Dragon Curse

by Lisa McMann

  Fifer stopped jumping. Her shoulders slumped. “This entire night is a disgrace,” she muttered. With a sigh, she went into the mansion to see if Simber was around—maybe he’d give her the approval and attention she was so desperately seeking tonight. But he’d disappeared once things settled down. Perhaps he’d gone to the jungle to visit Panther as he sometimes did. They were probably being all kissy too.

  As Fifer meandered toward the stairs feeling very sorry for herself, her feet crunched down on some broken glass on the floor, apparently having been missed in the cleanup efforts. Fifer checked her costume pockets to see if she had anything that would help with the mess. Finding no magic broom components, she went to the kitchen to get an actual broom. Maybe one of the cooks would want to chat while Fifer had a bedtime snack.

  But the kitchen was dark and empty—a rare sight. Light from the moon streamed in through a broken window.

  Fifer stood in the moonlight for a moment, then got a broom and dustpan and went back to clean up whatever glass she could find. She returned the items and fixed herself a fig jam sandwich and an orange cream drink. Feeling despondent, she didn’t bother going all the way to the tubes by the dining room, and instead she stepped into the room service tube in the corner and sent herself up to her room. She was beginning to worry about what age thirteen would bring. If tonight was any indication of how it would go, she wasn’t very eager to find out. She arrived in their room to Thisbe’s big mess of fake blood all over their bathroom. Disgusted, Fifer cleaned it up.

  By the time Thisbe came into their bedroom and slipped into her bed, Fifer startled awake. “Finally,” she said angrily.

  Thisbe’s eyes widened in the dark room. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” Fifer said grumpily. “Just be quiet so I can sleep.”

  “I am being quiet.” Thisbe wrinkled her nose at her sister. Things were definitely getting unbearable between them. They used to agree without exception and do everything together, but now they couldn’t be further apart on their thinking. They each wanted the other to see things her way. It was terribly unsettling. And it was starting to suffocate them both, stuck in this room together. Unfortunately, neither of them knew how to stop their relationship from changing and spiraling out of control.

  Changing Times

  I suppose I should get my own room,” Thisbe said a few days later at breakfast. She was already mentally preparing for her training with Florence for the day, but the thought had crossed her mind several times since the night of the party. Having her own room might be nice—she could practice her magic and go to bed whenever she wanted without disturbing Fifer.

  Fifer looked up, her hand poised to take a spoonful of boysenberry oatmeal. “What?”

  “Now that we’re thirteen, I mean,” Thisbe said, wiping her mouth and tossing her napkin on her plate. She pushed back her chair. “Everyone else has their own room. And last year Alex said we could split up if we wanted to once we were thirteen, remember?”

  Fifer set her spoon on the table. “Well, sure, I remember, but I thought we said we weren’t going to.”

  Thisbe looked down and said carefully, “Yes, but we were pretty young then. Now, after everything we’ve been through . . . I mean, I love being your roommate, but there’s extra space in the mansion, so why not split up? We’ve never tried that before.” Her gaze flitted up to her twin’s face. “And it seems like maybe it’s time.”

  Fifer’s expression was unreadable. “What about when the Revinir roars and you get paralyzed? Don’t you need me to help you?”

  “I’ll manage,” Thisbe said. “She doesn’t do it very often anymore—I think all the dragons must be there by now. Maybe she’s forgotten about Drock and me.” She noticed Fifer’s eyes glistening and tilted her head, confused. “Are you upset?”

  “I’m fine,” Fifer said, her voice pitching slightly upward. “Yeah, whatever you want to do is . . . fine.” She hurriedly glanced around, as if she wanted Thisbe to stop looking at her, and pretended to spot someone. “I should go. Let’s talk about it later.”

  Thisbe shrugged. “We don’t have to do it,” she said. “It was just a thought.” She could tell Fifer was angry, but she seemed more upset than Thisbe would have imagined over getting some privacy and extra space to spread out. Plus, Fifer had seemed so annoyed to be awakened the other night, so Thisbe had thought Fifer would like the idea. “Maybe there’s a way Aaron could extend the hallway and slip a room in right next door, so we wouldn’t be far apart?”

