Magic at Midnight

by Lyssa Chiavari

  “They only know what you’ve told them,” I assure her.

  “Don’t lie, Goselyn.” She gives me a withering look. “You’ve never been good at it.”

  “Can he hear us?” I ask, referring to my cousin in Sylvane.

  She pauses, waiting for confirmation. Finally, she nods.

  “Kenneth,” I call. “You need to end this. We won’t hold it against you if you stop now.”

  Arta drops her arm from around the king’s neck. His hands fly to his throat as he attempts to step away from the Artificial.

  The moment of hope passes as Arta runs full speed at me. Corinth attempts to block her, only resulting in him being pushed to the ground.

  My Artificial tackles me to the floor, our screams mixing together. Something twitches in her eyes as we wrestle—perhaps a bit of the old Arta before she was reprogrammed. She slams my head into the ground.

  I kick her off of me, sitting up to a spinning world. Corinth throws himself on her, forcing her backward until she tosses him over her shoulder.

  The king runs at Arta at full speed, slamming her into the wall with his shoulder. She grunts, struggling to get her footing while she claws at his face.

  I hate the idea of hurting my Artificial, but she’s no longer the Arta I know—she’s something much more hideous now at the hands of my cousin.

  Arta breaks free of the king as Artificials pour into the room to see what’s happening. They surround us for a moment, looking on.

  I pause next to Corinth, breathing just as heavily as he is. We watch the group of human-like creations as they stare at us, unsure of who has control over them.

  The king hits his button to protect himself from the Artificials.

  “Son,” he warns, urging the prince to enable his key to protect himself, blocking the Artificials from being able to hurt him. All royals have one, and despite our differences, we have documentation in place to ensure these necklaces work on all Artificials, regardless of country. If someone intends on hurting another royal, they can’t use artificial intelligence to do so—it’s one of the many perks of having a key.

  “She doesn’t have one,” Corinth replies, refusing to enable his safety net if it will leave me vulnerable.

  The king looks shocked, yet overwhelmed with respect for his son.

  “I think you two are going to get along just fine after this,” he murmurs. “But we really don’t have time for this right now.”

  He rushes at Arta, slamming his elbow into her face. Her head snaps back at an angle so sharp that it would have done incredible damage had she not been a machine.

  “Get the key,” he demands as he pushes his hand against Arta’s face to hold her back.

  We scramble forward, unsure if our movements will cause the Artificials to attack. Corinth tears at Arta’s neck, looking for the chain my key device is on.

  I could help Corinth and retrieve my key, but that will only protect us for so long. Instead, I thrust my hands toward the back of Arta’s neck, fumbling for her control panel.

  “That won’t work,” she warns me. “You can’t eject my chip. Kenneth made sure.”

  I would eject her chip if I had to shatter her neck to do it.

  “I’m smarter than my cousin,” I counter.

  “He’s a programmer,” she yelps, struggling to rip my hands away. “He’s better than you.”

  “We both had the same teacher,” I respond, fingers slipping off her fake skin. “I promise you my mother didn’t teach him everything she taught me.”

  Arta uses her feet to push off the wall as the Artificials erupt around us, some breaking free of whatever control Kenneth had over them, while others are still clearly under his programming.

  The king falls to the ground, nearly tripping Arta. She springs over him at the last second, leaving me only a step behind her. I tackle her, attempting to pin her arms.

  “Use your key,” I scream at Corinth.

  “I didn’t get yours yet,” he yells back, rushing to my side.

  “You need to stay protected,” I shout back.

  “So do you, princess,” he says, for the first time not using my title respectfully.

  “One thing at a time, prince.”

  I lower myself, running at Arta. Grabbing her around the waist, we topple to the ground. I pull open the control panel on her neck, prepared to punch in the necessary information to fight back against my cousin.

  Corinth throws himself on top of us, lending his weight to the struggle. He rips my key necklace from around her throat as he sits on the Artificial.

