Scene One

Take I

When Emily got home from school, she knew immediately that something was wrong. Her dad always welcomed her at the door, asked her how her day had been, that sort of thing, which Emily had never really noticed until it didn’t happen. Her feeling of wrongness was only amplified when she found her father in the kitchen, lying in a sticky brown puddle with eyes like marbles.

She blinked. Nothing about the scene made sense. Glass shards twinkled on the floor: the remnants of her favorite ice cream bowl, if the missing space in the open cabinet was any indication. Her father was many things, but never clumsy—he would never have dropped something so precious. Of course, he wasn’t given to bleeding out in the kitchen, either, but Emily shoved this thought to the back of her mind where emotion was being held hostage by logic. No one else was home, yet—her brothers were still at school, her mother at work—so Emily thought about what she should do.

“Calling the police would be a good first step,” she thought aloud. “But maybe I should text Mom first?”

Behind Emily, a floorboard creaked. It occurred to her that if her father had been recently murdered inside the house, then it was entirely likely for the killer to still be around. From her detached, emotionless state, Emily calmly observed as a long bar of metal sprouted from her midsection. She fell to the floor beside her father, staring blankly up into a pair of dark blue eyes that glittered as though full of cheerful stars.

Scene One

Take II

When Emily got home from school, she remembered that something was wrong. She had vivid memories of entering the kitchen, seeing her father surrounded by bloody glass, and… dying. Yes, she had definitely died. And now here she was, back again. Odd. Panicky hysteria rose in her mind, only to be handcuffed and shoved into a pit, where it met emotion and reality. Emily backed out of the house, slowly, and closed the door. She crossed the street, just for a bit of safe distance, and carefully dialed 9-1-1 on her phone.

At some point, after the police arrived but before Emily’s mother and siblings, a violent prison break occurred in the back of her mind. Emotion, panic, and the awful reality finally kicked in. Emily cried, in great horrible snotty sobs. When her family came, they found her curled up on the sidewalk, still crying.

Let’s give them a little privacy now. It’s time to skip forward a bit, past all the questions and the yellow tape and the early stages of grief. Later that evening, they went out for pizza at Emily’s favorite restaurant. Nobody felt much like eating, although Emily’s oldest brother had somehow managed to nibble his way through five slices of Pepperoni Deluxe. As they prepared to leave, a waiter came up to the table and asked,

“Can I get you all anything else?” His voice was warm and rich, like the best hot cocoa, and his dark blue eyes twinkled. Emily looked into those eyes, and remembered. She moved to shout, an action which was somewhat impeded by the sword pinning her chest to the table.

Scene One

Take III

When Emily got home from school, she remembered dying. It’d happened twice, but somehow she kept starting back here. It was like that movie, the one where the guy lives the same day over and over again, except this was worse—it was real. She went outside, like last time, mostly because she couldn’t stand to go into the kitchen again. Emily sat out on the sidewalk in front of her house, alone with her backpack and her confusion.

“Ahem.” The dry little voice was accompanied by a tug at Emily’s sock. “I do apologize for the delay, but there are a few matters we must discuss.”

Emily stared. Next to her foot, looking directly into her eyes, was a hedgehog. It cleared its throat and continued, “I am aware of the tragedy you have recently suffered, and on behalf of the Smaller Folk offer my sincerest consolations. However, the event of your father’s death has had a number of consequences which must be directly addressed.”

“You’re a hedgehog.”

The hedgehog sighed. “More importantly, madam, I am a lawyer, and executor of your father’s will as it pertains to… You’re not paying attention, are you.”

Emily blinked. “Sorry, I’ve never talked to hedgehogs before. I mean, I would have, but I’ve never actually met a hedgehog, and I wouldn’t have expected it to talk back even if I had.
“Your unfamiliarity with all matters outside of what is colloquially known as ‘the Ordinary’ is one of the primary concerns of your father’s bequeathment, and in fact is my main purpose for meeting you here in such an abrupt fashion. As no other suitable guides were available, I have come personally to answer such questions as you may have and offer you counsel to the best of my ability.”

“Sorry, but I’m still getting over the hedgehog thing. Can you please repeat everything you just said?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know. My job is to tell you about them,” the hedgehog said flatly.

