The sheep were shaking.
“You know that to mess with me is to mess with…” She didn’t need to say the last word, but she said it anyway. “Death.” She drew out the th a bit.
“And even if it’s not your time, if you annoy the messenger, then I can make…changes.” She spoke slowly like it tasted too good on her tongue to let it go. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
The sheep shook their heads.
It was beautiful the way this small hare had petrified these mean sheep. I’d never seen anything like it. I’d heard that Rory was such a great caregiver. It made me realize that everyone who’d ever said that the worst thing you can do is to anger a mother were absolutely correct.
In a blink, the squatter sheep were gone.
“That was spectacular!” I said eventually.
But Rory just sat there, on top of the table, looking exactly like the rabbit she’d claimed to be, the messenger of Death. You remember the books the Magician read to you, don’t you? Watership Down with that creepy Black Rabbit of Inlé? I supposed Rory did, too.
“Rory?” I said.
She said nothing.
“Rory!” I said.
Slowly she turned toward me and hissed.
I was more than a little worried.
I skulked along the edges of the room to the door and quickly fled to the woods behind the house.
“Bann? Hecate? Wat?” I called.
Only the night breeze answered me. And I couldn’t understand the language.
“Please!” I called. “It’s Rory, she needs help!”
I heard a rustling.
Please, please, please let it be someone who will help, I thought.
“I’m friends with Rory!” I called again.
There was more rustling, and maybe whispering. At least, I was hoping there was whispering.
Then, without speaking to me at all, the squirrel, the owl, and the weasel made their way to the house.
They shut the door behind them.
I tried the handle. Locked.
I wondered how four animals without hands would be able to lock a door.
Magic has a smell, you know. Just like the animals said.
And there were all sorts of magical smells coming from the house.
And then there was a voice inside the house.
“Well done, rabbit,” it said. I raced back over to the window. “I’d been wondering how to get rid of those nasty sheep. And look, you and the lad cleaned up the place for me.”
The voice was as crackly as an old piece of paper, and the person it came from looked old and crackly as well. I’d not seen her in the house before, not at all. She was…creepy. She looked like a witch—not a magical person like your mother, but an ancient warty trickster, with eyes so tiny, they almost weren’t there. And the way she reached out and pet Rory gave me the shivers. I beat on the window to get Rory’s attention, but the blind slid down.
Then all of the blinds were closed.
I yelled and yelled for Rory.
A voice answered my calls. Maybe. It rode the wind, but it wasn’t the voice of the wind. It was Rory’s voice, but at the same time it wasn’t.
“Go away, Boy. I don’t need you anymore. Go home.”
So I left.
“You left her there?” I cried. “You just went home and left her?”
“She said she didn’t need me, so I left, but I didn’t go home,” he said. “I’m not allowed to go home until…well, let’s just say there are things I have to do first. And, Albie, you fall into that category.”
I wasn’t ready for him to change the subject from poor Rory. Still a rabbit, and maybe captured by some witch, this seemed unlikely, but I don’t think the Boy had much reason to lie.
And there was something familiar about the way he described that witch.
I really hoped that Bann, Hecate, and Wat were able to help Rory.
My heart was so heavy.
Caragh sighed and shook her head.
The Boy said, “So, pretty much I’m a failure in my mission to ferry you rabbits to your destinies. Albie, you’re the last one, my last chance. And you’ve got this cockamamie idea that your destiny is to get all your sisters together, save the island, and rescue the Magician. The island is already sinking. You felt it. It can’t be saved. Your plan is unreasonable. You have to agree.”
I didn’t say what was in my mind to say, which was no. The word just sat there, like a lump in my throat.
I just wanted…I just wanted someone to hold me.
I looked at the Boy. I’d never seen him so down.
Caragh was on the verge of tears again.
Sometimes a person needs a hug.
And sometimes a person needs to give a hug.
Without words or intention, we all ended up in a hug.
And though I’d never admit it to the Boy, that hug was everything I needed.
“Rory might not be like you remember,” said the Boy.
The wind and waves had picked up as we neared Cork. This I had expected. This was a little message from the Sea, I was certain. She didn’t think I should go back to Cork. That much was clear. But it didn’t matter. Rory was there, so that was where we needed to go.
Once we’d landed and made our way through the village and up the hill to our cottage, I could hear it.
The Howler, but this time it was different. Softer, more sinister.
Stop following me!
“I know that sound,” Caragh said. “I remember it from the island. It started when you turned us into rabbits.”
I had a very bad feeling.
“I see you’ve brought your friend,” said the Boy, covering his ears as the howling went from a whistle to a moan.
“It’s not my friend!” I yelled.
The Boy walked up to the house.
My house.
“Can you peek in a window or something?” I asked, being too small to do so myself.
But the Boy didn’t move. And as far as I could see, all the blinds were still drawn.
“Should we knock?” Caragh asked.
You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but every single one of my hairs was standing on end. The Boy reached for the doorknob and turned it without knocking. It was locked.
“Well, I would have locked it, too,” said Caragh.
