Admittedly, Nieve was taken aback, but then she had to laugh. Gran and Lias were watching her with such solemn expressions, as if they weren’t joking.
“Gran,” she said, snatching up a strawberry tart. “That’s not very nice! I thought you didn’t go in for name-calling.”
“I don’t, hen. Hag has more meanings than you realize. “Megrim” might be a better word.”
“Meaning?”
“Let’s just say that I think you have a drop of something unusual in your blood, something . . . out of the ordinary.”
Nieve sighed. Here we go, she thought. “Gran, really. Things are weird enough without this, aren’t they?”
“And will get weirder,” said Lias.
“Why do you think you’ve gone unharmed so far, dear?”
“Because of Artichoke, and because I can run, like Lias said.” This was the first time she’d referred to him by name, and in doing so she noticed that he was watching her very closely.
“Aye, pet, you can run, and it’s a good thing. But you have other . . . abilities, as they well know. Whatever followed you the night you came to see me, the night I was away, I doubt it was Artichoke.”
“Okay, what abilities?”
“That remains to be seen. Outside of your fierce-eye, that is.”
“Right.” The last thing Nieve wanted to do was hurt Gran’s feelings, but she was starting to get annoyed.
“Grandmother, does she not know that you’re a Cunning Woman?”
Enough of this! “She’s not cunning and she’s not your grandmother.”
“Nieve, anyone may call me ‘grandmother,’ it’s a custom in the Old Country.” She sipped her tea. “Cunning Folk are simply healers. Like Dr. Morys, only dabbling in different cures and wares.”
“They do more than that,” said Lias.
“True, but I’m not much of one. Your great-grandmother Nievy, was a great one though, and your mother could be if she weren’t so busy getting herself into trouble, serious trouble by the sounds of it.” Gran set her teacup in its saucer with deliberate care. She and Sophie had never gotten along particularly well. “Nieve, you have to help her. Your father, too, and Mayor Mary–” she stopped and reached over to take Nieve’s hand. “I know it’s too much, too much to take in altogether, but we need to decide what to do.”
Nieve responded by nodding dumbly. Of course she’d help, she’d do everything she could, but she still didn’t understand what Gran was getting at.
“Are you telling me that I’ve inherited some kind of, I don’t know . . . witch gene?”
Gran smiled, and squeezed her hand before letting go. “This isn’t a fairy story, hen. It’s real.”
“But no less dark,” added Lias.
Nieve certainly felt as though she were fumbling around in the dark. “Dunstan Warlock, it has something to do with him, right?”
“Fat nuisance.” Gran snorted. “Which doesn’t make him any less dangerous. Meddling where he shouldn’t be. ”
“That woman who tried to catch me?” If anyone was a witch, it was her.
“A nightborn thing,” said Lias, scowling.
“It’s true,” said Gran. “These creatures, they arrive with the darkness of night and soon there’s nothing but darkness and night.”
“Cold, too.” Lias shifted closer to the fire.
“Aye, no sun, no life.”
“But where do they come from?” said Nieve.
“Some might say the Old Country. That Gowl you saw tonight sounds very like a Bloody Bones to me. Very like, but they can take different forms and are just as much a part of this world. The order of nature is upset and they creep in through the cracks.”
“How? I don’t see how that can happen.”
“Greed, cruelty, stupidity . . .”
Nieve tried not to look as skeptical as she felt. Those were bad things, sure, but unfortunately always present. She did read the newspaper, she knew what went on in the world. Given the amount of stupidity she’d witnessed in the schoolyard alone, the town should have been crawling with supernatural vermin long before now.
“Singular acts spring open dark doors. Like Mortimer Twisden doing away with his wife so that he could marry that young woman from the city.”
Nieve caught her breath.
“It’s an ongoing struggle, pet. James and I have worked together for years, as have others, to keep them in check.”
“And now Dr. Morys is–?”
“Gone.”
“No!”
“Not dead, thank the heavens. Not that I know of, and I’m certain I would know if he were. He’s missing. Stolen out of his hospital bed right under everyone’s noses, including mine. I spent two days at his bedside working every charm in the book, but Jim was too far away, too far under. In spirit at least, and now they have his body as well. I stepped out to buy a sandwich – ten minutes gone, ten! – and when I got back the nurses were running from room to room in search of him.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. He’s in a coma, he can’t tell them anything, or do anything. He’s–”
“Useless? Harmless? I’m not so sure. They wouldn’t have taken him otherwise. The only thing I know is that we have to find him. For both his sake and ours.” Gran regarded her calmly, but pointedly, blinking a couple of times before letting her gaze drift over to Artichoke. “Forfared, poor pup. He won’t be able to go with you, I’m afraid.”
“Gran?”
