A Magical Trio

by Alex Flinn

  But then I remember Father’s anger. That I do not miss at all.

  “Nah, no one will be there,” Jack says, recalling me to the time and place.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “My family. They’re all busy. You’ll meet them later on, I guess.”

  “But surely someone—”

  “Nope. We’ll take a cab.”

  I took a cab to the airport in France, and the most I can say for it is that it is not a bus. I shake my head but keep a civil tongue inside it. It seems incredible that a young man could journey across the ocean and come home to no fanfare whatsoever. I examine Jack’s face. His lips are pursed, his brow furrowed, and I suspect that his thoughts on the subject are similar to my own. It strikes me that Jack and I suffer from the opposite problem: While my parents kept me too close at hand, Jack’s do not keep him at hand at all.

  Suddenly there is a giant bump that causes my seat, my body, my very bones to jump, and there is a sound like a thunderclap.

  “What was that?” I cry.

  Jack laughs. “Relax, silly. We just landed. We’re on the ground.” He takes out his telephone and turns it on.

  “We are?” I glance out the window. It is true. We are. The trees and ocean are no longer visible, replaced by dull, gray land. But a moment ago, I was in the clouds! Me. Talia. After three hundred sixteen years isolated in a castle, apart from everyone, in three days I have met a boy, run away, and crossed the ocean in a magical flying machine. Who would have believed it possible?

  Certainly not my father.

  Chapter 9:

  Jack

  It takes a while to get off the plane with Talia’s fifty-pound carry-on. But finally we make it.

  I love when you enter the jetport in Miami, and you’re met with that first blast of hot air through the cracks that reminds you you’re home. I watch Talia’s face as we walk off the plane.

  “Ooh! So warm!”

  I grin.

  I told Talia no one would be there to pick us up at the airport, mostly because I didn’t want her to spend an hour in the airport bathroom, fixing her hair with that ten-pound brush of hers and pinching her cheeks to make them pink or something. But I didn’t really think no one was coming.

  I check my cell phone to make sure I turned it on, and I check to see if I have messages, even though I know I don’t. I texted both parents when I got off the plane. Nothing yet.

  We head downstairs to the baggage claim. Talia seems a bit dazed, and I nudge her. “You okay?”

  She rests her hand on my arm. “I am glad you are here. I do not think I have seen as many people in my entire life as I have seen today.”

  “No problem.” Her hand’s still there. It’s weird because I kind of like the way it feels, her sort of depending on me.

  She points to the luggage carousel. “Ooh! What fun!”

  “Yeah. Don’t touch it. We have to look for our suitcases.”

  My parents still aren’t here, so I dial home. My sister answers.

  “Hey, Mer, where’s Mom?”

  “Out drowning her sorrows about getting stuck with such a bad son.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think she’s playing tennis.”

  “I’m at the airport.” I turn so Talia can’t hear me. “Is anyone coming?”

  “Hmm…I’m guessing that would be a no. That’s weird. She came and picked me up from camp last week. They must love me more—but then, I didn’t run away from camp.”

  “Very funny.”

  I call Dad. His secretary answers. Her name is Marilyn, which I know because making me work in his office is my dad’s other favorite way to ruin my summer. Actually, that was the one selling point for the Europe trip.

  “Oh, was that today?” she says when I tell her I’m at the airport.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “He’s in Houston right now. Do you want me to call Super Shuttle for you?”

  No way. If my parents forget to pick me up from the airport after I’ve been gone almost the whole time I was supposed to be, they’re springing for a cab.

  I see my suitcase, and I grab it. But I’m more worried about what I don’t see, which is Talia. Where’d she go? She was holding my arm, but now she’s not.

  Which gets me thinking about all the things that could have happened to her. Like, what if she decided to take a ride on the luggage carousel and ended up in some kind of baggage dead-letter office?

  Or maybe she decided to show the nice security guard her jewels.

  Or someone offered her some candy if she’d help him find his lost puppy.

  She’d go. That’s what she’d do.

