The Golden Yarn (Mirrorworld 3)

“Very far.” Jacob dodged the outstretched hand. “You know what happens if you take this dress by force.”

“You’re right. That would indeed be a pity. I will be right back.”

The Baba Yaga turned and went to her house. She used the door this time, and was humming to herself as she stepped inside.

She stayed for an eternity.

All the while, the raven kept staring at Jacob from the roof.

When its mistress finally appeared in the doorway again, she was holding a cloth that was even more richly embroidered than her dress.

“It will hide you from your enemies, did you know?” she asked as she approached the fence. “Even from those ancient ones the Fairies banished into trees. My cloth makes them all blind.”

With his right hand Jacob reached for the rushnyk while his left lifted the fur dress across the fence. He had to recall Fox’s silver face to stop himself from pulling back at the last moment. As the Baba Yaga tucked the dress under her thin arm and hobbled back to her house, Jacob felt as if he’d sold Fox’s soul. There is no other way. He repeated it to himself, again and again, as he retraced his steps back to the clearing where Chanute and Sylvain were waiting. It seemed forever before he finally saw the flickering of their fire between the trees.

The Colors of the Baba Yaga

Fox was lying as if she hadn’t moved at all, trapped in her own flesh. Chanute had cut open her silvered clothes so the warmth of the fire could reach her skin, and he’d covered her with the old blanket he took on his travels. (Jacob had always suspected it was the gift of some long-lost love.)

“Go on, turn around!” Chanute barked at Sylvain before Jacob wrapped Fox’s silver body in the Baba Yaga’s cloth. Sylvain obeyed silently. He had tears in his eyes and seemed to have run out of expletives.

Please! Jacob wasn’t sure whom he was appealing to. He didn’t believe in the ghosts and gods to whom the people behind the mirror addressed their pleas. But Fox did. He stroked her hardened hair.

Please!

And, yes, she was going to shoot him when she found out what he’d traded for the rushnyk. Or even worse—she was never going to look at him again.

Chanute knelt down next to him.

“If she wakes up—” He cleared his throat. “I mean, watching you two is such torture. You should stop fooling yourselves. Damn, even that beardless girl-face Ludovik Rensman has shown more nerve than you.”

“What’s that got to do with nerve?” Jacob hissed back. “I have my reasons. We are friends—isn’t that enough? And now mind your own business. Did I ever say you should’ve proposed to that actress instead of having her face tattooed on your chest?”

Chanute rubbed his ugly face. “Oh, I did propose. Many times. She didn’t want me.” Her photograph was still in his room. Eleonora Dunsteadt. Not a particularly gifted actress—Jacob had seen her onstage in Albion—but she had an army of admirers.

The Baba Yaga’s patterns were beginning to stitch themselves into Fox’s silver brow.

She would find another. Or he would find someone for her. Another... As if the very thought doesn’t make you sick, Jacob. Still, it was good to speak of her as though she could answer them, frown at them like she did when she was angry with them.

If she wakes up.

She had to wake up.

“You’re made for each other! Even Sylvain says so.” Once Chanute got to talking, you’d have more luck trying to silence a Gold-Raven.

“Leave it! It is impossible!” Jacob didn’t want to talk about Spieler’s price, or about the fight he and Fox had over it.

“I see. Jacob Reckless is being his mysterious self again!” Chanute sulked and went to Sylvain, who was crouched despondently under a tree.

The hours went by, and the Baba Yaga’s embroidery danced over the Alderelf’s silver. Flowers, trees, mountains, moons, and stars… Jacob lost himself in the rushnyk’s images until a sigh made him look up. Fox’s lips had opened a little, like a blossom greeting the morning dew.

“Chanute!”

The old man nearly stumbled over his own feet as he rushed to Fox’s side. Sylvain looked after him in disbelief.

Chanute poured Alma’s potion into Fox’s mouth with unexpected tenderness.

Jacob got up, his limbs still stiff and heavy. He looked up at the trees. It was getting dark. The best time to visit a Witch’s house, in the East just like in the West. Witches were rarely at home while the moon was high.