The Autumn Castle (43 page)

“I’m with Gerda,” Pete said.

“You don’t have any money,” Jude replied, laughing.

Pete smiled. “Then it’s a safe bet.”

Hexebart
likes
the Real World.

Oh, what smells! Oh, what sounds! Oh, what shapes and colors! Hexebart is swamped by them.

Oops! Hexebart avoids a shiny metal speeding object (“car” is the word . . . it was all in the potion made with Immanuel’s
pretty hair) and sees, for the first time, Hotel Mandy-Z. This is Immanuel’s house. He shares it with others, but he has a
room at the top of the stairs. Hexebart hopes it’s a big room. Hexebart hopes it’s warm.

Big and warm, warm and big,

Room enough to dance a jig;

So much for the preening pig!

Hexebart could laugh until she cries thinking about the changeling princess and her featherbrained friend left behind in Immanuel’s
clutches. A fitting end for them both. Perhaps now they’ll understand how Liesebet and Jasper felt. Mind, that Immanuel fellow
is not to be trusted. Oh, no. Hexebart is not a fool.

She approaches the front door. No key. Never mind. Hexebart has magic fingers from years of weaving spells. See, she can make
them long and narrow and her pointiest finger fits right in the lock and—snap!—it pops open.

Shhh, now. Hexebart steps inside and listens the house. Nobody home, not even a mouse. Hee hee! It’s warm in here. Much cozier
than dungeons and wells and other places Hexebart has lived lately. She creeps up the stairs, one foot in front of the other.
The stairs creak once. She runs her hand along the banister; so smooth. Real World smooth. She lowers her nose and sniffs
the wood. Pretty smells. Everything so pretty. Hexebart could grow intoxicated with Immanuel’s house.

Here, a door. Hexebart can see many more stairs in front of her. This door isn’t Immanuel’s. She touches it and tries to imagine
inside it. A boy lives here. Another door. A girl lives in this one. Hexebart will learn all their names. She will listen
the house carefully until all the secrets come thrumming up the beams and shivering into her ears. More stairs. Another door.
A man lives here. And across the hall . . .

Ah, Christine lives here. Jude lives here. Hexebart feels she already knows them from the time their secrets were in the pea
shell, all the way in the bottom of the well. Their essence is so familiar. She breathes it in and her eyelids flutter. Oh,
it will be so much fun to meet them. Won’t they be surprised when they find out she knows their secrets! Hexebart can taste
the fun upon her tongue.

Top of the stairs. Immanuel’s door. The lock pops open around her elongated finger, and then she is inside a room so warm
and big and sweet-smelling that she almost cries for joy. The door closes behind her. A large, colorful, soft thing makes
her eyes grow round with wonder. A “sofa.” Oh, the joy of a sofa! Hexebart sits on it, reclines on it, lies down on it, hugs
it. So soft. So warm. Hexebart closes her eyes. She hasn’t slept in more than twenty years. Weariness paralyzes her bones.
Hexebart sighs.

Come, sleep. Come, sleep.

Christine woke from dark dreams that fled from consciousness as soon as she tried to catch them. What had disturbed her so
much? The sticky web of disquiet clung to her. The bedroom was still dark, but morning was not far away. The streetlight outside
flickered off. The curtain let in a soft gray light. Streetcars and buses and trains moved in the distance. Christine closed
her eyes, trying to recapture the last shreds of her dreams.

Something about Mandy. Something about the door with the three deadlocks and the room with the black windows. Not surprising
that she should weave them into a nightmare. He had become so sinister and dangerous in her imagination. Why hadn’t Mayfridh
returned? Sleep backed away. Christine opened her eyes and watched the curtains grow paler as dawn seeped into the room. Her
head ached faintly, a low coarse hum of insufficient sleep and excess beer. She listened to the city waking up around her.

Jude stirred. She cuddled up against his smooth warm back and dropped a soft kiss on his shoulder.

“Christine?” he said groggily.

“Don’t wake up,” she replied.

He turned onto his back and his eyes opened, two bleary cracks. “God, we drank too much.”

“We always drink too much. It’ll have to stop when we go home.”

“What time is it?”

“Too early to be awake. Go back to sleep.”

“Why are you awake? Is your back hurting?”

She snuggled under his arm. “No. Just a bad dream.”

He stroked her hair and silence settled in the room again. Then he said, “What did you dream about?”

“Mandy, I think. I can’t quite remember.”

“He’s really got to you, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. You could say that.”

Jude kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry. I’m here to protect you.”

“Who’s going to protect Mayfridh?”

“You’re worried about Mayfridh?”

“Desperately. It’s been two days. I haven’t heard a thing.”

Jude wriggled into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. “Didn’t you say time passes differently over there?”

“Yes.”

“Well . . . perhaps it hasn’t been two days over there. Perhaps it’s only been a few hours.”

“I suppose.”

“She can look after herself. And she has Eisengrimm.”

“Yes,” she said, wondering if the unsettling dreams had made the situation seem worse than it was, “but I wish that I knew
if—”

“Shh!” Jude said sharply, his head cocked to the side. “Did you hear that?”

Christine shook her head and listened.

He pointed up toward the ceiling. “Upstairs. Listen.”

Unmistakably, faint footsteps on the floorboards, from Mandy’s apartment. He was pacing.

“He’s back,” Christine said, at once relieved and troubled. “When did he get back?”

“He’s probably been there all night and we just didn’t know,” Jude said, then yawned broadly. “You want some coffee?”

“Mmm, yes, please.”

He rose, found a shirt on the ground next to the bed, and pulled it on.

“Can I have toast and peanut butter too? I didn’t eat last night.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Sure.”

