The Changelings Series, Book 1 (2 page)

Izzy felt her stomach jump right up into her eyeballs. She whirled around to see the old woman towering over them, a deep scowl etched into her face. Hen screamed and let the binoculars clatter to the ground. Izzy lunged backward, knocking over the stack of stones next to the mailbox.

“I've been waiting for you girls to come around,” said the woman, taking a slow step toward them. “Come here and let Old Malloy get a look at you.”

Hen sprung up off the asphalt like a click beetle and took off running down the road. Izzy scrambled to her feet, somehow managing to scoop up the binoculars and backpack at the same time. She flew down the pavement after her sister, her legs whirring beneath her, hair whipping her face.

The old woman's voice rang out after them. “Wait! You girls come back here!”

Dublin rocketed past them, a black blur on the tar road. Izzy didn't dare turn around. She pumped her legs at high speed as they ran down the hill, past the woods, and up their gravel driveway. Even then, she didn't stop until they were safely back in their kitchen with the door shut behind them.

“That was…the scaredest…I've ever been…in my life!” said Hen, panting and laughing at the same time.

Izzy leaned against the pantry door, clutching her stomach. Once she caught her breath, she grabbed
Faerie and Folktales of Yesteryear
off the kitchen island and took it to the table.

Hen leaned in beside her. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see if I can find anything written about those stone towers,” said Izzy, flipping to the index. “I wonder if they're some kind of magic talisman or a charm or something like that.”

“Wow, yeah, I bet they are,” said Hen, bouncing on her toes. “This is so awesome. Izzy, isn't it awesome?”

“Isn't what awesome?” asked their mom as she walked into the kitchen. On the stove, a pot clanked and burbled, and the room filled with a stewed, green smell. “And why did you lock Dublin inside? The poor guy was crying like a baby until I let him out.”

“I
told
you!” said Hen, sticking out her tongue. “It's Mom's fault we got caught by the witch, not mine.”

“Witch?” Izzy's mom spun around from the stove. “Isabella Doyle, have you been bothering that poor old woman after I specifically told you not to?”

Izzy glared at Hen. She shut her book and stood up to face her mom. “We weren't bothering her. We were just watching her. She wouldn't even have known we were there if Hen hadn't made so much noise.”

“Well, you shouldn't hog things all to yourself,” said Hen.

Their mom began pulling dinner plates out of the cabinet. “She probably thinks we're the worst neighbors in the world. I'll have to take her a zucchini loaf as a peace offering.” She filled up the drink glasses and handed them to Hen. “You two are not allowed to go over there again unless you're with me, all right?”

Izzy helped lay out the place settings. Why couldn't Hen ever keep her big mouth shut? Marian Malloy was the one interesting thing Everton had going for it, and now they'd never be able to spy on her again.

“I knew I should have gone by myself,” she grumbled.

“You always want to leave me behind,” Hen whined as she carried the glasses to the table. “You're not the only one who wants to have an adventure, you know! You don't have to be so—oops…”

Izzy looked up in time to see a full glass of lemonade tumble out of Hen's hands and right onto
Faerie and Folktales of Yesteryear
.

“Hen!
What
did you do?”

“It's OK, just need to soak it up a little…” Hen opened the cover of the book and dabbed at the sticky pages with a wad of paper napkins.

“Stop it! You're making it worse!” Izzy dropped the silverware. She grabbed the book out of Hen's hands, and a soggy page ripped away.

“Don't look at me,” said Hen. “That was your fault.”

“It's
your
fault for being so clumsy!” shouted Izzy. “And just stop touching it! You're not allowed to come near this book anymore.”

Hen's lower lip began to quiver. “But—but you said you'd read me Sir Gawain and the Jolly Green Giant.”

Izzy held the wet page against her chest, trying to dry it off. It stuck to her shirt and ripped in half. “Ugh, you always ruin everything! I wish I'd left you behind and let the witch eat you!”

