Oboe steadied Zither on her shoulder, eyeing the knight who ordered them to come with him. He was tall and scary, with chainmail that rattled and a harsh grumbly voice. This human made Oboe think about all the mean things Theo said about knights. Where was Theo? He was supposed to meet them at the trolley station. Meeting this guy instead made her feel like something had gone wrong.

“Hurry up,” the human said as he herded them up the stairs somewhere inside the university.

“Keep your lid on, you tin can,” Thistle said as he helped with Zither. “Going as fast as we can.”

 The students stared as they passed. Oboe wondered if there’d been some mistake. It felt like they were trespassing even though they were told to come. It was a relief to see Theo waiting for them at the top of the stairs.

“There you are,” he said. He looked ruffled, which did not put Oboe at ease. “Sorry that I didn’t meet you outside. Things aren’t going as planned. I need to brief you before we go in there.”

“What’s going on?” Zither said.

“We have a shot at getting the ban undone,” Theo said. “The volunteer we have for you to enchant is Duke Ambergrail. I need you both on your best behavior. He’s the one who ordered the ban.”

“He is??” Oboe said. “What should we do?”

Theo held up his hands to calm her. “Same as before. We cure him and prove you aren’t a threat. We have to be careful, though. He hates fairies.”

“Obviously,” Thistle said with a grimace.

They followed Theo into the next room. It was white and smelled like stinging soap. A mobile of crystals hung from the ceiling, rotating on clicking wheels and gears. A robed doctor helped a shriveled young human out of a chair and into a big bed.

 “That’s him?” Zither said, leaning on Oboe. “The human that took our territories away?”

“I guess so,” Oboe said, nervous. The man was glaring at them while Theo went to talk to him. “We can fix this. Make it right again.”

Zither’s gaze grew firm. “You’re right,” he said. He let go of her and balanced on his own hooves.

“He’s ready,” Theo said, coming back. “You can start your preparations.”

Thistle set down his wicker backpack and rooted through it for his tools. He took out a long clay dish etched with runes and got to work. He uncorked a decanter of river water and poured. A mix of herbs were sprinkled on top and then it was time to add the spell. Oboe watched her friend concentrate on the water. Thistle’s brow knit, his antennae twitched, and the water turned golden.

“Your turn, kid,” he said.

Zither took the dish in his palm and limped toward the bedside. The knight kept a hand on his sword nearby. Ignoring this, Zither closed his eyes and curled his fingers over the water to mold the magic. He lifted his free hand and a dark red bubble surfaced to float between his fingers. 

Something was wrong. Thistle’s dreams were never like this. Even the nightmares Thistle made were like a warm blanket, something you could slip in and out of. The magic in Zither’s hands was angry. Sticky, like hot tar. She needed to say something, but the words caught in her throat.

“Stop!” Oboe said. “That spell isn’t right!”

“What the hell?” The duke said.

Zither bolted. The knight drew his sword, but before he could swing Zither hurled the clay bowl in his face. Zither lunged at the duke and pressed the dream into his head before Theo or anyone else could act. The knight pulled him off, tossed him to floor and aimed his blade to kill.

“Wait!” Theo said, stepping in the way. “Hold your strike!”

The doctor raced to the duke’s side, but it was too late. The duke thrashed for a moment and then slumped into his pillow, unconscious. The crystals dangling over the hospital bed twitched and flickered. Zither’s spell made them dance and rattle. 

“Devil damn the lot of you!” The doctor said. “I knew this would happen, and I trusted you anyway! Look what happened! He won’t wake up!”

“What happened?!” Theo said, and turned to Zither. “What did you do?!”

Zither was still too weak to stand. He laughed instead. “Making things right. He thought he could treat us like garbage? Well, I made him pay for that!”

Oboe grabbed Zither and slammed him against the wall. The smug look on his face made her angrier than she ever remembered being. “Are you stupid!? This was our chance to help you! Help all those fairies too!”

Zither’s fur bristled as color returned to his body. “We were never going to change the mind of that man.” He gripped Oboe by the arm, strong enough to fight back now. “Better that I make him suffer for thinking he can push us around!”

She hurled him across the room, where he crashed face first through a table of medical tools that all clattered to the floor. The noise got the attention of more humans, who burst into the room. The whole pack of humans got hold of Zither before he could get back on his feet. He bucked, and fought, until they managed to lock his hands in iron shackles.

“Summon the watch,” the doctor said. “I want these creatures dealt with.”

“No!” Thistle said, trembling. “No, no, no no, no, no! If this gets out, the humans are going to take it out on us fairies! You can’t let anyone know!” 

The doctor shook his head. “You don’t get a say in this, sylph!  Now sit down until they get here and decide what to do with you!”

“This is my jurisdiction,” Theo said. “Let me handle this.”

“You’re the reason this happened!” The doctor said. “I’m done listening to you!”

The humans drew closer to Oboe, brandishing another set of shackles. The knight pointed his sword.

“She’s innocent,” Theo said. “You don’t have to restrain her.”

The knight glared. “As innocent as the other one, I’d wager. Not taking any chances.”

Oboe backed away. She wondered if she ought to run, or maybe fight. She looked at Theo, who looked terrified as the other humans shoved him into a chair. There was no way she could fix this, but she didn’t want to make it any worse either. She held out her arms.

“I won’t fight you,” she told them as they cuffed her wrists. “I’m your friend.”

The crystals swayed and tinkled in the machine above. Dr. Stillwell adjusted dials to focus the instruments and better read the spell cast over the sleeping duke.

“How is he?” Theodore said, feeling helpless.

