by Leah Cutter
“What?” Chris asked, confused.
“We were there on behalf of your friend Robert. You remember Robert? Weaselly accountant-type guy?” Larry continued.
Sweat trickled down Chris’ sides. “I have no idea who you’re talking about,” he bluffed, standing and pushing his way past Larry.
Larry grabbed Chris’ arm before he could go very far. “You owe Robert money,” he hissed. “We’re here to collect.”
“Let go of me,” Chris said, drawing himself up fully. He didn’t think he could fight these two but he was a gentleman, not a coward.
Sneering, Larry released Chris. “See?” he said, holding up his hands and backing away. “But you still owe us. And we will collect.”
“I don’t know any Robert,” Chris insisted.
“Fine, fine, deny it all you want,” Larry said easily. “We’ll just insist on more, then. In damages.”
Mike added with cold menace. “Damages to you.”
Chris backed up to the far end of the cell and banged on the bars. “Officer! Officer!”
Larry and Mike stayed where they were, away from Chris.
Chris didn’t want to have to go to Mama. However, he had no choice. “I’d like my phone call now, if you don’t mind.”
***
Nora was puzzled by the disrepair in the fairy kingdom. “Why is it all so broken down?” she asked Bascom.
The warrior glared at her for a moment. Then his hard stare softened. “You can see,” he said softly.
Nora nodded.
“Everyone works on the great machine,” Bascom said, spitting. “The factory runs day and night. We’re always looking for raw materials for the machine, not for fixing our homes. We can’t spend enough time in the fields. There’s only enough food to get by, nothing special for feast days.”
“Do you know what the great machine does?” Nora asked.
Bascom’s look grew hard again. “It will protect us from your kind.”
“It will kill my kind,” Nora guessed. “That’s what the little ones do.” The one Dale had brought home had to have been a practice piece. Both Grandpa Lewis and Dale had talked about how important it was to have a working prototype. It was one of the reasons why Nora always knitted a gauge swatch before starting a project.
“The queen wants it,” Bascom said, looking away. “And we must follow her. That is the order of things.” He floated up, flying far enough away that she could no longer talk with him.
Nora shook her head. Why were the fairies so changeable? One moment laughing; the next, storming at her? Was it just the warriors, or all of them?
Inside the palace were some signs that it had been maintained: The carpets covering the floor, though worn, were clean, and the walls bore fresh, brightly colored paint. Fairies, smaller than the warriors and dressed in pastel colors, stared at Nora as they passed. After another staircase leading down, the warriors led Nora past a large set of double doors to a single smaller door that Nora had to bend over to go through.
Queen Adele stood alone in the center of the room. Work benches covered with tools and machine parts lined the walls. The queen had also changed clothes, into an all-white outfit, coveralls with a lace top. She seemed surprised to see Nora. “You may go,” she told Bascom.
“As the queen wishes,” the warrior said. “We follow the queen’s will.”
Nora glanced behind her. What was the warrior saying? Was he really pledging his support to Adele, or just the opposite?
The queen held herself stiffly, then nodded. The warrior closed the door with such a thunk that Nora jumped. Though she could stand all the way up, the room suddenly felt much smaller.
“You made it through the portal,” the queen accused Nora.
“Yes. With daisies and magnets.”
“You have neither of those now,” Queen Adele said, satisfied. “But you still see,” she added, pointing at Nora’s bracelet. “Don’t you?”
Nora nodded. “Your kingdom was once beautiful,” she added.
“It’s still beautiful.”
“You’ve let it fall apart,” Nora said.
“All our sacrifices, my sacrifices, will be judged worthy once we start the machine,” Queen Adele assured her. Then she looked slyly at Nora. “You could help, you know. Rebuild the kingdom. Transform it.”
“No,” Nora said automatically.
The queen looked amused. “Your brother has been invaluable to us,” she admitted. “But you—the court would choose you over him in an instant.”
