by Ava Corrigan
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
THE BEGINNING OF THE FAIRY TALE
FAIRY TALE #1
THE HEART GROWS OLD
FAIRY TALE #2
FAIRY TALE #3
FAIRY TALE #4
THE HEART GROWS OLD
FAIRY TALE #5
FAIRY TALE #6
THE HEART GROWS OLD
COPYRIGHT
Bloom Peters pulled her grubby sleeping bag up to her chin, shivered on the deflating air mattress laid on the cold floor, and wished for home.
No kindly fairy godmother came to grant her wish.
The warehouse where she spent her nights was a space that could give you nightmares, and Bloom didn’t need any help in the nightmare department. There was detritus heaped in the corners of the cavernous space, and sometimes Bloom heard weird rustling coming from that direction—rustling that she’d firmly decided not to investigate. Moonlight sent shafts of cold illumination down through the apertures in the roof, like alien spaceships searching for an abductee.
Luckily for Bloom, her nightmares were about burning homes and not chilly warehouses. And she couldn’t have nightmares if she never slept.
She sat up in her makeshift bed and reached for her notepad, using her phone to light the top page.
Bloom’s list of ideas was titled What the hell is happening to me?
Pyrokinesis?
Mutations?
Superpowers?
Fireproof?
Under her list of ideas, she’d written the results of her experiments.
July 6th—candles—no burns.
July 8th—camping stove—no burns.
July 10th—blowtorch—no burns.
Experimenting on herself had been scary, but not as scary as the memory of her home burning. Every night, she relived the fight she’d had with her mom, and then the moment she’d woken to find her house in flames. She’d known that somehow, she’d done this. She’d charged through her burning house into her parents’ bedroom to find the bed, the curtains, the whole room a seething inferno. Even the ceiling was a sea of flame. Bloom remembered her dad coughing desperately on the floor, her mom wrapped in a blanket and covered in burns. As though the fire had lunged to swallow her mom, when Bloom would never …
Bloom would never. Only she had.
Every night, she crept out of her nice, normal bedroom in her nice, normal, being-reconstructed-from-fire-damage home. She came here and huddled on the floor and tried to think her way out of this. Bloom considered herself a fighter, but she was the one who’d hurt her mom. She didn’t know how to fight herself.
Another rustle came, this one much louder. Bloom’s head jerked up. She couldn’t see much through the grime-smeared windows. If someone had seen a teenage girl sneak into the abandoned warehouse, they might get all kinds of ideas.
Bloom put down her phone and her notebook. Let them try to come at her. She’d hurt her own mother. She wouldn’t hesitate to go scorched-earth on a creep. Literally.
There was another sound, an echoing footstep. Bloom’s hands clenched into fists. She felt an itch in the center of each palm, like heat building.
The sound of the footstep hadn’t come from the direction of the door.
Bloom spun around to see the woman.
This was no ordinary intruder.
This woman was clearly extraordinary. There was no question about that. She was tall, a middle-aged white woman in conservative clothes with an ash-blonde mane severely pinned up, dark decided eyebrows, and an air of immense dignity. Her presence seemed to transform the grubby warehouse into a stateroom.
Also, the wall behind the woman had opened into a shimmering portal of light. Just another clue that something unusual was going on.
“Bloom Peters?” said the stranger. “I’m Farah Dowling. Please try to forget my first name immediately. If you come to my school, you won’t be using it. Headmistresses don’t have first names.”
Bloom’s first shock was fading.
“If I come … to your school,” said Bloom. A jagged laugh erupted from her throat. “Oh, a mysterious stranger has come to tell me about her school for wizards?”
“Not wizards,” said the woman.
Bloom waved this off. “Is this the part where you tell me I’m magic now?”
“You always were, Bloom,” said Headmistress Dowling. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
That was enough. She might have mysterious powers that were out of control, the world might be going mad, but her parents hadn’t raised her to listen to strange adults who approached in the dead of night with what sounded like a cult recruitment speech. Bloom snorted, abandoned her sleeping bag, and made for the door.
