Quentin looked around the room. It was time to leave. He found the small backpack he had been carrying the day he’d first encountered Gromer. He filled it with his meager possessions and added the alchemy book still wrapped in its tea towel. Then quietly he let himself out of the cave.
Jessamyn turned the book over in her hands. She wore a green emerald ring on her right hand. As she concentrated, her fingernails appeared to change color until they matched the mood and shade of the ring.
The book was old and worn now. She turned the pages until she found the chapter she was looking for, the third of the chapters that dealt with the Green Fairy. How they had laughed that day . . .
It was the third time Jessamyn met Quentin. He said there was a game he wanted them to play. It was a little like Hide and Seek, he said.
“Have you heard of the Will-O-Wisp?” he asked.
“Of course, silly,” she laughed, “everyone has. My mammy once chased one away with her broomstick.”
“Do you know what would happen if you didn’t chase them away?” asked Quentin, with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Do you know what would happen if you chased after them instead?”
“Well, Mammy says you won’t come back. The Will-O-Wisp will lead you over the edge of the world.”
“Hmm . . . the edge of the world, and where might that be?”
“I dunno.”
“Well, do you think that the gallant Quentin the Quixotic would lead the brave young lady over the edge of the world?”
“No . . .” Jessamyn reconsidered. “Well, maybe . . .”
“Come, let us find our Will-O-Wisp.”
That day, Jessamyn and Quentin ran around the island, through the meadows of purple blooms, along the coast, and around the simple buildings of the isle’s tiny, close-knit population. They stayed away from Cleona, who was busy attending the birth of newborn—the first on the island for many, many years.
Finally, they ended up on a hillock amidst the ruins of a long-destroyed castle. Its gray walls were covered with green moss. Quentin sat down with Jessamyn and took out an old book and flipped through its pages. Jessamyn, curious, came in closer for a better look. There on the page was a picture of an odd little creature. It was green from the tip of its nose to its toenails; its skin, its hair, its clothing, all green. On its back, Jessamyn could see just a hint of tiny gossamer wings, also tinted emerald.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Gwyrdd Tylwyth Teg. She is supposed to live right here on this island,” explained Quentin.
“I’ve never heard of her. I’ve seen leprechauns aplenty and sprites too. When I was small, they used to come and play with me sometimes. Bring me presents, though after they left, the presents would always melt away. My mother says that’s why we mustn’t trust illusion, but I don’t know, sometimes illusion can be very beautiful,” mused Jessamyn.
“Can you read these words?” said Quentin quietly, pointing to the text beneath the picture.
“It is in a language I do not know,” said Jessamyn.
“It is Welsh. Legend states that Gwyrdd Tylwyth Teg originally came from Wales, but was transported one day many eons ago to this place by a magician who wanted her power. Some say she is trapped in these very stones, and if the right young maiden were to come here and say these words, she would be released. Do you want to try?”
“Me?” asked Jessamyn, wide-eyed.
“You have very strong magic Jessamyn. If anybody could do it, you could.”
“But maybe I should ask my mother?”
“You said it yourself, your mother would never agree. She believes illusional magic to be a waste of time. And in any case, she is busy today with the birth. You don’t want to bother her with something so trivial. It’s just a game after all,” he finished, smiling, his green eyes twinkling.
“I suppose . . .” Jessamyn was still very unsure, but she liked Quentin. He had promised he would teach her how to change form. Jessamyn desperately wanted to have wings, to fly through the sky as she saw Quentin do so easily. Maybe if she played along, he would start to teach her.
With some trepidation, she took out her silver scepter. It had been a present from Cleona on her twelfth birthday. The magic artifact would become impossibly light when placed in her pocket, yet when she drew it, it became a full-sized scepter wrought in the finest silver with an emerald embedded in its tip. Cleona had said it once belonged to her great-grandmother. She herself used a much more modest wand.
