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  Willa peeked into the bowl and poked at the yarn with her finger. It didn’t make sense that something so tiny could hold that much power. Then again, Willa had to admit that nothing about Eldritch Manor made much sense.

  Chapter Two

  Telepathy, phobias, and siren song

  As November drew to an end, the temperature dropped, and Miss Trang continued to slow down. When Willa chatted with her, she had time to count the seconds between each word. One day she counted four seconds, a few days later eighteen seconds, and when it hit twenty-seven, Willa started avoiding her. She felt bad about it, but it was just too hard to remember what they were talking about for the length of an entire sentence. Miss Trang didn’t seem to mind; she withdrew from the life of the house and rarely emerged from her room.

  Tengu spent most of his time jogging around the park, or stalking and pouncing on invisible foes in the yard. The dwarves continued work on the second storey. They also removed the high construction fence to give back the view of the street but put up fencing at the sides of the house to keep the backyard private.

  Robert hosted convivial evenings with the dwarves, and the others sometimes joined in. Ancient card games were played, and a goodly volume of red dwarvish port was consumed.

  For his part, Horace never played cards. He preferred to sit by the fire and observe the others. His memory lapses used to cause him much anxiety, but after the recent uproar he had become much more philosophical about it all. Whenever he couldn’t remember something, he’d simply sigh and smile. He told Willa it was foolish for anyone over two thousand years of age to get fired up over simply growing old.

  “It behooves one of my advanced years to be more serene about the travails of existence,” he would say dreamily and smile. “There’s no point in flipping out over what I can’t change.” Willa noticed too that the others had become more protective of him. Whenever Horace grew confused, they — Belle and Baz mostly — drew near, taking his hand in theirs and reassuring him with their presence.

  Whatever might befall his memory, Horace’s sense of humour remained intact. One day, he and Willa were out for a walk, and they ran into Mr. and Mrs. Hacker, their tremendously irritating neighbours. Horace showed no signs of recognizing them, but after they passed by he leaned over to Willa, and whispered, “I know perfectly well who they are, I’d just rather not know, if you catch my meaning.”

  Since the eventful night on Hanlan’s Hill, the Hackers had kept a wary distance. Willa knew Mr. Hacker had been quite shaken by those strange events, not the least of which was having his car crushed by a falling boulder. He even seemed a little frightened of Horace and Willa, often crossing the street to avoid them, which suited them just fine.

  Willa had recently discovered she was able to send mental messages to people, an ability that filled her with pride but also made her a little anxious, because she didn’t really understand how it could be possible. She felt she shouldn’t let too many people know about it yet, but decided she could confide in Horace.

  “Do you remember on Hanlan’s Hill, how I talked to you with my mind?” she asked him one day.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been wondering how I did it. How does it work?”

  He looked surprised. “In the usual way, I suppose.”

  “This isn’t exactly usual!”

  “What do you mean? Don’t all humans have this ability?”

  “No!” Willa laughed.

  “Well, that puts it in a different light,” Horace said slowly. “It must be due to the renegade in your family tree.”

  “You mean Belle?”

  “Most certainly. Would you like some assistance with your telepathic communications?”

  “Yes, please.”

  And so Horace began to help her strengthen and control this power. They’d sit across from each other and send mental messages back and forth. In the beginning, Willa could only do it slowly and with great effort, but with practice it came easier, and they held many a long, effortless conversation without uttering a word.

  “It’s as easy as talking!” Willa marvelled one day. “I hardly know I’m doing it!”

  Horace shook a warning finger at her. “Be mindful. Do it with intent and not just for a lark.” He sat back wearily. “Don’t overuse it. All powers come with a price.”

  “What kind of price?”

  “It’s not always obvious what you are losing. Not right away.” He rubbed his forehead. “Many would disagree with me and insist that a special ability has no downside, but I feel in my heart that something is lost whenever you gain a powerful skill like this.” He turned to look out the window, and Willa knew he was thinking about his own memory loss. She promised herself she’d practice her ability but not use it lightly. And she never mentioned it to anyone else.

  A few doors down from Horace was Belle’s room. The mermaid was very pleased to have her own space again; she was much more relaxed and less cranky. The porch ramp allowed her to wheel herself out the front door and down into the yard, which she couldn’t do on her own before. The dwarves even paved a walkway for her that circled the house and branched off to the stable and woods. Not that she went into the woods much; Belle regarded the fairies there as nuisances, too foolish to bother with.

  Willa knew Belle liked her privacy, but she gingerly began visiting every day after school, tiptoeing through the dusty disaster zone of the kitchen and making tea, then knocking on Belle’s door. Belle’s scowl would vanish when she saw it was Willa, a fact that Willa noted and cherished. They sat together over tea, and Willa found that if she didn’t ask too many questions, Belle would start talking on her own. She didn’t talk about Grandpa or Willa’s mom, but for the first time she told stories about her early years under the sea, stories about castles on the ocean floor and bizarre creatures of the deep, about playing hide-and-seek in waving kelp beds and hitching the occasional ride on a manta ray. She often said she’d love to show Willa these things.

