Gently I touch her shoulder. “Grandma,” I whisper. “Grandma Fawna.”
Fawna pops upright and I hop back. “What is it?” she says clearly.
“Dang, you wake up fast,” I say, my hand pressed over my racing heart.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” she asks. “Is everyone okay?”
“I need your help,” I tell her. “Something’s wrong with Briar.”
Fawna tosses her covers back and slips the amulet around her neck. “Hand me my robe,” she says, pointing to the rocking chair as she puts on her slippers. “Where is she? Does she have a fever?”
I lead Grandma to the living room while she ties the robe. “I don’t know how to explain it all but I’ll try ...”
As Grandma touches Briar and listens to her breathe, I recount the night, leaving out the part about going to Timber’s apartment by myself. When I get to the part about the fox, Fawna’s head snaps up and she stares at me.
“You saw it, too?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
“I know what a fox looks like.”
“But why would erdlers keep a fox?” she asks more to herself than to me.
When I tell her about Dawn, Grandma puts her hand over her mouth and sits in silence for a moment. Then she says, “Go to the kitchen and put on the kettle, then go into the pantry and get your mother’s small kit of infusions.”
I hurry off and do as she says. A few minutes later I watch her concoct a potion. She steeps several different dried plants from Mom’s tiny glass bottles with little cork stoppers.
“What are you making?” I ask from a kitchen stool, where I sip a mug of warm chamomile tea.
“This will tell me what Briar has ingested over the past several hours,” Grandma says as she mixes precise amounts with a small silver spoon she wears around her neck. “Bring me some honey. We want it to taste good so Briar will drink it all.”
When the potion has steeped and cooled, I carry it into the living room. We sit Briar up and call her name until her eyes flutter open. “Drink this,” Grandma instructs her, and tilts the cup up to Briar’s lips. Briar must be parched because she quickly and easily downs the entire cup, which smells like lavender and honey and strangely of butterscotch with just a hint of dandelion greens. Grandma sets the cup on the end table and waits. After a few seconds Briar begins to hiccup, then she groans and holds the sides of her stomach as she slumps over onto the pillows.
“It’s working,” Grandma says.
I step back. “Is she going to barf?” I’m grossed out that I might have to pick through puke to see what was in her stomach.
“No, no,” Grandma says gently. “Nothing so horrible as that.”
Briar moans and writhes, then she squirms herself upright and opens her eyes wide. She looks slightly terrified as she opens her mouth. I see a line of spit between her parted lips that grows to fill her mouth. Her eyes dart back and forth from Grandma to me as a bubble inflates her cheeks, pushes her lips out, and then escapes her mouth. I hear her stomach gurgling as the iridescent bubble expands. Swirls of colors cover the surface of the bubble, which is big enough to hide Briar’s entire face now. Grandma waits patiently with her hand on Briar’s knee. I stand back fascinated and sort of horrified. The bubble grows and grows while Briar gags and her stomach grumbles angrily until finally she jerks forward and closes her mouth, and the bubble floats away from her.
“Ah,” Grandma says, catching the bubble lightly between her hands. Briar slumps back against the couch with her eyes closed again as if she never woke up. Grandma stands and carries the beautiful, shimmering bubble close to the yellow light from the lamp beside the couch. “Come,” she says. “Have a look.”
When I peer inside the bubble, I see floating visions of liquids and solids.
“You’ll have to help me interpret some of these things,” Grandma says. “I have no idea what you kids eat these days from all those bags and boxes.”
“That’s probably Vitamin Water,” I say, pointing to an orange pool. “And that looks like french fries over there. I see some salad greens and tomatoes and a chocolate bar. There’s a chocolate chip cookie and a red apple.”
“Do you see anything that you don’t recognize?” Grandma asks. “Anything strange?”
I look carefully at each little floating item, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. “It all looks like stuff we usually eat,” I tell her.
“Hmm,” says Grandma. “Well then, I don’t think she was drinking alcohol or taking some kind of illicit substance. If she did, it would show up here.” She turns to me. “Take this into the kitchen and pop it over the sink.” She holds the bubble out to me.
