her had clicked into place, and she could see clearly now. Even if she was right about what would happen when the world knew about the Wild, it was worth it—it was worth the price. She went to her father and squeezed his hand. Her throat felt clogged, and she swallowed hard. “I understand why you weren’t there while I was growing up,” she told him. It was one of the hardest things she had ever had to say. She felt herself begin to cry again. So many years of blaming him . . . So many years of blaming her mother . . . Mom had to choose because she had to choose.
This castle, for everything it had, was not life. It wasn’t real.
“Can you come with me?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
He shook his head. She had guessed right: the Wild owned him. He wasn’t free. His presence here was part of another story, Julie’s story.
She wished she had a camera. She’d replace those illustrations in her locker with photographs. He didn’t look like any of them. She tried to memorize the crinkle of his eyebrows and the curves of his nose. She released his hand.
She expected him to ask or command her to stay, but he didn’t. He touched her cheek, wet with tears, and said only one word: “Julie.” It wasn’t a question or a command. It was everything—it was everything all wrapped up in one word: her name. Julie Marchen, Rapunzel’s daughter.
Turning away from her father, she twisted the doorknob.
It didn’t open. She shook it. It was locked. “Dad?” she said, looking over her shoulder. Candles fizzled in their sconces, and the hall darkened. He was gone. “Dad!” She shook the doorknob again. Out of the darkness, she heard wind. It’s coming. The Wild’s coming.
She reached into her pocket for her wand, and she felt the key: Mom’s special linen closet key. She pulled it out and shoved it into the lock. It melted in her hand to fit. She turned it and opened the door to the Wishing Well Motel.
Chapter Twenty-six
The Wishing Well Motel
Lifting up a veil of vines, Julie stooped under the leaves. She was at the front of the Wishing Well Motel beside the dry and cracked swimming pool. The Wild had not transformed anything here. It had merely grown over it, like the jungle over a lost Mayan temple, as if the growth had been hurried. The motel lay under a thick silence. The crunch of Julie’s feet echoed.
It was eerie without the sound of TVs in the motel rooms or the Coke machine near the lobby. Grandma always had guests. Julie spotted half of the motel sign through the leaves. She went up to it and cleared the branches so that THE WISHING WELL MOTEL and the dull neon VACANCIES underneath it were visible. Grandma would have liked that. She lingered for an instant more, then realized she was delaying. After all she had gone through, now that she was here, she was afraid.
Of what? All she had to do now was find the well and make a wish. How hard could that be? She climbed through the tangle of plants that had once been the lawn. The well was behind the motel, and the fastest way there was through the lobby. She cleared vines from the door and opened it.
The lobby was dark. Covered in vines and leaves, the windows gave off only a dim, sickly green light. It reminded Julie of the magician’s lair. Maybe she should go around. No, she could do this. Just cross through and out the opposite door. Julie stepped inside. She could do this, she repeated.
There were shapes hunched over the lobby’s main desk. She crept across the room. Closer, she could see the shapes had fur. She knew them! They were the three bears, their heads down on the counter beside bowls of porridge. All three bears snored in unison. Drugged porridge, Julie guessed, or magicked. That explained how someone had been able to get past them to make a wish. Julie shivered. No wonder Goldie hadn’t found them. The only bears who weren’t dancing for Gillian were here, asleep since before the Wild was freed. I’ll get us out of here, she promised silently. It’s almost over.