The Magic Watering Can Branding

t seemed that neither my friends nor Daniel liked kale.

Once they’d woken up, Chauncey offered each of them a sample of his breakfast specialty and they respectfully declined his offer just as I had. We all, however, gladly feasted on the bread and cheese he brought out. That, paired with the cup of coffee I’d been craving, really hit the spot.

When we were all fed, Chauncey proceeded to keep his promise and construct us a map of the Forbidden Forest. Before we left he gave us several more warnings about how “tree-stump stupid” it was for us to continue this journey. But these warnings, as he suspected, went unheeded. We trudged on.

Chauncey’s map proved to be extremely helpful as we ventured deeper into the Forbidden Forest. It marked all the paths we should take and, more importantly, the ones we should stay away from. This was a lucky break considering some of these paths hosted butterflies that fed on human hair, spontaneously appearing tar pits, and a clan of ten-foot-tall praying mantises wearing hats (i.e., a lot of things you generally wanted to avoid).

We hiked all day. Thanks to Chauncey’s map it was actually pretty pleasant, despite the lingering tension between SJ and me.

When this day, too, grew tired and the sun began to set somewhere in the distance, we came upon a wall of giant weeping willow trees. The branches were so thick and numerous that they shielded the area beyond like organic curtains.

We’d arrived.

“Now remember what Chauncey told us,” Blue cautioned before we continued. “There’s a new witch in town and apparently she’s not the most congenial. So we’ve gotta move quickly and quietly—get in and get out before she finds us. Got it?”

We nodded and began to move into the dense natural barrier.

After pushing through it for several minutes I began to wonder if we were lost. The willows went on for what felt like ages, and the further we delved in the harder it became to perceive anything but green around us. That is, until I saw a streak of orange sunlight flickering through some leaves ahead. I eagerly pulled the branch aside and there it was—the Valley of Edible Enchantments.

Before us lay a clearing designed by the gods; or rather, the gods’ personal chefs. There was an orchard at least a couple acres in length consisting of every possible fruit tree you could imagine. Pears, oranges, apples, lemons, and so on—each such a pure and shining shade of its individual color that from a distance the fruit looked like jewels.

Beside the orchard there was a garden producing vegetables just as bright and boldly-colored, which were planted in the straightest of parallel rows.

A series of cottages lined the edge of the Valley. They were simultaneously beautiful and weird and made my mouth water. One cottage appeared to be made entirely of cheeses. A second was constructed out of deli meats and was conveniently located next to a third cottage built from various types of bread.

Needless to say the prospect of making a sandwich out of the houses’ window frames was enticing. Especially given the pit in my stomach that had long digested Chauncey’s breakfast spread.

Regardless of these impulses, I stayed focused. Our target was not any one of these three cottages; the house we wanted was the fourth in the lineup. It was on the far right side of the Valley, and it was built entirely of sweets.

After reading Hansel & Gretel so many times growing up, I’d always thought I had a pretty good idea of what the witch’s enchanted gingerbread house looked like. But in truth, my previous mental picture was nothing compared to seeing the structure for real. This thing was seriously no joke.

The gingerbread roof was tiled by a rainbow array of gumdrops, which were cemented in place by white frosting. The bricks of the house were a mosaic of different colors of rock candy. Chocolate bar shutters shielded each window and were rimmed by large licorice window frames. Intricate gumdrop designs that matched the roof edged the cottage alongside bunches of marshmallow bushes. And the pathway leading up to the solid caramel door was lined with lollipops the size of my head, which sprouted from the ground like jumbo sunflowers.

It. Was. Awesome!

Our group made its way over to the house as swiftly as it could, treading lightly through the orchard and then across the garden.

I couldn’t help but notice SJ pause when we passed an apple tree in the orchard. The branches contained dozens upon dozens of the same type of enchanted ruby red apple that had been used to poison her mother, Snow White.

We’d always known that the cursed fruit from her mother’s story had come from the Valley of Edible Enchantments. But seeing it in real life had to be quite jarring for SJ. Right here was where they grew. This was where her evil step-grandmother had stood and selected the apple that would cause Snow White’s doom. And this was where one of our land’s most famous fairytales had been sealed and her mother’s legacy born.

It must’ve been a strange thing to behold, and I could only attempt to fathom what was running through her mind as she stared up at the ripening fruit.

