Free Except the Queen by Jane Yolen, Midori Snyder

both hands winked out of sight, only to reappear a moment later with a tray, on which were a steaming pot of Russian caravan tea, a mug, milk, sugar, and a plate of thick slices of buttered black rye bread. The hands settled the gift on the side table next to the candle and then beckoned me forth.
    Remembering my manners, I whispered, “Thank you,” and bowed my head before them. The left hand crossed over the right hand and they disappeared, leaving me to my evening meal. When I had finished eating, I dragged myself to the bedroom. But before I lay down, I tore a thin strip of my Dam’s white silk and tied it to the railing outside the window for protection. It fluttered in the dark, soft as a feather.
    *   *   *
    L ATER THAT NIGHT, LYING NAKED between Baba Yaga’s linen sheets, I woke from an exhausted slumber to hear the boys of the first floor thumping like trolls, perhaps dancing to their loud raucous music. From the second floor, someone ran down the stairs, and pounded on the door, while a dog barked, agitated by the uproar. A girl shouted, “Shut the fuck up or I’ll call the cops!” The noise subsided and the door must have been opened because I heard the angry voices of the boys protesting. But the girl was adamant in her threat, repeating it over and over, while the dog continued to bark. Finally, the door slammed, the music was silenced and I heard the girl’s footsteps on the stairs. She shushed the dog, who obeyed at once, and the house grew still.
    I was almost asleep again, when the plaintive cries of a cat outside the bedroom window woke me once more. Slipping from bed, I opened the window and a scrawny black cat with a white throat darted inside. After a quick glance my way with yellow eyes, it promptly made itself at home at the bottom of the bed.
    Finally, all the chicks were tucked in, and the house settled like a hen at roost.

13

Sparrow’s Tattoo
    S parrow groaned, folding the pillow around her aching head as sunlight poured into the window through the torn shade. Her temples throbbed and she could feel a wave of nausea in her complaining stomach. What had she tried this time? Tequila? It tasted like acid on her thick tongue. It hadn’t worked of course. The old nightmares always found her no matter how deeply she tried to bury them in different spirits.
    Angry with herself for having spent another useless night alone with a bottle, Sparrow threw back her covers and willed her body upright, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. For a brief—though vertiginous—moment she thought she was all right. And then her head exploded in pain and her stomach clenched. Bolting from the bed, a hand cupped over her mouth, she fled to the bathroom. She vomited as she threw her body toward the toilet, grasping the rim in both hands to steady herself against the involuntary heaving. She had eaten very little along with the tequila, and now it tasted like brewed poison searing her throat as she retched. She flushed the vomit away, washed her mouth with tap water, and waited for the next wave. It hit soon after, leaving her gasping for air and groaning.
    “Wow, did you get fucked up,” her roommate Marti announced, leaning against the bathroom door and holdinga steaming cup of tea. She was tall and willowy, dressed in a faded cotton kimono with a pattern of blue maple leaves. A long braid of fine brown hair hung over her shoulder, while stray tendrils framed the sleepy face. “Even the dog decided to give you some room. She slept out on the couch.” At Marti’s feet sat Lily, a white and liver-spotted pit bull, panting through a wide, tooth-filled smile.
    “I feel like death,” Sparrow moaned, knowing it was close enough to be true. She reached out and gave Lily’s velvety ears a quick rub.
    “I can’t imagine why,” Marti said dryly. “You know, that was my expensive bottle of Patrón you dusted last night? Just tell me you didn’t accomplish that all by yourself.” She blew cooling