“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” said Izzy.
“Miss Madrone asked me if our family read the camp handbook.” Hen shifted her backpack straps and looked over her shoulder. “You don’t think she’s going to search our bunks, do you? Like, for counter bands?”
“Contraband,” corrected Izzy. She raised one eyebrow at her sister. “Why? What are you hiding?”
“What, me? Nothing.” Hen scratched a streak of ash off her nose and held out the package. “Here, Mom and Dad sent this to us. Half’s for you. They said they got your letter.”
Izzy took the package and looked inside. It was a plastic bag of double-chocolate sandwich cookies, way beyond half-eaten. “But I didn’t send them a letter.”
Hen shrugged. “Whatever you did, do it again so they’ll send more snacks.”
Izzy slid the letter out of the box before handing it back to Hen. “You can have the rest of the cookies. But you better eat them in the dining hall, or Miss Madrone will have a fit.”
Hen skipped off across the grass with the box tucked under her arm.
Izzy sniffed the letter from her parents, hoping to catch the scent of her mother’s perfume, but the paper just smelled like chocolate cookies. The letter said Bangkok was wonderful, the resort was gorgeous, and they’d bring the girls presents from the markets. They said they were so glad to get Izzy’s letter and hear what a fantastic time she was having at camp, and they were happy that she was making friends. Izzy hadn’t written them any such thing.
She crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it in the trash can. “Now who’s the crazy one?”
• • •
Back in her cabin, Izzy locked herself in the bathroom. She heard the bugle call for dinner, followed by the laughter and chatter of girls as they passed her cabin on their way back from the lake. She heard one of them say, “Can you believe she did that?” And another: “No kidding. She’s crazy!” The others broke into peals of laughter.
Izzy knew who they were talking about. She grimaced at her reflection in the rust-edged mirror. Maybe she was going crazy. But if the alternative was that there actually were Unglers in the forest, then Izzy would rather be crazy.
Tennis shoes thudded up the porch steps and into the cabin. The bathroom doorknob rattled, making Izzy jump back from the sink.
“Hey, who’s in there? I need to get ready for dinner!” It was Larissa. “Quit hogging the bathroom!”
If Izzy could have Changed, she would have turned into a blackbird and flown away. Maybe if she flew far or fast enough, she could zip right out of this stupid world and into another one.
The door rattled again. Izzy looked into the mirror and narrowed her eyes at her reflection. Just because she couldn’t Change didn’t mean she was completely out of tricks.
It was a big risk for Izzy to use any of her powers in front of people. If anyone caught her, there would be questions she couldn’t answer without sounding even more crazy. But Izzy knew she could pull this trick off. And Larissa had it coming.
The bathroom door jerked open, and Larissa staggered backward.
“Oh, Miss—Miss Madrone!” Larissa stammered. “I didn’t know you were in there!”
Miss Madrone scowled down at Larissa.
Of course, it wasn’t Miss Madrone at all. It was Izzy, doing a dead-on Likeness of the camp director. A Likeness was different from a true Change. Compared with Changing, it was a thin and temporary disguise, like pulling on a mask. But for some reason, even though Izzy couldn’t Change, she could do a Likeness with the best of them.
The Likeness of Miss Madrone whipped out a pad of paper and a stubby golf pencil from one of her vest pockets. “Larissa, your rudeness has earned your cabin five demerits.”
The other girls groaned.
Larissa gaped in shock. She’d probably never gotten a demerit in her life. “But, Miss Madrone, that’s not fair!”
Izzy pointed the golf pencil straight at Larissa’s nose. “Talking back, are we? Now you’ve got cafeteria cleanup duty, young lady.”
Larissa’s lip quivered. “But it’s sloppy joes tonight,” she whimpered.
Izzy nearly started laughing, which would have been a disaster. You had to concentrate to hold on to a Likeness. Breaking into giggles was one sure way to lose it.
