Hopagog Hill: The Cup of Fate: Hopagog Hill

By Leanne Tremblay

 

A magic cup in the wrong hands. A witch with bullying issues. A choice between stopping a fairy war or saving your friends. Just when Cameron Hailes thinks his day can't get any worse. It does…

 

For one thing, eleven-year-old Cam gets recruited by a clan of school fairies who need his protection from a witch. And then a troll tries to squash his favorite teacher's vintage Mercedes. But that's nothing compared to what happens when he learns he's the last fairy charmer, a human who can settle fairy disputes.

 

Without knowing what he's up against, Cam strikes a bargain with the witch of Hopagog Hill and finds himself, along with best friends Alex, Carson and Rani, searching for the Cup of Fate, a powerful fairy object. Time is running out and there are dark forces after the cup. Cam has the power to find the Cup of Fate before it falls into the wrong hands, but it means making a huge sacrifice. No pressure or anything...

 

Can Cam make the right choice before it's too late? Hopagog Hill: The Cup of Fate is the first in the Hopagog Hill series. If you like Fablehaven, The Story Thieves, or suspect that there's more to your school than meet the eye, this book is for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mintedleaf Publishing
• Release date: Feb 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781777534202

Book preview

1

Rattle, Rattle… Thump

What could possibly go wrong on the way to the bathroom?

I know that’s what you’re thinking. I would be too if this whole thing hadn’t happened—if Thursday had turned out to be just lame instead of the most messed-up Thursday ever.

My name is Cameron Hailes, and since I survived the weekend, I’ve learned never to assume anything. What I’m about to tell you will change the way you think about elementary school forever.

On Thursday after recess, I was running to the bathroom. My teacher, Mrs. Barns, had given me two-point-three minutes to pee and get back to class.

There and back, Mr. Hailes, she shouted. There and back.

Mrs. Barns is like that.

On the way, I had to long-jump through a mess of art supplies in the middle of the hall. Probably some kindergartner’s art project because there were paint pots, colored paper and sticky, half-painted popsicle sticks everywhere.

I was about to hit the boys’ when I heard this:

Rattle, rattle. Thump.

I skidded to a stop and looked up and down the corridor. Deserted.

It could have been Mr. Derrick showing medieval catapults to the seventh graders. Or Mrs. Rahmat teaching African drumming in the music room. Or it could have been Mrs. Eckhart, the school secretary, moving boxes of computer paper around. At East Beach Elementary, all of the above were completely reasonable hallway noises.

Thump… thump-thump.

There it was again, but it was coming from the janitor’s room. No one should’ve been in there because our janitor didn’t turn up until the end of the day. Her name was Ms. Carroll, and she didn’t like anyone, not even adults, messing with her stuff. The image of a crazed, broom-wielding custodian flashed in front of my eyes.

What if Ms. Carroll’s been in there all night with no food or water?

The door handle rattled again.

Maybe there’s a kid locked inside!

I did the pee dance. No kid deserves the wrath of Carroll. With the clock ticking on my bathroom break, I danced over to the janitor’s room, keeping one eye on the hall for Mrs. Barns (just in case). I tried the handle. It turned easily, so I pushed.

That was my first mistake.

The janitor’s room was supposed to be locked, so I was shocked when it actually opened. But that was nothing compared to what I saw inside. No Ms. Carroll, dehydrated and half-starved. No sobbing first grader. Nope. The first thing I saw was a tiny little man balancing on his head on a tower of toilet paper.

I’m not kidding.

I squeezed my eyes shut to wish away the bad granola bar I must have eaten at recess. When I opened them again, I saw three more little people chase each other up and down the shelves of cleaning supplies. A fourth one, sitting on a big floor-polisher gizmo, had half a sprinkle doughnut stuffed in his mouth. They saw me and froze.

Or, I should say, we all froze—solid.

Take it from me, if this happens to you, stay calm. As much as you want to freak out and run screaming back to class, get a grip—because the little imaginary people doing toilet paper gymnastics aren’t going anywhere.

The fat one spewed sprinkle doughnut all over the floor.

Quick-wy! Voo fome-fing! he yelled.

I stumbled back against the door jamb and cracked the back of my head. I spun around to get the heck out of there when one of them puffed onto my shoulder —in a little white cloud of smoke and everything. Forget about reinforcements, he shouted. There’s no time!

Ouch! Get off me. I swung around, trying to swat him off, but he just puffed onto my other shoulder. Watch it! I brushed faster and faster.

Cam, you are completely losing it here, I thought.

