First episode

Gwenith floated in peaceful, dreamless sleep upon the cold sea. She neither knew nor cared where she was; it was peaceful here.

Suddenly, her rest was shattered by an infernal noise.

She clapped her hands over her ears, eyes squeezed shut, and flailed like a startled fish.

The awful ringing stopped as suddenly as it began.

Gwenith opened her eyes. Charlotte stood above, holding an odd clock and looking faintly amused.

“What was that noise?” Gwenith asked.

Charlotte gave a wry smile. “That was my alarm clock. You ignored everything else I tried.”

“How long was I out?” Gwenith muttered, rubbing her head.

“All night, it’s almost seven o’clock.”

“Gwenith?” Charlotte asked sheepishly

“Yes, Charlotte.”

“I would like to take a bath before breakfast.”

Gwenith ran her hand carefully along the bathtub’s edge, feeling for her golden tail anklet until her fingers landed on it.

She slid the anklet onto her tail, watching as it magically transformed into legs.

She stood up, water pouring off her, and reached for several towels to wrap around herself tightly.

Food and dressing could wait; she needed relief first.

Wrapped in towels, she staggered out of the bathroom. The room swayed. Her skull throbbed in time with her pulse, and as she tried to regain her balance.

Her gaze snagged on her luggage, relief flickering.

She dropped to her knees and rifled through her trunk.

She had promised big sister Muirín that she would quit, but now she needed a nip to function. Muirín would not follow through with her threat to send her to a nunnery for that, would she?

She found her silver nautilus shell flask, yanked the stopper, and tilted it back.

Empty.

She frowned and shook it. Once. Twice.

Not even a drop.

Muirín had emptied her only salvation. A frustrated curse curled on Gwenith’s lips, but her mind fogged, words slipping away before she could grasp them.

Gathering her composure with difficulty, she pushed herself up and stumbled into the bathroom again. There, Charlotte was about to get into the frothing tub, unaware of Gwenith’s struggle.

“Charlotte, any chance you packed some wine or spirits?”

“No, I don’t drink,” Charlotte said, confused.

Gwenith lurched to the cabinet, yanked it open, and grabbed bottles, scanning the labels as she fumbled through.

“Gwenith, what’s wrong?” Charlotte asked.

“Hangover from hell,” Gwenith grumbled. “Any Willowbark Tablets?”

“Top shelf.”

Gwenith grabbed the brown bottle from the shelf, shook two pills into her palm, swallowed them dry, then staggered to the toilet, gripping the rim.

Suddenly, as Gwenith steadied herself against the toilet, Charlotte appeared by her side, bracing herself under Gwenith’s arm and gently helping lift her to a standing position.

Charlotte forced a smile. “Let’s get you dressed. I can bathe later.”

Mortification prickled across Gwenith’s skin. Powerless, she could only submit.

Charlotte guided Gwenith with steady hands to the vanity on the unused side of the suite. Gwenith, dazed, moved only when Charlotte guided her, allowing Charlotte to dress her in the school uniform.

The uniform was a dreadful thing. The blouse was made of itchy wool, and the boots pinched her toes.

Charlotte finished by gathering Gwenith’s hair and tying it back into a neat ponytail.

Gwenith protested, but Charlotte said, “No trouble. You stood up to Natasha. Besides, you shouldn’t look a mess today.”

After Charlotte was satisfied with her work, she ducked back into the bathroom to get ready herself. Gwenith sat there, feeling sick and watching Charlotte’s routine from across the room. When she was done, she really did look like a porcelain doll.

Gwenith dreaded what Natasha would say about them: schoolgirl and doll-like Charlotte.

“Buck up, Gwen,” Charlotte said. “First day—new friends, bright futures!”

“Easy for you. My insides are at war,” Gwenith pouted. “Wish I had a drink.”

Charlotte rushed over to the bathroom sink.

“Not water,” Gwenith rolled her eyes. “Wine, rum—even moonshine. I just want a buzz.”

“That won’t help you,” Charlotte said, holding a glass of water.

“If I’m not drunk, I drink until I am,” Gwenith replied.

“You’re always drunk? Like all the time?” Charlotte asked with mounting concern

“Ever since I was four, I have drunk all day and all night.”

Charlotte recoiled, and the glass tumbled back, splashing onto the floor.

Gwenith suspected that Charlotte was going to ask something like, “Is it normal for mermaids to be always drunk,” in hopes that Gwenith was a special case.

The ¾-hour bell got there first.

“Oh god,” said Charlotte, “we’d better hurry.”

Charlotte grabbed her hand and dragged her to the door.

The door flew open, and Gwenith was hurled into the hallway.

She collided with Natasha—and her gaggle of friends.

“Oh, look. It’s princess piss face and her living doll.”

The other girls cackled loudly.

Charlotte stepped back toward Gwenith, grabbed her sleeve tightly, and shot a fearful glance at Natasha.

“Got nothing to say, Dolly?”

“Just buzz off, Natasha,” shouted Gwenith, “Let’s go, Charlotte.”

Gwenith’s hands shook as she tried to steady Charlotte toward the stairs. Each step felt heavier, and her heart raced with the urge to get away.

Natasha hissed angrily—the sound sliced through Gwenith. The pounding footsteps of five pairs of shoes echoed behind them, a threat that pushed them faster toward the stairs.

When Gwenith reached the stairs, she stumbled. Grabbing the railing, pain and humiliation flashed through her as her nails bit into the wood. Charlotte gasped, white-knuckled and clinging tighter to Gwenith’s arm. Her face was pale with worry.

