Of Enemies and Endings (10 page)

Dad shoved his hand through his wet hair. It was going to dry like that, going in a thousand directions. “I'd love to run the story past you. I can tell your mother I invited you to come weeks ago, if you want.”

I gave him a look. I couldn't do that to her. After this morning, ditching her for Dad and his new wife would just add insult to injury. “Maybe next time.”

So Dad and Brie gave me great big hugs and kisses, and they promised to call me if they ran into any trouble. They had their cell phones if their M3 got blocked. Then they were gone, and I was at the door of my new home.

I couldn't procrastinate any more. I turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

Mom smiled broadly when she saw me. “There you are!” She'd tied a bandanna over her hair. She held a folded rag, and the tiny living room smelled like the orange oil soap Amy always used to wipe counters and mop floors. “Can you believe how dirty this place is? But it's small—that means it's easy to clean.”

I knew what this was. Mom called them “nesting afternoons”—if we moved in that morning, we always spent the rest of the day getting settled in. She was trying to pretend this was just a normal move.

The hard conversation would come later, but I was grateful. I knew how to deal with this. I unbuckled my sword belt and slung it over the back of a chair. Moving to one of the boxes, I pulled out Mom's sheets. “Which set do you want? The blue flowers or the green stripes?”

We put on some music—one of the soundtracks to a sixties period film Mom had starred in. We knew the lyrics to every song, and we belted them out as we tackled our usual chores. I made up all the beds and vacuumed the carpet. Mom scrubbed the sink, hung her favorite pictures on the walls, and set up framed photos of us on the side tables. Amy unpacked the kitchen and mopped the floors. We drew straws on who had to clean the bathroom. Amy lost.

While she got started, Mom and I sat on the couch. “Home isn't where all your stuff is,” she said, like she always did when a rental started to feel like ours. She threw her arms around me and squeezed hard. “It's where your favorite people are.”

I hugged her back, but I'd already lost my smile. If this was a normal move, we would declare our first evening a movie night and fill the new place with the smells of popcorn and brownies, which might not actually be edible. But this apartment didn't have a microwave. It didn't even have a TV. And as much as we tried to pretend, it was hard to ignore the fact that all the light in the room came from extra-bright, smoke-free torches.

I sighed. “I know you're still mad at me, Mom.”

“No, not mad,” Mom said, but I didn't believe her. Steeliness had snuck back into her voice. “Rory, I don't think you realize how difficult this morning was for me.”

“I
am
sorry.” I couldn't remember if I'd said that to her yet. “But if they had captured you—”

“They would have used me to draw you out. You would still be in danger. Yes, Amy told me,” Mom said. Wow. I couldn't remember the last time Amy had taken my side. “I don't pretend to understand what all this means—you having this Unwritten Tale, and being part of a Triumvirate, and having a destiny to stop the Snow Queen. But today's attack was probably my fault. We would have been safe if I'd agreed to move here when your father did.”

Hearing her admit that was nice. It would have been great if she stopped there.

Mom spoke slowly and carefully. She must have rehearsed this. “Some of these dangers
are
unavoidable. I have to make peace with that. But some of them aren't. I'd like you to promise me that you won't risk yourself when it's not strictly necessary. Those weapon lessons are fine, but no more missions, no more rushing off for daring rescues, no
seeking
danger.”

Rapunzel was right. I didn't like it. I was mad at Mom for even asking this. She made it sound like I was doing everything for
fun
. “I can't, Mom.”

“Yes, I know—the Director assigns you many of these mission things,” Mom said, still not getting it. “I'll talk to her. It's not fair to ask you kids to do so much.”

“Mom, I'm one of the best fighters EAS
has
,” I said. “If I refuse to fight, people will die. More people, I mean.”

Her voice rose. “Rory, you and your friends are
so young
—”

She wasn't the only one having a hard time controlling her temper. “We don't have a choice. If the Snow Queen wins, we'll have to live under her rule just like everyone else.”

“You might not get the chance if—” She stopped. Her eyes grew bright, but she must have decided she wouldn't cry in front of me. She stared straight ahead, taking deep breaths until she got herself under control.

This
was
hard for her. I should have given more than a few months to get used to the idea that magic was real. It might have been easier for all of us if I'd told her the truth after my first day at EAS.

But I couldn't hide in my room while everyone I knew went out to fight. Even if the Director agreed to let me sit out missions, I couldn't handle the guilt of wondering if I could have kept people safe.

So, as gently as I could, I said, “Mom, I'm really sorry, but I can't make you that promise.”

Mom's eyebrows pinched together. She ripped off the gloves she'd been using to clean the sink. “I'm not
asking
, Rory.”

