by Mari Mancusi
“Reality to Stu, come in, Stu.”
Stu's eyes flew open and he felt his face burn as he realized that while he'd been lost in Sophieland, his seventeen-year-old stepbrother, Lucas, had entered the bedroom and was now obnoxiously waving his hands in front of his face. Annoyed, he smacked them away.
“Do you mind?”
“Oh good. I've managed to unplug you from the Matrix.” Sports-loving Lucas found Stu's obsession with the virtual world a continual source of amusement. “Now can I check my email? Or do you have a damsel in distress on the hook?”
Stu sighed. His kingdom for a room of his own. “It's Sunday. Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” Lucas was Sacred Mary's wide receiver and star football player and he never missed a practice.
“They cancelled it. It’s supposed to rain or something.” Lucas rolled his eyes and plopped down on his bed, grabbing a football off his nightstand and tossing it from hand to hand. Sometimes Stu couldn't believe the two of them had become brothers, five years ago, when their parents had met in line at Applebee’s. They couldn't be more different. Lucas was the most popular kid in school and probably the best looking—with thick, wavy black hair and intense blue eyes and a smile that lit up every room. Every guy at school wanted to be him and every girl wanted to be with him.
And then there was Stu. Sacred Mary's resident dork with muddy brown hair that refused to lie flat and matching muddy brown eyes, hidden behind black-rimmed glasses. No one wanted to be him. And certainly no girl would want to be with him. Even if he was somehow able to get up the nerve to ask them in the first place.
As if reading his brother's mind, Lucas suddenly shot up in bed. “Oh!” he cried. “I totally forgot. Did you ask Sophie to the dance?”
Stu cringed. He should have never asked his stepbrother's advice. Now he was going to look like an even bigger loser. “Not exactly,” he muttered, giving Lucas the short version of his tragic tale. “And now she's mad at me,” he added mournfully, once he had finished. “I don't even know why.”
“Totally lame, man,” Lucas said, tossing him a sympathetic look. “What's wrong with her anyway? Chicks usually love dances.”
“Well, Sophie isn't just some chick, you know!” Stu retorted, with more venom than he meant. After all, Lucas was only trying to be nice.
His stepbrother laughed, holding up his hands in innocence. “Okay, okay!” he protested. “All I'm saying is, Sophie's cute and all, but she's not the only girl at school.”
Stu frowned. “Well, she's the only girl for me,” he declared stubbornly. And it was true. Sure, there were other girls at school. But they all seemed so . . . well, inferior. All giggly and silly and worried about clothes and makeup all the time. Stu swore he could feel his brain cells dying just from breathing the same air as some of them.
But Sophie—Sophie was so much more than that. So much smarter and more interesting and aware of the world around her. And she played real videogames, too—not just the karaoke dance ones the other girls liked. Not to mention she thought zombies were cool, which pretty much sealed the deal for Stu.
In short, he couldn't imagine being with anyone but her.
Lucas gave him a rueful smile. “Well, maybe she'll turn around,” he said. “You've still got a few days.” He rose to his feet. “Anyway, I'm going to grab lunch. Let me know when you're done on the computer.” And with that, he headed out of the bedroom.
Stu sighed, glancing at his phone. His stepbrother was right; all was not yet lost. He could apologize to Sophie and get back in her good graces—though truthfully he was still not sure what he'd done to make her mad—and then maybe he could try again.
Yes, he decided, feeling better already. He'd call her in an hour, once he was sure she was done with her chores. In the meantime, he turned back to his computer.
Signing out of his Lord Vanquish account, he selected one of his alternate characters and loaded her up. A few minutes later Lady Wolverine, his elf druid, smiled at him from behind the screen. Unlike his burly, brawny Lord Vanquish character, Lady Wolverine was curvy and delicate, with wavy blond hair and big blue eyes.
Just like a certain girl Stu knew…
His shoulders relaxed as he maneuvered his character into the village to pick up supplies from the local store. Life was so much easier here, inside the game. Where you could be whoever you wanted to be and no one judged you for it. And the girls were always up for a little dancing.
