First Published by Monster House Books, LLC in 2017
Monster House Books, LLC
34 Chandler Place Newton, MA 02464
www.monsterhousebooks.com
ISBN 9781945723070
EBOOK ISBN 9781945723063
Copyright © 2017 by Monster House Books LLC
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For My Husband
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter One
Bryar Rose
I wait in the bottom level of the Denarii League in Midtown Manhattan. As basements go, it’s not too bad. The space is snug and clean with concrete block walls, a linoleum floor, and hardly any cockroaches. For New York, that’s a big deal. I fidget on my chair. The plastic seat is so cockeyed my left butt cheek has gone numb. And that’s not the worst part of this situation.
Any minute now, my Magicorum Teen Therapy Group will begin. Yay.
The metal door slams open, and our group facilitator, Madame Grimoire, swishes into the room. As always, Madame looks like she fell out of a kitchen appliance ad from 1952. She’s middle-aged with wavy brown hair and perfect makeup. Her A-line dress is sky blue and stops mid-calf. She tops off the look with pearls, red lipstick, and white gloves. No, I am not kidding. White gloves.
I hate her. So much.
“Greetings, children.”
No one answers her. Looks like I’m not the only one who hates Madame.
After slipping onto her chair, Madame folds her hands neatly on her lap. “I am Madame Grimoire, your facilitator. If you were assigned to this group, that means you’re part of the Magicorum.”
I inwardly groan. Here she goes again. It doesn’t matter how many times we’ve heard this spiel, Madame always gives the same speech.
“That means you’re one of the three magical races: shifters, witches, or fairies. In addition, you could be a non-magical human in their immediate family. But however you came to be classified as such, being a member of the Magicorum makes you a very rare commodity. Magic is disappearing from our world, and the Denarii League is committed to saving it.” Madame pulls a tablet from her pocket. “Now, let’s begin with roll call. Bryar Rose?”
I raise my pointer finger. “Here.”
“Cinderella.”
“I’ve told you a million times. It’s Elle.”
I scope out Elle and smile. Today, she came to group dressed like a street urchin, complete with ratty blonde hair and rags. Huh. Elle must be working a new con that involves dressing like she’s homeless. All her scams are for good causes, though, so I shrug it off.
“Scarlett?” asks Madame.
“Present.”
Scarlett gets her name from the Red Riding Hood fairy tale. She’s got ebony-dark skin, a punk-rock wardrobe, and a firm commitment to avoid talking in group. That’s typical for werewolves, though. Weres are notorious for being silent, grouchy, and fashion forward.
“And last but not least, we have a new girl here.” Madame slaps on the fakest smile ever. “What’s your name?”
A long pause follows. When the girl speaks, the word comes out as a peep. “Avianna.” She has straight black hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. Considering her long dark dress and the crow perched on her shoulder, Avianna is definitely a witch.
“You’re new to group, Avianna.”
“I am.”
“How much do you know about what we do here?”
“Nothing.” Avianna’s big brown eyes seem to take up half her face. Poor thing is terrified.
“Why don’t I give you an example?”
“Sure.”
My shoulders slump. Oh, damn. Madame always chooses me as her “example of why we’re here.” It’s super-embarrassing.
“Now.” Madame’s face beams with a sick sort of glee. “All the Magicorum have lives that follow a fairy tale template. Since you’re here, that means you’re failing miserably at that template. Now, who should I choose as an example?” Madame scans the room while tapping her chin.
Don’t say Bryar Rose. Don’t say Bryar Rose. Don’t say Bryar Rose.
Madame points right at my nose. “Let’s use Bryar Rose.”
She said it.
I raise my hand. “Maybe someone else wants to be the example this time.”
Madame keeps right on going like I haven’t said a word. It’s super-irritating. “Bryar Rose is a non-magical human who should follow the life template for Sleeping Beauty.” She eyes me from head to toe. “There are some ways in which Bryar Rose is an excellent illustration of that template. To begin with, she’s the adopted child of three fairy aunties who named her Bryar Rose. Also, she’s an attractive girl with brown hair and blue eyes, so she does somewhat look the part. And finally, she’s afflicted with a magical illness that makes her fall asleep whenever she’s overexcited. Show them your inhaler, Bryar Rose.”
This is so humiliating. “No.”
Sheesh, does she ever listen? “Bryar Rose is embarrassed about her condition, so she keeps an inhaler close by to help her stay awake. The easiest way to explain her ailment is that it resembles a disease where you spontaneously fall asleep such as narcolepsy. However, Bryar Rose stays frozen—usually while standing—with her eyes wide open. It’s odd, but still very much in accordance with the Sleeping Beauty life template.”
“Did you get permission from my doctor to tell everyone my medical history?” I’m just speaking to hear myself talk at this point. The whole “legal permission thing” has never shut up Madame before. Even so, you can’t blame a girl for trying.
“According to her life template, Bryar Rose should reach her happily ever after by the age of eighteen, which is almost here, isn’t it? Today is Wednesday, and your birthday is…?” She stares at me expectantly.
