“That’s a Seeing Eye!” she breathes. She’s only ever read about it and can’t hide her delight—here it is, in real life! She stops walking backward and instead walks closer to Jack to get a better look at it. Maybe if she hovers, he’ll offer her a peek.
“Ahem,” she says, clearing her throat three times.
Except of course boys never notice the obvious. Jack keeps using the magical telescope to sweep over the landscape, oblivious.
Finally, Filomena speaks up. “Hey, can I see that?” She’s trying to sound cool and nonchalant, definitely not like the hyperventilating superfan she is in her heart.
“Oh, sure,” he says. “Just be careful with it, please. It’s our only hope of finding the Pied Pipe. There’s too much brush here. It’s way too dense. But this thing should be able to find it if it’s close. After all, its glass is made of—”
“Stardust,” Filomena says, finishing his sentence. “I know, and I know how precious it is. I read all the books, remember?”
She lifts it to her eye and peers through the glass. It looks heavy and chunky, but in reality it’s delicate, made of pearls and stardust, so wispy and weightless you could place it on a butterfly’s wing with ease.
“It has to be around here,” says Jack, who doesn’t seem all that worried, just like in the books when he’s presented with terrifying obstacles.
“The Pied Pipe will only show itself if it wants to be found,” Filomena whispers as she swings the Seeing Eye over the immediate terrain.
Like Jack, Filomena is not discouraged, but when she spots something small and flute-shaped glimmering with light on the ground not too far from the tree, she’s so astonished that she almost drops the thing. “I saw it! The Pied Pipe! It’s over there!” she says, handing the Seeing Eye back to Jack.
He puts it up to his own eye and nods. “Good work. Let’s go!”
He starts moving forward with steady and determined steps, pausing to gaze through the Seeing Eye every few feet, Alistair and Filomena close behind.
“I don’t see it,” Alistair says.
“That’s because the Pied Pipe has a mind of its own, Alistair,” Filomena tells him. “It can hide, or it can show itself if it wants to be found.”
“Exactly,” says Jack. “Stubborn thing, probably doesn’t want to go home just yet.”
Sure enough, the pipe keeps hiding in and out of vision as they walk closer to the tree, but Jack’s got a lock on its location and jumps on it before it can hide again.
“Aha!” he says, holding up the pipe as the Seeing Eye transforms back into a small marble and he puts it in his pocket. “Will you do the honors?” he asks Alistair.
Alistair beams and puts the flute to his lips.
But before he can play a note, a loud boom of thunder crashes in a proximity too close for comfort, and a lightning bolt zaps Jack Stalker where he stands. Alistair and Filomena duck down, covering their heads. The haunting, menacing cackling begins, escalating into mad screeching and ear-piercing howls.
“She’s back!” cries Alistair.
“It’s just her malice!” wheezes Jack, writhing on the ground, his vines blackened and smoking. “We’re near the portal and she can sense us!”
“Jack!” Filomena cries, running to his side.
“We gotta get out of here!” says Alistair as more thunderbolts crash all around them.
“Open the portal!” Filomena yells. “Hurry!”
But Alistair is frozen, gaping at the flames. He’s too frightened to think, and the flute trembles in his grasp.
Filomena grabs the Pied Pipe from his hands and lifts it to her lips. Without thinking, she plays the first tune that comes to mind: the theme from the movies based on the Never After books, of course. Sure enough, it unlocks the Heart Tree.
Before she can think about whether it’s a good idea, she’s helping Alistair bring Jack through the portal, and all three of them are hurtling into the darkness.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NEVER AFTER
Reading all the books in the world couldn’t have prepared Filomena for the descent into not just another world, but a world she has seen so vividly in her imagination. She wasn’t even ready—or willing—for the departure. She took not just a leap but a lunge of faith, if you will. One giant leap for Filomena-kind. A footstep fueled by fear and desperation. A moment in time she can never take back. A chapter in a life story that if told would never be believed.
By the way, how late is it now? Her poor parents—she hopes her mom has anxiety medication on hand.
There’s no time to think, because as she falls through the void, she feels what she can only describe as galaxies encompassing her. But words don’t exist in this plane, only thought and image and memory. The word stop might come to mind, if she still has one.
She was swallowed into a tree.
And just as quickly another tree spits her out.
When she tumbles from the portal, she lands on the ground with a thud, falling hard on her backside. Ouch!
Her cheeks burn, thinking of the many times she’s fallen before.
Oh, has she fallen!
There was the time she fell spectacularly in gym class during dodgeball when she was trying to, well, dodge the ball. Isn’t that the point?
She’s heard about her slow-motion stumble and subsequent fast-forward lurch so many times that she could have written a book about it, thus becoming the third and youngest author in the family. However, she’s chosen to spare herself further embarrassment by not elaborating on her “epic spill” (as it went down in history), and instead listening humorlessly to tales told by her peers about it, complete with tear-filled eyes and fits of laughter.
And that was just one incident. She’ll keep the others to herself, thank you.
She surveys her surroundings for any witnesses who may crack jokes about this later. But Alistair and Jack aren’t laughing; they’re dusting themselves off and making sure they have all their limbs.
