Philippa Fisher and the Dream-Maker's Daughter (2 page)

I took Dad’s hand in mine. “This is fun,” I said, forcing a smile. “Go on — I’ll go first.”

Mom stood behind me and tied the tea towel around my head. “No peeping, now,” she said. “Just stick the pin in the map, and wherever it lands, that’s where we’ll go!”

“Unless it’s in the middle of a city,” Dad said.

“Or in the middle of the ocean,” Mom added.

“Or a building site,” I chipped in, finally letting their puppy-dog enthusiasm infect me. I reached into the box of pushpins and took one out. I was about to stick it into the map when Dad grabbed my arm. “Wait!” he yelled.

“What?”

“Look!” he said, ignoring the fact that I had a coffee-stained tea towel wrapped over my eyes. I pulled the towel off and rubbed my face.

I saw it right away. A butterfly, fluttering over the map. It must have flown in through the window.

“It’s beautiful,” Mom said.

“I’ve never seen markings like that before,” Dad added, silently bending over the table. “So intricate.”

“So pretty,” I said, watching as it flew the length of the map, twisting this way and that, in tight little circles and figure eights. Its wings buzzing and vibrating, it hovered just above the map, as though searching for the perfect place to land.

It finally chose a spot in the top corner of the map, and we all leaned in to take a closer look.

“Careful,” Mom whispered. “Don’t want to frighten it away.”

The butterfly maneuvered slowly across the map, wings open, like an airplane taxiing to the runway. Its wings were so delicate. They looked as though they’d been made from the thinnest silk in the world and decorated with the tiniest brushes that could possibly exist. Dark purple lines wriggled all around the tips, which were dotted with baby pink spots. Dark purple faded to ocean blue at the center of each wing.

“Amazing,” I said.

“Nature’s incredible, isn’t it?” Dad murmured.

“Hang on a sec.” Mom tilted her head to peer under the butterfly on the map. “Look at that,” she said.

“We are looking at it,” Dad said with a laugh. “Can’t you see us? This is us looking at it.”

“Not at the butterfly!” Mom said, pointing at the map. “At where it’s landed.”

The map showed a patch of green bushes and stick pictures of trees, with a straggly blue line weaving in between them.

“A forest with a river running through it,” Dad said. “What about it?”

“It’s exactly what we’re looking for!” Mom said.

“It’s certainly not in the middle of a city,” I said.

“Or in the middle of the ocean,” Dad added, winking at me.

“Or a building site!” Mom concluded.

“Ravenleigh Woods,” I read from just below the butterfly’s wings. “Sounds nice.”

“Doesn’t it?” Mom said dreamily. “Kind of romantic.”

“That’s where we’re going, then?” Dad asked.

Mom and I looked at each other. The butterfly fluttered its wings. “Yes!” I said.

“Why not?” Mom agreed. “A butterfly’s as good as a pushpin.”

Which is quite a strange thing to say, if you think about it, but I rarely question the way my parents’ minds work. At this point I was just happy a decision had been made. Anything that meant we could get rid of the maps that were beginning to take over the house.

“Good. I agree. I’ll start checking out local B&Bs,” Dad said. He squeezed my hand before pulling Mom over toward him. Twirling her in a circle, he danced her across the kitchen floor. Mom’s skirt flowed around her as Dad spun her. While they giggled and whirled around the kitchen, I started putting away the maps.

The butterfly was still sitting in the same spot. I stopped and looked at it again. It turned to face me, its tiny, goggly bug eyes trained on mine.

“Hey, I know you’re only a butterfly and all that, but you just did me a big favor,” I said. “It’s taken us three days to make that decision!”

And you know what? A moment later, I swear the butterfly replied. I mean, I know that it didn’t really give an
actual
reply — obviously. It was probably the wind blowing through the window, ruffling the maps. But it sounded like words. And it sounded as though it came from the butterfly.

See you there.

I glanced over my shoulder to see if Mom and Dad had heard it, but they were too busy jiving around the kitchen to notice anything else. It was just the wind. I laughed at myself. I was at it again.

You see, an incredible thing happened to me a little while ago. I had a fairy of my very own! Honestly, it’s true. Well, she wasn’t actually
mine.
Daisy always made sure to point out that she didn’t
belong
to me — but she was on an assignment that involved giving me three wishes. By the time she’d finished, it had become more than an assignment. We became like real friends — best friends, even.

That was months ago now, and it seemed I still couldn’t stop hoping to find magic everywhere. To be honest, it was more that I wanted Daisy to come back. I looked for evidence of fairies and magic in everything. I was even trying to convince myself that a butterfly had talked to me now! I laughed out loud as I looked back at the map.

But, just for fun, I whispered back, “Yeah, see you there.”

The second I’d spoken, the butterfly slowly opened and closed its wings, as if it were clapping. Then it inched up off the map, rising like a helicopter. It was almost as though it had waited for me to reply before leaving.

A moment later, it flew straight out the window — and was gone.

I shook my head, laughing quietly at myself. Then I folded up the map and thought nothing more of it.

“Well, this is nice, isn’t it?” Mom called from the living room as Dad and I lugged our bags into the kitchen.

We’d decided to rent a cottage in the end. We’d managed to track down a couple of B&Bs in the area, but they were full. There was a big swanky hotel about five miles down the road, with two swimming pools and a Jacuzzi and entertainment every night, but Mom and Dad didn’t want that. “Not our scene,” they said.

I would have argued — swimming every day for a week in a heated pool; how could that not be anyone’s scene? — till I saw the hotel’s dress code. The brochure said guests had to be “neatly attired at all times.” At mealtimes, ties for the men and evening dresses for women were “encouraged.” The thought of my parents dressed up in evening wear was the biggest laugh I’d had all year. They didn’t often stray from their jeans and tie-dyed T-shirts with Greenpeace slogans on them.

And the idea of having to accompany them seven nights in a row while they tried to behave like normal grown-ups was a stress that even two swimming pools and a Jacuzzi couldn’t outweigh. No, the rented cottage would be just fine. The compromise was that they’d said we’d see if we could get guest passes and go swimming for a day while we were here.

A fence ran around the cottage, beyond which tall, thin trees stretched almost higher than I could see, their branches reaching out toward the roof and tickling the upstairs windows. There was a gate behind the cottage that led directly into the forest.

“It’s all right here,” Dad said, opening every door he could find and sticking his nose in every cupboard. There were two patio doors leading from the kitchen out to a small garden. A few rays of late-afternoon sun beamed in, lighting up a small patch on the floor.