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

“Night before last?” Maggie repeated as she came back out with a mug for Dora. “Honey, why didn’t you call us? Have you been all alone in the house since then?”

Dora nodded her head. “I called in sick to work. It’s just… well, I’m embarrassed. And I thought Juan would come back home by now.”

“Why are you embarrassed?” Fox said angrily. “It’s Juan who should be embarrassed. Or appalled. Preferably both.”

Dora colored, and Maggie put her hand on Fox’s arm. Her glance said: Take it easy.

Maggie said to Dora, “Do you want to tell us what happened? Do you mind talking about it?”

Dora looked up, tossing back her bright hair. “No,” she said decisively. “I came over here to talk to you. I should have done it before.”

“I can go,” said Fox, “if you’d rather just talk to Maggie.”

Dora slipped her hand into his. “No, don’t, Johnny. Stay here and hold my hand. I want something solid to hold on to right now.” Then she told them about her fight with Juan, and the half-fights that had preceded it, and of Juan’s increasingly strange, obsessive behavior over the last several months.

Maggie asked, “What is it that happened several months ago that started all this? Do you know?”

“Cooper died,” Dora said softly.

Maggie stared. “You think that’s related somehow?”

“I know it is. The night Cooper died was the first night Juan disappeared into the hills. I went looking for him. I found him near dawn, lying on the stones by Redwater Creek. He had taken off his clothes…” Dora hesitated, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “… and covered his skin with oil paint. Zigzags and spirals—crazy stuff.” She shot Fox a defensive look. “I know, I didn’t tell the sheriff that when they were investigating Cooper’s death. I guess I was afraid they’d decide that Juan was involved in it somehow.”

“You’re certain he’s not?” Fox asked carefully.

“Of course not!”

“Dora, how can you know that for sure?”

“I can’t,” she admitted. “I can’t prove it. Only, Juan just isn’t that kind of man. You know him, Johnny. You know how special, how good he really is.”

He touched her bruised cheek gently. “But the Juan I thought I knew, he wouldn’t have done this.”

“Spirals, jagged lines,” Maggie mused. They both looked up at her, puzzled. “That’s like Anna’s paintings—”

“Yeah, I know,” Dora interrupted. “Juan is completely obsessed with Anna Naverra. That’s why I’ve brought her painting back. I don’t want it in my house anymore.”

Maggie leaned down and picked up the canvas that rested against the front porch steps. “The Mage and the Midnight Hour,” she read. “Dora, how long have you had this?”

“Since my birthday, last March.”

“Right before Cooper died? Which was when Juan’s behavior began to change?”

Fox said, “I know what you’re thinking, Maggie; but the old man gave away other paintings—to Tomás, to the Alders. There’s one hanging in my cabin. And no one else has been acting noticeably different than they ever do.”

Maggie frowned. “Okay. But,” she turned to Dora, “did Cooper say anything about this particular painting?”

Dora hesitated. “Well, he always called it ‘The Drowned Girl’ like his poem, instead of Anna’s title. And he said a kind of funny thing. He said Juan and I were the nicest people he knew, so he thought that he could trust us with it. And not to give it to anyone else, because the Drowned Girl was … something. Headstrong, maybe? Something like that. He said it might be dangerous if we gave it to someone who wasn’t so sweet as us. It was crazy talk, the way he got when he was drunk. Flattering, but crazy. I just told him I wouldn’t ever sell it. He seemed to be content with that.”

Maggie looked at Fox. “Thumper also said that the Drowned Girl is dangerous. I don’t know who this Drowned Girl is—a mage, according to this painting. I don’t know what a mage is either. But something about the word is familiar.”

Fox was silent, considering this. Then he said, “What’s interesting to me is that Cooper thought the quality of ‘goodness’ mattered here. Remember what you told me Anna said about the land mirroring back at you whatever was inside of you?”

“Sure. What are you thinking?”

“That Anna Naverra had it figured out, way back in fortyeight. That the land and its creatures appear in different guises depending on what expectations we bring to the encounter… In which case, ‘goodness’ would be important, right? It would render any encounter harmless. Whereas fear would be mirrored by something fearsome, violence by something violent.”

Dora looked back and forth between them. “Would you please tell me what you’re talking about?”

Fox said, “We will. But can you answer me one question first? Are you certain Juan was never obsessive, or angry, or violent before?”

“No,” Dora said definitely. “Not in all the time I’ve known him. He had a temper when he was younger, that’s what broke up his first marriage—but he went through therapy after his divorce. He changed. He wasn’t like that anymore; I wouldn’t have married him if he had been. He’s always been an angel to me.” She sighed heavily. “I mean, he was before all of this.”

Fox met Maggie’s eyes over Dora’s head. She knew what he was thinking. Juan had encountered the Drowned Girl, perhaps because he’d gotten so entranced by Anna’s paintings. And the girl was drawing out something at the core of Juan that he’d thought was dead and buried.

“Look, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on,” Dora said with mounting irritation.

Maggie looked at the younger woman squarely. “I believe the creatures Anna painted are real, Dora. I’ve actually seen some of them. I’ve never seen a girl like the one in this painting; but I think it’s very likely that she’s out there, somewhere, in the hills, and that Juan has gotten … involved with her.”

Dora looked at her sharply. “They’re real? You’ve actually seen them?”

Maggie nodded. “Real enough to touch. I fed one breakfast in my kitchen—and