"Thank you for taking the time to come here on such short notice," said Queen Briar's fairy godmother, taking a seat at the head of the long, rectangular table in one of the meeting chambers at Rose Palace. "This is an unprecedented situation in the current time, and it seems to be throwing all of Fairytaletopia into unmitigated disaster. I have heard that the Charmings postponed their christening in light of it."
She had skin like smooth cedar wood, every inch dusted with gold glitter that gave her the appearance of something otherworldly. A band of golden flowers pulled back her halo of bubblegum-pink curls, which settled in just about every direction. Her ears were littered with hoops and crystals in various colors, and Felix Lange noticed that she had a small butterfly tattoo on her neck just below one ear that he hadn't caught upon initially seeing her. He realized that even in a dazzling dress blooming with live flowers, she almost seemed a bit... hipster, for a fairy at least, and certainly for one in such a prestigious position.
Upon further examination, she seemed rather young considering all the other famous fairy godmothers in history. The one responsible for the tale Cinderella, for example, had supposedly been around since the dawn of the dragons, born around 0008 A.D. That made her over two thousand years old. But Camilla Foxflower, more commonly known as 'Seven' as her claim to fame was being the seventh fairy that eased the severity of the Sleeping Beauty curse, could only possibly be in the early hundreds. She may as well have been a fresh-faced youth. Not that Felix himself was exactly an old-timer at twenty-nine. His thirtieth birthday was creeping up on him, though, and his wife Marissa kept teasing that he'd wake up an old crone with a gray beard.
Of course, these days, anything could happen.
"I am deeply sorry I could not come to you. But I'm afraid there's no room in my schedule to travel all the way to Central Lakeland." She flushed pink, surprising him. He'd heard she was nothing but composed. "I'm sorry. Snow," she corrected, her voice remaining even but her blush betraying her embarrassment over the brief blunder. "I mean no offense to the late queen, it's only difficult to keep up with shifting geopolitics—"
"That's perfectly alright, Miss Seven," Felix said easily, and he gestured to the boy at his side. "I hope you don't mind I brought Prince Everette along. His father is preoccupied with all the chaos in the kingdom at the moment, and His Highness has expressed interest in learning more about the situation."
The prince toyed with a stray lock of hair, glancing awkwardly at the fairy and nodding. He'd practically been on Felix's tail every moment of every day since his mother's death, and frankly, Felix didn't want him out of his sight. As he could protect Snow White no longer, he was watching over Everette with revitalized ferocity.
"I wish I could reassure you that chaos is limited to your country," Seven said bitterly. "Rioting has entered back into the cultural cycle here in Rose and it's spreading from east to west. I imagine you are aware of our, er, rocky last few decades. We are at a loss once again as to how to keep the paranoia contained and the last thing we need is more death." She lowered her voice. "I mean no harmful sentiment toward the current rulers, whom I am much devoted to, but... I must admit, I have not lived through a Rose monarchy so unsuccessful."
"Because they're young and hopelessly inexperienced?" came a voice from the doorway. The occupants of the room swiveled.
Seven's eyes went wide. "Aveline!"
"Sorry," the Aveline in question said lightly, covering her smile with her hand, but she didn't look very sorry. Felix wasn't too familiar with her accent, but he figured Villagetown was a solid guess; she had a farmer's tan, a slim figure, and a prominent nose. She let herself into the room, waving a feather duster. Her curled black ponytail swished behind her. "I'm only here to clean. Carry on."
She pretended to dust furniture and frames on the walls while very obviously listening to the conversation, but Seven reluctantly returned her attention to Felix and the prince, apparently deciding not to press the issue.
"I... I am at a loss, largely, when it comes to moving forward," she told them. "I suppose we should cut to the chase and begin by assessing what we currently know." She flipped open one of the file folders in front of her. Police reports, possibly. "The Corpse Flower Assassin, or to use her official alias, Lycoris Radiata, last struck in Central Snow Kingdom and has not been seen in the days since. She is strongly suspected to be working with others. Given the element of convenience, it is very likely that the next strike will be either in Fairy Kingdom or here—if, that is, the pattern will follow what law enforcement have predicted."
"'One down, five to go'," Felix quoted. "The killer's aim is to eliminate each member of the Royal Alliance."
"What doesn't make sense to me," Seven went on, "is that Queen Snow was killed—" She paused, eyes lingering on Everette's rigid posture and downcast gaze. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. This must be difficult for you." He smiled halfheartedly and she pressed forward, looking pointedly away from him. "Queen Snow was killed but her husband and heir were left untouched. If this was intentional, which it seems to be, then does this mean only the female members of the royal families are being targeted?"
There were other possible explanations, of course. Felix had heard many of them. But sometimes the most obvious answer proved to be the most logical one, and one down, five to go seemed quite clear. Snow White had had no living relatives, so whether her son was biological or whether she and her husband shared an ethnicity or nationality seemed insignificant. And the so-called Evil Queen was long dead, so every conspiracy theory making its way through the terror-stricken streets of Central Snow was unfounded. Felix had seen her severed head himself. He had a theory of his own.
"I believe that's true," Felix said with a frown, "but not for any shallow reason. Queen Snow was more influential than her husband, and her story is familiar to many across the world. So perhaps the point is not the figures themselves but what they represent."
She shot him a quizzical look. "Their... destinies."
"Well—it's a theory."
"In that case—" she shuffled papers around— "we could assume that the other five targets include Queen Ella Charming, Queen Galene Sunsplash-Castellan, Queen Briar Rose, Queen Beauty Novikov, and Queen Rapunzel Santos."
"Or I'm wrong," he added.
But he could tell that she was intrigued by the idea. Everette licked his lips and finally decided to speak up.
"You should consider protection for the next targets."
