There she was—my raptor mother with silky white feathers. She wore a yellow dress and a wooden mask over her beak, with a smile carved into its cheeks.

  “Hello, son,” she said.

  I bounced through the door. Mom wrapped her wings around me and squeezed me tight and warm.

  “How did you get here?” I said.

  “I can open one thoroughfare to another realm every ten years,” she said. “It’s been ten years to the day since I delivered you to your Dad.”

  Mom’s voice was different than the one I perceived in Sleeping Locus. It was shy. Meek. She smelled different, too, like a lily flower instead of vanilla. But we were a family again, and that was all that mattered.

  “It looks great in here!” Dad said.

  She cleaned our room while we were away. Everything was shiny. She even busted the rust off our mechanism and polished his plates. The smell of cake was in the air. The space was alight with a roaring hearth and a centerpiece of six candles wreathed in yellow flowers.

  Mom stubbed her toe on the bench.

  “Damn it!” she screeched.

  “The room’s too small for you,” I said.

  “I’ll make do, I suppose.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to wear that thing,” I said, looking into the empty eyes of her mask. “I want to see your face.”

  “I’m too far from home to take it off, but you know I’m smiling.”

  Mom held me down to the floor with her wing and tickled me breathless. Later on, she brought out the vanilla cake with sweet frosting.

  “Happy Birthday!” Mom and Dad said, and Mom sliced me a hunk as big as my head.

  Mom cleared the table after we finished. Dad pawed at the mechanism’s foot, then trotted over and hopped into his basket bed. The mechanism sat on the edge of the bed. Combs popped out between his metal fingers, and he brushed Dad’s coat with long strokes. I got down from the table and walked to my bed. My heart skipped a beat when I slid my hand under my pillow.

  “What happened to my book?” I said. “And my sweater?”

  “Oh,” Mom said. “I threw those nasty, old things away, Burge.”

  Confusion … My face was hot. My hands started to shake. My mind boiled over like stew in a cauldron. Rage! My fists balled at my sides.

  “You what?” I said.

  “It’s okay, Burgeon,” Dad said, glaring at me. “We’ll just have to get you some new things.”

  “But …”

  “That’s enough!” he barked. “I’ll read us a story tonight.”

  Dad was right. There was no sense in ruining the evening. But stuffing down the anger was like putting out a fire with my face. Could she not have known how precious the sweater was to me? She made it. And my book? Those two things were all I had.

  “I didn’t realize how important they were to you,” Mom said. “I’ll get you a new book. And I’ll make you a new sweater, too–a better one. I promise.”

  Mom climbed into my basket bed after cleaning up and pulled the covers over us. The mechanism brought Dad a book from the cupboard.

  “The Realm of Happenstance Forest,” Dad read. “Once, there was a mighty warrior named Wrathgar. Great hoards of treasure he earned in his conquests, but fame was a fickle beast. He succumbed to temptation, eventually giving himself to one of the nymphs who threw herself at his hooves. In so doing, he committed adultery against his wife. The nymph, it turned out, was the Queen of Happenstance Forest in disguise. The forest grew fruit that fell from the trees and seeded the ground. Some seeds grew lovely flora and fauna that skipped about, carelessly bringing color and laughter to everyone they met. Some seeds spawned monstrous creatures, like the Grondox, that devoured flora and fauna. He rampaged, screaming in agony, wandering out of the realm when the food ran low, searching for others to eat, hoping to eat the thing of his creation.”

  Dad looked up from the book and glared at Mom.

  “You see, Burgeon,” he said. “Everything you do in life creates flowers or monsters. It’s a fool that creates monsters, believing they won’t search you out one day.”

  “I don’t like that story,” Mom said. “Read something else.”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “Happenstance Forest is a long way away from the Loyal Trench. The Grondox can’t find us here.”

  “Some realms are never far away,” Dad said. “Some realms are so big you can’t see them. Some realms are so small you can’t see them. Some realms are so far away you’ll never reach them. Some realms are so close you’ll never reach them, but all are connected. What happens in one realm will affect all others.”

  “This is not a bedtime story!” Mom snapped. “Read something else!”

  Dad read The Rabbyts of Shamayim Meadows or something. I wasn’t really paying attention. He had read me several stories scarier than The Realm of Happenstance Forest. The situation was confusing. I was happy, but there was something wrong. Mom was sweating stress, and I could smell Dad’s irritation turn to fear on his breath as he read to us.

  Even as angry as I was about my lost book and sweater, Mom’s scent in our room provided the most restful sleep I had ever had. It was the first and only time I remember waking up refreshed. The smell of panflaps oozing with butter and syrup woke me, accompanied by the sound of a fire roaring in the hearth.

