No time for fear.
Agatha seized Merlin’s soft, stubby arms.
The ghosts wrested them back.
Agatha latched her fists onto Merlin’s body, enduring a silent tussle, human against haunt. The more firmly she pulled, the harder the ghosts resisted, grappling the baby higher, the child caught between worlds. Merlin was well over her head now, her arms at full reach. Standing on tiptoes, Agatha struggled to force the baby down. Hard talons curled around her hands, the bulging wallpaper rough against her skin. Finger by finger, the haunts pried Merlin from Agatha, until only her thumbs clung on—
“No!” she cried.
Merlin’s big blue eyes flew open.
The infant saw the haunts, his face coloring with fear. Then his eyes darted to Agatha, twinkling with recognition . . .
He farted with a cannon’s strength, a blast so swift and loud that the haunts dropped him into Agatha’s arms and shot back into the walls.
The wizard child shrieked with delight as a terrible smell filled the room.
Tedros wheezed with horror, while the rest shrank for cover. (Tinkerbell groggily poked out of the prince’s pocket, only to sniff the air and pass out once more.)
“Worse than a dungbomb,” Hort rasped, under the bed.
The baby clapped his hands and flashed a gummy smile at Agatha. “Mama!” he squeaked.
“We’re doomed,” Tedros moaned.
The others muttered in agreement.
But Agatha didn’t flinch. Not at the smell (she’d grown up in a graveyard). Nor at the infant in her arms. This wasn’t a demon child. This was Merlin, who’d chosen her over the haunts. Merlin, who’d just saved himself. She gazed down at the beaming wizard, blowing spit bubbles. At the moment, a baby had more nerve than its rescuers.
“We’re not doomed,” said Agatha, turning to her prince. “Your father left you three tests. Tests, Tedros. This is part of the tournament. Things going wrong. You can bet Japeth won’t give up at the first sign of trouble.”
The room went quiet.
Tedros glared back at her.
It was a harsh thing to say. Especially since Agatha was just as scared and bereft as he was. But if she had to act like the king to force her prince to stand up, then she’d do what she had to. Even if her words hurt.
His hot blue eyes locked into hers, fully aware of what she was doing. Tedros’ anger cooled to guilt . . . then to steel. The Lion had stirred.
“Witches,” he said. “Go back to school. Tell the teachers everything that’s happened and find an aging spell that can reverse the cave’s curse. Send word to us once you find it.” He saw Dot quivering in the corner and gave her a wink. “Get Dot back to her young and beautiful self while you’re at it.”
Dot went pink, looking embarrassed but standing up straighter. Agatha knew the gift of Tedros’ charm, even in the direst of moments.
“Nicola,” the prince went on. “Go with my mother to Jaunt Jolie. Find out what their queen meant about giving Japeth a key. I spent time with Betty, the queen’s daughter, when I was young; Queen Jacinda’s loyalties to the Snake might be softer then they seem. Agatha and I will stay here. Putsi’s the neighboring kingdom to the north, which means Japeth is close. But as long as we have Merlin, we’re ahead of him. Once the witches find an aging spell, we’ll restore Merlin’s years, take the beard ourselves, and be on to the second test.”
“Something’s bothering me,” Dot pitched, gnawing on her fingernails. “The scroll said we’d find the answer to the first test where wizard trees grow—”
“Not this nonsense again,” Hester scowled. “The answer is Merlin’s beard. Not some tree.”
“Then why did the test mention trees at all?” Anadil contested.
Agatha felt that prickling unease again. That niggling doubt that plagued her on the way here.
“Wizard trees aren’t real,” Guinevere reassured, siding with Hester. “Just an expression. Comes from a fairy tale. About a tree that once grew at the Four Point.”
“People thought the tree had magical powers. That it could answer any question you asked it,” said Tedros. “Each of the Four Point leaders wanted the tree for themselves. That’s how the Four Point War started. The war that killed Dad. Over a tree. In the end, they found it didn’t have any powers at all. Just an ordinary birch. Storian told its tale as a warning.”
“Think I read that story,” Nicola remembered. “The tale of a king who asked a wizard tree a question and climbed it, looking for the answer, but each branch just grew into another tree and then another, until he climbed so high he was burned by the sun . . .”
“See? Just a red herring to throw us off,” Hester chastised Anadil. “But if you’d like to go hunting for wizard trees with Dot, be my guest. I’ll go to school alone and find a spell that can actually save us.”
Agatha trusted Hester’s confidence, her doubts lifting.
“Should we use the Flowerground from Bloodbrook to get to school?” Anadil reversed, appeasing her tattooed friend. “Never stations are lax about security. We can pretend to be Dot’s daughters. Should keep us from being recognized.” (Dot let out a fresh wail.)
Meanwhile, Guinevere huddled with Nicola: “Jaunt Jolie is a few miles north. We’ll be there by sunrise. Getting an audience with the queen is another matter. Knights of the Eleven protect her kingdom and they’re fearsome warriors.”
“Two women alone might just slip through . . . ,” said the first year.
“I’ll come with you,” Hort insisted.
Nicola hesitated.
“You don’t want me to?” the weasel asked.
“Of course I do. It’s just a boy will mess up our plan—”
“A boy? I’m your boyfriend!” Hort blasted. “I’m not allowed to even look at Sophie, my soulmate, but you can slag me off like I’m any old boy off the street!”
“And here I thought I was your soulmate,” Nicola replied.
Hort blinked at her, realizing what he’d said.
“Stay here with me, mate,” Tedros piped awkwardly, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “A man-wolf may come in handy.”
“Get a talent of your own, why don’t you,” Hort murmured, but Tedros was already hastening the rest through the door.
“Report back when you can,” the prince ordered. “Sooner we finish the first test, the closer we are to killing the Snake.”
The witches hustled out, along with Nicola and Guinevere, no one offering goodbyes. Nicola slammed the door behind her.
They were alone now: Agatha, the prince, and the weasel.
In a haunted room.
With a cursed child.
“Buggered that up, didn’t I?” Hort mumbled, his eyes lingering where Nicola had left.
Tedros ignored him and huddled over Agatha’s shoulder, the two of them peering down at Merlin, the infant’s giggles replaced by a calm, intense stare.
“How’d he stay alive for so long in that cave?” Tedros wondered.
“Must be hungry,” Hort said, cramming next to the prince. “How do we feed a baby?”
The two boys turned to Agatha.
“Don’t look at me,” Agatha shot back.