No one really seemed to know when the Devil girl first appeared. It was somewhere between spring and summer, warm enough that she could sleep outside. She thieved food like a raccoon, and although she didn’t seem to mind the other Devils, no one ever heard her speak. That winter, the girl settled in the home of an aging half-blind Devil, a metal worker by the name of Edmond. As his health failed him, the girl took on more and more of his duties.
Then, on a day with a blue agate sky, there was only the girl left standing at the workbench, the hammer pinging like a cry stealing out between the fingers of one’s hand.
“Something needs to be done about that girl,” Alison watched two Devil’s carry a pine coffin out the door of the Edmond’s house.
“That thing is wild, best leave it alone,” Luke didn’t even look up from the barrel he was making, “Hoop me.”
Alison placed the metal hoop a quarter of the way down the barrel, “She makes our hoops and shovel heads. I think she might be deaf. Maybe if we sent Mary over with the boys . . .”
Luke hammered the ends of the staves, interrupting her sentence. Once they looked even, he removed the assembly jig, “Sponge. We’re not taking in another child.”
“No, of course not,” Alison sponged water on the staves of the barrel. It was as much of a “yes” as she’d get from her husband.
The next day, a teenager with snakes for hair appeared in front of the little Devil girl’s workbench. Close on her heels were two Devil boys, one whose eyes barely peeked over the bench at her, and the other who stood a head taller. The teenager gestured intently to the smallest boy, who copied her movement. Perplexed, the girl paused in her work.
“Smithy,” the older boy grinned at her and made the same gesture.
“Smithy,” the Devil girl repeated.
“Do you want to play?”
—
By the time Mike arrived in Egregia, Smithy had blossomed into a grown woman whose talent for metalwork brought her customers of all breeds. Even though her shop hummed with activity, for him it seemed like life itself stopped each time he saw her. Dark ringlets sprang from around her horns, swaying against her neck and brushing her narrow, muscular shoulders. Their sway made his fingers restless for his fiddle, and he bowed in an ecstasy that was almost painful in its intensity.
One evening as he stood outside her door playing, a window opened in the cabin across from him. A Devil leaned out, scowling, “Have you no respect for the dead?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” Mike lowered his fiddle.
“Are you blind then?” the Devil pointed to the door, marked in charcoal with an ellipse.
“I’m new here, I didn’t know.”
“Carl!” It was her. Mike’s horns prickled with something not unlike embarrassment. “Quit hassling my musician,” she continued, “The customers like it and so does the metal.”
Carl wet his lower lip with his forked tongue, “It makes Father cry.”
Smithy crossed the dirt path to place a hand on Carl’s forearm, “I have some hoops for you.”
“All you think about is work,” Carl pulled away from her, closing the shutters with a slam.
Mike felt as if he had melted into a puddle. Had she really called him her musician? He tried to solidify the parts of himself that he needed to talk. He had to say something, anything, it was his only chance, “Who, uh, is he mourning for?”
“His mother, Alison hanged herself from a tree,” Smithy leaned towards him, dropping her voice. Discordant emotions washed through Mike’s melted body; sorrow, excitement, empathy, lust. Baffled, he oozed away from her. “I feel terribly for them, I really do, I’m just not good at this sort of thing,” Smithy looked at the ground, “Carl’s right, all I can think about is work. Anything else, and I’d have been hanging in the forest just like Alison.”
“No, don’t do that,” Mike gasped.
She covered his hand with hers, “I’m fine, really I am; but I worry about Carl. His brother’s gone too, you know.” Smithy looked up at the sky, as if suddenly aware of the lengthening shadows and haze that preceded dusk, “Wanna go get a drink?”
—
There was only one place that Devils did exactly that; a large open space cleared of trees and scrub. Fires burned in pits staggered throughout the sandy pit, and Devils clustered around them on rugs and blankets. The entrepreneurial minded brought their own barrels, dispensing spirits for a fee. In the darkness, Mike didn’t recognize anyone, something he wasn’t sure that light would remedy.
