Task Force 141| Return to Evermore

The package arrived on base at 09:17 on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday morning, which in hindsight should probably have been the first indication that something was wrong with it. Nothing catastrophic had happened yet. No alarms were sounding, nobody was shooting at them, and there wasn’t so much as a suspicious weather pattern outside to suggest that six men who had already survived one deeply unwanted excursion into a magical fairy-tale realm were about to have their lives thoroughly fucked with for a second time. The parcel simply appeared among the morning deliveries, wrapped in brown paper and tied neatly with twine, looking less like something that had passed through a modern postal system and more like it had been carried there on horseback.

By the time it reached the briefing room, it had already attracted more scrutiny than most unidentified explosive devices. There was no postage, no courier label, no return address, and no tracking number. Nobody at the gate remembered accepting it. Nobody in logistics could find it in the system. The cameras offered no helpful explanation for how it had arrived. The only identifying marks were six names written across the brown paper in flowing black ink: Captain John Price, Lieutenant Simon Riley, Sergeant John MacTavish, Sergeant Kyle Garrick, Mateo Navarro, and Jesse Callahan.

Price stood at the head of the table with both palms braced against its edge, his blue eyes fixed suspiciously on the parcel. He had spent enough years being shot at, hunted, betrayed, nearly blown up, and otherwise inconvenienced by people with malicious intentions to know that mysterious packages addressed to an entire team rarely contained anything worth receiving. More importantly, he had once been kidnapped by purple magical fog and transformed into a horned fairy-tale villain. That particular experience had broadened his definition of potential threat considerably. “Nobody touches it.”

Johnny, whose hand had already been extending toward the parcel, stopped approximately three inches above it. “Wasnae touching it.”

Price’s eyes shifted toward the offending hand. “You were about to.”

“Aye, but technically that means I listened.”

Simon stood against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, the dark hollows of his skull mask directed squarely at Johnny. He hadn’t moved since the package had been brought in, though something about his stillness suggested he was already contemplating several ways this could end badly. “Put your hand down, Johnny.”

Johnny slowly withdrew it, casting Simon an aggrieved look. “Christ. Whole room full of paranoid bastards.”

Gaz folded his arms as he studied the handwriting from the opposite side of the table. “There’s a mystery parcel that somehow bypassed base security and specifically names all six of us. I think a little paranoia is warranted.”

Mateo leaned closer without actually touching the thing, his dark brows drawing together. “All six full names as well. Whoever sent it knew exactly who they wanted.”

Jesse had already circled the table twice. His outward posture remained loose and almost lazy, but his attention was anything but. Years spent undercover and getting people to reveal things they hadn’t intended to tell him had left him with an instinctive dislike of unexplained details, and this package contained nothing but unexplained details. “No postage, no identifying marks, no fingerprints anybody’s found yet, and nobody remembers delivering it. Either somebody on this base is fucking with us, or we’re dealing with something that doesn’t particularly care about security checkpoints.”

Johnny glanced toward him. “Could be a present.”

Jesse looked at him. “Sure. Open it.”

Price’s head turned sharply toward Jesse.

Jesse lifted both hands. “I’m kidding.”

They treated it like an explosive anyway. The parcel was scanned, tested, and inspected from every angle available to them. There were no chemical agents, wires, electronics, pressure mechanisms, explosives, or suspicious residues. According to every piece of equipment they had, the box contained nothing more dangerous than paper and leather. That result did absolutely nothing to reassure any of them. If anything, the fact that a completely harmless parcel had somehow materialized on a secure military base made the atmosphere in the room considerably worse.

Eventually Price took a knife and cut through the twine himself. He peeled the paper away carefully, opened the cardboard box beneath it, and stopped.

Inside was a book.

It was an enormous old-fashioned thing bound in midnight-blue leather, the sort of book that looked as though it belonged beneath glass in a museum or chained to a lectern in a medieval monastery. Curling silver vines covered the leather, surrounding an elaborate castle embossed into the center. Around it were six smaller symbols worked into the cover with impossible precision: a glass slipper, a snowflake, an arrow, a rose, a seashell, and a lamp. The silver seemed to shimmer beneath the sterile fluorescent lights of the briefing room.

Gaz’s expression fell immediately. “No. I don’t like that.”

Mateo straightened from the table. “Neither do I.”

Jesse’s gaze moved slowly over the six symbols before settling on the castle in the center. There was no mistaking the aesthetic. They had spent far too long surrounded by enchanted forests, cursed castles, and magic that treated subtlety as a personal insult. “Tell me that’s somebody’s extremely elaborate idea of a joke.”

Simon pushed himself away from the wall and approached the table. His eyes narrowed behind the mask as he studied the book without touching it. “Looks like Evermore.”

Silence descended over the room. That name still had an extraordinary ability to ruin the mood. They had escaped Evermore once. They had survived being scattered across an impossible fairy-tale realm and forced into villainous archetypes none of them had requested. Price had endured horns, curses, and the indignity of Johnny attempting to decorate said horns. Simon had spent weeks discovering that blue hellfire apparently considered his irritation a form of fuel. Gaz had acquired a cobra staff and enough palace intrigue to last several lifetimes. Mateo had been subjected to enchanted villagers singing about his muscles. Jesse had discovered that being turned into a lion sounded significantly more entertaining before one accounted for fur, tails, and hyenas. Johnny had acquired tentacles, magical contracts, and a reputation that the other five intended to hold against him until death.