  Fifer’s eyes shone, and she got up quickly; then she made her tray of mostly uneaten oatmeal disappear. “Maybe,” she said lightly. She pushed her chair in and grabbed her rucksack. “Bye.”

  “Wait!” Thisbe said. “Do you want to help come up with new spell components today to fight the Revinir? Clementi and Ibra—” She stopped abruptly as Fifer fled the room.

  Thisbe didn’t know what to think. Fifer was very upset, and Thisbe wasn’t exactly sure why. Was it what she’d said, or the way she’d said it? She went outside to meet Florence, replaying the scene in her mind and realizing with regret that she hadn’t been sensitive about suggesting the split to Fifer. After all, they hadn’t discussed it in a long time, so maybe it felt like the idea had come out of nowhere. Clearly, they weren’t thinking along the same lines like they used to.

  Fifer had been acting distant lately—ever since they’d gotten home. They’d both noticed that the other had changed, even if they didn’t exactly talk about it in so many words. They used to understand each other so well without having to talk things through, though, so after the other night, Thisbe naturally assumed that Fifer was thinking about the two of them splitting up into separate rooms too. Apparently not.

  Thisbe didn’t have time to dwell on it further—she had a lot on her mind, and not knowing anything about the status of Grimere with the Revinir in charge, she felt a lot of pressure to hurry up and go back. With or without her sister. Just as soon as she had the right weapons.

  Unsurprisingly, Fifer didn’t show up for their spell brainstorming session, and Seth wasn’t there either. But Aaron was there with Thatcher, Samheed and Lani, and Ibrahim and Clementi. Thisbe soon forgot all about Fifer.

  “Let’s start with revising the seek spell,” Florence said. “Does anyone have ideas for how to improve it?”

  Aaron spoke up. “Kaylee told me how people communicate over distances in her world. They each carry a device—Kaylee showed me hers, though it stopped working around the same time she arrived in the seven islands. She said people push buttons to create words on the device. You can type whatever words you want to say, like writing a letter. Then they can send the message to anyone, anywhere. The person they send the message to gets it almost immediately.”

  “I thought Kaylee said her world wasn’t magical,” Thisbe said.

  “She seems to think it’s done by some other means,” said Aaron. “But whatever the case, do you think that’s something to explore?”

  Samheed scratched his stubbly beard, then pulled out the small notepad he kept in his pocket and opened it to a blank page. He ripped the page out and held it up, studying it. “Maybe we make the paper a component,” he murmured. “There’d have to be a writing tool to go with it, of course, which could be bulky. But something that can send itself with a short command from the mage. Perhaps it travels somehow like a magic carpet?”

  “Or like an origami fire-breathing dragon,” said Lani, seemingly understanding Samheed’s cryptic musings. “Where we command the location it needs to go to—or, rather, specify the person it needs to go to. But I think we can apply the faster trajectory that already exists for the seek spell instead of the magic carpet speed.”

  “I imagine that wouldn’t be too hard to instill,” said Thatcher.

  Ibrahim and Clementi exchanged a glance, clearly marveling over this opportunity to be so involved in the planning side of spells with some of the people who’d been responsible for designin
g so many great ones already.

  “I like where you’re going with this,” said Florence. “Do you two want to run with that idea and come up with a prototype?”

  “It’s going to take several steps,” Lani said. “But yes, of course. I think we’re onto something.”

  “Great,” said Florence. “Off you go.” Samheed and Lani got up and went inside to get supplies and start planning out how the spell would work.

  “Now,” said Florence, turning to Aaron and Thatcher and the three young mages, “what about fighting the Revinir? Have you come up with anything?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it, but haven’t really gotten anywhere,” Thisbe admitted. “I’ve mostly been focusing on learning existing spells so I can, you know . . .” She flushed. “Actually earn my component vest. Which . . . I’m still . . . waiting . . . for.”

