Lili Crow - Wayfarer

Looks like something chewed its way loose there. She blew out between her teeth and had to sit down, glaring at the scarecrow. Its blue-painted eyes returned her stare, insouciant.

“Don’t look at me like that. What, you want to be on the floor all the time? Auntie would be mad.” It popped out before she thought about it, and that was curious too.

She had to take a deep breath and find a sticking-plaster for whatever she’d scraped herself with. Just because Auntie wasn’t here didn’t mean there wasn’t work to be done.

“Maybe she’s marketing? For stuff for the Ball, and she didn’t leave a note. Maybe she just didn’t think about it. She never writes notes.” Her whisper took her by surprise. “If she’s at market, she’ll be tired when she comes home. I should have lunch ready, and the rue’s ease weeded, and the hollyhocks trimmed and charmed.”

What if she doesn’t come back? The scarecrow’s piercing gaze was uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Then it’s just you and me, right?” It can’t be that hard to survive here. Auntie’s done it for a while now. Nobody even has to know.

How would she pay for the grocery deliveries? She didn’t know where Auntie kept her credits. Or maybe it was automatic, but that was no guarantee that it would continue. Still . . . it was a thought.

The old woman had said the magic word. Apprentice . This was also Auntie’s home, of course she’d come back. Home was the place where they had to take you in, but Auntie didn’t have to. Ellie was on sufferance here, just like everywhere else.

Still, this was a better sufferance than most.

The scarecrow sagged. She kept watching to make sure it didn’t fall again, and finally hauled herself shakily to her feet. “She’s coming back.” The words sounded flat and unconvinced. “She has to. I’m her apprentice.”

But the calm, iron voice that she used for planning was back, and it would not be silenced. If she doesn’t, I’ll figure something out.

BY THE TIME AUNTIE DID COME HOME THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Ell was pretty close to climbing the walls. She’d cleaned everything that could be cleaned, weeded everything that could be weeded, charmed until her head was empty and her stomach ached, and set out the morning milk bottles not just rinsed but sparkling . She’d even cleaned the old ash out of Auntie’s kitchen fireplace, and when the old woman waltzed in with an armful of packages wrapped in rough brown paper, Ellie was up to her elbows in soapsuds, having taken every painted dish and bright copper pan out of the cupboards. She was on her last load, Auntie’s mismatched silverware and some odds and ends, like the butter dish and the red-lacquered serving platter shaped like a leaf, a sort of cross between oak and maple.

She looked over her shoulder, blowing pale hair out of her face—it was longer now, and lighter with all the time she’d spent in the sun—and the relief blew her heart back up like a balloon. “You’re back!”

Auntie’s housedress was a vile fuchsia, her thistledown hair combed and pinned atop her head. The old woman looked thinner and oddly radiant. Maybe it was just that Ellie was seeing her afresh after an absence. Auntie’s face was smoother, and her smile did not make a mass of wrinkles on each cheek. Even her hands looked better. She was middle-aged instead of old , and the streaks of iron-gray in her hair had widened, each with a thread of pure black at its center, vital and growing.

“And you look good,” Ellie finished. “I missed you. Have you had lunch? I made bread, not as good as yours but it’s okay I guess. I’ve been weeding, and the hollyhocks are fine. You must have seen them, right?” She had to stop for breath. “I tried to do everything, I really did.”

“Good little apprentice.” Auntie’s white smile widened. “The house is happy. Auntie is happy. Come, see what she brings thee.”

The table was freshly wiped, so Auntie set her cargo down on it with a theatrical sigh. Ellie, drying her wrinkled hands with an embroidered dishtowel, edged into the teensy dining room. The scarecrow was no longer twitching, Auntie’s presence nailing everything in the cottage back into its normal dimensions and usual cheerful glow. The ghost-scent of the bread baked earlier strengthened, too.

Auntie made a quick movement, and a tide of moonlight spilled over the table.

“Oh . . .” Ellie’s breath rode out in a gush of wonder. “Is that . . . is that what I think it is?”

“Does Auntie’s dove like it?” Did she sound uncertain ? Why?

The dress was silver, but not just silver. Glittering beads hung on strings, as if a post-Reeve flapper-girl had just stepped out of it. Spaghetti-strapped and low-waisted, a small tinsel flower at the left hip, it shimmered and shone. That flower was sharp-petaled, with that same strange grace the frilled roses planted along the garden’s borders showed. At its heart, trembling crystal raindrops shimmered with charmlight.

“It’s beautiful ,” Ellie breathed. “It looks like fey work.”

“And here.” Work-gnarled fingers undid the string around another parcel. “Delicate hooves, yes.”

Low-heeled slippers, a net of silver suspended in their sheer crystal sides, with the same charmlight glow caught in the heels. They quivered, ready to dance, and Ellie saw how the charming had been applied, fluid beautiful work that held no hint of Sigil, or even a breath of the charmer’s personality.

Definitely fey work. “Wow.” She touched them with one trembling, raisin-wrinkled fingertip. “Oh, Auntie. They’re incredible . How did you—”

One finger wagging and a broad white smile. “No asking, no telling.” The third package was tiny, and it opened up, flower-like, to show a silver-beaded headband with a pale feather uncrumpling itself, growing like a fern under a plumping-charm. There was also a tiny silver key, hanging from a thread-fine chain. “Conveyance, for my scorched dove. Full moon, so very difficult. From moonrise to midnight, Columba has a fine silver carriage. Afterward, Auntie cannot promise.”

“That’s more than enough.” I just need to dance with Avery, that’s all. The thought that she didn’t precisely need to was shouted down by a hot flush staining her cheeks and making her palms sweat. And stay away from Laurissa if she’s there , she reminded herself sternly. Although that bit was likely to be the most difficult. “I can’t . . .” She doesn’t like those words. “Auntie, you’re amazing. You’re really, truly, incredibly amazing.”

“Little apprentice.” Auntie beamed. “Flattering poor old Auntie.”

“You aren’t so old. Sheesh.” Ellie held her breath as she picked up the dress, delicately, afraid that even breathing on the bead strings would break them. “Actual fey work. Wow.”

Maybe if Laurissa thought Ellie had connections with the Children of Danu, she’d leave her alone? Those sorts of connections never really worked out well for charmers; it was all over the old stories. Flighty, fickle, some fey were really nasty tempered, too. Maybe Auntie knew how to visit the goblin market—you couldn’t find it unless someone took you there the first time, but after that it was pretty easy. Or at least, that was the story. Maybe that was why she’d been gone so long?

Tomorrow night . Her heartbeat settled into a thin high gallop, and the scarecrow rustled. Ellie glanced up in time to see Auntie dart a venomed look into the corner, and her breath caught again.

For a flashing second, the old woman’s familiar dark eyes were black , from lid to lid. Just like the Vultusino house fey’s. Only Marya never looked this . . . dangerous, lips skinned back and that black gaze hot with rage.