“Good morning, ladies,” I said, doffing my hat and hoping none of the neighbors was watching my roof. “Sorry I’m late.”

Darla catches on fast. “Shoo,” she said with a glance at the ceiling. “Run along home, honey. Before Mama comes looking.”

Buttercup lifted both hands to her mouth in mock terror before twirling and vanishing.

I reached the three steps that led up to our porch and collapsed on my butt. Darla sat beside me. She smelled of soap and perfume and a fancy new shampoo.

“How bad was it?”

I took off my hat and laid it beside me.

“Bad enough. No sign of you know who. The whole place fell in as we left.”

Darla was silent.

“That’s not even the worst part.”

“What could be worse than-well. That?”

“The Watch. I got picked up on the way home. New man, named Holder. Kept on and on about the woman who tried to stick me.”

Darla bristled.

“They took you downtown?”

“To the Old Ruth, no less. I think Holder was trying to shake me up.”

“You show him your Avalante pin?”

“He wasn’t impressed. That worries me. Need to talk to Evis.”

“You need a couple of hours of sleep, husband of mine. You can barely keep your eyes open.” She kissed me on my cheek and smoothed back my hair. “You look exhausted. I’ll leave breakfast in the oven. Scoot or I’ll have Buttercup fetch Mama and that black tea she calls her restorative.”

I groaned and found my feet. “Anything but that.”

She laughed and hugged me, brief but fierce. She walked across the porch and into our house, leaving our door open behind her.

I made it to the bedroom and wound up sleeping in my coat. I dreamed of riding in a carriage pulled by little red imps while phantasmal Watchmen shouted down rude questions from the trees.

Like any hard-working entrepreneur, I rose at the crack of noon. I gobbled down the breakfast Darla left, and was well on my way toward leaving my bathtub and perhaps selecting a dressing gown when a familiar knock sounded at my door.

“Boy, you in there?”

I cussed and scrambled out of the tub and sent soapy water sloshing all over Darla’s new floor tiles.

“Hold on, Mama, I’m coming.” I wasn’t sure she heard so I charged into the hall, dripping on everything, and shouted it again.

Mama heard and replied with something unintelligible. I watched her short fat shadow seat itself in one of our three rocking chairs, and I hurried back to the bathroom to get dried, combed, and dressed.

“It’s about damned time,” said Mama when I finally stuck my well-coiffed head out my door. She rose from the chair, scowling. “I don’t know what to think of folks sleepin’ away half the day when they got a fancy new house to pay for.”

“Good to see you too, Mama.”

She snorted and trundled inside.

Our house isn’t fancy, despite what certain busybody soothsayers claim. In the front room, there is a brown couch and a pair of comfy tan chairs, all aimed at the fireplace. There’s a low table situated so people have a place to put teacups or books. There’s a bookcase beneath the south window that opens to the porch, and doors to the kitchen and the hall on the east and north walls, respectively. The floors are dark-stained oak and a big red Balptist prayer-circle rug-a wedding present from a former client-keeps bare feet toasty warm in the winter.

Mama stopped just inside my doorway and took it all in. Then her hand darted in her battered black lace handbag and when it darted out again she held a woeful dried barn owl.

“Peace and contentment within these walls,” said Mama. “Let those who would enter and do mischief meet swift misfortune.”

Her owl shed dust and feathers but she hid it away again before I could voice a complaint.

“Brung you something, boy,” she said. Again, she fumbled in her bag.

“If it’s a mummified crow we’ve already got one.”

“Hush.” A shiny new horseshoe appeared in her hand. “I hexed it. Hexed it good. You set it right there on yonder mantel, open end up, you hear?”

She thrust it toward me. I shrugged, glad it wasn’t a ring of sun-dried snakes or some other homespun backwoods monstrosity, and placed it as she bade.

Mama nodded in approval before allowing herself a gap-toothed smile. “Well, are you goin’ to offer me a seat and some coffee or not, boy?”

I made a sweeping motion toward my many seating options. “Make yourself at home, Mama. I’ll go start the coffee.”

Mama sat, folded her hands in her lap, and promptly began to snore.

“I reckon you and the missus have got a right nice home,” said Mama after noisily draining her third cup of my coffee.

“Thank you.” I refilled her cup with the last of the pot. “Darla will be glad you came.”

Mama nodded. “Well, to tell truth, this ain’t the first time I been here. Just ain’t knocked before on account of the hour.”

“Do tell.”

Mama sighed. “Buttercup. She took to sneakin’ out at night when she thinks I’m sleepin’. Ain’t that something? She ain’t even human, but acts like a strong-headed child all the same.”

I groaned.

“Buttercup is coming here after Curfew?”

“Not every night, boy. Every other, maybe. Has been for ‘bout two weeks. I tried keepin’ her in, boy, you know I tried. But it don’t do no good to nail doors shut when the little devil can magic herself right through ‘em.”

I hadn’t heard a thing. No telltale pitter-patter of little bare banshee feet on the roof. I’d not seen so much as a shadow pass my window.

Oh, I knew she followed Darla home at lunch if Mama was napping, but her daytime jaunts were rare and getting less frequent. In daylight she could pass for just another child. But after dark on empty streets?

“This isn’t good.”

“I know it ain’t, boy. I ain’t so much worried about Buttercup herself. I reckon even half a dozen vampires couldn’t catch her, much less put a mark on her. But it won’t do to get stories started about her. ‘Specially not stories that leads to you, what with that high-and-mighty wand-waver friend o’ yours dead and gone.”

“You’ve heard that too?”

Mama scowled. “I reckon I damn well has. I took my jars down, boy, I didn’t plug my ears. I hear the whispers. I listen real hard when people whisper, boy.” She shook a finger at me. “You ought to do the same.”

“I pay your niece to do all my listening for me, Mama. These days I just sleep late and let unpaid bills pile up on the floor.”

“I see you ain’t lost that smart mouth to sloth yet.” Mama rose. “I thank you for the coffee and the hospitality.”

I stood too. “You’re always welcome here, Mama. Late hour or not. You knock anytime, you hear?”

“I hear.”

“Darla’s going to get her feelings hurt if you don’t come back for a visit when she’s home.”

“I reckon I’ll be passing this way around suppertime tomorrow, if’n that suits.”

“It suits.”

Mama turned and started for the door.

“She ain’t playin’ when she comes here at night,” said Mama, not turning. “She floats. Shines a bit too, like a half-moon.”

I’d seen Buttercup do that once, back when I’d first laid eyes on her deep in the woods south of Rannit. The memory of it ran icicles down my spine.

“Maybe it don’t mean nothin’, boy. Maybe she’s just seein’ where you went.” Mama put her hand on my doorknob and turned it. “But she is what she is. So you be extra careful, you hear? Extra careful.”

And then she stomped across my threshold and off my porch and down the three steps to the walk and was gone. I peeked through the window and watched her march away down the sidewalk, her heavy boots clomp-clomping steadily toward home.

I scribbled Darla a note letting her know Mama paid us a visit and was planning another for the following evening. Darla would insist on providing a feast, which was fine by me. I’m not ashamed to say I’d missed the old charlatan since moving out of my office on Cambrit.