“The abbey does seem to be lovely this time of year,” he said. “There are tons of people here you could meet and make friends with. You could probably do any job you want here, and I bet they wouldn’t ever make you eat apples again if you didn’t want to. In time you could settle down in a new home, in a new place, though I’m sure Rose Red wouldn’t mind if you stayed.” He didn’t sound quite as convincing as he wanted to. Trix looked to his aunt for help, but Rose Red suddenly seemed very interested in her tea.
Lizinia tilted her head in that very Lizinia way of hers. Trix would miss that about her. “Don’t you want me to come with you?” she asked plainly.
“Of course I do,” said Trix. “But I cannot promise you safe passage and easy roads.”
“We took no safe passages or easy roads to get here, Trix Woodcutter. But we arrived all the same.”
“We did,” he said. “But I’m not… My family is not like normal families.”
“As I have seen.”
“Then you can believe me when I say that my life is not a normal life. Chaos follows me around, Lizinia. I suspect your godfather knew that, or he wouldn’t have done this to me. You may choose to travel with me at your peril.”
“The decision of every adventurer,” Rose Red said from inside her teacup, “is whether or not it’s worth the risk. This is the most important decision.”
“So, what do you think?” Trix asked his golden girl. “Am I worth the risk?”
“Yes,” Lizinia said with a smile. And because her answer made him incredibly happy, Trix smiled back.
“Then I will ready supplies for your journey without delay,” Rose Red said, and left the room.
“I’m going to walk the gardens one more time before we leave if that’s all right,” said Lizinia.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll come collect you when everything’s ready. In the meantime, I’m going to hunt down some more of those cakes.”
Lizinia turned down the corridor that led to the courtyard, while Trix made his way down the winding hallways of the great abbey in an attempt to find either the kitchens or the monk who’d brought the tea tray. He disturbed room after room of acolytes at study and dedicates in prayer and Sisters in their private chambers. Finally, Trix found the monk, just inside the grand mahogany doors of Rose Abbey’s entranceway.
The hood of the Brother’s brown robes was pulled down over his face, but Trix recognized him because of his size—few people were both as tall as Saturday and as broad shouldered as Papa. Miraculously, the tray he carried was once again filled with cakes. Trix sent up a prayer to the Earth Goddess. This was her place, after all, and it very well might have been she who had addressed him in his vision.
“Excuse me, Brother!” Trix called out as he caught up with the monk. “Would it be possible to get my hands on a few more of those tasty cakes?”
The monk stopped his forward progress and chuckled low as he turned around. He set the tray of cakes down on the seat of a bench in the hall. “Of course, little brother. Help yourself.”
Trix did indeed, stuffing cakes into his mouth and pockets at the same time. The delicate desserts melted on his tongue. Some were buttery and filled with berries; some were heavier and thick with spice. All of them were creamy and fluffy and delicious. It might have been his fey blood that craved the sweetness. If he could eat cakes every day of his life, he would die a happy boy. Man. Prince. Whatever.
“I suppose they won’t have those where you’re going?” Trix could tell the Brother was smiling.
As Trix chewed in blissful delight, he considered the carnivorous carrion diet of eagles. Cakes were definitely not on the menu. “No sir,” he said to the Brother. “I plan to enjoy them while I can.”
“Good man,” said the monk.
“Why do you wear your hood so low?” It was a good thing Mama wasn’t around to scold Trix for asking impertinent questions of strangers or talking with his mouth full.
“I have taken a vow of humility,” said the monk.
Trix swallowed the berry cake. The Brother was lying. He wasn’t sure why a monk would lie, but Trix had enough experience stretching the truth to recognize it in others. Before he could ask about that, too, there was a pounding knock on the enormous entranceway doors. The monk did not move to answer the summons. Instead, he stomped on the ground beneath the table, took Trix by the neck of his shirt, and shoved him into a tapestry across the hallway. But Trix did not slam into the wall; he fell through the secret door that had been opened by the catch on the floor. Quickly, the monk ducked under the tapestry as well.
