Fair Peril Read Online Free PDF Page A

memorized and told or stories she saw in tabloids or something that had happened to her at the supermarket or the story of her life—Prentis had not wanted to listen. Her children—Marjorie, married now and living in Wisconsin; Curtis, finishing college; Emily—even before they had reached their teens, they had not wanted to listen. Kids at schools and birthday parties squirmed, wanted to play video games, listened only because the adults made them, as if stories were spinach, good for you. Even the mirror on Buffy’s bathroom wall listened only with a cynical glint.
    But Adamus had listened raptly, with eyes that shone like the night.
    Buffy did not know what to say. “Do you want your supper now?” she blurted.
    â€œNo, thank you. I do not need to eat every day. I could not eat now. Your tale is ringing in me.”
    Buffy sat dumb with gratification.
    Adamus said, “It is not a tale I have heard before. Where did you come by it?”
    â€œI made it up.”
    â€œYou made that? But—but it echoes like bells no mortal should hear.”
    The frog’s praise and astonishment were genuine, warm, yet Buffy flashed cold. Bells no mortal should hear? Overstatements like that scared her. “It’s just a story,” she mumbled.
    â€œJust a story? Is ‘Cinderella’ just a story? Is ‘Beauty and the Beast’—”
    Now, wait a minute. “I am a storyteller,” Buffy interrupted, protecting her turf as a pro. “I know the fairy tales, I use them in my work. But I’m not crazy. I don’t believe them.”
    Silence. The frog sat like a green-mottled stone.
    â€œThey’re just stories,” Buffy said.
    Like a chill wind through bluebells, the frog said, “Am I just a story?”
    Buffy got up. It was only seven o’clock, Emily was probably still at the mall with a dozen friends, most people were just starting their evenings, but she didn’t care. It had been a strange day. “I’m going to bed.”
    â€œBut it is not true that you do not believe,” Adamus said. “You do believe. You must. You can hear me. Many princesses passed by that pond, but you are the only one who could hear me.”
    Bullshit. The frog had to be some sort of gimmick, like, the government was experimenting with spy technology and she had found their escaped frog or something. What the teachers used to call a miracle of modern science back in high school, which was about the time Buffy had given up wondering how things worked. In her experience, women usually gave up their curiosity. It was no use. Wondering how the car worked, or the bank’s computer system, or the State Department, would get you nowhere. For women, the world ran on lipstick and luck. Finding the right husband. Finding a talking frog.
    Buffy said, “Good night.”
    â€œNo. Let me out,” the frog begged. “Please. I am an exile in a strange body and now you have put me in this glass prison—”
    â€œListen, I’ll give you everything you need,” Buffy told him. “Food, light, warmth, your own little wetland, vetting if you get sick—what’s the problem? You’re safe with me. No snakes or herons, nothing to hunt you—”
    â€œWill you kiss me? Kiss me or let me go!”
    â€œGood night.” Buffy turned off the light. In his glass palace the frog squatted, an algae-colored lump, silent, his throat pulsing like a beating heart.
    Emily drove to the mall in her new Probe, cruised the parking lot, saw no cars she recognized, and slumped in the driver’s seat, reaching out to pat the stuffed bunny nesting on her dashboard to reassure herself she was not completely alone. She did not want to go into the mall if none of her friends were there. Her friends were her real family. “Mom thinks I’m a materialistic twerp,” she told the bunny. Adults didn’t understand that shopping was an excuse