Persie Merlin and the Door to Nowhere by Bella Forrest Page 0,120
it would’ve been game over, and the useful information Leviathan had given me would have been worthless. Nathan got to his feet and dusted himself off, taking a moment to gather himself. He looked rattled, and I had an opportunity while Nathan walked a short distance away, just out of earshot, to pace off his lingering nerves.
“Inwalla,” I whispered.
The pixies all whipped around to face me, staring in wonder at the person who’d spoken their sacred word. A moment later, they shivered as though a bolt of electricity had shot amongst them all: a magical current running through the pixie circuit. With no need for further prompting, they marched forward into formation and stood at attention, falling into line like an army. Boudicca stood at the front, her shoulders back, arms straight, ready to take orders.
Nathan gawped at the scene. “What are they doing?”
“They’re obeying.” I smiled, thrilled that the word had worked. “And we’ve probably only got one more shot at this before some pixies gets caught, so cross your fingers.” I focused on Boudicca. “Can you send a team to bring us the book we need? A Complete History of Wisps and Legends.” I repeated the instructions that Nathan had previously given and prayed they wouldn’t bring back another kiddy book.
As she listened, Boudicca’s eyes swam with a swirling galaxy of purples and pinks, flecked with silvery stars, as though she were hypnotized. An undercurrent of guilt ran through me as it occurred to me that I was following a very Wispy path here—in a way, I too was using the pixies for my own benefit, like the rest of the magical world used beasts. And I had her under a control that I didn’t fully understand. The difference was, I told myself, I care what happens to them, and I’ll do what I can to repay them for their help.
Once I finished explaining what I needed, Boudicca turned to the others and relayed the message, thin strands of pinkish light flowing from her temples and into the temples of the others, until everyone understood. She pointed to a quintet of pixies, who immediately took flight and vanished into the overhead gloom.
“How did you do that?” Nathan frowned at me.
I shrugged. “Maybe they’re finally listening to the one who brought them back into existence.”
“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” He observed the now-uniform squad of pixies, no doubt trying to commit every quirk and behavior to memory. As a researcher, his lack of pen and paper must’ve been killing him.
Ten minutes later, heralded by a bumblebee-like drone, the quintet of pixies returned. This time, the results looked more promising. They bore a hefty tome bound in red leather, stained and pocked by time and rough handling. The weight made them fly awkwardly, and I heard their groans as they got closer. Moments before they landed, Nathan lunged toward them and pulled the book from their hands, clearly terrified they would tear this treasured item to pieces, too. The quintet eyed him with disapproval, pouting and muttering under their breaths. I still couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I could grasp their meaning with a touch more specificity, and I sensed they weren’t too pleased with Nathan’s snatch-and-grab, or the inference that they’d rip the book apart.
“He’s just careful about these things. Don’t take any offense,” I said to the returning group. Now that I had them under the influence of their sacred word, they looked at me with understanding, their eyes swirling with that same mesmerized galaxy of color. I guessed the translation from my language to theirs happened somewhere in that space. They glanced at Nathan and giggled, pretending to flip through books of their own and pushing imaginary glasses up the bridges of their noses.
Nathan didn’t notice their mockery. “This is it!” he said, rifling frantically through the pages. “Now, where’s the part that might help us… I know it’s around the end somewhere.”
I peered over his shoulder. To my surprise, the words were handwritten. Elaborate Celtic lettering graced every page. I had no idea what he was looking for, so I stood by as a hopeful observer while he did the hard work. The words were so crammed together and faded that I couldn’t believe he was reading it.
“Yes. This is the bit.” He ran his fingertip beneath a section of text. “Coinníonn neart an déantóra an Uacht le chéile,” he murmured in Gaelic, the language of Ireland and its Celtic heritage.