  “I don’t swim,” Willa always replied, but Belle never seemed to hear it. She was fixated on the idea of taking Willa swimming, and Willa didn’t have the heart to tell her it could never, ever happen. The embarrassing truth was that Willa was scared of the water. Make that terrified. It was some kind of phobia, and her mom had it too.

  “We both have this condition, Willa,” her mom always said. “I’ve had it all my life. If we tried to swim, we’d freeze up with a panic attack. It’s a phobia, it’s all in the mind, but the physical effects are real, and I don’t want either of us to drown! So please stay out of the water!”

  When they were at Grandpa’s house on the beach, Mom didn’t even like it when Willa kicked off her sandals to dip her toes in the ocean. Willa waded a little bit, but only up to her knees. If she went any deeper, she was gripped by a panicky, tight feeling in her chest. She couldn’t breathe, and her limbs became leaden and useless. Her mom was absolutely right; there was no way she could will her arms and legs to move and swim once that feeling came upon her. It was all she could do to stumble backward out of the water and rejoin her parents on the towel in the sun. There she’d sit, staring at the sparkling water. The thought of all the creatures and fish and plants that were hidden out there beneath the shimmer creeped her out.

  Belle’s whole world revolved around water, and Willa was scared to death of it.

  One day, Belle told her she used to pull pranks on human ships.

  “What kind of pranks?” asked Willa.

  “We’d get them going in the wrong direction, sailing in circles, or sometimes send them into the rocks.”

  Willa started. “You mean wreck them?”

  Belle looked uncomfortable. “We didn’t wreck them, exactly, we’d just get them going toward the rocks. If the sailors couldn’t figure that out in time, well …” Belle shrugged.

  “Wait, how did you ‘get’ them going the way you
wanted? What do you mean?”

  “Siren song,” she said simply, pouring another cup of tea.

  “You sing, and—?”

  “Any men who hear it do whatever we want them to do. It’s hilarious.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Of course! Every mermaid worth her salt can.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Belle laughed and plunked down her cup. “Okay then, miss smarty-pants. I’ll prove it.”

  Willa followed Belle outdoors and around to the backyard, where they found Robert and the dwarves in the middle of a dispute over a game of horseshoes.

  “It was a clear ringer. A perfect shot!” insisted Radsvidr.

  “Doesn’t count if your big fat toe is over the throwing line,” countered Robert.

  The dwarf stomped up to Robert, craning his neck to glare up at him.

  “It wasn’t!”

  Robert leaned a long, long way down until they were eyeball to eyeball.

  “It … was!”

  “Wasn’t!”

  “Was!”

  “Wasn’t!”

  “Was!”

  “Wasn’t!”

  Horace was leaning against the house, smiling affably at Willa and Belle. “Such is the level of debate here,” he observed.

  Belle smiled, then cleared her throat and began to hum. In just a few seconds the argument died away, and they stared blankly at each other.

  “I’m sorry. What were you saying, my good man?” asked Robert mildly.

  “I’ve lost my train of thought,” the dwarf answered, scratching his head. They looked at each other for a moment.

  “Thirsty,” mumbled Belle, just loud enough for Willa to hear.

  Robert blinked and smiled. “Oh well, no matter. I’m parched. How about a beverage, old sport?”

  “By all means. Lead on, friend.”

  Willa stared as the two strolled away.

  “Told you,” said Belle simply.

  “It just works on men?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. You know, all mermaids can do this….” Belle gave Willa a meaningful look, but Willa was thinking about something else.

  “That’s what you used on the policemen and the firefighters, isn’t it?” she exclaimed. “That night at Hanlan’s Hill!”

  Belle smiled broadly. “No comment.”

  Willa nodded, impressed. “Wow. That must come in handy.”

  Belle sighed, glancing back at the house. “I’m not supposed to use it at all — Miss Trang’s rules. It’s for the best, I suppose. Siren song usually causes more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “How?”

  Belle had her hands on the chair’s wheels and was turning back to the house. She paused for a moment before answering.

  “People stop trusting you when they think you can control them.”

  Belle rolled slowly along the walk, and Willa watched her go. People like Grandpa, I bet, she thought.

  Chapter Three

  Silent, soft, and slow descends the snow

  Of course Willa didn’t spend all her time at Eldritch Manor. She went home for supper and to sleep, though whenever she had a spare moment before or after school, she wandered over to the old house see her friends. It was a strange notion that she would rather have tea with old folks than hang out with kids her own age. Her schoolmates found it strange, that’s for sure, and they started to write her off. The strange silvery streak in her hair didn’t help. It had appeared suddenly the day Eldritch Manor burned down, a mark that set her apart from normal people. Willa found it funny that her mom was more anxious about her “fitting in” at school than Willa herself was, and the streak in her hair drove her mom nutty.

