Finally, they were ready. Kerwyn was the first to dance the pattern. The hopscotch grid glowed crimson red—and he vanished! It had worked!
Aiken thought of his sister. If only…He shook his head. It was too late now for wishing. One by one, the children hopped the pattern and disappeared. Aiken approached the hopscotch grid. He took a deep breath and jumped…
…into Free Country. Where nothing could ever hurt them again.
Chapter One
I wish I could tell Molly all of what’s going on. But how can I? I can’t exactly say “Sorry, Moll, but I’ve been kind of busy being attacked by weird and not always human strangers and finding out my dad’s not my dad but actually this bird guy, and, oh yes, there was that little bit there where I nearly died but saved all of Faerie.
Still, she’s the one I usually tell everything to—everything I can, that is. The other stuff, well, that’s between me and you. Oh man! Now I’m talking to a bloody journal!
Anyway.
She was really great when I went to her with that big news—the dad-not-being-my-dad part. Only what I haven’t told her about is the magic. And that’s the biggest whammy of them all. So while she knows that my mother was pregnant when she married Dad—I mean, Mr. Hunter—she doesn’t know that my real father was a guy who could turn into a bird. Or that I’ve been back and forth between worlds, visiting the land of Faerie, where my real father lives.
Tim looked down at his journal and bit the end of his pencil. He scratched out the last word he’d written and replaced it with “lived.”
He sat back hard against his desk chair and shut his eyes behind his glasses. “It’s not fair,” he murmured. “In fact, it bloody well rots.”
Tim hadn’t simply visited Faerie that last time—he had actually saved the entire alternate world from the grip of the evil creature known as the manticore. It was in performing that little act of heroism that he’d gotten himself killed, although thanks to some magic bargaining, it was Tamlin who wound up permanently dead.
Tamlin, the Queen’s Falconer, who also happened to be Tim’s real father, had sacrificed his life so Tim could live, performing a spell that allowed him to trade places with Tim, who was near death. It meant Tim would never get any answers to the enormous questions that pounded in his brain. It made everything so confusing.
But Tim was also intensely grateful. He knew he would be dead right now if it hadn’t been for what Tamlin had done.
How am I ever going to sort things out? Tim wondered. Like, how did he ever meet my mum?
It was awfully difficult for Tim to picture his mother and Tamlin together. Tim didn’t imagine that they’d met at some sort of singles gathering, like groups had at the community center. Not likely that there would have been a special “humans and birds” night. That brought up another question: Did his mum even know that she had gotten herself pregnant by a guy who spent part of his time as a hawk and lived full-time in Faerie?
There were no answers. Only more questions. And the fact that Tim had recently discovered that he had the potential to become the most powerful magician of his time didn’t help. After that, all bloody hell had broken loose: He’d been attacked, admired, confused, and amazed in an extremely compressed amount of time.
If Tamlin were still here, he could help me understand my magic, Tim thought wistfully. That’s kind of what a dad does, isn’t it? Helps you figure out who you are and how to be in the world.
Tim snorted. Not that I would know what a dad does. He cocked his head, listening. Yup, the telly was still blaring downstairs. That was how the bloke he previously believed was his father—Mr. Hunter—spent most of his time, since the car accident that had killed Tim’s mum and taken one of his father’s arms.
“Magic.” Tim stood up and paced his small room. If only he understood his powers better. Or understood what it really meant to have all this potential. And while I’m making wishes, Tim thought, it would be really great if the whole world wasn’t out to get me. It wasn’t just the magical world that was fraught with danger and enemies—his teachers seemed to be on his case constantly these days, too.
He shut his journal and pulled his algebra test from his backpack. “Maybe I have been a little distracted,” he muttered, glaring at the bright red C–at the top of the page. “But who could blame me?” He didn’t think a single other bloke in school was dealing with quite as much as he was. Maybe he should spill it all to Molly. He could use an ally.
