Hugo The triangular wooden board rested on Kendra's lap.
She studied the pegs, planning her next jump. Beside her, Lena gently tilted back and forth on a rocker, watching the moon rise. From the porch, only a few fairies could be seen gliding around the garden. Fireflies twinkled among them in the silver moonlight.
Not many fairies out tonight, Kendra said.
It may be some time before the fairies return in force to our gardens, Lena said.
Can't you explain everything to them?
Lena chuckled. They would listen to your grandfather before they would ever heed me.
Weren't you sort of one of them?
That is the problem. Watch. Lena closed her eyes and began to sing softly. Her high, trilling voice gave life to a wistful melody. Several fairies darted over from the garden, hovering around her in a loose semicircle, interrupting the warbling tune with fervent chirping.
Lena quit singing and said something in an unintelligible language. The fairies chirped back. Lena made a final remark, and the fairies flew away.
What were they saying? Kendra asked.
They told me I should be ashamed to sing a naiadic tune, Lena replied. They detest reminders that I was once a nymph, especially if those reminders imply that I am at peace with my decision.
They acted pretty upset.
Much of their time is spent mocking mortals. Any time one of us crosses over to mortality, it makes the others wonder what they might be missing. Especially if we appear content. They ridicule me mercilessly.
You don't let it get to you?
Not really. They do know how to needle me. They tease me about growing old-my hair, my wrinkles. They ask how I will enjoy being buried in a box. Lena frowned, gazing thoughtfully into the night. I felt my age today when you called for help.
What do you mean? Kendra jumped a peg on the triangular wooden board.
I tried to rush to your aid, but ended up sprawled on the kitchen floor. Your grandfather reached your side before I did, and he is no athlete.
It wasn't your fault.
In my youth I would have been there in a flash. I used to be handy in an emergency. Now I come hobbling to the rescue.
You still get around great. Kendra was running out of moves. She had already stranded a peg.
Lena shook her head. I would not last a minute on the trapeze or the tightrope. Once I played on them with facile agility. The curse of mortality. You spend the first portion of your life learning, growing stronger, more capable. And then, through no fault of your own, your body begins to fail. You regress. Strong limbs become feeble, keen senses grow dull, hardy constitutions deteriorate. Beauty withers.
Organs quit. You remember yourself in your prime, and wonder where that person went. As your wisdom and experience are peaking, your traitorous body becomes a prison.
Kendra had no moves left on her perforated board.
Three pegs remained. I never thought of it that way.
Lena took the board from Kendra and began setting up the pegs. In their youth, mortals behave more like nymphs. Adulthood seems impossibly distant, let alone the enfeeblement of old age. But ponderously, inevitably, it overtakes you. I find it a frustrating, humbling, infuriating experience.
When we talked before, you said you would not change your decision, Kendra reminded her.
True, given the opportunity, I would choose Patton every time. And now that I have experienced mortality, I do not imagine I could be content with my former life. But the pleasures of mortality, the thrills of living, come with a price. Pain, illness, the decline of age, the loss of loved ones-those things I could do without.
The pegs were set up. Lena began jumping them. I am impressed by how glibly most mortals confront the debilitation of the body. Patton. Your grandparents. Many others.
They just accept it. I have always feared aging. The inevitability of it haunts me. Ever since I abandoned the pond, the prospect of death has been a menacing shadow in the back of my mind.
She jumped the final peg, leaving only one. Kendra had seen her do it before, but had not yet succeeded in copying her moves.
Lena sighed softly. Because of my nature, I may have to endure old age for decades longer than regular human beings. The humiliating finale to the mortal condition.
At least you're a peg-jumping genius, Kendra said.
Lena smiled. The solace of my winter years.
You can still paint, and cook, and do all sorts of things.
I do not mean to complain. These are not problems to share with young minds.
It's okay. You aren't scaring me. You're right, I can't really picture being grown up. Part of me wonders if high school will ever really happen. Sometimes I think maybe I'll die young.
The door to the house opened, and Grandpa's head poked out. Kendra, I need to have some words with you and Seth.
Okay, Grandpa.
Come to the study.
Lena stood, motioning for Kendra to hurry along.
Kendra entered the house and followed Grandpa into the study. Seth was already seated in one of the oversized chairs, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Kendra claimed the other one while Grandpa settled in behind his desk.
The day after tomorrow is June twenty-first, Grandpa said. Do either of you know the significance of that date?
Kendra and Seth shared a glance. Your birthday? Seth attempted.
The summer solstice, Grandpa said. The longest day of the year. The night before is a holiday of riotous abandon for the whimsical creatures of Fablehaven. Four nights a year, the boundaries that define where different entities can venture dissolve. These nights of revelry are essential to maintaining the segregation that normally prevails here.
On Midsummer Eve, the only limits to where any creature can roam and work mischief are the walls of this house.
Unless invited, they cannot enter.
Midsummer Eve is tomorrow night? Seth said.
I did not want to leave you time to fret over it. As long as you obey my instructions, the night will pass without incident. It will be loud, but you will be safe.
What other days do they run wild? Kendra asked.
The winter solstice and the two equinoxes. Midsummer Eve tends to be the rowdiest of them all.
Can we watch out the windows? Seth asked eagerly.
No, Grandpa said. Nor would you enjoy what you saw. On the festival nights, nightmares take shape and prowl the yard. Ancient entities of supreme evil patrol the darkness in search of prey. You will be in bed at sundown.
You will wear earplugs. And you will not arise until sunrise dispels the horrors of the night.
Should we sleep in your room? Kendra asked.
The attic playroom is the safest place in the house.
Extra protections have been placed on it as a sanctuary for children. Even if, by some misfortune, unsavory creatures entered the house, your room would remain secure.