  “We can dye that out,” she said two or three times a week, but Willa refused. She liked to be different from the other kids. She didn’t even mind that she was no longer a part of their world. Well, not much anyway. It’s true she occasionally missed talking to other twelve-year-olds, but she had nothing in common with them anymore. Now Willa preferred to sit back and observe the other kids, and soon found she could detect things about them. Not their exact thoughts or anything like that, but if she kept her own mind very still, she could feel what they were feeling. It was like hearing very faint music from another room. This new skill fascinated her, but she had to stay apart from the chatter and interaction to do it. Soon she was fading into the background so effectively, it was almost like she was invisible.

  It’s easier this way, she thought.

  As for her time at Eldritch Manor, the more she got to know the seniors there, the more she enjoyed their company. The sulky moods and childish tantrums were now few and far between, but even those ratty moments had become rather dear to Willa. She was unaccountably fond of them all; their bad behaviour just made her love them more.

  Days at Eldritch had become much simpler. The old folks were calm — there were no outright wars, anyway — and with everyone back in the house, they were pretty content. And in a stroke of luck, the Hackers had left for the winter months, off to a sunny southern beach or something. Keeping a houseful of magical creatures secret from nosy neighbours is pretty much a full-time job, and Willa was relieved to be free of them for a while. With fewer worries, she slept better at night, and the extra sleep enabled her to think clearly, do better in school, and develop her new telepathic skills.

  Even her home life was calm and happy. With Belle, Baz, and the bird Roshni all out of the house, it was just her, Mom, and Dad once more. Everyone relaxed, and it was nice to be around her parents again. Mom and Belle weren’t exactly friends, a fact that used to drive Willa crazy, but now she knew that wasn’t her problem, really. It was their battle, and they might never see eye-to-eye, which would be sad, but at least Willa had both of them in her life, and she was immensely grateful for that. And while they weren’t talking, at least they weren’t staring daggers at each other when they accidentally found themselves in the same room. That was a step forward, anyway.

  The only thing that niggled at the back of her mind was that trouble always seemed to pop up, eventually. Trouble in the form of extremely evil beasts and monsters from the dark side that were always circling, just out of sight, ready to pounce. Willa resolved to stay vigilant and watch for any signs of them. She clung to a vague feeling that, after the last battle on Hallowe’en night, she and her friends could handle nearly anything if they stood together.

  This was the state of things when the snow came. In mid-December it began to fall, more snow than the town had seen in many years. It drifted down, soft and silent, all night long, and the sun rose on sparkling snowbanks and snow piled high on every available surface: roofs, cars, fences, power lines, railings, posts, clotheslines, mailboxes. The scene was jaw-droppingly beautiful.

  That afternoon, Willa shuffled through the snow, creating two parallel tracks all the way to Eldritch Manor and enjoying the puffs her breath made in the air. She entered the front hall, stamping the snow from her boots, and walked right into the chandelier. As usual. She bonked into that thing every time she came into the house.

  “Aaargh!” She reached up to steady it and looked into the parlour. Horace was gazing out the window.

  “Hi, Horace. Isn’t the snow amazing?”

  “It wasn’t me,” he blurted, starting a little.

  “What wasn’t you?”

  “Nothing.” Horace pursed his lips like he was holding in a secret.

  “Horace … what have you been up to?” said Willa with a smile. “You look guilty of something.”

  Horace looked out the window again, wincing. “I was fiddling with some weather charms, but I really don’t think… This is probably not my doing,” he ended quickly.

  Willa laughed. “If it is your doing, I’m impressed! I love it.”

  Horace looked very pleased. “You don’t
think it’s too much? I just wanted a picturesque dusting of snow, not record-setting heaps of it.”

  “You don’t know your own strength,” Willa said, pulling an afghan off an armchair and draping it over his shoulders. Horace grinned brightly.

  “Hmph!” tinkled a little voice behind them. “I HATE the snow!”

  Willa turned to see Mab sitting in the bowl on the mantle, knitting away.

  “Hello Mab, how’s it going?” Willa walked over and lifted the scarf, which was about the length of her arm. “You’ve been busy!”

  Mab paused to flex her fingers. “I have to knit to keep warm! Wretched winter!” She gave Horace a nasty look.

  “It most likely has nothing to do with anything I was doing,” he protested weakly.

  Skritch skritch skritch. Willa turned. Roshni was pacing toward her, bobbing her head excitedly.

  “Hello, Roshni.” Willa smoothed the feathers on the bird’s head, and Roshni nuzzled into her side, like a cat. Then the bird hopped over to the fireplace, dark and cold. She breathed on the log lying there and fanned it with her wings. There was a fwoomp and a flash of light as the log burst into flame.

  Willa clapped her hands. “Bravo! I didn’t know you could do that!”

  Roshni hopped up and down, squawking. The log gave off a nice amount of heat, and Horace drew near to warm his hands. Willa made a mental note to gather more firewood, but as it turned out, that single log burned continuously until the spring, so there was no need for more.

  The merry blaze transformed the parlour into the social centre of the house. Baz curled up happily on the braided rug in front of the fire while the others sat and chatted. Pots of tea, scones, and bowls of soup emerged periodically from the kitchen, courtesy of the dwarves, who slept there in hammocks strung from the ceiling. All in all, life at the house was pretty cozy.