Marlo kept a white-knuckled grip on his ax and nearly let fly with it when a rooster flew down on his head from an outhouse roof to our right. Truth is, I nearly did the same with Toadsticker while Gertriss shamed us both by shooing the dim-witted bird away with her torch.
Finally, the last dwelling checked and found secure, we halted, gathered in the flickering half-circle of light cast by the door torches.
The barns loomed up a short distance away, more shadow than shape. A wind walked through the corn, and the ways the stalks bent and rasped made the hairs on my neck crawl the same way they had done on a regular basis during the War.
Gertriss caught my eye, glanced at the furthest barn, nodded slightly, just once.
“You two start bringing people out.” I spoke during a lull of wind so my voice would carry. “I’ll stay here, keep an eye out.”
Gertriss started to argue. I gave her a hard look. Marlo turned his back and started walking.
Gertriss handed me her torch.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
And then she was off, rushing to catch up with Marlo.
I figured I had maybe a quarter of an hour. It would take that long for the gaggle of staff to find their way home. So I stuck Gertriss’s torch in the ground, and then I walked to the edge of the light and I put my back to the barns.
Toadsticker’s hilt was warm and reassuring in my hand. Which made sticking it through my belt a difficult action to take.
The corn rustled. Leaves and limbs made dry furtive noises overhead. I imagined all manner of creeping horrors, slinking up behind me.
I’d had my back to the barns for maybe three long minutes-just enough time for Marlo and Gertriss to reach the House-when I heard a twig snap behind me.
I judged the distance to be maybe twenty feet.
And that, I decided, was plenty close enough.
My hand was already in my pocket. I moved it slowly.
I turned around. Slowly. Calmly. In my outstretched right hand was a slice of warm corn bread with a chunk of butter still melting in the middle.
And there she was.
Just standing there.
A banshee.
Every hair on every spot of my body stood on end.
She appeared to be a tiny woman, naked save for a liberal coating of dirt and spider-webs. I don’t mean a woman of small stature-I mean a human woman who had grown to full size and then been somehow shrunk down to a stature befitting a child. I’ve seen trick mirrors at Yule houses that can either shrink or enlarge reflections. The banshee might have stepped out of the former.
Except for perhaps her ears. In the dim light, and under all that matted hair, I couldn’t be sure, but it looked as though her ears might be pointed, as those of the Elves were said to have been.
Her hair was the color of dusty hay. It was wild and matted, encrusted with spider webs and leaves and twigs. Her eyes, though, were big and bright and blue.
I looked into them. The ghost of the huldra let out a scream that nearly brought my hands to my ears. But it made me look away, and that spared me the experience that had nearly overwhelmed Gertriss.
I fixed my gaze on the tiny woman’s filthy chin. Her face was a mask of indifference.
No fear, no anger, no emotion whatsoever. She just stood there, halted in mid-step, watching me with those wide blue eyes.
“I’ve never met a person of your lineage before,” I said. “What do I call you?”
She tilted her head and eyed me quizzically, but neither spoke nor howled.
“My name is Markhat. Do you have a name?”
Again, a blank stare. A vagrant breeze arose, and carried a whiff of her scent to me. I had to fight not to gag. I’d have to tell Mama banshees weren’t strong proponents of bathing.
My banshee kept staring. But she still wasn’t running.
I laid the corn bread and the napkin down on the ground and took three long steps back away from it. The corn bread was mashed a bit, but the butter had melted into it and the smell was heavenly. “Well, I’ll call you Buttercup for now. Is that all right with you? May I call you Buttercup?”
I heard voices from the House as Marlo and Gertriss brought out the servants. The banshee heard them too.
She just-left. Vanished. I saw only the briefest suggestion of movement, and then there was just an empty spot where she’d stood. No footfalls, no sound at all. I couldn’t even guess at the direction she might have taken.
I didn’t even notice, at first, that the hot buttered corn bread was gone too.
She’d left the napkin, but not a crumb.
I scanned the shadows.
“Good night, Buttercup.”
An owl hooted. A couple of dogs began to bark. People and torches began to fill the night.
“Next time, I’ll bring a biscuit.”
I bowed and turned and grabbed up the torch and drew Toadsticker just for show.
Gertriss was at my side in mere moments.
“I saw her get very close to you-did you see her? Did she try to hurt you?”
“When we’re inside.” People streamed past, all in hurry. Half were armed with the contents of Lady Werewilk’s basket of mayhem, and I hoped no one managed to cut off a finger or a toe before they put themselves to bed. A few were still chewing, not content to let a night of leaping ladies and menacing banshees put them off Lady Werewilk’s generosity.
Gertriss nodded. “If anyone did any surveying out here tonight they did it in a hurry, and they didn’t set out any stakes.”
I nodded and returned a few good evenings and set a leisurely pace back to the gaudy red doors.
“The night, as they say, is still young.”
“I had Lady Werewilk start some fresh coffee. Will I be taking the first watch, or will you?”
I smiled as we crossed the threshold of House Werewilk and the massive doors slammed shut behind us.
“You’ll have the first one. But all you’ll do is listen for the dogs, and you’ll wake me up if you hear them. You won’t go outside. For any reason. Is that clear, Miss?”
“I won’t go outside. I’ll wake you if the dogs raise a ruckus.”
“Good enough.”
The House was quiet. I could hear Lady Werewilk speaking to someone upstairs, but that was it.
“She told the lot of them that anyone not in their bed by the time we got back would be leaving for good in the morning.”
“And they obeyed?”
Gertriss nodded. “She meant it. Even the drunk ones could see that. Too, she was holding a bow at the time.”
“That does sometimes serve to emphasize one’s point.” I used Toadsticker to gently pry a pair of snoring hounds off the nearest couch before I flopped down across it myself. “I’ll be right here, Miss, sword in one hand and lightning in the other. Don’t let me sleep more than three hours.”
Gertriss nodded and was off, her eyes alight with the same youthful zeal for her new duties that I imagined I once wore.
Age takes it toll, though. I was sound asleep before either of the dogs dared join me on Lady Werewilk’s poor abused settee.
Chapter Nine
The night passed uneventfully, if one discounts the inherent discomforts of sleeping with restless canines and keeping one hand on the hilt of one’s newly acquired enchanted sword.
Gertriss and I traded watches every three hours. If Buttercup made any furtive dashes toward more of Lady Werewilk’s corn bread, she did so without alerting the resident dogs or Gertriss and her Sight.
I hadn’t told Gertriss about my trick with the corn bread yet. I told her most of the truth-that the banshee had simply stared at me, and then vanished without so much as a goodbye shriek. I decided I wouldn’t talk about any table scraps, unless they appeared to be luring the banshee within grabbing distance. I could just hear Mama cawing about the folly of feeding banshees from one’s pocket, and believe me Mama doesn’t need anything new to caw about.
We did talk about other things, though. Gertriss agreed that Weexil’s timely vanishing act was probably related to our arrival, and not just to coincidence. I couldn’t get much more than a vague description of what Gertriss had seen when she was out on the roof-ledge trying to loop a rope around Serris. According to Gertriss, Buttercup had just appeared behind them, standing there on the tiles as easy as a blue-jay. And then she’d turned those big luminous eyes on them, and let loose her trademark banshee howl.