"If anyone ever demands you endure a dangerous trial to prove yourself, tell them you have to wash your hair that day"—Rowen Keckilpenny Brown

Nellie roared in my wake as I cradled her treasure in the crook of my arm like a football, extended my other arm straight up Superman-style, and pierced the shield, which cracked like a ... well ... egg. I rocketed into the night sky, so high above Brittlebane's spires and turrets that it looked like Princess Barbie's castle, although less pink. The moon gleamed so close I could almost touch it. I shivered, my teeth chattering. I wanted to go higher, to escape Nellie's haunting, plaintive roars, but the air was already too thin and cold.

I hung there in the sky and created a new mantra:

I had no choice. I had no choice.

But a tiny, super annoying voice in my head countered: You had a choice. You had a choice.

Inner voices are the worst!

"I should give Nellie back her egg," I thought to Vermeil.

"Then you will have failed," he replied.

"That's one interpretation."

"It's the only one that matters."

But I had to figure out my next move before I could let what remained of my conscience get the better of me. I had to return to Tyra's Tunnel of Doom, as it shall henceforth be known! (STOP IT O' MEDIEVAL VERBIAGE!) I didn't enjoy being underground. Underground was for moles and bacteria and corpses. Not for human witch-type people. But that was where I'd get my next trial assignment, and I could check on Blade. Poor Blade. Would he live to annoy me once again? Maybe he was healing! Perhaps I hadn't permanently damaged him. However, it seemed I excelled at hurting people. Part of the Evil Queen gig, I suppose.

But maybe I could make a quick stop first to return Nellie's egg. I solved the trial, right? Was there a trial rule stating you had to turn your booty to some evil fairy? Finders keepers. Possession is nine-tenths of the law and all that. Ergo, I could do what I wanted with the egg.

But just as I was about to head back to the moat, something sparkly and smelling of lilac and fairy dust burst in front of me. I screamed and nearly dropped the egg. "Tyra," I spat as she floated directly before me, blocking my path.

"I see you succeeded at your first trial," Tyra purred. I couldn't tell whether she was happy about it. She looked like she'd have enjoyed having me trapped in the moat until Nellie got peckish for a scrawny witch. She held out a flowy pink-sleeved arm. "Give me the egg."

I held it tightly, the egg warmly vibrating against my belly. I could feel its yearning to return to the moat, or maybe that was my stomach complaining about hunger. "Actually, I was about return it to Nellie." It felt super weird to be having a discussion floating in midair, but welcome to my life! We were like Superman and Lex Luthor in his war suit, bobbing in the sky and trading barbs before the battle. Except I didn't have a cape, and Tyra wasn't bald. But other than that, we looked just like them.

Tyra cackled. Hey, wasn't that a witch thing? "I don't think so. It's mine now. Hand it over." She edged closer. "Or else."

"Give her the egg, Rowen," Vermeil encouraged telepathically.

"No," I replied. "It's Nellie's."

"Rowen! Do not test me," Tyra hissed. "I've played nice so far. You don't want to see my bad side."

I gulped. Was she serious? Tyra thought she was being nice? Maybe I didn't want to meet up with her bad self.

"Then you're quitting? You would give up everything? Your parents. Blade. Yourself?"

"No, but I proved myself in the task already. Keeping someone else's child will not help me with my powers."

"Kidnapping children is a fairy thing. So, give me the egg, or else. Olivia thinks you're worth this effort, but I disagree. I've been working on other magic sources for her that would be far easier. I've told her this, but she won't give up on you."

I didn't want to die. Why did everyone in Brittlebane want to kill me, eat me, torture me, or feed me to giant spiders? I held out the egg.

Tyra snapped it away, her eyes gleaming with triumph as the wind whipped around her. "Now, for your second trial."

"Don't I get a break?"

She cocked her head, her golden hair outshining even the moon as it did that supermodel in the wind thing. "What is a break?"

"Your realm really needs a few governmental agencies, like child protective services and a department of labor. A break is a rest period during the day. You can have a snack. Some water. Coffee."

Vermeil peeked over the rim of my pocket. "Do breaks include cheese?"

"They could," I said.

"No breaks," Tyra said. "Now, the second trial is called The Whispering Vortex, and it's one of my favorites. Your job will be to locate and retrieve the Mirror of Reflection."

"Isn't that redundant?"

"What?"

"Aren't all mirrors reflective? I mean, that's kind of their purpose."

"Has anyone ever told mentioned how irritating you are?" The wind stirred. I'd annoyed her!

My chest puffed out with immense pride. "All the time," I said with a smirk.

She sighed like a long-suffering fairy. "There is more than one type of reflection," she said, all mysteriously. But before I could nail her down on her stupid verbal gymnastics ...

... you guessed it!

No notice.

No countdown.

No warning.

Just a shower of fairy dust that got into my nose and made me sneeze uncontrollably, and ...

