Red's Untold Tale (23 page)

The bartender grinned widely, revealing more gaps than teeth. “Works like magic, you'll see.”

Suddenly, Gretchen loomed beside me. “Don't just stand there, honey,” the tavern girl said with a wink. “Go an' sit by him, and ask him to buy you a
drink.”

I laughed nervously and waved my hands. “Oh, no. You have it all wrong. I just wanted to talk to him, that's all. Businesslike.”

She set her tray down on the nearest table and fixed my hair, bringing the front portions over my shoulders. Next she pinched my cheeks. Her light blue eyes gleaming, she gave me the nod.
“Go talk business.”

I nodded back, amazed how she'd been able to restore my confidence. Before I lost it again, I walked up to the tax man and cleared my throat. “Mr. Worthington, may I have a word with
you?”

“Always a pleasure, Miss Lucas,” Mr. Worthington said, giving me no more than a sidelong glance. “Here to drink away your woes?”

“What can I get you, miss?” the bartender asked, drying his liver-spotted hands on a towel.

“I'm not thirsty,” I told the old man, and he backed away, leaving the two of us to talk. “I'm here to make our woes disappear.” I took the scroll Mr.
Worthington had served Granny out of my pocket and placed it on the bar. “And you're going to help me.”

“Is that so?”

“I'm here to pay my granny's debt.”

“I see. I'm sorry to say, it's too late. However, I am a little bit curious. How exactly were you planning to do it?” He swung his legs around and faced me square on.

My heart pounded as my finger skimmed the gold cross resting on my collarbone. Drawing a deep, slow breath, I draped my hair over my left shoulder. His eyes followed my every move, even when he
raised his stein to his lips for a quick swig. As he set his ale back down, I unclasped my necklace with a flick of my wrist.

“It was my mother's,” I said, placing the cross pendant in his clammy, dirty palm.

“You don't say…” he said, though it was obvious he didn't care about sentimentalities. He was too busy biting down on it, to test if it was real gold.

December, three and a half years ago

I woke up with a start, unsure how I'd ended up under my bed. A fortress of pillows and covers encircled me, and though it was the coldest time of year, my hair was drenched with
sweat.

I should have gotten up, but I felt unsettled—scared for a reason I couldn't put my finger on. So I stayed there until the rooster crowed, finally rolling out from under the bed once
the little cottage filled with the noises of my granny banging around in the kitchen, commencing her morning routine. I stretched my arms over my head and rolled the kink out of my neck, trying to
recall the dream I'd had. I was just bending to gather the pillows I'd stuffed beneath the bed when I spotted something twinkling between the floorboards. At first glance, it appeared
to be a little golden star. But when I eased it up and out with my fingertips, I saw that it was a cross.

My heart leapt in my chest as I examined it in the early morning sunlight. It looked to be made of pure gold, and I loved how smooth it felt on the pads of my pointer finger and thumb. A tiny
hole pierced through the top of it; it was meant to be a pendant.

I about jumped out of my skin when Granny charged into my room like a bull. “Daylight is burning, child. Get up and get me some eggs.”

I tried to hide my newfound treasure from her but failed.

“Where did you find that?” she asked, crossing my room and staring at my palm like I was holding a poison apple.

“Under the bed.”

Nodding slowly, her eyes glistened with apparent recognition. “It was your mother's.”

“Did you give it to her, Granny?”

She shook her head. “I never knew where she got it. She wouldn't tell me. Said it was a secret. Here, hand it over,” she said, gesturing for it. With a heavy heart, I
surrendered it. Then she took me by the shoulders and turned me around, which was just as well because I didn't want her to see my scowl. Why did my granny have to be such a spoilsport all
the time?

I felt her touch along the neckline of my nightdress. “Go see,” she said, gently steering me to the looking glass above my bureau. Granny had threaded my mother's cross pendant
onto her own necklace and fastened it around my neck. It was beautiful.

“She wanted you to have it,” Granny said.

“Really?”

“Yes, I'm quite certain.”

When I placed my hand over the cross for the very first time, I felt a wonderful warmth in my heart. “I will wear it always,” I vowed.

I swallowed the bile in my throat. “So, do we have a deal, Mr. Worthington?” I asked, attempting to look directly into his shifty eyes. “Do I have your word
that Granny and I can keep our cottage?”

“What would His Royal Highness want with a wee bit of gold when he has more treasure than anyone in the kingdom?” he asked, sliding my necklace along the bar and leaving it in front
of me.

“What would the king want with a small, modest cottage in the woods, when he has the most exquisite castle in the kingdom—perhaps the entire land?” I countered.

“Everyone in the village must pay taxes to the king,” he said, attempting to flag down the bartender. “Your grandmother failed to pay hers. So now we must take something from
her. This is the way the kingdom works, missy.”

“I realize that.” I sighed. I didn't know what else to do, except get down on my knees and beg. “Please, Mr. Worthington. If we lose our home, we will have nowhere to go.
We have no family. And my granny is too old to carry out her remaining days—I don't know, in a shack in the woods?” I'd just barely found out about losing the cottage, and
the full repercussions hadn't hit me until then. Not only would we be homeless, Granny would have nowhere to bake. If she couldn't keep her business going, how would we ever make ends
meet? I had to get the tax man to let Granny off the hook; it was our only hope! I beseeched him with my eyes, my heart, with every part of me. “This golden cross is all I have. It might not
look all that impressive to you, but—”

He held his hand up and gestured for me to stop talking. While the indignity of having been shushed heated my cheeks, he called, “Willie! Fill me up,” out of the corner of his
mustached mouth.

