The Malevolent Tree

Before the Witching Hours

What needed to be done to be ready, Tavish didn't know but he suspected the vial of water from a river goddess that Leith had lent him was a start. Kenna might be able to identify some other helpful talisman. Since no one in the Great Hall appeared to want him, he slipped out the side door and descended the winding steps. The castle didn't waste candles on the servants' stairs, so he used the flashlight app on his mobile. His crab apple recharging system was slow, but if he plugged his device in now, he should have a nice percentage of power by whichever hours were for witching. 

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned to the passage that led to his wizard's quarters. When he passed the laundry, he saw steam seeping out from under the door. Surely, Leith hadn't finished her charming performance just to come back and wash clothes? Inching the door open, he found the room foggy and her arms deep in a sudsy tub.

She really was a remarkable woman. Forget just being a beloved folk singer if she lived in his world. She'd be an artist-in-residence at Glasgow University. She'd have a university appointment—several appointments. Not only did she have the artistic talent to compose, play and sing, but she was analytical as well. 

I mean, just look at how she set up her laundry.

On the right, the dirtiest linen sat in boiling water, while the woolens and brocades on the left sat in cold. She'd improved the soap recipe Lady Greer had brought back from the Crusades—lard, ashes and chamber lye—by adding pine needles, mint and cloves. The fresh scent wafted toward him as she scrubbed away at the tunics and skirts soaking in the warm water tub between the hot and the cold.

Remarkable, yes. And the wisps of black hair the heat had teased out of her thick braid looked like May-time tendrils on a blackberry vine.

Leith glanced over her shoulder. Her cheeks were pink from the heat, but her ocean blue eyes were cool and calm as always.

"I just wanted to thank you for cleaning my wizard robes." He hung his head. "That was a grim task."

Leith sighed. "Not one I want to repeat."

Tavish shifted his weight. "And thanks for putting my mind at ease... about the witching hours."

"You're welcome. But from what I could see, it was talking to the princess that had you smiling."

Tavish shrugged. "Actually, we didn't talk about tonight. We talked about what's been weighing on my mind since I arrived." He paused then closed the door behind him. "How to get back to my home."

Leith's smile faded. "I see." When he stepped closer, she turned back to her laundry. "I'm afraid I'm busy. I need to scrub and bleach the table linen if it's to be ready for tomorrow. Then I really need to get some sleep."

Tavish's forehead pinched together. His friend was dismissing him—just when he needed her insight. Talking to the princess held the hope of finding out how to get back home, but who knew better than he how commonly hopes were dashed? Leith was the only one he'd even hinted to just how impossibly distant his home was. If she wouldn't talk to him, all he could do was stew by himself.

* * * * *

Over the next hour, Kenna rummaged through the previous wizard's discards until she came up with a short, black-handled sword. She stared at it a moment, mouthed the ancient words carved on its side, shrugged and handed it to Tavish.

"I'm pretty sure this is the blade that can draw demon blood."

During the next several hours, Tavish sharpened the knife (after all, if it couldn't draw demon blood, it could still prove useful against other dangers), checked and rechecked how fast his iPhone was charging (he suspected he was about to witness things no one would believe without pictures), and did push ups (after six weeks wrestling with the inconveniences of fairyland, he managed a never-before-matched eighteen). Every time the thought demon crossed his mind, he dredged up another mental image of Glasgow. Not all of them were happy, but at least they were familiar.