Princess Lucinda goes to Washington 

 

ucinda Nightbane stood before the assembled students and staff of Cavendish Heights Private School, her posture perfect despite the constraints of the required navy blazer and plaid skirt uniform. Her iridescent black hair caught the auditorium lights, shifting between purple, green, and blue like a raven's wing. Violet eyes surveyed the crowd with casual disdain, pale skin nearly luminescent under the fluorescents.

"Onomatopoeia," she pronounced with imperial precision, not a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Her gaze swept the room, catching first her sister Millicent's proud smile. The elder Nightbane cut an elegant figure in her green blouse and dark jeans, looking more like a fashion model than a culinary student. Next to her, Ms. Wallace nodded approvingly, and finally, there was Ian, blushing slightly when their eyes met.

Lucinda's thoughts drifted to Mr. Alfred, who'd sparked this whole affair by describing her vocabulary as both "impressive and vexing" after her report on the Byzantine Empire. She'd initially considered banishing him to a pocket dimension infested with flesh-eating rabbits, but curiosity about this "spelling bee" had led her to enter instead. After effortlessly winning her grade level, here she stood, one word away from the school championship.

"O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-O-E-I-A," she spelled, each letter precise and crisp. The entire exercise was beneath her abilities, of course, but there was something satisfying about demonstrating proper pronunciation to the peasants that populated the school.

"Correct!" announced the judge, a school board member. "Congratulations, Lucenna Noutbalm!"

Lucinda's eyebrow arched ever so slightly. With the tiniest gesture, she cursed him with a week of skin worms - nothing fatal, just small parasites inhabiting his pores, causing intense irritation and mild flesh-eating. He'd recover in a few months. In her culture, names held power, and such mispronounciation warranted at least this minor punishment. Some noble houses had started blood feuds over less.

The principal and Ms. Wallace approached with congratulations as Millicent embraced her sister. Lucinda accepted the cheap gold-painted trophy and fifty-dollar Circus Burger gift card with carefully concealed disdain.

"Thank you for your assistance in preparation, Ms. Wallace," Lucinda said graciously, though they both knew she hadn't needed any help.

"Thank you for tolerating my sister's prickly nature," Millicent added warmly.

Ms. Wallace smiled. "Lucinda's a brilliant girl. She's entitled to be a bit prickly."

Lucinda found herself genuinely returning the smile - Ms. Wallace was almost likeable. Ian approached, and she handed him the trophy without looking, as if he were a servant. He just smiled, used to her imperial manner.

"I'll make your favorite dinner to celebrate," Millicent offered.

"Lamb," Lucinda declared. "With saffron rice, tabbouleh, hummus, and fresh flat bread."

"Must be nice having a chef for a sister," Ms. Wallace remarked.

"You're welcome to join us," Millicent offered graciously.

Ms. Wallace chuckled. "Much as I'd love to, I have my own kids to feed. And I wouldn't unleash them in your home."

Everyone laughed, though Lucinda's was more of a polite acknowledgment.

"Now that you're school champion," Ms. Wallace said, "you'll move on to the city competition."

Millicent's smile faltered slightly. "Oh? I thought this was the end."

"I'll crush them as thoroughly as I did here," Lucinda stated matter-of-factly.

"You'll be competing against older students," Ms. Wallace cautioned.

Lucinda's lips curved in a slight smirk. "It still won't present a challenge."

The principal approached, adjusting his tie nervously. "No pressure, Miss Nightbane, but the pride of Cavendish Heights rests with you now."

Lucinda fixed him with her violet gaze. "Sir, pride or no pride, I'm more than up to the task." The slight emphasis she put on "pride" made it clear she found the concept beneath her.

As the principal retreated, Ms. Wallace leaned close to him. "She still scares you?"

"That child is terrifying," he muttered. "A genius, but terrifying."

"You have no idea," Millicent whispered to herself, watching her sister accept congratulations with imperial grace while simultaneously maintaining her curse on the judge, who was beginning to scratch his arms uncomfortably.

*****

In their apartment, Lucinda and Millicent dined on perfectly prepared Middle Eastern cuisine while Hotspur, their two-foot-long baby drake, delicately ate raw meat from a silver bowl. His black scales gleamed in the chandelier light, green underbelly shifting as he moved, golden eyes alert and intelligent.

Millicent studied her sister over her wine glass, noting the slight smile that hadn't left Lucinda's face since the competition. She wasn't sure if she should be worried or relieved.

"This is the first time since coming to this world that you've seemed truly happy," Millicent observed.

"Getting to demonstrate my superiority has made this dung heap of a planet..." Lucinda paused, considering, "...not entirely insufferable." She reached down to scratch Hotspur behind his ear frills, earning a pleased rumble from the drake.

"If I'd known that was all it took, I would have gotten you a cat instead," Millicent teased.

"Please," Lucinda scoffed. "We're witches. A cat would be desperately cliché."

"Fair point."

Millicent's phone chimed. Her eyebrows rose as she read the message. "A Mr. Wallace from The Post wants to do a profile on you for their coverage of the city spelling bee. He's asking for a photo."

"Journalism," Lucinda sneered. "Leave it to Earth to turn being a busybody into an occupation."

"We don't have to-"

"If we must, ensure whatever picture you send properly captures my regality."

Millicent giggled, but a sliver of worry crept into her mind about their lives being opened to public scrutiny, even in this small way. The feeling dissipated as Hotspur abandoned Lucinda to give Millicent his most pitiful look. She tossed him a piece of lamb, which he caught mid-air.

"He doesn't seem to be getting any larger," Lucinda noted.

"Drakes grow slower than larger dragons. He'll be twice this size in a year." Millicent sighed. "Which we really need to consider."

A wicked smile spread across Lucinda's face. "We could level the Bronx, make it a proper preserve for him."

"No."

"It would take mere minutes-"

"No."

"Fine." Lucinda scratched Hotspur's scales. "Mean old Millicent won't destroy one measly peasant-infested borough for you."

Millicent rolled her eyes, but couldn't quite hide her smile. At least her sister's plans for mass destruction were motivated by pet care rather than pure malice. Progress was progress.

*****

Madison SquareGarden hummed with spelling bee energy, but Lucinda Nightbane stood apart from the crowd. She'd abandoned the school uniform for her preferred attire - a Victorian-inspired black dress with red accents and silver jewelry. Her iridescent black hair was styled immaculately, violet eyes surveying the competition with imperial disdain.

"Creepy goth kid," someone muttered just within Millicent's hearing.

Without turning her head, Millicent made a subtle gesture. The speaker's mouth sealed itself shut, their eyes widening in panic as they realized they wouldn't be able to open it for at least an hour.

Their support section filled a small area - Ms. Wallace sitting primly, Adam trying to look dignified, Casey and Zack arguing about something in whispers, and Ian holding up his phone so Ari could watch from her homeland.

Lucinda dominated the competition, her pronunciation flawless. When she shook hands with the runner-up, a sixteen-year-old boy who'd come close, she even smiled. "You did well... for an evolved primate." The boy blinked, unsure whether he'd been complimented or insulted.

On stage, the Mayor Pro Tem presented her with an oversized trophy and a check for ten thousand dollars.

"I have no need for this," Lucinda announced to the crowd, who mistook her genuine dismissal of what she considered peasant currency for generosity.

Camera flashes erupted around her. Lucinda staggered slightly, momentarily blinded. "When my vision returns," she muttered darkly, "someone is becoming a dung beetle."

Millicent chuckled as she reached her sister. "I'm so proud of you."

Ms. Wallace joined them, beaming. "Cavendish Heights is going to state!"

"Another one?" Millicent's smile faltered.

"Yes, and after that, nationals in Washington DC!"

Millicent's sliver of worry grew into something more substantial. The last thing they needed was this much attention. But before she could dwell on it, Ian appeared. Lucinda handed him the trophy without looking, as natural as a queen passing her cloak to a servant.

He offered her his phone. On the screen, Ari's face glowed with pride. Seeing Lucinda's genuine smile as she spoke to her friend, Millicent pushed her concerns aside momentarily.

"Did you hear about the judge from the school bee?" Ms. Wallace asked quietly.

"No, what happened?"

"Some kind of skin parasite they've never seen before. He's in the hospital - lost most of his top layer of skin."

Millicent shot Lucinda a look. She made a mental note to visit the hospital later and remove the curse while her sister was in this unusually good mood.

"Washington DC," Lucinda mused, still holding the phone. "Perhaps we can improve their government while we're there."

"No," Millicent said automatically.

"Just the Bronx then?"

"No."

*****

Millicent stood at the pass, expertly plating a coq au vin when Casey sidled up to her.

"Still worried about all the attention?" Casey asked, garnishing her own plates.

"There's too much digging. Too many questions."

"It's just spelling bee stuff. Nobody really cares." Casey shrugged. "They should, but they don't."

A student waiter approached nervously. "Chef Nightbane? Table eleven asked to speak with you."

Millicent nodded, wiped her hands, and headed into the dining room. A middle-aged man with carefully styled red hair stood, offering his business card with practiced smoothness.

"Edgar O'Hara, Talent Agent." His smile was too white, too practiced. "Saw you and little Lucy-"

"I would strongly advise never calling her that in person," Millicent interrupted, her voice carrying just a hint of imperial threat.

"Right, right." He pressed on, undaunted. "But come on - genius Wednesday Addams kid and her gorgeous sister? You're perfect for sponsorships, speaking tours, maybe even reality TV-"

"No."

"Just set up a meeting-"

"No."

Casey burst in. "Chef! Kitchen emergency!"

"Excuse me," Millicent said with cold politeness, following Casey back to the kitchen.

"You should thank me," Casey whispered. "Pretty sure I just saved him from becoming pie filling."

"I would never-" Millicent paused. "Well, not without turning him into apples first."

They shared a laugh, but it died when Millicent's phone chimed. She checked it - over two dozen messages from reporters and producers, all wanting interviews, information about their parents, their background...

Millicent turned off the phone, took a deep breath, and returned to her cooking. But the worry had grown from a sliver to a stone in her stomach. 

*****

"How does it feel being famous?" Ian asked as they walked home from school.

"I'm not famous," Lucinda sniffed. "Though infamous is far more entertaining."

Ian held up his phone, showing a Japanese girl on Chirp wearing a purple wig and black Victorian dress, lip-syncing while spelling increasingly complex words. "Look familiar?"

Lucinda watched with imperial satisfaction. "Finally, mortals showing proper reverence."

"That's just one of six influencers copying you."

"What they call 'influence' is meaningless," Lucinda dismissed, though Ian noticed she kept glancing at the videos.

"Hey, are you the Scary Bee Girl?" called a construction worker from across the street.

Lucinda turned to Ian, genuinely perplexed. "'Scary Bee?'"

Ian chuckled, delighting in her confusion. "That's what people are calling you. Because of how you look."

"Do they fear me?"

"Maybe?"

Lucinda straightened regally. "Yes, you dirty peasant! I am your Spelling Overlady!"

"Give 'em hell at state!" the worker shouted back.

A small smile played at Lucinda's lips as they approached Scoops to Nuts, the upscale ice cream parlor near school. Before they could enter, a young man thrust his phone toward them.

"Yo, it's Jay 4 Real here with Scary Bee herself outside NYC's best ice cream-"

With a casual gesture, Lucinda transformed him and his phone into an ornate lamp post. "How dare you," she muttered, entering the shop.

Several customers burst into applause. "Scary-Bee!" someone behind the counter called. Lucinda's fingers began to glow ominously until the manager quickly added, "Whatever you kids want, on the house!"

Her anger subsided into satisfaction as a six-year-old approached clutching a napkin. An ornate quill materialized in Lucinda's hand as she signed her name with flourish.

"You're enjoying this far too much," she told Ian.

"Maybe a little."

"Well, savor your ice cream," Lucinda said sweetly. "Because when we leave, you'll pay for your insolence."

Ian's smile faltered slightly, but he couldn't quite hide his amusement. 

*****

"Mom's going to kill me for ruining dinner," Ian groaned, patting his stomach as they exited Scoops to Nuts.

"You did consume six scoops with approximately a pound of toppings," Lucinda observed.

"You ate almost as much!"

"My highblood metabolism is far more effective than your primate gullet."

Ian glanced at his phone. "Getting late, I better head home-"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"No?"

"Your punishment for enjoying my discomfort." Lucinda's eyes gleamed wickedly.

"If I say I'm sorry, will you let it go?"

"While the sentiment is appreciated, no." Lucinda raised her finger, but before she could cast-

"Scary Bee! You're awesome!" Someone called from down the street.

Ian sagged with relief as a college-aged girl rushed up to them.

"I was in the spelling bee six years ago but never made it to state," she gushed. "You're going to crush it!"

"Thank you," Lucinda said imperially, but when she turned back, Ian had vanished into the crowd.

She pouted, annoyed at being denied her entertainment. After checking no one was watching, she blinked out of existence, reappearing in the alley beside her building.

A news van caught her attention. The doorman, Frank, was speaking to a female reporter: "They keep to themselves, tip very well. Millicent brings me these amazing muffins she bakes. I call Lucinda 'princess' because she's so... aristocratic."

Lucinda's finger twitched. The reporter suddenly straightened. "We're done here," she announced to her crew, packing up with mechanical movements.

Once they'd driven off, Lucinda approached. Frank opened the door with his usual smile. "How are you today?"

"Not well," Lucinda said coldly. "While I appreciate your service, do not mistake our friendliness for permission to discuss us with media busybodies."

She stormed past him to the elevator. Frank shrugged, used to "the princess being herself," and settled back in his chair.

All four legs snapped simultaneously. As he crashed to the floor, rain began falling - but only on him.

The elevator doors closed on Lucinda's satisfied smile.

Lucinda stepped out of the elevator to find Millicent in their hallway, surrounded by small packages and gifts nearly blocking the path to their door.

"What is this trash?" Lucinda demanded.

Millicent glanced between a letter and her sister. "Cards and gifts from well-wishers."

Lucinda paused, picking up a package. "Tribute?"

"Something like that."

Her mood instantly improved as she entered their apartment. Hotspur greeted her, playfully circling her legs while batting at a large stuffed black bee. Lucinda smiled at the baby drake's antics, then focused on the small square package in her hand. It opened at her will, revealing a clay sculpture - a black bee sporting her signature hairstyle.

"I'm not sure if this 'Scary Bee' business is amusing or annoying."

"Neither am I." Millicent gestured, levitating all the packages inside. Hotspur made futile jumps trying to catch them, his stubby legs barely getting him off the ground.

Lucinda sent her backpack floating to her room, surveying the nearly three dozen packages and stack of letters on their table. "It's good to receive tribute again."

"No, it's not." Millicent's voice hardened. "People can find us. If they can find us, they might see something they shouldn't."

"Then we turn them into worms or muddle their minds."

"No, we can't. Maybe... maybe you should consider dropping out. Or losing on purpose."

Lucinda's eyes flashed. "No. Since coming to this dung heap of a world, I've had to hide who I am."

"Not very well sometimes."

"Not the point. This is my chance to show the world who I am in a way these peasants find acceptable. I won't give that up."

Millicent crossed her arms. "I could use the Empress card, command you to lose. I won't - not now. But if things get more out of hand..."

"I'll cast wards around the block," Lucinda offered. "Keep away looky-loos. Turn the particularly annoying ones into mice."

"No mice."

"It's a good idea-"

"No."

"Fine." Lucinda gestured, floating the gifts to the kitchen table to begin unwrapping them. Behind her, Hotspur returned to enthusiastically mauling his stuffed bee.

*****

"Always wanted to work security for the infamous 'Scary Bee,'" Adam said with a smirk as he led them through the back halls of the Albany Audtorium .

"I'm not sure I like that name," Ms. Wallace frowned.

"I remain undecided," Lucinda said imperiously.

"Price of fame," Millicent offered, hoping to discourage her sister. Lucinda merely shrugged.

At registration, the attendant's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh! Lucinda Nightbane!" She hurriedly handed over ID lanyards and Lucinda's contestant number, practically bowing.

Inside, a coordinator directed them: "Contestants left, guests right."

Lucinda nodded regally and entered the contestants' area, finding a room full of children her age and slightly older. Some paced nervously, others projected false confidence.

"Buzz buzz, Scary Bee!" A boy called out. "Nice schtick, but it won't help you win."

Lucinda scoffed, mentally adding him to her post-competition transformation list.

A girl in an elaborate white dress flounced past. "You might be Scary Bee, but I'm Fairy Bee." She shot Lucinda a glare, immediately earning her own spot on the list.

Finding an unused cushioned chair in the corner, Lucinda claimed it as her temporary throne. A harried-looking producer announced makeup and hair would arrive soon, followed by competition start in fifteen minutes.

Lucinda surveyed the room with cold disdain until a young Asian girl approached tentatively.

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"No."

"I'm Mai, from Buffalo."

"Lucinda Nightbane."

"I'm kind of freaking out," Mai admitted.

"Why? Most of these people will be dead and forgotten in seventy years."

Mai giggled at the dark humor. Lucinda smiled slightly, gesturing to the mock-buzzing boy. "Though he may not survive to see sunrise."

"You're bad," Mai grinned. "But cool."

Lucinda scooted over, allowing Mai to sit. As they chatted, she decided Mai would be spared when she eventually had to clean up the more annoying elements of this competition.

*****

Millicent shifted uncomfortably in her seat, counting hundreds of phones raised like digital torches, all aimed at the stage. Local news cameras swiveled into position as contestants took their places alongside the judges and moderator, a minor Albany celebrity whose name Millicent hadn't bothered to remember.

"Feeling okay?" Adam whispered.

"Fine," she lied, watching her sister take the stage.

The first rounds proceeded exactly as expected - Lucinda dispatching words with imperial precision. Someone shouted "Scary Bee!" after a particularly impressive spelling, earning a slight smile from Lucinda and a grimace from Millicent.

As the field narrowed to finals, Mai and a handful of others remained. Lucinda looked utterly bored, as if this were beneath her - which, Millicent thought, it absolutely was.

Finally, only Lucinda and the mocking "buzz boy" remained. He leaned toward her, whispering, "You don't stand a chance."

Lucinda's violet eyes fixed on him with predatory focus. "Your humiliation will be twofold today."

