 
### BEAUTIFUL CURSE

### Jen McConnel

### Translations by Matthew McConnel, 2012
BEAUTIFUL CURSE

By Jen McConnel

Published by Jen McConnel

Smashwords Edition

Copyright of the 2nd edition, 2016 Jen McConnel

Cover Designed by Paper and Sage, 2016

Cover Photo by Meet Cute Photography, 2016

Translations by Matthew McConnel, 2012

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, locations, and events are products of the author's mind, or have been used in a fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the right of all trademark holders for products mentioned in this work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or to actual events, is purely coincidental.

License Statement:

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### BEAUTIFUL CURSE

Jen McConnel

Translations by Matthew McConnel, 2012

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Acknowledgements

Copyright

About the Author

To everyone who's ever run a little short on hope.

"... _and yet, the youngest girl was so singular, was so splendidly beautiful, that no tongue of men was able to neither praise nor sufficiently express it. Many—citizens and strangers—came to see the rumored beauty and were struck dumb by her presence and they began to adore her as if she were the goddess of love herself..."_

Apuleius, Metamorphosis

### Part I
Chapter One

After checking my hair one more time in the small purple mirror, I slammed my locker, excited. For whatever reason, I looked really good, better than I'd hoped; my blond hair was smooth and perfect, and I hadn't even taken the time to straighten it that morning. It wasn't just my hair; my skin glowed like a girl in a magazine, and I had the ridiculous feeling I'd been airbrushed. It was a little weird, since I hadn't done anything that morning that I hadn't done a million times before, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the universe wanted me to be gorgeous for the first day of junior year, who was I to complain? My stomach flopped around as I scanned the hall, looking for Elaina. She'd been visiting her grandparents in Montana all summer, but even though I hadn't seen her for two months, I needed her beside me. If the face in the mirror was any indication, junior year was going to be our best year ever, and I couldn't wait to see her. Energy rippled around me, and finally I spotted a familiar brown ponytail through the crowd.

"Elaina!" I stood on my toes and waved, trying not to care that the people near me whipped their heads around to stare. I smiled at my best friend. _Let them stare; we're upperclassmen now._

Elaina elbowed her way through the crowd, grinning, but her smile faded by the time she got to me. I gave her a quick hug, but she pulled back, studying me closely. "What did you do to your face?"

I reached for my cheek. "Is there something on it?" Hurriedly, I turned to open my locker and check the mirror again, but Elaina put her hand on my arm.

"Stop fooling around. Seriously, what did you do?"

I ran my tongue over my teeth, hoping I didn't have any food stuck in them. "What do you mean?"

She squinted at me. "Psyche, you look like a frickin' super model. What gives?"

I blushed. I'd been excited when I woke up and realized how good I looked, but something in Elaina's tone made me uncomfortable. I forced a laugh. "I know, right? It's so weird. It's like magic or something."

Elaina raised her eyebrow. "Did you have work done or something?"

"What? No!" I looked around and lowered my voice. "You know I'd never do anything like that."

"Makeup, then. What brand are you using?"

I shook my head. "Seriously, I didn't do anything. It's like my face finally decided to behave." I smoothed my long blond hair out of habit, and Elaina's eyes followed my fingers.

"And your hair. You look way too good for the first day of school!" Her words were light, but her smile looked a little strained. "If you don't want to share your secret with me, that's fine." She turned abruptly, but I hurried after her, hurt.

"There is no secret! I'm just having a really, really good hair day, I guess."

Before she could reply, the warning bell rang, and I glanced at my schedule, my stomach suddenly tight with anxiety.

"I've got Farkner for homeroom, and then Calc."

Elaina nodded. "I'll see you at lunch." Her tone was distant, and I bit my lip, trying to figure out what was going on.

She slipped into the crowd before I could say anything else, and I stared after her for a moment before I turned and began pushing my way through the students to the math room.

Someone bumped me from behind, and my books went sailing to the floor. So much for this being a good day. Conscious of my knee-length denim skirt, I knelt to grab my things.

An underclassman with red hair and thick glasses handed me my pencil case, and I grinned at him. He started drooling, and his eyes glazed over. He looked like he'd been smoking pot behind the track with his buddies, and I scrambled away from him, scooping up my books in a hurry. Who came to school stoned on the first day?

Eager to get away from the strange freshman, I skidded across the threshold of Mr. Farkner's classroom just as the late bell rang.

"Ah, Miss Jones. Cutting it close, aren't we?"

His tone made me wince, and I looked at the floor and nodded. Mr. Farkner sighed heavily and turned back to the board to finish writing the warm up, and I slipped into an empty desk beside the dirty window and opened my notebook. A folded scrap of paper fell out, and I glanced around. No one was paying any attention to me; they were all dutifully copying down the Pre-Calc problem on the board. I guess we weren't going to waste any time on introductions or stuff, I thought, staring at the numbers on the board. I'd heard Farkner was hard in class, but I'd met him when I picked up my schedule, and he hadn't seemed too bad. Still, I hadn't expected him to jump right in on the first day.

Distracted, I unfolded the note, keeping it under one corner of my desk so no one could see what I was doing. I skimmed it, confused, then read it more carefully.

"Roses are red, but your lips are, too,

I wish I had a girl as sweet as you.

Your hair reminds me of the beach and sand,

I want to hold it in my hands."

Who would write me a love letter? I looked around the room, but the only person who met my eye was Lydia, a girl I'd never really liked. She glared at me and wrinkled her nose, and I glanced back at the note. It was kind of creepy, I decided, skimming the words again. The whole thing sounded like a joke, with the pathetic rhyme about my hair and the sand. With a sigh, I crumpled the note up, trying to pretend it hadn't made my heart race for a minute.

A loud noise made me jerk my head up and stare at the front of the room. Mr. Farkner was slamming his ruler against the board as if he wanted to smack us, but couldn't.

"Didn't anybody do the review work I sent out this summer?" I swallowed nervously. I'd always liked math, but I hated the idea of speaking up in class. Mostly, I tried to blend in, unless I was in class with Elaina. She made me feel brave, but she'd been so weird this morning, I was almost relieved we didn't have class together.

"You! Miss Jones. Did you do the homework I assigned over the break?"

"Yes," I mumbled, keeping my eyes down.

"Speak up, girl."

"Yes," I said a little louder. Someone snickered from the back of the room.

Mr. Farkner rocked back and forth on his heels. "Then would you care to solve this problem?"

I walked to the front of the room and picked up a blue dry-erase marker. Working quickly, I solved the equation and slunk back to my seat, wishing I were invisible.

Mr. Farkner looked at the board and nodded. "Now, did anyone besides Miss Jones bother to come to class prepared?"

Lydia snorted under her breath and whispered something to Rachel, the girl beside her, who chuckled and pulled out a piece of paper. She began furiously scribbling while Farkner reviewed the problems on the board. I looked back at Rachel, trying to keep my long hair in front of my face so she wouldn't notice. For some reason, I had a feeling they were talking about me. Rachel passed the note to her left, and it began to snake its way around the classroom.

After fifty agonizing minutes, the bell rang. Farkner glared at us, and I sank a little lower into my seat. "Fifty questions tonight. Finish the review in chapters one and two, and don't be surprised if you have a pop quiz in the next few days."

This so wasn't how I'd pictured junior year. I exhaled, shoving my books into a careless pile. Someone dropped Rachel's mysterious note on top of my stack, but I didn't look up to see who it was. An unfamiliar warning prickled on my skin, and I almost threw it out without reading it. Instead, I locked myself in a stall in the girls' bathroom on the second floor and unfolded the crumpled paper.

It was a sketch of two stick people. One was labeled "Psyche" and the other "Mr. Farkner." _God, I never knew stick figures could be so dirty!_ Hot tears blurred my vision, and I crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the toilet. So much for starting the year off on a good foot; school hadn't even been in for a day and I'd already managed to piss off the bitchiest girls in the class.

I glanced in the mirror, studying my green eyes. At least it can't get any worse, right?

I was wrong. It got a lot worse.

***

Dumping my bag in the half-painted kitchen, I pulled out my cell phone. Elaina had been really cold to me at lunch, and we didn't have any classes together; maybe I should text her to see if she wanted to come over. I stared at the phone for a moment and considered texting her, but then I shook my head. She's probably just having a bad first day. Trying not to think about her, I rummaged through the fridge, hoping I could find something with either copious amounts of chocolate or salt, but all I came up with was an apple. I sat down at the kitchen table and sighed before biting into the red skin.

"Psyche, is that you?" Mom called from upstairs, and I swallowed the bite of apple.

"Yeah." I sort of hoped she wouldn't come down. I didn't really want to re-hash the awful day, but I heard her soft steps on the stairs.

She came around the corner and looked at me expectantly. "Well, how was it?"

I sighed. "Okay, I guess. Elaina and I had a fight."

"About?"

I took another bite of my apple. "I'm not sure," I lied. I didn't want to tell Mom that we'd fought about my looks. It seemed like a ridiculous reason to argue, and I hoped Elaina would get over whatever was bothering her by tomorrow.

Mom squinted at me. "What did you do to your face?"

I stopped chewing. "What do you mean?" I reached for my cell phone to check my reflection in the screen, but Mom's next words stopped me.

"You look different. Fake, somehow. Are you wearing new makeup?"

I shook my head. "You know I hate wearing makeup."

Mom cocked her head to one side. "Still, something's different about you."

I slumped into my seat. Desperate to change the subject, I gestured at the kitchen. "Are we out of paint?"

She nodded, but her eyes studied my face for a moment before shifting to look at the half-finished walls. "Yes. I was going to run out and get some more, but—" She cleared her throat. "I guess I got distracted upstairs."

"I can get it."

"Don't you have homework?"

I shrugged. "It's not a far walk."

Mom hesitated, glancing at the door, but then she nodded. "Okay." She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "Thank you."

I hopped up and tossed my apple core in the compost bin on the counter. "Another gallon?"

She nodded, and then she pulled me into a tight hug.

Confused, I looked up at her. "You okay?"

"Yes." Mom pulled away and pursed her lips. "Are you sure you don't want to wash off whatever's on your face first?"

I sighed, exasperated. "I told you, Mom, it's just me."

She laughed, but it sounded forced. "No one looks that good when they're sixteen, sweetie."

***

When I got home from the hardware store, Mom was nowhere to be found. I left the can of paint on the kitchen counter before I carried my bag upstairs and settled in at my desk, determined to start my homework and forget the way Mom and Elaina had both basically accused me of lying. But I couldn't focus, and by the time Dad got home from work, I'd only done three of the fifty math problems Farkner had assigned. I sighed and closed my books, and then headed downstairs for dinner.

Dad was standing in the kitchen, his back to me, and I slipped up behind him and gave him a quick hug. "Hi, Daddy."

He folded a piece of paper and tucked it into his pocket before he turned around. "Princess," he said, his voice thick, "you get more beautiful every day."

I rolled my eyes, feeling self-conscious. "Whatever, Dad. What's for dinner?"

He hesitated, and I realized his eyes were puffy. "I'm not sure." Dad looked around the kitchen as if he'd lost something. "I guess we'll go out."

I stared at him, trying to figure out why he was acting so weird. "Dad, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, but not before I caught the glimmer of a tear in his eyes. "Nothing. Get your purse."

Did somebody die? I hesitated, but I couldn't ignore the rock-solid feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Should I get Mom?"

For a moment, nothing happened, but then his shoulders started to shake, and as I watched, my dad unraveled in front of me. Horrified, I took a step forward. "Dad!" I felt helpless, but I had no idea what to do; I'd never seen my dad cry before.

After a few shuddering breaths, Dad straightened up. "I don't think your mom will be coming, Princess." He paused, like he was struggling to find the right words, but when he finally spoke, I wasn't prepared for what he had to say. "She's left us."
Chapter Two

The next few weeks passed in an awful blur. Every day felt more and more like I was walking on broken glass, but I kept moving. What else could I do? Mom didn't come back; she didn't call, or if she did, Dad didn't tell me. He refused to talk about it, but I kept replaying my last conversation with Mom over and over in my mind. What had made her leave? Was it something I said? I started having trouble sleeping, but I'm ashamed to admit that I wasn't only miserable because of Mom. Things at school went from bad to worse, and by the end of September, Elaina wasn't speaking to me anymore, and neither were most of the other girls in our grade.

I wasn't sure exactly what I'd done, but like Elaina and my mom, no one seemed to believe that I wasn't trying to look the way I did. In fact, I even went a week without washing my hair, to see if grease could tone down my new, freakish beauty, but that only made the girls whisper about the way I smelled. All my excitement for junior year had vanished that first day. Now, I was just trying to survive it.

I wasn't doing a very good job.

Since Mom left, I'd retreated into my shell, but even though I tried not to talk to anybody, that didn't stop them from talking about me. Their whispers followed me around like some kind of twisted Greek chorus.

"Slut."

"Whore."

"Who does she think she's fooling?"

If I _were_ a slut, maybe then I wouldn't feel so alone. But despite my freakish beauty, I'd never even been kissed, let alone done anything else. I'd been too shy before the transformation, but even though I had guys following me around now, I didn't trust them. There was no way to tell if they liked me or if they were drawn by my weird beauty, and I didn't want to risk it. Between the guys falling all over me and the girls treating me like a leper, I pretty much hated every minute of school.

Art was the only class I didn't want to miss: everyone was always so busy working on their own projects that they forget to torment me. It was a welcome respite from the rest of the crappy days.

The art room was housed in what used to be the athletic shed, before the school scraped together the money to build a brand-new stadium complex across the street in a big cornfield. Ms. Amboulia had happily moved the art students into the building despite the fact that it didn't have heat.

"It's good for the artist to suffer a bit. Makes them create better art," she'd told the principal when he reminded her how cold the building would get in the winter months. But Ms. Amboulia was an institution: she'd taught at the school for what seemed like centuries, and no one was willing to argue with her.

So she moved her classes out to the shed, which was actually a really great idea. Instead of being confined to one classroom, we had free rein over the abandoned track and football field, not to mention the woods surrounding the school. Ms. Amboulia had some of the seniors help her build a wood kiln, and she'd added pottery to the list of independent study subjects that she offered.

Since it was only late September, the art room hadn't lived up to the principal's expectations of becoming a meat locker, but Ms. Amboulia had promised us that she wouldn't let us freeze in the winter, no matter what. I wasn't sure how she planned to accomplish that, but Ms. Amboulia wasn't the type of person who made promises lightly.

Shaking off my thoughts, I slid open the shed door, wincing at the noise. Unlike in my other classes, no one looked up: everyone who signed up for independent study was serious about their art, and I had a feeling that it would take a zombie invasion to break their concentration. Not for the first time, I wished I could spend the whole school day safe in the art shed.

Ms. Amboulia glanced at me, her hands covered in potter's silt. She looked pointedly at the clock, and I dropped my things guiltily. I'd taken to hiding out in the girls' bathroom between classes to avoid the cramped halls where I'd either be propositioned or tortured, or both, depending on the day, but this was the first time I'd actually been late to a class. Trying to move fast, I crossed to my art locker and grabbed the project I'd been working on. This year, I had decided to try working with wood.

Even though Jameson High funneled a lot more money into its athletic budget than anywhere else, Ms. Amboulia still managed to get whatever supplies we wanted. It was sort of like magic; I had access to a jigsaw, a lathe, and a variety of carving knives, but so far I just wanted to fiddle around with my pocket knife.

It had been my grandfather's, and he'd carried it with him for close to fifty years. When he had a heart attack two winters ago, I found the knife sitting forlornly on the mantle in his and Grandma's house. No one noticed when I took it the morning of the funeral, and I'd carried it with me ever since. I hadn't really planned to use it; I just wanted to have something of Grandpa's, but ever since school started, I'd been trying to teach myself how to carve with the familiar blade. It wasn't going well.

The scrap of wood that I'd wanted to carve into a rose looked more like a mangled chicken bone, and my other practice pieces weren't any better. With a sigh, I flipped the short blade out from the pocket knife and pushed it back in with a resounding click. The noise was comforting, but I was stalling for time. I didn't want to destroy any more wood until I had a better idea of what I was doing.

Ms. Amboulia appeared beside me. "Try this." She set a bar of soap down on the table. "I wanted to let you play with the wood first, since you were so determined, but it would be better to work your way up gradually."

I flushed, picking up the soap. It smelled sort of familiar. "Lavender?"

"Goat milk soap. I make it myself. This bar's lavender and rose."

I hadn't known that Ms. Amboulia kept goats, although the art teacher seemed eccentric enough to pull something like that off. "Thanks."

"Welcome. Don't cut yourself with that knife: the last thing I need is one of you kids to get tetanus."

I smiled as she walked away. For whatever reason, Ms. Amboulia was unaffected by my freakish beauty: my other female teachers had it out for me, just like the girls in my grade, but Ms. Amboulia seemed immune.

Turning the soap over in my hands, I tried to figure out what I should carve. Maybe I would stick to plants and see if I could get a rose right. Flicking open the short blade, I started to gently shave off curls of soap. It was hypnotic work, and I sort of tuned out the rest of the room as I focused. Ms. Amboulia was right; soap was a lot easier than wood.

When I finally looked up, I was the last student in the art room. Ms. Amboulia was still working furiously at her potter's wheel, and it looked like she was in as much of a zone as I had been. Out of habit, I scrambled to clean up my area and leave, but then I paused. It was lunch time, and I didn't really care if I skipped the cafeteria. It wasn't like Elaina would be waiting for me or anything.

I bit my lip, watching the art teacher, but she showed no sign of noticing me. Finally, I cleared my throat. "Ms. Amboulia? Can I work through lunch?"

"You may, Psyche. Just don't miss your next class." She kept her attention on the lump of clay she was turning, and I smiled and turned back to the soap. Only it didn't really look like a bar of soap anymore: it actually looked like a rose blossom. When had that happened? I stared at it, surprised.

Afraid of breaking it, I carved a couple more details on the petals, but I stopped before I could carve a stem. From the front, it looked like it was complete and almost perfect.

"Beautiful," Ms. Amboulia breathed from behind me. "You might not want to work in wood, girl; this looks like it was carved from a block of stone."

I eyed the rose critically. "I don't know. It felt like it was too easy."

"Then that means you made the right thing. Whenever art comes easy, it means you are honoring the spirit within the medium."

I raised my eyebrow. "So the soap wanted to become a rose?"

Ms. Amboulia smiled. "That's what the great Michelangelo always said about his work: that he didn't carve it, he just released the spirit of the stone."

"I think I need more practice." I set the rose down carefully, but I sort of wanted to carry it around with me all day. It was the prettiest thing I'd ever made.

"Perhaps. But right now you need to go to your next class."

When I had put everything back in my locker, I paused to look back at Ms. Amboulia. "Thanks for the soap."

"Anytime. And you're welcome to work in here anytime during lunch."

I smiled. "Thank you. I'd like that."

Feeling better than I had all month, I raced back up the hill to the main building, not caring that I'd skipped lunch. But my art buzz only lasted so long; the last two blocks of the day were English and World Civ, and I hated them both for different reasons. The English teacher, Mr. Brady, had gotten a good look at my face during the first week of school, before I realized the danger of looking at anyone head on, and his eyes took on that awful stoned expression I was learning to recognize. For whatever reason, anytime any guy at school looked at me, it was like he'd loaded up on drugs. Ever since he went all goo-goo eyed, Mr. Brady made a point to call on me in class. I hated being singled out, and it didn't help that he was young and really cute, and all the girls had secret dreams about him falling in love with one of them.

But if Mr. Brady was bad, Mrs. Stillwater was worse.

Mrs. Stillwater had been teaching at Jameson for nearly twenty years, and she'd had the "misfortune," as she put it, of teaching my parents. It sort of sucked growing up in the same small town as your parents; everyone who had known them seemed to believe that they knew me, too. When Dad showed up for "walk the schedule night" that year without Mom, Mrs. Stillwater had spent a lot of time trying to get me to open up.

She'd seemed genuine enough, and after a few days, I'd listened to her and spilled some of my heart. Mrs. Stillwater had looked at me like a stone and said, "Well, dear, perhaps your mother would come back if you made some changes. It must be hard for a woman to have a daughter who is so consumed with the material culture that she never lets herself be natural."

I'd gaped at her, totally confused. Everyone was acting like my beauty was some kind of poison; the guys lost their minds to trail after me like sick dogs, but the girls at the school reacted like I was a monster. It wasn't fair; I hadn't asked for my looks to change overnight, and I still wasn't sure what was going on. Mrs. Stillwater assumed that my freakish beauty was the result of makeup and hours of hard work, and the history teacher had got it into her head that my vanity had chased my mother away.

It didn't help that she was partly right. I may not have tried to look the way I did, but I'd begun to believe that my looks had driven Mom away. Like Elaina, she couldn't bear to be around me once I became beautiful. It seemed stupid that I was losing everyone I cared about over my looks; weren't beautiful people supposed to have it easier? I'd stopped looking in the mirror shortly after my bizarre transformation, but I knew I was still a freak; the glares of hatred from the girls around me, coupled with the looks of worship from the boys, told me more than a mirror could have.

Class wasn't too bad that day, but every time Mrs. Stillwater looked at me, I could almost hear her judging me, clucking her tongue thoughtfully before she looked away again. Staring at my desk and doing my best to become invisible, I crossed my fingers and made a wish. Maybe if I could just go somewhere else, I could start over!
Chapter Three

When I got home that afternoon, the little house was silent and cold. I'd lived in the small green bungalow my entire life: Mom had always referred to it as "the love nest." The house had two bedrooms upstairs in the sloped second floor, and my bed was tucked in the corner of the slanted roof, giving me a cozy feeling of being wrapped up each night while I slept.

Whenever I complained about being an only child, Dad would laugh.

"Where would we put another one, Princess?" he'd tease, pinching my nose to make me smile.

Mom had always laughed too, but she found more to complain about in the old house with each passing year. I don't know if she'd contacted Dad since she walked out, but she hadn't tried to get in touch with me. The kitchen was still half-finished, with two of the walls painted the rich eggplant that Mom had picked out, and the other two still covered in smudged and fading off-white paint. I hadn't had the heart to finish painting after she'd left, and now it was a constant reminder of her absence.

I tried to ignore the funky walls as I heated up a couple of slices of leftover pizza and grabbed a takeout container of fried rice for dessert, and then settled down with Rex to watch television. The bulldog curled up at my feet, snoring comfortably on the rug, and I flipped aimlessly through the channels. I probably should have been doing homework, but I just couldn't seem to make myself care. When the old grandfather clock in the hall chimed seven times, I switched the T.V. off and wandered out to the garage.

Dad's Subaru was still gone. With a sigh, I sat back down on the couch, pretending not to mind. When eight o'clock rolled around with still no sign of him, I grabbed the retractable leash.

"Come on, Rex. We've got to go get Dad." I clipped his leash on after I laced up my faded blue tennis shoes. Rex panted at me happily, a splotch of drool dripping between his feet. Sliding my learner's permit into my coat pocket, I locked the door, and took off down the street with Rex.

I didn't bother calling Dad's cell; there was no point. It wasn't like he was missing. In fact, he was exactly where I expected him to be. He'd been there every night since Mom left, and retrieving him had just become another one of my chores. Nearing Mac's, I wondered briefly what he would do if I didn't show up to collect him one night. Would he try to drive home? I didn't want his life on my hands, so I figured I would just keep showing up at the bar instead of taking that chance.

The bell on the door to the bar jangled as I poked my head inside. I waved to Lou Anne, one of the owners. She was wiping down the deserted counter, and she smiled at me. I ducked my head, keeping my face in the shadows of the doorway.

"He's in the back, honey. I'll tell him you're here." She flipped her towel over her shoulder and scurried off out of sight.

I sat down on the sidewalk next to Rex. "I guess I could go in there," I told him, scratching behind his ears, "but I really don't want to. They'll bring him out, and then we can go home."

As if my words were a spell, the door opened and Lou Anne and Joe, her husband, levered Dad through the door. Lou Anne handed me his car keys and patted me on the head. I kept my eyes down, thankful that the parking lot was too dark for her to see me very well. I always kept to the shadows when I went to get Dad, and so far, it seemed to be working.

"You're a good kid. Hear that, Pete, you've got a good kid here?"

Dad stared at me blankly for a moment, but then he nodded. "That's what I've been sayin', isn't it?" he slurred. "The prettiest damn girl in this whole damn world."

Joe steered him around to the passenger side of the waiting car. "She sure is," he spoke quietly, and I flushed. God, could this night get any worse?

"Prettier than anyone who's ever lived," Dad muttered as he let Joe push him into the car.

The door slammed shut, muffling his words, and I exhaled in relief.

"I'm glad you came to get him when you did, sweetheart," Lou Anne said quietly. "He almost got into a fight tonight, but you showed up just in time."

I risked looking up at her. "That's not like him, is it?" Lou Anne had never complained about him before, and she shook her head now.

"Not like him at all. But honey, he's really hung up on your beauty, and some old geezer at the bar challenged him on it." She chuckled warmly. "You'd have thought they was two knights defending their princesses by the way they went at it."

"They didn't actually fight, did they?" I swallowed nervously. If Dad had hit somebody, would he have to appear in court? Try explaining that to the judge; "But sir, my daughter is freakishly beautiful!"

Lou Anne shook her head. "No," she said slowly, "but I got the feeling it isn't over. If you can keep him home the rest of this week, you should try."

I opened the driver's door, trying to figure out how to do that. "I'll try, but—"

Lou Anne nodded. "I know, baby. You're just a kid. I'm sorry you've got to deal with this, but your daddy is real lucky to have you."

I doubt that. If it weren't for me, my father wouldn't be spending his nights at Mac's. He'd never gone out to the bar alone before, but when Mom left, all that changed. _Another thing that's my fault,_ I thought bitterly as I steered the car out of the parking lot.

Dad snored peacefully in the passenger seat, and Rex ran back and forth in the back, pressing his wet nose to the windows like he couldn't decide which one would offer the best view. I drove carefully, nervous about being pulled over. Technically my learner's permit allowed me to drive as long as an adult over the age of eighteen with a valid license was in the car, but I didn't think my unconscious father actually counted. I should probably take my driver's test and get it over with, but the idea of being trapped in a car with someone watching my every move was horrifying. I wished, for the umpteenth time, that I'd taken the test over the summer before my transformation, but it was too late now.

When we got home, I parked the car in the garage, took the keys, and left the car unlocked. I'd learned not to try to force Dad to come into the house when he was like this: usually, he was dead to the world, and it would be impossible for me to lift his six-foot-four frame. Instead, I went inside, Rex trailing along at my ankles, and put a pot of coffee on.

Whenever Dad woke up, he would make his way into the house, and the smell of fresh coffee usually went a long way toward reviving him. At least, that was what I assumed. I tried to never be downstairs when Dad regained consciousness: I always stayed up in my bedroom until the next morning, when we both pretended that the previous night had never happened. It was hard enough having to see him passed out drunk night after night, but at least he made an effort to pretend that everything was normal when he was sober. Those false moments of normalcy were important, and I wasn't about to disrupt them. Nothing else was normal anymore, but I was willing to go along with the lie if it meant Dad hadn't changed.

The next morning, like clockwork, I could smell bacon and burnt toast before I came downstairs.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Dad was at the stove, watching a pan of sizzling bacon and sipping a large cup of coffee. I checked the coffee pot on the counter and sighed with relief: it was full again, and the light was lit. As long as he kept making a fresh pot of coffee in the morning, we could both pretend that I hadn't brewed a pot last night.

"Morning. It smells good." I gave him a quick peck on the cheek before pouring my coffee. Dad drank it black, but I couldn't wean myself off sugar. I added three heaping tablespoons before settling down on one of the barstools at the island. For such a small house, the kitchen was huge: maybe that's why Mom had started her makeover efforts there. I sipped, trying to ignore the purple walls and the twinge of pain that hit me whenever I thought about her.

"I hope so! It's my specialty: bacon and eggs, toast and coffee." Dad waved the spatula at me, and I forced a laugh.

"It's the only thing you can make."

"That doesn't mean it can't be a specialty!" The toaster popped, and Dad busily assembled a plate. He presented it to me with a flourish, and this time, I laughed for real. He'd arranged the eggs and bacon so it looked like the food was smiling, just like he used to do when I was a kid.

"Thanks, Daddy." I dug in hungrily while he sat down across from me with his own heaping plate.

"So," he asked between bites, "how's school?"

I shrugged. "Harder than last year."

"You can do it, Princess. Just keep doing your best."

I shoved another mouthful of eggs in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. If I told him what was happening at school, was there some way he could make it better, or would it just remind him that I'd driven Mom away? I shook my head, realizing that silence was probably best.

She had become like a sore tooth: a topic that neither of us openly approached, yet one I was sure was constantly on both of our minds. It was like living with a ghost, but worse: Mom was alive somewhere, she just wasn't with her family.

We finished eating in silence, and Dad kissed me on the forehead as he rose to put his plate in the sink. "See you tonight, sweetheart."

_At the bar like usual._ "Have a good day." I struggled to keep the bitterness from my voice.

He paused, but then simply said, "You too. Just keep your head up, kiddo. It will get easier."

"Right."
Chapter Four

The bell rang at the end of Pre-Calc, and I sighed in relief. So far, I'd made it through the morning without attracting any more attention than usual. Maybe today would be better.

Mr. Farkner called me aside as I left the room, shattering my illusion that it was going to be a good day. "Miss Jones, if you'll stay a minute, I'd like to speak with you."

I tried not to hear the whispers of my classmates as they filed out and I waited, awkwardly, beside his desk. With a shudder, I wondered what kind of stick figures Rachel would draw now.

When the last student had left, Mr. Farkner kept the door open and walked over to his desk. He sat on the edge of it casually and cleared his throat. I watched him from behind my hair, trying not to let him see my face.

"Miss Jones, I'm worried about you," he began. "You are an exemplary student, but you seem to be struggling socially this year."

I hesitated, but then I nodded.

Mr. Farkner sighed. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

_What good would it do?_ I shook my head.

"Psyche, I hope you don't think I'm being presumptuous, but is it a relationship problem?"

I caught my breath and glanced up quickly at Mr. Farkner. Was he propositioning me or something? God, that was just what I needed; Farkner had seemed immune to my curse up till now, but what if all that changed? What evil fairy did I piss off? I wondered, my eyes darting to the exit.

"Whatever it is, it gets better. I promise." He gestured to his desk, and I noticed a photo of an older guy in a suit coat, his hair pulled away from his face in a ponytail. He looked like a reformed hippy. Farkner stared at the picture for a moment. "When my partner Chad was in high school, he thought about hurting himself."

Startled, I raised my eyes and looked at him full in the face. "Your partner?"

He nodded. "I'd appreciate if you don't spread that information around, but I don't think you will."

"I won't say anything. But why are you telling me this?"

Mr. Farkner sighed again, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "I've been watching you, Miss Jones. I thought, well, I thought that you might need to hear from someone who's different."

_He thinks my problem is about my sexual orientation?_ For the first time that day, I almost smiled. "I appreciate that."

"So if you ever need to talk about anything," he started.

I nodded. "I'll come to you."

He smiled, relieved. "Trust me when I tell you it gets better. High school isn't the end of the world. You're a bright girl, Psyche."

Mr. Farkner walked me to the door, and I felt a little lighter. Even if he'd misunderstood the problem, it was a relief to know that I could look at my math teacher without worrying about the spell my beauty would cast on him. Finally, someone other than Ms. Amboulia I could be normal around! I waved as I stepped into the hall, and he waved back.

The minute he went back in his classroom, Lydia and Rachel slipped up on either side of me. Without warning, Lydia stepped back and Rachel shoved me headlong into a locker. Where the hell had that come from?

"Skank," Lydia hissed. "We all know you're sleeping with him."

Rubbing my bruised shoulder, I shook my head. "I'd never do that."

Rachel pushed me again, and I caught myself with the palm of my hand. Pain shot up my wrist from the impact with the cold metal locker.

"We don't like lying skanks, do we Rachel?" Lydia flicked her fingernail at my face, and I shut my eyes reflexively.

"No. Little sluts like her won't stick around if they know what's good for them." Rachel moved to shove me again, but this time I stepped back, putting a few feet between me and the girls.

I was tempted to blurt out the fact that Mr. Farkner was gay, but I kept my mouth shut. Spilling his secret wasn't likely to do me any good, and I didn't want to betray his trust. I clenched my teeth and turned to walk away, but Lydia's parting words echoed down the hallway. "Don't say we didn't warn you."

Why couldn't I go somewhere else and start over? Trying not to look behind me, I rushed across campus to the art room, sinking onto my stool like it was a precious refuge. I was late for the second day in a row, but today Ms. Amboulia didn't appear to notice: she was bent over one of the seniors, helping him with a welding project. I got my supplies and settled into my work.

Soon, I was lost in the feel of my grandfather's pocket knife slipping along the surface of the soap, transforming the block into a shape. I didn't know what I was carving, but my hands moved with confidence. The shape that emerged slowly became clear, and I realized I was carving a large wing. _What made me think of that?_

Once I realized what it was, I focused on adding detail to the feathers. I'd never really been a fan of birds, but the wing took shape quickly, and I didn't question my movements.

Before I could finish, Ms. Amboulia stood in front of the class and clapped her hands three times, breaking my concentration.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make. We're going on a field trip at the start of October. The Cincinnati Art Museum is hosting a special exhibit and I want you all to see it."

"What's the exhibit?" asked the senior who was working on the metal welding project.

"Representations of Love in Art." Ms. Amboulia spoke reverently, even though a few of the boys groaned. "This collection has been assembled carefully, with art from prehistory through the modern era. It will be most enlightening for everyone." She passed out a flyer as she spoke, and I scanned the information.

My heart sank when I saw the price. Dad and I didn't really talk about money, but ever since Mom left, I'd noticed we ate out less, probably in part because he was never home for dinner, and when he got the groceries he bought way more store brand stuff than usual. I assumed we didn't have a lot of cash to spare, although I couldn't imagine how much Dad was blowing each night. If he stayed home for a week, would I be able to afford the trip? I shook my head, giving up on that idea almost as soon as it came into my mind. He wasn't going to stay home. Sadly, I set the flyer to one side.

Ms. Amboulia appeared at my elbow, startling me. "I think this trip would be particularly beneficial to you, Miss Jones. Your work is already heavily influenced by romantic themes, and this exhibition may help you solidify your own style."

"I'd like to go, but I'm not sure... "

Ms. Amboulia leaned forward. "I have some work that needs doing here after hours: cleaning the studio, getting things organized. I'm sure we could come to an agreement that would eliminate any monetary hurdles."

Was the woman a mind reader? "That would be great," I breathed happily.

"The trip is in two weeks. Since I assume you will need permission from your father to stay after school and help me, let's say that your work won't start until Monday."

I nodded, although I was half-tempted to tell her that Dad didn't care where I was as long as I picked him up from the bar each night.

My art teacher continued. "If you help me for one hour a day until the exhibit, that's a total of ten hours of labor. That should more than cover the price of attendance: will you be able to bring money for lunch?"

"Oh, yes," I said quickly. I had some cash saved from birthdays and stuff; lunch wouldn't be a problem.

Ms. Amboulia nodded. "Good. I'm looking forward to getting this place cleaned up." She gestured to the art room and smiled. "Bring clothes that you don't mind ruining. And make sure your father signs the permission slip: I'd hate to have you miss out on this experience."

"Thanks, Ms. Amboulia." I looked around, realizing that the class had packed up and dispersed. Lifting the wing, I held it out to her. "And thanks for telling me to practice in soap. You're right; it makes a difference."

Ms. Amboulia took the proffered wing and turned it around in her hands, inspecting the details. "You have a gift, Psyche. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." Her gray eyes glinted as she handed the soap carving back to me, and I smiled.

"I'll be here after school on Monday to help. And thanks again!"

She just nodded as I collected my belongings and returned them to the art locker. When I was at the door, she called after me, "Remember your gift, Psyche."

Maybe it was the field trip, or maybe it was what Ms. Amboulia said, but I was feeling a little better. I ate lunch by myself, devouring my bruised apple and crackers. Still, even though it only took me fifteen minutes to eat, when I went into the restroom at the end of lunch I found four spit wads lodged in my hair. I was tempted to leave them there: maybe spit wads would decrease my weird beauty. The idea of someone else's saliva riding around on my head made me shudder, however, and I finger-combed my hair and headed to English. It wasn't too bad today: we were taking an essay test on "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn," so there was no opportunity for Mr. Brady to talk to me or single me out. I was almost in a good mood when I walked into World Civ.

Mrs. Stillwater stood at the front of the room, her hair pulled back into a severe bun, a thin smile on her face. "Today we will begin our explorations of the Trojan War. What caused this conflict?"

I flipped through the notes I'd taken out of the textbook for homework last night. Other students did the same, and a few tentatively raised their hands.

"Greed: the Greeks wanted more territory," one boy said.

"Enmity: the Greeks and the Trojans had always been enemies." A girl in the front row offered.

"The gods," the boy next to me said, laughing. "They were messing with the mortals."

"All are valid reasons," Mrs. Stillwater began, still smiling thinly, "but you're missing the biggest cause." She waited for another student to volunteer the answer before saying, "Vanity. The Trojan War was caused by the sin of vanity." She looked directly at me as she spoke, and a few of the girls snickered. I dropped my gaze quickly.

"Who can remind us of the judgment of Paris?"

Lydia raised her hand. "Paris was told to pick the most beautiful goddess, right?"

Mrs. Stillwater nodded. "And what reward did each offer him?"

"I think one offered him wisdom," Lydia began, squinting her eyes in thought, "and another offered him a big kingdom to rule."

"And?" Mrs. Stillwater leaned forward eagerly.

Lydia shrugged. A boy in the front raised his hand and finished. "The goddess of love offered him the most beautiful woman in the world."

"The most beautiful woman in the world," Mrs. Stillwater repeated thoughtfully. I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hand, wishing I were anywhere but this class. "The face that launched a thousand ships: Helen of Troy."

"She was already married to that Agy king, right?" A girl asked. A few students laughed, and Mrs. Stillwater glared at them.

"Agamemnon was her brother-in-law. Helen was already wedded to King Menelaus, but Paris took her and the rest, as they say, is history."

I surprised myself by speaking up. "But it wasn't Helen's fault. The goddess made a promise she shouldn't have to Paris: Helen was just a victim."

Mrs. Stillwater glared at me. "Helen caused the war. If it weren't for her vain beauty, the goddess Aphrodite would have never offered her as a prize to Paris."

"But wasn't Paris the vain one, to pick beauty over wealth or wisdom?" I pushed on, even though my face was hot and I could feel everyone's eyes on me.

Mrs. Stillwater fired back. "The blame lies with Helen. If she had kept her beauty hidden, instead of flaunting it to the world, Troy may have never fallen."

"And then we wouldn't have to study it!" A boy joked, and the class laughed. Mrs. Stillwater glared at the students, silencing them with her gaze.