  The prince gently leans toward me, brushing back my hair as he wraps the small digital key rectangle around my neck, latching it. He twists the clasp around to the back of my neck, tickling me in the process. Arta still bucks beneath us as we struggle to control her.

  I reach up for a moment to enable the biometric key, knowing Corinth can’t do it for me. As soon as it locks into place, putting a digital barrier between myself and the rest of the fighting, I go back to my attempts to disable my Artificial.

  “Anytime, Goselyn,” Corinth says as he pitches forward. Arta bucks, trying to throw us off. He catches me, holding me steady as I work.

  “Kenneth.” I lecture my Artificial sharply, knowing my cousin is getting a full report. “You’re going to pay for this.”

  “Goselyn,” the king shouts, running to our sides. “A bot just arrived with a message. “Your mother has control of your cousin. All you have to do is reset your Artificial.”

  Perhaps he didn’t hear my last threat.

  The news gives me renewed strength. I lunge at Arta again, working to key in the proper codes to disable the override. She struggles, but there isn’t much she can do under the weight of two of us.

  I key in the final commands and she goes slack. We sit in silence.

  “Is it over?” Corinth finally asks, afraid to move.

  “It’s over,” I breathe, shuffling off of the motionless Artificial. “You should also have control over your Artificials again.”

  I motion toward the human-like figures around us. They’ve already slowed, connecting to their former programming.

  “Already taken care of, my dear,” the king replies. “I think it’s time you contacted your mother.”

  “And time to get the proposal negotiations back on track,” Corinth adds. “I get the feeling that we really shouldn’t wait on that.”

  “I agree.” I let out a nervous laugh. “But first, can we go get Fal, please?”

  “I’m sure you need something to feel a little more secure about your place here,” the king responds. “Corinth, take the princess to rescue her robot, please.”

  Corinth offers me a hand. Together, we leave Arta’s shell on the floor. The king’s Artificials will take her to their programmer to get her back up and running in her former working condition before I leave, though I imagine I’ll have some trouble trusting her for a while.

  “I’m sorry we made you work with the geese,” Corinth drawls as we walk toward the stables. He places his hand behind his back properly.

  “There were swans there too,” I remind him. “Aren’t we past all the formal stuff at this point?”

  He smiles slightly, not missing a step.

  “I suppose we are, Goselyn.” He drops his arm, walking more casually. “I do apologize that you had to go through all this though. I’m sure it was very difficult.”

  “I’m sorry I brought it all to you. I didn’t have any idea until right before we arrived.” I sigh.

  “It’s not your fault,” he says as we approach the tall doors to the stable. “I think I might have a few things to say to your cousin, though.”

  He chuckles warmly.

  “Well, perhaps you’ll have to come to my home to give him a piece of your mind.”

  “I might have to.” He walks a little faster, catching the door to hold it open for me. “After you.”

  Fal is sitting on the wall where I left him, still in s
leep mode.

  “Hold on,” Corinth says as I reach for my robot.

  He finds a stepping stool in the very back of the building and drags it over. Climbing up, he wrestles Fal’s central system off the wall. A programmer joins us, carrying Fal’s body. He expertly puts him back together, though the wait is excruciating.

  I tap Fal’s head, bringing him back to life. The light blinks on, simulating eyes, as dots of different colors dart across the interface.

  “You did it?” Fal asks, beeping the way a cat might purr.

  “We got word to my mother and she helped us turn off Kenneth’s programming. They’re working on fixing Arta now.”

  Fal notices Corinth and beeps at him.

  “He’s fine, Fal.” I smile. “Corinth, this is my robot, Fal. Fal, this is Prince Corinth of Delare.”

  “Nice to meet you, Fal.” Corinth looks like he wants to get down on his knees and address the robot as a child. My robot beeps back at him.

  “Your Highness,” Fal says.