“His condition is bad,” Stillwell said. He moved to take the duke’s pulse. “He’s alive, but the enchantment is severe. Nothing I’ve tried seems to wake him. I don’t understand.”

Thistle folded his arms. “I can tell you exactly what that idiot did!” His slender sylphan wrists were too small to be shackled, so Mort chose instead to tie an iron chain around his waist to block him from casting spells. “He bound that human to a night terror.”

“What does that mean?” Theodore said.

“All this fancy equipment and you clowns can’t figure it out?” Thistle rolled his eyes. “He’s stuck in a nightmare he can’t wake up from.”

Stillwell studied the array of gauges on the console of the augur machine. At the center of it, a glass ball interpreted the magic aura surrounding the duke with a swirl of red and black color. “That… makes sense, given these readings. If that’s the case, maybe we can dissolve the spell.” He stared into the crystal ball. “…But with an enchantment this heavy, that could take months.”

“Months?!” Oboe stood up, only to be pushed back to the floor by Mort and the campus security. “It shouldn’t take that long! You have a dream sower right here! Thistle can dig the spell out. Let him help!”

“You fairies have done enough damage already!” The doctor said. “We will fix this mess you’ve made on our own!”

Theodore wrung his hands. There was more at stake here than how quickly the duke recovered. If news of this attack got out, Laien’s fear of fairies would be reinforced. Other districts might adopt the ban and both fairies and humans would suffer because of it. “If there’s a chance Thistle can save Felix Ambergrail right now, we owe it to the duke to try.”

Mort looked up. “Hey doc? Not that I get a say here, but I’d rather my boss be awake enough to sign my paychecks. Just saying.”

Stillwell scowled at his captives, his face tight with the burden of making a choice. He peered back at the blackening crystal ball, and sighed. “And what, praytell, does the sylph propose we do?”

“Oh? Now you WANT my help?” Thistle laughed. “Good. About time one of you grew a brain. Real quick, as a favor, can I ask you not throw me back in jail if I clean this up?”

“Don’t help them, you old roach!” Zither shouted. “This is what they deserve!”

Mort kicked Zither onto his back and prodded his underbelly with the tip of his sword. “Shut your mouth or I’ll gut you right here!”

“Then do it!” Zither said. “I’d rather die than spend another second under your bootheel! Kill me!”

Thistle stood up. “You know what? Do you what you want with me. I’m helping out of spite now.” He dragged his chain as far as it would reach. “Here’s the deal. All fairy magic longs to find a purpose. Even if it’s misused, like it was by that idiot behind me, it will resolve if the dream expresses whatever it thinks the dreamer needs. I can’t pull him out of the dream. That’s not how it works. But if this man confronts whatever the nightmare is tormenting him with, that’s when he’ll wake up.”

“How does that help us?” Stillwell said. “We can’t affect what Ambergrail does inside the dream!”

“Yeah, well. What I can do is I can insert someone else inside the dream to help him. How’s that?”

A look of horror seized the doctor’s face. “You’re suggesting we connect another person to the spell? Are you out of your mind?!”

“Well, I can’t go inside,” Thistle said. “The dream only works on humans.”

“Let me do it,” Theodore said, standing up. “This is my responsibility. I should be the one to make it better.”

“Out of the question! I’m not risking another life to this dangerous magic!” The doctor said.

“Do you want to try and dissolve the spell?!” Theodore said. “You told me the duke has less than a month to live. He doesn’t have enough time! But if I do this, there’s a chance I can fix this. This is my life, and I trust these fairies with it!”

Dr. Stillwell stared through Theodore, his eyes narrowing. Theodore met the gaze, breath held.

“I wash my hands of this foolishness,” Stillwell said, walking away. “Do what you want.”

Mort unwrapped Thistle from his chains, anxious about his job security. Oboe looked frightened.

“Theo, you already had three fairy dreams yesterday,” she said. “This might be too much magic for your body. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

It was four dreams, if he counted the one from the other morning. Theodore had no idea what he was doing. His brain was mush of anxiety, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. “Yes,” he said.

Thistle finished stretching. “Before I stick you in there, there’s something we need to do first. The dream is gonna screw with your memory. For you to pull this off, we need an anchor to the real world. Something small I can enchant. Something that makes you feel intense emotion. That’s your connection to reality, and how we make sure you remember what you need to do.”

Theodore searched his pockets. He didn’t bring much of anything with him. “I don’t think I have anything like that.”

“Wait!” Oboe said. She opened her pouch and produced the little toy soldier. “Would this work?”

Theodore frowned. “You kept that?” He had forgotten about his outburst at the toyshop. He felt ashamed for having blown up at her, and a thorny mix of other emotions about where his life had gone. “Why?”

Thistle looked at Theodore’s face, and snatched the toy from Oboe. “Yeah, that’ll do.” He gave it a flick, and it started to glow, and then he waved it around in Theodore face. “Remember this, okay? You’ll be trapped in a nightmare forever if you don’t.”

“Alright, alright!” Theodore save, pushing it away. “I’m ready.”

They moved Theodore’s chair to the bedside. Thistle climbed on top of a nearby counter, and placed four grubby bug hands on Theodore’s face.

“Hey, no pressure, but if you screw this up, these humans are probably going to kill us.”

Before Theodore could say anything, the world around him erupted into blinding white.

Theodore tried to stay on his feet.  The wind howled around him, whipping his face with hot sand. He couldn’t see anything through the roar of the sandstorm. It was all he could do to cover his face and move forward.

His head felt like a doll with its stuffing ripped out. He knew he needed to go somewhere, to do something. Something terrible would happen if he didn’t. It hurt to think and to hold onto the thought. He doubled his effort to push through the storm. 

