Reckonings

by Carla Jablonski

  “You aren’t answering me, boy,” Tamlin growled. “You won’t tell me what you have come for. Why? Are you here to harm someone else? Who will die this time?”

  “Wh—what? Tim stammered, his heart thudding hard, the tattoo burning. Why had Tamlin suddenly turned on him? A minute ago he had seemed concerned and weak. Now the man loomed over him, enraged.

  “Look at what you’ve done to me,” Tamlin roared.

  “I didn’t mean to,” Tim whispered. “I didn’t ask you to. I would have died just fine on my own.” Maybe it would have been better for everyone if I had. Better for Tamlin. Better for Molly. “Owwww!” Tim clutched his arm as the tattoo stung and burned.

  Tim fell to his knees in the mud.

  “Yes. This was your fault,” Tamlin raged over Tim. “I should never have sought you out in the mortal world. Finding you was my ruin!”

  Tim tried to block out the horrible words—they hurt more than any blows could. He covered his face and tried his trick of counting, hoping the numbers would calm him and drown out Tamlin’s furious voice.

  He’s never spoken to me like this before, Tim thought. He wasn’t exactly friendly when we met, but he’s never shouted at me. And who asked him to switch places with me when I was dying anyway? It was his idea.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Tim screamed at Tamlin. “You did! You made that choice, not me! Don’t blame me for your own act!”

  Tamlin staggered backward and shattered into a million pieces. The shards twinkled as they fell, then disappeared.

  Tim’s mouth dropped open. “Huh?”

  His heart gradually slowed to its usual pace, and his breathing returned to normal. He stood up slowly, his jeans completely covered in mud. He wiped his hands on his pants. “He wasn’t real,” Tim realized. “He was some freaky tortured figment of my imagination.” He glared at the tattoo. “I thought you were supposed to keep me from feeling stuff like that.”

  Tim looked around the gloomy, swampy area. Well, you certainly chose a lousy path. Imaginary people seem to populate these woods. Better find a way out of here and fast!

  Tim started walking along a path that he hoped would lead him out of the swamp, still unable to get a sense of direction. He had gone only a few yards when he spotted a bizarre sight.

  What’s a wrecked car doing in these woods? Heck, what’s a car doing in Faerie at all? It sat right in the middle of the path, so Tim had no choice but to approach it. It was either that or leave the path, and he figured he was already having a tough time in Faerie. He didn’t want to make it any tougher by risking the off-path dangers.

  Tim’s stomach lurched. He recognized the car. And he had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t empty.

  “Dad.”

  Mr. Hunter sat slumped behind the wheel of the car, a bottle of beer in his hand.

  “Ungrateful whelp,” Mr. Hunter snarled at Tim. “I raise you as if you were my own boy, and how do you repay me?”

  “I’m sorry,” Tim said, his voice catching. Get a grip, he scolded himself. Remember, he’s not really here. It’s an illusion.

  “Your apologies mean nothing to me,” Mr. Hunter said. “You run away from home and come to this…place. What do you want here? What do expect to gain by leaving your home?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Tim stammered. His brain felt sluggish, thick. He couldn’t come up with the responses he needed. Usually his mouth worked faster than his brain, which sometimes got him into trouble. But now his tongue felt thick and his thinking seemed to be slowed down, as if molasses had gotten into his brain’s gears.

  “You don’t know?” Mr. Hunter repeated. “You don’t know what you’re doing here? Well, I know this! You’ve brought me nothing but grief. In fact, I’m never leaving this car again. Go on, leave me be! I’m sorry I ever cared for you.”

  He’s not real, he’s not real, he’s not real. Tim chanted those words over and over as he worked his way around the damaged vehicle. He could hear Mr. Hunter—or Mr. Hunter’s double—muttering the whole time.

  Maybe this whole Faerie excursion wasn’t such a hot idea, Tim thought. Maybe I should use the Opening Stone and go back home.

  He felt around in his pocket and pulled out the Stone. Staring at it, he thought about the real Tamlin. Tamlin had given him the Opening Stone. He never would have done that if he didn’t think I had the ability to handle it, Tim realized.

