The woman on the other side wore a man’s flannel shirt over a thin cotton slip. She was small, sharp-boned, and silver-haired. She smiled warmly at Cole and opened her arms for a hug. It wasn’t until she’d fussed over him a bit and pulled back that she noticed Willow.
When she did, her warm demeanor cooled. Her eyes, pale as water, raked over Willow from head to toe.
“You’ve brought a guest,” she remarked.
“She’s asking after Amira Greer,” Cole said.
There was a shift in the air. Willow would have sworn to it. But the woman said simply, “Is she, now?”
She stepped back and swept her arm toward the house’s interior. “Come inside, then. Come on, come on.”
Inside, the air smelled of woodsmoke and cheap plastic flooring. A wide table flanked by mismatched chairs sat in themiddle of the room. At the far end sat a second woman, her body large, her braid coiled neatly over one shoulder. Her eyes were set deep in a face that might once have been beautiful. In front of her was an open jar of mayonnaise and a spoon.
“Ruby, Brooxie, this is Willow,” Cole said.
The first woman closed the front door. “I’m Ruby,” she clarified. “Nice to meet you, Willow.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Willow said. She nodded at the other woman. Brooxie.
“She’s looking for Amira,” Ruby told Brooxie.
“I am, yes,” Willow said. “I—I heard she lives here?”
The women exchanged a glance.
“You’re just a sliver of a thing,” Brooxie said, her voice hitting a lower register than Willow had been expecting—truck driver low and rough like gravel. “Why would a sliver like you be looking for a woman like Amira Greer?”
“Um,” Willow began. “Well...” These women didn’t feel like the sort you lied to, but she wasn’t ready to spill everything, either.
“I’m trying to find something,” she said. “Something important. I was told Amira might have it. Or know where it is.”
Brooxie arched an eyebrow. “What sort of thing?”
“A box?” Willow said hesitantly. She glanced from Brooxie to Ruby. “It’s called the Queen’s Box.”
This time, the air crackled.
“I see,” said Ruby.
“You’re not the first to come looking for the Box,” Brooxie said in her funny rasp. “And you won’t be the last.”
“I’m not trying to cause trouble,” Willow assured them. “I just want to find it.”
“Mmm,” Ruby murmured.
“Don’t they all?” said Brooxie.
“Suppose youdofind it. What then?” Ruby inquired.
“I don’t know,” Willow replied. “I guess... I guess that depends on what I find.”
Wind rattled the windows. From the front porch, the keys in the hanging basket clanged.
Brooxie picked up the spoon from the warped pine table and plunged it into the jar of mayonnaise. She didn’t stir so much as churn, like she meant to rouse something from the depths. When she lifted the spoon, it came up piled high with a thick, glistening glop—mayonnaise, presumably, though it was a sickish yellow, like egg yolk left too long in the sun.
“The Box is full of locked-away things,” she said in a faraway tone. She slid the spoon between her lips and drew it out slowly. Half the mayonnaise was gone. The rest clung to the utensil, curled at the tip into a delicate peak. It looked like the toe of an elf’s boot—or a talon.
“They’ve been in there too long, the locked-away things,” Brooxie continued. Her eyes settled on Willow. “Things that should’ve flown or bloomed or died. But they didn’t. They lingered. And when something lingers too long in a place it was never meant to be...”