The dust cleared. Theodore looked down and jumped back. He was one step away from walking off the edge of a rooftop. The tiles under his feet gave ever so slightly. He realized, as his vision cleared, that the building he stood on was made of sand. It was the same in the streets below and beyond. A whole city stretched ahead of him, the shape of its skyline and building familiar but made again with fine grit and dust. It was Laien, home, and yet not. At the center was a structure he did not recognize: an impossible tower made of steel that pierced the sky.

Vertigo hit Theodore. It was a long fall to the ground and the roof he walked on was crumbling with each step. He needed to get to somewhere safe. Stepping lightly, he searched for a regulation fire escape to climb down to ground level. Preferably one that wasn’t also made of sand. The wind kicked up again before he could locate one. Theodore turned to look where the storm was coming from. That’s when he saw it.

A face hung in the red sky like a constellation. He knew it. Curling horns and a notched goat ear. The name was on the tip of his tongue. Zither. That was right. A faun that he had wanted to help. What was he doing? His mouth was open, lips pursed as he sucked up air and dust until his cheeks were full. Then, holding it all for just a moment, he blew it out again. A great squall tore through the buildings, scattering them to nothing.

Theodore’s heart jumped in panic. He needed to get down before it reached him. Bounding forward, he looked for anywhere he could jump down to safety. The roof was too weak. His leg punched through, trapping him. Twisting around, he saw the gust ripping towards him. He tried to pull himself free, but it was no use. There was no choice. He slammed his fist into the tile under him and the rooftop crumbled. He fell, slamming into one interior floor after another, each one slowing his fall with a rough grainy slap, until he hit the ground. The storm rushed over his head, burying him in dust.

Theodore had the foresight to hold his breath. He lurched, trying to free himself from the heavy piles of sand he was trapped under. As soon as he wormed his way to the surface, he gasped for air. The storm had subsided.

He got up and took in the path of destruction Zither had created. A line straight through the city to the tower was toppled, but the tower stood the blast. The giant faced glared in the distance. It hovered across the sky at glacial pace and looked for another angle of attack.

Theodore brushed himself off and wracked his brain trying to remember what was going on. This was all wrong. Zither shouldn’t be doing this. Why was the city like this?

He remembered something despite the headache. He needed Oboe’s toy soldier. It was important, like a bright beacon in his mind, but why? Somehow knowing he needed it was enough. He knew where to find it. The toyshop.

There was no point in going to the trolley station. If it was made of sand it wouldn’t be operational. So, Theodore steered himself to try and find the streets he had explored with Oboe. His boots slipped on the even ground as he marched across the loose sand. He stopped to take refuge when he heard Zither readying another windstorm and kept clear of the attack.

When he reached the toyshop he grabbed the doorknob, only for it to fall apart in his hand. Feeling stupid, Theodore kicked an opening through the door and stooped to climb inside.

He remembered Oboe’s excitement over the toy store. All of the model trains and toy puzzles were mirrored here, sculpted in fragile grains. Only one object in the whole shop was made of something else. Theodore picked the little wooden knight off the shelf and everything come back to him in a rush. Zither had betrayed them. This was the duke’s dream. He was trapped inside with him, needing to save him before the news got out of what had happened. Theodore needed to find the duke and make him confront the dream.

Another wind blast shook the city. Theodore ran out of the toy store before it collapsed on top of him. After the sand settled, Theodore looked and saw the iron tower was still standing in the distance. The duke could be anywhere, but that seemed the obvious place to start looking.

Theodore got moving, but almost tripped. There was something clamped tight around his wrist. A shackle, with a taut chain trailing off it. Turning around, Theodore saw there was something on the other end holding his chain.

“Where do you think you’re going, son?”

Theo’s face stirred, wincing in his sleep. Oboe watched and worried, sitting on the floor, while the doctor checked his pocket watch again. It was only a matter of time until the watchmen came, and then Oboe didn’t know what would happen.

“Kid,” Thistle said, whispering. “If this goes sour, I want you to run. I’ll keep ’em busy. You’re young. You can run to the Korveil border before they can catch you. It’ll be safe there.”

The idea made her angry. “I’m not leaving you guys,” she said.

Mort leaned over them, leering. “What are you fey scheming?”

“Well, I WANTED to plot a daring escape,” Thistle said. “But if no one wants to cooperate, I guess I’ll wait to die instead!”

The crystals dangling from the human science doohickey chimed. Their colors shifted, and the magic around them tensed like a stretched sheet. The doctor rushed to a control panel. His face grew pale.

“Something’s happening,” he said. “The aura-form is spiking.”

“Good,” Thistle said. “Looks like the deputy found his pressure point. If he’s worth anything, he’ll prove to the dream that it should help him.”

“And if he doesn’t?” The doctor said.

“You sent that human to die,” Zither said.

“Shut up!” Oboe said, wishing she’d left the buck to wither. “Theo can do it! He’s smart, and he wanted to help you!”

The doctor planted his hands on the control panel. “This was a mistake. I’m going to cut him out and put a stop to this.”

“He’ll be stuck in there if you do that!” Thistle stood up, and Mort blocked him with his sword. “If you tear the dream, it won’t work right!”

“I don’t care how it works!” The doctor whipped around. “This man’s aura is in the red zone! He’s at risk of going into a coma! This magic is dangerous!”

“It’s only dangerous because it was used wrong,” Oboe said, shooting a glare at Zither. “Magic doesn’t want to hurt anyone. It wants to change things, and make them grow. It wants to be good, even when we’re wicked. You need to trust it.”

