Faery Rebels by R. J. Anderson

Author:R. J. Anderson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-06-23T22:00:00+00:00

By the time it was dark enough to leave the Oak, Knife was fidgeting with impatience. She rolled up the picture of Old Wormwood and slipped it down the bodice of her tunic, then climbed through the window and launched herself headlong into the night.

She had to rap at Paul’s window several times before he answered. “I knew something was out there,” he said as he slid it open. “But I didn’t think you’d be back so soon—come in, quick.”

Knife ducked under the window and sat down on the inside of the sill. “I have something to show you. I need to know what you think,” she said, and she pulled the drawing out and gave it to him.

Paul squinted at it. “It’s too small. Just a minute.” He rolled to his desk, rummaged through the drawer, and returned with a large round lens, which he held up between himself and the page. “It’s…a crow,” he said blankly.

“Is it good?” asked Knife, her heart skittering. “I mean, it isn’t just a sort of crow-shaped scribble?”

“It’s very good,” Paul confirmed in distracted tones, his lens hovering over the sketch. “What is it, charcoal? The stick must have been tiny—” He lowered the glass to stare at her. “You mean you did this?”

Knife nodded.

“I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me you were an artist?”

“Because I’m not,” she said. “Or at least, I wasn’t, until…” Until I met you.

“That’s ridiculous,” Paul said impatiently. “You must have had training, or at least plenty of practice. Nobody develops this kind of eye for detail overnight.”

“I know,” said Knife. “That’s why I didn’t think it could really be any good—but if it is, then…”

Then perhaps the Oakenfolk of Heather’s day hadn’t just borrowed creative ideas from the humans they met Outside; they’d absorbed their creative abilities as well. I have gained some little skill as an artist, Jasmine had told Heather, since I went away…

“I don’t understand,” Paul said.

Knife hesitated, wondering how much to tell him. Then she got to her feet and jumped off the sill, landing lightly on the end of Paul’s bed. She walked up to the pillow and sat down, tucking her feet beneath her.

“What are you doing?” asked Paul.

“Making myself comfortable,” she said. “Do you have anything to eat? Because I think this story is going to take a while.”

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