The Goblins of Bellwater

by Molly Ringle

  They came out onto the road, where the prosaic sight of Kit’s dented truck was the most comforting thing Grady had seen in a long time. Kit opened the passenger door for Skye and Livy. He frowned at Livy’s clothes, which looked even filthier in the brightening light of dawn. “Liv, what did they make you do, anyway? What happened to you?”

  “Oh…” She clambered into the cab with a grunt. “Nature.”

  Grady got in last, squished between Livy and the door. Skye sat on one of Livy’s legs, to give Kit enough room to drive. It should’ve been Grady’s lap she sat on. Now she barely looked at him. Grady shut his eyes and rested his head against the cold window.

  “Nature how?” Kit started the truck, and began driving down the bumpy road.

  “Well, first,” Livy said, “I crawled through a tunnel of dirt under the island. Then I crawled an underwater path across the bottom of the inlet. Then I had to walk through a forest fire. And then I had to climb into the canopy, like a hundred feet off the ground, and jump from tree to tree to get to the goblins’ lair.”

  Amazed silence from everyone for a second. Grady opened his eyes and blinked at her.

  “Damn,” Kit said.

  “I suppose you think you’re so bad-ass now.” Skye employed the skeptically teasing tone that could only come from a sister. Grady knew it well from his own siblings, but he’d never had the opportunity to hear it from Skye.

  “I kind of do, yeah,” Livy informed her, loftily.

  Skye leaned her shoulder against Livy’s. “That’s because you completely are.”

  She was smiling. Only for Livy. It made Grady’s heart hurt in a weird mix of happiness and sorrow.

  “You are,” Grady murmured to Livy, because even in the middle of his turmoil he couldn’t forget the immense thanks he owed her.

  Livy acknowledged him with a smile, then tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

  Skye yawned loudly and did the same. “So. Tired.”

  They re-entered Bellwater, and soon pulled up at Skye and Livy’s house. Grady hopped down to let them out. While Livy slid over to kiss Kit goodbye, Skye and Grady stood in their pajamas in the ankle-deep snow in the cul-de-sac, shivering and gazing unhappily at each other.

  “You must hate me,” Grady said. “Just…everything. I’m so sorry.”

  She pulled her eyebrows together. “What? No. You must hate me. What I did to you…” She shuddered, a level above her cold shivers, and looked away.

  “How could you even—no. Of course I don’t.”

  Livy climbed down. “Laundry,” she said, running her glance over Skye’s clothes and her own. “After sleep and shower. God, what a night. You ready to warm up?”

  Skye nodded. She met Grady’s glance again, but kept her arms folded tight; no hug on offer. “We’ll be in touch. After…sleeping, and everything.”

  “Yeah.”

  She was probably right. No use trying to sort this out until they’d rested and recovered. Still, he ached for some word of reassurance as he watched them shamble toward their house. Receiving none, he climbed back into the truck.

  “Well.” Kit rolled toward Shore Avenue. “Back to the world of the living.” Even through Kit’s exhaustion, happiness bubbled up in his words. He was suddenly free of what had been a lifelong obligation.

  Grady was pleased for him. In a cerebral sense, at least. He was also, in theory, pleased to be unshackled from his own curse, and back among the ordinary human world. But now what? Get busy again searching for jobs and an apartment, off in Seattle?

  He’d do it, he supposed, but the plan didn’t carry much sparkle anymore. Nothing did, not if Skye didn’t want to be with him.

  Grady wasn’t sure at all that he wasn’t still under some kind of spell.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  SLEEP. SO MUCH SLEEP. A BRIEF AWAKENING, THEN A CRASH BACK INTO SLEEP. THEN ANOTHER FAILED ATTEMPT TO keep her eyes open, and more sleep after that. In Livy’s brief glance at the room, she registered it was still daylight, and therefore she and Skye and the Sylvain cousins were safe, just in case any goblins still existed.

  The smell of fresh coffee finally woke her properly. It drifted into her room from the kitchen, where she heard the clink of utensils. She glanced at the window—still light out. The alarm clock said it was a little after three p.m. She got out of bed.

