“Augh!” Bridgette cried. Twisting to the right, she flashed the light of her summoned globe behind her.

Now she saw it: a sharp rock that scraped against her knee. Blood stained her hosiery, on one of the few spots that wasn’t already ripped. Chancellor Sniggums had been happy to let her exchange her potato sack for a new dress, a dress that was already in shambles. Bridgette brooded, and not for the first time, on her decisions that had gotten her here.

Once appeased by the cellphone she had summoned, Chancellor Sniggums had eagerly helped them draw up their plans of attack.

“Whichever of you is the better swordsman will enter through this corridor, to the opposite end of the Throne Room. Choose wisely, for he will face the Queen’s ten royal guardsmen, so be good with a sword.”

Bridgette sighed at the memory; the fantasy of the Dream Chest had grown more and more like a bad TV show. In the real world, she would never have imagined herself or one of her friends fighting ten men at once. Could a Special Forces Marine do that? she wondered. But in this world, the guardsmen would likely go down like dominoes to Alain or to her. She couldn’t win a single match in a Fencing bout, but in this world she had little doubt that the scary guardsmen would throw themselves onto her sword to act out dramatic death scenes like Hollywood extras.

“Let Alain do it,” she said.

The lost Prince smiled proudly. “You will see the fabled swordsmanship of the Trueheart lineage! Thank you for the honor.”

“And over here,” said Sniggums, pointing to another corner of his map, “We will need someone to create a distraction. The passage will lead you to the top of the tower. I have a mix of volatile chemicals that you can throw to the courtyard below. The explosion will distract the castle’s guards, so Alain will not need to face reinforcements. You can do this Bridgette, or I will give it to the boy.

Bridgette shook her head. “Let your serving boy do it,” she said.

“Finally,” said the Chancellor, “That leaves one final task: someone to go in here… this passage right behind the throne itself. This person will block off the Scarlet Tempest’s escape, and help Alain should anything… unexpected happen.”

“I’ll do it,” said Bridgette.

“You are brave,” said the Chancellor. “As for myself, I will be in attendance at court. And until you win, I must put on all appearances of being on the side of the Queen. Forgive my cowardice, but I prefer not to die if you fail.”

Such was their planning session. They had waited for the right hour, and set off on their plan to reseat Alain onto the throne of Shard- and hopefully give Bridgette a clear route home.

So she crawled on hands and knees, ripping her dress to shreds. The cat hadn’t mentioned the tight spaces. Or the sticky cobwebs she had to break through. Occasionally she would peek through cracks in the stone wall at the magnificently decorated halls of the Ruby castle. We should have just stormed the castle, she brooded. Ah well. Even a fairy tale needed to make some coherent sense.

Near the end of the crawlspace, she found the ladder that Sniggums instructed her to climb. She bumped her head against the stone above as she lifted her chin to see how far up it went. Were the Trueheart Kings midgets?

She had to contort herself like a pretzel to slip out of the narrow tunnel onto the ladder. As she climbed, she felt the stone wall behind her scraping against her back. Now I know how Santa Claus feels, she brooded. Every breath she took expanded her ribcage just enough to touch the walls of the suffocating, tight chimney. And each creak of the ladder made her pray that it stayed intact. If this breaks, I’ll bounce to the bottom like a pinball.

But in spite of the rust and age, she finally reached her destination: another crawlspace, slightly larger than the first. Hopefully, this would lead her to the throne room. Twisting like a snake, Bridgette scrunched her way through the opening.

She didn’t bump her head in the new passage. She could almost walk if she didn’t mind being bent over fully at the waist. Her head broke through a thick spider web that filled the corridor. She almost shrieked in disgust. But instead, she scraped the sticky fibers off her face and out of her hair.

I must be a real beauty queen now she thought. It was funny how little she thought about being attractive now. Ever since she had been cooped up in that miserable prison cell, all she wanted was to go home. She had escaped the Dream Chest twice before… when Alain kissed her and when she had conjured the magic globe of light.

She shook her head, growing increasingly bitter. When the adventure was fun, she couldn’t seem to stay, and kept being sent home. Now that she wanted to go home more than ever, she couldn’t seem to leave. “Quit,” she said. “Logoff. Game Over.”