  Florence looked at Thisbe, as if seeing her clearly for the first time in a while. “Why haven’t I given you yours yet?” she wondered aloud.

  “I don’t know,” said Thisbe. “I assumed I still wasn’t trustworthy. I mean . . . I’ve terrorized the people of Artimé my whole life. I get why you wouldn’t want me handling components. Especially with Frieda Stubbs and her gang spouting off about how terrible Aaron and Fifer and I are.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Aaron said, clipping his words. “If she or any of her friends come near you, find me immediately.”

  Thisbe saw the anger in his face. She wanted to ask him what Frieda had meant about their mother, but now didn’t seem to be a good time for such a private discussion. Instead she nodded. “I will.”

  “Oh, my dear Thisbe,” said Florence. “I’m sorry you’ve had this burden on your shoulders—you don’t deserve it. I think it’s time to show everyone that I trust you. And I’m in charge of the vests.” She stood up. “Come with me. Clementi, Ibrahim, keep brainstorming new spells with Thatcher and Aaron to combat the Revinir’s power. We’ll be back in a bit.”

  Thisbe jumped to her feet and followed, jogging to keep up with Florence’s long strides. They entered the mansion, then climbed the stairs and went down the mostly secret hallway, which both of them were able to see, unlike many mages. Florence’s pace slowed as they went past two unmarked doors, behind which were rooms nobody’d been inside before—at least nobody alive today.

  “Are you okay with going into Alex’s apartment?” Florence asked gently. “That’s where I put your vest after I gave Fifer hers. I . . . I figured Alex would want to be the one to give it to you after he . . . after he brought you home.”

  “Oh. Ahh . . .” Thisbe swallowed hard. She thought about what it might look like inside. How would Alex have left it? Reminders of how awful their relationship had been began pounding incessantly in Thisbe’s head. After a moment she cringed and nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay with it.” Maybe it would be nice to see something so closely related to Alex again. Maybe it would help her.

  Florence stopped at the door to the head mage’s quarters and rested her hand on the knob. She looked at Thisbe. “Ready?”

  Thisbe nodded again. “Let’s do this,” she whispered.

  Florence uttered a magical phrase under her breath, and the handle turned. She pushed the door open and went in, then moved out of the way.

  Thisbe stepped inside. Sunshine flooded through the windows, and dust particles hung in the light. The room smelled stale, having been closed up for a long time. The bed was neatly made, and there was a single robe hanging on a hook on the wall. The closet stood ajar, as if, in a hurry to get going, Alex had swung it closed, but it hadn’t clicked shut.

  There was a pile of books collecting dust on his desk, and a sweater was slung over the chair back. Thisbe blinked and looked around, expecting a blackboard to greet them, but she didn’t see it. “Where’s Cromwell?” Cromwell was Alex’s blackboard—the one who’d replaced Clive after Clive had died in the final battle in Artimé. Alex and Cromwell had never hit it off quite like Alex and Clive had.

  “I reassigned him to a new Unwanted once we knew Alex was gone. It was torturous for poor Cromwell, being stuck in here knowing his person would never return.”

  “That was really thoughtful of you,” Thisbe murmured. It would have never occurred to her. She pressed her lips together, then lifted Alex’s sweater and held it tightly in her hands, feeling the silky fabric. She brought it to her nose and breathed in. She closed her eyes tightly and grimaced, feeling a startling pain inside her ribs. “It smells like him.”

  “I would imagine it does,” said Florence, trying to read the girl’s expression. “Is that comforting to you? Or . . . perhaps just the opposite.”

  “It’s . . . okay,” Thisbe said. “It’s weird, I guess. I mean . . .” Thisbe could only think about the last time she’d seen Alex, before she and Fifer had run away with Hux. He’d been angry with them, as usual. The last in-person memory Thisbe had in relation to Alex was his angry, disappointed face. Something she’d seen time after time.

