Fairest of All (Whatever After #1) Read online

  Slurp.

  My heart is racing, and I’m hot and cold at the same time, because that could not have just happened. None of this can be happening. And why weren’t Jonah’s shoes tied? Do I have to do everything myself?

  My slippers are suddenly sucked off my feet.

  So not my fault. You can’t tie slippers.

  A book flies off the bookshelf and into the mirror. And another. All my parents’ law books go — swoop — right off the bookshelf and into the mirror, their pages flapping like the wings of overexcited birds.

  The swivel chair scoots across the floor. Slurp!

  My brother’s hands are slipping. “Abby?” he says, and for the first time tonight, my brother — who isn’t afraid of anything — sounds scared.

  “Hold on!” I try to tighten my grip on his hand, but our palms are clammy. Pain shoots right from my fingers to my shoulders. I ignore it. I need to hold on. I have to hold on.

  “Abby!”

  “No!” I say, holding on even tighter. He flutters in the air. His eyes are wide and glowing purple.

  “Jonah!” I scream. NO, NO, NO. I will NOT let the crazy mirror slurp up my brother. I’m in charge here! I will keep my brother safe!

  I let go of the leg of the desk and grab him with both hands. With a satisfied grumble, the mirror sucks us both inside.

  thump.

  I land facedown on dirt. Dirt and leaves and grass. There’s a twig in my mouth. Blah. I pick it out and wipe my hand on my pajama bottoms.

  “I think I just broke my head,” Jonah mumbles.

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “No,” Jonah says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m okay.”

  Good. I’m glad he’s okay. Now I don’t have to feel bad when I yell at him. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks innocently.

  I leap to my feet and tick off the answers on my fingers. “Exhibit A: You drag us to the basement. Exhibit B: You knock on the creepy mirror. And exhibits C, D, and E: You then proceed to knock two more times on the creepy mirror, and when it tries to suck us in? You. Said. ‘COOL!’ ”

  “ ’Cause it was!” he exclaims. “Come on, Abby! That was so awesome! That was the most awesomest thing to ever happen to us.”

  I shake my head. I’m not sure what even happened. Where are we?

  I sniff. It smells like nature. I push myself up onto my elbows and look around. I see:

  Large trees.

  More large trees.

  Even MORE large trees.

  Um, why are there thousands of large trees in my basement?

  Wait. My basement does not have trees.

  I turn to Jonah. “We’re not in the basement!”

  “I know,” Jonah says, nodding. “Sweet.”

  “So where are we?”

  “Somewhere awesome.”

  “The backyard,” I say. “We have to be in the backyard. Right?” Except we have a tiny backyard. And our backyard has only two trees. Two scrawny trees. Not thousands of large trees.

  “No way, we’re not in the backyard,” Jonah says, shaking his head.

  “Maybe it looks different at night?”

  “Nope. I think we’re in a forest.”

  “Jonah, we can’t be in a forest! That’s impossible!”

  “Well, maybe impossible things are possible?”

  He is impossible. I rub my eyes. “This makes no sense. Wait. What if we’re dreaming?”

  “Both of us?” he asks, raising one eyebrow.

  “Fine, me. What if I’m dreaming?”

  He pinches me.

  “Ow!”

  “Not dreaming,” he proclaims. He bounces on his toes. “You are one hundred percent awake, and so am I, and we are in a forest. Hey, I’m hungry. Do you have any Cheetos?”

  “Cheetos?” I screech. “We’ve somehow been transported from our basement to a forest in the middle of the night, and you’re thinking about Cheetos?”

  He scratches his belly. “The mirror was hungry, so it ate us. Now I’m hungry, and I would really like some Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. And maybe some ketchup.”

  “That is disgusting,” I say. Jonah dips everything in ketchup. Even French toast.

  “And it’s not the middle of the night,” he continues. “Look.”

  I tilt my head. Blue sky peeks through the tops of the trees.

  Before, it was night. Now it’s day.

  I don’t understand what’s going on! I stomp my foot like a two-year-old. Ouch. A twig scratches my heel, because — ohhhh, that’s right — before the mirror ate me, the mirror ate my slippers. But here I am, so where are my fuzzy striped slippers?

