CHAPTER FOUR

 

A

irily woke in a cold sweat. The few hours of sleep she’d gotten were filled with dreams of endless climbing.

The events of last night replayed in her mind. When she’d snuck back into the house after making it to the roof, no one had been awake. She’d climbed back down the main shaft to the kitchen. For a long time, Airily had stood, staring at the open door under the cupboards. Sweat drenched her body, soaked into her clothes, and trickled down her back. She had two options—shut the doors or go upstairs and tell Poppa everything that happened.

That had decided it. Gathering her last shred of courage, Airily had run into the under-cabinet, found the door she’d left ajar, and yanked it shut. She couldn’t even remember getting back up the ladder and going to sleep.

Rolling over, Airily glanced at the wristwatch hanging on the wall. Her eyes flew open. One o’clock already! Airily jumped out of bed. She’d never slept that long. Why hadn’t someone woken her? She looked for Fluppence, who was a late riser, but even she was awake and out somewhere.

A clink of dishes came from the kitchen, but nothing else. Most likely, Witter was doing chores. Poppa was probably out collecting—the Andersons restocked their squirrel and bird feeders on Saturdays. Fluppence would be around as well, not too far from the house.

Airily had gone to bed in her clothes. They were dirty, stiff with dust and pungent with sweat. She felt gross. Airily snuck out of her bedroom and dashed for the bathroom. She needed to clean up and change clothes before anyone noticed she wasn’t in the pajamas she’d gone to bed in.

She lingered under the shower spray, grateful for hot, running water which soothed her aching arms and legs. She stretched her wings to keep them away from the water so that they’d be ready for flight. Wet wings made flying hard.

She wished she could stay in the shower forever, but she had to find out what the consequences of last night were eventually. With a gloomy sigh, Airily shut off the water.

Airily crept into the kitchen. Witter was cleaning up, sweeping the crumbs from under the table with a fluffy milkweed broom.

“Afternoon,” he said, shooting her a sharp look.

“What?” Airily glared back as she searched for food. There was a dry seedcake left over from dinner in a cast-off baby food jar.

“You slept late.”

“I know. I can read a clock,” Airily said. She took the cap off the jar and gave the seedcake a sniff. It smelled fine, so she picked it up and took a huge bite. Her stomach rumbled,
relieved to have food again.

“Poppa’s checking bird feeders and Fluppence is moping on the roof.” Witter put the last of the clean utensils away.

“Why moping?” Airily asked around a mouthful of food.

Witter shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about The Daily Whoot and that kid, Josh, being in her favorite spot. He’s up in the cherry tree with a pair of binoculars. Poppa is pretty upset too.”

Airily went cold.

“I guess the kid is a bird watcher,” Witter added. “Poppa will figure out what to do.”

Josh wasn’t watching for birds. She knew what Poppa, Flup, and Witter didn’t. He was looking for her.

With her mouth dry, Airily tried to swallow the seedcake. She forced it down and put the rest of it back in the jar.

“Hey, gross! Don’t take a bite and put it back.”

Ignoring him, Airily bolted.

“I’ll tell Poppa on you,” Witter shouted from the kitchen.

She ran down the hall to the fake nest and burst outside. Her wings caught the air, and she flapped hard, gaining
altitude quickly.

From up high, Fluppence was but a small, brown speck on the roof. Josh’s faint, broken outline was visible through the tree branches. As Airily watched, he shifted and a glint of reflected sunlight blinded her. Binoculars.

He was watching her. Airily could feel his eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin.

She darted to the other side of the roof and dropped low, circling to land.

She’d been hovering. Sparrows—real ones—didn’t hover. Had he noticed that too? Even through binoculars, the glamour worked. But he was already suspicious; otherwise, he wouldn’t be perched in a tree.

Airily tripped as she landed, her face raking against the rough shingles.

“Are you okay?” Fluppence called from beside one of the chimneys.

Airily picked herself up, too preoccupied to care. Her
elbows and chin were scraped raw.

Fluppence hopped over. “You don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine,” Airily said.

Flup frowned, obviously unconvinced.

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Airily added.

“That kid, Josh, has been in the tree all day. He was there when I got up anyway, and now I can’t read The Daily Whoot,” Fluppence said.

“You could read it inside,” Airily said absentmindedly.

“It’s not the same. I like to read in the cherry tree. When I left it out for Poppa, the headline read: Several Dead Birds Discovered!”