The secret room was dark with shadow, but light shone through the tapestry here and there, revealing gaps in the weave. Fascinated, Trix picked himself up off the flagstones. He stepped up to the tapestry and peered through one of larger holes. He could still see the entranceway and the table and the tray of cakes.
The knock stopped, and then started again with renewed vigor. “Shouldn’t someone see to that?” whispered Trix. “It sounds…important.”
“It is not for you,” the Brother whispered back. He, too, peered through a gap higher up in the design’s weave. Why the secrecy? Was the abbey being invaded? Had the evil Sorrow sent an army of goblins to attack them? Had the wasps hunted him down? Trix convinced himself that each of these things were possible, and yet in none of the scenarios did it make sense for the enemy to knock on the front door.
After several more rounds of pounding, Rose Red appeared. She straightened her robes, and then gave the order for the guards to pull the doors open. The abbess obviously suspected the identity of the impatient visitor. She was just as obviously surprised to discover their true identity.
“Thursday!” she cried.
Trix was as shocked as his aunt. “Thursday?”
The monk held him back, placing an enormous hand over his mouth. “Shh. Wait.”
Annoyed, Trix nodded and the Brother lowered his hand. They watched as a lithe woman with a riot of red curls burst over the threshold to embrace the abbess. Trix gaped. Thursday had run away to sea when he was but a child. In all the years she’d been gone, he had half expected the Pirate Queen to have become a giantess like Saturday. Compared to their warrior sister, Thursday was petite.
Behind her, several men carried a stretcher that bore… He strained to see through the tapestry, but Trix could not make out if it was a man or a woman.
Rose Red stepped forward and examined the body herself. She raised her eyes to the ceiling, as she did when praying to the goddess. Then she sighed and shook her head. “Oh, Seven.”
This time, Trix’s hand rose to cover his own mouth. The body the men carried was Mama Woodcutter.
Sorrow had struck again.
“She fell asleep and I couldn’t wake her,” said Thursday. “I would say she’s sick, but there are no symptoms. I can’t even make out a heartbeat.”
“But you know she’s not dead.” It was a statement more than a question, but well enough asked; Rose Red herself had not recognized this same sleeping spell on her other sisters.
“I know,” said Thursday. “I have seen enough dead men to know.”
“Take her to the chapel,” Rose Red said to the men. And then to Thursday, “Do not worry, child. All will be well. Now, come in. Rest yourself. And then tell me what happened.” The abbess put an arm around the Pirate Queen and led her down the hallway in the opposite direction from the room behind the tapestry.
Thursday was here. Trix gave the knowledge a moment to sink in. He couldn’t wait to talk with her. She might have some idea of what to do about Sorrow. Thursday always did seem to know a little bit about everything. Now that Mama had been struck down as well, something definitely needed to be done. Whatever Sorrow’s plans, her actions were escalating. With the stolen gifts of three sisters under her belt, who knew how powerful she was now? She had to be stopped. This business with the King of Eagles could wait…though he suspected Tesera would haunt him mercilessly until he completed
his task.
“It seems that the abbess will be too busy to tend to your supplies,” the monk said softly. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “I’ll see to your packs myself so you can be on your way.”
Trix was no longer concerned with remaining undiscovered. “On my way? My renegade sister just showed up with the cursed body of my mother and I’m supposed to turn my back on them for a fool’s errand?”
“You know for sure she’s cursed?” asked the monk.
“Okay, not really a curse, but it’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“See, I have this evil aunt. For whatever reason, it seems she is stealing the powers of her sisters to use for her own devices. That”—Trix pointed in the direction of the entranceway—“was my mother, and Mama’s gift is really powerful, so we’re all in pretty big trouble and I need to help now.”
Trix tried to dodge past the monk and escape from the secret room as he finished the rambling elucidation, but the Brother caught him. Trix fought with his new body and his new strength—he was a far more formidable foe than he’d ever been. Even still, the bigger and stronger Brother got the best of him in the end. The monk forced Trix’s hands to his sides, but not before Trix threw out an elbow and knocked back his hood.
