“Don’t look up yet!” Adam insists as he guides me down a new path in the West Woods. I don’t have to see to know we’re deep in the forest: The ground is brambly, the wind is whispering in the trees, the night birds are already tweeting faintly.
“We have to get home soon,” I remind him, as if he doesn’t know. The Feathersworth are jingling in my bag and I can’t wait to give them to Mama. I can’t wait to show them what I’ve done.
“We have plenty of time,” he assures me. “This is worth it.”
The path narrows, and I lean in closer to him. I know I’m brave. I’ve proved it to everybody—and to myself—more than once now. But this unknown place still scares me. If flying has taught me anything, it’s that it’s possible to be brave and afraid at the same time. One always leads to another.
“Okay,” Adam says, leading me into a circular grove in the middle of tall, thin trees. “Don’t look up! Just sit down slowly.”
I do and then follow his lead and lie back on the soft grass beside him.
“Look at that,” he whispers.
I don’t understand why he’s whispering—we’re all alone out here. But when I see what he’s looking at, everything makes sense. This is a reverent moment. As magic as anything I’ve ever seen.
The bare branches of Telling Trees stretch over us. And dangling from those branches like leaves—I see shiny Starpatches.
I gasp. At first, I say nothing. I watch the veins of color and light flicker across those patches. Watch them flutter, go nearly invisible, then bright again.
A strange impulse rises up in me: to cry, to celebrate, to be still. All of that at once. All I feel is wonder. I’m not seeing a rogue Starpatch floating through the open window. I’m seeing a bunch of them—enough to make a whole blanket, maybe. My fingertips are itching to touch them. To feel them. To make them into something.
“How did you find these?” I whisper.
“It sounds crazy, but I felt like … I heard them. Like there was this buzz of energy coming from over here, and there they were.”
“Do you think they’re new?” I ask. “Are the stars finding a way back in? Is the light coming back?”
This would be a better answer to our worries than gold powder. We would have a better way to make a living. The sadness in our eyes would vanish with starlight on our shoulders. The mines would be boarded up and closed; we wouldn’t even need them anymore.
“I hope so,” Adam says. “That’d be like a miracle, wouldn’t it? If the light found a way in?”
“It would,” I say, watching them flicker and shine.
Night is close, so Adam lights the lanterns we carried with us. We set them to flicker on the soft grass. I watch the light shimmer across the Starpatches and remember the place where I met Leo. It was a meadow like this. And it felt as magical as this moment does, lying on our backs staring up through the branches at the Dusty skies.
Tell him, my heart says. Tell him about the Dustsnake Mortimer made. Some animals—and humans—are worth trusting with your whole heart, always. As I turn my face to speak, I see him drawing with his finger in the dirt.
Familiar memories of Adam drift through my mind: him scribbling on scrap pieces of paper or in notebooks, drawing in the dust on the sides of buildings. When we were kids, he always had pictures in his mind. He couldn’t wait to get them out.
“So, you still draw?” I ask.
“In my dreams, mostly. Sometimes on breaks Down Below I paint on the walls with water and coal dust. I’m out of practice, though.”
I roll back my sleeve and offer my arm. “Here. Paint my universal orange Popsnap. Something that will help me remember I’m a fierce flier.”
He mixes Dust and water and goes to work making vines, flowers, Honeysuckle swooping, Leo flying, a small flower.
“What’s the flower for?”
“Gentle things are fierce, too,” he reminds me. And I wonder if he’s heard my mama say that, or if he just believes it.
His brush gently dances over the Popsnap as he draws a star, dripping, a line leading down to an inky heart.
“I know there’s something you want to tell me,” he says finally.
“How do you know?”
“You’re never ever quiet unless you have something big on your mind.”
I glance around the clearing to make sure we weren’t followed. I keep my voice as low and breathe: “I don’t think that monster the other night was real. I saw Mortimer make that thing, that snake, to scare Honor’s friends. It was … a Dustpuppet, kind of. I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“Mortimer made it?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Just spun it right up out of the dirt. That’s what it looked like, at least.”
