Breadcrumbs Part 17

"It's all right. I do. Now, come on, we should get you home."

Nothing made sense to Hazel, and she was so sleepy, like there was a weight pulling down on her brain. But the man had his arm around her now and was guiding her forward. This arm had the weight and comfort of the one belonging to her father.

"My wife is an herbalist," the man named Lucas said. "We try to have antidotes around. There are all manner of things that can happen to you in the woods."

"I would like to go to sleep now," Hazel proclaimed.

The arm tightened around her shoulder. "I know. But stay with me. You can sleep soon."

He kept talking to her as he led her through the village to a small cottage just a five-minute walk from the market square. A large, full fairy-tale moon hung in the sky now-though Hazel could have sworn it wasn't there earlier-showing a cottage that looked like something from a movie. The thatched roof nestled over the small square house like a mushroom cap. Bright yellow curtains hung in the windows. A strip of bright flowers lay in front of the house, blooming against the cold.

"It's so pretty," said Hazel.

"Wait till you see the garden," Lucas said.

Soon Hazel was inside the kitchen of the tiny cottage, slumped in a hard wood chair, while Lucas spoke in a low voice to his wife.

Lucas's wife introduced herself as Nina. Hazel blinked up at her. She looked Indian, like Hazel, and when she smiled down at Hazel it was like something familiar but forgotten. Hazel smiled back, or at least tried to. The woman turned to the stove and began throwing things in a pot, while Lucas sat down next to Hazel and forbade her from putting her head on the table.

"So, Rose," he asked, "what's a girl like you doing in the woods like this?"

He meant to keep her talking, that was clear. He was trying to take care of her. Hazel's sleepy heart panged.

"I lost my friend," she said. She kept saying this, again and again. She'd lost her friend. That's what she was doing here.

"I'm sorry," Lucas said. "I'm very sorry."

"The white witch took him."

"Oh," said Lucas. He and his wife exchanged a glance.

"I came here to rescue him. But I need to sleep first. I'm very, very tired."

"I know," he said gently. "In a little bit."

"Then I'll go in the morning."

"Go where?" Nina asked slowly. "To the white witch?"

"Yes." Yes.

"No. You shouldn't go," she said. "It's not safe."

Hazel's heart twisted. "She has my friend."

"So you're just going to go after him? Just like that?"

". . . Yes."

"Nina . . ." Lucas motioned to his wife, then eyed Hazel. "I don't know how to ask this," he said. "But your friend, are you sure he wants to be rescued?"

"Of course he does!" She was getting tired of people asking this.

"It's just . . ." he began. "The white witch only takes people who want to go." Out of the corner of her eye, Hazel saw Nina flinch.

"No," Hazel said. "Not this time." From somewhere she heard the sound of a bird singing. Her eyes traveled out the kitchen window. It was dark, and the moon hung in the sky. She could just see the edges of the garden.

"She'll promise you things," Lucas said. "These are not things the people who come here know how to turn down."

"I need to defeat her," Hazel insisted. "Do you know how?" She looked from Lucas to Nina. They did not look at her, or at each other.

"Some things you just can't fight," Nina said quietly, after a time.

"We should talk about this in the morning," Lucas said. "Ready, Nina?"

"Here you go." Nina stood in front of her, holding out a steaming cup. It struck Hazel, suddenly, looking at the pair of them, that this could have been what her before-parents looked like. She stared up at them, the man and the woman looking down at her, full of concern and care. And she wanted to ask them things big and small, but she did not have the words.

She sipped the tea-it was thick with honey. Hazel remembered the candy her father would bring home from his trips. It was hard candy on the outside but the inside was a warm burst of actual honey, like you'd stuck your spoon into the jar when no one was looking. When she was little, she'd bite into the hard candy right away to get to the honey center. But when she got older, she learned to wait and let the filling slowly work its way out.

"You poor girl," said Nina, reaching out to rub Hazel's head. "You take your time with that. You'll feel better soon."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nina move back to the stove, her hand lingering on her husband's arm for a moment as she turned. Hazel felt the gentle touch as if it had happened to her.

Hazel remembered this. Two parents at a table. The way one would touch the other casually, a hand on the shoulder, a brush against the cheek. These unconscious gestures, like their bodies were speaking to each other-Yes, you are here and I am here. It had been a long time since she'd seen that.

Hazel remembered her father. He had strong arms. He used to like her stories. He took her to the Renaissance Festival two summers ago. They'd sat on bleachers in the sun, roasting like mutton, watching a jousting match. I'm going to be a knight, Hazel had said, feeling the lance in her hands. No, he'd replied, you let others do that for you. You are a princess.

Hazel remembered Jack. They mounted their scooters and took plastic swords and jousted on the driveway. Jack had knocked Hazel off first and she'd skinned her knee on the concrete, bright red like a berry. Jack had said it was a battle wound and smeared a cherry popsicle on himself for fake blood.

And she wondered, now, if she was trying to rescue the wrong Jack, if instead of trying to find the white witch she should look for one of her old Jacks, before any of this had happened, before he lost interest in her.

"Any better?"

Hazel nodded. "I'm sorry," she said.

"You don't have to be sorry," Nina said. "We're happy to help. And you're not the first girl we've rescued from the likes of him. Girls come into these woods thinking they can make it on their own, but . . ." Her eyes traveled to the table.

"We like to keep our eyes out," said Lucas. Nina put a hand on her husband's shoulder.

"We had a girl once," she said. "We lost her."

"Oh," said Hazel. She looked up at them, searching their eyes for some sign of recognition. She wanted to ask questions, but how do you ask people things like that? When did you lose her, how did you lose her, did you give a baby girl up for adoption, and, do you remember, what was her name?

