Chapter Text
Despite what some people might think, Jack Kelly is not a stupid boy. He might not have gotten a proper education like those public school boys, but he knows how to care for himself; he's good at finding a place to sleep and keeping food in his belly. He learned young and early to look out for himself because no one else was gonna do it. To everyone else, Jack Kelly is just one more forgotten child among the mass of orphans in New York. Worse still, he's only one week from his eighteenth birthday, when he'll be turfed out of the boys' home and doomed to spend the rest of his days breaking his back to survive.
The rest of the world might not think Jack Kelly is destined for much, but Jack knows better. He just needs to get away from the city and go someplace where he can matter. Someplace where he can be more than just another face in the crowd—someplace like Santa Fe. Jack has been putting aside all the money he can, taking on every side job he can find to save up for a train ticket, but time is running short, and he's starting to get desperate.
All of which leads, through a series of unusual but interconnected circumstances, to a somewhat battered Jack Kelly taking refuge in the Irving Hall burlesque theatre on the night our story begins.
It's far from the first night Jack has picked the lock on the back door of Medda Larkin's theatre. The boys' home has a curfew, and sometimes his jobs don't finish in time. The first time Miss Medda found out about him camping on a rooftop for the night in mid-winter, she nearly blew a gasket. She all but demanded that he use the theatre if he ever needed a safe place to sleep. Jack's self-preservation instinct told him it was better not to argue with the woman—she has always been sweet on him, but that doesn't stop her from giving him a good wallop when she thinks he deserves it.
The last show is long since done at this hour, the theatre deserted. Jack weaves through props and set pieces, familiar even in the darkness. He is halfway across the backstage when a dressing room door swings open. "Jack Kelly, is that you?"
Shielding his eyes against the light, Jack squints at the curving silhouette in the doorframe. "Sorry, Miss Medda, I thought you'd gone home."
Medda plants her hands on her hips and clicks her tongue loudly. "Don't you 'sorry' me, boy. I ain't seen you in days. Get yourself over here and gimme a hug." Jack grins as he crosses to the door and lets the woman drag him into a bone-crushing embrace, which is still comforting despite his bruised ribs. She takes his face in her hands when she steps back, and her smile fades. "Goodness, sugar, what'd you get yourself into this time?"
"I didn't start it this time, honest," Jack protests.
"Didn't finish it either, by the looks of it," says Medda. Shaking her head, she steers him into her dressing room. She directs him onto the settee while gathering the washrag and bowl she uses to clean off her stage makeup. Jack scoots to make room for her, and she starts wiping away the dirt and blood on his face. "Who'd you pick a fight with this time?"
"Guard at the Wall," Jack admits sheepishly. "Old geezer's faster than he looks."
Medda freezes and gives him a severe look. "How many times've I told you to stay away from the Wall? What were you thinking?"
Jack sweeps his newsboy cap off and twists it anxiously between his hands. The Wall is something of an urban legend in Manhattan. The old stories say that the stretch of stone wall near the city's edge acts as the barrier between this world and another, a mystical place of magic and monsters. There's only one way to cross the Wall into the other world, through a gap where several bricks are knocked out, so that gap is always guarded. No one ever crosses the Wall.
"There's a fella down in Flushing," Jack starts, unable to meet Medda's gaze and talking instead to his knees, "said if I could bring him a star, he'd pay me enough to get to Santa Fe. Thought he's crazy, but tonight I saw a star falling, the brightest I ever seen, and I swear it landed somewhere just the other side of the Wall. I was tryna get across to find it."
"Oh, Jack." Medda trails off with a sigh, returning to cleaning out a deep scrape on his jaw.
"I know it's stupid," says Jack, huffing in frustration. "Just - I'm running outta time. I don't even got enough for the train, let alone a place to live and such. I thought if I could just go find the guy his stupid rock, it'd fix me up good."
Medda pinches his chin to stop him from moving, trying to get the last grit from the scrape. "You know you can stay here as long as you need. And I can pay you for the new backdrop."
"Toldja, I ain't taking your money, Medda," Jack counters. "Not after everything you do for me." He sighs and looks down at his hands, picking at a bit of dry skin on his finger. "I dunno, maybe I'm fooling myself. Kids like me, we's born here, and we die here. Maybe I'se never gonna get anything better."
"You weren't born here." Medda says it so quietly that Jack squints up at her in confusion, thinking he misheard. She lowers the washrag and gives him a sad, calculating look before sighing. "I was gonna tell you on your birthday, anyway. A few days early won't hurt."
"Whatcha mean?" Jack asks.
Silently, Medda crosses to her wardrobe and retrieves a small velvet pouch from the back of a drawer. "Always tried to do right by you," she says, smiling fondly when she sits beside him again. "As right as I could, anyway. I wasn't in any place to take care of you in the start, but I still tried." She lets out a heavy breath. "The truth is that I was born on the other side of the Wall - Stormhold, it's called - and so were you."
And that's when Medda tells him a story: a tale about a young girl, sold into the servitude of a sorcerer, who dreamt of escape; a trip to the marketplace where people were being auctioned off for the flickers of magic beneath their skin; two small brothers crying and clutching each other as they were sold to separate bidders; and a desperate bid for freedom into a new world.
"Your brother stepped on a hex trap as we were running," Medda says with tears sparkling at the corners of her eyes. Jack's thoughts momentarily stall on one word: brother. "There was no chance to save him. I just grabbed you and ran. I can still hear his scream in my head, the poor thing." She swallows and determinedly wipes her eyes. "I was only your about age then. I tried to raise you on my own, but-" She scoffs. "Well, folks in this world made real trouble about a colored woman keeping a white boy. In the end, it was safer to take you to the boys' home and just keep an eye on you much as I could. When I finally came into money, I tried to make sure you're safe and happy however I can."
