Matty Nutch did not sleep that day. He had too much of a feeling that something unsettling was lurking just out of view. He wandered about the fringes of his little township, circling it three times, and sending out his twin spirits to range and hunt in forms both visible and invisible. After some two or three hours of this watchful unease, he set the ashen hounds to patrol the village boundary before returning alone to Whittawer and his house. With a yawn and a grumble, he pushed open his door and went inside, relieved to feel the warmth of the air and drink in the soft firelight. It took him a good long moment to realise he was not alone.
She was seated comfortably in a chair, still as ice.
Her gaze flicked up and down, taking him in. A smile curved on her lips, playful and full of strange delight.
Without thinking, he stated, bluntly, “You scrubbed up.”
“Did I?” Long and languid, Caewen got to her feet. The fire died down a little. Shadows deepened. The air grew colder. Matty had a sudden urge to wrap himself in something warm, but resisted, standing his ground, feet planted firmly where they were. He would not be intimidated in his own house. She took a few long steps across the room, trailing a silken dress and cloak behind her. A white fur shawl draped her neck and otherwise bare shoulders, moving with the fluidity of wind through snowy branches. It looked as if the sheer fabric of her garments had been woven of shadow and starlight, then picked out at the hems with small crusts of jewels arranged into shapes of sparkling ice. Where had she got the dress? Perhaps it was only an illusion, or otherwise conjured out of the air. It was a puzzle. Even putting the dress aside, she had clearly bathed and combed her hair and… he began to doubt himself. She moved differently. It was clearly the same young woman, but he remembered her as being wary and hard in her movements. And yet now, she moved with a graceful and self-assured ease that seemed utterly alien to the young woman Matty remembered.
“I told you to leave. I’ll not hesitate to raise up wizard’s fire, young lady. Get out of my house. Now.”
“You have been a terrible host, dear one. I am quite put out with your nastiness. You have treated my shadow so poorly.”
“Your shadow?”
“Yes. My shadow.” She said this as if she were surprised at his inability to comprehend. “I admit, she is disobedient.” A twisting little cold curl of a sigh came from those lips. She spoke on as if she were now talking to herself. “And she lacks passion. And there is no elegance in her. Only worry and need and obligation. But I still love her. We are intertwined.”
“Is that so?”
“Very much. Though I know more of her, than she knows of me.”
He thought he was beginning to understand. Matty reached out with his will, sending it across the fields and hedgerows, seeking his two spirits. Calling them back. Small words of flame kindled in his mind, taking form.
She took a step closer. And though she stared at him, square in the eyes, she said not a word. Though her smile did grow.
Matty Nutch turned over old rhymes and incantations in his head. He groped for the ashen hounds… they were moving at a sprint. He could feel them drawing nearer. But they were so far away still, out on the edge of the village. He could not reach into their fiery hearts and draw out strength and power. Not quite yet.
It was at this moment that Matty realised that Caewen did not have her spirit-thing with her. He could not get a sense of it anywhere nearby at all. Its presence before had been so grating, but now it was nowhere to be felt. His lips were dry. The air of the room seemed weirdly desiccating against his skin. He licked each lip before saying. “Where is your little shadow demon?” He needed to keep her talking.
She did not answer. Instead, the shape about her neck moved and stirred, then coiled its way around her shoulders. Once it had readjusted itself, the thing raised a delicate, pointed face to blink lazily at him. It was a long, sinuous spirit-creature, something like a cat, something like a mink, but palest white all over. It gave off a cold smell, like snow under moonlight. She saw him looking at it. “My shadow went away with my other shadow, unfortunately. I was bereft for a short time. Feath here is for my consolation. A gift from my lover and master.” A smile. “I hope that makes some sense.”
The moon-and-snow spirit mewled a whispery, angry noise.
“Yes, Feath, that is quite so. He has been very unpleasant. She suffered much fear and discomfit at his glance and words and actions. And he has visited awful cruelty on innocents. Those poor small spirits. But she is too nice. Too pleasant. Too good in her heart. She does not have it in her to punish such an unpleasant man.”
The hounds were close now. Mere seconds from the door. He raised a hand and made a gesture. Blood welled in his mouth. He tasted it squirming between his gums. He called down a pall of fire and embers, but it just swirled around her, turned aside by a power that hung in the air which he had not even known was there. The floor was charred and various small flammable objects caught fire. She waved a hand, dismissively, and the flames went out. Before he could raise another spell, she drew herself up and said, “My shadow is too forgiving by half. But I am not so forgiving. We are, after all, complimentary, in our way.” A feeling of numbness came over Matty Nutch. He was able to look down before all his muscles started to clench and lock. Thin tendrils of shadow grew out of the floor. Soon, they were creeping about his feet and legs. The vines stretched and caressed, growing leaves and dark thorns, and all the while ensnaring him.
She turned and went to one of the cabinets, opening it casually as if she were planning on taking down cups and bowls for dinner. “Ah, here we are.” She reached into the recess and took out two yellowed mastiff skulls, both covered with red and black runes made out in sharp, angry slashes. “Unkindness of spirits bound,” she murmured as she put the skulls down on the table. “I release you.” One of the skulls flamed bright blue, and crumbled to dust. “And you.” The other skull did the same, leaving behind a neat pile of fine white ashy stuff.
He felt his hounds snap out of physical existence. They both gave small yelps as they turned to shades and blew away on the wind, howling faintly.
She turned her eyes on him.
Beautiful, cold eyes.