Nothing happened. Well, what did she expect?

The passageway ended. In front of her was nothing but a blank wall. “No,” she whispered. “This can’t be.” Reaching forward, she felt the stone blocking her. Thick with dust, her fingers turned black with dirt, but she felt no hinge, nothing.

Reaching back she took her light globe to study the block more closely. She scraped away the dirt with her fingertips, until she noticed an even line. There was a large, square stone block fit almost perfectly into the opening, like a giant plug.

“The King runs for his life,” she thought. “He pushes the block out, like a door, and escapes. But what if the block only goes one way?”

That would make sense. Pushing a block with your shoulder was hard, but could be done. Pulling it out with no hand holds would be nearly impossible. It wasn’t like she could implant a handle on her side. Not by ordinary rules.

She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting a strand of spider web that she had missed earlier. It’s just a brick she thought. Perhaps it could be pushed either way, though that didn’t make much sense; why include it at all then? She didn’t have the tools to open it. Not unless she used magic.

It wouldn’t be like conjuring a globe of light or a cell phone. She could try summoning a tool that might help. A file? Maybe a grip and a rope that she could use to pull? That would take a lot of work, and she didn’t have time to file around a loose brick, even if she were sure it would work.

Then again… did she create conjured objects? Or did they come from somewhere else? She wasn’t sure. But she had an experiment that might help. If this didn’t work, she was more confident that she could try summoning a chisel.

She scooted herself back and held out her arms. She took a deep breath of the damp, moldy air and forced herself to relax and clear her mind. Even as she inhaled the stale, smelly air, she decided that it was a pleasant and soothing smell, almost like an expensive stick of incense.

Gradually she felt the warm glow in her mind. She didn’t push too hard, not wanting to extinguish it with too much force. Instead, she gradually coaxed it, like starting a campfire with a tiny spark, gradually letting it build. Stronger and stronger, to a far larger and greater radiance than she ever had before. Then she gently guided the power down her shoulders, travelling through her elbows, forearms, and finally to her hands themselves, feeling the hot energy swirl around like she was holding a ball of fire inside of her hands.

Then she imagined the fire turning into a large stone plug… the energy began to solidify in her hands, and she felt the pattern weaving into a block. When she opened her eyes and saw the wall before her was unchanged, black, merciless, unyielding. This was something new she was summoning, not the block before her.

It won’t work she thought. Unless I pull, it won’t work. She felt the power fleeing from her hands. The pattern she had begun to weave unraveled. No! She thought, bringing it back. But now the power was moving too quickly, mixed with the anger of her frustration. If only there was a way to pull that stinking block out. Like if she had a giant magnet in her hand and it was a block of iron, not stone…

Somehow, that thought gave her an idea, though how she would have explained it, she did not know. She focused on the absence of the block in her hand, an empty space which lacked the block, needed the block. A space preferable for the block to occupy than that one in the wall.

The block in front of her shook, trembled and ripped out of its moorings. It flew towards her, catching her off guard in the gut, flinging her back four feet. She fell to the ground, aching all over from the impact, wanting to cry from the pain. She thought of the time she had fallen off her bike onto the concrete, and carried ugly welts that lasted for weeks. This would be no different.

But the wall was open.

She rested there, waiting for the pain to ebb before continuing. Now her body felt tender. And it will only get worse with time. But she passed through the newly made opening. Beyond it was a hallway high enough to walk through. Grateful, she stretched to her full height and walked ahead, one foot in front of the other.

Some distance ahead she came to another wall, but this one had pinpoints of light coming through from the other end. This could be it. She fought back the urge to run to the end, now that it was so close. She stepped as quietly as she could and peeked through the dots of light.

She had a wonderful view of the Throne Room.

There was a long line of petitioners, as Sniggums told her there would be. Some were nobles wearing attractive dress. Others, peasants in rough farming garb. Some were short people with cat heads, and one was a giant who was careful to not bump his head against the crystal chandelier above. All waited in a line while guardsmen in crimson armor stood in formation on the sides.

On the throne, she saw the Scarlet Tempest herself. As she remembered, the Queen was a beautiful woman in a terrible way. Her dress was as red as flame, her hair long, straight, and flowed over her shoulders, hanging down with a fiery radiance. Her burning eyes seemed to glow with heat as she scrutinized each petitioner.

