The Door to the Lost

by Jaleigh Johnson

  “Wh-what just happened?” Drift demanded. “Somebody didn’t pull a weird switch on us, did they? I mean, he transformed, right?”

  “He did,” Rook said, finding that though her voice still worked, her mouth had gone cottony. The boy had transformed, and that meant…She hesitated, but once the word popped into her head, it all made sense. Why hadn’t she guessed it before? The fox’s size and intelligence, the magic he’d displayed in the alley, all of it pointed to one thing.

  “He’s an exile,” she said, “a shapeshifter.”

  Drift huffed and threw up her hands. “Well,” she said to the boy, “you might have warned us! Or changed back to a human as soon as we were inside the house! I mean, you take up half the room!” Her eyes widened. “I…I fed you cheese from my hand! And then you…you…Eew!” She wiped her hand on her pants again, obviously remembering the fox slobber.

  But Rook’s thoughts were going back further than that, to the alley in Gray Town, when the fox and his shadow doubles had faced down the constables, pistol shots ringing in the air. Rook flinched in horror at the memory of what had almost happened. She stumbled over to her bed and sank down on the mattress. Why hadn’t the boy transformed back then? The constables almost shot him in his animal form, but they never would have drawn their weapons if they’d seen a little boy in the alley.

  Or would they? a tiny, mistrustful voice whispered in Rook’s head. Would the boy really have been safer if he’d changed right in front of the constables? Would that have stopped them firing? Or would their fear and mistrust of the exiles have overridden everything? Rook shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms.

  Across the room, Drift was still ranting and didn’t seem to notice Rook’s distress. “What were you doing in that forest?” she asked. “It’s all the way across the ocean!”

  That was an excellent question. Rook and Drift hadn’t encountered any exiles in Regara since their mass escape, but Rook hadn’t expected them to end up so far away.

  When Rook glanced at the boy, she noticed that he had ducked his head and was plucking at the loose threads of the rug. He didn’t answer Drift’s question. Actually, he hadn’t spoken at all since he’d transformed, except to ask for cheese.

  Rook slid off the bed and sat cross-legged on the floor next to the boy. She moved slowly, not wanting to frighten him. The boy looked up at her from under a tangle of red bangs.

  “Hey there,” she said, “what Drift’s trying to say is that was an impressive transformation. Top-notch. It just shook us up, that’s all. Do you have a name?”

  The boy blinked. Like the fox’s, his eyes were a vivid shade of amber, and there was still a hint of wildness in them, as if he was only gradually adjusting to being human again.

  “Fox,” he murmured.

  Rook bit her lip. Not quite what she was looking for, but she nodded encouragingly. “Definitely got that part, but what do you call yourself as a human?” She assumed that he, like all the other exiles, had no memory of his real name and so had chosen one for himself.

  The boy pressed his lips together in concentration and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. His fingers never stopped toying with the rug. Rook waited, leaning forward as if she was about to hear an important secret.

  “Fox,” the boy said at last, in a tone that implied there was no need for further discussion on that topic.

  Rook glanced over at Drift. “Fox,” she repeated.

  Drift shrugged. “Fine by me,” she said. “My name’s Drift and that’s Rook. Do you want some more to eat?”

  The boy’s head whipped around. He fixed Drift with a look that was exactly like an animal begging. “Cheeeeese,” he said, putting as much longing as possible into the word. “Please,” he added.

  Drift’s lips twitched. She was fighting a smile, and Rook recognized the sparkle in her eyes. Despite her shock—and the fox drool—Drift already liked this boy.

  Rook did too.

  So much for not getting attached.

  “Cheese for Fox, half a shroom bun for Rook and me,” Drift said. She held up a hand to stop Rook’s protest. “We’ve got mine left, we’re sharing it, and that’s all there is to say. I’ll be right back.”

