A few times I think I hear rustling behind us, but when I glance over my shoulder, I see nothing but the dark shadows of trees. No one even noticed that we snuck into Ivy’s house and took the most precious possession of my people. Still, we move through the woods like two deer being chased by a mountain lion.
When we reach the tree, Clay’s still perched near Percy, who rocks gently in a midnight breeze. His white coat glimmers in the moonlight and he sneers at us. “What took you so long?”
“Shut up,” Dawn tells him. “We got it, now let’s get out of here.”
“Let my sister go,” I say, and I feel like Willow’s saying it, too, from inside my brain.
Clay hops down from the branch, which is at least twenty feet high, but he lands with no problem. “Let me see it first.”
Dawn takes the bottles out of her cloak and hands them to him. He holds each one up to the moonlight and studies the water as a snide smile creeps across his lips. “This will do wonders for Mommy,” he says. “And for all the little converts.”
“What converts?” I ask, my heart pounding.
“Didn’t you just love watching Bella sing?” Clay asks. “Funny how mesmerizing she can be, isn’t it?”
I shake with fury as I remember the strange smell wafting through the club when Bella performed and how entranced everyone was.
“We could never quite perfect it, though,” he says.
“Is it enough?” Dawn asks.
“Let her down now,” the phantom Willow and I say again. I position myself below Percy in case he cuts her loose and lets her drop.
“Only takes a drop,” he says.
I whip my head around. “What do you mean?”
“That’s for me to know.” Clay bobs his head like a bratty little kid. “And you to find out.”
“Now!” Willow screams from inside my head, and without thinking I whip around and zap Clay in the chest. “Wind gone!” I shout, taking his breath away.
Then, as if from nowhere, Willow appears, twirling in Aster’s cloak. She is a blur of blue in the shining moon, and for a second I wonder if she’s really here or if she’s only in my mind, but then I see Dawn flinch and try to cast a spell, but Willow is too fast, too strong. She whirls, knees bent, arms arcing over her head. She catches Dawn in her magic, tossing her aside like a twig in a tornado, then she zaps Clay, who rises in the air like a broken bough. The bottles slip from his hands as he lands crumpled in a snowdrift.
I spin around, shouting, “Percy!” and lift my arms to the sky, searching for her tiny falling body, but when I look up into the tree, I stop. Ivy hovers there, surrounding Percy with her arms. She is beautiful with her silver hair flowing into the moonbeams cast down among the dark, empty branches. But she is iridescent. The light shines through her skin, and I know then that she’s not really here. Percy awakes and stretches. She laughs at being up so high. “Hi, Fephyr!” she calls and waves, but I can’t move from the sight of Ivy’s apparition cradling my sister.
A great shout goes up from the distance. Willow and I both turn toward the clearing. We hear chaos and shouting, running and cries. “What is it?” I say.
“Catch her!” Willow yells.
Automatically, I lift my arms ready for impact, but Persimmon floats to me and lands lightly in my grasp. I hold her tight against my chest to protect her. When I look up, Ivy is gone.
Willow has broken the spell by turning away, and Clay stumbles to his feet. “Willow!” I scream, but it’s too late. In a flash he morphs. The white of his coat splits as his skin turns to woolly hair across his broad back. His nose and mouth elongate into a bearded muzzle and his ears shift to horns circling his head, but angry green eyes still flash from the center of his face. He rears up on his hind legs, then crashes down and lowers his head. He is a mountain goat preparing to ram my sisters and me. Willow spins and gathers Percy and me beneath her cloak. We jump and some power lifts us over Clay as he charges. We land and spin around to find him, but he’s gone, charging through the forest in a clattering of hoofbeats against the crackling snow and ice.
“Dawn!” I say. We turn around to find her, but all that’s left is my cloak wilted on the ground. Willow steps forward and plucks at it. A small mouse scurries out. We both jump back, but I yell, “It’s her.” Willow slams the cloak onto the ground, trying to stop her, but the mouse darts away into the underbrush of the trees.