  I threw my quilts off without hesitation and hopped out of bed. We finished our breakfast and made our way to the temple. I held Mom’s hand and rode on Dad’s back. The pirates we saw on the way gave Mom a wide berth when they saw her wings. I think they were afraid of her. Mom ran her talons through my fur and nipped at my cheek when we arrived at the temple.

  “Have a good day,” she said, handing me a lunch tied up in a rag sack.

  “Can we fly when I get home?” I said.

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  “Go on inside,” Dad said.

  I waved and walked through the entrance. Dad didn’t go inside. I went up the steps to the day school and took my seat in my class. Something was different that day. I don’t know if it had to do with my meeting the wizard, my Mom being home, or both. People seemed interested in what I had to say. They listened. Nobody teased me. The master didn’t nag me. I didn’t get into trouble and had no desire to ask questions to which I knew they had no answers. Everything was as it should have been. The day was made more exciting when I realized Mom was going to be home when I got there. She would be there to take care of me and teach me how to fly.

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  The lunch bell gonged. I opened up the sack Mom gave me. Inside was cheese, crackers, and berries. Mom even packed a cookie, the center of which was still warm. I washed it all down with a cold drink of milk, then returned and finished the day.

  “Very insightful input today, Burgeon,” my master said as I went to leave. “And a happy birthday for yesterday.”

  “Thank you,” I said with a smile.

  I saw Wulfy standing in the hallway and walked up to him.

  “Here,” I said, taking his coin purse out of my inner jacket pocket and handing it to him.

  Wolfy’s ears were low, and his tail was between his legs. I wasn’t sure what he was afraid of all of a sudden. Maybe the wizard had a talk with him, too. Hesitantly, he took the purse, keeping me in sight as he trotted down the hall. I was relieved to be rid of the weight on my jacket. I vowed never to myself never to steal anything again.

  I skipped through the temple arch at the end of the day, but to my disappointment, Mom wasn’t waiting. Dad wasn’t there either, which was strange. I knew something was wrong when I saw our mechanism standing there.

  “Hello,” he said. “I hope you had a nice day at the temple.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been instructed to escort you home,” he said, holding out three silver coins.

  “You mean I have to escort you. You’re lucky you made it here without being chopped for parts.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  I thought the day was over, but there were leagues yet to go. Traffic was heavy. It felt like it took forever to reach the dark zone. The driver stopped a ways from the inn, as usual. I hopped out of the carriage as soon as the door slid open. I skipped down the street as fast as I could without choking on the smoke, passing aimless strays and flapping my wings in a pathetic attempt to go faster. The mechanism ran behind me. I came to the inn, hustled through the boiler room, up the garbage chute, and down the hall.

  “Open it!” I said, panting heavily.

  “Why didn’t you tell him I was coming?” I heard through the door.

  “I didn’t think you’d want to open your once-every-decade thoroughfare to see your son,” Dad said. “And I didn’t want to get his hopes up.”

  The mechanism stuck his finger into the lock, and the door screeched open. The smell of sadness was thick in the room. Something was wrong. Mom and Dad were sitting at the table.

  “What’s going on?” I said.

  “Burgeon,” Dad said. “Your mother and I are having a talk. Can you come back in a bit?”

  “What did I do?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Mom said.

  “You want me to leave? I thought we were gonna …”

  “I have to go now,” Mom said.

  “What?” I said. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you just got here! You don’t have to go. I’m not mad about my book anymore. Please, please stay.”

  “This has nothing to do with that old book.”

  “But why?” I cried. “I thought you were going to stay with us.”

  “I have no choice. I’m out of time. I have to return to my home realm now.”

  I heard Dad sigh heavily behind Mom’s back. Her feathers unfurled. I smelled anger.

  “I’ll see you soon,” she said. “In Sleeping Locus.”

  Tears soaked the fur on my cheeks.

  “Someday, you’ll understand,” she said.

  “I’m not sure that he will,” Dad said.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Mom turned, dashed across the room, dropped something on the floor, and jumped out the window before I could find the words to convince her to stay.

  “Wait!” I pleaded, running after her. “Don’t go!” But the last thing I saw was her wings disappearing into the smog. I wasn’t even able to say goodbye.

  I sobbed breathlessly, with tears streaming into my fur. I turned around to see Dad picking up that thing she dropped with his mouth. It glinted in the candlelight like a piece of glass. He walked over to his jacket lying on his bed and nosed it into his pocket. I became angry.

  “You,” I said. “What did you do? What did you say to make her go?”

  He was crying, too.

  “Your mother is not who you think she is,” he said. “And she is not who she thinks she is either.”

  “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  The mechanism came and helped Dad into his jacket.