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“My lady,” said the peasant. “May your rule be long and wholesome. My name is Munx. I run the Charaka Farm, not too far from here- two days as the mule rides. We grow wheat, the same wheat you use to bake the cakes for your courts. The finest wheat that ever….”

The Queen focused stared at him here eyes like piercing embers. He started to stutter. “I uh- the taxes have been grievous. I had to borrow money after the bad crop five year ago, and I cannot pay both my creditors and taxes and keep the farm going. I have a family of seven, and-“

“Seven,” said the Queen, in a voice like ashes. “You cannot feed seven mouths?”

“We work as hard as we can,” said the man, who seemed to shrink by inches as Bridgette watched. “If we were to take less a share of a crop, we’d starve. We’re hungry all the time as it is. Please, if you let us keep more of-“

“If seven is too many for you to feed, then perhaps you can feed six,” said the Queen. “Choose the member of your family who is the least productive; their life will be mine.”

“No!” shouted Munx, dropping to his knees. “Please! My wife, my children, don’t harm them. It is my fault! I was the one who came to beg, they must not suffer on account of me!”

“Then they won’t,” said the Queen, her voice suddenly warm and seductive. “Sir Fricklan?”

Shifting her eyes, Bridgette saw the same Fricklan whom she had disarmed in Lewes so many moons ago. Now he was dressed in a frightening chain armor of red and yellow flames. “Yes, my Queen,” he said in a strange voice, void of emotion. He pulled his sword from its sheath, and advanced on the cowering farmer who trembled in terror at his feet. His motions were stiff, like a robot, and his eyes without warmth or mercy.

Is that what she does to her servants who displease her? She expected Fricklan would have been punished for failing to arrest Alain. And the Scarlet Tempest did punish him, in her own way.

“Enough!” shouted a familiar voice. From the back of the hall Alain appeared from the secret panel. With sword in hand and helmet on his head, he looked every inch a prince. “Enough of your tyranny, Scarlet Tempest!”

The Red Queen lifted her head an inch to stare at the intruder. Slowly she smiled, her red lips smirking in a manner both beautiful and terrible. “And who might you be?” she intoned.

“I am the justice of the gods, the one who will punish you for your myriad sins!” shouted Alain.

“Arrest him,” said the Scarlet Tempest in an almost bored tone of voice.

Her guards charged out, Fricklan among them. The line of petitioners scattered and hid, taking refuge behind tables, statuary, chairs. Ten men of the Queen’s royal guar ran towards Alain, but he fought them with brilliant swordsmanship. That, and they attacked him robotically, one at a time with slow and obvious swings, like Fricklan’s stiff movements. Alain disarmed one and knocked him out, punching him in the face with his mailed fist. Spinning, he parried an attack, and swept his attacker’s foot out from under him. He defeated the rest just as easily.

Finally, the captain of the Queen’s guard charged forward to challenge Alain. His sword was obviously magical, glittering with a crackling, blue light. Sparks flew as Alain parried his weapon with the Sword of Justice. A cut, a parry, a counterstroke as the two men dueled each other to and fro. But though the captain was more skilled than his men, Alain bested his swordsmanship. Soon, he too was disarmed, and a punch from Alain’s fist knocked him unconscious.

“Excellent,” said the Scarlet Tempest, when her last man fell. She stood on her feet, the red strips of her dress billowing about her. “A foe worthy of my attention. I will enjoy this distraction.”

“And I, Alain Trueheart, will enjoy avenging my father and brother,” Alain responded.

Spreading her arms wide, the Queen laughed. “Ah ha ha! And I thought today would be so boring! I have the chance now to finally eradicate the Trueheart bloodline! How kind of you to throw away your life striking at me directly! Perhaps I shall refrain from killing you, and turn you into a mindless slave instead!”

“Not if I slay you first!” shouted Alain. And he charged, one foot flying in front of the other as he burst into a run. He moved like lightning, his sword raised, the sharp edge that would make the Queen’s head fly into the air like a ball, if he could only make one swift swing.

