The Wingsnatchers

by Sarah Jean Horwitz

  With each tree in full bloom, the old magician smiled at the applauding audience and took a bow. Even the judges, who miraculously had not abandoned their posts in the first row, clapped only a little grudgingly.

  “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” said the Amazifier, “once again—”

  But someone gasped and pointed at the center apple tree that had once been the Moto-Manse. The Amazifier stopped short.

  Glittering golden powder fell from the stage lights like snow. It hit the trees and they shuddered, leaves suddenly turning silkier, fruit glinting in the light, blossoms growing bigger and more colorful. Shades of blue, red, purple, and orange seeped into the white flowers. Vines sprouted from the bases of the trees and danced across the stage floor to cheery pipe music that overtook the surprised orchestra. People looked around but saw no instruments, and when they heard the singing, they didn’t care.

  Carmer couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across his face. The faeries were here, and they were saying thank you the best way they knew how.

  Water spilled from the bases of the trees and streamed out in purposeful rivulets to connect all three of them. It froze over in the blink of an eye, and the tiny figurines—the farmer, the Amazifier, the jugglers and the acrobats—all emerged from the multicolored blossoms. They skated and danced on the ice, sliding from one tree to the other in figure eights and loop-de-loops.

  The trees grew even taller, their branches stretching toward the golden light above them. Kitty and the Amazifier’s eyes were as wide as saucers, but fortunately, no one was paying them any mind. Doves burst out of the trees and soared overhead, their cooing harmonizing with the otherworldly music that filled the theater. The pears, apples, and oranges grew bigger, too, shimmering and pulsing, until they exploded in showers of golden sparks in different shapes—snowflakes, starbursts, sun rays, and even laughing faces.

  The Amazifier reached out his hands to touch the sparks nearest him and the rest responded in kind, swirling around the old man from head to foot. He laughed, sounding like a boy again. His hands, still capable of grace after all these years, gathered the sparks to his palms. He sent them shooting out over the audience, where they rained down on the awed crowd and disappeared with a harmless crackle.

  The little figures skated back to their places, the water retreated and dried up, and the blossoms shrank back down to normal size, though they still retained their brilliant colors. The trees lowered away from the stage lights to their normal height, folding and contracting with metallic clicks, until the three original buildings took their place. The farmhouse, the Manse, and the circus tent stood whole once more, and if it was the machine turning the windmill, or something else entirely, well, who can really say?

  Carmer left the Amazifier and Kitty bowing and curtsying and basking in adoring applause, but not before he stepped out into the aisle and caught the Amazifier’s eye. The old man looked surprised—but not surprised enough, Carmer thought—to see him there. The Amazifier winked at him and bowed again, and relief swept over Carmer, more powerful than any magic he’d seen that night. There would definitely be time to talk later.

  24.

  BOYS OF FIRE AND IRON

  Dawn redwoods weren’t native to that part of the country, but it seemed fitting that the Arboretum put on a good show after the faeries’ safe return. Fair Folk and Free Folk alike reveled together late into the night in the grand ballrooms of those giant trunks, singing thanks for those returned to them and raising toasts to a speedy recovery for the princess who saved them all.

  For the first time since Carmer had been to the Arboretum, there were other humans there as well. The faeries lit the lanterns and opened the gates again—hesitantly to be sure, but also willing to extend the olive branch. Today there were children playing hide-and-seek in the maze of shrubs, making crowns out of pinecones and chains of cattails, climbing trees and scraping their knees and getting dirty enough to be scolded at home, as all children should every now and again. It was cold—winter was still on its way, after all—but the atmosphere in the Arboretum was anything but chilly.

  Carmer took the time to walk it from end to end before he reached the redwoods. He climbed Widdershinner’s Hill, watched a few locals repairing a section of the Whispering Wall, visited the birdhouse village, and even said hello to the siren in the fountain, who filled him in on all the latest gossip. He walked through paths of porous gray cork trees from Japan, the ever-blooming blue roses, and maples whose leaves were still bright and bigger than his hand. Autumn crunched beneath his feet and filled his nostrils, crisp and clean.

