“Tanner, hey?” she whispered.
“My lady,” he replied, and bowed slightly as he held out a note. “The gentleman who sent me asks you to read this and give me your answer at once.”
I think I can get out tonight, but I don’t know where to go. I’d say meet me in Salting, but the guards might expect that, and I don’t want trouble for my aunt.
Do you know a place? Tell me where and when, and I’ll be there.
She bit her lip hard.
“Could you wait, please?” she whispered to the messenger. “Just for a few minutes, while I write back?” He bowed and went across the road to the park, and Ella ran upstairs, despairing. What could she write? Where could she see him? He couldn’t come to her house; that was too obvious. She ran to her room and twisted the E charm in her fingers. “Serge, Serge, Serge,” she whispered, but she felt no warmth from her charm in reply, and a quarter of an hour later, Serge was not there. If he and Jasper were busy, then waiting for them might take too long. From across the hall, she heard a low, sweet singing voice coming from behind Clover’s bedroom door.
She approached. One knock, and the singing cut out.
“Make it good,” Clover called.
“It’s Ella.”
The door opened, and Clover stood in it, teasing her half-blast of hair with her fingertips. “Hello, hello,” she said, smiling. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Ella peeked past Clover into the room. The Current’s singer, Bonnie Brae, lounged on Clover’s bed, reading over some lyrics. “It’s secret,” said Ella under her breath.
Clover stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her. “All right, tell me.”
Ella dragged Clover to her room and shut the door. “You can’t say anything to my dad. Or your mum. Or anyone. I’m serious.”
“No problem.”
“Can I trust you?”
Clover shrugged. “Yeah,” she said. “But either you know that or you don’t.”
Ella shoved her hands into her hair, setting all her curls awry. “All right,” she said. “I lied about Dash. We’re friends, but …”
“There’s a little more to it?”
“I want to see him, and he wants to see me, but there’s nowhere we can go.”
“So you need a place to meet.”
“Yeah. His messenger’s outside waiting for me to give him an answer.”
“I’ve got a place.” Clover bent over Ella’s desk and scribbled on a scrap of parchment. “Here,” she said, handing it over. “Tell the messenger that you’ll be at this address by eight.” She scribbled something else. “We’ll put this on my mum’s desk in the office.”
Ma —
Ella wants to meet the band and relax with some new people. We’ll have her out late, but no worries, we’ll take care of her.
Big kiss,
Clover
“Your mum won’t believe I said that.”
“ ’Course she will,” said Clover. “Do you know how much she wants the three of us to get along and be best friends?” She threw down the pen. “Come on,” she said. “We’ll go downtown to meet the crown — there’s a song begging to be written. Watch out, or I’ll write a whole set about you.” Grinning, she pulled Ella from the room.
IT was seven when Tanner returned with an address. Dash seized the slip of paper and checked the street name against his city map. He followed a route with his eyes and retraced it a few more times to make sure he could tell a driver how to get there. If he left now, he could just make it by eight.
Now all that remained was to get past the guards. They didn’t follow him around inside the palace, but that was only because they had him completely penned in; his father had posted a sentinel at every door that led outside, including all the entrances to the servants’ stairways.
So he’d use a window.
He dressed in black and shoved a fishing hat into his schoolbag. He grabbed his coin purse and tore through his desk drawers, looking for the pouch of Ubiquitous acorns that Garb Garter had given him last year when he’d been handing them out to everyone in fistfuls. There were twenty or so — enough to create a little chaos, he hoped. He sifted through them, checking their stamps in the hope of something that could aid him in getting down the wall. He found an acorn with a rope stamp and kept it separate from the others. The rest of the pouch he stuffed into his pocket.
Downstairs, he made sure the librarian saw him perusing the history section and choosing a few volumes, which he carried upstairs to the reading room. The sun had set and the garden outside was growing dark; Dash snuffed out the reading-room sconces to conceal his movements at the window from the guard who stood below. He donned the fishing hat and pulled it low to obscure his face, unlatched the window that was nearest the corner, and pushed it ever so slightly open. He peered down, and a thrill of fear shot through him. The jump down to the parapet was farther than he’d thought — perhaps fifteen feet.
