Chapter 2 #2
Turning to brace the paper on the wall, I wrote the same thing again below the first line, moving the pen more carefully this time. I even went over the letters twice to be sure, then stared at it for a full ten seconds after that.
I glanced at Dad’s door, raising my knuckles to knock again, and then paused.
When I returned my eyes to the paper, the words had shifted again.
Bananas! Cereal! And chocolate!
My frown deepened.
I wasn’t stupid enough to try a third time. But just because I understood what was happening didn’t mean I actually understood what was happening! Because what in the name of Ethan and his stupid face was going on?
Rubbing my eyes, I checked the paper one final time and groaned softly, letting it fall to the floor.
It was useless.
I was the last person to believe in magic. In fact, I still didn’t want to. But I had to admit those strange creatures who’d taken Mom had done something.
What I needed to figure out, besides why they’d said no one could know, was how they enforced it. Because there had to be a way around this.
They couldn’t just take Mom and get away with it.
I shoved on my winter boots and puffy red coat, slamming the back door on the way out.
If I couldn’t send someone after Mom, I’d find her myself.
Thankfully, no one else had gone into the backyard since the last snowfall, which left fresh tracks leading into the woods.
They’d walked in single file, probably to hide their trail, since the packed-down snow made it impossible to know if the tracks were human or animal unless someone had seen them being made.
Picking up my pace, I got excited that the kidnappers might’ve been stupid enough to lead me straight to them, only to slow a minute later as the tracks faded away.
Deeper in the woods, the foliage grew too dense for much snow to reach the ground.
What might’ve made it through had already melted.
There were only pine trees in all directions.
I bent down, trying to find a clue. Even a broken twig or something to signal which way they’d gone would help.
Nothing.
Despite knowing she was long gone, I yelled, “Mom! Mom, can you hear me?”
Silence.
With no one around to hear my frustration, I let out a scream.
I stood there, breathing hard, not knowing what to do, and slowly sank down onto the ground.
Eventually, birdsong resumed.
After sitting in pine needles and defeat for a while, I took out my disfigured phone and pulled up a search website. It took ages to painstakingly type a description of the creatures who’d taken Mom into the search bar.
When I finally pressed enter, I couldn’t even read half of the text on the screen through the web of cracks.
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against a tree.
This day could not get any worse.
I couldn’t give up yet though. Shivering, I stood and headed for the library. If Pearl hadn’t closed early, I could use one of the two working computers. The third hadn’t turned on in years. Kids usually used it to prop up their phones and books.
Fortunately, one was free when I arrived.
I signed up for my turn on the schedule and dropped into the squeaky rolling chair, typing lightning fast. First, I googled “funny-looking creatures,” then added “moss hats” and “black eyes” and “blue skin” and so on. It wasn’t until I put in “pointed ears” that I finally got a hit.
The fair folk.
Also known as fae, faeries, fey, and similar terms, depending on where they are in the world.
Found it. My shoulders tensed. If I looked away, would it disappear or turn into a web page about cooking or a school project?
I risked glancing away and back. The page didn’t change. Maybe because no one here cared, much less would know how to connect my weird searches to Mom.
Blowing out a breath, I leaned in to read more.
The fae come in many shapes and forms, the article read. But no matter their species, they’re all known by their penchant for making deals, their inability to lie, and their pointed ears.
The “pointed ears” part was highlighted as the reason Google had sent me here. But the part about deals caught my eye.
What had the short one said? The mortals aren’t allowed to know. . . Part of the deal. And later, he’d said something about. . . I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to wade through the murky memories until the word finally came back to me: contract.
“No,” I whispered.
Across from me, the kid on the other computer gave me a weird look. His friend in the chair next to him rolled his eyes.
But for once, I didn’t care.
It couldn’t be fae. The fae weren’t real.
They were just a Selmo legend because our national forests butted up to the town and hikers occasionally went missing. The crazy stories were something we peddled for fun and tourism in the summer. Even the most dedicated people in town didn’t actually believe the nonsense they spewed.
Normally, I managed to be pretty open-minded, but this stretched reality a little too far.
Why was I resisting the idea? It almost felt like I couldn’t consider it.
No one could know. The words came back to me again.
Was it. . . Was it possible they actually could influence my mind? That they’d put some sort of spell on me to make me forget?
