Page 6 of The Hocus Pocus Handbook

“Let me send for some biscuits. And fruit, perhaps?”

“That sounds good.”

Erdene passes me some undergarments, and I sleepily start getting dressed as she moves off to whisper to someone standing outside the bath. I ruminate on how Winter’s hound hunted me down without hesitation, how grim he looked when he herded me through the portal. I’ve never seen the man smile, but when he looks at me, in particular, it’s like he chills even further, a glacier for a soul.

On her return, I ask, “Why does Kerboros hate me so much?”

“Don’t take it personally, my dearling. That one hates everybody.” She adjusts the strap on my underdress. “There’s a bit of unseemly gossip about him. Are you interested?”

“Yes, please.” I shimmy into the dress, eager for inside information. Brownies have all the best chatter, as the high fae tend to treat them like inanimate objects.

“His family’s related to Lord Liskaal, don’t you know, on the patrilineal line. And there was some ugliness, I’ve lost track of when. But rumor has it that our Kerboros feels that he’s the rightful Lord of Winter while being forced to serve.”

I stare, wide-eyed. “But that’s incredible. I’m surprised Lord Liskaal hasn’t had him executed or banished for his bad attitude.”

“Betimes, it’s best to keep your enemies close, and as Lord Liskaal compels Kerboros to hunt, the lord proves that Kerboros is his hound, and the owner never asks the dog if it’s happy to be chasing prey.”

“He’s angry because he’s powerless, then.” I instantly find it difficult to dislike Kerboros as much as I did before.

The assistant returns with a plate that Erdene accepts with a gentle smile. She turns to me again. “Indeed. Have a seat, eat your treats while I do your hair.”

Dreamily, I nibble at the sliced dew pear and honey wafers, so light and thin, they melt on my tongue in a pop of sweetness. Erdene has a little basket full of trinkets that jingle merrily when she hooks the handle across her arm, and then her hands are so very busy. I love when people play with my hair, and I’ve experienced that so seldom. It requires no effort to let her tug and weave gently, murmuring as if I’m her doll.

At some point, I lose track of time, drowsing like a little sprite in the sun. She gives me a soft tap on the shoulder. “Finished. You look like a princess.”

Oh no.

No.

She’s not humming anymore, and my mind is clear as a bell. “You stupored me!”

“Just a little, my dearling. Didn’t you enjoy it?”

“That’s not the point!” I yank at the tight dress and touch my hair. Ribbons and gems, all cunningly interwoven into a complicated arrangement that would take me forever to unravel.

It’s as if I’ve traded places with the pookas.

“Tell me what’s happening at midnight.” My tone is cold as wrought iron, and I could happily freeze all the water in those pretty platinum pipes right now, if only my unpredictable magic would cooperate.

Erdene tilts her head and shows me her teeth, all softness gone. “Gladly. You’re getting married, my sweet.”

4

Isolation

The artist carved this piece from fallen wood. The carving uses one continuous piece with the planed side of the log serving as the base. It depicts a fox hidden in an impassible thicket. Polish and oil highlights the deep patterns of the grain, mimicking dappled fur. Tangles of thorns encircle the fox to keep it safe. Or to keep it from escaping. The fox is clearly on guard, tail raised. Foxes are social creatures. But this one is alone, aware that it must be wary at all times. These brambles offer no solace for a kit ensnared in isolation.

Kerboros

After leaving the great hall, I’m free to pursue my own ends, though I remain watchful as I wend my way deeper into the corridors used by the wild fae.

There are always those who seek to elevate their status at someone’s expense, so I give no sign of my intentions until I return to my quarters, where I can spy to my heart’s content. I don’t do this because I enjoy it. But information is currency, and I sell secrets. Over the years, they’ve kept me safe.

I settle on the floor, as my powers serve best when I’m grounded by earth or stone, and I summon the tendrils, shaping spiderlings nobody else can see. My mother taught me this secret magic in the dungeons while awaiting execution; it was how we received news of the outside world when the guards would tell us nothing. Though she resembled the high fae, she came from older lines, where the magic runs deep and sometimes dark. I have heard rumors that my mother may have been related to Macha, the swamp witch, but she never spoke of that connection, and it could be unkindness that followed after her passing.

There will be consequences for Thea, and I wish to learn what they will be.

This time, I set different parameters and search for ripples aligned with her essence. The spiders find her at once, but I don’t linger over her getting her hair styled. There must be more ominous overtures in play.