Rose was about eighteen, built sturdy like most Walshes, with the kind of chest that magnetized his gaze if he wasn’t careful. He stood in no danger of that now. He could only stare at her eyes, desperate for a sign that she didn’t actually know what he had planned for Seanna.
Rose Walsh had the sight. That’s what they called it in Cainsville, and they said it no differently than they’d say someone had a knack for baking pies or playing piano.
“Too old to run home?” Rose said.
He started at the sound of her voice. Her lips curved in just the faintest smile as she wished him a good Nos Galan Gaeaf. Rose Walsh wasn’t given to smiles, but she had always been kind to him, steady and unflappable, and her expression bore no sign that she’d foreseen his plan.
“Too old to run home?” she repeated.
“A bit.”
“But old enough to join themari lwyd. I bet if you asked, they’d let you go along.” That faint curve of her lips again. “It’s a fine excuse for underage drinking.”
He smiled at that, and at the thought of joining the revelers, but he shook his head, saying, “I’ll wait. Thank you, though,” and then slipped off. He felt the weight of Rose’s gaze following him.
Lance poked around Main Street, scoping out the area for his return. He kept an eye on the dwindling crowds, not wanting to be noted as among the last to leave.
He was walking past the fire when one of the elders fell in beside him. He didn’t know her name. To him, they were just “the elders.” Old people. Gray-haired and wrinkle-faced. A homogeneous lot of senior citizens.
This one was a woman with long graying hair. Short and stout, like the teapot in the rhyme. Despite her obvious age, she fell in at a perfect pace with him. He slowed, though, out of respect. Even Seanna treated the elders with respect.
“Rose tells me you might like to join themari lwyd,” the woman said.
Lance shook his head. “Not this year. Thank you.”
“Are you sure? I can make a place for you. I think you’d enjoy it.”
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
“Well, then, best run along home. BeforeHwch Ddu Gwtacomes out to play.”
She patted his back, and he felt the weight of her gaze, too, watching as he headed for the side street.
Onthe walk home, Lance heard themari lwydmaking the rounds from house to house. The gray mare.
He heard the chatter and laughter grow louder, and he turned onto his street just as themari lwydleft a house. He saw it, and for one split second, he was a child again, getting his first look.
After his parents thought Lance had gone to bed, he’d snuck out to see themari lwyd. One glimpse, and he’d run home so fast his lungs burned, and he’d lain in bed for hours, reciting multiplication tables, his talisman against the night and its horrors.
He shook his head at his younger self. Sure, it was a spooky sight. A hooded figure wearing a mare’s skull, white garments flowing, an equine specter. But the men and women with the fearsome creature were laughing, halfway to drunk, jostling like kids as they made their way up the steps to the next house with its light on.
One of the men rapped at the door. It opened immediately and someone inside let out a cry of feigned terror. The group shouldered their way inside, where they would tell a story in exchange for a “tipple” of whiskey and then bless the house against the coming winter.
The front windows were open, and through them Lance heard the story start, and his steps slowed. He thought of Rose and the elder and their invitation.
Join the procession of themari lwyd. You don’t need to be the odd boy out. It’s Cainsville, where gargoyles appear anddisappear, where a teenage girl can see the future, where themari lwydbestows her blessings for the winter ahead.
Come and join us.
He wanted to. He desperately wanted to.
Next year.
Tonight he needed to kill Seanna Walsh.
Sneakingfrom the house was easy. His parents barely noticed he’d come in. The hardest part was going out his window. That was not difficult in itself—it opened easily. The problem was it was bad luck to exit through a different door than the one you’d entered. He gritted his teeth and went out his window. Then he checked it four times to be sure it was closed.
Lance counted steps to Main Street. Another talisman. Get an even number, and everything would go well. Of course, it was easy to get an even number—just take an extra step if it came up odd—but it was the mindfulness that mattered. It also helped quell his anxiety over not exiting through the proper door.