... boom!

Rather than dangling in the moonlit sky like a capeless superhero, I was inside a mass of spinning clouds, still sneezing and, oh joy, also trying not to throw up. It was like being inside the most nauseating amusement park ride ever conceived.

I shook my fist at Tyra, who was probably back in her tunnel, beating Nellie's egg into a gigantic omelet.

I gripped my stomach, which was flipping like Sunday morning pancakes. Without even thinking, I gathered my magic and zapped out a command in Latin for the spinning to cease. The clouds slowed and then stopped. I sat on the "ground" (it wasn't the typical thing you'd call "ground," more like a thick pad of cotton balls) to recover and figure out my next steps.

I was inside a cone of clouds hundreds of feet wide and long. If it were an ice cream cone, I would have been sitting at the top looking toward the pointy bit. Sadly, I couldn't find a handy neon sign that read: "Mirror of Reflection Located Here."

Why were there never neon signs when you needed one?

The cone/vortex/whatever smelled of ozone and salt, and crackling flashes of light erupted inside at odd intervals, followed by a deep, unsettling rumble making the hairs on my neck and arms stand on end.

Hmmm. That didn't seem too inviting. How could I retrieve the Mirror without subjecting myself to all that rumbling and crackling? I couldn't keep relying on Vermeil. What if I had a problem one day, and he wasn't around? I shuddered at the thought of no Vermeil.

Still, I came up with my own idea to impress him. Like Thor summoning his hammer, I held out my hand and yelled, "accio mirror!" What? It worked for Harry Potter!

No mirror appeared in my hand. Wouldn't it be nice if, for once, a quest could be solvable in one easy step? I mean, come on, guys. You know I'm going to find the mirror. Why do we have to wade through a tempest to get there?

Because, you know! In my story, there are always tempests!

I was now officially out of ideas. "Vermeil? I am officially out of ideas. How do we locate the Mirror of Reflection inside a lightning-infested vortex of clouds?"

"Why not summon a map showing the safest route?"

"You think that exists?"

"Not unless you make it exist. What is it with witches never wanting to ask for directions?"

"Mihi chartam salutis!" I encanted.

A dotted line made of rectangles of red light appeared in front of us like a red-yellow-brick road, and at the far end was an arrow pointing into the abyss. More lightning strikes careened off the sides of the swirling mass.

What kind of idiot would walk into that cone?

I didn't bother raising my hand.

I was that idiot. Standing, I clenched my fists and teeth, straightened my back, and, putting one foot in front of the other, I walked toward doom. I mean, toward the eye of the vortex where I would successfully find the mirror and return to Brittlebane triumphant!

Or toward doom.

Whichever came first.

Vermeil crawled out of my pocket and scrambled up to my shoulder, where he perched like a rodent-shaped parrot. It tickled, and his claws dug into my skin, but I let him stay. I needed the company. This place gave me the creeps. I needed a distraction from impending doom.

"So, what does the mirror do, Vermeil? Tell vain women they're the fairest in the land?"

"No! Mirrors don't care about anyone's feelings. If they did, I wouldn't look like I do in a mirror. The Mirror of Reflection shows you your true self."

"All mirrors do that."

"This mirror shows you who you are on the inside, not outside. And some people have been so horrified by what they saw, they immediately turned to stone."

No! No! No! No!

If anyone's insides could pull a Medusa, it would be mine. No one needed to see that! "Well, I don't have to look into it. I just have to find it."

"Wise. Then can we hurry it up? Cheese is calling, and we've only traveled about three inches."

Oops! I guess I wasn't forging ahead with much enthusiasm. With a steadying breath, my hands raised in a defensive position, I continued into the Whispering Vortex.

And I soon discovered why it was called the Whispering Vortex. I knew, of course, about the vortex part—swirls of clouds narrowing toward a dark, tight center. But the whispering part was literal whispering. There were no people or monsters, just disembodied voices regurgitating my fears.

"She'll never make it," a voice hissed. I couldn't tell exactly which direction it came from.

"She's going to turn to stone," said another.

"They'll put her in the garden, and pigeons will roost on her head.

"At least she'd be good for something!"

"And someone would finally love her."

Hey! That was just mean.

"Vermeil, did you hear that?" I asked.

"I did. The vortex is preying on my insecurities, saying I will never amount to anything. That mother liked my four hundred brothers and sisters more than me."

"No, they're whispering about me," I said, my steps slowing, my body feeling heavy, like I was bearing the weight of a hundred moons. All I wanted to do was lay down and cry.

Vermeil let out a squeak, then scurried back into the pocket. "Should we just stop here and cry for a while? Or forever?"

The vortex hurt my familiar's feelings! It was one thing for them to do it to me, but no one got to mock my familiar but me!

"No, we're not giving up. That's what the Vortex wants," I said.

"How do you know what a vortex wants? Have you done this before?"

