Birdie's Book (10 page)

“I don't think that was a willow tree,” I was saying when we saw the tree we were looking for. It was a Hybrid Oak, a cross between a
Quercus
(like the Glimmer Tree) and a
hawkinsi
. I'd just seen one like it with my mom at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, one of the few places I really loved in New York City. I shared my knowledge with Kerka, who listened with good humor. (I think she was really getting used to me!)

“That's so cool, Birdie,” she said. “Now, can we climb it and get over the wall?”

I grinned and nodded. “Let's do it.” The branches of the oak hung along the wall and stretched over a sea of lilac bushes—just like the
image out of the map. Kerka bowed and waved her hand for me to go first. So I did, scrambling up the bottom branches. Kerka came behind me, climbing like a cat.

I got to the big branch that went out over the wall. I sat on it and inched myself forward bit by bit. It was a long way down! To give Kerka credit, she didn't tell me to go faster. She walked along the branch behind me like a tightrope walker. The branch angled slightly down after it went over the glass wall, thankfully!

“Hold on to the branch and lower yourself down from there,” Kerka suggested.

So that's what I did, a little clumsily and holding my breath. With a
thump
I dropped into the lilac bushes. Kerka landed beside me with no
thump
whatsoever.

We pushed our way through the tall lilacs and came out in a blue flower garden. Seriously—every plant was blue! There were blue spires, wisteria, blue irises, bluebonnets, blue chrysanthemums, delphiniums, and bluebells. I had never seen so many shades of blue all in one place!

“Is this the most beautiful, incredible, magical flower garden you've ever seen?” I said to Kerka. “It's even more amazing than Mo's garden.” I stood
breathing in the scents. The sweet lilacs mixed with a cool smell of spearmint and hyacinth and blue rose.

Kerka was actually impressed, too. She gazed around. “I've never seen anything like it!”

Together we tiptoed through the flowers to a path of polished glass shards that twisted through the garden. I was suddenly hit by a memory of my mother—a good one.

Years ago she had taken me to a playground. She wore jeans and slid down the curlicue slide with me, over and over, as many times as I wanted. Then we lay on a blanket in the grass and watched the clouds. My mother pointed to a flower-shaped cloud in the sky. “See the flower?” she asked me. “It's a daisy, turning toward the sun.”

“That cloud
did
look like a daisy, didn't it?” said a voice.

Kerka and I spun around. What was it about this place and voices coming out of nowhere? I almost laughed, but the sight of the woman gliding down the glass path through the blue garden stopped the sound from coming up. Instead, I gave a little gulp.

Bees buzzed like banjo strings around the lady in the late-afternoon sunlight. Her dress was turquoise, and white spider lilies adorned the hem
and dotted her upswept hair. “Put that away,” she said sternly.

I gaped, not knowing what she was talking about but wanting to do whatever she asked. I thought she looked like the spider lilies on her dress—
Amaryillidaceae lycoris
.

“Sorry, just a reflex,” Kerka said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her slowly putting the Kalis stick back in her pack. She must have whipped it out in surprise at the woman's voice. I almost giggled again to see Kerka look so meek.

“You don't need the Kalis stick here,” said the spider lily woman. “Not unless you are dancing.”

I pressed my lips together tightly to keep the giggles down. This woman was like the coolest, strictest teacher in my old school—but definitely stranger!

“When you visit the Willowood Fairies, you are under our protection,” the woman continued, with her sweet smile and steely tone. I finally looked past the buzzing bees and noticed her wings. How could I have missed them? They were huge, and the lightest iridescent blue.

“Come with me, Birdie,” she said, the huge wings folding like a butterfly's as she walked away from us. “Kerka, too!”

“Okay, but who are you?” I asked, following, my eyes on her wings.

The fairy queen turned to answer; her gossamer wings and glistening dress made a swishing sound. “I'm Patchouli, the Queen of the Willowood Fairies. Come quickly, now.”

