13 Curses (31 page)

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“How should I know? I’ve known you for two minutes.”

“Fair point.” The boy leaned down and picked up his bag. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

“Forget it,” said Rowan. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The boy dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of loose change. He counted it.

“Come on, what’s the harm? There’s a cup of tea in it for you.”

“Last time I had an offer like that I had all my money stolen,” Rowan answered. “So, no thanks.”

“Look,” said the boy, exasperated. “I just wanted to talk to you, not to frighten you or rob you.” He counted out some coins and put them on the table next to her.

“Think of this as goodwill,” he said. He pointed through the library window, past a park bench, to the street corner. “I’ll be in that café just over there, for about half an hour if you change your mind.” He paused. “Well, I say half an hour, but it depends on how long I can make a cuppa last before they sling me out.” He grinned his chipped grin again and got up, tucking his paper into his coat. “Call me Sparrow, by the way.”

“Sparrow?” Rowan repeated.

“That’s me. Common as muck and gets everywhere!”

She watched as Sparrow sauntered out of the library, then got up and went to the window. He was as good as his word, straight into the café and up at the counter.

She returned to the table and for five minutes stared at the money the boy had left. Eventually curiosity got the better of her. She slid the coins into her pocket and picked her bag up, returning the books to their shelves on the way out.

Sparrow looked up from across his mug of tea as she
bought her own drink from the counter and pushed the meager change toward him on the table and sat down.

“Keep it,” he said.

She didn’t need telling twice.

“What should I call you, then?” he asked.

Rowan rolled her eyes. “You already know my name if you recognized my picture in the paper,” she said in a low voice.

“Don’t matter.” Sparrow drew his cuff across his mouth. “Never know who might be listening.” He flicked his eyes around the café. “Best to stick to good practice, if you know what I mean.”

Rowan shrugged, wrapping her hands around her warm cup.

“I don’t know. Call me whatever you like, except my real name.”

Sparrow studied her, his eyes appraising.

“Your hair stands out the most,” he said bluntly. “So… Red. Not too fussy and to the point. I think it suits you.” He grinned again, and for the first time, Rowan saw a dimple in his cheek when he smiled.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” she asked.

“Fairies,” Sparrow said simply. “I wasn’t having you on before. About seeing them, I mean. It’s not something I go saying to just anyone.”

“So why me?” said Rowan, her heart hammering.

“The books, for one thing,” said Sparrow. “And because I’ve seen you around a couple of times now.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve watched you, watching them.”

Rowan studied the boy’s face for any sign that he was pulling her leg, but his expression was deadly serious.

“Prove it,” she said hoarsely.

“That’s why I got you over here,” said Sparrow. He lifted his bag onto the table and pushed it at her. “Have a look in that side pocket. Discreet, like.”

Suspicious, Rowan pulled the bag closer and unzipped the side compartment. As she lifted the pocket flap, a horrid smell drifted up. She glimpsed something small, crushed, and bloody, hair matted around two broken wings. Shoving the bag away with a cry, she knocked Sparrow’s tea over.

A flicker of irritation came over Sparrow’s face—but it was nothing compared to the fury on Rowan’s. She leapt up, grabbing her bag, and ran from the café amid tables of curious customers. She was over the road and going through the park when footsteps pounded the path behind her.

“What did you do that for?” Sparrow demanded. “I told you to be discreet! Wasted two drinks, that did. Plus they’ll probably kick me out next time I go in!”

“Discreet?” Rowan whipped around to face him, her eyes blazing. “You’re the one carrying a dead fairy around in your bag, you lunatic!”

“I was just trying to prove to you that—”

“That what?” Rowan hissed. “That you’re sick?”

“That I can see them!” he finished. “Look, I’m sorry. Probably not the best way to get your attention, but not exactly buzzing with them around here, is it?” He motioned to the gray buildings around them. “They’re a bit harder to come by here, you know? Couldn’t really afford to be picky.”

Rowan calmed slightly.

“Did you… kill it?” she asked, eyeing him distrustfully.

“ ’Course I didn’t! What do you take me for? No, don’t answer that. It was in the gutter, near to where I been staying the last couple of nights. Must’ve been hit by a car.” He opened the compartment again and showed her. “See? Empty. I don’t make a habit of it. It was just to show you.”

“All right,” said Rowan, her anger subsiding. “I believe you. So what do you want?” She started to walk through the park, keeping to the path.

Sparrow wiped his cuff across his nose and followed.

“I seen you reading those books in the library,” he said, somewhat apologetically. “For a few days now. Saw you marking the pages, so I had a nose after you left yesterday. It’s changelings, isn’t it?”

Rowan felt the burn on her back twinge as her shoulders tensed. The skin there was still tender. Sparrow hurried on.

“I’m not prying, like—”

“Well, you are…”

“All right, I am, but—” He broke off and pulled his hand through his hair. “Why are you reading that stuff ? Did something… happen?”