  When he reached the redwoods, he simply stood there for a moment, taking in their beauty. Manipulating the elements and making automatons come to life were all very fine things, but there was something magical here, too, about knowing that spaces like the Arboretum still existed in the world. Skemantis was a beautiful city, but its beauty without Oldtown Arboretum would be incomplete.

  Carmer stepped carefully up and over the giant roots of the largest redwood on the path, lest he step on anything or anyone living under them. He climbed into an opening at the very base of the trunk and was not surprised when it widened to accommodate him. He sat down, crossed his legs, and waited.

  “I know I was supposed to wait,” Carmer said, “but I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  A split in the bark in front of him yawned open, glowing from within. Grit sat inside, looking tired but otherwise fine.

  “You’re a ninny,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” Carmer pressed.

  “On my way there.” She shrugged and smiled. “How is the Amazifier handling his rediscovered fame?”

  “Oh, pretty well,” said Carmer. The celebration in the circus camp had lasted long into the night. “But he knows he can’t count on it forever.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “As much as I could without sounding insane,” Carmer said, “which wasn’t very much. But I think he might be more in the loop than we suspected.”

  Grit raised an eyebrow.

  “He’s retiring and going on the road with Madame Euphemia,” explained Carmer. “Apparently, they knew each other from the old days. And if he hasn’t noticed that those puppets of hers are beyond natural, I’ll eat my hat.”

  Grit laughed. “You have a new one, I see.”

  Carmer tipped his new black top hat in her direction. “Courtesy of the Amazifier.”

  “But Carmer,” Grit said, suddenly worried, “if the Amazifier is retiring, what will happen to you and Kitty?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Kitty,” said Carmer. He explained how she’d already had half a dozen job offers from the various dress shops and theaters she had applied to.

  “But she’s going to stay in costumes at the Orbicle, at least for their next show,” explained Carmer. “They’re doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and she says she can’t miss a chance to make faerie costumes.”

  “You’ll have to be her consultant.”

  “I’ll insist that hatpins and leather really are essentials for every outfit,” Carmer agreed.

  Friendly silence fell between them.

  “And you?” Grit prodded gently. “Are you . . . staying behind as well?”

  Carmer avoided her gaze. “I thought about it,” he said honestly. “Someone still has to find a way to stop the Mechanist from just building a new machine, and there’s still so much I don’t know about faeries, and there are amazing places to study here—the Academy of Science, for one thing. I’m a little young, and my schooling hasn’t been the most consistent, but my portfolio—”

  “Carmer,” Grit interrupted. “Just say yes or no.”

  Carmer sighed. “No.”

  “Oh.” The light in Grit’s hollow seemed to shrink a little.

  “The Amazifier left me the Moto-Manse,” Carmer explained, “and it feels right to keep it moving. Ever since he first took me on as his apprentice, I’ve been on the
road. Something’s telling me I can learn more out there than stuck behind a desk here.” Carmer shrugged. “Plus, I’ve never really . . . done well in groups. With people my age.”

  “Well, I can relate to that.” Grit laughed.

  Carmer blushed before he next spoke. “I know,” he said. “And so that’s why I thought . . . maybe you’d like to come with me?”

  His words hung in the air, and he could see Grit’s pleasure at being asked—and then her disappointment. “I want to, Carmer,” she said. “I do. I want to see the world more than anything.”

  “But?”

  “But—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—I have a duty to the faeries here,” Grit said, sighing. “What happened with the Mechanist showed me that. My mother won’t be around forever, and when she’s gone, I need to be ready. I need to know about the world, but I need to know about them, too.”

  “I understand,” said Carmer. He did, even if he was disappointed. But it was Grit’s choice to make—as was what to do with the object he was about to pull out of his pocket.

