NOTHING IS EASY. I should know that by now. The apartment was huge. It was a royal apartment, but, seriously, Napoleon III had a palace inside the palace. I couldn’t imagine any human actually living there. It almost seemed like it was designed to be a museum, not a place to really live in.
So far Dad and I had gone through the royal bedroom, some antechamber/halls, two dining rooms, and had finally ended up in the living room, if you could really call it that. Each chandelier was bigger than Tess’s bathroom and had so many red upholstered chairs in it, I began to wonder how big Napoleon’s family was. I’d never seen so much gilt, red velvet, vases, and potted palms in my whole life. It was all beautiful, but somehow oppressive and demanding. As if the weight of being king lay in his very rooms. If that was what it felt like to be royalty, I’d pass.
The one thing we didn’t find was fairies. Not a single one, winged or unwinged. Dad and I both thought there would be guards, servants, somebody bustling around to serve the king and his family. Instead the rooms contained only humans and not many of those.
A bead of sweat ran down my side. I didn’t like it. Where was everyone? I supposed Camille could be wrong and the king didn’t live here. He seemed to think it was a secret, but how could a king govern when no one could find him? It didn’t make sense, but it was the only lead we had.
We hovered over a grand piano and I wished I’d thought to take my drinking flask out of the bag. I really could’ve used a dose of Lucrece’s tea. My leg ached and had swollen up so much that the boot had gotten very tight and uncomfortable.
“Are you alright?” asked Dad.
“Fine. This search sucks.”
“Definitely less successful than I would’ve hoped.”
“Only one room left. If they’re not in the throne room, we’ll have to start from scratch.” I started for the door, but found Dad wasn’t beside me. He stayed over the piano with a creased forehead.
“What?” I asked, flying back.
“Did you mean what you said about Penrose? Is it really days that she has left?” he asked.
“Unless Marie gets ahold of Lucien and he has something up his sleeve.”
Dad put his hand over his mouth and I thought he would start crying.
“Dad, it’s not over. I’ll never stop fighting for her.”
That’s when Dad’s eyes filled. “I know you won’t. You never stop trying. You never have, even when you were little.”
“Then don’t look so sad. We can do it.”
“If you had enough time, I absolutely know you would find a way, but you have to realize that this time…this time it might not work out. I want you to be prepared.”
“It hasn’t worked out before and I handled it okay.”
“You mean your leg. I’m sorry about that. I wish I could fix it.”
“You and Mom think it’s all about the leg. It’s not. I got injured. I’m not happy about it, but it was a battle. I made a mistake and I payed for it. Lots of other fairies paid a price a lot higher than mine. But I handled it. They’re dead. It’s my fault.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“There’s no other way to feel. It is what it is.”
Dad looked, I don’t know, disappointed. I don’t know what there was to be disappointed about. If he was waiting for me to break down and cry, it wasn’t going to happen. I’d done my crying when Grandma Vi told me to. “Save the crying for when there’s nothing to be done,” she said. And just then there was plenty to do.
“Let’s go,” I said. “That throne room won’t search itself.”
Dad nodded. Maybe he didn’t trust himself to speak. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear whatever it was that he was thinking. It didn’t look good.
We flew out of the room, gliding around gilded chairs and awestruck humans. The throne room wasn’t as over-the-top as the rest of the apartment. It was almost spartan in comparison. We hovered by the door. Two human families stood in clusters in front of the throne, a blocky-looking chair with a circle back, blue embroidered cushions and, yes, more gilding. Flanking the throne were two vases. They were the vases to end all vases, ten feet at least. What were you supposed to put in there? Trees? It was so odd. Would the king rule here? It wasn’t much to look at. My hand tightened around the sword grip and began to sweat. It felt bad, but no one was there. No one that I could see. We should go around the perimeter, not into the open.
“Dad, I want to—”
He was already gone and gliding toward the humans.
“Dad, stop!”
He looked over his shoulder and waved me over. He flew between the two families. Something hit him and knocked him sideways out of sight. I darted to the right and made a fast arc around the room. Once I cleared the humans, I saw Dad with his nose rammed into the floor by a gold-winged fairy and surrounded by another four. They were nothing, if I used my fire, and everything, if I didn’t.
I flew in closer and stayed by a human man’s head and watched them from under a hairy nostril. I could see their mouths, but they must’ve been speaking French. They definitely weren’t red caps. They had the same golden feathers in their hair that I had seen during the battle at Notre Dame. So revolutionaries, but the wings looked like the king’s guard. Except these five wore navy blue uniforms with an odd symbol on the front. A gold circle with a pointy oval inside. It looked very familiar. Where had I seen that before?
