by Leah Cutter
Just as Dale started unhooking the small gears from the main works, he heard a knock on the front door. Strange. He hadn’t heard another car.
Wary, Dale peeked out the window next to the front door. Two kids stood on the far side of the road, staring at the house. They didn’t wear any shirts, just some kind of weird red paint and shorts. Maybe they were playing doorbell ditch.
One lifted a brass-colored sphere, about the size of a whiffle ball. The kid twisted the top in one direction while turning the bottom in the other.
Even in the bright daylight, Dale recognized the cool blue-phosphorus glow, the same as from the odd machine in his room.
Without thinking, Dale threw the door open. The two kids stared at him. “Hey,” Dale called out. He slowly crossed the threshold and walked toward them. “What is that?” he asked. As he drew closer, he realized the two halves weren’t solid: gradated wheels spinning in different directions made up each.
The blue light flashed brightly in Dale’s eyes, then everything went dark.
***
Kostya sat in the deep grass across the road from the human Tinker’s house, waiting. He kept as still as possible. The sturdy house wasn’t bad for a human dwelling, he decided. At least it only had one level. Solid brown wood covered the walls. It sat in the open, though, far too exposed for the dwarf.
An older woman with dark hair and too-pale skin left the house at midday, walking up the road. Kostya assumed that was the mother. She carried her frailty proudly, as delicate as a jeweled songbird.
Kostya considered going into the house and mapping out all the escape routes before she came back. However, before he could leave his post, three humans came down the road—the mother and the two children: the Maker and the Tinker.
The Maker closely resembled her mother—dark hair that grew in wild waves down her back, equally dark eyes. However, her pale skin didn’t represent sickness; rather, it expressed an irrepressible light that glowed deep inside her.
The Tinker also shone in the sunlight, hair practically bleached white. He was balanced with a darkness, clouds boiling within.
After a while, the boy and girl left, leaving the mother inside. Kostya followed them silently to the top of the trail leading down to the cove. They paid no attention to their surroundings. Kostya could have walked behind them in plain sight and they wouldn’t have noticed.
Kostya left them to their play and went back to his spot to plan and wait. If the boy and girl were always together, maybe he’d have to kill them both. He didn’t want to do that, to snuff out the lovely light of the Maker. However, Kostya would do anything to thwart the fairies.
The mother left after a while in her infernal combustion engine. Kostya cursed the car as it passed, holding his breath until the stench of its fuel faded away. Humans must not have any sense of smell.
While Kostya contemplated going into the house again, old Eli drove up, causing Kostya to curse more. The handful of cold iron he carried won him Kostya’s grudging respect. Not all humans were oblivious, and the iron would slow the fairies from entering the house, as well as Kostya himself.
When Eli pounded the first piece in, under the eave right above the front door, Kostya realized they weren’t just iron, but magnetized. His respect for the old man increased. Then Eli moved to the corners of the house. Protecting the door was good, but he left all the windows untreated. Damn fairies could fly through any of them unharmed.
Still, it was a start. The way old Eli puttered around the lawn made Kostya think he had more planned as well.
Kostya kept himself very still when the boy came back alone. He hadn’t expected to have an opportunity like this for at least a few days. Once Eli left, he could approach the boy, befriend him, and get him out of the house...then take him to the ocean and drown him where his body would never be found.
After the old man drove away, Kostya began casting his illusion, working to make himself more comely to humans. It took him a while to change his appearance. Glamours weren’t native to his people. His greatest strength was the opposite: sensing and finding hidden things.
Kostya hid his large teeth and oversized nose, though he kept his crooked eyebrows and pointed ears. More than one human book mentioned that dwarfs had beards—Kostya added one to his chin as well as a stalk-thin mustache. He maintained his golden eyes; his wife had always told him they were his best feature. He shrank his claw-like fingernails down to human-size, whitening them as well. Then he spruced up his clothes, making his shirt whiter, his vest richer, and his pants cleaned and pressed.