Seven turned her head slightly, as if listening to some invisible message in the wind. "Protection besides the royal guard?"
"Clearly," he said, and Felix detected a sharp edge to his voice that hadn't been there before Snow White was killed, "the royal guard are about as useful as I am. If Fairy and Rose are potential next destinations, then Their Majesties Ella, Briar, and Beauty should be put on twenty-four hour watch. The news has already gotten out, so you don't have to fear hiding anything from the people. The priority should be the safety of these women."
The servant with the duster, Aveline, spun. "Assemble a team!" she blurted.
Seven sighed, although when she spoke her voice was gentle and without malice. "Aveline, darling, you really shouldn't be in here."
Aveline came over and placed her hands on the table, leaning eagerly forward. "Okay. Hear me out," she said with an excited twinkle in her eye. "The people in this room only have enough information to cover Snow Kingdom and Rose Kingdom respectively. Say we get together an emergency panel of knowledgeable staff loyal to the royals from across the kingdoms. Then we brainstorm—just like this—ways to investigate the situation and protect the royals. Putting our heads together, we can all help ensure the safety and prosperity of our respective kingdoms. Isn't that what the purpose of the Royal Alliance was in the first place?"
"The Royal Alliance was created to prevent territorial wars," Seven corrected slowly. "But... that's not the worst idea you've had, Miss Beaufoy." Avelina looked positively giddy at the fact that she'd been listened to, her grin almost mischievous.
"So you'd like to assemble a think tank?" Felix said with a tinge of skepticism. Everette was right, of course, but the solution itself was a little silly at face value.
"More like a front line of defense," the fairy godmother conceded, looking not quite convinced of the idea either. "I mean, I suppose someone has to step up. I'll send for anyone who has useful intel and we can go from there. It is better to act prematurely than too late, isn't it?"
It was difficult to disagree with that logic.
Felix glanced sidelong at the prince. He was chewing on his dark curls in a less-than-princely manner, and his head was twitching ever so slightly to the side, eyes lost in thought.
He would never be able to guess what went on in that boy's head.
🙤 ˖ ࣪⭑ ┈┈┈┈ · ✦ · ┈┈┈┈ ˖ ࣪⭑ 🙦
Minerva fiddled with the yellow tourmaline hanging past her collarbone, mind swimming with the overwhelming revelations of the day. No, scratch that. Every day for at least the last week had been overwhelming. She could hardly focus now on what Claude's sister was saying as it was, and her constantly detail-seeking brain kept getting hung up on everything she didn't fully understand.
Still, she said nothing. She observed in silence, as she always did. It was better to keep her mouth shut and know too much than to run it and know too little.
"As far as I know, the active members of the Darkness Alliance only add up to ten," Sicilienne told everyone sitting around the table. "I haven't found a story for the Sandman anywhere. I don't know his name and if the Writer does he's been mum on the subject. I think..." She was making little figure-eights with her thumb on her forefinger, her other hand hovering over her plate with little intention of actually eating anything. "I think that he is keeping the information he has about this man from me, and frankly, I'm a bit nervous to ask why. He would hardly say anything when I asked. Some kind of grudge, I suspect. Anyway, I will try to stock as much intel as I can for you since it would be silly to send you off uninformed."
"Going after them still seems like a bad idea," Penny said uneasily. She, too, had mostly avoided interjecting, but Penny just couldn't help herself from butting in when she considered herself in the right. These last few days she was refusing to let go of that stubborn belief. See, Minerva's problem was that she kept getting stuck surrounded by annoyingly stubborn people.
"Ever the pessimist," Lindsay sighed with a mocking sort of air that Minerva was sure Sicilienne didn't catch given her slightly puzzled expression. "What part of chasing after killers with dark magic sounds unwise to you? The girl just said we'll be prepared!"
"Yes," she replied curtly. "Right. The schoolgirl's gonna prepare us."
Sicilienne was struggling to follow their sarcasm, and Minerva almost felt bad for her having to deal with those two pests. Almost. But honestly, if she had to deal with them, everyone should get a taste of it just to ensure they recognized how lucky they were to not have them around.
"Well," Sicilienne began. "Um—I shall start with their names. Some of them use code names, whilst others don't care enough." Minerva propped her chin in her hands. She for one was terribly curious. She'd never had an opportunity for such an escapade before, and she was already feeling the thrill despite herself. No wonder adventure as a package sold so well. "Gretel Florstedt to the others goes by 'Astrum', a nod to the language of ancient star sorcery. She's the woman you all met by the safe. Practices some nasty magic, she does."
Ramona spoke up. "Is this the Gretel we've heard of?"
Sicilienne tilted her head. "Er... yes and no. Yes, she's the sister of Hansel, but no, she isn't the same girl she was once upon a time." She moved on to the next member, counting on her fingers. "Now, there's Rosa Barrett, who is called Red. It would be disastrous if the others knew her true identity as a wealthy countess in Southeast Rose. She would never dare to put her daughter in danger." A third finger. "Tom Thumb. I imagine you have heard of him, especially Ramona—"
Sure enough, Ramona was making a face. "Stars, you just can't get rid of that little midget, can you? I'm not even surprised he's in the dark magic club."
Bear side-eyed her apprehensively. "Isn't he—?"
"A No-Name," she said, the words sounding as though they had a bitter aftertaste. She was always touchy about the No-Name gang, even though she'd never joined them. "He's also a local celebrity from my hometown."
Penny laughed incredulously. "You just know every criminal, don't you?"
"Well, if Villagetown didn't breed criminals—"
"It's boredom," Minerva offered dryly. "It's such a hopelessly idle place there's nothing else to do."
"I'm from Villagetown too—"
Ramona leaned forward. "And you're a criminal, ain't you?"
Bear held up a hand. "Gals, let's please not do this again."
