Wishes (2 page)

Dingo barked again in agreement.

“No fairies.”

I wondered how he knew. “Er . . . we were just taking a walk,” I lied.

He laughed, a wheezing sound like an old bellows blowing on a fire. “Every year, kids like you come in here looking for the blue fairy lights,” he said. “All they end up doing is catching cold and getting in the way. Anyway, fairies don’t live here. They prefer dark, hidden places. Caves, hollow trees, that kind of thing. So I understand.”

“The woods!” Becca squealed.

“Lots of woods around Whitfield,” Mr. H. said. “But I doubt you’ll find anything in them except trouble.”

Dingo did a lot of barking then.

“Well, I can’t
force
them to go home,” the old man said, looking right at Dingo. He often spoke to his dog. I think Dingo was Mr. Haversall’s familiar. Or at least his soul mate.

Dingo turned his back on his master and lifted his leg to pee on a rock.

“He doesn’t think I should have told you about the woods. Thinks they’re dangerous,” Mr. Haversall said. “Thinks you may get in over your heads.”

“We’ll be fine,” I assured him.

He only laughed. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “Dingo here’s not usually wrong. He was a great magician, you know. In another life. He still has skills, though. Don’t you, boy?”

“Woof,” Dingo said.

“Er . . . Have you seen our friends?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. “Verity Lloyd, Cheswick, and Bryce?”

“Ayuh. Told them the same thing I told you. No good’ll come of this foolishness. They’re waiting for you up by Hattie’s.”

“Oh. Thanks,” I said. “And don’t worry. We’ll be careful.”

Dingo lifted his leg again, as if to show us just what he thought of our plan.

2.

Verity and the two guys were waiting near Hattie’s restaurant, which was the only building allowed in the Meadow. Hattie was inside, already doing some of the cooking for the Beltane feast tomorrow. I peered in the window to see if Peter was with her. Hattie was Peter’s legal guardian, so I thought maybe he’d turned down coming with us so that he could help Hattie.

But he wasn’t there.

“She’s got plenty of help,” Becca said. This was true. On holidays, Hattie was inundated with volunteers who wanted to help cook. Mostly she just gritted her teeth and put up with them, but they at least did all the scut work that Peter and I usually did during our after-school jobs. “My mom’s even here.”

“Oh, God,” Bryce said. “Let’s get out of here, then. No offense, Becca, but the less I see of your mother, the happier I am.”

“I hear you,” Becca said.

“I think we ought to stay here,” Cheswick said.

“Why?”

“Because Mr. Haversall might be lying. The fairies could be right here, in the Meadow. Maybe we’d be wasting our time in the woods.”

Bryce laughed. “And maybe you’re just scared to go there.”

“I am not!” Cheswick bristled.

“So that’s settled,” Becca the peacemaker said. “Let’s get out of here before my mother sees us, or we’ll all be peeling potatoes all night.”

“I second that,” Bryce said.

So we trudged away. “Does anyone know anything about fairies?” I asked.

“A little,” Bryce said. “I heard that they’re smart, but they only have power over humans. They can’t do anything to help themselves. So they’re generally frustrated.”

“And mean,” Becca said with a laugh. “Watch they don’t get between your toes and bite you.”

“I have an aunt like that,” Verity said.

“Really?” Cheswick asked. “A tiny little aunt?”

“No, I mean like what you said about fairies. My aunt’s a clairvoyant. She can see what’s going to happen to everyone except herself. She’s always investing in stocks that lose money.”

“Is she mean?” Becca asked.

“Horrible. She told me I was going to marry the weirdest guy in Whitfield.”

“Well, that’s a crock,” Cheswick said. “You’re going to marry me.”

Becca and I looked at each other and Becca raised an eyebrow, but neither of us said anything.

As we walked out of the fog, we could see the expanse of virgin forest known as the Whitfield Woods about half a mile in the distance. “Into the woods!” Bryce shouted. “Excelsior!”