We both drop to our knees, scrambling on all fours. “We’ll never find her,” Willow says. “She’s gone.”
Percy looks at us. “Why was I up there in that tree?”
I gather Percy in my arms while Willow searches for the bottles in the snow. “Shhh now,” I say to Percy and I wrap her in my cloak. “Mom has some elderberry juice for you.”
“Grandma Ivy rocked me,” she says.
I kiss her head. “Yes,” I say, still trying to understand. “She did.”
Willow comes to us, carrying the bottles.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to Willow, reaching for her arm.
She tucks the bottles into a pocket inside her cloak, then she takes my hand. “For what?”
Her skin feels good against mine, but I’m not sure I deserve her touch right now. “For leading Dawn to the spring,” I say, my head hanging low. “For letting her take the water.”
Willow pulls me close to her side beneath the warmth of her cloak. “Didn’t you feel me with you?”
I draw in a quick breath. “I thought you were haunting me because I was doing something so bad.”
Willow almost laughs as she begins to walk. I match her steps to stay tucked beneath her arm. “I led you there.”
“The tingling?” I ask.
She nods.
“But how did you know?”
Willow shrugs. “You’re in my heart,” she says. “I could tell that you were troubled.”
“I thought it was the magic of the water making me tingle, but it was you all along.”
She kisses the top of my head. “It was us together.”
I look around the forest. “Do you think they’re really gone?”
“For now,” Willow says. “But we should warn the others.”
As we begin to walk toward the clearing, Willow raises her head. “Do you hear that?”
“What?” I ask, straining my ears, but I hear nothing.
“Something’s wrong,” Willow says. “It’s too quiet.”
“They probably noticed that you’re missing,” I say.
“No,” she says. “It’s Ivy.”
“She was in the tree,” Persimmon says again.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing Willow’s hand, and we run.
When we get back to the clearing, there is no music, no acrobats, nobody eating or drinking or playing games. Everyone stands in hushed circles, holding hands, hugging, and crying.
“What is it?” Willow demands, rushing into the center near the dying bonfire. “What’s happened? Where’s Ivy?”
My father runs over and takes Persimmon from me and starts asking me the same questions. “What happened? Where were you?”
We’re immediately mobbed by cousins and aunts, everyone talking at once so that I can’t understand anything until Grandmother Hortense, Ivy’s oldest daughter, comes to the center of the clearing and raises her hands. Everyone hushes. The first-firsts line up alongside Hortense: Apricot, Laurel, Jonquil, Lily, Grandma Fawna, and my mother, who reaches out and calls to Willow. Slowly, Willow walks to the center.
“Ivy has left us,” Hortense says.
“But I saw her!” I shout, and everyone turns to me.
“Zephyr?” Mom asks. “What did you see?”
I step forward, toward the first-firsts. “She saved Persimmon.”
Everyone turns to look at Percy, who’s snuggled in my father’s arms. Percy nods. “She held me tight. I was swinging from a branch.”
As I explain what happened in the woods, I realize that Ivy sacrificed herself to save Percy and now she’s gone.
Willow and I tell the story of what happened in the woods and how Clay and Dawn shifted. Hortense bows her head when we’re done. “We are safe,” she says. Then she lifts her face to the sky. “Grandmother Ivy has seen to that.”
“Hup ba! Hup ba! Hup ba!” we elves all yell, and somewhere in the ether, where Ivy’s magic swirls, I’m certain that she hears.
chapter 24
WE STAY AT Willow’s for Grandmother Ivy’s funeral. It’s a natural extension of the solstice celebration because elfin funerals are celebrations of life, not sad occasions. Sure, we miss Ivy terribly, but we know that she lived a good, long life and that her magic will always be with us, so we choose to celebrate what she gave us rather than mourn what we’ve lost.
I can’t help but think of Dawn and Clay, though, and how a funeral for their mother, my aunt Hyacinth, will be different. Maybe it’s because we elves live so long that we find death less threatening or because our deaths are almost always peaceful that we’re not scared of dying like erdlers seem to be.
