by A W Hartoin
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Iris said as she rolled off and helped me up. “I won’t eat any more maple syrup, I promise.”
“Good idea,” said Gerald.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I glared at Gerald as he stuck his tongue out at Iris. “Eat whatever you want. Now let’s take care of Gerald.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, trying to scoot away from us.
“We’re going to fix your arm, dufus. What do you think?” I smiled at him. Fixing his arm might not be that bad after all. I might even enjoy it after all the nasty things he said to Iris.
“No, you’re not. I’m waiting for my dad.”
“When it’s time to get out of here, you have to be ready. Sit on him, Iris.”
Iris grinned and plunked down on Gerald so hard a big whoosh of breath rushed out of him.
“At least use that stupid list,” Gerald said with what little breath he had.
“I don’t have it. I’ll have to do it by memory,” I said.
Gerald pointed frantically at the spot where he’d been trapped. The list lay, unscathed, next to a bed post. I went over and snatched it up. The three step instructions for popping an arm back into its socket were fifteenth of the list. Mom was big on three steps to anything and, for once, I was grateful. I could handle three steps.
I stuffed the list in my pocket. I stepped into position, grabbed Gerald’s arm the way the list said and yanked. There was a grinding pop and Gerald screamed.
“You did it!” yelled Iris.
“Get off, fatty!” yelled Gerald.
I helped Iris up, and we watched Gerald fuss and flex his fingers. His arm was back in its socket, but he didn’t appear to be grateful about it.
“I could’ve done that,” he said. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“Only if your grandmother was a healer,” replied Iris. “Matilda has talent. Grandma Vi said so.”
“Your grandmother wasn’t a great healer. My dad could…”
“Shut up, Gerald,” I said. “Is the baby still crying?”
“He’s kind of screaming,” Iris said with big tears in her pale blue eyes.
I went to the window and shoved it open as far as it would go. “I’m going to go get him.”
“I’m going, too,” said Gerald.
“No, you’re not. Stay here with Iris.”
“It’s not my fault she’s too big to fit through. I’m leaving. I’m going to find my dad.”
“No, you’re not.” If I knew one thing for certain, it was that they had to stick together. Iris couldn’t leave, so we were all staying. What kind of babysitter would I be if I let Gerald run off? What if something happened to him? I wasn’t totally against something happening to Gerald, but I had to keep him with me, and I couldn’t leave Iris.
“I’m going,” said Gerald. “You can’t stop me.”
I grabbed his good arm and wheeled him around toward my parents’ ruined wardrobe, lying on its side. My dad had decorated it with dozens of pieces of delicate inlaid wood, but they’d all popped off and lay scattered around the floor. I felt a little sick when I thought of the hours he’d spent making the piece perfect for Mom’s Christmas present the year before.
I pulled open the door. “In you go.”
“No way!” Gerald yelled. His face turned bright red and a vein popped out on his forehead as I shoved him in the wardrobe. He may have been smarter, but he definitely wasn’t stronger.
I slammed the wardrobe door in his face, turned the key in the lock, and handed the key to Iris.
“Wow,” said Iris.
“Yeah. I’m going to pay for that, but I couldn’t trust him not to leave.”
“Wow.” Iris looked at the key in her hand and then back at me.
“Don’t let him out unless… unless I, you know, don’t come back or something.” I went to the window and tried to ignore Gerald hollering and banging in the wardrobe. It was hard to concentrate with all the fuss. I pushed at the window, but the wood didn’t give. It would be a tight squeeze.
“What do I do while you’re gone?” asked Iris. A worry line appeared between her eyes, just like the one our mom had.
“Nothing. Just wait with Gerald.”
I pushed all the air I could out of my lungs and pulled myself through the window. I scraped my nose and tore my jumper on a nail, but I managed to squeeze out onto a huge hump of cream-colored metal next to the mantel. My eyes smarted from the bright sunshine after the dimness inside the mantel.
After my eyes adjusted, I saw that we were in the back of a pickup truck. I’d seen a few in the national park, but never so close. The mantel fit neatly into the truck’s bed between the two humps where the truck’s wheels were. There was a big rope over it and thick blankets underneath.