Natasha and her posse howled at Gwenith’s stumble.

“Wow, so much for mermaid grace when drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

The laughter battered Gwenith. Shame and anger coiled deep in her stomach, burning.

Despite trembling, Charlotte slid beneath Gwenith’s arm and braced her with surprising steadiness. Together, they made their way down the stairs, step by careful step.

Natasha and her posse trailed behind, tossing crude jokes. One girl jeered that Gwenith leaned on Charlotte like a child; others twisted it, calling Gwenith a helpless baby and Charlotte a “doll.”

On the ground floor, Gwenith’s face burned, fists clenched. Charlotte bit her lip, tears streaming. Natasha and her cronies hurled snide comments about diapers and baby talk.

Natasha was about to say more when a jaunty whistle cut her off. Natasha and her gang froze. A dwarf footman in university colors rounded the corner.

The girls scattered up the stairs as one, retreating quickly from the footman.

“Morning, ladies,” said the dwarf as he climbed the stairs.

“You okay, Charlotte?” Gwenith asked.

“Yeah.” Charlotte wiped her tears. “Let’s get going before they return.”

Silently, they passed through the dorm lobby, stepped into the fresh morning air, and headed towards the campus dining hall.

Gwenith’s stomach rumbled unhappily.

She hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

She wondered what was being served for breakfast.

Food would dull the hangover and put Natasha’s words out of mind.

Beneath floating chandeliers blazing with purple fire, the dining hall became a sea of many colors. Students from the Coláiste Draoidheil’s four colleges stuffed their faces with overloaded plates of curious culinary delights.

All except Charlotte and Gwenith.

Clutching wooden trays, they hovered at the edge of the bustling hall. Hesitant, Charlotte and Gwenith scanned the tables for any sign of empty seats, their bodies tensed as they wavered between approaching a group and stepping back.

Nobody allowed them to join a table. Now, separated from the others, Charlotte and Gwenith stood awkwardly, staring hungrily down at their full trays, unable to sit.

Charlotte poked her eggs. “Do these look strange? The bacon smells off.”

Gwenith grumbled, “You get used to the local meat and eggs. No fish, no alcohol—can you believe it?”

“It makes learning hard if you drink early,” Charlotte said.

“Never bothered me before.”

There was a moment’s silence between them.

A group of students passed by Gwenith, their voices not quite whispers. They commented about her being a crazy, drunk chick. With a defiant grin, she stuck her tongue out at them and shrugged off their words.

“Gwenith”

“Yes, Charlotte?”

“About what Natasha said about mermaids being graceful even when drunk,”

Gwenith sighed, “You heard the old saying about being as drunk as a mermaid.”

“No”

Gwenith blinked, surprised.

“I didn’t live under a rock,” Charlotte giggled, “but the palace was close.”

Gwenith rolled her eyes. “The home reef’s all feasting and drinking all day long.”

“Sounds dreadful, drinking all the time,” Charlotte said, horrified.

“That’s life on the reef,” Gwenith shrugged.

Just then, a table near them was vacated as several students gathered their things and left. Not wasting a second, Charlotte and Gwenith hurried over. They slid into the still-warm seats, glancing at each other with relief. However, as soon as they sat, the students already at the table shot them terse looks, stood, and picked up their plates, leaving more space—and an emptier table—for others to join.

Gwenith tore into her mountain of food, ignoring thoughts of grace and decorum. She was hungry, and nothing else mattered.

“Seriously, Gwenith, do all merfolk drink all the time?”

“Not all,” Gwenith said. “Just those who stayed on the home reef.”

“Never allowed a drop back home. My first real drink was here,” Charlotte said.

“Really?”

“Clockfolk used to have rules built into the gears in our chests that forced us to behave in certain ways,” said Charlotte, “Aedan the toymaker made me and my mother, Victoria, to be his perfectly obedient family, and he was not a good man.”

“That’s hell,” Gwenith said.

“It was,” said Charlotte, “My people only broke free a month ago, when I snuck away to the Fairy Godmother’s court and wished for my people to be free of the rules built into our chests.”

“No way, you met the Fairy.”

Before Gwenith could answer, she abruptly doubled over in her seat, clutching her head and letting out a low groan of pain as her breakfast shifted out of focus and she struggled to steady herself.

“What’s the matter?”

“This hangover won’t quit,” Gwenith shouted, frustrated. “I’d become a nun for a drink.”

Charlotte studied Gwenith, concern flickering in her eyes as she leaned forward, lips pressed into a thin line.

“I promised my sister and the college I’d quit drinking, but this is torture,” Gwenith said.

Charlotte squeezed Gwenith’s hand. “I know that pain,” she whispered. “Breaking free hurts more than anyone sees. I nearly shattered just taking the first step.”

A surprising wave of relief swept through Gwenith as Charlotte’s empathy touched a place she’d kept hidden. Thunder in her skull faded into something; her breathing eased.

“Besides, I met your sister,” Charlotte grinned. “She’s a total snob.”

“You got that right,” Gwenith giggled. “So, what’s the Fairy Godmother like?”

A few tables over, Natasha stabbed at her bloodfruit toast, glaring at them. Around her, her court—Emily, Jeanna, Tulaiha, and Debbie—chatted easily, the air light in contrast to Natasha’s simmering anger.

Those two princesses made her blood boil.

Gwenith was just the nosy girl who stuck up for a mouse like Charlotte, and her ties to a local countess made her socially untouchable.

