The Thirteenth Fairy

by Melissa de la Cruz

  Cheers are heard throughout the room, and heads (that are able to) are nodding and faces are smiling as she goes back to work.

  * * *

  Filomena is woken by a gentle shake. She hears a voice that sounds like Jack’s.

  “Filomena? Wake up. It’s time to eat,” he says.

  She opens her eyelids little by little. She squints at Jack with the kind of haze and confusion one has when waking from a nap and not knowing what time, or even year, it is. She fell asleep in her chair beside Alistair’s bed. He’s also out, snoring away, drool dripping from his lip to his chin.

  “How long was I asleep?” she asks.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “You needed the rest, anyway. You didn’t miss anything here. Just more of the same. But come now, let’s go eat. I’m sure you’re starved.”

  Jack walks her back toward Zera’s cottage, which is much larger than she remembered. “This is almost as big as a palace,” she says. “Oh! It’s enchanted.”

  “To fit as many as it needs to. Useful, isn’t it?”

  The table where they sat just a little while before is now a vast oak table crowded with the various citizens of Vineland. Fairies and goblins next to farmers and crofters. Filomena is famished. Plus, it’ll be interesting to finally eat a meal that’s not takeout.

  Zera raises her goblet of wine and taps the table with her open palm three times, signaling for silence. She gives another short speech about the events of the day, once again thanking everyone for their courage during the attack and their eagerness to aid the injured so selflessly.

  “We will rebuild Vineland together. And take back Parsa. And Westphalia. And Wood Vale and the Meadow Glen. Brick by brick, straw by straw, stick by stick, little by little. And in time we will flourish, in peace, safe from ogres, witches, and giants. We will defeat the ogre queen and live in harmony once again. I, Scheherazade, formerly of the Great Forest and of Paras, promise you this.”

  She says it with such conviction that Filomena wants to believe her. But as she listens to the speech, all she can think about is the books. And with the thirteenth book unpublished, she has no idea how the story will end. Whether they will, in fact, be victorious in the long war against the witches and their ogres. Where the series left off, the fairy tribes and their allies had been mostly losing this battle. She keeps her thoughts to herself and remains seated quietly at the table.

  At last the food is served. “Warm summer soup with berry bread,” announces a harried elf, plunking down a huge vat next to freshly baked loaves. There’s also a large, delicious-smelling roast with mashed truffles, and a heaping plate of crispy frog fritters. Then cranberry cabbage and gooseberry prunes. Three different kinds of porridge are lined up one after another—pumpkin, peach, and persimmon. A large bowl of magical beans appears beside those, and they’re jumping in the bowl as people reach in to grab some. They are served a wide array of vegetables, and Filomena has never been so happy to see broccoli and carrots in her whole life.

  To drink: mulberry wine, thick cups of morning dew, and juices from every kind of fruit, including some she has only read about in the books: cherry apples, bumbleberries, and mango-nanas.

  “Please, help yourselves,” Zera encourages.

  Soon everyone is eating heartily.

  The food is beyond delicious. The summer soup tastes exactly like the season it’s named for—hot, fragrant, and full of sunshine—while the berry bread is juicy and buttery at the same time. The roast melts on her tongue, and mashed truffles are the most heavenly thing she’s ever tasted.

  The creatures and citizens talk in low voices that echo across the hall. A soft light fills the spacious room, now crowded with Vineland’s survivors. Filomena is momentarily saddened at the occasion, wishing the cause were a celebration instead of devastation. But she’s hungry, and so she does what everyone else is doing. She eats.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE MARK

  Assorted creatures volunteer to clear the table and serve dessert. Dishes and plates are swept away by swift hands. Filomena waits in wonder, eyeing the many treats being laid out on the table in front of her. Rumple, a tiny elf, plops down a towering multi-tiered dish of cookies. She smells the oatmeal and raisins, but there seems to be another ingredient as well. Fairy dust, maybe?

