by Shelby Bach
But he shoved a hand through his hair. Sweat had gathered at his temples. The last time he’d looked so freaked was when we’d gotten trapped in a skeleton-filled bread box with human-eating giants having dinner right outside.
I could relate, I guess. Last year I’d made a point of not telling anyone at EAS who my parents were. I hadn’t wanted people to judge me differently just for being related to famous people. I probably would have done the same thing even if my mom had been a fairy instead of an actress.
Plus, his mom had outed him—whether he liked it or not. On his birthday.
We stepped inside the training courts, and Chase immediately disappeared into the weapons closet to grab our swords. Without a word he came out and passed me mine. We’d been together when I’d found it—in a Yellowstone cave, cornered by a dragon. My first day at EAS. We had been enemies them, but hurling insults at each other had never left much room for awkward silences.
If it had been me with the fairy mother, Chase would just have made some sort of stupid joke by now—eased the tension a little.
So I stepped away and stared—very obviously—at the side of his head.
“What?” Chase said.
“Just checking to see if your ears are pointed,” I said. They weren’t—they had the same human curve as anybody else’s—but they did turn slightly red.
I worried that I’d insulted him instead of cheering him up, but then Chase grinned. “Nah. That’s a myth. Only a few Fey clans have pointed ears.”
I wished Lena had been here. She would have known what Chase meant by clans. I might have asked Chase, but I was too relieved he’d started acting like his normal self.
“I do have wings, though,” he said.
“Yeah? Where are they? Detachable?”
“No.” Chase looked a little grossed out. “They’re invisible—most of the time.”
“Can I see them?”
Chase smirked. “No way. I’m saving that for something really impressive.”
Still awkward, but not as bad. Neither of us made any move to get out the practice dummies, though. Maybe Chase didn’t want to spend his birthday training me.
My big mouth struck again. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
His smile vanished. “Really, Rory? You can’t figure out why I wouldn’t want anyone to know I was only half human?”
“No, I did work that out, thanks,” I said. “I was talking about your birthday.”
“Oh.” Chase shrugged, slightly abashed. “It just didn’t occur to me.”
I rolled my eyes. “It didn’t occur to you to throw a huge party, or tell us what kind of presents you wanted, or—”
“No, that’s not how it works among the Fey,” Chase said. “For birthdays it’s the mother who is celebrated. She gets the presents. She invites her friends. That’s why she came to visit today.”
“You mean, that was your birthday party?” I didn’t mean to sound so pitying, but come on—there hadn’t even been any cake.
“She did all the work when I was born. Why wouldn’t we celebrate her achievement every year?” he said. I must have looked kind of shocked, because he added, “That’s what she says, anyway.”
I suddenly wanted to hug him, or give him an awesome present, or explain what birthdays were supposed to be like. But I just changed the subject. “So how old are you?”
Chase paused. “How old are you?”
I didn’t stop to guess why he asked. “Twelve.”
“I’m thirteen,” Chase replied. “Thirteen today exactly.”
“You’re lying! You turned twelve today, didn’t you?” He would be really tall for his age, but it was still possible. I would love to be older than him. It might cut back on his bossiness.
“Trust me, Rory—I’ve got you beat on this one.”
The silence stretched out between us. Chase still didn’t look me in the eye. I knew what he was really upset about.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I said quietly.
“Yeah?” Chase looked more fierce rather than less. Bringing it up clearly wasn’t helping. “Will you swear it?”
I nodded.
“On the sword? On its enchantment?”
“If you want.” If it would stop him from flipping out any more. I raised it between us, my hand on the hilt.
Chase wrapped his hand around mine. “Repeat after me: I do swear upon this sword . . .”
“I do swear upon this sword . . .” The hairs stood up on my arms, kind of like static but without the stinging crackle. This felt warm and ticklish in a bubbly way, like immersing myself in a soapy bath. I was pretty sure this didn’t happen every time two people held the sword.
