Reckonings (8 page)

Molly grinned, gazing at the pretty setting. She didn't usually like dolls and tea parties and such, but the flower set, complete with creamer and sugar bowl, was charming.

“Granny didn't pick you up at the corner store, did she,” she commented. “Well, this is encouraging. Maybe there
is
something to this fairy tea party concept.”
And
, she realized,
creatures who could drink from these teeny-weeny teacups would be awfully tiny
. Nothing to worry about there. “Folks the size of dragonflies I can handle.” Molly knelt by the picnic blanket, trying to figure out what to do next.
Shouldn't there be some magic words or a ritual or something
?

While she pondered how to approach the fairies, Molly poured the tea.
Maybe I should just invite them to join me
. She cleared her throat as if she was about to make an announcement. “Uh, please do me the honor of joining me for tea,” she declared to the open air.

Birds sang, crickets chirped, but other than that…nothing.

Well, that didn't work.
Molly screwed up her face in thought as she tried to figure out a different approach.
Maybe they prefer something more formal. But it's not like I can mail out engraved party invites
.

The sun was starting to sink low on the horizon. Molly didn't want to have to find her way back in the dark. She racked her brain for any little bit of fairy folklore. What had Gran said would summon the “wee ones”?

Something about walking in a circle
. Molly hopped up and walked around the picnic blanket, taking care not to trample any of the toadstools comprising the fairy ring. As she did, a remembered rhyme popped into her head. “Fair little folk, wee pretty ones, please join me at the setting sun.”

Twilight! That's right. Gran said that was prime time for fairies
. Molly walked around and around the blanket chanting. The vivid scarlet rays from the setting sun made the tea set glow. Molly chanted louder and louder and walked faster and faster until she worked up quite a sweat. Her walk became a run, the stones seemed to spin, and finally, she collapsed onto the grass.

Still nothing.

She sighed. “I'm so stupid. Whatever made me think that would work? How dorky can I get?”

A powerful breeze whipped up, scattering the tiny pieces of the tea set. “Oh no!” Molly sprang to her feet and dashed after them, not wanting to lose them. Suddenly she froze, as the air in front of her shimmered, and then, as if there were an invisible door, the air parted, giving Molly a momentary glimpse into another world. An enormous blue man with curved horns on his head stepped out from the other landscape. The air shut behind him, and the wind died down.

“It worked,” Molly gasped, dropping the flower sugar bowl. “Only it worked really differently than I expected.”

She had imagined a tiny creature with sparkly wings. She was not prepared for this huge, powerful-looking blue man. He wore clothes that a Shakespearean prince might have worn: velvet doublet and breeches, a flowing white shirt, and high leather boots. A purple cape fluttered out behind him.

I know him!
Molly recognized the man as Auberon, King of the Fair Folk. She had met him with Tim when they had been confronted by the King's wife, Titania.

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “I summoned the King himself!”

King Auberon gazed at her for a moment, then laughed. “The king is not ‘summoned,' child,” he said, “certainly not by the likes of you.”

Molly crossed her arms over her chest. “You're here, aren't you?”

Auberon smiled. “You are presumptuous. I come here when I need to escape my own world. Did you not see the signs?” He waved toward the stones and the ring of toadstools. “This is a fairy place. We come as we choose, not at your bidding.”

“Oh. I guess that makes more sense,” Molly admitted.

“Why were you trying to summon fairies, Earth child?”

“I—I needed to make a wish.” Molly gazed down at her shoes and blushed. It sounded really dumb when she said it in front of someone who could actually hear her.

But he didn't laugh. “There is something so important to you that you would work rituals to achieve it?”

“There's someone who needs my help,” Molly explained, encouraged by his taking her seriously. “Only I can't give it. Unless someone helps
me
. And since I'm stranded out here in the middle of nowhere, all I could think to do was to turn to the fairies.” She eyed the seven-foot Auberon warily. “You don't happen to grant wishes, do you?”

“I can. Are you asking me for one?”

Molly's eyes narrowed as she thought this over. From what she could remember, things could get awfully tricky when doing business with magical types. “What's the trade-off?”

“That depends on the size of the wish.”

“Hypothetically, if my wish were that I could be with Tim and talk to him right now, would that be considered big? Hypothetically, remember.” Molly didn't want to actually state her wish until she knew what she was getting herself into.

“If I were to grant that wish, the price would be that you would have to agree to stay where I bring you.”

Those terms aren't so bad. I don't mind staying in London. Of course
, she reminded herself,
I'll get into even more trouble, since I'll have to explain why I left Gran's and how I got back to London. But it would be worth it.

