“Let her go,” Ryan said. “You need to let her go.”
“I need do nothing,” the undine countered. She melted back into the moat, swirled about, and rose up again. “Alison Ferrier came here of her own free will. That treacherous former familiar of mine showed her the way. But she is well. You need not worry about her. Do you know why she came to Fairy, Ryan November?”
Ryan stood mute, though his eyes darted toward the moat, searching for Alison. He couldn’t see her.
“She came, dear Ryan, because she wants to save her family, and because she loves you. How sweet is that?”
“Alison isn’t in love with me,” Ryan growled. “She wouldn’t do something like that. It’s gross. Besides, she does not like me anymore.”
“How little you know a woman’s heart, my treasure. But you are quite right about one thing—the child is not in love with you. Not yet. But she does love you. There is a difference.” The undine raised a palm and a bubble formed above it. Mist swirled inside. “You are a child still, Ryan November, and you think everything will stay the same forever. Even though your house has burned down and your family was taken, you still think the world will not change. But the mortal world always changes. You cannot stop or control it.”
The mist within the bubble cleared. Within it were two figures, a teenage boy with red-blond hair and a teenage girl with dark hair. Ryan realized he was looking at Alison and himself in five or six years. They were walking down a sidewalk holding hands. Well, actually they were holding fingertips.
“Eventually she will fall in love with you, and you with her. It is all but inevitable. A pity it will not last.”
The teenage Alison leaned in to the teenage Ryan, trying to kiss him. Both the teenage Ryan and eleven-year-old Ryan flinched. Ryan hated kisses of any kind. Teenage Alison drew away.
“You will not be able to give her what she needs, in the end, and it will destroy what small emotional bond you share. Such a waste. You have so much to offer a woman, Ryan November.” The bubble popped, and the undine leaned forward. Ryan smelled the water, heard the sprint thaw rushing of rivulets. He still couldn’t see Alison at the bottom of the moat, and that made him unhappy. Even though he was mad at her, he didn’t want her hurt.
“You are intelligent and handsome and powerful.” The undine’s breath was cool mist. “You need to be with someone who can appreciate you.”
A strange feeling fluttered in Ryan’s chest. It made his breath catch and his heart skip like a startled bird. He didn’t understand it. The undine looked different for a moment, more beautiful, more interesting. He couldn’t say why or how. She hadn’t changed shape. He backed up anyway.
“What do you mean?” he said. “You’re supposed to kill me.”
“Am I?” She left the moat and flowed a few steps forward, leaving a water trail behind her. “You are dangerous, Ryan November. You are time’s child and you will destroy everything we hold dear.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Ryan shot back. “How can I destroy everything?”
“You will destroy everything that matters, Ryan November. You will destroy the fairy realm top to bottom and side to side.”
Ryan perked up at this. “You mean the real world is safe?”
“The real world, as you call it, is a mirror to this one. What happens to this one will happen to that one, eventually. It may take ten, twenty, or a hundred years, but it will happen.” She held up her hand again, and a watery log appeared in it upright. Bark glittered in cool water. A tiny Ryan walked down the side of the log like a spider crawling from top to bottom. “Time starts out as a single branch, like the trunk of a tree. But whenever you peer farther down the trunk, Ryan November, and you see an event you dislike, you make changes. When you do, the trunk splits in two, the original event and the new one.”
Just ahead of the tiny Ryan, the log split with audible crack and became an upside-down Y. The tiny Ryan veered off course and continued down the smaller split in the two trunks.
“Then you see another event you dislike, so you change that one.” The split tiny Ryan was descending cracked again. “This splits the trunk another time. You create another split, and another, and another.”
With each word, the log split and cracked, split and cracked, the branches growing thinner and thinner, until the undine was holding an upside-down tree. Tiny Ryan walked along, completely unaware that what had started off as one solid log had fragmented into 144 tenuous twigs.