The Welsh words looked strange on the page, but somehow she instinctively knew how to pronounce them, and as she said the words, their meaning came clear in her head . . .
“Yr wyf i, sydd yn ddiniwed, galw enw’r Gwyrdd Tylwyth Teg fel y gall hi ddangos i mi ei chyfrinachau.”
And then she screamed . . .
The world slowed down. Jessamyn was falling. Somewhere in the far distance she could hear Quentin’s voice calling her name as she disappeared down, down into the depths of the earth beneath the green moss.
Green . . . everywhere, an emerald mist . . . then out of the mist there came an eerie laughter. Jessamyn instinctively clutched her silver scepter. The Teg was a little shorter than she. It was green, and resembled the picture in the book, but the book could never even begin to represent the feeling of it. It oozed magic out of every pore . . . and delight; sheer, utter delight.
It approached Jessamyn and clapped its hands, its sharp beady eyes taking in her appearance from every angle.
“You’ll do!” it said. “You’ll do very nicely, but wait . . . are you really innocent? Are you truly pure? If I am to have a new home, it has to be pristine. No secondhand goods for Stella. Oh no, Stella only takes the best!”
The creature took a step towards Jessamyn and she shrunk back.
“Don’t be scared! You and I are going to have so much fun! Oodles and oodles of fun. You have magic; I can feel it. Ah, the mischief we will make together . . . forever and ever and ever.”
“Who . . . are . . . you?” said Jessamyn, staring at the creature.
“I am Stella the Teg, the greatest Teg. I have slept for so long under this castle. My castle—is it not beautiful?”
Jessamyn gazed at the ruined rocks, confused.
“Um . . . beautiful?”
“Can you not see the wondrous halls? Oh, how we’ll dance! We shall be a princess. All the princes will want to marry us, but we will use them and discard them. We will take their riches. Come to me, young maiden. Let me complete the spell. Then we will be together, for eternity.”
Stella reached one long, bony green finger towards Jessamyn. Jessamyn tried to move away, but Stella was faster. She clasped Jessamyn’s arm with a vice-like grip. Jessamyn cried out in pain, and then the world changed. Once more, she was falling. All around her were images of women, from girls her age up to full-grown women of about thirty, but no older. The women were dancing and laughing, whirling and twirling. All were wearing emerald ball gowns. They waved at Jessamyn.
“Join us, Jessa! Join us, Jessa!” They chanted as one.
Throughout all this, Jessamyn clung to her scepter, and now she became aware of the magic tingling through her body. She saw Stella now. It seemed like she was no longer solid, but a fluid green mist that was oozing towards her. Just as its tentacles reached her, Jessamyn pushed back with her mind.
“No,” she screamed, and silver light flared from her wand. Instantly the world dissolved around her, and Jessamyn plunged into oblivion.
Jessamyn stepped back from the bookcase. That was so many years ago, and yet if she closed her eyes she could still see the green fairy as clearly as if she was standing in front of her. Could still hear her shriek echoing in her head. She knew it was just an echo—a memory. Stella had been trapped inside her book now for decades, but still, sometimes in Jessamyn’s dreams she returned, whispering temptations. “It’s not too late Jessamyn . . .” But Jessamyn suspected that it actually was. After all, she was no longer young and innocent,
far from it.
Jessamyn thought about Quentin, so impossibly young. Really not that different from when they had first met. How could that be? What had he done to slow down the years? He’d said that Alistair had held the secret. But Alistair, thankfully, was no more. Jessamyn shuddered. That at least was one good thing. But if Quentin’s youth had depended in some way on Alistair, what would happen to him now?
She should not care, of course. He’d lied to her all those years, the cruelest deception. She’d truly thought he’d perished, leaving her pregnant and alone. Had she not had the support of P.A.W.S. . . .
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Enter.”
“Excuse me, ma’am, sorry to bother you.” It was Professor Ainsworth, the school’s general studies teacher. He looked flustered, as if his feathers were ruffled, which, seeing as his animagus was an owl, they probably were.
