A/N: IDK what this is, really, apart from a terrible combination of my countless rewatches of the broadway Newsies recording, NaNoWriMo, and a spastic muse. Copious amounts of "artistic liberties" and author hand-waving, so take it all with a grain of salt. That being said, I've tried to stay as true to the characters and time period as I can in something this AU.
Important Note: Characters based entirely on the Broadway musical, because I haven't seen the film since some time last millennium. The exception to this is Spot Conlon, since he's barely in the musical, so his character has been based largely on interpretations I've picked up from reading everyone else's fanfictions. Same goes for a couple of the smaller Newsies who don't get stage time. Hence the "artistic liberties" tag.
ACT I - Welcome to Stormhold
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 take care of himself, and he's good at keeping a roof over his head and food in his belly. He learned, young and early, that he had to look out for himself because no one else was gonna do it. To everyone else, Jack Kelly is just one more forgotten child in the mass of orphans of New York. Worse, 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 get by until he dies.
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, to some place 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 of the money he can, taking on every side job he can get 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 backstage of the Irving Hall burlesque theatre on the night when our story begins.
It's far from the first time that Jack's picked the lock on the back door of Medda Larkin's theatre in the middle of the night. The boys' home has a curfew and sometimes his jobs don't get finished in time. The first time Miss Medda found out about him kipping on a fire escape for the night, she nearly blew a gasket. She all but demanded that if he ever needed a place to sleep, he use the theatre. 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 don't stop her giving him a good wallop when she thinks he deserves it.
It's late enough that the last show is done and the theatre is deserted. Jack weaves his way through props and set pieces, familiar even in the darkness. He is halfway across the backstage when one of the dressing room doors 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 youse 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 ya'self over here." Jack grins as he crosses to the door and lets the woman drag him down into a bone-crushing hug, which is still comforting despite his bruised ribs. When she lets go, she takes his face in her hands and her smile fades. "Goodness, sugar, what'd you get ya'self into this time?"
"I didn' start it this time, honest," Jack protests.
"Didn't finish it either, by the looks of it," says Medda. She shakes her head and steers him into her dressing room. She shoves him down onto the settee while she gathers up the washrag and bowl she uses to clean off her stage makeup. Jack scoots to make room for her and she settles down, starting to clear away the dirt and blood on his face. "Who you pick a fight with this time?"
"Guard at the Wall," Jack admits sheepishly. "Old geezer's faster 'an he looks."
Medda freezes and gives him a severe look. "How many times I tell you to stay away from the Wall? What were you thinkin'?"
Jack sweeps his newsboy cap off and twists it between his hands anxiously. The Wall is something of an urban legend in Manhattan; the old stories say that the stretch of stone wall at the edge of the city is the barrier between this world and another, some mystical place full of magic and monsters. There is only one way to cross the Wall into the other world, through a gap where several of the bricks have been knocked out, and the gap is guarded at all times. No one ever crosses the Wall.
"There's a fella down in Flushing," Jack starts, not able to meet Medda's gaze and talking instead to his knees, "said if I could bring him a fallen star, he'd pay me 'nough to get to Santa Fe. Thought he was crazy, course, but then tonight I seen a star fallin', brightest I ever saw, and it landed somewhere on the other side the Wall. I was tryna get 'cross to find it."
"Oh, Jack." Medda trails off with a sigh, turning her focus back to cleaning out a deep scrape on his jaw.
"I know it's stupid," says Jack, huffing in frustration. "Jus' - I'm runnin' outta time. I still don't got 'nough for the train, let 'lone a place ta' 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 moving, trying to get the last of the grit from the scrape. "You know I've said you can stay here so long as you need. And I can pay you for the new backdrop."
"I told ya I ain't takin' your money, Medda," Jack counters. "Not after everythin' you do for me." He sighs and looks down at his hands, picking at a bit of dead skin on his finger. "I dunno, maybe I'm foolin' myself. Kids like me, we's born here and we die here. Maybe I's never gonna get any diff'rent."
"You weren't born here." Medda says it so quiet 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 ya 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, velvety pouch from the back of a drawer. "Always tried to do right by you," she says, her smile fond when she sits down by 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 for the flickers of magic beneath their skin; two small brothers, crying and clutching at 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 feels his 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 fourteen, I couldn't take care of you on my own, so I took you to the boys' home. But I tried to keep an eye on you as much as I could, and when I finally came into money-" She scoffs. "Well, they sure ain't letting no colored woman take in a white boy, but I still did everything I could to make sure you knew you were wanted."
