Chapter 7 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

When the king finishes eating, he leaves the dining room without saying anything to us. The musicians leave soon after, clearly disappointed. I guess the king just likes having them there, in case he decides to break into song.

A servant comes in, whispers something to Ferguson, and leads the prince away. Before he leaves, Ferguson stops in the doorway, turns, and gives an elaborate bow, directed at us. Mostly Faith. “Until tonight, your highnesses.” And he leaves.

I’m tempted to follow him. I can’t believe he ignored me that whole time. And why was he falling all over Faith? But none of the other princesses make a move to leave and I don’t want to draw attention to myself. It always ends badly.

The room is empty except for us six girls. The tension dissipates and everyone sinks a little into their chairs. The twins actually start laughing. Faith rolls her eyes. “Oh, that’s enough,” she snaps, but she’s also smiling.

Charity leans forward to grin at the oldest sister. “Guess it’s time to make more pillows.”

Chastity snickers. “Like he needs any more. His castle’s probably overrun with them.”

I give her my best confused look. Chastity’s eyebrows lift in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Faith’s infamous pillows!”

Part of me wants to pretend. Of course I remember the pillows. Who could forget the pillows? But curiosity wins this one. I shake my head apologetically.

“Oh, Ivy!” Charity cries. But I can tell she’s eager to tell the story. “Remember when Ferguson came last summer?”

I nod. I’m not about to flaunt my ignorance.

“He claimed to be madly in love with Faith.”

Chastity clasps her hands next to her cheek and flutters her eyelashes. “He meant madly in love with the kingdom. How romantic!”

Charity continues. “He kept up the act for an annoyingly long time, didn’t he? Anyway, Faith of course wouldn’t have anything to do with him, but the poor sap didn’t understand simple English.”

Faith smiles softly and tilts her head at a slight angle. “I was sure a solid, monosyllabic ‘no’ would work, but poor Prince Ferguson is severely stupid.”

I think I like these girls.

“Anyway,” says Charity, “Faith, being the brilliant princess she is, asked all the seamstresses in the kingdom to make pillows for the prince as a parting gift.”

Chastity starts laughing. I’m guessing these weren’t ordinary pillows.

“Each one had the word ‘no’ embroidered on it.”

Chastity tries to talk between giggles. “There were—hundreds!”

Charity nods matter-of-factly. “Two whole carriages were assigned the task of delivering the princely gift.” 

She sighs and looks up at the ceiling.­ “I would have given anything to have seen his face when they arrived.”

Faith stands from the table, clearly pleased by the retelling of her tale. “Come, ladies. Let’s prepare ourselves for tonight.”

We all stand and follow her out in the same order we were seated—oldest to youngest. Ahead of me, Felicity seems a bit unsure of something. “What about the prince?”

Faith waves a hand from the front of the line. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Behind me, one of the twins says, “We probably don’t have to do anything. I doubt he’d notice if we just left as usual.”

Faith nods in agreement. “But I’m not taking any chances. Father sent Prince Ferguson for a reason. I doubt the prince is acting without help. And I won’t marry that dolt.”

She leads us down a few corridors. I do my best to memorize the route, but I can’t make my brain focus. There are just too many questions and I can’t ask any of them without looking out of place. These girls think I’m one of them, that I’ve been with them the whole time. If this fairy tale is anything like the last one, I’ll be much better off if they keep on thinking that until the story is over. The pixie wants me to cause trouble. He probably put me in a particularly mysterious tale just so I’d mess up and ask the wrong questions.

I’m not playing that game. Not this time.

The décor around us is incredibly pink and lacy. And familiar. I feel like such an idiot. We’re going right back to where I started, through the hallway of lace and flowers. I’m hopeless.

Up ahead, Faith sighs. “I just hope you all appreciate that I’m staying behind.”

One of the twins groans, then whispers, “As the oldest, she should be the first to elope.”

