The bright golden moon hangs low and heavy in the black sky.

Jamie, Grace, Zee and I make our way from the Huntson High car park towards the lawns, where a large, colorful crowd is milling about on the moonlit grass.

In the distance, I see turrets, and I recognize the plywood castle backdrop from last year’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It’s been reworked into some sort of makeshift stage, complete with amps and overhead lights.

I’ll be on that stage in an hour. In front of all those people. Somehow I’m not even nervous. Just extremely, utterly excited.

“Walk faster ladies!” Jamie shrieks, tugging Zee behind her. “We’re gonna miss the chance to see Alix getting kissed by all the moms and grandmas! Maybe even grandpas! C’mon! Hurry!”

“Eww!” Zee says, her face wrinkling in disgust. “That’s my brother you’re talking about.”

As we were finishing up our band practice in Zee and Alix’s garage a few hours ago, it was announced (via social media, obviously) that the hottest graduating senior boy (Alix, obviously) would be selling kisses for $10 a pop at the start of the July Jubilee to raise funds for the new school gym.

Apparently this wasn’t news to Alix – he mumbled something incoherent about a lost bet and Yale and cougars – and he left us to make our own way to the Jubilee, while he and Micah went ahead to get the “kissing booth” set up.

That gave us plenty of time to get ready for the concert, and it really shows.

The four of us look amazing, mostly thanks to Jamie’s incredible makeover skills.

Zee is dressed as her idol – Xena, Warrior Princess. Her dark hair is pinned up, and a faux-leather rental costume with gladiator sandals and a foam sword completes the look.

Grace’s petite frame and five foot one height perfectly suits her Alice in Wonderland costume – a powder blue dress with one of Zee’s mom’s white cooking aprons over the top, and a cute black bow in her tousled dark blonde hair. She’s even carrying an old, leather-bound edition of the book, which I’ve often seen on her bedside table.

Jamie, as I expected her to, used the fairytale theme as an excuse to wear the most provocative, most revealing, most inappropriate outfit she could get away with at an official school event.

She’s basically meant to be Sleeping Beauty, wearing what she usually wears when she sleeps – which is apparently a tiny pink cheetah print chemise, fluffy pink slippers, and a black silk eye mask worn on top of her head like a headband.

But even with Jamie’s bright pink hair and ample assets on show, I feel all eyes on me.

As we make our way into the crowd, head turn, eyes widen. There are even some muffled gasps.

It’s exactly the same reaction I had when Jamie finally let me look in the mirror at Zee’s house, after working on my makeup for more than an hour.

I’d been feeling down all through the band practice, partly because of learning that my parents both think I’m a basket case and they want me to go back on the meds, and partly because with every hour, Fable’s departure date looms ever closer. Tomorrow will probably be the last time I ever go back to the cabin. The last time I’ll ever see them. In person, anyway.

But the moment Jamie told me to open my eyes, and revealed the results of her hard work with a shriek of delight, a great flood of calm washed over me.

Calm, wonder and enchantment.

A sense of rightness. Of past and present, dreams and memories meeting and merging, things falling into place.

Inspired by the shimmering couture gown that Kitty bought for me, Jamie decided that I should go to the Jubilee as a mermaid.

So now I’m walking through a hushed crowd, stranger after stranger stopping and staring bewitched as the moonlight sparkles off the sequins of my iridescent gown like metallic fish scales, and the silver glitter dusted over my eyelids and collarbones glimmers bright as pooling moonbeams.

Jamie even did my hair – she curled it into soft pale blonde waves, which fall gently over my shoulders like wintery silk, wisps of opalescent sea foam on a white shore.

The boys and men seem to just ogle, but the girls and women pin me with stinging gazes, no attempt to hide the coldness in their eyes. Torrents of hushed whispering swirls through the crowd as we pass, like an icy ocean current ebbing and flooding beneath the moon.

“Take a photo, it’ll last longer!” Jamie yells at a dark-haired girl dressed as Mulan who seems be trying to murder me with her death stare.

“I think her boyfriend already is,” Grace says, pointing to a tall boy with his phone pointed at me. He doesn’t seem to have understood the fairy tale theme when he picked out his costume – he’s dressed as zombie Michael Jackson, which looks extra bizarre in light of him holding a brand new iPhone, the camera light flashing as he stares at me wide-eyed.

