by Bridget Zinn
Her whole body reacted. She melted into him and began kissing him back, wishing that things weren’t the way they were.
Fred went still, and she pulled away.
He slumped down to the floor, eyes closed.
Kyra scooped a nibble off her own plate. It really was a delicious pie. The berries were deliciously tart against the sweet crust.
Perfect for hiding a sleeping potion.
Kyra kept her fingers crossed that he’d had enough. She eyed his plate critically. He’d only had a half dozen bites. But that should provide her with enough time to find the princess without Fred “accidentally” interfering—whoever he really was. She didn’t trust how he kept “accidentally” crossing her path. Now she could be sure it wouldn’t happen again. Before he woke, she’d be far enough away that he couldn’t follow.
His body’s natural nighttime sleep cycle would probably kick in where the potion left off, and he’d think he’d eaten too much and fallen asleep.
Kyra laid him on his back, propping up his head with a pillow. His hair was soft in her hands as she arranged his head so he would be able breathe freely.
Before she could think about what she was doing, she leaned forward and dropped a small kiss just above his left eyebrow. He did smell wonderful.
She gathered her pack, making sure her potions pouch was safely tucked inside, and took one last look. Completely relaxed, his face looked ready to break into a smile at any moment.
Langley lay down beside Fred, his big dog head resting on his front paws.
“Keep an eye on him, okay?” Kyra said.
Kyra’s glamour was gone, but it was late enough that she hoped the shadows outside would be disguise enough. The festival was long over and people rarely came out this late at night. The streets were quiet as she followed Rosie on her hunt. The little pig walked right up to the front door of Gabrielle’s Fine Dresses and sat, looking up at Kyra expectantly.
“No, Rosie. I know this is where the cloth came from, but I’m trying to find the person it belonged to originally. Come on, girl. I know you can do this.”
But Rosie was unyielding. She began scraping the door with her hooves.
Kyra gave up, brought Rosie around to the side door, and broke into the shop. Maybe she’d find something interesting in Ari’s closet that she hadn’t seen before. Something besides the wedding dress Ari had ruined. Or maybe Rosie, who was headed right for the curtain concealing the private closets, needed to come into contact with the whole dress before turning around and tracking down the princess.
Except Rosie didn’t lead her to the closet.
She wound her way through the reams of multicolored fabric on display in the main room of the shop and through the curtain to where the closet was located. But instead of stopping there, she headed for the half-open storeroom door and pushed her way through with her snout.
Kyra followed and watched as Rosie scrambled her way to the top of the slippery pile of mannequins and began digging through them.
Finally, about halfway down the stack, she settled herself on top of one of them with a satisfied grunt.
“Come on, Rosie. Those things give me the creeps. Let’s go check out Ari’s closet.” The mannequins’ frozen, painted eyes seemed to stare at Kyra.
Rosie just snorted.
“Rosie, come here!”
Rosie stayed where she was, not so much as lifting her head at Kyra’s voice.
Kyra stepped into the room, wishing that Rosie would just come when she was called. If it had been daylight and the shop bustling with costumers, maybe this stack of naked wooden bodies wouldn’t seem so creepy. But here in the silence with only the faint glow of Kyra’s necklace lighting the room, there was something unnerving about the flat, sightless dolls’ eyes watching her.
She made her way to Rosie and reached down to scoop her up. Just as her hands touched the little pig, she caught sight of the mannequin Rosie was on top of.
And almost screamed.
It looked just like Ariana.
CREEPY.
Kyra clutched Rosie to her chest, staring in awe at the blond-haired mannequin in front of her. It was uncanny how much this stiff, dead thing looked like the princess. It even had her frizzy hair. Maybe Gabrielle’s tailors did their work for the princess on a life-size model of her, just to be certain they got everything just right. Maybe.
Kyra set Rosie down on the floor and watched in dismay as the pig scrambled back up on top of the mannequin. Weird.
She went back into the other room and took down a lantern hanging on a hook, lit the wick, and brought it into the storeroom with her. She knelt by the mannequin that looked like her friend. It was perfect. It even had the mole on her belly that Ariana said was shaped like a teddy bear.