Smithy pulled him by the hand over to a cluster drinking what looked like beer. “Two blessings a glass,” the woman stood out among the other Devils. She was human in appearance, with golden hair and white fluffy wings. Smithy paid the Angel, then nodded at an empty spot on a blanket. The Angel served another customer, then settled down next to them, folding her wings behind her, “Who’s your friend?”
“Layla, this is Mike. Layla is going to be president one day,” Smithy grinned at the Angel, “Mike plays fiddle.”
“Nice to meet you,” Layla shook his hand with her fingertips, as if she didn’t want to touch him, “You know, we Devils love music, especially drums.” she laughed, a tripping chuckle like the jingling of tiny bells.
“It helps break up the gloom in my corner,” Smithy licked the foam off her beer, a maneuver that made Mike’s heart pound uncontrollably.
“Poor Luke, losing a wife and a son all at once,” Layla’s wings popped up, “But did you see Bill? He was so handsome once his curse lifted. I nearly broke the rules and flew away with him, but he still has that personality.”
Smithy snorted, then coughed. Once she finally got her breath back, she chided, “You’re so bad, Layla.”
“Oh, you like it. And anyway, it’s true,” Layla’s blue eyes brimmed with innocence.
“Did you just say someone’s curse was broken?” Mike was so distracted by Smithy, he must have misunderstood.
“Not just someone, Bill,” Layla corrected, “I mean, I get how he could be a virgin, and even how his mom might give her life for him, but still. Can you imagine having him as a priest? He’d sooner smack you than bless you. And why not Carl, I mean, how did she pick? 'Oh, I think I’ll pick the deaf one?'”
Smithy’s forehead creased, “Honestly, I was worried about Bill, too. Ever since Mary left he’s become more and more withdrawn. And anyway, Carl isn’t a virgin.”
“Woah, wait, I didn’t know you two went that far,” Layla’s face glowed with amusement, “Was this before or after you broke up?” Smithy took a long drink of beer, so long that Layla turned to Mike, “I bet Carl just loves you.”
“I think,” said Mike, “that I should play my fiddle elsewhere.”
Then, on a day with a blue agate sky, there was only the girl left standing at the workbench, the hammer pinging like a cry stealing out between the fingers of one’s hand.
“Something needs to be done about that girl,” Alison watched two Devil’s carry a pine coffin out the door of the Edmond’s house.
“That thing is wild, best leave it alone,” Luke didn’t even look up from the barrel he was making, “Hoop me.”
Alison placed the metal hoop a quarter of the way down the barrel, “She makes our hoops and shovel heads. I think she might be deaf. Maybe if we sent Mary over with the boys . . .”
Luke hammered the ends of the staves, interrupting her sentence. Once they looked even, he removed the assembly jig, “Sponge. We’re not taking in another child.”
“No, of course not,” Alison sponged water on the staves of the barrel. It was as much of a “yes” as she’d get from her husband.
The next day, a teenager with snakes for hair appeared in front of the little Devil girl’s workbench. Close on her heels were two Devil boys, one whose eyes barely peeked over the bench at her, and the other who stood a head taller. The teenager gestured intently to the smallest boy, who copied her movement. Perplexed, the girl paused in her work.
“Smithy,” the older boy grinned at her and made the same gesture.
“Smithy,” the Devil girl repeated.
“Do you want to play?”
—
By the time Mike arrived in Egregia, Smithy had blossomed into a grown woman whose talent for metalwork brought her customers of all breeds. Even though her shop hummed with activity, for him it seemed like life itself stopped each time he saw her. Dark ringlets sprang from around her horns, swaying against her neck and brushing her narrow, muscular shoulders. Their sway made his fingers restless for his fiddle, and he bowed in an ecstasy that was almost painful in its intensity.
One evening as he stood outside her door playing, a window opened in the cabin across from him. A Devil leaned out, scowling, “Have you no respect for the dead?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” Mike lowered his fiddle.
