Small Persons With Wings (17 page)

I remembered what Durindana had told me, about Rinaldo making fun of Fidius's parents. “He was your friend once.”

“You were my friend too. Friends betray.”

My tears welled up again. “I didn't mean to, Fidius. I didn't understand.”

He whirred closer, patted my cheek but not enough to freeze me. The color returned to his wings. “I know, Turpina. I didn't understand back then either. You're all so big . . . I forget how young some of you are.”

“What do
you
know about Magica Mala?” I asked

“The
magi
study it and so did I, when I thought I would be a
magus
. Magica Mala gives one unnatural control of others. But to master a lifeless object . . . that takes deep study, remarkable talent.” Fidius flew to my bureau, settled down next to the china guy. “You see, Turpina, Magica Mala is a stronger version of the Magica Artificia. This big doll of yours—Magica Artificia makes it look like a Gigantea, but making it move and talk, this requires illicit power beyond what even the
magi
permit themselves to study.”

“She wants us to give her the moonstone, and not give it to Rinaldo.”

“What did she offer you for it? She must have offered something.”

I discovered I was ashamed that I'd almost given up the moonstone for blond hair and a figure. “She didn't offer me anything,” I said, and goose bumps rose all over me.
Hunh. The moonstone tells me when I'm lying too
.
Isn't
that
handy.
I shivered and changed the subject. “Fidius, why would she want the moonstone all for herself?”

Fidius shook his head slowly. “This is a puzzle for you, I must admit. If she drank the elixir, she would kill the Magica Artificia.” His eyes widened. “Oh. Maybe ... sheesh, as your
père
would say. Maybe she thinks she can use Magica Mala as a bridge between the other two, achieve the Three Magics? Sheesh indeed, Turpina.”

I still felt shivery. “What do you mean,
achieve
the Three Magics? You mean combine them?”

“This is complicated, Turpina. The Parvi began with the Magica Vera, a simple magic that helped us make things and resist other enchantment. A sorceress taught the Lady Imprexa to make the Magica Artificia, but that was only a teaspoon's worth of sorcery, and some who worked with Imprexa wanted more. Working in secret, they manipulated the Magica Artificia, creating a third magic with deeper powers. They had the purest of motives, hoping to protect the Parvi Pennati in a world of Gigantes. But the
magi
in their wisdom deemed this power
mala.
” He shrugged. “Just as well, I suppose, since the stronger power would have eroded our senses even faster.”

“But what's this bridge thing you were talking about?”

Fidius whirred over to my shoulder so he could talk softly into my ear. “Here is the thing, Turpina. Some believe combining the Three Magics would give us the full powers of a sorcerer, the power to change reality to whatever we wanted, without eroding our senses. Over the generations, some have argued that we should take back the Gemma and experiment with the Three. But the
magi
always say no.”

He sounded sad. I thought I could guess why he'd fought with the
magi
. “Did you want to do that?”

He hesitated. “Yes, I admit it. But I was young and I was frightened of the world. I see my mistakes now.”

I shivered again. “Yes, Turpina,” he whispered. “That's a bad, bad walking doll.” He took off and hovered in front of my face. “But we will stop her, no big deal.” Goose bumps. Did that mean he was lying, that we
wouldn't
stop Gigi?

“Let's change the subject,” he said. “Did you enjoy the china Parvus I left for you?”

“Not much. Fidius, where have you been all these years? Why did you leave me that way? Why can't you smile? And—”

He chuckled, face immobile. “One question at a time, Melissa Angelica. I have been many places all these years, but often with you. I hid from you, that's all. For reasons best kept to myself.”

“Durindana says you got put in a jar when you were little.”

“As if the Parvi are ever anything
but
little. Inepta should mind her own business.”

“Don't call her that.”
Huh. She said he was nice to her.
“Fidius . . . you thought I'd take you to school and they'd put you in a jar. I'm sorry.”