  While Drift went to the kitchen, Rook scooted closer to Fox. It was hard to get a decent look at him under all those baggy clothes, but he didn’t seem to be hurt or starving. His clothing was clean, and it looked like it had only been a day or two since he’d last had a bath.

  He’s been living somewhere safe, Rook thought, or had someone taking care of him. But how had he ended up so deep in that haunted forest?

  “Fox,” she said, “can you tell me where you come from? Have you been living with anyone? A family, maybe?”

  The boy stopped playing with the rug and stared off into space. Rook couldn’t tell if he was going to answer her or not, but she waited patiently while he sorted through his thoughts.

  He looked up at her. “Sank,” he said.

  “Sank?” Rook repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What is that? A family name? A city?” She wished, not for the first time, that she had a map of this world. She’d opened doors all over Talhaven, but there was still so much she didn’t know about its geography.

  The boy shook his head. “Sank,” he repeated. He shifted to face the fire, stretching his hands out to warm them.

  Drift came back into the room carrying two plates. She must have heard the word “Sank,” because she looked as confused as Rook felt. “I don’t recognize the name,” she said. “I could ask Mr. Baroman about it, but…” She glanced at Fox, then turned to the boy. “Are you sure you didn’t make that up?”

  He seemed mesmerized by the pile of cheese and bread on one of the plates. “Chewy,” he murmured.

  “Yes, the cheese is chewy,” Rook said, getting the littlest bit impatient. “Although not really, because it’s going stale, but that’s not important right—”

  “No,” Fox interrupted, wrinkling his freckled nose in annoyance. “Sank chewy. That’s where…that’s where I was. Sank chewy.”

  Rook and Drift exchanged a quick glance. “Are you trying to say ‘sanc-tu-ary’?” Drift asked, pronouncing the word clearly.

  Fox stood up, snatched the plate out of Drift’s hands, and plopped back down on the rug, arranging the cheese feast in his lap. “Sank chewy,” he repeated, and began to eat, wolfing down the food with just as much enthusiasm as he had when he was in fox form, though with a bit less slobber.

  “I guess he’s been living at some kind of sanctuary,” Drift said. She’d cut the shroom bun in half, with equal portions of blueberry filling on either side, and put it on the other plate. She offered one piece to Rook.

  “But what does that mean?” Rook asked, accepting the gift with a grateful nod.

  Drift shook her head. “I don’t know.” She took a bite of her bun. “We can’t be sure where most of the exiles ended up. They might have found families or safe places to stay, just like we did.”

  They heard stories floating around Regara sometimes, of exiles popping up here and there throughout the six kingdoms. Stories like the time a bridge collapsed in the city of Terren’s Bluff after an exile child had supposedly driven over it in a carriage. Or the time a servant boy had jumped from the roof of a noble’s three-story mansion, but instead of falling to his death, his arms had transformed into hawk’s wings, and he flew away.

  Of course, some of the exiles had been recaptured by the authorities and brought before the ruler of whichever of the six kingdoms they’d been caught in. Rook knew even less about the fate of these children, but she suspected some of them might have been held in secret, forced to use their magic as a tool for the kingdom…or maybe a weapon.

  Best not to dwell on that too much, Rook thought with a shudder. She had enough worries of her own. But she couldn’t shake the feeling there was mo
re to the boy’s story than he was telling.

  “So, Fox,” Drift said when the boy was nearly finished eating, “do you think the people at this sanctuary will be missing you? Earlier, Rook was trying to send you home through the door she made. She can make another one for you now if you like.”

  The boy glanced up from his meal. A look of confusion and irritation passed over his face. “Why?” he asked.

  Rook offered Drift a raised eyebrow. It translated roughly to: Is it just me, or is this kid acting like he’s moved in?

  Drift shrugged. She tried again. “Weren’t you happy living at this sanctuary?”

  “Or did people mistreat you?” Rook asked, digging her nails into her palms as she braced for the answer.

  Fox looked at both of them, absorbing their questions and seeming to rattle them around in his mind like a pair of dice. “No,” he said, after some consideration.

