Unnamed Story, Chapter 1

   It was getting dark and I was tired. The walk from the corner dollar store used to seem longer going than coming, but now . . . Mother's absence weighed heavily on my shoulders. I sighed, and tried to quicken my step, the heavy plastic bags bouncing against my legs as I struggled to keep my fingers coiled around the stretching handles. The baby needed more formula, the twins had to have milk in the morning, and we were all out of canned beans. Most people don't grocery shop at dollar stores, so they don't realize the deals they're missing. Canned goods and bags of noodles are cheap. Freezer or 'fridge foods aren't, though. I hoped Da wouldn't ask to see the receipt right away.

   There was a haze in the air, and for a moment I could imagine that the bugs swarming beneath the street lights were faeries flitting about. I let my eyes unfocus, watching the small, blurry figures in their crazy dance. Music drifted from an open window, pulsing and pounding at my head. I shook it, and hoisted the bags a little higher. Had to get home. Had to bathe the littles and check on Da. He hated sleeping alone in the big bed now, but if I let him stay on the couch, his back would ache even more in the morning.

   A car door slammed, and I jumped, glancing behind me. I must've been walking slower than I thought, because it was dark now, and I wasn't as close to home as I should've been. A jolt went through my stomach when I thought I saw a shadow move, but then a cat stretched and slunk away, and I felt silly. But I still squinted after it to make sure it wasn't black. I tried to breath slowly, but my nerves were up now. Without meaning to, I started thinking through what I'd do if someone came up the street behind me. Drop the bags? Kick off my shoes? I was a good runner, but I hated to waste all this money. If I arrived home breathless and foodless, I wasn't sure it was worth my life over the kid's stomachs. Besides, I was being silly. No one was there. I still switched the baby-formula bag to a more accessible place, though, so I could drop everything else if I needed to.

    I looked up and froze. The cat was back, sitting perfectly still in the sidewalk in front of me. Dread crept into my stomach and down my legs. It was completely black, except for a little white spot on its chest. Black enough. I shuddered. Da would've crossed himself and trudged forward, but Mother never did. She always just ran. I compromised.

    I squeaked, tried to kick a shoe – and failed, stupid, stupid – and darted across the street. The cat stayed where it was, watching me, its eyes glowing eerily in the reflected light. The grocery bags were hurting my fingers and wrists, the handles stretched wire-thin from the weight, swinging in crazy directions as I hurried. My heart started beating faster. I hated walking on this side of the street. There was a bar and a chain link fence up ahead, coarse shouts and loud music drifting out the open doors.

A group of men, smoking and laughing, spilled from behind the fence a block ahead of me. I had been spotted by them once, on an earlier evening. My ears turned red at the memory of their comments. Never had I been so grateful for my awkward skinniness and big, ugly ears than at that moment. Maybe my age helped. Mother would've shook her head. Age never helped her.

   I slowed down, biting my lip. Should I keep going? Go back to the other side of the street? I glanced to see if the cat was still sitting on the sidewalk, unsure if it was good or bad when I couldn't find it. The men ahead were drifting my direction, and I looked at them uneasily. I blinked. Weaving between their feet, unnoticed and ghost-like, was the cat. It was staring at me, and my throat tightened. I took a step backward, glanced behind, and jumped. The cat was behind me now, its black coat making it nearly invisible between street lamps, the white spot showing only faintly.

   My breathing quickened, and I backed up, panicking. I pressed myself closer to the brick building, my mind out of control. Instinct took over. A thin break between buildings was just to my left, and I crammed myself in, milk jugs bouncing back and forth against the walls as I forced my body to run sideways. I couldn't feel my fingers.

    Someone had left a ladder leaning against one building, its feet against the other wall, and a desperate, high-pitched sound slipped out of me. I'd have to crawl over it – going under was not an option. The bags thumped against it as I scrambled past, and it clanged and scraped. My eyes were huge as I looked over my shoulder, seeing no one. Were my ears ringing, or was someone shrieking, far away?