One of the fairies put a sword to Dad’s neck and sliced it open under his ear. I zoomed down so fast I must’ve been blurred. I took off that fairy’s head in one stroke and kicked the one holding Dad down. I stabbed him in the shoulder. Flames sprouted under my palms, but were still hidden. I engaged a third fairy and slashed open his sword arm. By now the other two had recovered from their shock and attacked me. One slit open my shoulder and I kicked him between the legs. He turned purple and staggered backwards. A human stepped toward the throne. I flew backwards. The foot came down and crushed him. I turned to the last one. But he wasn’t looking at me. He flew at Dad, sword raised to strike. Dad stumbled back. He had no weapon. I threw the sword and … missed. By a lot. But it was enough to throw off the gold feather. He jolted away from the sword clattering on the floor. I rammed him with my fists, right in the kidneys. He went down and Dad kicked him in the face. Arms went around my chest, locking my arms to my sides. We were surrounded by a dozen gold feathers. They had Dad by the throat in a choke hold. He watched me as his face turned blue.
“Stop!” I screamed.
One with dark hair flowing onto his shoulders landed and walked across the wood floor in pointy-toed boots. “Aren’t you the little fighter?”
“You’re killing him.”
“That’s the idea, mon ami.”
That French I remembered. “I’m not your friend. Let him go!”
“So demanding.”
Dad’s face was completely purple.
“Where’s the king? I screamed.
That got them laughing with big guffaws and the leader waved off the one holding Dad. He fell to the floor gasping.
“Let go of me. Where is the king?”
More laughing. I screamed myself hoarse. The leader came over and slapped me across the face. “Enough. Who are you? How do you know the king?”
“I don’t know him. I just thought he lived here.”
He leaned in and placed the point of a stiletto under my chin. “And how would you know that? No one knew that.”
I said nothing. I suspected there was no right answer. Best to stay quiet.
“Answer me!” He glared at me and pushed the stiletto’s point into my skin. I didn’t flinch. He liked that. “You’re very interesting, but you will tell me.” Then he jerked his head to the right and lifted his lip in disgust.
A formation of phalanx wove between the humans’ feet and came to a stop beside us. Camille popped up and said, “Back off, Rogier. She’s mine.”
Rogier spread his wings slightly. “I captured her. She’s mine. Go patrol the gutters.”
“I had her first at the cathedral,” said Camille. “She fought with us.”
“Really? How did she get away, do tell?”
“I let her go.” Camille popped off his shell and sat on it.
“Your mistake.” Rogier gestured to another gold feather and he brought forward a rope. “Tie them up. We don’t want to repeat Camille’s mistake.”
The other gold feather tied my hands behind my back and then tied Dad’s. The rope was cotton. Very flammable. Yes!
Camille leaned back on his shell, smiling and playing with a dagger he’d produced from a pocket on his abdomen. “So where are the other two?”
“What other two?” asked Rogier.
Camille laughed. “She has a sister and a mother. Where are they?”
Rogier returned the stiletto to my neck. “Where are they?”
“Why should I tell you?” I asked.
“Matilda,” said Dad in a warning tone.
“Yes,” said Rogier. “Listen to your father.”
“Camille, do I seem like the kind of girl who listens to her father?” I asked.
He laughed again and came over to me without putting on his shell. I tried not to look at him. Walking around without his shell, he almost seemed naked. “You never listen to anyone, I suspect.”
“For good reason.”
“Who is she?” asked Rogier. “What happened at Notre Dame?”
Camille looked into my eyes, weighing the options. He could lie about me or tell the truth. I had no idea which way he would go. Had it been the commander or any of the phalanx from the mall, I would’ve gone with the truth, but Camille wasn’t like any of them.
“She led us in battle.” He smiled at my surprise.
“This girl led you?” Rogier sneered. “Tell me what happened. I hear such conflicting accounts I can’t make sense of it. No one mentioned a wood fairy girl in the fighting.”
Camille settled back on his shell and told the whole story, including all the details I’d left out like the red line on Iris’s throat and the troll mother. Dad watched me while Camille was talking. He didn’t say anything. His face just got tenser and tenser. Thank goodness Mom wasn’t there. She’d have freaked out completely.
“She is a friend to the people,” finished Camille.
“Sounds more like she was forced to be a friend to the people,” said Rogier.
“No one forced her to save the troll.”
Rogier paced in front of us. “She came here to see the king. She may be a spy.”
“I’m not a spy. Camille said the king was here. I wanted to see for myself,” I said.
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I was curious.”
Camille eyed Dad for the first time and my stomach tightened. “What do you have to say?”
