by N. D. Wilson
“His sleep is merely deep,” the woman said.
Penelope put her fingers against Richard’s neck. “His heart is barely beating.”
Nimiane raised her head and sniffed. “These are all the gateways?”
“What about Richard?” Anastasia asked.
The woman turned on her sharply, then slowed herself and smiled. She stretched out a slender arm to touch Richard.
“There it is,” Penelope said. “It’s beating faster now.”
Nimiane turned back to the cupboards. “These—cupboards. How are they used?”
“I thought you were from one,” Anastasia said.
“Yes,” the woman said. “I found the way in. It was very small, but I passed into the darkness to question some of the eldest, and it was my own father who told me how to pass through the small ways. So I have come and so I will go. But the boy Henry must have another way. He could not know such magic.”
“We don’t know how it works,” Penelope said.
“We’ve never done it. Mom just told us that Henry and Henrietta were stuck in them.”
“I think you spin the knobs on the middle one,” Anastasia began. Penelope shot up her eyebrows behind the witch’s back and shook her head. Anastasia stopped. Penelope was backing slowly toward the door.
“Go on,” the witch said.
“That’s it.” Anastasia shrugged. “I think you spin the middle ones.”
Nimiane shifted her cat, lifting it higher, and then stretched out a hand, running it over the doors. “Childish,” she said. “So clumsy. You are behind one of these, young pauper-son? The blood of Mordecai, hidden in a cupboard?” She raised her hand and spoke a strange, rough word. The doors all flew open, and Anastasia’s ears popped.
Penelope grabbed Anastasia by the wrist and dragged her out of the room. They reached the top of the stairs too quickly and slid most of the way down on their backs.
“Children!” the woman cried, but they hit the landing, staggering into a run. The black cat dashed between them.
“Mom!” Penelope yelled. “Mom!”
The two of them burst into Grandfather’s room, the cat with them. Anastasia ran into the bed while Penelope slid to the floor.
Blake rose from where he had been sitting by Dotty’s head and charged the sickly cat, yowling. Dotty lay crumpled on her side next to Frank. Her skin was pale and her lips were blue.
“Mom?” Anastasia said. “Penelope! Are they dead?”
The black cat retreated to the landing and Blake followed. Penelope crawled to her parents. She didn’t answer. The two sisters could hear footsteps on the attic stairs.
Anastasia rushed to the door. “She’s coming, Penelope!”
“Shut it,” Penelope said, but Anastasia didn’t. “Shut it!” she said again.
“Blake! Come here!” Anastasia turned and grabbed Blake by the loose skin on his neck, hurried into the room, and shut the door behind her. Then she stuck her finger in the doorknob hole and pulled. The door wouldn’t open.
Penelope pressed fingers into her mother’s neck. After a moment, she moved to her father. “They’re alive,” she said. “Can you hear anything?”
Anastasia stuck her ear to the door. Penelope rolled Dotty onto her back and brushed her mother’s hair out of her face. Dotty’s eyes were open, but her pupils were no more than tiny points.
“No,” Anastasia whispered. “I can’t.” Then she jumped back, tripped on Frank’s foot, and fell on the floor.
The door rattled in its frame.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Zeke was walking. He had his glove on his head, and he was holding a wooden bat in his left hand. In his right, he tossed a baseball. He would drop it onto the bat, let it bounce, and catch it. Then he would drop it, bounce it twice on the bat, and catch it. Then he would drop it, bounce it as many times on the bat as he could, and lunge for it when it hopped off to the side. His record was thirteen while walking, twenty-two stationary. He was walking to Frank and Dotty’s house to find Henry. It was early, but he wanted to hit for a while and still have time to take Henry outside of town to the abandoned Smythe farm. Before the daily game started, he wanted to show him the old car in the horse stall and the rusted-out tools in the loft.
When he reached the steps to the front porch, he stopped. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and the ball skipped off the side of his bat into the grass. He bent over, picked it up, and continued on to the porch. He could hear the phone ringing inside. He opened the screen door and knocked. Then he opened the front door.