"But it did happen. And while you finish your homework tonight," she turned and wrote a series of page numbers on the board, "remember that it was vanity that destroyed Priam's great city." She looked pointedly at me, her eyes glittering with malice. I dropped my head to hide the tears that pricked my eyes. No way was I going to let this harpy see me cry. The bell finally rang, and I was the first one out of the classroom, but I could still feel Mrs. Stillwater's harsh gaze as I fled from the school.
Chapter Five

I was buried under my comforter with the curtains drawn when the phone rang that evening. After the day I'd had, I didn't want to move, but something in the pit of my stomach told me it was important.

"Sweetheart? You need to come get your dad now." Lou Anne's voice was tense, and I sat up, panicked.

"Is he okay?"

"Just hurry down here, alright?" She hung up, and I rushed to pull on my shoes. What had happened? I glanced at the clock, startled. It was only six o'clock: Dad couldn't have even been at the bar for an hour. _Unless he left work early._

Ignoring Rex panting beside the door, I rushed down the street, jogging all the way to Mac's. Flashing blue and red lights lit up the parking lot, drawing lots of gawkers. My stomach clenched and I pushed open the door to the bar. Where was my dad?

"Since the other guy has left, officer," Lou Anne was saying to the uniformed cop, "I don't see that there's any reason for you to be here."

I stood there for a minute, uncertain, but then I spotted a familiar form hunched over the bar. His eye was swollen almost beyond recognition, and his tie was missing, but he was alive and he wasn't wearing handcuffs. I slipped to his side and gave him a tentative hug.

"And who's this young lady?" I didn't miss the officer's emphasis on the word young, and I turned around, keeping my eyes on my feet.

"That's his daughter. She's old enough to drive: she'll take him home and we can just forget all this, right, officer?" Joe had appeared, standing tall beside Lou Anne, and the policeman tapped his foot for a moment.

"If I can have your guarantee that something like this won't happen again, I suppose we can forget it for tonight." He jabbed his finger in my direction, and I tried not to flinch. "Don't let the minor in here again, and make sure this guy behaves himself next time."

Lou Anne nodded vigorously, and the officer turned and left the bar. She exhaled in relief.

"Thanks for coming, sweetie. Can you keep your dad home for a few days? Just until this all blows over," she added hurriedly.

I nodded, although I wasn't sure how I was supposed to do that. "What happened?"

Joe levered Dad up and led him out to the parking lot, and Lou Anne and I trailed behind. "It was that guy again, the one from the other night. Haven't seen him before this week, but now all of a sudden he's a regular. He took offense at something your daddy said."

My heart constricted painfully. _This was my fault, too?_ "About me?"

Lou Anne patted my shoulder. "It's real sweet the way your daddy prizes you, but tonight he pushed the wrong person's buttons."

Joe turned away from the Subaru and handed me the keys. "But the guy didn't press any charges, and he was gone before the cops showed up."

Lou Anne nodded. "It could be a lot worse, but your daddy was on the losing end of the fight. Just keep him home this weekend and let everybody cool off."

I shrugged, dreading the uncomfortable conversation I would have to have with Dad.

Lou Anne and Joe waved as I drove off, and I clutched the steering wheel and tried not to look at Dad.

"I'm sorry, Princess," he slurred from beside me, and I stiffened.

"It's okay." I didn't turn to look at him. I wasn't sure I could stand it right then.

"But that man didn't believe me that you're the most beautiful girl. I told him there's none could match you," he added quietly, "not even his mistress."

"Dad, couldn't you just let it go?" I tried to keep my voice light, but I was upset.

"Nope. You're my princess, and no one is going to say you're not the most beautiful girl on this whole damn earth."

With a sigh, I drove on in silence. When we got home, I opened the car door for Dad and helped him stagger into the house.

"You can't go back to Mac's this weekend, Dad. Lou Anne and Joe said."

He nodded before dropping his head into his hands as he sat heavily at the counter. "I know. I'm glad for it." He looked up at me, and I cringed at the sight of his swollen eye.

Silently, I pulled a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer and handed it to him.

"Thanks, Princess." He exhaled sharply as the cold bag touched his tender skin. "What do you say you and your old man have a special weekend? We'll do whatever you want."

I heard the pleading tone behind his words; he was desperate to change the subject. I nodded gratefully. "That would be nice. Maybe we can take the bikes for a ride: we haven't done that for a while."

He brightened. "We'll pack a picnic, too. We'll make a day of it, just you and me."

I smiled at him. "I'd like that." Tentatively, I reached over and squeezed his hand. "Get some sleep." I turned and left the kitchen, desperate to slip up to my room and pretend tonight had never happened.

Dad's voice was soft, but I still heard him say, "I love you, Princess."

I paused on the stairs. "I love you, too, Daddy. Goodnight."

I lay awake for a long time that night. I was relieved that Dad hadn't been arrested or hurt, but he wouldn't have even been in a fight if it weren't for me. Guilt pressed on my chest, but I finally succumbed to exhaustion. I woke with the sunrise to the smell of strong coffee.

Stumbling downstairs in my bathrobe, I was surprised at how much better Dad looked than he had last night. The swelling in his eye had diminished, and he was whistling a jaunty tune as he packed food into a cooler.

"Ready for our adventure?" He passed me a cup of coffee and the sugar bowl and smiled.

I hesitated, wondering if I should mention last night. "Where are we going?"

"I thought we'd drive up to the state park with the bikes, and spend a day on the trails. How does that suit you?"

"That'd be good. I'll get ready."

"Chop chop, we're burning daylight!"

It was amazing how different he could be in the morning. Other than the bruised eye, it was as if last night had never happened. I wished that were true.

It only took about thirty minutes to drive to Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Because it was so close, we'd spent lots of time there each summer, hiking the trails or riding our bikes. I loved being out there, but this was the first time we'd made the trip since Mom left, and it was sort of strange to be there without her.

Unloading the bikes from the back of the station wagon, I drew a deep breath of pine-scented air. I smiled up at the sun, dappling through the trees overhead like spatters of paint.

Dad laughed. "You get even prettier when you're outside, my little woodland princess. It must be that Iroquois blood in you," he joked.

I laughed. Grandpa used to claim that his great grandmother was a full-blooded member of the Iroquois tribe, but the fair skin and light eyes of the family belied this legend. We were as white-bread as they come; pasty, plain, and average. Still, my heart constricted a little; ever since my beauty took over, it was like Dad forgot that there was anything to me besides my pretty face. Him and everyone else around me.

Snapping on my helmet, I got on my bike and pushed off down the trail, trying to escape my thoughts. I could hear the whir of Dad's bike not far behind, but I gave myself up to the sensation of riding. Ever since I was a kid, I'd pretended that I could fly whenever I rode my bike. Coming up off a steep incline, I could see the empty trail stretching ahead, so I took a chance and closed my eyes.

The wind rushed past me, and it was easy to believe I was soaring above the earth like a bird. A laugh bubbled up in my chest, and I opened my eyes just a crack when the bike began to slow. Applying gentle pressure to the brakes, I came to a stop beside a wide creek. The water was burbling loudly, and I paused for a moment, soaking in the beauty.

Panting, Dad pulled up beside me. "That was fun! Don't ever let me challenge you to a race: I'd lose!"

I laughed, feeling better than I had in a long time. "Thanks for coming out here today. This is great."

He smiled indulgently. "Anything for my princess."

I surveyed the path ahead of us. "Come on. We have to earn our lunch."

"Whatever you say, kiddo." Laughing, we started peddling again, following the winding trail. Despite the beautiful weather, we didn't see anyone else, and I could almost believe that the world outside the park had ceased to exist. I felt safe, riding along in the wind with Dad close behind. It was like nothing bad could reach me there: the trees didn't care what I looked like.

We stopped for lunch when the sun was high. Dad had packed a portable cooler on the back of his bike, and he pulled a pair of tuna sandwiches from it.

"Hope they're not too mushy," he said.

I tore into mine, too hungry to care. "They're great. Did I see you pack hotdogs, too?"

He nodded. "They're in the cooler back in the car. I thought we could cook on one of the grills in the afternoon if you aren't too tired."

Running my fingers through my sweaty hair, I grinned. "That sounds like a good idea. I brought my sketchpad: maybe we can take a break after lunch and I can do some work?"

"Of course." He took a swig of water and smiled at me as he passed the thermos. "My little beauty is becoming quite the artist."

I shrugged, deflecting the compliment. "I'm really lucky to have a teacher like Ms. Amboulia." Impulsively, I pulled the permission slip out of my bag. Maybe now would be a good time to ask about it. "There's actually an art field trip in October that I'd like to go on. Can I?"

Dad took the paper. His brows puckered as he skimmed it, and he looked up sadly. "That's a lot of money, sweetie."

"Don't worry about that. Ms. Amboulia has hired me to help her get the art room cleaned up."

He gave me a hard look. "I don't want anyone's charity."

"It's not charity! Ms. Amboulia asked all the students for help," I lied quickly, "and I volunteered."

Dad relaxed. "Just as long as she doesn't think your old man can't provide for you just fine. 'Cause I can, you know."

"I know, Dad. But this way we can save the money for something else." I took a deep breath. "So can I go?"

He glanced at the paper again. "This says you'll be leaving from the school at six o'clock in the morning, and getting back around nine o'clock that night?"

"Yeah. The exhibit is in Cincinnati, and Ms. Amboulia wants us to spend the whole day at the museum. There's a lot to see there."

Chuckling, Dad nodded. "It's a good art museum. I'm sorry I didn't think to take you there myself." He pulled a pen out of his pocket and signed the paper.

"That's okay. I'm just glad I get a chance to go now." I pocketed the permission slip, relieved that he hadn't asked more questions about the money. I stretched, pulling my sketchbook out of my backpack.

Dad flopped back on the grass. "Take your time, kiddo. I think your old man's going to take a little snooze."

The afternoon was a perfect end to a perfect day. I sketched while Dad slept, and then we rode back toward the car. After stowing the bikes in the back of the Subaru, we carried the cooler to one of the nearby rusty grills, still filled with charcoal from the last people to spend a weekend in the park. In no time, the coals were burning merrily and an entire pack of hotdogs was resting on the grate, fat sizzling each time I poked them with a stick.

The sun was setting behind the trees when we drove home. _Why can't every day be like this one? Just me and Dad and beautiful weather. That's all I need._ It was easy to pretend that everything was normal when it was just us.

Chapter Six

The weekend ended way too quickly, and on Monday morning, everything went back to my new, horrible version of normal. By the time I showed up to the art room after my classes, I was in a foul mood.

Ms. Amboulia took one look at me and declared, "Chopping wood is just what you need."

She led me around the back of the shed to a pile of discarded lumber. "We need this chopped smaller for the wood kiln. Make the pieces about this big," she held up her hands in front of her torso, "but don't worry if you chop them smaller." The art teacher hesitated for a minute. "Can I trust you not to do harm to yourself with that ax?"

I looked up at her, startled. True, I'd been depressed lately, but I didn't think I'd been that low. "Of course! It's just been a really crappy day."

"Fine. Take your frustrations out on the wood, not yourself." Ms. Amboulia disappeared back into the shed, and I pulled out my iPod and set it on shuffle. With music filling my ears, I fell into an easy rhythm with the ax and was surprised when I ran out of pieces of wood to chop. The pile had seemed so massive to begin with, but now I was surrounded by small logs ready for burning in the kiln. I hadn't even noticed the work, not really.

I set the ax down and went inside, taking my ear buds out as I walked. Ms. Amboulia looked up in surprise as the door creaked, and I smiled.

"That's done. What else do you want me to do today?"

Ms. Amboulia looked at the clock and then looked back at me. "That's a lot for one day. Why don't you head home and take a nice bubble bath?"

I stared at her. Ms. Amboulia didn't seem like the bubble bath type. She chuckled.

"You were attacking that wood with a vengeance, girl. Soaking your muscles is just what the doctor ordered."

When I got home, I took her suggestion and filled the tub. After a moment's hesitation, I grabbed the jar of mint and lemon scented bath salts that Mom used to love. She had left them, but I still felt guilty using them. I dumped the salts into the water, inhaling deeply. The sharp scent brought tears to my eyes.

I used to sit on the edge of the tub in my bathrobe and paint my toenails while Mom soaked in the water. It had been one of our weekly rituals: spa time, Mom had called it. Some weeks, we would braid each other's hair, and other weeks we experimented with Mom's vast makeup collection. I never really cared much about the makeup, but Mom enjoyed it, and I liked spending time with her.

As I eased myself into the hot water, I felt a pang of loneliness. I missed Mom so much: maybe things wouldn't be so bad if she was here to talk to. _But she's gone because of me._ I lowered my head into the water and blew bubbles through my nose, trying to ignore the gnawing guilt I felt whenever I thought about her.

I stayed in the tub until my skin was wrinkled and the water was lukewarm, and I would have stayed longer if I hadn't started to shiver. When I was getting dressed, I checked the clock and felt a twinge of anger. It was almost eight, and there was still no sign of Dad.

The weekend had been perfect, but once Monday came around, I should have known better than to expect that things had changed for good. I checked the garage to be sure, but his car wasn't there. Resigned, I sighed.

"Come on, Rex. Duty calls." The dog panted up at me happily as I clipped on his leash and we headed out into the crisp, cool night.

I shivered, pulling my light fleece closer around me. Fall was certainly here; I'd be wearing boots and a winter coat soon. I hadn't really minded the walk to Mac's every night so far, but once I was faced with another harsh Ohio winter, the short walk would really become a chore. Maybe, I thought, Dad would stop going to the bar once the weather got cold.

When I reached Mac's, I was surprised to see Dad standing out front, waiting. There was another man with him, and at first I thought it was Joe. Then the man stepped out of the shadows, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

I'd never seen him before, but there was something about the stranger that frightened me. It was as if I was looking at a magic eight ball and had caught a glimpse of a future that I didn't like. I approached the men cautiously, and Dad beamed.

"There's my little girl, right on schedule!" He clapped his hand across the stranger's shoulders, pulling him forward.

"You're right, Peter, she's certainly lovely." The man stared at me hungrily, and I dropped my eyes. Rex growled beside me, but neither of the men seemed to notice.

"That's what I tried to tell you, before you gave me this shiner!" Dad laughed heartily, and suddenly I realized that this was the man who had been in a fight with Dad on Friday. That was only three days ago: why were they acting like best friends now? I eyed the stranger suspiciously, trying to keep my face turned away from his gaze.

"I once knew a strong woman named Psyche." He paused, studying me. "Your name means 'soul', did you know that girl?" The stranger spoke softly, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I glanced at him from under my bangs, but then I looked away fast. He was staring at me with an intense expression, and I took a step backward.

"This here's Mr. Merk, Psyche. Isn't he a hoot?" Dad chortled, and the man extended his hand to me.

"I'm pleased to meet someone as lovely as you, Psyche Jones."

I hesitated, but I didn't want to be rude. I shook his hand as fast as I could. His skin was cold and smooth, like stone. Rex growled again, and this time Dad noticed.

"Don't mind the dog, Hermes. He's all bark and no bite." Again he clapped Mr. Merk on the back.

"Indeed." The man looked down at the dog for a moment, and I felt Rex stiffen beside me. I glanced down, surprised. He seemed to be frozen in place. His eyes were still glistening, but every muscle and shaking jowl had stopped moving.

"Come on, Dad, let's go home." I put my hand on his arm, steering him away from the stranger at the bar. After a second, Rex trotted along behind me, and I decided that I must have been imagining things. He was fine.

"See you tomorrow, shall I, Peter?" Mr. Merk called after them.

"You can count on it!" Dad waved happily as I propelled him to the car.

Once the car doors were shut and we were out on the street, I asked, "Why are you and that man friends now?"

He laughed. "Nothing like a fight to bring men close together. I'm glad he was there to meet you: now he knows I wasn't lying when I told him how beautiful you are." He sighed, leaning his head against the glass. "You're the most beautiful girl, Psyche. I'm lucky to be your father."

I was sick of hearing him compliment me, but I didn't know what to say that would make him stop, and I drove in uneasy silence. When we got home, I checked all the doors twice and pulled down the living room blinds before I went to bed. Even though I knew the house was safe, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in some kind of danger.
Chapter Seven

The next two weeks went by quickly. I swept and mopped the art room floor, helped Ms. Amboulia sort scraps of metal into piles by size, and rearranged the paint cabinet, grouping the paints first by type and then by color. Even though I picked Dad up at Mac's each night, I never saw Mr. Merk again. Dad didn't mention the bar fight or the strange man, and I decided that it was probably best if I just pretended it had never happened. I hated that our lives had become one big game of "let's pretend," but, desperate as I was for things to go back to the way they'd been, I wasn't sure how to change it.

On the first Saturday in October, I woke at five a.m. and got ready in the dark. Dad wasn't up yet when I let myself out of the house and walked to the school. The rest of the art students—around twenty of them—were milling around the parking lot, talking and clutching steaming cups of coffee. I wished I'd remembered to bring a travel mug: I'd been so tired that morning I hadn't even brewed any coffee. Luckily, it was cold and crisp, and the early morning air was waking me up.

I stood a few feet away from the group, hoping they wouldn't notice me. I caught some glares, but it was nothing compared to what I was used to. With a pang of loneliness, I wondered what Elaina was doing today. I'd given up trying to talk to her, but I hadn't lost hope that she'd get over her anger and we'd go back to being friends. Eventually, a blue Volvo pulled into the parking lot, the back window obscured by bumper stickers that said things like "Make art, not war," and "Artists do it better." Ms. Amboulia popped out of the car, her usually subdued hair flying wet and loose around her shoulders.

"I hate waking up before noon on a Saturday, so I hope you kids appreciate this!"

Everyone chuckled nervously, and Ms. Amboulia smiled.

"The bus should be here any minute, but in the meantime," she produced a clipboard from the folds of her dress, "let's see who's here, shall we?"

Ms. Amboulia finished calling role just as a purple charter bus pulled into the lot. "All aboard who's coming aboard," Ms. Amboulia proclaimed merrily, her frizzy hair leading the way. I glanced at my phone as I slid into an empty seat toward the back of the bus. It was already seven o'clock: hopefully, the late start wouldn't affect the rest of the day.

I leaned back into the plush seat, staring vacantly into space. I didn't know exactly why I was looking forward to this trip so much, but Ms. Amboulia had made it sound like it was important for me to be there. I trusted the art teacher more than most adults besides my dad, and not just because she seemed immune to my beautiful curse.

There was something about her that didn't quite fit in at Jameson High, but I couldn't figure out what. It wasn't her age: plenty of teachers were old. But what was it?

As if she had been summoned by my thoughts, the art teacher stood up in the front of the bus and shouted into the loud speaker that the driver reluctantly handed her.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, I want to go over a few ground rules and then you can snooze for the next three hours.

"First, we aren't the only folks going to the museum today: it is not your private playground. Conduct yourselves like the responsible young adults I know you are.

"Second, you've got work to do. Enjoy the museum, but pick one piece from the special exhibit. Get to know it. Sketch it; write about it, whatever works for you. When we get back to class next week, you will be producing a work of art in reaction to the piece you've selected. Did anyone bring a camera?"

Most of the students raised their hands, and I silently cursed myself for forgetting. My phone was way too outdated to have a camera, and I still used a digital for most of my art projects. At least I had my sketch pad and drawing pencils. That would have to do.

"That's fine. Just remember, photographs of art must be taken without the flash. I won't have you responsible for the destruction of a masterpiece. Or kicked out of the museum," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"We'll split up once we get there: you are free to wander the museum at leisure, but you will not, I repeat, will not leave the grounds until we get back on the bus. No wandering around Cincinnati, Richard Young." She glared meaningfully at a boy sitting in the middle of the bus, and his girlfriend laughed. I smiled briefly, wondering what had happened on the last field trip.

"There's a café where you can buy lunch, unless you brought your own food, and we'll stop for dinner as a group somewhere on our way back." She checked her watch and sighed. "At this rate, we'll get to the museum before eleven. You'll be on your own until the museum closes at five. We'll meet in the parking lot at the same spot where you are dropped off, so take note of important landmarks like telephone poles."

Everyone laughed, and Ms. Amboulia smiled. "Enjoy the trip, ladies and gentleman." She handed the microphone back to the driver and sat down.

When the bus finally pulled up to the Cincinnati Art Museum, everybody was antsy. My knees hurt from sitting still for so long, but I hung back until the bus was empty before moving to the front. When I hit the pavement, I stared up at the building, speechless.

It looked more like an ancient temple than a museum. The building was huge, with white marble columns flanking the entrance. I'd never seen anything like it, and for a moment it was easy to imagine I'd been transported to Ancient Greece.

Awe-struck, I climbed the marble stairs, my eyes drinking in the artistry of the building. In the lobby, I studied the large map of the museum mounted on the wall and decided to start with the special exhibit. It was, after all, what we had come to see, and I didn't want to feel rushed. There would be plenty of time in the afternoon to look at the rest of the museum's vast collection. It didn't hurt that everyone else was headed in the opposite direction; it would be nice to be able to connect with the art without worrying about being bothered.

Once that decision was made, I strode toward the first special exhibit gallery. The room was lit with diffused natural light coming from massive frosted skylights, and I blinked a few times, letting my eyes get accustomed to the bright space.

Circling slowly around the room, I lingered before an image of a man in shining silver armor mounted on a white horse. The horse had flowers braided into its mane, and above the man, a beautiful woman was leaning over a balcony. I studied the image, entranced. The knight's face was turned away from the viewer, but the woman was looking at him, and I saw the conflicted emotions the painter had captured on her face: longing, fear, and sadness.

The painting touched a nerve, and I sighed without realizing it. Someone chuckled.

Ms. Amboulia stood behind my left shoulder, looking at the picture.

"Lancelot and Guinevere. Famous lovers or famous traitors?"

I looked back at the painting. Now that the art teacher named the couple, I realized that on a subconscious level, I'd known what the image depicted. I had a hopeless romantic streak, and I'd always loved the stories of King Arthur and his knights. Without really thinking about my answer, I said, "Why do they have to be either? Love isn't black and white."

The art teacher fixed her gray eyes on me. "That's an interesting thought." She nodded once before moving down the gallery.

I looked at the painting again. The artist was amazing: Guinevere's face told the whole story, and the viewer didn't even have to see Lancelot to understand. Lovers or traitors? Both, I decided as I moved on to the next piece.

Slowly, I worked my way around the gallery, absorbing the images that surrounded me. Some of the paintings were joyous, even rambunctious. Others were overtly sexual, making me flush. Still others were bitter, images of lovers ignoring each other or worse, fighting. When I'd completed the first round of the paintings, I turned to the center of the room.

The three-dimensional art was all beautiful, but I felt drawn back to the image of the lady and her knight. Settling in on the padded bench in front of it, I took out my sketchbook and began to doodle. When I looked down at what I had drawn, I was frustrated: the sketches didn't capture the conflicting blend of emotions on Guinevere's face.

Flipping to a clean page, I stared at the picture and decided to try something else. I scribbled furiously, writing down words as they came into my mind. I didn't think or try to censor myself, and I filled a page and a half before my stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl. Packing my sketchbook back into my shoulder bag, I wandered out to the main museum lobby.

A small sign pointed the way to the museum café, and I followed the gradually descending slope of the floor to the museum's darker lower level. A few of the other art students were already there, scattered around tables in twos and threes. I hesitated for a moment, thinking about joining one of the small groups, but then I decided that I wasn't brave enough to risk it. I ordered a cup of chicken noodle soup and a salad and took my food to a small table in the corner.

While I ate, I flipped through my notebook. The sketches of the painting looked juvenile, like something done by a kindergartener with a new box of crayons, and I winced. Maybe I needed coffee more than I'd realized. I turned the page and stared at the words.

The handwriting didn't look like mine. Scrawly, loopy words, half in cursive and half in print, danced across the page. I squinted, pulling the sketchbook closer as I tried to read what I had written. "Failure, deceit, abandoned, betrayal?" I read aloud, confused. That wasn't what I'd wanted to capture from the painting, was it? Sure, I liked it because it was a complicated work, but I thought I was drawn to the raw romanticism of it. Clearly, though, some part of my mind had responded to the darker side of the painting, spewing these thoughts out on the page. I would just have to go back to it after lunch and see what else I came up with. I didn't want that page of bitter emotion to be the only thing I wrote down about the beautiful image.

But somehow, after lunch, I got lost. I found the other galleries just fine, and perused the museum's permanent collection in about two hours. But when I tried to make my way back to the special exhibit galleries again, I kept turning in circles.

Passing the café for the third time, I noticed a T in the hallway that I hadn't seen before. Turning left impulsively, I headed down a narrow corridor. The rest of the museum was well-lit and bustling with the Saturday crowd, but this hallway was quiet. I had the strangest sensation that I was traveling underwater: everything had an echoey kind of stillness about it that was unnerving.

I was just about to turn around and go back toward the café when I saw a flash of white feathers out of the corner of my eye. For a minute, I felt a blinding burst of fear, accompanied by the irrational idea that I was about to be attacked by a swan inside the building. Ever since a bad encounter with one of the monstrous white birds in the park when I was five, I'd had a deep paranoia toward all birds, but swans especially. Heart pounding, I stopped and turned around slowly, determined not to make any sudden movements.

A narrow doorway stood to my right, opening into what I assumed must be a storage room for the museum. Sculptures and paintings littered the room, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that the white wing was not attached to a swan: it was exquisitely carved marble, jutting off of a large statue toward the back of the storage room.

Without stopping to wonder if I was even allowed in this part of the museum, I stepped carefully down and wound my way around the forgotten pieces of art. Paintings were turned toward the walls, exposing the battered backs of their frames, but I didn't pause to turn them over. I moved steadily toward the winged figure as if drawn by a magnet.

When I stepped around a large crate, I could finally see what the wing was attached to. It was one of a pair, growing artfully out of the back of a young man. The whole thing must have been marble, but the feathers on the wings were carved so well that they appeared almost translucent. The sculpture seemed lit from within, and I stared at the man's beautiful face, spellbound.

"Don't touch it! He's broken," a sharp voice barked, and I jerked my eyes away from the stone face, frightened. An old man in utility overalls, the kind that painters wear, stood in the doorway of the storage room.

"I didn't break him," I stammered, confused.

"Not you, girl. Don't you have eyes?" The man gestured at the sculpture, and I looked at it again.

I had been so enamored by the beauty of the figure that I hadn't noticed the obvious reason that the magnificent piece wasn't on display: the winged man was reaching to the ground beneath him, but his hands were broken away and a cavernous space gaped before him. He looked like he had been trying to lift something, pulling it away from Earth and into the heavens with him. Broken as he was, the figure looked like he was being tortured.

I looked at the old man, tears involuntarily filling my eyes. "What's missing?"

His harsh expression faded, replaced by the same dewy-eyed look that I tried to avoid from my classmates. I barely noticed the change that came over the old man; every one of my senses was focused on the damaged statue.

"Lost his lover, he has," the man spoke softly, gazing at me. "Broken in two, his heart and his body."

A sob escaped my lips, and I rushed past the old man and out of the storage room. I spotted a restroom and bee-lined for the sanctuary.

Splashing cold water on my face, I took a deep breath and stared at my reflection in dismay. Since when did I cry over artwork? My deep response to the statue had shaken me, but no matter how many times I replayed the scene in my mind, I couldn't understand why.

"It's just an old statue," I told myself firmly, glaring at the mirror. "Lots of ancient pieces of art have been damaged: this is just another one." My mind conjured up the beautiful marble face and I closed my eyes, remembering. Whoever it was a sculpture of was the most handsome man who had ever lived. Even with my cursed beauty, I'd never seen anything like the stone face.

The lights in the bathroom flickered rhythmically, and I snapped out of my reverie. Quickly, I dug my cell phone out of my shoulder bag. Just barely taking the time to register the fact that it was four fifty-five, I sprinted out of the bathroom and up the hallway. This time, I didn't get lost, and I skidded into the entry hall of the museum with a minute to spare. But I didn't see any of my classmates milling around, and for a panicked moment, I wondered if the bus had left me behind.

Then I remembered that Ms. Amboulia had told us to meet back in the parking lot where we'd been dropped off, so I rushed out of the museum. The purple bus was pulled up to the curb, its engine already running, when I climbed breathlessly aboard.

Ms. Amboulia shot me an inscrutable look. "We're all present and accounted for," she spoke loudly to the driver, and I flushed, embarrassed to be the last one on the bus. Quickly, I headed for the same seat I'd had that morning, but I wasn't fast enough. The bus lurched away from the curb, and I half-fell into the seat. I heard a couple of snickers from the back of the bus, which I pretended to ignore. _I'm getting good at pretending to ignore things,_ I thought bitterly. I watched the marble façade of the museum recede into the horizon, and I realized with a pang of guilt that I'd never gone back to look at that painting again. _Too late now,_ I realized sadly as we drove away.
"... _the once-happy king was now pained and saddened to hear this prophecy; he returned home to his wife and he told her what they must do. Days of mourning followed, but the appointed day arrived and preparations were made for the wretched wedding. Torches were blackened, songs of joy became dirges and the bride herself dried her eyes with the veil. The city stood still and wept with sympathy..."_

Apuleius, Metamorphosis

### Part II
Chapter Eight

I woke up with my face mashed into the padded backrest of my seat. Heart pounding, I kept my eyes closed for a minute. I was almost afraid to open them: I'd been woken up by the sound of breathing close to my face, and as I sat there in the seat, trying to decide what to do, I heard another sharp intake of breath and smelled—

Cinnamon? My eyes popped open and I realized I was still dreaming. Sitting next to me on the bus was the marble statue with the wings that had entranced me at the museum, but the face hovering dangerously close to mine looked soft, like skin. The boy's beautiful eyes were rich with color, like the amber pendant Mom had bought for my last birthday, before the curse kicked in. His wings weren't visible, but I would have recognized his face anywhere. _The sculptor didn't get it right: he's much more beautiful in person._

His golden eyes flared in surprise. "You can see me?" he whispered.

I nodded, smiling. "Of course I can. You're in my dream."

"So beautiful," he murmured, "in face and in soul."

For the first time, the compliment didn't bother me. More proof that I was dreaming. "So are you."

Then the sculpture boy did something strange. He produced a golden arrow out of thin air. His eyes never left my face as he pressed the tip of the arrow against his bare chest.

Amazed and horrified, I watched as the arrow pierced his perfect skin. But instead of red blood, the beautiful boy bled golden light. He smiled at me, and his mouth moved as if he were speaking, but I couldn't hear him anymore.

I woke up with the glare of golden light against my eyelids, disoriented. It took me a minute to realize that my face was pressed against the bus window and that outside, the sun was setting. Drowsily, I sat up and glanced around the bus.

A part of me half-expected the boy to be sitting beside me, but the seat was empty, and I felt an unfamiliar ache in my chest. Why did I have to wake up? Sighing, I took out my iPod and scanned through the music. I picked a romantic playlist I'd made last year before I lost all hope of dating like a normal person. Settling back against the seat, I watched the sky outside the bus go from golden to lavender and finally to navy, listening to cheesy love songs.

I used to want to be married right after high school, just like my parents. It had always seemed hopelessly romantic that they had been sweethearts for four years before Dad finally proposed the night of their senior prom. They were married that July, and all the photos of the early years of their marriage looked blissful. Like most of their classmates, they had gone to Niagara Falls for their honeymoon, and they'd returned there five years later with me right after I was born. I didn't remember the trip, but there was an album of faded photos; everyone looked so happy, even me with my chubby baby cheeks.

It had seemed like a fairy tale, and they probably would have been together forever if I hadn't ruined it. I squeezed my eyes, trying to blot out those thoughts, but just then a hand plucked my right earbud out of my ear. Startled, I looked over to find Ms. Amboulia sitting next to me.

"It's not your fault that she left," she began conversationally, as if she were talking about the field trip.

I paused the music. "Excuse me?"

"I know you think you drove her away, but believe me when I say you didn't."

"It doesn't matter what you think. I know what happened."

Ms. Amboulia stared at me for a minute until I dropped my gaze, embarrassed. "Often times," she said softly, "the saddest people reap the most reward in the end."

She got up and moved down the bus aisle before I could speak. She didn't say anything to me during the rest of the drive, and when the bus arrived back at school, Ms. Amboulia had already gotten into her battered blue Volvo and started the engine by the time I emerged from the bus. I watched her drive away, annoyed.

Just because Ms. Amboulia wasn't as bad as some of the people at Jameson, that didn't give her the right to act like she understood. Besides, I knew the truth; Mom was gone because of me. Why else hadn't she tried to get in touch with me?

Turning away from the school, I stomped off into the darkness. I wished I had Rex with me: the walk from the school to my house wasn't long, but it was lonely, and as my anger cooled, I started to look around at the dark shadows nervously. I dug my cell phone out of my bag and held the power button. The familiar blue light didn't do much to cut the darkness surrounding me, but it still made me feel a little better. Even though my heart was pounding and I jumped every time the wind rustled in the trees, I made it home in one piece.

The house was dark when I reached it, and I suppressed an irritated sigh. If the lights weren't on, that meant Dad was probably still at Mac's. For once, I didn't want to deal with getting him. By the time I got the door open, I had almost convinced myself that I wouldn't walk up to the bar that night.

Then someone in the living room turned the light on.

I stifled a scream before I recognized the figure leaning against the wall. "Dad! You scared me." Why was he sitting there in the dark?

"Sorry, Princess." He spread his hands in apology, smiling. "We've just been waiting for you for so long!"

"We?" My heart soared for a minute: had Mom come back?

Dad nodded and gestured to the couch. I felt a flash of irritation as I recognized Mr. Merk, the creepy guy from the bar.

He beamed up at me, oblivious to the fact that he was the last person I wanted to see. "Ah, the incomparable Miss Psyche. I hear you went on a field trip for your art class today."

I glanced at Dad, surprised. How had he stayed sober enough all day to remember where I'd gone? Before I could answer, Dad nodded.

"I've been telling Mr. Merk about how gifted you are." He turned to the man on the couch. "She's the best artist in this whole town."

I glared at my father. The next thing I knew, he'd probably be telling strangers I could spin gold out of straw. "I'm not that good," I finally said to Mr. Merk, "but I enjoy it."

"I'm sure you're better than you think you are, Psyche." Mr. Merk smiled at me, running one finger along his silver mustache. I shuddered. Something about the man wasn't quite right.

"Mr. Merk runs a private school, Princess, and he's interested in you."

What? Before I could answer, the strange man interrupted. "I don't run it, Peter. I just work for the chairman. It's my job to recruit young people with certain, er, abilities, and see that they find their appropriate place. Classical education isn't for everyone." Mr. Merk's eyes glistened as he stared at me. "But I think your Psyche would be an ideal candidate."

What the hell was going on? "Dad, could I talk to you for a minute?" I tugged on his hand, trying to get away from Mr. Merk. My stomach felt like I'd swallowed a Popsicle, stick and all, but Dad didn't seem the least bit concerned.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, beautiful Psyche." Mr. Merk rose swiftly from the couch and stretched out his hand to me.

I recoiled, tugging harder on Dad's arm, but his eyes were glazed over, and he was smiling happily at Mr. Merk. I'd never seen him like this; it was almost as if he were drunk and high at the same time, and I dropped his hand, suddenly frightened.

"Dad?" I took a step back, trying to put more distance between myself and Mr. Merk, but it didn't seem to do any good.

The strange man smiled at me, coming a step closer. "My employer has empowered me to award a full scholarship to his preparatory academy to one lucky girl." He paused, his eyes glinting. "You."

_Even if he's drunk, can't Dad see how weird this is?_ I looked at him frantically, but he just sighed.

"Isn't it wonderful? A full scholarship! And maybe your mother—" he broke off, a confused expression flickering across his face.

Mr. Merk smoothly finished his thought. "Maybe your wife will be pleased to learn her beautiful daughter is away at boarding school."

Dad nodded, and suddenly I realized that he wasn't going to help me. Whatever was going with him, if it was hypnosis or booze or something else, on some level, Dad was relieved to be turning me over to Mr. Merk.

Frightened, I let out a little sob, and Mr. Merk gripped my hand. "Come, child. It's past our time."

I struggled against his grip, but the room swirled like leaves in the wind. I felt like I was spinning weightlessly through the air above my house. Had he drugged me somehow? A second later, my feet were solidly on the ground again, and the illusion of flying dissipated. I shook off Mr. Merk's grip and glared at him, flexing my fingers. Even if Dad didn't care what happened, I wasn't about to be dragged off without a fight.

"You can't make me come with you. I'll call the police!"

He laughed and gestured with both hands. "Look around. If you find a way to call them, please do."

We weren't in my house anymore. In fact, we weren't anywhere that I had ever seen before. Wind whipped around me, pushing me farther away from Mr. Merk. I stumbled, looking down, and realized with a shock that we were standing on top of a sheer rock cliff. A pebble that my foot had dislodged began the long descent down the mountain, and I leaped away from the edge in fear.

My heart was pounding in my throat as I turned to glare at Mr. Merk. "Where are we?"

He chuckled again. "On the way to your future, of course." He bowed to me, an archaic gesture that seemed to come naturally to him. "After you, m'lady."

_Oh, my God, I'm being kidnapped_. Keeping one eye on the sheer cliff and the other eye on Mr. Merk, I stepped cautiously around him. A worn footpath stretched away from the cliff, and I took it, not knowing what else to do. I didn't know what was happening or where I was, but my mind raced furiously as we walked, trying to find a way out of this strange place, away from my captor.

Mr. Merk laughed behind me, and my shoulders stiffened. "Wait until you see where we're going before you decide if you want to leave."

It was as if he had read my mind. _Is that even possible?_ Mind reading seemed like child's play after the traveling trick Mr. Merk had pulled. I still didn't understand how we left my house. Watching the path, I stepped carefully, trying to keep my mind clear. The thought that Mr. Merk was following close behind me made my skin crawl, but the idea that he could read my mind was even worse. Gritting my teeth, I struggled to empty my thoughts. As terrified as I was, that wasn't hard to do; there was no room for anything but fear in my body.

The trail was hard to follow, and every time I lifted my eyes from my feet, my head spun. A steep drop-off hugged the path to my right, and to the left was a wide expanse of colorless earth. The rocky ground seemed to go on forever, the low hanging clouds were thick and stormy, and in the distance, sharp mountains rose up on the horizon, black as shadows.

Risking a glance behind me, I realized that Mr. Merk fit into the stark surroundings perfectly. His silver hair and mustache matched the sky, and his charcoal wool suit looked like camouflage for the wasteland we were crossing. "Where are we?" I risked a question, pausing on the path to look back at my dark captor.

He chuckled. "Didn't you wish you could get away from your old life? Didn't you long for a place where no one would be affected by your beauty?" He swept his arm theatrically at the rocks and the distant mountains. "You've got your wish."

Tears stung my eyes. "This isn't what I meant!" I turned away before the old man could mock me, but when he spoke again, his voice was soft.

"You've faced a lot of hardship. That will all be at an end now. Someday, perhaps, you'll thank me for shepherding you to your fate."