“Not to tell anyone that the person I see before me, Chase Turnleaf, is half Fey, half human. Not by voice, or written text, or insinuation . . .”
I repeated all this after him, more and more ticked off with every word.
“Not even Mom, Dad, and that scary woman Amy. Not even Lena.”
I hesitated. “Lena’s really smart. She’s going to figure it out.” And get really mad at me for keeping such a big secret from her.
Chase shook his head. “No, her head is full of her inventions. She won’t solve a mystery she’s not looking for. Finish repeating it.”
He was being kind of a jerk.
I was tempted to stop repeating right then, but . . . he was just so freaked out.
I sighed. “Not even Mom, Dad, and that scary woman Amy. Not even Lena.”
Something invisible rushed over my arms and into the sword, like warm water swirling down a drain. I didn’t know why I was even surprised. Of course he could do magic. He was half fairy.
“That was a spell?” I said sharply.
“Yeah. A Binding Oath.” He sagged. At first I thought the spell thing had taken more out of him than I expected, but when he smiled at me, his biggest grin, the one that took up half his face, I realized it was just relief.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were casting a spell?” I said, but that wasn’t what I really wanted to know. I wanted to know why my word wasn’t good enough for him—why he felt like I needed to be enchanted to keep his secret.
His relieved smile shrank.
Then the door flew open, and someone launched herself at me so fast I staggered back. “I knew I would find you here!” Lena said triumphantly.
I hugged her back, glad she had interrupted. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to know Chase’s answer. “Don’t you have school?”
“Not really. But I did it! You have to come see.” She tugged me back to the courtyard.
“Lena, please tell me that you’re skipping class,” Chase said, following us outside. His voice gave me the creeps. He sounded so normal—teasing, cocky—like the last half hour hadn’t happened. “That would make my day. It would mean I’ve corrupted you forever.”
“No, just study hall. I don’t know who scheduled that—a study hall last period on Friday before spring break. But”—Lena stamped her foot on the grass impatiently—“you guys aren’t looking.”
About twenty feet from the Tree of Hope, a doorway-size rectangle hung in the air. The edges were on fire, the inside darker than the rest.
“Crap! You made a portal!” Chase yelped, and Lena looked very pleased.
I’d never heard of a kid making a portal. Actually, I’d never heard of any Characters making a portal into EAS besides Ellie—and she only did it using the Door Trek doors that ringed the courtyard, and only when the Director said it was okay.
Beside the flaming doorway Melodie stood on Lena’s humongous duffel, scowling. She clearly didn’t appreciate being left behind. “Lena, you really need to invent me some legs.”
Lena nodded, but I couldn’t tell if she was agreeing with the harp or just excited. “I got the idea last year, up the beanstalk. If the Snow Queen could make one from the Glass Mountain to Matilda Searcaster’s desk using just a letter, then technically you should be able to make one into EAS the same
way. It’s a simple spell if you’re not linking it up to an existing Door Trek system. It just takes a lot of power.”
The breeze wafted some of the doorway’s smoke toward us, and I wrinkled my nose. Only dragons and their scales could stink like a hot bowl of sulfur.
Chase sounded impressed. “You’re not supposed to be able to do that, you know.”
Melodie nodded. “The campus is designed to reject foreign and/or unapproved magics. I’ve seen it before. We had to take extra precautions.”
“Instead of introducing something foreign, we took some dirt that was already here. Right there, to be exact.” Lena pointed to the spot below the flaming rectangle. “And then I just substituted it for the pillar in the regular old portal spell. So that’s all you need: some dirt, a doorway, and about twenty dragon scales.”
I squinted into the dark inside it and spotted old mops and brooms. Probably a janitor’s closet in her school.
“Wait, let me get this straight,” Chase said. “Nobody knows that you did this?”
“Well, you two. And George and Jenny. They would worry otherwise.”
“But none of the grown-ups? Not the Director?”
“No, I didn’t want to bother them. I wasn’t sure it would work,” Lena said uncertainly. “Why?”
