Before the Chaos Begins
Naivety is perhaps the most self-destructive thing in the world, closely followed by love.
‘Did you really think villains could do that?’ Cassian chokes out, his face contorted with pain. Josiah’s sword is buried in his stomach, pinning him to the ground. Crimson stains are spreading across his shirt and his skin is as pale as chalk. He is powerless. For the first time in a long while, Evanora might actually have the upper hand over this villain.
In a world where good and evil can never be united, loving a villain seems impossible. Evanora now understands that her feelings for Cassian were nothing more than the influence of his magic. He bewitched her! Cassian made her believe that he truly loved her, while all he really wanted was to take her magic for himself.
This cruelty burns in her eyes as they fill with tears. The doors and windows of the cursed castle rattle. It feels almost like a warning: Hurry. Without wasting another second, she rushes away and into the bright castle hallway where Josiah ought to be.
‘For me, there was only ever you.’
That was what he said before running Cassian through with his sword. And then he ran off with some of his warriors, to fight. But as Evanora reaches the hallway, the sight before her makes her gasp for breath. Josiah lies on the ground. A warrior towers over him, raising his sword. Her best friend’s handsome face contorts, his shimmering armour glinting for one last time.
‘No!’ she screams.
Not him.
Not her most honest friend. The man who has always stood by her and loved her like no one else.
Suddenly, someone grabs her roughly from behind.
‘Not so fast, Princess,’ Cassian whispers into her ear, and she freezes.
How is this possible?
***
I groan. ‘My God, if nobody finally kills this guy, I’m going to lose it.’
It’s not often that a book has me so hooked, I stay up reading until past two in the morning. Okay, that was a lie. It happens all the time. But rarely has a novel touched me as deeply as this one. Josiah’s courage and his sincere love for his best friend Evanora simply have to be rewarded, or I’m going to lose my mind.
‘A little brighter, please,’ I say to Terrie above my bed. The light from the reading lamp intensifies, helping me to see. My eyelids are growing heavy, and that’s something my brain simply cannot allow.
The story is almost over. I can't sleep now.
You know you have to work tomorrow morning.
Being an adult presents so many dilemmas. But once you reach a certain age, the decisions get tougher. And this one is definitely not doing my tomorrow self any favours.
But who needs sleep, anyway?
So I keep flipping the pages, my eyes racing across the paper. When Josiah finally saves Evanora, I’m practically drooling. But then they’re suddenly torn apart again, and I let out a loud cry.
Sorry, neighbours. But this is an emergency.
Cassian gets more villainous with every page, and this proves once again what I always say: the villain has to be defeated and out of the story before he or she can become too much of a threat to the longed-for happy ending.
With every word, that long-awaited ending draws closer, and my heart is pounding wildly. I’m terrified I won’t get what I want. Cassian, who is a miserable liar, naturally makes this feeling worse. ‘Villains always get what they want,’ he says in his typically annoying way.
In that case, ask yourself why you aren’t getting it, you emotionless piece of shit.
Okay, this is starting to get personal. But isn’t that the sign of a good book?
1. The One Where I Drool Over Fictional Boyfriends
‘I might be a little absent-minded, but I wasn’t born yesterday.’ I shoot the two boys in front of me what I hope is a stern look, although more often than not, I only manage the it’s fine because I want to stay your favourite teacher version of a stern expression. But while they might hope for that, I’m not letting them walk all over me today.
Lucas looks me in the eye with confidence and doesn’t even blink. ‘I’m not lying. I’m Grayson. And that’s Lucas.’ He points to his twin brother.
Do they really think I’m going to fall for that trick? I know they swapped clothes at break time. They might be the spitting image of each other, but personality-wise they couldn’t be more different. So I lean over Grayson’s desk and study him questioningly. He’s nervously playing with his golden curls and avoiding eye contact at all costs.
‘So, you’re Lucas?’
He still doesn’t look at me. ‘Mmm,’ he says.
I shake my head. ‘No, no. That’s not enough. You have to say it. And you know I can smell lies. I’m a witch.’
‘That’s not true at all. Witches can’t do that,’ Lara chimes in from one of the back rows.
I ignore her and keep my eyes on Grayson’s face; he’s blinking hard now. Honestly, I feel sorry for him. I’m just about to let it go when he sighs.
