by Shelby Bach
Mom smiled broadly when she saw me. “There you are!” She’d tied a bandanna over her hair. She held a folded rag, and the tiny living room smelled like the orange oil soap Amy always used to wipe counters and mop floors. “Can you believe how dirty this place is? But it’s small—that means it’s easy to clean.”
I knew what this was. Mom called them “nesting afternoons”—if we moved in that morning, we always spent the rest of the day getting settled in. She was trying to pretend this was just a normal move.
The hard conversation would come later, but I was grateful. I knew how to deal with this. I unbuckled my sword belt and slung it over the back of a chair. Moving to one of the boxes, I pulled out Mom’s sheets. “Which set do you want? The blue flowers or the green stripes?”
We put on some music—one of the soundtracks to a sixties period film Mom had starred in. We knew the lyrics to every song, and we belted them out as we tackled our usual chores. I made up all the beds and vacuumed the carpet. Mom scrubbed the sink, hung her favorite pictures on the walls, and set up framed photos of us on the side tables. Amy unpacked the kitchen and mopped the floors. We drew straws on who had to clean the bathroom. Amy lost.
While she got started, Mom and I sat on the couch. “Home isn’t where all your stuff is,” she said, like she always did when a rental started to feel like ours. She threw her arms around me and squeezed hard. “It’s where your favorite people are.”
I hugged her back, but I’d already lost my smile. If this was a normal move, we would declare our first evening a movie night and fill the new place with the smells of popcorn and brownies, which might not actually be edible. But this apartment didn’t have a microwave. It didn’t even have a TV. And as much as we tried to pretend, it was hard to ignore the fact that all the light in the room came from extra-bright, smoke-free torches.
I sighed. “I know you’re still mad at me, Mom.”
“No, not mad,” Mom said, but I didn’t believe her. Steeliness had snuck back into her voice. “Rory, I don’t think you realize how difficult this morning was for me.”
“I am sorry.” I couldn’t remember if I’d said that to her yet. “But if they had captured you—”
“They would have used me to draw you out. You would still be in danger. Yes, Amy told me,” Mom said. Wow. I couldn’t remember the last time Amy had taken my side. “I don’t pretend to understand what all this means—you having this Unwritten Tale, and being part of a Triumvirate, and having a destiny to stop the Snow Queen. But today’s attack was probably my fault. We would have been safe if I’d agreed to move here when your father did.”
Hearing her admit that was nice. It would have been great if she stopped there.
Mom spoke slowly and carefully. She must have rehearsed this. “Some of these dangers are unavoidable. I have to make peace with that. But some of them aren’t. I’d like you to promise me that you won’t risk yourself when it’s not strictly necessary. Those weapon lessons are fine, but no more missions, no more rushing off for daring rescues, no seeking danger.”
Rapunzel was right. I didn’t like it. I was mad at Mom for even asking this. She made it sound like I was doing everything for fun. “I can’t, Mom.”
“Yes, I know—the Director assigns you many of these mission things,” Mom said, still not getting it. “I’ll talk to her. It’s not fair to ask you kids to do so much.”
“Mom, I’m one of the best fighters EAS has,” I said. “If I refuse to fight, people will die. More people, I mean.”
Her voice rose. “Rory, you and your friends are so young—”
She wasn’t the only one having a hard time controlling her temper. “We don’t have a choice. If the Snow Queen wins, we’ll have to live under her rule just like everyone else.”
“You might not get the chance if—” She stopped. Her eyes grew bright, but she must have decided she wouldn’t cry in front of me. She stared straight ahead, taking deep breaths until she got herself under control.
This was hard for her. I should have given more than a few months to get used to the idea that magic was real. It might have been easier for all of us if I’d told her the truth after my first day at EAS.
But I couldn’t hide in my room while everyone I knew went out to fight. Even if the Director agreed to let me sit out missions, I couldn’t handle the guilt of wondering if I could have kept people safe.
So, as gently as I could, I said, “Mom, I’m really sorry, but I can’t make you that promise.”
