Small Persons With Wings (24 page)

Timmo made a face and did a quick hula to adjust cargo. His pants pockets emitted a chorus of gripes and moans. “Do we have to? I'm not all that comfortable right now.”

Durindana poked her head out of his pocket. “The Parvi Pennati will disembark while Melissa Angelica Turpin and Timothy Oliver Wright search for Monsieur Fidius.”

We left the Parvi sitting on the stairs chatting morosely in French. Timmo set off to roam around the first floor. I headed upstairs, Durindana perched on my shoulder.

It was a mess up there. The last residents had left rugs and furniture behind, and in some rooms the ceilings had fallen right on top of it all. The air was sickly sweet with wet wool and rotten wood.

I creaked around calling for Fidius, feeling stupid and hopeless. Durindana kept saying, “Hist! Do you hear?” But the sound always turned out to be something or other decaying.

We were searching our third room when Durindana gave a start. “The Circulus! I feel the power of it! ” Which meant the Circulus had made it back to the pub and started up again. I looked at my hands. Yup. Greener.

Durindana fluttered off my shoulder, wavered, and sank down again. But Fidius was better at tapping strength from a distant Circulus—maybe this was helping him, wherever he was.

“Fidius!” I yelled. No answer.

Another room, another and another. Finally, we reached the end of the upstairs hallway and one last door, which opened onto a narrow chamber lined with shelves and musty drawers. I opened the drawers and poked around in the corners. Durindana, a little stronger, wobbled off my shoulder to search the upper shelves.

Nothing. “This sucks,” I said. “We'll never find him.”

“This metal door is cold like a Parvus,” Durindana commented from across the room. It was a square door of mottled gray metal, about three feet off the floor, hinged at the bottom, with a horizontal bar for a handle.

When I got closer, I saw that the mottling wasn't from rust or age or moisture.

It was frost.

“Fidius!” I flung myself at the door, pulled it open. It was some sort of chute—for laundry, maybe. It went all the way down to the cistern room—I could hear the sea sploshing and splooshing.

And there, clinging to a rivet ... was Fidius.

“Turpina,” he whispered. “Turpina.”

I plucked him out of there by his raggedy tunic and sank to the floor with him on my knee. Durindana fluttered around us like a maddened moth.

“Fidius, what did she do to you?”

He closed his eyes, and his nasty tunic turned into a velvet coat. But still he lay there, seemingly exhausted. “Magica Mala, Turpina,” he said. “She entranced me, and when I awoke I had no powers, could only climb, climb, climb up that”—he wafted a hand at the laundry chute—“that chimney, or whatever it is.” He sat up to groom his wings. “But I begin to feel better now.”

“The Circulus stopped for a while, but now it's started up again back in the pub. You probably can fly.”

To be companionable, the two Parvi rode my shoulders back downstairs. Durindana told Fidius what had happened in the cistern room.

“My little Turpina,” he said in my ear, chilling it. “You succeeded where I failed.”

“I had help. You were all alone.”

“Still. My little Turpina is very brave.”

Timmo was waiting at the foot of the stairs. “The Parvi took off,” he said, obviously relieved not to be waddling home. Fidius flitted off toward the pub. Timmo and I trudged down the driveway, Durindana nestled in Timmo's pocket.

“You're a frog again,” he said, “but you're not drooling yet.” He got out his bleach-dripped paper towel and sniffed it. “Better take precautions, though. Watching you makes me retch.”

“Thanks.” I handed him the moonstone ring.

“Hey, you try looking at a steady stream of saliva—”

“No, I mean it. Thanks. For being here and all.”

He was so surprised he shut up all the way back to Oak Street. When we got to the pub, Rinaldo announced me as “the Turpina who is giving back the Gemmaluna.” A knot of ladies and gentlemen started shouting and shaking their fists when he said that, but most of the Parvi cheered. Ladies threw roses at me—actually swizzle sticks from the bar, Timmo said.

An admiring crowd clustered around Fidius and, I was pleased to see, Durindana. Not Rinaldo, though, because he had more hand-wringing to do. “My Lady Noctua has not returned,” he quavered, bobbing up and down in front of the mail slot.