‘Lucas forced me.’
His brother gives him an indignant look, and I have to fight to stop myself bursting out laughing. Three cheers for my teacher authority, I suppose.
‘Stupid tattletale,’ Lucas mutters.
I narrow my eyes at him. ‘The stupid part of this is lying to me. And seriously – why? You don’t even have an assessment today.’
Lucas crosses his arms with a pained expression and remains silent for a moment. I’m already starting to think this trick was just something he did for fun, because he could, when he finally sighs and says, ‘I wanted to go to the bathroom.’
‘Huh?’
Excellent example there, Rosella. Such a great choice of words for a teacher.
‘I went a few times during the last Witch History class. I thought if I pretended to be Grayson, no one would notice.’
‘What?’ Now I’m really confused.
His lips curl. ‘I hate Witch History. It’s so boring.’
Criticism of my teaching hurts almost as much as stubbing my toe or stepping on a piece of Lego. I’d love to tell him that I find his endless rambling about dinosaurs just as boring, but that isn’t really appropriate for a teacher. I pull myself together and follow up more kindly. ‘But why?’
He shrugs. ‘Because it all happened forever ago and nobody cares. Besides, I’m not even a warlock.’
I know that’s not quite true; his mum is a witch and his dad is human. ‘Of course you are. A half-warlock.’
Lucas snorts, looks torn. ‘I’m still not like the others. It’s not … Never mind, it’s boring, anyway.’
A less professional teacher, someone who only ever took the job for the salary, would have taken that comment as an insult. I realise, however, that there’s more to it, and that something has more to do with Lucas, his family and the wider context than it does with my classroom. He’s a half-warlock. He isn’t the only one in this town, yet many of them struggle with the feeling of not really belonging anywhere, of not fitting in with either witches or humans. I push off from his desk and walk over to the board. Then I give myself three seconds to think. Does it really make sense to toss my meticulously crafted lesson plan out the window? The worksheets and topics I prepared for today are already sitting on my desk, perfectly organised. And yet … I look over my shoulder once more at Lucas, who is grinding his teeth.
Yes. Screw the lesson plan.
I sit cross-legged on my desk. In front of me, fifteen children sit at their desks, chatting with each other. I clear my throat, but only a few of them notice me. Okay, I need a different approach. What would have made me want to listen at their age?
It’s time for a little unprofessional behaviour.
I extend my hands and send a massive gust of air through the classroom. A few papers fly up, and two chairs tip back slightly. Instantly, several pairs of eyes are fixed on me.
Of course. Now they’re interested.
Before that interest fades, I take my chance and grin at them invitingly. ‘How about a more modern story today?’
‘How modern? From 1800?’
I give Katie a pointed look. Well, thanks a lot. It’s not as if I can help the fact I studied Witch History, and that the most historically relevant things didn’t happen last week.
‘I’m going to tell you the story of a half-witch who saved Christmas.’
The excited looks on their faces tell me I’m on the right track. Yes. This is going to be good.
***
At the book club meeting that evening, I hear Malina’s loud laughter from beside me on the sofa. ‘You told them that story? About my bewitching the scarecrow to play Santa?’ My stepsister is absolutely losing it.
I press a hand to my forehead. ‘You’re the only half-witch I could think of a story about.’
This makes her crack up even more. ‘How about a historical heroine? Kaya Roberts? Melissa Lovebutter?’
I snort. ‘Yeah. I’ve thought of more examples since then. Any story probably would have been better than that one, but the kids loved it, and maybe that’s what matters most.’ After all, my job as a teacher isn’t just to cram as much information as possible into their heads, but also to instil the joy of learning. So as well as my educational mandate, I have a bit of a duty to entertain. At least, that’s what it says on one of my fridge magnets.
‘But it’s remarkable that you saw through the twins’ trick right away. No one ever caught us pulling Parent Trap stunts back when we were children,’ Sam says, leaning towards the bag of crisps on the coffee table.
I remember the siblings’ identity-switching tricks and how often they fooled me with them throughout our childhood.
Her twin sister, Flora, kicks her feet up on the armchair and agrees. ‘We’d still be invincible if you hadn’t shaved your hair off.’
Sam shoots her an annoyed look and munches on a crisp. ‘It definitely has its perks, not being mistaken for you anymore.’