“Henry? Mrs. Willis, is Henry here?” The phone kept ringing. Zeke stepped into the house and looked around.
“Mrs. Willis?” he yelled again. A black cat ran down the stairs in front of him and stopped about three steps up. It sat, and stared. Zeke yelled again, this time louder.
“Mrs. Willis?” The phone stopped ringing, and he heard something upstairs. He stepped onto the bottom stair and listened. The cat didn’t move.
“What?” he shouted. He thought he could hear one of the girls yell something back. He’d better wait a minute. He didn’t just want to walk right up. He reached down to scratch the cat’s ear, but there was a large bald spot, an oozing sore on its back that wrapped down around its side and chest. He didn’t know how he’d missed it. The cat didn’t have a collar.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here,” he said. “Mrs. Willis would probably take you to the vet if we had one, but I’m not as nice.” The cat opened its mouth and hissed at him. Zeke stepped back, then he held his bat out over the cat and tapped it on the back.
“C’mon,” he said, and tapped it again. The cat turned and tried to run up the stairs, but Zeke flipped it onto its side and dragged it writhing down the stairs with the bat on its belly. At the bottom, it flipped quickly back onto its feet and tried to bolt around him. Zeke kicked it, herding the cat with the bat and his feet toward the front door. He leaned over, pushed the screen door open, and tossed the cat onto the porch with his foot. He let go of the screen door, and it slam-rattled shut as the cat collected itself and jumped back toward the house.
Zeke expected the cat to run away, but it stood on its hind legs, clawing at the screen and staring at him with angry eyes. Zeke rubbed the scratches on his calf and shin, then turned to look back into the house.
“Hello?” he yelled up the stairs. “Can I come up? Is Henry here?” This time he heard a voice from somewhere, muffled but much clearer.
“Don’t come up!”
“Is that you, Penny?” he asked, but the phone started ringing again. “I’ll wait,” he added, and then sat on the bottom step, listening to the phone. But he wasn’t patient. When the ringing stopped, he stood again and looked up the stairs.
“I’m coming up!” he yelled. “Just through to Henry’s room!”
“Don’t!” It was Anastasia.
“Why not? Is Henry here?”
“No, he’s not!” It was Penelope’s voice.
“Anastasia?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’s your mom?”
“She’s up here, too.”
“Are you okay?”
Anastasia didn’t answer. Neither did Penelope. Then one of them screamed.
Zeke ran upstairs.
Penelope and Anastasia sat on the floor by their parents. Dotty’s breath was rattling in her throat. Frank breathed easily, but a pool of blood grew in the carpet at his side. The door boomed and rattled again.
“You are young to know how to shut a door so well. Has someone shut it for you?”
Anastasia crept to the door, put her eye to the small hole, and looked out, directly into the eyes of the black cat. The woman was holding the cat to the door. She laughed. Then she coughed, and it didn’t seem that she would be able to stop. But she did, and when she did, she spoke again.
“Your blood is familiar to me, but it is not strong enough for this magic. I have met your sister, and she was weak. She is with the boy Hen
ry?”
Anastasia opened her mouth to answer, but Penelope poked her and put her finger to her lips.
“You do not need to answer me,” the witch said. Her voice was harsh. All sweetness was gone. “Henry’s blood is stronger. Just a little of his life has given me much.”
The door rattled again. Plaster on the wall cracked. “And I’ve known your mother. I met her before she grew old and fat. Her weak blood runs in your veins. Francis was bolder. We will see if she wakes or if the sleep keeps her. I remember your grandsire, though the earth now chains him. I even knew your mother’s grandsire for a little while. It has been long since your family disturbed my mother’s rest in the cold darkness, but it is always your family.
“I thought the way had been lost, but disturbance came again. Where is the boy Henry that pricked me? I do not smell him.” She grew silent. The girls could hear the phone ringing downstairs.
Anastasia put her eye back to the door and saw the woman bend down and place the cat on the floor. The cat, crouching, hurried down the stairs.
