Could this lunch be any worse? Emma keeps watching me with a Sheriff's eye and makes little effort to contribute to the conversation. Is this how mothers are when they go into "Mama Bear Mode?" It must be pleasant to be on Henry's side of it. Not so much over here. But it's not like I expected this meeting to go well. I'm the person their son and grandson ran away to find. They must think I'm dangerous or... or... a thug. Do I look like a thug? Few are female. At least, according to my experiences.

David and Mary Margaret are nice, though. I can see why Henry thinks they're Prince Charming and Snow White, especially his grandmother. Her voice isn't high-pitched, but it's bird-like because of how she smiles when she talks. What I don't understand is why they're so young. It's one thing if Emma had Henry as a teenager, but she's the same age as them. They don't have wrinkles, bags under their eyes, or grey hair. Even their clothes are what twenty to thirty-year-olds wear. So unless Mary Margaret was born pregnant, I'm not buying this.

We head out after we finish our meal and say our goodbyes. Henry walks in my direction, causing Emma to stop.

She says, "Where are you going, Henry? The apartment's this way."

"I'm going with Bella."

"No, you're not," she says, coming toward us.

"It's okay, Emma," Mary Margaret says, placing a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

"I don't want him around her," she whispers, but I hear it.

How is it I'm already someone's target? It's been less than three hours!

"She's just a kid," David says.

"What trouble could they get into?"

"That's what scares me," Emma says, looking at me and Henry.

I'm the one who doesn't trust people. Not the other way around. People are mean to me and betray me at some point, but they trust me. That's why they do those things to me—they trust I won't do anything about it.

"We'll be fine, Mom."

"Call me if anything happens." Emma shoots me another glance and leaves with her parents. Good riddance.

"Is your mom always like that?"

"Sort of." It's still better than Diane.

The two of us walk along the sidewalk as I gaze at the library. Belle can show me town records about my parents. I'm sure there're some useful documents inside those walls.

I ask Henry if we can go in, and he says, "Sure. Why not?"

The moment I step in, a marvelous piano greets me. The finish reflects the fluorescent lights, meaning someone polished the grand instrument. I escape my sad, insignificant life through music. It'd be nice to write new songs and play again. It's been a while.

I go into the separate room, where the books are. They're all sorted and placed inside the many bookshelves that line the walls and divide the room. Stepping into an aisle, a dusty silence fills the space between the shelves. My fingers trace the spines of slender volumes and leather-bound books while I amble the warm, cozy path.

I've never seen so many books. One of them catches my eye, and I pull it off the mahogany shelf.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

I flip through it. Some pages have tears and stains, but all have a rough texture. A smile creeps upon my face. The book is old. Though, I want to own it, so I can replace my burnt copy, not borrow it from a library. And it doesn't have Irene's message. My grin fades, and I put the novel back.

Faint voices come from another side of the room, so I peer around a bookcase and find the culprits. Belle talks with an older man in a small research nook, and they have perplexed faces. Something must be wrong. It's not my place to listen in, so I walk away. Then one of them says my name, and I hide behind the shelves.

"She's a nice girl, but it's clear she doesn't believe in hope anymore," Belle says. "And that's from meeting her once." It's that obvious, huh?

"Sounds like Emma when she first arrived in Storybrooke," the man says.

"I didn't know her before she broke the curse, but Henry and the others told me what she was like. Did you know Bella? In our world, I mean?" Our world?

"Yes, but it's only a matter of time before she finds out who she truly is."

Henry told me about the curse. But why do Belle and this man believe him? Why are they talking about it? How do they both know who I am?

The man stands from the table, so I conceal myself further. I'm risking getting caught. Belle can help me later. Hopefully, Henry won't mind coming back.

I go to the lobby, where Henry waits next to the circulation desk. An ancient elevator with unique designs and many gears on its doors is next to the entrance of the room I exited. Two panels of cherry wood flank the brass elevator. The panel on the right has nobs, levers, barometer-like measuring tools, and a large steel wheel.

