Selfish Elf Wish (27 page)

“He looks a little happier,” I say, cooing over the cute little fur ball.

“She,” Mom says.

We all turn to Mom, who stands behind the fox, gently rubbing it between the ears. “Willow and I spent most of the day tending to Grandmother Ivy, who is fading very quickly now.” Everyone murmurs their regrets about losing Ivy, but my mother smiles gently. “She’s comfortable, though, and ready to move on when her time comes, but one thing does trouble her.”

We all get quiet. “Iris has been missing for quite a while now. Ivy still has enough strength to sense that Iris’s youngest girl, Hyacinth, is not well.”

At the name Hyacinth, all of my aunts gasp.

“Who?” Briar asks.

“She was the youngest,” Grandma adds. “A youngest-youngest in fact. She married a man from another clan and they turned dark. They left Alverland before you girls were born. Of course, as is tradition, we’ve not communicated with Hyacinth, and her husband, Orphys Corrigan, since they departed.”

“But Iris had,” Mom says, and my aunts begin to murmur again. Mom gives them a stern look. “Each one of you is a mother,” she says. “And you know our love for our children never leaves, even if that child takes a path that we don’t approve of.” The murmuring quiets as my aunts nod their heads. “Iris never stopped loving Hyacinth as none of us would ever stop loving our daughters.”

“But she’s dark!” Briar says.

Flora reaches out to touch Briar’s shoulder. “Oh, but my darling, there’s nothing you could ever do that would make me not love you. Nothing. Even turning dark. The same is true of Iris’s love for Hyacinth.”

When Flora says this, I know it’s true, and I relax a bit about Timber and Kenji showing up here. My parents might love me forever, no matter what I do wrong, but I know I’ll be in a heap of trouble as soon as this crisis is over. If Briar and I hadn’t danced an elf circle for them, none of this would have happened.

“Mama Ivy believes that Iris knew Hyacinth was ill and she shifted in order to find her,” Mom says.

“Iris’s totem is a fox,” Grandma Fawna says.

We all catch our breath and look at the little fur ball panting happily in the center of us. “And that’s . . .” I start to ask.

Mom nods. “We believe it might be Iris. But we think she’s stuck. Maybe Clay and Dawn cast a spell on her or perhaps she’s so low on energy after her journey that she can’t shift back.”

“But why did they want her?” Briar asks.

“Well,” Mom says slowly, “there’s no way of knowing for sure, but we think perhaps Clay and Dawn are Hyacinth’s children.”

I think back to what Clay said about his grandmother and coming to Alverland. “You mean, we’re related to them?” I ask, feeling sick to my stomach.

Mom nods. “Perhaps.”

“So what do we do?” I ask.

Mom bites her lip. “Well, first things first.” She looks at us. “We have to deal with the erdlers.” Briar and I shrink back a little. “Then,” Mom says, “we have to take the fox to Mama Ivy. She’s the only one powerful enough to bring Iris back.”

 

Late that night, when all of Alverland is quiet and the only light comes from the yellow moon and the crackling fires of the sentries standing watch, I’m awake in my bed and I’m starving. What I really want is a gooey slice from Pizza Plus on Seventh Avenue near Ari’s house, but obviously, I can’t go skipping into the woods for pizza. Instead, I pad quietly to the kitchen and search for something to calm my growling tummy. I settle on a giant bowl of granola, then curl up in a chair by the dying embers of the fire. A board squeaks behind me. I turn, expecting to find my mother, up pacing, worried about the fox. I realize that it’s Timber, standing in the doorway, watching me.

“Hey,” I whisper, turning around in my chair.

“Hey.” He comes quietly in the room, so cute and cuddly in his elfy jammies. I almost have to laugh to see him in a long, linen nightshirt and cap.

I pat the chair next to me for him to sit. He wraps his arms around himself.

“You cold?” I pick up the poker to stir the fire. When the flames don’t come back, instead of zapping the logs with a fire hex, I load on some small pieces of kindling, then more logs, then pump the bellows until the fire perks to life.

“Wow,” Timber says with a small, uneasy laugh. “You’re magic.”

I laugh at the irony of his statement. “What’s the matter, city boy, you never built a fire?” I tease, then I blast him with a pump from the bellows.