    I practically fell out of the little alley, whipping my head back and forth, my braid slapping one cheek as it flipped behind me. Sitting just outside the alley, to my left, was the cat. I shrieked, clutched my aching fists to my chest and ran the other direction, the bags pummeling my legs and stomach as I bolted. I was acting like a fool. Why hadn't I dropped the bags yet? But I couldn't come home empty handed. They all depended on me, now.

    I heard the shrieking again, and wanted to cover my ears. It wasn't loud, but shrill and high – so very, very high, and terrible. Not a scream of fear, but a bone-chilling wail. It paralyzed my brain, but my feet were still moving, stumbling, turning me, pushing off the ground toward whatever safety they could find.

    A truck was at the stop sign ahead. I should've slowed down. I should've acted normal. But a crow flew over head, with a call like a croaking laugh. A call that sounded like my name. I hurtled into the empty lot we used to play in.

    Suddenly, I realized where I was, and what my salvation would be. Mother and I had played many games here, pretending we lived in a world of faeries and elves, goblins and banshees. She taught me all the tricks for calling help, warding against ghouls, and how not to talk to spiders. Our most important project was in the middle, in the shape of the moon. I hurled myself towards the ring of stones, gasping.

    “Salt, salt, salt-” I whispered frantically, digging through one of the bags, intensely grateful that I had just bought the heavy little container. My hand found the circular, paper-covered top, and I scrabbled with my short fingernails at the little paper tab that covered the spout. I got it up and grabbed the container firmly in both hands, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. I had to breath slowly, my hands could not shake. There could be no break in the line. Then I poured it around me in a circle, being sure I and my bags were in the center of the stone ring. I hated how out in the open I was, but everything Mother had taught me told me this was the safest place to be. I sat and huddled in the middle, hiding my face behind my knees and hugging my arms around my legs.

    The shrieking was louder, closer, and I felt a strangely cold breeze in the summer night air. I would not look. I was not here. They would not find me. Several voices shrieking. How many were there? An animal screamed, yowling and hissing. My arms were vises around my legs, my whole body shaking. The breeze became a wind, whirling about me, picking at my clothes. I was afraid it would scatter the salt, but still I kept my eyes squeezed closed. The animal screamed again, and it sounded like words. A crow cried in response, an angry sound, and I could almost hear them collide. Snarling and broken caws battered back and forth.      

   There was a final, loud croaking shriek that tore through the air around me, and I heard wings beating away. The eery high-pitched screams were fading, and the air around me warmed again. I was sweating, shivering, my muscles so tight I couldn't move.

    Silence. I slowly became aware of stones digging into my backside. How long had I crouched here? My face was wet with tears I hadn't realized I'd cried. I scrubbed my eyes against my knees, and finally blinked them open to stare at my pants. Still silent. I raised my head slightly, and squeaked convulsively.

The cat sat there, only one eye open, its tail curled around his feet as if nothing had happened. Black feathers were scattered nearby, but no other animal was in sight. I stared at the cat, but its eyes were politely elsewhere, its ears relaxed and forward. Maybe it couldn't see me. I didn't dare move. Stretching, it languidly shook out each foot as if done with a grimy business, gave a cursory lick to its shoulder, and slowly began to saunter away – but I was watching, and I saw that wide eye as it flicked my direction. My stomach tightened.

    Bright lights flooded the lot, obliterating my vision. A truck crunched up the short incline, its beams pointed right at me, and a sob escaped me as I heard, “Cricket, what are you doing, girl?”

    I leaped to my feet, my joints cracking and aching after being clenched tight for what seemed like forever.

    “Da! Da!”

    He was out of the driver's side and had an arm around me before I could hobble three steps. I sobbed into his chest, every inch of me shaking.

    “What were you doing out here?” He said gruffly, stroking my head, “You can't go play and leave the kids home alone like that!”

    “I wasn't!” I gasped, “I – I -” I couldn't breath, the sobs were coming so hard. The terror was releasing me, and everything was collapsing.