There was a knock at the door, and a robed woman entered. “The Watch is here, Dr. Stillwell.”

“Send them up,” he said. “I’ll give report to them myself.”

The door closed. Oboe felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. The knights were coming to take her away. If the humans ripped open the dream, it would be weeks or months before Theo could wake up. Depending on what they did with her, she might not see him again.

“I don’t see anything good about what has happened here today,” the doctor said to her. “Give me one reason why I should trust anything about this magic.”

Oboe felt her heart flutter. She remembered what Gardner Feather had told her before. The words weren’t hers, but they felt right.

“All magic, and every creature touched by it, is born with the purpose to do good,” she said. “That includes me, and you, and that spell too. We all mess up, but Thistle says the spell can be a good thing if we let it. Isn’t that what the Mother of Magic thinks too?”

The doctor reached under his robes and pulled out a round talisman. It was the same symbol Oboe saw at the fairy sanctuary, a circle with other shapes inside that all fit together.  He held it in his palms as if trying to read it. His shoulders drooped.

The door swung open. A troop of knights crowded in, dressed in white and green tabards. “We received your alert. What is the situation?”

Stillwell replaced his amulet under his clothes. “Yes. There’s been a fairy attack, and I need it dealt with.” He pointed at Zither. “This one cast a curse on Duke Ambergrail. The man’s bodyguard can corroborate if you need proof. I want this creature taken into custody at once.”

The watchmen eyed Oboe and Thistle. “What about these others?”

“Leave them,” he said. “We’re attending to the duke’s condition as we speak. They are assisting me. If they cause trouble, I will send for you again.”

Pulled onto his hooves, Zither’s stony face wavered now that he had to meet his fate. He clenched his jaw, and gave Oboe a determined look before they took him away. Oboe didn’t care. She turned her attention back to Theo, and waited.

The doctor sat down across from them. He seemed more at ease, but not so much to undo their chains. “Tell me more about how this magic works,” he said.

Lance Grayweather pulled Theodore’s chain and knocked him off his feet. He loomed over Theodore, ten feet tall and dressed in shining armor.

“You’ve wasted enough time, Theo,” Lance said. “You need to start taking your training seriously.”

Theodore spat the sand from his mouth and staggered to his feet. “This isn’t real,” he told himself, his heart pounding. “You’re dead. This is just a dream.”

The phantom of his father tugged on the chain leash. “What’re you babbling about? A knight who stays sharp is in no danger of dying. You’ll understand that if you open your ears. Now come!”

Theodore tried to stand his ground, only to be dragged across the soft sand. The tower was right there but his father was pulling away him away from it.

“Let go of me!” Theodore said. “I have a job to do!”

“As do I,” Lance said. His hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword at his belt. It slid from its sheathe with a gentle scrape. “I have to make you a proper Grayweather.”

“You can’t do anything!” Theodore said. “You’re dead! Just a ghost I dreamed up!” He tried to pull the shackle off. He knew none of this was real. Why was it so hard?

Theodore rolled out of the way as Lance brought his sword down. His father swung again, forcing Theodore to lean outside the arc of the blade. What would happen if he was killed here? If Theodore could not wake up, if he had no control over this place, he could not afford to take a single hit.

Yes!” Lance said, ecstatic. “Just like I taught you!” He chopped and sliced, cutting only air. “You’ll be a knight like me in no time!”

“I don’t want to be like you!” Theodore said, winded. “I never did! But you would never leave me alone! Even after you died, after you ran off got yourself killed like I knew you would, everyone is still trying to make me like you! I don’t want any of it!”

His feet slipped on the sand. He couldn’t keep this up forever. Theodore needed to do something, but what? Thistle said they needed to confront the nightmare, but what did that mean? He didn’t have a weapon and they were already fighting. He looped his hand around the chain.

Lance readied his blade, staring down at him. “You’re a knight, whether you like it or not.”

“I know!!” Theodore yanked the chain into the air, using it to block the sword. He hoped it would break the chain, but it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. “I haven’t got a choice!”

An insufferable smile spread wide on his father’s face. “Then you understand. This is what you are. A soldier.”

Old bitterness filled Theodore, like a cup overflowing. He hated this man, with every fiber of his being. Looking down, he noticed that while dodging he’d dropped the toy knight Oboe had given him. It reminded him about what she told him, about what the creatures of the Whirlwood needed. About what knights were to her.

“I am a knight,” he said. The chain went slack in his hand. “But maybe, I’m a different kind.”

Lance lowered his sword. He was smaller now, no larger than Theodore. His grin was gone, replaced with a face somber and soft.

“You hate me,” he said.

Theodore felt his anger itch, but he put it aside. Tears budded instead. “I didn’t know what to feel, after you were gone. Everyone wants me to pretend to be you. I wanted to run away, but I guess I can’t. I have a job to do. If I’m going to do this, I need your help.”

Lance vanished. The chain fell to the ground with a thump. Theodore stared at the empty space. His father was gone, but he was still shackled and the cuff would not come off. Typical. Stepping closer, he found his father’s sword lying in the sand with the other end of the chain linked to it. Theodore took the weapon. There was no sense dragging it.

The city was in bad shape. The windstorms had gutted the dream world, leaving scattered ruins. There was still one place untouched. Theodore made all haste to reach the tower. The base of the tower was buried in sand thanks to Zither. Theodore stabbed the sword in the ground and rolled up his sleeves. He dug through the hot sand with his finger, hoping to unearth the entrance. Before he could make any headway, Zither blew another gust through the city and buried it all again.