The Queen stood there, straight and tall, not flinching in the least. Her chest spread with confidence, and her eyes staring at the charging prince defiantly. From a fold of her dress, she pulled a golden amulet with a ruby set within. Thrusting it forward, she spoke her command: “Kneel, man!”

The ruby glittered with a pulse of wicked energy. But Alain shifted the Sword of Justice, and the blade glittered as it deflected her spell. “Not this time!” shouted Alain. He advanced towards her, eyes intent on the fulfilling his life-long quest for vengeance.

The queen pouted her lips in agitation. “A magic sword?” she hissed. Reaching to the cushion of her throne, she lifted a device that looked to Bridgette like a combination wand and scepter. It was solid metal with a heavy crystal on one end that glittered with a pulsating, magical light.

Alain advanced slowly. “The Sword of Justice is proof against your magic, Scarlet Tempest. Surrender now, and your trial will be swift and fair.”

Holding the scepter in her hand, the red Queen slowly spread her mouth in a smile. “Offering mercy to an opponent you did not yet defeat? You are as weak as your father.” She lifted her heavy wand back as if she would release its magic. But much to Bridgette’s surprise, she hurled it at Alain like a pitcher throwing a baseball.

Surprised, Alain blocked it with his magic sword. But the impact of the wand was harder than he expected. With a clang, the Sword of Justice flew from his grasp, spun through the air, and landed on the floor, still spinning. Alain lunged for his weapon, but just as quickly, the Scarlet Tempest reproduced her amulet. “Kneel!” she commanded once again.

Alain froze; without the sword in hand, he no longer had protection from the Queen’s spell. “Never!” he struggled to say. But he lacked the control over his mouth to finish pronouncing the word. His knees shook violently. He fought to reach his sword, which was only a single step away. But his own legs betrayed him, bending forward, knees slamming hard into the ground in a pose of submission.

The Scarlet Tempest laughed with a sound like crackling flames. “I knew you couldn’t. You and your line were weak. You were a fool to defy me. And now…”

Bridgette shoved forward, and the fake wall blocking her broke easily. She snatched the enchanted sword from the fallen captain of the Queen’s guard, and pointed it at the Scarlet Tempest. “No you don’t! You won’t harm a hair on Alain’s head!” she shouted, defiantly.

“Of course not,” said the Queen, facing Bridgette. “I will possess your mind, and you will do it for me.” She reached out, the gold disk on her amulet flashing with light, and Bridgette felt the pincers of her mind control closing in tight on her brain.

But Bridgette could not be dominated. “One… two… three…” she counted, focusing her will. “No!” she shouted. And with her defiant shout, the Queen’s spell failed.

“Ahhhh,” said the Queen. “You must be the Earthling girl that the Chancellor told me about.”

“What?” said Bridgette, turning her head. In one corner of the room, she saw Chancellor Sniggums look away, as if she would not see him if he were not looking at her. “You traitor!”

“Don’t get mad. I always hedge my bets,” murmured the cat.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Bridgette. “You won’t harm Alain.”

The Scarlet Tempest sat back down on her throne, her dress fluttering about her in a colorful aura. “Here I sit, and there you stand. Do you have the will to kill an unarmed woman, Earth girl?”

Bridgette walked forward. Her hands were covered with dirt, her hair fouled and rumpled. She gripped the sword tightly. The hilt felt like it was forged for her hand, and the edge gleamed in the light of the chandeliers. “If I must,” she said, walking forward. She’s not a real person, thought Bridgette. She’s a Fae queen, playing a role.

“I think you just might,” said the Queen. “I’m never sure which spells will work on an Earthling. Your minds are so different from ours. So I made other arrangements. Come child! Come and earn your place as my adopted princess.”

A panel opened on the far side of the throne room. And there stood another girl. She was not dirty, but dressed in a uniform of crimson and gold. She carried a sword much like Bridgette’s, which glimmered with magical enchantments. Whereas Bridgette wore a tattered dress with torn stockings, she wore a full coat of leather mail that would protect her torso, yet let her move with full agility. She stepped forward, a confident smirk on her lips, and looked Bridgette right in the eyes.

“Rose,” Bridgette said softly.

“It’s Rosie,” answered her opponent.

Bridgette found her hands growing stiff. “Dare I ask?” she asked.