Even though I’m totally grossed out by touching something that came out of Briar’s stomach, I take the bubble between my fingers and carry it to the kitchen. It’s more firm than I would have thought, but still, yuck! I set the bubble in the sink, then poke it with a paring knife. It pops with a little burp sound, then swirls around the sink and into the drain in a weirdly pretty, shimmering puddle.
When I get back into the living room, Grandma is bent over Briar, rubbing two polished stones over her temples, down the sides of her neck, across her chest, and onto her belly. She frowns as she works, occasionally slowing down and breathing deeply. I don’t interrupt as she works her magic.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” she says as she moves the stones back up Briar’s body. She stops below her chin and gently circles them across the front of Briar’s neck. “Here,” she says. “I’ve found you. Interesting. Very, very strange.” She sits up and puts her rocks into the pocket of her robe. Then she looks at me. “Sit,” she says, patting the couch beside her. I do as she says. “Now then.” She turns to me and lays her hand on my knee. “I want you to tell me very slowly and carefully everything that happened. And don’t leave out any details. I need to understand everything. Do you understand? Absolutely everything.”
I take a deep breath before I start because I know I have to spill my guts this time, and it ain’t going to be as pretty as Briar’s tummy bubble.
“We need to leave now!” This is the closest my mother has ever come to yelling, and I flinch where I’m curled in a kitchen chair.
“But we have to figure this out before we can leave,” Dad says.
“We should just go,” says Mom. “Pack the kids up and get out.” She looks at me, and for the fifteen thousandth time she shakes her head. All morning she’s gone from being angry at Briar and me to hugging us tightly because she’s relieved that we’re all right. “They could have been hurt!” she says again, her eyes filling with tears.
My dad reaches out and pulls her close to his body. “But they weren’t. Zephyr did the right thing. There was no way they could’ve known.”
“Known what?” I ask again, because no one will answer any of my questions.
“Do you think it’s Iris?” Grove asks.
“Aunt Iris?” I ask.
Grandma leans against the counter with a mug of tea. “There’s no way of knowing unless we go there.”
“Go where?” I demand, slapping the table.
My mom shakes her head. “No one is going back there. Ever!”
“We need to hear what Briar has to say first,” Dad says. He holds Mom’s shoulders and he takes a step back to look down into her face. “Is it ready?”
Mom nods. She wipes the back of her hand across her eyes, then she goes to the stove and lifts the lid on a small copper pot. A cloying smell of rotten berries and pine bark fills the room. “I just need to cool it and sweeten it,” she says. “Zephyr, would you go see how Briar’s doing?”
Poor Briar finally came out of her stupor around seven o’clock this morning. She can’t remember much, so Mom’s cooking up some strong herbs to help her piece things together. Now she lies on the couch with a cold compress over her eyes and forehead to alleviate her massive headache. She’s wrapped in two blankets and the fire’s going because she can�
��t get over the chills. I kneel beside her and hold her hand.
“Poor bunny,” I say. “What did they do to you?”
Briar lifts the compress and peeks out at me. “Hiya,” she says.
“Any better?”
“A little,” she says.
“Mom has the potion.”
“Do you think it’ll be gross?” she asks.
“Smells gross,” I tell her.
She nods. “I’m ready, though. I want to do this.”
Mom carries in a steaming mug. She sits on one side of Briar, and Grandma sits on the other. They prop her up between them and wrap their arms around her shoulders. My dad stands by the fire while I stay on the floor, rubbing Briar’s feet and legs through the layers of blankets. Grove took the little kids sledding to keep them out of the way, but there’s only so long they can be gone, so we all know this has to work fast. Dutifully, Briar gags down the concoction, then we all wait for it to take effect.
“Zephyr,” Mom whispers to me, “you’ll have to ask her the questions because we don’t know anything that happened. Just be calm and gentle and try to lead her through last night.”
I nod. “Remember last night when we went to Clay and Dawn’s club?”
