DEAN TRIED TO GET THAT FAMILY I LIVED WITH TO COME GET ME BUT THEY’D SOONER KILL THEMSELVES. SO THE SCHOOL DUMPED ME IN THE WOODS LIKE AN ANIMAL. LIKE MY MOTHER DID. WHAT’D I TELL YOU. PAST IS PRESENT AND PRESENT IS PAST.
I’M AT THE SCHOOL FOR BOYS NOW. THE OLD SCHOOL FOR EVIL.
IT’S NOT THE SAME WITHOUT YOU.
I’M NOT THE SAME.
COME FIND ME.
PLEASE.
PLEASE.
ARIC
Hort’s palms dampened the parchment. He didn’t know why Aric’s letter bothered him. Maybe it was a sadistic monster sounding like he had feelings. Or maybe it was that line—“I attacked your brother”—and its suggestion that Rhian’s and Japeth’s history was about more than the two twins; that there’d been a boy between them, a boy who was now a ghost. Hort glanced edgily at his girlfriend.
“Told you they were friends,” said Nicola.
“This sounds a whole lot closer than friends,” said Hort.
Voices echoed outside. The sounds of boys laughing, singing.
Hort sprung up. From the Dean’s window, he could see them walking across the grass towards the cottage: eight boys, led by Dean Brunhilde.
All of them wearing Lion pins.
The Dean sang—“First we go to hoe our garden!”—and the boys chanted back: “Ya, ya, ya!” “Next we carry jugs of water!” “Ya, ya, ya!”
Hort and Nicola gaped at each other, then at the mess they’d made on the floor. No time to clean it up. And no way to get out of this house without being caught.
“Come on!” Nicola said, pulling Hort out of the room and into the hall.
“Then we pound the yellow corn!” “Ya, ya, ya!”
The door opened downstairs and the song cut off, Emilio’s and Arjun’s voices overlapping. . . .
A third voice boomed, matching the one from the nut: “IN MY OFFICE?”
Footsteps slammed up the stairs.
Nicola shoved Hort into a dark bathroom, the two of them barreling for the window as boots surged onto their floor. Hort counted to three with his fingers: on cue, both his and Nicola’s fingertips glowed, so brightly it spilled into the hall. Dean Brunhilde swung into the bathroom, steak knife raised—
The last thing she saw was a black sparrow and a blond-headed squirrel leap out of the window, two pairs of colorful clothes floating down behind them.
THE HOUSE WAS easy enough to find, once Nicola’s sparrow swiped a map of Foxwood from a market stall on the Rue du Palais, while Hort’s squirrel bounded along the street beneath.
“62 Stropshire Road. That’s the same address Rhian gave Dovey when she asked where he lived,” Hort called to the sparrow after they’d made it to a quiet street. “Remember? Dovey questioned him when we were on the Igraine. He told us his parents’ names too. Levya and Rosalie.”
“Rosamund,” said Nicola.
“Even as a bird, you’re a know-it-all,” Hort sighed.
Stropshire Road was on the outer bands of the Foxwood Vales, so peaceful and still that Hort could hear Nicola’s wings flutter as she drifted down to meet him in front of Rhian and Japeth’s old home. There was nothing special about the one-level cottage, perched in between other cottages that looked exactly the same. Shadows moved across the closed curtains, suggesting someone was inside. But first there was the matter of clothes, a problem that was solved by the squirrel and sparrow probing houses on an adjacent road until they found an unlocked window, snuck inside, and raided the closets. A few minutes later, dressed like average Foxwood folk, Hort and Nicola knocked on the door of House 62, and flashed polite smiles when it opened.
A sweet-looking lady peeked out with gold-rimmed glasses. She had a Lion coin on a necklace around her neck. “Can I help you?”
“You must be Rosamund?” said Nicola.
“Y-y-yes,” the lady answered, surprised.
“Lovely to meet you,” said Nicola. “We’re from the Foxwood Forum.”
“Doing a story on King Rhian’s childhood,” said Hort.
“Since you’re his mother, we thought we’d start with you,” said Nicola.
“You must be very proud,” Hort smiled. “Mind if we come in?”
Rosamund blinked. “Oh . . . I’m a-a-afraid there must be a mistake? I’m not King Rhian’s mother.”