“We need to go tell them,” Chase said, “unless you want all the instructors running around going, ‘Security breach! Security breach!’ ”
Lena laughed, but then the amethyst door to the Director’s office banged open. Lena and I both jumped.
Grown-ups filed out—Hansel and Gretel first, wearing identical tunics of golden chain mail, swords raised. Then came Stu, the Shoemaker, sunlight glinting off his silver breastplate, spear at the ready.
Another door opened on the other side of the courtyard, and iron figures marched out—evil fairies, giant wolves, ugly trolls, and wizened witches. The enchanted dummies we practiced on in the training courts apparently doubled as EAS’s army.
An army that was surrounding us.
Mildred Grubb, the Director of EAS, walked out last, her shield engraved with roses. Her long blond hair hung in shining waves down her back, and her blue dress sparkled with silver embroidery. She spotted us.
“Do I even need to say I told you so?” Chase muttered.
All four marched our way, a scowl on every face. We were definitely in trouble.
ou three don’t understand the seriousness of the situation,” said the Director.
Maybe we didn’t understand the situation, but we could all tell it was serious. Lena’s eyes were huge, her shoulders hunched up around her ears.
“Security sweep, please.” The Director gestured to the other grown-up Characters. Behind her shield she was wearing dainty fingerless lace gloves. Gretel, Hansel, and Stu each disappeared behind a separate door. Dozens of metal dummies split up and clanked after them.
“Um,” I said. “Isn’t that overkill? You caught Lena already.”
For some reason the Director whirled around to glare at Lena instead of me. “Did you bind the portal to your essence so that none but you could pass? Use your signature, or your blood, or all ten fingerprints?”
Lena shook her head.
“Did you at least stand here and guard to make sure no one else entered after you?” the Director asked.
Lena glanced at me, stricken. She clearly regretted coming to find us.
“I thought not. Our Door Trek system is spelled to allow only approved persons through approved gateways at approved times.” The Director obviously liked to have approval over things. “Whether or not you children are aware of the fact, we do this for your safety. We are the second largest chapter of Ever After School in the world, with the highest success rate for completed Tales,” the Director continued. “It stands to reason that we would be targeted by the largest number of villains.”
Lena stared at her feet, her head bent so low that all her braids slung forward, the beads at their ends clacking together. I knew how much she hated being in trouble.
“Anyone could have entered through your portal and wreaked havoc upon the Characters who seek refuge here,” the Director went on. “The Big Bad Wolf, the trolls who cut off Evan Garrison’s fingers, General Searcaster—”
“Personally, I don’t think General Searcaster could fit,” I said before I could stop myself, and Chase snickered. Lena peeked at me through her hair.
“Aurora,” the Director said in a warning way, but she really couldn’t expect Chase and me to stand there and not say anything.
“I’m just saying—she’s like four stories tall.” I didn’t usually try to push the Director’s buttons, but this lecture was going too far.
“And she’s not skinny, either.” Half Fey or not, Chase caught on and backed me up. We were still a team.
“Enough!” the Director snapped. “Not another word from you, Aurora. I know you put Lena up to this.”
Put Lena up to what? Inventing? No way. Everybody knew that Lena obsessed over her inventions even more than the rest of us obsessed over our Tales.
Chase and Lena looked just as confused as I was.
“What? It was me and Lena! We worked it out!” Melodie hated it when other people took credit for her work.
“Got one, Director!” another voice rang out. Stu, the Shoemaker in charge of all the elves in the workshop, emerged from the steel double doors, escorting a girl in a plaid uniform. Mia.
I remembered her head on that table and shivered.
“Found her in the back of the workshop,” Stu told the Director, and Lena glanced up, frowning.
“I’m sorry,” Mia said in her too-soft voice. “I just got lost. I was looking for the room where I could read the Tales. I wanted to prepare myself.”
