Page 236 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 22

“Where have you been?” shrieks Marcella. “And why are you so wet?”

The PIW’s lounging on her lavish bed, surrounded by piles of Fairytale Tattlers.

“I took a bath,” I lie. The lake incident is none of her business.

“Do you realize the ball is less than two weeks away, and I have absolutely nothing to wear?”

Hello! Has she done a reality check lately? Her closet is so stuffed with gowns and shoes she could turn it into a resale shop. Except for the fact it’s always such a pigsty, no matter how often I straighten it.

“Chop! Chop! Let’s get to The Trove before it closes.” She throws off her fur coverlet and pushes me out the door. I’ll have to pick up the dozens of tabloids strewn all over the floor later.

The drive to The Trove, whatever the hell that is, is awful. The road is full of bumps, and I have to put up with Marcella’s non-stop babble about her ball gown. Her Royal Skankiness is so wrapped up with herself she doesn’t notice me gazing out the coach window.

Lalaland seems different from how I remember it. Then again, I didn’t get out much so maybe I missed a few things. Everything seems cleaner, newer, and bigger. More than once, I notice the name MIDAS blazing across monumental buildings in big gold letters. MIDAS Memorial Hospital…MIDAS Publishing…MIDAS Realty…MIDAS Free Clinic…MIDAS Orphanage for Lost Boys. Whoever this Midas guy is, he must be mega-rich.

And then, about a half-hour into the ride, I leap out of my seat. To the right, perched high on a cliff, the silhouette of a massive castle with towering turrets and shooting spires comes into view. I recognize it immediately. It’s mine!

“Stop the coach!” I scream out.

Marcella shoots me a dirty look. “Jane, I’m the one who gives orders. Driver, step on it!”

The coach speeds up. While Marcella buries her head in a Fairytale Tattler, I gloomily watch my castle fade into the distance. Soon, I’ll be back there. Just not soon enough.

The coach turns down a wide cobblestone street. Midas Drive. A giant fortress with multi-color turrets, towers, and spires is straight ahead of us. Coaches are lined up to get inside the gilded gates.

Marcella looks up from her tabloid. “We’re here. Finally.”

We join the long, slow-moving line. “Can’t we cut ahead?” growls the PIW, her arms folded tightly under her cannonballs.

“Remind me, Jane, to fire this driver!” she says as we finally pull up to the valet. Yet another thing to add to my To-Do List.

“And one more thing. While we’re here, buy a toy for Calla and tell her it’s from me.”

A large banner with blazing gold letters greets us as we enter the complex.

WELCOME TO THE TROVE

ANOTHER MIDAS MALL

Midas again! Before long, I bet Lalaland will be called Midasland.

“Move it,” shouts Marcella, giving me a shove.

She takes off as if launched by slingshot. I follow her, dragging my feet. Why do I have to put up with her before I can return to my castle? It’s just not fair.

Losing sight of Her Royal Skankiness, I mope through the mall, taking in my surroundings. The Trove is like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s a retail fantasyland catering to the whims of royals and wannabes alike. There’s a store for everything, from crowns to corsets. The shops, one after another, line a pristine walkway that’s packed with princesses, princes, and other assorted nobles, all chicly dressed and carrying eye-catching shopping bags. They all seem so happy. Of course. No one’s banned them from their homes.

The PIW is literally prancing when I catch up to her. “I love shopping!” she croons. Finally, another activity she loves besides torturing me.

In fact, as I quickly discover, if there’s such a thing as an addiction to shopping, she’s got one.

For openers, she drags me into a bookstore. Barons and Noble. Wasting no time, she immerses herself in the latest tabloids. “I don’t understand why I’m not front page news!” she grumbles. “Jane, get on it!”

While she tears through the tabloids, I browse through the store. There are so many books. Near the entrance, a crowd is clambering for copies of a thick hardcover book that are piled up high on a table. Grimm’s Fairy Tales: Based on True Stories. What! That glum-ugly head doctor wrote a book about us!? Sasperilla was right. He was spying on us the whole time! Using us for his own publish or perish ends! I’d better not be in there or I’m going to sue! Elbowing my way through the mob, I grab a copy.

“Put that rubbish down!” barks Marcella as I flip through the pages. She thrusts a heavy bagful of magazines at me and yanks me out the door. “We’ve got major shopping to do.”

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