Blue leaned over to me and whispered. “If those apples cause a sleeping curse, then what do you think the grapefruits in this orchard do?”

I shrugged and tilted my head toward Jason, who was ahead of us. “Can’t be any worse than what the beans do,” I whispered back.

We emerged from the orchard and began to walk through the garden, specifically past a plot where magic beans were flourishing.

I imagined the experience of running into the magical objects that defined Jason’s family heritage had a greater effect on him than the apples did on SJ. Not to underplay her psychological trauma or anything, but Jason had been alive to witness his brother Jack’s magic bean-induced adventure and its consequences, whereas SJ had not yet been born when her mother bit into the poisoned fruit.

Despite whatever degree my two friends were affected by their encounters with the magical edibles, they pushed past the shadows of fairytales gone by and continued to the doorstep of the candy cottage with the rest of us.

I nudged Blue. “You’re on.”

She nodded and twisted the chocolate chip cookie doorknob.

Immediately the smell of sugar hit us like a gust of wind. Everything inside the cottage was as sweet as that which made up its exterior. However, while the outside of the house had filled us with mouthwatering awe, the inside of the house was as creepy as an abandoned lighthouse. The sweetness in the air seemed more ironic than inviting.

“So what does it look like?” Jason asked as we started scoping out the candy-coated place.

“It should look like normal taffy,” Blue explained while she checked the contents of a few jars. “But, you know, more magical.”

Daniel started opening cabinets above the stove. “That’s not very much to go on,” he said. “There are different kinds of taffy in all of these. How will we know when we find it?”

“Oh, believe me, you’ll know.”

My blood froze. The voice that’d just spoken had been a girl’s voice, but Blue and SJ were both standing in front of me and neither of them had opened their mouths.

With trepidation we all looked around the room trying to find the source of the comment. It sounded like it had come from the bed against the back wall, so I drew my wand and tiptoed over.

There was definitely something big and clumpy concealed beneath the blanket. I promptly ripped the sheet from the bed, but merely revealed a giant sack of caramel corn lying on the mattress.

“Oh, come on, girlie. Did you really think it’d be that easy?”

I whirled around. There it was again—that high, almost childlike female voice. But where was it coming from?

Suddenly the chocolate bar blinders on the windows snapped closed. The door, too, shut on its own with a slam. On the right side of the room, the oven burst open and released a blast of flames so strong it caused half the frosting countertop to melt.

The gingerbread ceiling started to shake—cracks formed and threatened to cave in the entire roof. Fissures formed in the crumbling rock candy walls and spread quickly in every direction.

I thought we were about to be buried or eaten alive by the monstrous house when, as abruptly as it’d begun, the shaking stopped and everything became still. That is, until a moment later when the front door was kicked in and flew across the room.

Light streamed into the darkened house. On top of the crumbs of the fallen door walked a small girl in a white dress. She couldn’t have been more than twelve, and she had blonde curls and freckles gracing her rosy cheeks. She looked like an adorable, delicate child. Yet the way she strode confidently into the room with her eyes smiling wickedly told me she was anything but.

“Well, what do we have here? It’s been a while since anyone’s made it to the Valley for a magical food item,” she said as she marched toward us. “I’d be impressed that you made it through the Forbidden Forest if I wasn’t so averse to people trespassing on my property.”

Blue started to go for her knife, but the small girl reacted first. She waved her dainty hand and all of Blue’s weapons, along with Daniel’s sword, Jason’s axe, SJ’s slingshot and potions sack, and my wand shot against the back wall.

“Sillies. Only I decide when it’s play time around here.” She waved her hand again and Blue’s hunting knife bolted back across the room and levitated in front of our group. “Now then, who wants to go first?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” Blue said bluntly, “but you’re the witch that lives here?”

“Yes, well, Mummy’s Pure Magic had to go somewhere when she was killed, now didn’t it?” the witch replied.

“The witch that used to guard this place was your mother?” I heard myself asking in utter disbelief.

“That’s right,” the witch hissed as she gestured toward the kitchen area. “I was only a toddler when those sorry excuses for protagonists, Hansel and Gretel, shoved my mother into that oven. I had an aunt who lived in the bread house next door at the time, but she died about a year ago. Now I have both their powers and I look after the Valley in their place. So on that note, I’ll ask again—who wants to be first?”

The levitating knife pointed at each of us as its mistress posed her question. But no one had an answer for her. Instead, we just looked at one another in shared, silent agreement that none of us wanted to be the person to ask, “First for what?”

