The Invitation (11 page)

“Find one?” Tim asked.

“That's right.”

“A name? Yours?” Tim was confused.

“It's a test, of sorts,” the woman said.

“I bet it's bloody Rumpelstiltskin,” Tim muttered under his breath. They strolled in silence for a little while.
How am I supposed to guess her name? Or make one up for her?
His eye was drawn to a rosebush by the side of the path. They were enormous, beautiful, and the scent wafted their way, filling Tim with a sudden inspiration. He faced the woman. “Rose,” he announced. “I'll call you Rose.”

The woman looked startled, then smiled. “That's good, Tim. And fast. The Stranger was right. You have the potential for power.”

Tim was pleased that he'd passed this first round, yet didn't understand what the big deal was about giving her a name. Or maybe, rather than giving her a name, he had
guessed
it.

“So we're there?” Tim asked, looking around.

“We have arrived in the realm of Faerie, yes.”

Dr. Occult, now Rose, led Tim and Yo-yo through a beautiful wooded area. The dirt path was soft under Tim's feet, and the trees glistened in the sunlight—brighter even than Zatanna's living room in California. Flowers that Tim had never seen before dotted the road. Every now and then he spotted colorful creatures flitting in and
out of leaves and bushes. Birds? He wondered. No, their movements were too quick. Butterflies, maybe. But butterflies didn't giggle, and he was certain he heard the tinkling sound of something tiny laughing.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of flowers, of hopes, of possibilities.
If wishing has a smell
, Tim thought,
this is it
.

Yo-yo flew overhead, his yellow eyes darting about, taking in every stray movement in the foliage around them. To Tim, the bird seemed happy, alert, more…
itself
somehow. Maybe because Yo-yo was made of magic, he reasoned, Faerie seemed more like home.

“So where are we off to?” Tim asked. He wondered if Dr. Occult—Rose—had a destination in mind, or if they were just setting off to see what adventure would jump out and snatch them. Right now, Tim felt game for anything. He liked what he'd seen of Faerie so far. It was true that all he had seen so far was pretty landscape, but there was a feeling here that made his chest expand, made his limbs swing. It was the giddiness of anticipation.

Rose pulled aside some low branches and gestured for Tim to step through.

“What are we going to do now?” he asked.

“We are going to market!” Rose replied.

Tim ducked down and stepped between the shrubs. He came out at the edge of a meadow—a meadow filled with amazing sights, sounds, and smells.

Colorful booths dotted the grass, and creatures of all description strolled among them. Tables strewn with goods, elves wearing sandwich boards advertising wares, and goblins carrying trays filled with strange objects all competed for attention. Rough wood picnic tables were set up, and a large roasting pit emitted great puffs of delicious-smelling smoke. Serving maids—with delicate transparent wings—darted between customers, filling and refilling glasses with colorful liquids.

“Awesome!” Tim tried to look everywhere at once, until he realized that would only give him a headache. Everywhere he turned there was a vision out of a fairy tale, an illustration from a fantasy book!

“'Ere, you! Young feller-me-lad! Come 'ere!”

Tim looked to see who had called to him. He spotted a booth where a strange creature, with skin the color of a wheat stalk and just as fuzzy, waved a skinny, long-fingered hand. Tim figured there'd be no harm in checking out the creature's wares. He knew not to buy anything. He'd just window-shop, or rather, counter-shop.

Tim stepped over to the booth. Yo-yo fluttered down and perched on his shoulder. He patted the bird's talons, smiling. Yo-yo wanted to window-shop too.

Now that Tim was closer, he could see that the creature was much smaller than he had realized—just four feet high. Its pointed ears poked through wispy silver hair.

“I'll swap you your heart's desire fer a year of yer life.”

Tim stared at the creature. It must be kidding. How could it be offering to sell someone his heart's desire?

“No?” The creature stroked its stubbly cheeks. “I'll trade for yer voice, then. Or the color of yer eyes.”

Tim had to force himself not to laugh. It seemed so…so…ludicrous. Fantastic. Bizarre. How could he possibly give away the blue of his eyes? And why would anyone want it? Who knew there was a market for such things?

Tim remembered Dr. Occult's instructions, before he had turned into Rose: manners mattered.

“No, thank you,” he said politely. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

But the creature wouldn't quit. “One of your fingers, then. You've got ten of the little buggers.” He waved a hand at Tim, and Tim realized the
Faerie creature only had four fingers on its hand. “You'll never miss one. It's yer heart's desire I'm offerin', ducky. None of yer tat.” The creature sighed as if it was about to make a huge sacrifice. “All right,” it grumbled. “Two toes. And six months of yer old age for your heart's desire. And that's me final offer.”