“Are you blind then?” the Devil pointed to the door, marked in charcoal with an ellipse.
“I’m new here, I didn’t know.”
“Carl!” It was her. Mike’s horns prickled with something not unlike embarrassment. “Quit hassling my musician,” she continued, “The customers like it and so does the metal.”
Carl wet his lower lip with his forked tongue, “It makes Father cry.”
Smithy crossed the dirt path to place a hand on Carl’s forearm, “I have some hoops for you.”
“All you think about is work,” Carl pulled away from her, closing the shutters with a slam.
Mike felt as if he had melted into a puddle. Had she really called him her musician? He tried to solidify the parts of himself that he needed to talk. He had to say something, anything, it was his only chance, “Who, uh, is he mourning for?”
“His mother, Alison hanged herself from a tree,” Smithy leaned towards him, dropping her voice. Discordant emotions washed through Mike’s melted body; sorrow, excitement, empathy, lust. Baffled, he oozed away from her. “I feel terribly for them, I really do, I’m just not good at this sort of thing,” Smithy looked at the ground, “Carl’s right, all I can think about is work. Anything else, and I’d have been hanging in the forest just like Alison.”
“No, don’t do that,” Mike gasped.
She covered his hand with hers, “I’m fine, really I am; but I worry about Carl. His brother’s gone too, you know.” Smithy looked up at the sky, as if suddenly aware of the lengthening shadows and haze that preceded dusk, “Wanna go get a drink?”
—
There was only one place that Devils did exactly that; a large open space cleared of trees and scrub. Fires burned in pits staggered throughout the sandy pit, and Devils clustered around them on rugs and blankets. The entrepreneurial minded brought their own barrels, dispensing spirits for a fee. In the darkness, Mike didn’t recognize anyone, something he wasn’t sure that light would remedy.
Smithy pulled him by the hand over to a cluster drinking what looked like beer. “Two blessings a glass,” the woman stood out among the other Devils. She was human in appearance, with golden hair and white fluffy wings. Smithy paid the Angel, then nodded at an empty spot on a blanket. The Angel served another customer, then settled down next to them, folding her wings behind her, “Who’s your friend?”
“Layla, this is Mike. Layla is going to be president one day,” Smithy grinned at the Angel, “Mike plays fiddle.”
“Nice to meet you,” Layla shook his hand with her fingertips, as if she didn’t want to touch him, “You know, we Devils love music, especially drums.” she laughed, a tripping chuckle like the jingling of tiny bells.
“It helps break up the gloom in my corner,” Smithy licked the foam off her beer, a maneuver that made Mike’s heart pound uncontrollably.
“Poor Luke, losing a wife and a son all at once,” Layla’s wings popped up, “But did you see Bill? He was so handsome once his curse lifted. I nearly broke the rules and flew away with him, but he still has that personality.”
Smithy snorted, then coughed. Once she finally got her breath back, she chided, “You’re so bad, Layla.”
“Oh, you like it. And anyway, it’s true,” Layla’s blue eyes brimmed with innocence.
“Did you just say someone’s curse was broken?” Mike was so distracted by Smithy, he must have misunderstood.
“Not just someone, Bill,” Layla corrected, “I mean, I get how he could be a virgin, and even how his mom might give her life for him, but still. Can you imagine having him as a priest? He’d sooner smack you than bless you. And why not Carl, I mean, how did she pick? 'Oh, I think I’ll pick the deaf one?'”
Smithy’s forehead creased, “Honestly, I was worried about Bill, too. Ever since Mary left he’s become more and more withdrawn. And anyway, Carl isn’t a virgin.”
“Woah, wait, I didn’t know you two went that far,” Layla’s face glowed with amusement, “Was this before or after you broke up?” Smithy took a long drink of beer, so long that Layla turned to Mike, “I bet Carl just loves you.”
“I think,” said Mike, “that I should play my fiddle elsewhere.”
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