His girlfriend notices and slaps the phone right out of his hand. As we walk by, she mutters something that sounds suspiciously like skank, but I couldn’t care less.

Nothing could bring down my mood tonight.

The nervous excitement of knowing that in a few hours I’ll be singing with my band; the twinkling golden fairy lights strung up in the trees, sparkling in the dark overhead as we pass; the first few chords of a violin ringing out from the stage through the soft excited buzz of the crowd, a hundred fairytale characters chatting and laughing beneath the brilliant moon.

There’s some magic in the air. A childhood nostalgia, like the wonder of watching multicolored lights glow softly in the darkness on the branches of a fir tree on Christmas Eve, and the thrill of the next morning. A sense of joy and anticipation – knowing that something amazing is about to happen. I don’t know what, but I can feel it.

It’s utterly intoxicating.

And I’m not the only one who feels this bubbling sense of excitement.

Jamie’s practically skipping along, shrieking with glee as she spots the kissing booth a few feet away through a parting in the crowd. Alix is sitting behind the booth, staring forward blankly, like the survivor of some harrowing war. He has what looks like red lipstick smeared on his cheek, and based on his traumatized expression, he’s already regretting agreeing to help out.

An old man dressed as a sexy fairy godmother is leaning against the kissing booth, slapping down what appears to be a $50 note as Alix’s face clouds over in absolute horror.

“OMG OMG OMG HURRY! I NEED TO SEE THIS UP CLOSE!” Jamie yells, pulling Zee along with her, her slinky pink chemise and Zee’s flashing sword disappearing into the colorful crowd.

“Want to follow them?” I ask, but before Grace can answer, I hear a familiar voice calling out my name.

“Ash! You look INSANE!” Kitty says, pushing her way through the crowd with a massive smile plastered across her face. She wraps me in her arms and gives me a quick peck on the cheek, her hazel eyes glowing ever so slightly in the moonlight. “See, I told you this dress was a winner,” she says. “I wish the guys could see this. They were pretty pissed about not being allowed to come. Especially Fee and Al. And Lyall, poor guy, he was moping around all day.”

“Yeah well, half the girls at my school are in love with them and would probably literally die if they came here, so it’s wasn’t an option,” I say, trying not to sound like I care.

“Nice dress Ash,” Jade says, appearing beside Kitty with a red party cup in each hand. His dark blonde hair is hidden beneath what appears to be a green hat, but on closer inspection, reveals itself to be the head of a very decrepit, very tattered frog costume. He’s wearing a bright green onesie, which looks to be a size too small for him. Kitty’s looking considerably better, in a cute pink dress and tiara, and holding a golden ball in her hand. Knowing Kitty, it’s probably real gold.

“What happened to Puss in Boots?” I ask, remembering Kitty’s letter where she mentioned her costume, which to be honest would have gone perfectly with her name.

“The boots and fishnets were looking too S&M bondage porn star,” Kitty says. “So I changed my mind. We’re the Princess and the Frog”.

She slaps Jade’s velvety green butt with a giggle before leaning closer to me and whispering, “but mainly I picked this costume to disguise his uncontrollable hotness. This way I won’t be chasing girls away from him all night. Sneaky, right?”

I snort with laughter as Jade fidgets with his frog hat, the fuzzy green fabric crinkling as he tries, and fails, to remove it.

“Cool outfit Grace,” Jade says, giving up on the hat and deciding to turn the attention away from himself. “Alice in Wonderland, right?” He points to the book in her hand.

Grace nods without smiling, her eyes fixed on Kitty.

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, and I realize that I never told my friends about Jade and Kitty, on account of how Jamie feels about him.

It’s more than just a crush. I understand that now.

Jamie’s been in love with Jade for ages.

Grace and Jamie are as different as day and night, but they’ve always got each other’s backs. And right now Grace, who is usually so serious, controlled and polite, has a wild look in her eye.

Oh hell no. I need to say something quick to defuse the situation.

“You two haven’t met,” I say, forcing a smile. “Grace, this is- ”

“Kitty Lockhart, I know,” Grace says. “What are you doing with Jade?”

Her eyes slip down to Kitty’s hand, clasped tightly with Jade’s.

Kitty opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind.

“Thirsty!” I say. “I’m soooo thirsty.”

