by Sarah Noffke
She saw what he meant. As the doves looked down on the guests, all enjoying themselves, their eyes flashed red and not with love.
“We have to get everyone out of here.” Paris spun and found the doors to the front foyer shut. She rushed over, and to her horror, they were locked. She tried several different spells but couldn’t do anything to open them, which meant that magic kept them secured.
She turned and looked up at the perch filled with dozens of doves as the first descended toward the potential lovers, its beak wide as it called loudly—a high-pitched, deafening sound indicative of its murderous mission.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
“Take cover!” Paris yelled as one by one, the birds dove for the crowd like torpedoes, screaming in a very uncharacteristic dove-like fashion. They aimed for the heads of the group, beaks first.
The guests all looked up at the sound of the commotion, confused at first. Panic broke out as they saw the chaos unfolding.
“You can’t get out!” Paris yelled. “Get under the tables.”
Birds were now grabbing at women’s hair and yanking at men’s collars with their claws. People were running into each other to escape the craziness.
Paris was trying to figure out the best way to handle things and wondering if it was okay to use force on deranged doves that definitely weren’t loving. She caught sight of Willow and Mae Ling in her peripheral vision, and they appeared panicked by the change. “The doves!”
“Yes, I see that!” Willow shouted.
“They aren’t Hemingway’s,” Paris called while ushering a couple under a table as a dove pecked at the top of her head. Deciding that the birds had to go, Paris threw a fist at it, sadly sending it to the floor, but it was her or it.
“The doors!” Willow tried one.
“We need to get them open,” Mae Ling offered.
“I’ll cover you,” Hemingway told Paris as he arrived beside her with a serving dish that served as a handy shield.
The room was complete pandemonium. Fairy godmothers unused to fighting all cowered under tables. The mortals also sought shelter, although some batted at the crazed doves that swooped down from the ceiling, trying to take jabs where they could. To Paris’ surprise, many couples had teamed up to fight a single dove who was targeting them, throwing objects at the bird, or swooshing a plate through the air.
She glanced sideways at Hemingway. “How do you think we take all these rabid birds down most effectively?”
“What we need to do is corral these monsters.” He threw his shield in the air as a murderous dove went for his head.
“I’m listening.” Paris yanked a tablecloth off a table and swished it through the air like a whip to keep a set of doves back from her.
“Well, although they can fly when wet, they don’t like it,” Hemingway explained, pointing up at the ceiling.
Paris saw what he was referring to—the sprinklers on the ceiling. “I can activate those.”
He nodded, smiling wide. “Do it one by one starting here where there’s the largest concentration. We want to drive them toward that intake vent there.” Hemingway pointed. “I’m going to go and open it up and create a cage using magic. We’ll drive them in there, and I’ll shut it.”
“And bam,” Paris stated, adrenaline pumping in her blood. “We have caged, deranged birds.”
“Ready?” He asked
Paris dropped the tablecloth, and prepared to use her magic to activate the sprinklers. She looked around, grateful to see that most people had taken cover. Some were still fending off the crazy birds. Willow was trying to get the doors open with Mae Ling, Penny, and Christine defending her as she worked.
“Let’s do this!” Paris watched as Hemingway took off, sprinting for the large vent.
Chapter Seventy
As soon as Paris got a signal from Hemingway, she activated the first set of sprinklers, pushing the strange doves away from them. That took some pressure off her and the fairy godmothers since it drove the birds toward the center of the room.
However, now Paris was right under a sprinkler and getting drenched, as were many on the room’s far side. She didn’t care and simply shook her head to keep the water out of her eyes so she could see. Some of the fairy godmothers screeched as if they were suddenly melting.
Hemingway worked fast, getting the grill off the intake vent. Paris wasn’t sure what he was doing, but she thought he was blocking the other side of the vent somewhere to create a cage of sorts. It was smart because she didn’t want to kill all these animals. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t if it was between them and her, but she avoided such things when possible.
She was impressed to see many of the couples hadn’t taken cover and helped defend each other from the birds. Some cowered under the tables, but even they cradled each other as the weird doves screamed and streaked past.
Thankfully, Hemingway worked fast and seemed to have fixed most of the vent up as a cage. He gave Paris another signal.
She used her magic to activate more of the sprinklers, drenching three-fourths of the room. The doves immediately reacted by flying in the direction of the large opening. Hemingway turned, holding up the large grill that would be the gate to the murderous birds’ cage.
“Now!” he yelled, and Paris activated the last of the sprinklers, drenching the rest of the huge banquet room. That did the trick though, and with nowhere else safe to go and stay dry, the deranged doves all flew into the opening, followed by some thuds when some must have hit the other side of the makeshift cage.
Hemingway successfully used magic to get the grill back into place before the doves realized they were trapped and turned on him. He secured it in place, and the room was suddenly safe once more, although soaked.
Paris let out a breath of relief, snapped her fingers, and simultaneously extinguished all the sprinklers at once, making much of the loud noise dissipate. The sounds of relieved gasps and cheers replaced it.
Chapter Seventy-One
Many of the guests emerged from under their makeshift shelters looking disoriented. Most were wet, or their hair and clothes disheveled after being assaulted by the birds.
