The Maker, the Teacher, and the Monster

by Leah Cutter

  Dale would acquiesce, too, and not fight his sister.

  Neither of them ever talked about Chris, their dad, Denise’s ex. Denise had grabbed the twins and run away to Oregon to escape him just before her heart attack. While Dale had seemed to understand that Chris had been a bad person—possibly dangerous—it had taken Nora much longer to accept the truth. Not until he’d shown up and tried to steal both of them while Denise was in the hospital, five years ago.

  The twins would find their equilibrium after a few weeks, falling back into calling each other “idiot” and “demented.” Dale would stop wearing Nora’s bracelets until she either badgered him into it or he lost one of their crazy bets. And Nora would start spending most of her evenings out with her friends.

  But for now, if felt as though they were both dancing around something big, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Denise to get sick again or something.

  With a sigh, Denise pushed her ereader across the table and looked up at the clock.

  The twins really were going to be late for school if they didn’t get a move on.

  Denise got up from the kitchen table, walked out the side door, then stuck her head out the door in the back of the garage.

  A flash of blue light stopped her. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

  “Nora—” Denise tried to call.

  It couldn’t be her pacemaker again, could it?

  Denise clutched at her chest as the world grew dark around her.

  * * *

  Cornelius nearly laughed as he watched Dale feign disinterest. That Kostya had been discovered (maybe, perhaps) held the Tinker’s full attention. It had been a good thing that Bascom had come to him the day before, that Cornelius had stretched his wings and left the fairy kingdom, come outside, to the human world. He’d forgotten how rich the air was up here, how bright actual sunlight was.

  Then Dale’s damned sister, the Maker, had shown up and destroyed the circle of protection that Cornelius had set up—she really was getting strong. But before she could do something stupid like attack Cornelius, the mother had shown up.

  And fallen.

  Before the humans could respond, Cornelius flew to the mother’s side. He didn’t have a clear plan in mind except that he knew he had to help her.

  He must put the twins into his debt. That way, they’d be obliged to help him with the capture of the dwarf.

  Cornelius hadn’t thought to approach the Maker to ask for help—she’d never been enspelled by the fairies. Only Queen Adele had learned part of her name. Then again, Adele had learned it more thoroughly than if Nora had simply told her: Adele had taken apart a sweater Nora had made, learning her completely that way.

  The mother lay on her side, her hand clutched to her chest. Her heart? The warriors had mentioned how pale the mother always was, how frail she appeared.

  Cornelius placed his hand over the mother’s. It was her heart.

  And there was a machine attached to it.

  It took Cornelius a moment to realize that he hadn’t just moved back, repelled by the monstrous thing he’d found, he’d been shoved, magically, and was flying back through the air, away from the mother.

  Cornelius spread his wings wide, slowing his progress, catching himself before he fell.

  The twins knelt beside the mother, one on either side.

  He could still help them. Though the electronics actually inside the mother were anathema to him, Cornelius still did what he could by encircling the twins in light, loaning them and the mother his strength and his warmth, healing what he could. He hovered above them while they yelled at each other, trying to come up with a solution.

  It seemed to be enough. The mother blinked open her eyes.

  Then she screamed.

  * * *

  Denise couldn’t believe her luck. She’d had to have pacemakers since she was a teenager and the surgeon had botched the operation to repair her congenital heart defect.

  The pacemaker before the one she currently wore had been bad. Of course, the manufacturer had never admitted fault. They’d still settled, paying not only her lawyer and the hospital fees, but also giving her enough so that the twins could go to college and she could get back on her feet.

  Now, the way her heart suddenly hurt, it seemed that lightning had struck twice. How could she have two bad pacemakers, one after another?

  Suddenly, the pain in her chest eased. Denise took a deep breath. It was funny—normally, she had nightmares of drowning. This time, though, it was like the water was friendly, blue, and healing.

  It only took a couple more painful breaths—growing less painful every passing second—that Denise could open her eyes.

