Black Locust Letters (5 page)

Sunny Glenn's market hummed with commerce as though there had
not been a murder in the days prior. The sky was clear, hot, a
throwback to pleasant summer days and people crammed to the streets
to enjoy the shortened daylight hours. Betty noticed one thing
above all else: She seemed to be the only human, and Never Weres
stared as though she had missed the public service announcement
warning humans away.

Perhaps she had. Alpha's day hosts no longer made sense, an
inside joke she was on the outside of. But Welch made no more
sense.

In
all her hours of listening, she had prepared her garden for winter
with the radio blaring out the window, she had cleaned her charcoal
grill, her house was so spotless she distinctly saw bogey
footprints every morning and now knew his usual routine (out from
by the fire, to the potted plant which always looked ill no matter
what, to the ice box, to the trash bin, snooping around her now
empty yarn basket then back to his hole), and it was that empty
basket which now brought her here.

Jenny had the best, cheapest wool in Sanctuary.

Betty elbowed her way through the crowd which seemed to
thicken as she went. At last she stood at the corner of Jenny's
octagonal shaped booth. She flashed Betty a smile which revealed
too many teeth, all of them rounded or pointy.

“
It's my Betty!” Jenny declared. Never before had she said
anything like this, and her voice was raised as though Jenny were
talking to the crowd not Betty. “How are you feeling, love? Long
time since I last saw you.”

At
Jenny's words, the Never Weres thinned as surely as Jenny had told
them all to bug off. Betty wondered what would have happened if
Jenny had not said anything to her, and shuddered to think of the
possibilities.

“
What can I do for you? You look like a six by six took out
your house overnight.”

Betty chuckled despite herself at the mental image of a
six-wheeled truck ploughing through her front door. “Wool today.
Lots of wool.”

Jenny spread her hands out over the booth. “Plenty to pick
from. Are you doing a blanket, a lace doilie, a pair of
mittens?”

“
Hmm? No no. Well, I need some more gray to finish off a dish
towel, the cotton for that. I've made all the others. Guess I
hadn't thought about my next project yet.”

Jennie whistled. “So it is true, then.”

Betty glanced nervously around. “What is true?”

“
You're talking the waves.”

“
I
host a show. Of course I talk the waves.”

Jennie was assembling an assortment of skeins—thick and thin,
creams and reds, moss green and coral—and she said, “That is not
what I mean.”

Betty grimaced. “It is not decided at all. I won't be used as
a pawn. It's bad enough I can't have my own bank
account.”

Jennie stared at Betty, her expression equal parts relief on
her lips and concern across her brow. “Betty, you can make a
difference. Ain't no one here who will trust an Alpha, and ain't no
one in HQ who will trust a Tango. Except you.”

Betty groaned and wished she couldn't guess why it would
matter. “It is the Cold War with the bear?”

“
They have nukes, Betty. Or so the shadows say.”

Betty understood now: If they went to war, Sanctuary would be
first on the lines, and if the troops wouldn’t take orders from
their interpreters they would fail and total war would break out.
War with nukes. Maybe more than that.

“
Shadows say a lot of things.”

Jennie nodded and traded Betty her goods for a buck and a
nickel; perhaps they'd both been overzealous but it was hard to
focus. Betty asked, “I haven't seen Tom around Tango.”

“
Hasn't been here, either.”

“
Not
since tea time in the market.”

Jenny hushed her. “Look, you can't go talking like that here.
Go to the rockability club. Wear something with a full skirt. And
put rags in your hair and lipstick on.”

“
Maybe. Thank you.” She wasn't sure she wanted to get
involved. Not yet.

The
next morning, while Betty was getting water during her break
between the local events and the weather, Liza entered the break
room. Betty gave the short woman a spry grin. “You're here
early.”

Liza
did not look amused, and the woman's grim expression set Betty's
heart still. Before Betty could ask what was wrong, Liza said, “I
heard you had coffee with the pink-suit.”