“Girls, that's enough!” said their mom, slamming the butter dish onto the table. “If you two are going to argue, then you need to take it in the other room.”

Hen shoved her way past Izzy and stomped up the stairs, snot dribbling out her nose. She shut their bedroom door so hard that it shook the pictures on the walls.

Their mom looked up at the ceiling. When she turned to Izzy, her voice was full of disappointment and anger all mixed together. “Isabella Doyle, what in the world has gotten into you? You need to go and apologize to your sister!”

“Me? What about what she just did?”

“It was an accident. Besides, it's just a book. You take those stories of yours way too seriously.”

“You always take her side.”

“That's not true,” said her mom. She walked over to Izzy and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Listen. You know how much Hen looks up to you. It's not easy moving to a new place, and she needs her big sister right now. And you need her too.”

Izzy rolled her eyes. She needed Hen like she needed appendicitis. “If it's all so hard on her, then why did we move in the first place? I never wanted to live in this town.”

“This house is very special. You know that. Your dad was born here. And you were too, let's not forget.” The phone rang. “That's probably your dad,” said her mom with a sigh. “Izzy, this move is a chance for all of us to make a fresh start, you included. But that means you'll have to stop hiding behind your books all the time. OK, sweetie?”

Izzy groaned and tramped onto the side porch. The screen door slapped behind her as she flung herself into a chair. The sun had just set, and already the insects thrummed their nightly chant. She sat there a while, plucking the wicker out of the armrest.

A fresh start. What a joke. Monday would be Izzy's
tenth
fresh start at a new school, and she had no reason to expect things would go any better than they had before
.
Her sister, on the other hand, would make a whole flock of new friends by the time the bell rang. Fitting in was written into Hen's DNA. Somehow that gene had skipped over Izzy.

She twisted a fraying piece of wicker until it snapped off. It didn't matter. She didn't need friends. She for sure didn't need her baby sister hanging around her heels. All she needed was
Faerie and Folktales of Yesteryear
. But now the book that she'd carried with her to every new hometown lay in a sticky, ruined heap on the kitchen table.

Dublin let himself out onto the porch and nosed his head into Izzy's lap. She rubbed him under the ears.

“You know they're more than just stories, don't you, Dub? Of course you do. You're on my side.”

At least someone was. Right now, Izzy wished it were all reversed—that the stories were real, and this life was just a nice little fable she could close the cover on whenever her family drove her crazy.

Dublin suddenly swung his head away from her lap. He skittered to the edge of the porch, barking loudly at the front yard. He must have smelled a rabbit or a skunk. Their city dog had no idea what to do with himself now that he was surrounded by wildlife.

“Go on, Dub. Go catch it,” said Izzy.

But the dog wouldn't leave the porch. He just kept yelping and looking over his shoulder at her.

“Izzy!” called her mom from inside the house. “Get him to settle down! I'm trying to talk to your dad.”

“Dub, you are such a fraidycat,” said Izzy, getting up from her chair. “Come on!”

She jumped down off the porch onto the grass, with Dublin following behind. In the failing light, she saw something cross the yard and head for the trees on the edge of their property. Something much bigger than a rabbit.

Izzy hung back within running distance of her house while Dublin bolted out into the middle of the yard, barking at the darkness in all directions.

“Dublin, be quiet!”

As Izzy scanned the shadows, she saw a dark shape cross the bottom of their driveway. She took a step forward, but before she could get a good look, the shape disappeared into the blackness of the road. It moved so fast, she couldn't tell what it was. A deer, maybe? Dublin had stopped barking and walked in tight circles, sniffing the grass.

“Come on, boy. Let's go inside,” said Izzy.

But Dublin wouldn't come. He stood snuffling at a spot in the middle of the yard. She didn't want to leave him outside in case the shadow she saw was another dog. Dublin would get destroyed in a dogfight. She walked to him and grabbed his collar.

“I said come on, Dub.”