The other twin giggles, but Faith doesn’t notice. “As the oldest,” she says, “I should be the first to elope.”

Faith leads us into the room with twelve doors—the common room, I’m assuming—and to the far corner. She open the door that leads to the indoor garden and waits in the doorway for each of us to file through. Faith gives each of us a weary smile. “But I want to make sure each of you makes it safely through. That’s what older sisters are for.”

I lean against a marble statue for support. Elope? That must be why the princesses are sneaking off. But all of us? I’m pretty sure I’m not looking to get married any time soon. And Mercy’s way too young.

I turn to find where she’s run off to. I’m suddenly alone on the tile walkway. Each princess has gone to a separate flower bed. Faith’s is full of white roses. Felicity’s has a variety of spring bulbs. The twins both have bright yellow daisies in their flower beds, and Mercy stands in the midst of some intricately-twisted vines of jasmine. Going by age, and how we were seated at dinner, I assume my flower bed is the one between Felicity and Charity. The one with a small pool and water lilies. I try pretending like I know where I’m going and stand next to the smooth stones surrounding my pond.

And we just stand there. The birds flutter around trees, the butterflies dance, and five other girls are standing there, smiling at each other. I wait. Is this how we’re going to elope? What are we doing here?

Then the statue of the girl with the bird on her hand moves. I blink, and at first I think I’m starting to lose my balance, but the statue really is moving. She rotates, her mouth open in silent song and her white marble dress flowing around her delicate ankles. A clicking sound comes from all around us, like we’re inside a giant clock. As the statue turns, the walls behind each princess move. A dozen panels, one at each flower bed, slide away, revealing twelve alcoves. More like walk-in closets, actually.

As soon as the ticking stops, the five princesses hurry into their closets and I’m alone in the garden, wondering what the heck just happened.

There’s a closet open behind me. I doubt there’s anything in there that would interest me. But I can’t resist looking. My feet pull me in.

One side of the closet has a vanity. A cute little ivory-colored bureau with cherubs carved into the sides, a large mirror, and several bottles lined up against the back. Behind the mirror, the wall is plastered with images of large-eyed bunnies and smiling fauns playing with unicorns in an over-the-top mural. It’s nauseating. I turn away before it can have an effect on me.

The other wall is lined with ballgowns—pink and frilly, blue and lacy, purple with beads, red with flouncy sleeves. Yuck. And of course, equally ornate shoes to match, none of which look comfortable. Do they really expect me to wear something from here?

I peek back out into the garden. The princesses are already getting dressed, like five year olds trying on their mother’s clothes. Really? We’re playing dress-up? I think I’ll pass.

Then the girls bounce out of their closets to model their outfits. One of the twins pokes her head in and beams at me. “Come on! Pick a dress and let’s see.”

She disappears and I let out a long breath. The closet of dresses looms in front of me like a sinister rainbow. I’m probably not going to get away with wearing my jeans tonight, am I?

Fine.

I sift through the layers of fabric. There has to be something decent in here. Eventually, I find a cream-colored dress with cap sleeves and lace only around the bodice. I shimmy into it and pick the most ordinary-looking shoes I can find—black with a short heel and a simple beaded design around the toe. At least there aren’t any cameras in the castle. Although, knowing that pixie…

I ignore the bottles on the vanity and step out into the garden. The princesses ooh and aah over each other, and even compliment my outfit, but they’re not as thrilled about my choice as they are with Faith’s dress. It looks like it’s made entirely of pink pearls. Yikes.

Then comes the perfume. Each girl comes out with a different bottle. All at once, as if triggered by some hellish starter gun, they start spraying each other. It’s the weirdest water fight I’ve ever seen. They chase each other and splash drops of overly sweet-smelling liquid on each other. My mouth drops open as I watch in horror, but that’s a mistake. The sweet-smelling clouds turn bitter on my tongue and I gag.

