A Sliver of Stardust by Marissa Burt Page B

women’s suffrage.” He let his chair fall to the ground with a thump.
    â€œWho was she?” Wren asked.
    â€œI’ll give you three guesses,” Jack said, but Wren didn’t really need them.
    â€œIt was Mary?”
    â€œSure was. I did some more hunting and found her in some old photos. Shaking hands with Albert Einstein.Congratulating Feynman when he won the Nobel. In the front row at one of Stephen Hawking’s lectures. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know it was the same woman.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I thought it would be her descendant, and I wanted to talk to her and see if she knew anything about the alchemy stuff.” He gulped the rest of his milk and set the glass down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “So I did some searching online and found out she was going to be at an herbalist’s convention in Manhattan—which isn’t that far from where my grandpa lives. When I started asking about alchemy she got all funny, and then she threw stardust at my face. None of the people around us could see it, I guess any non-Fiddler wouldn’t, but I started shouting at her, and then she realized I could see it, and, well, the rest is history.”
    â€œWow,” Wren said. “I mean, I knew she was old, but hearing about her doing all those historical things makes it so real.”
    â€œSo your grandfather knows?” Simon’s voice took Wren by surprise. He was leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairway, and Wren wondered how long he’d been listening. “About the Fiddlers?”
    â€œSure.” Jack ran a finger around the neck of his sweater like he was loosening a tie. “I mean, he wasright, wasn’t he? There is a huge conspiracy going on.”
    â€œIt must be nice to not have to lie,” Wren said, her guilt over not telling her parents returning in full force. “To have it all out in the open.”
    â€œSometimes,” Jack snorted. “Except he’s always pumping me for information and showing me random old Mother Goose rhymes and stuff. But he’s not bad for all that.”
    â€œCome sit with us,” Wren said to Simon, scooting the nearly empty plate toward him. “There’re cookies.”
    â€œNah. I’m headed out for an early run,” Simon said, and that was when Wren noticed that he was fully dressed, ready for the day.
    She groaned. “It’s morning already? I barely even slept.”
    â€œSleep is overrated,” Jack said, popping the last cookie in his mouth. “Wait for me, Simon, and I’ll come with you. Wren? Want to join in?”
    â€œPass,” Wren said, piling the dishes in the sink. Even if she was tempted to go running, which she most definitely wasn’t, the night was catching up with her, and she made her way back up to her room, fingers crossed for dreamless sleep.

NINE
    Mother Goose, when she wanted to wander,
    Would ride through the air on a very fine gander.
    L ater that afternoon, Mary led Wren, Simon, and Jack through a long tunnel that sprouted from the cellar of Pippen Hill and opened up into a wilderness of trees. They walked for a good while through an orchard in full bloom and beyond into a less tended crush of forest.
    â€œHow in the world,” Wren said as she pushed her way through the underbrush, “is all this right next to a university campus? How come we’ve never seen this before?”
    Jack gave her a playful look, both eyebrows raised. “And three, two, one . . .”
    Wren stared at him. Was he playing some kind of game?
    â€œCome on, Wren. You still can’t figure out how a Fiddler could make something appear different than it truly is?”
    â€œOh,” Wren said, feeling sheepish. “The stardust. Of course.” They now walked single file behind Mary. Simon first, then Jack, and Wren bringing up the rear.
    â€œOrdinary people can’t see the stardust at