But Charlotte made her furious. That mousy blond was just the sort of neat, bookish girl professors loved. She would eat up all the professor’s attention if Natasha let her. If anyone deserved to be a teacher’s pet, social butterfly, and valedictorian, it was her. She suffered to get here; she needed magic to be accepted into her family.

Natasha slammed her hands down on the table, fists clenched, a sharp hiss escaping her as her face twisted in barely restrained rage.

The girls jumped in surprise at Natasha’s sudden outburst.

Glaring around, Natasha said, “We need to get Gwenith kicked out of school.”

The others exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions shifting from surprise to uncertainty as they processed Natasha’s declaration.

“Surely you jest, Tasha,” Emily said. “Those two are just too easy to tease.”

Debbie grinned. “We made them cry.”

Jeanna added, laughter bubbling through her words, “And it was a riot.”

Natasha pouted, bitterness in her tone. “Charlotte is the one who’s fun to push around,” she snapped, barely containing her anger. “It’s infuriating watching her get everything so easily—attention, praise, acceptance. Gwenith didn’t fight back because she was hungover. If she’s gone, we could put Charlotte under our collective thumbs, and we will be queens of the class.”

There was a murmur of consensus from around the table.

“Still, Gwenith is not like us,” said Tulaiha, “She is related to some pretty powerful people who can put their fingers on the scale.”

“I know, I know,” said Natasha, “Just let me think.”

Then, just as Natasha fell into thought, a sudden cry broke the tense huddle at her table.

“I’d become a nun for a drink.”

Instantly, their attention shifted; as one, they swiveled toward Charlotte and Gwenith’s table.

Through the hubbub, Natasha picked out Gwenith’s voice, clear as day, and she smiled.

“I think I know how to get Gwenith expelled.”

About 20 minutes later, Gwenith and Charlotte sat at the back of lecture hall 1. There was a pensive, excited energy that flowed through all the young ladies seated there. 

Charlotte shuffled her papers incessantly. 

Gwenith was holding her head in her hands, trying to will her headache away.

The door opened, and every head snapped up to see who their professor was.

Gwenith rubbed her eyes in disbelief. Strutting across the room was a corgi in a little robe, followed by two girls slightly older than she was.

There were murmurs of confusion from some of the other students, too.

She blinked. The dog was still there, proudly making its way across the room, tail wagging eagerly. The teaching assistants started writing complicated words and sentences on the board.

The dog waddled up a flight of stairs built into the lectern. It tapped a paw on a strange cup-shaped device before it barked twice for attention.

“Good morning, girls, “said the dog in an overtly cheery tone that felt like drills inside Gwenith’s skull, “I’m Missus Goodgirl, welcome to magic theory 101.”

There was a murmur through the class. Charlotte snapped her notebook open.

“It is so wonderful to see such an eager class of students this year,” said Miss Goodgirl, “Now, before we start the lecture, can anybody tell me how magic works?”

Charlotte looked like she was about to raise her hand.

“Magic is the soul interfacing with the aether that surrounds everything,” said Natasha from the front row. Gwenith thought she must be reading straight from a textbook: “Through the soul, aether is encoded with instructions to produce an effect.”

“Absolutely correct, Miss Natasha,” said Miss Goodgirl, “Without a soul, magic is impossible.”

Natasha shot Gwenith a knowing look and a predatory grin.

She felt her insides roil.

“Now, can anyone tell me what the soul is?” asked Miss Goodgirl.

Charlotte raised her hand tentatively.

Emily raised her hand and blurted out another dry, texbook answer using words Gwenith could not understand before Charlotte could even open her

“Correct,” said Miss Goodgirl.

Gwenith and Charlotte looked at each other forlornly as Miss Goodgirl dove into her lecture.

AN hour later, Gwenith and Charlotte staggered out of the classroom at the end of a line of students.

“Did you understand the bit about the fundamental metaphysical forces?” asked Gwenith as she rubbed her forehead, “because that went over my head.” 

“Some of it,” said Charlotte sheepishly, “Most of it went over my head, too.”

Gwenith groaned and started to massage her forehead with even more vigor.

“Hangover still there?”

“I think that lecture might have made it worse.”

“Maybe we can ask the alchemy professor if she knows a hangover cure,” said Charlotte cheerfully

“God, I hope she does.”

The alchemy lab lurked in the basement—a squalid chamber, lit by sour green gleam and flickering burners.

At the back, Gwenith slouched in her chair while Charlotte stared intently at her shoes, both trying to be invisible as anticipation buzzed among the other girls.

The anticipation died abruptly when the professor lurched in.

Gwenith had never seen a more fearsome hag in her life: warty green skin, thinning, straggly hair, a massive crooked nose, and rotten teeth.

She swayed unsteadily across the floor, gripping a green bottle in one hand and peering down each table until she spotted her lectern.

“Rotten morning, my delicious pretties. He he. I’m Granny Gross, cursed to teach you featherbrains potions.”

She dropped onto her lectern with a thunderous belch that made the class flinch.

“Before we start, you are not going to get any help or sympathy from me. I’ve always hated pretty girls with magic pretensions, even before the Green Lightning robbed me of my power and the headmistress tricked me into becoming a teacher at this two-bit college. Questions?”

Charlotte raised a hand.

“Do you know of any cures for hangovers? My roommate really could use one.”

“My homemade Green Lightning fixes anything—especially sobriety.”

“Can I try it?” Gwenith asked.

