“And tomorrow . . . as soon as the storm dies . . . we will find out what, exactly, we are up against, I hope.” Rosa replied, getting up and getting into bed.

“Who wants the middle?” Elfrida asked, as the men went back down the stairs to make themselves as comfortable as they could.

“I would,” said Giselle. The bed could easily fit five, it wasn’t as if they were going to be crowded. She got in and let Elfrida take the outside. With three people in the bed it warmed quickly.

But she lay on her back, staring up at the sylphs on the rafters, unable to sleep. Listening to the storm tear at the tower, and feeling the anger, and the hate, behind it.

17

THE storm died away to nothing just after noon. By that time, everyone—except the six conspirators—had eaten two meals with food cooked in the oven, and the effects on everyone who had gorged on fresh bread and butter, baked sweet noodles, and applesauce at breakfast and baked squash, oven-roasted sausages, and roots at lunch were . . . obvious. The howling of the blizzard and the snow piling up past the windows bothered them not at all. Several made jokes about being perfectly happy to be warm and inside until spring, or about wanting to hibernate like bears. Most of them decided that once the animals were fed, there was nothing pressing enough they needed to do and elected to take a nap. The ones that remained awake might as well have elected to take a nap, since they were all settled around the stoves, bundled in shawls or blankets, discussing tobacco, food, beer, and women. Well, attempting to discuss things, since a great deal of the conversation was conducted in sleepy monosyllables. Even the children were drowsing.

Elfrida had cooked everything they ate in frying pans, and they were making do with what was left of yesterday’s baking. If things had not been so tense, watching the others in their little spell-haze might have been amusing, but Giselle, at least, felt as tense as a taut bowstring, and from their expressions she was sure the others felt the same. The sylphs were still terrified and there were more of them crowding up, not only in her rafters, but in the storage loft over the kitchen. From the way they were acting, it would be impossible to persuade them out.

Five gathered in Giselle’s room at the top of the stairs, all the conspirators but Elfrida, who said she had nothing to contribute, and went to put similar spells of calm on the horses, cattle and buffalo. “And then I’ll have to make sure the other cooks don’t muddle up dinner,” she explained. “Or chop off a finger, or the like. It’ll take twice as long to make dinner, but better this than dealing with a lot of hysterics.”