A surge of affection fills Jack, causing his throat to stick. He wishes he could tell her how much that means to him, but he can't find the right words. Before he can try, Medda clears her throat and opens the velvet pouch. "I stole these off my master's table when I left. This is all I brought with me, apart from you," she says. From inside the bag, she produces a little white flower, the delicate petals bright and bell-shaped, untouched by time.
"What is it?" asks Jack.
"A lucky charm," she answers. She uses a hairpin to fasten it to Jack's shirt pocket. "It's supposed to keep you safe. I thought you could use it when you go. Skies know you get into enough trouble on your own. But this is what I really wanted to give you." She holds up a thin black candle. "This is a Babylon candle. It's the fastest way to travel. Just think of where you want to be, light it, and you'll be there."
Jack's heart leaps into his throat, and he stares at Medda with wide eyes, realizing what she's implying. "You mean this thing can get me to Santa Fe?"
Within ten minutes, Jack gathers his most important possessions into a bag—he always keeps them hidden in her dressing room because he doesn't trust the other boys at the home not to filch his things. Medda hands him a little package wrapped in newspaper and tied with a bright blue ribbon. "For your birthday," she says. He starts to argue, but she firmly shoves the gift into his hand. "Don't you talk back to me, Jack Kelly." Smiling, Jack gives in and tucks the parcel into his bag. Medda cups his cheek in her palm. "Oh, sugar, I'm gonna miss you so."
Once again stuck for words, Jack pulls her into another hug. He breathes in her smell - floral perfume, face powder, and the eucalyptus from her laundry soap - and memorizes the moment. Medda is the closest thing he's ever known to home, and from her story, he owes her a whole lot more than that. Jack swallows hard when he finally steps back, and he tries to be subtle about drying his eyes; if Medda notices, she's kind enough not to say.
"Okay, now think of where you wanna be," Medda says, pressing the candle into his palm and picking up a box of matches. Jack closes his eyes and draws up every painting and photograph he's ever seen of Santa Fe. Stretches of dirt, bright red-orange beneath the scrubby bushes and towering cacti; enormous plateaus against the horizon, like mountains with the tops chopped clean off; squat houses of clay built into chunky squares; and an endless violet sky, like a velvet blanket, dotted with millions more stars than Jack could ever possibly imagine. In a place like that, he'll have no trouble seeing the streaks of white as shooting stars plummet to the earth. Maybe he'll even be able to follow the trail and find one, like that one that fell earlier.
Jack hears the strike of a match, and his entire world dissolves into light.
The dizzying sense of vertigo ends abruptly when he collides with something solid that sends him tumbling to the ground. The impact reignites his injuries, and Jack groans as he blinks away the spots in his vision. He lifts his head and squints around, and he can perceive enough for one crucial detail to sink in: "This ain't Santa Fe."
"Brilliant observation. Now, could you get off me?"
David has barely had this new body for perhaps an hour, but so far, his impression of humanity is that it's painful. His leg twinges, wrenched around by the stupid necklace that hooked him out of the sky in the first place. The crash landing on earth was bad enough, his skin tender from dropping through the atmosphere and the impact aching in his bones. Then, when he finally crawls back to consciousness, he barely gets upright before something slams into him and throws him to the ground again. When the thing groans, he realizes it's not so much a something but a someone.
Seriously, humanity is the worst.
"This ain't Santa Fe."
"Brilliant observation," David mutters angrily, struggling to breathe with the weight of the human on his chest. "Now, could you get off me?"
The human shoves up onto his elbows, and David gets his first proper look at his face. The human is young, dancing that thin line between child and adult, with a strong jaw and fathomless, honey-brown eyes. A faint bruise swells around one eye, and a rough scrape stretches back from his chin. His lips part in an O of surprise as he stares back at David. They hold each other's gaze for a long moment, heavy with anticipation, before the human startles and sits up. David's stomach flips as the human straddles his hips for a moment, this new body traitorous in its oh-so-human reactions. The human scrambles off to sit on the ground, and the distance is a relief in multiple ways.
"Sorry," the human says. "You okay?"
"Swell," David drawls, tone heavy with sarcasm as he sits up gingerly. Everything in his body protests, and he struggles to mask his wince.
"This ain't Santa Fe."
David looks up to find the human sitting on his heels, staring at the sky. "You said that already," David points out irritably.
"Why didn't it work?" The human seems to be talking to himself now, staring intently at something in his hand. "She said to think of where you wanna go, and I was thinking of Santa Fe and the red rocks and the stars and the - the stars, of course. Dammit! I was thinking stars, and I remembered that shooting star from earlier, and I musta-" The boy trails off and looks around, comprehension clicking behind his eyes. "We's in a crater," he says, standing up and turning in a circle. "This must be where it fell."
David snorts. "Again with those brilliant observations."
The human remembers David exists at that moment because he spins to face him with wild eyes. "A shooting star fell 'round here," he says, breathless. "Didja see it?"
Annoyed and sore and feeling the beginnings of genuine panic, David's patience snaps. "If you want to be specific, it fell over there," he says, pointing at the deepest part of the crater, now a few feet from where they've ended up. "That's where it landed after this stupid necklace," he lifts the gaudy golden chain with its heavy diamond pendant, "ripped it out of the sky. And that is also where some idiot came flying through the air and knocked it over again."