‘And what would those perks be?’
The crisp bag rustles. ‘Remember how Jeff Winchester wanted to kiss me when we were thirteen, because he thought I was you?’
We all burst out laughing, reminiscing for a brief moment. Then Malina speaks up. ‘Okay, guys. Focus. We’re not here for fun.’
‘Then what are we here for?’ Sam asks with a mouth full of crisps.
I point to the thick book on my lap. It’s so heavy it could easily double as a murder weapon. Each of us has our own copy of the massive fantasy novel. ‘Because of the book, what else?’
‘And reading isn't fun?’ Sam sighs.
Malina shakes her head. ‘It should be recognised as an Olympic sport.’
I sigh now, too. ‘Let me know when reading finally becomes a job. I’d always choose that over whining kids.’
But you love being a teacher, the voice in my head reminds me. And yeah, I guess so. I do like it. I enjoy teaching subjects that have always interested me. At the same time, it keeps me away from my favourite pastime – which is lying on my bed, giggling and blushing, wishing I could read another 200 pages. One of these things is my job; the other is fulfilment.
‘We lose the thread every time. Why does that always happen when we meet at Rosella’s?’ Flora asks the group.
‘Because her living room is so adorably kitschy and just invites you to chat,’ Malina says, pointing to the floral lamp next to her.
‘And because she always has snacks.’ Sam rustles the bag of crisps.
I roll my eyes in amusement. That’s how it goes on some book club nights. We get so caught up talking about nonsense that we lose sight of the main thing: the books. Or in this case, our latest choice, which we are supposed to be halfway through by today. Spoiler: I finished it last night. Or rather, it finished me. It was worth the sleep deprivation.
‘Let’s move on to Enchanted Hearts instead,’ I suggest gently but firmly, lifting the book with its gorgeous brown cover. It feels like soft cotton under my fingertips, but it sparkles like glitter or foil. The others reach for their copies, and Sam wipes her fingers, greasy from the crisps, on her trousers.
‘Gross,’ Flora hisses.
Sam ignores this and opens her book, where I notice many colourful markings. ‘I didn’t like Evanora very much at first. Her naivety made me angry. How could she let herself be blinded by Cassian, even for a moment?’
‘He controlled her feelings. She couldn't help it,’ Flora replies.
‘I would have loved to pull Cassian out of the novel and punch him hard in the face.’ Malina waves her arms around wildly.
I have to laugh because I understand her anger, but I’m also puzzled. How does she already know about that? The fact that Cassian was controlling Evanora’s feelings isn’t revealed until page 350. I lean forward slightly and ask, amused, ‘Have all of you finished it already?’
A chorus of nods follows, making us all laugh. These are my girls. Just as book-obsessed as I am. And of course, none of us could wait a week to read the rest.
‘Okay, then I suggest that today’s a good time to rate it.’
Flora digs a black notebook out of her bag. She’s our designated note-taker because she has the best handwriting of all of us – and she can’t stand it when someone takes notes too slowly. A while ago I offered her a magic pen, which she thought was nonsense. She told me that some things just have to be done in the old-school way. I suppose smeared-ink stains are part of that.
‘Then fire away. I’ve already got our rating system ready.’
Glancing at her notebook, I recognise the various categories we’ve defined. There’s a small box for every chapter, and Flora has left plenty of room for comments on suspense, protagonists, antagonists and supporting characters.
Malina glances at it, too. ‘We’ll probably need more than one session for this book.’
I nod. ‘When I think about Josiah, I think we’ll need at least five.’
The others laugh, and I think of the novel’s protagonist. He’s a hero with a heart of gold who helps Evanora out of a jam more than once. Someone she initially sees as just her best friend, but later realises is willing to sacrifice almost anything for her. I recall of his most romantic lines and now I quote him, gushing, ‘I would rather die than see you suffer one more time.’ I’ve read plenty of books and have fallen for more than a few of their heroes. But none of the others have been quite like him. Selfless, sincere, clever and funny. Perhaps Josiah is the perfect man.
‘Let’s start with the prologue,’ says Sam, opening the book at the relevant page. ‘It begins, Rosella starts drooling.’