Oh my God, he's going to kill me. He had taken me from my father, from my home, to wander through the wilderness. _He's probably some twisted serial killer._ _This is the perfect place for a murder_. I stumbled on a sharp stone and fell to my knees, terrified.

Mr. Merk was beside me in an instant, lifting me to my feet. I didn't want to be close enough for him to touch me, but as soon as I was standing again, he stepped back.

"This is not what you think it is, Princess." His use of my dad's endearment left me almost choking back tears. Would I ever see Dad again? _Does he even know I'm gone?_

Again, Mr. Merk answered my unspoken thought. "His memory is muddled. I'm sure you'll want to write to him as soon as we arrive."

I swiveled my head around, surprised. "I'm allowed to stay in touch with him?" Is this another trick? Maybe he just wants to lull me into submission before he takes me wherever he's going to take me. I swallowed, trying to hide my fear.

"Of course! Why wouldn't you be?"

I let my thoughts speak, allowing all my fears to float to the surface, and Mr. Merk growled.

"I'm not your captor, girl. I'm just the delivery boy."

The longer we walked, the more resigned I felt. Whatever was going to happen had already as good as happened, and my thoughts lapsed into nothingness. I ignored Mr. Merk, and just focused on putting one foot in front of the other: what else could I do? We moved on in tense silence, picking our way carefully over the rocky path. I looked up once and sucked in a breath, startled by the changes that had come over the landscape.

Because I had been watching my feet to avoid slipping off the rocky incline, I had no idea when the land started changing, but it seemed as if it had been transformed in the blink of an eye. The cliff still dropped steeply to my right, but now the dark mountains loomed directly in front of me.

Instead of the barren, rocky terrain that I had almost grown used to, the meadow at the base of the mountains was lush with life. Wildflowers waved gently in the breeze, patches of purple and crimson fluttering against the rich green grass of the field. But perhaps most astonishing of all was the palace.

There was no other word for it: a palace was sitting at the base of the mountain, domes, towers, and carved turrets reaching up to the sky in imitation of the peaks of the mountain above them. Whoever had built the castle had been confused: it was as if every possible form of beauty had been used to create the structure, and the result was a mishmash of shapes and decoration. It looked like a strange combination of a fairy tale, a cathedral, and the Taj Mahal. As we drew closer, I could see that some of the domes were capped in sparkling gold, while others were covered in brightly colored jewels.

Smiling stone cherubs jutted off the roof at odd angles, and the alternating gold, silver, and copper-colored palace walls were quilted with diamonds and other precious gemstones. Carvings of flowers, doves, and leaves cascaded over every surface that wasn't dripping with jewels. It was like something out of a fairy tale, and I stared in disbelief.

Even though the landscape had just been shrouded beneath heavy rain clouds, the sun now shown brilliantly above the castle. Even stranger was the silver crescent moon, suspended in the sky above the mountains.

"How can the sun and the moon shine at the same time?" I asked Mr. Merk, dazzled by the building.

He chuckled. "All things of beauty are mysterious." He passed me, striding toward the castle. "Come along, then."

I stopped and stared after him. "Here? This is where you're taking me?"

He glanced back at me, surprised. "Is there a problem?"

I hesitated. "It's just not what I was expecting." _I was expecting you to murder me and dump my body off the cliff._ Or maybe this is just a nightmare, and in a minute, I'll wake up at home in my bed.

He didn't answer me, but his shoulders stiffened as he turned and kept walking toward the strange palace. After a moment's hesitation, I followed him. Where else was I going to go?

A clear stream snaked through the meadow and, following Mr. Merk's example, I skipped lightly across, using a large boulder in the middle of the water for balance. As I walked away from the water, I almost thought I heard whispering behind me, but when I turned back, there was nothing there but the stream and the beautiful meadow. _This place is weird, but at least I'm not dead yet._

With a shrug, I kept moving. The palace was farther away than it looked, and by the time we reached the polished onyx gate, the sun had started to dip behind the mountains. Tilting my head back, I saw that the moon had continued to rise. A brilliant star was now visible beside the slender moon, and it seemed to pulse as I stared at it. I'd never seen anything quite so beautiful; we may not have lived in a big city, but the light pollution still made the night sky muddy.

A low, rattling noise jerked my focus back to the ground, and I stared in amazement as the large black gate swung inward. I hesitated for a moment, looking to Mr. Merk for guidance.

He gestured impatiently. "Well, go on. You're here now."

Strangely, I didn't want to leave him. Sure, he creeped me out, but he hadn't hurt me. I wasn't sure I was ready to take my chances with whatever was lurking in the bizarre castle. For some reason, I'd started to trust that Mr. Merk didn't mean me harm. "Will I see you again?"

He stared at me in amazement. "For the past few hours, you've been thinking of ways to kill me or at the very least, escape my vile clutches, and now you want to see me again?"

I blushed, but then I nodded. "Everything is so strange. I have a feeling that when I go inside, nothing will ever be the same again." I glanced at the castle again, and for a moment, I thought I heard music. That's ridiculous. I shook my head, trying to clear the dream-like sensation I'd felt ever since the castle came into view.

He snorted. "You're not dumb, that's for sure." When I still hesitated, he sighed. "You'll see me again. I can carry messages to your father, if you want."

Relief flooded my chest, and I grinned. "Thank you."

Mr. Merk smiled at me crookedly. "You know, all this time, I've been wondering what the fuss was about. But you're really very pretty when you smile."

He raised his hand to me in a strange salute, but before I could respond, he faded like a cloud of smoke. What the hell?

I whirled around, wondering where he'd gone, my nerves alert for some kind of trick, but I was alone before the castle. The entire meadow seemed to be holding its breath.

I could run. I could turn around and run back the way we came. If I ran far enough, I could probably find someone who could help me get home.

But what waited for me at home, really? I could go back to being tortured every day at school, back to being Dad's chauffer every night when he'd had too much to drink. Back to being cursed and miserable and alone. It wasn't much of a life, and it really wasn't much of a choice, either.

Resolutely, I squared my shoulders and stepped through the gate. Whatever waited for me in this strange place couldn't be worse than the world I'd left behind.
Chapter Nine

As soon as I passed through the gate, a strange sense of calm wrapped around me like a blanket. My footsteps echoed behind me as I crossed the marble-paved courtyard.

I took four long steps. In front of me was a small wooden door. Compared to the ornate decoration of the rest of the castle, the smooth door on its simple iron hinges looked painfully out of place. I paused, surprised. Surely the magnificent castle had a big, flashy entrance, but a quick glance around the courtyard revealed no other door. Drawing a deep breath, I put my hand on the door handle—

—And it swung inward, a second before I touched it. I hesitated, fighting back an impulse to turn and run. As if the castle had read my mind, the onyx gate swung shut behind me, sealing with a clang that rattled my bones.

"Nowhere to go but forward," I muttered to myself, and stepped through the doorway. Whether this was a nightmare or some new magical reality, I didn't want to stand around doing nothing.

The ceiling of the foyer was easily two stories high, and I felt tiny and insignificant as I tip-toed across the black-and-white checkered floor. The walls were covered in patterned wallpaper, and I moved closer, admiring it. Ornate red shapes danced across the crimson background, and with a start, I realized that the wallpaper was actually fabric. Who used fabric for wallpaper? I reached up to touch it, closing my eyes at the velvety texture beneath my fingertips.

Wondering what other riches the amazing palace had in store, I continued down the hallway. Halfway across the tile, a shiver ran down my back, as if I were being watched. I didn't feel frightened, exactly, just unsettled. Pausing, I flexed my fingers, stretching them and then pressing the blunt nails into my palms nervously.

"Hello? Is there someone there?"

Silence filled the hall as my words died away, but I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me. Resisting the urge to turn around and rush out the door, I kept walking down the long hallway. It wasn't like I had anywhere to run; as soon as Mr. Merk had left, I'd realized there was no turning back. That thought filled me with fear, and for a moment, I thought I might hyperventilate. Breathing slowly in through my nose and out through my mouth, I tried to get a grip on my emotions. If there's no escaping this place, hadn't I better figure out where I am?

Doors lined the corridor on either side, but they were all closed. I thought about opening one of them, but each time I paused, an uneasy sensation settled in my stomach, so I kept walking. There would be time to explore them; I had no idea how long I was going to be here, but something told me my trip to the castle wasn't going to be a short visit.

The hallway was dimly lit by candles flickering in the crystal chandeliers above my head. _How in the world does anyone get up there to light them? And what happens when the wax melts? I_ was staring up at the ceiling in amazement when my shin slammed into something painfully hard. I looked down to find the base of a wide marble staircase.

"That wasn't there a few minutes ago," I whispered. Or had the staircase been there all along? I squinted up at the chandeliers. Maybe I just hadn't seen the stairs. It wasn't like the castle could rearrange itself at will ...

It felt like the castle was waiting for me, watching my next move. Even though it was ridiculous, I could almost swear that the walls sighed when I put my foot on the smooth marble stair and started to climb.

A sense of expectation descended on me as I climbed the sweeping stairway. There was something almost familiar about the castle, ridiculous as it sounded. Almost like I'd been there before. Maybe it was the comforting smell lingering in the air around me: a combination of cinnamon and lavender that reminded me of homemade cookies and bubble baths. A beam of pink sunlight hit my face, and I looked up.

Heavy leaded glass windows lined the staircase, spiraling gently upward with the slope of the stairs. I paused, watching the last rays of the setting sun slip behind the mountain. The scene was truly magnificent: the sunlight turned the mountain tops inky purple, leaving a faint hint of lavender in the sky. It seemed almost unbelievable that I'd traveled through the barren gray wasteland to reach this beautiful valley.

Feeling a gentle, invisible push, I looked away from the window and continued to climb. I glanced over my shoulder, but nobody was there. After forty-one more steps, I reached the second story of the castle. I stopped on the landing for a minute to catch my breath and look around. Unlike the entryway below, this floor felt much smaller. The ceiling hovered three feet above my head, more like a normal house. Like the lower level, candles provided the only light.

Even though the second floor seemed to stretch on in a rabbit warren of hallways, the candles were only lit along one wall. I followed the light, pausing now and then to look around.

The walls were paneled with thick, dark wood, and every twenty feet or so I came upon a breathtaking work of art. Little alcoves were cut into the hallway at regular intervals, filled with works of sculpture that rivaled anything I had ever seen before, even at the art museum. I paused in front of a small statue of a woman, draped in flowing robes, standing on a sea shell. It was delicate and lovely, and I leaned in to get a closer look.

Something zapped my nose, as if I'd just had an electric shock, and I pulled back quickly. When I looked back, I was startled to see that the candles behind me had been extinguished.

Confused, I looked in the direction I'd been walking, but the warm glow of candlelight still paved the way. There must be an open window somewhere, I guessed as I moved forward, following the light deeper into the castle.

The candles stopped at a blue door, even though I could make out more hallways stretching away into the dusky gloom. I stared at the door for a moment, but before I could decide what to do, it swung in on silent hinges of its own accord.

Hesitant, I stepped into a spacious room wallpapered in old-fashioned blue and white paper. It reminded me of the real china tea set I'd gotten one year at Christmas, and the memory made me smile. There was an elegant four-poster bed against one wall, and the bed faced a pair of bay windows, each shrouded in sheer white drapes. I crossed the rich Turkish rug on the floor and pushed one of the curtains aside.

The window had a plush window seat fitted beneath it. _What a perfect place to sketch_ , I thought, peering into the darkness through the window. In the glass's reflection, I noticed a tall bookshelf on the wall by the bed. It was crammed with books of all kinds: dusty leather volumes stacked carefully beside paperbacks and hard covers. There would be plenty of things on that shelf to keep me busy; if this was going to be my new reality, at least I wouldn't be bored!

Directly across the room from the bookshelf stood a wooden wardrobe. I crossed to it, eager to find some clue that would tell me about the owner of the castle. I pulled the doors open, only to be disappointed: an empty hanger swayed forlornly inside, and the space was dusty and vacant.

Turning to the left, I spotted a white-trimmed doorway. I wandered into a bathroom dominated by a claw-footed tub. It was utterly romantic, just like the rest of the furnishings, and I grinned. I was almost surprised to see a modern toilet tucked discreetly in the corner of the bathroom; I'd been a little worried that the castle might still use an outhouse. I mean, it was a castle, right? Who would have expected it to have indoor plumbing?

At the thought, I laughed, but the insanity of the past few hours hit me in the gut, and my laughter turned to frightened tears. I hiccupped and tried to breathe evenly, but it took awhile for me to cry myself out. When I was spent, I flopped down on my stomach across the soft blue bedspread. "What am I supposed to do now?" I asked the empty room.

To my surprise, a gentle voice answered, "Take a nap. I'll call you when dinner is ready."

It sounded like the speaker was in the room near the wardrobe. Had whoever it was witnessed my little meltdown? Cautiously, I lifted myself up on my elbow and looked around. Except for the furniture and me, the room was empty.

"Hello?" I whispered tentatively, more afraid that I would receive a response than anything else.

"Hello!" the bright voice answered, and I swiveled my head around, trying to find the person.

"Um," I tried to think of the most diplomatic way to say it, and gave up. "I can't see you."

"That's right." The voice sounded silky smooth and content, as if its invisibility was no trouble at all.

"But," I floundered, "how am I supposed to talk to you?"

"Aren't you talking to me right now?" The voice sounded surprised, and I leaned over to look under the bed, perplexed.

"Well, I guess so," I said, staring into the empty room. I thought the curtains flickered for a moment, but it might have been my tired mind playing tricks on me. Maybe that's all the voice was, too; a crazy, weird hallucination. "Good. I'm glad we've got that little snarl straightened out. Now, is there anything you need?"

I hesitated, but then I decided that talking to someone who wasn't there was no stranger than anything else that had happened since Mr. Merk took me away from home. "I don't think so. I mean, I have a lot of questions."

The voice clucked sympathetically. "I'm sure you do, dear, but that's not really my jurisdiction."

"What is your... jurisdiction?" I asked, feeling foolish.

"Why, to make you comfortable! Any item you need, just let me fetch it for you."

I looked around the beautiful bedroom again and shook my head. "I'm sorry," I apologized, "but there's nothing I really want right now."

"Oh." The voice dipped an octave, sounding slightly depressed.

Shoot. I'd hurt its feelings. I tried to think of something I could say to cheer it up. "But you said something about dinner?" I prompted.

"Oh yes!" The voice perked up again. "Dinner should be ready in less than two hours."

My stomach growled in response. "That's great!"

Gentle laughter filled the room. "Try to rest, if you like, and I'll wake you with plenty of time to dress before dinner."

I was confused and exhausted, but I dropped my head onto the thick down pillow. My thoughts whirled between wonder and fear: had I been kidnapped? Where in the world was I? Was I going insane? Maybe a short nap—

I fell into a deep sleep the minute my eyes closed, and the room was completely dark when someone whispered my name. "Wake up, Psyche. Wake up."

Disoriented for a moment, I sat up in fear, but as my heart began to slow, memories returned. I felt the bed under me, sliding my hand across the pillow until my fingers found one of the posts, sticking up from the bed like a spear. Gradually, full awareness hit me, and I sat up. Mr. Merk. The mountains. The castle. The voice.

"Hello?" I whispered to the dark room.

"Hello!" The same voice spoke brightly. "All rested up, I see."

I nodded, but then wondered if the invisible person might not be able to see me in the dark. Did it even have eyes? "How do I turn on a light?"

The voice laughed. "How thoughtless of me!" There was the sound of a match being struck, a whiff of sulfur, and then the flickering glow of a candle. I squinted at it, desperate to see the strange person who was speaking to me, but it looked like the candle moved of its own accord around the room, the small flame dipping down to meet the wicks of the other candles that stood waiting in sconces along the walls. I blinked, but still there was no figure, just the rapidly illuminated room.

"Thank you." I didn't know what to say to my invisible host, but I figured it didn't hurt to be nice. The voice hadn't hurt me or anything. Yet.

"You're welcome. Now, you must dress for dinner."

I paused. "I didn't bring anything with me." I ran my hand through my matted hair. "I don't even have a toothbrush."

Laughter tinkled around the room, and for a minute I was sure I heard more than one voice in the laughter. But then the voice spoke again, alone.

"Look in the wardrobe. I think you'll find whatever you need."

I wanted to argue that it was empty, but there didn't seem to be any point arguing with my invisible host. I shrugged and crossed to the wardrobe. "There's nothing—"

I stared in shock. While I was almost a hundred percent sure that the wardrobe had been empty before, now there were three dresses hanging neatly on the bar. One was long and black, with bell sleeves that made me think of the vampire costume I'd worn one year for Halloween. The other was neon green and strapless with a tight bodice and a puffy skirt, and I shuddered.

The third dress wasn't bad. In fact, it was beautiful: a simple, fitted dress with a high neck and capped sleeves. Tucked into the depths of the wardrobe, the dress looked black, but when I pulled it into the candlelight, I realized it was actually a deep plum color, like the grape juice I loved to drink when I had a cold. The fabric was smooth in my hand, somewhere between silk and taffeta, and I fell in love with the dress instantly.

"Ah, nice choice. A bit simple for my tastes perhaps, but there's something to be said for timeless beauty."

I started to pull off my jeans, but then I paused. Could it see? "Excuse me," I said quietly.

"Yes?"

"Could you please turn around?" I felt stupid asking my invisible companion for privacy, but the voice didn't laugh.

"Of course. I've even covered my eyes." It sounded so sincere that I couldn't help but smile.

I changed quickly, peeling off my jeans and wadding up the coffee-colored sweater before flinging it to the floor. Then I lifted my hands above my head and slid the evening gown over my shoulders.

It fit perfectly. _Of course it fits perfectly. This is either a fairy tale or a horror story: either way, they want you to be comfortable._ A little giddy, I stifled a laugh.

"May I turn around now?"

I hesitated, zipping up the dress. "Yes, I'm done."

There was a pause, and then the voice said, "Very nice."

I was used to being complimented, so I just smiled slightly and shrugged. "You picked it out for me."

There was another pause. "But you really do look lovely. You are lovelier than I even imagined."

I tried to ignore the compliment, but the voice sounded so earnest that I blushed. "Thank you." Desperate to change the subject, I asked, "What about dinner?"

"Follow me, please."

The door to the room swung open, and I stepped hesitantly into the hallway. "Which way are you going?" I whispered frantically.

"The candles will light your way!" The voice was already far ahead, and I rushed to catch up, lifting my long skirt so I wouldn't trip.

When we reached the marble staircase, the lower level stayed shrouded in darkness.

I paused, trying to find my invisible guide. "Which way now?"

"Now we go up." The voice spoke from above my head, and the chandelier over me suddenly glowed with yellow candlelight.

We climbed to the third floor, and I started to keep going, but something tugged on the back of my long dress. I turned around. Candlelight filled the third-floor hallway. "This way?" I asked unnecessarily.

"This way. We're almost there." The voice preceded me calmly, and I had the sudden mental image of a portly man in a tuxedo, mincing along in front of me in the candlelight. I shook my head to clear the strange vision and kept walking.

"Who puts a dining room all the way up here?"

"You'll see. Here we are."

I was facing two gilt French doors. Candles burned brightly in mirrored sconces on either side of the doors, but the rest of the hallway was dark. Looking back the direction I had come, I saw that all the candles had been silently extinguished. The only light now came from the doors in front of me, and I hesitated in the darkness. What if it was some kind of trap? _You're already trapped, stupid._

"Um, should I knock first?"

In answer to my question, the handle of one of the doors began to turn slightly as if someone were opening it from the inside. Moving without sound, the door swung smoothly inward and I stepped across the threshold into darkness.

"Hello?" I called quietly into the gloom, moving slowly with my arms extended in front of me, terrified that I might crash into something. Or someone, my mind whispered.

"Welcome," A rich, deep voice spoke, and I startled at the sound of it. "Welcome to my home."

Wasn't this supposed to be some sort of school? The strange story Mr. Merk had told Dad tugged at my memory, and I asked, "Does Mr. Merk work for you?"

The voice chuckled. "Sometimes. Please call me Ross. I hope that we'll be friends."

I paused, considering. Everything had been so dreamlike, so magical, since coming to the palace, that I had almost set aside the initial fears that had plagued me when Mr. Merk took me. Almost, but not quite. "What's the price of your friendship?" I tried not to sound combative, but I was leery, on edge.

A sad sigh filled the room. "I ask only that you remain here with me. I will give you all that you wish for, and ask for very little in return."

"That's not an answer." I tried to reason with the voice in the dark, but it was like fighting with my shadow: impossible to catch, and yet at the same time, totally familiar. There was something about the voice that made me feel safe, but my brain refused to let go of my earlier caution.

"Then here's an answer. Tonight, the price of my friendship is that you dine with me."

"Here? But it's pitch black!"

"Even so, this is how I choose to dine. Will you join me?"

I hesitated, and a warm hand closed around my wrist. I jerked back, but even as my companion turned me loose, I felt the flood of heat that surged up my arm where he touched me. "I _am_ hungry," I admitted, trying to get a grip on my emotions. His hand had felt human ... and strong.

He didn't try to touch me again, but instead said, "Step forward three even paces. There you will find the table."

I walked cautiously, but I was able to take three steps across the darkness without obstruction. My fingertips brushed the polished surface of the table.

There was a scraping sound close by, and the voice commanded me again. "The chair is immediately to your left. Will you please sit?"

I lowered myself into the chair gingerly, groping in the dark, but it was solid beneath me. I relaxed slightly, even though my nerves were still on edge from the absolute darkness of the room.

"Why do you eat in the dark?" I asked curiously.

His voice was silky and laced with innuendo. "I find that it heightens the senses. Perhaps you'll tell me if you agree after the meal."

Before I could react, there was a slight clatter close by, and I stretched my fingers out on the table in front of me. I felt the rim of a plate that I was almost certain hadn't been there before. Like a blind person, I inched my left hand away from the plate, clasping first one long slender stem, and then another. I picked up the far one and knew right away that I was holding a fork.

"Are you ready to begin?" the voice asked me politely.

I nodded, then blushed furiously. There was no way he could see me nod. "Yes. I'm ready."

Picking up the outer fork, I stabbed it carefully in the direction of the plate. It took three tries before I speared something. I chewed thoughtfully, wondering what kind of salad this was: the lettuce tasted unlike any I'd ever had before. It was bitter and sweet at the same time, and crunchy, too. It was actually pretty good.

I swallowed a mouthful. "Can I ask you something?"

"You may ask me anything." The voice at the other end of the table sounded sincere, and I drew a little bit of courage from his obvious kindness.

"Why am I here?"

"Why, didn't Mr. Merk tell you? You're here to attend a special school." The voice was sarcastic, but I didn't detect any malice in it.

I put my fork down impatiently. "My father may have believed that, but I hope you don't think I do."

At the other end of the table, the sound of cutlery rubbing against the plate stopped for a moment. "Why do you think you're here?" The voice finally asked.

"Honestly? I have no idea. It's like I'm in a whole other world."

He was silent. "What if I told you this is where you belong?" he finally whispered.

I stared into the darkness, dumbfounded. "I wouldn't believe you!" I struggled to put my thoughts into words. "You don't even know me. How could you know where I should be?"

He sighed. "For now, then, let's just say that there is a purpose. You will know it in time. Next question?"

"Why me?" The words came out more plaintively than I'd intended, and I looked down at the plate I couldn't see, struggling not to cry.

"Have you been ill-treated?" I heard him half rise from his chair, and I shook my head quickly.

"No, not at all." I talked fast, trying to keep the tears from flowing. "I just don't understand."

"Psyche," he said my name like it was something sacred, and a delicious shiver ran down my spine, "you are not like other girls. You're different."

Despite his beautiful voice, his words stung, and tears spilled onto my cheeks. "A freak, you mean."

"Beautiful." He breathed the word softly, sending tingles along my skin. "And true beauty is a rare thing."

I laughed, but my hand was shaking as I reached past the plate, searching for a water glass. "How do you know I'm beautiful? You can't see a thing in here."

"Would someone with a hideous soul have looked after her father the way you have?"

I was silent, surprised. Has he been watching me? "I feel responsible for him," I said slowly, toying with my glass. "Ever since Mom left, he—" I broke off, suddenly shy. Why was I spilling all my secrets to this stranger? "My mom left," I began again, "and Mr. Merk sort of suggested that she might come home now that—now that I'm not there."

"And so you put your father's happiness above your own. That's a beautiful thing."

I didn't know what to say to that, so we kept eating in silence. It was a strange sensation, eating a meal without seeing the food. Sometimes, I didn't know what I was swallowing: I thought I tasted plain soda bread, but I couldn't be sure. Other times, my fork speared a particularly flavorful slice of meat or spiced vegetables, and my mouth exploded with sensations.

We finished the meal in silence, but almost the moment the last bite was in my mouth, my host spoke again.

"What kind of dessert would you like?"

"I'm so full I don't think I could eat another bite."

"Ah," the invisible man said, "but perhaps you could drink it?"

"Um," I hesitated. "Sure. Why not?"

I'd never had alcohol, and while the rational part of my brain was screaming that drinking with a stranger in the dark was dangerous, I decided to enjoy myself. If I was in some kind of trouble, at least I'd know what wine tasted like. Although, with my dad's sterling example, I knew I needed to be careful. When a fine-stemmed glass goblet brushed my hand, I sniffed it cautiously.

The liquid smelled sweet and fruity, with none of the sharpness that I associated with alcohol. Before I sipped, however, I asked, "What is it?"

"A special concoction of mine. It reminds me of something my mother used to make." He must have sensed my hesitation because he added, "Don't worry. It's not alcoholic."

"But what's in it?" I wasn't sure why I cared: I'd eaten every piece of invisible food that he'd served so far.

"Honey, and other things. Taste it and tell me what you think."

I pulled the glass to my lips and took a cautious sip.

It was impossible to describe. It was fizzy, like pop, and creamy like a root beer float. I tasted the honey he had mentioned, but there were a thousand other flavors on my tongue that I couldn't identify. In no time, I'd drained the glass.

"That was amazing!"

My host chuckled. "Would you like more?"

My first impulse was to say yes and drink a gallon of the magical stuff. But I hesitated, feeling the heavy food settle in my stomach. "I'd like more, but I really think I'm full for tonight."

At the other end of the table, a bell rang twice, high and clear. Suddenly, the voice that I had first met was at my elbow.

"Will that be all?" it asked eagerly.

"Are you tired? Would you like to sleep?" my host questioned.

Even though I'd taken that long nap, I realized I was tired. "Yes, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Tomorrow you'll begin your lessons."

"Lessons?" I pushed away from the table, standing up carefully in the dark.

"You're here to learn. During the days, you'll study, and I hope each night you'll dine with me."

There was something exciting about the way he said that; casually, as if he couldn't imagine that I'd say no. After our first meal, I was looking forward to spending more time with the mysterious stranger. "When should I wake up?"

"Don't worry about that. Someone will make sure you get up with plenty of time to spare."

I nodded, even though I knew he couldn't see me. "Thank you for dinner," I ventured shyly, speaking into the darkness.

He didn't respond until I was almost in the hall, and his voice was soft. "It is I who thanks you."

His words were so formal that I almost turned around, curious to see if I could catch a glimpse of the mysterious man, but I felt a gentle tug on my hand and stepped back into the candlelit corridor.

"Well, that sounded like it went well," the voice said, hovering somewhere near my left ear. I glanced up instinctively, only to find myself staring at nothing.

"It was a nice dinner. Strange," I added, "but nice."

"Doesn't all this phase you?" The voice sounded surprised.

_If only it knew!_ I chose my words carefully. "Everything has happened so fast, I'm still half-convinced that I'm asleep. Maybe I'll wake up and realize this has all been one crazy dream."

"Oh, it's real all right. I hope that doesn't disappoint you."

I thought about it for a minute, but my mind was muddled from the whirlwind events of the past day. "I don't know."

The voice laughed lightly. "That's the first step to learning, to admit that there are things you just don't know."

"And am I really here for school?"

"Of a sort," the voice responded, suddenly cautious. "There won't be any other students, you understand."

"Why me?" I asked again, and the voice sighed.

"I'm not sure. I just do as I'm told, and I was told to tend to you."

"Who told you that?" I asked curiously.

"My master."

"Mr. Merk?"

The voice laughed, sounding like a fog horn in the dim hallway. "Heavens, no! He's just the messenger. No one takes orders from him."

"Who, then?" I thought I knew; the man I'd dined with was probably the master of the castle, but I was hoping I could get the voice to tell me that for sure.

We reached the door to my room. "You'll learn that in good time. Now," the voice became brusque and businesslike, "is there anything you need tonight? A glass of water? A cup of tea?"

I paused for a moment on the threshold. I wanted answers, but it didn't look like I was going to get them tonight. "No, thanks. I just want to sleep."

"Sweet dreams, Psyche." The door swung open and I stepped inside. The candles on the dresser flared up at my entrance like magic.

"Thank you!" I called into the hall behind me, but only silence answered.

Slipping off my beautiful dress, I opened the wardrobe. Sitting in the bottom of it, I noticed a folded scrap of green fabric that I hadn't seen before. Lifting it up curiously, I stared in amazement at the t-shirt.

It was the shirt I'd gotten during my first trip to Cedar Point, five years ago. It was huge and poison green, with the skyline of the amusement park printed across the front, and I loved the ratty old thing. I'd used it as my pajama top ever since that trip, and I was stunned to see it here in the castle.

Folded beneath the t-shirt were my favorite flannel pants, red and black checks faded to pink and gray. I pulled on the comfortable pajamas and flopped across my bed, totally drained. It was only as my eyes were starting to close that I wondered how my favorite pajamas had ended up here in the strange wardrobe, and why I hadn't noticed them before.
Chapter Ten

I woke up bathed in clear sunlight. Despite the strangeness of the castle, I'd slept better last night than I usually did, and I felt bright and refreshed. Sitting up in bed, I looked around my room.

_It's funny how quickly I've come to think of this room as mine._ I hadn't even been in the castle for twenty-four hours, and already it felt more real than my father's house. I felt a pang of guilt when I thought of Dad: who was taking care of him, now that I wasn't there? Would he remember to walk Rex? Would he wait it out at Mac's until he was sober enough to drive?

Maybe Mr. Merk was right. Maybe Mom was already back at the house, filling the empty spaces and making Dad laugh. They could be happy again now that I was gone. Tears formed in my eyes, and I blinked furiously.

"Ah, there you are! Up and ready to go I see!" The voice was chipper and bright, and I quickly turned my face to my pillow to hide my tears.

When I'd wiped my face on the soft bedding, I turned around and forced a smile at the empty room. "Good morning."

"Good morning! I hope you're ready for a busy day."

I drew my knees up to my chest, hugging them beneath the blanket. "What am I doing today?"

"Your lessons are scheduled to begin. As soon as you've had breakfast, you're to report to the library for literature. After that," the voice moved across the room, and the wardrobe doors swung open, "you'll be working in the greenhouse on botanical science."

"Will Ross be at breakfast?" I asked, trying to disguise the eagerness in my voice by picking at an invisible speck of lint on the comforter. Despite how strange everything was, I was drawn to my mysterious host, and I was looking forward to catching a glimpse of him in the daylight.

"Ross?" The voice sounded confused for a minute, then laughed. "Oh! No, you won't see him until dinner."

I tried to hide my disappointment. "When's breakfast?"

"Whenever you're ready. I'll lead you there."

"Can you come back in fifteen minutes? I'd like to shower and get changed first."

"Of course." It sounded silly, but I almost imagined the voice bowing to me. "Take your time, and I'll make sure I knock first before I come in."

"Thanks," I said, smiling.

Standing under the boiling hot stream of water, I scrubbed my hair and thought about school. If I were at home, I would probably be in art class right now. What would Ms. Amboulia say when I didn't show up for class the Monday after the field trip? Would she even notice?

"Of course she'd notice!" I scolded myself out loud, spluttering as soapy water ran into my mouth. I hurriedly finished my shower and stood before the wardrobe curiously, clutching a towel.

Instead of the three dresses, I found a pair of jeans with faded knees, a purple bra with matching panties, and three shirts. The first one was flannel-like my pajamas, and I stuck out my tongue. Did the castle think I was a lumberjack? The second was low-cut and daring, something I would never even think about wearing. The last shirt was simple, striped with two different shades of green and a polo collar.

"Just right," I laughed as I got dressed. Winding my long, wet hair into a quick knot at the base of my neck, I looked around for a hair clip. A pair of black chopsticks sat invitingly on the window seat. I hesitated for a moment before shrugging and using them to stab my bun. I probably looked a little funky, but I didn't care.

Without bothering to check my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I sat down on the window seat and stared out at the mountains. They had looked lavender last night, but now in the brilliant morning sun, I could see the peaks were capped in white snow. The rocks were dark, like slate, but there were patches of green scattered across the mountain face. Moss, probably.

There was a gentle rapping on the door. "Come in!" I called, standing up and turning to the door.

It swung open and I stared into the empty hallway. I was sort of getting used to talking to thin air.

"Oh, you look lovely!" the voice cooed.

I blushed. "Thanks, but I'm starving."

The voice laughed. "How refreshing. Breakfast first, compliments later."

The hallway seemed just as dark in the daylight as it had been last night, but candles lit the way. I paused, confused.

"Aren't we going to the dining room?"

The voice laughed. "Breakfast is a much more casual affair."

We followed the candles back to the sweeping marble staircase.

"Down we go!" my guide chirped cheerfully.

With sunlight streaming in, the stairs looked like polished metal. That thought reminded me of the fabulous exterior of the palace, and I paused on the stairs.

"What's the castle made of?" I asked, trusting that my invisible guide was near enough to hear.

He was. "A variety of things, as you've no doubt observed. But every inch of the palace is precious, and the construction reflects that," the voice said proudly.

"I've never seen anything like this," I answered honestly.

"There's more to see! But hurry along, I thought you said you were hungry."

My stomach grumbled in agreement, and I laughed. I hurried down the gently curved stairs, stepping in beams of sunlight as I went.

When I reached the ground floor I paused, looking around the entryway with fresh eyes. Everything glistened as if I were watching it through some kind of filter, like a photographic special effect. The walls, which had looked like they were covered in dark velvet last night, today seemed to be draped in sheer wine-colored silk. I paused, staring harder. "Have the walls changed since I got here?" I felt foolish for asking, but the difference seemed too extreme to be due to the change in the light.

The voice laughed but didn't answer. "Hurry along now, we're almost to the kitchen."

We turned down a hallway that I hadn't noticed before, but I looked back at the fabric walls with a frown.

"Here we are!" The voice broke into my thoughts, and I focused my attention on the huge room in front of me.

The walls were made out of stone: uneven, rounded stones set in plaster. A tremendous fireplace was built into the wall, and it looked big enough for a person to stand in without slouching. But the fireplace was nothing compared to the people working in the kitchen.

I stared, open-mouthed. Knives hung suspended in mid-air, chopping vegetables without any visible guidance. Food floated from countertop to countertop before landing with a plop in a pot on the stove top set against one wall. It was an unbelievable whirl of activity, and I swayed dizzily on my feet. Talking to an invisible voice was one thing; watching an invisible kitchen staff at work was disorienting!

"Oh, how silly of me!" the voice said. "I'm so used to this, that I forgot what a shock it would be to you." Suddenly, a stool slid into the back of my knees. "Sit down and put your head between your legs," the voice commanded smoothly.

I sat, but I kept my head up, staring around the kitchen in amazement. "This is incredible!"

I heard a chuckle to the left, but it sounded different than the voice who had guided me. "Who's that?" I asked nervously, feeling suddenly shy.

"Mistress of the kitchen. What would you like to eat this morning?" The voice sounded like it belonged to a short, no-nonsense woman, but when I looked, there was nobody there.

I hesitated, trying to get used to the flurry of activity around me. "Anything that isn't too much trouble, I guess."

The voice laughed again. "But darling, surely you must know by now that nothing is too much trouble for us!" Her laugh turned into a squeak, and I heard the kitchen mistress say, "You pinched me!"

I started to apologize, even though I wasn't sure how I could have pinched the invisible lady, but the other voice, my guide, answered instead. "You're not here to shoot the breeze with the girl: you're here to feed her."

"Very well, Mr. high and mighty." The woman huffed. "You can have anything you could imagine for breakfast, m'dear, so choose what you will."

The noise and bustle of the kitchen slowed as if the invisible workers were all listening, waiting for my answer. I flushed self-consciously; were they all watching me? "I guess I'd like eggs," I began hesitantly. "How prepared?" A voice echoed across the room from the direction of the stove top.

"Scrambled, with herbs," I answered.

"And what else?" The kitchen mistress prompted.

"Could I have some watermelon?" I asked, licking my lips at the thought.

"Of course. And tea or coffee?"

"Tea," I answered quickly. I usually had coffee at home, but this felt like the kind of place where tea would be better. "Black tea with cream and lots of sugar."

"Coming right up!"

Quicker than I could comprehend, I found myself balancing a hot plate on my knees. A heap of yellow scrambled eggs sat there next to three thick slices of watermelon. I started to eat hungrily, only setting my fork down when a tea cup hovered by my side.

"Thank you," I said to the empty air, taking the cup and sipping the creamy sweetness.

"You're most welcome," a chorus of voices answered from all corners of the room. I giggled. It was surreal, but I was too hungry to care, and I practically licked my plate clean.

I was blissfully enjoying my second cup of tea when the kitchen suddenly fell silent. Looking around, I realized that there were no more knives flying through the air, and even the fire on the hearth had dwindled down to coals. I shivered at the sudden chill that descended on the room, but before I could ask anybody what had happened, someone spoke from behind me.

"So this is the most beautiful girl in the world."

The woman's voice was sharp, and I started to turn, but the voice lashed out quickly.

"Keep your eyes down; don't think to look upon me."

_What the heck?_ I stared at my now empty plate, which was perched precariously on my knees. The plate shook gently, and I gritted my teeth, trying to fight back a wave of fear. Whoever was behind me didn't seem happy to see me.

"You _are_ more beautiful than I thought possible," the voice went on, and I trembled. It wasn't a compliment; the words sounded more like a threat.

I kept my eyes on my lap and bit my lip.

"And to whom do you owe your beauty?" the sinuous voice whispered.

Confused, I started to look up, but my head felt as if it were held in place by invisible bonds. "I don't know what you mean."

"Where did your looks come from, girl?"

I hesitated. "I always thought I looked a lot like my mom, but that was before—"

"Before?" The voice sounded almost mocking, as if it already knew why I had paused. _But that's impossible. This is another world; no one here knows about your freakish curse._

"Before everything changed." The words rushed out before I could think. "This fall, it was like I went to bed one night normal and woke up more beautiful than anyone. And then Mom left." Tears filled my eyes, and I forced myself to be silent.

The sharp voice laughed, and my skin prickled. "Perhaps your mother did not like having a dishonest daughter."

"What do you mean?" I asked indignantly.

"A girl who lies," she hissed, "is the worst kind of beauty. Where did you really come by your looks? What spell did you use?"

I shook my head. "I didn't do anything. I never wanted to look like this."

"Then perhaps you won't mind if I take your looks from you."