  “I’m sorry about the rude welcome,” says Corinth. “I hope you’ll allow us to fix that.”

  Fal looks up to me, gauging my reaction. I nod, encouraging him to relax.

  “We have negotiations to work on,” I say, redirecting the conversation. “We should probably get back. I need to message my mother too.”

  “Of course, Princess.”

  ♛

  “You’re much easier to work with,” Corinth informs me as a tray overflowing with fruits and cheeses is set on the table next to us. “Prettier too, if I might add.”

  My hand stops in midair as I blush profusely.

  “You like doing that, don’t you?” I ask, blinking back the uncertainty.

  “Making you squirm? Yes,” he answers bluntly.

  “That nice-guy act was just for show, huh?” I pick up a grape.

  “Oh no, I’m always nice to the Artificials—they don’t do so well with sarcasm and flirtation.”

  “I liked you better when I was an Artificial,” I tease.

  “Most people do.” He nods innocently, eyes wide. “The good news is that we’re almost done with these charges against your cousin, so you can go home soon and never see me again.”

  “You say that as if you weren’t planning on coming along to harass Kenneth during his trial,” I mumble, glancing up just in time to catch his grin. He quickly rearranges his face to hide it.

  “Fine, you’ll be rid of me after I see justice is done. You’ll be sad to see me go, though.”

  “Will I?”

  “You will.” Fal beeps next to me. I quickly tap him on the head, putting him into sleep mode. Corinth smirks, scooting closer on the couch.

  “I like the little guy.” He shrugs casually. “I also like that I don’t have to be so proper around you.”

  “Benefits of fighting an insane Artificial together, I suppose.”

  “What would you have done,” he asks, putting his arm on the back of the couch, “if my father hadn’t found out you weren’t an Artificial?”

  “Climbed out the window again and escaped, probably.”

  He looks as though I’ve struck him.

  “You climbed out the window?”

  “Did I not tell you about that part? Oops.” I shrug, reaching for another grape.

  He catches it out of my fingers, popping it into his mouth.

  “That’s what happens when you keep things from me,” he informs me.

  “It’s been a week—we hardly know each other well enough to share all of our secrets,” I retort.

  “Two weeks, madam,” he corrects, staring at my hand resting on my knee.

  “Yes, but only one of being a human.”

  “Fine, I’ll give you that, goose girl. Good thing we have the entire journey to Sylvane to talk.”

  “Oh, doesn’t that sound lovely?” I reply sarcastically.

  “It does.” He purses his lips, tipping his head as he looks at me.

  “Goose girl?” I question.

  “Yeah.” He grins. “Since you like pecking at me so much—”

  “Your Highnesses.” A knock at the door sounds. “We’ve fixed her.”

  The programmer opens the door, stepping to the side. Arta stands beside him quietly.

  “Your mother sent us the specifications,” the programmer informs us. “She’s been restored to her last backup.”

  “Hello, Goselyn.”

  I tap Fal on the head much harder than anticipated. He springs to life, wheeling himself over to inspect Arta.

  I reach up, tapping my key necklace to control my Artificial. After going through the motions of testing her, I finally release Arta.

  “Welcome back, friend.”

  She smiles at me as I introduce her to Prince Corinth.

  Corinth recoils as she turns an icy glare on him when I inform her that the prince will be traveling with us. I’m positive this will be a very enlightening trip home.

  About the Author

  K.M. Robinson is a bestselling storyteller who creates new worlds both in her writing and in her fine arts conceptual photography. She is a marketing, branding and social media strategy educator who is recognized at first sight by her very long hair. She is a creative who focuses on photography, videography, couture dress making, and writing to express the stories she needs to tell. She almost always has a camera within reach.

  Get free books and excerpts at excerpt.kmrobinsonbooks.com and check out her website www.kmrobinsonbooks.com. Connect with her on social media at @kmrobinsonbooks on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Snapchat. You can view videos and live replays on Youtube too!

