The Thirteenth Fairy

by Melissa de la Cruz

Alistair lights up at this prospect. “Candy and you’ve got to hunt me down another cheeseburger.”

  “Deal,” says Filomena. “As long as we agree to go see some dragons.”

  “Well…” Alistair shuffles his feet while Jack remains stone-faced.

  “So the alternative is just to let the ogres take over all of Never After?” Filomena crosses her arms and purses her lips. “What happened to the guys who tricked the vizier and helped Aladdin? And rescued Alice from the Queen of Hearts?”

  Alistair sighs. “I don’t know, what did happen to them? Did they stay alive, or did they get eaten by dragons?”

  “We just happened to be at the right place at the right time, that’s all. We’re not the heroes you think we are.” Jack shrugs.

  “Yes you are, Jack Stalker,” says Filomena. “I believe in you. These books were the best friends I ever had. Which means you guys are the best friends I’ve ever had.” She turns to Alistair. “You too, Alistair.”

  Alistair beams. Jack looks less reluctant.

  “Come on, we have to get the dragons’ help. Without it, we don’t stand a chance,” says Filomena. “And the dragons might hate visitors, but there’s one thing they hate more.”

  “Ogres,” say Jack and Alistair in chorus.

  “You’re right,” says Jack at last. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Jack brings out a map of Never After. It’s similar to the ones printed in the front of the books, but more intricate, and there are trees everywhere. “This is the portal system, where the Heart Trees lie. We need to get to the one that takes us down into the Deep.”

  Filomena squints at the map. “Looks like it’s in the Dark Wood?”

  “Not far,” agrees Jack.

  But when they arrive at the place marked on the map, the trees are so dense and overgrown that it’s difficult to ascertain which one is the portal. The forest is bathed in gloom due to the high canopy of treetops, and the deeper they walk into it, the quieter and more eerie it becomes. There are no sounds of birds or tiny woodland creatures. No squirrels run up the tree trunks; no sparrows perch on the branches. They are all alone. Every snap of a twig, every branch they brush, echoes through the woods.

  “Is it just me, or are we the only ones here?” whispers Filomena.

  “Everyone keeps clear of this place,” replies Alistair.

  “Like I said, the dragons hate visitors,” says Jack. “Wait. I think I found it.” He stops in front of one of the oldest trees Filomena has ever seen. Its trunk is as wide as a truck. The heart etched in its center is a fiery one, with flames all around.

  “This is it, I recognize it,” says Filomena, awed. “It’s on the cover of the tenth book.”

  Jack raises an eyebrow.

  “Pied Pipe?” asks Alistair, removing it from his pocket.

  But Jack and Filomena shake their heads. Filomena blushes.

  “Don’t tell us, you read about it,” teases Jack.

  “What a nerd,” Alistair says in jest, tossing her a friendly smile.

  She grins at them. “Knowledge comes in handy. You guys should try gaining some sometime.”

  “Okay, so how do we get in, then?” asks Alistair.

  Filomena is more than happy to share. “The dragons hate unannounced visitors. But they do like manners. So the only way into the Deep…”

  “Is to knock,” says Jack, who does just that. He raps on the tree trunk three times.

  KNOCK.

  KNOCK.

  KNOCK.

  At last, the door to the tree opens with a creaky yawn. Beyond the doorway, through the darkness, they can see just a hint of flame.

  Are they going to get cooked?

  Eaten?

  Dismembered?

  Jack turns to his companions. “Okay, here goes. Before we go through, remember it’s not all tulip cakes and Lily Licks down there. I can’t tell you guys enough: Do not joke with dragons. They have no sense of humor.”

  “None?” asks Alistair with a gulp.

  “None,” says Jack. “They’re the oldest creatures in Never After. Possibly as old as the land itself, and they don’t suffer fools.”

  “It’s fine,” says Filomena. “We won’t be foolish.” She shores up her courage, thinking of what her mom told her before they left: We don’t know where you’re going or what you have to do, but know that we love you. Be brave. You are more than you seem, and you know more than you know.