  Stay calm. There are a lot of people here. She’s probably just stuck in a crowd.

  Where is she?

  “Jack?” A whisper interrupts me. Talia!

  “Jack?”

  I look again, and I see her. She’s pressed against a wall, the green hoodie I got her covering all her yellow hair and most of her body.

  “Come on,” I say. “I have the suitcases.”

  She looks over her shoulder, not really at me but out at the airport. “Is she still there?” she whispers.

  “Is who still there?”

  “Shh! There was a lady, an old lady in a black dress. It was Malvolia.”

  Malvolia? I try to remember where I’ve heard that name before. The fairy. Witch. Whatever. The one who cast the spell on Talia and made her sleep all those years.

  I laugh. “She couldn’t be here. She was alive hundreds of years ago, in Euphrasia.”

  “I was alive hundreds of years ago in Euphrasia, and I am here.”

  Good point. “Still…” I look around and see the lady Talia’s talking about, an old lady in a black dress. A black habit, actually.

  “That’s not Malvolia,” I say. “That’s a nun.”

  “Not her. She was…” She turns the rest of the way around, using the hoodie to shield her face. “She has vanished.”

  “Good. Then we can go.”

  “I suppose.” Talia keeps looking, walking as though she expects something or someone to swoop down on her from the ceiling.

  “Ah, if she’s still alive, she’s probably forgotten you by now.” I take her arm to lead her toward the exit. “How long can someone stay mad about not being invited to a party?”

  “Perhaps. But she was a woman. Women never forget such slights. And I have learned the consequences of not heeding warnings. It shall not happen again.”

  Chapter 10:

  Talia

  The taxicab ride is hot and barely faster than a horse, due to what Jack calls “traffic.” Throughout it, I am picturing Malvolia’s face.

  What I failed to tell Jack, lest he believe me insane, was that she spoke to me.

  “Ah, Princess.” Her black eyes flickered. “You have been a naughty girl, indeed.”

  She did not look as she looked that day in the tower room, a sweet old lady. Now she was younger, taller, straighter. But her eyes were the same, black and glittering, as was her voice.

  “You have awakened under false pretenses,” she said.

  “False pretenses?”

  “Yes.” She stepped aside to allow a man with luggage to pass. “This boy is not your true love. You should not be awake. But I will fix it, as I always do. Those who thwart me suffer the consequences.”

  She reached for me, clawed fingers brushing my sleeve. I started to run away through the crowds, putting as many people between us as possible. I hid. That was when Jack found me.

  But perhaps Jack is right. I am insane. In my mind, the events with the dresses, the spindle, everything, happened days ago, not hundreds of years ago. Could Malvolia be alive? Even if she is, surely she would forget the small slight of not being invited to my christening party in so many years’ time.

  Of course. It was my imagination. It must have been. My insane imagination.

  Still, I wonder what she meant by consequences.

  Or what my imagination mean
t, since she was not real. She was not real.

  I look over at Jack, asleep in the seat. I sigh. He is to be my husband, although he does not realize it. Can I love him? He is selfish and immature, and yet he did take me with him when he could easily have abandoned me. Why did he? For love, or for pity? Can pity be turned into love? I know not. I also do not know if the gratitude I feel to this silly boy for taking me with him can be turned to love on my side. But then, I probably would not have loved my chosen husband had I stayed in Euphrasia.

  No, the important thing is not what I feel for him but what he feels for me. I must make Jack love me, to make my lie true. If he is my true love, even Malvolia cannot complain. And, just as important, I must make his parents love me, for no marriage can take place without their approval.

  I can be very sweet when I wish to, not to mention beautiful.

  I take out my hairbrush. It is so hot I feel my face may melt, but I can work on my hair.

  Jack’s home is not nearly as large as the castle. But it is much larger than the homes of the peasants in Euphrasia. Surely the family that lives here would be delighted to have their son marry royalty.

  Jack knocks and knocks upon the door. “Guess no one’s home, either,” he says.

  I relax a bit.