She straightened her spine and jammed the pencil back into her pocket. “I don’t want to hear one word about it, or you’ll have it tomorrow too. Now you girls get on down to the dining hall. Double time! Hi-ho, hi-ho!”
She clapped her hands, and all the girls fled the cabin, running across the field to the dining hall.
Izzy shut herself back in the bathroom. She slid down the door and fell into giggles, while the Likeness of Miss Madrone faded away.
If only the Changelings could be there to share in her triumph. Selden would especially enjoy seeing Larissa get what she deserved. Izzy stood up and leaned over the sink. The reflection in the mirror was her own again: round-eared, human-looking Izzy. Hadn’t Alice found a way back to Wonderland by going through the looking glass? Izzy poked a finger at the cheap mirror. It didn’t budge. She leaned her elbows on the counter and let her forehead thump against the glass.
She was a fairy who couldn’t find her way back to Faerie.
She was a Changeling who couldn’t Change.
In every way that mattered, Izzy was Stuck.
3
Collecting Species
Larissa crunched the straight pin into the beetle’s iridescent shell. Pale yellow liquid oozed out of its back onto the foam collection board.
Izzy turned away so she didn’t have to watch the beetle’s legs pedal helplessly. “Do we really have to do this?”
Larissa finished pressing the pin into the board and reached into her collection jar for another specimen. “Why did I have to get teamed up with the one girl in our cabin who’s afraid of bugs?” she grumbled.
“I’m not afraid of bugs,” said Izzy. “I just don’t like skewering them alive. It seems cruel. Besides, should we be doing this? I mean, what if we accidentally kill an endangered species or something?”
Larissa rolled her eyes so hard that it made her lids twitch. “There are hundreds of species of beetles in Tennessee. They’re the most common insect in the world, which is why I picked them for this nature collection project. It was supposed to be easy, but I didn’t think I’d have to do everything by myself.”
“Fine, I’ll go look,” said Izzy, standing up and brushing off her knees. “But I’m bringing back one that’s already dead.”
“Oh sure,” said Larissa sweetly. “You’ll find lots if you look under fallen logs. Of course, you’ll have to go into the woods for that.” She pushed the tip of her nose up with her finger and snorted.
Izzy pretended not to hear. She’d tried to forget all about the pig incident. It would have been easier if it hadn’t been the one thing all the campers kept talking about. That afternoon at lunch, Larissa had held up her ham sandwich and shrieked, “It’s after me, it’s after me!” Everyone got a good laugh at that one.
“I’ll be back,” said Izzy. “With beetles.”
She crossed the grassy field in front of their cabin, past the girls swishing rackets on the tennis courts, and up to the trailhead that led into the woods. Knowing Larissa was watching her, Izzy strode casually onto the trail. But once she reached the shade of the forest, she paused.
The air smelled different today, greener and sweet. And the woods were quieter than she remembered.
Izzy’s heartbeat started to speed up. If she really had seen Unglers yesterday, then the counselors would find her half-chewed corpse on the trail, and at least everyone would know she had been telling the truth. But if Izzy really had just imagined them, then she needed to get over it. She couldn’t spend the rest of the summer being the butt of Larissa’s pig jokes.
&
nbsp; Izzy squared her shoulders and kept walking. She’d only gone a few yards into the forest when she heard the thwack of a ball against a tennis racket behind her. Someone on the courts shouted, “Aw, shoot!”
A lime-green tennis ball bounced over Izzy’s shoulder and rolled to a stop a few feet ahead of her.
Izzy exhaled. She was saved. Those girls needed their ball. She could go back out to the safety of the sunshine—not because she was afraid but because she was being helpful.
“I’ll get it!” she called over her shoulder.
Izzy walked up to the ball. She must have accidentally flicked it when she bent to pick it up, because it rolled off the trail and came to a stop against the trunk of an oak tree.
She followed the ball. As she tried to grab it again, it rolled out of reach and wound around the other side of the trunk. Izzy stared at the ball, then looked into the trees, listening for any sound of snorting. But all she heard was Larissa yelling for her to hurry up.