Except this Ariana was carved out of wood.
And had a tiny and very contented-looking pig curled up on its stomach.
Was Rosie wrong to lead Kyra here, to this thing? Or was there more to this mannequin, a lie in its appearance?
Kyra took out her potions bag and picked through the bottles.
Her fingers closed on the potion she’d spent so much time and energy acquiring. The potion she’d risked breaking into the Master Trio’s flat for and had ended up finding on the floor across the hall, in Ellie the hermit’s living room.
Official name—Peccant Pentothal; potion number—07 211; previous working name—Red Skull Serum.
The potion she’d used on Arlo at the king’s bidding.
The potion that had nearly killed him. Which, diluted with pine oil, had transformed him into wood. Arlo had been told of Kyra’s mistake; maybe he’d repeated it on someone else.
Kyra took several deep breaths to still her hands before beginning a far different dilution process for the Red Skull Serum. The proper dilution.
Properly prepared, the serum could reveal any falsehood—including magical ones. Could it counteract this spell?
Improperly prepared—well, depending on the potions used on this painted doll, it could end up destroying the mannequin, the storeroom, and anyone in it.
Kyra glanced down, patted the piglet’s head, and scooped her up. “You’re going to wait outside,” she told Rosie, setting her in the main showroom and closing the door on her.
She unscrewed the top of an empty dropper bottle and filled it with dilution fluid. Carefully, she went through the many steps of the process, repeating them to herself as she worked through every possible counter-reaction, just to make certain she wasn’t overlooking anything. She put the cap back on the dropper bottle and swirled the contents around inside.
As she worked, questions ran wild through her head. What if Ariana came to the shop to get her wedding dress mended and never left? What if I don’t have to kill my best friend after all?
She uncapped the bottle and sucked a tiny bit of the serum up into the dropper.
Her hand hovered over the mannequin. It stared at her with its painted blue eyes so much like Ariana’s, blond hair in a pouf around its face. It didn’t have the identical features as the models lying around it, and it was thicker and sturdier.
This has to be her.
Kyra squeezed one drop of diluted serum on the wooden lips. A small bead of moisture stood out—the wetness turning the pink paint a shade darker where it lay.
Nothing happened.
Kyra went back over her calculations. She didn’t believe she’d made it too strong; she’d taken every care to make sure it wasn’t lethal. Had it not been strong enough? Or had she completely lost her mind and this was just what it appeared to be—a replica of the kingdom’s princess?
A series of images clicked together in her head: Arlo going rigid when she’d administered the wrong mix of the serum to him. The vial of Peccant Pentothal she’d found in Ellie’s lodgings. The way Rosie had first led her to Ellie, who was somehow mixed up in the princess’s disappearance.
But even if this mannequin were Ariana, it wasn’t flesh and blood: it was a woo
den figure. It could no more drink a drop of serum than Kyra could cough out a splinter of wood.
And it was all her fault. It was her poison that had been used on Ariana. Kyra had failed in her mission to kill whatever had taken Ariana’s place, just like she had failed to rescue the princess from this horrible fate.
After everything else she’d suffered, this was just too much: Kyra wept.
She hugged the stiff figure and sobbed loudly, her tears slicking her cheeks and the hard face of the Ariana mannequin, crying out, “I’m sorry, Ari—so sorry. It’s my fault.” She cried until she’d dampened the doll’s wooden visage, cried until she didn’t have any more tears. She ignored the scratching of the pig at the door and just held on to her friend.
Then something absolutely miraculous happened. Beneath her arms, the wooden stiffness warmed and began to soften. Kyra pulled back and looked at the mannequin. The painted skin brightened into flesh, and a sparkling blue replaced the dull paint of the eyes.
Kyra barked out a laugh and dragged her hand across her snotty nose.
Her tears! She hadn’t diluted the solution enough, after all—she’d overlooked the necessary admixture of salt water as an alkaline. Kyra laughed again and shook the figure in her arms.