There’s a prickling sensation against my neck, like I’m being watched. I glance over my shoulder, but see nothing.
“So, wait.” Adam’s inky eyes connect with mine. “You saw him do it … and you didn’t say anything?”
“I wasn’t really sure what I saw,” I explain quickly.
And then Adam’s eyes go wide with a warning. He’s looking over my shoulder, into the woods behind me.
“What a marvelous discovery, children.”
We leap off the ground at the sound of Mortimer’s voice. I’ve been caught. I know it. I just spilled Mortimer’s secret. Fear surges through me.
Did he hear what we just said? He doesn’t appear to have. He looks delighted by the sight of the Starpatches in the trees.
“Adam found them,” I tell him. “Do you think the Starpatches are slipping through the Dust somehow? Do you think they’ve found a way?”
Mortimer’s smile tightens ever so slightly. “I wish that were true, Mallie. But the Dust snuffed out the stars. It’s a lovely thought, though. The two of you should head back to Coal Top before the night sets in. Wouldn’t want you to feel unsafe on the path.”
Adam isn’t saying anything in response to Mortimer. He’s just glaring at him, in a way that’s far too obvious. I tug Adam’s shirt. “Come on. Let’s walk home.”
Adam nods, and we walk away together, very aware of the fact that Mortimer is watching us go.
When we’re deep enough in the woods, Adam grabs my wrist.
“Stop,” he whispers. And he nods his head toward the way we’ve come. “I want to see what he does with them.”
We’re nearly silent as we walk back, lurking behind trees, fading into the shadows easily. By the time we’re back at the Telling Trees, the Guardians are there with him. One of them is carrying a small torch. Mortimer isn’t smiling at the Starpatches anymore.
“None of the kids have been singing, have they?” Mortimer says to the Guardian holding the flame, so softly that I barely hear.
“No, sir,” the man confirms. “We won’t allow it.”
Mortimer responds by nodding toward the trees.
He walks away, and Adam and I watch in disbelief as Mortimer’s men take their swords and stab the patches, pulling them down from the trees. One by one, they feed the Starpatches to the Guardian’s flame. The light flickers, then curls as it burns, black and singed, falling as ashes to the ground.
Adam and I trudge toward home together.
“Why would he do that?” I ask in a shaky voice. I’m surprised by the heavy sadness in my stomach. Maybe anger is what I should be feeling right now. “Why would he burn the Starpatches?”
“Why would he create a monster?” Adam shakes his head. “People told me I shouldn’t trust Mortimer. I know I can’t trust the Guardians, but I guess I thought he was different.”
I tell Adam about Mama’s similar warning. We talk as we walk, and soon enough Connor and Nico join us. We tell them everything we’ve seen in the past few days. We’re so fired up talking that I don’t see Greer running toward us. He always beats all of us home. He’s small but he’s fast. Today, he’s doubled back to meet us.
“Go home, Mallie,” he says. The wild gleam in his eyes sends a bolt of fear t
hrough my body. “Granny Mab told me to find you. Hurry home. Now.”
I’m running already, faintly aware of Adam calling out my name. I know I’ve never moved faster than this, never longed more for my own set of wings to fly to the people I love. I round the path expecting to see the cottage ahead.
But I’m slammed nearly to a stop by a cloud of Dust.
Bursts of breath erupt from my lungs as I fight through the haze. Where did this come from? I pull my scarf up over my nose so I don’t breathe it in—the Dust makes me angry, makes me lose focus. I have to stay focused now.
My heart sinks when I see the front door wide open.
The sound of my parents’ soft sobbing feels as loud as thunder in the Lightning Range.
The furniture is all overturned. A window is broken. The Dust is hazy, purple-looking, yellow at the edges—thick enough to push away. Mama and Papa are slumped onto the floor, holding each other. Honeysuckle’s perched on Papa’s shoulder, her head bowed. She isn’t singing. She has nothing to sing for today.
Mama reaches her hand to me, and I take it, thinking she wants me to pull her up. But she doesn’t move.
