Chapter Ten

I promise to bring the spellbook to Gamma after class tomorrow, so naturally I prepare to pull an all-nighter studying it.

After Mary falls asleep, I sneak downstairs, brew a ridiculous amount of coffee, grab a bag of chips and chocolate candies, and pack my book bag. The spellbook is already tucked inside, along with candles, matches, and the stardust. I’m not going to use any of it, but the items are a sort of security blanket, considering I’ll have to give up my most bestest birthday gift ever in less than twenty-four hours.

The door to Mom’s study is closed and it’s quiet. Maybe she’s sleeping. Could last a couple hours, could last fifteen minutes. I need to make my getaway ASAP or risk incurring the dragon’s wrath.

With my stuffed book bag on my back and my arms full with a blanket, Thermos, and flashlight, I creep outside and make my way to the faire grounds. I can’t think of a better way to study the book than on the hallowed land of my childhood adventures and dreams. The air is different there, as if permeated with the souls of 18^th-century merchants, knights, princes and princesses, and fairies.

The night is cool and the moon is bright. I almost don’t need my flashlight, but use it anyway to cross the street. Headlights appear at the bend in the road. The whoosh of speeding tires and a purring engine passing interrupts the squeaky chirp of crickets and burping croaks of frogs.

I slip under the chain that blocks the entrance and cut between two tents that’ll be used for face painting and henna tattooing. At the jousting arena, I lay out the blanket and unpack. A candle goes in each corner and I sit in the center with the book and a notebook on my lap. I prop the flashlight on top of my bag, angling it to illuminate the book, and settle in to read.

First, I jot down notes on each Zodiac symbol, then I focus in on air sign chants and Gemini chants. After that, I search for Libra spells, which mostly call for balance and peace. Would be nice to try them on Mom. Might keep arguments to a minimum. Since Gemini and Libra are both air signs, maybe William and I can practice chanting together, since Mary doesn’t want anything to do with it.

It’s three o’clock before I stop to stretch and finish off the last of my coffee. The chocolate is gone and half the chips are left. My back pops and I groan, rubbing stiffness out of my neck. Time to call it a night.

A layer of dew molds itself to the grass and my shoes squeak as I walk. I hop over to the path and focus on the crunch of stones under my soles.

Snap! Something cracks in the woods. It’s followed by a quick rustle of leaves.

I halt and peer into the trees. Two golden orbs blink at me and I yelp, swinging the flashlight. A web of tree branches is all I see. No eyes.

I swallow the lump in my throat and scurry on, telling myself it’s only an animal.

The rustle matches me.

I halt.

It stops.

I walk a few steps.

The noise picks up again.

I whip the flashlight back and forth.

“Anne.” It’s a whisper, nothing more. So soft, I have to wonder if it’s my imagination.

“Who’s there?” I call. My voice is shaky and weak.

“Annnnne.”

My heart drums a frenzied beat, launching adrenaline throughout my system. “W-what do you want?”

A malicious hiss responds.

Sparks of fear jolt my nerves, leaving an electric fire in their wake. It fuels my body. I thrust forward at full speed, digging my heels in the ground with each strike. The stretch of muscle over bone and burn of air rushing in and out of my lungs drags me down. I’m breathless by the time I reach the road, but I don’t let that stop me. I take a hit from my puffer and keep on running.

* * *

“You should’ve left your hair curly, Anne. It’d fit the costume better.” Mom fusses at the lace of my sleeve and sets her disapproving gaze on my flat-ironed hair. “At least pull it back into a bun or something. And wear a headband of flowers, both of you.”

“I will.” And maybe I’ll add some wings too. I have white gauzy ones with green dots and glitter that’ll go nicely with this gown.

“Make sure to attach some ribbons to it and let them stream down your back.”

“Okay.” After last night’s marathon study and freakout session, I have no energy to argue. I’ve just about convinced myself it was my sleep-deprived imagination that had dreamed up the slithery voice in the woods. And those yellow eyes? Probably an owl. The fluttering? Wings. Yep. All explained by rational logic. Mary would be proud.

“Help your sister with her boring hair.” Mom dismisses us with a flick of her wrist and turns to her latest piece—the Queen’s coronation gown. It’s white and lacy and full of frills. A huge collar of folded lace looks like a dinner plate. The dress itself is shaped like a giant bell jar.