Penny slumped in her chair and fell silent, thank the stars. Sicilienne's visible eye was wide, like she'd walked in on something private she wasn't quite clued in to. She grasped every interaction so slowly. The poor girl needed to leave this tower once in a while.
"Moving on." She coughed. "Myra Helm is, to the others, known as 'Queenie'. She's, um, highly vocal about the alleged equivalencies of dark and light magic in terms of fairy practices. She was a princess from the East Rose duchy until she got a little too bee-crazy and murdered her betrothed—"
Ramona's jaw fell. "Holy Jack Horner. You're talking about the bee witch, the one from the dungeon."
Lindsay sat up straighter. "You're right. That must've been her."
"Why would she have been in the dungeon?" Bear asked, scratching at his short beard. "Just sittin' around waiting?"
Sicilienne gave a little shrug. "Backup plan. If something failed, she would have broken out. Once the queen was dead, she knew it was her cue to make an exit."
"That makes sense; I just still don't get why she helped us," Ramona murmured.
"People aren't black and white. She's not necessarily all evil," Minerva pointed out.
"Or she had motive to get us out with her," Ramona countered.
Sicilienne shook her hand in the air in a so-so gesture—debating her motivations would only ever get them halfway to the answer. "Truthfully... it is difficult to change someone once they have defined themselves as one thing or another, regardless of a few actions out of character. Myra Helm is a witch, plain and simple. She denies it plenty, but it is all she will ever be. She has long embraced evil and I doubt she will ever undergo some miraculous transformation now. It is important to go into this minding the fact that these people will always have a motive."
"Then maybe society should quit shoving people into boxes," said Minerva harshly, digging her nails into her palm. "Every succubus isn't necessarily evil, but after being told enough times that they are, they will be."
"What people tell you doesn't change your fate, love," Sicilienne said, softer. Love. Claude called people that when he'd had enough drinks to actually show it. The two of them were so different and yet eerily similar.
Evoking Claude only made for less of an inclination to listen to her. The other thieves rarely had good advice to give, and it was hard to imagine a librarian younger than she was having any either. Minerva bit down hard on her tongue. She was so sick of the fate tagline, even knowing now that the Writer was real. "All my life I have been told that what I was born as will define who I am going to be. I refuse to believe that's true."
Sicilienne's face fell, and she looked sympathetic—conflicted, even. "Maybe..." She hesitated. "Maybe sometimes in Fairytaletopia we just have to accept things as they are. Even if we don't like what the truth tells us."
A girl, an object, a succubus. A witch, a thief, a con woman. Minerva wanted the freedom to decide what she was going to be. Camilla Foxflower had told her something about accepting things as they were, once. Perhaps it's best just not to tamper with destiny. Perhaps things can only be what they are, and not what they want to be. Contrarily, Minerva liked to think that people could be created, not simply born. "I don't give half a shiner about destiny," she said, but Sicilienne didn't seem fazed.
"I highly doubt that destiny values our opinions in the grand scheme of things."
Minerva scowled. But that sentiment, at least, was probably right.
She couldn't seem to come up with an argument that didn't sound halfhearted, but thankfully was saved from the conversation by the return of Claude and the Writer from upstairs. Sicilienne rose and did a little half-curtsy when the Writer entered the room, but didn't ask where the two of them had been.
"We should get our friends fed and as informed as possible so that they can be on their way," the Writer announced, as Claude busied himself stuffing his face with pastries and jam.
Minerva blinked and Ramona was right next to her, having appeared beside her when she wasn't paying attention. It was so freaky when she did that.
"Look—I don't know how we'll go anywhere. I've lost my element of disguise," came Ramona's panicked whisper, or at least what Minerva recognized to be Ramona's muted version of expressing stress. She gripped Minerva's shoulder like it was a rickety stairway railing. "The wings. I can't get rid of them until I'm healed. And walking around in plain sight like this..."
She nodded slowly. Her risk of exposure had been heightened. But what did she expect Minerva to do about it? "Wear a cloak," she whispered back, well aware she was being unhelpful. She was still annoyed by Sicilienne's persistent belief in fate.
"Over these massive flappers?" Ramona replied with a kind of indignance that gave its way to a breathy laugh.
Minerva shot her an unimpressed look. "We're not in Snow anymore. You'll be fine."
Realistically, it probably wasn't fine. But she had a feeling that this Writer guy would stop at nothing to get them wherever he intended them to go. Sicilienne was serious about this mission—extremely. She really did seem to go along with whatever he said. To his credit, he exuded a wisdom even greater than she remembered of Camilla.
Speaking of the Writer, her curiosity regarding him had only grown since arriving here. Minerva recognized Villagetowners when she saw them, and part of her wondered about how the Writer had gotten from there to here; what his story was. She got the feeling he wouldn't be too keen on telling it.
"Where do you want us to go?" asked Bear, dumping loads of sugar in his tea. Seriously, it was an uncomfortable helping of sugar. Minerva was getting nauseous just watching.
The Writer dipped his head. "Our, ah, friends on the other side are en route to West Fairy as we speak." Ramona lifted her eyebrows. She had little to worry about in terms of her wings after all. Ramona was so damn sensitive about them for being something that was so definitively a part of her. "I have reason to believe they will wait before performing their next attack, so it won't be any trouble to take the day to prepare before you follow them."
"Okay," Ramona said with a slow, unsure nod. "But we have no idea where we are."
"Oh, that won't be a problem. Leave the travel logistics to me."
"So against all odds, we really are headed for Fairy," Lindsay said wryly with a pointed look at Ramona.
"I told you this was just a detour," she replied a little smugly. The Writer must have known about the crime convention via his telepathic abilities if nothing else, but Minerva wasn't really sure how far his powers extended. From what she'd seen, he could at least predict what one was about to say before it was said, but that didn't mean he could necessarily root around Ramona's mind and find her ulterior motive.
