Darkling Green

by Kim Thompson

  No one had heard from Miss Trang since the snow started, but one afternoon she opened her bedroom door and started across the front hall toward the parlour. By now she was moving so slowly, it looked like the trip would take two or three days. Willa was worried about her. Her skin was weirdly shiny, you could see the faint shapes of scales in it, and her face seemed long and stretched, her eyes pulled back to the sides of her head, but nobody else took any notice of these changes. They simply stepped around her and carried on with their business.

  One day Willa entered the house, stepped around the chandelier and promptly tripped over a large creature lying on the floor. Willa put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream as she scrambled away from it. She sat for a moment, her back against the wall, staring at it in horror. It was about the size and length of a cow, but it was covered in scales and tapered to a long tail. Its head was tucked out of sight, and its body rose and fell gently as it slept on. Willa took a deep breath and stood on shaky legs. She tiptoed to the foot of the stairs and leaned over until she could see the creature’s face. With a start she realized it was Miss Trang.

  Miss Trang’s face had stretched into a long snout, though her grey hair remained, still pulled into a bun at the back of her head. Hibernation had left her in semi-dragon, semi-human form. Willa found it creepy, but Horace said it was perfectly normal.

  “Hibernation. Standard reptilian behaviour, nothing to be worried about. Happens every winter,” he assured her.

  Thankfully, Miss Trang wasn’t full dragon size, but she was still as big as a sofa and formed a significant obstacle in the hall. The dwarves worked as a team to shift her closer to the wall so that Belle could get her wheelchair around her to enter the parlour. Everyone else walked around or clambered over her. Nothing, not even being stepped on, disturbed her sleep, and soon Miss Trang’s inert figure on the floor became as familiar as a piece of furniture.

  Chapter Four

  Wintry shenanigans

  The snow continued to fall, despite Horace’s hand-wringing and embarrassment. As the town got used to the weather, people emerged from their houses to enjoy it, especially the neighbourhood kids. Tengu joined them, organizing the children into two armies, with fortifications and a large snowball arsenal.

  Over the next week, Tengu tumbled in at dinner time soaked and frozen — feet numb, snow down his neck, his ears and nose red, and his eyes bright. The more he played with the kids, the younger he seemed to be. He’ d sit on the comatose Miss Trang while Willa pulled his boots off, and entertain her with lively stories of the day’s exploits.

  “They call me the General,” he told Willa proudly.

  On Christmas Eve, after a big dinner, the dwarves served up eggnog and hot toddies in the parlour. Simple holly garlands were strung everywhere; they were even draped over the snoozing form of Miss Trang in the hallway, and a string of lights ran over her shoulders and across her snout. Willa was nervous about what she might think if she woke up, but she showed no signs of doing so.

  Lit by the fire and candlelight, good cheer prevailed. Horace sang in his quavery voice about desert sands. Tengu shared some haiku he’d written. Mab floated in the middle of the room and sang a song of knights and ladies and courtly love. Emboldened by the rum toddies, Robert performed a soft-shoe dance routine, during which only one small end table was crushed. Baz didn’t usually go in for performing, but tonight she climbed up on the back of the sofa, stood on one foot, and balanced three cups and saucers on her nose. The fact that they then fell and smashed only added to the fun. The dwarves took turns reciting stanzas of a very long and gruesome epic poem about warriors dismembering monsters and vice versa.

  As the candles burned low, Belle ended the evening with a song, during which the whole group fell into a contented silence. The song was quite long, but the next day Willa could not for the life of her remember what it was about. She suspected Belle had put them into a trance.

  As she walked home that gorgeously dark wintry night, Willa knew her mom and dad would have enjoyed the gathering, if they hadn’t declined the invitation. Just as Belle would have turned down an invitation to Christmas dinner at Willa’s house the next night, if Willa’s mom hadn’t already vetoed the very idea of inviting her. Belle and Mom would not forgive and forget, and get over their history.

