by Caleb James
“They abandoned you,” Jerod said.
“Yes… and set us to rule over what remained of Fey. The mess and the mayhem, a world riddled with holes and the deadly mist. At first we three were one, trying to stabilize a world that because of its magical nature would not hold. But we weren’t one. We were three. Had our purpose truly been united, things might have gone differently. But it’s not the fey way; it’s yours.”
“You lost me,” I said.
Changeling Mom spoke. “Humans like routines built on logic, Alex… that’s what Katye’s saying. Stability, normalcy, doing the same thing over and over till it becomes solid. Magic isn’t solid, it isn’t logical. It’s intuitive and in constant motion.”
“Twisty,” Katye said. “Like the mist. A village of elves here… and then gone. A fairy castle that’s stood for millennia, now a grassy hill. The mist is its own magic, that’s what Lizbeta would say. May tricked her first. Like me, she used her special as a trap.” The flames in Katye’s eyes burned bright. “Lizbeta… dark of hair, like you, Alex, and my Lancelot. But skin so clear… like she was made of glass. Just to sit with her… calm… peace. Time, which is different for us, around her lost all meaning. Just be… sit… no matters, no worries.” Katye swirled her whiskey in front of the candle, her gaze on the gold in the liquor.
“How did May trick her?” I asked.
“With the mist itself. May encouraged Lizbeta to study it, to know it. It was drawn to her and she to it. I watched it happen. I knew that May was not to be trusted. The mist courted Lizbeta. She’d touch and shape it, making it swirl in giant waves. She’d throw rainbows into its milky waters. She controlled it… or so it seemed. Everything else the mist touched it consumed, but not her. Call me a romantic, but I believe it fell in love with her. It was her constant companion, swirling at her back, around her feet, a cloak of color shooting miles above and behind her.
“May feared what that meant. She saw Lizbeta’s control of the mist as a threat. If anyone were to control this terrible thing, it would be May. She demanded to know the mist’s intent, and Lizbeta would say, ‘It is’.”
Katye laughed, “She was magnificent. Lizbeta and the mist. You can’t imagine… she was a goddess, and we were in awe and marveled at its meaning. The mist had always been feared, but now…. Lizbeta was its friend, its lover, its queen. Perhaps it wasn’t to be feared, but to be studied and understood… which is how May tricked her. She flattered and cajoled Lizbeta into telling her how she controlled the mist… which had no effect. Lizbeta needed no reassurance, she lived in harmony. I think that’s what drew the mist, two rare and kindred souls finding one another. May grew furious. She’d watch the fey gather round Lizbeta. They worshiped her and the mist. And for a time, no more lands and creatures vanished. Lizbeta had brought peace between the mist and the fey. May schemed, if she couldn’t control the mist, then no one would. She came to Lizbeta, sobbing and tearing the flesh from her face. ‘What is wrong my sister?’ Lizbeta asked.
“May, who knew our sister’s heart, bared her treacherous grief. ‘I would know our mother and our father gone into your lovely mist. I would know the children of fey and the marvelous creatures gobbled by your wispy companion. But mostly—’ and she ripped the gown from her breast, ‘—I want my mother!’
“Lizbeta tried to comfort May. But the more she spread her peace, the more May wept, her wails painful to the ears. At last, Lizbeta said the fateful words and sprang May’s baited trap—‘Tell me, sister, for your sorrow I cannot bear. Tell me what must be done to calm your heart.’
“With tears on bloody cheeks, May stared Lizbeta in the eye. ‘Promise me you will do all in your power to ease my paining heart.’
“‘Of course, and without delay,’ Lizbeta replied.
“The trap snapped shut. ‘Then go into the mist and bring back our mother and our father.’”
Katye sighed. “And Lizbeta did…. She turned on the spot, and parting the mist before her, vanished into its depths. Never to return.”
“You didn’t stop her,” I said.
“No.” And Katye took the tumbler of whiskey, downed it, and signaled for the waitress to bring more.
“And the mist?” Jerod asked.