Ug to the ly.

“Okay, Mom.” Mary smoothes the bodice of her lime-green dress and twirls the skirt. Her curls are fluffy and perfectly classic. Exactly what Mom wants.

Once my hair is sufficiently periodized and I’ve slipped into my fairy wings, we head to the faire. We flash our vendor IDs at the gate and begin the long afternoon of showing off Mom’s work to the crowds. Anyone who comments on our dresses gets a business card and a pitch. Heck, anyone who looks in our direction gets a business card and a pitch. Mom expects us to hand out at least a hundred cards a day. The one time we dumped a bunch in the trash, Mom caught us and made sure we distributed double the next day.

Food shoppes are clustered along the central street. The scent of roasting meat, sweet-potato fries, and barbecue mingles nicely with the scent of spicy incense. I double-check my coin purse—about the size of a wristlet—to make sure my ever-ready inhaler is tucked inside. As long as I don’t suck in the smoke directly, I’ll probably be okay.

The distant rumbling of drums down the street clashes with the subtle vibration of a harp. The harpist sits in the shade of a maple on a circular Oriental rug. Coming in the opposite direction, a flautist plays a light tune as he wanders. He wears an anklet of bells around each boot and they chime with every step.

A vendor at the Kings Nuts stand waves his arm. “Good morrow!”

His greeting earns a nod and bow from the flautist.

The vendor plucks a peanut from a bag and tosses it at the flautist, who lowers his flute, ducks under the arcing nut, and catches it in his mouth. The vendor yells, “Huzzah!”

Nearby actors and vendors reply with a chorus of “huzzah.” A couple dressed as pirates clank their flagons of ale. Faire patrons laugh and applaud.

The flautist resumes his playing and keeps wandering down the path.

“Here’s a good spot.” Mary directs us to a grassy patch at the corner of a crossroads. She twirls her skirts and fluffs her hair.

I smooth mine down, tucking a stray bit behind my ear. “’Tis a fine eve, is it not?” I use my diaphragm to project my voice. It makes me sound ten years older.

“Yea, dear sister.”

“Hast thou seen the Queen?”

“Nay, I hear our Queen ’tis preparing for her feast.”

A middle-aged woman with three little kids heads our way. She’s got a grin on her face. The kids hop around her like the dogs do to us at dinnertime. The boy—he’s gotta be around four—tugs on her shorts.

“Good even, Madame.” I curtsy.

“Such beautiful gowns,” she says, picking up her toddler. The little girl’s blonde curls end in fine wisps. Her bright blue eyes stare at me with wonder.

“Our mother is a fine seamstress. The best in the land.”

“Such a boastful maiden.” A rich, masculine voice sounds behind us.

I whirl to see William sauntering our way. An easy smile brings out his dimples. He’s dressed as a squire. A golden lion emblem covers the front of his blue and black tunic, showing that he’s in service to the Knight of Camelot. Knee-high boots and a sword affixed to a scabbard on his belt finish the costume. He won’t wear armor or chainmail until the joust.

“Thou’rt a fool, sir. Dost thou think me a liar?”

“Nay, my lady. ’Tis only a poor attempt to humor thee.” He bows. As he rises, he reaches behind his back and, with a quick twist of his arm, offers me a pink rose.

A squeal of glee tickles my throat. “Sir, such a beautiful gift.”

“For a beautiful lady.” He dips his head.

My fingers brush over his as I accept the gift. “I thank thee.” My face hurts from smiling so broadly.

“Wilst thou attend the joust?”

“Gladly, kind sir.” I curtsy and hold the flower to my nose. Its soft petals tickle. I inhale the sweet, raspberry-esque scent.

He wanders off, calling now and then to the crowd, garnering interest for the joust. It doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, so Mary and I have some time to kill.

“Let’s find some shade.” Mary hooks arms with me and we saunter to the forest, handing out Mom’s business cards along the way.

We dodge a pair of flower wenches selling roses, lilies, and carnations. One of them—dressed in a red corset and blue skirt with a ton of glitter on her ample chest—waves a flower in a man’s face. “Buy a flower for your fair maiden, fine gentle sir. Bosoms abound at the faire and a fine fellow such as thee can’t help but to spy on them. This colorful little blossom is forgiveness on a stick! Four dollars for forgiveness on a stick. A fine deal, indeed.”