The room fell still, and I leaned forward on my stool, too confused to think straight. "I just want to be ordinary," I whispered. "I want to be like everyone else: I don't want to stick out anymore."

"Well, then, let's see how you like being ordinary, Psyche," the woman rasped, and I shivered, closing my eyes in anticipation.

Just then, another voice burst into the room. "Mother!" Ross's rich velvet voice filled the room, and my heart sped up. I was glad I was facing away from him: I didn't want him to see the effect his voice had on me. My skin prickled, and I flushed.

"What a pleasant surprise, son," the voice that had been taunting me with thorns was all roses now, and I almost turned around. My head was still held firmly in place, however, so I dropped my chin and listened. Why was Ross's mother here? And what had she meant about taking my beauty?

"I don't know why you should be surprised," he said wryly, "when you're standing here in my kitchen talking to my guest."

"Your guest," the woman purred, and I fought back a shiver, "is very interesting."

"Thank you. But I'll have to ask you to leave her alone." He was firm but polite, and I smiled softly. Was this what it felt like to have someone care enough to defend you? I liked it. I liked it a lot.

"I don't know what you mean," the woman answered, but her voice had turned sharp.

There was a gentle sigh, then Ross spoke directly in my ear. "Why don't you walk through the kitchen and out to the gardens, Psyche? I'll send one of the servants to fetch you in a bit."

I tried to stand, and after a moment's resistance, the air released me. "Is it that door over there?" I pointed to a door which stood open beside the massive fireplace.

"Yes. And Psyche, if I might ask a favor?" I felt his hot breath on my neck, and my skin started tingling.

My face flushed. "Yes," I whispered.

"Don't turn around. Just walk outside with your eyes forward."

My heart sank. I had hoped to catch a glimpse of him when I crossed the kitchen, but reluctantly I nodded. "I won't look back." Was he ashamed of his mother or something?

"Good. I'll see you for dinner tonight."

Once I was on my feet, I scurried toward the door. I could feel many sets of eyes on me, and it killed me not to look back. Was Ross looking at me? I fought down the impulse to turn around, and finally, I stepped outside.

The kitchen door swung shut behind me with a gentle thud, and I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air, thankful to be away from all the unseen eyes. After a moment, I sat down on a stone bench and stared up at the magnificent castle, turning over the events of the morning in my mind.

Had I really just had a chance to become normal? Wasn't that what I'd wanted for the past few weeks? Then why did I feel like I just escaped some kind of trap?

Looking away from the glistening surface of the castle, I turned to face the mountains. I was startled by how close they were, looming up in front of me. My eyes traced the rock up and up to the jagged peaks, and my mind started racing.

There were no mountains like this anywhere in Ohio. Trying to recall my geography lessons from freshman year, I scrunched up my nose, wracking my brain. There were the Rocky Mountains and the Cascades in the west, and to the east the Appalachians, but somehow I didn't think that any mountain range in the United States could conceal the magnificent castle.

For a fraction of a second, I felt a powerful impulse to get up and start running without looking back. Instead, I sat still, gripping my knees and forcing my thoughts to slow down. Even if I ran, I had no guarantee that I would be able to find my way home. _And even if I can get home, is that really the best idea?_

I thought about Dad for a moment, and I choked up, but then I thought about school. Other than Ms. Amboulia and Mr. Farkner, would anyone there really miss me? Elaina wouldn't care, and it wasn't like there was that much waiting for me at home. Just Lydia and Rachel, ready to torment me, and Mrs. Stillwater with her sharp advice and hard eyes.

_Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. Maybe I've fallen through time and space, and now I'm living in an alternate universe where no one cares about my looks_. I stared up at the mountains, toying with the strange idea. There was something magical about all this. I glanced back toward the shimmering castle. Everything about it, from the jewels to the invisible servants, felt like something supernatural.

If this is magic, I realized, I want to see where the end of the spell will take me.

Standing up, I threw my arms open to the sky. "If this is my fate," I called, "if this is magic, then I want to believe!" I started to spin, keeping my arms up like a top, whirling around until the mountains and the palace blurred into one strange sparkly shape. I closed my eyes for a second and staggered, losing my balance and crumpling to a woozy heap on the ground.

Tears streamed down my face, but I was laughing. It felt good to laugh. Ever since I'd turned beautiful, I'd been afraid of doing anything silly: I didn't want to do anything to draw people's eyes to me more than they already were. But out here, there was no one to watch but the mountains and the castle, and I felt my heart lift for the first time in weeks.

"If this is magic," I whispered to the wispy clouds overhead, "then I promise to believe in it."
Chapter Eleven

"Ah, there you are." The voice that had led me from my bedroom that morning rang out from the direction of the castle, and I turned toward it impulsively. There was nothing between me and the castle but empty air, but that didn't make me feel as uncomfortable as it had before. Maybe my acceptance of magic was really the key to thriving in this strange world.

I stood up and smiled. "Ross sent me out of the kitchen." I paused for a moment, considering. "What do you know about his mother?"

"Very powerful lady. Come along, let's get your lessons started," the voice said brusquely.

I wanted to ask more, but something about the tone of the voice told me that might not be the best idea. I filed the questions away for later, planning to ask Ross when we ate dinner together that night.

"So what's my first lesson?" I asked, striding back toward the castle.

"Literature." The voice was a few paces ahead of me, and I hurried to catch up.

I made a face, thinking of my English class back home. "Will I get to do any art?"

"You'll have a busy schedule, but I'll be sure to report your interest. But hurry along now. Mustn't keep your tutor waiting."

We went back through the kitchen, and I looked around eagerly, expecting to see more magical preparations, but the knives were still and the room was silent.

Back in the hallway, I followed the voice up the stairs, but when I turned off on the second floor, it called, "Not there! Come along."

At each landing, I moved to leave the stairs, but the voice kept prodding me along. When we had climbed five tall flights of stairs, my lungs felt like they were going to burst. The voice finally said, "Turn right, if you please."

I leaned against the wall for a minute, catching my breath. I hadn't really thought I was out of shape or anything, but those stairs had been steep, and we'd moved fast. "Next time, can we not run up the stairs?"

"Terribly sorry. I forget how inconvenient it is to have a physical body."

I looked around, surprised. "You don't have a body?"

The voice laughed. "Heavens no! Not anymore, at any rate."

"Then what are you?" Was I talking to a ghost?

"I am everything you are, only I don't have to worry about eating or muscle spasms. But hurry up, you're late."

It wasn't really an answer, but the candles danced down the hall, and I rushed to keep up. The hallway ended at a wide doorway, and I stepped through, catching my breath at the view. Windows stretched across the wall in front of me, climbing at least thirty feet into the air.

The room was huge, but it was unlike any library I had ever seen. Other than a single wooden table sitting in the center of the vast room, it was empty. There were no books or bookcases anywhere. How was I supposed to study literature in an empty room?

"Is this the library?" I asked, trying to conceal my disappointment.

"It most certainly is."

I looked up in surprise at the familiar voice. I was positive that no one had been in the room before, and I blinked in confusion, staring at the woman seated at the table.

"Ms. Amboulia?"

The older woman cringed. "I keep forgetting that you don't know my real name."

I frowned, confused. "Aren't you Ms. Amboulia?"

"That's the name I took to walk among mortals, but now that we're away from your world, I'd prefer if you called me by something else."

My brain latched onto one word. "Mortals? You mean, you're not mortal?"

The art teacher pierced me with the sharp gaze that I knew so well. "You're really not that slow, are you, Miss Jones?"

The voice that had guided me coughed discreetly at my side. "Well, since I see you two are already acquainted, I'll leave you." A breeze rushed past my face, and I glanced at my art teacher.

"So, um, what should I call you here?"

The woman thought for a moment, her head cocked to one side, and I was suddenly reminded of the bird that my grandparents had had when I was very young. It was a yellow parakeet, and it never sat with its head square on its little shoulders: it was always tilting its head from one side to the other in a movement that made me slightly nauseous as I remembered it. I swallowed, trying not to focus on the memory.

"Why don't you call me A for now," the woman finally answered.

I didn't think that was very different from Amboulia, but I didn't want to argue. "What are you doing here?"

"I am here to serve as your tutor. There are things you need to learn if you are to remain in this world, Psyche, and it is my duty to help you gather the information that you need." She gestured to the seat at the table. "Let's begin."

I sat down and looked around expectantly. "I thought this was the library?" My eyes scanned the tall windows and the light that filtered through the glass, filling the room with a hazy glow.

"And so it is. We're to start with literature. From what I know of Jameson High, your education has been severely lacking in the classics." She clapped her hands together, and something thumped on the table in front of her.

Looking down in surprise, I saw a stack of old leather books. They had appeared out of thin air, and I looked up into Ms. A's gray eyes. "How did you do that?"

The older woman chuckled. "I thought you were willing to just believe in these things, Psyche. Didn't you say that earlier?"

How did she know that? "Yes. I did."

"Lesson number one: don't go back on your word."

Embarrassed, I dropped my gaze to the stack of books. "What are these?"

"Apuleius, Ovid, Homer. As I said, you're starting with the classics."

The names rang a vague bell. "Greek mythology?"

The woman nodded intently. "There's a reason that education revolved around the Greeks and the Romans for the better part of four centuries. Modern education could take a page from the ancients," she chuckled, "and we might see a difference. People would be more heroic, at the very least."

"Am I supposed to read these all right now?" I swallowed; the books were thick and imposing, and as much as I loved to read, I'd always been a slow reader.

Ms. A shook her head. "I'll assign you some reading, and you'll need to take care of it before our next class. Then we'll talk about it."

"Won't we have class tomorrow?"

"No. You're on the classical method now, Miss Jones. Everything in its season. We will meet once a week."

I thought for a minute. "What about my other teachers?"

"I will leave that up to you to discover for yourself." Producing a pad of yellow sticky notes, she carefully wrote down page numbers for each of the three books, then affixed the sticky notes inside the different covers.

"Since I haven't done any homework yet," I asked slowly, "what are we going to talk about today?"

The art teacher smiled. "I thought you might like to discuss the museum. I didn't get a chance to hear your impressions of the exhibit."

I thought back to the field trip. So much had happened since then that my memories of the museum were fuzzy. "I liked it," I began hesitantly.

"Have you thought any more about the question I asked you?"

Vaguely, I remembered the conversation about the painting of Lancelot and Guinevere. "About love and betrayal?"

She nodded, and I shrugged.

"I haven't really thought much about anything from before," I answered honestly.

The sharp gray eyes bored holes into my head. "Except your father," the woman said softly.

I hesitated, but then I nodded. "I'm worried about him." Just saying the words out loud was sort of a relief.

"Didn't Mr. Merk tell you he would be safe?"

"I guess. But who'll drive him home from the bar? I don't like the idea of him all alone with the dog."

"Your father is fine. You have my word on it."

I felt a little better, even though I knew that if the art teacher was here in fantasy land with me, then she wasn't at home watching out for Dad.

Ms. A checked her watch and frowned. "We don't have much more time today, and I won't be back for another week. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

I glanced around, but the room was still empty. Maybe this was my chance to get some real answers. I leaned forward, dropping my voice. "Who's Ross?"

The older woman hesitated for a moment. "He's someone who has taken quite an interest in you, Psyche. He thinks you're very beautiful."

I sat back, disappointed. Somehow, for some reason, I had started to believe that my freakish beauty wouldn't matter here in this magical castle. "Oh."

"He's not like the boys back at Jameson. Give him a chance to prove himself to you," the teacher offered kindly.

I shook my head, deflated. "He's only interested in my because of my curse."

"I've never heard you talk about your beauty that way. Why do you say it's a curse?"

"Haven't you paid any attention for the past month? Everyone at school hates me."

"But you aren't at school anymore. This is different."

I frowned. "But how different is it, really? I'm only here because of my beauty. You just said so yourself."

"I said that Ross thinks you are beautiful. I never said that was the only reason he brought you here. There's more to you than a pretty face, Psyche Jones. I hope that in time you will realize that."

"I just wish other people would realize it." I crossed my arms, glaring at the old woman.

She smiled wryly. "Give us a little credit. Ross is more like me and less like those doddering idiots you're used to."

I shrugged again, trying to keep my heart from speeding up. For some reason, the thought that the mysterious Ross might be interested in me made my pulse race. And the thought that he might see more than the spell that my freakish beauty cast over everyone was tantalizing.

"Enough of that," Ms. A said quickly. "You will spend the rest of the week working on these lessons and the other ones that your tutors will give you. I'll see you here again in seven days."

I stood up, gathering the heavy old books. "Thanks. Will you check on Dad before you come next week?"

The woman hesitated, but then she nodded. "Of course." She reached out her hands, hovering them over my forehead without touching me. I felt a strange sensation creep over my body as if I'd been dipped in phosphorescence. "Be safe and wise, Miss Jones." The words sounded like a command, and I bowed my head reflexively.

"Yes, Ms. Amboulia. It's good to see you," I added shyly.

The teacher smiled. "It's good to see you, too. And remember, it's 'A' from now on." She paused. "You may not believe me, but I think this is a good place for you, dear."

I hesitated, but then I grinned. "I believe you. I don't know why, but I think I belong here."

Ms. A nodded, but a frown was puckering the skin between her eyes as she faded into a sunbeam and vanished.

I stood still for a moment, staring open-mouthed at the spot where she had been, and then I sighed. You said you believed in magic, I reminded myself.

Looking around, I wondered if the voice would come back to collect me, but the room was silent. Feeling silly, I spoke out loud to the empty library. "I guess I'll go back to my room to wait for my next class."

Nobody answered, but I was sure that the palace had heard me. Beginning the long descent to my room, I retraced my steps and found my bedroom door without the assistance of a guide or candles. I was starting to remember my way around the castle: maybe soon I'd be able to go exploring without a guide. _And then I can get some answers._

Dropping the books on my bed, I spotted a covered tray waiting on one of the window seats. I crossed to it expectantly, and almost clapped when I lifted the cover. Sitting on the tray was my all-time favorite lunch: a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich oozing its toppings beside a sliced green apple. Mom used to make that same sandwich for me as a treat, and even though it might have been childish, I loved it. I hadn't realized I was hungry, but the food looked amazing.

"Thank you!" I called out to the empty room, It's strange, I thought as I chewed the gooey mess, the castle seems to know exactly what I want sometimes, while other times, it was as if someone were guessing blindly. Glancing at the wardrobe, I almost wondered if I should open it now just to see what would happen, but some instinct held me back. I didn't need to change, and I didn't want to spoil the magic by using it before it was ready. There was dinner with Ross to look forward to this evening, and I would wait until then to see what the wardrobe would offer.

The minute I finished crunching on the apple, there was a sharp rap on the door.

"Come in!" I called, standing up and wiping my sticky fingers with a napkin.

The door swung open, but instead of the invisible servant I had been expecting, a small gray sparrow flew into the room. It chirped twice, cocking its head the way Ms. A had that morning in the library.

"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked, feeling a little silly for talking to the bird.

The bird nodded and chirped again.

I followed it down the stairs and out the front door of the castle. It led me around the courtyard to a glass building I hadn't noticed before. _This must be the greenhouse._

Stepping into the humid greenhouse was like stepping off a plane into the tropics. I started sweating instantly, and I was glad my long hair was pulled back from my face: it turned to fuzzy spaghetti in humid weather.

I looked around at the variety of plants, overwhelmed by the mingled scents of earth and flowers. The bird chirped again, insistently, and I crossed the room to a potting stand against one wall. The bird was dancing back and forth on the shelf above the stand, but when I reached it, he chirped once more and flew up and out, soaring through a broken panel of glass and into the sky.

"Thanks!" I called after the bird. Then I started to poke around the potting stand, wondering what I was looking for. It didn't take long to figure it out. There was a stack of note cards on the table, tied together with thin green ribbon. I picked up the parcel and untied the ribbon, letting it drop to the greenhouse floor.

The first note card had a sketch of a plant, and spidery script covered both sides of the card. I pulled it closer to my eyes, squinting as I tried to decipher the writing. The next card looked pretty much the same, just with a different sketch, and I quickly flipped through the stack before returning my attention to the first card.

The writing was hard to read, but eventually I could tell that the card was about the fennel plant. Some of the things written on the card didn't make sense even once I'd deciphered them, so I set it aside and tried another card.

This one depicted a beautiful rose, and the information was much easier to read. "To make rose oil," I read aloud, "collect rose petals underneath the full moon, preferably in the months of fire." I didn't know what the "months of fire" were, but I assumed they had something to do with summertime. I kept reading. "Press the petals between two pieces of holly wood, held in place with clamps. Collect the juice of the petals in a clear glass jar. Add the usual ingredients, and let set for a month."

What were the "usual ingredients"? The card had other recipes that were equally cryptic, and I set it down with a sigh. Did I have to try to teach myself this stuff?

Leaving the cards on the table, I began to walk slowly around the greenhouse, starting at the potting stand and moving clockwise around the outer edge of the room. Each plant I passed was neatly labeled in the same script as the note cards, and the room boasted a staggering array of greenery. I counted ten varieties of roses mixed in with standard kitchen herbs like rosemary and sage, and then there were plants I'd never heard of before, like Tiger's Blood and Dark Seed.

Stopping to sniff the Dark Seed, I felt a sudden wave of anger rush over me.

"Better put that one down," a sharp voice commanded from behind me. I turned out of habit although I wasn't expecting to see anyone, so I was stunned by the creature leaning on the potting stand. From the waist up, it looked like a little boy, but from the waist down, he was covered in fur. I stared dumbfounded at his little black hooves.

"Why should I?" I snarled at the creature, surprising myself.

He stared at me without flinching. "Put it down and see if you feel nicer."

I didn't want to do what he said, but eventually I set the Dark Seed plant down. I felt dizzy for a minute, but then my head cleared, and I realized how mean I'd been. I looked at the creature again, ashamed of myself.

"I'm sorry," I started to apologize, but he laughed and cut me off.

"No worries. It's not a good idea to get too close to plants you don't know yet. That one," he pointed a delicate hand toward the Dark Seed behind me, "is a mood plant. It can influence your mood badly," he added in response to my questioning glance.

I'd never heard of a plant that could do that just by smelling it. Was it some kind of drug? "Thanks." I paused, trying not to stare at him. "Who are you?"

He smiled and came forward, his hooves clicking on the hard floor. "I'm Sean. I'm a faun." He frowned fiercely for a moment. "Don't laugh," he said quickly, "I didn't pick my name!"

I choked back my giggle and smiled at the faun. "I'm Psyche. It's nice to meet you."

"I know all about you," Sean said importantly.

"That's not fair!" I teased. "I don't know anything about you."

The faun leaped up gracefully, sitting on the table next to the note cards. He swung his hooves contentedly, and I tried not to watch his furry legs.Of all the weird things that had happened so far, Sean was definitely the weirdest.

"Well," he began importantly, "what do you want to know?"

I hesitated, looking everywhere but at his legs. "For starters, I guess, what's a faun?"

He laughed. "That would have to be your first question. You really don't know?" He peeked at me from under his curly red hair, and I shook my head.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to embarrass you."

"You haven't. I'm just surprised you don't know more about mythology."

Thinking back to the homework Ms. A had assigned, I asked, "Like, Greek mythology?"

Sean nodded. "Greek, Roman, the works."

I shrugged. "Not really."

"Well," he began patiently, "I'm a nature spirit."

I tried to hide my surprise, but Sean chuckled openly.

"You'll believe in a castle with invisible inhabitants, but not in nature spirits?"

I blushed. "Fair point. Go on."

He shrugged. "Fauns are in charge of their natural surroundings. It's up to me to keep the castle grounds fertile and rich," he added proudly.

"So, do you use magic?" I was trying to get a grip on the whole thing, but it was a bit bizarre to be standing there talking to a faun.

Sean paused. "Sort of." He lifted his head, his eyes wide. "You really don't know anything about mythology?"

I shook my head. "Sorry."

He bit his lip and looked at his dangling hooves.

I leaned forward, curious. "Why? What do I need to know about mythology?"

Instead of answering, Sean hopped down off the potting stand. "Let me finish showing you around the greenhouse. I'm supposed to be your teacher, after all," he added self-importantly, strutting toward the center of the building.

I laughed, but my mind puzzled over what Sean had said about mythology. Was there some clue I was missing?

Three hours later, I collapsed face down on my bed. I'd spent the entire afternoon with Sean, sniffing plants and trying to identify them by the shape of their leaves, and I was exhausted. The faun had as much energy as Louis, the five-year-old next door I used to babysit for. But with Louis, I could usually get him to slow down by bribing him with a storybook or a board game. Nothing had slowed Sean down, and I felt like I'd run a marathon instead of wandering around the greenhouse for hours.

A bell chimed near my head, and I peeled my face out of the comforter in time to see a creamy scrap of paper fluttering down to the bed. I snatched it before it landed and started to read.

"Dear Psyche," it began, "it would give me the greatest pleasure imaginable if you would dine with me again tonight. Please send your reply soon: dinner won't be until after sunset, so you will have plenty of time to rest or do whatever else you desire." The words sent a tingle down my spine.

The note ended with the signature, "Ross."

Feeling silly, I traced the handwriting with my fingertips. Unlike the labels in the greenhouse, Ross's writing was round and regular: if I didn't know better, I might have thought he typed the note. But I could see black smudges where the ink had splattered, and I realized that not only was this a handwritten note, but it had likely been written using an old-fashioned pen.

What kind of guy sends a handwritten invitation to dinner? I grinned, holding the note tightly. Ms. A was right; I'd never met anybody like Ross. Glancing around for a pen, I tried to figure out how to send my reply.

The bell chimed again, and I looked up in time to see a small package drop to the bed. I reached for it, feeling a thrill when I realized that I was holding a small velvet jewelry box, like the ones Dad used to give my mom for Christmas.

"Is this for me?" I asked stupidly. The room didn't answer.

Hesitantly, heart racing, I lifted the lid of the box. It opened smoothly without creaking, and I was dazzled by what I saw inside. It was a bracelet, but unlike anything I'd ever seen in the store. Thin strands of silver and gold were braided together in a delicate weave, and set in the middle of the pattern were three small opalescent orbs. It somehow looked both antique and brand new, and it was probably the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

My mother had always told me not to take gifts from a boy unless I was serious about him. For a moment, I stared at the bracelet, barely daring to breathe. _Am I serious about him? I hardly know him!_ Still, I reached for the gift. Blushing, I slid the bracelet on my wrist, enjoying the smooth coolness of the metal against my skin. The bracelet fit neatly, encasing my wrist like it had been designed just for me.

Hesitantly, I spoke. "How do I reply to the letter?"

The note in my hands crinkled, and when I looked down, the page was blank. Staring with wonder, I touched the clean paper, but I couldn't even feel the indent of the words that had been there a second ago.

Still without a pen, I spoke again, hesitantly. "Dear Ross," I began, watching in delight as the words appeared on the paper. The writing looked alarmingly like my own sloppy cursive, and I paused for a minute, embarrassed. What if he thought I was just a stupid kid when he read my writing?

The bell that had announced the letter's arrival rang again, almost impatiently, and I quickly finished the note, trying not to worry about my handwriting.

"Thank you for the lovely gift. I'd love to have dinner with you. Um...see you soon!" My signature appeared, followed by a heart connected to the "e" at the end of my name, and I blushed. I'd been signing my name that way ever since I learned how to write in cursive, but it suddenly seemed ridiculous. Responding to my unvoiced thoughts, the paper rippled, erasing the heart but leaving the rest of my note.

The bell chimed again, and I held the note up in my hand. "Please deliver this to Ross," I said to the empty room. The paper disintegrated in my grasp as soon as the words were out, and I didn't even pause to feel self-conscious about speaking to nobody this time. Things in the castle were weird, but I was starting to get used to the magic all around me.

A quick glance out the window told me there was still at least an hour until sunset: the sky was glassy and golden with the strange afternoon light that makes everything look beautiful. For a minute, I dangled my feet off the edge of the tall bed, wondering what I would do until dinner. I was exhausted, but I didn't want to take a nap. I looked at the stack of books Ms. A had given me that morning, but I didn't want to start studying, either. Finally, I wandered into the bathroom.

The bathtub underneath the shower was wide and deeply inviting, and I decided to take a long soak while I waited for dinner. As the water gushed into the tub, I scouted around the bathroom, looking in the cupboards for bubble bath. I found a jar of salts labeled "evening" in the same script that I had seen everywhere in the greenhouse. Shrugging, I dumped a third of the jar under the running water.

Rich, herbal steam enveloped me, and I sank into the tub. My mind started to wander, and I leaned back, blissfully content. With my eyes closed, I fell into some sort of a trance. Even though I knew I was in the tub in the palace, for a moment it seemed as if I was back in my bedroom at home. Rex was barking at a squirrel or something else equally unthreatening in the backyard, and Dad was sitting on the edge of my bed.

He was turning the faded pages of his wedding album slowly, sometimes stopping to touch the images with one finger. I wondered fleetingly when he'd found the pictures; I'd stolen the album and hid it underneath my bed after Mom left. Sometimes, when the house was quiet and dark, I used to take the album out and stare at it.

I tried to reach for Dad, but the vision shifted, sending me back to the castle. I wasn't in my room, though: I was in the library where I'd met Ms. Amboulia that morning. The teacher was still there, but she looked different than before. Her crazy gray hair was wrapped in a no-nonsense bun, and instead of the colorful clothes she usually wore, she was dressed in a long, flowing, white gown. Strangest of all was the large white owl perched on her hand. It looked like she was talking to the bird, but I couldn't hear the words.

My thoughts swirled again, and when my mind cleared I was still sunk deep in the bathtub, steam filling the room. The water was still scalding hot: it was as if I never left.

_Of course I didn't leave_ , I scolded myself silently. My mind was wandering, that's all.

The visions worried me, though, especially the one of Dad. If he really was sitting alone in my old bedroom, staring at the photos from his wedding, I doubted that Mom had come back. I would make a point to ask Mr. Merk, if I saw him again, or at least Ms. A.

My thoughts shifted to the strange vision of Ms. A, and I frowned. There was something naggingly familiar about her white dress, but I couldn't quite hold on to the thought. I lingered in the tub a bit longer, but I didn't have any more daydreams. Of course a bath isn't going to tell you anything. Shaking my head, I leaned forward to pull up the stopper from the tub. There wasn't a window in the bathroom, but the water had started to cool, and I didn't want to be rushed for dinner. Weird as my visions had been, I was eager to talk to Ross again, and I hopped out of the tub to get ready.
Chapter Twelve

The wardrobe offered me three different dresses for dinner, and I picked a short gray sweater dress with a folded v-neck collar. "You know," I addressed the wardrobe, "this would be great with a pair of boots. Flats, please," I added quickly. I'd never been any good at walking in heels, and it wasn't like I needed them to stand out at home.

I closed the wardrobe for a minute, not sure how long it would take for the magic to kick in. When I reopened it, there was a pair of short black suede boots sitting in the bottom. I moved over to the window seat, sitting down to pull the boots on. They fit perfectly, just like everything else I'd found in the wardrobe so far.

"I feel like Cinderella," I whispered to the room, giggling at the silly thought. "Except there's no evil stepmother or handsome prince."

Even though I was pretty sure I was alone, I flushed when I said the word "prince," because my mind immediately went to Ross. I fiddled with the bracelet, thinking. Even if princes were the stuff of childhood stories, Ross was like nobody I'd ever met, and I couldn't wait to have dinner with him again.

Who was he? He might be a prince, considering this castle, but I thought that answer was too simple. There was something extraordinary about a man who lived in a golden palace and commanded invisible servants. Maybe I could learn more about him at dinner. I resolved to try to get him to talk about himself.

As if my thoughts had been a summons, there was a quick knock at the door. I smiled. "Come in!"

The door swung open, but instead of the cheerful voice of my guide, silence greeted me. Hesitantly, I stepped into the hallway. Candles lined one wall, and after another moment's pause, I followed their light, retracing my steps from last night until I stood once more before the ornate doors of the dining room.

I'd been so overwhelmed on the previous night that I hadn't really studied the doors, but tonight I paused before going in. Everything in the palace was beautiful, so it shouldn't have surprised me that the doors were true works of art. They were painted white with gilded trim, but the most spellbinding things were the handles. Both were made from what looked like blown glass, sinuous and sparkling. The handle on the left French door was organic, and I could make out vines and flower buds in the glass. The right side door opened with a spiraled spike that made me think of the paintings of unicorns that artists had crafted in the middle ages.

I reached out, feeling the smooth glass handles, and just as I was about to open the door and let myself in, Ross's voice rang into the hall. "Can you wait one moment, please?"

I stopped, suppressing a delicious shiver at the sound of his voice.

After a few heartbeats, the doors swung open and I stepped into the dark dining room. I hesitated, trying to catch a glimpse of the room or Ross with the light from the hallway, but the candles behind me had been extinguished as if by a gust of wind the minute the doors opened.

Feeling blind, I waited on the threshold. A warm hand closed over mine in the darkness, and I gasped.

"It's just me," Ross said, close to my ear. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, pulling me forward. I let him lead me to the table. His grasp was strong, and my hand fit almost perfectly in his. I could hold his hand forever. My fingers tightened at that unexpected thought, and Ross chuckled in the darkness, gently squeezing my fingertips. When he released my hand and moved to his own seat, I felt a flash of disappointment. I really wished I could see his face.

"Do you like your gift?" He spoke eagerly, and I smiled.

"It's beautiful!" I stroked the bracelet, even though I knew he couldn't see me. "I'm wearing it now."

"I hope you'll always wear it. There may come a time when you can use it."

"How would I use it? Isn't it just something pretty?"

"Pretty things are not always useless," he said quietly.

I vaguely realized he hadn't answered my question just as he changed the subject.

"So, what did you do today?" he asked from across the table.

"Just what you said. I had my literature lesson, and then I met Sean."

He chuckled. "Ah, yes. Quite the precocious faun, isn't he?"

I grinned, but it faded quickly. "It was strange," I began cautiously, "to see Ms. A here."

"You spent the afternoon with a half-man, half-goat, and you were surprised to see your old art teacher here?" He laughed broadly. "Psyche, you are certainly unique."

"The faun was strange too." I heard how that sounded and made a face. "I mean, he wasn't strange, but the fact of him was."

"I know what you mean. Go on," he coaxed.

I hesitated, feeling silly. "Well, there'd already been so many amazing, magical things that I guess a faun doesn't seem that out of place."

"But your art teacher does."

I nodded in the dark. "Have you known her long?"

"All my life," he said softly.

I seized my opening. "And, um, how long is that?"

There was a heavy pause, but before I could apologize for prying, there was a grating noise that announced the arrival of our plates. "Dig in while it's still warm," Ross urged.

I recognized the homey smell right away. "Tuna casserole!"

"I hope you don't think it's too bland," he asked quickly.

"No, I love it." In fact, it was the only meal my mom had ever learned to cook well. I took a bite. "It tastes perfect."

"Good! I hoped you would like it." We ate silently for a moment, and finally Ross sighed. "You wanted to ask me about myself, I think?"

I do, but," I stammered, "not if there's anything you don't want to talk about."

"I can't imagine a topic I wouldn't want to share with you," was his quiet reply.

My face heated up at his words. "Um, can you tell me how old you are?"

He hesitated. "Older than you. Does that bother you?"

How much older? I forced myself to take another bite of casserole, chewing slowly to calm my nerves. "Should it?"

"Well," he began slowly, "I suppose that depends on the kind of relationship you envision for us."

My heart stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Psyche, surely you realize that I had you brought here for a reason. I'm falling for you—hard."

I laughed breathlessly. "But you barely know me."

"I know more about you than you think." His words should have sounded creepy, but secretly, I was thrilled.

"Tell me," I said, trying to sound flirtatious.

I heard the clink of silverware from the other end of the table. "Would it bother you," he said slowly, "if I told you that your sadness is one of things that I'm drawn to?"

I frowned. This wasn't what I'd been expecting. "How do you even know I'm sad?"

"I was watching you, Psyche. I'd seen you almost every day for a week before I had you brought here."

My heart fell. He'd only seen me after my strange curse took affect? How did I know he wasn't under the same spell that affected everyone else? "Why were you watching me?"

"I found you because... that's not important. Once I'd seen you, I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know what made you so sad, and the more I saw, the more beautiful you became to me." His words dropped lower, and I had to lean forward to hear them. "It is so rare to find someone who feels things as deeply as you do. It's...intoxicating."

I'd been dreaming of falling in love since I was a kid, but with everything that had gone wrong in the past month, I'd started to doubt anyone would ever be able to see past my curse. But then Ross had come along and whisked me into his life. His tone sounded genuine, and I desperately wanted to believe that what he felt for me was real. Whether he'd been watching me or not, it was like a fairy tale, but something tugged at my mind, warning me to go slow.

Leaning forward on my elbows, I said, "I still don't know anything about you."

My words hung in the air between us, and as the silence grew, I had a moment of irrational fear that Ross had slipped away, leaving me alone in the darkness. There was no sound in the room except my own breathing. Just when I had decided to stand up and grope my way back to the hallway, he answered.

"What would you like to know?"

I paused. Now that I had the opportunity to ask the thousands of questions that had been forming in my mind all day, I couldn't seem to find the words. Remembering the cruel voice from the kitchen that morning, I blurted out, "What's your mother like?"

"That's not really a question about me," he countered lightly.

"I know. But you know I sort of met her this morning. And I was just wondering, well... " I stopped, afraid of insulting him, but he finished my uncharitable thought for me.

"You were wondering if she's always so fake and nasty, weren't you?"

Ashamed, I nodded in the dark, not even bothering to speak. Ross sighed.

"My mother," he began slowly, "is complicated. She's very beautiful, which means that sometimes she's very cruel."

I frowned, eating another bite of the comforting casserole. It had grown cold as we talked, but the flavor still reminded me of home. "Why should beauty make her cruel?"

"Beauty does strange things to people." His voice held a note of sarcasm. "Surely, you've noticed that?"

"I've noticed that it makes other people act differently, yes," I retorted, my defenses flying up. "But I don't think I act differently than I used to."

"No," Ross said softly, "but that's part of what makes you special."

I flushed deeply, relieved that he couldn't see me. "So your mother is beautiful," I prompted, trying to steer the conversation away from me.

"Very. She has a strange mix of envy and kindness in her heart. She's envious if anyone else rivals her beauty, but if she meets anyone who is decidedly plain, Mother will try to help him win the desires of his heart."

"Does she live here with you?" I didn't think so, but I wanted to make sure; hanging out in a castle with invisible servants was one thing, but I might have to re-think this whole fairy tale if there was a chance I'd run into his mom again.

"No. She visits sometimes, rarely actually. Her appearance today was a bit of a surprise." He sighed. "I had hoped to have more time with you before introducing you to her."

"You didn't really introduce us," I teased lightly, "You can still have a second chance."

Ross was a silent for a moment. "Unfortunately, I have learned that there are seldom second chances in this world."

I fell quiet, thinking about his words. If I had a second chance at the past month, I wondered suddenly, was there anything I could change? Not unless I could somehow get rid of my beauty and start over.

A melancholy cloud descended on me, and Ross's voice rang with artificial cheerfulness as he changed the subject. "What about your parents? Tell me about them."

Hesitating for a minute, I weighed my options. Talking about my dad's drinking problem embarrassed me, but talking about Mom made me shake with guilt. "They got married right after high school," I began, choosing to start with the past instead of the present.

"That's risky," Ross said thoughtfully.

"I know. But it seemed perfect. They grew up together, and my mom used to say that they were both alike: they never changed their minds about anything."

"Were you born right away?"

"After a few years. Mom finished an associate's degree before I was born, and Dad completed his BS by the time I turned three. He was working at the same time," I added, remembering the familiar story, "and Mom says he hardly saw me as a baby."

"That sounds rough."

I shrugged. "I don't remember. By the time my memories kick in, Dad was working at the bank and Mom was consulting from home. She does interior design," I added, setting my fork and knife down on the empty plate.

"So she likes beautiful things?"

All except me. "She likes things to be different. Bold. Exciting. She's made it her mission to save her clients from themselves." I forced a laugh. "I think she used up all her design skills on other people, because she didn't start redecorating our house until—" I broke off abruptly, my hands shaking.

"Is that where you learned to love art?" Ross smoothly shifted the conversation, and I wondered if he'd heard the pain and guilt that filled my voice.

Grateful to be back on safe ground, I nodded. "Mom always had art books around for inspiration, but she could see the perfect pattern for a sofa in an impressionist painting, and I just learned to let the image fill me." Nervously, I chewed on my lower lip. "Art is the best way to feel emotion."

"How so?" He sounded genuinely interested, and I blushed again.

Struggling to find the words that wouldn't make me sound like some kind of freak, I finally said, "Every day, it's like our emotions are going to overwhelm us. We drown from minute to minute, no matter if we're happy or depressed. For some reason, it's just that paint and stone and wood seem to capture the whole range of human emotions in one neatly contained package."

"So you're saying that one painting has more emotion than a person?"

Somehow, that sounded arrogant. "Not exactly. But a painting has boundaries: it has a beginning and an end."

"Life has those same boundaries," Ross said softly.

"But life is longer than a painting! And sometimes the really powerful emotions are too much over time. I like being able to experience them in small bites." As soon as I said it, I cringed. Was I comparing art to cookies or something? Ross was going to think I was an idiot.

"That might be wise. Emotions can overwhelm." His words were perfectly normal, but his tone made me shiver with a strange sense of anticipation. Somehow, I had the feeling we weren't talking about paintings anymore.

The sound of a chair scraping back from the table reached me, and I held perfectly still, wondering what he was going to do. After what felt like the longest moment imaginable, I felt Ross's light touch travel from my forehead to my cheek, and from there down to my neck. My bare skin tingled under his touch, and I suppressed a shudder of excitement.

"You see," he whispered very close to me, "emotions can be overwhelming. Would you rather look at a painting?" He put both hands on my face, cupping it gently between his palms. Wordlessly, I shook my head. _There's no painting that could capture this._

Our breath mingled together for an instant, and then his soft lips met mine, and I inhaled sharply in surprise. I felt like I was drowning, overwhelmed by the sensual experience: the feel of his lips against mine, the strange sensation of our mingled breath, the faint scent of cinnamon that filled my nostrils, all of it combined to make my head spin.

My first kiss was over before I could think, and I blinked stupidly, hoping that I'd done it right.

"That was," Ross paused, his face still close enough to me that I felt the warm intake of his breath, "beautiful."

"Thank you," I whispered, closing my eyes.

He chuckled. "Should we try it again?"

"Was it bad the first time?" I blurted out.

He cupped my face again. "It was so exquisite," he whispered, kissing the tip of my nose, "that I want more. I will gladly kiss you forever, Psyche."

My heart thudded in my ears, and I flushed. Before I could think of a response, our lips met again, and I melted against him, surrendering to the darkness and his touch.
Chapter Thirteen

That night, I dreamed of Ross. In the dream, he was like the servants in the house: invisible, bodiless, nothing but a voice.

"Psyche!" he called, and I spun around, trying to find him.

