N I N E T E E N

BECK HOVERED above the balloon carrier, still parked on the bank of the Wough River. “We might as well sleep. There’s nowhere to look until morning.” She landed and stretched out under the broad leaf of a Never cabbage. Prilla joined her. Tink curled up under a large toadstool.

Prilla was asleep as soon as her eyes closed. Sara Quirtle paddled a canoe through the ocean. Prilla sat on the prow. Mermaid hands appeared on the sides of the canoe and began to pull it under. Sara Quirtle hit the hands with her paddle. Prilla pried a finger away. More hands appeared. The boat capsized. Prilla’s wings took on water. She was drowning!

She sat up. She’d never been in a nightmare before. But if Sara Quirtle was having such a lively nightmare, she was still complete. Prilla fell asleep again, entering calmer Clumsy dreams.

When she was sure the others were sleeping, Tink flew out from under the toadstool. After half an hour she reached the forest above Peter’s underground home. She descended through Peter’s tree and hovered, unseen, her glow lost in the fireplace’s flickering light.

The Lost Boys sprawled on the big bed, watching Peter, who flew above them.

Tink’s wings fluttered in double time. She remembered a hundred scenes just like this one.

“There are many clamshells,” Peter said, holding out a clamshell, “but I chose this one.”

“It is a superior clamshell,” the Lost Boy Slightly said. “I saw that immediately.”

Tink pulled her bangs. Slightly had always irritated her.

“It whispers secrets in my ear.” Peter held it to his ear.

The Lost Boy Tootles said, “Might I listen?”

Peter held it to Tootles’s ear.

“I don’t hear anything, Peter.”

“It speaks only to me. It says the most extraordinary things.”

Tink flew up Peter’s tree and back toward Prilla and Beck. Peter would be more likely to hear the clamshell reciting love songs to him than the other way around. She should have known.

Terence was different. Better.

Inside Rani-bat, Rani gave up screaming and suffered in silence. She couldn’t decide if the worst aspect of the bug banquet was the insects that tasted bad or the insects that tasted good. Spiders were disgusting. Their legs were sharp and hurt going down. She kept expecting to choke to death. Their soft middles were mushy and tasted like putrid cheese. Rani-bat seemed to like the spiders, though. She ate a whole dozen.

Wasps, on the other hand, which you’d expect to be dry and bitter, were sweet and juicy. Rani could have eaten a hundred. Of course, it didn’t matter what she wanted. Either Rani-bat didn’t like them, or they were hard to catch. She ate only two.

Moths reminded Rani of acorn chips. Fireflies were sour. Ladybugs tickled the roof of Rani-bat’s mouth. Midges were bursts of pepper. Yummy or yucky, however, eating bugs was more embarrassing than anything Rani could imagine.

She tried to distract herself with pleasant thoughts, but they all turned unpleasant. She thought of her talent—she’d never use it again. She thought of Soop—she had failed to tell her about the permanence of a wish. She thought of Tink and Prilla—they must miss her dreadfully, and she missed them dreadfully. She thought of Mother Dove, and that was the worst of all. Never again to hear Mother Dove’s coos or be folded into her soft feathers. Why, she might as well dissolve into the bat.

Rani thought that not one Never fairy wand wish had been either sensible or harmless. The only good the quest might have done was to end the flood. She wished she knew it had ended.

That was a harmless wish—just to know—wasn’t it?

She couldn’t tell. She wasn’t sure if wishes were bad or wands were bad, or only sleeping wands, or only irreversible wishes. If she’d had her own head, she’d have had a headache.

Worn out, miserable, drier than wing powder, Rani fell asleep.

In Fairy Haven, Mother Dove yearned to visit every matriarch bat, one after the other, and beg, mother-to-mother, for help. They’d understand. They’d locate the bat that used to be Rani. When Mother Dove had her, she’d find a way, somehow, to change her back.

She’d also fly to Marooners’ Rock and get a message to Soop. She’d persuade her to return the wand. Then she’d fly it to the mainland and make Tutupia reverse each wish.

Instead, she had to stay on the egg, eternally on the egg, while her fairies were in danger.

Shortly before dawn, the golden hawk pecked Beck’s arm. Beck sat up. She woke Tink and Prilla.

“Rani’s bat may have found a home closer to the shore,” she said. “We’ll fly toward the lagoon.”

Along with the rest of her colony, Rani-bat began the flight back to the cherry tree. She’d had a good night. She’d eaten eighty insects in seven categories and had been complimented by her team leader.

Rani woke up and was shocked again when she realized where she was. She noticed how full her bat stomach felt. Ugh!

Soop was facing away from Pah when she awoke. The light in the lagoon never changed much, so she listened to see if it was morning. Yes, mermaid servants were moving about in the kitchen. She sat up and saw Pah.

Memories flooded in. Where was the wand? Ah. She saw saw it, half-hidden by her scarf. She picked it up and settled back into her pillows.

Pah is so pretty, Soop thought. No one else had such fine hair or as long a tail. She loved the trusting way Pah’s hand curled in her sleep. Soop decided she’d reverse the spells as soon as Pah opened her eyes. They’d make up, and then they could play a game of Sirens Sink Ships, if Pah wanted to.

The three fairies and the hawk soared over a stretch of scrubland halfway to the lagoon. As they flew, they observed the destinations of colony after colony of homeward-bound bats. Prilla marveled at how careful the bats were. They stayed within one another’s wingspans, but they never collided and never missed a wing stroke.

Shortly before her colony reached home, Rani-bat and the fairies passed each other, flying not four feet apart.

Even with her terrible bat vision, Rani saw the balloon carrier. Was it her carrier? The one she had gone to the mainland in?

A fairy had to be pulling it, but what she saw looked like two splotches. Another splotch flew nearby. Who were they? Was it a coincidence? Or were the fairies looking for her?

She tried to cry out. Hey! It’s me, Rani! Look! I’m not a bat! She tried so hard she made Rani-bat’s eyes protrude the tiniest bit.

Beck made note of the swarm entering the cherry tree. It was a sizable bunch, worth investigating later. She flew on. Prilla and Tink followed.

A bigger swarm flew into the hollow under a fallen hemlock. Beck made another note. The three of them could spend years bringing water to bats. Years, and they might never find Rani.