Hort stared at her. “But King Rhian gave us your address—”
“Oh. He did?” Rosamund hesitated. “Well . . . it was a long time ago. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you now. Especially if the king gave permission. This was back when he was a boy. We had an arrangement with Rhian’s mother when Elle lived across the street. In House Number 63. She told Levya and I that she’d come to Foxwood to hide from the boys’ father. We could save her life by telling anyone who might ask that her boys were ours instead. Clearly Elle didn’t want the boys’ father to find her or his sons. Understandable, of course, now that I know she was raising the future king and liege of Camelot.”
“You said her name was Elle?” Hort asked.
“That’s the name she gave me,” said Rosamund. “But she was very private. I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t her real name.”
“How long did she live here?” Nicola pressed.
“Ten years, maybe? From the last months of her pregnancy until she sent the boys off to school. Then she left and I never saw her again. It’s been ages.”
“And what did Elle look like?” Hort hounded.
“Tall, thin, dark hair. Lovely mouth and eyebrows. The last time I saw her at least,” said Rosamund. “Wish I could help, but she told me hardly anything about herself or the boys and they rarely left the house.”
Hort glanced at Nicola, reading her face. Tall, thin, dark hair . . . Elle sounded a lot like Tedros’ steward. Lady Gremlaine, Hort remembered.
He suddenly thought of something Mistress Gremlaine’s son said to her before he took his brother to the park: “Now you’re sounding like Aunt Grisella . . .”
Grisella, Hort thought.
Ella.
Elle.
Lady Gremlaine must have raised the boys here in secret and put them in Arbed House before she returned to work in Camelot’s castle.
“You said Elle lived in Number 63?” Nicola asked, turning back to Rosamund.
“Right there,” the woman nodded, pointing at a house across the street. “Been empty for a long time now. Nothing to see at all.”
A FEW MINUTES later, once Rosamund had gone back into her house, Hort and Nicola were already inside Number 63.
It had been easy to break in, given the state of the house’s doors: waterlogged and splintered, the locks long broken. But the mission was a futile one. There was little left inside: no furniture, no clothes, no junk or trash or crumbs of food. The walls and floors had been bleached or repainted, even the ceiling, as if Grisella Gremlaine had wanted to leave no trace of her or the family that lived there.
“She was right,” Hort sighed, leaning against a closet door. “Nothing here.”
They heard voices outside and Nicola peered out the window to see three Foxwood guards in red uniforms coming down the road, knocking on each house, holding up crude sketches of her and Hort to the occupants.
Nicola’s finger glowed. “Let’s go,” she said, mogrifying into a sparrow and hopping out of her puddle of clothes, towards the door.
Hort closed his eyes, fingertip glowing blue, about to morph back into a squirrel and follow Nic out—
But then he heard something.
A strange sound.
Coming from the closet in front of him.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
Hort opened his eyes.
More rustling. More tapping.
Against the back of the door.
His skin went cold.
Leave, his body told him. Leave now.
Hort moved towards the closet.
“What are you doing?” Nic’s sparrow hissed. “They’ll catch us!”
But Hort’s hand was already reaching out, his heart vibrating in his chest, as his sweaty palm curled around the knob and pulled it open—
A single blue butterfly flung out from inside, skeletal, dried up, flying madly around Hort’s head with one last rush of life . . .
Then it fell at his feet, dead.
21
AGATHA
Blood Crystal
For a moment, Agatha thought she was on a cloud.
She raised her head, her body sprawled on a sea of white pillows across the floor of an elegant chamber. Through a window above her, the blue glow of King Teapea’s palace mixed with the distant lights of Gnomeland’s metropolis. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep or who had put her in warm pajamas or in this bed, but she saw now that she hadn’t been sleeping alone.
There was the imprint of a body in the pillows next to her, a few long blond hairs snaking around the silk.
Sophie’s ruffled white lace dress lay dumped in a corner.
Suddenly Agatha remembered everything: she and Sophie in the crystal . . . Rhian believing Sophie was on his side . . . Japeth promising his brother he’d find her . . . and if he found Sophie with Agatha and Tedros, he’d murder all three . . .
That’s when Japeth had seen them.
