by Kim Thompson
Willa grabbed Tengu’s arm and swung him around, pointing out the dwarf with the sprayer.
“He’s got poison! Stop him!”
Tengu’s eyes blazed, and he zipped after the dwarf. The transition was astonishing. In the blink of an eye Tengu was a ninja, silent and lightning-quick. If he hadn’t tripped over a root, the dwarf would never have heard him coming.
“Oof!” Tengu landed heavily but shot out a hand and grabbed the dwarf’s ankle, sending him flying, the sprayer arcing through the air. Somehow Tengu let go of the dwarf, did a somersault and a leap and a dive, and caught the sprayer before landing on his head.
The entire scene came to a complete standstill. Everyone stared. Tengu bounced up with the sprayer held triumphantly aloft.
“Got it!”
Willa exhaled, and Robert let out a low whistle.
“The little fella’s still got it. And once in a while he even knows what to do with it.”
Chapter Four
Peace and other unsettling events
The Peace Conference began Sunday morning, and it was a solemn affair. Willa sat at the head of the table. Nine scowling dwarves sat along one side, and a menacing mob of fairies stood on the table facing them. Tengu and Robert watched from a safe distance. Willa suggested they start with formal introductions, mainly so she could finally learn the dwarves’ names. A sandy-haired dwarf stood and introduced himself as Fjalarr, then proceeded to name each of his companions: Radsvidr, Vindálfr, Svíurr, Aurvangr, Dólgthrasir, Hlévangr, Eikinskjaldi. The last to stand was their leader, who Fjalarr introduced as “Mjodvitnir, descendant of the mighty Vestri.”
“And who was Vestri?” asked Willa.
“You do not know of Vestri?” sputtered Fjalarr in disbelief. “What do they teach in your schools? He was one of the four dwarves who held up the dome of the sky in ancient times!” Mjodvitnir bowed proudly.
Robert snorted. “Nonsense. A Greek titan holds up the sky. Always has. Everyone knows that.”
The dwarves bristled. Mjodvitnir leapt to his feet, fists at the ready. It was all Willa could do to get the discussion back on track. Sarah stepped forward to introduce the fairies.
“Honeycup, Bergamot, Cowslip, Dewdrop, Mimsy, Oakleaf, Daisybell, Fluffpuff …”
The dwarves snorted in amusement at the fairy names, and the fairies growled back at them.
Then they got down to business. Fjalarr spoke for the dwarves, and Sarah represented the fairies, while Mjodvitnir and Mab sat grim and silent. The claims, counter-claims, and bargaining went on all morning. Maps of the property were made and boundaries were drawn. The dwarves were not to go into the woods and were absolutely forbidden to cut or in any way harm any plant or tree. In return, the construction area was off-limits to the fairies; they were not to interfere with the dwarves in any way. Willa carefully steered the discussion through these points, but what really clinched the deal was the exchange of gifts.
“An important tradition at these things,” whispered Tengu. “Good will and all that.”
The fairies sulkily presented the dwarves with garlands of flowers. The dwarves were not impressed. They in turn presented the fairies with a small bundle of delicately wrought swords, all light and the perfect size for fairy hands. The stern expressions of the fairies melted at the sight of them, and they passed the swords around eagerly.
Then the head dwarf himself, Mjodvitnir, held out his hand to Mab. In his palm was a pool of shimmering silver — a tiny suit of delicately wrought chain mail, which Fjalarr explained was as light as a feather but totally impervious to sword, spear, or arrow. Mab slipped it on and spun around, glinting in the sunlight. Holding her new sword high, she fairly sparked with delight; Willa could hear her sizzling.
As the fairies conferred, the dwarves sat very tall, obviously proud of their handiwork. Sarah and four other fairies brought another gift, a magic refilling pitcher full of thick, sweet cream for the dwarves’ coffee. And Mab herself presented a velvet bag to Mjodvitnir, explaining that the sand within, when sprinkled over their closed eyes, would bring restful slumber and sweet dreams of their distant home in the mountains. This touched the dwarves deeply. A couple of them wiped their eyes, and Eikinskjaldi turned his back to blow his nose with a thunderous roar.
