by Lisa Morgan
“Ossa’s magick comes from a dark place, Maggie.” Foreboding filled her words. “The Realm exists on white, or good, magicks. Even when the king has struck down subjects,” her scarred wing twitched, “it was to lend a balance to the darker magick’s offense, to keep light and black equal. The king sent word to witches throughout the Realm, trying to find a counter curse for his eldest son, but there is none to be found.
“Ossa derives pleasure from watching other people’s pain and suffering. No, he will never lift that curse, and we’ll be forced to watch Luc continue to struggle. The only way to end Luc’s curse is by his death or Ossa’s.”
“That’s why he fights as he does,” I answered my own question. “I’d read about how brutal he was during the last war. I saw his anger when the revenants approached us.”
“He wishes to destroy them all, in hopes of saving everything and everyone he cares for, preventing even a second of suffering,” Seatha finished.
“And Michel? Is he cursed, too?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the fae sighed, “his curse is even more potent. He’s doomed to watch his brother’s turmoil, unable to do anything to ease that pain. He fights alongside him, cutting down as many as Luc leaves aside, but to play witness to his only sibling’s torment and be helpless?”
I nodded, agreeing with the fae. That was as bad as Luc’s curse.
“Enough of this for now,” the fairy went on, masking the grief in her voice. “Let us talk of brighter events.”
“Rotting, walking skeletons want to steal me and drain my blood so that they gain some kind of super-power to take over this world and the human one. What could possibly be a better topic of discussion than our doom?”
Seatha smiled wickedly. “I hear you were making out with a super hot vampire prince?” My face flushed, and the thoughts of revenants escaped me temporarily.
“Where did you hear that?” I asked, not feeling guilty about the smile that swam across my lips when I should really be focusing on the end of the world—coming soon.
Seatha gestured to the birds, sweeping her hand through the air. I noticed they had grown silent.
“The robins,” she enlightened. “They’re terrible gossips.”
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” a high-pitched chorus rang out from the branches. The robins apparently took offense to the characterization. In a huff, the flock circled low over the fairy’s head, a few plying her with droppings before flying out of the room through the small opening near the ceiling.
“Classy,” Seatha muttered, wiping the bird poop from her shoulders, “very classy. What the heck do you guys eat?” she bit out to the last few robins fluttering through the opening.
I tried to stifle a giggle, positive I’d split my newly healed ribs. For a little while, it was good to feel normal again.
Twenty Five
Seatha and I spent hours in the room. I told her about the kiss between me and Michel, her eyebrows shooting skyward and hands fluttering over her face as if she overheated. We laughed together as she repeated some of the lame jokes we’d told each other the day before. We debated the merits of movie stars we would cast in roles from our favorite books.
When the sunlight began to wane, a knock came and Autumn entered. The fairy and I rushed the witch, practically knocking her down in our excitement. She’d lifted her hands quickly, raising a tray of sandwiches and glasses of punch high above her head.
The three of us sat on the floor, eating the late lunch together. We refused to talk of battles, wars, and creatures that go bump in the night. After much prodding from Seatha, I repeated the story of my kiss with the vampire. Autumn had a swooning reaction to my description.
“Oh, Maggie,” she fawned. “What I wouldn’t give to feel that way.”
“What way?” I laughed.
“In love,” she giggled back.
“Whoa,” stopping her, my laughter ebbed, “I didn’t say I was in love, chicas. I hardly know Michel.”
“Still,” Seatha said, biting the last of the sandwich as she spoke, “it’s written all over your face.” Autumn nodded in agreement.
“What’s written on my face?” I asked, wiping my chin with a napkin.
“You’re in love with Michel. I don’t care what protests or logic you try to use, we can see it,” Seatha replied.
“In love?” I commented, questioning myself over my friend’s appraisal of my feelings.
