In the Miller’s Mount, someone falls on the inside of the door to Feng and Yue’s room, and Yue opens it warily. “Did Ogma hire housekeeping?” She knows he’s good at magic, but she just saw him ten minutes ago.

“Yue?” Lucy checks her head: Sore, but all right. In the mirror, she notices that the cut lock still looks new despite all the months she’s been missing, while the rest of her hair’s gained a good three or four inches. She hopes it’ll start growing now that she’s not cursed.

“Lucy?!” She goes to the living room. “Boys!”

“Nainai, Hilal’s at Alima’s place.”

“Oh, for--” She can never tell those two apart. “More important: Look!” She drags him over.

“Holy shit, Auntie!” Qamar lifts her off the floor in a shocked hug. “Where the hell were you?!”

“The Otherworld,” she says, looking around with unfocused eyes--it’s too bright. “Alima. Where’s Alima?”

“She went on an errand and she’ll be at home--”

“Fuck that, Nainai, I’m getting her over here!” Qamar says, grabbing his phone.

-----
October 13.
The suddenness of the curse’s removal has left Lucy jittery and nauseous, at least after the high of seeing her family’s worn off. It’s helped with crackers and juice, but they run into problems the next morning when they go to the police station and she’s asked about Ned.

“When was the last time you saw him, ma’am?”

“I saw--” But her jaw locks, and everyone but Ogma O’Luain mistakes it for a side-effect of the curse. He’s at Alima’s house, he’s cursed, he’s right here right here right--

“Don’t force it, Mrs. Song,” Campbell says. “The curse might not be completely off.”

“I don’t remember,” is the only thing the curse lets her say, and even that’s scratchy.

“Oh fuck. Time compression.” Campbell writes it down and sighs. “Well, Ogma, just take her to Alima’s place and let her rest up.”

“Aye.” When they get in the car, Ogma tests out: “Where’s your husband?”

“He’s at Alima’s place.” She gasps and grabs the door handle, but Ogma stops her with a sigh.

“Lovely. Quick note, Lucy--we can’t tell anyone else unless they’re a spirit or an ancestor.”

“Why? I’m not cursed anymore!”

“But Ned is,” the cunning-man reminds her.

-----
October 14.
Alima doesn’t have quite enough time to get the shieling’s second room ready, so she grabs a spare blanket and pillow for the lean-to’s room. Lucy needs to borrow a couple of Celeste DeTour’s outfits. The pants are a bit long and they get narrow in the calves, but it’s better than trying to sort through her daughter’s clothes.

“What’s that?” Lucy asks when she catches sight of the giant claw hanging on Alima’s neck.

“Oh,” she lifts it up and peers at it. “It’s a bear-claw. A goddess called Artio gave it to me.”

“What does it do?”

“Pretty sure it’s an amulet,” Alima says. “I’ll ask her once we’re settled in at home.”

---
When Lucy arrives that afternoon, she barely passes the gate before a white shape flies joyfully at them. “LUCY!”

“Hey!” Lucy bumps into the gate with a laugh, and she tries to say Ned’s name. Instead comes a forced question: “Honey, what’s he called?”

“Bulan,” Alima says. “Come here, boy! Sit!”

“Lucy!” Ned slathers her wrists in dog slobber.

“Hey, you!” She ruffles his mane while a bit of heat leaks down her face.

“Holy shit--”

“This is Mom!” Alima tells him fondly. “Who’s a good boy?” She takes his collar and holds him still while Lucy closes the gate.

“Is he always like this?”

“Sometimes. Normally he’s pretty quiet, but he does like girls better,” Alima says. “Maybe he knows we’re related.”

---
In early evening, Alima heads out to the Scots pine at the edge of the oak stand, with a heavy jacket and a spoonful of honey. “Hello, watchman.” She greets it with a pat on the trunk, then calls: “Artio? I have questions.”

