"Ah, there you are." The voice that had led me from my bedroom that morning rang out from the direction of the castle, and I turned toward it impulsively. There was nothing between me and the castle but empty air, but that didn't make me feel as uncomfortable as it had before. Maybe my acceptance of magic was really the key to thriving in this strange world.
I stood up and smiled. "Ross sent me out of the kitchen." I paused for a moment, considering. "What do you know about his mother?"
"Very powerful lady. Come along, let's get your lessons started," the voice said brusquely.
I wanted to ask more, but something about the tone of the voice told me that might not be the best idea. I filed the questions away for later, planning to ask Ross when we ate dinner together that night.
"So what's my first lesson?" I asked, striding back toward the castle.
"Literature." The voice was a few paces ahead of me, and I hurried to catch up.
I made a face, thinking of my English class back home. "Will I get to do any art?"
"You'll have a busy schedule, but I'll be sure to report your interest. But hurry along now. Mustn't keep your tutor waiting."
We went back through the kitchen, and I looked around eagerly, expecting to see more magical preparations, but the knives were still and the room was silent.
Back in the hallway, I followed the voice up the stairs, but when I turned off on the second floor, it called, "Not there! Come along."
At each landing, I moved to leave the stairs, but the voice kept prodding me along. When we had climbed five tall flights of stairs, my lungs felt like they were going to burst. The voice finally said, "Turn right, if you please."
I leaned against the wall for a minute, catching my breath. I hadn't really thought I was out of shape or anything, but those stairs had been steep, and we'd moved fast. "Next time, can we not run up the stairs?"
"Terribly sorry. I forget how inconvenient it is to have a physical body."
I looked around, surprised. "You don't have a body?"
The voice laughed. "Heavens no! Not anymore, at any rate."
"Then what are you?" Was I talking to a ghost?
"I am everything you are, only I don't have to worry about eating or muscle spasms. But hurry up, you're late."
It wasn't really an answer, but the candles danced down the hall, and I rushed to keep up. The hallway ended at a wide doorway, and I stepped through, catching my breath at the view. Windows stretched across the wall in front of me, climbing at least thirty feet into the air.
The room was huge, but it was unlike any library I had ever seen. Other than a single wooden table sitting in the center of the vast room, it was empty. There were no books or bookcases anywhere. How was I supposed to study literature in an empty room?
"Is this the library?" I asked, trying to conceal my disappointment.
"It most certainly is."
I looked up in surprise at the familiar voice. I was positive that no one had been in the room before, and I blinked in confusion, staring at the woman seated at the table.
"Ms. Amboulia?"
The older woman cringed. "I keep forgetting that you don't know my real name."
I frowned, confused. "Aren't you Ms. Amboulia?"
"That's the name I took to walk among mortals, but now that we're away from your world, I'd prefer if you called me by something else."
My brain latched onto one word. "Mortals? You mean, you're not mortal?"
The art teacher pierced me with the sharp gaze that I knew so well. "You're really not that slow, are you, Miss Jones?"
The voice that had guided me coughed discreetly at my side. "Well, since I see you two are already acquainted, I'll leave you." A breeze rushed past my face, and I glanced at my art teacher.
"So, um, what should I call you here?"
The woman thought for a moment, her head cocked to one side, and I was suddenly reminded of the bird that my grandparents had had when I was very young. It was a yellow parakeet, and it never sat with its head square on its little shoulders: it was always tilting its head from one side to the other in a movement that made me slightly nauseous as I remembered it. I swallowed, trying not to focus on the memory.
"Why don't you call me A for now," the woman finally answered.
I didn't think that was very different from Amboulia, but I didn't want to argue. "What are you doing here?"
"I am here to serve as your tutor. There are things you need to learn if you are to remain in this world, Psyche, and it is my duty to help you gather the information that you need." She gestured to the seat at the table. "Let's begin."
I sat down and looked around expectantly. "I thought this was the library?" My eyes scanned the tall windows and the light that filtered through the glass, filling the room with a hazy glow.
"And so it is. We're to start with literature. From what I know of Jameson High, your education has been severely lacking in the classics." She clapped her hands together, and something thumped on the table in front of her.
Looking down in surprise, I saw a stack of old leather books. They had appeared out of thin air, and I looked up into Ms. A's gray eyes. "How did you do that?"
The older woman chuckled. "I thought you were willing to just believe in these things, Psyche. Didn't you say that earlier?"
How did she know that? "Yes. I did."
"Lesson number one: don't go back on your word."
Embarrassed, I dropped my gaze to the stack of books. "What are these?"
