Wood Sprites

The four-poster bed had been sprayed high-gloss lacquer black and fitted in what looked like a steampunk elevator cage so it could be raised up to a loft area. The other pieces had also been sprayed black and trimmed with silver, and random gears and cogs had been added. The mirrored vanity had been merged with obscure antique electronics so it looked like the control console of an ancient spacecraft. One wall was floor-to-ceiling bookcases with a tall library ladder on a brass rail. Another wall had faux windows installed and painted so they seemed like they were looking out over eighteenth-century Paris with airships drifting past a half-built Eiffel Tower. There was no sign of real windows, as if Esme had drywalled over them. An odd assortment of furniture crowded the room, from a half-disassembled pinball machine to model airships strung from the ceiling.

“You’ll have to share Esme’s bedroom tonight.” Anna opened a door and turned on another light, revealing a Jack and Jill bathroom that had been spared the steampunk makeover. “Lain’s bedroom is connected through here, but it’s empty. Lain moved all her things to Elfhome, but Esme just walked away from everything.”

“Everything” included old paper books and toys and gadgets crowding the bookcase shelves.

Anna threw a huge wall-mounted knife switch, and the bed lowered down to the ground. “We’ll get some furniture for the other room and — which one of you is the oldest?”

“We’re twins,” Louise said. “We’re the same age.”

“One of you was born first.” Anna started to strip the comforter and sheets from the bed. Dust scented the air as if no one had touched the bed for nearly twenty years.

Louise welcomed the flare of anger. “Mom and Dad said that there isn’t an ‘oldest’ and ‘youngest’ for us.” Since their father had fainted during the delivery, there had been a lot of confusion in the birthing room, and it was possible that their parents simply hadn’t known.

“We’ve always shared a bedroom,” Jillian whispered and clung to Louise as if Anna was about to force them apart.

Anna sighed, dropping the comforter and sheets onto the floor. “I suppose, for now, it won’t hurt for you to share a room.”

There was a knock on the door. It opened, and a tall, elegant woman swept into the room with fresh linens in her hands. She had that same hidden elf look that Ming had, as if everything that said “elf” had been carefully erased, and yet nothing could hide the tall, willowy build and the unearthly beauty.

“I’m sorry,” the non-elf said. “I only had time to dust and run a mop around the room. The vacuum cleaner threw another hissy fit. I wish we could find a good old-fashioned one without any sensors or filters or computers.”

“This is Celine.” Anna dipped a hand toward the female. “She’s been our housekeeper since she was very young.”

Louise eyed the female. If Tristan was nearly forty and looked ten, then how old was Celine? The housekeeper seemed unaware of the twins’ stares. She unfurled the bottom sheet and then expertly tucked the corners around the ends of the mattress.

Anna stripped the pillowcase from one of the pillows and gave it a tentative sniff. “These are too musty.” She gazed about the room. “I don’t know why I left everything this way. Esme’s not coming back. Even if she could, she wouldn’t. She hated this house.”

Celine took the pillows, carefully keeping whatever she thought of Esme off her face. “I have good goose down ones stored in plastic for guests. They’ll be good for tonight — unless the girls are allergic to down.”

Louise flinched under the women’s joint gaze. “No. At least, I don’t think so. Our father was allergic to them, so we never had them in the house.”

“George Mayer was allergic?” Anna asked to clarify whom Louise meant by “father.”

“Yes, our father!” Louise snapped.

Anna pursed her lips against whatever she wanted to say in reply. “Are you allergic to anything? Are there any medicines you should be taking?”

“No. No,” Louise said.

Celine gathered up the dusty bedding. “I’ll get the pillows and a blanket.”

“I can’t sleep without Fritz,” Jillian mumbled, leaning against Louise.

Louise whimpered in dismay. Jillian had never slept without her security blanket. Even when they stayed over at their Aunt Kitty’s, they took it with them. If they forgot it, Jillian couldn’t get to sleep. “Fritz is her blanket. Our Grandma Mayer made him for her. He’s at our house. Can — can we go get him?”

“I’ll have someone go get it. What does it look like? Where does she normally keep it?”

Louise stared at her for a minute in confusion. Surely Anna didn’t mean that a stranger would walk into their house and go through their things. And then in a wave of horror Louise realized that soon strangers were going to go through all their stuff. “Can’t we just go ourselves?”

“No, you’re both too upset. Just tell me where it is.”

Jillian pressed against Louise and whispered, “I want Fritz.”

“On her bed.” Louise fought not to cry as she gave up. “It’s inside the blue flannel pillowcase.”