The laughing and screaming suddenly become the least of my problems. The smells of flowers and fruit and who knows what else attack me all at once. I can’t breathe. The fumes sting my eyes and thicken the air. I have to get out.

No one notices as I run for my life. I’m out of the garden just in time. The air in the common room is delightfully breathable. What I just witnessed in there was scarier than any horror movie. No one should ever have to go through that.

I sink into the pink satin cushions of the super-long couch while I catch my breath. But I don’t get a very long break before the double doors at the front of the room open. And in walks Prince Ferguson, eager to be noticed. Then he sees it’s only me. His shoulders deflate. “Oh.”

I smile. “Nice to see you, too.”

Normally, I’d run from him as fast as I ran from the perfume-fight. But I want answers. I point at him. “You. Sit.”

Prince Ferguson seems a bit shocked that I would talk to him like that. I don’t care. I’m not about to put on a show just for him. He sits on the couch, as far from me as possible. Just how I like it.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Why are you here?”

He stares blankly for a minute. I raise my eyebrows. I’m willing to wait for his brain cells to warm up.

“I’m here to marry one of your sisters.”

I narrow my eyes. “I mean why are you in this fairy tale? You’re supposed to be in Beauty and the Beast.”

I consider what I just said. Maybe that’s not true. I mean, it’s not like he got the girl or anything in that tale. Still, I wait for his answer.

“Fairy tale? Beauty?” Ferguson’s eyes widen. “I remember you! You were Beauty’s plain servant girl!”

I project death at the idiot in front of me.

"Er, well, obviously you’re not a servant girl. Or plain, Princess Ivy. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you. Obviously your disguise was effective.”

My words seethe through clenched teeth. “I wasn’t wearing a disguise.”

“

Oh please don’t tell anyone how I acted at that castle. I wasn’t myself. After Faith rejected me, I needed to find someone to marry.”

The door to the garden opens behind me. Ferguson throws his attention to the incoming girls like their a lifesaver in the stormy sea. But I’m done talking to him. He’s obviously the same idiot I once knew and he has no idea what’s going on. It’s the one thing we have in common.

A hurricane of colorful dresses whip past me, surrounding Prince Ferguson in clouds of silk and perfume. The prince doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks like he won the lottery. Five princesses giggle and flirt with him like he’s suddenly the last living man in the kingdom. I wouldn’t care either way.

Long white fingers grasp the prince’s arms. A hundred questions—about his journey, his kingdom, his latest hunt—bombard him so fast, the prince has to choose which ones to answer. Of course, he always answers Faith’s questions. Not very intelligently, but I give him props for being able to pick out her voice from all the chatter.

I stay on my end of the couch and watch the chaos. At first, it’s entertaining to see them all act like such idiots. But something doesn’t feel right. Weren’t they bashing Ferguson and laughing at him an hour ago? Now they’re throwing themselves at him and offering him a goblet of wine and swooning over his lackluster stories.

“My dear princesses,” chortles the prince. “We do have all evening. Please, one at a time.”

Faith giggles, which really doesn’t match her voice. It’s too high-pitched.

Charity bats her eyelashes at Ferguson. “Isn’t your sword heavy? I can’t imagine carrying it around all the time.”

Ferguson closes his eyes and nods knowingly. “Yes, but one can never be too careful. One never knows when one will meet a damsel in need of aid.”

The prince’s words slur a bit and I have to hide a smile. I guess he’s had a little too much wine.

Mercy gazes up at him with wide eyes, which really accents her girlishness. “You must be very brave, then.”

“Well…” Ferguson nods again. “Of course, one must…” He leans back into the couch. “One must do…what one must…do…”

Ferguson closes his eyes and his head tilts back. The room goes quiet.

Chapter 6 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

Chapter 6

My mouth hangs open as Prince Ferguson saunters to the empty chair next to Faith. He gives her an obvious wink before seating himself and thanking the king. “The invitation to participate was such a thrill.”