Theodore let out a growl of frustration. There was no time for this. He plucked his feet out of the fresh dune, grabbed the sword, and struck the tower out of anger. The steel wall tore like vellum.

He stood there, stunned. A prod with his hand revealed that the tower was rock hard to the touch. He stabbed at the tower with the sword and the wall ripped. It cut through like there was nothing in the way.

Theodore made another incision and, with a little work, carved out an opening large enough to step through. The iron collapsed inward and Theodore dropped down inside.

It was empty inside. The tower was hollow. The only thing contained was a rickety looking iron-wrought spiral staircase that reached all the way up to the top. Theodore wasn’t sure what he expected. A lavish mansion? He clambered onto the steps and resigned himself to a long climb.

A shock of wind rocked the tower as he scaled the stairs. The tower groaned and creaked, visibly leaning under the stress. Theodore clung to the thin railing, wondering if it would hold. There was no going back. He pressed on, pushing himself to double his pace, wondering how he could feel this exhausted while fast asleep, until he reached a door at the top.

It was locked. Theodore glanced back at the long drop behind him, and decided to try knocking.

“No! Get away!” A voice answered. It was the duke. “I won’t let you take me! I won’t!!”

“I’m not here to hurt you! This is the Ranger Deputy!” Theodore said. “Let me in! I want to help!”

“This is a trick!” Felix said, hysterical. “It’s always a trick! I won’t open the door! I won’t! Get out of here! Begone!!”

Exasperated, Theodore pushed the sword through the door and sliced its hinges off. It fell open, and Theodore stepped through into a small bedroom. He expected to see the duke. Instead, he found a child.

The tower shook under their feet. The window hurled itself open and wind howled through, sending books flying off the shelves and cups crashing to the floor. Screaming, the child dropped to the floor and covered his head.

Theodore held his ground. Taking one careful step after another, he pushed against the squall until he reached the window and battened it shut. The shutters rattled on their hinges and the tower swayed around them until Zither ran out of breath.

“It’s okay,” Theodore said, in part to himself. “We’re safe.”

The boy peeked out from under the bed, snot dribbling down his terrified face. Although he was younger, his face chubbier and his hair unkempt, there was no question that this was the duke. He appeared to be maybe eight years old, dressed in a fine vest with buttons mismatched. “Get away!” He said.

Theodore knelt down, as if he were coaxing a stray cat. “Felix Ambergrail?”

“What do you want?” He said. “Leave me alone!”

“Your lordship, I want to help you,” Theodore said. “This is a dream, and we’re trapped here. I can get you out of here, but we need to work together.” A rubber ball smacked Theodore in the eye and bounced away.

“You’re one of them! You’re trying to take me away, just like father!” The duke said. “I won’t let you!”

Theodore sighed and readjusted his glasses. Not only did the duke look like a child, he was acting like one. He wondered how anyone dealt with children. “You’re scared,” he said, trying to find the right words. “You’re alone up here. It’s dangerous, and there’s no way out. You don’t seem to remember me, but I know you. I can help, but you need to trust me.”

“You’re lying! You don’t know anything about me!” He said.

Another windstorm hit. The whole room teetered, the iron tower groaning and threatening to topple. Felix retreated farther under the bed, and whimpered.

Sitting on the floor, Theodore waiting for the noise to subside. It was clear this hiding spot wouldn’t last forever. What would happen once it fell? He wanted to grab the duke, carry him down the stairs and get out of there before it did. But would that work? Theodore touched the toy soldier in his breast pocket. Thistle and Oboe told him they needed to confront what the dream was using to scare them. He couldn’t force the duke to do that. He had to convince him. But how?

Theodore’s thought about his own fairy dreams, about how it used his father. The wind died down and there was quiet.

“I get it,” Theodore said. “You told me before, about what it was like when your dad disappeared.” His throat tightened. Why was this still so hard? “Things changed after that happened. …Everyone has expectations for you, and he’s not around anymore to help you. Even if you wanted to be like him, you aren’t. That’s hard.”

Felix stared, saying nothing.

“I can’t bring your father back,” Theodore said. “But that doesn’t mean you should stay here. I don’t know how or why your father disappeared, but this is different. That thing outside isn’t as scary as you think it is. He made a stupid decision because he was angry and scared. It’s a mess. That doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.”

Creeping out from under the bed, Felix got up. The tower rumbled again, and he winced.

“I want to go home,” he said.

Theodore took Felix by the hand. Together, they descended the long well of stairs carefully. The boy cried out whenever the tower shook and the stairs leaned, but Theodore urged him all the way to the bottom. There, they stepped out to see the city leveled. 

“We need to walk toward that face,” Theodore said, pointing. “Keep hold of my hand, alright? I promise we’ll be safe.”

They crossed the dunes, hunkering down as the face in the sky blew to stop them. They pushed on, and the further they went the more Zither’s head began to twist and warp. Cracks formed, splitting him into crude shapes that squeezed together. Then, with a noise louder than anything Theodore had ever heard before, the shapes broke apart and fell like shooting stars. They pulled the world of the dream down like a stage curtain. Their vision blurred and they fell, reality hurtling back to seize them with one waking slap.

Theo opened his eyes. Oboe leapt to his side, almost knocking the doctor down as she did, and grabbed his hand. “You did it!” She said. “I knew you could do it! You’re amazing!”

He opened his mouth to speak, but let out a rasping cough instead. Something was wrong. His aura was like thick, dark smoke, and his skin was hot to the touch. He was sick.

“No!” Oboe’s relief was stripped away. “You had too many dreams!”

Wincing, Theo tried to focus on her. “Did it work?” He gripped her hand tighter. “The duke. Is he okay?”