“About what?” asked Dad.
Good answer. Make them work for it.
“About the revolution.”
“We’re on vacation. I don’t know anything about your revolution, except my daughters almost got killed in it.”
“Ah, yes,” said Rogier. “Back to the sister. Where is she and the mother?”
I found myself looking to Camille, if for no other reason than to stall. Well… he told the truth. I might as well do it, too.
“My sister is at the hotel. She can’t hear thanks to your revolution.”
“And your mother?”
“She went to see the Egyptian exhibit.”
Okay. I’d tell some of the truth.
Rogier came closer, his eyes narrowed. “Won’t she wonder where you are?”
I snorted. “Hardly. She has to read every single placard. She’ll be there for hours.”
“Good. I have decided that this girl is a friend to the people and as such, she will remain with me.”
“I don’t believe she will,” said Camille.
“Are you willing to pit your hobgoblin against our horen?” asked Rogier.
Dad started and his eyes bored into me. I ignored him, refusing to react. That’s what that symbol was on their uniforms. It was an abstract of a horen eye. Very familiar unfortunately.
“The horen isn’t yours. I’d like to see you tell him that he is. Besides, Ambrosio isn’t here or I would’ve sensed his foul presence.”
“You do hold a grudge, don’t you? Horens have to come from somewhere,” said Rogier.
Camille flicked a look in my direction. “I couldn’t disagree more.”
“In any case, you’re wrong. I’ve sent word to Ambrosio that there is a second spriggan in the Louvre. He’ll discover the creature and get the information we need from them.”
I cleared my throat. “Why do you want spriggans?”
I swear Dad’s face went white, but Rogier ignored me.
“Thesauriser will never tell you anything,” said Camille. “He’s far too loyal.”
Dad and I looked at each other. Loyal? A spriggan?
Camille and Rogier began to argue about whether Thesauriser could be made to talk and what torture techniques would be most effective on a spriggan. I crept closer to Dad, moving when no one was looking. My sword still lay on the floor about a foot away.
“What are you doing?” whispered Dad.
“Nothing.” I had to touch Dad’s ropes, if I was going to burn through them. I could’ve tried doing it from a distance, but I wasn’t completely sure Dad wouldn’t get a hole burned in him.
Maxime and the other brown wings flew in. “Spriggans have been seen entering the ductwork in Medieval Louvre.”
“Leave them to us,” said Camille.
“Never. I want to capture them, not discuss eels in aspic,” said Rogier.
Camille picked up his shell, sharp side out. “Are you saying I didn’t interrogate that sea serpent?”
“I’m saying you discussed cookery.”
“Sea serpents are difficult. You have to ease them into it,” said Camille.
“You eased him so easily, he gave us no information. We’ll get the spriggans. You wait here and discuss baking.”
Camille attacked him and Rogier barely got his sword up to parry the blow. Then they were all fighting, brown wings and phalanx against the gold feathers. If that was the most solidarity they could show, they might as well give up the revolution and go home. I pressed up against Dad’s side and grabbed his hands, trying to look like I was up to absolutely nothing. I needn’t have bothered. No one was paying attention to us.
“This might sting a little,” I said.
“You can’t use fire,” said Dad.
“You got a better idea?”
“Go for it.”
I burned through his ropes and he only flinched a little. We shuffled sideways toward the sword and the edge of the vase’s pedestal. When we reached the sword, I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. “Pick it up.”
Dad swallowed hard, crouched, and got the sword behind his back in one swift movement. “Now what?”
Maxime screamed, “Stop this! They’re getting away!”
Dad and I froze.
“That’s right, you idiots,” said Rogier. “While we fight each other the spriggans are escaping.”
“You’re the idiots,” said Camille.
I pushed Dad around the side of the pedestal. Once out of sight, we spread our wings and flew up to the bottom of the vase and looked past the gold pottery foot at the arguing.
“They’re not very good, are they?” asked Dad.
“They’re good at getting killed. Let’s circle the room to the left and get out.”
We flew high above the phalanx and gold feathers around the back of the throne to the other vase. Dad darted ahead of me. “They realized we’re missing.”
We hid on the side of the pedestal and watched the brown wings form up and begin a grid search. They were joined by a few gold feathers, but the rest left with the phalanx, presumably to go kill spriggans.
“Maybe they won’t see us,” said Dad.
“I’m not usually that lucky.”
“Oh, no. I think they smell you.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Flowers and happiness.”
Crap. That stupid happiness again.
The brown wings were closing in.
“We have to make a break for it. Get out the way the priest said.”