All eyes turn to the king, except for Faith’s. She rolls her eyes and scoots her chair a little closer to the king, away from Ferguson. I can’t blame her.

Next to me, Felicity turns almost as pale as her hair. “Father, what does he mean by participate?”

The king snaps at another servant behind him. The man bounds out through the double doors as fast as the first one. “Since my daughters have refused to give away the whereabouts of their late-night escapades, I’ve had to rely on other methods.”

He pauses and seems to enjoy the curious, anxious faces all around him. Ferguson, however, flashes Faith his most winning smile like he’s done something amazing. From over Felicity’s shoulder, I try to catch Ferguson’s eye. I sort of saved his life this past summer; he could at least acknowledge my existence.

The king continues. “Prince Ferguson, whom you all know, will spend an evening in your common room, guarding your bedrooms.”

A small gasp comes from Felicity, but no one else seems to hear her.

“If he can tell me where you girls go, or what has happened to the other six of my little girls, he’ll have his choice among you for his bride. And you will be married.” The king pins his gaze to Faith, who holds his stare without moving.

Charity snickers softly. “Any guesses who he’ll pick?”

Chastity catches the whispered question and tilts her head, keeping a completely fake, innocent look on her face, like she’s trying to guess. She’s right. Ferguson hasn’t exactly been subtle about his choice. He’s practically modeling his perfect chin for her. I guess I should feel snubbed that he didn’t give anyone else a chance. Then I remember that this is Prince Ferguson we’re talking about.

A line of servants walk in, including the ones that left earlier. Each one holds a covered dish or some kind of serving tray. It’s amazing how fast they can move without dropping a dinner roll. I’m guessing the king isn’t a very patient man when it comes to food. Or anything else.

Plates of food land in front of everyone at the table. A big chunk of meat with four legs, a bed of greens, and some kind of foul-smelling white sauce. I lean closer to Charity. “What is this?”

The twin closest to me stabs the small animal with one of her forks. “I guess Father’s trying to punish us by skipping a few courses. He knows soup is my favorite part of the meal.”

I shake my head and prod the meat with the handle of my fork. “No, I mean what is this?”

Charity gives me a look. “Rabbit, of course.”

I drop my fork. It sings against the gold plate. Rabbit. I can just picture this poor thing, running away from dogs and hunters, through the woods and trying to find a safe place to hide. I’ve been hunted before. It kind of sucks.

Then I notice Felicity’s plate. A pile of fresh greens, no gross sauce, extra bread and butter, and—be still, my heart—a small heap of yellow corn. I swallow to keep from drooling on her plate. I don’t think princesses are supposed to drool. “Um…” I tap Felicity on the shoulder. She looks at me like I’ve done something offensive, but she’ll forgive me anyway. “How can I get some of that?”

Felicity beams at me, then tosses her hair back and calls a servant over to her. She mutters something, the servant nods and runs out of the room. Do they have to leave like they’re on fire all the time?

Felicity turns back to me, smiling like I just told her Ferguson is going to leave forever. “I’m so glad you’ve decided to join me. Having one of us refuse to eat game always seems to upset Father, but now that there are two of us, maybe he’ll be a little more understanding.”

“Oh.” My eyes flicker to the king. I’d rather not draw attention to myself. Especially if the king’s upset. But then I catch a whiff of corn and I relax. It’s totally worth it.

Soon, the servant returns with a plate identical to Felicity’s. He makes the rabbit disappear and he rushes through the double doors like the plate is about to explode.

While I unceremoniously shove food into my mouth, Faith turns to the king, who’s ripping into the poor rabbit in front of him like it’s a piñata. I hope he doesn’t think there’s candy inside.

“Father,” Faith says, pulling her hand from Ferguson’s grasp. “What would happen to the prince if, say, he fails to produce a satisfactory answer to your questions?”

