Besphinxed

  The adrenaline had been wearing off ever since they’d gotten in the car, but Heather perked up at the sound of that word. “Koukla,” she said. “What does that mean?”

  Mr. X seemed confused that she’d found the word familiar. “It means ‘doll’ in Greek,” he said. “Like ‘sweetie.’ My little beautiful doll. I call Kalliope that sometimes. Are you sure you’re not friends with Kai?”

  “Positive,” said Heather.

  “My grandmother used to call me that when I was a boy,” he said. “And she learned it from her mother. The first Fury in our family. She was an extraordinary woman, a defender of women and children during a time of great catastrophe. Kai inherited her powers, you know.”

  Yes, Dimitri. She knows, Effie said.

  It all made so much sense now. Heather had started hearing Effie’s voice after she’d been given the feather and forced to meditate upon it. Somewhere from deep in the DNA of that feather, Kai’s great-great—how many greats?—grandmother had emerged from the ether to help guide Heather onto a path that didn’t lead to self-destruction.

  “Her name was Efthimia,” said Mr. X, though of course Heather already knew that.

  She was afraid to say more. What if the Effie in her head was the wrong Effie? Efthimia could have been as popular a name as Mikayla or Amber for all Heather knew. And if it was the right Efthimia…what if Kai’s father got angry that the ghost of his great-grandmother had chosen to squat in the head of someone who was a hundred percent not Greek?

  Relax, Koukla, said Effie. Every conversation in this house is not a land mine. Don’t overthink it.

  But Heather still had doubts. “What does that mean?” she asked instead. “Efthimia. Does the name have a meaning?” Some names didn’t. Some names were just flowers, like hers and Poppy’s and Oleander’s.

  Mr. X smiled. “It means ‘cheerful.’”

  All the events of this morning came flashing back into Heather’s mind all at once, and she was unable to control the sobs that burst from her again. Mr. X took her into his arms as if she were his own daughter, just as Effie had only hours ago.

  Mrs. X passed her a handful of tissues and a plate of food. “What can I get you to drink?” she asked.

  Heather was sure she looked as confused as she felt.

  Mr. X nodded solemnly. “We’re Greek,” he said. “This is very important.”

  Heather laughed as she wiped her tears. “I’ll take a Coke, if you have it,” she said to Mrs. X. And then to Mr. X, “I have a story to tell you, if you have time.”

  Mr. X grabbed a plate and settled in at the counter beside her. “Koukla, I’m all yours.”

  His undivided attention made Heather’s heart want to burst with joy.

  This is it, said Effie. Welcome to the family.

  EPILOGUE

  Heather wore a red dress to Zombie Prom.

  All the girls wore red that night. Owen was sure there wasn’t a bolt of crimson fabric left in the whole of the United States. The teachers called it a brilliant show of Harmswood solidarity, but Owen knew it for what it was: a truce between Heather and Kai. A burying of the hatchet and old, bad blood. And when Heather did something, every teenager in town jumped to do it, too. Especially these days.

  Plus, as Heather pointed out, red looked amazing against everyone’s zombie makeup. Made the gaping flesh wounds really “pop.”

  The flash mob the night before had gone off without a hitch. They didn’t break any records, and Owen missed more than a few steps in the choreography, but none of that affected the enormous amount of fun that was had by all. They’d stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, watching as video after video popped up on social media and got shared around the world.

  They’d all stayed. All of them. In the cafeteria. The popular kids and the popular-unpopulars, not that the difference mattered anymore. Even Ace joined the group. Bellamy and Poppy invented a silly zombie cheer routine using Oleander, Kai, Maya and Natalie. Hubble, Tinker, and Sam put on an impromptu variety show. Duko and Finn didn’t kill each other. Heather sat beside Owen the whole time, and no one cared.

  They were alive.

  And that night, they dressed like the living dead.

  Kai helped Owen put the finishing touches on his makeup. His eye was now blackened, one eyebrow was split, and there was a ragged latex tear down the edge of one cheek.

  “There was a time Finn would have loved to do this to my face,” he said into the mirror. “For real.”