"Apuleius, Ovid, Homer. As I said, you're starting with the classics."
The names rang a vague bell. "Greek mythology?"
The woman nodded intently. "There's a reason that education revolved around the Greeks and the Romans for the better part of four centuries. Modern education could take a page from the ancients," she chuckled, "and we might see a difference. People would be more heroic, at the very least."
"Am I supposed to read these all right now?" I swallowed; the books were thick and imposing, and as much as I loved to read, I'd always been a slow reader.
Ms. A shook her head. "I'll assign you some reading, and you'll need to take care of it before our next class. Then we'll talk about it."
"Won't we have class tomorrow?"
"No. You're on the classical method now, Miss Jones. Everything in its season. We will meet once a week."
I thought for a minute. "What about my other teachers?"
"I will leave that up to you to discover for yourself." Producing a pad of yellow sticky notes, she carefully wrote down page numbers for each of the three books, then affixed the sticky notes inside the different covers.
"Since I haven't done any homework yet," I asked slowly, "what are we going to talk about today?"
The art teacher smiled. "I thought you might like to discuss the museum. I didn't get a chance to hear your impressions of the exhibit."
I thought back to the field trip. So much had happened since then that my memories of the museum were fuzzy. "I liked it," I began hesitantly.
"Have you thought any more about the question I asked you?"
Vaguely, I remembered the conversation about the painting of Lancelot and Guinevere. "About love and betrayal?"
She nodded, and I shrugged.
"I haven't really thought much about anything from before," I answered honestly.
The sharp gray eyes bored holes into my head. "Except your father," the woman said softly.
I hesitated, but then I nodded. "I'm worried about him." Just saying the words out loud was sort of a relief.
"Didn't Mr. Merk tell you he would be safe?"
"I guess. But who'll drive him home from the bar? I don't like the idea of him all alone with the dog."
"Your father is fine. You have my word on it."
I felt a little better, even though I knew that if the art teacher was here in fantasy land with me, then she wasn't at home watching out for Dad.
Ms. A checked her watch and frowned. "We don't have much more time today, and I won't be back for another week. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"
I glanced around, but the room was still empty. Maybe this was my chance to get some real answers. I leaned forward, dropping my voice. "Who's Ross?"
The older woman hesitated for a moment. "He's someone who has taken quite an interest in you, Psyche. He thinks you're very beautiful."
I sat back, disappointed. Somehow, for some reason, I had started to believe that my freakish beauty wouldn't matter here in this magical castle. "Oh."
"He's not like the boys back at Jameson. Give him a chance to prove himself to you," the teacher offered kindly.
I shook my head, deflated. "He's only interested in my because of my curse."
"I've never heard you talk about your beauty that way. Why do you say it's a curse?"
"Haven't you paid any attention for the past month? Everyone at school hates me."
"But you aren't at school anymore. This is different."
I frowned. "But how different is it, really? I'm only here because of my beauty. You just said so yourself."
"I said that Ross thinks you are beautiful. I never said that was the only reason he brought you here. There's more to you than a pretty face, Psyche Jones. I hope that in time you will realize that."
"I just wish other people would realize it." I crossed my arms, glaring at the old woman.
She smiled wryly. "Give us a little credit. Ross is more like me and less like those doddering idiots you're used to."
I shrugged again, trying to keep my heart from speeding up. For some reason, the thought that the mysterious Ross might be interested in me made my pulse race. And the thought that he might see more than the spell that my freakish beauty cast over everyone was tantalizing.
"Enough of that," Ms. A said quickly. "You will spend the rest of the week working on these lessons and the other ones that your tutors will give you. I'll see you here again in seven days."
I stood up, gathering the heavy old books. "Thanks. Will you check on Dad before you come next week?"
The woman hesitated, but then she nodded. "Of course." She reached out her hands, hovering them over my forehead without touching me. I felt a strange sensation creep over my body as if I'd been dipped in phosphorescence. "Be safe and wise, Miss Jones." The words sounded like a command, and I bowed my head reflexively.
"Yes, Ms. Amboulia. It's good to see you," I added shyly.
The teacher smiled. "It's good to see you, too. And remember, it's 'A' from now on." She paused. "You may not believe me, but I think this is a good place for you, dear."
I hesitated, but then I grinned. "I believe you. I don't know why, but I think I belong here."
Ms. A nodded, but a frown was puckering the skin between her eyes as she faded into a sunbeam and vanished.
I stood still for a moment, staring open-mouthed at the spot where she had been, and then I sighed. You said you believed in magic, I reminded myself.
