STORYTELLER
Book One: The True World

By Lisa T. Cresswell

Copyright 2011 Lisa T. Cresswell

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you.

Acknowledgments

I want to thank my family for encouraging me to take this path less traveled, my editor, Anika Henrikson, and my friend for over 20 years, Suzann Henrikson.  May you all know the joy of such friendship in your own lives.  And many thanks to Chris Ash, for his beautiful cover design.

***~~~~***

Chapter 1  Lily Lightfoot, the Storyteller

Weird was quickly becoming a fact of life for Lily Lightfoot.   For the third time in a week, she got the feeling invisible icy fingers were slipping down the back of her neck, seeping into her spine.  It was if something was tugging at her very bones, pulling her toward her future.  She walked along a broken sidewalk littered with fall leaves toward her school; her friend Peter up ahead on his skateboard.  The crisp air was heavy with the moldy smell of decay as the skateboard clicked on the cracks in the sidewalk.
Spinning around, Lily saw nothing but leaves rustling as the wind swished them across the sidewalk.  Lily pulled her coat closer around herself and sighed.  Maybe she really was losing her mind.  Everyone else seemed to think so.  Peter was probably the only kid in school who didn’t cringe when she walked into a room.  Ever since she gave her entire second grade class the chicken pox, just by telling a story, everyone had avoided her.  That was before Peter moved to Maplewood.  Lily had a feeling he might see things differently if he had witnessed the infamous pox incident.  Peter stomped the end of his skateboard, stopping it, and looked back at her.
“Hurry up, Lily!” he said.  Why he walked to school with her every day was a mystery to Lily.  Peter had lots of friends - normal kids - he could hang out with.  Still, Lily was glad he didn’t seem to mind her little quirks.  OK, so maybe they were big quirks.
“I’m coming,” said Lily.  “Unfortunately,” she added under her breath.
“So, tell me a story,” said Peter.  He grabbed the end of his board and walked next to Lily.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, staring straight ahead.
“C’mon, witch girl,” Peter teased, pushing the dark brown hair out of his eyes.
“What kind of story?” asked Lily, annoyed that Peter would call her that.  Still, it was better than “freakazoid,” which was what most people called her.
“You know, the kind where you make something up and then it happens,” he said.
“I don’t know, Peter.  That last one got me in trouble,” said Lily, remembering the math test two weeks ago.  Peter had bet Lily he would score higher than she would and she wanted to put him in his place.  Unfortunately, she flubbed the story trying to whisper it during the test so no one could hear.
“His answers are gone,” she said softly.  Not only did Peter’s answers disappear, so did every other guy’s in the class.
“Yeah, but you have to admit, it was pretty funny watching Mrs. Doorman trying to figure out what happened,” said Peter.  Lily grinned at the memory of her poor, frantic teacher.   She didn’t mean to upset Mrs. Doorman.  If only she could get the hang of storytelling.
“Just a little one?  It’s so cool,” begged Peter, smiling sweetly.
“Nothing big?” asked Lily.  She had promised her grandmother she wouldn’t tell any more stories, but it was hard to tell Peter no.
“No, nothing big,” said Peter, grinning. How could she disappoint her best friend in the world?
“Are you sure you’re prepared for the consequences?  You know I can’t always control what happens,” she asked.
“I’m not scared,” he said.
“Well, all right.  Just a little one.”  Lily stepped over the smashed remains of a jack-o’-lantern on the sidewalk, scrunching up her freckled nose.
“Tell a story that will help me pass pre-algebra,” said Peter close to her ear.
Lily smirked at him.  She thought to herself, and closed her eyes in concentration until she got that familiar tingle in her toes, like they’d gone to sleep.  She listened for the warbling of birds, like far away meadowlarks she always heard before storytelling.  Sometimes it took awhile to hear them, but today they sang instantly.  Lily opened her green eyes and began her tale.  Peter listened closely.
“The boy who smashed this pumpkin will come around the corner in two minutes and slip on the mess he made,” said Lily.
Peter interrupted impatiently.  “Lily!  I just wanted you to help me pass math.”
“I’m not cheating again.  I’ll help you study.  Here he comes now.  Better stand over there,” said Lily, pointing as she backed off the sidewalk.
Sure enough, a burly eighth grader named Dillon Thompson raced around the corner on his bike.  He hit the slimy pumpkin smear and launched into the neighbor’s bushes where he lay stunned for a moment.
Lily and Peter were stunned, too.  Dillon was built like a bulldog and no one with any sense ever messed with him.
“Run!” shouted Peter as they both tore down the street.  Finally rounding the corner by their school, Lily stopped to catch her breath, and giggled at Peter.
“You didn’t tell me it was gonna be Dillon,” said Peter, laughing with her.
“I warned you.  Run!” she teased him in mock terror.  A snide voice interrupted them.
“What’s so funny?”
Lily turned around to see Heather Whipple, a blonde with a permanent sneer staining her otherwise pretty face.  The sight of Heather always made Lily slightly ill, like when she ate too many of Gran’s homemade caramels and they threatened to come back up.  Heather sort of looked like she felt the same way about Lily.  She seemed to suck the happiness right out of the air around them.
“Oh, nothing,” said Peter, smirking.
“Did your little witch friend do another trick?” asked Heather, joining her own friends.
“She’s not a witch,” shouted Peter after her.  “Don’t pay any attention to her, Lily.”
“It’s all right.  I know everyone hates me.” 
“No they don’t,” Peter tried to convince her.  “Only Heather hates you.  Everyone else just thinks you’re a little weird.”  Lily gave him a sour look.
“That helps a lot, Peter.  I think maybe I’ll skip school today.”
“Don’t be crazy.  Your grandma would find out,” warned Peter.
“Not if you don’t tell her.”
“You can’t skip today.  We have a history test.”
Lily groaned.
“Did you forget again?” asked Peter.
“Um…sort of,” admitted Lily.
After lunch, the seventh graders had twenty minutes to enjoy the beautiful fall sunshine outside.  Peter played basketball with some friends while Lily sat on a bench and tried to study for the history test she had forgotten about.  Nothing she read seemed to want to stick in her brain.  She tried to ignore Heather’s voice, which was just loud enough for Lily to hear.
“I don’t know why she bothers,” Heather was saying.  “She’s such a retard.”
Lily rolled her eyes.
“I can hear you, Heather!” Lily shouted.
“I don’t care, Lily!” Heather sassed back.
Lily slammed her book shut and retreated to the bathroom.  It’s a good thing for her I promised Gran no stories, thought Lily.  She doesn’t know how lucky she is.  Still, it didn’t stop Lily from imagining ten different ways to humiliate Heather.  Lily had experimented with storytelling from time to time, just to test her limits.  She knew she could affect things that already existed, but she couldn’t make a million dollars appear out of thin air or make it rain cupcakes, although she had really tried.  A lot.
Instead, Lily half-heartedly tried to study history in the bathroom, sitting in the last stall nearest the window.  It was the closest thing to a hiding spot she was able to find in her school.  
“Three things that start with ‘p’,” Lily told herself.  It was her way of focusing, or maybe just a way of forgetting what was bothering her.  Whatever it was, it usually worked.
“Pickles, pecan pie, pumpernickel.”
Ten minutes later, when the bathroom door opened and someone walked in, Lily pulled up her feet and sat quietly, hoping no one would discover her.
 “Do you think he will ask you to the dance?” said a girl’s voice.
“I don’t know.  He can’t seem to get away from Lily long enough to talk to me,” answered another girl.  Lily’s ears perked up when she heard her own name.  She knew without looking, it was Heather Whipple.  Her stomach knotted.  They were talking about Peter.
“Why does he do that?  Does her grandma pay him or something?” asked the first girl.
“No, I think he’s just kind of dumb,” said Heather, laughing as if she was funny.  The knot in Lily’s stomach exploded and she burst out of the stall, banging the next stall hard with the door.  Heather and her friend, Abigail, jumped.  Lily stared at Heather, her history book still hanging in one hand.
“Lily,” said Heather, surprised.
“I don’t ever expect you to forgive me.  I gave up trying to be your friend a long time ago,” said Lily, walking over to look Heather in the eyes.  “Say anything you want about me, but don’t you dare talk about Peter like that.”
The bell rang before Heather could answer.  Lily grabbed her backpack and left without another word.
Lily’s next class was art, which she loved almost as much as English.  The best part about it was Heather wasn’t in it.  Lily spent most of the hour just swirling colors around with her paintbrush.  No matter how much she tried to enjoy the blue seeping into the white to make the perfect sky color, her mind wouldn’t let her.  Instead, it kept replaying that horrible scene, the day she ruined her friendship with Heather last year.  If Heather had any sense of humor at all, it might have been forgotten long ago, but she refused to let it go.  
In history, Lily pored over her test.  There were at least two questions she didn’t have the slightest idea how to answer and probably four more she wasn’t sure about, but she was pleased to discover she actually remembered some of what she had read.  Maybe Coach McAllister’s tests were just a little easier during football season.  
Next to her, Heather was scribbling away on her test with her usual know-it-all look.  Lily saw her sneak a peek at Peter before her gaze flickered back to Lily with a look in her eyes Lily couldn’t read.  Caught, Heather shot Lily a dirty look and covered her paper.  Lily’s own anger flared up again, surprising her.  It wasn’t as if she needed to defend Peter, or that he even cared what Heather thought of him.  
Lily tried to concentrate on question number fifteen, but her brain turned to Jell-o.  She rubbed her eyes, trying to fight off the strange, sleepy feeling creeping into her head.  It was no use.  She lay her head on the desk, unable to keep her eyes open any longer.
In a dream, Lily walked through a dark forest of gnarled trees.  The branches grew so thick, light could barely penetrate.  Deep in the forest, Lily caught sight of a woman with dark hair and dazzling green eyes.  Lily called to her, but the woman didn’t seem to hear her.  She ran after the woman, but lost her in the maze of thick, black tree trunks.  
“Lily,” a voice called.  The sound was warm and inviting.  Lily wanted to run toward it, but she couldn’t tell where it came from.
“Where are you?” Lily called back.
“Here,” said the voice behind her.  Lily spun around to see the dark haired woman.
“Mom?” said Lily, hoping it was her.
“Lily, I need you,” the woman said.  “I can’t do this alone.”
“Do what?” asked Lily.  “Who are you?”
“You already know,” she said.  “Hurry!”
A light hand on her shoulder startled Lily awake.
“Lily!” Peter whispered.  “Wake up!”
Lily woke with a start.  The class was handing in their papers.  She looked down at her unfinished test, not really caring about her grade anymore.  Peter looked worried.
“I saw her!” Lily whispered back to him.
“Who?” asked Peter.
“My mother.  She said she needs me,” said Lily.
Heather’s cold voice cut in.
“Don’t be stupid.  Everyone knows your mother’s dead.”
Lily glared at Heather and her perpetual sneer, as if something always smelled bad to her.
“What do you know about my mother?” said Lily through clenched teeth.  She could hear the sound of her birds again.  Instead of singing, they were clamoring like restless shore birds.
“Whatever,” Heather said, turning to Peter.  “Lily is going crazy if you ask me.  She’ll probably end up in the loony bin pretty soon.  I wouldn’t hang around with her if I were you.”
Peter just shook his head, but Lily couldn’t stand it anymore.  
“I hope you flunk!” she cried, the chatter of birds only she could hear filling her ears.  
Lily grabbed Heather’s blond curls and pulled hard, yanking a good fistful of hair out of Heather’s awful head before Peter could stop her.  Heather screamed.
“Mr. McAllister!” Heather shrieked.  “Lily attacked me!”
“What’s going on?” asked Coach McAllister, his bulging eyes locked on Lily.  “I have just about had it with you two.” 
He stalked up the aisle toward Peter and Lily.
“I didn’t do anything!” Peter protested.
“Is that true?” asked Coach McAllister, eyeing Lily.
“Peter was just trying to help me,” offered Lily, silently hiding the fistful of golden hair inside her desk.
“Cheating?  You were cheating?” shouted Coach McAllister.  “Give me your papers, now!”
“No!  He was just telling Heather to leave me alone,” said Lily.
The teacher grabbed all of their papers.  He scanned the tests quickly, disbelief spreading across his face.
“Heather, all your answers are wrong,” said the coach.
“What?” cried Heather, still holding her head where Lily had yanked her hair.  Lily gave Peter a little smile, knowing her storytelling had changed Heather’s answers.  Peter wasn’t smiling back.  He looked kind of angry, in fact.  By the looks of his scowl, Coach McAllister wasn’t amused either.
“Lily, go to the principal’s office,” he said.
“But…” Lily tried to explain.
“Go!” shouted the teacher.
As Lily slunk out of the room, she could feel Heather’s voice stab her in the back.
“Freak!” Heather said in disgust.


Chapter 2  An Ugly Cat

“How could you, Lily?  You promised me.  I’m going to be late for my yoga class now,” said Gwendolyn Lightfoot, Lily’s grandmother, looking at her watch.  The usual honey in her voice was gone. 
The principal had called Gwendolyn down to the school for a meeting.  Now, standing outside the principal’s office, Lily tried to stop the flow of hot tears welling up in her eyes as Gwendolyn fumed at her.  Everyone else had gone home for the day.
“But I saw her Gran.  I really did,” insisted Lily.
“That’s enough!  No more stories!” said Gwendolyn.
“You don’t believe me?”  Lily’s voice cracked.  
Gwendolyn’s face softened a little.  She took Lily’s hand softly and pulled her closer.
“I believe you, Lily.  You have an ability other people don’t, but you have to learn to control yourself.  You can’t behave like an ape in the zoo, ripping people’s hair out whenever you feel like it,” said Gwendolyn.  “One more incident like that and you’ll be suspended.”
Lily tried to swallow the hard, dry lump in her throat.  At least Gran believed her.
“You’ll have to walk home.  I told Sarah I’d teach the class for her this week,” Gwendolyn said as she stood up.  “Unless you want to come with me?”
“No, I’d rather go home,” said Lily, defeated.  
“All right,” said Gwendolyn, kissing Lily’s head.  “I’ll see you there.”
Lily meandered down Orchard Street alone.  Most days, Peter walked with her if he didn’t have soccer practice, but today he was already gone.  Lily’s loneliness was complete.  What if Abigail was right?  What if he only hangs around as a favor to Gran?
A cold October wind stung her face and tossed her loose, red hair around.  Her heart stopped a minute when she saw Dillon Thompson down the street on his bike.  She took a sharp left, hoping to avoid him by sneaking down Vineyard Street instead.  As she got closer to home, the houses grew older, more Victorian in style, with angled roofs and iron fences around the yards.
“Peaches, paprika, papercut.”
Lily walked past the old Ferguson place quicker than most, mainly because it gave her the heebee geebees every time she saw it.  A loud yowl behind her nearly scared her out of her Sketchers.  Whipping around, Lily saw a pure black cat with yellow eyes staring up at her.  Its ears were torn, as if it had lost a few fights.  He was kind of ugly in Lily’s opinion, but that didn’t scare her.
“Where did you come from?” she asked, kneeling to pet the creature.  The cat folded its ears back, but allowed Lily to stroke its head before crouching.  It let out a low growl that made Lily jerk her hand away, sure she was about to be scratched.
“Fine,” she said.  “Don’t be sociable then.”
Lily stood up and turned to go, only to be stopped by Dillon Thompson looming over her on his bike.
“Hey, freakazoid,” said Dillon, his front teeth jutting out at her.  Lily hated those goofy teeth.  She just stared at the boy and his dirty tee shirt, unsure what to do, but unwilling to back down.
“Are you going to curse me again?” dared Dillon.
“Not today,” said Lily as she tried to walk around his bike.  Dillon wasn’t about to let her get away.  He moved the bike to block her escape.  Lily scowled.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“Got any money?” Dillon asked.
“No,” said Lily, which was true.  “I wouldn’t give it to you if I did.”
Lily knew he would probably thump her for that, but she didn’t care.  She was sick of Dillon and his big, chalk teeth.  Dillon’s face contorted in a strange, twisted way as he raised his hands.  Lily flinched, ready for a blow, but instead, Dillon let out a huge sneeze all over her.  Lily jumped back, disgusted.
“Aw, yuck!” she said.  “Why’d you do that?”
“I don’t know, I…” was all Dillon could get out before he sneezed again, even harder.  His eyes filled with water as he sneezed uncontrollably.  Something soft pressed on Lily’s calf.  Looking down, she saw the black cat with a chunk missing out of its ear, rubbing against her leg.  Dillon backed away.
“I’m allergic to cats!” he shouted.  “Get it away!”
Lily picked up the cat and shoved it toward Dillon.
“Ah!” he yelled as the cat hissed and scratched at him.  He tripped and fell, bike and all.
“What’s the matter?  Afraid of a little kitty?” asked Lily, petting the cat in her arms.
“Leave me alone, freak!” shouted Dillon, still sneezing.  He struggled to pick up his bike and ride off.  Lily laughed.
“Thanks, kitty,” she told the cat as she released him.  The cat sharpened its claws on a nearby tree trunk and then scampered off toward the creepy Ferguson house.
Finally, Lily arrived home, thankful the horrible day was coming to an end.  Lily walked up to the porch of her grandmother’s Victorian, painted in festive shades of purple and green with a sign out front that said “Fairy Sanctuary: Magical Gifts.”  Most residents of Maplewood were New Englanders born and bred, no nonsense kind of folks.  Lily’s grandmother didn’t really fit the mold with her long, draping dresses; her gaudy jewelry; and her unusual gift shop.
Lily let herself inside, walking slowly through her grandmother’s funky little store in the front room of their house.  Lily liked the smell of the teas and sandalwood incense Gwendolyn sold.  The shop was crammed full of beautiful trinkets, wind chimes, celadon pottery decorated with dragonflies, crystal pendants, you name it.  Above it all floated dozens of tiny fairy figurines, suspended on fine threads, each one for sale.  Gwendolyn made pottery in a back room she called the Mud Room because it was covered in clay dust and smelled of earth.  Lily walked through the Mud Room and into their kitchen, dropping her school bag on the table.  Instead of fixing herself a snack, as usual, she went upstairs to her bedroom.
When Lily refused to come down for dinner later, Gwendolyn came up to Lily’s room.
“You’re not eating?” She asked.
Lily shrugged, shame burning her cheeks.
“Not hungry,” said Lily, crawling under the sheets of her bed.
“Don’t be mad, Lily.  You’ve just had a bad day is all,” Gwendolyn told her, patting her shoulder.
“I didn’t rip out Heather’s hair just because I felt like it you know.  I’ve felt like doing it for a long time.”
The corners of Gwendolyn’s lips turned up ever so slightly.
“I did it because she said Mom was dead,” whispered Lily.
Gwendolyn locked her gaze on Lily.
“Just because a person like Heather Whipple says something doesn’t make it so.”
“I know.  I just couldn’t stand hearing it, you know, out loud.  Heather just keeps pushing me all the time, Gran.  I hate her,” said Lily, punching her pillow.
“I see.” 
“I don’t think I can go back to that school anymore.  Peter is the only friend I have and now he probably hates me, too.  Can’t I stay home with you?” Lily begged.
“I’m sure Peter doesn’t hate you.  I’d love it if you could stay home with me, but children belong in school,” Gwendolyn reasoned. 
“I can’t do it!  I won’t go back!”  Lily pulled the quilt over her head.  Gwendolyn tugged off the quilt and held Lily’s face in her hands, staring deep into Lily’s green eyes.
“Listen to me, my girl.  I don’t ever want to hear you say you can’t do something again.  You have more strength inside you than you’ll ever know.  You only have to reach out for it and it will be there.  Now… enough feeling sorry for yourself.  Goodnight.”
She kissed Lily’s forehead and tucked the sheets in around her granddaughter, who remained unconvinced.  The thought of going back to school tomorrow made Lily’s stomach churn.   She didn’t feel strong at all.  Facing Heather was no big deal, but facing Peter was a whole different story.  He was her last real friend.  If she lost him, she would truly be alone, a thought she really didn’t want to imagine.
Lily stared at the shape of the moonlight on her bedroom ceiling until a flash caught her eye.  Was that lightning? she wondered.  But it was a perfectly clear night.  It seemed to be coming from the mirror above her desk.  She slipped out of bed and padded across the dark room.
Lily sat down in front of her mirror, searching for another flicker.  All she saw was her own dark reflection, her unruly red hair and freckles.  Lily sighed, resting her chin on her palms.  A bird called out in the dark, a soft coo like a dove or an owl.  If she was going crazy, Lily figured she might as well find her mother in the process.  She closed her eyes and searched her mind for the dark-haired woman of her dreams.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” whispered Lily. “I will find my mother after all.”


Chapter 3  The Ferguson Library Calls

Lily stretched out her pale, slender hand.  The unicorn she reached for was milky colored, like fresh cream against the snow on the ground around them.  Lily inched closer as the creature pawed nervously at the earth, shaking its silken mane.  With a toss of its majestic head, the unicorn’s horn slashed the air dangerously close to Lily.  She froze.  Neither of them moved for a moment, each eyeing the other.  Lily took another tiny step.  From nowhere, a dark haired woman ran toward the unicorn, waving her arms.
“No!” yelled Lily.
The unicorn reared, digging at the air with its hooves and shrieking in terror.  The creature flushed black and its eyes glowed like hot coals.  Its teeth grew into menacing fangs.  Lily cowered in fear, her arms wrapped around her head, but the shrieking sound intensified.  Lily forced open one eye to look around her and whacked the alarm clock on the nightstand next to her bed.  She closed her eyes again until Gwendolyn beat on her bedroom door.
“Lily!  You’ve got fifteen minutes!”
“I’m up,” said Lily as she threw aside the covers.
Lily’s room was on the top floor of her grandmother’s old Victorian.  The ceiling was all angles and corners.  Sometimes Lily didn’t think there was a straight wall in the entire house.  Dodging the low ceiling, she threw on her school uniform, pulled her hair into a ponytail and rushed down the crooked spiral staircase.
Lily came into the kitchen as Gwendolyn poured her a bowl of cereal.  Lily loved the way Gwendolyn’s braided hair fell across her back like a twisted hank of horse hair, not cropped behind the ears like other women her age.  The kitchen smelled of sweet tea, as Gwendolyn was always brewing up some home remedy for her.
“There you are,” said Gwendolyn.  “Let me look at you.”
She held Lily at arm’s length and examined her bushy, red hair and her still-sleepy eyes.  She moved to adjust Lily’s lopsided ponytail without mentioning it.
“Gorgeous.  I can’t believe you’re thirteen.  My baby’s so grown up,” she sighed.
“I don’t feel thirteen,” said Lily, wondering what all the fuss about being a teenager was for.
“Sit down and have your breakfast.  Quick, before Peter gets here,” said Gwendolyn as she pulled out a chair.  Lily sat down while Gwendolyn poured her a cup of tea.
“This will help that sore throat you’ve had,” she said.
“I had that unicorn dream again,” said Lily.  “What do you suppose it means?”
Gwendolyn sighed thoughtfully while Lily sipped her tea.
“Ah…unicorns.  A symbol of purity and magic…”
“So why does someone always chase it away?” 
“Perhaps you aren’t ready for it,” mused Gwendolyn until she noticed the clock.  “Heavens above, look at the time!  You’ll have to get going without Peter.”
“I told you he’d be mad at me,” said Lily, scowling.
“I’m sure he’s just running late.  Don’t forget your sweater,” said Gwendolyn, as if it were a normal day.  Lily and Gwendolyn both knew Peter was never late.
“Remember, I’ll be at yoga this afternoon when you get home, Lily.  See you at six,” Gwendolyn called down the hall after her. “Peter can come over, but no one else, all right?”
“Like anyone else would want to come over,” Lily mumbled to herself.
Lily sighed, trying to look as pitiful as possible, hoping her grandmother would feel sorry for her and let her stay home sick just one day, but Gwendolyn seemed determined to make her go.
“No more storytelling, now,” she said as she pushed Lily out and shut the door.
Lily walked aimlessly down the sidewalk.  How could she be expected to go to school when her mother needed her?  The snap of a twig behind Lily startled her, but no one was there.  
“Peter?” called Lily.
Only the last of the autumn leaves flapping on bare branches answered.  
“Not funny, Peter!  Come out right now!” said Lily, stomping her foot.
Lily waited, but there was no Peter.  She turned back toward school, plodding along slowly, crunching leaves underfoot.  As usual, her thoughts drifted toward her mother.  Lily honestly couldn’t remember her mother’s face.  She imagined her mother constantly, the way she looked, laughed, even her smell, which Lily knew was sweet, like honeysuckle or mimosa flowers.  Try as she might, Lily could never quite envision the features of her face.  It was always a younger version of Gran who came to mind, the only mother she had ever known.  
For a moment, Lily wished Gwendolyn had never told her she had a mother.  That way she wouldn’t have this half-empty feeling, like something was missing from her life.  Lily told herself her mom wasn’t coming back lots of times, but then another dream would come, a vision of her mother so real, so detailed, she knew it had to be true.  Just then, another chilly sensation on Lily’s neck interrupted her thoughts.
Lily increased her pace, resisting the urge to look back.  She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone, or worse -something- was lurking behind her, just out of sight.  Why wasn’t Peter here?  
The sky threatened to rain.  Her heart pounded in her throat like she had just run a mile.  Whatever it was behind her was getting closer.  Lily ducked down an alley behind some dull, brown houses and a few dead cars.  Something told her she had to find a place to hide.
A soft nudge on Lily’s shin surprised her.  She looked down.  It was the scruffy cat again, rubbing his chin on her leg.  
“You?” Lily whispered.
He looked up at her and meowed as if he understood what she needed.  He slipped through a brushy hedge, beckoning her to follow with a loud mew.  It seemed as good an idea as any, so Lily followed him.  He led her through several backyards and past one ferocious dog before arriving at the only vacant house in the neighborhood – the Ferguson house.
The single-story house sat low and shabby on a slight rise, half its wooden shingles missing, its peeling paint nearly all gone.  A nearby tree hung protectively over the house, its branches like arms, scraping the eaves in the wind.  Lily didn’t know the Fergusons.  She had always assumed they were dead or moved away.  Some kids liked to tell stories about the entire family being murdered.  Lily never really believed them.
Standing in the weedy yard, she peered at the ratty curtains flowing in the breeze from the broken windows.  Lily started to wonder if she was doing the right thing, chasing a stray cat around the neighborhood.  The cat scampered around the side of the house.  Lily checked her watch.  If she went to school now, she would be late, but it would only cost her a couple of demerits.  A sudden screech made her jump.  She ran to make sure the cat wasn’t hurt.
Behind the dumpy house, he was squeezing in through a basement window.
“Don’t!” shouted Lily.  “Come out of there!”
Lily tried to see inside, but she couldn’t see through the dirty windows.   The back door swung open with a loud bang against the house.  Lily couldn’t help a little scream of surprise.  She started to run until she noticed the cat standing in the doorway, looking at her.  The cat had somehow opened the door.  He gave her another beckoning mew before running into the darkness.
“You sneaky little thing,” Lily whispered as she followed him inside.
The floorboards creaked under every step Lily took into the gloom.  Dankness seeped into her as she tried to find the cat among the tired, dusty furniture and the stacks of old newspapers.  Whoever lived here had left everything they owned.  It was as if they got up one day and left everything behind.  Maybe they were all murdered, thought Lily.
In the hallway was a pair of full-length mirrors, facing each other, creating an infinite number of reflections of Lily.  The mirrors gave her the feeling she was being pulled, ever so slightly, drawn into the depths of the reflection.  For a moment, she thought she heard her magical birdsong, or the singing of something stranger.  Lily’s gut told her to run home right then, but she swallowed hard and fought back the urge.  
Lily crept into the next room, through a film of dusty, red curtains across the threshold.  There she found the cat, perched on the top of a teetering stack of books, piled on a massive oak desk.  Books of every shape and size lined the walls.  Not only were there books on shelves, there were books stacked on the floor and tables, even on the chairs. And the smell, the old, thick paper. It was unmistakable.
“Wow…just, wow.”
The Fergusons must have loved to read, thought Lily.  She was starting to like these people, even if their house was a mess.  Forgetting where she was, Lily smiled.  There was just enough light filtering in through the grimy windows to read by.
As Lily sat down at the desk in the only chair not covered in fat, hefty hardbacks, the cat skittered away, collapsing the tower of books he sat on.  A large, leather-bound volume landed squarely on Lily’s lap.  On the cover in gritty gold letters of fancy script, was the title The Book of Eleanor.  Lily cracked the cover open, the book creaking from lack of use.  The words immediately drew her in.


