by Liz Marsham
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1
In Which a Comet Has Its Day, Magic Goes Away, and a Belt Gives Way
Piper was right, thought Zarya. This was turning into a pretty great night.
As the heroic Mysticons, Zarya and her friends—Piper, the acrobatic Mysticon Striker; Em, the steadfast Mysticon Knight; and Arkayna, the inspiring Mysticon Dragon Mage—had been very busy lately. They had discovered that Zarya was not just the clever, sharp-shooting Mysticon Ranger; she was also Arkayna’s long-lost twin sister. Though she grew up on the streets, thinking she was an orphan, Zarya, like Arkayna, was actually a princess. Using the power of the Twin Dragons and working with the other Mysticons and their friends, Zarya and Arkayna had overcome the undead Dreadbane, defeated the evil lich queen Necrafa, and saved Drake City … and probably all of Gemina.
Zarya shook her head. It made her feel overwhelmed sometimes just thinking about it. But tonight wasn’t about fighting thousand-year-old villains, or even thinking about how complicated it was to suddenly be a princess. Tonight was for celebrating … and humoring her extremely excited friend.
She tore her eyes away from the performance below to look at the elf girl sitting next to her, and she couldn’t help grinning. Piper was completely decked out in Wellsnight memorabilia. A sequined comet shot across the front of her novelty T-shirt, under the words WELLSNIGHT: THE BEST NIGHT YOU’LL HAVE FOR 70 YEARS! A mirror ball comet with a shiny tasseled “tail” bobbed back and forth above her head, attached by a spring to her headband. She had even decorated her backpack for the occasion—glitter paint spelled out the words LIGHT IT UP!
Piper noticed Zarya’s look. “What?” she whispered, putting a hand to her headband. “Is my comet crooked?”
“It’s fine; stop fussing with it,” Zarya whispered back. “You look great. Very … shiny.”
Arkayna leaned in from Zarya’s other side. “What are you two talking about?” the princess asked. Her long red hair swept around her shoulder as she bent toward them, and a shower of glitter shook free from it. Choko, Zarya’s pet foz, was sitting in Zarya’s lap and tried to shield himself as the glitter rained down over his huge ears, but there was no escape. He gave a chirrup of resignation and put his now-glittery paws up on the rail in front of them, hoisting himself up to get a better view of the stage.
Zarya sighed. “We’re talking ’bout how shiny Piper is, mostly. But you’re pretty sparkly yourself, sis.”
“You should have let me put some glitter in your hair,” Piper said, reaching up to run a teasing hand through Zarya’s bangs. “You gotta get into the Wellsnight spirit! Wells’s Comet only comes by—”
“Once every seventy years, I know, Pipes.” Zarya chuckled and shook her head at her friend. “You’ve been talking about it for months.”
“Well, you weren’t there last time!” Piper’s eyes went dreamy and distant as she reminisced. “I was only forty, but I still remember how fab-tacular that festival was. It’s the best shopping spree and the most scrumptious food and the funnest dancing, all rolled into one, and it goes—”
“All night,” finished Zarya along with Piper. “We know, Pipes.”
“So if you don’t get into it, you’ll never last until the light show,” Piper continued eagerly. “And the light show is the best part! It’ll be just before dawn, and you’re gonna think the party is winding down, but no, it’s just warming up, because then—”
Suddenly Em, who was on Piper’s other side, turned to face them. “Then the comet gets so close to Gemina, the Astromancers can bounce their magical lasers off it,” she said in a hushed whisper, “and the lasers reflect off the comet and back down into the city in all kinds of patterns and colors, and it will be the most awesome thing we’ve ever seen. We know, Piper.”
Piper blinked.
Em took a deep, calming breath. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said. “You’ve been great at planning tonight. I never would have known what order to do things in without you. I am one lucky dwarf. We all are. Well, we’re not all dwarves, but we’re all lu—You know what I mean. But”—she gestured emphatically toward the stage—“we are missing the show.”