    “I know, sweetheart,” he sighed, hugging me tight with both arms. He always makes me feel so tiny and safe. “I miss her, too.” He pushed me back so he could see me, one huge, rough thumb wiping the whole left side of my face. “I know it's hard, and I'm so sorry. But I need you to come home right now, alright?”

    I nodded my head shakily. Da would never understand what had just happened to me. He had nightmares, but never in the day time. He never understood Mother's sudden fits, either – but he always went and found her, always carried her home. I felt terrible that I was doing the same thing to him.

    “I'm s-sorry, Da-” I started, my eyes straining up to catch his face, and he choked on a laugh.

    “Don't be using those eyes on me, bug. I ain't mad atcha.” He took my upper arm gently between his thumb and forefinger and lifted me into the truck like a featherweight. “Don't move. I'll get the bags.”

    When we reached home, I paused with the truck door open, waiting for Da to get out. It was a favorite game of ours: his bulk would shift the whole truck on its springs, and each of us kids would clamor for him to do it again and again, laughing as the truck would lift almost off its passenger-side wheels. Today the elevator-ride sensation did little to lift my spirits. The sight of little faces at the screen door was better.

    They stood in a row in front of the door, straight and silent, watching with wide, luminous eyes. It wasn't until I had gotten old enough to start babysitting the neighbors' kids that I'd realized how quiet and still my siblings are. I suppose most little boys spend their time roaring and laughing and pretending to be army men, rather than quietly picking up acorns or sitting in the top of a tree, collecting rain water in little leaf bowls.

    “Will, where's the baby?” Da called, moving around the truck. I hopped down, gathering grocery bags from around my seat.

    “Supposed to be sleeping, but she's not,” he replied, holding the screen door open with one hand and motioning the kids back with the other. Willem is only twelve, but he's already taller than mom, and seven inches taller than me.

    “No?” Da raised his eyebrows, “She usually sleeps like a bug in a rug.” He took the majority of bags from me and trudged up the concrete steps. I followed with only the baby-formula bag and a box of cereal left in my arms. We could hear the baby screaming as soon as we came through the door.

    “Not today,” the twins said together. I gave them a look. There's nothing creepier than nine year old boys staring at you and slowly speaking in unison.

    “No?” Da said again, looking around at me.

    “I think she's just hungry,” I said uneasily. “I bought more formula.” My eyes prickled. I hate feeling like I'm failing at something, failing at taking care of my family. Mother would've known what was wrong.

Da reached out to put his hand on my shoulder, but I ducked into the kitchen and started preparing the baby's milk. She was still screaming from the bedroom, and the twins and four year old Eric stood and watched me the whole time, their eyes reproachful. Nobody wants to share a room with a hungry baby. Once it was done, I tested a drop or two on my wrist to be sure it wouldn't scald the poor thing's tongue. Perfectly warm.

    “She's still crying,” Eric lisped, his serious eyes huge on his little, round-cheeked face. “She's been crying all day.”

    “I know, bud,” I sighed, carrying the bottle towards the bedroom. The house is really too small for all of us, but Da's construction jobs are too few and far between to let us get anything bigger. At least we all have mattresses – almost enough mattresses. I sleep on the couch, and the twins share the top bunk, but I doubt you could get them to sleep separately. They may as well be siamese.

    I pushed the bedroom door open, and winced as the screaming pierced my eardrums. She didn't sound right – not that I'd heard her scream much. She was the sweetest, quietest baby I'd ever held, even after Mother left. I didn't know why she was so unhappy today. Eric walked up to the crib and peered through the bars.

    “This baby is weird,” he said.

    “No, she's just hungry or something,” I replied, pushing him over so I could bend over the side and pick her up. The baby's face was purple from screaming, angry tears and baby snot smeared over her cheeks.     

   “C'mere, Poppy,” I crooned, “Let sissy take care of you.”

    Reaching past her fat, pumping fists and feet, I hauled her up and into my arms. She was roaring and hiccuping at the same time, her eyes scrunched closed. I plunked the bottle's tip into her wide-open mouth. It took a moment for her to stop screaming and realize there was food at hand, but when she did, she began to suck with all her might. We all sighed in the sudden quiet.