Six rounds of increasingly complex words followed, each competitor matching the other until finally - inevitably - Lucinda emerged victorious. The crowd erupted in cheers, led by an enthusiastic Mai. The chant started small but grew: "SCARY BEE! SCARY BEE!"

Lucinda basked in the adoration, a wickedly satisfied smile playing across her face. In the audience, Ms. Wallace cheered proudly while Adam whooped and hollered.

Millicent watched it all with growing dread. She saw not just the phones and cameras, but the social media posts being made, the news stories being written, the attention spreading like wildfire. Their carefully constructed life in New York suddenly felt very fragile.

But looking at her sister's genuine pleasure - so rare since their exile - she couldn't bring herself to dampen the moment. Not yet, anyway.

*****

Backstage, contestants milled about - the nervous ones seeking parents, relieved it was over, while others shot glares at Lucinda. She ignored them all, deep in conversation with Mai.

"My dad's a professor at Buffalo University, mom's a surgeon at Buffalo General," Mai explained. "They might be disappointed..."

"They'll be proud," Lucinda assured her, a rare moment of genuine comfort. "Though I do wish my parents could have been here."

"Can I get your number?" Mai asked. "To text?"

"Of course-" Lucinda began, but the runner-up shouldered past them both, muttering "Stuck-up bee" under his breath.

Lucinda maintained her imperial composure, exchanging numbers with Mai. They tested the connection with quick texts, and Lucinda found herself realizing she might have acquired another friend - a concept still strange to her.

After Mai left, Lucinda followed the runner-up, who was sulking near a snack table laden with baked goods. She approached with predatory grace.

"I wanted to congratulate you," she said sweetly, "on being absolutely no competition whatsoever."

He turned, face twisted with anger. "They're going to destroy you at nationals."

"Doubtful," Lucinda smiled coldly. "And sadly, you won't be there to see it."

With a casual snap of her fingers, he transformed into an expertly frosted cupcake, landing perfectly atop the tower of identical treats. Lucinda surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction.

"These look absolutely delicious," she announced to no one in particular, then strode away, a wickedly pleased smile playing across her face. 

*****

Lucinda lounged on the sofa, Hotspur curled beside her, watching the morning news. A reporter detailed the mysterious case of a spelling bee contestant found in Albany's waste treatment facility, making only buzzing sounds and unable to remember anything. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she scratched behind Hotspur's ear frills.

The story shifted: "The mysterious 'Scary Bee' phenomenon continues as thirteen-year-old Lucinda Nightbane advances to nationals. Sources reveal the straight-A student is already taking college courses while living with her sister in their Central Park West penthouse. The Nightbane sisters' estimated worth-"

Lucinda nodded approvingly - at least the peasants were properly acknowledging their station.

Suddenly, the room vibrated. Hotspur's golden eyes snapped open, his head tilting in confusion. Millicent emerged from her room in emerald silk pajamas.

"Lucinda, what are you doing?"

"It's not me."

Still in their sleepwear, the princesses moved to the balcony. A news helicopter circled back toward their building, camera clearly visible.

"This never happened before the spelling bee," Millicent said pointedly.

"No," Lucinda agreed. "I only warded ground level. Clearly, I need to extend protection to our airspace."

"This might be getting out of hand."

"No." Lucinda's eyes narrowed. "But no flying annoyance will ruin our Sunday morning." She pointed at the helicopter. "Change."

The aircraft shrank instantly into a four-inch dragonfly, which fluttered over to land delicately on her extended finger. Without hesitation, she lowered her hand to Hotspur, who snapped up the transformed vehicle with obvious relish.

Millicent rolled her eyes and headed toward the kitchen, knowing with grim certainty that this was only the beginning.

*****

"What's wrong?" Casey asked as they walked down the street. "You look worried."

"It's the spotlight," Millicent sighed. "It reminds me of when we were princesses - people always wanting to greet us, grovel, talk to us, see us."

"Sounds fun."

"Lucinda was too young to see the darker side of living in a fishbowl. I wasn't."

"On Earth, celebrity is fleeting," Casey assured her.

"Maybe, but it only takes one clever reporter..." Millicent trailed off. "One person asking the right questions."

"What's wrong with people finding out? You'd be the most famous people on the planet."

Millicent's expression darkened. "I've read how humans treat those who are different. I won't let that happen to Lucinda."

"Plus, you guys have the cutest dragon."

"Exactly. If people saw Hotspur-"

"Slow dissection table," Casey finished grimly.

"We have to protect him. And Lucinda."

"Got a plan?"

"Zack's creating some program to scrub compromising footage, Adam's being his usual optimistic self, and Lucinda's friend Ari offered sanctuary with her family in Ibahd if things go badly."

"Well, count me in. That's what besties are for."

Millicent stopped walking. "You know, you're my first real best friend on this world."

"Girl, you need to get out more."

"I have Adam, but there are things I can't tell him. But now..."

"You can bask in my coolness?"

"Exactly."

Casey grinned. "Since we're officially besties... my landlord might need to be turned into a frog."

"Why?"

"Won't fix the AC/heat unit."

"That's not a frogging offense."

"Maybe I should ask Lucinda-"

"No! I don't want another case of digging through drake dung for undigested dragonfly pieces to recreate a helicopter and crew."

Casey burst out laughing. "Girl, you have the strangest and coolest life."

Looking at her friend's genuine amusement, Millicent felt some of her worry lift. Maybe having one more person in their corner wasn't such a bad thing after all.

*****

The door opened to reveal Ian's mother, beaming. "Lucinda! We're so proud of you. Come in!"

Lucinda accepted the praise as her due. "Where's Ian?"

"Ian! You have a guest!"

Ian appeared at the top of the stairs, freezing when he saw Lucinda's crossed arms and imperial glare.

"Hello," he managed.

"We have unfinished business."

Ian's mother smiled warmly. "Can I get you anything, dear?"

"No," Lucinda said coldly. "I won't be staying long."

After his mother left, Ian swallowed hard. "Can I throw myself on the mercy of the court?"

"Mercy is for the weak, and there's insolence to pay for." Her violet eyes glinted dangerously.

"Is there... anything I can do to avoid being zapped?"

Lucinda considered. "Perhaps. I've been researching other national spelling bee contestants. Like me, they're celebrated in their areas, but some control their narrative through social media."

"So?"

"Help me do that, and you may continue existing on two legs... for now."

"Sure, but..." Ian hesitated. "Have you talked to Millicent about this?"

"Why would I?"

"She mentioned her concerns on the Cavendish Heights Parents Chat Room. My mom's part of it."

Lucinda's expression shifted slightly. "I had no idea it worried her so much."

"According to Mom, it really does."

"Your mother is an honorable woman, unlike her cad of a son."

"Cad or not, that's what I heard."

"Fine. No social media." Lucinda's eyes narrowed. "But you will research every national contestant. I want dossiers on their weaknesses by Monday."

"Or else?"

"Or else you'll spend next week as a hedge in Central Park."

"I'm on it!"

Lucinda nodded regally and turned to leave, her mind already processing this new information about Millicent's worries. Not that it would change her plans for nationals, of course, but perhaps some... adjustments were in order.

*****

Jessica Murray's desk looked like a conspiracy theorist's dream - documents, photos, and sticky notes connected by hand-drawn lines across her cork board. Most of her colleagues had gone home, leaving the office lit only by her desk lamp and computer screen.

"Still chasing shadows, Murray?" Marcus called from the sports desk, the only other person burning midnight oil.

"The Nightbane story doesn't add up." She pointed to her screen. "They appear in New York financial records suddenly, eighteen months ago. Perfect documentation, flawless paper trail..."

"Some people are just rich, Jess."

"Nobody's this perfect." She pulled up several bank records. "Multiple institutions processing their accounts within hours of each other. Every signature identical. And look at the Cavendish Heights records."

"The fancy apartment building?"

"Their floor. Building historically skipped thirteen, like most do. Then suddenly there are records showing it always existed. But no record of previous tenants."

Marcus sighed. "Last time you went down a rabbit hole like this, you got reassigned to dog shows for three months."

"Because I was right about the hedge fund manager, and he had friends on the board."

"And before that, the charity scandal-"

"Which turned out to be true."

"Just..." Marcus gathered his things. "Be careful. Not everyone appreciates your kind of digging."

Jessica barely noticed him leave, focused on her screen. The Nightbanes' investment patterns were impossibly precise. Lucinda's academic records showed perfect scores across the board. Everything about them was immaculate - too immaculate.

"What are you hiding?" she muttered, adding another note to her board.

Her editor had warned her about chasing stories too hard, called her a "throwback journalist" who didn't understand modern media. But Jessica Murray hadn't become the paper's most controversial reporter by backing down when things got weird.

And the Nightbane sisters? They were definitely weird.

She started gathering her notes, planning her next moves. Whatever was going on with these mysterious sisters, she was going to find out. Even if it meant adding another reassignment to her record.

After all, the best stories were always the ones nobody else wanted her to tell.

*****

"Alright people," Deputy Chief Wilson addressed the assembled security heads from Secret Service, Capitol Police, and DC Metro. "Next week's National Spelling Bee festivities. Let's make this quick."

Agent Roberts, barely stifling a yawn, pulled up his tablet. "Fifty states plus territories. Capitol tour, White House visit, then the actual competition at the Grand Hyatt."

"President Turner must be thrilled," Captain Martinez from Capitol Police smirked. "Man who thinks 'covfefe' is a real word hosting spelling champions."

Laughter rippled through the room.

"Background checks?" Wilson asked.

"All contestants and guardians cleared," Agent Thompson reported. "Few minor flags. Kid from Puerto Rico, parents have some fringe socialist connections, nothing serious."

"And the Nightbanes," Roberts added with a grin. "British citizens, apparently distant relatives of the Royal Family, according to MI-5."

"The vampire-looking ones?" Martinez pulled up their photos. "Scary Bee and her sister? They certainly got the Gothic aristocrat look down."

"Complete with fancy Central Park West address," Thompson nodded. "But they're clean. Absurdly wealthy, but clean."

Wilson checked his watch. "Anything else?"

"Standard routes, standard protocols," Roberts shrugged. "Honestly, biggest security concern is making sure the President doesn't tweet that Shakespeare used too many big words."

More laughter.

"Alright," Wilson stood. "Let's get this over with. Next week we'll all be bored watching kids spell words none of us use. Dismissed."

As they filed out, Thompson muttered to Roberts, "Ten bucks says Turner tries to convince them 'bigly' is a real word."

"Twenty says he can't spell it if it was."

*****

Lucinda sat at the massive mahogany dining table, surrounded by official documents while Hotspur playfully circled her chair, his black scales gleaming in the chandelier light. She held up a White House visitor's badge with two perfectly manicured fingers, as if it might contaminate her.

"Utterly tedious," she declared, violet eyes scanning the itinerary. "Flying in their primitive metal tubes when brooms are infinitely faster. Hours of meaningless tours, endless waves, more tours." Her expression brightened slightly. "Though I suppose sizing up their so-called world leader and his collection of groveling minions could prove... enlightening."

At the other end of the massive table, Millicent sat surrounded by floating college textbooks, each hovering at the perfect angle for reference. "Under no circumstances are you to do anything to government officials."

"Why would I?" Lucinda's smile turned wickedly devious. "Although a few well-placed magical suggestions in their simple minds might prove useful for later. After all, what's the point of meeting Earth's most powerful government if we can't properly influence it?"

"One," Millicent said firmly, closing her books with a gesture, "they're dignitaries. Per Imperial rules of visitation and hospitality, we don't harm our hosts unless they harm us first."

"Their very existence could be considered harmful," Lucinda mused, absently scratching Hotspur behind his ear frills. "Their policies alone are an offense to proper governance."

"Two, they have cameras everywhere. We cannot risk disclosure."

Hotspur jumped into Lucinda's lap, curling up like an oversized, scaly cat. She sighed dramatically. "Fine. Though it seems a waste of perfectly good opportunities for improvement through transformation."

"It's not too late to back out entirely."

"No." Lucinda's voice turned hard. "I will finish this and crush my spelling foes."

"But not literally."

"Maybe..." Lucinda smirked, then looked down at Hotspur. "What about him while we're gone?"

Millicent waved her hand, causing her books to shelve themselves. "I've been considering our options. Ari would be the obvious choice, but shipping a drake halfway across the world seems unwise. Adam and Zack would try-"

"Because they're idiots."

"Because they're men," Millicent corrected. "Ian could manage, but his parents don't know about magic or dragons. That leaves Casey, who practically volunteered."

"Casey is... acceptable," Lucinda nodded, actually looking pleased. "She understands proper respect, and her culinary skills could prove useful for a growing drake."

"So we're agreed? About both Casey and the government officials?"

"Yes, yes. No transforming the president into what he already is - a toad."

Millicent fixed her sister with an imperial glare.

"What? That was merely an observation, not a spell." Lucinda smiled innocently, though her fingers sparked slightly with suppressed magic. "Though one must admit, it would be an improvement."

"Lucinda..."

"Oh, very well. I shall restrain myself. But only because you ask, sister." She returned to sorting through the documents, muttering under her breath, "Though a small curse or two might actually improve their spelling..."

*****

"And we're back with New York's own 'Scary Bee,' Lucinda Nightbane!" Sarah Chen, the host, beamed at the camera before turning to Lucinda, who sat perfectly poised in her Victorian-inspired dress.

"So, Lucinda, how does it feel representing New York at nationals?"

"One endeavors to bring proper glory to one's state," Lucinda replied with imperial precision, causing Sarah to blink at her formal tone.

"And your unique style has really caught on! The 'Scary Bee' look is trending-"

"One's appearance is merely appropriate to one's station," Lucinda said, as if explaining something obvious to a child.

From off-camera, Millicent watched, hiding her tension behind a pleasant smile.

In the newsroom, Jessica Murray studied the monitor intently. The sisters' accents weren't quite British - more like someone's idea of British aristocracy filtered through another language entirely. And their clothes... everything custom, but in fabrics she couldn't quite identify.

"Any special study techniques?" Sarah tried again.

"Why would one need to study?" Lucinda looked genuinely puzzled. "The proper spelling of words is simply..." she paused, clearly remembering something, "...something one learns."

"Right..." Sarah rallied admirably. "And your fans love your confidence! Some are calling you the 'Queen Bee' of spelling-"

"Princess," Lucinda corrected automatically. "Though queen would be more accurate now, given certain... circumstances."

Millicent coughed slightly.

"Tell us about your sister Millicent," Sarah gestured off-camera. "She's here with you today."

"Millicent is, of course, perfection itself," Lucinda stated matter-of-factly. "Though her insistence on attending culinary school rather than properly ruling- managing our affairs is somewhat vexing."

Jessica made another note. Their hair caught the studio lights strangely, shifting between purple, green, and blue like oil on water. Later, when she asked the makeup team about Lucinda's perfect appearance, they'd tell her they hadn't touched her - she'd arrived camera-ready.

"One final question," Sarah grinned. "Would you do a TikTok challenge with us?"

Lucinda's violet eyes narrowed slightly. "One does not... dance for peasants."

"She means we have a prior engagement," Millicent stepped in smoothly.

"Well, thank you for joining us! New York's Scary Bee, everyone!"

As they left the studio, Jessica watched the sisters' departure. Something about them wasn't quite right - the way they moved, the way they spoke, how every detail was perfect yet somehow wrong.

She had no idea what she was looking for yet. But she knew she was looking at something impossible.

And Jessica Murray loved impossible stories.

****

"That kid is amazing," Sarah Chen laughed, stirring her coffee. "The whole royal act is just perfect."

"'One does not dance for peasants,'" her co-host Tom mimicked, grinning. "Brilliant commitment to the character."

Jessica Murray leaned against the doorframe. "You don't find anything odd about her? The accent that's not quite British, the way she talks about 'ruling' things?"

"It's called showmanship, Murray," Tom shrugged. "The whole gothic princess spelling champion thing - it's great branding."

"Our social media's exploding," the producer, Dave, walked in waving his phone. "Live feed broke all previous records. #ScaryBee is trending locally."

"But her hair," Jessica pressed. "The makeup team says they didn't touch her. And have you noticed how her sister-"

"Oh God, here we go," Sarah rolled her eyes. "Jessica Murray smells conspiracy."

"Remember the hedge fund story?" Dave chuckled. "Three months of dog shows."

"The hedge fund manager went to prison," Jessica reminded them.

"Look," Sarah set down her coffee. "She's a brilliant kid with a great gimmick. Rich family, probably theater people given how well she stays in character. That's it. No mystery."

"The numbers don't lie," Dave added. "People love her. Sometimes, Murray, a good story is just a good story."

Jessica watched them laugh and chat about Lucinda's best quotes. They didn't see it - or didn't want to see it. The way both sisters moved like they were used to people bowing, how Lucinda's casual mentions of ruling weren't played for laughs, the strange perfection that surrounded them both.

But she'd learned long ago - sometimes the best stories were the ones nobody else believed were stories at all.

"Heading out," she announced. "Got some calls to make."

"Leave the kid alone, Murray!" Dave called after her. "Not everything's Watergate!"

Jessica smiled to herself as she left. No, not everything was Watergate.

Sometimes it was much, much bigger.

*****

Adam sat on their worn couch, sadly folding a tiny hockey jersey with "Hotspur" stitched across the back. "I still can't believe we didn't get to dragon-sit."

"Probably for the best," Zack didn't look up from his laptop. "Little guy might decide zombie flesh is tasty."

"I got him a Rangers jersey and everything..."

"Better than being nibbled on- oh man, this guy's asking for it."

Adam walked over, peering at Zack's screen. An influencer with styled hair and perfect teeth was doing an exaggerated impression of Lucinda. "'One does not associate with peasants,'" he mocked in a terrible British accent. "What a freak!"

"That guy's playing with fire," Adam muttered.

"More like a nuke." Zack clicked through several tabs. "And he's not alone."

Video after video filled the screen - influencers mocking "Scary Bee," making fun of her accent, her style, her attitude. All for views and likes, none realizing they were mocking an actual imperial princess who turned people into objects for far less.

"Should we tell Millicent?"

"Nah," Zack closed his laptop. "The princesses don't do social media. They'll never see these. Thank god - I don't want to imagine what Lucinda would do to these idiots."