“Oh yeah!” replied Piper. The four girls turned to face front. Just as Zarya settled back in her seat, Piper swiped some of the glitter off Choko’s head and patted it quickly into Zarya’s hair. “You’re welcome,” Piper whispered in her ear.
Zarya’s noise of protest dissolved into an amused snort. Then she refocused on the spectacle in front of her.
If she turned her head to the right from their place in the front row of a section of raised seats, Zarya could see across the plaza to the castle in the background. It was decked out with bunting and banners that shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. The plaza was just as colorful, filled with food and souvenir vendors and small open spaces where jugglers, dancers, and musicians performed for passersby.
But Zarya’s gaze was locked on the space in front of and below her. Tiers of seats, like the ones she and her friends were sitting on, had been set up in an arc facing a wooden stage. The large, wide platform was raised a few feet above ground level, edged by embroidered velvet drapes that swept the flagstones. On both sides of the stage rose wide panels of wood. Carved and painted in sweeping designs, they soared up to support another panel that arced over the stage. This crosspiece was painted with bold, scrolling letters that spelled out The Amazing Amileth. Smaller letters down the left panel read Wonder at Illusions for All Ages, and a matching design on the right panel said Experience the Mystery of Magic Without Magic. Behind this wooden arch, the sides and top of the stage were masked by more sections of velvet, solid red this time, and another thick velvet curtain covered the back. Across the front lip of the stage, a dozen footlights shone up and back, the edges of their beams shimmering strangely. If Zarya listened closely, she could hear them giving off a low, musical hum.
And at the moment she could hear the hum clearly, because the whole audience was waiting, holding its breath. The featured performer of the night, the famous illusionist Amileth, was about to perform one of her best-known tricks. In the center of the stage was a small wooden table with spindly legs. As Zarya watched, Amileth emerged from the velvet drapes on the left, carrying a copper pot. She was wearing her signature outfit, an all-white tailored suit with wide, pointed lapels and long, sweeping coattails. The white fabric shone in the footlights, contrasting dramatically with the red of the velvet and the dark brown of Amileth’s skin. Her curly black hair was pulled into a pouf on the top of her head, revealing her long neck and pointed elven ears.
Amileth stopped beside the table, balancing the pot on one hip. She smiled broadly and tipped her head back to address the audience. “Magic, as we know, is not rare in Gemina,” she began. “And here in the city, its wonders are all around us. Many of you are carrying it with you tonight, in your handbags, or your phones … or maybe, for a few
of you, in your very body.
“But with my special footlights, magic is banished from my stage entirely.” With her free hand, Amileth gestured to the lights in front of her. “In this anti-magic glow, no spell or charm or hex can survive. And yet, as you will see, magic finds a way to hide … in the strangest of places.”
Amileth crossed to the lip of the stage and held the pot out, tipping it slightly forward to reveal its contents. “Like dirt!” she announced with a grin. Several members of the audience chuckled.
Zarya leaned forward, straining in her seat, hoping to catch a glimpse of a secret hidden in the crumbly soil. When Amileth spun on her heel, coattails flaring out behind her, Zarya slumped back with a sigh.
Arkayna patted Zarya’s shoulder reassuringly. “You knew you weren’t going to see anything strange in there,” she murmured. “Amileth’s too good for that.”
“I know, I know,” Zarya grumbled. “I just really wanna know how she does this one.”
Amileth set the pot down on the tabletop and turned back to her audience. “Here in this humble earth,” she continued, “we will see that while magic can be buried, it will always flourish.” Amileth squared her shoulders and rested a hand behind her back. With her other hand, she reached out over the pot, grasping the air and pulling her fist up slowly. “And it will thrive.”
Gasps rippled through the audience as green sprouts appeared in the soil and grew rapidly. Leaves unfurled and light pink buds ballooned at the tip of each stem. Amileth spread her fingers wide and intoned, “And it will breathe,” and the buds burst into the heavy, pink-and-white blossoms of Love’s Breath.