  “To which question?” Drift pressed.

  Fox gave a gusty sigh, as if this was all getting very tiring and silly. “Both,” he said.

  Rook shot Drift another raised eyebrow, higher this time, that said: Okay, well, now what?

  “Rook, can you help me take the dishes to the kitchen?” Drift asked politely. She stood and reached down for Fox’s plate. He was staring at it with an expression that clearly said he was wishing for more cheese to appear. “We’ll only be a minute.”

  Rook followed Drift and pulled out one of the chairs arranged around their small, circular kitchen table. She straddled it, draping her elbows over the back as Drift took their plates to the sink.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Drift asked, leaning against the counter.

  “Send him back?” Rook offered, but she heard the uncertainty in her own voice.

  “I don’t think he’ll go,” Drift said, shaking her head. “What if this sanctuary wasn’t a good place?”

  “What if it was, and people are out looking for him right now, worrying to death?” Rook countered. “He said he wasn’t mistreated there.” She tilted her chair forward on two legs, tracing circles with her finger on the kitchen table.

  “Do you really think so?” Drift asked. “That he found someone from this world to take care of him?”

  “I don’t know,” Rook said. “All I know for sure is I like him. But you saw how much he ate.”

  Drift winced. “Enough for three foxes.”

  Their food shortage was a real, ongoing problem. The clients who paid them to escape the city could never afford much, and almost all of the money went for food, fuel for the stove, and any other survival necessities. Now they were facing the possibility of having to return the coins the Kelmins had given them. In the midst of all that, taking on another mouth to feed and clothe was unthinkable.

  And yet…

  “I think if he doesn’t want to go back to the forest, we should let him stay here,” Rook said. “He’s an exile. We have to look out for each other.”

  “I agree,” Drift said. “I’ll just have to come up with a brilliant money-making scheme, that’s all.”

  She was smiling, but her eyes were shadowed. Rook didn’t need to guess why. In the time she’d been with Drift, her friend had considered herself the leader in their partnership. Rook was the girl who made doors. Drift was the girl who made plans. Now she felt it was her responsibility to take care of them all.

  Rook rocked back in her chair, putting all four of its legs on the floor. She stood up and went to the sink to help Drift wash the dishes.

  When they came back into the living room, Fox was curled up on the rug in front of the fire, back in his fox form, sound asleep.

  Drift made a noise of surprise. “Well, that’s no good. He can’t sleep like that. He needs to be in a bed.”

  Rook shrugged. “He looks pretty comfortable to me.”

  “He takes up half the floor!” Drift lowered her voice as Fox snuffled in his sleep. “And he sheds.”

  Rook couldn’t argue with either of those facts, but she had to admit the sound of a fox snoring was kind of adorable. “We don’t have any extra beds, so unless he’s going to share one of ours—”

  “Not as a fox!” Drift interjected in a fierce whisper.

  “Then I say we leave him where he is,” Rook said, with an exasperated smile, “and let him be what he is.”

  Drift gave up and sighed. “You’re right,” she said. “We need to get some sleep too.”

  They took a few minutes to change into nightclothes before crawling into bed. Rook pulled the quilt of stars up to her chin, and though she thought she’d be asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, she found that her mind was awake, replaying the events of the day.

  It happened again, Rook’s hands curled into fists that crumpled the cloth stars. When she needed it most, her magic failed her, opening a door to a place she didn’t want to go. Today that failure had brought disaster down on all of them. Luckily, Fox hadn’t been hurt, and as far as Rook knew, he hadn’t caused any real harm other than scaring people, but it could have been so much worse.

  “Can’t you sleep?” Drift whispered from the other side of the room.

  Rook rolled onto her side and looked over at her friend. The glowing orange coals of the dying fire illuminated Drift’s concerned face. Between them on the floor, Fox slept the deep sleep of a content, exhausted animal.

  “No,” Rook said, pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes. “You?”

