Of Giants and Ice (Ever Afters, The) (14 page)

Chase slid abruptly into a chair at our table, for no reason
I
could figure out. He looked pale. Maybe he had decided teasing us was the best way to cheer himself up after seeing the scary Fey.

“My dad’ll be there,” he said. I rolled my eyes, because this was the fifth time in three days Chase mentioned that his dad was coming home. He’d told us all about his dad’s recent trips at least eight times. If Jack really was gone that much, I felt sorry for Chase’s mom.
She
was the one who had to handle Chase for weeks on end. “Usually, he’s too busy, but he just defeated E’Kennild the Destroyer in the New Mexico desert and he said he needs a break.”

Lena acted like she hadn’t heard him. “Potion ingredients and magic books and Fey trinkets—singing harps and carryall bags. We’re going to buy a Table of Plenty, the self-setting kind.”

I knew from experience that she would go on for ten minutes if I didn’t interrupt her. “So your grandmother’s coming on Friday to find one?”

“No, she doesn’t get around that well anymore, and she hates crowds.” Then Lena added proudly, “But she’s going to let
me
pick it out. I’ve been researching Tables of Plenty for months now.”

“Dad stole a Table of Plenty once,” Chase said. “From Gholsend the Giant.”

Sometimes, Chase had a one-track mind. One of his many annoying qualities.

“Is he selling it at the Market?” Lena asked.

“No, he gave it away,” Chase said. “To an orphanage for changelings.”

The look on Lena’s face clearly told Chase how unhelpful he was. Adelaide and the triplets wandered toward our table. They’d probably spotted Chase. They usually followed him everywhere.

“But why are the Fey coming?” I asked Lena. “Do the fairies run it?”

“No, we do,” said Kyle. “It’s a fundraiser. The Director uses it to pay for EAS-related costs. That’s why everyone can attend free.”

“Be glad we have it,” Kevin added. “EAS has to pay the instructors somehow. They used to just take a quarter of whatever riches you got in your
happily ever after
.”

“But the Fey come,” Chase said. “Nearly everyone comes.”

“There aren’t that many neutral places left after the war,” Lena said. “That’s why the Director can charge so much. She rents out every stand.”

“I doubt Torlauth came to negotiate the price of a stand, though,” Chase said. “He has minions for that.”

He was right. Two minutes later, the Director stepped up to the podium, like she always does for new Tales or important announcements. Her dress that day was a sky-blue ball gown with golden thread that sparkled even in the Tree’s shade.

“As most of you are aware, Torlauth di Morgian came to visit me this afternoon,” she said, “and he convinced me to hold an impromptu tournament at the Fairie Market. He has offered a grand prize of a thousand gold coins.”

I had no idea what that meant, but obviously other EASers did.
Almost every Character started talking. The triplets whooped and did a celebration dance, which made Lena giggle behind her hand.

The Director waited a moment for the crowd to become quiet again. “Unfortunately, only those of you in high school will be allowed to compete.”

The triplets immediately booed, but when she looked at them sternly over the podium, all three shut up. “Due to time constraints, only one event will be held: the traditional duel. Good luck!”

She left the podium, and then everyone really
did
start talking. George announced he was competing. Kevin and Conner cursed fate and the Director for the age limit. Kyle asked Lena if she thought he could pass as a tenth grader if he glued on a moustache, and Lena stammered back that he’d be better off wearing a full suit of armor, including a helmet to cover his face.

In fact, in all of EAS, only Chase looked more sick to his stomach than excited, but I chalked that up to him finding out he couldn’t enter.

Then the bell rang. It was time to go home, and suddenly, all my worries about telling my parents came rushing back.

I called Dad in the kitchen, where Amy and Mom stared at an open cookbook and argued over what to make for dinner.

“Beef Wellington doesn’t look
that
hard,” Mom said.

“It’s hard, Maggie. Definitely too ambitious for a Wednesday night.” What Amy really meant was that it was too ambitious for
Mom
, but saying so would crush her.

My hands were so shaky that my fingers fumbled over the keypad. I had to redial Dad’s familiar number at least three times.