The woman’s voice stopped her at the mouth of the warehouse.
“I know about the fire, Bloom.”
Bloom trembled like a candle flame in a gust of wind. Slowly, she turned around. The woman was watching her with a steady gaze, keen but not unkind.
“Where are you going? You can’t go home. You’re too afraid you’ll hurt your parents again.”
Headmistress Dowling was right. Bloom shivered. Even in California, the nights could get cold.
Dowling moved toward Bloom, and Bloom held still, caught by a mixture of fear and hope.
“You’re looking for answers. I’m a teacher. That means I have all the answers. Or at least, I’ll tell you that I do.”
Bloom wanted to go home even more than she wanted answers, but she couldn’t find a safe path. Not on her own.
So when the woman spoke, Bloom listened.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild …
—W. B. Yeats
Fire
I had only just arrived at the castle, and honestly, I was in shock.
Chill, Bloom, I kept repeating in my mind, but it was hard to be chill in fairyland. I hadn’t expected my new fairy school to look like the castle in an illustration from the book of fairy tales I used to treasure. Once upon a time, it was my favorite possession, the fanciest book I owned, with golden swirls on the cover. But I’d grown up and packed the book into my old toy chest along with my teddy bears. I’d thought I was long past fairy tales.
That was before I used magic to burn down my house. My toy chest and my fairy-tale book had burned, too.
Even as a kid, I’d never expected to actually step into a fairy tale. The whole landscape was like this. Verdant rolling hills that looked soft as green velvet, dark deep forests, and now a castle surrounded by gates and gardens.
There were domed towers on either side of the castle, and the roof was speckled with turrets. The walls seemed to be granite, but smoother somehow, like granite turned to glass or given a magic gloss. Maybe fairies could do that.
I had no idea what fairies could do. Yet apparently, I was one.
My book of fairy tales hadn’t included a swarm of kids around my age. One long-legged, capable-looking African American chick strode by, wearing a denim jacket and carrying a bag full of athletic gear. Wait, she wasn’t African American. Fairies didn’t have Africa or America. I didn’t know the name of the fairy realm I was currently in. Also, I hadn’t pictured fairies being into extreme sports.
Another girl, pale with a cloud of brown hair, was clutching several plants to her bosom as she hurried across the courtyard. A third sauntered by, vaguely punk rock and olive-skinned and wearing enormous headphones that buzzed faintly on her ears. I hadn’t pictured fairies rocking out, either.
There was a rangy guy with skinny jeans, overly sardonic eyebrows, and a knife-bridge nose. California had plenty of white boy edgelords, but this edgelord had an actual knife. Oh no, actual knife! I wasn’t interested in getting to know Knife Boy better.<
br />
A stunning blonde girl with porcelain skin was taking a selfie with a group of overawed younger students. A luminous wisp floated in the air, making her glossy hair shine. Talk about a beauty angle. Seemingly, fairies could create their own beauty lighting.
I checked my phone. Headmistress Dowling had told me an older girl called Stella would meet me and show me the ropes. Stella was late, and I was tired of waiting. I could find my way on my own.
I started forward, hesitated and redirected, and then started forward again. Boldness was everything.
“Wow,” said a voice. “You are so lost.”
Some guy was talking to me. Thankfully, not Knife Guy, but … sorry, Some Guy, I don’t have time for you.
Some Guy continued, his voice thoughtful. “The issue is you overcommitted. I mean, you’re essentially running. And now that I’m here, you can’t possibly give me the satisfaction of turning around.”
I sneaked a look at him and grinned. His hair had coiffed peaks like a gold helmet and his shirt was pink, which I liked because gender stereotypes were for the weak. He even had a summer tan that fishbelly-pale redheaded me could only dream of. But no matter how cute he was, I wasn’t going to encourage him.
