Mistakes were made, despite our careful planning. I am troubled to this day by my part, however minor, in the series of misfortunes and errors that led to his death. I am even more sorry about the changes wrought by those two days in June, which consequences confounded us for years. That none of us intended any harm matters not at all. We are responsible for our actions, even when accidents occur, if only for the steps we omitted or neglected. In retrospect, perhaps we overplanned. They could have sneaked into the Loves' house, snatched Oscar while he slept, and innocently tucked Igel under the covers. The boy always was left alone to play for hours at a time. We could have grabbed him in broad daylight and sent in a changed Igel for dinner. Or we could have skipped the purification by water. Who still believes in that old myth? It did not have to end in such a heartbreaking way.
　　Oscar Love came out to play on a June evening, dressed in blue shorts and a shirt with writing across the chest. He wore sandals, dirt caked between his toes, and kicked a ball back and forth across the lawn. Luchóg and I had climbed a sycamore and sat in the branches for what felt like hours, watching his mindless game and trying to attract him into the woods. We broadcast a menagerie of sounds: a puppy, a mewing kitten, birds in distress, a wise old owl, a cow, a horse, a pig, a chicken, a duck. But he took scant notice of our imitations. Luchóg cried like a baby; I threw my voice, disguised as a girl's, then a boy's. Oscar was deaf to all that, hearing instead the music in his mind. We called out his name, promised him a surprise, pretended to be Santa Claus. Stumped, we descended, and Luchóg had the bright idea to sing, and the boy immediately followed the melody into the forest. As long as the song continued, he sought its source, dazed by curiosity. In my heart, I knew that this is not the way fairytales should be, bound for an unhappy ending.
　　Hidden behind trees by a creek, the gang lay in ambush, and Luchóg lured the boy deeper into the woods. Oscar stood on the bank considering the water and the stones, and when the music stopped he realized how lost he was, for he began to blink his eyelids, fighting back the urge to weep.
　　"Look at him, Aniday," Luchóg said from our hideaway. "He reminds me of the last one of us to become a changeling. Something wrong with him."
　　"What do you mean, 'wrong'?"
　　"Look in his eyes. It's as if he's not really all there."
　　I studied the boy's face, and indeed he seemed detached from his situation. He stood motionless, head bowed to the water, as if stunned by his own reflection. A whistle signaled the others, and they rushed from the bushes. Birds, alarmed by the sudden violence, cried out and took wing. Hidden among the ferns, a rabbit panicked and bounded away, cottontail flashing. But Oscar stood impassive and entranced and did not react until the faeries were nearly upon him. He brought his hand up to his mouth to cover his scream, and they pounced on him, tackling him to the ground with swift ferocity. He all but disappeared in the swirl of flailing limbs, wild eyes, and bared teeth. Had the capture not been explained beforehand, I would have thought they were killing him. Igel, in particular, relished the assault, pinning the boy to the ground with his knees and cramming a cloth in his mouth to muffle his cries. With a vine, he cinched the boy around the middle, pinning his arms to his sides. Pulling Oscar down the trail, Igel led us all back to camp.
　　Years later, Chavisory explained to me how out of the ordinary Igel's behavior had been. The changeling was supposed to model his own body and features to match the child before the kidnapping. But Igel let the boy see him as he was. Rather than making the switch immediately, he taunted the child. Zanzera tied Oscar to a tree and removed the gag from the boy's mouth. Per-haps the shock silenced him, for all Oscar could do was watch in dumb amazement the happening before him, his dark eyes moist yet fixed on his tormentors. Igel tortured his own face into a replica. I could not bear the painful grimaces, could not stomach the cracking cartilage, the wrenching bone. I vomited behind a tree and stayed away until Igel had finished molding himself into a copy of the boy.
　　"Do you understand, Oscar?" Igel taunted him, standing nose-to-nose. "I am you and will take your place, and you will stay here with them."
　　The child stared at him, as if looking in the mirror yet not recognizing his own reflection. I fought back the urge to go to Oscar, to offer kindness and reassurance. Speck sidled up to me and spat out, "This is cruel."
　　Stepping away from his victim, Igel addressed us: "Boys and girls. I have been with you for too long and now take my leave. My time in this hell is done, and you may have it. Your paradise is vanishing. Every morning, I hear the encroaching roar of cars, feel the shudder of planes overhead. There's soot in the air, dirt in the water, and all the birds fly away and never come back. The world is changing, and you must go while you can. I am not pleased to be trading places with this imbecile, but better that than to remain here." He swept his arms to the trees and the star-filled skies. "For this will soon be gone."
　　Igel walked over to Oscar and untied him and held his hand. They were identical; it was impossible to tell who was real and who was the spit and image. "I'm going down below to the tunnel now to tell a story to this poor idiot. I'll take his clothes and those disgusting shoes, then you may perform the ablution. He could do with a bath. I will crawl out on the other side. Adieu. Come away, human child."
　　As he was being led off, Oscar looked back once more, his gaze disguising all emotion. Soon after, the faeries went to the tunnel entry to pluck out Oscar's naked body. They wrapped him in a caul of spider's silk and vines. He remained placid during the process, but his eyes appeared more alert, as if he deliberately was trying to be calm. Hoisting him atop our shoulders, we ran, crashing through the undergrowth toward the river. Until we reached the edge of the water, I did not notice that Speck had stayed behind. Béka, our new leader, proclaimed the incantation as we lifted our package high into the air and threw it. In midair, the body jack-knifed and fell headfirst into the water. Half of the group split off to chase and retrieve the body, as the ceremony required. They were expected ............