  Tamlin would never have turned back. Tim took a deep breath. I can be brave, too. I just have to keep reminding myself that these visions aren’t real. He slipped the Stone back into his pocket.

  “Hey, Tim.”

  Tim’s head whipped around. Molly O’Reilly was sitting on the low branch of a tree, just a few steps away.

  His breath caught. Could Molly have followed him here? he wondered. It was the kind of thing she might do; if she didn’t hate him, of course. After overhearing her conversation with Marya in the park, Tim wasn’t so sure if Molly would want to see him at all. Still, the girl in the tree sure looked like Molly. She seemed a lot more real than Tamlin or Mr. Hunter.

  “Molly,” Tim said, approaching the tree. “What are you doing here?”

  “The question is, what are you doing here?” Molly countered. “Why would you ever come back to this freaky place?”

  “I—I needed to,” was the only answer Tim could come up with. He studied Molly carefully. Magic could definitely fool a bloke; he’d learned that the hard way. Once again, he had trouble sensing anything, as if he’d lost his ability to read between the lines, to interpret.

  “Is it really you?” Tim blurted.

  Molly laughed, a full-out Molly laugh. “Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?”

  Tim shook his head, grappling with his sense of reality. This girl seemed like Molly, and he so wished it was her. The real her. “I tried to go see you,” Tim said, “but they told me you’d gone up to your gran’s. How did you wind up here?”

  Now Molly’s dark eyes grew hard. “That’s your fault.”

  “My fault?” Tim repeated.

  “You and your magic.” Molly crossed her arms over her chest. “Your magic is dangerous. To me, to you, to the world, even.”

  Tim’s mouth dropped open. He had no answer for her. Everything she was saying was precisely what he’d been saying to himself.

  “Why I ever thought I liked you is beyond me,” she continued. “Look at you! You’re a wreck. Worse—you’re weak and untrustworthy. A total loser.”

  That was the tip-off. The real Molly would never be so cruel. She might want to break up with him, but she’d be kind about it.

  He covered his ears. “I’m not listening to you!” he shouted. He hurried through the brambles, the tattoo burning more and more.

  He burst out of the dark woods and found himself at the edge of a meadow. He bent over, hands on his thighs, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

  He lifted his head and there, in front of him, glistening in the brilliant sunlight, was a castle.

  I guess I managed to get here in spite of myself, Tim thought.

  Chapter Twelve

  A CHILL RAN ALONG Titania’s spine. The boy had made his way past the obstacles she had laid before him.

  “The Murky Wood did not deter him,” Amadan observed. “He has great fortitude, that one.”

  “Yes,” Titania acknowledged. She waved away her spying sphere and stood up. “Now I need to decide how to proceed.”

  “It was clever of you to send the specter of Tamlin to try to find out why the boy has come here,” Amadan said. “Too bad it didn’t work.”

  “I didn’t take into account his age, his lack of experience,” Titania admitted. “He was distracted by the shock of talking to a man he knew to be dead. If Tim were more experienced, that would not have been so startling.”

  “None of the other illusions broke him either,” Amadan pointed out.

  Titania ignored the flitling and crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window. Afternoon li
ght streamed in, bathing the throne room in a rosy golden haze. She could see the boy making his way across the meadow to the castle.

  “I will receive him here. Then I will decide what to do.”

  “I’ll bring him to you,” Amadan said. He fluttered out the window.

  Titania felt cold, despite the warmth of the sun filtering into the room. I should not fear a child so, she admonished herself. But this one…this one is unpredictable, which means he is harder to control.

  Titania crossed her arms. Control was paramount. It was the primary tool of safety. Yes, Tim made her feel unsafe.

  My reign is not secure while he lives. Amadan is right, the boy is too powerful—he could claim the throne. Or he could choose to come and live here, reminding Auberon daily of my infidelity. She knew having a child by another man was considered treason. Auberon could have her hanged for it, or banished, so he could marry another and have a legitimate heir of his own.

