Making the items last was also a challenge. Twice she dug the little red trousers out of the laundry basket to use again, once the backs of the watchful staff were turned.
Although she hoped that what had happened to Megan was a one-off, she took no chances. Her fears were soon realized. One day, three weeks after the trip to the library, Rowan went into the nursery to check on James. Straight away she could tell something was wrong. Two worried-looking carers were hovering around one of the cribs, speaking in low voices. She stepped closer to catch what they were saying.
“… doesn’t look good. How long has he been like this?”
“Since first thing this morning.”
“I think we need to call the doctor.”
Rowan stepped aside as one of the women turned to leave the room quickly, brushing past her.
“Is something wrong?” she called to the one who remained.
“Nothing to worry about,” came the forced cheerful reply. “Why don’t you take James out for some fresh air?”
Rowan eyed James, who was sitting up in his crib, gurgling to himself. Something—perhaps curiosity, perhaps intuition—made her draw closer to the crib with the sick child.
As soon as she laid eyes on it she could see the child had been switched—like Megan. Only this time, the thing that lay there instead of the human was plainly very ill. There were dark shadows beneath its eyes and its breathing was shallow. It looked up at her, and whatever mask it wore slipped beneath her gaze: it was a fairy, no question. And the reason it had been switched was its illness, she felt sure of it. It had been switched with a healthy child.
“Best keep James away,” said the carer. She flitted over to the other cribs, checking on the children one by one. “Oh, no…” she paused beside another of the children.
Rowan’s heart lurched. Already she knew what was coming.
“It’s another one, isn’t it?” she asked. “Another one is… ill.”
“Yes. I think you’d better take James out now.”
Rowan did as she was told. She hugged James to her tightly. How many more children would be taken? And was there anything she could do to make it stop? Before she could change her mind, she hurried toward John’s door and knocked loudly.
“Come in,” he called mildly.
Once inside, she closed the door behind her.
John looked up from mounds of paperwork on his desk.
“What is it, Rowan?”
“There’s something wrong in the nursery,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. “Something’s happening to the children.”
John leaned back in his chair and gestured for her to take a seat opposite him.
“Yes, I’ve just heard there’s an illness going around,” he said. “But you needn’t worry, the doctor has been called for. Just keep an eye on James and let us know if anything develops—”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “The children… they aren’t… themselves.”
“Well, of course not,” said John, his frown deepening. “People—children—often behave strangely when they’re unwell, particularly if there’s a fever—”
“No!” Rowan shouted, making James jump. “They aren’t themselves! They’ve been switched!”
James began to cry, and John simply stared at her, saying nothing.
“You’ve got to listen to me,” she said urgently. “The children are being replaced with… things that aren’t human.”
John continued to watch her in a way that made it plain she was being assessed.
“Rowan,” he said gravely. “What exactly are you proposing the children are being switched with?”
“Fairies.” She said it firmly but quickly, and her eyes did not waver from John’s. There was, she noticed, a curious lack of reaction.
Wordlessly, John got up and walked over to an ugly gray filing cabinet. He rifled through the drawer labeled F and selected a file. He carried it back to his desk and opened it.
“Changelings?” he said gently. “I’m familiar with the concept. Rather fond of Victorian fairy art. It’s a common theme.”
She gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“I looked at your file before you arrived.” He flicked to a page that had been bookmarked with a yellow Post-it note. “It says here that, in your statement to the police following the car accident, you admitted that you wouldn’t normally have been in the car with your parents at that time or on that route. It was unusual, wasn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Can you tell me why it was unusual?”
“Because…” She cleared her throat. “Because I should have been at school. But instead I went to London that day. We were only in the car because my parents found out where I was and came to find me. If… if I’d gone to school then I would have walked home as I normally did… the accident would never have happened.”
“The accident would still have happened,” John said. “It would just have happened to someone else. I’ve set up a meeting for you with a counselor who is going to explain this to you in more detail, as it’s important that you understand that it wasn’t your fault. For now, though, I want to discuss what you were doing that day, instead of being at school.”
“There was an exhibition,” Rowan said. “Of fairies in art and photographs. I went to go and see it.”
“Why did you go alone?” John asked. “Why didn’t your parents take you on the weekend or over the break?”
“They didn’t like me talking about fairies,” Rowan said.
“Why not?”
“Because they refused to believe what I’m telling you now—that fairies are real. But if someone doesn’t start believing me, the children here are going to be switched, one by one.”
John leaned over and scrawled a note on a piece of paper.
“What makes you think that the children here are at risk? To be snatched by fairies, I mean?”
Rowan opened her mouth to answer, then paused to consider the question carefully.
“Perhaps it’s because the children here are more vulnerable,” she said tentatively. “If they have someone to love them already, and care for them, then they’d be missed. Maybe that’s it—they take the ones that they think won’t be missed.”
