“If that’s what constitutes the definition of daft, I suppose I am,” Molly declared. “I’ve seen fairies. Well, not anywhere around here, and they weren’t invisible like the ones Gran seems to do battle with. But I have seen them.
“Actually,” Molly continued, “to be exact about it, I’ve seen people from the land of Faerie. I wonder if that’s the same thing.”
Molly felt a slight chill as the thick foliage of the tall trees created a canopy that blocked the sun. “If Dad really thinks Granny is such a loon, would he have stuck me up here with her? I don’t think so.”
The path wound its way through the quiet woods. As Molly listened to the birdcalls and felt the soft breeze ruffle her hair, she began to grip the reins less tightly. Tension eased out of her, the soft sway of the horse beneath her lulling her into something approximating peace.
Maybe Gran isn’t so kooky after all, Molly thought. She considered trying to work herself back up into her bad mood, just to prove Gran wrong, but then decided that would be stupid. Even stupider than talking back to her parents after she was caught sneaking out again—which was how she landed here in exile. “One of those dumb things you do that doesn’t hurt anyone but you,” Molly said.
Soon she emerged from the wooded area and saw the large, mysterious stones that marked the top of Leanan Hill. She headed Turnip up the path. It really is beautiful up here, she noted. She breathed in the scent of heather and noticed that the grass sparkled emerald green in the late afternoon sunlight.
“Here we are,” Molly told Turnip. She swung down from the saddle and took off the knapsack. The horse immediately began munching on the grass. “Enjoy your lunch,” Molly said, giving the flank a pat. “I wonder what Gran packed for me, other than carrots.”
She reached into the knapsack and felt…paper? Had Gran included a note? She pulled out an envelope. No, it wasn’t a note; it was a letter from Marya.
Molly sat back against one of the tall stones to read, enjoying its warm solidity. The sun’s warmth had been baked right into the rock, and it relaxed Molly’s tight muscles even more.
There were stories about the stones on Leanan Hill. Some said they were put there back in the days of the Druids for their rituals. Others claimed that the stones actually were those same Druids, now transformed and lending power to the spot for magical workings. Gran had always told Molly the stones were people who had crossed the fairies. After seeing Titania, the Faerie Queen, in action, Molly could well believe it.
But right now the stone didn’t feel like anything other than a good sturdy support. Something she was in serious need of.
Dear Molly, Marya had written:
I don’t know how to tell you this, because I think you will be upset, but I also know I must. I ran into Tim yesterday while I was out walking the puppy, and he looked truly terrible. He was upset and admitted he was confused. After I left him, I realized that he knew the puppy’s name was Daniel! I didn’t figure it out at the time, but the only way for Tim to have known that was if he had somehow been there that night and saw the Body Artist work her magic. Which means…
Molly crumpled the paper, unable to read another word. She knew exactly what that meant. It meant that Tim had heard everything she and Marya had said. That he now knew all about what he might grow up to do. And he knew she was thinking of breaking up with him for it.
Molly dropped Marya’s letter and covered her face. He must feel so awful, she thought. Tim felt things so strongly, and with all he was going through now, finding out that he might grow up to be evil—that he could become a dragon—might push him right over the edge. “And I’m not there for him to talk to,” she murmured. Then a new thought chilled her. “Will he even talk to me after what he heard me saying? And can I be brave enough to talk to him?”
She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. Why hadn’t she just been honest with him and told him all she knew when she had the chance? To find out this way was so much worse. Tears sprang into her eyes. “Poor Tim.”
What must it have felt like to have overheard that conversation? Like betrayal, that’s what. To have to listen to someone you trust talking about abandoning you like that. A total stunner. And worse, he’d been given no way to defend himself to her. And worse than that, Molly thought, stacking up worse and worsers, must have been hearing that he could grow up to be evil!
