Of Enemies and Endings (21 page)

I felt gazes on me as I walked back to our apartment. Even though I'm sure they could all see that I'd been crying, I kept my head up high and my face blank. I could still play the brave and steady Rory Landon they wanted me to be.

I reached the hallway of apartments. Students and older Characters clustered together, full of sad murmurs and half-hidden tears. The only activity in the corridor came from the triplets' new place. The Zipes, the LaMarelles, and Paul Stockton streamed in and out with boxes. One of them—I couldn't have told you which one—passed on the news: Only Gretel and her family would attend Hansel's funeral, but the memorial was for everyone. We would hold it at dawn.

It was a welcome excuse to go to bed early. After crying that hard, all I wanted was my pillow.

The only person I saw inside my apartment was Amy, and she launched a barrage of questions as soon as she saw me: “Rory? Are you okay? Your mom is taking a shower—do you want me to get her? Your friend Chase stopped by. Then Lena did. Did they ever find you—?”

I started shaking my head before she'd finished her first sentence. I walked over to my room during the interrogation. I grasped the doorknob, and then I looked at her.

She bit off her last question, looking stricken. Then uncertain. She glanced at the bathroom door.

“I just need to sleep,” I said, my voice almost gone. So I did.

When the dream came back, I hated it. I hated the dusty tower room, the abandoned furniture crowding me, and the tiny cot that looked even tinier with Chase's lanky body sprawled across it. I hated Chase's stupid, sleeping face and the pain that sliced through my chest as I listened to his slow, deep breathing. I hated the worry crashing through me and the terror that he wouldn't wake up, that I was going to lose him forever.

By the time my alarm went off, fury had licked away the concern. I didn't care that I'd now dreamed it three times, which usually meant that it would come true. After all, I'd already lost Chase. Tiptoeing through the quiet apartment, careful not to wake Mom and Amy, I couldn't imagine why I would worry so much. After everything we'd survived this summer, sleeping didn't strike me as especially dangerous.

Outside, the courtyard was dark. Already a line of hundreds of people snaked out from an old-fashioned wooden door, hung with black ribbons, waiting for their turn to pay their respects at the Wall of Failed Tales. The wind rustled the Tree's branches.

By the time I found the others in my grade, all I felt was hollow. Sadness had carved a great, echoing emptiness inside me.

It didn't seem fair to add Hansel's name to this memorial. His Tale had ended years ago. He hadn't failed anything.

Maybe after this war was over, we could lobby to name it something else. The Wall of Fallen Characters was closer. The Wall of Fallen Heroes was even better.

When red-orange light crept over the buildings, and the door to the wall finally opened, the Canon members went in first, but Sarah Thumb had made sure that we—the kids in my grade who had gone on Hansel's last mission, the ones he'd died to protect—got the turn right after them.

Chase and Adelaide hadn't showed. None of us were surprised.

When we entered the memorial, Snow White held the chisel and mallet. She passed them to Kyle. Instead of going out the door, she moved deeper into the room, further down the wall. She reached up to trace a name:
Don White.
Her husband, I thought. Judging by the date engraved there, he must have died in the last war.

I'd always feared this place, but the idea of having my own name on the wall didn't seem so terrible anymore. Adding a friend's name up there was much worse. It was the names of the dead that left the worst scars, and the longer you stayed at EAS, the more grief you learned to carry. This wall held so much pain.

One swing of the mallet, and Kyle finished his turn. The chisel and mallet hung loosely in his hands. He stared at the spot where someone had already penciled the name,
Hansel Keifmeier
. The
H
was already complete.

Then Kyle handed the tools to me. He stepped back, shoulder to shoulder with Lena. She was too miserable to even look happy about standing next to her crush. “The tools are enchanted,” he said. “I'm pretty sure. So we know what to do.”

The chisel was heavier than I expected it to be, the mallet unwieldy, and they filled me with a much milder version of the runner's high my sword gave me. I raised the chisel to the curve of the first
A
. The tool corrected the angle slightly. I struck. The mallet regulated the blow—precise and firm, not nearly as hard as I wanted to smash things.

A tiny chip fell from the wall and joined a pile at my feet.

I passed the mallet and the chisel to Kevin.

Lena looped her arm through mine. When everyone had their turn, we walked together to the end of the hall.

Gretel and the Director waited there. Tears glinted on Gretel's cheeks in the torchlight along the memorial, but she didn't seem to notice them. Snow White told her how sorry she was, and Gretel nodded her thanks, expressionless. In a black dress that looked way too grand for grieving, the Director gripped Gretel's shoulder.

We slowed when we saw them. None of us were sure what to say. Chase was always the one who knew what to do when someone was hurting like this.

Once an annoying little brother, always an annoying little brother
, Gretel had once said. But now Hansel would never complain about her using her metal foot to win a sparring match again. He would never steal all the good metal dummies before she got to the training courts for class.

Remembering made me want to hurry past. I didn't think any of the grown-ups would mind if we just left. They never expected much from the young Characters.

But Hansel had died to protect
us
. If I didn't say anything, I would hate myself. “Gretel, I'm so sorry about Hansel,” I said, and then I knew why the Director held Gretel's shoulder. Words seemed pale and stupid next to what I was feeling. I wanted her to know how much I wished I could make it better.

