Chapter 1: Last of the Andrics
Philip Andric had been wandering the halls of the Andric family mansion for two and a half hours and had yet to find anything to sooth his anxious mind. In less than thirty minutes he would be departing his home for the castle of the Guardians to have his knuckles wrapped over something ridiculous—again. He could just hear Mimi's voice in his mind. "It's your own fault, Phil!" she would say in a thick British accent. "If you actually followed the rules instead of doing 'forging your own path' and making mistakes, you wouldn't be in this mess every other day!"
Alright, maybe Philip had purposely taken Cinderella's shoe and put it in his pocket. And maybe he'd slipped another table setting down for Briar Rose's christening. But those had been harmless pranks, easily fixed by the Guardians. Thankfully, he'd proven himself truly capable of taking care of emergencies and perfect for stopping different Story changes. They wouldn't write him in unless he gave them a big reason.
As a Guardian of The Story—a whole other world filled with fairy tales, myths, and legends—it was Philip's job to make sure it stayed on track. To ensure that Rapunzel got her prince, Achilles was shot in the heel, and the Little Mermaid became sea-foam. The Story would live out the Stories inside, and once they had concluded, it would "restart" and the Stories inside would be relieved again, over and over. King Arthur's Story would begin from his pulling the sword from the stone and end when Mordred stabbed him and his trusted knight Bedivere hurled Excalibur into the lake. The Snow Queen's Story started with the children Kay and Gerta playing with each other and would end with Gerta's tears melting Kay's frozen heart. As a Guardian, Philip had to make sure that the Stories, whether their endings were for good or for ill, ended properly and started as they were meant to be.
Such a strict and stringent life didn't sit well with the naturally-rebellious Philip, and he broke the rules every now and again—also known as every other week. Could they blame him? He lived alone on an island bordering America and only saw people once a month, when the Guardians were summoned to the castle for a meeting. Going into The Story was one of his only joys in life. Granted, it would probably have been accepted if he wasn't constantly causing trouble in there, but where would be the fun of simply looking around while he was there?
Huffing in irritation, eighteen-year-old Philip flopped down in a chair in the well-stocked library. Outside, rain slapped the windows and thunder rumbled. The only light came from the flickering fireplace in the midst of the books. The magically-endowed electricity wasn't very reliable in the almost-constant storms pounding Philip's island, leaving him without power almost every day. "What good is magic?" he muttered, not for the first time. Standing up, he brushed his hand through his messy raven hair before running upstairs.
Lining the upstairs hallway of the manor were pictures—almost a hundred of them. His parents had been picture fiends; for every milestone in Philip's life, they had constantly snapped a photo of it. Philip's first tooth, Philip losing his first tooth, when he was inducted as a Guardian ... for people who relied heavily on the magic the Guardians granted them, Philip's parents had been big fans of technology.
Philip's long, skinny finger gently touched one of the pictures. He knew very little of his parents' deaths. It had been a sudden letter from the Guardians, brought by magic; they hadn't even had the decency to bring it to him in person, ease him into the news. He knew the contents of the letter by heart. "A tragic accident in the line of duty," he whispered. Three pairs of clear-blue eyes looked out from the picture at him—the standard Andric trait. "Killed for the sake of The Story's continuation."
Four years had passed since their deaths, yet he was unable to move past it. It didn't get any easier being by himself in a house filled with reminders of a happier time. He came to a sudden decision then—one he came up with every day of his life. "I won't leave my children orphaned," he said. "Never. I'll be with them for as long as I can be. Just you wait and see. I won't make the same mistakes you did."
A sound from one of the numerous rooms lining the third-floor hallway caught Philip's attention. Moving carefully, he laid his hand on the knob of The Story Book's room and flung it open, jumping inside. Although he'd been intent on clobbering the intruder, he stopped just shy of it and straightened. "Mimi!" he said. "Where did you spring from?"
