The Feral Child by Che Golden

stay safe.”
    “This is rubbish,” said Maddy. “If I’ve got the Sight, how come I didn’t see faeries before?”
    “You did, when you were a baby. Your mother had the Sight, and she learned to stay out of their way, but when you were born and she saw you reaching out to them whenever you were outside, she decided to take you and your father away,” he said. “That’s why she went to London. Faeries can’t live in cities; they can’t stand all the iron.”
    “I don’t remember Seeing faeries before.”
    “Your mind has taught you not to See things you are convinced do not exist. That fright you got the other night and my telling you the rules must have opened it up a crack.” He smiled thinly. “It’s nice to see something gets through to you.”
    “Can you See them?”
    “Yes. It runs in the family. But I pretend not to See them. I wear iron—” he lifted his shirt to show her adull cuff on his wrist—“and I stay home when the sun goes down, as much as I can. They’re stronger when the light fades.”
    “Can Granny See?”
    “No! And I don’t want you to upset her either, talking about what you can See. The Unsighted in this world are better off not knowing about these things.”
    “You knew that thing wasn’t Stephen when you found it, didn’t you?”
    He looked ashamed, but he nodded.
    “What is it?”
    “A faerie changeling,” said Granda, looking faintly sick. “One of their own that is weak and ill. They take human children and put the changelings in their place. They don’t like dealing with their own problems too much.”
    “What do they do with the human children?”
    “Who knows?” said Granda. “They keep them as servants, pets . . . No one knows for sure.”
    “How many people in the village have the Sight?” asked Maddy.
    Granda looked at her warily. “A few. Dr. Malloy for one; Sheila who works at the castle gift shop . . . There are about twenty of us, I’d say.” He smiled at her sadly.
    “Enough for a rescue party,” said Maddy. “When you go after Stephen, I’m coming with you.”
    “Rescue party . . . ?!” Granda looked at her, surprise widening his eyes. “Maddy, nobody sets foot in the realm of faeries, and no one comes back.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Stephen is gone, love.”
    She stared at him in horror, and then her eyes hardened with anger. “We’re getting him back, or else I go next door and I tell Mr. and Mrs. Forest exactly what’s going on.”
    “What are you going to tell them, Maddy? That he’s not their son? That they’ve got a faerie changeling in the house? They won’t believe you, and even if they did, it wouldn’t do them any good to know the truth. Stephen is gone. Let them be happy with what they think is their son—you’re only going to break their hearts.”
    “But they’ll know!”
    “They won’t. They’ll only see what they want to see. They might think he acts strangely, that he doesn’t thrive the way he should, but they will learn to live with it.”
    “But what about Stephen?”
    “I told you, Maddy, he’s gone. Stolen children go into the mound, and we can’t follow.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because we can’t. We wouldn’t last five minutes in their world. You can’t fight anyone as old and powerful as the Tuatha de Dannan and the other faeries.”
    “Who are the Tuatha de Dannan?”
    “The old ones, the Shining Ones, the Gentry, the ones we tell stories about that you laugh at. We call them faeries now, but we used to call them gods when they ruled Ireland a long, long time ago. Faeries like Sean Rua are bad enough, but they are nothing compared to the Tuatha de Dannan, and they are the ones who ruleTír na nÓg. I’m telling you, Maddy, it can’t be done. It’s why your mother took you away. She didn’t want you to be one of the stolen ones. Go after Stephen, and you’ll be starting a fight we can’t win, and God knows how many people will suffer then. We’ve lived with the