What a mess.

The common room looked like a green paper bomb had exploded, streamers dangling from the high stone walls like exhausted flags. Green paper on the carpets. Green paper draping from the mantel above the fireplace. Green paper everywhere.

Meg smiled in spite of the chaos in the room, hands on her hips as she surveyed the wreckage. Danny and Jenny had to have spent weeks planning this excessive party, and managing to keep it a secret from their nosy big sister was more impressive than anything else.

Especially since Jenny never met a secret she didn’t introduce to every living soul around her.

The low table at the center of the three couches still held the serving platter of green foods Jenny had assembled. Green apples. Pistachios. Avocados. Roasted soybeans. Even a spinach dip. She’d even found a way to make crackers green.

And, of course, she’d made rasmalai, the sweet, creamy cheese pudding the Josharons ate for special celebrations. But she’d made it with mint. So it was green too.

They’d sung. They’d danced. They’d laughed.

Never let it be said that the Mitchell kids didn’t know how to throw a party.

Meg knelt at the table and scooped up the pistachio shells Danny had left in a pile, pouring them onto the platter. She stacked the dirty bowls and plates on the platter too and brushed the debris off the table into her hand.

So, this is sixteen.

Meg stood and turned in a slow circle before she deposited the food scraps from the table back onto the platter.

Sixteen didn’t feel much different than fifteen had. The world inside Prism Castle still looked exactly the same as it had the day before. Granted, she hadn’t been outside yet, so maybe the sky looked different somehow. Maybe she had more wisdom as a sixteen year old, something that would give her deeper insight into the shapes of clouds or the colors of the trees.

Meg bent over to snatch the discarded fluffy pillows off the floor, tossing them back onto the couches with a flourish.

Humming under her breath, she pulled the streamers off the walls, gathered them off the back of the couches, and harvested them off the mantelpiece. She bundled them up and tossed them into the fireplace to burn later when the late spring temperatures would encourage the need for a fire.

She’d need a broom to get the confetti and paper scraps out of the corners, and all the carpets would need to be beaten.

As she crouched to begin rolling up one of the carpets, her eyes stopped on the leather-bound journal on the table. Their father’s journal.

Slowly, Meg released her hold on the green-paper-flecked carpet and took the journal off the table, settling back into a cross-legged position on the floor. She traced the embossed willow tree emblem on the journal cover, smiling to herself.

Meg didn’t remember much about her father, but the willow tree had always been a fixture in her memory. He loved willow trees. Maybe that’s why she did too.

She opened the cover of the journal and ran her fingers down the aged paper inside the journal, pausing over the inked-in portions that declared Charlie Mitchell as its owner.

How many times had Meg read the journal to her siblings over the last ten years? More times than she could count. Enough that she’d memorized it, even though most of it made no sense to her. Her father’s journal contained stories about things she’d never seen, places she’d never been, people she’d never met. Confusing, yes, but comforting at the same time. Reading the journal made it seem like Charlie Mitchell and his wife were still alive.

Absently thumbing through the pages of messy scrawled handwriting, Meg smiled to herself. Her father’s face beamed at her in her memories, gazing down at her with sunshine in his dark blue eyes.

“Sixteen, Maggie? Well, there’s a fine thing to be sure.”

That’s what he would have said. He’d have danced with her, hugged her so tightly she would have squealed, and spun her around until she laughed with delight. Then he’d have played the fiddle for them as he always did. Their mother would have made cake.

Meg startled, fingers reaching the end of the journal. The silence and darkness of the castle common room closed in around her, and she forced a smile as she faced it.

It’s not like I thought it would be.

But then, nothing else was.

Meg began to close the journal and frowned as her fingers caught on the edge of the back cover. The binding had begun to come loose from the edges of the cover.

Bound to happen sooner or later.

The journal had seen heavy use over the last ten years.

She smoothed the edge of the cover back down and paused. The back cover of the journal wasn’t flat. Had it always been that way? Like something had been concealed between the cover and the last page?

Cautiously, Meg picked at the fraying edge of the last page until it released its hold on the back cover. The page peeled backward to reveal an envelope.