Zarya burst into applause along with the rest of the spectators. Bowing her head slightly to acknowledge the praise, Amileth held her hands out for silence.
“Now, of course,” she said wryly, “there’s always the possibility that I’m cheating.” As the audience laughed, she waved a hand toward the footlights and then the flowers. “So let’s put my footlights to the test. If there is no magic on this stage, then these blooms, famed for making most creatures fall instantly in love, will have no effect.” She took a step toward the footlights, then turned back to pluck a flower from the pot. Bringing the flower to her nose, she inhaled dramatically … then let out her breath in a sighing chuckle. “Of course,” she said, shrugging, “elves are immune to Love’s Breath, anti-magic lights or no. So I will need a volunteer.”
“Ooh!” came a voice from the front row. “Pick me! I command you to pick me!” King Gawayne, Arkayna and Zarya’s stepbrother, bounced to his feet, waving his arms impatiently.
“Your Majesty,” Amileth replied, arching an eyebrow, “it would be my pleasure.” She swept into a deep bow, gesturing with the hand that held the flower to a set of stairs on the side of the stage. “Please join me. But before you do, a warning…”
Gawayne was paying no attention, hurrying across the row of seats toward the stairs. Zarya winced in sympathy as, one after another, he managed to step on every single person’s toes on the way. The polite citizens tried to muffle their protests, but Gawayne was having none of it. “Make way for the far more important feet of your king!” he complained.
Watching from the stage, Amileth smiled tightly. “Majesty, as I was saying, before you come into the lights—”
But Gawayne still wasn’t listening as he tripped over the pointed boots of the lady dwarf on the aisle. “Augh! Is it even legal to have feet that big?” he demanded. “Because I can change that!” Marching up the stairs, he pointed at his butler, who was standing attentively at one side of the audience. “Butler, make a note! Any feet bigger than mine—”
Then Gawayne stepped onto the stage. The hum of the footlights grew louder. With a quiet tink, his belt sprang open.
And his pants fell down.
2
In Which Dances Are Danced and Theories Are Advanced
As soon as Gawayne’s royal trousers hit the stage, the pockets bulged and began spewing forth rings, half-full bottles of star water, a cupcake, four combs, and at least a dozen pairs of sunglasses. Item after item clattered to the wooden boards. Finally, an old, mushy black banana tumbled out of the king’s left pocket. A second of quiet passed, and Gawayne stood there, dumbfounded in purple boxers with star lotuses printed on them.
As the audience did their best to smother their laughter, Amileth spread her hands in an apologetic gesture. “As I was telling you, Your Majesty,” she said, “if you are carrying anything magical with you—such as, for instance, enchanted pockets of holding—the magic will be removed as soon as the light touches you.” She cocked her head to one side as Butler raced onto the stage. “If you don’t mind my asking, your belt…?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, magic belt,” said Gawayne, waggling his fingers. “Why should these kingly fingers do anything as boring as buckling a belt? Speaking of which: Butler!”
Butler ran up, already holding a spare non-magical belt. As he fussed over Gawayne, pulling up the king’s pants, tucking in his shirt, and replacing his belt, Gawayne peered around him at the detritus. “So what’s the deal, lady?” he huffed. “I was saving that cupcake, and now it’s got stage all over it. Plus, that was my third-favorite belt, and these are my fourteenth-favorite pair of pants, and you broke them!”
“Oh no, Majesty,” Amileth replied. “The footlights suck away magic and store it. As soon as I turn them off, the enchantments will return to your pockets and your belt. They will be good as new, I promise.”
Zarya heard Em muttering to herself, “Okay, so the lights hold on to the magic, that’s how they work.”
Leaning across Piper, Zarya said, “That’s how she says they work. Which means that’s definitely not what they’re really doing.”