Oboe looked. The duke groaned, and sat up in bed. Dr. Stillwell moved to check on him, prodding him with all sorts of gizmos.

“He’s… stable,” the doctor said. “You actually managed to pull it off. I don’t believe it.”

“You should!” Oboe said, annoyed. “It worked just like Thistle said it would!”

“Where am I?” The duke said. “What happened?!”

“The experiment was a failure,” the doctor said. “The fairy cursed you instead of what we agreed on.”

“I knew it!” The duke threw his arms into the air. “Which one of these monsters did it? I’ll have their head! Mort! Why are you standing there?! Kill them!”

“Lie down!” Stillwell said. “The culprit has been dealt with. You need to rest while I run more tests.”

“I’m not going sit back with assassins in our midst!” He said. “Guards! Mort! Seize them!!”

Oboe stiffened. Part of her hoped the dream would change the duke’s mind, but a dream could only change someone a little bit at a time and only if that someone listened. Thistle poked her side and flicked his antennae towards the door. He wanted to run. Oboe wasn’t going anywhere without Theo.

“You won’t touch them!” Theo got out of his chair to stand. His legs shook. He was still too weak. Before he could fall, Oboe stuck herself under his arm to help hold him up. “These two did everything they could to save you!” He said. “We broke your curse together. I won’t let you harm them!”

“They’ve muddled his brain,” the duke said to the doctor. “Their magic is killing him. Made him a puppet. If we don’t do something, they’ll do the same to us.”

“Shut up!” Theo said with a shout so loud it startled Oboe. “I don’t care what you think! I don’t care what happened that made you like this! It doesn’t matter! You have no right to treat fairies this way, least of all Oboe! She’s a good person and she’s my friend!”

Oboe gaped at him. She knew they were friends, but there was always doubt in her mind. A little voice telling her that it wasn’t real, that he was just pretending, that it would turn out the way it always did. Hearing him declare they were friends made her battered heart burst with a happiness she didn’t know was still inside.

The duke sneered. “That is not how you speak to a lord of Laien. Mort! What am I paying you for?! Get rid of them! Jail them! Kill them! Stop staring at me, and do something!”

The big knight gave Oboe a pitying look, but did not move. His sword stayed in its sheathe. Maybe he wasn’t so scary after all.

“We were just leaving,” Theo said. He turned his head towards Oboe with a tired smile.  “Come on. Let’s go.”

Theodore rolled over in bed, feeling ready to die. His whole body was weak and sore. He wasn’t able to keep food down and he was both too hot and too cold. It was a miracle he survived the walk back from the city.

He threw off the covers and tried to summon the strength to climb out of bed. All he managed to accomplish, after a feeble amount of squirming, was knocking his pillow onto the floor. Theodore wailed in frustration. He was trapped and now less comfortable.

“Are you okay??” Oboe said, coming up the cottage stairs with a big bowl of soup. “You sound awful!”

Theodore used a trembling arm to brace himself against the bedpost and sit up. “I’m fine. Just yawning. I need to get back to work.”

“No, you don’t! You need to rest!” She said. “Thistle told us you have to stay in bed so your body can get rid of the extra magic!”

“I’m not going to just sit around,” he said, grumbling. “I have a responsibility to serve the Whirlwood.”

“You can’t help anybody while you’re sick! That’s why you gotta focus on getting better, okay?” She set the soup down on the nightstand. “You’ll feel better if you eat this.”

The dish was filled with a thick, stringy green fluid that made Theodore nervous. “What is it?”

“Medicine. Woodruff with moon herb and sickle shrooms! Thistle said it’ll help. It’ll make you poop a lot!”

Unconvinced, Theodore swirled the spoon in the bowl until he worked up the bravery to put the concoction in his mouth. It had an overwhelming mint taste that went down bitter. He tried to tell himself that meant it was just potent.

“Has it been busy?” He said, forcing himself to eat more.

“Not very,” she said, putting his pillow back. “Most creatures just need help with renewals. I’m taking notes for anyone who’s got a problem I can’t figure out.”

“Good.” Theodore relaxed, feeling better knowing nothing catastrophic had happened yet. He felt grateful for her help now more than ever. “Thank you for covering for me like this. It means a lot.”

A big smiled crept across her face. “You’re welcome!” She was straining not to grab him and pull him into a hug. “Anything to help a friend!”

Theodore put the bowl down again, thinking. “Oboe, I’m sorry. I’ve been cold to you, and you didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s okay,” Oboe said. “I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said, feeling the need to be firm. “Don’t say that. You gave me a gift, and I let myself get upset without thinking.” He looked down, dwelling on his mistake. “It felt good to talk to you about why I was upset. It’s not something I ever thought I’d talk about. …It meant something to me. More than I thought it would. Thank you.”

Oboe was holding her breath. “Does that mean you want the little knight now?”

“…Yes, I think tha–” Before he could finish, Oboe charged down the stairs to fetch it. She hurtled back up again, out of breath.

“I forgot!!” She said, bringing Theodore an envelope. “This came for you earlier!”

The letter had the university’s seal on it. Opening it, he read.

Salutations Sir Grayweather,

I hope your recovery has been steady since the incident. My condolences that things did not proceed as you had hoped. Felix Ambergrail is now more set than ever that the ban against the fairies must be kept. I cannot imagine that anything will change his mind. Attempts to sway him from this attitude have been futile.

There’s a matter I need to discuss with you, however. I did not forget the point of our agreement. Following the incident, I have kept records of the duke’s vitals. His recovery has been remarkable. I cannot argue with results like these. Even if the dream was cursed, the lasting effect on his health has been more than positive. This shows there was some truth in your hypothesis.

