Chapter One
"Good morning, this is Faerie Tale Incorporated, how may I help you?" I say into the fancy, amazingly shiny white phone at the corner of my desk. Then I realize it's not morning—it's nearly seven p.m. Next to me, Lucas Freisner smirks at me. "Uh—that is, good afternoon—uh, sir—" I stutter.
"My name is Mrs. Baker," the annoyed-sounding feminine voice replies.
My face burns. "How—how can I help you, uh, miss?"
"Oh, never mind. I'll call a different FTI number." She sounds rather exasperated and hangs up.
Let me explain.
Faerie Tale Incorporated, FTI, is a story sorting company. Say, if an ugly stepsister shows up, she's obviously supposed to be in Cinderella, which she is obviously currently not in. We get her sorted into the storybook, and then turn to whoever next is in line, or on the phone. That is, if I don't botch it up like I just did with Mrs. Baker.
I've learned, from almost a year of working at FTI, that costumers will say absolutely anything with you right there. For instance, earlier this morning I heard a wedding planner telling her cousin about the wedding set for tonight—she had caught the bride's maid of honor messing around with the groom, and then the groom's best man, too.
My name is Hazel Weiss. I know, so Hazel isn't a typical name you'd hear everyday. Well, my sister got stuck with the name Norgort, so I'm not exactly complaining.
We're also in partners, so if one is on the phone the other is available to whoever is in line. I got stuck with Lucas Freisner.
There are several things wrong with Lucas. First of all, he's kissed and abruptly dumped more girls than I can count. Then there's the fact that he laughs and smirks whenever I mess up, which only makes me stutter more. Add that with the fact that my very best friend in the world is in love with him, not to mention the rest of my family (and especially my mother) and I might as well die. And he's probably just that gorgeous to spite me.
And I'm not just saying that because I cant admit to myself that I'm actually in love with him, like in those trashy, modern-timed books all teenagers read these days. Lucas is completely despicable.
Lucas shifts in his black leather swiveling chair that each booth has. "Weiss, I'm going to take this one. You might mess it up, otherwise," he mutters. When I look up to glare at him, he shoots a devilish grin at me and turns back to the front.
"How can I help you?" Lucas asks the girl whose standing in front of our booth. She's staring at Lucas, and he stretches, his shirt riding up to show a sliver of his perfect stomach. I turn away, rolling my eyes.
"Um—uh—so…I'm not sure which book I'm in," she says, like she's confessing a sin.
"What's your name?" Lucas asks.
"Clara."
"The Nutcracker." Lucas grins like he'd just solved the world's biggest problem.
"Thank you so much. I'd be so lost without you." She—Clara—gushes and I can just see Lucas's head and ego swelling.
After Lucas points her in the right direction, Lucas turns back to smile smugly at me. I scowl and turn away again, focusing on the paperwork in front of me. What I was actually thinking was: Lucas is such a egomaniac, he probably wouldn't even understand me if I told him he was stupid and I bet Lucas has a great, rich family, although it doesn't say much of his parents to have a son like Lucas.
It doesn't always go as well as what had happened with Clara—we promptly gave her the directions and she went off. Usually a costumer approaches us and we both fight to be heard over each other, then resulting in yelling and screaming insults at each other. At which point the costumer would wring his or hers hands and say that she or he would go see a different booth.
It's really a wonder how Lucas and I still work here.
Without meaning to, I'm glaring at Lucas's perfect features—the wavy, dark brown hair that curled over the collar of his long-sleeved black t-shirt; the thoughtful—though in my opinion conceited walnut-shaped green eyes along with long, long eyelashes; the little smile that was always perched on his full lips, like he was thinking happy things. Of course, I saw it as a smirk and he was thinking horrible thoughts about someone he hated, say, like me. And his jaw was perfect.
I can see why Liana is in love with him—but she hasn't actually talked to him yet. She'll change her mind, hopefully, after she had a proper conversation with Lucas the little piece of shit.
"I know I'm gorgeous, but stop staring," Lucas says, with a little grin that makes me want to tear his eyes out.
"I'm staring at that guy over there," I say. Before Lucas can ask exactly who, I'm fumbling in my jacket for my cell phone because it's ringing and everyone can hear it.
"Hello?" I say, shooting a look at Lucas. Lucas very innocently gestured to the phone clamped over my ear, then grabs it and abruptly closes it. "Hey!" I protest.
"We're working," Lucas says. "No phones, remember?"
"That's different. It could've been an emergency," I snap.
"Oh, right, your cat could've gotten a heart attack, am I right?"
"Why are you like this? Your mom drop you on your head when you were little much?"
"Why do you always have to bring my mother into this? She didn't do anything to you."
"Yeah, except have a son like you."
At this point, we're both half screaming and our faces are both flushed and angry. And all the costumers were staring. The other workers, however, weren't, because they were quite used to hearing our little squabbles.
