Nieve

by Terry Griggs

  “Gone,” Gran had said, lips tightened. “But not forgotten.” Then she smiled just a little, and Nieve knew she was remembering Dunstan Warlock’s comeuppance. The silver car, driven to distraction by Warlock (he was a terrible driver) and honking like mad (bleep bleeping bleep!!), had chased him around and around Ferrets’ driveway and finally chased him right out of town. He might be running still for all they knew. Nieve figured he could use the exercise.

  She poured the boiling water over the tea leaves in the Brown Betty, then arranged it on a tray with the cups and saucers, spoons, milk pitcher and sugar bowl, and a heaping plate of oatmeal cookies crammed with raisins and nuts, Dr. Morys’ favourite. Tray-laden and dishes clinking, she carried it carefully into the living room. Dr. Morys started to get up from his chair by the hearth to help, but Gran beat him to it.

  “Jim,” she warned. “Rest! Doctor’s orders.” She took the tray from Nieve and set it on the coffee table. “Lovely, Nievy.” Artichoke, dozing at Dr. Morys’ feet, was immediately alert, tail thumping, and eyeing the cookies with interest.

  “Megrims, eh Nieve.” He gave her a quick wink. “Cunning and bossy.”

  “I’ll say,” Nieve grinned. “But guess what, I looked that word up, megrim. It means ‘headache’.”

  “Makes sense,” he nodded. “Given the ones I know.”

  “‘Whisht’,” scolded Gran.

  “Ow!” he pinched his brow theatrically.

  Artichoke, meanwhile, delicately snitched a cookie from the tray.

  “You know the stuff on Elixibyss’ arm that I thought was moss?” Nieve had been doing some research for her own newspaper, now called simply Lux. “It’s called grave scab, you get it from walking over the graves of unchristened babies, which also makes sense, because of what you told me about Elixibyss stealing Aunt Liz’s form after she died.”

  “Aye,” said Gran, grimly. “She was a fetch of sorts. They steal people’s appearances, but I’ve never known one to steal a child. In a way, awful as it sounds, she saved Lias. Stillborn, or thought to be, he was buried with his mother . . . and yet, ’tis unco, he had a tetch of breath left in him.”

  Nieve shuddered at the thought. No wonder Lias had such a fear of those bodies in the hospital. And it didn’t help that Elixibyss had always kept him teetering on the edge of death itself. Even though Nieve had been told the story a few times now, she understood why Gran had to repeat it. Saddened and appalled by her daughter’s fate, and her grandson’s, she was still trying to come to terms with it. “I’d no idea that our Liz was expecting when she ran away from home, blind fool that I was. Nor any idea of what became of her. Your mother never got over it, either, Nieve, losing her older sister.”

  “Then all this time later,” Dr. Morys added, “Sarah, Nora Mullein’s daughter, comes along with news of Liz. Or what she suspected had happened to her, and her imposter’s involvement with Twisden.”

  As Sophie had explained it, Sarah was a law enforcer in the area of unnatural law-breakers, a kind of paranormal police officer. Nieve found this incredibly interesting and wanted to do a piece on it for her paper, but Sophie had said it all had to be kept hush-hush. Which is why she herself had been so secretive, not even telling Gran when Sarah had approached her for help. That, and the fact that she was skeptical of the whole investigation, until she realized the danger Nieve herself was in. The eye-ring had allowed Sophie to infiltrate them, but she hadn’t fully understood its spying function. When she did, down the toilet it went. Let them spy that.

  “I never seriously bought any of this superstition business before,” Sophie had confessed to Nieve only days ago. “Gran’s hocus-pocus.”

  Nieve knew that she was buying it now, seriously, because that’s what her parents were doing in the city – stocking up on crystals and ‘magic’ wands and pointy witch hats for their new store downtown.

  “Junk,” Gran had grumbled when she heard about it, which Nieve had thought pretty funny, considering.

  Too bad they couldn’t locate any moly to sell, the plant that had provided the miraculous cure, not to mention the miraculous leafy shoes (which were no longer leafy, but back to being brown and dry and tucked into the crevice of Gran’s mantel). Professor Manning had explained, however, that moly was extremely rare and only to be found in ancient Greece. Well, no one was going there to pick some, that’s for sure.