Jack walks over and extends his hand, which she gratefully accepts. “You all right?” he asks her as he helps her to her feet.
“Yes, I think so. Are you?” Filomena responds, inspecting him for blood or obvious injury from the burns he suffered in the ogre attack mere moments before they arrived here.
“Fine, thanks. Nothing a little pixie spit can’t fix,” he says with a grin, shaking a tiny bottle in front of him before putting it back in his pocket.
“Cool,” says Filomena.
Once she’s standing upright, she takes a deep breath and looks around. So this is Never After. This is Never After! This so makes up for the thirteenth and final book never being published. Understatement of the century.
She’s here.
Inside the pages of the book.
Living the pages of the book.
She’s here!
In Never After!
It’s glorious! It’s incredible! It’s like she’s walked onto a movie set, except everything is real, not just a prop. It even smells better here, like just-baked bread and fresh strawberries. It smells clean and new and sparkling. It’s … like a fairy tale. The land of fairy tales. Where dreams live happily ever after, er … never after, because as the author explains, there’s never an after here.
The dew glistens like diamonds on the grass; each petal on each flower is a precious marvel. There are colors here that she’s never seen before, colors that don’t exist in the spectrum back home. Is that a yellow-pink? An indigo-cinnamon?
Then she sees more: a structure made of golden straw, clearly an abode of sorts. If the wind blew … Wait a minute—she recognizes it from somewhere. The dwelling next to it consists of sturdy wooden sticks. The third, made of red and brown bricks. She claps her hands as three quarreling pigs walk out of the brick house. “Now, when he arrives, you need to get to my house immediately,” the pig in a banker’s suit and tie says, chiding his laconic brothers—one wearing a caftan (straw dude) and the other in plaid flannel and jeans (s
ticks) just like from the books.
Filomena looks around for the Big Bad Wolf, a slight panic building in her chest. She’s far too young to be mauled or eaten! But she’s distracted when she finds what looks like the Three Bears’ cottage close by. The dead giveaway is the three chairs sitting out front: one small and hard; one a bit too large and pillow-y and cloudlike; and one, in the center, whose size and cushioning look … just right. She sniffs the air for a whiff of porridge, then continues to look around.
Nearby sits a tall tower with a peaked roof and an open window at the very top. Its beams are tree trunks wrapped in moss and vine. Filomena waits for Rapunzel to let her hair down, hoping to see if it can actually touch the ground. The top of the tower is so high, probably at least eighty feet in the air. But Rapunzel is keeping her hair to herself today, it seems.
Farther away is a decrepit and seemingly abandoned castle, left to the elements, except from behind its walls comes a terrible roaring. The castle of the Beast! Filomena shivers. She hopes Beauty is on her way to save him.
Filomena turns around again. From this hillside, she can see so many castles all over the landscape—one by the sea, one by the forest, one by the city. Would those be the mermaid princess’s, Snow White’s, and Cinderella’s?
Alistair eventually disrupts her examination and thoughts by making an obvious coughing noise, and she briefly wonders how long she’s been standing there, lost in wonderment.
“Still think it’s not real?” he asks with a cheeky grin.
Filomena considers the question before finally saying, “No, I no longer question whether it’s real. I do, however, question what has been real my whole life.”
It’s too late to worry about how her parents might react to her lateness. The deed is done. She’s already gone somewhere they’ll never be able to find her. Forget about being grounded; when she goes back, she’ll never be able to leave home again.
“So?” asks Jack, eyes merry.
“It’s marvelous,” she tells him.
“Welcome to Never After,” he says.
“Now go home,” says Alistair. A pause. “Just kidding.”
PROLOGUE
THE UNSEEN
On the day of the christening, mere moments after the thirteenth fairy arrived uninvited and unannounced, an ill-omened quiet filled the room. The crowd was hushed and waiting, all eyes on King Vladimir, Queen Olga, and the fairy Carabosse.
The tales told of this day speak of an evil spirit, of a vengeful fairy bent on revenge for her exclusion.
The tales told of this day are untrue.
Carabosse cradled her niece, the one and only princess Eliana, petting the child’s precious head. She took one of Eliana’s fingers in her own, admiring her beauty, and the babe wrapped her little finger around her aunt’s.
The tales told of this day say that Carabosse cursed the child. That she proclaimed that the child would grow to be sixteen, only to prick her finger on a needle and sleep for a hundred years.
The tales told of this day are untrue.
Carabosse held her sweet niece, leaned down, and breathed in the soft baby hair, the sweet baby down. Her sisters had already given the child their blessings. A thousand and one blessings I bring to the child, said her aunt the storyteller. I wish you a party to end all parties, said another.
It was her turn.
What blessing would she give? Beauty? Health? Riches? The princess had all of those already.
“My darling child, I bless you…” She was about to murmur a spell, one that would bring happiness to the little princess for all her days, when she had a vision … a vision she could not unsee …
A terrible vision of a terrifying future.
* * *
The vision faded, and Carabosse stared down at her niece in her arms. How long had she stood there, watching this dark future unfold? If only there was some way she could protect her niece from the impending doom and oversee her safety for all eternity.
