13 Curses (22 page)

He faltered, looking up through the trees.

“Until thirteen years ago, I never knew for certain whether my father had something to do with her disappearance. I had to trust that he didn’t, despite the rumors and sly comments as I was growing up. Sometimes I felt angry, and other times, ashamed. There were few people in Tickey End who didn’t judge or ignore me, and I’d decided to leave as soon as I could. But then I met someone.” His frown eased suddenly. “Someone wonderful. A girl named Evelyn, who ended up becoming the mother to our son. So I
stayed. Everything seemed bearable suddenly—it didn’t matter what strangers thought. But then thirteen years ago everything changed.

“Florence knocked on my bedroom door one night in a panic. She’d just returned from visiting her newborn granddaughter, so I couldn’t understand why she was so distressed. She should have been happy, or so I thought. She said she had a story to tell me, an unbelievable story that involved my father, and that I was to listen without interruption. I promised her I would—then immediately broke my promise by laughing in her face when she said that the missing girl’s disappearance had to do with fairies.

“I nearly walked out then and there, but something in her voice made me stop. I started to wonder if she was mad—she seemed to genuinely believe in what she was saying, and I had noticed fairy books in her library before. Then she offered to show me, and thinking no such thing was possible, I agreed.

“Into the fire she threw a black feather, and muttered an incantation. We waited, and she told me of how the girl, Morwenna Bloom, had vanished into the fairy realm, leaving no trace of her whereabouts. How she eventually craved to be released, and turned her hatred against Florence. I was still unconvinced, but then a large, black bird landed on the window ledge outside. It was let in, and within seconds morphed into a woman who wore a black, feathered gown. I stumbled backward in shock… almost fell into the fire. But finally, I believed her.

“But the story didn’t finish there. It continued with Tanya. Florence had seen that Tanya had inherited her ability—the fairies were all around her. And she knew then that she had to distance herself from Tanya, in order to prevent her from becoming a target for Morwenna’s revenge.

“I listened to all she was saying, but I still didn’t understand what she was asking of me. Then her reasoning became clear. My job as groundskeeper was now secondary. My primary task was to protect the house and patrol the woods to guard against whatever might come out, searching for Tanya.”

“You mean, protect the house against fairies?” Red interrupted.

He nodded.

“How would that work if you can’t see them?”

“That was what I argued to Florence. But I soon discovered other ways to see them. Following Florence’s instructions, I visited the old gypsy woman who lives in Hangman’s Wood. She gave me a small vial of tonic with which to anoint my eyes. It was a temporary solution but an effective one. I used it that very moment, before journeying back to the manor. The things I saw in the woods astonished me—and terrified me. Suddenly knowing that these creatures, these
things
, were all around. Unseen. Watching and listening. I hurried back to the manor as fast as my legs would carry me, and locked the potion away. I told Florence that I couldn’t do it.

“I expected her to be angry, yet all I saw on her
face was sadness and disappointment, which somehow made things worse. I couldn’t sleep that night. Instead I turned things over in my mind. The injustice of how my father had been treated, and the thought that Tanya could be in danger. I knew I couldn’t turn my back on them. I also knew my life had changed. There was no going back.

“The next day I took the vial out. The potion had worn off by then, so before I could change my mind I used some more. Even in the house, there were fairies. On that first day, Florence showed me the ones that resided there with her permission. Any others, she told me, were to be removed—taken back to the woods and forbidden to return.”

“She allowed fairies to live in the house?” Red asked, deeply entrenched in Stitch’s tale now. “What were they like? Are they still there?”

“Most of them,” Stitch answered. “One or two have died since, of old age and in… accidents.”

“What kind of accidents?”

“Cat-related accidents,” he said. “But most are still alive and, well, making nuisances of themselves.” He frowned a little. “I don’t know why Florence allows it, really. I’ve always told her she’s too soft with them.”

“Tell me about them,” Red persisted. She was curious to know how the strange old house functioned, with its inhabitants both fey and human.

“Well,” said Stitch. “There’s a hearthfay in the kitchen. She helps keep pots warm, and keeps an eye
on them to make sure they don’t boil over. Then there’s the brownie in the tea caddy—waste of space, if you ask me. Used to be helpful for a few drops of cream. Now he’s more likely to sour it if he’s disturbed—he’s always asleep, you see.”

Red smiled. “Go on.”

“There was a drain-dweller, like a thieving magpie, it was. Anything shiny or glittery and it’d take it—”

“I’ve seen one of those!” Red exclaimed. “It used to come into the bathroom in the children’s home I was in! It ate the hair and soapsuds that collected in the drain.”

“In Tickey End?” Stitch asked. “It could have been the same creature that came to the manor—it used the network of drains to move around.”

“Is it still there?” she asked.

Stitch’s eyes clouded with regret.

“No. The cat got it. By the time I heard the commotion it was too late.” He pulled a silver bracelet from his pocket. “Funnily enough, one of the things it stole was a charm from this bracelet. It was in the sink of Tanya’s room when I was doing my repairs before she came to stay. Then I found the bracelet yesterday morning…. I was going to fix it for her, as a surprise.”

Red glanced at the bracelet. She remembered seeing it on Tanya’s wrist, and had thought it an odd choice for a young girl. She told him so.