  Carmer fumbled around in his coat and produced a bundle wrapped in handkerchiefs. “But I wanted to leave you with something before I go.” He carefully undid the wrappings and held the delicate mechanical faerie wing in an outstretched palm.

  “You were right to be angry with me for not asking your permission,” said Carmer. “And I know I can’t succeed where, as you put it, generations of faerie magic didn’t. But maybe, with a little of your magic and a little of mine, this might just work.” He placed the wing in front of her.

  “I’ll think about it.” Grit nodded. “Thanks. For everything, Carmer.”

  “You’re welcome. And—”

  “Help!”

  A familiar figure crashed through the trees. His blond hair was streaming out behind him and his arm was in a sling, but Carmer would have recognized Gideon Sharpe anywhere.

  Gideon circled the trees in a panic, eyes darting behind him every few seconds, like he was running from something. The redwood holding Carmer and Grit started to close protectively around them.

  “Help!” Gideon said to the trees. “As a Friend of the Fae, I claim sanctuary in this place from those who would do me harm!”

  Gideon Sharpe, a Friend of the Fae? Carmer had suspected as much, but it still surprised him to hear the words aloud.

  “Wait,” Carmer said to the redwood. “I know him.”

  Carmer started to climb out of the tree, when a flurry of hornets buzzed past his ear. He shrank back against the trunk. There must have been hundreds of them, buzzing angrily; they morphed into the shape of a face Carmer was getting to know all too well.

  “It was not my court who named you Friend, changeling,” said Ombrienne. Her voice vibrated with the buzzing of the bees that now formed her likeness. “And the stench of your betrayal clings to you like the foul cloak of your master. Leave this place.”

  “But I—I just made a mistake, please. They’ll kill me!”

  “LEAVE. NOW.”

  The hornets burst apart and zoomed straight toward Gideon.

  Carmer couldn’t believe what he was about to say, but he said it anyway.

  “Wait!”

  Much to his surprise, the hornets paused. Gideon, who’d lifted his good arm to cover his face from the oncoming onslaught, lowered it cautiously. The hornets reformed into Ombrienne’s face.

  “Yes?” she hissed, as if she already regretted not stinging the other boy to death.

  “I don’t know exactly what Gideon’s done,” Carmer admitted. “And I don’t know anything about how these courts you keep talking about work. But . . . the Arboretum did let him in, right?”

  The hornets crawled over each other, and their outline of Ombrienne’s eyes narrowed.

  “It let me in when you weren’t . . .” Carmer trailed off. “Well, when you weren’t in the best of moods with me. And that ended up being a good thing.”

  Even Grit was looking at Carmer like she couldn’t believe what he was saying, but she didn’t disagree.

  “So maybe you should hear him out,” Carmer finished. “Or, um, not. It’s up to you, Your Highness.”

  The hornets took flight in a tight whirlwind, flying closer and closer together, until they disappeared with a pop. Queen Ombrienne, in regular faerie form, hovered in their place.

  “This boy taunted you, kidnapped you, beat you, and nearly had your eyes pecked out, and yet you plead for his life?” Ombrienne asked in disbelief. She rolled her eyes, reminding Carmer very much of Grit. “You humans have the strangest moral qualms.”

  “She has a point,” conceded Grit, poking her head out from inside the redwood.

  Carmer frowned.

  “And yet, as the boy notes,” Ombrienne said, turning to Gideon, “my realm did admit you. It would perhaps be unwise to ignore such a sign.”

  Carmer watched the queen in amazement. That was probably the closest to saying “I might be wrong” she was ever going to get.

  “But I cannot obstruct the laws of the Unseelie Court,” she continued. “To do so, especially for the sake of a human boy I know to be guilty of crimes against the fae, would mean an end to an eternally fragile peace.”

  Carmer expected Grit to speak up, to once again protest her mother’s aversion to risk, but she was silent.

  “Please, just convince them to give me a chance to explain,” Gideon pleaded. “I know I can’t run forever.”