Soon the itty-bitty witch grew tired of waiting and summoned the knife to her hand. She began twirling the blade like a seasoned sous chef as she readdressed us.

“Let me spell it out for you,” she said. “Option one: I could kill all of you, which would be fun and everything, but even with magic I really hate cleaning up afterwards. Or we could go with option two and you could each give me something in exchange for your miserable lives.”

Blue stepped forward, completely unshaken. “What do you want, Tiny?”

Our blonde, bite-sized captor grinned maliciously and snapped her fingers. In response, a cabinet below the kitchen sink opened. From it emerged a red watering can, which floated over to our confrontation and levitated in midair—glowing so brightly it nearly blinded us.

“This Valley feeds on different kinds of strength,” explained the small enchantress. “And while a lot of that comes from the enchanted earth that naturally grows in this forest, the orchard and garden still crave an extra, outside boost of strength from time to time. That, kids, is where you come in. Every person has one vital quality, a piece of their personality that is the strongest part of who they are. It is what empowers them and gives them their root strength. Place your hand on the handle of this watering can and that part of you will be absorbed into it—providing me with fresh food for the plants outside. You five do that, and I’ll call us even. Don’t, and I’ll call for a mop to clean up the bloodshed.”

Although I was processing what the witch had said, I was more taken aback by the watering can floating in front of us. I’d seen that can before. At least, I was pretty sure that I had. It looked . . . it looked just like the one I’d envisioned in my—

“What happens to us?” Daniel asked the witch, pulling me back to the present.

“It’s not that complicated.” She shrugged. “That piece of your personality is sucked out, and for a couple of weeks you’ll simply act as if that element was not inside you at all.”

“A couple of weeks?” SJ repeated.

“Well, fourteen days to be precise,” the witch replied. “On day fifteen you’ll be back to normal, if the altered versions of yourselves haven’t killed each other by then. You’d be surprised how quickly people turn on one another when they’re not themselves. Although, if you’re not feeling this option I could just obliterate you where you stand . . .”

“But if we do this, you let us go?” I clarified. “And you’ll let us take what we came for?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s the same agreement I make with most people that come through here poking their noses through my stuff looking for magical help,” she answered. “Of course, very few people can actually give me the kind of strength I’m after, so I usually end up having to smite them anyways.”

‘Smite’? Really? This chick is twelve. I know she’s evil and apparently insane, but no kid that age should talk like a middle-aged dictator.

SJ raised her eyebrows, surprised by the witch’s comment. “I thought you said every person has one of these vital qualities, these root strengths.”

The witch rolled her eyes. “Ugh, I get so tired of explaining this every single time. Look, yes every person has a specific piece of their personality that gives them their internal strength. But if they haven’t realized what theirs is yet, or they’re suppressing it for some reason, then the watering can can’t absorb it and it’s as useless to me as it is to them.”

The dimming light pouring in from the doorway suddenly seemed to call the witch’s attention. The sun, wherever it was, had almost set. Sensing this, our captor responded by exhaling in a manner that indicated she was getting impatient and possibly in need of a nap before dinner.

“Well then,” she said as she cracked her neck. “You’re all starting to bore me and I want to get some unicorn hunting in before it gets too dark out. So let’s get on with this. You first, Pretty Pretty Princess.” She gestured to SJ. “What’ll it be: the watering can or a quick killing?”

SJ was clearly frightened, but what could she do? What could any of us do? It was either the can, or let this malevolent child execute us in the middle of her candied home.

My friend swallowed her nerves, reached out, and grasped the handle of the watering can. The instant she did, the thing glowed even brighter and SJ winced painfully as crimson light enveloped her hand and arm. It spread all the way up to her shoulder. As it did her hand started to wobble—not in a natural, jittery kind of way, but slowly and voluptuously like oil flowing through water.

When the effect receded and her arm was no longer bathed in crimson light, we were astonished to see that SJ’s hand looked like liquid metal. Shining and silvery, it stayed that way for a few moments as she gritted her teeth in pain. Then with a flash her skin returned to normal.

SJ released her grip from the watering can and took an unsteady step backward. I could hear her hand searing. It was like the sound of a fish in a pan of hot oil.

We all leaned over to get a better look at SJ’s hand and saw that the word “kindness” had been burned into the center of her palm. The word shimmered blood red for a moment before darkening like a tattoo—branded into her skin as a memory of the experience.

