Wood Sprites (5 page)

Saturday morning, after taking their hour turn at the cookie-selling event in Queens, they planted mini-Tesla on Elle and took the 7 train into Midtown Manhattan. The Grand Central–42nd Street Station was a kicked beehive of police. Jillian led, smiling innocently at the policemen. Louise followed, leading Tesla by his leash, trying not to look like they were deceiving every adult who crossed their path. They caught the 6 local to the Upper East Side.

“Is she home yet?” Jillian swung her legs, watching the city flash by. Tesla was parked beside her, his camera eyes hacked and currently not recording. Just to be sure, they had his head carefully locked onto the back of their seat.

Louise took out her phone and checked what the GPS on April Geiselman’s phone had to say. They had hacked April’s phone and had been tracking her for two days. The woman was making steady progress toward her apartment from some mystery address that had kept her out all night. “She’s heading home—I think. What do we do if she doesn’t go home?”

“We sell cookies until she does.”

* * *

April lived in a high-rise on the Upper East Side. The Girl Scout uniforms got them past the doorman with a promise of free cookies. According to her phone, April was now home, so they went straight to her apartment.

They rang the doorbell and listened intently as soft footsteps came to the door. There was a long silence as they were examined through the spyhole. After a full minute, the locks were thrown and the door opened.

April was surprisingly young and pretty. She was wearing a tight black dress and last night’s makeup. “Wow, I didn’t think Girl Scouts went door-to-door anymore. Are you sure you’re allowed to do this? It’s not really safe, even with a dog that big.”

“Hi,” Jillian said. “Can we ask you some questions?”

“I’ll buy a box or two. I love Thin Mints. Let me get my purse.”

She started to close the door, but Louise put her foot in the door. “Wait! We want to know what happened to your babies.”

Jillian glared at her for going off-script.

“My what?” April said.

“Eighteen years ago, you visited the Cryobank fertility clinic in Manhattan and were implanted with four embryos—but you live in a one-bedroom apartment. What happened to your babies?”

April glanced down the hallway and lowered her voice. “How do you know about that? Who told you that?”

“Your babies are our sisters,” Louise said. “We’re the embryos that weren’t implanted in you.”

“Oh, Jesus,” April whispered. “Come in.”

The apartment was cluttered but clean. The floor was swept, but every surface was crowded with interesting stuff. Books. Art. Toys. They parked Tesla in the corner, staring at the door. April disappeared into the kitchen to make tea.

“I always thought that there might be a day when the doorbell would ring and it would be her wanting to know who the hell I thought I was, having a baby for money and walking away, leaving her there, on that world.”

A baby. “You only had one? A girl?” the twins cried.

There was silence in the kitchen. April came to lean on the doorway. “Yeah. A little girl. Her name is Alexander. You know, you can only leave Pittsburgh once a month, and she was born the day after Startup, so I was there with her for thirty days, knowing that she wasn’t really mine. It was so hard to walk away. To stay away. But as they say—you make your bed, you have to sleep in it.

“I wanted off of Elfhome. I was seven when Startup took Pittsburgh to Elfhome. It woke us up in the middle of the night. The power off. The phones not working. Giant trees where our backyard had been, pressed right up against our house. A saurus attacked our neighbor’s house the next morning. We could hear them screaming. My dad told us to lock ourselves in the bathroom, and he went down the street with his hunting rifle and shot it.

“Here.” She went across the living room to a bookcase and got down a picture frame. “This is him with it.”

Her father looked like an African explorer with a thick mustache and tan hunting jacket. He beamed with pride at the camera behind the saurus’ massive head, its mouth propped open to show off hundreds of long, sharp teeth.

“One day it’s the twenty-first century, the next you’re living in the Stone Age, complete with dinosaurs. My parents loved it, but it scared me. Strangle vines ate our dog. A tree ate my favorite teacher. A fish ate one of my friends. There was a bunch of us standing on the riverbank looking at this strange big fish.
It was a fish
. We thought as long as we didn’t go into the water, we’d be safe. And then all of the sudden . . .” She made a fast snatching motion with her hand. “And the girl standing right next to me was gone. There was just one of her shoes . . .”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t be telling little kids like you things like this. It will give you guys nightmares. It will give me nightmares. Do you want something to drink? I have some Diet Coke and tea.”

Their parents didn’t let them have either, saying that it would stunt their growth. Personally Louise thought it was because their parents were afraid that caffeine would make them even harder to manage.

“I’d like tea,” Louise said.

It turned out tea was more complicated than soda because April had what seemed to be an infinite variety of teas. Louise picked a coconut mango oolong. Jillian chose fusion honey, ginseng and white tea. April took a bottle out of the cabinet and added scotch to her Earl Grey.

“So they paid you to have our sister?” Jillian asked while Louise tried to get the tea sweet enough to drink.

“Yes.” April sighed. “It sounds so horrible, doesn’t it? It felt good and right until it was time to walk away.” She opened the fridge, took out a carton of milk, and poured a generous tablespoon into her mug. Her cup read “I
New York.”

“My family moved to Neville Island, thinking it would be safer. Mr. Bell lived down the street. He was a sweet, little old man. He could fix anything and he was always willing to help out. He saved my life once when I was little; I’d gotten too close to some strangle vine, and he cut me free. I felt like I owed him. And it wasn’t like he was going to have sex with me—it would all be neat and medical.”

“Mr. Bell?” The name on the records had been Leonardo Dufae, the famous inventor. “He was our real father?”

