Saving Fable

by Scott Reintgen

  Indira looked around. The streets were empty.

  She grabbed hold of Maxi’s elbow and pulled her into the shadow of the nearest building. They both eyed the deserted streets anxiously. “What’s happening?” Maxi asked. It felt like the calm before a violent storm. In Westerns, empty streets meant a showdown looming. They waited for several uncomfortable minutes, but nothing and no one appeared.

  “Come on,” Indira whispered.

  They tried to remain inconspicuous as they continued toward Brainstorm Ketty’s house. As they went, Indira and Maxi spotted a strange trail of abandoned bronze watches. The Marks to which they belonged had all vanished. Indira bent over and snatched one from the dusty road. “The Marks,” she said quietly. “Where’d they all go?”

  Maxi shivered. “This is one of the telling signs. When the connections between the worlds are unstable, side effects like this occur. Ketty must be close to finishing her spell.”

  “We should run,” Indira suggested. “We can’t waste any more time.”

  “But these are new shoes!” Maxi said with real heartbreak.

  Indira glanced down. “They’re athletic shoes, Maxi. Aren’t they made for running?”

  “They’ll be dirty, worn, sweaty athletic shoes if we run!”

  Indira rolled her eyes and started jogging down the street. It was like running through a ghost town. Maxi huffed behind her, but the run wasn’t a very long one. A few more turns and they found themselves standing in front of a series of tall cabins that looked like an old-fashioned apartment complex. Indira counted off houses until they found the two hundred building. A little engraved number showed them which unit was Brainstorm Ketty’s.

  Indira and Maxi went up the staircase and along the railed walkway, then stopped in front of Ketty’s door. “If anything happens,” Indira said, “we meet up with Phoenix at the Luck Hearth.”

  Maxi nodded once before scrambling to get something out of her pocket.

  “Put these on.” She held out a pair of medical gloves. “No fingerprints.”

  Indira wiggled her fingers into the gloves. When Maxi had done the same, Indira signaled with her hammer. Maxi nodded again, and Indira brought it crashing down. The knob rattled off, and Indira kicked the door open. She’d taken a single step inside when a massive bird flushed from the darkness. Maxi let out a half scream as the creature fluttered out the door and dangerously overhead. It looked like a hawk as it spread its dark wings and fought its way into the sky.

  “Well, there goes her pet bird,” Maxi muttered. “Be careful.”

  Indira crept into the room. Brainstorm Ketty had left on a single corner lamp. It cast amber light into a snug living room. A dark leather couch sat across from a fireplace. The mantel showed pictures of Brainstorm Ketty with friends and former students.

  The search began. She pulled at the drawers of an armoire in one corner, searched the cupboards of an empty china cabinet, and looked under cushions but found no sign of the red book. The living room led into a kitchen. Brainstorm Ketty hadn’t been grocery shopping in a while. The pantry sat empty, and the refrigerator was a collection of mostly expired foods.

  Indira felt disorganized as she went. A few glances showed Maxi working in a more professional, efficient manner. The girl ran her fingers along bookshelves and behind cabinets, feeling for hidden compartments. Indira took note, trying to adapt the same thorough methods, checking beneath silver pots and pans. If I were a secret red book, where would I be?

  Once they’d finished searching the kitchen, Indira and Maxi moved into the last room: the bedroom. It looked, oddly, like the room of a much younger girl. From the pattern of the quilts and the strange array of finger-paint drawings on the desk, Indira would not have guessed that a brainstorm lived here at all. The desk drawers were filled with old files and paperwork, but Indira saw nothing like a book anywhere. She checked the pillowcases, the bathroom mirror, even under the rugs.

  She wondered if she’d have to knock on the walls and listen for the sound of false wood or something ridiculous. Indira sighed, combing the room again, before Maxi finally spotted something. It wasn’t a book, but it was that oddly off detail that detectives always seemed to notice in stories. The top of the bedside table was empty, covered by a coating of dust. Right next to the lamp, however, a little brown rectangle shone, dust-free.

  “The book was right here,” Maxi said confidently.

  Indira watched her friend fumble in a pocket. She removed a bottle of what looked like hairspray, gave it a little shake, and triggered the release. A harsh rosemary scent poured out. They both watched as the fumes avoided the dustless spot on the desk.

  “Correction,” Maxi said. “The book is right here.”

  She set her hands around the spot and pulled a book out of thin air. Indira gasped. A red binding. Black letters. A raven taking flight on the cover. Maxi handed the book over to Indira for confirmation. “That’s the one,” Indira said. “This is the evidence we needed. All we have to do is take this to Underglass, and it’s over.”

  Maxi nodded. “I’m totally calling in the Editors! This is my big break, Indira. A case like this? No way they turn down my application now! This is amazing.”

  Indira knew she needed to look through the book first. She wanted to pinpoint which spell Ketty had been gathering ingredients for so that she could walk into Underglass’s office with airtight proof. As she was thinking of exactly what she would say, Maxi climbed up on the bed. She was raising some kind of handheld radio up to the ceiling.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t have a signal,” Maxi answered, tiptoeing over pillows and extra blankets. Indira watched as she hopped down from the bed and nudged open the bathroom door. Her friend disappeared into the dark room and then made an “aha” noise.