  Books by K.M. Robinson:

  The Golden Trilogy

  Jaded

  Risen (Jaded, Book 2)

  Along Came a Spider (The Legends Chronicles: Source Code Novelette 1)

  And They’ll Come Home (The Legends Chronicles: Source Code Novelette 2)

  The Siren Wars

  Virtually Sleeping Beauty

  Dance of Deception

  a retelling of The Twelve Dancing Princesses

  ♛

  CLARA KENSIE

  We danced in the woods at midnight. Every night. All twelve of us.

  We danced because it was fun, because it was summer. We danced to celebrate our youth and our freedom and our friendship. We danced because no other girls could dance the way we could.

  As long as no one found out.

  I slipped out of my house at 11:45, like I had every night this summer. My parents always went to bed early, so they never noticed. Even if they had noticed, they’d probably let me go, happy that after living in this town my whole life, I’d finally made some friends.

  The heat, thick and humid, hit me as I slid open the back door. I ran two blocks through my neighborhood down to Main Street. Lilybrook was a quiet, safe, mostly-boring town in northern Wisconsin, and the only place open this late was Hawthorne’s Diner. I went there almost every morning to get a latte and breakfast to go, but this time of night they served mostly cops, couples on dates, and the after-shift guards from the Lab who were craving a late-night slice of Hawthorne’s famous blueberry pie.

  Lilybrook was quieter than usual tonight, though. There weren’t even any cars on the road. Still, I stayed in the alleys and shadows until I reached our designated meeting spot at the edge of the woods.

  I was second to arrive, after Anna. She always got there first. These clandestine dances had been her idea, spawned two months ago when her boyfriend broke up with her just before prom. “Who needs that stupid school dance, anyway?” she’d sobbed to us later that day, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “I have a better idea.” She’d chosen us—me too—because we all had a secret like hers.

  And now we had another one.

  Our secret midnight woodland dance was so much fun that we decided to do it every night, all summer long.

  Tonight Anna wore a glamorous golden yellow dress and matching pumps, both new. My dress was pale
pink, sparkly, knee-length, and borrowed from Anna’s closet. The rest of us couldn’t afford to keep buying new dresses, so we swapped amongst ourselves, and Anna was always happy to let us wear hers. I was worried Anna would complain I’d worn this dress too many times, but she whispered, “I love that dress on you, Lila. You look so pretty.”

  Anna and the other girls had rarely spoken to me before these dances. None of them had ever been mean to me—they weren’t like that—but I was awkward and shy and never knew how to fit in. It was more like they didn’t notice me. But now, not only were they speaking to me, they were texting me and tagging me on social media and inviting me to get ice cream with them. And Anna had just given me a compliment.

  School was starting in a couple of weeks. Now that I had friends, my senior year was going to be amazing.

  One by one, the other girls gathered. Suppressing giggles, we slipped down the dirt footpath into the woods. The moon shone through the lattice of leaves overhead, giving us just enough light. We’d followed this path enough times by now to know when to hop over tree roots and duck under low-hanging branches.

  We tiptoed on the wooden bridge as we crossed over the water-lily-covered brook and held our breath as we dashed along the electrified fence that ran the perimeter of the Lab. We darted down the dark narrow path, the only sound the chirping of the cicadas, the whoosh of our dresses, and the patter of our heels on the—

  Snap.

  I froze. Something behind me had made a noise. A twig, breaking? A foot, stepping?

  “Lila,” whispered Anna. “What’s wrong?”

  “Did you hear that?”

  Anna stopped. Looked. Listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

  I peered into the woods. “Hello? Is someone there?”

  “Come on,” said Anna. “We can’t let the Lab catch us out here.” She rushed onward with the rest of the girls.

  I stayed where I was, watching, listening. But nothing moved, and I didn’t hear the noise again. It must have been a squirrel, or an echo from one of the girls, or a falling branch.