“Jeez Ash, no need to just announce it like that, you little minx,” Kitty snorts with laughter, pulling Jade closer to her. “This one’s taken, so don’t get any ideas. Take your thirsty ass elsewhere.”

“That’s not what I meant!” I say, my cheeks burning. “I meant thirsty thirsty. I-need-something-to-drink thirsty. What’s in those cups Jade?”

Jade looks down at the two red party cups he’s holding, passing one to Kitty with a sly smile.

“Well, originally, this was just plain non-alcoholic apple punch,” he says. “Originally.”

Kitty fishes a small silver flask out of her clutch bag.

“Go get some, they’re serving it back there,” she says, pointing to a stand behind her. “I’ll fix you up with some of my magic happy juice.”

She winks, sloshing the liquid around in the silver flask with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“We’re sixteen,” Grace says. “According to US law, drinking age here in-”

“I’m not concerned with such pointless abstractions as law and age, darling,” Kitty says. “Anyway, your call. But I know Ash will have some, right? I made it just for you. It’s got vodka, gin, white rum, tequila, three dissolved caffeine pills, five drops of liquid h-”

“Sure sure,” I say, grabbing Grace’s hand and pulling her away before her eyes pop out of her head.

“You’re not really going to try that stuff, right?” Grace says, her pretty face momentarily crinkled with concern. “Seriously, I think there’s something wrong with that girl. Is she always like that?”

“Umm… sort of,” I say. “She’s kinda… I don’t know. A free spirit? She doesn’t follow the rules.”

“I guess you don’t need to, when you come from that much money,” she says. “The Lockhart’s are one of the wealthiest families in Britain. Are she and Jade g-”

“Yumm that looks delicious!” I interrupt her just in time, as we come into view of a small wooden stand, where Miss Turner, my math teacher, is stirring a large black cauldron with a silver ladle. She’s dressed as Snow White, her black hair held back by a bright red bow which perfectly matches the frames of her round Harry Potterish glasses. Even though I hate math with the passion of a million burning suns, I can’t help but like Miss Turner and her sweet, awkward math-nerd humor.

“Punch?” She asks as we approach.

“Two, please,” Grace says, looking back over her shoulder at Kitty and Jade.

Bits of chopped up red apple bob on the surface of the pale pink liquid, which she ladles carefully into two red cups.

“Now for payment,” Miss Turner says. “Ashling, square root of 121?”

“Uh… what?” I say.

“Square root of 121,” she repeats. “Get it right, and you get your punch.”

I take a second to work it out.

“Eleven,” I say, and Miss Turner’s grin is so sweet that I have to forgive her for the lame teacherish behavior.

“That was too easy,” she says. “Right, something harder for you Grace. I’m the most American dessert there is. First word: I’m in your punch, second word, I’m 3.141592653…”

“Pie,” Grace says. “Apple pie.”

“Got it,” she says, beaming. “Run along now, before I tell you more corny math jokes.”

She hands us the cups, turning to speak to a woman who’s just walked up to the stand.

“I guess we should go find Zee and Jamie,” I say, hoping we can avoid running into Jade and Kitty again.

I can’t have Kitty nagging me to slip a few drops of her ‘magic happy juice’ into my punch. Especially not in front of Grace.

“Isn’t that your gran’s friend?” Grace says, pointing behind me.

I turn around.

Just a few feet away from the punch stand, under an old maple tree strung up with thousands of tiny flickering golden lights, Bea’s wizened face is illuminated against the darkness. She’s wearing a long black dress with a tasseled gypsy shawl, her long grey hair piled in a plaited bun on top of her head. Even though she’s probably not in costume, she looks like a convincing witch anyway.

Her face is slightly turned away from me, and she seems to be speaking in a low voice to someone standing in the shadows.

In a split second, I grab Grace’s wrist, sloshing most of our punch all over the ground in the process. I pull her behind the punch stand, praying that Bea didn’t see us.

“What are you doing?” Grace asks.

“Shhhh!” I hush her, peeking out from behind the stand. Luckily Miss Turner is preoccupied with serving the punch, and hasn’t noticed us.

Neither has Bea. Her voice rises slightly, and I can just pick up a few words of the conversation.

“Bringing him here… disgrace… my brother would be turning in his grave… circle… leave her alone…”

I need to hear what they’re talking about.

