Changeling Read online

  “What?” I said. “You asked what happened, and I’m telling you. It’s not my fault I broke the geas. The Green Lady set me up.”

  “You were curious,” the Curator said sternly. “Mortals can subdue their curiosity through force of will, although they seldom choose to do so. You knew that what you were doing was, at the very least, unwise.”

  Overwhelmed by a number of feelings, all of them uncomfortable, I put my head in my hands. There was a little silence, and then Bastet said, “So, what happened next?”

  The next part was harder, because it was a different kind of story-pattern from the first part. Besides, I was getting sleepy.

  I told them about how Carlyle snatched me. “Then he told me he had a surprise for me and put me in a broom closet. At first, I thought the surprise was a mortal child, and then I realized she was a fairy raised by mortals—a fairy changeling. My twin.” My throat closed up. I coughed and plunged on.

  “Fascinating,” the Curator said when I stopped talking.

  “You left out a lot,” Bastet complained.

  “I’m too tired to talk anymore,” I said. “And my throat’s sore. I’m not made of bronze, you know.”

  The Curator stood up. “Come and rest, then,” he said. “I forget how fragile mortals are.”

  Changeling was fast asleep under the table, the last of the bread clutched in her hand. The Assyrian Lion offered to carry us both, so the Pooka hoisted her onto the Lion’s back, and I climbed up behind.

  The Curator led us to the bedroom of the Palazzo Sagredo, which is one of my favorite rooms in the Museum. All that green brocade and those gilded curlicues always remind me of the Park in summer, with the sun shining down through the leaves. Unfortunately, it’s infested with pudgy little boys wearing tiny wings and nothing else. They’re called amorini, but I can think of lots of better names for them. Airheads. Motormouths. Busybodies.

  I could hear their squeals all the way down the hall.

  “Is that the Assyrian Lion?”

  “Oh, it is. Cool!”

  “What’s he doing in this part of the Museum?”

  “What’s that on his back?”

  “That’s Neef, you dork. She comes here all the time.”

  “Look, guys. Someone’s copied her!”

  “Cool! Are they going to sell it in the Museum Shop?”

  When we got to the door, the Curator held up a hand. “Silence, all of you, and listen well; I have an important task for you. This mortal and her companions are weary. You will watch over them as they sleep.”

  “Like guards, you mean? In case anybody tries to get in and steal them?”

  “In case any of them tries to get out,” the Curator answered dryly. “Especially the Pooka.”

  I waited for the Pooka to make some sarcastic comment, but he was already stretched out in the middle of the rose brocade bed, with Changeling curled beside him like a flower-covered rock. I flopped down on my stomach and hid my face in my crossed arms so I didn’t have to watch the amorini watching me. And then I fell gratefully asleep.

  CHAPTER 12

  YOU CAN’T TEACH OLD FOLK NEW TRICKS.

  Neef ’s Rules for Changelings

  I didn’t sleep long.

  As it turned out, when the Assyrian Lion chased the Wild Hunt out of the Museum’s air space, it flew straight to the Green Lady. What was the good of her putting bans on people, the Hunt wanted to know, if the ban didn’t hold? Twice the Hunt had chased me, and twice I’d gotten away scot-free, leaving them without so much as a toe to nibble on and laughing at the Lady as I went.

  Which is why I was pulled out of a dreamless sleep by the Old Market Woman’s husky voice in my ear. “The Green Lady’s here,” she murmured. “The Curator has sent for you.”

  I groaned. “I’m asleep. Can’t the Assyrian Lion deal with her?”

  “The Curator’s waiting,” the Old Market Woman said severely. She poked my shoulder with her marble basket until I got up, and then she made me finger-comb the leaves out of my hair and brush down the skirt of my spidersilk dress. When I was done, the gold-framed mirror by the door informed me that the dress looked a lot better than I did.

  The Old Market Woman glared at the amorini. “If the Pooka or the copy wakes, call a guard. Otherwise, not a peep out of you. Come on, Neef.”

  We paused at a Renaissance fountain and I splashed my face in it, hoping the cold water would clear my head. It made me feel better, but not nearly good enough to face the Green Lady in a fury.

