eBook
About This Book
Twelve-year-old Libby's family is struggling to make ends meet. When they park their camper in the woods, Libby discovers a startling secret -- tiny creatures, miniature humans with wings, living in the shelter of a myrtlewood tree. Protected by the old woman who owns the land, the fairies can give their human friends extraordinary magical powers. But their secret brings danger, too, and Libby must decide how much she is willing to sacrifice to keep them safe.
Recommended for ages 10 and up.
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK
Normally, Libby liked cats. Once, in Arizona, she’d found an flea-bitten tabby kitten by the roadside. Her mother helped her give it a bath. Libby got to keep it for almost a month, until they moved again. But this cat looked nothing like Merlin, her sweet kitten. This was black tom cat with half his tail gone and some kind of bird in its claws. This cat was huge and hideously fat, almost as big as baby Dylan, and when he saw Libby he glared at her.
Libby gasped and blinked. When she looked again the cat’s eyes were a dull black, animal eyes. But she could have sworn she’d seen something else before. She’d seen pale blue eyes with round black pupils.
She’d seen human eyes.
The sweat on the back of her neck turned clammy.
The creature in the cat’s claws gave a feeble gasp and beat its wings. Without lowering its gaze from Libby’s face, the cat swiped at its prey with pearly talons. The creature jerked and went still. “Oh, no!†Libby said. “Poor bird!â€
She scrambled forward, but not fast enough. The cat gave her one last contemptuous glance, took the bird in its teeth, and flicked his tail at Libby as he sauntered away. “You -- you beast!†Libby said. She set down her treasure box. Her hand grazed a stone concealed in the blanket of brown needles. Her fingers closed around it. She had never in her life thrown a rock at an animal, but something about this cat pushed her over the edge.
She hurled the stone. Her aim had always been good.
The cat gave a shriek of pain and outrage as the stone caught him in his fleshy hindquarters. He dropped his victim. Instead of running, though, he stood over it as Libby advanced. A low and threatening growl rumbled up from his belly. “Get lost,†Libby said, with feigned courage. “Go on. Scat!â€
The cat didn’t move. Neither did his prey. It lay in a crumpled heap at his feet, seemingly dead already. Libby hugged her treasure box to her chest like a talisman. “I’ll kick you if I have to,†Libby said aloud. She took another step forward. “Just watch and see if I don’t.†She cocked her foot, in its battered tennis shoe.
Perhaps the cat understood her, because it growled again, swiped at her leg, missed, and backed away. Libby felt on the ground for a second rock. With one last, venomous hiss the black tomcat disappeared into the bushes.
Libby hurried forward to examine the creature he had dropped.
“Oh,†she said. “Oh. Oh. Oh.â€
Gently, so gently, she picked it up. In her cupped hands she held a miniature child, a perfectly formed little boy of about eight or nine. He was just about the size of a sparrow. His skin was warm and slightly sticky, a silvery gray color undercut with green, like the thin shining bark of an alder tree. On his head was a white fuzz of hair like a dandelion gone to seed. And on his back -- from between his shoulder blades -- grew a set of tiny wings. They seemed to be made of crisp browned paper, almost transparent, slender and fragile like the wings of a termite, and dusted with flakes of silver.
The wings now hung at an impossible angle, crushed and broken in a dozen places. The child was bleeding, too, from puncture wounds on its arms and legs. Such an alarming amount of blood, smeared on pale skin! His lips were bluish and his eyes were closed. But he was still alive. Libby could feel his heart beating threadily against her palms.
What does one do upon discovering a injured fairy child? And, of course, there
Recommended for ages 10 and up.
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK
Normally, Libby liked cats. Once, in Arizona, she’d found an flea-bitten tabby kitten by the roadside. Her mother helped her give it a bath. Libby got to keep it for almost a month, until they moved again. But this cat looked nothing like Merlin, her sweet kitten. This was black tom cat with half his tail gone and some kind of bird in its claws. This cat was huge and hideously fat, almost as big as baby Dylan, and when he saw Libby he glared at her.
Libby gasped and blinked. When she looked again the cat’s eyes were a dull black, animal eyes. But she could have sworn she’d seen something else before. She’d seen pale blue eyes with round black pupils.
She’d seen human eyes.
The sweat on the back of her neck turned clammy.
The creature in the cat’s claws gave a feeble gasp and beat its wings. Without lowering its gaze from Libby’s face, the cat swiped at its prey with pearly talons. The creature jerked and went still. “Oh, no!†Libby said. “Poor bird!â€
She scrambled forward, but not fast enough. The cat gave her one last contemptuous glance, took the bird in its teeth, and flicked his tail at Libby as he sauntered away. “You -- you beast!†Libby said. She set down her treasure box. Her hand grazed a stone concealed in the blanket of brown needles. Her fingers closed around it. She had never in her life thrown a rock at an animal, but something about this cat pushed her over the edge.
She hurled the stone. Her aim had always been good.
The cat gave a shriek of pain and outrage as the stone caught him in his fleshy hindquarters. He dropped his victim. Instead of running, though, he stood over it as Libby advanced. A low and threatening growl rumbled up from his belly. “Get lost,†Libby said, with feigned courage. “Go on. Scat!â€
The cat didn’t move. Neither did his prey. It lay in a crumpled heap at his feet, seemingly dead already. Libby hugged her treasure box to her chest like a talisman. “I’ll kick you if I have to,†Libby said aloud. She took another step forward. “Just watch and see if I don’t.†She cocked her foot, in its battered tennis shoe.
Perhaps the cat understood her, because it growled again, swiped at her leg, missed, and backed away. Libby felt on the ground for a second rock. With one last, venomous hiss the black tomcat disappeared into the bushes.
Libby hurried forward to examine the creature he had dropped.
“Oh,†she said. “Oh. Oh. Oh.â€
Gently, so gently, she picked it up. In her cupped hands she held a miniature child, a perfectly formed little boy of about eight or nine. He was just about the size of a sparrow. His skin was warm and slightly sticky, a silvery gray color undercut with green, like the thin shining bark of an alder tree. On his head was a white fuzz of hair like a dandelion gone to seed. And on his back -- from between his shoulder blades -- grew a set of tiny wings. They seemed to be made of crisp browned paper, almost transparent, slender and fragile like the wings of a termite, and dusted with flakes of silver.
The wings now hung at an impossible angle, crushed and broken in a dozen places. The child was bleeding, too, from puncture wounds on its arms and legs. Such an alarming amount of blood, smeared on pale skin! His lips were bluish and his eyes were closed. But he was still alive. Libby could feel his heart beating threadily against her palms.
What does one do upon discovering a injured fairy child? And, of course, there
