The Wood Wife by Terri Windling (the false prince TXT) 📕

uncles singing pow-wow songs. It made for a peaceful sound: the flute, voices, percussion like the rattle of stones. The moan of the didjeridu was the rising wind just before a storm.

Fox raised the volume, for it filled the silence between them as they travelled back to town.

• • •

That night she slipped through the shadows of the bedroom, making no noise with her bare human feet. Her heart was beating rapidly. She wished once again that the Spine Witch was here. But this was her task alone tonight, to retrieve that single copper band that had left the mountain for so many years and now had come back again. She could see it on the night table, glowing in the darkness like a star.

She crept up to the head of the bed. She cast a nervous glance at the sleeping woman, and slowly slid her hand to the table. She reached for the band, her fingers closing on it. Then her wrist was pinned. A light went on.

“I’ve got you,” the woman said, looking at her. Her eyes widened when she saw what she had caught.

The little one cringed against the side of the bed, covering her face with long jackrabbit ears.

“Oh good heavens. You’re trembling. And you’re such a little bit of a thing, now aren’t you?” The woman’s voice grew softer. “Come on now, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know who you are. What you are. And what are you doing with all my things?”

She lifted one ear and peeked up with one eye. She whispered the woman’s name—“Black Maggie.”

“That’s right,” the woman said to her. “But who are you, little darlin’?”

“I have no name.” Her human voice was both whispery and gravelly. She’d never tried it out before. She said hopefully, “You can call me what you like.” She felt a flutter of excitement in her chest. Was she about to get a name at last?

The woman smiled. “All right then. But what shall I call you? How about … Thumper?” She laughed, a husky sound. “You’ve probably never heard of Bambi, have you?”

“Thumper.” She lifted her other ear, and grinned, exposing little teeth.

“Thumper, if I let you go, are you going to disappear on me?”

Her smile left and she gravely shook her head.

“All right, I’m going to trust you then. But I want you to let go of the bracelet first. That’s Anna’s bracelet and I’m not going to give it to you, understand?”

Thumper shook her head again, and she let go of the copper band. Crow would not be happy. But what could she do? The woman had caught her fairly. There were rules about these things, of course. Even Crow was bound by that, although it was true he wasn’t bound by much. Not like the rest of them. Not like her, with the animal self always tugging at her, overwhelming her other senses. Not like the Spine Witch, bound to the cactus in which her magic was housed; or the Nightmage whose soul had been plucked from the wood like a bean popped from a mesquite pod and put only Earth knew where.

Black Maggie let go of her wrist. Thumper stood, legs splayed, her hands on her belly, waiting to see what would happen next. Then the fur rose on the back of her neck. Thumper began to tremble again. Outside, the Hounds had begun to bay. They sounded very close, and she was afraid. If she left this house they would find her, and now that she had failed him she doubted that Crow would give her any protection.

But Black Maggie couldn’t hear the Hounds. “You’re cold,” she said as Thumper stood shivering. “Here, come have a blanket then.”

She climbed up on old Cooper’s bed. She was less than half the size of the woman, and thinner, more loosely stitched together. Her long, boney limbs were human in shape but covered with a pelt of soft grey fur. The bed was warm where the woman had slept. She took the blanket and curled at its foot, her head nestled up against Black Maggie’s knees. She sighed deeply. Tonight she’d sleep safe. Perhaps she did well to be caught after all. She had safe haven, she had a name, she had a bit of warmth in the dark. She smiled then and she closed her eyes. In an instant, she was fast asleep.

❋ Davis Cooper ❋

Redwater Road

Tucson, Arizona

Anaïs Nin Guiler

Acapulco, Mexico

August 2, 1949

Dear Anaïs,

I knew you of all people would understand that the line between dream and reality is a thin one, a fragile membrane easily ruptured by a poet, a painter, or a drunk’s clumsy hand. Yes, I am drunk. It doesn’t matter. The edges of the world are softer this way—for life has been sharp as a cactus spine since Anna fled back to the family bosom and refuses to see any of us again.

I am learning patience. It is only a matter of time before she returns. It is not possible, it is not conceivable that she will stay away for good. Anna loves these hills, this sky, this house. She’ll come back for the land if not for me.

In the meantime, I am gathering her paintings, or at least as many as I can reach. I know that this is important to her—I don’t know why, but I will honor her wish. She was buying back every canvas she could from the Rincon series painted in the last two years. Will you part with the one she gave to you, for Anna’s sake if not for mine? I can send you one of the earlier pieces instead—The Highwayman or The Star Blower, which I know you have always liked.

The one you own now, The Trickster, is a portrait of one of the creatures I told you about. Anna calls him Crow. I don’t trust him. They were often in the hills together in the days just before everything went wrong. You’ve