    Willem was standing in the doorway, his hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets. “She didn't use to scream like that when she was hungry,” he said.

    Our eyes met, and my stomach did a funny flop. “Maybe she just misses mom,” I said, and he nodded slightly, but neither of us believed it. Something had been off from the moment we woke up this morning, and all of us had felt it.

    Waking up without Mother in the house is always a strange feeling, of course. I loved waking up and listening to her humming in the kitchen. Her voice is low, and rich. I could listen to it forever. Now I wake up to my alarm clock, set an extra half-hour early so I can start breakfast and get Da's lunch bag ready.

    Today I woke up with a strange, sad feeling, like I'd had a horrible dream but couldn't remember it. The boys all felt stuffy and kept sneezing. Eric had dark circles under his eyes. And Poppy . . . the baby had woken up screaming and hadn't stopped. She stopped to eat, but in a ravenous fashion, as if we hadn't fed her for days. And something about her looked different, too. Maybe I just wasn't used to seeing her without a smile on her pudgy little face.

    I bounced her on my hip and moved around the room, kicking dirty t-shirts and shoving shoes and socks with my toes. A pile of laundry that was supposed to have been put away had been flung all over the end of the baby's crib, covering whatever was leaning against it.

    “Aiden, Finn!” I scolded, “I told you to put these away! No more laundry wars! You too, Will!”

    The twins and Willem all grinned at me and scooted out the door, but I felt a balled-up sock smack between my shoulders before the door slammed.

    “I'm serious!” I called after them, but my voice didn't sound it. They could always make me smile. The baby was holding the bottle up to her own mouth, so I let go and started taking the wadded-up shirts and underwear and piling them on the nearby dresser. They had somehow managed to cover an entire step-stool with clothes. Oh, I thought as my hand touched rough wood, that's not the kitchen step-stool, it's- My hand jerked, and I stopped smiling. I swiped the rest of the clothes onto the floor and looked, horrified, at the small ladder from the shed, which was leaned up against the crib, the space beneath it open – a perfect triangle.

    “Boys!” I shrieked, knocking the ladder to the ground. Eric jumped in surprise, and retreated onto his little bed next to the crib. The baby let go of the bottle and started screaming.

    Willem barged through the door and Aiden and Finn bounded through after him. They stopped short at the look on my face, and looked at my shaking finger, pointing at the fallen ladder.

    “Who did this?” I hissed, trying to keep my voice low. I pushed the bottle back into Poppy's mouth to make her stop screaming, and she gulped at it greedily.

    “Not us,” said the twins, crouching to look at it.

    “Who brought that in here?” Willem asked, frowning. “Has that been here all day?”
    I looked at Eric, curled up on his bed, and he pursed his lips. He was staring to his left, his big eyes shining and wet.

    My heart sank. “Eric . . .”

    His little chin quivered, and then his whole face crumpled.

    I crouched down to his level, trying to stay calm. “Bud, why did you bring the ladder in here?”

    “I wanted to r-read to the b-baby,” he cried, rubbing his eyes with his fists. “Winnie 'Pooh is my favorite, an' I wanted to make her s-smile, but I was too short . . .” I rubbed his arm with my hand and kissed his head. Then I sat down on the floor, my stomach tight.

    “Everybody sit,” I whispered. They all did, forming a semi-circle in front of me.

    “We can't forget what Mom taught us just because she isn't here,” I said, making eye contact with each boy before looking at the next one.

    Willem sighed and rolled his eyes. “We don't have to keep playing Mom's game, Cricket. She'd be okay if we took a break.”

    I ignored him and closed my eyes, trying to remember Mother's catechism. I took a deep breath, and folded my hands like she always did, and then began.

    “Why do we stay away from the black ones?”

    “Someone is watching,” Aiden recited.

    “Why do we stay away from three-sided doors?”

    “Someone is waiting,” Finn replied.

    “How can we find help?”

    “Knock on wood,” the twins and Eric all said together. Willem blew out his cheeks and rolled his eyes again.

    “When can we sleep?”

    “When the sun is down, the windows are shut, and with silver in our pockets.”