“
My
old friend, Pearl. Why?” Unvoiced, Betty wondered as well who had
told her. But that was less important.

“
That may be.” She squinted. “I can't understand
you.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Where you're going, where you come from. What you
want.”

“
All
a part of the mystery, my dear one. Stay tuned to find out
more.”

Liza's face went hard. “That's not funny.”

Betty looked down at the sink. “No. Neither was Richard's
leaky faucet joke.”

Liza
took Betty's arm. “I like you. So I'm going to tell you something,
and I hope you take it seriously. Betty, be careful. Be careful who
you interact with, who your friends are, where you eat your dinner.
Things are dangerous here.”

Betty swallowed and raised her gaze. “I just want to live in
peace, Liza.”

Liza's eyelashes flickered as she read Betty's face. She
tried and failed to give a comforting smile. “There is no peace.
There never will be. Pick your friends. Pick them
wisely.”

A
week later, on the Fifth of November, at the Fairy Ring Carnival in
the Doomsday Forest, Betty saw Clarkin Hannah again.

He
dressed head to toe in black with jewel-toned patches clinging to
his cape. Betty froze in her tracks as she entered the
close-cropped meadow, recognizing him by his stride. A beaked
half-face mask obscured his cheekbones and brow, and he didn't
smile as he moved through the crowd. Seeing him like this
transformed him from a man to a flicker of movement, something that
stirs in the firelight and gives men chills.

Betty was all too aware of those amber eyes trailing her as
she mingled with friends—human friends—and spoke cordially with the
Never Weres who sponsored the station with their ads and donations.
The only reason she knew them was because Tango Lima Romeo did, and
she had to make nice with them.

Some
Never Weres resented this discrimination, but before she'd become
the morning host, she had nurtured human relationships only. Betty
typically found it easy to avoid the Never Weres' glares, but this
time she felt his eyes on her, scrutinizing.

Nerves. Had to be nerves. Her first Autumn Moon Carnival, and
she was attending it alone, on the dime of the station. Sparkling
champagne and pixie dust flowed freely amongst the mortals and
Betty saw that by midnight, this would be a scene which would make
Dionysus and the centaurs revel with joy. Drinking, mating, and
sirens singing to panpipes: Betty was not ready for
this.

The
open meadow flooded with a silver glow from a giant moon suspended
in the stars above like a chandelier dangling overhead in a
ballroom brimming with people and Never Weres alike. On any given
day, an observer could tell the two groups apart, but on this
night, as they had on this anniversary for hundreds or thousands of
years, they blended one into the other.

Pity
Betty was a woman, and greater pity that she worked to earn her
keep, or this night might have been fun. Ladies, fair and wrinkled
alike, flicked fans before their faces, and swirled lace skirts
with tight corsets and plumed or horned headdresses which matched
their masks. The men wore high breeches, slim waistcoats, and
capes, cloaks, or jackets. Betty felt too simple, too understated
in her black and red jacquard corset and tiered skirt, feathered
half-mask and coiled curls instead of headdress.

Betty worked her way across the meadow. A server, one she
knew from the diner, held a tray laden with champagne, which she
took to simply hold rather than drink. Sponsors and a former intern
greeted her, and while she talked with them she noticed that
Clarkin leaned against a tree, watching her, not even half
listening to a voluptuous redhead.

Then
their host, a centaur of the scholarly mould named Tetrametrius,
claimed his attention. For a few minutes, they talked, then
threaded through the dancers toward Betty.

Betty knew Tetrametrius. Back when Tango Lima Romeo was
spearheading the All Equal Campaign, the centaur had been foremost
among the Never Weres to accept crystal ball advertising, and its
sister company the Alpha Bravo Charlie station. Satisfying client
needs had been Betty's first major project. It was then that she
had developed her manner and persona which transcended the barriers
and lead to her gradual ascension as a voice talent.