  “No, you cannot,” agreed the queen. “But it is clear you’ve severed your ties with your master. My realm can sense it. And fortunately for you, I am in a forgiving mood.” She looked at Carmer shrewdly. “I’m willing to negotiate with the Unseelie Court on your behalf,” she continued. “But we shall have to meet on neutral ground. Grit will be my representative.”

  Carmer and Grit exchanged surprised looks. Since when did Queen Ombrienne trust Grit to be her representative? The queen must be in a good mood. They should save her entire kingdom from extinction more often.

  “Neutral ground,” repeated Carmer. “Where’s neutral ground for the Unseelie Court?”

  Queen Ombrienne smirked, but there was no real amusement in her eyes. “It is a place where the fae do not tread,” she explained. “And I believe you’re acquainted with a perfect spot already.”

  Carmer felt a sinking feeling in his gut.

  “How would you like to escort Mr. Sharpe to the Vallows?”

  “Can someone please explain to me what the Unseelie Court actually is?” Carmer whispered as they crept along a crumbling side street in a decidedly unsavory neighborhood on their way to the abandoned mining town. Carmer supposed there wasn’t as much need for secrecy this time, but the Hollow Valley was the kind of place where sneaking glances behind you every few feet didn’t seem like such a silly idea.

  It was less creepy in the late afternoon than in complete darkness, but Carmer could feel the unease in the air emanating from Grit and the other faeries from the queen’s retinue. The latter faeries hovered on either side of Carmer and their princess, hidden from view but ready to both protect Grit and keep Gideon from escaping, if the need arose.

  From Eduardo’s back, Gideon Sharpe snorted. Carmer was starting to regret his offer to let the other boy ride, even if he was injured.

  “They named you Friend, and you didn’t even know which court you were serving?” scoffed Gideon.

  Grit turned around to glare at him from her seat between Eduardo’s ears.

  “Did you?” asked Carmer pointedly, and Gideon fell silent. Carmer led them on.

  “It’s not like there’s a hard and fast distinction,” explained Grit. “And the Free Folk who don’t travel in troops or live in kingdoms aren’t aligned with a court at all.”

  “But?” asked Carmer.

  “But generally, the Unseelie Court’s attitude toward humans is not as . . . benevolent as ours.”

  “Your mother is benevolent?” asked Carmer.

  Grit shrugged. “Compared to som
e other creatures out there? Yes.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Carmer. “The . . . water horse thing—”

  “Kelpie.”

  “Kelpie. He mentioned it was funny that he was helping the Seelie Court and letting me ride him. Why was that funny?”

  Gideon snorted again. Carmer ignored him.

  “Well . . .” hedged Grit. “Kelpies don’t have the best reputations.”

  “And why is that?”

  “They usually lure young maidens into the water to, um, drown them,” confessed Grit in a rush.

  “Oh,” said Carmer. Despite his best intentions, he was starting to see how Gideon Sharpe’s experience as a Friend of the Unseelie Court really could have been wildly different from his own.

  “Queen Ombrienne seems positively rosy in comparison, doesn’t she?” noted Gideon.

  “But not all the Unseelie want to hurt humans,” Grit said. “They’re just more solitary, more comfortable in the shadows.”

  “And graveyards, and bogs, and raging seas, and old abandoned houses,” added Gideon cheerfully.

  “Why are we helping him, again?” Grit asked.

  Carmer wasn’t sure, to be honest, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the decision.

  “We’re here,” Gideon said.

  Gideon struggled to get down from the horse with one arm and stumbled a little when he dismounted. Carmer almost asked if he was all right, but stopped himself. What should he care if evil, faerie-enslaving Gideon Sharpe was all right or not?

  And they weren’t even close to the Vallows. Carmer could just see the lonely dirt road that led to the abandoned town a few blocks away, where the claustrophobic tenements and warehouses started to thin out. Grit, however, seemed to agree with Gideon’s assessment. She followed his gaze down to a poorly covered manhole that split the street in front of them.