  First I will find my slippers. Then I will figure out how to get back to our basement.

  That is my plan. Plans make me happy.

  Step One: Find footwear.

  I crane my neck and check out the scene. In addition to me and my brother, our basement chair is lying on its side a few feet from us. Some of the books from the bookshelf are also in the grass. And there are my slippers!

  “Yay!” I cheer. I run toward them and slip them on. Ah. Fuzzy striped slippers can make a person feel much better.

  I turn to Jonah. “Did you find your sneakers?”

  “Yup,” he says, pointing at them.

  “Well, put them on, and tie them this time.” I wait. “Are they tied?” I know he knows how to tie them, because I taught him. And I taught him the right way, not the baby way with two bows.

  He groans and laces them extra tight.

  Good. We’ve completed Step One. Now for Step Two: Get back to our basement. Hmm. That one’s tougher, but nothing I can’t handle.

  I suppose it would help if I could figure out where we are.

  We can’t be very far from home, since the whole trip only took, like, a minute. There must have been a tornado, or maybe even an earthquake. Yes, an earthquake! An earthquake that tossed us a few blocks from our house! Yes! We must have hit our heads and fallen asleep and that’s why it’s already daytime!

  Now I just have to find our way home. Time to focus.

  Growl.

  What was that? Nothing. I must have imagined it.

  Crack.

  “Did you hear that?” Jonah whispers.

  “Um. No?”

  Growwwl.

  My heart thumps. “Any chance it’s your stomach grumbling because you’re hungry?”

  He scoots closer. “Maybe it’s an animal’s stomach. Because the animal is hungry.”

  Growwwl, crack.

  “Hungry for humans,” Jonah says, sounding a bit too excited for my liking.

  Crack, growwwl.

  Argh! How am I supposed to focus on Step Two of my plan with scary animal-stomach noises all around me?

  “I think we should go,” I tell him.

  “Go where?”

  Growl, crack, growl, crack, growl, crack, crack!

  “Somewhere that isn’t here!”

  I grab his hand and we run.

  i never knew I could move so fast.

  If I was back at school playing tag — the right or the wrong tag — no one would ever catch me.

  That’s the good news about my mad dash with Jonah. The bad news is that I have no idea which way is home, or where in Smithville we are.

  I also don’t know what’s chasing us. But guess what? Our fast-running feet may have outrun it, because I no longer hear anything behind us. Then again, that may be because my loud huffing and puffing is drowning out all other sounds.

  A sharp pain stabs my side, and I stop.

  “Need … water!” Jonah pants. “Need … food! Forget Cheetos. I’ll eat anything! But no broccoli, please!”

  I lean over and try to catch my breath. “I don’t know about you, but I have yet to spot a restaurant around here. Just trees, trees, and more trees.”

  “Look,” Jonah says, dropping his voice. He points at something up ahead.

  I look, and my heart leaps when I see tha
t it’s a person! A female adult person!

  “Oh, yay!” I call, charging toward her. “Hi, there!”

  She keeps going, slipping between the trees. Did she not hear?

  “Excuse me!” I cry. “Wait! Hold up!”

  Finally, she turns around. She’s old — like grandparent old, but without the hot pink lipstick my nana wears — and she’s wearing a black coat and holding a basket.

  I wave and smile.

  She glares. And continues walking.

  How rude. Grown-ups aren’t supposed to be rude. My nana would never be rude.

  Now what am I supposed to do?

  “Excuse us!” Jonah yells. “Excuse us, excuse us, excuse us, excuse us, excuse us, EXCUSE US!”

  The lady stops in her tracks and turns around again. “What?” she barks.

  Yay, Jonah! I guess being persistent can pay off.

  “Do you know where we are?” Jonah asks.

  “We’re kind of lost,” I add. “We were in our basement, but then we knocked on our mirror, or rather, my silly brother knocked on the mirror, and —” Maybe it’s best not to go into the details. “Well, anyway. Can you help us, please?” I give her my most charming smile. I elbow Jonah to indicate that he should do the same.

  She scowls and goes back to walking.