Chapter 4  The Strange Tale of Eleanor

Beginnings without end,
Cycles and seasons, Circles and friends.
Here is the place our story begins.
~ fairy ballad

Eleanor held her breath until she thought she would burst.  She hoped the trickle of the nearby stream would mask any sound she might make.  She dug her nails into the bark of the willow she hid in, but otherwise, she was motionless, her green eyes wide.
Beneath Eleanor’s tree was a squad of Formorian soldiers, each armed with a lengthy spear, a wicked sword, or a double-edged battle axe.  Able to inhabit the bodies of men or animals, these Formorians were a curious collection of both.  There were slender elves, hulking trolls, even bulls and wild animals.  All of them were emaciated with coal black eyes; some with bones protruding from their shriveled skin, their host bodies dying around them.  Formorians were the servants of Lord Kane.  Anyone too weak to wield a weapon or serve in his army was normally dispatched.  Small wonder Eleanor didn’t wish to be seen.
She watched and waited while the Formorians watered their horses at the stream.  A few of them munched on a lunch of bread and dried meat.  Eleanor’s stomach longed for the salty taste of jerky on her tongue.  Perhaps they would drop a scrap she could scoop up after they left, she silently hoped.  Even an apple core would be enough.
Nearly an hour went by before the Formorians resumed their march.  Eleanor waited as long as she could before leaving her hiding spot to be sure they were gone.  Untangling herself from the tree took some time since her left arm tingled from lack of ciruclation.  Once on the ground, Eleanor surveyed the mess left behind: the warm campfires still smoking, the flattened grass.  Worst of all, the Formorian scent still hung in the air.  The nauseating stench of stale flesh in the midday heat attracted swarms of flies.  Eleanor swished them away with her hand, so she could pick up the remains of the Formorians’ meal – the carcass of a roasted bird.  She picked the tiny bits of meat off the bone as she walked, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the ache in her stomach.
Eleanor traveled under cover of the trees whenever she could to avoid being seen.  Her fitted jacket and leggings helped her blend in with the muted greens and grays of the forest.  Her long, chestnut hair was twisted in a series of intertwining braids, but loose strands floated around her face.  It had been several days since she paid it any attention.
In the evening, Eleanor found herself at the edge of a meadow surrounded by tall peaks tipped with snow.  The mountains’ shadows crept across the valley floor, the last of the sun nearly gone.  Eleanor shivered, digging down into a pile of fallen leaves to make a bed.  Under the leaves, she discovered a clump of the most succulent mushrooms she had seen in a long time.  A delighted giggle escaped her lips as she picked the tasty morsels, hardly believing her luck.
“How dare you!” shouted a tiny voice.
A furious pixie appeared on Eleanor’s arm.  He was a pretty little thing with speckled, frog-green skin and iridescent dragonfly wings, which he folded and unfolded impatiently.  From head to tail, he was no more than the length of Eleanor’s hand.  He stabbed at her thumb with a tiny spear until she dropped the mushrooms.
“Ouch!  Since when have pixies refused to share with fairies?” asked Eleanor, rubbing her hand.
“Since the Formorians came, that’s when.  Besides, you don’t look like any kind of fairy I know.  Where are your wings?”
Eleanor glanced around for unseen dangers.  
“There are Formorians here?” she asked.
“Can’t you tell?  Just look at my forest.  It’s dying!” said the pixie, dodging a falling leaf.  “Most of my kind have gone underground.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Eleanor.  “Most kind and noble pixie, may I please have some of your mushrooms?  I’ve traveled far and I’m starving.”
“Why should I feed you?  Fairies are supposed to be the protectors of pixies, not the other way around,” he said.
“Don’t you think my people have suffered greatly under the Formorians, too?” Eleanor asked.
The pixie scrunched up his forehead.
“I will feed you on one condition,” said the pixie.  “Expel the Formorians from my forest.”
“Pixie!  I would if I could, but it’s not that easy.”.
“How is it that you come to be traveling so far from home?” 
“My daughter was kidnapped by the Formorians.” 
The pixie gasped as a thunderous boom shook the forest.
“What was that?” whispered Eleanor.
“It’s the Formorian that patrols this wood.  Come quick!” urged the pixie.
Eleanor struggled to follow the zooming pixie through the brambles and brush.  All the while, the booming loomed closer and closer.  Eleanor tried to keep running, but she lost sight of the tiny pixie in the falling darkness.  She ducked behind a rock to rest for a moment, her lungs burning.  The Formorian was so close she could smell the rotting flesh of the poor creature it inhabited.  Through the trees, she could see it riding a massive rhinoceros.  Eleanor burrowed down into the leaves to hide.
“What are you doing?  Waiting to be eaten?” a tiny voice said in her ear.
Eleanor looked up to see the pixie an inch from her nose.
“I lost you.  You flew too fast,” she whispered.
The Formorian reined in his beast at the sound of her voice.  He scanned the forest with his dark, dead eyes.
“We have to go now!” shrieked the pixie.  Eleanor grabbed him before he could zip away again.
“Shhh!” said Eleanor as she threw a glittery dust over them.
Eleanor and the pixie disappeared from sight just as the hideous creature stepped up to the rock they hid behind.  Eleanor cringed.  The Formorian, walking on two legs like a man, inhabited the remains of a monstrous bear.  The bear’s furry hide still clung to its skeleton like a cape.  
The pixie squirmed violently, oblivious to Eleanor’s warnings.  She stuffed the little sprite into her jacket, holding him still under her arm.  He cowered there, covering his eyes.  Neither a bird nor a cricket could be heard.  The only sound was the Formorian’s steamy, raspy breath on the frigid air.  Eleanor gripped the handle of a slight dagger in its sheath on her belt.  
The Formorian lingered over them for what seemed like hours to Eleanor, drooling long, globs of saliva.  Just as the monster was turning to go, the pixie wriggled free of Eleanor’s jacket.  Seeing the Formorian so close, he let out shriek, which was drowned out by the creature’s fierce, angry growl.  The pixie zipped away in panic.  Eleanor scrambled out of the way just as the monster’s foot slammed into their hiding spot.  As she moved, her invisibility spell was broken.  The monster saw her instantly.
Eleanor ran, but the Formorian launched himself off the ground with unnatural speed and landed in front of Eleanor, blocking her escape.  With a scream, she backed away from the creature’s claws as it slashed at her.  The golden chain around her neck snagged on the beast’s claws and snapped.  Eleanor grasped at the necklace, still dangling from the claw, but she had no time to retrieve it.  She climbed the nearest tree as quickly as she could.  An ivory amulet slipped off the chain and fell in the leaves.  
“Protect me, oh Mother,” shouted Eleanor.
As the Formorian bent to find the amulet, Eleanor took a deep breath and leapt off her branch onto what was left of the bear’s back.  The stench of death enveloped her as the beast tossed wildly, trying to throw her off.  Eleanor struggled to hold on and avoid the slashing claws.  She raised her dagger and plunged it into the base of the monster’s neck.
The force of the creature’s roar knocked Eleanor off.  The bear’s remains crumpled as a black smoke exploded from the dagger wound and disappeared.  Eleanor heaved in relief, finally able to breathe again, and collapsed on the ground.  A tiny voice piped up.
“So that’s how you kill a Formorian,” said the pixie.
Eleanor rolled over, still lying on the earth.  She pulled herself up.  She retrieved her dagger and searched the leaves for her amulet.
“Not exactly.  It’s not really dead, just separated from its host.  He’ll be back.  But he’s gone for a while,” said Eleanor.
“That’s not so hard.  I could have done that myself,” said the pixie.
Eleanor smirked at the pixie.  “Oh you could, could you?”
“If I had a dagger, of course.”
“Here it is!” said Eleanor, brushing the dirt off her amulet.  “Now, about my mushrooms…”
“Fair enough.  Come with me,” said the pixie.
Eleanor wriggled inside the pixie’s home: a roomy, hollowed-out fallen log with a warm, crackling fire.  Eleanor’s mushrooms sizzled in a pan on the fire.
“We haven’t been properly introduced,” said the pixie.  “I’m Derry Carrick.”    Derry extended a tiny handshake.  Eleanor shook his hand with just a finger of her own.
“I’m pleased to meet you.  Eleanor Lightfoot of Those of the Seventh Star,” she said.
Reading her own name, “Lightfoot,” Lily gasped out loud in her own world. 
“No way!” said Lily. 
Startled, Derry looked around his home, nearly spilling his cup of raspberry tea.
“What was that?” said Derry.
Lily clasped her hand over her mouth.  It was as if they had heard her.  Entranced, she kept reading.
“It’s her.  I can hear her sometimes,” said Eleanor.
“But how?” asked Derry.
“The True World and the Other World have always been intertwined.  The barriers between our worlds are thinning.  In a few days’ time, they will be gossamer thin.”
“All Hallow’s Eve,” said Derry, nodding.  He knew the tales.
Her chest heaving, Lily slammed the dusty book shut, creating a great poof of dust.  She sat in the quiet library, watching the dust float through the only ray of sunlight peeking into the room.
“How can that be?” Lily asked no one.  “They can’t possibly hear me.  The author must be playing a trick.  Who wrote this anyway?”  Lily carefully cracked open the book again and searched the title page for an author without finding any.  In fact, there was no publisher, no date, nothing.
“Weird,” muttered Lily as she resumed reading where she left off.
“So, Lady Eleanor,” continued Derry.  “Where are your wings?”
“I lost them years ago, when Lord Kane turned,” Eleanor said.
“I haven’t seen a fairy for ages.  Where have they gone?”
“I don’t know.  Dead or captive, I guess.  Kane certainly has no love for fairies.”
“How ever did you manage to escape?” asked Derry, shaking his head.
“I didn’t, at first.  I’ve been a prisoner for a long time, actually.  Thirteen years,” said Eleanor.
“Thirteen years?  He never put a Formorian in you?”  Derry stared at Eleanor in disbelief.  Eleanor shrugged as if it wasn’t important, but the look on Derry’s face told her it was unheard of.
“Just who are you, Eleanor Lightfoot?” asked Derry, his tiny fists balled up on his hips.
“Can we eat first?” pleaded Eleanor.  “I’m famished.  If I don’t get something to eat soon, I think I’ll faint.”
“Fair enough.  I’m hungry myself,” agreed Derry.  “Plenty of time for history later.”
The word “history” always brought Coach McAllister to Lily’s mind.
“Oh, school!” Lily cried out loud, realizing she truly was late now.  She really hadn’t intended to cut class, despite what she told Peter.  Looking at her watch, she saw an hour had flown by.  She quickly closed the book and placed it on the desk.  Grabbing her backpack on her way out the door, she ran for school.
When Lily arrived at school, the halls were empty.  First period was over and the second well underway.  She should have been in Mrs. Doorman’s pre-algebra class ten minutes ago.  Lily padded down the hall on silent cat feet and sprinted up the stairs, past the Halloween dance flyers posted on every wall.  While on the landing, a voice caught her.
“Lily!”


Chapter 5  A Borrowed Book

Lily froze for a moment, her foot still on the next stair.  She hesitated before turning, expecting to see the vice principal scowling at her.  Instead, she saw Peter running, taking two stairs at a time to catch up to her.
“Where have you been?  I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he whispered, obviously peeved.
“You have?” asked Lily.  The footfalls of high-heeled shoes down the first floor hallway interrupted them.
“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered, running up the last few steps, Peter close behind.
Peter and Lily scooted quietly into their desks.  Lily hoped the teacher wouldn’t notice she was late, but Heather Whipple wasn’t going to let her get off so easily.
“Look who decided to show up,” said Heather.
Mrs. Doorman stopped writing equations on the white board and peered over her glasses.  As usual, she focused her laser beam stare on Lily, her favorite troublemaker.  Peter managed to escape her attention completely.
“And where have you been, Miss Lightfoot?” she asked.
“Sorry I’m late.  Something urgent came up,” said Lily.
“More urgent than my class?” asked the teacher.
“Uh…yeah,” said Lily.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Peter staring at the floor, ashamed for her.
“What in the world could be more important than math?” asked Mrs. Doorman.  The class snickered, but Mrs. Doorman, who never cracked a smile, waited for Lily’s answer.  Lily wracked her brain for a story, but nothing believable would surface from the clouded depths of her mind.  If you’re going to lie, might as well make it a good one, she told herself.
“I was walking to school, on time and everything, and I saw a guy with a gun robbing Big Gary’s,” said Lily.  The class erupted in confused chatter.  Big Gary’s was a favorite hangout for a vast majority of the school.  Everyone went there, since it was just across the street.  Gary sold nachos and soda and every sort of unhealthy food item a teenager might want.  Too late, Lily realized her whopper just might be too huge.
“I had to stick around and give the cops a description,” said Lily.  The swollen vein in Mrs. Doorman’s overly large forehead looked like it was about to burst.
“Quiet!” she shouted.  Knowing the limits of Mrs. Doorman’s extremely short temper had been reached, the class immediately hushed.  She turned her attention back on Lily.
“May I have your note?” asked Mrs. Doorman.
“They didn’t give me one,” Lily said.
Mrs. Doorman’s icy glare froze Lily to her seat.  “Come see me after class, young lady.  I have some extra homework for you.”
The rest of pre-algebra class simmered like a pot of water about to break into a boil.  Lily knew everyone was eager to get out and spread the gossip about Gary’s, or at least the gossip about Lily telling Mrs. Doorman a big, fat lie in front of everyone.  Lily didn’t have to look at Heather to know she was gloating.  She could feel the disgust rolling off Heather in waves toward her.  She wanted to crawl under her desk and hide.  Why didn’t I just skip the whole day? Lily asked herself about a hundred times.  Coming back here was a stupid thing to do.
When the bell finally rang, Lily looked at Peter, who gave her a small, encouraging smile as he packed up his notebook.  Lily returned it with a smirk, although she wasn’t feeling very cheerful.  At least he didn’t seem to be mad at her.  With a deep breath, Lily got up and approached Mrs. Doorman’s desk where the teacher lay in wait like a fire-breathing dragon waits for its next victim.  Mrs. Doorman looked up over the top of her square granny classes at Lily.
“You can go now, Mr. Everhart,” she said, annoyed.  Lily glanced at Peter, waiting for her in the back of the room.  He hesitated a moment before leaving the classroom.
“I’m sick and tired of you disrupting my class, Miss Lightfoot.  First, you ruin the test, and now this. I have no tolerance for lies,” said Mrs. Doorman, removing her specs.  The trill of a single songbird rang out in Lily’s ears.  Just then, she knew what to say.
“Mrs. Doorman, I’m really sorry I was late.  If you would just look outside, you’ll see the police are still at Gary’s,” said Lily, all ten fingers tingling.
“I’m not an idiot, Lily,” said Mrs. Doorman, her voice low and taut.  “I know no one robbed Big Gary’s.  You stop telling lies right now, or I’ll talk to the principal about it.  Maybe this isn’t the school for you.”  Lily stared back, unsure of what to do or say.  Mrs. Doorman’s next class was filtering into the room, taking their seats behind Lily.  Someone caught a glimpse of something out the window.
“Whoa!  Look at the cops!” a student shouted.  Soon, everyone was rubber-necking at the police cars lined up across the street.
“I heard Gary’s got robbed,” said another student, gleefully.  Mrs. Doorman jumped up from her desk to see what was going on outside.  She scowled when she saw the blue and red lights for herself.
“Lily, get to your next class,” she snapped.  Lily wasted no time escaping.
Peter had waited for Lily in the hall.  He fell in step beside her on the way to third period.
“How’d it go?” Peter asked.
“Fine,” said Lily, shrugging.  “Why don’t you ever get caught?”
“I dunno.  Lucky, I guess,” said Peter.  “So, where were you this morning?”   
“Where were you?” Lily asked, pointedly.  She was still mad at him for not showing up.
“I had some stuff to do,” he said, looking away.
“Stuff?” said Lily, watching him.  “What?  Like take out the trash?”
“Yeah, something like that,” he said under his breath.
“Oh.”  Lily kept walking, wondering what he was hiding from her.
“So, where were you?” he asked again.
“If you have to know, I was going to skip school.”
“I knew it!  You’re in so much trouble,” said Peter, smirking.
“Not if you don’t tell, Peter Peter Pumpkin-Eater,” she said, knowing he hated it when she called him that.
“Mrs. Doorman isn’t going to call your grandmother?” 
“No, it’s been taken care of.”
“You didn’t really make someone rob Big Gary’s, did you?”
“Of course not!  I just made a few cops park outside for a while,” said Lily, annoyed.  “Gosh Peter, what kind of criminal do you think I am?”  
Peter smiled, looking relieved.
“Just checking.  So where did you go?” asked Peter.
Lily looked around to be sure they were alone and grabbed his hand.
“Meet me after school and I’ll show you,” she said, ducking into her next class just as the bell rang.
By the time Lily had art in the afternoon, the story of Big Gary’s robbery had reached epic proportions.  There were rumors of an actual shoot out.  Lily was asked about a million times what she saw.  Knowing the entire lie would be discovered after school, when half the student body would rush over to Gary’s, she tried to say as little as possible.
In art class, she hid behind her easel and tried to enjoy the colors of her paints.  Without really planning to, Lily painted a picture of Eleanor on the back of the Formorian, just before she plunged the dagger in its neck.  Miss Hill, her art teacher, flitted from student to student, fawning over the wonderful “organic” forms she saw, which was her nice way of saying the paint wasn’t behaving the way the students intended.  When she reached Lily’s painting, she paused, caught off guard by the scene of struggle.
“Oh, Lily,” Miss Hill whispered.  “It’s magnificent.”
“Kind of crazy, huh?” asked Lily, rinsing her brush in a jar of muddy-colored water.
“Fighting inner demons, are we?” asked Miss Hill, moving onto the next student.  “Or outer demons maybe…”
After school, Lily led Peter across the street and down an alley toward the vacant house with the messy library.  The closer they got, the more Peter seemed to fidget with straps on his backpack.
“Can’t you just tell me what you’ve been up to?” he asked.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she said.
Lily led Peter up to the back door of the Ferguson house and opened it.
“Uh...wait a minute.  I don’t think we should…everybody knows this place is haunted.” 
“Come on!  Someone will see us if we stay out here.”  Lily pulled him inside.  
The late afternoon shadows crawled across the floor, making the house seem even darker inside.  She hesitated.
“What were you doing in here?” asked Peter.
“Reading,” said Lily, as she crept into the library.
“How could anyone see to read in here?”
The library was like a tomb inside, dank and somber.  The book rested on the desk, exactly where Lily had left it.
“I started reading this book.  It was like reading a fairy tale, except I think it was real,” said Lily.
“A real fairy tale?” 
“It was like it was really happening as I read it.  And I think they heard me.” 
“Who heard you?” 
“The characters in the book,” said Lily, pointing at the cover.
Peter gave Lily a doubtful look.
“I think we’d better go home,” he said.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I’d like to believe you.  It’s just…fairy tales aren’t real.  Characters are just words somebody wrote on paper.  They can’t really hear anybody,” said Peter.
Peter picked up the book.  “It’s just paper and glue, Lily.”
“Read some for yourself.  You’ll see.”  Lily opened the book and handed it back to Peter.
“It’s too dark in here,” said Peter, shaking his head.
“I’ll take it home.  You can read it there,” said Lily.
“You can’t steal it.  It must belong to someone.”
“It obviously hasn’t belonged to anyone in a long time.  Nobody is going to miss it if I borrow it for a day or two.”  Lily slipped the book into her backpack.  “I’ll bring it back when we’re done.”
The sound of a door swinging open startled them both.  Peter pulled Lily to the floor, where they crouched, straining to hear anything else.
“Someone’s here!” Peter whispered.
Someone was there.  Slow, shuffling footsteps came from the front hall.
“We have to get out of here,” he said.
Peter tried the window, but it wouldn’t budge.  He ran to the doorway to peek through the tattered curtains and down the hall.  There was no one in sight.
“Come on!” he said.
The two friends scurried out the way they had come in and sprinted across the yard, through the bushes.  They didn’t stop until they were several blocks away and completely out of breath.
“I didn’t think anyone lived there,” said Lily, gasping for breath as she bent forward to rest her hands on her thighs.
“Maybe they weren’t alive,” said Peter, grinning.
“Are you trying to scare me?”
“I just thought I’d see something.  Those footsteps sounded like they were right there in the hall.  It was like a ghost or something,” he said, still puffing.
“What time is it?” asked Lily.
“Five-thirty.  Why?” said Peter, looking at his watch.
“I gotta get home.  You’ll have to come over and read the book tomorrow.”
“OK, I’ll see you,” said Peter, reluctant to go.  “Hey, Lily?”
“What?” she asked.
“Happy Birthday.” 
“Thanks Peter, for everything.”  Lily clutched her backpack, a little heavier from the extra book inside, and ran for home.  A cold rain began to pour from the sky.


