by Carrie Jones
The pixies shut the door to the sitting room behind them.
The children sat there for a moment, totally still.
“I think you should stay,” Annie said, her voice dangling in the air.
“Me? What about you?”
“Well, with you …” Jamie thought Annie was struggling with words. Her lips moved without any sound coming out before she finally finished, “It’s just that I saw your grandmother, Jamie. She was horrible. I think she wanted to eat you or at least kill you. She threw a knife at us.”
He swallowed hard, and the thought that he didn’t want to enter his head came into it full steam ahead.
“I don’t want to be like her,” he blurted.
Annie jumped back. “You are NOTHING like her. You don’t look anything like her, and I bet you don’t act anything like her either.”
That was true, but still, what Helena the baker said needled him. “Helena said I might become one. Sometime this year. That’s what happens when trolls turn thirteen.”
He might. He might not. It was up in the air until he was fourteen.
She clutched his hand. “You won’t.”
“How do you know?” His voice was as tiny and scared as he felt.
“Because I won’t let you,” she insisted, as if that made it so. “Plus, that does mean you should stay here. The place is magic. It seems like the best place to be if you want to learn how NOT to become a troll.”
They sat in silence for a second. All his life he’d hoped his existence held some purpose, and now—Jamie didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but he knew that sitting on the couch wasn’t brave, even if that couch was made of moss. So, he slid off. His feet sank into the soft carpet. He crouched down and spread apart his fingers to feel it better.
“Just like moss,” he whispered. “Weird.”
Little flowers resembling miniature buttercups grew out of the moss. He fingered one, wishing he could pluck it off and see if it was real like the flowers on the wall, but he didn’t know what kind of trouble that would get him into. Miss Cornelia seemed nice, even if she was older than dirt.
“I know what Miss Cornelia said, but do you feel like you’re dreaming?” Jamie asked.
“Exactly that way!” Annie said excitedly. “And if we’re not dreaming—I mean, so many bizarre things have happened today—”
“You’re worried you might be losing it?” Jamie fidgeted.
“Exactly.”
“Me, too.” Jamie thought for a moment and then used the word Annie kept using. “Exactly.”
She started babbling animatedly. “The thing is, with Mrs. Wiegle, my last foster, I felt like I might be losing it there, too, because it was so awful. I wasn’t ever allowed to touch Walden’s things. Walden was her son. He was a horrible wretch ball. I turned on the clock radio in the kitchen the first day, and Walden sat on me! His super-large butt squashed my face into the dirty linoleum floor. Then he stuffed one of my shirts with tissues and put a melon on it for a head before he set it on fire out on the lawn. And do you know what he said? He said, ‘This is you-oo.’ He sang it in that squeaky-doorknob voice he has. ‘This is Ann-ie, who can’t keep her baby hands off my things.’ Walden always said I have baby hands, because they’re small. I am so glad to be gone from there! I don’t care if this is a dream or if we could die because of magic. This is better. Believe me, being dead would be better than being with them.”
“He sounds awful,” Jamie said slowly. The drape by the window moved a bit, and Annie’s shudder turned into a shiver. “Don’t worry. It’s just a draft.”
“Was it awful where you were?” Annie leaned forward and handed Jamie the bunny as if he might find comfort in it. “Your grandmother … She looked—”
Annie suddenly seemed at a loss for words.
“It was bad.” Jamie’s face closed off.
Annie reached out and awkwardly petted his arm. “Oh, you have a splinter.” She plucked it out of his hand before he could even react, and then she abruptly changed the subject. “So, do you think we should?”
Jamie’s voice shook a bit. “Should what?”
“Stay here in this … in this … magic place.”
He hesitated. A man’s face seemed to form in the mirror on the wall. Long lines scowling. Jamie could almost make it out, but it blurred. Even though it worried him, he glanced away, focused back on Annie. “I do. I think we should. I mean, I thought my grandmother was going to eat me and people are so nice here and you …”
“My place was horrible. All I wanted was to get away.”
“And now we’ve gotten away.”