“Oh. Okay, cool. Great. I’m Emily. What’s your name?”

The hedgehog lawyer squeaked and bristled into a protective ball. After a moment he uncurled, a bit embarrassed. “My apologies. It’s an old superstition, really, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you. If you’d like to give me a nickname, that will be perfectly acceptable.”

“How about Prickles?” Emily offered.

“That… is fine, yes. Now, I believe it is most prudent to briefly summarize the nature of the world which, for lack of a better term, I shall refer to as ‘the Extra Ordinary.’ There are twelve major factions— oh, bugger.”

Emily turned around—

Scene One

Take IV

When Emily got home from school, she was sure she’d fallen asleep. Talking hedgehogs? Secret names? What kind of a crazy world had she stumbled into? And why did she keep dying?

“Perhaps it would be best to continue our conversation elsewhere,” Prickles suggested from somewhere near her ankles.

“Admittedly, there are more pertinent concerns than politics at the moment.” They had boarded a city bus. Emily felt the judgmental stares of fellow bus-riders as she continued her conversation with the hedgehog lawyer.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Emily said. “Like maybe, how that guy keeps trying to kill me? Or maybe why I keep starting the day over? Or, even better, maybe why my dad is dead in the first place!”

“It may behoove you to keep your voice down, the Ordinary folk are staring.”

“Well, maybe it’d behoove you to explain some stuff before I behoove you out of this window.”

“The reasons for your father’s death are complicated and closely connected to politics, as are your repeated assassinations. The retakes are really the most difficult piece of this puzzle, but with gross over-simplification I can explain them easily enough.”

“I’m going to pretend that didn’t hurt my feelings.”

“‘Retake’ is a term borrowed from your Ordinary film industry,” Prickles continued, ignoring her. “When a scene is being recorded, often there will be some error. When that error occurs, the director will call for the scene to be tried again. Each attempt is called a ‘take.’ In a similar fashion, you have the innate ability to ‘retake’ certain ‘scenes’ in your life. If you die prematurely, this ability is triggered automatically. Your father had the same power.”

Emily considered this. “So why is he dead, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Thank you, that’s incredibly helpful.”

“I am required to answer your questions to the best of my ability,” the lawyer said stiffly. “Unfortunately, that question is beyond my ability to answer.”

Emily pulled the bell cord as they neared her stop.

“Do I have any other magic powers?” she asked, noticing just how odd it must have sounded to the woman in the next seat.

The bus stopped before Prickles could answer, and as they passed the driver, Emily thanked him. In doing so, she noticed his twinkling, dark blue eyes.

Scene One

Take V

When Emily began the scene again, she dropped her backpack and waited outside. A short while later, she met with Prickles, and they walked off toward Emily’s favorite bakery downtown.

“So there’s all these political reasons for stuff happening,” she summarized. “Which we haven’t had time to talk about yet. And I have magic powers, which you also haven’t gotten to yet. Oh, and there’s that guy with the dark blue eyes that keeps killing me, and it’s getting kinda old.”

“Ah, yes. Your repeated assassin. You say his eyes are dark blue? Are they, perhaps, the color of a sky at midnight, and do they glitter with stardust?”

“Yeah! That’s it exactly. You know who he is?”

Prickles glanced around. “Yes. We will discuss him later, in a safer place.”

“If you say so.” They walked on until Emily’s curiosity overwhelmed her patience. “So what are my magic powers?”

“Your father was, and now you are, the Curator of the Extra Ordinary,” the lawyer began. “This position granted him, through executive privilege, an assortment of powers granted by the various Extra Ordinary factions. Retaking is the most notable of these, but others include grace, alchemy, lingua franca, and basket weaving.”

“Basket weaving?”

“The djinn are highly possessive of their flying carpets, but their most trusted allies are taught the art of flying baskets.”

Emily, with Prickles riding on her shoulder, entered the bakery. The man behind the counter said, “I’m sorry, we don’t allow pets in here.”

Emily widened her eyes and tried to look desperate. “Please? Mr. Prickles won’t be any trouble.”

The man sighed. “Fine. Just keep him away from the counter.”

Two sticky buns and a croissant later, the lecture resumed.