Finally, the little guy stopped puffing and reappeared on a shelf across from me. He looked cartoonish, roughly the size of my hand, and he had curly dark hair sprouting out from under a pointed blue cap. If that wasn’t weird enough, he also wore a pair of shiny green shorts and a miniature green-and-white Sonics jersey.

Huh?

All four of them watched me closely.

I cleared my throat. Okaaay. This is weird. Stay calm, stay calm… What are a bunch of gnomes doing in the janitor’s room?

The guy on the toilet paper, who happened to be wearing orange mittens, snorted. "We’re not gnomes. That’s disgusting. Merklin, he yelled at the guy in the Sonics jersey, I thought you said this one was bright. He seems a little dim-witted to me."

Hey, I’m not a dimwit!

"We’re tylwyth teg," said another. He was wearing a white puffy vest embroidered with the words Ski Team.

"Tel-whaa?" I didn’t understand a thing he said. Then again, I was pretty sure talking to cartoon characters at school was not a good sign. Get a grip, Cam.

It’s tel-with-teg, said Merklin, speaking slowly and clearly, like you do when you’re convincing your dog to drop your lucky socks because you’re late and you’ve got a basketball game after school. It means fair folk.

So, like a fairy? I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. And neither could these guys because they all slapped their heads and groaned.

Now, I’m no expert on imaginary little people, but I think I’d know a fairy when I saw one. Fairies had wings. They were covered in glitter. Fairies were a girl thing.

This had to be a prank. Yup, I was getting pranked right now. I looked around for my friend Alex making a video of this whole sorry situation for his website.

"Welsh fairy, said Merklin. From Aberdare. Actually, the correct term is boobach."

Boo-back?

Mab’s knees, never mind that, screeched the fat boobach on the floor polisher. They’re almost here! Get him to send them back. Hurry!

All right, all right, don’t pop your buttons. Merklin rolled his eyes and looked annoyed for a second. He’s right, though. There’s no time. Come on. Merklin puffed back onto my shoulder.

I yelled and started the whole swatting thing all over again.

Calm down! he shouted. This isn’t helpful.

Helpful? You’re a boo-whatever fairy-tale guy! I stopped turning in circles and took a couple of deep breaths. Please tell me I’m dreaming.

You’re dreaming, offered the boobach on the toilet paper.

No, no… I grabbed my head. What’s going on? What are you doing here?

Waiting for you, said Merklin.

Huh? Why? I closed my eyes and gave my head a shake. This was insane. Forget the bad granola bar. The head shot I took in dodgeball probably gave me a concussion. When my brother Evan got a concussion playing rugby, he went all weird for a while. Well, weirder than usual.

I needed to walk away. Yes. Cam, this is your brain speaking. Just close the door and walk away.

I backed up. Slowly. But then the floor shimmied, a slight vibration that ran up through my runners to my knees. The boobach felt it too.

They’re here! wailed the fat one, a look of terror on his sprinkle-covered face.

"What, exactly, is here?"

The trolls. They’re on the rampage.

2

Troll in the Parking Lot

Then came my next mistake. I believed these guys. Not that I really believed there were boobach in the janitor’s room. I didn’t even believe in fairy tales. But since I’d probably be spending the rest of the year with the school psychologist, I figured there wasn’t any harm in checking things out.

Boy, was I wrong.

With Merklin shouting instructions in my ear, I ran down the hall and past the office. Thankfully, Mrs. Eckhart was on the phone and didn’t see me.

Outside… There! From his perch on my shoulder, Merklin pointed through the front-door windows.

Standing in the parking lot of my school was a troll. And yes, this guy was huge—ten feet tall at least. On his head, he wore a top hat, kind of squashed like someone had sat on it. The rest of his gray, lumpy, potato-shaped body was squeezed into a purple velvet vest and a long, old-fashioned coat that hung down to his knees.

That’s a—

Troll, Merklin finished. But there’s only one. That’s good.

"Good?"

I was about to argue when I noticed the troll swaying gently, side to side, right next to Ms. Finsky’s silver 1982 Mercedes 380SL hardtop convertible. The troll staggered a bit, then started to lose its balance. My instincts took over.

"Stop!" I burst through the school doors, running toward it and waving my arms like a maniac. Ms. Finsky loved that car. I loved that car. She’d just had the transmission seals and torque converter replaced. With only 75,000 miles on it, that car was a classic. The troll stopped swaying and blinked like it was surprised to find me there. That made two of us.

Air escaped my chest in a rush. One more step and the troll would have caved in the whole front side panel. I steadied myself and took a good look. To be honest, the guy—I decided it was definitely guy-ish—didn’t look on the rampage at all. He seemed sort of sleepy. His eyes rolled around like they were trying to get a lock on something, and his mouth hung open, kind of like my brother when he sleeps. Then he reached up and scratched his nose. Another one of my brother’s stellar moves.