  The worried faces of the twins stared back at her, both of them tear-stained.

  Beyond them, in the air, an apparition from one of Denise’s nightmares floated.

  She must still be having a heart attack. Or she was delirious. She screamed.

  “What? What is it?” Dale asked.

  Nora merely looked up. “She can see you, you idiot!” she hissed at the thing flying in the air. “Get out of here!”

  Nora knew this thing? It was finely dressed, in an old-fashioned suit and top hat. Perhaps its gray gossamer wings had once beautiful, though now they seemed ragged. Its face was beyond ugly, with mad eyes and sharp teeth.

  “I’m the reason why she’s now awake,” the figure—man?—said confidently. His voice was cultured, British, and soothing. “My magic is healing and comforting her. Can you do the same, Maker?” he challenged.

  Nora flushed. “It’s an illusion,” she claimed.

  “You know that’s not true, child,” the man replied.

  “You know this thing?” Denise asked, trying to swallow down her fears. If her children weren’t running away from it, she could control herself. It wasn’t attacking them. It claimed to be helping. She did stop looking at it directly. Really—it came from her nightmares. And would probably spout a few more ugly dreams.

  “Uhm, should we get you to the hospital?” Dale asked, deflecting.

  “Yeah, Mom, you’re having hallucinations,” Nora said, her eyes wide.

  Huh. Denise hadn’t realized how good her daughter had gotten at lying. “I’m quite sane, thank you very much,” Denise said, affronted. She pushed herself up to sitting without any help from the twins and twisted her head to look at the figure, though she kept her gaze on his chin, not his eyes. “And you are?” It was much better to confront nightmares than let them grow in the dark.

  The creature beamed at her, took off his hat, then bowed in midair. “Cornelius, ma’am. Head royal of the Greater Oregon Kingdom of the fairies.”

  Before Denise could reply, Nora interrupted with, “You can call her Mother, or the mother.”

  Denise blinked. The old legends about never giving your name were true? Then she looked back at Cornelius. This was a fairy? Obviously, not all the myths were true. “What do you want with my children?” Denise asked.

  “We need their help,” Cornelius said. “An old enemy has returned. Kostya, the dwarf.”

  Beside her, Nora stiffened. Obviously, she knew the name.

  But before Denise could ask more, Dale replied firmly, “No. Now go away, and leave my family alone.”

  “Very well,” Cornelius said, bowing his head. “But should you change your mind, toss this stone out beyond the Rowan trees.”

  A green agate dropped to the ground and bounced beside them.

  If Nora could have set the rock on fire with her glare, it would have burst into flames. “Don’t touch it,” she warned both Dale and Denise. “Just leave it there. Let it rot.”

  “Goodbye, for now,” Cornelius said. He sounded…fond? Did he actually care for the twins?

  Slowly, the warmth surrounding Denise faded, like the last of the light from the setting sun. She shivered, her butt suddenly cold and wet. Dale helped as she rose to her feet.

  “You want to tell me what that was all about?” Denise demanded,
looking first at Dale, then Nora. “How did you meet this creature, this, this, fairy? How long have you known about them? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Uhmm,” Dale said uncertainly.

  “Do we have a choice?” Nora asked seriously.

  Denise thought seriously for a moment. One of the things she’d consciously done was to give the twins more and more choices as they grew up, more responsibility for their actions as well. She took credit for some of how they’d matured into neat people and conscientious adults.

  “Obviously the fairies must be dangerous, which is why you wouldn’t give them my name,” Denise said slowly.

  Nora nodded. “Never give a creature your name.”

  There were creatures other than fairies that her children knew about? Denise couldn’t even think about that yet.

  “How about this, then,” Denise said. “You need to tell me enough so I’m not in danger from them, now that one has appeared to me.” Though she was dying to know more, and ask for every little detail, she knew better than to push. Nora would just grow prickly and stop responding, while Dale would resort to one-word replies.