Ariana sucked in a great gulp of breath.
Then she turned those sparkling blue eyes on Kyra. And coughed in her face.
“Kitty, I feel awful.” Her eyes spun as she looked around the room, then she rolled over onto her side and wheezed. “Ugh. And why aren’t I wearing any clothes?”
Kyra smiled. “It’s a long story.”
FOR A LONG WHILE, Ariana couldn’t move her body much, though she had little trouble moving her jaw. She talked nonstop.
“Why is there a pig trying to climb on top of me?” she’d asked after Kyra let Rosie back into the room. The little pig kept butting Ariana with her head until Kyra reached down and popped the small scrap of green silk out of her basket. “By the Goddess, Kitty, I’m completely naked!” she’d complained, until Kyra found her a simple day dress in the old Choizie Laurent closet. And “I am so glad to see you,” she said as she, at last, started stretching out the kinks in her long limbs.
Kyra grabbed up her friend in a huge hug, and Ariana hugged her back—so hard that Kyra’s tears threatened to spill all over again.
There was no doubt that this was the real Ariana. Kyra didn’t need her Sight to tell her that. “That pig is named Rosie, by the way, and she helped me find you. You should be nice to her.”
The little pig sank down onto her haunches next to Ariana, closed her eyes, and gave out a great big gusty sigh, as though she needed a nap after her exertions.
“Did you really try to kill me? And missed? You?” Ariana asked, drawing the day dress down over her torso.
At Kyra’s confused look, she added, “I was frozen, but I wasn’t deaf. The only thing I could do was eavesdrop. Being a clotheshorse is so boring.”
“Um, yeah. Tried to kill you. And missed,” Kyra said, settling on the floor and petting Rosie. “But obviously it wasn’t really you—you were here.” The giddiness Kyra was feeling swelled into an all-encompassing joy as the thought truly struck home—she wasn’t going to have to kill her best friend.
“And you knew that it wasn’t really me?” Ariana gently pulled on her elbow with her other hand, stretching her shoulder blade and the muscles in her back.
“Well, no, not exactly.”
Ariana eyed her over her elbow.
“Actually…I thought you were possessed.”
Ariana looked at her thoughtfully. “There’s no cure for possession.”
“None.” Kyra squeezed her hands together. “You have no idea how glad I am that I was wrong!”
“Still, Kyra—killing me? That’s a little harsh.”
Kyra was going to have to tell Ari about her vision. She would never forget the look on her friend’s face the day they’d met, when Ari had told Kyra that witches weren’t even human. Ari didn’t know about Kyra’s witch spark, and she wished things could stay that way. The last thing Kyra needed was to lose her best friend when she’d only just gotten her back.
“Don’t give me that look. Did I, or did I not, just save your life?”
“You did.” Ariana reached out and squeezed Kyra’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Kyra felt the weight of the last three months lift off of her as she leaned against her friend. “So, what happened, Ariana?”
Ariana shrugged in response and put on the long soft pantaloons she wore under her dresses to give her more mobility. “I came down here with my ripped-up wedding gown. I was horrified about what I’d done and thought maybe Gabrielle could fix it and hide the evidence. When I came into the shop, the girl at the counter directed me to the back room. The moment I walked in, I was frozen.”
“A witch’s sticky trap,” Kyra said.
“If you say so.” Ariana shrugged. “All I heard was a man’s voice—an old man. ‘Oh, foo!’ he said. I felt a drop of potion on my hand, and then my body went all—well, you saw what I looked like.” She shuddered. “Whoever it was dragged me into this storeroom, cut my clothes off me, and stacked me with the rest of the dummies.”
“And sent a fake princess back to the palace to take your place.”
“Do we have to get rid of the fake princess? If she wants my life, she can have it. She can marry the prince, run the kingdom, and end up shut inside that palace.”
“The fake princess is evil, Ariana. She’s going to destroy the kingdom.” Kyra could feel her heart pounding, and the room began spinning around her. She’d thought for a moment that she’d be able to somehow avoid this.
But she needed to convince Ariana completely.