Okay. Maybe he’d risk it—surely she’d understand. He grabbed a jacket and bounded down the stairs. Knowing he was going to finally have someone to talk to about this whole magic thing gave him energy to spare. So what if he didn’t have any idea what words to use to convince Molly he wasn’t completely mad. Whatever he said, he knew Molly would listen. And if she decided he was a loon after all, well, then, she wasn’t the kind of friend he thought she was in the first place.
“I’m going out, Dad,” Tim called as he passed the dark living room.
His dad gazed at the flickering light on the TV screen. “You’re missing a good one, Tim,” his dad said without looking up. “Come watch this girl dance.”
Mr. Hunter liked those big movie musicals from the old days—the ones filled with pretty girls kicking their legs in unison or tap-dancing on pianos or some such.
“No thanks, Dad,” Tim said.
Mr. Hunter finally glanced up and gave Tim a small smile. Not too long ago, he had confirmed Tim’s suspicions, admitting that Tim’s mother had already been pregnant by another man when she and Mr. Hunter had married. Since then, Mr. Hunter had been a lot more tentative around Tim. Gentle, almost. He was certainly paying more attention. Tim hadn’t decided yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Good for you, then,” Mr. Hunter said. “Good to see you out and about.”
“That’s me, social butterfly,” Tim said. “See you.”
He left the house and headed for Molly’s, sprinting all the way. He rang the doorbell and bounced a little on his toes. He felt nervous about what he was about to do. It wasn’t as if the Trenchcoat Brigade—the four blokes who had introduced him to magic in the first place—had told him it was a super secret or anything. But he knew it wasn’t the kind of thing a chap ought to spread around.
Molly can keep a secret, he reminded himself. All I have to do is convince her that it’s true. That this whole magic thing isn’t a psycho reaction to finding out I’m not my dad’s son.
Molly opened the door with her coat on. “Hey, Tim. Want to go to the library?”
“The library?” Tim repeated. “On a Saturday?”
A tall, chubby girl stood behind Molly. She was also wearing a coat. “I’m Becca, Molly’s cousin. I’m driving her to the big library downtown.”
“Oh.” Tim shifted from foot to foot on the doorstep. This wasn’t what he’d planned at all.
“I’m going to go find those keys, then we’ll head out,” Becca told Molly. She disappeared back into the kitchen.
“So do you want to come?” Molly asked.
“Nah,” Tim said. “Why are you going to the downtown library? There’s one right close by.”
“The little one here is so ratty,” Molly complained. “All the books have stains and the pages are falling out. And the books I wanted were already checked out at school.”
“What are you working on?” Tim asked, wondering if there was some school assignment he had totally spaced on.
“My paper for history,” she replied. “We’re studying the Industrial Revolution. I’m going to write about child labor laws.”
Tim nodded, grateful that he was in a different history section from Molly and hadn’t been assigned a paper yet.
“Hey, what’s your theory about the missing kids?” Molly asked.
“The what?” Tim asked. “What missing kids?”
Molly’s brown eyes grew wide. “How could you have missed it? Everyone at school was talking about it.” Then her expression grew co
ncerned. “I suppose you’ve had a lot on your mind.” Molly knew that Tim was still reeling from having discovered who his father was.
“Kind of,” Tim admitted.
“Still, I’m surprised you haven’t heard it on the telly or the radio.”
“Dad doesn’t like the news. He prefers his old movies. All black-and-white for him.” Tim sighed. That summed up his dad, all right. Mr. Hunter lived in a black-and-white world. Tim had the feeling that Tamlin, his real father, had been fully technicolor.
“Well, some kids vanished from a town not too far from here,” Molly explained, “all at once. No one knows what to make of it.”
“Sounds weird.”
Molly nodded. “It’s like one of those unsolved mysteries on TV.”
The door opened. “Come on, let’s go,” Becca said. “You coming?” she asked Tim.
Tim shook his head. He didn’t feel like tagging along with Molly just to go to a library where they’d have to be quiet. And Molly would want to study. For some reason she liked school.