  Skye sat at the kitchen table, drawing in her sketchbook. She was wrapped in hoodie and sweatpants, hair held back in a bandanna. A mug of coffee and a half-eaten piece of toast with cheddar cheese melted on top of it sat next to her. Hip-hop played from Skye’s phone through the small speakers on the kitchen counter.

  Livy hesitated in the door frame. “Hey,” she said. The music and the food were good signs, but what if her sister answered in only echoes again? What if the smiles from last night had vanished?

  Skye looked up, flashed her a brief smile, and said in a tired voice, “Hey. Have some coffee. I made a whole pot.”

  Livy’s tension washed away. She took a moment just to breathe, and to thank the local fae in her mind, over and over. Then she shuffled forward, ready at last for coffee. “Awesome. Wow, how did I sleep longer than you?”

  Skye’s pencil scraped and swished as she shaded part of her sketch. “From the sound of it, you worked way harder than the rest of us last night. Still, I only got up fifteen minutes ago myself.”

  Livy poured a mug of coffee and sat across from Skye. She peeled a cheese-coated crust off Skye’s toast and ate it. “Are you drawing stuff from last night?” She could make out what looked to be a ring of flames and a bunch of spark-like things.

  “Yeah. As much as I can.” Skye winced, squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them wide and blinked a few times. “Ugh. I still feel like crap. But I wanted to get it down before I forgot. I’ll want details on all the things you saw, too.”

  “I know, I should’ve taken pictures. I wasn’t sure it was allowed. I wonder if you even can take pictures of them.”

  “Doubt it. I tried to take a photo of the glowing mushroom path that got me into all this shit, and it only turned out looking like ordinary mushrooms.” Skye kept sketching, her hand dashing back and forth. “Anyway, I bet I could make a graphic novel out of this. It’s fairly epic. Argh.” The pencil slipped under her thumb and went rolling across the table. She wiped graphite off the side of her hand, and picked the pencil back up. “Trying to draw without your pinky takes some getting used to.”

  Livy’s face hurt from smiling so wide. “You have no idea how good it is to hear you babbling like a freak again.”

  Skye smirked. “Yeah, well. I still don’t want any fruit desserts.”

  “Fair enough. I’m starving, now that you mention it.” Livy got up, wincing as all her muscles protested. She staggered to the fridge and examined the food inside. “I could make eggs. Would you eat eggs?”

  “Sure.”

  “I guess today we can’t force Grady to come cook for us.” Livy took out the egg carton.

  Skye didn’t answer.

  Livy found skillet and spatula, and bowl and whisk. “Have you heard from the guys?”

  “No.” Skye kept her back turned, still sketching.

  Livy picked up her own phone, plugged into the charger beside Skye’s, and checked messages. “Me neither. They must still be asleep.”

  Skye didn’t answer that either.

  Livy sent a text to Kit, for whenever he woke up: Hey, all ok here I think. How are you guys?

  Then she navigated to email. “Message from Mom. Seeing how we’re doing after the snowstorm. Sounds like it hit Portland too.”

  “Mm. Already melting here, though.”

  Livy glanced out the window to find Skye was right; holes and slumped edges had appeared in the blanket of snow, and a drizzle was falling, eroding away the white. “Typical western Washington.” Livy put down the phone and set about making scrambled eggs.

  She waited until she and Skye had eaten them, along with more toast and leftover
salad, before bringing up what was seemingly the most sensitive topic.

  “So. With Grady. Was that only a spell?”

  Skye sighed a ponderous, drawn-out sigh. She slumped back in her chair and spent a while folding the dishtowel that lay across her lap. “Well, it was, but…I don’t know. Mainly I just hope he doesn’t hate me.” She leaned forward to rest her forehead in both hands.

  “I really don’t think he hates you.”

  “I almost ruined his life! And I molested him, like, constantly.”

  “He looked to be enjoying the molesting just fine.”

  “He was enchanted.”

  “Exactly,” Livy said. “So were you. So no hard feelings on either side, right?”

  Skye groaned, keeping her face hidden.

  “Okay, it’s awkward,” Livy said. “I get that.”

  “So awkward.”

  “Well, what do you want to have happen?”