“Did it work?” I asked.

“Could you be any more stupid, Crisa?” SJ snapped. “Of course it worked. Are you really that dense, or are your trust issues messing with your head and keeping you from noticing the smell of my literally burning flesh?”

Okay, it definitely worked. While my best friend’s comment had been aimed at me, our entire group was shocked by the harshness of SJ’s words. They were completely incompatible with the sweet-natured temperament we’d always known her for.

Up ’til that point I couldn’t remember SJ saying an outright cruel thing in her life. Like, ever. But I gathered that was what the witch meant when she said once the source of our inner strength was absorbed into the watering can we would behave as if that part of our personality didn’t exist.

In other words, SJ’s greatest strength had been her kindness, and now that she was stripped of that, she was no longer kind in the slightest.

“The mark on her hand,” Jason said, gesturing to the word imprinted in SJ’s palm. “Is it permanent?”

“No,” the witch responded. “It’ll disappear after the fourteen days too. Now stop stalling. Who’s next?”

We hesitated.

“Need I remind you of the alternative?” she asked.

The witch waved her hand and our weapons flew forward and encircled our group with their respective blades aimed directly at us.

“I’ll go,” Blue said confidently.

The process with the watering can repeated itself. When it was complete I was horrified to see the word “fearless” burned into my friend’s hand.

It was obvious that this was the internal strength that gave Blue her power. Unfortunately, I was immediately put off when I realized this meant she was now full of fear.

Jason went next and was branded “selfless.”

I’d never really paid much attention to this defining quality of his. But it did make sense when I thought about it. He was always putting others before himself. He’d even set aside his own feelings over Mark’s disappearance so our group could continue with its mission. However, now that his selflessness had been thoroughly absorbed by the can, I gathered his personality was about to take a very abrupt selfish turn.

Next in the line-up came Daniel. I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t super interested to see what word the watering can branded him with. This would finally reveal something about him—something big and important that might solve the endless riddle of who he was.

Regrettably, the king of cryptic-ness was one step ahead of me. Not only did he use his less-dominant, left hand to grasp the can, but the second he removed it from the handle he balled it into a fist before any of us could see what had been imprinted there.

The others were still too drained from their ordeals to care, so I was the only one frustrated by his resolute secrecy.

It was finally my turn to face the watering can. So I stepped forward and grabbed hold of its handle—ready for whatever would come. What I got, though, was seriously anticlimactic.

The can’s glow spread over my arm. But I didn’t feel the same level of pain my friends had felt. Frankly, I’d experienced more potent high-fives than this. For all the watering can’s supposed dark magic, the weird burning episodes I sometimes experienced in my hands were twenty times more severe.

These burning episodes happened at random times, like on our bedroom balcony the first day back at school or by the fountain the night of the ball in Adelaide. They were absolutely awful, and felt like I was holding fire. This watering can, meanwhile, felt more like touching ice. When the magic glow left my arm, its touch merely emulated the aftereffects of rubbing menthol on your skin.

At that point my hand turned to liquid metal, but it snapped back to normal almost instantly. I removed my grip from the watering can to learn what quality I’d been stripped of, but there was no word imprinted on my palm. Instead there was a glittering, blurry, scarlet blob, which flickered and faded into an unattractive splotch on my skin that looked like smudged ink. Stranger still, I didn’t feel any different. For better or worse, all of my personality felt intact.

“What happened?” I asked as I looked my hand over.

The witch snapped her fingers and the watering can flew to her. She shook it for a second then shrugged. “It couldn’t take anything from you. You’re not finished yet.”

“What do you mean I’m not finished?” I asked, kind of insulted.

“It’s like I said before,” the witch responded. “You, like all people, have a source of internal strength. But you haven’t yet fully realized the specific trait that gives you your strength, so the watering can can’t take it from you.”

“And the blob on my hand?”

“Just a side-effect,” the witch explained. “If you ever figure out what your strength is and quit suppressing it, the right word will appear on your hand like it did for your friends minus the whole ‘watering can strips you of the quality for two weeks’ thing. Sadly, I doubt you’ll ever reach that day.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because unless you can give me something else of value, I still have to kill you. Rules are rules, and what kind of person would I be if I broke my own?”

“She has magical powers,” Jason abruptly piped in.

“Jason!” I snapped.

