Birdie's Book (16 page)

I saw that Kerka's hair had grown back—it was braided and coiled back on her head perfectly. I looked down at myself and saw that I was, thankfully, being washed clean as well. I saw Kerka's Kalis stick, whole again, lying on the ground.

Suddenly I heard the sound of wings, and the banshee landed in front of us. Before Kerka or I had time to react, its old woman's face changed until it was a crow's head and face. The seemingly normal crow (although I'm sure it wasn't
completely
normal) looked into my eyes. Her eyes were no longer haunted, but warm and bright as a mischievous bird's. Then the banshee-now-crow soared into the
gentle rain, flying away until she was just a black speck in the sky.

“What was that?” asked Kerka.

I grinned, braces and all. “Just a banshee,” I said. “Nothing I can't handle.” I stood up and put the whole Singing Stone into my pocket. Then I held out my hand to Kerka. “It's New Year's Eve—let's go home.”

Kerka held her hand out, and I hauled her up. We were both soaking wet but relatively clean, and only a little worse for wear. Kerka picked up her Kalis stick and put it in her backpack, which was still on her back.

I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand. “Oh geez,” I said. “How do we get home? Do we have to go back the same way?”

And then I heard bells ringing, and the rain stopped. I heard the sound of wings and looked up, thinking the crow might be back. Instead, I saw fairies, lots of them, Queen Patchouli in the lead. They were flying down to us, their gossamer wings glimmering. Queen Patchouli stepped lightly onto
the ground. Her wings folded and she hugged us both for a long, long time.

Then Queen P. shook the bells on her wrist, and my suitcase appeared right in front of us. With a snap and a clatter, it unclasped and flew open. A smile spread over my face. I couldn't hold it back, even though it showed my full set of braces, which I was sure were glowing in the sunlight. I didn't care.

This time the suitcase didn't turn into a wardrobe. It simply stayed what it was, and Patchouli reached inside and pulled out a small envelope. She handed the envelope to me as the rest of the fairies danced around us.

I opened the envelope and took out a small piece of paper that was pressed with flowers. I unfolded the paper. “To Birdie,” I read aloud. “We thank you for healing the Arbor Lineage, for retrieving the Singing Stone, our talisman, and for restoring harmony to the green worlds.”

“
Our
talisman?” I asked. I folded the letter, and it turned into a daisy in my hand.

“Exactly,” Patchouli answered. “This message is not from the fairies. It is from the women in your family, for they are your fairy godmothers in the real world, there to help you learn and grow. There to watch over you and keep you as safe as they can.”

“Thank you,” I whispered to the daisy.

Queen P. then turned to Kerka. “The next time you visit Aventurine, it will be for your own quest, your own discovery,” she said. “Though I trust that you have learned things with Birdie.”

“I have,” said Kerka. She looked over at me. “And I wouldn't have missed it for the world,” she added. “Not one minute of it!”

“Not even the arguing?” I teased.

“Well … actually … let's not go there, okay?” she said, chuckling.

“It is time for you to return home now,” said Queen Patchouli.

“Okay,” I said, “but can I just have a moment with Kerka before we go?”

The queen nodded and stepped away, joining the other fairies as they danced around the newly blossoming garden.

“So, we both have fairy godmothers,” I said to Kerka.

“And are going to be fairy godmothers ourselves one day,” said Kerka. “At least, we
will if we can survive all the fairy tests.”

“Yes. It's like being in a funny kind of school, isn't it?” I said.

“It is,” Kerka said. “A school for fairy godmothers.”

“A fairy godmother academy,” I said. “Complete with fairy uniforms, which aren't like uniforms at all, of course!”

“I love it! The Fairy Godmother Academy!” said Kerka. “Birdie, do you think we can meet up here again?”

“I don't know!” I said. “But I promise to try!”

We suddenly heard the tinkling of bells all around us. Flower petals drifted in the air like snow, and …

… suddenly I was shaking, my jaw frozen shut, my whole body trembling with cold. My eyes shot open. I was sitting on Mo's stone seat, my gloves beside me. My feet were frozen to the ground, so I must have been there for quite a while. An hour? Five hours? I had no idea. Had I fallen asleep?