Slowly, Dash inched the library window open until he’d created a wide enough passage to fit through. He grabbed a fistful of acorns out of the drawstring pouch, and he flung them as hard as he could out the window, toward the other end of the garden. They exploded against the far wall in a cacophony of clattering drums, smashing glass, and the braying of a Ubiquitous donkey.
“Intruder!” shouted the guard at his father’s office door, and he sprinted toward the sudden cacophony, pulling his sword as he ran.
Dash clambered through the library window, and dropped down to hang from it. Breathing hard, he edged along the stone sill until he was directly above the garden wall. He let go of the sill and fell.
One ankle twisted under him when he landed, and he had to bite his lips shut to keep from shouting — but he was out of the palace and atop the wall. He stayed low, sparing just a brief glance toward the other end of the dark garden, where the guard was slashing his way through the Ubiquitous items, making them crash one by one as he shouted for reinforcements.
Lying on his stomach, Dash dragged himself to the edge of the parapet and looked down the outside of the palace wall. Another fifteen feet, at least. Guards stood positioned at intervals along the perimeter, and torches were mounted along the outer wall. He crawled along the parapet until he found a section of the wall that was in shadow, and he cracked his rope. It funneled from his fist, and a grappling hook appeared at the end of it. He secured this on the stones, then quickly dug out his last handful of acorns and threw them as far from the palace as he could, out toward the tree line. The two guards nearest him both pulled their swords and took off running toward the resulting racket. Dash tossed the rope. He gripped it, hauled himself over the wall, and dropped with speed onto the lawn.
Pain lanced his ankle when his feet struck ground, but he had no time to limp. He forced himself into a hobbling run and kept running until he reached the busy main road. He put out his hand to flag down a carriage, and he hoisted himself into the back, pulling his hat down as low as he could to shield his face from the driver.
“Sharp Street,” he said. “Take Boulevard Blue south to Robings Road, then go left.”
The driver set his horses in motion just as two royal guards barreled onto the street. Dash slumped down in the seat of the chaise. When the driver turned right onto Boulevard Blue, he dared a glance back. No one had followed. In spite of his throbbing ankle, he couldn’t resist a grin.
He was out.
WHEN the moon rose that night, Serge was still curled in his own bed, where he’d been since the night before. For the first time in eighty years, he had not reported to work. He hadn’t even responded to Ella’s call. He felt as feverish as Lavaliere, all hot and cold shivers and clammy blue skin. He had never been ill in this human way — he’d never even heard of a Blue fairy with a fever. It frightened him.
Almost stranger than his sickness was the fact that Jules hadn’t called for him once all day. It was lucky she hadn’t. He wasn’t sure he could fly all the way to the Slipper.
> He had no sooner thought this than his watch lit up with such heat that it startled him. He tugged it out and silver messages flashed into the blue light in rapid succession.
LARIAT JUST LEFT.
BIG NEWS. HUGE.
GET HERE NOW.
He pushed himself to his feet and barely managed to get himself dressed. His wings were sore and heavy and he knew he couldn’t fly; even walking was out of the question. Once on the street, he flagged a carriage, like a human would. He climbed up and slumped in his seat.
“Where to, sir?” asked the nervous-looking driver, eyeing Serge’s wings.
Serge thought about telling the driver to take him to the Academy. He could go to Jasper’s. Say he was sorry. Tell him it was over.
“The Glass Slipper,” he said instead.
He found Jules in her office, standing with one blue hand braced against the window wall that looked out on Quintessential, lighted up in the darkness. Serge sank into a chair, exhausted.