Mom’s eyebrows pinched together. She ripped off the gloves she’d been using to clean the sink. “I’m not asking, Rory.”
“I know.” I didn’t have to tell her that she couldn’t stop me. I stood up. I would probably need that secret exit in my room sooner rather than later. “I’m going to take a shower.”
She sputtered a little bit. I’d never refused her outright before.
I kissed her cheek and walked away.
was used to dreaming of the ancient black door by now. I saw the frost tracing the grain of the wood and my breath clouding the air almost every night, and I felt the cold in my bones and knew with absolute certainty that the fate of the world depended on what was on the other side.
But that night, I dreamed of Chase.
He slept on a cot in a small room. Old-fashioned furniture was scattered around him, across a worn stone floor, the legs of stools tangled with the spokes of some wooden wheels. A window was cut into the pale wall. Far below, a river glittered in the sunlight, and birds chirped outside.
Chase’s sleeve was spotted with blood but, besides that, he didn’t have a mark on him. It was so peaceful, and he was only napping. I didn’t understand why, in the dream, I was so worried that he wouldn’t wake up.
In the morning, even before I opened my eyes, I remembered two things: It was my birthday, and the Snow Queen wouldn’t let it be a happy one.
Something terrible was going to happen. I just knew it.
I rolled out of bed, pulled on battle-ready clothes, double-knotted my sneakers, and strapped on my sword. When I opened the door, a big pile of wrapped presents waited on the side table. This was the first year ever that I wasn’t even a little curious about what was inside the gifts. I wondered if this was what grown-ups felt like on their birthdays.
Mom sat drinking her coffee at the counter, just like she would have if we were still in San Francisco. “Happy birthday,” she said with a tight smile. Her flat tone gave me the feeling that if it hadn’t been my birthday, she would have brought up that promise again.
“Thanks,” I said, smiling back. It felt unnatural on my face, and it probably looked that way too.
“Breakfast?” Amy asked, scrambling eggs on the stove.
I really hoped that they were for Mom, not me. Just the smell was making my stomach churn. “No. Thank you.”
“We get it,” Amy said. “You probably have plans with your friends first thing, and I’m guessing your dad reserved lunch. We’ll be at work anyway—that’s fine. But dinner belongs to Maggie.”
“Just like every year,” I said, even though it felt nothing like other years.
Mom didn’t tease me with hints about what presents she’d gotten me. She stood up and poured herself more coffee, saying nothing. Things had gotten pretty bad between us if she couldn’t even pretend nothing was wrong.
“Six o’clock sharp,” added Amy. I could hear a note of desperation in her cheerfulness. “You can try to be later, but that stack of presents might get a tiny bit shorter.”
No way could I tell them that I didn’t feel like celebrating at all.
“Got it. Dinner is reserved. I’ll see you later.” Then I hurried out of the apartment. Rapunzel was just outside the door. The churning in my stomach turned into a whirlpool of anxiety and bile. I thought I might actually throw up. She usually only waited for me when I was about to go on a quest.
“Is this the part where you tell me today is the day I stop the Snow Queen?” Because a
s scary as that sounded, I kind of relished the idea. At least then, we could get my Tale over with.
Rapunzel’s mouth twisted. “No.”
“Then is today the day you tell me what I need to know to defeat her?” That was the other reason she usually sought me out.
“Time, for me, is messy, and timing delicate,” she said, like she’d said at least a thousand times this summer when I’d asked her something she didn’t want to answer. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “No, this is the part where I give you presents. Do not tell me,” she added when I started to protest, “that you don’t want to celebrate this birthday. I am not trying to cheer you up. You must understand, at a certain age, your birthday gives others an excuse to celebrate you and show their affection. Your birthday is a gift to us.”
“You’re on fire with the guilt-tripping,” I told her, but I was a tiny bit pleased in spite of the roiling in my stomach. She’d never given me a birthday present before.
“After all these years, I have learned something from Mildred.” She put something cool and round in my hands.