Molly found herself standing, pacing. “I have to talk to him.” But how? She stopped abruptly. It’s not like Gran’s wired for telecommunication. She doesn’t even have a phone, not to mention e-mail. And it’s not likely that Tim will come strolling up the lane out here. “I wish he would. Or I wish I could go see him.”
Wishes. Didn’t Gran always say you could ask the fairies for wishes? On the top of Leanan Hill, as a matter of fact.
She tried to remember everything her gran had ever told her, all those stories she had dismissed as, well, fairy tales. There were nursery rhymes and bedtime tales and strange little folk sayings, and now Molly scolded herself for not paying more attention. Still, she couldn’t be too hard on herself. How could she possibly have known that Gran might have been on to something—that all those stories might be real? Or realish.
Molly thought about the little sprites Gran had described, and then recalled Auberon and Titania, the King and Queen of Faerie. Were they the same species as Gran’s little fluttering winged mischief makers? It didn’t seem possible. Titania and Auberon hadn’t seemed like the types to grant wishes, either. Gran’s wish-granting sprites must be of a different order; related but different. Kind of like the difference between house cats and panthers.
“I think I’m supposed to make an offering,” Molly recalled. “Maybe there’s something in the knapsack I can use.”
Molly stood and Turnip snuffled her elbow, perhaps in search of another carrot. “Hm.” She gazed at the horse for a minute. “I’m not too sure how little fairy creatures feel about horses.” She walked around the horse and gave it a sharp whap on the rump, shouting “Hah! Go! Go home!”
Turnip took the hint. The horse galloped down Leanan Hill and headed toward the woods. Molly stood with her hands on her hips, watching it go. “Granny’s fairies had better be as real as Tim’s,” she muttered. “I’m going to be pretty cranky if I have to walk home without getting a few good wishes first.”
Molly was bending down to look through the knapsack when she noticed the ring of toadstools in front of the stones. It triggered another memory. “That’s called a fairy ring,” Molly said, getting more excited. “Gran always warned me to never sit inside a fairy ring or I’d end up kidnapped by the wee ones. Excellent. Now I know where to put this offering—if I can find one.”
She rummaged through the knapsack. Gran was very thorough in putting together this picnic. She actually packed me a picnic blanket. She pulled it out and laid it over her knees, suddenly feeling stupid. She sank back onto her heels and shook her head. “How pathetic am I? I’m actually trying to invite a fairy to tea so that it will grant me a wish.”
She placed the blanket in the center of the fairy ring. “I’m sure glad there aren’t any witnesses up here. I’d never live it down.” She eyed the monumental stones looming above her. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” She laughed and shook her head. “And now I’m talking to rocks! I think I’m the blockhead here.”
Gran was probably making it all up, Molly thought, her hope flagging again. Besides, fairies probably don’t like tea. They probably go for dewdrops and flower nectar or something.
Her fingers closed around a tiny object. She pulled it from the knapsack and stared at it.
In her hand was a tiny, elegantly carved teapot! Painted a pale blue, it was designed to look like a flower, and it was just about the size of a thimble. And, Molly realized, once she opened the tiny top, it even had tea in it!
I guess Gran wasn’t kidding after all. Molly carefully placed the delicate teapot in the center of the picnic blanket. She pulle
d out several beautiful flower-shaped cups and saucers, each painted a translucent pastel color.
Molly grinned, gazing at the pretty setting. She didn’t usually like dolls and tea parties and such, but the flower set, complete with creamer and sugar bowl, was charming.
“Granny didn’t pick you up at the corner store, did she,” she commented. “Well, this is encouraging. Maybe there is something to this fairy tea party concept.” And, she realized, creatures who could drink from these teeny-weeny teacups would be awfully tiny. Nothing to worry about there. “Folks the size of dragonflies I can handle.” Molly knelt by the picnic blanket, trying to figure out what to do next. Shouldn’t there be some magic words or a ritual or something?
While she pondered how to approach the fairies, Molly poured the tea. Maybe I should just invite them to join me. She cleared her throat as if she was about to make an announcement. “Uh, please do me the honor of joining me for tea,” she declared to the open air.