Willa sat back in relief. There were smiles and friendly chatter on all sides now. Tengu gave her a thumbs up, but Robert frowned as the dwarves and fairies began making flowery speeches and toasting each other with cups of nectar.
“A truce! How absolutely boring!” he grumbled.
“Don’t fret, Robert,” Willa grinned. “Happy dwarves and fairies mean productive work and a nice warm place for you to sleep before the snows come.”
“Hmph! I’ll believe it when I see it!”
Willa slipped away from the happy scene to check on Horace. The birders were in their usual Sunday hangout, a cheap and cheerful diner near Horace’s hotel. As soon as she walked in, Willa knew something was wrong. The birders were scattered across three separate booths, chatting over sandwiches and bottomless cups of coffee, but Horace was sitting by himself in a lone window seat, frowning over a notebook. Willa nodded to the Hackers before sliding in across from Horace.
“Hi, Horace, what’s up?”
Horace didn’t answer. He was absorbed in sketching the head and curved beak of a bird. Willa cleared her throat and tried again.
“Horace. Earth to Horace.”
“Ha-ha-ha! Earth to Horace indeed!” Mr. Hacker was looming over them, beaming with amusement. “Horace is always in outer space somewhere!”
Horace looked up. The other birders were all looking at him, smiling. His face reddened. Willa shifted uneasily as Hacker went on.
“Horace is the wizard of our group, Willa. He has visions, you know!”
Willa froze for a moment before she realized he was joking.
“They’re not visions. The signs are there for anyone to see,” protested Horace.
“Not me, sport. You’re the fortune teller. I’m just a mere mortal.” Hacker guffawed his way back to his table.
You don’t know how right you are, thought Willa. Horace looked totally bewildered. She leaned forward, lowering her voice.
“Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to be funny. But maybe you shouldn’t talk about your augury with the gang here, all right?”
Horace looked her straight in the eye. “Things are out of joint, Willa. More and more signs. More and more birds. Evil forces.” He was so agitated his hands shook. “Have you seen anything suspicious? What are those dwarves up to?”
“Nothing at all. They’re back at work, and everyone’s friendly again. They don’t mean any harm.”
“Don’t be fooled by their innocent looks, Willa. Bad omens are everywhere, and someone is to blame. Dark matters … necromancy….” He was adding to his drawing, scribbling madly.
“Horace, look. You need to relax. Sometimes a flock of birds is just a flock of birds.”
Horace looked up angrily. “I’m not crazy.”
“Of course not. I didn’t say you were. You just have to be more careful. No talk about magicky stuff. Don’t give Hacker any more material, okay?”
“All right.”
Willa looked down and caught a glimpse of the drawing before Horace slipped the notebook into his coat pocket. It was some sort of eagle with an animal’s body.
“Horace, old man. You haven’t touched your lunch!” Hacker was back, gesturing toward the uneaten grilled cheese on Horace’s plate.
“Not hungry,” Horace mumbled.
“You eat like a bird!” laughed Hacker. He turned to the others, once again amused by his own cleverness. “Horace eats, sleeps, and breathes birds. He’ll turn into a bird someday if he’s not careful!” Mrs. Hacker cackled loudly and the others chuckled.
“Don’t let him bother you, he’s just a big bully,” Willa whispered to Horace.
“Willa …”
“Yes?”
“Be caref
ul of the bird.” Horace stood suddenly and moved toward the cashier.
Willa watched him go, anxiety flooding in. Bird? What bird? The phoenix? Why?
That night the phoenix was particularly restless and kept Willa awake for hours. Horace’s words had made her uneasy; she lay in bed staring at the bird, and the longer she stared, the more evil the phoenix looked. The spiky feathers, the sharp beak, the cold eyes. At about two o’clock Willa finally dozed off, only to be woken again by cats fighting in the alley. The next morning Baz had a bleeding ear, and a big smile on her face. Willa bandaged her up as quickly as she could before bolting out the door to school.