Caragh knocked on the front door. “Rory? Rory? Are you there? It’s me, Caragh.”
The howling got louder.
Caragh stepped back.
“Something bad is going on in there,” I said even as I scampered off to the back of the house.
I knew what I had to do. The only person getting inside of that house was going to be me.
I hid behind the house, willing myself to change back into a girl.
“Albie? Where’d you go?” I heard Caragh calling from the front of the house, but I didn’t stop to answer.
I also didn’t change.
I remained a cursed rabbit. But that wasn’t going to stop me.
At the back of the house there was a small lead-paned window we always called the faerie window. Mum said we were being ridiculous, but we always kept it open so as not to insult any faeries who might want to visit. And it was still, just a crack, but I managed.
Once inside, the howling was more of a whistling, like an angry teakettle. I was going to call Rory’s name, but the rabbit part of me thought to stay quiet.
We rabbits are quite good at being quiet.
I scampered down from the window ledge as if my paws were made of marshmallows.
“Albie, I’ve been expecting you. What on God’s green earth took you so long?”
Rory was a girl again. But my big sister was supposed to be bigger than me (if I was a girl), but she wasn’t. There was no way on God’s green earth that she was supposed to be that small. Or frail-looking. Her hair, which she had always brushed until it shone, was tangled and scraggly on her narrow shoulders.
“Rory, what happened to you?”
&nbs
p; She smiled sadly and spread her thin arms wide. “Happy Christmas, Albie.”
Not only was my sister the size of an eight-year-old (she was twelve now, for goodness’ sake!), but the room looked like Christmas. There were garlands of pine and other evergreens intertwined with branches decked with ruby berries and leaves.
“It’s been ages since we had Christmas.”
I felt the heat behind my eyes. One of my last memories of Mum was that horrible Christmas in London without Papa, and then we lost her a few days later. She’d tried to make it happy for us, even though we spent so many nights down in the shelter.
“Come, come. Would you like some tea?” Rory looked too weak to lift a spoon, and the teakettle shook as she set it on the stove and lit the fire beneath it. “Do sit down. I’ve been waiting ever so long to see you again.” She sat at the table, catching her breath from the tea-making effort.
“Are you okay, Rory? You seem sort of…” I didn’t want to say sick, even though she did look sick, because I didn’t want it to be true.
“Oh, I’m fine.”
The howling had faded to a soft and mournful cry. I could almost ignore it. Almost.
“Do you hear that noise, Rory?” I asked.
“Hmm…Yes, I hear something…something. It reminds me of the island. Are you alone?”
How had I forgotten about Caragh and the Boy? “No! Oh, Rory! I’m not here alone, I brought Caragh!”
“Is she making that noise, then?”
I scampered down from the proper chair I’d been sitting in and leaped up to the front door with all my might.
“Here, let me help you with that, dearie.” The voice was directly behind me, nearly breathing in my ear.
It wasn’t Rory.
I jumped, of course, which is only natural for a rabbit, or anyone who’s just had the pants scared off them, I suppose. Not that I was wearing pants.
Whoever was behind me started laughing. Or cackling. Yes, it was definitely a cackle.
“Oh, you should have seen the look on your face!” The cackling turned into wheezing. And how could they see the look on my face from behind me?
“Albie, this is Bronagh. You remember Bronagh, don’t you?” said Rory.
I remembered her, all right, though I’d not seen her since she made us leave London and journey to Hybrasil.
Bronagh was maybe even older than the Magician, or so the wrinkles on her face seemed to say. And though she spoke like she still had all her teeth, I couldn’t really tell because her mouth was so ancient and puckered, it hid everything.
Her eyes were black and tiny, like a crow’s or some other type of nasty bird, except that they hinted at purple in the firelight.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance. Again,” she said, bowing to me sarcastically.
Bronagh was more awful than I remembered.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. Things were not at all right in Cork.
Bronagh and I sized each other up for a good long time.
“Why, Albie, don’t be rude! Bronagh is our guest.”
Bronagh gave me a smug look.
Rory continued, “We’re going to have Christmas.”
“But it’s not Christmas, Rory.”
“Oh, Albie. Of course it is.”
I didn’t really know if it was Christmastime or not. It was a summery day when the Boy and I had left Hybrasil—but most days on Hybrasil were summery. Here the air was heavy with the scent of pine.
At that moment, I remembered Caragh and the Boy waiting at the front door. I scampered over, but of course I couldn’t reach the latch.
“Bronagh, do be a dear and open the door for Albie. She’ll never manage it otherwise.”
Bronagh hobbled over to the door dramatically. Still smirking.
She opened the door, and Caragh flew in, racing to Rory. “Oh my dear, dear Rory! Is everything all right? I was so worried!”
She grabbed our sister in a long embrace. (Rory hadn’t embraced me.) They hugged forever. When they finally let go, Caragh went up to Bronagh and said, “Oh, Miss Bronagh, thank you for looking after my sister.”
“ ’Twas nothing,” she said.
Ugh.
Rory and Caragh, on the other hand, were oblivious, lost in their own conversation.