Verity made a face. “I don’t know,” she said. “What if the fairies are like my aunt Hortense?”

Bryce stifled a laugh. “If it makes you feel better, I kind of doubt we’ll find any. Fairies, I mean. It hardly ever happens, apparently.”

“But that’s what makes it fun,” Becca said. “I wonder what the treasure is. Jewels? Gold?”

“What if it’s some dumb thing like world peace?” Cheswick said.

“That wouldn’t count,” Verity said. “Would it?”

“The fairies would be in the woods if they’re anywhere,” Becca prompted, gesturing with her head toward the tall trees ahead. “Shall we?”

A half hour later, we were deep in the woods. The trees ran along Whitfield Bay to the south, where there were a lot of footpaths and the undergrowth was regularly cleared out by the county, but farther north the tame woods widened into a vast area of first-growth forest where hardly anyone ever set foot.

I don’t know if it was because Whitfield was founded by witches, or just because the towns in this area never became industrialized, but except for a few acres along the northwestern edge, where timber was used to build the settlers’ houses, the forest—now protected by law—was still in its pristine, wild state. Some of the trees here were hundreds of years old. Some, as wide across as I am tall, had been lying on the ground for decades, slowly turning back into earth. There were supposed to be caves in these woods, underground caverns that stretched for miles. A number of people had gotten lost here over the years, and there had even been a couple of murdered bodies found in these parts, which was possibly why it wasn’t a very popular place.

In the witch community, whenever someone goes missing, we face the woods and make the sign of the Evil Eye (which, oddly, is the same sign—a fist with the index finger and pinky raised—that cowen use to symbolize rock ’n’ roll) because we believe the missing person has vanished into the woods.

That’s all nonsense, of course. Witches are superstitious. The eeriness of this primeval forest was further enhanced by the fact that fog—real fog, not the magical mist that fills the Meadow—was creeping in. It snaked along the forest floor like tentacles, as if it were looking for something. It settled like snow at the base of the big trees, growing gradually deeper as we walked farther into the darkness of the woods.

“Guys,” I said. “Let’s stick together, okay?”

“I second that,” Verity said. “Maybe we should hold hands or something.”

“And stomp in a line like the British Army?” Bryce said, annoyed. “We’ll never see a fairy that way. They don’t
want
to get caught, you know.”

I looked up at the sky. Or rather, at the lack of sky. The trees here were in full leaf, creating a thick canopy. In addition, the fog had rendered the night sky starless. “It’s really dark here,” I said.

“That’s because of the fog,” Bryce explained. “Funny, isn’t it? Fog both inside the Meadow and outside? How often does that happen?”

“Here’s a factoid,” Cheswick said cheerfully. “Do you know what fog is?”

“Be still my heart,” Becca said. I couldn’t see her face very well, but I knew she was giving Cheswick an eye roll.

He was undaunted. “A hundred percent humidity!” he exclaimed, as if he were answering a question on
Jeopardy!
.

“Gosh, you’re so smart,” Verity said. She actually meant it.

Bryce snorted. “That does it,” he said disgustedly. “There is
no
chance that we’ll find anything remotely resembling a fairy if we keep talking and bombing around like cowen on a picnic. Now spread out!” With his outstretched hands, he indicated the directions we were to take.

“But what if we get lost?” Verity asked, her voice trembling.

“Don’t worry,” Cheswick said. “I’ll protect you.”

“Oh, well, then you don’t have anything to worry about,” Becca said sarcastically.

“Maybe we ought to have a signal or something,” I suggested. “To identify each other in case we can’t see. Like a whistle.” I tried a low whistle. “That wouldn’t scare off any fairies, would it?” I whistled again.

“Crap,” Becca said. “Bryce is gone. Bryce!” She took off with a lot of noise, rustling dead leaves and breaking twigs underfoot.

“How about the whistle?” I called after her, but she didn’t answer. “Verity? Cheswick?”

“Over here,” Cheswick called. He sounded pretty far away.