I make a face, amused. But to be fair, what wouldn’t I give for a man like Josiah? He’s the complete opposite of the idiots who live here in Crumblewood.
‘I found the prologue hard to read. Evanora’s childhood had me in tears within two pages,’ says Malina.
And so we spend the next couple of hours lost in discussion. We talk about the brave Evanora, the terrible Cassian and the heroic Josiah. I find myself wondering, where and how do fantasy heroines always find guys like him? I’d love to be in a place like that for once. To meet a man who is sincere, funny and unswervingly loyal. I’d snap him up. But after everything I’ve been through over the last few years, I know that men like that only exist in books. And they are, therefore, just too fictional to date. Unfortunately.
2. The One Where I Go Crazy
Maybe I’m a little crazy, but I’m reading it again. Yeah. It’s four o’clock in the morning and I’m snuggled up in my purple duvet, flipping through Enchanted Hearts as if I hadn’t just read it. My eyes are slowly growing heavy, but I blink, trying to stay awake. That’s when Terrie – my reading lamp – reacts, and the light above me brightens.
‘Thanks, you’re fantastic.’
A pink veil briefly settles over the light. Terrie is far too easily embarrassed. That’s one thing we definitely have in common.
My heart beats for you. Every second, every minute, and every hour of my life.
Even on the second reading, it takes my breath away. People might call me mad, but I suspect a battle-wounded, heroic Josiah speaking words like those couldn't leave anyone unmoved. Not in a million years. I imagine his dark blond hair falling over his forehead, a longing gaze on his face, and I tremble inside.
I have always loved you. And I thought it was too late.
Terrie changes the light to a sad blue.
‘Very good,’ I say. I tuck a strand of hair, that had strayed into my face, behind my ear. It’s a miracle that my bun from this morning has held up this long anyway. I am gently flipping through the pages when I suddenly notice something dark at the edge of the page. Writing. In ink. What? I pause. It’s impossible for there to be anything hand-written there. After all, I bought the book brand new and I’ve never written anything in it. It’s just not something I do. Confused, I blink and try to read the words. The handwriting is messy, and some of the inkblots are so thick that I wonder why they haven’t soaked through the page.
Eventually I decipher the writing. You might be the most beautiful reader I’ve ever had.
I drop the book in shock. What the hell?
The light goes out, as if Terrie has been startled, too. But because a part of me is crazy, I have to make sure I didn't misread those words. So I say, ‘Turn back on, you chicken.’
White light appears, but it’s not very bright, as if Terrie doesn’t quite trust the situation. I think, Same here. The book is lying face down on my sheets. Normally I wouldn’t leave it like that – the poor spine! But it’s rare that someone startles me while I’m reading. Very, very rare. With trembling hands, I reach for the book, wanting to slap myself and thinking, You’re a grown-up and (somewhat) powerful witch. Don’t be afraid of words.
Who am I kidding? I was so startled, I’m surprised I didn’t pee my pants right then and there.
Great. That’s how a powerful witch should sound.
I curse the voice in my head and open the book. My gaze wanders to the written words, and I freeze as I notice they’ve changed.
You don’t need to be afraid.
I mutter aloud, ‘Yep, that sounds very convincing, you terrifying book.’
Then the writing fades before my eyes, and I hold my breath as new words form.
I like you.
‘You—’ I stop, then let out a sharp cry. The book understands me? Hears me? Does it have a life of its own?
Another new word: ouch.
What? Then I remember the far-from-delicate sound that escaped my mouth just a few seconds ago. Which isn’t surprising, considering a book is sending me messages.
‘I’m sorry … I suppose.’ I pull my knees up, wanting to curl into a tight ball. What is happening here?
‘What is happening here? Who or what is speaking to me?’
The ink fades, and once again a new word appears on the light pages.
Josiah.
My jaw drops. This is impossible! It seems unimaginable. Unthinkable. Beyond belief. It’s surely a trick, some prank by another witch. Someone is messing with me. That has to be it. Although it’s a bit strange, considering I’ve never heard of such a bizarre spell. And besides, no one outside the book club knows about my love for this novel. A book club that, aside from me, consists of only two magicless humans and a half-witch. And even the half-witch doesn't have enough magic to pull this off. It couldn't be any more unlikely.