    I breathed out and opened my eyes. “Good. Let me see your silver dollars.”

    The twins and Eric all hopped up and started fishing around under their pillows. Willem sat on his hands, hunched and looking at the floor. I nudged him with my foot.

    “Will?”

    “This is dumb,” he muttered, his face flushing.

    “Just get your coin,” I said, irritated. He chewed on his bottom lip and kept staring at the floor. The twins brought me theirs, and Eric held his up for me to see and then carefully tucked it back under his pillow. I kicked Will again, who grunted but ignored me.

    “Fine,” I said, “Aiden, get Poppy's for me, okay?”

    He hopped over to the crib and fished around the edge of the mattress. He paused, hiked himself higher over the railing, and searched some more. Finally, he pulled up the entire bottom sheet, flipped it over, and then plopped back to the ground and shrugged at me.

    My already tight stomach twisted. I checked the little pocket I'd sewn on Poppy's baby clothes, and found it empty. There was no way she could have swallowed it, though I'd seen her sucking on it from time to time.

    Will had his fist to his forehead, hiding his face, but I could see his ears, slowly turning red. My eyes grew large as I stared at him.

    “Willem?” I whispered. He didn't respond. I leaned forward and hissed over the baby's head, “Willem Sean McGinnis! Where are those coins?”

    The whole room was silent, except for Eric sucking on his thumb, as Willem picked at the carpet. Finally, he blew at the bangs on his forehead, flopped forward and thumped his head on the ground. Muffled against the carpet, I heard him say, “I wanted to buy a baseball card.”

    I was so upset, I couldn't even talk. I had better not talk, or I would say something I'd regret. I couldn't believe him. The twins were unusually still as they watched my face. Eric, so easily affected by emotional tension between his siblings, was crying again.

    My voice was uneven when I finally said, very quietly, “Willem.” He looked at me, his face miserable.

    “Do you know what the last thing Mother said to me was?” I whispered, “She said, 'It is no game, Cricket. It is no game.'”

    Willem lay very still on the floor, staring at me as he processed what I'd said. His face began to drain of color.

    Eric curled up next to me, burying his face in my stomach. “I miss mommy,” he whimpered, “When is she coming back?”

    My eyes prickled and I blinked quickly. “I don't know, bud.”

    “Why did she have to leave?” Finn asked, his usually impish face forlorn.

    I shook my head. “She . . . she needed help. Help she couldn't get here, I guess. So she went to find her family.” This was one thing Mother hadn't fully explained even to me – and she had told me everything, or so I'd thought.

    “So she's really in trouble?” Willem asked from the floor. “She really thinks someone's trying to find her?”

    I nodded, and hugged the baby close. She was sucking on the bottle still, but eyeing the silver coins in my hand with distaste and grunting unhappily, so I handed them back to the twins, who put them under their pillows again.

    We sat and looked at each other, at a loss. Willem finally pushed himself up and looked at me bleakly.   

   “I'm really sorry, Cricket. I never should've taken them in the first place.”

   “Can we use some of grandma's silver?” asked Aiden, his face perking up. I blinked at him.

    “Good idea, Aiden. We'll find some spoons tonight.”

    He nodded, and my stomach loosened. We could do this. We could follow Mother's instructions and keep the house safe until she could come back. We had to.

    Da called from the other room, and we slowly got up, one by one, and drifted out from the bedroom into the living room. He was seated on the couch under the front window, his legs stretched out over the cushions, tall enough even while seated that he only had to turn his head to watch the front yard.

    “Lookit this,” he said, grinning, “I've never seen anything like it.”

    “Huh,” said Willem, leaning over Da's head, “that's a lot of cats.”

    My knees locked, and the baby squawked in protest as my arms tightened. The twins' faces lit up, and they bounded over Da's knees to perch on the back of the couch. Grinning, they sprung off the couch and out the door like a pair of squirrels.

    “Boys!” Da laughed, “You'd think they'd never seen an old lady walking her cats before.”

    “I've never seen an old lady walking even one cat,” said Willem, staring. “People don't even walk their dogs at this time of night.”

