Darkling Green. Kim Thompson

mom hadn’t already vetoed the very idea of inviting her. Belle and Mom would not forgive and forget, and get over their history.

      At least Grandpa was there. Willa had always felt close to her grandpa, ever since she was a little girl spending blissful summers with him at the seashore. The sight of his sunbaked face, his bright blue eyes, and unruly mass of white hair brightened even her darkest day. As Willa and her parents laughed at Grandpa’s stories over dinner, Willa reflected that she had, in effect, two warm, loving families, and that just made her feel lucky. Not only that, but as she watched her mom giving Grandpa a goodnight hug at the front door, she had a sudden flash of understanding about Mom’s resentment toward Belle. Didn’t Belle break up what close family she had, while Mom was just little? How would she herself feel if her mom just disappeared for no reason, leaving her and Dad on their own?

      One day in early January, as Willa was scattering salt on the sidewalk to keep it from freezing over, Mrs. Norton came along, skittering a baby carriage over the bumpy ice. The Nortons had recently moved into a house across the street and a few doors down, and Willa knew they had a houseful of kids, from baby Everett all the way up to high school age. Mrs. Norton was a small woman with dishevelled hair and kindly, tired eyes. Willa had often helped her carry groceries into the house or round up her kids if she saw she was having trouble. Now Willa stepped up to help her steer the carriage on the ice. Inside, the baby gurgled happily.

      “He’s so smiley and quiet,” said Willa as little Everett grinned up at her.

      “Sure he is, now!” sighed Mrs. Norton. “But as soon as we get in the house he starts to fuss. And I’ve got all the laundry to do today!”

      “If you like, I could look after him while you do your work,” suggested Willa.

      Mrs. Norton brightened at the thought. “You babysit?”

      Willa glanced back at Eldritch Manor. “Yes, I do,” she answered with a grin. “I’ve got lots of experience, though not with babies, exactly.”

      “Everett’s very easy, apart from the fussing. He just gets restless and needs to be entertained. His brothers and sisters used to take turns minding him for me but they’re all so busy lately…. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

      “Not at all! It’s no problem. I’m here every day after school. Just bring him over whenever you need a break.”

      Mrs. Norton beamed. “Oh, Willa, you’re a godsend! Thank you!” She handed over the diaper bag. “I’ll come for him in a couple of hours!” she called over her shoulder as she hurried away.

      Willa pushed Everett up and down the street for a while and then took him inside to warm up. As they entered the parlour, Mab looked up from her knitting.

      “What’s that?” she asked.

      “Little Everett from down the street.”

      Mab flew closer to get a better look. This made Willa nervous. “Are you sure it’s okay to let him see you?”

      “Babies always see fairies,” answered Mab. “We like to visit very wee humans. When they get older, they forget all about us.”

      Everett’s eyes went wide as saucers at the sight of her, and before she could react, his pudgy fist shot out and grabbed her.

      “Everett, no! Let go!” exclaimed Willa. Mab gave him a sharp little zap. He flinched and opened his hand, though he didn’t cry. Mab continued her inspection, circling at a safe distance.

      “Everett. What kind of foolish name is that?”

      “It’s his name, Mab. I like it.”

      Mab leaned closer, staring into the baby’s eyes, and her expression softened. “I shall call him Evling. Evling. Evvie wevvie bevvie boo! Wuvey dovey boy!”

      Willa stared. This was a side of Mab she’d never seen before. Sulky she had seen, as well as haughty, outraged, spiteful, and wary. But coochie-cooing? Never!

      Willa looked after Everett for a couple of hours, two or three times a week. Whenever Mab heard Everett’s gurgly laughter, she came out to play peekaboo. She even nestled onto his pillow and sang lullabies. She had a knack for lulling him to sleep even in his crankiest moods, which made Willa uneasy.

      “You’re not magicking him to sleep, are you? I’d rather you didn’t,” she said one day, but Mab paid no attention.

      The snow continued to fall. Mab refused to go outside, but the other fairies took to winter with glee. Fashioning bulky coats from moss and dandelion fuzz, they seemed impervious to the cold and devoted themselves to inventing new and ever more dangerous winter sports. They began sliding down snowbanks on a dead leaf, then took to leaping from high branches and plunging into the high drifts. Willa suggested once that Mab should go out and join them, but Mab was horrified at the thought of dressing up in a snowsuit. Willa admitted the bulky clothes made the fairies look like puffballs, but they were having such fun. Mab harumphed and disappeared into her wasp nest.

      When the excitement of jumping into snowbanks wore off, Willa was shocked to catch them bumper-shining: flying up behind cars on the road, grabbing onto the back bumper, and hanging on for dear life as the car slid and skidded down the icy road. Willa called a halt to that one right away.

      “What if you were seen? Or hurt? We wouldn’t be able to find you, and … and …” This appeal had no effect on them, so Willa asked Mab to ban bumper-shining as “inherently unfairylike,” and that stopped the practice.

      “Goodness gracious,” muttered Willa. “Why can’t you just busy yourself with drawing those pretty frost patterns on the windows? And putting hoarfrost on the trees? I thought that’s what fairies did all winter.”

      Sarah rolled her eyes at that. “So last century!”

      January and February passed quite agreeably. Miss Trang snoozed on in the hallway, serving as a convenient bench for taking off one’s boots. Everyone stayed cozy, and naps were frequent. Even the dwarves slowed in their work and spent the afternoons snoring in their hammocks. Willa walked to and from school in the soft whiteness of winter and did her homework in the quiet of the sleeping house.

      The first of March dawned frosty and cold, with no sign of spring in sight.

      “This is beyond my doing,” Horace maintained. “Spring will come when it’s ready, I suppose, and not a minute before.”

      It was another two weeks before Willa saw what she considered to be a real sign of spring. As she swept the snow from the porch, she had a sudden sensation of being watched. She looked up to see a small dark shape on the front walk: a brown hare, standing up on his hind legs and giving her a serious look. As Willa stared, he dropped down onto his four paws, but not before she caught a glimpse of gold at his breast.

      Willa didn’t know Roshni was around, but there was a sudden silent flash as the bird streaked down, and before the hare had time to react, Roshni had snatched him in her claws and lifted him into the air.

      “Roshni!” hollered Willa. “No!”

      Surprised, Roshni let go, and the rabbit dropped heavily to the ground. Willa ran up, not sure what to do. He lay on his back, panting heavily. Around his neck he wore a golden chain with a sun-shaped pendant.

      Roshni landed nearby and paced, her head hung low. Willa positioned herself between the rabbit and the bird.

      “I’m sorry, Roshni. I know you’re a carnivore and everything, but this rabbit seems … different somehow. I mean, look! He’s wearing a necklace.”

      At this the hare clapped a paw over it and gave her an indignant look. He leapt to his feet and bolted from the yard. As he paused in the street, looking back at her, his face broke into a wide, loopy grin.