“I’m moving closer,” I whisper to Grace. “Stay here.”

“But why?” Grace asks seriously.

“Trust me,” I say. For a moment Grace looks like she might argue, but she just nods.

“Can I borrow this?” I say, pointing to the copy of Alice in Wonderland she’s clutching against her chest.

Grace hands the book over with a nod.

“Thanks,” I say.

As quietly as I can, I scale the back of the punch stand. There’s a bench between the stand and Bea. If I can just get there…

There’s only one option.

Even though I know I look like a total fool, I open up the book, thanking my lucky stars that it’s such a large edition. I hold it up, shielding my face as I walk blindly towards the bench, eyes on the ground to avoid tripping.

After a few steps, I’m in front of the bench. I sit down quickly, the book held up awkwardly in front of me to hide my face.

Please don’t let anyone recognize me. Please please please.

“Hugh chose his own path,” a male voice says out of the darkness, somewhere near where Bea is standing. Barely three or four feet from where I’m sitting with the book over my face. “There’s no use blaming Sybil.”

The voice sounds old, posh, British. Gravelly and hoarse, like wind over dry leaves.

“It’s been so many years now,” a female voice, drawling and American, joins in. I’d recognize it anywhere.

That’s the same voice I’ve heard in the Night Owl every day for as far back as I can remember, ordering her Early Grey and a slice of cake for afternoon tea.

It’s Mrs. Leyton.

“He needed you,” Bea says. “You were his fiancée. You and I were friends. I trusted you Sybil. And what did you do? You ran away. Left him for dead. Got married to the first eligible bachelor you could find. And now that Mr. Leyton’s pegged off you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with this… this…”

“That’s enough Bea,” Mrs. Leyton says. “I’ve put up with you badmouthing me around town for the past fifty years, but I’ll be damned if you’re going get Robert involved. You spring on us, pull us under this tree, ramble on at me about some made up fairytale and cults and secret societies and god knows what… honestly, it’s gone far enough Bea. Can’t you see how much like Hugh you sound? It runs in your family, doesn’t it?”

“Tell him to leave her alone,” Bea says. “I won’t let you have her, you understand?”

“Darling, I have no idea what she’s talking about,” Robert says.

“Of course you don’t,” Mrs. Leyton says. “We’ll be on our way. Good evening, Bea.”

I peek out for a moment over the top of the book, and catch a glance of Mrs. Leyton walking out from under the tree, arm in arm with Robert. As she walks past, Bea grabs her arm.

She laughs – a sad, mocking sound.

“You still don’t know who he is, do you?” Bea says, her voice barely a whisper. “The circle’s closing in, Sybil. Careful. You’ll get trapped inside.”

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” Mrs. Leyton says, her voice cold.

“The dark servants are almost here,” Bea whispers, a sudden note of desperation in her voice.

“Discordia?” Robert suddenly calls out. “Is that you? Come out from there.”

I sneak a peek over the edge of the book. He’s looking towards the punch stand.

Where Grace is hiding.

I see a flash of blue, and dark blonde curls bouncing as Grace makes a dash for it and disappears into the crowd.

“Discordia?” Mrs. Leyton asks, the puzzlement clear in her voice. “What ever are you going on about Robert?”

“Oh… well… it’s nothing,” he says, chuckling. “Just these old eyes playing tricks on me. Let’s go get something to eat. If you’ll excuse us, Bea.”

As he walks away arm in arm with Mrs. Leyton, I hear Bea sigh, and suddenly I feel eyes on me.

Eyes staring through the book, right at me.

Of course. I’ve been sitting here like this with the book over my face for at least a few minutes, and I haven’t turned the page even once. Of course she’s suspicious.

I steel myself for her to step forward, grab the book out of my hands, recognize me. I still haven’t spoken to her since that day in the woods, when she seemed to explode from within, consumed by impossible black fire.

I don’t know if I can face her again, after that.

But nothing happens.

I hear her footsteps as she walks away, and I look up again over the edge of the book, seeing her hurry into the crowd.

That’s when I hear it.

Grrrrrrr….

A low, spine-chilling growl.

Coming from right behind me.

I drop the book into my lap, snapping my head around at lightning speed.

And find myself face to face with a snarling, ravenous black wolf.