Tales from Tarker's Hollow

by Tasha Black

  The other half of the closet had once been a telephone booth. In the old days, when the phone rang, the servant would fetch Grandmother Marie and she would descend the stair and enter the phone booth where she sat on a sturdy leather topped bench to take her calls. The phone booth had a door with decorative metal grate-work so that the person on the inside could see perfectly well what was happening in the hall, but still enjoy the sensation of privacy of the dark booth.

  The bench and the decorative metal door of the booth were still there. The only change was that Marie’s mother had hired workers to remove the wall between the closet and booth so that there was space for another pole to hang coats for guests. Addie liked to entertain, whereas no one liked to sit in a phone booth to make calls anymore.

  As Marie rummaged through the bin of shoes, a whispered conversation caught her ear.

  “You said he wasn’t coming,” one of the voices hissed.

  “He’s never come before,” the other, deeper voice replied. “How could I possibly know he would come this year?”

  Were they talking about Dross?

  Marie froze. This was her house. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Still, instinct told her to lay low.

  “This doesn’t change anything,” the lower voice continued. “Not in the big picture. We just have to take him out quickly.”

  “What do you mean take him out?” The higher voice asked.

  Marie’s heart leaped to her mouth. The voices approached the open closet door. They would notice her. And she had a feeling this wasn’t a conversation meant to be overheard.

  Inspiration struck. She dropped to the ground and eased herself under the extra pole of coats as she had during childhood games of hide-and-seek.

  “What do you think I mean?” the lower voice asked wearily. “You saw him dancing with the Ironwood girl.”

  “Yeah, like a reverse beauty and the beast,” the higher voice scoffed.

  Marie recognized the cruel tone.

  Thaddeus Ratcliffe.

  “Tut tut, boy, jealousy does not become you,” the deeper voice admonished. It was Rex, Thad’s grandfather. “At any rate, they seem to be getting pretty cozy. We can’t risk him telling her. Not when we’re so close.”

  Rex Ratcliffe.

  He was primed to be the next patriarch. Was he really talking about killing someone? Not just someone, Harry?

  She scooted deeper into the closet, all the way to the phone booth side.

  “What’s this?” Rex asked in concern.

  Marie tried not to breathe.

  “Someone left the closet open,” Thaddeus replied.

  “Maybe,” Rex warned. “Or maybe someone is listening. A little mouse, perhaps? Or a little dragon?”

  Marie suppressed a scream as a pair of feet appeared at the edge of her vision. The coats on the other side rustled briskly.

  “Nope, empty,” Thaddeus declared at length, missing the fact that there was no wall between the two halves of the closet.

  Observation clearly wasn’t his strong suit.

  “Good, good,” Rex replied.

  “So what do we do?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Lure him out of the house, then finish the job, like I should have in the first place.”

  Marie shivered and begged herself not to sob.

  “Is that snow?” Thaddeus asked.

  The front door.

  She heard their footsteps move to investigate.

  “I thought I heard someone earlier,” Thaddeus said.

  “Let’s circle the house once, to be sure.” Rex’s voice was followed by the thunder of the closing door.

  Marie forced herself to count to twenty in case they came back for their coats.

  When the time was up, she scrambled out of the closet, grabbing a pair of old slippers - they’d have to do if she ended up outside - and headed up the main stair.

  Her parents had a whole wing of the house to themselves. Marie held her breath as she tried the hall door. Thankfully, they hadn’t locked it, even though the house was full of guests.

  It creaked open, and Marie dashed down the hallway and tapped on the door of her parents’ bedroom.

  When they didn’t answer, she flung open the door and launched herself into their bed like she had when she was small.

  “Marie” her mother said, groggily.

  “What on earth?” her father asked.

  “Mom, Dad,” Marie blurted. “Something really bad is happening. The Ratcliffes are planning to kill Harry Dross!”

  “What?” her mother asked.

  The words spilled out of her.

  “I woke up, the clockwork dragon was making a funny sound, but he ran away, so I went into the hall. And then he went outside and I went into the closet to find shoes so I could go after him, and then I heard them talking in the front hall. They said they would finish the job they started. They said they would lure him outside, and…”

  “What do you mean the dragon ran outside?” her father demanded.

  “Marie, that doesn’t make any sense,” her mother said softly. “Maybe it was a bad dream?”

  “No,” Marie replied. “Of course it wasn’t.”

  Her mother was already wrapping herself in a velvet robe, and ushering Marie out of the room.

  “We’ll just go and check, Bertram,” she chirped to her husband.

  “Humph,” he muttered into his pillow, already half-asleep again. The magic always tired him dreadfully.

  Addie put a small hand on her daughter’s waist.

  They walked silently through the halls until they reached Marie’s room.

  The moon shone through the window, extending ghostly fingers of light into the iron cage to glimmer on the smooth copper scales of the sleeping dragon.

  Marie gasped.

  Addie patted her lightly on the arm.

  “But, he…” Marie trailed off, knowing her mother would never believe her.

  “It’s alright, darling, this is an exciting time. And then there was the rich fare at the ball, the food, the punch.” Addie gave Marie a meaningful look, then went on. “It’s no surprise that you had a nightmare. Do you need a glass of water?”

