“Hmm,” said Florence. She pursed her thin lips, then began loading laundry into the machine.
“Warwick, could you take a look at the guttering by Amos’s room at some point today?” she said. “I think it’s coming loose.”
Warwick grunted his acknowledgment.
Tanya wondered again how two such miserable people as her grandmother and Warwick had managed to live under the same roof for so long without killing each other.
“This house is falling to pieces,” said Florence, slamming the washing machine door.
“Then move somewhere smaller,” said Fabian, shoveling bacon into his mouth at an impressive speed.
Florence looked uncomfortable. “This house has been in the family for decades.” She poured herself some tea from the pot and sat down at the table.
“I think a nice little cottage would suit you,” Fabian continued, with a maddening grin. “One made of gingerbread.”
He was swiftly dealt Florence’s most withering look, while Tanya almost choked on a mouthful of eggy bread.
“Don’t get lippy,” Warwick growled.
Tanya felt a stab of annoyance. It seemed that the only time Warwick ever paid any kind of attention to Fabian was when he was scolding him. For the first time, it occurred to her that a substantial amount of Fabian’s behavior might simply be a device for gaining his father’s attention. His insistence of using Warwick’s name certainly demanded it—and also provided a means of lashing out at him.
A small whine came from under the table, and Tanya lifted the tablecloth and peered beneath. Oberon was sitting in front of her grandmother with his head on her knees.
“You like it here, don’t you?” Florence murmured, fondling the dog’s silky ears. Oberon gave a contented little groan. Florence smiled faintly and reached over to one of the drawers to remove a dog biscuit from a packet she had bought especially for him. Oberon gently took it and proceeded to crunch away happily from under the table. Tanya watched jealously. For some reason, Oberon plainly adored Florence.
“Finished,” Fabian announced. He let his cutlery fall to the plate with a clatter and got up from the table, his cheeks full with a huge mouthful of food.
“Oh, no you don’t,” said Florence. “For goodness’ sake, Fabian! You look like a hamster. Sit down until you’ve finished properly.”
“I have,” Fabian insisted, his eyes bulging as he swallowed painfully. “See?” He moved toward the back door, and Tanya’s own food got stuck in her throat as she saw what he was about to do. In plain view, Fabian began rummaging through the coats hanging on the kitchen door. He frowned as he took his father’s coat off one peg and transferred it to another, but in the process he knocked several coats—Warwick’s included—to the floor.
“What are you doing now?” Florence snapped.
“I can’t find my jacket,” Fabian said. “The gray one. I thought it might be hanging up here.”
“It’s in the closet under the stairs, where you always leave it,” said Florence, clearly puzzled. “I saw it yesterday. What do you want a jacket for in this weather anyway? Really, Fabian. I don’t know what’s got into you this morning.”
“Neither do I.” Warwick stood up, boots in hand. Suspicion was all over his face.
“Nothing.” Fabian replaced the coats back on the door and skipped back to the breakfast table. Tanya saw his face and relaxed. Fabian had succeeded. She caught his eye and the two of them shared a look; it was the kind of look children wear when they know they’ve gotten away with something.
At the same moment, Warwick and Florence also shared a look. Theirs was the kind of look adults wear when they know that somehow they have been well and truly hoodwinked, but are clueless as to the how and why, and know only that there’s absolutely nothing they can do about it.
The summer thunderstorm had cleared the air, and the day was bright and warm, but still scented with the rain that had fallen so heavily the night before. Soon after breakfast, Tanya and Fabian filled six garbage bags with hair and hid them beneath the bed once more.
Already, Tanya was concerned about how she would go about disposing of it without it being discovered. Tanya’s instinct was to burn it in the fireplace in her room, while Fabian had suggested throwing it into one of the catacombs where it would never be found. Both presented problems. Burning the hair would be time-consuming and risky. If smoke was seen coming from the chimney in the middle of summer it would no doubt raise Florence’s and Warwick’s suspicions. And to get back into the woods was proving difficult enough as it was, let alone without the added problem of carrying six heavy sacks of hair. In the end she decided that burning the hair was her best option—and that once again, the cover of night would be needed for such a task.