  The table grows heavy with cakes of all kinds: the famous tulip, but also chicory chocolate and goldberry rose. Farther down is a variety of pastries, creating a carnival of colors in the center of the table. She catches sight of small round white-and-yellow candies shaped in the form of a flower, and smiles. Lily Licks!

  Sprouting from one of the cakes is a white orchid, and the cake is tall and layered like a wedding cake, only more intricate and beautiful. Filomena’s mouth starts watering at the sight of it, and she fights the urge to lick the icing from the top. She wants to try one of everything, but she knows her eyes are bigger than her stomach.

  Filomena is helping herself to thirds when Alistair shows up at the table with an easy smile.

  “Hey, guys,” he says cheerily. He looks at all the desserts laid out before him and rubs his palms together. “Oh, I made it just in time!”

  Filomena looks up at him questioningly. “Shouldn’t you still be in bed? What about your intestine being shoved up into your throat?”

  “First of all, I was worried it would twist into my heart if I jumped around. But I was cleared to go. The pixies did their thing, and I’m good as new. See?” Alistair says, doing a little jig and spinning at the end, landing with his hands out.

  “All right, all right,” Jack chimes in. “Go easy, will you? You were nearly squeezed to a pulp.”

  Alistair makes a face.

  In the meantime, Jack gets up to grab Alistair a chair, and when he returns to the table, he squeezes it in next to his seat.

  “Look, Fil!” Alistair says excitedly, pointing to the small round white-and-yellow candies she noticed earlier. “Those are the Lily Licks! You have to try one!”

  “I did!” she says gleefully.

  “Did you have a slice of the tulip cake, too?” asks Alistair.

  “I had two,” admits Filomena, who was unable to resist the spongy confection iced with real yellow tulips.

  “I need to catch up, then,” says Alistair.

  As they eat, a bard picks up a lute and begins to serenade the gathering. Zera makes her way down the table and stops at Filomena’s place.

  “You did well today,” the fairy tells her.

  “Thank you,” says Filomena.

  “There’s something about you … Your presence here cannot be a mere coincidence,” says Zera thoughtfully. “The way you cast your spell reminded me of someone, and I couldn’t think of who until now.”

  Filomena feels shy.

  “And then I realized … but of course! It’s just been such a long time since I’ve seen her.”

  Filomena tenses at Zera’s words, and even more so when the fairy leans ever so close to her and lifts her hand to Filomena’s forehead. She can smell the lilac in Zera’s hair, mixed with the subtle scent of smoke from the fires that broke out during the battle.

  Zera inches her open palm closer to Filomena’s forehead until it’s nearly touching, and she whispers, “The thirteenth fairy is missing, my sister is she. The thirteenth fairy is hiding, won’t you show her to me?”

  Filomena feels something explode inside her and cries out, reaching for her forehead, which feels like it’s splitting in two.

  “Uhhhh … what’s happening?”

  In reply, Zera offers her a tiny hand mirror from her pocket. “Look for yourself.”

  On her forehead, underneath the skin, is a luminescent mark: a tiny crescent moon surrounded by thirteen tiny stars.

  “Wh-what is that?”

  Next to her, Alistair edges back in his chair a bit as he points to her forehead. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks no one in particular.

  “It is,” says Zera, awe in her voice. “Carabo
sse, what have you done?”

  “What’s going on?” Filomena demands, staring fixedly at the reflection of the mark on her forehead. Is it her imagination, or does it itch a little?

  “You carry the mark of the thirteenth fairy,” Jack says, his mouth twisting as if the words taste bitter on his tongue. “The fairy Carabosse.” He looks like he wants to say something more but decides against it. He also inches away from her just a little bit.

  Filomena remembers Jack’s words about Carabosse. It all began with her. She was the one who cursed the kingdom and started the war. We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for her. She’s an evil fairy, and I’m glad she’s gone.

  She stares at herself in the mirror again. “Excuse me?”

  “You are marked by the thirteenth fairy. You carry her power and her protection,” says Zara. “I was wondering how a mortal girl could cast spells that only those of the forest can wield.”