Most importantly, all six of them had eventually returned home and reached one unanimous conclusion.

They were never fucking doing that again.

Price’s voice lowered into the particular register that usually meant somebody was about to regret their decisions. “Nobody opens the book.”

Johnny stared at it. “Wasnae planning to.”

Five men looked at him.

Johnny frowned. “Why’s everyone looking at me?”

“Because we know you,” Gaz said.

Mateo gave Johnny a deeply unimpressed look. “And because you have spent the last five minutes visibly wanting to open it.”

“I’ve got curiosity. That’s no’ a crime.”

“It becomes one when you’re involved,” Simon said.

Johnny ignored him and leaned closer to examine the silver symbols. “Could just be a book.”

Jesse moved another step away from the table. “Those are famous last words.”

Price reached for the lid of the cardboard box. “We’re sealing it and getting it off—”

Johnny opened the book.

Purple fog exploded out of the pages.

“FUCK’S SAKE, JOHNNY!” Price lunged across the table and slammed the cover shut with both hands, but the damage had already been done. Luminous violet smoke poured from between the pages despite the book being firmly closed, spilling across the tabletop in thick rolling waves before cascading over the edges and spreading across the floor.

“Oh, shite.” Johnny backed away so quickly he nearly collided with a chair. The humor vanished from his face the instant the fog curled around his boots, because whatever excuses he might have been preparing died beneath immediate recognition. They knew that color. They knew that unnatural glow. More importantly, they knew exactly what had happened the last time they’d breathed it.

“No.” Simon seized Johnny by the back of his shirt and hauled him away from the table as purple mist climbed around their legs. “No. You stupid fucking—Johnny!”

“I didnae know it was gonnae do that!”

“What the fuck did you think the enchanted book from Evermore was going to do?” Gaz demanded, retreating toward the door as the fog raced across the floor after him.

Mateo grabbed the handle first and yanked. It didn’t move. He tried again, putting considerably more force behind it as violet smoke began crawling unnaturally upward along the walls. “The door is locked.”

Jesse joined him and shoved against it. “Of course the fucking door is locked.”

Price was still attempting to crush the book closed as though sufficient British disapproval might overpower ancient magic. “Stop breathing it!”

Johnny stared through the rapidly thickening haze. “We’re in a room full of it!”

“Then hold your fucking breath!”

Gaz pulled his shirt over his nose. “Brilliant plan, Captain. We’ll suffocate ourselves before the magic gets us.”

The smell hit them next. Rain on ancient stone. Pine needles. Wildflowers. Woodsmoke. Something sweet and impossible that none of them had smelled since the day they’d escaped. The sterile walls of the briefing room were already disappearing behind rolling violet clouds, and for the first time since the package arrived, there wasn’t a single man present entertaining the possibility that this might be anything other than exactly what it looked like.

Mateo’s expression changed from alarm to genuine outrage. “No. Absolutely fucking not. We did this already! We escaped!”

Jesse coughed as the fog swallowed the door behind him. “Apparently Evermore didn’t appreciate the review we left.”

Simon tightened his grip on Johnny’s shirt. “If I wake up blue again, I’m killing you.”

Johnny twisted around in his grasp. “Why me?! Price opened the bloody box!”

Price looked up from the book. “I will personally throw you into the fucking Underworld.”

Gaz disappeared first. One moment he was visible through the haze, and the next the fog folded around him with a flash of silver. His voice remained for half a second longer. “I fucking hate magic!”

Mateo vanished next, reaching toward the table just as violet light swallowed him from boots to head. “¡Me cago en—!”

Jesse barely had time to mutter, “Here we fucking go,” before the mist took him too.

Simon and Johnny disappeared together, still arguing, with Johnny’s muffled protest of “Still technically Price’s fault!” followed immediately by Simon promising something involving Johnny’s spine.

That left Price alone in the center of the briefing room, both hands planted on the closed book while purple fog churned around him. He looked down at the silver castle embossed into its cover. The castle glittered back.

Price closed his eyes and sighed. “Fuck my life.”

The fog swallowed him.

⸻

John Price woke to birdsong. Not the occasional chirp of something nesting outside a window, but an entire fucking orchestra of cheerful woodland creatures apparently determined to announce that morning had arrived. Price opened his eyes to a vaulted canopy of pale blue silk and remained perfectly still for several seconds, staring upward while his memory reconstructed the events preceding unconsciousness. Package. Book. Johnny. Purple fog. His jaw tightened.

Morning sunlight streamed through enormous arched windows into a bedchamber so lavish that it looked as though royalty and a pastry chef had collaborated on the architecture. White stone walls were carved with roses and curling vines, polished marble reflected golden light across the floor, and gauzy curtains moved gently in a breeze carrying the scent of spring flowers. Beyond a pair of open balcony doors stretched a kingdom of slate rooftops and cobbled streets surrounded by green hills and distant mountains softened beneath silver morning mist. Somewhere below, bells rang from a village square while horse-drawn carriages moved along winding roads through fields sparkling with dew.