"I didn't spring from anywhere," the girl answered with a frown. She was a head shorter than the tall Philip, but what she lacked in height she more than made up for in spunk. She tossed her black curly hair over her shoulder and blinked her light blue eyes. Philip was constantly teasing her by saying she would fit right in with the Andric eyes—though he wasn't entirely joking. He had a ... minor crush on the seventeen-year-old, thin Guardian. "I came from The Story. If you don't hurry up and get yourself ready, you'll be late for the Guardians' appointment with you!"
"Appointment," Philip snorted. "More like a scolding. Honestly, Mimi, when are they going to figure out it's not going to work on me?"
"When they write you into The Story," Miriam Winthrop retorted. "And how many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me that ridiculous nickname!"
When Guardians broke the rules of their oath, they would be written into The Story—usually as a character from it. The bigger the "change" to The Story, the worse role a Guardian would receive. However, Philip had little fear of that. The Guardians knew how important he was to their group. "They'll never do that, Mimi," he answered. "They're too fond of me. The worst they do is hit my knuckles with a ruler and make me promise never to do it again."
"All actions have consequences," she warned him. "Whether they seem to directly affect you or not, they do. And you know the Guardians have punished troublemakers for far less than you've done!"
"Stop being such a stickler for the rules," Philip answered with a careless wave of his hand.
Mimi glared at him. "I'll stop being such a ... stickler when you start following them," she snapped.
Philip shrugged innocently and went to his room down the hall. Mimi followed him, fretting the whole time about how he needed to listen to what she was talking about. Honestly, he toned her out. It was the same thing with her every time. She needed to learn to live a little.
He grabbed his leather coat off his bed and swung it over his shoulders. Since it had been made for him by a leathermaker in Nottingham, it fit in with The Story, and he loved it. It swept down below his knees and flapped backwards dramatically when he ran; also, it had been given to him when he'd stopped the Merry Men from robbing the leathermaker after he'd paid his taxes to The Sheriff. "Good memories, this coat has," Philip said appreciatively, running his hand along the arm of his coat.
Mimi stopped mid-lecture and stared at him. "What?" she asked.
"Nothing," Philip answered. He held out his arm for Mimi to loop hers through. "Shall we?"
The young woman sighed. "Philip Andric, I swear, one of these days, you'll be the death of me," she complained, but she slipped her arm through his.
Seeing Mimi's compliance as an acceptance, Philip grinned in a cheeky manner. "I hope not. You'd deprive the world of your—"
"Philip!" Mimi interrupted, blushing a deep crimson like she always did when he complimented her.
"What?" he said innocently. "I was just going to say 'of your lectures'."
She slapped his arm. "You're an idiot," she complained.
"Then you won't miss me when the Guardians write me into The Story," Philip answered. Mimi sent him her best evil glare. "Sorry. I couldn't resist. Say, have you been in The Story recently? That's not your usual get-up."
Mimi looked down at her red silk dress with some misgivings. "Sleeping Beauty's," she said. "Some idiot added an extra table setting to her christening. The evil fairy would have thought it was for her if I hadn't gone."
Apparently, that particular trick of Philip's hadn't been as long ago as he'd thought. He'd done so many pranks, he was beginning to lose track of them. "I don't know what kind of a fool would do that," he commented lightly. "Seems like a ridiculous thing to do. The Guardian who did it should be written into The Story!"
"I know it was you, Philip."
That ruined Philip's fun. "Really? How did you find out?"
"It wasn't hard," she retorted. "Most of the time, it's you. In fact, I've come to assume that if something goes wrong with The Story, it's your fault, whether intentionally or unintentionally. I didn't want to bring this up, but you've forced my hand. Philip, if you don't stop doing this, you could permanently damage The Story! And I know, even mischievous as you are, that's something you'd never want."
"Come on," Philip said. "You don't honestly think my harmless jokes could hurt The Story too badly. Nothing ol' Dmitri can't fix."
Mimi glared at him but said nothing more as he guided her from his room, down the dim hallway to The Story's room. Once they were there, Philip gave her a little grin—not quite his usual, since her words were starting to sink in. "Ready, Mimi?"
"Oh, I suppose," was her noncommittal answer, and together, they laid their hands on the pages of The Story Book.
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