Read Online Fair Peril by Nancy Springer - Free Book Online Page B

little creep!” Reacting with more force than forethought, she thrust him away from her, throwing him against the wall.
    â€œOW!”
    Buffy gasped, terrified that she had hurt him and equally terrified that he would turn into a prince with kind and beautiful eyes. The latter she need not have worried about. He merely plopped to the floor, where he sat, green and not at all symmetrical.
    â€œAddie!” Buffy lurched toward him.
    He cowered, whimpering, “Mercy, voluptuous one.”
    â€œWell, don’t grope me!” She knelt beside him. “Are you all right?”
    â€œI—I sneer at wounds,” he said shakily. “I am a prince of the house of Aurca.”
    She saw no damage. He seemed fine. Already getting his attitude back. “Prince, my patootie,” Buffy grumbled, saggy with relief. “You’re still a frog. I always knew that throw-him-against-the-wall thing was a euphemistic crock.” The sleep-with-the-princess version had a lot more of the knell of truth about it. It wasn’t the prince who was supposed to get knocked up.
    â€œTry it again,” he said with apparent sincerity. “Harder.”
    What was this, S and M? “No, thank you. You sure you’re okay?” Gently she picked him up, holding him at a safe distance from herself. “Nice to see ya. Where you been keeping yourself?” His skin was slimy-wet and smelly. “Ew!” She stood up and headed toward the bathroom, plopped him into the bathtub, and hit the light switch.
    In the sudden glare he cringed again. “Mercy, massive lady.”
    â€œMercy yourself.” Now she could see that his smooth jade skin was dewed with punky water and smeared with a reddish clay she knew she should recognize. She did recognize it. “Oh, for God’s sake, you were in the sump hole? ”
    â€œPrincess, prithee kiss me. Your song in the night has enslaved me.”
    â€œGive me a break.” Buffy reached for a washcloth.
    â€œYour power turns my bones to jelly, but I know that your soul must be as generous as your flesh. Kiss me and let me cling to you, let me cling to you for a week and make milt.”
    â€œAddie,” said Buffy sternly, “this is sexual harassment, and I hate to tell you, but you’re not worth it; all you’ve got is a cloaca. Knock it off.” She twisted the spigots, turning on the bathwater.
    â€œBut—but that is wonderful. You make the silver pizzle pee in the white pond. Ow!”
    â€œToo warm? No, too cold. Poor baby.” Buffy knelt by the tub and started sloshing water over her dirty frog.
    â€œDon’t! Don’t wash it off.”
    Buffy held off with the washcloth but wrinkled her nose. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Evidently clay that smelled like rotten mushrooms was perfume to him, like ripe, dead, road-killed ground hog to a dog.
    â€œYou don’t like it, sweet lady?”
    â€œNooooo, why should I not like it? You just stay here and be stinky. I’m going back to bed.” It was no use trying to put the frog back in the aquarium, as big as he had grown. Buffy snapped off the light, leaving him in three inches of water in the bathtub, and closed the door on him to keep him there.
    No sooner had she positioned her head on its pillow than the croaking began. Ribbet, Adamus sang, riiiibbet, oh RIIIIIIBBBETT RRIBB RRIBBB RIIIIIBBET. And if aquarium-sized Adamus had been able to vibrate the house, bathtub-sized Adamus sounded capable of launching it right through the pearly gates.
    Buffy smiled. “Music to my ears,” she whispered. She stuffed her forefingers into her ears, thrust her head underneath her unsanitary pillow, and went peacefully to sleep.
    The first thing the next morning, Buffy faced a moral dilemma: what to do with Adamus while she used the bathroom, for which her need was urgent. “Turn your back, please, your Princeness,” she told him.
    He did not turn.