A huge hand claps down on my shoulder, and the other hand lands on Lucas's. "In my office, now," Mr. Jenkins bellows. He steers us to his office and slams us down in two seats in front of it. By now, the two seats have a sign with our names printed neatly on them, because we're the only two that ever get sent here.
Mr. Jenkins—yeah, as in Dr. Jenkins and Mr. Hyde—co-owns FTI. He shares it with Mr. Hyde, of course, and the beast from Beauty and the Beast. A few years ago Mr. Jenkins had taken himself out of the story because he thought it had too much violence, as well as the beast because he was, after all, a beast. It sent a bad message to the children of the world, apparently, even though television shows nowadays are way worse.
Dr. Jenkins prefers to be called Mr. Jenkins now. It's confusing, but people do because they don't want to meet Mr. Hyde.
"You two need to learn to control yourselves," he snarls.
"It would be easier if we weren't partners for this," I point out.
"I put you two together so you two could learn a moral," Mr. Jenkins says. When he sees our blank faces he sighs and adds, "You know, a message? Like, for example, don't count on luck because you wont always get lucky?"
"Lucas doesn't have morals!"
"You're just mad because I get all the costumers," Lucas says. Which is true, but it's only because the girls all like him. Stupid girls. Stupid Lucas.
"You do not," I lie. "I get some too!"
"Yeah, that you scare away." He cocks an eyebrow at me and smirks ever so slightly.
Mr. Jenkins doesn't turn on him. I didn't expect him to—Mr. Jenkins had always favored Lucas anyway.
"You two have to learn the hard way, don't you?" Mr. Jenkins says quietly, like he was talking more to himself than to us.
"What?" I ask, glancing warily around.
Mr. Jenkins rose from his seat and crossed the room in about three seconds—he's a giant: a small one, compared to full-grown ones.
He got a book and laid it down in front of us. It was encrusted with jewels and gold-and-silver squiggles.
"This is a book."
"I can tell by the pages," Lucas mumbles. I want to smile then instantly smother it when I realize it was Lucas who had said it.
"It's called Thread," Mr. Jenkins continues.
"That's an interesting title," I say, since Mr. Jenkins seemed eager to explain what it was.
"Yes, it rather is, is it not?" He thumbs through a few of the pages, careful not to touch any words at all. Strange. "It's called Thread because it's a curse book."
Seeing my alarmed face, Mr. Jenkins adds, "Oh, not like that. It's where people get sucked into the story—and they have to live it out until the very end. That's why its title is Thread, you see, because all the fairy tales of the world are woven together so tightly together that's it's really a maze. It's almost impossible to get out—but if you do, you'll be richly rewarded. With whatever you want, really, as long as it's possible."
Lucas brightens instantly. "Are we going to be sucked into it?"
"We?" I repeat. "No!"
"Yes," Mr. Jenkins counters. "You two are both going in there until you learn to work together and get out."
"Why do we both have to go?" I whine. "Why cant it just be Lucas?"
"I forgot that detail. It has to be two. It takes lots of working together—as it is, it has to be a boy and girl, also."
Today was turning out to be the worst day of my life.
"Of course, you can put them in at different times," Mr. Jenkins suddenly says, making me brighten up, then slump down again when he spoke again: "But the other person has to go in within at least two days. And even if they manage to find a way out, the person who entered first will get the treasure."
"How do you know this?" I ask, rather suspiciously.
"I got sucked into this very book. You see, I didn't take myself out of Dr. Jenkins and Mr. Hyde. I won the treasure and so I got out of the story and founded FTI."
Lucas cracked his knuckles. "I want to be in that story. I'm getting that treasure."
I bare my teeth at him. "I'm not going into that cursed book. Why don't you get that Clara girl to go with you?"
"She seems rather air-headed." Lucas waved his hand dismissively.
"Oh, sure, because you're very, very intelligent, are you?" I make a face at him and he sticks his tongue out at me. See? He's despicable and childish.
"So, sir, how do I get in?" Lucas asks.
"Oh, that's quite easy. You just touch a page—really you only have to touch the words. One word, actually."
Lucas grins and reaches out to touch a word; it's the word truce.
Before he can, I grab his wrist and pin it down.
"After two days, do I have a choice to go in?" I ask Mr. Jenkins.
"Absolutely none." Mr. Jenkins shakes his head sadly. "You'll be sucked in while you sleep."
When he sees that I won't sleep in two days time, he says, "Even if you don't sleep, at one o'clock sharp you'll be go there anyway. And…uh…if you really didn't want to go, well, you just touched Lucas before he's about to touch the book, so you're kind of stuck with him now…"
"Do you really want to go?" I ask Lucas. "Why? Why are you doing this to me?"
"I want that treasure," says Lucas determinedly. "I will get that treasure."
"What's so important that you'd want to get sucked into a storybook? A cursed storybook at that! Your parents are loaded. Completely loaded. You're filthy rich!" I snapped.
He doesn't answer, instead he reaches toward the book again. Before he can beat me, I grab his hand in mine and stomp our hands down together.
Our fate was sealed.