  “Burgeon,” he said. “I hope you never make sense of it. I hope you never learn the truth.”

  “What?” I said. “What do you mean? What truth? Where are you going?”

  “I need some time.”

  Dad trotted out the door, leaving me completely alone. I saw one of Mom’s feathers lying on the floor. I picked it up, and held it close to my nose.

  * * *

  I could smell rain running down the gutters and spilling into the river. Rhythmic breathing and the warmth of my quilts pushed my troubles into a dark corner, but not for long. I woke up in a cold sweat, thinking the whole ordeal had been a nightmare. Dad wasn’t back yet. There had to be something I could do to get her back. There just had to be something. Then, an idea pinched my mind.

  “You!” I said.

  “How can I help?” the mechanism said, stepping out of the dark corner.

  “Let me see your vibrostat.”

  “I’m obliged to remind you of your father’s warning. He told you never to toy with vibrostats.”

  “This is an emergency. Open it.”

  The mechanism’s chest opened like a cabinet full of clockwork. The gears parted, revealing a turn dial.

  “This changes the vibrations in the room to match the vibrations in any other realm, right?” I said.

  “Yes, but …”

  “This might do the trick.”

  “I don’t have authorization to activate the vibrostat myself,” the mechanism said. “You’ll have to turn the dial manually, and I’m running on winding lever tension, not fuel. You’ll need to open the concentration line in the wall.”

  I thought for a moment. Opening the concentration line would really cost us. Dad would be furious if it didn’t work, but I had to do something. I had to get her back. It would fix everything.

  “Do it,” I said.

  “Are you certain?”

  “I can’t ship to another realm, so I’ll bring the realm to me. Do it!”

  The mechanism walked over to the wall and removed a steel plate. Inside the wall was a valve. The mechanism’s hand took the shape of a cup. He opened the valve, filled his cup with glowing white fluid, and drank it. I pulled out the bench, boosted myself to his chest level, then reached in my hand. I turned the dial with one click, and the realm around me distorted as though my eyes and ears were out of focus. Everything changed. I cranked it a second time, then a third. The realm around me went from a state of distortion to utter chaos. I held the dial tightly, knowing I might not find it again if I let go. High-pitched sounds rang in my ears, then low pitches, staticky sounds, and bubbly as though I was under water. I saw twisting colors and warped shapes. I wanted to be sick. Then, I felt like I was hanging upside down before being knocked onto the floor. The world changed back to normal, and Dad was standing over me.

  “What the hells are you thinking?” he barked.

  I staggered to my feet and stumbled back, thinking he was going to bite me.

  “I was trying to get her back,” I said.

  “A vibrostat cannot take you to another realm! Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost? We can barely afford firewood, let alone concentration.”

  I don’t think he’d ever been that angry at me before. But then his anger turned to alarm. He started sniffing the air. Then the floor began to shudder.

  “A recastorm!” Dad said.

  A smell filled the room—a smell that all canids hated—the smell of change. It smelled like the back of the wind carrying the scent of a moth the moment it emerged from its cocoon on an autumn evening in a low-tide swamp.

  “Emergency!” Dad said.

  The mechanism pushed over the cupboard, and it hit the floor face down with a crash. I was horrorstruck. The stone walls cracked and splintered like wood. The light under the hearth died as our fire turned to ice. The plates flew off the shelf and smashed on the floor. The ceiling had turned into a pool of rippling water. A gust of wind blew me off my feet, drawing me up like I was falling. I shouted, but Dad didn’t hear me or the splash as I hit the water. The icy water made my arms and legs numb and compressed my chest. My hands grasped warm air when I reached for the pool’s surface but could not get my head above the water. It was like the water was holding me under. Then, a metal hand clamped down on my arm like a vise. The mechanism yanked me out of the pool, and I fell onto the floor.

  “You’re okay!” Dad said.

  Our window pane turned to sand and blew around the room, stinging my nose. I covered my eyes with my ears. Dad grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to the cupboard. The mechanism lifted the cupboard, and we crawled inside. Dad kicked his metal hand away, and it fell down around us.

  “I’ll never touch the vibrostat again!” I cried.

  “This is not your fault. It’s just a storm. We’re going to be okay.”

  There was a small gap of light between the floor and the cupboard. Dad pushed his jacket over his head with his hind paws and stuffed it into the crack. He drew me in close with his paw. Loud crashes made me jump as things fell onto the cabinet. Where the rain came from, I don’t know, but we were soon waist-deep in water. Thunder clapped, nearly stopping our hearts. Dad and me had seen a lot of recastorms over the years, but none that bad. We would need a miracle to survive the night.

  ***

  Has change, for good or bad, ever stormed your life? Let us know in the comments!