“Every time you change the future, Ryan November, time weakens a little more. Eventually …”
The twigs at the bottom of the tree thinned to the point where they were unable to support the tree’s weight. It collapsed into a mushy ball and vanished, taking tiny Ryan with it.
“Then I won’t change the future,” Ryan said. “I don’t like doing that anyway.”
The undine arched a perfect eyebrow. “Truly? And what if you saw that your dear mama was going to die in a car accident? Would you stop that from happening? What if you saw yourself slip on the twelfth stair and break your own neck? Would you avoid the staircase? What if you saw a bully at school lying in wait to beat you black and blue after school? Would you let him punch you, beat you, blacken your eyes? Or would you leave by a different exit?”
Ryan thought about that. “I don’t know,” he said finally.
“We fair folk do know. You are more mortal than elemental, more chaos than order, and you will make changes. It is in your nature. That is why you need to die.”
Ryan grew fearful again. He had forgotten in this conversation that the undine was part of an effort to kill him. “No! I won’t let you.”
“You cannot stop us, dear Ryan. Eventually, you will make a mistake and we will catch up with you.” A small smile crossed her transparent lips. “But I did say there was another way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Marry me.”
Ryan stared. Marry her? The thought made him shudder inside, like he was filled with worms. But all he said was, “What?”
“Marry me, dear Ryan.” Water swirled, and her dress became a wedding gown. Dripping water lilies appeared in her hands. “Oh, you aren’t old enough now, but in a few short years, you will be, and we can wait together. You can stay with me forever, and I will ensure you never change the future.”
Ryan’s mouth fell open. “I don’t want to marry you. You would try to kill me.”
“Not if you were my betrothed.” She collapsed into an enormous puddle that swirled around him in a little whirlpool. “Think of it. You will have love and affection from someone whose touch is nothing more than a gentle bath.”
“Why would you want to marry me?” Ryan’s hand gripped the silk bag tighter.
“Immortal fairies have no souls, Ryan November.” The undine swirled back into her female shape again. “But if an undine bears a mortal’s child, a soul is hers forever.”
“You want … a soul?”
“Think of it.” The undine’s words fell, warm as spring rain. “Both worlds will be safe. You will have a woman who understands you. And I gain a soul. Everyone finds what they want. Say the word, and I will love you and keep you safe forever.”
“I don’t understand souls,” Ryan said. “People talk about them, but I never know what they mean.”
The undine hesitated for tiny moment. “You sound like a fairy. But you are mortal, and in the end, only that matters.” She held out dripping arms. “Come to me, my dear. I will keep you safe forever, and when the time comes, our child will be strong and kind.”
“You have to swear to let Alison go. And Nox.”
“Of course. You will be my husband, and my only wish will be to make you happy. Now and always.”
From the silk bag, Ryan pulled the ebony box and opened it to show Alison’s playing cards. “Will you play Flashcard Battle Brawl with me? Like Hoshi?”
“Every day.”
“And will you say you’re sorry for cursing Alison and me
and trying to kill both of us down at the lake?” Ryan snarled.
“What? I—”
From the bag, Ryan snatched the charred stick and stabbed it into the undine’s chest. The surprise on her face changed into fanged rage and she lunged for Ryan, but her arms and body melted into steam. “You will drown, Ryan November!” she screeched, and then even her head was gone.
“You tried to kill me,” Ryan said. “I would never marry someone who tried to kill me.”
Yes! exulted the voice. My general! My prince!
Be quiet! Ryan snarled. I don’t like you.
The voice fell silent. He looked down into the moat, which was empty now. Alison huddled there, soaking wet. The moat was only a few feet deep, so Ryan jumped down. The sundial fell out of his pocket. The shadow pointed at VI. Half his time was gone, but right now he had other worries. He tapped Alison’s shoulder.
“Alison?” He knelt beside her. “You need to wake up now.”
Alison didn’t move. Was she just asleep or actually unconscious? Maybe she was dead. That thought sent a jolt of panic through Ryan. He managed to grab her shoulder. “Alison!”