“Excessive charm is another of those powers,” Prickles spoke around a mouthful of pastry. “You may have noticed that he didn’t charge you for these baked goods. Personally, I believe that the most useful skill by far is—”

“Hello there, young lady!” interrupted a short, bright-eyed woman with flaming orange hair. “I hope the little lawyer isn’t boring you.” She laughed at Emily’s discomfiture. “Introduce us, would you, hedgepig?”

“Of course. This young lady is the heir. She prefers to be called Emily,” Prickles stated. “Emily, this is Trembling Forthwith, reporter for the Faërie Observer.”

Emily shook hands with Trembling and made various polite noises. Her mouth was full of sticky bun, but it was a good effort nonetheless.

“So Emily,” the reporter began, “do tell. What makes you think you have any right to be the Curator?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Emily mumbled, then swallowed. “My dad died, and apparently he was in charge before me, so it kinda makes sense.”

The hedgehog opened his mouth to comment, but Trembling just laughed. It wasn’t a very magical laugh, Emily thought. It was kind enough, and warm, but there was nothing Extra Ordinary about it. It didn’t sound like the shade under a willow tree, or a storm of butterflies, or the snapping of thirty thousand candles. It was just a laugh, and Emily was very slightly disappointed. “My dear Emily,” she said, still chuckling, “the Extra Ordinary is not a monarchy. Your father was a Curator, not a king. He was answerable to the fae courts and the Improbable Congress, just like anyone else.”

“Prickles hasn’t gotten to the politics yet,” Emily defended. “He’s tried, but I keep getting murdered by a guy with (how did you describe him, Prickles? Oh yeah) eyes like midnight.”

All traces of laughter dropped from Trembling’s face. “Ah. Emily, I’m so sorry, I know we’ve just met, but I’m going to start running now. If you never see me again, I’m either dead or hiding somewhere.” She walked backwards toward the door, still talking. “Run. Ask the hedgehog about the Hourly. Then keep running. If you make it into Faërie, under no circumstances should you visit 912 Fiddler Street in High Gloaming and inquire about the health of Mr. Mendicant’s chinchilla.” She bumped into someone on her way out the door, and turned as though to apologize. Instead, she screamed very quietly and sprinted away down the street.

The man turned toward Emily’s table, and smiled. His teeth sparkled almost as much as his eyes.

Scene One

Take VI

“This is starting to get old,” Emily complained. “Let’s just keep walking until he finds us again. Eventually you’ll be able to explain everything, I guess.”

Prickles shook his head. “No, that won’t do at all. I believe the time has come for us to journey into the Extra Ordinary. It won’t be any safer, but it will at least be more interesting.”

He whistled—quite impressively, for a lawyer—until a taxi, gleaming gold and black but thoroughly Ordinary, peeled up to the curb.

“I didn’t think taxis even did that except in the movies.” Emily wondered.

“Normally, they do not. In this case, however, I have taken the liberty of securing our transportation ahead of time. The fare and destination are taken care of. Shall we?”

Emily hopped into the taxi with Prickles still clinging to her shoulder. The driver sped off in a screech of burning rubber before she’d even shut the door.

“Wait! I haven’t got my seat belt on!” she wailed. A sturdy birch branch sprouted from the cushion beside her and strapped itself across her chest. “That works too,” she admitted. “I didn’t think this was a magical taxi, though.”

“It isn’t!” Prickles shouted as a vicious wind tore through the backseat. “It’s just a sort of temporary portal! The magic is leaking through.” More branches erupted from the taxi’s interior and wrapped themselves around Emily and Prickles like the fingers of a witch’s fist.

“I think we’re pretty well strapped in now!” Emily yelled. “You can stop, branches!” They showed their disdain by sprouting pale green buds, which then burst into emerald leaves.

“I did say it would be more interesting,” Prickles said as the wind stilled. “And not at all safer. In this particular instance, though, you need not worry. The birches are simply a security measure, implemented by one of your predecessors to keep out unwanted visitors. They will relax soon enough.”

“Um, Prickles,” Emily strained as the branches constricted further. “They aren’t relaxing!”