  My nana would never ignore two lost kids in a forest, even if they weren’t us. She would walk them home, tell them to wear a hat, and bring them chicken soup.

  “What should we do?” I ask Jonah.

  “Follow her!”

  “I don’t think we should,” I say. “She’s mean. I don’t think she really wants us to, either.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” he asks.

  I chew on my bottom lip.

  Jonah takes that to mean Okay, then! Follow the mean lady it is! and off he goes. I hesitate, then hurry to catch up.

  “Quietly,” I whisper, grabbing his arm to slow him down and stop him from stomping on every branch and twig.

  Mean Lady goes around a tree. We go around the same tree, then hide. She goes straight; we go straight. She goes right; we go right. We are sneaky and follow her wherever she goes. Then, even more sneakily, we hide. And follow and hide and follow and hide.

  “I hope she’s not lost, too,” Jonah whispers as he ducks behind a tree.

  Ten minutes later, she reaches a path. Yay! Only, I still don’t know where we are. Why does Smithville have forests with paths in the middle of nowhere? This place is so weird. First soda instead of pop, and now weird forests.

  We follow the old lady for another five minutes, until we arrive at a house. It’s a small house. It’s painted white, with flowers planted in the front garden, and it’s cute and tidy and welcoming. My chest feels lighter, because Mean Lady does know where she’s going. She’s going here. And it’s better to follow a mean lady who knows where she’s going than no one at all, right?

  I pull Jonah down behind a tree as Mean Lady walks up the charming stone footpath.

  She knocks on the door. Once. Twice.

  No one answers.

  She knocks again.

  And finally, the curtain behind one of the windows twitches.

  someone’s home!” Jonah whispers. “Why aren’t they answering?”

  “If a meanie like that was knocking on your door, would you?” I ask him. He’d better not.

  “I know you’re there, you silly thing,” the lady says in a teasing way. She’s acting a lot friendlier to the silly thing in the house than she acted toward us.

  The curtain moves and the window opens. “It’s just … well, you see … I’m not allowed to answer the door,” the person inside replies.

  Someone is home! It’s definitely a girl. She doesn’t sound like a kid, but she doesn’t sound like a grown-up, either. A teenager, maybe?

  The old lady pulls a shiny red apple out of her basket. It glistens in the sun.

  “Hungry,” Jonah whispers. He pretends to be a zombie and makes his eyes glaze over. “Hhhhuungry!”

  I pinch him. “Shhh!”

  “I have apples to sell,” the lady singsongs.

  “No, thank you,” the girl says from behind the window curtain. “I’m not supposed to buy anything.”

  “I’ll give you one as a gift,” the lady offers, then clears her throat. “I’ll sell the rest later.”

  “No, really, that’s okay,” the girl says. “But thank you.”

  If I lean forward, I can see a corner of her face. Her hair is super dark, and her skin is super pale, except not in a zombie way. More like in a china-doll way. And her lips are really red. Really, really red. Like, bloodred, but again, not in a bad bloodred way. She’s beautiful, actually. Also, she looks familiar, like I’ve seen her before. Has she babysat for us, maybe?

  “But it’s so yummy!” the lady coaxes, extending the apple. “So juicy. So fresh. What’s wrong? Are you concerned it might be —”

  Jonah scrambles out into the open too quickly for me to catch him. “I’ll take it! I’ll take the yummy, juicy apple!”

  Oh, brother.

  “Jonah!” I whisper-yell. “Get! Back! Here!”

  He skids to a stop at the front door. “Hi,” he says, smiling at the old lady. He holds out his open hand. “Can I have one, please?”

  The old lady snaps, “It’s not for you. Bye-bye, now.”

  “But I said ‘please,’ ” he whines. “And I’m starving.”

  I groan, then emerge from our hiding spot. “You heard the lady. It’s bye-bye time.” I grip his shoulder and lower my voice. “Plus, you shouldn’t eat food from a stranger, and you know it.”

  “Then why can the girl inside eat it?” my brother asks.

  Hmm. A red apple. A girl inside with dark hair and white skin. Something odd is happening in my head. It’s a kind of brain squiggling, as if I should be figuring something out.

  “She can’t, either,” I said, distracted. “And anyway, she’s not going to. Didn’t you hear her?”