Tetrametrius' projects had taken a month to establish, and
Betty had been in monthly or weekly meetings with him ever since
for years now. During the first summer, Betty came in constant
interaction with the centaur's rowdy clan and was not once
distracted by them, nor molested since they did respect a healthy
dose of Orange Five loaded into a pepper sprayer. By the end of a
year, her resourcefulness had earned her his respect, so much that
he had proposed. Betty had declined with as much grace as she
could.

“
My
dearest Betty, you are stunning in the moonlight,” Tetrametrius
said, claiming her hand and pressing a kiss to it, his voice husky
with appreciation for her beauty. “You must forgive me for taking
so long to see to you.”

“
It
is forgiven. I have not been wanting for company.”

Betty couldn't tell if he was glad or envious, but he seemed
to remember who he had brought with him.

“
This is my best friend, Decapitaria Clarkin Hannah, Aerial
Battalion. Hannah, the magnificent Betty Cratchet, who transformed
my humble hobby into a thriving training system.”

A
smile twitched on Clarkin's lips. “A great pleasure, magnificent
Betty Cratchet.”

Betty blushed, and if she felt her cheeks burn, it must be a
brilliant scarlet indeed. Now she wished she'd worn a full mask.
Looking up at Clarkin, she wondered what his mission was, if it was
conquest or something more malicious. When his quick eyes
languished down her frame, she felt an involuntary heat swirl deep
within her. Tetrametrius cleared his throat.

Remembering her manners, Betty stuck out her hand, the blush
spreading down her throat. “How are you this evening, Decapitaria
Hannah?”

His
eyes gleamed. “Spectacular now that I have the honor of your
presence.”

Before he could kiss her hand, screaming struck silence
through the musicians and a brilliant flash cut through the night.
Half the crowd froze and ducked, and most of them stood upright
again with a laugh. Fireworks! Clarkin had been one of those who
had not ducked, Betty noticed, but his grip on her hand had grown
stiff and a bit too hard.

Decapitaria. It referred to the Roman soldiers, the special
ones who fought as though they were in the ring with an animal.
They wore minimal armor and weapons, and beheaded their opponents
as trophies. The Secret Forces must have borrowed the term, but how
accurately it portrayed his duties in the field, Betty did not
know. Her father had never even said they used Decapitarias in the
Great War. Then again, he said little and saw her rarely, so when
they did speak, it wasn't about his job.

“
Ah,
the show has begun!” cried Tetrametrius, taking Betty's elbow.
“Come, let's hurry to the tables.”

In
the very center of the meadow, metal tables formed rings around
fire pits basking with heat, and on these tables servants set up
wire racks with wooden handles, so a selection of meats, fruits,
vegetables, and sweets could be roasted over the fire while
pyrotechnics exploded in the skies above.

Betty assembled her rack quickly, skewers of chicken, onions,
and peppers, then a whole banana with the skin sliced open to be
filled with chocolate chips and marshmallows. She did this with
utmost focus, grateful for the interruption that distracted her
from Clarkin's gaze.

No
man since Slim Legrand, her first love, had set her heart to
pounding the way that he did. While Tetrametrius had escorted her
to the fires, she knew that Clarkin was still gazing at her with
that curious expression in his eyes.

Off
to the side and down a slope, the Tempest River had filled with
canoes and kayaks splashing through the calm water, people coming
downstream from playing in the funnel rapids to watch the show.
Strung out across the water, paper lanterns glowed with fireflies
which the fairies had caught and might release again.

Bottles of pop were tossed between canoes and kayaks, coming
from the rafts with their iceboxes and canvas folding chairs. From
the midpoint of the cliffs high above the meadow, among the
hospital heli landing and airstrip, the hazy darkness erupted into
streaks of light, first one, then a second, and a third, and each
bolt reaching its pinnacle before it splayed out into a starbust of
color: Red, blue, green, yellow, orange, purple, each color taking
its turn sparkling out into brilliant white crackles.