I stretched my wings and flew up onto the side of the truck. Whipplethorn Manor was yards away and teemed with humans. I’d never seen so many in one place before. I hoped to see Mom’s silver streak weaving through their numbers or Dad’s glowing purple wings fluttering in the garden. My ears might’ve been bad, but there was nothing wrong with my eyesight. I searched among the humans measuring the front porch and shouting at each other. Others pointed at the mansard roof and the grey slate tiles that decorated it. But my parents weren’t there. None of the Whipplethorn fairies were. If I could’ve heard what the humans were saying, I could’ve at least figured out what was happening.
Iris stuck her head around the edge of the window and waved at me. “Matilda, did you get him?”
“I’m going right now.”
I flew up over the mantel and hovered for a moment above the shelf. From my position, the mantel looked like a U. The legs, that usually framed the fire box, extended away from me and I saw them in a different light. Upside down the curves and carvings looked more beautiful and refined. I’d never truly appreciated the mantel’s beauty before. Whipplethorn Manor was always bathed in dusty darkness and I was used to it that way. The sunshine revealed the magnificent detail of the carvings and the shine of the mahogany to me for the first time. I thought I knew my home, but now I was seeing it for the first time as a stranger might and it was glorious.
I fluttered over to the right leg of the mantel. The sight of the Zamoras’ front door jerked me back to my task. I flew down and landed on part of the pillar on the right leg. The pillar had a curvy section in the middle that resembled a bunch of long columns meshed together. The door was hidden among the pillar’s many lines and bumps. I’d rarely used that particular door when I visited Grandma Vi. She was usually in her sitting room at the top of the mantel near the shelf, so she could get the most sunlight.
I felt around the door until I found the carved button that unlocked it. I pushed and heard a faint click, and then wedged my fingers under the edge. I pulled, but I couldn’t budge it. I imagined Ezekiel’s cries and my heart rate rose with every imagined shriek.
“I’m coming!” I yelled through the door, knowing he probably couldn’t hear me. And even if he could, it wouldn’t make him stop crying.
I flew back up into the air and looked for a window on the side that might be open. I found it near the bottom. One of the windows for a storage room lay cracked open. I wedged myself through the opening. But as soon as I did, I found myself in completely unfamiliar surroundings. In Grandma Vi’s time the storeroom was filled with plants and medicines. Now it contained musical instruments of every conceivable type and most of them were smashed to bits. The door to the hall was still recognizable and I picked my way across the room over broken cellos and punctured drums to the door in the floor. I stomped on the door and it flew open. Ezekiel’s screams rushed into the storeroom, although to me they were more like frantic whispers.
I dropped to my knees and peered over the edge of the door into the hall. “Ezekiel! Ezekiel!”
The screaming paused and started again slightly louder than before. Ezekiel wasn’t very old, just over a year. Like all wood fairies, he could comprehend langua
ge at birth, but wouldn’t be able to speak until he was two or three years old.
“I’m coming!” I yelled into the darkness. The Zamoras’ side of the mantel was darker than ours. Barely a sliver of light found its way in. I kept looking into the dark, hoping I’d be able to make out more than just dim shapes, but nothing became clearer. It stayed dark. I would have to drop into the darkness and hope for the best. Unless I did the one thing wood fairies weren’t supposed to be able to do. It didn’t seem fair that the one magical gift I had was the one that would make my mother cry.
I could make fire. Not a good thing if you live in wood, plus kindling was notoriously hard to control. My dad always said kindlers couldn’t be trusted, so I’d hidden my so-called gift since I was eight. I’d been on the verge of telling Grandma Vi when she died. She was the one person I knew wouldn’t mind.
I leaned down into the darkness and tried once more see Ezekiel, but it was no use. I had to do it or I might break my legs and that wouldn’t help anyone. Besides, the baby wouldn’t be able to tell on me for at least a year and by then I’d have figured out a way to break it to Mom and Dad.