Inspired, he typed “dance” at the command prompt and Lady Wolverine immediately obliged with a happy little jig. A moment later, another player wandering through the village noticed her dancing and prompted his character to join in with a dance of his own. Soon another character started dancing. And another. Until there was a rocking party going on in the virtual village square. Elves, goblins, humans, dwarves—all dancing together and having the time of their lives.
Stu chuckled as Lady Wolverine did a twirl on screen. She seemed to grin back at him, as if thanking him for getting the party started.
If only it were so easy to do in real life.
Chapter 4
“By the moon and stars! It's like a thousand suns in here!”
Princess Guinevere shielded her eyes with one hand as she attempted to follow Arthur into the home of his teacher, Merlin the Magician, later that morning. While she'd heard many tales over the years of the druid's legendary “Crystal Cave,” she'd always thought them an exaggeration. Surely no cave could be made entirely out of multicolored gemstones, as the bards would sing of in taverns down in the village.
But sure enough, the rock walls before her did indeed appear to be encrusted with jewels—ruby reds, sapphire blues, clear diamonds—each likely worth a fortune themselves, never mind as a collective. When errant sunbeams wandered through the entrance, they caught the light, erupting into a kaleidoscope of color. It was breathtaking, beautiful, but a bit overwhelming, she had to admit. She wondered how Merlin could possibly live here and not go blind.
A moment later, Arthur provided the answer, handing her a strangely shaped object with the word “Ray-Bans” written on the side. “Slide these over your eyes,” he instructed, demonstrating with his own pair. “They'll help block out some of the light.”
She followed his example, surprised and relieved to see how well they worked, dropping the brightness to a nonpainful level. Now there was some magic! With these “Ray-Bans” she could actually see beyond the gemstones and into the cave itself, which, she had to admit, was a bit underwhelming after the brilliant entrance. In fact, the place looked as if a storm had blown in and knocked everything from its proper place. Overturned pots, discarded buckets with drops of water puddling the floor. Scraps of leather here, bits of feathers there. In the center of the room stood an iron cauldron, bubbling with some kind of unidentifiable green goop that Guinevere prayed the magician would not be serving at lunch.
“My apologies,” Arthur said, giving her a rueful smile. “Merlin is not exactly a good housekeeper on the best of days. And this appears to be one of his worst.”
She laughed, reaching down to pick up an overturned goblet, setting it down on a nearby wooden table. “I'm just thankful to have a safe hideaway, no matter what its condition,” she assured him.
After their run-in with Agravaine and Kay earlier that morning, she'd decided it was best to make herself scarce, at least until the afternoon's tournament. Out of sight, out of mind, as they said—and Guinevere had been on Agravaine's mind far too much lately for her liking. While she'd attempted to put on a brave face in front of Sara and the children, the knight's threats unnerved her more than she wanted to admit. Her father was at his wits' end, eager to find her a husband, and she'd already insulted half the nobles in the land. If Agravaine offered a large purse and a willingness to put up with her tongue, she was sure her father would give her up gratefully, despite any pleas she might make for her freedom.
Arthur always spoke of being powerless, but sometimes Guinevere wondered who
was actually worse off between them.
“I've seen Merlin attempt to clean this place only once,” Arthur informed her, grabbing a plate off the floor and sticking it in a wash bucket. “When Nimue, the Lady of the Lake herself, was planning a visit.” He laughed at the memory. “She came exactly one time and after that insisted that Merlin always come to visit her in Avalon instead. Evidently his cleaning spells were not entirely as effective as he'd hoped.”
Guinevere giggled appreciatively. She'd heard many stories, of course, of the legendary Merlin—most of them terrifying. But when Arthur spoke of him it was different. The great and powerful magician—the one who everyone feared—had taken an interest in the orphan boy when he was but a baby, taking him under his wing and becoming his teacher. He didn't care that Arthur's parents were likely commoners and that the boy had no chance of a real future, beyond scrubbing dishes in the castle's kitchen. He treated him as if he were a crown prince. And the feeling was obviously mutual, judging from the sparkle in Arthur's eyes when he spoke of his master.
