It was Brainstorm Ketty. “We agreed to meet this afternoon. Would you like to meet now? I can understand if you need to go home after what’s happened. It’s all quite shocking.”
Indira definitely felt shaken, and she wasn’t sure what to make of the little dragon scale in her pocket. Was it from some other visit to the Sepulcher? Or had Brainstorm Ketty been down here with Dr. Montague before the incident? Indira knew a single little scale wouldn’t be enough to prove anything, but she wasn’t convinced that Vesulias was guilty, either.
He had raised his voice and threatened Dr. Montague, but he had also looked surprised by what had happened. She remembered that all of them were quite familiar with the art of acting. Maybe Vesulias had simply been putting on a good show.
With a steadying breath, she nodded to Brainstorm Ketty. “I would like that.”
“Are you sure?” Brainstorm Ketty asked, giving Indira’s shoulder a squeeze.
“I want to know how I’m doing in my classes,” she said.
Until today, everything had been going so well. She had been practicing and improving and working so hard. At the start of the semester Mr. Threepwood had reminded all the characters that the line between protagonist and side character was a thin one. Maybe it wouldn’t matter if her navy jacket had coffee stains. Maybe, just maybe, she would be given a golden replacement if her professors noticed her improvement.
Every cage has a key, she thought.
It was time to find out if she had succeeded in unlocking hers.
They backtracked up the stairs, and Brainstorm Ketty opened the door to her office. The chalkboard wall swirled with the same wild activity Indira had seen on her first visit. Once more, her eyes snatched at little bits of information:
Librarian Hall of Fame
New Author in Maine, writing a horror that needs a strong female protagonist
Potential leads? 5/8
Ketty reached behind her desk and pressed a button. Indira was expecting her name to appear in the place of the other swirling activity, but instead the name DARBY MARTIN etched itself on the center of the board. A web of notes sprang in every direction. There were so many, in fact, that Indira couldn’t make her mind focus on just one. She wondered if Ketty had this kind of information on every student she taught. The brainstorm made an annoyed noise and pressed the button again.
This time, Indira’s name did whisper onto the board. All around the printed words, little thought bubbles appeared. The ideas were scribbled in several different fonts.
“Our goal as brainstorms is twofold. First, we’re always on the search for a proper Author for every student.” Brainstorm Ketty pressed another button beneath her desk, and a massive list of names filled the chalkboard. She set a perfectly manicured finger on the board and scrolled down. The list appeared endless. “With so many Authors and so many characters, you can imagine that this isn’t the easiest task in the worlds.”
Indira nodded. “It looks kind of intimidating.”
“And completely out of your control,” Brainstorm Ketty added. “The best thing we can do is focus on what you can control.”
“Which is what?”
“The type of character you’re becoming. You see, Indira, there are four different classifications we have for our students. Graduates get placed in a story and click with their Author. Returning students don’t catch the eye of an Author on the first go-around. They sign up for more classes, keep training, and try again next year. We’ve had students here for as long as a decade before they finally find the right story, and by then you can imagine they are very well-rounded characters. Some do very well for themselves that way.”
Indira hoped she wouldn’t be there for a decade. That was a long time to be anywhere.
“Lastly, we have miscast and unfinished.” Brainstorm Ketty uttered the words as if they were curses, things that should be discussed in dark corners. “Miscast characters are characters that the Author adjusts. We have no control over it, you know. Once you’re in the Author’s hands, anything can happen. They might change your hair color or your personality. Sometimes they might even cast you as an antagonist. A difficult fate, but at least you’re in a story.”
“And what about unfinished?” Indira asked, dreading the answer.
Brainstorm Ketty shivered visibly. “You’ve obviously been down to the Sepulcher.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So you’ve seen the…unfinished books?”
“There are a lot of them.”
“Yes, there are,” Brainstorm Ketty said crisply. “And every character from those books is stuck. They never find their way into the hearts and minds of readers. Everyone thinks Fable is one big fairy tale, but even fairy tales don’t end well for everyone. Most of our unfinished characters live in Fable. Many end up in neighborhoods like Plot Hole or the Flats. A handful do well for themselves—Mr. Threepwood being a fine example—but most take up meager jobs. They play an important role in our society, but certainly not the role they once wished to have. The roles they always dreamed of playing in stories. Not at all.”
Indira couldn’t help but say, “I don’t want to be unfinished.”
“Of course not, dear,” Ketty replied. “So let’s take an honest look at how you’re really doing. Taking a realistic approach will help you avoid those sorts of endings.”
The board blinked back to Indira’s portrait and the bubbled comments from her professors. “I’m afraid to say that we overshot your potential. The reports from your professors are a little distressing. Your grades in every class are well below average. In fact, it seems you have a serious problem turning in completed homework….”
“I just talked to Mr. Threepwood,” Indira said. “He said I’d have a chance to redo them. I really don’t know what happened! I’ve been completing all my assignments.”
“Let me finish,” Ketty interrupted. “Aside from the missing homework, Mr. Threepwood also pointed out that you don’t always complement the protagonists as well as he would like.”
