“Arthur and Merlin mean well. They simply want you to know more about your homeland,” I replied. Then I smiled. “Peter, did you just refer to Arthur as your dad?”
Peter’s face contorted with embarrassment. “What? No. What’s that?” He looked down the hall and held his hand to his ear. “Coming!”
I smirked at the boy. “I did not hear anyone calling for you.”
“Then add super hearing to my list of abilities—right behind flying, sword fighting, and making nacho cheese. Later.” He zipped around the corner and out of sight.
Since being reunited with his long-lost father, King Arthur of Camelot, Peter had been working on balancing the freedom of his immortal life in Neverland with his responsibilities as a young prince in Camelot. It was a lot to handle, but he seemed to be getting used to it. Just now had indeed been the first time I heard him say “Dad” when referring to Arthur. That was progress.
An ovular clock hanging over a nearby mantle showed it was approaching seven. The Darling royal family was likely still at dinner, as were my friends. Although my designated shift to watch Mauvrey did not begin for another hour, I continued on with my intention to relieve Merlin early. Extra quiet time in the tower where we kept Mauvrey sounded nice after such a long, full day.
I reached the desired door at the top of the stairs in a tower at the far end of the castle—guards on either side—and knocked before pushing it open. “I hope you do not mind me clocking in early,” I said to my wizard mentor.
“SJ.” Merlin looked up from the potions books he was reading as I entered. “How did changing the world go today?”
“As it always goes,” I replied wistfully. “It involved a lot of shouting, numbers, and bathroom breaks.” I glanced over Mauvrey, who slept, unchanged, on an elevated bed in the center of the room. Golden-blonde tendrils spilled over her pillow, and she still wore the same outfit as the day we had taken her in—purple leather jacket with matching heeled boots, black pants, and black top. Thanks to my potion-laced lanyard accessory the SRB (Soap on a Rope-like Bracelet), she had been perfectly preserved for months.
“Well said,” Merlin replied, rising from his chair, one of the few accouterments we had added to the circular stone room.
Merlin stood a handful of inches shorter than me and was probably in his sixties—I would never ask to verify, as that would be impolite. Overall, he was quite dapper. He kept his beard trimmed and styled, and his robes were always freshly pressed and elegant.
“I talked with Arthur and Dorothy today,” Merlin said, stretching. “The potion we created to stop the poison from spreading in their wounds is still holding up. No sign of relapse.”
“Excellent news,” I said. “I want to keep checking on that regularly for the time being. No one has created a cure for Questor Beast poison before, so we must be thorough.”
“Agreed,” Merlin said. “Thanks for tagging me out early. I have some work to do tonight. Speaking of which, your shift watching the princess tonight goes until midnight. Do you still want to meet me to continue our potions work tomorrow morning?”
“Of course I do. I will meet you at four o’clock like always.”
“You are the only teenager I’ve ever met that says things like that with a smile,” Merlin replied.
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“How ladylike of you.”
I gestured at the book under his arm. “May I borrow that? Potions reading calms me.”
“Have at it,” Merlin said, passing me the weathered, incredibly thick blue volume. “I did not have any luck with the chapters I read today.”
“Which ones?”
“I’m researching how to break curses where love is involved. I am doing a favor for . . . never mind. Exhausting to think about.”
“The person or the task?”
Merlin huffed, slightly amused. “Both, at times.” He patted my shoulder and headed for the door. “Have a good shift.”
Once the door shut, I stood perfectly still, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply. Silence was one of the world’s most precious and underrated gifts.
After a minute, I picked up the chair Merlin had been sitting in and moved it closer to Mauvrey. It felt less awkward that way, like I was reading at the bedside of a patient recovering from illness.
To finish my setup, I grabbed a warm pashmina from a hook on the back of the door. Chance’s kingdom was in the mountains and it was cold here, even in the summer. I tucked the cloth around my legs as I sat and began to turn the pages of Merlin’s book.
I was glad the wizard had lent me the reading material. I was grateful for many things where Merlin was concerned, including his presence in our lives in general. Merlin was a legendary character who had dedicated his life to protecting his realm, safeguarding the greater good, and defending the people he cared for. Moreover he, like Liza, had remained uncorrupted by his Pure Magic and went on to become one of the most skilled potionists of all time. I was fortunate that he had taken notice of my own passion and prowess for potions and volunteered to mentor me. Under his tutelage, and that of my other potions mentor, the Wizard of Oz, I had thrived.
And yet—like with so many aspects of fairytales and magic—Merlin came with a catch. The wizard had a knack for strategically manipulating others with his Pure Magic ability to see the future. He had used Crisa and her powers like a chess piece on a board multiple times. This caused a rift in their relationship and a dark shadow over my view of Merlin—someone who I could have otherwise looked up to, even idolized. Knowing about his craftier side meant I would never be able to fully trust him. It was like my relationship with the Godmother Supreme. How could I trust anyone who played with my best friend like a puppet on a string?
I absently ran my finger down a page in the book. Oh, Crisa. If I had a gray hair for every time I worried about her, my Snow White heritage would be far more appropriate.