The king replies with syrupy-fake concern. “Dearest, we’ve worked out the details. Don’t worry. The prince is thoroughly motivated. Aren’t you?”

He lift his chin to address Ferguson, who seems a little put-off with having to compete with the king for Faith’s attention. “Oh yes, Your Majesty. Don’t trouble yourself. I think I can handle your lovely daughters.” He leans toward Faith. “Even if they are very determined.”

Ew.

Faith persists. “But what would happen, hypothetically?”

Even though she asked her father, Ferguson takes it upon himself to answer. “Don’t concern yourself. What are six females against a prince?”

I almost lose a mouthful of greens. Did he just say that?

The king quickly raises a hand to silence whatever words are about to come from Faith’s mouth. “Prince Ferguson has signed a contract, which gives me permission to execute him if he doesn’t provide proof of his claim. But I’ve given him the whole evening and the key to your common room. There’s no leaving without his knowledge.” He pauses to brush crumbs out of his beard, then turns to his oldest daughter. “Your secrets will be exposed.”

Chapter 5 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

Chapter 5

The girl hurries me through a pink room with a long couch that’s absolutely covered in bows. The pink room has twelve other doors. The one we take leads into a hallway lined with pink and gold tapestries and a vase of flowers in every window. It’s like a sugar plum fairy got a little slap-happy with her wand.

Finally, we end up in a dining hall. At least, that’s what I assume you’d call this room. You know, because of the mile-long table right in the middle of it. It’s carved from a rich, dark wood, with thirteen chairs around it—one at the head of the table and six on each side. Less than half the chairs are occupied, but the four girls in front of me all look the same as the young girl who led me here. They all have long, blonde curls and small, pointed noses. Long, white necks and perfectly dainty chins. I’m starting to feel out of place. Mom is as pasty as they come, but I inherited Dad’s small size and his dark eyes and dark hair. And with my round nose and narrow eyes, I’m not exactly a classic beauty.

The oldest girl, sitting the farthest away on my left, turns her head and raises an eyebrow. “There you are, Ivy. We were beginning to think you’d run away.”

The other girls giggle like she said something very funny, but I must have missed the joke.

At the height of my self-consciousness, the youngest girl lets go of my elbow and leaves me, taking the last chair on the right. Between her and the girl sitting directly in front of me, there are four empty chairs. I start to sit in one of them, since there are only three empty seats on the other side, (What can I say? I like symmetry.) but the girls all give me a look like I just said I’d love to eat some raw oysters. I’m guessing we all have assigned seats in this place. And I have eight to choose from. Wonderful.

So I pretend like I meant to come this way, but I need to stretch my legs a little more. Nothing like a nice walk around the dining room table. I circle around at a leisurely pace and try to look casual, but five pairs of eyes follow me around the room. I slow down when I get to the other side of the table, but the girl nearest to me—the older one who made the not-so-funny joke—frowns. “Stop this nonsense, Ivy. Father will be here any moment.”

Sounds pretty serious. I move to the next chair, then the next, but the older girl’s frown deepens and her pale freckles really start to stand out against her light-colored skin. So I take the only chair left, between a tall girl, about my age, with dirty blonde hair and another girl that looks remarkably like the one sitting in front of her.

The heavy wooden chair scrapes against the mauve and white-swirled tile and I have some trouble scooting the huge piece of furniture under my butt. With another loud screech, my knees are finally tucked under the table and I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. I smile around at the beautiful, confused faces, but behind my smile I’m trying to figure things out. Why are there so many empty chairs, if I’m late? And why am I sitting here, dark-haired and stumpy like I’m one of these angelic girls? Are they all supposed to be sisters? My sisters? Was I adopted or something?

Okay, that’s ridiculous. I wasn’t adopted. I know who my parents are. My real parents, anyway. This is probably what the pixie meant when he said he’d have extra fun this time. He’s messing with me.

