The Stroke of Eleven: Beaumont and Beasley, #3

PROLOGUE

The Castle of Basile

The Kingdom of Vetri

426 B.E. (Before the End)

The clock struck eleven times.

Then time ground to a halt.

The rich orchestral music fell silent in an instant, the fingers of pianists and violinists frozen in place. The twirling couples on the dance floor seemed to turn to stone. Even the women’s long gowns stopped in mid-flourish. The warm light from the glittering chandeliers overhead dimmed, and a chilling, clammy wind blew through the ballroom.

Three of the people in the room still moved.

The peasant girl, known to some as Ella and to others by a crueler name, marveled at the change wrought by powerful magic. The cold wind rustled her blue ballgown and swept back her red curls. She shivered.

The tall, broad-shouldered Prince Matteo drew his sword—mainly because that was what princes were supposed to do in a crisis, and because he liked swords. He had no exact plans for how he was going to use the weapon. His muscular frame chafed against the starched fabric of his formal attire, and his square jaw clenched. He had hoped to save the war for tomorrow and enjoy one more night of peace. Now, it seemed, he would have to face the darkness sooner than he had imagined.

The third person to avoid the spell’s effects was a plump, cheerful, middle-aged woman who had just used her powers to transform her drab servants’ garb into a long, billowing robe. This was, after all, the expected costume for a fairy. Her rosy complexion turned a bright blue, and her green eyes sparkled. A pair of azure-feathered wings unfurled behind her to complete the ensemble.

Ella’s eyes widened. Godmother?

Who are you? Matteo growled. What have you done to my castle?

My name is Beatrice. The fairy curtsied. Pleased to meet you, Your Highness. I’m Ella’s fairy godmother.

Matteo looked at Ella in surprise. You know her?

Not very well, she replied. I don’t even know what a ‘fairy godmother’ is, to be honest.

Stand back. Matteo moved between Beatrice and Ella. I’ll deal with her.

The fairy gave a squeal of delight. Oh, you two are adorable. She clapped her hands together and hopped up and down, flapping her wings. I’ve done it! I’ve made another perfect match.

Er…we only met a few hours ago, said Matteo. I mean, I do like her very much, but—

Oh, piffle. You adore each other, don’t you? Or at least you will, in time. Beatrice heaved a sigh, and her wings drooped. Such a pity you only have a few seconds left.

Ella flushed with embarrassment. She’d been specifically warned about this, after all. I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be late. I know you warned me about the stroke of midnight. I was going to leave long before it was time, but—

Hush! Beatrice put a finger to her lips. Don’t bother about that for a moment, dear! I understand.

Matteo had had enough magic and mystery for one evening. What are you talking about? What do you mean, we only have a few seconds?

Ella knew there was no point in concealing the truth any longer. When the clock strikes twelve, the spell she cast on me will end. It’s temporary, for reasons which haven’t been explained to me. She chanced a quick glare at her fairy godmother.

Spell? What spell? Matteo brandished his sword. I don’t like spells.

I’m not really a noblewoman, said Ella.

Oh. A look of concern flickered across Matteo’s face. Er…what are you, then? I don’t mean to insult you, but I’m hoping you’re not actually a troll or something.

No! Nothing like that. I’m just a commoner.

Oh! Matteo breathed a sigh of relief. I knew that already.

What? You did?

Of course. I’m not an idiot. You used all the wrong forks at dinner, and you didn’t recognize Lady Postlethwaite. He grinned. The look on her face when she realized you’d no idea who she was. It was brilliant.

I thought I had the forks right, Ella muttered.

Beatrice clapped her hands. Perhaps we should get back to the point, children. You two love each other. Or at least, you’re starting to. And I imagine you’d like to see each other again.

Yes. They spoke in unison, then cast sidelong, embarrassed glances at each other.

Well, I’m terribly sorry, but that’s not going to happen. The fairy’s tone was kind, but blunt. As soon as Ella walks down those palace steps, you’re never going to clap eyes on each other again for the rest of your lives.

Matteo flinched, looking as if someone had punched him in the stomach. But…why?

Because in a few weeks, you’ll be dead. Beatrice motioned to a tapestry hanging on the wall nearby. For the moment, it depicted a hunting party chasing a fox. But at the fairy’s command, the scene changed to a vivid image of Matteo lying on a battlefield, blood streaming from a wound in his chest as fire blazed around him and sabers flashed.

What? Matteo’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his sword tighter. What’s that supposed to be? I don’t die! I never die! Other people do that!

Is this real? Ella asked Beatrice.

Not yet. But it will be. And you, Ella—you’ll be sent off to a lunatic asylum in the north of Contefay. I’m afraid your stepmother recognized you, you see, despite the glamour I cast to disguise your identity. They don’t always work on people who know you well. She’ll be making the necessary arrangements for your departure in the morning—with the aid of the royal physician. Such is the fate of peasants who try to insinuate themselves into court functions.