The students and fairy godmothers all moved into swift action, comforting the confused guests who had the strangest and scariest surprise on an otherwise pleasant Valentine’s Day.
To Paris’ surprise, many of the guests began laughing, realizing they’d survived the ordeal. She heard them joking with each other about how things played out or recounting their experiences.
Thankfully, the doors were finally unlocked. Wilfred and Chef Ash had been locked out and worked with Willow on the other side to get them opened. Several people rushed out to drier areas, but many stayed to collect themselves.
A woman reached out and brushed a wet piece of hair off a guy’s forehead, relief on both of their faces. The whole set of scenes was more than bizarre. It was almost as if the craziness had brought people together in an unexpected way.
“Are you okay?” Hemingway had returned to her side.
Paris nodded. “Yeah, I think everyone is okay.”
He surveyed the room. “Paris, I think they’re better than okay. These wackos are laughing.”
She grinned. “I know. I’m not sure what happened with your doves, but at least we survived whatever that was.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know either, but I want my doves back and want to figure out what the hell those beasts are.”
“I think we know what happened.” Penny strode over, urging the headmistress to follow her in Paris’ and Hemingway’s direction.
“What’s going on, Penny?” Paris asked her.
“When we ran out of here, we found Hemingway’s doves all still caged in one of the rooms we entered. Usually, I wouldn’t have investigated, but well, all this action made me feel braver than usual, so Christine and I started checking rooms. Guess who we found in there with them?”
“Who?” Willow asked.
Penny gave her a guilt
y look. “Christine is bringing her in here. Please don’t be mad at what we did to her. We had to because we think she’s behind this.”
“Who?” Willow asked again, now starting to sound like an owl.
The group turned as Christine led Professor Shannon Butcher through the double set of doors, tethered in ropes and levitating vertically off the floor—floating in their direction, her eyes bulging with hostility.
Penny pointed at the bound professor. “We think that she was behind the mean doves since she wasn’t in here and had the real ones secured away.”
Paris shook her head, realizing that although she’d tried not to harm any doves, she might have to murder someone that day after all.
Chapter Seventy-Two
“Is this true?” Willow asked when Christine paused Shannon Butcher in front of the group. She and Penny had wound up the professor like a mummy. “Are you the one who set these creatures on our guests and us?”
Shannon narrowed her eyes and looked straight at Paris. There was no mistake where her hostility was centered. “I had to. None of you would listen to reason.”
“So you set a bunch of rabid doves loose in a Valentine’s celebration?” Hemingway asked, anger flaring on his face for the first time. “Where did you get these monsters?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Shannon stated. “I needed to prove to you all that we need manners and traditions and pretenses. Without it, we’re no better than any commoner.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Paris challenged. “Do commoners not get to find true love?”
“No!” Shannon yelled, fighting her restraints, but Christine had done a good job. Paris was proud of her friend. “True love is for those who are disciplined and refined and have poise and skills. That’s always been the way it was. If we lose sight of that, we will lose love.”
“That’s been the fairy godmothers’ problem all along,” Paris countered. “Losing love under the current system was always meant to happen. The fact that it existed for so long is the real surprise.”
Wilfred and Chef Ash materialized, having helped many of the guests get out of the banquet hall. Now, most of the school was gathered, witnessing the strange events.
“You’re the problem,” Shannon seethed, shaking her head and looking crazed. “You’re the corruption that this place needs to get rid of. I was trying to show you all that.”
“You nearly got us killed,” the headmistress charged.
“The doves weren’t supposed to kill,” Shannon denied. “Only attack.”
“There’s a fine line there,” Paris joked and shook her head. She’d never thought the professor would go this far.
“I want you all to see that we need to do things the way we’ve always done them,” Shannon explained. “What this one has done will destroy us.” She glared at Paris, unable to point since she was bound.
“Really?” Willow shook her head. “You’ve had it out for Paris from the beginning, and it must stop. The event fueled by her good ideas was very successful despite your efforts. Many couples left here with a budding romance.”
“NO!” Shannon yelled. “She isn’t even a fairy!”
At this, everyone fell silent. Paris’ mouth fell open. Of everyone, she was the most shocked.
Chapter Seventy-Three
“What did you say?” Willow asked carefully while looking between Shannon and Paris.
Shannon laughed. “That’s right. This one you all hailed and thought was so great, can’t be a fairy godmother because she isn’t a real fairy.”
Paris tipped her head sideways, totally confused. She unglamoured her wings, which were periwinkle blue. “What are you talking about, Psycho?”
“Yes, technically you’re a fairy, but you’re not really a fairy. You’re not a pureblood,” Shannon declared.
“Okay, this is stupid.” Paris shook her head. “I’m tired of being villainized by you.”
“It’s true,” Shannon said in a rush. “Headmistress, you’ll find evidence inside my gown. Paris looks like a fairy, but her DNA is both that of a fairy and a magician.”
This produced gasps from everyone in the crowd. Paris remained silent, not sure what was happening here.
“Halflings are almost impossible,” Willow stated.