“What? I am not getting killed because of you, Crisa. Just give the girl your magic so I can get out of here in one piece.”

Great. Unkind SJ has me on her hate list, and now selfish Jason is ready to throw me to the wolves at the drop of a hat if it means bettering his own odds.

“Relax,” our tiny captor said. “I don’t want your magic. For starters, magic I’ve got. And second, magic isn’t strength; it’s power. There’s a huge difference. Any fool can have power. Strength, however, is something special. So as I was saying, unless you have something else of value to offer . . .”

She motioned with her hand and an invisible force grabbed me by the throat and threw me against the back wall. I struggled against it, but was unable to break free. My attempts to do so only made the little witch snicker.

“You princess types are too easy,” she said. “Such damsels; it’s almost not even worth my time to kill you.”

The force from the witch’s push had caused my satchel to slip off my shoulder. It fell to the floor with a thud and the magic mirror I’d been carrying around tumbled out.

The little witch’s eyes widened when she saw it—the beautiful relic from Beauty & the Beast that my friends and I had taken from the Treasure Archives earlier in the month. We’d borrowed it from the Treasure Archives to find Emma; its powers allowed you to see and hear anybody whose name you spoke into its looking glass.

Originally we’d intended to put it back after getting the information we needed. Unfortunately, that same night someone else broke into the Archives after us and stole the replacement mirror we’d left as a decoy, along with three other items: Aladdin’s empty genie lamp, the corset used to poison Snow White before the apple, and the enchanted pea from The Princess & the Pea. As a result, we’d decided to keep the mirror with us to prevent it from being stolen by whoever wanted it. We figured that until the culprit of the other items was caught, it was safer in our possession. Alas, this no longer seemed to be the case.

Holding one hand in the air to keep me pinned to the wall, the witch motioned to the mirror with the other. It levitated across the room. When it reached her, she examined it with great care.

“You have a Mark One!” she exclaimed.

“A what?” Daniel asked.

“A Mark One magic mirror, you dolt,” she scorned, gesturing at the engraving on the back of the mirror. “I thought they’d all been destroyed ages ago . . . Do you have any idea what one of these is worth?”

“It’s not ours to give,” Blue blathered nervously. “See, we only borrowed it from our school. We were going to put it back. Now we’re just sort of holding onto it to protect it from whoever was really trying to steal it. But we have to take it back eventually otherwise we’ll get in serious trouble and—”

“Blue, shut up!” SJ barked. She whipped her head around. “You can have it,” she told the witch.

“SJ, we can’t—” I started to say. But then the witch tightened her fist, magically squeezing my windpipe shut.

She levitated me forward then released me from the chokehold when I was three feet in front of her. My body dropped to the ground. I coughed violently as air returned to my lungs.

The witch smiled and patted me on the head. “Thank you very much, Crisanta Knight. I accept your offering and will gladly take this mirror off your hands as payment for my hospitality.”

I looked up at her in surprise. “How?” I choked. “How do you know my name?”

“I got a message from some friends in Alderon to be on the lookout. Let’s just say you’re lucky I’m more interested in feeding my garden than I am in the going rate for the head of some stupid teenager.”

“Alderon?” I repeated.

That must’ve been where Arian and his lackeys were getting their orders from. Which meant that’s where this Nadia chick was too.

It made sense, I supposed. The desolate kingdom of Alderon was where our realm’s officials and Fairy Godmothers imprisoned any antagonists they caught—depositing them indefinitely within its one-way In and Out Spell border.

But if Arian was originally from Alderon, how had he and his followers managed to escape its boundaries to come after me and the other protagonists? And of all the potentially powerful main characters out there, why did they seem so adamant about wanting me dead?

It had to be more than my lame prologue prophecy. Unless they knew something about it that I didn’t.

I thought back to what Arian had said in Century City: “Oh, you poor, dumb princess. You really have no idea, do you?”

What if he was right? What if there was something about my prologue prophecy that I was missing? What if there was more to it than I knew?

If this was the case, I had no way to verify it. The only thing I could garner in that moment was that my prophecy must’ve been really important to the antagonists. Otherwise why else would word of their mission have made it all the way from their blocked-off kingdom on the outskirts of the realm to the middle of the Forbidden Forest?

“Here,” the witch said curtly, interrupting my train of thought with another wave of her hand. “You said you wanted taffy, right?”