It was early afternoon by the time Tanya was finally alone. After much talk of Mad Morag’s curses on various townsfolk, Fabian shut himself away in his room, music blaring from the other side of the door. When he had gone, Tanya sketched a detailed plan of the house on a scrap of paper. Beneath the diagram she scrawled a short message:
MY ROOM, ANY TIME AFTER MIDNIGHT. I WILL HAVE THE THINGS YOU ASKED FOR, AND I WANT WHAT WAS PROMISED IN YOUR PART OF THE BARGAIN.
She folded the note twice and pocketed it. She would slip it through the secret door behind the bookcase, along with another supply of food and water for Red to find.
She lifted the loose floorboard beneath the carpet and retrieved the list Red had given her. She scanned through it, mentally calculating the cost of each item. Unfortunately, she had little or no idea about the price of many of the things on the list.
Her eyes wandered to a small wooden box on the dressing table. It contained the twenty-pound note that had been dropped by the man on the bus who had tried to buy the compass. She had stuffed it inside the box as soon as she’d gotten home that day, and it had remained there ever since, untouched.
It took three attempts for Tanya to pry the lid off the little wooden box to retrieve the money. When she did, she discovered not a crisp twenty-pound note bearing the Queen’s face, but rather a large brown leaf curled tightly into a roll in much the way money does after it has been wedged in someone’s pocket. Other than that, however, the box was empty.
16
A heady fragrance of shampoo filled the air as Red emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her head. With her freshly scrubbed face and gleaming green eyes, she looked like an entirely different person from the grubby miscreant whom Tanya had encountered only a few nights earlier. Now, in the warmth of the softly lit room she appeared almost wholesome and decent, and even closer in age to herself than Tanya had originally thought.
“Is the baby all right?” she asked, peering anxiously at the child sleeping peacefully on Tanya’s bed. “He didn’t wake up, did he?”
Tanya glanced at the changeling, watching his tiny chest rise and fall with each breath. His cheeks had but the merest hint of color, which had only become apparent once the two girls had bathed him carefully and quickly, washing away several days’ worth of dirt.
He had allowed them to wash him without complaint, all the while watching them solemnly with his huge black eyes. Afterward he had fed hungrily upon the warm milk that Tanya had smuggled up to her room in a flask, then fallen into a deep, exhaustive slumber almost immediately, not stirring since.
“He’s asleep,” she said.
Red sat down on the bed, pulling Tanya’s bathrobe around her more tightly. “I’d almost forgotten what a hot shower feels like.”
Tanya handed her a tote bag full of items. She had spent most of her afternoon buying them in Tickey End using the money she had found in the pocket of her raincoat. “Here are the things you asked for… well, most of them. I didn’t have enough money for everything on the list.”
Red poked through the contents of the bag with her long, delicate fingers.
“That doesn’t matter. I can see you got what was most important.”
From the bag she with
drew two items, a cheap toothbrush and a box of hair dye. Quickly she skimmed the instructions, then glanced at the shade Tanya had selected. It was mousy and dull, somewhere between dark blond and light brown.
“Bland, average, and forgettable. Perfect.”
She ripped the box open and removed the contents, then pulled on two thin plastic gloves. Next, she connected the dye to the bottle of developer and shook the bottle until the fluids mixed, slowly becoming grayish in color.
“I see you managed to get ahold of some newspapers,” she said, eyeing a pile on the dressing table. “How far back do they go?”
Tanya gathered the stack in her arms and set them down next to Red.
“Back to the day you took him. My grandmother hoards newspapers for lighting fires with, and I bought a couple in Tickey End too. There’s a local one there as well as the national ones.”
“Anything in them?”
Tanya lowered her eyes, nodding.
