by Sarah Zettel
But then a new noise rippled beneath the music. It was a kind of distant roaring, like the wind rushing around the eaves. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw someone fall down.
I blinked and turned my head, trying to see better. All at once, I wasn’t in the middle of the glittering crowd anymore. I was in a dim and dusty pavilion. Daylight filtered through tiny strips of window high above. Around me, people in faded dresses and overalls staggered around the dance floor to the strident, off-key music of a tired band. Next to the door hung a sign:
FAIRYLAND DANCE MARATHON!
27 DAYS AND COUNTING!
WHO WILL BE THE NEXT TO FALL?
But Jack, following the music, turned us again, and I caught sight of my grandparents on their thrones. I was in their dance hall again, and I knew that other place was just my imagination. The dance marathon was a whole world away. This was my party. I could dance forever; I was that strong and that free. I grinned at Jack.
But Jack didn’t look quite right anymore. He was kind of pale, and his coffee-and-cream freckles stood out sharp against his skin. He was sweating, and he had to close his mouth around his breathing to smile at me and swing me around again.
KANSAS CITY DANCE MARATHON. The words from the flyer I’d pulled out of Shimmy’s handbag flickered in front of my eyes again. Why was I thinking about that? This wasn’t a dance marathon. This was a celebration, the celebration of my homecoming.
Jack stumbled. I tightened my grip on his hands. His cold hands.
“Jack?”
His jaw sagged open again. “Callie …,” he croaked. “Callie, I think something’s wrong with me.…”
But what could be wrong, with the music and the lights and my grandparents smiling down at us? It was perfect and magical. Like time was standing still.
Like time was standing still. My head surfaced briefly above the current of the music. How long had we been dancing, anyhow? An hour, maybe? I had no idea. There were no clocks in the hall, and I hadn’t worn a watch. There were big bay windows that looked over the midway, but as I turned again, I saw all the heavy curtains were closed. I couldn’t see anything through them but some faint, flickering light. The peaked ceiling sparkled like glass, but it was just a kind of shimmery solid silver that didn’t seem to be letting anything in, either dark or light.
Jack stumbled again.
“Jack …”
“Gotta … gotta keep moving …,” he gasped.
“No. Let’s go sit down, okay? I’ll get you something to drink.”
“Can’t. Can’t. Gotta keep moving. They say I gotta keep moving.”
“Who, Jack? Who says?”
He stared at me. His eyes were clouded over, milky. “Don’t know,” he wheezed. “Just … gotta keep dancing.”
I whipped my head around, turning us, trying to catch my grandparents’ attention. But they just waved from high on their thrones.
The current of the music pulled hard at me. My grip on my worry started to loosen, and I wanted to let it go. This was where I belonged, inside this life and vitality. I needed to drink it all into myself. I’d be even stronger than I was now. I’d be able to dance forever, and that was all I wanted, wasn’t it? Sure, I wanted to talk about who I was and what had happened to my papa. But there was time enough for that later. Grandmother had promised we’d talk when tomorrow got here.
Which was a funny way to say “later.” Like when Shimmy said Jack would take no harm walking into her house, when we weren’t in her house.
We weren’t in her house now either. We were in a magic country where even Death could be pushed around. Could they push around Time too? Thought and memory shoved hard against the music, trying to get up to where they could be seen.
I’d torn time right open back on the prairie, back when it was Jack who believed I was half fairy and I tried to tell him that was all baloney. What if my fairy grandparents could stop time in its tracks?
The music slowed down, becoming sultry. A woman in a sparkling red gown had stepped in front of Mr. Basie’s piano. I blinked, and looked, and blinked again.
“SHIMMY!”
Shimmy waved and smiled at me like nothing had ever been wrong. Then she took hold of the microphone and raised her voice to sing.
“Woke up this morning …”
Shimmy had a fine voice, full of feeling. She sang—she wept, really—about a man who’d done her wrong, and about how she should never let him go, never, ever let him go.