Rather than laugh or try to get me back, Timber sits quietly.

“You okay?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I can’t get my brain to shut up. Too much has happened in the past few days.” He looks at me. “There are so many things I don’t understand.”

I’m quiet because I’m afraid of what his questions might be and how I’ll answer, or really, how I’ll avoid answering them. We both watch the fire as it cracks and pops. “You’ve seen some pretty weird stuff here, haven’t you?” I finally say.

He nods.

“Alverland is different from Brooklyn,” I say, then I think,
Duh, understatement of the year
. “Are you freaked out by all of this?” I wonder if seeing this side of me has changed his mind about being my boyfriend. Which would be strange, since I’ve seen another side of him, too. A side he doesn’t even know about.

Timber slowly shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, actually I think it’s pretty cool. I thought it’d be really boring here, but dang . . .”

I laugh. “It’s not usually like this.”

“I figured, but still.” He leans forward and warms his hands by the now blazing fire. “I loved sitting around singing with everyone in your family and the way everyone eats together. I wish there was more of that in Brooklyn.”

“I didn’t appreciate it until I moved and saw how other people live, all alone in their little bubbles with TVs and computers and headphones on all the time. I used to think eating with a big group and singing every night was boring, but now I think it’s amazing.”

“Plus,” Timber says, “it’s what made you a great singer.”

I can feel myself blushing. “I’m not great, though.”

“Yes, you are,” he says. “I think you’re the best singer at BAPAHS.”

“What about Bella or Mercedes?” I ask.

“Bella is Bella,” Timber says. “She has something, some star quality, that people love for no good reason. Plus, she’s ruthless. She’ll get what she wants and step on anyone who gets in her way. She’ll be famous someday, but she’ll never be happy. And Mercedes has a big voice. People like that. It gets them excited. But you have more range. Your talent is more subtle.”

“Then why didn’t I get the lead in the musical?” I ask.

“Politics and popularity,” he says. “It’s never only about talent.”

“Anyway, doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m going to perform anyway, but you . . .” I look at him. “You have to go back, Timb. You
are
the lead. Without you, there’s no performance.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even want to do it. It’s not fun anymore. And I want you to be there.”

We hold hands in front of the fire for a few minutes, and I realize that this is probably what Willow and Ash or my mom and dad feel like when they sit together in the evenings. I used to think I never wanted a life so boring as sitting in front of a fire, holding hands. After today, I realize that having some quiet, simple happiness ain’t half bad sometimes.

“Zeph,” Timber says after a while.

“Yeah?”

He drops my hand and turns to look at me. “What did you do to Clay and Dawn in the woods?”

It’s the question I’ve been dreading. So long, quiet, calm happiness. Hello, stomach-squinching anxiety. “You mean after you jumped out of the trees like some crazy kung fu fighter?” I ask, just to stall.

Timber rubs his forehead. “That, too. I remember following the sound of your voice. I remember seeing Clay coming after you and then I remember being on top of him, but I don’t get what happened.” He looks to me.

“It was just adrenaline,” I tell him. “You were pumped up.”

“But something happened because when I went to take the fox from Dawn, she was . . .” He looks troubled. “Stiff. It was weird. And then Clay, curled half on his side, stuck. And then I was thinking about at the club in Red Hook when Dawn surprised us and we were trying to get out the door. I thought she was drunk. But . . . I don’t know what it was. You said something and she backed off and went limp.”

“Wow, Timber,” I say, trying to laugh light and easy, but I can hear the strain in my voice. “I don’t remember it that way at all.”

“What do you remember then?” he asks.

“I think it was just the moment, you know? There was a lot happening and we were both scared and . . . and . . .”

The back door off the kitchen squeaks open. We both whip around to find my mom wrapped in her cloak, carrying a small candle through the door. “Hello, you two,” she says, lowering her hood.

“How’s the fox?” I ask.

Mom sets her candle on the table then fills the kettle with water. “Better,” she says. “I think she’s getting her strength back. How are you, Timber? ”

“Good, thanks,” he says.

I take a long pair of tongs and pluck a glowing ember from the fire, then drop it into the stove with some kindling to heat mom’s water for tea.