"Yeah..." Adam agreed, but couldn't shake his worry. He'd seen what happened to people who truly annoyed Lucinda. These influencers had no idea they were essentially poking a dragon with a stick.

"Still," he picked up the tiny hockey jersey again, "at least Casey gets to dragon-sit."

"True. And she makes better treats than you."

"Hey! I got him beef jerky and everything!"

"Face it, man - we're just not responsible enough for magical creature care."

Adam sighed, looking at the jersey. "Yeah, probably right. But I still think he'd look cute in Rangers colors."

In the background, his laptop showed another influencer starting their "Scary Bee impression." Adam quickly closed it, thinking some things were better left unseen.

Especially by imperial witch princesses with a tendency toward creative revenge.

*****

Casey stood in the Nightbanes' living room, carefully taking notes as Millicent detailed Hotspur's care requirements.

"He eats ten pounds of meat daily, preferably lamb or beef," Millicent explained. "Despite his size, he weighs as much as a small adult."

Hotspur, currently curled around Lucinda's feet like an oversized scaly cat, perked up at the mention of food.

"Oh!" Casey dug into her bag. "I made him something for when we go out." She pulled out a small cowl with cat ears. "Perfect disguise for walks."

"Brilliant," Lucinda nodded approvingly. "Though how are you handling those despicable Scary-Bee-Busters on See-saw?"

"Who?" Lucinda's eyes narrowed.

Millicent looked up sharply. "What's this?"

"Oh..." Casey pulled out her phone hesitantly. "Just some jerks making videos for hits..."

She showed them several clips of influencers mocking "Scary Bee," each more mean-spirited than the last. Lucinda's expression grew darker with each video.

"They'll pay for their idiocy," she said softly, violet eyes glinting dangerously.

"They're probably all hundreds of miles away," Millicent said quickly. "In dark basements-"

"Actually," Casey said, then immediately regretted speaking, "Hector-Hater lives in the Bronx."

A wicked smile spread across Lucinda's face.

"No," Millicent warned.

"I'm sure he's impossible to find!" Casey backpedaled frantically. "Best to just ignore him!"

But Lucinda was already plotting, that imperial smile promising creative vengeance. Hotspur, sensing his mistress's mood, made a sound suspiciously like a chuckle.

"I just remembered," Casey gathered her things quickly, "I need to go buy... meat. Lots of meat. For Hotspur. Right now."

As she hurried out, she heard Millicent say firmly, "Lucinda, no."

And Lucinda's reply: "Lucinda, yes."

Casey made a mental note to never, ever mention social media to the princesses again. Some forces of nature were better left undisturbed.

*****

Lucinda sat side-saddle on her broom, hovering above the city lights. Her phone displayed Hector's See-Saw page - endless videos of things he claimed to hate, each more spiteful than the last. "Over a hundred thousand followers," she mused. "How unfortunate for them all."

She pressed her finger to his profile picture, violet eyes glowing as she connected his digital presence to his physical form. A magenta light erupted from the phone, streaming forward like a ribbon of malicious intent. Lucinda followed, her broom cutting silently through the night air.

The magical trail led to a small pizzeria, where Hector and three others were setting up camera equipment. Lucinda landed gracefully in a nearby alley, tucking her broom into her seemingly endless purse. She straightened her red dress, adjusted her black gloves, and strode forward with playful malice in her step.

"This place has five stars," Hector was saying to his camera. "Everyone loves it. Which means all those people will watch just to say I'm wrong." His crew laughed sycophantically.

"I challenge you," Lucinda's imperial voice cut through their laughter. "For your insults against me."

They turned, recognition dawning on their faces. "Holy shit," one whispered. "It's actually Scary Bee."

Hector recovered quickly, though his smile wavered slightly. "Hey, no offense! It's just business." He gestured to one of his crew. "Get the kid a t-shirt. We're cool, right?"

"We are not 'cool,'" Lucinda's voice carried centuries of aristocratic disdain. "Either accept my challenge or decline for summary judgment."

Hector and his crew burst out laughing. "Look, I don't fight emo kids. Challenge declined."

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

Lucinda's smile turned predatory. "Very well. Then my judgment is doom."

Lucinda withdrew her empty cigarette holder, twirling it elegantly. "Any last words? Perhaps some groveling apologies?"

"I love this kid!" Hector laughed. "Really committing to the bit."

"She's good," one crew member nodded. "Like, really good."

Hector spread his arms dramatically. "Final words? Haters gonna hate!"

The crew burst into laughter.

"Silly words," Lucinda smiled wickedly. "But they'll do." She glanced around, noting too many potential witnesses. "Follow me."

Without knowing why, they followed her into the alley. When awareness returned, they found themselves deep in the shadows, unsure how they'd arrived.

"Now that we have privacy," Lucinda purred, "I can have some fun."

"How'd we get here?" One crew member looked around dazed.

"Maybe she's a vampire," another suggested. "Like, hypnotized us?"

"Not a vampire," Lucinda corrected. "A witch."

Hector rolled his eyes. "Cool trick, but we've got a video to shoot-" He walked toward the alley entrance but hit an invisible barrier. Turning back, he found Lucinda grinning, her violet eyes glowing.

She raised her holder to her lips, and Hector felt a peculiar stretching sensation. His world twisted, contracted, and suddenly he was being drawn into the holder, compressing into a perfectly rolled cigarette. Lucinda lit him with a flame from her fingertip.

"Now for you three," she turned to his crew. "Good news - you won't share your leader's fate."

"What's the bad news?" one asked.

"This." Lucinda snapped her fingers, transforming him into a toad.

With a playful gesture, she turned the second crew member into black marble, his soul visibly glowing within. "I'll find a use for you," she said, picking up the sphere.

The last crew member panicked, pounding against the invisible barrier. Lucinda pointed casually, transforming him into a mangy alley cat that immediately fled.

Taking a triumphant drag from her Hector-cigarette, Lucinda removed her phone and pressed the soul-marble into it. The phone's case shifted from red to black, and when she tapped the screen, the trapped crew member's face appeared.

"You're bound to my phone now," she informed him. "And shall remain so until you locate everyone on See-Saw who has insulted me."

The face nodded fearfully and vanished.

Lucinda retrieved her broom from her purse and took off into the night sky, satisfied with her evening's work. After all, what good was being a princess if you couldn't properly punish those who failed to show proper respect?

The toad hopped away, the cat disappeared into the shadows, and somewhere in the digital realm, a trapped soul began his endless search for those who had dared mock the Scary Bee.

*****

The smartphone's chirp cut through the pre-dawn darkness. Brad Murray groped for his wife's phone on the nightstand.

"This better be the state lottery," he mumbled into it. After listening a moment, he sighed. "She's asleep... fine." He gently shook Jessica. "Work child for you."

Jessica took the phone, eyes still closed. "Devlin, someone better be dead."

"Hector Delgado didn't come home last night," her assistant's voice crackled with excitement. "You know, Hector-Hater? Missed his daily See-Saw post, stood up his girlfriend-"

"And you're calling me at dawn because...?"

"You said track anything Nightbane-related. He did a dis-video on Scary Bee yesterday."

Jessica's eyes snapped open. She sat up, suddenly alert. "Pick me up in twenty."

After hanging up, she kissed Brad. "What time is it?"

"Five AM," he groaned. "I'll handle the kids' school routine."

"You're the best." She started pulling on clothes.

"Be safe."

"Always am."

"What about that mob guy last month?"

"He retracted the hit," Jessica grinned, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

"Only because you scared him more than his boss did."

As she gathered her things, Jessica tried to temper her expectations. Hector would probably turn up with a hangover and a dumb story. Social media personalities disappeared and reappeared all the time for attention.

But something about the Nightbanes made her trust her instincts. And her instincts were screaming that this wasn't just another missing person case.

She kissed Brad one more time. "Don't let Tommy skip breakfast again."

"Love you too, Nancy Drew."

As she headed out, Jessica couldn't shake the feeling that this time, she might be onto something bigger than even she suspected.

*****

"His phone's not just off," Devlin said, staring at his screen as they left his girlfriend's walk-up. "According to the carrier, that number doesn't exist anymore. Like it was never activated."

Jessica added this to her growing list of impossibilities. "His mother's next. She's a teacher at PS 218."

They found Mrs. Delgado getting ready for school, still in her bathrobe but with perfectly applied makeup. Her small apartment was filled with photos of Hector - graduation, birthdays, family gatherings.

"He's not perfect," she said, touching a recent photo. "But he's a good boy. These videos, they're just an act. He's actually very sweet." Her voice cracked slightly. "He always calls if he's going to be late."

"Tell us about the pizza place," Jessica prompted gently.

"Mario's. He said a negative review would actually help them get noticed. More views mean more customers in the end." She wrung her hands. "Please find him."

At Mario's Pizza, the morning prep crew was just arriving. The owner, Mario Castellano, remembered Hector clearly.

"Sure, they were setting up out front," he shrugged, kneading dough. "I know all about his videos. People watch to disagree, then they come try the pizza themselves. Any publicity, right?" He wiped flour from his hands. "But no cameras outside. Try Tony's Laundry across the street. That guy cameras everywhere."

The laundromat owner, Mr. Khalil, met them with crossed arms. "You want security footage? I want story about graffiti problem. Kids destroying property, police do nothing."

"Deal," Jessica agreed quickly.

He led them through the humid warmth of industrial washers to a back room crammed with monitors. "Many cameras. Too much vandalism these days."

The footage showed Hector and his crew setting up their equipment. Then a pale girl in red appeared - Lucinda Nightbane, unmistakable even in grainy security footage. No audio, but the body language told a story: confrontation, then all of them walking off-screen toward the alley.

"That's all?" Devlin asked.

"That's all. They go in alley, no camera there."

In the alley itself, they found the crew's abandoned equipment - cameras, lights, microphones. A mangy cat hissed at them before darting away. Nothing else seemed disturbed, but something about the space felt wrong to Jessica, like the air was slightly thicker.

Back in the car, Devlin scrolled through his phone. "Four people don't just vanish. Especially not a guy with Hector's online presence. His See-Saw followers are already asking questions."

"Check his other platforms," Jessica said, thinking about Lucinda's imperial stance in the video, how the others had followed her like they were compelled. "Any activity at all?"

"Nothing since yesterday afternoon. His last post was promoting the Mario's video." Devlin looked up. "Theory?"

"Not yet." But she was starting to form one. One that seemed impossible, but then again, everything about the Nightbanes seemed impossible - their sudden appearance, their perfect documentation, their strange perfection.

"Want to call it in to missing persons?"

"Not yet. Let's see what else we can find." Jessica started the car. "Something about this feels bigger than a missing persons case."

"Like what?"

Jessica thought about all the little oddities surrounding the Nightbanes - the way electronics acted strange around them, how their apartment floor seemed to exist and not exist simultaneously, their accents that weren't quite right.

"I don't know yet," she admitted. "But I have a feeling we're just seeing the tip of something much bigger."

"And much weirder?" Devlin added.

"Maybe." She pulled away from the curb. "Call your contact at See-Saw. I want to know if anyone else who's posted about 'Scary Bee' has gone missing."

As they drove away, neither noticed the black phone case in the abandoned equipment suddenly glowing, a face appearing briefly on its surface before fading away.

The hunt was beginning.

*****

"This is unacceptable," Millicent declared, pacing their vast living room. "The room is practically a closet."

"Our pantry is larger," Lucinda agreed from the sofa, absently petting Hotspur.

"Two queen beds in one room? Like common travelers?" Millicent pulled out her phone. "I'm calling the Gaylord."

Lucinda watched her sister's expression darken as she spoke with the hotel. When Millicent hung up, her violet eyes were flashing dangerously.

"No upgrades available. Due to the spelling bee." She practically spat the last words.

"We could simply locate whoever has the presidential suite and-"

"No vaporizing other guests."

"Just a suggestion." Lucinda's phone pinged. "Excuse me."

In her room, Lucinda activated her phone. The trapped spirit's face appeared, looking pleased with itself.

"Three more mockers found, mistress. Two in America, one in England."

"Their emails?"

"Retrieved and added to your contacts."

Lucinda smiled wickedly, composing a message. As she typed, she wove a transformation spell, capturing it in mid-air as a floating magenta lightning bolt. With elegant precision, she bound the spell to the email as an attachment - her own magical malware.

"Your reckoning is at hand," she read aloud as she typed. The spell would trigger the moment they finished reading, transforming them permanently into mice.

She sat back, admiring her handiwork. Combining magic with modern technology was proving quite entertaining. "Send."

From the living room, Millicent called, "We can adjust the room when we arrive."

"Of course," Lucinda replied, watching the emails deliver. "Though I do hope the bathroom is adequate. I'd hate to have to turn someone into proper plumbing."

Her phone pinged three times - messages delivered. Soon, there would be three very confused mice in various parts of the world, and three more social media accounts mysteriously abandoned.

Lucinda smiled. Technology might be primitive, but it did make hunting down one's enemies so much more efficient.

*****

Zack grunted, helping Casey maneuver the heavy pet carrier into her new Mustang's back seat. "For a baby dragon, he weighs a ton."

"I thought zombies had super strength," Casey teased.

"Nah, just don't get tired. Way cooler power." Zack winked.

"Cool your jets, deadboy."

Millicent and Lucinda watched from the sidewalk, already looking lost without their drake.

"You have everything?" Millicent asked.

"Yep. My Uncle Lou's meat guy is hooking me up cheap - might be horse though."

"Horse is actually better. Leaner."

"Got the olive oil for feeding, and thanks for the fancy bottled water."

"Only the best," Lucinda said imperiously, then leaned down to peer into the carrier. "Be good, Hotspur. I shall return triumphant." She straightened, fixing Zack with a violet glare. "If anything happens to him - one scratch - you'll pay."

"What about Casey?" Zack protested. "He's staying with her!"

"Not you. Him." Lucinda's tone made it clear she considered Zack beneath consideration.

Casey laughed. "Better be nice to me, zombie boy."

Zack pouted. "Everyone's against me."

"Thank you for doing this," Millicent said warmly to Casey.

"It'll be fun! Like a practice cat that weighs as much as two bowling balls." Casey's expression turned serious. "You two be careful though. DC's full of some shady people, and I know shady."

"From what I've seen on the news, your Uncle Lou has nothing on DC politicians," Millicent replied.

"Princess," Casey looked at Lucinda, "try not to burn the place down."

"I shall make an attempt," Lucinda said regally. "No promises."

"If it did burn," Zack added, "only about half the country would care."

"So true," Casey chuckled, then hugged both sisters. "Give 'em hell at nationals, Scary Bee."

As Casey drove off with Hotspur, Lucinda muttered, "I already miss him."

"He'll be fine," Millicent assured her. "After all, what's the worst that could happen?"

"Don't tempt fate, sister. Especially not when we're about to enter the den of Earth's most irritating form of government."

*****

Jessica pinned two more photos to her investigation board - social media influencers from Chicago and Los Angeles, vanished within hours of each other. Both had posted mocking "Scary Bee" videos.

"Three disappearances in twenty-four hours," Devlin said, scrolling through police reports. "Same pattern as Hector - phones dead, social media dark, no bodies."

"What about the school?" Jessica adjusted her glasses, studying the web of connections she'd mapped.

"Cavendish Heights reports five missing students since Lucinda enrolled. All closed cases, no explanations." He handed her a stack of papers. "But here's where it gets weird."

Jessica scanned the reports. "One hundred and fifty missing persons cases in six months? In that area alone?"

"All mysteriously closed. No bodies, no evidence, just... gone."

"And the police aren't investigating?"

"Cases marked 'resolved' with no explanation." Devlin leaned forward. "There's more. Remember Katelyn Ross?"

"The aneurysm case?"

"Thirteen years old, perfectly healthy, then sudden brain hemorrhage. She was Lucinda's friend."

Jessica stood, pacing. "So we have multiple disappearances, mysterious deaths, and cases being closed without explanation." She stopped at her board. "All centered around Cavendish Heights. All starting when the Nightbanes arrived."

"You think they're involved?"

"I think two mysterious sisters appear out of nowhere, with perfect papers and unlimited money. Suddenly people start vanishing." She tapped Lucinda's photo. "And now one of them is heading to DC."

"Sounds like organized crime," Devlin suggested. "Maybe old money with dangerous connections?"

"Maybe." But Jessica wasn't convinced. Something about this felt bigger than mob connections or corrupt officials. "Pull everything you can on the Nightbanes before DC. School records, financial transactions, building records-"

"Already did." Devlin handed her another file. "That's the weird part - everything's perfect. Too perfect."

Jessica thought about Lucinda's imperial manner, Millicent's careful grace, the way people seemed to just... disappear around them.

"Keep digging," she said finally. "Something has to give. No one's this perfect."

As Devlin left, Jessica stared at her board. One hundred and fifty people don't just vanish without a trace. Unless...

She shook her head. There had to be a rational explanation. She just had to find it.

Preferably before whatever was happening in CavendishHeights spread to the nation's capital.

"What if..." Devlin hesitated, then pulled up a photo on his phone. "What if we're thinking too normal here?"

"Meaning?"

"Vampires." He held up his hand before Jessica could protest. "I know how it sounds, but look." He showed her a social media photo of Millicent using a black parasol in daylight. "The pale skin, the strange perfection, people vanishing..."

Jessica started to laugh, then stopped. "That's crazy."

"Crazier than what we've found so far?" Devlin sat on her desk. "There are whole online communities dedicated to proving vampires exist. Maybe they're not completely nuts."

"Let's put that on the back burner," Jessica said finally. "But given how weird this is getting... keep it on the stove."

"They leave for DC tomorrow. What's the plan?"

"One more day here, then follow them to DC. See if the weirdness follows."

"I might have an idea." Devlin looked uncomfortable. "Know Susie Canton at the DC Post? She's hungry for a breakthrough story."

"You want to feed her the Nightbanes?" Jessica raised an eyebrow. "That's cutthroat."

"She's not exactly a friend. Just someone I know." He shrugged. "If something happens..."

"If something happens, we'll have proof." Jessica nodded slowly. "It's ruthless. But this business is ruthless."

"So we're doing it?"

