On cue, Dree coughed into her hands, and Selden wiped his nose against his shoulder.
Izzy flared one nostril in disgust. “The last thing we need is disease spreading throughout the castle. We’ll be gone one hour. Do not leave this post or speak to anyone until we have returned.”
“Yes, sir!” The Watch stepped aside so Izzy could pass. As Selden walked out, he hacked up a wad of phlegm and rolled it around on his tongue. The guards gave him extra room.
The three crossed the street and rounded the corner. When they were sure no one could see them, they ducked into an alley between two shops. Exhaling, Izzy dropped Peter’s Likeness.
“That was perfect!” said Dree, squeezing Izzy’s shoulder. “Now let’s get moving. We’ve got to make the most of this hour of freedom.”
The city of Avhalon was decked out in full festival mode for the Summer Solstice. The Avhalonians might not have paid much attention to whether their houses were structurally sound, but they took their parties very seriously. Lanterns and pennants hung crisscrossed between the rickety buildings lining the streets. Wildflower bouquets decorated every windowsill. They passed a team of pixies laying a thick carpet of rose petals on top of the sidewalk pavers.
The three rounded a corner and came to one of the few brick structures Izzy had seen in the city. Most of Avhalon’s buildings were wood, but this one had been built of white bricks, all irregular shapes and sizes. A hand-painted sign over the front read, Libraria et Artifactus Museum du Earth.
“Earth?” asked Izzy.
Selden shook his head. “Just wait.”
They pushed open the door and walked inside. If Izzy had been blindfolded, she would still have known where she was. The air smelled like crackled paper, leather, and old glue. It smelled like books.
Izzy’s family had moved around almost once a year before finally settling in Tennessee. In every town she’d ever lived in, the first place she made sure to find was the library. And now here she was in a library in Faerie.
The library was a two-story building with books lining the walls on each level, floor to ceiling. A skylight illuminated an atrium open in the center. In the middle of the atrium was a very solid-looking circulation desk, and behind the desk, wearing a tweed vest and a beret tilted awkwardly between its horns, stood a goat.
The goat looked up at them as they approached. He adjusted the reading glasses that wrapped around his narrow face. “Good afternoon,” he said regally. “Welcome to the Earth Library and Artifact Museum. I am the head librarian, Dr. Nettle. Are you members?”
“Remember me?” asked Dree, stepping forward. “I’m not a member, but I do come in a lot.”
“Ah yes!” said the goat with a bleating laugh. “Hello again, dear girl. We get so many visitors here, but you will find that I never forget a face.”
Izzy looked around the dusty, empty building. The library didn’t give off the impression of having many visitors at all. Dr. Nettle pulled a pocket watch out of his vest and shook it back and forth like he was rattling a cup of dice. The sproingy sound of a busted spring rang out from the contraption.
“Let me see,” said the goat. “Ah yes, you’re just in time for our noon program.”
Izzy looked at Selden, confused. It was long past noon.
Selden tapped a finger near his temple as if to say, Warned you. This guy is nuts.
“Today’s lecture is about the history of washcloths…” Dr. Nettle began.
A look of terror flashed over Dree’s face. She’d obviously sat through Dr. Nettle’s lectures before. “Not today, please,” she said quickly. “We don’t have that much time. Our friend wants to look at your books.”
Dr. Nettle’s eyes lit up, and his back hooves clopped excitedly on the wooden floor. “Of course, of course. Allow me to orient you to our collection, my dear.”
He came out from behind the desk and sidled up to Izzy, walking carefully on his back legs. He wouldn’t have been especially fat for a goat, but standing up, his belly bulged way out in front of him, and the buttons on his vest threatened to pop off and hit Izzy in the nose.
“We have the greatest collection of Earth-bound books in all of Faerie,” said Dr. Nettle proudly.
“Earth-bound?”
“Oh yes,” said Dr. Nettle. “Everything in our library was written on Earth.”