  “Stop talking or you’ll have fake blood all over your face. Not that it would matter, I suppose.” Kai put the brush down. “There was a time I would have liked to do this same thing to Heather’s face. Many times.”

  “It’s weird, right?” Owen asked. “Weird…in a good way.”

  “Weird in a good way,” Kai affirmed. “That’s pretty much our town motto.”

  Owen straightened his bowtie. “Do I look okay?”

  Kai pulled the bow out completely and loosened the stiff collar of his shirt. “Better,” she said. “Like death warmed over.”

  “The one time when that’s actually a good thing,” said Owen.

  Kai laughed. “Come on. Mom’s driving us to school. We need to get there as early as we can to help set up the tables.”

  “And the cookies?” he asked.

  “Dad’s got mine and yours all packed up downstairs. I told him not to use the fancy catering trays from the diner, but he wouldn’t listen. He vowed to sign a waiver for Professor Mayfield saying they were all homemade and not purchased. Not that any shop in town makes bleeding chocolate chip cookies…yet. Delaney wants to know where on earth Heather found red chocolate chips.”

  “You know Heather,” said Owen. “She has her ways.”

  “And Daddy’s credit card,” Kai said with a heavy dash of snark. Then she stopped herself. “Sorry. Trying not to do that. Old habit.”

  Owen put a hand on his best friend’s bloody arm. “And yet, in this case, I’m afraid it’s absolutely deserved. Delaney might not want to know how much it cost to fly in a brick of red chocolate.”

  “Oh, she’ll want to know,” said Kai. “She’ll want your recipe, too. The cookies are delicious. You guys seriously aced this project.”

  Owen remembered the hours and hours of joyously failed attempts and grinned. “It was a labor of love.”

  “You are such a cat,” Kai said exasperatedly. “Come on then, lover boy. Don’t want to keep your zombie princess waiting.”

  Heather was already in the gymnasium when they arrived, but she wasn’t exactly waiting. She had a finger to her throat and was barking orders like…well…like a head cheerleader. Her floor-length gown was such a deep red that it might have been made of blood. Silk blood. She’d straightened her hair to accentuate the giant hole in her head, from which tendrils of brain spilled out and were woven into tiny braids among the golden strands. The gash in her arm looked to have been badly stitched with golden thread—a nice touch—and behind her sparkling earrings Owen could make out a bloody wound at her throat.

  “You look ravishing,” he said.

  She turned to greet him, and her face practically glowed with excitement. “Oh my gosh! So do you! I’d give you a hug, but I don’t want to mess up my makeup. Or yours.”

  Owen brushed her hair back over her shoulder and planted a careful kiss just above her neck wound. “Save me the first dance?” he asked softly.

  “Try and stop me,” she whispered back.

  “So where can I put these?” Kai asked in an overly loud tone of voice. Finn stood beside her, dutifully holding the stacks of cookie platters.

  Heather pointed. “Desserts, right? That table where Bellamy and Poppy are standing.” When Kai was out of earshot, she turned back to Owen. “Someone sounds a little jealous.”

  Owen knew exactly how Kai felt. He’d felt the same way when Finn had come into their lives. “She’s just not used to it yet.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Heather. “All o
f us hanging out together is just…weird.”

  “Weird but good,” said Owen.

  “Exactly,” said Heather. “Weird but good.”

  Reluctantly, Owen released her so that she could finish making everything perfect. He helped Hubble and Sam with the disco ball, found Ace to thank him again, and snuck two more blood-chocolate cookies. He found Tinker standing with his goblin buddy Quin Merchero. Both of them wore crowns that made it look like exposed brain underneath. They discussed fake blood and prosthetics until the lights went down.

  There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned to see Heather.

  “May I have this dance?” she asked.

  “Of course, love, but the music hasn’t started yet.”

  Heather’s hand flew up into the air, a signal to someone. Owen looked over to see Zombie Oleander in the DJ’s booth, with the headphones on. A long, mournful tone issued from a lone violin…and then the waltz began.