A bluebird landed on the carved bedpost beside Price’s head and chirped brightly at him.

Price stared at it. “Don’t.”

The bird chirped again, apparently unfamiliar with military rank. Another bluebird fluttered through the window carrying a ribbon in its beak, followed by two more that settled happily on the furniture. A mouse wearing a tiny embroidered waistcoat emerged from behind a silver pitcher and placed both paws on the bedside table. Price’s expression became increasingly grim as he pushed himself upright and discovered that he was wearing a white linen shirt beneath a fitted navy waistcoat embroidered with gold. He swung his legs out of bed, crossed the chamber, and stopped in front of an enormous gilded mirror.

His own reflection stared back at him. Brown hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, familiar face, signature mustache, and distinctive mutton chops were all present and accounted for. That was reassuring for approximately two seconds, until he noticed the clothing arranged neatly behind him. A dark navy royal-military coat with elaborate gold embroidery waited beside polished tall boots, black gloves, a sword belt, and a broad feathered period hat. Whoever had designed the outfit had at least possessed the decency to make him look like an officer rather than shove him into a ball gown.

Then Price noticed what was resting on the cushion beneath the coat. He crossed the room with the slow resignation of a man approaching evidence at his own murder scene and picked up the object. It was a glass slipper, impossibly delicate and glittering in the sunlight, yet perfectly solid between his callused fingers. Price looked from the slipper to the bluebirds, from the bluebirds to the helpful mice, and finally toward the fairy-tale kingdom visible beyond the balcony.

“No,” he said.

The mouse squeaked.

Price’s eyes narrowed. “Not one fucking word.”

The mouse squeaked again.

Price pointed the glass slipper at it with all the authority of a sidearm. “That includes you.”

It was several minutes later, after dressing and discovering that the glass slipper somehow returned every time he deliberately placed it somewhere else, that Price noticed the scroll on the dressing table. He was certain it hadn’t been there before. The parchment was thick and cream-colored, bound with silver ribbon and sealed with dark blue wax. Pressed neatly into the wax was the shape of a glass slipper, identical to the symbol embossed on the book that had brought them here.

Price stared at it suspiciously before breaking the seal. The parchment unfurled in his hands, revealing several lines written in elegant black script.

Six princes bound by tale and thread, By paths the hand of Fate has led. Six hearts are sealed, six roads denied, No sword nor spell may cast them wide.

No borrowed kiss, nor false embrace, Shall break the bonds that hold this place. For only love both true and free, May turn the lock and loose the key.

When heart knows heart, and choice is made, A lover’s kiss shall break the blade. Six seals must fall, their bindings cease, Then shall the road beyond release.

Price read it once. Then he read it again, considerably more slowly. By the third stanza, his expression had acquired the particular stillness of a man attempting to determine whether it was possible to arrest a prophecy.

“A lover’s what?”

The bluebird on the bedpost chirped.

Price lowered the parchment and looked at it. “Fuck off.”

⸻

Simon Riley woke to cold. Cold itself wasn’t unusual enough to concern him. Simon preferred it to heat and had operated in conditions considerably worse than whatever chill currently surrounded him. What made this particular cold suspicious was the fact that the bed beneath him appeared to be carved from translucent ice, the walls were made from towering sheets of crystalline blue, and snow was drifting lazily through the room despite the complete absence of clouds, wind, or any reasonable meteorological explanation.

Simon sat up slowly as the events on base returned to him. The book. Purple fog. Johnny opening something he’d been explicitly instructed not to open. The last detail settled comfortably into place because it meant Simon already knew who to blame.

He pushed aside the dark blankets and looked around. The chamber occupied one of the highest towers of an enormous frozen palace. Pale morning light refracted through crystalline walls, scattering fractured rainbows across black marble and silver ice. Beyond a vast open balcony, mountains stretched in every direction beneath a sky painted lavender by dawn. Snow-covered forests filled the valleys below, and in the distance a small kingdom clustered beside a frozen fjord where ships sat among glittering sheets of ice. It was breathtakingly beautiful, which Simon found deeply suspicious on principle.

His clothes had changed too. Black and midnight-blue royal-military layers fitted close beneath a heavy fur-lined cloak, every edge worked with intricate silver embroidery resembling frost spreading across glass. His gloves remained black, and when he lifted a hand to his face he found his skull mask exactly where it belonged, covering his head and hair completely. Unfortunately, his fingers encountered something metallic above it.

Simon slowly turned toward the enormous mirror across the chamber and stared at his reflection. His skull mask was still firmly in place, but an elaborate silver crown had been fitted over the covered head. Behind him, crystalline columns climbed toward a vaulted ceiling of ice while snow drifted through the palace and gathered in delicate patterns around his boots. Simon took in the mask, the crown, the ice palace, and the frozen kingdom beyond the balcony, and the conclusion arrived with horrifying clarity.