  Tim Hunter was nothing but trouble. He cannot live. I must find a way to ensure he does not.

  “So, we meet again,” Amadan said, materializing a few inches from Tim’s face.

  Startled, Tim jerked his head back and swatted at the air.

  “Hey!” Amadan scolded. “Watch it. I’m not a gnat!”

  “Sorry, I thought you were something even more annoying. Like a mosquito,” Tim said. “And if you don’t want people to react like that, then don’t buzz into their faces!”

  “The Queen requires your presence,” Amadan informed Tim icily.

  “Oh, does she?” Part of Tim wanted to tell Amadan to buzz off. On the other hand, his whole purpose in coming to Faerie was to talk to Titania. So really, to argue with Amadan would be a self-defeating exercise in meaningless rebellion.

  Tim gestured at his muddy clothes. “I hope she’s not expecting anything formal.”

  “We’re used to the indecorous ways of the humans,” Amadan said.

  “Oh, well, on behalf of us rude humans, we’re grateful for your tolerance,” Tim said sarcastically.

  “Come along,” Amadan ordered.

  Tim followed the little creature through the meadow, across the bridge over the lily-filled pond, and into the castle. The enormous marble halls were lined with tapestries, and every few feet stood urns filled with flowers. It was light and airy inside, a striking contrast to the dark heaviness of the swamp.

  “The Queen will receive you in the throne room,” Amadan explained.

  “Whatever.” Tim’s mind raced, trying to figure out what he would say, ask, demand.

  “Timothy Hunter,” Amadan announced, then flew out of Tim’s way so that he could enter the room.

  Titania sat on a tall velvet throne. Another, empty, throne stood beside her. That must be for Auberon, Tim noted. I’m glad he’s not here. This will be a lot easier to do with just Titania. Though I suppose Amadan never goes too far away. He noticed the flitling perched on a nearby windowsill.

  “Come closer, child,” Titania ordered.

  Tim stepped along the violet carpet leading to the platform that the thrones sat on. He had never seen Titania so formal before. She wore a glittering crown and flowing robes, and even held a golden scepter. Should I bow? Aren’t there rules when dealing with royals? Those rituals are probably a lot more complicated in Faerie.

  Oh, I don’t care, Tim decided. He was worn out already, and he hadn’t even begun to deal with this powerful and scary woman.

  “Why have you come to my kingdom?” Titania asked. “You were not invited here.”

  “Actually, I came here to see you,” Tim replied. Might as well get straight to the point. Then it dawned on him: She had asked him the same question that Tamlin, Mr. Hunter, and Molly had when he was lost in the wood. Could those illusions have been sent by Titania? He wouldn’t put it past her. But it also meant that she was nervous about his being here. That made him feel a little braver.

  “We have no business, you and I,” Titania informed him.

  “Right,” Tim said. “Let’s see, I believe you said you’re my mother. I think that means we do have business.”

  Tim wasn’t sure, but her green skin seemed to grow paler. He couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anger. Another example of his inner sensors being out of whack.

  “I decide such things, child.” Her voice was calm, so maybe he was wrong.

  I wish I could get a sense of what she’s thinking, Tim thought. But I don’t seem to have very good radar.

  Hang on. That’s not quite true. My gut instincts have only been off since the butterfly tattoo landed on my arm.

  Stay focused, Tim reminded himself. “Why do you get to decide?” he demanded. “I have rights, too, you know.”

  Titania rose from her seat. “Not here, you don’t.”

  “I don’t care that you’re a queen,” Tim said. “If you have the right to show up in my world and threaten me, then I have the right to ask you some questions.”

  Titania’s eyes narrowed, but she sat back down again. “What is it you want to know?”

  “Everything!” Tim blurted. “What does it mean to be half Faerie and half human, for starters? And how did I end up with Mr. and Mrs. Hunter? What is this magic deal anyway? And why—”

  “Stop!” Titania held up a hand and cut him off. “These are big questions with bigger answers. I must decide if you are worthy.”

  “Worthy?” Tim repeated. “What do you mean? Worthy of the truth?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And how do you want me to prove that?” Tim demanded.