  There were a few expressions of confusion in the crowd, but Owen knew what he was about. He took Heather’s hand in his, put the other at her waist, and began twirling them both around the dance floor. Eventually, he stopped staring into her eyes long enough to notice that Tinker and Bellamy had joined the dance, as well as Hubble and Natalie. Even Poppy and Quin were making a go of it.

  “Waltzing,” said Heather. “Waltzing and Zombie Chic. Those will be my gifts to Harmswood this year.”

  “And most importantly,” said Owen. “No more lines of popularity between us.”

  The grin Heather gave him was mildly condescending. “Dear Owen, you give me too much credit. No one can completely erase those lines. There will still be young and old, paranormals and mundanes, kings and paupers. I may be a bellwether, but I can’t truly change how people think. I promise I will do what I can, when I can. For my part, anyway.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Owen shook his head. “I’ve lived over a hundred years—it’s hard to believe those trivial things still matter so much to some people, but it does. I mean, just look at Tinker. He’s a former king of a ramshackle kingdom without a penny to his name, and I’ve never seen someone happier.”

  “I wouldn’t say he doesn’t have a penny,” Heather pointed out. “And he’s still a king.”

  “So what?” said Owen. “I’m technically a baron, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “What?” Heather made a face. “No you’re not.”

  “I am,” said Owen. “James Liddell took me in as his ward and then died with no issue. Technically, I am Baron Greymere. But that was a hundred years ago. There’s no Greymere left to be baron of, I’m sure.”

  “Are you, though?” Heather asked. “There might be some land or something…”

  “To do what with?” Owen asked. “America has been my home far longer than England or Egypt ever were. I’d much rather have land here in Nocturne Falls.” He snapped his fingers. “I bet Kai’s family would bequeath the dumpster behind the diner to me. ‘Baron Dumpster’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  Heather laughed at that, and Owen suddenly wished he could make her laugh like that for the rest of her life.

  “Have you ever been to Vermont?” she asked him.

  “No, why?”

  “I think you’d love it,” she said. “It’s my favorite place in the world.”

  “Isn’t it always snowing there?” Owen asked. “I’m not sure I’m up for that much cold. I prefer warmer climates. Hot, even. Egypt hot. Georgia hot.”

  “It doesn’t snow all the time, silly,” she said. “It even gets hot in the summer. Like…this summer. I thought maybe you could be my date to my sister’s wedding.”

  As challenging as Heather had been to get to know, Owen wasn’t sure he was ready to take on the rest of the Hayden family. “Are you sure?”

  “Well,” said Heather. “You’ve survived a curse, beaten a mythical spider woman and her sisters, and been blessed by a goddess. I can’t think of a better training for meeting my mother.”

  When she put it like that, the idea of meeting Heather’s haughty mother and volatile sisters almost seemed like a walk in the park. He lifted her into his arms and spun her around on the dance floor. When he set her back down, he looked deep into those bright blue eyes, ready for adventure.

  “It’s a date,” he said.

  WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT HEATHER’S GUARDIAN ANGEL?

  I have this thing about wings. I love them. They’re incredibly difficult to sketch, and fascinating to read about. It’s possible this love originated with Irrylath, from Meredith Ann Pierce’s Darkangel, or the angel mythology in Sharon Shinn’s books about Samaria, but I’m guessing it probably goes back to all those fairy tales about golden geese and swan brothers. And we all know what a sucker I am for fairy tales.

  Heather’s guardian angel Efthimia (eff-thee-MEE-a) is based on two fairy tales—a real one, and one I invented.

  The real fairy tale comes from my own family history. In the fall of 1922, the great city of Smyrna in the Ottoman Empire was set on fire, in an effort to burn all the Greeks and Armenians out of what is now the country called Turkey. The men (like my great grandfather) were led away on death marches, and the women and children (like my great grandmother Theodosia and her children: Despina, Kalliope, Xanthos, and Sotos) fled to the water, trying to find an escape.

  I’ve often wondered about how that must have looked, a whole city on fire, the air full of flames and smoke and ash and screams. The mythological Furies were particularly vengeful when horrors were perpetrated against women and children. I absolutely believe they might have been invoked that day.

