“I know I should have come back sooner to check on you…” My voice trails off as the image of her aiming the crossbow at me fills my mind. “You understand why I didn’t, though. You threatened to kill me.”
Grandmother keeps staring. Her wrinkled hands clasp the plate with the muffin, but she makes no move to eat it.
“Anne and Mama told me to come here,” I confess. “We’re going to a party this weekend, and they want to be sure I don’t embarrass them. They thought I should resume my training with you. Not that it ever really worked.”
“And why not?” she says crisply.
“You’re going to say it’s because I didn’t apply myself. And maybe that’s true. Maybe I didn’t put my whole heart into it. I never really believed that meditation and emotional control would resolve anything.” Releasing a gusty sigh, I stand up and move to the bureau, glaring at the candle flame. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life trapped in a routine of self-repressionjust so my existence doesn’t disturb those around me. Is that so wrong?”
“Some might call it selfish.”
“Youhavecalled it selfish. Many times.”
“Have I?” She coughs a little. “I don’t remember.”
“You’re having memory lapses. Not caring for yourself properly. I think it’s time to let the elders of Mulhouse know.”
“And what will they do about it?”
I wince, still watching the candle so I don’t have to witness her expression. “They’ll put you in the almshouse, where people live who need more care and have no family to tend them. We’d take you in if we could. I hope you know that. But we nearly starved last winter—”
“And you can’t afford another mouth to feed.”
“I wish things were different.” I turn toward her, my heart aching. “Maybe they will be, if Anne or I can meet an eligible man at the party. If we can make decent matches, our fortunes will change, and we’ll be able to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” Her voice is a rebellious croak. “You should leave.”
“What about a lesson?” There’s a pleading note in my voice, and I hate it. I hate that I’m asking something from her when she’s in this situation. I hate that I’m begging for a solution I don’t really want. “You can eat while I prepare you a bath, and once you’re clean and comfortable we can do some meditation.”
“Leave this house.” The words are a snarl, and her lips curl back far enough for me to glimpse her teeth. They’re much longer, narrower, and sharper than I remember, like a row of fangs, pointed and vicious. My stomach flips with horror. What the fuck has happened to her?
“Grandmother, your teeth—they’re so big—”
“You’re imagining things,” she replies. “You’re going insane, like I always knew you would. Begone, witch!” Hervoice rises to a scream, and the candle gutters, its light flickering on those enormous teeth.
I back away, confusion darkening my mind. Am I delusional, or is this real?
“The little demons,” I say faintly. “You used to hate them, but they live on your property now, and you built shelters for them. Why?”
“Out of my house!” she howls.
Tears sting my eyes as I flee to the front room. Since my presence is distressing her, I should leave. If I stay and try to force her to eat and bathe, who knows how violent she could become. Am I cowardly to fear her? She can’t be that strong in her current state. Perhaps I could overpower her physically, but in the process I might hurt her, and it would be a horrible experience for us both.
She continues ranting and demanding my departure, while I gnaw my lip, debating my options. Finally I yell, “I’ll leave, but only after I’ve washed some of your clothes and linens and drawn you a warm bath. And I’m coming back after the party to check on you. If you still aren’t taking care of yourself, I’ll have no choice but to speak to the village elders.”
Her only answer is a grumbling litany of curses.
I spend the next couple of hours doing the laundry, pinning it to the line outside, and sweeping the front room. Last of all, I prepare the bath. As soon as the tub is full of warm water, I announce my departure, adding, “Be sure you eat something.”
Grandmother only grunts, and when I offer to help her bathe, she doesn’t reply, so I leave the cottage, my heart far heavier than when I arrived.
On the way home, I accidentally summon a pair of mice with rainbow fur and dragonfly wings. Their paws have been mutilated, all the flesh and fur stripped away to reveal white bone. They zoom around in wild confusion.
“I’m sorry,” I tell them, tears stinging my eyes. “Please try to calm down. Come closer, or I can’t help you.”
The creatures don’t listen. Instead they flutter away into the forest, and their frantic chirps fade into the distance.
It’s just as well. Given the extent of their injuries, I wouldn’t have known what to do for them.