Molly's heart lightened. She had found a way after all! “Okay.” She nodded. “I wish that you bring me to Tim so that I can talk to him, and I agree I'll stay there.”

“Done.”

T
IM SLIPPED THE OPENING
Stone back into his pocket and became aware of the butterfly tattoo on his arm. It tingled but didn't hurt the way it had before. “I guess my emotions aren't running so high coming here,” Tim surmised. “And magic isn't forbidden to me anymore. That's useful to know.”

He looked around. “I've been here before,” Tim realized. “This is the Faerie market.”

All around him, creatures of every description were hawking a multitude of wares. Colorful booths were set up so that merchants could display their goods; rough wooden tables and benches dotted the center of the market where customers could indulge in grilled meats, delectable pastries, and foamy drinks. Tim knew he could enjoy none of these treats: to eat food in Faerie would trap him there forever. As would
accepting gifts, favors, and any other little tricks these deceptively pretty folk got up to.

“I guess I should have been more specific,” Tim muttered. “Instead of asking to open a door to Faerie, I should have asked the Stone to take me directly to Queen Titania.”
You always have to be so precise when making magic
, Tim thought. It was worse than answering essay questions on Mr. Carstairs' history tests.

Tim decided to stay away from the market, as appealing as it was. It was far too easy to be distracted or tricked there, and then he'd never find the Queen—or the answers he hoped she would provide.

He strolled into a clearing so he could concentrate, in case he wanted to work magic. Paths led in all directions, and it was up to him to decide which way to go. “If I were a queen, where would I be?” Tim said, gazing first one way, then another. He smirked, picturing Titania. “Out wrecking someone's life, most likely.”

He shook his head.
Okay, get serious
, he told himself.
You came here for a reason, so quit stalling
.

The butterfly twinged, and Tim had to face the fact that thinking about seeing Titania filled him with a mixture of dread, anger, and fear. The woman claimed she was his mother. All Tim knew was that she had tried to kill him when he was
born and had tried to either trap him or scream at him the few times he'd seen her since. But he wanted to find out more—about his magical lineage, about how he ended up with William and Mary Hunter, and what role Titania might play in his potentially turning evil and harming Molly. That was the most important question of all.

“Pick a path, any path,” Tim muttered. He shut his eyes, trying to sense Queen Titania.
If she really is my mom, shouldn't I feel some connection?
He snorted a laugh. “Oh yeah, Tim,” he taunted himself. “Lock right on to those major maternal instincts of hers and you'll find her in no time.” The tattoo stung his arm, distracting him.

Plenty of kids feel alienated from their parents
, Tim told himself.
They wonder if they're adopted. Or wish they were, at any rate. At least I'm totally normal on that score
.

The butterfly burned even more as he thought of how he had felt when he still believed Mary and William Hunter were his parents. Of course, he had known William and Mary all of his life. He'd only met Titania and Tamlin a few times. How could he feel connected to people who were little more than strangers? And who, in Titania's case, clearly detested him.

He took a deep breath.
If I keep thinking, I'm
not going to start walking
. He shut his eyes and spun around. When he came to a stop, he opened his eyes and peered at the shady path leading out of the clearing. He stared at it a few moments, having no feeling whatsoever about the direction it led. He shrugged. “This is as good a path as any,” he decided, and set forth.

 

“The boy is here,” Amadan, the Queen's jester, informed Titania.

“I know,” Titania snapped. “I can sense him.” She tossed her long green hair over one shoulder and paced the marble portico behind her castle. “What else does he want to take from me now?” she fumed.

Amadan followed a few feet above her head, his tiny wings beating furiously to keep up with her. When the Queen was angry, she moved quickly. And she was very angry now.

“First Timothy Hunter caused the death of Tamlin,” she declared. “His own father and my beloved! Then he nearly destroyed my esteemed husband, Auberon.”

The flitling landed on a branch that gracefully bowed with the weight of delectable Faerie fruit. “One could also say that Tim saved your kingdom for you, and then returned your husband to you
safe and sound from the mortal world,” Amadan pointed out. “Tamlin's choice was his own.”

“The child was not meant to live,” Titania argued, ignoring Amadan's counterarguments. “I was betrayed by that nurse of yours. She was supposed to have killed him at birth. Obviously, she did not.”

“You should be grateful,” Amadan said, “for the sake of all Faerie. Tamlin brought the boy here and fulfilled the prophecy that a child of his would save this realm. What would have happened if the child had not survived his first few days of life?”

Titania shuddered with irritation.
Why is Amadan pressing this point? Why does he insist on my gratitude to the child who created an irreparable rift between me and Tamlin even before he was born?