  At least Grandpa was there. Willa had always felt close to her grandpa, ever since she was a little girl spending blissful summers with him at the seashore. The sight of his sunbaked face, his bright blue eyes, and unruly mass of white hair brightened even her darkest day. As Willa and her parents laughed at Grandpa’s stories over dinner, Willa reflected that she had, in effect, two warm, loving families, and that just made her feel lucky. Not only that, but as she watched her mom giving Grandpa a goodnight hug at the front door, she had a sudden flash of understanding about Mom’s resentment toward Belle. Didn’t Belle break up what close family she had, while Mom was just little? How would she herself feel if her mom just disappeared for no reason, leaving her and Dad on their own?

  One day in early January, as Willa was scattering salt on the sidewalk to keep it from freezing over, Mrs. Norton came along, skittering a baby carriage over the bumpy ice. The Nortons had recently moved into a house across the street and a few doors down, and Willa knew they had a houseful of kids, from baby Everett all the way up to high school age. Mrs. Norton was a small woman with dishevelled hair and kindly, tired eyes. Willa had often helped her carry groceries into the house or round up her kids if she saw she was having trouble. Now Willa stepped up to help her steer the carriage on the ice. Inside, the baby gurgled happily.

  “He’s so smiley and quiet,” said Willa as little Everett grinned up at her.

  “Sure he is, now!” sighed Mrs. Norton. “But as soon as we get in the house he starts to fuss. And I’ve got all the laundry to do today!”

  “If you like, I could look after him while you do your work,” suggested Willa.

  Mrs. Norton brightened at the thought. “You babysit?”

  Willa glanced back at Eldritch Manor. “Yes, I do,” she answered with a grin. “I’ve got lots of experience, though not with babies, exactly.”

  “Everett’s very easy, apart from the fussing. He just gets restless and needs to be entertained. His brothers and sisters used to take turns minding him for me but they’re all so busy lately…. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all! It’s no problem. I’m here every day after school. Just bring him over whenever you need a break.”

  Mrs. Norton beamed. “Oh, Willa, you’re a godsend! Thank you!” She handed over the diaper bag. “I’ll come for him in a couple of hours!” she called over her shoulder as she hurried away.

  Willa pushed Everett up and down the street for a while and then took him inside to warm up. As they entered the parlour, Mab looked up from her knitting.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Little Everett from down the street.”

  Mab flew closer to get a better look. This made Willa nervous. “Are you sure it’s okay to let him see you?”

  “Babies always see fairies,” answered Mab. “We like to visit very wee humans. When they get older, they forget all about us.”

  Everett’s eyes went wide as saucers at the sight of her, and before she could react, his pudgy fist shot out and grabbed her.

  “Everett, no! Let go!” exclaimed Willa. Mab gave him a sharp little zap. He flinched and opened his hand, though he didn’t cry. Mab continued her inspection, circling at a safe distance.

  “Everett. What kind of foolish name is that?”

  “It’s his name, Mab. I like it.”

  Mab leaned closer, staring into the baby’s eyes, and her expression softened. “I shall call him Evling. Evling. Evvie wevvie bevvie boo! Wuvey dovey boy!”

  Willa stared. This was a side of Mab she’d never seen before. Sulky she had seen,
as well as haughty, outraged, spiteful, and wary. But coochie-cooing? Never!

  Willa looked after Everett for a couple of hours, two or three times a week. Whenever Mab heard Everett’s gurgly laughter, she came out to play peekaboo. She even nestled onto his pillow and sang lullabies. She had a knack for lulling him to sleep even in his crankiest moods, which made Willa uneasy.

  “You’re not magicking him to sleep, are you? I’d rather you didn’t,” she said one day, but Mab paid no attention.

  The snow continued to fall. Mab refused to go outside, but the other fairies took to winter with glee. Fashioning bulky coats from moss and dandelion fuzz, they seemed impervious to the cold and devoted themselves to inventing new and ever more dangerous winter sports. They began sliding down snowbanks on a dead leaf, then took to leaping from high branches and plunging into the high drifts. Willa suggested once that Mab should go out and join them, but Mab was horrified at the thought of dressing up in a snowsuit. Willa admitted the bulky clothes made the fairies look like puffballs, but they were having such fun. Mab harumphed and disappeared into her wasp nest.

