Chapter Fifteen
“You should have come to me straightaway.” Mrs. Jupiter regarded David and Meredith gravely from across her kitchen table. “An apparition of this nature is a serious matter indeed.”
Over a pot of peppermint tea in the witch’s kitchen, the two had recounted the events of the previous night—leaving out, of course, what had happened after their return to Midnight Cottage.
Even between themselves, neither had made mention of Meredith’s visit to David’s room the night before, and David himself was doing his best to forget it had ever happened.
He ought to be relieved that Meredith appeared to be doing the same, yet he couldn’t help but take slight offense. Surely it couldn’t have been that forgettable.
Normal for him, anyway: chattering on about nothing, stroking the ears of the tawny kitten rubbing against his ankles, watching Mrs. Jupiter’s crystal jewelry sparkle in the morning sun.
“My apologies,” said David. “I didn’t get a good look the first time, and to be frank, I wasn’t all that sure of what I was really seeing.”
“I do not wish to alarm you unduly,” said Mrs. Jupiter, “but the Midnight Wood is not so harmless as you like to believe. It is the site of an ancient magic more powerful than you or I can fathom, and a darkness, too—in more than the literal sense.”
“Oh.” Meredith’s eyes were large and troubled over the top of his harlequin-patterned teacup, belying his nonchalant tone. “That’s bad, is it?”
“Of itself, not necessarily, but in times past, the Wood has been host to forces far more dangerous than our friend the Moon Calf. The Midnight Mice keep meticulous records, and I have read, for instance, the most tragic account of a hundred years past when the dread Elephant Celebes stalked the Wood and decimated their population.”
Mrs. Jupiter leaned across the table to place her hand over Meredith’s and said, not unkindly, “If another such being has taken a personal interest in you, then I’m afraid, my dear, that may be cause for concern. You truly have no suspicion of why he has sought you out?”
Meredith shook his head. “None, I’m telling you.”
Mrs. Jupiter swirled her cup and gazed into it with a thoughtful expression—consulting the tea leaves, perhaps. “Humor me and run through it one more time, exactly as it happened.”
“Well, it’s just as I told you,” said Meredith. “Me and David were minding our own business looking for some sweet woodruff, and we came to that clearing, you know the one, with the great big alder and that rock that makes such a nice spot for lying under the stars—”
“Yes, I know it,” said Mrs. Jupiter, adroitly averting this departure from the topic at hand. “And then?”
“Then, out of nowhere, here’s this—this creepy Erlking type trying to make us go away with him—well, me, really,” Meredith interrupted himself.
“But I’m sure he meant the both of us. Of course there’s no reason anybody wouldn’t want to carry you off, too,” he hastened to reassure David, which did not particularly make him feel better.
“Hold on,” said Mrs. Jupiter. “What do you mean, Erlking type? Why do you call him that?”
“Well, I don’t know that he was, really,” Meredith conceded. “He just sort of looked like him.”
Mrs. Jupiter paused to disentangle the claws of the kitten from her skirts as it now made a valiant but futile attempt to climb into her lap. There was perhaps a touch of skepticism in her voice as she asked, “Looked like him how, exactly?”
“He just did,” insisted Meredith, “the way a teapot looks like a teapot. Oh, you know, you’ve seen the illustrations, you must have.”
“I’m sorry,” interrupted David, “but what—who—?” He was quite used to nodding along when he had no idea what nonsense Meredith was going on about, but perhaps he ought to have paid more attention the night before.
“The Erlking, David, he’s—well, he’s the Erlking. He’s a sort of—” He turned helplessly to Mrs. Jupiter. “A forest spirit, a wicked fairy king, like the stories—like the poem. Everybody knows the poem.”
David did not know the poem. Even if he had, the very idea stretched the bounds of credulity—yet there had undeniably been something that he’d seen with his own eyes, no matter how he might wish he hadn’t.
“In any case,” admitted Mrs. Jupiter, “there is certainly something strange afoot in the Wood.”
Strange didn’t begin to cover it. Strange might describe Meredith’s fashion choices or the perpetual darkness of the Midnight Wood, but a mysterious figure come to life straight out of the pages of some sinister fairy tale was downright alarming.
Still, David didn’t imagine it would help matters to quibble over the distinction. Instead, he asked, “So in practical terms—?”