Jack slumped into my arms, but that didn’t seem important. What was important was that Shimmy was alive and well, and right where she wanted to be, home among the fairies, singing for their delight. Grandfather had promised she’d be rewarded, and she was.
I felt I should listen to that song about holding on to your man. I should hold on to mine forever and never let him go.
“Gotta keep moving,” Jack said. He was right, of course. I couldn’t leave the music or the dance. I didn’t belong out there. I never had. I belonged right here, just like Shimmy did. I waved at her, and she winked at me.
But Jack’s head lolled against my shoulder, and a bolt of fear shot through to my heart. It touched the spot where I could still muster a sense of right, and that feeling spread up my spine to my drowning head. It occurred to me that this much magic might not actually be good for a normal person. As much as I belonged here with my family, it wasn’t Jack’s world. I thought maybe I should get him out into the fresh air, away from some of the swirling power.
“Okay, Jack. We’ll keep moving.” I stretched my neck to see past the dancers until I got a bead on the double doors we’d come through. Jack was supposed to be leading because he was the boy, but he could barely support his own weight now, so I had to take over. I struggled with the rhythm but slowly steered us toward the edge of the dance floor. If I could just get him back outside to the midway, it would be all right. I was sure of it.
“Callie, my dear, where are you going?”
I turned us both around, and there was my grandmother.
She didn’t look so happy anymore.
24
Gonna Bring This Proud House Down
My hands went cold, and I groped quick after a lie. “I … uh … I was gonna go ride the Ferris wheel. I’ve never had the chance before, and neither has Jack.”
“Oh, poor thing, he’s tired, isn’t he?” Grandmother cupped Jack’s cheek with her hand. “Well, we’re just about to have dinner. You’ll both feel so much better after a good meal.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” I forced a smile.
“I know it’s all very confusing, Calliope,” said my grandmother. “But you just finish your dance. When tomorrow gets here, you’ll understand. For now … well, we’re celebrating, aren’t we?”
Of course we were. That was exactly what we were doing. How could I forget?
Except those thoughts weren’t coming up from inside me. I could feel it now. Those thoughts were from outside, like the music. They pushed their way past my own thoughts and memories. Grandmother was trying to put ideas in my head, and I had the very scary feeling she hadn’t even tried her hardest yet.
“Yes, we’re celebrating. Of course.” I said it because I knew it was what she wanted. It was the direction the current of music and magic moved, and it would be so much easier to just go along with it. If I tried to cut across it, I’d stumble and fall, just like I had during the rabbit drive, when Shimmy died.
But that wasn’t important, said those outside ideas to me. That was all long ago and far away. What was important was that Jack and I would finish the dance, and then there’d be a banquet, bigger and grander than anything either of us had seen yet.
Jack would eat too, because he was so hungry. I could feel that as well. This time, he wouldn’t be able to hold out. Even though he was the one who told me that if a regular person ate or drank in Fairyland, they’d be trapped.
“Come on, Jack.” I shook the hand I held. “We haven’t finished our dance.”
“Gotta keep moving,” murmured Jack.
Grandmother smiled as hard and bright as the diamonds in her crown, and stepped back so I could steer Jack deeper among the dancers.
The band was swinging again, fast and hot. All around us on the dance floor, people hopped and swung, fast and frantic and happy. Desperately, crazily happy, their eyes as wild as their movements. I dragged Jack over to the bandstand, and as we swayed back and forth, I looked hard at the musicians. They were desperate too. But they weren’t happy. They were scared, almost scared to death.
How much time had passed for the regular people? Jack was turning gray. He was going to be sick. I saw waiters laying out platters of food on long tables. Jack’s head turned that way, and he groaned like he was starving. And he might have been.
Shimmy wasn’t up at the microphone anymore. I turned us around, searching for her. I finally spotted her standing in one of the alcoves with Uncle Lorcan. He cupped a hand around her cheek. She was laughing with him, all loving. All forgiven.