Here’s the once-forest again, crowding tight around her. Soon even the dusk’s dim light gets drowned out by the canopy, and Artio strolls up. Her hair’s brushing at least a few inches past her hips, so it must be close to thigh-length if it’s not already.

“My, is that for me?” She beams and takes the spoon. “What’s the craic, then?”

“Hmm?”

“Ha, American.” And she tweaks Alima’s nose. “What’s up?”

“I was just wondering how to use the bear-claw,” Alima says. “I’m guessing it’s an amulet and all I have to do is call you, but I don’t want to wait until I actually need help to find out.”

“This one’s got her head on straight,” Artio says with satisfaction, inspecting the spoon for any honey she missed. “And that it is, dearie. Call me in a pinch, and here I come. I hear your mum’s back, too?”

“Oh, she is! Did you help Hades out?”

“Would that I did,” she shakes her head with a blush. “By the time I was heading out, Danu said the curse was already broken. Hades, of all people!”

“He’s not mean, just quiet,” Alima notes.

“He is, but it’s a wonder that fucker survived at parties without his bonnie wife,” Artio chuckles. “Has anyone found your dad yet?”

“No.” She sits down with a crush of leaves. “Mom hasn’t seen him for a while.”

Artio sits next to her and gives her a hug. “Don’t you worry, dearie, he’ll be all right. Hades rules a very unpopular force of nature, but he doesn’t let people die without a reason.”

“If you say so.” Alima breathes in the sticky summer-warmth on Artio’s sleeve, misplaced in the damp air.

“Is that it, then?”

“Yep. Thanks.”

“Well, don’t stay too long outside the fence, lovey.” Artio stretches before walking away, with the forest shrinking as she leaves. The leaves of the once-forest become the watchman’s needles, spicy and sharp.

---
With that Alima turns in, and in her room the peach-wood comb bells through the air: Sonnnnng!

“Oh! Yeah, we found Mom!” Alima takes it from her bedside table.

The peach-wood comb is shaking from joy, but it also does that whenever she oils her hair, so Alima takes its reaction with a grain of salt. Homehomehome!

“Yes,” Alima says, and she doesn’t know why her eyes are hurting. “Home.”

Her mother peeks in from the doorway. “I like him.”

“Who?”

“The guy who gave you the comb.” She twists to look at it. “Is he blond, perhaps?” And she tugs at Alima’s braid.

“I don’t always date blonds!”

“Three out of five, though!”

Alima throws a shirt at her, but the laugh gives her away.

-----
The Hunter stalks unmasked along the bridges of the Hawthorn Fort. The hawthorn maze spreads black below him, shifting around like a sleeping creature.

“Hades,” he seethes. “Why the fuck is Hades helping? He doesn’t know that girl.”

“We got one!” Calls one of the Wild Hunt, appearing with a human who squirms in vain to get away. He must not be from the west: Most in western Ireland know better than to roam around past sundown. “Wandering this late? Idiot.”

“Would you like to make a bargain?” The Hunter asks him, moving to the center of maze on the bridge. The Bloomless Door gapes like a mouth, thorny branches coiling out from the rail.

The man’s too scared to answer as the Hunter grips his collar and dangles him inches from the edge of the bridge.

“If you can last two hours in the maze, I won’t kill you,” he says.

“Really?” The man grips the Hunter’s wrist in surprise. “I… I heard you--”

“You hear a lot of things about me,” the Hunter assures. “Now this looks like a long drop down, but the maze is enchanted. You last the maze for a couple hours, we get you out, and I’ll leave you alone. I swear.”

The man’s hope is rather endearing as the Hunter releases him, and he slowly grows smaller on the way down. When he hits the ground and starts pattering along the maze, the Hunter checks with his cohort, grinning.

“Can you get him from here?”

“Nice.” The other one chuckles and draws an obsidian arrow.

-----
October 15.
Alima realizes that she’s been holding her breath since Hades came with his message, after the relief of her mother’s return makes her aware of it. While the weather’s still cold, the sun is out and that almost makes up, so she heads to the park with Bulan and Lucy.