It almost seemed too good to be true.
“We should vow, Jamie,” Annie said, sticking out her pinkie finger. “We should vow to stay here forever, where we are safe, where nobody can eat us, or force us to do despicable things, or throw us outside in dog pens, where no one can make us smell underwear, or tell us we should be invisible because we’re so worthless. And whatever happens, we’ll stick together and look out for each other. You and me and Tala.”
“Deal,” Jamie said, and Annie thought he seemed relieved. His eyes lit up.
“Forever friends,” Annie said, squeezing his hand. It made her feel better to have him there with her, to not be in this alone. “We should promise to protect this place and each other.”
Jamie gave her a slight nod. Protecting this place would give him a purpose much bigger than just feeding his father and grandmother, and it was much more important and exciting than hopelessly existing.
Annie’s voice suddenly lost all its bravery. “Okay?”
Jamie hooked his pinkie around hers. “Okay.”
“I promise,” Annie whispered.
“Promise,” Jamie echoed.
They kept their pinkies locked like that for a second, and Annie pulled apart first, awkwardly brushing her hair out of her face before asking, “Who do you think came to the door?”
“Hopefully not my grandmother,” Jamie said in an attempt to joke. It didn’t quite work.
“Definitely not! Not Mrs. Wiegle or my social worker either.” Tiptoeing to the sitting room’s threshold, she cocked her head to listen.
Almost as if the visitor heard her, a male voice that neither child recognized said, “It’s a noisy night.”
“Yes, it is,” Miss Cornelia replied with a bit of concern. “Things are about.”
Annie motioned for Jamie to join her. He crept over in time to hear the man answer.
“Things?”
“One thing in particular,” Cornelia replied in a quieter tone.
“Not—”
“Yes.” Cornelia lowered her voice even more. Annie strained to hear. “And now with the gnome gone, it appears all sorts of things will be able to find us.”
“And do what?”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Miss Cornelia’s voice had a tired edge. “The black bird. There was a sighting.”
The man’s voice raised in panic. “It’s here?! Good goblins, Corny. That means—that means—we could be stuck.”
“Shh. The walls, you know, have ears.”
“And so do little girls and boys.”
This Cornelia lady is far too smart. Jamie started to move backward farther into the sitting room, but Annie grabbed his arm, keeping him there.
“Where is she anyway?” the man asked. His voice was smooth and deep and not the kind to inspire confidences.
“Safe and fine,” Miss Cornelia said in a soft voice that made Annie think of mother things like hot chocolate and warm cake and hugs. “Tala did a good job.”
“And where is Tala?”
“Tala is healed up and is keeping the outside out and the inside in.” Miss Cornelia laughed. “He is delighted. He wagged his tail, poor thing. He hasn’t been happy since—”
“Well, none of us have. Tell me, do you think she has what it takes?” the man asked.
“She must.”
“Are they talking about me?�
�� Annie whispered.
Jamie shrugged and put a finger to his lips.
“She seems small like her—”
Miss Cornelia cut him off. “Well, everyone seems small to you.”
The man chuckled. “That’s because they are.” Then his voice turned serious. “It has been a long time since we’ve faced such evil. Do you think we will prevail once again? Despite the prophecy?”
“We must,” replied Miss Cornelia gravely. “She is at a crossroads where her past, present, and future fatefully intersect. What happens now is up to her. Our very lives depend on it.”
14
Danger Approaches
Just then the doorknob wiggled, and Annie and Jamie leaped back, guilty, bumping into each other in their haste to act like they weren’t listening.
“Hello, James Hephaistion Alexander!” Mr. Nate pushed the door open and strode into the sitting room. His face was smudged with black. The smell of burned things wafted toward Jamie, who darted up to greet him.
“Mr. Nate! You’re alive!” Jamie wanted to hug the gaunt, bedraggled-looking man. Helena had told him that Mr. Nate hadn’t died in the fire, but somehow Jamie hadn’t quite believed her until this very moment. He caught himself at the last second from wrapping his arms around the librarian.
