The Last Ever After (12 page)

Agatha paled. “Only the one who casts the spell can reverse it.” She looked at Tedros. “That witch . . . that witch did it—”

“What witch?” Tedros pressed, but Agatha was frantically scouring the deserted glen . . . She slumped. They'd never find that old hag. Princess Uma was as good as dead.

Not her too
.
Not our only hope.
Agatha tuned out a bird's loud chirps and sank her face in her hands.
How do we get to Sophie now?

“Agatha . . .”

“Not now,” she whispered, head throbbing with fear, grief, and strident birdcalls.

“Agatha, look . . .”

Agatha spun. “I said not
no
—”

She frowned.

The dove from the well was in the prince's lap tweeting angrily at both of them.

“What's it saying?” Tedros asked her.

“How should I know?”

“You're the one who took Animal Communication!”

“And burned down the school in the process—”

Agatha stopped because the dove was drawing in the dirt with its wing. “Why is he drawing an elephant?”

The dove let out a torrent of chirps, furiously modifying his picture.

“It's a weasel,” Tedros guessed. “Look at the ears.”

“No, it's a moose—”

“Or a raccoon.”

The dove was apoplectic now, slashing more lines.

“Oh. A rabbit,” said Agatha.

“Definitely a rabbit,” Tedros agreed.

He looked at Agatha. “Why's he drawing a rabbit?”

The dove rolled his eyes and stabbed his wing ahead.

Tedros and Agatha turned and saw a fat, balding white rabbit glaring at them from behind a tree, wearing a dirty blue waistcoat with a silver swan crest over the heart, a hideous white cravat, and crooked spectacles low on his nose. The rabbit yanked a pocketwatch out of his coat, pointed crabbily at it, and scampered down a dirt path out of the glen.

“Um. I think he wants us to follow him,” said Agatha.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” said Tedros, slinging Uma over his shoulder and lumbering ahead. “Stay any longer and we might end up as dead as those dwarves.”

“But shouldn't we know where he's taking us?” Agatha called out. “We can't just follow a strange animal in a scarf—”

“Sooner we follow him, sooner we find someone who knows how to unpetrify a teacher,” her prince called back.

They followed the rabbit through inky trees as blackness swept over the Woods like a plague, the sun offering no resistance against the night. Soon they could barely see at all, and if it wasn't for the rabbit's corpulent pace, they'd have lost him in the dark. Ominous howls and low screams crackled ahead of them and Agatha tried to ignore the skitters and slithers in the
underbrush lining the path. Yellow and red eyes peeped overhead like malevolent stars, warning her that danger was coming and coming fast.
If only we knew where League Headquarters was
, Agatha thought miserably. Her mother had sacrificed her life to make sure they reached the League . . .
and I didn't bother to ask Uma where it was
?
Why didn't I have a backup plan in case something happened? Why can't I think straight?
Now instead of finding the one place where they'd be safe tonight, they were on some wild-goose chase, carrying a petrified teacher and chasing a time-obsessed bunny to who knows where. With Tedros lagging under Uma's weight, Agatha kept pace with the rabbit for more than an hour, silently punishing herself for their predicament, until she finally glimpsed a wisp of white smoke emanating through pine trees ahead.

Drawing closer, Agatha began to smell a faint tinge of sandalwood mixed with a familiar scent she couldn't quite place, and as they moved into a tiny clearing, she saw that the smoke plumes were coming from a hole in the dirt, half-covered with dead fern fronds. The rabbit kicked the ferns aside and disappeared down the burrow, before peeking his face through the gap impatiently.

Agatha paused, reluctant to follow a stranger into a hole—

Tedros barreled right by her. “Nothin' to lose,” he mumbled.

Before Agatha could argue, her prince lowered Uma into the hole and slid in behind her. Irritated, Agatha lowered herself down after him, landing awkwardly in darkness before Tedros caught her into his chest, soaking her with sweat.
He
smells good
, Agatha noticed, inhaling his minty fresh scent. How could a boy possibly smell like spring fields after everything they'd just been through? She suddenly thought of Sophie, who'd smelled of honeycream even after traipsing up Graves Hill in the worst heat. Maybe that's why Tedros missed Sophie, Agatha thought bitterly . . . they could lie around all day sniffing each other, flawless gold-haired idols, while here she was, a “holy bloody mess,” reeking of stress, dirt, and undead witch—

“Anyone here?” Tedros called.