Indira opened her mouth to protest, but Brainstorm Ketty went on, pointing to some of the highlighted quotes on the board. “Alice reports that you’re a quiet girl with a knack for finding the most roundabout ways to escape from situations. Professor Darcy claims that you skipped his midterm without reason today, and Dr. Montague, may he recover swiftly, states a concern for your lack of dramatic suspense.”
The feelings of horror and dread doubled. Indira couldn’t believe her professors would say such things, but their words were etched on the board in front of her, undeniably real. She felt each new comment like a punch to the gut. All this time she’d thought she had been improving, but each and every one of her professors was suggesting the opposite.
They thought she was getting worse. All hope of a new, golden jacket evaporated.
“Is that all they said?” Indira asked.
Brainstorm Ketty frowned. “That’s really the best I could find. I don’t mean to be harsh, dear, but consider what we just discussed. If I package you as a side character with romantic interest, it’s very possible you won’t click with an Author. Given your current grades and feedback, that’s a recipe that points dangerously toward unfinished. I don’t mean to dash your hopes, but we may have to consider you for more of a cameo role.”
“A—a what?” Indira asked.
“A cameo. It’s a term for characters who appear briefly, perhaps for a scene or two, in a novel. There’s no shame in it. A little boring, perhaps, to be stuck in the same scene for your entire career, but some cameos are loved by their fandoms. The gatekeeper in Macbeth is a great example. Short scene, but unforgettable! At least you wouldn’t be unfinished.”
“Cameo,” Indira repeated. A cameo? First she hadn’t been good enough to be a protagonist. Now her brainstorm wasn’t sure she could even perform well en
ough to be a side character? How had everything gone so wrong? “Isn’t there anything I can do?”
Brainstorm Ketty shrugged. “Keep working hard, I suppose? At least we’re not transferring you to Antagonist Academy. We’ve had a few students in the past who didn’t really fit in. They were sent straight to Fester. Don’t get me wrong, every story needs a bad guy, but it’s a hard life over there compared to here.”
“I could be an antagonist?” Indira asked hopefully. That sounded better than a cameo.
Brainstorm Ketty considered that. She eyed the papers in front of her again and shrugged. “It’s not the worst idea. Here’s what we’ll do. You hang in there, work hard, and I’ll try to talk to your professors. But if it keeps trending this direction, yes, it might be worth considering the other options in Fester. All right?”
Indira nodded, feeling numb. Brainstorm Ketty was watching her carefully. She looked ready to say more, but a knock sounded. Indira struggled to her feet.
“Are you all right, Indira? I know this is a lot to think about.”
She shook herself. “I…I’m sorry. I have a headache.”
Another knock sounded, and Indira almost jumped.
“Feeling a little pain at the temples?” Brainstorm Ketty asked.
Indira’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know that?”
“It’s a side effect of the Real World. I’d just gotten back from my trip to visit that Author—the one I mentioned earlier—when the report of Dr. Montague’s attack worked its way up from the Sepulcher. I wasn’t able to observe the normal cleanliness procedures. I’m sure some of the Real World is just brushing off on you. You’ll feel fine in a few minutes.”
A third knock came. Indira finally realized Brainstorm Ketty was waiting for her to leave.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Thanks for your time.”
Ketty ordered the person to enter. It was Gavin Grant. He offered his bright smile and rubbed one hand over a new haircut. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. “Just here for my appointment.”
“Not at all, dear.” Brainstorm Ketty waved to Indira. “Ms. Story and I were just wrapping up. Take my advice to heart, all right, Indira?”
Indira made her way outside Protagonist Preparatory, stained jacket in hand, hoping some fresh air might help her figure out how any of this was even possible. The argument she’d overheard, the dragon scale sitting in her pocket, and now all of Brainstorm Ketty’s thoughts about her future.
It was the last thing Indira had expected to happen, and somehow almost as bad as being witness to Dr. Montague’s brutal attack. Lost in thought, Indira didn’t see the dog-ear coming. It snatched the blue jacket right out of her hands. Indira caught a glimpse of pink thread dangling from the dog’s collar. She watched helplessly as her first grudge kicked up dust, darting into the nearest alleyway.
Instead of giving chase, instead of fighting, Indira sank to her knees. The burdens of the day weighed too much, and she sat there, feeling tired and lost. Her stolen jacket was like a sour cherry on top of a melting sundae. After a few minutes, she picked herself up and started walking the streets of Fancy. She heard snatches of conversation—all about different stories—and couldn’t help thinking she was losing her chance of ever making it into one.
Eventually, she made her way back to the Penningtons’. Indira was so tired and beaten down, in fact, that she forgot the family plans that evening. At breakfast, she had agreed to meet Mrs. Pennington at the local skating rink for a birthday party Patch was attending. But the dark and empty house felt like one more bad sign in a day full of them.
Indira went straight to bed, but that didn’t mean she slept well or even at all. She rolled from one side to the other, with the word unfinished echoing in her head.