  When the excitement of jumping into snowbanks wore off, Willa was shocked to catch them bumper-shining: flying up behind cars on the road, grabbing onto the back bumper, and hanging on for dear life as the car slid and skidded down the icy road. Willa called a halt to that one right away.

  “What if you were seen? Or hurt? We wouldn’t be able to find you, and … and …” This appeal had no effect on them, so Willa asked Mab to ban bumper-shining as “inherently unfairylike,” and that stopped the practice.

  “Goodness gracious,” muttered Willa. “Why can’t you just busy yourself with drawing those pretty frost patterns on the windows? And putting hoarfrost on the trees? I thought that’s what fairies did all winter.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes at that. “So last century!”

  January and February passed quite agreeably. Miss Trang snoozed on in the hallway, serving as a convenient bench for taking off one’s boots. Everyone stayed cozy, and naps were frequent. Even the dwarves slowed in their work and spent the afternoons snoring in their hammocks. Willa walked to and from school in the soft whiteness of winter and did her homework in the quiet of the sleeping house.

  The first of March dawned frosty and cold, with no sign of spring in sight.

  “This is beyond my doing,” Horace maintained. “Spring will come when it’s ready, I suppose, and not a minute before.”

  It was another two weeks before Willa saw what she considered to be a real sign of spring. As she swept the snow from the porch, she had a sudden sensation of being watched. She looked up to see a small dark shape on the front walk: a brown hare, standing up on his hind legs and giving her a serious look. As Willa stared, he dropped down onto his four paws, but not before she caught a glimpse of gold at his breast.

  Willa didn’t know Roshni was around, but there was a sudden silent flash as the bird streaked down, and before the hare had time to react, Roshni had snatched him in her claws and lifted him into the air.

  “Roshni!” hollered Willa. “No!”

  Surprised, Roshni let go, and the rabbit dropped heavily to the ground. Willa ran up, not sure what to do. He lay on his back, panting heavily. Around his neck he wore a golden chain with a sun-shaped pendant.

  Roshni landed nearby and paced, her head hung low. Willa positioned herself between the rabbit and the bird.

  “I’m sorry, Roshni. I know you’re a carnivore and everything, but this rabbit seems … different somehow. I mean, look! He’s wearing a necklace.”

  At this the hare clapped a paw over it and gave her an indignant look. He leapt to his feet and bolted from the yard. As he paused in the street, looking back at her, his face broke into a wide, loopy grin. He took a wild leap into the air, twisting crazily, landed on four paws, and dashed from sight.

  “Mad as a March hare,” said Willa thoughtfully. It was an expression of her grandpa’s that she’d never quite understood until this moment. Roshni nuzzled her beak under Willa’s hand. “Oh it’s all right, Roshni. You didn’t know. That was no ordinary rabbit, so it’s just as well you didn’t eat him.”

  Willa gazed down the street and felt a warm breeze on her cheek. It did feel like spring all of a sudden, and she felt restless. She felt like leaping up in the air for no reason, just like the rabbit.

  Mad as a March hare, she thought again, and took Roshni inside for a less bloodthirsty snack of raisin scones.

  Chapter Five

  An unexpected visitor

  Willa soon forgot all about the strange rabbit. There was new excitement afoot, as the fairies had cooked up a very special event for the Spring Equinox: the first annual Eldritch Winter Games. It started out as the Fairy Winter Games, but Tengu and Robert declared there should be events for normal-sized individuals as well, and they joined the planning committee. Willa wasn’t sure about the details of the games, but she was kept busy with fairy requests for fabric, bits of wood, scraps of plastic, paint, toothpicks, plastic wrap, tiny wheels, pillows, and all sorts of miscellaneous items. Excitement grew as the big day approached.