    I inched towards the window, and every inch of me sighed in relief as the cats came into sight. There were white long hairs, grey and brown tabbies, spotted calicos, and even a hairless sphynx cat, but not a black cat among them. They were all being led on little crocheted leashes by a very small little old lady. She was wearing gardening gloves and galoshes with a pink and yellow sundress and a white cardigan. Her fluffy white hair was pulled up in a knot on top of her head, and thick glasses were pushed up her nose. She was smiling good-naturedly at the twins, who were each crouched in front of the cats, whispering and touching noses with whichever ones were feeling friendly.

    “That lady is really, really old,” said Eric. He had clambered over Da's stomach and was perched on top, his nose barely reaching over the windowsill.

    “Eric, be polite,” I said automatically.

    “It's awful late for her to be out there in that getup,” Da said, frowning. “Cricket, go see if she needs anything. Offer the lady a drink.”

    “Yes, sir,” I said, biting my lip. I hate meeting new people, but you really don't say 'no' to Da. I shifted the baby to one hip, still holding the bottle up to her mouth. She was guzzling as if she hadn't eaten in a week, and it was almost empty. I pushed the door open with my elbow and slid outside.

The lady and her cats had walked past our house by the time the twins had intercepted them, so I cut across our small yard. The lady looked up and blinked at me, the thick lenses of her glasses making her eyes huge.

    “Good evening,” I said, “Sorry about the boys.”

    “Oh, no trouble,” she replied in a quavering voice, “Anyone who loves my cats is fine by me. What are the children's names?”

    “Finn and Aiden,” they said together, distracted.

    “That one's Finn,” I said, pointing at the brother with longer hair and two cats in his lap, “and that one's Aiden.” Aiden glanced up and grinned, his hands buried in long white fur. Finn was whispering to the cats in his lap, and they were staring back, their whiskers twitching.

    The lady watched them, her head cocked to the side slightly. “You know, in some cultures, twins are considered to have special powers,” she said. I didn't like something about her smile.

    The boys both looked at her this time, and then glanced at each other. Finn slowly pushed the cats off his lap and Aiden stood up.

    “Uhm – we noticed you out walking your, er – cats,” I stuttered, remembering why I'd been sent out in the first place, “And we wondered if you'd like something to drink?”

    “Thank you, child,” she said, turning toward the house so quickly even the cats looked startled. “I could not refuse such a kind offer of hospitality.” She twitched the leashes, and the cats all turned and headed straight for the door.

    “Oh – um, okay,” I faltered. I wasn't sure this was what Da had in mind, but I couldn't very well tell her I'd rather she and all her cats stood in the street while I fetched her a cup of water.

Da was at the door, ushering the strange procession into the house as if we always had feline callers after dinner. I sighed and hiked the baby up higher on my hip, glancing down at her face. She was being awfully quiet. I was still holding the bottle up to her lips, but she was staring after the lady as the last cat went through the door. Her eyes looked funny in the light from the window, and I shook myself.

    “This day has been so weird,” I said.

    “Get ready for weirder,” said Finn as he passed me, leaping up the steps. I looked at Aiden, who shrugged.

    “I donno. The cats were pretty confused – they're not from around here.”

    “What?” I asked, walking after them.

   We walked into the house, and I blinked in surprise. Cats were everywhere. They were off their leashes and roaming freely, under the table, on backs of chairs, down the hall. Da had his best 'host face' on, but he still looked uneasy. Mother would have been flawless. She was the best hostess and server I'd ever seen. Which reminded me about the drinks.

    “What can I get you, ma'am?” I asked the old lady. She was seated on the edge of our couch like a dowager, like we were her guests.

    “Tea would be lovely. Milk for the cats, if it's no trouble.” She smiled, and I smiled back, mimicking Mother to the best of my ability.

