Free The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen by Delia Sherman Page B

but what else could I say? The ring was right. On top of everything else, what was I going to tell my friends when they asked how my Equinox had been? The thought of explaining what had happened, of some random East Sider overhearing and telling Tiffany—or, worse yet, that sneaking Airboy . . . No. I’d just keep my head down and my mouth shut and maybe they’d mind their own business for a change.
    I’d hardly sat down at lunch when Fortran looked at me. “What’s up? You look like ogre spit.”
    “Thanks,” I said. “And you look like an apopa.”
    “What’s that?” Fortran asked.
    “An incredibly ugly and misshapen dwarf from Alaska.”
    Stonewall tsk ed. “You’re in a mood , girl. Did Radiatorella stay too long at the ball?”
    Espresso passed me her cup of milky coffee. I took a sip. It tasted almost as good as it smelled. I opened up Satchel and reached inside, too depressed even to make a wish, and pulled out a hamburger.
    “Whoa,” Fortran said. “Satchel’s being nice to you. You must be really upset.”
    “Are you worried about that stupid challenge?” Danskin said. “Because if you want to get out of it, I bet we can come up with a way.”
    I’d almost forgotten Tiffany’s challenge. Now I really wasn’t hungry. I laid my hamburger on Satchel’s flap. “I don’t want to get out of it. I just want to survive.”
    “We need to know more about the Angry One,” Mukuti said. “You want me to go look her up in the library?”
    “You won’t find anything,” Stonewall said. “She’s an urban legend. In Folkish terms, she’s just a baby. There’s no traditional way to get rid of her. Nobody even knows if she’s a ghost or a ghoul or a hungry demon. That’s why she’s so dangerous.”
    This was not what I wanted to hear. “Are you telling me that she doesn’t follow any rules?”
    “Of course she does. We just don’t know what they are.”
    Stonewall opened his magic bag, pulled out a plate of poached eggs in white sauce, and started to eat. Mukuti, Espresso, and Fortran argued about where Folk came from. I didn’t listen. I’d just remembered that the Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen knew everything.
    Relief percolated through me like coffee. I could ask the mirror how to control Bloody Mary. And since the Green Lady never let the mirror out of her sight, I could at least raise the subject of giving it back to the Mermaid Queen at the same time. Of course, I’d have to find the Lady, and then I’d have to think of how to phrase the question so the mirror would answer me, but those were minor details.
    Suddenly I was starving. I picked up the hamburger and took a bite. Even cold, it was still good.
     
    The Green Lady is hard to find unless she wants you to find her. The Pooka had taught me that the best way to run into her accidentally on purpose was to get really, really lost. And there’s nowhere in Central Park that’s as easy to get lost in as the Ramble.
    Even when you’re used to it, the Ramble is spooky at night. The trees stick their roots in front of your feet and catch their twigs in your hair. There are ghosts, too, shadows that are white or gray instead of black. Some of them are still person-shaped; some are so old that they’re nothing but trails of chilly mist or a sudden shiver down the back. I was careful not to look at them too closely, or at the lights that twinkled invitingly between the trees. They were will o’ the wisps, feux follets , ignis fatui . Following them would mean falling into the Lake at the very least.
    I don’t even like to think about what kind of Folk play in the Lake on a dark night before moonrise.
    So there I was, totally and completely lost, groping around in the dark with leaves brushing the back of my neck, ghosts moaning around me, and a fresh wind stirring up a smell of rotting leaves and wet rock, when something swooped at me, chittering.
    I ducked, tripped, and fell into a bush.
    There was a complicated moment full of