Fairy. So it could be assumed that Ella was dead next. Minerva and the others were somehow expected to stop it.
She resisted the urge to laugh aloud. Lindsay must be thrilled.
The Writer gestured with his cane to Sicilienne. "Sicilee, my dear, why don't you show everyone to your room to fill them in on the details? I really must be getting back to writing. So many stories, so little time."
"Right, of course," she said shyly, standing to collect dishes while avoiding eye contact with any of the others. Her cheeks had colored as if the idea of showing her bedroom to strangers was positively mortifying. Minerva couldn't remember her sisters ever sharing that hesitation in their teenage years. Lindsay and Penny didn't move to help, but Minerva did almost without thinking, precariously balancing plates on each arm and carrying the teapot from the table to the kitchen. Sicilienne was surprised to realize she'd been behind her when they bumped into each other at the sink.
"Thank you." Sicilienne took the pot from her and hesitated. "I thought Beauty's sisters were supposed to be mean," she blurted, covering her hand with her mouth immediately afterward like she hadn't meant for that to slip out. "Sorry! Sorry. That was rude."
Minerva stacked the dishes neatly in the sink and dusted off her hands. She shot at Sicilienne a sharp look dancing with just a tiny bit of mischief. "See what you think of me when I've dumped you down a well," she said cryptically, and swept out of the kitchen, leaving her to gape after her in horror.
So the thieves, and our newfound heroes of this tale much to their dismay, studied all day under the guidance of Sicilienne Verelia while the Writer retreated to the upstairs library to continue his mysterious work. They prepared for the worst—encounters with these dastardly villains—by memorizing everything Sicilienne knew about them based on her incessant reading over the past few days. Amongst those they would be up against was Ajani Keita, the skinny fifteen-year-old pirate with a colorblind sense of fashion and an alarming weapons arsenal.
"That kid can go to hell in a handbasket," Lindsay spat bitterly, arms folded in the fluffy white chair in Sicilienne's room. Her bed, where Minerva sat like a gothic blot on a dreamscape, was an elegant canopy, everything soft as silk and flowy as a river. The whole room was beautiful, but it had certainly been stained by an artist's touch. Half-finished paintings rested on easels, paintbrushes and pencils were strewn across dressers and shelves, and a variety of instruments cluttered the corner. There was a cute little calico on the foot of the bed that had taken it upon himself to crawl into Minerva's lap. She stroked his head and he didn't seem to mind. He had his name spelled out in little golden letters dangling from his collar: RUMPEL. That couldn't possibly be a coincidence.
She wondered amusedly about Claude's opinion on the matter.
Sicilienne rearranged the stack of sketch pages she'd apparently drawn, displaying loose replicas of images from the life-books scattered across the floor. Claude was squinting at one—The Honey Princess—and Ramona was curiously flipping through another whose title Minerva couldn't quite make out. "Ajani is often called 'Ponzi' which, as I understand it, is less of a code name and more of a nickname," she told them. "Hailing from Pirate's Bay, he started running complicated schemes with his friend Koda at the age of ten after they strayed too far from the docks and lost their crew just a few years before. Probably Villagetown's youngest conman. After successfully humiliating the emperor with that whole invisible-clothes debacle—"
"Shoot, I remember that," Minerva murmured. "That wasn't all that long ago. It was hilarious. Only a couple of kids coulda come up with a scheme that good."
"I definitely remember that," Penny said, visibly cringing. "Skip found it funny."
"—Emperor Ismael Bracker ordered their execution. But apparently," Sicilienne said eagerly, leaning forward, "they escaped prison. Rioting ensued as a result of his apparent stupidity and naïveté, and Bracker ended up overthrown. But he still had a grudge, and the wanted posters kept spreading." She was really getting too into these stories, either forgetting they were real people or something worse. When she picked up a book, Minerva thought to herself, did she become invested as if all the events were true and fail to distinguish fiction from reality? Or did she see them all as fiction and consume true stories with emotional detachment?
"They fled to Water Kingdom, thinking they could eventually find the pirating life again. They would never be so lucky. You know how the news spreads. The former emperor was so furious with these boys that he hired hunters to go far and wide after them, and Koda was eventually captured. Sold to the royal palace. Executed for his crimes. That was the kind of influence Bracker still had through his wealth. Ajani was twelve and Koda fourteen when the latter was executed. Ajani escaped but has hated the world and everything in it ever since. For such a short life thus far, his story's really very interesting, I spent a whole night immersed in it—"
"Isn't there something wrong that's bigger than just a handful of people when fifteen-year-olds are joining evil alliances because their best friends were murdered?" Claude said suddenly, and Sicilienne fell quiet for a moment, surprised.
"Well—certainly," she said finally. "Something was wrong when a boy had to care for his infant sister alone because there was no one else left to do it. But what are you going to do about it, Claude? Change the world?"
Bear shook his head. "No force is so powerful as to change the world. You make the world a better place by makin' yourself a better person."
Minerva glanced at him. Baby, unlike some people, had a pocketful of wisdom to give once in a while and probably didn't even realize it.
Lindsay passed one of the sketches up to Minerva. These were really good for how hastily they looked as though they'd been drawn. Ajani Keita had a thin face, crooked teeth and several facial piercings, wide eyes that exuded crazy even in graphite, and an arrangement of cornrows that Lindsay had previously said were, quote, "dyed the color of unicorn barf".
