18

It started with wells—this business of watery wishes—though it wasn’t always coins that were thrown in them.

Rocks and leaves. Rose petals. Rings of lost loves. Brass buttons and plucked feathers and weapons of your slain enemies still gory with blood. All these had been tossed into springs and bogs and fountains through the ages, often with a wish attached. But coins were the most common, stemming from the completely ludicrous idea that fairies actually took the money and used it for something—a tip, if you will, for services rendered.

Of course human coins were basically worthless, as far as fairies were concerned (unless you were one of those black market collectors who traded them for children’s bloody-stumped teeth—a disgusting enterprise, to say the least, but a lucrative trade as human teeth contained many interesting alchemic properties). Ophelia tried to imagine the look on Verna Tulip Frazzle’s face if she tried to exchange a moldy human penny for a bottle of Frazzle’s Famous Honeysuckle Mead. What am I supposed to do with this? Verna would say, holding up the coin. Make a wish, I guess, Ophelia would reply, and they would both giggle at the thought.

No. Fairies weren’t at all attracted by these circular metal bits with portraits of ugly dead humans scrawled on them. But coins were easy to come by, Ophelia supposed. And at least such a wish did, in fact, cost the maker something. Maybe having to pay for it—even this piddling amount—made them think a little harder about what they wanted before they tossed it into the water.

But probably not.

The fountain at the Town Center Mall was thick with copper and nickel. Either nobody had bothered to come and empty the fountain of its riches in years, or the people around here were desperate and had a lot of spare change. They blended into a kind of background roar. She could probably hear them all if she listened long enough—the murmur of a thousand bygone wishes, some quite faded with age—but it would be like picking one cricket’s chirp out of a forestful. Besides, there was only one wish that mattered, and the sound of Kasarah’s pining far overshadowed the rest, made louder by the magic of the Great Tree’s promise.

Ophelia watched the crowd, waiting for a lull, a perfect opportunity to dart out and do her job. Except the water shooting from the top of the fountain was kind of mesmerizing—the way it frothed over, cascading down the sides, burbling into the bluish pool below. There was something magical about it, above and beyond the actual magic she knew to be there, and Ophelia could see why people passing by might pause and fish in their pockets or purses for a penny to throw. Burble, gurgle, splash, said the water.

I wish, said Kasarah’s coin.

Ophelia shook her head. She needed to focus. She shifted inside her bush, trying not to rustle the leaves. A mother with two kids, both boys aged somewhere between two and ten (Ophelia was admittedly terrible at guessing human ages), handed them both a quarter and pointed at the fountain. The smaller one threw his coin in right away, probably adding the wish after the quarter had already sunk, which unfortunately didn’t count. The other, older boy stood by the side, though, head cocked. You could see him working through the puzzle, weighing the possibilities. What to wish for, what to wish for? He took his time, and though she was impatient to get on with her mission, Ophelia found herself smiling as she watched this kid. He was a planner. Thoughtful and meticulous. She could appreciate that. Finally he dropped his quarter over the side with a satisfying plop.

Ophelia didn’t try to discern his wish from the others, not over the sound of Kasarah’s voice echoing in her head, but she knew that at this very moment, the Great Tree was sprouting another leaf with this boy’s name on it. Part of her hoped his leaf would fall, though she realized just how unlikely that was.

There was a time when a fairy could sneak out, pick up that boy’s coin, sprinkle a little dust, and vanish back into the trees. When fairies roamed the valleys and glades and forests freely, granting any wish they pleased with little worry of running out of magic. But that was ancient history. Ophelia’s world was different. There wasn’t room for error. She had to do her duty. She had to do what was best for her kind.

The mother shooed the two boys toward the entrance and Ophelia scanned the area again. Perimeter temporarily secure. She carefully reached beneath her collar and removed the vial that had been nestled there, the glass warm in her hands. Enough magic for one wish only. Kasarah’s nickel still shone bright amid the sea of shimmering coins.

Ophelia darted out of the bushes and flittered up to the edge of the stone fountain. The water was deep, nearly half as tall as her. No danger of drowning, but there was no way she was staying dry either, which meant an even colder journey home. It was too late to take her flight suit off. She was here; this was her moment. Grab the coin. Sprinkle the dust. Say the words.

She plugged her nose with one hand, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped off the stone edge.

But instead of hitting water, she was suddenly flying instead.