Crisanta Knight: Midnight Law

CHAPTER 2-1

ynamic, but not dangerous.

I pondered Debbie’s description as I migrated through Darling Castle. After dinner, the Godmother Supreme had magically transported me here. The Godmothers did not have absolute teleportation powers, but Gallant was close enough to Clevaunt that the magic worked fine.

The gold-edged corridor sparkled as I walked to my desired destination. My stomach churned with unease. Not from the teleportation. Deciding to win the Godmother Supreme’s favor through mentorship was the best plan for getting my best friend out of the woman’s clutches, and the choice sat right with me. Debbie’s analysis of me, however, did not. I realized this was not a particularly logical response. Why should I want to seem dangerous? But the description brought up an irksome notion that popped into my mind every now and then like an immortal dandelion.

Out of all the characters in my close group of friends, I came across as one of the least intimidating. This image was partially a façade; I was powerful, but in my own subtler way. Most people not noticing this was a consequence of my skills being rooted in careful, strategic steps versus running blindly into the line of fire and the unknown. I did not like the unknown. I did not like taking on challenges that I was not properly prepared or trained for. Was it so wrong to only want to take the lead in areas I was comfortable with? Did that mean no one would ever see me as dangerous? Perhaps spending more time with the Godmother Supreme would change that. I had not considered a self-serving angle when I agreed to the arrangement with her, but maybe she could push me to be bolder in less familiar situations.

“How was your fancy schmancy dinner?”

I turned to see Peter Pan flying up the gold-encrusted staircase I had just climbed. The Darlings were descended from King Midas and many of them possessed gold-related powers, hence the gilded décor everywhere in sight.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Pietro called. So, you have fun?”

“It was fine,” I replied to the floating twelve-year-old. “We talked a lot of business. Nothing you would be terribly interested in, but if you want to know the details—”

“Pass,” Peter said. “During my shift watching Sleeping Beauty Jr.—”

“Mauvrey,” I corrected. “Sleeping Beauty Jr. is a bit insensitive to her condition.”

The golden-haired daughter of Sleeping Beauty was a former classmate, a former archenemy, and a current victim of a sleeping curse residing under our watch in one of Darling Castle’s towers. She was also the reason Crisa and company had gone to Dreamland.

The personality we knew as “Mauvrey Weatherall” did not actually belong to this girl. In recent months we learned that an antagonist named Tara had possessed Mauvrey for many years. Turn of events had led to Tara being expelled from Mauvrey this past spring, however the princess still remained unconscious. Part of the long-term possession had required Mauvrey to be placed under a sleeping curse that involved a Shadow creature invading her mind in Dreamland. That kind of curse required the Shadow to be removed in Dreamland. As a result, a group of our friends had journeyed to the alternate dimension to save the innocent girl, and to protect the precious information in her head.

Mauvrey had absorbed the memories of a now-dead Fairy Godmother named Paige Tomkins—the only person who knew the location of Book’s missing genies. The antagonists wanted that information, and we needed to ensure they did not get it. Hence my Book friends and I guarding Mauvrey’s comatose body and enlisting the help of several powerful allies from other realms to do the same when we were at the peace talks. This week that included Peter and Merlin.

Peter huffed. “During my shift watching Mauvrey, your magical mentor insisted on my dad’s behalf that I study some Camelot history books. My head is now super full of new information and I need a few hours of non-learning.” He put his hands to his temples. “I didn’t attend school at all when I lived in Neverland, but now I’m studying in the summer? What is my world coming to?”

“Arthur and Merlin mean well. They simply want you to know more about your homeland,” I replied. Then I smiled. “Peter, did you just refer to Arthur as your dad?”

Peter’s face contorted with embarrassment. “What? No. What’s that?” He looked down the hall and held his hand to his ear. “Coming!”

I smirked at the boy. “I did not hear anyone calling for you.”

“Then add super hearing to my list of abilities—right behind flying, sword fighting, and making nacho cheese. Later.” He zipped around the corner and out of sight.

Since being reunited with his long-lost father, King Arthur of Camelot, Peter had been working on balancing the freedom of his immortal life in Neverland with his responsibilities as a young prince in Camelot. It was a lot to handle, but he seemed to be getting used to it. Just now had indeed been the first time I heard him say “Dad” when referring to Arthur. That was progress.

An ovular clock hanging over a nearby mantle showed it was approaching seven. The Darling royal family was likely still at dinner, as were my friends. Although my designated shift to watch Mauvrey did not begin for another hour, I continued on with my intention to relieve Merlin early. Extra quiet time in the tower where we kept Mauvrey sounded nice after such a long, full day.

I reached the desired door at the top of the stairs in a tower at the far end of the castle—guards on either side—and knocked before pushing it open. “I hope you do not mind me clocking in early,” I said to my wizard mentor.

“SJ.” Merlin looked up from the potions books he was reading as I entered. “How did changing the world go today?”

