Young lady? I nearly choke on that. “You better be a good cook.”
She only shakes her head and turns on an old battered radio. Showtunes fill the kitchen, and I have to admit, the music makes the work go by faster. There’s something…oddly satisfying about such a simple act as peeling potatoes, and by the time Syl appears in the kitchen, looking cute with her wet red hair, the pan is filled and I’m toeing the floor, looking at Georgina like maybe I want my next assignment.
Maybe.
“Wow,” Syl says. “This is a lot of food.”
She towels off her hair and comes to help us. Just like in the bathroom, we move around each other, seeming to know what the other will do before she does it. A few times, we misjudge and come up short before colliding, breathless grins on our faces.
It’s silly, but it makes my heart pound like no tomorrow.
In between singing showtunes—okay, so I like showtunes—Syl’s mom gives us assignments: make the stuffing, stuff the bird, cut the carrots, peel the apples for the pie, roll out the crust…
Soon enough, the turkey’s in the oven and the entire kitchen is cocooned in toasty warmness while the snow falls outside. It doesn’t even matter that by tomorrow it’ll all be melted. We work in unison, in comfortable silence. And then “For Good” from Wicked comes on, and Syl starts singing.
She has a lovely voice, untrained but strong and true. I join in, taking the Elphaba part. I mean, hey, if anyone in this relationship is the Wicked Witch, it’s me.
With a jolt, I realize the song really is us—a good girl and a bad girl becoming friends, kicking ass, and taking names.
And then…becoming enemies.
A tiny bit of melancholy tinges Syl’s voice as we finish.
“That’s going to happen to us, isn’t it?” she asks softly, looking at me.
“What is?” I look down, though I know exactly what she’s talking about. We’re breaking all the rules, fair Fae and dark Fae, and eventually, someone’s going to make us pay the consequences.
But Georgina’s having none of it. “All right.” She wipes her hands off on dish towel and hands it to me. “Enough prep for now. Let’s take a break, girls. Let’s talk strategy.”
We wipe our hands and follow her into the living room. She sits on the beat-up love seat and takes out the maps again. We’ve been filling her in on the trolley sites, and she’s updated our map. I suspect Georgina’s done some digging on her own too. Lady is resourceful.
She shows us trolley tracks she’s already marked and takes a red pen. “Last night, you saw new sites here and here.” She draws the two lines on the map.
The circle of trolley tracks is nearly complete.
“Agravaine’s surrounding the city with Moribund,” I say, voicing my earlier frustration. “But why? He can’t power all that without Fae-flaunt and he can’t stretch his gramarye that far. He’ll need an extraneous power source.”
Georgina looks at Syl.
I meet her gaze. “I won’t let him take Syl.”
“Hey now.” Syl eases her hand over mine. “It’s okay. He doesn’t know that Minnie Maven is you or that I’m Sue Scurry. As long as the Grimmacle holds, we’ll be fine.”
I look at Georgina. “Is the Grimmacle holding?”
“It will hold,” she says confidently. “And this trolley stuff is all prepwork. We need to wait, be patient, until they make their move.”
She’s right, but I can tell Syl hates it as much as I do.
We sit for a few long minutes in silence, looking at all those red lines. Outside, the snow’s tapering off, just tiny fluffy flakes failing to the ground. Soon, it’ll be gone.
Will there be another snow before all this goes down?
Georgina stands up, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Come on, you girls can help me baste the turkey.”
Glad to have something to do, we head into the kitchen. My mind’s whirling. The air of holiday cheer seems broken, but Syl’s mom turns the radio up and pours us each a glass of sparkling cider.
“What shall we toast to?” She looks at me, urging me with her gaze. “Rouen?”
I get it. If things go south, this will be her last Thanksgiving with her daughter. Maybe her last Thanksgiving period.
I raise my glass. “To whatever happens. May we face it together.”