“Returned to its old ways, gobbling everything in its path. What remains of Fey—the Unsee—grows ever smaller. As it shrinks, so does May’s power. She is desperate.”
My cell buzzed. I pushed back and fished it out. It was hard to see the readout in the darkened restaurant. I took the call.
“Alex Nevus?” A woman’s angry voice in my ear.
“Yes.”
“Where’s your sister?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Lydia Greene, your sister’s OCFS caseworker.” She sounded furious.
“What do you mean, where is my sister?” My anxiety spiked. “She’s in your safe house.”
“Right. You want to play it like that?” The caseworker wasn’t making a lot of sense.
“What are you saying? Alice isn’t there?”
“Like you don’t know. The cops have already been to your apartment. Clearly you’re not there.… Where’s your sister, Alex? This isn’t a game.”
I stared at my phone and then toward the front of the restaurant. I saw the flashing lights of a police cruiser. “You bitch! I don’t have her. And if you incompetent morons have let anything happen to her….” I disconnected. “We have to get out of here, now!” Pushing Jerod out of the booth, I turned and spotted a pair of uniformed officers pushing through the front door.
“Come on.” I dropped my phone under the table.
“What’s happening?” he said.
“I don’t know.” I headed toward the back of the restaurant. We ducked into the kitchen, and with changeling Mom and Katye following, we fled out the back door and into an alley. At one end there was a cinder block wall that ended in four feet of chain-link fence capped with coiled razor wire. Down the only feasible exit was a parked patrol car. A second pulled up, and two more officers got out. They headed toward us as the door to the restaurant opened, and two policemen came into the alley.
“Alex Nevus,” one of them said.
I saw no way out… and where was Alice? They were supposed to keep her safe. Had she run away… or… been taken?
“Let me,” Katye said. “Hello, officer.” Her voice, like the purr of a kitten, calmed the panic in my head. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one affected by it.
“Hi.” The officer who spoke seemed dazed as he stared at the beautiful redhead.
“Such a handsome man.” She turned to his partner and then to the two coming down the alley. Her hands, like white lilies, floated in front of her. She placed a playful finger on the first officer’s nose as the four uniformed men surrounded her, vying for her attention.
I bolted for the street with Jerod, and changeling Mom behind me. I don’t think the officers noticed, but I wasn’t going to risk it. We ran for blocks, getting off the avenue and zigzagging north. Winded, I stopped in the middle of West Fifty-Second. “What the hell is going on?”
Changeling Mom stated the thing I most feared. “May has stolen Alice.”
“How is that possible?” I asked.
Changeling Mom paused. “I can think of a way. And because, like you, your sister is a haffling. She would be able to pass between worlds, perhaps like the Alice in the book—through a looking glass.”
“Yes, possible,” Nimby agreed. “And if possible, then probable, which is just how it happened.”
“We have to go back to Fort Tyron,” I said, trying to figure out where the closest subway station was.
“May will be waiting,” changeling Mom said.
“I know.”
“It will be a trap.”
I looked at Mom and then at Jerod. His eyes were wide, clearly frightened… but something more. “You don’t have to come with me. You shouldn’t,” I said.
He shook his head and came toward me.
&n
bsp; I didn’t move, wondering what he was thinking. My thoughts were a muddled mess of anger and fear. Nothing was working out. I had to find Alice. But I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
“I’m coming with you, Alex.” His hand was on my cheek and the other on the back of my head. He pulled me close. His lips on mine. My head was suddenly clear and light. I held onto him, our lips locked, our tongues entwined. All of my fears, my panic, vanished. This, this moment was real magic.
Slowly, we pulled apart. Our hands on each other’s faces. The scratch of his stubble against my palm.
“We’re going to find Alice,” he said. His hands fell from my face. “Come on.”
Twenty-Three
IT WAS after ten, and the iron gates to Fort Tyron Park were locked. We helped changeling Mom up first. Jerod and I each hoisted a foot while she grabbed onto the top of the spiked iron fence. She had good upper-body strength, found her footing, and swung her legs over. Then she dropped to the other side. We scrambled up and over, and darted into the park and away from the streetlights. Overhead, the trees formed a thick canopy, through which we glimpsed a full moon. Silver light spilled through the branches and illuminated the paths. We ran up the paved bike lane, found the first hiking trail, and then the dirt deer run.