But before she could yank him toward the house, something on the ground caught her eye. She bent down and pulled the blades of grass apart with her fingers. It was a tower of five flat stones. Izzy picked the top stone off the stack. A single fresh leaf lay beneath it. Izzy's neck prickled again. This was just like the towers she'd seen at Marian Malloy's house. That shadow she'd seen was no animal. Was their neighbor trying to put a curse on them for spying on her?

Izzy looked back down at the road just as the lights of her dad's car turned into the driveway. She held on to Dublin while her dad rumbled up the gravel drive and parked beside the house. Her first thought was to run up to him and tell him all about the stone towers and the shadowy figure she saw. But then she remembered what her mom had said. They would probably tell her she was just imagining things, that she'd been reading too many fairy tales.

They wanted her to be normal, to get her nose out of her books. Maybe it was time to give them what they wanted.

“There's my girl,” said her dad as he shut the car door and walked toward her. He took a deep breath and let it out with a smile. “You and Dub must be out here listening to the sweet sounds of peace and relaxation.” His beard prickled her forehead when he bent down and kissed her. “What's for dinner?”

“Broccoli surprise, I think.”

“Eesh.” Her dad made a face, then winked at her. “Hey, sweetie, is everything all right? You look like something's on your mind.”

With a flick of her toe, Izzy scattered the tower of stones. “Nope. Everything's perfectly normal.”

Then she followed her dad into the house with Dublin at her heels.

The next morning was Sunday. Izzy lay in bed with the blanket pulled up over her face, expecting Hen to pounce on her any minute, just like she did every day. When it still hadn't happened, she yanked the covers down and sat up. Hen's bed was an empty, rumpled mess of sheets and stuffed animals. Izzy sat for a minute, listening for the sound of her sister belting out Christmas carols even though it was three months too early. But the house was quiet. At her feet, Dublin rolled lazily onto his side.

Izzy slid out of bed. She found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt in one of the moving boxes labeled
School Clothes
. The thought of walking through the doors of yet another new school the next morning nearly made her crawl back into bed.

Dublin rubbed up beside her. “You're right, Dub. Not like we haven't done it before. Come on. Let's get you some food.”

At the mention of food, Dublin raced ahead of her down the stairs. On their way to the kitchen, they met her mom in the front hall, carrying two cans of paint.

“There you are.” She leaned over and planted a kiss on Izzy's cheek. “I was just about to come wake you up.”

“What time is it?” asked Izzy.

“Eight thirty. There's toast and orange juice still on the table if you're hungry.”

Izzy scooped out food for Dublin, then sat down at the table. “Hey, Mom? Where's Hen?”

“She's playing outside, sweetie,” her mom called from the living room. “When you're done eating, can you go out and keep an eye on her? She said she packed some food for you to have a picnic later.”

Izzy looked down at the end of the table where
Faerie and Folktales
lay open, all the pages now permanently wrinkled. She slid another piece of blackened toast onto her plate. Her sister could wait.

As she choked down the burnt toast, Izzy looked around the dining room, still decorated with her dead grandmother's knickknacks. A collection of porcelain owls lined the shelves, and strands of tiny silver bells crisscrossed every window. Izzy couldn't believe she was actually born here. Her parents had been on a surprise visit to her grandmother when her mom went into labor a month early. From what she knew of her birth story, it was a pretty nerve-racking night. But everything had turned out OK, aside from Izzy always being small for her age. That was the first and last time she had set foot in the house until they moved to Everton.

After Izzy filled in the crossword her dad had left unfinished, she went to the back door and slipped on her high-tops while Dublin bounced around her with his tongue hanging out.

“Yes, yes, you can come this time,” said Izzy.

“Take a sweater!” called her mom.

Izzy cracked the door. It had to be almost ninety degrees out, but she yanked her sweatshirt off the coat rack anyway, tied it around her waist, and headed outside. She strolled out through the open field behind the house, heading for the boulder pile on the edge of their property and the forest. A cool breeze cut through the humid air and blew a scattering of yellow-tipped leaves across the grass. Izzy heard a
pop, pop, pop
, and then Hen's mess of golden curls appeared over the top of the boulders. Izzy couldn't help smiling. Her sister must have squirreled away a serious stash of Crackle Caps.