Izzy lunged forward and swooped for the ball. Just as her fingers grazed the neon fuzz, the ball hopped over a tree root and rolled deeper into the woods.
She held her breath. This time, she did hear something, but it wasn’t snuffling or snorting. At first, she thought it was a bird call. When she recognized what it was, her heart started fluttering like a moth caught in a jar.
It was the quick, cheerful notes of a flute.
Izzy squeezed her fingers into her palms and made the same wish she’d wished for nine solid months. Then she ran after the ball. It rolled and skipped over the undergrowth, always just out of her reach. The flute played on, faster and faster. No longer afraid, she laughed as it led her farther from the trail, farther from Camp Kitterpines. Izzy knew this flute.
The same instrument had been playing the day Hen was taken into Faerie, but it had played a different melody then. This time, the flute played a happy tune to match the soaring feeling filling Izzy’s chest.
The tennis ball rocked to a stop in a fluffy patch of ferns. A slender man with raven hair and long, pointed ears stood in the patch of sunshine. He lowered the flute from his lips and nodded politely.
“Hello, Izzy.”
Izzy rushed up to him but stopped just short of hugging him.
The Pied Piper was not one for hugs.
4
The Road Back
Izzy once looked up the word pied in the dictionary. She had laughed when she read that it meant “multicolored” or “patchwork.” The Piper—or Good Peter, as she and the Changelings called him—wouldn’t be caught dead in a patchwork suit.
Peter had always reminded Izzy of a classy actor from the old black-and-white movies her mom loved to watch: never a hair out of place, always ready with something witty to say. Today, he wore a perfectly tailored silk jacket the color of a ripe blackberry.
“Peter, what are you doing here?” blurted Izzy.
Peter tucked his flute into his jacket pocket. “You are always shouting questions at me. Don’t I even get a ‘good afternoon’ first?”
“I’m sorry,” said Izzy. “It’s just that I—well, I can’t believe you’re really here!”
Peter showed Izzy a flat stone he held in his palm. It was one of the rocks she and Hen had used to make their towers the day before. “I saw your message.”
“But we’ve been leaving those towers all around my house for months. I was sure you’d find us there, not here in the middle of nowhere, USA.”
Peter tossed the rock over his shoulder. “On the contrary, there are quite a few very ancient fairy roads that run through these woods. If I remember correctly, the Crockett homestead is just a mile north of here.” Peter sighed. “Those were the days. Humans were so preoccupied with surviving the winter and not getting eaten by wild animals. I could snap up their children and swap them for Changelings with hardly any effort at all.”
“Hold on,” said Izzy. “Are you saying Davy Crockett was really a Changeling?”
Peter looked at her like she’d asked if the Earth was round. “He killed a bear when he was only three, didn’t he? What did you think he was?”
He had a point. Izzy wondered what other famous people from her history books were really Changelings, switched at birth by the Piper. But she put that thought aside. She had more important questions.
“Please tell me you’ve finally, finally come to take us back to Faerie for a visit!”
Peter smiled. “That is precisely my errand.”
Izzy felt like her little sister, bouncing on her toes. “You’ve got no idea how badly I wanted to hear that!” She stopped, reality rooting her back to the ground. “But wait—what are we going to tell the camp counselors?”
“I’ve already begun all the arrangements.” Peter took one step to the side. “Meet my colleague, Mr. Smudge.”
Izzy hadn’t realized they weren’t alone. A small man no higher than her waist with his hair drawn back in a ponytail bowed to her.
“Good afternoon, miss,” he said in a crisp, professional tone.
“Oh, good afternoon,” said Izzy, bowing in return.
“Smudge, you have all the documents in order, I presume?” Peter asked him.
Smudge held up a packet of envelopes in his ink-stained fingers. “I have prepared all the necessary papers as you requested.”
Peter took the packet from Smudge and slid out one of the envelopes. He handed it to Izzy. She took out the sheet of paper inside and read it to herself.