Sicilienne also described a girl who went by the alias The Pied Piper: a bard born Piper Brown, a humble servant from Tower Kingdom who'd angered the royals by leading a prison break with her hypnosis magic and ended up the subject of a number of nasty lies alluding to her apparent kidnapping of children. Another member of the Darkness Alliance was Griffin McDonald, one of the seven dwarfs who had grown to care deeply for Snow White before she tragically died at the hands of her wicked stepmother. Unfortunately, Griffy was never quite right in the head, and he never believed that Snow had come back to life. Up until the queen's final death just recently, he had considered the queen of Snow Kingdom an "imposter". Most of them, it seemed, had a reason to hate the royals or even destiny itself.
"You might recognize Aurele Luemont as Goldilocks," Sicilienne said, "but don't let her hear you say it. Rarely do I encounter someone so vehemently opposed to the idea of happily ever after. In her younger years, she always had the bad fortune to wander into forests hearing mysterious whispers, and she never came out unscathed. Perpetually starving and alone, her misadventures included narrowly escaping being eaten by a strangely-dressed wolf, outwitting a witch who trapped her in a house made of candy, and being chased with pickaxes out of a house full of dwarves. She was always breaking into houses looking for somewhere to stay. She met her match when she encountered the three bears..." She pursed her lips. "But you already know that story."
Baby Bear's brow was furrowed. "That break-in terrified me as a little kid."
Penny tilted her head. "Really?"
"Trust me, if you came home to everything trashed and found a stranger in your bed, you'd be a little unnerved too. I had nightmares for years about that girl."
"You have a reason to now," Sicilienne said, slightly sheepishly. "She practices dark runes. It was her magic that sealed off the castle on the day the queen lost her life."
"I've always wondered what happened to the girl with the golden curls," Bear sighed. "It's a real shame."
"I always heard she broke her neck in the fall when she jumped out the window," Ramona remarked. Bear shook his head.
"She didn't jump. My pa turned all beast and chased her out. I'd never heard screams like that before. That's why I had the nightmares."
There was a short, awkward silence as uneasiness settled into everyone's stomach. Minerva was sure now that she was right. People were made rather than born. Every one of these people had gone a little too far, stepped over the line somewhere and woke up one day to find themselves unable to turn back, but it started with their circumstances. Not everyone was strong enough to choose to be good when the world had done them wrong. It wasn't that where they were now wasn't their fault—it was—but they'd forged themselves from hell. Some could still emerge from hell as angels. Most wouldn't survive that kind of pressure.
Minerva didn't know yet where she fell.
"The last one is this guy." Sicilienne held up a book titled The Twelfth Dancing Prince. "He's our assassin."
Ramona held up a hand. "Corpse Flower's not a lady?"
Lindsay groaned. "Goodness forbid we have strong independent women in the mercenary industry."
"The whole paradise prison ordeal is way too complicated to explain, so I'll just give you an overview of his life after the world of The Twelve Dancing Princesses was over. By the time the group of bandits he was a part of split—not real princes, by the way—he was already long gone, having made his escape with the invisibility cloak the knight from the story brought with him. Once he was free, the criminal world was all he knew. He had already established himself as a hired killer by the time Rosa Barrett recruited him to the Alliance to be their assassin. He isn't particularly loyal to them, exactly. This for him is another series of paid jobs, laced with a relatively strong dislike for the upper class." Sicilienne nodded to Lindsay. "His persistent obsession with flowers is what has led almost all law enforcement to believe him a woman." She slid her sketches of the assassin Ramona's way. "He generally wears an all-white getup to cloak his identity and gender, sometimes even complete with a full-facial mask. He should be easy to spot in theory, but..."
"But he's never been caught," Ramona finished, eyes roving over the paper in her hand. She drank in the drawings like she really did feel the need to memorize them, even though Minerva was well aware her motivations did not align with those of the Writer and his apprentice. Ramona always seemed to memorize everything immediately, except for important things, like where she'd placed the car keys.
"Right," Sicilienne confirmed.
"Look, I don't really get it," Penny said, having lapsed into silence for a long while. "Why are we going to sacrifice our time, money, and safety to track these guys down? Even if the world devolves into chaos or whatever, it's not really our problem, is it?"
Sicilienne blinked. "Um."
Ramona's mouth twisted, and Minerva knew that look. She didn't really care about this either. And aside from their mild curiosity, Lindsay and Bear had no real reason to be all that invested. But Claude... for some reason, Claude had a fire in his eyes.
"Didn't you hear the man? Peril's gonna rain down on all of Fairytaletopia."
"Right, and...?"
"And where are you gonna go when it does? Crawl into a hole?"
"Someone else'll—"
"Who?" Claude was incredulous. "Who except us? Are you really content to lay around and wait to be saved?"
Penny scowled at the implication that she would ever allow herself to be a damsel in distress.
"We've got to fix this because we live in this rotten place, and no one else'll do it until it's too late!"
"The whole 'chosen one' thing is a little much, though," Ramona said, folding her legs criss-cross applesauce and reaching up to tug on her bangs. "I mean... us? Really? Let's be real here—the Writer was on a time crunch and we were the only suckers around dumb enough to fall for the whole save-the-world-because-you're-special shtick. We probably wouldn't even have gotten his attention if it weren't for you, Claude."
Sicilienne chewed her bottom lip, unsure what to say. Minerva found it difficult to disagree. Still, she'd be willing to do it, if only because Claude was right. Like it or not, they were stuck here leading crummy lives in Fairytaletopia, and she wasn't too keen on their situation becoming even worse. She didn't know much about evil curses, but coming face-to-face with one wasn't exactly her idea of a grand Saturday morning.
"The Writer... he knows what he's doing," Sicilienne said before nodding decisively. She was definitely convincing herself more than anyone else. "He knows what needs to be done, and he wouldn't lie to you."
"Hot tip, sugar," Lindsay told Sicilienne, picking at her nails. "Everyone's always lying."
Sicilienne frowned.
"Especially your brother," she added with a wink in Claude's direction.