The towering mulberry was bathed in moonlight, and far in the distance, the Hudson River sparkled.
Of course May knew I would come. This was a trap. We stood at the edge of the mulberry’s branches. My actions were rash and ill-conceived. I had no plan. I turned to Jerod. I looked at Nimby perched on his shoulder. She stared at the Mulberry in terror, her red eyes aglow, her lips trembling.
I pressed my hands together and pushed them into the tangle of branches. I waited for that first tingle of magic to thrum up my fingers and my arms. It didn’t come. I pushed in further and spread my hands apart, feeling the tug and pull of the twisted limbs as I made an opening.
Inside, there was only blackness. The muscles of my upper arms strained as I pulled the branches apart. I remembered the other two times, like I had fallen through worlds. This felt like… like it was late at night in a park.
The opening was big enough for my head, and I pushed my hip into the branches and let the weight of my body do the rest. Jerod followed with Nimby still on his shoulder. And behind him, changeling Mom.
“Hello?” I whispered, well aware there were rangers and we were trespassing. “Hello?” My voice sounded hollow, swallowed by the cocoon of branches and leaves.
“Shouldn’t raise your voice at the end,” Jerod cautioned.
“Good point.”
“He’s not just a pretty face,” Nimby tittered. She didn’t sound scared. Her pink-jeweled wings sparked with a rosy glow.
“I know that,” I said. “He’s brilliant.”
“I’m blushing,” he replied from a couple feet away. His nearness was the only magic.
“She’s not here.” I felt paralyzed with doubt. What if this had been a dream, or a drug-induced hallucination, or worse still, a sign of the madness I was inheriting from Mom?
“She knew we were coming,” Jerod said.
“Yes,” changeling Mom agreed. “It’s not good, Alex. She fears you—or what you can do—for she has run… and stolen Alice. She has made a choice and will steal your sister’s body and use it for her bridge.”
“No!” I had to do something… figure this out. “Jerod, tell me that you still have your cell.”
“That’s better,” Nimby replied.
“I’ve got it….” He paused. “… tell me your mother’s number.”
I gave it to him, and he tapped it in.
I strained to hear its ring. I heard crickets and frogs and our feet crunching on twigs. No phone.
“I have a GPS app,” he offered.
Hope surged and then crashed. Mom’s phone had gone days without a charge. The battery was probably dead….
Nimby flitted on his shoulder. Jerod’s cell and her sparkly wings the only light under the mulberry. I stood next to him and stared at the screen. It showed our location but nothing for Mom’s cell. Either it was dead or May had figured out how I’d found her that first time and disposed of the phone. “Where is she?” I shouted, wanting May to pounce on my question and demand a price for the answer. There was no response, just croaking frogs. My fingers touched Lance’s shirt that dangled out of my back pocket. I pictured Alice. “She would call if she could,” I said.
“You don’t have your phone,” Jerod reminded me. “And she doesn’t have hers.”
I turned in place. “There’s got to be a way.”
“Maybe Katye knows,” he offered.
Something hopped across my foot. I jumped back. “What….” It was a frog. It batted its thick head against my ankle, like a cat that wants its ears scratched. I held still, and it did it again. I knelt down and cupped my hands in front of me. My eyes discerned a dark shape from the blackness as I felt webbed fingers scratch my palms. A surprisingly strong and heavy body waddled into my hands.
Jerod had turned his phone. Using it as a flashlight, he shone it on a plump, green-and-blue bullfrog.
“You have got to be kidding,” Jerod said. He placed a hand on my back as he played the light over the frog. “He croaked.”
“Not possible,” I said. “Has to be a different frog. How could he get all the way here from there?”
Jerod snorted. “Really? A man gets turned into a frog… oh, after first aging a few hundred years in a couple minutes, and you’re stuck on the logistics of him hopping a few miles?”