“Where’d they take him? And why’d they come early?” I ask. “I’ll get him right now. Tell me!”
But Mama shakes her head.
Pulls me down onto the floor.
Papa’s hand is on my arm, too. And they’re both looking at me with vacant, hopeless eyes. I’m breathing in so much Dust; it’s all around me. It’s disarming today. It burns my nose and my lungs with every breath. I can feel my shoulders slumping.
It’s as if the floors of my house are quicksand, pulling me in. And I’m not even fighting to get up.
Denver is gone.
His absence is a weight on my chest that I can’t lift off. It’s crushing me.
“It’s too late, Mallie,” Mama says. “They came for him.”
“Mallie?” Adam’s voice at the door.
I don’t even know how long I’ve been sitting here. Minutes? Hours?
His arms are underneath me. “There’s so much Dust in here. We’ve got to get out.”
“I feel like I can’t move,” I tell him.
Somehow he’s pulling me to my feet. He loops my arm around his shoulders; we’re like the men we saw on the platform. “I’ll move with you,” he says. His voice feels far away. “I’m here with you. One step at a time.”
His friends rush into the room around us—Connor, Nico, and Greer. Greer holds Honeysuckle close to his chest, softly petting her tiny head as he hurries her out of the house. Nico and Connor help my parents. Step by step.
“Don’t breathe this in,” Adam warns them.
“This is worse than the Dust in the mines,” I hear Nico say.
We burst into fresh air and slump down in the dewy grass.
“Deep breaths,” Adam tells me. His voice is a low rumble. “I’ve heard the Guardians do this sometimes, when they search. Add extra Dust to the house. It’s worse than a Dustblob in the trees. Breathe in too much and it makes you feel …”
Nothing. I feel like nothing, and there’s really no way to describe how nothing feels.
The longer we’re outside, the stronger I feel. And as the minutes pass, I see life coming back into my parents’ eyes. Life, and—with that—sorrow.
Because Dust or no Dust, my brother is gone. There’s no worse sadness than that.
The Dust has barely cleared from the house when we hear the familiar sound of Granny Mab’s cart.
I run for her, but I don’t have to say anything. By the look in her eyes, I can see that she knows.
“I saw him at the platform,” Granny Mab tells me, quietly, so my parents can’t hear.
“They didn’t even wait a week! They lied.” My left hand curls into a fist. Hope and fury surge through me, twist around inside me. “Is he hurt?”
She shakes her head. “He stood there with some other little ones. He was holding an old stuffed bear and a book. He had a baby Dustflight on his shoulder.”
She clutches my shoulders with her long, bony fingers and looks right into my eyes. “His little chest was puffed in pride, Mallie. He wasn’t about to cry.”
Tears sting my eyes. “Because he thinks I’ll fix everything.”
“He’s right,” Granny Mab says, eyebrow raised. “I know which mine he’s in—”
“Tell me!” I beg. “I can go get him! Tonight! Leo will take me and—”
“Shhh,” Mab cautions. “He was sorted at the platform and sent to the mine up here, the mountain mine. The same one your father worked at. But hear me out now, Mallie. If you try to rescue him tonight … try to take him out of the mines, you’ll be an outlaw.”
“They’ll never catch me,” I tell her. “Leo will take us far away from here.”
“What about your parents? Adam’s parents? I know you see the answer, Mallie. You’re a bright girl. Finish your last few missions. Pay off the debt. He’ll be home straightaway.”
“I can’t fly if I know he’s Down Below. I won’t.”
“You can,” Granny Mab assures me. “And I brought something to help you.” She motions for me to walk around to the other side of her cart.
A lonesome wind pushes the trees back and forth around me. The smell of rain is in the air: rain, and smoke, and Dust. My eyes still burn from my time in the cottage. I still feel weak when I walk.
Mab tosses a few scary-looking dolls off the cart, rummaging for whatever she has for me. “Ah! Here we go. One package for Miss Mallie.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want it. I don’t want anything right now.”
