Moonburn (33 page)

Ignoring this, I put my arm around Malachy’s waist to help him up, ignoring the burn of the silver moonstone around my neck and the dull throb in my left arm, along the scar Red had given me in our mating ceremony.

I knew better than to touch it, though. I figured love, magic, and poison ivy had one thing in common: The more you scratched the itch, the more you were affected.

Along the way back to the veterinary office, Malachy and I saw signs that Northside’s dogs were not the only creatures behaving strangely. A young moose, seldom seen this far south, ambled down Church Street, its head down as if it refused to even acknowledge our presence, before veering off into the wooded thicket behind the funeral parlor. The new moon was invisible in the afternoon sky, and after the days of seeing it full in the sky all day as well as night, I found myself missing it like an absent lover. Red. I flipped open my cell phone and tried him again, but the phone indicated he was out of range.

There was a mocking sound, almost like laughter, and I turned to see five crows flap heavily down to the ground, where they hopped around like paparazzi, waiting to catch some big name in a moment of weakness. A massive red-tailed hawk gave a low screech and sailed over the telephone wire, and a turkey vulture landed on a split rail fence opposite.

I nudged Malachy with my elbow. “Are you thinking
The Birds?
Because that looks very Hitchcock to me.”

“I am wondering what fresh kill they anticipate,” Mal responded. “And hoping it is not us.”

A moment later, as we turned the corner onto Main Street, a group of ten-to-twelve-year-old boys swarmed
past us, whooping and hollering. This would not have been remarkable, except for the fact that it was the end of January and the boys were naked from the waist up and using jump ropes to drag a grown man in a suit and tie behind them.

After a moment, I recognized the school’s principal, Mr. Glynn. “Boys,” he kept pleading, “boys, please. Don’t you realize that this will go on your permanent record?”

Clearly, this was not quite the deterrent Mr. Glynn intended, because the boys merely laughed and jeered at him in response.

I wanted to run after them and help, but Malachy put his hand on my arm, stopping me. “We need to figure this out, first. Look up.”

Obediently, I looked up at the blue sky. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Look at the clouds, Abra,” said Malachy, sounding impatient. “Look to the east.”

“It’s getting dark,” I said.

“A storm is coming. But not a winter storm. That sky, those clouds—I’m not an expert, but does that look like a January sky to you?”

I shook my head, and realized that the quality of the air had changed. There was something subtle in the angle of light, in the smell on the breeze, that felt more like March than January. But the heavy, dark clouds that were gathering in the east were from another season entirely: July, perhaps. The season of wild shifts in weather, when clear skies could abruptly turn to thunderstorms, or hurricanes and twisters.

“And look there,” said Malachy. “The birds are coming back.”

I turned to see a dark swarm of shapes flying toward us: Canada geese in their deep V formation, swallows
and robins, and many others I didn’t recognize. It was a mass migration to our unnatural spring.

“I’m guessing this isn’t just global warming at work,” I said, taking off my coat.

“I suspect this is a bit more localized.” Malachy held his coat over his shoulder and took my elbow, as if we were out for a stroll. I tried my cell phone again. “Still no reception,” I said.

“Is that usual?”

I shook my head. Northside had an unusual number of dead zones, but Main Street wasn’t normally one of them. I punched in Red’s number again, and this time there was a faint signal. “He’s not picking up,” I said.

Mal nodded, quickening his steps. Now that the seizure had passed, he seemed energized. Maybe the misfiring of his neurons had worked as a kind of autonomic electrotherapy. Hurrying now, Mal said, “We’ll try again back at the office.”

I nodded and lengthened my stride to keep up with him. I felt a slight cramp in my side and began to slow down again.

As clearly as if she were standing there beside me, I heard my mother’s voice in my head, saying:
Abra, this is no time to baby yourself
.

Hearing voices. That couldn’t be good. On the bright side, however, Malachy had been reporting that he saw the same things I did, which meant moonstone wasn’t a hallucinogen. I didn’t know why it had given me that strange vision of the three sisters, Malachy, and Grigore, but maybe the longer the stone touched me, the more I got used to it. I tried not to think about what the silver was doing to my skin. When I thought about it, I began to itch.

“Stop scratching yourself,” Malachy said, and I put my hand down.

As we passed old man Miller on his porch, the town’s
former mayor suddenly stood up and leaned on his cane, his long white beard trembling as he began to prophesy in a quavering voice. “Heed me well, O Children of iniquity, the whole nation shall be punished for thy sins.”

“I thought he was an atheist,” I said, looking back. “And when did he grow that beard?”

“About the same time Jackie turned professional.” I turned in astonishment to see that Jackie was sitting in the gazebo in the little village square where Santa greeted the village children at Christmas. Like Santa, Jackie had a long line of people waiting to meet her, but unlike Santa, her bright-eyed devotees were all men. The men were wearing long-sleeved shirts, and some of them were carrying chickens, and one or two were holding a rope tied to a goat or a pig.

