him be and go home.
Jenny’s heart knotted as she remembered Jack’s words.
Seven years.
And her breath caught. She tugged at her locket, winding it around on the chain until it tightened and she let it go again so it could unravel. Had she told him the amount of time? In fact, had she said anything at all about it?
“Is she asleep?” The voice came as an insistent whisper outside the door. Jenny turned from the window. Her bedclothes were a tangled heap on the bed, almost as if someone still lay beneath them. She dropped the curtain and was about to go to the door when she heard the Woodsman speak.
“She must be—has to be. She won’t be missed, not if she’s meant to have gone home already. They’re hungry. We have no choice, unless you would appease them yourself.”
“I can’t. You know I can’t, not anymore.” The Goodwife paused, and when she spoke again, doubt infected her voice. “She’s not much older than our Hannah was.”
He choked at the mention of the name. “Hannah—Hannah’s gone. They won’t stay content with pig meat, and I can’t lose you. She’s here now and if she
is
the piper’s kin, maybe she’ll be as special as him. They like that. You heard how restless they are. They’ve scented her. They know she’s here. Her blood will stir them up to a frenzy if we don’t do something.”
Jenny shrank back into the shadows around the window, crouching to make her body and breath as small and undetectable as possible.
The door creaked open, light coming from the lamp the Goodwife held. She saw the Woodsman approach the bed, his mouth set in a grim line, while his partner fidgeted by the door. The Woodsman held a cloth and, with a hand toopracticed, he threw back the sheet and brought the cloth down where Jenny’s mouth should have been.
Unable to help herself, Jenny sucked in a breath. They both turned toward her hiding place in shadows.
“Now, now,” said the Goodwife, “you shouldn’t be awake.” The lamp swung lazily from side to side as the woman stalked toward her. Her husband advanced too, his movements more furtive, more like a rat than the hulking man he was.
Jenny’s heart thundered inside her. The ache in her chest expanded, slicing at her lungs. What were they doing? What on earth—
“Stay still now, my darlin’ girl,” the Goodwife cooed. “It’ll be all right. The little fellas need to be fed, and on nights like this, milk alone won’t do. Now, I can’t help them all, but you can. I’d swear you’ll be sweet as honey to them.” She reached out, open-palmed, beckoning the girl to her, and Jenny saw the length of her arm exposed. The expanse of white skin was covered in puncture wounds, bite marks, some almost healed, others raw and fresh. The skin around them was mottled, hard and almost…almost like the chitin of an insect’s shell.
Jenny’s fingers scrabbled behind her, trying to find the catch on the window, to prize it open before they could reach her. She felt her nails tear as she dug them into the wood, straining to lift the window. She wrenched it up andthe storm enveloped her, invading the room like a vortex of wind, rain, and whirling leaves, like the forest itself enraged. The lamp gutted and went out. The Goodwife gave a cry. At the same moment, the Woodsman’s hand closed on Jenny’s arm. Her scream joined with the wind’s shriek and she wrenched herself free. Before she knew what she was doing, she had hurled herself out of the window.
She landed heavily, the hard earth slamming the air from her body. The lamp was quickly relit inside. Its light through the window framed her on the ground, and the rain pelted against her skin. Mud slicked through her hair, oozed against her skin. She struggled to get up, and sharp pain lanced down her spine. Jenny cried out, sinking back.
She heard the Goodwife snarl. “She was meant to last. If they take her now, out there, they’ll gorge!”
“It’s too late,” said her husband.
Jenny’s heart knotted as she remembered Jack’s words.
Seven years.
And her breath caught. She tugged at her locket, winding it around on the chain until it tightened and she let it go again so it could unravel. Had she told him the amount of time? In fact, had she said anything at all about it?
“Is she asleep?” The voice came as an insistent whisper outside the door. Jenny turned from the window. Her bedclothes were a tangled heap on the bed, almost as if someone still lay beneath them. She dropped the curtain and was about to go to the door when she heard the Woodsman speak.
“She must be—has to be. She won’t be missed, not if she’s meant to have gone home already. They’re hungry. We have no choice, unless you would appease them yourself.”
“I can’t. You know I can’t, not anymore.” The Goodwife paused, and when she spoke again, doubt infected her voice. “She’s not much older than our Hannah was.”
He choked at the mention of the name. “Hannah—Hannah’s gone. They won’t stay content with pig meat, and I can’t lose you. She’s here now and if she
is
the piper’s kin, maybe she’ll be as special as him. They like that. You heard how restless they are. They’ve scented her. They know she’s here. Her blood will stir them up to a frenzy if we don’t do something.”
Jenny shrank back into the shadows around the window, crouching to make her body and breath as small and undetectable as possible.
The door creaked open, light coming from the lamp the Goodwife held. She saw the Woodsman approach the bed, his mouth set in a grim line, while his partner fidgeted by the door. The Woodsman held a cloth and, with a hand toopracticed, he threw back the sheet and brought the cloth down where Jenny’s mouth should have been.
Unable to help herself, Jenny sucked in a breath. They both turned toward her hiding place in shadows.
“Now, now,” said the Goodwife, “you shouldn’t be awake.” The lamp swung lazily from side to side as the woman stalked toward her. Her husband advanced too, his movements more furtive, more like a rat than the hulking man he was.
Jenny’s heart thundered inside her. The ache in her chest expanded, slicing at her lungs. What were they doing? What on earth—
“Stay still now, my darlin’ girl,” the Goodwife cooed. “It’ll be all right. The little fellas need to be fed, and on nights like this, milk alone won’t do. Now, I can’t help them all, but you can. I’d swear you’ll be sweet as honey to them.” She reached out, open-palmed, beckoning the girl to her, and Jenny saw the length of her arm exposed. The expanse of white skin was covered in puncture wounds, bite marks, some almost healed, others raw and fresh. The skin around them was mottled, hard and almost…almost like the chitin of an insect’s shell.
Jenny’s fingers scrabbled behind her, trying to find the catch on the window, to prize it open before they could reach her. She felt her nails tear as she dug them into the wood, straining to lift the window. She wrenched it up andthe storm enveloped her, invading the room like a vortex of wind, rain, and whirling leaves, like the forest itself enraged. The lamp gutted and went out. The Goodwife gave a cry. At the same moment, the Woodsman’s hand closed on Jenny’s arm. Her scream joined with the wind’s shriek and she wrenched herself free. Before she knew what she was doing, she had hurled herself out of the window.
She landed heavily, the hard earth slamming the air from her body. The lamp was quickly relit inside. Its light through the window framed her on the ground, and the rain pelted against her skin. Mud slicked through her hair, oozed against her skin. She struggled to get up, and sharp pain lanced down her spine. Jenny cried out, sinking back.
She heard the Goodwife snarl. “She was meant to last. If they take her now, out there, they’ll gorge!”
“It’s too late,” said her husband.
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