  “Wide awake,” Drift said. She shifted, tucking the edge of her blanket beneath her chin. “What happened today wasn’t your fault, you know.”

  Rook resisted the urge to hide beneath her blankets. How did Drift always know what she was feeling? She must have a special type of magic, something that only worked on Rook. But that was silly, she told herself. How was it possible for someone to have magic meant for only one other person in the world?

  “Rook,” Drift prodded.

  “It was my fault,” Rook said. “My power failed. You could have been hurt. Fox could have been hurt.”

  “But we weren’t,” Drift said, pushing herself up on one elbow. She jerked her chin in Fox’s direction. “He’s fine, and what if…” She hesitated, lips pursed. “I think it’s a good thing Fox ended up here. Don’t you? I mean, what if he was meant to be with us?”

  She had a point. Despite their worries about having enough food, Rook was glad Fox was with them. But she was still uncertain. “If that’s true, why can’t you sleep?” she asked quietly.

  “Easy—Fox’s snoring,” Drift said, flopping back onto the bed and fluffing her pillow. “He’s facing toward me, so it’s much louder over here.”

  That coaxed a giggle out of Rook. “You poor thing,” she said.

  “Hey, Rook, do you think…” But Drift didn’t finish, which made Rook raise her head to look closer at her friend.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Drift looked uncomfortable. “I know I shouldn’t ask, not when you’re feeling this way, but do you think we could see if there’s any music out there? It might help both of us sleep.”

  Rook smiled in relief. “Sure,” she said. What Drift asked for was easy enough, and this small use of her power wouldn’t hurt.

  She slipped out of bed, crouching on the floor to retrieve the piece of chalk she’d dropped earlier. Wiping the dust bunnies off it, she crawled back into bed and sketched four quick lines on the wall beside her.

  A concert hall or a theater—that was what they needed. I want to hear music, Rook thought, imploring her magic to listen. Music to fall asleep to. It wasn’t so much to ask.

  With a small creak and a series of pops like popping corn, a plain metal door barely bigger than her hand appeared in the wall. In its center, there was just enough room for a gold knob the size of her thumbnail.

  Using her finger, Rook prie
d the miniature door open. Its hinges squeaked as it swung toward her. Beyond the door, there was little to see except a dusty wood floor lit by wavering candlelight, and the shadow of a small, polished object. Rook reached through the door and felt along the floor until her fingers found the mystery. She drew it back through the door and into the light. It was a slender violin bow, dropped by its owner.

  “I think you found the right place,” Drift said. Rook heard the smile in her friend’s voice.

  Carefully, Rook slid the bow back through the opening before someone missed it. Then she pushed the door almost shut, leaving only a thin crack separating the house and the concert hall, a small, in-between place to fill with music.

  As Rook lay back on the bed, a soft melody began to play somewhere beyond the door. It was a single flute at first, unaccompanied by other instruments. The high, pure notes drifted into the room like a welcome guest. A moment later, the violin joined in, and the two musicians played the song together as if they had done so since birth. A lullaby, just as Rook had asked.

  “Thank you,” Drift murmured, and Rook could tell the music was already working, making her friend drowsy. Soon she’d be adding her own soft snores to Fox’s rumblings on the floor.

  Rook pressed her cheek into her pillow and let the slow, whistling notes of the flute wash over her. Because the door was so small, she could keep it open for almost an hour without feeling weak, and she never had to worry about anything larger than a mouse coming through.

  That she could handle.

  But she still couldn’t sleep, even after the music ended and she’d pushed the little door shut. The rest of the house was quiet and still. Fox slept on his back with his legs kicking air as if he were running in his sleep. Drift flopped on her stomach with one arm dangling off the bed.

  Rook stared up at the ceiling. Drift was right. She was glad Fox was here…except it wasn’t enough. The real problem was her magic. If she were able to use it the way she needed to, to cross over to another world instead of just other cities and kingdoms in Talhaven, none of them would have to stay here and be in danger.