Flipped

By Kate Wrath

The big city is no match for a blue-eyed farm girl with impressive Zung Pow skills and a flair for unconventional magic. At least, that's what Honaia tells herself when she's unexpectedly assigned to a handsome city mage for apprenticeship. The problem is, she never really expected double agents to be involved. Or dragons. Or crazy rips in the Space-Time continuum, for that matter. But when it comes down to it, none of those things expected her either.

Flipped is the first book in the Fairytale Evolution series.

Contains: Language, violence, faeries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Wrath
• Release date: Nov 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370816897

Kate Wrath

Kate Wrath is the author of the E series and the Fairytale Evolution series. She resides in the high mountain deserts of the southwestern US. Kate believes in literature as an art form, world peace, and animal rights, but aspires to write total trash that is full of senseless violence, with characters who eat house pets. The E Series (listed by intended reading order): E (Book One) Evolution (Book Two) Eden (Book Three)* Jason and Lily (The Prequel)* Elegy (Book Four) Endgame (Book Five) * Eden and Jason and Lily are companion books that are meant to be read closely together. Fairytale Evolution: Flipped (Book One) The Dark Road (Book Two) Bootcamp (Book Three, coming soon)

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title page

Text copyright© 2016 Kate Wrath/Patricia A. Doherty

All Rights Reserved

Cover art copyright© Patricia A. Doherty

All Rights Reserved

For Pol. Always.

Opportunity

inkline

HONAIA STOOD BACK and surveyed the carnage, bouquet in hand. A bloody axe rested its head deep in a stump. Feathers, once white, now red, floated on the afternoon breeze. Lifeless bodies of poultry, necks twisted haphazardly, legs missing entirely, flopped in the dirt at her feet. She glanced in distaste from the corpses to the bouquet of orange, taloned bird feet clenched in her gloved fist. It would have to do. She shook off the sudden feeling of nausea and marched around the corner of her house, unaware that change, even now, was barreling toward her.

Did you bring my bouquet? Sashi, her older sister, hollered out the kitchen door of the weathered-but-tidy little cottage as she saw Honaia coming.

Yes, I got it, Honaia answered impatiently, tromping through the door in jeans, tee shirt, work boots, and heavy gloves. She stopped at the empty vase on the table and stuffed the chicken feet in, leg side down. A trickle of blood crawled down the inside of the vase. Disgusting, she thought, but it was only a matter of personal preference, something along the lines of, I can't believe you like peas. She stood back and regarded the grotesque arrangement as though she might improve on it somehow. Then she sighed and went to the sink.

What a good dolly you are! Sashi proclaimed, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek as Honaia tried to scrub her hands. You can have a picnic with Mr. Bear later.

Honaia smiled and wiped the kiss away with her shoulder. Again with the fucking bear, she thought.

One of the smallest members of Sashi's litter toddled in through the door, giggling. Bug, he proclaimed proudly, holding up his prize.

Sashi grabbed the dishcloth from Honaia. She bent down in front of the child and examined his cupped hand. Mmhm, she said. It's a big one. She carefully polished the dungbeetle's shell. All set, she proclaimed after a thorough inspection. Keep it in your pocket for Mommy's collection. Little did the bug know, it would be in an itty bitty dress with matching heels—six of them—before night fell.

The boy stuck the unsuspecting bug obediently into the front pocket of his overalls and grinned up at his mother. Sashi swept him off his feet and carried him, tucked under one arm and dangling upside down, out of the house.

Off to join the others, Honaia thought, a little relieved. The chatter of female voices from the front yard told her that Tredi, Looree, Fransi, and Malka were walking the property again, mapping out the lawnplow racetrack of their dreams. It never occurred to her that lawnplow racing was an odd hobby for a bunch of decidedly feminine, unusually beautiful women. What she couldn't understand was the appeal. Then again, there wasn't much else to do in Greenwood Glen. If only they would map out courses at their own houses instead of hers, she thought she could overlook the entire thing.

And in other news, the radio on the counter suddenly sprang to life after a long stint of faded static and sputtering, a South Grange griffon will be brought to trial for the murder of a man during a game of bloggerball. Apparently the man was running down the field when… Dysfunctional static seizures made it impossible to understand the rest.