Chapter 6  A Journey Begins

The front door was locked.  Lily realized with relief her grandmother wasn’t home yet.  Lily fumbled around the flowerpots full of dead petunias on the porch railing until she found the hidden key and let herself in.  She ran up the swirling stairs, jerking the book from her backpack as she went.  Flopping down on her bed, Lily flipped to the page where she had left off.
~In Which a Journey Begins~
Eleanor rethreaded her amulet on its chain and studied the damaged links.
“Whatcha got there?” Derry asked, flying down from the high shelf where he kept his largest dishes.
“It’s my guide, my protection,” Eleanor said.  “I thought I’d lost it there for a minute.”
“It’s lovely,” he said, landing next to her.
Derry admired the smoothed ivory figure, fashioned in the shape of a crescent moon.  He touched the two ends of broken chain, sealing them together with a pulse of magic.  Eleanor smiled.
“Thanks, Derry!” she said.
“Don’t mention it, Lady Eleanor.  It’s the least I can do.  Ah!  Here’s your dinner,” said Derry, serving up the sautéed mushrooms.  “Only wish there was more.”
Eleanor relished the tiny meal.  Derry watched as she inhaled the food.  Normally, she would have been embarrassed by her lack of manners, but Eleanor’s hunger wouldn’t allow her any dignity.  He quietly offered her a handful of walnuts and a pot of tea, brewed in his largest kettle, which she enthusiastically accepted.  Rather than pestering her with more questions, Derry let her sleep after supper.  “Poor lass,” was the last thing she heard Derry say before she sank into a deep slumber.
In the morning, Eleanor woke to another fresh pot of tea.  Derry was busy in his kitchen, cooking eggs.  Eleanor rubbed her eyes and sat up as best she could when Derry brought her breakfast.
“More food?  This is too much, Derry,” said Eleanor, smiling.
“It’s nothing.  Perhaps you can tell me where you are going now,” said Derry, settling into his pixie-sized chair.  “And why you are so precious to our Lord and Master Kane?  I’m dying to know.”  
Eleanor pretended to chew her eggs for as long as she could while trying to decide the best answer to Derry’s question.  Could she trust him?  He didn’t seem like a spy.  She decided to risk half the truth.  He probably wouldn’t believe it anyway.
“I’m heading west, toward Sareptah,” she said, deciding to keep the bit about Terah Tahan to herself for now.
“Kane’s fortress?  Are you mad?” asked Derry, sputtering on his tea.  “What in the world do you plan to do there?”
“Rescue my daughter, of course,” said Eleanor.  Derry would have fallen out of his chair if the idea hadn’t been so absurd, so he laughed instead.
“How do you, a wingless fairy, intend to do that?” asked Derry after he caught his breath.
“Kill Kane if I have to.”  
“Do you have any magic at all?”
Eleanor frowned, but she knew he was right.  She had just used the last of her invisibility powder trying to hide from the Formorian sentry.
“Does Kane not starve us and feed us to the demon Formorians?” she asked him, unflinching.  The merriment left Derry’s eyes.
“How can we not try to stop him?  Are you content to let him slowly destroy the True World?  Someone has to stop him,” insisted Eleanor.
“What makes you think you can succeed where all others have failed, my lady?” he asked.
“I may not have much magic, but I have courage,” she said.  “That will have to be enough for now.”
“But how will you even get close to Sareptah without being captured?  They say it’s inhabited by hundreds of Formorians.”
“Who told you that?” 
“Birds, my lady.  Birds travel great distances and see many things.  A wealth of knowledge they are.” 
“Have the birds ever mentioned others, like us?”
“You mean free creatures?”
Eleanor nodded.
“They say there are a great many Formorians, but creatures like us?  Only a few here and there,” said Derry, shaking his head.  “So many gone.  I remember when Kane’s soldiers burned down half our forest.  Many were lost.  The rest hid in caverns underground like bugs.”
“Why did you stay instead of joining the others?” asked Eleanor.
“Hiding felt too much like losing, like giving up,” said Derry.
“Why don’t you come with me?” Eleanor thought how nice it would be to have a companion after traveling alone, but Derry shook his little head.
“I could never leave this wood.  It’s my home.” 
“You know the Formorians will be back?” asked Eleanor, just to be sure.
“I’m not afraid of those beasts,” he said.
“Well then, I should be going.” 
Before she could stand, a crunching sound came from outside the log, like a footstep on a twig or dry leaves.
“What was that?” whispered Derry.
Eleanor put a finger to her lips, urging silence.  Without warning, the log shifted as if pushed on one side.  Derry let out a high scream before Eleanor caught him in one hand and covered him with her other hand, but it was too late.  A guttural roar answered Derry as the log shook violently.  Eleanor and Derry were knocked off balance, Derry’s furniture scattered like a child’s toys.  As quickly as it began, the quaking stopped.  The only sound was the last of Derry’s pots falling out of the cupboard, crashing to the ground with a metallic clang.
Eleanor eased her grip on Derry, letting him loose.  Shattering the silence was the heavy, crushing stomp on the end of Derry’s log, breaking it into splinters just a few feet from Eleanor and Derry.
“Derry, come on!” urged Eleanor as she struggled backwards in the tight space.  The next stomp broke through the log even closer, the smell of decaying wood and earth mixed with the strong, dead stench of a Formorian.  Eleanor pulled herself back so she couldn’t be seen, further into the end of the log.  A third crashing stomp nearly destroyed all that was left of the log.  Eleanor knew she would have to make a run for it before the next blow or she would be crushed.  Derry hovered close to her ear.
“Derry, save yourself.” 
“I won’t leave you.” 
Eleanor wriggled free and sprinted for the trees, just as the final stomp came down.  She glanced behind her to see an enormous mammoth standing on the remains of Derry’s house.  It trumpeted a loud screech, a signal to others not doubt.  Mounted behind its massive head was a rider, cloaked in black and armed with a bow.  Eleanor, distracted by the sight, tripped on a rock and fell.  The rider shot an arrow at Eleanor’s exposed back, but instead of sinking into her, the arrow bounced off and landed harmlessly on the ground.
Eleanor pulled herself up to run again, the booming foot falls of the mammoth behind her.  Before she knew what happened, she was hoisted into the air upside down, suspended by one leg.  The mammoth held her with its trunk wrapped tightly around her leg.  Eleanor struggled, kicking with her free leg, but she was helpless.  She grabbed for her dagger, but the mammoth shook her brutally and she dropped it into the grass below.
As the mammoth rider leapt down, the hood of his cloak fell off his head to reveal his face.  The man had the lean, handsome look of an elf, but the black soulless eyes of a Formorian.  He laughed as he drew his knife.  Eleanor dangled at eye level to the elf.  He grabbed Eleanor’s hair and tried to cut her throat.  The knife collided with a whisper-thin shield around Eleanor, sparking as the elf drew it across.  The elf stared at the blade in amazement.  
At that moment, Derry slammed a thorn into the mammoth’s eye.  The beast screamed, tossing Eleanor into the bushes.  The mammoth rider tried to calm the animal, but in its panic, it stomped the elf under foot as it ran into the forest.  Derry flew to Eleanor, who was pulling herself out of the brush.  Derry plucked a twig from her hair.
  “Are you all right?” he asked.
“What happened?” she said, rubbing her head.
“Buck thorns make great weapons,” said Derry.  “A thorn in the right place will bring down even the mighty.”
“And the elf?” asked Eleanor, looking around.
“Killed by his own beast,” said Derry, glancing at the crumpled body of the elf.  Eleanor checked her amulet and heaved a sigh of relief.
“You’re quite the warrior, Derry.” 
“Now I see how you hope to reach Lord Kane,” said Derry, pointing to Eleanor’s amulet, which she was checking again.  “Protection like that is hard to beat.”
Eleanor tucked the amulet into her tunic.
“But you’re not very smart.  You need my help, I think,” said Derry.  Eleanor ignored his sharp tongue.
“We’d better go.  The others probably heard the noise,” said Eleanor, sprinting for the cover of thicker trees.  Derry took one last look at the remains of his poor, shattered home and followed her.
Carefully, they traveled through Derry’s wood, avoiding trails and open spaces where they might be seen.  After a few hours and several miles, Eleanor slowed her pace, but did not stop.  Derry, who had been quiet for some time, was suddenly bursting with questions.
“Where did you learn to fight?  A lady such as yourself…it’s unheard of,” said Derry.
“Thirteen years in captivity gives a person lots of time to train,” said Eleanor.
“Yes, about that,” continued Derry.  “Where were you held captive?  Kane’s fortress?”
“No, he kept me in the east.  He only visited every now and then.  He may not even know I’m gone yet.  I only left a few days ago,” she said, scanning the sky through the tree branches overhead.
“And he never made you a Formorian,” said Derry, pondering the fact.  “Surely you would have made a formidable warrior for him?”
“That’s not what he wanted from me.  I was a play-thing to him, a caged bird, if you will.”  
Derry was silent again for a while and Eleanor didn’t offer any further explanation.  The pixie buzzed up and down furiously.  She could tell not knowing everything was driving him mad.  She did her best not to laugh at him. 
“Well, what’s he like?” Derry asked.  
Eleanor thought to herself before answering.  She had only seen Kane twice in all of thirteen years, but she knew him well.  She could never forget him now, no matter how much she tried.
“Who?”  Eleanor found she enjoyed toying with Derry.
“Kane, of course!”
“Tortured,” was all she said.  Derry snorted.
“Lord Kane?  Tortured?  I thought he was the one doing the torturing!” Derry huffed.
“You asked,” said Eleanor, shrugging.  “Even terrible villains see themselves as heroes, Derry.  It’s very difficult to truly see yourself.”
“Aye, that it is,” admitted Derry.  “What did he look like?  They say he’s nearly ten feet tall with fangs and claws like daggers.”  
“You make him sound like a troll!” said Eleanor, laughing.  “None of that is true.”  Derry’s face drooped, obviously disappointed.
“He’s an elf, of course, so he is quite tall.  His eyes have a haunted look to them.  It’s hard to describe.”  Eleanor shook her head to get the memory out of it.
“Almost sounds like you pity him,” scoffed Derry.
“I do, in a way,” said Eleanor.  “I don’t think any of this turned out the way he thought it would.”
“Well, that’s just great!  Lord Kane makes a mistake and the rest of us suffer for it.  If he’s so sorry, why doesn’t he take it all back?”
“I didn’t say he was sorry,” said Eleanor.  “Just unhappy.”
By nightfall, they came to the town of Abernath, perched on the edge of a large, blue lake.  The black and gold standards of Lord Kane flew from every rooftop.  They billowed in the wind, giving Abernath an unusual, festive look, but it was a warning Derry knew well.  Eleanor and Derry viewed the townsfolk from a distance, hiding in the trees, perched on the mountains above the town.
“We should avoid Abernath,” said Derry.  “Skirt around it.  It’s nothing but Formorians.”
“But we need supplies.  Neither one of us has any food,” said Eleanor.
“What’s your plan?” demanded Derry.
“I’ll sneak into town and try to find some bread or cheese,” she said, her mouth watering at the thought of creamy, salty cheese.  It would be so nice.
“What if you’re discovered?” he asked.
“I’ll run,” said Eleanor.  Derry snorted.
“Run?  Like you ran from the mammoth?” he said.
“OK, I just won’t get caught,” Eleanor said, moving down the hillside toward town.
Derry muttered to himself, but he still followed Eleanor.  He seemed determined to keep her out of trouble.  As they got closer to town, Eleanor covered her head with the hood of her cloak to hide the fact that her eyes were still clear green.  A Formorian would know her instantly if he looked into her eyes.  Derry tucked himself beneath her cloak, riding on the hilt of her dagger.  She could feel him tremble next to her.
Eleanor followed her nose to a place where someone had set out several loaves of bread to cool on a window sill in the evening air.  It was a quiet street and no one noticed when Eleanor slid a loaf under her cloak.
“I never took you for a thief, my lady,” muttered Derry.
“Is it thievery if you steal from thieves?”
“This is enough.  Can we go now?” whispered Derry.
“We need some meat, or at least some cheese,” insisted Eleanor.
“Don’t be greedy,” said Derry.
“Bread alone won’t keep us healthy.  We need our strength,” said Eleanor under her breath as she moved out into a busier street.  Eleanor stood at the corner of an abandoned house and watched a group of horse-mounted riders stop at a stable.  Behind them, a small black mammoth pulled a cart containing two large creatures, sitting motionless, bound with ropes.  Eleanor struggled to see what they were in the shadows until a bull-headed Formorian lit a torch outside the stable.
“Trolls,” whispered Derry in disgust.  One of the trolls lifted its massive head at the sound of Derry’s voice and looked forlornly in their direction, but did not seem to see them.  The other riders were stalling their horses, while the bull busied himself, unharnessing the mammoth.
“Stay clear of the prisoners, my lady,” warned Derry.  Eleanor nodded.
The bull-headed guard stayed to keep watch while the other Formorians entered a tavern across the street.  The scent of roasting meat gripped Eleanor’s gut and drew her after them.
“Not inside!” said Derry.
His warning made Eleanor realize she had made it to the porch, not far from the door.  She stopped in the shadows outside a window and peeked inside, lit only by a few candles.  Eleanor saw Formorians of all kinds eating and drinking.  Nearly all men, many were elves, but there were also wolves, dogs, mountain lions, and other predators; all dressed in Kane’s colors, gold and black, armed with short, brutish swords.  The trolls would be next, no doubt.  The Formorians ate quietly, no music or mirth in their souls.  The only sound was the slurping of meat stew.
“There’s too many of them, Eleanor.  Let’s not risk it,” reasoned Derry, peeking out from his hiding spot.  Eleanor had to agree.
“All right, you win,” Eleanor said, turning to go.  As she turned, she ran smack into the Formorian with the head of a bull.  He stood on two legs like a man, but two sharp black horns curled out of his head.
“What do I win?” he asked, chuckling as he wrapped his arms around her.
Without hesitation, Derry flew straight up the bull’s nose.  Eleanor managed to struggled out of the bull’s grip while he roared, swatting at his face.  He tried to chase her, but ran into a support post on the porch, crunching it like a twig against his forehead.  Eleanor ducked behind the nearest thing she could find: the prisoner cart.  The trolls, still bound in the cart, barely stirred.  Knowing her only hope was a distraction, Eleanor flung open the gates on the horse stalls, freeing the animals.  One of the trolls raised its head.
“Let us out!” he shouted.
Seizing an ax, Eleanor chopped the ropes binding the troll.
“Are you crazy?” Derry shouted.  “He’ll eat you!”
Eleanor ignored him, giving the ax to the troll and running to one of the few horses still left inside the barn.  The troll bellowed as he smashed the cart to bits, freeing the other troll in the process.  Eleanor pulled herself onto the horse’s back and kicked hard, forcing the animal out into the street.  All around her, Formorians were running, shouting, chasing horses.  The trolls towered over most of the Formorians, scattering them with blows of their gigantic fists.  Eleanor’s horse didn’t stop, but charged down the street and into the night.  She urged it even faster.
Derry caught up to her a few miles away.  He clutched one of Eleanor’s braids and spoke in her ear as she rode.
“You’re smarter than you look.  Those trolls kept them busy for a while, but now they’re heading this way,” said Derry.  “You’ve got to get off this road.”
The moon was high in the sky by this time, so bright the trees cast shadows.  Eleanor stopped the horse for a moment and held up her amulet.  It swung free on its chain and then rose up to point the way.  Steering the horse into the forest, Eleanor rode up a steep slope until she found a game trail to follow through the trees.  Derry rode on her shoulder.
“Well, was it worth it?” asked Derry in a sour tone.  Eleanor tasted the fresh bread while she rode.
“Sure,” said Eleanor, chewing on a crusty hunk of bread.  She pulled another off and gave it to Derry.  He ate it without another word.
They rode through the night until Eleanor couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer and the horse stumbled from exhaustion.  Eleanor took shelter among the roots of a fir tree on a bed of old leaves.  She let the horse go free to find its own food and made a small fire to get the cold out of her fingers.  Derry had already gone to sleep in the branches above her.
Eleanor drew her amulet from its hiding spot inside her tunic and caressed its smooth surface with her thumb.  She glanced up at Derry, his tiny snores still managing to rattle the pine needles.  She spoke to the amulet softly in an ancient fairy tongue.
“Never fear, little one.  I’m coming for you.  I will find you, no matter what,” she said.  “Lily, you have to find me at Terah Tahan.  I’ll meet you there.”


Chapter 7  Lessons With Gran

“Lily?” Are you home?” yelled Gwendolyn from downstairs.
Lily jumped.  Her heart was still racing from what she read.  Eleanor knows my name!
“Yes,” she yelled down without getting off her bed.
“Well, come down here, then,” said Gwendolyn.
Lily thumped down the stairs into the kitchen.  She was surprised to see the burning candles on a cake waiting for her.
“You didn’t think I would forget, did you?  Happy thirteenth birthday!” said Gwendolyn.  Lily grinned as her grandmother hugged her, enveloping her in the scent of cinnamon and cloves.
“Go on, make a wish.  Just be careful.  We know what happens when you make wishes,” said Gwendolyn.
Lily wished for the same thing every year – to see her mother.  She silently wished and blew out the candles.  They were still smoking as Gwendolyn plucked them out and cut the cake.
“Let’s have some, shall we?  It’s one of Percy’s coconut cakes and I’ve been dying for a slice all day!  You can’t imagine the restraint I’ve shown,” said Gwendolyn.
They munched on coconut cake and sipped cocoa for a short time until Gwendolyn remembered Lily’s gift.
“Oh!  I do have something for you.  Now, where did I put it?” 
She searched her cupboards until she turned up a small box, which she handed to Lily.  In the box was a crescent moon-shaped amulet on a silver chain.  Lily’s mouth dropped in amazement.
“Do you like it?  I gave your mother one like it when she was your age,” said Gwendolyn.
“It’s beautiful,” said Lily as she held up the chain, letting the moon swing free of the box.
“Try it on.”  Gwendolyn moved to help Lily with the necklace.
“Was my mother…?  Never mind.”
“What is it, dear?”
Lily wanted to ask about the book, but she realized if she asked Gwendolyn about Eleanor and the True World, she would have to explain how she had come by the book.  Gwendolyn would probably be angry and Lily would be heartbroken if she had to give back the amulet.
“Tell me again about my mother,” she said instead.
Gwendolyn smiled like she did every time Lily asked.  Her answer often sounded like a recording to Lily, sometimes comforting, sometimes annoying.
“Your mother is almost as beautiful as you are.  She loves you very much, so much that she left you with me to keep you safe.  She’s in a dangerous place, but when everything is safe again, she will come for you.”
Lily sighed.  She had heard this speech many times before.  It didn’t explain much at all.
“But where is she?  Why doesn’t she call? Or write something?  Anything?!” asked Lily.
“It isn’t safe.  When it is safe, she will come,” said Gwendolyn.  It was the same thing she always said.  Lily’s sadness burned in her chest and shot out of her mouth like fire.
“It’s not fair!  Why can’t I have a normal mother like everyone else?” she asked.
Lily shoved the table hard, knocking the remains of her coconut cake on the floor.  She tried not to cry, but her tears wouldn’t stop.  She looked at Gwendolyn, who didn’t seem angry at all.  Instead, she looked at the crumbs on the floor and seemed to make up her mind about something before speaking.
“You’re thirteen now,” said Gwendolyn.  “It’s time.  Come with me.”
Gwendolyn took her gently by the hand and led her through the house to a seldom-used hallway, decorated in tapestries depicting unicorns and lions.  Gwendolyn pulled a cord and one of the tapestries folded up, like blinds on a window, revealing a door Lily never knew was there.  A silver key from Gwendolyn’s pocket opened the door.
The room inside was a round library, lined with books from floor to ceiling, two stories high.  A staircase wound its way around the walls, up to the top shelves.  The whole structure was shaped like a turret on a castle, only their Victorian didn’t have a turret room.  At least, not one that anyone could see on the outside.  A cozy fire burned in a large fireplace on one side of the room, casting the only light in the room.  Gwendolyn ushered Lily to the couch by the hearth and closed the door behind her.
“Where did all this come from, Gran?” asked Lily.
“It’s been here all along.  I like to come here to get away sometimes.”  Gwendolyn joined her on the couch.  “Now that you’re of age, it’s time you knew some things.”
“About my mother?” 
“Yes, things about Eleanor and about yourself, too.”
“My mother’s name is Eleanor?” asked Lily, the gears in her mind clicking faster.  Were her suspicions about the book correct?  Could it be?
“Yes.  Lovely name, isn’t it?”
Lily could only nod in agreement.  Discovering this room and the thought that she would finally find out about her mother was a bit overwhelming.  
“Well, where to begin?  There’s so much to tell and things that shouldn’t be told yet, but you’re old enough to be trusted with these secrets.  You mustn’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.  Not even Peter.  Promise me you will never tell anyone,” said Gwendolyn.  
Not tell Peter?  Was that even possible?  Peter was like a twin to Lily, someone she shared almost everything with.
“I promise,” said Lily, although she didn’t see any reason to keep secrets from Peter.
“All right.  It’s been so long since I’ve spoken of these things, I hardly know where to begin,” started Gwendolyn.
“What is it Gran?” said Lily, growing frantic.  
“You and I are not truly of this world, Lily.  Our origins lie in another world.”  
“Like another planet?”  Lily cocked an eyebrow, unsure she was hearing her grandmother correctly.
“No, not a planet, but a place, another place linked to this one, but entirely separate.  That is where Eleanor is.” 
“How do you get there?” 
“Like I’ve told you many times, it is not safe to go there now.  Traveling between the worlds is not easy.  That’s why we chose to hide you here.”
“Hide me?  From what?” asked Lily. 
“Our world is under attack.  Dark forces there seek to destroy the last of what is good and true, the last of our kind” Gwendolyn told her.
“Our kind?” said Lily.  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  Had Gran finally cracked?  Lily knew Gran was getting older, but could she really lose it so quickly?
“On Earth, they once called us the fair folk; fairies and elves,” said Gwendolyn.  Now Lily knew for certain her grandmother had lost touch with reality.   Lily’s lip trembled.
“Those things don’t exist,” she insisted.  She hoped Gran would snap out of it.
“Not in this world, they don’t.  They still live in the True World,” said Gwendolyn
“Gran, if my mom is dead, just tell me, OK?  You don’t have to make up stories to make me feel better,” said Lily, wanting to believe her grandmother, but not daring to.  The disappointment would be too much.
Gwendolyn opened her mouth to protest, but decided against it.  Instead, she stood up and took off her shawl.  Beneath it was a pair of whisper-thin wings, gleaming gold in the firelight.  Lily gasped.
“But…but I don’t have wings,” Lily said, feeling strangely giddy.
“You’re young yet.  They will come in time,” said Gwendolyn.
“Can you fly?” asked Lily.
“Of course.  Might be a little rusty though.”  Gwendolyn’s wings buzzed and lifted her a few feet into the air where she hovered.
“But I thought fairies were tiny,” said Lily.
“Some are, some aren’t.  We aren’t exactly tall compared to humans, in case you haven’t noticed.”  Gwendolyn landed gently next to Lily on the couch again.  “What do you think, dear?”
“I …I don’t know what to think,” said Lily, gaping at her grandmother.
“I’m sorry I’ve kept all this from you for so long, but it was for your own safety.  No one from the True World must know you’re here.” 
“What’s so important about me?”
“When you were born, a prophecy predicted you would be the key to saving the True World.  Your life was in danger so your mother and I decided to keep you here, away from all that.  They can’t reach you here,” said Gwendolyn.  Lily was silent for a moment.
“I always knew I was different.  What about the stories?” asked Lily.
“What stories?” asked Gwendolyn.
“My stories,” she said.  “Is this why my stories come true when I tell them?” 
“Your storytelling is a unique gift that very few have.  You know just enough magic to be dangerous, Lily.  That’s why I want you to wait until you have some more training before you use your ability,” said Gwendolyn.
“Why now, Gran?” asked Lily.  “Why are you telling me all this?”
“You’ll soon have your wings, Lily.  You’re coming into your own magic.  It’s time to start your training.” 
“I want to go there, Gran.  I want to see her,” insisted Lily.
“You’re not ready to face those challenges yet.  Until then, my dear, I will teach you all you need to know about the True World.  We’ll have lessons every night in this library.  How does that sound?”
“It sounds good,” said Lily, smiling as Gwendolyn hugged her.

That night, Lily lay in her bed looking at the shadows of the trees dancing in the wind on her bedroom ceiling.  She thought about The Book of Eleanor, about Gwendolyn and her wings, and about being a fairy herself.  She tried to imagine what the True World must be like.  Lily was dying to tell Peter everything she had learned.  How would she ever keep this from him?  If Eleanor was her mom, was she speaking to Lily through the book?  Was she looking for Lily?  And why did she tell Derry her daughter had been kidnapped?  Lily was fairly certain she had lived her whole, boring life in Maplewood.  She certainly didn’t recall ever being kidnapped.
Lily rubbed her own crescent moon amulet between her thumb and finger, enjoying the smoothness of it.
“Never fear, Mother,” she said.  “I’m coming for you, too.”
The next day, Lily approached her locker, already thinking of what she needed from it.  Her English essay was due today, but she had finished early and put it in her locker.  She was actually looking forward to turning it in, but the combination lock wouldn’t turn.  Lily looked closer.  The dial was coated with clear glue.
“Super glue,” sighed Lily, resting her forehead on the locker in defeat.
“So, ah…are you going to the Halloween dance?” asked Peter, joining her.  Lily barely noticed the nervous tone in his voice.
“Somebody put super glue on my locker and I can’t get my essay out,” said Lily.  “It’s due next hour.”
“Who would do that?” asked Peter.  Lily raised her head and narrowed her eyes at him.
“I’ll give you one guess,” she said bitterly.
“You should teach her a lesson, Lily,” Peter said, trying the lock himself.  “Turn her skin green or something.  Green with big warts.”  Lily grinned at the thought of a lime-green Heather, but she shook her head.
“I’m really trying to keep my promise to Gran this time.  No stories.”
“She could make an exception just this once,” said Peter.  Lily tried the dial on the lock again, but it wouldn’t budge.
“How am I going to get this open?” asked Lily, looking down the hall, crowded with students.  “Maybe the janitor could…”
Before Lily could finish her sentence, Peter seemed to trip, falling against the locker with both hands, making a loud bang.  Lily jumped.  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Peter say something under his breath as he slammed into the locker.  She grabbed his arm.
“Are you all right?  What happened?” Lily asked.  Peter straightened up and stepped back.
“I’m fine,” he said.  As his hands left the locker, it sprang open.
“How did you do that?” asked Lily, grabbing her English notebook from the locker.
“Do what?” asked Peter innocently, walking away into the crowd.  “See you at lunch.”
Lily was still trying to figure out what had happened when she turned in her essay.
When Lily got home, she found the front door of her grandmother’s shop still unlocked.  The bell on the door jingled as she shut it behind her.  Gwendolyn’s voice called from the mud room.
“I’ll be right out.”
“It’s just me, Gran,” said Lily, gazing up at the fairies floating overhead.  They swayed in the breeze coming from the doorway, glittering in the afternoon sunlight.  She wandered back to the mud room.   Gwendolyn was gently removing a freshly made, wet clay bowl from her potter’s wheel.  She placed it on a dusty wooden shelf to dry.
“Good timing, Lily,” she said.  “Come sit at the wheel.”
Gwendolyn pushed her silver hair out of her eyes with the back of her clay-covered hand.  She grabbed an apron for Lily off a peg on the wall, draping it over Lily’s head.
“How was your day?” asked Gwendolyn, tying the apron behind Lily’s back.  Lily resisted the urge to tell her how terrible it might have been if Peter hadn’t managed to break open her locker.
“I didn’t tell any stories,” Lily offered.  “Or get sent to the principal.”
Gwendolyn smiled as she sliced off a chunk of clay with a thin wire and brought it to Lily.
“Have a seat,” Gwendolyn said again, motioning to the stool she kept by the pottery wheel.  Lily did as she was told, taking the soft, heavy lump of clay Gwendolyn offered her.  Her grandmother had given Lily bits of clay to play with from time to time, but Lily had never used the wheel before.
“I thought we were starting magic lessons, not pottery lessons,” said Lily.  Gwendolyn smiled.
“We are,” she said, pulling up a stool across from Lily for herself.  Lily gave her a quizzical look.
“First you have to center the clay,” explained Gwendolyn.  “Just plop it down in the middle of the wheel.”
Lily set the chunk of clay down, but Gwendolyn snatched it up immediately.
“Like this,” she said, slapping the clay down hard on the wheel.  “Make it stick.”
Gwendolyn showed Lily how to add water to the clay and adjust the speed of the wheel.  Lily found that centering the clay wasn’t as easy as Gwendolyn made it look.  If Lily pushed too lightly her clay shape became wobbly and uneven.  If she pushed too hard, it popped off the wheel.  Still, Lily enjoyed the feel of the clay goop as it glided through her fingers and how it responded to the slightest pressure from her fingers.  Watching the spinning clay, she forgot all about school and Heather Whipple for a blissful hour.
“But Gran,” said Lily, still working on her pot.  “I still don’t see what this has to do with magic.”
Gwendolyn was busy painting a dried bowl of her own.
“The clay teaches you patience and control.  You must learn when and how hard to push it to get the desired result.  Magic is the same.”  Gwendolyn set her brush and bowl down.
“You’re doing very well,” said Gwendolyn, as she walked into the kitchen.  “I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”
Lily didn’t really see how magic could be like clay.  How do you push magic? she wondered.
“Maybe Gran is a fruitcake,” muttered Lily.  “That would make me the nuts.”
The smell of fried chicken lured her away from her task, her tummy grumbling.  Lily set her finished bowl on the shelf next to Gwendolyn’s to dry.  It was a little thick on the bottom, but overall, not half bad for a first try.  She hung up her apron and went into the kitchen to wash her hands.
“Finished?” asked Gwendolyn, looking up from the pan she was tending on the stove.
“Yes, for now,” said Lily, turning the tap water on.  She held her hands under the water for a long time, picking the clay out of her cuticles where it stuck.
“Supper smells delicious,” said Lily, as she dried her hands and perched on a stool by the counter.
“It does, doesn’t it?” agreed Gwendolyn.  “It’s the paprika.”
Lily chewed on a baby carrot plucked from a plate of veggies on the counter.
“So, I was wondering,” she said between crunches of carrot.
“Yes?”
“How exactly did you and I get here?” asked Lily.  Gwendolyn was silent for a moment, poking the chicken in the pan with a pair of tongs.
“There is a doorway between this world and the True World,” she finally whispered, although Lily didn’t see why.  They were alone.
“Have other creatures from the True World come here?”
“Hundreds of years ago, creatures from the True World did move back and forth between the worlds on All Hallow’s Eve.  That’s why there are still fairytales in this world.  They’re memories of a long time past.  As things changed in this world, we felt less and less welcome.  Eventually, we stopped coming altogether,” explained Gran.
  “Can people from Earth get there now?” Lily asked.
“The place is hidden by magic.  An Earthling would never find it on their own,” said Gwendolyn, shaking her head.
“But you could?” asked Lily.  Gwendolyn looked up at Lily, her face looking very tired.
“Where are you going with this, Lily?” Gwendolyn asked, her gray eyes intent on Lily, who merely shrugged.
“I don’t know.  I just wondered how it worked.  If it was hard to get here, if it took a long time,” said Lily.
“Don’t trouble yourself about that, Lily,” said Gwendolyn.  “It will be like stepping through a doorway for you, when you are ready.  Which, by the way, you aren’t.”  Lily frowned at her grandmother’s tone.
“If it’s so easy for magical people to cross, how come there aren’t more here?” quizzed Lily.
“It would be easy, if they could find it.  Eleanor has locked it on her side as well, to protect you.”
Lily sighed.  She wasn’t really getting the answers she was after.  It wouldn’t be the first time Gran left out the details.  Lily made a plan to scour The Book of Eleanor for more about how to cross later.  All she needed was one little clue, a sign, a spell, anything.
That night in Lily’s darkened bedroom, she retrieved the book from its hiding place under her bed and flicked on her flashlight to read.  The cheerful beam of light cut through the gloom.  Even though Lily was tired, the words on the gleaming page leapt up and grabbed her attention once again.


