window, pulled the curtains. “He really whistled up the wind this time.”
“Every time the queen turns her back, that piper of hers is off causing mayhem,” the Woodsman replied.
Jenny jerked herself awake, staring at the woman. “The piper?”
“Yes, the queen’s piper. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you quite well?”
Jenny pushed herself out of the chair. She couldn’t go back without him. Not now, not if there was a chance they thought— She couldn’t do that again. “He’s my brother. I think. I heard him playing. I came here looking for him. It has to be him.”
They both stared at her, their eyes intently studying her, their faces grim.
“Are you certain?” the Woodsman asked. “There’s a resemblance, to be sure, but—”
“It has to be him. No one could play like Tom. I heard him, in the trees. I followed him. That’s how I got here. But Jack just kept insisting I had to go back.”
“Hush now,” the Goodwife murmured. “All’s well. We won’t send you back if you don’t want to go, my dear. If it’s your brother you’re seeking, he’ll be with the queen. Always goes back to her in the end.”
Jenny’s legs wobbled beneath her. She sat down abruptly, the air rushing from her lungs. “Then he’s here. It’s Tom.”
They glanced at each other, a brief exchange of looks that could have meant anything.
The Goodwife stepped closer, reached out to stroke Jenny’s hair. “You need food and sleep, my dear. The rest can wait till morning.”
Jenny pulled the patterned quilt up to her chin and tried to get to sleep once more. The nightgown they’d given her was unfamiliar, old-fashioned, and either tangled around her legs or crept up far too high. Outside the little cottage, the wind hurled itself at the diamond-patterned windows and rain splattered heavily against the glass. Had Tom really caused this? Whistling up the wind, they’d called it. If anyone could do it, she’d believe it of Tom.
And they knew him. Or knew of him. They saw him in her, and that gave her a slim, tenuous hope. She and Tom had looked alike as kids—Jenny, Tom’s miniature. Everyone said so. Same eyes, same freckles, same bones beneath their skin. They’d laughed about it, threatened to switch places, as if that would have fooled anyone. Jenny smiled at the memory, and at last, with an ache in her chest, she dozed.
The storm woke her some hours later to complete darkness, wind and rain warring with each other outside. She could hear something moving through the wild night. It slouched through the darkness, circling the house. She was sure it was her imagination at first, a combination of dreams and exhaustion. Twice, she got up and pulled back the curtains, which had been brightly colored in the candlelight but were black as pitch now. Sheets of gray rain obscured almost everything from view. She was about to turn away the second time when she caught a glimpse of something in the night. It slid between the trees on the edge of theforest, part storm, part animal, part natural world. A thin sweat broke over her skin, and trembling fingers clenched around the locket at her throat.
The creature slid through the shadows, flowed like water down the windowpane. The impact of the raindrops on its outline was almost all that defined it against the black night. Abruptly, it was gone, but she stood transfixed, knowing that it circled the house and could reappear at any moment.
Sure enough, it was back within a few minutes. This time she caught a sense of something ancient, powerful, covered in leaves and vines, and an aching panic ballooned in her lungs. But she stood, unable to move away, watching, as it circled closer. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.
Even with a brief glimpse, she knew it. Remembered it. Its berry-bright eyes. The way it had twisted around on itself quicker than a cat. The way it had vanished into the trees, and Tom with it.
Your Tom is gone, seven long years ago. Leave
“Every time the queen turns her back, that piper of hers is off causing mayhem,” the Woodsman replied.
Jenny jerked herself awake, staring at the woman. “The piper?”
“Yes, the queen’s piper. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you quite well?”
Jenny pushed herself out of the chair. She couldn’t go back without him. Not now, not if there was a chance they thought— She couldn’t do that again. “He’s my brother. I think. I heard him playing. I came here looking for him. It has to be him.”
They both stared at her, their eyes intently studying her, their faces grim.
“Are you certain?” the Woodsman asked. “There’s a resemblance, to be sure, but—”
“It has to be him. No one could play like Tom. I heard him, in the trees. I followed him. That’s how I got here. But Jack just kept insisting I had to go back.”
“Hush now,” the Goodwife murmured. “All’s well. We won’t send you back if you don’t want to go, my dear. If it’s your brother you’re seeking, he’ll be with the queen. Always goes back to her in the end.”
Jenny’s legs wobbled beneath her. She sat down abruptly, the air rushing from her lungs. “Then he’s here. It’s Tom.”
They glanced at each other, a brief exchange of looks that could have meant anything.
The Goodwife stepped closer, reached out to stroke Jenny’s hair. “You need food and sleep, my dear. The rest can wait till morning.”
Jenny pulled the patterned quilt up to her chin and tried to get to sleep once more. The nightgown they’d given her was unfamiliar, old-fashioned, and either tangled around her legs or crept up far too high. Outside the little cottage, the wind hurled itself at the diamond-patterned windows and rain splattered heavily against the glass. Had Tom really caused this? Whistling up the wind, they’d called it. If anyone could do it, she’d believe it of Tom.
And they knew him. Or knew of him. They saw him in her, and that gave her a slim, tenuous hope. She and Tom had looked alike as kids—Jenny, Tom’s miniature. Everyone said so. Same eyes, same freckles, same bones beneath their skin. They’d laughed about it, threatened to switch places, as if that would have fooled anyone. Jenny smiled at the memory, and at last, with an ache in her chest, she dozed.
The storm woke her some hours later to complete darkness, wind and rain warring with each other outside. She could hear something moving through the wild night. It slouched through the darkness, circling the house. She was sure it was her imagination at first, a combination of dreams and exhaustion. Twice, she got up and pulled back the curtains, which had been brightly colored in the candlelight but were black as pitch now. Sheets of gray rain obscured almost everything from view. She was about to turn away the second time when she caught a glimpse of something in the night. It slid between the trees on the edge of theforest, part storm, part animal, part natural world. A thin sweat broke over her skin, and trembling fingers clenched around the locket at her throat.
The creature slid through the shadows, flowed like water down the windowpane. The impact of the raindrops on its outline was almost all that defined it against the black night. Abruptly, it was gone, but she stood transfixed, knowing that it circled the house and could reappear at any moment.
Sure enough, it was back within a few minutes. This time she caught a sense of something ancient, powerful, covered in leaves and vines, and an aching panic ballooned in her lungs. But she stood, unable to move away, watching, as it circled closer. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.
Even with a brief glimpse, she knew it. Remembered it. Its berry-bright eyes. The way it had twisted around on itself quicker than a cat. The way it had vanished into the trees, and Tom with it.
Your Tom is gone, seven long years ago. Leave
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