"We keep trying to find her, but-" Nina shook her head. "So we try to help out other girls. Keep them safe. You can stay here as long as you need."

Hazel looked back out at the garden. She could hear the sadness in their voices, feel it hanging in the air like fog.

She'd wondered about her birth parents and if they ever wished for her, if they knew what had happened to her, if they knew she was half a world away. Or was she only a missing piece to them, a hole at the center of things, an ache that had no name?

She could not think. Her mind was too soft and thick, and not suited for things like thinking anymore.

"I think I'd like to go to sleep now," she said.

"Don't you want to see the garden?" Lucas asked.

"She can see it tomorrow," Nina said. "She should sleep. It's better." She helped Hazel out of her chair, handed her her backpack, and led her out of the kitchen. The birdsong wafted out of the main room. Hazel stopped. It sounded familiar somehow.

"Is there a bird in here?"

"Let me show you," Nina said.

She led her to the front room. There was a fire in the fireplace, shelves upon shelves of books, and two side-by-side reading chairs. And across the room on a little silver perch was a mechanical bird.

Hazel took a step closer. The bird looked like it was made out of the same colors as the flowers in front, with a rich purple body, a yellow mask, and a bright red belly. It looked like a robin that had rolled around in jewel-tinged paint. Its head moved jerkily around, and it lifted its wings and then dropped them again in a steady rhythm.

"Wow," Hazel said. "Did someone make that?"

"Lucas is a bit of an inventor," Nina said.

It sang again, lifting its head to the ceiling.

"It sounds so real."

"We had a real one once, but . . ." She shook her head. "It got away. This one is much more reliable."

"It reminds me of a bird I saw," Hazel said. She didn't realize it until the words were out of her mouth, but the song reminded her of Ben's bird sister a little.

"Really?" asked Nina. "Where?"

Hazel opened her mouth, but somewhere in the fog of her mind she remembered her promise to Ben. "Oh, you know. Wisconsin."

"Oh," Nina said. "Well, this one is marvelous. You can take it apart and see how it works. And it's never going to go away."

Hazel nodded. Yes. It was pretty. But she was very tired. And the song of the bird made her sad, somehow. So Nina led her into a small back room.

"I'm afraid it's a bit of a mess," she said.

It was. It was a small workroom. There were shelves lined with small, inscrutable tools and pieces of clockwork. On the table was scattered a number of small animal figurines made of pieces of bra.s.s. They were in various states of completion. Hazel's eyes fell on a figure with the shape of a cat. The face was off, revealing innards made of gears.

A small mattress and a thick white comforter lay in the corner of the room. They called to Hazel and she answered.

Hazel put her backpack down and crawled in, and the bed embraced her. Nina lifted the white comforter over her and gave her a smile.

"What happened to your face?" she asked gently.

"Oh. There was a witch. She scratched me."

"I'm sorry. That's the sort of thing that happens here. I think I can fix it. Tomorrow."

"That would be nice," Hazel said. What a wonderful thing to be able to take away a scar, just like that. "Are you from here?"

Nina smiled. "No one here is from here, not to begin with," she said. "Are you going to be all right?"

Her eyes were full of such tenderness, as if they had all the time in the world for her.

Hazel nodded. It was strange to wander into the fairy-tale woods and come upon a place that felt so real. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Go to sleep, Rose. We'll talk in the morning. I'm so glad you've come."

"Me, too," said Hazel.

Chapter Nineteen.

Rose

Honey coursed through Hazel's body as she slept, running through her veins and into her heart. Her dreams were thick with it. Jack was there, climbing onto the counter and taking the jar off the top shelf where his mother thought it could not be reached. Hazel liked to use a spoon but Jack just stuck his finger in, because he was a boy.

Once Hazel skinned her knee jousting on scooters, and Jack's mom cleaned it up, wincing the whole way. Hazel was young and had the taste of stolen honey in her mouth, but she still wanted to tell Mrs. Campbell that it was going to be okay.

They used to do things like jousting. And pirates. They had the grandest adventures. Jack liked things like superheroes and aliens and spies. Hazel liked long, elaborate quests. They were a fellows.h.i.+p, come together to save the world. Her father said she was a princess. He did not see that she was a brave knight. Jack did. They saved the kingdom, again and again, and let the king have all the honor. It was the knight's job, after all.

Once Hazel started to pretend that Jack had been taken by a dragon and she was going to rescue him. Jack wouldn't play. He insisted that this would never happen, he would never get taken by a dragon, and he most certainly did not need rescuing, for he was Jack, Prince of Eternity.

Hazel jolted awake in her little bed, blanket heavy on top of her, the small room just as heavy with night. Moonlight streamed through the window and she could see the odd shapes of the half-finished clockwork animals scattered around the room.

What if Jack didn't want her to come?

She came in thinking she would rescue him, like some sort of story, like a little kid pretending to be a brave knight. He needed saving; therefore, she would save him. This was the way it used to work. It used to always be so simple, it was just the two of them and they could make shacks into palaces. But things change.

Jack went off on the sleigh with the white witch, without warning or word. She could come all this way, she could break him out of his snow globe, and he would scoff and roll his eyes and say, "Hazel, stop being such a baby."

Ben had said it. And Lucas, too. The white witch would not have taken him if he didn't want to go. He wanted to leave his mom and her unseeing eyes. He was the invisible boy looking for the place where no one could find him, where he did not have to feel invisible anymore.

Why would they want to stay?

Hazel always saw him, always. But it wasn't enough for him. She wasn't enough. She could be such a baby sometimes.