Chapter Two

I spent the rest of the afternoon visiting my favourite places in the swamp. Following hidden pathways, I skirted the treacherous, boggy ground until I reached solid footing. After searching the thicket where I'd stumbled across twin fawns earlier that spring, I lounged by the deep pool that mirrored the drifting, puffball clouds. A the day grew warmer, I took off my shoes and stockings and waded through a shallow stream to a tiny island whose smooth, water-tumbled pebbles felt good under my bare feet.

It was late by the time I returned to the castle. Rather than going straight to my bedchamber, I climbed the long, narrow steps to my aunt Grassina's apartments. The Green Witch, as she is called, is my mother's sister and has lived in the castle since before I was born. She has taught me more that anyone else ever has and not just about how to be a princess. And unlike the rest of my family, she doesn't criticize me at every opportunity. Reaching the top of the stairs, I knocked softly on the door and waited for her to answer. Somehow, she always knows who is knocking. She's told me how useful a skill that is, because she doesn't have to answer the door if it's someone she doesn't want to see. After only a few seconds the door flew open, but instead of my aunt's familiar features I saw a yellow duckling drop a gnawed stick and rush out of the room to snap at my ankles.

"Come back here, Bowser!" my aunt called from inside the room. "I'm not finished with you yet!"

The duckling darted back and forth, quacking loudly as it herded me over the threshold.

"Shut the door, Emeralda!" shouted my aunt from her seat by her workbench. "That stupid dog won't hold still long enough for me to finish the spell!"

"This is Bowser!" I asked, trying to fend off the ball of fluff that was viciously attacking the toe of my shoe. "Father won't be happy that you turned his favourite hound into a duck."

"Duck, dog, what's the difference? Bowser will be his miserable self again faster than you can say the Greek alphabet backward. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Here, sprinkle some of this on him while I find the spell again."

"What, me? I can't!" I backed away from her outstretched hand. "I'll make a mess of it! Remember that time with the crab apple dumplings?" After I had used that spell to make them, they grew claws and ran away. It took us weeks to find the crabby little things, and by then they were stale and their claws had pinched us black and blue.

"Phooey," said aunt Grassina. "Everybody makes mistakes."

"But not the kind I make! I used that cleaning spell you told me about nearly four months ago and it's still as strong as ever! Every time I drop anything on the floor in my chamber, a little breeze whisks it away and dumps it on the dung heap behind the stables. You wouldn't believe how many stockings and hairpins I've lost that way! I can't do magic anymore. I just make things worse when I do."

"How do you ever think you'll be a witch if you don't try?"

"I don't want to be a witch!" I said for the hundredth time. "I know you think I should, but I'd be terrible at it. If I should mess up such simple cooking and cleaning spells, imagine what I could do with something really important. We could all end up with three left feet or stuck head-down in some dessert!"

"Oh, Emma! Of course you want to be a witch! You just don't know it yet. Give yourself some time and a little more practice. I'm sure you'll be very good at it once you decide to apply yourself. Now, where is that parchment? I know I put it around here somewhere."

I left my aunt shuffling through a stack of old, musty parchments and headed toward my favourite chair in front of the fireplace. The truth was, I used to dream about being a witch like Grassina, but to try so hard for so long and never have anything go right … I slumped into the chair and closed my eyes, letting my bad day melt away in the peace of Grassina's room.

The difference between my aunt's room and the rest of the castle was wonderful. Whereas the castle itself was cold and damp and generally gloomy, Grassina's room was warm and inviting. A small fire always burned behind the decorated iron grate, heating the entire room, yet never needing new logs. Gleaming balls of witches' light bumped against the ceiling, bathing the white-washed walls and brightly coloured tapestries with a rosy glow. The cold stones were covered with thick, woven rugs of various shades of green, giving it the appearance of a forest floor dappled with sunlight. Sometimes the room smelled of freshly crushed mint leaves, or pine boughs like the ones used to decorate the Great Hall during the winter celebrations, or sun-warmed clover on a summer's day.

Two chairs cushioned for comfort and separated by a small table waited in front of the hearth. A fragrant bouquet of crystalline flowers bloomed in an etched bowl atop the table. A gift from the fairies, the bouquet was the home to glass butterflies whose delicate wings clicked softly as they flitted from one blossom to another. I'd spent many hours curled up in one of the chairs while my aunt occupied the other. She had told me stories of far-off lands and times long ago.

There were many wonders to be found in my aunt's room. One of her tapestries depicted a miniature town in perfect detail with a lion and unicorn fighting each other in the streets.  Once, when I had touched the lion with my fingertip, it bit me, taking a small sliver of skin from my finger. I howled as tears streamed down my face. My mother cuffed me for lying, but Grassina winked and wrapped my wound in spider's silk.

A sea witch named Coral had given Grassina a large bowl filled with salt water and the tiny replica of a castle, spires and all. The castle was perfect in every detail, and occasionally I'd see schools of miniature fish swimming by.