    Handing the baby and the bottle to Willem, I went to put hot water on the stove and collect bowls for the cats. I tried to do some quick figuring in my head, since about 3 cats should be able to drink from a bowl at the same time, but without being able to count the cats, I just guessed and put down ten assorted bowls and mugs on the floor, and started pouring milk in each one. I smiled. This was one of my favorite things to do; stand tall, hold the pitcher with both hands, and pour gracefully in a single stream, without spilling a drop. I used to practice with Mother over and over, and she was so patient as I made mess after mess. I'd always tried to look just like she did, but my big hands ruined the nymph-like effect she always had.

    I finished pouring and glanced up to see the old lady watching me closely. The cats came swarming towards the bowls, and I stepped around them carefully. Da was trying to ask her about her family, but she leaned forward and beckoned me with a gnarled hand, her gardening gloves folded neatly on her lap.

    “Where did you learn to pour like that, child? It is a style most unique.”

    I clenched my big hands behind my back and felt my face flushing. Her words were complimentary, but her voice was not.

    “My mother taught me,” I said, still trying to smile.

    “Your mother?” she asked, glancing around the room, “So you are not the lady of the house? I'd love to meet her. Is she not at home today?”

    Da cleared his throat, “My wife is . . . visiting family.”

    “Is she?” the lady asked quietly, and her eyes fell on Eric, who was hiding behind Da.

    “No,” Eric said, and hid his face.

    “Eric,” Willem laughed, “Yes, she is. She went to Ireland for a holiday,” he insisted. Da looked uncomfortable.

    “Oh? Back to the old country, is it?” Her face sharpened, and her voice did not quaver as she said it.

    “Eric, stop hiding and be polite,” Da said, trying to move Eric's little body in front of him. Eric shook his head and wrapped his arms around Da's leg.

   The lady laughed. “Are you frightened of me, child?”

    Eric peeked at her. She smiled and patted the couch beside her. Da pushed him forward, and Eric slowly moved towards her and sat down. His eyes were huge as he stared at her.

    “You're really, really old,” he said.

    “ERIC!” Da and I exclaimed together.

     The old lady laughed again, tiny wrinkles fanning across her cheeks. “You are an observant child. Tell me, what else do you know?”

    I could see him thinking, pinching his little mouth closed. Finally he said in a tiny voice, “You're not a nice lady.”

    “ERIC!” Da bellowed. Eric shot off the couch, but the lady was faster, whipping a hand out and around his shoulder.

    We all froze in an instant. My whole body felt constricted, and I couldn't understand why. I wanted to apologize to her, to take him away from her, to make her leave. I couldn't move. She was standing now, taller than before, and her eyes were dark as they stared at us over her glasses.

    “You have here one possessing knowledge,” she said, and her voice was changed, sharp and beautiful. She gripped Eric's shoulder tightly, and he winced. Da grunted in protest, but he was as frozen as the rest of us. “Tell me, little one . . . where is your mother?”

    “I don't know,” he whimpered.

    “What do you want with my wife?” Da spoke through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched shut.

She ignored him, clutching Eric's shoulder. “Who does know?” she hissed at him. His whole body shivered.

“What do you want with-” Da began again, more vehemently, but the woman flicked a hand at him, and his voice cut out.

    She dug her fingers into Eric's shoulder. My mind screamed, let go of him! But my lips were frozen together. Aiden and Finn's eyes looked wild, but they crouched, unmoving, next to the equally unmoving cats. Willem was standing to one side, the bottle in one hand, the baby in the other arm. The baby! She was squirming, yawning, blinking, moving. She wanted the bottle, and couldn't understand why Will was holding it just out of reach.

    “Who does know?” the old lady hissed again, her nose inches from Eric's ear. His face was turning red with effort, his eyes tearing up. His arm was shaking under her grip, and his finger slowly raised and pointed at me.

    Her eyes locked on me, and her mouth sneered. “The daughter. Daughter . . .” she paused, and her nostrils flared. “That is a development I was not aware of.” She spat out a word, and one of the cats by Finn silently convulsed, once, twice, and then fell to its side, still. She straightened and stepped toward me, letting go of Eric. Silent tears trailed down his face.

    “Where is your mother, pet?” she crooned.

    I swallowed, and discovered I could speak.