“Lias will, though.”
“Not if she wallops me again, I won’t.”
Nieve groaned inwardly. So much for them deciding what to do. Gran had already decided. How was she – a kid – supposed to find Dr. Morys? It was so dark out, pitch black in case no one had noticed, that she’d be lucky to find her own feet once she stepped out the door. Besides, Dr. Morys had gone missing in the city, not in town. She’d been to the city lots of times with her parents – to the museum and the mall and the dentist (fun) – but she’d always found it overwhelming. The buildings towered; the streets were clogged with traffic; people hustled past you on the street, their faces tight with worry. If that wasn’t bad enough, Gran was now telling them that parts of the city were still without electricity following that fierce storm.
“The hospital is using generators, but much of the city remains in darkness. You two will have to be extremely careful.”
“This is nuts,” Nieve said.
“Oh, it is! Frightening besides, and desperate, and I’m asking my own beloved granddaughter to be involved.”
“Are you asking?”
“I am, hen. Because you’re more capable than you know.”
“And because there’s no choice,” Lias said.
“That too,” admitted Gran.
No one said anything for a few moments, until Nieve, brushing the crumbs off her shirt, asked, “Will you look after Mr. Mustard Seed for me?” She felt a stab of worry for having left him in the house with that truant officer crashing around.
“I will. Mr. Mustard Seed and Artichoke both. Don’t think I’m going to send you two off empty-handed, either.”
“We could use another bee box, a really big one.” Nieve wasn’t serious, although she did suspect that whatever Gran had in mind – blue string or a gold thimble or a stone with a hole in its centre – would be well-meant, but not helpful at all.
Gran stood and began to rummage in the pocket of her baggy old cardigan. “Now that’s a mystery. What that box was, what those beasties were. Firebees? Is there such a thing? Professor Manning, remember, the one who owned the place before Twisden, he’s a biologist, retired. I suspect he may have been doing some experiments, crossbreeding, not the sort of thing I approve of but . . . where is that–?” She had plunged her hand into the very depths of her pocket. “Ah, found it.” She retrieved a tiny silver canister, which she offered to Lias. “Fern seeds.”
Great, Nieve sighed, fern seeds.
Lias, however, accepted the seeds with a surprised smile and slid the canister into a pouch that was attached to his rope-belt.
“You have your amulet, Lias?”
He nodded toward a cloak that was tossed over a kitchen chair. Nieve noted a small pewter brooch pinned on the wool, and thought, I guess we can take on anything now.
“I’ll see if I can find you a clean shirt,” said Gran. “But first, I want you to try something.” She hurried into her bedroom and came back carrying a box, which she handed to Lias. “A present. Brought these back from the city.”
Lias seemed more alarmed than delighted. “Never had a present.” He lifted the lid cautiously, as though this were another bee box, and stared hard at the contents. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t manage anything more than a soft intake of breath.
Nieve leaned over and peeked in.
“Running shoes,” she said. “Pretty flashy.” Gran had gone all out – cushioned mesh, gel soles, lightning-bolt appliques. “Why don’t you try them on?” She didn’t add, that way I won’t have to look at your gross feet.
“How?”
Never had a present? Never had shoes? “Who are you?” she said.
“Later for that, Nievy.” Gran was already crouched in front of Lias like a saleswoman, helping him to pull on a pair of socks that were also in the box, and then the runners. “There! Perfect fit. They’ll take some getting used to, dear. But you’ll want to keep up with Nieve, won’t you?”
“That I will.” Lias jumped to his feet and began bouncing a bit, gazing down at his new shoes, entranced. “It’s like wearing fancy cakes.” He trotted to one end of the room and back, raising his legs high, like a pony. “They’re . . . magic!”
“No, no,” Gran laughed. “They’re only shoes, Lias. Although I do have a special pair for Nieve. Her present.”
“I already have runners.” Nieve indicated the ones by the fire that were getting crustier by the minute as they dried.
“They won’t do.”
Gran moved over to the fireplace and reached up, pushing aside an old clock that had sat on the mantel for as long as Nieve could remember, its hands stopped at midnight. Nieve saw that the clock had been hiding a narrow cavity in the wall which appeared to be stuffed with brown paper, probably to keep out drafts. Or, knowing Gran, to keep out evil spirits. Gran tugged at the paper, winkling out first one piece, then another. These two tattered segments she held up, one in each hand. Nieve realized then that they were supposed to be shoes, or slippers maybe, thin and flat. Nor were they made of paper, but dried leaves. They might easily have been two ancient squashed cigars, so old and delicate that if anyone sneezed on them they’d blow them to bits. Yet Gran was smiling broadly as she held them up, as if she were holding the greatest treasure on earth.
“Nievy,” she said, “now these are magic.”