If he weren't so worked up, the look of shock and confusion on the human boy's face would've made David laugh. The guy opens and closes his mouth several times, gaping like a fish, before finally finding his voice. "Wait, you - you're the star?"
"Three in a row," David says bitterly. "Look at him; he's a regular genius." Leaving the human to his amazement, David pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He tips his head back to look up at the sky so very, very far away. The other stars glitter back at him, but from here, David can't hear the constant whisper of their voices in his mind. The absence unsettles him more than he ever expected. How often had he wished his siblings would shut up for a few minutes? The homesickness is sudden and crippling, and he bites back a terrified whimper.
"Okay, so here's the deal," the human says, and David jumps, having forgotten about the boy for a moment. The star glances up with a skeptical frown. "I figure you probably wanna get home, right? And if you knew how, you'd be gone already." David locks his jaw, but that seems to be enough of an answer for the human. "Thought so. This bit of candle, will it get you there?"
David's eyes widen as the human opens his hand, revealing what he holds. It's short, with only one use left, but - "You have a Babylon candle?" He scrambles to his feet eagerly before suspicion sets in, and he frowns at the boy. "Wait, aren't you trying to get somewhere? Why would you give that to me?"
"Well, it ain't free," the human laughs. "But here's the thing: I got a guy back home who says if I can show him a real fallen star, he'll pay me enough to get to Santa Fe. Figure we can help each other. You come back with me so I can get my money, and this candle is yours. Sound fair?"
"Where's your guy?" David counters, stalling for time as he thinks it over.
"Manhattan, just the other side of the Wall."
"The Wall!" David objects indignantly. "It'll take at least a week to get there from here."
The human shrugs. "Then be glad I'm offering the candle to you instead of just using it to get me outta here." David scowls at him dubiously, and the boy goads, "You got any better ideas for getting back up there?"
David lets out a breath and glances up again. He's heard stories about stars falling to earth, but none of those stories ever mentioned how, or even if, the stars get back into the sky. This might be his best option.
His thoughts must show on his face because the human nods determinedly. "So, you come back to Manhattan with me, and then I give you this candle so you can go home. Deal?" The boy spits into his palm and holds it out expectantly.
David recoils in horror. "That's disgusting."
"That's just doing business," the boy replies indifferently, but amusement dances in the lines around his eyes. David glances from the human's hand to his face a few times, weighing his prospects, and then lets out a resigned sigh. He spits in his palm and shakes the human's hand, trying hard not to think about the unpleasant squish of moisture on his skin. "Swell!" the boy says, beaming. "The name's Jack, by the way. Jack Kelly."
The star doesn't answer for a second, preoccupied with wiping his palm clean on the leg of his trousers. Once satisfied that his hand is sufficiently freed of saliva, he looks up again. "David."
Adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder, Jack straightens the brim of his hat and grins. "So whaddya say, Davey, ready to go?"
For all that he's been accused of having a wild imagination, even Jack has difficulty grasping his current situation. He traveled by magic candle to a foreign world where stars apparently look like people, not rocks like he'd always been told. Jack might think he was dreaming if he didn't know he could never come up with something this crazy.
Jack sneaks another sidelong glance at David the star. All around, he's an unassuming sort of fella, tall and thin and dark-haired. He's got a waistcoat, trousers, and even a necktie, like a proper gent, even if dirt smudges his shirtsleeves now. If Jack passed him on the street, he would never guess David was anything but human. The only sign that hints at more is his clear, pale skin, which seems to glimmer ever-so-slightly when it catches the moonlight.
Well, that and the eyes—Jack's pretty sure no human's ever had eyes that shade of twilight blue.
"You're staring again," Davey grumbles, shooting a pointed look at him.
Jack chuckles and shrugs, not denying it. "You know, David's a pretty boring name for a star. Thought you all had names like Orion and Leo and such."
The corner of David's mouth twitches up slightly, although he quickly stifles it. "There are billions of us," he points out. "We can't all have fancy names."
"Hey, one of the boys at the orphanage used to wear a star called David," Jack says, gesturing at his collar to signify the pendant the boy had always worn. "You that David?"
"No, definitely not," the star replies with a soft huff of amusement, silver sprinkling across his cheeks.
Jack chuckles. "Shame. Woulda been fun to tell Harvey I met his star." He trails off, and they lapse back into quiet.
Truth be told, Jack is loving this. The open expanse of the forest and the isolation of being alone in the middle of it is strangely liberating. No people shouting, no wagons clattering down the cobblestone roads. No clanging bells from the warehouses, sharp whistles in the factories, or blaring horns from the ships at the harbor. Just an endless expanse of trees and sky and starlight.
It's no Santa Fe, but this place ain't half bad.
They walk through the rest of the night and into the morning. It's hardly the first time Jack's been awake all night, and he thrums from a mix of adrenaline and excitement that makes energy vibrate just beneath his skin. It's nearly noon before the exhaustion finally burns in his eyes, and he hides the first yawn in the crook of his elbow. One mile and four yawns later, he finally surrenders and turns to David.
"Christ," he hisses when his eyes land on the star. David's pale skin has gone slightly gray, bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes, and his body cants toward one side. "For cryin' out loud, Davey, if you gotta stop, all you gotta do is say something."
"I'm fine," David counters and then promptly staggers. Jack grabs him by the shoulder to keep him upright. "I can keep going."
"You look like a stiff breeze'd knock you down," Jack says. "C'mon, we can sit for a bit."
David shrugs off his hand. "No, I can keep going," he says and starts walking again despite the obvious sway in his step.
Frowning, Jack hurries to get in front of him and stops the star with a hand on his chest. "Whoa, what's this about?"