“No.”

A tiny snowflake appeared above his shoulder as though Evermore had decided to confirm his suspicions. Simon watched it drift past his reflection. “Don’t.”

Another snowflake formed. Then another. When he lowered his gaze to his gloved hand, frost spread outward beneath his fingertips, racing across the nearby table in delicate branching patterns. The moment Simon noticed it, the frost stopped. His eyes slowly lifted toward the mirror again. “Elsa.”

The temperature in the chamber dropped sharply enough to frost the edges of the mirror. Simon stared at the new layer of ice. “You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

A crack raced across the frozen floor in response. Simon looked down at it and remained silent for several seconds before his shoulders sank by perhaps half an inch, which for Simon Riley amounted to an emotional breakdown. Somewhere in this realm Johnny MacTavish was alive, and if Evermore possessed even the slightest sense of humor, Johnny would eventually discover exactly what had happened.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Simon discovered his scroll frozen to the arm of an enormous crystalline throne in the adjoining chamber. Pale blue wax held it closed, stamped with the same snowflake that had appeared on the book. He regarded the parchment with open suspicion before breaking the seal and reading.

The first stanza earned a narrowed stare. The second caused frost to begin spreading over the throne beneath his hand. By the third, snow was falling considerably harder around him.

“No.”

He read For only love both true and free again.

The frost thickened. “Fuck that.”

Then Simon reached the part about a lover’s kiss, and the temperature in the palace dropped another several degrees. It wasn’t the prospect of kissing someone that particularly offended him. It was the realization that magic intended to involve itself in his emotional life at all. Worse, if the others had received the same message, Johnny MacTavish was eventually going to know about it.

Simon folded the prophecy with deliberate care. “I am definitely killing him.”

⸻

Johnny woke face-down in grass. He groaned into the earth, pushed himself onto his elbows, and found himself staring across rolling green hills covered in purple heather. Mountains rose beneath a brilliant blue sky while dense pine forests filled the valleys between them. Behind him stood an enormous stone castle, its weathered towers flying banners that snapped sharply in the Highland wind. Somewhere beyond the walls came the distant sound of bagpipes, horses, and the bustle of a castle waking for the day.

Johnny sat back on his heels and looked down at himself. Dark green tartan crossed his body beneath weathered leather and fur, fitted for movement rather than ceremony. Heavy boots reached his calves, Celtic metalwork decorated his belts and bracers, and a quiver rested comfortably against his back as though he’d worn it for years. He reached over his shoulder, drew an arrow, and examined it before looking toward the bow propped against a nearby standing stone.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” A huge black horse grazing several yards away lifted its head and watched him.

Johnny climbed to his feet, retrieved the bow, and experimentally drew the string. His hands knew exactly what to do. The stance came naturally, his shoulders settling into perfect alignment while some new piece of magical instinct calculated distance and wind without conscious effort. He slowly lowered the weapon as recognition spread across his face.

“They made me Merida.” The horse snorted. Johnny considered the correction. “Meridan. Prince Meridan. Aye, that’s better.”

Then he remembered the other five. His eyes widened as the possibilities unfolded in his mind with the speed and enthusiasm of an intelligence analyst who had finally been given a mission worth pursuing. If Evermore had assigned him Merida, then the others had almost certainly been dropped into the same category.

“Oh, fuck me. Ghost is a princess.” The horse flicked an ear. “Price is a princess.” Johnny’s shoulders began shaking. “Gaz is a fuckin’ princess.”

By the time he imagined Price’s reaction to whatever magical wardrobe Evermore had inflicted upon him, Johnny was bent forward with one hand braced against his knee, laughing hard enough to disturb several nearby birds. “This is the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The horse stared at him until Johnny finally regained enough composure to straighten. His amusement faded slightly when he looked across the beautiful Highland valley and remembered the less entertaining portion of their situation. They were back. Somehow, against every law of justice in the universe, they had been dragged into Evermore again. Johnny adjusted the bow across his shoulder and sighed. “Still worth it.”

He found his scroll tucked into his quiver. Green wax sealed the parchment, stamped with an arrow matching the symbol from the book. Johnny sat on a low stone wall and cracked the seal while the horse wandered closer behind him.

He made it through the first stanza without incident. His eyebrows rose during the second. By the time he reached the third, a slow and thoroughly dangerous grin had spread across his face. “Oh, this is brilliant.” The horse snorted.

Johnny slapped the parchment with the back of one hand. “True Love’s Kiss! They’ve gone and fuckin’ cursed us with True Love’s Kiss!” The horse continued grazing.

Johnny’s grin widened as his thoughts immediately moved toward everyone else’s predicament. “Ghost has tae find true love.” The horse flicked its tail.

“Price has tae get kissed!” Johnny folded forward laughing again, but the laughter gradually faded when he reread the final line.

Six seals must fall. His smile disappeared. Johnny read the preceding lines again. “Wait.” The horse looked at him. Johnny frowned at the parchment. “Ah, shite.” Because that meant his seal had to break too.

