CHAPTER THIRTEEN

FILOMENA’S JOURNEY

“Are we almost there? We’ve been walking forever.” Filomena’s backpack feels like it’s getting heavier and heavier on her shoulders with each step she takes. Her legs are growing more tired by the minute. She feels her stomach rumble, reminding her that it’s been a long time since they hunted down those cheeseburgers. She’s been quiet, thinking about what Jack told her about the latest events in Never After. Of course, she should have expected it. It’s in the books, after all, but she didn’t realize it was real. That the war against the ogres is real. Evil Queen Olga is real. Which means Filomena is actually in real danger here.

Grave danger.

Filomena has had so many irrational fears that it’s difficult to face a rational one. She should be quaking in her boots, terrified that another Ogre’s Wrath will come out of the blue. But instead she’s mostly exhausted and hungry and too tired to feel frightened.

“Yeah, we’re almost there. It’s just around the bend ahead,” Jack says.

“Thank moons,” replies Alistair. “Me legs’re about to give out. I hope Zera’s made her tulip cake.”

Filomena scrunches her nose even as she’s glad that Alistair’s gotten her mind off impending death via ogre strike. She’s hungry, but … she’s not so sure about eating flowers. “Tulip cake?”

Alistair looks at her, agape. “Surely you’ve had it before?”

She shakes her head in response. “I mean, I’ve read about it, obviously. But where I’m from, we don’t typically eat flowers. I have heard of rose-flavored tea, though. Mum says it’s weak. She prefers the ‘hard stuff.’ Proper English tea.”

Alistair lets out a hearty chuckle and playfully slaps her arm. “Rose-flavored tea! That’s a good one!”

“It exists!”

“I’m sure it does,” says Alistair. “And you saying you don’t eat flowers!”

“I don’t.”

Alistair laughs harder. “As if I’d believe that!”

“I think she’s serious, Alistair,” Jack says.

Alistair stops laughing almost as quickly as he started, and his face contorts into an appalled version of itself. “Wh-what? Why? The options are limitless. There are so many delicious flowers. So many petals. The juices. The flavors. The healing properties. Not to mention the potions and the magic in them!”

“Alistair!” Jack interrupts. “Don’t make her feel bad. She’s never been here, remember?”

“Sorry,” Alistair says. “I just can’t believe it. I wouldn’t want to live in a world where you don’t eat flowers. White orchid pastries are one of my favorite treats. Oh, almost there, Fil. That’s Zera’s cottage ahead.”

She looks ahead of her, then looks around in every direction, but there’s no cottage in sight. “Alistair, I think you’re suffering from heat exhaustion or something. Or maybe you’re seeing a mirage. There’s no cottage here.”

“What do you mean?” huffs Alistair. “It’s right in front of you!”

“Filomena can’t see Zera’s cottage. It has the glamour around it, remember?” Jack looks at Alistair like his friend should know this.

“Ohhhhhh yeah,” Alistair says. He turns to Filomena and shrugs. “Sorry. Forgot you’re not immune to glamour yet.”

“How do I get im—” she starts, but Jack interrupts their banter.

“All right,” he says. “Settle down.” Jack reaches out to what looks like absolutely nothing but air in front of him, knocks thrice, pauses, then knocks once more, pauses, and knocks thrice more. After a few moments stretch by, he turns an invisible knob, makes an opening motion with his hand, and says, “After you.”

She still sees nothing—although she heard the knock sound on a solid surface—and she stares at the empty space, reflecting on how strange he looks holding an imaginary door open for her. Then he leans against the nothing, shoulder pressed on a surface she can’t see, and she can’t believe he hasn’t fallen over already.

“Go on,” Alistair encourages her, gently pushing her forward.

“Go where, exactly?” she wants to know.

“Inside, silly,” Alistair says.

But her feet don’t move. She’s frozen where she stands, terrified to accidentally fall through another portal without warning. “I don’t know about—”

With a friendly shove (thanks to Alistair), Filomena lurches forward and trips over what feels like a step she didn’t see. Or couldn’t see, rather. She stumbles inside, landing in a heap on the floor of a tiny foyer. She looks at the surface that’s suddenly appeared beneath her, touching the wooden planks with her hands to make sure the floor is real. She’s too shocked by the sudden change in atmosphere.

I was standing in front of nothing … There was nothing there … nothing at all … and now I’m inside a cottage.

It’s one thing to read about spells and glamours and mirages, and quite another thing to experience them.

Meanwhile, the cottage glows with a warm amber light, and the scent of something sweet wafts up her nose. Ahead is a long wooden table, with places set for four. Four plates on the table. Four goblets. Four white linen cloths, folded neatly to shape the initials of each of their first names. J for Jack. A for Alistair. F for Filomena. Z for Zera.

They are expected.