Maybe she understood anyway, because Gretel looked at us. She hadn't looked at Snow White. “Thank you.”

We left. Outside the back door, the sun was rising. Indigo-gray clouds were painted across the orange-gold sky, blocking out the light. Flames in a tall brazier licked the air, too hot for summer but pretty in the dimness. Ellie was in front of it. Beside her was a basket of life-size paper models of Hansel's broadsword. Ellie passed one out to each of us. It felt strange to hold something that looked like a weapon but felt so light and flimsy.

She waited until everyone in our grade assembled in front of her. “On our wall, we engrave his name. On our hearts, we carve his memory. By these flames, we let him go.”

Mr. Swallow landed on my shoulder. From his back, Sarah Thumb said, “Hand her one for me, will you, Ellie?”

Ellie passed a second paper broadsword to me. Sarah Thumb and her mount rode on my shoulder to the bonfire. We pitched the paper weapons in and the flames devoured the swords in seconds. Sarah Thumb's face was impassive. “Usually, we burn paper gingerbreads for Hansel representatives, but I think he would have liked this better.”

I didn't know. This was the first time we had added a dead Character to the Wall since I'd come to EAS. Hansel would have said we were just lucky, but maybe we'd been protected. By the Snow Queen's shortage of allies. By
Hansel
, who was gone now.

“He never laughed at me,” Sarah Thumb added softly. “When I told him I wanted to learn to fight, he taught me. He never said I was too small. He showed me how to coat my needle in poison.”

It wouldn't end with Hansel. We would burn more bonfires before the war ended.

I wished I knew how to stop it.

Sarah Thumb and Mr. Swallow flapped off. The other kids in my grade drifted toward the overstuffed armchairs. Both stepsisters were crying. Candice and Conner too, but they were trying to hide it.

I almost went with them.

Then I spotted someone standing alone in the line snaking out from the Wall's front door. The shock of seeing him there, looking weary and shaken, drove everything else away from my mind.

“Dad?” I said.

He raised his head and spotted me. He opened his arms and I ran into them.

“You
came
,” I whispered. He'd come when I thought I would have to face this without my family. He'd come even though I'd skirted around all of them on purpose, trying not to involve them in what wasn't their fight. I thought if anyone came to check on me, it would be Brie, my mom, or maybe Amy.

“Of course. He was my teacher too.” Dad fished a tissue out of his pocket—crumpled but clean. That was the nice thing about my father. He never minded when I cried. “And the way I heard it, he saved my daughter's life.”

I swallowed hard. Hansel had saved us
all
. People crowded up behind us as the line moved forward.

When I didn't answer, Dad added, “You really cared about him, didn't you?”

I nodded. I didn't realize how much. Not until he was gone. “I was helping him with his class.”

“He made it sound like it was
your
class,” Dad said. “He said you were a natural teacher. He'd never seen someone learn so fast or work so hard. He was proud of you.”

Hansel had never told me. Until this year, I'd never thought he noticed.

“I used to
hate
him,” I whispered. “Or I thought I did.”

Dad nodded. “Funny how people can surprise you. You learn a little more about them, and it changes everything.”

I stayed with Dad until he reached the wall. Then I headed over to the overstuffed armchairs where the others had gone. Some of them had grabbed breakfast from the table, but no one was eating. The stepsisters, Daisy, and Paul sipped coffee. Lena and Kyle sat beside each other, their hands not quite touching, their fingers only an inch apart.

They felt hollow too. I saw it on their faces. It was a small comfort, but it was still comfort. Together, we watched the line move.

The sun climbed, and clouds closed overhead.

When the line began to dwindle, I remembered it was Sunday. My students had staff class.

Chase found us approximately two seconds after that. “You have to let me explain.”

“We really don't.” It was shocking—the sheer amount of anger that could fill me in the space of a breath. It squeezed out every other emotion. It made me miss the hollowness.

I glanced around, searching for Adelaide. I spotted her across the courtyard. It looked like she was arguing with Rapunzel. Good. I hoped Rapunzel was telling her off.

No one else spoke. The stepsisters were glaring at Chase. Paul just stared. The triplets weren't even acknowledging him. They scowled ahead, arms folded. Lena turned to me, totally unsure.

“I'm telling you,” Chase said. His face was getting red, like it does when he's really mad. “I left my room, all suited up, and then
bam!
I'm in this restaurant. The mission completely fell out of my mind.”

He forgot?
That
was his excuse? I didn't think my anger could grow, but it did. I wondered if the words “I'm sorry” had even crossed his mind. “You don't get it. We don't owe you
anything
.” Dad had been right. Chase hadn't been a good friend to me, not for months, and I couldn't even stand the sound of his voice right then.

“I was sick of you and Adelaide before this, but now I'm just . . .” Tina drifted off, trying to think of a strong enough word.

“Done,” said Vicky.

“I can't believe you're not going to say anything about Hansel,” said Candice, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “Isn't today about
him
?”

“You should have just said you weren't coming,” said Kevin, “if
dinner
was more important to you.”