“I can see why you might think that,” John said gently. “And why this interest of yours has escalated since your parents’ deaths. It’s normal to want to believe in something. It’s your mind’s way of coping.” He closed her file. “I think that’s enough for now.”
Rowan got up. The conversation was over, and she felt foolish to have even attempted to convince another adult of the truth. By the time she reached her room, her embarrassment had been replaced by anger. She had to get herself and James out of this place. The letter to her aunt Rose was her only hope. Following a hospital appointment that afternoon, she was gladdened to hear that her plaster cast would be taken off in two weeks. When she arrived back, she began drafting out her letter to Aunt Rose with her right hand. Her writing looked dreadful, but each version was improved in content.
The next morning, Rowan awoke to pandemonium. Footsteps thundered along the corridors accompanied by low voices.
Rowan jumped out of bed and pulled her cardigan on over her pajamas, then crept out into the corridor. Ahead of her, the cleaner was hurrying downstairs after John and two other staff members. Rowan followed, her bare feet allowing her to be stealthy as a snake. Her pace quickened as she noticed they were heading for the nursery. Some of the other children were up, milling around, and being barked at to go back to their rooms.
Outside the nursery door, Rowan paused and listened. Through a crack by the hinges she could see that James was in his crib, and at once her pounding heart began to slow. He was safe. But something else was going on. She pressed her ears against the crack.
“They can’t have just disappeared!” John snapped. “Don’t keep telling me that!”
“But they have,” a female voice insisted.
�
��It’s bleedin’ odd,” said the cleaner. “But they must be somewhere. Someone’s playing a trick, I’ll say. Too coincidental, what with the other little girl wandering off the other week. Still, we found her, so the other two can’t have gone far.”
Two, Rowan thought. Two children have vanished.
“I think you’re right,” John said, his voice suddenly hard. “Someone’s playing tricks. And I think I know who.” His footsteps thudded toward the door. Rowan looked around and saw that there was nowhere she could get to quickly enough to hide, so she simply stood there, waiting.
The door was flung open and John regarded her. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see her there.
“I want a word with you,” he said.
“Pardon?” said Rowan.
“Into my office. Now.”
Numbly, Rowan followed, with one last glimpse over her shoulder to ascertain that James was safe.
“All right,” said John, before the door was even closed. “Two of the babies weren’t in their beds this morning. Do you have any idea of where they are?”
“What?” Rowan said, feeling sick. “You can’t think… that I had something to do with this?”
“Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?” John said grimly. “The day after you insist children are being stolen by fairies, two children mysteriously vanish?”
“It’s nothing to do with me,” said Rowan angrily. “I’d never play a trick like that! I’ll help you look for them.”
“People are already looking. They’ve been looking for an hour. And what’s interesting is that one of the children can only crawl, and the other has only just learned to sit up! Common sense says they couldn’t have gone far. And my common sense is telling me that they were moved by somebody.”
“It wasn’t me,” Rowan repeated.
“Is that the truth? Because to put the safety of others at risk is more than a simple prank, Rowan. It’s serious.”
“I swear to you, I don’t know where they are,” she whispered. “How can you think that?”
John’s expression relented suddenly.
“Very well. Collect James from the nursery, and then go back to your room.”
Hours passed, and there was no sign of the missing children. A horrid nagging feeling ate away at Rowan like a rat. If the fairies were to blame, then why hadn’t they left replacements for the children? Surely they wouldn’t just steal two babies… snatch them away into thin air? But as the morning went on, and the children were not found, it seemed the likeliest explanation.
It was noon before the children were called down from their rooms for something to eat. Extra staff had been brought in to deal with the crisis, and the police had been called and were asking everybody questions. When Rowan’s turn came, she told the absolute truth about what she had seen and heard—which was nothing. On the subject of fairies she maintained a sensible silence.
“Have you heard what’s happening?” Polly said breathlessly, rushing over to her after she rejoined the common room. “We’re being moved. They’re transferring us to other homes!”
“They are? When?”
Polly gestured to her twin. “We’ve been told to pack up our things this afternoon! We’re going to Kent.” She scanned the room. “Sally’s been given a place in a foster home,” she said enviously. “She’s leaving tomorrow. I suppose it’s only fair. She’s been here longest.”
“What about me?” Rowan asked, but Polly was already shaking her head.
“You’ll have to wait and see what John says.”
Just then, the cleaner came bustling over.
“All right, pet?” she said to Polly, patting her on the head. She turned to Rowan. “Mr. Temple has asked for you.”
Rowan leapt up and ran to John’s office, bursting in without knocking.
“Are you moving me and James?” she demanded.
“Yes,” John said. Through his worry, he managed a smile. “I’ve some good news. We finally managed to contact your aunt Primrose.”
“It’s Rose,” Rowan said nervously. “She doesn’t like to be called Primrose, my mother says… said.”
John nodded. “Rose has agreed to care for you and James on a permanent basis. There are a few matters that need ironing out, such as the living conditions,” he wrinkled his nose, “and you’ll be visited by a social worker during the settling-in period, but it’s wonderful news.”