  “But what does it mean?”

  “I do not know,” says Zera. “For a moment I thought—I thought you might be her, returned to me.” She hangs her head.

  “I am not Carabosse!” cries Filomena. “Never!”

  “Perhaps not,” Zera says. “But you are connected to her somehow, and to me, and to the rest of us. It can only mean one thing: You, Filomena Jefferson-Cho, are one of us. You belong here. In Never After.”

  “Ooooh,” says Alistair.

  Jack kicks him under the table.

  “Ouch!” Alistair glares at Jack. Jack glares back.

  But Filomena hasn’t said a word since Zera’s pronouncement.

  Because instead of excitement, all she feels is an intense and rising anxiety. “No. Absolutely not! I’m Filomena Jefferson-Cho of North Pasadena, and I want to go home!” She turns to Jack. “You promised. Take me home now.”

  PROLOGUE

  THE UNEATEN

  The thirteenth fairy cursed the princess. She cursed the kingdom. For what did she see in her dark vision? What did she see that could not be unseen?

  Carabosse saw the beautiful new queen on her throne. She saw what she had done and what she planned to do. A new princess was born, a new hope for the land. And that was when Olga formulated her evil plan.

  A new maiden welcomed to the castle was she. Into Rosanna’s bedroom Olga crept, and into the queen’s chalice Olga dripped death. After the devious deed was done, Olga left.

  The poison spread slowly at first. Rosanna’s fair flesh flushed, reddening and heating until all her veins burst.

  Olga comforted the king in his time of woe, holding him in her arms as he wept of his sorrow.

  His now motherless daughter was asleep in her crib. Olga promised King Vladimir she’d care for the babe, she did. Then she insisted they banish Rosanna’s sister Carabosse from the kingdom—if he wanted his new love to live.

  So within a few days after Rosanna passed, Vladimir took Olga as his new wife and vowed she’d be his last. It worked, the spell she had cast. Now for some time longer, she would have to wear this mask …

  The christening of the baby princess was a celebratory blast. The crowd was impressive, a glittering mass. But when the new queen spotted her foe, Olga was aghast.

  Eleven fairies invited, for the twelfth was dead and the thirteenth shunned. So when Carabosse strode into the christening, the whole court was stunned.

  Queen Olga arose, shrieking in protest. But Carabosse lifted her baby niece, holding her close to her chest. And when she closed her eyes, this is what she saw:

  Princess Eliana at sixteen, a beautiful young woman with sad eyes and a wisdom older than her years, marrying handsome Prince Stefan.

  Eliana in her white gown, gorgeous and glowing, ready to be wed. Her proud parents watching from the balcony. King Vladimir all smiles. Queen Olga observing with hungry eyes.

  Then later:

  Eliana was older now, a mother of two. She was putting her babes to sleep in the nursery when she heard the door close, and turned around to see Queen Olga staring at her.

  The queen’s mouth was open.

  Were those fangs?

  Eliana backed away slowly. “Mother, is that you?”

  “It’s me, dear. Your dearest mother,” Olga said all too cheerfully, inching forward with slow and purposeful steps, “and you smell delicious … I have been waiting so long, so long for this day.”

  Eliana’s back hit the wall—nowhere left to retreat.

  Olga expanded, transformed, morphing into her true shape. Bulbous nose, boil-covered skin, hideous and hungry. She was no longer queen or mother but an ogre.

  The ogre queen of Orgdale.

  Westphalia’s sworn enemy.

  Eliana watched in horror, stunned by her mother’s transformation into such a hideous thing. Her eyes grew wide just before she screamed. A shrill cry of fright, the princess alone and terrified. Her mother had turned into a monster before her very eyes.

  The babies started to cry.

  Eliana’s fear turned to helplessness as she looked to the bassinet, where the twins lay. The cries doubled. The screams became shrill.

  Blood on the wall.

  Blood on the floor.

  Then at last—an ogre fully satisfied.