“No, no, it was his son. Um. Gosh, I’ve forgotten his name. I never met him. He’d been killed on Earth. He had donated some . . .” She paused, blushing slightly. Apparently she’d just remembered that they were just kids.

“Sperm.” Louise provided the proper word.

“Yes.” The blush deepened. “Genetic material. It was all that Mr. Bell had left of his son. He just wanted a grandchild. The baby, though, had to be born in Pittsburgh if it was going to grow up on Elfhome with Mr. Bell. The elves limited immigration to a handful of people a year. The EIA—the Earth Interdimensional Agency—preapproves the applicants. They want scientists and researchers, not babies. There weren’t any fertility clinics in Pittsburgh, not after the first Startup, and he couldn’t have gotten any surrogate mother from Earth into Pittsburgh for more than a month. Since in vitro babies are often premature, it would have been hit or miss whether his granddaughter would be born on Earth or Elfhome. He didn’t want to risk having the EIA declare she didn’t qualify for the family immigration rule.”

“So the surrogate had to be a Pittsburgher,” Louise said.

April nodded. “I could come to New York City, have the . . . the procedure, and go back to Pittsburgh until it was time for her to be born. I would get money to move to Earth. Go to college. We would all live happily ever after. It seemed so simple.”

“So Alexander is still in Pittsburgh?” Jillian asked.

“Oh, yes.” April got down a leather book from the bookcase. “Mr. Bell sends me a photo every year or so. At least he used to; last time he did, he wrote that the lack of technology on Elfhome frustrates her. I think he’s afraid that if she finds out about me, she’ll use me as an excuse to come to Earth. This is Alexander.”

The first few pictures looked like their own baby pictures where their parents squinted and said “Is this Jillian or Louise?” and their mother would mutter how she should have tagged their photos. At three, though, their sister became wholly herself. Her hair was boy-short. She sported a bandage in nearly every photo. In one she had a black eye, looking extremely pleased. Alexander wore bright T-shirts and blue jeans and often was barefoot. There wasn’t a doll or stuffed animal in any of the pictures, but wheeled vehicles that grew larger and larger as she did. When she was nine, she had a go-kart. Louise felt a stab of jealousy.

The last photo held another big surprise; it showed Orville and Alexander together, looking like brother and sister instead of cousins. Orville seemed only a year or two older than the photo taken of him after his mother’s murder. In this photo, he beamed with joy, arms wrapped around Alexander as she leaned comfortably back on him.

“Is that Orville?” Jillian asked.

April seemed surprised by the question and then laughed. “Of course you know about him. Yes, it is Orville. He’s living with his grandfather. He and Alexander bonded; they’re inseparable. Last time Mr. Bell wrote me, they were building go-karts and racing them all over Neville Island.”

So it was possible for family to be close as twins even if they were years apart, raised on separate worlds. Louise touched fingers reverently to the photo—proof that they were right in believing that saving their baby brother and sisters would be a wonderful thing.

“Is it really that bad? Living in Pittsburgh?” Jillian asked. “It seems so . . . fantastical. With magic. Dinosaurs. Elves. Dragons.”

April laughed. “We didn’t have any dragons in Pittsburgh, thank God. The elves are gorgeous. But magic? It was really just an annoyance. It made machines not work right. Most humans were clueless how to deal with it. Mr. Bell was an exception. He picked it up somehow.”

Obviously the Dufaes were all clever, including their sister.

“How did Esme get involved in all this?” They found that most puzzling since Leo had died when Esme was still in middle school.

“Oh, it was all her idea at first. I was there the day she first showed up. She was staying the month with her sister up at the observatory. I think she scared Mr. Bell, talking about his son being killed and everything. He kept saying ‘I’m not who you think I am.’ Finally she said something like ‘The bloodline of his unbounded brilliance must go on. Without his light, darkness will take everything.’”

Louise felt shivers go down her back, and her teacup rattled on the saucer. She fought to still her hand. She felt like she had just heard the most true thing in her life, and it scared her.

Jillian hadn’t noticed; she was leaning forward, eyes wide. “Ooohhh, that is so cool.”

“What darkness?” Louise asked.

April shrugged and eyed her empty teacup. “I’d grown up in Pittsburgh, which was fast becoming a ghost town compared to what it had been. I’d never met anyone like Esme before. In New York, you meet them here and there, the big fish in a big pond. The movers. The shakers. Forces of nature. She scared me. I started to edge away, saying good-bye. I don’t think she had noticed I was in the room until I tried to escape. She turned and saw me by the door and went ‘You!’” April pointed forcibly at the door, nearly shouting the word, making Louise jump. “‘You’re going to help! How would you like to make a million dollars?’”

“A million dollars?” Louise asked.

“She paid you a million dollars to have our sister?” Jillian clarified.

April laughed. “Crazy, right? I didn’t believe her at first, but then she gave me some jewelry as a down payment. This amazing tennis bracelet.” She held up her right wrist to show off the glitter of large diamonds and blue gemstones. “And a Rolex woman’s wristwatch. Her family is rich, and she had this crazy plan of going into space and never coming back, so she was blowing it all on this baby.”

“A million dollars for our sister?” Jillian’s tone had changed slightly. And Louise understood completely: a million dollars for their older sister and nothing for their siblings still frozen in the lab.

“She had a ton of rules. I wasn’t allowed to drink or smoke or do drugs or even date—the last wasn’t that hard considering all the decent boys had left Pittsburgh. She swore me to secrecy—I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about the baby. Not my parents. Not her parents. Not even her sister. It would have been impossible to do in the summer, but we had a hard winter and spring was late. I could hide the fact I was pregnant under layers of clothes.”