"I just-" Davey exhales and pushes Jack's hand away. "The sooner we get to your guy, the sooner I can go home," he admits quietly, not meeting Jack's gaze. His tone is just like that lost, hopeless look he'd had on his face that drove Jack to offer him the candle in the first place. It's an expression Jack saw before on boys from the orphanage who actually came from somewhere: homesickness.
"Look, I getcha, I do," Jack says. "But you ain't gonna make it far if you're dead, and I sure ain't carrying you. So, c'mon, I could nap, and you look like you could, too."
David clearly still wants to argue, but when Jack moves over to the side of the road, the star follows. Jack finds a patch of open ground where they're shielded from view of the road and drops his bag unceremoniously. He settles into a hollow between the tree roots and leans back against the trunk, making himself comfortable. A minute later, David sits down opposite him.
"How's the leg?" Jack asks. Davey lifts an eyebrow questioningly. "You're limping."
"It's fine," David says, stretching out the offending limb. At Jack's skeptical look, he adds, "It's where the necklace snagged me when it pulled me out of the sky. It's just a bruise; it'll be fine."
"Mm-hmm, sure." Jack rolls his eyes but doesn't push it. Instead, he tips his head back and tugs his cap down to shield his eyes. "Get some sleep, Davey."
David makes a vague, amused noise. "Never stayed up this late before," he murmurs.
Jack nudges the brim of his cap up again to squint across at the star in confusion, and then it hits him. "Oh, right, didn't think of that," he says. "You sleep through the day?"
"Well, I'd hardly sleep at night," David points out with a smirk. "Star, remember? We've got better things to do at night." The star shifts, trying to find a comfortable spot against the tree. "How are you still so awake?" he asks after a moment. "You've been up all night."
"Not my first long night," Jack says, shrugging. David's expression shifts towards concern, and Jack smirks. "Jobs run late, and the home didn't lemme in after dark. Couldn't always find a good place to sleep. Some neighborhoods, it's safer to keep your eyes open." The star's face flickers with something like understanding mixed with pity. "Now sleep, wouldja?" Tugging his hat back down over his eyes, Jack hunkers down and lets himself drift.
It's early evening when Jack blinks awake, the sun inching toward the horizon and bathing everything in shades of gold. He glances across the narrow clearing and sees Davey still fast asleep. The star slumps against a tree, one long leg cocked up at a sharp angle. His arms fold loosely over his stomach, and the buttons on his waistcoat are undone. The glow of the setting sun plays along the length of his neck and across his face, open and relaxed in sleep. Eyes closed and hair tousled, he looks impossibly young, serene, and beautiful.
Jack shifts as warmth twists low in his belly. He isn't naïve, and he knows people are gonna want who they want, whether it's proper or not. He's seen it plenty before. Two of Medda's dancers have been fooling for months, and he knows a cop patrols near the orphanage who's been sneaking around with a colored warehouse worker from Queens. And, of course, when you grow up in a boarding home full of teenage boys, especially ones who feel abandoned and desperate for affection...well, things happen.
So it doesn't surprise Jack when the thought crosses his mind. He's fooled around before, girls and fellas alike, but that's all it ever is: fun. He's not one for romance, love at first sight, or all that other sappy nonsense. The thing is, Davey is different. From the first moment Jack laid eyes on him, something about the star makes Jack want more. Davey is unique and precious, and he deserves way better than a guy like Jack could ever give.
But just 'cause nothing can happen doesn't mean Jack can't admire the view—from an artist's perspective, of course.
Jack digs into his bag, searching for a spare page of newsprint, but all he finds is the package Medda gave him. He carefully loosens the ribbon, trying not to rip the newsprint so he can use it, but he only gets halfway before a glimpse makes his heart lurch. Forgetting his caution, Jack tears away the newspaper. In his hands is a brand new sketchbook, the fancy sort with a proper binding and an oiled leather cover. Tucked against the spine and wrapped in another piece of ribbon is a bundle of perfect little charcoal and wood pencils.
"Oh, Miss Medda..." Jack exhales shakily, emotion burning at the corners of his eyes as he brushes his fingertips over the perfectly sharpened points of charcoal. They're exquisite, the sort of thing Jack saw in store windows but never dreamed of owning for himself. The kind of thing a real artist would have.
The urge to create is sudden and overpowering, his fingers itching like sparks jump between the tips. Jack turns to the first page of the sketchbook, and he plucks up one of the pencils. Cocking one knee up to use as a table, he presses the charcoal against the paper and lets the inspiration consume him. Sketching has always been his escape, where he can forget everything else for a few minutes. Lines and smudges blossom on the page and come to life beneath his hand.
When he finally feels satisfied with the sketch, he surveys it in the warm light. He has always been good at drawing people, but this one might be his best. It's a sweeping contrast of layering shadows and long lines, and if the spread of Davey's legs and the curve of his neck are a bit suggestive... Well, it's only for Jack's eyes, anyway. He gives the sketch one last critical look, smudging a bit of charcoal to deepen the shadow cast by the star's Adam's apple, and then he packs away his art supplies with careful reverence.
A painful clench in his abdomen reminds Jack that he hasn't eaten in over a day. He rechecks his bag quickly, but there's nothing to eat. They'll have to find something soon. Jack has gone longer without food but is not keen on repeating the experience, and he doesn't want to subject David to that feeling. (Do stars even eat? Jack's assuming so since the star seems awfully human in other ways, too.) Hopefully, there's a town or something up ahead.
