Page 19 of Basket Case

“Men with weapons rarely wait for all the facts. That hasn't changed over the centuries."

Creel’s strand tightened around my fingers. I loosened my grip and stroked my thumb along the wet wicker. The tension disappeared immediately.

Gran continued. “Jessie went back to warn him. Her mother helped them weave a creel from willow cut beside the burn, and the Gille Dubh put himself into it. The hunters searched the birch grove and found nothing but leaves.”

“So the basket was a hiding place?”

“At first. The spell that held him was badly worded. He asked the MacRae women to keep him safe until the danger had passed, but nobody said how long that would be. Fae promises do not leave much room for common sense. And since there's always some danger in the world, he stayed inside the basket, trapped.”

“You’re telling me he’s been trapped in a basket because one of our ancestors forgot to set an end date?”

A disgruntled creak came from the foot of the bed. It was a time of considerable urgency.

“You could have reminded her.”

I was a basket. I could not speak.

“Fair point.”

Gran made an impatient noise. “Will you stop arguing with him while I’m talking?”

“You can’t hear him.”

“I don’t need to. Your side is quite enough.”

I smiled despite myself. I could picture her sitting beside the care home telephone in her dressing gown, annoyed that her supernatural family revelation wasn’t receiving my full attention. I bet she'd been desperate to have this conversation.

“How long has he been asleep?” I asked.

“He hasn’t woken in my lifetime. My grandmother said he spoke to her once when she was young, but she never managed to free him.”

Creel had spent all those years sitting in the cottage while generations of my family carried him from house to house. He had heard their voices without being able to answer. They had touched him without him being able to feel it. Poor basket. Well. Fae.

The strand in my hand curled around my wrist. This time, the touch didn’t feel like teasing. I stroked one of the new leaves with my fingertip, taking care not to pull it.

“Why did he wake for me?”

“You gave him an offering while Samhain’s magic was already gathering. Perhaps that was enough. But I honestly don't know. I'd hoped he'd wake for me. Or for your mother. I was starting to give up hope."

"What happens now?" I asked. "How do I free him from the basket?"

The wicker strand tightened around my wrist, but Creel didn't say anything.

"I don't know," Gran admitted. "Maybe he knows. Or maybe Samhain is the answer. Maybe the old magic will help. You might want to take him to the bonfire tonight."

"I won't burn him!"

Gran chuckled. "That's not what I was suggesting. Either way, I think he is the only one who holds all the answers. And now I have to go. We have some puppies coming to visit today."

I was sure Gran was more excited about the man bringing the puppies than the dogs, but I didn't call her out on it. I ended the call while staring at the wicker basket.

"So... you're trapped because there is still danger. How would I prove to you that you're no longer in danger? Is that a way to break the enchantment?"

I do not know.

That was not the answer I had expected. “You’ve had a long time to think about it.”

Most of those years were spent unable to speak or move.