  “Of course the only signal is in the bathtub.”

  “Do you really have to call from her bathtub? Can’t we just get out of here?”

  Maxi made a distracted noise. “Call is patching through. Give me a few seconds.”

  As Indira stood there, waiting, one of the silver-framed pictures on Brainstorm Ketty’s dresser caught her eye. She had skipped over it in search of the book, but now she couldn’t help but study it. It was old. Much older than the pictures on display in the living room. Ketty kept it out, but not for visitors, only for herself. Indira lifted the picture frame off the shelf.

  It was a picture of a young girl. Her hair had been braided over one shoulder. She wore a black smock and unassuming blue jeans. Indira wouldn’t have known that it was Brainstorm Ketty if not for the mismatched eyes. One forest green, the other amber. The younger version of Brainstorm Ketty held a string of pearls in her hands, and she was looking down at them as if they were the most precious things in the world. Indira wiped dust away from the corner of the frame and read the words scribbled on the picture: T. Kettle.

  Indira’s brain hammered. She knew that name. She knew that she knew it. But how did she know it? Down in the Sepulcher. She’d been too embarrassed to keep listening to the argument between Dr. Montague and Brainstorm Vesulias. She’d backtracked down the halls of unfinished books and started reading one. Hadn’t the cover featured a string of pearls too? There had been a young girl in the story named T. Kettle. A girl who stole things to support her family.

  The truth thundered.

  “T. Kettle. It’s Ketty,” she whispered to herself. “Ketty is an unfinished character.”

  Indira removed the picture from its frame and placed it safely between the pages of the book. Without her school jacket, she was forced to tuck the book into the waist of her pants, right up against her back. She carefully rearranged her shirt so that it hid the book. In the bathroom, Maxi was reciting the numbers of a code. They needed to get out before…

  CREAK.

  A groan of floorboards was Indira�
�s only warning. She reached for her hammer, but a man rounded the corner and flattened her to the floor. Indira tried to scramble away, but his grip was iron, and with a twisting move, he had Indira’s hands behind her back. Handcuffs clapped over her wrists, and he shoved her back into the main room.

  “Sit down, please.”

  Indira sat. The man was in uniform. A little badge on his chest indicated that he was a member of the Grammar Police. “My name is Officer Oxford. You’re under arrest. Just because there are odd things happening in the city doesn’t mean you can break into people’s homes. Surely you noticed this house had a security system. The bird that flew out the door?”

  Indira shook her head. “I didn’t know.”

  She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Indira kept quiet and secretly hoped Maxi would come to her rescue, but her friend’s voice had gone silent. There was no movement in the bedroom at all. Officer Oxford snapped his fingers to get Indira’s attention.

  “I have to take you down to the station on account of breaking and entering. I’d read you your rights, but that’s not really a thing here.”

  She was led outside. Indira had expected to be searched, but Oxford didn’t seem particularly thorough. Indira could feel the Raven King’s book pressed against her back. No matter what happened, she couldn’t allow it to leave her possession. She’d have given anything to slip her handcuffs and drop the book somewhere for Maxi to find. But where was Maxi? Had her friend overheard the exchange? Was she trailing them now?

  In the sky, clouds were gathering yet again. Another storm. Another dark sign that Brainstorm Ketty’s spell was either under way or would be soon.

  They were almost out in the street when they heard a loud pop. It sounded like a blown transformer. They saw a slash of electric blue cut through the sky. The bright light was followed by thousands of voices muttering in sudden confusion. Officer Oxford led her up a street filled with Marks. Far more than she’d ever seen in the city.

  Nervous conversation surrounded them all the way to police headquarters.

  Officer Oxford sat her down in a chair. “Wait right here while I fetch your paperwork.”

  Other police officers strode about the room. She heard them on phone calls or over the crackle of walkie-talkies. It seemed like everyone in the station was busy handling some emergency. No surprise there. Ketty’s spell was clearly causing side-effect mayhem.

  Indira squirmed in her handcuffs and caught sight of a familiar face. Detective Malaprop stood by the water cooler. He was reading a book upside down. Indira shot a glance to the far corner of the room. Officer Oxford was hunched over a computer, typing in her information. All the instincts Indira had gained in Alice’s escape class came bubbling back to the surface.

  “Detective Malaprop!” Indira didn’t say it any louder than a whisper, but the detective fumbled his book in surprise. He looked around the room before his gaze settled on Indira. His eyes lit up. He marched over and sat down atop the desk in front of her.

  “What are you doing here? And why are you in hamcuffs?”

  “You told me to meet you here for our rendezvous,” Indira lied. “Remember?”

  Detective Malaprop frowned. “Of course. Yes, the rendezvous.”

  “Can you get me out of these?” Indira asked. “I got arrested so that they would bring me to you. It was the only way I could think to do it.”