"Make the call." Jessica turned back to her board. "But Devlin? Make sure she knows what she's getting into."

"Without actually telling her anything real?"

"Exactly."

They shared a look, both knowing they might be sending Susie Canton into something far more dangerous than she could imagine. But that's what it took to break a story this big.

Whatever that story turned out to be.

*****

Adam pulled up to Outlander Air's terminal in Casey's Mustang, the engine purring smoothly to a stop. The Nightbane sisters emerged with imperial grace, each carrying only an ornate purse - Lucinda's blood red, Millicent's emerald green.

"First human flight," Millicent said, actually sounding excited. "I've read so much about it."

"I wonder if it's anything like our Imperial airships," Lucinda mused. "Private chambers, personal servants, grand lounges with entertainment..."

"Well..." Adam helped with precisely no luggage, searching for diplomatic words. "It's more... modest."

"How modest?" Lucinda's violet eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Just... modest." He couldn't bring himself to describe the reality of budget airline travel to someone who turned people into objects for minor offenses.

"Where's your luggage?" he asked quickly, changing the subject.

Both sisters pointed to their purses with identical expressions of 'obviously.'

"Right. Magic bags that contain infinite space. Sometimes I forget you can do that."

Millicent kissed him goodbye. "Thank you for the ride, and for understanding about Hotspur."

"What about me?" Lucinda demanded imperiously.

"Looking forward to a week without wondering what object I'll be transformed into next."

Lucinda's finger twitched slightly, and Adam felt an odd sensation near his tailbone that he wouldn't discover until much later.

Inside the terminal, they approached security. The TSA agent scanning their purses stared into the swirling abyss within each bag, his mind struggling to comprehend the infinite space he witnessed. Colors that shouldn't exist swirled past his eyes, and dimensions that shouldn't be possible bent his perception. By the time the sisters collected their bags, he was being led away by concerned colleagues, muttering about "the void" and "the endless darkness."

The Outlander Air check-in agent brightened immediately. "Oh my god, Scary Bee! We're so honored to have you flying with us!"

Ms. Wallace waited nearby, looking uncomfortable in casual travel clothes. "Have either of you flown coach before?"

"What's coach?" both sisters asked simultaneously.

As Ms. Wallace explained the realities of economy class air travel - middle seats, no meal service, paying for carry-ons - the sisters' expressions shifted from confusion to horror to outrage.

"Absolutely not," Lucinda declared. "This is beneath even peasant transportation."

"This simply cannot stand," Millicent agreed, approaching the desk with determination. "We require three upgrades to your finest seats."

"I'm so sorry," the agent's smile faded. "We're fully booked unless three people... don't show up."

Millicent nodded slowly, scanning the crowded terminal thoughtfully. After all, people missed flights all the time. Sometimes they just... disappeared. And it would be such a shame if three first-class passengers suddenly found themselves unable to make their flight.

Ms. Wallace recognized the look in Millicent's eyes. "Maybe we should just try to make the best of-"

"Nonsense," Millicent said smoothly. "I'm sure something will work out."

Lucinda's wicked smile suggested she knew exactly how that "something" would occur.

*****
Millicent looked at her sister and casually gestured, halting time for everyone but herself and Lucinda. Lucinda focused on the boarding passes, creating a magical connection to all coach passes in the area, causing their holders' hands to rise while their bodies remained frozen in time.

"Be careful," said Millicent. "If the poor dears move too fast, those limbs might age to dust."

"I know," said the princess, examining each raised hand for any damage. The princesses then surveyed those without raised hands, carefully selecting those who weren't traveling with families or companions. They identified three men - one in casual attire and two in business suits.

Millicent looked at her sister and said simply, "Just make them small."

The older princess gestured at one of the well-dressed men, reducing him to an inch in height before placing him in her purse. Lucinda did the same to the other two men, shrinking their time-frozen forms and handing them to her sister.

"It would have been more fun if we'd turned them into bugs and let them scurry away once you restarted time," Lucinda mused.

Millicent shook her head. "The least we can do is get them where they were headed."

Returning to their original position, Millicent restarted time and approached the terminal clerk, inquiring about potential openings. The clerk took down her information, explaining they would be notified if seats became available, though such occurrences were rare. Millicent nodded and joined Lucinda and Ms. Wallace to discuss the upcoming spelling bee.

"What are you going to do with the cash prize?" asked Lucinda's teacher.

Millicent looked at her sister, who shrugged elegantly.

"A charity perhaps," suggested Millicent.

"Why not?" said Lucinda. "Maybe one dedicated to the edification of the masses."

Ms. Wallace mentioned she knew several organizations dedicated to providing books and tutoring to underprivileged children. Millicent smiled, saying that sounded perfect.

"I'll look into it if you win," Ms. Wallace said warmly.

Lucinda scoffed. "If? There's no doubt I will win."

Before anyone could respond, the speaker announced that Outlander Air Flight 617 to Washington DC was boarding.

*****

The princesses boarded the metal tube humans called an airplane, their expressions growing increasingly horrified at the spectacle before them. Passengers shoved and argued over overhead space like peasants fighting for scraps, while children's wails echoed through the narrow aisle.

"How do they endure this?" Millicent asked, her aristocratic nose wrinkling slightly.

"This is how most people travel," Ms. Wallace replied matter-of-factly.

"It's absolutely barbaric," Millicent declared, checking her seat assignment. Her violet eyes narrowed upon realizing Lucinda was two rows behind her, with Ms. Wallace even further back. She found her seat between a corpulent man whose stomach spilled over the armrest and a woman reeking of discount cigarettes and boxed wine.

"You play basketball?" the man asked, his breath a noxious mixture of tuna and eggs.

"I beg your pardon?" Millicent returned coldly.

"You know, basketball. You're tall enough." He grinned, revealing coffee-stained teeth.

"No," Millicent replied with imperial finality. The man opened his mouth to continue, but a subtle gesture from Millicent sent him instantly into a deep slumber.

Glancing back, she saw Lucinda wedged between a bearded man in a leather jacket and a college-aged girl furiously texting. Her sister's expression promised creative vengeance.

"Be nice, Lucy," Millicent sent telepathically.

"I shall attempt restraint," Lucinda returned, though her fingers sparked slightly. "Though that man's leather reeks of inferior cow."

Just then, a flight attendant approached Millicent. "Ma'am? You've been upgraded." She proceeded to deliver the same message to Lucinda and Ms. Wallace.

"How fortunate," Ms. Wallace smiled.

"Providence smiles upon the worthy," Lucinda replied with a knowing smirk as they moved forward past two dividers to first class, where six rows of larger seats awaited.

"This is first class?" Lucinda surveyed the cabin with disdain. "It's merely a slightly more spacious cattle car."

"Who designed these contraptions? The local dungeon master?" Millicent added, examining the seat's attempt at luxury with visible disappointment.

Ms. Wallace smiled indulgently. She'd grown accustomed to the Nightbane sisters' peculiarities at Cavendish Heights, where they seemed to handle any situation with supernatural grace. Seeing them genuinely discomfited by commercial air travel was oddly humanizing.

"It's really not that bad," she offered, settling into her seat.

The flight attendant guided Millicent and Lucinda to adjacent seats, remarking how fortunate they were that two passengers hadn't shown up. The sisters exchanged knowing smiles, remembering the inch-high businessmen currently residing in Millicent's purse.

"Most fortuitous indeed," Lucinda purred, adjusting herself on the faux leather seat with the air of a queen forced to sit upon a commoner's chair. "Though I do hope our diminutive traveling companions are comfortable in your purse, sister."

"More comfortable than we are, I suspect," Millicent replied, shifting to avoid yet another poorly designed lumbar support. 

*****

Jessica Murray and Devlin stood in the precinct bullpen, watching Detective Rodriguez flip through case files with increasing confusion.

"I closed these?" Rodriguez scratched his head, staring at his signature. "I don't remember any of them. Not one of almost fifty missing persons cases."

"All marked resolved," Jessica noted. "No bodies, no explanations."

"That's not how we work," Rodriguez insisted. "We don't just... forget cases."

Leaving the bewildered detective, they drove to Adam and Zack's apartment. No one answered, but a package sat outside - oddly cold to the touch. Jessica photographed it before carefully opening it.

"What the hell?" Devlin lifted a vacuum-sealed package of calf brains nestled in dry ice.

"High-end butcher shop," Jessica noted the label. "Not exactly typical grocery delivery."

They resealed the package carefully and headed to the culinary institute where Millicent studied. Every instructor praised her - perfect technique, natural talent, near-supernatural ability to master any dish.

"She's like a fairy tale princess," one chef gushed. "Everything she touches turns to gold."

"That's what worries me," Jessica muttered.

They found Casey in the student kitchen, her expression hardening when they introduced themselves.

"No comment," she said firmly, continuing to chop vegetables with precise, angry strokes.

"People are missing-" Devlin started.

"I said no comment." Casey's knife slammed through a carrot with finality.

Later, they found Casey's new Mustang in the student parking lot. Devlin made quick work of the lock while Jessica kept watch.

"Got something," he called softly. In the backseat, a strange, iridescent black scale about the size of a quarter gleamed under their flashlights. The texture was like nothing Jessica had ever seen - almost reptilian but with an otherworldly sheen.

"I know someone at the Natural History Museum," Jessica carefully bagged the scale. "She can run some tests discreetly."

"You think it's connected to the Nightbanes?"

Jessica stared at the scale, remembering how everything around the sisters seemed just slightly impossible. "I think we're just starting to scratch the surface of what's really going on here."

She pulled out her phone, dialing a number. "Dr. Greenriver? It's Jessica Murray. I need a favor, and absolute discretion..."

Behind them, a mangy cat watched from the shadows, its eyes glowing with unusual intelligence. Once they left, it darted away to report what it had seen to its princess.

*****

 

Casey trudged up the stairs to her efficiency apartment, her chef's whites still smelling of garlic and rosemary. She found Hotspur sprawled on her threadbare sofa, his black scales gleaming in the late afternoon light. The drake looked suspiciously satisfied, despite his full dish of raw meat sitting untouched.

"What have you been up to, little man?" she asked, scratching under his chin. Hotspur rumbled contentedly, his golden eyes half-closed with pleasure.

A knock at the door sent Casey scrambling to cover the drake with a throw blanket. She opened it to find Mrs. Sameed wringing her hands anxiously.

"Have you seen Mittens?" the elderly woman asked. "She's been missing since lunch."

"No, sorry," Casey replied, trying to ignore the suspicious purring sound coming from her blanket-covered couch.

As Mrs. Sameed turned to leave, Mr. Johnson from 3B walked past. "Hey, anyone seen Buck? My bulldog's gone missing. Wife's gonna kill me."

"I'll keep an eye out," Casey promised, closing the door quickly. She uncovered Hotspur, who looked entirely too pleased with himself. "What did you do?"

The drake just tilted his head innocently. Casey sat beside him, turning on the TV for background noise while she rubbed his belly. Suddenly, Hotspur started making strange gagging noises.

"Oh no, are you sick? Millicent will kill me if-"

With a sound like a cat coughing up a hairball (but much, much larger), Hotspur regurgitated a baseball-sized mass of fur. Casey stared in horror as she recognized distinct patches - tabby cat fur, bulldog fur, and something else she couldn't identify.

"How did you..." She spun around, spotting her window. It was unlocked, but she distinctly remembered securing it that morning. She looked back at Hotspur, who was now cleaning his scales as if nothing had happened.

Hands shaking slightly, she texted Millicent: "Quick question - how smart are drakes exactly?"

The response came quickly: "Highly intelligent. They begin speaking around age two. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," Casey replied, watching Hotspur demonstrate his dexterity by using his tail to snag the TV remote.

She opened her laptop and started frantically ordering childproofing supplies - window locks, cabinet latches, doorknob covers. As she typed, Hotspur peered over her shoulder, and she could have sworn he was smirking.

"You're going to be trouble, aren't you?" she asked.

Hotspur's innocent chirp wasn't fooling anyone

*****

The Nightbane sisters emerged from their flight with imperial grace, Ms. Wallace trailing behind looking slightly airsick.

"We should collect our luggage," Ms. Wallace suggested, heading toward the baggage claim signs.

"Our belongings are already taken care of," Millicent replied smoothly, patting her emerald purse.

"The hotel has a shuttle-" Ms. Wallace began.

"Absolutely not," Millicent cut her off firmly. "I've endured that flying cattle car, but I draw the line at any further pedestrian transportation."

Lucinda shuddered delicately. "The very thought of another communal vehicle..."

Scanning the terminal, Millicent spotted the airport concierge desk and strode over, her heels clicking purposefully on the marble floor. The concierge looked up, immediately recognizing the bearing of serious wealth.

"We require proper transportation for our stay in DC," Millicent announced. "And suitable return travel arrangements after the spelling bee events."

"I can take the regular flight home-" Ms. Wallace protested.

"Nonsense," Lucinda declared. "You're our guest. We won't have you subjected to such... primitive accommodations again."

The concierge began making calls as the sisters watched with regal patience. "What sort of budget are we working with?" she asked diplomatically.

Millicent withdrew a black credit card that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. "Spare no expense."

Behind them, a flurry of activity erupted as Secret Service agents, airport security, and DC police moved through the terminal with obvious urgency.

"What's happening?" Ms. Wallace asked the concierge.

"Two senators went missing in New York, never made their flight," the concierge explained, still typing rapidly. "Very strange..."

"How unfortunate," Millicent remarked mildly. "If you'll excuse me for a moment..."

She walked purposefully to a secluded hallway, checking for cameras. Finding one, she made a casual gesture that caused it to emit a small shower of sparks before going dark. Reaching into her seemingly bottomless purse, she withdrew three inch-high, time-frozen men.

Placing them gently on the carpet, she restored them to full size with an elegant wave. "You'll be quite alright in about a minute," she informed their frozen forms. "Though perhaps next time you'll book better seats."

Returning to the concierge desk, she found the woman had already arranged a luxury car service. "Perfect," Millicent smiled. 

Millicent had barely rejoined her group at the concierge desk when shouts erupted from the hallway she'd just left.

"Senator Thompson? Senator Thompson!" A Secret Service agent's voice carried across the terminal.

"Over here! We need medical!" Another voice called out.

The concierge paused her typing, craning her neck to see as a crowd began forming. Security personnel rushed past, their radios crackling with urgent communications.

"I don't understand," a confused male voice carried from the hallway. "I was in New York... I was about to board..."

"Sir, you've been missing for hours," a Secret Service agent explained, helping a disheveled man in an expensive suit to his feet.

"That's impossible," the second senator insisted, his tie askew. "We were just at JFK..."

The businessman between them looked equally baffled, checking his watch repeatedly. "But it was just noon..."

Ms. Wallace watched the scene with concern. "How strange. Should we see if they need help?"

"Best not to interfere with government business," Millicent said smoothly, examining her perfectly manicured nails. "I'm sure they have procedures for such... irregularities."

Lucinda's lips curved in a slight smirk as more officials hurried past. "Though one does wonder how they managed such an impressive feat of teleportation."

"Most peculiar indeed," Millicent agreed, sharing a knowing look with her sister.

A harried-looking FBI agent approached the concierge desk, showing his badge. "Did anyone see anything unusual in the last few minutes?"

"I'm afraid we only just arrived ourselves," Millicent replied with perfect composure. "Though the flight was unusually pleasant. Three first-class seats became available at the last moment."

Lucinda covered her mouth to hide her wicked smile as the agent hurried away, already speaking rapidly into his radio about checking security footage.

"The cameras in that section appear to be malfunctioning," someone called out.

"How unfortunate," Millicent commented. "Technology can be so unreliable."

The concierge finally looked up from her computer. "I've arranged a Mercedes S-Class with driver. He'll be here in ten minutes."

"Perfect timing," Millicent smiled serenely as more security personnel rushed past, now accompanied by medical staff pushing wheelchairs for the disoriented men.

"I still don't understand," they heard the businessman saying. "Everything's fuzzy... like a dream about being very small..."

"The mind plays such strange tricks," Lucinda observed innocently, though her violet eyes danced with wicked amusement. "Particularly when traveling. Speaking of which, about our transportation..."

Ms. Wallace looked between the chaos in the hallway and the perfectly composed sisters, a slight furrow in her brow as if trying to connect dots she couldn't quite see. But before she could comment, Millicent was already discussing their car service arrangements, and the mystery of the suddenly appearing senators became just another strange occurrence in a very strange day.

Behind them, the airport buzzed with confusion and speculation, while three very important men tried to explain their inexplicable appearance in a random hallway. And if anyone noticed the slight smile playing across Millicent's lips as she confirmed their car service details, they surely thought nothing of it.

After all, who would suspect two perfectly proper young ladies of having anything to do with such an impossible situation?

*****

Jessica stared at her phone screen in the passenger seat of the news van, scanning reports about the mysteriously displaced senators. Juan's camera equipment rattled in the back as Devlin navigated through traffic toward DC.

"They're saying alcohol-induced confusion," she read aloud. "Apparently both senators were 'disoriented from drinking and air travel.'" She pulled up the spelling bee itinerary. "Timeline matches the Nightbanes' flight, but that's circumstantial at best."

"About that vampire angle," Devlin said, trying to sound casual. "Just for discussion..."

Juan leaned forward from the back seat. "You're not seriously considering-"

"Hypothetically," Devlin continued, "we have wealthy Europeans who appear out of nowhere, with perfect documentation and unlimited resources."

"And people start vanishing," Jessica added reluctantly.

"Even cops involved in the cases can't remember closing them," Devlin pressed. "Like they've been..."

"Hypnotized," Juan finished, suddenly interested. "Classic vampire mind control."

"Plus the package of brains," Devlin added.

"A Renfield!" Juan exclaimed. "Every vampire needs a human servant."

"And that scale you sent to the museum..." Devlin glanced at Jessica.

"Some vampires can shapeshift," Juan offered. "In the old stories, they could become bats, wolves..."

Jessica rubbed her temples. "This is insane. They attend classes during the day."

"Sunscreen," Juan said immediately. "Modern technology, modern vampires."

"Think about it," Devlin urged. "Mysterious sisters appear from nowhere, perfect in every way. People vanish without a trace. Even the authorities seem helpless - or under their control."

