The Stolen Heir by Holly Black

Changeling child.

“Stand,” said the huge, looming creature with nails as long as knives. Bogdana. “You do not belong in this place.”

Wren listened to the noises of the house, the hum of the heater, the distant scrape of the nails of the family dog as it pawed at the floor restlessly in sleep, running through dreams. She tried to memorize every sound. Her gaze blurry with tears, she committed her room to memory, from the book titles on her shelves to the glassy eyes of her dolls.

She snuck one last pet of her fox’s synthetic fur and pressed him down, deeper under the covers. If he stayed there, he’d be safe. Shuddering, she slid out of the bed.

“Please,” she said again.

A cruel smile twisted up the corner of Lord Jarel’s face. “The mortals no longer want you.”

Wren shook her head, because that couldn’t be true. Her mother and father loved her. Her mother cut the crusts off her sandwiches and kissed her on the tip of her nose to make her giggle. Her father cuddled up with her to watch movies and then carried her to bed when she fell asleep on the couch. She knew they loved her. And yet the certainty with which Lord Jarel spoke plucked at her terror.

“If they admit that they wish for you to remain with them,” said Lady Nore, her voice soft for the first time, “then you may stay.”

Wren padded into the hall, her heart frantic, rushing into her parents’ room as if she’d had a nightmare. The noise of her shuffling feet and her ragged breaths woke them. Her father sat up and then startled, putting an arm up protectively over her mother, who looked at Wren and screamed.

“Don’t be scared,” she said, moving to the side of the bed and crushing the blankets in her small fists. “It’s me, Wren. They did something to me.”

“Get away, monster!” her father barked. He sounded frightening enough to send her scuttling back against the dresser. She’d never heard him shout like that, certainly never at her.

Tears tracked down her cheeks. “It’s me,” she said again, her voice breaking. “Your daughter. You love me.”

The room looked exactly as it always had. Pale beige walls. Queen size bed with brown dog fur dirtying their white duvet. A towel lying beside the hamper, as though someone had thrown and missed. The scent of the furnace, and the petroleum smell of some cream used to remove makeup. But it was the distorted-mirror nightmare version, in which all those things had become horrible.

Below them, the dog barked, sounding a desperate warning.

“What are you waiting for? Get that thing out of here,” her father growled, looking toward Lady Nore and Lord Jarel as though he was seeing something other than them, some human authority.

Wren’s sister came into the hall, rubbing her eyes, clearly awakened by the screaming. Surely Rebecca would help, Rebecca who made sure no one bullied her at school, who took her to the fair even though no one else’s little sister was allowed. But at the sight of Wren, Rebecca jumped onto the bed with a horrified yelp and wrapped her arms around her mother.

“Rebecca,” Wren whispered, but her sister only dug her face deeper into their mother’s nightgown.

“Mom,” Wren pleaded, tears choking her voice, but her mother wouldn’t look at her. Wren’s shoulders shook with sobs.

“This is our daughter,” her father said, holding Rebecca close, as though Wren had been trying to trick him.

Rebecca, who’d been adopted, too. Who ought to have been exactly as much theirs as Wren.

Wren crawled to the bed, crying so hard that she could barely get any words out. Please let me stay. I’ ll be good. I am sorry, sorry, sorry for whatever I did, but you can’t let them take me. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy, I love you, please, Mommy.

Her father tried to push her back with his foot, pressing it against her neck. But she reached for him anyway, her voice rising to a shriek.

When her little fingers touched his calf, he kicked her in the shoulder, sending her to the floor. But she only crawled back, weeping and pleading, keening with misery.

“Enough,” rasped Bogdana. She yanked Wren against her, running one of her long nails over Wren’s cheek with something like gentleness. “Come, child. I will carry you.”

“No,” Wren said, her fingers winding themselves in the sheets. “No. No. No.”

“It is not meet for the humans to have touched you in violence, you who are ours,” said Lord Jarel.

“Ours to hurt,” Lady Nore agreed. “Ours to punish. Never theirs.”

“Shall they die for the offense?” Lord Jarel asked, and the room went quiet, except for the sound of Wren sobbing.

“Should we kill them, Suren?” he asked again, louder. “Let their pet dog in and enchant it so that it turns on them and bites out their throats?”

At that, Wren’s crying abated in astonishment and outrage. “No!” she shouted. She felt beyond the ability to control herself.

“Then hear this and cease weeping,” Lord Jarel told her. “You will come with us willingly, or I will slay everyone on that bed. First the child, then the others.”

Rebecca gave a little frightened sob. Wren’s human parents watched her with fresh horror.

“I’ll go,” Wren said finally, a sob still in her voice, one she couldn’t stop. “Since no one loves me, I’ll go.”