The day after the funeral, my family stands on Willow’s back porch watching the long exodus of elves in cloaks and silent boots pulling sleds with exhausted children into the trees surrounding Willow’s clearing. We can hear the quiet singing of each family as they disappear into the forest, radiating out from this land to populate the small settlements surrounding the first ancestral home that my sister now protects.
“It’s going to feel so empty around here,” Willow says with a sigh. Ash pulls her into a hug and kisses the top of her head. The next time I see them will be for their wedding in the spring.
I drop down into a rocking chair by the door with a loud oomph! “Thunder and lightning, I feel like I lived an entire century in one week.” I stretch my arms above my head and yawn long and loud. “I’m going to need to sleep for a month to recover from all the shape-shifting, solstice celebrating, and dark-elf battling!” I let out a laugh from the ridiculousness of it all, then I close my eyes. There’s been no word about Clay and Dawn, but everyone thinks they’ve run away for good. Even so, Willow and the other first-firsts are on alert.
Someone smacks the bottom of my boot, which is resting on the porch rail while I try to drift to sleep. I open one eye to see Briar standing in front of the porch. “You guys heading back?” I ask.
She nods, but then I see that she’s upset. I pop up from the chair and hop over the rail. “What’s wrong?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her. “Why are you sad?”
Briar buries her face into my shoulder. “Mom and Dad said I have to go back to Alverland.”
“But Bri,” I laugh at my cousin, who never wants to leave a party. “Everyone’s leaving today except for us. We’re going to help Willow get settled and then we’ll be back in a day or two . . .”
“No, Zeph.” She looks up at me. “For good.”
I blink. “You mean . . . ?”
She nods. “They don’t want me to go back to Brooklyn.”
“Ever?”
“Ever,” she says, and I see the tears sparkling on her lashes.
“Oh, Bri!”
“I’ll never see Kenji again. I’ll never dance on an erdler stage. I’ll never go back to Galaxy for hot chocolate or hear Mercedes laugh.”
“Yes, you will,” I say. “We both will.” But then it occurs to me that I might not be going back either.
We hug each other tightly. As frustrated as I’ve been with Briar in Brooklyn, I can’t imagine going back without her. Then again, I can’t imagine not going back at all.
“Briar!” Aunt Flora calls. We turn to see Aunt Flora and Uncle River with their other kids Camilla, Sorrel, Lake, and Storm, hugging Mom, Dad, Grandma Fawna, and Grandpa Buck by the clearing. “It’s time to go now.”
“It’ll be okay,” I whisper to her. “I’ll talk to my dad.”
She nods. “Beg him, please.”
“I will.”
We stay two more days to help Willow set up house, and I’m on my very best elfy behavior the whole time. I help as much as I possibly can and I never mention Brooklyn once, hoping that if I’m supergood, Mom and Dad will realize that living in Brooklyn hasn’t changed me too much and it’s okay for us to go back.
On the last day at Willow’s, Grandma and I help her put away the cloak and the tunic until the next celebration. Willow and I spread them on the bed on top of long linen shrouds.
“I never thought I’d own something so beautiful,” Willow says as she smoothes the fabric.
“They are exquisite,” Grandma says.
“I think I’ll wear one for my wedding,” Willow says.
“But what about the dress you and Flora have been making?” I ask.
Willow shrugs. “Plans change.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s a new attitude from you. You usually hate for things to change.”
“I do,” she admits. “But I realized that you can’t do anything about it, so it’s better to embrace change when it happens.”
“Very wise of you my dear,” Grandma says. She carries her bundle to the chest. “So many treasures in here,” she says quietly as she peers inside.
“Does that mean you feel okay about taking over this house?” I ask Willow.
Willow and I carry our bundles to the chest. “No,” she says, and closes the lid. “Not at all.” She sits on top of the chest and wraps her arms around her knees. Maybe it’s because she’s tired or maybe it’s because she owns this house now, but my sister looks older to me. Something in her face has shifted. She’s still beautiful, but her jawline appears stronger and her eyes sharper.