⸻

Kyle Garrick woke surrounded by books. The library was enormous enough that calling it a library felt inadequate. Shelves climbed several stories toward a painted ceiling, connected by gilded balconies and spiraling staircases. Rolling ladders stretched toward thousands upon thousands of leather-bound volumes, while enormous windows poured golden morning sunlight across polished floors. Roses had been carved into the dark woodwork, and an immense fireplace occupied one wall beneath a portrait of an enchanted castle surrounded by winter woods.

Gaz pushed himself upright from the velvet chaise he’d apparently been deposited on and took stock of himself. Cream shirt, dark trousers, leather boots and bracers, and a fitted navy-blue vest embroidered in gold. He looked at the clothing, then at the books, then at the roses decorating nearly every available surface. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

A heavy book flew off a shelf. Gaz instinctively ducked, but instead of hitting him, the book sailed neatly across the library and landed on the table beside him. Its cover opened by itself. Blank parchment filled the first page for a moment before black ink crawled across it in elegant lettering.

GOOD MORNING, PRINCE BEAU.

Gaz stared at the words. “No.”

The ink disappeared before reforming.

YES.

Gaz slowly stood. “I’m Belle.”

The book’s pages fluttered irritably.

BEAU.

“Right. Of course. Prince Beau.” Gaz rubbed a hand over his face before looking around the enormous library again. It could have been worse, he supposed. Johnny could have ended up with this one and burned the place down attempting to discover whether enchanted books screamed.

The thought reminded him of the others. Gaz leaned over the book. “Where are Price, Ghost, Soap, Mateo, and Jesse?”

The ink vanished. There was a noticeable pause before new words appeared.

ELSEWHERE.

Gaz stared at the page. “That’s not an answer.”

IT ANSWERED YOUR QUESTION.

“No, it didn’t.”

ASK A BETTER QUESTION.

Gaz planted both hands on the table and leaned closer. “Where, specifically, are the five men who arrived in Evermore with me?”

The book waited.

I DON’T KNOW. I’M A BOOK, NOT GOD.

Gaz closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose. “Wonderful. I’m arguing with stationery.”

The book immediately produced another sentence.

FUCK OFF.

Gaz stared at it for several seconds before a reluctant smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “All right. You might grow on me.”

The book slammed itself shut. A few minutes later, it reopened without warning and began flipping its own pages rapidly. Gaz stepped closer just as a rolled parchment rose out of the binding and landed neatly on top. Golden wax sealed it shut, stamped with the image of a rose.

“The same rose from the cover.”

The book opened beneath his hand.

VERY OBSERVANT.

Gaz gave it a flat look. “Don’t start.”

YOU STARTED IT.

Gaz decided against arguing further and broke the seal. He read the prophecy silently, his expression growing progressively more skeptical until he reached the final stanza.

He lowered the parchment. “True Love’s Kiss.”

YES.

“Each of us?”

SIX HEARTS. SIX SEALS.

“And all six seals have to break before we can leave?”

The book paused.

THAT IS WHAT THE PROPHECY SAYS.

Gaz rubbed his forehead. “Right. So we’re trapped in a magical realm until six emotionally constipated military men manage to fall genuinely in love.”

The page remained blank for several seconds.

YOU’RE FUCKED.

Gaz stared at it. “Helpful.”

I TRY.

⸻

Mateo Navarro woke to sunlight, salt, and the rhythmic sound of waves moving through stone.

His eyes opened onto the ceiling of a sea cave illuminated by turquoise light reflecting from the water. Sunbeams pierced openings in the rock above and scattered across an astonishing collection of objects gathered along natural shelves. Gold coins glittered beside strings of pearls and human jewelry, but those treasures shared space with far less logical acquisitions: a ship’s wheel, several paintings, candlesticks, a brass telescope, bottles, a broken compass, an ornate music box, and enough miscellaneous human rubbish to suggest that whoever lived here had never heard the phrase organized collection.

Mateo pushed himself upright and immediately knew something was wrong with his center of gravity. His upper body looked reassuringly familiar, though someone had apparently decided a shirt was unnecessary. Necklaces and small pieces of gold jewelry rested against his chest, and his dark curls fell around his face. Everything below his waist was another matter entirely.

A massive iridescent teal-green tail stretched across the rock where his legs should have been. Mateo stared at it. The tail flicked. “No.”

It flicked again, scattering droplets of seawater across the stone. Mateo planted both hands beside himself and attempted to stand out of pure reflex. The effort ended almost immediately with him collapsing sideways onto the rock. “¡Joder!”

A small crab scuttling nearby froze. Mateo pushed himself onto one elbow and glared down at the shimmering tail attached to his body. He had experienced many strange situations in his life, several of which had occurred during their first visit to Evermore, but discovering that he now possessed several feet of iridescent fish anatomy was rapidly establishing itself near the top of the list. “Ariel.”

The waves rolled gently against the cave. Mateo pointed at himself. “Ari. Prince Ari. If I am going to be a fucking mermaid, we are at least getting that part correct.”

The crab clicked its claws. “Merman,” Mateo amended sharply.