Sometimes, when I'd visit after the sun had set, I'd see lights glowing in the tiny windows of the castle. Even so, I never would have thought it more than an interesting curiosity if I hadn't come to visit my aunt one winter's afternoon when I was nine or so. Having taken longer than usual to answer my knock, she came to the door with dripping hair and a cloth she was using to dry it. The entire room smelled strongly of fish, but when I asked what she'd been doing, she smiled and left the room to change her clothes. As I moved to warm my hands by the fireplace, I stepped in a damp patch on the floor and thought that the salt water in the bowl had overflowed. Glancing at the bowl, I saw a flash of silver and blue. I hurried closer to peer into the bowl, just as the diminutive figure of a mermaid reached one of the tiny doors. Jerking the door open, she turned to look over her shoulder and saw me. Her eyes grew wide in alarm and she darted through the opening, slamming the door behind her. I began to think that the bowl might contain more than it appeared.

The duckling quacked, a surprising sound in the quiet room. I opened my eyes and sat up, turning toward my aunt Grassina. She was perched on a tall stool facing a massive wooden table, ignoring the duckling as it gnawed on the table leg. An old quill pen stuck out of Grassina's thick chestnut hair, the same colour as mine.

I've been told that Grassina and I look much alike, but whereas her nose is thin and refined, mine is prominent like my father's. Her eyes are green, a shade or two lighter than my own. Grassina's smile is beautiful on the rare occasion when she treats us to one. However, her smile never seems to reach her eyes. My old nanny, long since retired, told me that Grassina was quite cheerful in her youth, but that time and my grandmother had taken their toll.

Grassina always wears green and her gown on this day was the colour of summer moss. Shapeless and loose, it had no certain style, hanging limply from her tall frame. My aunt always dressed as she pleased, never worrying about what others may think. My mother never lets me forget that a princess is always on display.

I watched as Grassina, caught up in her work, used both hands to hold a partially unrolled parchment. Other parchments littered the table and spilled onto the floor. The last rays of the setting sun slanted through the window to pool on the surface of the table and turn her farseeing ball, just like the one she'd given me, into a dazzling sphere of light. A small apple-green snake lay coiled among the parchments, soaking up the sun's warmth.

"What are those for?" I asked. I hopped out of my chair and crossed the room to stand beside my aunt. The snake raised its head and flicked its tongue in my direction. Shuddering, I stepped back a pace or two. Although the creature had lived with my aunt for many years, I had never grown used to its presence. There were few things I feared in the world more than snakes, regardless of their temperament or type.

"I was cataloguing my parchments when I came across the spell for ducklings. I thought I'd try it out and Bowser just happened to be handy. Now, where is that spell? I know it was in one of these."

"How did I get two of the same thing?" Grassina muttered, dropping the parchment on the table after looking it over a second time. "So," she said, turning around in her seat and raising an eyebrow. "I have a feeling you have a question for me. You do have a question, don't you?"

"Have you ever turned anyone into something like, say, a frog?"

"Certainy, human-to-frog is a simple spell and easy to remember. I've used it many times myself. Why do you ask?"

"I've met a frog who claims to be a prince, and I was wondering if he might be telling the truth."

"Now, that would be hard to say. He could be a prince, but then again he could simply be a talking frog. Some witches have strange senses of humour. I should know."

"Say he is a prince. What would he have to do to go back to being a human?"

"That depends on the witch who cast the spell. But whatever it takes, she would have had to tell him. The spell won't work if there is no remedy or if she doesn't tell him what it is. However, the usual method involves asking a maiden, preferably a princess, for a kiss. I'm surprised you didn't know that. When I was young, kissing a frog was the only way some girls got dates. I myself spent too much time searching ponds and marshes for frogs to kiss. Of course, I was looking for one in particular at the time."

"You mean Haywood, your old beau?"

"You remember that story, do you? Yes, it's true. After I took him home to meet your grandmother, she took a dislike to him and he disappeared for good. I was convinced that she'd turned him into a frog. Your grandmother was never a very imaginative person. But try as I did, I never found my darling Haywod. I'd given up eating and sleeping and spent all of my time searching the swamp, kissing every frog I could catch. My mother finally made me stop by threatening to lock me in an abandoned tower in the middle of nowhere unless I returned to my studies. He wasn't just my beau, you know. We were engaged to be married. He was the only man I've ever loved."

"So to turn a frog back into a prince …", I said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Oh, yes, well, it doesn't have to be a kiss. It could be anything, within limits. If a spell were too easy to break, it wouldn't be strong enough to last. If breaking it were impossible, it would go against the natural laws of magic and also wouldn't last. There is a certain degree of fairness involved, you know. Speaking of fairness, do you think that you were being fair when you took off this morning, leaving me to deal with your mother? Chartreuse was madder than a wet peacock when no one could find you. I told her I had sent you on an errand, so now she's angry with me again."

Sorry about that," I said, avoiding her eyes. "And thank you for covering for me. Mother had invited Prince Jorge to visit. Jorge spends all of his time bragging and acting as if I don't exist. I didn't see why I needed to be there. Jorge never talks to me anyway. As far as he's concerned, I might as well be a piece of furniture."

Bowser was scratching at my aunt's skirts with his webbed foot while making an odd whining sound. When she ignored him, he wandered off and attacked the table leg, his little bill clacking against the wood.

"Well, I don't mind this time," Grassina told me, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes, "but you'll have to face the music one of these days. I won't always be around to cover for you like I was today. It's getting late and I doubt you've had a thing to eat. You'd better go get yourself something from the kitchen. I don't have time to cook for you and I'll never get anything done with you here distracting me. Now, where did I put that parchment?"

Text © E.D. Baker
Jacket photo © Corbis Images, designed by Sharon Murray Jacobs