Deadly Pink by Vivian Vande Velde

Author:Vivian Vande Velde
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

I Guess That Would Be Another Oops!

AFTER ALL THAT.

Still in the Land of the Golden Butterflies, still on the tower balcony of Emily's mountain castle overlooking the sparkly lake.

There were even a couple of those damn butterflies fluttering around our heads, as though everything were lovely and normal, as though—after all we'd been through—we'd still be in the mood to transform them into coins for just another day of good, clean, wholesome fun.

“What happened?” I asked, suspecting—I admit it—Emily had somehow tricked me. But even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I knew that couldn't be it: if Emily had only been pretending to agree to return home in order to get rid of me, wouldn't I have found myself back there without her?

“That...” Emily said, “...that shouldn't have happened.” Her worried expression did even more than my reasoning had to convince me that she was just as surprised and confused and concerned as I was. “We should be back home.” I don't know if something of my initial mistrust showed in my face or voice, but Emily added, “Truly, Grace.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to bury with words the unease that was gnawing at my stomach. This was supposed to be over. We were supposed to be back in the real world. We were supposed to be safe. Both of us. “Well, maybe we just need to say it again. Maybe we didn't say it loudly enough, or clearly enough. 'Cause ... you know ... we were crying and all ... Maybe.”

“It can't hurt to try,” Emily said. But she was just being the comforting big sister. Her face was saying: It can’t help, either.

Still wary—see what being abandoned in a maze, tossed out of a royal ball, and flame-roasted by a dragon will do to a girl?—I waited for Emily to speak first. She did. “End game. Bring me back to Rasmussem,” she said. Again.

And I repeated it. Again. “End game. Bring me back to Rasmussem.”

We waited. Again.

While doing all that waiting, I noticed—I can be such an observant soul!—that Emily had a leopard-print blanket around her. And—oh, yeah!—so did I. They were both a really soft, plush fake fur: hers, regular leopard; mine, pink leopard—which was what led me to suspect the fur was fake, although in this place, maybe not. Maybe the pink leopards periodically shed their fur in order to play with their best friends, the lake dolphins.

Whatever the origins of the blankets, someone must have been worried about us getting cold. I looked beyond Emily, through the open French doors that led inside, into the tower part of the castle. I could see a huge, elegant Renaissance-style bedroom, round because of the curved walls of the tower, all crystal and gilded surfaces. A couple of her guys—her strong, good-looking, silent servant guys—were hovering inside, right by the door, where they could see us. One was arranging and rearranging and re-rearranging flowers in a vase. The other had a feather duster, and

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