“She doesn’t know what the phone is,” Anastasia whispered to Penelope. “She sent the cat downstairs to find out.”
Then the woman coughed, and Anastasia saw her face.
She had no eyes. Where her eyes ought to have been were swollen sores, red against her white skin. Around the sores were the trailing scratches of fingernails. Her head was shorn near-bald, but the stubble of her hair was dark.
Anastasia heard the front door open and the screen door slam. Someone was yelling.
“It’s Zeke,” Penelope whispered. “He shouldn’t come up. She’ll gas him to sleep or something.”
“Penny,” Anastasia said. “She doesn’t have any eyes. She must be blind. Is that why she can smell us?”
“Don’t come up!” Penelope yelled. Then the two of them sat and listened. They could hear Zeke yelling for their mother.
“He didn’t hear you.”
“Don’t come!” Penelope yelled. “Up!” she added. They both listened.
“The phone stopped ringing,” Anastasia said. “Do you think he answered it?”
“Zeke wouldn’t answer somebody else’s phone. I hope he leaves.”
“Penny, do you think she was lying about Mom maybe not waking up?”
They both looked at Dotty, breathing slowly on her back. Blake was lying on her stomach.
“I think Mom will be fine. I don’t know about Dad. There’s a lot of blood—coming from his mouth, too—and I don’t know what to do.”
They heard Zeke again. The cat was hissing somewhere. Blake walked to the door, and Anastasia stood up and stuck her ear against it. She pulled back quickly.
“The door’s hot,” she whispered, and she ducked down to peer through the hole again. This time she couldn’t see through it. It had been plugged.
“What is Zeke doing downstairs? He really should go.” Penelope yelled again while Anastasia looked for something to poke through the hole. The screen door slammed downstairs. The phone was ringing again.
“Penny, I think she’s trying to burn the door down.”
“Don’t come up!” Penelope yelled.
“Stop worrying about Zeke,” Anastasia said. “We have to figure out what we’re going to do.”
“I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“Because you like him,” Anastasia muttered.
Penelope wheeled on her. “Everybody likes him, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t want a witch to gas him.”
“Because you love him.”
“Stop it, Anastasia!” Penelope’s voice hardened. “This is not the time.”
Anastasia sniffed. “We have to figure out what we’re going to do if the witch gets the door open.”
“Well, there’s nothing really that we can do,” Penelope said. “She won’t get it open. Dad never could.”
Anastasia dug her little finger into the keyhole. “Dad isn’t a witch.”
“Yeah,” Penelope said. “But he used a chain saw.”
“I’m coming up! Just through to Henry’s room!” Zeke’s voice was loud and clear.
“Don’t!” Anastasia yelled.
“Why not? Is Henry here?”
“No, he’s not!” Penelope yelled.
“Anastasia?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’s your mom?”
“She’s up here, too,” she said.
“Are you okay?” Zeke shouted.
The girls heard a scraping behind them, and Blake jumped off Dotty. One of the windows was open a crack, and the black cat was squirming through it. Penelope screamed, and Anastasia ran to the window and pushed it down. The cat’s howl mixed with Penelope’s while Anastasia pushed the window back up and tried to shove the cat’s head out. It bit her hard on the hand and dug its front claws into her wrist and pulled itself in. She shook her arm out the window, but the cat was wrapped around it. Then Blake was wrapped around it as well.
Anastasia jumped up and down beside the window, jerking her arm as the catfight climbed around it. The two cats flew off and out the window and rolled down the roof over the front porch. Anastasia looked at her bleeding arm, then watched as Blake broke free and ran back toward her. When he was in, she slammed the window hard, sat down on the bed, and tried not to cry. Blake was already relaxed, licking his own slight wounds next to her. The black cat pressed its face on the glass of the window, turned, and left.
“Who are you?” Zeke asked. The woman stood on the landing and smiled at him. Her hair was long and black and seemed to be catching all of the light on the landing. Her pale eyes were the loveliest gray, or green, or blue, that he had ever seen. But there was something strange about them.