“I must investigate further,” said Mrs. Jupiter. “But in the meantime, I advise you both not to set foot in the Midnight Wood.”
“Not go into the Wood!” repeated Meredith in dismay. “But—”
“Now, you had just better do as she says,” admonished David. “If you go wandering about the Wood after you’ve been told not to, I certainly won’t come to rescue you again like I did last night.”
He hadn’t, of course, done anything of the sort, last night or ever.
It had been quite the other way around, not that he wanted to go advertising the fact, but giving Meredith the easy opportunity to hit back by setting the record straight might dissolve that worried look of his, which David didn’t like at all.
“But—” Meredith stopped, and David swore a little more light went out of his eyes. “No, of course not. Couldn’t expect you to, really.”
That wasn’t right at all. David had given him such an obvious setup. Not only had he failed to take it, but it seemed to have made things worse.
“Now, there’s no need to worry yourself overmuch for the time being.
” Mrs. Jupiter gave Meredith’s hand another pat, though her smile seemed to David slightly forced.
“I shall consult with my coven, but in the meantime, I do implore you to be careful. You mean a great deal to me,” she said with solemnity, “and I know I would not be the only one devastated should you come to harm.” She cast a glance at David that he had to look away from.
Of course he didn’t want anything to happen to Meredith, but it was hardly the sort of sentiment that he needed to go voicing aloud.
Besides, nothing did ever happen to him, so there was no need to go thinking about such things.
“Oh, I’ll be all right,” Meredith reassured her.
“The Night Horse stopped in this morning, by the way,” said Mrs. Jupiter as she rose from the table.
She removed a one-eyed calico cat from the top of a large steamer trunk, set it down, and shooed it toward the door before straightening the crocheted lace doily it had been resting upon.
“Another of the Mice was killed in the Wood last night.”
At that, Meredith’s expression grew positively mournful.
“If things carry on at this rate,” Mrs. Jupiter continued, “the temporal effects could be catastrophic.”
“You don’t suppose that sort of thing could spread beyond the borders of the Wood itself, do you?” asked David.
“It is possible,” she said slowly. “That would indicate an even more serious state of affairs than I had imagined. Why? Have you observed such a phenomenon?”
“No, no,” said David hastily. “Er. Well. Perhaps my watch might’ve gone a bit funny the other night, but all the same, it might’ve been only my imagination.”
Mrs. Jupiter’s shrewd gaze lingered on his face for a moment, but she allowed the matter to drop without further comment.
On the way out, she caught up with him in the doorway. “A word, David—if I may?”
“You may.” They’d known each other quite long enough to be on first-name terms, even if he’d never dare reciprocate.
Glancing past him at Meredith leaning down to pet a gray tiger cat in the garden, she said in a low voice: “Be gentle with him.”
For a second, David was horrified. Surely she couldn’t know, unless by some witchy power?
That was followed by indignation. He hadn’t mistreated Meredith in any way, hadn’t handled him roughly.
Possibly he had left just one mark on him, but he’d been asked to—urged to. No one could find fault with that.
Quite against his will, David found himself given over to intense curiosity as to whether Meredith had left it or had allowed Mrs. Jupiter’s healing ointment to work its effects.
The idea of him walking around still bearing a hidden love bite made David’s stomach flip in a way that was not altogether unpleasant.
Nor was the idea of giving him a few more—
Mrs. Jupiter, however, continued, “I’ll do what I can, but I fear this isn’t going to be easy.”
David relaxed. She was talking about something altogether different. She simply meant he ought to go out of his way to be nice to him, and he was doing that already. “Yes, Mrs. J,” he said. “Of course.”
—
As the week went on, David considered telling Harriet about what had happened, but was too embarrassed to admit he’d done precisely what he’d insisted he wouldn’t.
Besides, he had little to complain about.
He’d had enjoyable, no-strings-attached sex that had required, in all honesty, little effort on his part.
There was no danger of any misunderstanding or complication ensuing. Nothing had changed at all.
Except, perhaps, that Meredith was a bit quieter than usual. Then again, the discovery that a malevolent forest entity of indeterminate origin not only knew one’s name but also sought an audience was the sort of thing to inspire some much-needed self-reflection. It was good for him, probably.