danced, hopping awkwardly around her.
“I was just going to visit ...”
“Hah!” he interrupted, squinting at her. “Aren’t you scared? I am Tengu, and this house is feared by all!” He hopped back and forth, grimacing and waving his arms. The effect wasn’t very scary; in fact, it was all Willa could do to keep from laughing. She covered her smile with one hand, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
Then he stopped and leaned in conspiratorially. “I bet you’ve heard lots of scary stories about this place. Yes? Hm? Well ... they’re all true!” With this he let out an exultant wolf howl. “OwWOOOOO!”
Willa looked around nervously. She really didn’t want to attract any attention. “I — I haven’t heard any stories at all,” she admitted.
Tengu stopped in mid-howl, his face falling. He was clearly disappointed. “None? Doesn’t anyone talk about this house?”
Willa shrugged helplessly. The little man’s energy seemed to drain away. He plunked himself down cross-legged on the walk with his frowning head in his hands. “No reputation at all. Simply unacceptable. Something must be done,” he muttered.
“There may be stories, I’ve just never heard them,” Willa offered, but he waved her away, lost in thought. She stepped around him and continued up the porch steps, taking a deep breath. Back to her plan. She was going to find out what was going on and do her best to help those dear old ladies. Miss Trang couldn’t keep them trapped in there. They’d be so glad that she’d come to rescue them.
Willa paused at the front door. She could hear voices inside, arguing loudly. She rang the bell. The voices stopped abruptly. There was a moment of silence and then the door opened a crack. Baz peered out through the chain, just staring at her, not speaking. Willa cleared her throat.
“Hm. Hello. I’m ... I was here the other day. Selling newspapers?”
Baz stared blankly at her. A long, uncomfortable moment passed. Willa felt it was now or never. She drew herself up to her full height and spoke in her best “Aunt Hattie voice,” surprising even herself. “I want to talk to you about a very, very important matter!”
Baz pursed her lips and squinted. Willa squinted back. Finally Baz blinked. “Well ... hold on a sec.”
She shut the door again and a great ruckus began inside — banging, a loud thumping up the stairs, more banging, whispered arguing. When all was quiet, Baz suddenly swung the door open, grabbed Willa by the arm, and yanked her inside, slamming the door after her.
Willa stumbled into the dark hall, dropping her posters. She stooped to pick them up, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The place smelled distinctly of cat. She followed Baz into the parlour, where someone was shouting.
The room was dark, the sunshine blotted out by heavy red curtains. It was very old-fashioned and crazily cluttered, with leather armchairs and ottomans underfoot and a flowery sofa scuffed by cat claws. There was a fireplace, a piano, spidery plants on little end tables, a large dollhouse in the corner, ghostly white teacups on dark shelves, and doilies over the backs of the chairs. A large birdcage hung in one dark corner, housing some kind of bird, asleep with its head under its wing. More immediately, however, Belle and a distinguished old gentleman were shouting across the room at one another.
“You know-nothing pompous ass!” Belle barked.
“Loud-mouthed shrew!” the man hollered back, frowning behind tiny wire spectacles. Willa watched in alarm as Belle grabbed a teacup and hurled it at the man. He neatly deflected it with a throw cushion, sending it crashing into the piano. Baz didn’t seem to mind the ruckus. Grinning, she draped herself on the sofa with her hands folded beneath her chin.
The man picked up a scone and lobbed it at Belle; she in turn grabbed another teacup.
“Stop! Stop!” Willa hollered. They turned, staring, and she felt herself blushing.
Belle dropped the cup onto an ottoman. “We have a visitor. Behave yourself, Horace.”
The man straightened his tie and jacket, looking very tweedy and professorial. He sat back down as Belle swivelled her wheelchair to peer at Willa. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I’m Willa. I was here the other day....” Blank look. “Selling newspapers?” Belle shrugged, tucking her blanket around her legs. Willa tried again. “You wanted me to take you to the ocean, remember?”
At this Belle’s eyes lit up. Her face split into a grin. “Oh! and you’ve come to take me there. You dear, sweet, sweet girl!”
“No, I can’t do that, exactly....”
Belle’s face fell into a scowl. “Well, what good are you then?” This was it. Willa stepped forward.
“I’ve come to help you.”
Horace sat up quickly. “Then settle this for us. Who do you think would win in a fight ... Odin or Zeus?” Both he and Belle leaned forward, eagerly awaiting her answer.
Willa blinked in surprise. “You mean, the gods Odin and Zeus?” They nodded. “What kind of a fight?”
Belle answered, holding up her own bony fists. “A bare-knuckle brawl. No magic, no flying, no weapons, no outside help. Who would you bet on?” Willa thought it over carefully for a moment.
“I don’t think they’d fight. Wouldn’t it make more sense if it was Thor and Ares? The gods of war?”
The old man cackled. “You have a point there,” he started, but was interrupted by a loud banging from upstairs. He shouted up at the ceiling. “She says they wouldn’t fight!” He was answered by a loud crash that made Willa jump. Horace grinned. “Our distinguished colleague upstairs disagrees with your assessment.”
Belle was scowling. “Hogwash,” she grumbled. “Of course they’d fight, they’re cranky old men! Anyway, Wilma isn’t here to settle arguments. She’s here to take me to the beach, the darling.” She had turned all sweet again and was clutching at Willa’s arm.
“It’s Willa, and I’m sorry, I can’t. I just came to —”
Belle snatched a poster from her hand and scowled as she looked it over. “Yesterday it was newspapers, today it’s odd jobs. You’re in every racket going!” She crumpled the poster and tossed it over her shoulder. “We’ve already got someone! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” She flicked off the brake on her chair and rolled through the dining room and out into the kitchen, Baz padding along behind her. Willa turned back to the old man, Horace. He shrugged.
“Miss Trang is not fond of outsiders coming into the house, so you should probably be on your way.”
He gestured kindly but firmly toward the door. Willa hung back. None of this was going the way it should. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “How many people live here?” The old man scratched his head. “People? That rather depends on your definition....”
Willa continued, the words tumbling out. “Is ... is Miss Trang ... keeping all of you prisoner here?” Horace blinked a couple of times then burst into laughter.
“Prisoner? Keeping us PRISONER? HAhahahah!” He slapped his knee and doubled