  For hunger like that cannot be denied.

  * * *

  Carabosse closed her eyes against this terrifying vision and held her baby niece in her arms. She would not leave her sister’s daughter to the slaughter. She vowed that as long as she lived, the princess would remain uneaten.

  PART THREE

  Wherein …

  Filomena leaves.

  Filomena returns.

  Alistair Bartholomew Barnaby, will you please stand up?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  BACK

  Filomena Jefferson-Cho wakes up in her own bed in her own home. At first she doesn’t realize where she is. She feels the plush down comforter around her before she fully opens her eyes. Wait! Is she truly home finally? Bolting upright, she looks down, recognizing the white bedspread and the light teal furry body pillow. She hears a whimper and realizes she’s woken Adelina, her Pomeranian pup.

  Filomena pets Adelina and kisses her head, scooping her up and cradling her. “Hi, baby! I missed you so much!” The dog probably thinks Filomena is nuts. She hasn’t gone anywhere, right?

  It was just a dream.

  It wasn’t real.

  Thank Zera.

  Filomena looks to her left and sees her bookshelf, the Never After books lined up on the top shelf.

  She checks her arms for any scratches or bruises, for any sign that what happened was not just a dream. There’s nothing. No scratches from the ogre burns, no marks from the battle. Breathing a sigh of relief, she lies back down and closes her eyes, snuggling under her blankets. She curls up into a ball and hugs the covers tight. “It was just a dream. It was just a dream.”

  She repeats the words to herself and then shakes her head, amazed at how real dreams can feel sometimes. When she first woke up, she would have sworn she had actually been in Never After. She would have insisted she had visited the fantasy world she’s read about in the pages of her favorite books and that she’d actually met the characters from that world as if they were real people. Jack. Alistair. Zera.

  Of course it was a dream, she thinks as she inches closer and closer back to dreaming. The Never After books are just that: books. Of course they’re not real. How silly to think otherwise.

  The sheer and utter disappointment of the thirteenth book not coming out was probably the cause of her dream. Yes, her subconscious emotions must have gotten the best of her. She drifts back to sleep, exhausted from the lucid adventure. The last thing she remembers before falling asleep again is Zera with her hand outstretched over Filomena’s forehead, whispering a mysterious spell.

  When Filomena wakes for the second time, it’s a while later, and it dawns on her that she hasn’t slept in like this in quite some time. Stretching her arms wide, she exhales the rest of her exhaustion and de
cides to get up before her parents question if she still has a pulse.

  That’s another way she knows it was all just a dream. Had she actually skipped school and gone to the Hollywood Hills, traveled through the Heart Tree portal and into Never After, her parents surely would have freaked out, and there is no way she would have forgotten that inevitable lecture. She gets up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and climbs out of bed.

  She catches her reflection in the mirror above her vanity and nearly falls backward at what she sees. No, no, no no. She squeezes her eyes shut and vehemently shakes her head. This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening, she repeats in a frantic whisper, anxiety filling her chest like a balloon about to burst. I must still be dreaming.

  She pinches herself hard on her arm and winces. “Ow!”

  Trying to calm down, she convinces herself to turn around and face the mirror again. Surely she just imagined that the fairy mark was still on her forehead.

  She slowly turns back toward the mirror but keeps her eyes on her feet. When she finally summons the courage to look up, she’s horrified to find that the mystical mark is definitely still visible on her forehead. There it is. The mark of Carabosse: a crescent moon with thirteen stars around it, one for each fairy. It glows beneath her skin, like she’s lit up from inside.

  What is happening?

  She runs to her bathroom, grabs a washcloth, and starts wiping at her forehead with soap and warm water. She scrubs and scrubs until her skin is red and raw. She remains in there for almost an hour, trying to get rid of the mark. But nothing works. She tries a charcoal face mask, letting it sit for twenty minutes. But the mark is still there when she wipes the gray sludge away from her skin. She tries an assortment of tonics and lotions. Nothing works.