Sarah Zettel - Dust girl

After that, I started seeing all kinds of things. A goblin squatted on the bell for the test-of-strength game, swatting the weight back down whenever a man hit the lever so that no one made the bell ring. The pretty lady in the bathing suit sitting on the platform above the dunk tank was a mermaid. A spotty-faced cook at the lunch counter dished up steaks and fries to a pair of wolves in straw boaters and white linen suits. A couple dressed for dancing was having an argument out front of the Tilt-A-Whirl and a whole crowd of knee-high imps in ball gowns gathered around them and cheered.

This was the in-between place. Fairies and humans both walked here. Except while the fairies could see the humans, the humans couldn’t see the fairies.

But I could. For a moment, I felt this couldn’t be right, but that feeling was gone in a heartbeat, and it all just seemed funny to me. It was funny and beautiful and just like it should be.

Under all the other voices and commotion, I heard more music swinging. It was a big band playing hot and strong, just like on the radio. I wrapped my arm around Jack’s, and he looked startled for a second, but then he grinned and let me steer him toward the music.

A white pavilion with three peaked glass roofs sprawled ahead of us, glittering in the neon and incandescent bulbs. The music flowed through its arched windows. On the boardwalk out front stood a big sandwich board sign:

FAIRYLAND DANCE MARATHON!

I knew about dance marathons, although I’d never actually seen one. They were contests for prize money, sometimes as much as ten thousand dollars. The idea was that folks would dance and keep on dancing. If they stopped, or fell down and didn’t get back up, they’d lose. People danced for days and days, even a whole month without stopping. They had to eat while they danced and try to sleep in each other’s arms while still moving around the floor. I guess they must have done something about letting folks use the lavatory, but I didn’t know how that worked, and I probably didn’t want to.

When I was about nine, a bunch of men organized one in Slow Run. Mama wouldn’t let me go see, no matter how much I begged, not even when I said it was just to hear the music, because they had a swell band. All the other kids at school got to go. They said it was a great show. Evan Carter won some money betting who would be the first people to drop. I opened my windows at night, watching the folks coming and going from the lit-up Grange Hall, and listened to the music swinging in the summer air.

But then, after twenty days of dancing, somebody died from exhaustion right on the dance floor, and the guys who ran the show took off with all the entrance fees. The city council outlawed marathons after that.

So I wasn’t crazy about the idea of heading toward a dance marathon, but this was where Shimmy had been headed, so I was going too.

The pavilion steps were covered in red carpet. A red velvet rope stretched in front of the open double doors. Behind that rope waited a man with skin and eyes like pure moonless midnight who wore white tie and tails and perfect white gloves. He carried an ebony cane with a silver tip and a handle made of a clear faceted jewel. Anywhere else, I would have thought it was glass. Here, though, I knew it was a real diamond.

“Welcome, Your Highness!” The man bowed deeply to me with his hand over his heart. “Their Imperial Majesties have instructed me to bring you to the receiving hall as soon as you arrive. If you will be so good as to follow me?”

Jack looked at me in a new way, with wonder and respect in his blue eyes. That felt just fine. I drew myself up, put my nose in the air, and waited for the man to unhook the velvet rope and usher us both inside.

The man led us down a hallway, carpeted in red just like the stairs. I think we walked a long way, but I couldn’t be sure. The soaring feeling inside me made walking so easy it was hard to gauge the distance. I tried to notice details, but there weren’t many. The walls were painted white, and the carpet was pure, bright red over the polished floorboards. There seemed to be a whole lot of framed paintings on the walls, or maybe they were windows. I wasn’t sure, and I found I didn’t particularly care.

Finally, the corridor opened onto a magnificent hall. The dance was in full swing. A crowd of couples, all dressed in bright gowns and tuxedos, circled the floor to the music of a big band that filled the main stage to overflowing. Men in neat gray jackets sat behind their music stands. They played clarinets and trombones and cornets. There was a double bass and a steel guitar. But up in front of them all was the shining baby grand piano. The man at the piano had a round face, medium-brown skin, a mustache, and a receding hairline, and he smiled and waved his right hand in the air, marking time for the others as the music soared up sweet and clear.

At the far side of the hall stood a smaller, higher stage carpeted in black. At the top were two thrones carved of black wood or maybe black marble. In them sat a man and a woman.

My grandparents.

I knew who they were the second I saw them. But I was stunned by the notion that such swell people could be my flesh and blood. The woman was built full and strong. Her dress was black lace and jet beads, and the train spread out down the steps. Diamonds circled her neck and wrists, and more diamonds sparkled in the tiara that crowned her white hair. Half a dozen women in sparkling ball gowns lined the stage beside her, ladies-in-waiting.

The man was dressed in white tie like all the rest, but his gloves were dove gray and a black cloak lined with gray silk fell from his shoulders. His salt-and-pepper beard was trimmed close to his chin, and he wore a tall golden crown studded with diamonds and emeralds. He had an attendant too, a tall, slim man dressed like him, with gray gloves and a long cape. But that man had a gray sash across his chest, with a golden star shining right in the middle.

The man who’d led us in thumped his cane twice on the floor.

“Her Royal Highness, the princess Calliope LeRoux!”

The dancers stilled and turned and saw. They drew back, making an aisle from me to my grandparents.

“At last.” The woman on the throne held her hands out. “Oh, Calliope, at last!”

I walked forward. Maybe the turning-key feeling was in me, or maybe it was just the dizziness of my blood hammering in my ears, but the walls seemed to shift and lean back. All the dancing people bowed as I passed, but they never stopped swaying in time to the music that swelled until it filled the whole world.

I reached the foot of the Midnight Throne. The woman, the queen, my grandmother, stood slowly. I trembled as she looked down on me; there was so much strength in her. A Kansas twister could have come through the room right then, and she simply would have stared at it until it unwound from shame. She came down the steps to me. I didn’t dare move. Her hand slid under my chin, lifting it until I had to look her straight in the eyes. Those eyes were silver, gold, and midnight black. They were like the city at night-dark, light, beauty, sorrow, and danger all mixed up together. They were familiar too. I’d seen them before, but I couldn’t remember where.

“Yes,” whispered the queen. “I see her father in her.” She turned her eyes away from me, and I realized I’d been holding my breath.

From up on his throne, the king of the Midnight People smiled down at me. “Welcome, child,” said my grandfather. “Welcome home.”

The people in front of me were royalty. I took hold of my skirt and bent my knees, doing my best to imitate the curtsies I had seen in the movies. Behind me the dancers applauded politely, and I flushed. Welcome home . The words echoed in my head and my heart. Welcome home .