“What do you want from me?” The words are a cry to the room, to no one, to Malvolia, whom I know is there somewhere, looming like a black bat.
But there is no answer.
Is she away? Would she take me here, all the way to Euphrasia, and simply leave me, free to come and go as I please? It is impossible. It is too simple.
And yet I hear no sign of Malvolia. Indeed, the room is perfectly silent, silent as only Euphrasian rooms are. American rooms always had noise, the blare of the television, or even at the dead of midnight, smaller sounds, like the tick of a clock, the buzz of a computer, or the constant whoosh of air-conditioning.
There is no air-conditioning in this cottage, Malvolia’s cottage, but it is cool nonetheless, for it is high up in the Euphrasian hills and is shaded by a chestnut tree. I breathe in the fresh air, Euphrasian air which has not been processed or filtered in any way. It smells like my childhood, and I sigh as I remember Mother and Father. After the sigh is true Euphrasian silence. Can the cottage be empty? Dare I chance walking about?
What have I to lose? And the cottage is small. Surely, if she were lurking, I would hear her. She would hear me.
I rise.
I am still dressed from last night, in a pair of blue sleep trousers and a T-shirt. My feet are bare, and I step lightly on the unpolished wooden floor. I tiptoe to the door, which has a window in it, and then stand by that window, gazing out. No one in sight, not even a shepherd boy with his flock. I will leave. I will go to my family.
I glance behind me. No one there. I open the door.
“Going somewhere, Princess?”