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SEVENTEEN
On the way back to the house something occurred to me. “Dean Book…”
“Oh, please call me Liz…after what we’ve been through!”
“Um, okay…Liz.” I was going to have a hard time getting used to that. “I saw a lot of faces in that clearing but I didn’t seehim. The incubus, I mean.”
“I know who you mean. Yes, I noticed that too. He might have gone back into Faerie or…”
“Or he’s still around somewhere?”
Liz sighed. “He’s haunted these woods for more than a hundred years. He probably knows where to hide. But I wouldn’t worry about it too much. After last night he’s not likely to try to get back into your house…unless you invite him in, that is.” She gave me a sharp look
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“I should think so.” She patted my shoulder. “You’re a smart girl.”
Back at the house we found the kitchen bustling with activity. Diana was up, eating a bowl of oatmeal at the kitchen table, looking pale but in good spirits. Dory Browne, in ski pants, fur-trimmed boots, and a sweater appliquéd with turkeys and fall leaves, was washing dishes at my sink, and Casper van der Aart was stuffing a turkey while listening to Phoenix tell a rather embroidered version of what had happened last night. I wouldn’t have thought any embroidering would have been possible, but Phoenix had added spectral apparitions thatsounded like the cast from Dickens’sA Christmas Carol. Except for a hectic gleam in her eyes, she looked none the worse for her brush with the supernatural. She was even enthusiastic about cooking Thanksgiving dinner.
“After all, we have tons of food, a working gas range, and electricity. Not everyone in town is so lucky. Honestly, I think we should invitemorepeople—anyone who doesn’t have power.”
Dory Browne and Diana exchanged a look, and Diana nodded. “It’s not a bad idea. There are people who have electric stoves who won’t be able to cook their dinners.”
“And we need to go house to house to check on people to see if they’re all right,” Dory added. “We could ask anyone who’s unable to cook their own dinner.”
“No one’s asked Callie,” Liz broke in. “It’s her house. Maybe she doesn’t want it filled with strangers.”
I looked at the gathering in my kitchen: a witch, a demon, a fairy, a…whatwasCasper? He looked, I suddenly realized, a lot like the ceramic gnomes people put in their gardens. The most normal person in the kitchen was an alcoholic, bipolar memoir writer. How much stranger could it get?
“Sure,” I said. “The more the merrier.”
While Diana, Phoenix, and Casper started cooking, Dory Browne enlisted me to go house to house with her. “It’ll be a good way for you to get to know your neighbors,” she said, popping on fuzzy earmuffs that made her look like a koala bear. She had already spoken on her cell phone to someone named Dulcie and then someone named Davey—her cousins, she explained—to divide up the town by streets.
“Your family is certainly very generous with their time…” I began, but Dory started waving her hands in protest, her blue eyes flashing.
“Oh, it’s ourjob, you know. We brownies agreed to be the town’s caretakers in exchange for asylum two centuries ago.”
“Brownies?” I asked, wondering if she could possibly mean the type that grew up to be Girl Scouts.
“My people came from Wales where we were called bwca…oh my!” She stopped, noticing my stunned expression. “Diana told me you knew all about the town now, so I thought it was okay to tell. You didn’t know I was a brownie?” she asked as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Not only didn’t I know, but if you’ll pardon me asking, I’m not sure what that means. I mean, I’ve heard of brownies…My mother and father told me stories about brownies who were household spirits who helped with chores in house and field.”
“That’s basically correct. We like a neat home and will help industrious homeowners, but not lazy ones.”
“My father used to leave a bowl of cream or a piece of cake out for the brownies,” I told her, “like leaving cookies and milk out for Santa Claus.”
“That’s perfectly appropriate,” Dory said, smiling and nodding her head so vigorously that the fur on her earmuffs trembled. “We appreciate a nice piece of cake, but we don’t like being left clothes, because…well…look at me! Do I look like I need any help dressing myself?”
“Not at all!” I replied, quickly catching the sharp edge to Dory’s tone. “I admired your fashion sense the first time I met you.”
“And I yours, Callie. We also do not like to be criticized.”
“Who does?” I asked.
“Exactly! Nor do we like to be thanked.”
“I have to admit that I’ve never understood that part.”