Jules didn’t seem to notice the difference in him. “Apparently, that Coach girl really did have her claws in the prince,” she said. “But after today, I doubt we’ll hear much more about her. Her family might as well leave Quintessential. When the Jacquards are against you, you’re out.”
Serge’s wings stirred. For the first time in days, energy pulsed through him. Not much — just a thread — but he felt it.
“Really,” he murmured. “What happened?”
“Lariat wouldn’t say exactly,” said Jules. “But she won’t do business with Practical Elegance anymore, so that’s the end of them. And Ella Coach is suspended from Coterie. Lavaliere has no more competition.”
Serge swallowed a hard knot in his throat. Ella needed him. He had to get to her. It didn’t matter how pathetic he felt.
“But that’s nothing. Here’s the real news.” Jules turned away from her view of the city and leaned back against the curving glass. “Lariat wants our help this weekend to prepare her estate for a party. A little private meal for the Charmings, followed by a larger celebration.”
“That’s the big news?” he asked, frowning. “A party?”
“Not just any party.” She smiled at Serge and arched an eyebrow. “A betrothal.”
“Betrothal!” The word slipped from him before he could control it, but Jules missed his horror.
“I know!” she said, looking ecstatic. “We’ve done it again — another Charming queen, courtesy of our little shoe. I don’t think the prince knows yet, but it doesn’t matter. Clement has him well in hand. It’s going to happen.”
“But they’re so young.”
“When has that ever mattered in cases like this? The two greatest families in Blue joining hands. It’s been a long time coming.” She picked up a crystal-handled mirror and ruffled her spiky hair, fashionably disheveling it. She glanced at him. “You’re sweating,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
Serge felt his clammy brow. “I rushed here.”
“Good,” said Jules. “You don’t have a moment to spare. This betrothal party has to be stunning — even better than Clement and Maud’s.” She shoved Lariat’s list of demands at him and collapsed into her chair. “I’ve got the worst headache,” she said. “But consult with me on anything you need, babe. You know I’ll be right here.”
Serge left the penthouse at a trudge, reading over the list. What Lariat wanted would require the efforts of every single fairy at the Slipper. By the time he reached the lobby, he grew dizzy; he had to brace himself on a chair. He felt a hand at his elbow supporting him, and he glanced left, almost expecting to see Jasper. It was Thimble. Her dark blue eyes were serious. “You need help, Serge,” she said quietly.
He didn’t protest. He let her put him into a chair near Lebrine, who stretched out a tentacle to squeeze his shoulders. He didn’t even flinch as salt water destroyed his leather coat.
“Cup of tea?” said Thimble, perching on the low table before him.
Serge shook his head. “I’m … going to visit Jasper,” he said. He had to tell him what he’d learned about Ella — he owed him that.
“He’s not home,” said Thimble. “But I can get him and bring him here.”
“No.” He didn’t want Jasper to come back to this place. “I’ll meet him … where I left him. Tell him that.”
He left the Slipper and made his way to the dark, moonlit beach where he’d last seen Jasper. He stumbled down toward the water, dropped down onto the hard sand, and waited.
When Jasper joined him, he alighted several feet away and looked out at the ocean. “You’re a wreck,” he said.
“Yes.”
Jasper was silent for a moment. “There’s something you want to tell me,” he said. “Something you want me to do. What is it?”
“Ella’s in trouble. Lariat Jacquard is trying to run the Coaches out of town. She had Ella suspended from school, to separate her from Dash.”
“But she can’t!”
“She did,” said Serge. “And it gets worse. The Slipper is arranging a royal betrothal party for Dash and Lavaliere. They’ll be engaged this weekend.”
“No!” Jasper was six feet in the air. “We have to stop it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know — but we’ll start by visiting Ella. Come on.”
“You’ll have to take care of her alone now, Jasper.”
“What? Why?”
“I can’t fly anymore,” said Serge, “and I’ve lost my magic. You were right. I should have walked away from the Slipper, but I didn’t, and now I think my dust is gone for good. It’s too late.”