The crab offered no opinion. Mateo dragged a hand over his face and looked around the cave again. That was when he noticed the fork lying among the collection of human treasures. His expression went completely blank.

He reached over and picked it up between two fingers. “If Johnny sees me holding this, I will never know peace again.” The distant ocean offered no sympathy whatsoever.

His scroll arrived inside a bottle carried into the cave by a gentle wave. Mateo watched it bump against the rock beside his tail before retrieving it, discovering a perfectly dry parchment sealed in green-blue wax stamped with a seashell. “Very subtle.”

He broke the seal and began reading. His expression moved from curiosity to disbelief, then disbelief to amusement, and finally amusement into something dangerously close to offended fascination. “A lover’s kiss.” The crab stopped. Mateo looked at it. “Do not look at me like that.”

The crab clicked its claws. Mateo returned to the prophecy. Of all six men, he was perhaps the least personally horrified by the concept of kissing someone. Kissing was easy. Kissing could be extremely enjoyable. Kissing had never, in Mateo’s experience, required divine intervention. Unfortunately, true love complicated matters considerably.

“So we cannot simply kiss someone. It has to be love.” The crab offered another click. “And genuine.” Mateo sighed and leaned back against the rock. “Magic always has to make everything dramatic.”

Then he reread six seals must fall. A slow smile returned. “Oh, Simon is going to hate this.” His mood improved immediately.

⸻

Jesse Callahan woke beneath billowing silk curtains with warm desert air moving across his skin.

For several seconds he simply remained where he was, stretched across an absurdly large collection of cushions while his training caught up with his surroundings. There were no restraints, no immediate voices, no obvious weapons pointed at him, and no sign that he’d sustained an injury. What there was was an enormous open pavilion constructed from pale marble, its columns framing a view that absolutely did not belong anywhere on Earth.

Beyond the balcony stretched a sprawling desert city glowing beneath the morning sun. Sandstone buildings crowded narrow streets filled with colorful awnings and busy markets, while turquoise and gold domes rose above the rooftops. Minarets pierced the clear blue sky. Palm trees surrounded fountains in palace gardens far below, and beyond the city walls an endless sea of golden dunes rolled toward the horizon. The air smelled of jasmine, warm stone, and spices carried upward from the bazaar.

Jesse sat up and looked down at himself. Cream trousers, an embroidered sash, gold jewelry, and a dark teal sleeveless vest decorated with sapphire and gold. His arms were bare, tattoos visible beneath bracelets and cuffs, while his longer dark hair fell loose around his face. He absorbed this information quietly before noticing the enormous tiger sitting six feet away.

The tiger stared at him. Jesse stared back. “Hey.” The tiger blinked. Something nudged Jesse’s hand from the opposite side. He turned and found a richly patterned carpet standing upright on two corners like an eager dog. It folded one corner toward him in what looked suspiciously like a wave.

Jesse looked at the carpet, then the tiger, then the sprawling desert kingdom outside. Recognition arrived with brutal efficiency. “Jasmine.” The carpet fluttered.

“Jaspar,” Jesse corrected. “Prince Jaspar. If I’m being kidnapped by fairy-tale logic again, we’re at least getting the gender right.”

The tiger yawned enormously before rising to its feet. Jesse crossed toward the balcony and rested his hands on the marble railing, scanning the city below with an old habit no amount of magic could remove. Entrances, exits, rooftops, guards, walls, routes through the market, possible choke points. Agrabah might have been a fairy-tale city, but his brain immediately began mapping it like an operational environment.

Then another thought occurred to him. If he was Jasmine, the others had almost certainly received equivalent assignments. Jesse’s mouth twitched. “Oh, fuck. Price is a princess.” The carpet bobbed enthusiastically. “And Simon.”

Jesse’s smile widened despite himself. Somewhere in this realm, Simon Riley had just woken up as somebody’s interpretation of a Disney princess. That knowledge alone almost compensated for the kidnapping.

The carpet abruptly folded one corner beneath itself and produced a rolled parchment from somewhere Jesse was fairly certain had not previously contained storage space. Purple wax sealed it, stamped with a tiny ornate lamp identical to the one embossed on the book.

Jesse accepted it cautiously. “You’ve been carrying mail this whole time?” The carpet waved the scroll impatiently. “Okay. Jesus.”

Jesse broke the seal and read. Years in intelligence had trained him to distrust wording, and Evermore had taught him that magical wording was rarely accidental. He read the entire prophecy carefully before returning to the beginning and reading it again. “Six princes. Six hearts. Six seals.”

The carpet nodded. Jesse glanced at it. “You know about this?” The carpet made an uncertain rippling motion. “Useful.”

He continued until his attention settled on the lines about true love. His expression became thoughtful rather than horrified, which probably said something concerning about his personality.

“So Evermore kidnaps six heavily armed men, turns us into princesses, scatters us across the realm, and then tells us the only way forward is to fall in love.” The carpet bobbed. “That’s fucked up.” Another bob.

Jesse rolled the prophecy and tucked it into his belt. “All right. First priority is finding the others. Second priority is figuring out what the hell these seals actually are. Third priority is stopping Johnny from naming this operation.”

