The latch gave suddenly.
Bob stepped back as though he had intended to do so, and Missy caught the window before it struck the wall.
Cold air slipped beneath her nightdress. Outside, the branches brushed against one another.
“You could have helped,” she said.
“I identified the difficulty.”
“You were pulling.”
“And you were explaining. Between us, we opened the window.”
He stepped inside, shook one paw, and inspected the room.
Missy climbed back into bed. Her feet found the warm place beneath the blanket, and she wound its loose blue thread around her finger.
Bob settled beside her.
For a little while, there was only the sound of the tree.
Then someone outside cleared his throat.
Missy sat up.
A small feathered creature stood on the sill. He had large, round eyes, a dark, untidy collar of feathers, and the air of someone who had arrived for an appointment nobody remembered making.
“Good evening,” he said.
“Good evening,” said Missy.
He glanced at Bob.
“I hadn’t been informed there would be a cat.”
“Neither had I,” said Bob. “It was a pleasant surprise.”
The visitor shuffled sideways.
“Are you Missy?”
“Yes.”
He straightened.
“Then I’m afraid this concerns you.”
Missy drew her knees beneath her chin.
“What does?”
The creature took a breath.
“Boo.”
They waited.
A branch tapped against the glass.
“Was that it?” asked Missy.
“There was supposed to be a response.”
“What sort?”
“A small cry. Possibly a retreat beneath the blankets.”
“Why?”
“Because you ought to be asleep.”
Missy looked at him carefully.
“Did you wake me up to tell me that?”
The creature’s feathers rose a little.
“I was assured you would still be awake.”
“She usually is,” said Bob.
“Who assured you?” asked Missy.
“The adults.”
“Oh,” she said. “Them.”
The visitor appeared relieved that no further introductions were necessary.
“They said Machvi would come if I didn’t go to sleep,” Missy continued.
“Precisely.”
“Are you Machvi?”
“I am.”
She studied him again.
“I thought you would be larger.”
“I receive that observation more often than I should like.”
“What sort of bird are you?” asked Missy.
Machvi adjusted his feathers.
“Is that important?”
“Only if someone asks.”
“Does someone often ask you what sort of bird your visitors are?”
“You’re my first.”
“Then we needn’t establish a procedure just yet.”
Bob tucked his paws beneath his chest.
“A wise precaution.”
Missy studied the visitor. He looked rather like an owl, although his beak belonged to a different sort of bird, and his feet seemed unwilling to commit themselves.
She liked him immediately.
“Would you like to come in?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether the cat considers this an invitation to supper.”
“I’ve eaten,” said Bob.
Machvi hesitated.
“A reassuring answer might have ended slightly earlier.”
Nevertheless, he stepped inside.
Missy moved a book from the wooden shelf beside her bed, making room for him. He inspected the space, turned once, and settled with a small rustle.
“Now,” he said, “I believe I have discharged my duties.”
“By saying boo?”
“With the appropriate emphasis.”
“But I’m not frightened.”
“Yes. I shall have to consider how to phrase that.”
“Must you tell them?”
“I prefer to keep my reports brief.”
Missy rested her chin on her knees.
“What do you do when you aren’t frightening children?”
Machvi’s expression changed.
“I read.”
“What do you read?”
“Whatever has not yet been taken out.”
“From where?”
“The library in the Enchanted Forest.”
Missy let go of the blue thread.
“There’s a library in the forest?”
“Of course.”
“Inside a tree?”
“Partly. There was some disagreement about where the tree ended.”
“How many books are there?”
“I have never reached the last shelf.”
“Have you tried?”
“Once. I had to return for breakfast.”
Bob closed his eyes, but one ear remained turned toward them.
Missy shifted closer to the edge of the bed.
“Do you remember the stories?”
“Some.”
“Will you tell me one?”
Machvi glanced toward the door.
“I’m not certain that falls within the terms of my employment.”
“You’re supposed to make me go to sleep.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I can’t possibly sleep now. You’ve told me there’s a library in a tree.”
“The difficulty,” Bob murmured, “is of your own making.”
Machvi considered this.
“One story,” he said at last.
Missy lay down at once.
“And then you will close your eyes.”
“I can close them during the story.”
“Provided you continue listening.”
“I shall,” she promised.
Machvi smoothed the feathers along his chest.
“Very well. There was once a path through the forest that had grown tired of being walked upon.”
Missy opened one eye.
“What did it do?”
“It went Elsewhere.”
“With the people still on it?”
“A few.”
“Were they frightened?”
“Mostly inconvenienced.”
Bob made a small sound that might have been a purr.
Machvi continued.
Beyond the window, the branches stirred. The room grew warm again, and Missy’s fingers loosened against the blanket.
When the path had finally been persuaded to return, she was nearly asleep.
“Machvi?”
“Yes?”
“Will you come tomorrow?”
“I believe the adults have arranged for several visits.”
“Will you have to frighten me every time?”
“I’m afraid so.”
She thought about this.
“You could say boo quietly.”
“I could.”
“And then tell me another story.”
Machvi looked toward Bob, who offered no assistance.
“Yes,” he said. “I suppose I could.”
Missy closed her eyes.
At the door, footsteps paused.
“Is she asleep?”
Machvi went perfectly still.
Bob looked at the small shape beneath the blanket.
“Nearly,” Missy answered.
The footsteps moved away.
Machvi waited until they had faded.
Then he leaned toward the bed and gave a very small, dutiful “Boo.”
“Much better,” murmured Missy.
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