Jack startles, looking up at Medda in surprise. She had tried to adopt him? A sudden surge of affection wells up in him, causing his throat to stick. He wishes he could tell her how much that means to him, and how much he appreciates everything she's done for him, but he can't find the right words. Before he can even try, Medda clears her throat and opens up the velvet pouch. "I stole this 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's'it?" asks Jack.
"A lucky charm," she answers. She reaches out and uses a pin from her hair to stick it to Jack's shirt pocket. "It's supposed to keep you safe. Thought you could use it. 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. You just think of where you want to be and light it, and you'll be there."
Jack's heart leaps up 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?"
Ten minutes later, Jack's gathered up his stash that he kept hidden in Medda's dressing room - he didn't trust the other boys at the dorms not to filch his things - and tucked it into his bag. Medda hands him a little package wrapped in newspaper, tied with a bright blue ribbon. "For your birthday," she says. He makes to argue but she shoves the package into his hand firmly. "Don't you talk back to me, Jack Kelly." Smiling, Jack gives in and tucks the package into his bag. Medda cups his cheek in her palm. "I'm gonna miss you so."
Once again stuck for words, Jack pulls her into another hug. He breathes in her smell - floral perfume and face powder and the eucalyptus from her laundry soap - and tries to memorize 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 doesn't 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 from earlier.
With that thought in his head, Jack hears the strike of a match and his entire world dissolves into light.
The dizzying sense of vertigo ends rather abruptly when he collides with something solid that sends him tumbling to the ground. Jack groans, the impact making his injuries flare to the surface again, and he struggles to blink away the spots in his vision as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He lifts his head and squints around, and he can see just enough for one crucial detail to sink in:
"This ain't Santa Fe."
"Brilliant observation. Could you get off me?"
David hasn't even had this new body for ten minutes yet, but so far, his impression is that humanity is painful. His leg is twinging, wrenched around by the stupid necklace that knocked him out of the sky in the first place. The crash landing on earth was bad enough, his skin feeling hot and tender from dropping through the atmosphere and bones aching from impact, but then he's barely getting his bearings when something rams 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 sucks.
"This ain't Santa Fe."
"Brilliant observation," David mutters angrily, struggling to breathe with the weight of the human on his chest. "Could you get off me?"
The human shoves up onto his elbows and David gets his first look at his face. The human is young, with a strong jaw and fathomless, honey-brown eyes. His lips are parted 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 feels his stomach flip as the human straddles his hips for a moment, this new body traitorous in its oh-so-human reactions. The human scrambles over to sit on the ground and the distance is a relief in more than one way.
"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 muffle his wincing.
"This ain't Santa Fe," the human boy says again.
David looks up to see the human sitting on his heels, staring up 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 think of where you wanna go, and I was thinkin' of Santa Fe and the red rocks and the stars and the - the stars, o'course. Dammit! I was thinkin' 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 apparently remembers that David exists at that moment because he spins to face him with eyes wild. "A shooting star fell 'round here," he says, breathless. "Didja see it?"
Annoyed and sore and starting to feel the beginnings of proper panic, David's patience snaps. "If you want to be specific, it fell over there," he says and points 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 up the gaudy golden chain with its diamond pendant, "knocked it out of the sky. And that is also where, not five minutes later, some idiot came flying through the air and knocked it over again."
If he wasn'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 a couple times, gaping like a fish, before he finds his voice. "Wait, you - youse 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 legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. Something is comforting about the posture, curling in on himself. 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, he can't hear the constant whisper of their voices. The absence is more unsettling than he ever expected it to be; how many times had he wished his siblings would just shut up for a few minutes? The homesickness is sudden and crippling, and he bites back a terrified whimper.
"Okay, kid, so here's the deal," the human says and David jumps, having forgotten about the boy in his panic. He 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 answer enough for the human. "Thought so. This bit of candle, will it get ya there?"
David's eyes widen as the human opens his hand, revealing what he's been holding. It's short, only one use left in it, 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 gots a guy back home who says if I can show him a real fallen star, he'll pay me 'nough to get to Santa Fe. Figure we can help each other out. You come back with me so I can get my money, this candle is yours. Sound fair?"
"Where's your guy?" David counters, stalling for time as he thinks it over.
"New York, just the other side the Wall."
"The Wall!" David objects indignantly. "It'll take at least a week to get there from here."
The human shrugs. "Well then be glad I'm offerin' the candle to you, 'stead of just usin' it to get me outta here." David scowls at him dubiously, and the boy goads, "You got any better ideas for gettin' home?"
