Blackwood (26 page)

  "It must be difficult," he said.

  Needle through fabric, needle through fabric, needle through fabric. She pictured her mother hand-sewing, longed for the machine she'd inherited from her.

  He went on. "Difficult to be so skilled but to continually experience setbacks. You do, don't you? The other night at the theater must have been one."

  
You haven't answered my question. Why would I answer yours?

  Her fingers folded another length of cloth over on itself to make a hem, a flash of silver as she poked the needle through. The words were out before she could stop them. "How do you know that?"

  "You'll have to forgive me," he said.

  There were echoes of her father in it, memories of all the times he'd said: "Forgive me, Miranda-bug." "Forgive me, sweetie." Or just: "I'm sorry." But Dee's words were clipped, his accent and delivery crisp.

  She stared at the cloth, realised he was waiting for an answer. She wouldn't look up. Her fingers were so dedicated to their task they ached.

  "Forgive you for killing my father?" she asked. "I deserve a straight answer. You got his body somehow."

  He didn't respond right away.

  Then, "You were conflicted, weren't you, when you discovered he was missing? We are not blind beyond, not unless we wish it. Where the veil thins, we can see light leaking through, can watch the lives on the other side as if through a curtain made of glass. Part of you was relieved, in that first moment, to discover your father might have passed beyond. I was watching."

  Miranda's teeth ground together. So what if her whole body had risen like hot air when she'd understood what Blue Doe's reporting meant – that her dad might be missing? That was one stupid moment, past in a heartbeat.

  "I didn't know he was dead. I'm not that kind of person."

  "You are a strong person. You knew it meant you could be free – or you thought it did. And isn't that what you've always longed for? For freedom?"

  Miranda looked over at him, finally. The sight of her dad's face came as a shock, even expecting it. Talking to him wasn't like talking to her father. Looking at him was different, too. He leaned forward, watching her with his elbows poised on his knees and his hands clasped. He was like a preacher waiting for a confession. Her father never sat like that in his life.

  "I
never
wanted him dead. Answer my question: Which one of you killed him?"

  Her attention went back to her hands.

  "I wish I could make the answer simple. But it isn't. Your father had to die. He bore the mark, the mark that allowed me to return to his body. The reasons he bore that mark – the one now passed to you – are complicated. Suffice to say, your family owed me a debt. I consider that debt paid."

  She hesitated, then stood. She let the cloth fall, tossed the needle onto the bedspread.

  "Then I can go? I can leave? Right now – and you won't follow me. None of this will follow me. My debt is paid?"

  Her father's eyes burned with regret.

  "I'm afraid not, not so long as you hold the mark. Your family will be a part of this as long as you wear it, as long as my soul lives."

  "That's what I thought." She dropped, defeated, onto the side of the bed. She left the stupid cloak-in-the-making where it lay.

  "No," he said. "You misunderstand."

  He moved at the corner of her vision. Her cringe away was automatic, but he eased down beside her on the bed anyway. The snake burned and squirmed against her cheek, but she barely noticed because her entire skin
became
the snake. Surely she would shed it, the way her arms and legs crawled at how near he was.

  This was the opposite of what she felt when she was close to Phillips. Every instinct said exit, leave, run.
Sorry, instinct.

  She sat her ground, keeping some pride by making no effort to disguise her discomfort. He wouldn't need to spy through any glass curtain to see it.

  "You look so like her," he said. He lifted a hand.

  Miranda hoped he didn't have any designs on touching her with those fingers. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Don't," she said, then, "You mean Mary?"

  "It tells me that the grand design brought us all here. The angels spoke in my ear when I was alive, and they told me it would all come to pass as it was meant to. And now the boy with his connection to Virginia is here. And you, so clearly of Mary's line. The fullness of time has brought us to perfection. This moment was always the right one."

  Miranda missed the meaning of some of what he said, but not that he was convinced everything was wonderful. Sara must still be somewhere sleeping. Phillips would have come to tell her if she'd woken.