  When we got to the Great Hall, I noticed right away that she’d grown about three times as tall as she usually was, and very pointy about the teeth and nails. I was glad to see the Curator was there, too, with a good dozen of the most powerful guards behind him.

  The Old Market Woman gave me a gentle shove forward. “Hail, Lady,” I croaked.

  The Lady said something that made my hair crackle and my toes tingle.

  The Curator made a clucking noise. “Remember, Lady, that you are a guest in my domain.”

  “You remember that you’re harboring a fugitive from justice. My justice.” The Green Lady pointed a green claw at me. “You’re busted, kid. I suppose you think you’re pretty smart, escaping the Wild Hunt and enlisting the Pooka and generally blowing off my geas. Well, you’re not. You can’t laugh at a Genius and get away with it. So I’ve decided to throw you out of New York.”

  Her words hit me like freezing water. I gasped, and the Green Lady smiled at me. Her smile was a Wild Hunter’s smile, wide and toothy and cruel.

  “The Genius of Central Park is bluffing,” the Curator said briskly. “In my Museum, on my territory, she can’t raise a breeze without my consent. Which she doesn’t have.”

  The Green Lady turned her smile on the Curator, and then she began to change. First she grew taller and then she grew thinner. Her arms and legs flowed into her body and her head kind of collapsed and reshaped itself. In the space of two breaths, she’d turned into a humongous green serpent with brown markings like leaves all down her back and the Lady’s narrow green eyes glaring out of the snaky face.

  I tried to hide behind the Old Market Woman, which was like a troll trying to hide behind a piskie.

  The Curator made a tsk, tsk noise and clapped his hands.

  Nobody moved. Even the guards are scared of her, I thought.

  I heard the faint scraping of terra-cotta skirts as the Minoan Priestess glided purposefully across the marble floor, a sacred snake clutched in each fist. As an ancient priestess of the Snake Goddess, she was certainly the right guard for the job, but I would have felt better if she’d been more than six inches high.

  “You don’t really want to fight us,” the Priestess said. Her voice was a lot bigger than she was, low and calm and firm.

  The Lady-serpent flicked her forked scarlet tongue. “Oh, yes I do,” she hissed. “I want to strike and sear and squeeze.”

  “That would be most unwise of you,” the Priestess said. “This is the Curator’s territory. Here, he is stronger than you are.”

  The great serpent’s mouth opened wider than I believed possible. Two gracefully curving fangs swung down and locked into place. The Minoan Priestess’s tiny snakes hissed like radiators. For a quivering moment, I was sure there was going to be a battle. Then the serpent’s fangs retracted. Her great head dipped, and she began to sway slowly.

  “That’s more like it,” the Priestess said. “Now, if you shift into something more comfortable, you can talk this over calmly with the Curator. What do you think?”

  In answer, the serpent gave a long shiver. By the time the shiver reached her tail, she was the Lady again, still a little larger and toothier than usual, but not nearly as scary as she had been. I came out from behind the Old Market Woman, trying to look as if I’d never moved.

  “Thank you,” said the Curator. “Really, Green Lady, I don’t know why you’re so upset with Neef. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was a new kind of trickster. In fact, you s
hould be proud of her. She hardly acts like a mortal at all.”

  The Lady pouted. “She’s broken every rule in the book. She has to be punished. That’s the way it works.”

  “Of course it is. But a Genius as ancient and powerful as you are can think of something more imaginative than simply feeding her to the Hunt.”

  The Green Lady tapped her teeth thoughtfully with one green nail. “I’m guessing you’re not going to let me cut off her hands or her ears or anything fun like that.”

  “Your guess is correct.”

  “No blood, no bones, no close encounters with demons?”

  “I am a conservator, Madam. I cannot accept physical damage of any kind.”

  The Lady started to swell again. “You ‘cannot accept’? Well, I cannot accept some snotty-nosed mortal brat tromping through my Park without my permission. I’ve got to make her suffer somehow, or it’ll be all over town that the Green Lady of Central Park is going soft.”

  The Curator said, “Hmm,” like he thought she might have a point.

  I opened my mouth to object. Loudly.

  “Don’t you dare,” the Old Market Woman muttered.