Another tapestry on the other side of the room, originally an image of a knight slaying a dragon, changed to a scene of Ella in the corner of a dark and gloomy cell, her face pale and gaunt, her clothes torn.

The fairy clicked her tongue in sympathy. So sad. You won’t last long in that place. But...not all stories get happy endings. It’s the way of the real world, I fear. If only there was some magical being who could help with that. Her eyes brightened. Oh, wait!

Watch out, Matteo warned Ella. I think she’s trying to trap us. He held the point of his blade to Beatrice’s throat. One wrong move, and you’ll have to deal with Gladys.

Ella stared at him in confusion. Gladys?

My sword.

You named your sword?

I name all my weapons.

The fairy gently moved Gladys away from her vital organs. Trap you? Why, Your Majesty, I’ve no idea what you mean.

I should have known. Ella did not bother to disguise the anger in her voice. What was the point of trying not to offend Beatrice now? Whatever her evil plot was, they were right in the middle of it already. Nothing is free. You were planning to collect some terrible price for this all along, weren’t you? She grabbed two handfuls of her long dress and held them up. To think I was stupid enough to believe you turned my pumpkin into a coach to be nice.

Matteo quirked an eyebrow. A pumpkin?

But darling, Beatrice crooned, I assure you, I—

A pumpkin?

Yes, dear. A hint of ice crept into Beatrice’s dulcet tones. Do try to keep up. As I was saying, Ella, I have no intention of exacting payment from you. Everything I have done for you is, as I said before, free.

But not permanent. A lump rose in Ella’s throat. What good is this night if we’re both going to end up alone?

We don’t have to. Matteo took her hand in his. Now that we know, we can avoid it. You don’t have to leave. Never mind about the dress and the—er—pumpkin. Stay here with me. Or better yet, run away with me. We can leave everything behind and start fresh somewhere else!

Ella smiled. That’s crazy.

I don’t think so. Matteo released her hand and lifted his blade to Beatrice’s neck again. But first, we’re going to deal with her.

Beatrice smirked. Oh, dear. I’m utterly terrified.

Do you have to kill her? Ella grimaced. I’m not fond of blood. Or violence. Or…anything not nice, in general.

This surprised Matteo. I got the impression you were made of stronger stuff than that.

I am made of strong stuff, she shot back. I just don’t like fighting. That doesn’t mean I’m not strong.

My dear, foolish children. There’s nothing you can do to fight me. Beatrice made a quick motion with her hand. Matteo’s sword instantly crumbled into a cloud of fine dust, which blew away in the wind.

Gladys, Matteo moaned.

And as for your fates, said Beatrice, they cannot be undone. The future cannot be altered, any more than the past. No matter how you try to thwart your destinies, they shall be fulfilled in the end.

More scenes played out across the tapestries. They were countless versions of the same story: Matteo and Ella trying to be together, only to be torn apart. In one version, it happened in the palace. Two guards dragged Ella away while several more held back a struggling, shouting Matteo. In another, the guards were separating them on a ship. In a third, enemy soldiers seized them on the battlefield. And so it continued, in nearly a dozen more images.

All right! Matteo shouted. We get the point.

She could be lying, said Ella. Creating illusions to manipulate us.

I could be, Beatrice conceded. And you’re welcome to find out if I am. At your request, I will set time back in motion and allow the clock to strike twelve. Then you can battle fate on your own…but I guarantee that you will lose.

Ella didn’t want to ask the next question, but in the end, she gave in. What’s our other option?

Let me help you.

Matteo frowned in suspicion. I thought you said destiny couldn’t be thwarted.

It can’t. But it can be delayed. In fact, it’s even possible to delay it indefinitely—until the world itself comes to an end, perhaps. Granted, whenever it arrives, the end of the world will be quite inconvenient. But happiness until then is the next best thing to eternal happiness, wouldn’t you say?

Matteo narrowed his eyes at her. What do you intend to do?

You’ve had a lovely evening, I take it. What if I told you I could make it last until the end of time? Make it repeat, over and over again? Then you’ll have hundreds and hundreds of years together. So long as the world doesn’t end anytime soon, of course, but I rather doubt that it will.

Ella blinked. An evening that lasts forever? You’re really powerful enough to do that?

Not on my own, no. But I can use the love burgeoning between the two of you as a power source for my spell. That will be more than enough to keep it going.

Matteo remained suspicious. But what do you want from us? What do you get out of this?

Your happiness, of course. I want to see you happy. That’s all. Are you so cynical that you can’t accept that? Does every magical entity have to be working toward some dark design?

Matteo and Ella exchanged worried looks. They both longed to take this gift, but they were also both wary of the consequences.

On another point, do the two of you really want to spurn my offer and suffer the alternative? Beatrice waved her hand, and the scenes of Matteo’s and Ella’s deaths reappeared on the tapestries. They seemed even more vivid this time.

Matteo and Ella looked at each other again. Then he reached for her hand, and she took it. Yes? he said to her.

She nodded. Yes.

Beatrice’s face lit up. Excellent! Excellent.

