The Wizard's Map by Jane Yolen Page A

forest in a garden?”
    At the sound of his voice, the little white cat suddenly took off, straight into the woods, between two enormous, brooding trees.
    Peter stopped, waiting for Jennifer to catch up with him, which she did within five steps. But instead of stopping, she passed right by him and plunged after the white cat through the dark trees.
    Reluctantly, Peter had to follow.

Thirteen
The Summer hoose
    As soon as they got into the woods, day became dark. There were only occasional shafts of light filtering down from infrequent breaks in the green canopy above. They had to blunder along, pushing through interlacings that were filled with things that scratched and stung their hands or slapped at their faces, for the forest was trackless.
    Once Jennifer thought she saw a small green snake with jeweled scales cross in front of her. Another time a dragonfly the size of a hair clip hovered on faceted wings by her face.
    Peter kept seeing the liquid shine of unblinking eyes, some round as quarters, some slotted like splinters of steel, staring out at him from the brush.
    They were both afraid, but still they kept on, even more afraid to stop now that they had started. They worried about Molly and what the wizard would do with her; they worried about the disappearance of the grown-ups. But they did not worry about themselves. They felt they were somehow armored against the magic, for hadn’t Jennifer already defeated the wizard once?
    So they continued following the white cat, which—whenever they fell behind even the slightest bit—would stop and lick its fur until they caught up again.
    â€œWhere ... are ... we?” Peter said after about ten minutes of difficult slogging through the underbrush. He was breathing heavily between each word.
    â€œIn ... the ... woods,” Jennifer answered, not bothering to either stop or turn around. She had as litde breath as Peter.
    â€œI know that!” His voice followed after her, full of exasperation; and he added, all in one big rush, “We must be going around in circles, Jen. There can’t be this much forest in a walled garden.”
    She was about to turn on him and say something just as exasperated back, when they stumbled into the little glade. It was shimmering in full sunshine, and motes of light danced about like insects. Or fairies.
    In the center of the glade was the litde summer hoose. The white cat, curled in a corner of the front step, was once again fast asleep.
    â€œOh, Jen!” Peter said. “You were right. About the garden and the house.”
    She bit back a sharp reply and held up the key. “Do you want to open the door and go in first, or should I?”
    ***
    All their combined courage, suddenly and without warning, seemed to leak away.
    Jennifer fumbled with the key and couldn’t seem to get it into the keyhole. Peter leaned halfway over, hands on knees, as if trying to catch his breath. And when the key finally fit the hole and was turned, the door creaked open—with that awful squeaking sound that signals horrors to come in a movie.
    Neither one of them moved forward.
    â€œI’ll go ..” Jennifer said, but didn’t.
    â€œNo, I’ll...” Peter started, then stopped.
    The white cat stood, stretched slowly, and arched its back. Then it brushed past Jennifer’s legs, its tail tickling against her right calf, and stalked into the summer hoose, leaving them both behind.
    Peter looked at Jennifer and she looked back. They shrugged away any lingering fears and followed the white cat into the little house.
    Molly was sitting on a canopy bed that occupied the center of the room, looking dazed in a white bridal dress and veil. Beside her were Gran and Mom, and they were dressed the same. In Molly’s lap was the doll, which now had hair as red as Jennifer’s, peeking out beneath a veil.
    And slumped in wicker cages hanging from the cottage ceiling were Da and Pop.
    Jennifer and Peter gasped