That radio was the sweetest gift ever, Jemma, another sister, said as she flounced through the door, lacy skirt swaying.

Honaia had a lot of sisters, and truth be told, it was difficult to keep track of them all. For the most part, she survived by thinking of them as a pack. A single entity of overbearing warmth and quirkiness. Jemma, however, could always be singled out by her excessive positivity.

Deeter was so thoughtful to give it to you, Jemma went on. And he's so handsome. I think he's the handsomest man I've ever met. And Deeter's hog was the handsomest hog she'd ever met.

Honaia punched the off button apathetically and set her jaw. Breaking up was indeed hard to do. Harder when your sisters desperately wanted you to get married. And harder still when your fiancé thought you could do no wrong. But she had made her choice about Deeter, and she was sticking to it. She looked around for something else to do.

Oh, you forgot the table cloth, Jemma lulled. A lovely day, a lovely lunch with your sisters… let's get it all right, silly. She left the kitchen and headed for the linen closet. Too bad Gren isn't here, her voice floated back to the kitchen. It's been so long since we've gotten together for lunch like this.

Honaia counted the days on her fingers. She couldn't count very far, but she made it anyway.

A wild squeal of children shrieked past the door and shot toward the tire-swing laden tree on the hill. Honaia laughed at the thought of all those sticky, chocolate-covered fingers as she watched Jemma spread the delicate white lace cloth over the table. The fact that it was still perfectly white after all those years was a miracle Honaia could only attribute to the stacks of archaic Housekeeping for Ladies that her sisters referred to religiously. Their whole world might have been taken from a page of the magazine, for that matter. Well, except for the lawnplow racing. That was a different magazine. And then there were a few oddities that couldn't possibly be explained by anything in print….

Beautiful, Jemma whispered as she set the vase back in the center of the table. A gentle breeze from the doorway swayed the flowing fabric like a bride's veil. The chicken toes rustled eerily.

A timer sounded and Honaia grabbed some potholders. I think we're about ready, she said, taking the bread out of the oven. A warm, yeasty aroma circulated through the kitchen.

Can you just bring in a few apples? Jemma requested, batting her long, thick eyelashes. They were all eyelash-batters, Honaia's sisters.

Honaia snatched a basket from the wall next to the door on her way out. She swung it as she walked to the apple tree at the base of the hill, enjoying the sunshine and the wild, open smell of the grass. Her other sisters were strolling together not far off, arm in arm, a canopy of lace parasols overhead. They would only ever sacrifice their porcelain skin to the god of lawnplows. We'll be ready to eat soon, she called to them. They whispered to each other and walked back toward her.

Honaia focused on the apples, pushing away this strange feeling that was creeping up on her. Just impatience, she thought. Just restlessness. She could get through yet another lacy, ruffly lunch. The key was to just take it one lunch at a time. As she picked apples, the swarm of children headed down the hill toward the house. Still perched in the tire swing on the hill, one of the little ones—Honaia could not distinguish which one—yelled indignantly as the others abandoned her. Honaia stretched out her mind and amplified the insufficient motion of the swing into a proper push. The child made a high-pitched noise of surprise and delight and looked her way with a huge grin.

Really, said Malka, giving Honaia a look, you don't want people to think you're weird, dear.

Honaia looked away, wondering just who there was to think she was weird. She could not help but smile as the tinkling laughter of the swinging child carried down the hill to her.

Tredi—still another sister—came over and put an arm around her, looking at her with grave concern. You're not going to wear that to lunch, are you?

Glancing down at her work clothes, Honaia bit back her annoyance. It wasn't like any of them were hacking chickens apart to make bouquets.

They blinked at her from behind long eyelashes, looking perfect in their whirls of lace, their long gloves, their exquisitely done hair.

I'll go change, Honaia said, and hoisted the basket of apples. She wondered how many layers of ruffles it would take to make her sisters happy today.

Put some perfume on too, Tredi insisted, petting her hair as though she were a hopeless case. And fix these braids. Remember, nice and tight.