  “But I’ve already suffered. Plenty.”

  “Not everything is about you, Neef. You don’t know what’s at stake here. If the other Geniuses think the Lady’s getting weak, the Genius Wars could start all over again.”

  “They couldn’t break the treaty—they wouldn’t dare!”

  “You broke your geas.”

  I was about to point out that it wasn’t the same thing at all when a new voice broke into the debate.

  “What if my Lady had the Magical Magnifying Mirror of the Mermaid Queen?”

  Everybody turned around, and there was the Pooka at the top of the Grand Staircase, looking very sleek in a green velvet coat and silver-buckled shoes from the Costume Institute. His black hair was pulled back neatly, and his eyes were glittering yellow slits.

  “What’s he doing here?” the Old Market Woman muttered. “I’ll clip those amorini’s wings for them, you just see if I don’t.”

  The Green Lady glared at the Pooka. “What do you know about the Magical Magnifying Mirror of the Mermaid Queen?”

  “I know that it knows all and sees all. I know it would be very useful to any Genius who owned it.”

  The Green Lady frowned. “It sure would. And old scaly-tail’s as likely to give me her eyeteeth for earrings.”

  The Pooka sauntered down the stair and across the hall, and took up a position between the Green Lady and the Curator. He spread his long hands as if gathering up everybody’s attention.

  “To be sure, my Lady. Which is why you’ll be needing a champion to get it for you—a mortal hero of one sort or another. In return for a boon, of course.”

  The Lady looked thoughtful. I was confused. Champion? Mortal hero?

  The Suit of Seventeenth-Century Parade Armor raised a mailed fist. “I object,” it boomed. “It is improper for a young female of tender years to go a-questing.”

  The Green Lady rolled her eyes. “Sheesh. Get with the program, will ya? This is the twenty-first century. Okay,” she said to the Pooka. “The kid brings me the Magnifying Mirror, she can stay in New York. But I won’t let her back into the Park. That’s asking too much.”

  Things were moving a little too fast. I’d never heard of the Magical Magnifying Mirror of the Mermaid Queen or been to New York Harbor. Sure I knew a lot of Folk lore, but I’d never actually done much with it except bargain with a kazna peri, which wasn’t in the same league as bargaining with a Genius for a major magical talisman. What if I tried to steal it and got caught? And what good would it do me to stay in New York Between if I couldn’t go home? Where was I supposed to live if I couldn’t live in the Park?

  I looked from the Lady to the Pooka to the Curator, who was nodding.

  “Um, excuse me,” I said. “I don’t think . . .”

  Bastet butted her head into my ankle, hard. “Hush, mortal. The Pooka’s still talking.”

  “Well then,” said the Pooka, “what if she brings you a ticket to Peter Pan as well?”

  The Green Lady scratched among her dreadlocks. “It’s an idea. I’ve been wanting to see Peter Pan, and the Producer hasn’t spoken to me since the Hunt ate that vampire. Okay. The kid gets me a seat for Peter Pan—a good one, in the orchestra, with the original Tinkerbell—I’ll open the paths of the Park to her. But she can forget the protection thing. One measly ticket to Peter Pan isn’t worth the grief the Wild Hunt’s going to give me over this.”

  This was getting worse and worse. Did the Pooka think he was helping me out? Just how was I supposed to get this ticket? And say I did get it, then what? I might be able to visit Astris, but I’d still be looking over my shoulder for the Wild Hunt at sunset.

  “Third time pays for all,” said the Pooka. “What if we added the Scales of the Dragon of Wall Street?”

  The Green Lady’s mouth dropped open. So did the Curator’s. So did mine.

  Everybody in New York Between has heard of the Scales of the Dragon of Wall Street. They’re a pair of magic balances that turn paper into gold. You put paper in one side and gold appears on the other. When you take the gold off, the paper disappears. Sometimes the gold disappears, too, but the Dragon’s Scales are still definitely worth having.

  “The Dragon’s Scales,” said the Green Lady happily. “He’d hate that, wouldn’t he? And with all that gold, maybe I could buy some of my old land back. Wow. Yeah. The kid brings me the Dragon’s Scales, I’ll restore my protection, no strings attached.”

