The Glass Casket (19 page)

Arlene Blessing had set the hearth fires to burn low for the night. She had tidied up, and had drunk a cup of willow bark tea. Things were quiet now, different since the world had taken her William from her. It had taken her babies too, years ago—decades now. And though she’d loved them truly and with all her heart, she’d only known each of them a few days before the fever took them. The grief had been so great that she’d decided she couldn’t bear another pregnancy, and she and William had been careful ever since. Still, she bore a constant ache in her heart for her children—Lily and Tim, she’d called them, but it was different to lose her William. She’d spent a lifetime with him—married a week after her fifteenth birthday they were, and now he was gone. One full spring and a summer he’d been gone, and now they were closing in on yet another spring. It wasn’t sadness exactly that she wore in her heart, it was an emptiness, as if everything inside her had shut off, and now she moved through her life waiting, half hoping that every cough might develop into something more, wondering each night when she lay down to sleep whether things might be better if, when the dawn came, she simply didn’t wake up.

And so it was that night as she dressed in her nightgown, as she brushed her hair, as she stared at the blank
wall that she and William had painted together. Sometimes she thought she caught a vision of him, out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes it startled her, and she went so far as to turn, sometimes to even call out his name. She set her brush down and closed her eyes, the emptiness inside her more than she could bear. Then she shook herself out of it, turned down the bed, and climbed inside.

It was a moment after she blew out her candle that she sensed the presence. When you live alone in a house, you can hear things, feel things that you don’t when you live with other people. And Arlene had lived in this house without William long enough to know that there was a stranger in her home. She was also wise enough to know that this tiptoeing stranger meant her harm, but she didn’t move from her bed. She did nothing to arm herself. Rather, she lay there, clutching her sheet, and much of her wanted to close her eyes against it, whatever it was, because in the end, who wants to see the thing that kills you? But she couldn’t keep them closed. She had to see. She opened them wide, a child’s only defense against the dark, and when the door to her bedchamber opened, and when the shadow, slick as midnight, slipped into her room, she took a deep breath.

It seemed to linger there over her, as if deciding what to do with her, as if it wanted to play with her as a cat might do with its prey. And then, faster than Arlene could even process, the thing was on top of her, biting into her flesh, gnawing into her bone, and the pain was overwhelming. It was only then that Arlene cried out, but by then it was too late. The last sound she heard was the smothered gurgle of
her own broken windpipe as the blood filled her mouth and her life slipped away.

Shafts of sun streaked out from behind dark clouds, and the snow was beginning to melt as Rowan walked into the center of the village. As she trudged through the slush, it seemed to her the scent of mountain pine hung somehow heavier in the air. It was an odd day, but then, she thought, maybe it wasn’t just the day. Maybe it was the world itself that was growing increasingly odd. Since the deaths on the mountain, things had felt wrong to Rowan. The scent on the breeze was just slightly altered; the water tasted different. And her life was no longer her own.

Rowan was just heading over to drop some papers off with Ollen Bittern when she rounded the corner to see Mama Lune standing outside of the Widow Boone’s cottage. The old woman leaned into her cane, listening intently as the red-haired witch explained something to her. Mama Lune held a small jar of what looked like flowers and earth, and seemed to be telling the widow how to prepare it.

Mama Lune turned and looked at her, and Rowan cursed herself for staring so long. Gathering her skirts, she began walking quickly away.

“Rowan,” she heard the woman call out, and then behind her, she heard the shuffle of feet. In no time, the witch was in front of her, her green eyes seeming to draw Rowan in.

“What do you want?” Rowan asked, trying to maintain her distance.

“My guest, Mama Tetri, is wondering if you got her note?”

“Yes,” Rowan said. “Yes, I think I did.”

“She’s eager to speak with you. She has some very important information for you.”

Rowan smirked. “How can she have information for me? She doesn’t even know me.”

Mama Lune’s eyes grew very wide. “Oh my. You have no idea, do you?”

A chill ran down Rowan’s spine. “What do you mean?”

Mama Lune closed her eyes and tilted her head as if listening to distant music.

“It is for Mama Tetri to tell you, my dear, and I’m afraid she is away just now—following the water. Dark days these are, do you not agree?”

Rowan took a step back from the woman and nodded. “She’s a Bluewitch, isn’t she?”

“Mmm.” Mama Lune nodded. “She water-witches. The water tells her things. Not my way, you understand. I could stand over a basin of water for a hundred years and not come away the wiser for it. Dirt is my business. But I’m sure even you know that.”

“That’s very interesting,” Rowan said, ducking away from the woman, her fear turning to irritation.

“You will come, then? When Mama Tetri returns, you will come and speak to her? I fear bad things may happen to you if you don’t.”

Rowan turned and stared at Mama Lune. “Are you threatening me?” Rowan asked, doing her best not to seem intimidated.

“I am simply relaying a message, my dear. Mama Tetri is your elder, and she has something she wishes to tell you. I suggest you come and hear her out.”

“And why should I?” Rowan asked. “She may be my elder, but this woman is a stranger to me.”

