Polly Shulman - The Grimm Legacy

“I’ll take her home afterward,” I offered.

“Oh, all right, you can come, but only for one drink.”

Aaron walked next to me to the diner. He pulled out a chair for me.

“What a gentleman,” I said. “Is it safe for me to sit down? Or is an invisible elf going to pull my chair away at the last minute?”

“You never know until you try,” he said.

He didn’t pull the chair away, but he did eat my pickle a little later. “Hey!” I objected.

“Sorry—were you planning to eat that? It didn’t look like you were.”

“You could have asked.”

“You could have stopped me.”

“Lovebirds,” said Jaya, slurping the end of her soda.

“Okay, Jaya. That’s your one soda. Time to go,” said Anjali.

“But I’m not done yet!” protested Jaya, making loud bubbles with her straw to show there was still liquid in the glass. “See?”

“Stop making those disgusting noises, or I won’t take you to the game next time.”

“I liked you better as a puppet,” she said, but she got up and put on her coat.

I got up too. “Ready?” I said.

“You sure you want to take her, Elizabeth? I can do it myself,” said Anjali.

“No, that’s fine,” I said. “You stay here with Marc.”

“Come back afterward, then?”

I shook my head. “I have to get home. My stepmother will kill me if I leave the dishes till morning.”

Anjali made a sympathetic face.

“Thanks, Libbet,” said Marc. “See you Monday.”

Much as I usually hate having my name shortened, I didn’t object. If Marc Merritt wanted to give me an affectionate nickname in front of everybody who was anybody at Fisher, that was fine with me. Besides, it reminded me of the adorable Andre. “Give your brother a hug from me,” I said.

Aaron stood up and put on his coat too. “I’ll walk you,” he said.

“Yes, come on, Aaron!” said Jaya, winking at me.

“Thanks—but I can find my way okay now,” I said, dying of embarrassment.

“No, she can’t,” said Jaya. “You have to come with us.”

I didn’t argue, but I showed them both the desire ring once we were outside. Jaya wanted to try it on. “Hey, that’s neat!” she said. “Is Madison Square Garden really that way?”

“The subway is—you would have to take it downtown. Can I have my ring back now?”

We reached the Raos’ building. “Bye, Jaya,” said Aaron.

“Bye, Aaron! Bye, Elizabeth! Have fun!”

Aaron and I walked in silence to the subway. “I’ll see you next week,” I said.

“See you next week.” He looked as if he was going to say something else, but he didn’t.

“Okay, bye, then.”

“Bye.”

I had to concentrate very hard to get the ring to take me to the right train platform. Whenever I let my mind drift, I found it pulling me west—following Aaron as he rode the bus across the park.

The next week it was suddenly spring. The snow, already melting, gave a last sigh and trickled down the drains. Crocuses poked up their purple noses around the sidewalk trees. Teachers started talking about midterms.

On Wednesday, Ms. Callender put me on Stack 7, the art collection, with Josh. It was pretty quiet, which was good—I had a French dialogue to memorize. My ring kept wanting me to go upstairs, where Aaron was stationed on Stack 10, Science and Medicine, but when I went to look for him on my break, he wasn’t there. So I walked over to Central Park instead and communed with the snowdrops.

Saturday evening I was doing my math homework when I heard a tapping at my window. It sounded like a branch blowing against the pane. I glanced up and glimpsed a dark shape. A chill ran through me.

Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself—Mr. Stone is stuck in Nowhere and the dark shape that used to hover terrifyingly in windows is a friend now.

The tapping came again. “Polly?” I said, throwing the window open, “is that you?” I wondered how she got out of the Garden of Seasons.

“Hey, Elizabeth.” It was Aaron. He was sitting cross-legged on a flying carpet.

“Aaron! What are you doing there?”

“I just was wondering, what are you up to?”

“I’m doing my math homework, why?”

“Want to come for a ride?”

“You mean now?”

“No, yesterday. Of course I mean now.”

“Um . . . sure.” I put on an extra sweater and hauled the window open wide.

Aaron mushed the carpet up against the side of the building and held out his hand. “Careful,” he said.

His hand was cold but steady. I stepped out and sat down quickly. The carpet wobbled like a water bed.

“Okay?” asked Aaron. “It’s easier to keep your balance if you stay low.” He sent the carpet into an upward glide.

I lay down and looked up at the sky. A fullish moon made the clouds glow. Aaron lay down beside me on his side. I turned over on my side too. He put his arm over me awkwardly, then took it away. After a minute I moved back and leaned against him.

“Are you warm enough? I brought blankets.”

“I’m fine. Where are we going?” I asked.

“Anywhere you like. Green-Wood Cemetery? Battery Park? The Hudson?”

“How about The Cloisters?”

“You got it.”

The wind blew my hair back and ruffled the carpet fringe. I turned over on my stomach and peered over the edge, watching the buildings zip past underneath us. Aaron put his arm over my back again.

“So what did you leave as a deposit? For the carpet, I mean.”

“My sense of humor.”

“Come on. That’s the oldest joke in the repository.”

“Naturally it would be, since I’ve lost my sense of humor. I can’t tell a funny joke now, can I?”

“Your sense of humor doesn’t seem any different to me. What did you leave as a deposit?”

“My powers of persuasion.”

“No, you didn’t. You got me to come with you.”

“That didn’t take much persuasion.”

“Come on. What was it really? Your firstborn again?”

“No way. I’m never leaving my firstborn again as long as I live. That was too horrible.”

“Yeah, I saw,” I said. “It looked so . . . vulnerable.”

Aaron nodded uncomfortably. He moved his arm away. I changed the subject. “What’s that down there? The East River?”

“No, silly, the Hudson. I guess that means you didn’t get your sense of direction back?”

“Doc says they’re working on it. The ring helps, but it’s not the same thing,” I said.

“Too bad.”

“Yeah. It’s okay, though, my sense of direction was never all that hot . . .” We passed over a necklace of lights strung across the river. “What’s that down there?”

“The George Washington Bridge.”

“Oh, of course . . . So if you got your firstborn back, you must have returned the Snow White mirror?”

“Yeah—I couldn’t get that horrible thing out of my bedroom fast enough,” said Aaron. “Here we are. Hang on, I’m taking us down.”

Peeking out again, I saw The Cloisters—the museum of medieval art that sits on a hilltop in Fort Tryon Park, at the northern end of Manhattan. Aaron put his arm around me and held me tight against the carpet as we banked and glided down toward the castle-like cluster of buildings. We landed with a gentle bump in the high garden overlooking the river.

The still air was mild after the wind of our flight. The moon made the bare trees look as if they’d been cast in silver. Shadows played across Aaron’s face, emphasizing his cheekbones. His lips were a beautiful shape.

He brought out a thermos. “Want some cocoa?”

“Sure, thanks.”

I sniffed at my cocoa. There was something in it besides chocolate. Cinnamon? No, vanilla? Not quite . . . “What is this smell?” I asked. “You didn’t enchant the cocoa, did you?”