They laughed like children on a playground, their smiling faces illuminated by the stars above and the dully glowing mushrooms buried in the grass below. “Very clever, girl! Fair as fair!”
Fair as fair reminded me of Luke, and I wondered if he’d picked up the weird phrasing from the faeries. Ignoring the pang in my stomach from thinking of his name, I stood up and straightened the flowers around my neck. I looked down at the three little faeries, who stood with their arms linked around each other’s necks and waists, looking back up at me. “Well, do I get any music?”
“Music! Yes! She wants music!” One of the faeries began to clap its hands and stomp its foot, hard and rhythmic, and another began to make a low, melodic sound halfway between humming and babbling. The third began to sing, voice brash and suggestive, in a language I didn’t understand. But I knew the language of their music: it was a double jig. I began to step dance in the middle of the faerie ring, careful not to crush their mushrooms with my dirty bare feet. I like to think I gave them a good show, too; I clapped my hands and spun and step danced, crazy like Una would step dance. I was a bit out of breath when I stopped.
“You outshine the moon,” one of them said. “Will you live with us?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll sing you a tune, though. A short one. Would you like me to?”
“Yes! Yes! She sings for us!” They clapped, delighted, and took their places near me in the circle. I didn’t know any songs quite as rowdy as theirs, but I sang them “Brian Boru’s March,” which was fast, driving, and minor. They hooted as they recognized the tune, and then they began to dance together. Their steps were tightly wound and practiced, and they moved as one entity, spinning around each other and clapping each other’s hands at the end of each twirl. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anybody so happy to be dancing. When I’d finished, the faeries clapped and hugged each other delightedly. They were still half-dancing, even though the music had stopped.
“I would like to give you something,” said one.
“Is it something I want?” I asked suspiciously. They all laughed at my voice, and I laughed too—I think they liked me.
“Let me whisper it in your ear.”
I frowned, unsure if I should trust them. Finally I crouched, letting the faerie step up to my ear. I smelled a sweet, flowery scent, as pleasant as a summer day, and then the faerie whispered, “O’Brien.”
The other faeries shrieked, covering their mouths with their hands as if the faerie had said something really scandalous. “Oh ho ho, thou shalt burn for that!”
The whispering faerie giggled at my puzzled expression. “She doesn’t know what it is.”
I raised an eyebrow. “It’s a name.”
They shrieked again and clasped their arms around each other, spinning. The faerie who had whispered it to me looked at me, biting its lip. Its eyes gleamed with a wickedly mischievous smile. “You won’t forget it, will you, girl?”
“No more than you will, imp,” I told it.
They all fell down, chortling in the mushroom circle, helpless with laughter. They reminded me of the pack of junior high kids I’d found smoking dope behind the gym once. I smiled tolerantly at them. “I have to go now. I have to save my friend.” They were still giggling, but I tried asking anyway. “Do you know where he is?”
“The bloody one?” asked one of the faeries. “Or your lover?” It pointed at its privates, and I rolled my eyes. Definitely like the junior high kids.
“Either.”
“At the beginning,” said the one who’d whispered “O’Brien.” “It finishes at the beginning.”
“Very cryptic. Thanks.”
They just laughed. “Will you dance with us again, girl?”
“If I live, I’ll pencil it in,” I promised.
The summer night was alive with music. I heard strains of a hundred different songs from a hundred different directions as I made the hurried walk back to my parents’ house. All around me, I saw glowing beacons of light in the darkness, faeries illuminating the night by means mysterious. Though I was certain I was being watched, I wasn’t approached by any other faeries before I padded up the driveway.
Ouch, dammit. My bare feet were killing me. The run from the hounds had really done a number on them, and walking back to the house hadn’t helped. Then I froze, in the shadows. Delia’s car was still parked on the road in front of the house, and my parents’ bedroom light was on. I wondered what poison she’d poured into my parents’ ears about my absence.
I momentarily battled between my desire to get my shoes from the house and my fear of encountering Delia. I thought back to what the little faerie had told me about finishing at the beginning. There were countless ways I could interpret the statement, but I knew what I thought of as the beginning. The high school, where I’d met Luke. And if I was to walk there sometime tonight, I had to have shoes. End of story.
I crept up to the kitchen door and tried the knob; unlocked. I felt a pang of guilt. My mom had probably left it open in case I came back without a key. But there was no way I could tell them I was all right and still be able to search for Luke and James.
Inside the dark kitchen, I waited by the door until my eyes adjusted to the dim green light from the glowing clock numbers on the microwave. My shoes were in the same jumble I’d left them in when I’d returned from searching with Sara; I pulled them on over my bare feet as I scanned the room. I had half an idea that Delia might be sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, ready to pounce. I squinted over at the breakfast table, making sure it was unoccupied.
Delia wasn’t there, but her purse was. A wicked idea popped into my head. It only took me a few minutes to rummage through for her keys. I clutched them so that they wouldn’t jingle, grabbed a handful of Mom’s apple mini-muffins, and stole back into the night, my heart pounding with daring.
I glanced back at the house to make sure I wasn’t being watched, and then let myself into Delia’s car. It stank of her perfume, which was as obnoxious as she was. And then I saw the mostly empty jar of Granna’s concoction, sitting on her passenger seat.
Bitch. I ought to wreck this car when I was done with it.
I stuck the key in the ignition and imagined a heavy blanket covering the car, muffling the outside world. “Quiet, now,” I mumbled, and turned the key. Soft as a whisper, the engine came to life. With another quick glance at the house to make sure they hadn’t heard the car start, I pulled away from the curb.