“No, thanks,” Tim said. “But thank you, anyway.”

Rose stepped up to join them. The creature ignored her and continued to talk to Tim. “I can tell you've come a long way, dearie. Here. Let me give you a flask of my best berryjuice for yer journey.”

Rose spoke before Tim could respond. “We must thank you for the offer, mistress, but also decline it.”

So the creature was female. It was hard for Tim to tell.

“The boy is under my protection,” Rose explained. “We cannot dally amongst the Fair Folk.”

“Fair spoken,” said the creature. “I wish you good traveling, and that's for free.”

“Hey!” Tim cried out as Yo-yo made a sharp sudden movement. He fluttered off Tim's shoulder, swerved, and swooped behind Tim.

“Ger off!” shouted a small creature kneeling behind Tim. Yo-yo dug his talons into the creature's
hand—a hand that was reaching for Tim's pocket.

“What's going on?” Rose asked.

The creature froze, then fell over. “This bird of yours attacked me! I demand compensation!”

T
IM STARED DOWN AT
the little creature who lay moaning in agony on the ground.

The creature sniveled and groaned, clutching its hand. Tim had no idea what kind of critter it was—it didn't look like pictures he'd seen of elves or fairies, and it certainly didn't look like the garden gnomes in his neighbor's dismal yard. It was small and wiry, covered in yellowish fur. It wore only a leather vest and short medieval-looking knickers. But what most tripped Tim up in identifying the creature was its long tail thrashing along the ground, kicking up dirt. A bracelet lay in the dirt nearby.

“Ooooooh,” the creature moaned. “That is a terrible, dangerous beast. Attacking me without warning! It shouldn't roam free!”

“Yo-yo,” Rose said, addressing the owl. “Is this true?”

“Whoo!” Yo-yo responded, flying to Rose's outstretched fingers.

“Is that so?” Rose said to Yo-yo. Tim stared at them. Could Rose actually understand what Yo-yo was saying?

Rose turned to the little creature. “The owl tells me that you were trying to put that bracelet into Timothy's pocket. The bird saw you, and stopped you.”

Tim frowned in confusion. Why would the little creature put a bracelet
into
his pocket? What would it gain? Pickpockets usually took things
out
of people's pockets—not put them in. It didn't make sense.

“Rubbish!” the creature protested. “It was an unprovoked attack!” It scrambled up into a crouch, tucking its tail around itself. It grabbed the bracelet and shoved it onto its skinny arm. “But I have thought better of demanding compensation, and will be content to let the matter rest here.”

“You may be,” Rose countered, “but I am not. Where is the warden of the market?”

The creature rubbed its hands together over and over. “Oh, don't bother Old Glory with this,” it said, its voice oozy. “Glory hates to be bothered with market affairs.”

“Market affairs
are
Glory's business, Snout.”
A bespectacled man stepped through the crowd. He was dressed in mismatching old-fashioned clothes: a long blue velvet jacket over purple velvet trousers, a ruffled white shirt with a bow tie, a green velvet vest, and shoes that buttoned up the sides. His gray hair was thick, as were the gray muttonchop sideburns that covered half his face. But other than the slight point to his ears, the man looked pretty much human to Tim. Much more so than little Snout, whose tail was thrashing again.

“As warden, market traders are my affairs as well,” Glory continued. He glared down at Snout, who sat at the man's feet, wringing his hands.

Glory crossed his arms over his chest. “Here is what I see,” he surmised. “You would have planted the bracelet in the child's pocket, waited until he was about to leave the market, then shouted ‘Stop, thief!'”

So
that
had been Snout's plan
, Tim thought. The scheme made some sense. In the strange worlds he was visiting, anything was possible. Tim suspected that logic as he knew it was gone forever.

Glory went on detailing what he believed to have been Snout's con game. “And as the wronged party, you would have been entitled to keep the boy as your personal servant for seventy years.
And to claim restitution from his companions into the bargain.”

Tim gulped. They took stealing really seriously here. He was relieved that the warden knew he hadn't stolen the jewelry. Dr. Occult—Rose—was right. He had to stay on his toes and follow the rules in this place.

Snout wriggled his way up to standing, tugging on Glory's trousers to do so. “Er, Lord Glory—”

“Silence!” Glory waved a hand.

Tim's eyes widened in shock. Snout's mouth vanished! Clearly, Glory didn't kid around when he wanted someone to shut up. Tim knew he'd remember that bit of information as well.