No way …
I mean, sure my heart went crazy when he was near me. And yeah, okay, I’ll admit it—that kiss was as insane as it were too brief. And sure, it was normal that every time I closed my eyes, even to blink, I found Michel’s eyes looking back at me and could feel his velvety locks of hair between my fingers …
“Oh. My. God,” I realized aloud.
“I knew it!” Autumn exclaimed, standing and jumping up and down, giggling happily. “Maggie’s in love with Michel!”
“Yes!” Seatha cheered, jumping with Autumn.
“Hold it,” I said, trying to bring my two friends back to reality.
“What?” Autumn questioned.
I stammered, “This … this doesn’t make sense. Logically speaking, I don’t think it’s possible.”
“Says the girl who shoots flames,” Seatha replied with a smile.
I gave her the middle finger pledge and went on, “I don’t know anything about him, except what I read in that book, and that he drinks angel blood.”
“So?” the girls answered together.
“So,” I went on, “how can I possibly be in love with someone, vampire or otherwise, that I hardly know?”
“It’s love,” Autumn answered, her voice as innocent and well-mannered as could be possible. “Why does it have to make sense to you?”
“Because …” I searched my mind rapidly for a retort and found none. “Just … because.”
Seatha smirked. “Very witty, Maggie. Look, you’re a being who has the power to not only control fire, but to summon it from inside you. You’re currently in the castle of a vampire king, eating cucumber sandwiches with a fairy and a witch before a celebratory ball to formally introduce you to mythical creature who are banking on you to kill what is equal to a zombie horde, and you really expect love to be the logical thing happening?”
Touché.
My protests continued, “He could have anyone he wants. Why would he choose me?” The witch and fairy looked at me, not seeming to comprehend what my issue was. I took them by the hand and led them to the bathroom to stand in front of the oversized mirror. “Look at me,” I directed, pointing to my reflection.
“Yeah?” Seatha asked; the fae and Autumn staring into the glass.
“I’m a pasty-faced red head with almost always out of control hair, curls twisting in every direction until they become almost impossible knots. I’m too skinny, unless you’re looking at my fat ass, that is. I wear hand me down clothes that were purchased for me by an evil, and I mean evil, mother at the local Salvation Army store. There is nothing special about me.”
“Oh, Maggie,” Autumn offered sadly, watching our reflections as she put her arm around my shoulders, Seatha’s arms wrapping around my back. “Do you really not see how very special you are?”
I gazed back at my reflection, trying to find what these two, and possibly Michel, found so special.
“No,” I whispered honestly. “I don’t see it. I see a teenager whose father is in a loony bin for supposedly killing eight people, someone who has no idea where her real mother is. I see a weak little girl who spent ten years being teased and abused by almost everyone around her. When I look in the glass, all I find is inadequacy.”
Autumn’s eyes glistened and Seatha squeezed me a little harder.
“That’s not who you really are, Maggie,” the witch pronounced in a confident whisper. “You’re so much more than the sum of those terrible things in your past. You’re stronger than any other, more beautiful than any creature to walk the Realm or its boundaries, and it’s
us who should feel less for being near you.
“We all have faced, or will face, the darkness at some point in our lives. It isn’t so much about surviving the Pitch, it’s about how you learn to light your own way that defines you.”
“I’m so lucky to have you guys, to call you both my friends,” I whimpered, sucking back the snotty tears on the precipice of falling.
Seatha added, pulling away and turning me to face them both, “We are the blessed ones.”
We had a group hug and cry. Standing there, I finally began to feel like I was somewhere I belonged. I was with people who didn’t judge me on what my father was accused of. I didn’t have to worry they’d shove me in a locker or glue my homework together or say something so atrocious that I spend the next three days locked away in my room, unable to face the world because the remnants of the insult could still be lingering.
I believed that these two friends really cared for me; that they valued me not for what I might possibly be able to do for them, but because of what the saw inside me. And I took it for the gift that it was, vowing to myself that I’d do anything for them.