Granny Gross seemed hurt by the mere suggestion of sharing.

“No, you can’t. Even a mermaid princess like you couldn’t handle Green Lightning,” Granny Gross sneered. “Not that you’d regret it for long.” She cackled.

After a fit of laughter, Granny Gross composed herself, blinking and gripping the edge of the lectern.

“All right, pretties. Today’s lesson: basic healing potion. Lab smocks are in the cabinet, recipes are in your book, and ingredients are on your bench. Try not to blow yourselves up.”

The class scrambled to their cauldrons, arms reaching for ingredients and hands fumbling with glassware, all desperate to escape Granny Gross’s attention.

Charlotte and Gwenith were among them.

Gwenith quickly snatched the vials and roots from the table, handing them one by one to Charlotte, who stirred each into the cauldron with quick, nervous motions. Everything seemed fine until a nauseating stench wafted up from their brew.

“Is it supposed to do that?” asked Gwenith

“I don’t know,” said Charlotte. “Miss Gross, is the potion supposed to smell bad?”

Granny Gross, without warning, ducked suddenly behind the lectern, crouching low and motioning frantically for the class to follow. The rest of the class immediately mimicked her, scrambling behind their benches, whispering anxiously, and watching the bubbling cauldron.

There was a long pause before the cauldron started sending out crackling sparks that got steadily louder. Suddenly, the cauldron erupted with a thunderous bang, drenching the workstation, Gwenith, and Charlotte in potion.

Gwenith and Charlotte slowly peered over the splattered table, their faces and smocks dripping with potion, as Granny Gross said, “That’s what you get mixing Saltpeter with trollblood and a hungover mermaid.”

Natasha piped up, her voice edged with mockery.

“Looks like all she’s good at is mixing drinks.”

The entire class erupted with laughter at the two drenched girls at the back of the class.

Charlotte and Gwenith both hid under the workbench, their cheeks as red as can be.

“Any chance that the book has a recipe for a potion of invisibility?” Gwenith asked softly from under the bench.

Noontime rolled around, and Gwenith could not muster the effort to lift herself off the dining hall table.

“Good news, Gwen.” Charlotte bustled up with two trays. “They were serving fried fishfruit with chipped potatoes. You said you wanted fish at breakfast.”

“I don’t feel like eating.” Charlotte slid a tray of delicious-smelling food in front of her.

“Oh, come on, Gwen. It’s been 5 hours since we woke up, and Granny Gross said we got the healing potion formula right on the second try and was nice enough to let you drink it.”

“Don’t remind me,” Gwenith mumbled into the table. “This is the worst day of my life. Nothing has gone right for me today.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad so far.”

“I blinded half our introductory verses class.”

“But you did it on your first try; it took me three tries with the incantation for anything to happen for me, and several students did not get the spell to work at all.”

“Then there was Alchemy class.”

“The potion covered us, but you’ll get it soon.”

“I think it would be better if I just crawl back into the sea and swim back home.”

Charlotte looked shocked. “Don’t say that. Look, we have one more class together: Introduction to Magical Creatures. I doubt you could mess that up even if you tried.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so, I’ve heard you sing, not even the dullest beast could resist your voice or charm.”

Was her voice really that good? Back home, they said so, but she was a princess—maybe they were just being polite. Hearing someone she’d known only a day say it made her feel better.

“All right, I will give it one more try.” She peeled herself from the table.

She cut off a piece of the fried thing and tasted it. Not quite real fish and chips, but acceptable.

Another classroom, another seat in the rear. The Intro to Magical Beast lecture hall sprawled. Vaulted ceilings soared above, and the chalkboard was two stories tall.

The 2 dozen other girls, classmates whom Gwenith barely knew, milled excitedly as Gwenith watched from her seat.

A ground-shaking thump from the next lab grew louder. At first curious, everyone shifted to unease as the noise intensified.

The three-story door opened, and a massive dragon slowly entered the lecture hall.

A wave of fright swept the class as the dragon entered, curiosity giving way to fear. She was larger than a locomotive, scales like fresh copper—sleek, elegant, unmistakably feminine.

The dragon stopped at the carriage-sized lectern, coughed, and spoke.

“Good afternoon, class,” the dragon rumbled. “Countess Jaspera Von Pfeffing. Marquess of the Deeps and visiting professor at the College this semester.”

As Jaspera spoke, awe and whispers replaced the fading panic. Gwenith noticed Charlotte’s eyes twinkling like a fangirl before her idol.

“Countess Jaspera practically wrote the book on intelligent creatures and sociology,” Charlotte breathed, her voice reverent. “I’ve read everything she’s published at the Fairy Godmother’s court.”

“Settle down, class,” Jaspera intoned, turning to the chalkboard to start her lecture.

To Gwenith’s surprise, she realized she understood what Jaspera was saying during the short lecture—a rare experience for her in academic settings.

“Since many of you haven’t dealt with creatures scarier than a house cat, I’ve prepared a lab session with magical creatures,” Jaspera said. “Please follow me into the lab.”

Jaspera led the way, and the girls rose together, following her through the towering doors.

The Lab, just as grand as the lecture hall, greeted them. Gwenith and Charlotte paused, noticing the class already huddled at the center, cooing over a newly revealed sight. When Gwenith and Charlotte entered the circle, their hearts melted at the view.

Five baby dragons tumbled within a ring of runes, tended by tas. Irresistibly cute—like miniature versions of Jaspera, rotund with cherubic faces—the Saint Bernard-sized dragons basked in the attention of the class.