  Defeated, Marie sat on the edge of her bed.

  “No thank you,” she sighed. “Sorry I woke you.”

  “Get some rest, love,” her mother replied, kissing the top of her head before padding out of the room.

  8

  Finding Harry

  As soon as the door shut behind her mother, Marie turned to the dragon.

  He opened his golden eyes immediately and gave her a quizzical look.

  “I didn’t dream it,” Marie whispered to him. “You were outside.”

  But suddenly she wasn’t so sure. It had been a long strange night after all.

  She hopped off the bed to see if his cage was locked.

  When her feet hit the floor, she was reminded of the slippers. They were very old and made of what had once been bright red velvet, now mostly faded to magenta. A tiny edelweiss flower graced the top of each big toe. She certainly hadn’t put them on in a dream. They weren’t even hers - although they fit quite well.

  Maybe they had belonged to Grandmother Marie.

  Determined, she opened the door to the dragon’s cage, which wasn’t latched after all.

  “Come on,” she told him. “We have to save your maker.”

  He waddled out of the cage with great dignity, swishing his curved tail behind him.

  She leaned over to pick him up, but he sidled away from her.

  “Can you lead me to him?” she asked.

  He pawed the ground impatiently with the shining claws of his front right foot.

  “Then you can walk ahead, but please don’t leave me behind this time,” she admonished him. “You frightened me.”

  He bowed his head slightly, then turned from her and headed into the hallway, moving more slowly than last time, his clicks and whirs nearly inaudible.

  She expected him to cross i
nto the guest wing, but the clockwork dragon went straight for the front hall again.

  As before, he scratched the heavy door, then looked up at her expectantly.

  9

  A Snowy Battle

  Marie pushed open the door, anticipating the snow that danced inside to meet her.

  The clockwork dragon clicked at her, so she knelt to lift him. He settled into her arms obligingly, but didn’t rest his head on her shoulder. Instead, he looked ahead with a singular alertness, whirring softly to himself as they stepped outside.

  Marie almost didn’t recognize the front lawn of the Ironwood estate. As far as she could see, clean whiteness frosted the grounds like a wedding cake. The moon on the fresh drifts seemed as bright as daylight, but the still falling snow made it hard to see very far ahead. She shuffled her way down a barely discernible path from the door.

  Something stirred in the snow beside her.

  The golden-eyed prince.

  No. Not exactly.

  Harry Dross.

  He looked every bit the part of the young prince, down to the beadwork on his jacket.

  Where had he come from?

  “Marie,” he murmured, his voice cutting effortlessly through the blustering winds.

  He leaned toward her.

  Marie prepared to wake up. It was a dream, of course, it had to be. She didn’t even feel cold.

  “I need your help,” he said softly in her ear.

  She nearly melted with desire at his cool breath against her neck.

  “Behind you,” he whispered.

  She turned to see a huge drift of snow rise from the stone retaining wall that separated the garden from the street below.

  Before her eyes, the shifting powder formed into two lines of white figures.

  Snowmen.

  Their heads stretched forward into triangular snouts and their frosty arms thinned into paws.

  Snow… mice?

  The wind screamed, or maybe it was the battalion of man-sized snow rodents. The ground shivered as the icy vermin stormed toward Harry Dross.

  He pulled a sword from a scabbard that Marie had somehow not noticed. It glimmered in the swirling moonlight, and Marie spotted the reflection of her own frightened eyes in the blade.

  Bravely, he strode toward the snow monsters.

  They didn’t slow.

  He slashed off the head of the first to reach him.

  Marie nearly squealed in delight.

  Until the severed head formed a smaller snow mouse, and began swiping its tiny claws at Harry’s legs.

  Dross ignored it and continued to strike at the mice with incredible force. But each time he took one down, the pieces came back up fighting.

  A whoosh of wind drew Marie’s eye from her prince. An entire roof’s worth of snow slid down into the courtyard, taking the shape of a giant snow mouse nearly as tall as the house itself.

  Somewhere nearby, the voice she’d heard while hiding in the coat closet muttered the arcane words of a spell, but the swirling wind and snow confused the direction, making it seem to come from everywhere at once.

  Tree limbs shuddered and dropped their snowy burdens as the gigantic snow beast approached, its crown of ice bobbing slowly with each ponderous step.

  The other mice fell back to allow their king access.

  Marie observed them in despair. Dross looked tiny in comparison.

  Nevertheless, he stood bravely, sword in hand, gusts of wind blowing back his dark hair and whipping the collar of his white jacket. When the mouse king came at him, Dross held his ground long enough that Marie thought he would surely be crushed.

  At the last possible moment, he dodged and swung, cutting a chunk from the beast’s side.

  The mouse king bellowed with rage and spun to attack, but he was off-balance, and Dross struck quickly, lopping off a snowy hand.

  Dross dodged again, but this time not fast enough. The blow from giant’s remaining fist connected soundly, knocking Harry off his feet.

  Marie watched in horror as a gust of snow filled in the creature’s wounds, healing its side and replacing its missing hand.