“Mab,” Mama says, standing in front of us. I didn’t even hear her approaching. “If you’re trying to sell us something after this, you can leave and not come back.”
I raise my eyebrows. Mama is definitely not being gentle right now.
“You think I’m that low?” Granny Mab asks. “That false-hearted? No. This is a gift.”
Mama nods and wraps her arms around her chest. Her eyes are red from tears.
Granny Mab nods to me. “This is from one of her admirers. People are telling stories about her all over the mountain, you know. Mallie over the Moon. She’s their hero.”
“She’s too brave for her own good,” Mama says. It’s the closest she’s come to saying she’s proud of me. It settles on my heart the same way.
“I remember another girl that same way.” Granny Mab raises an eyebrow matter-of-factly.
I glance quickly at my mother. What’s that supposed to mean?
Mama says nothing. I realize now that Mama’s silence is full of stories, full of words unspoken.
Granny Mab holds the box out for me. It’s wrapped in brown paper, tied with a white twine bow.
I hold the package steady with my right arm and work the knot loose with my left hand. When I flip the lid, something inside sparkles. The dull shine is so sudden, so unexpected, that I squint as I reach into the box. The object is cold, and metal, and almost feels like fingers. I dig deeper to see.
“Is this a Popsnap?” I ask. It looks nothing like any I’ve ever seen before. It’s silver—metallic and shiny. Every joint of every finger bends. And looks as if it’s the perfect size for me, made to connect comfortably to my arm. Even without trying it on, I can tell it’s going to fit better.
“Where’d you get this?” I ask.
Granny Mab grins. “I know the timing is bad, but it’s been on order for a while. As I said, it comes from someone who is proud of you. There’s a card in there.”
“Someone must have special-ordered it for you from a craftsman in the valley,” Granny Mab says. “I don’t know who. I’m just the delivery girl.”
But I know who sent it as soon as I study the note. The handwriting is a giveaway, the way the letters slant and loop so gently.
“Mama?” I ask, looking at her face for assurance. “You gave me this?”
Her face is still shiny with tears. Eyes still red from all the Dust.
“I thought it was time for a better one,” she says. “Show her how it works, Mab.”
“Oh!” I say as Granny Mab quickly maneuvers one finger into a small beam of light. It doesn’t just grab, bend, and hold like a hand. Every finger has a tool inside it.
“All you do,” Granny Mab tells me, “is reach over, flip, and there you have it.”
I pull off my orange Popsnap and hand it to Mama. The metallic one seems to mold to me. I flick at the fingers and find a knife, a tiny pair of pliers, and a measuring stick. The silver thumb is hollow.
“For money,” Granny Mab qualifies. “Or love notes.”
She wiggles her eyebrows, and it’s so cheesy, I laugh a little—for the first time since I got home.
“It’s made of lava rock from Mirror Mountain,” Granny Mab says. “That’s why it’s so shiny. I’ve sold the rocks themselves in my carts before. They’re strong, but they can still be moved and molded. It’ll come in especially handy for your missions.”
Or for pulling my brother out of some terrible mine, I think.
In my heart, I know that Granny Mab is probably right. The missions are all I can do for now. I just need two more, and then I’ll free my brother from the mine. And then I’ll keep riding, keep flying, until we have no more worries at all. Until I have enough to make a better story for all of us.
I flick the fingers of my new Popsnap—my UtilitySnap—back into place. It’s weird but wonderful, too, this silver hand. My silver hand.
Denver will love this.
A low-flying wave of Dust sails past me, unexpectedly. I breathe it in, and close my eyes. Denver. I shape the fingers of the UtilitySnap into a fist.
“Mallie,” Granny Mab says, a warning in her voice. “Remember what we talked about.”
“I won’t forget,” I promise her. But even as the Dust passes away, the sorrow in my soul gives way to anger. I won’t forget what they’ve done.
There is no Dust.
There is dull yellow light—cold but bright enough burn away every Dustblob in the trees. Standing here in the woods, I hear those patches sizzling all around me. Ashes fall like snow.
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