Captain Thraidox didn't wait an instant. He grabbed Cocot by the arm and was forcing her from the hall before the king's last word fell from his mouth. They reached the door at the end of the dark passage and the captain wrenched it open.

"You heard the king's words," he said in a clipped French. "Do not return. I will not hesitate." He shoved her roughly to the path outside without saying what it was he would not hesitate to do.

Cocot had no doubts, however, that he would kill her if she dared show herself again. The door slammed shut, and she heard the unmistakable snick of a key turning in the lock.

Shaking with cold and fear, she faced the tall spruce near the footbridge. Night was fully on the forest, and the huge tree blended into the shadows and black rock around it. Cocot knew the keeper was watching—the old crone had seen her pushed from the hill by the captain. Just as she now knew that the keeper had watched every time she had passed, probably for her entire life.The keeper had lied to the king about not knowing her.

"Cocohhhh," came the voice in the wind, mocking her.

Cocot turned and ran. She slipped on the dry leaves that littered the dirt path, landing hard on her hands. Her palms smarted, but she ignored the pain and scrambled to her feet.

Lightning streaked across the dark sky, the crashing thunder following fast on its heels. Cocot reached for the cliff; the noise stunned her.

"Cocohhhh," called the trees along the path.

As though the sky had been turned upside down, the rain began pouring to the ground. It fell in slanted lines, blown by the storm. She had to get home as quickly as possible. She inched forward blindly through the driving rain, keeping one hand on the rock wall to guide her.

"Tell me a story, Mother," Cocot begged through chattering teeth.

"There are also evil fairy creatures who will try to lead you astray from the path. They would hurt you, if they can."

"No! Not that! Tell me the story of the prince who loses his way. Tell me that one, or any story that is happy at the end. Please, Mother." The cliff became rocky hillside, covered with trees and prickly bushes. She stretched her hands forward and placed each foot in front of the other, feeling for the path with her soles.

"I must have been very thin when I first met Jean-Baptist walking up to the fountain in Lessoc. After two weeks of his mother's food, I had to make myself a new dress. It's strange, but I don't remember much from before we met. I had an uncle I loved very much and I missed him, although, I loved Jean-Baptist more."

"What was your uncle like, Mother? Did he play games and sing songs?"

"Oh, no. He was very reserved and strict, always correcting me when I made a mistake. I knew he was watching over me, though. He wanted to make me strong and to protect me, but there was something I had to do."

"What? What was it you had to do?"

"I had to go to the fountain. There was something wrong—terribly, terribly wrong and we had to keep it a secret."

"What was the secret, Mother?"

"Why, it wouldn't be a secret if I told you. Besides, it's fine now, Cocot; I fixed it."

"How did you fix the fountain?"

"With magic, of course. Then Jean-Baptist fell in love with me. I knew he would choose me and not the other, if he had the chance to meet me. We understood one another."

Cocot lost her footing on the mud and fell to the forest floor again. She was soaked through with rain water and it washed the tears from her eyes before they reached her cheeks. Had her mother really said those things or was she dreaming them up? Had she been standing in a fairy hall, speaking with the fairy king only a few minutes ago? She could hear her mother's voice clearly in her mind; always repeating the same stories over and over until the day she started to forget them.

"I would like to have had an uncle watching over me even if he was strict," Cocot whispered, rubbing her face with her wet sleeve.

"The fountain is fine now, I fixed it," echoed her mother's voice from Cocot's memory. "I fixed it."

The Fountain Passage, the passage keeper, the king's nephew that used the passage once a year on the Spring Equinox, her mother's two wishes and the bottle of evil from Lessoc Fountain in the cellar; were these things real? The icy pain in her chest, was that the crystal that had disappeared into her hand? What was she doing on the path in the rain and at night?

"There are also evil fairy creatures who will try to lead you astray from the path. They would hurt you, if they can."