Chapter 8  The Plains of Sorrow

Madness begets war.  The only victors are death
and its scavengers.  ~ King Thomas

Eleanor traveled on foot the next day, along the high mountain ridges, keeping close to the trees in case someone or something flew overhead.  She and Derry shared a bit of the chewy bread, but tried to save most of it for later.  Eleanor found a few dried berries on a bush for lunch, and filled her water bag at a cold mountain spring gushing from a rock.
While resting by the spring, Eleanor was startled as a bunting unexpectedly joined them on the moss, but Derry jumped up to greet his friend.
“How have you been, Amos?” Derry asked the little bird.
“Well enough,” replied the bunting.  “Why are you so far from home?  Never known you to be a wanderer.”
“Derry, is it safe?” interrupted Eleanor.
“Amos is an old friend, my lady,” he assured her.
Derry explained to Amos about his house and traveling with Eleanor, but he left out the part about where she was going, much to her relief.
“Hmm,” said the bunting after he had heard Derry’s tale.  “That explains the Formorians I saw earlier today.”  The bird fluffed his feathers with his beak, as if seeing a pack of demons was nothing unusual.
“Where were they?” asked Eleanor, leaning toward the bird to hear its answer better.
“About a half-day behind you, but traveling this direction,” said Amos, as he took a drink from the spring.  “They’re on horseback.  They could easily catch you if they knew where you were.”
“How many of them?” asked Derry.  Amos let out a twittering laugh.
“You know birds don’t count, Derry,” said Amos.  “Seemed like a small group to me.”
“We should get going,” said Eleanor.  Talking to birds made her nervous.  Amos was obviously enchanted by someone.  There was no telling who or what he might have been in his former life, or where his allegiance lay.
“Fare thee well,” said Amos, taking flight.  Eleanor picked up her pace for much of the afternoon, hoping the search party would give up and return to Abernath.  By the time the sun had sunk halfway below the horizon, she and Derry reached the mountain’s edge.
 A sheer cliff dropped a thousand feet below them.  In the distance, an empty, windswept plain stretched out before them, pearly gray in the twilight.  Little more than grass grew on the plain, except for a faint line of trees on the far side.  
“Are you sure about this, my lady?” asked Derry.  Eleanor consulted her amulet, letting it swing free on the chain.  Immediately it rose toward the trees in the distance.
“That way,” said Eleanor, pointing across the plain.  Derry shivered.
“Not much cover out there.  We’ll be an easy target,” said Derry.
“Are you afraid?” asked Eleanor.
“No!  Just stating the facts.   Me?  Afraid?  As if!” sputtered Derry.
“Well, you probably should be.  This is where things get interesting,” said Eleanor, staring off into the sunset.
“What is this place?” asked Derry, sitting down on her shoulder.
“The Plains of Sorrow.  There was a great battle here long ago.  Many souls were lost,” said Eleanor.  “Beyond that is the Feraden Forest.  That’s where we have to go.”  Eleanor was glad Derry didn’t seem to have heard the stories.  He might try to change her mind if he knew.
“If only you still had that horse.  I can fly pretty fast, but you’ll be a sitting duck if we’re attacked out there,” complained Derry.
“I don’t think I could get a horse off this cliff though,” Eleanor pointed out.
Eleanor and Derry looked down at the steep, rocky path to the bottom.  Derry nodded in agreement.
“You’re right there.  You’re going to have a devil of a time getting yourself down, aren’t you?” said Derry.
“No use worrying about it now.  The sun has nearly set.  Let’s camp here for the night,” said Eleanor, dropping her pack near a scrubby, wind-sculpted pine.  She looked around for some dry wood to make a fire.
“I’d like to have a look around,” said Derry.  “Just to make sure we haven’t been followed.”  Eleanor nodded.  She was quickly growing accustomed to his worrying.
“OK, see if you can find an easier way off the cliff while you’re at it,” she said.
“Will do,” he said, zooming off into the ever-growing shadows.
Eleanor pulled out the remnants of the stolen bread.  Less than a third of the loaf remained.  Other than a small handful of berries, it was all they had.  Her stomach yearned for something more, something to roast on her fire that would sputter when the grease hit the flames.  Instead, she found some sage to flavor her water.  At least it would calm her stomach.
Darkness crept in on the edges of the world, the air crisping with the coming nightfall.  Eleanor curled in close to the flames of her fire. The pines around her creaked in the wind.  A cold, dark shadow fell across her back.  She looked around, but there was nothing.
The whinny of a horse not far away floated on the breeze.  Eleanor doused the fire and called for Derry as loud as she dared.
“Derry!  We’ve got to go now!  They’re coming!”
The pounding of many hooves grew louder, closer.  Derry was nowhere to been seen.  Eleanor had no choice but to start down the icy cold rocks to the plain below.  She scrambled down as fast as she could without sliding out of control and hid herself beneath a massive boulder jutting out of the cliff face.  She prayed no one would notice the tiny pebbles trickling down the slope, dislodged by her boot.
She peered around the boulder, her face hidden by the branches of a scraggly pine tree struggling to grow out of the rocks.  Above her was a frightening collection of horse-mounted creatures, seven Formorians in possession of withered elf bodies.  Their long hair was dry and brittle, their skin peeling away to reveal bits of gray bone beneath tattered black cloaks.  Their horses danced to keep from going over the edge.  Eleanor gasped when she saw Derry zipping through the limbs over their heads.  Catching sight of Eleanor, the Formorian elves unleashed a torrent of arrows at her.  Like before, any that got close to her bounced off.  As she struggled to continue her climb down, she heard the Formorians shouting in confusion.
“She has some sort of protection charm,” one of them growled.  “Summon Merab.”  
Another rider wheeled his horse around and took off at a gallop the way they had come.  The sound of the name hit Eleanor hard.  A lump formed in her throat that she couldn’t swallow away.  The remaining Formorians searched for a place they could force their horses down the cliff face.  Derry zoomed down the cliff, dodging the horsemen with ease, quickly locating Eleanor’s hiding place.
“You’re doing it again,” he said in her ear.
Eleanor jumped, surprised at his voice.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“You’re just sitting here, waiting to be found,” said Derry, shaking his head.
“At least the horses can’t get over here,” she said.
“But they’ve sent for reinforcements.  That can’t be good,” said Derry.
“Merab,” Eleanor said, nodding in acknowledgement, her voice grave. “I need to find a place to hide.”
“There’s an alcove in the cliff face over that way,” said Derry pointing.  “Try to make your way over there.  I’ll throw these Formorians off your trail.”
Derry flew away before Eleanor could stop him.
“Wait!  Derry, don’t!” she said in an urgent whisper.
Derry flew into a small burrow and emerged a few minutes later followed by a pack of furry mice.  They scurried over the rocks with ease toward the Formorians, who were busy negotiating their horses down a twisty game trail.  Derry and the mice disappeared into the shadows, but the screams of the horses and the shouts of the elves told Eleanor Derry’s plan was working.  She took the opportunity to scramble along the ledge away from them, straining to see the alcove in the last of the light.  She hoped they wouldn’t notice the rocks and dirt she sent crashing down the cliff.
A dark shape crossed the sunset, catching Eleanor’s eye.  Large, too large for a normal bird, thought Eleanor.  The woman’s scream echoing off the cliff wall left no doubt in her mind Merab was close.  Her heart pounded hard as she scrambled faster, grabbing rocks, roots, plants, whatever she could to hold herself on the rock face and still move.
The blood-curdling scream wasn’t Merab’s.  That belonged to the harpy she rode, an oversized raven with the head of an old hag.  The harpy, Ashtaroth, seldom stopped screaming or taunting her victims.  Merab, on the other hand, was silent as the grave.  Enchanted by Lord Kane, she never spoke.  Eleanor had encountered Merab before and wasn’t eager to do so again.  Eleanor caught sight of Merab’s silhouette out of the corner of her eye and froze.  In the falling darkness, Eleanor could only make out the shape of Merab and her harpy, not the details.  Even without seeing her, Eleanor knew Merab would be wearing a long cloak of black feathers.  She never rode without it.  The harpy made a few passes, searching the cliff wall for any sign of Eleanor.  She held her breath, her muscles beginning to ache.
“Hang on,” muttered Lily out loud as she read.
“I’m trying,” whispered Eleanor, but the rocks she stood on were starting to slide.  She tried to adjust, but it was too late.  Eleanor lost her footing.  The ledge crumbled beneath her, the dried branch in her hand broke free, and she tumbled down the slope.  Her head struck a rock and darkness consumed her.
Hours later, Eleanor came to, the sound of Derry’s tiny sobs in her ear.  The moon, now high in the sky, glowed over them.  Eleanor tried to turn toward Derry, but the wound on the back of her head stopped her.
“My lady!” whispered Derry.
“Where are we?” asked Eleanor.
“Safe for now.  No one knows where we are,” he said.  “You must have fallen.  I blame myself.”
Eleanor’s mind slowly remembered her accident.
“Merab?” she asked, trying to sit up without success.  Derry patted her cheek.
“Stay down,” he warned in a hushed whisper.  “She’s below us.  We’re in the alcove.  Lucky for you, you fell right into it.”
“Below us?” asked Eleanor.
“Yes, the mice managed to knock several Formorians down the cliff.  Clever creatures, mice.  The others made it down.  They’re all camped down there with Merab for the night,” explained Derry.
Eleanor struggled up on her elbow to peek over the edge, her head still swimming.  A fire glowed far below them, but nothing else could be seen in the dark.
“Think they’ll leave?” asked Eleanor.
“Actually, they’re waiting until morning to start searching for you again,” said Derry.  “I never should have left you alone.”
Eleanor scrunched her forehead, feeling the back of her head.  A large lump had formed under her hair.
“When you were scouting around, did you find a better way down the cliff?” she asked Derry.
“As a matter of fact, I did.  When I came back to tell you about it, you were already halfway down,” said Derry.
“Is it far from here?”
“Not too far,” said Derry, seeing where her thoughts were leading.  “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“It would be best if we got down before sunrise, don’t you think?” asked Eleanor.  Derry nodded.  Eleanor pushed herself up to her knees.  The squeezing pain in her head intensified.  She ignored it as best she could, following Derry out of the alcove.
The climb down was slow and steep.  This is the easy way? Eleanor thought to herself.  Derry flew beside her, giving her words of encouragement, pointing out a hand hold here, a foot hold there.  More than once, Eleanor started to slide down, out of control, but she stopped herself by grabbing a boulder or a gnarled root.  Her hands ached from the cold and the constant struggle to hold on to the cliff.  
A shower of rocks and dirt pelted Eleanor as she finally slid to the bottom.  Bruised and battered, Eleanor pulled herself up.  Her legs shook beneath her.  A sharp pain stabbed under her ribs when she breathed too hard.  It made her forget about the dull ache in her head.
 “Oh Mother, protect me.  Oh Father, make me strong,” she whispered as she sprinted for the nearest rise.  She limped along as best she could, desperate to put some distance between herself and the Formorians.  There was no cover in this part of the plain, just a few low, rolling hills and some sparse tuffs of brown grass.  What she wouldn’t give to be able to transform into one of Derry’s furry mice and blend into the gray-brown landscape.  Knowing it was her only chance to hide her trail, she set her sights on the woods and pressed on.
“The hard part is over now,” chirped Derry when they were out of earshot of the Formorian camp.  The moon hid behind a bank of clouds now, blackening the world.  More than anything, Eleanor craved sleep, but the sudden appearance of a silent black figure before them startled her out of her stupor.  Smaller than Eleanor, the figure stood statue-like, cloaked in black.  Abruptly, the hood was pushed back to reveal the small, pale face with soulless eyes.
“Merab,” said Eleanor, recognizing the face.  With a flick of her wrist, Merab set fire to a nearby clump of grass, lighting up the night.  Instead of a deadly foe, Eleanor saw a young girl in a burnt orange velvet dress, trimmed in gold that glinted in the firelight.  Her wild auburn hair, laced with black ribbons, blew around her face like an untamed mane.  A black choker at Merab’s throat bore Kane’s sign on a golden pendant – a heart stabbed through with a sword.  Tiny droplets of golden blood trickled from the heart.  She was alone.
For a moment, the only movement was Merab’s hair in the wind.  When she drew her sword, Eleanor took a step backward.  Derry, however, raced forward on his tiny wings.
“Run, Eleanor!” he cried, zipping around Merab’s face in an attempt to distract her.  Unfazed, Merab reacted like a cat reacts to a grasshopper, with mild curiosity.  A sudden swipe of her hand and Derry was caught in her long, strong fingers.  Derry struggled against her grip as she pulled him close to her face for a look.  He cried out in pain as she squeezed him.  Merab’s black cherry-colored lips curled into a smile.
“Let him go!” demanded Eleanor, drawing her own short cutlass as she stepped forward.  Merab’s head snapped up as she threw Derry down and charged Eleanor with her sword.  Eleanor parried Merab’s blow and dodged sideways, the clash of steel shattering the silence.
Merab lunged after Eleanor.  Her own lack of skill with a sword didn’t faze Merab, who attacked Eleanor with gusto.  Eleanor defended herself well, but made no effort to wound her attacker.  Knowing the Formorians wouldn’t be far away, her instinct was to run.
“Derry?” Eleanor called, while deflecting Merab’s persistent blows.  She heard his voice answer from the shadows.
“I’m all right,” he said.
Although Eleanor didn’t notice it, the wind gusted, chilling the air around them.  The clouds that had covered the moon parted, illuminating the plain around them.  As if revealed by a curtain, there appeared thousands of ghostly soldiers around Eleanor and Merab, waging their own silent battle.  Both women were startled by the scene of elves locked in mortal combat with fairies, men dying all around them by arrows, by the sword, and by ax.  
Derry took advantage of the distraction.  Grasping the feathers of Merab’s cloak hood, he pulled it over her face and yanked it tight around her neck.
“Run!” he shouted to Eleanor, who took his advice this time.  She plunged through the ghost warriors as if they were only air, disappearing into their masses, trying not to see the scenes of destruction all around her.


Chapter 9  Peter’s Secret Revealed

Lily closed the book and set it aside.  She sat in the window seat of her room, watching the rain drip down the window.  Something ominous moved outside in the soggy Saturday morning, but Lily could never fully catch sight of it.  It gave her the creeps.
Hearing a creak outside her room in the hallway, Lily looked up at the door just before Peter opened it.  He had a package wrapped in girly pink and yellow paper under his arm, which he handed to Lily.  She could tell he wrapped it himself by the way the folds were crumpled.
“Happy Birthday.  Sorry it’s late,” he said.  Lily was oddly relieved to see him.  His smile was gift enough.
“That’s OK.  I didn’t expect you to get me a present anyway,” said Lily shrugging.
“So open it already,” said Peter.
Lily smiled and ripped through the paper.  Inside the box was a journal and some pencils.  Lily thumbed through the empty journal, imagining ways to fill the pages.
“Since you tell such good stories, I thought you might like to write some of them down,” said Peter.
“Thanks, Peter.  I wonder if writing stories will make them come true.”
“I guess you’ll have to test it out first.  Go easy, will you?” begged Peter.  Lily laughed at his expression.
“I’ll make sure it’s something harmless, like puppies or kittens,” she promised.
“What are you reading?”  Peter sat down on the window seat next to Lily.  She set the journal down and opened The Book of Eleanor again.
“The book I found yesterday,” said Lily.
“Still think it’s real?” Peter asked.  He huffed a deep breath on the window pane, fogging it with moisture.
“Yeah, I think it might even be about my mom,” she said.
“Why do you think that?” asked Peter, absentmindedly drawing hearts on the window pane with his finger.
“Can you keep a secret?” asked Lily.
“Of  course,” he said.  Peter had always kept her secrets.
“This is serious.  I mean a really, really big secret,” she said, wanting to be sure.
“Cross my heart,” said Peter.  He crossed his real heart with a finger and held up his hand to swear.  Lily got up and closed the door.  In a low whisper, she told Peter about Eleanor in the book and how Gwendolyn had told her Eleanor was her mother’s name.
“It’s probably just a coincidence,” he said, shrugging.
“I don’t think so.  Gran told me we’re both actually fairies,” said Lily.
“Fairies?  As in Tinker Bell?”  Peter flapped his arms.  “Heather would love to hear that.”
“Yeah,” said Lily, knowing how amused Heather would be and not in a good way.
“I think your grandma has finally gone off her rocker,” said Peter.
“I knew you would say that.”  Lily frowned, staring out the window at the rivers of rain trickling down the glass. Peter tried to smooth it over.
“You gotta admit, it sounds pretty crazy.”
“I know it sounds nuts, but you’ve got to believe me,” pleaded Lily.  “I didn’t believe it at first either, except I saw her wings with my own eyes.”
Gwendolyn’s voice drifted up from downstairs.
“Lily!” she called.
Lily opened the door and yelled down.
“Yeah?”
“Do you mind watching the shop for me?  I need to run an errand.” 
“Sure, Gran.”  Peter and Lily tromped downstairs to the gift shop.
“It’s been quiet today.  Probably because of the weather,” said Gwendolyn, pulling on her raincoat.  “I would just close early, but I thought Mrs. Dunkirk was coming ‘round to pick up the vase I made her.  If she shows up, it’s in the mud room on the shelf.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” said Peter.
Lily stood at the window and watched Gwendolyn’s car drive away.
“She’s gone.  Come on,” said Lily. “I want to show you something.”
“But who’s going to watch the shop?” asked Peter.
“There’s a bell on the door.  We’ll hear if anyone comes in.”
Lily led Peter to the hallway and raised the oak tree tapestry, but there was no door.  She checked behind another one.  And another one.  She tried all the tapestries, but there were no doors.
“What are you doing?” asked Peter.
“It was here.  I know it was,” insisted Lily.
“What’s here?” 
“Gran’s secret library.  She showed it to me.”
“I suppose it’s a magic library,” said Peter, smiling.
“Obviously.  Oh, I have an idea,” said Lily, holding up her moonstone amulet.  “I read this in the book.  Eleanor used her amulet to point the way.”
Lily let the moon dangle on its chain.  It hung straight down at first.  Nothing happened.  Then, ever so slowly, it moved toward the unicorn tapestry.  Lily pulled it back to reveal the door.  Peter’s smile dropped from his lips.
“Where did that come from?” asked Peter.
Lily tried the antique brass knob, but it wouldn’t open.
“It’s locked.  Gran has the key,” said Lily.
“You could try ‘open sesame’,” teased Peter.
“Very funny.” 
Lily dropped the tapestry.  The hallway silently darkened, as if a cloud had moved over the sun outside, but there was no sun today.  It was still pouring outside.  A low rattle came from the shop door and then the unmistakable clatter of the bell banging against the door frame.  Lily and Peter looked at each other.
“Gran’s not back already, is she?” asked Lily.
“I don’t think so,” whispered Peter.
Peter and Lily peered down the hall to the shop.  The rattle of the door in the frame grew louder.  The door burst open, the bell clanging on the floor.
“Hide!” said Peter, pushing Lily toward the stairs.  Lily ran for her room, Peter close behind.  From the corner of her eye, Lily saw a black mist swirling down the hall, creeping up the stairs.  Once inside the bedroom, Peter slammed the door of Lily’s bedroom.  He muttered something unintelligible as he locked it.
“What was that?” cried Lily.
“Shh!” said Peter.  He grabbed The Book of Eleanor from the window seat and pushed it, along with Lily, into the closet.  “Stay in here and don’t come out, no matter what you hear!” he urged.
Before Lily could say anything, Peter closed the closet door in her face.  The bedroom door began to rattle ever so slightly.  Through a crack between the closet door and the wall, Lily could see Peter facing the bedroom door.  The room turned dark.  Tiny wisps of black mist seeped in all around the door.  A steady wind blew Peter’s hair back, as if he were outside in a gale.  He stood still with his hands stretched out toward the door as if to hold it back.  He spoke in a language Lily had never heard before, his voice tense and demanding.  
Lily’s bedroom door banged open, blocking the closet door.  Lily struggled to see what was happening through the crack, but she couldn’t see a thing.  She heard a low grumble unlike anything she had ever heard.  Through it all, Peter’s voice became louder and louder.  The wind shook the walls like an earthquake.  It sounded as if her room was being torn apart.
“Peter!” cried Lily, but no one could hear her for all the noise.  She crouched on the floor of the closet, afraid the entire house might collapse.
And then, like the flicking of a switch, all the clamor stopped and the room became light again.  Lily still couldn’t make anything out through the crack until someone opened the door.  It was Gwendolyn.  Lily sobbed and hugged her.
“There, there, I’m here now,” said Gwendolyn.
Lily looked at her room.  Not one thing was out of place.  She looked at Peter in disbelief.  He looked the same as he always did, except he smiled at her.  He didn’t usually smile that way.  It reminded Lily of an adult smiling down at a toddler who had done something terribly cute.
“What did you do, Peter?  What was that?  Who are you?” asked Lily, desperate to understand what just happened.
Gwendolyn looked at Peter and then at the book Lily still clutched in her arms.  “I think this calls for a cup of tea.  Come along.”
Gwendolyn served Lily and Peter some tea, as they say on the couch in her secret library.  The cheery fire brightened up the gloomy weather outside.  Lily took the tea thankfully, but she couldn’t help staring at Peter as if she had never seen him before.  She had never really noticed how perfect his complexion was.  Peter seemed to ignore her stares.
“Now, give me the book, Lily,” said Gwendolyn, her knobby hand extended toward Lily to receive it.
“Why?” asked Lily.
“It has put you in danger.  We must dispose of it.” 
“No!  My mother’s in here!” insisted Lily.  She had finally found her mother and she had no intention of ever letting her go again.
“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t read it.  Give it to me,” urged Gwendolyn.
“Not until I get some answers,” shouted Lily, pulling away from her grandmother, her arms locked around the book. “What was that thing that came in the shop?” 
“There is an evil spirit, searching for you.  The book led it right to you.  We were lucky Peter was here with you, but we may not be so lucky next time,” said Gwendolyn.
“Evil spirit?  You mean like a Formorian?” asked Lily.  Gwendolyn shook her head and looked at Peter, who seemed just as curious as Lily.
“Maybe…yes,” she replied.  “Or maybe something worse.”  Gwendolyn pinched her lips shut, as if she was afraid to say anything more.
“So who is he?”  Lily pointed at Peter.  Lily knew all the girls liked Peter, but she always assumed it was his sky blue eyes.  She never dreamed there might be something magical about him.  He was always just Peter to her.
“Peter is your friend.  You have no reason to worry about that,” said Gwendolyn.
“You’re not human, are you?” asked Lily.  Peter smiled again, that creepy friendly smile he never used before.
“Not exactly.  I was assigned to protect you, to help Gwendolyn while you’re in this world.  It was getting kind of boring, too, before you found that book,” said Peter.
“Where did you get it, Lily?” asked Gwendolyn.
“I found it in an old house, down the street,” said Lily.
“The Ferguson house?” asked Gwendolyn.  Lily nodded.
 “I just borrowed it.  I was going to take it back, but it’s my mother in the book, isn’t it?” asked Lily.
“Yes, it may be.  Or it may just be a lie,” said Gwendolyn.
“Who would do that?” asked Lily.
“They want you, Lily,” said Peter.  “They want to frighten you into a vulnerable place where they can get you.”
“My mother’s looking for me.  Doesn’t she know where I am?  Didn’t you tell her?”  Lily searched her grandmother’s face, trying very hard not to let her tears fall.
“Eleanor knows where you are, but there are many things you do not know, Lily.  I will tell you when the time comes.  For now, you need to carry on here, perfecting your magic for when it is needed,” said Gwendolyn.
“Looks like I need it now,” said Lily.
“Yes, it is very important you focus on the task and not be distracted.  Please, give me the book,” insisted her grandmother.
Lily hesitated.
“There’s nothing you can do for Eleanor from here.  She’s strong and she knows how to take care of herself,” said Gwendolyn.
Lily looked at Peter, who was nodding in agreement.  Gwendolyn pried the book from Lily’s hands.  Lily didn’t fight her grandmother, although she didn’t let it slip from her fingers easily either.  
“I’m not trying to be cruel.  I’m trying to protect you.  You must trust me, dear,” Gwendolyn said.  She opened a false bookcase and placed the book on a shelf.  Touching it lightly she said “Prohibitum vervatum,” and closed the cabinet, locking the book inside.
With the clicking of the lock, Lily’s heart squeezed shut, as if she were losing her mother all over again.


Chapter 10  A Weird Warning

Lily sat at her desk on Monday, her eyes wandering around the classroom, checking and rechecking for anything abnormal.  She nearly jumped out of her seat when Heather Whipple dropped a book next to her.  
“What?” asked Heather, in a snotty tone.
Lily turned around and muttered under her breath, rubbing her amulet between her forefinger and thumb.  Heather rolled her eyes while Peter motioned for Lily to be quiet with a finger to his lips.  Lily watched Peter for a minute, wondering how long he had been watching her, guarding her.  They had been friends for almost as long as she could remember.  Everyone liked him.  He was always picked for basketball.  Girls left him notes and gifts all the time.  Even Mrs. Roderick, who didn’t really like anyone, seemed to tolerate him better than most.
“I want you to pair up and work on your science projects in teams,” Mrs. Roderick was saying, stalking up and down the aisles.
The entire class erupted in excitement, as each student quickly conferred with his or her friends to find a partner.  Mrs. Roderick cut them all off in her loud, booming voice.
“I will decide who your partner will be,” she announced.
A collective groan killed the momentary surge of joy in the classroom.  The teacher took out her roll sheet and examined it.  Lily didn’t pay much attention until Mrs. Rodrick got down to Peter’s name.
“Peter Everhart?” said the teacher.
Several girls raised their hands, pleading to be Peter’s partner, including Heather Whipple.  Lily merely pleaded with her eyes.
“You’ll work with Mike,” said the teacher.
The girls let out little whines of disappointment.  Peter smiled and shrugged at Lily.
“Lily Lightfoot…” said Mrs. Roderick, pondering.
Only Bobby Sanders raised his hand, flapping it around in the air.  Bobby wasn’t the cleanest boy.  He had a habit of wiping his nose on his sleeve.  Mrs. Roderick ignored him.  Lily sank in her seat, praying she would get anyone besides Bobby for a partner since she couldn’t have Peter.
“How about you work with Heather Whipple?” she asked, even though it was obviously not up for discussion.  “Maybe you can learn a thing or two from her.”  Lily sighed and sunk even lower.
Lily and Heather and science went together like peanut butter and anchovies – they didn’t.  By the look on Heather’s face, Lily could tell she had the same horrible memories from science class last year as Lily did.  Lily tried not to think about the half-dissected frog flying through the air, landing smack on Heather’s face with a sickening splat and hanging there as if stuck by frog-super glue.  Heather had completely freaked out in front of everyone.
It wouldn’t have been such a bad prank if it had gone according to plan.  Lily just made Bobby’s dead frog move a little for fun.  How could she have known Bobby would scream like a girl and throw his dissection across the room?  Lily’s biggest mistake had been admitting to Heather later she was the cause of it all.  Heather had never forgiven her.
After class, Heather trapped Lily before she could escape.
“I don’t like it any more than you do, but I’m not letting you screw up my grade point average.  I’ll be over tomorrow after school to work on it,” said Heather walking away.
“I’m thrilled,” said Lily, with just a hint of acid in her voice.
“Look at the bright side,” said Peter, on their walk home.  “You’ll get a good grade out of it.”
“I don’t trust her.  She’ll find some way to make it look like she did all the work and I’ll get flunked,” said Lily.  Peter laughed and jumped his skateboard off a curb.  At the park, they threw their backpacks down in the grass.
“So, can you do magic?” Lily asked Peter.
“Yeah.  I try not to do it too much, though,” said Peter, climbing the monkey bars.  He locked his knees around a bar and hung upside down, his shirt flipping up.
“People notice if you aren’t careful,” he said. 
“Is that how you opened my locker that day?”  Peter nodded.
Lily stood on the seat of a nearby swing and leaned back, pulling the squeaky chains to rock the swing.  The cold from the metal sunk into her hands.
“What else can you do?” she asked.  Peter looked around to be sure they were alone.
“I can make stuff disappear,” he said, flipping backward off the bar in a smooth arc.
“Jeez, why didn’t you ever make Heather disappear then?” asked Lily, still swinging.
“I think that’s the kind of thing that people would notice,” he said, smiling at Lily.
“I’d do it anyway,” said Lily, her voice hard.  “She deserves it.”
“Lily, you aren’t a witch.  Don’t think that way,” said Peter as he climbed the monkey bars again.  “You’ll turn into the thing you hate the most.”
Lily hadn’t thought of that.  Being like Heather had no appeal whatsoever.
“So, are you a fairy, too?” asked Lily.
“Shh!  Not so loud,” said Peter, dropping to the ground again.  “You don’t call guys fairies around here.”
Lily sensed the icy fingers on her back again, so strong around her neck she jumped out of the swing.
“What was that?” she gasped, looking around.
“What was what?” said Peter, instantly on alert beside her.
“I don’t know.  I keep feeling something, like I’m being watched, but no one is there,” said Lily.
“You felt it before?” asked Peter.
“Yeah, lots of times,” said Lily, relaxing.  “Hey, there’s that cat again.”
The shabby, black cat padded out of the bushes and meowed at Lily as if to say hello.  Lily picked him up without fear before Peter could stop her.
“Put it down, Lily,” he warned.  She stroked the cat’s fur, wondering if she saw fear in Peter’s eyes.
“He won’t hurt me,” she said as the cat spit at Peter’s hand, glaring at him with its ugly, yellow eyes.  Lily laughed.
“I guess he only likes me,” she said, patting the cat’s head.  “Bad kitty.  Peter’s our friend.”  The cat hissed again and jumped out of Lily’s arms.  Peter took her arm and steered her toward home.
“We need to get back to Gwendolyn’s,” he said, pushing her along.  “Let’s run.”
“Why?” asked Lily, grabbing her backpack.
“Just come on.  I’ll race you,” he urged, glancing around quickly.  Lily didn’t see anyone, but a run sounded like a good way to warm up.  Her toes and fingertips were getting numb from the afternoon chill.  She threw on her backpack and chased after Peter, who was already halfway down the block, carrying his skateboard.  Lily pushed herself hard to catch up.  By the time they reached the corner of Vineyard Street, Lily slowed her pace, taking big gulps of cold, crisp air.
The Ferguson house sat quietly in its usual spot.  Peter slowed to a walk ahead of Lily, hardly breaking a sweat.  No wonder he was so good at soccer.  He stopped in his tracks when the ugly, black cat appeared on the sidewalk in front of them.
“Whoa,” said Peter.
“Do you think he followed us?” asked Lily, catching up to Peter.
“Why would it do that?” asked Peter.
“I think he likes me,” said Lily.  “I’ve seen him around a lot lately.  Maybe it’s lost.”
“Scram!” Peter yelled at the animal.  The cat gave him an unimpressed glare and sauntered off into the bushes.
“It’s just a cat, Peter,” said Lily.  “I don’t see what you’re so afraid of.”  Peter bristled.
“I’m not afraid,” he insisted, looking around himself again.  “You just don’t understand.”
“Understand what?  That you don’t want me to have any friends?  Not even a dumb, old cat?” said Lily, bristling herself.
The last of the twilight was fading fast.  The only warmth on Vineyard Street came from the glow in the windows of the nearby houses, their lights illuminating the shadows.  Only one house showed no sign of life.  The Ferguson house.  Lily glared at Peter, who still hadn’t answered her question.
“Well?” she demanded.  Just then, a flicker of blue light caught her eye.  Lily peered up through the tree branches above them at the sky.
“Oh great, is that lightning?” she said.
“No,” whispered Peter, pointing at the only dark house on the street.  Lily followed his gaze to the Ferguson house.  She caught her breath when she saw another flash of light through the gloomy windows.
“What is that?” she said, taking a step toward it.  Peter grabbed her arm.
“Don’t even think about it,” warned Peter.  “You have to get home.  We’re already late.”
“Fine,” said Lily, giving in to his pull on her arm, but then she heard the ghostly song of far away birds and paused to look at the house again.
“What is it?” asked Peter.
“I hear something, like when I tell stories,” said Lily.
“C’mon,” urged Peter, just as a figure rode up the street on a bike toward them.
“Hey, dorks!” yelled Dillon, shattering the quiet evening.  He circled back around on his bike.  It was obvious he was still sore about Lily making him fall.
“Are you two love birds moving into the haunted house together?” Dillon teased.  Lily saw Peter’s fists tighten at his sides.
“Don’t be stupid, Dillon,” Lily said.
“Mr. and Mrs. Weirdo,” chuckled Dillon as he hopped off his bike and threw it down on the grass near them.  “It’s the perfect place for you freaks.  Some kid went crazy in there, killed his whole family.”
Lily shook her head at Dillon’s sick grin.  He was hopeless.  As Lily turned toward home, Dillon grabbed the hood of her raincoat and pulled her backward.  Lily lost her balance, stumbling.  She let out a surprised cry.  Instantly, Peter tackled Dillon hard, knocking him to the ground.  The two boys struggled on the sidewalk until Peter managed to pin Dillon’s arms.
“What’s your problem, dude?” asked Peter.  Lily saw a trickle of blood under Peter’s nose.
Another bluish flash from the dark house lit up Dillon’s face for a brief second.  Lily gasped as she realized it wasn’t Dillon lying on the ground anymore.  Horrible, black eyes glared out of the boy’s face and something spoke through his mouth in a demonic voice unlike anything Lily had ever heard.
“The dark one cometh for you, elf,” warned the deep, raspy voice. “On All Hallow’s.”  Lily trembled at the sound, but Peter didn’t seem all that surprised.
“Nixay saibeth!” shouted Peter, jumping off the boy.  The creature screeched as if the words had hurt it.  Dillon’s body contorted violently as a gray wisp of smoke shot out of his nose and disappeared into the night.  Feeling hard bark behind her, Lily realized she was backed up against a tree trunk.  She watched in shock as Dillon slowly sat up and shook his head.  Peter offered him a hand up.  Dillon grabbed Peter’s hand and struggled to stand.
“Go home, Dillon,” Peter said.  “And leave Lily alone from now on.”  Without a word to either of them, Dillon tucked tail and ran.  Peter looked at Lily. His nose bloody, his hair and jacket still disheveled from his fist fight.
“Now can we go, Lily?” he asked.  This time, he got no argument.  They ran the rest of the way to Lily’s house, not stopping to catch their breath until the door was slammed and locked behind them.  Peter laid his hand over the door and muttered an incantation.
“What just happened, Peter?  What was that thing in Dillon?” asked Lily, still panting.
“I don’t really know,” admitted Peter.
The commotion brought Gwendolyn out of the kitchen.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Gwendolyn asked, her concern plain on her face.
“Do you think it was a Formorian?” asked Lily.
“I was like a shadow or a ghost,” said Peter.   “Definitely from the True World.”  
“It was inside Dillon Thompson,” said Lily.  “It said something was coming on All Hallow’s.  Does that mean Halloween?”  
Gwendolyn considered what Peter and Lily had said for a moment.
“The Morrow, perhaps?” said Gwendolyn.
“What’s that?” asked Lily.  
“The Morrow is a creature, half dragon, half human.  Evil, but extremely intelligent.  It can take many forms.  It’s not something to be taken lightly,” explained Peter.  “How could it be here?”
“Perhaps Eleanor’s protection spell has failed,” mused Gwendolyn.  “It would be possible for others to cross.”  She thought a moment more before grabbing her raincoat off a hook on the back door and slipping it on.
“Where are you going?” asked Lily.
“I need to secure the passage, make sure it’s closed.  Peter stay here and watch over Lily, would you?” asked Gwendolyn.
“Of course,” said Peter.
“There’s some stew on the stove for supper.  Help yourselves,” she said, moving toward the door.
“Let me come with you, Gran,” pleaded Lily.
“Not this time, sugar,” said Gwendolyn, as if she was only going out for milk.  “I won’t be long.  Peter, lock the door behind me.”
Gwendolyn slipped out the back door before Lily could protest further.  Peter locked the door and whispered another spell, holding his hand over the lock.
“Wait!” Lily called after Gwendolyn, her hand on the door.  Peter stopped her from turning the knob with a hand on hers.
“Let’s eat,” he said, pulling her away from the door.  Lily sat at the table sulking while Peter served up the beef stew in large bowls.
“Have you decided on a Halloween costume for the dance?” asked Peter.  Lily knew he was trying to distract her.
“I’m not going.  No one asked me,” said Lily.  Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Lily beat him to it.
“Eleanor said the barriers were thinning between the two worlds, that they would be thinnest in a few days.  I want to go there.  How do you get to the True World, Peter?” begged Lily.
“That’s really not a good idea,” said Peter, bringing the bowls to the table.
“I want to know.  Why won’t anyone tell me?” she asked.
Peter set down the bowls of stew and sat next to Lily at the table.
“Lily, it would be disastrous if you crossed into the True World,” he said.
“I thought you were my friend,” pleaded Lily.
“I am your friend.  That’s why I don’t want you to go there,” he said.  He tested his stew carefully, ignoring Lily’s scowl.  Finding it too hot, he set the spoon down.
“Don’t you trust me?” asked Peter.  “When the time comes, I’ll take you there myself.  I miss it more than you’ll ever know.”
Lily softened when she saw the sorrow on his face.
“Do you know where your family is?  What they’re doing?” she asked.
“No, I don’t.  But I know I will see them again one day, just like you will see your mother again one day,” he said.
Peter touched his forehead to Lily’s, something he hadn’t done since they were little.  Lily loved the way his gaze flowed into hers like a deep, blue ocean, full of power and mystery.
“Believe in me, friend,” he said.
Lily couldn’t help but smile.
“Are you putting a spell on me?” she asked.
Peter laughed and hugged her, the warmth in his voice as soothing as the strength of his arm.
“Maybe,” he said.  “Did it work?”
Lily looked down at her untouched bowl of stew.
“Heather Whipple thinks you only hang out with me because you feel sorry for me,” whispered Lily.
“What does Heather Whipple know?” said Peter bitterly.  “You’re the only one at school that truly knows me, Lily.”
Feeling more than a little awkward, Lily ate a spoonful of soup.
“I wonder how long that thing was in Dillon.  He wasn’t like that the other day when I ran into him on the way home,” said Lily.
“You never told me about that.  What happened?” asked Peter.
“Nothing really.  He was just mad because I made him fall. Then that cat showed up and Dillon started sneezing like crazy,” said Lily.
“The black cat with the torn up ears?”
“Yeah, by the Ferguson house.  Dillon ran off like a chicken with its head cut off.  Allergic, I guess,” said Lily.  Peter didn’t look as amused as Lily thought he would.
“Did it speak to you?” he asked.
“You mean Dillon?  Yeah, he talked all right.”
“No, the cat,” said Peter.
“Of course not.  I may be a little nutty, but I’m not ready for the nut house yet,” laughed Lily.
“I want you to stay away from that place, Lily,” said Peter.  He set his jaw in a way that told Lily he wasn’t kidding.
“You think it’s a way to the True World, don’t you?” said Lily, trying to read his face.
“Just stay away from it, OK?” he begged, those blue eyes boring into her soul.  “And that cat, too.”
“I’m not a baby, Peter.  I can take care of myself,” she said. 
“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” said Peter.  “Just stay away from that place.” 