Birds sang, crickets chirped, but other than that…nothing.
Well, that didn’t work. Molly screwed up her face in thought as she tried to figure out a different approach. Maybe they prefer something more formal. But it’s not like I can mail out engraved party invites.
The sun was starting to sink low on the horizon. Molly didn’t want to have to find her way back in the dark. She racked her brain for any little bit of fairy folklore. What had Gran said would summon the “wee ones”?
Something about walking in a circle. Molly hopped up and walked around the picnic blanket, taking care not to trample any of the toadstools comprising the fairy ring. As she did, a remembered rhyme popped into her head. “Fair little folk, wee pretty ones, please join me at the setting sun.”
Twilight! That’s right. Gran said that was prime time for fairies. Molly walked around and around the blanket chanting. The vivid scarlet rays from the setting sun made the tea set glow. Molly chanted louder and louder and walked faster and faster until she worked up quite a sweat. Her walk became a run, the stones seemed to spin, and finally, she collapsed onto the grass.
Still nothing.
She sighed. “I’m so stupid. Whatever made me think that would work? How dorky can I get?”
A powerful breeze whipped up, scattering the tiny pieces of the tea set. “Oh no!” Molly sprang to her feet and dashed after them, not wanting to lose them. Suddenly she froze, as the air in front of her shimmered, and then, as if there were an invisible door, the air parted, giving Molly a momentary glimpse into another world. An enormous blue man with curved horns on his head stepped out from the other landscape. The air shut behind him, and the wind died down.
“It worked,” Molly gasped, dropping the flower sugar bowl. “Only it worked really differently than I expected.”
She had imagined a tiny creature with sparkly wings. She was not prepared for this huge, powerful-looking blue man. He wore clothes that a Shakespearean prince might have worn: velvet doublet and breeches, a flowing white shirt, and high leather boots. A purple cape fluttered out behind him.
I know him! Molly recognized the man as Auberon, King of the Fair Folk. She had met him with Tim when they had been confronted by the King’s wife, Titania.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “I summoned the King himself!”
King Auberon gazed at her for a moment, then laughed. “The king is not ‘summoned,’ child,” he said, “certainly not by the likes of you.”
Molly crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
Auberon smiled. “You are presumptuous. I come here when I need to escape my own world. Did you not see the signs?” He waved toward the stones and the ring of toadstools. “This is a fairy place. We come as we choose, not at your bidding.”
“Oh. I guess that makes more sense,” Molly admitted.
“Why were you trying to summon fairies, Earth child?”
“I—I needed to make a wish.” Molly gazed down at her shoes and blushed. It sounded really dumb when she said it in front of someone who could actually hear her.
But he didn’t laugh. “There is something so important to you that you would work rituals to achieve it?”
“There’s someone who needs my help,” Molly explained, encouraged by his taking her seriously. “Only I can’t give it. Unless someone helps me. And since I’m stranded out here in the middle of nowhere, all I could think to do was to turn to the fairies.” She eyed the seven-foot Auberon warily. “You don’t happen to grant wishes, do you?”
“I can. Are you asking me for one?”
Molly’s eyes narrowed as she thought this over. From what she could remember, things could get awfully tricky when doing business with magical types. “What’s the trade-off?”
“That depends on the size of the wish.”
“Hypothetically, if my wish were that I could be with Tim and talk to him right now, would that be considered big? Hypothetically, remember.” Molly didn’t want to actually state her wish until she knew what she was getting herself into.
“If I were to grant that wish, the price would be that you would have to agree to stay where I bring you.”
Those terms aren’t so bad. I don’t mind staying in London. Of course, she reminded herself, I’ll get into even more trouble, since I’ll have to explain why I left Gran’s and how I got back to London. But it would be worth it.
Molly’s heart lightened. She had found a way after all! “Okay.” She nodded. “I wish that you bring me to Tim so that I can talk to him, and I agree I’ll stay there.”
