EverWorld (Book 3 of the Down World Series)

Chapter Twenty-One

Don't miss today's announcement on my home page about Down World becoming a PAID STORY! (The sequels, Yesterworld and Everworld, will still be FREE! So enjoy.) Love you all!

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Dinner was served at a large wooden table in the courtyard, under the looping strings of fairy lights. Every now and then a dragonfly would land on the serving bowl of rice or the tureen of spiced chicken stew, and Principal Farghasian, perched like a queen at the head of the table, would shoo it away.

Brady wasn't there; he'd gone to lie down. So I was sitting opposite the girl, Layla, who still refused to make eye contact with me and instead looked to her mother, as though waiting for permission to speak. Or maybe that wasn't it at all. Maybe she was just looking at her with love. But there was something about her demeanor, about the whole meal, that felt a bit too much like a ritual.

It wasn't until we'd already been eating for a few minutes, and I was waiting for someone to begin explaining to me why I was there, that we were interrupted by a late arrival.

Aunt Amalia descended from the porch steps like she was entering a baptismal river: slowly, shoulders back, her eyes as wide as they had been in those old headshots buried behind her kitchen. She was wearing a dress that looked like she had borrowed it from Principal Farghasian, all flowing silk in shades of gold that brought out the fresh blond highlights in her hair.

"Hello, Marina," she smiled.

I nodded but no sound came out of my mouth. She took the empty seat kitty corner from Principal Farghasian and took her hand. "Sorry I'm late," I heard her whisper.

"Did you check on Brady?" Principal Farghasian asked in a low voice, almost in Amalia's ear.

"Mm. He'll be all right." Her hand squeezed Principal Farghasian's with a noticeable pump before letting go and helping herself to some rice. And that was when I knew it beyond a doubt: the two of them were lovers.

It suddenly made complete sense. They weren't that far apart in age, maybe seven years. And my face grew hot with the realization that it was only slightly bigger than the age gap between myself and Adam.

Also, Amalia had been secretly obsessed with her since high school, and had lied about it when I asked.

One more realization clicked into place while I watched Amalia help herself to a ladleful of Elaheh's stew. I had gotten the feeling that Amalia had never really cared much for men, and not just her late husband who had cheated on her and then died. During that childhood trip to "comfort" her after his passing, it had been clear that she couldn't have cared less. She was just happy to have the house to herself.

The house. Of course. Because the house had a secret portal. A portal she would now have been free to use without any curious eyes on her back.

And Farghasian—she had bricked off the doors beneath the school. Not so no one could find them, but so only one person could: herself.

They had been planning this for a long time.

But if they were so happy—and they certainly looked like they were, holding hands like honeymooners in this ethereal palace Farghasian had built for them and her daughter—then what did they need me for?

"Can someone please tell me," I said slowly, putting down my fork, "why I am here?"

Amalia smiled. "Of course. I'm sorry I was so cryptic. The truth is, we were hoping we wouldn't have to call you here. We were waiting until we were sure."

Farghasian gave her a loving smile, and Amalia cleared her throat.

"You see, we have a little... a technical problem that we were hoping you could help us with."