Claude huffed. Ramona cackled a laugh and elbowed him a little too hard. "Watch it; I'll yank your sling," he warned, but her roguish grin didn't waver.
"It seems to me like impending danger is right up your alley," said Sicilienne uncomfortably, eyeing Ramona's wings. "You all look like... you know. Adventurer, rogue traveler types."
"That's because all poor people probably look the same to you," Ramona replied, and though her tone was indifferent and unoffended, Sicilienne's expression contorted as if she thought she'd said something wrong, perturbed by her response.
"I do not mean to generalize."
Ramona flicked back one of her ponytails. "Runaways. Runaways, outlaws—not adventurers. We all led lives we weren't willing to let take the piss out of us anymore. You've gotta understand. We may be greedy pigs now, but I didn't start stealing 'cause I just craved the thrill so bad. I stole 'cause I was hungry, Verelia. Your brother stole for you. After a while you get a little too used to it, and a meal turns into a wallet which turns into a whole bank, and the next thing you know you're a scumbag who takes advantage of everyone because that money is so, so sweet. But don't let our many flaws fool you." She leaned forward, smiling wickedly. "We aren't stupid."
Usually it was only that trademark mischievous grin, but Ramona could have such a nasty smile if she wanted to. It was worse than her anger. Not that Sicilienne could possibly know. Minerva might've pitied her if she ever had it in her to pity anyone, because if Ramona was giving her that smile, it meant she saw her as vulnerable. A target. Ramona wasn't taking her the least bit seriously, and that move gave her away. The girl was only too oblivious to see it.
"Adventurers are some of the dumbest sons of witches to walk the earth. Do you know how many of those guys die seeking the adrenaline rush?"
Sicilienne shook her head.
"All of them," she said fiercely. Her stare seemed to glimmer a darker shade of brown than usual. "We want to live, you see? So when there's evil going on in the world, we usually slide right by unnoticed. Who survives the scene of the crime?"
Another Villagetown adage. "The bystander," Minerva murmured, and Penny followed suit.
"But not this time," Claude said, and Ramona's eyes flicked to his, each staring the other down. There was an unspoken challenge there. They didn't challenge each other often, or if they did, Minerva didn't witness it. It made nervousness tingle in her chest. Her previous assertion that everyone around her was stubborn wasn't entirely true, because Ramona was generally content to go with the flow. The combination here still wasn't great. Ramona was extremely stubborn on very few subjects and Claude was evenly stubborn about everything. The last thing they needed was a repeat of yesterday, everyone at each other's throats. Claude's voice rose. "This time we can't run. And we can't stand by. Because this time we'll be stuck in the thick of it."
Sicilienne nodded several times, relieved someone had taken her side. "Destiny says so."
Neither Ramona nor Claude moved for a few harrowing beats. "You've got a lot of gall, Claude Verelia," she said finally after breaking away from the staring contest. "Betting a lot on this unseen force of destiny."
"I don't expect you to do the same," he replied, and Minerva got the feeling they were echoing a conversation they might've already had. "I expect you to bet on me."
She cocked a surprised eyebrow that seemed to convey, I've bet on you a long time. And maybe, Minerva thought, one time too many. But neither of them said it aloud.
"We've made it this far," he pressed. Ramona was barely restraining frustration, but very suddenly her expression completely changed, and she broke into a genuine smile.
After a beat, she threw in the towel entirely. "Right. Don't suppose we have anything to lose."
Claude had won that round. He looked away, and eventually he and Minerva made eye contact. They were both thinking the same thing. They didn't buy it. But that was the issue with Ramona Swan—she was unpredictable enough that it could go one way or the other. Her word was always true, except for when it wasn't. She could change her mind with a shift in the wind, and it was impossible to guess which direction she would spin. Maybe she had decided to take Claude's words to heart. Maybe she hadn't. Maybe the crime convention was still on her mind. Perhaps her attention had latched onto something else already.
But none of that mattered. Not now. For Minerva, only one thing determined where she would go: whether she trusted the people she was with.
And regardless of where it might take her, she did.
So they memorized faces, names, and backstories as best they could for what felt like the entire day. Ramona and Penny explored one of the tower libraries for defensive spellbooks, Bear inquired of Sicilienne as much background information as he could fit in his brain, Minerva and Claude jotted down notes about weaponry and weaknesses, and Lindsay flipped through life-books, mostly skimming the pictures. Bear helped Sicilienne make lunch, teaching her his family's recipe for shepherd's pie, and their research and chatter continued until sundown. By the end of it, Minerva could have recited the names of the members of the Alliance of Darkness and their signature styles of magic backwards and forwards.
The thieves left the tower and collapsed into the van, most with pulsing headaches from the sheer amount of studying, which none of them had done since school. "Load of freaks we're dealing with," Lindsay said, freeing her hair from its ponytail and dramatically falling backwards into a seat from exhaustion.
"Misfits, same as us," Minerva murmured as she gathered a change of clothes.
"Only bad guys," Bear added. Penny nodded, loosening the laces on her boots. She gingerly touched the bandage on her cheek, and her face contorted.
"Not to break the fourth wall or anything, but since when did we become the good guys, anyway?"
Ramona shrugged. "Since everyone else got worse, I s'pose."
"We were always neutral-ish," Claude added. He uncorked a bottle and paused. "Not good or bad really. Just..."
Minerva slapped the side of the van. "Gray."
"Exactly."
"You think that's what these guys think of themselves, too?" Bear pointed out. "Isn't it easy to trip and go too far over the line?"
"Please," Lindsay retorted with an eye roll. "They call themselves the Alliance of Darkness. If that isn't overdramatic villain shit, I don't know what is."
There was little arguing with that.