A glass vial. Silver had been wrapped up and down the outside, and a chain hung from its end. The light I had used when I’d fought a litter of dragons in Jimmy Searcaster’s house. “I can’t take this.” It was precious to Rapunzel. She’d never let Lena examine it no matter how much my friend had begged.
“It needs to be yours.” Rapunzel walked down the corridor. “Come. The next gift cannot be held in your hand. The Director does not know that I found it, or that I moved it.”
We walked down a few more halls. Scratch what I said about not being curious about presents. “You must know the easiest way to reach it,” she said, turning a corner. “Start at the base of my tower. Take the door that once led to the kitchens. Take the third right four times, then your immediate left. That will bring you straight here.”
She stopped. The door in front of us was plain white except for the red trim around the frame. “See the way it shimmers, but only when you look at it on a slant?”
I nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see light playing under the red, like Rapunzel had painted over mother-of-pearl.
“It reveals this door’s true nature: it is a one-key safe.” Rapunzel sounded almost smug. “My sister taught me the spell. It requires much planning. For this one to be ready in time, I had to start years ago, before you arrived at Ever After School.”
I looked at her. She’d said this wasn’t a lesson in how to defeat the Snow Queen, but I didn’t believe her anymore. Rapunzel never mentioned her sister casually.
“To finish the casting, I had to steal some Water of Life. I know where Mildred hides it,” she said, which meant the one-key safe was powerful and complicated. “The spell is sound. Look.” She reached for the doorknob but, an inch from the metal, her hand stopped midair, straining against an invisible barrier. “This door can only be opened by one person, and this fact cannot be changed after the spell is cast. I have linked this one to a certain quality of yours.”
“Which one?” I said, wondering if it was normal to feel a little apprehensive when a seer gave you a birthday present.
Rapunzel smiled, in a sly way that clearly said, I’m not telling. “Not your status as a bearer of an Unwritten Tale. If I had specified that, Solange would be able to enter. Your present is safe inside.” She stepped out of my way.
My hand closed over the doorknob. It turned easily.
The room beyond was closet-size and empty except for two objects: one was a statue of a soldier in an old-fashioned uniform with a yellowing tag tied around his wrist. I knew what it said. I’d read it the first time I’d seen this guy: Wolfgang Sebastian Bruhm, 1788–1804. The third member of the previous Triumvirate.
This time, I knew what had turned him to stone. Arica the sorceress had cast a spell on him. He’d been protecting the same object he was stored with—a battered, metal saltshaker, sitting in dented glory on top of a pedestal. The Pounce Pot. The last I heard, the Director had used it to make sure that Chase, Lena, and I didn’t find out that my Tale had begun.
It was so powerful it could make a person swallow their tongue if they tried to share the secret. I’d seen that happen. It wasn’t pretty.
I took a deep breath. I focused on not puking.
Rapunzel leaned against the wall beside the door frame. With all that triumph in her face, she looked almost exactly like Solange. “Someday soon, you might need to hide a secret.”
The second I stepped out into the courtyard, Lena, the triplets, the stepsisters, and Paul Stockton immediately started singing, “Happy birthday to you.” That wouldn’t have been so bad, except the courtyard was crowded with people eating breakfast. Half of them turned to look. Some of them joined in.
I flushed, but some of the tension in my stomach eased. “Payback will come.”
“Our birthdays are months away,” Lena said happily. Balanced over her hands was a tray of cupcakes. She must have gotten it from the Table of Never Ending Instant Refills. I wondered how she convinced it to take requests. At this time of day, all it wanted to produce were muffins, pancakes, and cereal. “Chocolate for breakfast.”
I scanned their smiling faces again. I didn’t even realize who I was looking for until Tina said, very gently, “We invited Chase.”
“No show,” Vicky said, less gently.
It was worse than Mom barely talking to me this morning. Birthdays were important to Chase. He wouldn’t miss mine unless . . . well, unless our friendship had fallen really low on his list of priorities. “Maybe he’s still on the mission at that farm in Idaho.”