Ever had a bad day like Indira’s, my dear reader? Then you know just how important it is to have someone to talk to about it. The advice of Mrs. Pennington might have saved the day.
If only Indira had woken up, gone downstairs, and had the chance to talk to her adopted mother. But Mrs. Pennington had rushed home from the party and found Indira asleep in her room. Having just worked a double shift and attended a birthday party, she’d gotten Patch to bed and fallen straight to sleep herself. Patch was so tired that he slept well into the morning. Given the chance to sleep in for once, Mrs. Pennington enjoyed the extra rest, and that meant Indira came down the next morning to an empty kitchen.
It was then that Indira made up her mind.
If Fable didn’t want her, she didn’t want it. She went back into her room and packed the few belongings she had. Feeling guilty about what she was about to do, Indira decided that Mrs. Pennington at least deserved a note, some kind of explanation. The last thing Indira wanted was for her and Patch to feel like it was something they did. She rifled through the kitchen drawers and found stationery in the shape of a flower. It was such a Mrs. Pennington style that Indira almost started to cry. She crumpled up her first few attempts and finally went with the truth. It was short and simple:
You were the best part of my time in Fable. I’m going to miss you both.
Love, Indira
Without saying goodbye (which made her feel very guilty), she walked out of the Pennington home, fully intending to leave for good. She felt guilty as she passed the spot where Phoenix sometimes waited for her. A little doubt whispered in the back of her mind that he’d probably figured out that she had a crush on him.
As she roamed through the city, she wondered if little Margaret was waiting for her. It was about that time of the morning when she would have normally sat before the Courage Hearth with her friend. Indira didn’t need more courage, though. She’d already made up her mind. If she couldn’t succeed as a character here, she would try to make things work elsewhere.
Every cage has a key.
She’d follow in Peeve Meadows’s footsteps. Her only remaining key was to become an antagonist. All she had to do was find an escort to show her the way. Luckily, someone owed her a favor. Indira started her search in Reach-for-the-Sky, combing every street and courtyard. She walked right up to groups of Marks, interrupting their stories, before moving on when she didn’t find the woman she was looking for. Indira might have lost her lucky penny during auditions, but she still had one more favor. All she had to do was track down the Mark who had lost her watch that day.
It was past noon when Indira heard a familiar drawl.
“With the guns firing and General Sherman just marching on through! Y’all would have thought the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were knocking at the door!”
The Mark in question fanned herself with a folded-up flyer and was confiding her story to a pair of women. Indira spotted the lovely freckles along the Mark’s arms and those distinctive light-brown eyes. She didn’t hesitate to march right up to her.
“I’d like to cash in my favor,” she announced.
The woman lifted a curious eyebrow and smiled. “Oh, my stars, it’s you.”
Indira nodded. “It’s me.”
The Mark checked her watch. “You’ve caught me at a wonderful time. Your wish is my command, sweetheart. What is it you need?”
Indira had been hoping she would say that. Your wish is my command. People always dug themselves in holes by using the old clichés. Now the woman couldn’t refuse.
“I want you to escort me to Fester.”
The group of Marks gasped. The woman who owed her the favor stopped fanning and knelt forward. “Are you out of your little mind, sweetie? Fester is where the bad people are.”
“You said my wish was your command,” Indira insisted. “No matter what.”
“That’s when I thought I was dealing with a rational sort of person. Do you have any idea what goes on in Fester? Demons and witches and football coaches who steal playbooks! It is the very center of vice and sin and ruin. What about a new
dress?” The Mark smiled kindly. “Or how about I take you out to Fable’s finest restaurant—my treat?”
Indira was determined, though. “You promised me.”
The woman let out a sigh. “Dear, I don’t know what happened to make you this desperate, but do you really want to stoop to that level? Do you really want to be the bad guy in the story? You were meant for more than that, honey.”
For the first time, Indira was caught off guard. Something about those words echoed. She saw a flash of the last time she’d had breakfast with David. What had he said? You’re supposed to be a hero. I can feel it in my bones, baby sister. You’re meant for more than this. Indira was remembering the look on her brother’s face when the Mark leaned a little closer.
“Honey? Are you sure this is what you want?”
It wasn’t. It really wasn’t what she wanted at all. She’d made promises to David.
“One second,” Indira said. “I’ll be right back.”
She jogged over to one of the nearby food stalls. A bored-looking character was selling sausages and biscuits. Indira bought a few of each before returning, clutching the warmly wrapped food to her chest. “Change of plans. Do you know how to get to Quiver?”
The woman tightened her shawl and smiled. “A much more sensible choice.”
Indira looked around. “Great. How do we get there? Is there a train? A dragoneye?”
“Too slow,” she replied. “The Marks have a better system.”
The woman looped Indira’s arm in hers. Indira was expecting her to lead both of them to some kind of underground transportation when reality stretched and shivered. They stepped through a curtain that Indira hadn’t known was there. For the briefest of moments, they stumbled through the dark backstage of the world of Imagination. Indira heard an echoing noise in the pitch black, and then reality re-formed around them.
Saving Fable Page 14