28

The Birthday Cake Wish Bill

BACK IN WIGGY’S chamber, Penny smoothed Anastasia’s ragged braids. “Don’t worry, dear. Everything will work out.”

“We’ll see you later.” Gus bopped her shoulder with his fist as everyone filed from the queen’s room.

“Well, Peeps,” Anastasia whispered, “I’m in bog water for sure.”

Pippistrella chirruped and clung to her collar.

“What happened in there?” Aisatsana demanded. “You look like you wrestled a bear, and so do I!”

“I’ll tell you later.” Anastasia turned from the mirror-girl and limped over to Wiggy’s chain-mail-curtained bed. “What do you think Grandwiggy’s going to do?” she whispered to Pippistrella. “Do you think she’ll exile me, like Saskia said?”

“Squeak!”

“I can’t understand you.” Tears trickled down Anastasia’s cheeks. “I only speak one word of Echolalia, and I can’t metamorphose. I’m a terrible Morfo and a worse princess.” She leaned her forehead against the metal filigree. “And now I’ll never find the Silver Hammer. I’ll never find Nicodemus and my dad. The Canopy is ruined.”

“Anastasia.”

She whirled. Wiggy was standing by the Glimmerglass, watching her. “You’ve had quite an exciting birthday, haven’t you?”

Anastasia swallowed and stared at her feet.

“What you did today was extremely dangerous.”

“I’m sorry.” Anastasia wiped her face on her sleeve. Pippistrella’s pulse thumped against her neck, and she wondered whether, as her loyal bat-in-waiting, her furry friend would also be banished abovecaves.

“Dangerous and brave,” Wiggy continued. “You risked your life to save Saskia. I’m very, very proud of you.”

“Proud?” Anastasia’s head snapped up. “Then you’re not mad?”

“Well,” Wiggy pondered, “I’m displeased that you sneaked into my private cavern. And it particularly troubles me that you rendered a Royal Guard Bat unconscious to do so. The Royal Guard must be on the alert at all times, you understand. We need to watch for…certain enemies.”

“Witches?”

Wiggy’s strange eyes gleamed. “Imagine the disaster if witches returned. The Royal Guard is here to sound the alarm if that should ever occur. You saw what the Wish Hags can do; witch magic is even more powerful.”

Anastasia gulped. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” Wiggy’s solemn lips slid into something like a smile. “I think we’ll have to order a suit of chain mail for you. You’re becoming rather the adventuress, my dear. You remind me of myself when I was young—when I was a warrior queen charging into the Perpetual War.”

“Really?”

“In some ways.”

Anastasia paused. “Grandwiggy…will Gus’s mom get into trouble? Honestly, she didn’t know we took her locket. And to her it’s just jewelry—she wasn’t doing anything bad with it.”

Wiggy thought. “I won’t penalize her, but I can’t return the portrait. After the royal jeweler has prized Mrs. Wata’s picture from the locket, we’ll return the necklace.” Perhaps perceiving Anastasia’s torment, the queen went on, “I’ll ask the court painter to fashion a miniature of Gus to replace the gorgon likeness. Does that seem fair? I’m sure Mrs. Wata would be happy to have a cameo with her son’s portrait.”

Anastasia heaved a deep breath. “Thank you, Grandwiggy.”

Wiggy reached out and stiffly patted Anastasia’s sleeve. “All right, Princess. You may go. I believe we still have a birthday to celebrate, don’t we?”

“Splendid! Just splendid!” Baldwin beheld the Grand Ballroom with delight. Balloons bumped amidst the chandeliers, their long ribbons twirling down to graze tall wigs sprouting from the crowd of guests. Bats cavorted overhead, flinging confetti down on the partygoers. Pippistrella zoomed by to bomb Anastasia with glitter, then wheeled off into the stalactites. “A birthday marvelment indeed!”

“Have you seen Mr. Yukimori’s ice sculpture?” Penny asked.

“It’s super!” Gus said. “It looks just like an electric eel!”

“And it tastes like a kiwi fizzer,” Ollie added.

“This is my favorite song!” Baldwin cried. “Penny, hold my soda! I’m going to ask that fetching Veronica Bunion to foxtrot with me!” He danced off as the musicians struck up a jaunty tune, Quentin’s saw warbling like a ghostly canary.

“Soda, my foot.” Penny sniffed Baldwin’s glass. “There’s something much stronger than soda in here.”

“When are they going to bring out the cake?” Ollie asked.

“It should be any minute now, dear,” Penny said. She slugged back the remainder of Baldwin’s not-soda. “I’m going to fetch your birthday present, Anastasia. Wait right here.”

Despite the frolicsome fun around them, gloom steeped the Dreadfuls’ faces.

“What are we going to do about our quest?” Gus asked. “I don’t think anyone’s ever going to dream in the Canopy again.”

“I don’t think the Canopy really worked anyway,” Ollie said. “Anastasia’s dream about the Wish Hags was all wrong. That wish-goop didn’t help Saskia.”

“But it led us to Borg,” Gus argued. “It’s like the Canopy knew the hags would come after us.”

“Just how far did you get in your first dream before Saskia woke you up? Did you see the Hammer?” Ollie asked.

“No. I hardly saw anything,” Anastasia lamented. “I was swimming, and I saw stars…I think. I could breathe underwater. Oh—shh. Here comes my uncle.”

“Whew!” Baldwin tottered up to them, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. “That Veronica has the stamina of an Olympic jitterbugger! Say, where’s my drink?”