“Wait up,” I yelled, moving toward where I thought he was. “Whistle or something, Cheswick.”

There was no answer. “Cheswick?” Silence. “Hey! Anybody?”

Again, silence. I tried a whistle and waited for a response, but there was none. No sound. Nothing except for the droning of insects and the creaking of tree branches high up, sounding as if the forest itself were weeping.

I swallowed. The fog was getting thicker, covering my feet. I tried to whistle again, but my throat was so dry that nothing came out of my mouth except air.

It didn’t matter. I doubted if anyone had paid attention to my whistling code, anyway. I pulled out my cell phone and clicked on Becca’s number. I’d got a
NO SERVICE
sign. Then I tried Verity. Then Cheswick and Bryce. It was always the same. I looked up at the thick canopy of leaves overhead, and the trees all around me. I supposed they might be dense enough to cut off phone service.

Or maybe it was something about these woods . . .

Stop it,
I told myself. I’d lost touch with my friends for five minutes, and already I was getting paranoid.

I tried to text. It didn’t go through. Ditto e-mail. I tried the GPS, thinking I might at least find my way home, where I could call the others from a working phone. I might have been able to get my bearings from seeing which side of the trees moss was growing on, but even the flashlight on my phone was inoperative. When I tried to call Becca again, I didn’t even get the
NO SERVICE
sign. The phone was completely dead.

“Great,” I said. I had no bearings, no idea how to find Whitfield or the bay or the Meadow. If I didn’t make it back tonight, I’d probably be kicked out of school. My aunt and great-grandmother, who lived in Whitfield, would be furious, and my dad would probably make me live with him in New York, where I can never sleep for the noise. And Peter . . . Well, this was just another stupid thing I’d done in a lifetime of stupid things, and I knew how Peter felt about that.

Whoa, Katy.
I was letting my paranoia run away with me. I’d only been lost for a short time, I told myself. I would probably run into someone I knew very soon.

A deer stepped out from behind a tree not ten feet from me and blinked its big soft eyes.

“Nice deer,” I said, feeling myself sweating. The deer bounded away.

I’ll find my way out,
I thought, trying to convince myself.
The fog will lift, and there’ll be moonlight. Or my phone will start working. Or I’ll hear the ocean, and know I’m near the bay. Or . . .

A light shone. I was sure I saw it, in the grass around a tree trunk a hundred yards or so ahead.
Cell phone?
I wondered. As I walked toward the light, my heart started to beat faster. If Becca or one of the others lost their phone, what did that mean? Had they been attacked and left for dead? I stopped cold and looked around nervously, listening for the sound of footsteps, but I heard nothing except my own breathing.

Then again, if the phone was working—which it must be if it was lit up—then I’d be able to use it. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. That is, until I no longer saw the light. I got down on my hands and knees and swept away layers of soggy leaves, looking for it.

Once again my spirits sank. Could the dropped phone have died, too, only a few minutes after mine had bitten the dust? “Stupid trees,” I muttered, feeling the dampness of the ground seeping through the knees of my jeans.

Then I saw it again, up ahead, glowing a weird bluish color. I crawled toward it, trying not to blink so that I wouldn’t lose sight of it again.

As I followed, I realized that the source of the light probably wasn’t a cell phone at all. For one thing, the light was intermittent. Sometimes it went dark for minutes at a time while I waited, poised like a retriever on my hands and knees. And it was
blue
. Faint and blue, the way I’d always pictured ether, the witches’ fifth element. There was water, air, earth, fire . . . and
ether
, the element of spirit that made magic possible.

Slowly I moved toward it, as if this thing, this ether, would fly away at the sight of me, until I could see it clearly. Yes, there it was, blinking soft as down against the trunk of a massive oak.

Fairy,
I thought in a flash. Didn’t Mr. Kruger say they gave off light?
Blue
light?

I could hardly keep from laughing out loud. I’d found a fairy! What would Peter say to that? An apology, maybe? That would be sweet.