Jack glances at the sun to check the time and frowns. David said that stars are awake at night, but they have a few hours until dark. The prospect of sitting there for hours while his stomach growls is not pleasant. If it's not too far, he can probably get to the next town, get them something to eat, and still be back before Davey wakes. Jack clambers up eagerly and slings his bag over his shoulder. He's never been one to hold still for long anyway, and he's still humming with that same energy from the night before.
Grabbing up the discarded newspaper from Medda's present, Jack smooths it down and writes a quick note in the margins to let Davey know where he's gone, just in case the star wakes up early. He tucks the folded paper into the pocket of David's shirt and then sets off down the road.
Jack is two miles away and none-the-wiser when a gust of wind tugs the note from David's pocket and drags it into the bushes.
David wakes slowly and reluctantly, the scant hours of sleep not enough to satisfy him. While he's far from comfortable in his slump on the hard ground, he keeps his eyes shut, clinging to the last traces of sleep. It's nighttime now—he feels it in his skin like the reassurance of a favorite blanket. They should get moving soon if they want to cover a lot of ground, but Jack hasn't woken him yet, so surely a few extra minutes can't hurt.
Speaking of Jack, David will admit he was a bit harsh on the human the night before. David was scared and in pain, and he had taken it out on Jack. Meanwhile, the human boy has been nothing but friendly - bar the crashing into him and the gross handshake - and he offered to help even when he didn't need to. Jack could've just taken the candle and disappeared off to wherever he was going. The least Davey can do is be grateful.
Precisely as he thinks this, David opens his eyes and realizes Jack is gone.
"Jack?" David calls out, bolting to his feet despite the ache in his injured leg. He scours the clearing, but the only sign of the human is a depression in the grass and leaves where Jack had slept. "Jack!"
He left. David feels like he shouldn't be surprised - it never made sense for Jack to go out of his way to help him in the first place - but somehow, he's still stung. He wants to believe Jack is better than that, but he can't escape the facts—Jack is gone. He probably realized David was more trouble than he was worth and used the Babylon candle for himself.
Davey is alone, and his best chance at getting home is gone.
Again, humanity sucks.
The bushes rustle, and David spins on his heel, heart racing. "Jack?" he asks tentatively. The only response is more shuffling, moving closer. David considers whether it's worth making a run for it when the branches on the other side of the clearing part, and in steps an enormous white unicorn. David sighs in relief. "Oh, thank skies."
The unicorn whickers and approaches David, nudging its nose against his shoulder. He grins and rubs the lean, white neck. Unicorns are children of the moon, just like him, and finding a kindred spirit is a welcome comfort. "I'm so glad to see you, cousin," David says.
Stepping back, the unicorn sinks to its knees, and David mounts gratefully. His injured leg aches worse than the night before, and he wasn't looking forward to walking on it all night. The unicorn stands carefully and returns to the road, setting off at a trot. David threads his hands in the unicorn's mane, trusting it to know the way out of the forest, and he lets his mind wander.
He needs to find another way home. The emptiness of being away from his family is almost painful. The unicorn soothes it slightly, and he knows there are other creatures of the moon - selkies, wraith sprites, naiads - that he could find as well, but it won't replace the feeling of belonging he gets from his own kind. He might never have felt strongly connected to his siblings, but anything is better than this throbbing nothingness.
The only question is how to get there. If he's lucky, maybe David can find another Babylon candle in one of the town markets or a warlock with some other idea of how to get him home. There has to be something. Anything.
They've been riding for nearly an hour when the first raindrops slip through the canopy. The trees shield him from the weather for a bit, but it doesn't take long before the rain comes down too hard. By the time the edge of the forest finally comes into view, David is soaked and shivering, huddled down against the unicorn's neck in a desperate bid for warmth.
The trees end at grassy fields, and the road intersects with another wide dirt track ahead. A squat inn with warm, golden firelight flickering behind its windows sits at the crossroads. David's heart leaps as the unicorn gallops for it, sliding to a stop just in front of the wooden door. He clambers down, stroking the unicorn's neck in gratitude. It whuffles at his damp hair before running for the forest again as David knocks at the inn door.
Several long seconds pass before an older man with a bushy mustache and narrowed eyes opens the door. The man takes one look at David and immediately steps back, gesturing the dripping star inside.
"Thank you," David says. The man shuts the door behind him, and the temperature change is immediate. "I'm sorry if I woke you," David adds, remembering that it's late for humans. "I just need a place to wait until the rain stops."
"No, of course," the man says. "That's what we're here for. Let's get those clothes dried so you can warm up." The man heads for the stairs, shouting down the hall, "Oscar, Morris, get the fire stoked up and fetch this boy something warm to drink." Then, he continues up to the second floor with David on his heels. The door to the first room is open, and a pair of lanterns burn brightly on either side of a large bed with a thick woolen quilt. David nearly melts at the sight of it.
"Here," the man says, opening a wardrobe and fetching a dressing gown. "Get out of those wet things. You can hang 'em here so they dry," he adds, pointing to the low screen in front of the room's little fireplace. "Come down when you've changed, and we'll find you something warm to eat."
"Thank you so much, mister-"
"Wiesel," the innkeeper supplies. "I'll let you get dressed." And if the man's smile is a little stilted and awkward, David dismisses it as the late hour as he turns to shed his wet clothes.
It's well past sundown when Jack heads back to the clearing where he left Davey. His trip took longer than expected, and he's half-jogging to get back. The little trail that branched off the main road was marked with a barely visible sign, and after a couple of miles, Jack finally stumbled across a tiny village tucked away beside a pond.