Izzy frowned. “Oh. I thought there would be fairy books here.”
Dr. Nettle laughed, wheezing. “Oh my goodness, no! Most fairies can hardly write their own names. If we had a library dedicated to fairy books, it could fit inside a closet.”
He waved Izzy over to a section marked Classics. The shelves were crammed with cookbooks, old handwriting textbooks that looked like they were about to crumble to dust, and a set of encyclopedias made entirely of J volumes. Not everything looked ancient. There were car owner’s manuals and Taiwanese shipping logs. One set of shelves was filled with phone books from San Antonio, Texas.
“Wow, this is really some collection,” said Izzy.
“It’s taken decades to curate,” said the goat proudly. He picked up one of the J encyclopedias and flipped through the pages clumsily with his left hoof. “This one,” he said with a sigh. “A masterpiece.”
When he leaned down to replace it on the shelf, Izzy noticed it was upside down. She wondered if the head librarian even knew how to read the books in his collection.
“We haven’t had a new addition to the library in quite some time,” said Dr. Nettle. “You wouldn’t believe some of the ridiculous books that used to come through here. I have had to go through and cull quite a few unworthy ones.” He stifled a burp. “I do keep a few more frivolous items around, just for posterity.”
“Those are the ones Dree reads,” whispered Selden loudly.
A short bookshelf in a neglected back corner of the library was dedicated to fiction. Izzy recognized a couple of titles: a copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Winnie-the-Pooh. Some of the older books had been written in other languages Izzy couldn’t read. A very thick copy of War and Peace had a suspicious chunk missing in the shape of a bite mark.
Dree slid out a book called Wuthering Heights. The author had the same last name as the one who wrote the novel Dree kept next to her bed back in the castle.
“This one’s really good too,” she whispered to Izzy. “I come in and switch them out, and old Nettle never notices.”
“I heard you have a copy of The Book of the Bretabairn,” said Izzy. She had scanned over all the books and hadn’t spotted it yet.
“There is only one copy in existence, and yes, we have it,” said Dr. Nettle, lifting his chest. “We have a small collection of books written by humans while they were visiting here in Faerie.” He waved his fore hoof toward a stack on the upper level. “Peruse as long as you wish, my girl, but remember that we only lend materials to members.”
“How do you become a member?” asked Izzy as she climbed the stairs.
“Oh, it’s quite a simple process,” said Dr. Nettle. “You just need to fill out a short application…” He held up a scroll of paper that unfurled to his hooves and rolled across the floor.
“Now you know why I just take the books,” whispered Dree. “That application is complete gibberish.”
At the top of the stairs, a narrow bookcase sagged in the corner. Izzy immediately spotted The Book of the Bretabairn on the bottom shelf.
It looked different from every other book in the library. A curly gold letter B had been embossed on the spine. The cover was made from thick black leather, shiny around the edges where readers had polished it smooth with the oil from their fingertips. Dr. Nettle said it had been written by a human, but to Izzy, it gave off a very fairy feeling, a feeling of magic. She slid it carefully off the shelf and laid it on a nearby reading desk.
Izzy ran her hand over the cover, where the symbol of two cla
sped hands had been burned into the leather and painted gold. Her fingertips tingled like the book held an electric charge. “A human really wrote this?” she whispered.
Dree leaned over Izzy’s shoulder and opened the cover. She pointed to the title page.
The Book of the Bretabairn
Writ by Ida Green
“We think she was related to Master Green,” said Selden.
Selden had told Izzy the story of Master Green before. According to legend, a thousand years ago, Faerie and Earth were one. Master Green and the fairy king, Revelrun, had worked together to split the two worlds apart. At the time, they envisioned fairies and humans traveling frequently back and forth between the two worlds. But instead, Earth and Faerie became more and more separate. Peter started the Exchange to make sure the worlds weren’t severed completely.
“This is amazing,” Izzy whispered, afraid her breath might blow the brittle pages away. “How old did you say this book was?”