The call went to voice mail. I was disappointed. No, relieved. Well, kind of both. I was glad I didn’t have to figure out how to negotiate a four-person-conversation on speakerphone. Unfortunately,
having this conversation hang over my head didn’t really appeal either.

But two seconds later, he called
back
.

“Dad!” I said, so happily that Mom and Amy both looked my way, surprised.

I didn’t know what time zone he was in, but he sounded wide-awake. “Rory. What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I just—” I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat. “I need to tell you something.”

Amy nudged Mom with a questioning look, and Mom shrugged. Which meant that they recognized that by “something,” I meant “something important,” and they were trying to figure out if the other one knew. My thumb shifted to the speakerphone button, and I took a deep breath, about to launch into an explanation that started with dragons in Yellowstone.

But Dad wasn’t exactly clued in. He sighed. “I really don’t have time for this right now, princess.”

“This won’t take long,” I said quickly, even though I privately worried that it might take a while.

“Rory.” Now he sounded a little stern. “I told you that I can’t help you now. I’m supposed to be in a really important meeting.”

Great. That made me guilty for disturbing him and annoyed that he couldn’t make time the
one
day I needed to tell him something.

“If it was so important, why did you call me back?” I said, more sharply than I meant. Apparently I felt more annoyed than guilty.

“Well, you never call. I thought it was an emergency. Look, I really have to—”

“I can’t even call my own father without you thinking something’s
wrong
?” I said. “It’s been over a
month
since we talked.”

Mom stepped closer worriedly. I wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Even Dad seemed to realize he hadn’t said the right thing. “I’m sorry, Rory. You know you’re my princess. I always miss you, every day. Hey,” he added in a completely different tone. “Did you decide about that shoot in Oxford? I was talking with Bree yesterday—you know, Briana Catcher—and she said she really wanted to meet you.”

I couldn’t believe he was asking me
again
. Right after scolding me. Like
that
made me want to hang out with him on his stupid shoot. “I’m sorry I bothered you. Good luck with your meeting,” I said and hung up.

I hadn’t hung up on him since the first few weeks of Mom and Dad’s separation. I did feel a little guilty, but only a little. After all, he had made time to talk to some random actress the day before, but not to call me.

“Our little baby, all grown up and telling people off,” Amy said with a little applause.

“Here, let me talk to him.” Mom reached for the phone.

I snatched it up and hid it behind my back stubbornly. She didn’t even know what was wrong. She just wanted an excuse to yell at him, and I refused to give it to her. They should at least
try
to get along—for
my
sake.

Amy cleared her throat. I looked up. She glared at me in the thin-lipped steely way that she only used when someone bothered Mom. Then I saw Mom’s face, looking a little hurt, and I really
did
feel guilty.

This was why I tried never to make a scene at home. When I did, Mom usually got more upset than I did. Sometimes, it bummed her out for weeks.

I couldn’t tell her now. The whole EAS conversation would have to wait.

“Please don’t call him,” I said quietly. “It’s better if I talk to him myself.”

Mom smiled a tiny bit. “Who’s my favorite daughter?”

“Me. But I’m your only daughter,” I replied.

“Then it’s a good thing that you’re my favorite.” Mom’s smile widened, and I knew I was forgiven. “Don’t you have homework?”

I did. I headed back to the stool, dragging my feet dramatically until Mom laughed.

“Hey, Rory,” Amy said. I scrambled to come up with an answer to the
what-important-thing-were-you-going-to-tell-him?
question, but it never came. “Do you want to invite a friend to sleep over this weekend?”

You might think that she was just being nice, but I wasn’t fooled. Whenever Mom or Amy asked if I wanted to have a sleepover, it meant that they were worried about the kind of friends I had made during this move. Me being less-than-nice to Mom had set off little warning bells. They thought I might be hanging out with the wrong kind of sixth graders.

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. I couldn’t say no.

•  •  •

I worried about the sleepover all the next day.