Please speak to me at your earliest convenience. This requires further study, but more pressingly, there are people who are still suffering. You told me that there are fairies likewise afflicted. I believe we can make a mutually beneficial arrangement provided you can enforce a more stringent screening process.

Respectfully,

Learned Practitioner of the Healing Arts

Alexander Stillwell

“What does it say?” Oboe said, peeking over his shoulder.

“Things might not be as bad as we thought,” Theodore said.

Oboe offered him the little toy knight again. This time, Theodore took it.

A tingle ran up Oboe’s spine. She felt it before she saw it. Something electric, magnetic, something that stirred up feelings long buried. She twisted to look, sensing the source like needles in the air.

A human fought, flailing and pushing his way through the brush of Whirlwood. His cloak caught in a thicket and he tore it to get free. There was something strange about the human. He was filled with Fates. They called to her, shining like a beacon through the forest. There were more Fates than Oboe had seen in her whole life.

She shook herself. It was none of her business. She watched the human race by and noticed something else. Some sort of magic was chasing him. A beam of light snaked through the forest like a ghost and curled to follow the human as he disappeared from sight.

On the other end of the light was more humans. A whole herd of them. Their armor rattled as they marched, cracking tree branches and trampling the thicket as they went. They followed the light. Or they were, anyway, before it flickered and winked out all of a sudden.

“Devil damn it!” The human in front wore a fancy wide-brimmed hat. “The equipment is malfunctioning again! There’s too much ambient interference!”

“We’ll lose him at this rate,” one of the other knights said.

“We won’t let that happen,” the hat human said. “Keep moving!”

Oboe popped out of hiding. “Hi!” She said. “Are you looking for someone? Do you need help?”

The humans turned to glare at her.

“Stay out of this, fairy!” The hat human said. “This is none of your concern!”

Oboe frowned as they marched past. There was no need to be so rude. She watched them go and wondered what was going on. It was weird for so many humans to come this far into the Whirlwood. Not that it mattered. The human was right. There was absolutely no reason for her to get involved.

She turned into a bird to follow them. It wasn’t hard to find the human the knights were searching for. Everything tingled in that direction. Oboe swooped down through the trees and found the hooded figure again. He leaned against an oak trying to catch his breath.

“You must hurry,” said a raven perched in the branches. “They are coming.”

“I know!” He was a teenaged boy, muddied with curly black hair. “How much farther?”

A knight erupted out from the brush, aiming a crossbow.

“There he is!” Someone shouted. “Grab him!”

“Run!” The raven said, taking flight. “Remember the plan! I’ll meet you there!”

Crossbow bolts sliced through the air, cutting straight through the raven. She burst in a spray of black feathers. Oboe and the boy both gasped.

The big hat human strode out in front. “It’s over Perceval. It’s time to come home.”

The youth stumbled to get away. “Help!” The knights closed in around him. “Anyone! Please!”

Oboe changed back to a faun and dropped to the ground in front of him. She reached out a hand to help him up.

“Don’t touch him!” A knight shouted, rushing to reload his crossbow.

“Why?” Oboe said. “What’s going on?”

The leader drew his sword. “This is royal business. Step away from the boy or I will be forced to slay you.”

“Don’t listen to him!” The boy pleaded. “They’re trying to take me away!”

Oboe looked at the boy and the knight, and felt the choice was obvious. She grabbed the boy by the scruff, a shiver running through her whole body, and ran. A bolt whizzed by her head and planted itself in the trunk of a tree.

“It’s got him!” A knight shouted. “After them!”

Oboe swung the boy into her arms and sprinted as fast as her legs could carry her. Her heart raced like she had robbed a bank. She scanned the trees for a way to escape and spotted a path the humans couldn’t see. It was a fold in the Whirlwood. She darted between two trees, circled around and back through a second time.

There were shouts of “They’re gone?!” and “fan out!” that echoed behind them. That wouldn’t stop them, just buy some time.

“Thank you!” The boy said. “You saved me!”

“Not yet,” Oboe said. “Hold on. I need to get you someplace safe.”

The magic light trailed through the air, weaving through the trees to track them.

“I’ve got a signal!” The leader said. “After them!”

Theodore led the bard off the beaten trail, down a slope of stones to find the hut. It was made from trees, twined together to form an oval domed crowned with branches and leaves. The grass in the yard grew wild and bone chimes dangled overhead. Theodore reached to knock on the door.

Albert blew a frantic tune on his flute. The notes were quick, erratic and anxious.

“What?” Theodore said. “What’s wrong?”

Albert gave him a frustrated look. His mouth opened but no words came out. He looked absurd standing out here in the woods wearing the bright motley of a musician. Putting his mouth back on the flute, he played a low and ominous melody.

“I know you’re scared,” Theodore said. “It’ll be okay. We’ll explain your situation to the crone and I’m sure she’ll undo the enchantment.”

He knocked on the door. “Fern?” Theodore called. “Fern Hardroot? Are you home?”

The door creaked inward. A plump, short old nymph with antlers leered at him from the other side. She had green skin, a shrub of ivy hair, and wore a threadbare robe with a faded crest.

“Who are you?!” She said. “What do you want?!”

“Theodore Grayweather, Ranger Deputy.” He showed her his badge. “I need to sort out a problem between you and Albert here.”

She looked at Albert. There was a brief flash of horrified recognition. “Never heard of him!” She tried to slam door but Theodore braced it open with his boot.