“Saturday.”
“So your birthday is only three days from now. And according to your life template, you should be marrying your handsome Prince as the sun sets this Saturday, shouldn’t you?”
“According to the template.” And that’s a bunch of crap. I don’t want to be Magicorum. I want to be a regular human. Who cares if I don’t match up to their idea of a Sleeping Beauty?
Madame sighs. “Alas, your happily ever after is nowhere in sight, is it?”
Answering Madame isn’t helping today, so I keep quiet and check my manicure instead. Yup, still there.
“Let’s review the key ways that Bryar Rose fails her life template. Her aunties have found her a wonderful Prince in the form of Philpot; I’m sure you’ve all heard of him. The papers call Philpot His Highness of Hedge Funds.”
I’d explain that we’re
all seventeen and don’t give a crap about hedge funds, but that would only make her launch into a speech on how important money is. I’ll pass.
“In any case, Philpot is a darling, yet Bryar Rose hasn’t warmed to him.”
Translation: I can’t stand Philpot. The man is the definition of a douchebag.
“He offered to marry you this weekend,” says Madame.
“I remember. I was there when he proposed.” And I said no. Talk about awkward.
Madame’s voice turns all dreamy. “Any woman would kill to marry Philpot.”
I roll my eyes. Madame is always going on about how super-awesome Philpot is. It’s super-creepy. The way she talks about him, you’d think she was the one marrying him. Only, you know, willingly.
“Enough about Philpot.” Madame clears her throat. “We need to discuss Bryar Rose’s other shortcomings.”
I hold back a moan. More shortcomings? “I thought we were here to learn how to follow our life template.”
Madame keeps right on ignoring me. Instead, she continues talking to Avianna like I’m not even here. “Bryar Rose also fails to show any interest in birds and woodland creatures.”
Now I won’t admit this out loud, but Madame is spot on about this part. Birds do nothing for me. The only thing I really care about—of all things—is finding papyri from ancient Egypt.
I know. Strange.
“Because of all this, Bryar Rose has been declared unfit for a typical school with normal humans. Instead, she receives a combination of home tutoring and group therapy.”
In other words, my life is the fairy-tale equivalent of the Island of Misfit Toys, and it’s all thanks to a spell cast on me by the powerful fairy Colonel Mallory the Magnificent. Jerk. He’s the one who gave me this sleeping condition. I hate him even more than Madame.
As Madame drones on about all the ways I suck, I force myself to focus on the bright side. With any luck, my sleeping condition ends in three days. June the first. That’s when I turn eighteen and the spell from Colonel Mallory goes buh-bye. Come the fall, I could be caught up on normal human stuff and should pass for a typical non-Magicorum girl. I might even attend the exclusive West Lake Prep School, so I can spend my senior year with other non-magical teens.
A normal high school. I want that so badly, I could scream.
Madame clears her throat, which is a sure sign that she’s done with her speech. I catch the tail end. “And that, my children, is why Bryar Rose is a total disaster. Any questions?”
No one responds. Elle starts yanking bits of string from her frayed skirt. Since she’s my best friend, I know what that means. She’s pissed for me and planning to derail Madame the first chance she gets. I love Elle.
Madame keeps glaring at Avianna. “So, my child, if you’re here, you’re a reject. A failure. Do you understand?”
Avianna’s lower lip quivers. “Yes.”
“Excellent. I’m glad I made that so clear for you all.” Madame is a spiteful woman, but she’s the gatekeeper of my future. I can only attend West Lake Prep once she signs off that I’m no longer magically challenged. She turns to me again. “And one more thing.”
Don’t let her pick on my clothes. Don’t let her pick on my clothes.
“Bryar?”
“Yes?”
Madame’s nostrils flare as she looks me over. “Your outfit this week is slightly improved.”
And there, she did it. Nothing like a half-compliment, half-insult to cut someone down while you’re seeming to be nice.
I keep my face calm. It’s important not to let Madame see that she got to me. “Thank-you for sharing.”
Here’s what that final bit of nastiness was really about. In some ways, Madame and I are similar. We’re both what my aunties would call “put together.” My long brown hair is styled in fashionable waves. My clothes are tailored black pants along with a fitted cashmere sweater. I even have funky jewelry to jazz things up. What can I say? I like to shop. However, Madame thinks we’re in some sort of fancy-pants competition.
Whatever. I cross my fingers, hoping Madame is done fixating on me. Unfortunately, she keeps right on going.
“Since Avianna is new to our little group, I have an idea.” Madame turns to acknowledge me once more. “Why don’t you tell her about your strange dreams? Get the conversation started.”
“Like I said, maybe someone else wants to share.” Madame always dives into my dreams as soon as she has the chance. It’s a little weird.
“But I’d like you to talk,” says Madame. “Or don’t you want to go to West Lake?”
And here comes the great challenge of my life. On the one hand, we have normal high school. On the other hand, we have the satisfaction of mouthing off to Madame. Guess what always wins?