I step closer to get a better look. "Where does this go?"

"It goes up to the clocktower and down to... a dark room."

"A dark room?" I say, turning to him, not believing.

"It does," he says, insulted that I'm not taking his word for it. How could I? I just met him. "We should go to my mom's office. She'll know how to help us find your parents."

I don't want to meet with Emma after what happened earlier. She won't help me. She thinks I'm trouble. But I could be. That I know. Though, I don't always choose it. I have a moral—ethical code. Whichever it's called. The point is—I have a code.

"Are you sure your mom will want to help after meeting me?"

"Oh, no. I have—"

"You know what? That's okay. I know where my parents are."

"You do?" he says, moving forward.

"Princess Aurora and Prince Phillip, right? They're in a movie theater."

He frowns, then says, "They're real people."

"Oh, sorry. Then Disney World. I bet they have tons of them walking around."

Henry shakes his head. "Follow me."

* * *

While I drive, Henry directs me around the block to the Town Hall. It's a yellow building that stands in sovereignty, and the white columns in front add to its power.

I follow him inside to an outer office. The secretary's desk faces another door on the right when we walk in, but no one sits at it. In fact, it doesn't seem like anyone's worked at it for a while. There's solid concrete framing the door to the next room, and carved at the top in thin capital letters is "Scientia"—Latin for "science." The thick window on the door has a special ripple effect and says "Mayor" on the bottom in gold.

"I thought your mom was the Sheriff." Is it possible she's both? A small town may not have enough people to fill all roles, so people may have to double up. But Emma didn't seem "mayor" material. I would've expected a pantsuit, not a leather jacket. I suppose she's going Sheriff-Mayor rather than Mayor-Sheriff.

"I have two moms."

"Of course, you do," I say under my breath. Two. He has two moms? And how many do I get? Oh, that's right. None!

"She'll be able to help you," Henry says, opening the door.

The spacious room has a black and white palette, except for the bowl of blood-red apples on a dining table. The wallpaper has a birch tree pattern and covers the entire room, giving off winter forest vibes. I step across the marble floor. It's taken up by a black decal of a snowflake-like flower. My sight goes up to the chandelier, which has branches of miniature lamps. From there, my eyes trace the midnight Tuscan columns that support the corner points of the room.

I've never been in such a room as this. It's luxurious. Modern, yet classy.

I can't stop admiring it.

They built this office for a queen.

But Henry and I are the only people inside.

"We should come back tomorrow," he says.

"Why not later?"

"Because my mom must be running errands today."

I raise my voice. "I need to find my parents as soon as possible."

"It's best if we try again tomorrow."

"Then what do we do today?" I start pacing the room, and Henry sets his backpack on the dining table.

"First of all, where will you sleep while you're in town?"

I shrug. "I don't know. My car?"

"Why don't you stay at my grandparents' apartment? My mom lives there, too. It's comfortable over there." Emma lives there? Perfect. I'd rather sleep in my car then.

"Oh, great. Another reason for me to stay there."

"She's not always like that. She was being protective of me."

I trudge over to the sitting area and slouch on the silver sofa. It faces a fireplace, but the fire isn't lit. Instead, there's an iron grate blocking the furnace. I wish it was on. It's cold in here. And the white and marble surfaces make it even colder.

"Can we just try to find my parents?" I say, leaning over and wrapping my arms around myself.

"Wouldn't it be better if I showed you around town?" Henry says from behind me. He sounds like he's still standing by the dining table or sitting on one of the many paisley patterned chairs around it.

"Uh? No. I'm not here to go sightseeing. I'm here to find my family."

"Just breathe. We'll find them, but it's best if we come back tomorrow. My mom can help." I don't want Emma's help. Not anymore.

"Isn't there anything else we can do?" I ask, deflated.