  Sipping her tea, Nieve glanced up at the clacking mantel clock, which was now keeping ordinary time – the best time there was, in her view. Soon, she’d join Malcolm and Lias, who were helping to clean up the store, getting it ready for the grand opening on Friday. Then on Saturday was the wedding at the newly rechristened Woodlands. Professor Manning and Molly Twisden were getting married! Everyone was invited, including Sarah, who was thrilled not to be getting married. Lirk was invited, too – he’d been asked to spin some discs – although Nieve wasn’t sure if he’d show. After plastering on a special wrinkle cream that Professor Manning had invented, his face had turned bright blue. Malcolm told him that he looked like a Smurf, and Lirk had been so annoyed that he’d vanished on the spot. No one had seen him since.

  “Always thought that Twisden guy was a shady character,” said Dr. Morys, as Artichoke nabbed yet another cookie. “But, my golly, house theft, tax evasion, polluting, cruelty to animals (including the human kind), not to mention turning his wife into a coat rack. Not murder, but as good as. Or as bad as, I should say. He’ll be in the clink for life.”

  “Helps that Molly’s brother is a judge,” agreed Gran. “And a former chaise lounge.”

  “Didn’t take it lying down?” offered Dr. Morys.

  “Tsk, Jimmy,” Gran admonished, but chuckled nonetheless. “Nieve, more cookies, pet? Tea?”

  “Have to go help, Gran. Thanks, though. Be back for dinner.”

  “Bring Lias.”

  “If he’ll come. He’s getting . . . more and more restless. Can’t sit still.”

  Lias had been living at Nieve’s place, trying to get the hang of family life. Her parents wanted to adopt him officially, and Nieve loved having a ‘brother,’ despite all the bad things she’d heard about the species from female friends. Lias himself wasn’t exactly overjoyed with the idea. He liked everyone a lot, especially Sutton, who had been teaching him how to play baseball, but claimed they were spoiling him with all the good food, and comforts, and attention . . . and kindness, especially that. Something that only Weazen had shown him before.

  “So?” Nieve had asked. This was a problem?

  He shrugged. “It’s too nice, I’m not used to it. I’d rather be out roaming, free, ye ken. Not trapped, in school an’ all.”

  Nieve could understand that, the school part, although it was great to have Mrs. Crawford back in the classroom. “You just want to hunt for her, in whatever form she takes.” She knew he had terrible nightmares, she’d heard him crying out at night. But he never told her about them.

  “Maybe.”

  “Not maybe. You do. And you don’t have to, Lias. You’re not tied to her anymore. She has no power over you.”

  “Ah, phalanges.” Lias rubbed his hands together. “Splendid samples.”

  Nieve laughed. This is what Prosfessor Manning had said when he noticed the toe bones in Lias’ hand, all that remained of the toes that Elixibyss had sliced off his feet when he was a baby – not a laughing matter. She had used them to concoct some sort of binding – or bonding – spell. Her hold on him. She’d convinced him of it, anyway. Convinced him that there was no escape, no matter how many times he ran away.

  “Did the professor ever find his pipe?” Lias asked.

  “Doesn’t smoke. He only remembered later.”

  And at this they had both laughed.

  “Want me to read your teacup before you go, hen?”

  Nieve peered into her cup, blackened tea leaves clumped together ominously on the bottom. “Um, no, I don’t think so. Thanks just the same, Gran.”

  “How about a little jok
e then?” said Dr. Morys.

  “Okay.” He’d tell her anyway, no matter what she said. “Shoot.”

  He cleared his throat, and asked, “Now, why is it, do you think, that ducks fly south to Florida every year?”

  She smiled. How many times had she heard this one before? Ten? Twenty? But he had to tell it, he had to finish the joke he’d started so many weeks ago. “Gosh, don’t know, I give up.”

  “You do, eh? Well, because . . . it’s too far to walk!”

  He cracked up and Nieve’s smile widened. It was the best she could do, but she meant it.