“I’ve folded the pages over of everything I’ve found. There are six articles total, all of them in the national papers… except this one.” She pulled a three-day-old Tickey End Gazette bearing what appeared to be a gravy stain on the front from the selection. “It’s not good.” She flicked to a few pages in, then passed the newspaper to Red, who stopped shaking the plastic bottle and began to read.
Her lips moved soundlessly as she followed the words on the page. The article was a short one, but by far the most incriminating that Tanya had seen. As well as labeling Red a ruthless, coldhearted kidnapper, it had issued a detailed description of her from an eyewitness: sixty-six-year-old Rosie Beak, the owner of Tickey End’s most successful teashop and the town’s biggest gossip.
Red finished reading and nodded thoughtfully.
“So they know I’m in the area. What I look like. What I’m wearing. That old battle-axe. She seemed the nosy type, asking questions about everyone and everything. Gossiping with every person who came through the doors. Good thing I left when I did.”
She got up from the bed, pulling the towel off her head. Tanya followed her to the bathroom and stood in the doorway. Red leaned over the basin and began to rub the dye into her hair. For the next twenty minutes Tanya watched her, speaking distractedly of the morning’s events with one nervous eye fixed on the bedroom door. She was fully aware of the terrible risk she was taking by having Red in the room, and of the consequences if anyone should find out.
“So how did the fairies get your hair?” Red asked.
“What do you mean?”
Red stood up straight, piling her hair on top of her head, and then took off her gloves. “To do something on that scale—to enchant your hair in that way—they must have had some of it.” She paused and gave Tanya a suspicious look. “When you brush your hair, what do you do with the stray hairs that get caught in your brush or comb?”
Tanya looked away sheepishly. She did not want to admit that leaving hairs in her brush was a bad habit of hers.
“Show me,” Red snapped. She took Tanya’s elbow and marched her back into the bedroom, where Tanya guiltily pointed to her brush on the dressing table.
Red stared at it in disbelief.
“Disgusting. You might as well have sent them a written invitation!” She grabbed the brush and began pulling Tanya’s hair from it in clumps.
“You don’t leave your hair lying around for them to find. You get rid of it, right away.”
“All right,” said Tanya, bewildered. “I’ll… I’ll throw it away.”
Red shook her head. “Wrong. You don’t throw it away. You destroy it. You burn it. The same goes for anything else that they could use to control you.”
“Like what?”
“Blood. Saliva. Fingernail and toenail clippings. Teeth. All the stories of witchcraft, of people being controlled by a witch in possession of a lock of their hair or a tooth—it all stems from the truth. You don’t leave anything to chance.”
From her pocket she pulled out a box of matches, lit one, and placed it carefully in the empty grate of the fireplace. Then, with a flick of her hand, she threw a tangled ball of hair from Tanya’s brush to the flame. It was swallowed immediately with a hungry hiss, leaving the little match to burn out.
“I think my mother has some of my baby teeth,” Tanya said slowly. “But you can’t burn teeth, can you?”
“Anything you can’t burn, you bury,” said Red. “Either in a bag of salt or on consecrated ground. If you cut yourself, burn any tissues you may have used to wipe up the blood along with any bandages or dressings. Don’t lick envelopes. Use water. Clip your nails straight into a fire. Do whatever you can to protect yourself.” She paused. “What did you do with the hair you cut off?”
Tanya pointed to the bed. “It’s under there, in garbage bags. I thought burning it would be the best way to get rid of it—I was waiting for a chance to do it without being discovered.”
Red bent down and began pulling the sacks out from beneath the bed. “It’s not a question of the best way,” she said grimly. “It’s the only way.” She used her knife to slit a hole in one of the bags, and pulled out a handful of hair, which she handed to Tanya along with the matches. “Burn it. Now.”
Tanya threw the hair into the grate and set fire to it. It fizzled and hissed, eaten by the flame in seconds. She reached into the sack and pulled out another fistful, repeating the process, then looked on dismally as Red removed the sixth and final bag from beneath the bed. Tanya gestured helplessly. “It’s going to take hours to burn it all.”