“What is this?”

The envelope had been placed in a hidden pocket at the back of the journal, the last page glued down to conceal it. When had her father done that? Why had her father done that?

Meg glanced up at Danny and Jenny’s bedroom doors.

She ought to tell them. Everything about their parents was an open book. Meg had promised them that when they were younger, promised to help them remember their parents.

But what if this isn’t something we want to remember? Her stomach churned. Why would Papa hide it?

Pressing her lips together, Meg pulled the envelope out of the pocket and opened the flap. It wasn’t sealed. Inside, a piece of lined notebook paper shone in the dim light of the common room, her father’s familiar scrawl spelling out the phase: from Donnie.

Meg took the paper with shaking fingers and unfolded it.

Charlie,

Elinor, Michelle, and I made it to Dallas. The Dublin flight was quiet, but now that we’re here, I think you’re right. We’re being followed. We’ll get a car tomorrow and head north to you. Unless I hear different, we’ll go as though the plan’s unchanged. Rath Dé ort.

Your brother,

Donnie

Meg stared at the letter, blinking. She read it again. And again.

Papa has a brother?

Her heart thudded. How did she not remember that? How did she not know that their father had a brother? She laid the paper in her lap and tried to calm her breathing, scanning her memories for any moment or instance where her father had indicated other family members.

There was nothing.

Mouth dry, Meg glanced at Danny and Jenny’s rooms again. Yes, she’d made a promise, but this wasn’t something she could tell them yet. Not until she understood it first.

Outside the windows of the common room, the sun had already risen. Would Velanna still be in the castle?

Meg surged off the couch, gathering the journal and the letter close, and jogged up the long hallway toward the central keep of Prism Castle. Shortly after Meg and her siblings had arrived in this world, Velanna and Tolan had declared the western wing of the second level to belong to them. It seemed fitting to put the newly arrived humans all in one place.

The carpets gave way to cold marble flooring, Meg’s boots thwacking on the tiles as she ran through the corridors and past the western turret stairwell.

By this time in the morning, Velanna and Tolan would usually be in the family kitchen eating breakfast. Normally they’d all eat together, but the party the previous evening had thrown the routine out of whack.

Still be there. Meg gasped for breath as she ran. Please be there.

If they were already outside, she’d have to track them down. The longer she waited, the harder it would be to keep it from Danny and Jenny. Meg was as bad at keeping secrets as Jenny was.

The corridor opened to a connecting hallway that united the Mitchell’s wing of the castle to the central keep where the main common room glowed with the warmth from the giant hearth. Its cinnamon-and-woodsmoke scent always felt like a hug.

Meg ignored it this morning and marched straight for the swinging wooden door that led to the family kitchen.

Yes! They’re here!

Inside, Tolan and Velanna Ittai sat at a small wooden table. They both turned to face her with surprise in their expressions.

“Margaret!” Tolan’s face was a sunrise. “We did not expect to see you so early.”

Meg caught her breath, holding the journal close to her chest.

“Does the world look different from sixteen-year-old eyes? Or is it about the same?” Tolan leaned back in his chair, although he didn’t release Velanna’s hand from where he held it on the tabletop. “I haven’t been sixteen in centuries, so I do not remember.”

Meg met Velanna’s eyes.

Velanna arched a single eyebrow at her. “What is wrong?”

Meg gulped. “Nothing’s wrong.” She walked to the table and set the journal on the table in between them. “I found something. In Father’s journal.”

A muscle twitched at the back of Velanna’s jaw, but her expression didn’t change. Tolan’s eyebrows lifted.

“After all these years?” He sat forward with his elbows on the table.

“It was hidden.” Meg pulled the letter out and handed it to Velanna. “I didn’t know it was there.”

Velanna could make the most mundane activities seem graceful. She pulled her fingers out of her husband’s hand, and unfolded the paper to hold at arm’s length, all the while looking like she could have been dancing.

“Curious.” Tolan set a gentle hand on Meg’s elbow, his deep green eyes narrowing. “Why would your father conceal a letter?”