Wouldn't want those crazy curls of yours getting lose, Malka chided. Her own shiny black curls were an entirely different story, of course. She was old enough to wear her hair like that. Honaia wouldn't be until she got married. And that—much to all of Honaia's sisters' consternation—was looking like it would be a while.

A rising tide of children suddenly surrounded them. Honaia stumbled to remain standing as little arms grabbed at her legs. Somebody's coming down the road, one of the children announced in squeaky excitement. Honaia's heart started beating faster, though she couldn't say why.

There was only one road in Greenwood Glen; a long, narrow strip of dirt that seemed to be visiting from somewhere far away. It grew bored about a mile past the cottage and petered out. Greenwood Glen, in fact, was not even an authentic town, but a name that had been given to a scattered collection of neighboring farms so that the residents would have something to write on their return address labels. There were no schools or stores. There was no town hall. There was certainly no reason to have visitors.

The sisters were on their feet now, on their toes, trying to see as far down the road as they could. A stirring of brown dust raced along the horizon toward them. Soon they could make out two riders and an empty steed in tow. Before long the riders slowed to a halt at the edge of the cottage yard. One was a hulking troll, green-skinned, pointy-toothed, nearly as large as the beast he rode in on. The other, an attractive young man with an intense gaze and flowing crimson robes, brought his steed round to a halt. The animal danced and tossed its head back, the sunshine reflecting warmly off dual opalescent horns spiraling from its forehead. Dropping from the saddle with an easy grace, the young man strode toward them.

Duocorns, Tredi murmured, gawking at the two-horned equines as the troll fumbled to secure them to a fence post. Nobody drives duocorns around here. Greenwood Glen was in fact so removed from modern society that none of the local livestock was genetically altered. The sisters had driven common unicorns to their gathering, and the surviving chickens that clucked around back bore feathers that would require plucking before they could become a meal.

I think that one is Mrs. Lawden, Looree, yet another (slightly crazy) sister, whispered conspiratorially, regarding one of the duocorns with suspicion.

Mrs. Lawden's dead, Honaia said, crossing her arms. Mrs. Lawden had, in fact, been dead for so long that Honaia could not remember her.

I know, said Looree, eyeballing the steed. And I think that's her.

The sisters regarded the duocorns speculatively.

Ladies, the young man interrupted with a greeting. He gave a small, straight-shouldered bow that reminded Honaia of Zung Pow Masters, her favorite Megadeck game. I'm Mage Onus, and this is my associate, Deez. He gestured over his shoulder as the troll ambled toward them.

Honaia eyed the both of them. Onus didn't look like a mage; at least not the ones she'd seen on holovision. She would have cast him as a heartthrob hero in an action movie, had she been doing the directing. He was lean and tall, with hair of a medium brown and dark eyes that were at once hard to meet and hard to look away from. It only took that one moment of seeing him to form the impression that he was ready for anything and that it had damned well better be ready for him, too. But then, there was something softer. Youthful…. As for the troll, he was big even by trollish standards, but every bit of it seemed to be muscle. His jagged-toothed grin, as he wiggled his greenish eyebrows at her, was both frightening and charming. He stopped at the mage's side with his feet shoulder-width apart and arms folded across his chest. Something caught the sun and flashed on his chest—a heavy, gold, grinning skull on a thick chain. His black track suit bore gold embroidery that proclaimed the high-end brand in a less-than-surreptitious way. Well-to-do thug? Drug lord on holiday? Honaia didn't think she wanted to piss him off.

We're here to speak with Miss Honaia, Mage Onus said without any further delay.

A ripple of muttering passed through the sisters. Honaia was as surprised as they were. Of the lot of them, she was surely the least likely to have visitors. An alarm went off somewhere in the back of her consciousness. She forced herself to be still, to wait. What could they possibly want with her?

What do you want with Honaia? Tredi suddenly demanded, echoing Honaia's thoughts, but not the mage's smooth tones. She threw a protective arm around her little sister's shoulders. The mage's eyes fixed on Honaia, registered something—surprise?