Syl’s smile breaks the clouds of our dark mood. “Whatever happens.” She clinks her mom’s glass and then mine, her gaze steady on me. “We face it together.”
We drink, and then “Popular” comes on the radio. Syl starts singing, and I join in and Syl’s mom too, and we sing showtunes and make a Thanksgiving meal that even Gordon Ramsay couldn’t diss. The cheery air comes back in full force, and for a second, I’m convinced Syl’s grabbed my power again and is using it on us, but that’s not it. This is real.
When I look at her, it’s real.
No amount of Glamoury could make me feel this way.
And I will protect her to my last breath.
She sees my troubled look and takes my hand. “We can do anything,” she says to me. “You and me together. We got this.”
I look at our entwined fingers. “New Syl and new Rouen?”
“You betcha.” Her smile is radiant.
I can’t help smiling back. She’s infectious.
The day passes in a flurry of cooking and baking until finally, the fruits of our labor are ready for tasting. Like a well-oiled machine, Syl and I set the table. Georgina plates the food. And by the time we sit at the table, it feels right.
It feels like…
“Family,” I say, clinking glasses with each of them.
They’re not my blood and they’re not perfect, but it’s okay.
Families never are.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Syl
A sleeper-princess’s power
Comes from belief
In herself
- Glamma’s Grimm
The day of the big game comes, and before I know what’s what, I’m on the sidelines with my DSL, and Prudence is right there next to me with her GoPro. Everyone must be recovered from their post-turkey haze because the stands are packed, and like a million people are cheering and shouting as our team tries to bring home the bacon.
Or touchdowns. Or whatever. I’ve barely paid attention through the first half.
Now, it’s nearly halftime. I have no idea what the score is or how many touchdowns we have versus field goals versus safeties versus who knows what else.
Sportsball just isn’t my jam.
I do know that a lot of the bench is playing today because Agravaine’s popular-boy posse is too strung out on Moribund to perform worth a dime.
These guys don’t get to play very often, so I’ve been running my butt off on the sidelines, getting some action shots for the yearbook and the newspaper. It’s only fair. They’re playing their hearts out and all, and the crowds in the stands seem to think they’re doing a good job.
Besides, everyone deserves to have a cool pic in the yearbook, right?
Finally the whistle blows, announcing halftime, and I back off the field, climbing into the stands, me and Prudence. She gives me the side-eye and then nudges me.
Prudence knows I’d rather be down in the locker room with Euphoria.
She left a little under an hour before me just to get the band together, warm up, and go over last-minute details. My girl’s not leaving anything to chance.
My girl… A blush crawls over my cheeks. The idea that Euphoria could actually belong to anyone, even me, is odd.
I want to go to her, but there’s really no time. The band is up first, the cheerleaders second. Euphoria’s been super-secretive about their performance, and I don’t want to spoil the surprise.
So I wait, bundled up in the stands against the chilly November afternoon. I’m all jitters even though I’m not the one playing in front of a stadium full of people. Euphoria’s probably as cool as a cucumber. I guess all those stage performances h
ave prepared her for this.
Something like a high school halftime show should be a breeze.
Still, I know she’s worked hard with the band. I know it means a lot to her—maybe even more than she understands. These past weeks, she’s played it all stoic and cool, but I see the truth.
She cares about them. About me.
The thought sends shivers of pleasure up my spine.
And yet, a bit of dread coils there too. Eventually, I will fully Awaken, and if we defeat Agravaine, I’ll go with Euphoria into the dark Fae realm. UnderHollow, she calls it. I’ll go and I’ll heal the hearthstone.
I’ll pull the white flame out of it and undo the damage my mother did when she poisoned it with her touch. That won’t change the fact that the dark Fae have hated my kind since the dawn of time.
Once the hearthstone is healed… I mean, then what?
Is it too much to hope that new Syl and new Rouen can just ride off into the sunset?
There’s a blare of fanfare, and Principal Fee walks out into the field and announces the band. There’s a smattering of cheers—mostly band parents. My mom’s among them, hitting the air horn even though the people around her look annoyed.