Glory bent down so he could grip Snout's shoulder, as if he suspected the creature would run away. “I regret that Snout's action has tarnished the name of the market,” he said to Tim. “You may claim restitution.”

Tim almost felt sorry for Snout, until he remembered that he had narrowly missed being the creature's servant for the next seventy years.

“Lead us to your barrow,” Glory ordered Snout.

Tim felt as if all eyes were on them as they left the market. They followed a narrow path into the woods and soon arrived at a small hill. Snout brushed aside leaves and shrubs, revealing a small wooden door. He pulled a key out of a vest
pocket, inserted it, and opened the door into the hillside.

Tim, Rose, and Glory all had to crouch in order to step through the little door. It was a tight fit inside. The place was filled with junk: broken furniture, boxes, crates, chests, odds and ends. A little stove, table, and chair were set in one corner, and a bed was dug into the dirt wall, like a bunk. The rest was just…stuff.

“Now then, Snout,” ordered Glory. “You have wronged this boy and the owl. As market warden, here is my judgment. Each may take, for free and without obligation, one item from your barrow.”

Tim looked up at Rose. “Can I?” he asked. He wanted to be sure he was allowed to do this. He had already learned that there were surprising consequences in Faerie.

“Yes,” she replied.

Yo-yo fluttered to a coatrack standing haphazardly at an angle by the door. Several necklaces and scarves dangled from it. The owl caught up a silvery chain in his talons and flew to Lord Glory.

Lord Glory nodded, as if giving the bird permission. “Of course,” he said to Yo-yo. “If that is what you want.” He turned to Tim. “Now you, mortal child.”

Tim didn't know what to take. The room was
stuffed with oddities. He could have spent days here, exploring, examining, finding out what everything was, how it worked. But he knew he shouldn't dawdle.

He stepped carefully deeper into the crowded barrow, trying to not knock anything over. He noticed a fancy-looking book, but didn't pick it up. A shining sphere rotating slowly on a brass stand caught his eye, but he decided against it. He spotted a weird little gnome statue that might make Molly laugh. As he reached over a table to take it, his hand tingled. Startled, Tim dropped his arm to his side. He reached again, and the same thing happened, just as his fingers passed over a sturdy little teapot.

Funny
, he thought.
It's as if the teapot is trying to tell me something
. He lifted the teapot from its spot. It was a lot heavier than it looked. Opening it, Tim discovered why.

Inside, there was a glowing egg. Tim lifted it out. “Can I have this?” he asked.

“A Mundane Egg,” Lord Glory said, surprised. “Well, well. Who'd have thought that our Snout would have such a thing? And hidden amongst trinkets.”

“Hidden in plain sight?” Tim ventured, remembering the phrase of Zatanna's.

“Could say so. You chose well, boy. Luck—or
something similar—is on your side.” Lord Glory stroked his fluffy sideburns. “A Mundane Egg. Who'd have thought it? When I return your mouth to you, Snout, we must discuss this at length.”

Rose carefully wrapped the necklace chain around Yo-yo's neck. “We will leave this place now, Lord Glory,” she said. “With your permission.”

“Of course, my lady. Good-bye. And good-bye, child. Guard the egg.”

“'Bye,” Tim replied. He glanced down at the egg in his hand. It was shinier and heavier than the kind he scrambled at home, but he couldn't see why Lord Glory was making such a fuss over it. And didn't “mundane” mean ordinary? Still, he took care when he placed it in his pocket. After all, an egg was an egg, mundane or not. He didn't want to smash it in his jeans and wind up drippy with yolk.

They left Snout's barrow. Rose, Tim, and Yo-yo continued along the path.

“I'm hungry,” Tim said. “Is there anything to eat?”

“No,” Rose replied. “You mustn't eat anything in Faerie, Tim. Not if you want to get back. Or at least, get back to the time that you left. A day in Faerie can be a hundred years in mortal lands.”

“So I stay hungry?”

“You get even hungrier.”

That didn't sound promising. “So where are we?” he asked, a little sullenly, truth be told.

“I do not know,” Rose answered. “This path has never led me to this place before.”

That sounded even more worrisome, especially with the wisps of mist swirling around them, making it hard to see. “Then let's go someplace else, then,” Tim suggested. “Somewhere you know.”

“We must stay on the path, Timothy. Once we have begun to walk our road, we must walk it all the way or we are lost. And all may be lost.”

The cold and clammy mist grew alarmingly thick, as if someone had turned on a fog machine full blast. “Rose?” Tim called. He could no longer see her. “Dr. Occult?”

“Still here.” Rose's voice came out of the mist.

“I can't see the path!” Tim called. “Or you. Or Yo-yo!”

