by Laurie McKay
Onstage, Rath Dunn threw his arms out as if to embrace the audience. “This will be a new year, a new age. A new start for those of us willing to work for a common goal. Ms. Primrose is still with us and hungry to fulfill her duties assisting me. And I promise as principal”—when he said this, he looked out at the audience, his gaze finally landing on Caden and Jasan—“I’ll work to see that all of you and your families finally get what you deserve.”
Then Rath Dunn’s speech shifted to the amazing cafeteria food he and Ms. Jackson intended to create to further innovate the lunch program. “Let’s all try to survive the upcoming autumn,” he boomed into the microphone. With a grand flail of his arms, he added, “Now get to class! Anyone who is late or who skips will live to regret it.” He laughed. “Or maybe not, who knows?”
As Caden had been promoted from seventh to eighth grade, he had a new locker. No longer was he bound to unlucky locker twelve-four. His new assigned locker was the less unlucky thirteen-thirteen, and it was clean. He mentioned his improved fortune to Brynne, Tito, and Jane.
Tito leaned against locker thirteen-twelve. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Caden noticed Derek and his friends had stopped in the middle of the hall. They surveyed the red walls and shiny tiles with uneasy expressions. Now that Caden considered it, many of his schoolmates looked nervous. Some shuddered. The school had a cruel energy. Everyone seemed to feel it.
While Caden arranged his books, notebooks, and Ashevillian writing tools, Jane traced a finger on the edge of Caden’s sleek new locker. She seemed thoughtful, too thoughtful. “I could enchant this,” she said.
Caden froze, his reading book halfway between locker and hall. The locker was metal, and Jane enchanted metal. “I wouldn’t want you to do that,” Caden said.
“But it could be enchanted to always be clean and to hold more stuff,” Jane said.
Caden pulled out his book. Truth be told, a locker of cleanliness and holding was tempting. But only a little. Enchanting drained her of life force. He motioned to three cylindrical jars in the back. “I have three varieties of cleaning wipes. This locker is fine. But thank you, Lady Jane.”
“Jane,” Brynne said. “You shouldn’t waste your life force on something like that. Enchant something small, like our plan.” She produced a copper coin from her pocket. “Something that will only require a minute influx of life force. Like a penny.”
Tito knocked his fist on innocent locker thirteen-twelve. A dent formed in the smooth surface. “How about this?” he said. “Don’t enchant anything.”
“I was just thinking about it,” Jane said, and smiled at him. It was an easy smile, but Caden started to think that expression might mean she was unhappy. “It’s my decision, not yours.” Then she took Brynne’s coin, turned on her heel, and marched off toward her English class.
“I’ll talk to her,” Brynne said. She gestured to the red hall and sleek lockers. “The school doesn’t feel safe. Be careful in your class, prince.”
Despite improving his reading and writing over the summer, Caden remained in Mr. McDonald’s special reading class. Brynne walked after Jane, but Tito lingered. He shifted his stance like he was uncomfortable.
“What is it, Sir Tito?” Caden said.
“Dude, is there any way to convince Jane not to enchant things?”
Future Elite Paladins were always honest. “Enchanters enchant,” Caden said. “She is what she is. You must accept her as such. At least Brynne has convinced her to use some moderation.”
Tito leaned on locker thirteen-twelve. “I just worry about her.” Then he glanced around the near-empty hall. The late bell would ring any moment. “Crap. I better get to class.”
As Tito turned to go, though, a large shadow spread across the tiles and blocked his path. There was the tip-tap of someone approaching. The scent of roses drifted into the air. The other remaining students hurried out of sight until only Caden and Tito remained.
Ms. Primrose came around the corner a moment later. Her gnarled hand was clenched in a fist. Cold surrounded her, and if not for his coat, Caden would have shivered. She narrowed her ice-blue eyes at them. Jasan had told him to avoid Ms. Primrose not thirty minutes earlier. Now Caden and Tito stood in the empty hall, and an Elderdragon blocked their path.
Caden felt the blood drain from his face. He didn’t move. Her blue shadow was immense. It spread over the walls and made them appear a deep purple. As she approached, her pale eyes barely passed for human.