Jessica wanted to dismiss it entirely, but the pieces fit together with disturbing ease. "If - and I mean if - we're dealing with vampires, how would we protect ourselves?"

"Crosses," Devlin said promptly.

"Holy water," Juan added. "And wooden stakes, definitely garlic."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," Jessica muttered, but she made mental notes anyway.

"Better safe than sorry," Devlin shrugged. "I mean, what's your alternate theory? That they're alien princesses? Interdimensional witches?"

Jessica looked out at the passing landscape, remembering how the Nightbane sisters moved with inhuman grace, how their documentation was too perfect, how people around them just... disappeared.

"Two weeks ago, I would have said this was ridiculous," she admitted. "But now?" She pulled up another photo of Lucinda and Millicent, their pale skin and violet eyes somehow more ominous than before. "I'm not ruling anything out."

"So we're really doing this?" Juan asked. "Vampire hunting?"

"We're investigating a story," Jessica corrected firmly. "If that investigation requires... unconventional preparations, so be it."

They drove on in silence for a while, each lost in thought about what they might find in DC. And if anyone noticed Devlin checking religious supply store locations on his phone, well, better safe than sorry.

*****

The Grand Hyatt's lobby bustled with spelling bee contestants and their families as the Nightbane sisters approached the reception desk. Before they could reach it, a girl in a powder-blue dress rushed forward.

"Oh my goodness, you're the Scary Bee!" she exclaimed with a Texas twang. "Virginia Lakewort, ma'am. Would you do me the honor?" She extended her hand formally.

Lucinda assessed the girl's proper approach with approval. "Your manners do you credit," she said, accepting the handshake. Though Virginia wouldn't win - Lucinda could sense these things - she appreciated the girl's cultivation of proper etiquette.

"Come meet the others!" Virginia practically bounced. "Some are too scared to approach you, but I told them you're not really scary... well, mostly not scary."

"Sister," Lucinda turned to Millicent, "I shall join you upstairs shortly."

Millicent approached the desk while Lucinda allowed herself to be led to a sitting area where other contestants gathered. A bellhop appeared at Millicent's elbow. "Your luggage, madam?"

"It will arrive later," she said smoothly, accepting the keycard and heading to the second floor. Opening the door to their assigned room, she surveyed the mundane accommodations with growing displeasure - standard hotel furnishings, cramped bathroom, utterly pedestrian in every way.

Closing the door firmly, Millicent placed her hand against it. Reality bent under her touch as she expanded the space within, transforming the modest room into a luxurious suite. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead as she crafted two master bedrooms, each with its own opulent bathroom. A sitting room materialized, followed by a living area with perfect lighting and extensive closets. With a final gesture, she added wards ensuring only she and Lucinda could enter.

"Much better," she murmured, retrieving their belongings from her purse with elegant gestures that sent items floating to their proper places.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Lucinda sat regally among six fellow contestants, listening to their stories of sacrifice and dedication. One boy spoke of giving up soccer, another of endless study sessions instead of parties. A girl from Pennsylvania described falling asleep over practice lists every night.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Lucinda felt an unfamiliar twinge - guilt? - at how effortlessly these things came to her. Her natural superiority, usually a source of smug satisfaction, felt almost... uncomfortable.

A nervous boy from Colorado barely managed to stammer, "You're really pretty, Scary Bee."

Lucinda's lips curved in amusement. "While your flattery is noted, it won't save you from defeat," she declared playfully, making the others laugh.

"I love your confidence," the Pennsylvania girl said admiringly.

"Are you nervous about meeting the President?" the Montana boy asked, and a chorus of "yes" filled the air.

Lucinda sniffed imperiously. "That preening peacock of a politician should be nervous about meeting me."

The group erupted in laughter, and Lucinda found herself, oddly enough, almost enjoying their company. Not that she'd ever admit it, of course. After all, she had a wicked reputation to maintain.

*****

Susie Canton sat in the Hyatt lobby, scrolling through her phone while pretending to look casual. Initially, she'd dismissed Devlin's call about "Scary-gate" as nonsense - high-tech contact lenses to explain Lucinda Nightbane's unusual eyes? Ridiculous. But when he'd mentioned this story could be her ticket out of writing feel-good fluff pieces, she'd reconsidered.

The lobby grew busier as 6 PM approached. Contestants and chaperones emerged from elevators in waves, heading toward the ballroom for the welcome reception. Susie watched each group until finally, she spotted them - Millicent Nightbane, tall and elegant in emerald silk, and her sister Lucinda, willowy and aristocratic in black and red.

"Ms. Nightbane!" Susie called out, approaching quickly. Both sisters turned, answering "Yes?" in perfect unison.

"Susie Canton, Washington Post." She thrust her press badge forward.

"We have a reception to attend," Millicent said coolly.

Susie stepped directly into their path. "Is it true Lucinda's using high-tech contact lenses to cheat?" She pressed on aggressively. "How does it feel knowing money has corrupted even the sanctity of the spelling bee?"

Lucinda opened her mouth to respond, but Millicent stepped forward, her violet eyes flashing dangerously. "How dare you? My sister's abilities are entirely natural. We won't stand here and listen to such slander."

"Your money can't stop the truth," Susie pushed, getting almost nose-to-nose with Millicent. "Better to confess now."

Behind her sister, Lucinda took a careful step back, recognizing the dangerous glint in Millicent's eyes. She'd seen that look before - usually right before she herself turned someone into something unpleasant.

"You have no proof," Millicent said, her voice deadly quiet. "And whoever fed you these lies-"

"The only liars here are you and Little Miss Scary Bee!"

Something in Millicent snapped. "How. Dare. You." Her finger moved in a precise gesture, and suddenly where Susie Canton had stood, there was only an ornate potted plant. Its ceramic surface bore an unsettling pattern of vaguely human features.

"Why Millie," Lucinda said in a perfect imitation of her sister's usual reproachful tone, "that wasn't very nice. You really must control your temper."

"Come along, Lucy," Millicent replied stiffly. "She's fortunate I didn't make unmake her very existance."

As they walked toward the reception, Lucinda asked sweetly, "Are you going to turn her back?"

"Perhaps." Millicent straightened her silk wrap. "Eventually."

Lucinda smiled wickedly as they entered the ballroom. It was so refreshing to see her usually controlled sister indulge in a bit of creative transformation. Though she did make a mental note - apparently suggesting she might cheat was a surer way to provoke Millicent's wrath than any of her own numerous misdeeds.

Behind them, a hotel guest paused to admire the new lobby decoration, commenting on how lifelike the face-like patterns appeared in the pottery.

*****

The hotel ballroom buzzed with excitement as contestants, chaperones, and press gathered. National reporters, far more professional than Susie Canton, approached Lucinda with proper respect.

"Scary Bee, how does it feel representing New York?"

Lucinda stood regally, but her response carried unexpected warmth. "I must thank my sister Millicent, Ms. Wallace, and Cavendish Heights for their support. Though naturally, victory is inevitable."

"Any special someone cheering you on?" a reporter asked with a smile.

Lucinda's pale cheeks flushed slightly pink. "Ian is not my boyfriend," she declared automatically, causing both Millicent and Ms. Wallace to exchange knowing looks and stifle their giggles.

After individual photos and a group shot that had Lucinda front and center, Virginia, the girl from earlier, approached. "We're having pizza in my room - would you join us?"

Her father, a broad-shouldered farmer with kind eyes, provided Millicent with the room number. "She'll be fine with us, ma'am."

"Do play nice, Lucy," Millicent said softly.

Lucinda nodded imperially. "I shall endeavor to be... sociable."

As the younger contestants departed, Ms. Wallace turned to Millicent. "With Lucinda occupied and my husband handling our kids, what say we have some fun? I rarely get adult time anymore."

Millicent gestured toward the hotel's upscale bar. "Perfect."

Over drinks, Ms. Wallace observed, "Lucinda's changed since she first arrived. She was so closed off then."

"It's a gradual process," Millicent agreed, watching the waiter approach with champagne. "But she's growing."

"Was that your plan? Making her attend regular school instead of just testing out? Getting her around normal kids?"

Millicent nodded, pleased at the teacher's perception. "Precisely."

"Smart move," Ms. Wallace approved. "Gifted kids like Lucinda need that normal interaction. They need to learn how to be children."

The waiter returned, and Millicent ordered their finest champagne. Ms. Wallace protested, "First the car service, first-class tickets home - I'm taking advantage."

"Nonsense," Millicent said firmly. "You've managed something remarkable - earning Lucinda's respect and maintaining her attention. Any extravagance is well earned."

Ms. Wallace laughed, scanning the menu. "In that case, I'm ordering the steak."

"As am I," Millicent smiled, pleased to see her sister's teacher relaxing. "Though I do hope the kitchen staff is more competent than that unfortunate reporter in the lobby."

"What reporter?"

"Oh, no one of consequence," Millicent replied smoothly, sipping her champagne. "Just someone who's currently... reconsidering her approach to journalism."

*****

The news van pulled into DC well after sunset, streetlights casting long shadows across empty sidewalks. Devlin checked his phone for the twentieth time. "Still nothing from Susie."

"Try her boyfriend again," Jessica suggested, sorting through her notes.

Devlin's conversation was brief. "He hasn't heard from her since around 5 PM. Said she was heading to the Hyatt for a story."

"Another disappearance," Jessica said grimly. "Add it to the list."

"How many is that now?" Juan asked from the back, adjusting his camera equipment.

"Too many." Jessica stared out the window. "And they're getting bolder. First day in DC and someone's already vanished."

"How do we avoid being next?" Juan's voice carried a hint of genuine fear.

"Keep our distance," Jessica replied. "No direct confrontation. We observe, we document, we stay safe."

"Got some telephoto lenses that'll help with that," Juan patted his gear bag. "Can get clear shots from half a block away."

Devlin frowned. "But how'd they do it so fast? They just got to town."

"People with that kind of money and influence?" Jessica shook her head. "They've got friends in high places. Connections we can't even imagine."

"Makes sense," Devlin nodded. "Want me to get the full spelling bee schedule? Track their movements?"

"Perfect. We play it like we're doing a standard fluff piece on the competition. Nothing suspicious, nothing threatening. Just another media team covering a feel-good story."

Juan suddenly pointed through the windshield. "Check that out."

A man walked past wearing a black baseball cap with a stylized bee logo and a t-shirt reading "Team Scary Bee" in gothic lettering.

"They've got merchandise now?" Devlin's eyebrows rose.

As they drove down the street, they spotted more fans - at least a dozen people sporting Scary Bee shirts, hats, and even a few carrying signs with Lucinda's face on them.

"She's becoming a celebrity," Jessica mused. "Which means more attention, more scrutiny..."

"More chances for them to slip up," Devlin finished.

"Or more people to disappear," Juan added quietly.

Jessica watched another group of Scary Bee fans pass by. "Whatever's going on with the Nightbane sisters, they're not just hiding anymore. They're putting on a show."

*****

"You did what?" Adam stared at his roommate, who sat surrounded by shipping manifests and sample merchandise.

"Check it out!" Zack held up a black t-shirt with Lucinda's silhouette and 'Scary Bee' in gothic letters. "I'm averaging five grand a day through print-on-demand. The market was just sitting there!"

"Millicent is going to turn you into furniture," Adam groaned. "Like, literally into furniture."

"Worth it." Zack scrolled through sales figures on his laptop. "Even if I end up as a magazine table or Hotspur's scratching post, I'll have made enough to retire. Well, if I wasn't already technically undead."

"When - not if, when - you're caught, you better swear I knew nothing about this."

"Obviously. I'm a marketing mastermind, not an idiot." Zack paused. "Well, maybe both."

Adam's phone buzzed with a video call from Casey. Her grinning face filled the screen. "Boys, I felt bad you couldn't dragon-sit, so I thought you'd enjoy some Hotspur-cam."

She turned the phone to show Hotspur playfully attacking a black towel decorated with bees. "Got it from Nuff-Stuff.com. Isn't it cute?"

"Interesting," Adam said slowly. "I wonder who would be stupid enough to market a powerful witch princess's image without permission? Who would possibly think that was... smart?" His voice dripped sarcasm.

Casey's face reappeared on screen, eyebrows raised. "It's Zack, isn't it?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny-"

"Idiot," Casey declared flatly. Behind her, Hotspur shredded the unauthorized merchandise with obvious glee.

Zack looked between his phone showing mounting profits and the video of the baby drake destroying his products. "Maybe I should start a going-out-of-business sale. You know, before I become a very profitable end table."

*****

Millicent walked through their magically expanded suite, finding Lucinda curled up on a Victorian fainting couch, watching her phone intently. On screen, Hotspur chased a toy mouse across Casey's apartment.

"I miss him," Lucinda sighed.

"As do I," Millicent settled beside her sister. "Though he seems to be enjoying himself."

Lucinda's brow furrowed slightly. "I wonder if I'm becoming too... comfortable among mortals."

"Speaking of which, did you transform or destroy anyone at the pizza party?"

"No," Lucinda admitted, almost sounding surprised at herself.

"Then you're not becoming complacent," Millicent smiled. "You're growing as a person."

The video feed showed Casey and Hotspur now sporting matching black and red scarves decorated with stylized bees.

"Where did those come from?" Millicent asked, eyebrow raised.

"I'm not supposed to tell, but..." Casey's voice came through the speaker.

"Zack," both sisters said in perfect unison.

"Pretty obvious deadboy is scheming again," Casey laughed.

Millicent shook her head. "I'll speak with him about donating the proceeds to charity and closing this little enterprise."

"The best part about having Zack as my bound servant," Lucinda said with wicked delight, "is range doesn't matter for magical punishment." She snapped her fingers playfully.

"What did you do?"

"Turned him into a jar of honey. It seemed appropriate for a wayward bee merchandiser."

Millicent pulled out her phone. "I better warn Adam not to eat his roommate."

"Do you have to?" Casey teased through the video.

"Yes," Millicent replied firmly. "Though perhaps after breakfast..."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Lucinda peered through the peephole, seeing Ms. Wallace. With a casual snap of her fingers, her silk pajamas transformed into a perfectly pressed black dress with red accents.

She opened the door but remained in the doorway, blocking the view of their impossibly large suite. "Yes?"

"Almost time for the Smithsonian tour with the other contestants," Ms. Wallace reminded her.

"I'm quite ready."

"And Millicent?"

"Attending to a minor matter involving an unauthorized honey merchant," Lucinda said smoothly. "We'll meet you downstairs."

After Ms. Wallace left, Lucinda turned to her sister. "Should we restore Zack now?"

"Let him experience life as a condiment for a bit longer," Millicent replied. "Consider it a learning opportunity."

Through the phone, Casey's laughter mixed with Hotspur's happy chirps.

*****

The Smithsonian's halls echoed with the chatter of spelling bee contestants and their chaperones, but the Nightbane sisters moved through the exhibits with regal detachment, making observations in low voices.

"Fascinating how they've structured advancement," Millicent mused, examining a display on medical breakthroughs. "Letting greed drive progress instead of having the government support their best minds directly, as the Empire did."

"Look at this," Lucinda gestured to an exhibit on endangered species. "They destroy habitats and resources without any real control. They desperately need a firm hand - preferably mine." Her violet eyes gleamed. "Their current government is hardly equipped, being essentially simians led by the dullest among them who simply possess the most bananas and shiniest fur."

They paused at the nuclear weapons exhibit, exchanging concerned looks. "This technology is far beyond their capacity to control responsibly," Millicent said softly. "We really must do something before they accidentally reduce our place of exile to ruins."

"Perhaps a small transformation spell on all nuclear materials?" Lucinda suggested. "Turn them into something less destructive - butterflies, perhaps?"

Before Millicent could respond, Jessica approached with her crew, wearing her best "friendly reporter" smile. "What are your favorite exhibits, girls?"

"The space artifacts, primitive though they are," Lucinda replied imperiously. "And the extinct species displays, particularly the dinosaurs. Though humanity seems determined to create more extinct species."

"I find the historical exhibits illuminating," Millicent added. "Particularly how whenever America had opportunities for genuine progress - post-Civil War reconstruction, women's suffrage, civil rights, LGBTQ inclusion - they allowed backward-thinking bigots and fear-mongers to derail meaningful change."

Jessica's eyebrows rose at their sophisticated criticism. "That's quite an assessment of American history for British-born citizens. Some might say you don't have the right to such criticism."

"According to current laws, we do," Millicent replied smoothly. "Though laws are often selectively enforced when certain truths prove... uncomfortable."

"You're both very eloquent," Jessica probed carefully. "Your parents must be proud. Speaking of which, people are curious about how you became orphans..."

"That's none of their business," Lucinda snapped, her fingers sparking slightly.

"It's a private matter," Millicent said firmly, placing a calming hand on her sister's shoulder. "Come along, Lucy."

As they walked away, Jessica turned to her crew. "Did you see that? First real crack in their perfect facade - their parents."

"If they're vampires, we just made them angry," Juan warned.

"Good," Jessica smiled. "Angry people make mistakes. Devlin, dig into their parents. Find out who they really were."

"And who they really are," Devlin added, watching the sisters disappear into the crowd, their bearing somehow more regal than any actual British aristocrats he'd ever seen.

"That velociraptor's posture is entirely wrong," Lucinda declared, gesturing at the display with aristocratic disdain. "The tail should be more horizontal for proper balance."

"You seem to know a lot about dinosaurs," Virginia commented, appearing beside her.

"One should be knowledgeable about all forms of power," Lucinda replied imperiously. "Even extinct ones."

Virginia's eyes lit up. "Have you seen da Vinci's flying machine drawings? They're in the next hall. He studied bird anatomy to design them, just like scientists studied dinosaur bones to understand how they moved."

Lucinda's interest piqued - after all, flight was something she knew quite well, even if her preferred method involved a broom rather than mechanical wings. "Lead on," she commanded regally, though with less frost than usual. "Though I suspect his designs were rather... primitive."

As they walked away discussing Renaissance engineering, Millicent watched her sister actually engaging in conversation with a peer. Virginia's father turned to her with a warm smile, 

"How you holding up?" he asked with the easy warmth of a career farmer.

"Quite well, thank you," Millicent replied politely.

"Got any advice for raising a smart kid? Been doing it alone since my Sarah passed three years ago." His voice carried a gentle sadness.

