Chapter One: The Storyteller

Wendy jumped onto the nearest bed, causing a delighted gasp from her audience. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she lunged sharply to the left and aimed a deft kick at her invisible opponent. "Aha! Take that, you nasty, rude little man!"

"Oh, honestly - did the princess really say that?" interrupted Rachel, quite skeptical. "As if she's ever even been in a fight before!"

"Of course she did," said Wendy, with perfect dignity, as she disarmed her phantom attacker with a sharp kick to a rather sensitive region. "And then she sashayed smugly past him as he lay collapsed in a heap." Giggles crept in from the corners of the room as the girls pictured this. "But then," said Wendy, whirling suddenly on Rachel with a mock-serious air, "if you don't care for my stories, perhaps you'd do better finishing this one yourself."

Squeals of indignation arose from the girls, and several pillows were thrown at Rachel. Rachel made a wry face at Wendy, and raised her hands in the air in defeat. "My apologies, Madame Storyteller," she said, grinning, "please continue."

"Oh, but I would hate to stretch your belief so, my dears," replied Wendy, looking mournful. "Perhaps we should be more practical with our tales."

A wailing chorus of "No!" and "Never!" answered her.

Wendy widened her eyes, and shook her head sadly, her hands spread wide in front of her to indicate how powerless she was in the face of practicality.

Lexie giggled. "Oh, do stop teasing, Wendy! Tell us what happens to the princess next?"

Wendy lowered her head, blinking demurely through her eyelashes. "Do you really want to know?"

Little Amy had crawled close enough to tug on Wendy's skirt. "Please, Miss Wendy," she said in her soft baby voice, "what happens next?"

Wendy's expression softened as she smiled gently at the bright eyes turned up to her. "So then," she said, turning to look up at the rest of the girls, "perhaps you would like to hear more about the young thief the princess met?"

"Oooh, yes!" said Sarah, quite taken with the roguish descriptions of the aforementioned thief. "Does she try to find him again? Do they have an adventure together?"

"Does she stay with him and become a rogue thief, too?" asked Lexie.

"I hope so," said Rachel. "That would certainly more fun than learning to be a proper princess back at the palace!"

Beth snorted. "And even that's more fun than learning to be a proper modern lady here."

Wendy smiled ruefully. "Too true, Bethie, too true." It really was something of a shame that learning to be "proper" was such an onerous task at the Julia Reddon School for Proper Young Ladies. Of course, conceded Wendy, learning to be proper anywhere probably isn't all that splendid. But honestly, why must proper always mean dull for grownups? Why must grownups want everything to be predictable and ordinary?

She sighed a little at the silliness of grownups. Of course, that was one of the main reasons for stories. One couldn't let one's imagination go to ruin simple because some dowdily-dressed duenna thought such pursuits "unbecoming in a lady of seventeen"

Beth grinned cheekily at Wendy, as if reading her thoughts. "But at least you can sneak in stories to keep our spirits up when Reddon and old Pintzer aren't looking."

Wendy grinned. "That I certainly can." She leapt to the nearest chair - a rather rickety affair, in truth - and, though wobbling a bit, stood magnificently poised with a pretend monkey chattering on her shoulder. "Now, about the young thief the princess met-"

The wooden steps creaked sharply. The girls froze, wary.

"Speak of the devil," whispered Beth ominously, "and she shall prowl outside our very room. Quickly, girls!"

Within moments, all the girls had hastily arranged themselves at their respective writing desks and commenced with activities far more proper than listening to stories.

Wendy herself sat with pen poised above a colorful set of stationery, a picture of elegance, grace, and good manners. The effect of propriety was sadly marred by an impish smile that insisted upon showing itself as she examined the stationery page, which itself featured a small lagoon with a mermaid diving merrily - and about half a seashell away from indecently - into the cool waters.

Wendy sensed the disapproving presence of Pintzer perched over her half a moment before the woman spoke. "And what are you writing that's so terribly amusing, Wendy Moira Angela Darling?"

Wendy cringed inwardly. When Pintzer invoked a girl's full name, she was in a particularly peevish mood indeed. At such times, the best results were often obtained with meek silence and very small nods.

When Wendy didn't answer, Pintzer peered more closely at the stationery and caught sight of the merry mermaid's precariously mounted shell ensemble. Her already pinched face fell into a vehement scowl as she snapped, "Fanciful nonsense, I see! As if you need any more of that sort of thing." Her eyes narrowed in disgust. "It is not proper for a Reddon lady, and I will not have such tripe polluting this institution." With a quick motion, she snatched the stationery from the desk and began ripping the pages into orderly pieces.

Wendy's mouth tightened as she watched the destruction of the stationery. It had been a gift from Michael, and one he had saved up a good long time to get her. He would have been heartbroken to see its ignominious end. The mere thought of it sent icy waves of rebellion through Wendy.

Something must have shown on her face, for she suddenly found Pintzer staring stonily at her.

"Do you have something you wish to say, Ms. Darling?"

Wendy smiled ingratiatingly up at the formidable countenance and spoke in her most charming fashion. "I'm afraid I have been so awestruck by your profound words and fitting acts that I find myself positively speechless."

Pintzer stared at her, momentarily stunned by the impudent mockery. Then, she flushed. The first slap to Wendy's face was sharp and sudden, seeming to echo in the stark quiet of the room. The second caught Wendy on the ear, the third on the jaw.

Wendy's eyes darkened, and she seemed to regard Pintzer with a sort of imperious detachment.

As if she were some untouchable princess, thought Pintzer with a sneer. Impudent wretch. She delivered several more rather nasty blows in an almost perfunctory manner.

And still Wendy measured Pintzer with that cool stare, now seemingly somewhat amused, which only served to inflame Pintzer further. Clearly, said the stare, you are very insignificant, indeed.

Pintzer flushed again, and raised her hand for a blow that would stop that arrogant look. Perhaps permanently. A little lisp from a few missing teeth would instill a certain meekness into the blasted girl-

And then, at that very moment, something flashed in Wendy's eyes and hooked Pintzer, freezing her in place. She remained standing there, in just that position, for several very, very quiet moments. There was something in those frosty eyes, something brutal and predatory that caught her and flayed her on the spot, exposing her deep self-loathing and fear. Something that saw, and knew, and dismissed her as unworthy.

Inside, Pintzer began to crumple under the weight of that unforgiving gaze, and, in her silent torment, she forgot to breathe for a moment. And then another moment. And another.

With a strangled gasp, she tore her eyes from Wendy and fled the room.