“Uh, hi,” Tito said. “Good morning, Ms. Primrose.”
“It’s hardly a good morning, Tito,” Ms. Primrose said. “Everything at school is wrong.” Then she pursed her lips and looked to Caden as if she expected a greeting.
Caden, however, wasn’t ready to wish her a pleasant day. She’d eaten his scribe. How could she have done that? He raised his chin and said nothing. His anger battled with his fear. And Ms. Primrose couldn’t devour Caden or Tito. It was against their pact. Why should he be nice?
When he didn’t speak, the hall became colder, darker.
Tito nudged Caden with his elbow. When Caden still kept silent, Tito said, “Yeah, we were just about to go to our classes.” As he finished the last word, the late bell rang. “Oh, oops? Maybe we could get late passes. . . .”
Ms. Primrose didn’t seem to be listening to Tito. Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap. She moved until she stood not a floor-tile length from Caden. She’d gained more weight since he’d seen her in August. “It’s rude, dear, not to greet your elders.” Although if she meant the Elderkind or simply those older than Caden, he didn’t know.
She was correct, however. Not speaking was rude. And Caden was an eighth-born prince. He was never rude. “Good morning, Ms. Primrose.” It was possible, however, to be both polite and not nice. “You’re looking quite portly.”
For a moment, there was silence. She looked shocked. Tito looked shocked. Then Tito said, “I think he means healthy, ma’am.”
Caden suspected she was self-conscious about her now snug-fitting clothes. In fact, he mentioned her weight to bother her. “That’s not what I meant,” Caden said.
“I know it’s not,” Ms. Primrose said. She leaned close, and Caden felt chilled. “Is this how you princes behave these days?” Her small pupils elongated to slits. “I may not be able to eat you, but don’t think I can’t punish you. Don’t give me cause to get creative, dear.”
As his intention was to anger her, it seemed his gift of speech had worked quite well today.
“Well, um, we should get to class,” Tito said again.
Caden wasn’t ready to get to class. He was mad at Ms. Primrose. He’d expected better of her than to eat poor Trevor. And then he told her so. Blue scales seemed to cover her face, though Caden also saw a silver scale near her ear.
“Dude, stop it,” Tito said. He glanced at Caden, then at Ms. Primrose. “Um. I mean, it wasn’t like you wanted to eat Caden’s scribe, was it?”
“Don’t you think I’d rather choose my own dinner?” she snapped. “It’s humiliating being controlled by an inept principal. Look what he’s done to my beautiful school. Everything is red.”
Did she care at all about the consequences of not having a choice? Or was she simply unhappy to be force-fed? Caden didn’t know.
But he did know what it was like not to be in control of his actions. Every month when his curse recurred, it was horrible. It was an unintentional order that had compelled Caden to chop off Brynne’s hair. He hadn’t wanted to do it; he’d tried to resist, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself, and he still felt responsible.
A question tickled his tongue. “If it had been your choice,” Caden said, “would you have let him live?”
When she turned to Caden, her mouth seemed stretched and distorted, her tongue blue, her teeth sharp. “If I had a choice right now, I’d eat you.” Though she stood in front of him, Caden felt cold breath above him. He dared not look up lest he see an Elderdragon’s jaw. He felt his courage waiver
and fear grip hold. She continued, “And I would take time to savor my food. First an arm. Then a leg. I’d enjoy my dinner.”
Tito stared, eyes wide, mouth agape.
Caden felt his body start to tremble. If ever there was a right time to say the right thing, it was now. The only thing Caden could think to say, however, was to agree with her. “Well,” Caden said, and swallowed, “royal meat is the tastiest.”
She blinked at him. “It certainly is,” she said, but the feeling of a gaping jaw above him receded. The chill lessened. “I won’t tolerate this again. I expect you to behave respectfully.” A small yellow pad appeared in her left hand, a pen in her right. She scribbled something, tore off a sheet, then gave it to Tito. “Your late pass, Tito.” She cut her gaze to Caden. “You don’t get one.”
As she tip-tapped away, Tito spun on Caden. “Bro,” he whispered, “were you trying to tick her off?”
Caden looked down. He cleared his throat. “Only at first,” he said.