I try to relax and lean back in my chair. I run my moist hands down the rich wood carvings of the chair’s arms. The table setting looks like it belongs in a furniture store—a huge, flowery centerpiece, matching plates, and enough forks to make a certain little mermaid’s collection look embarrassingly small. No plastic cups in sight, either. It’s pretty, but it’s not home.

The double doors on the other side of the room fly wide open. The girls in front of me don’t turn around to look. They don’t even blink when the doors hit the walls with two simultaneous bangs. A tall man in a fur-trimmed jacket marches in with a scowl on his face. A train of men, dressed in black and brown (some of them holding musical instruments) scamper behind him like shivering, shaking Chihuahuas. The tall man comes around to the head of the table and I notice the crown resting on his brow. He’s a king? Does that make us… princesses? Immediately, he turns to his left and stares at the empty chair. The one next to the nine year old. His scowl grows colder.

“Faith.” He whips his head to address the oldest girl with the freckles, sitting to his right. “It seems another of your sisters has disappeared. Where is Grace?”

He speaks the last three words slowly, but his voice is hard and deliberate. One of his daughters is missing? Another one? Six of the chairs at the table are empty. They couldn’t possibly belong to six more princesses that have all gone missing. Who has twelve daughters?

I look to Faith for some kind of explanation. The chairs can’t all be for members of the same family. And what does the king mean by “missing”? Maybe Grace is just late getting to the table.

But Faith lowers her chin to her chest. Somehow, she still maintains that regal air while she stares at the empty plate in front of her. “I don’t know where she is.”

The king pounds his fist into the table and one of his forks falls to the floor. The happy chiming sound of delicate metal on marble explodes through the silence. The king pretends not to notice, even though one of the servants behind him looks horrified at the loss of a utensil. “I hope you girls have reconsidered.”

The other four girls hold completely still. I feel like I’m hiding in a wax museum and I don’t dare to move, either. I’m supposed to be blending in, I remind myself. Who cares what’s really going on in the messed-up family? But my eyes move from girl to girl, and then back to the king. My heart beats noisily inside me and I wipe my palms on my jeans.

When the king’s eyes fall on my, I’m sure I’m going to crack. At least, I would if I knew where his daughter had gone. His gaze bores into me, drilling holes into my brain, like he’s hoping to take the information by force. I hate to think it, but if he pulled stuff from my brain, the king would be really disappointed.

He stares at me for another minute. I feel like I’m not getting enough oxygen, even though I’m still breathing. A heavy weight pushes against my lungs. The pressure builds. I'm going to scream, I know it. Nobody can take this kind of torture.

Then he moves on to the tall girl next to me. Her hair is paler than the rest of the girls. “Felicity, please tell me. Where have your sisters gone?”

His voice is gentler now. Pleading. My heart breaks a little, until I look up at him. The king’s face is as hard as Plexiglas. Except for his eyes. Something about his eyes is just as desperate as his voice. Even they’re blue and buried under thick blond eyebrows, they prick a soft spot in my chest. They’re the eyes of a father.

Felicity lets her white-blonde hair cover her face. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Father.”

The king turns his eyes back to me. “Please, Ivy. Tell me where my Grace is.”

I swallow hard and try to keep eye contact long enough to get a full sentence out. “I wish I knew.”

The king’s eyes harden a bit before moving to the girl to my right. “Charity? Chastity? Perhaps one of my twins heard something in the night?”

I realize the girl next to me and the girl sitting across from her have the same impish look and wild eyes. Something in those eyes flares like blue fire when they both answer. “No, Father.”

The king has to skip over four empty chairs to talk to the last sister. I still can’t imagine the whole table surrounded by that many blonde girls. “Please, Mercy.” He pleads with the youngest girl, the one that was worried I’d be late to dinner. But she doesn’t seem scared. Her perfect little face is smooth like porcelain. “You and Grace were so close. Tell me where she is so I can bring her home.”

The answer comes quickly and it sounds a little bored. “I don’t know where Grace is.”