A loud knock broke up our crying fit, drawing our attention to the bedroom door. I wiped my blotchy face as I made my way to answer it. A man, slightly taller than me and dressed in full glistening armor that caught the torchlight in the hallway, stood in the hall. His breastplate shone brightly with a crescent moon embossed on it.
“Margaret Henning?” he asked in seriousness, bowing his head.
“Yes.” I nodded, hearing the girls move closer behind me. I was fairly sure it was the witch blowing her nose loud like a trumpet.
“The festivities will begin in short order,” he instructed. “The king has requested the presence of you and your friends within the next hour in the ballroom.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heels and marched back down the hallway, his metal suit grating with each step he took. I closed the door, turning back to my friends.
“You know what this means, right?” Autumn asked, a smile overwhelming her face and replacing the tears that had been there. Seatha rubbed her hands together eagerly, and I had the strangest feeling that a divine yet sinister plot was being developed without my knowledge.
“What?” I dragged it out in apprehension.
My two friends replied, overjoyed and in unison, “Makeover!”
Never before had I been a participant in a makeover of any sort. Stephanie and I’d played with make-up she’d taken from her mother’s dresser once, painting our faces in shades of blue eye-shadow that no one, human or otherwise, should ever wear. Lipstick smudges had surrounded our lips a time or two, but this … this was different.
With a wave of her arms and a few words in rhyme, Autumn conjured an actual salon in my guest room.
The two of them forced me into the chair, leaning it backward to wash and condition my locks. Skillfully, the witch combed and twisted my naturally curly hair, joking that if she was to marry a mortal, it would have to be Paul Mitchell.
Seatha disappeared behind a door that Autumn explained was the closet. She went on to tell that when Liam received word I was to attend this function, he’d ordered the very best seamstresses, Fairies of the Bladderwort, to create my dress. I was a little more than worried about a group of fairies named Bladderwort making my apparel, but the witch assured me they were the best in all The Realm. Seatha had practically turned green with envy when she’d heard who the tailors were, so I felt relaxed knowing they met my fae friend’s approval.
Autumn blocked my reflection from every mirror in the room with what she deemed a “simple spell” so I’d be surprised when they finished with me.
The witch turned my seat to face her and examined my hair methodically, nodding her approval. Seatha came to stand beside her, also studying Autumn’s handiwork. When the fae reached out to touch my hair, her hand was promptly swatted away with a warning from the witch that she’d “paste those wings upside down” if Seatha moved one hair on my head.
Upon asking me to stand, the fairy helped me step into a sapphire blue dress she assured me would be stunning with my features. I looked to Autumn, but she only raised her hand and proclaimed that wardrobe was Seatha’s department. I suddenly worried I’d be plastered in spandex and fishnet stockings and not something suitable for the grand affair I was supposed to be attending.
Tugging from behind me, Seatha grappled with the fasteners to close my gown. Walking in front of me and tipping her head to the side with a raised eyebrow, the fae studied my ensemble. Autumn mimicked Seatha, and they both nodded in appreciation.
“Are you ready?” Autumn asked with a hopeful smile.
“For what?”
“To see your stunning transformation?” Seatha answered. I nodded my head slowly, even as a rush of trepidation was quickly making its way from head to toe through my body. I felt heat rising and took a deep, relaxing breath to quash any flames that may be thinking of showing up now in my nervousness; positive the two would shatter me if I dared muss one bit of their hard work.
Seatha walked me to the full-length wall mirror mounted near the window. I noticed the sun had set long ago, replaced by the gleaming light shining in from an almost full moon. Autumn stood beside me, waving her hand while reciting another rhyme, and I watched the glazed mirror clear.
I inhaled sharply as the fog dissipated, awestruck and not recognizing my own reflection. There’s no way that was really me.