Looking around, I wondered if the voice would come back to collect me, but the room was silent. Feeling silly, I spoke out loud to the empty library. "I guess I'll go back to my room to wait for my next class."
Nobody answered, but I was sure that the palace had heard me. Beginning the long descent to my room, I retraced my steps and found my bedroom door without the assistance of a guide or candles. I was starting to remember my way around the castle: maybe soon I'd be able to go exploring without a guide. And then I can get some answers.
Dropping the books on my bed, I spotted a covered tray waiting on one of the window seats. I crossed to it expectantly, and almost clapped when I lifted the cover. Sitting on the tray was my all-time favorite lunch: a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich oozing its toppings beside a sliced green apple. Mom used to make that same sandwich for me as a treat, and even though it might have been childish, I loved it. I hadn't realized I was hungry, but the food looked amazing.
"Thank you!" I called out to the empty room, It's strange, I thought as I chewed the gooey mess, the castle seems to know exactly what I want sometimes, while other times, it was as if someone were guessing blindly. Glancing at the wardrobe, I almost wondered if I should open it now just to see what would happen, but some instinct held me back. I didn't need to change, and I didn't want to spoil the magic by using it before it was ready. There was dinner with Ross to look forward to this evening, and I would wait until then to see what the wardrobe would offer.
The minute I finished crunching on the apple, there was a sharp rap on the door.
"Come in!" I called, standing up and wiping my sticky fingers with a napkin.
The door swung open, but instead of the invisible servant I had been expecting, a small gray sparrow flew into the room. It chirped twice, cocking its head the way Ms. A had that morning in the library.
"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked, feeling a little silly for talking to the bird.
The bird nodded and chirped again.
I followed it down the stairs and out the front door of the castle. It led me around the courtyard to a glass building I hadn't noticed before. This must be the greenhouse.
Stepping into the humid greenhouse was like stepping off a plane into the tropics. I started sweating instantly, and I was glad my long hair was pulled back from my face: it turned to fuzzy spaghetti in humid weather.
I looked around at the variety of plants, overwhelmed by the mingled scents of earth and flowers. The bird chirped again, insistently, and I crossed the room to a potting stand against one wall. The bird was dancing back and forth on the shelf above the stand, but when I reached it, he chirped once more and flew up and out, soaring through a broken panel of glass and into the sky.
"Thanks!" I called after the bird. Then I started to poke around the potting stand, wondering what I was looking for. It didn't take long to figure it out. There was a stack of note cards on the table, tied together with thin green ribbon. I picked up the parcel and untied the ribbon, letting it drop to the greenhouse floor.
The first note card had a sketch of a plant, and spidery script covered both sides of the card. I pulled it closer to my eyes, squinting as I tried to decipher the writing. The next card looked pretty much the same, just with a different sketch, and I quickly flipped through the stack before returning my attention to the first card.
The writing was hard to read, but eventually I could tell that the card was about the fennel plant. Some of the things written on the card didn't make sense even once I'd deciphered them, so I set it aside and tried another card.
This one depicted a beautiful rose, and the information was much easier to read. "To make rose oil," I read aloud, "collect rose petals underneath the full moon, preferably in the months of fire." I didn't know what the "months of fire" were, but I assumed they had something to do with summertime. I kept reading. "Press the petals between two pieces of holly wood, held in place with clamps. Collect the juice of the petals in a clear glass jar. Add the usual ingredients, and let set for a month."
What were the "usual ingredients"? The card had other recipes that were equally cryptic, and I set it down with a sigh. Did I have to try to teach myself this stuff?
Leaving the cards on the table, I began to walk slowly around the greenhouse, starting at the potting stand and moving clockwise around the outer edge of the room. Each plant I passed was neatly labeled in the same script as the note cards, and the room boasted a staggering array of greenery. I counted ten varieties of roses mixed in with standard kitchen herbs like rosemary and sage, and then there were plants I'd never heard of before, like Tiger's Blood and Dark Seed.
Stopping to sniff the Dark Seed, I felt a sudden wave of anger rush over me.
"Better put that one down," a sharp voice commanded from behind me. I turned out of habit although I wasn't expecting to see anyone, so I was stunned by the creature leaning on the potting stand. From the waist up, it looked like a little boy, but from the waist down, he was covered in fur. I stared dumbfounded at his little black hooves.
"Why should I?" I snarled at the creature, surprising myself.
He stared at me without flinching. "Put it down and see if you feel nicer."