Izzy raised her hand to get Hen's attention but stopped in midwave.

She heard music.

She cupped her ears and pointed them back at her house. But this didn't sound like her mom's usual Broadway soundtracks. It was a flute. The song was sweet, a little sad, and familiar somehow, though Izzy couldn't think where she would have heard it before. She turned back to the boulders, where Hen scratched at the rocks with a stick, nodding her head to the same tune.

Izzy started walking toward her sister again. “Hey, Hen! Mom said you wanted to play.” For some reason, the words came out sounding shaky.

Hen didn't look up. Instead, she turned around and faced the trees, clapping her hands to the music. Izzy looked down at Dublin, but he just panted along beside her, as happy as she'd ever seen him. Izzy told herself she was being silly, but she started walking faster anyway. A thick feeling had crept into the back of her throat, the same feeling she had when she knew something terrible was about to happen on the next page of a story.

“Hen? Hey, come here for a second.”

Hen continued staring into the trees like someone who'd been hypnotized. Then she scrambled over the top of the boulders and disappeared down the other side.

Izzy swallowed, but the thick feeling in her throat wouldn't go away. She jogged straight for the boulder pile, with Dublin close behind.

“Hen, I'm not mad at you, OK? I'm ready to play with you now!”

The music grew louder—it was definitely not coming from the house. It drifted toward them from
inside
the woods. Izzy scanned the undergrowth for the source of the notes but didn't see anyone.

As she rounded the boulders, she called again, “Hen, come here! Please!”

With a lurch in her stomach, Izzy watched as Hen skipped right into the forest.

“Stop!
Wait!
”

Izzy sprinted to the tree line. A sudden breeze blew out of the woods onto her face. With the next train of notes from the flute, the heady smell of flowers filled her nostrils. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. What was happening?

Dublin sat at her feet, no hackles raised, his ears not even perked up. He lay down and set his head on his paws. Izzy grabbed his collar and pulled him toward the woods.

“Come on, you lazy dog!”

Dublin grunted and closed his eyes. Izzy wrenched on his collar as hard as she could, but he wouldn't budge. She let go of him and plunged into the woods, crashing through the brambles. She ran to the spot where she last saw her sister, but she couldn't find her. She swung her head back and forth, searching the forest. Finally, she spotted Hen zipping through the trees, following after the receding notes of the flute. How could she already be so far away?

Izzy lifted her feet high so she wouldn't trip on the stones jutting out of the ground. Thorny vines caught at her sweatshirt and clawed her ankles and hands. The harder she pushed ahead, the more they pulled her back. All the while, the familiar music played on in the distance.

“Hey, wait for me!”

She fumbled frantically to yank herself free from the thorns. Hen was now far away, a tiny dot of red between the trees.

“Hen, you stop
right now
!” She tried to sound authoritative, but she could hear the fear in her voice.

Izzy ran. The tangled undergrowth blocked her way like razor wire as she darted one way and then the other. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't close the distance between herself and the little fleck of red flitting deeper and deeper into the woods. Gasping for breath, she stopped and leaned over with her hands on her knees.

“Hen? Hen!”

The speck of red was gone. She had lost her.

Panic bubbled up inside her chest. Izzy turned around, searching for the way she came, but the trees looked the same in every direction.

“Hen! Mom! Mom!”

She tore through the trees, not caring which way she went. All she wanted was to get out of the woods. Her foot caught on a root, and she tumbled onto her hands and knees. She scrambled up to her feet, but the tops of the trees twirled in a rapid circle, and she fell down again. This time, the side of her head hit a rock with a sickening, dull crack. As blackness flooded over her, Izzy heard the sweet, sad music fading into the distance.