Chapter 11  Lily’s Magic Lesson

Lily’s first magic lesson began with tea.  It seemed like Gwendolyn never did anything without the mystical beverage.  Once the ritual tea drinking was completed, they were free to begin.  She handed Lily a little, brown book, its pages crinkled and stained from many years of use.
There are several spells and charms I want you to master -  levitating objects, temporary invisibility, and such.  I’ve marked the pages you should read.  Study the book as much as you like, but don’t take it out of the library,” said Gwendolyn.  “We can’t have it falling into the wrong hands, can we?”
“No,” said Lily.
“Well then, I’ll give you some time to look those over while I get my pottery out of the kiln.  Shouldn’t take too long.”
Lily turned to the first page, marked with a black ribbon.  The spell was titled “Creating and Extinguishing Fire.”  Lily looked around for something to practice on and noticed the fireplace was not lit yet.  She smiled as she read the instructions for the spell out loud.
“ ‘One of the oldest and most useful spells, creating fire involves little more than a flick of the wrist and the proper words.  Choose your target carefully.’ ”
Lily glanced at the charred logs in the fireplace.  There was still enough wood there to burn.  She turned back to the book.
“ ‘With the thumb and first two fingers of the left hand extended, flick the wrist toward the target while proclaiming conflegro infernum loudly with great conviction.’ ”
Lily set the open book on the couch and stood up, facing the fireplace.  She cleared her throat and readied her fingers.  Flicking her wrist, she uttered the words.
“Conflegro infernum!”
A tiny puff of smoke issued from the ashes and nothing more.  Lily looked at her hand.
“The left hand!  Not the right hand,” she scolded herself.  She switched hands and tried again, flipping her wrist a little too hard.
“Conflegro infernum!” she yelled, as the rug in front of the fireplace burst into flames.  Lily let out a yelp.  She grabbed the spell book and searched the page.
“ ‘Extinguishing fires.  Complete the same hand motions with the right hand, while uttering infernum vamous!’ ”
In her hurry, Lily flicked her left hand again.  “Infernum vamous!  Infernum vamous!”
A finger of flame crept closer to the armchair.  Lily snatched a cushion from the couch and tried to smother the fire with it, but it was getting too big.  Just then, Gwendolyn came in.  Seeing the growing fire, she uttered the spell not a moment too soon.
“Infernum vamous!” said Gwendolyn and the fire was out.
Lily sat on the floor with the blackened pillow and heaved a sigh of relief.
“I bet you won’t make that mistake again,” said Gwendolyn with a chuckle.
“You’re not mad?”
“Goodness, no!  Magic is a tricky subject.  I don’t expect you to master it in one day.”  Gwendolyn seated herself in the armchair.  “Now try again.”
“What?  You want me to set the rug on fire again?” asked Lily.
“I assume you were aiming for the fireplace.  I want you to light it this time.  Try standing a little closer.”
Lily stepped up to the fireplace and positioned her hand carefully.
“Remember the clay?  Push the magic,” said Gwendolyn.
“Conflegro infernum!” 
A well-behaved flame appeared in the fireplace.
“Very good!” said Gwendolyn.  “Now put it out.”
“Infernum vamous,” said Lily.  The fire spit a little and vanished in a puff of smoke.
“See?  Not so hard,” said Gwendolyn.  “You’ll have to learn to do it ten times faster of course.  It’s got to be like second nature to you.”
“Why?”
“You must be able to react instantly if there’s ever a Formorian.”  Gwendolyn shuddered at the thought, clutching the chunky, red beads on her necklace.
“What exactly is a Formorian, Gran?  I read about them, but why are they taking over the True World?  Where did they come from?” asked Lily.
“Yes, I knew you’d want a history lesson sooner or later.  I’ll tell you the story.”
Gwendolyn sat down as if the weight of the tale was too much to tell standing.  Lily took a seat on the floor at Gwendolyn’s feet.  She could tell this would take a while.
“When I was a child, the True World was a beautiful, wondrous place.  Every morning was like the first of May.  We never wanted for anything.  Elves ruled fairly over all the creatures, although we fairies never cared much about political affairs.  We left that to the elves.  The True World was divided into four kingdoms, each ruled by an elf lord.  They were four brothers,” said Gwendolyn.
“What does that have to do with Formorians?” asked Lily.
“I’m getting to that part.  Just before you were born, the oldest of the four elf brothers, Lord Kane, grew jealous of the other brothers and turned to an evil spirit for power over them.  Rather than giving Kane the power he sought, the spirit took over Kane and used him for its own evil purposes.  It unleashed the Formorians, horrible spirits that can inhabit the body of any living creature, eventually killing the host.  Many elves and fairies fell prey to the Formorians.  Many of the lesser sprites took shelter underground,” said Gwendolyn.
“So, who is Lady Merab?” asked Lily.  “I read about her in the book, too.”
“She serves Kane.  She was an elf princess before Kane poisoned her heart.  She’s part of the reason we’ve hidden you here,” said Gwendolyn.
“She is?  She can do magic without using words,” said Lily.
“So can you, with some practice.  If you can learn to feel the words with your inner mind, there will be no need to speak them,” said her grandmother.
“What does Merab have to do with me?” asked Lily.
“Before you and Merab were born, it was foretold that an elf daughter would be born who would bring about the downfall of Lord Kane.  He took Merab believing she was that elf.  He would have taken you as well, if we had not hidden you,” said Gwendolyn.
“Me?  But you said we were fairies,” said Lily.
“I am a fairy and your mother is a fairy, but your father was an elf,” said Gwendolyn.
“I’m part elf?”  How much weirder can this get, Lily wondered.
“Now you can understand why it would be dangerous for you to enter the True World.  If Kane found you, all hope for the True World would be lost,” said Gwendolyn.
“Why is Merab after Eleanor?” asked Lily.
“If Eleanor succeeds, it will pave the way for your return to the True World and Kane’s downfall.  He does not know what Eleanor has planned for him.  He only knows she is a threat to him,” she said.
“Can’t we help her?” begged Lily.
“We must trust Eleanor.  There is nothing we can do from this world,” insisted Gwendolyn.
Lily twisted in her bed sheets that night, unable to sleep.  Too many thoughts busied her mind.  A faint meow came from outside.  Lily got out of bed and crossed the room to the window.  She peered down from her bedroom window at the shabby black cat, shivering by the back door in the freezing drizzle.
“Poor thing,” said Lily to herself as she threw on a robe and headed downstairs.  She knew Peter probably wouldn’t approve, but it was so cold out.  Just a few minutes inside wouldn’t hurt, thought Lily.
Lily opened the back door and the cat cautiously crept inside.  He rubbed against Lily’s leg, happy to be indoors.  Lily started up the stairs when she noticed the library door was open just a crack.  Wasn’t Gran in bed?  She slipped soundlessly to the door and peeked in.  There was no one.  Could Gran have forgotten to lock the door?  Lily tip-toed in.  She lit a candle on the desk with her new spell.  In the candlelight, she noticed the cat had sprawled out on the couch.  In his search for a cozy spot, he pushed the little, brown spell book onto the floor.
“Clumsy cat,” said Lily, picking up the book.  “You’re always knocking books off, aren’t you?”
The book was open to a page with a spell titled “Lock Breaking Spells.”  Lily paused, glancing at the cabinet where Gwendolyn had put The Book of Eleanor.  Gwendolyn would be angry, but Lily just had to know what was happening to Eleanor.  Was she safe?  And what was this quest she was on?  Lily walked to the cabinet, spell book in one hand.  She whispered the spell as loud as she dared.
“Covertus divulgularum.”
The cabinet sprang open instantly.  Lily grabbed the book and took it to the couch, plopping down next to the cat.  She hungrily opened to where she had left off.


Chapter 12  A New Ally

Envy sometimes inflicts us all, but
only the wicked heed its sirens’ call.
~ King Thomas

Eleanor reached the trees by morning, the last of the fireflies twinkling off as they skittered away before dawn.  As dense and foreboding as it was, Eleanor was still relieved to walk among the massive, mossy trunks of the ancient forest.  Exhausted, she crumbled at the base of one of the giant hemlocks.  A cold wind whispered through the feathery tree canopy.  The strong smell of the evergreens comforted Eleanor.  Maybe here she could forget the horrors she witnessed on the battlefield.  The grandfather trees creaked in conversation over her.  The moss underneath her was damp and spongy, a soft place to rest.  Eleanor glanced back one last time for Derry.
Where could he be? she wondered.  I shouldn’t have let him come along.
“What was that all about?” asked a small voice.
“Derry?”
“Who else would be in this godforsaken place?” said Derry.
Eleanor sat up, looking around her.
“Where are you?”
Derry tapped her on the head, where he sat.  Eleanor shook him off.
“Don’t scare me like that,” she said.  “Where have you been?”
“I had to be sure Merab lost your trail.  You should be thanking me.”
Eleanor gave him a doubtful look, too tired to argue.
“Thank you,” she sighed.
“What was all that on the plain?  I’ve never seen anything like it.  Fairies killing elves?  What on earth was that?” Derry shook his befuddled head.
“It must have been ghosts of dead soldiers; the Battle of the Endless Night they used to call it.  Fairies and elves were mortal enemies once.  It hasn’t been like that for ages,” said Eleanor, rubbing the back of her head.  She winced at the sharp throb on her scalp.
“You’re hurt,” said Derry, suddenly concerned.  Eleanor was indeed scratched and bruised from the night’s events, her hair caked with mud.
“Coming down the cliff was a little rough,” she admitted.  “I thought you said that was the easy way?”
“Where are your wings, Eleanor?  Why can’t you fly?  It would be so much easier if you could fly,” said Derry, shaking his head again.
“I lost them.  It’s a long story,” Eleanor whispered, her eyes closing.
“Does it have anything to do with that Merab woman?”
“You might say that.”
A low growl echoed through the forest, setting off a chorus of small animal shrieks and warning calls.
“Hmm.  We can’t very well stay here.  We need to find a safe place to patch you up,” said Derry.  “Can you climb the tree?”
Eleanor gazed up at the branches of the hemlock.  The lowest branches were at least a hundred feet off the ground.  Eleanor sighed.
“Oh, Derry…I don’t know,” she said.
“You’ll be eaten by wolves if you stay here, maybe worse.  You’ve got to at least try.”
The rumble in the distance came again, louder this time.
“All right.  I’ll try.”
Eleanor clutched at the knobby bark of the hemlock and pulled herself up with her last scrap of strength.  Derry flew next to her, prodding and cajoling until at last she reached the first branch.  As wide as a carriage, the branch provided plenty of room to stretch out.  Eleanor collapsed again while Derry made a small fire.  From their perch, they could see the sunrise across the plain and the last glimmer of the stars.
“Do you think we lost them?” asked Eleanor while Derry washed her wounds with water from her skin bag.
“Not entirely.  We might be a half-day ahead of them, if we’re lucky.”
“Not enough,” she sighed.
“Who is that banshee of a woman anyway?” asked Derry.
“Merab is an elf princess under the spell of Kane.  She does his bidding,” said Eleanor.  “She’s sent word to him about us, no doubt.”
 “Would he come here?” Derry shuddered at the thought.
“Only if something happened to Merab,” said Eleanor.
 “Shhh!” cautioned Derry.  “I heard something.”
Derry doused the fire with a wave of his fingers.
“No telling what sorts of creatures live in this forest.  It feels cursed,” said Derry.  “You rest now, Lady Eleanor.  I’ll keep watch.”
Eleanor didn’t answer.  She was already asleep.
Merab and the Formorian squadron reached the edge of the forest by midday, the horses running almost as fast as Ashtaroth could fly.  The harpy and her rider soared into the trees, but the Formorians reined in their horses.
“The horses need rest, my lady,” called Durn, a Formorian soldier in the body of an elf.  Durn jumped off his horse without waiting for her approval.  Ashtaroth screamed in angry protest when Merab jerked her reins to turn the harpy around.  Merab slid off the saddle as Ashtaroth landed in one smooth motion.  Merab’s black feather cape fluttered in the wind as she approached Durn.
“They’re getting away!” screeched Ashtaroth from behind Merab.  Merab’s eyes burrowed into the elf as she gripped the hilt of her sword.
“They’re on foot.  They won’t get far in this dreadful forest anyway.  They’ll be dead by nightfall,” said Durn.  “This is a fool’s errand.”
The other Formorians silently shifted in their saddles, aware of Merab’s temper, curiously watching to see what she would do.  For a moment, the only sound was the heavy, lathered breathing of the horses.  Merab seemed to reconsider and reached out to touch the horse’s muzzle.  The animal immediately stilled, its breathing became slow and rhythmic.  Merab stepped to the next horse and repeated the same motion.  Soon, she had cast the same spell over all the horses.  She silently returned to Ashtaroth and mounted the bird.
“We’ll see who’s the fool.  Let’s go!” ordered the harpy, taking flight into the forest.  Durn muttered under his breath as he mounted his horse.
“Why won’t she ever speak?” he said, annoyed.
“The bird is her voice.  They are linked,” grumbled another soldier.  “Horrible thing it is, too.”
“Like a Formorian?” asked Durn.
“No, connected by magic,” was the answer.  They kicked their animals back into a gallop once more.  Durn watched Merab soaring above them, his thoughts gnawing at him.  He wondered what it would be like to possess the body of one linked to another.  He had never possessed a creature with two spirits.  With his current host withering more each day, Durn’s thoughts were almost always focused on his overwhelming need to find a new one, a new shell he could crawl into.  Durn licked the remains of his crumbling lips with a dry gray tongue and plotted.

Eleanor and Derry spent the day traveling hard to increase the distance between themselves and Merab’s soldiers, knowing the horses would close the gap soon.  Derry rarely let Eleanor out of his sight now, but occasionally he flew above the treetops for a better view.
“There’s a swamp up ahead.  I looked for a way around it, but it would add many miles to your trip,” said Derry, alighting on Eleanor’s shoulder.
“Can the horses get through it?” she asked.
“Most likely not,” said Derry.
“Good.  That’s where we’ll go,” said Eleanor.
“It doesn’t look like the kind of place many folks come out of alive,” said Derry.
The nauseating gases of the swamp swam low along the soggy ground, silently creeping into Eleanor’s nose.  She could tell they were getting close.  The trees thickened, moss draping their trunks like shaggy, moth-eaten blankets.  The day was gray and dull.  Sunlight struggled to break through the forest canopy.  Eleanor’s stomach complained, but she tried to ignore it as she quickly picked her way through the dense undergrowth toward the swamp.  A distant, thunder-like grumble behind her reminded her she didn’t have much time.
“Derry, circle back and see how close they are,” said Eleanor.
“I told you I could be useful,” said Derry.
“Yes, you’ve reminded me many times.”
Derry grinned and took off on his errand.
“Try not to be seen!” Eleanor called after him, but he had already disappeared.
Derry found the Formorians struggling to lead their horses on foot through a thicket of giant fallen trees.  Merab sat on Ashtaroth on a high branch, glaring down on them.
“Hurry up!” demanded Ashtaroth.
“We should turn back,” said Durn.  “We’ve already lost two soldiers.”  Derry quickly counted.  The Formorian was right.  There were fewer of them.
“Deserters,” said Ashtaroth in disgust.  “Lord Kane will have their heads.”  
The snarl of an unseen predator spooked the horses and set them whinnying in fear.  Several escaped from their Formorian riders, scattering in panic.
“What was that?” said Durn, looking frantically around himself.  The Formorians clung together, swords drawn against the foe.
“Show yourself!” Ashtaroth screamed to the trees, but no one appeared.  The only reply was a growl like distant thunder.  “Show yourself and fight!”

Cold water seeped into the cracks of Eleanor’s well-worn boots.  She looked down at the muddy water she had stepped in.  Bubbles gurgled up around her foot as she pulled it from the sucking, gray sludge.  Eleanor panicked when she realized her other foot was stuck as well.  Grasping the moss on the nearest tree, she climbed on with her loose foot and fought to pull her second foot free.  
A thin, three-fingered hand snaked up from the swamp, grasping her ankle, holding it firm.  Eleanor could feel it winning the battle, pulling her back down.  She quickly drew her knife and slashed it off.  A flurry of bubbles exploded in the water where the hand disappeared.  
Eleanor didn’t wait to see what else might emerge.  She climbed to the other side of the tree and leapt to a nearby fallen snag.  The crumbling, dead tree created a bridge across the stagnant pools of deep, gray water.  Eleanor paused a moment to catch her breath, when the familiar feeling of being watched descended around her.  Urging her tired feet faster, Eleanor ran along the immense log, nimble as a deer.  Jumping from log to log, she worked her way deeper into the swamp.  She carried her knife at the ready, panting hard as she ran.  
What’s happened to this place?  It was never like this before, Eleanor thought to herself.  Terah Tahan was in the deepest, darkest heart of the Feraden Forest.  Eleanor had never explained all this to Derry.  She tried to think of a way to tell him, half hoping he would abandon her instead.
Flying among the twisted, gnarled branches was becoming even more difficult for Merab’s harpy.  Ashtaroth walked along the forest floor in places, the strange waddle of a creature made for flight.  Merab scanned the forest floor in the dim light, but the trail had gone cold.  Eleanor’s footprints disappeared long ago in the spongy moss.
“There’s no way through this forest, except through the swamp,” insisted Ashtaroth.
“I told you this was madness,” said Durn.  He was now the only Formorian left.  Throughout the day, one by one, the Formorians had disappeared, behind a rock, behind a tree, but always without a trace.
“Coward!” spat Ashtaroth.  Merab stared down on Durn from the harpy’s back.
“You don’t intend to keep going, do you?” asked Durn, ignoring the bird.
“She mustn’t be allowed to survive,” said the harpy.
“She’s probably dead already,” pleaded Durn, his hands grabbing Merab’s knee.  “Let’s go back.”  Durn yearned for the healthy body Merab had.
Merab sneered, kicking at Durn’s chest, but Durn had his own plan.  His hands closed around Merab’s ankle like a vice and jerked her out of her saddle.  Durn’s knife was at her black choker in seconds, ready to make the opening for his Formorian spirit to enter, but he wasn’t quick enough.  Flames sprouted from Merab’s palms where she held him, searing into what little flesh Durn had left.  He burned like dry tinder, stumbling back, screaming.  Merab didn’t hesitate to plunge her dagger into his neck, releasing his Formorian in a rush of black mist.  As his elf body crumbled to the ground, she heard the menacing roar of the invisible creature that had pursued them all day.  Quickly, Merab leapt onto Ashtaroth’s back and they took to the air.