I know I’m supposed to think my mom is uncool, but you know what? She’s pretty awesome.
All right… Showtime.
The band comes marching out, looking smart in their green-and-gold colors, and I fairly stare at Euphoria. I’ve only ever seen her dressed in leathers and motorcycle boots, in the starkest black. In her band uniform, she looks…different.
Less severe, almost normal, except, yeah, she’s unearthly pretty.
With my Fae-sight, I can see through her Glamoury, both the Minnie Maven disguise and the one she layers over her real self—Euphoria over Rouen. Beneath all that, she’s got fangs and pointed ears, bronze skin, raven-dark hair, and luminous eyes, blue ringed in gold. She’s stunning and scary.
I mean, she doesn’t scare me, but she should.
I think my feelings for her scare me more.
The band plays the usual opening number, the school anthem, as they march onto the field. It’s kind of…boring, I have to admit, but at least they’re all together.
They march in formation, left-right, left-right, Euphoria leading like a real-life Pied Piper. I check out the stands and see the spectators yawning and shifting. Several break from their seats to get coffee from the food trucks.
A flash of a blonde ponytail catches my eye.
Fiann’s waiting in the wings. From here, she looks supremely satisfied, like the band being boring is just what she wants. Of course it is.
Jerk.
I turn back to watch. I just know my girl’s got something up her sleeve.
Come on, Euphoria. Come on…
The band comes to a stop, and Euphoria steps out. She lifts her bow to her beat-up violin and begins playing one of Bach’s violin concertos. It’s beautiful, lilting and sweet, but the crowd decides right then to have none of it.
Boos and jeers echo over the stands. Someone flings a tub of popcorn at the field, and it lands at her feet. Behind her, the band turns their backs. She finishes the last note, letting it linger. It hangs in the air.
I’m on pins and needles. Why doesn’t my girl just use her power?
Because it wouldn’t be fair, my mind whispers. She wants to beat Fiann fair and square.
That last note is swallowed by the booing and someone shouts, “You suck!”
On cue, Euphoria draws her bow along the strings, the band coming in low beneath that shimmering note. I almost recognize the song, but I can’t place it… And then Euphoria raises her bow once more, and when she brings it down, the entire band opens up, slamming into “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC.
The crowd shuts up, stunned.
The band begins a march, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Octavia is slinging her drum around, hitting it back and forth, and Nazira’s got a bass guitar instead of her standup bass, and she jams out on it. Chuck rocks out on his keytar, and the horn section stomps and swings their trumpets like some kick-butt jazz band, the brass flashing in the sun.
Euphoria’s grinning like a loon over her violin. They’re supposed to be playing the National Anthem, but clearly she’s gone off book.
Slowly, people in the stands begin swaying and a few stomp their feet, a low thunder beginning from the top of the stands and rolling all the way down.
Following Euphoria’s lead, the band rocks out, turning AC/DC’s power ballad into “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey. It’s a page right out Glee, but darn it, it works. This time, Euphoria sings, and her voice carries strong and proud over the stands.
She’s not even using her power, but soon enough, the stands are rocking, and everyone’s singing along, even some of the cheerleaders.
The recruiters in the stands are on their feet. The parents are on their feet. A million cell phones are raised, and everyone’s taking pictures and videos. Prudence is on point, getting every angle while I snap pic after pic of my girl and her band.
Finally, Euphoria steps forward and brings the song home, rocking out hard, madly sawing away at her violin. With the final note sent shimmering into the air, the crowd roars its approval and pours onto the field, singing and clapping.
The band kids go crazy, hugging one another as the stands empty onto the field. They hoist Euphoria—Minnie—onto their shoulders and run her around the field as everyone cheers for them.
I catch Euphoria’s eye and wink at her. She winks back.
Fiann’s on the field, shouting at her dad. I can hear her even from here. “We’ve only got fifteen minutes! Get them back in their seats, Daddy!”