“Just a moment, please!” He said, fighting with her to keep the door open. “Albert tells me you put an enchantment on him.” It took an exasperated game of charades at the Ranger Deputy station for Albert to explain all this. “An enchantment he doesn’t want.”

Fern tried her best to crush Theodore’s foot in the door but wasn’t strong enough. She gave up and let the door hang open.

“I don’t see why that’s MY problem,” she said. “We made a deal!”

Albert puffed out barrage of shrill angry notes. Theodore held up a hand to calm him.

“You took away his voice. Do you expect me to believe this is a good deal?”

She rolled her eyes. “He wanted to be a great musician. I granted his wish. Now he can play any kind of music he wants.”

“Yes.” Theodore felt his patience straining. “But now he can’t talk. The ONLY thing he can do is play music.”

“Beautifully, might I point out?”

Albert stomped around the yard, tooting an ugly racket while glaring and pointing at her.

Theodore pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miss Hardroot, you can’t just take away a basic bodily function like that! There are laws!”

“Well, there wasn’t much to work with!” She said. “It’s not like he’s got any natural talent.” There was a trill of protest from Albert. “Fairy Magic works best on folk who have potential, who are weighed down by Fates, the sort who can send ripples of change into the world. Since he hasn’t got any of that the only way I stood to profit is by taking something away.”

“Then you should have told him,” Theodore said.

“I gave him fair warning!” Fern said.

“Was it a riddle?” He said. “A cryptic riddle delivered in rhyming verse?”

She smirked. “Nothing’s as fair as a good riddle.”

Theodore shook himself. “It’s clear to me that Albert did not understand what he was agreeing to. I’m going to have to ask you to reverse the spell.”

Her smile wilted. “No! He agreed! Voluntary enchantment is allowed by law.”

“There’s no consent if you deceived him,” Theodore said.

“It’s not like I turned him into a toad! You can’t take this one from me! I need these Fates!!”

“If you won’t undo the spell then I’ll have to charge you with unlawful enchantment,” Theodore said. “I can have the city watch come and haul you off so the matter can be settled in the Court.”

Fern broke down. She slumped against the doorframe, crying and wailing so loud that Theodore felt bad. He tried to console her, but she batted his hand away.

“You don’t understand!” She said. “But of course a human like you wouldn’t. You don’t need Fates. You never have to cast a single spell to keep going! You get a set lifespan and that’s all there is to it! Tell me, is that supposed to be fair?”

Theodore knew more than she realized. After the incident with Duke Ambergrail he took it upon himself to learn about fairy magic. It was a type of magic that craved expression. Fairy creatures thrived by affecting growth and change on the world, and it was most potent when used to alter the course of lives.

“I don’t make dreams,” Fern said. “I don’t change the seasons. I don’t help plants grow. I was born to work enchantments on PEOPLE. You think that’s easy to do with all these laws getting in the way?!”

Every human had different Fates, different trajectories their life could take, and each could affect the lives of others. A fairy could grow in power by taking away Fates, by removing possibility and replacing it with a direction. That direction did not have to be good for the target of the enchantment. Even if magic wanted to do good, it could be misused.

“I’m sorry,” Theodore said. “But the laws are there to protect people.”

Fern steadied herself on the door. “Look at me. I haven’t got much life left. I admit it, I tricked the human! But only out of desperation. Don’t make me undo this! Please! I’ll be one foot in the grave!”

“I can’t make an exception on this,” Theodore said, firm. “If you can’t follow the law then you’ll be labeled as wicked. I don’t want that to happen to you”

Fern shoved herself off the door. “Fine!” She stormed over to Albert and slapped him across the back. There was a pop and a spark and albert dropped the flute.

“I can speak again! Oh, glorious day! Hooray!” He embraced Theodore. “I’ve learned that there is no replacement for hard work! I shall endeavor from here to become the world’s greatest musician the natural way!”

Fern sneered. “Yeah. Good luck with that.” She waddled back into her hut, mumbling a few colorful epithets about the human race before slamming the door.

Theodore escorted Albert back to the office, trying to hurry. Lifting the enchantment on the bard took far more time than he planned. He was behind on paperwork and that made him anxious.

When he arrived, he found the yard crowded with creatures. There were trolls and wolves, a gaggle of gnomes, a flock of geese, a few goblins, and a pulsating gelatinous cube.

“Where’ve you been??” A wolf said. “We’ve been waiting all morning!”

“Where’s Oboe?” Theodore tried to spot her through the window. “She should’ve shown up by now to help.”

“Well, she didn’t!” A troll said, grinding his hulking knuckles in the dirt. “Not anybody’s shown up at all!”

That was strange. She was late to work that morning but it was bizarre for her not to show up at all. She was always so eager to help. What happened to her?

“I’m next! Help me next!” A gnome said, only for the others to shove and wrestle to be the one in front. “No! Me first! Me!”

The troll swept the smaller creatures aside with his long arms. “Like hell! I’ve been waiting for hours!”

The geese swarmed past him, surrounding Theodore and pressing up against his knees. “Give us some visas!” “I want to go shopping!” “I want to apply for work!” “Help!!”

Albert stepped back as the whole mass of creatures crowded in around Theodore to plead and shout for his attention.

“It uh, it looks like you’ve got your hands full,” Albert said. “I’ll just show myself back to the city.” He slipped away before Theodore could say goodbye.

The day wasn’t half over and already Theodore felt overwhelmed. The longer he worked as Ranger Deputy the more work seemed to pile up. He grit his teeth. It didn’t look like he would get to catch up on paperwork.

“Alright!” Theodore said, taking command. “Let’s get organized! We’re doing this one at a time!”

Just where the devil was his assistant?