  To the girl, I call, “Good job on staying safe!” I give her a thumbs-up, which the old lady swats away.

  “Scoot,” the now extremely grumpy old lady says to me and Jonah. “Time for you to go now.” She tries to smile at us, but it looks fake and a little scary. Then she turns back to the girl. “Time for you to eat the apple, dear one.”

  “Why is she being so unfair?” Jonah asks me. He reaches out, tilts the basket toward him, and peeks inside. “If she’s got a whole basket of apples, then why can’t she —” He breaks off. “Hey. Wait a sec. The basket’s empty, you big liar!”

  The old lady wrenches the basket from him and yells, “Go away!”

  “But you said ‘apples,’ ” Jonah insists. “You said you were selling applesssss, so how come you only have the one you’re holding?”

  “I already sold the rest,” the lady says. “All right? Are you satisfied?”

  My spine is seriously tingling. Something weird is going on. I turn to the girl in the window. “Do people often come to your door selling food? That never happens at our house, except for the Schwan’s grocery delivery guy. And he drives a big truck, and it says ‘Schwan’s’ right there on the side. And he wears a uniform.”

  “Girl Scouts, too,” Jonah says, contributing. “They come around and sell cookies.”

  “True. And they wear uniforms, too, don’t they?” I turn to the old lady. “So what’s the deal? If you’re selling apples, why do you only have one piece of fruit?” I look at her black cloak. “And is that supposed to be an apple-seller uniform? Because I’ve got to be honest — it’s not, like, sending the right vibe.”

  “Take the apple,” the old lady orders the girl. It seems like she’s decided the best way to deal with me and Jonah is to pretend we don’t exist. “Enjoy it. It’s free.”

  “I don’t think so,” the girl replies, her voice wobbly.

  “Take it!” Beads of sweat glisten on the old lady’s forehead. Makeup starts to smear down her face. Lots of makeup.


  “Is your skin melting?” Jonah asks.

  The girl gasps. “It’s you!” she cries, pointing to the old lady. “You tried to trick me by wearing a disguise!” Her voice catches, as if she’s frightened or about to cry or both. “B-b-but it didn’t work, so please, just go away!”

  She slams the window and draws the curtains closed.

  The lady stomps her feet. With her melting makeup, she no longer looks old. Just strange. The features of her face are all blurry, like if you spilled water on a painting. She mutters and says a bunch of words my nana would never use. She waves the apple at my brother. “You want my apple so badly? You can have it! Go ahead! Eat it!”

  Jonah grows pale. “Never mind. I’m not really hungry anymore.”

  The melting old lady takes off her black cloak, exposing a tight black gown, and whips the cloak at Jonah.

  “Hey!” I protest.

  She draws herself tall, and something glints near her collarbone. It looks like a necklace with something hanging from it. I think it’s a key, but I can’t get a good enough look to be sure. Then she lifts her fists to the sky — one hand clenching the apple, the other clenching air — and roars, lion-style. She has really lost it.

  She glowers at my brother. She slits her eyes, takes two steps toward him, and mutters, “You will pay for this. You ruined my whole plan.”

  How dare she! I wrap my arms around Jonah and yell, “Don’t you threaten my brother! We’re not scared of you!”

  What plan is she talking about, anyway? Just because I have a plan, she has to have a plan, too?

  Except I don’t have a plan. Not exactly.

  The old lady laughs a terrifying high-pitched laugh. The kind that makes mirrors not just shake, but shatter.

  The kind that would scare anyone.

  She throws her basket on the ground and stomps back into the forest.

  I feel my brother shivering.

  “I think I want to go home now,” he whispers.

  “Me too. And we will,” I say with fake confidence. If Jonah, who loves adventure, is scared, then the world has officially turned upside down. And if the world has turned upside down, then that leaves me to be the brave one, doesn’t it? Which is a very frightening thought.

  Think, Abby. The plan. What’s the next step in the plan? Wait, I know! Use the girl’s phone! Yes! Call home! Get Mom and Dad to come get us. If they can’t get here by car, they can always try the mirror. I knock on the door. Once. Twice. Three times. I’m not giving up.