“Hmm,” I said. “So, Rinaldo . . .”

He stopped wringing. “Turpina?”

“Um. So. Lady Noctua. She's not too happy about us giving back the Gemmaluna, is she?”

He returned his attention to the mail slot. “My Lady Noctua will accustom herself.”

“But . . . with no Circulus for her to run . . .”

Rinaldo bobbed closer, spoke softly. “The Lady Noctua and myself, we shall live in a mossy place with a view of the sea. In a cave we shall build with the magic of our ancestors.”

Lady Noctua and mossy caves didn't exactly go together. I was pretty sure Rinaldo had a shock coming. Part of me wanted to warn him . . . but what did I really know? Gigi sounded like Noctua . . . but so did a lot of Parvi, and how much effort would it take to throw in a “
tiens
” here and there? Both Gigi and Noctua were very clear about not wanting the Parvi to take back the Gemmaluna, but that wasn't unique either.

On the other hand, I couldn't remember a time when Gigi and Noctua had been in the same place at once. And who better than Noctua to lure a Circulus away and set it up someplace else?

I pictured myself saying to Rinaldo, “Pardon me for butting in, but I think your wife is the evil Gigi Kramer, Circulus kidnapper and user of Magica Mala.” (a) He wouldn't believe me. (b) He'd give me acne on top of my frog face.

Rinaldo murmured on, more to himself than to me. “My Lady Noctua loves the sea above all things. And in this mossy place we shall eat food we create with our hands, wear real clothes.” He sighed. “Noctua and myself.”

Love is blind, that's for sure.

Timmo and I went upstairs, where the grandfather clock was sitting at the kitchen table. “I told you not to move,” I snapped, and pelted up the stairs. Mom and Dad were sound asleep in their bed. When I returned downstairs, all nip bottles of liquor were full and accounted for.

I'd known everything Gigi showed me was a fake. Still. It was a relief to be sure.

Bong
, the grandfather clock said. I fumbled for my nip bottle, gave it a sniff. Grand-père reappeared, glowering. “It's several hours past lunchtime.”

“I told you to stay with them.”

“They were asleep. I'd hear them from the kitchen if they started walking around. I came down to see if you'd left me a sandwich. You hadn't.”

“I thought you couldn't eat.”

“I grew legs, and I got hungry.”

“The Circulus stopped for a bit. Then it started up again, and right now you're definitely a clock. Are you still hungry?”

“I
remember
being hungry. Maybe I could try eating something.”

“
I'm
hungry,” Timmo said.

I got out baloney and bread while Timmo told Grand-père how it had gone with Gigi Kramer. He glossed over the Dad Is Drunk illusion, which was good. I didn't want Grand-père to tell Dad I was afraid he'd start drinking again. I'd been surprised by that myself.

When nobody was looking, I snagged myself three flies. Tasty, but they didn't do much for my human-sized stomach, which was hollow. I made myself a baloney sandwich, although I wasn't looking forward to the effort involved in eating it.

“Hey,” Timmo said when I handed him his sandwich, “did you notice Gigi tried to put the moonstone on her finger? How would the ring affect some fiberglass walking dummy, even if the right person gave it to her?” I'd explained about the “true owner” issue.

Grand-père sniffed his sandwich. “Blast. I'm not hungry anymore.” He put the sandwich down without taking a bite. “The boy raises an interesting point. If Gigi is as good at the Magica Mala as she seems, she may be so connected to that mannequin that she thinks the moonstone would work for her as a ring. If that's so, she can wear the ring while the other two magics are still in force. She'll have access to the Three Magics, and heaven help us all.”

I pondered this. “She'd need the Circulus for two of the magics though, right? How would she convince the Parvi to keep it going for her?” I gagged on a bit of baloney.

Grand-père shrugged, watching Timmo wolf down his sandwich. “No one knows how the Three Magics work. Maybe once she united them she'd be a sorceress for good, wouldn't need a Circulus anymore. She'd have absolute power—you'd be a real frog, I'd be a clock.”