“These are my youngest children, Aurelia, Magnolia, Garnette, Roselle, and Opala; they are four months old,” Jaspera proclaimed. Then she added, “For our first lab session, you will be interacting with and grooming them.”

The entire class fell into fits of giggling and delightful squealing.

“Class, please settle down. My little princesses are adorable, but be warned: baby dragons may look cute, but they’re independent from hatching and can fend off medium predators. Be cautious and keep your dragon calm. Now, form groups of four or five and take a dragon to the runic circles at the lab stations.”

Natasha grabbed her friends to form a group. Gwenith and Charlotte exchanged glances, then decisively approached the satyr girl and a dryad girl holding a pot with a small bush.

One by one, groups entered the runic ring and tentatively approached their dragons.

While the others hesitated, Gwenith strode up to Roselle, knelt, and met the little dragon’s gaze.

“Hello Roselle,” Gwenith cooed, mustering her sweetest voice. She gave Roselle scritches under the chin. Roselle really liked that and nuzzled her affectionately. All the other students looked on with awe.

“Oh, you’re a cutie pie. None of my little cousins or sisters is as sweet and cute as you.”

Roselle happily followed Charlotte and Gwenith to the workstation.

Following Gwenith’s example, the others led their dragon to the workstations and started buffing away loose scales as Jaspera circled around for instruction, praise, and the occasional dragon fact.

Natasha’s group struggled; Opala wouldn’t let them near, darting away each time. Gwenith smirked, watching her and Charlotte’s tormentor being outsmarted by a waddling baby dragon.

Natasha and her group closed in on Opala. Natasha used sweet words, but Opala hissed, stomped, and then lunged, knocking Natasha down and scratching her with tiny claws.

While the tension escalated across the room, Gwenith almost rose to intervene, but Opala’s distress had unnerved all her sisters. Roselle was squirming in a crazy panic, looking like she was about to bolt. On a desperate gamble, Gwenith began to sing the lullaby her mother had taught her to soothe her many cousins and sisters when they threw tantrums.

Dragon’s distress faded with each verse. One by one, Roselle and her sisters waddled over and sat in a ring around her.

When she stopped singing, everyone stood around her, mouths agape. Even Natasha and her bullies were speechless. Gwenith felt overwhelmed by the attention.

The spell of speechlessness ended when Jaspera placed her snout just above Natasha and gave a pointed, curious sniff.

“My god, Natasha,” she said, surprised, “You smell of dragon.”

“Surely we must all smell of dragon, given that we are working with your children,” Natasha countered defensively.

“No, you smell like my eldest daughter,” Jaspera replied, “She is about your age in dragon years.”

Natasha backed away slightly with panic written across her brow.

“By any chance, do you have a dragon in your family?” Jaspera pressed, “A grandparent, maybe a mother…”

Natasha ran out of the lab, dripping sweat.

Jaspera blinked twice and gave the retreating Natasha a sidelong look that said it all.

She then turned back to Gwenith. “My word, Gwenith, that was beautiful and a wonderful bit of quick thinking,” Jaspera praised. Gwenith turned pink from the praise.

When class let out, Gwenith and Charlotte were the last to leave, escorted out by Jaspera and her daughters.

“My word, Gwenith, my little princesses have taken a shine to you,” said Jaspera, “I never had a student whom this sort of thing came naturally before.”

“Oh, hush now, it’s hardly anything,” Gwenith mumbled, cheeks rosy. “Just an old lullaby, honestly.”

Roselle and Magnolia nuzzled her legs.

“I disagree. The way you handled my girls was amazing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a professional governess,” Jaspera said happily. “I’d love for you to help out from time to time while I’m on campus. I can give you a little pocket money for your help.”

Gwenith ducked her head, blushing fiercely. “That’s awfully kind, Mrs Von Pfeffing. I’ll think it over.”

Jaspera turned her head towards Charlotte, “Lady Evermore.”

“Y-yes?” Charlotte squeaked, eyes wide.

“I have many questions about Mainspring,” Jaspera said. “Can you join me for tea tomorrow at 3 pm?”

“I’d be glad to,” Charlotte said.

“Wonderful,” said Jaspera, “You girls have been such a delight today.”

Jaspera picked up Roselle by the scruff of her neck and retreated back inside the lecture hall.

The door closed with a gentle thwump.

Before Charlotte could say anything, Gwenith hugged her.

“Thank you, Charlotte,” said Gwenith.

“It was nothing really,”

Gwenith raised a brow, incredulous. “I felt ready to dive straight into the harbor and swim home, but you convinced me to try one last time.”

Charlotte smiled, “That’s what friends are for.”

“We should celebrate this victory, let’s go out and get something to….” Gwenith’s voice faded as she realized what she was about to say.

“I still have another class today,” Charlotte sighed. “Maybe afterward we could go out and treat ourselves.”

“Okay,” said Gwenith enthusiastically

“I will meet you at the quad by the fountain.”

“Deal”

Charlotte bustled off down the hall. As her footsteps faded, another set echoed from the other direction. Natasha approached with confident strides.

“Hey, Gwen,” Natasha said, “Impressive work with Jaspera’s little ones.”

“Oh, it was nothing special, just an old song.” Gwenith’s teal face took on some hints of pink.

“Still, you saved me from walking around campus in a tattered uniform at the very least. I owe you one,” said Natasha as she studied her

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small stoppered flask, giving it a light shake before offering it.

