The Robe of Skulls by Vivian French

the room, and sunlight poured in. Blinking hard, she moved forward as the oldest crone beckoned her to her side.
    “Come along, come along! I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry if you were frightened, but we have to keep up appearances. Couldn’t be certain Marlon was right about you, you see — sometimes that bat makes terrible errors of judgment. And who would take us seriously if they knew what we were really like? I’m Edna, by the way. You can call me Auntie. The redhead’s Elsie — she wears a wig. Bald as an egg underneath. The other one’s Val. She doesn’t say much. Been here thirty years, and she’s pining for the outside world. Silly, if you ask me, but there you are. She’s served her term and more besides. Of course, everyone outside knows us as the Youngest, the Oldest, and the Ancient One.
Much
more impressive than Val, Elsie, and Edna, don’t you think?”
    Gracie could only nod.
    “So, Marlon brought you here,” Edna went on. “Do you know why?”
    Gracie shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
    Edna’s bright blue eye studied Gracie appraisingly. “Hmm. He’s up to something. We asked him to find a replacement for Val, but you’re much too young. And besides, you’re a Trueheart. Working on the web wouldn’t teach you anything. You’ve had a hard life, have you?”
    Gracie nodded again. “I was living with my stepfather and my stepsister,” she said. “They weren’t — they weren’t always very nice to me.”
    “Marlon told us as much,” Edna said. “He says your stepsister’s a werewoman.”
    “Foyce?” Gracie’s eyes opened wide. “She’s a
what
?”
    “Didn’t you know? Her mother was a werewolf. Good at running, is she?”
    “Yes,” Gracie said.
    “Unusually good sense of smell? Excellent hearing?”
    Gracie paused. When she came to think about it, it was true. “Yes,” she said.
    “There you are, then,” Edna said. “Ah, here’s Elsie. About time, too. Have your tea and cake, child. Afterward you can have a hot bath. Val’s due for a rest, so she’ll show you to your room. We’ll chat again later.”
    Gracie took her mug of tea most gratefully. “Thank you
so
much,” she said. “Erm. Could I ask you something, er . . . Auntie Edna?”
    “Of course,” Edna said, “if you’re quick. I’m about to go back to sleep.”
    “Is it true?” Gracie asked. “Do you really have to keep the looms working all the time?”
    “The loom that spins the web must never stop. We use the other for orders. Clothes and so on.” Edna looked pleased with herself. “We charge a fortune. Keeps us in cake and other necessities.”
    “What happens if it does stop?” Gracie wanted to know.
    Edna frowned. “We don’t exactly know,” she said slowly. “We daren’t risk finding out. There’s Magic outside, and it’s been there much longer than I’ve been here. You must have noticed the Unwilling Bushes, and the Bogs of Unimaginable Depths, and the Mires of Sinking Sand . . .”
    “I certainly found the bushes,” Gracie said with feeling, “but I didn’t see any mires or bogs.”
    “Goodness! You
are
a Trueheart!” Edna said. “Well done! But those things are there to protect the web, so the web
must
be powerful — so we need to keep weaving. If you ask me, I think the web acts as a filter. It helps to keep good and evil in balance. And it’s been throwing a dark shadow just the last few days, so there must be something wicked stirring out there that we need to keep an eye on.”
    Gracie didn’t understand. “I think I’ll ask you to explain again after my bath,” she said, and yawned. “I’m so sorry — but we were walking a very long way. . . .”
    “You poor dear,” Edna said. “Of course you need a rest. Elsie’s back, so Val will show you around. See you later on. . . .”
    And as Edna settled herself under her cats, Gracie, yawning fit to burst, followed Val out of door seventeen, along the corridor, and into HEDGEHOGS ONLY . There she