SIX

THE WATER ball dissolved into a puddle the instant Prilla touched it.

She looked up at Rani, her eyes full of tears. Rani drew the puddle up and dumped it into the tub without leaving a drop on the floor. She was crying too. Tink was more irritated than ever. Now two fairies needed fixing.

But Rani brightened. “Tink, did you take Prilla to meet Mother Dove?”

“No.”

Prilla knew who Mother Dove was. Knowing was part of being a Never fairy.

“Oh, Tink. She’ll know what Prilla’s talent is.”

Mother Dove understood fairies better than fairies understood themselves.

“Prilla,” Rani added, her face shining, “I can’t wait for you to meet Mother Dove.”

Tink said, “We’ll go now.”

Prilla saw that Tink was smiling again, looking unTinkishly happy.

Tink and Prilla flew out the tree-bark–side kitchen door.

Outside, the wind was sharp. They didn’t know it, but the wind was coming from a hurricane that was chasing Never Land up and down the ocean.

As she flew, Prilla worried that Mother Dove wouldn’t love her. She was the first fairy not to know what her talent was, maybe the first not to have a talent. What if she was the first fairy Mother Dove didn’t love? What if she was the first fairy Mother Dove hated?

Prilla flew toward a Clumsy boy who was burying his teddy bear in his mainland backyard. She tweaked the boy’s ear and flew on after Tink.

Tink felt proud to be bringing Prilla to Mother Dove. The wanded fairies had their wands. The spell fairies had their spells, and the shimmerers had their shimmers. But the Never fairies had Mother Dove, and Tink wouldn’t have changed places with the others for anything.

After half an hour of flying against the wind, Tink and Prilla finally reached Mother Dove’s hawthorn tree.

Tink stopped and hovered a few feet above the nest to let Prilla see Mother Dove before meeting her. This was uncommonly kind of Tink. If both events had happened at once, Prilla would have been too excited to form a clear memory. She wouldn’t have been able to think, in the time to come, This was when I saw her; this was when our eyes met; this was when she spoke.

Mother Dove cooperated. She was aware of Tink and Prilla, but she didn’t look up. Give the child a chance to collect herself, she thought.

And how was it for Prilla or any fairy to see Mother Dove for the first time?

Picture a cottage. Your cottage might have a thatched roof. Mine might have a blue door with a brass knocker. The walls of yours might be a soft gray with pink trim. Daisies might bloom by the open door. A golden light might twinkle out.

You see the cottage and recognize that it’s exactly what you’ve always wanted, although a moment earlier you had no idea.

That’s how Mother Dove was for fairies. More than the Home Tree, more than Fairy Haven, she was their home.

Prilla sighed, completely satisfied.

Tink started down to the nest. Prilla followed. Please love me, she thought. Mother Dove, please love me. Please know what my talent is. Please. Please.

Tink landed on the edge of the nest, but Prilla was afraid to come so close. She hovered almost a foot away.

Mother Dove smiled at Prilla. Mother Dove’s eyes smiled too, and her neck feathers stood out with pleasure. She cooed a string of coos, happy musical gurgles. She saw how sweet and merry and smart and acrobatic Prilla was.

Prilla smiled blissfully at Mother Dove.

Beck, the animal-talent fairy who took care of Mother Dove, smiled too. She loved to see Mother Dove’s effect on new fairies.

“You’re Prilla, aren’t you?” Mother Dove said. “Prilla.” She peeped the p and rolled the r and ls. “You’ve come where you belong, Prilla. I’m glad as can be that you’re here.”