33

The whisper seemed to follow a straight path, at least. And so did they, Ophelia pointing and Sam doing his best to keep up a steady pace as they tromped through the wildflowers on the side of the road. The houses aged the farther they went, paint-peeled fences and long, gravel driveways and yards full of trees thick enough for a huddle of fairies to live in. They were heading south, judging by the setting sun, in the general direction of the Haven at least.

She could hardly feel her left wing anymore—it had gone numb—but she could still sense it there, practically useless. It made her feel lopsided, even just sitting here, bouncing on Sam’s back. A broken, filthy fairy riding a homeless, smelly dog chasing after a wish they would probably never catch for a girl she didn’t even know.

It couldn’t possibly get any worse.

And yet Sam still wagged his tail as he walked, as if he sensed something that Ophelia with her magically attuned fairy brain could only guess at, and before long she realized they were actually gaining on the wish. Kasarah’s whisper seemed to grow stronger with every step, and Ophelia began to hope that it was no longer on the move. Perhaps the man in the striped shirt had stopped somewhere for good. She imagined him standing in the bedroom of one of these creaking old houses, emptying the contents of his pockets onto his dresser, perhaps giving Kasarah’s nickel a lucky spin before leaving it there for some sneaky creature to filch. She peered down every driveway, hoping to spot the white turtle at rest, trotting for another mile or more, passing house after house. C’mon, coin, where are you hiding now?

Suddenly Ophelia’s ears rattled with a volley of barking. She had to hold on even tighter as Sam began to cavort in circles. “I see it. I see it. I see it.”

She looked up the road at the car just cresting a hill.

“Is that it?” Sam asked excitedly. “I think that’s it. Is that it?”

The white box, rolling quickly toward them. It certainly looked like the right car. The driver had one hand on the wheel and another wrapped around a blue cup, but she recognized the striped shirt. It was him, the paper-club-wielding nickel hoarder. Coming straight at them.

Ophelia knew she had to stop that car, but how? She couldn’t risk riding Sam into the middle of the road, straight into its path. What if the man didn’t see them? The car was going much too fast for her to grab hold of, not without flying to keep pace. Should she pull out her knife and lunge for a tire as it passed? What if the car veered out of control and ran off the road? She sat upright on Sam’s back, paralyzed, desperately trying to come up with a plan.

The car shot past, the man in the striped shirt not even giving the dog by the side of the road a second glance.

Sam continued to bark. “Was that it? I think that was it!”

“That was it,” Ophelia croaked, blinking in the dust kicked up by the car’s tires.

“Oh. Oh. Okay. So do we go after it? What do we do? Ophelia?”

Ophelia didn’t answer. She was staring after the car, head cocked, eyes asquint, listening.

“Chase?” Sam nudged again.

“Quiet,” she told him.

The car was speeding away, now just a white speck on the black road.

Except the whisper of the wish wasn’t fading. In fact, it was just as strong as before. The same steady pining for a purple bike, coming from the other direction.

“He doesn’t have it,” Ophelia whispered. She smiled and leaned close to Sam’s ear. “The coin. He doesn’t have it anymore.”

“Oh, good.” Sam sighed. “Because I do not think I could have chased that car. It looked even faster than the bird.”

The man in the striped shirt had obviously passed the coin on to someone else. Someone nearby. Ophelia felt a surge of excitement. “That way,” she ordered, pointing again. “We are close now, Sam. I can feel it.”

Sam took off, his feet scrabbling on the loose gravel along the roadside, Ophelia holding on as tight as she could.

It was only a matter of ticks before they saw the sign that told her she’d come to the right place.