"No, but I've dealt with bullies my whole life, and I'm done letting them hurt me and the people ... er ... rats ... I care about." I continued ahead—each step a misery, like walking through thick lime jello.

"Does the rat live in your hair? What a rat's nest!"

"Hey, Vortex whisperers," I said. "You're wasting your breath. I don't care what you have to say. Oh, wait, you can't waste your breath since you don't even breathe. Must suck not to have a body!"

I took another step, then another, and each time it got easier. The voices gradually subsided until they were nothing. "I did it! I conquered the bullies! Bullies love to dole it out but can't take it." I did a little dance.

"You did, Rowen. You told them!"

"I did. Now, let's get that mirror and get out of this place."

But my victory was short-lived. As I approached the middle of the vortex, a flash of lightning cut across my path. Thunderclaps reverberated in the wispy space, rumbling so hard the vortex shook. I could barely stay upright. Another crack of lightning sliced over my head, singing my hair and filling the air with the scent of burnt hair. I shook my fist at the Vortex. "Hey! That was too close!"

Yeah, the next strike seared my shoulder. Ouch! I hissed in pain.

I decided I really didn't care for lightning.

But how did you stop it?

They say fight fire with fire; ergo, I could fight lightning with lightning! Ergo? Who even talks that way?

I summoned my powers, tiny lightning bolts zipping off my fingertips. The Vortex sent a strike straight at my head, but I zapped it before it hit. It exploded like purple fireworks! It sent another and another, but I kept at it until the lightning finally gave up. You know you're doing well when you defeat lightning!

But the Vortex wasn't done.

Next came hurricane winds, roaring to life and sending my singed, wet, filthy gown flapping around me like a drunk swan. The gusts howled with an almost malicious glee sending bits of burnt hair into my mouth. Yuk! The tips of my ears froze with the icy wind.

I could barely think straight because of the maelstrom, but I saw now how the Vortex worked. You couldn't just pass through an obstacle, you had to conquer it. How did one stop the wind? With a windbreak, of course!

I summoned my powers and yelled, "praevacator ventus!"

A translucent wall appeared before me. The whine of the wind died, and my dress and hair settled against my body. On the other side of the barrier, the wind persisted, pounding like a crazed animal, but it couldn't get to me. I took a tentative step forward, and the wall moved as I did, keeping the wind at bay.

"Good job, Rowen! The old windbreak spell."

"That's a common spell?"

"Sure! Wind is everywhere."

"I guess. Well, hopefully, that's the end of—"

Silly me! That was the beginning of ...

The rain!!!

It cascaded from above, pelting my skin like icy needles. The water soaked through my clothes, plastering my hair against my neck and forehead. Well, at least rain was easy. I conjured an umbrella. The rain ceased.

Next, a thousand strange cloud creatures emerged from the swirling vortex. Ethereal beings with shifting forms, like jellyfish that threatened to envelop me in their elusive tendrils. They danced around me, teasing and taunting, their amorphous shapes disorienting my senses. I couldn't concentrate hard enough to bring forth my magic. But then I felt Vermeil's calming powers link up with my wild magic, and we wove a protective web of energy together. It shimmered in the air, entangling the cloud creatures like jellyfish in a net, disrupting their attack.

Score Rowen!

Finally, the Vortex quit its antics, and we reached the tip of the cone, a tight space filled with creepy lifelike stone statues. Gulp!

Wedged in the center was a rectangular mirror the size of a computer monitor with a gilded frame, its surface rippling with untold secrets. Secrets I didn't want to know. I closed my eyes and reached for it, my heart pounding, sweat breaking out on my forehead.

Do not look. Do not look!

"Rowen, remember not to look," Vermeil said. He stayed inside my pocket and rolled into a ball.

"I know!"

The problem was that the mirror would not go along with my "don't look into the mirror idea" that easily. It called to me, begging for me to take one little peek. Didn't I want to know what lurked beneath the surface?

No, I already knew what was there! Plus, there was the risk of turning to stone. I wasn't sure, but a future as a pigeon perch didn't sound like fun. Or hygienic!

My hand trembled as my fingertips grazed the slick surface; the urge to look at the mirror was overwhelming. My eyes fluttered open on their own.

"Rowen!" Vermeil cried. "Don't!"

He leaped out of the pocket and jumped at the mirror. He seemed to hang in midair for a moment and cried out, "Rowen, beware of the—" before he fell to the floor. I looked down, and there was my familiar. Turned to stone.

"No!!!!!" I cried. "Vermeil!"

My brain could not compute! This was impossible! Vermeil was beautiful! Inside and ... well ... inside!

OK, so much for a shorter chapter! Maybe the next one?

What do you think happened with Vermeil? Why did he turn to stone? Is he evil? And what was he trying to warn Rowen about?

Hope you enjoyed the read! Votes, comments, follows, and cartwheels of joy appreciated!