  Dross sprang back to his feet and renewed his attack, but it seemed hopeless. How could he defeat something that could heal so quickly?

  Dross dove low, slicing through the thing’s legs and bringing it down to his level as he landed behind it. He charged again, meaning to attack it from behind, but the mouse king anticipated him.

  From Marie’s point of view, she saw one of the creature’s hands elongate and freeze into a wicked icicle dagger.

  Dross couldn’t see.

  The beast concealed the weapon, baiting Dross in close enough to strike the killing blow.

  A snatch of ethereal music tingled in Marie’s ears - the prince’s song from her dreams - but the wind snatched it away before she could grasp it.

  Without thinking, Marie pulled off her grandmother’s slipper and threw it at the mouse king with all her might.

  A sharp, hot lightning shot through her veins as the slipper torpedoed toward the mouse with impossible force, iridescent sparks trailing after it.

  It looked almost like…

  Magic.

  Her magic.

  The slipper buried itself in the mouse king’s eye.

  He screamed in agony, and fell forward, crumbling into a pile of useless powder as he hit the ground.

  Marie lifted her hand and the slipper rocketed back to her.

  The army of smaller snow mice turned toward Marie, as if noticing her for the first time.

  The moment stretched out for the span of a few breaths. Marie looked from slipper in her hand to the dozens of snow rodents staring her down.

  As one, they charged, guided by some unseen force.

  Marie wasn’t sure how she had used her magic on the slipper, and she wasn’t sure if she could do it again. She drew back her arm, deciding to hurl the thing and hope for the best. But she didn’t get her chance.

  Because that’s when the dragon attacked.

  She’d almost forgotten the little guy, curled up in her other arm. As soon as she was in danger, he sprung out of her grasp to protect her. She remembered how he had bitten her brother in front of the tree. She didn’t think a nip on the hand would be much help.

  The dragon had other plans.

  As soon as the first of the snow mice closed the distance, the little dragon opened his mouth, baring his tiny brass fangs, and spewed forth a jet of orange flame that cut through the line of snow monsters, leaving no trace of them.

  Dross had told her he was a fire breather, but she thought he had been joking.

  More creatures charged the dragon, but he was far too quick. He dodged and clawed and bit, spitting his fire almost playfully, until the last of the snow mice was gone.

  10

  Confessions

  Marie’s heart leapt with pride at her tiny protector, and she reveled in the glory of her magic. Her whole body hummed with power. It must be how the dragon always felt, its gears and springs constantly buzzing with potential energy.

  Was this what everyone with magic experienced?

  She turned, half expecting her prince to have vanished as he always did.

  But this was no dream, and he was still very much on the lawn with her, smiling in wonder.

  The dragon whirred and chuffed, blinking his golden eyes at her merrily as he groomed the snow from his copper scales.

  “You do have it,” Dross said with a touch of awe. “Just like she did.”

  Marie smiled proudly.

  Her elation was limitless; she felt like she could fly. For all she knew, maybe she could. All her life she had prayed for the magic to come and tonight it had burst from her as if it had always been there.

  “Beautiful, magnificent, glorious woman,” he commended her, his raspy voice making strange things happen in her center.

  “Don’t try to distract me,” Marie said sternly, sounding a little bit more like her mother than she intended. �
�Why do the Ratcliffes want to kill you?”

  He arched an eyebrow, surprised by her perception, or her boldness, or both.

  “You’re more like your grandmother in other ways too,” he said with a wry smile. “That’s a longer conversation. Let’s have it inside.”

  She sat beneath the tree, on a white felt blanket meant to look like snow, while Harry fetched them some hot tea.

  The dragon had crawled onto her lap, turned around twice, and then plopped down and whirred sleepily.

  She stroked his smooth scales, again noticing the tiny keyhole in his neck.

  Harry entered the room, carrying two steaming mugs. The delicate aroma of chocolate hung around him in a cloud.

  “Hot chocolate?” he asked.

  “Much better than tea,” she agreed, taking her mug.

  “I see he’s made friends,” Dross indicated the dragon.

  “He likes to be in my lap,” she admitted.

  “He’s always been very sensible,” Dross said.

  Marie studied his face. Was he flirting?

  He gazed back at her, his eyes moving to her lips like he wanted to kiss her.

  A tidal wave of lust washed over Marie. He was so close she could feel the masculine heat pouring off him. Suddenly, she felt as if she would die if he didn’t kiss her.

  Instead, he turned his head to look down into his mug.

  “You’ll be the death of me, girl,” he growled.

  “Why?” she asked, although she knew the answer from the way his jaw clenched.

  “You wanted to know why Ratcliffe wants me eliminated, right?” he asked in a voice that told her he was back to business.

  She nodded, curiosity warring with her desire.

  “A long time ago, I used to visit this house almost every day. Do you know why?”

  “You were friends with Grandmother Marie,” she replied, thinking again that he couldn’t possibly be old enough for that to be true.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “I was. But I had two secrets that complicated matters.”

  “What were your secrets?” Marie asked, her curiosity pushing aside any other thoughts.