Wonderful, my prince, my prize, my general, said the voice in his head. So resourceful, so able to lead. You have such power. Next we will see how you handle tragedy.
What do you want? he thought back. Are you my grandmother? Stay out of my head!
But the voice was gone.
Alison dashed over to him. The Red Cap cloud was already dissipating, vanishing as if it had never existed. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” He got to his feet and almost tripped over a large red hat. He cringed away from it. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s coming.” She held up her hand. There were two nails in it. Ryan stepped back. “The nail I stabbed that thing with disappeared. Is it supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anyone kill a fairy before.”
“Did I really kill it?” Alison said in wonder.
Dad ran toward them. With him he towed Theresa, who alternated between weeping and howling. Blood still streamed down her face, and Ryan ran his tongue over his teeth. Dad let her go and took Ryan by the shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Ryan was getting annoyed with that question. “Yes. I told you it would be fine. You had to help Theresa, and you did.”
“I only had to help her because you saw it,” Dad said. “I don’t think there was any other reason for it.”
“That’s not true.” Ryan backed away so Dad would let go. “If you had tried to help me, the Red Cap would have killed you. So I told you to help Theresa.”
Dad straightened and all expression left his face. “Are you telling me that you lied? That you only told me to help Theresa to get me out of the way?”
“Yes. No.” Ryan felt confused and unhappy. “You had to get out of the way. You had to help Theresa. I saw it.”
“What is going on here?” Theresa shrieked.
Ryan clapped his hands over his ears. He didn’t like it when people yelled. When his left palm touched his ear, the circle burned again. He lost control of his vision and the dark future rushed at him once again. He saw the Cottage burning, saw Mom in agony. She screamed, and her pain became his own. Abruptly he was back in the present. Scared, Ryan checked his phone. 6:59. Mom and the aunts would burn to death in twenty-one minutes. Was this the tragedy? His breath came in harsh little gasps, and fear pulled at every cell in his body.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” Dad was saying to Theresa. “I can call an ambulance on my cell.”
“What was that thing?” Theresa was still yelling. “Where did it come from? Why did you make it attack me?”
“Dad—” Ryan tried.
“You stole Nox,” Alison shouted at her, just as loud.
“So I took your stupid dog,” Theresa shot back. “It’s no reason to wreck my car!”
“I didn’t wreck your stupid car!”
“Dad! We have to … It’s … “ Ryan stammered. “The Cottage! Now!” He could feel his words leaving him, leaking away like water from a cracked glass. The worry and fear crawled over him like poison ivy, and he couldn’t stand still. Flames licked at his memory, and Mom’s screams of pain echoed in his head. He looked at his cell phone. 7:01. Nineteen minutes left.
“And how is that freak of a dog now a cat?” Theresa went on. She used her words like a steamroller to flatten everything ahead of her. “What have you gotten yourself into, you little brat? You and your freakazoid friend?”
“Da—Da—” Ryan stammered.
“Now look!” Dad speared a finger into Theresa’s face. His face was red. “We just saved your life, and if you can’t—”
Ryan fled. The Cottage wasn’t that far, if he cut straight through the woods to get there. He had always had a faultless sense of direction, so there was no reason to worry about getting lost. Shouts rose and died behind him, but he ignored them and sprinted into the trees. He had to get home before the fire broke out. He had to save Mom. He had to save his aunts.
His cell phone buzzed, and he checked it as he ran. It was a text from Dad. Where are you going, young man? Come back right now!
Ryan gave himself a mental kick. He had gotten so upset, he had forgotten he could just call Mom. He tapped the screen, though it was hard to do while he was running. The trees were close about him now, and he had to watch where he was going or smack into a trunk. 7:06.
Mom’s phone went to voice mail. Ryan’s heart sank. His chest burned and his legs ached, but he made himself run all the more. The circle on his palm itched now. He tried to ignore it, but it felt like a snake squirming in a ring under his skin. It was going to eat him alive, and it would eat him before he could get home to warn his mother and the aunts. Fear became terror, and terror became panic. Green leaves and brown branches rushed past him in a blur. His entire world narrowed to the single goal of getting home to warn everyone that the Cottage was going to burn down. 7:10.