"Yeah, but my mom's the Mayor. We should check if she has any records." I do need those records. I want proof that my parents are here—or have been here.

"Fine. Tomorrow it is."

* * *

The sun moved past the center point of the sky, and we made no progress finding my parents.

This is ridiculous. Henry said they're here, and he's not helping.

"If we can't look for my parents until tomorrow, what are we supposed to do today?"

"We could go for a walk," Henry says, turning his head to me.

"We did that already."

"Sorry to disappoint, but this is a small town, not a big city. There's not much else to do."

"I can't waste an entire day." There's agitation in my voice.

"You're going to have to."

I look toward the library. I need to do something, even if it's on my own. "There has to be something at the library. Documents. Information. Something."

"But we should check with my mom first. She'll know."

"We can ask her later. Let's go." I stand and speed walk over.

"Bella, wait," Henry calls.

I spin around. "What?"

"It's a library. It's just full of books."

"That might tell me where my parents are." I turn back and continue striding.

Inside, I shout, "Belle?"

"Bella, it's a library," Henry says in a loud whisper.

"Oh, my bad," I say in my sarcastic way.

He says softly, "Look, I don't think she's here. If she was, she'd be at the desk."

"She wasn't at the desk before."

"But, at this hour, she must be at Granny's."

"I guess we're going to have to do it ourselves." I walk into the other room.

"We can't go through private town records without Belle," he says, following me.

"I didn't say that. This is a public library. Nothing's stopping us from skimming a few books." I search through the shelves to find any relevant ones. There isn't much luck, but I take what has potential.

"Most of these are stories," Henry says, getting in the way.

"Like yours?" I pull one off a shelf.

"Mine's nonfiction. You know? Not fiction."

I roll my eyes and take another book down.

"What books are those?" he asks, peering over the pile in my hands.

"Books that could help."

"The only book you need is this one." He pulls out his storybook from his backpack and shows it to me.

"Dude, the title is Once Upon a Time. Why can't you see it's not real?" I go back to finding more.

"Because it is," he says, raising his voice.

"Shh. This is a library," I whisper.

He shifts his weight to his left leg. "Why don't you believe?"

"Believe in what?"

"Magic."

"'Cause it's not real."

"Yes, it is, and you know it. It's why you saw the winged beast."

"Okay. You need therapy." I angle myself away from him and pull down another book.

"Magic is all around us, Bella."

Bullshit. "Did your book tell you that?"

"I know you believe in it. It's why you made that wish."

My bones stiffen, and my lungs pause.

How does he know? How does Henry know I made a wish?

"W-What wish?"

"You know what I'm talking about," he says in a serious tone. A tone that frightens me. I don't understand how or why he'd know about the wish I made. I never told him. He shouldn't know.

"No, I don't."

"Here's a cart to put the books on," he says, pushing it toward me. "I'm going to go set up in the research area."

Henry knows things he shouldn't, making me second-guess coming here. First of all, he doesn't understand what he's talking about. Magic and fairytales being real? Something's not right with his head. Another reason I'm second-guessing being here is because Henry's mom hates me, which is an excellent start. And I have nowhere to sleep other than in my car. No way am I staying at Henry's grandma's apartment. Not only because of Emma, but they're strangers. I'm not sleeping on a stranger's couch, thanks.

The research nook is tight, but we make it work. There's a solid wooden table in the center, and it's encased by walls of shelves. The books are not as organized as they are in the other room. They're splayed across the tiled flooring; others are in twisted stacks.

I don't know what to be looking for. There's a possibility that my parents' names are not Phillip and Aurora. Searching through documents is one thing, but books? I don't know where to begin, no matter how hard I try to embody my inner Hermione.

Henry and I flip through a bunch of volumes for an hour and a half, researching. The words jumble with one another and float off the page, so I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Hey, I found something," Henry says.

"What?" I shoot up from my chair and hover over him.

"It says here that Aurora is from the Moor."

"What the hell is the Moor?"