  * * *

  Jack nods and Filomena watches him walk through the gaping portal, followed by Alistair. She steels herself, closes her eyes, and walks through.

  And screams.

  She’s falling through an endless hole.

  Down.

  Down.

  Down.

  She lands with a thump in a damp, musty cavern. At least she fell on her feet this time. She looks around. “Jack? Alistair?” she calls softly. “Where are you guys?”

  But only her voice echoes back to her.

  Where are they?

  What happened?

  Then: the sound of heavy footsteps thundering toward her, followed by the sound of something heavy dragging behind. Its tail. Of course. A dragon. She can hear it snorting.

  Filomena starts to feel hot in the cave, and she doesn’t know whether it’s fear or heat that’s making her sweat.

  At last the dragon emerges, as tall as a building, filling the entire space and breathing fire.

  She stares at the magnificent creature.

  And bows.

  “Your Magnificence, I am Filomena Jefferson-Cho of North Pasadena, and I come to you in a time of need for aid that only the Royal Dragons of the Deep may provide.”

  The dragon studies Filomena, still on her knees, bowed so low that her arms are outstretched over her head and touching the ground.

  “A supplicant! We haven’t had one in years. Oh, this is going to be fun.” And the dragon laughs a deep belly laugh.

  Jack was wrong. Dragons do have a sense of humor—except Filomena has no idea what she just said that was so funny.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE SHOW OF STRENGTH

  All in all, it wasn’t too bad, thought Alistair. At least the dragon didn’t eat them right away. No, like all those higher up on the food chain, dragons liked to play with their dinner first. And they were definitely dragon dinner.

  These dragons hadn’t eaten in a long time.

  The one who found him was practically salivating. “Yer a little one, but ye’ll do,” said the dragon.

  The three of them had fallen in different places in the Deep, but each had been caught by a dragon and placed with the others in some kind of holding cell overlooking a vast cavern. At least they were all together.

  Filomena was a little spooked, Jack weary, and Alistair—well, to be honest, he was just one moment away from COMPLETELY FREAKING OUT. But he was holding it in. This was worse than just popping out of existence for a moment and then popping back. That experience was odd. This one is just spine-chilling. Is it terrible that he doesn’t want to be eaten? That’s a reasonable goal, isn’t it?

  The dragon—the one who brought Filomena—comes back and regards the three of them thoughtfully.

  “Supplicants to the Deep, your presence is uninvited and undesired; however, it is not unappreciated. You raise the old treaty between the Deep and the Above, between dragon and fairy. Our council has decided to honor that treaty.”

  Yay! mouths Alistair.

  Jack kicks him in the shin. “Shhhh.”

  The dragon looks annoyed to have been interrupted and snorts a plume of smoke in their faces.

  “We shall provide aid that can only be provided by the Deep. However: You must earn our protection and assistance by proving your worth in a Game of Threes.”

  “How convenient, since there are three of us,” Alistair mutters.

  Jack kicks him again.

  The dragon pretends not to have noticed this time. “Each of you must pass your challenge
, or help is forfeit, as are your lives. The Deep shall take its due.”

  The dragon disappears, leaving them alone in the darkness once more.

  * * *

  “The Game of Threes, the Game of Threes,” says Filomena. “I can’t remember—but I feel like it has to be in the books somewhere. I just don’t remember how to win.” She’s fretting and tearing through the books she has in her backpack. “I should have brought all twelve of them, but they wouldn’t fit.”

  “There’s no way,” says Alistair. “We’re dinner. I hope I’m tasty.”

  Jack walks over to Filomena and steadies her hand, closing the book. “The answer’s not in there. Don’t worry. It’s a game. Which means there’s a way to win. There’s always a way to win. That’s why it’s called a game. Dragons hate cheaters more than they hate visitors. They won’t cheat. We can win fair and square, get them to help us, and get out of here.”

  “Oh,” says Filomena, looking at Jack with clear admiration.

