Read Cinderella: Ninja Warrior Online
Authors: Maureen McGowan
Tags: #Fairy Tales & Folklore, #Juvenile Fiction, #Adaptations, #Interactive Adventures
Cinderella: Ninja Warrior (8 page)
At least she’d have a chance of seeing him again at the magic competition—assuming she could talk her stepmother into letting her compete. It seemed pointless to ask, but she planned to suggest she be allowed to do that instead of attending the ball.
Later that night, Cinderella pulled out her fabrics and laid them on the cellar table. She still found it hard to believe her stepmother would let her go to the ball, but until the opportunity was yanked away, she’d let herself hope. Plus, even if she had no place to wear it, it would be fun to make herself a gown. What she
really
hoped was that her stepmother would let her enter the magic competition, but that was highly unlikely.
really
hoped was that her stepmother would let her enter the magic competition, but that was highly unlikely.
She traced her hand over the shimmering, dove-gray velvet she’d selected for her own gown, and then draped the ends of the silver lace and icy pale turquoise chiffon over the heavier fabric. It was nothing short of miraculous that her stepmother had purchased all three and Cinderella realized she’d been smart to mix them in with the fabrics for her stepsisters so her stepmother couldn’t see how nice her choices looked together.
Each fabric alone was unremarkable, but the velvet caught the light when it moved, almost like the inside of an oyster shell, and with pieces of the silver lace and turquoise chiffon on top, the effect was stunning. She’d look like a mermaid, a sea princess emerging from the depths to walk on land for the first time. She wasn’t usually one to fuss about clothes or pretty things, but the idea of seeing the look on Ty’s face, if he ever saw her in this gown, lit little fires of excitement inside her belly.
Since finding out Ty would be there, her enthusiasm about the ball had multiplied. Even if servants weren’t allowed in the main ballroom, she and Ty would dance in the halls. She didn’t care, as long as she got the chance to see him again.
She twirled around her cellar room for a moment, and almost tripped over Max. He leaped up into her arms and rubbed his head against her cheek. “Don’t worry, Max,” she told him. “You’ll always be my best friend.”
He sprang from her arms and pawed at their bed of burlap sacks stuffed with straw, over the place where her book was hidden.
“Yes, yes, I know, Max.” She sat down next to him and scratched under his chin the way he likes. “Just because I’ve met a new friend doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my training.” Max purred. “And you’re right. The magic competition is way more important than the ball.” She lowered her voice and whispered in Max’s ear, “By the way, I’m planning to escape the day of the ball.”
He meowed, jumped out of her arms into the center of the room, and rose onto his hind legs, batting at some imaginary foe.
“You are so ferocious, Max.” Cinderella grinned, did a twisting hook kick, and then a series of walking punches. “Just think. The competition and ball are two days away. Can you believe we might be free after that? I’d better get started on my dress.”
Max sprawled on the floor and looked the other way, as if he thought her priorities were all wrong.
“Who are you talking to?” a voice demanded from behind her.
She spun to find her stepmother on the bottom stair at the entrance to her room, and reached to gather her fabric. “No one. Just my cat.”
“Wait,” said her stepmother. “Let me see.” She sauntered across the room, her bright green skirt swishing on the stone floor.
Her stepmother dragged her long nails over the fabric, and Cinderella cringed.
Please don’t snag it. Please.
Please don’t snag it. Please.
Her stepmother spun. “I’m impressed, Cinderella. Very impressed.”
Cinderella swallowed hard. “Impressed” was not what she’d been expecting to hear.
Her stepmother added,“Of course, no gown can make a plain girl like you beautiful.” She smiled and shook her head slightly. “With your lack of height, simple bone structure, and the dull nature of your complexion and hair, one can’t expect miracles.”
Cinderella clasped her hands in front of her apron, every muscle in her body on high alert. Her stepmother never came down here without a good reason—and that reason usually involved some kind of punishment.
“May I help you with anything?” Cinderella asked politely.
Her stepmother kept a fake smile plastered on her face, and Max rubbed up against Cinderella. She slid her foot to the side to push him away. Max normally hid whenever her stepmother came down, and Cinderella wished he’d hide now. No need to take unnecessary risks with her stepmother’s patience.
“We should discuss the day of the ball,” her stepmother said. “You will need to complete your chores quickly if you are to have time to wipe the soot off your face before you help your sisters get ready.”
Cinderella nodded, still not trusting where this was headed, but hopeful. She was almost starting to believe her stepmother planned to keep her word and let her go.
“You’ll be representing this family, and even though the prince will never choose you for a dance, we must have you looking your best.” She picked up the silver lace and, holding one corner, unfurled it.
Cinderella’s heart seized.
Her stepmother sniffed, handed the lace to Cinderella, and put her hands on her hips.
Cinderella refolded the fabric. She’d never seen her stepmother so amenable. Now was the time to ask. “Stepmother,” she began, drying her sweating palms on her apron, “will you and my stepsisters be attending the magic competition?”
Her stepmother’s head snapped toward her. “Why?”