“Well, how about only never from now on.”
That seemed a good idea, but Caden still felt conflicted. “But she ate Scribe Trevor.”
Tito took a deep breath and nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I know. But, well, it sounds like she didn’t have a choice,” he said. “And we don’t want her mad at us, remember?”
Tito was right, of course.
If she could have chosen, would she have chosen differently? Would the school have a new librarian now? During the three days of the half-moon, Caden had no choices. It was a terrible, helpless, terrifying experience, much more so than he let on to his friends. Maybe Ms. Primrose felt the same.
Like Tito had done a moment ago, Caden also took a deep breath. He still felt shaky. The encounter with Ms. Primrose had been a disaster. He’d learned nothing and possibly made her more of an enemy.
If Caden’s father, King Axel, ever found out about it, his brow would crease in disappointment; he’d sigh under his breath. If Jasan knew, he’d be infuriated. Jasan had finally trusted Caden with a mission; Caden didn’t want to make Jasan rethink it.
“Sir Tito?”
Tito was staring at the late pass crinkled in his closed fist. He looked up. “Yeah?”
“May I ask that you don’t tell Jasan about what just happened?”
Tito crooked a smile at him. “Usually, Jasan and I don’t even speak the same language. But I’ll tell you what, your recklessness,” he said. “Promise me you won’t purposely tick off any more Elderdragons, and I’ll never tell a soul.”
Caden placed his hand on Tito’s shoulder. “Dear friend,” he said, “it is indeed a promise.”
For the next three weeks, Caden went to school. Rath Dunn stopped him in the halls many times, to order him about, to check his compliance. Sometimes Ms. Jackson came out from the cafeteria line during lunch and sniffed him like she might be able to smell the curse. Luckily, the half-moon didn’t rise during that time.
As for Caden, he investigated Mr. McDonald—asked him questions, asked others about him. The day before Archer’s day—Thursday, September 21, by the Ashevillian calendar—his persistence paid off. As Caden sat at his computer, his classmate Ward on his left, his classmate Tonya to his right, Mr. McDonald announced, “If I’m late tomorrow, start your lessons without me.”
Never had a teacher been late for a class while Caden was enrolled. He swiveled around to face Mr. McDonald. “Why would you be late?”
“I just might. Now, mind your own business.”
He was wrong, though. “You’re my teacher; it is my business.”
“Don’t start with me today,” Mr. McDonald said.
Tonya swiveled around, too. The overhead lights reflected in her glasses as she chewed on a strand of her blond hair. Neither she nor Ward was in the class to learn the written word. Tonya was there to work on her stuttering. Caden wasn’t sure why Ward was in the class unless it was because he rarely spoke. But they knew of the evil at the school and helped gather information when possible. Indeed, Tonya was a good and smart ally, for she said, “But why would you be late, Mr. McDonald?”
Mr. McDonald threw up his hands. “I’m running errands! Important errands. Now be quiet and get to work. Both of you.”
After Mr. McDonald slinked back to his desk in the corner, Ward leaned toward Caden. He’d been small before the summer. Over the too-hot months, however, he’d stretched and grown tall. Though his hair was cropped short, it was now easy to see he was Manglor’s son. He whispered, “Pa once had to be late, back when Ms. Primrose was principal. He had to get her permission first.”
“Rath Dunn is now the principal,” Caden mused. “It’s his permission that’s needed.”
That evening, the last of the Ashevillian summer, Caden sat on the porch steps with Brynne. The sky was orange and pink, the mountains dark-blue mounds beneath it. The air was cool and smelled of dirt and grass. It felt like change was coming.
Tito and Jane practiced fighting stance seven on the lawn. They moved fast. Jane’s strikes with the sparring mop had deadly intent. Tito’s slashes with sparring stick number eight looked strong and sure. Caden felt pride swell inside. He’d taught them well.
“We need to track Mr. McDonald before dawn,” he told Brynne. “We need to find out what his early-morning errands are.”
Click. Clack. Tito and Jane connected with powerful volleys.
“That early?” Brynne said. “Ugh.”
“It’s important.”
