Page 25 of Wings of Reverie

Periwinkle huffed a breath out her nostrils, trying to tamp down her frustration. “Yes, Weaver. I know how to plan. Sometimes I even know where I’m going when I leave the house.” By the second star, could the dream magic have sent her anyone more annoying?

“Look.” She gestured around them at the hall’s cool blue atrium, airy from floor to high ceiling, more crowded than she’d ever seen it. Dozens of arched doorways opened to corridors branching in every direction, and hundreds of towering bookcases were angled in the shape of a snowflake. “The Hall of Winter contains thousands of records. We can’t just walk in and start opening books, especially since it’s weirdly busy today. We have to have a plan.”

“I agree,” Weaver said. He gestured as she had, still looking bewildered. “Well, lead on, then.” And when Periwinkle began to make her way toward the first-floor stacks, he followed.

“So,” she said. “I already mentioned how the research I did on dreams—”

“Keep your voice down,” Weaver warned her.

“Sorry. About how my research turned up information on human dreams and nightmares, and there wasn’t much of that,either,” Periwinkle whispered. “Obviously, it would help if we could tell the Keeper everything—”

“But we can’t,” Weaver interrupted.

“But as weobviously can’t,” Periwinkle said, talking over him, “because anything I tell Dewey, he will tell Lord Milori—”

“Dewey?”

“That’s the Keeper’s name,” Periwinkle said. “Dewey. Keeper of All Fairy Knowledge. Try to keep up.”

Weaver frowned. “How do you know so much about the Hall of Winter?”

“I like the Keeper. I like finding things out. This place is full of all sorts of secrets and surprises.” Periwinkle shrugged. “Anyway, since I haven’t found anything out by researching dreams themselves and we can’t talk to Dewey, I think the fastest, simplest way to find the tools is to start looking for records of old fairy workshops where they might have done dream magic. We can look through maps and atlases.”

“That’s…a good idea,” Weaver admitted, looking almost surprised. Still, he hesitated.

“But?” Periwinkle prompted.

“Nothing. I’d like to know more about the dreaming and dream-talents, is all,” Weaver said. “I was hoping for journals or encyclopedias. But cutting straight to searching maps for the workshop sites would save us time. Let’s start there.”

Their plan was a shortcut, but their path to the map section couldn’t have involved more detours. Periwinkle had expected thehall to fill up for the First Frost Ball at the end of the week, but she didn’t know why, onthismorning, a group of off-duty scouts was giggling and sneaking books behind their backs as she and Weaver flew past. (The books themselves were much less sneaky, giving whistles or birdcalls any time they fell open.) The Hall’s ground floor teemed with fairies flitting around with bags and armfuls of books, whispering and laughing and hiding their choices from their neighbors.

When they finally reached the right section, a set of shelves with snowflake labels engravedMaps and Atlases, Weaver stuffed his hands in his pockets, swallowing hard as he ran his eyes up and down the tower of books. “Are you all right?” Periwinkle asked, surprised at his expression.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Just ready to get going.”

Fair enough. “Okay. You start down there at the bottom. I’ll get to work up here. How’s that?” When Weaver gave a silent nod, she fluttered to the top of the bookcase and started her research.

Periwinkle made her way across the bookshelf slowly, careful not to miss anything. There were scores—hundreds—of atlases and maps, some capturing the whole of Pixie Hollow, others focusing only on the Winter Woods. Periwinkle made herself a pile slowly, checking titles and tables of contents.

She didn’t worry if she was coming at their search from the right angle, or if she was casting too wide a net, or too narrow. Beginnings weren’t the time for endless strategizing; they were for actuallybeginning. Plus, by collecting as many found things aspossible, Periwinkle usually realized later she’d grabbed exactly what she needed.

“I think I’m done,” she called down to Weaver about an hour later. “How about you?”

“I guess so.” Weaver sounded hesitant. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. But some of this will help, maybe,” he said, nodding at the pile he’d created on the floor.

Periwinkle fluttered down to join him. “Don’t think about it too hard,” she said bracingly. “Let’s just go find somewhere to sort through it all.”

“If you say so,” Weaver mumbled under his breath.

“Ever the optimist,” she muttered right back.

The first-floor reading area, down through one of the atrium’s many arched doorways, was only Periwinkle’s second-favorite place to read in the Hall of Winter, but not because it wasn’t impossibly cozy. Half of it was full of smooth pinewood tables with sturdy, straight-backed chairs made of oak twigs. Small pronged lampstands held bright suncatchers at the tables’ centers, perfect for careful, focused studying.

The other half of the reading area was dotted with huge pine cones, each with a side hollowed out and filled with snowy owl or green mallard feathers to make soft, comfy seats—spacious for one fairy, snug for two. Small end tables here and there were piled with books, and starcatchers hovered overhead to provide soft lighting. And just in case the readers made themselvestoocomfortable, signs everywhere were meant to remind them they were stillin a library.Return All Reading Material to the Shelf or Collection Cartwas posted to several bookshelves, andMaintain a Respectful Volume; This is not the Frost Forestwas propped on one or two tables.No Eating or Drinkingreminders were hung almost everywhere, and one or two reminders thatRetrieval of Books Gone Adrift Due to Pixie Dust Exposure is the Responsibility of Every Readerhad been placed on balconies and the ceiling.

Periwinkle had come to the reading area ready to sit down and work. The problem, of course, was that this part of the hall was just as packed as the rest of it, and the fairies who weren’t busy reading were all delighted to see her.

“What if they ask what we’re studying up on?” Weaver whispered, grimacing and shuffling the books in his arms. “We don’t want a bunch of questions. Why do you have to be so popular?”