A loud knock jolted Kostya from his preparations. When had the damn fairies arrived? A hunting party of six warriors stood in the grass. He watched them easily lure the boy out, capturing him quickly. He cursed under his breath. Now the fairies had the boy. They’d take his will from him, and he’d help them despite himself.
However, Kostya couldn’t attack such a large party alone. He needed help.
The girl. He must go get the girl.
Chapter Four
Nora eagerly waited for the tide. The wind kept her company, teasing her hair, offering her different scents to guess at. A small tan lizard darted out of the log she sat on, heading for the cliff. Its splayed feet made flowerlike patterns on either side of the line drawn by its tail. Nora wondered how she would capture that in a knitting pattern before the wind brushed it away.
More movement caught Nora’s eye. To her left, someone stumbled down the rock trail. At first, she thought the distance tricked her eyes—they couldn’t really be that small, could they?
As the person drew closer, Nora realize that he was dressed like an adult, not a kid. A dwarf! Then Nora corrected herself: a little person.
Nora continued to wait, a little less patiently, as the little person made his way to her. He wore solid leather boots that sank into the sand. His clothes looked old-fashioned: vest, full pants, and a starched white shirt.
His eyes held Nora’s attention: golden like melted honey. She wondered if he were Japanese—his eyelids had that look, and his beard only grew from the tip of his chin, whereas his red cheeks were smooth.
“I am Kostya,” he said, introducing himself formally when he reached her, bowing at the waist.
“I am Nora,” she replied, just as formally, bowing from where she sat. His accent reminded her of Mrs. Reznikova, a teacher at her school, from Russia.
“You’ve moved here recently, yes?”
“We did,” Nora said. “From California.” Belatedly, she remembered her mom telling her never to give out any information about their past. However, Kostya didn’t look like someone Nora needed to be wary of. There was something about him, something exciting that set the hair along the back of her neck tingling. Besides, he only came up to her chest. She didn’t view him as a threat. “Are you a local?” she asked, trying to be polite.
“You might call me that,” Kostya said, rocking back on his heels and chuckling. He kept his hands behind his back, as if he’d been in the military. Sunlight bounced off the silver threads in his vest. “I’ve lived here a very long time,” Kostya confided in Nora. “But I came from over there,” he added, pointing out over the ocean.
“So you’re Russian?” Nora guessed.
Kostya shrugged. “I am a little of a lot of things. Just like you. Artist,” he said, gesturing toward the rock design in the sand. He looked at the encroaching tide, his smile widening. “Destroyer.”
Nora grinned, buoyed up and filled with sunlight. Was this someone who understood?
“While I would love to sit here with you and watch the ocean scrub the beach clean, I’m afraid we have to go. You’re brother’s in trouble.”
“What?” Nora asked, immediately jumping to her feet. The truth of Kostya’s words thrummed through her bones. Dale was in danger. She had no doubt, now that it had been brought to her attention. “Where is he? What’s wrong?”
“He’s been taken. By the fairies.”
Nora’s urg
ency and joy crashed to the ground, as if knocked over by a cold ocean wave. “What do you mean?” There were no such things as fairies or magic. She wasn’t some six-year-old looking for a bedtime story. “Fairies? Not really fairies, right?”
“We don’t have time for nice stories,” Kostya said, glaring at her. “We must go. Now!”
“Fine,” Nora said, turning and stomping away. The wind pushed her, encouraging her to go faster, as did her growing worry for her brother. She looked back when she’d gotten to the halfway point up the trail. Kostya still trundled far behind her, unable to keep up with her longer legs.
“Creepy man,” Nora muttered as she quickly hiked up the rest of the trail. Not content with merely walking once she’d reached the top, she jogged the rest of the way home.
The front door stood open. No car sat in the driveway. Her brother would never have left the house like that. Mom would kill him.
“Dale?” Nora called as she poked her head into the living room. Quiet resounded around her.
Nora took one cautious step into the house. “Mom?” She knew her mom wasn’t home, but she still felt like she had to try.