  A rush of cold air greets us, as does the sight of a sullen girl of about three and ten. This must be his sister, Meryl. She is tall, as tall as I am, and a number of blemishes mar her cheeks. I have never had a blemish myself, of course, but one of my lady’s maids had several, and they looked quite painful. Meryl also has metallic objects connected to her teeth. In one hand, she clutches a pad of paper. She scowls. “Oh. You’re here.”

  “Hey, why didn’t you get the door?” Jack says.

  She shrugs. “Didn’t hear it.”

  Jack laughs. “Aren’t you happy to see your big brother?”

  “Depends. Did you bring me anything?”

  “Not a thing,” Jack says. “This is Talia.”

  I put out my hand to her. “Charmed to meet you.”

  She sticks her tongue out at Jack and does not offer to shake my hand, much less curtsy. “Are you for real? You brought home a girl from Europe? Oh, you are going to be in soooo much trouble.” She grins a bit, anticipating it.

  “Jack,” I say, “we did bring her a gift. Remember?” I want this girl to be on my side, if she is to be my future sister-in-law. I withdraw a cameo necklace from my jewel case. It is the smallest thing there, but I did not sell it to the man in Belgium because it was too precious to me. It is a portrait of my great-grandmother Aurora. In it, she is turned slightly to the side, her hair cascading over her shoulder, and she bears more than a passing resemblance to myself. “I would like you to have this. It is from my country.”

  She looks at it, then at Jack. “Oh, wow, I can wear it to school.” She rolls her eyes.

  Not the reaction I had expected.

  “A thank-you would be nice,” Jack says.

  “Yeah, I guess it would.” She does not thank me.

  “Those objects on your teeth? Pray, what are they?” I ask her.

  She scowls. “Excuse me?”

  “You have some metal in your mouth. Is that a fashion accessory?”

  She rolls her eyes yet again and starts upstairs without answering.

  Jack shrugs. “My sister doesn’t…like…people.” Then he takes my elbow. “Come on, Talia. I’m starving.”

  I follow him into a room which must be the kitchen, although I cannot be certain, for I have never been inside a kitchen before. We had one at the castle, of course, but it was the exclusive domain of the cook, Mistress Pyrtle, and her serving girls, and she did not take kindly to intruders.

  The kitchen in Jack’s home is pleasant enough. The walls are lined with shiny wooden cabinetry, and at the center is a large, metal object which Jack opens.

  “Looks like Mom hasn’t been shopping much lately,” he says. “We’ve got leftover Chinese, leftover Mexican, leftover Chicken Kitchen….” He turns to me. “What looks good?”

  “I am sorry. Is that food?” I know what chicken is, but the rest is unfamiliar.

  “Sort of.” He closes the door and yells toward the other room. “Hey, Meryl, how old’s this Chinese?”

  No response.

  Jack takes out a paper container with a picture in red. He sniffs it. “Smells okay. No hair on it.” A chime rings.

  Jack goes to get a dish from one of the cabinets. At the same time, two girls approximately the same age as Meryl enter the room. More sisters? Jack did not mention additional sisters. No. They must be friends of Meryl’s. These girls are less awkward than Meryl, perhaps a bit more attractive. And yet there is something I do not like about them. For one thing, they both wear blouses which show their bellies and bosoms. Why do young women of this time not wear clothing that fits?

  “Hi, Jack,” one of the girls, a petite blonde, says, flouncing toward him. She ignores me entirely.

  “Hey.” Jack hands me a plate. On it, he begins to heap strange food from the box, which I now see has a picture of a pagoda on it. I learned about pagodas in my study of the Orient. I always wished to see one in person. “Are you here to see Meryl?”

  The brunette wrinkles her nose. “We’re here to see you. Heard you went to Europe.”

  “Yep.” Jack gives me the remaining food and gestures for me to sit at a table on the other side of the room.

  That’s when Meryl enters. She glances at the two girls, as if comparing them to herself and finding herself lacking. “Hey, so what are you guys doing today?”

  The blond girl does not look at her but says to Jack, “Gaby and I were going to go to the beach. Want to come?”