Just as his legs were giving out for good, he burst out of the trees into his own back yard. The Cottage was a few yards ahead of him. Not one lick of flame or the tiniest wisp of smoke. A stitch pinched his side, but the panic shoved him forward. He stumbled up the steps into the house. He ran into the kitchen and heard voices from the second floor. Rushing upstairs, he found Mom, Aunt Ysabeth, and Aunt Zara gathered in the big office they shared. Each had a desk and chair.
Mom’s desk was completely empty except for a tablet computer and keyboard in the exact center. Aunt Ysabeth’s desk sported a laptop, a number of books in semi-tidy stacks, a pencil holder shaped like a porcupine, and an autumn leaf pile of papers. Aunt Zara’s desk was lost in a pile of junk—old CDs, a box of tissues, several award statues, a set of Russian nesting dolls, two lamps, a tape dispenser, three teapots, file folders, battered notebooks, half-melted candles, a lotion bottle, and so many books that they threatened to start an avalanche. Her ancient desktop computer was hidden deep within the recesses of her work space. Aunt Zara’s desk made Ryan uneasy. He liked Mom’s desk best, and when he was little he liked to sit in her chair and stare at the tidy, empty space. In a few minutes, that desk would be a pile of ashes.
At the center of the office, a table was currently piled with more books and several flasks of holy water. A small stack of suitcases similar to the pile on the porch sat by the door—it was still Moving Day. Mom and the aunts were each leafing through a book. Ryan caught sight of the title in Aunt Zara’s hand: Ancient Tales of the Fair Folk. They looked up when Ryan entered. The clock on the wall read 7:12.
“Ryan!” Mom said. “I didn’t hear the van. Did you and your Dad get everything—” Then she saw his expression and dropped her book. “What’s wrong? Where’s your father? Is Alison all right?”
But Ryan could only stare at her mutely. The words were still locked tight inside him.
“The phone!” Aunt Ysabeth said. “Ryan, text your mother.”
Mom slapped her pockets. “I must have left my cell downstairs.”
Which explained why she hadn’t answered him earlier. Ryan’s left palm itched and burned at the same time. Frustrated, he tried to tap out a message on his phone to hold up and show them, but his hands shook and he only produced a string of garbled letters. He grabbed Mom’s hand, and her skin felt strange and unhappy on his. He tried to pull her toward the door, but the fact that he had actually touched her on his own startled her so much, she stood rooted in place.
“What’s going on?” Mom knelt in front of him and looked into his eyes, trying to understand. Still he couldn’t speak. The urgency only made it worse. 7:14. In that moment, he hated being in a world of chaos, where everything sprang at him from unexpected directions and took away his words, stopped him from doing what he needed to do. The clock ticked ahead, its second hand slicing through pandemonium like a thin sword, and Ryan longed to be in a place where everything was regular as that second hand, where there were no surprises, no chaos, where he always knew exactly what would happen next.
“Hm. Take a breath, Ryan,” Mom said. “Calm down. You can find your words.”
“Alison,” he said. “She fought the rock.” His heart sank. 7:16.
“Indeed! Is she hurt?” Aunt Ysabeth asked.
And Dad rushed into the room with Alison and even Theresa behind him. Nox was still a blue-eyed kitten on Alison’s shoulder. They were all sweating and breathing hard. Ryan could feel the two nails in Alison’s hand.
“Ryan!” Dad started to grab him by the shoulders. Ryan flinched, and Dad stopped himself. “Why did you run off like that? You could have been hurt or killed!”
“My, my. Everyone needs to calm down,” Aunt Zara said. “Take a moment and center ourselves.” 7:18.
Ryan smelled a hint of smoke on the air. He whipped out his phone and sent Dad a text. His fingers finally cooperated. The house will burn at 7:20. Run!
