The Seam Sorceress

Home, part 2.

With a shake of her head, Tilly turned back to the trunk and took out the only three books she owned, which were on top. The first was a hymnal, given to her before she was born by one of the neighbors, though she wasn't sure which. The second was The Book of Natural and Unnatural Fauna of Southeastern Grimland, a great big encyclopedia she had bought with her own money and read aloud to Booger every night after supper. Finally, careful of its wobbling spine and yellowed pages, Tilly removed the last one, which was Granny's pattern book.

The memories of her grandmother were blurry at best, patched by Mama's stories and the handwritten notes in the margins of the pattern book. But there was one particular recollection that never faded from Tilly's mind.

Granny had never gotten old. She just got tired. One day, when Tilly was the age of making mud pies, Granny had walked to the edge of their property where the garden stopped and the wilds began. The pinks and blues of her patchwork apron stood out from the treeline as she walked deeper and deeper, arms outstretched like she was meeting an old friend, 'til finally the forest swallowed her up. Tilly, too young to understand, sat in the yard and wailed until Mama ran from the kitchen, breathless. But no matter how much Tilly cried, Granny never came back. Like the True Fey that came before them, she had returned to the woods.

Sometimes, Tilly thought the woods were calling for her, too.

There was a frustrated snort from the bed as Booger shifted forms.

Most dogs, when bogged down by water or muck or anything else unusual, will shake off or scratch to rid themselves of whatever's got them so wound up. But she wasn't most dogs. As long as Tilly had known her, which was getting on two whole years, Booger had been able to change shape. Though she typically preferred to stay a dog, she'd make the occasional exception, like when she was suffering from the symptoms of a particularly ornery bee sting.

When she leapt down to the floor, Booger was a spotted cat. Then, with another snort, her fur fell fell off to reveal scales and she slithered in circles as a glass lizard. Both creatures had comically puffed up snouts. It seemed the bee's revenge was inescapable.

"You'd be a lot better off if you'd just let me get that stinger out," Tilly said.

"Yeah, well you'd be a lot better off if you just told Mama you're too scared to go to the fair by your lonesome," the lizard hissed.

Tilly stiffened. "I ain't scared."

"Are too." The lizard rolled its head back and forth mockingly. "'It's so loud?' When you ever been fretted by something being too noisy?"

"I guess you're right." A smile edged at Tilly's mouth. "After all, I been putting up with you for a while now."

"See, that's—" The lizard's jaw dropped, tongue rigid with the realization. "Hey!"

Tilly laughed behind her cupped hands. Booger coiled up on herself and, in a moment of inspiration, turned into a chickadee. She fluttered to the brass footboard, singing of her triumph over the bumblebee's stinger.

"Guess that's one way 'round it," Tilly said.

"Ain't got a snoot to sting," Booger tweeted.

"Wish my problems could be fixed as quick as yours." Tilly looked to the book in her lap, carefully turning the first few pages. "If I could just close my eyes and will myself into another form that's better suited for the chore at hand."

There were a lot of secrets in Granny's pattern book; stitching spells, ways to imbue the thread with magic, dresses to bring love and cloaks to defy death. Tilly had tried a dozen of them and knew those well-practiced spells by heart, but there was still a good portion of her grandmother's magic that eluded her, using stitches beyond Tilly's skill level or components they were too poor to afford.