I felt I was being watched. Sure enough, Grandmother was by the door and Grandfather was on his throne, both with their glittering eyes trained right on us. I moved away from the bandstand again. This time, I tried to keep to the edges of the dance. I had to do something and I had to do it soon, or neither one of us was getting out of here. Not that I wanted to. I mean, I had just come home. But Jack couldn’t stay.
I bit my lip and tried to think. These are regular people dancing around us. There must be wishes here. I reached with my extra sense gently, like I was trying to move through the dark without being heard. But there was not one single wish in that whole hall to catch hold of. All the wishes here were fulfilled. Taken. Grandmother and Grandfather, this place, it had made all their wishes come true, or at least it made them think they had. For them those wishes were so true they noticed nothing else. Not even that they were dancing themselves to death.
I all but dragged Jack to the edge of the dance floor, as far from the music as I could get. It filled my mind like fog, like dust. I couldn’t see past it. It made me one of them, the Unseelie. I only cared that the music went on, never mind what it did to the people. But I didn’t want to be like that. I strained, searching for a wish, a need, anything I could get my senses into and wrap my wishing power around.
“You’ll never get out that way.”
It was Uncle Lorcan. All smiles and charm, he had slipped up beside us, and now he stood there, looking out over the crowd, tapping his toe in time to the music.
“Oh, I’m not trying to get out—”
“Of course not.” He cut me off, laughing softly. “And he’s not your young man dying in your arms. Their Majesties are stronger than you can ever imagine, Callie. You’ll never get out of here using magic.”
“Help me,” I whispered.
Lorcan glanced around, with a huge smile but hard eyes. “There is no help from your father’s people. They have you exactly where they want you. You must accept, or you may just burn.”
With that, my uncle strolled away.
Jack sagged further. “I need water,” he whispered. “Please, Callie. I can’t …”
I was crying, and even as the sorrow trickled out of me, I felt the music coming in. No one wanted me sad. They wanted me happy. Jack was happy, just a little thirsty. If I relaxed, if I just listened like he did, I’d be happy and it would be all right. I looked to the stage, to Mr. Basie and his band. Mr. Basie was grinning and marking time with the cigarette he pinched in the fingers of his right hand, while his left kept a steady beat on the piano.
There is no help from your father’s people.
But it wasn’t only my father’s people here.
You must accept, or you may just burn.
Mr. Basie put his cigarette back between his lips and returned his full attention to the keyboard. I thought about my uncle when he was still Shake, back in Shimmy’s juke joint. I looked at the sheet music on the piano, looked at the curtains, looked at all the cigarettes in all the ashtrays around the musicians and smelled all that tobacco smoke. I remembered how I called down the rain over the rabbit drive and felt it wash away the fairy spell in the folks chasing after us.
If water could wash away magic, what could fire do?
Jack groaned, and his forehead thumped against my shoulder. A plan formed in my head. A crazy, dangerous plan. But I had to try. If we were going to get out of this place, I had to break those doors open with something stronger than the happy magic.
I steered Jack back to the bandstand. I waved and beamed at my grandparents and felt their satisfaction swell over me. You know how you feel when you want to make someone happy? And how it is when you know they’re truly proud of you? This was that feeling in tens and twenties.
Holding tight to Jack’s hand, I climbed up the bandstand steps to Mr. Basie’s piano.
“Well now.” Mr. Basie smiled, but his voice was hoarse from smoke and thirst. “What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to say how much I’ve been enjoying your music,” I said. Then I whispered, “How long have you been here, Mr. Basie?”
Count Basie blinked, then coughed. “You ain’t like them,” he whispered back. “You gotta get outta here.”
“We’re all gettin’ outta here,” I told him. I couldn’t leave these other people any more than I could leave Jack. It wouldn’t be right.