David lets out a breath and glances up again. He's heard stories before about stars falling to land, but none of those stories has ever mentioned how, or even if, the stars get back into the sky. This might be his best chance.
Something of his thoughts must show on his face because the human nods determinedly. "So you come back to Manhattan with me, I give you this candle. Deal?" The boy spits into his palm and holds it out expectantly.
David recoils in horror. "That's disgusting."
"Tha's just doin' business," the boy replies indifferently, but there's a hint of amusement around his eyes. David glances from the human's hand to his face a few times, weighing his options, and then lets out a resigned sigh. He spits in his palm and shakes the human's hand, trying very hard not to think about the unpleasant squish of moisture between their skin. "Swell!" the boy says, beaming, and he claps David on the shoulder so hard he stumbles. "The name's Jack, by the way. Jack Kelly."
David doesn't answer for a second, preoccupied with wiping his palm on the leg of his trousers. Once he's 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, should we get goin'?"
For all that he's been accused of having a wild imagination, even Jack Kelly is having a hard time coming to grips with his current situation. He's been teleported by a magic candle to a foreign world. A world where stars - which are apparently humans and not rocks like he'd always been told - dress like public school boys. He 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 and trousers and even a tie, like a good proper lad, even if there's dirt smudged on his shirtsleeves now. If Jack passed him on the street, he never would've guessed he was anything but human. The only thing that hints at more is that his skin, a smooth, clear pale, 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. "Ya know, David's a pretty borin' name for a star. Thought you all had names like Orion and Leo and such."
The corner of Davey's mouth twitches up slightly, although he tries not to show it. "There are billions of us," he points out. "We can't all have fancy names."
"Hey, one the boys at the orphanage, he used to wear a star called David," Jack says, gesturing at his collar to signify the little necklace the boy had worn all the time. "You that David?"
"No, definitely not," the star replies with a soft huff of amusement.
Jack huffs. "Shame. Woulda been fun to tell Mikey I met his star. Ah well." He trails off, and they lapse back into quiet.
Truth be told, Jack is loving this. There's something liberating about the open expanse of the forest and the isolation of being alone in the middle of it. No people shouting, no wagons clattering down the cobblestone roads. No clanging bells from the warehouses or 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 far from the first time Jack's been awake all night, and he's still thrumming from a mix of adrenaline and excitement that makes it feel like there's energy vibrating just beneath his skin. It's getting close to noon before he finally feels the exhaustion burning at his eyes, and he hides the first yawn in the crook of his elbow. One mile and six 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, with heavy shadows beneath his eyes, and he's limping. He looks one gust of wind away from keeling over. "For cryin' out loud, Davey, if you needa stop, all you gotta do is say somethin'."
"I'm fine," David counters, and then promptly staggers. Jack grabs him by the shoulder to keep him upright. "I can keep going."
"Ya look like death," 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 him with a hand on the star's chest. "Whoa, what'sis about?"
"I just-" Davey huffs and pushes Jack's hand out of the way again. "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 sad, 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 had seen before, on boys from the home who actually came from somewhere: homesickness.
"Look, I getcha, I do," Jack says. "But you ain't gonna make it far if youse dead. And I sure ain't carryin' ya. So c'mon, I could use a nap, and you look like you could too."
David looks like he 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 down 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. "Youse limpin'."
"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 he 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 admits.
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' think of that," he says. "You sleep durin' 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 too."
"Not my first long night," Jack says with another shrug. David's expression shifts towards concerned, and Jack smirks. "Jobs run late, and the home didn' lemme in after dark. Couldn' always find a good place to sleep. Some neighborhoods, was safer to keep my eyes open." The star's expression flickers, this time with something like understanding mixed with pity, and Jack grunts. "Now sleep, wouldja?" Tugging his hat back down over his eyes, Jack hunkers down and lets himself drift off.
It's early evening by the time 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 is slumped down against a tree, one long leg cocked up at a sharp angle. His arms are folded 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, which is open and relaxed in sleep. With his eyes closed and hair tousled, he looks impossibly young and serene and beautiful.
Jack shifts as something twists warm and low in his belly. He ain't naïve, and he's been around enough to know people is gonna love who they love, no matter if it's proper or not. He's seen it plenty before. There's two of Medda's dancers who've been fooling for months, and he knows for a fact there's a cop who patrols near the orphanage who's been sneakin' around with a colored warehouse worker from Queens. And of course, when you grow up in a home full of teenage boys, especially ones who feel abandoned and are a bit desperate for some affection, well, things happen.