She clamped her jaw shut, once again biting back annoyance. Somehow she had thought she could remain anonymous, if only for a moment longer. Perhaps because, when she was in her sisters' company, she always felt just that—anonymous.

Mage Onus, having looked her up and down, focused on her face. It's crucial that we speak with you. Is there somewhere more—?

We're all family here, Malka asserted defensively. Honaia was sure she'd gotten the line from one of her daytime holovision dramas. Whatever you have to say can be said to all of us.

The mage and troll exchanged uneasy glances. Mage Onus hesitated, but the group of them stood there united in their unwavering indignity. He sighed, then began calmly, All right then. But he stopped looking at the sisters, which was no more complicated than to look straight at Honaia. Only somehow, the way he did it dismissed them from the conversation.

Honaia felt the weight of his gaze, looked away at the meadow running into the distance. Her mind was racing.

You see, Honaia… His voice tested the sound of her name without the prefix this time, relaxed into the rest of his words when her eyes flickered to him and met his gaze. Normally school-aged children are subjected to genetic profiling through the local education system, and if they're found to have the marker that would indicate possible giftedness in the magical arts, they're assigned to a licensed mage to undergo proper evaluation and training, if necessary. He paused a moment, fingers pressed thoughtfully together in front of him. However in rural communities like this one, where the task of education falls to the individual household, things can slip through the cracks.

Honaia frowned. She was thinking of school-aged children. These are my sisters' kids, she fumbled. If you want to test them you'll have to take it up with them.

Mage Onus' mouth curled in a half-amused smile. It was a good look for him. I've come because there has already been a test done… on you.

On me? Honaia puzzled, somehow managing to digest the words despite her lack of focus. Something jolted inside her, zeroing her in on the conversation. How could that be? Again the alarms were going off. She could feel her heart starting to race, and it had nothing to do with how very nice the mage was to look at. Then such an odd sensation came over her that she was certain it was some distorted way of thinking she must have picked up from her sisters. She felt herself standing on the head of a pin, and the whole world around her pivoted and clicked into its new place. And that was that. Changed.

It's actually kind of strange how it happened, the mage admitted, oblivious to the fact that her entire world had just shifted. Apparently you participated in a blood drive. Of course they run all the samples through a series of tests, and one of them picks up on some aspect of the Predisposition. Normally those are ignored because they assume to have already identified most mage-type individuals through the school screening. But your numbers were running fairly high, so they sent the sample on to a lab for secondary analysis and cross-reference with the databanks of registered mage-types. The Council has very strict rules regarding magic, you know. So when you didn't appear in the registry, they immediately assigned you to me for apprenticeship.

Honaia looked at him speechlessly. As she began to recover from the vertigo of her spinning world, his words started to sink in. She must have gone pale or something, because he reached out to steady her.

Malka moved between them. The blood drive was over a year ago, she pointed out in exasperation, and she was right. The one and only blood drive ever to have come to Greenwood Glen had been a tiny tent set up at the same lawnplow tourney that had been Sashi and Looree's first win.

Mage Onus glanced at Malka. Yes, well, no one has claimed that the system moves with efficiency.

Boggin' idiots if you ask me, Malka said, flashing eyes like daggers.

The others mumbled their general agreement.

I understand it may come as a shock, Mage Onus soothed, stepping sideways to be able to see Honaia again, but it's a simple matter of law at this point. Honaia will be required to return with us to Reliance to begin training right away.

The city! Tredi cried. Are you insane?!

Malka gave her a sour look and she plopped herself down on one of the benches to continue her sulking quietly.

Jemma, who had been standing in the back until now, pushed her way forward, radiating positivity. I think it's wonderful, she lulled, hooking her arm casually into Mage Onus'. Please, Mr. Onus, won't you come inside and talk with us about it.

Onus allowed himself to be led to the house in what could only be the spirit of civilized conversation. Jemma sat him down at the kitchen table in front of the vase of chicken feet and the others took chairs around the table. Because of the company, Honaia ended up standing, which was fine with her as it was a much more convenient position to pace in.

Just how long is this training going to take? Malka asked, sounding more like she was conducting an interrogation than having a casual conversation.