Several? That meant Burn wasn’t the only local fae to find a corpse. Airily shivered. Owlby must’ve worked overnight to get the news out in such a short time. He was often
scrambling for paper and supplies, so The Daily Whoot wasn’t really daily. But he always came through when something
important happened.

Fluppence rattled on, but Airily wasn’t listening. Instead, a plan was forming.

“Let’s go visit Owlby,” Airily suggested loudly, cutting off whatever Fluppence had been saying.

“What? Really?” Fluppence grinned, her round face looking hopeful.

Poppa had insisted Fluppence wasn’t to visit Owlby until the humans settled into a routine unless either Poppa or
Airily could go with her as an extra pair of eyes. Fluppence hadn’t been too happy about it, but Poppa promised it wasn’t forever.

“Sure,” Airily said.

Fluppence launched into the air and flew over the roof. Airily followed, easily catching up to her eager sister.

Airily observed Josh shift in the tree, tracking her
overhead flight before turning back to the House. She kept watch over her shoulder until Josh couldn’t be seen anymore. He hadn’t paid her, or Fluppence, any more attention than he would a passing cloud.

Airily tried to formulate her plan to get Owlby’s help as they flew. She wondered if he had enough magic to do so and hated that she had to ask in the first place. Lost in thought, Airily wove her way through the trees and branches of the wood.

“Airily, look!”

She’d lost sight of Fluppence. Airily circled a pine tree and turned back. Fluppence was perched on a moss-covered log. She pointed a shaking finger at the forest floor, her normally ruddy face, moon-pale.

Glossy black feathers shone in the patchy sunlight, filtering through the leaves above.

A dead crow lay on the ground, torn apart. Blood spattered the ground, and drifts of feathers were stuck to the stained grass. Flies buzzed over the carcass. The poor crow was in four pieces; head and wings separated from the body. Airily’s stomach lurched, but she clamped her jaw shut.

“It’s got to be rabies,” Fluppence said, voice quivering. “Nothing but a diseased animal would do this.” She edged closer to Airily and latched onto her arm.

The memory of the swaying tree branches from last night rose in Airily’s mind. She shivered, and Fluppence clung harder. The crow had been killed recently, maybe even last night.

Had she really seen something in the trees? She thought her eyes might’ve played tricks on her but maybe not. The dead bird couldn’t be a coincidence.

The woods seemed the same; tall pines mixed with maple, oak, crabapples, and cedars. But something felt different.

No birds Airily realized. There was no birdsong in the woods.

She patted Fluppence’s shoulder. “Maybe I should take you home.”

“No. I’m fine,” Fluppence said. “It’s just, what if it’s a bobcat? Or a rabid dog? Or a rabid bobcat.”

“All the more reason you should go back,” Airily told her.

“But Owlby has my book…I’m not going back. Besides, the mocking birds haven’t reported anything, have they? They’re the worst gossips in the woods.”

Airily cocked her head and listened hard for any hint of a predator. She didn’t like the unnatural silence. Airily needed to see Owlby, and Flup insisted on going with her.

Alright,” Airily said. “But let’s stay well above the trees. And keep an eye out for hawks.”

Fluppence soared through the leafy roof until she disappeared from Airily’s view. Instant and deep regret clutched her chest; she should’ve made Fluppence go home.

 

 

The huge trunk of Owlby’s oak tree leaned into the fence of a scrap metal and wrecking yard. It was a jumble of rusting cars, antique tractors, and shredded piles of twisted steel, copper, and aluminum.

Airily and Fluppence landed on a thick branch that drooped almost to the ground. Where the branch met the trunk of the tree looked hollow. A strong glamour spell
disguised Owlby’s front door.

Fluppence hopped to the false hollow and knocked.

Unnerved by the dead bird, Airily kept her back to
Fluppence and watched the woods, reassured by the sound of birdsong and chattering squirrels.

“I hope he’s not too busy,” Fluppence said. “I want to read that book I found.”

“I’m sure he isn’t,” Airily said. The book would keep Fluppence busy while Airily talked to Owlby in private.

The dark hollow’s glamour dissolved, replaced by an arched door. The door opened, and Owlby poked out his head.

“Who?” His huge, yellow eyes blinked in the sunlight. Owlby looked young, his animated face unlined. Grey, brown, and white hair stuck up in two tufts on either side of his head, giving away his bird heritage—a Great Horned Owl.

He stared over their heads, trying to spot who had knocked.

Fluppence giggled and Owlby looked down. He smiled at them.