“Mm-hm.” Briar nods with her eyes closed.
“And remember how I was sad because Timber and I had a fight?”
Mom’s mouth opens in surprise.
“Yes,” says Briar. “You were so sad.”
“Remember that I wanted to dance when Timber came to the club?”
“I asked Dawn if we could dance onstage,” Briar says.
“Yes, that’s right!” I tell her happily.
Briar smiles, then with her eyes still closed she starts the chant. “Sha we no, hallenschor, um triden fayre la dolly.” I join her and we both move our arms just slightly to the rhythm of our words. My mom’s eyes widen. She looks over Briar’s head at Grandma, who looks equally stricken. They both look over at my dad, as do I. He stares up at the ceiling with his mouth open and his head shaking back and forth, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. I trail off the chanting and think, Moose crap, I don’t know exactly what we did, but we’re really in trouble now.
Briar laughs. “And then you dove off the stage. Do you remember that? Right into Timber’s arms. It was awesome. And everyone exploded into applause. Except for Bella. She was p.o.’d. Serves her right. I should’ve dropped a light on her head. And then you guys left,” Briar says. “Where’d you go?”
I grimace. I really don’t want to admit it, but I can’t lie, so I take a breath and say quickly, “To Timber’s, and you stayed behind. I remember you were with Dawn and Clay. What happened then?”
Briar is quiet for a moment while she thinks. “Well, I know I wanted to thank them for letting us dance because it won Timber’s heart for you. And they said they were happy to do it, but they wanted to know more about the dance so they could book some gigs for us.”
I glance up at my mom and Grandma, who exchange looks.
“So they asked me to go into the back of the club where it’s more quiet and they could video me dancing. I said I wanted Kenji to come with me, but they said he was in the bathroom and they would tell the bartender where I was, so we went downstairs.”
“Did you do the dance for them?” Mom asks.
Briar thinks about this. “I don’t think I did,” she says. “I remember going into a little room with couches and chairs.”
“That’s where I found her,” I whisper.
“And behind the couch there’s another door to a dark room with a bed and a video camera,” she says.
“What!” My dad steps forward. His eyes flash.
I shake my head. “I don’t remember seeing another room.” I think back to the security camera screens. “It must be hidden.”
Then Briar rolls her head on the couch. “And the strangest thing,” she says. “There was a little animal on the bed in there. A little, cute, furry animal. But not a cat. Maybe a dog, but no, that’s not it—”
“Was it a fox?” I ask eagerly.
“Yeah,” she says dreamily. “It was a fox.” Mom, Grandma, Dad, and I all look at one another while Briar tries to remember. “And Dawn scooped it up. She stroked its fur. Clay told her to take it out and she was mad because she loved cuddling it. I wanted to hold it, but they said no. Dawn put it in a cage and took it out of the room.” Then Briar stops and she whimpers.
Mom and Grandma tighten their arms around her shoulders, and I wrap my arms around her legs. “What, honey?” Mom asks. “What happened?”
Tears leak out of Briar’s eyes. “I was alone with Clay.”
My dad takes another step forward. I see anger in his eyes and his fists come together in front of his chest. “What did he do?”
“I don’t know,” says Briar. “I can’t explain. He had a little bag with dust. He took it out and said it would make me laugh and feel good. I said no, I don’t do drugs, but he sprinkled it into his palm and blew it over me. I felt like I was floating. I wanted to dance for them. Dawn came back and I asked her to dance with me. They told me they just wanted to talk. They asked me lots of questions while I danced around the floor. I felt so light and free and like I could tell them anything.”
“What did they ask?” Grandma says.
“Questions about our family. Where we live,” she says.
“Did they ask you about Alverland?” I ask.
“Yes,” Briar says. “They wanted to know where Alverland is.”
Mom gasps.
“Did you tell them?” Grandma asks calmly.
“I don’t know,” Briar says. “It’s all so murky. I guess I probably did.” She opens her eyes, and tears stream down her face. “I shouldn’t have told them, should I?”