"Where are you?"

"Here!" His voice jumped across the room. "Here, waiting for you."

Every time I thought I was getting closer to him, the direction his voice was coming from would change. Finally, I sank to the ground, frustrated. "How can I be with you if I can't see you?" I wailed.

He didn't answer, and I woke up with the sound of that strange silence ringing in my ears.

That was weird. Ross wasn't just a voice: he'd proved that at dinner, I thought with a giggle. He definitely had hands. And lips.

I leaned back against the pillows, reliving last night. We had kissed until my lips were swollen and I was breathless, and just when I thought I might disintegrate if he touched me again, he had pulled away and gently placed his lips to my brow.

"Sleep well, my princess," he had whispered. Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the dark dining room. I didn't go back to my room right away; I guess I was half-hoping he would come back. After a few breathless minutes of sitting alone in the dark, however, the door swung open and I rose, following the glow of the candles back to my chamber.

Glancing around, I spotted the gray dress I'd worn last night crumpled on the floor in front of the wardrobe. With a sigh, I got out of bed and lifted the wrinkled fabric. Shaking it out gently, I re-hung the dress in the wardrobe, which gaped open and empty. I shut the door, wondering what clothes it would give me today.

Judging by the sunlight slicing through the tall windows, it was mid-morning. Since no one had been sent to get me for any lesson, I spontaneously decided to go exploring.

I opened the now-full wardrobe and pulled on the first thing I grabbed, jeans and a blue t-shirt. Running my fingers through my hair like a comb, I headed out into the castle. There were no candles lit to guide me, but I remembered the closed doors that had lined the hallway when I first got there, and I headed downstairs.

The castle was still, and I glanced around nervously. No one had told me I couldn't explore, but still, something about sneaking around without my usual guide made me feel almost dishonest. For a minute, I considered going back to my room and waiting. I didn't want to make anybody angry. I'd always been quick to please, and I hated conflict of any kind. That was one reason the fight with Elaina had made me so miserable; I just wanted to make the people I cared about happy, but our friendship was fractured beyond belief. Would I piss Ross off if I left my room?

The memory of his soft lips against mine surfaced, and I flushed. I had a right to explore his home if I was going to stay there with him, right? Squaring my shoulders, I tried the first door in the hallway. It didn't budge.

The adventure quickly paled as door after door remained locked, guarding whatever secrets were within. Finally, just when I was about to give up, the last door in the hallway swung open under my touch. I hesitated for a moment, feeling unsure, and then stepped across the threshold.

I'd seen a picture in a book once of the hall of mirrors at the palace of Versailles. This room put that masterpiece to shame. The room was shaped like a hexagon and filled with dazzling light pouring in through a glass ceiling and reflecting off hundreds of mirrors in gilded frames covering the walls. Round ones, tall ones, even triangular ones, reflected my image back to me a thousand times as I stepped farther into the strange room.

A fountain bubbled up from the white marble floor, fanciful stone fish and fairies spouting a constant stream of water. When I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine that I was outside next to a creek. The sunlight that came through the ceiling bounced off the mirrors and warmed my face, and I sighed. I could stay here forever! The thought took me by surprise.

Opening my eyes, I spotted another door across the room. Skirting around the fountain, I headed toward it. What wonderful things would I find in the next room?

The door opened easily, but I pulled back, startled. The room was stark and cold, the complete opposite of the room with the fountain. Repressing a shiver, I stared at the chains bolted into the gray brick walls. Had I discovered the dungeon of the castle or something? But how could such a beautiful place house such a strange, barren room?

Cautiously, I took a step forward, then another, as if impulse controlled me. I reached a hand out toward the heavy chains on the wall—

And suddenly I was standing in the kitchen of my parents' house. Confused, I looked around. Dad was sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. Mom was leaning against the counter, reading the paper with a frown on her face. But oddest of all was the fact that I was sitting at the table with Dad, even though the real me stood in the center of the room, watching the strange tableau unfold.

I studied the other me carefully. With a chill in the pit of my stomach, I realized that I halfway remembered this morning. I hadn't left the castle: I'd somehow managed to wander into the past.

This was the morning before my life had changed forever. It was the last morning I looked normal, the last morning of summer vacation.

I watched, transfixed, as the other me, the girl I used to be, stared out the window. In the morning light, it looked like my skin was shimmering like a prism, and as I watched, I saw myself transform into the beautiful creature I hated. It really had happened in an instant, I realized with shock. One minute I had been my normal self, staring out the window while I finished my breakfast, and in the blink of an eye, I had transformed into supermodel material.

I watched, heartsick, as my mom glanced up from the paper and looked at the other me. I was totally oblivious of my looks; I didn't notice the change until I got ready for school the next morning. Mom noticed, however. She did a double take, lowering the paper and narrowing her eyes. Even Dad noticed the change when he got up to refill his coffee.

"Princess, you just get more beautiful every day. Aren't we lucky, Irene," he slid his arm around Mom, "to have such a beauty in our lives?"

She smiled, but it was tight. "Very lucky," she said softly.

The old me blushed, then looked at the clock above the stove. "I have to go. Louis's mom is expecting me." The other me kissed my parents on the cheek and then rushed out the door.

My memory of that morning ended there, but for some reason, instead of following myself out the door, I hovered in the kitchen with my parents. The minute the door closed, my mother pulled away from Dad, grimacing at him.

"Why do you always have to make such a fuss over her? It's sick: it's like you're obsessed with her or something."

Dad looked puzzled. "She's my daughter. She's our daughter. Aren't you proud of her?"

"You'll make her vain," Mom argued without answering his question. "Then she'll be hell to deal with."

He laughed lightly. "I can't imagine Psyche ever being any trouble. She's a lot more predictable than you."

"What's that supposed to mean, Peter?" she snapped.

He shrugged. "Nothing. Just that Psyche's a lot more even-keeled than you. She takes after me in that respect."

"This is just sick! She's my daughter, too."

"I didn't mean—"

Mom stood up and glared at him. "It's like I'm stuck in Lolita. Do you have some twisted thing for our daughter? Answer me, Peter!"

_What?!_ I never heard Dad's reply. A pair of hands tugged on my shoulders, and with a jerk, I snapped back into the dismal room of the castle, the chains on the wall rattling before me.

Shaking, I turned around. Sean stood there, glaring at me.

"Why did you do that?" I asked, my voice shrill. "I wanted to see what they said."

"You shouldn't be in here," Sean said, putting his hands on his furry hips.

"Why not?"

"Because the past is gone. You can't change it, so you shouldn't try."

I looked at the chains again and remembered my mom's bizarre accusation. Had she really said that? I shuddered. Even though Dad sort of fixated on my beauty, he never would have done anything that sick...would he? "What is this room?"

"The room of regret. If you touch the chains, you relive the moments you should regret." He shuddered. "It's a nasty room, and I don't know why the castle let you in here."

I looked over my shoulder in the direction of the mirrored room, then back at the faun. "But, I don't understand. The door was open."

Sean shook his head. "You should never have been able to open that door. The palace knows better."

_The palace knows better?_ Before I could ask him what he meant, he turned abruptly and marched back toward the room of mirrors.

"I was looking for you. We've got work to do today."

I glanced at the chains again and closed my eyes, reliving the bitterness in my mother's voice. After a moment, I followed Sean out of the room, fighting back tears.

"Why does the castle have a room like that?" I finally asked as he led me through the mirrored room and into the foyer.

His young face was creased with worry. "It's better if you don't think about that. That room makes you dwell in regret."

"But why is it here?"

Sean hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged. "Because even the most charmed person has something in their past that they regret. The room is a reminder to the master."

"Ross?" I asked.

Sean nodded quickly, looking pained.

"What does he have to regret?"

The faun hurried ahead of me, crossing the castle yard, and opening the door to the greenhouse. "You'd have to ask him. I don't know what his chains are."

I dropped it, but I resolved to ask Ross about the strange room when we met for dinner that night. With an effort, I pushed the memory of Mom's bizarre question to a back corner of my mind. "So what are we doing today?"

Sean stared at me, clearly suspicious of the abrupt change of topic, but then he smiled. "Your first test," he said, gesturing to the potting stand at the back of the room.

As we drew closer, I saw that it was covered with an array of loose plant cuttings. "What are those?"

The faun grinned. "That's your test." He held out a scrap of black silk. "Put this on."

I eyed it, confused. "What is it?"

Sean pushed the fabric into my hands. "It's a blindfold, silly. You're going to sort the plants without sight."

Even though I'd been dining in the dark with a boy I couldn't see, the idea of voluntarily giving up my sight made me recoil. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"You've got four other senses. Use them."

Hesitantly, I bound the blindfold over my eyes. "Okay. Now what?"

"Reach for an herb. It doesn't matter which one you start with."

I stretched my hands out until they brushed the surface of the table. My fingers closed around something that felt sharp and velvety at the same time.

"Now, identify it."

"How?"

"Touch it, taste it, smell it, whatever you need to do to figure out what the plant is. These are all plants that we talked about yesterday."

I brought the spiky soft leaves to my nose and sniffed gently. A sharp smell filled the air. I ran my fingers along the plant, identifying the rounded leaves that came to a sharp point at the end. Surprisingly, I actually thought I knew what it was, but I wanted to taste it to be sure.

The bitter flavor that filled my mouth made me want to spit out the leaf, but I didn't want Sean to laugh at me. Still, I wiped my tongue with my hand once I was done.

"It's Bitter Nettle, right?"

Sean clapped excitedly. "Right on the first try! Do you remember what you can use it for?"

Still blindfolded, I searched my memory. "I think it's good for colds?"

"Are you asking me, or telling me?"

"Telling. It's good for colds."

"How would you prepare it?"

"Not raw," I began slowly, "but steamed. That's it, you steam the leaves and eat them like a salad."

"Good! Try another one!"

We went through each of the plants on the table, and I was surprised that I remembered most of them. Sometimes, I didn't get the plant right, but Sean was patient, making me explain my thoughts as I went and correcting me when I got it wrong. Eventually, there was only one plant left.

I lifted it eagerly, sniffing the sweet perfume. I could feel round leaves and then softer round shapes that must be petals. There weren't any thorns, so it couldn't be a rose, and Sean had only shown me two flowering plants the day before.

"It's a Cupid's Bow," I exclaimed with certainty.

"How is it used?"

I pulled off the blindfold and looked at the delicate purple and white flower. "The petals can be crushed, and the juice is distilled into perfume. It's supposed to be as powerful as pheromones for attracting someone."

Sean smiled broadly. "Not that someone as beautiful as you would need to use plant magic to find your love."

I blushed, thinking about Ross's lips, and hurried to change the subject. "Sean, when did you come to work here?"

Sean busied himself clearing away the herbs. "I've worked here all my life. Nature spirits generally flock to—to places of beauty."

I heard the hesitation in his voice, but I didn't know what it meant. "And you like it here?"

His boyish face lit up. "Of course! It's wonderful."

"Doesn't it get a bit lonely?" I glanced out the glass wall and stared at the looming purple mountains.

Sean shook his head. "How could it be lonely?" Then he laughed. "Oh, I forgot: you're mortal!"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You can't see most of the spirits here. The castle may seem deserted to you, but it's filled with all kinds of people."

"Can you see the spirits?"

Sean hesitated, but shrugged. "Not really. But I can recognize them. Each and every one of them."

I thought about the many voices I had heard in the kitchen yesterday. "How many spirits are here?"

"Counting me?" I nodded, and Sean scrunched up his face. "I think there are—thirteen, fourteen, fifteen," his counting trailed off, and I watched him for a moment. Finally, he smiled. "There are forty-seven lesser spirits."

"Lesser spirits?"

Sean clapped his hand over his mouth. "I'm not supposed to talk to you about that."

_Now we're getting somewhere_. I smiled at him encouragingly. "What if I guess what you mean? Would that be alright?"

The faun looked unsure, but I pressed forward.

"Do you mean that there are forty-seven spirits, not counting people like Ross and Ms. A?"

Sean nodded, relieved.

"But that means that Ross and Ms. A—Sean, are they magicians or something?" I knew someone had to be responsible for the magical castle, and I was pretty sure it was Ross, but I wanted confirmation.

But tears welled up in the faun's eyes. "I can't tell you anymore."

Forgetting that he wasn't just a young boy, I dropped to the ground before him and clasped him in a hug. "I'm sorry. I won't ask you any more questions that might get you into trouble."

He sniffled against my hair. "What time is it?"

I looked around, confused. "There aren't any clocks here, are there? I haven't seen any." Glancing once more at the shadowy mountains, I made a guess. "I think it must be late afternoon."

Sean broke away from me and trotted through the greenhouse. "You should do some homework before the master calls you for dinner." He looked up at me slyly. "If you read the books the gray lady assigned, you might be able to answer your questions yourself. And then I won't get in trouble."

I laughed and followed him back to the palace. "Whatever you say, boss."

But when I got back to my room, I couldn't find the energy to pick up any of the books. Being with Sean had helped me forget the horrible memory I'd seen that morning, but now that I was alone in my room, regret threatened to overwhelm me.

I pulled the curtains shut, blocking out the late afternoon sunlight, and I sat down on the large bed, replaying my mom's words in my mind.

What had Dad said? I couldn't believe that my own father would have some sort of obsession with me, but ever since I turned beautiful, people had reacted in bizarre ways: what if the spell had affected him, as well?

I shivered uncomfortably. I'd read Lolita for extra credit in English class last year, and I didn't want to think about Dad and the nasty pedophile uncle in the same thought. But clearly, Mom had thought about it. A chill filled my chest: was that the real reason she had left? Did she know something sick and twisted about Dad? But if that were true, wouldn't she have taken me with her?

I curled up under the bedspread, tucking my arms around my legs like an infant. With a whisper, I told the room, "I don't want to be disturbed. By anyone." Nothing happened, but I was too nauseous to care.

I didn't sleep, exactly, but I dropped in and out of consciousness as if I were ill. Once, I thought I heard someone knocking at the door, but I ignored the sound. With the awful memory cycling through my mind on repeat, I remained in bed until the room was pitch black.

There was another knock at the door, but this one was louder, more insistent. "No," I whispered.

"Psyche?" Ross's voice drifted through the door, and I rolled over.

"Go away."

"Sean told me that you found that room. I'm so sorry. I never thought you'd go there."

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting back the tears that appeared at the sound of his voice.

"It's there for me, really," he said quietly. "My mother—"I opened my eyes, slightly interested.

"What does this have to do with your mother?"

He was silent for a moment. "Mother has never regretted anything in her life. I didn't want to be like that."

I remembered the harsh voice in the kitchen on her first morning in the castle. "Maybe she doesn't have anything to regret," I offered doubtfully.

Ross snorted loudly through the door. "Believe me, she should regret a lot. But she doesn't."

"How does this have anything to do with that room?"

"I don't want to become like her. She can forget the awful things she's done, but whenever I've done harm, I want to live with that knowledge. I need to regret my mistakes so I can learn from them in the future. Mother never changes. I want to be different."

I thought for a moment, and then sat up on the bed. "What did you ever have to regret?"

"Will you come to dinner with me?"

Annoyed, I replied, "Not until you answer me."

"Love." He breathed the word like a sigh, and my skin tingled. "There is much that I regret about love."

I didn't want to know, not really, but I couldn't help myself. "Your own love life?"

"Sometimes. Mostly, I regret the way that I meddled in the love affairs of others."

It seemed like an odd thing to regret, but I didn't say anything.

"Will you dine with me now?" Ross asked hopefully.

I paused, and then swung my feet around and got out of bed. I padded to the door and put my hand against it. My skin tingled as if Ross were touching me through the wood. "I'd really like to be alone tonight."

He was silent for a moment. "I'll send your dinner to your room."

"Thank you." I longed to open the door and fling myself at him, to feel his strong arms around me, but I stood motionless, my hand pressed against the door. My emotions were still in too much of a jumble to risk spending time with him; I didn't want him to see me cry.

"Whatever you regret, my love, don't let it destroy you."

I hesitated. "I saw something about my parents."

"It's in the past. Let it go."

I shook my head. "But I need to know more. I didn't get to finish the memory before Sean pulled me out."

"Psyche," he said in a hard voice, "do not look for that room again."

I was silent.

Ross sighed. "I will have it destroyed. It's time you and I both let go of our chains."

His words both angered and calmed me, but I still felt the prick of nauseous worry that my mother had been right. "Can you tell me something?"

"I'll try."

"Is it possible that my father is in love with me?"

Ross was silent for a moment. "No. I have seen your father, Psyche. He adores you, but as a father should. There is nothing wrong with his love."

"When have you seen him? Have you seen him recently?" My voice was eager, and I realized with a pang that I was homesick.

"I saw him when I first saw you, so no, not recently. But trust me, Psyche."

I sighed, wanting to believe him so desperately. "How can you be sure?"

"Just believe me when I say that I know certain things. And this is one thing that I am sure of."

I smiled, the clenched knot of fear in my chest slowly beginning to unwind. "Thank you, Ross."

"I miss you," he whispered.

"I just need to be alone tonight. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"I will always be here."

I listened for his footsteps, but I didn't hear anything. After a few heartbeats, I opened the door, but the corridor was empty except for a tray of food. I sighed and brought it inside my room.

I wasn't really hungry, but I forced myself to drink all of the rich golden broth. I nibbled at the hunk of warm bread, but my eyes grew heavy. I slid the tray away and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. By the next morning, I couldn't remember what had made me so upset the night before, but a strange sense of dis-ease lingered in my heart. I didn't know why, but I suddenly felt unsteady and distrustful. I pushed the feeling away, trying to ignore the thought that something was very, very wrong.
Chapter Fourteen

"Where have you been? The master has been waiting for you." The butler voice was back, sounding harried, and I hurried to apologize.

"Do I have time to change?" I looked down at my dirty clothes, splotched with crushed leaves from the greenhouse. I'd been working with Sean for most of the afternoon, and the smell of soil and herbs clung to me like smoke.

The voice sighed in exasperation. "Be quick about it. He said that he had a special plan in mind for tonight."

My fingers tingled with anticipation as I reached for the wardrobe, but my face fell when I looked inside. There were no dresses, only a pair of jeans and a thick cable-knit sweater.

"I thought you said it was a special occasion."

There was a pause, and the voice chuckled. "The house knows better than me what the master has planned."

I leaped on his words. "So the castle is adjusting itself for me?"

"Of course! Surely you must have realized that by now."

I thought back over the past few days and nodded slowly. "How does it know?"

"I'm not the architect; I'm just the butler." He paused, and I imagined him turning his back to me. "Hurry up and change. I won't watch you."

"Is there something I should call you?" I asked, struggling with the thick cowl neck of the sweater. My bracelet snagged on it, and for a minute I was afraid I was going to rip a hole in the sweater, but then I moved my wrist slightly and shook my arm free.

"You want to know my name?" The voice sounded amazed.

"Well, it feels weird to talk to you and not know anything about you." And it would be nice to make some friends in the castle.

"It wouldn't be appropriate for us to be on more familiar terms. I am here to serve you."

"I'm just not used to having servants," I said quietly.

The voice softened. "You'll have time to become accustomed to this life. Now, are you ready for dinner?"

He led me up the stairs in silence, and we kept going past the third-floor dining hall. We climbed past the library, and I stared down dizzily. The stairs curved around themselves, making a gentle spiral, and I thought for a moment that it was like looking inside a seashell. My legs aching, I kept climbing.

Finally, the stairs ended at a single doorway without a landing.

"Enjoy your evening. I'll see you tomorrow."

There was a slight shift in the air, something I couldn't put my finger on, but I knew I was suddenly alone. I opened the door and stepped into the cold night air.

The roof was walled in with a low railing, and I stepped forward, drinking in the view. Even in the dark, the mountains were visible against the horizon. Overhead, more stars than I had ever seen in my life decorated the night sky. The moon wasn't up yet, and the starlight gave everything a wintery glow.

I took a careful step closer to the railing, but paused as a gust of wind cut through my skin, making me sway on my feet.

"Careful." Ross's voice came from the shadows behind me, and I turned toward him eagerly. Maybe I would catch a glimpse of his face. I squinted, but I could barely make out his tall shape in the darkness.

"Are we having a picnic?"

He laughed. "Does it please you?"

I gestured to the sky. "I've never seen anything like this."

"Don't you have stars at home?" I heard the teasing note in his voice, and I smiled.

"It's never been this clear." I tilted my head back again, taking in the glitter above me. "There must not be any other lights for miles. I'm used to streetlights getting in the way."

Ross stepped forward, and I strained to catch a glimpse of him, but the roof was full of shadows. Disappointed, I sank onto the blanket he had spread. When he sat down beside me, I leaned forward, hungry for his kiss.

When it didn't come, I sat back quickly, confused and hurt.

He lifted my clenched fist from my lap and pulled it to his lips, gently grazing my knuckles. "Thank you for coming tonight."

Warmth flooded through me, and I tried not to shiver, but I couldn't help it. "Of course. Besides," I joked, "where else would I go?"

His grip tightened on my fingers. "Don't ever think for a moment that you are a prisoner here. You can leave at any time."

I scooched closer to him until our legs were almost touching. "I don't want to leave."

I could just barely make out his silhouette in the starlight, and suddenly I moved forward and kissed him. I felt him hesitate for a moment, but then his mouth opened beneath mine, and the kiss deepened.

When we finally broke apart, I was dizzy and breathless. I tilted my head back to look up at the stars and giggled. "They're spinning," I whispered.

He smoothed my hair behind my ear. "You make the world tilt, Psyche," Ross whispered.

I shivered with pleasure. "I have some more questions for you." Every night, I'd tried to get him to share his secrets with me, but every night, he gave me half answers and dodged my questions.

"Don't you want to eat first?"

"I'm not hungry. Yet." I nipped his ear with my lips, and he chuckled.

"What do you want to know?"

"Lots of things. First, though, tell me why you live in this beautiful place."

Ross sighed. "You might say that I lead a charmed life. I am surrounded by beauty, and I have many—talents."

I nodded. "Your home is amazing."

"It's not just the castle. You'll probably think I've been spoiled," he laughed slightly, "because things have always gone my way."

"That doesn't mean you're spoiled. You're just lucky."

He was silent for a minute. "This castle is the first place I've lived that my mother didn't build for me."

I shuddered, remembering my encounter with Ross's mother. "That still doesn't make you spoiled."

"Psyche," he said earnestly, "you must understand. Before I found you, I was very much a slave to my mother. I didn't think or act for myself, and I allowed her to use me." He paused. "I'm not very proud of that."

"Before you found me?" I echoed, confused.

He leaned forward and kissed me gently. "Before I learned what it was like to fall in love."

_In love?_ My breath caught. "You mean you've never felt like this before?"

"Never. Have you?"

I shook my head. "You're the first." Thoughts of Ross's mother were pushed firmly from my mind when his lips found mine again.

When we finally came up for air, Ross was laughing.

"You said you had other questions for me. What's the next one?"

"What kind of spirit are you?"

He pulled away immediately. "What makes you think I'm a spirit?" His voice was chilly, and I shivered, but I pressed on, desperate to know.

"Sean said something the other day about 'lesser spirits', and besides, what else could you be?"

Ross didn't answer.

I tried another tack. "I mean, you're clearly something special. This castle is magical."

"You think you've fallen into a fairy tale, is that it?" His voice was sharp, and I leaned away from him, surprised.

"That isn't what I meant."

"You think you've found the handsome prince who will sweep you off your feet, don't you?"

"No! That's not what I thought."

"Well, let me tell you," he said, his voice cold as ice, "the beautiful princess doesn't always get the handsome prince. Sometimes, she finds herself with a hideous beast instead."

His words sank in, but I didn't feel afraid. I leaned forward, groping blindly for his hand. He tried to pull away, but I clung to him with both hands. Slowly, I intertwined my fingers with his.

I took a deep breath. "I don't care if you're handsome or not. I just know that I love you." My heart beat quickly as I said it, and I felt dizzy for a minute. Maybe it was ridiculous, to fall in love so fast, but I'd never felt this way before. Being with Ross was everything I imagined falling in love would be like, back when I still believed that I'd be able to fall in love, before my beautiful curse.

He laughed bitterly, but he didn't let go of my hand. "Even if I'm a monster?"

I kissed him gently. "You don't sound like a monster to me."

"My mother would not agree with you."

I frowned. "Has she come back to visit you?"

"No. But I know that she's angry with me. Angrier than she's ever been."

"Was it something I did?"

He leaned over and kissed my eyelids. "No, my beautiful love. It's my fault, and my problem to deal with. Please, forget I said anything."

I wanted to ask more questions, but Ross's fingers were gently tracing circles on my neck and collarbone, and I closed my eyes, giving myself over to the sensation of his touch. When he took his hand away suddenly, I felt cold.

"Psyche, I have to ask you something." He didn't sound angry anymore, but his voice was heavy and serious. "Will you promise to never look at me?"

_What?_ I pulled away from him, staring into the darkness. "What do you mean?"

"Never try to see me in the light. Will you promise that you will take me, sight unseen, and love me without ever wanting to see me?"

What was wrong with him? I chastised myself for the thought. Why should looks matter? _Beauty never did you any favors._ Ross was silent, waiting patiently while I sorted through my jumbled thoughts.

"Of course I want to see you," I said finally, "but that doesn't matter. I love you." Just saying the words again made my heart race. Drawing a deep breath, I squeezed his hands. "I promise that I won't ever try to see you in the light." Regret immediately pulled at my heart, but I tried to ignore it. So what if I'll never get to see him? Does it matter what he looks like?

"Do you really trust me that much?" His lips moved against my forehead, his voice filled with wonder.

He sounded so relieved, and for a minute, doubt crept into my mind. "Yes. Why shouldn't I?" I paused, considering for a moment. "Just answer me this."

"Of course."

I hesitated, hoping the question didn't offend him. "Do you have a good reason for what you've made me promise?"

"The best of reasons. I mean you no harm, but it is important that you keep your promise."

I nodded, although a strange knot of tension had formed in my chest. "I will. I won't try to see you. I promise."

The tension gradually dissipated, and when Ross kissed me again, I tried to stop worrying. Even if I couldn't see him, it didn't matter; I loved him, and there was no way I was going to risk losing him.

But later, as I groped my way back to my room in darkness, I wondered what he had meant when he told me that some fairy tales ended with a monster.
Chapter Fifteen

My days in the castle passed quickly. I worked in the greenhouse with Sean and studied the books Ms. A had given me during the days, and each night I met Ross for another dark dinner. The picnic on the roof was just the first of our excursions. One night he surprised me by having a table spread in the beautiful mirrored room. The moon was just a silver crescent in the sky, but even that light was reflected in the mirrored chamber, filling the room with a strange blue glow.

I kept my promise, though it was difficult. I always shut my eyes when we kissed, even in the mirrored room where I was sure that if I snuck a peak I'd be able to see his face. For whatever reason, he didn't want me to see him, and I'd promised. Besides, it wasn't like I needed my eyes to know that he was an amazing kisser.

When I'd been at the castle a week, the butler voice led me once more to the strange library, where Ms. A was waiting.

"What kind of spirit are you?" I asked immediately.

Ms. A grimaced. "It's nice to see you, too."

I blushed. "I'm sorry. I've just got so many questions!"

Two plush chairs appeared out of thin air, and Ms. A gestured to them. "If you have questions, perhaps we should sit down."

I watched the teacher lower herself into her chair as if it were a throne, and I remembered the bizarre vision I'd had in the bathtub. "Who are you?"

"That's not a question I can answer yet. If you have a guess, I can tell you if you're right or not."

"A witch?"

Ms. A laughed. "Not in the sense you mean."

I tried again. "A fairy?"

The older woman shook her head. "All out of ideas?"

I bit my lip, thinking. "Can I ask again next week?"

There was a moment's hesitation, but then Ms. A nodded. "What else did you want to ask me?"

"Can you tell me what Ross is?"

"He is master of this place."

Exasperated, I glared at her. "I know that. I mean, what is he, really?"

"Have you been doing your homework?" Ms. A asked sharply.

"It's slow reading, but I've been trying."

The teacher tapped her chin three times with her long index finger. "You may find the answers you seek in those pages. But until you know what you're looking for, I can't help you find it."

The rest of the morning we talked about the hero's journey in terms of _The Odyssey_ , something I had been dreading. Odysseus annoyed me, but Ms. A seemed enamored with the character.

"But he's such a jerk! His poor wife is at home fighting off suitors, and he's running around with other women."

Ms. A's eyes glittered. "But the story isn't about Penelope. Her trials don't matter."

I frowned. I really didn't want to argue, so I dropped it, but privately, I continued to dislike the hero.

By the time Ms. A left, I was completely exhausted. I had more reading to do in the next week, and Ms. A had added a collection of poetry to the list of classics.

"The Romantics knew a thing or two about the epic themes of life, just like the ancients. Make sure you read the poem "Ulysses," and when I come next week, we can compare that to _The Odyssey_."

I stood up awkwardly. "Thanks for coming all the way out here. Did you check on my folks?"

Ms. A nodded. "Your father is doing all right. He's still going out at night, but he's started walking there, which I think was a wise choice."

I hesitated to ask the question that had plagued me. Finally, I plunged in. "And my mom?"

"Irene hasn't come back." Ms. A's voice was matter-of-fact, but that didn't take the sting out of her words.

"So my dad is still alone," I said softly.

Ms. A patted my shoulder. "He seems happy enough with that slobbering dog of yours."

"But I was so sure that Mom would come back!"

"Give it time. Everything happens for a reason."

I was about to argue, but my teacher disintegrated into a beam of sunlight before I could speak.

I fell into a lonely rhythm at the castle. I read the books Ms. A had assigned in my spare time, but even though I was alone, I had surprisingly little time to myself. Once a week, I studied with Ms. A, and every afternoon Sean met me in the greenhouse with more instructions. I learned how to make tea out of herbs, and how to make perfumes and lotions. And each night, without fail, I met Ross for dinner.

Our meals had grown less elaborate as we began to spend more of the time lip-locked, but I didn't care about the food. Kissing Ross's soft lips was the most exhilarating thing I'd ever experienced, and I never wanted it to stop.

We didn't talk about my questions anymore, and I never pressed him to tell me what he was. But I did wonder, from time to time, what it would be like to see him. What was he up to each day, while I was in the greenhouse or with Ms. A? Maybe he left the castle; I'd never seen him coming or going, but then again, I'd never seen him at all, so how would I know? Maybe, like the castle servants, Ross was invisible. I didn't think he watched me anymore, though I had no way to know for sure; even though I couldn't see him, his presence in the dining room each night was definitely something I could feel. Just being close to him sent prickles of anticipation across my skin, even when we were separated by the length of the table. And when he touched me, I forgot all my questions and worries.

Halloween passed unnoticed, and one morning not long after, I woke up to a strange sort of stillness. Some childhood instinct buried deep inside me sprang to life, and I rushed to the window.

Snow blanketed the courtyard beneath the window, and the sides of the mountains now matched their peaks. Squealing in delight, I clapped my hands.

Winter had always been my favorite season. Each year, I waited eagerly for the first snow. Once the first flakes had fallen, life changed at my parents' house. The Christmas tree came down from the attic and was decorated and standing proudly by the end of that first snowy day, and wrapped presents soon followed. My parents switched from coffee to hot chocolate in the mornings, loading my cup with fat marshmallows and cinnamon.

Then there was the sledding. My first clear memory was from the winter I had turned four. Dad had bought a saucer shaped sled and the whole family had trooped to the large hill at the edge of town. At first, I'd been frightened, watching the other, older children fly down the hill on their sleds and feedbags, but then Mom had borrowed my brand new sled and sailed down the hill, laughing all the way.

By the time she had made the climb back to the top, her cheeks red and her breath icy in front of her face, I couldn't wait to try the sled. We'd stayed at the hill for hours, until my snowsuit was soaked and my teeth were chattering so hard it felt like my head was about to come off.

I looked longingly at the mountains. I wasn't stupid enough to try sledding down one of the cliffs, but the land swelled gently at the foot of the mountains, and I was sure it would make for good sledding.

"Get Ross," I called impulsively to the empty bedroom. "I want to talk to him now, before dinner."

The room was silent, and I hurried to the wardrobe to dress. I was wrapped in a thick wool sweater, long underwear, and jeans, when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" I called. The door didn't open.

Ross's voice came through the wooden door. "Will you turn around first?"

In my excitement over the first snow, I had nearly forgotten my promise. With a twinge of regret, I turned my back on the door. "I'm looking out the window."

I heard the door open behind me, and then the sound of soft footsteps entering the room.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"It snowed!"

He sounded amused. "I am aware of that."

"I want to go sledding. With you."

"Sledding?" He said the word like he'd never heard of it before.

"You know, plastic saucers or even garbage bags work. You sit on them and fly down the hill."

"You sit on the snow?"

I laughed. "Not really. You sit on your sled, and you slide down. It's a real rush!"

"Would you be willing to be blindfolded?"

I paused for a moment. "That might be dangerous," I finally said, remembering the time I'd seen a kid break his leg after crashing into a tree.

"I'd be with you."

"But you don't even know how to sled!"

"I could watch you do it, and then I could ride with you to steer."

I laughed. "You really don't know how to sled if you think you can steer."

"Then why would a blindfold be dangerous?"

"Because if I'm about to hit a tree, at least if I see it I can roll out of the sled!"

He hesitated. "I want to make you happy."

I looked out the window at the glistening white ground. "Then take me sledding!" I said firmly.

I felt him step closer, and his hands circled around my waist, pulling me against him in an embrace. "Let me watch you first, and then once I know how to do it, you'll put on the blindfold and we'll go together. Deal?"

I thought about it for a moment, and then smiled. Sledding blind was better than nothing. "Deal. Do you have anything I can use as a sled?"

"Haven't you learned by now that all you have to do is ask? The wardrobe should be able to give you what you want. I'll meet you at the foot of the mountains."

Even though I was tempted to turn around, I waited until I heard the door click behind him before crossing excitedly to the wardrobe. When I opened it, a huge black saucer sled fell out. It was easily big enough for two people, but there were enough handles placed around the edge that I should be able to hang on okay by myself.

Racing down the stairs, I carried the sled toward the mountains. Forgetting everything else, I positioned myself at the top of one of the rolling foothills and flopped down onto my belly on the sled. Laughing as the wind bit my cheeks, I raced down the hill two, three, four times, blissful and exhilarated. _It's such a rush!_

I heard clapping behind me, and I stopped, suddenly aware of how silly and immature I looked.

"That looks wonderful!" Ross was laughing, but the sound wasn't harsh. He wasn't laughing at me: he was laughing because I was laughing. I smiled and turned toward his voice.

I caught a flash of white as he darted out of view, and I scrunched my eyes shut. "I'm sorry," I whispered, "I didn't mean to."

"I know." His voice was warm against my ear, thawing the chill that had crept through my clothes during the sledding marathon.

The blindfold he draped over my eyes was scratchy. "What's this?"

"Wool. I don't want you catching cold."

Not only was it warm, the blindfold was thick and tightly woven, leaving no room for me to sneak a glimpse of Ross. My heart sank a bit, despite the promise. I'd sort of hoped that sledding might make him lower his barriers, but so far it didn't seem to be having much effect on him.

There was a soft thud as he plopped down on the plastic sled, and I heard him tap the sled in front of him. "Come here."

Groping, I reached for his hand. He pulled me down in front of him on the sled, and I tucked my feet underneath my body, leaning against him. It was delicious to feel his warmth against my back, and I sighed, content.

"Are you ready?" His voice was excited, and I grinned.

"Whenever you are!"

We sailed down the hill, and I was surprised at the difference the blindfold made. Or maybe it was feeling Ross pressed against me that made me dizzy and disoriented. Either way, sledding like this was a whole new experience.

We spent the better part of the morning racing down the hill until I couldn't feel my fingertips anymore.

I stood up, dusting the snow off my legs, and reached for the blindfold. "That was awesome." I kept my eyes closed tight as I shook the blindfold out.

"Thank you for inviting me." Without warning, Ross pressed his lips to mine. I felt myself thawing out and beginning to tingle before we broke apart.

It was hard to keep my eyes closed. _Maybe he won't notice if I peek at him from underneath my lashes. Just a little peek._ Before I could try, however, I heard his footsteps receding behind me.

"I'll see you for dinner!" he called, his voice thin in the cold winter air.

Deciding to risk it, I opened my eyes, but all I could see was a tiny shape at the base of the castle. How had he traveled so far so quickly? I trudged back through the snow, stewing.

The happy glow of sledding gradually turned to slush the longer I was out in the cold not having fun. My skin began tingling again, but this time not from Ross's presence, and despite my earlier enthusiasm, I was starting to get cranky when I made it back to the castle.

Luckily, I didn't meet anyone on the stairs, and I took a hot bath before I headed out for dinner. I was feeling better once I thawed out in the water, and I dressed quickly and left my room unescorted. I told myself that I was just hungry, but a voice in the back of my mind whispered that perhaps I would get a chance to see Ross in the light if I got there before he was expecting me.

I slowed down, puzzled at the thought. Why was I suddenly compelled to see him? Maybe it was because I had come so close when we were sledding. But why did I even care? I knew that appearances shouldn't matter. For whatever reason, Ross didn't want me to see him, and I'd promised.

But what if there was something wrong with him? What had he said about fairy tale endings? I shivered in the hallway. Maybe I'd fallen in love with a beast instead of a handsome prince. Would I still love him if he were hideous?

Standing in the dark hallway, I seriously considered the question, and I was surprised when I didn't have an immediate answer. I'd always prided myself on my ability to ignore superficial things, so why should it matter that I'd never seen Ross?

_Because I want to look into his eyes when he says he loves me,_ I realized with a shock. Falling in love had been fast and heady, but the thrill of kissing him in the dark was beginning to wear off. Our trysts felt more like an illicit affair than a long-term relationship. What if I spent the rest of my life here, in this castle, with a man I never laid eyes on?

The thought filled me with a wave of homesickness, so fast and sharp that I staggered, catching myself against the wall. I hadn't thought about staying here forever: somehow, I'd always assumed that I'd go home at the right time. But Ross hadn't ever suggested that I go home, and, I realized with a jolt of shame, I'd never asked.

_At least that's one thing I can change tonight_. At that precise moment, the candles in the hall flared up, lighting my way to the dining room. I walked slowly to the door and tapped twice with my knuckles.

"Come in, of course!" Ross's voice was muffled through the door. I closed my eyes, trying to picture him waiting for me, but even my artist's eye failed me. I'd never seen him: all I could picture waiting for me was a shadow that was somehow darker than the other shadows in the room.

I opened the door and crossed to the table. I'd eaten in the dark with him enough to know that it took three steps to reach my seat, but I must have been striding too wide because my hip bashed into the corner of the table.

"Ouch!" I tried to bite back the exclamation.

"What happened?" Ross was at my side in an instant, but instead of being comforted by his touch, I was annoyed.

"Just hit the table." I gritted my teeth and slid into the chair. Ross rested his palms on my shoulders for a moment, but when I didn't move, he withdrew his hands and moved back to his seat.

