She didn’t see him climb the apple tree, so she was as surprised as the cat when he—or rather, his phantasm—suddenly dropped from its branches to land right before the cat’s nose. It was very lifelike for an illusion, Magpie thought, seeing no hint of the telltale traceries she’d detected around his falcon skin. She wouldn’t have been able to tell the phantasm from the real lad. The cat’s green eyes snapped open, but before it could move, the phantasm had flipped over its head and sprinted the length of its back, diving off its tail to land rolling and spring through the fence. With a yowl, the cat gave chase. Magpie wanted to watch, but she had her own part to play. She turned back to the shindy and lobbed a small strawberry at it, hitting its bare rump.
It turned, and she waved. After pausing to peck at the strawberry, it shuffled toward her. “Bless me,” it said. “A faerie? Never seen one of ye lot here.”
“Blessings, master shindy,” Magpie started to say.
“Strag,” he cut in. “No masters among the clucks and mannies! Just Strag.”
“Strag, then. And I’m Magpie Windwitch—”
He cut in again with a low whistle. “Well, feather my britches,” he said. “If it en’t little Foxlick, come back home!”
“Foxlick?” Magpie’s hand flew to her hair. “How do you—?”
“Oh, I know ye, I do indeed! How’s the blessing coming on?”
“Eh?” puzzled Magpie. Just then Talon came up behind her, and Strag jumped at the sight of him. “Skaw!” he exclaimed. “Who scribbled on ye, faerie?”
“My great-uncle,” replied Talon, nonplussed. “Who plucked you, chicken?”
Magpie nudged him with her elbow and made introductions. “Strag, we’re looking for someone.”
“Not so hasty, little missy. After all these years? Here I didn’t think to see ye till ye were grown, but there ye are, in my own little yard! Let’s see the blessing, eh? Please?”
Magpie glanced at Talon, who looked bewildered, and she said hesitantly, “Er, the blessing? See, Strag, I didn’t know about all that till yesterday.”
“Ach, imps and their secrets! Me, I’d’ve spilled the beans years ago. It was my finest bit of sparkle. I learnt it off my wizard. I gave ye a glamour, missy, a disguise for slipping amongst the mannies. Know what it is? Know what they never look twice at? A little brown bird! If it en’t got color to catch their eye, it’s nigh invisible to ’em. Ye’ll see.”
“You mean...I can turn into a little brown bird?” Magpie asked.
“Aye, nothing simpler! Just picture it, like it’s standing there in front of ye, ye ken, a wren or a nuthatch or what, then sort of step into it like boots.”
Magpie glanced at Talon again. He had his suspicious look back, and he arched his eyebrow at her like a question. She chewed her lip, turned back to Strag, and did as he described. She knew from Talon’s gasp that it had worked. She fluttered her wings and caught sight of dull feathers out of the corner of her eye. Strag crowed with delight. “Perfect! If a manny even noticed ye he’d just shoo ye, out the window and forget all about ye!”
She stepped backward out of it and returned to normal. “Sharp!” she said. She could feel Talon giving her a hard look, but she ignored it and hugged Strag. “That’ll be mad handy for spying. Thank you!”
His puckered chicken skin blushed all over. “My pleasure. Now, what ye doing lurking in a hen yard if ye didn’t come special to see me?”
“We’re looking for someone,” Magpie replied. “Big haunchy imp been sizzled bald. You seen him?”
“Hoy, aye, I saw the scoundrel! Never thought he’d haul his rump up the drainpipe but he did, and quick. Sure it helped, the cat being on his heels! Slink nearly made a meal of him!”
“Where did he go?”
“Right in that window.”
Magpie looked where he pointed, a drainpipe up to an open second-story window. “Talon, you up for a shimmy?” she asked him.
He just gave her an icy look and nodded sharply, and Magpie frowned uncomfortably.
“Ye’ll come back and see me, missy?” asked Strag.
“Aye, we’ll be back, and soon. We got to go and see the Magruwen.”
“Skaw!” cried Strag. “The Magruwen?”
“Aye, he’s down the well there. Didn’t you ever know?”
“The well?” The shindy looked stupefied. “Neh! Sure but the mannies think it’s cursed and won’t go near it cause of the smoke and the smell of sulfur! Ye’re saying it’s the Djinn King...?”