Dad nodded and we shot out from behind the vase, startling the gold feathers. We didn’t wait to see if they’d recover. We flew at top speed out of the throne room. I couldn’t hear them. I had to assume they were hard on our heels. Dad was next to me, his face flushed with beads of sweat rolling backward toward his ears. I pointed to a cluster of humans in the living room and we went for them, weaving between their legs. I looked back. The gold feathers weren’t there, but Maxime was a body length behind. I flew between a purse and a leg, around the piano and out into the dining room. I didn’t know where Dad was, but Maxime stayed on me. Enough. I concentrated on a man’s leg as he exited the dining room. Timing is everything. His hand was loose next to his leg. I flew between. At the exact same second, I ignited a spark inside his pant leg. I was through. The hand smacked the leg, just catching my boot. I spun out of control into a little girl’s forehead and bounced off. I turned around to see the man lift his hand and Maxime tumble to the floor.
Gotcha!
“Fairy,” said the little girl behind me and I turned back to her to find myself locked in her gaze. A thrill went through me. Being seen never gets old. Even when you’re being seen by a four-year-old.
“I see a fairy, Mama,” said the girl.
Her mother patted her on the head. “Belinda, you are the cutest thing.”
“Belinda,” I said. “I need help. Bad guys are chasing me. Can you hide me?”
She nodded, her wispy blond curls swaying around her pink cheeks.
“Hold your hand like this.” I cupped my hand against my stomach and Belinda imitated me. I flew into her hand and landed so I could see over her index finger. I was worried about slipping, but her fingers were sticky and smelled like Cheerios and yogurt.
I scanned the room for Dad and saw a flash of his wings circling a potted palm with three brown wings in close pursuit.
“Dad!”
He didn’t hear me.
“Dad!”
The brown wings were gaining. One had his foot almost within reach.
“Bad guys.” Belinda charged across the room and swatted the palm. Her aim wasn’t the greatest. She hit both Dad and the brown wings. They all spun off out of control, hitting legs and then the floor. Belinda ran after the brown wings and tried to stomp all them. They dodged her sparkly tennis shoes like frantic cockroaches.
“Bad guys!” she yelled.
“Dad!” I yelled.
He’d landed two feet from the brown wings and staggered to his feet, rubbing his head. If he didn’t move, there was a good chance Belinda would stomp him, too. The little human was a stomping machine. Her feet moved so fast, the brown wings couldn’t get airborne.
“Dad! Over here!”
He saw me in Belinda’s hand and his mouth fell open.
“Come on!”
He flew to me and hovered over Belinda’s hand. “What are you doing?”
“Escaping! Get in here!”
Dad looked like that was the last thing he wanted to do. The hand was jumping around with every stomp and it wouldn’t be an easy landing. Dad darted in, bounced off Belinda’s chest, and tumbled down to her pinky finger.
Belinda’s mom ran over and grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”
“Bugs,” I yelled. “You saw bugs!”
“I saw bugs!” yelled Belinda, still stomping.
“Stop it. Why are you yelling?” Her mother jerked her backwards and the brown wings flew away. Their flight curved through the air in weird semicircles like they’d hit their heads, eventually regrouping by a table leg. They started scanning the room again. I ducked down.
“Matilda, they saw you,” said Dad.
“Bad guys!” yelled Belinda.
“What are you talking about?” asked her mother.
“Run, Belinda!” I yelled.
The little girl wrenched her hand from her mother’s and ran at her top speed through the rest of the Napoleon III apartment. She was pretty fast for a four-year-old and being small was to her advantage. She slipped past tourists crowded in adjoining rooms and out to the stairs.
“Where are they?” I jumped up onto her finger.
Belinda turned back to the apartment entrance. The brown wings flew in formation, weaving around furniture.
Please go to the humans.
They saw me and put on speed. A human stepped in front of them. I could see them through the legs. I concentrated. Just a little zap. They flew between the legs. The human screeched and slammed his legs together.
“What the heck!” The man danced around. His legs parted. The brown wings peeled off his pants and fell to the floor.
Belinda’s mom raced past the man and scooped her up. “Don’t ever do that again. You scared me to death.”
Belinda held back from her mom, so we managed to fly out of her hand before it flattened against her mother’s chest. We hovered just beyond her little nose and I darted in to touch the tip, like I did with Tess.
“You saved us. You’re a hero.”
She grinned, showing me her little white teeth.
“But be careful. There are bad guys here in Paris that would hurt you because you see fairies.” I held my finger to my lips. “Now that you see us, our magic will always be with you.”
Belinda’s mom carried her back into the Napoleon III apartment. Belinda waved to us until they disappeared into the crowd.