I wasn’t accepting the existence of fae just yet, but. . . it couldn’t hurt to keep reading.
The fae are a species of magical beings known for their glittery wings, untrustworthy bargains, and inability to give a straight answer.
Commonly found in forests, garden centers, and mysteriously sticky pub bathrooms, the fae subsist entirely on honey, moonlight, and the chaos of poorly worded wishes.
Ooookay.
Right.
This was probably a dead end.
The two creatures I’d seen hadn’t had wings, which brought everything else in the article into question.
I dragged the mouse up to the corner to click the little X and close the window, then stopped.
It might be total fiction, but what if something in here was true?
With nothing else to go on, I scrolled down.
Approaching the fae requires caution: Never accept gifts, never drink their wine, and under no circumstances make a deal or sign anything. This is a binding contract, enforceable by magic, and you now owe them three secrets, a sock, and your middle name.
I snorted at that bit, earning another glare from the boys at the computer across from mine.
What kind of nonsense was this?
It sounded like they’d pulled a list of random things out of a hat. A sock?
I scoffed again.
Mumbling came from the two boys as they packed up and left, but I ignored them.
It sounded suspiciously like that popular novel everyone my age had read growing up, which made me wonder if this whole site was just some sort of fan fiction.
My eyes returned to the line above it though: And under no circumstances make a deal or sign anything. This is a binding contract, enforceable by magic.
I mentally compared this info to what I knew:
Magic or no, they’d said Mom had signed a contract, and she hadn’t argued. She’d just let them take her.
Something kept me from telling Dad or anyone else.
As much as my mind resisted the idea, a question forced its way to the surface: Do fae actually exist?
I dropped my elbows onto the desk and put my head in my hands.
Did it really matter what they were called?
Whatever they were, they’d taken Mom. And no one else knew what had really happened.
All that mattered now was finding a way to get her back.
The rest of the article was barely longer than a page. None of it seemed remotely true, and it was one of those sites where anyone could rewrite the info, so not exactly trustworthy either.
Clicking out of it, I returned to the library home page and scoured the database for books on fae.
I found only a handful.
All but one were in the fiction section.
That wasn’t promising.
Still, I tracked down and checked out every single available book, shoving all four into my bag as the library closed.
Dragging my feet on the way home, I slipped inside to find Dad at the dining table with Rissa and Olive.
The crumpled note from “Mom” had been spread flat on the kitchen table between them.
From the shock on their faces and the way Olive’s fingers didn’t even touch her phone, it was clear they’d just read it.
They barely registered me shutting the door.
I took off my boots and shucked my coat as Rissa whispered, “But, Dad, she wouldn’t really leave forever. . . Would she?”
The urge to tell them the truth sat in the back of my throat, stuck, refusing to come up.
“I don’t know.” Dad’s voice cracked.
Rissa looked at me then, like she was hoping I might do something, say something.
My chest ached from the pressure of holding in what had actually happened against my will.
I had to say something!
“Where would Mom have met a pilot?” I snapped, trying to wake them up from this strange trance they were in. “We live in Selmo!”
Olive stared at nothing, shaking her head.
Rissa, blinking, picked up the note, and I thought, Finally, someone will challenge this! But as she touched the paper, she slumped back in her chair, and a look of despair settled on her face.
“And what about this weird paper?” I pointed to the thick parchment. “Mom doesn’t even own this kind of paper. Plus she wouldn’t sign her full name. Don’t you see anything about this that isn’t—” My throat tightened, cutting me off as I drew too close to saying what had really happened.
“Yeah, it’s weird,” Olive said with a frown.
But then Rissa wordlessly passed the note over to Olive, who took it without looking. A few seconds later, Olive slowly stopped shaking her head and didn’t say anything else.
“It’s more than weird.” I turned to Dad, who’d taken the note from Olive next and now held it in trembling fingers. It drained the fight out of him, just like it had with my sisters.
When he held it out to me, I backed away.
I couldn’t be sure of anything right now, but if that paper was contributing to their blind faith, I wanted nothing to do with it.
“I wish I knew more,” Dad finally said on a sigh, putting a heavy hand on my shoulder as he stood. “It’s been a long day. We can talk about it more tomorrow,” he promised, before unceremoniously going to bed.
We did not, however, talk about it tomorrow.
Or the next day, or the next.
We couldn’t.
And the only one who remembered why we couldn’t was me.