The kingdom needed her.
“And I know she’s evil,” Kyra said, her olive eyes meeting Ariana’s blue ones, “because I’m a witch.”
“You’re my best friend—I’d know if you were a witch.”
“I had a vision of the fake princess destroying the kingdom.” Kyra shut her eyes. “That’s my power as a witch—I’m a Seer.”
“A Seer?”
Kyra opened her mouth to explain, when the door burst open.
Fred flew into the room, Langley beside him. He caught sight of Kyra and Ariana sitting together on the floor and shouted, “Stop! I can’t let you do this, Kyra!”
Langley came over to Kyra and put his nose in her palm.
“Fred?” Kyra rubbed the pup’s snout. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
Fred stood blinking, as though he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. His clothes were disheveled from his nap on the floor, and he had a spot of springberry pie on his chin. “I dozed off for a minute or two, and by the time I was awake, you were gone.”
Darn. He hadn’t eaten enough pie. “And how in the world did you find me here?”
“Oh. I, um, nicked your tracking potion earlier and tagged you while you were cutting the strudel. I had a feeling I might not be seeing you again unless I took matters into my own hands. Speaking of which—”
Fred walked over and touched her gently on the shoulder. “That stuff burns.”
“You’ve got pie on your chin.”
He swiped at his jaw with the back of his hand.
Kyra realized that Ariana was glaring at her.
“What are you doing with him?” the princess demanded.
“Fred? I’m not doing anything with him. How do you know Fred?” As Kyra was saying this, something struck her: he’d called her Kyra. Not only did Ariana know who Fred was, Fred knew who Kyra was too.
“Hmmm…let’s see.” Ariana tapped her chin like she was thinking. “Well, there was that whole marriage thing that was supposed to happen.”
“What?”
Stiffly, Ariana stood and walked through to the Choizie Laurent closet. Reaching deep inside, she pulled something from the highest shelf and brought it over: a small portrait. Of Fred. With the words HIS ROYAL
HIGHNESS, PRINCE FREDERICK LANTANA III, OF ARCADIA.
Kyra felt like she’d been thrown down from a tall height.
Fred—who, less than an hour ago had been kissing her—was engaged to her best friend.
He’d mentioned his dad was a perfumer. Of course the king of Arcadia would be a perfumer. Arcadia was famous for its perfumeries.
Fred eyed her uneasily. “Can we discuss the whole assassination thing? Are you planning to murder the princess any time soon?”
Kyra and Ariana simultaneously rolled their eyes.
“Not at the moment,” Kyra said. “Though, there’s another royal in the room I’d like to see dead.”
“Oh, that’s good. Really good! We’re clearly starting off on the right path here.” He sat down on a giant bolt of purple fabric. Langley had found Rosie and curled himself around her.
“Ugh,” Ariana said. “He’s even worse in person.” She smiled innocently at him and shrugged. “Sorry ’bout that, I can’t help it—Kyra gave me a truth serum!”
“Right.” He smiled nervously. “I’m sorry that I lied to you, Kyra. I can’t say that I wasn’t out looking for the princess’s assassin. I was.”
“So it wasn’t just coincidence that I ran into you.”
“Actually, it was. I wasn’t exactly aggressive in my search for the assassin.” He shifted his weight. “More like, if I happened to run into her and captured her, that would be okay. I never expected to find the assassin crossing a stream in her underwear with a pig on top of her head.”
A puff of laughter escaped Ariana.
“I never dreamed the assassin was you.”
Kyra and Ariana exchanged a look.
“God’s honest. The confusion potion at the witch’s should have been a clue, but I was so sure I knew who you were: Kitty, the dairymaid with the pig.”
Ariana interrupted. “Wait, you said you were a dairymaid?” She started cackling. “Oh, Kitty, you are the best. Why in the world would anyone believe you were a dairymaid?”
Fred pushed his hands through his rumpled hair. “I only knew for sure it was you when I saw that poison in your bag. That’s the truth. Do you want to give me some of this truth serum I keep hearing so much about?”