Eleanor had to stop running and catch her breath.  The swamp seemed endless.  Everything had changed.  Would she even know Terah Tahan if she saw it?  It had been thirteen long years since she last saw it, since she sent her mother and daughter through it, sealing it behind them with a locking spell.  It had taken all her strength to do it.  It had taken her wings.  Did they even remember her?  Did they remember the True World now?
“You have to hide.  She’s coming,” urged Derry.  
Derry’s voice in Eleanor’s ear startled her.  Jerking away, she slipped on the damp tree and fell on her knees.
“Don’t do that!” she yelled at him.
“There’s no time, my lady.  Hide!” he shouted as he zoomed upwards.
Eleanor heard the wind whooshing in the wings of the harpy as it dove for her.  It seized Eleanor and pinned her to the ground under its claw, knocking the wind out of her.  Merab leapt off the back of the harpy next to her.  Eleanor struggled to breathe. Gripping her dagger, Eleanor stabbed at Ashtaroth’s foot.  The jab was enough to make the harpy jump off her.  Before Eleanor could get up, Merab kicked her arm, sending the knife flying out of her reach.
Stunned for a moment, Eleanor scrambled backwards away from her enemy, desperate for an escape.  Merab smiled wickedly at her, showing her pointed teeth, and slinked closer like a cat toying with its prey.  Merab drew her own gleaming, blue elvish blade.  The harpy landed on the log behind Eleanor, cutting off any hope of escape.  Merab raised her sword to strike.
“Don’t do this, Maeve,” begged Eleanor, holding up her arm to shield herself.  Merab paused for a moment.  A brief recognition flashed in her solid black eyes, but then it was gone.
“Maeve?  I’m afraid you’ve mistaken her for someone else,” said the harpy.
Merab slashed at Eleanor, who rolled to miss the blow.
“Your name is Maeve, of the North Country.  Remember who you once were,” pleaded Eleanor, her voice breaking.  “I love you.”
“Those days are over now.  Your time is through,” taunted the harpy as Merab thrust the sword at Eleanor again.  “She is Maeve no more.”
The once distant growl rumbled closer now.  Eleanor scrambled to her feet, inching backwards.  Ashtaroth screeched again behind her.  Eleanor realized Merab was slowly pushing her toward the horrible animal.  Merab picked up Eleanor’s knife and tossed it to her, but Eleanor sheathed the blade.
“I won’t harm you, Maeve,” she insisted.  Derry dove at Merab’s face, but she swatted him away like a mosquito, knocking him into a nearby tree trunk.  He fell on the ground, and did not move.
Her eyes wild, Merab charged Eleanor, who ducked and grabbed Merab tightly around the waist, sending them both crashing to the ground.  Merab thrashed like a wild animal, scratching, trying to free herself.  Eleanor struggled to keep hold of her.
A terrified squawk from the harpy distracted Eleanor.  Merab tore herself away from Eleanor, who gasped at the shape of an enormous lion, clawing at the harpy as it flew off.
Merab waved the bird back frantically, but the harpy dared not land.  Merab threw an orb of fire at the lion, but it had little effect.  As the creature came closer, Eleanor could see it stood like a man and wore clothing, but was entirely covered in fur – a manticore.  The manticore spoke in a bitter growl, its voice dripping with hate.
“Don’t you remember?” it said to Merab.  “Kane made me immortal so I could suffer eternally.  Now you can join me in my misery.”
Merab held her sword ready, her eyes darting back and forth, searching for an escape.  Terror flashed in her eyes.  With a deafening roar, the manticore lunged, claws ready to shred Merab.  Without warning, Eleanor dove between them.
“No!” Eleanor cried.
Taken aback, the manticore fell on Eleanor, knocking her off the log into the dark waters below.  The hot, putrid water invaded her senses, squeezing the breath out of her.  The coils of several slimy, ropey arms wrapped around her chest and pulled her further down.  She was only vaguely aware of the manticore plunging into the water and ripping her from the clutches of the underwater monsters before everything went black.
When Eleanor swam back to consciousness, she found herself in a bed of soft mosses, covered by a blanket of woven dove feathers.  A small candle cast its glow across the bed, but little beyond that was visible.  A web of gossamer threads draped the bed frame above her, shimmering in the candlelight.  It was a fairy’s bed.
Eleanor sprang straight up in bed, remembering the sensation of drowning.  A sharp pain stabbed her shoulder, forcing her back down.  She instantly searched for her amulet and found it still resting in the hollow of her throat.  Looking at her shoulder, she noticed someone had bandaged her wounds.
“What is this?” she asked no one in particular.
A rumbling voice answered from the dark.
“I thought you’d be more comfortable this way,” the low, gravelly voice said.
It only made Eleanor more uncomfortable.
“Who’s there?  Where’s Derry?” she asked.
“Your pixie is napping.  It doesn’t look like either of you have had much sleep lately.”
“Who are you?” asked Eleanor.  “Come into the light.”
“I’m Gabriel of the Glen,” said the voice.
“Lord Gabriel is dead.  Do you expect me to believe you’re his ghost?” asked Eleanor.
“I’m not dead.  Just enchanted,” said Gabriel, stepping into the light.  Eleanor gasped at the hulking form of the manticore emerging from the shadows.  He stood like a man, on two legs, and wore a man’s shirt and jerkin, but his body was entirely covered with a luxurious coat of golden sable fur.  Two great, amber cat-eyes lined in black examined her.  His nose and forehead were the wide, flat features of a cat.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, holding out a human-like hand, coated with soft fur, fingers tipped with talons.  “I won’t hurt you.”
A shaggy mane of dark hair rippled across Gabriel’s mournful face, painfully aware of Eleanor’s horror at the sight of him.
“Who did this to you?” asked Eleanor.
“My own flesh and blood.  My brother Kane,” he said.


Chapter 13  Unleashing the Morrow

Lily realized the tattered old tom cat was purring like a motor next to her.  She hated to disturb him, but she stowed the book under the couch and carried him out of the library.  As she put the cat out the back door, he yowled in disappointment.
“Sorry, but you’ve got to go,” she told him as she shut the door.  She crept up the stairs to her room, with as little creaking as possible, and got in bed, but she still found it almost impossible to sleep.
Lily’s thoughts weren’t a million miles away in history class the next day, but they were down the street at the Ferguson house.  She couldn’t stop thinking about Dillon and the strange voice that came out of his mouth, not to mention all she read about the night before.  Tomorrow was Halloween, the day the barriers between the worlds would be thinnest.  Lily couldn’t help thinking it would be her best chance, maybe even her only chance all year, to make it across.  
The answer to everything must be in that house, she thought.  Why else would Peter practically order her to stay away from it?  She decided to go back to the house for a closer look after school, knowing Peter would be at soccer practice.
Lily glanced over at Peter, who was actually paying attention to Coach McAllister and taking notes.  What had Dillon called him?  An elf?  She had forgotten about it until now, just another secret Gran and Peter kept from her.  A gloomy feeling settled over Lily.  They, more than anyone, knew how much she missed her mom.  How could they be so cold?  When the school bell rang, Lily bolted for the door.  She went to her locker without waiting for Peter.
“Lily!  Wait up!” said Peter, running to catch up with her through the crowded hallway.  Peter twisted the hem of his tee shirt around his thumb, hesitating.  He watched her spin the dial on the locker and open it before he spoke. 
“Do you want to go to the dance with me tomorrow?” he finally asked.  
Lily wasn’t expecting that.  For a minute, she didn’t say anything.  She was imagining what a date with Peter might be like.  If only tomorrow wasn’t Halloween.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you were an elf?” she asked without looking at him, knocking books around in her locker.  She hoped he couldn’t hear the booming of her heart against her ribs.  Peter leaned in closer to her so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.  He smelled like fresh-baked sugar cookies.  Lily bit the inside of her cheek, trying her best to stay angry.
“There wasn’t any reason to,” said Peter.  “Don’t be mad.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?  You and Gran treat me like a stupid baby,” said Lily, hating herself immediately for saying it.  She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.  He would never let her go if he knew what she had planned.
“Maybe that’s because you act like one,” said Peter, straightening up.  It worked; he wouldn’t walk her home after that.  Lily slammed her locker shut.
“Have fun at soccer,” she said, turning to go.  Being rude to Peter made Lily feel like a total jerk, but at least she could be alone for a while.  She hoped he would forgive her some day.  Before Lily could get too far from school, Heather Whipple raced up on her bike and cut Lily off by slamming on her brakes.
“Did you forget we were supposed to meet to work on our science project today?” asked Heather.  Her usual superior sneer contorted her face.  How could someone so pretty be so ugly, wondered Lily.
“No,” said Lily, eyeing the scuffs on her own ratty sneakers.  “Something came up.  I’ll have to meet you tomorrow, OK?”
Without waiting for an answer, Lily stepped around Heather’s bike and kept walking
“No can do, freakazoid.  This experiment has to be started today if it’s going to be done by the deadline,” said Heather.  Lily kept walking.
“If you can’t stop calling me childish names, I’ll ask the teacher for a different partner,” said Lily.
“Fine by me,” said Heather.  “It’s not like this was my idea.”
“Or maybe I’ll just curse your project and flunk you again,” suggested Lily.  Heather cut Lily off with her bike again, nearly running her over.
“You wouldn’t,” dared Heather, staring her down.
“Want to try me?” asked Lily, glaring back at the blonde.
“OK, maybe you would,” reasoned Heather.  “You win, Lily.  I’ll try.”
“Thanks,” said Lily.  “I’ll try, too…later.”  Lily stepped around the bike and continued walking toward Vineyard Street.  Heather followed on her bike, riding slow, circling back around when she got ahead of Lily.
“So, do you want to hear what we’re going to do for the science project?” yelled Heather, obviously eager to show Lily how smart she was for dreaming it up all on her own.  Lily rolled her eyes, but decided to humor her.
“Yeah, sure,” she said, still walking.
“Hey, this isn’t the way to your house, is it?” asked Heather, glancing around.  “I thought you lived at that weird little junk shop.”
Lily ignored Heather, hoping she would get bored and go home.  There it was, the dark house on Vineyard Street.  Nothing had changed.  It was still empty.  Lily glanced around to see if the neighbors were watching.  A couple of jack-o’-lanterns grinned from the porches across the street.  Lily ran across the lawn, around the overgrown hedge of crispy, dead roses.  Heather stopped her bike on the sidewalk in front of the house.
“Hey, come back!” Heather yelled.  Lily didn’t answer.  The wind blowing the frayed curtains of the house made Lily hesitate at the back door.  The dead limbs of an old oak leaned over them, creaking an ominous warning.
“I’m gonna tell!” Heather screamed even louder.
A booming crack of thunder from the sky made Lily jump.  Within seconds, a hard rain pounded down.  Lily ducked inside as Heather yelped, threw down her bike and ran for the back door behind her.  Soaked to the skin, Heather nearly knocked Lily over when she burst into the house.
“My sweater’s ruined!” she whined, piercing the tomb-like silence.
“Shh!” hissed Lily.  Heather scowled.
“I’m gonna tell,” she declared again.  “You’re trespassing.”
“Now you’re guilty, too,” said Lily, hoping to shut her up.
“Would you just hurry it up, whatever it is you plan on doing here?  I’m supposed to be home by six,” snapped Heather.  “What do you want in here, anyway?”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” said Lily.
Lily turned and walked down the dark corridor, disappearing into the blackness.  Annoyed, Heather huffed and tried arranging her soggy hair in the dingy reflection of one of the floor-length mirrors hanging in the hallway.
“This place is creepy.  Let’s go,” said Heather.
“No one asked you to come, Heather,” said Lily, poking around the gray living room, peering behind curtains and cushions.  Why couldn’t Peter just tell her where the portal was?
A flash of lightning brightened the house for a split second, followed by a boom of thunder and Heather’s ear-splitting scream.  Lily rushed back to where Heather cowered on the floor across from the mirror.  She pointed at it in horror, unable to look away.
“There’s something in that mirror!” said Heather.
Lily walked up to the tall mirror and peered into it.  It now called to her without words in the music of nymphs and fairies and something darker.  A sudden chill gave her goose pimples.
“It’s the doorway,” said Lily holding her hands up to the mirror.  “I can feel it.”
“What are you talking about?” Lily raised her hand and tried her lock-breaking spell.
“Covertus divulgularum.”
A flicker came from within the mirror and then nothing.
“Covertus divulgularum!” said Lily, louder and firmer, pushing the magic with her open hands.
The flicker grew into a steady glowing light like a bloody sunrise.  Tiny wisps of black mist seeped from the edges of the frame, the mirror shimmering and rippling inside it.  A pair of sinister green eyes glowed somewhere within.
“What are you doing? Get away from there, Lily,” shouted Heather over the growing wind streaming from the mirror.
“I have to go.  My mother needs me.”
“Are you completely nuts?” 
As Lily reached for the mirror, the thing inside it reached out for her with an invisible icy grip she couldn’t resist.  The chatter of a million, restless birds filled her head, the song of a strange, ancient tongue she once heard Peter use in a spell.   In the mirror, Lily could see the True World, once beautiful, now cloaked in the colors of decay.  Something blocked the way in.  The mirror drew her in, but an equally strong force held her back.  She saw the fiery green eyes growing larger, looming closer from the depths of the mirror.  Around the eyes appeared the form of a snake-like dragon, blacker than a moonless night.  Its teeth glinted as it hissed, its long neck lunging out of the mirror.
“No!” screamed Heather.  The hot breath of the dragon creature struck Lily hard in the face, blowing her hair straight back with its force.  Too late, Lily realized Peter’s warning was serious.  She never should have come here.  She backed away from the mirror toward Heather as the creature tried to pull itself through, its scaly, human-like arms grasping the frame.  It seemed to struggle, as if the opening was too small.
“No!” yelled Lily.  “No, go back!”
“Stop it, Lily!  Stop it,” screamed Heather, covering her ears in what was now a torrential wind.
What had Peter said before?  Lily wracked her brain to remember the words to Dillon.
“Nixay! Nixay saibeth!” she shouted, her arms stretched out as if to hold the thing away.
Somewhere behind Lily, Heather screamed again, and then the image in the mirror was gone.  Like the tornado in Lily’s bedroom, the roar and the wind were shut off instantly.  Lily slumped against the opposite mirror, drained of all her strength by repelling the monster.  She panted as if she had just raced a mile.  Heather was frozen in terror against the wall, eyes wide.  Lily tried the shake the cobwebs from her clouded mind.
“What happened?” Lily asked.
“A dragon!” stammered Heather.  “A dragon came out!”
“No, I stopped it.  At least I think I did,” said Lily.
“You really are a witch.  Abigail said you weren’t, but you are,” said Heather, pulling away from Lily, her eyes wild.
“Let me explain,” said Lily.  The chorus of birds still twittered in her ears.
“No way,” said Heather, scrambling to her feet.  “Stay away from me.”
Heather sprinted for the door and ran outside into the rain.
“Heather, wait!” cried Lily, following her.  Lily knew Heather would tell her parents everything.  She had to stop her.
Without thinking, Lily raised her hand and shouted “Heather, you can’t tell!”  Heather slipped on the wet grass and went down in a heap, as if hit from behind.  Lily gasped, afraid she had hurt her.
“What did I do now?” said Lily, running to help Heather.  “Are you OK?”
Lily helped Heather up.  Grass and mud stained her jeans.  Her usual sour expression had returned, although she was looking more like a drowned rat than ever.  She jerked away from Lily and spat out a rude stream of insults, only she didn’t say it in English.
“What did you say?” asked Lily.  “You sound weird.  Is your nose broken?”
Heather spoke again, a strange melodic warble like words spoken backwards.  She clapped her hand over her mouth, stunned at the foreign language coming out of her throat.  Her cheeks turned bright red.
“I just wanted to stop you from telling,” said Lily.
Heather screamed something that Lily was sure meant ‘I hate your guts.’  At least, that’s what her eyes said.  Heather stomped over to her bike and rode off crying.
Lily sighed and pulled her hood over her already soaking wet hair.
“You really screwed that one up,” she muttered to herself.  Peter was sure to figure out what she had done when he saw Heather at school tomorrow.  Lily trudged home in the rain alone, hoping she hadn’t opened the portal enough for anything to slip through.
That night, in Gwendolyn’s library, Lily practiced her protection spells while her grandmother sat by the fire, knitting.  Her favorite was ‘Oh Mother, protect me. Oh Father, make me strong” because it seemed to be the one Eleanor used the most.
“Protection can be placed on people or objects,” said Gwendolyn.
“What if an enemy had protection?  Could you still defeat them?”
“Very good question.  Protections make you stronger, but they can’t make you invincible.  Try one on me,” said Gwendolyn.  
“Really?”  Lily wasn’t feeling too eager to be casting anymore spells today after the last one.
“You can’t hurt someone with a protection spell.  If it’s done wrong, it just fails to protect.”
“All right,” said Lily, scanning the chapter for something appropriate.  She held up her hands and gingerly pressed the magic.
“May you slumber untroubled, the sleep of a thousand nights.”
“Ah!  Such a nice spell,” said Gwendolyn.
“Gran, how did Peter get here?  I thought you locked the way.”
“Only from evil creatures, not good.”
“But I thought no one knew where we were.  How did he find us?”
“That I don’t know exactly.  You can ask him.  I think perhaps he followed his heart to you.  He’s very fond of you.”  A pink glow bloomed on Lily’s cheeks.
“He asked me to the Halloween Dance,” said Lily, more sorry than ever for ignoring his invitation.  She pretended to be very interested in her spell book so she wouldn’t have to look into Gran’s eyes.
“I’m not at all surprised,” said Gwendolyn with a smile.
Soon, Gwendolyn’s knitting needles clicked less often and her eyelids drooped.  Lily listened closely to hear the soft snore that meant Gwendolyn was truly asleep.  Lily slipped The Book of Eleanor from its hiding place beneath the couch without a sound, anxious for some news of her mother.


Chapter 14  The Prophecy of Galamar

We are but dust to the stars,
And the stars are but the glittering dust of the heavens.
~ King Thomas

Eleanor gazed at Gabriel’s reflection in a pool of jade-green water dotted with fallen yellow leaves.  His face was still handsome when his mouth was closed.  He could hide the fangs of a lion fairly well, but when he spoke, they were unmistakable.  He knelt down to sip the water, lapping like a dainty house cat.
“Good morning,” said Eleanor.
Startled, Gabriel swung his bulk around with surprising speed, switching from lion stance to human in an instant.  He gripped a short cutlass in his hand.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” said Eleanor, taking a step back.  “Is the water safe to drink?”  Gabriel relaxed and lowered his weapon to his side.
“Yes, it’s one of few good springs in the swamp,” said Gabriel, clearing the path for Eleanor.  “Most are bitter poison.”
Eleanor stepped closer and knelt down, a little awkwardly with her right arm in a sling.  Cupping her left hand, she brought a small handful of water to her lips.  The cold shocked her parched throat and she coughed a little.
“I didn’t think you’d be up yet,” said Gabriel.
“I don’t have much choice.  I have to be on my way.  Thank you for all your help.”
Gabriel snorted.  “Some help I am!  I nearly killed you.”
“You didn’t mean to.”
“I must know…why were you protecting that vile woman?” asked Gabriel.
“She is my kin, at least she used to be,” said Eleanor.
“Your kin?”
“I cannot hurt the evil one without hurting the good one within as well.  What happened after I blacked out?” asked Lily.
“Merab took the opportunity to escape while I dove in after you,” said Gabriel.  “Are you sure you can’t stay a bit longer?  I so rarely have company.  That arm is in no shape to travel in this swamp.  You’ll never make it.”
“I have to go.  I’m short on time as it is,” said Eleanor.  “I have to get to the Terah Tahan.”
“It’s very foolish of you,” scolded Gabriel.  “It’s guarded by the Morrow, you know.”
“Do you intend to stop me?” asked Eleanor, furrowing her brow.
“Of course not, my lady,” chuckled Gabriel, baring his teeth.  “May I at least escort you to there?  It is two days’ journey from here.”    
Gabriel could travel on all fours, like a lion, just as easily as he could walk like a man.  He carried Eleanor on his back, like some strange kind of horse.  Derry refused to ride on Gabriel’s back with Eleanor.  He didn’t quite trust the manticore, but he would buzz along next to Eleanor’s ear from time to time.
“How do you know the creature can be trusted, my lady?” he asked her.
“He saved me when he could have easily destroyed me,” she said.
“What if it’s some trick of Merab’s?” he asked.
“It’s possible, but I don’t think so.  My heart tells me he’s a good person underneath it all,” she said.
Gabriel had a strange habit of singing to himself in a low, toothy growl.  Eleanor found it oddly soothing while they rode through the brush.  He seemed oblivious to Eleanor and Derry’s conversation.  Instead, he crooned of knights and ladies and true love.
“You have an excellent singing voice, Lord Gabriel,” said Eleanor when he had finished.
“Not as good as my elf voice once was, but it helps me pass the time.  It’s been quite lonesome here,” said Gabriel.
“Why don’t you leave this place?”
“My curse forbids it.  I cannot survive outside this forest.  It was Kane’s way of keeping me from avenging myself.”
Gabriel swung his talons at a rotten log as he passed, venting his anger over his predicament.  His claws peeled the wood away as easily as if it was warm butter.  The chips sank with a sizzle where they fell.  Without warning, Gabriel jumped.
“Hang on!” he said, as he clawed his way up a tree trunk, leaving the quicksand below them.  Eleanor had to hold the manticore’s neck to keep from slipping off his back, but he didn’t seem to notice.  He worked his way up the giant tree trunk like an agile panther.  Once in the canopy, the tree branches were so dense, Gabriel could maneuver from one to the next as if he were walking on a well-worn path.
“At least there are some benefits to being a manticore,” he said.
“Is there no way to break the spell you’re under?” asked Eleanor.
“I imagine the only way is for you to succeed in your quest and free us all,” he said.
“My quest?  What do you know about that?” asked Eleanor, trying not to show her concern.  Gabriel offered a toothy grin.
 “You talk in your sleep.  What I wouldn’t give to pick a fight with Kane.  I wish I could go with you and help you,” he said.
“You have helped me,” she insisted.
“Not as much as I would like,” he said.  “Here’s where we’ll camp for the night.”  Gabriel gestured toward a hollow in an enormous hemlock.  “I stumbled across it when I was out hunting Formorians.  It’s a wood fairy hollow.”
“You hunt Formorians?” asked Derry.
“I may be stuck here for eternity, but I don’t have to share my miserable existence with those wretches.  I slaughter every one I can get my claws on,” he snarled.
Suddenly Derry found himself liking Gabriel a lot more.
“Was that you who picked off the soldiers yesterday?” Derry asked.
“Yes, that was great fun,” laughed Gabriel.
Inside, the fairy hollow was only a shadow of its former glory, but it was still impressive.
“Many fairies lived here once,” said Gabriel, as they climbed inside, out of the rain that had begun to fall.
The walls of the great room were carved with endless scenes from fairy lore, from the creation of the True World and the blissful reign of King Thomas, to the ancient battle that gave the Plains of Sorrow their name, as well as dozens of mythical creatures long since passed from the True World.  Eleanor paused by an elaborate carving of a lion and a unicorn both rearing on opposite sides of the base of an ornate tree.  She ran her fingers over it and gazed up at the huge hall.
“What a wondrous place this must have been,” she said.
“I’ve often wondered what this writing says,” said Gabriel, pawing at the script beneath her fingers.  “Can you translate it for me?”
Eleanor leaned toward the wall to get a closer look in the dim light.  The moon-shaped pendant around her neck glowed a soft, white light, gradually increasing in brightness.  She held it up to read the carving.
“You have a moon stone,” whispered Gabriel.
“Yes, one of very few now,” said Eleanor, eyeing the passage carved in the wall.
The wood was crumbling away and some of the words had gone along with it.
“Some of the passages are missing, but I think it’s an old nursery rhyme.  It sounds like something my mother used to sing to me.  It says ‘When death and destruction blot out the sun, and the reign of the fairies is all but done, the Lion and the Unicorn will unite as one, and finish the work Galamar has begun.’ ”
“A little grim for a nursery rhyme, don’t you think?” asked Derry.
“It’s not a nursery rhyme.  It’s a prophecy,” said Gabriel.  “The bards at court would sing of Galamar when I was a boy.”
“Who was Galamar?” asked Eleanor.
“An ancient king, I think.  Some say he brought the True World into being.”
“I’m famished,” said Derry.  “Any bright ideas for supper?”
“Check the larder.  I try to keep a few things here for times such as these,” said Gabriel.
Searching for the pantry, Derry’s green glint disappeared into the gloom.  Gabriel’s eyes settled on another carving of a handsome elf lord.
“Oh, how I miss him,” sighed Gabriel. “He would be so ashamed to see us now.”
“King Thomas?  He was your father?” asked Eleanor.
“Yes.  Reigned 111 years, all of them peaceful.  A masterful leader.  I have failed him in every way,” said Gabriel, looking away bitterly.
“Tell me what happened, Lord Gabriel.  No one truly knows why Kane turned,” said Eleanor.
“I’m not sure I know myself,” admitted Gabriel.  “It was all so sudden, none of us had a chance to prepare.  Poor Seth.”  A hard lump formed in Eleanor’s throat at the sound of the name.  She couldn’t speak, glad at least Gabriel wasn’t looking at her.
“He was my youngest brother, but I think he was the most gifted.  Kane was always jealous of him, even when we were children, but as adults it grew worse.  Everything Seth did sent Kane into a rage of seething envy.  And yet, I did nothing.  Let them fight their own battles, I thought to myself.  Never in a million years did I imagine the horror Kane would unleash on us all.  Poor Seth paid with his life.”
“What did Kane do?” whispered Eleanor, wanting to know, but dreading the answer.
“He sought the help of the Morrow.  He asked the demon of the dead to give him power over the living, but it came at a terrible price.  To this day, I cannot fathom what made him hate Seth so much,” said Gabriel, the stain of his tears darkening his fur.  Eleanor now wept openly.
“He killed Seth and came for me and my brother, Erik.  He let us live, but enchanted us both and made us prisoners.  I don’t even know if Erik still lives,” said Gabriel, setting his jaw, clearly angry.
“Derry could find out, my Lord,” said Eleanor.
“How could little Derry do that?”
“Don’t underestimate him.  He has the heart of a lion.  He has many bird friends.  They could search for Lord Erik.  Would you like him to try?”
“Yes,” said Gabriel.  “It would ease the pain of not knowing.”
“I’ll ask then,” said Eleanor, wiping her own tears.  “I’m sure he would help.”
They waited in silence until Derry returned, each lost in their own thoughts.
“There’s nothing to eat there,” Derry said when he reappeared.
“No?” said Gabriel, shaking off the gloom that had overcome them.  “I suppose we’ll have to do a bit of magic then.”
“You can do that?” asked Derry.
“Sometimes I get lucky.  I just need to concentrate for a moment,” he replied.
Rising up on his hind legs at the end of the grand dining table, Gabriel was an imposing figure, nearly eight feet tall.  He closed his eyes and began a low hum, rather like a grumble in the bottom of his being.  The noise crept in a soft note, a song seemingly without words.  At least, no words Eleanor and Derry knew.  A vision shimmered on the table beneath Gabriel’s paws: a roast glistening with drippings, turnips and wild carrots with savory herbs, a loaf of crusty bread, a pot of tea, and three place settings, including a very small one for Derry.  Eleanor and Derry looked at one another in wonder.  Gabriel’s grumble abruptly ended in a loud bark.  He opened his golden eyes and smiled at them.
“Let’s eat, shall we?” said Gabriel, his fangs glinting in the candlelight.
Eleanor and Derry ate as if they were never going to see food again.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen so much food in one place,” Eleanor told Gabriel between bites.
“I’m glad I can at least offer you this much,” said Gabriel, chewing his own bread slowly, keeping his fangs hidden.  After they had eaten their fill, Gabriel fixed his gaze on Eleanor.
“Tell me truthfully, why have you come to the Feraden Forest?  There are much more direct routes to Sareptah than through this maze.  You must know that.”  Eleanor fought back the urge to lie.
“I have to find Terah Tahan, my Lord.  It’s the only way I can save my daughter.”
“Terah Tahan?  You never said anything about Terah Tahan,” said Derry.
“It’s guarded by the Morrow,” Gabriel added.
“Mo…mo..Morrow?” stuttered Derry in terror, his tiny wings trembling. “The Morrow?”
“Yes, I don’t know why, but Kane must have put him there for a reason,” said Gabriel.
“To keep me away, no doubt,” said Eleanor.
“You?  Why is that?” asked Gabriel.
“My lady is very special.  She has been Lord Kane’s prisoner and lived to tell the tale,” interrupted Derry.  Gabriel’s eyes widened as he listened to Derry, but he said nothing.  He only looked at Eleanor in wonder, waiting for her to explain.  Eleanor sighed.
“May I have some more tea?” she said.  When she had been served, she took a deep breath and began her story.
“When Kane turned, I was living with my family in this very forest.  It looked very different then.  We fairies took care of the trees, kept the forest floor clean.  But Kane declared war on the fairies and sent his Formorians to destroy us.  I tried to hide my mother and daughters in Terah Tahan when we were attacked.  My mother, carrying one daughter, escaped.  I was captured with my second daughter, Maeve.”
“Oh no,” whispered Derry, his hands clasped over his mouth.
“Kane must have put the Morrow there to keep me from ever getting them back.”
“That’s why you’re going there?  To get them back?” asked Gabriel.  Eleanor nodded.
“It was foretold one of my daughters could bring about Kane’s downfall,” said Eleanor.  “She may be the True World’s last hope.”
The three travelers talked until late in the night.  Derry finally fell asleep in his third helping of roast.  Eleanor smiled at her wee friend, covering him with a bit of napkin for a blanket, tucking him in for the night.  Derry snuggled against the roast.
“It’s the sweet tea,” said Gabriel.  “Calms the senses.”
“Tell me about Galamar,” said Eleanor, pulling her own jacket around her tighter.  Gabriel noticed her shiver.
“There’s a chill tonight,” said Gabriel.  “Sometimes I forget how cold it is with this fur coat of mine.”
Waving a paw, a flame popped up in one of the many fireplaces.  The fairies hadn’t used them for heat, but for cooking.  He lit the candle chandeliers while he was at it.
“How is it you still have the power to do magic?” asked Eleanor.
“You cannot?” he asked.
Eleanor shook her head.  Gabriel sighed.
“Who can say?  Kane left me a few meager tricks to sustain myself, but I’m not sure why.  He certainly didn’t leave me the ability to transform myself back to my true form.”
“Perhaps there is some good in him yet?”
“I doubt it,” Gabriel grumbled, staring at the flames in the hearth.
Eleanor watched the frustration and anger flicker in Gabriel’s eyes as he contemplated the suggestion.  A heavy silence settled over them.  Eleanor sipped her tea.  Gabriel spoke after what seemed like a very long time.
“Galamar,” he said.
“What?”
“You asked about Galamar.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, lowering her cup.
“Some say he was just a feeling, an energy that pulled the elements together and sewed the world from it.  Other stories tell of a dragon that hatched the world from an ivory egg.”
“What do you believe?” asked Eleanor.
“I believe he was all of those things and more.  Male and female, just and cruel, light and darkness, formed and formless.  One of his favorite shapes was that of an elf.  It was in the shape of an elf he first met his true love, a fairy.”
“A fairy?”
“And not just any fairy, but Amena, the daughter of a fairy king named Averon.  Galamar begged King Averon for his daughter’s hand in marriage, but the king refused him.  Mad with love, Galamar disguised himself as a milky white unicorn and stole Amena away from her father.  When he realized they were gone, the king transformed himself into a vicious lion and pursued them.  Distraught by the battle waged between Galamar and Averon, the men she loved, Amena transformed herself into a tree bearing golden fruit,” said Gabriel, pointing to the mural of the tree, glowing in the firelight.
“I loved an elf once,” said Eleanor, silvery tears shining her cheeks.  She rubbed them away.
“An elf no longer with us?” asked Gabriel.
“No,” was all Eleanor managed to say, leaving her chair to stand by the hearth, her back to Gabriel.
“My condolences, my lady.  Please forgive me,” said Gabriel.  He moved to gently place his arm around her waist.  “I wish I could have done more.”
“I don’t know why I’m going on like this,” said Eleanor, trying in vain to dry her eyes with the back of her hands.  “It was a long time ago.”  Gabriel leaned to her ear, his dark mane brushing against her face.
“It’s untrue that time heals all wounds,” he said softly.  Eleanor nodded, soothed by the strength of his embrace and the sound of his voice.  She leaned on him, relieved to share the burden of her heavy heart for the first time in many years.  His musky scent made her drowsy.
“It’s been a long day.  You should sleep,” he said, releasing her.  He fashioned a bed for her with a cushion by the fire and curled up around it the way a house cat would.  Eleanor slipped into the crook of his body and rested her head on his chest.
“Thank you for everything, Gabriel,” said Eleanor.  The only reply was the sound of his thudding heartbeat, lulling her to sleep.


