CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE COTTAGE

“Hello?” a female voice calls out. “Jack, is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Jack answers, stepping inside the room.

He offers a hand to Filomena to help her up—something recurring a bit too often already—and Alistair does the same, offering his assistance as well.

The two boys hoist her onto her feet in one fluid motion, and she turns around to see Scheherazade standing in the foyer. The sultan’s queen is a young woman with hair the color of night and a smile as soft as a crescent moon. She’s dressed in a djellaba, harem pants, and slippers made of the finest silk. Her forehead is studded with jewels, golden bracelets circle up her arms, and there is a tiny, perfect ruby on the side of her nose. Like her sister Rosanna, she was made mortal by marriage, but the transition did little to dampen her magic.

Thirteen fairies were born to the Fairy King and Queen …

Clever Scheherazade, who spun a thousand and one dreams …

“Welcome,” says Zera, bowing her head to the three of them. “Jack, Alistair, it is good to see you safely back from your quest.”

Jack bows. “We believe the lamp is safe for now,” he assures her.

“As safe as can be,” adds Alistair.

“And you have brought us a guest,” says Zera.

“Filomena Jefferson-Cho,” says Filomena. “Of North Pasadena.” She wonders if she should kiss Zera’s hand or shake it, but curtsies awkwardly instead. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Queen Zera,” says Filomena, a bit awed by the dazzling beauty and power contained in the storyteller’s presence.

“Oh, we don’t stand on ceremony here. Call me Zera—everyone does,” says Zera. “You must have had a most tiring journey. Come, please, all of you,” she says, leading the way to the table. “Supper is almost ready.” Wonderful, heady smells of freshly baked bread and sizzling butter and onions emanate from the kitchen.

“Supper!” says Alistair happily. “Thank you, Z.”

“My pleasure! I hope you’re all hungry.” She takes the seat at the head of the table, with the napkin folded into a Z, and unfolds it and rests it upon her lap.

Filomena, Jack, and Alistair take their assigned seats labeled with their names, the napkins folded into their initials. Filomena hangs her backpack on the back of her chair before sinking into it.

“How did you know we were coming?” she asks, once they are all seated.

Zera holds up her own Seeing Eye. “I wanted to make sure you guys were safe, so I kept one of these on you. I saw you help Jack and Alistair get away. You know the spells. And you have a certain book.”

Filomena nods.

“May I see it?”

Filomena hands it over. “The series is really popular where I’m from, because the books are new versions of the usual fairy tales. They claim to be the ‘real’ stories.”

“There are ‘usual’ fairy tales?” asks Zera.

“Well, I mean, like, in other fairy-tale books, it says that the sultan was going to kill you like he killed all the other girls, except you told him these stories and he begged for you to finish them and so at last he decided to let you live and married you.”

“I suppose that is one way to look at it,” says Zera. “Except that isn’t quite the whole truth. He was not at all bloodthirsty, and he didn’t kill any of his brides. But it was such a shame for the girl’s family if he rejected her that lies were told about their deaths so they could start over elsewhere. In fact, we fell in love before the first night was over. I told him the stories out of love.”

“That’s exactly what it says in this book!” Filomena claps her hands excitedly.

“Interesting,” says Zera as she continues to page through the book. “It’s all here, what’s been happening.” She turns the book over in her lap and gasps. “It can’t be!”

“What is it?” Filomena asks as Zera pulls the book closer to her eyes and gasps again.

“Do you recognize her?” Zera asks Jack and Alistair, holding up the back of the book so they can see the author photo.

“I think so … It’s her, isn’t it?” says Jack.

“Cassiopeia Valle Croix. Cassiopeia was always her favorite star,” Zera murmurs. “Valle Croix? Loosely translated, it means ‘of the ancient crossways.’ Our home.”

“Excuse me? Who are you talking about?” Filomena demands.

“My sister,” says Zera simply.

“Your sister?”

“The author of this book is my sister who disappeared thousands of years ago,” Zera tells them.

Filomena’s mind is racing. “Your sister is Cassiopeia Valle Croix?”

“I suppose that’s what she’s calling herself now, or at least in your world,” says Zera. “But I know her by her real name. The fairy Carabosse.”

“Carabosse!” shrieks Filomena. “Your sister is the evil fairy who cursed the kingdom?”

Zera bristles. “Carabosse was not evil. She was born to the forest, like me and all our sisters. She had to have a reason for what she did. Carabosse always did. I hope so, anyway.”

“She wrote these books?”

“It appears so,” says Zera with a faint smile. “She always did think of herself as a writer.”