Off the Page Read online

  “I love biscuits,” Humphrey sighs as he walks beside me, practically vibrating with joy. “Delilah gave me biscuits. They’re my favorite food. Do you like biscuits? We should get some biscuits.”

  “Is there a mute button for you?” I ask.

  I walk a little faster, trying to put some distance between us. “How about we play a game,” I suggest.

  “Games? I love games!”

  “Shocker!” I say, sarcastic. “This one is called Count Every Room in the Castle.”

  “Oh, that sounds fun. Can we use a Frisbee? I really like Frisbees.” He sits back on his haunches, his tongue wagging. “Once,” he says, “I ate a shoe.”

  “And?”

  “I threw up.”

  I nod slowly. “Okay, then. So that game . . . ? On the count of three, I want you to go find every room in the castle, and then you come back here and tell me how many there are. Ready? One . . . two . . . go!”

  Humphrey doesn’t move.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “You didn’t say three.”

  “For God’s sake. Three,” I sigh, and he takes off like a shot up the stone staircase, his toenails scabbering as he rounds the corner.

  Immediately I head in the opposite direction and slip into a broom closet. In the dark, I try to figure out how long I’ll have to stay here until Humphrey loses interest in trying to find me. His attention span, from what I can see, is less than a nanosecond—but I can’t be too careful. I swear, that stupid animal has some kind of radar, because every time I think I’ve escaped, he turns up out of thin air, wagging his tail.

  As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see a shelf of folded sheets and towels. The sheets on the bottom are printed with small purple flowers. Just like the ones that are always on my mother’s bed.

  The door to the closet opens, and my heart sinks when I think Humphrey has found me. But it’s only Queen Maureen, who blinks at me, and says, “Oh, hello, dear. Could you pass me that mop?”

  I hand it to her, expecting her to ask me why I’m hiding in a broom closet in the middle of the day, but either she doesn’t care or this is just something people do here. “Have a nice time,” Maureen says. “Let me know if you get hungry. . . .”

  “Shhh,” I warn her. “I’m trying to hide from Humphrey.”

  “Ahh. I see,” she answers. “Well. Carry on, then.”

  Before she can shut the door, however, there’s a crash so loud that it shakes the timbers of the castle. I step out of the closet to find Humphrey sitting in the hallway with his tail between his legs. “Something happened in the kitchen,” he whispers. “And I love you so much.”

  It’s easier to come up with battle tactics to defeat Zorg than to distract Humphrey long enough for me to get a moment alone. “Humphrey,” I say, waving a toy the fairies made out of sticks, acorns, and straw. “Fetch!”

  I throw it as hard as I can, practically into the margins.

  “Oh boy oh boy oh boy!” Humphrey cries, dashing after it. A moment later he returns, the toy clamped between his jaws. He shakes his head vigorously and then drops the toy between his paws. “I love this toy with all my life,” he snuffles, biting at it. “I love it so much that I want to eat it.” He pulls and chews. “I love it. . . . I love it. . . . I love it. . . . Oh no, it’s dead.” Humphrey steps back from the scrap heap that seconds ago was his toy and looks up at me in distress.

  “Okay,” I sigh. “That took thirty seconds.” Maybe I can tire him out. “How about a run?”

  “I’m the fastest runner ever,” Humphrey says, and he bolts into the next chapter. I jog after him as he dashes ahead and then loops back just to make sure I’m still here. He tracks a scent, nose down, through the Enchanted Forest, weaving through the trees. He dog-paddles across the ocean and runs circles around Orville’s lab. Finally, at the base of Timble Tower, he skids to a stop, panting. “That was so fun. Let’s do it again. I can totally keep my eyes open. I’m not falling asleep at all.” And then he conks to the side, snoring.

  I sigh. “Finally.” I probably have less than a minute till he wakes up again, and I will have to find yet another way to distract him. My gaze falls on the tower rising before me.

  Dogs can’t climb.

  I grab on to the stone cliff that leads to the tower, fumbling for a hand- and foothold. Hoisting my weight, I start to inch upward, swallowing the nausea that hits me like a wave when I look down at the churning ocean.

  Finally I reach the open window of the tower where Seraphima is imprisoned in the story and hurl myself inside headfirst, landing unceremoniously in a heap on the floor.

  Thank God, I think. Peace and quiet.

  “What are you doing here?” A muffled voice comes from a pile of quilts across the room.

  I squint. “Seraphima?”

  I’ve never seen her like this. She’s wearing a nightgown and mismatched socks. Her hair looks like there are small woodland creatures hiding inside it. And I’m pretty sure it’s been days since her last shower. “Um,” I say, “are you feeling all right?”

  “No,” she wails, bursting into tears. “I don’t know what is happening to me. No one’s left chocolates on my pillow at night. I can’t find my slippers anywhere. There’s been no breakfast waiting outside my door. And I can’t even remember the last time someone told me I was pretty.”

  I suddenly remember Frump telling me once that he had to go make Seraphima’s bed, as part of the continuing ruse that let her believe she was a true princess. I wonder if that’s what love is: giving in to someone’s delusions, just because you know it makes them happy.

  “You know what you need?” I say. “A change of scenery. I’m trying to get rid of a dog—”

  Seraphima wails even louder. “I miss Frump!”

  “Believe me,” I mutter. “You’re not the only one. Listen, do you know any good hiding places in this book?”

  She stops crying and blinks twice. Then she lifts the hem of her sheets and blows her nose into them. “Let me think,” she says, sliding off the bed and behind a folding screen. I turn away, reddening, as she takes off her nightgown and I see her naked silhouette. A moment later she emerges, in a wrinkled, stained gown, sporting one blue shoe and one green one. Her hair has been yanked into a messy bun that sits off-center on her head and only contains half her hair. “Do I look all right?” she asks.

  “Um. Sure.”

  Her shoulders sag. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I have anyone to impress.”

  I glance out the window and see Humphrey starting to stir. “We have to hurry,” I say. “Please tell me I don’t have to climb back down?”

  “I usually just jump.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Even Rapscullio can do it,” she says, “and he’s a big baby.” She hikes her skirts up and hooks one leg over the windowsill. With a smile, she hurls herself out.

  “Seraphima!” I yell. I hesitate for only a moment, glancing down at the waves breaking over the rocks below, and her body, which grows smaller and smaller as she falls. Then I dive after her.

  This hero thing sucks.

  The ground is rushing up at an alarming pace. I find myself thinking: This is how I die. Flashing before my eyes are all the things I will miss the most: my mother, the new Star Wars movie premiere, meatballs and spaghetti . . .

  As if I’m attached to a bungee cord, I stop in midair an inch before my body is smashed on the rocks. But unlike on a bungee cord, I don’t snap back up. Instead I hover, turning my head to see Seraphima suspended the same way. She delicately arches her foot and tiptoes a few steps down to the ground. “Well?” she asks, looking up at me. “Are you waiting for an invitation?”

  I take a deep breath and jump, landing squarely on both feet, safe and sound. “Now what?”

  “Follow me,” Seraphima replies. She grabs my hand and starts to run, flying through the pages until we come to a stop on a tundra made of snow. Or that’s what it looks like, anyway. It’s