She slumped sideways onto the stony ground. Her lips were blue and her chest wasn’t moving up and down. Her clothes squelched, even though the bottom of the moat was perfectly dry. A few drops of the water drew together, formed a feeble tentacle, and collapsed again. Ryan understood. The source of the moat water had been the undine’s own body. The water that drenched Alison was Nox, who had nearly lost his shape, his pattern. Alison was dying, and she was taking Nox with her. The undine had lied about not harming Alison. She wasn’t breathing now, and Ryan didn’t know what to do.
No. That wasn’t true. He did know. Two years ago, Dad had made Ryan join a Cub Scout troop to see if he could make friends and “become more social.” The meetings had been a disaster, and in the end, Ryan had dropped out after only a few weeks, but in those weeks, the scouts had learned rescue breathing. Ryan still remembered how to do it. Ryan remembered everything.
Except he would have to touch Alison. He would have to put his mouth on her cold lips, breathe into her lungs, let her saliva mix with his, allow her air to push into his mouth and nose. The thought made him sick, even though she was his best friend and she was dying.
He couldn’t do it. He had to do it.
All this happened in a few seconds. Ryan pushed Alison onto her back, tipped her chin up with his fingertips, and pinched her nose shut liked he’d been taught. He took a breath, leaned down—
—and a wave of revulsion shoved him backward. He wrapped his arms around himself. He couldn’t do it. Not even to save her life. Tears ran down his face. All his life he’d been fighting his autism, fending off the outside world, looking for ways to deal with the problems. Just this once, couldn’t he find a way? He tried again, but even the thought of pressing his face against hers and pushing his breath into Alison’s lungs was too much. It was like a physical force kept him away. She was dying, and he couldn’t even come close to her.
“I’m sorry, Alison,” he whispered. “I’m so—”
A chirp brought his head up. A sylph was hovering above the moat, its wasp wings beating madly. It took Ryan only half a moment to recognize the little sylph he had saved back at the tree with the salamanders. The sylph cocked its head quizzically. For a moment he was afraid it was going to attack him, but it only waited. It must have followed him for reasons of its own.
The patterns moved again. Sylphs were air fairies. Breath was air. And Ryan had saved this sylph’s life.
“Help her!” he pleaded. “Save her! Please!”
The sylph chirped again, then dove down to hover in front of Alison’s face. Ryan felt the soft stir its wings made in the air. The sylph touched Alison’s forehead and drew back as if it were pulling on a rope. Streams of water gushed from Alison’s mouth and nose. Alison coughed hard and inhaled sharply. The sylph clapped its tiny hands, like it believed Alison would live, and Alison inhaled again. Her breathing steadied, and color returned to her lips and cheeks. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Ryan?” she murmured.
Ryan nearly cried with relief. “It’s okay, Alison. You’re okay now. I wouldn’t marry the undine even though she promised to play cards every day, but a sylph dropped from the flower and saved you.”
“What?” She pushed herself upright with another cough. “You’re so weird. Where’s Nox?”
In answer, the water around her sucked itself into the shape of a large crab. The sylph squeaked in astonishment and backed away. Nox danced about on the floor of the moat, his pattern restored. “Here! Nox is here! Dear, clear, tear, here!”
The little sylph swooped and chittered above them. Ryan waved at it. “Thank you!” he said. “You are a hero!”
The little sylph bowed mid-air and sped away.
Alison scrambled to her feet. She seemed perfectly fine, despite her ordeal. She was even dry, now that Nox had regained his shape.
“How did you get here?” Ryan asked. “You left me alone. You hate me.”
Alison looked away. That made things easier—Ryan always felt uneasy when people stared into his eyes. “I … I don’t hate you. I …”
“You what?”
“I don’t hate you.” Alison folded her arms, and her sharp elbows poked outward.
“We had a big fight. You are not my friend anymore.”