What a letdown. Tim felt like a balloon losing its air. He had geared himself up to share this huge secret with Molly, got himself brave enough to do it, had charged over here, and now…nothing. He’d have to either give up on telling her or go through the whole process of revving himself up all over again.
Molly must have noticed his expression. “Don’t look so glum,” she scolded with a teasing smile. “Things could be worse. You could be living back when you’d have to work in some factory like these kids I’m writing about. They’d work eleven-, twelve-hour days and be grateful for a crust of bread and a few pennies.”
“Come on, if we’re going,” Becca barked at Molly. “I’ve got work to do myself.”
“See you later, Tim,” Molly said.
“Okay.”
Tim watched them climb into Becca’s beat-up old car, uncertain of what to do. Should he go back home again? He didn’t feel like being cooped up. Preparing himself to tell Molly about being magic had pumped up his adrenaline, and now he had all this excess energy to get rid of. Maybe he should go home and grab his skateboard. Yeah, that would be good. The air was dry for a change, no snow in sight. Good boarding weather.
He thought about what Molly had said—about being glad to be living today rather than in the past. But he kind of wished he did live in the past. Oh, not too long ago, not in the days of gas lighting and horse-drawn carriages or anything. But in the time before he stepped into magic and his whole world changed. Could it only have been a few weeks ago?
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned to go home. He had taken only a few steps when something made him stop short on the pavement. The air shimmered in front of him.
Titania, Queen of Faerie, materialized before him. And she didn’t look happy.
Chapter Two
Brighton, England
A BOY WITH GRIMY LONG BLOND HAIR stood beside a crowd of kids. The group stared down at a pink chalk hopscotch grid the boy had drawn on the sidewalk. A little girl, about seven, squinted up at him.
“Does everyone play dress up where you’re from?” she asked.
The boy, Daniel, glanced down at his tattered overcoat, patched trousers, and the beat-up top hat he held in his hand. The overcoat with tails had seen better days. It had begun to deteriorate even before he had gone to Free Country. No surprise, seeing as he had found them in the rubbish heap. The trousers had once belonged to one of the sons of his master in the factory. Hand-me-down hand-me-downs they were.
Daniel looked at the neat and tidy children surrounding him and felt a bit disheveled. Usually, he didn’t mind how he looked. Everyone in Free Country looked however they wanted to. Well, truth be told, he always made sure his face was clean and nothing was too dirty if he knew he’d be seeing Marya. He was sweet on her, and he didn’t care who knew it.
“Where I come from,” he told the little girl, “you can dress up as a fairy princess if you want to. Or a frog, even.”
The girl giggled. “I wouldn’t want to be a frog.”
“Well, then, don’t, for all I care.” Daniel was growing impatient. A dozen children had already hopped the pattern. This batch had slowed things down by asking questions.
“Come on,” he instructed them. “Hook it. If you can’t hop any faster than this, we’ll catch it for sure!”
He watched with satisfaction as the children picked up speed—excited, no doubt, by the possibility of being princesses and frogs. After the last child hopped, skipped, and jumped, Daniel started to follow but paused, teetering on one foot.
“Slag me,” he scolded himself. “I forgot! I promised Marya I’d snag her a souvenir.”
He placed his bare foot back on the ground and glanced into the window of the shop behind him. Daniel couldn’t read, so he wasn’t sure what kind of shop it was. But there was a little statue in the window of a ballerina.
“Coo,” he breathed, admiring the statue. “Ain’t you the cat’s canary.” It was just the thing for Marya. He picked up a stone from the gutter and hurled it at the window. Taking care not to cut himself, he reached in and snatched the statue. He shoved it under his coat and hopped his way back home into Free Country.
A moment later, Daniel stood on a cobblestone path in Free Country, surrounded on all sides by trees, flowers, and rolling lawns. The sun warmed the stones so they felt cozy under his bare feet. The sky was the same brilliant blue it always was, and a hint of the smell of chocolate cookies was in the breeze. Daniel took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the delicious air. “Free Country,” he murmured, “and about time, too. Another day of that drudge and I’d have been Bedlam bait.”
