“No,” said the Green Lady. “The Wild Hunt’s going to give me no end of grief over losing Neef here. I’ll just cut my losses and give them the ringer instead.”
Now I felt something. Fury. “You can’t do that!” I cried. “You promised to send her home!”
“I did not—you just hoped I did. Besides, I made her. I can do anything I like with her.”
I looked at the Pooka, who shrugged. I whirled around to the Old Market Woman, who lowered her eyes. I turned to the Curator, who said, “She is within her rights, Neef. When you think about it logically, it’s a perfectly reasonable compromise.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, outraged. “It’s mean and cruel and totally unfair. Besides, I promised her I’d get her home if she helped me.”
The Pooka coughed unhappily. “You shouldn’t be promising what you can’t deliver.”
This wasn’t happening. There had to be something else I could trade for Changeling’s life, something nobody had thought of yet, something no supernatural would think of.
The Lady laughed. The Mirror glinted at the end of its golden chain.
“Before you give Changeling to the Hunt,” I said slowly. “I have three questions for the Green Lady.”
She shook her dreads. “You’re a real pistol, kid, you know that? I don’t know why I put up with you. After all this, you want to ask me questions?”
“They’re important questions. For you, not me.”
The Lady shrugged. “Okay. Shoot.”
I licked my lips. “What are you going to do with the Magical Magnifying Mirror of the Mermaid Queen?”
“Find out stuff, of course. Isn’t that what it’s for?”
“What kind of stuff?”
“I don’t know. Stuff.” She frowned. “Watch it, kid. You’re getting on my nerves.”
“One last question, Lady.” I took a deep breath. “Do you know how the Mirror works?”
She shrugged. “I’m a Genius, kid. I’ll figure it out. I mean, how hard could it be? The Mermaid Queen has the brain of a flounder.”
“Nevertheless,” the Curator said in his dryest voice, “it might be as well to find out.”
My heart was in my mouth as the Green Lady looked into the Mirror. She tapped it gently, then shook it. It seemed pretty obvious to me that she didn’t have a clue what she was doing, but what did I know? Maybe being the Genius of Central Park was enough by itself to make the Mirror work, even without knowing how.
She turned the silver disk over and gave it an impatient thump, then looked up, her eyes glittering angrily. “It’s busted,” she hissed.
Hope sprang again, less painfully this time. “That’s funny,” I said casually. “Not very long ago, Changeling was using it to tell her about the Bull and the Bear.”
“Then why isn’t it telling me things? Is there a magic word? A secret button?” The Green Lady shook the Mirror under my nose. “You have to tell me. I may not be able to take back my boons, but believe me when I say I’ve got plenty of other ways to make you suffer.”
“Oh, I believe you,” I said honestly. “But still I can’t help you. I don’t have the first idea how the Mirror works.”
There was a stunned silence in the Fountain Court, broken only by the bubbling of the dolphins and the Pooka’s low, admiring whistle. The Green Lady ground her teeth. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
I was beginning to enjoy myself. “Yes, I do. But I didn’t figure out how to use the Mirror. Changeling did.”
“Better start figuring out how to get the secret out of her, then.”
“No deal. If you want Changeling to teach you how to use the Mirror, you have to promise to let her go home. Not just any old place Outside, but back to where she was when Carlyle snatched her.”
“That’s a lot to ask for a little Mirror lesson,” the Lady said.
“It’s a lot of Mirror. But only when you know how to use it.”
“I’ll think about it,” the Lady said sulkily.
The Curator looked like he was going to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance. “You won’t think about it,” I said. “You’ll do it. I bet there’s a rule about accepting a treasure without giving a boon in exchange. Knowledge, in this case, is as great a treasure as the Mirror itself.”
The Green Lady’s hair writhed once and lay still. “You are right, mortal child,” she said. “Knowledge is precious. I accept your bargain. Drat.”
“Does that mean that Changeling can go home?”
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
“Okay, okay. I promise. But she has to bring me up to speed on the Mirror first.”
