Ordinary Magic (24 page)

“Maybe these writers weren’t living a glamorous city life like you. Maybe they were out in the middle of nowhere and they never saw dragons.”

“That’s no excuse. They should imagine some.”

“Then it wouldn’t be realism.”

“Is that Abby? Can I talk to her?” Olivia peeked over Mom’s shoulder. “Has Alexa told you about Friday yet?”

“I’m having a conversation with my daughter,” Mom said, amused, as Olivia took her place.

“I know, two of them, actually. Friday?” Olivia prompted. I shook my head and she sighed dramatically, adding in a hair flounce for good measure.

“You know that doesn’t work on me, I’m not a boy,” I told her.

“Please, Abby, I
know
that, but it never hurts to keep in practice. Get yourself pretty, you have a big appointment.”

“What appointment?”

“That’s for Alexa to tell, and for me to gloat over you not knowing. But it’s Friday. And also Gil’s coming with her, and you have to be totally nice to him—”

“I’m
always
nice to him.”

“—because he’s getting called before the editor, who’s going to yell at him for missing his deadline.”

“They changed it up on me!” Gil called from somewhere in
the house. “They want it
now
! Anyone seen my vest? The blue one with the dragon-scale pattern?”

“Apparently they have been getting a lot of good buzz and want to see about launching it at some book fair. Anyway,” Olivia continued, “we’re breaking you out of there at three o’clock sharp, right after classes. So be ready.”

Gil’s frustrated groan cut off whatever Olivia was going to say. “I have
nothing
to wear! How can I have
nothing
to wear? I have to look professional!”

“Calm down,” Olivia called, then rolled her eyes at me. “Sorry. Fashion emergencies take priority. Talk later, okay? Don’t forget: Friday.”

Alexa appeared beside me the next day with a large envelope in her hand. It had my name on the front in ornate block letters. “Is that what Olivia was talking about?” I asked, reaching for it.

She moved it out of my way, her eyes going wide. “She told you? I swear, that girl couldn’t keep her mouth closed if you bound it shut with cold iron braces.”

“What is it?” I asked, grabbing for the envelope again.

“Just tea with King Steve. No big deal. And—” Her expression turned serious. “Barbarian Mike is being sentenced this week.”

“That was fast,” I said. They’d told us ten months, maybe, for the case to work its way to the top of the list.

“His Majesty has decided to take this case on personally, so it has been accelerated,” she explained. “Sentencing is next
Monday. He’d like you to come to the castle Friday after classes for tea and to talk about the incident.”

“Again? What about all those reports we filled out?” I asked.

“His Majesty has read the reports, but it is his esteemed pleasure to host Miss Hale for the afternoon so as to hear her side of the story personally,” she said, handing me the envelope. It was smooth as cream and ten times as fancy, wrapped with a velvet ribbon and sealed with the ornate royal crest. Alexa tapped the seal. “Come on, you know it’s her.” With a faint huff, the seal lifted, the ribbon unfurled, and, with great ceremonial dignity, the letter opened up in front of me. “You’ll have to excuse them. The king’s personal invitations don’t get sent out that often, so they get a little stuffy sometimes.”

The thick black script gleamed like liquid silk. “What’s he going to do to him?” I asked, scanning the words.

Alexa gave me a veiled look. “I don’t know,” she said, and I was reminded that my big sister is a very good liar. “But His Majesty does not believe in light sentences for kidnappers.”

“I hear you’re getting away from us this week,” Becky said the next day as she walked us down to Public Safety after her class.

I nodded. “By order of the king. Also, my brother has a meeting in town.”

“I know Alexa’s going with you, but all the same I’d like you to come by whenever you have a free moment to get some extra training in. Especially after what happened.”

“Sure.”

And then Becky asked what kind of meeting, and after I explained she asked, “So which brother is the author? Jeremy or … Gilbert?”

“Gil, but he doesn’t write under his own name because his editor said he’d get better sales if he had a fake lady’s name. So he writes romance novels as Miranda Blythe.”

“Miranda Blythe?” Becky grabbed my arm; she’d gone pale, and her eyes were very wide.

I nodded. “He has a new one coming out next fall, called
Race Against the Wind
or
Racing the Wind
, I forget which.”

Her fingers tightened on my arm. “
Race the Wind
?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yeah, that’s it. How did you know?”

“She announced it on her fan channel. Dimitrios hooks me up on the ball at least once a week so I can check in. I have been waiting for over a year—your
brother
is
Miranda Blythe
?” The hallway outside the Public Safety office was completely empty now, but we were past caring. “I
love
those books! I remember stealing the first one from my owner’s nightstand and … that is—” Becky stopped, and the color rushed back into her face as she muttered something about another lifetime.

And I wanted to ask,
Owner?
Except I didn’t need to ask, not really. Not with that look on her face. So instead I asked, “Aren’t they the best books ever? Which one’s your favorite?” And we completely ignored Dimitrios when he stuck his head out into the hallway and pointedly cleared his throat. “Mine’s
Rules of Passion
,” I said, “but that’s just me preferring Rafe to Enrique.”

“Oh, absolutely. Enrique’s way too moody,” Becky said. “My favorite is an old one. You probably wouldn’t know it.”

“Yes, I would. I’ve read every single one of them, but don’t tell my parents because I wasn’t supposed to because of all the kissing and stuff.”

Becky smiled at that. “There is some ‘stuff.’”