How long was I out there on my mission? he wondered. It was probably only about three days, but it had felt like years. That’s how passing time felt to Daniel anyplace but in Free Country. When he was anywhere else he felt all nervous.
His charges—the children he had just instructed in the special hopscotch pattern—stood gazing about them. They all look a bit daft when they come through, he observed. Well, no mind. They’ll get themselves sorted soon enough. And meantime, I’ve got a present to give! He patted the ballerina statue under his coat. He couldn’t wait to see Marya’s face when he gave it to her.
He pushed his way through the crowd of confused children. “Coming through, coming through,” he bleated. He charged up the hill, where some of the children Daniel had sent through earlier were gathered around Kerwyn.
Kerwyn was tall and skinny, and whenever he spoke to the newcomers, he made his voice deeper and lower than it really was. Why he’d want to sound like an old ’un was something Daniel didn’t understand. Isn’t that why we’re all here? To get away from the grown-ups?
Daniel thought Kerwyn would sound more commanding if he didn’t use all those ahems, ers, and uhms, when he spoke. Blimey, Kerwyn’s given the same speech a million times, so why does he still sound like he’s trying to guess at what he wants to say?
Okay, maybe a million is an exaggeration, Daniel conceded. Daniel wasn’t really sure how long Kerwyn had been here. He knew it was a lot longer than him. Or Marya. Maybe longer than everyone. That was one of the reasons Kerwyn was head boy. That, and the fact that at fourteen years old, he was the oldest among them. And always had been. And always would be.
“Ahem,” Kerwyn cleared his throat. “I am sure you all, ahem, have questions about…uh…er…things.”
Daniel tried not to laugh. Not a single child was paying the least bit of attention to Kerwyn. Maybe the kiddies should have had some questions, but they were having too much fun, discovering the amazing pleasures of Free Country. Boys and girls were rolling down the soft sweet grassy hills. Others chased brightly colored butterflies, who obliged by landing on their noses, tickling them between their astonished eyes. One group was plucking the candy lollipops that sometimes sprang right out of the ground.
“If I could have your attention, please?” Kerwyn asked. Now his voice was back to his or
dinary pitch, which was sort of whiney.
“Kerwyn,” Daniel said.
Kerwyn looked annoyed. “I didn’t mean you, Daniel. I meant the new ones.”
“Where’s Marya?” Daniel asked.
Kerwyn crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a white shirt, with poofy sleeves that dangled a little along his wrists. Marya called it a “poet’s shirt.” But as far as Daniel knew, Kerwyn never made up any of that kind of soppy poetry stuff. Kerwyn much preferred spending his time making speeches and playing word games.
“Really,” Kerwyn said, rolling his dark eyes. “That is a stupid question. How should I know where Marya is?”
Daniel glared at Kerwyn, feeling anger rising. Did Kerwyn not want him to see Marya? He glared at the taller boy and advanced a step.
Kerwyn took a tiny step backward. “Out mooning with the Shimmers, I suppose.” Kerwyn threw up his hands. “Isn’t she always?”
Of course! Whenever Daniel didn’t know Marya’s whereabouts, he could always find her with the Shimmers.
“Thanks, mate!” Daniel called over his shoulder as he dashed away.
He charged down to the clear and cold river, which was full of rainbow fish leaping out of the water to greet him. “No time to play now,” he told a speckled bass.
He hopped onto his lovely, handmade raft. Daniel was quite pleased with his accomplishment, and that made him protective of it. He never let anyone but Marya ride on his raft. Before he came to Free Country, Daniel had never owned anything that was only his. Working in the filthy, noisy, stifling factory, anything he’d made had belonged to his master, Slaggingham. Everything there, by rights, was his master’s: Daniel’s time, even his life, it sometimes felt. But this raft, this was his.
Grabbing the tree branch that he used as a pole, he guided the raft downriver. To Marya.
Gliding downstream, he grinned, knowing he’d soon be seeing her. He knew exactly where to find the Shimmers. They danced in a little pool overhung with willow trees, just where the sun usually set.
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