“Well, hello, Fluppence and Airily. What brings you two here?” he asked.

“Hi, Owlby. Can I read my book?” Fluppence asked.

“Of course. Come in. Will you be staying, too, Airily?”

“If you don’t mind. Also, I have news,” she said, dropping her voice to a low murmur. She didn’t want to remind Fluppence of the dead crow.

Owlby nodded eagerly and stepped aside.

Crossing the threshold into Owlby’s home always made Airily’s skin tingle. The inside of the tree was huge; it came furnished with rugs, sofas and chairs, woven baskets in a dozen shapes and colors, and kerosene lamps, all of them just his size. Even the old-fashioned printing press with movable type was perfectly scaled to Owlby.

All of it was accomplished with strong Fair Folk magic—the kind the sparrow fairies lost generations ago. But at Owlby’s house, Airily felt as though she could reach out and touch the magic if she only knew how. Once in a while, she tried, but it always slipped away.

Owlby pointed Fluppence to a curving staircase. “Your book is in the library.”

At the top of the stairs, five flights up was a round room with walls entirely made of bookshelves that soared another story high. Amazingly, Fluppence had read Owlby’s
extensive collection, or at least the books he was willing to let others read.

An eager grin lit Fluppence’s face and she flew upstairs, excited to read even that water-damaged discard. Airily was glad to see her sister’s anxiety over the corpse in the woods fade.

When Fluppence was gone, Owlby turned his keen,
yellow eyes on Airily.

“What do you have to tell me?” he asked. Almost every sentence he uttered was a question.

Airily checked the living room, as if a spy might jump out from behind the worn sofa. “Can we talk in private?”

Owlby blinked one eye, then the other. “Of course.”

He headed for the staircase and gestured for her to
follow. Instead of going up, they went down until they reached Owlby’s office. It was a small room, just big enough for a desk and two chairs. More bookshelves lined the walls, holding his private collection. Airily felt a stronger tingle of magic, and goose bumps broke out all over her body. She shivered.

“Have a seat.” Owlby took the chair behind the desk. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a stubby yellow pencil and a spiral notebook. Despite the difficulty, he made sure he
always had paper and pencil to get interviews and take down notes.

“So, what’s this news?”

She hopped onto the other chair but remained standing. It was the only way she could see over the top of his desk.

“There was another dead bird in the woods by our house. Fluppence and I found it on the way here. It’d been torn apart.”

“Kind?”

“A crow.”

A frown creased Owlby’s face, and his brow wrinkled as he wrote his notes.

“What time did you come across it?”

“Um, two or so. Maybe a little earlier.”

“Any idea what time it died?”

“Last night, I think. Only…” Airily’s feathers fluffed with anxiety. Her fingers knotted together, worrying a vest
button.

“Yes?”

“I need your help, Mr. Owlby.”

He laughed. “Mr. Owlby? Just ask, Airily. I’m happy to listen.”

“Can you, maybe, not write this down?”

Again, his eyes blinked out of sync and he hesitated.

“It’s not news,” she assured him. “It’s personal.”

He hung onto the pencil and pad of paper for a whole
minute before reluctantly setting them aside.

“Alright,” Owlby said. He sounded sad but gave her his full attention.

“You know people moved into our house, right?”

Owlby nodded.

Airily told him everything—starting with the new family and going downstairs when she’d been told not to. As her story went on, Owlby leaned farther over the desk, intent on every word. He glanced at his pencil several times, and Airily could tell he was itching to write down her tale even if it wasn’t fodder for The Daily Whoot.

She told him about the shadow in the trees and tried to put into words her half-formed suspicions. Owlby’s head bobbed at her information and his eyes narrowed. When
Airily reached the end of her story, she waited for Owlby to say something. He stared blankly at the desk. The silence stretched on.

At last, he said, “There’s been a change in the woods lately. Have you felt it?”

“Yes.” Airily thought back to the unnatural silence around the crow’s murder site. “At first I thought it was just me
imagining things, but it’s not, is it?”

“No one has seen or smelled anything. I went to Burn, Grandfather Coyote, those hyperactive foxes, and nothing.”

“But if no one else has seen anything, aren’t we the ones imagining things?”

“No,” Owlby said. He looked at her, eyes blinking off-time. “The dead birds aren’t happening by accident, disease, or known predator. Everyone in the woods would notice a new cat or a rabid animal. This thing is hiding its presence, and figments of the imagination can’t hide. Therefore, by
going unnoticed, whoever-it-is has declared themselves loud and clear.”

