Darby made a shooing motion at Jason. “I already kissed you. Anyone who wants more time with my lips has got to spring for a meal and a night on the town.”
Donovan shut his book, finished with it. Our stacks were dwindling, most books now lying in discarded heaps. He stood up, brushed off his pants, and held out his hand to help me up.
“Your sisters can search through the rest. You have other things to do.”
I didn’t have to ask what. I had to practice being stealthy, graceful, and quick—something I’d never accomplished before. It seemed pointless to think I could pick up those skills in a few hours, but I had to at least try. I followed Donovan out of the room.
* * *
We took two goblets, a pitcher of water, and several napkins from the kitchen. I led Donovan to an empty sitting room, knowing where it was even though I hadn’t been there before. More proof, if I needed it, that my princess life was beginning to erase my modern one. Donovan set one goblet on a table and, with more optimism than he should have possessed, gave me the other goblet to keep in my pocket. “Make the switch,” he said. “You need to do it soundlessly, fast, and without spilling anything.”
For a half an hour I tried to live up to his optimism. I could manage two of his requirements, but not all three. If I was fast and soundless, I ended up spilling water. If I was soundless and steady, I wasn’t fast.
Finally I sat down in a chair, devoid of optimism or anything resembling it. Donovan mopped up the water from my latest spill and showed me how to do it again. He made it look easy. “When you over-think it, you’re too slow. The movement has to be natural. Automatic. Like riding a bike.”
“I crashed a lot on my bike. Broke my arm, in fact.”
“That was the old you. The new you is graceful.”
He motioned for me to stand up, then made me do the exercise again and again.
After two dozen failed attempts, I managed the switch once, then twice. In my overconfidence, the next time I attempted to switch the goblet, I tipped it over. The cup rolled to the floor with a loud clank, splashing water everywhere.
Donovan picked it up and set it back on the table. “Try again.”
I refilled the goblet and did. This time when I grabbed it, I was fast and soundless but a few drops of water fell out.
“Nearly perfect,” I said.
Donovan shook his head, unsatisfied. “A few drops of liquid will leave spots on Queen Orlaith’s table. If she notices those, then poof! You’re the latest amphibious addition in the household.”
I opened and closed my hands, stretching my fingers. I could do this. I had done this perfectly twice. Okay, granted, I’d done it wrong the other times, but I was getting better. Hopefully. Or maybe I was just getting lucky. Maybe anyone would be able to manage it right a couple times if they tried enough.
I reached for the goblet, silently lifting it from the table. I held the cups below the table line to hide them, poured the water from one into the other, and set the second goblet where the first had been. Not a drop spilled.
“Too slow,” Donovan said. “Do it again.”
I wanted to stamp my foot in frustration. Instead I pulled the goblet from my pocket the way he’d taught me: a subtle sweep of my hand that didn’t draw attention. “You know, some guys know how to compliment a girl. Didn’t you hear what my sisters when they came in? Frederick said Beatrix’s eyes shone like two stars.”
“That’s a compliment? Stars are burning piles of gas.”
While tilting my head conversationally, I picked up the goblet from the table. “And Hubert said the glow of Mathilda’s skin puts the moon to shame.”
Donovan smirked, refusing to be impressed. “The moon is pocked with gaping craters.”
I poured the water from the queen’s goblet into the other. Still keeping my gaze on Donovan, I replaced the second goblet, sliding it onto the table without a clink. I slipped the first goblet into my pocket. “You’re not much of a romantic, are you?”
His smirk spread into a full blown grin. “Okay, here’s a compliment. With moves like that, you’d make a decent pick-pocket.”
“Ah, thanks. My parents would be so proud.”
He took my hand and pulled me to him, interrupting my practice schedule to show me that, yes, he was a romantic after all.
When it was time to dress for supper, I could make the switch right about seventy percent of the time. Of course, being able to make the switch smoothly wasn’t going to do a lot of good if we didn’t have a distraction. We’d counted on Jason singing to the queen. Donovan didn’t seem too worried about this glitch.
“If Jason is still a frog,” Donovan said as we left the room, “he can sit on the table and beg Queen Orlaith for mercy. That should cause a distraction.”
“Yes, but it won’t solve Jason’s problem. We’ve got to find a way to change him before we go to the twenty-first century.”
“I think being a frog suits him.”
“He’s a star. Don’t you think fans will notice if he’s a frog?”
Donovan shrugged. “He can do lots of radio interviews.”
I hoped when I went up to my room to change my sisters would tell me they’d discovered a cure for Jason.
No such luck.
My sisters sat at their dressing tables, silently getting their hair done, an air of disappointment hanging around them as thick as their perfume.
My lady’s maid helped me into a dark green skirt and bodice, then wove matching ribbons into my hair. When she finished, Rosamund excused the servants. I knew she wanted to talk to me about Jason.
I turned in my chair to face her. “Where is he?”
In answer to my question, Elizabeth took a goblet from the fireplace mantel and tipped it onto my dressing table. A frog waddled across the top and slumped in front of the mirror.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, worried.
“Nothing.” Rosamund said, straightening the lace on her sleeves. “He’s just being dramatic.”
“We gave him a curing potion we thought might help,” Beatrix clarified.
Jason glared at her, his lips pursed. “They made me drink something with crushed newt.”
“Sadly, it proved an ineffective remedy,” Rosamund said.
Darby checked her reflection and adjusted her necklace. “He’s been carrying on about it ever since.”
“Crushed newt,” Jason repeated.
“Frogs eat worse,” Beatrix said and flounced back to her table. “It won’t hurt you.”
My sisters finished the last of their pre-dinner preparations and headed toward the door, lining up from oldest to youngest. I still sat at the dressing table watching Jason. He lay limply by my hair brush, head down, eyes closed. I assumed he’d fallen asleep and wondered if it was healthy for a frog to sleep out of the water. Would he dry out?
As I pondered whether it would be unforgivably rude to pick him up and plop him into a pitcher, he opened his eyes and stared mournfully at me.
“I’ll bring you something back from dinner,” I said.
He didn’t answer, didn’t move.
The last of my sisters was nearly out the door. I should go too. I stood, hesitant to leave him. He looked so miserable.
“Well, besides the crushed newt potion, are you doing okay?”
His head sagged. “I’m small, warty, and hideous.”
“I don’t think those bumps on your back are actually warts.”
Jason turned and put a hand to the mirror, touching his reflection. “Over a million posters of my face sold last year. I was on covers of teen magazines around the world.” He let out a sad croaking sound, probably a sob. “Now look at me.” He hung his head and continued to make pitiful squeaking sounds.
My guilt flared up again. If I hadn’t wished him here, he’d still be back in the twenty-first century mocking other hopeful singers and putting his butt through its usual strenuous work routine.
I patted his back gently. “You need to stop staring in the mirror. Look at something else. And look on the bright side. When we go home, you’ll have an easy time hiding from your fans.”