“Peace offering,” Natasha said, shrugging. “No hard feelings, right? We totally got off to a rocky start.”

Gwenith hesitated for a moment.

The flask smelled like wine.

“Just a nip of local wine,” Natasha whispered, conspiring. “You look tense. One sip won’t hurt.”

She took the flask from her hands and turned it over in her grasp.

Gwenith promised her sister she’d stop drinking. But a little sip wouldn’t count. Right?

She took a sip.

Warmth spread through her chest almost instantly, softening the sharp edges of her headache.

Natasha’s smile sharpened, just slightly.

“Knew you weren’t that uptight,” she said. “I’ve got more—better stuff, too. Some of the pixies smuggled it in. Proper stash, not this watered-down nonsense.”

Gwenith barely registered the shift in Natasha’s tone. The warmth in her veins was already working, easing the ache and loosening the knot in her chest.

Natasha didn’t look back to see if Gwenith followed.

“You coming, or what?” Natasha called, her voice clipped and teasing.

Gwenith trailed after her.

Natasha led Gwenith across campus to the maintenance building in a far corner. She hurried through bare corridors, eager to reveal her stash.

“This way,” she said, pushing open an unremarkable door.

The room beyond was dark.

Gwenith stepped inside.

The door slammed shut behind her.

For a split second—silence.

Then something shifted in the dark.

Hands seized her.

Gwenith gasped and thrashed as she felt hands grab her arms and wrists.

She felt fingers snap at her heels.

“No—!”

They tore her anklet free.

In an instant, her legs fused back together into a shimmering tail.

She hit the stone floor with a wet thud.

The lights snapped on.

Natasha loomed above her; dangling from her fingers was Gwenith’s anklet.

Her posse stood behind her.

“Told you she’d fall for it,” Natasha said. “It was way too easy.”

“What’s the meaning of this, Natasha?” Gwenith squeak limply

“I said I wanted to pay you back,” Natasha said with a predatory grin, “That’s what I’m doing.”

Gwenith tried to crawl towards Natasha. It was a feeble attempt; her tail flopped uselessly against the stone.

“Wow, I figured you would be crying by now,” said Natasha. She placed her boot on the small of Gwenith’s back and pushed her hard against the floor, “That’s not going to last long.”

They had their fun with Gwenith. They called her every taunting nickname they could think of, and they tempted her with her anklet, tossing it between them, and when she got close, they would kick her, forcing her back down to the floor.

Gwenith tried to take their abuse in stride. But every jeer, every taunt, every kick wore her down little by little. She tried to crawl to the door a few times, but Natasha and her friends dragged her back to the center of the room.

Eventually, it became too much. Her vision started to blur as her eyes teared up, and she started to wail.

“Oh, look, she is crying like a baby,” said Jeanne

“Is that surprising? She spends all her time with a porcelain doll?” Said Debbie, “Like a baby.”

“Baby Gwenny,” Emily sneered.

“Let’s give the baby her bottle, girls,” Natasha said.

Natasha pulled out a familiar green bottle and set it just beyond Gwenith’s reach.

“Here’s something for you, Gwenny,” Natasha said. “You were dying for a drink; now you can drink to your heart’s content.”

Natasha and her posse moved toward the door, preparing to leave Gwenith alone.

“Drink your bottle, baby,” Natasha sneered. “Don’t cry for help. The groundskeepers are busy.”

The door slammed. Silence pressed in, thick and heavy. Gwenith lay stranded on the cold floor,  with only the echo of cruel laughter lingering.

Gwenith lay in the dim gloom of the storeroom, staring at the green bottle that lay just beyond her fingertips. The bottle called to her, and after what Natasha and her friends did to her, she needed a drink. She reached out towards the bottle before she caught herself.

NO, she shouted in her mind, that was what Natasha wanted her to do. 

She had to get out of here, had to find someone to help her.

She started to crawl towards the door.

“Gwen.”

The voice was sweet and soft like that of a lover she had not seen in ages.

She looked over her shoulder.

Her vision swam.

For a moment, she thought she saw a face in the glass.

Then it smiled.

“Gwen darling, please come back to me,” the bottle said in its seductive voice, “I will take all the blame.”

Gwenith rubbed her eyes; the face on the bottle was still there.

“Come on, baby,” said the bottle, “you know you want me.”

“You’re the reason I am in this mess,” snapped Gwenith.

“Don’t say that, darling, we can work it out,” said the bottle, “We always have. I can make this mess bearable for you.”

Gwenith covered her ears and shut her eyes. She must be going crazy; that is the only reason she could think of for a bottle to sprout a face and talk.

It did not help. Through her eyelids, she could still see the bottle and its handsome face

“Remember all the parties we went to?” said the bottle, “Remember how you would guzzle me by the bottle. Remember how I made you feel once I was sloshing about inside you? It was electric.”

She did remember those parties and how simple and lively the world was when she was drunk. No, she thought, she promised her sister and the school. If she got drunk here and now, Natasha would have won. Then Charlotte would be all alone and at the mercy of Natasha and her crew.

The bottle winced in pain and threw its hands to its chest

“Oh, you hurt me so with your indifference. Come back to me, baby, and I will make it right, you will see. You can’t do this without me.”

She opened her eyes. She was hurt all over. A little drink will stem the pain, and she could use some of the alcohol on the cuts that covered her tail.

“Look at you. Crawling. You need me, just let me handle things from here on out,” said the bottle.

“You promise not to get me drunk this time?” she asked the bottle

There was a long pause before the bottle said. “I swear it.”