“Old,” said Selden, pulling a chair up beside her.
“Five hundred years old,” added Dree. She sat cross-legged on the floor beside them and started reading Wuthering Heights.
Izzy turned to the first page. Ida Green had the most perfect handwriting she’d ever seen, all loops and flourishes. The first poem was an introduction and didn’t belong to one Changeling in particular.
Wee Bretabairn, born in the caul,
Child of none, mime of all.
With dimpled cheeks and fine white teeth,
Mother won’t guess what hides beneath.
Father, too, will never know
His babe’s a fey in man-child clothes.
“This book is so thick,” said Izzy, running her finger down the spine. “If there’s a poem on every page, then there must be hundreds of poems in here. But there are only eighteen Changelings. How do you know when you find yours?”
“You just know,” said Selden. He leaned over and turned past a few pages. “I think Lug’s is one of the first ones. Let’s see… It would have helped if old Ida could’ve drawn some pictures.”
Izzy gasped. “Here it is!”
She wouldn’t have known it was Lug’s poem from the title. In fact, the titles didn’t seem to have anything to do with the actual verses. But Izzy recognized it from the last line, which Lug had recited for her once before. She read it aloud:
Ox, badger, ram, and bear,
No trace of malice dwelling there.
A nose for growing, living things,
An eye for what the kind deed brings,
Arms to gather what has come apart,
And a stout body for a strong heart.
Izzy shook her head in amazement. “Gosh, that is Lug, up and down. I don’t understand how a woman who lived five hundred years ago could write something that fits him so perfectly.”
Selden, who rarely admitted to being impressed—especially not by something done by humans—scratched the back of his neck and smiled. “Somehow, each of us has a poem that fits. I’ve never figured out if the poems were written to match us or if we grow up to match the poems. Either way, it’s pretty wild.”
Izzy looked at Selden. “So? Where’s yours?”
He flushed and pressed his hair flat with his palm. “We’re here to find your poem, not mine.”
“Oh, come on. Please?”
“All right,” he said. “It’s near the back.”
They gently turned the pages until Selden found it. Izzy read it silently to herself.
Enemies, shield your throats,
From wolf, leopard, stag, stoat.
Strongest, bravest, when wounded deep,
From the battle you cannot keep
Him from charging in, flag unfurled,
Baring sharp points against the world.
“What do you think?” Selden asked softly. “Sound like me?”
Izzy watched him as he twisted one section of his hair around and around his finger. Dree had once told her Selden’s story. He had wanted to be Exchanged so badly that he’d skipped his turn in line to do it. But once he got to Earth, his human family gave him up for adoption. Selden was tougher than any kid Izzy had ever met. But now she wondered what wounds he was hiding underneath all that armor.
Izzy smiled at him. “Yeah. I think it does sound like you.”
The tingling in Izzy’s fingertips spread up and down her arms. This book was magic, pure and simple. And she was a part of it. Somewhere in this book, she would find herself.
Izzy went back to the beginning and began flipping through each page. She found Dree’s poem and one for Hale, Olligan, and Chervil. The one with the line Heavy footed but light in the air had to be Hiron’s.
The poems called out what was special about each Changeling. It was incredible how their true selves, the essence of who they were, could be boiled down into just six lines. Izzy flipped faster through the book, the anticipation of finding her own poem growing with every page turn.
But when she reached the end, she still hadn’t found one that suited her or described the creatures she could Change into. Izzy started all over again from the beginning, reading more carefully this time. There must have been something she missed.
She was halfway through her second reading when Dr. Nettle clomped heavily up the stairs wagging his broken pocket watch. “Children, I am afraid it’s almost six o’clock, and the library is closing for the day.”
Izzy looked at the bright afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. It was nowhere near six. “Please, can we have just a little more time?”
“We’ve got to get back anyway,” said Dree. “We told Lug we’d only be gone an hour.”