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The next morning, having been graciously allowed to sleep on the first floor of the tower in a welcome reprieve from leather seats, everyone prepared for travel. The crew took turns using the enchanted showers, which apparently funneled water from the river connected to the waterfall and were certainly much nicer than that of the inns they were used to. They dressed, tended to injuries, and ate breakfast with Sicilienne and the Writer. Ramona was already regaining balance.
She tested it by walking without support, circling the room. "Think I should be alright. Just the open wings that'll be an issue. But we're headed to a place where I won't stand out, correct?" Fairy was just about the place she would least expect to get caught. Despite being crawling with law enforcement, the criminals vastly outnumbered them, and magical creatures of all kinds with all sorts of weird appearances populated the area. Hopefully, her wing paranoia would be just paranoia this time.
"I'll be transporting you directly to West Fairy," the Writer confirmed, a spellbook in one hand and his walking stick in the other. "And if you haven't been to that particular area, it's rather diverse. I don't think having unique appendages should be a problem if you're concerned about being identified by authorities. Your hair, however... that's another matter." If anything was her identifiable signature, that was it.
She brought a hand up to run through it. "Not too keen on shaving my head."
"Why not dye it?" Sicilienne suggested. Ramona frowned. The Writer answered before she had the chance to.
"The chemicals—i.e. root magic particles—that make up the hair dye we use don't react well with strong concentrations of similar but more natural particles that grow in the hair of certain enchanted species," he explained. Ramona glanced at him curiously. "In other words, she has magic hair, and manufactured magic doesn't like it."
"Honestly? Wear a hat and hope for the best," Bear suggested. "It always works more often than you think it will."
Ramona looked to the Writer questioningly and he conceded the point. "He's not wrong. It's not the best idea, but, you know. It's not as if it hasn't worked before."
Sometimes she got the feeling that the Writer didn't have any more idea what he was doing than she did.
But, see, that was why Lindsay's words rang true even among the most seemingly good in the world. Everyone's always lying. It got to the point where one might find himself wondering if existence itself was merely an elaborate bluff, if the universe and everything in it was some faraway being's imagination. Nothing but a dream.
The thieves gathered their things and everyone made their way outside, where loud squawking seemed to be coming from the direction of the van. "What now?" Penny huffed exasperatedly. When the incessant squawking persisted, she went over and squatted next to it, tilting her head to look underneath and making her hair spill over like an inky waterfall. "Oh, great. It's that lizard-rooster. He's back."
Ramona crouched down to reach for him. "Chicken Fingers! I figured you were dead!" She emerged moments later cradling him like a baby. "I wasn't that sad, I won't lie," she told him affectionately with a gentle pat on the head.
Sicilienne put on a polite, awkward smile, but whatever was going on was definitely weird.
Claude turned to his little sister and cleared his throat. "So," he began shortly. She swallowed tightly. "I guess this is goodbye. Shame I couldn't stay and learn more about your work."
Sicilienne wiped her eyes quickly, and stepped forward to wrap Claude in an embrace. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. Claude was embarking on a journey from which he very well might never return. And she had spent all the time she'd had avoiding him like the plague, like the stupid, petty girl she was. "I'm terribly sorry to see you go. I shouldn't have been so angry."
Claude clutched her tightly. He was still so tall, even though she'd grown. "It's my job to keep you safe," he whispered into her hair. "Not to keep you happy with me. Be angry. It's your right to. Just don't let your emotions overpower you, Sicilee."
The Writer instructed Ramona and the crew to follow him in the van. They took a shortcut route to the pond from yesterday and stopped in the clearing. Claude rolled down the window from the driver's seat—halfway, as far as it would go before getting stuck.
"Alright. Do your magic thingamajig."
Sicilienne looked on forlornly as the Writer tapped his cane on the surface of the pond. The water rippled and shimmered as he murmured an incantation no one else could hear. Then the thieves were looking at their reflections, crystal-clear in the surface of the water.
"Mirror portals," the Writer said, smiling slightly. "Always been my specialty."
Claude lifted an eyebrow. "We're expected to—"
"Drive right through it," he said brightly, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary to suggest.
He made a face, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. "Well, then. Here goes nothing."
And because Claude Verelia had never been good at goodbyes, he propelled ahead without so much as glancing back. Everything had happened fast—too fast—but there was no turning back now. This mess was just beginning, and there was no room for guilt, no room for regret.
The wheels spun madly and they hit the water, everyone grabbing onto anything in reach for dear life. But sure enough, the pond glittered, and the van exploded out the other side of the portal at magnificent speed, water splashing in its wake. Claude's eyes darted back and forth between the mirrors, tires screeching as they emerged in the middle of traffic on a busy road. He let out a scathing series of foul language as he quickly forced the vehicle into line with all the other cars, flipping off a few annoyed drivers who honked.
The wind whipped at his hair through the open window. They were in Fairy, all right; the air smelled like daffodils and honeysuckle and the fluffy clouds formed whimsical shapes in the sky like idealistic child's drawings. And there were cars of all strange shapes and sizes—from massive trucks with huge rims driven by ogres to tiny pixie-sized two-seaters in the hover lane. Ramona let out a loud whoop, sticking her arm out the passenger's side and wiggling her fingers.
"I'll be damned," said Minerva wryly. "We made it."
Claude waited for an opening and pulled over, turning on the hazard lights.
"Right, so what's the plan?" he asked, clambering out from the front. Everyone gathered in the middle seats, mostly facing each other.
"Okay." Ramona breathed in deeply, running a hand through her hair. "West Fairy." The gears were spinning in her head, and the path ahead felt clearer than ever. She knew exactly where she was going. "We find a place to stay until the Blackhearts. Our plan will go from there."
The others murmured their agreement. Claude watched her carefully. "You still intend for us to go," he said, and his tone didn't betray his opinion either way, but she already knew. It didn't matter whether anyone disapproved so long as they all stayed together.