“All hail the queen! All hail the queen!” someone cried.

The musicians muzzled their instruments as Wiggy glided into the ballroom. “Good evening. We are all here to celebrate a very special event: my granddaughter’s eleventh birthday.”

A cheer went up. Mr. Yukimori shouted, “Happy birthday, Princess Anastasia!”

“And celebrate it we shall, in just a moment. But now I have an important announcement to make,” Wiggy went on. “This evening marks another momentous occasion, for I have just signed a diplomatic treaty with the Wish Hags.”

Several people gasped.

“Recent inquiries have revealed that any suspicion surrounding their names in the eighteenth century was entirely unfounded. The Wish Hags were innocent of any witchery or witch-sympathy, and the persecution they suffered was unjust. Hags, please come forth.”

The eyeless Wish Hags shuffled through the door, their chain mail chinkling. Tall One raised her shrill voice. “We realize that our wish-granting has been, at best, erratic for the past few centuries. However, we promise to henceforth do our best to grant wishes, within reason, of course. We can’t grant every wish—that would be impossible, you know—but we will be more generous—”

“Can the chatter, Maude!” cut in Spectacles. “You always did ramble on! Princess Anastasia, we hags shall grant your birthday wish as our first act under the new treaty.”

Wiggy twitched her index finger, and two servants wheeled forth a dessert trolley trembling beneath a magnificent cake a-twinkle with eleven candles, plus “one to grow on.” The musicians played a note, and the crowd began to sing:

Happy birthday! You’re oh so old:

If you were cheese, then you’d have mold!

Hip, hip, hooray, and all that rot;

Now make a wish for what is not!

A hush fell over the ballroom as a third attendant set up a ladder beside the cake. Anastasia climbed the rungs and, once at the top, craned her head toward the glittering candles. She closed her eyes. Her cheeks puffed around the wish percolating her wits. Would it work? Could it? Could the hags possibly brew a wish that powerful?

WSSSSSHHHHHHH! The flames fizzled into trailing plumes of smoke.

“Out in one breath!” Baldwin reported, and everyone looked at the Wish Hags.

“Well,” said Maude, “we think…”

“Your wish is strange but fine,” said Spectacles.

“And we shall be delighted to grant it!” proclaimed Bottle Hair.

If every single person in the ballroom had a bit of dynamite powder in their soul, then the Wish Hags’ words ignited this powder. The crowd erupted into applause.

“But remember,” Maude warned, “you mustn’t reveal your birthday wish! If you blab it, it won’t come true!”

“Birthday wishes must be brewed in an atmosphere of absolute secrecy,” said Bottle Hair.

“Article Seventy-six, Clause Two of the Birthday Cake Wish Bill: spilling the beans renders your wish null and void,” cited Spectacles.

“Crumbs,” Ollie moped as Anastasia tiptoed back to the floor. “I’m dying of curiosity!”

“You’ll find out soon,” Anastasia promised.

“Here, dear,” Penny said. “Here’s your present from Baldy and me.” She pressed a box riddled with holes into Anastasia’s hands.

“This is what you had to go into Dinkledorf for?” Anastasia asked.

Baldwin nodded. “This birthday present is the culmination of weeks of plotting, secret communiqués, and a hush-hush transatlantic voyage for two of our best spies.”

“Really?” Gus cried. “Open it, Anastasia!”

She tore off the lid. “MUFFY!”

“Who’s Muffy?” Ollie asked.

“My guinea pig.” Anastasia pulled the fluffy rodent into a hug. “We had to leave her back in Mooselick when we escaped.”

“Our agents had to fetch Muffy with the greatest caution,” Penny said. “We knew the minions of CRUD would be watching to see if we came back for her.”

“Oh, Muffy! I missed you! Muffy—ow!” Anastasia peered at her thumb, prickled with tiny teeth marks.

“She must be fussy after her long trip,” Penny hypothesized.

“Muffy’s always like this,” Anastasia said. “She’ll probably poop on my pillow tonight, too. Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”

Baldwin’s eyes glossed with tears. “I just love happy endings. And a happy ending plus a happy birthday is the happiest thing of all.”

Anastasia nodded, cradling her guinea pig. But, she thought, if her birthday wish came true, this wasn’t an ending at all. It was just the Beginning, and the Beginning of Something Very Big at that.

Early the next Monday morning, Anastasia jolted upright in bed, her head still swimming with dream-shadows. What time was it? She fumbled in the pocket of her pajama pants for Miss Viola’s watch and held its face close to the bedside candle. Five o’clock. The science fair was in a mere three hours.

She sank back against her comforters, trying to knit the gossamer shreds of her dream back together. The Wish Hags had granted her birthday wish and delivered it swiftly to the fanciful dream-center of her nighttime mind. If only she could remember…She closed her eyes. Shadows. Shadows dancing. Not Ollie and Quentin. Lovely, lacelike shadows…

Anastasia’s breath caught in her throat. She slid from her bed and padded to her wardrobe and flung back the doors. She rummaged for Calixto Swift’s biography, stashed beneath two pairs of unworn silk slippers. She opened the tome to the very middle page and pulled out the witch’s paper doll.

But it wasn’t a paper doll. Not really. Anastasia returned to her candle and held the paper maiden before the flame. Her delicate silhouette sprang into being on the wall, filigreed tattoos traced in shadow. Anastasia tugged the paper arms, watching the shadow creature dance and wave.

“Pippistrella! Pippistrella, wake up!” she urged. “I need you to deliver a message to the rest of the league!”