“It was Florence’s to begin with,” Stitch said. “Passed down through the family, from the first owner
of the manor.” He eased the bracelet back into his pocket.

The trees became knitted more closely together now. Stitch led the way, with the colt following and Red close behind. The forest was eerily silent; only the sounds of the horses’ breaths and treads found her ears.

“It’s too quiet,” she murmured. “Eldritch said this part of the forest is called the Dead Wood. How long before we’re out of the woods?”

“Hard to say. A couple of hours, maybe. Once we find the border, we’ll rest awhile.”

A rattling sound above broke the silence, causing them both to halt. Red’s head snapped up. She knew that noise. It set the hair on the back of her neck on end like the hackles of a dog.

“Did you hear that?” Stitch whispered.

She saw it hunched on a branch overhead, watching them. The gargoyle. Stitch saw it a moment later.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know,” said Red. “But I saw it before falling into the Hedgewitch’s trap. It was screeching….” Her mind reeled with a sudden realization. “It was looking out for her—telling her when something had gone into the trap.”

As though it had understood, the gargoyle bared its teeth and hissed. It lifted its wings and launched itself at them, swooping with a snarl.

“Go!” Stitch yelled, but before either of them could spur their horses on, the gargoyle was jolted backward,
only inches from Stitch’s horse. It screamed and flew at them again, only to be jerked back once more.

“It’s chained up,” Red breathed. “Look, there on its leg.”

The gargoyle’s ankle was in an iron shackle, tethering it to a long chain secured to the tree. The chain rattled as the creature moved, and finally Red understood the source of the noise.

“It was a spy for her,” Stitch said grimly.

The gargoyle made a chattering sound, rather like a jackdaw, as they began to move away.

“Be careful,” called Red. “The trap must be close—it was just beyond a fallen tree trunk.”

“I see it,” Stitch answered. He diverted his horse around the trunk, avoiding the trap, and Red followed.

They continued onward with little conversation. Soon they found a path, and once on it they could talk again, for there was room enough for them to ride side by side.

“So, you told me about the fairies that are allowed in the house,” said Red. “What about the ones that weren’t?”

“There weren’t so many at first,” Stitch said. “Just the odd one or two, coming in out of curiosity or to scavenge scraps of food. Most of the time they were seen off by the cat, if not the other fairies—territorial, they are. We started to believe we were safe, Florence and I. Then, one weekend when she was about six months old, Tanya was brought to stay.

“We knew it was dangerous for her to be in the
house, and Florence had tried to discourage it—but it was unavoidable. We took precautions, always dressing her with her clothes inside out, and, whenever possible, in red. Florence refused to let Tanya out of her sight, even moving her crib into her own room. On the second night I was awoken by a shout from Florence’s room. I rushed to investigate, unsure whether it was something fey, or perhaps a burglar. I could hear Spitfire hissing and spitting from inside.

“As I entered the room, I saw Florence standing by the crib with Tanya in her arms. She was plainly scared out of her wits. Something was sitting on the side of the crib, watching Tanya—but because her nightclothes were inside out it couldn’t touch her. When I came in, the creature was startled. It tried to escape up the chimney, but it knocked against the poker, which fell and trapped it. All at once, it screamed and the room filled with the smell of burning. As I ran over, I realized that it was the flesh of the fairy, searing beneath the iron poker. When I lifted the poker, it escaped.

“The next day I ordered a knife crafted from iron. It’s barely left my side since. After that, Florence was terrified to have Tanya in the house at all. She even hid all the photographs of her. But the damage was done—the secret was out that Florence had a grandchild with the second sight—and the fairies kept on coming. I began to build iron cages to hold them in. A few days of imprisonment persuaded most not to return. Others needed further convincing.”

Red’s skin prickled as she wondered what level of “convincing” Stitch might be capable of.

“So they continued to come,” Stitch said. “And I continued to hold them at bay.”

“And your family?” Red asked. “Did you tell them what was going on?”

Stitch’s hands clenched the reins of his horse tightly.

“No,” he said. “They never knew a thing until recently. I hid it all. Then my son discovered everything.”

“What about your wife? Surely he couldn’t manage to keep it a secret from his own mother?”

A look of anguish crossed Stitch’s face. “No. Evelyn never knew. I’m sure Fabian would have told her, if he’d had the chance. But by the time he found out about the fairies, his mother had been dead for seven years.”

He looked at her with damp, bloodshot eyes. “If she’d known, she might still be alive. It was the not knowing that got her killed.”

Stitch’s words hung between them like cobwebs. He lowered his head, his expression haunted, and sank his fingers into the mane of his horse, combing through the coarse strands of hair. Red waited for him to continue. Already, she sensed that this was a matter he had not spoken of in some time—if at all.

“Actually,” he said hoarsely, “that’s not completely true. The fact that she knew nothing of fairies… it was a factor in her death. But the truth is that she wouldn’t have needed to know about them if I hadn’t been involved. The fairies would never have come near her if it hadn’t been for me.” He disentangled his fingers from the horse’s mane and took hold of the rein once more. “So the real truth is that I’m to blame. She died because of me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Red said softly.

Stitch smiled grimly. “I’ve had seven years to think about it. It
is
true, no matter which way I look at it. I’ve always known. I’ve just never said it… out loud before. I thought I could protect her. I was wrong.”

“What happened?” Red asked.

Stitch paused to swig some water from his flask.