by Leah Cutter
“I hate the fairies,” Kostya confided in her.
“But—”
“You go get your brother. While you still can.”
The dwarf tottered off without another word. Nora didn’t understand what game the dwarf played, but she knew he spoke the truth: He hated the fairies. She looked around her room, trying to decide what would help her break her brother free. She was still wearing her Franken-sweater over a T-shirt and shorts, and decided that was good enough. She picked up three of the magnets from the window sill and put them in her pocket. The daisy from her mom’s room was still in her other pocket, slightly squished but recognizable. She took more string as well, though she didn’t have time to tie another bracelet.
Nora had no idea how Kostya planned to distract Mr. Patterson. Though she didn’t trust the dwarf, she believed he’d do this for her. He’d spoken the truth when he said he hated the fairies. She wondered again why he’d encouraged Dale to work with them. What was his real plan?
When Nora checked the side door that opened into the garage, she didn’t see anyone in the front yard. Mr. Patterson’s truck was still parked across the street. Nora hurried away, forcing her way through the dusty tall grass along the side of the road. It was slower, but she hoped she’d be more hidden.
Once Nora made it around the bend in the road, she pushed out of the grass onto the gravel. She listened for any cars, but only heard the cycling cry of the cicadas. Gulls sounded their lonely call from the ocean. Nora jogged up the road. Dust coated her tongue. The sun had burned through all the clouds. She wished she had some water. She could make out more than one path superimposed on the road, thanks to her newfound ability to see everything clearly.
It didn’t take Nora long to reach the abandoned cottage. She could tell, instantly, that the fairies had enspelled the house with magic, dark and real. Red paint bubbled up on the walls, making it looked diseased. Dark spirits lurked behind the blackened windows, watching her and wishing her ill. The gears on the door handle had grown sharp and jagged. The sheets wafting through the air hung like doorways into multiple nightmares.
Nora grit her teeth and made herself walk forward. “Not real,” she told herself. “Just an illusion.”
The knot in the pit of Nora’s stomach felt real, as did the nausea that built with every step as she carefully made her way up the walk, the crunching of her feet echoing too loudly, startling her. She tried twisting the bracelet to see more clearly. It didn’t help. She pushed her hands into her pockets. Touching the daisy cleared her senses and calmed her fear. She pulled it out of her pocket, considering. Feeling silly, she waved it like a magic wand at the building.
The illusion rippled and lessened. It still sent continuous chills down Nora’s spine, but she made it to the door.
Waving the flower didn’t turn the handle or open the door. The edges of the gears now looked like the teeth of a saw. Nora couldn’t touch it without cutting herself. She moved the flower up and down, then side to side, as she stepped closer, but nothing happened until she rubbed the petals against the metal itself. Then the handle turned slowly, but not far enough. She touched the petals, then the stem, to different parts of the handle, even to the flames of the door plate, getting the most movement when she used most of the flower. Finally she laid the daisy all the way on gears, piercing the stem and the flower on the teeth.
The gears began to turn, chewing up the flower as the handle turned and the door opened.
“Thank you,” Nora told the flower, saddened as it dropped to the ground. The door had demanded a sacrifice. She shivered again, looking at the mangled petals. That could have been her hand.
Inside, Nora stepped through the illusion of a solid floor onto squishy carpet. It felt like stepping through shifting leaves. The smell of mold made her eyes water. Illusion blocked the light, making everything look underwater and dark.
Leaves and debris lay scattered on the floor in front of the door. Wrappers, empty cups, and newspapers piled in the corners. Along the right wall between the two windows were heaps of parts, as well as what looked like a few complete machines. Nora could tell at a glance that they’d been built by the fairies: They shared the same smooth lines and extra curls as the machine Dale had worked on.
To the left stood a huge mantel. At one point it had been painted white. Now, a spiderweb of black and green mold covered it. On the ground beside it crouched another machine with many leg-like levers around a central barrel, waiting like an insect for its prey. Nora guessed that pressing the levers in a certain order would open the doorway to the kingdom. She also knew she’d never figure it out; it was a Dale-type puzzle.
Instead, Nora got out the three magnets. Kostya had said all magic worked in threes, and that magnets repelled fairies. She hoped it would repel their magic as well.
First, Nora placed all three magnets on the ground in front of the mantel. The illusion wavered, but it was still solid enough that Nora couldn’t step through it. She tried making a triangle on the ground, but that didn’t work. Then she placed one of the magnets up on the mantel shelf, creating a triangle with the third point in the air. The mantel faded, and Nora saw the stairs behind it. She forced her hand through the wood. It slid across her skin like a cold, dead jellyfish. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself through, being careful not to disturb the magnets. She would need to get out this way, possibly in a hurry if she was successful.
At one point, the staircase spiraling down had been grand. White marble made up the stairs, and the banister was made out of copper. Now, only the center of the stairs was clear of dirt, and dull green covered the banister. Little globs of sickly yellow light lit the sides, glowing like radioactive dandelions.
Nora made her way deeper and deeper underground, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no more tricks, nothing to help her save Dale. She had to do it, though.