She stumbled wearily through her day. Science class was something about mass and volume. English class was a discussion about metaphor. Math class was a blur. In art class she stared at her blank paper.
“Willa. Earth to Willa!”
Willa looked up to see Kate and Nicky looking at her.
“Hmm? What?”
“Man, you are in some kind of coma lately.”
“Lay off,” Willa frowned. Her head hurt.
“Seriously, if there’s anything bugging you, anything we can help you with…” Kate gestured vaguely. Both girls were waiting for Willa to say something, leaning forward eagerly like they suspected some great gossip.
“There isn’t,” she said, a little snappier than she intended.
“Whatever,” Kate replied, and the two girls turned away as Josh wandered past and shared some joke with them. The laughter and eyelash-batting made Willa furious for no real reason. She hated school, and she hated her friends. Who needs them anyway?
Willa stayed late at school, partly to catch up on homework in the library, and partly to avoid seeing her friends. At four thirty the janitor tapped her on the shoulder. She’d fallen asleep over her English book.
“I gotta say, schoolwork had the same effect on me. Time to go home.”
It was getting dark. The streets were empty, but the sky was filled with birds. She stopped for a moment, tipping her head back to watch them. Little birds darted back and forth. Starlings zigzagged gracefully through them, larger seagulls wheeled in from the sea, and far above all of this floated what looked like eagles or vultures, their presence causing the smaller birds to scatter and regroup nervously. The power lines were crowded with crows, and pigeons lined the rooftops.
This is what’s freaking Horace out, Willa thought, wondering if the birds really could be some kind of omen.
At home Baz was in the living room, palms and nose pressed against the picture window, staring at all the birds. When Willa entered the house, Baz spun around, her eyes wild, and made a mad dash for the open door. Willa blocked her, holding her back with one hand while she slammed the door shut and locked it.
“No, Baz! Down, Baz! Down!” Baz scrunched up her face and slunk to the sofa. Willa leaned wearily against the door. “Leave the birds alone. Do you hear me? Leave — them — alone! Please make an effort to stay human!”
Baz ignored her.
“Promise me you won’t go out, Baz. Please? Promise me?”
Baz turned away with disdain and began licking her hand. Clearly she was losing control.
“Baz, you have to promise you won’t go out there tonight. Promise, or I’ll put the cone back on you!”
That got her attention. The last time she’d been injured, Willa had put a cone around her head so she couldn’t worry the cut. It had been a source of great amusement for the others but of course humiliating for Baz. After giving Willa the evil eye, Baz circled three times and lay down on the carpet. Willa sighed and went into the kitchen.
Her mom was just coming in the back door. She looked exhausted.
“Willa, something has to be done about that bird!” she barked.
“Nice to see you too,” Willa snapped, surprising herself. She held her breath, waiting for her mom to lose it. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Willa! I do not need that tone of voice today!”
Willa slumped into a kitchen chair. “Sorry.”
“I simply can’t take it any more. If I don’t get a good night’s sleep soon, I shall go stark raving mad. The bird has got to go!”
“Go where, Mom? Just tell me, and I’ll take her!” Willa heard her own voice like it was coming from someone else. Someone super angry.
“Just let it go free! It can fend for itself! Take it up Hanlan’s Hill and let it go.”
Willa opened her mouth to argue but stopped. It wasn’t a half-bad idea. Even if somebody spotted the bird — Hacker or another birder — there was nothing to link the phoenix to her or Eldritch Manor. The bird was obviously not happy here. Maybe she would just fly far away. Problem gone.
“Okay.”
“And I want it out of the house tonight!”
“Yes! Okay! I said okay!” Willa got up, banging her chair against the table.
Her mom’s eyes were fiery. “I don’t like your attitude these days. You’re a different person.”
That was it. Willa’s chest hurt when she breathed in. Either tears or rage were just a moment away. She chose rage.