“Overnight?” Kevin scoffed, but worse than that was the silence from the others. Their pitying looks.
“Ben’s back,” Kyle said reluctantly. “He said he’s glad Chase is busy and lessons are cancelled for the day. He was going back to sleep.”
Chase’s group wasn’t like Hansel’s classes. They didn’t meet every other day besides Saturdays on a strict gingerbread jack–enforced schedule. They just met whenever Chase was free.
If he wasn’t celebrating with us and he wasn’t on a mission, then he must be on another date with Adelaide.
I was that low on his list of priorities.
I should have defended him again. I should have made a joke about how we would have all slept in like Ben and Chase were doing if we’d been up past midnight hunting dragons and helping Marty Mason move.
But I couldn’t make myself. I was too hurt.
Because the problem had never been him and Adelaide disappearing so often. It was that this summer felt like our final days, and both of them were choosing to spend those days away from us.
I tried to ignore the cold thread of fury worming through my veins and focus on the friends who were here. “Thank you,” I said, and meant it. I picked up a promising-looking cupcake—chocolate with smooth chocolate frosting and cookie crumbles on top. “Please tell me you don’t expect me to eat all of these by myself,” I added.
“Definitely not.” Paul reached for a cupcake.
Tina grabbed one next. “It’s a shame we can’t really celebrate. We’re all too busy, but maybe afterward.”
“The war will have to end soon, right?” said Vicky. “I mean, it is your birthday, and July’s almost over.”
The triplets goggled at the stepsisters, and Lena actually glared, like bringing up the beginning of my Tale should be off limits. I’d told the rest of our grade about it just once, the day after Daisy’s home had been attacked. I thought it was only fair for them to know why the Snow Queen always tried to take out Characters close to me. After that, we never mentioned my Tale, definitely not in public. They knew I didn’t want to discuss it.
But bringing it up now made the dread back off a little.
She had given us all an after.
I smiled. “That would be really nice.”
After the cupcakes were gone, we split up. The stepsisters went to archery class. The triplets and P
aul went with them, hoping to beg a target off of Hansel for their own practice. Lena ran to the dungeons to collect more scales from the dragon we kept down there for an ever-refreshing supply.
I didn’t have class. I wished I did. I needed a bigger distraction than cupcakes.
Something terrible was going to happen, and Chase wouldn’t be around for it. Again.
I did what I usually did on mornings when the staff class didn’t meet, everyone else was busy, and no one needed saving. I slipped inside the workshop and went over my research.
The workshop was empty—the shoemaker and the elves were manning the phones and M3’s in a room closer to the Director’s office. But Lena’s section was abandoned too, with dragon scales and baseball bats scattered all across the worktable. Melodie, Lena’s golden harp and assistant inventor, must have gone out for extra ingredients as well.
I walked over to a shelf Lena had cleared for me back in April. A stack of dusty, leatherbound volumes waited there, most of the lettering rubbed off their spines. I’d read one more than the others: The Livves & Tymes of Sorcerers & Sorceresses. I had it out on semipermanent loan from the reference room, because when Rapunzel had seen me with it, she’d said, “In my tower, my sister had a book of that title. She read it to me as bedtime stories, but usually not the endings. Too gruesome.”
I pulled out the papers underneath it. My notes covered the first dozen pages—I wrote down anything I could find out about the Snow Queen’s immortality or her sorcery or her Tale. I flipped to the last page and quickly scribbled down the answer to the Why snow? question Rapunzel had told me yesterday. Not that I thought I would forget.
Rapunzel had answered my questions all summer, like what body part Solange had lost during her Tale to make her a sorceress the first time (two toes to frostbite—she was eleven) and how powerful that made her (not very—she could cover a room with frost or hold a glamour for seven minutes) and why the European chapter of EAS had kicked her out (they found out she had kidnapped and enchanted a boy named Kai; she gave back the golden apple and didn’t age a bit).