Agatha snapped to attention, embarrassed by her thoughts. It was pitch-black in the hole, the rabbit nowhere to be seen.

“Hello?” Tedros echoed.

Nothing answered him.

The prince held out his hand and felt a wall of solid earth in front of him. “Why do we always end up in
dirt
?”

Agatha's stomach rumbled. “Maybe the dove was telling us to eat the rabbit instead of follow him.”

“Or maybe the rabbit was telling us to leave Uma here, while we go look for League Headquarters.”

“You want us to dump a petrified teacher in a hole and
leave
?” said Agatha, flabbergasted.

“It's not like she's going anywhere.”

“Suppose you'll dump me in a hole the moment I'm inconvenient too,” Agatha murmured, strangely confessional in the dark.

“Huh?”

“Then you can go get your sweet-smelling, beautiful, vibrant
Sophie all alone,” Agatha vented, unable to stop herself.

“You didn't happen to eat any strange mushrooms on the way, did you?”

“Go ahead, laugh. You can name your children Blond and Blonder.”

“Never pegged you as a jealous type,” Tedros marveled.

“Jealous? Why? Because you almost kissed her as a boy
and
a girl? Because you can make her feel loved in a way that I can't? Me?
Jealous?
” Agatha ranted, thoroughly ashamed of herself now.

“Isn't Sophie supposed to be the crazy one?”

“Bet you wouldn't leave
her
in a dark pit—”

“And we thought Tweedledee and Tweedledum were hopeless,” said a hoary voice.

Agatha and Tedros choked, recognizing it at once, and twirled to see a torch spark to flame in the grip of a white-bearded gnome wearing a belted green coat with a silver swan over the heart and a pointy orange hat. A gnome Agatha thought had been killed in a fire, but now here he was, alive in a secret den. She burst into a smile, glowing with relief—

Yuba didn't smile back. “First you lose a teacher because you fail to protect each other in the face of mortal danger. Then you fight so often and
loudly
that you've alerted the entire Woods as to your whereabouts. Now you're so busy insulting each other that you forget to use a simple glow spell to illuminate your surroundings in the time that a Cave Troll could have bashed both your heads to smithereens. If it wasn't for a rabbit rescuing you from yourselves, you two nincompoops would be dead
before dawn,” he lashed, fingers twitching on his white staff as if he wanted to beat them with it. “A Bad Group is one thing. But you two Evers might just be the Worst Evers . . .
Ever
.”

Agatha and Tedros looked down, humiliated.

Yuba sighed. “Lucky for you, the League needs you as much as you need it.”

Torches roared to flame, lighting up a squad of strangers behind him in a giant cave headquarters the size of a small house.

“Presenting the honorable League of Thirteen, legendary legion of Good and Enlightenment,” Yuba proclaimed with an imperious smile, clearly expecting the Evers to look impressed, awed, or at least grateful for the glorious platoon that they had come all this way to see.

Agatha and Tedros blanched in horror instead.

Because the League of Thirteen that was their only hope to save Sophie, the League of Thirteen that was their only hope to stay alive . . . were all very, very
old
.

10
The Missing Thirteenth

“Y
ou've got to be kidding,” Tedros cracked, as he and Agatha goggled at the saggy, ancient crew.

Agatha counted four men and four women—a geriatric gang of liver spots, turkey necks, hairy ears, foggy eyes, yellowed teeth, beady grins, bony limbs, and heads of sparse, colorless, or poorly dyed hair. Two of the eight were in rickety wheelchairs, three had walking canes, two were hunched and bandy-legged, and one was a morbidly obese woman in a muumuu, slathering on makeup at a mirror.

All of them had silver swan crests over their hearts, like Uma, Yuba, and the White Rabbit, badges of membership to a League her mother had trusted with her daughter's life.

She sent us here for a reason
,
thought Agatha desperately. Would they rip off masks, revealing invincible warriors? Would they magically turn young like the School Master? Agatha held her breath, waiting and praying for something to happen . . .

The League blinked back, like fish in an aquarium, waiting for something to happen too.

“Told ya they wouldn't recognize us,” grumped the fat woman at the mirror.

“Recognize you?” In the reflection, Agatha glimpsed the woman's pink, hoggish pallor, squinty green eyes, wide jowls, hideously rouged cheeks, and nest of flat curls that she'd tried to dye brown and had turned blue instead. She looked like a doll salvaged from the bottom of a swimming pool. “I'm quite sure I've never seen you—or any of you—in my life,” Agatha said, scanning the group. She turned to Tedros, hoping he'd seen something in them she hadn't, but her prince was red as a fire ant, about to explode.

