The Magic of Endings, page 18
‘You OK, buddy?’ Mum said.
Jojo took a deep breath. He remembered what no one else did. He remembered the faerie. He remembered the land beyond. He remembered the House of the Nine. And he remembered the great, vast chasm where Dad should have been. And now he was there. Jojo remembered everything. Jojo looked at his mum through shining eyes. He nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I am. I’m really ready.’
Lizzie squeezed Jojo in a hug.
‘He’d be really pleased, Mum,’ Jojo said just for her ears. ‘Dad...’ His words ran out but Lizzie’s had not.
She always talked about Dad. Told the boys all about him. Told them all the ways they were like him. Even Ricco, who’d never met him, knew him so well from every retold memory, every story, every well-pawed photo.
Dad might be gone but the place where he’d been was full-to-overflowing.
‘He would be really pleased,’ Mum said. ‘And so, so very proud of you, Jojo. Remember that. Always remember that.’
And with those final words, the Lockes left London.
Summer Moon Sets
It was the first night of holidays, that night on the brink of long summer days, days when anything could happen, days when magic is in the air.
It was full, the moon that night. And the sky over the lane in Dor was filled with stars – not a cloud in sight. If Jojo had gone to his window in the top bedroom of the new house, which Mum had spent six years pouring every scrap of money she could muster into building, he would have had a clear view across the field to the tree that marked the place where Dad was buried and to a man dressed in black, who stared up at the top window, Jojo’s window.
Once again the Sandman was waiting for someone. He knew they’d come. Just as he had.
As he waited, he reached into the little sack on his belt and pulled out a few specks of golden dust. He put them to his lips and blew. The specks swam and glittered, spun and twisted their way on the breeze towards the house and the cottage. They found their way through letterboxes, upstairs to the sleeping Lockes. And here they came to rest, giving dreams of fishing trips and wild woods, of the wedding in this very field, of a sleeping, dusty man on a sofa, of birthdays and summer days and just plain old ordinary days. Jojo dreamed of Dad.
‘Here we are again then, Sandman,’ said a voice from beside the man in black.
The Sandman did not answer. Nor did he look down. ‘Here we are,’ he said.
‘We did it,’ said the small woman dressed as a tiny pirate.
‘We did,’ said the Sandman.
‘Ever the conversationalist, aren’t you,’ Penperro said under her breath. ‘You’ll want to know of home, I imagine?’ The Sandman did not answer but the queen of memory knew what filled his own dreams. ‘It’s all back,’ she said. ‘The fields green, the trees tall, the mountains misty. Many have come back home. Piskies once more fly, hobs are busy in every home and faeries sing.’
The Sandman offered a single nod.
‘There’s eight thrones returned to the House of the Nine. Five of the sisters sit on them. Aoede and Melete still sleep. Mabivissey has joined them till she is ready to be born again to redeem herself. Only Acciona Polperra remains at sea.’
At this, the Sandman took a deep breath.
‘You could come home?’
If one could look beneath that hood, you’d have seen a worn and weary face drawn in a deep frown. ‘As long as she is lost, I will keep my watch,’ he whispered.
‘Well,’ said Penperro, ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Now there is once again a faerie knight... perhaps he could help.’
Two pairs of faerie eyes turned to the top window of the house the Lockes called home. To the bedroom of the faerie knight.
‘Perhaps,’ said the Sandman. ‘Perhaps.’ And then he was gone.
‘Goodbye, brother,’ whispered the curiously dressed faerie with the gold hoop earrings and the many packages, parcels, bags and bundles hanging from her shoulders. Then with a wrinkle of her nose, a blink of her eyes and a flash of light, she too was gone.
Acknowledgements
I am immensely grateful to the whole team at Andersen Press for the care and dedication put into making this book a reality. There are many of you working on cover and text and sales and rights and everything in between. And to each of you I am thankful. There are two of the team to whom I’d like to give a special thanks. Charlie Sheppard, a few words of encouragement you extended at just the right time meant more than you know; your trust and belief kept me writing. Finally, Eloise Wilson, this book would certainly not be here without you. Your insights have been invaluable but more so your kindness and patience. Thank you.
Tom Avery, The Magic of Endings