I don’t think he knows what’s going on, I whispered to Merklin, who was hiding in the hood of my sweatshirt. He looks half-asleep.

Course he is, he whispered back. He’s been in bed. You have to send him back to hill.

Where? I asked.

Hopagog Hill. If you don’t, he’ll rampage all over the school grounds.

You’re kidding, right?

Merklin shook his head.

You tell him, then. I was starting to really not like the sound of this.

No. It has to be you. Merklin nudged me in the ear.

"Why does it have to be me?" I was having an argument with an imaginary Welsh boobach about imaginary trolls, and if anyone saw me out here talking to myself, I’d never make it to high school. I was about to tell him where he could stick it when I heard a sickening crunch. The troll sank down onto the hood of the Mercedes, wearing a dazed expression.

I gasped. Ms. Finsky is gonna freak.

Aghhh! He just… oh, man. I grabbed my head with both hands. Excuse me, Mr. ah… Troll, but you… uh… can’t rampage around here.

I couldn’t believe how totally stupid that sounded. I hoped no one was watching. "This is a school. A schooool. Did he even understand English? There are lots of little kids here. Someone could get hurt." The troll looked down at me with sad eyes and shifted on its butt. I heard the sound of bending metal and pressed my palms against my eyes. This couldn’t be happening.

Merklin came out of hiding and tugged on my ear. He doesn’t care about that, he hissed. Concentrate. You have to tell him to go back to Hopagog Hill. Tell him to go back to bed. I opened my eyes. The rampaging troll was still there, looking depressed.

I took a deep breath. Okay, ah, listen up. You have to go on back to the Hop-A-Gog Hill. Remember your bed there? Nice, cozy bed?

The big creature held my eyes for a moment. His eyes were large and brown, a little bloodshot but fringed with feathery gray eyelashes.

Galumph-stump? he murmured. I couldn’t tell if it was a word or a burp.

Uh, go on, I said, making a shooing motion.

Sighing a huge cloud of misty air, the troll stood up, leaving a troll-butt-sized dent in the hood of the Mercedes. With a sad look over its shoulder at me, he shuffled out of the parking lot. With each giant step, the ground wobbled.

Where, again, did you say he’s going? I asked, watching his flattened top hat turn the corner onto Thirteenth Avenue and disappear.

Hopagog Hill, muttered Merklin,

That’s what I thought you said.

Another voice cut through my stunned brain. Cam? What are you doing outside? Our principal, Mrs. H, had stuck her head outside the front doors, and I could see her frowning.

Don’t worry, Merklin whispered. She can’t see me.

Fine, but what about Ms. Finsky’s car? I said through my teeth. Kind of hard to miss a heap of German scrap metal in the parking lot.

Mrs. H stepped outside the door and put her hand on her hip. Cam, I’m waiting.

I gulped. Mrs. H, I can explain, I said, even though I definitely couldn’t. Was it possible to casually mention that a troll sat on Ms. Finsky’s car?

Merklin whispered, I already took care of it. Look.

I glanced back at the Mercedes and nearly fell over. The car was completely undented—not a scratch on it.

Whoa! I turned back to the principal in a hurry. Uh, nothing, Mrs. H. Just getting a little fresh air.

That is what recess is for. Inside. And no more wandering. She held the door open for me. I trudged back, with Mrs. H watching me like a hawk the whole time.

Don’t get me wrong. Our principal was all right. She was really tall and used to be on the national basketball team. Me and Alex made bets to see if she could dunk. But it wasn’t cool to get caught by the principal doing anything, and it’s not like I could explain about rampaging trolls or boobach partying with Ms. Carroll’s stuff.

Instead, I did the next best thing. On the way by, I gave Mrs. H my best wave. She rolled her eyes and went back inside her office. When she was gone, I breathed out a huge sigh of relief and headed straight back to the janitor’s room.

Look, little dude, Merklin, boobach, whoever you are. I don’t know what’s going on or why you picked me or if any of this even happened. But I did what you asked, so go back and tell your buddies to cool it and leave Ms. Carroll’s stuff alone. I plucked Merklin off my shoulder with my thumb and forefinger, dangling him in front of me eyes. "And I want to unsee you, them, the trolls, and everything else."

Merklin gave me a funny look—a buddy-have-I-got-a-surprise-for-you look—and disappeared in a puff. I glared at the door for a few seconds more.

I was jogging down the hall before I remembered I still hadn’t made it to the bathroom.

By the time I finally got back to class, all the students were under their desks and my teacher