I lower my voice, which is a sure sign I’m about to kick some verbal butt. “As a matter of fact—”
“Nah, I’ll go first.” Elle raises her hand, silencing any further discussion. She’s trying to save me from another verbal run-in with Madame. Elle is awesome like that.
“I asked Bryar Rose,” says Madame.
“You sure did. I’m answering, though.” Elle glares in Madame’s direction. When Madame backs down, it’s only because Elle made her do it. Some days, I wish I were Elle. Instead, I settle for being her best friend.
“Fine.” Madame lifts her chin. “After you’re finished, I have big news to share with you, Cinderella.” The way she says Elle’s fairy-tale name, I know it’s trouble.
Elle shrugs and turns to Avianna. “I’m watched over by an evil fairy godmother. Other humans get too close and—BAM—she takes them down. That’s why I’m on the streets instead of in a regular high school.”
Avianna’s brown eyes go wide. “Did you say other humans? Madame just said you’re a member of the Magicorum.”
“Sure, I’m a member. It’s like Madame said—you can be human and still be a member of the Magicorum. You just have to be related to a fairy, wizard, or shifter. In my case, I live under the watchful eye of my fairy godmother.” She elbows me in the ribs. “It’s the same deal for Bryar Rose, only she lives with three fairies.”
I lean back in my chair and kick my legs forward. “Yup, three magical kooks and a penthouse overlooking Central Park. That’s my life.”
Madame’s nostrils flare again. “That’s quite enough sass, you two.” She focuses right on me. “Especially you.”
There’s almost an audible twang as my restraint finally snaps. Madame has gone too far. “Technically, I was being sassy, and Elle here was just sharing.”
“Oh, you both think you’re so clever.” Madame rounds on Elle. “How about we discuss what I found out about you, Cinderella—or shall I call you Abigail?”
I roll my eyes. “So, we’re having this conversation again?” Bring it on.
“Once again, my name is Elle. E-L-L-E. No one calls me Cinderella.”
“Cinderella is the name on the forms you submitted to the Denarii Institute in order to join this therapy group,” says Madame. “Perhaps it’s even your criminal moniker. But all this talk about a Cinderella life template is just that: talk. There’s never been any evidence of a fairy godmother in your life.”
Elle picks some chunks of dirt off her raggedy dress. “Says who?”
“My research.” Madame lifts her small handheld and scrolls through various screens. “I just obtained some additional back records. Your birth name is Abigail Smythe. It seems that Cinderella is your outlaw nickname.” She taps the screen with her long pink fingernail. “Rumors abound that you’re an expert jewel thief and con artist.”
“Not sure where you’re getting that load of garbage,” says Elle. “I’m just plain old Elle, or in a pinch, Cinderella. Got the evil stepfamily to prove it.”
“She does,” I offer. “They suck.”
“You’re both lying.” Madame folds her arms over her chest. “I’ll have you expelled from this group, Abigail. You belong in a regular high school.”
&nbs
p; “You belong in a regular high school.” How much would I love to hear those words? Unfortunately, Elle hates the thought. Living on her own means she can hide from her stepfamily. Which is a good thing, considering how they treated her like a servant until she ran away. Now, if Elle attended a regular school under the name Abigail, she’d get dragged back into servitude in a heartbeat. For some reason—Elle won’t give any particulars—her family thinks Elle can only go under the name Abigail. I’m sure some kind of magic is involved, but I don’t push for more information. Like I said, Elle’s family is bizarre. And if it protects my friend, I’ll call her whatever name she wants.
Fortunately, Madame has brought up the whole Abigail thing before. Elle flicks her hair, sending a cascade of dirt to the ground. “Per the Magical Preservation Act, as long as I have a Magicorum witness to my fairy relation, I can keep my official classification. Therefore, I am protected as an endangered species.” This is one minor benefit of being part of the Magicorum. Since magic is disappearing from the world, humans are trying to preserve it. They passed a bunch of cool laws too, like the one Elle’s citing.
Madame straightens in her chair. “That would be true, if such a Magicorum godmother existed. Who has seen this mysterious fairy?”
I raise my hand. “I’ve met her. Tons.” Not sure if this is part of the Sleeping Beauty template, but I’m a really good liar. Seems to go along with my sassy mouth.
Madame glares at me like I just threatened her kittens. “What?”
“We’ve been over this before. I’ve absolutely met Cinderella’s fairy godmother.” I pretend to need to lick my lips. In reality, it’s just an excuse to semi-stick out my tongue at Madame.
“You do realize that lying to me means you’ll never go to West Lake Prep?”
How like Madame to keep threatening me with the number one thing I want. Well, I’m salivating to attend a regular school, but not enough to screw over Elle. “I do. And I’m telling the truth.” Not.
Elle and I bump fists. We so have each other’s backs.
“Really?” asks Madame slowly. “If that’s the case, then what does this fairy godmother look like?”
“Same as the last time you asked me,” I say. “Blackaverre is a small blue fairy with pink wings and pointed teeth.” I smile sweetly. “Any other questions?”
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