“Crap,” she realizes, with Bulan’s leash in one hand and the case of soda in the other.

“Did you forget something?” Lucy asks.

“No, Danny’s got at least a fifty-fifty chance of talking to Malachy,” Alima sighs. “She said I’d end up dating him at some point. Fuck.”

“Don’t worry, you’re in public,” Lucy assures, laughing. “She won’t gloat about it too much.”

-----
“Oh my god, it’s been overcast forever!” Danny and Celeste are relieved to be outside in the park, and she passes them some of the bottles at the table. “Isn’t Ireland supposed to be pretty?”

“Yeah, Danny? The winter here is exactly like it is back home,” Alima says.

A few of the kids mark out a circle, and as Logan and Brighid’s cousin stand across it from each other, they shut their eyes while others hide a few objects from pockets or backpacks.

“What are you doing?” Qamar asks.

“Moon’s Cradle!” Logan dutifully keeps a hand over his face. “I’m the King Under the Hills, and George has to find all the stuff and put it in the moon’s cradle before I get him.”

“Can I play?” He grins.

“Yeah, just hide something for George!”

“Did you understand that?” Alima wonders as Qamar takes off his watch.

“Yeah!”

“That was like, two sentences of instruction!” She says. “Why do they need to hide stuff and throw it in the circle?”

“It’s a kid’s game, Alima! Don’t think about it too much!” He sticks his watch in a pine.

“The circle is water and the stuff is offerings for the Folk’s advice, but most of the water is either freezing or ice right now,” Brighid explains. “Also, it’s dangerous if they throw it too far in, or the current carries it off. Maidin keeps them to ankle-deep parts of the river in the summer.”

With everything hidden, George tosses a coin into the dirt circle and starts singing as he jogs to one of the hiding places:

“Moon’s cradle, moon’s cradle, how do you do?
Silver ladle, silver ladle, is my gift to you."

Logan responds: “The King Under the Hills is a-wandering the wood
And his white horns are too big for his red hood.”

When the couplet is over, Logan takes off after George with a screech.

Alima notes a pattern where the king and the humans trade off verses before the running starts--the human as he retrieves the object, the rest of the group when he finds it, and the king when he tries to tag him before he can throw it into the moon’s cradle.

She swishes her bottle of soda: Nearly empty. “Who is the King Under the Hills? Maidin said he was the Hunter--I think? We were asking him something completely different and he just…”

“Word-vomited everywhere?” Aine grins. “Yeah, Rivermen are gabby like that.”

“Are they also… you know?”

“No, Maidin’s river gets really snaky,” Aine shrugs. “The weirder a river is with its course, the weirder its fairy gets. Guess it makes their head work funny.”

“Hmm.” She drains the last of her soda. “Well, at least Maidin’s nice.”

Bulan whines and tugs at his leash. “Walkwalkwalkwalk--”

“Aww, someone wants a walk,” she drums his head. “Kay, I’m going for a lap around the park. Whoever wants to come with me, I’m just warning you that he likes a jogging pace.”

“I just had the night shift at Heartenwood,” Brighid sighs. “No thanks.”

Danny comes along with her, which Alima views as a bad omen.

“Called it,” she says, and Alima sighs. “You’re dating the hot blond Irish guy now.”

“Oh my god.” She pats her leg and speeds up. “Bulan, heel!”

No sell: Danny’s still right next to her. “Ain’t getting away that easy!”

“When did you start working out?”

“Remember I hike, babe! A dog at the park is no big!” Danny runs a circle around Alima before settling back on her left. “Did he give you hair stuff yet?”

“David gives me hair stuff,” Alima reminds her.

“Yeah, but he’s like your brother! Anyway--”

“Fuck you!” She sprints a few yards up.

Unfortunately, she slows down long before Danny starts sweating.

Next Chapter: XXVI: three score and ten