vice. The throng of dancing Meadowkin spin and glide around us. It’s a

chaotic waltz, everyone moving together but separately around the

flames.

Rishi twists her hands in the air. The long, dark waves of her

hair sway over her shoulders. Her skirt billows when she spins, and

when I look at her, I consider that magic can be a beautiful thing.

Overgrown dandelions perk up from the ground, like they wait for

the cover of darkness before showing themselves. I reach for one. Hold

it up to my lips and blow. The glowing white seeds disperse in tiny

bursts of light.

“I could stay here forever,” I say. “My power feels different

here. It feels right . I’ve never had that before.”

The music slows like a caress. Rishi takes my face in her hands.

Her long, black lashes create spidery shadows down her cheeks. Her

midnight eyes flick down to my lips, and when she sighs, I know she

was eating peaches. My heartbeat multiplies, like there’s a tiny heart

at the end of all my fingers and toes, between my clavicles, inside my

ears, and at the tip of my nose.

“Hey!” Nova’s cheery, booming voice cuts across the meadow. He

zigzags between the fairy people. He slings his arm around our necks.

Rishi’s face scrunches up, irritated.

“Ladybird, where have you been?” He grabs me around my waist and

lifts me into the air.

When he tries to go for Rishi, she spins around and says, “I’m

going to get us more wine.”

“What’s gotten into you?” I ask him.

Nova’s playful. He pinches my cheek and seems to be dancing to a

rhythm in his own head. In the firelight, his bipolar eyes look like

they’re glowing.

“Isn’t this great?” he asks. “It’s like Christmas dinner. Not at

my house, but probably at your house. My Christmas dinner is a grilled

cheese and tomato sandwich. Some years, I put bacon on it. Maybe, if I

wish it, the magic tree table will give it to me. I’ll make one for

you. It’ll change your life. We can share with Rishi, but I don’t

think she likes me very much.”

“Pardon.” An ada with a blue face and silver hair bumps into Nova.

She clutches her stomach and makes a run for the line of trees, a rank

smell trailing behind her.

Look , a little voice whispers in my ear.

I shut my eyes and try to focus. My mind feels like cotton. Cotton

candy. Pretty cotton candy, pink and fluffy and melty on my tongue.

“Earth to Alex,” Nova says, squeezing my nose.

I slap his hand away. “What?”

“Look at me,” he says. Maybe Nova was the voice I heard just now.

Maybe I’m imagining things. “Look at what the meadow is doing to me.”

Nova holds his arms out. The black burn marks I mistook for

tattoos are changing. His glossy eyes are full of hope. “They’re

getting smaller. Can you believe that? This means I might have a

chance.”

“What do you mean ‘a chance’?”

His smile falls, and he jerks back, like he can’t believe he just

said that. “I-I can’t remember.”

Look harder! the voice yells.

I whip around to search for the source when a cold splash hits my

face. Red berry wine trickles down my neck. I wipe it out of my eyes

and spit the droplets that make their way into my mouth.

The music dies, replaced by whispers. Hundreds of eyes turn to

stare at me.

“What the hell was that?” Nova turns to Rodriga. The salamander

girl throws her goblet on the ground.

I hold up my hand to Nova. This isn’t his fight. It’s mine.

“Come on, encantrix,” Rodriga says. “Let’s see that power fly.”

“What’s your problem?” A dark coil of energy wraps itself around

me. I could unleash it. I could make her hurt.

“Your weakness. Your lies. Your fear. I could smell it on you

before you entered the meadow. You get to sing and dance and fall in

love, while the rest of us have to be this for eternity.”

My anger snaps like a whip around her throat. I can feel her

struggle for breath. Her pulse slowing in my veins.

I gasp and let her go. This isn’t me.

But it is , the voice in my head whispers.

Rodriga coughs, managing a weak laugh. “Maybe there is hope yet.”

I grit my teeth and keep my fists balled at my sides. “Why can’t

magical people ever say what they really mean?”

“My Meadow King,” Rodriga hisses. Agosto is walking across the

meadow. “I’m bound to him and the meadow. You don’t belong here,

wretched girl. Get out before it’s too late.”

“But-”

“Rodriga!” Agosto shouts. His face is all shadows. His powerful,

hoofed legs stomp across the meadow. His voice is a thunderclap. “I

warned you.”

His fists hit her in the chest. She flies back and slams into a

tree. The air around her splinters for the blink of an eye. She grabs

her side and then slowly picks herself back up.

“Did you see that?” I whisper to Nova. Nova shakes his head. He

holds his hand out, like he’s telling me to keep whatever I’ve seen to

myself.

Agosto’s dark eyes trace the perimeter of the meadow, then fall

back to me. “I am sorry if she has displeased you. Please, eat.”

Eat? How can I eat after this? At his command, dozens of adas run

to the banquet table.

A fat bird with thorns coming out of his side lands on Agosto’s

shoulder. It squawks in his ear, but Agosto shows no sign that it

bothers him.

“Excuse me,” Agosto says. He conjures his flute and begins to

play. The notes sound rougher, deeper than before.

Despite the openness of the meadow, it starts to feel small, like

the trees are encroaching. A shadow howls in the wind, sending shivers

along my skin. You don’t belong here, wretched girl. Get out before

it’s too late.

Too late for what? My senses are groggy, like I’m waking from a

long, long sleep. I know something isn’t right, but part of me still

wants to believe in the spell of the meadow. Spell.

It’s all a spell.

Wretched girl. That’s what I am. That’s why I’m here in the first

place. A jolt runs through me like lightning. My mind clears, and all

at once, I can see their faces-my family. My mother. My mother was

here and I turned my back on her again.

Wretched girl.

Too late.

“We have to go,” I shout at Nova.

“Wait.” Nova presses his hand to his stomach and shakes his head.

“I’m going to be sick.”

He doubles over and throws up at my feet. I rub his back until he

stops. I try to help him stand, but his knees give out and we fall on

the grass.

“I can’t,” he cries.

“I’m going to get Rishi. Wait here.”

I search for her in the clusters of adas but can’t find her. The

stench of rotting fruit is overwhelming. When I look down at the

banquet table, all I see is moldy bread and fruits cracked open like

skulls. Feverish fingers scoop the sloppy meat down their gullets. Fat

tears run down their faces as they binge on the rotten feast. All the

while, the music plays on. The adas stomp their hooves, claws, and

feet to the rhythm of the flute and the strum of golden strings.

“Rishi!” I scream for her.

Rodriga’s words start to make sense. I fell for the spell of the

meadow. We have to be this for eternity.

Then I see her.

Panic rushes through me as Rishi extends her arm to a fairy girl.

The acrid smell of rot and bodily waste makes my head spin. Look

twice.

The bracelet in the ada’s hand changes, and I see it for what it

really is.

I break into a run, but I know I won’t make it in time. I hold my

arms out and blast a shot of raw power at the ada. She flies back into

an invisible barrier between two oak trees. The air fractures like a