I wish I could tell Molly all of what’s going on. But how can I? I can’t exactly say “Sorry, Moll, but I’ve been kind of busy being attacked by weird and not always human strangers and finding out my dad’s not my dad but actually this bird guy, and, oh yes, there was that little bit there where I nearly died but saved all of Faerie.
Still, she’s the one I usually tell everything to—everything I can, that is. The other stuff, well, that’s between me and you. Oh man! Now I’m talking to a bloody journal!
Anyway.
She was really great when I went to her with that big news—the dad-not-being-my-dad part. Only what I haven’t told her about is the magic. And that’s the biggest whammy of them all. So while she knows that my mother was pregnant when she married Dad—I mean, Mr. Hunter—she doesn’t know that my real father was a guy who could turn into a bird. Or that I’ve been back and forth between worlds, visiting the land of Faerie, where my real father lives.
Tim looked down at his journal and bit the end of his pencil. He scratched out the last word he’d written and replaced it with “lived.”
He sat back hard against his desk chair and shut his eyes behind his glasses. “It’s not fair,” he murmured. “In fact, it bloody well rots.”
Tim hadn’t simply visited Faerie that last time—he had actually saved the entire alternate world from the grip of the evil creature known as the manticore. It was in performing that little act of heroism that he’d gotten himself killed, although thanks to some magic bargaining, it was Tamlin who wound up permanently dead.
Tamlin, the Queen’s Falconer, who also happened to be Tim’s real father, had sacrificed his life so Tim could live, performing a spell that allowed him to trade places with Tim, who was near death. It meant Tim would never get any answers to the enormous questions that pounded in his brain. It made everything so confusing.
But Tim was also intensely grateful. He knew he would be dead right now if it hadn’t been for what Tamlin had done.
How am I ever going to sort things out? Tim wondered. Like, how did he ever meet my mum?
It was awfully difficult for Tim to picture his mother and Tamlin together. Tim didn’t imagine that they’d met at some sort of singles gathering, like groups had at the community center. Not likely that there would have been a special “humans and birds” night. That brought up another question: Did his mum even know that she had gotten herself pregnant by a guy who spent part of his time as a hawk and lived full-time in Faerie?
There were no answers. Only more questions. And the fact that Tim had recently discovered that he had the potential to become the most powerful magician of his time didn’t help. After that, all bloody hell had broken loose: He’d been attacked, admired, confused, and amazed in an extremely compressed amount of time.
If Tamlin were still here, he could help me understand my magic, Tim thought wistfully. That’s kind of what a dad does, isn’t it? Helps you figure out who you are and how to be in the world.
Tim snorted. Not that I would know what a dad does. He cocked his head, listening. Yup, the telly was still blaring downstairs. That was how the bloke he previously believed was his father—Mr. Hunter—spent most of his time, since the car accident that had killed Tim’s mum and taken one of his father’s arms.
“Magic.” Tim stood up and paced his small room. If only he understood his powers better. Or understood what it really meant to have all this potential. And while I’m making wishes, Tim thought, it would be really great if the whole world wasn’t out to get me. It wasn’t just the magical world that was fraught with danger and enemies—his teachers seemed to be on his case constantly these days, too.
He shut his journal and pulled his algebra test from his backpack. “Maybe I have been a little distracted,” he muttered, glaring at the bright red C–at the top of the page. “But who could blame me?” He didn’t think a single other bloke in school was dealing with quite as much as he was. Maybe he should spill it all to Molly. He could use an ally.
Okay. Maybe he’d risk it—surely she’d understand. He grabbed a jacket and bounded down the stairs. Knowing he was going to finally have someone to talk to about this whole magic thing gave him energy to spare. So what if he didn’t have any idea what words to use to convince Molly he wasn’t completely mad. Whatever he said, he knew Molly would listen. And if she decided he was a loon after all, well, then, she wasn’t the kind of friend he thought she was in the first place.
“I’m going out, Dad,” Tim called as he passed the dark living room.
His dad gazed at the flickering light on the TV screen. “You’re missing a good one, Tim,” his dad said without looking up. “Come watch this girl dance.”
Mr. Hunter liked those big movie musicals from the old days—the ones filled with pretty girls kicking their legs in unison or tap-dancing on pianos or some such.
“No thanks, Dad,” Tim said.