Getting his hands on some food was equally tricky. It took a lot of asking around and begging before he found a farmer willing to help him. After learning that Jack was an artist, he traded Jack food for a sketch of his young daughter. The little girl, all bright eyes and blonde curls, was so thrilled with the drawing that the farmer even tossed in a pair of bread rolls.
Feeling more than a little proud of his success, Jack beams when he finally reaches the clearing, the tree beside the road marked with the bit of ribbon from Medda's gift. "Hey, Davey," he calls as he pushes through the branches. "You 'wake? I got food." He shoves through a bush and then stops short.
The clearing is empty.
"Davey?" Jack calls, darting across the open patch. This is definitely the right place, but there's no sign of the star. "David! Where are you?" Jack checks all around the clearing and into the shrubbery but finds nothing. His heart hammers in his chest when he staggers back into the clearing, and his eyes catch something on the ground: faint hoofprints in the dirt. Jack is no expert in tracking or anything, but it's enough to tell him that someone else was here—someone on horseback who must've taken the star. Jack's mind fills with tales of highwaymen and bandits. "Davey!"
Jack flinches when he hears a faint whisper of sound, impossibly quiet and unintelligible, but close, as if someone breathes the words against the back of his neck. He pivots when it happens again, but he's alone. "Who's there?" he shouts, drawing himself up with all the daring he can muster.
"Help him..." The whisper brushes along the back of his skull, thin and immaterial. It feels more like it's coming from inside his head than out. "Save our brother..." An impression of bright spots of light flickers in his head, and Jack looks skyward in surprise. The stars? But that can't be possible, right? At the exact moment he thinks it, another stream of fractured images rolls through his head, accompanied by ethereal voices.
"Danger," a leaping of his heart, fear—"the last star to fall, Sarah," an image of a smiling young woman with dark curls and a familiar shimmer to her skin—"they carved out her heart ," a glittering knife of obsidian glass and a piercing, terrified scream. "Save him. There's a carriage." A blurred motion of horses against the backdrop of the forest. "Find it. Save him. Please."
Jack's awareness returns as the voices fade, and he realizes he fell to his knees at some point, clutching his head in his hands. It takes a moment to shake away the lingering vertigo, but he can't dislodge the panic that has taken root in his chest. He clambers upright, leaning against a tree until he's sure his feet will support him, and then takes off running. He needs to find that carriage. He needs to find Davey before-
Jack is barely three steps onto the road when a clattering grabs his attention. Immediately, he pinwheels backward and narrowly avoids being run over by a small horse-drawn carriage. He trips over a tree root and ends up sprawled on his back as the carriage skids to a stop ahead. Before he can find his feet, a sword is pointed at his chest. "Whoa, hey, easy there!"
"Who sent you?"
At that moment, Jack finally looks past the blade to the person holding the sword—it's a girl. She can't be much older than him, if at all, and her fierce expression is ringed in a halo of deep red curls. A high-waisted dress is pinned up at one hip, revealing her stocking and boot. While she seems polished and classy, the gleam in her eyes and the steadiness of her hand tell Jack it's best not to test her.
"Look, no one sent me nowhere," Jack says, holding his palms out in a universal sign of surrender. "I just need a ride. So couldja-?" He glances pointedly at the sword tip hovering over his sternum. The girl doesn't move, her expression challenging him. Jack deflates. "Please, I'm just tryna find my friend. I didn't even know you was coming." It's sort of a lie, but she doesn't need to know that.
The girl eyes him suspiciously for a moment more, then steps back, lowering her sword. Jack takes a relieved breath and stands, dusting off his clothes. "Name's Jack Kelly," he offers.
"Good for you," she drawls and turns away dismissively. "Go tell someone who cares."
"Wait, what's a girl doin' out in the woods middle of the night anyway?" he asks, glancing at the small carriage and finding it empty.
The sword is leveled at him again in the next second, and Jack instinctively steps back. "Now would be a good time to shut up," the girl says with a mischievous curl to her lips. "The rules are changing, and a woman is just as capable as anyone."
"Don't need to tell me," Jack says, shrugging. "Ain't nobody crosses Miss Medda. She taught me that young. Strongest person I know." Something in the girl's expression softens, and Jack pulls out his most disarming grin. "You got a name?"
"Katherine," she replies, falters slightly, and then finishes, "Plumber." Jack raises an eyebrow, and she explains, "I've recently changed my name. It's a family thing." She sheathes her sword and surveys him thoughtfully. "You said you're looking for a friend?"
Jack swallows as the panic from before surges up in his stomach. "He's gone missing," he says. "I think someone nabbed him, and I just-" Jack trails off, anxiously sweeping off his cap to scratch his scalp.
Katherine clears her throat and lifts her chin. "Well, come on, then," she says as she turns and climbs back onto the driver's bench of her carriage. "I'm not in the habit of picking up strangers," she tosses over her shoulder, "so hurry up before I change my mind." Jack stares at her in surprise for a second and then scrambles onto the other side of the bench. Katherine flicks the reins, and the carriage lurches forward.
"Thank you," Jack says after they're moving. "I'm worried 'bout Davey."
"Your friend?" Katherine prompts curiously. "You said he's gone missing."
Jack nods. "I went to find food, and when I came back, he's gone. Nothing but a bunch of footprints and scuffs. I dunno what happened. He can't've gone far alone, his leg's hurt, but if someone took him..." He clears his throat and tugs his cap on, shoving his fear back behind the walls of his bravado. "Was my job to keep an eye on him."
"I'm sorry," Katherine says, and it sounds so genuine and compassionate that something lodges in Jack's throat. He glances sideways and surveys the girl again. She's a plum, no doubt—beautiful, smart, and independent to boot. In another time or place, she's precisely the sorta girl Jack would go for, but he can't think about that while the worry over Davey is still tugging in his chest. Still, that doesn't mean she doesn't fascinate him.