  “I’ll tell you something else, Nieve,” he said, more seriously. “That’s what happened to me. When I was in that coma, the way ahead was like a long dark tunnel. I trudged on and on, thought I’d never get to the end. Then all at once I felt your hand touch mine. I turned and saw a light moving in the other direction, the direction from which I’d come, and that’s when I decided, what the heck, I’m going to follow it, I’m going back. That other way is just too darn far to walk!” He reached out and patted her hand. “Some other time for that journey, eh Nieve, some other time.”

  “Not soon, Dr. Morys. Please.” She glanced once more, worriedly, at the leaves in her teacup, and at the alarming pattern they were forming. “What would we do without you? What would Artichoke do?”

  “Artichoke?” He smiled at the brave and true friend resting at his feet, then reached down to scrub his head. “Why, he’d eat all the cookies.”

  –Thirty-Five–

  Amulet

  Nieve ran down the hill to town, fast. She knew she had to hurry, a bad feeling was crawling around in her stomach. As always, though, she loved the running itself. It felt great to be wearing her old runners, too, and booting along on her own steam. Feet pounding the ground, hair slapping against her back (Gran had picked out the knots), wind whistling past her ears. The leafy shoes had been an adventure, and she would never again run with such astonishing speed and ease – but she much preferred this. Besides, she was no slouch, and was on Main Street in no time.

  She waved at Mr. Exley as she peeled past his renovated store. He’d cleared out all the jars and boxes full of creepy stuff left behind by Wormius & Ashe (gone before Sarah could deal with them), and had opened an antiques business, claiming that he’d developed a real feeling for old furniture. As he returned her wave from behind the counter, Nieve noticed that he was wearing his “Rock On!” T-shirt. She wondered if his legs still creaked when he walked.

  Her parents’ store was next door. They’d taken over Dunstan Warlock’s bookstore when he hadn’t returned to town. His landlord, Professor Manning as it turned out, discovered to his surprise (and no one else’s) that Warlock hadn’t paid any rent in years. Good thing the professor didn’t pay much attention to mundane matters like money, Nieve thought. Her parents’ screwy business would need all the help it could get. As for grunt work, she and Lias and Malcolm had been packing boxes full of dusty old dog-eared books for days, cleaning the shelves, painting the walls, and getting ready for the first delivery of stock, which had been delayed. The opening was only a few days away and the store was still bare. It didn’t even have a name – nothing but a blank sign swinging above the door! (Gran had suggested they call it “Bats.”)

  She skidded to a stop and was about to go in, when Frances and Mayor Mary stepped out, laughing together about the upcoming wedding.

  “Nieve!” said Frances. “My compliments. You guys have done great work. The store looks fantastic.”

  “Thanks. I keep telling Malcolm to take it easy, though.”

  “Nah, he’s so happy, it’s been good for him.”

  “Think it’ll be ready in time?” asked Mary. “I must say, it’s a dandy new addition to the downtown. It’s bound to bring in some tourist trade. I was going to get rid of those quaint old street lamps, you know, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  Spoken like a mayor. “Oh yeah, one way or another, we’ll be ready.” She glanced through the window at Malcolm, who was polishing the antique brass cash register, a donation from Mr. Exley. “Even if we have to conjure stuff up with one of those magic wands my folks are getting.”

  “Ha! I’d like to see that,” said Frances, although she had seen more incredible things, especially during her rescue mission to Bone House. “Say, Nievy, I heard you were going to be the flower girl at the wedding.”

  Nieve made a face. “Molly decided to give the job to her revived Pomeranians. I don’t care, honestly.”

  “Cripes, I can just picture it,” Frances groaned. “Pure mayhem. If those yappy little mutts were mine, I’d be tempted to go the slippers route myself.”

  Mayor Mary started to edge away. “C’mon Fran, we’re late. Getting our hair done, Nieve.”

  “Yeah, Mary’s still trying to comb the cobwebs out of her hair, and I’m gonna get myself a beehive. Lotsa wildlife, eh?”

  “Good luck with the opening,” Mary said. “We’ll be there!”

  “Looking gorgeous,” Frances added, catching up with the mayor. “What’s the store going to be called, anyway?”

  “Can’t tell, it’s a surprise. See you Friday!”