“I suggest you get on with it, then.”
Tanya shoved another pile of hair into the grate. “How… how do you know all these things, Red? How come you know so much, and I know so little?”
Red shrugged. “Most of it I learned from others—
others like us. The rest I learned the hard way—from experience.”
“I want you to teach me what you know,” Tanya said. She gestured to the tote bag of items. “I’ve kept my side of the bargain. Now it’s your turn. I want information—I want to know what you know.”
“I can’t teach you everything in the time we have,” Red said. “But I can teach you a little. The good news is that you already know many of the things that are most important. You know about changelings and the link to the second sight. You know a little about glamour. And you know of ways to protect yourself. But to really understand the fairies’ connection to us, we need to go back to the beginning. So that is what I will do now.
“The fairy realm is ruled by two opposing courts, the Seelie Court and the Unseelie Court. The Seelie Court is known to be the most benevolent, or helpful, toward their own kind and to humans, whereas the Unseelie Court is known to be vicious and cruel. Each court detests the other, yet each must tolerate the other in turn.”
“But how can the realm be ruled by two opposing courts?” Tanya asked, pausing to wince after letting a match burn down to her fingers. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“They take turns to rule,” Red answered. “They are bound to honor an old agreement that ties in with a little-known legend. The two courts were once one great court made up of the thirteen wisest and most powerful fairies in the realm. Upon its formation, each leader put forth a special gift of great power that was to be bestowed predominantly upon the human race whenever—and upon whomever—the court deemed worthy. These gifts were known as the Thirteen Treasures.”
Tanya frowned. The words sounded familiar… then she remembered the book from the library. It had mentioned the Thirteen Treasures, but the goblins had scrambled the contents before she’d had the chance to read it properly.
“They were the Halter, a ring that would render its wearer invisible,” Red continued. “Glamour, a mask of illusion to fool an onlooker for as long as one wished. The Light, a magic candelabrum that would never diminish. Next, the Sword, which would allow only victory and never defeat. The Book of Knowledge would open to answer any question the reader might want answered. A
Key that would open any door, including doorways to other worlds. There was a Goblet, said to bestow eternal life on any who should drink from it. A Platter that would remain full, never allowing its owner to go hungry. A Staff for strength; the Dagger, dripping blood that could heal any wound. There was a Cup of divination. A Heart of courage. And finally, the Cauldron, which could restore the dead to life.
“The power of each gift could be given freely by its maker, provided that the rest of the court was in agreement that the recipient was deserving. From the beginning, one of the treasures caused unease and excitement in equal measures: the Cauldron. Six of the members of the court agreed that death should be respected, not toyed with, and pointed out the chaos it would create if it could be reversed. The remaining seven members—including the Cauldron’s creator—believed that if a life ended prematurely—the life of a child, for instance—then the Cauldron was a way to give the deceased another chance, as well as easing the pain for those mourning.”
Red paused momentarily to check her watch.
“Another ten minutes and I need to wash this dye out. Don’t let me forget.”
“I won’t,” said Tanya, impatient to hear the rest of the story. “Go on.”
“The stage was set for a division in the court,” Red continued. “And it came to pass when the Cauldron’s creator was fatally wounded by an arrow fired by a human. The court split into two. Six members pressed for the death to be reversed, declaring war and hatred upon the human race. The other six refused to let it happen. Without a united decision from the appointed court, the Cauldron, like the other twelve treasures, could not be used.
“Neither side of the court would back down, each believing their stance to be correct. As the division grew, the chances of reconciliation diminished. Bitter negotiations took place. Eventually, a compromise was reached. There were to be two courts, each ruling for one half of the year as they wished, with no intervention from the other side. The Thirteen Treasures remained in the great court, forever unused, for neither court could bring itself to consult with the other to gain a united agreement, such was the intensity of their hatred.