Queen Patchouli led us out of the blue garden onto a path of stones carved like leaves. This path went right into a weeping willow woods that I hadn't even noticed because the blue garden was so awesome. We walked between the trees until the queen stopped and pulled aside layers of soft leaf-filled branches on a huge willow tree. She motioned for us to follow her inside.

Under the tree's shelter was a cozy room draped with white gauzy curtains that let in the light. Music traveled on the breeze and rustled the streaming willow branches. “It's time for you both to choose proper attire,” Queen Patchouli said.

I exchanged a look with Kerka, who did her usual shrug. Then I saw my very own suitcase sitting on the ground, but with one new detail. A shining gold
A
glistened on the front, in the same script as had been on Mo's
Aventurine
violin case. I looked inquisitively at Queen Patchouli (who, in my head, I was now calling Queen P.).

“What is my suitcase doing here?” I asked.

“It has your clothes in it,” the fairy queen said. She flicked her hands toward the suitcase. Her fingers tinkled; she was wearing rings with tiny bells on them! “Go ahead. Open it!”

I opened the latches and felt a rumble as the entire bag began to shake. I stepped back. The suitcase turned inside out, rose up like a stretched accordion, and slowly became a ten-foot-tall wooden wardrobe. An old woman's face was carved at the top, wreathed with flowers.

“I was only staying at Mo's for three days,” I joked. “I certainly didn't pack all
that!”

I inched toward the large wardrobe. The sides were covered in the same stickers as my old suitcase. The fairy queen pulled open the wardrobe doors. It was packed with clothes, and mirrors hung on the inside of each door. Kerka came up beside me to look in as well.

“Go on,” the fairy queen urged.
“Dress for adventure.” She looked from Kerka to me. “And don't worry, the clothes are all fairy-made, so they will fit both of you.”

Kerka and I riffled through colorful dresses, silk saris, suede ponchos, satin kimonos, velvet jackets, and gypsy skirts hanging on the racks. My favorites were a cloak trimmed in golden beads like berries, a cotton sarong embroidered with fall leaves, and a skirt of peacock feathers. There was every fabric I'd ever seen hanging there, plus some that were unfamiliar and felt like water or cobwebs.

We opened a huge bottom drawer to find more: knobby-knit sweaters, patched jeans, woolly tights, and patterned leggings. On a top shelf was more footwear than it seemed possible to hold, everything from galoshes and glittered shoes to cowboy boots and tap shoes. The queen showed us one more drawer, which telescoped out to display masks, fairy wings, necklaces, tiaras, bangles and bracelets, paper fans, scarves of every shape and size, and hats with ribbons and feathers in every color of the rainbow.

“So, dress for adventure, right?” I said to the fairy queen.

“Adventure, danger, whatever you want to call it,” said the queen. “You'll do wonderfully, but don't take too long!” With that, she swept out of our
dressing-room bower.

“Come on, Kerka, let's do wonderfully!” I said.

We dug into the clothes like pirates dive into a treasure chest. I picked a pair of boots much like Mo's but with glittery green laces.

“What do you think?” I asked, lacing them up.

“Definitely, yes!” said Kerka. “Fun but practical.”

“Well?” Kerka asked. I turned and saw that her eyes and nose were covered by a sequined bird mask.

“Absolutely not!” I declared. “Too much of a disguise.”

I chose a spring green tunic stitched with daisies that reminded me of Belle, and a long lacy white skirt. “How about this?” I asked, twirling so the lace of the skirt floated up.

Kerka frowned.

“No on the skirt, huh?” I said. I hung it back up and pulled on sky-blue velvet cargo pants instead. They had deep pockets into which I put my half of the Singing Stone. Then I tied an eggplant-purple kerchief on my head like a headband. When I saw the carved-wood wardrobe lady wink, I knew I looked good. But what I liked about the outfit was how the daisies on the shirt reminded me of Belle, how the color of the scarf reminded me of Mo's
house, and how the color of the pants reminded me of my old blue door back in Califa.