  "If you help Phillips' mom, Sara, it would make up for what you did to Mary. At least some." She hesitated. "Why did you curse her?"

  
And my family. Me.

  "I was angry then," he said, and nothing more for a long moment. Then, "You are a fresh chance to be better than that rage. A gift for our homecoming. An auspicious sign."

  "No, I'm not." She didn't trust the soft tone of sympathy he spoke with. Of
care
, she thought. He was making it sound like he cared for her.

  "I can take this away." His finger traced the mark down her cheek, a bolt of heat smashing into her like a wall of fire. Surely her skin really was coming off this time. It would melt onto the floor at her feet and she'd be nothing but blood and bones, like the story her mother told at the Halloween bonfire the year before she died, the flickering light playing over her features and making them unfamiliar.
Bloody Bones, coming for you. Bloody Bones takes naughty children to his dirty pen, and they are never seen again.

  Dee said, "I can take it away. I can give you freedom."

  
Bloody Bones, coming to fetch you…

  The feeling of being on fire faded as soon as he removed his finger, until Miranda's skin subsided to a scoured-raw feeling. He left the room without another word. What he'd already said lingered.

  If he took the curse away, what would be left of her?

• • • •

Phillips was outside on the deck when she finally went looking for him. He had his forehead leaned against the middle bar of the wood railing, his feet dangling in space. He looked out into the treehouse world of the Grove.

  She admired him for a stolen second, unnoticed. He'd been kinder to her than anyone ever had. Hope was an unfamiliar thing for her to feel, but that was what she most associated with him.

  And Dee was killing that hope. Maybe it was already dead.

  Sidekick breezed past her and over to Phillips, wiggling his head under Phillips' arm. "Hey boy," he said, glanced over his shoulder to find Miranda. "Join me."

  That was the best offer she'd had in hours.

  "What's tomorrow night?" she asked, slipping down next to him. She left Sidekick between them, without letting Phillips be too far away. Every moment they had felt like one where she was saying goodbye.

  "How'd you know I'd find out?" he asked.

  "I didn't bother trying – I knew you'd figure out what they're up to."

  She won a flash of white teeth in the dark, a brief smile.

  "They're going to mount the production, and conduct some sort of ceremony. It will make all this permanent, from what I can tell. I think they need the townspeople there – they're calling it a 'special Dare County night.'"

  She shook her head, snorted. "Wow. That's perfect."

  "Why?"

  "We have Dare County Night every year, at the beginning of the season." Her vision had adjusted to the dark enough that she caught his eyebrow quirk at her. "The play isn't exactly the same every year – it changes. Sometimes big changes, like the year the director inserted a bunch of people in animal suits – but usually smaller ones. Anyway, we have a town night every year, a free show, because they're the ones who make or break it. They're the ones who talk it up to the tourists – or not. They freaking quote along. It's a big deal. A special thing the town and the theater have together. We call it Dare County Night. This year's season is almost over, and tomorrow's an off night. No ticket holders to piss off. They can do a special one."

  He turned his head toward her, temple propped against the railing. "You're right. It is perfect. This one, this performance, is supposed to be to celebrate the return. This is from Bone, but I believe him."

  She'd swayed Bone's allegiance after all.

  "Everyone will cover it," she said. That was why the cops were staking out the theater, security to keep everyone out until the big night. "When Grandmaster Dee does… whatever, won't they just think he's crazy?"

  "This is John Dee we're talking about here. Crazy is just the beginning."

  "Point taken. I've been sewing gray witch cloaks for the past two hours," Miranda said.

  The moonlight waned over them, its light thin. Miranda said, "He told me he watched me when they were… wherever they were."

  Thin moonlight or no, Phillips' scowl was unmissable. "What?" she prompted.

  "I bet he was watching," was all he said.

  Miranda let it go. Minutes squeezed by, before he spoke again.

  "What did he offer you?" he asked.

  
Freedom.
"The one thing I ever wanted."

  "Oh," he said. "He offered to make my mom one of his minions."

  "But he'll save her?"