“I guess that means we have to do this forever. There are worse things, but—”
I stopped and turned to him. “I don’t need help, but thanks.”
Now I was looking at him properly, Some Guy was very cute, with a hero jawline and a confident air. Some Guy might be cute, but I was the independent type.
Some Guy teased: “Don’t remember offering it. So presumptuous. You must be a fairy.”
Well, that’s what Headmistress Dowling had told me. I took a deep breath, and said it out loud for the first time. “Yes. I am a fairy.”
The castle and the cute boy went hazy around me for a minute. I continued bantering, but I wasn’t doing a great job at hiding how overwhelmed I was. He guessed I wasn’t from around here, and his gaze softened as though he felt bad for me.
Back in California, I hadn’t fit in. Could I here? This boy seemed so completely at home, in a castle, in a world where fairies were real. Part of me wanted to keep smiling at him, and part of me wanted to find my own way.
“Dude! Quit perving on the first years.”
Cute Guy turned around at the voice, which belonged to Knife Boy. Oh, hell no. I was out of here.
I made my way toward the staircase while the pair bro-hugged. Knife Boy was apparently called “Riv.” Well. My name was Bloom. I shouldn’t judge.
The blonde with the magic beauty lighting caught up with me at the staircase. She would’ve been even more beautiful if she hadn’t been wearing an expression suggesting she smelled something bad.
“Bloom?”
I guessed that something was me.
“You must be Stella. Hi. I’ve been waiting. I just kinda got impatient.”
Stella didn’t seem impressed by my impatience, but she led the way through the castle, waving an airy hand around at the impressive surroundings. Some of the chandeliers in this place were so dainty and delicate, they looked like stars suspended on gilt ribbons. The rooms were large and bright, with sunbeams dyed by stained-glass windows that were as intricate as the embroidery on a princess’s hem. Much of the stained glass was different shades of green, subtly coloring the air around us as though we were in a world made of jade and emerald.
Stella wasn’t impressed, but she was totally impressive herself. She wore her hair in a cool looping braid, a trenchcoat with a haute couture air, and awesome red boots. I was a boots girl myself, plus I wore red and pink because redheads weren’t supposed to and I liked breaking rules. All my dresses-and-boots ensembles would pale compared to Stella, though. Even Stella’s hand was decorated. I nodded toward her ornate jewelry. “That is a lot of ring.”
“Family heirloom,” said Stella. “A gateway ring. The only thing that keeps me sane in this place is the ability to leave it.”
She continued talking, full of ennui about the fairy-tale castle, while I sneaked another look at her ring. “If you ever want to go back,” Stella said as she deliberately flashed it at me. She was making some kind of power play, and I didn’t know why.
This girl Stella didn’t know how badly I wanted to go back home. But I couldn’t. That woman, Headmistress Dowling, had promised me answers.
I let Stella lead me upstairs to the set of rooms in the fairy-tale castle that she referred to as the Winx suite. I dumped my bags, but I didn’t pay much attention to what Stella was saying. I was focused on answers.
My first order of business was finding Headmistress Dowling again.
Fire
A fairy who seemed mostly interested in her phone directed me to the headmistress’s office. Once there, I only found more questions. There was a globe in the office that showed realms instead of continents. There was a realm called Eraklyon, which sounded like a dragon clearing its throat. Apparently, the realm I was currently in was called Solaria.
The fairy school Alfea. The fairy realm Solaria. Worlds away from California, and home.
And Headmistress Dowling, the woman with the answers. My only hope. She fit in here against the background of books and ornate stained glass, her globe of the realms and her shining desk. She stood at her desk, elaborately carved chair and circular mosaic windows of green glass behind her, telling me I was a Fire Fairy.
“That much I know,” I said dryly, and then asked my first question. “So. When do we start?”
Ms. Dowling answered in a measured tone. “Classes begin tomorrow. You’ll start with the basics. Learn to use your magic slowly, but safely.”