The bartender waddled over to us, whistling to the music as he topped off Mr. Worthington's ale. I envied the old man, who didn't seem to have a care in the world.

“I'm afraid it's not enough,” Mr. Worthington said, shaking his head.

Willie stopped whistling. “It's all that'll fit in the stein,” he said apologetically, “but I'll bring you another if you need.”

“I wasn't talking to
you
,” Mr. Worthington snapped, and Willie slunk away in time to the music.

I opened my hands—I hadn't even noticed until then that I'd had them clenched into fists—and picked up the necklace. “It's enchanted,” I blurted.

“Oh?” He stroked his long black beard as I dangled the pendant before his eyes. “How do you mean, enchanted?” He reached out, but I swayed the necklace just out of his
reach.

Leaning closer to him, I whispered, “It's
magic
, Mr. Worthington. Whoever wears it will be under its spell. Its
love
spell.” I knew I had to make the lie
convincing. “The king might have more gold than he knows what to do with, but he's a widower, is he not? All he has to do is give this lovely necklace to a lady he desires, and she will
adore him with all her heart.”

“But the king doesn't need a love spell,” Mr. Worthington said. “What he needs is a broom to keep all the women away from him.”

“Yes, you're probably right.” I sighed. “Well, you can't blame a girl for trying to save her granny's cottage, now can you?”

Mr. Worthington took a gulp out of his stein, only to peer into it, clearly surprised that it was already empty. “Miss Lucas, do you give me your word that this trinket is
enchanted?” he asked.

My breath caught in my throat. Was my plan working? Perhaps the tax man was having a change of heart. “Yes. The wizard himself told me it was,” I said, glad to finally be saying the
truth.

He downed the rest of his ale then reached for the scroll. “Willie, bring me a bottle of ink, will you?” he called. A moment later, Willie dropped off the ink and then slowly scooted
back to his customers at the far end of the bar.

With a faraway look in his eyes, Mr. Worthington took his feather out of his hat and wrote three of the most beautiful words across the parchment:
PAID IN FULL
. “I
will hold off from reporting your grandmother to the king; however, next spring I shan't be as generous.”

“I understand. Thank you,” I said as I held my cross necklace for the last time. It was the most bittersweet feeling I'd ever had. On one hand, I wanted to dance around the
tavern, laughing and perhaps even singing about having saved our cottage. On the other, parting with the cross pendant my mother wore made my throat close up and my eyes sting. I blinked hard and
told myself that it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. The instant I dropped the necklace into Mr. Worthington's hands—this time, for good—someone said my name.

“Red! What are you doing?”

I spun around to see Peter, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed distrustfully at Mr. Worthington. “Peter, wh-what are you doing here?” I asked. I hated how
I'd left things with Peter, but now was not the time to apologize and try to make things right between us. The ink hadn't even dried on the agreement. I just needed a few more minutes
with Mr. Worthington, alone.

“I've come to check in on you, and it looks like it's a good thing I did.” Though I hadn't seen Peter blink or move even a muscle, he seemed to have shot up ten
inches. Mr. Worthington, on the contrary, shrunk away from him.

“Don't worry, Peter. Everything is fine, honestly,” I said, forcing myself to smile up at him. Afraid he might do or say something to ruin my deal with the tax man, I quickly
stood and gathered the scroll, placing it back inside my cloak.

I said, “So long, Mr. Worthington,” and poked his feather back into his hat for him. Then, grabbing Peter's hand, I started dragging him toward the door.

“What was that all about, Red?” Peter asked. He dug in his heels, bringing us to an abrupt stop by the piano. “Why did you give him your cross?”

“Please, let's just get out of here. Then I'll tell you everything, I promise.”

Tilting his head, he searched my face. A few seconds later, he lowered his eyebrows and said, “All right, but I'm holding you to that promise. No more secrets.” Placing his
hand on the small of my back, Peter guided me out of the tavern.

“How did you know I was in here, anyway?” I asked as he opened the door.

“My brothers said you'd walked by them. They said you looked upset, so they held back on pegging you with rotten vegetables.”

“They're such little dears.”

Just outside, we heard a little whimper. At our feet, the mutt whined and twitched in her sleep. The poor thing must've been having quite a nightmare.

There were two more nights of Wolfstime, and I wondered what my dreams would be like now. I already felt the emptiness where the cross used to lie against my chest. I reminded myself that
I'd survived before without the pendant, when I'd lost it at the swimming hole. But that was before I'd found out that the wizard put a spell on it for my mother. Without the
pendant, would I ever understand my Wolfstime dreams? Would I ever discover my true self?

Peter reached into his knapsack and tossed a small hunk of bread to the dog, so it could have something to eat when it woke up. Then, as he leaned against a lamppost, I told him why I'd
gone after the tax man. I thought the part about Granny not being able to pay her taxes would be too mortifying to share, but Peter nodded understandingly, compassionately even. I knew I could
trust Peter not to tell anyone.