Free What I Wore to Save the World by Maryrose Wood

and continued along the main boardwalk, which led to the guest cottages and gardens. The boardwalk was flanked on both sides with tall palm trees, Hollywood Boulevard style. Between the palms were large evergreen shrubs pruned into the shapes of rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, and other miscellaneous animals of the cute woodland variety, except much bigger than life-sized. They were all about the same height as Colin.
    The sculpted shrubs made me think of Edward Scissorhands , a film Sarah and I admired hugely due to the sexy hawtness of Mr. Johnny Depp, who was second only to Orlando Bloom on Sarah’s list of celebrity crushes.
    Then the boardwalk took a turn, and all at once we were treated to another open view of the water. Leering stone gargoyles perched on a waist-high balustrade, with their winged backs facing the sea.
    Colin saw me gaping at the surroundings. “Quite a spread, innit? The whole shebang was dreamed up by this mad architect a hundred years ago. McAlister was his name. The bloke was never satisfied; he kept adding to it and moving things around until he died. Now his grandson’s in charge, still fussin’ and adding on to the place.”
    â€œNothing matches,” I said, rubbing my eyes. On one side of the boardwalk were the gargoyles and shrubby dunes leading steeply down to the sea. On the other side the terrain was mountainous, with pastel-colored guest cottages scattered all over the hills. A distant, snow-capped peak served as the backdrop. Sea, mountains, palm trees, evergreens—what climate were we in?
    And I didn’t know much about architecture (other than the fact that oversized Connecticut open-plan houses were annoying to live in), but even I could see how a salmon-pink stucco chalet with a Spanish-tiled roof tucked behind a pale yellow, cottage-sized version of a columned Greek temple was definitely out of whack.
    The distant, soothing crash of the waves had turned into a strange roaring sound that seemed to be getting louder as we walked. Colin raised his voice to be heard. “Careful of the waterfall, now.”
    â€œCareful of the wha—?” I started to ask, but then we took another turn. Ten yards in front of us the boardwalk dead-ended into a waterfall. It was at least fifteen feet high and the width of the boardwalk across, and there seemed to be no way to get past it.
    I stared open-mouthed at the wall of turquoise water crashing down into a spray of white foam at our feet. Were we supposed to jump in?
    â€œWatch this,” Colin said. Adjacent to the nearest gargoyle was a Victorian-style streetlamp with an incongruously modern button on it labeled “Push to cross,” just like on the traffic lights at home. Colin pushed. After a minute, the waterfall trickled to a stop and quickly drained. The boardwalk continued right through the middle of where the water had just been.
    â€œNice bit of theatricality, that.” Colin gestured at me to follow him through. “When Grandpap and I arrived, the gal at the desk handed me the keys and told me: ‘Ye’re in Seahorse Cottage, down the boardwalk, through the waterfall, fifty meters straight ahead and make a left at the dragon.’ I thought she was kidding.”
    The dragon? I thought, trying not to overreact. The waterfall had resumed its normal operations behind us. Ahead on our left, an enormous dragon carved of weathered stone guarded the entrance to a sandy path that led from the boardwalk down toward the beach. The boardwalk continued on, twisting and turning along the shore and then into the hills until it seemed to disappear into a not-so-distant forest.
    Colin stopped to turn down the path, but I stared ahead, fascinated. “What’s up there?” I asked. “At the end of the boardwalk?”
    â€œThe forest,” he said, after the briefest pause. “And some other things I’ll tell ye about in a bit. Come, the cottage is this