Gwenith crawled across the floor to the bottle. With every painful flop, the bottle urged her back. She crawled until she was right in the bottle’s face.

She desperately wrenched off the cork with shaking fingers.

She took a whiff of what’s inside and immediately gagged. From the bottle wafted the sour stench of chemicals and rot.

“What is this stuff?” said Gwenith.

She inspected the bottle until she found the words stenciled on one side, “GRANNY GROSS’S GREEN LIGHTNING, do not touch if you know what’s good for ya.”

Memories of alchemy class bubbled up inside her. Even a mermaid princess like you couldn’t handle Green Lightning, not that you’d regret it for long. That was what Granny Gross had said to her. She had been too hungover that morning to give it much thought, but now she wondered.

She gave the bottle a swirl and saw the toadstool slices dance within.

Then she knew what Granny Gross had meant, “not that you’d regret it for long.”

If she drank it, there wouldn’t be a hangover.

There wouldn’t be anything.

The bottle said nothing now.

It didn’t need to.

Gwenith stared at it—at how close she’d come—

She hurled the bottle against the wall with a yell. The bottle begged for her to reconsider all the way to the wall.

Natasha hadn’t tried to trick her.

She hadn’t needed to.

Gwenith had done the rest herself.

She had to get out of here. Trembling, she started crawling inch by painful inch towards the door.

Charlotte sat in the Quad by the fountain.

Around her, other students laughed, read, and performed simple magic tricks.

Her stomach churned with anxiety.

Her fingers tapped against the cover of her book in a steady, mechanical rhythm—too fast, too loud. She forced them still. They started again anyway.

There was a click, and bells filled the quad as it chimed half past two.

Gwenith was half an hour overdue.

Charlotte put the book away and stared at her feet.

She promised that she would meet Gwen at the fountain, but she was not there when she arrived.

If she left, they might miss each other.

If she stayed, something might already be wrong.

“No, it is better to wait here,” she thought, “She’s probably just… delayed. That’s all.”

The thought rang hollow.

Her body quivered. She longed to search for Gwenith, yet couldn’t leave the spot.

Laughter carried across the quad.

Sharp. Familiar.

Charlotte’s breath caught.

Natasha.

The laughter of her cohorts followed.

Charlotte froze.

If she left, she would likely miss Gwen.

If she stayed, Natasha and her friends would torment her.

There was no choice anymore.

She couldn’t sit here anymore.

She hurriedly grabbed her bottomless bag and rushed out of the Quad.

“Augh,” moaned Gwenith as little pebbles scratched at her scales.

She had no idea how long she had been crawling. It had taken forever to find her way out of the maintenance building.

She crawled across the unfamiliar stone pavement of the campus, searching for someone to help. Each inch gained was an agonizing victory.

She dragged herself forward.

Her arms trembled. Her tail hung dead weight behind her.

Each breath scraped her lungs raw.

Scales tore free from her tail.

She bit down on a scream.

She looked behind her, and there was a thin smear of blood on the cobblestones.

“Somebody, anybody, help,” she shouted. Her voice was weak and raw.

Only the wind answered.

The campus lay empty.

Her only hope was to crawl towards the sound of the bells. That was where the students were.

That’s where Charlotte was.

She dragged herself forward again and again.

Her arms felt like lead weights.

Her tail was already one.

Her lungs burned.

She collapsed mid-pull.

“Anybody, please help,” she croaked.

“Gwen?”

The voice broke on her name.

Charlotte.

A shadow loomed over her.

She looked up, and it was Charlotte.

Gwen tried to reach up to her.

“Char,”

Charlotte gently rolled Gwenith onto her back.

“Hang on, Gwen, I can, hel…”

Charlotte’s hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes went wide—horrified. The look told Gwenith everything.

“Guess I… didn’t make the best impression,” said Gwenith weakly, “But I think that’s what Natasha and her flunkies wanted.

Charlotte rummaged through her bag, searching urgently for something to help.

“Char, it’s not as bad as it looks,” Gwenith said with a weak smile. “It’s just cuts and scrapes. Go get the campus healer. He can patch me up fast.”

“Go,” Gwenith said.

Charlotte hesitated.

“Go.”

Charlotte left Gwenith’s view. Gwenith sighed, exhausted, and hoped what she said was true. Everything hurt.

She tried to brush dirt from her torn dress, but her arms barely moved.

She decided to lie still and regain her strength.

The next thing she knew, there were voices.

Charlotte and Lady Jaspera’s voices spoke.

Above her loomed Charlotte and a woman with coppery brown hair, warm skin, and horns.

The woman spoke with Jaspera’s voice.

Gwenith was too tired to understand

She was lifted off the ground by two sets of hands.

Everything went fuzzy.

and then went dark.

“Just a little further, Miss Goodgirl,” said Natasha, leading her toward the maintenance building.

“Are you sure Gwenith is causing trouble?” asked Miss Goodgirl, her little corgi legs struggling to keep up.

“You saw what happened at the reception,” Natasha said. “She’s a problem.”

Miss Goodgirl said nothing.

Natasha hid a smile.

Soon, Gwenith would be gone.

And Charlotte? She wouldn’t last a week.

Miss Goodgirl stopped.

Her ears snapped upright.

She sniffed once. Twice.

“Blood.”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

“Gwenith.”

Miss Goodgirl turned sharply, away from the maintenance building.

“She’s hurt.”

Before Natasha could respond, Miss Goodgirl bolted, racing across the grounds.