Meg shook her head, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.

They didn’t often talk about Life Before. Not that it was an unwelcome topic, but Meg remembered so little about the other world. Meg and her siblings had parents. They died. And then Meg and her siblings fell into this world. Tolan and Velanna found them and invited them to be part of their family.

“I think it says that my father had a brother,” Meg said.

Velanna and Tolan exchanged a look that Meg couldn’t interpret. The downside of having parents who had been married for as long as they had been married was their own special language that no one else spoke. Meg would have to live as long as a Celtican did to translate it.

“That is what the text seems to indicate.” Velanna folded the letter and handed it to Tolan.

Tolan read it for himself, his expression neutral.

“Well?” Meg wrung her hands.

Velanna sat back in her chair, her long dark hair loose around her shoulders and her pointed ears plain in the morning sunlight. “Well what, Margaret? Finish your sentence, please.”

Tolan flashed a half smirk but said nothing.

“What do we do?” Meg shrugged.

Velanna frowned. “About what?”

Meg pointed to the letter. “My father has a brother. With a family of his own.” Meg held up her hands. “We have—well, we have family. Not that this isn’t family. We’re family too.”

“Margaret,” Velanna started softly.

“But if my father has family, maybe we need to find them.”

Tolan folded the letter and inserted it into the envelope, glancing at Velanna with tenderness in his expression. He wrapped his long fingers around Meg’s arm.

“Margaret,” he began, “we have never sought to conceal your heritage from you. You are human from the Terran Dimension, sent to us by Providence. We would never wish to stop you from learning more about your family, but is this wise?”

Meg frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Think, Margaret.” Velanna sat forward and took her hands. “With your brain. Not your heart.” Velanna gently thumped on Meg’s chest. “Reason with us.”

Meg gulped.

Yes, reason. Logic. Rationality. That was how Velanna approached everything in life. It was the only way to know you were making a wise decision. Calm, considered reason.

“It is not unlikely that your father had family.” Velanna patted Meg’s hands. “But when your father and mother passed, how long were you and Daniel and Jennifer alone?”

Meg bit her lower lip. “A long time. Like a year.”

“Would your father’s family not come for you?” Velanna raised her eyebrows. “If they were able to do so, would they not have brought you into their own family?”

Meg exhaled, long and slow. “They would have. Papa always said family came first. If they could have helped us, they would have.”

Velanna nodded. “Yes, I agree. What then can you reasonably assume from the events that occurred?”

Meg tightened her grip on Velanna’s hands. “That something happened to them that prevented them from helping us. They obviously knew where we were, because they sent the letter. So if they knew how to find us and wanted to find us, they could have.”

“Yes.” Velanna nodded again, her loose hijab draping around her narrow shoulders. “How then would you reasonably determine your next course of action?”

Meg swallowed the burning in her eyes.

“Trying to get back to Terran to find family isn’t impossible, but it’s complicated,” she said softly. “Right?”

“To say the least, Margaret.” Velanna’s smile was warm.

“Logically, using the resources to go back to Terran to find family that may not even exist is wasteful.” Meg looked down. “It’s not a reasonable course of action.”

Velanna pushed her chair back and stood up, setting her hands on Meg’s shoulders and placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Your logic is sound, Margaret, but I am sorry for the hurt it causes you.”

Meg sighed. “It’s okay.” She shook her head.

Tolan scooted his chair back noisily and enfolded both Meg and Velanna in a warm embrace. “Perhaps one day it will become clear,” Tolan said, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “We know your family loved you dearly, Margaret, and while I mourn them with you, I cannot feign sadness that you were lost to them—for their loss was our dearest gain.”

Meg squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face into Tolan’s shoulder.

He smelled of cedar and sandalwood and cumin, mixed with freshly tilled soil and fresh air. It was Meg’s favorite smell.

When Tolan released them, Velanna cupped Meg’s face in her hands. “The past wanders backward with relentless focus; the wise fix their gaze on what is to come. Think on it no more, Margaret.”

Tolan returned to his chair and quietly placed the letter back into the journal.

“But what does it mean?” Meg asked.