Mr. Basie was looking toward the throne. “I took this gig and I thought, I thought I’d be gettin’ me some good luck with it.” He shook his head. “Ain’t been like that so much.”
“Can you play ‘Midnight Special’?” I asked.
“That ain’t a dance tune. They”—he nodded toward my relatives—“might not like it.”
“Then you turn it into a dance tune. Make it swing. You can do it. Please, Mr. Basie.”
The piano player looked at me a long time. He had seen the fairy in me; now I had to pray he saw the human.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Freddie!” He jerked his chin to the guitar player. They conferred for a moment, shuffling around sheets of music. The rest of the band kept on playing. The trumpet and the saxophone wailed to each other, carrying on the dance.
Grandmother glanced at me. I smiled big and broad at her and swayed a little, moving my fingers like I was snapping them. Jack swayed where he stood, but he stared at the buffet tables heaped with food like he couldn’t see anything else.
Freddie was back with the band, giving them their instructions. Somewhere a long ways away, a siren sounded.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr. Basie with a smile that was as bright as any Shake had ever used against me, “me and the boys would like to do our version of ‘The Midnight Special.’ And as an extra treat, we have Fairyland’s very own Callie LeRoux to sing for us. Miss Callie?”
Applause rose up all around me. I had to let go of Jack’s hand. He dropped into a chair beside the piano. My grandparents’ approval poured over me as I stepped up to the microphone. I was adding to the current of music and magic. They were happy about that. They wanted me to sweep all these people away and be swept away myself.
The microphone was big and square and shining black and silver in the fairy lights. I thought about Mama’s humming as she moved around the Imperial, singing a song about wishing for freedom. I thought about the hobo families in the train yard. I thought about Jack’s hand in mine as we ran from Bull Morgan, and how Jack always seemed to know which way to go.
I opened my mouth, and I sang.
“Let the Midnight Special shine a light on me …”
The current of magic around me doubled. I wasn’t just in it now, I was truly a part of it. I could feel the people dance. I could feel their love and their happiness to have all their wishes fulfilled, and how that good feeling meant more than anything in the world. More than life itself.
“Ain’t nothin’ on the table, ain’t nothin’ in the pan …”
Mr. Basie played. It was the tune
I knew, but it leapt and danced all on its own, the meaning of the words hidden down deep behind the syncopation. The music had power, but not from the fairy magic. Mr. Basie was right; this wasn’t their song. This wasn’t a happy dance tune. This was a song of the dust and the trains and everybody trapped on the work gangs, wishing they would lose their chains. This was the song my mama sang to me, wishing for my papa to come home.
“Yonder come Miss Lucy. How in the world do you know?”
I swayed and I turned, dancing there all on my own. On the floor, someone faltered, and someone fell. I turned again, not fighting the current, letting it carry me around. Like the words, the power of this song was hidden deep down, but I could feel it. It was an entirely different spark from the fairy power. It burned, burned as bright as the matches and the cigarettes the musicians brought in with them.
“She come to see the governor. She gonna free her man …”
I grabbed the cigarette burning in the tray, and I stabbed that nasty thing hard against Mr. Basie’s sheet music. The sharp smell of smoke hit me a second before the yellow flame jumped up.
Mr. Basie jumped up too.
“Fire!” he yelled. “Fire!”
I snatched the paper. Heat bit my fingertips. But I didn’t wave the flame out; I ran for the curtains rippling behind the bandstand and dropped the burning paper on the floor. The heavy velveteen caught, and the flames started licking their way up the dark fabric.
The musicians took up Mr. Basie’s shout. “Fire! Fire!” They grabbed their instruments and ran for the doors.
Slowly, the dancers staggered to a halt. They blinked. I felt the moment every one of them smelled the smoke, and the moment they saw the flames chewing on the curtains.
They screamed. They screamed and broke and ran, following the musicians racing for the big open doors.
“Stop!” shouted a bass voice. It was Grandfather, on his feet in front of his throne. “Stop!”