  A surprise for everyone, including me, Nieve thought, pushing through the door and scanning the empty store. Empty except for Malcolm, who was playing with the cash register, pressing down the keys, pulling the crank on the side, and making the cash drawer zing open with a loud briiiiiiiing, then slamming it shut.

  It was true, what Nieve had feared.

  “Hey, Nieve!” said Malcolm. “This old machine is so cool.”

  “Mal, hi.” She was delighted to see him, as always, home safe and sound, but . . . “Where’s Lias?”

  “He went out. Said . . . um, said there was something he needed to do, he wasn’t sure how long he’d be.”

  “Right,” she grimaced.

  Malcolm gave her an apologetic look, and clutched at the arrowhead that Lias had returned to him. It was attached to a leather cord that he now wore around his neck – always. Although he had recovered amazingly well from his illness and from the abuse he’d endured, it had left him with more than a residue of anxiety. “Should I have tried to stop him?”

  She shook her head. “No point. I wish he’d waited to say goodbye.”

  “Maybe he thought you’d give him a blasting to keep him here.”

  “I might have,” Nieve couldn’t help but smile.

  “Look, though, he left you this.” Malcolm pulled down the crank on the cash register and the drawer sprang open again. He picked a small object out of an otherwise empty change compartment. “He said you didn’t need it, but he wanted you to have it anyway.”

  When Malcolm handed it to her, Nieve saw that it was Lias’ pewter amulet. She also saw, observing it more closely for the first time, that it wasn’t an abstract design as she had thought, but was roughly molded in the shape of a sun. When she folded her fingers over it, enclosing it in her fist, it felt as if something was scrabbling in her palm, as if she had captured a tiny creature. A spider, say.

  “Mal,” she said suddenly. “I know what to call the store.”

  “Yeah? Really?”

  “Amulet,” she smiled. “That’s it. Amulet.”

  He considered it, but only for a moment. “Yeah, really. Your parents are going to love it. It’s perfect.”

  “Why don’t we paint the sign?” she said. “Surprise them, everything else is ready.”

  “Let’s! Good idea. We’ll make a real humdinger, with loads of colour, it’ll be psychedelic.” Malcolm hustled off to the back room, where they kept a supply of paints and brushes and rags. “I’ll bring the ladder, too.”

  “Excellent. ” Nieve intended to follow, but moved instead toward the front door. Stepping out into the sunny street, her favourite street in the world, she gazed down it’s length, and far into the distance along the road that led out of town, the fields alongside still blackened with sun-scorched weeds. In the spring those field
s would be furred with fresh green shoots.

  As for Lias?

  Well, because she was a wait-and-see person, and not someone who jumps to conclusions, she decided that she’d just have to wait and see.

  But on the other hand . . . Nieve clenched her fist once again and the amulet dug into her palm, warm and spiky and maybe even lucky. She had a feeling he’d be back.

  Glossary

  A rickle of words drawn mainly from the Scots language, including some names for supernatural beings taken from British folklore. Many of these words have other meanings as well, but I’ve concentrated on the ones pertinent to Nieve. The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary is the source for most, while my not so short Glaswegian mother is the source for others.

  auld Shock: A Suffolk name for a phantom black dog.

  bawheid: Fool, idiot.

  Bloody Bones: A Cornish spirit who haunts holes and crevices.

  brag: A shape-shifting goblin. A headless, naked man.

  cunning folk: White witches, wise women or men, who practice beneficent magic. They are often consulted for a variety of services, such as finding missing persons or lost objects, herbalism, curing illness, making amulets, casting or breaking spells, and identifying those who practice malevolent magic.

  daft: Silly, stupid, reckless, wild, crazy.

  daylicht: Daylight.

  deil: The devil, an imp.

  dinna ken: Don’t know. (Which is to say, I do know that this means ‘don’t know.’)

  elf-shot or bolt: A flint arrowhead, regarded as an elf ’s weapon.

  fetch: A phantom who takes on the appearance of the person who sees it. It is said to be a death portent.

  flaught: A flying or flight, a flock of birds, fluttering or flapping, bustle, great hurry, shake, tremble, vibrate, a sudden gust of wind. forfare: Pass away, perish, decay. As forfared: Worn out with travel, age, etc.