Nora swallowed around the hard lump in her throat. What was the queen saying? If she gave herself up, would they let Dale go? “I’d like to see him,” she said quietly.
“Everything has a price. What about—”
“Queen Adele, we must—oh.” A male fairy entered from an inner set of doors that he promptly closed behind him. He had gray hair, though his face still looked young. “The Maker?”
“Yes, Cornelius, the Maker.”
Cornelius also wore all white, with tools attached to his gold watch chain and spectacles pushed up on his forehead. “A delight, my dear,” he said, bowing his head to her.
Nora bowed back. The fairy placed his finger on the side of his nose as he quizzically looked at her. He was taller than the queen, with bigger wings. He seemed agitated, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Yes, Cornelius?” the queen asked with a sigh.
“Nothing, my queen, nothing,” Cornelius said, staring at Nora, then nodding. “I’ve had the privilege of working with your brother. Fine lad.”
“Is he in there?” Nora asked, stepping forward. “Can I see him?”
“Of course!” Cornelius said, stepping toward the door.
The queen interrupted. “We were just discussing the price,” she said, glaring at Cornelius. “Something of yours.”
“My bracelet?” Nora asked, holding out her arm. It meant she wouldn’t see things clearly, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t rescue Dale.
“It’s a generous offer,” Queen Adele said. “However, you’re still young, untrained. It will have no power once it’s out of your hands. No, I need something more. Like your name.”
“No,” Nora said stubbornly. “That will give you too much control over me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “How about something else I made?” she asked, fingering the Franken-sweater.
“Such as?”
“This sweater. I knit it.”
“Every stitch?”
Nora nodded. “It’s my practice sweater. See? This is one of the first parts,” she said, pointing to an uneven patch over her heart. “My first attempt at knitting.” Then she held out the sleeve, showing off the peacock lace. “This was the last.”
Queen Adele smiled widely, showing all her teeth, while Cornelius pressed his lips together into a thin line. “I accept,” she purred.
Nora slipped the sweater off over her head. She’d miss it, but she had to save Dale.
“You have as long as it takes me to disassemble this to talk alone with your brother,” the queen said, snatching the sweater from her.
“Come, Miss,” Cornelius said. “This way.” Once they’d passed through the door and stepped into a dark hallway, he whispered urgently. “When the queen finishes taking apart your sweater, she’ll control you. Each stitch bears the pattern of your name. It’s more completely you than any set of syllables your mother gave you. Now go, quickly! Get out of here.”
“Not without Dale,” Nora said stubbornly.
Cornelius sighed. “He won’t listen to you. He has only the queen’s voice in his head.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fine, but if you can’t get him away, you must leave yourself. Before the queen finishes.” With that, Cornelius shoved Nora through the far doors.
Nora shivered as she stepped into the next room. How could she be so stupid? She’d thought she’d been clever, getting to talk with Dale alone, so she could say her name without the fairies overhea
ring, get him to remember it. She’d just have to save him quickly.
A huge machine dominated the center of the room. Brass pipes curved around it, venting steam and magic. Wheels and gears of all shapes studded its sides. Levers stuck out at graceful angles, making it seem both ancient and modern at the same time. If she hadn’t known its function, Nora would have said it was beautiful.
Movement and a flash of red caught Nora’s eye. Kostya’s little insect hopped from one wheel to the next. It pressed its large stinger to the center of the gear, deposited a tiny, jeweled egg, and then it flitted off.
Nora didn’t know what the creature was doing. Kostya hated the fairies. The little egg glowed like a drop of poisoned blood, ready to burst when the wheel started turning. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t be good. They had to get out of there.
“Dale!” Nora called, walking around the machine. “Dale!”
On the far side of the room, Dale stood with his back to her. He wore a long white trench coat that Nora had never seen before. “What are you doing here?” Dale asked without looking at her. His gaze remained fixed on the machine. Glittering golden ropes attached him to it. Only when Nora tried to grab one did she realize he wasn’t physically tied—they were part of a spell.