Rowan’s eyes filled with tears of relief. Now there was no need for her to write the wretched letter!
“Thank you,” she said with a sniff. “When is she coming?”
“She doesn’t have a car,” John answered. “And she needs a home check, which normally takes a few days. However, she’s been abroad, which is why we had problems contacting her, and she’s become rather ill on her return, so it’s likely to be a couple of weeks until she’s well enough to come for you. You have one more night here, and then you’ll be off to London for a couple of weeks. She’ll collect you from there, and she’ll be coming by train.”
He crossed the room and patted her arm awkwardly.
“You’re going to be fine. You’re a good girl. Now, why don’t you make a start on that packing?”
It was during the manic packing process that a staff member with an inventory spotted the “mix-up” with the babies’ clothes and returned the two items Rowan had stolen to their rightful owners. Rowan could have cried with frustration. It was close to bedtime, and she had nothing to protect James. Luckily, it had been agreed that James could sleep in her room in his crib for that final night.
Then, as Rowan helped with the bedtime drinks, she spied a bright red tea towel in the kitchen. It was grubby but she didn’t care. She snatched it and stuffed it under her dressing gown.
Later, when everything was packed, she folded down the lid of her suitcase, keeping it unzipped for the last few bits in the morning. Fresh clothes were laid out on top of it for them both.
James was curled up like a hamster, his thumb wedged in his mouth. Pulling the tea towel out, she gently laid it over his bedclothes and then clambered into bed, reading from her book of fairy tales until she was drowsy. When her eyelids eventually began to droop, she laid the book on the bedside table and turned out the light.
She did not know what it was that awoke her, although at times later on she wondered whether it had been the smell. It was the first thing she had noticed: that earthy, damp scent that filled her nostrils. The second thing she saw, through her sleep-narrowed eyes, was the outline of a figure standing over her. Muzzily she lay there, assuming one of the staff was going to extra lengths to check on the children that night. However, something about the way the figure was standing alerted her to the fact that it had been there for some time, silent and watchful. And it was for this reason that, although she had started to tremble, she kept her eyes narrowed and pretended to be asleep.
The figure reached out and ran a finger along something on the bedside table. On the finger was a silver ring with something inscribed into its stone. A familiar shape jumped out at her: a set of wings. There was a low noise then, a barely disguised masculine guffaw. Then the item, which Rowan now realized was her beloved book, was lifted and slipped into the folds of the figure’s coat. This action was enough to make Rowan react, her fear overridden by anger. As her eyes snapped open with her mouth, ready to shout, the figure turned away from her.
As it did, Rowan’s words died on her lips. A waft of air fanned from two great wings protruding from the intruder’s back. The fairy moved toward the door, pausing by James’s crib and gazing in. Its reason for being there could not have been clearer.
Not James, Rowan thought. Not James. He’s protected. Even though she was terrified, she was comforted by the thought that the protection of the red tea towel would shield her brother from fey eyes. So when the fairy, after one last glance her way, reached inside the crib, Rowan was paralyzed with shock as her sleeping brother was effortlessly lifted into its arms. Then, through the door it wen
t, as soundlessly as it had arrived.
Suddenly, Rowan snapped out of it. She threw back the bedclothes and flew out into the empty hallway. Her hair whipped into her eyes as she turned her head this way and that, searching. At the end of the corridor was the fire exit, a sturdy wooden door with a set of stone steps leading to safety in the back gardens. The door was open, and through it she saw the fey creature cradling her brother at the top of the steps. Now that she was able to see more clearly, she could judge from the fairy’s size and features that it was male, with a hard-faced, flat-nosed profile. A lumpy scar bisected his upper lip.
To shout and raise the alarm when no one but herself would see the intruder would have been pointless. Her only weapon was the element of surprise. As the fairy’s wings lifted and flexed in the air, Rowan broke into a stealthy run. He had lowered into a crouch, ready to take flight, when, hearing her approaching footsteps, he turned suddenly. By then, Rowan had launched herself into the air. He grunted as her attack made contact—and then, knocked off balance, they toppled over the handrail and plummeted twelve feet to the grass below.
Rowan had the advantage of being lighter. The intruder landed on his back, bearing the brunt of the weight of all three of them. In the seconds following their landing, she realized he was winded and struggling for breath. She heaved herself backward, and reached out to snatch James from the fairy’s grip. James was crying plaintively now, and as the sound echoed into the night, Rowan felt sure someone would wake and come out. But as she looked back up at the fire exit, she saw that the heavy door had quietly closed behind them—shutting her, and most of the sound, out.
Strong fingers snared her wrist. Gasping, she turned back. The intruder had recovered sufficiently to grab her and was now twisting her hand cruelly behind her back, forcing her down on her knees into the grass. The intruder stood up, still twisting.
“Why doesn’t she call for help?” His low voice, evidently addressing someone other than her, came as a shock.
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