hadn’t seen Belle smile in a long, long while.
Robert grew rather huffy and returned his cigar box to the mantel. Willa tried to cheer him up, saying it was really quite fascinating and she’d never heard about mandrakes before, but he was officially in a sulk and went stomping up to his room. Willa wondered if she should go up to apologize but felt Mab tugging at her sleeve.
“I’ve got something else to show you. Something very, very important,” her little voice chimed. Willa smiled, reminded of little children trying to top each other with their toys. She knelt on the carpet as Mab flew into the little house again. Inside, the fairy reached under a miniature armchair and pulled out a tiny sewing basket.
Willa looked over at Belle, who rolled her eyes. Mab opened the basket and carefully lifted out her knitting needles. Hanging from them was a long, silvery scarf. Willa had often seen Mab sit in that chair, clicking away with her knitting needles, but she had never before gotten a look at what the fairy was knitting. Mab lovingly draped the scarf across her arms and stroked it.
“This,” she whispered, “is the most valuable treasure in the entire house.” She held it out and Willa reached to touch it. The stitches were tiny and fine, and the scarf felt silky, even silkier than silk. It was like dipping her finger in cool water. Suddenly Belle’s mocking voice burst out behind her.
“What makes it so valuable? What’s it made of, caterpillar fuzz? Moooonbeams? Magical silvery fairy farts?” Belle burst into laughter as Mab shot her a dirty look and whisked the scarf back into the basket. Willa watched helplessly as the fairy flew up and grabbed hold of the front of the dollhouse. With a last indignant “Hmph!” she slammed it shut with herself inside.
“Belle!” Willa felt bad for Mab but couldn’t help but smile herself. Belle was still chuckling in amusement. Willa sat down beside her, conscious of how rare this friendly moment was. “What about you? Don’t you have something special like that? Something that means the world to you?”
Belle raised her eyebrows at Willa’s tone but blinked thoughtfully. Willa noticed her hand slip into a small pocket in her sweater.
“Me? Well, I ...” Belle saw Willa looking at her pocket and blushed. “It’s nothing much. Just something that ... someone ... gave to me.”
Willa watched closely as Belle pulled out her hand and uncurled her fingers. In her lined and wrinkled palm was a round, smooth, white stone.
“Is it magic?” Willa whispered.
Belle shook her head. “Not in the way you might think.” She rolled the stone over and over in her hand. “This was given to me a long time ago. When I lived in the ocean.” Her face softened into a smile at the memory, and she ran her fingers over its surface.
“Belle,” ventured Willa, “why do you live here? Instead of in the ocean, I mean?” For a moment Willa was afraid she’d gone too far, but Belle just lowered her head sadly.
“I made a mistake.” She tapped her breastbone with one bony finger. “I can’t breathe water anymore, I can never go back. Sometimes ... I forget that.” Her eyes fell on the stone again. “And this ... this was the start of all my troubles.” She snapped it up in her hand and thrust it into her pocket. Then she seemed to suddenly remember who she was talking to and squinted angrily at Willa.
“But of course, you know all about it already, don’t you? Don’t you?” she hissed at Willa, making her jump.“No, I don’t! I don’t know what you mean!” Willa protested, shrinking back from her.
Angry as she was, there was a tear in Belle’s eye as she gripped the wheels of her chair and rolled out of the room. Willa was left behind, alone and utterly confused.
Chapter Six
In which dark clouds descend and Miss Trang departs on a mysterious journey
Belle retreated even more from Willa after that, slipping into melancholy. Willa felt the mood of the entire household change as well. The usually purposeful and efficient Miss Trang wandered aimlessly, frowning and lost in thought. As a result the others were uncommonly quiet, watching her and keeping their thoughts to themselves. It felt like everyone was waiting for something. When Willa could stand it no longer she sought out Horace in the library.
“Horace, what’s going on?”
He looked up from his book. For a moment he looked so blank she thought he didn’t know who she was. Then he blinked and smiled. “Ah, Willa. What’s going on where?”
“Here. Everyone’s acting weird. Like you’re all waiting for something to happen.”
Horace leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. “We are, I suppose. Things just don’t ... feel right. Something’s wrong but we’re not sure what it is. I suspect that old enemies are waking up, somewhere in the world.”
“Enemies? Whose enemies?” Willa felt cold. She worried for a moment that Horace might refuse to answer more questions than the “one a day” she’d been allotted, but he kept going, smiling sadly.
“When you deal in magic and live for hundreds or thousands of years, as we have, it’s quite easy to make a few enemies along the way. And they have long lives too, and long memories ... as long as time itself.”
“But where are they? Are they nearby? What’s happening?” The questions poured out.
“We haven’t received any direct news of anything yet. Nothing has even happened that we’re sure of. But there’s a ... a kind of heaviness in the air. The taste of iron.” He looked at her kindly. “You know when you can feel a rainstorm coming, just from the stillness?” Willa nodded. “Well, there’s a feeling like that about.”
He stared out the window. “It’s in the air, and the light ... my very blood slows in my veins. Thickens. Everything is tensing up for something. Something’s coming.”
Willa looked out at the sleepy street. It was hot and still. Cicadas buzzed in the trees. Fear flooded through her. Questions froze in her throat.
Horace smiled reassuringly. “Oh, I’m being overly dramatic. Maybe nothing will happen. Old people worry too much. We’ve got nothing better to do.” He spoke lightly but Willa was still alarmed.
“But what can you do? To find out for sure?”
“Other than wait? Well, I might try some old-fashioned augury. It’s been such a long while, I’m not sure I’m still up to it ...”
“What’s augury?”
Horace puffed himself up proudly. “Augury, dear Willa, is my personal specialty. It was my job in the old days to interpret the will of the gods, to tell if they were pleased or displeased with the doings of man. It was my job to foretell the future from the clues I saw around me.” Then he sighed and sagged a little. “Only I’m not sure I can still do it ... I can’t get a good view of things here in town.”
He looked her in the eye. “Willa, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Don’t worry.” He tucked a book under his arm and drifted toward the door. Willa squeaked out one last question before he disappeared.
“Horace ... you will tell me when there is something to be afraid of, won’t you?”
He