Chapter 15  All Hallow’s Eve

Lily woke up feeling grumpy and useless the next morning.  Halloween was here and she had done nothing to help her mom.  To top it all off, she had screwed up another spell on Heather.  Knowing she had to make things right, Lily snuck downstairs to the library.  Luckily, Gwendolyn wasn’t locking the door anymore.  Lily paged through her little brown spell book for a reversal spell, but didn’t see much.  She decided to take the book with her so she could study it later; surely Gran would understand this was an emergency.  Lily stashed the book in her backpack by the kitchen door and made herself some toast for breakfast.  
Gwendolyn shuffled in wearing a loud orange housecoat speckled with hissing cats and ghosts, something she obviously made herself.
“Happy Halloween!” Gwendolyn said with a sleepy grin.
“Oh, yeah,” said Lily, with a tang of sarcasm in her voice.  “All Hallow’s Eve, the day we’re not going to the True World to help Eleanor.”
Gwendolyn put on a pot of water for tea.  Lily thought she looked disappointed.
“You used to get so excited about trick-or-treating,” Gwendolyn mused.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind, I guess,” said Lily, spreading blackberry jam on her toast.  She sat down at the table with her plate.
“I wonder what Eleanor’s doing today,” said Lily out loud.  Gwendolyn paused over her teacup, perhaps a bit unsure how to respond.
“I hope Merab doesn’t capture her,” said Lily, her mouth full of toast.  She looked pointedly at Gwendolyn, waiting for some sign of concern.  Gwendolyn spooned loose tea into two cups and poured the steaming water over them.  Bringing them to the table, she set one cup in front of Lily and sat down.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to worry so,” said Gwendolyn.  It wasn’t the answer Lily was hoping for.
“She’s my mom.  Why shouldn’t I worry?” asked Lily, her voice rising with emotion.  She could feel tears creeping up on her.  “She’s your daughter.  Don’t you even care about her?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then act like it!” shouted Lily, pushing her chair back across the floor with a loud screech as she jumped up from the table.  Lily grabbed her coat and backpack and rushed out the door, slamming it behind her.  The door chimes clanged a goodbye.  Peter, who was just arriving, could see she was in a mood.
“What’s up?” he asked.  Lily scowled at him and stalked off toward school with Peter following.  Behind them, a particularly ugly tomcat crept out of Gwendolyn’s shrubs and glowered at them until they turned the corner.
Heather’s desk at school was empty most of the day.  Lily tried to pay attention to Coach McAllister’s history lesson on the Revolutionary War, but all she could think about was the mirror in the Ferguson house and the creature that seemed to be trying to get through it.  How can I ever get across with that thing in the way? she wondered.  She saw Peter run his hand through his dark hair.  No wonder he warned her against going to there.  Lily wondered if he noticed Heather’s absence.  If he did, he hadn’t said anything about it.
Lily turned back to her spell book, disguised in the pages of her history text.  She flipped the pages, scanning each one for some mention of the Morrow and how to kill it.   It wasn’t even mentioned.  Lily hadn’t been about to find a spell to restore Heather’s voice either. Coach McAllister was still talking about George Washington when the door opened and the principal peeked in.  She had Heather Whipple’s parents with her.
“Excuse me, Mr. McAllister,” said the principal.  “Could we have a word with you outside?”
“Um…sure,” said Coach McAllister.  “Everybody turn to page seventy-five and start working on the review questions,” he told the class as he headed out the door.  “I don’t want to hear a peep out of any of you, or its push-ups for everybody.”
Heather came in as Coach McAllister stepped out into the hall with her parents.  She refused to look at Lily as she sat down at her desk.  Instead, she opened her book and started the review questions, but her lips stayed twisted into a frown.  She was the only person in class following Coach’s directions.  Everyone else was whispering, glancing at Heather.  Lily leaned over to her.
“Heather, are you all right?” whispered Lily.  Heather ignored her.  From the hall, Lily could hear Mr. Whipple’s high-pitched voice cracking anxiously.
“None of the tests showed anything.  The neurologists don’t know what’s caused it,” he said.
Peter shot Lily a quizzical look, but Lily only shrugged.  Heather’s friends tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t answer them, either.
“Were you sick?” Abigail asked Heather.  Instead of talking, Heather gripped her pencil so hard, her knuckles turned white.  She scribbled so fast and pressed so hard, the lead snapped on her paper.  She’s probably imagining wringing my neck, thought Lily with a tiny bit of pride and a healthy dose of guilt.  She wasn’t entirely sure she could change Heather back.  No great loss, thought Lily.
“She can still write in English,” Heather’s mother was saying.
A ball of wadded up notebook paper hit Lily’s head and fell in her lap.  Heather’s eyes shot red hot pokers at Lily while she opened up the paper ball and read the note inside.  
If you don’t change me back, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.  HW
A little over dramatic, but it had the desired effect on Lily.  A dark gloominess settled around her shoulders.  The gloom was still there when the bell rang at the end of the day. Heather and Peter both met Lily at her locker.
“OK, Lily, tell me what’s going on,” said Peter.
Before Lily could answer, Heather told him exactly what happened, only it came out in nonsense words.  Peter gaped at her as Heather clamped a hand over her mouth.  A smile crept across Peter’s face as realization set in.
“You’ve been practicing magic on Heather?” he asked, pointing at the fuming girl.
“Not exactly practicing,” said Lily, putting her history book away and closing her locker.  “It was really just an accident.  She wants me to fix her.”  Heather nodded furiously, doing her best to keep from talking.
“I’m not sure I can,” admitted Lily, heading down the hall toward the exit.
“Why didn’t you just tell your grandma?  She could probably change her back,” said Peter when they were a few blocks away from everyone.  Heather followed them down the sidewalk, looking hopeful and determined.
“I couldn’t really tell Gran,” said Lily, staring at the sidewalk or the street, anywhere, but in Peter’s eyes.
“Why not?” asked Peter.  Lily shook her head, still not looking at him.  Peter grabbed her arm and stopped her, but Lily kept her head down.  
“What is it?” he asked.  “Why won’t you look at me?”
“I…I went back to the Ferguson house,” Lily admitted.  “Heather followed me.”
“What?  What happened?” asked Peter, his voice rising in concern.  The words poured out of Lily’s mouth.
“I know you said I shouldn’t, but I wanted to find the way across so I could help Eleanor.  Heather found it first, in the mirror, so I tried opening it.”  Peter’s face paled.
“And then what happened?” he asked.  Heather made frantic gestures, like a monster roaring, but Peter shook his head.
“The English version please, Lily?” he asked.
“Well…we didn’t get through.  It didn’t exactly open,” said Lily, fumbling for a way to explain that didn’t make her sound like a complete idiot.
“It opened or it didn’t.  Which is it, Lily?” Peter demanded to know.
“We saw something, something like a dragon man,” said Lily.
“The Morrow,” said Peter in a low voice.  “Did it get out?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure,” said Lily, defeated.  “I tried to erase Heather’s memory so she wouldn’t tell, but that didn’t work out so well either.”
“We have to tell Gwendolyn,” said Peter.  Lily didn’t argue.  She had spent the entire day reading her spell book from cover to cover, trying to find some way, any way, to fix Heather’s voice.  It wasn’t in there.  Lily knew Gwendolyn would have to do it.
“We have to warn her about the Morrow,” said Peter, breaking into a run.  The girls sprinted to keep up with him.
What Lily saw on her front porch knocked the wind clean out of her lungs.  The front door dangled from the bottom hinge, the top hinge having been ripped from the wall.  Claw marks gouged the siding around the door.  Heather stomped up the porch steps behind Lily, still puffing from the run, sputtering in angry expressions.  She called to Lily before Peter clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Gran?” called Lily, running inside.
“Lily, wait!” yelled Peter.  “It’s not safe.”  Peter dashed after her with Heather close behind.  Lily immediately stumbled over an overturned display rack of wind chimes.  The chimes clattered under her feet, threatening to topple her.  Broken pottery and glass littered the floor.  Deep scratches gouged the walls.  The only movement was the swinging fairies overhead, dangling from their tangled wires.  
In a panic, Lily ran down the hall to the library, ignoring Peter’s warnings.  Books, some shredded, were strewn across the entire floor, furniture overturned.  Not a single book was left on the shelves.
“Gran?” called Lily.
“The Morrow’s been here,” said Peter.
“I can see that!” snapped Lily.  “Where is Gran?”
Lily found Gran’s shawl on the floor, buried under a pile of books.
“How did it get in?  The house was supposed to be protected,” said Lily.
“It may have been disguised,” said Peter.  “Or something may have happened…”
“What do you mean?”
“Where’s the book?” asked Peter.
“Book?”
“The book, Lily!  The book you stole from the house.”
Lily dug at the clutter around the couch, which was miraculously still in its original spot.
“I hid it under here,” she said, looking at book after book.
“Watch out,” said Peter as he pulled the sofa on its back, its claw feet up in the air, and moved it across the room without touching it.  The gilded leather book was stowed neatly underneath.  Peter flipped through the pages of the book.
Heather exclaimed in amazement.
“Pretty cool, huh?” said Peter.  “Here it is.”  Peter stopped on a page only half covered in words.  It was as if the chapter abruptly stopped in the middle of a thought.  Lily squeezed in next to him to read the words.

Gabriel neared the forest’s edge with Eleanor on his back.  That morning, Derry had gone ahead in search of Amos, to see what the birds knew of Lord Erik.  The branches above them thinned out and allowed a little more sunlight to filter through to the forest floor.  A thick frost coated everything and their breath came in icy puffs of steam.  The only sound was Gabriel’s footsteps on the frozen ground.  Eleanor raised her head to the sky.
“There it is,” she said.  Terah Tahan, a great willow tree dwarfing the surround poplars and elms, its drooping branches reaching the ground.  A staircase of branches and vines spiraled around the trunk up to the crotch of the giant willow where the vines created an archway of twisted wood.  A familiar screech pierced the silence.
“Harpies,” whispered Gabriel and Eleanor in unison.
“Hold tight,” warned Gabriel as he lurched forward in an urgent sprint, ducking low in an effort to avoid being seen.
“We should hide,” said Eleanor, close to his ear.
“We can’t risk that.  If we wait any longer, you’ll never make it to the tree.”
Gabriel bounded up the stairway.  Once at the arch, Eleanor leapt from Gabriel’s back, dagger drawn, ready to face the Morrow.  The only sound was the creaking of the wood in the wind and the slender, golden leaves falling around them.  Gabriel stood up and drew his sword: a thick, platinum blade.
“Work your magic.  I’ll stand guard,” he said, gripping the hilt of his sword with two clawed hands, scanning the sky.  Eleanor sheathed her dagger and fished her amulet out of her tunic.
“Where’s the Morrow?” she wondered out loud.
“Can’t be far.  Best hurry.”
Eleanor held her glowing waning moon amulet in the palm of one hand, while she pushed with the other.  The opening, a gaping blackness, lightened to a violet blue, and then paled even more.  Gabriel started as a whoosh of dark wings sounded overhead.  He gripped his sword even tighter.
“It’s opening,” said Eleanor.
An earsplitting scream echoed above them.
“Time to go, my lady,” warned Gabriel.  “On my back, now.”
Eleanor climbed onto Gabriel’s broad back as the first harpy attacked from the air.  Gabriel slashed at her claws with his sword and leapt from the balcony to the ground.  The landing was hard, but Eleanor managed to hang on as Gabriel continued to fight, wielding his sword like a determined executioner.
Two harpies took turns swooping down on them, always staying out of Gabriel’s reach.  They grabbed at Eleanor’s head, pulling her hair, causing Gabriel to spin wildly, trying to protect her.  Eleanor bit her lip to keep from crying out when they struck her.  Each time they collided with Eleanor’s moonstone shield, they screamed in frustration at the sparks.  
Gabriel roared back at them as he launched his sword into the air, knocking the closest harpy out of the sky.  The second bird retreated, giving Gabriel time to run into the thick brush.  He ran so fast, dodging and leaping, Eleanor lost her grip on his jerkin.  She struggled to hold on, her muscles cramping and shaking in the cold, but the leather slipped out of her fingers and she fell.  The last thing she saw was a dark silhouette floating above her in the canopy.
“Lily!” she cried.


Chapter 16  Entering the True World

“Peter!  We have to do something!” begged Lily.
Behind them, Heather screamed long and loud.  Both Peter and Lily jerked their heads around.  The Morrow filled the doorway.  Heather took a deep breath and screamed some more.  Lily covered her ears as the Morrow’s roar drowned out Heather, flattening their hair with its awful breath.  Lily instinctively grabbed Heather’s arm and jerked her back, just as the Morrow swiped its black talons at her.  Heather stumbled, but managed to narrowly miss the claws reaching for her.
“What do we do?” yelled Lily to Peter over the terrible growl.
“Get back to the mirror!  I’ll try to hold it off,” said Peter, raising his hands to do magic.  The Morrow hissed, drawing in its breath.
“What about you?” asked Lily, dragging Heather further away from the dragon-man.
“I’ll meet you there,” Peter said, turning toward the Morrow, whose long neck extended down to Peter’s eye level.  Peter set his jaw hard, but the Morrow’s acid breath made his eyes water.  He spoke his spell clearly in what, to Lily, sounded like elvish, his arms spread wide.  A silvery glow erupted from his hands.  
“Shali draco vangaar!” said Peter.  The light shot out from Peter’s hands and zapped the Morrow, which shrieked and launched itself upward.  It hung from the empty bookshelves over the doorway, studying Peter intently, planning its next method of attack.  Lily struggled over the books on the floor as she moved along the outside wall, dragging Heather by one hand, holding The Book of Eleanor in the other.  Heather didn’t fight her, but stood staring, unable to take her eyes off the Morrow.
“How do we get out of here?” asked Lily.  The Morrow still hung head down over the only door in the room.  It hissed through razor-like teeth while its claws dug into the wooden shelves, as if daring them to make a run for it.
“When I distract it, you go,” said Peter, quietly moving away from the girls, never taking his eyes off the Morrow.  The creature shifted its weight and began to climb like a huge spider after Peter along the shelves, which creaked and swayed in protest.  As the shelves broke free of the wall and tumbled forward, the Morrow leapt for Peter, who was ready for it.
“Salicous rubidon!” yelled Peter.  A whisper-thin, transparent barrier appeared in front of Peter.  The Morrow bounced off Peter’s shield, spitting in anger, recoiling and striking again.  Knowing this was their only chance, Lily made a mad dash for the doorway, pulling Heather along with her.  They ran down the hall, through the gift shop and out the front door.  Lily paused, looking back at the house to see Peter running after them. 
“Go!” he urged them as the Morrow exploded through the front door behind him.  Lily and Heather didn’t need any encouragement.  The three of them raced down the darkening street toward the house on Vineyard.  When a car turned the corner, the Morrow took to the trees, crashing through the branches overhead, still chasing after them.  As they neared the Ferguson house, the Morrow swung low and snagged Peter’s hoodie, jerking him up in the air.
“Peter!” shouted Lily.
“Keep going,” he managed to say before flipping himself up into the tree, his hood torn to shreds.  This time, it was Heather who dragged Lily into the house. The hallway was illuminated by a misty amber glow emanating from the mirror.  A low fog seeped from the opening, creeping along the floor into the adjacent rooms.  The song of a million chattering birds deafened Lily.  Heather cried out in a garble, pointing to the mirror.
“I won’t go without Peter,” said Lily, trying her best to see what was happening outside the dingy windows.  She and Heather both jumped when Peter burst through the door and slammed it shut behind him.  He turned the lock and uttered a spell, his chest heaving, his hooded sweatshirt in tatters.
“Prohibitum veritatum,” he said.
“Are you all right?” asked Lily.  Before he could reply, the door shuddered as the Morrow rammed into it from outside.  Peter tried to hold it back with his hands.
“Into the mirror, now!  Both of you!” ordered Peter.  Lily pulled Heather by the hand back to the hall mirror.  She groped around the edges of the mirror, feeling for a door, an opening, anything.
“I can’t open it!” she cried over the calls of a thousand birds.
“Use your spell.  You’ve opened it before.  You know how,” yelled Peter, still at the door.  The Morrow smashed through a window, setting off a torrent of cold wind in the house.
“Salicous rubidon!” Peter shouted over the growing thunder.  The Morrow struggled to push out the shards of broken glass and ram its reptilian head through the hole, scraping against the transparent shield Peter conjured.
Lily shoved her hair out of her eyes and tried to think, rubbing her temples as if it would help.  The spell was on the tip of her tongue, but all she could think about was Peter and the Morrow.  
“Peter…peril…predator…prey…This isn’t working!”
Peter’s sneakers slid back on the wooden floor as he struggled to stand his ground, using every bit of his strength.
“Now, Lily! Now!” he shouted.  Heather grabbed an empty flower pot from the corner and waved it in front of Lily.
“Pot…pottery?”  Lily suddenly realized Heather remembered the game they used to play together.  She gasped as the Morrow lunged again, nearly inside the house.  
“Pottery…push!”  Something clicked in Lily’s mind and she knew what to do.  She still didn’t know the words, but her hand found the glowing moonstone amulet around her neck.
“Oh Mother, protect me.  Oh Father, make me strong,” whispered Lily as she reached out a pale, slender hand and willed the way to open with all her might.  It opened as easily as a summer breeze pushing a curtain aside.  An irresistible pull drew Lily inside.  She grabbed The Book of Eleanor and Heather’s arm, dragging her along.
“Peter!  We’re going!” Lily shouted.
Lily gave in to the pull of the True World and stepped into the opening.  Looking back, she saw Peter drop his guard and run for the mirror as the Morrow forced its way through the shattered window, just inches behind him.  It lashed out a forked blue tongue between its needle-like fangs, smacking Peter’s leg, sending him sprawling.  Lily saw Peter hit the floor and then he was gone.  All she could see was a shimmering reflection of her own horrified face in the glass.


Chapter 17  The Moment of Truth

The man-serpent Morrow;
Stealer of happiness
Harbinger of sorrow.
~ King Thomas

Lily and Heather stood shivering on the top step of Terah Tahan’s staircase, clinging to each other.
“Peter!” cried Lily.  Heather cried too, her panicked eyes darting back and forth, looking for dragons.  Both girls panted hard, trying to catch their breath.  Lily fought to choke back her tears and get her bearings.  From the balcony high in the tree, Lily took her first look at the True World – the ancient, mossy trees losing their leaves in a steady breeze.  Beyond them, Lily could see a large body of green water where the trees ended.  The salty tang of the sea wafted on the breeze.  They were at the edge of the Feraden Forest.  The stillness was shattered when Peter burst thought the opening and stumbled to his knees.  Lily caught him in her arms.  Drenched with sweat and gulping for air, Peter managed to say one word.
“Run.”
“We aren’t leaving you again,” said Lily, helping him up.  She held him on one side, while Heather took the other, and they started down the spiral steps to the ground.  Lily tried not to look at his pant leg, soaked with blood.
“You’re supposed to be protecting me,” said Lily.  “Not getting yourself killed.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” joked Peter, straining to smile.
“What happened back there?” asked Lily.
“The Morrow snagged me for a minute.  I’ll be all right.  We better get out of the open.  I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he gets free of the spell I used.”
Now at the bottom of the tree, Lily looked at the forest around them.
“Which way do you think Gabriel and Eleanor went?” she asked.
The eerie scream of a harpy somewhere high in the hemlock canopy above them stood Lily’s hair on end.  Peter scanned the trees and nodded in the direction of the harpy’s giddy cackle.
“That way,” he said in a low voice, standing on his own.
Heather frowned and unleashed a stream of garbled words, apparently refusing to take another step.
“You can either come with us, or wait here for the Morrow,” said Peter.
“You understand her?” asked Lily.
“Yes, she speaks Elvish,” said Peter, nodding.  Heather blurted out some more.
“Suit yourself.  Hide here.  We’ll come back for you,” said Peter.  
Lily and Peter left Heather huddling under some giant dried ferns and made their way through the brush toward Gabriel and Eleanor.  Peter limped along behind Lily, using saplings to support himself.
The snarling of the lion and the squawking of the harpy grew louder as they approached the clearing.  Peering through the tall grass, Lily saw Gabriel guarding the limp form of Eleanor on the ground.  A harpy hovered over him as Gabriel leapt over and over, trying to catch her.  Lily saw only Eleanor.  She couldn’t wait any longer to meet her mother.  Before Peter could stop her, she pushed her way out into the clearing.
“Mom!” Lily shouted.  
Lily’s sudden appearance distracted the harpy just long enough for Gabriel to get a good whack at her, striking her with his talons.  With an explosion of feathers, the creature crashed through the brush and collided with the gnarly roots of a tree.  Gabriel pounced on the harpy and quickly dispatched the bird with a bone crunching snap. 
 Lily flinched at the sight.  She paused, finding herself face to face with the real, live manticore, standing protectively between her and her mother.  The blood on his face made him more terrifying than she had imagined.  He panted hard and barked to clear his throat.
“Who are you?” demanded Gabriel. His tone made Lily tremble.
“I’m Lily…I’m Eleanor’s daughter,” explained Lily, as Peter ran up behind her.
“Daughter?” asked Gabriel, looking at Peter.  “And you?”
“A friend,” said Lily.
“An elf, I’d say.”
Lily looked back at Peter.  He had changed.  The points of long ears peeked through his unruly brown hair and the corners of his eyes, still glittery blue, slanted slightly up toward his ears.  His voice had a lyrical tone Lily never noticed before.
“We should go,” urged Peter.
As Gabriel turned to pick up Eleanor, a fireball exploded on the tree trunk by his head.
“Run!” Gabriel shouted to Lily and Peter, just as Merab’s harpy, Ashtaroth, hit him hard, knocking him back.  Gabriel jumped up to fight, but Ashtaroth hovered just out of reach, taunting him with her laughter.  Merab rode the harpy’s back, flinging fire at Gabriel, who refused to move from his position over Eleanor.  All he could do was bellow in anger at his enemy.  The stink of his singed hair burned Lily’s nose.  She had to do something.  
Without thinking, Lily threw a small mud clod.  It hit Merab on the cheek, splattering across her pale skin.  Merab turned toward her attacker with flaming eyes.  Lily blanched, but she stood firm.
“Leave him alone, you witch!” yelled Lily, wishing she had more of a weapon than the rock she now held.
“Daughter of Eleanor, don’t!” ordered Gabriel.  “I’m immortal.  She cannot hurt me.”
“What are you doing?” whispered Peter, pulling Lily’s arm.  “C’mon.”
Merab jerked her reins, making Ashtaroth swoop after them as they tore off running through the forest.  Heather popped out of her hiding place as they ran by.
She called out after Lily and Peter, who didn’t stop.  
“Heather, run!” said Peter.
Behind them, Heather’s voice grew into a scream.  Lily looked back to see Heather, flying through the air in the clutches of the bird-woman.
“Peter!” said Lily, pulling Peter to a stop.  “It’s got Heather.”
“Let’s split up.  You head that way and I’ll try to get it to drop her,” he said.
“She’s never gonna forgive me for this,” said Lily.
“Never mind about it now.  Just go,” said Peter as he ran up the vine staircase of Terah Tahan.  Merab saw him and steered her harpy back around, still dragging poor Heather along.  Peter was ready for her.  As the bird plunged toward him, he jumped, grabbing the creature’s dark wing.  With the harpy’s balance disturbed, it veered wildly, dropping Heather in the undergrowth and nearly dumping Merab off.  Merab, her smile now gone, unleashed a blaze of orange flame at Peter, blasting his hand hold, sending him back into the willow branches.  A second blast from Merab exploded in the archway, setting the tree on fire.
“Peter!” cried Lily, drawing Merab’s attention.
The black bird swooped and dove for Lily now.  Unable to move, Lily recited her protection charm softly and stood her ground, shaking hard.  The bird was closing in fast.  Lily closed her eyes and readied herself for the blow, but nothing happened.  Lily opened her eyes.  
Instead of pouncing on Lily, Ashtaroth landed abruptly beside her.  Cat-like in her movements, Merab leaned over to examine Lily closely, suspicious of this new fairy.  For Lily, it was like viewing another version of herself in a mirror; a darker, wilder Lily she had never seen before.  Merab’s sinister eyes glittered in her dark face, flickering with hateful curiosity.
“Who are you?” Ashtaroth demanded.  “Who? Who?” she cawed like a crow.  Merab listened intently for the answer while Ashtaroth flapped her dirty wings like an enormous, fussy chicken.  Merab pulled sharply on her reins to quiet the harpy, who let out a strangled squawk before falling silent.
“Eleanor’s daughter,” said Lily.  Her voice sounded a lot less sure than she was trying for.
“Leave us alone,” Lily added with a stubborn thrust of her chin.  Merab mimicked the gesture in a nasty way.  
“ ‘Leave us alone,’ ” the harpy whined, mocking Lily.  She looked at Merab on her back.  “Eleanor’s daughter isn’t very bright, is she?” she said to Merab, whose smile revealed pointed teeth.
“What are you talking about?” said Lily.
“ ‘What are you talking about!’ ” Ashtaroth mimicked again.  “Eleanor’s daughter doesn’t know how stupid she is.  She doesn’t know she’s opened the door between the worlds.  She doesn’t know Kane lured her into doing it, how he played her like a silly, simple, little puppet.  She doesn’t know it’s what he wanted all along,” taunted Ashtaroth, flapping her wings again.
“I didn’t do it for him!” cried Lily.  “I did it for my mom!”
The harpy was overcome with laughter, a high-pitched annoying cackle.  Peter’s weak voice from somewhere behind her told Lily to run, but all she wanted to do was slap this yipping hyena.  Even Merab seemed annoyed, jerking her reins again.
“Shut up!” said Lily.  Ashtaroth became serious.
“Eleanor’s daughter doesn’t know what she’s doing.  She has no idea the events she’s set in motion.  Ignorant fool.  But she’s served her purpose, that she has.  Lord Kane has no need of her now.  Kill her, Morrow,” said Ashtaroth, as cold as the icy frost.
With a smug smile, Merab and her harpy took to the air and soared over Lily’s head.  
“The Morrow?” whispered Lily, spinning on her heel to see the familiar scruffy tomcat behind her.
“What are you doing here?” said Lily, just as the cat twisted and transformed into the hulking, black Morrow.  Lily jumped back, screaming, and stumbled over a log.  Somehow she scrambled to her feet and ran just as the Morrow lunged for her.  The monster was out for blood this time and it was relentless.
Brush tore at Lily’s face and legs at every turn.  Her heart thundered against her ribs and her burning lungs.  Instinctively, she clutched the moonstone pendant at her throat, not knowing where she was going.  The massive Morrow lumbered behind her, never more than a body length behind.  Finally one of the lumpy tree roots knocked her down and the Morrow was instantly above her.  Just before its claws came smashing down, Lily rolled onto her back and thrust the moonstone into the air.
Connecting with the Morrow’s chest, the glowing pendant held all of the beast’s weight, searing its crescent shape into the monster’s flesh.  The Morrow screamed and writhed above her, floating on some unseen power.  Lily pushed her magic as hard as she could, flinging the Morrow back into the undergrowth.  Wounded, it scuttled away to hide.  Lily held the moonstone close to her heart, huffing and puffing like mad to catch her breath.  Her relief evaporated when she saw Ashtaroth, Eleanor in her claws, flying straight  out to sea with Gabriel running after them.  Lily jumped up.
“Gabriel!  The edge!” yelled Lily, but it was too late.
Gabriel bounded out of the trees, lunging at the harpy, catching only a few black tail feathers.  Gabriel landed in a heap, his strength spent.  Lily ran to the gasping manticore, now helplessly sprawled on the rocky beach.
“You’ve got to get back in the woods,” said Lily, pulling his leg.  The manticore felt as if he was made of solid granite.  Lily couldn’t move him.
“Peter!  Help me!” Lily shouted, still pulling as hard as she could.
“Don’t bother, daughter of Eleanor,” whispered Gabriel with a labored breath.  “It cannot be undone.”
Lily knelt by his head and brushed the mane away from his face.  Blood and grime caked his fur.
“There must be something we can do.  You can’t die, Gabriel.  We need you.  I need your help,” pleaded Lily.
“Daughter of Eleanor, daughter of Gwendolyn, daughter of Iris…” said Gabriel.
“You know Gran?” asked Lily.
“Indeed,” he panted.
“Do you know where she is?  Did the Morrow kill her?” asked Peter.
“I…don’t know,” said Gabriel.  He stiffened as pain shot through him, and clenched his teeth hard.
“I feel so weak,” he gasped.  Lily struggled for words, her lip trembling.
“No.  You’re strong.  Gran said we are all stronger than we know,” said Lily, trying to think.  “That’s it!  She said just reach out for it and it will be there.”
Lily stretched her arms to the sky, the moonstone in her palm.  She closed her eyes and breathed deep until she got that familiar tingle in her fingers.  The forest behind them seemed to come alive with birdsong.  Slowly, she lowered her hands and the moonstone to Gabriel’s chest.  A pale sapphire glow spread around them and enveloped them in a healing energy.  After a time, the light deepened to a rich, luscious violet.
“Lily?” said Peter.  Blood flowed freely down his forehead, but he smiled at her.  “What’s happening?”
Lily smiled up at Peter and Heather, who had crept up behind her.  She held out her empty hand to them.  Peter took Lily’s hand and Heather’s hand as Lily drew them into the luminous aura surrounding the manticore.  All three knelt with their hands on Gabriel, quietly reaching for the strength in him as the glow became scarlet.  Heather unexpectedly laughed.
“Hey!  My voice is back!” she said, touching her throat.
“My leg is healed,” said Peter, not quiet believing. “And my head.”
Gabriel opened his eyes as the glow began to fade.  The creases of pain were gone from his face.
“Daughter of Eleanor,” said Gabriel in amazement.  “You’ve broken the spell!


