A Respectable Old Family

By Abigail Falanga

Comforting scents of spice, herbs, and fruits filled the wood-paneled room, cozy enough to distract from the cold rain—and the woeful news. Mistress Millet dipped a carved cup into the pot simmering over her fire, then shuffled over and set it in front of Ivy, who wiped away a tear she pretended she hadn’t shed.

Weeping came too easily these days.

Mistress Millet patted her shoulder with the soft underside of her quilled paw. “Just drink that down, dear, and you will feel much better. It must be galling to have your human goddaughter fall under a curse.”

“It’s not so much that.” Ivy sighed and wrapped her hands around the cup. “I’m only a copse-fairy; my magic is of simple woodland things, so there wasn’t much I could do. But I do—did—like the princess.”

“There’s always hope the curse might break.” Mistress Millet settled on her stool with her paws around her own mug. “But in the meantime, stay with us as long as you like.”

Ivy thanked her. She’d hoped for such an invitation. The Hedgehogs of Yorseton were an old, well-established family, and their den was the most comfortable place in the kingdom. Just the spot to curl up and forget everything for a time, share conversations about things of mutual interest like foraging and philosophy, or listen to their humming songs.

And Mistress Millet, the family matriarch, had much wisdom to share.

The door burst open before Ivy could form her first question. A young hedgehog tumbled in, panting. “Come at once, Mother! Clove has gone mad.”

“Slow down, young ones. What is this you say?”

“Some ladies came to leave sweet chamomile for Blossom at the door of their apartment, and Clove came out from behind them and attacked!”

“How dreadful!” Ivy jumped up and bumped her head on a low beam. Talking hedgehogs are larger than the ordinary kind, but even so, their rooms were quite small. “Blossom recently had a litter, didn’t she? I know you leave new families to themselves, but aren’t they more gentle at such times? Attacking visitors seems extraordinary!”

“Madness indeed,” Mistress Millet said huskily. “Well, we must see what is afoot. Tell us more of the matter as we go, young ones. Come along, Ivy.”

Ivy dropped back into her chair, feeling the chill of helplessness steal over her again. “What can I do?”

“Keep me company, at least. I’m an old beast and would welcome the support.”

Ivy joined her as they wound through the gracious but complicated old house, still reluctant but drawn by curiosity. Bearing her hostess company was indeed the least she could do in return for the welcome she’d been shown. The hedgehogs had few guests, and highly honored those they received.

“What was Clove doing away from home?” Mistress Millet asked.

“He had a parcel from the market with him,” the young hedgehog said.

“And what did it contain?”

He shrugged. “We don’t know.”

“And didn’t think to look? Tsk!”

They’d come to the open great room from which led several smaller dens. Fur and spatters of blood marred the dirt floor, and chamomile flowers were trampled everywhere.

The sweet scent mingled with something else more pungent. Ivy followed her nose and found a paper-wrapped parcel in a corner. With deft fingers, she pulled it open to reveal within two little bags filled with powders. The reddish one smelled of strong flowers, while the black one was certainly ground walnut shells.

She heard a choked cry from across the room and looked up to see Clove, held back by two other, larger hedgehogs. He didn’t look insane. In fact, as he met her eye, she recognized desperation she had seen only once before—on the face of the king when his daughter was cursed.

“Please, leave it there! Don’t—” His cries were overwhelmed by other voices.

Ivy left Mistress Millet surrounded by a small crowd and fluttered in the half-open door of the apartment. It was small, with a table and two chairs, and bowls, boxes, and green and yellow and one very white cloth folded on a shelf. The space wasn’t crowded but seemed so. A few hedgehogs stood near a fire, filling the space with whispered gossip. Blossom crouched in the nesting corner, clutching two whimpering pups close.

“Perhaps give the mother a little space,” Ivy suggested.

The visitors huffed but withdrew toward the door.

“I’m sorry,” Blossom squeaked, eyes wide.

“For what?”

“Making a trouble in front of a guest. Clove only meant to protect the… I mean, we don’t mean to disgrace the family.”

“It’s quite all right.” Ivy gently stroked the soft grayish fur on the pups’ heads. “They’re so darling! But I thought you had three?”

A look of utter panic crossed Blossom’s eyes. “No. Yes! Yes, there are three, but the third is—ill. With my sister. Please—”

Facts slipped into place. Clove was protecting something that might bring disrepute to the family. Blossom was desperately hiding something. Perhaps something that Ivy had already seen?

The third pup?

Ivy looked at her, nodded sharply, and whispered, “Don’t worry.”

She flew back to the shelves and drew down the white bundle that had caught her eye earlier for looking so very clean.

It squirmed and whimpered.

As she’d suspected! It was the other pup—her soft quills pure white, and tiny pink eyes blinking at her sleepily.

“She got lighter when the others darkened!” Blossom sobbed. “Clove thought we might dye her with henna and ink, that she might seem normal and not bring disgrace to the family.”

“No! This one is a blessing!” Ivy grinned and flicked away a tear—of happiness. “Such white ones are rare—a sign of hope! She brings enchantment, joy and light just when all seems dark. Never fear! I’ll speak to Mistress Millet on behalf of Clove, that we might give this little one the welcome she deserves.”

The tiny pup cooed and smiled.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Abigail Falanga may be found in New Mexico creating magic in many ways – with fabric, food, paper, music, and especially with words! She’s loved fantasy ever since playing out epic adventures of swords, fairies, and monsters with her siblings, and loved sci-fi since her dad’s stories around the dinner table. Besides sharing mad little stories on Havok, she is busily trying to launch approximately five hundred novels into the world. Some of them are even finished!

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