Carrie Vaughn - Discord's Apple

A knock rattled the kitchen door.

Evie’s heart started speeding—a Pavlovian response of anxiety. Not again, she thought. Not this again, please. She didn’t want to stand and move to the door. Her hands were sweating and her limbs felt stiff.

The knock came again. It could have been just a neighbor. The postman. Please let it just be the postman. She went to answer.

Mab trotted to the kitchen with her. She looked at the door, her head low, brown eyes glaring. A growl rumbled deep in her throat.

This wasn’t like yesterday.

Evie scratched the dog’s back, and Mab wagged her tail once, but never stopped staring at the door. Evie wondered who was waiting on the porch. She opened the door a crack, in case Mab decided to launch an attack.

She was glad she was showered and dressed today. The woman standing on the porch was extraordinarily poised. Evie felt small and scruffy next to her, but at least she didn’t feel half-dressed.

The visitor was tall, elegantly slender, like a 1940s starlet. She wore an expensive-looking, calf-length dark coat belted at her waist, and high heels. Her black hair was pulled to the back of her head and held in place with invisible clips, as if by magic. Her dark eyes were exotic, while her expression was indifferent.

“Can I help you?” Evie asked cautiously.

The woman smiled, barely shifting her features. “I wondered if you might have something for me.”

Not again, she thought. I don’t want this—

Evie didn’t feel that tingling electric thrill that the old woman brought with her yesterday. Far from it: she felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t understand enough to know what the feeling meant.

Mab growled, the rumble leaving her throat and echoing between her bared teeth.

She shook her head. “No. There’s nothing here for you. I’m sorry.”

The woman’s manner shifted. The smile became that of a predator. The gaze became piercing. “Are you certain about that?”

“Yes. I’m sure.” Mab inched toward the door. Evie put her hand on the dog’s ruff. Mab didn’t wear a collar. Evie didn’t think she could hold her back if she decided to attack.

“One wonders if you know what you’re talking about.”

One does, indeed. Evie bit her lip and glared.

“Might I have a look? You keep things in the basement, don’t you?” The woman stepped forward, like she was going to push open the door and invite herself inside.

Evie grabbed Mab in a bear hug just as the dog launched herself at the woman, barking fiercely enough to rattle windows.

“Ma’am, trust me,” Evie said, hugging Mab’s shoulders, leaning with her whole weight to keep the dog back. “We don’t have anything for you.”

The woman didn’t seem to notice the chaos happening in front of her. She held up a gloved hand, palm facing the door. Turning her hand, she brushed with her fingers like she was stirring the air.

“I can’t cross the threshold,” she said. She glanced at Evie, almost as an afterthought. “But you could invite me in. Would you do that, Evie Walker?”

Evie shook her head. She hugged Mab harder; it made her feel safer. As much as she didn’t know about this, she knew she didn’t want this woman entering the house.

The woman’s voice was patient, calm, like she would stand there all day, politely asking to be let inside, until Evie could do nothing but relent.

Mab was still barking, fearless. Mab would protect her. But the woman didn’t spare a glance for the dog, and seemed unflustered by the barking.

A figure ran onto the porch and slid to a stop before banging into the wall of the house. He was young, determined, and wore a pea coat—Alex, from the grocery store. The woman turned, stepping away from him.

He lowered himself to his knees. Clasping his hands, reaching them toward her, he spoke to the woman in a language Evie didn’t recognize, much less understand.

“Ho hupsalos—aurain kataballe, seh enoiksomai. Ouk anagignoskei hos essi.”

The woman hesitated a moment, then approached him. Alex squeezed his eyes shut with something that looked like fear.

“Se exoida—Apollou aysta.” She touched his cheek, and Alex bore it as if she were a lioness breathing down his neck—silent and trembling. Her finger brushed his throat and hooked on his necklace, a bronze chain with thick links in a band around the base of his neck.

Mab had returned to growling. She stood between Evie and the door, so massive that Evie almost couldn’t see outside. She couldn’t remember sitting, but she was on the floor.

The stranger glanced at her, then at Alex again, then marched down the porch and across the gravel drive in her high heels without wobbling once.

Falling silent at last, Mab turned and licked Evie’s face.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled absently, ineffectively trying to push Mab away.

“Are you?” It was Alex, leaning against the wall on the other side of the door. They looked at each other across the threshold.

“Yeah.” Mab eyed him warily, but didn’t growl. Evie thought that a point in his favor. “Who was that? Who are you?”

They had known each other. She hadn’t understood them, but their words had held a tone of ritual and familiarity.

He shook his head absently, more a gesture of denial than of ignorance. “I thought she was dead. Years ago. She should be dead.”

“Who is she? What’s she doing here?”

“Same as me, evidently. Looking for something.”

“For what?”

“Don’t know. Could be anything.” He let out a tired sigh. A sheen of sweat dampened his brow.

“Who are you?”

Smiling, he looked away. “A traveler.”

She didn’t know whether to invite him in for coffee to coax the whole story out of him, or slap him for being so cryptic. “Why are you spying on us? You were watching the house, weren’t you?”

A car pulled into the driveway, kicking up gravel. It wasn’t her father’s pickup, but the passenger door opened and Frank started to climb out. The driver—one of Frank’s friends, Pete Losasso from the hardware store—rushed to the passenger side to help him. He took her father’s arm.

Frank brushed him away, but he leaned on the door. “I’m fine.” Her father’s voice carried across the driveway. Then, “Thanks for the ride, Pete. I’ll get the truck back tomorrow.”

Pete stood by the car, watching until Frank reached the porch. He was limping.

Evie stood, keeping her hand on Mab’s back. What had happened? Alex stood with her, his brow furrowed.

“He’s sick, isn’t he?” he asked softly.

Her father didn’t seem to notice Alex until he came to lean on the railing of the porch steps. At that point, he stared hard at Alex, glanced questioningly at Evie, then turned and waved to Pete, who took the cue to drive away.

“Dad, you okay?”

He glared, a silent reprimand for even asking the question, then nodded at Alex. “Is this guy bothering you?”

“No.” Far from it. She had a feeling he’d saved her from something. But she didn’t tell her father about the woman, about what had brought Alex here. She didn’t want him to worry.

Her father said to Alex, “I told you, there’s nothing here for you.”

“A man can hope.” He gave Evie a look that made her blush. “I won’t trouble you again, Mr. Walker.” He turned his collar up, nodded a farewell to Evie, and walked off the porch, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. She almost ran after him. She had more questions, like what had he been looking for in the Storeroom?

She said, “So that guy’s been here before?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure he’s harmless. Just . . . desperate.”