“You may come again tomorrow,” said Dr. Nettle. “We open promptly at nine.”
Reluctantly, Izzy closed the heavy book and set it back on the shelf. When Dr. Nettle turned around, Dree hid Wuthering Heights in a fold of her dress. Izzy was tempted to do the same with The Book of the Bretabairn, but it was too big and heavy to hide.
Dr. Nettle led them out through the empty building and to the front stoop. “Do come again,” he said, holding the door for them as they stepped out into the blinding sunlight. “But be warned that you should plan to arrive at least an hour early so as to avoid the long lines.” The door shut behind them.
As they wound their way back to the castle, Izzy looked over her shoulder. “The Book of the Bretabairn doesn’t seem like it belongs there with all those old car manuals and phone books. Shouldn’t it be somewhere safe?”
“Are you joking?” asked Selden, back to his superior self. “I can’t think of a safer place in Faerie than that library. No one in their right mind goes there. Ever.”
Dree brought out her novel. “I’d go more often if Nettle would get a new book more than once a century.”
Izzy followed behind them, only half listening to them argue about Dree’s romance stories. Her fingertips buzzed as if she still held The Book of the Bretabairn in her hands. Izzy had felt something in the library. It was like a small light had been switched on inside her. But that one light wasn’t enough. If only she could find her own poem, she was sure it would illuminate everything.
For now, she was still in the dark.
9
Still a Fox
Back inside the castle, they went to find Lug. On the way, they were nearly bowled over by children carrying armfuls of craft supplies.
“We’re getting ready for the Solstice Celebration,” explained Park.
Rusk wiggled beside him, trying to shimmy out of the twine wrapped around his torso. “Tonight’s the Gathering of Masks in the city center. Park and I are going to be gorgons.” He held a pair of long stockings up over his head and waggled them. “These are our snakes.”
“What’s the Gathering of Masks?” asked Izzy.
“It’s
a tradition the night before the Solstice,” explained Dree. “Everyone wears masks and capes and stands around the fountain in the center of town. At dawn, you take your mask off, and if you’ve done a good enough job, no one knows who everyone else is.” She picked a dried glob of paste out of Rusk’s hair. “But Peter’s not going to let you go to the Solstice Celebration in a million years. You know that, right?”
Rusk and Park both looked crushed.
“We could have our own little Gathering inside the castle,” said Lug, patting their shoulders. “I always loved the mask making. What do you think, Selden? Should we all make some too?”
“Aw, that’s baby stuff,” said Selden. “Besides, I’ve already got my mask.”
He rubbed his hands over his face, like he was scrubbing it clean, a ritual Izzy was surprised he knew how to do. When he took his hands away, he still looked somewhat like himself but with grayish-green skin and a warty nose that twisted in a long curlicue. He was a Selden goblin.
“I’m gonna get you, Bretabairn!” Tongue lolling out, Selden chased Yash, Mite, and Mote, who ran squealing gleefully down the hallway.
Izzy went up to her room and sat down on the bed to take off her boots. She couldn’t stop thinking about The Book of the Bretabairn and when she could get back to the library again.
Her fingers still tingled from turning the pages. She could almost smell the leather cover, feel the weight of it in her hands. Reading the poems written for the other Changelings, she had felt something stirring inside her. It was like looking through an old photo album filled with baby pictures, knowing she was too young to actually remember doing those things but having some feeling of memory all the same.
Suddenly, she smelled the sharp vinegary odor of Lug’s feet.
“Lug, it might be time to roll in the rosemary bush again,” she said, turning around. But Lug wasn’t there. She was still alone. Izzy went to the door of her room and stepped out into the hall.
The hallway was empty as well. Izzy could hear the sounds of the Changelings downstairs, busy with their mask making. But she could distinctly smell Lug, like he was waving his toes inches from her face. His scent mingled with the golden, crackling aroma of toasting bread. But the kitchens were three floors down. How could she smell bread toasting all the way up here?
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