“As it always goes,” I replied wistfully. “It involved a lot of shouting, numbers, and bathroom breaks.” I glanced over Mauvrey, who slept, unchanged, on an elevated bed in the center of the room. Golden-blonde tendrils spilled over her pillow, and she still wore the same outfit as the day we had taken her in—purple leather jacket with matching heeled boots, black pants, and black top. Thanks to my potion-laced lanyard accessory the SRB (Soap on a Rope-like Bracelet), she had been perfectly preserved for months.

“Well said,” Merlin replied, rising from his chair, one of the few accouterments we had added to the circular stone room.

Merlin stood a handful of inches shorter than me and was probably in his sixties—I would never ask to verify, as that would be impolite. Overall, he was quite dapper. He kept his beard trimmed and styled, and his robes were always freshly pressed and elegant.

“I talked with Arthur and Dorothy today,” Merlin said, stretching. “The potion we created to stop the poison from spreading in their wounds is still holding up. No sign of relapse.”

“Excellent news,” I said. “I want to keep checking on that regularly for the time being. No one has created a cure for Questor Beast poison before, so we must be thorough.”

“Agreed,” Merlin said. “Thanks for tagging me out early. I have some work to do tonight. Speaking of which, your shift watching the princess tonight goes until midnight. Do you still want to meet me to continue our potions work tomorrow morning?”

“Of course I do. I will meet you at four o’clock like always.”

“You are the only teenager I’ve ever met that says things like that with a smile,” Merlin replied.

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“How ladylike of you.”

I gestured at the book under his arm. “May I borrow that? Potions reading calms me.”

“Have at it,” Merlin said, passing me the weathered, incredibly thick blue volume. “I did not have any luck with the chapters I read today.”

“Which ones?”

“I’m researching how to break curses where love is involved. I am doing a favor for . . . never mind. Exhausting to think about.”

“The person or the task?”

Merlin huffed, slightly amused. “Both, at times.” He patted my shoulder and headed for the door. “Have a good shift.”

Once the door shut, I stood perfectly still, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply. Silence was one of the world’s most precious and underrated gifts.

After a minute, I picked up the chair Merlin had been sitting in and moved it closer to Mauvrey. It felt less awkward that way, like I was reading at the bedside of a patient recovering from illness.

To finish my setup, I grabbed a warm pashmina from a hook on the back of the door. Chance’s kingdom was in the mountains and it was cold here, even in the summer. I tucked the cloth around my legs as I sat and began to turn the pages of Merlin’s book.

I was glad the wizard had lent me the reading material. I was grateful for many things where Merlin was concerned, including his presence in our lives in general. Merlin was a legendary character who had dedicated his life to protecting his realm, safeguarding the greater good, and defending the people he cared for. Moreover he, like Liza, had remained uncorrupted by his Pure Magic and went on to become one of the most skilled potionists of all time. I was fortunate that he had taken notice of my own passion and prowess for potions and volunteered to mentor me. Under his tutelage, and that of my other potions mentor, the Wizard of Oz, I had thrived.

And yet—like with so many aspects of fairytales and magic—Merlin came with a catch. The wizard had a knack for strategically manipulating others with his Pure Magic ability to see the future. He had used Crisa and her powers like a chess piece on a board multiple times. This caused a rift in their relationship and a dark shadow over my view of Merlin—someone who I could have otherwise looked up to, even idolized. Knowing about his craftier side meant I would never be able to fully trust him. It was like my relationship with the Godmother Supreme. How could I trust anyone who played with my best friend like a puppet on a string?

I absently ran my finger down a page in the book. Oh, Crisa. If I had a gray hair for every time I worried about her, my Snow White heritage would be far more appropriate.

I honestly was not sure which was worse—being the target of so much doom and tragedy, or being the best friend of someone with that fate, and feeling powerless to stop it or protect that person. Not that Crisa had ever given me much of a chance to protect her. Although she had become incredibly strategic and wise through our adventures, she could be heroic to a fault and her propensity for feeling things too deeply—passion, justice, anger—did not exactly deter conflict.

I huffed and leaned back in my chair. It was strange; though my potions work had meant Crisa and I had not spent a lot of time together lately, I felt her presence in all aspects of my life. Even now that she was in another dimension, so much of my being revolved around her. She—like many of my friends—was entwined and blended with my story like yarn in a tapestry. Unless you looked closely, we did not exist as separate materials. Together, we created a whole.

In one sense there was great comfort in that—knowing you had people in your life so connected and involved in your story that you would never be alone or need to worry about falling without someone to catch you. At the same time, having that level of closeness meant you could lose yourself in other people’s stories too, especially if the characters you chose as companions were strong personalities.

I wondered if I would ever escape that. I wondered if I wanted to.

It was a delicate balance—finding a way to shine alone while being a part of a team. I had recently started to find this equilibrium by taking time off school to work on potions with Merlin in Camelot and Julian, the Wizard of Oz, in his realm. Leaving behind everyone I knew had been hard, but also liberating and I had loved it. But I was ashamed to admit that last bit because what kind of person enjoys being away from the people who love and need them?