“I’m the girls’ godmother,” she said. Her voice was lovely. He wanted her to talk more. “I’m staying for a little while.” Zeke stepped up one more stair, but her eyes didn’t follow him. Not at first.
“Why didn’t you say anything? I was yelling.”
“Were you?”
“Yeah.” Zeke stared at her. She was perfect, but he didn’t think he would like it if she tried to touch him.
“Is Henry here?” he asked. “I heard the girls screaming, so I came up. Why didn’t they want me to?”
“Oh, they were being bathed and the cat startled them.”
This made no sense at all to Zeke, but he didn’t argue. “Is Henry here?” he asked again.
“I wonder? I was looking for him myself. I have something for him. Come here, and I will give it to you. You may pass it on when you find him.”
“Zeke?” Penelope’s voice came through the door. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Zeke said.
“Is the witch gone?” Anastasia asked. Zeke looked at the mutilated door to Grandfather’s room and then back to the beautiful woman. She was still smiling.
“Your godmother’s out here.”
“What?” both girls said.
“Your godmother.”
“She is not!” Anastasia yelled. “Run, Zeke, quick! She’s a witch, and she’s already gassed Mom and Richard, and Dad’s hurt!”
Zeke stepped back down another stair. Again, the woman didn’t notice. She turned from the bedroom door and smiled toward where Zeke had been standing.
“We’ve been at all sorts of games today,” she said, and then she started laughing. Her laugh was extraordinarily pleasant. Zeke couldn’t leave. But then she coughed, and his stomach tightened. She coughed again, and this time he saw clearly. The woman’s hair was gone, and he didn’t know what had happened to her eyes. But it was only a moment. She was laughing again, and beautiful. He stepped quickly up the rest of the stairs and onto the landing. He put his back to the wall across from her, next to the attic stairs, and watched, trying not to breathe. He was gripping his bat. The woman smiled even more broadly, put a finger to her lips, and looked where Zeke had just been standing.
“Do you know—” she began in a whisper, but stopped. Her nostrils flare
d only slightly, and then she turned her head slowly, faced Zeke, and poured her smile out on a spot on the wall just beside his head.
“Do you know of any other way into the room?” she whispered. “They have locked me out, and if I do not find a way to catch them, then I have to mix them a lamb pudding. Perhaps Henry could help? We could go find him together.” She took a careful step toward Zeke, and then another. He slid slightly to the left. He saw her nose twitch, and she adjusted her course. Then he slid back, and one step later, she followed him. She was too close to him already, but he waited.
“Some openings,” she said, still smiling, “require boy’s blood.” Her hand, holding a small knife, flicked out toward him. He hopped up onto the attic stairs and jumped down behind her. He bumped into her as he jumped, and her arm swung out and around, but too slowly. She no longer tried to hide her flaring nostrils as she spun around, sniffing until she faced him.
“Wretch,” she said. “Torturing my cat—my eyes. One sliced finger is all I need, but I’ll slice more than that. I’ll store you deep in the darkness, where they only feed on faeries. You’ll be left alive enough to feel it.”
Zeke was still backing up in front of her. He had both hands on the bat, and this time he was going to swing. But she stopped.
“Faeries?” she said to herself. “Faeries?” She laughed. “My mind has been too long wandering if I have missed a closing spell of the faeren.” She turned from Zeke and stepped toward Grandfather’s door.
Henry opened his eyes and spat out Henrietta’s hair. Air was moving on his face. That hadn’t happened since the two of them had crawled into the cupboard. Henrietta, still sleeping, shifted beside him. It was less dark than it had been, but it still wasn’t light. He was extremely stiff. He levered himself up onto one elbow and twisted to look down past his curled body.
His feet were near the open side of the cupboard door. Through it, he saw the ruined hall, empty, decayed, and lit by daylight. But that’s not where he had felt the air. The air had been on his head, in the dark end of the cupboard.