“Dale, we have to get out of here,” Nora hissed. She tried to get his attention by pulling on his arm, but he still didn’t look away from the machine.
“No. You do. Just you. You and Mom need to leave.”
“Mom’s in the hospital,” Nora told Dale. “And it’s all your fault.”
Dale hesitated.
Nora stepped in front of her brother, forcing him to look at her. “That’s right, idiot. Your machine there kills everything electrical.”
“I know that,” Dale said. He scowled and walked away from her, back to a workbench. He fiddled with two gears there, turning them in his hands, making the gears mesh together.
“Everything, Dale. Even Mom’s pacemaker.”
Dale froze. “She’s fine,” he insisted.
“I don’t know,” Nora said bitterly, joining him. She pulled on his arm, trying to get him to turn and face her. “I had to leave before she got out of surgery to rescue your sorry butt.”
“I don’t need rescuing,” Dale insisted, looking back at the machine. “Just go, Nora.”
Nora’s heart beat faster. At least Dale remembered her name. When he moved away, she tried to hold onto his sleeve, then realized she couldn’t. “I can’t feel my hands,” Nora whispered. She held them up in front of her, flexing and then clenching her fingers. “The fairies are discovering my name.”
“Good,” Dale said. “That’s good. You can stay here with me, forever.”
“And never see the sun again?” Nora whispered. “Or the ocean? Never create something just because I want to, but only at the queen’s command?”
“But—she’s the queen!” Dale protested.
At least Dale was looking at Nora again. “And I’m your sister,” she said, reaching for and finally grabbing his hand. It felt warm and solid in her hands, more so than her own skin. “Your twin. Your mirror. Your opposite. What’s my name?” She still remembered it; however, Kostya had told her to remind Dale of it.
“Nora,” Dale said. He wrapped his hands around her wrists. When he touched her magic bracelet, his eyes widened as if he’d just woken up. “Nora,” he whispered. “You don’t belong here. This place isn’t messy, like you. It’s perfect and ordered.”
“No, it isn’t,” Nora insisted. She wrapped her hand over his, the one over the bracelet. “See,” she hissed.
Though this room was in better shape than most of the palace, the corners still held piles of discarded parts, the upper-level balcony had holes in the banister, and many of the wheels on the wall were covered with rust.
“No,” Dale moaned as if his heart were breaking. “Wait. I can fix it!”
“Dale, no, look at me, look at me.” Nora’s feet grew numb, as if ice water seeped over her shoes and swirled around her ankles. “The fairies aren’t good, Dale. Neither is Kostya. We have to get out of here, Dale. Back to Mom. Back to our family.” Nora’s knees swayed under her. She let go of his hands. “You have to save yourself,” she whispered as she slid to the floor. “Go see Mom.” Even if she couldn’t be part of her family anymore, it had to survive her.
“Nora!” Dale shouted. He dropped to his knees beside her. He spent a long moment looking at the machine before he turned his back on it and deliberately put his hand over her wrist again, wrapping his fingers around the bracelet that let him see clearly, too. “You’re my pain-in-the-ass sister and you’re more important than some machine.” He smiled at her. She could tell his heart was breaking over his decision.
“You idiot,” Nora said. The ice grew fast, pressing in on her chest. “You have to get away.”
“And you’re demented,” Dale said. “I’m still not leaving without you.”
“Have to do more than just leave, you know,” Nora said, her brother’s decision causing the slightest spike of warmth through her chest. “If you don’t destroy it, they’ll just build it again. They’ll kill so many innocent people. They can’t be allowed to take over.”
Dale pressed his lips together and looked away from Nora, looked back at his precious machine. For a moment, Nora feared she’d lost him again. Finally, he looked back at her and nodded. “Okay. We can beat this, Nora. Together. The pair of us. Your magic and my tinkering skills.”