So it doesn't surprise Jack when the thought crosses his mind. He's fooled around before, girls and boys alike, but that's all it ever is: foolin'. He's not one for romance and love at first sight and all that other sappy nonsense. The thing is, Davey is different. From the first time he laid eyes on him, there was something about him that made Jack want more. Davey is special and precious and deserves way better than a guy like Jack could ever give.
But just 'cause nothing can happen, doesn't mean he 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, he tears away the newspaper. There in his hands is a brand new sketchbook, the fancy sort with a proper binding and an oiled leather cover, and a set of perfect little charcoal and wood pencils.
"Oh, Miss Medda..." He lets out a heavy breath, 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 has seen in store windows but never dreamt of ever owning for himself. The sort of thing a real artist would have.
The urge to create is sudden and overpowering, his fingers itching like sparks are jumping between the tips. Jack turns to the first page of the sketchbook, and he plucks one of the pencils from the bundle. Cocking one knee up to use as a table, he presses the charcoal against the paper and lets the art consume him. Sketching has always been an escape for him, a place where he can go and forget everything else in the world 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 sits back and surveys it in the warm light. He's 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 length of his neck are a bit suggestive, well, it's only for Jack to see 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 a 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 in there to eat. They'll have to find something soon; he's gone longer without food, but he's not keen on repeating the experience, and he doesn't want to subject David to that feeling. 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've probably got another two hours until sunset. The prospect of sitting there for two 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 up. 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 vibrant energy he's felt ever since the night before.
Grabbing up the discarded newspaper from the package, 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 few hours of sleep not leaving him satisfied. He's far from comfortable in his slump on the hard ground, but he keeps his eyes shut, clinging to the last traces of sleep. It's nighttime now - he can feel it in his skin like the familiar warmth of a favorite blanket. They should get moving soon if they want to cover a lot of ground, but Jack hasn't woken him up yet so surely a few extra minutes can't hurt.
Speaking of Jack, David can admit to himself that he was a bit harsh on the human the night before. Davey 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.
Which is precisely the moment David opens his eyes and realizes Jack is gone.
"Jack?" Davey calls out, bolting to his feet despite the ache in his injured leg. He searches the clearing, but there's no sign of the human apart from a depression in the grass and leaves where Jack had been sitting. "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; probably realized David is more trouble than he's 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. There's no response except for more shuffling, moving closer. David is just considering 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. Davey lets out a sigh of relief, "Oh, thank goodness."
The unicorn huffs and approaches David, nudging its nose against his shoulder. He grins and rubs at the lean, white neck; unicorns are children of the moon, just like him, and finding a kindred spirit is a welcome comfort. "It's so good to see you," Davey says.
Stepping back, the unicorn sinks to its knees and David settles behind its shoulders gratefully. His injured leg is aching worse than the night before, and he wasn't looking forward to walking on it all night. The unicorn stands carefully and then turns back to the road, setting off at a decent pace. 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. He can't stay in Stormhold, that's for sure. The emptiness of being away from his family is almost painful. The familiarity of the unicorn soothes it slightly, and he knows that there are other creatures of the moon out there - selkies and wraith sprites and 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 he 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 have been riding for nearly an hour when the first raindrops start to slip down through the canopy of leaves. The trees shield him from the weather for a bit, but it doesn't take long before the rain is coming down too hard. By the time the edge of the forest finally comes into view, David is completely soaked through and shivering, huddling down against the unicorn's neck in a desperate bid for warmth.
The trees end at fields of grass, and up ahead, the road they are on intersects with another wide dirt track. Sitting beside the crossroads is a small, squat inn with warm, golden firelight flickering behind its downstairs windows. Davey's heart picks up as the unicorn makes a run for it, sliding to a stop just in front of the wooden door. He clambers down, stroking the unicorn's neck in gratitude, and then knocks.
Several long seconds pass - David huddles in the frame and squints up at the inn sign, which depicts a large globe over a yellow banner - before the door is opened by an older man with a bushy mustache and narrowed eyes. The man takes one look at Davey and immediately steps back, gesturing the dripping star inside.
"Thank you," David says. The man shuts the door behind him, and the change in temperature is immediate. "I'm sorry if I woke you," Davey adds, remembering that it's late for humans. "I just need a place to sit until the rain stops."