“What? Geez, Ry—that was just a fight. It’s not even the first one we’ve had. What’s the big?”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t like fights. Especially when the other person starts it.”
Alison let that pass. “Anyway I had to find my sister, even if she is a jerk. You melted down, so I made Nox bring me, but that got the undine’s attention. She grabbed us, and that’s the last thing I remember until now. Where are we?”
The moment she asked the question, a number of patterns clicked in Ryan’s head, and he knew the answer. “This is my grandmother’s cottage. We need to go inside.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ryan caught up the little sundial as they climbed out of the moat. It was pointing at VII.
“We’re running out of time,” Alison said in a tight voice.
“Yes.” It was all Ryan could think of to say.
The front door of the cottage was only a few feet away. The trees that stood on either side of the cottage whispered in the regularly-scheduled breeze.
“One door,” Ryan counted. “One undine. Two trees. Three sisters. Five salamanders. Eight feet across the moat. Thirteen stacks of cards. Twenty-one salamander footsteps. Thirty-four sylphs. Every number here is in the Fibonacci sequence. They are spiraling inward like sunflower seeds. They are leading us here. We need to come here.”
He tightened his grip on loose silk bag and reached for the door latch.
“Wait!” Alison said. “If we’re being led here, maybe we shouldn’t.”
“We are running out of time,” Ryan said, echoing Alison’s earlier words. He opened the creaking door and went in. Alison hesitated, then followed. Nox shifted into a seagull and shot through just before the door slammed shut.
The inside of the cottage was enormous, much larger than the outside. They stood in a huge entry foyer with dark oaken walls and a stone floor with an intricate design. Heavy couches and chairs and end tables sat scattered among potted trees and plants. A staircase wound around the wall ahead of them, and a stone block with spiral carvings on it guarded the bottom step. Pillared hallways went left and right.
“This can’t be,” Alison breathed. “It’s too big.”
“It’s perfect,” Ryan said. “Look—the flagstones in the floor are a Fibonacci spiral.”
“It looks like a sunflower to me. Everything here is a sunflower.”
But even as they watched, everything changed. The staircase warped and melted away. The oaken walls changed into stone walls pierced by stained glass windows that stretched to the ceiling like shattered rainbows. All the flagst
ones swirled into a thick orange carpet with an eye-twisting pattern to it. The furniture galloped about the room in an intricate dance, rearranging itself to accommodate the new room. Most of it changed shape, becoming tall and spiky. The stone block morphed into a fireplace, and flames burst into existence within. The temperature rose.
“Yow!” Alison shied back. “I don’t like this.”
“It’s perfect,” Ryan said again. “Come on. We need to find—”
“Who are you? How dare you troop and tromp across my clean, flat floor with your filthy feet and your hideous hands?” A brown man perhaps half a head shorter than Ryan scurried up, dodging the last bits of furniture that were settling into place. The little man’s hair hung in brown strings beneath a brown cap, and a ragged cloak hung from his shoulders like tattered autumn leaves. “Go! Get! Be gone!”
Ryan should have been afraid—every other fairy he’d encountered had tried to kill him—but this one was different. He remembered from the books he had read. “You are a brownie,” Ryan said. “An earth fairy.”
The brownie drew himself up. “Don’t swear, cuss, or curse in our house and home! ’Tis rude and wrong.”
“We’re sorry,” Alison said.
“You keep house,” Ryan said. “For my grandmother.”
“Brownie,” said Nox. “Frownie, downy, brownie!”
The brownie seemed taken aback. “You are no witch or wizard. What are mere mortals doing with a undine’s familiar? This rings false.”
“We need to see my grandmother.” Ryan held up his left hand. The circle glowed faintly.
The brownie blinked, then pulled a scroll from thin air and unrolled it. “I can’t let you in to see her Highness. You’re not scribbled on the schedule.”
“Then put us on the schedule,” Alison said.
“’Tis not on the schedule to put you on the schedule.”
“Oh, for—”
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