Mama Lune’s eyes widened. “Oh!” she gasped. “But you do not know even
this
, do you?”

“Speak plainly,” Rowan snapped. “My patience is growing thin.”

“Mama Tetri was your mother’s closest friend.” Rowan’s head went numb as she tried to take in the information. This could not be, she told herself, but the woman looked at her with utter seriousness. “It is true, my child. Your mother and her brother, Pimm, grew up with Mama Tetri. Your father never told you?”

Rowan took a step away from the woman and shook her head. “You’re lying.”

“I tell you the truth, my dear. Mama Tetri is your sooth-mere. She said sooth when your mother was pregnant with you. She has come to speak with you. That is a bond that must be honored.”

Rowan jutted out her chin defiantly. “If she’s so eager to talk to me, why hasn’t she come by the house? Why must I come to her?”

“She has called for you. It is you who must answer the call.”

“No,” Rowan said. “This isn’t true. You’re lying. My mother wouldn’t have had sooth said while she was with child. She was a nonbeliever.”

“Perhaps,” the witch purred, “your father only wants you to think she was a nonbeliever.”

“Excuse me,” Rowan said, anger welling within her. “But I must be going.”

“I look forward to seeing you, dear,” Mama Lune said with a cold smile.

It was Emily who first noticed Arlene’s absence. She was used to sharing gossip in the mornings with the older lady, and since the death of Arlene’s husband, Emily had kept a protective eye over her. It had been a full day, and still she had not appeared in the village. Fearing she might be sick, Emily sent Onsie Best round to check on her while she and Rowan picked up bread for supper. The boy, who had been in the midst of skipping out on family chores when Emily had caught hold of him, was less than thrilled to have yet another thing to keep him from his favorite hobby of shooting at crows with his slingshot. Still, he was a good boy, and used to doing what he was told, so he went round to Arlene’s, hoping that whatever he found there wouldn’t provide much work for him.

He knocked on her door, but there was no answer. He knocked again before going around to look in the windows. There appeared to be no one home, though the curtains were drawn on the bedroom windows, so it was possible she had taken to her bed with sickness.

“Fantastic,” Onsie grumbled as he climbed a tree so he might jump to her roof, and then down to a high window
that he knew was easy to jimmy open because Arlene had had him do it once when she’d locked herself out. He pried the window open and then slid himself through, calling Arlene’s name all the while, half fearing he might give her a start, but even more afraid that he might see Arlene in some state of undress.

He was in the hallway outside her closed bedroom door when he suddenly got the shivers. Something felt very wrong in that house, and for a moment, Onsie Best even thought about turning and running straight out the front door, but he knew he’d never live it down, so he swallowed his fear and opened the door to Arlene Blessing’s bedroom.

Even from a hundred yards away, Rowan could hear his screams.

Turning to Emily, her body stiff with fear, she grasped the other girl’s hand. “It’s happening again,” she said.

Rowan dashed off in the direction of Arlene’s cottage, Emily fast on her heels. When Rowan reached the porch, she nearly crashed into Onsie Best rushing out, his face twisted in horror.

“She’s dead,” he said, with lips that were turning pale blue. “It’s the most awful thing I’ve ever seen.” And with that, he promptly fainted.

Emily, who had just reached the porch, breathless, crouched down and propped the boy’s head up on her knee, keeping an eye on Rowan. “Don’t you go in there.”

But Rowan knew she had to. Without a thought for her own safety, she ran into Arlene’s house. She flew up the
stairs and rounded the corner to Arlene’s room, but in the doorway she stopped abruptly.

“Goddess,” she whispered, making the sign, and for a moment, she feared that she too might faint. Steeling herself, she moved to the body. The corpse was stark white, like a spider’s egg sac. An enormous bite had been taken out of what had once been Arlene’s neck.

Stepping away from the body, Rowan surveyed the bedchamber. The windows were closed and bolted, the room undisturbed. It was as if Arlene had not had time to even put up a struggle.

Suddenly the nape of Rowan’s neck prickled, and she had a terrible thought: what if whatever had done this was still in the house? How stupid of her to dash up there alone. Her eyes fell to the bath chamber, and for a second, she felt sure she heard breathing coming from inside. Holding her own breath, her heart beating like mad, she slowly backed out of the room, one foot behind the other until something grasped at her shoulder.

Screaming, she turned to find Goi Tate glaring down at her.

“What might you be doing here, little Rowan?” But then he saw the body and took a step away.

Dr. Temper rounded the corner and upon taking in the sight of the room was moved to cover his mouth.

“Oh, good Goddess.”

Goi Tate, suddenly on his guard, moved about the room like a cat. He peered in the bath chamber and then out the window.

“Rowan, did you see anyone?” he asked.

“Just Onsie Best, who found her.”

“Right,” he said, clapping her on the back. “This is no place for womenfolk.”

“But,” Rowan said, trying to contain a sudden surge of anger, “I’ve every right to be here that you have.”

Goi Tate didn’t seem to hear her. “Run along and fetch the duke, and then tell the elders another funeral will need to be arranged.”