“
This
is who's supposed to get us to Sophie?” he barked, blue eyes raking the puke-colored carpet, flower-patterned sofas, moth-eaten curtains, and thirteen hard, thin mattresses split into two rows. “A
retirement home
for the about-to-be dead?”

Yuba yanked him to the corner. “How dare you speak that way to the League!” he hissed, peeking to make sure the others couldn't hear. “You know the lengths I've gone to find them? To bring them here? And here you act as if they have to introduce themselves to you like common folk—you, a boy who has no accomplishments to his name—”

“Tell that to a
king
in a few weeks!” Tedros bellowed.

“You arrogant prat! The way you've bungled things, you won't make it a few days, let alone to a coronation!” Yuba shot back.

“First thing I'll do is outlaw old gnomes!”

“Listen, my mother knew the League would help us,” Agatha broke in, giving Tedros a “calm-down” look. “That's why she wrote them. So clearly we're missing something—”

“Yeah, like people who aren't a thousand years old!” Tedros lashed, earning another miffed look from his princess.
“What,”
he said, turning his fury on her. “We barely escape our own execution, then we learn our best friend loves an Evil sorcerer, then we travel night and day, surviving zombies and witches and graves, all to find a League your mother promised would get us to Sophie and
this is it
? Bollocks. Let's go. Better chance of breaking into the school ourselves—”

“She was my
mother
, Tedros,” Agatha said. “And I trust her more than anyone in this world to know what's best for us. Even you.”

Tedros fell quiet.

Agatha glanced back and saw the old, swan-crested strangers completely ignoring them now, knitting, reading, napping, card playing, and pulling out false teeth to eat their gruel. Her faith in her mother suddenly wavered.

“Listen to me, both of you,” said Yuba. “When our thirteenth member returns, your questions will be answered. Until then, you both need some strong turnip tea and a bowl of oat porridge. Having survived in the Woods these last few months
after 115 years of sanctuary at school, I know firsthand how intense your journey must have been—”

“Thirteenth member?” Agatha skimmed the room. “I only count eight.” Then she noticed the White Rabbit in the corner, slicing a carrot into fifths on a plate, the silver swan over his heart glimmering in torchlight. “Um, nine.”

“Ten, actually,” said Tedros, and Agatha followed his eyes to the silver swan on Yuba's green coat.

“A founding member of the League,” the gnome puffed proudly. “And Uma makes eleven, of course, and—” Yuba flushed. “
Uma!
Goodness me!” He whirled to the Princess petrified in the corner. “Leaving her there like a house cat! Tink! Tink, where are you!”

Something snored loudly behind Agatha and she turned to see a pear-shaped fairy the size of a fist bolt awake and fall off a dirty ottoman. The fairy craned up groggily, with poufy gray hair, a green dress eight sizes too small, ragged gold wings, and garish red lipstick. Eyes darting right and left as if she knew she was supposed to be awake but had no idea why, she spotted Uma frozen in the corner and yelped, flapping and sputtering towards her like a dying bee. Then she slipped her hand into her dress, snatched a handful of what looked like moldy soot, and dumped it goonishly over Uma's head.

Nothing happened.

“Dad took me to Ali Baba's harem for my birthday once. This is so much more embarrassing,” Tedros mumbled, stomping towards the entrance hole to leave—

Uma coughed behind him. Tedros swiveled to see the
princess levitating three feet off the ground, her skin filling out from pasty white to its usual rich olive color. Uma stretched her smooth, lithe arms into the air with a yawn, smiled at the fairy glassily . . . and collapsed to the ground, asleep once more.

“Here you were worried about your fairy dust being too old, Tink,” Yuba chuckled, patting the fairy's head.

The fairy still looked gloomy and spurted squeaky gibberish.

“Don't be ridiculous, Tink. You can't expect to have the same stamina as when you were sixteen. Besides, we didn't need Uma to fly from here to Shazabah; we just needed your dust to unpetrify her. A few sound hours of sleep and she'll be good as new. Now where were we,” the gnome mulled, turning back to the Evers. “Oh yes, rabbit makes nine, Uma makes ten, I make eleven, and Tinkerbell makes twelve, so that just leaves—”

“Tinkerbell?” Agatha blurted.

“The
real
Tinkerbell?” asked Tedros, staring at the fairy's mottled face, potbelly, and ash-colored hair. “But she's so . . . so . . .”