  “You can do this, Alistair,” says Jack. “You can win.”

  Alistair gulps. It was so easy to believe in his friends, so much harder to believe in himself.

  When the dragon returns, he nods at Alistair.

  “Me?” he squeaks.

  “Alistair Bartholomew Barnaby,” says the dragon. “You have been chosen to perform the Show of Strength.”

  “Me?” Alistair squeaks again. He wonders how the dragon knew his name, but then, dragons know many things.

  “Come,” the dragon orders.

  “Good luck,” whispers Filomena.

  “Remember, there is always a way to win,” says Jack, holding out a fist as he’d seen the mortals do.

  Alistair pounds it. “Right.”

  * * *

  Alistair follows the dragon out toward the open arena floor. He’s trying to be brave, but he’s never been brave. That’s the whole point of being Jack Stalker’s best friend: You didn’t have to be brave or courageous or fearless; you can just hide behind Jack. That’s what Alistair is good at, hiding. Why is there nowhere to hide right now? And why was he picked first? He put up a brave front for Jack and Filomena, but in reality, he is terrified.

  They’re in the arena now, and he can see Jack and Filomena up at the cave where they were imprisoned. They’re craning their necks and looking down to see him. Jack waves, and Filomena gives a thumbs-up.

  The rocky arena is completely empty, and the dragon flies away to the other end, where three dragons are sitting on dragon thrones. They must be the council.

  “The test of strength shall now begin!” a voice booms from overhead. “We wish you bad luck and ill fortune. However, if you pass the Show of Strength, you will be one step closer to earning our munificence.”

  Alistair quakes in his boots.

  The ground beneath him rumbles, and to Alistair’s horror, the very earth breaks open and dozens of sharp stalagmites rise up from the cavern floor like puncturing spikes in varying sizes and thicknesses. Behind him rises a cage holding an angry-looking dragon. The dragon spies Alistair and releases a howl of fire and rage.

  Alistair screams and steps back, almost tripping over a stalagmite. It’s clear he has to make his way past the spikes to get away from the dragon, whose cage slowly begins to open.

  He turns back to the sharp rocks. Is he supposed to budge them? How? They’re solid limestone. He was chosen for this because he’s weak, he knows. Then he stops himself. Sure, he’s not as brave as Jack or as smart as Filomena, but neither of them is gifted with strength, either. Maybe he’s not as weak as he thinks.

  Think, Alistair, think.

  He keeps pushing at the rocks. Nothing.

  What can he do?

  Behind him, he can hear the cage door creaking slowly as it opens. But he can’t give in to the fear. It will blind him. He can’t give in to the fear. He has to focus.

  Maybe if he kicks them? He kicks one of the smaller stalagmites, to no avail. His frustration is growing. He looks at the obstacle, side to side, in its entirety. He tries to climb through the stalagmites, but there are too many, and his shirt snags on one and tears. There’s no way this is going to work.

  He moves from column to column, pulling and pushing and trying to break or shift the obstacles.

  The caged dragon hisses and lets out a blazing breath, the flames licking the walls around them.

  Alistair screams again, covering his head. But he’s still in one piece. He’s got to think! He’s got to figure this out! Then he hears Jack’s voice in his head: It’s a game … There’s always a way to win.

  Then he sees it: a boulder. A round boulder. And when he looks at the stalagmites, he’s reminded of something he saw in the mortal world. A game mortals played, in the building where there were bins outside full of—what did Filomena call it? Trash pizza.

  Inside, the mortals rolled the ball toward standing pins of some sort, and the pins crashed. It was a game. The pins looked a lot like the spikes in front of him now.

  Alistair races for the boulder, hoping against all odds that he’s able to lift it, or at least roll it. He’s out of breath, panting and wheezing, as he runs. He grabs the boulder and calculates that if he can roll it from a slight incline in the arena, it will have enough momentum and strength to crash through the spikes. Determination gives him the last bit of strength he needs as he pushes the rock up the slope.