Chapter 17  The Last Page

Each of us must write our own history,
and be the maker of our own destiny.
~ King Thomas

Lily sat on a water-worn rock and gazed out at the sea where she last glimpsed Eleanor being carried away in the claws of a soaring harpy.  The bitter north wind cut her face like a blade, blasting out of a storm building on the horizon.  Lily wished for a cup of Gwendolyn’s sweet tea to wrap her frozen fingers around.  Nothing went the way I planned, thought Lily.  Now I’ve lost Eleanor and Gran.  
“Are you there, Mom? Gran?” whispered Lily, her eyes squeezed shut, listening for a voice, a sign, anything.  All she heard was the sound of the waves roaring to shore and sighing back, like the breath of the True World moving in and out.  Hearing the crunching of footsteps on the smooth beach pebbles behind her, she opened her eyes to see Peter sitting down on the boulder beside her.  She waited for the lecture that he was sure to give, but he said nothing.
What’s he waiting for? Lily wondered.  She wished he would just get on with it.  Lily studied the glassy, colorful rocks at her feet, unable to meet Peter’s gaze.  
“How’s your leg?” Lily asked, concerned.  “Are you all right?”  Peter pulled up the cuff of his pants to show her the unblemished skin beneath.
“I don’t know how you did it, but you healed it, witch girl,” said Peter with a comforting laugh.  He beamed at her with an admiration Lily had never seen before.  Tears spilled out of Lily’s eyes as she grabbed Peter in an awkward hug.
“I’m so sorry, Peter.  I’ve ruined everything.  I should have listened to you,” she blubbered in his ear.
“It’s not your fault, Lily.  The Morrow was looking for you.  It was bound to find us eventually.  Gwendolyn just wanted to put it off for as long as possible,” explained Peter.  “She wanted to teach you as much as she could.”
Lily released him so she could look at his face.
“Gran knew this would happen?” she asked.
“She knew you couldn’t hide in the Other World forever,” said Peter.
“I was so awful to her this morning, Peter,” said Lily.  “I don’t see how she could ever forgive me for this.”
A sudden buzzing caught Lily’s attention.  Derry hovered like an angry hummingbird around Lily’s face, a more vibrant green than she had ever envisioned.
“Hello Derry,” said Lily, letting the pixie perch on her finger.
“Who are you?  And how do you know my name?” Derry demanded to know.
“I read about you in a book,” explained Lily.
“I’ve never been in a book!  At least none that I know of,” insisted Derry.  “Where’s Eleanor?”
“She’s gone.  Gran was right,” said Lily, hanging her head.
“Eleanor’s gone?” snapped Derry.  “What’s going on, Lord Gabriel?  What’s happened?”
“She’s been captured, Derry,” said Peter.
“What did I do?” cried Lily, burying her face in her hands.  A gruff voice answered.
“You’ve broken my bonds and given Eleanor another chance to beat Kane,” said Gabriel, emerging from the turquoise-green sea.  Washed clean, water dripped from his furry mane like drops of liquid crystal.  Lily still couldn’t believe how crisp this world was, how vivid every color, how striking every texture.  It was like stepping into a painting filled with wild colors and bold brush strokes.
“What do you mean?” said Derry.  “Eleanor is a prisoner now.  She’s likely to end up dead.”
“He could have ended her life at any time.  Kane wants something from her.  As long as she can resist him, she has a chance,” said Gabriel.
“If she doesn’t cooperate, he’ll feed her to the Morrow,” said Derry.
Lily gasped.  Peter put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but she didn’t feel any better.
“But I thought I killed it?” said Lily.
“The Morrow can be a tricky thing.  Best bet he’ll be back,” said Derry.
“I don’t think Kane will execute Eleanor.  At least not right away,” said Gabriel. “He knows you’re here now.  He’ll want to use Eleanor as bait to catch you.”
“Do you think we can still save her?” asked Lily.
“We have to try, don’t we?” said Gabriel.  Lily was silent, wishing somehow Gwendolyn would magically appear and make everything all right.
“You’ve made it this far,” said Peter.  “You aren’t giving up now, are you?”
Lily took The Book of Eleanor from Peter and searched the pages for the ending, hoping maybe more of Eleanor’s tale would magically appear.
“Never,” she said.  “I just don’t know where to start.  Where is that thing taking her?”
“Merab will go straight to Lord Kane, no doubt,” said Derry, still peeved.
“Yes,” agreed Gabriel.  “We need to find help before we go marching into Kane’s castle.”
Lily let the book fall open on her lap.
“What does it say?” asked Peter.
“It’s blank.  There’s nothing on the last page,” said Lily in disbelief.  “What does that mean?”
“It has yet to be written, Lily Lightfoot,” said Gabriel smiling.  “The future is in your hands now.”
“What about me?” asked Heather, who now stood behind Lily.  “I don’t belong here.  I want to go home.”
“Why did you come?” asked Derry.
“We didn’t have much choice at the time,” said Peter.  “The Morrow would have gotten her.”
“Terah Tahan has been destroyed.  You’ll have to find another way to send her back,” Gabriel said.
“I’m sorry about getting you into all of this,” said Lily.
“I just want to wake up from this crazy dream and get our science project done.  Is that too much to ask?”
“You must really hate me now,” said Lily.
“Hate you?  I thought you hated me,” said Heather.
“I never wanted to…”said Lily, unsure what to say.
“My father used to say ‘Forgiveness is the greatest gift anyone can give, but it’s also the hardest,’” said Gabriel.  Lily held up her pinkie finger to Heather like they used to when they were friends.
“I promise I’ll make it right,” said Lily.  Heather hesitated for a minute and then silently wrapped her own pinkie around Lily’s.
Gabriel paced up and down, thinking to himself until an albatross flying out over the sea caught his eye.  An idea seemed to strike him and he knelt before Lily.
“Lily Lightfoot, you’ve freed me from my prison.  You have the waxing moon amulet.  Let me help you in your quest now,” pleaded Gabriel.  Before Lily could answer, Derry flew between them and interrupted.
“I’d like to remind you, Lord Gabriel, we don’t even know if this girl is who she says she is.  It could be a trick,” warned Derry.  Gabriel waved Derry aside and searched Lily’s face with his amber lion eyes, rimmed in black.
“Eleanor came here to find her,” Gabriel said.  “That’s truth enough for me.”
“But you’re still a manticore,” sputtered Derry.  “She didn’t cure you of that.”
“The only thing that will change that, my little pixie friend, is the defeat of Lord Kane himself,” said Gabriel.  “But give her time, Derry.  She may even do that.”  Derry snorted and retreated into disapproving silence.  “Any word of Erik?”
“Yes, my lord.  He’s confined to Knell Castle still,” answered Derry.  Gabriel nodded, his face brightening.
“So Lily, may I join your quest?” asked Gabriel, hanging on her words as if she might say no.
“I don’t have a quest,” said Lily.  “I just want my family back.”
Soft at first, but growing louder, a sweet, melodious call rang out in Lily’s mind, pure and clear.
“Do you hear that?” she asked, grabbing a hold of Peter’s hand.
“Hear what?” asked Peter, shaking his head.
“It’s like music, singing or something,” she said, holding onto him with both hands.
“Like a bird?”
“No, but not quite human either.  I can’t describe it.”
Peter’s hands squeezed Lily’s, his warmth seeping into her frozen fingers.  The song grew louder in her ears.  Lily closed her eyes, feeling the tingle in her limbs that told her nothing was impossible, however improbable.
“I don’t know how or when,” she said.  “But I know Mom and Gran and I will all be together again one day.  And no one can stop that from happening. Not the Morrow, not Lord Kane, no one.”
It was a story, but it was also the Truth.

****
THE END OF BOOK ONE

~About the author~

Lisa T. Cresswell lives in the wilds of Idaho
With her husband and two children
And way too many llamas.

Connect with Me Online:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/peach83352
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/peach83352#!/profile.php?id=1450534359
Smashwords http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/LisaTCresswell
My blog: http://spuddreams.wordpress.com

~Coming soon~
Read a chapter of Book Two of the Storyteller Series
The Quest of Galamar


Chapter 1  The Kingdom of Knell

Wind and sea,
Are my only company…
~ sailor’s song

“Well, one thing’s for certain,” grumbled Gabriel.  “We can’t stay here.”  The wind blew icy daggers of sleet off the water.  Lily wiped her stinging face and turned her back to the wind to face him.
“Will you stand and fight him, Lily?” asked Gabriel.  The manticore stood like a human, studying her with huge amber eyes, a man in lion’s clothing.
“Me?”  
Lily had managed to open the portal to the True World without much help from anyone.  In fact, her best friend Peter and her grandmother Gwendolyn had done their best to stop her.  Through the force of her own will, Lily had brought Peter and Heather through.  They had fought Merab and her harpy, Ashtoroth, and lost her mother, Eleanor.  Now Gabriel expected her to confront the elf Lord Kane - owner of the Morrow and ruler of the Formorians- and defeat him.  To Lily, who hadn’t even gotten used to the idea of being a fairy yet, nothing could have been more ridiculous.
“You won’t be alone,” said Peter.  “There are those who still wait for a leader to follow.  We can gather them.”  The excitement glowed in his eyes.
Lily’s red hair whipped her face.  She felt overwhelmed.  I’m just a kid, she thought.  Why does everyone think I’m some kind of hero?  Still, Lily knew she had to find her mother.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to find Eleanor,” she said, setting her jaw.
“Good,” said Gabriel, dropping to all fours.  “Let’s head north.  I know a place we can find sanctuary.  Climb aboard my back.”
Lily climbed on, but Heather balked.
“I’m not riding that thing.”
“Would you rather walk?” asked Gabriel.
“How far is it?”
“Many miles, to be sure, and we don’t have much time before the Formorians will be hunting us again.
“What’s a Formorian?” asked Heather.
“You don’t want to know,” snapped Derry.  Gabriel groaned in frustration.
“There’s no time for this.  I’ll leave you.”
“Heather, just come on.  I’ll explain everything,” said Lily, offering her a hand up.  Heather frowned, but she gingerly climbed on behind Lily and they were off.

Peter bounded forward on his own, scouting for danger ahead.  Derry hovered near Lily’s shoulder, although he still wasn’t too happy about the situation.  Riding the manticore was wilder than Lily had imagined from reading about it.  He moved without any apparent thought to his riders, so quickly at times the girls had to grasp big handfuls of hair to hang on.  Lily was thankful for the manticore’s shaggy coat; it kept them warm.
“I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this,” Lily said to Heather as they rode through a misty grove of ferns. The ocean still pounded in the distance, but Gabriel had thought it wiser to stick to the cover of the trees.   
Lily tried to explain to Heather about the True World, about being a fairy and all the history her grandmother had told her about Kane and the Formorians.  She thought it would be better to leave out the details about how Formorians possessed the bodies of living creatures, afraid Heather might freak.  Heather had been uncharacteristically quiet since they left the beach.  Lily suddenly realized Heather had never even questioned where they were going or why.
“Heather, are you buying any of this?”
“I’m dreaming.  This has to be some kind of weird dream and I’m going to wake up in my bedroom any minute,” Heather said in a calm, sleepy voice.  “I’m going to be mad because we didn’t get our science experiment done and you’re going to ruin my grade point average.”
Lily sighed.  She never meant to bring Heather with them.  In the confusion of the Morrow attack, Heather had to escape with them through the portal at Terah Tahan.  There had been no other choice.  Any hope of patching up the remains of their friendship was probably toast after this, thought Lily.
“Don’t worry, Heather.  I’ll think of some way to get you home,” said Lily.  “I hope.”
Peter led them to a thicket of evergreens to rest.  Although the manticore’s back was warm, Lily was thankful for the chance to get off.  Riding a manticore took more strength to hold on than Lily thought she had left.  Night would be falling within the hour.  Gabriel lit a fire and conjured a small meal of chewy bread and root stew.  As they ate, Lily leaned close to Peter and whispered to him.  “Do you think that cat was ever a cat?  Or was he always the Morrow, spying on us?”
Lily couldn’t help feeling like she didn’t really know Peter.  His blue eyes seemed so much bigger, his hair wilder now.
“He was a cat.  The Morrow used him because he could get close to you,” said Peter, slurping his supper.
“Your family back home must be missing you by now.”
“This is my home. I didn’t really have a family there.  It was a ruse…” Peter’s voice trailed off.
“To make me think you were a real kid?” said Lily.  The bitter tone in her voice made Peter flinch.  He set his bowl down.
“You know we had to do it, Lily,” said Peter.  “It’s not like we enjoyed keeping secrets from you.”
“I know.  Just don’t ever do it again, all right?” Lily raised an eyebrow.
“Deal,” smiled Peter.
“So how old are you anyway?” asked Lily.  
“In human years or elf years?”
“Just answer the question!”
“I’m trying, but it’s complicated.  Time in this world isn’t measured the same as the world you know.  There are no years because there are no seasons, at least not until Lord Kane disrupted the natural system.  The True World has never known a winter before.”  Lily looked at the fallen leaves they sat on.
“How can that be?  Aren’t we on Earth?”
“No, we’re not.”
Lily shook her head, trying to understand.
“OK, I know you’re thirteen on Earth.  How old are you here?”
“I guess I’m thirteen here, too, but I’ve lived much longer than thirteen Earth years.”
“So it’s like dog years?  One year here equals seven Earth years?”
“Something like that,” said Peter.  Lily did the math in her head.
“That would make you ninety-one years old?” 
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Peter laughed.  “You’re almost as old as I am, you know.”
“I’m ninety years old?” Lily gasped.  “I thought I’d be smarter by the time I reached ninety.”  Peter laughed again.  Lily thought his voice sounded like the chiming of far away bells.  It made her laugh, too.
“There’s something else I don’t understand.”  
“What’s that?”
“The Book of Eleanor…if Lord Kane had the power to show me where she was through the book, he must have had the power to see her too, right?”
“Yeah,” agreed Peter.
“So if he wanted to catch her, why not just do it?”
“Kane never doubted he could.  It was you he was really after.  He had to lure you,” Peter explained.  
Lily cringed.  It still rankled her how easily she slipped into the trap.
“He must know I’m here now.”
“Yes, which is why we must hurry,” said Peter, staring at the flames of the dying fire.  Lily opened The Book of Eleanor to show Peter.
“It’s still blank at the end,” she said.  “There’s no more story.  It doesn’t show Eleanor anymore.”  Lily looked up at Peter’s frown.  She knew what he was about to say.
“I think we should destroy it,” he said.  Lily nodded quietly.  
“Anything that appears in it now will just be his way of manipulating you again.”
Lily closed the book.  She ran her hand over the cover, admiring the buttery feel of it.  It had showed her Eleanor and she was grateful for that, even if it was for the wrong reasons.  She handed it to Peter without any protest.  Peter threw the book on the coals quickly, as if he didn’t want to touch it any more than necessary.  He held his hands out toward it. 
“Sacar libris!” he commanded and the book burst into flames.  
After their meager dinner, Peter whispered something to Gabriel and then ducked out of sight.
“Peter!  Where are you going?” Lily called.
“Shhh!” warned Gabriel.  “Never fear.  He’s gone to find us passage across the sea.”
“Across the sea?” said Derry.  “Where exactly are we going?”
“The Kingdom of Knell lies directly west of here, across this small sea,” said Gabriel.  “There we can hear news of Lily’s mother and grandmother.”  
The thought of Gwendolyn tore at Lily’s heart.  Please let them be alive, she thought.  Derry shuddered.
“Pixies don’t like open water,” he grumbled.
“Why not?  Afraid a little fishy will eat you?” teased Gabriel.  Derry didn’t answer, but gave Gabriel his coldest stare and flew back to his perch on Lily’s shoulder.
To pass the time, Lily and Heather helped Gabriel collect some apples from a tree they found growing in the woods.  Lily stored them in her back pack for later.  When Peter returned an hour later, he was smiling.
“That was easier than I expected,” he said.  “There’s a boat waiting for us, Lord Gabriel.”
“Good,” said Gabriel.  “Hopefully it’s not a trap.  Shall we?”  
Gabriel knelt down to let the girls climb on his back.  As dusk fell, Peter led them down a steep, ferny slope to a tiny cottage on an inlet.  Beside the cottage was a ramshackle dock with a fishing boat moored next to it.  The only light came from the last of the evening sun and the stars starting to twinkle in the blue velvet sky.  The earlier storm had blown by.  Lily could tell the night was going to be clear and cold.  The house looked dark, as if no one was home.  Only when they got closer could they see someone on the deck of the boat making preparations to set sail.  Peter paused to speak with Gabriel.
“I believe he is sympathetic to our cause, but I used some henbane to enchant him, just to be sure,” said Peter.
“Then let’s be off,” said Gabriel.
“There is one other thing,” said Peter, hanging back just a bit.
“What?” 
“He’s a troll.”  Derry let out a yelp.
“That sounds bad, the way you say it,” said Heather.  Gabriel frowned, clearly exasperated.
“That’s because it is bad,” said Gabriel.  “Was there no one else, Peter?”
“No!  Not a house for miles!” insisted Peter.  “I figured better this than lose another day.”
“What’s so bad about a troll?” asked Heather, her voice betraying her fear.
“Trolls are nasty, dim-witted creatures who pledge their allegiance to no one,” said Derry.  “It’s like a fly asking a spider for help.”
“That’s enough, Derry,” said Gabriel.
“He’ll probably get us out to sea and have us all for breakfast!” shrieked the pixie, working himself into a frenzy.
“That’s enough!” barked Gabriel.  “Trolls aren’t the most pleasant company, but they can be managed Derry.  What he says is half true.  They are rather dim-witted.  I don’t doubt Peter’s ability to enchant one, but I want you girls to be especially careful.  Stay together and don’t get caught alone with him.  It’s only a three-day voyage.  I think we can manage at least that long.  Any sign of Formorians?”
“The troll said they were through here a few weeks ago, but nothing lately,” said Peter.  “He claims to sell his catch in Brownlea.  That’s still a good eight leagues from here.”  They followed Peter down the twisty, rocky footpath toward the dock.
“Why would he live so far from town?” asked Lily.
“He must prefer solitude,” said Peter.  “Trolls aren’t known for their social skills.”
“I hope you’re right about this.  How do you know he’s not in with them?” asked Heather.
“Derry’s right about the allegiance thing.  Trolls don’t take to leaders of any kind.  They would never join Lord Kane willingly.”
“Although they might be conquered by him,” added Gabriel.  “Many a troll has been possessed by a Formorian and added to his army.”
Lily remembered the trolls Eleanor set free in Abernath and wondered what had become of them.  Did they escape?  As they silently approached the boat, the troll caught sight of them.  It leaped onto the dock and made three huge strides towards them.
“Is that you, Peter?” the troll called in a deep, gravelly voice.
“Yes, Edan,” said Peter.  “I’ve brought my friends.  Are you ready?”  
As Edan got closer, Lily smelled the rotted fish aroma that soaked his raggedy clothing.  She tried hard not to wince at the stink, thankful it was dark so he couldn’t see her cringe.  She noticed Peter kept his distance as well.  Edan was taller than any human Lily had ever met, at least nine or ten feet tall, and thick like the trunk of a tree.  His clothing appeared to be made of seaweed or moss that hung around him in heavy, sagging ropes.  Only the whites of his bulbous frog-eyes and his large, chunky teeth were clearly visible in the dark night.
“Aye, the ship is ready,” Edan answered.  “Question is, are you ready?”
Peter replied that they were and quickly introduced everyone, except Derry, who hid in Lily’s hair.
“This is Lily and Heather.  And this is…”  Peter gestured toward the manticore, who interrupted with a stern look at him.
“Byron of the Low Lands,” said Gabriel.  Edan betrayed no suspicion at the lie.
“Hurry aboard then,” said the troll.  “We’ll want to put some distance between us and the shore by morning.”
The ancient ship creaked as they climbed aboard.  The deck was cluttered with buoys and tangled masses of half-rotted fishing nets.  Lily hoped Edan was a better sailor than housekeeper.  Peter ushered everyone to the hold below, which unfortunately smelled even more like rotted fish than Edan.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” whined Heather.  “Can’t we stay outside?”
“It’s better if we stay concealed,” said Gabriel.
“Here,” said Peter, pulling a pinch of golden dust out of his pocket.  Peter blew lightly on the granules in his hand, scattering them about the room.  The glittery crystals perfumed the hold with the scent of sugary-sweet fruit.  It reminded Lily of Gwendolyn’s candy apples and made her mouth water.  Everyone breathed a bit easier.  Lily looked around for a place to sit.  The cabin appeared completely unused.  There were four bare bunks, with a port hole above each one.
“Don’t like it, don’t like it one bit,” fretted Derry, pacing back and forth on Lily’s shoulder.
“No one said you had to go with us, Derry,” said Gabriel.
“You didn’t have to!  I owe Eleanor my life and I’m going to do whatever it takes to save her.”
The ship began to sway and Lily heard the sound of water slapping the sides of the vessel.  Peter looked out a port hole.
“We’re off,” he said.  “We might as well try to get some sleep.”
The girls and Peter each took a bunk, although they weren’t that comfortable without bedding.  Derry slept in the crook behind Lily’s knee and Gabriel curled up on the floor, but did not sleep.  He took the first watch.
In the morning, Gabriel allowed them to go up on deck for breakfast.  They had indeed lost sight of land, surrounded completely by a salty green sea.  The waves were rough and the sky gloomy, but it did not rain.  The wind was just strong enough to move them at a steady clip.  In the light of day, Lily realized Edan had the dirty brown, warty skin of a toad, and a wide, inviting smile.  She wondered if he would be as nice without Peter’s enchantment.
“Looky there,” said Edan, pointing to the sky.  Lily looked up at the enormous white bird floating above the ship. It glided on the air currents, never once flapping its wings.
“What is it?” she asked.
“That be an albatross.  Good luck that is, yep, yep,” said Edan.  “He’ll show us the way.”  Edan gazed at the bird with his big, black eyes, so round and unblinking they reminded Lily of fish eyes.
They followed the bird for most of the day.  As Edan steered the ship west, Gabriel’s mood seemed to brighten.  They sat on the deck and ate a few of the small apples they had collected the night before.  Peter made mint tea with some leaves he had found, which was welcome warmth on such a cold day.  The apples were more like dried fruit leather than fresh fruit, but they tasted good.  Peter suggested they try to catch some fish, so they spent the better part of the day fishing for their supper, which provided some entertainment.  
That evening, Edan joined them in the hold for dinner.  His smell had lessened a bit, perhaps by being out in the wind all day.
“I haven’t been down here in years, nope, nope” said Edan, wagging his enormous head.  “This was my father’s ship.  He never allowed me and my brother to rest, nope.  We fished around the clock in those days.  There were a lot more fish back then, yep, yep.”
Lily tried not to watch while Edan shoved his portion of fish into his mouth with his knobby fingers and smacked his lips with his black tongue.
“Where are your father and brother now?” asked Lily.  Edan frowned.
“Formorians took them,” he whispered.  “Took them away while I hid beneath the waves.  I know not where, no, no, no.”
“None of us have escaped the hand of Lord Kane,” muttered Gabriel.  “I blame myself.  I should have seen it coming, stopped it somehow.”
“Is that where you’re going now? To stop Lord Kane?” asked Edan.
Peter and Gabriel caught one another’s glance.  Gabriel paused a moment and said, “We go to visit my kin.”
Edan gazed at him with narrowed, fishy eyes.  “As good an answer as any, I suppose,” he said.  “A wise man keeps his secrets close and his enemies closer.”
Lily tossed and turned that night, unable to sleep.  Peter sat upright against a wall keeping watch, but had let his guard down and fallen asleep.  Lily crept past him, up the stairs to the deck for some air.  The giant body of Edan was curled up near the stern, his great bulk gently rising and falling with each rattling snore.  Lily gripped the railing and threw her head back to take in the myriad of stars.  They weren’t the constellations she knew from home, or what she thought was her home.  The stars seemed bigger and brighter than the ones she remembered.
How on earth did I get into this? she wondered, staring down at the dark waves that lapped the boat.
“Can’t sleep?” whispered Peter, suddenly behind her.  Lily jumped a little.
“I thought you dozed off.”
“I was merely resting my eyes.” Peter leaned on the railing beside her.  “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m just trying to wrap my brain around all this…this place,” said Lily, her voice trailing off.  “And you…”
Lily reached up and lightly touched Peter’s ear to see if it might be fake.  Peter smirked, tickled by her touch.  He caught her hand as she tousled his hair.
“I’m real,” he said, pressing her hand to his cheek.
“But who are you?”
Peter looked hurt.  “I’m the same person I’ve always been.  I’m your friend.”
“Heather is right.  This whole thing is like a dream.  I feel like I’ve gone completely nut bar.”  Tears slipped down Lily’s cheeks.  Peter wiped her tears with his thumb and gave her a warm hug.  He smelled of honey and spices, comforting like a warm, toasty kitchen on a dark winter’s night.
“It will be all right.  You’ll see,” said Peter.  “All our hopes rest with you now.  I won’t let you fail.”

~Watch for Book Two soon!~