“When people live a very long time, they have room to change,” I said, carefully not saying that Zee had changed.
Tad gave me a look that said, Thanks, but please don’t try to help.
“I warned you that my father was not just a grumpy old man,” he told Izzy. “I told you he’d done some very terrible things.”
She gave him a look that would have done credit to a kicked puppy.
I wanted to tell her that even if Zee had been terrible once, he didn’t do things like that anymore. But it would have been a lie. I was pretty sure that parts of the bodies of the Gray Lords who’d held Zee and Tad captive in the fae reservation were still turning up in unexpected places. The fae, even the powerful ones, had started to have a certain tone in their voice when they referred to Zee.
There hadn’t been, as far as I’d heard, any jewels that were formerly eyeballs, though. I hoped that Tilly had been wrong—mistaken, not lying—that that story had been about Wayland, who wasn’t also the same person as the Dark Smith of Drontheim, who had become my Zee.
But I had to admit, if only to myself, that it was altogether too plausible, given the stories I knew about the Dark Smith. One of the Gray Lords had told me that Zee had made Excalibur. There were stories that attributed Excalibur’s making to Wayland.
“But he’s so nice,” said Izzy.
We all stared at her. Zee was my mentor, my friend, and I loved him. But “nice” wasn’t an adjective I’d have used to describe the grumpy old smith. He could be kind, yes, but “nice” implied something less... dangerous.
Izzy’s back stiffened at the incredulous look Tad gave her, and when she spoke, her voice was defensive. “Last week I had a flat and called Jesse to tell her I’d be late. She said since I was only a mile or so from the garage, she’d see if someone could come help me. Ten minutes later your dad showed up with a new tire. He changed my flat, told me I needed new brakes. He followed me to Mercy’s garage, where he fixed the problem, then gave the whole car a once-over. He wouldn’t let me pay him.” She glanced at me. “Though I suppose I should have been paying you.”
I shook my head. “Up to Zee. I don’t argue with his decisions.”
She continued, “He gave me a free soda—told me I needed fattening up.”
Like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, I did not say. I wondered what the old smith had been doing. I would have expected Zee to fix a flat for one of Jesse’s friends. The rest of it made me uneasy. It was out of character for Zee—or maybe I was just freaking out about the story of the jeweled-eyed skull cups.
Izzy glanced at Tad and then away. She looked at Jesse and evidently found that easier. Tad’s face told me that he wasn’t happy about Izzy’s story, either, but it wasn’t worry or concern I saw there; it was banked rage.
Tad wasn’t someone who overreacted. And I didn’t think he was freaked-out about the story of the skull cups. Or maybe he was. The skull cups were not the only thing that Wayland Smith had done in that story.
“He asked me if we were dating,” Izzy told Jesse. “I told him yes. And he smiled at me like he was happy about it.”
She drew in a breath, as if bracing herself, and then looked at Tad. But he’d already replaced his previous expression with one of calm interest.
There was a snap in Izzy’s voice when she said, “And now you tell me that he made jewels out of children’s eyes.”
“That was me,” said Jesse, but Izzy wasn’t listening to her.
“There are a lot of things I could say,” Tad told Izzy. “Most of them add up to he is a force of nature. When one of those is trapped, horrible things can happen.”
She crossed her arms over her body as if she were a little cold, and her voice was softer. “Can I think about this for a while? I know I said I knew what I was getting into. But maybe I should have read more fairy tales.”
He smiled at her, but his eyes were shuttered. “I told you there might be a few times like this.” He looked at Adam and me, glanced at Jesse, and then put a light hand under Izzy’s elbow.
“Let’s go talk outside and let these people get to bed.”
She took a deep breath, put her hand over his—in exactly the reverse gesture that they’d assumed upon entering the room.
“Okay,” she said. As they left through the front door, she turned and said, “Night, Jesse. Good night, Mr. H. Ms. H, I’ll give my mother your order. And”—she paused on the other side of the doorway—“I’m glad you made it out alive again.”
Tad pulled the door shut behind them.
“Me, too,” Jesse said. “I’m glad you made it out alive again, too.”
Adam gave her a one-armed hug, making her stagger a little because he was paying attention to the door—or rather the people who had just walked through it. She might not live here, but Izzy was a staple in the Hauptman household. Adam was protective.
“I know,” Jesse said guiltily. “I shouldn’t have dropped the stupid jewel story on her tonight. I guess my head was still caught up in that horror movie and the worry that my dad was going to be dead when I got home.” She paused. “And I’ve been thinking about that skull story since Tilly told it to me this weekend.”
“I imagine,” I said carefully, “that Tilly could tell a story so that it would linger until it could be released to cause as much harm as she could manage.”