That's a matter yet to be determined, Onus answered, pulling his gaze away from the bloody display of poultry before him. The extent of training that will satisfy the Council is largely dependent on her aptitude for the subject. Often times a year will suffice.

And if she doesn't go? inquired Malka.

Doesn't go? the troll said quietly, breaking his previous silence. Oh hell no. Despite the softness of his tone, the room went quiet.

Onus cast him a sideways look but remained completely composed.

Look, Deez said, suddenly leaning forward and slamming his fist on the table, this isn't up for discussion.

"Well I certainly want to discuss it," Malka retorted, standing up and leaning across the table toward the troll.

You wanna discuss the fact that it's required by f'kin law? Deez asked, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in his chair to gaze at her coolly. Don't make the mistake of thinking we like this any better than you do. We got a business to run, and playing babysitter to any kid who can wave a wand ain't exactly convenient for us either. But we suck it up, just like every other licensed magic op, 'cause that's what the boggin' regulations require.

Honaia eyed the troll and his fist, and decided that he could have crumpled the whole table if he had not been so restrained. And yet her sister, a tiny wisp of a thing in comparison, but all fire, was glaring menacingly at him from across the table. She wondered which one of them would win if they had it out.

I understand this is sudden news, Mage Onus interjected in a calm voice, but you have to see it as an opportunity for Honaia. He glanced around to find her, realizing she was not at the table and somehow he had ended up speaking to her sisters rather than dealing with her directly.

It's a wonderful opportunity, Jemma agreed. I think it may be the most wonderful opportunity ever.

Onus turned sideways in his chair to address Honaia directly. With a little training many people will go on to pursue careers in the magical arts. The demand for power suppliers alone is tremendous. Enough to keep you in a well-paying job as long as you like, and the skills required are minimal. Almost anyone with a genetic predisposition can achieve that level within a year of apprenticeship.

Honaia stopped pacing to eyeball him. I've never been to the city, she said. Such a reasonable thing to say. She heard herself saying it from a distance, felt herself, in a removed way, examining the idea of actually going there. But she really thought, you turned everything upside down in one second. It seemed far less reasonable of a thing to say.

Mage Onus rose from his chair and closed the distance between them. She liked the way he moved, fluid and feline, bringing her far-away thoughts back to the present moment. It wasn't just the impressive swish of the crimson robes. In the back of her mind she was wondering if he ever played Megadeck.

It's not so bad, he assured her, looking down at her with a slight smile that was oddly convincing. You'll have everything you need. My team will show you the ropes.

Honaia smiled back at him, a sweet, childlike smile that, along with her dazzling blue eyes, had long been known to make the boys of Greenwood Glen go weak in the knees. What exactly is it that I would be doing?

Onus seemed paralyzed for an instant, looking deep into her eyes. Then emotion flickered across his face, ended in a blank expression. He drew away. You'll mostly be learning from me. It's a bit like school.

Honaia had no frame of reference for school except holovision. Her slight frown spurned him to go on.

Of course, all my past apprentices have been children, he said. The advantage of having slipped through the system for so long is that you'll be able to gain some field experience as well. I'll have you tag along on some of my team's assignments. You're lucky to have been placed with us actually. We have a broad client base, and we don't really specialize, so you'll get a taste of everything—research, security, construction, entertainment—by the time you've met the requirements you'll have a nice portfolio, and a good idea of what field you might like to pursue.

Honaia pulled her gaze away and looked at her sisters expectantly. They had always made the decisions for her. And though she was strangely certain that this particular decision had already been made for all of them, she knew that they still had to go through the motions.

Well, said Tredi, clapping her hands. "Won't you please excuse us while we confer." She ushered the sisters hastily into the living room.

The six of them stood in a huddle in the middle of the room. Honaia tried to sidle up to the edge to listen. The others did not make room for her.

"She's my dolly, Sashi was complaining, sounding like a little girl. I don't want to let him play with her."

She's broken anyway, Malka said, rolling her eyes. You said so yourself. And you have other 'dolls' now.

But I had her as long as I can remember, Sashi mumbled in protest, looking very sad.