Paris knew from her discussion with King Rudolf that this was true. However, they were possible. His children were proof.
Paris suddenly found it difficult to swallow. “How am I a halfling?” She couldn’t believe she asked the question, but it was hovering on the tip of her tongue. This was crazy and the wrong place for it to come out, yet it didn’t feel like a lie.
Shannon cackled, enjoying relating this. “You, Paris, aren’t a true fairy.”
“You’ve already said that.” Hemingway’s anger flared in his voice.
“She isn’t even Paris Westbridge,” Shannon continued. “Her real name is Guinevere Paris Beaufont.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
“B-B-Beaufont,” Paris said, the name feeling suddenly strange on her tongue. Just like that, she got a flash of memories.
She was young—a toddler. There was a blonde woman in a black cloak, her smile Paris’ whole world. A man with jet black hair, his blue eyes so captivating. They never called her Paris. It was always, “Gwen.” Every time they hugged her, which was often, they called her “Gwen.” Every time they kissed her, it was “Gwennie.”
Paris saw her childhood in so many different flashes. She didn’t know how or why, but suddenly she knew without a doubt why King Rudolf had told her about Liv and Stefan and their lost child. It was her. She was Guinevere Paris Beaufont.
Looking straight at Mae Ling, who hadn’t said a single word, Paris gave the fairy godmother an inquisitive look that asked only one question.
The small woman simply nodded, affirming everything.
She was both a fairy and a magician. She was a Beaufont. But how? More importantly, why didn’t she know this before?
Chapter Seventy-Five
Paris’ knees felt ready to give out on her.
“There’s no way that can be the case.” Willow looked between Paris and Shannon. “She’s a fairy. The child born to Liv Beaufont disappeared, and she was a magician.”
“She was a fairy,” Shannon argued. “If you release me and take the paperwork from my gown, you’ll see the evidence. It’s the child’s birth certificate, which has her magical DNA. All you must do is a simple spell to see if it’s the same as Paris’.”
Paris wanted to run and hide. To call Uncle John, but none of those were options for her. So she stayed still, pretending that all the events unfolding didn’t directly pertain to her.
“Hold her, please,” Willow instructed Wilfred, Chef Ash, and Christine. “I’m going to retrieve the evidence.”
The bonds fell off Shannon all at once, freeing her once more. However, she was pinned by the invisible restraints of the fairies' collective force, working together.
“I knew that she couldn’t be a fairy,” Shannon said as Willow retrieved an envelope from her gown. “She acted too much like a magician, so self-assured and pompous. Her magic felt wrong. Felt like that of a magician.”
“You mean she was more powerful than you,” Hemingway spat, seemingly personally insulted by all this. “You didn’t like that she’s so powerful, like a magician.”
“You will thank me for this,” Shannon stated. “A magician has no place in our college. We are fairies, and those types don’t mix with ours.”
Paris was so confused. She’d always thought of herself as a fairy. Not that she’d ever felt like one. She hadn’t felt like any particular race, just like herself. But now…this was so confusing for her, and she couldn’t think with everyone staring at her.
Willow had unfolded an embossed piece of paper from the envelope and ran her eyes down it carefully. She looked up at Paris. “I won’t do this here if you don’t want me to. I won’t do it at all if you don’t want me to. Still, a simple spell will t
ell you whether your magical DNA matches that of this child, a fairy named Guinevere Paris Beaufont born to Liv Beaufont and Stefan Ludwig, Warriors for the House of Fourteen, who were both magicians. I don’t know how that happened, but according to these records, it did. Do you want to know if you’re this child?”
Paris didn’t remember nodding, yet she did. She had to know. If it was true, her entire life was a lie. If it wasn’t, her reputation was cleared. If it was true, she didn’t know where that left her…at Happily Ever After College or anywhere. She remembered the plight that the Captains had being mortals and fae. Was that what Paris was set up for? She didn’t know, but she was about to find out.
Chapter Seventy-Six
Willow simply ran a wand down the length of Paris’ chest, her hand a few inches away. She felt nothing, but when the headmistress looked at her, she felt suddenly punched in the gut.
“Paris, it’s all true,” the headmistress stated. “You are Guinevere Paris Beaufont. You’re half-fairy and half-magician.”
Everyone around Paris let out their reaction of surprise or disbelief. Well, not Mae Ling. She simply drew in a breath and gave Paris a reassuring look. She must have known all along. Or she suspected it as part of reality.
Paris looked around at the people who had been her friends and wondered if they’d shun her now. Where would she go? She wouldn’t be able to talk to Uncle John for a long time since he was on a stakeout. There were so many questions. So many things to do.
The sound of laughter interrupted her thoughts. “You’re a halfling, and you thought you could come into our college and ruin things. Magicians can’t deal with love. They know nothing about it.”
Paris didn’t know where it came from, but she was suddenly grateful for the story that King Rudolf told her. “I know about Liv and Stefan and what they did for love. My parents were more in love than most. They sacrificed everything to be together—their reputations, their jobs, their family. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is. But love isn’t confined to one magical race. Love is what’s in our soul. And we all have that.”