Mr. Hunter finally glanced up and gave Tim a small smile. Not too long ago, he had confirmed Tim’s suspicions, admitting that Tim’s mother had already been pregnant by another man when she and Mr. Hunter had married. Since then, Mr. Hunter had been a lot more tentative around Tim. Gentle, almost. He was certainly paying more attention. Tim hadn’t decided yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Good for you, then,” Mr. Hunter said. “Good to see you out and about.”
“That’s me, social butterfly,” Tim said. “See you.”
He left the house and headed for Molly’s, sprinting all the way. He rang the doorbell and bounced a little on his toes. He felt nervous about what he was about to do. It wasn’t as if the Trenchcoat Brigade—the four blokes who had introduced him to magic in the first place—had told him it was a super secret or anything. But he knew it wasn’t the kind of thing a chap ought to spread around.
Molly can keep a secret, he reminded himself. All I have to do is convince her that it’s true. That this whole magic thing isn’t a psycho reaction to finding out I’m not my dad’s son.
Molly opened the door with her coat on. “Hey, Tim. Want to go to the library?”
“The library?” Tim repeated. “On a Saturday?”
A tall, chubby girl stood behind Molly. She was also wearing a coat. “I’m Becca, Molly’s cousin. I’m driving her to the big library downtown.”
“Oh.” Tim shifted from foot to foot on the doorstep. This wasn’t what he’d planned at all.
“I’m going to go find those keys, then we’ll head out,” Becca told Molly. She disappeared back into the kitchen.
“So do you want to come?” Molly asked.
“Nah,” Tim said. “Why are you going to the downtown library? There’s one right close by.”
“The little one here is so ratty,” Molly complained. “All the books have stains and the pages are falling out. And the books I wanted were already checked out at school.”
“What are you working on?” Tim asked, wondering if there was some school assignment he had totally spaced on.
“My paper for history,” she replied. “We’re studying the Industrial Revolution. I’m going to write about child labor laws.”
Tim nodded, grateful that he was in a different history section from Molly and hadn’t been assigned a paper yet.
“Hey, what’s your theory about the missing kids?” Molly asked.
“The what?” Tim asked. “What missing kids?”
Molly’s brown eyes grew wide. “How could you have missed it? Everyone at school was talking about it.” Then her expression grew concerned. “I suppose you’ve had a lot on your mind.” Molly knew that Tim was still reeling from having discovered who his father was.
“Kind of,” Tim admitted.
“Still, I’m surprised you haven’t heard it on the telly or the radio.”
“Dad doesn’t like the news. He prefers his old movies. All black-and-white for him.” Tim sighed. That summed up his dad, all right. Mr. Hunter lived in a black-and-white world. Tim had the feeling that Tamlin, his real father, had been fully technicolor.
“Well, some kids vanished from a town not too far from here,” Molly explained, “all at once. No one knows what to make of it.”
“Sounds weird.”
Molly nodded. “It’s like one of those unsolved mysteries on TV.”
The door opened. “Come on, let’s go,” Becca said. “You coming?” she asked Tim.
Tim shook his head. He didn’t feel like tagging along with Molly just to go to a library where they’d have to be quiet. And Molly would want to study. For some reason she liked school.
What a letdown. Tim felt like a balloon losing its air. He had geared himself up to share this huge secret with Molly, got himself brave enough to do it, had charged over here, and now…nothing. He’d have to either give up on telling her or go through the whole process of revving himself up all over again.
Molly must have noticed his expression. “Don’t look so glum,” she scolded with a teasing smile. “Things could be worse. You could be living back when you’d have to work in some factory like these kids I’m writing about. They’d work eleven-, twelve-hour days and be grateful for a crust of bread and a few pennies.”
“Come on, if we’re going,” Becca barked at Molly. “I’ve got work to do myself.”
“See you later, Tim,” Molly said.
“Okay.”
Tim watched them climb into Becca’s beat-up old car, uncertain of what to do. Should he go back home again? He didn’t feel like being cooped up. Preparing himself to tell Molly about being magic had pumped up his adrenaline, and now he had all this excess energy to get rid of. Maybe he should go home and grab his skateboard. Yeah, that would be good. The air was dry for a change, no snow in sight. Good boarding weather.
He thought about what Molly had said—about being glad to be living today rather than in the past. But he kind of wished he did live in the past. Oh, not too long ago, not in the days of gas lighting and horse-drawn carriages or anything. But in the time before he stepped into magic and his whole world changed. Could it only have been a few weeks ago?
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned to go home. He had taken only a few steps when something made him stop short on the pavement. The air shimmered in front of him.
Titania, Queen of Faerie, materialized before him. And she didn’t look happy.