Dinner was strangely silent. I slurped my soup just to see if he would ask me to stop, but he didn't. I fidgeted with the bracelet in between courses, wondering if I should take it off. Things felt different between us tonight.

Finally, Ross broke the silence. "Is everything okay?"

I set my fork down. "How long do you intend to keep me here?"

"What do you mean?" His voice sounded wounded, but I glared into the darkness, unmoved.

"Just what I said. How long will I stay here?"

"I had hoped," he paused and cleared his throat, "you can stay as long as you like."

"What about my family?"

Ross was silent.

"Can I see them?"

"You can leave if you choose, but I wish you wouldn't. I could arrange to have them brought here for a visit if you like."

My strange anger faded as quickly as it had come. "Seriously?"

"I would do anything to make you happy, Psyche." "You do make me happy! I just wish—" I hesitated, not wanting to make him feel worse than he already did.

"Wish what?"

"Wish that I could see your face," I whispered.

He didn't answer, and the room felt as if a cold wind had swept through it.

"It will look pretty strange," I said with a forced laugh, "if we entertain my parents in the dark."

"You gave me your word."

I dropped my head. "Yes," I whispered.

"I love you. Isn't that enough?"

Nervously, I rose, feeling my way around the table until I reached his chair. My lips sought his in the darkness, and I tried to heal the breach that had formed between us with a kiss. If being in love means not seeing him, maybe I'll just keep my eyes closed all the time. Even though I wanted to look into his eyes, the pressure of my lips against his was the best thing I'd ever felt, and I didn't want to lose that. When I finally pulled away, I whispered, "I love you, too."

For a minute nothing happened, but then he reached out and grasped my hand. "Would it make you happy to see your parents?"

I leaned against his chair, resting my head alongside his neck. "I think so. I'm homesick."

He stroked my hair. "My poor love. I didn't think what it must be like for you to be so alone here. And you really must feel like you're alone," he continued as if he were thinking out loud, "since you're used to companions that you can see. I didn't think!"

My heart felt lighter, and the strange mood I'd been in evaporated completely. I kissed his neck slowly, working my way up his jaw and brushing my lips across his. "I've never known anyone like you."

He kissed me back, but I felt his moment of hesitation. Later, when we said goodnight, I clung to him for a second longer than usual.

"I'm sorry about tonight. I don't want to break my promise."

"I'll have your parents brought as soon as possible. Hopefully a visit with them will set you at ease."

"How will we explain you to them?"

He paused for a moment, and in that moment, I understood.

I let go of him quickly. "They won't meet you, will they?" My voice was sharp, but I didn't care.

"Would they be as willing as you to dine with our special arrangements?"

I shook my head, my heart sinking. "But I want them to meet you! You're important to me."

"I can offer them the use of my home for as long as they would like to visit you, but I don't think that it would be possible for me to meet them." He kissed my forehead and sighed when I stepped out of his embrace. "Truly, love, I'm sorry, but this is how it must be."

What was I going to tell my parents? Without another word, I turned and made my way up the dark hallway.

A whisper followed me to the stairs. "You must trust me."
Chapter Sixteen

Despite my frustration with Ross, I wanted to believe that he'd bring my parents, and I waited eagerly each day for them. Ross didn't let me down. Three days after we'd gone sledding, the butler voice summoned me early in the morning.

"Your parents are on their way, miss," he said from the doorway. "Is there anything special you would like prepared for the meals?"

"Venison meatballs," I replied automatically. That was Dad's favorite. "And salmon." Mom always loved to order fish when we went out to eat, and I had a vague memory of her once referring to salmon as a delicacy. I paused. This would be my first time seeing Mom since she left; what would I say to her? I pushed that thought aside and tried to concentrate. "Oh, and lots of chocolate ice cream for after." Mom loved chocolate anything.

"Very good. The kitchen will fill in the other courses as it pleases them, unless you have suggestions for soup or salad?"

I shook my head. I was too distracted to think of the rest of the food. Even though Ross had promised to bring my parents to the castle, a part of me hadn't really believed he would. I hadn't even been sure Mom was at home, but if Ross had been able to find her, I assumed she must have come back. That thought made my heart clench a little bit; I'd sort of accepted the fact that I'd driven Mom away because of my beauty, but if she was back with Dad, that proved it. Glancing around the room, I tried to see it through my parents' eyes. Would they like it? Would they even be able to see the castle? I'd thought the place was too strange to be opened to outsiders, but Ross had proved me wrong. _He must really love me if he'll invite complete strangers into his home like this._ My annoyance at him for the invisibility thing was replaced with a surge of affection, and I smiled for the first time in days.

"When will they be here?" I asked the voice lingering by my door.

"By mid-afternoon."

"Tell Sean I won't meet him this morning, will you?" I hated to cancel my herbal lessons, but I wanted to make sure everything in the castle was perfect before my parents arrived.

"There are plenty of servants. You don't need to take care of the cleaning."

I laughed. "I know that! You've never let me help out around here. I just want time to get myself ready."

The voice was distant, almost annoyed. "Whatever you say." The door clicked shut, and I flew out of bed. I wanted to show my parents everything, but I realized I'd better check with the castle and see which rooms it would let me into. I dressed hurriedly then headed into the hall.

The rooms on the first floor wouldn't open, but I tried the game room on the second floor. I'd been hanging out in there lately. There was a pool table ready for play, stacks of board games in a cabinet, and my favorite, a beat-up foosball table. That hadn't been there the first time I found the room, but it was like Ross said: the palace was continuously adjusting itself to me. Thankfully, that room was unlocked. At least there would be something to do other than sit in the dark while my parents were here.

I kept prowling around, testing doors. The castle let me into the library upstairs, which was somehow now filled with books like a normal library, as well as a small dining room with windows looking out on the mountains. I'd never eaten in there with Ross, and I was excited to show my parents the breathtaking view.

When I got back to my room, I noticed that candles extended down the hallway beyond me. Cautiously, I opened the door next to mine and discovered a guest room. The room itself was smaller than my room, but the bed was a queen covered in spotless white pillows and a champagne-colored blanket. It was perfect for Mom.

Shutting the door with a smile, I hurried down the hall to the next illuminated room. This one had a smaller bed covered in a brightly colored quilt, and a T.V. was propped up in one corner. I stared at it dumbly for a moment. In the weeks I'd been living there, I couldn't remember ever seeing a modern appliance before. I shrugged. At least Dad wouldn't be bored.

The separate guest rooms bugged me, though. "Do you know something I don't?" I asked the castle. Nobody answered, and I sighed. I really wanted to believe that my parents were back together, but the castle seemed to think otherwise. As I was shutting the door to the second guest room, a breeze rippled through the hall, extinguishing the candles.

"Your parents will arrive at the castle any minute." A voice I hadn't heard before spoke. "You might want to go down to greet them."

I didn't have to be told twice. I raced down the hallway to the stairs. As I opened the door to the courtyard, I whispered to the castle, "Thank you so much!" I was sure that Ross would get the message.

***

The visit was a disaster. Both my parents were there, but it was clear from the way Mom kept glaring at Dad that things between them hadn't magically improved once I was out of the picture. The guilt and anger I'd felt over Mom leaving bubbled up to the surface again, and I had a hard time looking at her, let alone talking with her one on one. I stuck close to Dad during the visit, but that wasn't much help. He was still walking around with the hazy look in his eyes that I'd first seen the night Mr. Merk took me, but my mom was sharp and alert. I wasn't sure which one of them was worse.

They stayed for three nights, letting me show them around the castle and the grounds. I hadn't tried to hide the fact that I was there with Ross, not at a fancy boarding school like Dad might have thought, but he didn't seem to notice. Each night at dinner, however, Mom made some comment about the fact that my boyfriend wasn't there. Finally, on the last day of their visit, she cornered me for "a little girl talk," as she laughingly told Dad before we slipped away.

Once we were alone together, my mother stopped smiling.

"I didn't raise you to be a slut."

I sputtered indignantly, "What are you talking about?"

Mom gestured angrily at the air. "Dropping out of school and running away is all very romantic, but eventually you'll have to come home and admit that this is all a mistake."

"I'm happy here with Ross."

"Yes, the mysterious Ross. Why wasn't he here to greet us?"

I didn't know what to say, but my mother's next words left me horrified.

"Are you some kind of sex slave or something? Is he keeping you here against your will?"

"Why would you think that? Don't you know me at all?"

Mom shrugged, unruffled. "I'm not sure. The daughter I raised would never run off, leaving her family, to shack up with a stranger in the middle of nowhere." Before I could lash out at her for doing exactly what she accused me of, she pressed on. "I'm not sure all this isn't just some elaborate pipe dream. Your father's certainly acting like he smoked something."

I gritted my teeth. "This is real, Mom, like it or not, and this is where I want to stay."

"I don't like it. It's too weird. And what about this Ross?"

I sucked in my breath sharply. "What about him?"

"What does he do? How could he afford a place like this? Does his family live here?"

"No, but his mother visits sometimes," I answered, glad to be able to share that information. Maybe Mom would think better of him if she knew he was still close to his family.

Mom gave me a hard look. "What does he look like?"

I opened my mouth, but the lie froze on my lips. I stared at my mother for a moment before snapping my jaw shut.

"He can't be that ugly."

Her words stung. "Mom, not everything is about how somebody looks."

She smiled knowingly. "So I'm right and he's not very good looking, is he?"

I paused, wondering what I could say. "I love his voice," I finally answered.

Mom's eyes widened and she studied me for a minute. "Have you even seen him?"

Mutely, I shook my head.

"You're screwing this guy and you don't even know what he looks like! What's wrong with you?" Her voice rose hysterically, and I shuddered.

"Mom, I'm not... nothing like that has happened!"

"But that doesn't change the fact that you can't look me in the eye and tell me honestly what this boy looks like, can you?"

I hesitated for a moment that felt like a year, and then I shook my head. I couldn't lie to her, even though I wanted to.

Mom narrowed her eyes, but instead of yelling, she reached out her arms and folded me into a stiff hug. "My poor little girl. We have to get you out of here."

"I want to stay," I said, with less conviction than I'd felt before.

"You can't let somebody use you like this. You have to find out who this creep is so we can go to the police." She started pacing, and I watched her, bewildered. How could I make her see that I'd stumbled into a fairy tale?

"But, Mom—"

"He's clearly brainwashed you, but that doesn't change the fact that he's kidnapped you. I want this man brought to justice!"

"Mom, it's not like that," I spoke quickly. "I love him. No," I cut the interruption off, "I don't know what he looks like, but why should that matter? He's kind and funny and smart and... " I gestured helplessly around the castle, "he just wants to make me happy."

My mother was silent for a moment, staring at me as if I'd grown a second head.

I grabbed her hands. "Please believe me. He hasn't brainwashed me, or raped me, or kidnapped me, or done anything at all! I want to stay here, with him."

"What if he's a monster?"

Her words sent me reeling and I dropped her hands. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said! If you've never seen him, how do you even know he's human?" She dropped her voice, glancing around the room nervously. "Psyche, this castle, everything you're saying, it's not normal. This all feels like something from a fairy tale."

I pinched my lips, but I was listening. I remembered Ross mentioning monsters and princes that night so long ago, and I stared at my mom in horror. _What if she's right?_

"If he isn't a perverted kidnapper, then the only other explanation for what's happened to you," she laughed shakily, "is some kind of enchantment. Which seems a little far-fetched to me."

"Magic," I whispered breathlessly. Should I tell her about Sean or Ms. A? I had gotten so used to the magic in the castle that it didn't seem weird to me anymore, but Mom was clearly freaked out.

"Magic. I'm not saying I believe in that kind of thing," Mom added primly, "but if you aren't brainwashed, then what other explanation is there?"

I closed my eyes, not wanting to cry in front of her. I'd accepted the strangeness of my new world, but the more Mom talked, the less certain I felt of anything.

"What you need to do, no matter what," she said earnestly, taking my hands and squeezing them, "is find out who or what he is. Once you've seen him, we can decide what to do."

"We?" I stared steadily at her. "Have you gone back to Dad? Are we a family again?" My voice was bitter, and I felt oddly satisfied when Mom winced.

"We'll always be a family. But no, I haven't gone back to your father. That doesn't mean I'm not allowed to care about you!"

My mind was reeling, and slowly, I shook my head. "I think you should go now."

Mom's face was caught somewhere between surprise and anger when the door opened and Mr. Merk walked in, Dad following close behind. Dad leaned forward and patted my hair, his eyes cloudy.

"My beautiful girl," he murmured. "Make us proud, sweetie." He turned and shuffled for the door.

"I'll show you the way back," Mr. Merk said, gently but firmly grabbing my mom's arm and steering her toward the door.

"Psyche?" Mom turned to watch me as she was led to the door. "Remember what I said!"

I gritted my teeth, but as soon as the door swung shut, I dissolved into tears, sinking to the floor in confusion. What was I supposed to do?
Chapter Seventeen

I didn't sleep that night. I was still sitting on the window seat, my face pressed against the cold glass, when the sun rose on the other side of the castle. Cracking my stiff neck, I stood up, swaying a bit before I found my balance.

"Tell Ross I'll meet him in the library." I tried to keep my voice from shaking as I spoke to the empty air.

I didn't bother to shower or change out of the clothes I'd been wearing yesterday when my parents left. For once, I didn't care about what Ross thought of me. I was too miserable for that.

When I got to the library, it was empty. I positioned myself with my back to the door and waited. The early morning light streaming in the windows made my shadow seem huge, and for a moment, I was transfixed, watching the dark reflection of myself move on the floor. I turned around slowly, staring at the floor, and my shadow contorted.

"You wanted to see me?" Ross's smooth voice was concerned, and my heart leaped at the familiar sound. I hadn't spent any time with him during my parents' visit, and I hadn't realized until that moment how desperately I missed him.

I faltered, not sure what to do. I had no reason to break my promise, I realized, none at all except for my mother's poisoned words. In the silence, Ross crossed the room and stroked my hair, lifting it high and kissing the back of my neck. "I've missed you, Psyche."

I closed my eyes, melting into the sensation of his touch. "I missed you, too." I leaned against him, feeling safe and sheltered. My anxiety melted away as we stood, pressed together. With a happy sigh, my eyes flickered open and my gaze landed on my shadow.

It took a minute for my brain to process what I was seeing. The shadow behind mine was hunched like a gargoyle, with two bony protrusions reaching into the air above his head. _Oh, my God, Mom was right._ My heart stopped as I stared in disbelief at the disfigured monster behind me.

Two things happened at once. I spun around, determined to face him once and for all, and Ross darted for the door of the library, anticipating my movement. Despite the fact that he moved with inhuman speed, he didn't reach the doorway before I turned around, and he stood frozen, as if my gaze had paralyzed him. I gasped.

Instead of the monster I'd been expecting, I was staring at a work of art. Tall white wings, like swan's wings, swept gracefully up toward the ceiling of the room, but the wings were attached to the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. His skin was pale like ivory, and his hair was golden-red, an entire sunset reflected on his head. Amber eyes met mine and I froze, stunned by his beauty.

His perfect face stirred some faint memory, but before I could put my finger on what he reminded me of, his face changed. The shock dropped away and was replaced by a mask of sorrow. Without a word, he turned and slowly left the room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly I was running to catch up with him. I skidded into the doors which opened easily enough, but on the landing I paused, confused. There was no sign of Ross on the stairs, and I couldn't hear anything but the beating of my heart.

"Ross?" My voice cracked, and I drew a deep breath. "Ross? I need to talk to you."

Silence answered me.

Confused, I ran down the stairs. No one stopped me, and I went all the way down to the door. Where was he? Crossing the courtyard, I headed instinctively toward the greenhouse, but I recoiled in shock when I got there.

The beautiful glass panels were cracked and dusty, and the greenhouse that I'd worked in only days ago was filled with rotting plants and cobwebs. I blinked, not believing my eyes, but the sight before me didn't change. It looked like it had been abandoned a century ago.

"Sean?" I whispered. There was no answer.

Frightened, I turned back to the castle, but the sight of it made me scream. I fell to my knees in horror. The golden palace was melting before my eyes. It was like watching a snowman on the first warm day, only sped up.

The towers crumbled, tipping toward the mountains as they fell. From this distance, I couldn't make out the individual jewels that covered the castle, but I saw stones of all shapes and sizes falling to the ground like ash. The rubble sat for a moment, looking out of place in the beautiful meadow, and then it shimmered like a mirage. Within seconds, nothing remained of the palace. Even the greenhouse was gone when I turned around.

"What did I do?" I asked the empty air, fighting back a sob. But there was no one to answer. I was completely alone.

"... _And with these final words, he took wing and she fell to the earth weeping; for a short time, she was able to watch her husband's flight but when she lost sight of his wings, beating and soaring away, she cast herself into a nearby river. But the river refused to harm her and eddied its waves about her to place her back onto the bank..."_

Apuleius, Metamorphosis

### Part III
Chapter Eighteen

I don't know how long I sat there on my knees, staring at the bleak mountains that had once stood behind the castle, but the shadows had shifted by the time I felt a hand on my shoulder. I lifted my tear-stained face hopefully, but my heart sank when I saw who it was.

"Stand up," Mr. Merk said gruffly. "I've come to take you back."

"Back?" My brain could barely make sense of his words.

He nodded impatiently, helping me to my feet. "Back home. Unless," he added with a wicked smile, "you want to stay here."

I stared around the empty plain and shuddered. "I don't want to stay here." I wiped my tears and stood shakily. "Is Ross gone?" I whispered.

Mr. Merk ignored me. He turned without a word and started walking away from the purple mountains. I looked over my shoulder once before I fell into step behind him. I felt hollow, as if I'd lost all my emotions with the tears that had poured down my face. Occasionally, I glanced at the cliff beside the path, wondering what would happen if I flung myself off the edge. It couldn't be any worse than the empty ache I was feeling.

We walked for hours, but Mr. Merk didn't speak to me once. When we finally stopped, the sun was gone. In the twilight shadows, he touched my hand and the world spun.

I staggered, reaching for the strange old man to steady myself, but my hands caught empty air. Stumbling, I landed on my knees, and something wet and warm covered my face. Blinking and disoriented, my eyes finally focused on the lumbering bulldog that was licking me.

Home. The word brought bitter tears to my eyes. "Hi, Rex." I reached out and scratched his ears halfheartedly. He must have sensed my mood because suddenly the dog whined and scooted away. Sitting on the floor, I looked around the living room. Nothing had changed in the months I'd been gone, which felt wrong somehow: I had changed so much, so why would anything else be the same? _But this house isn't like the castle,_ I thought: _it doesn't adjust itself to the people within it. It is just a house, just the same as it's always been._

Rex whimpered, and I realized I was crying again. I rubbed my arm across my eyes and staggered toward the stairs. Once in my room, I collapsed into a dreamless sleep while Rex stood guard at the bedroom door. Maybe, I thought hopefully, I would never wake up.

A door slamming woke me sometime later, and at first I didn't know where I was. The bed was too small, and the room smelled different. My bedroom door opened and Dad strode into the room, smiling. I stared at him numbly, my memories rushing back in a flood. The castle. Ross. _Oh, God, what have I done?_

"Good morning, Princess! Up and at 'em. You don't want to sleep away the day."

I blinked stupidly, pulling the quilt around me. "Good morning," I managed to croak. What would Dad say?

He flopped down on the end of the bed and leaned forward to ruffle my hair. "That's my girl, beautiful even with bed hair! What do you want to do today?"

My eyes darted around the room nervously. What day was it? Did he even know I'd been gone? Did he remember anything about his visit to the castle?

He interrupted my frantic calculations. "How was the field trip yesterday?"

I stared at him in surprise. "The field trip?"

He squinted at me. "Are you hung-over?" He leaned forward and sniffed my breath. "I don't want you fooling around with booze. You know better."

I shook my head quickly. "No, I'm not hung-over. I'm just tired. What," I tried to draw the loose threads of my thoughts together, "what do you want for breakfast?"

He grinned. "I thought we could hit the pancake house: haven't done that yet this school year, have we?"

After a moment's hesitation, I nodded. "That sounds good."

Dad rose and headed for the door. "And over breakfast, you can tell me about the museum. I want to hear all about Cincinnati: I haven't been there since I was in high school!"

I waited until he had shut the door, and then I bolted across the room to my desk. The daily art calendar that Mom had given me for Christmas last year sat, untouched, on the first Saturday in October.

"No," I whispered in shock, "it's not possible." Thousands of memories assaulted me, marking every day that I'd spent in the castle. But if the calendar was correct, none of that had ever happened. The thought that Ross's lips could have been a figment of my imagination paralyzed me.

Get a grip, Psyche. You weren't here to flip the calendar, were you? There's no reason to panic yet. Praying that the calendar was wrong, I turned on my iPod and stared at the screen nervously. The date that flashed matched: it was still early October.

I sank into my desk chair, horrified. Was I going insane? I shot a dark glance back at my bed. What if I'd been dreaming, and the whole thing was just an Oz-like hallucination? Had I made it all up?

A whisper of a breeze cut through the room, and I shivered. The memory of Ross's touch lingered on my skin, and I shook my head. I hadn't made him up. I couldn't have imagined anything that wonderful. But a quick look around my room reminded me of the way I'd ruined things with him. Maybe it would be better to pretend that I'd never left. If I could pretend it was just a dream, then it wasn't my fault that the castle had disintegrated in the wind. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Whichever way I looked at it, it was awful. Either I'd had a wonderful guy who loved me and I'd lost him, or it had all been a pathetic fantasy.

Trying to stem my tears, I hurried to dress, knowing that Dad was waiting. I glanced in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door and forced a smile. Even with dark circles under my eyes and a nose swollen from crying, I was still freakishly beautiful; that part hadn't been a dream. I sighed and went downstairs to meet Dad.

Breakfast was quiet. Dad kept trying to make small talk, but I concentrated on stuffing chocolate-chip pancakes into my mouth and staring at my plate. Finally, he sighed.

"I wanted to apologize for not being there when you got home last night."

I shrugged, slurping my orange juice without speaking.

"I know I haven't been there for you the way I should since your mother left," his voice broke and I looked up, surprised. He struggled to get his face neutral before he continued, "But all that's going to change."

I was skeptical, but I nodded at him without speaking, and he smiled and reached across the table, taking my hand off my fork and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I won't be going back to Mac's anymore. Will you help me, kiddo?"

"Sure, Dad." His words should have made me happy, but I felt numb inside. Wearily, I pulled my hand away and kept eating. "Does that mean you're giving up on Mom coming back?" I stabbed at a sausage link three times before my fork made contact.

"We have to do our best with what we've been given. I may have failed your mom, but I don't want to fail you."

I looked up and was startled to see tears in his eyes. I forced myself to smile. "You won't fail me, Dad."

He looked away, embarrassed, and we finished our breakfast in silence.

"That's a pretty bauble," he commented offhandedly as he was paying the check. I looked down reflexively, but then I froze. The beautiful bracelet was still clasped around my wrist.

I almost hyperventilated. It hadn't been a dream! "Thanks. It's—" I didn't like lying to him, but I didn't know how to explain the bracelet. "Something I picked up," I finished lamely.

He didn't say anything else about it, but I couldn't stop touching it. What did it mean? Shouldn't it have vanished in a puff of smoke when I left the castle?

Through silent consensus, we drove to the hardware store after breakfast. I grabbed a roller and two brushes while Dad picked out a color of paint. I didn't ask to see a sample, and he didn't offer. When we got home, we spent the afternoon smearing friendly blue paint over the half-finished kitchen. The walls glistened wetly, and the color looked more like something you'd put in a kid's bedroom rather than a kitchen, but I put my arm around Dad and hugged him wordlessly when we finished. No more eggplant. No more reminder of Mom.

"That's a lot better," he said, kissing the top of my head. "Want to paint your room next?"

I laughed. "Not today. I want to shower and get the paint out of my hair."

"How 'bout a movie tonight? It's about time you were introduced to Hitchcock."

I didn't tell him that I'd spent an entire semester during freshman year film class watching movies like Psycho and North by Northwest. Instead, I just forced a smile and nodded silently. _Even if I can't have Ross, at least I can have my dad back._
Chapter Nineteen

School was as bad as I remembered. I kept my head down and a tight grip on my books, and somehow I made it to the art room unmolested. After the day with Dad, I'd tried to forget about Ross, but when I walked into the art room and met Ms. Amboulia's gaze, my heart fell through my feet. Her gray eyes glinted with knowing, and I was overwhelmed with memories that I'd been keeping at bay. Life without Ross was unbearable.

I almost burst into tears on the spot, and it took every ounce of self-control to move to my art locker and take out the carving tools. For a minute, I held the pocket knife tightly in my hands, its blades closed. My eyes strayed to the soft flesh of my wrists. Would it hurt very much? My eyes met Ms. Amboulia's across the room, and she shook her head firmly, watching me.

I looked away, trying to pretend my dark thoughts weren't real. Swiftly, I started working on a bar of soap, not really knowing what I planned to carve. The knife was flying in my hands when I felt someone standing by my shoulder, watching me silently. I hesitated, but finally I looked up.

I'd expected to see hatred or accusation, but I wasn't prepared for the calm expression on Ms. Amboulia's face. The woman held out her hand, and I obediently placed the half-started carving in her grasp.

She turned it over, inspecting the lines, and I realized with a shock that I'd been trying to carve Ross's perfect face, from the one fleeting memory I had of it. Ms. Amboulia cocked her head to one side and considered the carving.

"This would be better if you were using your imagination instead of your eyes. Remember, Psyche, 'the heart looks not with the eyes but with the mind,'" she quoted before handing the carving back. I heard the reproof in the words and hung my head, ashamed. If I'd just listened to my heart, I wouldn't be back here. I'd still be with Ross, and everything would be fine. Ms. Amboulia patted my shoulder once before moving on to supervise the other students.

I wanted to talk to her when class ended, but a senior was having trouble with the welding equipment, and Ms. Amboulia was bent over it with him, totally absorbed. I lingered by the door for a minute, but when it became clear that the repair might take a while, I decided to come back at the end of the day.

The one bright spot of the day was Mrs. Stillwater's class. She was gone unexpectedly, and the substitute passed out maps and instructions as fast as she could before retreating to Mrs. Stillwater's desk, which she clutched like a life preserver. Some of the boys spent the class making rude noises and watching the sub turn interesting shades of crimson, but I was mostly able to ignore them and work on the map. I didn't mind the busy work: at least Mrs. Stillwater wasn't there to humiliate me.

At the end of the day, I skipped going to my locker and rushed instead to the art room. I wanted to make sure that I caught Ms. Amboulia before she left the school.

The art teacher looked up with an unreadable expression. "I don't have any more work for you, Miss Jones. Consider your field trip debt settled." The woman dropped her eyes back to the stack of tests in front of her, dismissing me.

I didn't leave. "Ms. A, can we talk about something?"

The gray eyes met mine, boring holes into me, and I forced myself to meet the harsh gaze. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Was it a dream?"

After a moment, she smiled slightly. "Only if that's what you want to believe."

I breathed a huge sigh. "Then it really happened?"

Ms. Amboulia stood and crossed to the door behind me. She glanced around, as if listening to things that I couldn't hear. After a moment, she turned to face me. "If you choose to believe, you will bear a heavy burden."

I hung my head. "I broke my promise, and somehow I ruined everything."

"Then you will take responsibility?" Ms. Amboulia's voice was sharp with anticipation that I didn't understand, but I nodded.

"I believe that it was all real, and I believe that I ruined it."

There was a sigh, and then the air in the art room shimmered like the air from the kiln. Ms. Amboulia was still standing there, but she'd changed. Instead of the funky quilted outfit she'd been wearing that day, she was now draped in a white robe. Just like in my vision months ago, an owl perched on her hand. Light seemed to emanate from her, and I had to squint to see.

"Now do you know who I am?" Ms. Amboulia asked in a voice that filled the art room.

Suddenly, I understood. The owl. Her gray eyes. The writings that Ms. A had assigned as homework while I was in the castle sprang to mind, and I dropped to my knees. "You're Athena. Oh my God, you're a god?"

Athena shimmered, and the owl on her wrist let out a sharp call. "That's right, Psyche. What else do you know?"

Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, and I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water. "Ross wasn't—Ross is a god, too, isn't he?"

"Eros. The god of love." The magnificent goddess laughed at the stunned expression on my face. "Oh, yes, my dear, you are lovely enough that you captured the heart of the god of love."

For a minute, I couldn't speak. Memories from the castle raced through my mind, including Ross's stricken face at the moment of my betrayal. Nervously, I touched the bracelet.

"How do I get him back?" I asked, surprising myself with the question.

Athena stared at me for a moment, and the owl matched its mistress's expression. I kept my eyes focused on the goddess's face, trying not to blink.

"Are you sure that you can win him, after the way you betrayed him?"

I flinched, but then I nodded. "I have to try. If I just let this end, I'll always wonder what might have happened."

The goddess nodded slowly. "Very wise. Regret is the worst of the emotions to bear. It is worse even than heartbreak. Will you still undertake this quest if I tell you that it is unlikely that you will succeed?"

Without hesitation, I nodded again. "I love him. I'll do anything to get him back."

"You might not win him; in fact, just by fighting for him, you may put yourself in mortal danger."

I swallowed. "I can't let him go."

"Then you will need to seek out the one goddess who might influence his mind."

I racked my brain, trying to remember the mythic family tree of Greece. I wish I'd paid more attention to all that homework in the castle! "I don't know who you mean," I finally admitted.

"Aphrodite. His mother is the only one who might intercede on your behalf."

With a chill, I thought of the bitter voice I'd met the first morning at the castle. "I don't think she'll help me," I whispered quietly.

Athena laughed. "And once again, you show wisdom. No, Aphrodite is not predisposed to help you. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if she wishes you were dead. But if you truly love her son, you will take that risk."

I swallowed nervously. "I love him. Tell me how to find Aphrodite."

"I cannot tell you where she is, but I can send you to one who might help."

I stared at the goddess, my brows knit in frustration. "Why can't you help me?"

"The gods can only meddle so far in the lives of men. Besides," she added reasonably, "I don't know where Aphrodite is. I've lost track of her over the years. She's around here somewhere, I'm sure. But there is one who always knows where the Olympians are. She is our queen, so it stands to reason she would keep a directory."

A name popped into my mind. "Hera? How do I find her?"

"You should make a trip with your father. When is the last time he took you to the zoo?"

I frowned, confused. "The zoo? What does that have to do with Hera?"

"Just make sure you find a way to get there. If the goddess wants to speak with you, she will."

It wasn't much to go on, but I felt a surge of hope as I nodded, staring at my transformed art teacher thoughtfully. "Is there anything else you can do to help me?"

The goddess shook her head. "I would like to, but I doubt I'd be much help." She grinned broadly, and the owl on her hand ruffled its wings. "Affairs of the heart have never been my forte, but I wish you luck, Psyche Jones, as you pursue your love."

There was a thunderclap outside, even though I could swear that it had been cloudless a few minutes ago, and the goddess vanished. I waited for Ms. Amboulia to reappear, but nothing happened and finally, I reluctantly left the art room.

I walked home in a daze, trying to wrap my mind around the things that the goddess had said. For some reason, I had less trouble believing that I'd fallen in love with a Greek god than I thought. Maybe it was because of everything that had happened: after living in a palace with invisible servants, Greek gods didn't seem that strange. At least now I could do something: it would have been awful to go through each day never knowing if there was a way to find Ross and apologize to him. I tried not to dwell on Athena's pessimism, focusing instead on the advice she'd given me.

I needed to get Dad to take me to the zoo, and once I was there I had to hope that Hera would talk to me. Getting to the zoo was the easy part, I realized with a laugh. The new leaf that Dad had turned over yesterday was likely to include all kinds of crazy father-daughter bonding trips, and he'd always loved the Toledo Zoo. It shouldn't be too hard to convince him that I wanted to spend a day there. After that, well, I'd worry about Hera once I made it to the zoo.

Feeling better than I had since I'd woken up on Sunday morning in my own bed, I let myself into the house. I would find a way to win Ross's affection again, I resolved, and this time, there wouldn't be any room for secrets.
Chapter Twenty

Convincing Dad to take a trip to the zoo that weekend turned out to be even easier than I'd hoped. He was trying so hard to make up for the nights he had spent at the bar that he would have agreed to anything I asked, and I waited for Saturday to come, slogging through school in a haze.

The only class I paid any attention to that week was art, where I began work on a large wooden carving. Taking Ms. Amboulia's advice, I stopped trying to capture my fleeting memory of Ross and instead started crafting a strange figure from my imagination. I started with the feet, which grew into lion's paws as I worked. I had no idea what I was carving, but it was a good distraction.

After surviving a brutal test in Mrs. Stillwater's class, I raced out of the classroom on Friday afternoon. I was almost to the door of the school when something hard struck my shin and I went flying to the floor. My hands didn't come up in time to break my fall, and the twang of impact reverberated through my skull as I landed hard on my face.

I lay there for a minute, stunned, and gradually the ringing in my ears gave way to the sound of laughter. Prying myself off the floor, I touched my lips gingerly. They were sticky, and when I looked at my hand, blood was streaked across my fingers.

"Aw, what's the matter, Psyche?" Lydia's voice became discernible over the chorus of laughter. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Rachel's voice rang through the hallway. "That's what happens to girls who do all their work on their backs. She probably can't walk straight anymore."

"Slut," someone in the crowd hissed.

Rage bubbled up in my chest and suddenly, I couldn't stand it anymore. How dare these people treat me like this? I clenched my fists and got to my feet slowly, lifting my chin to meet Rachel's gaze. "What did I ever do to you?" I hissed, staring first at Rachel before looking around at the crowd. Deliberately, I forced myself to meet everyone's gaze without dropping my eyes or flinching. I spotted Elaina in the crowd, but after a moment, she shook her head and started to walk away. My heart was pounding, and I wanted to run away and hide, but I was tired of hiding.

Rachel tossed her brown hair over her shoulder and laughed. "You didn't do anything to me, thank God. I bet I'm the only person here that you didn't do!" She raised her voice, turning to the assembled crowd. "Anyone think she looks better like this?"

Ragged applause scattered through the crowd, but the students seemed nervous. Maybe I should have stood my ground sooner? I clenched my fists, and Lydia backed away from Rachel, slipping into the group of students surrounding us. I glanced into the crowd for support, but Elaina hadn't come back, and no one else met my eyes. Everyone froze as if they were waiting for something to happen. For a moment, nothing did.

Then I launched myself at Rachel.

Flailing blindly, I gripped her hair and yanked sharply, not even letting go when she made a strangled sound of surprise.

"Cat fight!" someone called and I felt the group close around us in a tight circle. I didn't care who was watching. I tried to punch Rachel, but she kept dodging despite the grip I had on her hair. God, I was so mad!

Rachel didn't fight back, and in a second, I understood why. A pair of large hands wrapped around my arms and yanked me back, pulling me away from Rachel. The other girl had a triumphant look on her face even as another teacher grabbed her hands, pulling them behind her back.

"What is going on here?" Mrs. Stillwater's sharp voice cracked like a whip and instantly the crowd dispersed, leaving me and Rachel alone with the teachers who had broken up the fight. Mr. Farkner let go of me and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Come on, Miss Jones." He turned and started to move down the hallway, and I began to follow him. This wasn't going to be good.

"George, is that really a good idea? Perhaps your personal interest in this student will impede your judgment." Mrs. Stillwater smiled sweetly at Mr. Farkner.

Mr. Farkner paused, looking at her in confusion. "My personal interest?" he echoed.

Mrs. Stillwater smiled more broadly. "It might be better for me to deal with punishing Miss Jones. After all," she purred, "there are always rumors about male teachers and their female students. Completely unfounded, I'm sure," she added with a raised eyebrow.

Mr. Farkner looked surprised, and he glanced at me. "But Miss Jones is in my homeroom. It's my responsibility to write this incident up."

"But she was leaving my class when the altercation started. I think it would be better if I handled this." Smoothly, she grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. "Come with me, dear."

I looked back at Mr. Farkner, wishing he would save me, but he just watched me walk away with Mrs. Stillwater. Finally, he raised one shoulder in a weak shrug and went back into his classroom.

The fight had energized me, and I glared at the old woman. "There's nothing going on between us."

"Mr. Farkner and me," she corrected harshly. "And don't lie to me. I have it on very good authority that your inappropriate behavior has been witnessed."

"But he's gay!" I blurted out, confused.

Mrs. Stillwater glared at me. "I'm putting a stop to your attitude right now, Miss Jones. You don't control this school, and your actions are certainly not above the law. Clean out your locker and don't bother coming back on Monday."

"You can't kick me out of school!"

"Oh, but my dear, I can. This is just a temporary suspension, and I'm sure that after your little performance back there, the administration will back me up. You'll be out for three days, and when you return, I sincerely hope that you will have learned a bit of humility."

Dumbfounded, I stared at the woman as she filled out the OSS form. _Seriously? This is what happens when you stick up for yourself?_ I didn't think a plea of psychic self-defense was going to have much effect on Mrs. Stillwater, so I bit my tongue, but I was fuming.

"Oh, and Miss Jones? I'll make sure your father knows about this, but it would be better if you told him before I call. Don't add dishonesty to your list of sins. Vanity is quite deadly enough."

I stiffened, but nodded once. I barely made it out of the building before my anger bubbled over.

It was all so unfair! Everyone had been treating me like trash since school started, but the teachers never punished them. Why was I in trouble for sticking up for myself? I stomped along the sidewalk, getting angrier with each minute. No one had a right to treat me like this. Once I found Ross, I'd leave this awful place and never look back. Then I'd never have to deal with those harpies again.

Suddenly, I stopped walking. I'd just been suspended. There was no way Dad would take me to Toledo that weekend. He might even ground me: I didn't know how he would react to the news. I'd never really gotten in trouble at school before. Maybe if I could explain what had happened, he'd go easy on me.

I walked slowly, planning exactly what to say when he got home from work. I cleaned the blood off my face, but I didn't put ice on my lip: it was already painfully swollen by then. _Maybe it'll make Dad feel extra sorry for me._ When six o'clock rolled around without any sign of him, I half hoped he'd just gotten delayed, but when seven o'clock came and went, I realized with a sinking sensation that he must be at Mac's. For a moment, I considered leaving him there: telling him I was suspended for fighting would be hard enough if he were sober, but I didn't even want to think about trying to explain the situation to him if he were wasted.

At eight o'clock, the phone rang. "Sweetie?" Lou Anne's familiar voice came through the scratchy land line.

I sighed. "I know. I'll be right there."

By the time I got to Mac's, I decided not to say anything about the suspension. But that didn't matter because as soon as I saw him, it was clear that he already knew. He didn't even look at me as I helped him to the car, and his face was rigid and serious. He didn't talk at all on the short drive home, and the silence was oddly disconcerting. I sort of wished he'd just yell and be done with it.

Finally, when we were inside the house and he had flopped down heavily on the sofa, he looked at me. "What happened at school today?" he asked quietly. I did a double take: he actually sounded sober.

