A Court of Muses

by Sarina Dorie

“Please?” I asked.

  If she did, they would command me never to do it again. And then I wouldn’t be able to because it would be bad if I didn’t listen to them. I had to find a new way to prove I was a witch.

  Missy sniffled and pulled away, wiping her face against her sleeve. “I won’t tell … if you can tell me why you aren’t going to do that again.”

  I tried to figure out what she wanted to hear. “You don’t want me to get hurt. You think I can’t really fly.”

  “I don’t think. I know, dorkbreath.”

  “But I can! I did it before. I flew from the wall to the trampoline.”

  She grimaced. “No, you jumped onto the trampoline. Anyone can do that. Repeat after me, ‘I cannot fly.’”

  In my most petulant monotone I said, “Fine. I can’t fly. Will you promise not to tell?”

  She gave me a playful shove. “You’re impossible.” Her smile told me everything would be all right.

  I thought that was the end of it. I went back inside to do my homework. Mom came home an hour later and Dad shortly after that. I didn’t hear Missy tattle, so I thought I’d gotten off easy. It was after dinner as I was playing with my toys that I suspected something was wrong.

  I was aware of the silence downstairs. The television wasn’t on. I lay across my Tinker Bell bedspread, listening. Missy was on the phone in her room. That meant she wasn’t squealing on me. I continued to play.

  A procession of my Barbie dolls dressed in the gowns of a fairy court loomed over the My Little Pony pegasi and unicorns, dwarfing them. Footsteps creaked up the stairs. I lined up three storm troopers beside Darth Vader next to the model U.S.S. Enterprise I’d made with Dad. The two opposing forces faced off.

  Dad leaned against the entry, the bulk of his frame taking up the majority of the doorway. His eyes raked over my tableau. “Honey, come downstairs for a minute. Your mom and I want to talk to you.” He rubbed at his golden beard and mustache, not meeting my eyes.

  Cold dread settled like ice in my gut as I clutched Midnight Rainbow, my favorite unicorn. I followed Dad down. He moved slowly, lumbering toward the living room like a pack animal burdened by the weight of too many bags.

  Missy had told. I was going to get in trouble. They were going to take my books away. I would have to lie. I didn’t want to, but I would say Missy was fibbing. I didn’t know what else to do.

  They sat on the couch side by side. They never sat on the couch with backs straight and rigid, looking like someone had died. Unless someone had died. Mom smiled or looked like she was trying to. Maybe my books were safe.

  “There’s something we need to tell you.” Dad leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed at his face.

  “We’ve been talking… .” Mom said.

  My nerves jittered with anticipation. Missy had told them. I was certain of it, now more than ever.

  “I didn’t do it.” I hugged Midnight Rainbow. “Missy made it up.”

  My parents looked at each other, confusion painting their faces.

  “What?” Dad asked.

  Mom’s eyes narrowed with shrewdness. “What didn’t you do?”

  Immediately I could see my error. They hadn’t been about to ground me from reading fantasy novels for the rest of my life. Missy hadn’t told them. Only, I had blown it, and they were about to dig the truth out of me. That meant they were going to tell me some other terrible news.

  I tried to cover my mistake. “Nothing. I mean, we were just playing earlier, and she got mad at me and… .” I tried to think of something, but all the imaginative tales stored up in my brain failed me.

  Dad plunged on, unfazed, his eyes glued on the avocado-green carpet. “We’ve talked to you about some things in the past. Grown-up things. We need to talk to you about something important.”

  Neither spoke. Mom swallowed.

  “Something important,” I repeated.

  Wait a minute… . This was it! Finally, they were going to tell me I was special. I was a fairy or a witch or something magical.

  I glanced over my shoulder. “Shouldn’t Missy be here for this?”

  “Missy already knows about grown-up things,” Mom said. She took my hands in hers, staring into my eyes. “Do you remember when we told you some things are for the imagination? Not everything magic is real.”

  “I remember,” I said quickly. The anticipation was killing me. Surely they were about to tell me what was real—that I was a witch.

  Dad pulled at a loose thread on the seam of the brown couch. “Do you remember last Easter when you found those white powdery footprints leading from the living room out onto the lawn?”

  “Yes. We looked it up in that book, and we identified it as the Leporidae eastarus—the Easter Bunny.” Looking it up in one of Dad’s books had been his idea. “Those footprints led to the best eggs ever!” I didn’t know what the Easter Bunny had to do with anything important, though.

  “That was me,” Dad said.

  “No, it wasn’t. Those weren’t your footprints.”

  Mom shoved a paper bag at him. He removed the talcum powder and bunny slippers.

  I shook my head, refusing to believe him.

  Mom nudged him. “Tell her about Christmas.”

  “That was also my idea,” Dad said. “I ate the carrots you left out for the reindeer. And the cookies and milk.”

  “But you couldn’t have. You’re lactose intolerant.”

  Dad’s eyes crinkled up with pity. “I poured the milk back into the carton.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the tooth fairy are stories,” Mom said. “They’re make-believe.”