I didn't want to do what he said, but eventually I set the Dark Seed plant down. I felt dizzy for a minute, but then my head cleared, and I realized how mean I'd been. I looked at the creature again, ashamed of myself.
"I'm sorry," I started to apologize, but he laughed and cut me off.
"No worries. It's not a good idea to get too close to plants you don't know yet. That one," he pointed a delicate hand toward the Dark Seed behind me, "is a mood plant. It can influence your mood badly," he added in response to my questioning glance.
I'd never heard of a plant that could do that just by smelling it. Was it some kind of drug? "Thanks." I paused, trying not to stare at him. "Who are you?"
He smiled and came forward, his hooves clicking on the hard floor. "I'm Sean. I'm a faun." He frowned fiercely for a moment. "Don't laugh," he said quickly, "I didn't pick my name!"
I choked back my giggle and smiled at the faun. "I'm Psyche. It's nice to meet you."
"I know all about you," Sean said importantly.
"That's not fair!" I teased. "I don't know anything about you."
The faun leaped up gracefully, sitting on the table next to the note cards. He swung his hooves contentedly, and I tried not to watch his furry legs.Of all the weird things that had happened so far, Sean was definitely the weirdest.
"Well," he began importantly, "what do you want to know?"
I hesitated, looking everywhere but at his legs. "For starters, I guess, what's a faun?"
He laughed. "That would have to be your first question. You really don't know?" He peeked at me from under his curly red hair, and I shook my head.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to embarrass you."
"You haven't. I'm just surprised you don't know more about mythology."
Thinking back to the homework Ms. A had assigned, I asked, "Like, Greek mythology?"
Sean nodded. "Greek, Roman, the works."
I shrugged. "Not really."
"Well," he began patiently, "I'm a nature spirit."
I tried to hide my surprise, but Sean chuckled openly.
"You'll believe in a castle with invisible inhabitants, but not in nature spirits?"
I blushed. "Fair point. Go on."
He shrugged. "Fauns are in charge of their natural surroundings. It's up to me to keep the castle grounds fertile and rich," he added proudly.
"So, do you use magic?" I was trying to get a grip on the whole thing, but it was a bit bizarre to be standing there talking to a faun.
Sean paused. "Sort of." He lifted his head, his eyes wide. "You really don't know anything about mythology?"
I shook my head. "Sorry."
He bit his lip and looked at his dangling hooves.
I leaned forward, curious. "Why? What do I need to know about mythology?"
Instead of answering, Sean hopped down off the potting stand. "Let me finish showing you around the greenhouse. I'm supposed to be your teacher, after all," he added self-importantly, strutting toward the center of the building.
I laughed, but my mind puzzled over what Sean had said about mythology. Was there some clue I was missing?
Three hours later, I collapsed face down on my bed. I'd spent the entire afternoon with Sean, sniffing plants and trying to identify them by the shape of their leaves, and I was exhausted. The faun had as much energy as Louis, the five-year-old next door I used to babysit for. But with Louis, I could usually get him to slow down by bribing him with a storybook or a board game. Nothing had slowed Sean down, and I felt like I'd run a marathon instead of wandering around the greenhouse for hours.
A bell chimed near my head, and I peeled my face out of the comforter in time to see a creamy scrap of paper fluttering down to the bed. I snatched it before it landed and started to read.
"Dear Psyche," it began, "it would give me the greatest pleasure imaginable if you would dine with me again tonight. Please send your reply soon: dinner won't be until after sunset, so you will have plenty of time to rest or do whatever else you desire." The words sent a tingle down my spine.
The note ended with the signature, "Ross."
Feeling silly, I traced the handwriting with my fingertips. Unlike the labels in the greenhouse, Ross's writing was round and regular: if I didn't know better, I might have thought he typed the note. But I could see black smudges where the ink had splattered, and I realized that not only was this a handwritten note, but it had likely been written using an old-fashioned pen.
What kind of guy sends a handwritten invitation to dinner? I grinned, holding the note tightly. Ms. A was right; I'd never met anybody like Ross. Glancing around for a pen, I tried to figure out how to send my reply.
The bell chimed again, and I looked up in time to see a small package drop to the bed. I reached for it, feeling a thrill when I realized that I was holding a small velvet jewelry box, like the ones Dad used to give my mom for Christmas.
"Is this for me?" I asked stupidly. The room didn't answer.