I honestly was not sure which was worse—being the target of so much doom and tragedy, or being the best friend of someone with that fate, and feeling powerless to stop it or protect that person. Not that Crisa had ever given me much of a chance to protect her. Although she had become incredibly strategic and wise through our adventures, she could be heroic to a fault and her propensity for feeling things too deeply—passion, justice, anger—did not exactly deter conflict.
I huffed and leaned back in my chair. It was strange; though my potions work had meant Crisa and I had not spent a lot of time together lately, I felt her presence in all aspects of my life. Even now that she was in another dimension, so much of my being revolved around her. She—like many of my friends—was entwined and blended with my story like yarn in a tapestry. Unless you looked closely, we did not exist as separate materials. Together, we created a whole.
In one sense there was great comfort in that—knowing you had people in your life so connected and involved in your story that you would never be alone or need to worry about falling without someone to catch you. At the same time, having that level of closeness meant you could lose yourself in other people’s stories too, especially if the characters you chose as companions were strong personalities.
I wondered if I would ever escape that. I wondered if I wanted to.
It was a delicate balance—finding a way to shine alone while being a part of a team. I had recently started to find this equilibrium by taking time off school to work on potions with Merlin in Camelot and Julian, the Wizard of Oz, in his realm. Leaving behind everyone I knew had been hard, but also liberating and I had loved it. But I was ashamed to admit that last bit because what kind of person enjoys being away from the people who love and need them?
I felt equally conflicted about so willingly letting my friends go to Dreamland while I remained in Book.
It was logical that I handle things at the peace talks while Crisa, Blue, and the others traveled to another dimension. Even before the rebels requested me as an emissary, I volunteered to stay behind and watch over things.
Elias contending I participate in our diplomatic venture seemed like a sign from the universe that I was in the right place at the right time. I was more useful here—the peace talks allowed me to utilize my natural strengths whereas my brave, changeable friends were better suited for unpredictable adventure in Dreamland. Yet . . . a tiny part of me continued to question the decision to so readily heed Elias’s insistence that I stay.
Was that because I subconsciously believed it was selfish to let my friends handle the unknown dangers of Dreamland while I leaned into my familiar strengths here? I did feel safer relying on things I was good at—logic, reason, and utilizing the princess skills I had always excelled in at school.
Or did my willingness to stay bother me because—deep down—I worried I was still allowing myself to be influenced by my greatest insecurity. That same fear that Debbie had dredged up this very evening. Despite how far I had come, I could not hold my own in a group of mighty heroes.
I sighed. Perhaps Debbie was right; maybe I was dynamic and not dangerous. Dynamic people wowed with debate and strategy. Dangerous people took risks and were not so reserved about showing their power and adapting to new situations.
I rubbed my forehead, then resigned to reading my potions book. There was only so much introspection a girl could take.
“I’m here to relieve you,” Javier said, opening the door to Mauvrey’s tower.
I did my best to stifle the yawn I felt coming on, but had to quickly cover my mouth in embarrassment when I failed to do so. I needed to add “Super Coffee” to my list of potions to invent someday.
“Apologies,” I said. “Ladies are not supposed to yawn in public.”
“Your mom fell asleep in public,” Javier replied. “I think she would understand.”
I cracked a smile, shutting my book as I stood. According to the clock, it was two minutes to midnight. “Were you able to nap a bit?” I asked my friend.
Javier nodded. “We found a great burger place in downtown Gallant and stayed out later than we should have, what with the early morning tomorrow, but I took a quick nap when we came back. Everyone else should be sound asleep now. How did your time with the Godmother Supreme go?”
“Fine. She wants to mentor me, help me develop leadership skills.”
“How do we feel about that?” he asked, genuinely curious.
I clutched the potions book against my chest. “We feel reluctant, but willing. I realize the Godmother Supreme does not have a big fan base within our ranks, so some of our friends will likely be against this, but she and I came to a deal. The Godmother Supreme said that if I earned her trust and respect, she would transfer care of Crisa’s genie bottle and genie servitude to me.”
Javier whistled. “That’s a big win. It’d be a bit awkward though, wouldn’t it?”
“Why?”
“You’d essentially be in control of Crisa and her magic.” He shrugged. “Gordon is my best friend and I can tell you with certainty he wouldn’t dig the idea of me having control over his life, or vice versa. It’s a weird situation to put any friendship through.”
I furrowed my eyebrows and shook my head. “I had not thought about it that way. I was simply focused on taking that control away from Lena Lenore. Regardless, this achievement is a long time from now. If one day I succeed in winning the Godmother Supreme’s favor, I am sure Crisa would prefer this alternative to obeying her longtime foe.”
“Are you sure about that?”
The voice came from behind us.
I dropped my book. Javier and I spun around. There she was —Mauvrey—sitting upright, blue irises staring right at me.
Javier’s eyes doubled in size from the shock. “Holy—”
“Oh my word,” I said.
“Hi, SJ . . .” Mauvrey slowly swung her legs around so her purple ankle boots hung over the edge of the bed, dangling a few inches above the floor.
I stepped forward. “Mauvrey, you—you woke up! Are you—Yipes!” I tumbled forward as my magically miniaturized book bags returned to normal size and exploded out of my dress pocket and to the floor. Goodness, I had forgotten about those. I scampered up hastily, Javier helping me by the arm.