"Really, though, what's a girl like you doing out here?" Jack asks. As a steely light flashes in her eyes, he hastily adds, "Not 'cause you're a girl. Just, you're obviously well off and smart and such. So what gets someone like you out in the forest middle of the night? What's this 'bout for you?"
Katherine looks sideways at him, her gaze considering. "I'm looking for the Gem of Stormhold." The statement is obviously meant to have some significance, but Jack has no idea what that is. Katherine shakes her head. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"You caught me," Jack says, grinning. "I'm from the other side of the Wall. Ended up here by accident."
"Really?" Katherine asks, and her eyes go wide, curious and eager. "I'd love to hear about it. I've always wondered about what things are like on the other side of the Wall."
"Less weird than this place," says Jack. The temperature has dropped drastically since they started, and he wraps his arms around his middle, tucking his hands into his armpits to keep his fingers warm. "So what's this gem thing?"
"The Gem of Stormhold is what decides who will rule," Katherine says. "There are five royal families in Stormhold with a potential claim to the throne. Every hundred years, the Gem disappears, and the children of the families have to find it. Whoever gets to it first is the one who will lead Stormhold for the next hundred years."
"And you're one of those kids," Jack concludes. "You wanna be in charge of this place?"
Katherine's lips settle into a firm, white line. "Stormhold needs change," she says resolutely. "We've lived far too long by supporting our world on a broken system of corruption and slavery. People are convinced it's for the best, or that changing it would be more trouble than it's worth, but we can't keep lying to ourselves." She sighs and shakes her head. "I've tried to propose ideas for how to start fixing things, but I don't have the pull to make the others take me seriously."
"'Cause you're a girl?" Jack guesses. Her scowl is answer enough. "But if you're from one of those families, ain't you some kinda royalty? Thought that meant people gotta do whatcha says."
"Remember that family thing I mentioned?" she intones dryly. "I haven't been shy about my opinions. My fath- my family disapproved, so I've burnt those bridges pretty thoroughly over the last few years. Now I don't have the family connections to rely on anymore, and no one wants to listen to a lone girl with big ideas. That's why I have to be the one to find the Gem. Once I have that, once they see I'm worthy of the throne, then I can show them that there's a better way."
Jack watches her in amazement, awed by the brilliant flare of righteous fury and purpose that takes over her expression. For a minute, he can see it—a girl with the will to make people listen, to actually rule the world. He lets out an appreciative whistle, and Katherine shoots him a look, but she can't entirely stop the ghost of a smile that tips the corner of her mouth.
"So whatcha been saying that's got folks all huffy?" he asks, and then Medda's story returns to him, clicking a few pieces into place. "It got something to do with the folks with the flickers?"
"Flickers?" Katherine asks, bemused.
Chuckling, Jack explains, "Miss Medda - she's the one that told me 'bout this place - she said that there's people here that get sold for the flickers under their skin. She said it's like magic but not really." He pointedly leaves out the part where he is apparently one of those people.
"Oh, the Fey kind," Katherine says. "Yes, that's what upsets people. The Fey are people born with an inclination to magic. They can't necessarily control it, though. That sort of thing takes years of practice and study. Most of the time, they just develop an instinctive gift we call a Knack.
"Ages ago, Fey born into wealthy families were given training and status to master their skills and find ways to make it better for everyone. That was the whole purpose of the warlock's guild when it was formed, but now it's changed. Instead of sharing their techniques and abilities, they created ways to control and siphon the magic of other Fey. Now we've got a society built upon treating the Fey like livestock."
"And you wanna stop it?"
"It's cruel that these people are enslaved simply for being born," she says vehemently. "They are humans, just like any of us. And I mean, just think of what we could accomplish if, instead of oppressing these people, we allowed them to reach their potential. If all Fey were given a chance to learn to control and use their gifts to help. A purpose for every Knack. We could build an entirely new world that's better for everyone."
"A world where everybody matters," Jack finishes in awe, that familiar longing in his chest that always accompanies his dreams of Santa Fe. He grins at Katherine. "You're really somethin', Plumber."
A flush of pleasure brightens her cheeks despite Katherine's attempt to remain impassive. "What about you?" she asks. "Who is Jack Kelly? What are you doing here?"
"Just tryna get home, really," he says, shrugging.
"What brought you to Stormhold?" Katherine presses.
Jack laughs. "Bit of magic backfired," he admits. "Was tryna get somewhere else." He flinches as something cold splashes on the back of his neck; he can't hear it over the sound of the carriage wheels, but it evidently started raining at some point. The drops snake in through the tree cover, coming quicker and harder. "Oh great," Jack mutters, hugging his bag against his chest to shield it from the weather. Katherine doesn't respond except to snap the reins again, urging the horses on faster.
David sinks further into the plush leather armchair, letting the fire's warmth wash over him. The dressing robe lent to him by the innkeeper is thick and soft against his skin. His feet are propped on the mantle, his toes going pink from the heat. A bowl of hearty stew sits heavy in his belly, and he nurses a large mug of cider. Between the food and the warmth, he hovers in that gray area between awake and asleep.
"How's the leg?" The voice startles David back towards consciousness, and he looks up at Mr. Wiesel standing over him. The star sits forward and flexes his foot experimentally, surprised by the lack of pain. Mr. Wiesel must see the answer in his face because he huffs in amusement. "Told you that stuff worked wonders."