“Apparently, but only just barely. I had to get past the mayor who is pontificating at Miss Cornelia. That man loves a speech. I barely avoided it.” Mr. Nate gestured at Jamie and then at Annie. “And you must be the Annie everyone keeps talking about. It is a great pleasure to meet you.” He gave a formal little bow, and Annie giggled.
“Are you hurt?” Jamie asked.
Mr. Nate sat down, explaining that he was fine. His house had burned down, but he’d escaped with a minor injury on his hand, which was now bandaged up, and some smoke in his lungs.
Relief flooded Jamie’s body, but he could still sense Mr. Nate’s distress. It was a small weight at the base of the neck, worrying him down. Jamie asked, “Where will you live?”
“With Helena, full-time. She’ll just have to get used to being near people twenty-four seven, you know?” Mr. Nate petted his stomach. “I expect to be twice this size by tomor-row. That woman likes to feed anything with a digestive system. It’s quite an appealing quality in a living creature.”
Jamie thought that there were worse things to like than feeding people. One such thing would be eating people. He pushed the thought of his grandmother out of his mind, instead asking the question he wanted to know. “So, all that time at the library … you knew about this place?”
Mr. Nate wiped at some soot on his cheeks. “I did.”
“Which means you’re some kind of magic, too?”
“I am.” He straightened his shirt and coughed. “Witch. Wizard. Magic man. Seer. Whatever you’d like to call it. I’m only a bit magic, though. I’ve hardly any powers to speak of, and when I use them I tend to shake afterward. Not very manly.”
Jamie tried to understand exactly what that meant. “So you can … ?”
Mr. Nate explained that some people had a genetic predisposition to be a witch or a wizard, to do magic. Usually, it did not involve cauldrons or hats or spells with certain words said in certain orders. Some people were born into magic families, but some just underwent certain mutations in the DNA and—poof—magic was born. Other magic creatures also had similar genetic makeup to that of regular people but with tweaks. Dwarfs, elves, and shape-shifters were like that. For witches, certain abilities were coded into their DNA: power over different elements, flying, telepathy. It was complicated and brilliant, and both Annie and Jamie were totally enthralled.
“What about trolls?” Annie asked, knowing that was the question Jamie most wanted answered.
“You will learn about that soon enough, young lady,” Mr. Nate said.
“Please tell us,” Jamie urged. He couldn’t stand knowing only parts of things.
Mr. Nate took pity on him. “Trolls have a couple of mutations, a few extra chromosomes. There’s a lot we don’t understand about them. They shift, obviously, into their true selves at will, but usually at night. They hunt in groups, eating large mammals, chickens, and sometimes even trees. They would prefer to eat people, but they know that if they do that too much, people would catch on and hunt them. This happened in northern Europe centuries ago. Trolls were nearly eradicated by humans who had enough of their children being stolen and eaten in the middle of the night. So sometimes they raise people to eat as special delicacies.”
“Like me?” Jamie shivered. His hand was clutching the edge of the couch. He forced himself to ease his grip.
“Yes,” Mr. Nate answered.
“Which means they stole me from someone,” Jamie verified once again. “That I’m not even theirs?”
“Yes.”
For Jamie, it explained a lot. Why there were no pictures of his mother. Why he looked so different from everyone else—even his skin color, his eye color, his body shape, his facial features. They had never loved him, he realized, because you don’t love your food. But something still didn’t make sense.
“Wouldn’t they have fattened me up a bit?” he asked. “They starved me. Wouldn’t they want more of me to eat?”
“They would if they liked to eat meat and fat, but that’s not what they like to eat, Jamie. They like to eat bones and brains.”
His bones.
His brains.
“And they had to wait till my birthday to do that?”
Mr. Nate hopped about on his heels. “It is a rule to keep their behavior in check, a curse basically, and a bit cryptic as to its origins as all good curses are. Some say it was a curse created by Thor himself and involves lightning.” Mr. Nate shrugged, standing up. “Who knows the thought process of trolls? But let’s forget about that for now, birthday boy. I promise you. No one will eat you here. I’ve been asked to show you around before dinner, so how about a tour? Shall we?”