Dad read the text. His face went white. “Out of the house!” He flashed them the message. 7:19.
“Salamanders.” Nox said. “Burn! Turn yearn stern. Burn!”
“It talks?” Theresa yelped.
“Run!” Mom barked. “Kids first! Go!”
Everyone stampeded for the office door. They made it down the stairs and into the kitchen when flames exploded all around them.
CHAPTER TEN
Heat swept over Ryan. It ripped at his clothes and sucked the air from his lungs. Ryan, Alison, and Nox were already at the bottom of the stairs, and the adults were still on the steps behind. A wall of flame cut the staircase in half, separating the two groups.
“Go, Ryan!” Dad shouted across the fire. “Get out of the house!”
“Mom!” Ryan cried. “Dad!”
“Go!” Mom yelled. A gout of flame burst up, cutting her off from view. Ryan wanted to run to her, but intense heat licked his face and pressed him back.
Alison grabbed his wrist and pulled him away. Nox clung to her shoulder. Orange fire crawled over the walls and skimmed across the ceiling. Ryan saw in the flames thousands and thousands of tiny gold lizards with topaz eyes. Salamanders. They mounded up on one another and formed the flames themselves. They ran in packs, trailing fire behind them. They hissed and crackled and sparked. And every one of them wanted Ryan dead. They glared at him with glittering eyes, flicked at him with fiery tongues, reached toward him with tiny clawed fingers.
Already the back door was aflame and the salamander pack was moving to surround Ryan and Alison. Heavy smoke choked the air. Ryan and Alison ran through the dining area into the living room, staying just ahead of the running fire. Behind them, the salamanders were piling higher and higher in a neat lattice. Ryan glanced over his shoulder and saw a pattern bulging in the center. The pattern told him what was coming next. It wasn’t the same as seeing the future. It was more like watching a ball roll toward the end of a table and knowing it would fall off.
“Down!” Ryan yanked Alison to floor by her shirt. A ball of fire rushed through the space where their heads had been and exploded against the living curtains. They burst into flames.
“I can’t breathe!” Alison choked. Nox quivered.
“Go for the front door!”
They scrambled to their feet. Ryan glanced over his shoulder. The salamanders had expended energy to create the fire ball, but they would recover soon. Already they were piling up again in the same intricate lattice. Another group of salamanders was leaping and crackling ahead to the front door to cut them off. Ryan’s quick eye scanned the pattern. The numbers added up, and numbers were never wrong. In his head, the ball rolled toward the end of the table again.
“Wait!” he said, and grabbed Alison’s shirt again. Even now he couldn’t bear to touch her arm.
“We have to get out!” She tried to pull away.
“Wait!” He held her for a count of three. The first group of salamanders pulsed inside their bulging lattice. The second group of salamanders reached the front door and set it on fire. The smoke grew worse. “Now! Run for the front door.”
But the front door was already in flames. “Are you crazy? Let’s hit the window!”
Ryan ignored her. He ran straight for the front door. Alison hesitated a split second, then came fast behind him. Ryan counted steps before he even took them—seven would take him to the front door. The salamanders laughed a crackling, hissing laugh.
You belong to us, Time Child, their voices sizzled as one. We will roast you alive and drizzle your fat over our red coal beds.
“Why?” Ryan yelled at them. “Why are you doing this?”
You will destroy time, the salamanders hissed, unless we slay you first.
The lattice salamanders blasted another fire ball. “Down!” Ryan shouted at the same time. This time Alison dove to the floor without asking. Nox went with her. Heat singed the back of Ryan’s neck. The ball exploded against the front door and blew it to pieces, leaving a gaping hole ringed by fire.
“Go!” Ryan shouted. He and Alison leaped through it like a pair of circus lions. Nox sped after them in the shape of a falcon, then climbed into the sky with a high-pitched shriek.
Outside, they tumbled off the front porch to the yard. A column of black smoke climbed to the clouds. The salamanders piled up on the porch, but the yard was mostly gravel and bare earth.