It stung. I thought, since she came to get me herself, that she might be giving me special lessons. But no, I was just another student at fairy school. Fine with me. My mission was to get out of here as quickly as possible.
Thus, one word she’d used concerned me. “When you say slowly …”
“I mean it. Magic can be dangerous, as you well know. Our curriculum is designed with that in mind. Trust the process.”
With an edge in my voice, I said: “The … slow … process.”
“Alfea’s graduates have ruled realms and led armies. They’ve forged powerful relics and rediscovered long-lost magic. They shape the Otherworld. If you succeed here, you will, too.”
Her voice was soft, serious, and compelling. Her words unrolled in front of me like another map of strange realms. Ms. Dowling gave a great recruitment speech, but I wasn’t looking to be recruited.
“This place … the Otherworld, Alfea? Honestly, it seems”—like a storybook come to life—“amazing. But it isn’t my home,” I told her. “I don’t need to rule a realm or lead an army. I’m here because you promised you’d teach me control.”
I didn’t want to beg for reassurance. She provided none.
Ms. Dowling met my beseeching gaze with her own cool, level stare. Her voice drew a line under the conversation. “No, Bloom. You’re here because you knew you had no other choice.”
I almost hated her for not helping me, but she was right. This was the place I could learn control. My parents deserved better than a child gone wild as a forest fire. I was doing this for them.
Fire
I’d do anything for my parents, including lie to them about my new boarding school in Definitely Switzerland. My afternoon video chat with them was slightly awkward, especially when Mom and Dad hinted about seeing the view from the window. If only fairyland had ski slopes!
Mom and I used to play pretend that I was a princess, back in the days when she thought I’d grow up to be a cheerleader and maybe prom queen. We’d get dressed up and she’d play me cheerleader-type music. I remembered one chant that went Close your eyes and open your heart! The cheesy brainwashing hadn’t worked. I never much cared about frilly princess gowns, but I liked the idea of being at home in my princess castle.
In my fairy-tale castle daydreams, the princess got a room of her own.
&nb
sp; In what beautiful blonde Stella had called the Winx suite—a bright series of rooms with tall windows and a view I couldn’t allow my parents to see—only one person got a room of their own. To my total lack of surprise, that person was Stella.
The second room was occupied by Musa, the girl with the buzzing headphones I’d spotted earlier, and Terra, who was even now bustling through the rooms placing plants on every available surface. I was sharing a room with a girl called Aisha. I’d noticed her athletic bag earlier, but now Aisha’s impressive array of sports medals on her dresser were shining more brightly than the mirror. I didn’t know where Aisha herself was. She moved fast, loping through our rooms with terrifying grace and speed.
She seemed nice, but I didn’t envision myself being bosom buddies with a supreme jock.
When Mom, always waiting for my transformation into Ms. Popular, asked about the other girls, I shrugged. “Honestly, it’s five girls in an enclosed space, so … it’s only a matter of time before we descend into a Lord of the Flies situation and kill one another.”
My mother didn’t love that answer. After our usual back and forth, my parents asked to see the Alps again. I stared around in panic. I couldn’t provide my parents with a socially successful daughter or the Alps.
On my nightstand, a light bulb went off. Then on. Then off again.
Aisha’s calm voice said: “All right. Lights out. Phones off.”
I told my parents I loved them and signed off. Then I was free to express my everlasting gratitude to Aisha.
She smiled faintly, but I thought there was warmth there. “Do I want to know why they think you’re in the Alps?”
“My parents are both human. They’re apparently not allowed to know anything about this place, so they think Alfea is an international boarding school in Switzerland.”
Aisha sounded startled. “Human parents, fairy daughter?”
I’d been hoping that wasn’t as unusual as Aisha’s tone said it was. She didn’t seem the type to startle easily.
I busied myself with unpacking to hide my discomfort. “Ms. Dowling said there’s a fairy somewhere in my family tree? A long-dormant magical bloodline?” I sighed. “One day I will get used to how ridiculous all this sounds.”