“I’m a different person? Me? What about you? I’m not the one who avoids problems, I’m not running away from things, I’m not pretending my own mother doesn’t even exist!”
She headed for the door, lightheaded but charged up.
“Stop right there, young lady!” she heard as the kitchen door swung shut behind her, but she kept going. She stomped past Baz, down the hall and into her bedroom, slamming the door.
The bird began squalling as soon as she saw her. Willa paced the room. Her chest felt tight, she was hot, and out of breath. She stopped and leaned in to look hard at the bird, staring into its eyes. The anger she felt brimming over she saw in the bird’s eyes too. Willa thought about how the old bird Fadiyah had always calmed her down, and she became even angrier.
Horace was right, she thought. This bird is nothing but trouble. Selfish, noisy, and mean. The bird let out a harsh shriek.
“Shut up! Shut up!” Willa banged the cage with her palm. The bird lunged, jabbing her beak into Willa’s hand. Willa jumped back with a gasp. The puncture was small, but it really hurt; beads of blood oozed out. Willa lost it.
“You stupid, stupid bird!” she shouted. “Why can’t you — why don’t you just —” Willa thought her head was going to explode. She threw a towel over the cage, swinging it off the desk … and froze.
Beneath the cage was a dense black puddle, an uneven circle about the width of her hand. Willa touched it with her finger and felt a familiar cold tingle. It was just like the black stains that had appeared in the old house. The whole nightmare there had started with little spots like this one, spots that looked harmless enough until they grew larger and larger, and horrible creatures crawled out of them.
The streetlights blinked on as Willa strode through town, walking fast with the cage banging against her legs, her mind whirling. The blackness was in her house. Not in weird old Eldritch Manor, but in her very own home. The phoenix had caused it, that seemed clear, but what did it mean? Were more evil things on the way? Would it expand, or would it stay just one small, magicky puddle? Either way, the bird was to blame, and it was definitely time to set her free.
The darkness deepened, and she glanced at the windows she passed, glowing in the night. Families sitting down to supper … normal families, Willa thought fiercely. She hunched her shoulders against the chill. The cage swung in her hand, squeaking. Dark shapes filled the sky. Do birds fly at night? Willa wondered. Or are those bats?
Under the towel, the phoenix was strangely silent. She’s glad to go, she told herself, hoping she was right.
The path up the hill was dark. Willa wished she’d brought a flashlight. She stood for a moment, just past the glare of the last streetlight, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. There was movement everywhere she looked. She slowly realized that every branch of every tree and bush around her was crowded with birds.
At the lookout she sat down to catch her breath, the lights of the town twinkling before her. So beautiful, so peaceful. The top of the hill was above her, but she decided this spot would do. She pulled the towel from the cage and the bird lunged, trying to peck her hand again. Willa jumped back. The phoenix recoiled, looking at her with glittering eyes. Willa was frightened. Would the bird attack her when she opened the cage? Or was the bird just acting fierce because she wanted out?
Minutes ticked by as girl and bird stared at one another. Finally Willa reached out and flicked the latch on the cage. The door swung open. The bird hopped, pausing in the opening. Then, with an agonized screech, she launched herself into the air, wings spread wide. Willa fell back, shielding her face with her arms, but the bird swooped straight up into the sky. As the phoenix rose higher, Willa could just make out flocks of birds scattering to make way for the bird. She kept rising until she was lost to Willa’s sight and her cries faded away. Only then did Willa notice the pain in the bird’s calls.
Willa shivered. It will be all right, she told herself. It will be all right.
There was a sudden clacking sound, like sticks banging together. Willa turned around slowly but couldn’t make out anything in the dark. She found her way to the path and started down. The clacking soon receded behind her. Her mind was consumed in anxious thoughts as she hurried along, images of black spots, cats with human faces, butcher birds, swarms of spiders … and a massive sightless snake with a gaping mouth.
Chapter Five
Black spots and dark suspicions