down. On the first round he glowed golden in the dancing light of the fire. On the second round he dropped onto all fours and hair streamed around his face. On the third round the golden fur flowed down his neck and back until he had turned once more into a lion and lay down on the rug, yawning contentedly.
Willa stared. The change had been so smooth, so ... normal. Now Horace lay there, his forepaws extended before him. His face was the only thing that remained the same. It was still a human, Horace face, but fringed with a golden lion’s mane. When he spoke his voice was even more velvety, as if he might fall into purring at any moment.
“I am an Androsphinx, from the ancient time of the pharoahs in Egypt.” Willa listened breathlessly as Horace explained how very, very old he was. He explained how some sphinxes were warlike and enjoyed eating human flesh ... as he said this his nose crinkled in distaste, and he hastened to assure Willa that he was a more peaceable sort than that.
“Besides, humans are just ... not very tasty, no matter how you prepare them,” he sniffed. Willa sank further into her chair, very thankful for this fact.
As the afternoon wore on and the room grew darker, rain tapped on the roof and the windows rattled, the hibiscus plant curled around their chairs, and Willa listened to Horace’s tales of Egypt. She listened to his soft voice until her eyes grew heavy and it seemed that his yellow fur had turned into the very sand dunes of the desert, and the gusts of wind at the windows were whispering djinn, the evil spirits that whirl about the desert plains.
When she woke the fire had gone out in the grate, and Horace was nowhere to be seen. It all seemed like a dream, but then everything that happened in this house seemed like a dream and Willa knew that every day she spent there would be more fantastic than the last. And she was absolutely right.
The next day, after a morning of dusting so vigorously she sneezed about a hundred times, Willa had tea with little Mab, who clutched her tea-thimble with both hands as if it were a bucket. I’m having tea with a real fairy, Willa kept saying to herself in disbelief, though Mab wasn’t quite as lovely and delicate as Willa expected fairies to be. She looked sweet enough and had a smile that made Willa want to coo over her like a baby, but whenever Mab was irritated there would be a sharp flash in her eyes and her dear smile would twist ever so slightly into a kind of gargoyle grimace which made Willa shiver.
Mab delighted in saying nasty things about the other inhabitants of the house. It always surprised Willa how much the old folks argued and fought, though she suspected it was due more to boredom than to actual hatred. Mab boasted about the tricks she played on her housemates, such as sewing their pockets shut with invisible thread, sprinkling sawdust in their lemonade, and hovering around their ears like a persistent mosquito, whispering an endless stream of insults. Mab’s knowledge of rude words was extensive, covering all the ones that Willa wasn’t allowed to use at home, and many more that Willa had never heard before, but which certainly sounded like words she wouldn’t be allowed to use at home. Mab’s main complaint was that the others didn’t take her seriously, treating her like a silly little kid or referring to her as an “insect.” When Mab recounted how they teased her, she’d become extremely agitated. Her language would turn a few shades more colourful, and she’d pound her little fists on the table so hard that her fine yellow hair would jump out of its silky ringlets and poke straight out on all sides, so that she looked like a dandelion, the kind that you blow on to watch the seeds fly away.
One morning the Hacketts were up in arms about being woken at an ungodly hour by an awful, ear-splitting noise coming from Miss Trang’s roof. Willa promised she’d get to the bottom of it. She feared it was the bird Fadi, but Tengu gleefully claimed responsibility.
“You see,” he hopped up and down in his excitement, “I’ve taken on the job of scaring away basilisks.”
“Basilisks?” Willa looked at him questioningly.
“You don’t know what basilisks are?! Really, what passes for education in your world! Basilisks are half-snake and half-rooster. They can kill you just by looking at you!” At this point he jumped at Willa, grimacing with his fingers curled like claws. Tengu was always trying to give her a scare, but it just made Willa want to laugh because the tender-hearted fellow was easily the least scary person in the entire household.
“Basilisks are repelled by the sound of a rooster crowing. But we don’t have a rooster. So I get up every morning, go up on the roof, and cock-a-doodle-doo!” He snapped his fingers proudly. “So simple it’s genius.”
Then he did his rooster impersonation for Willa, right there in the parlour, setting the teacups rattling and the chandelier tinkling. The ruckus brought Belle rolling in and an argument began at once.
“Must you do that in the house, you fool?”
Willa got Tengu to agree to do his crowing a couple hours after dawn, and on the peak of the roof furthest from the Hacketts. Belle was still shaking her head.
“That sorry excuse for rooster crowing would never fool a basilisk. Never in a million years.”
Tengu drew himself up to his full, unremarkable height. “I don’t see any around here, do you? Therefore it must work!”
Then he stuck his tongue out at Belle and waggled his fingers around his ears. That started Belle hurling things at him — sofa cushions, books, shoes — until Willa begged her to stop.
Belle was easily the most unfriendly person in the house, but no matter how unpleasant she was, how cranky, how downright rude, Willa felt drawn to her. She still remembered how beautiful Belle had looked when she’d first met her, when Belle was asking to go to the seaside. That loveliness and charm could be flicked on or off like a light switch, and apparently Belle had decided Willa was to be left in the dark. Their encounters usually went something like this:
“Good morning, Belle!”
Scowl.
“And how are you today?”
Abrupt exit from room, with a dismissive toss of silver hair. Really, it was like trying to be friends with a rock.
Besides giving Miss Trang a wide berth, and trying not to antagonize Belle, Willa also tended to avoid Robert. He usually stayed in his room, but when he ventured out, knocking into the overhead lamps and smashing things with every step, Willa felt small and foolish next to him. And he always looked a little wild-eyed. The wisps of hair around his ears stuck out every which way, there were always spills and stains on his clothes, and he smelled funny. When speaking of Robert, Mab tipped her head back with her thumb pointing to her mouth, meaning he drank too much.
One day Robert and Belle happened to be in the parlour as Mab led Willa in to show her one of her special treasures. She opened up a trunk to reveal a real pearl from an oyster. Mab glowed proudly as Willa admired it. She wasn’t exactly sure what Mab might do with it, since it was far too big for jewellery. Willa was just imagining the little fairy using it as a bowling ball when Robert suddenly swayed to his feet and stomped one hoof in irritation.
“A pearl. Big deal. I’ve got something far more valuable than that.” He turned to Willa, smiling eagerly. “Would you like to see it?”
Willa nodded, a little uncertain. Robert reached for an old cigar box on the mantel.
Belle snorted. “Oh for God’s sake, Robert. Not that filthy old thing.”
“It’s gross,” squeaked Mab in agreement.
Robert spun around, upsetting an end table. “You two wouldn’t know magic if it came up and bit you on the ass!”
He turned back to Willa, tipping over a vase, which Willa managed to catch, but not before it spilled water and daisies all over the carpet. Robert paid no mind, tapping the top of the cigar box.
“This is my good luck charm. It’s the best luck charm there is,