The carpet lowered itself expectantly. Jesse stepped aboard. “And if we can accomplish number three before he calls it Operation Snog or some shit, I’ll consider today a success.”

The carpet launched itself off the balcony. Jesse immediately grabbed both edges. “Jesus FUCK!”

⸻

It took time for six men scattered across six fairy-tale stories to begin finding one another, but Evermore had always possessed a peculiar sense of narrative convenience.

Roads that shouldn’t have connected somehow did. Forest paths bent in useful directions. Rumors traveled suspiciously fast between kingdoms. A merchant from the north spoke of a masked Winter Prince living in a palace made entirely of ice. Travelers returning from the Highlands complained about an obnoxiously cheerful dark-haired prince with a bow. Stories spread of a scholarly prince occupying an enchanted castle, a merman seen along the coast, a foreign prince flying illegally low over Agrabah’s market district, and a foul-tempered royal with a glass slipper who had apparently frightened several palace servants by demanding maps, weapons, and the location of his men.

Evermore stretched around them as enormous and impossible as they remembered it. Enchanted forests sprawled between kingdoms separated by mountains, rivers, deserts, and shimmering seas. Castle towers rose beyond mist-covered valleys while forgotten roads wound beneath trees old enough to remember the first stories ever told beside a fire. Merfolk moved beneath human ships. Fairies vanished among moonlit flowers. Witches kept cottages where paths weren’t supposed to exist. Gods watched from distant Olympus while blue fire burned through the halls of the Underworld far beneath the living world. Agrabah glittered beneath desert sunlight, Neverland waited somewhere beyond ordinary maps, and countless kingdoms carried on with their own feuds, curses, romances, monsters, villains, heroes, and happily-ever-afters.

The men knew better than to mistake its beauty for safety. Evermore was a realm where stories possessed weight. Names mattered. Promises mattered. Curses could rewrite lives, prophecies could bend kingdoms toward predetermined ends, and concepts dismissed as metaphor on Earth could become forces every bit as tangible as gravity. Magic ran through the First Realm like blood through a living body, ancient and temperamental and possessed of an irritating fondness for irony.

By late afternoon, six different roads were beginning to converge upon the same place. The Enchanted Forest waited between kingdoms beneath a canopy so enormous that daylight reached the forest floor in fractured shafts of gold. Ancient trees twisted upward like cathedral columns, their roots covered in emerald moss and tiny white flowers that glowed faintly whenever shadows passed over them. Silver mist moved between the trunks despite the absence of wind. Somewhere deeper among the trees, water rushed over stone, and small lights—too deliberate to be fireflies—floated lazily through beds of fern before vanishing whenever anyone looked directly at them.

The forest was beautiful. Which, as six men had learned during their previous visit, meant it was probably dangerous.

Price reached the clearing first, dressed now in the full dark navy-and-gold royal-military ensemble Evermore had provided him, broad feathered hat shadowing his face and sword hanging at his side. The glass slipper had somehow followed him despite several deliberate attempts to leave it behind. He stood beside an ancient moss-covered milestone with the prophecy tucked into his coat and surveyed the surrounding forest like a captain establishing a rally point in hostile territory.

Gaz arrived not long afterward with his enchanted book secured beneath one arm. The moment he spotted Price, relief briefly crossed his face before his attention dropped toward the unmistakably Cinderella-inspired clothing.

Gaz stopped.

Price pointed at him. “Don’t.”

Gaz pressed his lips together. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say it’s good to see you, Captain.”

Price’s eyes narrowed.

Gaz managed approximately four seconds before glancing at the feathered hat. “Very distinguished.”

“Fuck off.”

Simon emerged through the silver mist several minutes later, a towering black figure wrapped in fur and frost-embroidered fabric, skull mask fully covering his head beneath the silver crown. A faint layer of ice formed beneath his boots wherever he walked. Gaz looked at him, then at Price, and seemed to realize that the day was about to become significantly more entertaining.

Simon stopped in front of them. “Johnny?”

“Haven’t found him,” Price said.

“Good.”

Gaz glanced at the frost creeping outward beneath Simon’s boots. “You all right there, Elsa?”

Simon slowly turned his skull mask toward him. The frost accelerated.

Gaz raised both hands. “Just checking.”

They heard Johnny before they saw him. “GHOST!”

Simon closed his eyes.

Johnny came charging down the forest path with his bow across his back, tartan moving around his legs and a grin so enormous it immediately justified every murderous impulse Simon had experienced since waking. “Fuck me, look at ye!”

“Don’t.”

“Ye’ve got a crown!”

“Johnny.”

“Is that snow?”

Simon stepped toward him.

Johnny immediately backed away while laughing. “Easy, Your Majesty! Emotional special effects are showing!”

A spear of ice erupted from the ground beside his boot.

Johnny jumped sideways. “There he is!”

“Enough,” Price growled.

Johnny turned toward him. There was a pause. His eyes dropped to Price’s coat, then to the feathered hat, and finally, very slowly, to the glass slipper Price had been unable to get rid of.

Johnny’s expression became reverent. “…Cinderelly.”

“MacTavish.”