  That same year, right next door in Egypt, Howard Carter discovered King Tutankhamun’s tomb.

  Big Things were happening in this area of the world. I couldn’t think of a better place for an unfortunate young English boy to end up the victim of an ancient curse. History set the stage—Owen was just along for the ride.

  I chose the name Efthimia after a family friend, since I had already named Professor Blake after my great grandmother. Both of these strong women look after Heather now, in their own way.

  As for the other fairy tale…

  Lord Death and his Angels of Feathers and Fire have been making cameos in my writing since 2013. I’m not even really sure where they came from, but when I thought about what sort of companions my Lord Death would have, these angels popped out of my head as fully formed as Athena.

  The obvious analogy for Feathers and Fire is Heaven and Hell, but—like many a myth—these angels are so much more complicated than that. They aren’t just passive entities; these angels work on behalf of Lord Death. They judge souls, weigh hearts against feathers, and decide who gets punished and who doesn’t.

  In my mind, the Fury that surely rose from the ashes of Smyrna would have entered Lord Death’s employ as an Angel of Fire. But what sort of woman would she have been before that transformation? Strong-willed. Passionate. No nonsense. A seeker of justice long before she was tapped by any sort of deity.

  I tell the tale of the very first Angel of Fire in my short story “For Angels to Fly.” The story was a departure from my usual epic fantasy adventure world—since Lord Death knows no time, I decided to set it in contemporary New York City. I got to be snarky and funny and pay tribute to Idris Elba and Ed Sheeran.

  It’s possible I had way too much fun.

  (If you listen to the audio, feel free to make as much fun as you like of my Idris Elba impersonation!)

  Much like Besphinxed, Annaleigh’s story in “For Angels to Fly” is also about second chances. Not all of us are cut out to be Angels of Feathers, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t still angels in our own way. That doesn’t mean we are not strong, passionate, and chock full of gumption and faith.

  Just like Efthimia. Or my great grandmother.

  When you become an angel, what will your wings be made of?

  Click here to read “For Angels to Fly.” And please let me know what you think! r />
  xox

  ~Alethea

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Huge thanks as always to the inimitable Kristen Painter, for opening the door to her incredible Nocturne Falls Universe and letting us host a parade there.

  Massive thanks to Keri Knutson, for another AMAZEBALLS cover. Also to my assistant, Princess Sarah Simpson-Weiss, for being witchy enough to completely geek out over the first draft with me.

  A thousand thanks to Lillie James for helping me brainstorm the outline for this book…while trapped with me in the car in the middle of the Catskills during peak leaf season…on our way to see the real Professor Blake.

  And to my dearest Casey Cothran, always to Casey, for editing this book…and for teaching teenage me that kindness knows no clique.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Alethea Kontis is a princess, a voice actress, a force of nature, and a mess. She is responsible for creating the epic fairytale fantasy realm of Arilland, and dabbling in a myriad of other worlds beyond. Her award-winning writing has been published for multiple age groups across all genres. Host of “Princess Alethea's Fairy Tale Rants” and Princess Alethea's Traveling Sideshow every year at Dragon Con, Alethea also narrates for ACX, IGMS, Escape Pod, Pseudopod, and Cast of Wonders.

  Alethea’s YA fairy tale novel, Enchanted, won both the Gelett Burgess Children’s Book Award and Garden State Teen Book Award. Enchanted was nominated for the Audie Award in 2013 and was selected for World Book Night in 2014. Both Enchanted and its sequel, Hero, were nominated for the Andre Norton Award. Tales of Arilland, a short story collection set in the same fairy tale world, won a second Gelett Burgess Award in 2015. The second book in The Trix Adventures, Trix and the Faerie Queen, was a finalist for the Dragon Award in 2016.

  Princess Alethea was given the honor of speaking about fairy tales at the Library of Congress in 2013. In 2015, she gave a keynote address at the Lewis Carroll Society’s Alice150 Conference in New York City, celebrating the 150th anniversary of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. She also enjoys speaking at schools and festivals all over the US. (If forced to choose between all these things, she says middle schools are her favorite!)