Mauvrey blinked at me, surprised. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay? Are you okay? Mauvrey, do you know what is happening?”
“I . . .” She scrunched her face and closed her eyes for a moment like she was simultaneously trying to hold in a sneeze and fight off a headache. “Sort of. Where am I?”
“Chance Darling’s castle in Clevaunt,” I responded. “Oh, um, Chance Darling is a prince from Lord—”
“I know who Chance is, SJ.” She glanced at Javier. “And I believe your name is Javier Marcos. I recall seeing you play in a Twenty-Three Skidd match.”
“Um, yeah,” Javier said. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Mauvrey, I—” I realized I did not know what to ask next. In all the time my friends and I had been trying to protect Mauvrey while she slept, we never discussed the protocol for how we would handle her waking up. I still could not believe I was in the room when it happened. And that it happened so casually! I had expected lights, magic sparks, maybe some impressive gust of smoke.
After a second, I decided on a broad but important question.
“How much do you remember?”
Mauvrey shivered and dismounted the elevated bed. Though when her boots hit the floor, she nearly toppled over. Javier and I rushed to help her.
“Can we talk about it somewhere else?” she asked sadly. “Somewhere warmer?”
“Of course,” I said, not letting go of her arm. “Javier, wake the others and get them to my room. Tell them our friends in Dreamland have successfully broken the sleeping curse. Mauvrey is alive again. Let us hear what she has to say together.”
“It was like spending my life on autopilot. Or rather, it was like I was watching my life from a viewing room,” Mauvrey explained.
Javier, Gordon, Marie, Divya, Pietro, Merlin, Peter, and I had gathered in my chambers in the castle, i.e. the guest room Chance’s family had let me use since we arrived for the summer. It had amber walls, light wooden floors, golden tassels hanging from the canopy bed, and decorative gold swirls on the mantle. The room was spacious, but this was the largest congregation it had ever hosted. We had pushed the couch that usually faced the fireplace closer to the bed to make room for everyone. Mauvrey sat on the bed, wrapped in blankets, me beside her. Earlier Peter had zipped down to the kitchen to make her a hot chocolate, which she now sipped. My friends huddled around her, eyes full of curiosity and bewilderment.
Though it was nearly one o’clock in the morning, we were awake and alert as ever. Plot developments had a way of doing that to you.
“The last time I was in control of my body was many years ago right before I was meant to start my first term at Lady Agnue’s,” Mauvrey said. “I fell asleep during a slumber party with a dear friend of mine named Tara. When I fell asleep, my mind transported me to a horrible place where I was covered in black goop and chased by dark beings. I ran, but the black ooze became stickier and stickier, and soon I was trapped. One of the shadow monsters swallowed me whole. After that, the viewing room effect I mentioned commenced.
“It took me a while to understand what had happened, to realize that I was not in control of my body anymore. Tara was. She assumed my life entirely. She attended Lady Agnue’s on my behalf and periodically checked in with the antagonists. As me, she became their spy and errand girl—my body gave them access to the protagonist world and allowed them to strike against main characters more efficiently. Like when Crisa’s prophecy appeared and they told ‘me’ to kill her. That was not the first bad act Tara committed directly with my hands. And in that instance, like all the others, all I could do was watch . . .”
Mauvrey shuddered and looked down at the hot chocolate mug in her grip.
“So you’ve been aware of everything this whole time?” Pietro said gently. “You’ve just been tr
apped in your own head, along for the ride?”
Mauvrey nodded, her face full of shame and regret. “I am so sorry for all the pain I have caused.” She looked at Pietro ardently. “Like the day I—well, Tara—helped your brother Alex attack Midveil castle in an attempt to overthrow your parents.” She closed her eyes tightly. “If it is any consolation, watching yourself do something terrible and not being able to stop it is its own kind of misery.”
“It must have been awful,” Marie sympathized, putting her hand on Mauvrey’s shoulder. She sat on the princess’s other side. “We are so sorry, Mauvrey. What you have been through, it is . . .”
“A nightmare,” Merlin said. He leaned against the wall with Peter floating next to him. “Like the very Dreamland realm your conscious control has been trapped in for years. You were under a very complex sleeping curse, dear girl. Even after you separated from Tara the night of the Vicennalia Aurora, that spell was not broken until the Shadow inside of you was removed.”
“I only vaguely remember that night,” Mauvrey said, staring into her mug. “I have most of Tara’s memories from when she was inside my body, but the days leading up to our separation are either terribly blurry or missing from my mind altogether. I only have one clear memory from the day of the Aurora—being in a cave then a giant light crashing into me. That is all. Everything since then is blank too.”
“That was the exact moment Tara was ripped out of you,” I said. “A lot has happened since then.”
“I figured as much,” Mauvrey replied. “Can we start with the basics though? How long has it been since I was separated from Tara?”
“About three and a half months,” Gordon responded. “I’m Gordon Sinclaire, by the way—in case you don’t remember. We can get into all the details of what’s come to pass now, if you want. If you’re ready.”
Midnight Law Page 4