“Ask what? Why I joined the side of the Queen? Why not? She has power. I can have any man I want, all the riches and praise I desire. All I need to do is kill you.”

“I guessed that much,” Bridgette said darkly. “We go to the same High School.”

“So what?” said Rosie. “I’m never going back there again.”

“And what happens if we die here?” asked Bridgette. “Do we go back to our own world? Or do we die for real?”

“I don’t know,” said Rosie. “Suppose we find out?” And with that she charged, swinging her sword.

Bridgette didn’t remember dropping into a swordfighting stance. She’d be hard pressed to explain what a swordfighting stance was. But no matter how weak her Fencing might be in the real world, somehow she fell into a comfortable and balanced position. She parried Rosie’s blow effortlessly, and returned a half-hearted riposte. Rosie knocked that aside, and the two women circled each other.

“Rosie, this is stupid!” shouted Bridgette. “I’m your friend!”

“No you’re not!” shouted Rosie. She slashed again at Bridgette’s neck. Bridgette pulled back just in time.

“Don’t you see? The Scarlet Tempest is using you?”

“No!” shouted Rosie. “I’m using her! And who cares? Tempest, Alain, they’re all the same!” Bridgette dashed to the right to avoid Rosie’s lunge.

Beyond reason, Rosie pressed her attack. Bridgette dodged behind, to the left, to the right, and blocked with her sword when she couldn’t step away. She fought defensively, just as scared to strike the girl as she was to get hit. If I fight back, would I kill her? If I killed her here, would she die out there? I don’t want to hurt anyone real!

Maybe she could disarm her. She swung heavily at Rosie’s bell guard, but Rosie pulled her hand back and countered, cutting off the sleeve of Bridgette’s dress. Bridgette staggered back, grateful that she hadn’t tripped on her tattered dress, though now she held the blade with a bare arm.

Back and forth the two of them dueled. Their swords danced in all directions. Sparks flew as the metal clashed, as the enchantments in the blades fought each other. Rosie had a near bloodthirst in her eyes, exhilarated by the clash of weapons. Bridgette, though her heart pounded with fear, was as frightened by the intense hunger in Rosie’s gaze as the sword the girl swung.

Gradually Bridgette grew aware, as she backed off and avoided Rosie’s strikes, that the two of them were not alone. Of course they weren’t alone: there was a throne room of people watching them. Not people- the Fae. Alain watched from one end, solemn and motionless. The Scarlet Tempest watched from the opposite, her eyes red with hunger. They’re feeding on us, Bridgette realized. The drama could not be greater for them.

And it wasn’t just Alain and the Scarlet Tempest. Other eyes stared hungrily at the fight. Munx the farmer, Fricklan the guard. Somewhere in the crowd, she knew, she would find Maxwell and Tristam. Somewhere she sensed that even Darus Flour from the Windsong Tavern and the old woman who ate there were watching, feasting on their passions. And nearby Bickle Wa watched too, feeding off her emotion with a voracious appetite. Bridgette didn’t know how he had gotten to the throne room, but she certainly wasn’t surprised. Chancellor Sniggums too, who for all his seedy machinations, was no different from Bickle in the end.

They wouldn’t win this way, Bridgette realized. Whether she won or Rosie, the victor would be trapped with the Fae, feeding them their passion, their heart, their mind, until there was nothing left to give. They’d be a hollow and empty husk like poor Michael Darling, forced to become one of these same, sick leeches.

They had to go home. And they had to go home now.

With a flick of her wrist, Rosie pricked Bridgette on the wrist. Blood dripped free, uncaught by any clothing now that her arm was bare. Bridgette gave a cry of pain, while Rosie swung her sword triumphantly. “I wish my Mom could see me,” she said. “She’d see I’m not a loser.”

Her mother. Bridgette realized. She’s wishing to go home. Isn’t that what I did when I….

Bridgette acted on her still incomplete thought. With a shout, she rushed forward. Rosie lifted her sword, hoping to impale her charging enemy. Bridgette knocked it aside with her own sword and grabbed the girl with both hands, pushing the two of them to fall on the floor. And with each motion, Bridgette wished with all her heart that she was home with a new and dear friend who would be the only one who could understand what they both had gone through.