Annie and Jamie started to follow him into the hallway, but Jamie stopped short at the door. His hand trembled as he reached for Mr. Nate’s elbow. “Wait. Does that mean … Does that mean …”
“What?” Mr. Nate turned, examining his face. Worry made his features scrunch up a bit.
“Does that mean”—Jamie could hardly get the words out—“that my parents are still alive?”
Mr. Nate said simply, “There is always hope, Jamie. You must remember this.” He waved his hands in the air as he spoke. “There will always be hope, always be light, even in the midst of the most worrisome troubles. Annie is meant to be our hope, but I do believe that you, Mr. Jamie Alexander, may give this town hope as well. You can be happy here.”
Jamie seemed to stand a bit straighter, grinning, but Annie couldn’t help but ask, “Why does the town need hope?”
“Well, at this particular moment …” Mr. Nate ushered the children in front of him through a maze of hallways and rooms, barely stopping long enough for them to peek their heads in. “Well, there was a gnome. Not a real gnome per se. It was magical and it protected Aurora from detection.”
“Detection?” Annie cocked her head. She knew what the word meant, but she didn’t quite understand.
“It kept it safe so that humans and trolls and all sorts of savory and unsavory creatures couldn’t find us here, but it’s been stolen. That leaves us unprotected.”
Jamie stopped midstep. “Wait! So we aren’t safe now? The whole town?”
“Yes. Why?” Mr. Nate urged them forward again. Annie could hear his stomach grumble.
“It’s just …” Jamie’s sentence trailed off when a terrible rumble began in the hallway behind them, which wasn’t dark a moment ago and now looked as if a giant brown fog was thundering toward them.
“Wh-what is that?” Annie stuttered.
Mr. Nate’s eyes grew big. He shoved them both away from the approaching fog through the maze of hallways. “Run! Find a place to hide! Now! Go!”
“But … ,” Annie objected.
“Is it trolls?” Jamie shouted.
“Much worse, Jamie. Run! Stay with each other. Now!”
Mr. Nate, Annie, and Jamie ran for their lives. Pixies and fairies buzzed everywhere. All the occupants of Aquarius House streamed out of doorways, the dark fog pushing them toward the fountain in the foyer, where they realized there was nowhere left to go.
The darkness swirled around the fountain and seemed to settle in it, turning the water black. Several mermaids had evacuated the fountain and were flopping around on the cold floor tiles, creating puddles as they frantically searched for a place to escape. Some of the pixies screamed and Annie stopped still. There was the face of a man in the water, a reflection on the surface.
Mr. Nate snatched Annie and Jamie against his wool sweater.
“Don’t look, children,” he implored them. “You don’t need to see him. He can’t be here. He’s far away. It’s just an image. Just an image, is all.”
Just an image or not, the reflection terrified them. There was something wicked in the man’s eyes, something more evil than anything Annie had ever seen before. Although she had seen him before, hadn’t she? Yes, it was the man in the window. She couldn’t avert her gaze, no matter how hard she tried.
The face in the water stared directly at Annie. His mouth opened, forming horrible croaking words, “Annie Nobody. I will come for you.”
“For me?” she whispered.
Jamie shuddered beside her. Mr. Nate clutched her closer.
“Never!” A woman’s voice, loud and strong, broke the silence. A giant ball of light hit the water in the fountain. The man’s image shook but stayed.
Miss Cornelia strode forward, face taut with tension, hands outstretched. “You will not take anyone. Never again.”
The man smirked slowly, completely unfazed by her words. “We shall see.”
“Never.” Her voice resonated like a bell and seemed to fill the entire house with her power. Across all the walls of the room the word wrote itself over and over in bold, angry writing: NEVER. NEVER. NEVER. NEVER.
A ball of light formed in Miss Cornelia’s hand. It rushed through the air and hit the water again. The darkness swept up to the ceiling and disappeared. The old woman closed her eyes and bent over a bit, as if terribly tired.