For a moment, they both froze.
“Ja—?”
There was a hand over Trix’s mouth again before the word could fully escape. The smattering of light through the tapestry holes revealed dark blond hair and ice blue eyes. He was the spitting image of Papa and Saturday in form and face…this could be no other than Jack Woodcutter. Myth. Legend. Eldest of the Woodcutter siblings and supposedly long since dead and gone.
This was a day for surprises.
Jack lowered his hand. Trix stared at his brother in silence. He grinned a little, despite the grim circumstances in which he found himself. “Sunday was right.”
Jack’s half-smile mirrored his own. “I look forward to meeting her. Someday.”
“Someday?” asked Trix. “But why not now? If you’re here, and you’re alive, and you know where we are, then why don’t you come home? You can’t abandon us again now. You have to help us find a way to help Mama.”
“I just…it’s…” Jack closed his eyes and pursed his lips in thought. “Auntie Rose was wrong,” he said finally, seemingly apropos of nothing.
Luckily, context had never been a problem for Trix. Important things usually revealed themselves sooner or later. “Wrong about what?” he asked.
“The decision of every adventurer,” said Jack. “The most important one is not based on risk. Every adventurer accepts risk. That’s what makes us adventurous to begin with.”
Trix might not have believed this coming from anyone else, but if there was a body who knew about adventures, it was Jack Woodcutter. “Then what is it?”
“The most important decision of every adventurer is which path to take, and which to leave behind.”
Of course, Jack was right. Trix hated him a little for that.
Five minutes ago, he’d had plans for his future. If he was going to throw those plans out the window, he owed it to himself—to Lizinia—to be sure. Trix’s mind raced. He could stay here and help his sister and brother, or he could leave Thursday and Jack in Rose Red’s care and set out on Tesera’s quest. Perhaps, on their travels, Trix and Lizinia might even find the cure for Sorrow’s sleeping spell. Trix did have a tendency to be lucky in that way. Stranger things had happened.
“I need to find Lizinia,” said Trix. “We have to go.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll have packs waiting for you here in the entranceway. Do you know which direction to travel?”
Trix recalled what Rose Red had told them in her sitting room. “North and east, to the Lands of Immortality.”
Jack clapped Trix on the shoulder. “Good man.”
“Thank you.” And because he wasn’t sure when he would ever again have the chance, Trix threw himself into his brother’s arms. “I love you, Jack. We all love you. Please stay alive.”
Jack’s strong arms squeezed him as tightly as Papa’s. “You too, little brother. You too.”
As soon as Trix broke away from the embrace he hit the door at a run, leaving his legendary brother and his cakes far behind. He kept on running, until he found Lizinia in the gardens.
“Come on, Goldilocks!” Trix called. “It’s time to go!”
Lizinia had either forgotten her previous stance on nicknames or forgiven him immediately, for she shot back with, “Right behind you, Scapegrace.”
“Good one,” he said.
“I asked the acolytes,” she admitted.
“Cheater!” Her eyes widened at that, and he took her hand. “But I forgive you. We have plenty of time to think up more on the road.”
She squeezed his fingers with her own. “Then let’s get to it, shall we? Adventure awaits!”
Acknowledgments
Trix’s adventures started back in 2012—the fall after Enchanted’s release. I had just turned in the first draft of Hero and was playing around with Trixter in the “free time” I had while I awaited that first painful round of revisions. Per my editor’s request, the character of Trix had been almost completely written out of the novel. Not a small feat, when one considers that the whole impetus for Saturday’s journey was chasing after Trix when he ran away from home…
I had an inkling of all the trouble Trix got himself into while Saturday was imprisoned in the White Mountains, but how was I supposed to tell that story? The Woodcutter Sisters books were meant to be just that: one book about each sister, leaving no room for Trix.
But…we love Trix!
In 2014, two fortuitous things happened: Harcourt decided not to extend a contract for more Woodcutter Sisters books, and my best friend Casey read that partial draft of Trixter.
