Wulf #2
Just as Eris said, a girl stands nearby, a red hood pulled over her head. She appears to be slightly younger than Princess Snow White. A knife covered in monster blood remains in her hand, forgotten by the soulless girl who stares at nothing.
I am impressed that one so young could slay even one leibwraith before losing her soul. She must be fierce.
"Little Red Cap. This is so surreal," Verena murmurs, slowing to a stop beside the girl. Then she holds up the souls. "Okay, in the interest of preventing a Freaky Friday scenario, which soul belongs to which?"
Eris is inside Ida's mirror. He squints at the two orbs. "Perhaps the bigger, brighter one belongs to the old woman. A longer, fuller life could yield a bigger soul."
"But children are naturally so soulful," Verena muses. "Maybe old souls shrink like raisins."
Recalling my few experiences with the old woman, I nod at the smaller glowing orb.
"That is Ida."
"God, I hope you're right. Time to find out."
Eris and I both watch as Verena sets the smaller soul on Ida's chest. It disappears into her like cloth absorbing dew. She gasps, sitting up to blink at the uninvited guests in her home. She even squints beady eyes at Eris as if trying to make him out better in the mirror.
“Vornath’s rolly ass! How did you three gawking nitwits get into my house?" she snaps.
Verena glances at me. "Please tell me that's—"
"Ida," I confirm.
She breathes out in relief, but now the old woman's glare snaps to me.
"Who're you? How the hell do you know my name?" she demands.
"We have met more than once."
She scoffs, pushing off her blankets and swearing about her back until she can stand to squint up at me. She is even shorter than the red-cloaked girl, who stands barely taller than Verena's shoulder.
"What a mountainous liar you are! You sound like a northerner. Are you a northerner? Well, if you are, I've never seen you before. I remember every face I've ever seen."
"I will look familiar once you put on your spectacles."
She grumbles about her eyesight until she finds the glass-filled circles, perching them on her nose.
Adjusting them once or twice, the grey-haired woman looks me over again.
"Oh. You. 'Course I know you, but how dare you bring these strangers—"
She cuts off, eyes rounding when she sees Verena clearly for the first time. Just like any other Isenmerian, Ida loves beautiful things, so I understand why the scarlet-haired belle catches her attention first.
Then Ida sees the glowing orb in Verena's hands and the red-cloaked child standing nearby. She pales at the sight of the girl's bloodied knife and the axe in my hand, understanding at once.
"Leibwraiths. Now I remember. I was trapped somewhere dark and terrible—and Clara joined me there.
Please, fair witch. Please give my numbskull of a granddaughter her soul back," the old woman pleads, wringing her spindly hands.
"Clara should've turned right around and gone back to her father's house the instant she saw that these damn woods swallowed up my house, but this waif is much more loyal than she is bright! "
Verena is amused. "Should I wait for you to sneak in another casual little roast before I wake her up, or…? No? Okay, then."
She carefully returns the soul to the child. The red-cloaked girl sways slightly, blinking as if waking from a dream. She startles at the sight of us and then drops the knife to the ground to throw her arms around Ida.
"Nana! What a fright you gave me, for I thought you were eaten by those soul-devourers!"
Though Ida hugs her granddaughter back with great affection, she berates her for ever setting foot in the Loomdark. It is clear Clara inherited the old woman's tongue, because her retort is equally savage as she explains she very rightly worried the old woman would be devoured by monsters.
During their long, bickering reunion, my eye is drawn once more to Verena.
"Well done, vantaei," I whisper to only her.
"Me? You're the one who went all Michael Myers on all the ugly wolves."
"Oh, look. You're competing with a Michael in her world, too," Eris grumbles from the mirror.
Verena ignores him. "By the way, I've always wanted a nickname, but what does van-tah-thi mean?"
It is fortunate for me that Ida chooses this moment to return her attention to us.
"Now then, why did you three come here in the first place? I can't stand visitors."
"There's only two of them, Nana," Clara says, rolling her eyes.
"Bah! If only you didn't take after your clod of a father so much.
Your mother, Crones rest her soul—she'd see the truth," Ida adds, narrowing her eyes at Eris in the mirror.
She regards Verena again, but speaks to me.
"This one's got a fair look about her. I wager I've met her sort before, but who is she? "
I begin to answer that she is the queen, but Verena stops me with a hand on my arm. I recognize the confident expression and tone she has donned, for she steps easily into this manner whenever she speaks as the queen at the castle.
"She is the answer to your prayers. It must be so inconvenient to have your home swallowed up by the Loomdark, but I'm sure you've worried it might happen for a while. So, what's your plan?"
"Plan?"
"Where will you live now? Are you going to move in with Clara and her father?"
Ida wrinkles her nose, adjusting her spectacles. "For how noisily he stomps about and how indelicately that fool handles my fine fabrics, I'd rather live with a two-headed troll!"
"Nana," the girl scowls, swatting her grandmother's arm. "Father is a good man."
"Yes, good at getting candlewax on everything he touches." The old woman looks seriously at Verena. "Never marry a chandler. You'll get molten wax dripped on you every day of your life."