"It's a kingdom in the Enchanted Forest," he says, looking up at me.

"Oh, my God, Henry. What's wrong with you? My parents are not characters from your book."

"Then why is the information from it in this one?"

"Interesting point. But I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason. Maybe it's for reference."

Henry lifts the front cover for the title. "The Origins and History of The Moor." Okay. So, this is a companion novel. A guidebook for his book. Got it.

"See?" I gesture at the book. "Reference."

"It's not, and you know it."

"That's the only explanation."

Rushing his speech, he says, "Your mom is the Princess of the Moor, and she's in love with Phillip. When you were born, she gave you up to the Queen of Arendelle."

"Do you hear yourself?"

"It's true."

"Then let me look it up." I search "the Moor" on my phone.

"You won't find anything."

"I wonder why. Oh, look here. 'The term Moor is an exonym first used by Christian Europeans to—'"

"Stop."

"That's the first thing that comes up, and there's nothing here about a kingdom."

"Because it's in the Fairytale World." I'm getting nowhere. He can't help me find my parents when he can't tell the difference between fantasy and reality. It's not possible.

"You're insane."

"And you're—" Henry's phone gets a text. "It's my mom. I have to go." He puts his storybook in his backpack.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Put the books back, so Belle doesn't get a heart attack."

"I don't remember where they all go."

"You'll figure it out. Bye."

"Wha—Henry?"

He scurries out of the room, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

Some books I put on shelves—probably not the correct ones—and others I leave on the cart. My stomach grumbles as I stash the last two publications on a shelf.

* * *

I go to Granny's to pick up some food, hoping not to come across Henry's family. Once the bell rings when I enter, I notice a man staring at me from the back booth. He creeps me out by the way he looks at me. He must think I'm a terrible outsider, too, so I focus on Ruby instead. She sets up for dinner by putting tablecloths over the tables.

I walk toward the chrome counter to order.

"Hello. What can I get for you?" the old woman asks. She was here earlier, so I guess she's the granny the diner's named after.

"Hi. Can I have a..." I trail off when the man sits on the high red-cushioned stool next to me. "Can I help you?"

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?"

"That's not important," he says, waving off my question.

"You realize Halloween isn't for another month, right?" He wears an elaborate pirate costume. I don't think I've seen someone wrapped in so much leather. Maybe he's part of a rock band? That would explain the guy-liner.

"What?" He looks at me, confused.

I lower my eyes, and a chill shoots down my spine.

Instead of a left hand, he has a hook.

And it's not a plastic one from the costume store. It's made of metal. Either steel or iron. It's like the one the man who used to appear in my dreams as a kid had.

"I'm surprised you haven't been arrested for that," I say. "They let you walk around with a weapon?"

Granny says, "This town isn't like others. You'll soon come to that realization," as she prepares the food for her remaining lunch customers.

"The woman's right. It's a... magical town." He examines my face with deep sorrow, and I gaze at him. "Have we met before?" He has a strong pirate-ish English accent.

And I know it.

But from where?

"I'd remember meeting a mysterious man dressed in leather with a hook for a hand."

"So, you don't remember me?" he asks, disappointed.

"Am I supposed to?"

Granny places a bag of food in front of me.

"Wait. I didn't order anything yet."

"It's grilled cheese. You look like you could use some comfort food." How... nice? It's like she read my mind because, yes, I could use some comfort food.

"And you were one hundred percent right. Thanks—Oh, here." I reach into my pocket for some money.

"On the house."

"Really?" Nothing's better than free food. Again—how nice? "Thank you."

"So, lass." The man taps my arm for my attention. "Would it be all right if we met at the docks? There's something I want to show you. It might help you remember." Run!

"No, thanks. I'm good. Bye." I grab the paper bag and hurry out the door.

The moment I go down the steps, there's an immediate regret.

I turn back and look at the man through the window. He's watching me. I don't know him, but, for some reason, there's a weird connection.