The moment the publisher declined our pitch for books 4-7, I was released from my “option clause,” meaning that I now had the freedom to do whatever I wanted with the series (including MAKING THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS AS LONG AS I WANT). This is the point where most writers would give up on a world they’ve spent a lifetime creating and move onto other things.
Luckily for Woodcutter fans, I am not like most writers.
I have eaten, slept, and breathed fairy tales since I was a small child. I may have secured a bachelor’s degree in science, but I never strayed from my folklorish roots. Authors are told to write what we know. What I know are fairy tales.
Which brings us to Casey, my best friend from seventh grade and my very first writing partner. We composed epic fantasy novels together, and poetry, and many short stories about princesses. I went on to make a career out of princess stories. Casey went on to become Associate Professor of English at Winthrop University. One of her most popular classes? Fairy tales and folklore. Enchanted is required reading.
So I sent Trixter to Casey, this half-draft sort-of idea for a (story? novella? novel?) about Trix. She got back to me with detailed comments. Apparently, what I’d thought was the first half of a story was really a beginning and end with no middle. Trix had to suffer. There had to be obstacles, and those obstacles needed to be overcome. A phone call transpired, involving a certain amount of enthusiastic brainstorming.
I will always remember that moment of Grand Epiphany when I realized Casey should be My Editor. (The clouds parted and angels sang and everything!) It just made so much sense, and you know how I feel about things making sense.
And so my first acknowledgement must go out to my beloved Casey Cothran, without whom Trix might never have had an adventure at all.
Huge thanks as well to my dear parents—the real Mama and Papa Woodcutter—Marcy and George Kontis, without whom I might never have survived the escape of a bad situation and the rebuilding of the beautiful life I have now in Florida. This princess loves you to the edge of the Milky Way and beyond!
I would also like to thank the rest of the team who worked to put this book in your hot little h
ands: my phenomenally talented cover artist Rachel Marks and my new best friend, copyeditor Kat Tipton. Gratitude must be extended as well to my advisors and mentors during this transition: J. T. Ellison, Mary B. Rodgers, Anthea Sharp, Leanna Renee Hieber, Stephen Segal, Jude Deveraux, and Roxanne St. Claire.
I must throw buckets of love and glitter to my street team, otherwise known as Princess Alethea’s Brute Squad. Never would I have imagined that such a magical community of smart, helpful, fun, and funny people would be brought together because of something I created. From proofreading and cover copy creation to making memes and assisting on book tour, these folks have done EVERYTHING…up to and including a neverending supply of virtual hugs and constantly picking me up when I’m feeling low.
Princess Alethea’s Brute Squad: Courtney Ballard, Paula and Mark Beauchamp, Dee Bitner, Samantha Bitner, Tracy Blackwell, John and Michelle Bowen, Ann Bridges, Rebekah Brown, Shondra Bush, Laura Carrubba, Krystn Cedzidlo, Margaret Coin, Jean-Louis Couturier, Kat Crouch, Krys Doty, Jacquelyne Drainville, Bethany Dunlap, Sarah Elmore, Ben English, Christa Ermer, Mindy Evans, Amy French, Danielle Greer, Ashley Gustafson, Melinda Hamby, Sarah Harvey, Beth Henkel, Cherokee Hensley, Annie Jackson, Lillie James, Carolina Johnson, Jennifer Kelley, Linwood Knight, Bev Kodak, Nessa Kreyling, Liz Mangold, Jeanne Martin, Robin McClure, Kitti McConnell, Fredrica Mitchell, Todd Muldrew, Matina Newsome, Jenney O’Callaghan, Mandy Poitras, Aaron and Angela Pound, Michelle Ristuccia, Bronwyn Roos, Shannan Rosa, Melissa Royer, Marie Sherman, Christina Shirley, Dee Sixx, Crystal Smalling, Megan Stone, Dee Sunday, Jacque Sue-Ping, Amanda Thompson, Bonnie Wagner, and Leighanna Walsh.
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