“You’re still an idiot,” Nora told him, her teeth chattering. “Can’t give you my power.” She paused, remembering how she’d pushed with something as she’d finished her bracelet. “Maybe some control, though,” she murmured, gathering the fire inside her that protected her from the cold, the piece that the ice wanted so badly.
“Then let me use it,” Dale insisted. “And I’ll get us out of here.”
“Promise?” Nora asked. She pushed the flame into her hands. The world turned white.
“Promise.” The word landed as softly as a snowflake on a frozen leaf.
Nora pushed once again, as hard as she could, before she slid away, losing herself in the consuming blizzard.
Chapter Fourteen
Dale’s hands trembled as he cupped Nora’s magic, lifting the crackling ball of glowing flames from her chest. He finally understood: He didn’t have her power, could never take it from her, just as she could never have his power, his skill with machines. He could merely direct hers for a while. Both abilities were special, unique, and awesome. Combined, they were even more so.
Using the fire, Dale cut through the glittering cords tying him to the machine, disgusted by the spell, heartbroken that the fairies—his queen—hadn’t understood. He would have gladly worked on the machine without them.
Nora’s truth bound him to admit, cringing, that even once he’d learned what the machine did, he still would have worked on it, if the perfection of the kingdom had been true, if the grace of the queen had inhabited the warriors as well.
Dale pushed the thoughts away. He didn’t have time for regret or recriminations. The fairies would be there any minute to take his sister away, and he couldn’t let them do that. She infuriated him, frustrated him, and made him crazy, but she was also a part of him—his reflection and twin. He couldn’t lose her.
Moving swiftly, Dale walked to the machine, balancing Nora’s power in his left hand. He’d been deep in the secondary power supply, rerouting the lines to make the machine more efficient. Quickly, he added another layer of gears, using Nora’s magic to shift and transform the machine so the power would build and build.
Then he blocked the outflow channel. There was nowhere for all that energy to go.
Dale stepped back, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his free hand. This beautiful piece of clockwork would blow itself to bits once it was turned on. He hated doing it, but he had no choice: Nora was right. The fairies couldn’t be allowed to take over. He quickly added the cover plates,
closing the machine up, making it look finished.
A flash of red made Dale turn. An insect the size of his palm, made out of clockwork, flitted from one gear to the next, depositing a drop of red gel. Dale didn’t know what the drop would do, but now that he was looking, he saw them sitting at the heart of many of the gears. He held himself back from shooing the thing away. Another level of sabotage would obscure his part in the machine’s destruction.
Now, Dale had to get Nora out of there. A tiny ball of fire remained in his hand, sparking intermittently. He brought it back to his sister. She’d gone white and cold. Her eyes remained open, an unnatural blue instead of a friendly brown. He set the ball on her chest, over her heart, then pressed down, fascinated as it disappeared under her skin. Nora’s eyes blinked, once, twice, then changed, growing warm again. “We have to go,” Dale told her.
Nora nodded. “Did you—”
“Yes,” Dale said curtly. He didn’t expect Nora to understand his sacrifice. He wasn’t like her: Destruction wasn’t natural to him, a natural part of the cycle, which he saw clearly carrying her magic. He fought against entropy. Watches needed to be rewound, not allowed to run down.
Dale helped Nora sit up, wrapping his coat around her when he saw she still shivered. Then he helped her stand. He kept his arm around her, supporting her because her legs didn’t move well.
Outside the room, Dale stopped abruptly. Cornelius stood on the stairs.
“Come on,” Cornelius said. “Follow me. I’ll get you out.”
Dale hesitated.
“He speaks the truth,” Nora whispered.
Relieved, Dale followed the fairy up the stairs, supporting Nora all the way.
“It’s not right,” Cornelius explained as they walked. “We weren’t always like this,” he said, gesturing to the dingy hallways and unswept rugs that Dale saw for the first time. “When the fairies from the southern kingdom came, I finally saw just how far we’d fallen.”
Southern fairies? There was more than one kingdom?
“But the queen has put her people at risk,” Cornelius continued. “It isn’t right.”