“Whatever is the matter, Cedric?”
“It’s Miriam Katz, Ma’am. I think you need to come and see.”
Chapter 17
Aldous Wrigley was stuck. He’d pushed himself down inside this hollow tree and now he couldn’t get out.
“Help! Help! Excuse me!” he called out for the umpteenth time.
“Great gherkins! What are you doing there, old chap?”
“I . . . I’m stuck”
“Well, I can see that. Give me your hand.”
Aldous reached for the white-gloved hand and grabbed. A loud buzzer went off; it sounded like an irritated pachyderm after it’d eaten one too many peanuts and couldn’t find the Alka Seltzer. Aldous let go.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Force of habit, that. A performer can never truly be offstage, you know. Take my other hand.” Aldous looked wary as a second white-gloved hand appeared.
“Go on, you can’t live in there; the squirrels won’t allow it. They’ll throw acorns at you, and that’s just for starters. Devious little things, squirrels. You really don’t want to irk them.”
Aldous took the proffered hand, and bit by bit he eased himself out of the hole.
“I now know how Winnie the Pooh must have felt,” he grumbled.
“Whatever were you doing in there?”
Aldous gazed at his savior; a stranger sight had never met his eyes. The gentleman was made up like a clown with a large red nose and caked white make-up, red rubbery lips, and large black bushy eyebrows. His hair, real or a wig, Aldous couldn’t be sure which, looked like a haystack in which someone had unsuccessfully searched for a needle. Precariously perched on the summit of this thatch was an orange felt hat. There appeared to be a weasel peeking out of the hat.
The clown wore a long, patched robe that seemed to have been pieced together from fabric swatches, and every inch of it was covered in pockets, bulging with all sorts of odd shapes, some of which appeared to be moving.
Aldous just stared.
“Oh, how rude of me, I never introduced myself: The Great Bobbert, at your service!” He took off his hat and bowed. The weasel used this as an opportunity to make a bid for freedom.
“Hey, Popgoes! Come back! Drat, better get after him. Good day, sir!” And with that, The Great Bobbert ran off through the park in pursuit of his weasel.
Aldous watched him leave. He brushed the stray leaves and grass from his clothing and hair. Something had fallen down his back and was making him itch. He badly needed to go home and take a shower before Cynthia came by for her regular weekly appointment. At least he had something to show her today. Aldous took the small square box out of his pocket. It was empty, yet he was sure it was an important clue.
Earlier that afternoon, Aldous had observed David Katz meeting once again with the lanky, blond-haired youth. He gave the adolescent another wad of bills, and in exchange received the small square box. David was jubilant when he looked inside and the youth pocketed the money and scurried away.
David took the box and disappeared into a cluster of trees. Aldous tried to watch, but only caught a tiny glimpse of silver as David opened the box, took something from inside, and dropped it quickly into an inside pocket. He then threw the box down into the hollow tree and hurried away.
As soon as David was out of sight, Aldous approached the tree. At first he tried feeling inside with his hand, but it went too far in and he could not reach the box, but if he looked through the opening he could see it sitting there, almost mocking him. He decided to climb inside. It was a very tight fit, but somehow he managed to do it. He reached for the box, grabbed it, and put it in his pocket. Success! Now all he had to do was take the box back home and show Cynthia.
That was when he discovered he was stuck. He’d stayed there for hours, shouting for help, until The Great Bobbert found him. He ached all over, was dirty and itchy, but at least now he was out of the hole and could go home.
He walked back to his car and pondered the strange events of the day. Where had that clown come from? He was very lucky he’d found him, otherwise he would still have been stuck in the tree. His thoughts wandered to Cynthia. It really didn’t look like her husband was having an affair. Shame, that. More than once, thoughts of infidelity had crossed his mind while Cynthia sat in his shabby office.