“Merlin?” he called out, looking around the cave. “Where are you? I've brought a friend.”
“I'm back here in my chamber, Arthur,” a gruff old voice answered from behind a large wooden door located at the back of the cave. “I'll be out in a few.”
Arthur turned back to Guinevere, rolling his eyes. “He must be on his magic box again,” he said as way of explanation.
“Magic box?” The princess cocked her head in question.
Arthur shrugged. “I don't know exactly what it does. But whatever it is, it takes up the majority of Merlin's time these days.”
She watched as he walked over to the other end of the cave, approaching a great wall of swords that she hadn't noticed before. For a sorcerer who, according to the tales, preferred magic over steel, the man had an incredible collection of blades. From heavy two-handed swords with ornately carved hilts depicting dragons and other fantastic beasts to jeweled daggers with razor-sharp tips. He even had a strange-looking curved sword at the very top of the wall, sheathed in an emerald green case. A far cry from the rusty old practice blades they'd been sparring with earlier in the day.
Arthur grabbed one of the sheathed one-handed swords from the wall and tossed it in her direction. As she caught it, he pulled down another for himself. “Shall we rematch, my evil knight?” he asked, with a mischievous look in his eyes. “I would most enjoy besting you once and for all.”
She looked down at her weapon doubtfully. It looked valuable. As valuable as most people's yearly wages, in fact. “Merlin won't mind us using his swords?”
“Of course not. He encourages it,” Arthur explained, unsheathing his own blade and studying it with a critical eye. Even under her Ray-Bans she could see its sharp edges gleam. “He thinks I can be a great swordsman someday, if I practice enough.” He looked at her, his eyes shining, and she felt a sense of pride wash over her as she gazed back at her friend. Here, in the Crystal Cave, he was no longer a scullery boy. An orphan of no importance. Here, he was as powerful as any knight. As noble as any king. His confidence was enchanting and she had a wild thought about what a great leader he could have been, if only he had the right pedigree.
But that didn't matter now. “Very well,” she agreed. “But this time I won't let you win.”
“As if you ever do,” he bantered back, skipping toward the cave's entrance gleefully.
She turned, starting to follow, then stopped as her eyes caught a flash of light from a workbench to her right. Turning to examine it, she discovered a breathtaking scabbard lying on the bench, encrusted with multicolored jewels. The sword sheath was beyond beautiful, making even the cave's brilliant walls seem dull in comparison as it sparkled with an almost otherworldly glow.
She felt herself drawn to the object, involuntarily reaching out, picking it up. She turned it over in her hands, marveling at the fine embroidery winding through the gemstones, more intricate then any of her ladies in waiting could possibly have produced back home. It was as if it had been sewn by the fae folk themselves. Her eyes widened as she realized what the embroidery spelled out.
Pendragon.
She gasped. Could this really be the scabbard of legends? The one the bards sang about? She'd heard the tales a hundred times at banquets in the castle court. The priceless artifact gifted to young Uther Pendragon, by the druids of Avalon. A magical scabbard that would ensure its owner would never bleed, giving Uther victory over his enemies and a chance to rise to High King of all of Britain.
But, according to the tales, the scabbard had been stolen by the witch Morgan Le Fay, who wanted revenge against Uther, who killed her father and married her mother. With the scabbard lost, Uther also lost his invincibility and soon fell to a Saxon blade in battle, leaving Britain without an heir to the throne.
That was years ago. And as far as anyone knew the scabbard had remained in Morgan's possession. But now here it was. Just sitting out in the open and unprotected, in Merlin's Crystal Cave. This changed everything.
She had to show Arthur.
Grabbing the scabbard, she ran outside, removing her shades as she peered around the clearing, looking for her friend. “Arthur?” she cried. “Where are you?”
“Wouldn't you like to know, evil knight!” she heard him cry from somewhere beyond the bushes to her left.