  Jack does not answer but continues to shovel the “Chinese food” into his mouth. I take a cautious bite of my own. Salty, but rather interesting. I recognize some of the vegetables, but others, such as an ear of corn no bigger than my index finger, confound me. Jack’s telephone makes its noise. He answers it.

  The brunette girl drapes herself around him, much in the manner of Mother’s Persian cat. “Please, Jack, please go with us.”

  The other girl follows suit. “Please, Jack. It will be fun.”

  Jack continues to speak into the telephone.

  “Hey, guys,” Meryl says, “I could probably talk to my brother and get him to—”

  “Whatever.” The blond girl’s eyes never leave Jack.

  Finally, Jack says, “Hold on a sec.” He puts down the telephone and shakes the two girls off. “Hey, Jailbait, you mind? I’m trying to have a conversation.”

  The two girls look offended, then make an elaborate show of peeling themselves off Jack’s shoulders. The brunette girl seems purposely to be shoving her rather ample bosom in front of Jack’s eyes. Do these girls’ mothers know they behave in this manner? Finally, both leave, and Meryl follows. I can still see them through the door a bit.

  “Hey, Jennifer,” I hear her say. “I can get Jack to take us to the beach another day. Maybe we could ride our bikes to the mall or something.”

  I watch through the kitchen doorway. One girl laughs, then both, exposed bellies bouncing inward as they do. “Why would we want to do that?” the blond girl says.

  “Yeah, really,” the brunette echoes. “It’s not like we could meet any hot guys with you along.”

  “But I could…” Meryl stammers. “I have money. I could buy us lunch in the Grove or something.”

  “Hey, what’s this?” The blonde reaches for the object in Meryl’s hand. “Your diary?”

  “It’s nothing,” Meryl says, holding it away.

  The brunette takes up the mockery. “Let me see.” She pulls it from Meryl’s hand, then opens it. I see that it is a book of sketches. “Look, Jen. Meryl’s an artist.”

  Jennifer grabs the sketchbook. She opens it to a portrait of a mermaid on a rock. “Ooh, is this your girlfriend?”

  “Give it back!” Meryl appears near tears.

  “I�
�m just looking. It’s such beautiful art.” Despite the words, her tone is nasty.

  “Jen, give it back!”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I say so,” I interrupt. I hadn’t even realized I’d left the room, but now I am standing before the girls, holding out my hand. “Please return it.”

  I fix them with my best princessy look. Although I am no longer in Euphrasia, I am still a princess, and these girls are still common. I will make them obey me.

  “Who are you?” Jennifer says, but she hands me the pad. “I was just looking at it.”

  “And now you have stopped. Thank you.” I give the pad to Meryl and go back into the kitchen.

  “What’s up her butt?” the blonde says. “Let me know if your brother’s free later.”

  “But…okay…” Meryl watches as the two girls leave.

  Before the door closes, I hear one say to the other, “Can you believe a dog like that has such a hot brother?”

  Horrible things! Meryl undoubtedly heard her, for she looks down and her mouth twists in an awkward manner. I do not know what to say. Although I spent months learning about diplomacy, we never once discussed what to do if someone is deliberately cruel to another person in one’s presence.

  Jack continues on the telephone. Why did he not come to his sister’s rescue?

  Meryl is still standing by the door. She looks at me, and I realize she must be embarrassed at my witnessing this exchange. I take a rather too-large bite of my Chinese food. Some of the sauce dribbles down my throat, causing me to cough, then disgorge the food onto the ground. “Oh, my goodness!” I cough again.

  Meryl brightens, laughing. “Eat much?”

  I attempt to retrieve the piece—one of the miniature corn ears—with my napkin. “No, not much at all.”

  “It shows.”

  I hold out my plate. “Would you like some? It seems not to agree with me.”

  She begins to shake her head, then nods. “Okay.” She gets her own plate and scrapes some of the food from my plate to hers. She sits down. We eat in relative silence, other than Jack’s conversation. I wish I could think of something to say.