Cinderella’s mouth was dry, but she pressed on. “I expect my sisters have inherited your talent for magic. Will they be competing?”
“I hadn’t really considered it.” She slowly strode forward to tower over Cinderella.
She took a tiny step back and said, “I was just thinking . . . I was wondering . . . ” She straightened her back. “I’d like to enter.”
Her stepmother tipped her head back to expose her long white throat and laughed. “Cinderella, that is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a very long time.”
Anger mingled with fear in Cinderella’s chest and she clenched her fists behind her back so her stepmother couldn’t see.
“You’re a clumsy girl with no aptitude for magic, no matter how powerful your mother was.” Her stepmother’s eyes narrowed, and her voice returned to its normal icy tone, sending a chill down Cinderella’s spine. “She couldn’t have been that powerful if a tiny baby killed her.”
Cinderella nearly shook with rage, but kept silent.
“Who put this ridiculous notion in your mind?”
“No one,” said Cinderella. No need to bring poor Ty into this. “I overheard things in the village.”
“Bringing you today was a mistake.” Her stepmother paced around the room in long, slow strides. “You’re so impressionable and sheltered. Imagine thinking you could enter that competition without a wand or even any training.” She spun toward Cinderella and leaned onto the table. “I won’t let you bring shame and embarrassment onto our family name. Your father would be mortified.”
“My father would be proud of me no matter what.”
“You think so, do you?” Her stepmother’s eyes shot spikes of ice into Cinderella’s chest, but she stood her ground.
Even though most memories of her father involved him being sad, she could remember the smile on his face when she’d learned to read, when she’d drawn him a picture, when she’d sang him a song.
Her stepmother’s lips bent up into a sly smile. “I have an idea.”
Cinderella braced herself for the worst, wondering what possible torture her stepmother might be contemplating. At least she hadn’t reached for her wand . . . yet.
“If you’re determined to enter the competition, I insist that you have some training.”
Hope rose in Cinderella’s chest, pushing back the anger and fear she had felt only moments ago.
Her stepmother leaned on the table, her blood-red nails digging into the wood. “Let’s perform a little test to see if you’re ready to enter.”
“A test?”
Max rubbed against Cinderella’s skirts again, meowing loudly, but she couldn’t pay attention to her cat. Not now. Not with so much on the line.
“If you pass, you may enter the competition. In fact, I’ll buy you the best wand money can buy.”
“Really?” A smile burst onto Cinderella’s face and she tried to remember when—or if—she’d ever smiled like this in her stepmother’s presence. It was so long ago, it might have been never.
“But as with any fair test, failure must have its consequences.”
Cinderella’s smile shrank, and she felt stupid for believing, even for a second, that her stepmother would let her enter the magic competition. Still, she’d do her best on whatever kind of test her stepmother could devise. The woman didn’t know she’d been training, didn’t know she’d inherited a little of her mother’s abilities as a wizard.
“What consequences?” Cinderella asked, hoping that her voice sounded steadier than it felt.
“If you fail my test, clearly you can’t enter the competition.” Her stepmother glanced around the room, her expression growing ever more evil as she looked at the fabric, folded neatly on the table.“Not only that, if you fail, you cannot attend the ball.”
Cinderella backed up a few steps. The hammer had finally fallen. Her stepmother had just been waiting for an opportunity to deny Cinderella the trip to the ball. No doubt the test would be impossible, and without the ball, she’d lose her best chance to escape. Why had she even asked about the competition?
“What do you say, Cinderella? Will you accept my challenge?”
Cinderella studied her stepmother’s face. “And if I choose not to?”
“If you don’t accept my challenge, I’ll be very disappointed, and how can a girl who’s disappointed her stepmother expect to attend a ball?”
Cinderella gritted her teeth. The ball was off the table even if she backed off from entering the competition. How unfair.
Still, she had to try. Winning the competition might be her best chance to develop the skills she needed to escape her stepmother forever. She had no choice but to complete whatever test her stepmother devised.
“Fine,” she said, bowing her head. “What is your test?”
Cinderella stared in dismay at the crystal goblets scattered around her on the stone courtyard, and looked up at her stepmother to be sure she was serious. Even by her stepmother’s standards, this so-called test seemed impossible.
Her stepmother had used her magic wand to transport every single goblet in the house up the cellar steps and onto the stone courtyard, and now she expected Cinderella to stack them, end on end into a tower, without breaking a single one—without using a wand.
Unbeknownst to her stepmother, Cinderella had moved objects with her mind before, but never with such precision. The completed tower, assuming it was possible to complete it, would be over fifteen feet high, nearly three times her own height. Her stepmother had marked an X on the stone courtyard about eight feet away from the nearest wall, so she couldn’t climb the wall in order to reach the top of the tower, or lean the tower against something steady.
The sun had set hours ago, but her stepmother had used a magic spell to cast a bright light on the courtyard, and was sitting at the back of the house in a chair she’d made Cinderella carry out. Her stepmother couldn’t use her own magic for the
heavy
lifting, oh no.
heavy
lifting, oh no.
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