“You’re strong, Willow,” I say, remembering her in the woods kicking Clay’s sorry butt.
“What if I’m not strong enough? What if Clay and Dawn come back? Now that Ivy’s not here . . . what if Mom’s not here?” She looks from me to Fawna.
Grandma reaches out and lays a hand on Willow’s shoulder. “You would like to have your mother near, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course,” says Willow.
“What do you think?” Fawna asks me.
“Me?” I sputter. “I . . . I . . . I don’t know. How would I know?”
Fawna stares at me with kind and patient eyes. She always asks a question for a reason, and I know she won’t let me off the hook without an answer. I look away from my sister and my grandmother to a spot of sunlight filtering through the window. “I guess we should stay to help Willow,” I mutter.
“Zephyr,” Grandma says. I glance at her but I can’t look straight into her eyes. “When someone asks your opinion, you should do them the honor of telling the truth about what you feel; otherwise, people will stop asking.”
“But what if what I want makes everybody else mad?” I ask.
“Is it the worst thing in the world to have others mad at you?”
“Yes!” I say. “It’s terrible.”
She smiles kindly at me. “But isn’t it worse to hide your true feelings?”
“But Grandma!” I whine then I stop myself, remembering my best elf self. “I’m trying not to be selfish.”
Grandma laughs gently. “Why is it selfish to say what you want?”
“Because what I want will take away what Willow wants,” I explain. “And I don’t want everyone to hate me for that.”
“Oh but my dear,” Grandma says, holding her arms open to me, but I don’t budge. “We all love you for who you are, even if that means you want things that we don’t want. Besides,” she says with a little shrug, “is the only solution for your mother to be here or there?”
“I guess it is,” I say. “No matter how strong Mom’s magic is, she can’t be in two places at once.”
“But perhaps instead of your mother, Willow could have me,” Fawna says.
Willow’s face lights up, but my face falls. “You mean you’d stay here?” we ask at the same time.
Fawna nods. “I could, if it allowed more people to have what they want and need.”
“So wai
t . . . does that mean Mom and Dad are planning to go back to Brooklyn?” I ask cautiously.
“I don’t know,” Fawna says. “But perhaps they’ll be more easily convinced to go if I stay here.”
“Oh Grandma!” I say, and fall into her arms. “Would you do that for us?”
“Of course,” she says with a happy laugh. “Anything for you.”
The next day, as my family packs up for Alverland, Poppy, Bramble, and Persimmon run around the clearing in crazy circles like dogs chasing their tails. They haven’t had this much fun in months, and again I feel selfish for wishing we’d go back to Brooklyn.
“All right, you wily badgers,” my father calls to my littler sisters and brother. “Come over here and say good-bye to Willow.”
They scramble up the porch steps and attack my sister.
“We’ll miss you sooooo much!” Poppy exclaims.
“I’ll miss you, too,” Willow says as she hugs the three of them close to her body.
“When are we going to see Willow again?” Bramble asks.
“At her wedding!” Dad says.
“Oh my, I can’t believe you’ll be getting married so soon!” Mom says, and then she throws her arms around Willow again.
If you ask me, elf good-byes take far too long with all the hugging and kissing and declarations of never-ending love. I like the erdler high five and see ya’ later version better. But when it’s my turn to say good-bye to Willow, I almost lose it. I clutch my sister and don’t want to let her go. “Thank you,” I whisper into her ear.
“For what?” she asks.
“Just . . . for . . . I don’t know . . .” I look up into her face. “For loving me no matter how badly I screw up.” Then before I start blubbering like a baby, I let go and run for the woods.
An hour later, on the path back to Alverland, I can’t take it anymore. I hang back, letting my brothers and sisters pass me so I can walk with Dad, who’s bringing up the rear. He smiles at me as I fall into step with him. “Dad,” I say, “what are we doing?”
He looks around at the trees and snow-covered ground. “I think we’re heading back to Alverland, if I’m not mistaken.”
Selfish Elf Wish Page 25