I put my hand into the darkness, ignoring Ezekiel’s screams, and concentrated on my palm. I’d practiced some, but since the idea of burning down the mantel terrified me, I didn’t have much experience. I took a deep breath and blew onto my palm. For a second, nothing happened and then a tiny blue flame ignited right in the center. I blew again and it grew, flickering and flirty, tickling my hand and making me grin. The flame grew to the size of a large ball, sending its light around the corners of the hallway.
“I did it!” I cried.
Ezekiel’s screaming got even louder than before and I imagined his little throat was raw and burning by now. I lay down on my stomach with my chest balanced on the door frame and my lighted hand extended down into the hall. Shattered remnants of pictures and a hall table littered the wall that now served as a floor. I saw no sign of Ezekiel, though his screams were slightly more clear.
“Mrs. Zamora! Mrs. Zamora!” I yelled.
There was no answer, not even a tiny whispery one. Seeing the way was clear for me to jump, I closed my fist and extinguished the blue flame in my palm. As the hall went black, Ezekiel’s screaming began to have a keening quality, like he was beginning to despair. I felt the weight of his fear and loneliness in my chest. Then he stopped crying and that was worse.
“I’m coming, baby,” I called, but he didn’t start crying again. Maybe he didn’t believe me. Maybe he thought I would go and leave him like his parents, but I wouldn’t. I would never do that.
I grabbed onto the door frame, swung over the edge, and dropped into the darkness, landing painfully on my knees. The hall seemed darker now that I was down in it. Without Ezekiel’s voice to guide me, it was heavy and oppressive, like being covered in a thick blanket and not being able to get out from under it. I held out my hand and blew on my palm. The flame appeared quicker and brighter than before. It sent wavy shadows around the hall and I almost wished I hadn’t made it. The shadows were rather creepy. I reminded myself that light was necessary to find Ezekiel and I got to my feet. I wished I could hear Iris and Gerald next door. If my ears had been normal, I would’ve had their voices to comfort me. But my ears were practically useless. I couldn’t even hear Ezekiel breathing, which would’ve been a comfort, too.
“Ezekiel. Ezekiel,” I called. “Where are you?”
I picked my way through the darkness, avoiding furniture and broken glass until I came to an open door. I stuck my hand down through the doorway and saw him. Ezekiel was against the opposite wall, pinned underneath the remains of his crib. His black hair curled down low over his forehead, nearly covering his brown eyes which usually matched his skin. But now he looked pale to me and a bit grayish. When he saw me, he took his fat fist out of his mouth and held it out to me.
“I found you,” I said. The baby blinked and started squalling again. “All right. All right. I’m coming.”
I put out the flame, which made Ezekiel squall louder, and dropped into the room next to him. I relit the flame and touched his face with my other hand.
“Quiet down. You’re hurting my ears and they don’t work so well in the first place.”
Ezekiel stuck his fist back in his mouth and began making sucking noises. His big eyes kept going back and forth between the flame and my face. He knew what I was. There was no mistaking it. I ran my free hand over him. He appeared to be all right, despite having a crib on top of him. I lifted the railing and braced it with my hip, and then held the fire far out away from the baby and slid him out from under the crib by his foot. Then I got down on my painful knees, pulled him onto my hip, and struggled to my feet.
“You’re not going to tell anyone about me, are you?” I asked.
He looked me in the eyes and gave me a slow blink. I’m pretty sure that meant he agreed not to rat me out.
“Okay. We have to get out of here,” I said to the baby. He looked back at me with wide brown eyes and sucked harder on his fist.
I picked my way across the ruined nursery to a window. It was shut tight and there was a smear of blood on the frame. It must’ve been from Mrs. Zamora, since Easy wasn’t bleeding. I rammed the window with my shoulder, but it didn’t budge.
“Great,” I said. “It can’t ever be easy.”
What should I do? Put down the baby or put out the light? Neither seemed a good option. The wall began to shake beneath us. A little bit of dust fell onto my face from a shelf still attached to the wall above my head and made me sneeze. Ezekiel sneezed, too, as the wall shook harder.