"No, o'course," the man says. "That's what we're here for. Let's get them 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 somethin' warm to drink, wouldja?" Then he continues up to the second floor with David on his heels. The door to the first room is opened, 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 out a dressing gown. "Get out of them wet things. You can hang 'em here, so they dry," he adds and points to the low screen perched in front of the room's little fireplace. "Once youse changed, come down and we'll find you somethin' 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, Davey dismisses it as the late hour as he turns to get out of his wet clothes.
It's well past sundown by the time Jack is heading 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 miles Jack finally stumbled across a tiny village tucked away beside a pond.
Actually getting his hands on some food wasn't any easier; it had taken 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, had been so thrilled with the drawing that the farmer even tossed in an extra pair of bread rolls.
Feeling confident and more than a little proud, Jack is beaming when he finally gets back to the clearing, the tree beside the road marked with the bit of ribbon from Medda's gift. "Hey Davey," he calls as he pushes his way through the branches. "You 'wake? I got food." He slides around a bush and then stops short.
The clearing is empty.
"Davey?" Jack calls, darting across the open patch. This is definitely the right place, he recognizes it, but there's no sign of the star. "David! Where are you?" Jack checks all around the clearing and into the shrubbery around it, but he finds nothing. His heart is hammering in his chest when he staggers back into the clearing and his eyes catch on something on the ground; scuffed prints, overlapping and unfamiliar. Jack is no expert in tracking or anything, but it's enough to tell him that there was someone or something else here. "Davey!"
Jack flinches when he hears a faint whisper of sound, impossibly quiet and unintelligible but close, like someone is breathing the words against the back of his neck. He pivots when it happens again, but he's alone. "Who's'at?" 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, and 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 same moment he thinks it, another stream of fractured images roll 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 and wood against the backdrop of the forest. "Find it. Save him."
Jack's focus comes back as the voices fade and he realizes he's fallen 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 hard 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 clatter of sound grabs his attention. Immediately, he pinwheels backward and narrowly avoids being run over by a 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 even think to find his feet, there is a sword pointed at his chest. "Whoa, hey, easy there!"
"Who sent you?"
It's at that moment Jack finally takes a good look at 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 bright red curls. Her high-waisted dress is pinned up at one hip, revealing a stocking and boot, and while there's something polished and classy about her, the gleam in her eyes and steadiness of her hand is enough to make him decide 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'm just lookin' for 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 slightly. "Please, I'm just tryna find my friend. I didn' even know you was comin'." It's a lie, sort of, but she doesn't need to know that.
The girl eyes him suspiciously for a minute more, and then she steps back, lowering her sword. Jack lets out a relieved breath and stands, dusting the dirt from his trousers. "Name's Jack Kelly," he offers.
"Good for you," she drawls, sardonic and already turning away dismissively. "Now 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 carriage and seeing it's empty.
In the next second, the sword is pointed at him again and Jack instinctively takes a step 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' need to tell me," Jack says, shrugging. "Ain't nobody cross Miss Medda, she taught me that young. Strongest person I know." Something in the girl's expression seems to soften and Jack pulls out his most disarming grin. "You got a name?"
"Katherine," she replies, falters slightly, and finishes, "Plumber." Jack raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, and she says, "I've 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, sweeping off his cap to scratch at his hair anxiously.
Katherine clears her throat and lifts her chin. "Well, come on, then," she says, and without another word, she turns and climbs back onto the 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 up onto the other side. 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 go to find food, and when I come back, he's gone. Nothin' 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 and smart, and independent to boot. In another time or place, she's exactly 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, don't mean she don't fascinate him.
"Really, though, what's a girl like you doin' out here?" Jack asks. As a steely light flashes in her eyes, he adds, "Not 'cause youse a girl. Just, you're obs'ly well off and smart and such. So what gets someone like you out in the forest in the middle the night? What's'is 'bout for you?"
Katherine looked sideways at him, her gaze considering. "I'm looking for the Gem of Stormhold." The statement is obviously meant to have some significance, judging by the emphasis in her tone, but Jack has no idea what that is. Katherine shakes her head. "You're not from here, are you?"
"Ya caught me," Jack says, grinning. "I'm from the other side 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'is gem thing?"
"The Gem of Stormhold is what decides who will rule," Katherine says. "There are five royal families in Stormhold with a 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 youse one of these kids," Jack concludes. "You wanna be in charge 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, and 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 make plans and propose ideas for how to start fixing things, but I don't have the political pull to make people take me seriously."
"'Cause youse a girl?" Jack guesses. Her scowl is answer enough. "But ain't you some kinda royalty? Thought that meant people gots ta' do whatcha says."