A nagging voice in her head told her this was not strictly true. There had been differences between Titania and Tamlin far earlier that had already begun to rend them apart. It hurt too much to think of her own culpability in their separation, so she focused her anger on Tim.

“He should not exist,” she growled.

“His life force is strong,” Amadan observed. “Schemes and battles and the dreaded manticore could not kill him.”

“He does have power,” Titania acknowledged. “Perhaps great power.” She stopped pacing and
crossed her arms over her chest, gazing unseeing across her lands. Her eyes narrowed. “Why is he here?”

Amadan fluttered after her and landed on the low marble wall that ran the length of the portico. “Could he be here to claim rights to the kingdom?” he suggested, peering up at the Queen. “He is your son, and he has saved the lands; he might want a place at court. There is no other heir, as far as we know.”

“Auberon may have something to say about that,” Titania responded tartly. “The line is determined through the father.”

Amadan cocked his head. “Has Auberon changed toward you since discovering your…indiscretion?”

“Not at all,” Titania replied, “much to my surprise.”

Titania had expected dire consequences when she had to admit that she was Tim's mother: furious accusations, scenes, and arguments. But there was a single conversation. Auberon had simply stated, “So you lied. Your child was not stillborn. The child I had thought was mine.”

“That is correct,” Titania had replied. “But when I discovered the child was half human, I gave him to the midwife to be rid of him. I had no idea the child was still living.”

“Why would you think that
this
Timothy Hunter was
that
child?” Auberon asked.

“I didn't. Not when I first met him. It was Tamlin who made me realize the connection.”

“Tamlin told you Timothy was your son?” Auberon asked.

“The child saved Faerie!” Titania snapped in exasperation, wanting the conversation to be over. “Who else could he be? And look at his power!”

That had ended the conversation, and since then Auberon had not said a word. If anything, he seemed amused by Timothy's existence.

She shook her head, perplexed. “Auberon has changed since his time among the Earth folk.”

She knew she was taking a risk confiding in Amadan, but where else could she turn? When Titania had first met the flitling, his sharp features and sharper tongue had been a source of amusement and often strategic counsel. He had a keen eye for what was hidden and was a clever, often wicked, observer of the fancies and foibles of the courtiers. But lately she found his cleverness too acid and his pointy face hard.

This is what I am reduced to
.
Spilling out my concerns to this scheming jester.
She recalled the days when she herself had slipped into the mortal realm seeking solace and escape. It isn't the burden of the glamour-filled Faerie, she suddenly
understood, but the position of ruler that created such distance between her and all others.
Auberon and I should be turning to each other. We are all we have
. Perhaps she could make him see that, if her husband would only stay by her side long enough. As long as Timothy Hunter didn't interfere.

“The delights of Faerie seem only to annoy or weary Auberon,” Titania said wistfully. “This dissatisfaction was already present in him, but it has grown much worse lately.”

“Yes,” Amadan said. “King Auberon has been leaving the realm regularly. Perhaps one day he won't return.”

Titania bent down to glare at Amadan directly. “Shall I have your tongue cut out?”

“No, no,” Amadan said hastily, bowing and scraping on the wall. “I meant no disrespect. Of course Auberon would never seek to leave you. And his disappearance is not an event we would ever hope would come to pass.”

“Remember who is the ruler here, Amadan,” Titania warned.

“If Auberon stays away more than he stays home, wouldn't that ruler be you alone?”

Titania glared at Amadan's too-innocent expression and knew that he had an agenda here. For some reason, he felt he'd benefit if Titania were the sole ruler of Faerie.

The flitling was moving into dangerous territory, but at the moment Titania was not in the mood to challenge him. “You don't understand a woman's heart.” Titania sighed. “I don't want to win the kingdom only to lose the King.”

“Not any more, you mean,” Amadan said. “Since you've lost Tamlin.”

“That is quite enough from you!”
Insolence such as this could not be tolerated.
She raised a hand, ready to remove his mouth or spell him into oblivion.

Amadan fluttered to a nearby tree branch. “We were talking about the boy's motives,” he said hastily. “Until he moves, we will not know. My counsel is to watch and be wary. He may turn out to be an important ally. Or a treacherous enemy.”

Titania nodded slowly
. The boy is either very brave or very foolish coming here
, she thought. Was he testing her strength and power against his own? Or was he simply a boy, wanting to see the woman who claimed to be his mother? She shook her head bitterly.
Mother. Hah!
She could see Tamlin's fiery defiance in Timothy Hunter, yet nothing of herself. All she did see was danger.