  “Very clever,” Malaprop praised her. He removed a ring of keys from his pocket, unlocked Indira’s handcuffs, and slipped them off her wrists. “Now, I believe I have a list of suspects. All over the age of seventy and knee-deep in the illegal thimble business…”

  Hands freed, Indira shot toward the entrance. She heard shouts behind her, from Detective Malaprop and from Officer Oxford, but she was already vaulting out into the busy streets. She was smaller than her pursuers and found it far easier to pick her way through the massive crowds of Marks now swarming the streets. Taking advantage of the foot traffic, Indira doubled back down another alley and watched as the Grammar Police forged a path in the wrong direction. She slipped farther down the alley and pulled the book out from where she’d safely tucked it away. With a finger, she traced the black letters.

  It was about time she figured out what Brainstorm Ketty was really doing.

  Indira thought it would be foolish to go all the way back to the Penningtons’. Instead she made her way down the alley and found a secluded spot. She thought she was alone, but a scuffle broke out nearby. Indira heard a growl, and she glanced around the corner cautiously.

  The sight startled her. Four big dog-ears had cornered a smaller one. The smaller dog was doing all the growling, trying to show teeth and look intimidating as the others circled and snapped. Indira noticed a familiar pink thread hanging from the collar of the trapped dog-ear.

  Serves him right for stealing my jacket from me.

  As she thought it, one of the dog-ears feinted forward, and the other three followed with an attack. The moment of satisfied revenge vanished as they brought her dog-ear to the ground. He snapped back at them, but the other dogs had him pinned, and whatever they were doing produced a miserable whimper. He might have been a pest, but he was Indira’s pest.

  “Hey,” she shouted, slipping the hammer from her belt loop. “Leave him alone.”

  She ran forward, and the dog-ears scattered. Indira’s eyes followed them until they were out of sight. She leaned over her dog-ear. He was still on his side, breathing heavily.

  He had a huge gash in one side. Blood dripped from it into the dust. She gave her hammer a twist and set it against the wound. The dog-ear whimpered in fright.

  “Trust me,” she said. “I can fix it.”

  Her hammer strike flashed a dark purple into the air. Seconds later, the dog-ear scrambled to his feet, wound healed. The creature studied her suspiciously.

  “Go on, now,” Indira said. “Take care of yourself.”

  The dog-ear watched as she sat behind a pile of barrels. She opened The Raven King’s Recipes and began turning the pages. When she looked up again, the pup had vanished. She returned her attention to the book. As Checkshire had implied, most of the spells were quite dark.

  It was no surprise to her that this book had been placed in the restricted section. An entire section was devoted to “Making Enemies Suffer.” It surprised Indira that this Raven King character had been a resident of Fable and not of Fester, the city of antagonists and bad guys.

  She flipped through until she found a dog-eared page. Notes had been taken in the margins, and Indira recognized Ketty’s handwriting. She found it a little sacrilegious that someone would write in a book as old and precious as this one. Not to mention it belonged to the library!

  The recipe with Ketty’s notes was titled “A Spell for an Unlikely Hero.”

  The ingredients and instructions made Indira’s stomach turn uneasily:

  Ingredients:

  The voice of tragedy

  ½ cup of love at first sight

  A token from the desired Author

  Eight servings of dashed hope

  ¾ cup of not-supposed-to-be-here

  An extracted essence of fire (for power and purpose)

  One permission to cross dimensions

  Indira paused there. The first two ingredients sent a chill down her spine. An image of Dr. Montague’s button eyes and stitched mouth floated into her mind. He definitely was the voice of tragedy, and Indira guessed he’d fallen in love at first sight in his story? So Brainstorm Ketty already had both those ingredients.

  The phrase dashed hope set off even more alarm bells. “She was trying to dash my hopes,” Indira said aloud. The reason for the lies about her school performance seemed crystal clear now. “She wanted me to think that all my professors hated me because she needed people with dashed hope.” That helpe
d Indira stumble upon an even bigger revelation. “Margaret said most of Ketty’s students were side characters. She didn’t take us because she likes underdogs; she just thought we were the most likely ones to be disappointed.”

  Stunned, Indira rushed on through the other ingredients. She knew Ketty already had permission to cross dimensions. That came with the territory of being a brainstorm. She wasn’t sure about the cup of not-supposed-to-be-here or the extracted essence of fire. Hoping to shed light on those, she read through the spell’s directions:

  Directions:

  1. Gather the voice of tragedy and the love at first sight during the full moon. For the most potent effect, the two should be molded together and left out on a windowsill that was once used by victims of a wistful, forbidden romance.

  2. Place the eight servings of dashed hope in a perfect circle (see page 34 for proper dimensions), arranged in order of severity.

  3. Season each dashed-hope serving with the tragedy-sight mixture. When matured, it should look a lot like parmesan cheese.

  4. Stir as needed.

  5. After ten minutes, feel free to release the extracted essence of fire into the center of the circle. Your timing here is paramount, because you do not want to melt the servings prior to the arrival of the not-supposed-to-be-here.

  6. Wait patiently. If you’ve done the spell correctly, someone or something should arrive unexpectedly. Capture him, her, or it and add the not-supposed-to-be-here.

  7. Last, use the token of your target Author to direct your connection to them. It’s always best to target the Author when they’re actively involved in the creation of a story, as the pathways that connect them with possible characters become available during that time.