When I sneak into the ballroom with Maxine a few hours later, I momentarily panic.
“Come on! Come on!” Maxine says, tugging on my arm because I’ve suddenly gone statue-like on the main staircase. “Let’s go blend in before someone spots you.”
I can’t help myself. I’m blown away. I can’t believe this is the same room where we practice dragon slaying. (We do not use a real dragon. Madame Tilly just conjures up a fake one for fire-safety reasons.) I’ve never been to a ball before, so I don’t have a lot to go on, but I can’t imagine anything as beautiful as this room. An intricate display of peonies, roses, gardenias, and ivy blankets the ballroom ceiling, which glows like stars thanks to lightning bugs and glowworms hanging out in it.
One wall is made of glass, revealing the largest aquarium I’ve ever seen. Madame Cleo and the mer-students are having their own party inside. The Sea Siren is wearing a glittery shell top, and her long hair is piled high on her head in an updo adorned with shells and starfish. She sways to the music before she is pulled into a dance by a mer-man who looks a lot like the one she danced with in detention.
A flash of lightning brightens the tables surrounding the dance floor where footmen and maids—usually busy laundering smelly socks and checking our mail for illegal objects—are carrying plates of roast lamb and cranberry salad. The number 5, for our school’s anniversary, is everywhere. It’s on table cards and banners, and has even been shaped into rolls.
Despite what some of the soggy guests around me are whispering as they come in out of the rain this late fall day, nothing was stolen for the festivities.
“You’ve got to give props to Headmistress Flora for going out with a bang,” says Ollie when we find him bopping along to the band near the appetizer table. “I’m glad I dressed up.” He’s wearing a white pompadour and a blue suit that makes him look like a South Pole elf, and his hair is so shiny and slick I could ice skate on it.
“You can’t even tell I have magic tricks hidden in this jacket.” He slides his coat back to reveal a flower that squirts water, two decks of cards, and silver cuff links—I haven’t a clue what he’d do with those. “I think we’re ready to party!”
By “party,” Ollie means battle. We’ve spent the last two days listening to Kayla tell us everything she can about Gottie, which isn’t much. (“She’s very dark and mysterious,” Kayla said, which was less than helpful.) Ollie has stolen every radish in the school garden to handle the gargoyles, much to the gnome cafeteria chef’s dismay. I just passed a flyer in the hall that said “Do You Know the Radish Thief? Reward for Information!”
I swiped a copy of Flora’s scroll from her office, which had the party timeline—from princess arrivals to her speech. We looked it over in the Pegasus stables one afternoon, but to be honest, I couldn’t find anything fishy. Jax struck out too. He tried to get word to the castle about what we think Gottie has planned, but with security so tight, we don’t even know if they got Jax’s message.
“I think we’re on our own,” he said grimly late last night when we were going over details one last time in the observatory, which has become command central. “Help might not be coming.”
We’re as ready as we’ll ever be to try to stop our villainous teachers and one of the biggest baddies to ever hit Enchantasia.
And we’re not all that ready.
If I think about what we’re trying to do too much, I want to throw up in one of the emerald green vases near the punch station.
I catch Ollie staring at Maxine and me appreciatively. “You ladies clean up well.”
“Thanks!” Maxine has a fondness for Chef Raul’s gingersnap cookies, but in her hot pink dress and numerous accessories (three necklaces and a dozen pearl earrings in her pointy ears), she looks sweet. “I did Gilly’s and my hair. Rapunzel gel will make it stay put even during an explosion.”
Long curls drape down my back. When I try to shake my hair helmet from side to side, my curls barely move. “It’s definitely a change from my ponytail,” I say. “So is this dress.” Ollie stole me the green taffeta gown from who knows where. It feels heavy and is hard to move in, but the hoop skirt is a great place to hide my radish supply. I tried to pinch us swords during gym, but I think Madame Tilly was on to me. I’m weaponless. We all are.
“Why do I think you’re wearing shorts under that skirt?” Ollie asks.