  With one last grunt, he shoves the boulder as hard as he can from the top of the incline, sending it rolling down toward the stalagmites. It picks up speed as it rolls, hurtling into the middle of the spikes.

  With a crashing sound, the first bunch of stalagmites break apart and fall.

  Alistair hears his friends cheering him on as he races toward the spikes to grab the boulder among the rubble and then begins to roll it back up the slight hill to start over again. He sends it plummeting downhill toward the stalagmites, aiming for the same spot where he’d knocked down the first grouping.

  The boulder rolls toward the spikes, picking up pace once more as it heads straight for his intended target, and it knocks down several more stalagmites. The crumbling columns crash down into rubble, and light emerges from where they’d just been blocking the path.

  The dragon roars in frustration as Alistair runs through the path and out of the arena to safety.

  When he looks back, the dragon’s cage door shuts with a bang.

  Alistair swings his fist in the air triumphantly.

  “Congratulations,” hisses a booming voice, just as Filomena and Jack pop out of the tunnel and run to hug Alistair.

  “Oh my ogre! I did it! I really did it!” he yells.

  “You did!” says Filomena. “You really did!”

  Jack thumps him on his back. “I knew you would!”

  The booming voice bellows again, clearly unmoved. “You may go on to the next challenge. Please make your way through the path to see what danger lies ahead.”

  And just like that, their relief morphs back into fear as they realize they still have two challenges left to determine their survival. They step over the stalagmite rubble and head to the next part of the game, with danger lapping at their backs.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE TEST OF WILLS

  The second arena is covered in flames from the bottom of the cave floor all the way to the top of the cavern. The heat has settled into their surroundings, filling the cave with an uncomfortable warmth and intensity that instantly makes them sweat. Jack looks away. Somehow he knows this is his challenge.

  “The second challenge is the Test of Wills,” says the voice. “We have chosen Jack the Giant Stalker to perform it.”

  He knew it.

  “No magic is allowed. To move on to the next and final test, you must walk through the flames to the other side. Begin.”

  “Jack!” says Filomena.

  He turns to her. She’s frantic. “In the books, the Test of Wills is not only about willpower but also about mind power. If you can recogn
ize the unreal for what it is, you can succeed. If you can put your mind over the mischief in front of you, you can manage. It’s not real. It’s just a test of your mind and your will to survive.”

  “You will. Survive, I mean,” says Alistair with a cheer-up grin. “You’re Jack Stalker.”

  Before Jack can thank them, Filomena and Alistair are disappeared from his side with a whoosh. When he looks up, he sees them in a cavern not unlike the one in which he and Filomena watched Alistair.

  His stomach twists, and his eyes water. For he knows his friends are going to watch him burn. Because he can’t do this.

  Jack gazes into the fire.

  He’s Jack the Giant Stalker. The boy who bested the giant. What did Filomena call him? The “dashing hero” of the story. But it’s not true. He was no hero. Not when he was needed most.

  When he looks into the growing inferno, all he can see is the way the fire danced over his village, destroying everything in its path. He was coming back from the giant’s feast when he saw it: the shack his family lived in, covered in flames. He heard their screams. He ran toward the blaze. He made it inside the house.

  There was smoke everywhere, and he couldn’t see.

  Then he heard it, the sickening crash of the roof.

  He had to run out before he was killed.

  The screams stopped.

  They were dead. His mother, his brother. It had been just the three of them, and now it was just Jack.

  He was burnt. He hadn’t realized until villagers pushed him down, rolled him, and put out the flames. At first he wouldn’t let the pixies heal him. He wanted to remember the pain of that moment.

  Even though his scars have since healed, he will never forget. He looks down at the vines covering his arms. They’re in stasis; they can’t help him now. No magic is allowed, and no magic will work in this arena. This is just him and the fire.

  Jack wills his feet to move.

  But he can’t.

  Move, he says to himself, grimacing. Move.

  The flames dance closer.

  If he doesn’t move, the fire will move to him.