“Once you have made the choice,” said Smaolach, “we go in and grab the child. He or she’s got to be alone, or you’ll be found out. Have you ever heard the tale of them ones in Russia or thereabouts, where they caught the lot of them stealing a tiny Cossack lad with pointy teeth, and them Cossacks took all our boys of the woods and burnt them up to a crisp?”
“Fire is a devil of a way to go,” said Luchóg. “Did I ever tell you of the faery changeling caught snooping around the room of a girl she wished to replace? She hears the parents come in, and leaps in the closet, making the change right there in the room. At first, the parents thought nothing of it, when they opened the door and there she was, playing in the dark. Later that day, the real girl comes home, and what do you think? There’s the two of them side by side, and our friend would have made it, but she hadn’t yet learned how to speak like the little girl. So the mother says, ‘Now which one of you is Lucy?’ and the real Lucy says, ‘I am,’ and the other Lucy lets out a squawk to raise the dead. She had to jump out the second-floor window and start all over again.”
Smaolach looked perplexed during his friend’s story, scratching his head as if trying to recall an important detail. “Ah, there’s a bit of magic, of course. We bind up the child in a web and lead him to the water.”
Spinning on her heels, Chavisory shouted, “And there’s the incantation. You mustn’t forget that.”
“In he goes like a baptism,” Smaolach continued. “Out he comes, one of us. Never to leave except by one of three ways, and I would not give you my shoes for the first two.”
Chavisory drew a circle in the dust with her bare toe. “Remember the German boy who played the piano? The one before Aniday.”
With a short hiss, Speck grabbed Chavisory by the hair and pulled the poor creature to her. She sat on her chest and threw her hands upon her face, massaging and kneading Chavisory’s skin like so much dough. The girl screamed and cried like a fox in a steel trap. When she had finished, Speck revealed a reasonable copy of her own sweet face on the visage of Chavisory. They looked like twins.
“You put me back,” Chavisory complained.
“You put me back.” Speck imitated her perfectly.
I could not believe what I was seeing.
“There’s your future, little treasure. Behold the changeling,” said Smaolach. “Going back to the past as yourself is not an option. But when you return as a changed person to their world, you get to stay there, grow up as one of them, live as one of them, more or less, grow old as time allows, and you’ll do that yet, when your turn comes.”
“My turn? I want to go home right now. How do I do it?”
“You don’t,” Luchóg said. “You have to wait until the rest of us have gone. There’s a natural order to our world that mustn’t be disturbed. One child for one changeling. When your time comes, you will find another child from a different family than what you left behind. You cannot go back whence you came.”
“I’m afraid, Aniday, you’re last in the line. You’ll have to be patient.”
Luchóg and Smaolach took Chavisory behind the honeysuckle and began to manipulate her face. The three of them laughed and carried on through the whole process. “Just make me pretty again,” and “Let’s get one of them magazines with the women’s pictures,” and “Hey, she looks like Audrey Hepburn.” Eventually, they fixed her face, and she flew from their clutches like a bat.
Speck was unusually kind to me for the rest of that day, perhaps out of misplaced guilt for my beating. Her gentleness reminded me of my mother’s touch, or what I thought I remembered. My own mother might as well have been the phantom, or any other fiction to be conjured. I was forgetting again, the distinction between memory and imagination blurring. The man I saw, could he be my father? I wondered. He appeared to have recognized me, but I was not his son, only a shadow from the woods. In the dead of night, I wrote down the story of the three ways in McInnes’s notebook, hoping to understand it all in the future. Speck kept me company while the others slept. In the starlight, her cares had vanished from her face; even her eyes, usually so tired, radiated compassion.
“I am sorry they hurt you.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” I whispered, stiff and sore.
“Life here has its compensations. Listen.”
Low in a flyway, an owl swept between the trees, unrolling its wings on the hunt. Speck tensed, the fine hairs on her arms bristling.
“You will never get old,” she said. “You won’t have to worry about getting married or having babies or finding a job. No gray hair and wrinkles, no teeth falling out. You won’t need a cane or a crutch.”
We heard the owl descend and strike. The mouse screamed once; then life left it.