Mom hugs her tight. “You couldn’t help it. They gave you a truth dust. Your magic’s not strong enough to combat it.”
“Are they dark elves?” I ask.
Mom and Dad look at each other, but Fawna nods. “I believe they might be,” she says, rubbing her amulets.
“But what do they want with us?” I ask, and everyone is quiet.
“We have to go,” Mom says.
Briar sleeps for the rest of the morning while I ask questions that nobody will answer. After Grove and the kids come back, he and Dad drive to Red Hook. I beg to go, but they won’t let me, which is so unfair. Timber and Kenji both call a zillion times, but we let everything go to voice mail so we don’t tie up the phone lines in case Grove and Dad need to call. They get back around eleven, but there’s not much for them to tell us.
Dad looks like he does when he comes back from a hunt empty-handed.
“We went in through the back,” says Grove. “Those basement doors you told us about, Zeph.”
“Everything is cleared out,” says Dad. “Looks like they’re long gone.”
“They could be on their way to Alverland,” Mom says.
“We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” Dad says.
“No,” Mom tells him. “Now.”
“I have a gig tonight,” says Dad.
“And we have school and rehearsals,” I say, but I shut up when Mom flashes me the look of death.
Fawna stands up. “I’ll fly.”
“No!” Mom says firmly. “It took too much out of you when you shape-shifted before.” I remember how sick Grandma was last fall after she shifted into a hawk and flew back and forth from Alverland to Brooklyn to check on us. Mom turns to my dad. “You have to cancel,” she tells him.
“I can’t,” he says.
“I’ll go,” Grandma says. “It’s the quickest way. Then you can bring the children in the van tomorrow.”
“Mother,” says Mom, but Grandma shakes her head.
Mom turns to Dad, helpless. Dad takes a deep breath and nods. “I’ll cancel,” he says.
“That doesn’t change my decision,” says Fawna, then she leaves us all in stunned silence.
There’s not much to do at
this point except exactly what Mom and Dad tell us to do. We pack our clothes, gather food, and get the little kids into the van as quickly as we can. I don’t know what I’m going to do about school, about the performance, or about Timber, but there’s nothing I can do, because just like that, without so much as good-bye, we leave Brooklyn.
chapter 18
I WAKE UP to the sound of silence and wonder, Where are the buses and honking cars barreling down Prospect Park Southwest? Then I remember we’re in Alverland. Dad and Grove drove us straight to Ironweed yesterday, only stopping so we could pile into skeevy truck-stop bathrooms and rest areas to pee every few hours. We got to Ironweed, the closest town to Alverland, at five this morning and had to hike through a two-foot blanket of snow to get to our house. We all fell into our cold beds, hunkered under thick, goose-down comforters to sleep off the stupor of a long, tense van ride.
Now I sit up and rub the sleeve of my flannel pajamas against the frosty windowpane. The world outside is white, green, and brown—snow, pines, and barren oak trees. I forgot how pretty it is, and my heart fills with excitement as I think about seeing my sister Willow, my grandfather Buck, and all my aunts, uncles, and cousins very soon.
My sibs are still sacked out under their covers, so I quietly slip into my thick indoor booties, robe, and hat, then head downstairs where I can smell the fires blazing and hot tea perking up the morning. I find Mom curled on Dad’s lap in an easy chair by the kitchen fireplace. They both sip giant mugs of tea and look more relaxed than I’ve seen them in months.
When I join them in the rocker by the fire, Mom points to a covered basket on the table and says, “Aunt Flora brought over some dried-huckleberry muffins and venison jerky if you’re hungry. Plus, there’s tea.”
“Was Flora beside herself when Briar showed up this morning?” I ask.
Mom grins. “I doubt that she’s stopped hugging her. Poor Briar was dead tired and Flora just couldn’t let go of her. I’m sure the word is out by now. Flora said everybody started cooking the minute Fawna showed up last night. They’re probably letting us get our rest, but pretty soon we’ll have a whole line out the door.”
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