“I know.” I didn't have to tell her that she couldn't stop me. I stood up. I would probably need that secret exit in my room sooner rather than later. “I'm going to take a shower.”

She sputtered a little bit. I'd never refused her outright before.

I kissed her cheek and walked away.

was used to dreaming of the ancient black door by now. I saw the frost tracing the grain of the wood and my breath clouding the air almost every night, and I felt the cold in my bones and knew with absolute certainty that the fate of the world depended on what was on the other side.

But that night, I dreamed of Chase.

He slept on a cot in a small room. Old-fashioned furniture was scattered around him, across a worn stone floor, the legs of stools tangled with the spokes of some wooden wheels. A window was cut into the pale wall. Far below, a river glittered in the sunlight, and birds chirped outside.

Chase's sleeve was spotted with blood but, besides that, he didn't have a mark on him. It was so peaceful, and he was only napping. I didn't understand why, in the dream, I was so worried that he wouldn't wake up.

In the morning, even before I opened my eyes, I remembered two things: It was my birthday, and the Snow Queen wouldn't let it be a happy one.

Something terrible was going to happen. I just knew it.

I rolled out of bed, pulled on battle-ready clothes, double-knotted my sneakers, and strapped on my sword. When I opened the door, a big pile of wrapped presents waited on the side table. This was the first year
ever
that I wasn't even a little curious about what was inside the gifts. I wondered if this was what grown-ups felt like on their birthdays.

Mom sat drinking her coffee at the counter, just like she would have if we were still in San Francisco. “Happy birthday,” she said with a tight smile. Her flat tone gave me the feeling that if it
hadn't
been my birthday, she would have brought up that promise again.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling back. It felt unnatural on my face, and it probably looked that way too.

“Breakfast?” Amy asked, scrambling eggs on the stove.

I really hoped that they were for Mom, not me. Just the smell was making my stomach churn. “No. Thank you.”

“We get it,” Amy said. “You probably have plans with your friends first thing, and I'm guessing your dad reserved lunch. We'll be at work anyway—that's fine. But dinner belongs to Maggie.”

“Just like every year,” I said, even though it felt nothing like other years.

Mom didn't tease me with hints about what presents she'd gotten me. She stood up and poured herself more coffee, saying nothing. Things had gotten pretty bad between us if she couldn't even pretend nothing was wrong.

“Six o'clock sharp,” added Amy. I could hear a note of desperation in her cheerfulness. “You can
try
to be later, but that stack of presents might get a tiny bit shorter.”

No way could I tell them that I didn't feel like celebrating at all.

“Got it. Dinner is reserved. I'll see you later.” Then I hurried out of the apartment. Rapunzel was just outside the door. The churning in my stomach turned into a whirlpool of anxiety and bile. I thought I might actually throw up. She usually only waited for me when I was about to go on a quest.

“Is this the part where you tell me today is
the
day I stop the Snow Queen?” Because as scary as that sounded, I kind of relished the idea. At least then, we could get my Tale over with.

Rapunzel's mouth twisted. “No.”

“Then is today the day you tell me what I need to know to defeat her?” That was the other reason she usually sought me out.

“Time, for me, is messy, and timing delicate,” she said, like she'd said at least a thousand times this summer when I'd asked her something she didn't want to answer. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “No, this is the part where I give you presents. Do not tell me,” she added when I started to protest, “that you don't want to celebrate this birthday. I am not trying to cheer you up. You must understand, at a certain age, your birthday gives others an excuse to celebrate
you
and show their affection. Your birthday is a gift to us.”

“You're on fire with the guilt-tripping,” I told her, but I was a tiny bit pleased in spite of the roiling in my stomach. She'd never given me a birthday present before.

“After all these years, I have learned something from Mildred.” She put something cool and round in my hands.

A glass vial. Silver had been wrapped up and down the outside, and a chain hung from its end. The light I had used when I'd fought a litter of dragons in Jimmy Searcaster's house. “I can't take this.” It was precious to Rapunzel. She'd never let Lena examine it no matter how much my friend had begged.

“It needs to be yours.” Rapunzel walked down the corridor. “Come. The next gift cannot be held in your hand. The Director does not know that I found it, or that I moved it.”

We walked down a few more halls. Scratch what I said about not being curious about presents. “You must know the easiest way to reach it,” she said, turning a corner. “Start at the base of my tower. Take the door that once led to the kitchens. Take the third right four times, then your immediate left. That will bring you straight here.”

She stopped. The door in front of us was plain white except for the red trim around the frame. “See the way it shimmers, but only when you look at it on a slant?”

I nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see light playing under the red, like Rapunzel had painted over mother-of-pearl.