The next part was torture. The Lady was too proud to talk directly to Changeling, and Changeling was too freaked out to talk directly to the Lady. So the Curator put them in separate rooms, and I went back and forth between them, translating. It took forever, but at least I learned how to use the Mirror myself. Which was a good thing, since the Lady couldn’t remember how to turn it on from one time to the next and had to send for me to start it whenever she wanted to consult it.
But that was much later. That day, the Lady turned the Mirror on by herself twice in a row, and went off triumphantly to play with it. The Old Market Woman bustled off to make arrangements about getting Changeling back home again, and Fleet reminded me that I’d promised to talk to the Curator. She’d been making friends with the exhibits in European Painting and was very excited about taking painting lessons from Rembrandt’s Self-Portrait.
I found the Curator, who was cataloging Japanese prints, and gave him all the reasons I could think of that the Museum should have a mortal changeling of its own. He listened for a while, then threw up his hands and said he’d make Fleet a Special Resident Member in exchange for the extra ticket to Peter Pan. So Fleet got her happy ending and the Green Lady got a date for the theatre.
Then it was time to say good-bye to Changeling.
She’d disappeared after the Lady’s Mirror lesson, looking like she needed a little quiet brick-counting time. I found her in the Temple of Dendur, nibbling cheese and counting softly.
“Changeling,” I said. “The Old Market Woman has sent for a Kid-napper from the Bureau of Changeling Affairs to take you home. It will be here soon. I came to say good-bye.”
She stopped counting, but she didn’t look up. “I want you to come with me.”
“I can’t, Changeling. I’m going home, too.”
She nodded. “Will you visit me?”
“That’s against the rules,” I said miserably.
She frowned. “I do not like that rule.”
“I don’t either.”
Now that it was time to say good-bye for real, I was getting kind of teary. I had a feeling like there was more I wanted to say, but I wasn’t sure what it was. I hesitated for a moment, then tugged my jade frog over my head and held it out to her. “Take it,” I said. “It’s a present. So you don’t forget New York Between.”
She cupped the frog in her hand and, for the first time, looked me straight in the eye. “I will not forget,” she told me. “I have an unusually acute memory.”
“I know. Good-bye, Jenny Goldhirsch. I’m really glad I met you.”
I wanted to seal my gift with a hug, but I knew she’d hate that, so I settled for a wobbly smile and turned to go.
“Wait,” Changeling said.
I turned back.
“I have a present for you, too.” She held out her hand. When I just looked at it blankly, she made an impatient noise and grabbed my wrist. She reached in her pocket, brought out a pen, and started writing on my palm. The sensation was weird, somewhere between a tickle and a prickle.
“There,” she said. “This is my address. I know your memory is poor so I wrote it down for you in case you ever think of a way to circumvent the rule about visiting.”
I looked at the blue numbers and words inked on my palm.
“Thank you,” I said thickly. And then I
went to the Great Hall where the Pooka was waiting for me, and then we went home.
The shadows were long and golden over Central Park Central. I trotted over the grass with the Pooka, in dog shape, at my heels. Central Park Central looked smaller than I remembered, and the buildings of the City closer and taller to the east and west. The setting sun glinted from the transparent wings of little flying Folk and scattered golden sequins over the surface of the Turtle Pond.
“Home,” said the Pooka. “There’s nothing like it. I’ll be off now, if I can trust you to be keeping your own hide safe for a day or so. I’ve a powerful thirst for mischief on me, and a score with the Wild Hunt to settle.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Thank you, Pooka.”
“Pish-tush,” said the Pooka, and loped off toward the North Woods.
I took the long way up to Belvedere Castle, avoiding the Shakespeare Garden and the Turtle Pond. Tomorrow I’d go and apologize to the Water Rat for ignoring his advice. But right now, all I wanted was to see Astris.
She’d lit a lamp in the kitchen. I could see the golden glow through the window as I came up the back steps. The courtyard was still warm from the sun. It had only been a few days since the Solstice Dance, and only a couple of full moons since I’d gone to fetch the Blockhouse brownie on spring cleaning day. But so much had happened since then that the adventure with Peg Powler and Blueberry felt like it had happened to another person.
