holding grudges—”
And then the howling rose again—a chorus of loud moaning voices, the same sound Camille had heard in the passageway amid the hammering. “What was that?”
“That howl right there is a blood-betaker,” Ickbee said.Then another, different howl, which was more of a barking yowl, sounded out. Ickbee listened intently and reported, “And that there is the wolven men’s cry. Sometimes they sound quite similar when they’re riled up or proud of themselves or about to eat someone. Maybe some tea? I should at least offer a child of Cragmeal tea!” She turned a quick, dizzying circle, then put the kettle on to boil.
A brittle, cackling howl rattled the window panes. They both froze.
“And that?” Camille asked. Her stomach tightened into a knot.
“Banshees. Their bark is worse than their bite, except when they’re angry. Don’t make them angry!”
“I’m not planning on it.”
“All of the most vexing creatures know something’s wrong. They can sense it, like they do a full moon. They can feel that the Ever Breath is gone.” She paused. “Did Swelda give you the gift?”
“The snow globe?”
“Yes. Do you have it?”
Camille unzipped her backpack, pulled the globe out, and set it on the table.
“Shake it.”
Camille picked it up and rolled it from one hand to the other. The inner scene was lost in a white swirl, and then slowly the snow settled. There was a mouse in a red vest and a bright plaid scarf, frozen, mid-scamper, in a long marble hallway filled with high-heeled shoes and shiny black leather loafers and pin-striped pant hems. His scarf was sailing behind him, and he had a piece of paper clamped in his teeth.
Camille leaned over the globe. “It’s just a little nicely dressed mouse!”
“Ah,” Ickbee said. “And so you truly are gramarye, down deep in your bones!”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think that someone of the Fixed World would be able to look in that globe and see what you see?”
“I don’t know why they wouldn’t,” Camille said.
“Oh, dearie! They’d see a little house strung with Christmas lights or that hefty man in the red suit riding in a sled. You can see what’s in that globe because you’re of our world.”
“Really?”
“Here, we each have our magical gifts.”
“Swelda called them magical
afflictions,”
Camille told her.
“Is she still talking that way of our world? Oh, how that woman steams me!”
The mewlers had a sturdy branch in place now and were hammering loudly.
“But who’s the mouse?” Camille shouted over the noise. “He looks important.”
“I don’t know,” Ickbee said. The howls started sounding out again. They seemed to be echoing from a far-off place, but rolling toward them. “Time will tell. It’s the blood-betakers and the wolven men that we have to keep an eye on now.”
The kettle let out a shrill whistle that sounded like an alarm. It startled Camille. Her heart felt like a small animal scurrying in her chest.
“How do you think the Ever Breath got stolen?” Camille asked.
Ickbee frowned. “Stop blaming me!”
“I’m not. I—”
“Please change the subject!”
“Okay,” Camille said. She had another question ready to ask. “Do you think the blood-betakers and wolven men are riled up or proud of themselves or about to eat someone? Us, for example?”
Ickbee picked up the kettle and poured the hot water into a cup with the tea bag. The tea was purplish and smelled sweet. She set the cup in front of Camille. The steam rose up and warmed Camille’s cheeks. It was cold here—cold and damp.
“If the Ever Breath can be returned to its rightful spot in the passageway,” Ickbee said, “everything will be fixed. Everything—blood-betakers, wolven men, this house crumbling in on itself. And the worlds won’t die. It’s simple.”
Camille wrapped her hands around the cup.
“How do we get it back?”
“The problem is simple. The solution might be complex. I hope you
And then the howling rose again—a chorus of loud moaning voices, the same sound Camille had heard in the passageway amid the hammering. “What was that?”
“That howl right there is a blood-betaker,” Ickbee said.Then another, different howl, which was more of a barking yowl, sounded out. Ickbee listened intently and reported, “And that there is the wolven men’s cry. Sometimes they sound quite similar when they’re riled up or proud of themselves or about to eat someone. Maybe some tea? I should at least offer a child of Cragmeal tea!” She turned a quick, dizzying circle, then put the kettle on to boil.
A brittle, cackling howl rattled the window panes. They both froze.
“And that?” Camille asked. Her stomach tightened into a knot.
“Banshees. Their bark is worse than their bite, except when they’re angry. Don’t make them angry!”
“I’m not planning on it.”
“All of the most vexing creatures know something’s wrong. They can sense it, like they do a full moon. They can feel that the Ever Breath is gone.” She paused. “Did Swelda give you the gift?”
“The snow globe?”
“Yes. Do you have it?”
Camille unzipped her backpack, pulled the globe out, and set it on the table.
“Shake it.”
Camille picked it up and rolled it from one hand to the other. The inner scene was lost in a white swirl, and then slowly the snow settled. There was a mouse in a red vest and a bright plaid scarf, frozen, mid-scamper, in a long marble hallway filled with high-heeled shoes and shiny black leather loafers and pin-striped pant hems. His scarf was sailing behind him, and he had a piece of paper clamped in his teeth.
Camille leaned over the globe. “It’s just a little nicely dressed mouse!”
“Ah,” Ickbee said. “And so you truly are gramarye, down deep in your bones!”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think that someone of the Fixed World would be able to look in that globe and see what you see?”
“I don’t know why they wouldn’t,” Camille said.
“Oh, dearie! They’d see a little house strung with Christmas lights or that hefty man in the red suit riding in a sled. You can see what’s in that globe because you’re of our world.”
“Really?”
“Here, we each have our magical gifts.”
“Swelda called them magical
afflictions,”
Camille told her.
“Is she still talking that way of our world? Oh, how that woman steams me!”
The mewlers had a sturdy branch in place now and were hammering loudly.
“But who’s the mouse?” Camille shouted over the noise. “He looks important.”
“I don’t know,” Ickbee said. The howls started sounding out again. They seemed to be echoing from a far-off place, but rolling toward them. “Time will tell. It’s the blood-betakers and the wolven men that we have to keep an eye on now.”
The kettle let out a shrill whistle that sounded like an alarm. It startled Camille. Her heart felt like a small animal scurrying in her chest.
“How do you think the Ever Breath got stolen?” Camille asked.
Ickbee frowned. “Stop blaming me!”
“I’m not. I—”
“Please change the subject!”
“Okay,” Camille said. She had another question ready to ask. “Do you think the blood-betakers and wolven men are riled up or proud of themselves or about to eat someone? Us, for example?”
Ickbee picked up the kettle and poured the hot water into a cup with the tea bag. The tea was purplish and smelled sweet. She set the cup in front of Camille. The steam rose up and warmed Camille’s cheeks. It was cold here—cold and damp.
“If the Ever Breath can be returned to its rightful spot in the passageway,” Ickbee said, “everything will be fixed. Everything—blood-betakers, wolven men, this house crumbling in on itself. And the worlds won’t die. It’s simple.”
Camille wrapped her hands around the cup.
“How do we get it back?”
“The problem is simple. The solution might be complex. I hope you
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