“Is that what you want?” cried one of the shivering Town Elders. “You just want us to apologize?”

“She wants you to recognize the error of your ways!” cried Maman. “You can never again disrespect the mordeshoor. Our loyalty is—and always will be—to her and her lineage!”

“Yes! You will repent your ways!” cried a corpse from the crowd.

“You will pay her a decent wage!” shouted another.

“You will never mistreat her again!” the crowd bellowed all together.

“We’re so sorry,” said a new, nervous voice. It was the magistrate from the morning’s proceedings. “We’re so very, very sorry”—he was openly sobbing now. “We’ll never again make the mistake of denying the mordeshoor her work—”

“Please,” cried another Whichwoodian woman, “we’ll do whatever you ask—just don’t hurt us—”

“You will reinstate the mordeshoor to her former glory!” cried Baba gleefully. “You will treat her with reverence and respect—”

“We swear!” the Elders cried. “We swear on all that is dear to us!”

“And if you lie,” said Baba in a low, lethal voice Laylee had never heard before, “we will come back for you.”

The corpses roared and stomped their feet, unleashing animal-like howls into the night.

“Anything—anything you say—”

“Mordeshoor,” said Baba, peering up at her in the night sky.

“Yes, Baba?”

“Do you accept the apologies of these monsters?”

Laylee couldn’t help but smile. It was funny to see the weird wax remnant of her father refer to the perfectly normal humans as monsters. “I do, Baba joon.”

“And if you need anything, you will call upon us to help you, will you not?”

“Of course, Baba,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

“And you’re sure,” said Maman now, “that you wish us to leave?”

Laylee nodded. “Thank you—thank you for everything. I’m not sure what I would’ve done without your help.”

“You are never alone, sweet girl,” said Roksana. “A kindness is never forgotten. Not even by those of us buried underground.”

And Laylee watched the scene splinter apart from high in the sky, the spiderweb glittering behind her as a soft snowfall melted along its threads. Her dead friends and family quietly receded, tens of thousands of bodies marching peacefully through the streets, leaving the living Whichwoodians shaken in their wake.

Laylee, meanwhile, had never felt so happy or so powerful in all her life—and not because of the Elders who fell on their knees before her—but because her parents, she realized, had finally proven they loved her.

A nightingale sat upon Laylee’s shoulder just then and sang her a song of congratulations.

“Thank you,” Laylee said to the small bird. “Life is strange, isn’t it?”

The bird nodded. “Yes,” it said to her. “Things are seldom what they seem.”

I DO DEARLY LOVE A HAPPY ENDING

True to their word, the town never doubted her again.

Weeks passed, and things improved every day for our mordeshoor. Laylee was treated like royalty as she walked through town—faces no longer disgusted by the sight of her, but awed by the power they knew her to wield. The people were both terrified and impressed, and began offering her ungodly amounts of gold and silver to wash their loved ones. Talking to Laylee was soon considered a privilege—even being looked at by the mordeshoor was thought of as a gift—and Laylee, who did not care for the obsequious attentions of strangers, found great comfort in the company of her friends.

Ah, yes—her friends. They were still with her, of course.

Laylee had enough money now that she was able to hire the extra help she’d always wanted. And who better than the three people she trusted the most? Alice and Oliver and Benyamin were soon official employees of the mordeshoor, working decent hours alongside her during the day, and spending their evenings and weekends having . . . what was that word?

Fun.

Laylee tried attending public school again, but it was too difficult to be taught by teachers who were terrified of her and to sit beside students who wanted nothing but to hear her ghastly work stories. Eventually, Laylee asked Madarjoon if she wouldn’t mind hometeaching her and her friends for a few hours every day, and Madarjoon nearly burst into tears at the request. Only too happy to oblige, the five of them—Alice, Oliver, Laylee, Benyamin, and Madarjoon—soon became a cozy little family. Oliver, who’d never liked his home very much anyway, could think of nowhere else he wanted to be—but Alice, whose parents were anxiously awaiting her, would not be able to stay forever. She’d been in touch with her father to tell him all that had transpired, and he was so proud of her for making things right with Laylee that he allowed her to stay in Whichwood, working alongside the others, for a period of no longer than six months. This was the average length of time a child was away from home for a task, so Father felt it to be fair.

For now, however, Alice would not think about leaving; there was simply too much to enjoy.

Alice and Oliver were living in Laylee’s castle now, and each night was a chance for games and good food and long conversations over piping-hot cups of tea. There was always a roaring fire in the hearth and beautiful lanterns lit across the house. Madarjoon taught them how to cook rich stews and colorful rice; Benyamin showed Alice how to properly eat a frosted rose; and Oliver—well, Oliver began to change. He could feel himself settling into place for the first time in his life, and the steadiness—the safety—of simply belonging began to slough off his thorny, sardonic edges. He became a gentle soul—and would grow up to be a deeply thoughtful young man—and he came to love the infamous mordeshoor even more every day.