"The Alliance will be there," she pointed out, "or at least some of them. We know for sure that certain members are also gang affiliates. If we're going to find them anywhere, the Blackhearts is the only guarantee. We could search high and low, but the most likely place they'll be is the biggest congregation of bad guys of the year."
He nodded slowly, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. "You know, that's the first reasonable thing you've said in the last thirty-six hours."
She winked. "I only aim to please."
Penny propped her boots on the back of the seat in front of her and unfurled a map. They really needed to get the GPS system fixed one of these days. Maybe a new paint job too. "So who's driving?" she asked. "Not it." Chicken Fingers, who had been stuffed into a cardboard box next to Bear's seat, crowed his agreement.
Lindsay dashed to the front seat. "I'm driving this time, and we are so playing the Peas!"
Claude responded only with an eye roll, but Ramona clapped her hands eagerly. "Nothing like a little karaoke to ease the stress of saving the world," she said brightly.
Penny sighed, but her subtle shift in expression betrayed her amusement. Even Minerva propped her chin in her hands and didn't seem to mind when Lindsay turned on the radio player and slid in a disc. By the time she pressed her foot to the pedal, the van was filled with the intro sequence to a song that had been popular for at least a decade. Everyone knew the words to "My Happy Ending", whether they liked it or not.
Ramona pretended to play the drums from the passenger seat, and Bear followed with dramatic air guitar. Lindsay started singing along to the first verse.
"Let's talk this over, it's not like we're dead. Was it something I did? Was it something you said?"
Minerva's voice surprised everyone, quiet at first, but very beautiful. Ramona couldn't recall ever hearing her sing before. She joined in on the next line: "Don't leave me hanging in a city so dead; held up so high on such a breakable thread."
Penny shook her head and smiled a little, singing the bridge. "You were all the things I thought I knew, and I thought we could be..."
Everyone joined in for the chorus except for Claude, ridiculous air instruments and all. "You were everything, everything that I wanted! We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it! All of the memories so close to me just fade away... All this time you were pretending; so much for my happy ending."
They all were laughing and singing along during the second verse, and when the chorus rolled around again, Minerva nudged Claude.
"Come on. It's 'My Happy Ending'. Don't act like you don't wanna sing."
Reluctantly, he sang too—mumbling at first, and finally giving in and belting out the chorus with everyone else.
The crew sang until they forgot about all the weight on their shoulders, the instrumental rhythm drowning out impending doom as the van rattled its way through West Fairy, headed for the next page of their adventure.
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"This should be an interesting experience. Ramona Ambers has many things on her mind, and saving the world is not at the top of that list," the Writer remarked once the thieves had gone and he had settled at his desk with a pen in hand. Sicilienne had propped up a canvas on her easel by the window and dragged her stool in front of it. She picked up a brush and looked out onto the colorful trees that made up the forests of Nowhere.
"Do you think Ramona will stay on track?"
He turned a page, stroked his chin thoughtfully, and began to write. "She will. Claude will make sure of it." The Writer sounded much more confident than she felt, and she figured it was best to trust him.
There was a long silence as Sicilienne chose the color palette for her newest painting. She thought of the tunic Claude had been wearing and decided to paint the sky a pale, creamy orange rather than the cotton-candy blue that she saw before her. Perhaps she would do a sunrise this time. The thought of Claude made her throat constrict. He was putting himself in great danger for the sake of destiny. It was such a courageous and generous thing to do for someone who had never thought of himself as either.
"Writer, sir?" she said tentatively, almost not wanting to know the answer in the event that it wasn't the one she hoped to hear. "Will my brother ever get his happily ever after? I—I know he's no Prince Charming or Robin Hood, but I really want that for him."
"Of course, Sicilienne. Everyone gets a happily ever after." Sicilienne exhaled in relief. He paused. "Except for the villains. That's what keeps everything in balance. Good always triumphs over evil."
Sicilienne chewed her lower lip. "But, sir. We don't get happily ever afters. Do we?"
He sighed. "Not particularly."
She wasn't sure what to think of that.
Later that day she was clearing out her room and among the pile of books found Claude's. Her fingers brushed the little white letters on the cover. She flipped it open to the first page and hesitated.
She had his whole life in her hands. She could read all of it if she wanted, no longer allow her brother to keep her in the dark. Here she had total control. But...
It's my job to keep you safe. Not to keep you happy with me. Be angry. It's your right to.
She shut it and placed Claude's book on the stack with the others. No, she didn't want to know.
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Happy Birthday to LD!! And also to me, lol, or at least on the 22nd (I just got my nails done to celebrate!). Sorry about the long wait. This chapter's been done for a month, but I've been preoccupied and frankly forgot all about publishing it. Whoops :/
I'm really glad this book has made it this far, even though ten chapters may not seem like a lot! It's kind of a big deal for me. Also, if you guys enjoy reading reviews or want extremely sarcastic writing advice, you should head over to The Writer's Gradebook at akaprocrastiNATION where I do both of those things >:) Basically, I read both overrated and underrated Wattpad novels and break down the good, the bad, and the ugly. There'll be a few popular recommendations too, I'm sure. And Este is going to be doing reviews as well!
Today's poll is... what are your favorite and least favorite Thanksgiving foods? I find turkey, mashed potatoes, and green bean casserole absolutely disgusting, so you can sue me. My dad has recently started making pernil on holidays instead, and pork isn't my favorite meat, but man will I take that any day over turkey. Anyway, my favorite Thanksgiving food is obviously pumpkin pie. It's not even a competition, even though sweet potato casserole is pretty decent too.
Also, in case you guys didn't notice, we have new scene separators now! 🎉 I've hated the old ones for ages but didn't come up with a better design until this chapter. Te amo and toodles!
⸺Ginger