“Oh, no. What now?” I put Ezekiel down and extinguished my light. I rammed my palms against the window as the wall jumped and I fell on my knees. Ezekiel began shrieking again, but I couldn’t stop to tend him. My hands felt their way up the wall and fumbled for the lock. I found it and felt a click. “Come on. Come on.” I pushed against the window and it gave a bit. The light made me blink. Then the mantel shifted again and threw me against the wall. I picked up the baby and looked out the window. A human’s hand was resting on the side of the truck and he was probably talking. Oh, to have normal ears. I clutched Ezekiel tight to my chest and stuck my leg out the window. My toe touched another cream-colored wheel well and I pulled us both out of the window.
Across the bed of the truck were a couple of red-faced humans coming towards the truck with a load of crown molding in their hands. I gasped when I saw it and I’m not a big gasper. My friends Sadie and Ursula lived in the crown molding. It looked like all of Whipplethorn was being torn apart. My only consolation was that Sadie and Ursula weren’t home. They were out berry-picking with their parents. I pushed the thought of them out of my mind and spread my wings. I tried to take off, but Ezekiel’s weight was too much for my aching wings. The humans went around to the back of the truck and placed the molding in behind the mantel with a lot of other moldings that hadn’t been there before.
“Let’s go,” one said. “This is enough for one trip.”
“Yeah, I’ll drive,” replied the other.
Drive, I thought. Then I slapped my forehead. Trucks were for going places. The humans were taking the mantel away from Whipplethorn. I jumped for the mantel and managed to pull myself and Ezekiel up onto the top. I ran across the face of the mantel toward the storeroom as the humans slammed the truck doors and the machine rumbled to life.
“Iris,” I screamed. “Get out! Get out!”
I didn’t know if Iris heard me or how she would get out if she did. I only knew she had to escape, or we’d be taken away, away from Whipplethorn and everything we knew.
CHAPTER 3
I leapt off the side of the mantel onto the wheel well. The truck lurched forward and I fell, clutching Ezekiel to my chest. I threw my arm out and my fingers caught a brace on the side of the truck bed. As I held on, I saw the storeroom window cover shaking. Iris must’ve been ramming herself against the wood. I couldn’t imagine Gerald d
oing any such thing. I crawled across the wheel well to the window to see my sister’s terrified face peeking around the edge.
“Get out!” I shouted.
“I can’t!” Iris shouted back.
“Get one of Daddy’s axes!”
“I couldn’t find one!” Iris rammed herself against the cover again.
The truck picked up speed and the wind blew Ezekiel and me a couple of inches away from the storeroom window. The truck went over a bump and we hung in the air for a moment. A gust came and blew us farther away.
Iris stuck her hand through the opening in the window. “Come back in,” she yelled.
I fought the rising wind as I scampered across the wheel well. Another gust and we’d be gone. Iris couldn’t get out, so I had no choice but to go back in. I made it to the window and grabbed Iris’s hand. I pulled myself close to the opening and used my body to thrust Ezekiel through.
“Take him!” I yelled.
Iris let go of my hand and took the baby. I tried to get a grip on the window frame, but a gust came and swept me away. I tumbled through the air, bits of dust and debris buffeting me, getting in my eyes and scratching my skin. I shut my eyes tight until I hit something with my hip. The sharp pain made me open my eyes and I saw the truck gate speeding toward me. I spread my wings and managed to miss it. Then I was out of the truck, behind it, in a swirl of choking dust.
“Iris!” I yelled, gagging on the dirt that coated my mouth.
I beat my wings to fight the air currents and steady myself. Then I flew straight up, out of the truck’s wake and into the calm air above. I flew, extending and beating my wings hard to keep up. The truck surged ahead, but I managed to match it. I may not have had good hearing, but there was nothing wrong with my wings. It almost felt good up there in the bright sunlight, stretching my wings to their full potential. I rarely got to fly fast. There was usually no call for it, and Mom disapproved. She feared I’d sprain my wings, even though Grandma Vi pointed out numerous times that sprains were rare and didn’t amount to much when they did happen. I did feel a pain across my shoulders, but it was a good kind of pain. It made me feel strong, like I could do anything.