I pushed on the door and went into the kitchen. Astris was standing at the kitchen table, beating a bowl of cookie dough like she was mad at it.
“I’m home,” I said.
The spoon skidded across the floor. Then Astris did something she’d never done before. She dropped down onto all four paws, scampered across the floor, and jumped up into my arms. It was kind of a shock to feel how light she was and how small under her thick white coat of fur. I hugged her, and was about to kiss her twitching pink nose when she wriggled free of my grip and leapt to the floor.
“You needn’t squeeze the life out of me,” she scolded, smoothing her ruffled sides. But her whiskers quivered like fairies’ wings, telling me how worried she’d been and how glad she was that I was home.
Of course she wanted me to go to bed right away, and of course I wanted to talk. To my surprise, I won that argument, and I sat down on my favorite stool to give her the outline of my adventures while she finished up the silvery moon cookies and put them in the oven to bake. Even though I only hit the highlights, I was still talking when they came out.
“That’s quite a tale,” she said when I had my mouth full of cookie. “The Water Rat is going to love it. What am I saying? Everybody in the Park is going to love it. Does it have a moral?”
“I guess,” I said. “ ‘Don’t bite off more than you can chew’?”
Astris laughed. “Not all morals begin with ‘Don’t.’ ”
“No? You could have fooled me.” I yawned. “How about, ‘There’s no place like home’?”
“True,” said Astris, “but not the point. Try again.”
I thought for a minute. “‘Old stories are important, but sometimes you have to make up new ones.’ ”
“Very mortal,” Astris said. “Very Neef. Say it just that way when you tell the story.”
Neef’s Guide to Supernatural Beings
Arranged in alphabetical order, with country of origin, where known. All Folk in this list are traditional, except the ones designated “Literary Characters,” “Cyberspace,” or “New York Between,” who don’t appear in any of the old lists but exist anyway. Astris says it’s important to remember that there are Folk all over the world, not just in New York Between, but the New York ones are the only ones I know personally.
Bäckahäst (Scandinavia): A black horse with a long, drippy mane, who lives in the water. If you ride him, he’ll drown you, and then he’ll eat you.
Banshee (Ireland): A spirit who shows up when somebody important is about to die and screams and cries like nails across a blackboard, only louder.
Blindworm (New York Between): Seriously overgrown worm, related to sewer alligators and wingless dragons. Toothy, greedy, and icky, but not very bright.
Bogeyman/Bogeywoman/Bogie (Everywhere): The one who will come and get you if you don’t do as you’re told. Some are traditional, some are made up. They’re all bad news.
Boggarts (England): Household spirits who like to play painful practical jokes on mortals. Mostly, they’re invisible, but sometimes they put on human or animal shapes so they can bug you better.
Bogles (England): Little, black, hairy goblins who hate, hate, hate a messy room so much they pinch you and pull your hair until you clean it up.
Brownies (England): Household spirits. Small (less than knee high), big ears, long arms. Neat freaks. Cleaning makes them happy. They’ll go away if you give them clothes.
Chih Nu (China): Celestial weaving maid and dressmaker to the Chinese gods and to New York supernaturals of taste and discernment.
Chin Chia (China): Spirit in charge of literature and scholarship. If you don’t want blisters all over your body, don’t ever let him find out you haven’t done your homework.
Closet Monsters (New York Between): Monsters who live in mortals’ closets. No two monsters look exactly alike, but all of them have long claws, big, shining eyes, and lots of teeth. Oddly enough, they only eat cloth or paper: socks and homework, mostly, but occasionally sweaters, shoes, and books as well. But they can hurt you if you poke around in their closets without paying attention.
Corn Spirits (Europe): Spirits of the wheat harvest. There’s not a lot of wheat grown in Central Park, so the few that got stuck here by accident devote themselves to taking care of the grass.