The man chuckles and forks over his money. His lady—dressed in modern clothes—giggles and twirls the stem.

“Huzzah!” the flower wench calls.

It doesn’t take long for us to come across Zeena’s shoppe. The door is open and people are wandering in and out, pausing to comment on the gargoyle and troll statues littering the ground nearby. Some are grotesque, bodies and mouths tangled in painful positions, while others are fat with jovial grins widening their mouths.

“Didn’t see those before,” I comment.

“Must be new.” Mary tugs me along the path.

I resist. “Hang on. Let’s go inside.”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not? She might have other stuff.” And I can do a recon mission for Gamma. She hadn’t mentioned wanting me to, but she sure was curious about Zeena. Getting more info about her is the least I can do for screwing everything up by chanting without her permission. Plus, if I discover some tasty tidbit, maybe Gamma will let me keep the spellbook and teach me magick.

“What, you need more stardust?” She untangles her arm from mine.

“No.” I do a fish face at her and stomp inside. The skirt of my dress is so big that I have to angle in diagonally. Four other people are milling about, wandering along the walls, naming out various potions and fiddling with shiny crystals and polished trinkets.

Zeena sits in her chair, holding her plaque of Zodiac signs. Her dark eyes lock onto me instantly. Her smile is all yellow, crooked teeth. “Hello, deary,” she croons. Her tone is different from the other day. She must be fully in character.

“Good even, Madame.” I curtsy, staying in role.

“Such a pretty flower. A gift from a fine, strapping lad, I gather?” She rocks forward a couple times and stands, clutching the plaque to her chest.

“Yea, ’tis.”

“How special, young love. And what sign is he?” The old woman sets her collection on the chair and strokes the frame like a new mother touches the face of her baby.

“Why, praytell, dost thou inquire?”

The other patrons pause in their shopping to listen.

“Ah, ’tis this old witch’s fancy, is all.”

Mary comes up beside me. “Good even.”

Zeena nods her head. “Twins be a gift from the heavens, says I.”

A woman giggles. Glad she’s enjoying the show.

“Might I interest thee in a palm or tarot reading?” Zeena shuffles to the nearest shelf and collects a deck of cards.

“No thank you.” Mary’s quick to decline, not bothering to use the olde tyme lingo. She wraps a hand around my wrist and steps toward the door.

I twist out of her grasp. “Wait, sister. Wouldst thou not be curious to hear thy future?”

“Nay.” She shakes her head. “’Tis almost time for the joust.”

“It will only take but a minute.” Zeena drags her side table to the middle of the tiny shoppe. She shuffles the cards and slaps them on the tabletop. “Split the deck.”

I reach out with an unsteady hand and pick up half the cards. I set it next to the original pile.

Zeena taps the pile I split with her index finger three times. “Wouldst thou prefer to ask a question?” Her gaze strikes me. Like last time, it’s as if she can see through me and into my soul. A flash of yellow glints in her eyes.

I blink and the illusion is gone. Must’ve imagined it.

“A question about thy love, mayhap?”

My throat’s gone dry. I shake my head no.

“Let us try a simple reading then.” She flips three cards over, calling out each one as she goes. “The past, the present, the future. Thy past is represented by the Chariot. It means thou must take control of thy emotions, lest they race away from thee. Thy present is represented by the High Priestess. It means thou be in a time of discovery, pondering thy own self. Thou stand on the precipice of change and transformation. The High Priestess acts as a moderator, giving thee the ability to see past the veil of consciousness into the unconscious. She allows thee to recognize the power within. It’s already there, waiting, resting, until thee claims it. Thy future is represented by the Wheel of Fortune. It means change be headed thy way. The wheel turns, and so it shall be.” She waves a hand over the cards. “Thou hast a powerful and demanding path ahead. Methinks thee be strong enough, but meeting thy destiny will challenge thee.”

A heavy silence permeates the room. I scan the shoppe, catching the rapt expressions of the patrons. Tarot readings are mesmerizing, particularly when done by someone as commanding as Zeena. She’s got to be more than a simple old woman selling fake magick and jewelry.

Gooseflesh erupts on my arms as a shudder of ice slides down my spine. I’m holding my breath and I exhale slowly.

A trumpet’s call echoes in the forest and a collective cry followed by a round of applause sounds in the distance.

The joust is about to begin.