Millicent's imperial demeanor softened slightly. "My condolences on your loss. As for advice, I'm still learning myself, but I've found letting them explore their interests is crucial. Let them make mistakes, but be there when they need support."

"Thanks," he smiled warmly. "Say, you single?"

Millicent raised an elegant eyebrow. "You're rather too old for me, though I'm flattered."

He laughed heartily. "No, no - got a son about your age. Twenty-three, runs the farm's business side."

"I have a boyfriend," Millicent said. "Between him, Lucinda, and my studies, I'm not looking to settle down just yet."

"What're you studying?"

"Culinary arts."

"Pretty, smart, and can cook?" He grinned. "That boyfriend better appreciate what he's got, or he'll get a talking to - maybe even a whack upside the head."

"He does appreciate me," Millicent smiled, thinking of Adam.

"Say, you know anything about chicken fried steak? Been trying to learn cooking since Sarah... well, trial and error mostly."

"Actually," Millicent's eyes lit up, "my American cooking history course focused extensively on Southern, African American, Native American, and Hispanic contributions. For my final, I prepared chicken fried steak with collard greens, mashed potatoes, cream gravy, and pinto beans."

His eyes widened. "No kidding? What's your secret to chicken fried steak? Mine always comes out tough."

Millicent slipped naturally into teaching mode, her usual imperial tone giving way to genuine enthusiasm. "The key is properly tenderizing the meat. You need to pound it thin, but not so thin it falls apart. Then, your breading needs three stages..."

As she detailed the perfect chicken fried steak technique, Millicent found herself enjoying this simple human interaction. Perhaps this was why Lucinda was starting to open up - there was something oddly satisfying about connecting with mortals over ordinary things like cooking and family.

*****

Casey opened her door to find Adam and Zack still bickering.

"You tried to eat me!" Zack protested.

"I thought you were actual honey! Who expects their roommate to be honey?" Adam defended. "Besides, I only got a tiny spoonful before you spelled out 'help' in the jar!"

"Sorry about the small apartment," Casey said as they entered.

"We're here to see our dragon kid," Zack announced, dropping onto the floor.

"True, we all helped save him," Casey smirked, "but he likes me best."

As if on cue, Hotspur bounded out from behind the couch, his black scales gleaming as he rushed toward Zack with happy chirps. Zack rolled around the floor with him until Adam swooped in.

"Yoink!" Adam scooped up the drake, carrying him to the sofa.

"He cheats," Casey and Zack said in unison.

"Not my fault I'm the only one who works out," Adam grinned as Hotspur settled in his lap.

"I work out," Casey protested. "Could still kick your butt."

Hotspur began enthusiastically licking Adam's hand. Where the drake's saliva touched, his skin began to warm and smolder slightly.

"Yeah, watch out for that," Casey warned. "Learned about the flame-spit the hard way. Thankfully it just smolders instead of bursting into flames. Yet."

Zack picked up a small black scale from the floor. "He's shedding?"

"Just a little," Casey shrugged.

"You know," Adam said, still petting Hotspur despite the smoldering risk, "our lives are pretty cool. I mean, we're literally playing with a baby dragon."

"Agreed," Casey smiled.

"Would be cooler if I wasn't a zombie," Zack grumbled.

"But don't you have cool zombie powers?" Casey asked.

"A few, like never having to sleep," Zack sighed, but he was smiling as Hotspur bounded back to him for more attention.

"Which is annoying," added Adam. "He's up all times of the night, doing computer stuff."

"I stalk the night, in all its might... I am!" recited the zombie playing with the dragon.

"The Shrike!" called out Casey.

"You watched that show?" asked Zack.

"Loved it growing up," said the girl with braids. "It was cheesy and campy but man, it was a lot of fun."

Adam looked at the other two college students and playfully mumbled, "Nerds."

Casey threw a pillow at him in retaliation and said, "Hotspur, attack!"

The drake, as she suspected, ignored her command and continued playing with Zack, enjoying the belly rubs.

*****

Jessica sat in her modest hotel room two blocks from the Hyatt, surrounded by the growing web of evidence about the Nightbane sisters. Juan occupied the floor, meticulously cleaning his camera equipment, while Devlin hunched over his laptop, the screen's glow highlighting his furrowed brow.

"So the death certificates list Arturus and Talia Nightbane, both died at 45 in a car crash while traveling to Scotland," Devlin reported, scrolling through documents. "They were wealthy, but I can't find where the money came from."

"Mob," Juan suggested without looking up from his lens cleaning. "That's what that usually means."

Jessica nodded slowly. "Yeah, usually but maybe not this time." She leaned forward. "Is there a police report?"

"Funny thing," Devlin's fingers flew across the keyboard. "Can't find one. There are three news stories about the crash, but nothing about a memorial service."

Jessica sat on the edge of the bed, frustration evident in her posture. "Why are we the only ones finding this? They're literally being let into the White House in a couple of days."

"No one's looking, not even the Secret Service." Devlin spun in his chair. "Also, look who's in charge. President Turner isn't exactly known for hiring the best people."

Juan's hands stilled on his camera. "The pendejo sent my cousin who's been here for years working hard back to... to the wrong country." His voice carried years of bottled anger.

Jessica stood and stretched, her joints cracking from hours of hunching over notes. "Any sign of Susie Canton?"

"Nothing," Devlin shook his head. "People are starting to worry."

"No way they can hide a body that fast," Jessica mused, pacing the small room. "She has to be in the hotel. We need to find her."

Juan carefully packed away his cleaned equipment. "So we head over there and look around?"

"Yes," Jessica grabbed her jacket. "But stay away from the Nightbanes for now. We need to be smart about this." She paused, hand on the doorknob. "Whatever they are, they're powerful enough to make people disappear without consequence. We can't afford mistakes."

"And if we find something?" Juan asked, slinging his camera bag over his shoulder.

"Document everything," Jessica replied firmly. "But keep your distance. I've got a feeling Susie Canton made the mistake of getting too close, and I don't want any of us joining her... wherever she is."

*****

The Hyatt's lobby bustled with spelling bee activity as Jessica approached the reservation desk, Juan and Devlin hanging back to maintain a casual presence. The clerk looked up with practiced politeness.

"I'm looking for information about Susie Canton," Jessica began. "Another reporter who was here yesterday."

"Oh yes," the clerk nodded. "She showed her Post credentials, asked about the Scary Bee kid." He shrugged. "Lots of reporters lately."

"Did you see her after that?"

"She sat in the lobby for a while." The clerk gestured to a cluster of armchairs. "I assumed she joined the other reporters for the reception."

"I need to look at your security footage," Jessica said firmly.

The clerk's smile became rigid. "I'm sorry, but guest privacy is paramount-"

"Susie Canton is missing," Jessica cut him off. "If this blows up and the hotel is found culpable for not cooperating with a missing persons investigation..."

The clerk shifted uncomfortably. "I'll need to call a manager."

"Please do."

Minutes stretched until a well-dressed woman in her fifties appeared, introducing herself as Ms. Vu, the assistant manager. Jessica quickly explained the situation - a missing reporter, last seen in their lobby, potentially career-ending publicity if mishandled.

Ms. Vu considered briefly. "We can show you lobby footage only."

"That's all I need."

They were escorted to a small security office where two guards monitored a wall of screens. Ms. Vu explained the situation, emphasizing Jessica's credentials as a reporter. One guard began pulling up yesterday's footage.

Jessica watched in fast-forward as Susie appeared, speaking to the clerk exactly as described. Then sitting, waiting, until spelling bee contestants began streaming from the elevators. When the Nightbane sisters appeared, Susie confronted them near a marble pillar.

"Can you switch angles?" Jessica asked.

They cycled through cameras, but the confrontation remained partially obscured. There was a strange flash, what looked like mist, and then only the Nightbane sisters emerged from behind the pillar. No Susie.

"What happened there?" Jessica asked, rewinding the footage.

The guards shrugged. "Sometimes there are gaps in coverage. She probably just walked away."

"I need copies of this footage."

"Against policy," one guard said automatically.

Jessica reached into her pocket, pulling out crisp ten-dollar bills one at a time. Around the twelfth bill, one guard quietly inserted a thumb drive, copying four hours of footage spanning Susie's appearance and disappearance.

*****

Jessica, Juan, and Devlin settled into a quiet corner of the Hyatt lobby, positioning themselves to watch for any sign of the Nightbanes. Devlin inserted the USB drive into his tablet while Jessica leaned in to view the security footage.

"That's Susie," Devlin murmured, watching her enter the hotel.

They fast-forwarded through her interaction with the clerk, her wait in the lobby, then slowed as the Nightbane sisters appeared.

"You can barely see anything because of that pillar," Jessica observed. "But watch."

The confrontation moved behind the marble column. A bizarre green flash lit the area, followed by a quick puff of green mist. Then the Nightbane sisters emerged and walked away, with no sign of Susie.

Juan crossed himself quietly.

Devlin ran the footage forward three hours - no Susie. He checked the timestamp carefully. "No gaps in the footage," he reported. "She just... vanishes."

"They really did make her disappear," Jessica said, her voice tight with disbelief.

Standing abruptly, she walked to the pillar where the confrontation occurred, examining the area. A large-leafed plant in an ornate faux Parisian vase sat beside it.

"There's nothing here," Juan said as Jessica ran her hands along the walls and carpet, searching for any clue.

Devlin studied the plant, then looked around the lobby at other similar decorative arrangements. "This one's different," he said slowly. "More elegant vase, more robust plant. Like they're newer."

Jessica gestured to Juan and Devlin, and together they carefully shifted the plant. The floor underneath showed no signs of long-term placement - no wear patterns, no dust outline.

Devlin ran his fingers over the vase's surface, feeling slight bumps and contours. He leaned closer, then jerked back suddenly, his face draining of color. "Look," he whispered, pointing at the vase's surface.

Jessica and Juan had to stare for several seconds before they saw it - the vague outline of a woman's face molded into the ceramic, frozen in an expression of surprised horror. Once seen, Susie Canton's features were unmistakable in the subtle relief.

Juan crossed himself again, muttering a prayer under his breath.

"This can't be real," Jessica said, her voice barely audible as she tried to process what she was seeing.

"The vase and plant..." Devlin swallowed hard. "They're Susie."

The three investigators stared at their horrifying discovery, their understanding of reality crumbling around them. 

*****
Millicent stood before their suite's ornate mirror, adjusting her attire with imperial precision - a beautiful green dress with black accents, black gloves, elegant boots, and silver skull buttons catching the morning light.

"While we can't exactly tell the host government who we are," she mused, "as dignities we should dress the part."

Lucinda emerged in a red dress adorned with black spider web patterns, black gloves, stockings, and boots with silver buckles. A red Alice band with a bow crowned her hair, complemented by a black ascot secured with a skull pin.

"I'm not sure the government of this ill-run nation deserves our opulence," Lucinda declared imperiously.

"Regardless, we are to do our best to be proper guests," Millicent reminded her as they collected their handbags and descended to the lobby.

Ms. Wallace's eyes widened at their approach. "You both look grand," she breathed, clearly taken aback by their regal appearance.

Virginia and Bob rushed to Lucinda, gushing over her outfit. "We've never seen anything so fancy!" Virginia exclaimed. Her father, wearing a clean but threadbare business suit, nodded in agreement.

"One feels the need to bring a bit of class to the Capitol and White House," Lucinda pronounced with aristocratic disdain.

The spelling bee moderator gathered everyone, checking lanyards and appearances while waiting for the buses. She moved through the group, adjusting boys' ties and ensuring maximum presentability. Upon reaching the Nightbanes, her lips curled slightly.

"Perfectly garish," she sniffed. "I think this whole 'Scary Bee' nonsense is turning the spelling bee into a circus."

Ms. Wallace stepped forward. "Lucinda dresses like this all the time when not in uniform at Cavendish. I think it shows her sense of self and style - that's a good thing."

The Nightbane sisters shared a small smile at their teacher's defense. As the moderator moved away, Lucinda wiggled a finger, cursing her with severe halitosis. Millicent shot her sister a disapproving glare but couldn't quite hide her amusement - considering Lucinda's usual responses to insults, bad breath was practically merciful.

Outside, media had gathered to photograph the contestants. "Scary Bee, this way!" reporters called, cameras flashing. Virginia's father shifted uncomfortably, clearly conscious of his worn suit.

As they boarded the bus, Millicent discretely wiggled her finger, instantly restoring his suit to near-new condition. It was a small kindness, but one that brought a genuine smile to her face as they settled in for the journey to the Capitol.

No one seemed to notice the moderator's increasingly desperate attempts to understand why everyone kept stepping away from her when she spoke.

*****

The spelling bee group moved through the Capitol Rotunda, past portraits and statues meant to inspire awe. Lucinda surveyed it all with imperial disdain, seeing only childish attempts at regality and history.

"I believe I know why this little government is so ill-run," she remarked to Millicent.

"I have my own theories," Millicent replied smoothly, "but do go on."

"It seems to have been run for some time by the same type of person," Lucinda observed. "Some tall, pale-skinned man from similar pseudo-aristocratic background." She raised her hand, catching the tour guide's attention.

"Yes?" The guide nodded.

"So this nation didn't take advantage of its full potential," Lucinda stated bluntly. "Theoretically, someone of color or a woman or queer might have been able to push it forward centuries or decades ago, but instead they chose ignorance?"

Deep breaths and nervous chuckles echoed through the rotunda. The tour guide smiled patronizingly. "It's more complicated than that-"

"I'm far smarter than you and trust me, it isn't more complicated than that," Lucinda cut him off.

"Scary Bee!" someone chanted from the back, followed by others joining in.

Ms. Wallace beamed with pride while Millicent nodded. "Well said, Lucy."

Later, they entered a photo room where a photographer, a young man with a tablet, and a Hispanic woman in a dark grey pantsuit waited.

"Representative Martinez, this is Lucinda Nightbane, her sister Millicent, and her homeroom teacher Ms. Wallace," the tablet-wielding assistant announced.

Martinez grinned. "I heard you spoke truth to power in the rotunda."

"I spoke truth to ignorance," Lucinda replied, arms crossed.

"All hail the Scary Bee," Martinez bowed playfully. "I wish I was half as... confident as you when I was your age. It's just awesome."

Looking at Ms. Wallace and Millicent, she added, "I can see she has at least two strong role models."

Millicent curtsied, surprising the politician. "You ladies really know how to make someone feel special," Martinez laughed.

"You've done a lot speaking truth to power yourself," Ms. Wallace noted.

"I fight so girls like Lucinda can have what they need to succeed," Martinez replied.

Millicent asked her thoughts on representative democracy.

"It's slow, unwieldy, but works best as it gives everyone a small say," Martinez considered.

"A good sentiment," Millicent observed, "though it also allows all manner of riff-raff to rise to power."

Martinez laughed. "Are you talking about me?"

"No, you seem to be one of the few working towards a better future."

After photos, Lucinda surveyed the room. "Humans are herd creatures. They seek a leader."

"Can I adopt you?" Martinez grinned.

"No," Millicent said firmly.

As they left, Millicent pulled out her phone. "Did you get a call?" Ms. Wallace asked.

"No, just donating to the Martinez reelection campaign."

"I think we might have found the rarity in this babbling bastion of ignorance," Lucinda declared, actually sounding impressed.

Behind them, Representative Martinez wondered why her next campaign filing would show an impossibly large donation from an untraceable source.

*****

Jessica and her crew huddled around the TV screen in her hotel room, the security footage playing yet again thanks to Devlin's technical skills. None of them looked like they'd slept, dark circles under their eyes as they watched the impossible scene unfold once more.

Jessica sipped her coffee mechanically while Juan rocked back and forth, his eyes holding the lost look of someone whose world had stopped making sense. Devlin just stared, haunted.

"It's still the same," Juan whispered. "Every time we watch it."

"How?" Jessica gestured at the screen with her coffee cup. "This isn't possible, but it's right there."

Devlin rubbed his eyes. "I'm no scientist, but to do something like that would take energy on the level of a nuclear bomb, at least. The laws of physics don't just... bend."

"Is she..." Juan swallowed hard. "Do you think she's still alive?"

"I'm not sure I even know what 'alive' means anymore," Devlin replied. "Or what's real."

"We need to focus," Jessica said firmly. "We're sitting on something far bigger than we expected. Bigger than the JFK assassination or the moon landing."

Her phone buzzed with an email. She opened it, eyes widening as she read her contact's analysis of the shed scale from Casey's car.

"My friend at the Natural History Museum examined it," she said, handing the phone to Devlin. "Says it's like nothing he's ever seen. Triple helix DNA, both carbon and cobalt-based."

"What does that mean?" she asked when Devlin just stared at the screen.

"Alien," he said finally. "Or something not known to science."

Juan stood abruptly. "I'm out. I have a wife, kids. I can't risk them losing me, or them getting involved in... whatever this is."

"I understand," Jessica said softly. "But if you leave, you're running from a world-changing truth. Something your children and their children will remember."

Juan paced nervously before collapsing back into his chair. "Fine. But I don't like it."

"What's our next step?" Devlin asked. "Even with everything we have, there's nothing we can take back to our boss that he'll actually believe."

Jessica's expression hardened with determination. "It's simple. We need to catch them in the act."

"That sounds dangerous," Juan protested.

"High risk, high reward," Jessica replied. "And Pulitzers."

None of them spoke the obvious - that Susie Canton had probably thought the same thing before confronting the Nightbanes. But they all knew that some stories were worth the risk, even if you weren't sure you'd survive telling them.

*****

Lucinda walked through the halls, phone ready, searching for Senator Bernsman's office. She found it amusing that Ian even had a favorite senator, but she'd promised him a photo. Having bent space-time to escape her tour group, she materialized in the correct hallway.

"You're that Scary Bee girl," drawled a heavy-set man in a dark business suit and cowboy hat.

"And you are?" Lucinda asked imperiously.

"Senator Calhoun of the great state of Texas."

Lucinda turned up her nose and walked past him to Bernsman's door, snapping a photo and texting it to Ian.

"So why do you and your pretty sister dress like the Addams Family?" Calhoun asked condescendingly.

"I don't know what that is," Lucinda replied, walking back the way she came, only to find the senator blocking her path.