"Remember that family thing I mentioned?" she intones dryly. "I haven't been shy about my opinions and my family didn't approve, so I've burnt those bridges pretty thoroughly over the last few years. So now I don't have the family connections to rely on anymore and no one wants to listen to a 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 sayin' that's got people all huffy?" he asks, and then Medda's story comes back to him, clicking a few pieces into place. "Got somethin' 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 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 born with an inclination to magic. They can't necessarily control it, though, it's the sort of thing that takes years of practice and study. Most of the time they develop a sort of instinctive gift, we call it a Knack, and while active control is out of their grasp, that potential is there.
"Ages ago, Fey born into wealthy families were given training and status, so they could 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."
"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 of the 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, something better for everyone."
"A world where everybody matters," Jack finishes in awe, feeling 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 obvious attempt to remain impassive. "What about you?" she asks. "Who is Jack Kelly? What are you doing here?"
"Just tryna get home," he says, shrugging.
"What brought you to Stormhold?" Katherine presses.
Jack laughs. "Bit of magic backfired," he admits. "Was tryin' to get somewhere else." He flinches as something cold splashes on the back of his neck; he couldn't hear it over the sound of the carriage wheels, but it started raining at some point. The drops are snaking 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 of the armchair, letting the warmth of the fire 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 of the flames. A bowl of hearty stew sits heavy in his belly and he's been nursing a large mug of cider. Between the food and the warmth, he's hovering in that hazy area between awake and asleep.
"How's the leg?" The voice startles Davey back towards consciousness and he looks up to see 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'd used before bandaging it had tingled deep through his skin, a strange, disjointed prickling that faded into numbness. Now, Davey feels 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. "Ya look like you feel bedda. How'd ya 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 that it's important. Besides, anything with the power to get him out of the sky might somehow have enough to get him back.
Before either of them can say anything more, there's a knock at the door that startles the star. The innkeeper looks annoyed by the interruption but he 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 even 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 boys hovering behind the bar.
David is just about to step into the lodging room when a voice from below makes him freeze. "Whoa, bud, what's ya 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 beautiful redheaded girl, and the other is-
"Jack?" Davey asks in surprise.
Jack's gaze snaps upward and a rush of relief washes over the human's features. "Davey, Christ, there ya are," he says and grins. In the next moment, his smile morphs into a wince as one of Wiesel's boys twists Jack's arm around 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 he feels something cold and sharp pressed against his throat. "Davey!" Jack shouts and then hisses when his arm is tugged again. His eyes slip past Davey and he snarls, "Don'tcha 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 cold and furious. "What does he want with a kid?"
"Because, Lady Katherine, he ain't no ordinary kid, are ya?" 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 get his arm free, but in the next second, the crony punches him in the jaw. There are large, brass rings 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 woulda been so much better a few minutes ago," says Wiesel. "The heart of a happy star 'pparently works better." He turns, shoving Davey up against the wall, a hand on his throat. The knife, an enormous, wicked looking thing with a blade as dark as oil, comes around to rest against his chest. David can hear both Jack and the girl shouting, but their words seem oddly muffled through the pounding of his heart 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. David is kept upright by the wall at his back, 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 as soon as he can see well enough, David sprints for the stairs.
On the main floor, Jack is grappling with the goon, 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 own captor, but before Davey can think of helping, she manages to twist and land a kick into the goon's crotch. David runs at the guy crouched on Jack's chest, tackling the guy aside, so they both fall in a tangle.
Jack hauls Davey back by the collar of the robe, kicking at the goon one more time 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 only to see that the two goons have gotten back on their feet and are 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 a white-knuckled fist.
"Ya know, I was so nice to ya, kid," Wiesel snarls. "All o' 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 of them slowly retreat from the prowling innkeeper. Just as the star glances hopefully toward the nearest window, dark, emerald flames erupt along the sill. They spiral around the room, blocking off 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 thinkin' about getting a new Fey for years. Won't be hard ta' break you down after you watch me carve out your little boyfriend's heart."
"Davey, Kath, hold onto me," Jack hisses. He doesn't give David an option, one of his arms wrapping around the star's waist to pull him tight against his body. Opposite, the girl glances down with wide eyes and then throws her arms around Jack's neck. Jack looks at David, and the fierce intensity of his gaze makes the star's breath catch. "Think of home," Jack whispers into his ear.
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 stretches out and plunges his hand into the flames over the window. Jack's scream of pain and Wiesel's furious bellow are washed away in the rush of sound as the three of them disappear in a blinding, white light.