  The fragile world I had always loved shattered before my eyes. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and held my chin high. I was a big girl. I could handle the Easter Bunny and tooth fairy not being real. I’d already suspected as much from the gossip of third graders in my class. I was fine with that creepy guy at the mall who always waved at me and invited me to sit on his lap not being the “real” Saint Nick.

  Everything would be fine if magic still existed in the world.

  I drew in a shaky breath, afraid to ask. “But Hogwarts—that’s real, right?” It wasn’t like I was asking if Harry Potter was real. Even if he was fictional, it didn’t mean the place he went to school couldn’t be real. The place I would be going to school.

  My parents’ nervous glances at each other said it all. Mom fidgeted with the frizzy tail of her long red braid. My heart plummeted to my stomach and settled like a pair of concrete shoes in a river.

  “I’m sorry, Clarissa.” Dad sat me between the two of them. He kissed the top of my head. His beard tickled my face.

  My mother muttered under her breath. “See, I told you those books were a bad idea.”

  Those words were more powerful than Missy’s slap to my face earlier.

  I covered my eyes and bawled. “What about Jesus? Is he a lie too?”

  Mom said nothing.

  “No, honey. God is real,” Dad said.

  Yeah, right. See if I believed anything they said ever again.

  I squirmed out from between them and threw my toy unicorn on the floor, about to run out of the room.

  “Not so fast.” Mom grabbed the back of my shirt and tugged me onto the couch beside her. “It can be hard to tell the difference between what is real and what we want to be true. Sometimes there are strange things that happen in the world that we don’t understand. Don’t try to take care of these things by yourself. If you ever notice something isn’t right, come and tell Mommy.”

  “Or if someone goads you into climbing onto the roof with a broom,” Dad said. “Maybe you should ask a second opinion from an unbiased source. Like one of us. Or another adult.”

  “Missy told?” I shrieked.

  “No. Mrs. Mesker called me when I got home from work,” Mom said. I hadn’t counted on the elderly neighbor being the on
e to tattle on me.

  Despite my parents’ intervention, I couldn’t shake my belief in magic.

  * * *

  On my eleventh birthday, I sat at the window, waiting for my owl to come and tell me I had been accepted to a magical school of witchcraft and wizardry.

  My older sister, Missy, bounded into the room, dressed in a cheerleading uniform from spring break camp. She waved a letter around. “Look! They want me to come to drill camp this summer and invited me to try out for the high school squad. They’ve chosen me!” She ran out of the room, oblivious to my misery.

  I wanted someone to tell me I was the chosen one, that I was special too. Maybe it was because my older sister was so good at everything, and I wasn’t good at anything. Except drawing, and that didn’t count.

  No owl came. No letter arrived. I was destined for an ordinary life of nonmagic. Or so I thought.

  END OF EXCERPT

  For the rest of the novel, go to Sarina Dorie’s website for information about the next book in the series:

  https://sarinadorie.com/writing/novels

  If you enjoyed this not-so-cozy witch mystery in the Womby’s School for Wayward Witches world, please leave a review at the online retailer where you purchased this collection. You might also enjoy free short stories published by the author on her website: http://sarinadorie.com/writing/short-stories.

  Readers can hear updates about current writing projects and news about upcoming novels and free short stories as they become available by signing up for Sarina Dorie’s newsletter at:

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  http://sarinadorie.com/writing/novels

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I want to thank my fans for their enthusiasm reading my novels. My street team/ARC team has done a great job telling me when you find typos, pointing out formatting errors, leaving reviews, and purchasing books from Amazon so that you can help my ranking. Downloading books from Amazon also helps you become a verified reviewer, and Amazon is more likely to show your review—and not delete it later. I also have many people on my team who review on Goodreads and BookBub, post on social media, and tell their friends. I am thrilled to have so many fans!

  For those who have filled out my Google form, it has helped me become more organized so that I don’t have to search my emails to find all the wonderful things you have done to support the creation of my novels; I have them all stored in the same place. I wanted to send a shout-out to the people listed below who have filled out my Google form. I know there are more people out there who are fans who have contacted me in the past, but the people listed below are the readers who used the form. I also know there were times some of my readers have told me other books they’ve reviewed, but it wasn’t necessarily on the form, so I wanted to say one giant THANK YOU for everything I didn’t list below. For those who filled out the form after I included it in the back of this book, I also wanted to say thank you, even if you are not named.

  After hearing some people’s comments and thinking it over, I decided to only use first names and last initials to keep identities confidential in the list below.

  A BIG SHOUT OUT TO:

  Mom, thank you for being my number-one fan of all time. You encouraged me when I was six while I was writing and illustrating my own picture books, kept encouraging me in middle school, and read my stories and novels in high school. I have kept writing because of your nurturing, enthusiasm, and your brutal honesty, which has helped me improve my writing. I probably wanted to be a writer because of the respect you showed for literature. You read me bedtime stories, our house was always full of books, and you let me watch Romancing the Stone over and over as a kid.

  Night Writers, I am so fortunate I have a writing critique group that tolerates my many submissions, gives me honest feedback, and listens to me complain about my publishing frustrations.