  “That’s fair,” Dale said, glaring at Nora.

  Denise was willing to bet that the twins had had this argument before, about telling her: That Dale had argued for it, while Nora had argued against it.

  “Okay,” Nora said, giving in. “But later tonight, after dinner. We really are late for school, now.”

  Dale looked guilty. “Sorry.”

  “Pffft. Like you could have stopped him from showing up,” Nora said dismissively.

  “Are you okay?” Dale said, turning to Denise.

  “I’m fine,” Denise said. Her heart felt strong, now, stronger than it had, actually. “Go. Get to school. We’ll talk later.”

  “You’re the best,” Dale said, hurriedly leaning over and kissing her cheek.

  “Call me,” Nora said seriously after Dale had left. “If anything weird happens, or if your heart gives you any trouble. Call me immediately.”

  “I will,” Denise said. Was this a glimpse of how their lives would shift eventually? With her daughter taking care of her?

  Denise stood in the yard for a few moments after Nora had raced off after Dale. Was this why the twins were sometimes so protective of each other? They obviously had history with this Cornelius, and whoever Kostya the dwarf was. There was so much more going on here. And Denise hadn’t had a clue.

  Something sparkled in the grass at Denise’s foot. Without thinking, she bent over and picked it up.

  The green agate felt cool and smooth against her palm. She deposited the little stone in her pocket and promptly forgot all about it.

  * * *

  Adele wanted to scream. These children knew nothing of the real world outside of their classroom. They’d never even danced on a fairy hill during the full moon—the safest time for a fairy to be outside.

  Yet they dared to direct her and tell her what she should bring on the Great Trip North, as they were calling it. They’d even had the gall to summon her to their rooms, which were ugly and stark white. Where were the comfortable, colorful pillows for guests to lean against? The customary glass of wine?

  The rooms were as empty as their souls.

  Luckily, after Adele had arrived, the rest of the students had excused themselves to go do something else—probably to compose poems and theories about the upcoming journey, rather than actually preparing or something useful. Titir had remained to help her.

  Adele despised them all. However, she also needed their help. While it would be possible for her to make such a journey on her own, it would be so much easier with their support.

  The table beside Titir was covered in things Adele thought were useless: Scrolls, bags, boxes, hunks of cloth, and crudely made wooden cups. How would any of those help on their journey?

  “You were saying?” Adele asked Titir as he looked askance at the small pack she carried around her hips.

  “You need to carry something bigger than that on the journey!” Titir said, dismayed. “What are you going to sleep in?”

  “I’ll wrap my wings around me,” Adele growled. That was how she’d made it down.

  “No wonder you were nearly dead by the time you got here,” Titir said, shaking his head. “Here. You should take one of these.” He handed her a lump of soft, gray material.

  Adele didn’t know what the term was for it. It was only made here, in the south, manufactured using new techniques. The material felt like softly spun clouds or woven spiderwebs. However, when Adele held it up to the light, she couldn’t see through it. She wrapped a bit of it around her hand: It was surprisingly warm. When she shook out the small lump, she was surprised to see that there was enough cloth to easily wrap all the way around her, covering even her wings.

  “What is this?” Adele asked, fingering it. Her kingdom could benefit from such things. If only regular relations could be established!

  Except that the only time fairy kingdoms usually met was during battle, or afterward, to pay tribute. She’d assumed at first that the southerners had only come to her kingdom to find its weaknesses. They hadn’t bothered to explain the student caste until after she’d arrived at the Redwood Fairy Kingdom.

  “New silk,” Titir said, as if it were obvious. He turned to the table next to him, then handed her a stiff container, like new silk that had been coated with glue. “Open it,” he suggested.

  Adele put down the new silk and eagerly opened the container. Inside were wrinkled berries. “What are these?” she asked, trying to contain her disappointment. They looked rotted.

  “Try one,” Titir said.