The next thing Serge felt were strong hands under his arms, hauling him to his feet.
“Well, now you’re just being maudlin,” said Jasper, gripping him around the waist. “Hold on tight.”
He unfurled his great Crimson wings and lifted off, pulling Serge into the sky with him.
SHE was dressed in black knit from her neck to her feet, and Clover stuffed her hair into a fashionably floppy gray hat that fell low over her eyes. They took her downtown in the carriage, all the way to the lower arts district on the southeastern fringe of Quintessential’s respectable side.
“The rest of the band lives on Sharp Street,” Clover told her. “The apartment’s over the top of a room we use for rehearsals. We’ll keep everyone busy upstairs, and you can have privacy.”
“I’ll watch the window,” said Linden. “If anyone’s coming, I’ll send down sparks, and you can hide.” He frowned at her. “Why the look?”
Ella shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “Just — why are you bothering, I guess?”
“You did us a favor with the royal ball,” said Linden. “We owe you.”
“We also like you,” said Clover. “And we remember how it was when Pa died.”
“So we get why you’re a mess,” Linden added, wiping his spectacles on his one sleeve. He replaced them on his nose and peered at Ella. “If you ever want to talk to us, you can.”
Ella nodded, touched — and a bit ashamed. Their own dad was dead ten years, and she’d barely ever given that a thought. Maybe she owed them too.
They reached the Current’s rental house. It wasn’t an attractive building, even in the darkness, and neither were the structures around it. People spilled from the tavern on the corner, rowdy with laughter. No one from C-Prep would be caught dead here.
“Come on,” said Linden. “We’ll sneak you in.”
Clover checked first to be sure that no one was in the downstairs room, and then the two of them smuggled Ella to the door and hustled her through it into quiet darkness. Linden lit two candles, and Clover pulled the hat off Ella’s head and ruffled her curls back into shape. Ella looked around. It was too dim to see much, but there wasn’t much to see: instruments leaning against the walls, a few small tables, and several chairs scattered about. Otherwise it was bare.
“We’ll give you as long as we can,” said Clover, taking a candle with her to the stairs. Linden
followed. They let themselves in through the upstairs door and left Ella alone to wait. She carried her candle to the window, opened the curtain a finger’s width, and watched the dark street.
A carriage rattled over the cobblestones and stopped before the door. A tall figure descended; she couldn’t see his whole face because of his hat, but his profile was impossible to mistake. He limped to the door — he was hurt. Ella set the candle on a table and ran to meet him before he could knock. She pushed the door open, grabbed his sleeve, drew him inside, and shut the door as quickly as she could.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Why are you limping?”
He took off his hat and glanced around the dim room. Even by the light of one candle, his beauty made Ella catch her breath.
“Where are we?”
“My stepsiblings’ place,” she managed. “They rehearse here with their band.”
“Do they know? About us?”
Us. “Yeah, but I promise it’s all right.”
He gazed at her a moment. “I can’t do this,” he muttered, and Ella’s heart gave a fearful slam, but he put up his hands at once and shook his head. “I mean,” he said, “I have to tell you something.” He wrung his hat in his hands. “But it’s treason.”
“Then don’t,” said Ella reflexively. “Everyone already thinks —”
He shut his mouth and put his hat on the table. His eyes were tired. Defeated. Like her mum’s had been at the end of every long week when her spirits were ground down to nothing. He must be so lonely, she realized. Shut up in that palace with his mum gone away, and he couldn’t tell anyone anything or it would all end up in the Criers.
Yet here he was.
“Go ahead,” she said quietly, deciding. “Tell me whatever you want.”
“It’s the Jacquards,” said Dash, grimacing as he said the name. “I can’t stand Lavaliere. But if I won’t court her —” He drew a deep breath. “Lady Jacquard will eliminate my father from the Essential Assembly.”
For a moment, Ella could only stare at him, unable to grasp what he was telling her. It was too huge. “But … how?”
Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella Page 23