“It seems your claim as Curator has been challenged,” the lawyer observed. “This was not an unexpected development. While in the Extra Ordinary, your death would defy ancient traditions of hospitality, but until that point you are, as it were, fair game. Enlisting the birches is terribly facetious,” he mused. “Even among the aesir, such audacity is rare.”

Emily said nothing, as the branches had crushed her ribcage and squeezed the last breath out of her lungs.

Scene Two

Take I

The driver sped off in a screech of burning rubber before she’d even shut the door.

“Oh, so we’re back here again,” Emily said. “Fun.” Like before, the branches sprouted from the walls of the taxi and constricted themselves around her. “Any suggestions?”

“A direct order to the branches would suffice,” Prickles offered. “Your claim to the Curatorship is strongest, giving you a ‘trump card’ of sorts.”

“That would have been good to know last time,” Emily growled. “But thanks. Branches!” she gasped. “Let—me—go!”

Sheepishly, the birch branches uncoiled and wove instead into a slender arch. As Emily watched, they sprouted buds, which became leaves, which turned the color of ketchup and fireflies and longing and fell to the ground. The taxi had disappeared, melted into the darkness, leaving only Emily, Prickles, and the birch gate standing on a carpet of molten leaves.

Transition

“It feels like we’ve been walking for a really long time,” Emily observed. Brown-butter leaves crunched underfoot. Prickles pondered his response.

“I believe we’re passing through the gate. Usually, the passage is instantaneous, but the birches do enjoy a dramatic entrance.”

“A really, really long time, I mean,” Emily continued. “As in, I don’t remember a time when we weren’t walking. And I’m pretty sure we’ve passed that same tree a dozen times now.” The tree in question stood out as the only non-birch in sight. It was an ancient, gnarled thing, lightning-black and leafless.

“Which tree?”

“The only one that isn’t a birch. Aren’t lawyers supposed to be observant?”

“Lawyers very well may be, but hedgehogs have notoriously bad vision, and I seem to have misplaced my spectacles. As for this tree: is it blackened, bare, and boding?”

“I’m not entirely sure what boding means? But yeah, I think so.”

“Mm. In that case, it’s probably your death. As long as it isn’t terribly close, you’ll be fine.”

“My death.”

“Yes. You haven’t seen it before now because you haven’t died, or been close to dying—not truly. Someday, your death will stand tall before you, blocking the path you must take. But this is a morbid topic for such a lovely day, and I think I see the exit up ahead.”

Scene Three

Take I

A playful breeze tickled Emily’s nose, and when she sneezed, it gave a guffaw before zooming off. Opossum triplets flipped somersaults from the overarching birches to land in a pyramid, complete with enthusiastic jazz hands. Crickets in a blues quintet offered her a soulful serenade while a bear in the background danced a foxtrot with his shadow. Between all of this, crowds of mice, weasels, stoats, badgers, moles, and jackrabbits swirled in intricate rings, and over everything Emily could see fireflies winking like splinters from a disco ball.

“Welcome to the Extra Ordinary,” Prickles said, rather unnecessarily.

Emily realized she had been gaping, and stopped. “You weren’t kidding about the dramatic entrance.”

Prickles frowned. “When did I mention a dramatic entrance?”

“We were… that’s weird, I don’t remember now.”

“Gates can do strange things with time. If anything we said was important, you’ll remember it when you need it.”

A loud purr rippled over the crowd of festive creatures. The music stopped, became a regal march. Rodents scrambled to clear a path between Emily and… a tigress. She was boldly colored to match the trees: stripes like burning honey and molten obsidian ran parallel down her sides. Her eyes were a deep pond-lily green, and when they met Emily’s gaze they did not blink.

“Welcome, Curator,” she rumbled. “I am Queen Akamarra, of the Smaller Folk.”

“It—um, it’s an honor, your majesty.” Emily hoped she looked braver than she felt. “My name is Emily.”

The crowd stood in stunned silence. Prickles took the opportunity to whisper into Emily’s ear, “You and the Queen have just exchanged names, demonstrating your deep trust in each other. Very interesting move, politically speaking.”

Emily murmured back, “Is that a good thing? I mean, we’ve only just met.”

“Which will make the situation even more puzzling. We can discuss this later—for now, simply know that in referring to you as the Curator, she proves herself to be on your side.”