  Skye massaged her forehead and scalp. “I’m still not sure I can trust my wants.”

  “Of course you can. The spell is off you, I can tell.”

  “I don’t believe it yet.” Skye stayed slumped over, face covered.

  “It’s okay, no rush.” Livy picked up her plate and Skye’s, and rose. “You guys’ll sort it out.”

  “Eventually. Ugh. I feel awful, like I have the flu. Everything aches. Walking is hard.”

  “I bet. Well, take it easy. Rest up.” Livy took the plates to the dishwasher, then washed out the skillet in the sink. She glanced back at the table as she dried the spatula with a towel.

  Skye had turned to a page covered with sketches of Grady: his profile, his back, his hand holding a kitchen knife, his foot in a sock. Leaning her temple on her knuckles, Skye drank in the drawings, her face naked with sadness and longing.

  Hey. We’re alive, doing ok, Kit texted back to Livy, after waking up enough to function. He limped down the stairs and into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and swigged some milk from the carton. He leaned against the island counter and glanced at Grady, who was still in bed but awake, blinking at the ceiling.

  “Think the bastards twisted my ankle throwing me around,” Kit told him.

  Grady raked his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Sore all over here. Nothing broken, I don’t think. Just…missing.” He splayed his fingers above his face. His voice sounded husky and tired, but at least he was talking.

  “Uh-huh. Already dropped my phone the first time I picked it up. Just because of one little finger gone. Who knew.”

  A text buzzed in from Livy. Good. How’s Grady? Back to himself?

  Grady got out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, and shut the door.

  More or less I guess, Kit answered. Skye?

  He set the phone down and started scouting for food. He decided on a box of freezer waffles and took it out.

  Livy’s answer came back. Talking, drawing, sometimes smiling! Still… I think it’s serious. The relationship drama I mean ;)

  Grady came out of the bathroom, slumped onto one of the bar stools, and scowled at the box of waffles.

  Kit held the box up. “I was going to toast some of these. Want one?”

  Grady met his gaze, his blue eyes accusatory and offended. He shoved up from the stool and came around into the kitchen. “Out. Go. I’m making crepes.”

  Kit backed off, grinning.

  Grady picked up the box of waffles and deposited it back into the freezer with a derogatory twist of his lips. When he glanced at Kit again, Kit gave him a big exaggerated double thumbs-up, just to make sure he could get him to smile.

  It was a brief smile, accompanied by a soft snort, but there it was.

  While Grady pulled out eggs, milk, flour, and mixing bowls, Kit perched on a stool and responded to Livy’s text: I got him to smile and he’s cooking crepes, so, score. But yeah I think you’re right. Those two have shit to sort out.

  Sitting in bed with her multicolored comforter tucked around her, Skye finally dared to text Grady. Hey. The sun’s set and I have no wish to go into the woods. So, that’s good. How are you?

  She chewed her lip and wiggled her toes for the interminable three minutes it took him to answer.

  Nice, yeah, me neither. Feeling ok then?

  I guess. Super tired. Going back to bed, just wanted to check in with you.

  Yeah, I’m worn out too, he answered. We should get together and talk tomorrow if you’re up to it.

  Definitely. She drew in a stabilizing breath and added, What you said this morning…honestly I don’t hold anything against you. I still think it’s you who should be pissed at me.

  Again it took him too long to respond, and she clenched her sweaty four-fingered hand in the edge of the comforter as she waited.

  Well I’m not, he said. It wasn’t your fault.

  I knew they were watching us in the woods. And I did it anyway, all those times. Now aren’t you pissed?

  That’s…creepy but still not your fault.

  Still, he didn’t elaborate. She sat weighing options about what to say, wondering what he was thinking, picturing him frowning over his phone screen in the cabin on the island. This was all so awkward. So mixed-up.

  A new message from him finally appeared: Sorry, I’m just really beat. I’ll be able to make more sense tomorrow. I hope.

  He was exhausted. So was she. But it didn’t stop her from wishing they could jump over all the explanations and land on the space marked Happy.

  Happy and dating, though? Or happy and just friends? Which did he want? Which did she want?