“I think she likes being human,” Timmo said.

I saw again the way Gigi admired herself in the pub mirror. “You're right,” I said.

“Interesting,” Grand-père said. “Perhaps she thinks the Three Magics will make her a human body.”

“Do you think they can?” For some reason, I found that thought revolting.

“How should I know?” Grand-père said. “Do I look like a
magus
?”

“Well,” Timmo said. “We've got the Gemmaluna, so that's one magic she doesn't have. We'll never know what she could have done.”

“Never say never.” Grand-père sniffed his sandwich again, a look of longing on his face. “I never thought I'd crave baloney.”

GRAND-PÈRE WENT BACK TO HIS GUEST BED around four. I wanted to take a nap before moonrise, so I tried to relax. I reassured myself that we'd left the mannequin floating in the ocean, and even Gigi would have trouble pulling herself together after that.

But the better part of my brain knew perfectly well that whoever was in that mannequin wasn't going to give up.

“The mannequin may be waterlogged, but whoever's running it was moving around fine,” Timmo said. “I bet she shows up again.”

“I don't know what to do about it,” I said. “Except try to keep a clear head.”

“Lock the doors and take a nap,” he said. “I'm going home. I'll try to sleep too, if I can do it without my mother deciding I'm sick or something. What time should I come back?”

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” I said. “My parents will be back to normal at nine twenty-six.”

“Don't be nuts. I want to see the ceremony.”

“Okay, so come back around eleven, I guess. What'll you tell your parents?”

“Nothing. I can climb out my window onto the shed roof.”

He handed me the moonstone ring. “Oh geez,” he said, eyes wide, “I forgot what you look like as a frog.” He took a whiff of bleach, and I got a full frontal assault with the galaxy grays. “Phew. That's better.” He got up to leave.

I put the ring on. “Timmo,” I said, and then I couldn't go on.

He paused in the doorway. “Yeah?”

“Do you . . . do you think . . .”

“Geez. Spit it out.”

I swallowed hard. “Do you think we could ever be friends? After this is all over, I mean. When the Parvi aren't around anymore.” I wished he was seeing me as a frog, because then I wouldn't be blushing.

“You're wacked,” he said. “We're already friends.”

Warmth flooded over me. That was the absolute truth.

To celebrate, I took off the ring and snagged myself a fly going up the stairs for my nap. Might as well enjoy them while I could.

I checked on my parents. They were restless—no surprise, considering they'd been sleeping for twenty-four hours straight. Mom was sitting on the edge of the bed when I went in.

“You look pale, sweetie,” she said.

“I'm okay. How are you feeling?”

“Sad.”

“Sad ain't the half of it,” my dad muttered into his pillow.

Fidius settled on my shoulder, chilling my ear. “May I be of help to the Turpini?”

Mom scowled at him. “What could you do for us?” She fingered her frostbitten ear.

“He's been very helpful, Mom.”

“To tell the truth, Turpina, I tried and failed. Veronica Turpin is right—I am no hero.”

“Well, it's not heroic but I need to sleep. Can you watch my parents for me?”

“‘Watch my parents,' ” Dad grumbled. “Like we're three-year-olds. Which we might as well be, for all the good we are to anyone.”

“I'm not sure I can live with you anymore,” Mom told him. “You're so depressing.”

“Go back to bed, Mom. I'll get you up at moonrise. You'll feel better in no time.”

“I will stay here,” Fidius said. “Rest, Turpina.”

I left him there, sitting straight-backed at the end of the bed, beady gaze shifting from one blanketed lump of parent to the other. His wings were brown around the edges, not surprising after the day we'd all had.

I hauled my mattress back into my room, leaving my door open a crack so I could hear if something happened. I put a wastebasket of books against it so I'd wake up if somebody tried to sneak in and steal the moonstone. As an added precaution, I kept the moonstone on my finger with my hand clenched. With all that on my mind, you'd think I'd never fall asleep. But as I snuggled into my pillow, my brain played back Timmo's voice:
You're wacked
.
We're already friends.
I don't remember a thing after that.