"Ain't right," he drawled. "Dressing like a vampire."

Lucinda fixed him with a cold stare. "And it's not right for a buffoon like you to feel they can speak to someone any way they choose."

The man placed his hand on his hip, looking down at her. "If you were my kid, I'd wash your mouth out with soap."

"Thankfully, I'm not," Lucinda sighed. "Now move."

The senator stepped aside, but as she passed, he called after her, "Your parents didn't teach you a lick of manners."

Lucinda turned, her violet eyes flashing dangerously. "How dare you."

"Dare what, little lady?" he smirked smugly.

Raising a finger, Lucinda hissed, "Change." The senator's body collapsed in on itself, growing a snout and stubby legs. In a puff of smoke, a pig stood where the politician had been.

"Fitting," she observed, turning to leave. After a few steps, she spotted a security camera. With a casual gesture, she bent time around it, erasing the transformation from its servers for five minutes past and future, then blinked away.

Behind her, the newly porcine senator oinked in confused outrage, his cowboy hat lying askew on the marble floor beside him.

*****
"You turned him into a pig?" Millicent whispered, looking at her sister with a flustered expression as they sat on the bus.

"Yes, and if we're lucky, in a few days he'll be living his best life on a farm being fattened up for a feast," Lucinda replied with imperial satisfaction.

"That place is very secure - there are cameras everywhere," Millicent worried.

Lucinda nodded confidently. "I know. So I cast a temporal warp on them and all connected images."

"Well, I can't say he probably didn't deserve it," Millicent sighed. "And you did clean up the event, so..." She straightened her emerald silk dress. "While I do not condone it, I'll leave it at that."

The bus wound its way back to the hotel for their noon break and lunch hour before the White House visit. As they walked through the lobby, Millicent glanced at the security cameras, suddenly remembering her own hasty transformation of the rude reporter. Unlike Lucinda, she hadn't taken precautions in her moment of anger.

Sighing, she made a subtle gesture, warping space-time around the cameras. The spell bent backwards through time, creating a minor skip in the footage not only when she'd turned the reporter into a decorative plant, but in any connected video - as if the skip had always been there.

Satisfied with her work, Millicent turned her thoughts to where she, Lucinda, and Ms. Wallace would have lunch. After all, even exiled imperial witch princesses needed proper sustenance before dealing with the leader of Earth's most powerful nation.

*****

"What do you mean it's gone?" Jessica called, pacing in the hotel room.

Devlin looked up from his laptop. "The video is there, but the flash and smoke are gone."

"There are backups, right?" Jessica asked, flustered.

"Seven backups," the assistant nodded. "One on my tablet, one on Juan's phone, the station's servers, your computer, cloud server..." He trailed off as Jessica rubbed her temples.

"Just that one part?" she asked.

"Just that part and about four seconds afterward. It even shows in the timestamp."

"Can we get another copy of the original?" Juan asked, looking at his phone.

"I called hotel security, got in touch with the guy you talked to. He said it looked like ours," Devlin replied, his eyes wild from too much coffee and too little sleep.

"They did it," Jessica said. "They disappeared... time."

Juan nodded at the reporter, his mind returning to thoughts of leaving WashingtonDC, maybe even the country with his family if he could afford it.

"Could this day get any worse?" Jessica asked. Devlin gave her a knowing look as he pulled up a social media video showing Capitol security chasing a pig around.

"What the heck is that?" Jessica demanded.

"A pig in the Capitol, being rounded up after the spelling bee contestants left," Devlin explained.

Jessica's eyes widened as she processed the situation. "The Nightbanes," she said, her voice slightly unhinged.

"They pulled a Circe?" Juan asked.

Devlin chuckled at the mythology reference. "Maybe."

"I don't want to be pork," Juan muttered. "Though I would taste delicious."

Jessica sat heavily on the bed, head down. "If you guys are right, they just got away with turning someone into a pig in the Capitol, and they're on their way to the White House in an hour."

"At least if they do it there, it won't be as hard," Juan shrugged. "Most of those jerks are halfway there already."

*****

President Turner sat in the Oval Office finishing his lunch - a Ringmaster Supreme burger from Circus Burger, large fries, vanilla shake, and a Clown Cupcake.

"Do I have to see these kids?" asked the tall, rotund man with artificially tanned skin, wispy blonde hair, thick eyebrows, and heavy jowls. "Kids carry disease and smell, and worse of all, don't vote."

The President's Chief Secretary looked up from his salad. "Sir, it's tradition. It's only an hour, then you can return to running the world's most powerful nation."

The President nodded, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, coughed, then stood. "No handshakes, and... I only want photos with the best ones... winners."

"Sir, the bee isn't until tomorrow, so technically either none are winners, or they're all winners at the state and territorial level."

"No territory kids, those places are trash heaps. Just the top five people-like," growled the almost 80-year-old politician after a loud burp.

The Secretary placed his salad on a table and stood. "How about ten, sir?"

The President thought for a second then growled, "Fine, but no ugly kids or fatties."

The Chief Secretary left the office, frustration evident on his face as he contemplated the regrets of his career while heading to his office to craft a diplomatically worded memo.

"How's the Commander in Chief?" asked his Sub-Secretary as he entered.

"Fine. He, however, wants to change the entire spelling bee visit."

"Let me guess - no ugly kids?" said the other man, rolling his eyes.

"Among other things," said his boss. "Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve this job. I'm not a bad person."

"You did vote for him," his subordinate chuckled.

The Chief Secretary started typing on his laptop, then looked up. "Don't tell anyone... but I voted for the other one."

"Me too," said the Sub-Chief Secretary with a wry smile. "But we bent the knee, and now you're writing a letter to tell kids they can't see the leader of the mostly free world."

The Chief Secretary nodded. "And you're going to have to explain it to the people in charge of the bee when they arrive."

The Sub-Secretary stood in protest. "Why ME?"

"Because I'm your boss," replied the Chief Secretary.

"Can I send an intern?"

"An intern would be disrespectful to such an esteemed historical organization like the spelling bee folk," quipped the Chief Secretary. "But if you can find someone of about your rank or mine to do it, have at it."

The Sub-Secretary began thinking about who in the White House they had enough dirt on to talk into delivering the news.

*****

The Nightbane sisters stood among the spelling bee contestants outside the White House, cameras flashing as reporters jostled for position. Though they missed Ms. Wallace's presence (only one chaperone allowed), both princesses maintained their imperial bearing.

"Rather monochrome and small," Lucinda observed, eyeing the executive mansion with disdain. Their own home, the Dark Spire, had been a city built into and around a mountain, housing millions within its shadowed walls.

"Perhaps it's good for a leader to maintain a humble abode," Millicent mused, though her tone suggested she found it a bit too humble.

The Press Secretary, a blonde woman in a carefully pressed suit, stepped forward with a practiced smile. "Welcome, champions! We're honored to host America's brightest young minds. We'll begin with a tour, followed by a press meeting in the Rose Garden."

She pulled out a memo, her smile faltering slightly. "However, due to the President's... extremely busy schedule, there will be some minor adjustments to the traditional photo opportunity." She cleared her throat. "The President will meet with ten pre-selected students who best represent the... aesthetic and physical standards befitting such a prestigious occasion."

A murmur of confusion rippled through the crowd.

"You mean he only wants to be photographed with pretty, thin kids?" Virginia's father called out, his farmer's directness cutting through the diplomatic language.

"The President has many important matters to attend to-" the Press Secretary began.

"He's refusing to meet children based on their appearance?" Lucinda's imperial voice cut through the excuses. "How perfectly peasant of him."

"This is highly irregular," Millicent added, her usual diplomatic tone carrying an edge of steel. "And deeply unsuitable behavior for any leader."

Other parents and chaperones joined in, their voices rising in protest. The Press Secretary maintained her smile, though sweat beaded on her forehead as she tried to defend the indefensible.

Lucinda's violet eyes gleamed dangerously only to meet a return glaze from her sister. "Lucy," Millicent warned, though her own expression suggested she might not try too hard to stop whatever her sister was planning.

*****

 

The Sub-Secretary sat reviewing photos with three interns, compiling a list for the President's photo shoot. "So who's in automatically?" asked an intern, sipping from a soda can.

"Swing state kids, anything to help with the votes. But not the chubby Iowa kid."

"Texas, Pennsylvania, and Florida, those kids pass muster," the Sub-Secretary confirmed, sorting through photo stacks.

An intern held up a photo of a pale girl with dark hair dressed in Gothic Victorian style. "What about this kid?"

"That Scary Bee kid? Too out there for the President?" the Sub-Secretary mused.

"But she fits all the qualifications, and it'll help with New York in mid-terms," an intern chuckled.

"The look on his face might just be worth it," the Sub-Secretary smiled, adding her to the 'yes' stack.

Meanwhile, as the tour moved through the White House, Lucinda felt the energy of the ley line beneath the building. She knew many government centers were built on places of power, though humans had done so unknowingly.

"I guess even a hairless ape can feel power," she remarked to Millicent.

"Or they were just lucky. Still, that explains why people staying here have so much sway - they subconsciously access the energy," the older princess replied as they entered another room of memorabilia.

"Millicent and Lucy Nightbane?" an intern approached them.

"Yes," Millicent answered.

"Come with us, please. The President is ready to meet you."

Lucinda glanced at her sister, then at the other students as more were selected, including Virginia and her father.

"Good for him," Lucinda said imperiously, following the intern with Millicent.

The intern looked at Millicent nervously. "How tall are you?"

"Five feet ten," Millicent replied proudly.

"Those heels... can you take them off? In them, you're pretty close to the President's height."

"And that's a problem?" Lucinda asked dangerously.

"He doesn't like people, especially women, taking pictures with him within three inches of his height," the intern explained, clearly embarrassed.

Millicent considered for a moment, then slipped out of her heeled black boots, handing them to the intern with an imperial stare that dared him to drop them.

The intern clutched the boots carefully, realizing that somehow, despite being barefoot, Millicent still managed to look down on him.

*****

Jessica's team rushed through White House security, her press credentials clutched like a talisman. Her normally composed demeanor had given way to barely contained panic.

"We need to get in - now," she insisted to the guard, her voice pitched slightly too high. "We're here to interview spelling bee contestants."

"You're not on the list," the guard said flatly.

"People could be in danger," she blurted, then caught herself. "I mean... these are important interviews."

Juan and Devlin exchanged worried glances. Their boss's usual professional calm had eroded over the past days, replaced by something more manic.

After what felt like hours but was probably minutes, they were cleared to park their van. An intern approached with security lanyards, cheerfully informing them about the Rose Garden press event in thirty minutes.

"The Rose Garden isn't important," Jessica muttered, veering away from the designated path. She pulled out her phone, calling Richard, the Sub-Secretary she'd dated in college.

"Rich, listen to me. Those girls - the Nightbanes - they're dangerous."

"Jess, are you okay? You sound... intense." His voice carried that familiar tone he'd used when she'd get too focused on a story.

"They make people disappear, Rich. They can do things that aren't possible-"

"They're aliens!" Juan blurted out, then immediately looked mortified. "We thought vampires first, but probably aliens."

A long silence followed.

"Head to the Rose Garden or leave," Richard said finally. "I mean it, Jess."

She hung up, running her hands through her disheveled hair. "We have to find them ourselves. Before it's too late."

"Jessica," Devlin said carefully, "maybe we should step back. Get some perspective."

"Perspective?" She laughed, a slightly unhinged sound. "I've seen them erase time. Turn people into... into..." She took a deep breath. "They're going to do something. I know it. And we have to stop them."

Juan and Devlin followed their boss deeper into the White House, both wondering if they were chasing dangerous supernatural beings or simply watching their friend's grip on reality slowly unravel.

Neither option was particularly comforting.

*****

The princesses stood in an alcove with others where an intern had instructed them to wait, after being told not to shake the President's hand, speak only when spoken to, and never meet his gaze directly. They were informed they would be introduced, and if the President asked questions, they could answer briefly and only in a positive manner. They were also handed contracts allowing the President and his party to use any photos or videos in campaigns.

"Is this what it was like when people sought audience with our parents?" Lucinda asked her sister.

"Yes, though despite our parents' feared reputations, guests were treated far better and with fewer rules," answered the older sister, looking about.

"Ladies, can we get a few words with you briefly?" asked a thin young man holding a tablet computer.

"Do we have time?" Millicent asked with concern.

The young man nodded. "The President is never on time," he said sardonically.

"That I believe," said Millicent, looking at her sister who was already joining the young man.

The taller princess followed in her stocking feet, yet still moving with regal grace and remaining taller than the young man as they entered an empty room where a camera was set up and a haggard-looking reporter stood.

"Haven't we met before?" said Millicent.

"Briefly," said Jessica. "You and your sister are so fascinating, I have a few follow-up questions."

"Very well," said Lucinda. "I'm sure your questions will be far more entertaining than waiting for the ruler of this ivory hovel."

Jessica looked at the sisters and took a breath, glanced at Juan who signaled the camera was rolling, and said, "What are you?"

Millicent looked at her sister, then at the camera, and with a thought, fused its insides into one block of metal and plastic, halting the secret live broadcast on Jessica's social media page.

"What is this?" asked Millicent as Juan realized the camera was no longer working and reached for a smaller one, only to have Lucinda snap her fingers at him and say "Change." In an instant, Juan liquefied and reformed as a frog sprawled on his equipment.

"I know what you are, I know what you can do," said Jessica.

"If that's true," said Lucinda, "you're an idiot for confronting us."

Millicent looked at her sister and at Jessica, feeling sorry for the woman. She motioned her to continue speaking. "Go on," said Millicent.

Jessica, surprised by the taller princess's words, continued, "You turned Susie Canton into a potted plant, you've disappeared thousands. You've built an identity and wealth that I'm sure isn't as real as you would like others to think." The sisters listened and nodded.

"And so you think you're going to do what?" asked Lucinda.

"Tell the truth, let the world know about you," Jessica declared.

Millicent looked at Devlin, who was still staring at the frog that was Juan with utter fear for his personal safety.

"Is she feeling well? While I won't deny her words, I think such a haphazard attempt to out us may mean she's not her full self," said the older princess.

Devlin looked at Jessica and the princesses and kneeled. "She hasn't slept, she's not thinking straight. This was a bad idea and I had nothing to do with it," said the young man.

"I don't much like betrayal of one's allies even to save one's own skin," said Lucinda to the young man.

"That's not sporting at all," commented Millicent to a now terrified kneeling Devlin.

"He's right. It's on me... Please let him go," Jessica pleaded.

Millicent could tell the woman was at her wits' end and in her own way was doing what she thought was right, still, her actions had endangered her and more so her sister.

"I appreciate your candor," said the older princess.

"Can I turn them into dust motes?" asked Lucinda. "Or maybe a nice set of chairs? This room could use some improved decorations."

Devlin desperately ran toward the door, the word "Help" forming in his throat as Lucinda pointed and said "Change," turning him into a beautiful chair made of ebony wood with a black seat cushion and an ornate carved back that showed, in brief and vague outlines, the young man's life - carvings that most would look like just designs.

Jessica looked at the sisters, her mind finding enough stability to realize her folly and all the chances she had to step away and save herself and her people.

"I was an idiot," she said in defeat.

"You came close," said Millicent. "Cherish that while you can," said the taller princess before snapping a finger at the reporter and saying "Change," turning her into a matching chair that paired with her intern.

"I almost feel sorry for them," said Lucinda, waving a hand to make all the cameras, lighting equipment, and other devices brought by Jessica's team vanish with a simple "begone."

"This is why," said Millicent, "the spotlight is dangerous for us. It attracts attention and sadly, such brilliant minds that could put the pieces together, who might have done great things, have to pay for their brilliant hubris."

Lucinda nodded, picked up the frog, placed it in her purse, and along with her sister, exited the room.

*****

Lucinda and Millicent returned to the line just as Virginia exited from the room ahead. She looked at Lucinda and whispered, "He smells like mustard." Lucinda smiled and looked at Millicent, only to see worry on her face.

"Fine," said the younger princess.

"Fine what?" Millicent asked.

"I was wrong," said Lucinda in a solemn tone, "and I'm sorry." Millicent looked at her sister, not sure exactly what she was sorry about but glad regardless.

"Nightbanes," called the intern who had brought them to wait. He led them to a man who introduced himself as the sub-secretary, who then led them into the room where a cameraman and a videographer waited along with President Turner.

"Oh, you're a looker," said the President to Millicent.

"Excuse me?" said Millicent.

"Remind me of that actress with the big eyes, only with hips."

"Anne Hathaway?" suggested the intern.

"Yeah, her," said Turner. "And that Munsters look - gotta say that's good marketing. Stands out."

Millicent looked at Lucinda with annoyed surprise, only to meet a similar gaze from her sister.

The President motioned the Nightbanes to stand next to him. "So ladies, how does it feel to be with the leader of the free world?" he asked as cameras started flashing.

"Unimpressed," said Lucinda.

"Impressed, huh?" said the President, only choosing to hear what he wanted.

"No, I said unimpressed," corrected Lucinda, "and Virginia is right - you smell like mustard, and not the good kind."

Millicent chuckled and looked at her sister. "We're guests."

Lucinda nodded and her sullen face managed a smile for the photos.

After the pictures, Turner looked at the dark-haired sisters and asked, "So what do you like most about the White House? I'm having a putting range put out back."

"That it's still standing," replied a sardonic Lucinda.

"What she means is, it looks surprisingly well for its age," commented Millicent.

Turner chuckled. "Like me," he added, winking at the older sister. Millicent's face briefly turned to disgust as the intern motioned them toward the door.

The President, standing smugly, called out, "Hey Scary Bee, any advice from one genius to another?"

Lucinda turned to meet the man's eyes and said, "A change can be a curse sealed in a blessing," with emphasis on the "change" part of her cryptic phrase. The President chuckled and waved the guests away.

After exiting the hall and being escorted back to the spelling bee contestants gathering in the Rose Garden, Millicent looked at her sister and said, "You didn't?"

"I very much did. Though I hate this world, I feel they hath earned one favor for taking us in," said the younger witch with a playful smile.

"How long?" asked Millicent.

"One hour," said Lucinda.

"Into?"

"His least favorite animal."

