Magpie blinked. “Chijal Ev?” she repeated. “The temple of the Iblis?”
“Aye,” said Vesper fondly. “Home of my early life.”
“You grew up at the temple?”
“Aye.”
“And you’re saying Bellatrix lived there after the wars?”
Vesper nodded. “A long quiet life, until she passed to the Gardens.”
“At Chijal Ev?” Magpie felt the bloom of possibility wilting. The gent had said Vesper possessed ancestral records unearthed from the crypts of Chijal Ev, but Magpie and her parents and grandmother had discovered and excavated those crypts themselves! If there had been even a hint or a runestone that mentioned Bellatrix, they would have found it. There had been nothing of the sort.
“And when did you leave there, lady?” Magpie asked with a frown.
“I arrived in Dreamdark last moon, at long last.”
Magpie squinted at her. “So recently? Strange we didn’t meet in Ismoroth in the snows, then. We performed there for the Stormlash clan at the winter festival and stayed some weeks.”
“Ah, the winter festival, how lovely,” said Vesper, but something cold and hard flickered in her gaze. “Lords Winterkill and Brambling,” she said without turning to the gents, “won’t you go and find us a seat for the play?”
“Aye, my jewel,” said one.
“Your wish, my sweet,” said the other.
They left, and Vesper turned to Magpie. “So, you’ve traveled to Ismoroth, have you? That’s far for a little lass to go, is it not? Across oceans? Who are you, sprout?”
“Magpie Windwitch, Lady. But who are you . . . really?”
“I am exactly who I wish,” Vesper said gently, “and irkmeat little lasses would do well to show proper respect while they’re in my wood.”
“Irkmeat!” hooted Pup, slapping Pigeon with his wing. “Irkmeat! I like that!”
“Your wood?” said Magpie, incredulous. “Dreamdark?”
“Mags! Birds!” cried Bertram from the backstage door. “Get yer feathers over here, now!”
“Calm yer pepper, irkmeat!” Pup called back. “We’re coming!” But Magpie didn’t move. “Come on, Mags,” he started to say, but Pigeon hushed him, seeing the look that blazed between the lady and the lass.
Vesper said in her honeyed voice, “You heard the bird, little one. Go on, take your phony crown and your preposterous skirt—”
“Eh!” protested Pup, and Magpie’s hands flew to her feathers.
“Go and play at Bellatrix,” Vesper went on. “But remember as you speak her lines who wears her real crown, and practice your curtsies, lass. If we meet again I shall expect to see the very best you can muster.”
“I’ll never curtsy for you,” Magpie said in a low, seething voice.
“And no one will be surprised, will they, if a savage doesn’t curtsy for the queen?”
“Savage?” growled Maniac.
“Aye, a little savage who doesn’t know herself from a crow and wears their stink as proudly as her own. Really, you reek of cigarillos!” She wrinkled her nose and pretended to fan away a bad smell. “Surely that’s just one hazard of slumming with low creatures.” Her gaze fell with disdain on Maniac, Pup, and Pigeon, and Magpie felt a sudden flash of fury.
It tingled like a chill down her arms and she saw curls of light unwind from her fingertips. They spun with lazy grace toward Vesper and wreathed round her head. Alarmed, Magpie clasped her fingers into fists and shoved them behind her back. The lights faded away, and Vesper seemed not to have noticed them.
Bewildered, Magpie could only think to snap, “My brothers smoke cheroots, not cigarillos!” as she turned away. But she stopped when she saw the looks on the crows’ faces.
“Jacksmoke . . . ,” whispered Pigeon, still staring at Vesper.
Magpie glanced back over her shoulder and the first thing she saw was the look of confusion on the lady’s face. Then she noticed Vesper’s hair. “Oh,” she said.
Vesper’s hands fluttered to her head and jerked away. Her hair was writhing. “There. Are. Worms. In. My. Hair,” she gasped between deep breaths as a look of horror spread over her face.
But she was wrong. Biting her lip, Magpie stared. Where a moment ago had been shining, perfumed black hair, now there were living worms, rooted at the scalp and wriggling. Lady Vesper didn’t have worms in her hair. She had worms instead of hair.
“Get them off!” she cried.
“Um—” Magpie said.
“Um?” Vesper hissed at her. “Whatever you’ve done, minx, undo it now or you’ll wish you’d never breathed Dreamdark air!”
But Magpie had no idea what she’d done. She stared at her fists, clasping them tighter to quell the faint tingling, and shrugged helplessly.
The lady spun wildly around. “I mustn’t be seen like this!” she said, and paused to fix Magpie with a vicious glare. “The day you next look into my eyes will go badly for you, do you hear me, savage?” A worm made an effort to explore her nostril and her hands flew to her face. She cried out in disgust and spread her wings and whirled suddenly away into the shadow of the trees.
Magpie turned to look at the birds, who were still staring, - gape-beaked.
“Gorm, Mags, what’d ye do to her?” breathed Pigeon.
She shook her head and looked again to her fingers, wiggling them hesitantly. “I don’t know!”
“Jacksmoke, feathers,” said Calypso, coming up behind them. “En’t ye heard me calling ye? It’s curtain time!” He saw the looks on their faces and stopped short. “What did ye do, ’Pie?” he instantly asked.
“Why do you assume I did something?”
“Well, did ye?”
“Aye,” she admitted in a woeful voice.
“She turned some lady’s hair into worms!” Pup broke in breathlessly, hopping from foot to foot. “Ye should’ve seen it!”
Calypso’s eyes widened.
“It’ll be trouble,” said Pigeon, glancing around nervously. “Trouble!”
“I didn’t mean to—” Magpie began, but just then one of the pomaded gents poked his head around the caravan.
“Little gypsy, do you know where the queen has gone?”
“Queen?” croaked Calypso, shooting Magpie a quizzical glance. “Since when has Dreamdark had a queen?”