"Who's G?" Daphne asked.
"An old friend of your father's," Granny said. Sabrina and Daphne shared a knowing look. Their father had been in love with an Everafter before he met their mother, though everyone was tight-lipped about who the Everafter was.
"Can't we call this G person and get another clue?" Hamstead asked.
"Perhaps one that makes sense," Canis said.
"Is there anything else in the envelope?" Daphne asked.
Granny Relda looked inside. It was empty.
"We don't have time for this," Mr. Canis grumbled.
"It's all we have to go on," the old woman replied.
"Well, let's go find Hans Christian Andersen," Daphne said.
Granny shook her head. "Daphne, Andersen wasn't an Everafter. He just wrote about them. He died a long time ago."
"You know that, silly," Sabrina said. "We read it on his statue in Central Park."
"There's a statue of Hans Christian Andersen in Central Park?" Granny cried. "Sabrina, you're a genius. Can you take us there?"
Sabrina nodded reluctantly.
Once they were on their way again, Granny turned in her seat and handed the book she had been reading to Sabrina.
"You and Daphne should probably go through this," she said. "It's going to tell you everything you need to know about Faerie."
Sabrina glanced down at the book. It was a play by William Shakespeare, entitled
A Midsummer Nights Dream.
Daphne snatched it and flipped through the pages. "What language is this?" she asked.
"It's English," Mr. Hamstead said. "Old English."
Minutes later they were over the bridge and cruising through the city's grid of streets and avenues. Book temporarily forgotten, Daphne gawked at the passing sites, pointing out her father's favorite diner and the playground their mother had taken them to on Sunday afternoons. Sabrina wanted to look out the window, too, but her old home was spoiled for her. There were few people who would describe New York City as normal, but now that Sabrina knew Everafters were crawling all over it, it seemed tainted, ugly.
Traffic was especially bad that afternoon. Christmas was only days away and everywhere shoppers were rushing into the streets carrying huge bags, slowing the family's progress dramatically. But they eventually made their way south through the city, and after much searching, Mr. Canis found a parking spot a few blocks from the park. As the family got out of the car, it rocked back and forth, angrily protesting with a series of backfires and exhaust clouds that caused some of the neighborhood residents to peer out their windows, apparently fearful there was a gun battle going on in the street. The family bundled Puck up in as many blankets as possible and trudged down a snowy sidewalk.
They made their way to the edge of the park and followed the stone wall until they found an entrance. Sabrina led them down a path that twisted and turned until they came to a man-made pond lined with benches. In the summertime, the pond was used by miniature-boat enthusiasts, who guided their tiny ships across its mirrorlike surface. Sabrina remembered her mother had loved this part of the park. Veronica had brought the girls there on many weekends and they spent hours watching the people walk by.
"Are you sure this is the place?" Mr. Hamstead asked.
Sabrina nodded and pointed across the pond. There sat a bronze statue of Andersen himself. Dressed in a suit, tie, and top hat, he was looking down at his most famous story--the ugly duckling.
"I think your contact is playing a game with us, Relda," Mr. Canis snarled as they approached the statue. He eyed a suspicious-looking man sitting on a nearby bench, sipping from a bottle in a brown paper sack.
Granny Relda reached into her handbag for her folded directions and reread them aloud. "It says we're supposed to tell a knock-knock joke to Andersen."
Canis grumbled. "What is a knock-knock joke?"
"You don't know what a knock-knock joke is?" Daphne cried.
"He doesn't do jokes," Hamstead said.
"Well, it goes like this. Knock knock."
Mr. Canis said nothing.
"You're supposed to say 'Who's there?'"
"Why?"
"You just do," the little girl said.
Mr. Canis took a deep, impatient breath. "Who's there?" Cows go. Again, Canis was confused.
"You're supposed to say, 'Cows go who?'" Granny explained. "Fine!" Canis snapped. "Cows go who?"
"No they don't," Daphne said. "Cows go moo."
Hamstead snorted with laughter and Granny giggled, but Canis flashed them both an angry look and they stopped.
"Well, let's give it a try," Granny said as she stepped in front of the statue. "Knock knock."
Unfortunately, nothing happened.
"Maybe we shout it?" Hamstead offered, and then started shouting the words as loud as he could. The rest joined him, causing the man on the nearby bench to mumble "freaks," get up, and stagger away.
"Well, this is real fun," Sabrina grumbled. "Anybody else got an idea before they send the crazy wagon to pick us up?"