What do we have to do? asked Matteo.

It’s all very simple. Just kiss each other. That will seal the bargain and set my spell into motion.

A kiss? Ella shook her head in disbelief. True love’s kiss? That’s a story; it doesn’t actually—

Ah, ah, you’re being cynical again. Beatrice gave Ella a reproachful look. Don’t over-think it, darling.

Matteo gazed into Ella’s eyes. Ready?

She made no reply. Instead, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his.

Done. Beatrice’s laughter echoed through the cold, still ballroom. Chains of shining runes stretched from her fingers to the happy couple, and then to the big clock, whose hands began to spin backwards. The dancers began to twirl in reverse, like clockwork figures in a music box being rewound.

Don’t worry, Cinderella, said Beatrice. The stroke of twelve will never come.

CHAPTER 1

WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE NAGAS?

The Talesend Undermarket

1922 E.A.

E xcuse me, sir—would you like a free sample of my goblin-liver crumpets?

In defense of the cheerful minotaur who was holding a plate of her foul-smelling baked goods up to my face, I had to admit that I did look like the sort of person who might enjoy goblin-liver crumpets. At the moment, anyway.

Er…no thank you. I smiled at her while trying to block out the stench of the horrid things. With my highly-sensitive nose, it was difficult. The fact that they looked like charred lumps of green muck didn’t help.

Her bovine face fell. You sure? They’re quite tasty.

I’m incredibly sure. I gently guided the plate away from my mouth. Thanks all the same, ma’am.

She shrugged. Suit yourself. She returned to the booth where the rest of her bizarre foodstuffs were arranged.

You should have tried one. My younger brother Crispin sidled up to me. You might have liked it. He gave me a cheeky grin. With his stubbled face, long brown hair, and disheveled clothing, he appeared every inch the hobo he was pretending to be. An easy feat, since this was how he normally styled himself.

I wasn’t pretending to be anything. I didn’t have to. Given that I was an eight-foot-tall storybook Beast, complete with fur, claws, horns, and a tail, I fit right in at the Talesend Undermarket. All I’d needed were some torn and dirty clothes to complete the ensemble. This hidden bazaar was where less-than-savory magical creatures and human enchanters came to buy and sell forbidden items. The things that went on here were even outside the jurisdiction of the Council of Scions, the shadowy secret society that kept a tight rein on all magic in the Afterlands.

I glowered at Crispin. Stop enjoying yourself. This isn’t a vacation, remember?

It feels like one. He spread his arms to indicate the scene before us. Look at this place! It’s amazing!

Nerve-racking was a better description, in my opinion. We were in the catacombs underneath the city. Up until very recently, I hadn’t known that there were catacombs underneath Talesend—but then again, I’d found out a lot of surprising things about my city in the past few months. The chamber where we now stood was massive; big enough to house hundreds of stalls where various sleazy individuals peddled their wares. I lost count of the number of species I’d seen since we arrived. There were ogres and centaurs, leprechauns and dryads. Plus, who knew how many of the apparently-human folk were something else in disguise. I spotted one woman with smoke coming out of her nostrils who was most likely a dragon. Magical, multicolored orbs of light floated across the crowd like living lanterns, casting an eerie glow over the market.

The range of items available for sale was even more diverse than the crowd. Some booths had books or scrolls of magic spells, while others sold enchanted objects like wands and weapons. There was a fair amount of magical gadgetry available too—bits of advanced technology combined with enchantments. I recognized a few of these items from our previous adventures in the secret corners of the Afterlands. Telephones that let you talk to people across dimensions, for a small fee (possibly your soul). Typewriters that would write letters and things for you, though they were prone to occasional spelling mistakes. (They were also prone to occasional attempts at murdering their owners.) There was even an automobile displayed on a pedestal. It drove itself thanks to a fire elemental bound to its engine. A very annoyed fire elemental who would probably obliterate everything in a one-mile radius should the car ever develop engine trouble.

Crispin was still happily chattering about how excited he was to be here. "And I can shapeshift here whenever I want, and nobody cares!"

In the blink of an eye, he transformed into a large, shaggy white dog. He panted happily at me.

Crispin had recently been turned into a shapeshifting creature called a pooka. It was the only cure for a curse he’d been under. Due to unfortunate circumstances, I’d been forced to use a magical dagger to change him into a merman. The magic was irreversible and would have left him confined to the ocean forever, had Cordelia not cast the pooka spell on him. This had absorbed the Undine curse, and had the side effect of allowing him to take on practically any form he wished.

I’d observed something strange about his powers lately. Every single creature he shapeshifted into in the past couple of weeks had been pure-white in color. Even animals that were never white, like crows. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with the dangerous magic he’d tapped into not long ago—the same forbidden spell that had put a white streak in his hair.

I rolled my eyes. Change back. Right now.

Crispin barked at me and instantly turned back into a human. Spoilsport.

I pointed to the side of his head. You’ve still got the ears.

He reached up and felt the floppy appendages. Oh. With