Airily cocked her head. It made sense. Sort of. But it still didn’t help them figure out what was out there.

“I need to ask you for help, too,” Airily said.

“Your young human, Josh?”

Airily blushed. “I need him to forget he ever saw me.”

“I can come up with something,” Owlby said with a nod. “But it’s going to cost.”

“I know,” Airily said. She would owe him a favor. “If it’s something I can do, then sure.” Wicked fae were said to charge favors that were impossible to keep, so whoever they bargained with would die trying. Owlby certainly wouldn’t do that to her. Airily just hated owing anyone, anything.

“Don’t look so sour. I’m not going to ask you for a dragon’s tooth.” Owlby smiled. “I can make a forgetting
potion for you. If you slip the potion into the young man’s food, he’ll fail to remember the night entirely. But you must give him the potion within the week, and you can never let him see you again or the memories will come back.”

“So, what do you want for the potion?”

“I’m not sure what I want yet,” Owlby said. “How about three medium-sized favors to be named later?”

“Why doesn’t anyone ever know what they want?” Airily groaned.

Owlby squinted at her. “You’re right. I’ll narrow it down. I want a story, something collected, and the library needs dusting. Does that help?”

“Alright,” Airily agreed. All three were things she could do. She hopped along the chair’s springy cushion and stood at the edge, reaching for Owlby’s outstretched hand.

“Let’s go make that potion!” Owlby grinned.

 

 

Owlby offered to escort them home, and Fluppence agreed. Airily’s pride made her want to refuse, but she was grateful for the owl’s presence.

The sun had nearly set when they left. Airily looked at the dark forest and insisted they fly above the tree line, so they stayed in the fading gold sunlight. Owlby’s flight was
completely silent; his specialized feathers dampened the sound of his wing beats. Airily became aware of how noisy she and Fluppence were.

Every few minutes, Airily touched the buttoned inner pocket of her vest where she’d stowed the glass vial of forgetting potion. By the time the House came into view, the sky had darkened to indigo. Airily told the other two to hang back while she flew around the cherry tree, making sure Josh had gone inside.

Owlby landed on the roof and waited until Fluppence and Airily went inside.

“Where have you two been?” Poppa called from the main room.

Airily and Fluppence hurried down the hall.

“Owlby’s,” Airily said. “Sorry it’s so late.”

Poppa perched on the bench at the dinner table. He scowled over the top of The Daily Whoot.

“Normally, I don’t worry, but with the attacks in the woods, I don’t like it,” he said.

Fluppence glanced at Airily, eyebrows raised in question. Airily gave a short, curt shake of the head. If Poppa knew they’d found a dead bird and went to Owlby’s anyway, they’d get in real trouble. She swallowed a lump in her throat and tried not to look as guilty as she felt.

“No more Owlby’s, not even together. No more going into the woods, period,” Poppa said.

Airily and Fluppence nodded. “Yes, Poppa.”

“That was way too quick.” His narrowed eyes lingered on Airily.

“What’s for dinner?” Airily asked with a forced smile.

“Leftovers,” Poppa said. “And there isn’t much of that. We may need to crack open the canning.”

“Didn’t the Andersons fill their feeders?” Fluppence asked.

Poppa ran a hand through his spiky bangs, primping them up. “No. I think they’ve gone on vacation. I asked the mocking birds, and they haven’t seen the Anderson’s car in a week.”

“Well, the Leonetti’s garden–”

“Is picked clean,” Poppa finished. “The summer crops are gone. There won’t be any more 'til fall.”

“We’ll get by,” Airily said, without much conviction.

A grim smile twisted Poppa’s mouth. “Don’t worry. You’re going to get your wish, Airily.”

“My wish?”

“We’ll go collecting in the kitchen tomorrow night.”

Her hand clenched around the potion in her pocket. She should be excited, but she was terrified. Airily forced a grin—otherwise, Poppa would be suspicious.

Before she had time to say anything, Fluppence came to her rescue.

“Maybe they have cookbooks. Can I come?”

“No,” Poppa told her. “But I’ll start training you and Witter for House collecting in a month or two.”

Fluppence gave a little cheer.

“Witter! Time for dinner,” Poppa called to the back of the apartment. He stepped off his perch. “So, will it be pickled watermelon rind tonight or pickled peaches?”

“Peaches,” Witter yelled from his bedroom.