Velanna regarded her with a frown. “What does it mean?”

Meg twisted her fingers. “The letter says someone was following them.”

Velanna shrugged. “They are Terran, Margaret. Terran humans are notoriously superstitious. That much has not changed in several thousand years.”

“But what if they were in danger?” Meg stepped toward Velanna as she sat in her chair again.

Velanna looked up at her, deep green eyes slightly crinkling at the corners, the only indication that Meg’s continued probing was beginning to wear on her.

“Whatever danger this single piece of paper may or may not indicate is relegated to the Terran Dimension, Margaret.” She folded her hands on the table. “A place you have not set foot in a decade. Terran cannot reach us here, thus whatever vague sense of danger you fear also cannot reach us.”

“Terran can’t cross the barrier.”

“Yes.” She took the journal from the table and handed it back to Meg. “As I said, Margaret, think on it no more. No wisdom is found in making the past your focus. Such a thing only leads to conflict and strife.”

Meg hugged the journal to her chest again. “Yes, Velanna.”

Velanna took her hand and squeezed it. “May I also suggest caution, Margaret? Mentioning this to Daniel or Jennifer will only encourage further questions to which we cannot know the answer.”

Meg nodded. “I won’t tell them.” Not yet. She lifted her face with a smile. “Thank you.”

Tolan pointed to the countertop. “Jennifer made cinnamon buns last night. They are delicious.” He indicated his empty plate. “Even if they are inexplicably green in color.” He frowned with a sparkle in his eye.

Meg smiled back. “I’m not hungry. I think I may need some air.”

She turned with a wave and walked out the back of the family kitchen, stepping into the broad hallway that led to one of the side exits. Outside the door at the end of the corridor lay the sprawling expanse of the castle gardens.

But directly across the corridor was Velanna’s massive library.

Meg licked her lips.

Asking questions wasn’t against the rules. Velanna had always encouraged her to ask questions when she didn’t understand something, and if Velanna were right and no danger in Terran could touch them here at Prism Castle, there was no harm in pursuing more answers. 

The letter mentioned places by name. Dallas. Dublin. And a phrase Meg couldn’t pronounce or identify. Were they important? What did they mean? How did Velanna expect her to stop thinking about it? It was all she could think about!

I’m going to get some air. She glanced down the hallway at the door. But first, I need a book.

She tucked the journal under her arm and pushed open the huge oak door that led to Velanna’s library. Velanna’s library was three gigantic stories of books on multiple mezzanines, bookshelves as tall as the high ceilings lining every square inch of the castle room. She’d spent centuries cataloguing and organizing so that the books in languages she could actually read were the easiest to find.

Except the majority of the books in the library were in languages she didn’t know. And if Velanna didn’t know them, nobody did.

Meg pointed herself to the back of the cavernous room where a tiny shelf in the dark held the small collection of books on the Terran Dimension. Some of them were legible. Many of them were in Celtican, observations and documentation that Velanna’s people had made about the dimension next door over thousands of years.

But Meg wanted one book in particular.

The letter said Dublin. Meg smiled to herself. I know where that is.

One of the few memories that had stuck with her over the years was her father’s heritage: Irish. A small country on a small island in the northern part of the Terran Dimension. When Velanna had realized it ten years ago, she had produced a book out of her library about Ireland. An encyclopedia of sorts, it contained most all the information Meg knew about the Terran Dimension. She’d read it so many times over the years that she’d memorized it too.

Meg walked right to it and pulled it off the shelf, the old hard cover soft in her hands and the pages yellowed with age. She stacked her father’s journal on top of it and headed back to the hallway.

I’m not disobeying. She focused her gaze on the doorway that led to the gardens. I’m learning. I want to know everything I can about where we came from, so that when Danny and Jenny ask me I can tell them. That’s not wrong.

She reached the door and pushed it open, stepping into the sunshine.

It’s not living in the past to ask questions about important things. She breathed deeply the scent of flowers and grass. It’s being prepared. And Velanna always likes it when I’m prepared for anything.

It was a beautiful day to be sixteen.