Em raised her eyebrows. “But Gawayne—”
“Ah, she coulda pulled that off easy,” Piper put in.
“Yeah, he does love being the center of attention. She had to know he’d volunteer,” said Zarya, nodding. “Maybe she got Butler to dress Gawayne in trick pants.”
In Zarya’s lap, Choko was miming Gawayne’s pants falling down and his eyes bugging out in surprise, making Arkayna giggle helplessly. “I don’t care what else happens tonight,” Arkayna said, “and I don’t care how Amileth did it. This is the best thing I’ve ever seen!”
Zarya nudged Arkayna with an elbow. “You don’t care how she did it? You sure?”
Arkayna shrugged. “Well, of course I’d like to know,” she said. “But sometimes it’s nice to not know. It’s fun to, I don’t know…”
“Be tricked?” snorted Zarya.
“I wouldn’t put it like that, but yeah,” agreed Arkayna. “What’s the harm in just taking her at her word and being … you know, amazed? Isn’t that the point of the show?”
“Spoken like a real princess, Princess,” Zarya teased.
Zarya hadn’t meant to insult her sister, but Arkayna bristled a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that, the way I grew up, you needed to know if people were conning you or not,” Zarya replied. “You couldn’t afford to take someone just at their word.”
Arkayna held up a hand in protest. “Hang on, I know the difference between an entertainer and a con artist. I’m not gullible.”
Zarya winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“And speaking of you growing up in the Undercity, didn’t you used to con people for a living?” Arkayna asked.
Now it was Zarya’s turn to be defensive. “I did what I needed to get by, and I never took money from someone who couldn’t afford to lose it. Besides, it’s like you said. People want to be amazed. So they got the amazement of wondering how I tricked them, and I got paid.” She grinned. “Everybody won.”
“That’s not quite what I said,” Arkayna pointed out.
“Look, the point is, this”—Zarya motioned toward the stage—“is not just a show. It’s a game. She’s outsmarting us. If we don’t at least try to figure out how, we lose.”
>
Arkayna opened her mouth to protest, but she was cut off by a commotion from the crowd. Onstage, Butler was standing to one side, laden with an overflowing armload of Gawayne’s possessions. The king, meanwhile, had accepted the Love’s Breath from Amileth and was raising it to his face.
“Breathe deep, Your Majesty,” prompted Amileth.
Gawayne stuck his nose into the flower and inhaled. He lowered his hands, revealing that the tip of his nose was covered in yellow pollen. “Smells like … flowers, I guess?” he said, meeting Amileth’s eyes.
The audience held their breath.
“Was something supposed to happen?” he asked. He turned the flower upside down and shook it, sending a light dusting of pollen scattering across the stage. “Your flower is broken.”
“If you’re willing, Majesty,” Amileth said, “I’ll turn the footlights off and we’ll see what happens.”
Gawayne sighed. “Fine. But if I walked up all those steps for nothing…”
Amileth took a small device out of her pocket and hit a button. The footlights went dark and silent. Then Butler looked down in surprise as Gawayne’s magic belt, deep in the pile of belongings he held, buzzed musically for a moment. Gawayne’s pants, too, gave off a low drone as the magic returned to their pockets. And the Love’s Breath blossom and the pollen on Gawayne’s nose began to hum and glow as the magic within them stirred to life.
“Uh-oh,” Zarya and Arkayna muttered in unison.
“Hey, that tickles,” Gawayne said, swiping at his nose. “What—” He looked into the audience and locked eyes, through a drift of dancing, glowing pollen, with the booted dwarf lady on the aisle. “You,” he breathed, “have the most perfect feet.”
The dwarf lady inhaled in surprise. As she did, she sucked in one of the glowing motes of pollen that was drifting off the stage. She blinked, then rose and put her hands to her heart, gazing moonily at Gawayne as she hurried up the steps. “But I would gladly shrink them away to nothing, if only you asked it,” she replied.