  Of course, sorry, she typed back. We’ll meet up tomorrow.

  She tried to think of more to say, maybe something about how it would be good to speak to him, to see him smile. But she got the impression he wasn’t ready to process any more sentiment tonight.

  Goodnight, see you then, he texted while she deliberated.

  Night, she responded.

  Great. Echoing again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  LYING ON HIS SIDE ON THE SOFA-BED, GRADY GAZED AT THE LEAPING FLAMES IN THE FIREPLACE. HE AND KIT HAD KEPT it burning all day to thaw themselves out, and by now his bed a couple of yards away from the hearth had gotten quite toasty. Still, he didn’t feel particularly comforted.

  He brought up the messages from Skye again to review them. We’ll meet up tomorrow. I don’t hold anything against you. Could be encouraging, looking at it one way. Could be the groundwork to breaking up with him, looking at it another. Hard to know.

  Was there really anything to break off, though? Their relationship had all been a magical illusion. Sure, the sex had really happened, but maybe it didn’t count under those circumstances. She’d be completely within her rights to tell him it didn’t, and to declare she’d rather not pretend there was anything between them.

  So if it had all been illusion, and the spell had been lifted, why did he hurt so much?

  He looked at his four-fingered hand. No getting out of this situation without a few lasting scars, apparently.

  He sat up, tapped the contacts in his phone, and dialed home.

  His mom answered, over in Moses Lake. “Hello, Grady!” Her cheerful sing-song greeting made his eyes sting with tears again.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “How’s Bellwater? All covered in snow like we are?”

  He blinked the tears back, sniffled, and steadied his voice. “Yeah. Or at least, it was. It’s melting now.”

  “We got over a foot and it’s not going anywhere. So what’s new, other than that?”

  “Not a lot. Hey, I just wondered…you know how, um…I have four fingers on one hand?” He held his breath.

  She chuckled. “Yeeees, I’ve been aware of that since the minute you were born. We said, ‘Hurray, ten toes, and, oh, nine fingers.’ As we’ve told you.”

  He lifted his eyebrows, astonished. “Right. Uh. I was just…trying to remember what you used to tell people. When I was a kid. If they asked about it.”

  “Oh,
lots of things. We called it your ‘lucky hand.’ We said, ‘Who needs a pinky anyway, what’s that good for?’ And so on. You remember this.”

  Wow. Magic. Kind of scary, actually.

  “Right. A kid was asking me, and I…somehow couldn’t remember exactly. Anyway. What’s up with you guys?”

  As she chatted about her latest recipes, his dad trying to sell one of the cars, and his siblings’ tests and social lives, Grady drew up his knees and watched the fire, listening and murmuring, “Uh-huh.” He still suffered a Skye-shaped wound inside him, but he felt a little less desolate now. His life did contain reason enough for him to go on living, he supposed. Or close enough.

  From the stash of gold he’d gathered in the woods, Kit took at least $5,000 worth of jewelry and other pieces, and dumped them into a manila envelope. All of them were items he couldn’t remember obtaining himself and therefore wouldn’t be able to find a rightful owner for. After sunset, while Grady was on the phone with his parents, Kit told him from across the cabin, “Going out for a bit.”

  Grady nodded to him, then glanced away, talking to his folks.

  Kit drove to the forest, to his customary spot below the former site of the goblin dwellings. With the envelope full of treasure, he trudged through the leaf litter, wiggled between trunks, and stopped in the tight clump of trees. The smell of wet ashes hung in the air, possibly left behind by last night’s ring of fire. He’d have to go looking for scorch marks during daylight sometime.

  He whistled a few notes upward.

  No one answered.

  He whistled more of the song. Still nothing. He tried singing it aloud, only the notes, since he didn’t know any words for it—“Da da da doooo, dadada da daaaa…”—like a complete lunatic.

  Whole song. Still no answer.

  “Aren’t you guys going to show?” Kit called to the darkness. He was grinning. “Check it out! Whole huge bag of gold here.” He grabbed a fistful of it and held it up. “Don’t you want it?” His heart beat swiftly; his instincts still expected that sinister laughter, those twiggy arms appearing out of nowhere to snatch away the gold.