Hesitantly, heart racing, I lifted the lid of the box. It opened smoothly without creaking, and I was dazzled by what I saw inside. It was a bracelet, but unlike anything I'd ever seen in the store. Thin strands of silver and gold were braided together in a delicate weave, and set in the middle of the pattern were three small opalescent orbs. It somehow looked both antique and brand new, and it was probably the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
My mother had always told me not to take gifts from a boy unless I was serious about him. For a moment, I stared at the bracelet, barely daring to breathe. Am I serious about him? I hardly know him! Still, I reached for the gift. Blushing, I slid the bracelet on my wrist, enjoying the smooth coolness of the metal against my skin. The bracelet fit neatly, encasing my wrist like it had been designed just for me.
Hesitantly, I spoke. "How do I reply to the letter?"
The note in my hands crinkled, and when I looked down, the page was blank. Staring with wonder, I touched the clean paper, but I couldn't even feel the indent of the words that had been there a second ago.
Still without a pen, I spoke again, hesitantly. "Dear Ross," I began, watching in delight as the words appeared on the paper. The writing looked alarmingly like my own sloppy cursive, and I paused for a minute, embarrassed. What if he thought I was just a stupid kid when he read my writing?
The bell that had announced the letter's arrival rang again, almost impatiently, and I quickly finished the note, trying not to worry about my handwriting.
"Thank you for the lovely gift. I'd love to have dinner with you. Um...see you soon!" My signature appeared, followed by a heart connected to the "e" at the end of my name, and I blushed. I'd been signing my name that way ever since I learned how to write in cursive, but it suddenly seemed ridiculous. Responding to my unvoiced thoughts, the paper rippled, erasing the heart but leaving the rest of my note.
The bell chimed again, and I held the note up in my hand. "Please deliver this to Ross," I said to the empty room. The paper disintegrated in my grasp as soon as the words were out, and I didn't even pause to feel self-conscious about speaking to nobody this time. Things in the castle were weird, but I was starting to get used to the magic all around me.
A quick glance out the window told me there was still at least an hour until sunset: the sky was glassy and golden with the strange afternoon light that makes everything look beautiful. For a minute, I dangled my feet off the edge of the tall bed, wondering what I would do until dinner. I was exhausted, but I didn't want to take a nap. I looked at the stack of books Ms. A had given me that morning, but I didn't want to start studying, either. Finally, I wandered into the bathroom.
The bathtub underneath the shower was wide and deeply inviting, and I decided to take a long soak while I waited for dinner. As the water gushed into the tub, I scouted around the bathroom, looking in the cupboards for bubble bath. I found a jar of salts labeled "evening" in the same script that I had seen everywhere in the greenhouse. Shrugging, I dumped a third of the jar under the running water.
Rich, herbal steam enveloped me, and I sank into the tub. My mind started to wander, and I leaned back, blissfully content. With my eyes closed, I fell into some sort of a trance. Even though I knew I was in the tub in the palace, for a moment it seemed as if I was back in my bedroom at home. Rex was barking at a squirrel or something else equally unthreatening in the backyard, and Dad was sitting on the edge of my bed.
He was turning the faded pages of his wedding album slowly, sometimes stopping to touch the images with one finger. I wondered fleetingly when he'd found the pictures; I'd stolen the album and hid it underneath my bed after Mom left. Sometimes, when the house was quiet and dark, I used to take the album out and stare at it.
I tried to reach for Dad, but the vision shifted, sending me back to the castle. I wasn't in my room, though: I was in the library where I'd met Ms. Amboulia that morning. The teacher was still there, but she looked different than before. Her crazy gray hair was wrapped in a no-nonsense bun, and instead of the colorful clothes she usually wore, she was dressed in a long, flowing, white gown. Strangest of all was the large white owl perched on her hand. It looked like she was talking to the bird, but I couldn't hear the words.
My thoughts swirled again, and when my mind cleared I was still sunk deep in the bathtub, steam filling the room. The water was still scalding hot: it was as if I never left.
Of course I didn't leave, I scolded myself silently. My mind was wandering, that's all.
The visions worried me, though, especially the one of Dad. If he really was sitting alone in my old bedroom, staring at the photos from his wedding, I doubted that Mom had come back. I would make a point to ask Mr. Merk, if I saw him again, or at least Ms. A.
My thoughts shifted to the strange vision of Ms. A, and I frowned. There was something naggingly familiar about her white dress, but I couldn't quite hold on to the thought. I lingered in the tub a bit longer, but I didn't have any more daydreams. Of course a bath isn't going to tell you anything. Shaking my head, I leaned forward to pull up the stopper from the tub. There wasn't a window in the bathroom, but the water had started to cool, and I didn't want to be rushed for dinner. Weird as my visions had been, I was eager to talk to Ross again, and I hopped out of the tub to get ready.