She peered at the ‘pick,’ her mouth suddenly cotton-dry. The words “look at the wall” were scrawled on its surface in permanent black marker. Sure enough, when her gaze moved to the far wall, she noticed a small pink envelope taped to it, sticking out from underneath one of her drawings.
She set Nev’s guitar on its stand and crossed the room, gently pulling the envelope free. Inside was a plain white card which read ‘Wait until two o’clock, then go to the stacks on the balcony—third stack from the north wall, fifth shelf.’ The handwriting was not any that she recognized.
“Hmm . . . a mystery. Well, since my man abandoned me I certainly don’t have anything better to do today.” She looked at the wall clock—it was ten minutes to two. “Wow. Well, at least I don’t have long to wait.”
By the time she dressed it was two o’clock, and she walked as quickly as she could to the staircase and slid gingerly down the rail to the stacks below. It didn’t take her long to get to the right shelf, where she found another pale pink envelope, similar to the first. Inside was another plain card which read ‘Go and look behind the basement door.’
She crept down the stairs and headed across the empty main room to the basement door, shivering with the cooler air that the basement radiated. As she eased the heavy wooden door aside she caught a glimpse of something white.
A long-sleeved gossamer gown, like something out of a fairy tale, was hanging on the back of the door, and sure enough, there was another pink envelope tucked in one of the sleeves, with another plain white card adorned with the still-unfamiliar script. ‘Go to the stables and fetch the swiftest horse in the barn. (But first—put on the dress.)’
Mich pulled the garment from its hook. “Well, at least it’s not pink or yellow.” Her lack of typical ‘girlish’ behavior was a well documented part of Long Title lore, as well as her patent dislike for the colors yellow and pink.
A few minutes later she was striding barefoot across the Library’s neatly manicured lawn, unable to find a suitable pair of shoes to go with her outfit, which turned out to be much more comfortable than it looked.
She entered the barn cautiously, not sure what to expect. It was deserted—which wasn’t entirely unusual on such a special day; it still made her skin crawl slightly.
“Hmm . . . swiftest horse, huh?” She walked past the first few stalls and paused at the third, the one belonging to Macguyver, Nev’s horse. The thoroughbred—tall, thin, and raven-haired, like Nev himself—was most certainly the fastest horse that she had cloned thus far.
She grabbed the metal latch and yanked the door open. “That would be you, I’m guessing,” she said. Macguyver regarded her with silent brown eyes. He was bridled, and his mane was intricately braided with small red flowers.
“Someone dolled you up, so you’re the one,” she said, bringing him out. A small white note taped to the stall door instructed her to ride out towards the trails behind the barn. Heaving herself onto his back proved to be difficult and painful, but within thirty seconds she was riding through the barn’s back door and galloping across the pasture.
The rudimentary path that ran along the back fence split into two different paths; one led to the ‘beginner’ trail, the other led to the rougher ‘advanced’ trail. A handmade wooden sign had been planted haphazardly in the ground. A large red arrow pointed to the ‘advanced’ trail, and large black letters read ‘You can’t try and walk down two different roads—so go this way.’
Knowing now what she would find, she raced down the advanced trail, jumping over logs and ducking branches with gleeful anticipation. She finally reached the end, which terminated near a picturesque lake. A giant tree sat in regal repose on the bank, but its regalness was dwarfed by the lone figure which stood beneath it.
Mich now realized where her armor had disappeared to—Nev was wearing it. Its silver and black surfaces had been meticulously cleaned and polished to a high mirror shine, and the deep red cloak that hung from his shoulders weakened her knees, making her thankful that there was a nice strong horse under her.
He turned slightly, flashing her a small, enigmatic smile. “Right on time,” he said, glancing down at a nonexistant watch. “Well, what are you starin’ at? Get over here.”
Mich slid down carefully and approached him on legs that were still rubbery. “How . . . when did you do all this?”
He smiled. “Well, last night when I told you that I was goin’ to a party I lied. Nameh helped me clean your armor off and Captain Dolen took care of Macguyver . . . I got MM to write those cards so you wouldn’t know it was me, and this mornin’ while you were sleepin’ the sleep of the dead I went around and put ‘em up.”
She whistled. “That was quite a machination, my dear. How did you know that this was always my fantasy?”
He chuckled. “What, besides the fact that every fantasy/adventure book you own is all wrinkled and tattered ‘cause you read ‘em too much?”
“Okay, okay.” She put her arms around him. “I don’t think you brought me here to talk.”
He hugged her back, enveloping her in the musky scent of well-used leather and cologne; she melted into his strong arms, her doubts and fears about another Valentine’s Day alone vanishing.
He set her down gently, his gentle hands caressing her neck. He showered her with kisses, each one stealing her breath and turning her spine to jelly. “My prince, my prince,” she murmured.
“My bridge, my bridge!” he replied. At her confused look he added, “Well, I had to say it, you know.”
She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close. “Fine, but you’re not going to say anything else, except . . . ”
He smiled, his long hair brushing her cheeks as he leaned in for another kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered.
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