"I got into a fight," I began cautiously, and he nodded. I sighed, deciding to abandon the rational speech that I'd planned on the walk home that afternoon. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

"Did you win?"

His question took me by surprise, and I stared at him, confused. "What?"

"Did you at least win the fight?"

I shook my head. "The teachers caught us."

He tucked his chin into his neck and closed his eyes. I thought he'd fallen asleep until he spoke again. "What was the fight about?"

I shrugged. "People tease me. I finally got sick of it."

"What do they tease you about?"

I looked down at Rex, who was panting by my foot. Stooping to pet him so I didn't have to see Dad's face, I whispered, "The way I look."

"But you're gorgeous!" he exploded, standing up from the sofa in one swift movement.

"The girls hate me." My voice was wooden. "Just like Mom." I met his eyes.

His face crumpled. "Oh, kiddo, I hope that's not what you think." When I didn't answer, he sank back to the sofa with his face in his hands. "Your mom doesn't hate you."

"But she left."

"She left because of me!" His voice was soft, but I shook my head.

"I remember when she left. It was right after I changed."

Dad frowned. "Come here." He patted the couch beside him, and hesitantly I crossed the room and sat down. "She didn't leave because of you, Princess." He took a deep breath and looked me in the eye. "She left because I cheated on her."

Time stopped. I stared at him, not comprehending. "What did you say?"

"I'm the reason she left. Not you. She loves you, baby."

My brain whirled, refusing to process what he had just said. "But when I was—" I broke off, confused. A memory from the castle danced just out of reach. I frowned, trying to remember what I was about to say, but my mind was blank.

Dad kept talking, his words stringing together in an almost incoherent stream. "It was the dumbest mistake of my life, kiddo, and it only happened once, but when I told your mom about it, she flipped. She packed her bags the next day."

"Why hasn't she called me?"

He shook his head again, miserable. "I don't know. But you have to believe me: you had nothing to do with this. Our marriage had been shaky for years, but I'm the one who killed it."

My mind couldn't keep up with what he was saying, but luckily, he seemed to have run out of words. We sat together in silence for an hour. I remembered how Mom had called our home "the love nest," and my stomach clenched. Why would Dad cheat on her? And why hadn't she said anything to me before she left? Everything had always seemed so sweet, so perfect, between my parents; it was almost impossible to believe that their relationship had been broken beyond repair. Love is dangerous, a traitorous thought whispered in my mind.

Finally, I stirred. I patted Dad on the hand and stood up. "It's late. I want to go to bed."

"Did you still want to go to Toledo tomorrow, sweetie?" His face was hopeful, and after a moment, I nodded.

"Only if we don't have to talk about this yet."

He exhaled in relief. "Deal. We won't talk about anything that happened today. Not your fight and not," he gestured helplessly, "the rest of it."

I paused on the stairs without looking back. "Did you tell her you were sorry?"

"A million times. But sometimes that isn't enough."

His words settled into the pit of my stomach, and suddenly, I felt cold. Would saying sorry be enough for Ross?
Chapter Twenty-One

I left Dad in the monkey house and wandered alone down the mulch path that snaked through the zoo. Things had been tense since last night, but we both stuck to our agreement and didn't talk about the two taboo topics. We'd been at the zoo for two hours already, and I was getting bored. _If Hera is going to talk to me, she better do it soon._

Something sharp poked my hand, and I looked down to find an iridescent peacock thrusting its beak into my palm. I suppressed a shriek; what if the thing attacked me?

"Aren't you supposed to be in a cage?" I asked the bird, pulling my fingers away and taking a step back.

"That one's a little independent. We let him have the run of the place." A woman with black hair came up the path facing me. She was dressed in a khaki-colored zoo uniform. She watched me carefully, like I was in trouble or something.

"I didn't feed it anything!" I held up my hands, hoping I looked innocent.

The zookeeper looked at me for a long moment. "I know you didn't," she finally said.

My skin began to prickle with anticipation, but I didn't understand why. I looked down at the peacock, who was now strutting proudly back and forth on the path, ruffling his feathers and crooning. Something in my memory shifted, and I stared up at the zookeeper in surprise.

"Are you who I think you are?" I asked stupidly.

The woman smiled, showing her perfect teeth. "Perhaps. Are you the girl who's in love with love?"

That was one way to put it. I nodded. "Will you help me?"

Hera considered for a moment. "Aphrodite and her son have plagued my marriage. My husband has never been faithful to me because of their incessant pranks." Her voice was bitter, and my stomach twisted at the words. I glanced over my shoulder, thinking about Dad's own infidelity, but the path behind me was empty.

"I'm sorry," I told the goddess. "But I still love him, and I want to find him. I need—" my voice broke, and I closed my eyes for a moment, struggling to keep my composure. "I need the chance to tell him that I'm sorry I didn't trust him."

Hera's eyes were warm, and she reached out her hand. Taking my chin in her grasp, she stared into my eyes. "I see that you are honest," she said finally, releasing me.

My face tingled where the goddess had touched me, and I nodded hopefully.

"If I tell you where to look, Psyche, what would you offer me in return?"

"Anything," I said with breathless anticipation.

Hera shook her head and frowned. "Do not be foolish. Such promises are not to be made lightly."

I searched my mind, trying to remember what I had learned about this goddess in the mythology books at the castle. "Family is important to you," I began, "right?"

She nodded, expressionless.

"What if I promised something to do with my family?"

"What would you offer?"

I considered. Now that I knew why Mom had left, I wasn't sure I could imagine her and Dad getting back together, but even if they did, I knew that wasn't something I could control. Remembering the new leaf Dad said he'd turned over, an idea formed in my mind. "What if I promise to put my family first, even if I get Ross back?"

Hera cocked her head to one side and looked at her bird. They seemed to have a silent conversation, and finally the goddess smiled. "Family before love. It is a good promise. But know," she warned, "I do not take kindly to broken vows. Are you sure you can offer me this?"

I nodded. "I have to find him. I promise that, no matter what, I'll put my family first." I just hoped that my promise wouldn't keep me away from Ross if I ever had the chance to see him again. Pushing that worry aside, I forced myself to meet the goddess's gaze without flinching.

The goddess nodded slowly. "You know that even if I tell you where to find Aphrodite, there is no guarantee that she will let you see her son?"

I nodded again.

"She is a jealous goddess, and you have made an enemy of her twice over." The goddess laughed gently at my confused expression. "First, because your beauty rivals even her own, and second, now that you have betrayed her son, she has even less reason to love you."

"But I have to try. I can't live my life thinking that I didn't fight for the one thing that mattered to me."

Hera nodded. "I understand. I have spent eternity fighting against my husband's infidelities, and although our marriage has not been a happy one, it is still intact after all this time."

"How do I find Aphrodite?" I asked eagerly.

Hera thought for a moment. "You must go to her as a petitioner. Do not be proud, but humble. She will give you impossible tasks, but if you do not please her, you will never see your love again."

The peacock squawked, and I looked at the bird. "It's a risk I have to take. I need to see him to apologize."

The goddess nodded. "You will find Aphrodite here." She handed me a piece of paper but stopped me before I could look at it. "Remember, Psyche, you must do her bidding, and even then, there are no guarantees that she will let you see her son. And remember your promise."

She turned and walked down the path. The brightly plumed peacock looked over his shoulder once before hurrying after his mistress. I waited until the goddess had disappeared before I turned over the sheet of paper in my hands. I stared at it for a moment. _This isn't what I was expecting._

On the drive home, I looked at Dad and forced a smile. "I was thinking," I began, "that I'd like to have some extra money. Would it be okay if I looked for a job?"

He frowned, watching the road. "I guess that would be alright. What about helping out that art teacher?"

I shook my head. "I was thinking that I'd like to work somewhere at the mall."

He glanced at me skeptically, and I tried to look innocent.

"You really want to work at the mall?"

I played my trump card. "It'll help me buy your Christmas present."

Dad laughed. "Check the bus routes when we get home. If you can find a safe ride to and from work, I think it would be okay. Remember, though," he added sternly, "your grades have to stay high."

"Don't worry about that, Dad. I can do this." I patted the job application that Hera had given me, wondering what it would be like to work for a goddess. If I was lucky, I'd earn more than money: I'd get a chance to apologize to Ross.

The next day was Sunday, and Dad dropped me off at the mall. "You look nice," he told me as I got out of the car. "Well, you always look nice, but you look, I don't know, professional."

I smiled at him nervously. "Thanks," I said, adjusting the collar of the plain white blouse I was wearing. I hoped the outfit wasn't too pretty; I wanted to take Hera's advice, and it didn't seem like a good idea to dress up to meet Aphrodite. She already hated me; I didn't want her to think I really was vain. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Princess! Go get 'em!" He gave me a thumbs up through the windshield before he drove off, and I turned and headed for the second floor of the mall.

I found the shop easily, and I stood outside the wide doorway for a minute, listening to the hum of blow-dryers from within. I checked the application, and then looked at the pink neon sign. "Chez Belle. This is the place." Swallowing nervously, I entered the shop.

There was one little old lady sitting under a dryer, her blue-tinged hair wrapped tight around pink curlers. A bored looking girl with an eyebrow ring was cracking her gum behind the reception desk. She spent a full minute examining her nails before she glanced up at me, but I waited patiently.

"Do you have an appointment?" She blew a large bubble and popped it with her finger.

"I think she's here to see me," a honeyed voice that I recognized immediately called from the back of the shop. The girl waved me on with a limp wrist, and I walked slowly toward the room labeled "Caution: Chemicals." I hesitated for a moment, then poked my head around the corner.

Aphrodite was vigorously stirring a bowl of hair color with a black brush. Her thick red lips curled up into a snarl, and her blue eyes glittered with hatred.

"Psyche Jones. We meet at last." She spat, never faltering in her mixing.

I lowered my head in a bow. "I've come to ask for help."

"We're not hiring," the goddess snapped.

"I'm willing to do anything." My voice cracked, and I held my breath, waiting for the goddess to flick me aside like a fly.

"Anything?" Aphrodite asked in a frightening tone.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You're the only one who can help me."

"You broke my son's heart."

Surprised, I looked up. The goddess had turned around and was busy at the counter, adding more chemicals to the mixture. I didn't know what to say, but the goddess spoke again before I had a chance to answer.

"You don't deserve his love. You're a vain, selfish girl, and you threw away the gift of the gods."

I forced myself to look directly into the sharp blue eyes. "I will do anything for a chance to see him again."

The goddess smiled, but there was no mirth in her expression. I shivered, wondering if this was a mistake.

"Very well. You're hired."

I hesitated. I'd been expecting the goddess to argue with me, or at the very least, for her to make me beg. Her quick acceptance of my suggestion was heartening, but it also made me a little suspicious: Hera and Athena had both warned me that this goddess could be dangerous. Swallowing nervously, I forced a smile. "When do I start?"

Aphrodite thrust the hair dye at me. "What about immediately?"
Chapter Twenty-Two

Aphrodite sent the bored-looking receptionist home, and pulled down the gate that covered her shop. She flounced over to a stylist's chair, sitting on it like it was a throne. I looked around, but the old woman had left. I was alone with the goddess. I swallowed nervously. _What if this is a mistake?_

Aphrodite twirled around once in her chair. "You can start by coloring my hair," she announced imperiously. I looked at the goopy mixture in my hands.

"Um." My eyes met the goddess's in the mirror, and I changed what I was about to say. "Of course." Just because I'd never done anything like this before didn't mean I could stop now. I'd promised to do whatever she said.

Aphrodite snapped her fingers and a black plastic cape undraped itself from the counter. In an instant, it wrapped around her shoulders, shielding her clothes.

Hesitantly, I smeared the brush across the goddess's hair. Aphrodite watched me sharply in the mirror, correcting my movements and picking at me so much that my hands were shaking before I'd even finished half of the goddess's hair. I hadn't thought to put on any gloves, and my hands stung from the harsh chemicals. _Too late to do anything about that now._

Finally, the container of dye was empty and the goddess's head was covered with thick purple paste. It looked like she'd stuck her head in glue and paint at the same time, I thought, trying not to laugh. I turned to the sink to rinse off my hands and stared in horror at my skin.

My hands were cracked and bruised. The fingernails were covered with the thick dye, and the harder I scrubbed, the more the color seemed to seep into my skin. There were red welts that looked like chemical burns on my palms, and my knuckles looked like I'd punched a brick wall.

"Next time, you should wear gloves," Aphrodite remarked as I dried my hands gingerly.

I bit my tongue and nodded. Arguing with her wasn't going to get me anywhere, but the goddess was already grating on my nerves.

She checked her watch and sauntered over to the sink. "Now, rinse me out," she commanded, settling herself down in front of the sink with her eyes closed.

I eyed the box of latex gloves on the shelf over the sink, but then I shrugged. Maybe the water will make my hands feel better.

Ignoring the gloves had been a mistake. My hands stung when the hot water hit them, but that wasn't as bad as the shampoo. The minute I pumped a handful of the stuff, my hands felt like they were on fire. Gritting my teeth, I lathered Aphrodite's long hair and rinsed it clean.

The goddess snapped her fingers the instant the water stopped and a towel wrapped itself around her head. When the towel dropped to the floor, I stared in amazement. The goddess's hair was completely dry, shining glossily under the harsh florescent lights as if it had been blow-dried and styled.

Aphrodite checked her reflection in the mirror and smiled. "There. Who says a girl can't keep her looks after a few millennia?" She looked at me and her eyes hardened. "You can go when you clean up. I'll expect you first thing in the morning."

"But tomorrow is Monday," I stammered. "I'm still in school."

The goddess shrugged. "Do you expect me to care?"

I shut my mouth and, after a minute, the goddess nodded her head. She turned without another word and walked to the front of the store. Passing through the gate as if she were made of water, she glared at me on the inside of the shop.

"Make sure you lock up properly." With a toss of her head, she was gone.

How was I supposed to lock up if I couldn't get through the gate? Helplessly, I looked around. The salon didn't seem that messy, but it took almost an hour to sweep the floor and put away the towels and plastic capes. _It won't take so long tomorrow, I guess, because now I know where everything goes._ Wearily, I set the broom in the corner and lifted the gate. I breathed a sigh of relief when it moved easily. I'd started to worry I might be trapped in the beauty shop overnight.

Once I was in the mall hallway, I realized that Aphrodite had never given me a key. Glancing around, I was grateful to see a security guard striding toward me.

"Hey," I called out, "I'm sorry but I don't have the key."

The man stopped and grunted, not looking at me. "Want me to lock it up?"

"Yes please! I just started work, and I don't want to do anything to make her mad at me." I stopped, realizing that I was babbling.

The security guard locked the gate and walked off without another word. Rubbing my battered hands, I pulled out my cell phone. While I waited for Dad to arrive, I thought about Hera's warning and my encounter with Ross's mom. Working for Aphrodite wasn't fun, but today hadn't been that bad. A realization hit me, and I grinned; it wouldn't be a problem for me to come in to work tomorrow. I was suspended for three days! _I'll have to remember to thank Mrs. Stillwater when this is all over._

The next morning, I caught the city bus and rode to the mall in anticipation. It was strange striding through the hallway without shoppers around. When I reached the salon, the gate was already up.

Aphrodite was standing at the reception desk, tapping the pointed toe of her boot. "What took you so long?"

Confused, I looked around at the empty shop. "Is the mall even open?"

The goddess glared. "I do not reward tardiness." She thrust the broom at me. "Get to work."

"But I swept last night!"

"You didn't do it correctly." Aphrodite gestured behind her, and I stared at the mounds of hair covering the floor and gasped. There was way more hair than there'd been last night. It was like it multiplied or something. I started to ask a question, but Aphrodite narrowed her eyes. "You said you were ready to do anything for me."

I nodded hurriedly and lifted the broom, brandishing it like a sword. "I am." I hesitated. "How do you want me to do this?"

Aphrodite grinned. "I like to keep the hair separated. Don't mash it all together: sort it by color."

What? I could only stare at her. The goddess waved her hand.

"I'll be in the back. I expect you to have this done by lunch time." With that, Aphrodite sashayed to the back of the salon. I glanced at the clock on the wall and swallowed nervously. It was already eight twenty. Then I looked down at the floor, covered in pieces of hair, and groaned. "There's no way!" I said aloud.

Getting down on my hands and knees, I surveyed the mess. First, I tried separating it with my fingers, but the hair kept sticking to my hands. I considered sweeping it all into one pile and dumping hair dye over it, to make the hairs all the same color, but I doubted Aphrodite would buy that. _It's impossible!_ But I had to find a way: if I failed, I'd never see Ross again. You might never see him again no matter what you do for Aphrodite, a voice inside me said. I pushed it aside and reached for another strand of hair.

A small, black ant skittered across the toe of my ratty tennis shoe, and I flicked my foot, trying to get rid of the bug without crushing him. I felt a tickling sensation on my hands, and when I looked down, three more ants were walking purposefully over my fingers.

"Ew!" I tried to keep my voice down, afraid that Aphrodite would come out and check on me. I frowned at the ants that were clinging to my hand.

"Look, guys," I began, "you need to find a new ride."

As if they were listening, the ants formed a single file line and marched off my hand. They disappeared into the mass of hair that covered the floor. I watched them go, realizing that there might be more than ants living in the follicles on the floor. Ugh!

Scrambling to my feet, I began rummaging around in the cupboard under the reception desk. Maybe there were some ant traps that I could set out? After a thorough search, I sat back on my heels, defeated. Now I wouldn't just fail the goddess's task, but Aphrodite would probably blame me for the bug infestation, too.

I turned around, trying to figure out how I was going to tell Aphrodite that I couldn't sort the hair, and froze. Blinking a couple of times, I bent over to inspect the floor.

Somehow, the hair had sorted itself into five neat piles: black hair was stacked neatly in the center surrounded by blond, brown, red, and a shimmering miscellaneous pile that I could only assume was made up of badly colored hairs. Dumbstruck, I stared at the floor. What just happened?

An ant ran across my foot, and suddenly the surreal explanation dawned on me.

"Did you all do that?" I asked the ant, feeling a little bit stupid.

It zigged and zagged on the floor in front of me.

"I'll take that as a yes, I guess." Glad I hadn't squashed the bugs when I first saw them, I smiled. "Thank you. I don't know why you helped me, but thanks."

The ant skittered across my foot once more before marching off toward a small crack in the wall. I watched him go, waving a little before he disappeared.

"I guess all I need to do now is bag it!" I hummed to myself while I worked, and soon the five piles of hair were neatly contained in five different clear plastic bags. The dyed hair bag reminded me of Hera's bird, blues and greens shimmering unnaturally next to the other four bags.

Unsure what to do next, I checked the clock. It was nine, so I opened the gate and flicked on the neon "open" sign. I thought about cleaning some more, but I had a feeling that anything I did without being told would earn me the opposite of brownie points with Aphrodite. Instead, I sat down on the stool behind the reception desk, idly flipping through the fashion magazine that bubble gum girl had left behind yesterday.

No customers came into the store, but at five minutes before twelve, Aphrodite sauntered out of the back room with a triumphant smile. I stood up to greet her, and the goddess's expression changed from joy to barely concealed rage.

Even though I wanted to gloat, I kept my face neutral. "I hope it was okay to put the fake hair colors all in one bag."

Aphrodite looked at the neatly sorted hair and then back at me. "That will have to be good enough for now." She sighed. "You can go home. Make sure you get here at a more reasonable time tomorrow."

I hesitated. "What time would you like me to get here?"

The goddess smiled. "I'll let you figure that out."

Chapter Twenty-Three

When the bus finally circled toward my neighborhood, I realized I wasn't home much earlier than I would have been if I'd been in school. I chewed on my lower lip, wondering what to tell Aphrodite once my suspension was over.

She might just tell me to drop out, I thought bitterly as I opened the door and went inside. Rex came tearing around the corner, his toenails clacking frantically against the hardwood floors, and I laughed as he crashed into my feet.

"Nice to see you, too!" I scratched his ears, letting him slobber on my wrist. My hand froze in mid scratch as I remembered the ants that morning. What if all kinds of animals could understand me, not just bugs?

I eyed Rex. "Can you understand what I'm saying, too?"

A thick wad of slobber rolled down his chin where it hung suspended for a second before dropping to the floor with a tiny "splat."

I laughed, relaxing. "No, I guess not. It must just be animals that hang around the gods."

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I stared at the unfamiliar number for a minute before answering.

"Psyche?"

"Speaking." My stomach growled, and I wandered into the kitchen with the phone up to my ear.

"It's Elaina."

I froze halfway inside the refrigerator. I stared at the phone in shock. When had she changed her number?

"Are you still there?"

I took a deep breath. "I'm here."

"Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I heard about your fight."

I laughed shortly. "You're sorry for that, but not the entire year?"

Elaina was silent for a minute, but just before I was about to hang up, she said, "And for all that, too."

Despite the urge to snark at her, I forced myself to be polite. "I appreciate it," I said tightly. God, it was so weird; we'd been best friends forever, but now it was like I was talking to a stranger.

There was an awkward silence, and then Elaina finally said flippantly, "Well, I just wanted to make sure that you knew I was sorry. If you off yourself, I don't want your death on my conscience!"

"Excuse me?" Now I was really confused.

But the phone against my ear was silent.

I thought about calling her back and finding out what all that was about, but I stopped. What if the apology had just been a prank? The last part sounded too weird to be true. Elaina knew me; she should know that I'd never hurt myself just because things had gotten bad a school. But you've wondered what it would be like, a traitorous voice whispered in my mind. Pushing that dark thought away, I replayed Elaina's weird words again and again in my head, but I couldn't figure out if it had all been a joke or not. With a shrug, I grabbed a spoon. _Not like it matters now._ _Once I get Ross back, I'll never see her again._ Sitting on the counter, I devoured the yogurt I'd found hiding behind the nearly empty milk container. Rex sat at my feet, waiting for me to drop some.

That night, I had a bizarre dream. I was fighting with Rachel again, but this time, no teachers stepped in to break us up. I could tell I was winning, but suddenly Rachel wrenched out of my grasp.

When I looked up, Aphrodite was standing behind Rachel. "Would you give up your beauty," she asked in her silky voice, "if you knew that this girl would receive it?"

I glared at her. "Will giving up my beauty make you help me?"

The goddess cackled. "Could be. That's a risk you'll have to take. Are you willing?"

If it were possible to give up my beauty, I'd do it in a heartbeat, even though I wouldn't wish my curse on anyone, not even Rachel. "I'll do anything for him."

Rachel morphed into a supermodel before my eyes, and the new Rachel held up a mirror. "That's the real you!" she announced with glee.

I stared at the mirror, horrified. My nose was long and hooked like a Halloween witch, my teeth were crooked and decaying, and my eyes were small and beady. I looked hideous.

"What are the chances that my son will love you now?" Aphrodite whispered in my ear, and my heart turned cold.

When I woke up under the slanted roof in my dark room, I did something that I'd pretty much avoided since my freakish transformation. I turned on the light and rushed to look at myself in the mirror.

_Still beautiful._ I sagged against the door in relief. I may not have wanted to look the way I did before, but now that I knew who Ross really was, I wondered if he only loved me for my strange beauty. _What if I have to give it up to see him again?_

Staring at my reflection, I realized that I couldn't answer that question. I'd do anything to win a chance at apologizing to Ross, but what chance would I stand if he saw me again and I was ordinary _? He won't care about my looks_ , a quiet voice in my heart whispered. I mattered to him for more than superficial reasons.

But hadn't I thought the same thing about him? I thought I could love him without seeing him, but I'd proved how shallow I really was. Who was to say he'd be any better? Gritting my teeth, I turned away from the mirror. It was still dark outside, and for a minute I considered going back to bed, but then I remembered Aphrodite's command. I might as well start getting ready for work and see when the earliest bus to the mall was running.

Clutching a cup of coffee, I shivered in the cold autumn air outside the employee entrance to the mall. I'd caught a bus at six o'clock without thinking to check and see when the mall opened, and I couldn't feel my toes by the time a security guard opened the door. I smiled at him gratefully, forgetting for a moment the effect my looks had on people.

He held the door wide open for me, his receding hairline glistening in the early morning light. "Let me know when you get off work, beautiful," he whispered as I walked by.

I shuddered and kept walking. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to give up my beauty, I thought as I slipped away from the guard as fast as I could.

Aphrodite was waiting for me at the reception desk. She thrust an empty brown bottle at me impatiently.

"I'm out of the secret ingredient for my personal hair dye. I need you to go get it for me."

I glanced at the bottle, then back at the goddess. "What is it?"

Aphrodite grinned wickedly. "That's a secret. See if you can figure it out."

Before I could even decide if it was worth arguing, the goddess leaned close to me.

"Remember," she whispered, "the only chance you'll ever have at love is by pleasing me."

I swallowed. "Secret ingredient. Right. Any hints?" I asked hopefully.

Aphrodite tapped one neatly manicured finger against her lips. "Well, I suppose a hint won't hurt. It's the ingredient that makes up most shampoos, but a bit more godly than that." The goddess smiled at her riddle and waved to the door. "Better get moving. I need it before I close up tonight."

Tucking the brown bottle carefully in my purse, I sank down on a bench across from a toy store. "What in the world does she mean?" I needed help. An idea dawned on me, and I rose swiftly. I headed for the bus stop, hoping I could sneak into the art room without anyone at school noticing. I probably could have just gone to the grocery store and read shampoo bottles, but I had a feeling it was a bit trickier than that, and I wanted some celestial input.

I managed to get on campus, and I hid in the old locker room until the students filed out for lunch. Ms. Amboulia shut the door and turned off the lights. "You may come out now, Miss Jones." She sounded annoyed.

"I'm working for Aphrodite," I began without preamble.

Ms. Amboulia nodded, saying nothing.

"What's the main ingredient in shampoo?"

A flicker of a smile crossed Ms. Amboulia's face, but it was gone so quickly that I thought I might have imagined it. "Something common."

"Is it water?" I used to read the cosmetic bottles in the shower when I was little, and I had a niggling memory that they all started with the ingredient, "aqua."

The art teacher raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, but she remained silent.

"If it is water," I mused, "then that's what I need to get."

"Aphrodite sent you to fetch water?" Skepticism warred with confusion in Ms. Amboulia's tone.

I nodded. "For her hair dye. She said it's the special ingredient."

"Think, Miss Jones. If a goddess wants it, it can't just be simple water, can it?"

I paused, but then I shook my head. "No. She said something about it being a godly ingredient."

Ms. Amboulia reacted as if she'd been smacked. Her face turned gray and she clutched her stomach with her arms. "No. It's not possible."

I stared at her, stunned. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"Don't worry about me," Ms. Amboulia drew herself up tall, and I saw a glimmer of the goddess beneath the image of the art teacher. "You have been given an impossible task."

"To collect water?"

"To collect the water of the gods. Next thing you know, she'll be sending you to Tartarus!" Ms. Amboulia threw up her hands and began pacing around the art room.

"But what's the water of the gods?"

For a minute, I didn't think Ms. Amboulia had heard. But then, very quietly, she whispered, "Water from the river of death."

Frowning, I searched my memory. "You mean the River Styx? How do I find that?"

"The water must be collected from its source."

I stared at her, confused. "How am I supposed to find the source of a mythical river in one day?"

A clap of thunder shook the art room, and we both looked up. When Ms. Amboulia faced her, she wore an inscrutable expression. "You must find the answer on your own, Miss Jones. I've said too much already."

Frustrated, I glared at her. "But I only have until sunset!"

"Then I suggest you not waste time standing around here staring at me!" She shooed me out of the art room, a great wind rising up from the movement of her hands, and I was halfway back to my house before I even realized what had happened.

"River Styx," I muttered. "Where do I find that?" While I walked, I began twisting the bracelet around my wrist like a worry ring, and it started to feel hot. That's strange, I thought, studying my wrist. It's always felt cool before.

"I can help with that, miss."

Startled, I looked around. There was no one on the sidewalk, but I could swear I recognized that voice.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

It chuckled, and then I knew for sure who it was. "How quickly they forget!" The butler's voice heaved a sigh, and I grinned at the empty air.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again!"

There was a delicate pause, and the voice coughed. "As it is, you still haven't seen me, but I appreciate the sentiment."

I laughed, but sobered instantly. "I made a really big mistake."

"I assumed. Otherwise, you wouldn't have summoned me."

I turned the bracelet over. "Are you angry with me?"

"Heavens, no! Just because that castle is no longer there doesn't mean I'm out of work. I go where the master goes."

"Eros." I wasn't asking a question, but there was a pause.

"So you've figured out his identity." The voice sighed. "It was bound to happen."

"He won't speak to me, so I'm working for Aphrodite."

"What?" The voice shrieked. "She didn't incinerate you on the spot?"

"Why would she do that?"

"Well," it continued huffily, "besides the fact that her son practically eloped with you when she sent him to destroy you—"

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

"Um, nothing," he backpedaled quickly. "Anyway, there is no reason for Aphrodite to love you."

I put my hands on my hips, glaring at the empty air around me. "Look, you started to tell me something, and I think you ought to finish. Why did Aphrodite send Ross... I mean Eros, to destroy me?"

He coughed. "Because she had heard that you were even more beautiful than she was, and the lady of love is a jealous goddess."

"Dad," I exhaled in realization. "He brags about me. That's how he met," slowly everything clicked into place, "Mr. Merk."

The voice chuckled. "Oh, you haven't figured out who he is yet? That's one secret I can keep."

I frowned, but I decided to let it go. "I need a favor."

"That's why I'm here."

I glanced up at the sky, but the day was overcast, so it was impossible to tell how close to sunset it was. "Aphrodite sent me to get water from the River Styx. I have to give it to her by sunset or I lose any chance of seeing Ross again."

There was a low whistle. "She doesn't plan on you living through your errand."

I nodded. I'd been wondering if maybe Aphrodite was trying to get me out of the way; if I died, I wouldn't be able to pester her or her son again. "I know. Is there any way you could help me?"

"You betrayed my master, you know," the voice held no trace of malice but I still recoiled as if I'd been slapped. "Even so, I am bound to serve him, and he bound me to that bracelet on your wrist. So," he hummed for a minute, "I guess it's my duty to help you."

Surprised, I stammered, "Thank you!" I held up the brown bottle, and it vanished into the air with a soft pop.

"I'll bring this to you as soon as it's filled. In the meantime, I suggest you avoid Aphrodite. She'll wonder why you aren't on your quest."

I nodded. "I know. I guess I'll just go home and wait." I hesitated, not wanting to make more demands. "I have to take a bus to get to Aphrodite. It takes about half an hour."

"Say no more. I'll be back as quick as I can, and you'll make the delivery on time."

"Thank you!" I was relieved, but there was no answer. I hurried home to wait.

A few nerve-wracking hours later, I walked into the salon, carefully carrying the brown bottle. It was stoppered with a cork, and through the murky glass I could see liquid sloshing around. I hoped Aphrodite wouldn't ask how I'd found the water: the voice hadn't told me anything when he delivered it.

Aphrodite was reclining in a pedicure chair while the receptionist knelt at her feet, carefully painting each toenail a brilliant Barbie pink. The goddess looked up when I approached and smiled.

"Have you come to tell me that you're giving up?"

Mutely, I handed her the full bottle.

Aphrodite's face turned red, and she glared at the girl painting her feet. Oblivious, the girl kept working, and I stood there waiting for the goddess to say something. What if she just incinerates me? The goddess heaved a sigh. "Fine. I'll know if you've cheated me," she warned.

I shook my head. "It's exactly what you asked for."

With another glance at the receptionist, Aphrodite pursed her lips. "We'll talk about your next job tomorrow."

I forced myself to smile. "I'll be here, bright and early."
Chapter Twenty-Four

After a sleepless night spent worrying what the goddess would cook up next, I was ragged and frayed. My nerves sharpened when I walked into the empty salon.

_She must be in the back room._ Knocking softly on the door, I waited for Aphrodite's command. When I was met with silence, I opened the door a crack and peeked my head around it, frowning. The goddess wasn't there. She'd told me to come back, right? Confused, I sat down on a styling chair to wait.

Two hours passed, and by the time Aphrodite breezed into the shop, I'd bitten my nails down to nothing. The goddess took one look at me and smiled meanly.

"I'm glad to see that you have learned patience with such grace."

I stopped chewing on my hands and stood up. "Is this the last task?"

The goddess considered for a moment. "Yes, I believe it is. And none of your tricks will help you with this one. If you survive, perhaps I will intercede with my son on your behalf."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Tell me what I need to do."

Aphrodite leaned closer and whispered in my ear. "You must go to the land of the dead."

I swallowed in fear. "Is that even possible?"

"Oh, it's possible. People go there every day," the goddess chuckled as if she'd told a joke.

Ice slithered down my spine. "What do you want me to do there?"

Aphrodite rubbed her hands together. "Goodness, I need moisturizer." She leaned across me to the pump of lotion on the counter and smiled as she rubbed it into her hands. "Where was I?"

I gritted my teeth and tried to keep my voice calm as I asked again, "What do you want me to do?"

"Fetch me some of Persephone's beauty. She lets me borrow it from time to time, and I'm feeling a bit peaked. I could use the blush of springtime in my cheeks."

"That's it?"

Aphrodite narrowed her eyes. "That's everything."

My mind was racing. Other than the whole land of the dead thing, this didn't sound that hard. "If I can do this, will you let me speak to your son?"

The goddess shrugged. "Yes, I suppose so. But you better get a move on; I don't like to be kept waiting."

I hesitated. "If I don't come back..." I trailed off and shook my head. "Never mind. I'll see you again."

Aphrodite's lips curved up in a sinister smile. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

Once I was out of the mall, my bravado left me and I sagged against the building. "How do I get to the Underworld?" A terrible suspicion began to form in my mind, and the whole bus ride home, it grew. By the time I got home, I had the answer, but I didn't like it.

There was only one way to get to the Underworld.
" _Take this box, a little thing, and go to the lowest reaches of the world, to the domain of ghosts itself. Present it to Proserpina and say this: 'Venus asks for a small portion of your beauty, just enough for one day...'"_

... _The girl felt that she was utterly spent and must abandon her illusions: she was being sent to her death. It was so clear; her own two feet would carry her beyond, to Tartarus and the dead. She made for a tower and meant to jump off (how else does one go to the Underworld?) but then, against reason, the tower spoke: "What are you doing?! Poor woman, are you seeking to die with a headlong fall? What is so fantastically terrible that you would surrender to it? Once your spirit and body are split, you will indeed go to the Underworld, but no bargain or agreement will return you from there. Listen to me."_

Apuleius, Metamorphosis

### Part IV
Chapter Twenty-Five

True, I'd sort of considered doing it more than I wanted to admit, but now that Aphrodite had given me no choice, I was calm and detached. The prescription sleeping pills that Dad took from time to time were in plain sight in the medicine cabinet, and I grabbed my stainless steel water bottle and filled it to the brim. Would it hurt very much?

Trying not to think, I locked the door to my room and sat on the floor, staring at the bottle of pills. Should I leave a note? I grabbed a notebook from my desk and looked at the blank page for a few minutes, but words wouldn't come. Maybe Dad would think it had been an accident. What about Ross? If I did what Aphrodite asked, even if I died, would she still keep her end of the bargain and let me talk to her son? I had to try. With a pang of guilt, I uncapped the pill bottle and poured its contents into my palm. The blue and white pills reminded me of sprinkles on ice cream, and for a moment, I wondered absurdly if they might taste sweet.

"There's an easier way, and no, they taste awful."

Startled, I dropped the pills. They went rolling across the wood floor of the bedroom, skittering under the furniture. Annoyed, I glared at Mr. Merk. "Why'd you do that?"

He frowned, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. "Because your death won't solve anything."

I wanted to believe him, but I wasn't ready to give Ross up. "But I have to get to the Underworld, or Aphrodite will never let me talk to Ross."

Mr. Merk snorted. "If you show up as a ghost, do you really think he'd listen to you?"

I started to argue, but he kept talking.

"Don't you think Aphrodite would still like to be rid of you? Then her son will quit moping around and she'll go back to being the undisputed beauty in the universe."

I looked at the pills on the floor, processing his words. "So I don't have to die?"

He shook his head. "There's another way to gain passage to the Underworld. Orpheus did it, and so did Hercules."

I wracked my brain for the answer, but I didn't think I'd read any stories about people making it out of the Underworld alive. I sighed. "I don't know what to do."

Mr. Merk grinned. "I thought not. I'll make a deal with you. If you can guess my name, I'll take you. I won't go in with you, mind," he shivered even though he was still smiling slightly, "but I'll get you to the first gate."

I stared at him intently. It felt like his name was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't quite spit it out.

"I'll even give you a clue. You've heard it once before."

I closed my eyes. Where had I heard his name? I could picture Dad saying it, and I suddenly remembered. I'd heard it the night before Mr. Merk took me to the castle.

My eyes flew open as I stared at the god in my bedroom. "Hermes," I whispered, "messenger to the gods."

The old man shimmered, and beneath his leather shoes, I could see wings sprouting from his heels. He gave a little bow and chuckled. "Also trickster, keeper of thieves, and patron of medicine."

I stared at him cautiously. "Why are you helping me?"

His smile tightened. "I do what I do for my own reasons. But you guessed my name, so I'll uphold my end of the bargain." He held out his arm as if he were going to escort me to a fairy tale ball. "Shall we?"

I touched his sleeve and felt the sickening spinning sensation take hold of my body. Even though I'd traveled with Hermes twice before, this time the churning in my stomach was too much. When we stopped moving, I staggered, clutching the god's arm for support as I retched until my stomach was empty.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, embarrassed.

Hermes patted me on the shoulder. "It's a lot to expect from a mortal. I travel faster than the speed of light, sweetie. Are you okay?"

I nodded, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Looking around, I realized we were standing in a large cave. "Where are we?"

"This is the path to the Underworld." He pointed deep into the cave. "And this is as far as I go."

Suddenly frightened, I stared at him, unable to speak.

The god hesitated a moment, then leaned over and kissed my forehead. His lips touched the spot that Ross had kissed, a lifetime ago, and tears filled my eyes. "Be brave. I can't tell you what to expect, for the path is never the same twice. But if you fulfill your errand for Aphrodite, you might get that which your heart desires most."

"If something happens," I began, shuddering with the thought of the pills that I'd almost swallowed, "will you tell him—"

"I'll give him the message. After all, that's my job." He smiled crookedly for an instant before fading into nothing.

I stared into the wide expanse of the cavern. Without Hermes's glow, it was impossible to see. I wanted to pretend that I'd just entered the dining room at the castle and that Ross was waiting, but the damp smell of earth and rock filled my nose, shattering the illusion.

Stepping forward into the darkness, I moved in the direction that Hermes had indicated. The ground under my feet sloped down gradually, and my mind filled with fear at the thought of something lurking in the darkness in front of me.

"Stop it," I whispered firmly. The sound of my voice filled the cavern, and the echo was oddly comforting. "Stop it," I said, louder this time. Taking a deep breath, I continued walking. I counted my steps out loud as I went, and gradually my mind stopped thinking up nightmares. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and I tried not to think of anything else.

