“Neither am I.”
“I am not climbing down from the window, either. You are lucky you didn’t break your neck.”
“Neither am I.” Now he was smiling.
“What is so funny?”
“Will you come if I can find another way out, besides the two ways you just said? Not climbing, not walking.”
“Are you saying you can find Vanity’s secret passage?”
“Is it a deal? I put on your clothes, you follow me?”
“What do I have to lose? Sure.”
He slipped on one of my ratty old sweatshirts and a pair of bulky sweatpants. Like I said, he is shorter than me, and the pants fit him just fine.
He slung his huge cloak over his shoulders with a rustle. “Do you have a silk scarf anywhere in your clothing?”
I opened a drawer, took out a long white scarf, and handed it over.
He said, “Turn around.”
I turned my back to him.
He wound the scarf once and twice over my eyes and around my head, tying it in the back with a big loose knot.
“I can still see down my nose,” I said. There was a little crack of light between my cheek and the bottom of the scarf.
“I am not going to throw a pillowcase over your head,” he said.
“Use my goggles,” I said. I waved a hand in the direction I thought was the upper shelf of the wardrobe.
I heard a rustling, and, a moment later, felt him put my lucky aviatrix cap over my head, scarf and all, and put the goggles over my eyes. He adjusted the strap in back. The padding around the lenses was tight against my eyesockets, and held the scarf in place. It was opaque.
“Now what?” I said.
He put one arm around my waist, the other under my knees, and swept me off my feet.
“Careful!” I said. “You are going to hurt your back!”
He said, annoyed, “I am not weak, Amelia. Just short.”
I put my arms around his shoulders. There really was no other place for me to put my hands. He hoisted my knees up, and my hip was resting slightly above his crotch. My bottom was just hanging in midair, surrounded by uncomfortable folds of nightgown stuffed into a jeans waistband. His arms did seem to be plenty strong.
“Now what?” I said.
“Now you trust me, and stay quiet. They are very shy, and they disappear if you look at them.”
He grunted, hoisted me higher, so that my hip was level with his chest, and he took a step up. Then he straightened.
For a moment I could not think of what he was standing on. What was in the room that was a foot or so high, and would support our weight? I assumed it was the hope chest I keep at the foot of my bed.
Another step. I supposed we were on the bed, but why hadn’t the sheets rustled when he stepped on them? Also, had he stepped onto a soft surface, I would have expected him to sink.
A third step. Where was he? Standing on the headboard?
A fourth. Maybe I had been wrong about where we started. Could he be climbing from one shelf to another in the wardrobe? Only if the wardrobe were tilted back at an angle would he have room.
I heard the window slide up. Both his hands were still on me. I felt the ice-cold air flow over me, freezing. How had he opened the window?
I said, “Quentin. You’re not going to jump! Put me…”
He kissed me.
Warm, passionate, firm. No apology, no hesitation. Just his lips on mine.
I waited till he was done, and then I slapped him.
He said, “Whoa!” and his grip tightened on my shoulders and knees.
We were standing on the ledge of the window, I knew. I raised my hands to pull off the goggles, but he sort of pushed my shoulders and knees together, crunching me into a ball, while at the same time he put his cheek against my cheek, to prevent me from getting at the blindfold.
I made my fingers into claws and pulled on his hair, trying to get his face out of my face.
He wobbled.
I held still. He was balanced on a ledge, after all.
He said, “Could you let go of my hair, Amelia?”
I said, “I was saving that kiss. That was my first kiss. Now you’ve ruined it.”
He said, “Could you… please… let go of my hair, Amelia?”
I said, “I am taking at least half of your scalp with me, you little twerp.”
He said, “It is really quite painful.”
I said, “I hope I am drawing blood.”
He wobbled again. “Don’t say such things. It is just as bad for us if they start giggling.”
“Put me down.”
“Let go of my hair, and I will put you down.”
“Put me down, and I will think about letting go of your hair.”
He lowered his left hand, releasing my knees. I felt a surface underneath my boot toes. Then I remembered how narrow the ledge was on which we were standing. With a little yelp, I put my boots right up against his shoes, and grabbed him around the shoulders, pulling myself close to him.
His arms came up under my arms, as if he were a man about to embrace his lover. I was too afraid to push him away, for fear that we would both fall three stories to our doom.
But he was not hugging me. He gently tugged the buckle holding the goggles. They slid loosely around my neck. He pushed back my cap, so it hung by its chin-strap. He plucked at the knot holding the scarf.
I blinked in the sudden moonlight.
4.
We were on a rooftop. We were standing on a scaffolding. Underfoot was a sea of tiles. To our left and right, dormer windows peered West toward the main Manor House. Before us and above us rose the dome of the Great Hall. Little round windows, piercing the base of the dome, were ablaze with light. There was a noise of voices issuing up from below us. There was a metal door, built on an acute slope like the door to a cellar, abutting the dome.
I looked left and right in wonder. Then I realized I was still hugging Quentin, staring at the scene over the top of his brown hair.
I stepped back, and slapped him again. This time, I could put my shoulder into it, and it was a solid blow.
He staggered, winced, and rubbed his jaw. He said, “If you had said ‘put me down,’ they would have dropped us. That’s why I kissed you. You didn’t need to slap me twice.”
I said, “The second time was for a different reason. My first flight through the air! My first time flying, and I missed it!”
He rubbed his jaw and said nothing.
I said, “I was expecting a sensation of motion.”
“The air moves with us. There’s no wind.” He bent down, and picked up his walking stick, which just happened to be lying at his feet.
“So you really are a magician.”
He snorted. “Don’t be an ass, Amelia. There is no such thing as magic. This is the One True Science.”