Johnny folded in half laughing. Gaz turned away and covered his mouth. Even Simon’s shoulders moved once.

Price looked toward the heavens as if requesting immediate divine intervention. “I fucking hate every one of you.”

Johnny eventually managed to straighten, wiping at his eyes. “Aw, come on, Cap. Ye look lovely.”

“I’m going to shoot you.”

“With what? A pumpkin?”

Simon made a sound suspiciously close to a snort.

Price’s head snapped toward him. “You want some as well, Elsa?”

The snow around Simon abruptly intensified. That was the state in which Mateo found them.

He stepped through the trees on two perfectly functional legs, his clothes finally dry: black fitted trousers tucked into tall boots decorated with subtle gold shell motifs, a loose white shirt open at the collar beneath a dark ocean-inspired vest, and a red sash at his waist. He took in Price’s hat, Simon’s crown, Johnny’s tartan, and Gaz’s book.

A slow smile spread across his face. “Madre de Dios.”

Johnny’s attention immediately locked onto him. “ARIEL!”

Mateo pointed at him. “Do not.”

“Where’s yer tail?”

“Gone.”

Johnny’s eyes widened. “It comes off?”

“It does not come off, cabrón. I have legs when I am dry.”

Johnny’s expression changed.

Mateo saw it happen immediately. “No.”

Johnny looked toward the stream audible somewhere beyond the trees. “Just curious.”

“If you throw water on me, I will drown you in three inches of it.”

Gaz nodded thoughtfully. “Fair.”

The final arrival came from above. A shadow swept over the clearing, drawing five heads upward just as a richly patterned carpet descended between the trees with Jesse standing on it. His balance had improved considerably since morning, though his expression suggested he still had several unresolved grievances with magical aviation. The carpet lowered to the moss and Jesse stepped off, adjusting the teal-and-gold vest at his shoulders before looking around at the assembled group.

He took in Johnny first, then Mateo, Gaz, Simon, and finally Price. Silence stretched.

Price’s expression darkened preemptively. “Don’t.”

Jesse looked at the glass slipper in his hand, then at the feathered hat, and finally back at Price. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was going to say I’m glad everyone’s alive.”

Johnny slung an arm around Jesse’s shoulders. “He’s Cinderella.”

“I gathered.”

“And Ghost is Elsa.”

“I gathered that too.”

Simon stared at them.

Jesse’s mouth twitched. “Subtle.”

“Fuck off, Vex.”

For a moment, despite the magic, the costumes, the kingdoms, and the fact that none of them had any idea how they were going to get home, something settled in the clearing. Six men. Alive. Together again. The same familiar configuration that had carried them through gunfire, impossible missions, and one previous magical catastrophe.

Then Price removed the scroll from inside his coat. The others went quiet. “You all get one?”

Simon produced his own. Johnny pulled his from his belt. Gaz removed his from inside the enchanted book. Mateo unfolded his from a pocket. Jesse held up the purple-sealed parchment.

Six scrolls. Six broken wax seals. Six symbols matching the book that had brought them here.

Price looked around at the others. “Then we’re working under the assumption they’re connected.”

Gaz opened his parchment again. “It says all six seals have to break before the road beyond opens.”

“And apparently,” Mateo added, “no shortcuts.”

Johnny’s grin returned. “Which means Operation Snog is officially underway.”

Price stared at him. “No.”

“Operation True Love?”

“No.”

“Operation Kiss the—”

“MacTavish.”

Johnny raised both hands. “We’ll workshop it.”

Jesse glanced toward Simon. “What about Operation Emotional Support Snowman?”

Ice cracked beneath Simon’s boots.

Mateo laughed. “I vote for that one.”

Price pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we focus for five fucking minutes?”

The enchanted book beneath Gaz’s arm abruptly wriggled. Gaz frowned and pulled it free. “What now?”

The book opened itself. Its pages began turning rapidly. The joking stopped. Gaz’s expression sharpened as the pages whipped past beneath his hands, parchment rustling through the quiet forest until they stopped on a blank spread. Black ink appeared slowly across the paper.

SIX PRINCES HAVE GATHERED.

Nobody spoke.

A second line appeared.

THE STORY MAY NOW BEGIN.

Johnny leaned over Gaz’s shoulder. “Bit late. Story started when I got kidnapped.”

More ink appeared.

YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY STORY HERE.

That silenced him.

The forest seemed to change around them. It was subtle at first. The silver mist between the trees shifted direction. The floating lights disappeared into the ferns. Somewhere nearby, birds that had been singing throughout the entire conversation abruptly went quiet.

Six operators noticed at exactly the same moment. Price’s hand dropped instinctively toward his sword. Simon turned toward the trees. Johnny’s humor vanished as one hand reached over his shoulder for his bow. Gaz closed the book. Mateo straightened. Jesse’s gaze moved toward the old forest road leading into the clearing.

Someone—or something—was approaching.

Price’s voice dropped into the calm, authoritative register the others knew far better than any fairy-tale title Evermore could give him. “Eyes up.”

Six princes turned toward the sound coming through the Enchanted Forest.