The female looking back was radiant. Red hair tousled atop her head in a perfect chignon, a few perfect spiral curls strategically hanging in front of her ears to give the style just enough of a delicate look and frame her face. Smoky make-up expertly accentuated her deep blue eyes, making them appear a brilliant, deep ocean blue. The freckles that had always peppered her nose and cheeks merely hinted at their existence beneath the lightly powdered skin.
The girl in the looking glass staring back at me wore the most beautiful gown I’d ever seen. It was a deep azure color with an empire waist, drawing together the small chest of the female wearing it. Silver ribbon threaded over the bodice to the high waist of the dress, weaving from side to side like the laces in sneakers. The skirt of the dress was the same striking blue, with small flecks of silver glittering in the filtered moonlight and adding a sparkle to the dress when it caught the light.
“Oh my goodness,” I exhaled, running my hands carefully over the bodice, trying to come to terms with the fact that the magnificent looking female staring back was my reflection and not that of a stranger’s.
“Don’t cry,” Autumn warned kindly. “I spent thirty minutes on the make-up alone, and if you wreck it I’ll have no choice but to curse you.”
“It’s …” I faltered, finding great difficulty in forming words I was not accustomed to using when I described myself. “I’m … pretty.”
“No,” a male voice corrected from my left, “you are beautiful.”
“Grandfather.” I smiled as his reflection entered the mirror and looked on me. My vision blurred, and I caught sight of my witch friend raising her hand. Seatha shook her head slowly and put a hand on my shoulder. I felt the tears ebb upon her touch.
“Fairies.” She shrugged back in explanation when I met her eyes in the mirror. “Sometimes, when we care for someone, we can manipulate their feeling slightly. You’re very strong, with your powers being ruled by your emotions currently, but I figured your shields were down a little.”
Seatha leaned close to my ear, whispering, “I think she might actually curse you, just trying to help.” I smiled and silently nodded my thanks.
“I think our work is done here,” Autumn declared, sounding satisfied. She waved her hands in the air over her head, and I watched as her appearance changed. The jeans and T-shirt she’d been wearing were replaced by a long red gown, black tulle ruffling from beneath the skirt. She moved her hands the same way over the fairy, and her miniskirt elongated, becoming a floor length dress of green ivy with darker green
vine accents threaded throughout.
“Wait a second,” I called as they made their way to exit the room. “If you could’ve used magick the whole time, why did I sit through all of that? Why didn’t you just wiggle your nose or whatever and do my hair and stuff that way?”
Seatha stepped into the hallway while Autumn paused and smiled back at me. “What? And miss all the fun?” I heard the pair giggle as they closed Liam and I in the room together.
I smiled at my friend’s admission, shaking my head slowly. My lips were still up turned when I turned back to the reflection in the mirror and I whispered to my grandfather, “Do I really look okay?”
“Margaret,” he spoke approvingly, stepping behind me so I’d see his reflection next to mine. “You are stunning. In that fine gown made for a princess, you look so very much like your mother.”
I smiled, wishing I could’ve seen her dressed like this. I was so young when I’d last seen my true mother, and I wondered if any of my memories of her were untainted.
“With exception of the red hair,” Liam added with a grin. “That striking bold color was a gift from your father.”
“Is he … okay?” I choked back the tears again, thinking of him sitting in that hospital and realizing how much I wished he were with me right now. I hadn’t heard what happened after I’d left the hospital and now, knowing the truth behind the circumstances of his imprisonment, my worry over him resurfaced.
Liam nodded. “Even as we speak, plans for a rescue are being developed.”
Surprised by my grandfather’s words, I whipped around to face him, hope that I’d heard him correctly surging. “A rescue? We’re going to get him out?”
“It will be difficult. The revenants hold total sway over the hospital, as you know, but the accord struck a decade ago has come to an end with your maturity. As such, it is time your father was freed, by whatever means necessary.”
“What can I do?” I asked. Having my father with me, getting to know him and starting to make up for all the terrible things I’d thought and said for ten years? It was more than I could hope for.
Sensing my eagerness, Liam raised his hand to give me pause.