  “This is going to be the biggest event of the year, next to Walpurgis Night,” said Baz enthusiastically.

  “What’s Walpurgis Night?” asked Willa.

  Baz squinted at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Willa shook her head. Baz rolled her eyes. “Humans are so clueless.” And she wouldn’t say another word about it.

  The Winter Games fell on a cold, overcast Saturday. Willa came over in the morning, opening the front door and ducking reflexively under the chandelier before realizing it was suddenly a full foot above her head. Not just the chandelier — the ceiling itself was higher. The main hall seemed to be expanding upward.

  Nothing surprises me about this place anymore, she thought with a smile, as she stepped around Miss Trang into the parlour. The house was quiet and empty, but she could hear hoots of laughter and cheering coming from the backyard. Willa peeked into the bowl on the mantle and was glad to see a healthy bundle of knitted scarf.

  Good, Mab has been keeping up, she thought. She stood in the sunshine of the parlour, breathing in the silence, and had a sudden strange feeling that the peace would not last long. She sighed and went out into the yard.

  The spectators were gathered: Belle in her wheelchair and the others in lawn chairs, everyone bundled up in mufflers and blankets. They were all looking down into the empty pool. At one end, a snowdrift sloped from the edge of the pool down to the bottom, where a slick of ice stretched to the opposite end of the pool. Here the fairies were skating, an entrancing sight as they swooped and twirled about. All was quiet at the moment save for the thin sounds of fairy fiddling and the scrape of skate blades on ice. The music and skaters swept to a dramatic finish, and the audience erupted in applause. Then followed an awkward moment as the judges couldn’t agree on a winner. There was an argument over whether the best leap of the competition — Honeycup’s jaw-dropping 3,240-degree rotation in midair, nine complete turns — had been aided by wing flaps, and whether or not that should be allowed. The spectators chimed in with their opinions, and finally Honeycup’s jump was allowed and she received her gold medal.

  Next was a thrilling mouse-sled race along a sharply curving course cut through the woods. The tiny animals threw themselves into the race with abandon; behind them the sleds bounced and crashed along, the fairies hanging on for dear life. At every corner, a fairy or two was flung right off, to the delight of the crowd. Every mouse completed the race, but the only fairy still on board at the finish line was plucky little Bergamot, so she was declared the winner.

  A target had been painted on the stable wall for the Sharp Things Target Shoot. This event was, of course, Tengu’s brainchild. The object was to hurl any sharp object at the target from the other side of the yard. Tengu, Robert, Baz, and four of the dwarves compete
d, though they were too impatient to properly wait their turn, so there was a steady, terrifying volley of darts, knives, forks, axes, ninja stars, swords, picks, arrows, and corkscrews flying across the yard in the general direction of the stable. All spectators fled the scene, preferring to watch from the safety of the kitchen window. When the competitors ran out of things to throw, the stable wall was such a scarred mess that no clear winner could be determined, despite much grumbling from those involved.

  Willa moved with the others back to the pool for the bobsled race. She saw Horace gazing up at the sky and looked up to see the clouds bubbling and breaking up, slipping away at great speeds to reveal clear blue sky.

  “That’s weird,” muttered Willa, taking her place poolside.

  Eight bobsleds, carved from smooth driftwood and each holding three fairies in walnut shell helmets, lined the pool’s edge, at the top of the snowdrift that sloped down to the bottom of the pool.

  Sarah flew around searching for a good vantage point, finally settling onto Willa’s shoulder. Willa eyed the racers with concern.

  “Are they all going at once? I thought bobsleds usually went one at a time.”

  “Oh, this way is quicker,” said Sarah. “And more exciting.”

  “What happens when they hit the ice at the bottom? Has anyone tested this course?” Willa asked nervously.

  “I have no idea!” Sarah grinned.

  When all the teams were in place, Mab, wrapped luxuriously in a robe that looked suspiciously like dryer lint, stepped up to call the start.