The king stands, toppling his chair over with his broad shoulders. “Very well. If you won’t tell me willingly, I’ll find another way. But you won’t like it.”

Charity mutters something under her breath. It sounds like “manipulative old goat”.

The king nods to one of the servants behind him. The poor trembling man dashes out the double doors, his black ruffles bouncing around his neck. The princesses all follow him with their eyes, but keep their heads lowered. Seconds pass and I’m ready to scream again. Where are the lost princesses? What is the king planning? And where is the frilly man going?

The king seems smug, now that the frilly servant is off doing his bidding (whatever that may be). None of the softness is left in those blue eyes. It’s all ice and anger and an unsettling gleam that reminds me of the twins, Charity and Chastity.

Footsteps pulse in the hallway beyond the doors. Everyone watches the open doorway. What has the servant brought back?

But it’s not the servant. It’s a man, dressed in a cape and vest. A man with a sword and perfectly perfect teeth. He bows with a flourish of his hand and I gasp out loud. I recognize this guy, and his stupid hand flourish. He’s Prince Ferguson of Spiddle.

Chapter 4 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

Chapter 4

When I wake up, my first thoughts are about the awful things I want to do to that pixie. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Mom or pack for the trip. She’s going to freak out when she can’t find me. This is the last thing I wanted to do to her.

My second thoughts are about the garden I’m in. At least, I think I’m in a garden. I’m lying in a flower bed and birds are chirping, but I’m on my back, looking up at the white marble that surround the raised beds. On an unrelated note, I have a raging headache. I look up at the vaulted, light blue ceiling and rub my temples. “Was the pain necessary?”

This is the weirdest garden I’ve ever been in. Not only is it indoors, but it’s excessively…cute. Two butterflies chase each other around the spray of pink and white flowers. A bunny hops out from behind a speckled toadstool, and I swear it winks at me. The bunny, not the toadstool. “What is this place?”

I climb onto my feet and brush the dirt from my jeans. With a short jump, I’m off the raised bed and walking around, trying to get my bearings. Last time, I threw myself into things and was way too impulsive. I won’t be making that mistake again.

A butterfly lands on my shoulder and a light wisp of air brushes my cheek as it stretches its wings. Blue and white diamonds pattern its underside and the tops of the wings have pink and yellow polka dots. I’ve never seen a butterfly like that. I’m pretty sure they don’t exist. It flitters off on its own and joins the other two butterflies in the flower bushes. Yeah, I should definitely figure things out before I do anything.

The four walls are painted blue like the ceiling, to look like a summer sky. A low, stone bench sits at the end of a grassy path. A cluster of white lilies line the wall behind it. And of course, it’s hard to miss the gigantic statue in the middle of the room. A white stone girl in a flowing dress has one arm extended. A stone bird is perched on her finger, its mouth open like it’s singing.

The real birds are singing loudly enough, it makes my headache feel ten times worse. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The smells of spring grass and fresh berries fill my senses. I swear I feel a breeze brush lightly against the back of my ponytail. This place is way too weird. I need to stay focused.

“Get in and get out,” I tell myself. It’s the best advice I can think of. “Don’t get involved, and don’t mess anything up.” Also good advice.

Behind me, a door opens. Funny, that I hadn’t looked for an exit. But the doors are camouflaged, now that I noticed them. They’re painted the same as the walls and have ivy crisscrossing all the way up to the ceiling. A pretty blonde girl in a pale pink dress scurries into the garden. She’s pretty young, maybe nine years old. Her eyes light up when she sees me. “There you are, Ivy! Hurry, or Daddy will get there before we do.”

I stare at her. She used my name. No, I must have heard her wrong. “I think you’ve got the wrong girl.”

She tugs at my elbow, pulling me toward the door. “Stop playing games and come with me. Our sisters are waiting.”

I swallow hard. Our sisters?

So much for not getting involved.