When Nora finally reached the bottom, she wasn’t surprised to see that Dale hadn’t seen the true kingdom. The cottages that spread out across the valley were in straight, ordered lines, but they looked like shacks, with holes in the walls and roofs. Fairy lights covered the rock ceiling, glowing with a eerie green glow, not the healthy light of the sun or stars. The palace looked dank and dark, made out of gray rough stone, nothing like what Nora thought a fairy palace should look like. The fountain before her, which she suspected Dale thought flowed with clear water, was filled with dirt, the spouts of the many turtles lining the edges of it broken off.
Muscular fairies with bare chests, carrying swords and spears, flew up to confront Nora before she’d taken more than a few steps away from the archway. One she recognized—he had a red jeweled eye. “Bascom,” Nora said, calling out to him.
Bascom pulled up abruptly, as did the other fairies. They hovered, teeth bared, glaring at her.
“I’ve promised Queen Adele not to harm her kingdom for the day. Now, take me to my brother.”
The warriors buzzed together for a moment before Bascom flew closer to speak to her. “We will take you to the queen.”
“Good,” Nora said. Then she added, “Thank you.”
“You will not thank us later,” Bascom warned before flying off.
Chapter Thirteen
Dale hurried past the fountain, into the palace, through the corridors, and down the stairs to the machine room. He ran his fingers along the curling pipes before he even changed clothes. He remembered Nora doing the same sort of thing on a finished sweater, and then ruthlessly turned his thoughts away from his family. He used a cloth to wipe a minuscule drop of oil from the spoke of a wheel, tested and tightened a wire just a hair. Only then could he relax.
After Dale changed his clothes, he pulled the little fairy machine from his backpack. He’d fully repaired it and intended it as a present for Queen Adele. Surely he’d see her that afternoon. He’d also improved the secondary battery system—he estimated by ten percent. He looked critically at the bigger version, positive he could do the same with it.
/> Cornelius didn’t arrive until later, when Dale was already deeply into the guts of the secondary motion works. The fairy stood in the open doorway, speaking with two other royals—a man and a woman. They were both tall, like Cornelius. Though Dale would have liked to meet them, for now he called out, “Cornelius! Shut the door! Too much dust might contaminate the machine!” Dale ran a loving hand along the part he currently held, ignoring how the fairies exchanged long glances.
“Here early, I see,” Cornelius said, coming into the room and finally shutting the door.
“Yes,” Dale said. “I just—I needed—” He couldn’t articulate his longing.
“It’s all right, lad. I understand,” Cornelius said kindly.
Dale returned to work. The machine soothed him. It loved him as much as he loved it, he was certain of that.
“You know, I thought a lot about what you said about the machine last night, how it produced a barrier,” Cornelius said, handing Dale the screwdriver he needed just as he required it.
“A barrier?” Dale asked, confused. Then he remembered. “Right. A barrier.”
Cornelius clucked his tongue. “You’re a bad liar, my boy.”
Dale ducked his head. “I thought it was a barrier,” he added defensively.
“That’s what the queen told us, eh?”
“Exactly,” Dale said with relief. “And she’s the queen.” Dale wished again for more formal training so he could properly express his awe of his queen.
“Yes, yes,” Cornelius said. They worked together for a while before Cornelius quietly asked, “Do you know what the machine actually does?”
Dale nodded. He just had to tighten that series of bolts to finish this section, make his baby more perfect.
“Aren’t you worried about it?” Cornelius asked.
“It’ll stop the electronics,” Dale said, shrugging, his attention still focused on the machine.
“Won’t that hurt people?”
“Machines aren’t people.”
“But if they’re in a machine? Going somewhere?”
“A car?” Dale guessed. “They’d be able to steer their cars to the side of the road,” he lied. When the power steering went out there’d be hundreds, possibly thousands, of accidents. Would the range reach into the sky? Would it knock airplanes down? Dale made himself think of his machine again. Those unknown people didn’t matter to him. Just the perfection of the machine and his ordered life.
“Aren’t you worried?”
Dale shook his head. “That will happen up there. I’ll be down here. Safe. Busy,” he added pointedly as he picked up the next gear.
“What about your family?”
“I don’t want to talk about them,” Dale said, gritting his teeth. Nora would be fine—she always ended up on top. His mom, she wouldn’t be driving. Dale shook his head, denying the thought of them in danger. They’d both be safe and would just leave him here, alone. “We need to reroute this wire,” he told Cornelius, refusing to think more about his family. The fairies were his family now; this room, his home.
***
Robert nervously straightened the pile of papers sitting before him on the table. The lunch rush at the diner was over. The occasional customer tended to order dessert this late in the afternoon. Older kids lounged behind the counter now, but with that same hopeless air.
From his seat, Robert had a clear view of the parking lot. He’d easily be able to spot a group of cops. Fortunately, Palace followed Robert’s instructions and came alone. He wore his uniform, though—maybe he was still working.
The kid behind the counter didn’t share Palace’s childlike excitement over malts and fries. “Some people just don’t know how to have fun,” Palace complained as he sat down at Robert’s booth. “There are very few things that people who live to be over one hundred have in common. Not diet, exercise, or access to health care. But family, lack of stress, and laughter—those are essential.”