Agatha gave him a lethal look, but it was too late. Tinkerbell burst into sobs and hid under an ottoman.

“He didn't mean it, Tink,” Yuba huffed and smacked Tedros in the backside with his staff.

“I don't understand,” Agatha said, bewildered. “What is Tinkerbell doing here?”

“Really found yourselves some smarties, didn't you, Yuba,” said a bald, skinny man in a green vest with elfish ears and
delicate features, knitting a lime-green sock. “Still can't see who we are.”

“Maybe we need to count your rings like a tree,” Tedros muttered, rubbing his behind.

“Go ahead, make all the old jokes you want, pretty boy,” the bald man fired. “As if you won't get to our age yourself someday.”

“Well, it seems our two amateurs need introductions after all,” Yuba scolded, giving Tedros and Agatha furious scowls before shoving them into two of the rocking chairs. He turned back to his League. “Who wants to go first?”

“Don't see why we should introduce ourselves,” the sock-knitting man crabbed. “Don't see why we should let these two stay here at all.”

Yuba exhaled impatiently. “Because these two Evers are our only hope to—”

“What's the point? You heard the boy. We're on death's door anyway,” the bald man pouted.

“Oh come now,” Yuba said, softening. “What'd you say when I came to fetch you from Neverland? Holed up in your tree house all alone, refusing to join the League, even when I told you your life was in terrible danger. But then I told you about these two young Evers and you lit up like a little boy. Told me you'd do anything to be around young people again . . . that they were the only ones who ever truly understood you, Peter . . .”

Peter looked up at Yuba, blue eyes glistening. Then he looked back down. “Tink
made
me come,” he muttered. The
fairy squealed in protest and pelted him with a lump of gruel.

Agatha and Tedros gawped at each other. Peter? Peter
Pan?

“I'm with Peter,” boomed the huge, blue-haired woman, spinning from the mirror. “Not even out of school, these little brats. Should be lickin' our feet and beggin' for autographs! Instead they somehow get their own fairy tale—students! a fairy tale!—and now that tale's got its panties in a knot, wakin' our old villains from the dead and draggin' us straight out of our Ever Afters—”

“Ever Afters! Ha!” chimed a gangly, high-voiced man in suspenders and beige breeches, with big, twinkly eyes, a long nose, and a full head of white hair. Tiny round scars marked all the joints of his long, tanned limbs, as if he'd once been screwed together. “First of all, Peter can barely leave his house he's so depressed at growing up. Second, I'd never have wished to be a real boy if the Blue Fairy told me real boys end up with arthritis and bad eyes and permanent constipation. And third, Ella told me herself she preferred sweeping cinders to being a queen.”

“When did I ever say
that
?” the fat woman squawked.

“Last night,” the long-nosed man replied, looking surprised by her question. “You drank a barrel of wine and told me you miss cleaning for your stepsisters, because at least you felt useful and stayed fit and now you're old and bored and big as a house—”

“WHO ASKED YOU?” thundered the woman. “YOU SPENT HALF YOUR LIFE AS A
PUPPET
!”

“First they get mad at me for lying. Now they get mad at
me for telling the truth,” moped the long-nosed man, curling into a sofa.

Agatha's and Tedros' eyes bulged even wider.
“Pinocchio?”
said Tedros.

“Cinderella?”
said Agatha.

“Don't give me that face,” Cinderella sneered back at her. “For bein' Camelot's supposed future queen, you ain't much to look at yourself.” Her hawkish green eyes shot down to Agatha's clumps. “Bet no one wants to see
those
feet in glass slippers.”

“Hey now! She's my princess!” Tedros jumped in.

“I don't blame you, handsome,” Cinderella smirked, voice smooth as an eel. “Your daddy didn't have good taste in girls either.”

Tedros looked like he'd been kicked in the pants.

Yuba sighed. “Professor Dovey had just as much faith in Agatha as she did in you, Ella. So I suggest you treat our guests with respect—”

“We have the respect when these two
studenten
fix the mess!” croaked a wild-haired, hunchbacked man in a wheelchair with owlish gray eyes and a harsh foreign accent. “Think they're special because Storian writes their story? Well, at least our stories have
end
, yes? But these two change ending again and again
—‘Are we heppy yet?' ‘Are we heppy yet?'
Bah. Fools! Now see! School Master young, Evil redoing stories, and dead witch hunting me I have to kill all over again—”