“Done.”
Chapter Ten
TIM SLIPPED THE OPENING Stone back into his pocket and became aware of the butterfly tattoo on his arm. It tingled but didn’t hurt the way it had before. “I guess my emotions aren’t running so high coming here,” Tim surmised. “And magic isn’t forbidden to me anymore. That’s useful to know.”
He looked around. “I’ve been here before,” Tim realized. “This is the Faerie market.”
All around him, creatures of every description were hawking a multitude of wares. Colorful booths were set up so that merchants could display their goods; rough wooden tables and benches dotted the center of the market where customers could indulge in grilled meats, delectable pastries, and foamy drinks. Tim knew he could enjoy none of these treats: to eat food in Faerie would trap him there forever. As would accepting gifts, favors, and any other little tricks these deceptively pretty folk got up to.
“I guess I should have been more specific,” Tim muttered. “Instead of asking to open a door to Faerie, I should have asked the Stone to take me directly to Queen Titania.” You always have to be so precise when making magic, Tim thought. It was worse than answering essay questions on Mr. Carstairs’ history tests.
Tim decided to stay away from the market, as appealing as it was. It was far too easy to be distracted or tricked there, and then he’d never find the Queen—or the answers he hoped she would provide.
He strolled into a clearing so he could concentrate, in case he wanted to work magic. Paths led in all directions, and it was up to him to decide which way to go. “If I were a queen, where would I be?” Tim said, gazing first one way, then another. He smirked, picturing Titania. “Out wrecking someone’s life, most likely.”
He shook his head. Okay, get serious, he told himself. You came here for a reason, so quit stalling.
The butterfly twinged, and Tim had to face the fact that thinking about seeing Titania filled him with a mixture of dread, anger, and fear. The woman claimed she was his mother. All Tim knew was that she had tried to kill him when he was born and had tried to either trap him or scream at him the few times he’d seen her since. But he wanted to find out more—about his magical lineage, about how he ended up with William and Mary Hunter, and what role Titania might play in his potentially turning evil and harming Molly. That was the most important question of all.
“Pick a path, any path,” Tim muttered. He shut his eyes, trying to sense Queen Titania.
If she really is my mom, shouldn’t I feel some connection? He snorted a laugh. “Oh yeah, Tim,” he taunted himself. “Lock right on to those major maternal instincts of hers and you’ll find her in no time.” The tattoo stung his arm, distracting him.
Plenty of kids feel alienated from their parents, Tim told himself. They wonder if they’re adopted. Or wish they were, at any rate. At least I’m totally normal on that score.
The butterfly burned even more as he thought of how he had felt when he still believed Mary and William Hunter were his parents. Of course, he had known William and Mary all of his life. He’d only met Titania and Tamlin a few times. How could he feel connected to people who were little more than strangers? And who, in Titania’s case, clearly detested him.
He took a deep breath. If I keep thinking, I’m not going to start walking. He shut his eyes and spun around. When he came to a stop, he opened his eyes and peered at the shady path leading out of the clearing. He stared at it a few moments, having no feeling whatsoever about the direction it led. He shrugged. “This is as good a path as any,” he decided, and set forth.
“The boy is here,” Amadan, the Queen’s jester, informed Titania.
“I know,” Titania snapped. “I can sense him.” She tossed her long green hair over one shoulder and paced the marble portico behind her castle. “What else does he want to take from me now?” she fumed.
Amadan followed a few feet above her head, his tiny wings beating furiously to keep up with her. When the Queen was angry, she moved quickly. And she was very angry now.
“First Timothy Hunter caused the death of Tamlin,” she declared. “His own father and my beloved! Then he nearly destroyed my esteemed husband, Auberon.”
The flitling landed on a branch that gracefully bowed with the weight of delectable Faerie fruit. “One could also say that Tim saved your kingdom for you, and then returned your husband to you safe and sound from the mortal world,” Amadan pointed out. “Tamlin’s choice was his own.”
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