It was a letter from her parents addressed to Miss Madrone saying that they were pulling Izzy out of camp immediately so she could attend psychological therapy for her intense fear of pigs. Her parents had both signed it, and there was an accompanying note from her pediatrician back in Everton.
Izzy flipped the paper over in wonder. “But how did you get Mom and Dad to write this?”
Peter took the letter from Izzy and handed it back to his colleague. “Smudge here is a Scriber, an elf trained in the high art of forgery. We had to raid your house for a writing sample, but the rest was easy.”
Izzy looked down at Smudge. “You’ve already been sending them letters from us, haven’t you?”
Smudge smiled proudly and handed Izzy a different packet of envelopes.
These were all addressed to her parents at their resort: half from Izzy, half from Hen. They were perfectly written in each girl’s handwriting, detailing how much fun they were having at camp and all the wonderful friends they were making. The elf had even smeared some peanut butter on a few of Hen’s letters.
“Nice touch,” said Izzy, handing the packet back to Smudge.
Peter looked down at the letters and chuckled. “You know, this postal service of yours really is extraordinary. You put a little stamp on anything, and you can send it anywhere in the world. It’s actually quite magical if you think about it.” He adjusted his jacket cuffs and cleared his throat. “Now, Smudge will stay behind to remove your things from your cabin. Over the next few weeks, he’ll post these letters and intercept any real correspondence from your parents so there is no confusion.” Peter tapped the panel of his jacket, where he’d stored his flute. “I’ve taken care of the Madrone woman and her junior counselors. We shouldn’t have any problems with them doubting any part of our plan.”
On Earth, Peter’s flute could play some useful tricks on the minds of humans. He had a certain song he played for human families whose babies he switched with Changelings. It helped keep them from being so suspicious of the little strangers in their cribs. It was also how he’d managed to deal with Izzy’s parents when she and Hen returned from Faerie after being gone for a week. Their mom and dad had never asked a single question.
Izzy couldn’t stop the giant smile from spreading across her face. “This is amazing! I can’t believe you’re here and we’re actually about to go back to Faerie. If you wait here, I’ll go find
Hen. It might take me a minute, because I think she’s all the way on the archery field…”
Peter held her back by the arm. “I’m afraid there isn’t time. We have to leave right away.”
Peter’s face was composed as it always was, but underneath, Izzy caught the slightest ruffle of anxiety.
“Right now? But not without Hen. I can’t leave her behind.”
Peter tugged down on the hem of his jacket. “We’ll arrange a trip for your sister another time, I promise. Besides, she’s having a good time at camp, isn’t she? Don’t spoil it for her.”
Izzy frowned and looked over her shoulder. True, Hen loved camp, but she would love sitting in an empty warehouse as long as she got to eat sloppy joes every night. Izzy knew her little sister would be devastated if she ever found out that Izzy had gone to Faerie without her.
Peter had already turned and started walking deeper into the woods. “I’m in a hurry to get back,” he called over his shoulder. “If you want to come at all, you’ve got to come now.”
“Go on, miss,” said Smudge with a short nod in Peter’s direction. “I’ll take care of the logistics, and no one will ever be the wiser.”
Izzy felt pulled both ways. But she’d been waiting for this chance too long to let it slip past her now. Before she ran to follow Peter, she turned back to Smudge.
“If you can figure out a way to send Hen more cookies from our parents, that would be really nice of you.”
Smudge winked. “Good as done.” He tucked the envelopes under his shirt and trotted in the other direction, toward camp.
Izzy raced after Peter. “Wait for me, I’m coming!”
Peter paused to let her catch up to him before continuing on. Izzy struggled to match his pace. He wove through the trees, somehow not once snagging his nice clothes on any briars. He led Izzy on a twisting route, clearly knowing where he was going even though Izzy couldn’t see any symbols marking their path.
“You told Hen and me not to go looking for a way back,” said Izzy. “But we tried anyway.”
In a Dark Land Page 2