As Jane’s mop clashed with Tito’s stick, the sparring stick snapped in two. He stepped back and frowned at the splintered end. “I guess we’ll find another one, huh?” Tito wiped sweat from his brow. “Number nine, right?”
As he was distracted, Jane took the initiative and used the sparring mop to sweep him off his feet and knock him onto his back. “I win,” she said.
“When you don’t play fair,” Tito said, but he grinned and let her help him up.
“Villains won’t fight fair,” Jane said.
“You should know that by now, Sir Tito,” Caden called over.
Tito threw half of sparring stick number eight at Caden’s royal face, but Caden caught it. Then Jane skipped over and sat beside Caden and Brynne on the steps. They watched Tito clean the sparring area. It was the loser’s duty to do so.
As he finished, Tito checked to make sure Rosa was nowhere nearby. Then he pulled out his cell phone and showed a map. “Jane and I found Mr. McDonald’s address. He rents a room above a consignment store.”
“You have done great work finding his home,” Caden said.
“We just googled it,” said Jane.
Brynne and Caden snuck out of Rosa’s house hours before dawn. Truly, Caden didn’t think Rosa would excuse punishment a second time if she discovered he was gone, and he was grateful Jane and Tito volunteered to stay, to cover for them if needed and to collect data Brynne texted back.
The mountain was dark. Brynne pulled out her cell phone to light their way. Once beyond the tall grasses of the side yard, Caden whistled for Sir Horace. His horse couldn’t be stabled when the night called to him. While they waited, Brynne stretched like a wind cat. “One day,” she said, “I want a car. Then we can travel by auto and not smelly horse.”
Caden was aghast. Simply aghast. “There is no better way to travel than on Sir Horace.”
Like the name was an incantation, there came a pounding of hooves on the ground. A thunderous snort echoed in the mountains. Sir Horace stuck his head around a large maple tree a moment later.
“I want a pickup,” Brynne said. “Like Rosa’s, only with a better sound system and Bluetooth.” She turned over her phone and showed him a picture of a shiny silver pickup. “I’ve already chosen it.”
A pickup couldn’t nuzzle Caden’s neck like Sir Horace. A pickup wouldn’t stand beside Caden proudly or charge ice dragons. A pickup couldn’t gallop up a rocky mountainside with a Galvanian stallion’s speed and agility. Cars needed roads. No sleek silver pickup could match
Sir Horace’s frost-colored hair and magnificent mane.
“Sir Horace need not compete with soulless silver pickups,” Caden said. “I don’t understand you at all, sorceress.” He reached up and covered Sir Horace’s ears. “Don’t listen to her, friend.”
With a look a disdain for Brynne and her pickup, Caden pulled himself up onto Sir Horace’s back. Brynne switched her phone so it showed a map, then hopped on behind him. Surprisingly, Sir Horace didn’t complain about his second rider even after she’d insulted him by saying she’d prefer a truck. Then they were away, galloping toward the apartment over the consignment shop like a white flash in the predawn night.
Caden, Brynne, and Sir Horace peeked from around the shadowy corner of a brick building. A lone streetlight cast a yellow glow near a door beside the shop. It wasn’t long before the door swung open and cut into the light. Mr. McDonald exited; he carried large rolls of papers—maps, Caden suspected—under his arm and steaming coffee in his left hand.
“Text Tito and Jane. Let them know we have found the objective, and he seems to be carrying maps.” All details were important, even ones that didn’t seem to be. “And coffee.”
“I already have. You know,” Brynne said, “if you let me spell you, you could just text them yourself. With more than emojis.”
He turned to her. “Future Elite Paladins don’t rely on magic.”
She smiled slyly, and he knew what she was about to say. “Prince Jasan lets me magic him to read and write some days, and he’s a current Elite Paladin.”
“I don’t know why he lets you do that.”
“Because he’s not so fussy.”
“Or he’s being rebellious.”
“Or practical,” Brynne said. “You should let me magic you.”
Once, Brynne had cursed Caden with a fluffy white tail. Another time, she’d turned his skin the color of desert amethysts. Worst of all, after arriving in Asheville, she was the one who had cursed him with compliance for the three days at each half-moon. That last spell she’d yet to find a way to break.
