I've been taking my time reaching the beginning of the plot proper because not too long after that point, it will become difficult to post excerpts without including spoilers. But tomorrow's excerpt gets there! In the meantime, here's another look at the dark side of human/faerie contact, and at a subplot that will be woven into the primary plot.
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The curtains of the pleasant little house were drawn tight, as if to hide whatever was happening inside. The man who opened the door had a glass in his hand. From either the glass or the man came the rich caramel smell of whiskey. He stepped aside from the doorway, beckoned them in, and toasted to them as they entered. “Welcome! ‘M in charge here, I s’poze. The missus went upstairs to lay down.” He pointed a wavering arm toward the back of the house. “Been crying a lot, pour soul. Says it doesn’t much matter what I do, the whatever-it-is can take care of itself.”
They walked through a short entryway and came to what appeared to be a family room. Abe could see no trace of a baby – no playpen, no toys, no small blankets or spit-up rags. Following Abe’s gaze with the exaggerated concentration of the inebriated, the man pointed to a doorway off to one side of the room. “His bedroom’s in there. Well, the baby’s bedroom, and that’s where we’ve been keeping the, whatdyacallit, the changeling. You’ll be wanting to take a look at it, so go on ahead. I’ll just have a seat here and wait.” Without waiting for any response, he half sat, half fell onto a well-stuffed sofa and took another sip of his drink.
In the bedroom they found everything missing from the earlier room, perfectly in order, like a showroom in a baby store or a magazine photograph. A white-painted wood crib stood against one wall, a blue and yellow checked quilt folded over one end, a blue and white Calder-style mobile hung above it and turning lazily in invisible air currents. A matching dresser with its knobs painted yellow faced it across the room. Half curtains in pale blue, with any cords tucked well out of reach, graced the matching windows on the wall between. A rocking chair, also in white wood, upholstered in white and yellow patterned fabric, sat opposite the crib next to the dresser, occupied at present by only a blue, oversized stuffed rabbit.
“Hidin’ again.” The slurred voice of the father, from the doorway behind her, made Abe start and Adira jump. “Dunno how it does that. M’ wife noticed first. I didn’t believe her ‘til I saw it. Should’ve believed her, what with the other things.”
From the crib came a ringing laugh, and then a baby appeared, standing and bouncing on its toes, as delighted as any baby playing peek-a-boo. It had silvery-white straight hair, more than any baby its age Abe could remember seeing. Its eyes were an unrelieved black, pupils and irises indistinguishable. And there was something else odd about it . . . . When the baby laughed again, he had it.
Teeth. The baby had a full set of perfect white teeth.
Abe tapped Adira on the shoulder and pointed. She moved closer to look and then turned back toward him. “It could be a mutation of some kind. And . . . we could have missed seeing the baby at first, from some trick of the light.” Then she did a double-take and spun to face the crib again.
So quietly Abe could barely hear it, and then louder, its voice high and ringing like the sound a wet finger could coax from the rim of a wineglass, the baby was singing, singing words Abe could almost, but not quite, understand, a liquid language that drew him to step nearer and nearer to the crib.
And then from behind him, discordant and halting, came the sound of the father trying to sing along, first imitating the alien words and then adding his own. “Bay - bee - strange - little - bay - bee - are - you - my - bay - bee . . . .”
Abe turned away from Adira to hide the tears in his eyes.
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