Witchy Tales: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fairy Tale by Amanda M. Lee Page A

shrugged. I had no idea.
    “Clove,” Sam shouted. “Are you okay?”
    “Sam?” Clove’s voice was broken, as if she’d been crying. “Is that really you?”
    “It’s me.”
    “What are you wearing?”
    “He’s Pinocchio,” Thistle said, moving up to his side.
    “Holy Godiva! What are you wearing?” Clove asked, giggling maniacally. “You look … so stupid. What is that?”
    “The worst Halloween costume ever,” Thistle said, bitterly. “Bay and Landon woke up in their own clothes. Sam and I got stuck in this … crap.”
    “Bay and Landon?” Clove sounded hopeful. “We’re all here together?”
    “Yes, and we’re thrilled,” Landon said. He scanned the side of the tower. “This is really odd construction. Where’s the door?”
    “There is no door,” Clove said. “I’ve been searching for a way out for hours.”
    “Did you wake up there?” I asked.
    “Yes. I thought I was dreaming at first.”
    That was beginning to be our mantra.
    “Are you alone in there?” Landon asked.
    “Yes.”
    Well, that was something at least. “And you’re sure there’s no door or way out?” I asked, focusing on Clove’s terrified face. “How did you get in there if there’s no door?”
    “I just woke up here,” Clove snapped. “How am I supposed to know?”
    “This really isn’t bringing out the best in any of us,” Thistle said.
    “We’re all tired … and scared,” I said. I blew out a frustrated sigh. “Clove, maybe we can find something to pad the ground here and you can jump.”
    “Like what?” Thistle asked.
    “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Tree branches?”
    “I am not jumping from this high up. I’ll break my neck.”
    “She’s not jumping,” Sam agreed. “There has to be a … trick … to end this fairy tale.”
    Clove tilted her head to the side, confused. “Fairy tale?”
    “We’ve been cursed into fairy tales, or childhood stories, whatever you prefer,” I said. “I woke up with three talking bears. Landon played footsies with a mermaid. Thistle rode a turtle. And Sam, well, he’s obviously Pinocchio – complete with a growing nose when he lies.”
    “Fairy tales, huh?” Clove glanced back into the room.
    “I wasn’t telling big lies,” Sam said. “In fact, I was mostly being sarcastic.”
    Clove ignored him. “Aunt Tillie cursed us into fairy tales?”
    “That’s the theory we’re running on right now,” I said. “Why?”
    “Oh, just, well … .” Clove leaned down, her face disappearing from view. When she returned to the window she had something gathered in her arms. She dropped it out of the window, a long sheet of something that looked like fabric falling against the tower wall. “I guess being in a fairy tale explains this.”
    “What is that?” Sam asked, confused.
    “It’s hair,” Thistle said.
    “Oh, crap,” I muttered. “She’s Rapunzel.”
    The black hair was so long it almost reached the ground. It was only a few feet short.
    “Huh,” Landon said. “Now there’s something you don’t see every day.”
    “What are we going to do?” Sam asked.
    “I have no idea,” I said. “Does anyone remember how Rapunzel got out of the tower in the story?”
    “I never got that story,” Thistle said. “It never made sense to me. Still … I think the prince climbs her hair into the tower to rescue her, right?”
    “How does that work?” I asked. “If the prince climbs her hair, won’t that strand both of them in the tower?”
    “Maybe the fairy tale will end if we just get someone up there with her,” Thistle said.
    I shrugged. It was worth a shot. “I don’t see where we have a lot of other options. Someone has to climb the tower and get to Clove.”
    Landon blew a loud raspberry. “I guess that means I’m climbing the tower.”
    Sam grabbed his arm. “You? Why are you going to climb the tower to save my girlfriend?”
    “Because I’m … stronger.”
    “You don’t know that,” Sam said. “I work out three times