A pair of heavy wooden doors swung open across the courtyard, and Bryan and Darcy trotted outside, both of them glaring at Hansel, whose double-handed broadsword was sheathed at his back. Their scowls looked surprisingly similar, considering one of their faces was furry and deer-shaped. “What’s your problem?” the fawn demanded, as the sword master escorted them across the grass.
“Ellie told me the reference room got some more books on animal enchantments. I was checking to see if they could tell me how to break Bryan’s,” said Darcy. “Is that such a crime?”
“I told you,” Hansel said. “It’s just EAS protocol—for your own security.”
Gretel stepped through the amethyst door. “All clear.”
One by one, the iron dummies all marched into the courtyard and back toward the training courts. Mia’s eyes widened, but I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or freaked out.
“So, no bad guy,” Chase said. “That means we’re free to go, right?”
“Absolutely not.” The Director narrowed her eyes at me, Chase, and Lena. “I believe we’ll break up your little triumvirate for the afternoon.”
Mia’s eyebrows lifted. The corners of her mouth went up too. If she thought us getting punished was funny, her getting beheaded seemed slightly less tragic.
“What’s a triumvirate?” Chase whispered to me.
Remembering the dream about Mia made me queasy. “Three of something, I think?” I said, distracted.
The Director surveyed us. “Lena, you’ll go with Ellie to the workshop and gather all the notes and materials that led up to the invention of the spell. If I hear of you attempting such a portal again, you will appear before the Canon, and we will seriously consider your expulsion. Have I made myself clear?”
Lena stared, wide-eyed, caught between relief and guilt. She had a photographic memory. She didn’t need her notes to recreate the spell. The part of Lena that compulsively followed rules wanted to tell the Director this, but she didn’t. “Yes, ma’am.”
She was an inventor before she was a Goody Two-shoes.
“And Lena, I want you to know—I nearly decided to break our deal about keeping the dragon. The scales have led you into mischief,” said the Director.
&nbs
p; Lena tensed. This would be a much worse punishment.
“But I’ve decided instead to allow you only enough scales to make carryalls and no more for the next three months. Is that clear?”
Lena nodded, biting her lip, and Ellie ushered her out.
Then the Director dismissed Stu and Hansel, then Bryan, Darcy, and Mia. She sent Chase to help the Shoemaker and the elves set up the courtyard for the feast. He went, muttering about how we were getting punished just for being Lena’s friends.
She ordered Gretel to take me to the kitchens. When she explained that they were overwhelmed with making Red Riding Hood’s favorite dessert for the feast, Mia actually volunteered to help instead of following Bryan and Darcy to the reference room. The word “suck-up” crossed my mind.
Ugh. She shows up beheaded in my dream, and then she can’t even talk without annoying me? I didn’t want to know what that said about me.
“Come on.” Gretel’s iron foot gave her a weird limp. She shuffle-hopped away with the same determination and enthusiasm as Amy going to the dentist for a root canal. Mia and I hurried behind her to a plain white door with a big window, all fogged up.
Then Gretel threw the door open. I barely registered the smell of butter and sugar.
So much noise. So many strange witches. They had to be witches.
People assumed their ugliness was a stereotype, but Lena had told me once that all witches were cursed with it. Literally, cursed by the Last Mage. Apparently, they were born looking like hags.
Beaky noses, fingernail-size warts, and only three kinds of hair—black and stringy, or gray and strawlike, or bald with spots on their scalps. Several had hunchbacks. One even had green skin.
They stared at us with the same eager hunger a cat gives an unsuspecting goldfish.
Awesome. The Director’s villain-rehabilitation program. This would be fun.
Gretel stepped aside, her back hugging the door frame, and waved us in.
One witch in front had a thin-lipped, wide-mouthed smile like a snake. “I still remember how your foot tasted, Gretel dear—faintly of licorice, more of pepper.”
Gretel went rigid. I promptly lost my appetite.
“Kezelda, that’s enough.” One slender, straight figure moved in the crowd toward us, her silver braid brushing the floor. Rapunzel.