Inside the crystal.
He and his brother had seen Sophie with Agatha.
Which could only mean one thing.
The Snake was coming.
Agatha flung out of the bed and found her black dress hanging in the closet, steamed and clean.
She could hear voices from another room.
Sophie, Tedros, and Reaper were sitting on a blanket, breakfast spread out around them as bleary-eyed gnome servants refilled the trays: almond-stuffed croissants, cinnamon toast, grilled cheese and tomato squares, broccoli and egg frittatas, buttercream pancakes. Tedros was already on his second plate of food, his hair wet from a bath. Sophie wore a stylish blue-and-red dress that seemed oddly familiar, but she wasn’t eating, her face tense.
“His scims will find us,” Sophie insisted. “It’s a matter of time.”
“Beatrix’s team is on the lookout in the Woods. She, Reena, and Kiko are capable Evers,” said Reaper. “Plus, we’ll know when Gnomeland’s defenses have been breached—” A meow squeaked out of him and he rubbed at his throat. “Uma’s spell won’t last much longer. Once it wears off, I’ll no longer be able to speak to you.”
“Rhian still thought I was loyal to him. I had him fooled,” said Sophie, giving Tedros a satisfied look. Then her face tightened. “He said something about wanting to bring someone back from the dead. Someone he and his brother loved.”
“Back from the dead?” Tedros said, stunned. “Who?”
“Never got the chance to find out,” Sophie admitted. “We knocked over a lamp and they saw us. Rhian and Japeth saw me with Agatha.”
“But how? And why was there a scene of Rhian and his brother at all?” Tedros pushed. “The crystal only reads the souls of the people inside it. And they weren’t inside the ball with us.”
“I had the same question,” said Agatha.
They turned to her, standing under the archway.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Agatha directed at Sophie.
“You looked so peaceful for once,” Sophie said, smelling of fresh lavender. “Besides, I’m perfectly capable of briefing your cat and your boyfriend without you.”
“You and Sophie emerged from the crystal barely conscious, just as the ball lost connection,” Reaper explained to Agatha. “Tedros pulled you both from the portal and he and my guards put you to bed.”
“Tried to sleep too, but couldn’t really. Not without knowing what you two saw,” Tedros said to Agatha, his eyes haggard. “My mum and the Sheriff are sleeping. Been here stuffing my face, before Sophie came down.”
Sophie noticed Agatha still glaring at her. “Like my dress, darling? Made it out of the rug in Reaper’s toilet, after I took a long lavender bath. Needed to extinguish the scent of that cursed white frock.”
Agatha plopped onto the blanket. “Scims are coming for us. Kings are burning their rings. Reaper won’t speak much longer. We don’t have time to be sleeping or eating pancakes or taking lavender baths. We should be going back into the crystal and looking for answers.”
“Or going back to the castle and killing Rhian while he’s down,” Tedros intoned, swiping another pancake.
“The castle is surrounded by guards and the crystal needs more time to recharge, as I learned firsthand with Clarissa,” Reaper rebuffed. “If you were to go back in now, the connection would only last minutes. And it would be pointless until we understand: How could Rhian and his brother see you when they are at Camelot and you are here? And how could you knock over a lamp? It goes against the Rules of Time.”
He raised a paw and yellow glow seeped out of it, casting words onto the blue wall.
1. The Past is fiction. The Present is fact.
2. The Past is memory. The Present is the moment.
3. The Past is there. The Present is here.
4. The Past is retained. The Present is released.
5. The Past is weakness. The Present is power.
“Rule #3,” said the cat. “If they saw you, then you were physically in the king’s bedroom. And you cannot physically be in Gnomeland and in Camelot at the same time.” He paused, his wrinkled lips twitching. “Unless . . . unless . . .”
“What?” Agatha, Sophie, and Tedros hounded.
“Unless the ball recognizes Rhian’s or Japeth’s soul . . . even a sliver of it,” Reaper proposed. “If the ball recognizes one or both of their souls, then maybe the crystal believed them the ball’s rightful Second instead of Agatha. When you tried to enter their scene, it made your presence known. Like a defense system or an alarm. That’s what bent the Rules of Time—” His voice caught, another burp of meows floating out before he regained control. “It would also explain why the crystal had a scene of them inside: they might be far away from the ball, but their souls are always connected to it.”