“Tea for you?” she asks us. We both nod. “The sun will be up soon,” she says as she pulls down a tin and measures dried leaves into a pot. “Are you talking about what happened in the woods?” she asks, calmly, smoothly, evenly, betraying no concern as she busies herself in the kitchen.

“Uh, um, yeah, he uh . . .” I stammer, wondering how much she heard.

“I really love it here,” he says.

“That’s so very nice,” says Mom, “but you can’t stay.” Mom cocks her head to the side and smiles at us. “Come,” she says, pulling two chairs away from the table. “Flora is bringing Kenji and Briar, and we’ll talk about what we’re going to do.”

Timber and I sit quietly as my mom slices thick slabs of bread and slathers them with wild strawberry preserves. She sets out six cups, the honey jar, and the steaming teapot, all the while taking her time, humming. I want to ask her what she’s up to, but I know I should just wait until she’s good and ready to spill it. Soon, the door opens again and in walks Flora followed by Kenji and Briar, who look as sleepless as Timber and I.

We all sit around the table, but none of us touch the tea or the bread. Mom leans forward and asks, “Zephyr, Briar, did you know what you were doing when you danced in the park, at the skating rink, and at the club?”

Briar sits back in her chair and crosses her arms. “We were just dancing,” she says. I don’t say anything because I don’t want to admit that I knew we weren’t just dancing.

“You were dancing an elf circle,” Flora says. At the word
elf
, Briar and I suddenly straighten up and gulp in air.

“Elf circles can be very powerful, especially over erdler men,” Mom adds.

“Mom!” I look from Kenji to Timber, who both wrinkle their brows in bewilderment.

“Well, they should know,” Mom says.

“You did enchant them,” Flora points out.

“We did?” Briar asks.

“You did?” Kenji asks.

“You what?” asks Timber.

“Oh no,” I say, beginning to realize that Mom and Flora know more about what we did than we do.

“It’s an ancient spell,” Mom says, and my mouth drops open. “It’s harmless fun among the elves, but it can be very harmful to humans who get in the way.”

“Dark elves have used those dances for centuries to drive erdlers out of their minds with love,” Flora adds.

“What are they talking about?” Timber asks me.

“Why are you saying all of this in front of them?” I want to know.

“We told you no magic in Brooklyn,” Mom says, stirring her tea.

“But we didn’t exactly know,” I plead.

Flora and Mom look at us hard and they wait. I shrink back.

“We didn’t,” Briar says in a small voice.

They continue to stare at us.

“So maybe we sort of suspected,” I admit and cringe.

“But honestly,” Briar says, “we didn’t really know what we were doing.”

“You were doing magic,” Mom says calmly but sternly.

“And now they know,” I say, pointing to our friends, who both sit rigid and pale.

“It’s important for them to know the truth,” says Mom.

“It is?” Briar asks.

Flora leans forward and lays her hand on top of Kenji’s. “Kenji, dear, it’s been so very nice to meet you. I know you’ve been a wonderful friend to my daughter.”

“Uh thanks,” he mumbles, and tries to withdraw his hand.

“But there’s something you should know about her,” Flora continues.

“Mother!” Briar snaps.

“She’s an elf,” Flora says, pointing to Briar.

“So is she,” Mom says, looking at Timber but pointing to me.

“So are we,” Flora says.

“All of us,” Mom adds.

Laughter bubbles up from Timber. “This is whacked.”

“I’m sorry,” Kenji says. “I’m too tired for all of this.” He rubs his eyes with the backs of his hands and looks weary.

“It’s true,” Mom says. “We’re all magic. Want to see?” Timber and Kenji stare at my mom like she’s crazy and they’d like to be on their way home about now. I’m flabbergasted by what’s gotten into my mother and Flora. “Do some magic,” Mom says to me.

“Mom,” I beg. “Enough.”

“Don’t be shy. Show Timber what you can do.” She looks around the room. “Zap the fire,” she says.

I shake my head.

“Go ahead,” Mom prods.

“No,” I say, feeling anger rising at my mom. “I’m not doing that. He’ll think I’m a freak.”

“Can you really?” Timber asks.

“This is ridiculous!” I say.

“Go on, Zephyr,” Mom prods. “Zap the fire.”

“Why are you doing this?” I plead.