  Titania smiled. “I will set you a challenge,” she told him. “If you meet that challenge, you shall be told all you wish to know.”

  “What kind of challenge?” Tim asked.

  Titania’s golden eyes glinted. “A quest,” she decided.

  “You want to give me a few more details?” Tim asked. He knew from old storybooks, fairy tales, and myths that quests were usually undertaken by heroic types—and they didn’t always end well.

  “You come here in search of answers from me,” Titania said. “So I shall send you to search for something for me.”

  She settled back into her seat and a small smile played across her regal features. Her expression sent shivers along Tim’s spine. She reminded him far too much of a cat about to pounce for him to think this was a good idea.

  “There is a jewel-encrusted goblet that once belonged to this royal house,” Titania explained. “It was plundered during a war and is now in the hands of the graken.”

  Tim raised an eyebrow. “The who?”

  “A creature with a spiny hide, poisonous fangs, and several heads.”

  Tim nodded, smirking. “Right. Of course. Wouldn’t have expected anything easy.”

  Titania gazed at him, and once again Tim noticed that her eyes had the uncanny ability to change color. “Do not fear that I will send you on this quest unaided,” she said, her voice now smooth and soothing. “Yes, it is dangerous; yes, many others before you have failed and thereby lost their lives.”

  “Is this your idea of a pep talk?” Tim asked nervously.

  “Ahhh, but you see, I will work a binding on you,” Titania crooned. “We will forge a link, so that I may counsel you wherever you are.”

  Something didn’t seem right to Tim, even in his slightly addled state. She wants to send me on a deadly mission, just to win the right to get answers to perfectly reasonable questions, he realized. On top of that, she wants to do a spell on me to connect us, claiming it would be in order to help me. That so does not add up.

  Tim glanced over at Amadan. The little flitling had a smug smile on his angular face. That clinched it. This so-called quest was some kind of trap. But if he didn’t do as the Queen said, how would he ever find out what he wanted to know?

  “Tim!”

  Tim shut his eyes at the sound of Molly’s voice. Is this part of the challenge, too? Is Titania going to use another Molly clone to test me? He took a deep breath, then turned to
face Molly.

  She stood in the doorway of the throne room, King Auberon beside her. She looks like the real Molly, Tim observed. But so did the Molly in the woods. And what would Molly be doing in Faerie anyway?

  “Auberon, husband,” Titania said. “I didn’t expect you. And who is your…guest?” Titania’s voice dripped with acid irritation.

  Huh? This is a surprise to the Queen? Tim stared at Molly. Could she be the real deal?

  “We’ve met before, Titania,” Molly said, stepping into the room, “but you were a little distracted at the time. You were too busy being nasty to notice me, I guess.”

  Tim smirked. That sure sounds like Molly. Titania ignored Molly and spoke instead to Auberon. “You should teach your guest manners,” she said.

  “I would change nothing about Molly O’Reilly,” Auberon replied.

  “Molly, is it really you?” Tim asked.

  Molly raised an eyebrow. “I come all this way, and you don’t recognize your own girlfriend? Sheesh! Did Queenie magic you or something?”

  “No, no!” Tim protested. “It’s just—well, a lot’s been happening.”

  Molly looked at him, and Tim could see her taking in his muddy clothes, his messy hair, and basic, to-the-bone exhaustion. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess you’ve been going through a lot lately.”

  “Why did you come here?” Tim asked Molly. “I thought you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.” He covered his mouth. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out. Now she’d guess he had overheard her conversation with Marya in the park.

  Molly grabbed his hands and squeezed them tight. “Tim, I’m so sorry. I should have told you everything. I—I was a total chicken.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Tim told her. “It’s okay. I understand. I would have been pretty freaked myself.”

  Molly looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m guessing you are pretty freaked.”

  It is so great to see her, be near her. But we still have so much to work out. Is that even possible? “Oww!” Tim dropped Molly’s hand and grabbed the tattoo. It stung terribly.

  “What is it?” Molly asked, her face furrowed with concern.