“If you are finished taking counsel,” the queen yawned, “I would like to speak with you in private.” She strolled away, clearly indicating that Emily should follow.

Emily sipped at a cup of scalding tea. It tasted a bit like raspberries, but more like roses, with just a hint of railway. At least, that’s what the queen said; Emily had burned her tongue and could only taste pain.

“Thank you, Jericho,” Queen Akamarra nodded to the heron tea-master, “that will be all.”

As he left, she turned to Emily. “You must forgive me if I skip the pleasantries, but we have important matters to discuss, and I have been informed that you may be murdered at any point.”

“Yeah, about that—”

“I dislike you,” the queen interrupted.

“Oh. Well, tha—”

“You have put one of my people in incredible danger. Now you have allowed him to lead you here, risking all of our lives.”

“I’m sorry,” Emily put in, “but—”

“Hospitality demands that I offer you food and a place to sleep tonight. I demand that you leave as soon as possible.”

“Where else can I go?” Emily burst. “I don’t know anything about this place! And it’s not my fault I keep getting murdered!”

“The lawyer will go with you, at least,” the queen allowed. “He is a dry, long-winded quillpig, but he would never abandon a client. If any harm comes to him,” she snarled, exposing two rows of compelling argument, “I will hold you responsible.”

She sat back, suddenly the picture of regal serenity, though her tail twitched. “Shall we rejoin the celebration? I dance a killer hornpipe.”

Scene Four

Take I

After the dancing, there was a magnificent feast, set out on beautifully embroidered picnic blankets. Emily ate hazelnut soup, spicy spinach wontons, pear-and-cheddar pie, huckleberry salad, and a sampling of other things she couldn’t name, washed down with honeysuckle cordial and something lemon-pink and fizzy. Dishes were passed around, shared between friends and families while the crickets were replaced by a bullfrog choir. Dessert arrived with sunset. Dozens of tortoises plodded up, each bearing a covered silver platter on its back. Emily lifted the lid from hers to find a bowl carved from crystalline ice and full of her favorite strawberry-peanut butter ice cream, with a dainty china spoon on the side.

“A gift from the djinni,” Prickles informed her through a mouthful of cinnamon cake. “Enchanted to provide the diner’s favorite dessert.”

Emily was too busy stuffing ice cream in her face to respond. All of a sudden, the clearing erupted into screams.

Queen Akamarra thundered, “Everyone! Get to cover!” Smaller Folk scurried, slithered, and hopped away into the woods, but Emily saw several torn bodies already lying limp on the picnic blankets. Standing above them was a man with a sword of iron so cold it steamed where blood ran down its length, and though he stood at the far end of the clearing, Emily could see his sparkling smile.

The queen, growling like a distant storm, paced over to the intruder. They circled, eyes locked, until the man with midnight eyes stumbled. Akamarra pounced. The man twitched his sword upward, and Emily saw the tigress’s eyes grow wide with shock, then narrow with fury, then glassy cold with death. The man wrenched his sword free from her body. All the Smaller Folk, including Prickles, had scattered by now, leaving Emily alone in the remnants of the feast.

This is all my fault, she thought. I knew he was following me, the queen even warned me!Why didn’t I do something? Next time I’ll do better, she resolved. I’ll save everyone. The man was close enough now that Emily could find constellations in his eyes. He lifted his sword, still dripping and steaming with the blood of Smaller Folk, to point directly at Emily’s heart.

Emily looked around at the corpses, the discarded desserts, the stained picnic blankets. She shook her head. “No.”

The world grew still and brittle. The wind stopped. So did the man. Light and dark danced together at the edges of her vision. Every color faded to a dull glow, like dusty stained glass with twilight behind it. Sound and smell ceased to be. Emily shoved. Time shifted. Reality shattered….

Scene Four

Take II

After the dancing, there was a magnificent feast, set out on beautifully embroidered picnic blankets. Emily didn’t stop to enjoy the food—she had to warn the queen, and besides, she’d already eaten.

After an urgent discussion, Queen Akamarra led Emily to an overgrown train platform. “Wait here. I will send people with food and blankets. The train should arrive by morning.”

She spent the evening in safety, if not comfort, and fell asleep to the distant strains of forest music.