No one answered. The house stood empty.
Nora went to the kitchen. Dale had been there—he’d marked himself as home on the board. Nora erased his mark. Better that Mom thought they were still at the beach.
Next, Nora went to Dale’s room. The machine sat on plastic in the center of the floor, the only thing out of place. She had the irrational impulse to tear apart the sheets on his bed or toss the papers on his desk onto the floor. Instead she quietly shut the door, to hide from their mom what Dale had been working on.
She checked her own room, her mom’s room, the office—nothing was out of place. Finally she went back outside, carefully closing and locking the door behind her.
Kostya stood on the far side of the road, looking at something. Nora stormed over to him. “I swear, if you did something to him, if you hurt him—”
“No, no, not me, miss. The fairies,” Kostya said, pointing.
A circle had been beaten down in the dusty grass. Nora bit back the impulse to laugh. First fairies, now crop circles? A piece of braided grass lay on one edge. When Nora picked it up, it gave a puff of blue phosphoros light. It was the same light as the strange machine Dale had. As the glow dissipated, the grass shriveled and dried up.
“What was that?” Nora demanded, turning to show Kostya. “Grass isn’t supposed to do that.” Chills ran down her arms, while her fingers tingled. She shivered.
“Magic,” Kostya said.
Nora didn’t believe in magic. Not like that. Creating a sweater out of a single strand of yarn was magic enough for her. Real magic, fairy magic, meant an entire new world, one without limits. She frowned.
None of it meant anything without her brother to share it.
“Where’s Dale?”
Kostya shrugged, but his face looked stern. “The fairies have him.”
Regardless of whether Nora believed in fairies or not, she still knew what they had to do. “We must rescue him.”
***
A bright light shone directly in Dale’s eyes and pulled him from his sleep. “Dang it, Nora, stop that,” he murmured. He found he couldn’t lift his hands—the sheets must have tangled them. Determined, he pushed himself back and over to his side.
For a sickening moment, Dale fell. He landed on the ground hard. Then he rolled, and he kept rolling. He needed to get away from the light following him. Rocks scratched his bare arms as he rolled. Had he fallen asleep in Nora’s room? His floor wasn’t this bumpy.
With a shock, Dale suddenly remembered. He opened his eyes and sprang to his feet. He tried to pull apart his hands, but thick rope bound them together. He recognized where he was—outside the abandoned house. The door to the house stood open, black and endless, like a deep tunnel. An abandoned stretcher lay before it.
Six kids spread out before Dale, between him and the tall grasses that led to the road and freedom. The ocean crashed into the rocks at his back. Now that Dale saw them better, he realized they weren’t young: their faces held too many wrinkles and wiry muscle made up their bare arms and legs.
And they had wings.
“What are you?” Dale asked, taking a step back. Mouths full of sharp, pointed teeth grinned at him. More than one carried a weapon—knives, swords, or staves. Dale knew they meant business. The creatures took a step forward.
The sun glinted off the leg of the female closest to Dale. He saw it wasn’t flesh, but a brass piston. All of them had some sort of mechanical works imbedded into them: One had a forearm replaced, another had one wing, and one wore a bright red jewel instead of an eye.
Dale tried to free his hands. When he looked down again, he saw it wasn’t a rope, but merely grass tied around the wrists. He yanked his hands apart, breaking the stems, then crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want?” he asked, stubbornly standing his ground. Fear made sweat course down his back, but anger overrode it. How dare they try to kidnap him?
The creatures stopped advancing and looked at each other. Finally, the one with the jeweled eye stepped forward. “I am called Bascom,” he said. “We—”
“Dale!” Nora came crashing through the tall grass, as unstoppable as a hurricane. “You nasty fairies stay the hell away from my brother!” she said as she stormed toward the creatures. Nora’s fury moved before her like a shock wave, forcing the fairies back. Dale watched in awe. The sunlight made her pale skin shine.
Wait. Was Nora glowing? “What the—”
Another creature, a little taller than the fairies but much more stout, came barreling out of the grass.