Natasha stood frozen for a moment.

Then her stomach dropped.

Meanwhile, across campus, Jeanne and Emily wandered through one of the gardens, gossiping.

“So what’s your first order when Dolly’s on her knees?” Emily asked.

“Toilets,” Jeanne said thoughtfully. “Every last one. Worst chore back home.”

Emily grinned. “Shoes. The whole dorm. On her hands and knees.”

They laughed.

“Found you, you thieving little wretches.”

They spun.

Granny Gross came hobbling toward them—fast. Too fast. Cane raised.

“Granny Gross,” Jeanne said with a tight smile. “Lovely to see you—”

“Drop it,” Granny snapped, jabbing Emily in the stomach. “You broke into ma distillery. Stole ma Green Lightning. Now I feel like death.”

Emily smoothed her expression. “That’s a serious accusation.”

“I can smell it on ya,” Granny said, slamming her cane into her palm.

The girls exchanged a glance—and ran.

They made it three steps.

Then stumbled.

Emily looked down.

Stone crept up from her toes.

Granny smiled.

“I know ya didn’t drink it. Fact you’re still breathin’ proves that,” she said, advancing. “I’ll give ya one chance to come clean…”

Her shadow stretched, swallowing them.

“…before I remind ya why they called me the Terror of Bloodroot Swamp.”

Natasha dashed through the maintenance corridors, boots striking hard against the stone as she retraced her steps.

She reached the door.

Flung it open—

—and recoiled instantly.

The stench hit her like a wall. Sour rot, chemicals, something burned and fungal all at once.

“Gods—what is that?”

She staggered back a step, sleeve clamped over her nose, then forced herself inside.

The room was empty.

Gwenith was gone.

Natasha froze.

“No… no, that’s not—”

Her eyes snapped around the room, searching.

Nothing.

No mermaid. No movement.

Just—

In the far corner, something glistened.

She approached slowly.

A shattered green bottle lay in pieces, its contents smeared across the stone in a foul, smoking puddle. Pale slices of toadstool floated in the muck.

Natasha stared at it.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

“She… didn’t drink it?”

For a moment, the room felt smaller.

Quieter.

Wrong.

Natasha straightened abruptly, forcing the thought away.

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, too quickly. “She can’t have gotten far.”

But her eyes lingered on the broken glass a second too long.

Charlotte bustled into the campus clinic

It felt more like a sunlit conservatory than a hospital—glass walls, hanging herbs, and beds nestled between flowering plants that glowed faintly with restorative magic.

She scanned the beds for Gwenith, but she found no one

“Is there something I can help you with,h Miss Evermore?”

She turned and found herself staring at the big, friendly man who worked as the campus healer.

“Where’s Gwenith?” asked Charlotte. “She was badly hurt, and I dropped her off here.”

“She is in the waiting room,” the healer said, pointing at a side door.

Charlotte bustled through the door 

And stopped.

Gwenith sat in a wheelchair. Her tail was wrapped in bandages.

“Hey, Charlotte,” said Gwenith Sheepishly

Charlotte stared at her for a heartbeat—then exploded.

“How can you say that nothing happened?” shouted Charlotte, “You passed out, you’re covered in bandages, and you’re in a wheelchair.”

Gwenith winced.“I passed out from the exhaustion of crawling on my belly for an hour,” she said, The bandages are just cuts and scrapes. The healer said that it would be better to let my body heal itself instead of using magic, but that means I am going to be stuck in this chair for a few days.”

Charlotte’s shoulders sagged. The anger drained out of her, leaving only relief.

“Oh… thank goodness.”

“Charlotte, do you mind giving me a push? My arms still feel like burning lead.”

Charlotte smiled, stepped behind the chair, and pushed her out of the room.

A few minutes later, they were in the garden at the foot of the Archchancellor Oak, the massive faerie tree that towered over the campus.

Charlotte had settled onto a branch and was rummaging through her bottomless bag. Gwenith sat beside her in the chair

“Hey, Charly?”

“Yes, Gwen?”

Gwenith hesitated

“I think you were right,” she said quietly. “Back at breakfast.”

Charlotte paused, listening.

“All Natasha had to do was promise me something to drink, and I followed her into a trap.”

She swallowed.

“I knew it was a bad idea. I knew it would get me kicked out of school. And I still took it.”

Charlotte said nothing, just watching her.

“If I hadn’t remembered Granny Gross warning about Green Lightning …” Gwenith shook her head. “You wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

“The first step is always the hardest,” said Charlotte as she plucked a white box out of the bag.

She opened the box, revealing perfectly frosted little cakes. They smelled heavenly

“I got these from the Silver Moon Bakery,” said Charlotte, “Tansy’s best.”

Her shoulders loosened.

“…okay, that helps.”

“I also got these.” She pulled two bottles with straws sticking out of them

“What are they?” said Gwenith, inspecting the bottle.

“The latest thing from Mainspring,” beamed Charlotte, “Carbonated soft drinks.”

“…Soft Drinks?”

“No alcohol,” said Charlotte, “I got you alcohol free ginger beer.”

Gwenith turned the bottle in her hands, then took a cautious sip.

She paused.

“It’s… weird,” she admitted. “Feels like beer. Doesn’t taste like it.”

Another sip.

“…I kind of like it.”

Charlotte brightened and raised her bottle.

“To new beginnings.”

Gwenith smiled—tired, bruised, but genuine—and lifted hers to match.

“To new beginnings.”