Everleigh

  The Goose and the Gander, the Cellar

  Roses are red,

  so was her hair,

  and so was her robe.

  She wasn’t even wearing shoes.

  “Who are you?” she asked, and so did I.

  I had a part to play, and so did she.

  But I knew she’d come. I’d called her with my song.

  The others all had terrible hearing.

  She scrunched her nose when she smiled.

  “I’m Abby,” she said. “Abby Blaze.”

  “Aye, and I’m Betty Black and White.”

  She said it had a nice ring.

  The truth of it all.

  “It’s Ever,” I said.

  “What’s ever?”

  “Not what’s ever. It’s Ever.”

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  “It’s ever what?”

  “My. Name. Is. Ever.”

  “Your name is Ever?”

  I wondered about the mortals who’d given me a name and given me away. Seconds upon seconds, and then I performed a deep bow. “Everleigh Gloom.”

  Her brain was blocked,

  so I watched her face,

  and I listened to her heart race.

  Curiosity without fear,

  wonder without restraint,

  scrutiny without judgment.

  She asked if I was a Partisan.

  I told her I was a fake, a fraud—

  tattooed on the back of my neck as though I’d stolen someone else’s eyes and slid them into my own sockets. I told her my story, and she was sad but not sorry.

  A friend?

  A favourite?

  But first: a test, a task.

  Vera climbed down the ladder.

  I disappeared.

  “Abby? I thought I heard voices. And music?”

  The Bright One played The Dull One. “No music, just me. I talk to myself sometimes. It’s quite soothing.”

  “And where did the candles come from?”

  “I brought them from my room.”

  “Can’t you people see in the dark?”

  “Yes, but what if there were someone else wandering the hall? They could get badly hurt if we were to collide.”

  Three for three, wasn’t she?

  “Why are you down here?” Vera asked.

  The Bright One smiled brightly. Her brain was blocked, but Vera’s was not. I tapped her thoughts before The Bright One could. The Cook had many weights and worries, and I hurried to hide away the one that mattered most. V for Vera. V for vigilante.

  “I’m here because you asked me to be,” Abby Blaze answered. “You said you needed help preparing for the banquet.”

  I saw it then,

  why he placed her where he did,

  why he placed me on her path.

  The fox’s friend was fun,

  she was friendly,

  and she was a fox of her own.