Oh, so it was going to be like that, was it? Laughing, she dove into the brush, sheath and sword still in hand, clawing her way through the briars. Her silk dress caught and tore and she grimaced; her father would not be pleased if she arrived at the tournament in a muddy, torn dress, though it wouldn't be the first time. Maybe it would even work out to her advantage—with Agravaine so horrified by her appearance that he'd withdraw his offer of marriage.
Yanking her dress free, she pushed through the remainder of foliage, catching a glimpse of movement and color ahead of her. There he was.
Leaping out of the bushes, she charged her opponent. But Arthur was ready for her, dodging at the last second and nearly sending her crashing into a small stone well, just beyond the bushes. She dug in her heels, somehow managing to stop in her tracks. Unfortunately, the scabbard was not so lucky, flying free of her grip and straight down into the well.
Oh no! She cried out in horror as she realized what she'd just done. She peered into the well, but saw nothing but blackness. This was not good.
“Making a wish won't help you,” Arthur teased, coming up behind her and poking her in the back with his sword. “You're all mine, evil knight.”
“Stop joking and help me!” she cried, grabbing the well's rope and pulling it with all her might. Maybe the scabbard had been caught by the bucket below. Maybe she could still retrieve it somehow. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, slamming against her ribcage.
“What's wrong?” Arthur asked, crinkling his eyes in confusion. “Did you drop something in there? If it was that sword, don't worry about it. Merlin won't even miss—”
“It wasn't a sword,” she admitted, her heart plummeting as the empty bucket rose to the top of the well. “It was a scabbard.”
The most important treasure in the world, she didn't add. Merlin was going to have her head. Sure, he might be nice to Arthur, but he didn't know her. And she'd heard the stories of what happened to people who wronged him. What had she been thinking, taking the artifact from the cave? She'd just been so excited to show Arthur.
“A scabbard?” Arthur repeated. “I don't under—”
“Arthur? Are you out here?” interrupted the same creaky old voice she'd heard back in the cave. The bushes shook and Guinevere took a step backward, scarcely able to breathe.
What would he do to her when he found out what she'd done?
Chapter 5
The dishwasher was broken—which was probably why Cammy had been so insistent that Sophie be the one to clean up—and it took almost an hour to put the last dried plate away. When Sophie finally walked through the living room, on her way back upstair
s, her stepmother was putting on her coat.
“I'm headed to the mall to meet the girls,” she explained, grabbing her fake Louis Vuitton purse. “I'll be gone a few hours. Will you be okay by yourself?”
Sophie nodded quickly. “Have fun,” she muttered, starting up the steps. She'd almost escaped when Cammy called out again. “You don't want to . . . come with me, do you?” she asked, her voice hesitant.
Sophie stopped, finding herself hedging. Admittedly it would be kind of nice to get out of the house for a bit, especially since gaming was pretty much over for the afternoon. And she could probably ditch Cammy and her friends in the food court—where they liked to gossip for hours on end—while she checked out what treasures Game Stop might have in their used game bins.
“Ashley and her mom will be there,” Cammy added cheerfully, as if the head cheerleader's attendance in their little outing would be a pro and not a con in Sophie's ultimate decision. “We're going to shop for Snowflake Dance dresses together. We could find one for you!” She beamed. “Ashley's all excited because she got asked by Lucas Lake, the Knight's wide receiver. Isn't that great?” She paused, then added, “Who are you going with? I forgot to ask.”
Sophie cringed, feeling as if she'd just taken a knife to the gut. Seriously, was this Make Sophie Feel Like a Loser Day and she hadn't marked her calendar? Suddenly, there was no place on earth she wanted to go to less than the local mall.
“Sorry, I've got homework,” she blurted out, even though she'd done it all Saturday morning and was pretty sure Cammy knew it. Still, it was the only reasonable-sounding excuse she could come up with on short notice. Thank goodness her dad had ruled she was old enough to stay home alone, at least during the day, once she'd turned fourteen.