more ... well, action, or at least swirling mists and crystal ball visions. Instead it involved Horace sitting cross-legged on the ground, staring out at the view. Once in a while he would peer through a small pair of opera glasses, following the flight of seagulls, or an eagle, or little flocks of songbirds. Willa shook her head. Trust Horace to get sidetracked by a few pigeons when he was supposed to be determining whether or not they were in danger!
Willa’s head snapped back as she woke with a little snort. She clapped her hands over her mouth but Horace looked back at her and smiled.
“Had enough? Should we head home?”
“No, no. Sorry. I’m fine, we can stay.”
Horace was wearily getting to his feet. Willa jumped up to help him. “Quite all right. I believe I’m finished here.”
Willa was surprised. “But what did you see? I didn’t see anything, apart from a few birds.”
“That’s what augury is. The signs can be very simple, very subtle. Often just the comings and goings of birds. The direction, speed, numbers, species … it all means something.”
Horace rubbed his forehead a little, chagrined. “It’s been a good five hundred years since I’ve attempted this, so I’ve lost some of my skill for precise prognostication … but generally, here’s what I see.” His voice dropped lower and lower and Willa leaned close to hear.
“Something coming. Darkness and cold swirling in from all directions. A dam about to burst. Walls giving way to great power and force. And darkness. Everywhere, in everything I see darkness. It’s coming.”
His voice cracked and fell into silence. He looked down at the ground and his breathing was laboured. Willa said nothing, but took his arm and they turned toward home.
They descended the hill in thoughtful silence, branches crackling underfoot, Horace in front and Willa reaching out to take his arm every time he stumbled. At the bottom they stepped back onto pavement and paused in a pool of streetlight. The city was deathly still, TV light flickering in the windows of the houses around them, and a wispy fog creeping in.
Horace looked around, slowly turning to take in the whole scene.
“Horace? What’s wrong?”
He turned, startled, and looked at her in surprise. “Oh! Excuse me miss, but what street is this?”
Willa stared at him. Was he joking? No, he was looking at her with a polite smile on his face. They stood there for a long moment. Willa’s heart was in her throat. “Horace. It’s me. Willa.”
Horace looked steadily at her and blinked a couple of times. Then he took a step back, out of the harsh glare of the streetlight. His face fell into shadow.
“Yes, Willa, sorry, I’m ... I’ve just gotten turned around. Which way did we come?”
Willa pointed the way and he started off. She followed slowly, stunned. She’d seen that look many times before, when Horace paused and blinked like that. And now she knew what it meant. He was forgetting things and covering it up. Her heart sank. She hurried to catch up to him.
“Horace, can you call Miss Trang? You said you could, can you call her right now?” She was trying not to sound too eager. “You can call her, right?”
Horace didn’t look at her as he answered. “Yes ... yes, of course I can. It’s just a matter of ... well, it’s rather hard to explain. I’ll ... I’ll do it when we get back. Or maybe in the morning....” His voice trailed away and he quickened his pace.
The fog was growing thicker. They walked through the silent streets, sometimes in light and sometimes in darkness. Willa knew he was covering up again. He didn’t want to admit he couldn’t remember how to call Miss Trang. Willa felt alone, she felt very alone. She longed for someone else to be in charge. She could help, she could do whatever she was told to do. Anything would be better than everything being so uncertain. She felt like danger was all around, but she didn’t know what kind of danger or what they could possibly do to escape it.
As they turned the final corner Willa’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the house blanketed in heavy fog and darkness, a cloud of black birds floating overhead.
Chapter Eleven
Dark intruders
Willa quickened her pace, her heart pounding. All the streetlights around the house were out. It was as if a dark veil had been dropped over their corner of the street. Above them hosts of large black birds wheeled silently. The front fence was crowded with them as well. Behind them the bushes were dotted with little sparrows.
As Willa drew closer, she slowed to a stop. She could now see that the sparrows weren’t perched there, they were dead and impaled, a spare branch poking out from every still breast.
The bigger birds shifted from foot to foot, watching Willa steadily. The only sound was the rhythmic scrape scraping of their bills rubbing together, like blades being sharpened.
Horace caught up to her and Willa clutched his arm. They edged cautiously past the birds and up the front walk. Lights glowed dimly inside. There was a sudden familiar screech from inside the house.
“Belle! Are you all right?” Willa called out, the door banging shut behind her.
She received no answer, but the ruckus continued from upstairs. It was just another row between Belle and Robert. The light fixtures shook from the impact of his stamping about, and shadows danced everywhere.
Horace leaned to peer at the black pool in the corner. It had grown, a thin tendril of darkness inching up the wall, following the house’s corner seam. And that wasn’t all. As Willa looked about she began to see tiny black spots here and there on the ceiling, in the corners, at the base of the stairs. She tugged on Horace’s sleeve, silently pointing. He blinked and nodded as he took them in, looking lost and old.
Suddenly Robert appeared, crashing down the stairs in a high rage as Belle glared down from the top step. “Harpy! Crone! Shrew!” he roared.
Belle responded with a rather unbecoming raspberry. Horace meekly stood aside as Robert careened toward them, but Willa stood her ground, holding up her hands in entreaty.
“Robert! You can’t go now! Please listen to me. Something is coming. Something awful!”
Robert scowled down at her. Belle screeched from the top of the stairs, “Let the old scoundrel go. Good riddance!”
Willa heard scratchy skittering sounds from all around. The black spots along the baseboards were growing larger. She took a deep breath.
“STOP FIGHTING!”
Sudden silence. Everyone turned to her in surprise. The only sound was a click-click-clicking. Willa turned to see Mab in the parlour, eagerly taking in all the action from the dollhouse roof as she knitted, her scarf hanging halfway down to the floor. Willa cleared her throat.
“I need to tell all of you about Horace’s augury.…”
Belle interrupted with a snort. “Augury.