Demons/Devils/Devi (Everywhere): Bad guys. They come in many colors, sizes, and shapes, with anywhere from two to twelve arms and one to five heads, all of them fully equipped with sharp teeth. If a named supernatural has the word “demon” in its description, keep away. Very far away.
Djinn (Middle East): Wind spirits who can take any form at all, although even in their mortal shape, they can’t hide their goat feet and square-pupiled eyes. They can be helpful or nasty, depending on their mood, which changes frequently. They grant wishes, but you have to be very careful what and how you ask.
Dragons, Eastern (China and Japan): Long and colorful snakes with lizard legs and horns and long, delicate whiskers. Even though they don’t have wings, dragons can fly. They are basically guardian spirits, and therefore good guys, although kind of difficult to talk to. They read a lot and are very, very smart.
Dragons, Western (Europe and Great Britain): Hoarders and guardians of treasure. Some of them have wings; most of the ones left in New York don’t. All of them have teeth and claws and like to sleep on beds of gold. The Dragon of Wall Street has eaten the larger immigrant examples, but there are a few left in Madison Avenue and Midtown.
Dryads (Greece): Guardian spirits of trees, groves, and woods. They look like wispy girls, and it’s hard to get them to talk about anything but tree maintenance. Good dancers, though.
Dwarf (Everywhere): Short guy with long beard. Dwarves can be good or not-so-good, but they’re almost never bad clear through. They’re into metal and technology and gold.
Elf (Europe and Scandinavia): In the Old Country, a general term for Folk. In New York Between, more commonly a mortal-shaped supernatural who is very beautiful and very stuck-up. They look down on changelings and Folk from other countries—basically, anybody who isn’t an elf. They like music and art and breaking mortal hearts.
Eloise (Fictional Character): The Genius of the Plaza Hotel, Patroness of Spoiled Brats, and heroine of the series of books by the mortal Kay Thompson.
Fairy (Everywhere): A general description that covers all kinds of nature spirits. They can be any size, but the most co mmon are small, delicate, and winged.
Fu Dog (China): Supernatural watchdog that hangs out in front of houses in Chinatown to protect the Folk who
live there against demons and devils. They work in pairs.
Garuda (India): A bird with a human head and a cool headdress. There’s really only supposed to be one at a time, but the New York ones are little and colorful and there are plenty of them.
Genius (Greece): Traditionally, the spirit of a sacred mountain or grove or fountain. In New York Between, the spirit of a famous and interesting place.
Ghosts (Mortal): The ghosts of mortals who die in New York City are all over New York Between. I don’t know much about them except that they mostly don’t bother us, and we mostly aren’t interested in them.
Ghouls (Middle East): Gray, bald, skinny. Flashy dressers. Good at business, the shadier the better. Favorite food: bodies, preferably human, preferably well-rotted, but they’ll eat anything. They’re not aggressive, but they’re sneaky.
Giants (Everywhere): Big guys. How big they are and whether they’re good-natured or nasty, dangerous or helpful, depends on where they’re from. Scottish and Norse giants are pretty bad-tempered. French giants like to eat. English giants like to work in stone—they built a lot of New York Between. Giants are very sensitive to gold fever, which is why there are so many of them on Wall Street.
Gnomes (Germany): Short and strong like dwarves, only bald and clean-shaven. Also, they don’t have any toes. They’re more into guarding metal and treasure than making it.
Griffin (Europe): A fabulous monster with the body and tail of a lion and the head, neck, front legs, and wings of an eagle. Over in Europe, griffins have a reputation for being fierce and nasty. In New York Between, a lot of Geniuses keep them as guard dogs because they look impressive and are loyal to their masters.
Hamadryad (Greece): The spirit of a tree. Not every tree has its own hamadryad, only the important ones, like the mulberry in the Shakespeare Garden. Hamadryads are even more single-minded than dryads and never leave their trees until the tree dies, when they die, too.
Hobgoblin (England): A small and ugly fairy who loves tricks, mischief, and bad puns.
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