  Since that moment, Fifer had been given a chance to work things out with Alex. And to see him change and become more like his old self—at least that’s what everyone said had happened. Thisbe found it hard to believe, but she felt terrible for thinking that way. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her feelings about Alex’s death were so complicated. She wouldn’t dare say it out loud, but the truth was that she didn’t actually like him very much, and never had. But how could she express that now that he was dead and everyone was saying such nice things about him? She tried to remember the good bits of their relationship, but there hadn’t been all that many. Guilt pounded through her veins. This wasn’t how grief was supposed to feel. Was it?

  Florence gave Thisbe a sympathetic smile. “I’ll get the vest.”

  “Thanks.” Feeling numb, Thisbe put the sweater down and smoothed the wrinkles. “I’ll come back another time, I think. Maybe when Sky is ready—she hasn’t been up here yet. Or Aaron.”

  “Yes. And perhaps Fifer would want to come too?”

  “Right. Fifer too. Of course.”

  Thisbe turned sharply and let out a ragged breath before her conflicted feelings could build up and overwhelm her. Suddenly, getting her component vest didn’t seem very exciting anymore. “I’m going to wait outside.”

  “I’ll be right there,” said Florence. She ducked through the doorway to Alex’s closet and grabbed the vest she’d hung there shortly after she’d given Fifer hers. Then she followed Thisbe out and closed the door. She handed the vest to her. “Are you okay?”

  Thisbe wasn’t sure how to answer. If Sky had asked her that question, Thisbe would say no. And Sky would understand, because she wasn’t okay either. But anyone else?

  “Yeah, of course,” said Thisbe with a weak smile, taking the vest and slipping it on. “I’m good.”

  Frieda Stubbs Strikes Again

  Florence and Thisbe returned to the lawn to find Aaron, Thatcher, Ibrahim, and Clementi in deep conversation about various spells that could potentially stop the Revinir in her tracks. Thatcher was the only one of the smaller group who’d actually fought the dragon-woman, so the others had given him the final say on whether he thought the ideas would work until Thisbe and Samheed and Lani returned.

  “Have you gotten anywhere?” Florence asked as she and Thisbe took their seats.

  “Not really.” Aaron flashed Thisbe an impressed grin and nodded at her vest. “The challenge is immense. We talked about a spell to remove dragon scales so that our spells might penetrate better, but we only have Drock to practice on. And, well, you know Drock.”

  Thisbe flushed and smiled back. “You could try it out on me,” she said, holding out her arms. “Though I quite like my scales. I feel wiser and more intuitive with them. I wouldn’t want to lose that extra sense—they seem to stand up when something awful is about to happen.” She gazed at the flat scales on her arm, twisting it to catch the light and thinking about the proposed spell. “The Revinir’s whole body is different now,” she mused.
“Much larger. Removing her scales might help, but we’d still have to have something lethal that would work on someone several times larger than our typical enemy.”

  They batted other ideas back and forth a while longer, but Thatcher and Thisbe kept shaking their heads at every suggestion. The Revinir’s size, strength, and firepower seemed to make her impossible to beat.

  At one point during the session Thisbe grew quiet, deep in thought. Every kind of magical weapon they were coming up with was physical, but the dragon-woman was physically indestructible. Was there some other way to get to her? Thisbe contemplated the time she’d spent with the woman. Was there anything she could remember that seemed like a weakness? Any other way to beat her?

  But Thisbe couldn’t put a finger on anything in particular, at least not at the moment. Eventually the group members parted one by one, each having some other commitment to work on, until only Thisbe and Aaron remained.

  Unlike Alex, Aaron and Thisbe had always gotten along pretty well. “How are you doing?” Thisbe asked him. They hadn’t talked about Alex’s death very much lately.

  Aaron’s expression softened. “It hurts,” he said. “Pretty badly sometimes.”

  Thisbe’s eyes welled up. She felt more for Aaron’s pain than for her own grief over Alex’s death. That seemed wrong too, but she couldn’t change it.

  They talked a little more, and then Aaron turned the conversation back to the Revinir. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking about as far as attacking the Revinir,” he said seriously. “I know you believe you need to go back there. And I respect that you feel that way. But I’m also very scared for you. I don’t want to lose another sibling.”