R Anderson - Spell Hunter

“Quite a bit older, I’d say. I’d hesitate to give an exact number, but so far, all the Oakenfolk I’ve seen taken by the Silence had been born well before the Sundering.” She gave a sad smile. “Even if they were too confused to remember it.”

“But they all had some contact with humans,” said Bryony. “How much does it take?”

Valerian frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s just”-Bryony hesitated, then plunged in-“now that I’m spending so much time outdoors, I’m afraid that one of these days I might end up crossing paths with a human again. So I need to know how serious-”

“What makes you think the Silence has anything to do with humans?” Valerian sounded genuinely perplexed.

“You mean it doesn’t?”

“I can’t think how it would,” said Valerian. “None of the Oakenfolk I’ve treated had ever gone near a human-at least, not in my lifetime. In fact, one of my earliest cases was so terrified of humans that she refused to open her window even in summer, for fear of seeing one. And Daisy was such a timid little thing I can’t imagine she’d ever been different, even before she lost her magic.”

Bryony sagged against the door frame, relieved. So it wasn’t true, this thing she’d grown up believing. Her instincts had been right, and Thorn was wrong.

Which meant that as long as she didn’t let the humans catch her, she could sneak right into their House to look for metal, and no one would even know…

“Are you all right?” asked Valerian. “Do you need to lie down?”

“No,” said Bryony. “I’m fine.”

Outside Bryony’s window the Oakenwyld lay shadowed, a sliver of moon barely visible in the cloud-streaked sky. Leaning on the sill, Bryony stared out across the garden, her stomach tight with anticipation.

Even if she could find some shard or snippet of metal inside the House, could she really escape with it undetected? And if the worst happened and she was caught, what might the humans do to her?

Bryony drew a deep breath and let it out. Then she climbed up onto the windowsill and dove headfirst into the darkness.

Her translucent wings snapped open, and she glided down to the surface of the lawn, bare feet almost brushing the grass. At this hour most of the Oakenfolk were in bed, but she paused and glanced back over her shoulder just in case. If anyone knew that she was out at night, alone…

But the great tree’s trunk remained dark, its windows closed. Reassured, Bryony turned and resumed her flight toward the House. As its gray bulk loomed up in her path her resolve began to falter, and for a moment she almost turned aside; then she remembered what she had come for- metal, the humans have metal -and made herself carry on.

Soon the lawn beneath her gave way to stone pavement, and she drew herself up sharply, landing just outside the House’s back entrance. A pair of doors inset with glass panes towered above her, glowing with muted light. What would she find on the other side? Summoning courage, she pressed her face to the bottom pane and peered in.

At first she could make out only dim shapes. She cupped her hands against the glass, squinting through the sheer curtains. What she saw then made her gasp, and she let her hands drop, stunned. The ugly stone House, where the human monsters lived…inside, it was beautiful.

Never in her life had she seen such magnificently crafted furniture, with its fluid curves and dark wood polished to a sheen. The Oak’s finest tapestries were crude compared to the pattern of twining leaves that covered the humans’ sofa, and no hand-knotted rug of Wink’s could rival the plush carpet that flowed across their floor. Even the walls were impossibly smooth and straight…were they really painted blue, or had it just been a trick of the light?

Wait. The light. Where did it come from? She had seen no fire, no candles, yet the whole room shone with radiance. Bryony darted back to the window, intent. Ah, there was the source: a pair of lamps set on either side of the sofa. But how could the flames inside them burn so steadily? And why did their papery shades not catch alight?

Magic, she thought in dismay. The humans have magic.

Bryony sat down heavily on the doorstep. She knew, now, that the humans could not be monsters. They might still be dangerous, but they were not animals, living by mere instinct. They were intelligent. They were people.

All at once a shadow passed over her, and she leaped up in panic before realizing that she was still safe, that the dark shape remained on the far side of the door. In fact, with such bright light coming from inside the House, and nothing but darkness in the garden where she stood, it would be difficult for the humans to see her unless they already knew where to look. Silently rebuking herself for her cowardice, she crouched by the window again.

“Did you see?” The voice sounded hollowly from the other side of the glass. “We had a letter from Paul today.”

The speaker was an older female, her hair a loose cap of brown curls streaked with silver. She picked up a tray from the tea table and padded out of sight again, adding as she went, “He’s sounding much happier lately. I wonder if he’s met someone?”

They speak our language, thought Bryony in amazement. How could they have lived so close to us for so many years, and we never knew?

“I doubt that,” said a deeper voice, and Bryony craned her neck to see a second human enter the room and sit down in one of the armchairs. She frowned a moment, bemused by the square jaw, flat chest and heavy hands; then she realized that the two humans were a mated pair, and this must be the male. What a strange-looking creature he was! But he also reminded her of the boy she had met climbing the Oak, all those years ago. Did he live in the House, too?

“Well anyway, he’s enjoying the choir,” offered the woman, “and they’ve made him captain of the rowing team this year.”

“Beatrice,” said the man, waving a folded piece of paper at her, “I can read.”

His mate made a clucking noise and was silent. Eventually the man let the page fall to his lap and leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

“Away for Christmas,” he said dolefully.

“Oh, George, he’s young. At sixteen, would you have given up an opportunity to go to Paris just to sit at home with your parents? At least he’ll be well looked after, and we’ll have him for the New Year.”

“I suppose.” He tossed the envelope onto the tea table. It skittered across the surface and tumbled to the floor. Bryony read the address written on it quickly- George and Beatrice McCormick -then ducked back into the shadows as the man approached.

“Do you need help with those dishes?” he asked, stooping to retrieve the letter. “I’ll dry up, if you like.”

“All right,” said the woman, and then as if it were nothing she added, “Thanks.”

Bryony took a step back, appalled. How could the human thank her mate, just like that? Putting herself forever in his debt, all for the sake of a few dishes?

On the other hand, she realized as the shock subsided, the man had seemed just as unconscious of his own strange behavior-offering help without being asked for it, and not even taking the time to bargain. Did he really value his own services so little? Wasn’t he afraid that his mate would take advantage of him?

Or was it possible that these two humans had reached some sort of understanding, and no longer needed to bargain with each other at all?

Part of her wanted to stay and find out. But she had wasted enough time already: She could see no useful metal here, and she dared not go into that room in any case. With a last wistful glance through the glass, Bryony backed up a few steps and launched herself up to the next window.