  Suspiciously, Adele fingered one out. At least they were hard and not slimy. She cautiously bit into on, just a toothful.

  Sweetness exploded across Adele’s tongue. “That’s good!” She quickly popped the rest in her mouth, followed by three more.

  “Those are dried gossum berries,” Titir said, encouraged. “Careful—you don’t need to eat many to be full.”

  Adele nearly snorted at him. He had no idea how much energy it was going to take to fly all those miles. Still, the dried fruit was light and would travel well.

  “Why are you giving these things to me?” Adele asked. She knew none of the students actually wanted her to come with them on their Great Journey North—afraid she might steal their accolades, or something stupid.

  “Everyone has to carry their fair share,” Titir said evasively.

  Adele didn’t believe him for a second. Oh, she was certain that the students would insist on being fair, that was what they did down here, instead of letting each caste do what came naturally to them.

  But that wasn’t why he was helping her.

  “What do you want?” Adele asked, walking closer to the student.

  Titir stood up suddenly. “Nothing! Nothing,” he said, backing away.

  “You want something,” Adele asked, hot on the trail of her prey. They always forgot she was a warrior.

  “Just—knowledge,” Titir announced, collapsing in on himself. “Like, how was the great machine supposed to work? What was its real purpose? And were you the queen?”

  “Who called me that?” Adele asked, not denying it.

  “Garung did, once.”

  Adele growled at Titir. The royals had promised her that they’d kick her out of the kingdom if anyone learned of her true status. Despite their general weaknesses, she did believe them in this.

  “We’d gotten him drunk. Very, very drunk,” Titir explained hurriedly. “He wouldn’t ever talk about his trip, except in the vaguest of terms. Not even enough to form a proper poem or song.”

  Adele shook her head. Was that really all the students cared about? Poems and songs and stories, not the actual moonlight on their wings or the sunlight filtered through the pines? Just to sing about such things, and never experience them?

  “So, my queen, are you going to lead us to greatness?” Titir asked, pushing forward f
rom the wall where he’d been cowering.

  Adele laughed at him. “You don’t have the heart,” she sneered. Even the human tinker, Dale, had had more guts than these students.

  “I think we’ll surprise you,” Titir said, still daring to look her in the eye.

  “I hope so,” Adele said, sweeping from the room. “I dare you to,” she added over her shoulder.

  Let the students follow her, then. Maybe she could inspire them to greatness.

  * * *

  Nora alternated between fuming and worrying on the drive to school. She was going to have to tell her mom about the fairies. How much should she tell her? How much could she hide? She did not want to talk about what had happened five years ago, when she’d first met the fairies, how they’d nearly gotten Dale.

  How was Nora going to keep Mom safe? Particularly come fall, after Nora went to college?

  “Dale—” Nora started.

  “Nope. Don’t want to talk about it. You’ll just talk it to death. Like always,” Dale said. He stubbornly looked out the front window of the car, his jaw clenched.

  “I was just going to ask if you wanted a ride home,” Nora lied.

  “Oh,” Dale said, softening. “Naw, thanks, I’ll ride with the guys. Or I’ll catch the bus, head home early.”

  “Just be careful,” Nora warned. She didn’t know how bad the situation with Kostya was, if Cornelius would come back to tempt Dale.

  And tempt her brother the fairy would: They had his name. He’d never be able to escape them, not completely.

  At least Dale seemed to take her warning seriously, this time. “I will, Nor. I told him no this morning. I’ll keep telling him no. I promise.”

  Nora knew that Dale could make promises like that all day long.

  She didn’t know if he would be able to keep them.

  * * *

  Dale knew Nora had her doubts. Hell, he did too. The damned fairies did get to him, found him once a year, every year, since they’d first found out about them. Made him do their bidding.

  But when Nora had suggested they all move, Dale had refused. They’d been in Port City for two years by that time. He’d finally made friends. Settled in.