“Utter dog crap,” Tedros blustered, prompting a curdled expression from the cat. “There’s no way Rhian’s or Japeth’s soul is connected to Professor Dovey’s crystal ball—”
“Unless they are related to her,” Reaper said coolly. “Past is Present and Present is Past. Lady Lesso used to say that to Agatha’s mother, when Callis was a teacher of Uglification at the School for Evil. Callis had recently found me in the Woods as a hungry kitten and nurtured me back to health. It unlocked something in her. She openly wondered to Lesso what it might be like to have a baby of her own one day. The Dean warned her: the sins of the parent can live on in the child. The soul lives on through the blood. It’s why Nevers make terrible parents.”
“Past is Present and Present is Past. . . .” Sophie spoke softly, almost to herself. “Rhian said that to me.”
Dread fluttered in Agatha’s stomach, as if her own soul had figured something out. Something it wasn’t telling her. “You’re saying Rhian and Japeth could be related to Professor Dovey? But Dovey didn’t have children.”
“Dovey’s siblings may have, though,” said Reaper, his voice faint and scratchy. “And any children in Clarissa Dovey’s bloodline—meow, meow, meow—would also be recognized by—meow, meow—Dovey’s crystal.”
“Dovey was an only child. She mentioned it at our last meal,” Tedros countered. “There were no siblings to carry on the bloodline. So it’s impossible that Rhian and Japeth’s souls are part of the crystal.”
“Only it’s not just a fairy godmother’s soul that goes into her crystal ball,” Agatha realized, looking up at Tedros and Sophie.
Her two friends stared back at her. “Professor Sader,” Sophie breathed. “A crystal ball has the soul of a fairy godmother and the seer who made it for her. And Sader made the crystal for Dovey.”
“That phantom in the ball,” Agatha said. “It glitches between Professor Dovey’s face and a second fac
e. I couldn’t place it at first but now I know. . . . It’s Sader’s.”
“But that still doesn’t get us anywhere,” Tedros groused. “Why would Sader’s soul have anything to do with Rhian’s or Japeth’s? It’s not like he could have been their father—”
He dropped his pancake.
“Except Professor Sader knew Lady Gremlaine! Dovey told me!” the prince exclaimed. “Sader was the seer that painted my coronation portrait and Dovey went with Sader to Camelot when he did it. Something Sader said to Dovey made Dovey think that he and Lady Gremlaine had a history.”
“Hold on,” Agatha said, agape. “You think Rhian and Japeth could be the sons of Lady Gremlaine and August Sader?”
“I thought August Sader didn’t like women,” Sophie volunteered.
“He didn’t like you,” said Tedros.
“Let’s think about this,” Agatha said. “Rhian and Japeth both have light eyes like Sader. The same good looks and thick hair. And if Sader is their father, that explains how Japeth would have magic in his blood, since Sader is a seer.” She paused. “That always bothered me. That Arthur wasn’t magical. So if Japeth was Arthur and Gremlaine’s son, where would Japeth’s scims and magic have come from? But having Sader as a father explains that . . .”
“Could a son of Sader and Gremlaine really be so Evil, though?” Sophie wondered.
“Could a son of Arthur and Gremlaine?” Agatha returned. “Lady Gremlaine was cruel at times. At least to me. Maybe it was her soul that infected the boys.”
“Past is Present and Present is Past . . . ,” Sophie mulled.
“Look, all I care is that if Rhian and Japeth are the sons of Sader and Gremlaine, then they’re not my father’s sons and Rhian isn’t my father’s blood,” Tedros spewed. “And if Rhian isn’t his blood, then he isn’t the heir and he isn’t king and the people of the Woods have to know they’ve been duped by a lying, filthy scum.”
“And to think: all we have to do is prove it before magic eels kill us,” Sophie chimed.
Reaper tried to say something, but strained meows came out instead, Uma’s spell at an end.
Agatha cuddled her cat to her side. “But why would Excalibur pull from the stone for a son of Sader and Gremlaine? It still doesn’t make sense . . .”
The School for Good and Evil #5: A Crystal of Time Page 34