The top cabinet on the left flew open. Inside there were several jars of the blue, sticky candy. “I assume you mean saltwater taffy,” the witch said. “It’s the only kind I have that’s of any use. One bite and you’ll be able to breathe underwater for up to four hours without resurfacing.”

“Yeah,” I said, standing and dusting myself off. “That’s the stuff.”

“Good,” the witch responded. “Then take what you came for before I change my mind. And get out.”

Like the others, I tore my attention away from the witch and moved for the kitchen cabinet. I opened a jar and each of us shoved a piece of the candy into our pockets.

This enchanted saltwater taffy was just what we needed to breathe underwater, find Ashlyn, and hopefully retrieve whatever “Heart of the Lost Princess” Emma’s list had been referring to.

By the time we turned back to where the small devil had been standing, she’d vanished without a trace.

Everything seemed colder in her absence. Even the wind had picked up. It blew open the chocolate window shutters with a great deal of ominous force.

After we’d gathered our weapons from the back of the room and made our way outside, that same wind caused the branches of the weeping willows on the edge of the Valley to sway. The motion created an unsettling effect, which was enhanced by the gloom of nightfall and the clouds that had rolled in. They were thick and stormy, concealing every star behind fifteen shades of gray.

SJ rammed into my shoulder, knocking me out of my thoughts. “Stop admiring the scenery, Crisa. We have to go. There will be more time for you to be enigmatic and self-indulgent later, I am sure.”

Wow, okay. Unkind SJ is so not going to be fun.

Still, my feelings for her new state aside, something told me she was right about us needing to go. Whatever other surprises the Forbidden Forest held likely didn’t get any better after dark.

We followed Chauncey’s map as best as we could when we left the Valley, but it became next to impossible to read in the dismal light.

As we continued to fumble along the darkening paths of the Forbidden Forest, it was probably for the best that we didn’t say much to each another. None of us were ourselves.

Well, except for me. But apparently I’m “not finished,” so what the heck do I know?

The only sounds we heard came from Blue and SJ. Blue released periodic squeaks of terror whenever a twig snapped beneath her feet or a wandering animal scampered out of a bush and startled her. SJ would then mercilessly shush Blue in response. Of the two, it was hard to say which sound was more difficult to take.

Daniel, meanwhile, appeared reluctant to open his mouth at all—probably afraid that he might say something that would give away the secret he was concealing within his hand.

Maybe I should go over there and try and trick him into revealing what he’s hiding? Or maybe I could just run up to him and unclench his fist by force to see for myself.

Both seemed like plausible plans, but my further formulation of their execution was cut short. A deafening howl pierced the woods, tearing through the silence.

Blue quivered nervously. “Wh-what was that?” she asked.

“It was nothing,” I said, trying to reassure her.

“No, no,” Blue insisted. “There’s something out there! You’re lying!”

“It would not be the first time,” SJ huffed.

Blue’s eyes darted around. “What does that mean? What’s out there? Oh, we’re all doomed, aren’t we?”

“Shut up, Blue!” SJ ordered.

“Whoa,” I interjected. “Cool it, SJ. That watering can is messing with her head and with yours. So just calm down, okay?”

“Guys,” Daniel said, trying to get our attention.

“Do not tell me to cool it, Crisa,” SJ snapped. “Do not tell me to do anything. We are here because of you and your big ideas. Neither of which I care for at the moment since you cannot even be honest about—”

“Guys,” Daniel repeated.

“What?” SJ and I shouted in unison.

Then we saw it. A gigantic wolf was leering at us from atop a nearby hill. He slowly descended through the tree-entwined slope, making his way toward our group. The creature’s eyes were glowing green and his twenty-foot long body was a carpet of thick, black fur that was almost flawlessly camouflaged with the darkness.

Blue screamed. Jason took out his axe. I stood frozen.

“We can take him,” Daniel said a bit unsteadily.

The raised hairs on the back of my neck made me think otherwise. As did the three other, equally large wolves that suddenly emerged from the trees and began to encircle us.

“You want to rethink that statement?” I muttered.

I began to feel nostalgic for the fire-breathing chipmunks.

The wolf closest to me snarled malevolently. He was a mere five feet away. He was so close, in fact, that I was able to see my reflection in his eyes like a shimmering bullseye. As he bared his fangs—sharp like daggers and white like moonlight—all I could think was:

My, what big teeth you have . . .