Christine lay still, listening for the light footsteps above. Pacing and pacing. If Mandy was back, why hadn’t Mayfridh called?
Christine buried icy fingers under the bedclothes. The nights were growing colder. Winter was a few bare weeks away.

Jude returned shortly with a tray and climbed back into bed with her.

“Breakfast in bed. My hero,” she said, reaching for the coffee. She warmed her hands on the side of the cup. “Is it going
to be like this every morning when we’re married?”

“Better,” he replied, sipping his coffee.

“Why do you think Mayfridh hasn’t called me to say everything’s okay?” she asked. “She must know I’m worried.”

“Since when has she been the queen of good manners?” he snapped.

Christine looked at him sharply. “I’m just wondering aloud. No need to get snippy with me.”

“I’m not snippy.”

“You sounded snippy.”

Jude opened his mouth to say something, then laughed instead. “You’re right. I did sound snippy.” He brushed his fingers gently
over her forehead. “I’m sorry. Of course you’re concerned about her. Look, she’s probably at Diana’s.”

“Why wouldn’t she come back here? Why wouldn’t she call?”

Jude shook his head. “That’s probably my fault.”

“Your fault?” Christine grabbed a piece of toast and took a bite.

“Yeah. The last time I saw Mayfridh, we didn’t part on good terms.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We argued. Gerda walked in on us in the middle of it. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you. She’s such a gossip.”

So that was what Gerda had seen. Mayfridh had looked guilty because she had fought with Jude. “What did you argue about?”

“About you.” Jude brushed crumbs from his fingers and sat back. “I was angry with her for convincing you to go to faeryland.
She took offense. She thought I was casting doubt on her judgment, and on the wolf’s ability to take care of you.” He looked
sheepish. “I was pretty hard on her.”

“You scared her off?”

“I think so. I know I should have held my tongue, but you know how worried I get about you, and you know what she’s like.
She never really stops being a queen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, so she might not have a throne and a crown here in our world, but one way or another she likes throwing her weight
around. She’s manipulative. She uses people.”

Christine was surprised at this judgment. “I can’t say I’d noticed.”

“Because you always see the best in everybody.” He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “That’s why I love you.”

Christine leaned back into her pillow and yawned. Sleepiness was catching up with her. “Well, I’ll wait until a decent hour
and then I’ll call Diana’s. But if Mayfridh’s not there, one of us has to go up and ask Mandy about her.” She smiled at Jude.
“Mandy’s someone I’ve never been able to ‘see the best’ in.”

“I’d noticed.”

“Last night I got the feeling that you don’t agree with me about Mandy. Or about leaving.”

“I was drunk last night.”

“Are you sure that’s all? I mean, I’d want you to tell me if you’d prefer to stay. I don’t want you to be resentful.”

Jude sighed and turned over on his side to face her. “Christine, I’m happy to take you home because I care about your feelings
and I know you’re not comfortable here anymore. But, yes, there is part of me that would like to stay.”

“Why?”

“It’s not about Mandy. It’s about independence. You know that when we go home I’m going to have to live off you for a while
if I want to keep painting. If I get this Australian fellowship, it doesn’t start until July next year. I don’t like being
a leech.”

“Oh, Jude, you’re not a leech. I’ve always said that when I get married I’ll access the money. We have so much.”

“No,
you
have so much.”

“But it’s enough that you won’t be depriving me of anything.”

He nodded, resigned. “I know, I know. And, as I said, I’m happy to take you home. But if you sense any reluctance, that’s
why.”

She reached out and tangled her fingers in his hair. “You’ll earn your keep,” she said playfully. “In housework and sexual
favors.”

He closed his eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

She wriggled closer and pressed her body against him. “You can start practicing now if you like,” she whispered.

“Sorry, not in the mood,” he mumbled.

Never in the mood anymore.
She returned to her side of the bed. Her eyes felt heavy and raw from lack of sleep. She let them close. As she drifted off,
she could hear footsteps again from above. They seemed far too close; she almost couldn’t bear to hear them.

M
andy was surprised by how peaceful this faery world was. He had imagined a land of chaos, of noisy preening faeries, of endless
chatter and tantrums. Instead, the rural quiet pervaded his senses, filling him with a dreamy warmth and contentment. In many
ways, it was so much better this way. It meant his hunting and killing and boning could take place in serenity.

He had watched the village from high on the slope above, studying its layout carefully. All the houses on the main street
were too close together; hunting in one of them would alert the whole street. A low profile was imperative; he still wasn’t
sure where the hag from the dungeons had gone, and eventually somebody would notice the queen and her counselor missing and
raise the alarm. The wheel of roads leading away from the main street were marginally more promising for hunting, with trees
and spacious gardens between them. But there were cottages farther out on dusty roads, leading into the forest and farmland,
which caught his eye. The faeries living inside would be easy prey. So he pulled his hat firmly upon his head, hoisted his
hunting bag over his shoulder—the kitchen maid’s bones were stored in Mayfridh’s bedroom—and headed down through the forest.

It was cold today, but rural cold was somehow different from the urban cold back in Berlin. No tall, cool buildings to block
the sunlight, and the peaty smell of smoke seemed to warm the air. Or perhaps his blood was just a few degrees warmer here,
full of satisfaction and anticipation. Dried leaves crunched under his feet. He was most pleased with himself and felt compelled
to whistle a little tune. Normally he was too embarrassed to whistle or sing, even when he was alone. An ear for music was
not one of his gifts, and he could hear that there was something wrong with the melody, though he didn’t know what.

A few hundred feet ahead the trees parted onto the back of a little garden and he paused a moment to survey it. Overgrown
with thornbushes, with a sagging wooden gate. Sitting in a sunbeam on her back step was an old woman, her white hair untidily
escaping a loose bun. She threw bread crumbs out in front of her and watched, smiling, as gray birds gathered to eat them.