I'd just said, "ninety-nine," when a soft hissing sound made me freeze in my tracks. I held my breath, listening.

A slippery voice close to my ear whispered, "What will you pay to pass the first gate?"

I paused, confused. "I don't have any money."

There was a whisper of laughter that sounded like a group of snakes hissing, and I shivered. "Not all things are valued equally by all people. What will you pay?"

Without realizing it, my hand went to the beautiful bracelet. It was my only reminder of Ross, but I didn't have anything else valuable. I stroked it a couple of times, then slid it regretfully off my wrist. "Can I pay with this?"

The bracelet slipped from my fingers as if I'd dropped it, but there was no clanging sound of it hitting the cavern floor. I swallowed nervously. For a minute nothing happened, but then the whispery voice said, "Proceed."

I stumbled forward in the darkness. My mind couldn't seem to form numbers anymore, so I began to whistle halfheartedly to fill the silence. I didn't know how far I'd walked past the gate when I heard the soft rustle of wings beside me in the dark. My heart sped up. Had Ross come after me?

"Ross?" I whispered excitedly. I shrieked when a leathery claw grabbed my forearm.

"What payment do you have?" the creature rasped. I tried to shake off the claw, but whatever it was, the gatekeeper clung tightly to me.

"I've already paid! I don't have anything else." I tried to remain calm, but I felt a hint of panic rising in my voice.

The claw moved from my arm to my head, and I tried not to gag as whatever it was stroked my hair. "Such pretty golden thread," it crooned.

"Would you take my hair as payment?" I offered, holding my breath.

No sooner had the words left my mouth then I heard the sound of blades clashing together. Something cold touched my scalp, and the next instant I felt a great lightness as my hair fell away. Surprised, I reached for my head, but all that was there was a coarse layer that felt like Rex's fur. The thing had shaved me in two seconds, and I trembled. What if I died here? Would anyone even know?

"You may pass," the voice rasped.

I kept running my hands over my bristly scalp as I walked. I'd never really cut my hair: Mom used to trim it every month, but I had been trying hard to grow it long ever since I was a little girl. I'd been obsessed with the story of Rapunzel when I was five or six, and that was when I'd started growing my hair. It had stretched in a long waterfall to the waistband of my favorite jeans even before I became freakishly beautiful.

I didn't have much time to mourn the loss of my hair because I ran into something. I put my hands out gingerly, feeling the smooth, cold surface that stretched in front of me. "What is this?" I asked the air around me.

In response, a match flared behind me, and I shrieked at the ghostly shape that blocked my way. I covered my face with my hands, waiting to be attacked. When nothing happened, I lowered my fingers cautiously, and the shape did the same thing.

"It's a mirror!" I said, leaning forward to inspect my shorn scalp. A tall white candle sat on a ledge behind me, casting its light around the cavern and reflecting off the mirror, but whoever had lit the candle was long gone. I was alone with myself.

A sigh filled the cavern, and the candle flickered but stayed lit. "Your payment?" the room whispered. I looked around, trying to identify the third gatekeeper, but there was nothing in the chamber besides me, the mirror, and the candle.

"I don't have anything left!" My reflection stared sadly back at me, and suddenly I realized that there was still something I could give up. Hadn't Aphrodite even suggested it in my nightmare? I studied my face, tear-stained but still beautiful. Even with cropped hair, the girl in the mirror had an otherworldly kind of beauty.

I stared into my green eyes. If I failed, I'd never see Ross again. But what will he think of you without your beauty? He'd said he loved me for more than my looks, and I'd claimed I didn't need to see him to love him. I'd broken that promise, but there was a chance he'd meant what he said. I would give up the world if it meant he'd talk to me again.

Straightening my shoulders, I told the mirror, "I give up my beauty." I lifted a hand to the girl in the mirror, and our fingertips touched.

Everything was still for a moment, and then the mirror shattered. Fragments of myself exploded around the cave, and I covered my eyes with my arm to protect myself from the whirling glass. When I looked up again, the candle was still glowing, and the path in front of me was clear. The mirror was gone. Shards of glass crunched under my feet as I reached for the candle. Clutching it with one hand, I kept my other hand over the flame to protect it as I moved forward through the tunnel.

About a hundred feet beyond the broken mirror, the tunnel veered sharply to the right. I stumbled into a vast cavern, holding the candle and looking around uncertainly. The rock shapes that soared beyond my line of vision reminded me of the pictures I'd seen of Gothic cathedrals, and I craned my neck, trying to see the ceiling of the underground room.

Loud barking jerked me out of my reverie, and a monstrous dog came barreling toward me, all three of its mouths growling. With horror, I realized I was about to become a snack for Cerberus. I flung up my hands as the monster lunged at me. The candle went flying and was extinguished when it hit the ground. Frozen with fear, I waited in the dark, expecting to feel sharp teeth tearing my skin at any moment.
Chapter Twenty-Six

A shrill whistle filled the cavern, and the monstrous dog whimpered. All at once, the cave was illuminated with a strange glow. _What's going on?_ Cerberus was a foot away from me, his middle head snapping its teeth while the other two heads looked around frantically, as if listening to silent commands. Finally, the dog sat back on his massive haunches with a resounding thud. All six of its eyes stayed trained on me, and I edged away from the beast nervously.

The whistle sounded again, and Cerberus whimpered, quivering in submission. I glanced across the room and saw the source of the whistle.

A man towered over me, seeming to stretch into the endless space of the cavern. His face was covered in a black, curly beard that reminded me of the images on the sides of ancient pottery. His companion wasn't as superhumanly tall, but my eyes were drawn past the towering figure of Hades to his wife.

Persephone's gown was a strange combination of sheer black fabric swathed over pink and red, and around her neck she wore a collar of large rubies. They glistened in the strange light that filled the cave and for some reason they made me think of the bracelet that I'd surrendered to enter the Underworld.

Cerberus growled behind me, and I quickly got to my knees. I hadn't bowed to the other gods I'd met, but some instinct told me that Hades was a stickler for ceremony. Besides, he'd just saved me from his dog. It didn't hurt to be polite.

His deep voice rang out and I felt the floor vibrate. "Why are you here, mortal?"

Keeping my head down, I drew a deep breath before I answered. When I spoke, I was surprised that my voice didn't quiver with fear. "I've been sent by Aphrodite."

Hades made a strange noise that might have been a snort. "She has no use for us. And she is not given with using mortals as messengers. You lie."

My stomach turned in a knot and I risked glancing up. My eyes met Persephone's, and after a moment, the goddess placed her hand on Hades' arm.

"Husband, I know of this girl. She is the one who has fallen in love with Aphrodite's boy. I don't doubt that Aphrodite sent her here, hoping to be rid of her."

Nodding anxiously, I clasped my hands together. I ignored Hades and spoke directly to his wife. "She told me that if I came back from the Underworld with some of your beauty, she might let me speak to Ross, er, Eros, again. I have to apologize to him for what I did. It was a mistake." The words felt inadequate, but Persephone kept her eyes on my face.

"She's not pretty enough to capture the attention of the god of love!" Hades scoffed, reminding me of the three gates. My stomach churned. Had I really lost my beauty? How would I convince Ross that I was worth loving now?

Despondent, I rose. "Isn't there anything you can do to help me?"

Hades shook his head just as Persephone nodded slightly. He looked down at her in surprise.

"You would share your beauty with that prissy goddess? What has she ever done for you?"

"Nothing, to my knowledge," Persephone spoke quietly, "but I believe this girl is in love. She took a great risk by coming here, and such courage should be rewarded."

Hades was silent for a moment.

"Don't you agree that we should help those who are truly in love?" Persephone prodded him.

The god flushed and stared at his wife. "You know I won't refuse you anything." He clasped her hands to him, and I looked away, embarrassed at the raw passion that was evident between the two gods.

Persephone clapped once. "I have to prepare it. You can stay here safely." She turned and swept out of the room, leaving me alone with the lord of the dead.

I eyed him nervously, but he wasn't watching me. His eyes followed Persephone, even after she was gone from the cavern. With a sigh, he turned back to me, his unwanted guest.

"Would you like some food or water?" he asked grudgingly.

I was starving, but a small warning bell rang in my memory. It could be dangerous to take food from this god, but I didn't want to offend him by turning down his hospitality.

"Do you have any bread, please?" I asked, grasping at a half-remembered myth. I thought one of the things I'd read in the castle said people could eat bread in the Underworld without being trapped.

Hades frowned but snapped his long fingers twice. A stool appeared in front of me, and on it was a loaf of crusty bread. Its warm smell masked the dampness of the cavern for a moment, and I inhaled the scent hungrily.

I glanced up at Hades, worried, but he wasn't paying any attention to me. Hoping that my memory was accurate, I nibbled on a piece of bread. It was so, so good.

"You're safe," he grumbled, cutting into my thoughts. "Bread is the food of mortals. You can eat it here without fear or repercussions."

I repressed a triumphant smile and took another large bite.

"I don't understand," Hades continued conversationally, "what the boy sees in you. You're just a mortal, you know, and a rather unexceptional one at that."

I swallowed, blushing. "I don't know either," I said honestly, "but I've fallen in love. I can't lose him now."

Before Hades could say anything else, Persephone reemerged, carrying a small box before her. "Take this," she said, handing it to me, "and good luck."

I examined the delicate lacquered box; it felt lighter than air. Was there even anything in it? I looked up at Persephone nervously.

The goddess smiled. "It's in there. You have my word on it: now go back to the surface and try to win your love."

I glanced around the cavern. "Um, could you tell me—"

Persephone giggled. "Oh, my dear, I thought you knew what to do!"

"Do I have to go through the gates again?"

The goddess shook her head. "There's a path that will take you directly home. There will be no more obstacles on your journey." She pointed to a crack in the wall near where I was standing.

"Thank you both for everything." I bowed again and turned toward the fissure in the rock.

"You're welcome, Psyche Jones." Persephone's clear voice followed me as I moved through the passageway. Almost as soon as I left the cavern behind, I saw the faint glow of daylight ahead in the tunnel. I hurried toward it without looking back, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. _How long have I been underground?_

Gasping for breath, I burst out of the tunnel and into the blinding sunlight. Blinking a few times while my eyes adjusted, I realized with a shock that I knew exactly where I was.

"This is the park near our house!" Glancing behind me, I couldn't see the cave; the rock at my back was smooth and solid. _Is the entrance to the Underworld seriously in a park in Ohio?_ Shaking my head at the strange thought, I headed home.

A worry flitted through my mind, and I paused. I looked at the box, weighing it in my hands. Once I presented it to Aphrodite, the goddess had promised I'd have a chance to speak with Ross. _But what good will it do if he sees me like this?_ My hand flew to my head, feeling the stubble that remained of my hair.

I felt like I was plucking the petals off a daisy as my thoughts bounced back and forth between "does he love me? Or love me not?" So much had happened since Ross had seen me last; what if he didn't even recognize me now?

I glanced at the box.

Perhaps it wouldn't do any harm to borrow some of Persephone's radiant beauty. That way, when I saw Ross again, he'd remember why he loved me.

_I'll just borrow a tiny bit. Aphrodite will never know, and I can return it once Ross and I are back together._ Making up my mind, I lifted the lid of the box and looked inside.

It was empty. Stupidly, I stared into the box, feeling helpless and betrayed. The next instant, my body seized up. The box went flying from my hands and landed underneath a bush, and I fell to the ground. My eyes were open but unseeing. Gradually, my heart slowed until it was barely beating twice a minute. I lay there like a corpse for hours as night fell, aware but not. My body began to shiver in the cold autumn air, but I didn't feel the cold. I couldn't feel anything anymore. _So this is what death feels like_ , I thought as I slipped out of consciousness.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the slanted ceiling close to my face. I felt like there was something important I had to remember, but my mind was slippery and my head felt like I'd overdosed on cold medicine. Blinking at the familiar boards above me, I tried to sit up. Something I need to do.

"Whoa, kiddo, easy does it!" Dad's voice broke through the fog that shrouded my mind, and I looked up at his concerned face as he propped a pillow behind my back.

"What happened?" I croaked. My voice was thick and raspy, and I tried to clear my throat. I launched into a coughing fit instead, and fiery pain shot down my esophagus. I grimaced, surprised.

"You had a pretty nasty allergic reaction." His forehead wrinkled. "You don't remember?"

I shook my head. "What are you talking about?"

"You won't be working with Cyprus wood anytime soon, that's for sure!" Seeing the confusion on my face, Dad explained. "You were doing some project in art with wood. I guess you've been carving lately?"

I nodded, hazily remembering the feel of Grandpa's pocket knife in my hands.

Dad shook his head. "That crazy teacher of yours turned you loose on a jigsaw. The doctors said that when you breathed in the dust from the wood, it triggered anaphylactic shock."

Dumbly, I stared at him. Why didn't I remember any of this?

"Lucky that boyfriend of yours is quick on his feet. He called 9-1-1 and went with you to the hospital." He tried to look stern. "You could have told me you were dating, you know."

Dating? At the word "boyfriend," everything came crashing back into my memory. "Ross?" I managed to whisper. Had he come back? But I failed the last test.

Dad winked. "He's been waiting around here all week for you to wake up. I made him go to school, but otherwise, he's been very devoted." He hesitated a moment. "You're grounded, by the way, for sneaking around behind my back."

I ignored him. "Can I see him?"

His face softened. "No going out for a week, but you can see him here." He eyed me critically. "You're a mess, Princess. Are you sure you don't want to clean up first?"

I shook my head. I was dreading what I'd find when I looked in a mirror, but right now I just needed to see if Ross was really there. I didn't believe Dad's explanation for a minute; the last thing I remembered was opening the box.

"I'll get him for you. I think he's out back with Rex." Awkwardly, he patted my knee. "I'm glad you're okay, sweetheart. You gave me quite a scare."

I leaned forward and hugged him, ignoring the pain that gripped my body whenever I moved. "I love you, Daddy."

"Love you too." His voice was gruff, and I thought I saw tears in his eyes as he left the room.

I stared at the ceiling for a minute, trying to control the frantic beating of my heart. _If Ross is really downstairs—_ I didn't let myself finish the thought.

There was a soft knock at my door, and before I'd even had a chance to croak, "Come in," a strange boy was hurrying across the room to my side.

"Thank the gods you're all right!" He knelt beside me, bringing his head down on the bed next to my shoulder. "I was so worried!"

Confused, I stared at his reddish curly hair. "Who are you?"

The stranger paused for a moment, keeping his face against the bed. But when he looked up, I gasped. Even though his face was marred by acne and the wings were missing, when I looked into his sparkling golden eyes, I knew it was Ross. I'd only seen his face for an instant before, but I'd never forget those eyes.

Tentatively, I reached for his face. He didn't move, and slowly I stroked his imperfect cheek. "What happened to you?" I whispered.

He broke into a wide grin, and I noticed the silver flash of braces filling his mouth. "Not what you expected?"

I shook my head. "You don't look like a god anymore. You look... normal!"

Ross laughed, but suddenly his face clouded. "Is that okay?"

Tears filled my eyes. "What do you mean is that okay? You're talking to me! I thought I'd never see you again." I smiled weakly at him. "I don't care what you look like as long as you're here."

He grinned. "That's what I've been hoping you'd say."

I paused. "Is that why you didn't want me to look at you, before in the castle?"

Ross nodded. "You aren't the only one who was sick and tired of being judged by appearances."

I looked down. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you, but you have to believe I didn't fall in love with you because of your looks. I loved you for a long time before I saw you."

"And I didn't fall in love with you for your looks, either." He sobered, taking my face firmly in his hands. "I can't believe the risks you took for me."

I tried to break away, but he held me in place, and as I met his gaze, I couldn't hold back my tears. "I'm so sorry."

He leaned forward and kissed me slowly, sending tingles through my body. "So am I. But we're together now, and we have a chance to start over."

"But I still don't understand what happened! The last thing I remember--" I blushed and stopped speaking abruptly.

"You had opened the box that you got from Persephone. Why did you do it?"

I looked down, fiddling with the blanket under my hands. "I thought I could borrow some of her beauty." I rushed on, not stopping to look at him. "I gave mine up to get to the Underworld, and I was afraid that if you saw me like that you wouldn't still love me." A tear dripped down my cheek, and I turned crimson.

Ross was silent for a moment, and then he lifted my hand off the bed. Pressing his lips to my palm, he whispered, "When will you learn not to doubt me?"

I started to cry harder, and I pulled my hand away to wipe my face. "I'm sorry. You're right." I risked a glance at him. "But why does my dad think I had an allergic reaction?"

"I had to tell him something! You were practically in a coma when I found you. You shouldn't mess with things that belong to the gods."

I nodded. "I think I got that message."

Ross smiled. "Luckily, you've made some friends among the Olympians. I had to take you there to Zeus to see if the magic could be undone. He never would have done it for me, but a few people argued persuasively on your behalf."

"Ms. A and Mr. Merk," I guessed.

He nodded. "Athena is Zeus's favorite child, and she rarely asks for favors."

"So you saved me," I whispered, staring at him in wonder. "But that still doesn't explain what happened to you."

Ross folded his hands together and looked down at them for a moment. "I was hoping," he began slowly, "that we could have a fresh start. Taking you into my world didn't really work," he rushed on, ignoring my attempted interruption, "so I thought that maybe we should try your world for a change."

I stared at him, not understanding. "So you're wearing a disguise or something?"

He shook his head.

For a moment, I still didn't get it, but then my eyes widened in understanding. "You don't mean you gave it all up?"

"I just wanted to be with you."

"But," I struggled, torn between guilt and overwhelming joy, "but you're a god!"

"Not anymore. Right now, I'm just Ross."

Ignoring the pain in my body, I flung my arms around his neck. After a moment, I pulled back, suddenly worried. "What about your mother?"

He snorted. "You don't have to work for her anymore."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He was silent, and I pressed him. "What did she say about your choice?"

"Actually, I think she was relieved."

I glared at him. "I don't believe you."

"Truly! This is much better than the other option Zeus gave me." He stopped speaking, looking guilty, and I pounced.

"What other option?"

"I told him I wanted to stay with you. The only other way that could have happened is if you, um, became a goddess."

My jaw dropped, and Ross looked at me nervously.

"I hope you don't mind that I picked this instead?"

Me? A goddess? I started to giggle, and my laughter turned into hysterics. It hurt to laugh, but I couldn't help myself. Ross watched, mystified. When I finally got myself under control, I wiped my eyes and smiled at him. "I can't imagine ever being that weird!"

He cracked a smile, and soon we were giggling helplessly together.

I sobered after a few minutes. "I still can't believe you gave that up for me."

Ross held my hands and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine. "You are worth this and so much more," he whispered.

We kissed again, and I melted against him. There was a cough from the doorway, and Ross jumped back guiltily.

"All right, you two, that's enough. Psyche, I think you should rest." Dad stared pointedly at Ross.

He rose obediently and smiled at my father. "Can I come over tomorrow?"

Dad glanced at me. "Do you think you'll be up to school tomorrow?"

I nodded eagerly. He turned back to Ross.

"In that case, I think the answer is no. You two can see each other at school." He looked back at me and frowned. "You're still grounded, remember. Come straight home from after class."

"Yes, Dad." I wanted to ask how long I was grounded for, but instinct told me it would be better to have that conversation once Ross left. The promise I'd made to Hera slipped into my mind, and I paused. If I was going to put family first, I couldn't fight with Dad.

"Thanks for letting me wait for her to wake up, Mr. Jones," Ross said.

Dad shrugged. "Thanks for taking care of her and calling the hospital."

Ross grinned and winked at me. "See you in the morning."

I smiled broadly at him as the door closed behind them.

Settling back on the pillows, I played our conversation over again and again in my mind. "He loves me," I whispered as I dropped off to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"How are you feeling, Princess?" Dad asked as he scrambled eggs the next morning.

"Better." I was surprised, but it was true. When I woke up, most of my aches were gone, and for the first time in months, I was actually looking forward to school.

Dad handed me a cup of coffee. "I'm glad to hear it." He turned back to the stove, and I watched him for a moment.

"Um, Dad, exactly how long am I grounded for?"

He didn't look at me. "How long have you been seeing Ross?"

I opened my mouth to lie, but then closed it. "We met on the field trip." It was true, sort of; the sculpture, the boy who bled light on the bus, they were all Ross. A smile played across my lips.

"That was what, two weeks ago?" He mused as he flipped the yellow mass onto my plate. "I'd say the punishment should fit the crime. You're grounded for two weeks."

Counting quickly, I glanced at the wall calendar. "That's the day before Halloween."

Dad slid into his seat, sipping his coffee. "So it is. Do you think you'll want to go trick or treating this year?"

I paused. "Maybe Ross and I could hand out candy here?" I crossed my fingers under the table, making a wish. I couldn't wait to share Halloween with Ross; it was one of my favorite holidays, and I didn't think he'd ever seen anything quite like it.

"We can discuss that."

"Thanks, Dad." I wolfed my eggs down and stood up.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Confused, I looked at him. "School. I feel better."

He rose swiftly, tossing back the rest of his coffee in one quick gulp. "Let me drive you."

When I shut the car door, I stared nervously at the school. As much as I was looking forward to spending the day with Ross, I wasn't sure what to expect. I still hadn't looked in a mirror; how would everyone react to the new, ugly me? Shifting my weight, I squared my shoulders and headed inside.

People jostled along beside me, and I got caught up in the crowd. Someone knocked my books out of my arms, and I sank to the floor with a sigh.

"Hi." Ross appeared at my elbow, wearing a blue t-shirt and a gleaming silver smile. He scooped up my books. I glanced around nervously, but no one was paying any attention to us.

"Hi." I leaned forward to kiss him.

Our lips had barely touched when a stern voice rang out across the hall. "No PDA, Miss Jones!"

Blushing, I looked up at Mr. Farkner, standing in his doorway "Sorry," I whispered.

"If I see that again, I'll have no choice but to write you both up. Consider this your warning."

"Yes sir," Ross answered quickly. I stood up, clutching the pile of books and papers, and hurried across the hall to the math room.

I took my usual seat in the back by the window, and Ross sat down in the desk beside me. I grinned at him, my heart fluttering. When Farkner started the class, I watched my classmates, waiting for the torture to start. Rachel was whispering with Lydia, and they kept looking pointedly in my direction, but for the first time, I realized that I didn't care. When they stared at me for a particularly long time, I forced a smile and waved. The girls looked stunned and turned around quickly.

No notes got passed that morning, but I could still hear the whispers as Ross and I walked through the hall. Even so, Ross didn't let go of my hand, and gradually I relaxed.

He didn't go with me to art, and when I went to my art locker, it was empty.

"I think it's time you moved on to a different medium," Ms. Amboulia said quietly.

I hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Can I have my knife? It was my grandfather's."

"You can pick it up after school." She turned to address the class without another glance at me, and I slunk to my seat, confused.

"Today, we'll be starting self-portraits," Ms. Amboulia said.

There were a few groans, but Ms. Amboulia went on as if she were deaf.

"The final medium is up to you, but it must be two-dimensional. For today, we'll just be doing some charcoal sketches. Come get your supplies and get going."

Obediently, the class filed by her desk, each student picking up a small hand mirror, paper, and charcoal before returning to their seats. I was the last one in line, and I hesitated over the mirror.

"Hurry up, Miss Jones, time's a wasting."

I scurried back to my table, keeping the mirror face down. I sketched for the rest of the block, but when Ms. Amboulia came around to collect the materials, she frowned at my page.

"I take it you drew that from memory," she said softly.

I shrugged. "Imagination, really."

"You haven't looked in a mirror yet?"

Feeling silly, I shook my head, but Ms. Amboulia didn't say anything else.

When she walked away, I looked at the mirror on my desk. Glancing around to make sure that no one was watching, I reached out and slowly picked it up. I closed my eyes for a minute, and then came face to face with myself.

My hair was short and spiky, but it was still the color of honey. Freckles still dotted my nose, and when I smiled, I noticed that my lips were full and pink. The strange glow that used to permeate my face was gone, but, I realized with a start, I was still really beautiful. Not freakishly, but still way prettier than I thought I would be. I stared at myself in surprise.

"I thought I gave it up," I whispered to the mirror.

Someone snorted. "You can't give up who you are. Your looks are a part of you, like it or not."

I dropped the mirror and looked at Ms. Amboulia. "But why aren't people treating me the same? I mean," I hurried to add, "They've still been mean. But it hasn't been as awful today. Is it Ross? Is he the reason they're kinder?"

The art teacher smiled and shook her head. "Your beauty didn't fit you, and everyone could see that. But now, my dear, you've grown into yourself. That beauty is yours by right. This has nothing to do with your young man." She paused and fixed me with her powerful gaze. "Cherish your beauty no more and no less than you value the calluses on your toes and the birthmark on your leg."

Confused, I looked at her. "But really, in the Underworld, it's one of the things I gave up. They took it from me."

Ms. Amboulia shook her head. "You gave it up willingly, but we can't give up our looks. Besides, the way you look isn't the only piece of your beauty. You are who you are, Psyche. I hope you can appreciate that."

I was silent for a moment. "I think I'm learning to."

Ms. Amboulia nodded. "Good."

On my way out the door, I paused. "Ms. A," I said nervously, "I never got a chance to thank you."

Ms. Amboulia looked up, her gray eyes sharp. She nodded once, and I left the art room. It might be weird to take art from a goddess for the rest of the year, but at least she didn't seem angry with me.

Ross met me in the cafeteria. "How was art?" He handed me a bottle of water.

"Fine." I slid into the line behind him. "What class were you in?"

"Phys Ed. We started wrestling today."

I shuddered, but Ross laughed.

"It's pretty easy for me," he whispered in my ear, "since the Greeks invented it, after all."

I snorted, and the lunch lady gave me a strange look as she handed me a tray. I smiled at her and we moved to a table by the windows. Elaina was sitting with a group of girls, and our eyes met as I sat down. For a moment, time froze, but then she sort of waved. I smiled and waved back. It's a start.

The rest of the day was blissfully uneventful. I stopped listening for the nasty whispers, and Rachel and Lydia didn't torture me. Even Mrs. Stillwater seemed a bit nicer by comparison. She still glared at me, but I noticed that she glared at most of her students. Had it all been in my head?

Ross held my hand while we walked back to my house, and even though Dad wouldn't be home for a few hours, he didn't come inside. He kissed me for a full minute on the porch, though, and my knees were wobbly when I finally shut the door.

Someone knocked almost immediately, and I grinned. "I knew you wouldn't leave," I said as I opened the door.

Aphrodite smirked at me. "Oh, really? That's fascinating."

I fought down the urge to take a step back. Instead, I crossed my arms. "Well?"

The goddess looked at me for a long time. "You really are beautiful, for a mortal," she finally offered.

I shrugged. "Thanks, I guess. Is that enough to make you try and kill me again?"

Aphrodite smiled, showing her teeth. "I do not like disrespectful children."

I straightened my spine. "But I'm not a child. And like it or not, I love your son. He wants to be with me."

"I'm aware. It's a bunch of rubbish, if you ask me," she sighed dramatically, "but of course, no one asked me."

I just stared at her.

Aphrodite reached out to stroke my cheek. "One day, girl, you will die. And then what will become of my son?"

Confusion gripped me. "But he's not a god anymore. That's what he said."

The goddess shrugged. "He's living as a mortal, yes, but eventually, he won't be able to deny his nature. Eros will always be a god, and he will always be my son. But you will one day turn to dust, and then your beauty won't mean anything."

Was it true? Would Ross go back to being a god once I was gone? I shook my head. It didn't matter. "Ross and I," I said, emphasizing his name, "are happy right now. Shouldn't that be enough for you?"

Aphrodite stared at me without blinking. "You are happy. For now. But remember, Psyche, things change."

I nodded. "We'll see what happens."

The goddess turned to leave, but she hesitated on the stoop. "May I still see him?"

I looked at her, surprised. "Of course! He's your son!"

Aphrodite chuckled. "If he had chosen to remain a god, girl, I don't know that I would have given you the same consideration." She clenched her teeth. "Thank you."

I gave her a small smile. "I love your son. I just want him to be happy."

The goddess shrugged. "We'll see how happy you make him," she tossed over her shoulder as she sashayed down the walk. She paused at the road and turned back to stare at me. "I could give you some extensions, if you like. Your hair's the only part of you that's not perfect."

I shrugged. "I don't need to be perfect."

Aphrodite sighed. "I'll never understand you mortals." With that, she vanished into the sunlight.

I shut the door, relieved. Although the goddess's words made me nervous, I did my best to ignore the feeling. _He's with me now. I can worry about the rest when it matters._

Trying to push the visit out of my mind, I went up to my room to do my homework. Rex trailed after me, slobbering on the floor as he went.

Dad brought a pizza home that evening, and we ate in the living room with the T.V. news on quietly in the background.

"How was your day, Princess?"

I thought about it for a minute, and then I smiled. Slurping a piece of cheese that was dangling down my chin, I looked at Dad and grinned. "Normal. Totally, completely, boringly normal."

###
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### Spell Book & Scandal

### by Jen McConnel

### CHAPTER ONE

For most people, wearing pink probably wouldn't count as a form of rebellion, but then again, most people don't come from my whacked-out family.

Christina glares at me across the breakfast table as soon as I come into the kitchen. I try to ignore her stare, smoothing my glittery pink hoodie before I grab a bowl. But when I reach across the counter for my cereal, Mom glances up from her cup of coffee, and she frowns.

"Shelby," she begins, pausing for a moment before choosing her words, "wouldn't you rather wear something else?"

Dad looks up from his laptop, and his eyebrows draw together. "It's the first day of school. Surely, you want to make the right kind of impression."

The confidence I felt when I pulled on the sparkly pink sweatshirt up in my room begins to melt, but I force a smile. "Lots of people wear pink. I mean, there's even a movie about it, _Pretty in Pink._ " I pour my cereal, but I have to work hard to keep my hands from shaking.

Christina snorts. "There's nothing pretty about that," she says, her eyes stripping away my pink armor before she flicks her dark hair over her shoulder, dismissing me entirely.

Mom tries again. "I just think it sends the wrong kind of message."

I stiffen my shoulders, shoveling cereal in my mouth even though it tastes like paper. "I like it," I say, trying to sound final and certain, but my voice lilts up on the last word, making it sound like I've asked a question.

Mom and Dad exchange another glance, but they drop it. Christina shakes her head again. "Just try not to let people know we're related," she mutters, just loud enough for me to hear, but quiet enough that Mom and Dad miss it.

At least, I think they miss it; maybe they hear and they don't punish her because, deep down, they agree with her.

Last year, I never would have dreamed of wearing pink, especially not on the first day of school. Last year, I wore black and purple, like Christina, flaunting the magic that runs in my veins. That's because last year, I'd still believed that some of my powers might be waiting to emerge.

Feeling worse than naked in my pink hoodie, I trail after Christina to our bus stop. She's old enough to drive, but Mom and Dad say they won't buy her a car until she passes her Casting Level Threes, the last magical test she has to face before college, and the one that will determine everything about her future. Christina wants a car, but she pretends not to mind, although I've seen her light on more nights than I can count, way past midnight, and I've heard her muttering spells when I stand outside her door in the hallway. She's studying day and night for her Threes, which she'll take on Halloween, and I'd almost feel bad for her if I weren't so jealous.

Christina's a caster, like my dad. He works for the Caster's Force, a pseudo-governmental organization that polices casters and scribes, which means he's a stickler for the rules. He's also one of the most powerful casters to come along in generations, due in no small part to the power of his scribe. Even the most powerful caster needs someone to write his spells, and Dad lucked out by marrying his scribe, too. I'm supposed to be a scribe, like Mom, but somewhere along the way, that message seems to have been lost. So today I'm wearing pink and trying to be something other than the broken member of the King family, at least for the hours every day when I'm at school. I snort at the thought. _Who knew I'd ever look forward to school?_

Kelsey is waiting at the bus stop, her red hair flying like a crazy wig around her face, and she slips an arm through mine without mentioning anything about the pink. Kels knows a little bit about how I feel about my family, especially Christina, and we've been best friends long enough that she doesn't fuss or try to get me to buddy up with my sister, like some bad after-school special. In fact, Kels knows enough not to mention my sister at all, just like I don't mention her grandma, who's got dementia and moved in with the family last year.

"Did you hear that Miah and Becca broke up again?" Kels says, drawing me closer to her.

I glance over my shoulder, but neither of them is at the bus stop yet. Trying to play it cool, I force myself to shrug. "They've broken up, like, fifteen times in the last year, but they always get back together."

Kels raises her eyebrows. "But maybe this time they won't, especially if Jeremiah finds somebody new before Becs get her claws back into him."

My face heats up at the thought of Jeremiah Smallwood's arm linked through mine, the way Kelsey's is now, and she grins, reading my thoughts. "I don't think he even knows who I am," I admit quietly, trying to ignore the bubble of excitement that's pulsing in my stomach.

"Shelby, come on. He kissed you in fourth grade; I don't think a person can forget a thing like that."

I snort. "One, that was _fourth grade_. This is tenth grade. People change. Two," I add quickly when I see that she wants to argue, "he's almost as good a caster as she is," I jerk my head in my sister's direction. "What would he want with a dried-up scribe like me?"

The yellow school bus pulls up to the curb before Kelsey can say anything, and I'm grateful. As much as I love Kels's optimism, there's really no way she can spin my lack of abilities that makes me look worthwhile to anyone, let alone a star caster like Miah. Shaking my arm loose from hers, I head up the steps to the bus and back to our familiar seat, three-quarters of the way down the aisle. Kelsey follows me, and we both pretend not to know Christina when she breezes by, heading for the back of the bus with her friends.

There's a mix of kids on our bus, even though our neighborhood is almost exclusively filled with magical families. One of the normies smiles at me as she takes a seat across the aisle, and I force myself to smile back. _It's a new year, and I'm ready for a new start._ If Kelsey notices, she doesn't let on, just whips out her phone and starts scrolling through pictures, showing me a crystal ball she found in a shop downtown that she really wants to get. Kels is a caster, like Christina, but she's nowhere near as powerful. Somehow, that doesn't seem to bother her; I think she's more interested in the props and trappings of magic than in the actual spells, but at least she knows she can cast if she has to; I can barely muster up enough magic to test the crappy spells I write, and even then, I rarely manage to get the results I'd hoped for. Christina won't touch my spells with a ten-foot pole, and even though Kels loves me, the couple of times she used my spells backfired so spectacularly that she never offered again. At this rate, no one will want me to scribe for them, and I'll have to get some kind of bizarre job like a normie, working in a cubicle or something. Kels is still talking, but I'm only half-listening to her; I keep looking out the window for Miah, but the bus pulls away from the curb before he shows up, and I try to fight my disappointment. Turning to Kelsey, I refocus my attention on her, trying not to think about Miah, my sister, or magic in general.

By the time the bus drops us off at school, I've almost forgotten the way my family reacted to my outfit that morning, but when I walk into homeroom and the teacher who's calling roll does a double take when I raise my hand, I feel my spirits start to sink again. Why did I think I could make a fresh start? Half my teachers have probably had my sister, and it's not like she's ever gone out of her way to hide her status as a caster. I slither down in my seat, but the teacher doesn't say anything, and although I hear a few of the normies around me whispering, I can't be sure they're talking about me. Then again, I can't be sure they _aren't_ talking about me, either, and I start picking at my cuticles under my desk. When Becca saunters in right at the end of the period, a black ribbon tied around her neck, draped in a sparkling indigo tunic, I sink even lower in my chair. She glances at me, and her lips curl up into a cruel smile. Sitting down beside me, she leans over conspiratorially.

"Shelby, I'm so glad you're finally being true to yourself. It takes a lot of courage to admit that you're worthless."

My fingers curl into fists under my desk, but whereas Christina could rub Becca's annoying little nose in something nasty with just a few words and the flick of her wrist, I can't do anything to her. As a rule, scribes aren't as strong as casters, but most scribes would have enough magic to put another scribe in her place. Not me. Based on the smirk on her face, she knows it.

The only weapon I have is my words. I smile at her sweetly, forcing myself to sound calmly disinterested. "I thought you'd appreciate it, considering."

Becca raises an eyebrow. "Considering what?"

I widen my eyes innocently. "Why, since you're not strong enough to scribe for Jeremiah. It must have taken a lot of guts to admit your failings, especially since I know you guys are...were close."

She narrows her eyes. "Who told you I can't scribe for him?"

I shrug. "I heard it around." Pushing my luck, I place my hand on her shoulder in a gesture of fake sympathy. "I'm sure he won't replace you immediately...although a caster like him can't be without a scribe for long."

Becca flushes for an instant, but then she regains her composure and shrugs away from my touch. "At least I _can_ scribe," she says, her voice raising slightly. "What a shame for your parents to have a defect like you."

My vision clouds, and I want to pummel her into the ground, but I can't do anything. I'm frozen by her words; mean as they are, she's echoing things I've thought more than once, and if Jeremiah is her weak spot, then my family is mine, and she knows it. I open my mouth, trying to think of a comeback, but Becca just smiles and stands up as the bell rings. "See you around, Shelby."

I watch her walk away, alternately fuming and fighting back tears, but then she stops at the door and glances back at me. "Oh, by the way," she says, her smile toxic, "pink is a really good color on you."

###

### Spell Book & Scandal

### by Jen McConnel

### Out now!

About the Author:

Award-winning author Jen McConnel writes NA, YA, and various other works. When she isn't writing, she can be found on her yoga mat or wandering off on another adventure. Visit www.JenMcConnel.com to learn more!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I'm so insanely grateful to see another one of my books in your hands, and my thanks goes first and foremost to you: thank you for reading my stories and sharing in the magic!

I've said it before, but it truly does take a village (and a family) to raise a book, and I'm so incredibly grateful to all the people who've had a hand in this story.

A great big squishy thank you hug to my wonderful editor, Mandy Schoen, for falling in love with this story all those versions ago. You've helped me so much, and I can't imagine this tale without you.

Love and chocolate to the YA Valentines: I'm so grateful to be a part of this awesome group, and you make the crazy better. Vals4Evah!

To Linda Van Gombos, for reading this book when it was in its infancy: thank you for sharing your love of the myth with me, and for helping me delve into sweeter, deeper places.

To Rachel Harris, one of the swooniest authors I know: thank you for reading the manuscript and falling in love with Psyche and Ross.

To Robin Constantine, for chocolate, kissing scenes, and constant encouragement.

To Jaye Robin Brown, for signing her emails "your brutally honest critique partner": I love you, girl!

To Meredith, whose no turned into a different kind of yes. Thank you!

To the SCBWI Carolinas community: I'm so thankful y'all are my home base! And to the NCWN, for giving me another place to call home.

To Han Nolan, Dr. Rhonda Brock-Servais, and the Hollins family: thank you for giving me the space to explore this story through a different lens.

Sparklers and confetti to my family across the country; your constant support and encouragement keep me going, and I'm so grateful to have so many amazing people in my corner.

And finally, to Matt, for sweeping me into a love story all those years ago. I love our not-so-normal normal!