  "So he says."

  Miranda didn't believe Dee either. But the hope, she had to honor it. "I can convince him to help her."

  Phillips said, "No."

  "I'm doomed as long as I wear this mark anyway. I can convince him. He wants me."

  Saying it out loud made it worse. There was her skin, crawling again. He did want her. Maybe he wanted her as much as he wanted his New London. His angels. His alchemical madness. And he was dressed up in her father. Ew didn't begin to cover it.

  "He is the devil," Phillips said. "He is."

  Sidekick moved his head over onto her leg. She could have sat there forever with her dog and Phillips and been happy. Could have, if none of the rest of this existed.

  "I know."

25

Ready, Set

Phillips woke to discover his legs tangled with Miranda's. Whispering leaves framed a soft blue sky. She'd fallen asleep sometime after they stopped talking, oozing into unconsciousness on the deck. He vaguely remembered giving in and stretching out beside her, closing his eyes…

  How they'd ended up sleeping so close together that he couldn't move without jostling her awake was a mystery.

  But not that much of a mystery.

  Her fists were curled to her chest like she was ready to fight dream monsters, her hair tossed in messy fronds. From this angle, the snake mark on her cheek didn't exist. He could almost pretend none of the last few days had happened, that he'd come home for a visit and seen her again. That then they stayed out all night and soon they would have to deal with overreacting parents.

  Reality sank sharp teeth into him. He needed to check on his mom.

  Sidekick whined. Phillips had never had a dog growing up, but figuring out this was a plea for a morning bathroom break wasn't rocket science. Still, he regretted not being able to freeze this moment. Slow down the clock.

  He meant to scoot a safe, non-awkward distance away before he got up, but the whining jolted Miranda awake before he could. She blinked, then slid her legs from his and stiffly sat up. She stared out into the forest instead of looking at him. Was she blushing?

  "I better take care of Kicks," she said, the dog nosing her arm.

  Since the moment he wanted to freeze was past, he wished for the ability to snap his fingers and resume normal speed. He searched for something to say that would make her laugh, relax. What he actually said was, "I don't know how much sleep we got, if you're wondering."

  Why had he said
that
? All they'd done was
sleep.

  "I can't believe I slept at all."

  She climbed to her feet and stretched, her back curving a long arch beneath her T-shirt. Then she pulled the screen door open and Sidekick galumphed inside, his tail tucked down between his legs. Miranda paused. "You hear that?"

  The trees rushed like water in a gust of wind. Nothing else.

  "No. What is it?"

  "No birds or insects… It was quiet when we got here last night too, aside from Kicks. It's like they're all in hiding. Or maybe took off for less messed up pastures."

  She went inside.

  Phillips pushed to his feet. How had he not been the one to notice the silence was unnatural? A forest should be full of sounds. He was totally off his game, officially plan-free. And he'd forgotten all about getting news to his dad, who would be well past freaking out.

  A couple of voices whispered inside his ears, delivering the dead and unwanted's first troubling message of the day:
Don't worry about him. He's safe.

  Unlike him and his mom and Miranda, lost in the quiet forest. Dee had said the natural world could sense flux, but maybe animals were just smarter than people. You didn't see them trying to outwit death and build immortal societies.

  Inside the house he encountered a handful of girls and women, dressed normally and back at the sewing. Several more people crowded into the small kitchen – a few men were mixed in with that group – involved in some other weird activity. Water steamed, and there was the smell of burning… was that wax? Four fresh cartons of donuts were propped open on a short bookshelf beside the kitchen. He grabbed one.

  "Morning, creepy people," he said, to no reaction whatsoever.

  He headed to the room where Dee had stashed his mother, taking a bite of what tasted like sugar and cardboard. The donuts were from Stop and Gas, for sure.

  The bed where his mom should have lain unconscious was made. The puffy pink comforter was smooth and vacant. Bone sat in a corner of the room staring at it, wearing another of his lifetime supply of Tarheels T-shirts. Phillips swallowed, throat stuffed with dry dough.