Robert sat, blinking, unsure what to say.
“So, Mr.—”
“Smith,” Robert supplied.
“Mr. Smith,” Palace said, obviously not believing the name. “What’s made you laugh today? What’s given you cause for frivolity?”
Robert took the cop’s question seriously. When had been the last time he’d laughed? He honestly couldn’t remember.
“Taking too long,” Palace warned. “Too bad. Guess you’re not the laughing type.”
Robert felt judged and dismissed as unworthy. “Maybe I haven’t laughed enough recently,” he admitted. “However, I have something that might make us both feel better. If you can use it.”
“What’s that? Thank you,” Palace added as the counter boy slid the fries and chocolate malt across the table. Before Robert could continue, Palace took a sip. “Oh my word, that’s good. You have got to try this.”
“I have,” Robert assured him. “It’s one of the reasons why I come here.” He was going to miss this place.
“So you said you had something for me? That might make me smile?”
“Do you still have Chris Murray in custody?”
“Yes. Why?”
Robert drew the first folder from his stack. It was a copy of his contract, showing that the last name he’d chosen for this job really was Smith. “He hired me to find his family,” Robert said, pointing to the agreed tasks section of the document. Then he flipped to the last page and showed him Chris’ signature.
“You’re a private investigator?”
Robert knew his standing with the officer hadn’t risen any—quite possibly, it had declined. “Yes. But I’m not licensed in this state, which is why I couldn’t come to you more openly. I know, I know, not really legal.”
Palace took a couple of fries to eat and sat back, obviously displeased.
“When Chris hired me, he was adamant that all he wanted was to bring his family back together. That was it. His wife hadn’t filed for a divorce or a restraining order. I checked.”
“All right, so he wanted to find his family. I take it the wife grabbed the kids and left?”
“Yes.” Robert handed over the second folder. It held a CD, as well as a typed transcript of Chris’ admission that he was just there to steal Dale.
Palace flipped through it quickly. “Did he make the attempt?”
Robert nodded and handed over the next file. It also had a CD. “This shows him driving to the high school, getting there too late to take his boy.”
Shaking his head, Palace said, “I’m not sure I can use any of this.”
“He also tried to kidnap the girl. She was in his car when it crashed. She ran away.”
“So I could get corroboration from her.”
“Yes.”
“I’m still not sure what I can do. Domestic dispute cases—”
“What if the wife signs not only the divorce papers, but a restraining order? Would that help?”
“If you have any influence with the wife, then yes, she needs to file that paperwork. Preferably last week,” Palace said, staring hard at Robert.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Robert said quietly, understanding what the officer asked without a word. Those papers would just have to show up. He sighed. His bags were packed and sitting in his car. He’d planned on leaving town after this meeting. He couldn’t risk the big bosses knowing he was still around.
The image of the grinning skull came back to Robert. No, he couldn’t stay. However, if he could get a copy of Denise’s signature, it wouldn’t be too hard to fake the papers, the notarization, and backdate them. He’d do anything to make life difficult for Chris.
“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” Palace said, gathering up all the folders. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I look forward to that,” Robert said. If the officer could find him. All the numbers on the contract were faked: the address, phone number, and private investigator number.
Robert watched the police officer leave before he got up. One last job to do, one last favor to use up,
then it would be time for him to disappear again.
***
Chris sat in the large, communal jail cell, finally holding his tongue. Mama had always said his temper would get him into trouble one day. It seemed that day had arrived. Chris hadn’t been able to stop himself from cursing out the police officer. His car was ruined, his girl had just escaped, and he still didn’t know what the hell had been in his backseat. He hadn’t made his phone call yet. He didn’t know who to call.
The smell of vomit and piss wafted from the homeless guy in the corner. Every time one of the officers came by the guy would stand up, pull down his pants, and start yelling that the aliens were coming to get him. Finally one of the officers shouted at him that they knew his tricks and he wasn’t getting out until he sobered up.
The two who’d run into Chris’ car stayed to themselves on the far side of the cell. They’d glance now and again at Chris, as if looking for an explanation.
Chris had no idea what had happened in his car, what he’d seen. Yes, Nora had been going on and on about magic or something. Chris didn’t know if what he saw had been some kind of hypnotic suggestion or from the devil himself. Every time he shut his eyes that skull loomed before him, laughing like Mama had when he’d been small, but also looking at him like it wanted to eat him up. Literally.
When the cops finally took the drunk away, Chris’ relief didn’t last long. The other two came over to where Chris sat.
“Chris, right?” said the blond one. “I’m Larry. This is Mike.”
Mike sat down heavily next to Chris. Chris stiffened—the man was too close, their thighs almost touching. Then he lifted his chin. A gentleman could consort with all types, even obvious criminals, like these.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Chris said, trying to be friendly.
The two grinned at each other. “See, I knew I already liked you,” Larry said, nodding his head.
“Me too,” Mike said.
“Now, Chris, since we’re being good buddies and all, we have something to admit,” Larry said. “It wasn’t just dumb luck that we were behind you when you lost control of your car.”