I freed my frozen feet, jumped up, and looked around. The waterfall bared its frozen fangs, and the evergreens were frosted white. The sky was gray. It looked like a nice New Year's Eve snow was on the way.

I shivered. My braces were positively freezing. I clenched my hands in the cold and remembered everything as my right fist closed on the Singing Stone. I opened my hand and looked at it.

It was the whole stone, healed, with every tiny
etched detail in place—every branch of the tree and the walled maze perfectly drawn, not a line missing! I did a little dance of joy, right there, and nearly slid down the hill.

“The Singing Stone!” I shouted to the frozen waterfall, to the trees, to the boulders, to the snow-laden clouds. I tucked the stone deep into the pocket of my jeans and gave a quick glance around, just in case there was a shimmering tail or a girl with an orange stick hiding someplace in the frosty area. A winter sparrow darted out of a tree, startling me for a moment. Then I smiled as it flew off into the sky.

I thought of shimmying down the ice-glazed boulders, but instead, I ran, jumping from boulder to boulder. I had to get to the Glimmer Tree! I felt like a gazelle, leaping in a graceful streak toward the evergreens. Well, not quite a gazelle, I realized, laughing out loud when I slipped and slid on my bottom,
ba-BUM
, down three boulders (ouch!) and landed at the snowy base of an evergreen.

I planted a big kiss on the evergreen's trunk.

Then I was up, brushing snow off my seat, and running again. I raced through the willows, along the ravine, and tromped like Mo right across the bridge. I rounded each corner and switchback of the maze, excited, leaping over icy patches on the ground.

There she stood, at the center, in all her golden brown majesty.

“Ms. Quercus! Quercus Robur!”
I whispered. I held up the Singing Stone to show her. (You never know what the Glimmer Tree might be able to see or sense!) I'm pretty sure that I heard a soft sigh of relief coming from deep within the tree.

I reached my arms around her trunk, hugging her tight. I was so grateful for the Glimmer Tree, so grateful for my frightening and magical and wonderful trip to Aventurine. So amazed that I—plain old Birdie Bright—was going to be a fairy godmother, and that I was from a whole line of fairy godmothers!

I walked to the side of the tree that was rotting and felt for the soft spot. I felt up and down and around and around where it had been. It was gone, all of it. The Glimmer Tree was healed!

I closed my eyes as I laid my cheek against the tree's beautiful, rugged bark where the rotting part had been. I felt tears begin to rise in me, from my heart up through my veins, and I wasn't sure why. Just then, a blob of snow fell on my nose.

I looked up into the tree. “Willowby!” I exclaimed.

“Mrrrrow,” said Willowby in a friendly way. He
crouched as if he were going to jump, and I held out my arms, wondering if I could catch him. Then he seemed to change his mind (I must have looked worried) and shimmied down the trunk instead. On the ground, he purred at me and wound about my legs the way cats do when they feel like they own you.

“Thank you, Willowby,” I said in a proper voice. “Come on, let's go home now.”

I stopped all along the way, checking out the plants. I swear I could see spring beneath the winter snow! Where Mo had pointed out summer squash and Fourth of July cucumbers, I saw them in my mind and couldn't wait to come back in the summer when they'd really be there. We passed the Christmas roses
(Helleborus niger)
, and I thought of the girl whose tears had made white flowers sprout. There were the rose hips that looked like orange and red Christmas ornaments against the deep evergreen.

How lucky that I could have all of this whenever I visited! Mo was so close now, just a train ride away. Suddenly I realized this was even better than Califa! I had Mo's garden and my own garden of
Aventurine now. Plus, I had Mo!

As we got to the back porch, I stopped and made a U-turn. “Wait a sec,” I told Willowby. “Let's go see if Granny Mo is still in the greenhouse.”

Willowby had clearly had enough, because he dashed through his cat door on the porch.

Me? I raced back to the Victorian greenhouse.

“Mo! Mo?” I called as I walked through the steamy double doors into the stillness.