But if it’s not a trick, what is it then? A dream? Out of pure instinct, I slap my cheek with the palm of my hand. A loud crack echoes through my bedroom. My skin sears slightly, and the pages beneath me flutter as if they’ve been shaken by a gust of wind.
I am Josiah.
‘That’s impossible. You can’t be him.’
Still new words are forming, and they’re driving me crazy.
Then how come I’m aware that I’m afraid of unicorns?
That’s his greatest secret. A hand lands on my mouth. I don’t know if it’s my right or left hand. Just as I can’t tell if Earth has just been taken over by aliens or if my life is in fact a TV show. Almost anything – perhaps everything – could seem more possible to me in this moment than this.
‘Holy shit! You … How is that possible?’
Your wishes are apparently coming true.
What? I don’t understand what he says, then it suddenly hits me like a bolt of lightning. I wished for a Josiah for myself. I wanted him. But what the … Is that why he can talk to me? Wishes don't come true just because you believe in them. Even if you totally believe in them. At least, that's what I’ve always thought …
‘I don’t understand.’
I can become real for you. To get to know the beautiful woman who took my breath away when I saw her from across the pages.
There are certain situations in life that I have long considered completely unrealistic. These include winning large amounts of money, encountering a talking dog or suddenly sprouting wings. Now, I might finally have found the number one item on the list of all the impossible things in the world: when your very own book boyfriend suddenly speaks to you and tells you that you can make him real.
‘You’re … not real. Just a character who …’
Didn’t you want a man like me?
My thoughts are racing now. What? How! Do I really want exactly the guy from the book? The voice in my head is getting louder. Of course you wanted exactly him. You just didn't think it was possible.
‘I …’
I realise that now I’m just asking questions to distract me from my lack of answers.
‘How is this even supposed to work? You’re words on paper.’
Not to you. I’ve felt it since the moment you touched the book. You’re the one I belong to. The one who will set me free and make me real, so we can truly get to know each other.
Me? I’m the one he belongs to? It’s impossible even to dream up something like this. It’s just too absurd. The reading light turns pink, and I understand.
‘Yes, I know,’ I whisper to Terrie. The whole thing seems … perfect. So much so, that I can only assume it’s a mistake. After all, life has never treated me this generously before.
Then a thought strikes me, one that makes me pause. Hah! Found the catch!
‘What about Evanora? You love her!’ My voice rises, just as it always does when I protest.
It takes a moment for him to answer, and I’m already starting to think I’ve finally caught him and then wonder if that’s even what I really want. Then I notice new words.
The story doesn’t end where it does for the reader. Evanora betrayed me and lied to me. And every time someone reads the book from the beginning, I have to play this role all over again. Even though I know there is no happy ending for our great love story.
I swallow. I didn't know that. Of course, I’d assumed that books written by a witch, as Enchanted Hearts was, were somehow more magical than ordinary stories. Maybe more exciting. They’re touched by magic, you see. For instance, the dialogue in books by witch authors automatically updates itself every decade to reflect modern-day speech. That’s why I can understand even the dusty old tomes from the Middle Ages. Such books have always been vibrant, engaging … but not this alive. It’s almost frightening. How many witch books have I read? Have all of those characters been aware of me? That’s impossible, right? That kind of magic, a spell of that type, requires the witch to summon an unimaginable level of power. It would surely kill her. Who could possibly pull off such a spell? My hands are shaking as I say, ‘I don’t know what to say or do. It’s … confusing.’
Do you still want to get to know me? The real me.
I bite my lower lip. And before I can hold it back, the word is already out of my mouth. ‘Yes.’
Are you really still confused, then?
The light turns even pinker, and I have to restrain myself from ripping Terrie off the wall and hurling the lamp across my room. But this way the light masks my cheeks, which are likely turning exactly the same shade. At least, that’s how it feels.
‘I think I need to get some sleep. Can we talk again tomorrow? I just need a moment …’
Take all the time in the world, Rosella. I will wait for you. Forever.
WHAT? That is so astonishing that I suddenly slam the book shut. And then I place it, and all of its crazy possibilities, on the floor a short distance away from me.
‘That was Josiah. And he wants to step into my world,’ I whisper to myself.
Terrie turns green, as if to signal that I’ve given the right answer, and I sigh loudly.
‘You’re no help, you magical piece of plastic.’