PROLOGUE
COURTNEY
There’s a reason stories begin withOnce Upon a Timeand notThe End.
AfterThe End, you’re left cleaning up carnage and wondering how you’re going to afford therapy. You don’t feel victorious; you feel tired, hungry, and grumpy.
No one talks about how unpleasant the aftermath of an epic adventure is. No one warns you that you’ll return home, after gallivanting around a magical universe, to find your car’s been towed. No one mentions the fact that you’ll probably look over at the person you’re supposed to be having your Happily Ever After with and wonder if a week-long adventure is long enough to truly get to know someone.
That’s the predicament Bryce and I currently find ourselves in. It’s the middle of the night, and we’re in our driveway, staring at our duplex as though it’s the strangest thing we’ve ever seen, even though an undead skeleton stands behind us, clutching an iPhone.
Christmas lights strobe over my half of the building while Bryce’s half remains in shadow. It feels like so long ago since themorning when I hung them—the morning everything changed. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to bid Bryce good night and go home to my side, or if I should waltz through his front door and move in.
That’s the thing with adventures. If Bryce and I hadn’t gone on one, we’d still be nothing more than the petty, bickering neighbors we were a week ago. One measly little romp through a magical portal, and suddenly we’ve shared our deepest secrets, but not our middle names. We’ve watched each other cry before we’ve so much as watched a movie together. We’ve fought side by side, but his number isn’t even in my phone.
Bryce clears his throat. “So.”
“Yup,” I say.
After facing the undead and a dragon, you’d think a piddly little thing liketalking about my feelingswould be easy. Somehow it’s harder outside of life-or-death stakes. Honestly, I’d welcome a monster breathing down my neck. It might make the words come easier. But what words would they be? When the credits roll, the music plays, and the couple rides off into the sunset, what do they say to each other?
Recent evidence suggests emotionally gripping proclamations like “So” and “Yup.”
“Now what?” I ask.
Part of me wants to tell Bryce that, obviously, we’re going to be together forever and ever. A smaller part reminds me that, a week ago, I was the type of person who rolled her eyes at everyone who believed in true love.
“We’ll figure it out,” Bryce murmurs as he dips his head and brushes his lips to mine, and for one blissful minute, everything feels like it will be okay.
But then blurry swirls of blue and orange light shine against my eyelids. I squint, looking through my lashes. For a moment, I think the Christmas lights are malfunctioning, but no. It’s magic. Wisps of light swirl off our skin—the power left over from theother world slipping from our bodies. The vapor-like energy coils over the lawn like a river. Slowly, the tendrils rise, forming a wide arch.
My eyes snap wide, and I step back.
“What…” Bryce begins.
A pterodactyl-like screech splits the night air. The inside of the arch ripples, right before a bristly black blur bursts through, magic swirling off its wings.
Bryce and I duck as an all-too-familiar dragon swoops over our heads, letting out another earsplitting scream. Our necks arch as we follow the dragon’s flight. Its wings snap wide as it dives for the duplex.
Kelly, the skeleton, taps me on my shoulder and shows me her phone screen, where she’s typed:THIS IS UNFORTUNATE.
“It’s fine,” I squeak. “The dragon isn’t inherently evil, right?”
“It’s also not inherently good,” Bryce whispers as the dragon’s mouth gapes wide.
Flames roil within.
“If anyone asks, we had nothing to do with this,” Bryce is saying. “We’re fine. This is fine. I’ll leave an anonymous tip for animal control.”
Right as the words leave his mouth, flames erupt from the dragon and engulf the house, setting the entire structure ablaze in seconds. Kelly whips out a pair of sunglasses from her long floral dress and slips them over her eye sockets. Smoke singes my nostrils and stings my eyes. I don’t think I knew what the wordsurrealtruly meant until now, as I watch a dragon burn down a duplex in twenty-first-century America.
I imagine the scene as though it’s one of those freeze-frame moments in a movie. You know the one. The one where chaos is erupting, and then everything freezes, and a voice-over goes,Yep, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.
There’s the dragon, its shadowy silhouette suspended before the inferno, wings flared, neck reared back as it drenches thehouse in flames that shoot into the night sky. There are the exploding Christmas lights, shards of bulbs frozen in the air, zapping blue electricity merging with orange flames. There’s Kelly the skeleton in a cowboy hat, lifting her iPhone to take a photo, fire reflecting off the dark lenses of her sunglasses. There’s Bryce and me, viewing the scene, not in shock, but with weary dismay, our expressions reading:Not this again.
So, howdidwe get here?
It started, as these types of stories often do, with an insufferable, universally disliked child who secretly thinks they’re hot shit.