  The Pooka bowed. “Thank you, Lady. You’ll not be regretting this night’s work.”

  “I better not.” The Lady fixed him with a green glare. “I already got one serious beef with you, Pooka. You did your fairy godfather bit when you helped the kid escape the Hunt. She’s going to have to do this hero thing without you. What’s more, you’re banished from the Park until she’s done it. I want you to hang out here at the Museum behaving yourself until your heroic little goddaughter comes back with my treasures and bails you out.”

  The Pooka put his hand over his heart and bowed low. I couldn’t see his face, so I couldn’t tell how he felt. Speaking for myself, I felt sick.

  The Old Market Woman gave me a sharp nudge with her marble basket. “Did you understand what the Lady said?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You accept the Green Lady’s offer, then?” the Curator asked me, his spectacles glittering severely.

  I searched my brain for options, but I couldn’t come up with any. It was the Pooka’s bargain or exile Outside. “Yeah,” I said weakly. “I guess.”

  The Curator turned to the Lady. “Let’s get this clear. The Magical Magnifying Mirror of the Mermaid Queen, a ticket for Peter Pan, and the Scales of the Dragon of Wall Street in exchange for removing your decree of banishment and restoring the freedom of the Park and your protection from the hunger of the Hunt. Is that correct?”

  The Lady nodded. “Yep. It’s a pretty good deal, too, considering.”

  I thought it was a terrible deal. I was dead. No doubt about it. If the Mermaid Queen didn’t drown me, the Dragon would eat me. I wasn’t sure what the Producer of Broadway would do. Make me dance in red-hot tap shoes until my feet fell off?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Pooka staring off into space. He looked extremely sarcastic. Staying in the Museum, I realized, was going to be as hard on him as the quest was going to be on me. Harder. Supernaturals had been teaching me about questing ever since I could remember. Nobody had ever taught the Pooka how to behave himself.

  I stood up as tall as I could and tried to look heroic. “Okay,” I said. “When do I leave?”

  CHAPTER 13

  NEVER APOLOGIZE. NEVER EXPLAIN.

  Neef ’s Rules for Changelings

  The Green Lady thought I should leave right away. The Curator thought I should wait until I had gone to the New York Public Library and reviewed all the av
ailable literature on mermaids, dragons, and the history of Broadway. Since it was my quest, I thought they should let me decide, but when I said so, they just stared at me and went back to arguing.

  At last the Pooka said, “Begging your pardon, Geniuses both, for speaking up when maybe I’m not needed, but in the Old Country, a quest always begins at daybreak.”

  “Does it?” asked the Curator. “Fascinating.”

  The Green Lady scowled. “This is the New Country, buddy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “In the absence of any other rule,” the Pooka said firmly, “a quest starts at daybreak. It’s traditional.”

  The Lady glared at him. “How would you like me to make your exile permanent, trickster? Come to think of it, it might be permanent anyway, if your mortal hero doesn’t come back.”

  For a minute, I really thought I might explode. My face was icy, my ears buzzed, and little black sparkles danced before my eyes like gnats. “The quest’s off,” I said, my voice shaky with fury. “No Mirror, no ticket, no Dragon’s Scales. I won’t go unless you let the Pooka go home even if I get eaten.”

  As soon as it was out of my mouth, I regretted it, but the Green Lady shrugged. “Deal,” she said. “You die, the Pooka comes home.” She gave me a remarkably friendly smile. “I gotta hand it to you, kid—you’re one tough cookie. And loyal. Good luck.”

  And that was it. The Green Lady left, the Curator and the guards went back to work, and a few docents and curious tourists who’d gathered to watch the show drifted off again. I retreated to the inmost chamber of the Tomb of Perneb, which is just about the quietest place in the Museum, and slumped down against the wall. After a while, Bastet came in and butted my hip with her hard little head.

  “That’s enough of that,” she said.

  I wiped my eyes and stroked her cool, smooth back. “I’m fine.”

  Bastet shook off my hand and started to clean her paws. “Your copy,” she said between licks, “is fine, too. She’s in the Temple of Dendur, counting the bricks.”