“You can’t cross that,” Ryan said. “Nothing for you to burn.”
“What did you do to my sister?” Alison shouted at them. “Where is she?”
The pile of salamanders hissed and laughed in answer. Behind them, flames continued to consume the house.
“Where is she?” Alison shouted again, and this time she threw one of the nails at them. The bit of iron struck full in the center of the salamander pile. With a wail and a whump of imploding air, they vanished. Even the fire and smoke disappeared, leaving only the faint scent of burned charcoal on the air. The fire had gone completely out.
Alison stared. “I didn’t know that would happen. Did you?”
“No.” Ryan stared at the ruined Cottage. It was too much to take in, and he couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing, even though he had lived through it. “My house. My room. It’s all burned up.”
“I’m really sorry. I would have thrown the nail earlier if I had known.” Alison looked down at the single nail in her hand. “Only one left.”
Blistering heat crackled over Ryan’s hand. He clutched it with a cry. The pain faded as the final part of the circle filled in with an orange, spiky design.
You won even as you lost, my powerful prince, said the hated voice in his head. You passed the first set of tests, but they aren’t over yet. Soon we will stand face to face.
“Whoa,” Alison said. “Your circle is done.”
A lump formed in Ryan’s throat. What had she meant, he lost? The fire was out, wasn’t it? He had won. Mom and Dad and the others weren’t … they weren’t …
“But we gotta look for the adults,” Alison continued. Her eyes were wide, and she looked like the magazine picture of frightened. For once, Ryan understood how she felt. He was scared, too. The memory of Mom’s voice echoed in his head, telling him over and over to go. Had the salamanders burned her and Dad alive? Fear and worry and guilt put ten-ton weights in his feet and hands, and he wanted to sink into the ground. If he had only run a little faster or just been able to talk, this wouldn’t have happened.
All these things went through his head, but what he said was, “Yeah. We need to look.”
“Aren’t you worried?” Alison burst out. “Aren’t you scared?”
Of course I am, he wanted to yell back. I’m more scared than you are. Everyone thinks that I don’t feel anyt
hing just because I’m autistic. I don’t say it because the words stick, but I feel it, and you’re mean and horrible because you think I’m just a machine.
But all that came out was, “No machine.”
“Geez—never mind. I can’t stand around and wait. I have to look for Theresa.”
“Why? You don’t like her very much.” He was talking fast now, trying to avoid thinking about what might have happened to his own family. Those thoughts were scary and filled with pain. It was easier to keep talking so the thoughts wouldn’t catch up with him.
Now we will see how you handle tragedy. Except he didn’t want to handle tragedy. Right now he just wanted to draw comforting air patterns alone in his room like he did when he was little and make the world okay again. But even his room had been taken from him.
“She’s my sister, okay?” Alison blinked hard. “I’m scared all the time, Ryan. This morning I was having pancakes for birthday breakfast, and by this evening fairies have almost killed me four times.” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. Ryan unhappily wondered what he should do. He never knew what to do when someone else cried. Other people always seemed to know. He felt very much alone. Usually he liked being alone, wanted to be alone, but right now he also felt helpless and scared and frustrated and Alison was crying.
“They don’t want to kill you,” he burst out at last. “They want to kill me. Salamanders and sylphs, gnomes and undines. They’re creating a pattern that wants me dead.”
A pattern. It was a pattern. Water, air, earth, and fire had all come after him one at a time, and each one had used rules and patterns. The undine tried to bind him to the lake with a pattern of blood and water. The sylphs flew an attack pattern and loosed their arrows in a design in the air. The Red Cap gnome smashed the car from back to front and tried to crush Ryan left, right, left, right. The tiny salamanders created giant salamanders and breathed patterns of fire. And Ryan had seen it all long enough to survive. Was that the test? One pattern after another, a pattern only he could see?
“They want both of us dead,” Alison said. “They came to this place to kill us.”
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