“There’s a key underneath,” he told me.
I reached below the cupboard and fished out the small brass key hidden there, then fitted it into the lock and pulled the door open. Inside lay a small hand mirror encased in ivory. I took it out, glancing to the wolf for instructions.
“It will show you anything you wish to see, anything in this world, at least. You must only give two pieces of yourself to make it work.”
I sank quietly to the floor, my skirt pooling out around me, and laid the mirror in my lap.
“It need not be something big, so long as it is part of you.”
I plucked out a strand of hair, and unfastening the broach from my collar, I pricked the first finger of my right hand. A spot of blood welled up, and I pressed my finger and the hair together against the surface of the mirror.
“Tell the mirror what you wish to see,” said the wolf.
I swallowed. “Show me my father, please.”
The mirror’s surface wavered and went milky white, the blood and hair swirling inside until both were lost.
A dark forest came into view, a lantern bobbing on a pole. My father was trudging through the snowy wood, holding the lantern pole, Rodya and Tinker with their own lights just behind him. “Echo!” they called into the darkness, “Echo!” But the howling wind spat their words back at them.
The mirror shifted, showing my father and Rodya climbing the steps to the house, shaking the snow from their boots. My father wept into Rodya’s shoulder. Donia appeared at the door, her face drawn and tight. “Foolish girl, to go out into the wood in the snow and the dark!”
But Rodya squeezed his hand. “We’ll find her, Papa. Don’t worry.”
“I saw her,” my father whispered. “She was there in the wood, just before Tinker came with his sled. I know I saw her.”
Rodya’s lips thinned, worry in his eyes. He didn’t believe him. “You need rest, Papa. Come upstairs.”
Tears leaked down my father’s face. “Leave a lamp in the window for her—so she can find her way back to us in the dark.”
Rodya lit it himself, settled it on the windowsill.
Only then did my father allow himself to be taken up to bed.
Donia lingered, waiting until Rodya had fallen asleep on the couch all bundled in blankets before she blew out the lamp.
“Good riddance,” she said to the dark. But her hand shook.
I jerked to my feet and flung the mirror away like it was a snake; it bounced and skidded across the floor. My heart screamed inside of me.
“My lady, is all well?”
“I have to go home.”
His eyes peered into mine. “Is your father not safe?”
I dug my nails into my palms, fighting bitter tears. “He doesn’t know where I am. He thinks I’m lost in the wood.”
“But you are not.”
“He doesn’t know that. Let me go back. Let me tell him I am safe.”
The wolf’s fur stood on end. “You must stay here, my lady. You cannot go home—I am sorry.”
“At least let me write him a letter.”
“There is no way to send it.”
“You could bring it to him.” I was getting desperate. “I swear to you I’ll stay however long you wish, if you just bring him a letter.”
The wolf seemed all at once to loom large, his voice grating and firm. “I cannot get back through the wood, and neither can you. It is impossible. Your father is safe, my lady. You must let it go.”
“But—”
“Enough. There can be no letter. Now come. We have business with the house—your first lesson on how to care for it.”
He turned and trotted out of the library, as if I should forget all about my father. I ground my jaw. I didn’t care what the wolf said—I would find a way out of the house, somehow. Wait until he was occupied. Slip away. I refused to let my father fear the worst.
The wolf peered back through the library doorway. “Come. The house needs us.”
I took a deep, steadying breath and followed.
The glass staircase and corridor had vanished, replaced by a dark passageway that smelled of earth and worms. Bare dirt ran hard beneath our feet; crude torches flickered eerily from the walls.
The wolf barked a harsh word into the air, and the passage turned a corner, ending at an open door that yawned into a chasm of darkness. There were scorch marks around the frame, streaks of soot on the floor. The air reeked of smoke, and amidst the darkness, specks of ash danced like snowflakes.
I had no desire to get anywhere near the doorway. “What is this place?”
“The fire behind our door last night was my fault,” said the wolf. “I was too long away from the house, and it broke loose from its binding. We have to bind it anew.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come down here with me. I will show you.”
Reluctant, I knelt beside the wolf in front of the doorway. Laughter echoed from deep inside, tangled with a high keening wail. Ash dusted the hem of my skirt.
“Reach down, through the doorway,” the wolf instructed. “You will find the binding. But don’t lean too far.” He plunged his head into the blackness beyond the door.
After a moment, I stretched my right hand in, not knowing what I was feeling for. Something small and spiny scuttled over my arm, and I clamped my teeth together to keep from screaming. I reached further into the empty dark, in and in, and my fingers closed around something thin and smooth and silken.
I pulled it out.
A shimmering scarlet cord lay in my hand, so light it seemed to be made of air. It twisted and sighed as if it were alive, and not content to be still.
The wolf emerged with a similar cord in his teeth, and dropped it into my other hand. “Don’t let go,” he said. “I must call the fire back, and then we will bind it.” He stood on his back legs, propping himself upright against the wall with his front right paw. “Return!” he bellowed down the passageway. “By the laws of the old magic, I command you to return!”
Two heartbeats passed, then another two. The cords shivered in my hands; it was like grasping wind.
And then a wall of flame came rushing down the corridor, twisting and writhing. Screaming.
“Hold on!” the wolf cried.
I screwed my eyes shut and ducked my head, clinging to the scarlet cords with all my might.
The fire reached me, enveloped me; I screamed at the clawing heat. But it didn’t devour me, and in another instant it had gone by. I opened my eyes to see it vanish into the darkness.
“Shut!” ordered the wolf, and a heavy oak door slammed against the door frame, smoke hissing out through the cracks. The wolf dropped onto all fours, panting a little, and came to stand beside me. “Now to keep it from breaking free again. House! Bring the binding kit.”
A blue leather pouch and matching braided belt appeared out of thin air and fell in a heap at my feet. I squawked in surprise, and dropped the scarlet cords.
“Open the pouch,” said the wolf.
I gave him a wary glance, but obeyed. Inside was a gold thimble and needle, a pair of gold scissors in the shape of a bear, and a spool of shining thread that looked for all the world like strands of coiled sunbeams.
“Thread the needle,” said the wolf. “I will teach you the binding stitch.”
“The binding stitch?”
“To keep the fire contained.”
“I don’t understand.”
He blew out a breath. “Old magic, my lady. It’s what keeps the house from falling apart, no thanks to her. She had the power to collect it in the first place, but not to keep it together.”
“Wolf.” I was running out of patience. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
He just nudged the pouch closer to me.