Page 95 of Crown of the Fae King

She strained to see around him, puckered her lips at me, but opened the door and stepped back. “My home, sir.” She neither welcomed me nor shut the door in my face, so I stepped inside too.

“A great talent,” he told her. “Are ye just as good with encouragement? For this lass and I could use some today.”

The old woman nodded at her stove where a single iron teapot sat steaming from its spout. “I can try. Not so good with my sister gone now. But for discouragement, there’s no one better.”

“I ken what ye mean. I cannae read a thought now without Walter.”

She snorted as she moved to a side cupboard and reached for teacups. “I remember Walter. That boy needed more discouraging than I could foist on ‘im. Had a talent for spaces. Once made this place feel like a palace. Though, after the spell wore away, felt a bit cramped.” She looked expectantly at Wickham, like he might be able to fix that problem for her.

He shook his head, his hair skimming the rafters. “No talent for it myself. Though I have a sister that can make any space cozy, much like ye’ve done here.”

She fluttered her eyelashes and moved back to the stove for the pot. Her table was barely two-feet square, but we all sat around it. Wickham straddled a corner, his face animated like a child being served ice cream, though it was only a cup of tea with little bits of lavender floating on the top.

Sarah grinned like she’d just served him that ice cream along with a big slice of three-layer cake and waited for his reaction.

“A cuppa is always encouraging,” he told me, “but this will be something special.” He took a sip and nodded for me to do the same. “Won’t ye be joinin’ us, Sarah?”

She smiled coyly and poured a third cup. Soon, all three of us were grinning like idiots. I felt practically invincible. If O’Ryan showed up at the door with a couple of monsters, I thought I could probably handle them all by myself.

“Sarah, love,” Wickham said with a sigh. “Powerful stuff ye have here, sister or no.” Then he got down to brass tacks. “We’re hopin’ ye might remember a thing or two aboutThirds.My sisters, bless their hearts, spent most of their lives in the States, so they arenae as well informed as someone like yerself.”

“Thirds?” The woman grew wistful. “My sister and I were both Thirds. They thought I might have inherited one of the major powers, ye ken? One of the grand ones? But our timin’ was aff.” She frowned. “But are ye lookin’ forThirds? Or for the Sedaparts? The ones with the grand powers?”

Wickham’s excitement only showed in his eyes. “That’s just what we’re here for. The grand powers. What did you call them? The Set Aparts?”

“Nay, the Sed-a-parts.”

He nodded. “Right. Do ye ken what they were? What they are? And even better, do ye ken where we might find them, any of them who wield those grand powers?”

“Why, they’re here!” Sarah laughed, rocked back on her chair, then forward onto her feet. At one side of the room, there was a doorway covered with a blanket where she disappeared.

I hissed at Wickham. “Shouldn’t we be writing stuff down?”

He tapped on his jacket pocket, where his phone stuck out just over the top. He was recording.

When Sarah came out, her arms were full of little dolls, which she carefully sat out on the table, naming each one. They all had little round heads made of wood, a post for a body. Their arms and dresses were a combination of dried husks and the gray stuff that covered the cottage roof. A closer look proved they were flowers or weeds—delicate stems covered in fine, dried blossoms.

“Neia, Thessa, Gilliam.” She tapped the fourth one. “This is Mercail, Palida, Deona, and Rowena, of course. Nearly worn her out, haven’t I. And this one. Always forgettin’ her name.”

I remembered what Jez had said. “Maybe it’s Pearl?”

Sarah scowled, clearly unhappy that she’d been reminded of my presence, the one thing keeping her from being alone with the handsome Wickham. She tapped on the fourth doll again. “Mercail means pearl.” She peeked at the bottom of the mystery doll, then plunked it down again. “Lori,” she said, punctuated with a snort in my direction.

“So eight dolls,” Wickham murmured. “Interesting. How can you tell them apart?”

Sarah lifted the Rowena doll to show an R carved in the base under the skirt.

“And do you remember their powers?”

“Sure. Sure.” She picked them up out of order, starting with Lori. “To make me bonny. To make me happy. To make me grow. To keep me kind. To make me helpful. To help me see. To keep me young. To keep me here,” she said, ending with Rowena. “It’s Palida who frightens the fairies out from under the bed.”

“Do ye remember any stories about them? Fairytales? Parables?”

She shook her head. “They’ll always be here to protect us. If one dies, she’ll come back again. I remember that.”

Wickham reached out and patted the woman’s hand. “One last thing, love. Do ye remember the Grandfather talkin’ about them?”

“Oh, aye. He was the one who gave us the dolls. Every lassie, on her fifth birthday, got a doll. Back then there werenae so many of us, aye? These belonged to myself and my seven sisters. They’ve all passed to me. Grandfather said I should keep mine always. And so I have.”

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