“Y-you know where she lives?” Paxton blurts out.
“Of course I do, child,” Queen Maple says, smiling faintly. “She’s my sister.”
My eyes widen. “Wait. The Tooth Fairy is your—”
“I have many sisters, child,” Queen Maple says airily. “Some light, some not-so-light. You’ve met one already. Many have, in fact. She’s made of stardust.”
I blink. “Wait... are you talking about...”
“Tinkerbell!” gasps Paxton.
“Yes.” The queen chuckles. “But we call her Tink. And she’s... complicated.”
Paxton gasps. “You’re related toTinkerbell?!”
Queen Maple gives her a wink. “But that’s a story for another night, child, don’t you think?”
Then the little queen holds out her tiny hands. “Come, Tamara. We must go at once through the tree. But just you and me. I’m sorry, Paxton, but you cannot travel through the fairy network. It is just not possible. You will be safe here with my sentries.”
I glance at Paxton. “She’s right, Pax. You’re safe here. The sentries will watch over you closely. Why don’t you sit here, under the tree? Don’t wander, okay?”
Pax nods solemnly. “I won’t. I’m safe. I feel it.”
With that, I take Queen Maple’s hand as she flies back to the magical knot. As we approach, it grows brighter and brighter and begins spinning.
A portal.
A moment later, I’m swallowed in silver light...
5.
The light flares bright as soon as I ‘step’ into the tree.
Disoriented and swaying, I soon find myself standing at the edge of what appears to be a floating realm: an island suspended in space, hovering between stars and shadow. There’s no ground below, no sky above, just an endless void swirling with an array of colors I don’t have names for.
Queen Maple takes hold of my hand, drapes my fingers over her tiny shoulders and flies up through a cloud cover. I focus on my own magic and sprout my fairy wings, and soon fly side by side with the queen until the cloud disperse. Soon, we areflying over a field of powdered gold. She points down, and I land with a thud, the ground under my shoes crunching softly, like caramelized sugar laced with ash. It should smell sweet, but instead, it smells faintly…rotten.
Molar-shaped trees rise up all around, tall and white. Their branches droop beneath the weight of black moss, looking for all the world like creeping cavities.
Once, this place must have been a dream.
Now it feels like a nightmare someone is trying to forget.
Queen Maple flies ahead of me, glowing like a tiny lantern against the gloom. Her internal light cuts through the haze, casting short frenetic shadows. I hurry to keep up, flapping my own wings, which carry me a few feet. But I’m not accustomed to my wings yet and mostly just run, my footfalls echoing in the silence.
We pass candy cane lamp posts: now cracked and tilted, with broken dreamcatchers hanging limp from twisted silver chains, their webs torn.
“Maple,” I say, my voice barely more than breath. “What happened here?”
She doesn’t turn. “It’s been infiltrated, overrun.”
A cold shiver races through me.
I keep following her, half running, half flying, afraid to look down because I’m pretty sure the whole place is floating. Above what, I’m not sure. I doubt we are in the same dimension or universe.
Most likely, we’re somewhere above Fairyland, a land where I trained as a witch during my magical second childhood. I know that world well. It’s where I played, studied, practiced spells, and made lifelong friends. A place filled with memories that come rushing back now, warm and sharp and vivid. But even with all that… I don’t recall an enchanted kingdom floating above it. I ask Queen Maple about it now.
“We are high,highabove Fairyland, Tamara,” says the Mother-Queen, who prefers to use my full name.
