“Dude, your mouth is hanging open,” Kennedy whispered.

Dickens clapped his mouth shut. They’d travelled to the Tree, which turned out to be a vast forest embodying children’s books. As Lady Kennedy sped along a yellow brick road, Dickens had spied Whoville, Narnia, and a pack of Berenstain Bears lumbering by. The young page now knew where the wild things were and he was shook.

They followed a literal white rabbit up to a cozy book-lined office in Shel Silverstein-style tree house. Buttery toast with heaps of jam awaited them. Lady Kennedy looked a mixture of hungry and annoyed. Arms crossed, she plopped down on loveseat. Confused Dickens sat on a hard stool. He reached for the tray of toast. Kennedy growled. With a bang, Dickens dropped the serving tongs. His stomach grumbled in protest.

“Earl Grey, hot. Your favorite, Kens. Hello oh you’re a boy!”

Kennedy sighed.

“Hodgson, head curator of children’s literature and queen of the obvious. this is Dickens. Dickens, who is a page and Plath’s grandson and also a boy, this is Hodgson. We’re here to review any materials Plath left behind,” Kennedy said.

“I know why you’re here. Yes I know Plath uncovered something whilst she was here researching nursery rhymes origin stories. Dickens your grandmother was brilliant. She was a dear friend. And judging by your presence Kens that something was stolen,” Hodgson said pouring the tea.

“Always playing mother, aren’t we?” Kennedy said under his breath.

His grandmother’s cubby hole had been left as if she had just walked off for coffee. Kennedy searched through the papers. Dickens held his grandmother’s coffee cup. His sister had gotten it for her birthday. It read not a day over fabulous. Kennedy pulled a copy of Danielle Steele off the shelf.

“Well this is one thing that is not like the others,” Kennedy said.

A post it note from behind the hefty book floated off the wall. Dickens picked it up. It read: who’s afraid of the big bad wolf