I wasn’t worried about who I should ask. Of course I would ask Lena. She was my first pick—the same way she would be my first pick for a Companion if I got a questing Tale. I
wanted
to ask Lena, but sleepovers had become unsafe territory. In fourth grade, it’s still a coveted honor—a friendship milestone—to ask someone to sleepover. By sixth grade though, if you ask the wrong girl, she might accuse you of acting like you were still in elementary school. Somebody like Adelaide would be mean enough to
say
so to your face—rather than wait until she could talk about you behind your back, like a normal bully.

If I had been at school, or any other place where people knew about my famous parents, I wouldn’t have been concerned. No matter how old they were, my classmates usually got pretty excited to meet my mom. Even more excited about that than hanging out with me.

But this was Lena. She wouldn’t act like Adelaide or the kids at school. I was almost sure.

Still, when I sat down at our regular table under the Tree, I glanced around to make sure Chase or Adelaide weren’t in earshot.

“You okay?” Lena put down her book,
Magic Mirrors 101
, and pushed her glasses farther up on her nose.

The worst she could do was say no, I told myself and half-believed it. “Lena, do you wanna sleep over on Friday?”

“Oh,” Lena said, clearly not expecting that. My heart sank, and I tried to figure out a way to give her an easy out. Then her eyes widened eagerly behind her glasses, and I knew she was one of the diehard sleepover-lovers. “Yeah! I mean, I’ll have to ask my grandmother first, but if she says yes, then absolutely! Did you want me to bring anything? My movies? A candy stash?”

•  •  •

Lena’s grandmother said yes, so that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the
other
consequences of Wednesday’s almost fight.

The night before the sleepover, I dreamed of the door again—the black wood cracked with age, the scrolling silver
S,
and the snowflake with sharp points. I needed to open it. There wasn’t much time, but I was frozen, too scared even to reach for the handle.

I woke up with a jerk that almost toppled me out of bed. Then I remembered that it was true—or that it could
become
true if I dreamed it just one more time. I tossed and turned for ten minutes, but it was no use. I kept hearing Adelaide’s words in my head,
a Failed Tale waiting to happen.
Sleep definitely wasn’t coming back.

So, I tiptoed down the hall to keep from waking anyone up and went downstairs for a cup of tea or something,

The light was still on in the kitchen, and when I reached the last few steps, I realized that someone was still
in
there. Mom sat on the same bar stool where I had done my homework earlier.

I almost blabbed out the whole thing—the truth of EAS, the dream, and what it might mean. Picking the right moment or seeming crazy didn’t matter anymore. I just wanted her to make me feel better.

But I hesitated—just long enough to look closer.

A glass of white wine stood on the counter beside her. It had been out so long that the condensation had turned into big fat drops. Screenplays were stacked beside it. Without looking at anything in particular, Mom ran her finger around the glass’s rim, making it sing.

She looked so sad, and I knew it was my fault.

This was what always happened when she saw me upset. She acted cheerful during the day, but alone at night, she blamed herself.

It wasn’t always this way. We were all happy once. It was hard to remember sometimes, but I kept the proof upstairs, hidden away in the drawer of my nightstand, just in case. A photograph of us at the beach—me and Mom laughing in the foreground, and Dad behind, hugging us both. Our noses are all peeling.

I’m about eight in the picture—before Amy, before the divorce, before even
Never Leave Home
—the box-office success that made Dad famous and earned Mom an Oscar. I usually only take out that photo when I’m packing or unpacking—or when I feel as sad as Mom looked right then.

Suddenly, I wanted to run across the room, throw my arms around her, and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but
I stopped myself. I had done that once, the night I had found her staring at that same picture and crying. I had held her very tight and promised that we were going to be fine, but when she pulled away, I’d realized I had made it worse.

The next day, Mom had dragged Amy and me on a surprise weekend getaway to the mountains, which she spent being aggressively cheerful,
annoyingly
cheerful, trying to prove how okay she was. When I tried to get her to talk to me, she would just pat my head, saying, “Oh, Rory.
I’m
the mother, you know.” The third time she did that, it made me so mad that I ran off. I guess that wasn’t the most helpful thing the world, especially since Mom was already upset, but I
hated
feeling helpless.