“Rebecca …,” Dimitrios said, then cleared his throat again to get her attention.

“So which book? I’ll keep annoying you until you tell me,” I told Becky.

“You know I have been standing right here,” Dimitrios said. “I have heard every word of your discussion.”

Becky finally turned to him. “Yes, thank you, I see you. But we are having an important teacher-student discussion at the moment. I’ll send her in when we’re finished. It’s one of his first ones,” she told me. “A contemporary.”

That was easy. Gil had only written one contemporary before switching over to historical, which is where Mom says his strength is. “
Kissing the Kingsman
?”

“All right, all right.” Dimitrios held up his hands. “But don’t go biting Bella’s head off the next time she delays Abby from
your
class.”

Becky clenched her hands into fists and took a long exaggerated breath. “Fine. We will continue this discussion later, Abby.”

Later turned out to be an hour later. We were gathering up our books, trying to figure out which creature we were going
to pick for our essay (undead vs. enchanted, pick any two creatures and compare/contrast strengths and weaknesses) when Dimitrios’s crystal chimed. “Wait a minute, Abby,” he called as the class shuffled out. “I have been asked to run you up to Ms. Macartney’s classroom. She wants to speak to you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He grinned. “Why don’t any of you kids look that worried when you’re sent to see me? We’re the law around here.”

There’s something about Ms. Macartney’s classroom that always makes it look like it’s got a tint of cool-blue shadows, even with the afternoon sun coming full on through the windows. She was sitting there, poised and perfect, her pencil making precise little marks as she graded her way through a neat stack of papers. Becky was there too, which I hadn’t expected, leaning against a corner of the desk.

“Here’s Miss Abby, ma’am,” Dimitrios announced, still grinning, and Ms. Macartney said
thank you, that will be all
, without looking up. He ducked out; I felt the click of the door as it closed.

“Did I do something?” I asked carefully.

“Not that I’m aware of, yet.” Ms. Macartney set down her pencil and looked up at me. “I understand we are expecting a visit from your brother at the end of the week.”

“Yeah, I—” I stopped. “Seriously?”

“We were wondering,” she continued, turning her attention to tidying up her perfectly neat desk, “if we provided you with personal copies, if you could have your brother sign them.”

“Really? Gil would completely love that. He’s never had a
real book signing before, which I guess is just as well because he can’t exactly show up as a guy when everyone’s expecting Miranda.”

“Yes, I can see how that would cause some problems. Thank you. Becky, you’ll have to remember to return the copy of
The Rules of Passion
I lent you,” Ms. Macartney said. “I’d love to have him autograph the full set.”

At three o’clock sharp on Friday afternoon, Becky walked me out to the main gate, her fingers white-knuckled on a small stack of books. My brother and sisters were waiting with a private carpet, courtesy of King Steve. Gil was off it the moment he saw us, giving me a speedy pat on the head as he raced over to Becky. It was a little funny watching them, Becky so spine-straight and formal, calling him “sir,” which had Olivia snorting with laughter, and Gil gushing and excited as he gleefully signed his way through a small stack of books, exclaiming, “This is what authors do!”

“I thought authors
wrote,
” Alexa called from the carpet.

“Writers write,” Gil returned. “Authors get book signings.”

They stood there, talking about how Rafe was so much cooler than Enrique, and was he ever going to get to Jamie’s story, until Olivia started to glance around and wonder loudly didn’t some of us have an appointment with someone important, and wasn’t
there a madwoman still on the loose? That made Alexa laugh. “You really think it’s just the five of us out here? And that we’re going to fly on down to the castle all by our lonesome? That’s cute.”

“I can point out the hidden Kingsmen if you want,” I offered.

“Later,” said Olivia. “Time, Abby.” Gil and I climbed on the carpet and waved good-bye to Becky as we sped off.

“All right.” Alexa rubbed her hands together. “We have five minutes for endearing family chat. How is everyone doing? What’s new? What have I missed?”

“I’m not doing too bad, but Olivia’s only had three dates this week,” Gil said. “She’s hoping we’ll drop her off at the nearest man while we go meet your King Steve.”

“I am making a strategic decision to date less,” Olivia informed us. “Mom keeps hitting me with the whole ‘why don’t you find a serious boyfriend and settle down’ thing.”

“Which means she’s going to be coming after me instead, thank you very much,” Alexa replied.

Olivia and Gil looked at each other and giggled. “You could try being honest with her,” Gil said.

“Because we all know the ‘you don’t have a boyfriend’ thing isn’t exactly true, is it?” Olivia finished.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” said Alexa. “I’m going to ignore you two and talk to my favorite sibling now. How are your classes going?” Alexa asked me.

“Good. Really good. Really, really good.”

“Except you’re having problems with realism,” Gil added.

“There’s no point to realism,” I said.

“It’s about technique. You have to learn technique if you want to get anywhere,” Gil said.

“I don’t need technique; I’m never going to write anything.”

“You’re not supposed to like school,” Olivia told me.

“I know, I know, I know,” I said at Olivia’s expression. “I’m sorry. I promise, O, I promise I’ll stop next year. Except I hear Second Year is really boring. Except for self-defense,” I added. “All the kids say that next year’s self-defense is much more interesting, because we’re actually going to learn to flip somebody. Like, over our back. But nobody usually gets hurt. It’s all okay.”

Gil turned to Alexa. “What are you teaching these children?”