Jemma patted her on the back. It's OK Sash. You have very nice dolls now. I think they're the nicest dolls ever.

Sashi nodded reluctantly.

"Well, we don't have to give her to him anyway," Malka lulled conspiratorially, examining her finger nails.

Do too, said Fransi.

The duocorn, Looree chimed in as if it were very important. I'm pretty sure it's Mrs. Lawden.

Lawden. The Law! They said it's the law, Tredi asserted. That means we have to let her go.

Honaia thought that was a good point and opened her mouth to say so, but they were already moving on.

No one will ever know the difference, Malka said darkly, if we feed them to the chickens. She raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly, looking at each of her sisters in turn.

There was a slight pause.

I don't think the chickens are that hungry, Tredi speculated.

Boggin' chickens again, thought Honaia.

They're surprisingly voracious, Malka informed them.

Yeah, Tredi agreed, but Honey just killed a bunch for the bouquet. There's not that many left, after Fransi's birthday party last week.

Maybe we can borrow some more, Malka plotted. Have them over for a party or someth—

My gods! Honaia shrieked, having had enough. She had heard the chicken conversation in its unusual variants a few too many times. She managed to hush her voice to an intense whisper before continuing. "You are not feeding them to the fucking chickens!"

They looked at her as if she were crazy.

Honey, Tredi scolded, where did you learn to talk like that?

Holovision, Honaia answered with a curt nod. She could have said Deeter, but she didn't want to get into the specifics of when and where. Deeter was a gentleman of a farm boy. He wouldn't curse when he was angry. He would yelp something like Darnit! or Fudge! if he smashed his finger with a hammer. Speculation after that could get embarrassing.

Her sisters glared at her, then engaged in a group hmph.

Honey is right, Jemma finally said. We can't feed him to the chickens. He's far too attractive. Why, I think he's the most attractive man I've ever seen. Him and Deeter. And Deeter's hog. Jemma thought about it a second then said, Maybe the troll.

That would still take a lot of chickens, Tredi puzzled, truly bothered by the mathematics of the chicken-feeding problem.

Honaia groaned and wondered if they would feed her to the chickens too. Please.

Thankfully, some gracious god—maybe it was the god of lawnplows—Honaia didn't know—had mercy on her and got them off the subject of chickens.

He is pretty impressive, Malka mused, twirling a lock of jet black hair. Of all the sisters she was the only one with dark hair, as if Nature had just known. … in that 'watch out or I'll zap you with a lightning bolt' kind of way.

Honaia considered briefly and came to the conclusion that it was not a quality she found herself looking for in a man. It explained a few things about Malka's husband though.

Maybe he won't scare so easily then, Tredi said, throwing a meaningful look at Honaia and raising her eyebrows.

Honaia remained indignantly quiet. She was certain that her sisters had no idea just how much work she had put into scaring Deeter—and the ones before him—off. Good thing for her they didn't.

True, Malka conceded. Very true.

I think he's very brave. And very handsome, Jemma said breathlessly. And this is a wonderful opportunity.

A wonderful opportunity, thought Honaia as they herded her into her room and tossed her an old cloth sack in which to pack her things, for lack of proper luggage. Is that what it's called when the world suddenly swallows you and spits you out again in the direction it thinks you should be going? She found herself taking deep, even breaths, focusing on the soft sound of air leaving her lungs.

One pair of overalls is enough, Tredi supervised, taking a billowing lace dress off a hanger. She folded it gingerly and placed it in the sack. You're going to the city, she said. We can't have you dressing like a heathen.

People in the city don't dress like this, Tredi, Honaia protested, unsure of why she even bothered. She held one of her dresses against her, all whirls of lace, and ruffles, and poofs, and bows.

Tredi cast her a disapproving glance. Of course they do.

Honaia shook her head doubtfully. Not people on holovision. Not even other people in Greenwood Glen.

"That's holovision, Tredi informed her. You don't think it's real, do you? Housekeeping for Ladies is a far more reliable source of information. It's non-fiction, silly."

From what Deeter had told Honaia, holovision was a fairly accurate representation of the world at large. Having