"It's incredible," David says eagerly. After catching a glimpse of the violet-red welts that looped around David's calf, the innkeeper had insisted on treating it. The salve he used before bandaging it had tingled deep through his skin, a strange, disjointed prickling that faded into numbness. Now, David feels as good as new. Better, actually, than he's felt since arriving in Stormhold.
"I'm glad," Mr. Wiesel says with that same stilted half-smile. "You look like you feel better. How'd you get a mark like that anyway?" David shifts uncertainly, one hand dipping into the pocket of the dressing gown where he stowed the necklace. He still has no idea what it is, but something tells him it's important. Besides, anything with the power to get him out of the sky might have enough to get him back.
Before either can say anything more, there's a knock at the door. The innkeeper looks annoyed by the interruption but quickly covers it with a grin. "The fire should be stoked up in your room," he says to David. "Why don't we get you settled?"
David stands, pleased when his leg doesn't twinge at the weight, and lets Wiesel shepherd him up the staircase. "Boys, deal with our new guests, would you?" the innkeeper adds to the pair of young men - his sons, David assumes, although they don't share much resemblance - hovering behind the bar.
David is about to enter the lodging room when a voice from below makes him freeze. "Whoa, pal, what's your problem?" Ducking around Wiesel, the star darts back to the railing and looks down into the common room. Wiesel's boys are standing on either side of the inn door, scowling and gripping the arms of the rain-soaked newcomers. One is a redheaded woman, and the other is-
"Jack?" Davey asks in surprise.
Jack's gaze snaps upward, and relief washes over the human's features. "Davey, Christ, there you are," he says and grins. David's heart leaps at the sight, his skin gleaming silver happily. In the next moment, Jack's smile morphs into a wince as one of Wiesel's boys twists Jack's arm behind his back.
David moves to help, but a hand closes around his arm, and a sudden thrill of terror shoots down his spine when something cold and sharp presses against his throat. "Davey!" Jack shouts and then hisses when his arm is tugged again. His eyes slip past David, and he snarls, "Doncha dare hurt him."
"You think I'm scared of you?" Wiesel taunts sarcastically. "My orders come from way higher up the food chain."
"Pulitzer." It's the girl who says it, her tone stern and furious. "What does he want with a kid?"
"Because, Lady Katherine, he ain't no ordinary kid, are you?" Wiesel says, and the star flinches away as much as he can, feeling the blade at his neck snag on his skin. "Nah, see, pretty boy here is a star. And his majesty wants this kid's heart."
"No!" Jack shoves back, managing to free his arm, but in the next second, the crony punches him in the jaw. Large brass rings are on each of his fingers, and the hit sends Jack sprawling. The guy punches Jack twice more before kneeling on his chest, arm cocked in a pointed warning.
"This would've been so much better a few minutes ago," says Wiesel. "The heart of a happy star works better, according to the books." He turns, shoving David up against the wall, a hand on his throat. In his other hand is a large, wicked-looking knife with a blade dark as oil, and he points it at the star's chest. David can hear Jack and the girl shouting, but their words seem oddly muffled through the pounding in his ears. "Guess your scared little heart will have to do."
"Davey!" Jack's cry is lost beneath a sudden flash of blue-white light and pressure. The wall at his back keeps David upright, but Wiesel is thrown backward, pitching over the railing with a shout. It takes a moment to blink away the spots in his vision, but David sprints for the stairs as soon as he can see well enough.
Jack grapples with the goon on the main floor, doing everything he can to keep the guy from getting a good grip on his neck. The girl - Lady Katherine, apparently - is fighting with her captor, but before David can think of helping, she manages to twist and kick the goon between his legs. David runs at the guy crouched on Jack's chest, tackling the guy aside so they both fall in a tangle.
Jack hauls David back by the robe's collar, kicking the goon again for good measure. "Davey, you okay?" Jack asks, breathless, and wipes at the blood dripping from his nose.
"Yeah," David answers, standing and offering a hand up. The girl walks over at the same time, and David glances at her uncertainly. "Hi."
"Nice to meet you," Katherine says with a quick smile. "We should go." They turn toward the door, but the two goons are back on their feet and blocking the exit. Wiesel extricates himself from where he landed behind the bar, and he looms, a sudden menacing spark in his eyes and the now-chipped knife clutched in his fist.
"You know, I was so nice to you, kid," Wiesel snarls. "All that, and this is what I get for it?" Jack steps in front of Davey and the girl, arms out to shield them as the three slowly retreat from the prowling innkeeper. As the star glances hopefully toward the nearest window, dark emerald flames erupt along the sill. They spiral around the room, blocking every door and window with towering green-black fire. Davey's heart drops into his stomach—they're trapped.
"I'm gonna enjoy this," Wiesel says with a sadistic grin, adjusting his grip on the obsidian knife. "'Tween the price for your heart and the bounty on the li'l lady here, I'm set. And you," he gestures at Jack, "well, I've been thinking about getting a new Fey for years. Won't be hard to break you down after you watch me carve out your boyfriend's heart."
"Davey, Kath, hold onto me," Jack hisses. He doesn't give David an option, wrapping an arm around the star's waist to pull him tight against his body. The girl glances down with wide eyes and then throws her arms around Jack's neck. Jack looks at David, and the intensity of his gaze makes the star's breath catch. "Think of home," Jack whispers, almost to himself.
And that's when David sees what Jack is holding in his other hand: the Babylon candle. David's heart leaps as thoughts of home fill his head, just as Jack plunges his hand into the flames over the nearest windowsill. Jack's scream of pain and Wiesel's furious bellow are washed away in the rush of sound as the world vanishes in a blinding, white light.