*****

The President adjusted his bow tie in his private chambers' mirror, practicing his stern expression for the Kennedy Center event.

"People say I'm stubborn," he muttered to himself. "But I'm the smartest, most flexible-" His words cut off as his face began to tingle. In the mirror, he watched in horror as his features shifted and rearranged themselves - but somehow everything went terribly wrong. His face became a donkey's rear while his actual rear transformed into the animal's head.

For one perfectly horrible moment, he was aware of being both ends of a donkey simultaneously. Then the transformation completed, and presidential consciousness gave way to pure animal panic.

His statuesque wife looked up from her phone just in time to see her husband become a fully formed donkey. She screamed something in Russian and fled the room in her designer heels.

The presidential donkey burst through the private chambers' doors, braying in confusion. Secret Service agents reached for their weapons, then hesitated - their training hadn't covered this scenario.

"Is that a... donkey?" one agent asked as the animal galloped past.

"In the White House?" another responded, reaching for his radio. "We have a... uh... situation."

The donkey skidded around a corner, hooves sliding on the polished floor, and crashed into a display of presidential china. Somewhere, a historian wept.

"Code Brown! Code Brown!" someone shouted, though no such code existed.

The animal found its way to the Situation Room, where Joint Chiefs stared as a donkey interrupted their briefing. One general slowly lowered his coffee cup, blinked twice, and decided he needed something stronger.

"Should we evacuate?" someone asked as the donkey knocked over a scale model of the Korean Peninsula.

"From a donkey?"

"It could be a Russian donkey!"

The chase continued through the building's historic halls. The donkey scattered a tour group, sent three staffers diving into the Roosevelt Room, and somehow managed to kick over a portrait of William Howard Taft.

Finally, a Secret Service agent managed to get a clear shot with a tranquilizer gun. The donkey stumbled, brayed one final time, and collapsed in front of the Oval Office.

"Has anyone seen the President?" the Chief of Staff asked, arriving on the scene.

"Not since he was getting ready for the Kennedy Center," his secretary replied.

As agents coordinated a search, the sedated donkey was carefully moved to a secure location.

As agents coordinated an expanding search, the sedated donkey was carefully moved to a secure location, leaving staff and security in growing panic.

"Still no sign of the President," the Chief of Staff announced in a hastily assembled crisis meeting. "We've swept every room, checked every camera."

"He was just getting ready for the Kennedy Center event," his secretary insisted. "Then his wife started screaming about demons and transformations-"

"She's hysterical," someone cut in. "Speaking Russian so fast the translators can't keep up."

The Sub-Secretary glanced nervously at the room's latest addition - a tranquilized donkey in the corner. Something about the animal's appearance in the White House and the President's simultaneous disappearance nagged at his memory, but he quickly dismissed the impossible thought.

"We need to implement continuity of government protocols," the Chief of Staff decided. "And someone figure out what to do with that donkey!"

As the crisis team descended into argument about notification procedures and press statements, no one noticed the donkey beginning to stir. Or how its eyes, briefly visible as it blinked awake, held a familiar petulant gleam.

In the Rose Garden, Lucinda watched the growing commotion with imperial satisfaction. After all, she'd given America exactly what it deserved - leadership that perfectly matched its current dignity.

*****

 

The Hyatt's lobby buzzed with speculation about the President's mysterious illness as spelling bee contestants gathered after breakfast.

"I'm telling you," Bob declared to Lucinda, Virginia, and their small group of friends, "the Russians who controlled him finally decided to pull him out. Probably replaced him with a clone already."

Lucinda's lips curved in amusement. "What an... interesting theory."

Nearby, Millicent conducted a video call with Casey, watching Hotspur playfully chase something across the screen.

"He's doing great," Casey reported. "Actually, Adam and Zack are absolutely in love with him. Maybe consider letting them dragon-sit sometime?"

"I'll think about it," Millicent smiled. "Though their apartment might not survive."

"Hey, have you heard anything about the President getting sick?" Casey asked.

"We'll talk later," Millicent replied carefully, catching Lucinda's eye across the lobby.

Soon after, officials began organizing the contestants, leading them toward the Hyatt's convention area. The large room featured a proper stage, complete with microphone stands and judges' tables.

Virginia squeezed Lucinda's hand. "Good luck, Scary Bee."

"And to you," Lucinda replied with imperial grace, though they both knew luck had nothing to do with what was about to happen. 

Behind them, adults whispered about the President's condition, completely unaware that the subject of their concern was currently grazing contentedly on the White House lawn, occasionally braying at passing Democrats.

*****

The Hyatt's auditorium filled with anticipation as Ian, his mother, Adam, and Zack found their seats. Ian's eyes immediately found Lucinda on stage, her imperial bearing making her stand out among the other contestants even in the required formal attire. A smile crossed his face, though he knew she'd deny causing the flutter in his chest if asked.

"She looks like a queen among peasants," Ian's mother whispered, having grown oddly protective of Lucinda despite (or perhaps because of) her otherworldly nature.

Adam spotted Millicent in the chaperone section, elegant even in flat shoes, and felt that familiar mix of pride and awe at dating someone so impossibly perfect.

Zack, already recovered from his brief stint as honey, hunched over his phone. "The odds on Lucinda are terrible," he muttered. "Everyone knows she's going to win." Still, he placed his bets, knowing better than to doubt the Scary Bee.

In her apartment, Casey sprawled on her sofa with Hotspur curled beside her, both watching the live feed. The drake's golden eyes fixed on the screen whenever Lucinda appeared, making small chirping sounds of recognition.

"Your princess is going to crush them," Casey told him, feeding him a piece of pizza crust which he delicately toasted before eating.

Halfway across the world, Ari sat in her family's living room, using Zack's VPN to watch the coverage. Her family had grown used to her intense interest in this American spelling competition and had come to share her fondness for her odd but strangely endearing American friend. Her father even wore a "Team Scary Bee" shirt Ari had secretly ordered online, though he kept mispronouncing Lucinda's name in a way that would normally earn someone a creative transformation.

The moderator, a beloved morning show weatherman whose charm transcended his lack of hair, took the stage. His warm presence seemed to put everyone at ease - everyone except Lucinda, who viewed his folksy demeanor with aristocratic tolerance.

"Welcome to the National Spelling Bee Finals," he announced. "Where words are our weapons and dictionary definitions are our shields!"

*****

The competition moved like a perfectly orchestrated dance, contestants falling one by one to increasingly difficult words. Lucinda approached each round with imperial grace, her pronunciations so precise they made the judges' versions sound common by comparison.

Virginia matched her pace, the farmer's daughter displaying a quiet scholarship that even Lucinda had to admire. When Virginia correctly spelled "syzygy," Lucinda allowed herself a small, genuine smile.

"Miss Nightbane," the weatherman called, his folksy charm somehow surviving her aristocratic disdain. "Your word is 'chiaroscuro.'"

In the audience, Ian leaned forward. He'd helped her practice this exact word last week, though they both knew she hadn't needed the assistance.

"Origin?" Lucinda asked, though she knew perfectly well it was Italian.

"Italian, from 'chiaro' meaning light and 'oscuro' meaning dark."

"How appropriate," Lucinda purred, catching Millicent's eye in the chaperone section. Her sister's slight nod told her everything - Millicent had realized what was coming.

"C-H-I-A-R-O-S-C-U-R-O," Lucinda pronounced each letter with perfect precision, letting the audience savor what they thought would be another flawless performance.

"Correct," the moderator beamed. "Miss Lakewort, your word is 'chryselephantine.'"

Virginia stepped forward, her hands steady despite the pressure. "Definition please?"

"Made of or adorned with gold and ivory."

In Casey's apartment, Hotspur chirped excitedly at the screen, recognizing the word from Lucinda's practice sessions. Casey scratched his scales, wondering why the princess was watching Virginia with such careful attention.

"C-H-R-Y-S-E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T-I-N-E," Virginia spelled carefully.

"Correct! Miss Nightbane - 'phillumenist.'"

Lucinda's violet eyes sparkled. This was it - the perfect word for her planned defeat. Common enough to be believable, obscure enough to be plausible.

"Definition?"

"A collector of matchboxes."

In Ibahd, Ari's father adjusted his Team Scary Bee shirt, confident in his daughter's friend's imminent victory. Ari, however, noticed something in Lucinda's stance - a subtle shift that only someone who knew her true nature might catch.

"P-H-I-L-L-U-M-I-N-I-S-T," Lucinda declared.

A bell rang. The audience gasped.

"I'm sorry," the moderator said, genuine regret in his voice. "That's incorrect. The correct spelling is P-H-I-L-U-M-E-N-I-S-T."

Zack's phone slipped from his fingers. Adam's jaw dropped. Ian started to stand before his mother pulled him back down.

Lucinda stepped back with perfect composure, offering Virginia a small nod as the other girl approached the microphone for her final word. As Virginia correctly spelled "metempsychosis," securing her victory, Lucinda's applause was genuine.

The weatherman announced Virginia's victory with enthusiasm, but all eyes remained on Lucinda, waiting for some display of anger or disappointment. Instead, she maintained her regal bearing, congratulating Virginia with such grace that no one - except perhaps Millicent - suspected she had orchestrated this outcome.

"Second place isn't so bad," Virginia whispered as they left the stage.

"For some, being first is a victory," Lucinda replied cryptically. "For others, knowing when not to win shows true wisdom."

In the chaperone section, Millicent wiped away what might have been a proud tear. Her little sister was growing up - even if she had turned the President into a donkey just yesterday.

*****

 

In the post-competition ceremony, Virginia's hands shook slightly as she accepted the oversized check for $50,000. "This will help save our family farm," she announced, her voice breaking with genuine emotion. The audience erupted in applause, loving this picture-perfect American story.

When Lucinda gracefully accepted her second-place prize of $25,000, the moderator asked about her plans for the money.

"I'm donating it to 'Lost Girls,'" she declared imperially, "a charity supporting girls who have disappeared for standing against various government regimes, including one in Ibahd." Her violet eyes found Ari's family watching on their screen halfway across the world.

More applause, and suddenly Virginia and Bob were hugging her - though Bob quickly stepped back, remembering who he was embracing.

"Could I maybe take you out tomorrow? Before everyone heads home?" Bob asked nervously.

"No," Lucinda replied simply, her gaze finding Ian and his mother in the crowd.

Later, in the reception area, Ms. Wallace and Millicent congratulated Lucinda. "You did wonderfully," Ms. Wallace said with a knowing smile. "And how perfect that the winner will use it to help her family."

Lucinda suddenly hugged Millicent, whispering, "You were right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm the big sister - I'm always right."

"Hardly," Lucinda scoffed. "You're dating a lout who lives with a bigger lout."

Before Millicent could protest, their group arrived - Adam, Zack, Ian, and his mother. Ian looked at Lucinda questioningly. "How did you miss a word I know you knew?"

"She did great," his mother interrupted, and Ian fell silent, though his eyes said he understood.

"The spelling bee is having a gathering at the hotel," Millicent announced, "but I'd rather celebrate Lucinda's success with friends." A few quick texts to her chef contacts secured them a reservation at St. Anselm Steaks.

As they headed outside, Zack moaned about his betting losses.

"Speaking of money," Lucinda's eyes narrowed dangerously, "I heard about your little 'Scary Bee' merchandise enterprise. I want 90%."

"How about 50/50?"

"95%."

"After my losses today, that's about twenty-eight dollars," Zack calculated miserably.

Lucinda glared at him, clearly wishing Ms. Wallace and Ian's mother weren't present so she could turn him into something appropriately unfortunate. The look promised future retribution, causing Zack to walk slightly behind the group, using Adam as a human shield.

*****

"I suppose this is farewell," Lucinda said regally as Virginia and Bob prepared to leave for their gates.

"Until next year's spelling bee?" Virginia asked hopefully.

"No, I have other matters to attend to. World domination doesn't plan itself," Lucinda replied with imperial precision.

Virginia and Bob laughed, assuming she was joking. "Stay in touch?" Virginia asked, and before Lucinda could respond, both contestants hugged her. The princess stood stiffly, surprised by the display of affection but not entirely displeased.

As they departed, Millicent approached her sister. "I'm proud of you. You made good choices this week."

"Indeed," Lucinda smirked. "You believe turning the President into a jackass was a good choice after all?"

"That's not what I meant," Millicent sighed.

"Of course not."

"Although," Millicent added thoughtfully, "it was an improvement."

"My respect for their government has increased slightly," Lucinda observed. "They've done an admirable job covering up the fact they have no president."

"That is true."

Ms. Wallace interrupted their conversation, announcing, "Our flight comes with access to a lounge with a killer buffet."

"Do they have pie?" Lucinda asked imperiously.

"Yes."

As they walked toward the lounge, Ms. Wallace smiled warmly. "Thank you both for a fun and entertaining week."

Near the lounge entrance, a sixteen-year-old girl in Victorian Gothic attire spotted them and rushed over, practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh my god, you're dressed like the Scary Bee! I'm such a huge fan!"

Lucinda assessed the girl's outfit with approval - the attention to detail was impressive. The girl bounced excitedly, "Are you a fan of the Scary Bee too?"

Lucinda opened her mouth to correct this misconception, but something stopped her. "Yes," she replied simply, allowing someone else to wear her crown for once.

An hour later, they settled into first class, though both princesses found it wanting compared to imperial transportation.

"This is hardly better than that flying cattle car we arrived in," Lucinda complained, reaching for her cigarette holder. She selected a cigarette that bore a suspiciously Zack-like face near the filter and prepared to light up.

Millicent pointed to a no-smoking sign.

Rolling her eyes, Lucinda removed the cigarette. "You have gained a temporary reprieve, minion," she informed it imperiously. The tiny Zack-face in the filter seemed to express relief, though that might have been wishful thinking.

"At least we're heading home," Millicent observed.

"Yes," Lucinda agreed. "Though I do miss having an entire nation hanging on my every word."

"You still have Ian for that."

"True. Speaking of which, did you know Bob actually asked me out?"

"Poor boy," Millicent chuckled. "What did you turn him into?"

"Nothing," Lucinda said primly. "I'm learning restraint."

"Really?"

"Also, Ms. Wallace was present."

The sisters shared a laugh as their plane took off, leaving behind a capital city that would never quite understand what had passed through it 

*****

Casey and Adam lugged the pet carrier up from the elevator toward the apartment that occupied the entire thirteenth floor of CavendishHeights.

"Did Lucinda really turn Zack into a cigarette?" Casey asked, catching her breath.

"Yeah, and it's not the first time," Adam replied. "She's done the same to me."

"Does it hurt?"

"Like being slowly burned alive while unable to move, so... yes."

Casey grinned wickedly. "I wish I had magical powers."

They reached the door and knocked. Millicent answered, helping them bring in the carrier. The moment she opened it, Hotspur bounded out with happy chirps, leaping into Millicent's embrace.

Lucinda entered and immediately knelt. The drake rushed to her, and for once, the imperial princess didn't hide her affection as she hugged him.

"Are you sure you don't want payment?" Millicent asked Casey.

"Friends take care of friends' baby dragons when they're away," Casey shrugged. "Though... is there anything else you could do for me?"

"Like giving you magic powers?" Millicent asked sadly. "I'm afraid not."

"But would you if you could?"

"Yes."

"What about me?" Adam interjected.

Millicent kissed him softly. "No."

Casey laughed as Adam pouted.

"Is Zack in one piece yet?" Adam asked.

"No," Lucinda replied, then snapped her fingers. Zack reformed from ashes in a nearby silver ashtray.

"Lucinda is my hero," Casey declared.

"I'd rather be your Overlady of Darkness."

"You're that too," Casey laughed.

Zack brushed ash from his clothes. "I'm going to need more therapy."

"You'd need less if you stopped trying to put one over on the princesses," Adam pointed out.

"Don't hate the player, hate the game," Zack said with attempted swagger.

"That's a good idea," Lucinda purred. She pointed at him, saying "Change," and suddenly a red rubber ball sat where Zack had been. With a gesture, she levitated it into the living room.

"Fetch, Hotspur!"

The drake bounded after the ball that had been Zack, while everyone except Adam laughed. Though even he had to admit, his roommate had kind of asked for it this time.

"How long will you leave him like that?" Adam asked.

"Until Hotspur gets bored," Lucinda replied imperially. "Or until the ball deflates. Whichever comes first."

Millicent just shook her head, though she couldn't quite hide her smile as Hotspur returned with his new toy, ready for another throw.

*****
The Lost Girls luncheon buzzed with energy as activists and survivors shared stories of regimes waging war against women's freedoms. Lucinda and Millicent sat at their table, listening to accounts of girls being denied education, autonomy, and basic human rights.

The spokeswoman called the Nightbane sisters to the stage. "Today, we celebrate not only the Scary Bee's spelling competition winnings but an additional half-million dollar donation from the Nightbane family."

Applause filled the room as Lucinda approached the microphone with imperial grace. "My friend Ari inspired this donation," she announced. "She showed me the importance of being... ever so slightly... a better person." Her lips curved in a slight smile. "Every girl deserves the same chances that I and my friend Virginia have had - though naturally, few could hope to match our excellence."

The audience rose in a standing ovation, not quite catching the aristocratic condescension in her tone. Millicent just shook her head, knowing her sister couldn't help adding that imperial touch.

Later, as they exited the venue, Millicent smiled proudly. "You've grown so much. You're even managing to be a hero to the Lost Girls organization."

"Heroes are boring," Lucinda sniffed. "I'm far more complicated than that."

"Indeed you are."

As they turned the corner, a man stepped from the shadows, brandishing a gun. "Purses. Now."

"You really don't want to do this," Millicent warned calmly.

"Yeah, I do," he growled. "Hand them over, or the kid gets hurt."

Lucinda flicked a finger casually, magically launching the would-be mugger into the air and over the horizon. She turned to her sister with a wickedly satisfied smile. "See? Not a hero."

"You could have turned him into something useful," Millicent observed. "A donation box, perhaps?"

"True," Lucinda considered. "But sometimes the classics are best. Besides, he'll land somewhere... eventually."

The sisters continued their walk home, leaving behind an organization celebrating their generosity, completely unaware that their benefactor had just launched a man into low earth orbit for the crime of interrupting her evening.

THE END