Yet this really was a mystery. What had been in the box? It seemed too small for drugs. It looked almost like a jewelry box, and Aldous had thought he saw that flash of silver. Maybe David was planning to surprise his wife for their anniversary? But in that case, why did he throw the box away?
Aldous lived in a one-room apartment above the clock shop and his office. He’d hoped he could sneak upstairs and shower and change before his meeting with Cynthia, but when he arrived, he found Cynthia’s sports car already parked outside. He tried to straighten his hair in the car mirror, but quickly gave up.
As he got out of his car, Cynthia met him on the sidewalk. He nodded to her and held the door of the clock shop open for her. Her perfume had a floral tone, which was not entirely unpleasant, and made him even more embarrassed about the state of smelly disarray in which he appeared to her today. He led Cynthia past the displays of clocks and back into his office.
Aldous noticed that Cynthia looked nervous and was twiddling the ends of her fur stole. “Any news?” she asked.
“Actually, yes. Your husband met with the same youth today. Mr. Katz gave the young man some money and in exchange received this box.” Aldous produced the box and handed it over to Cynthia, who opened it.
“But it’s empty?” she said.
“Yes, your husband removed something from inside and then placed it in his pocket. He then threw this into a hollow tree. I retrieved it. Do you recognize it?”
“No . . . I mean, yes . . . I mean, maybe.” Cynthia suddenly seemed very confused. “Do you by any chance have something to drink?”
“Soda? Tea?”
“Nothing stronger?”
“I think I may have a bottle of brandy left over from Christmas.”
“That would be good.”
Aldous searched for the bottle and two glasses and poured a little into each. While he did so, Cynthia stared at the box. It looked like she was trying to remember something. She picked it up and studied it with a puzzled look on her face.
As she swallowed the amber liquid, a smile played on her lips. In the back of her mind there was a hint, a hint of something, or someone she once knew. It would come, she knew it would.
Chapter 18
Andrew and Jenna sat on a bench watching the squirrels play. The park was quiet that afternoon and there was a chill in the air.
“April is the cruelest month . . .” quoted Andrew. “T.S. Eliot—a genius, you know. Alistair was very fond of his poems.” Andrew did that a lot, thought Jenna, talked about Alistair as if he was an old friend, and maybe for Andrew he was. Andrew never talked about his family, never talked about his life before he joined the pack, and Jenna didn’t want to pry. Maybe the memory was too painful. She knew that she still desperately missed her family, even Ryan. But there was n
o going back for her. Gone—all gone. Alistair had made sure of that.
Jenna felt the baby stir inside her. It was getting excited. She’d noticed he did that, on the night of the full moon. She was starting to show a little now—five months. What would happen as the baby got bigger? How would she still be able to change on these full moons? How would her wolf form be able to accommodate him—the growing boy inside her?
Jenna had no interest in joining the pack during the month. She was happy to stay inside P.A.W.S. and work on the lessons that Professor Ainsworth assigned her. She liked her teacher and she liked the other kids. They had all been kind to her, particularly that Aussie kid, Joey.
Andrew, being older, didn’t attend morning classes, but adopted the role of mentor. In the afternoons, he took her out into the park and tried to teach her the skills she would need to be a useful member of P.A.W.S., but Jenna could see no further than the birth. She humored Andrew, who was always so kind to her, but couldn’t imagine wanting to do anything other than take care of her child—Ryan. She had already named him in her heart, named him for her brother. She’d mentioned that once to her Mandy, and Mandy got very angry.
“Why, Jenna? Why would you name the baby for him? He sold you out to Alistair.”
Jenna had tried to tell her, “No, no you don’t understand. He saved me.”
But Mandy couldn’t even begin to comprehend how much Jenna still loved and missed her brother.
Jessamyn had killed him. It was self-defense, apparently. He was attacking Miri. But Ryan was only a boy; surely he didn’t need to die. She didn’t feel bad about Nora’s death, though. As far as Jenna was concerned, Nora got what she deserved.
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