He moved closer and briefly stroked my cheek. “Do not be concerned, my Turpina. I know you meant no harm.” I basked in warmth.
He's telling the truth. He does forgive me.

“You've been here all this time?” I asked him.

“Some of the time.” His eyes went beady. “Didn't you suspect, when the small Gigantes turned to piglets in the slush?”

“That was you! I . . . I didn't know what to think.”

“They called you Fairy Fat,” he said softly. “Why was that?”

I hadn't wanted him to know about my social status. But then I remembered that he too was an outcast. “They made fun of me because I didn't bring you in to school that day, and they didn't believe me when I said you were real.”

“I am sorry I caused you distress, Turpina. You are a loyal friend. Loyal to a fault!” He took off, laughing, and swooped around the room, bouncing against the ceiling, ricocheting off the walls.

“Why did you leave me that little china guy?”

“So you would not forget me.”
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
“I found it in the basement of your building.” He did a somersault in midair and landed neatly on the bureau. “And now the others pretend to be china. How rich.”

“They were all in rags when I had the moonstone ring on.”

He gave me a sharp look and inspected himself. “All I see are my nice clothes, the illusion. Am I at least decent?”

“Sure, yeah, you're fine. A bit tattered, that's all.”

“You have the Gemma on, so you are seeing us as we are. We have made nothing real for thirteen hundred years.” His wings darkened and he kicked suddenly, savagely, at the china guy, knocking it over. “At least I have my own face. What are we going to do about that frog face, Turpina? I don't enjoy looking at it.”

I wasn't hurt. Not. At. All.
He's saying mean things to make me face facts, that's all.

“I guess we'll figure something out,” I said.

“Brave Turpina,” Fidius said, and I watched his wings return to normal. “It's not
such
a bad face. It is a frog of . . . of great gentility. We will get your face back, I promise.”

I went cold all over, because he definitely was lying this time. It was a very bad face, and we both knew it.

My parents walked in, looking solemn. Dad nodded at Fidius, who swept a bow.

“Give me the ring, Mellie,” Mom said in a voice that meant business. I gave it to her and she dropped it into a glass of water. “
Cupio videre
.”

“Hey, Mom, no!” I lunged for the glass. “Grand-père's note, he warned us . . .”

Mom held me off with an elbow. The water in the glass was giving off a vapor—not a foggy kind of vapor, though; it made things clearer, somehow. I could see through it to the doorknob, which was like . . . I don't know, the essence of Doorknob, as if I'd been wearing someone else's glasses all my life and just took them off.

Mom drank half the water and handed the glass to Dad. “
Cupio videre
,” he said.

“Dad,” I pleaded. “Don't do it. Remember what Grand-père . . .”

He drank up the rest of the water and set the glass down on my desk.

“We know what Grand-père said.” Mom burped. “Excuse me. We've had a talk, your dad and I, and we don't see any way to get you back the way you were. So we're drinking this stuff. Maybe we'll feed it to everybody we know, put it in the water supply or something. It's not a perfect solution, but we figure—” She broke off with a gasp. “Oh. Oh, Mellie.”

“What, Mom? What? What do I look like now?”

She was turning whiter by the second. “You look fine, dear. But ... oh, Mellie.”

My dad groaned.

“What?” I said. “What, Dad? What?”

He slumped against the door frame. “You don't respect us at all, do you?”

“Respect you?” I said. “Of course I do. I love you.”

“You love us but you think we're idiots,” Mom said. “I never thought I'd have a child who felt this way about me. It's as if I'm my mother.”

My insides had dropped out. I wanted to take back every time I'd ever thought how stupid they ...
no, no, I don't mean that.
“Mom. It's just—”

She burst into tears and ran from the room. Her sobs echoed in the stairwell to the third floor. Dad made for the door too. “Dad,” I said.

“No, Mellie. Leave us alone now.” He went out, his shoulders curled over as if he were carrying something heavy, and trudged up the stairs after Mom.