I checked myself out in the mirror. The purple scarf brought out the gold highlights in my hair.
Redbird, looks like your hair's on fire!
I said to myself, remembering what my dad used to tell me when my hair shone in the sunlight. I smiled; even my braces didn't bother me in this outfit. Finally, I threw a bright green velvet cloak over my shoulders.

Kerka came up beside me to look in the mirror. She had on nut-brown leggings and a tunic similar to the one I'd chosen except in a golden-brown color. Over the tunic, she had on a long medieval-looking brocade vest in night-sky blue, with a snow leopard embroidered on it in silver thread that wrapped from the front to the back. Her over-the-knee boots were dark blue suede with more stars.

“You look great!” I said. “Like a girl knight or something.”

“Why, thank you,” she answered, putting her nose in the air and holding her Kalis stick like it was a sword.

We heard a tiny bell ring.

“Are you ready?” Queen Patchouli called.

“We are!” Kerka and I replied together.

Kerka put on her backpack. Then we shut the
wardrobe doors carefully. As soon as we did, the whole thing folded itself back up, one side at a time,
bam ka-bam
, until all that sat on the floor was my vintage suitcase. With a
clip, clip
, it snapped itself shut. Laughing at the wonderful magic show, Kerka and I walked out through the wispy willow branches.

The queen wasn't there, but underfoot was a fresh path of yellow and orange flower petals that released their scent as we stepped on them. We walked over the petals through feathery willow trees toward the sound of voices and music. Finally, we pushed aside the branches of one last tree and stepped into a giant clearing that was a perfect circle. The sun was setting, spreading deep golden light across the whole amazing scene.

The place was filled with fairies. None of them was small, as I had imagined fairies would be. They were the size of humans—like Queen Patchouli. They all had gauzy wings and gorgeous outfits. Every one of them wore flowers, either tucked behind their ears, or woven into crowns, or as buttons up and down their clothes.

The fairies were busy, setting tables that were placed in concentric circles. The tables were piled with food and flowers. It was like being at a wedding
for a movie star who was crazy about fairies.

Suddenly I felt eyes on me, and I noticed that many of the fairies were staring at me as they went past, carrying trays of food, or piles of silken napkins, or baskets of silverware.

Then Queen P. was beside us. “There you are!” she said. “Just in time. Come along.” As she walked through the fairy crowd, her people parted before her like waves.

I saw that Kerka had her own fan club of fairies watching her and whispering as we passed.

The queen led us to a small table in the center of the fairy ring that was on a raised circle of earth covered in growing grass. She went up the grassy steps to the round table, motioning for us to follow. There were only three chairs at the table, two woven of willow branches, for Kerka and myself, and a bigger willow chair festooned with roses that was clearly for the queen.

As we sat, Queen Patchouli rang a small glass bell. A delicate but piercing sound filled the air. The fairies went silent and all quickly found a seat at one of the tables around the circle.

“Now, this is Birdie Cramer Bright,” Queen Patchouli announced. “And Kerka Laine. This is the beginning of Birdie's fairy godmother training and a
little of Kerka's, but her own quest is for another time.”

“Are you all fairy godmothers?” I blurted out, my curiosity having got the best of me.

“Heavens, no!” said the queen. “Fairy godmothers are human. We fairies have never been human and never can be.” Did I imagine it, or did a ripple of regret pass through the fairies? “We personally know all of the fairy godmothers, of course,” Queen P. went on. “And all of the fairy-godmothers-in-the-making.”

“So I'm going to be a fairy godmother?” I asked. “And Kerka?”

“Maybe you will be a fairy godmother, maybe not,” said Queen P. “We'll see how you handle your first and most important quest. There are things you have to learn to become a fairy godmother. Things about yourself, other people, the way the world can be changed.”