There was so little time.
So little time to change things.
But time was all she had.
Up on the throne, Queen Olga watched with growing irritation, impatience plain on her beautiful face. She was about to rise in fury, but King Vladimir held his arm out to stop her. She remained seated; however, she would not bite her tongue, not even if the king ordered her to.
“Give me back my child,” Queen Olga demanded imperiously. “Now!”
“No! Not until I’ve cursed her!” cried the fairy Carabosse. “Not until I’ve cursed you all!”
The court reeled and gasped.
The evil fairy, cursing the princess! Cursing the kingdom!
Because Carabosse knew she had only one gift left to give, one final blessing to bestow on the child, one last chance to save her beloved sister’s baby … And her gift was both a blessing and a curse.
PART TWO
Wherein …
The author of the books is revealed.
The Battle of Vineland commences.
The Mark of Carabosse is discovered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JACK’S JOURNEY
“Come on, let’s go,” says Jack, striding purposefully down the hill and away from the tree that disgorged them, which is not unlike the one back in—what did Filomena call it?—the Hollywood Hills.
“Where are we going?” asks Filomena.
“Vineland, where I’m from,” he tells her. “It’s east of Westphalia and south of Lankershim. Bit of a trek, but if we go now, we should make it before sunset.”
Alistair suddenly looks nervous, and Jack wishes he wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t want to scare Filomena—who seems so captivated by everything—just yet. But Filomena, Jack is beginning to notice, is nothing if not observant.
“What happens after sunset?” she asks.
“The ogres…,” begins Alistair.
Jack gives Alistair a sharp look, and Alistair’s voice trails off into silence.
“What do the ogres do?” Filomena wants to know.
“Nothing, nothing,” says Alistair. “We’ll be safe before sunset, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Right,” says Jack grimly. “Come on.”
Filomena looks as if she wants to ask more questions but seems to understand the imperative of getting where they need to be before it gets too dark. Maybe she’s familiar with Never After’s foul monsters and assorted villains from those books of hers. Jack wonders about that book again—from what he saw of it, it had to have been written by someone from Never After. But how did it get to the mortal world? And what does it mean that the last of the series was never written? He’s not sure, but he hopes Zera will be able to figure it out, which is why he’s taking Filomena to her.
To Jack’s relief, Alistair and Filomena are hurrying as fast as they can as they follow him down the marked path. On the way, he greets and nods to various friends and acquaintances, all the while making it clear he doesn’t have time for conversation: Little Miss Muffet looking cross, Thumbelina and her flower prince riding on the back of a swallow, a farmer leading a cow who asks Jack if he still has those magic beans (duh, no), and several cut-rate genies offering wishes at a discount.
“One wish! Just one wish!” wheedles a purple genie floating by their side. “One free wish! Just for you! I might throw in another one or two! You know you want to! What’s your wish? What’s your wish? Your wish is my command!”
“No, thank you,” says Jack, ushering his group away before any of them can fall into temptation.
Alistair looks at Jack pleadingly, but Jack shakes his head: No.
When they’re safely away from the peddling genies, Jack exhales.
“There seem to be genies everywhere. What makes Aladdin’s so special?” asks Filomena.
“Aladdin’s genie lived in the lamp for thousands upon thousands of years and is the oldest and most powerful genie in all of Never After. These guys are babies compared to him. If Aladdin’s genie could grant y
ou a kingdom, the most these guys can give you is a privy.”
“Don’t you have to open their bottles first before they grant your wishes?” says Filomena.
“Not always. Sometimes they’re just bored or mischievous,” Jack explains. “Wishes can cause havoc. Even small ones.”
“In the books the rules are super clear,” says Filomena.
“But real life is different from books, isn’t it?” says Jack.
“You have a point,” she concedes.
For a moment Filomena seems to have forgotten her great desire to return before school is over, and Jack is grateful. But no, when they’re almost halfway there, she begins to fret.
“Wait! Where are we going? Why am I going with you? I need to get back,” she says.
“Not yet. You haven’t met Zera,” Jack says. “After you meet with her, I’ll take you back to the portal. Promise. But you need to meet with her first.”
“Zera?” says Filomena. “You mean Scheherazade?”
“You know her, too?” asks Alistair, delighted.
Jack is glad that he doesn’t have to explain who Scheherazade is. And Filomena seems to be more than knowledgeable about her, as she begins to recite a poem:
“Thirteen Fairies were born to the Fairy King and Queen.
Esmeralda, Antonia, Isabella, Philippa, Yvette, and Claudine.
Josefa, Amelia, Colette, and Sabine.
Beautiful Rosanna, who married the King.
Clever Scheherazade, who spun a thousand and one dreams.
And uninvited Carabosse, who was the thirteenth.”
Alistair coos. “Ooh, I like it.”
Even Jack had to smile. “Don’t tell me: It’s from the books, isn’t it?”
“Yup, it’s in the front of each one.” Filomena nods, then looks concerned. “Wait, doesn’t Zera live in the kingdom of Parsa? At the end of book three, when she finishes her tales, the sultan marries her. What’s she doing in Vineland?”
The Thirteenth Fairy Page 6