Then I noticed that Caragh came in without the Boy.
Scampering over, I tapped her foot and asked about him.
“I don’t know where he is, but he didn’t want to come in.”
A strange sensation came over me as I was scooped up by the ice-cold hands of Bronagh. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she whispered to me, her voice close to a snake’s hiss. I jerked around and flailed gracelessly to the floor.
“Seriously, Albie, you look more like a drowned rat than a rabbit. The salt water from the ocean has made your fur stiff and clumpy. Let Bronagh help you. She’ll brush you out nice and fine,” Rory said from the kitchen as I scurried in behind her.
I raced up the stairs, dodging Bronagh.
“Come back here, little sister,” Bronagh shrieked after me, but I didn’t look back. I could only think about going forward, up those stairs, as fast as rabbitly possible.
I’m not sure what I expected to see in my room. I’d never been the tidiest of girls, nor was I very good at packing—I’d left my favorite slingshot behind, after all—so I wouldn’t have been surprised to be greeted by a huge mess.
But everything was quite clean. Too clean.
Every trace of me had been removed.
“I didn’t think you’d mind sharing with Bronagh,” Rory called up from downstairs.
“Bronagh?” I squeaked out.
“Yes,” said the evil hag from right behind me. “We’ll be roommates.”
“What are you even doing here?” Rude, but I didn’t care.
“Oh, little rabbit, look how filthy you are!” she said, trying to reach for me, but if I was too fast to be caught by the Boy, I was much too quick to be snatched by an old lady.
“I asked you a question.” I tried to make my voice steely, a rabbit who meant business.
Rory answered breathlessly, having just come up the stairs.
“Bronagh was here when I came home. She’d come to check on the house for us, isn’t that kind of her? But then there was that problem with the sheep. She’d been so afraid, she’d bolted herself up in your room. The Boy and I hadn’t even noticed her.”
Bronagh smiled like she was some sort of angel.
“I didn’t know about your mother’s gift with magic then,” Bronagh said. “But I do now. I discovered some things while poking around. When dear Rory showed up as a rabbit, then changed into a girl, I knew she could use my help.”
How dare she poke my mother’s things!
“I picked this room because of the view,” she said. “I’ve gotten quite used to it. I tidied your things and put them in the closet. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course she won’t,” Rory answered for me. “Now, I’ve got things to do, much to get ready. Come on, Bronagh.” And with that, they left my room and went back downstairs.
Except it wasn’t really my room anymore, was it? I took my muddy paws and jumped all over my bed. Ha!
This wasn’t the reunion with my sisters I had planned.
I had imagined it often enough. All four of us back at our house. Together. We’d remember Mum and Papa and create a new life where they were never forgotten. And we’d have the Magician there as well. He’d sit in a rocking chair and tell the others how he was really their grandfather, and I’d pretend not to know so as not to ruin the surprise.
And we’d live…happily ever after.
But so far, Rory didn’t seem that happy to see me. No hugs.
* * *
No one noticed as I crept down into the parlor, behind the sofa.
“It’s not her,” said the creaky voice of Bronagh.
“Who?” said Caragh.
“The rabbit isn’t your sister. If she was,
she would have turned into a girl by now, wouldn’t she?” she whispered.
“She’s just not ready,” said Caragh.
“Or she can’t because she’s not your sister,” said Bronagh. “Even Rory doubts her.”
“Albie would have changed,” said Rory.
“Maybe Albie chooses not to.”
As happy as I was that Caragh was defending me, I had to admit I was bugged. Why hadn’t I been able to change yet? Of course, I tried again, there behind the sofa. Unsuccessfully.
“I’ve learned about these things,” Bronagh said, her voice somewhat threatening. “You’d be wise not to cross me.”
“And you’d be wise not to cross me.” Caragh’s voice was low and ice-cold. “I’ve been bullied once in my life, hauled around by my ears and forced into labor. I’ll never, not ever, be told what I can or cannot do by the likes of you.”
Caragh huffed off, up the stairs, and slammed the door for good measure.
“She’ll come around,” Rory said.
“Leave it to me,” the evil hag said. With her slumped shoulders and oversized sleeves, she looked like some sort of ancient bird.
I waited for them to go back into the kitchen so I could make my escape. Not that I knew where I was going. Not really, anyway. But I needed to talk to the Boy.
You would have thought I’d have expected the old woman to sneak up behind me and grab me by my ears. But a person, even a smart rabbit person, is sometimes at their dumbest when they are trying to convince others of how smart they are.
Quick as a faerie’s whip, Bronagh hefted me up and rushed me to the door of the cottage.
“I won’t let you ruin this for me,” she hissed. “I read your mother’s journals. I know about you girls, especially you, and your magic.” Then she threw me out the door and called, “You’ll be lucky if I don’t do worse to you or your sisters before this is over. If you ever come back, I will!”
With that, she slammed the door.
Outside, the howling was deafening. It was worse here than it had ever been on Hybrasil. This was a screechy sort of howl—the kind that itched your teeth and made the inside of your ears ache.
The Last Rabbit Page 12