Where was the path? Cocot thrust her hands wildly in every direction to find the gravelly path among the sodden leaves, pine needles, tree trunks and underbrush that was all around. She was lost in the forest! Trees loomed over her and the impenetrable darkness was suffocating. Lurching forward, she grasped for the nearest sapling, as though holding onto something solid would keep the evil creatures at bay.

"Soufflé?" she called. He was always around when she did not need him. But he would never be out during a storm this strong—the rain and wind would tear apart his wings.

"Hector?" she whimpered. Where was Hector? He shouldn't be out in the night, either, but his size would scare off anything. No, he could not come; Daniel had taken him to the town and he would not be home until tomorrow.

She reached for the next tree.

White hands caught hers. Cocot screamed, prying her hands free. A bony face with black holes for eyes and mouth screamed silently back at her while the white hands clutched and grabbed at her skirt.

Cocot threw herself to the side. The thing disappeared as the girl tumbled down the hill. With a final drop of several feet, she landed in the middle of the dirt road. She hurried to her feet, stepping on the hem of her dress and slipping on the wet ground. She gasped for air as she began to run for the chalet. Whatever had tried to grab her in woods was not following her.

The gate swung open by itself when she arrived and she drew her keys from her pocket. Dark bumps in the garden and near the walls scattered when she dashed to the front door and she briefly wondered what dozens of rabbits were doing out in the rain.

A distant flash of lightning brightened the sky for a second. Nothing was in the lane or garden with her. She whispered the charm to the door, almost putting her lips to the wood, then pushed it open. She flung herself in and closed the door behind her.

She was inside. She was safe. She was alone in the chalet. This was her home and the only world she belonged to—the fairy king might have cast her from under the hill and stolen her chances of ever knowing her mother's family, but she would always have this place for herself.

Pulling the dress and under dress over her head, she noticed for the first time that she had lost the hood in the forest. Past caring, she wadded up the wet clothes and tossed them in a corner before finding her way to bed in the dark.

She was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, but was powerless to change the dream or wake herself up. Trapped in the repeating scenes, she walked on and on through the woods looking for the path and the stairs so she could go home. Whenever she found the path, however, she invariably returned to the wooden door leading into the cliff.

The black door slowly became covered in vines as they grew down and over it, breaking it to pieces. It was transformed into a massive black throne, still covered in vines that were sickly and withered. The squirrel that lived in the oak was sitting on the throne twitching its whiskers nervously.

"I'm sorry I came back," she said to the animal. "I know I've been banished, but I can't find my way home."

The squirrel turned its back to her. There were three acorns on the floor at Cocot's feet that sparkled with golden dust. Were these for three wishes?

Then a noxious purple and black smoke rose up from the stone and she was on the path staring at the black door again.

"Open, I say," she sighed in a voice like winter's wind blowing through the roof's eaves. "Open the door!"

Cocot jerked awake, thinking that the strange voice was in the chalet with her. Throwing back the covers, she jumped from the bed to confront the intruder. Pale beams of light filtered through the closed shutters, allowing her to see that the room was empty. No one was there with her. She remained frozen in place, unable to shake the awful feeling that someone had said the words out loud.

A few of the leaves and ends of the vines on the inner door to Jean-Baptist's workroom were dying. She crept closer to the plant growing from the chest. She should try to water it again, although, the last time she had tried, water had just leaked all over the floor.

Three knocks tapped sharp and clear from the inner door. Three knocks like a man's knuckle on wood; first two together followed by a hesitant third. As though someone were saying, 'let me...in,' or 'open the...door.'

A dead leaf was shaken loose from the dying vine and floated down to the wooden chest. Cocot was trembling, staring at the door.

"Go away, Jean-Baptist!" she yelled. "This is not your home anymore. It's mine! I live here now! This is my home. This is my home," she said. She could not stop trembling and shaking, so she waited, humming and arms hugging herself tight, to see if the knocking would continue.

*** A white face with huge holes for eyes and mouth loomed at her from the darkness of the forest and bony hands caught hers. ***