  Daryll Lynn E., I am so thankful you are willing to not just critique my manuscript, but that you want to read the books in their entirety when I only submit sections to our critique group. You are a valuable critique partner and friend, not only because of your enthusiasm when I do something well, but your honesty in telling me what I did wrong, and your willingness to brainstorm with me to help me improve the manuscripts while they are in the rough-draft stage. I am flattered that you told me you needed a book to read during the weekend to relax, and you selected one of my published books—a book you had already critiqued months before. You choose me over Harry Potter, which I have to say is close to earth-shattering since I know you. I don’t know how I will ever be able to show you my thanks. Truly, I don’t think inviting you over for sugar-free, chocolate-avocado-and-coconut pudding is enough.

  Charles, thank you for your encouragement and support. Other writers complain about significant others who don’t understand their need for writing time. I lucked out and found you. If it weren’t for you, our home would never have tissue, toilet paper, or any other paper products, just like Joan Wilder’s house in Romancing the Stone.

  To my ARC Team/Street Team:

  Thank you for posting reviews on Amazon, Goodreads, LibraryThing, BookBub, and other places where you share your passion for reading. Stephanie M., Karen W., Valerie L., Shannon T., Dawn H., Wilma C., Janet S., Sheree K., Deborah B., Lynn E., Sherri L., Vicki G., Becky B., Tonya G., Steve P., Elaine S., Sandy V., Donna S., Jennifer W., Tonia W., Jennifer L., Georganne L., Katherine M., Susan E., Jeri M., Evelyn G., Linda M., Diane K., Cathy S., Veronica M., Cheryl B., Stan H., Dawn H., Heather B., Mary N., Devin C., Michelle R., Janet S., Katherine M., Annalisa A., Tonya G., Dawn H., Deb L., Tonia W., Bev S., Billie W., Barbara H., Amy M., Cathy S., Veronica M., Jodi S., your honest reviews of the books are helpful in spreading the word. Having reviewed books helps me reach readers who might not otherwise know what the books are about, who might wonder if the books are a good fit for their interests, and in general, helps me make the books more visible.

  I appreciate that you are willing to share my books, covers, blurbs, and sale days on social media. I am fortunate to have more people than just myself posting on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and other places that I often don’t think about. Jodi S., Stephanie M., Lynn E., Sherri L., Evelyn G., Jennifer W., Cheryl B., Deb L., Amy M., Bev S., Jeri M., you help me find readers I wouldn’t necessarily know might be interested in my books. Thank you for that!

  Thank you for finding my typos and saving me from public shaming and future humiliation due to the sins of my bad grammar. Linda C, Wayne N., Stephanie M., Amy M., Jeanie M., Lynn E., Elaine S., Sandy V., Stan H., Linda C., I appreciate you pointing out mistakes so that I can provide cleaner copies before I publish the books.

  Thank you for suggesting my books to your book groups. Jeannie M., Karen W., Vicki G., Evelyn G., Steve P., Joeline W., Tonya G., Amy M., I appreciate your enthusiasm for my work enough that you are willing to share that excitement with others.

  Thank you for reading, supporting, and being a fan: Barbara H., Linda C., Shoshanah, Joeline W., Wayne N., Jeannie M., Stephanie M., Karen W., Valerie L., Shannon T., Dawn H., Wilma C., Janet S., Sheree K., Deborah B., Lynn E., Sherri L., Vicki G., Becky B., Tonya G., Steve P., Elaine S., Sandy V., Donna S., Jennifer W., Tonia W., Jennifer L., Georganne L., Katherine M., Susan E., Jeri M., Evelyn G., Linda M., Diane K., Cathy S., Veronica M., Cheryl B., Stan H., Dawn H., Mary N., Devin C., Michelle R., Janet S., Katherine M., Annalisa A., Tonya G., Dawn H., Deb L., Heather B., Tonia W., Bev S., Billie W., Barbara H., Amy M., Cathy S., Veronica M., Jodi S.

  To everyone, thank you for your encouragement and enthusiasm. I appreciate your willingness to download and purchase books. I am glad you are enjoying them as much as I enjoy writing them!

  ABOUT
THE AUTHOR

  Sarina Dorie has sold over 150 short stories to markets like Analog, Daily Science Fiction, Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Orson Scott Card’s IGMS, Cosmos, and Abyss and Apex. Her stories and published novels have won humor and Romance Writer of America awards. She has sold three novels to publishers. Her steampunk romance series, The Memory Thief and her collections, Fairies, Robots and Unicorns—Oh My! and Ghosts, Werewolves and Zombies—Oh My! are available on Amazon, along with a dozen other novels she has written.

  A few of her favorite things include gluten-free brownies (not necessarily glutton-free), Star Trek, steampunk aesthetics, fairies, Severus Snape, Captain Jack Sparrow, and Mr. Darcy.

  By day, Sarina is a public-school art teacher, artist, belly dance performer and instructor, copy editor, fashion designer, event organizer and probably a few other things. By night, she writes. As you might imagine, this leaves little time for sleep.