But when Principal Fee lifts his mic, nothing comes out.
Prudence sidles up to me, holding a ginormous power cord. “Whoops. I must’ve accidentally unplugged something with my ‘troll hips.’”
I cover my mouth to stifle the giggles.
Fee does his best, enlisting the coaches to help him get people back into the stands. But by the time everyone’s finally in their seats, the cheerleaders have like five minutes to do their routine.
No one really watches. Everyone’s too busy uploading their band videos and talking about my girl’s amazing performance.
I tip an imaginary hat to Fiann, grinning when she turns a hilarious shade of purple, and then I head down to meet Euphoria at the locker room. I get there first and high-five the band as they pass—Octavia, then Nazira, then Chuck, and the jazz players.
“Awesome job, guys!”
Euphoria comes after them, her tall frame filling up the hallway. She’s backlit, and all I can see is her silhouette. She steps into the locker room like she’s stepping out of light and shadow. For a moment, a chill rakes my spine—that part of me that is fair Fae knee-jerking in fear at the dark Fae-ness of her. Danger, danger, danger.
I squelch it down, and fast.
Laughing, she grabs me, shattering the weirdness, and swings me around. I smile back, slinging my DSL over my shoulder so it doesn’t bump her.
When she sets me on my feet, we’re so close I can feel her breath on my cheek. My stomach lurches like it’s full of butterflies doing the cha-cha. I look at her lips then meet her gaze.
Shivers run down my spine, and not from the chill November air.
Just barely, I keep from doing something stupid. Something awesome but stupid. “Minnie Maven”—I hold out an invisible mic—“you’ve just won the halftime show, what are you going to do?”
“Go to Disney World?” she asks skeptically, playing along.
“Don’t think this gets you off the hook,” I lean in to tell her softly. “Your triumph will be short-lived when I catch you tonight.”
“Ha,” she says, her eyes brightening with challenge. “You haven’t caught me yet.”
Something in her tone invites me to flirt more. I go for it before I lose my nerve. “Maybe you should make it worth my while?” I step bac
k into her warmth against the bite of the air.
“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow and put her arms around me. She lowers her voice so only I can hear. “And what does my sleeper-princess want as a reward for catching me?”
My sleeper-princess. The way she says those words, sultry smooth, undoes me. “I…”
She continues to tease. “Bragging rights?”
I’m tempted to say yes, to get myself off this hook I’ve cheerfully jumped on, but my teenage hormones won’t let me. “For starters.”
“Hmmm…” She pretends to think, but really, she’s practically reading my mind. “At the party, you said you wanted to kiss m—Minnie.” Her smile is a little breathless, and a flush crawls over her cheeks. “How about that?”
“Not quite.” My heart is racing. Be bold, Syl. Be brave. “If—when I catch you, you have to kiss me.”
The challenge hangs between us like a glass ornament. One wrong word or move and it’ll shatter.
But Euphoria only smiles gently, blushing prettily. “Deal. But I warn you, I don’t just play hard to get. I am hard to get.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I come close that night, and the night after that and the night after that and the night… Ugh. You get the picture.
November passes, and December comes, bringing chill winds and Christmas decorations. After Euphoria’s triumph at the game, Fiann leaves off with her teasing and plotting. She and Agravaine go back to their old faithful routine. The Trolley Restoration Project plods on.
All around school, posters for the Winter Formal go up.
I’ve never been one for dances, but when Euphoria asks me, I am as giddy as any schoolgirl. I tell myself she has a dual reason to ask me—business and because she likes me.
But if she likes me, then why does she try so hard to keep away from me?
One of these nights, I’ll catch her and find out.
In the meantime, we get ready for the Winter Formal, where it’ll all happen. The major showdown.
I’m aware how cliché it is, how much like a Buffy episode, but there’s a reason Buffy rang true to a lot of people—because they got it right.
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