I followed her into his bedroom.
My heart broke the instant I laid eyes on my godson. His pale face peeked from his Sponge Bob blankets. He didn’t smile. I guess I’d never seen him without a smile on his face.
Dark magic. I felt it the instant I saw him. Something evil was at work here, and it was my job to find out what.
I walked to the bed and sat beside him. His eyes cracked open an inch, but he didn’t acknowledge me.
“Hi Jer,” I said and took his hand. “It’s Olive.”
His eyes closed. The unsteady rhythm of his breathing filled the room, and his clammy fingers relaxed in my grip.
What could have caused this?
Mrs. Dickinson stood by the bed. “When did this happen?” I asked her.
“Three days ago,” she replied, her voice weak. “I took him for his checkup with Dr. Hill. We came home, and he collapsed. I called Dr. Hill as soon as it happened, and he told me to bring him back in.” Mrs. Dickinson sighed, staring at the ceiling as if she didn’t want me to see her tears. “Carl is out of town. I had to leave the rest of the kids with Nigel so I could take care of him.”
“Nigel?”
“Nigel Green—Mr. Green—the foster home director. But Sissy refused to leave Jeremiah’s side.” She looked at me, pleading. “He spent two days in the hospital. They ran every test under the sun. Finally, they diagnosed him with depression.” She barked a bitter laugh. “Depression.”
Pausing, she stared at me. “Can you do anything?”
I patted his shoulder, his nightshirt soft under my fingers. Propping my mirror on my knee, I clicked it open and prayed I could help him. The mirror was never intended for children. Visitors to Faythander didn’t struggle with repressed memories until later in life, and I doubted repressed memories were causing Jeremiah to be catatonic.
The fog of Faythander light curled around the mirror’s surface. It touched my skin, warm and full of energy. I spun it around to face Jeremiah. With his face in the mirror, I started the test. If he had traveled to Faythander, he would have been in contact with any number of species. This assessment would prove it.
I took his hand in mine, feeling the familiar, crescent-shaped scar on his wrist from where he’d been bitten by a dog a few years back. Seventeen stitches. He wouldn’t go near dogs anymore. It made me realize how much this little boy had already suffered in his short life.
“What are you doing?” Mrs. Dickinson asked.
“If Jeremiah visited Faythander, one of these figurines should trigger his memories.”
“Faythander?”
“Fairy world, sort of.”
“Olive, I know you’ve been doing this for some time, and I know Dr. Hill trusts you. But fairy world?”
“It’s a lot to swallow, I know. But if you think about it, we’ve known about the place for centuries. Dragons, elves, pixies—they surfaced in paintings and writings as soon as humans learned to form words. More people have been there than you realize.”
Mrs. Dickinson stared, unconvinced, but I didn’t expect anything else.
I placed Jeremiah’s hand on the first figure, the dragon. I’d painstakingly detailed the pewter piece and placed an actual dragon scale inside the metal. If Jeremiah had seen dragons, this piece would trigger it.
Jeremiah’s eyes remained closed, unchanged except for a slight twitching behind his eyelids. The dragon didn’t have any effect.
The elf came next. I gently moved Jeremiah’s fingers over it and glanced from his face to the mirror. If he found the right figure, I could usually see the memories come to life in the glass. But Jeremiah’s face remained unchanged, the mirror empty.
Moving his fingers, I tried the Wult next. Wults aren’t really a true Faythander species. They crossed over from Earth almost fourteen hundred years ago. In those days, they were called Vikings.
I pressed Jeremiah’s fingertips to the pewter helmet and animal-skin cloak. The Wult statue had the same results as the last two. Sighing, I wondered if I had lost my touch. Usually, I would have gotten somewhere by now.
I glanced at Mrs. Dickinson. She smiled, but I pegged her as a skeptic. I’m sure she pegged me as a lunatic.
“I’m not sure if he needs this,” she said.
I grinned, trying to exude confidence. “If Jeremiah’s problem has something to do with Faythander magic, this test should pick it up.”
“Even if he’s never been there?”
“Technically, we should be able to find out if magic is at work.” As I glanced at Jeremiah, his eyes fluttered slightly. For some reason, a feeling deep in my gut, I knew something unnatural was at work. I wished I knew what.
We’d made it to the last two statues, the pixie and the goblin. I cringed at the sight of the goblin statue. Myths and legends never portrayed goblins accurately. In books, goblins looked ugly but harmless. Real goblins looked more like zombies, their bodies skeletal and stretched with transparent skin. Instead of mindless killing machines, their magic was incredibly strong, their minds probably more intelligent than the elves.
Though the goblins possessed powerful magic, they hadn’t managed to surpass the dragons. If they had, the sky king—the dragon lord of Faythander—wouldn’t be king anymore. But I knew it was only a matter of time before the goblins found a way to beat him.
I placed Jeremiah’s hand on the pixie statue. Nothing.
Fuzzy hair, like the down of a gosling, poked out from the pixie’s head, and muscles wrapped the warrior statuette’s body. He wore a loincloth and carried a spear. Wings with sharp tips curved from his back. Pixies didn’t resemble their cartoon animations. Most of them were close to seven feet tall. If you ever wondered where a treasure troll’s hairdo came from, just look at a true pixie. I’d never understood how pixies became so warped over time.
My heart gave a fearful flutter as I turned to the last statue. The goblin stared back, challenging. Please don’t let it be the goblins.
I
