The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [58]
A second voice gave a low chortle. “Honey, food is delicious. You want to come as an ugly stepsister or an iced cake?”
I froze. Why was Stonewall hiding in the library with Bergdorf? Why was he talking to her like he used to talk to us? I leaned my forehead against The Mortal’s Guide to Immortal Beings and listened.
“I’m thinking black and red,” Stonewall went on, “with a black wig and lots of makeup. The point is to look scary, not ridiculous.”
“But Tiffany said—”
“And Tiffany is your best friend ever, isn’t she?” Stonewall murmured understandingly.
“Yes.” Bergdorf’s voice was sad.
“And always gives you good advice?”
A little pause. “Ye-es,” Bergdorf said, a little doubtfully.
“And never, never gets you into trouble or asks you to do something you don’t want to do?”
This pause was longer, ending in a soft noise that sounded a lot like crying.
I thought Stonewall would laugh, but he didn’t. “Here, take my handkerchief,” I heard him say.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I peered around the edge of the bookcase.
Bergdorf was blowing her nose into Stonewall’s white handkerchief. He was patting her shoulder. He looked almost as miserable as she did. Sympathy was one mortal custom none of us was very good at.
I delurked.
“Where’s Tiffany, Bergdorf?”
It came out louder than I’d intended. Bergdorf stared up at me like a cornered rabbit, Stonewall’s handkerchief pressed to her lips. Stonewall frowned and held up one finger. We all waited, but nothing happened.
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Answer me!”
“I don’t know?” Bergdorf wavered.
I snorted. Quietly.
“If you were made of wood, your nose would be three feet long,” I said nastily. “Tiffany didn’t even go to the girls’ room without you. She needs you to tell her how clever and brave and cool she is.”
Bergdorf’s eyes narrowed angrily. “I don’t know where she is, as it happens. But I wouldn’t tell you if I did, Wild Child, not even if you tortured me, which I wouldn’t put past you. It’s all your fault anyway.” Her voice started to break up again. “Ever since you made Tiffany fall off that beam, she’s been like a crazy person. Well, you know what? I hope you get eaten by ogres and Central Park withers away and all its Folk have to go live in New Jersey!”
Her voice was definitely entering the Librarian danger zone. Stonewall put his hand over her mouth. Silence. Stonewall lowered his hand. Bergdorf crossed her arms across her stomach, curled up like an armadillo, and made painful little mewing noises.
Oddly enough, I didn’t find this even remotely funny.
Stonewall gave me a strange half smile. “Is this Park diplomacy, Wild Child? A little heavy-handed, don’t you think? If I were you, I’d leave before the Librarian wakes up and makes us reshelve all the books.”
I would have liked to snap him a cool line to show how little I cared. But I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I slunk back to the front of the room and peered around a shelf to see if the coast was clear.
The library cat looked straight at me with clear amber eyes. My heart stopped. It yawned, then sank its chin back onto the sleeping Librarian’s shoulder.
As I crept out the door, I could just hear Bergdorf’s sobbing.
I hated her. I hated everybody. I especially hated me.
Chapter 17
RULE 125: STUDENTS MUST TREAT ONE ANOTHER AS THEY WOULD WISH TO BE TREATED THEMSELVES.
Miss Van Loon’s Big Book of Rules
That night at the Castle, I announced to Astris that I was going to Miss Van Loon’s Hallowe’en Revels dressed as Peg Powler.
She freaked, as Espresso would say, far out.
“Oh, no, no, no, pet! What can you be thinking? Peg Powler rides with the Wild Hunt. She’s mean and ugly and hungry all the time. Wouldn’t you rather be something sweet and pretty?” Her whiskers twitched thoughtfully. “A wood nymph, maybe.”
“Mean and ugly is what Hallowe’en’s about,” I said.
“We learned about it at school. When you make fun of scary things, you make them less scary.