Rowan stopped to face him, trying to assess what he might know.

“Yes.”

Sparrow nodded. “Thought as much. Took someone, did they? A kid?”

“How do you know this? Did it happen to you?”

“No, not me. I’ve met other people, though, who’ve known kids to be switched over.”

“You have?”

Sparrow nodded again, his hair bobbing. “Met one of them in this park, in fact. We got talking one day when it was obvious we were both watching the same fairy in a birdbath. I thought he had the second sight at first, but it turned out that he was fey, in disguise, like. His niece was taken by them, a couple of years ago.”

Sparrow had Rowan’s full attention now.

“When they took her, he refused to give up looking. And eventually, he got her back.”

“How?” Red said urgently. “How did he get her back?”

“Says he used the one that was left in her place—the impostor—as a bargaining chip. He’s got contacts—fairies on the other side who never wanted the switches in the first place—half of them are done out of spite or mischief. So they’re only too eager to get their own back, same as us.”

Rowan’s head reeled.

“So you mean it’s possible to switch the changeling back for the same child it was taken for?”

“Sometimes,” Sparrow conceded. “But they don’t always want to give a human child back if it was taken as a replacement—like if the fairy was sick, for example. But most of the time a trade can be arranged.”

“What if there’s no replacement to trade with?” Rowan interjected, stricken. “What if a child was taken and no replacement left? How would that work?”

Sparrow whistled through his teeth.

“Tricky. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of it being done that way. I suppose you’d have to find one—a fairy that’s been left in place of a human—and steal it somehow. So it’d be dangerous, because you can’t just go around stealing babies, can you? Or you could, but you’d get into a lot of trouble. And even then, if the switch was made, it would more than likely be for the kid that particular fairy was switched for in the first place, if you follow me.”

“But it’s not impossible?” Rowan persisted. “And even if you got back a different child, not the one you wanted, but one that had been stolen anyway, it’d still be worth it, wouldn’t it? It’d still mean another child got returned to its family.”

Sparrow shrugged.

“I suppose so….”

Suddenly Rowan found herself facing him, gripping the sleeves of his filthy coat in her fists.

“This fey man,” she said urgently. “Who is he?”

Sparrow looked down at her hands on his coat.

“He’s a traveler. Works with a circus.”

“I need you to take me to him. Right now.”

“Steady on,” said Sparrow, gently releasing himself from her grip. “I can’t just take you to him. It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

He gestured to a park bench nearby. “Let’s sit down for a minute.”

“Why can’t you take me to him?” Rowan demanded again, remaining on her feet as Sparrow sat.

“Because I don’t know where he is.”

Rowan swore and kicked an empty can on the path. It skidded across the concrete with a clatter.

“Why bother telling me about him, then?” she said angrily. “You must have known I’d ask to meet him!”

“ ’Course I did,” said Sparrow, looking bemused at her outburst. “And if you calm down for long enough to let me talk, I’ll explain.”

Rowan sat, breathing heavily.

“I don’t know where he is now,” Sparrow continued. “But I know where he’ll be in a couple of weeks’ time.” He nodded to a lamppost a few feet away. Rowan looked over and saw a brightly colored poster had been pasted to it.

“You mean…”

“He’ll be coming here,” Sparrow finished. “The show doesn’t open until the start of June, but they always arrive two weeks early to settle in and set up. Once they’re here, I’ll take you to him, if you’re planning on sticking around that long.”

“I’ll be here,” said Rowan.

“In that case,” he said, “keep an eye out for me. I’ll come by the library and find you. Until then, if I don’t see you before, stay out of trouble.”

Rowan didn’t see Sparrow before, despite looking out for him everywhere she went. She visited the library daily, continuing to cram information from books, though her concentration lapsed every time the library doors opened. Sparrow’s comment about staying out of trouble preyed on her mind. What if something happened to him? It would be too easy for him to disappear without anyone knowing—or caring.

Then, thirteen days after she had met him, he reappeared, scruffier than ever and slightly out of breath as he hurried over to where she sat.

“They’re here,” he said.

Her books were closed before he even finished speaking, and then she was on her feet, following him out into the bright afternoon.

As they approached the park, Rowan saw a huge area over the back where a cluster of old-fashioned caravans had gathered. More were arriving.

“They’re all pulled by horses,” Rowan said in surprise, noting the snarled-up traffic surrounding the park.

Sparrow nodded. “It’s traditional—one of the oldest circuses still going. Many say it’s the best—their acts are second to none.”

“So what’s this man’s name, then?” Red cut in, as they neared some of the parked caravans.

“Calls himself Tino,” said Sparrow, edging around some chestnut-colored horses tethered to a knot of trees.

Rowan felt uncomfortable suddenly, seeing people milling between the vans and feeling their eyes upon her and Sparrow. They were strangers—uninvited.