“I'm here,” Rose replied, but her voice was muffled. Tim couldn't tell what direction it came from. Afraid that she would get too far ahead of him, he quickened his pace.

“Ooof!” Tim stumbled over a thick root and fell face forward into the dirt. He scrambled back up again, and discovered the mist had vanished.

And so had Rose.

Tim searched for his glasses, which had
fallen when he tripped. His fingers wrapped around them and he quickly put them back on. Luckily, they weren't broken, just a little bent. But even with his glasses on, Rose was still gone. He hadn't been
completely
abandoned, however: Yo-yo was perched on a nearby tree limb.

“Rose!” Tim called. “Dr. Occult!”

No answer.

Tim boosted himself up on the limb and sat beside Yo-yo. “Can you believe this?” he muttered. “She was the one who told
us
not to get lost. And now she's gone and lost herself. Himself. Oh, whatever! At least we've still got the path.”

Now that the mist had evaporated, the path was clear again. Tim studied it, peering into the distance where it disappeared into a thick grove of trees. “What do you think?” he asked the owl. “Should we wait for him here? I mean, for
her
? Or should we go on?”

Yo-yo's yellow eyes didn't even blink.

“Fat lot of good you are. What the heck. It's cold just sitting here. He'll find us. Or
she'll
find us. Whichever.”

Tim eased himself off the tree limb, carefully avoiding the jutting roots, and set out on the path again. “I don't know about you, Yo-yo,” he said, “but I'm starving. I could eat a horse. An elephant, even.”

“Tim!” a voice cried out. “Come here! Hurry!”

Tim's head whipped around in the direction of the man's voice. A few yards away, Dr. Occult stood outside a little cabin, his back to Tim, his trench coat a familiar and welcome sight.

“Dr. Occult!” Tim exclaimed. He headed toward the man. “You're a bloke again! How did you get ahead of me?”

“No time to explain. Quickly! It's an emergency!”

Tim raised a foot, about to step from the path, and froze.
Wasn't that one of Dr. Occult's rules? Don't leave the path no matter what?
Tim put his foot back down.

“Hurry, Tim! We're in great danger!” Dr. Occult called again.

Tim had not heard that kind of urgency in Dr. Occult's voice before. It must be serious. And wasn't the
first
rule that he had to obey any order Dr. Occult gave him? Wouldn't
that
rule supercede all the others? He had to risk it.

He leaped off the path and ran toward Dr. Occult, across the meadow. “What is it?” he panted as he came close to the man, who still had his back to him. “What's wrong?”

The man whirled around, and as he did, he transformed. A hag in tattered rags, with wild gray hair, scrawny arms, and pointy yellowed
teeth, stood before Tim.

“What's wrong?” she cackled. “You've stepped off the path, boychick. That's what's wrong!”

With a swift move, she grabbed Tim's wrist. She clutched it so tightly he was afraid she'd snap it off. Giving him a sharp tug, he stumbled toward her. Up close, he could smell her foul breath, see the hairs poking up from the warts on her chin and nose. And all the while, he felt her fingernails, sharp as claws, digging into his skin.

“Dr. Occult?” Tim whispered. “Have you, uh, changed again?”

The woman laughed hysterically. “There is no Dr. Occult here, boychick! Just the Baba Yaga. And the Baba Yaga played a good trick on you!”

“Let me go!” Tim shouted, trying to tug his wrist from her grasp.

“Now what's Baba Yaga caught for herself, then? Is it a stew? Is it a roast? Is it blood pudding? Is it the tenderest of cutlets? Oh yes. All of them. Juicy and meaty and sweet.”

Gross!
Tim cringed. She was actually drooling! “You better let me go,” he insisted, trying to sound brave and sure. “Dr. Occult is my protector. He'll find you. You'll be in big trouble.”

“Find us? I doubt it.” Baba Yaga swept Tim up into her powerful arms as if he were mere kindling for the fire. She easily carried him into her hut.
“Baba Yaga's little house is in the heart of the wild forest, and it will not be found in the same place two days running.”

How can that be?
Tim wondered.
How can her house change locations?
It wasn't as if she lived in a mobile home that could pack up and move to the next trailer park.

Baba Yaga stood in the center of her hut, still holding Tim. “Now, my house,” she ordered, “do your wandering.”

Gripped in Baba Yaga's strong arms, Tim felt the house lurch. Slowly, awkwardly, it rose into the air.

“What's doing that?” he cried.

Baba Yaga let out a shrieking laugh and carried Tim to the window. “My house has legs! Take a good look. You'll see none other like it in all of Faerie.”