The fairies immediately attacked him.
“Come on!” Nora said, grabbing Dale’s hand and pulling him toward the trail. She pushed Dale in front of her, shouting again, “Go!”
Dale ran as fast as he could, afraid of pursuers. What the hell had just happened? Why had Nora called them fairies? How did Nora know about them? Who was the short man who’d helped them?
Just before Dale reached the road, he stopped. The only sounds he heard were his own panting breaths and the cicadas.
Nora wasn’t behind him.
Dale stood rooted to the spot. He didn’t want to go back. Those things—those fairies—frightened him. Their swords and knives weren’t for play. Even unarmed, their teeth would serve them well.
However, his sister was in trouble now.
Dale turned and raced back the way he came.
“Keep braiding!” came the hoarse cry as Dale peered out of the grass. Nora stood on the far side, her fingers flying as she plied grass together. The short man stood with his back against the house and fought desperately, holding off the fairies with a long staff.
“Now! Make it rope!”
“What?” Nora asked, looking up, puzzled. One of the fairies left the first battle and flew toward her. “How?”
Dale pushed out of the grass and grabbed the leg of the fairy, swinging her hard toward the ground. Before Dale could reach Nora’s side, something heavy landed on his back. An iron forearm pushed against his throat, choking him.
“Dale!” Nora cried.
Dale tried to reply but he couldn’t squeeze out any words. His fingers slipped off the arm across his windpipe as if the fairy’s skin had been greased. He tried to shake the fairy from his back, punching at it, but he kept missing. The edges of his vision dimmed.
“Rope, girl, rope!”
The other fairy, the one Dale had thrown to the ground, started to rise. She glared at Dale and bared her teeth, her legs tensed, about to pounce.
“No, you don’t!” Nora yelled. A length of rope flew through the air and curled around the fairy’s neck. She screamed so loudly that Dale’s ears hurt.
The other fairies froze. The one choking Dale loosened his grip.
Nora held a second glowing rope in her hands. This didn’t have the pale blue glow of the fairies; no, this shone bloo
d-red and deadly.
“You will let us go. All of us. Now,” Nora insisted. She advanced on Bascom, rope ready.
The fairy on Dale’s back let go, rising up into the air. Slowly, one by one, the others sheathed their weapons, also taking to the air.
“Good,” Nora said, dropping the rope she still held. The rope around the neck of the remaining fairy transformed into grass. The fairy grabbed it from her throat and threw it to the ground. Growling, she spread her wings and joined the others.
“We will come for you. All of you,” Bascom said in warning.
The stout man waved nonchalantly at them, though he still breathed heavily and bled from a dozen places. “Yes, yes. You will hunt me and all my ancestors and all my descendants through all generations. I know, I know.”
The fairies practically shimmered with anger at being dismissed so lightly. They didn’t fly away. They just disappeared.
“Nora, are you all right?” Dale asked, immediately crossing to his sister.
“Oh God, Dale, did you see those things? Did you see what I did?” Nora’s hands shook. Dale wished their mom were there so she could give Nora a hug.
“Are you okay?” Dale asked again.
Nora nodded. “I think so. How are you?” She peered at his neck. “I don’t know how we’re going to explain those bruises on your neck.”
“You can hide them,” said the stout man, gazing at Nora.
For the first time Dale could remember, Nora looked fearful. “No. No. It’s too much.”
“Perhaps for now,” the stout man said grudgingly.
Even Dale could tell he’d push Nora about it later.
“What did you do?” Dale asked Nora. “What was the thing with the grass and the rope?”
Nora turned to face Dale, but her gaze had a faraway look. “Magic.”
***
Chris sang along with the radio as he drove north. His Caddy cruised along, eating up the miles. He scoffed at the smaller foreign cars he passed. American-made was still the way to go.
After checking the clock, Chris calculated the hours again. He’d already crossed over into Oregon. Maybe another four or five hours before he’d hit the town Denise had run away to.