“Good point.” Cradling the frog, I eased back on my heels and raised him to my face. I had a moment’s guilt, remembering biology dissections, frogs splayed open and hacked apart, with little red and green flags stuck in their various organs. “It’s Lance.”
It croaked.
“Lance,” I repeated.
It stared at me and croaked. “You’ve got to be joking. Croak once for yes and two for no.”
It croaked.
“Your name is Lance.”
It croaked.
“Your name is Charlotte.”
It croaked twice.
“Tell him to take us to Alice,” changeling Mom said.
“Right….” I gazed into the frog’s shiny black eyes. I pictured the handsome man and how devoted he’d been to Katye. He was tied to her, and she somehow to us. I felt connections, but couldn’t pull them together into anything rational, and maybe that was the problem—Ditch rational, and talk to the damn frog. “Lance, take us to Alice. Help me find my sister.”
The frog lay heavy in my hands; he blinked. Seconds stretched, and then I felt his hind legs push against my palms as he turned and leapt. He croaked from a couple feet in front of us, hopped several times, and then croaked again.
I followed. He hopped away. He croaked; we followed; he hopped. He croaked; we followed; he hopped. He came to the edge of the tree’s canopy. I heard his legs scrape at the branches, and then he was on the other side.
We emerged from the tree. The moonlight was almost blinding after being in total dark. Lance was one gorgeous frog, plump and green, with swirls of blue down his back and haunches. He headed west, at first going a hop or two, croaking and waiting for us to follow. Once it was clear we were on board, he moved in earnest.
“See,” Jerod said as we broke into a jog to keep up. “This makes total sense. Frogs can travel great distances if they set their minds to it.”
We headed into the woods, not on any particular path. The moon helped us stay clear of twisted roots and saplings. Lance was moving fast and in a straight line. The terrain sloped down, and here and there I glimpsed the Hudson twinkling in the distance.
We came to a paved bike path. Lance hopped straight across and dove back into the woods. Bushes and saplings snapped beneath our feet and tugged at our clothes. Our descent grew steeper as we headed down the wall of a ravine. Traffic whizzed in the distance, and I saw streetlights a hundred feet below
us.
Still running, I barely missed smashing my face into the park’s outer iron fence.
Lance hopped through and then stopped. He croaked as Jerod and changeling Mom joined me at the impassible fence. It was much higher than the one we’d climbed to get in—probably ten feet. Its iron rods were spiked at the top, a deterrent from people accessing the park. Or in our case… leaving it.
Lance croaked as I stared down the fence to our right and to our left. There were no breaks and no gates.
“There,” Jerod said. He jogged to the right, toward a thick-trunked oak that had grown into the fence and bent it out. Not enough for us to get through, but between the bend in the bars and the tree’s gnarled branches, a possible way out. He climbed up. “It’s not that hard,” he said. “Although….” He perched on a branch that rested on the top of the spiky fence. It was a sheer drop to the other side, not just the ten feet of the fence, but the ground fell away over a cement retaining wall. Far below that was the Henry Hudson Parkway. “Give me your belt,” he said.
I scrambled behind him, finding the same footholds and branches he’d used. I unbuckled and handed over my belt. He looped it with his. Straddling his branch, he fastened the belts around it.
“It’s not enough….”
“Here.” I pulled Lance’s shirt from my back pocket.
“You’d look good in this,” Jerod said.
“Thanks… but use it.”
He tied a sleeve to the end of the belts. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know my knots.”
“Good to hear.” I looked from the makeshift rope to the death drop below.
“God, I hope this holds.” And over he went.
He moved too fast. I wanted to scream, to tell him we’d find another way over, a safer way. It was too late. I couldn’t breathe as I watched him hang tight. His feet scrambled for purchase against the iron gate slats. I reached through and grabbed for his legs. I caught hold of his jeans and guided his foot to the space between the slats.
“Thanks.” He was trying to sound brave.
I heard the terror in his voice as his feet moved bar by bar. One hand let go of the blue shirt and gripped the fence, and then he let go with the other, and with a couple more sideways creeps along the iron fence, he was over safe ground, and dropped to where Lance was waiting.