Bong!
Mom must have jostled that old clock on the third floor.
Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong!

“What a noise!” Fidius said, hands over ears.

“Mom! Dad!” I fished the moonstone out of the glass, shoved it on, headed up the stairs. The clock stopped bonging. Instead, someone was yelling, “Help me, you benighted fools! Help me! Help me!”

Oh great
, I thought.
Now I really
am
going nuts.

On the third-floor landing, my parents stood frozen,

staring at the place where the grandfather clock had been. It wasn't a clock anymore. It was a skinny, pale, whiskery, glaring old man trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, the rope anchored to the wall behind him.

I hadn't seen him for a long time, but I was pretty sure it was Grand-père.

“Are you the clock?” I said.

“Am I speaking words? All I hear is bonging.”

I nodded. He grimaced at the sight. “What in blue blazes are you, anyway? You sound human.”

“I'm Mellie. I don't normally look like this. I've been cursed.”

“Crossed Gigi Kramer, hey? Well, happens to the best of us. How come you can see me?” I held up my hand. “Ah. You found the Gemma. Every fool has his day.”

Dad gurgled. Mom walked carefully over to the wall and slid down it to sit on the floor.

“What's the matter with them?” Grand-père asked. “
They
can't see me, can they?”

“They drank the elixir.”

“Blast. Blast, blast, and blast. They'll be worthless until the next full moon. And we'll have to run around after them, making sure they don't do themselves in before it wears off.”

“Worthless,” Dad said. “That's a good word for me. Worthless.” He too sat down on the floor. He stared at the threadbare carpet, rocking slightly.

“After all these years, finally he listens,” Grand-père said. “So, my gorgeous granddaughter—think those funny green fingers of yours can untie a rope?”

I looked closer. “I don't think anybody's fingers could undo those knots. I need a knife.”

“There's one attached to my belt around back,” Grand-père said.

To my surprise, the knife cut the first rope I tried. “These must be real ropes.”

“Brilliant child,” Grand-père said. “So observant.”

“Well, they could have been an illusion.”

“In which case you wouldn't be seeing them with the Gemma on, would you?” He was right, but he didn't have to be so obnoxious about it. My mother's voice came into my head, from years back.
I know Grand-père is a bit testy sometimes, Mellie, but it's not easy being old. Be respectful, and we'll go home soon.
Probably being a clock was no picnic either.

I was trembling so hard I could barely hold the knife. Here's the emotional tally from the previous, what, three hours? (1) I looked like a frog; (2) My parents had gone nuts; (3) My grandfather was alive, so nobody could say my father was a murderer; (4) My grandfather was a jerk; (5) We didn't own the inn anymore, which was just as well because it was a wreck and infested by Small Persons with Wings; (6) Some walking mannequin was trying to take over the world; (7) I ate a fly.

“Our Lady of the Painted Eyes entranced the building inspector into tying me up,” Grand-père said. “Using, as you so intelligently noted, real rope. Then she transformed the whole package into a clock, ropes and all, right in front of him. He probably doesn't remember a thing.”

My dad groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“You say that elixir wears off, Grand-père?” I sawed at another rope.

“When the next full moon rises. Tide chart next to the refrigerator will say when that is.”

My mom gave a sob. I sawed some more. “Your dad jumped off a bridge.”

“Dad. What a disheartening thing to call someone. But yes, you are correct. I allowed my male progenitor to jump off a bridge.” He said this without any emotion at all.

I wanted to forget the stupid rope and hug my mom, then my dad, then my mom again. But I kept hacking away, trying to ignore the tears that were starting to run down my cheeks.

“Your tears are the color of phlegm, do you know that?” Grand-père said.
It's not easy being old. It's not easy being old.

The last rope fell away. Grand-père collapsed onto the floor like a bunch of pick-up sticks.

“Can you walk?” I asked.

“Give me a minute. I'm eighty-four years old. I just spent two months as a clock.”

“Aren't you still a clock?”