Up on the gazebo, Jackie was wearing a silky purple nightgown. And reclining on a huge pile of furs and blankets, her wolfdogs arranged in a semicircle around her.

“Hey,” said a local farmer as I cut through the line, but I ignored him.

“Jackie,” I said, “what on earth are you doing?”

Jackie didn’t get up from the improvised bed. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

There was no polite word for it. “Are you feeling all right? Why don’t you get up from there and come with Malachy and me.” Inspired, I added, “We’ll call Red for you.”

Jackie smiled, and it was her old, familiar, wry smile. “Honey, Red will find his way to me. Today I am high priestess here, and the goddess inhabits me. All the men must worship me. Even yours.”

I shook my head, trying to find a way to reason with her. “Jackie, I don’t know what’s going on here, but this isn’t you. And when you come back to yourself, you’re going to regret the hell out of this.”

“But I am not myself, Abra,” said Jackie, and for a moment, behind her faded blue eyes, I saw a flash of fire. “I am the goddess. Come,” she said, holding out her hand to an eighteen-year-old with a gigantic Adam’s apple that kept bobbing up and down in excitement. “Worship me.”

I hightailed it back to Malachy before I could witness the service. “Malachy, we have to stop her. She’s turning herself into the village whore.”

Not the village whore
, said my mother’s voice inside my mind.
The temple prostitute
. And I remembered that in my mother’s film
El Castillo De Los Monstres
, the virgin daughter of Don Carlos had been transformed into the high priestess of Baal, and offered herself to all the men in the village.

And Malachy was joining the line of men.

“Whoa there, Boss. Wrong way.”

His face was slightly flushed, and he dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “I think I ought to just speak with Jackie for a moment. Ask her if she’s seen Red.”

“Maybe we should stick to the original plan.”

“Really, Abra, I should think you would see the logic of consulting with Red’s former girlfriend.” Malachy took another step toward the line, and seeing that someone else had taken his former position, was about to tap the man on his shoulder.

“Come on, Malachy.” I grabbed him by the arm, and he shrugged me off, intent on reclaiming his place in line. “Malachy, this is wasting time.” Malachy didn’t even glance at me. I looked off, past the field behind the gazebo, into the tree line at the edge of town. Bruin was there. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel the heaviness in the air, the density of overlapping realities that marked his presence.

Unless Bruin wasn’t there, and he had simply marked off this whole town as his territory.

“Malachy, please,” I said, tugging at his arm. Red, I thought, where the hell are you? This morning felt like a hundred years ago.

“Pardon me,” Malachy was telling the man in front of him, “but you’re in my place.”

“I didn’t see no one standing here,” the man replied. He was wearing a Tractor Supply cap and carrying a jar of honey, either as gift or lubricant.

“I stepped aside for a moment, but that was my place.”

“Buddy, I am not letting you in front of me. And you don’t even have an offering.”

“It’s you who have stepped in front of me, buddy,” said Malachy with cold fury. Seeing that there was no other way to get his attention, I stepped in front of Malachy and slapped his face. Hard.

For a fraction of a second, I thought he was going to slap me back, or worse. But then Malachy touched his face with a wry smile and said, “Thank you, Abra. I think we had best move directly to the office. Whatever is influencing the people and animals of this town … without my medication, I am far from immune to it.”

No shit. As I took Malachy’s arm again, I could feel the heaviness of the air, the electrically charged atmosphere of a summer storm, the heat-distorted shimmer of buildings in the distance. Every instinct told me to take cover, except that I was pretty sure that getting inside wasn’t going to protect me. I’d felt this wrongness before, although last time it had ruffled my fur, and I hadn’t had words to describe it.

Now, with moonstone certainty, I knew that this storm was metaphysical, and it wasn’t just going to change the weather. It was going to redesign reality.

As we walked away from Jackie and the queue of men
in front of the gazebo, I could hear the man in the Tractor Supply hat tell the man in front of him, “What an asshole. I hate line jumpers.”

“Stop breathing down my neck,” the other man replied.

I had to literally drag Malachy by the arm to keep him from turning around.

As I secured the sleeve to the straitjacket, I asked Malachy, “Are you sure this is really necessary?”

“No, but it’s so much fun. Of course I’m sure it’s necessary. Did you fasten it securely?” Malachy craned his neck to check himself in the mirror.

I tested the strap. “I think I did it right. This is my first time putting a guy in a loony suit, you know.”

“I think you need to pull it tighter.”

“I’m afraid your arms are going to lose circulation. We can always tighten it later.” Despite the fact that Malachy had hours left before his medication wore off, he’d decided that we needed to put him in restraints, just as a precaution. And deep down, I had to agree with him. Something about the town of Northside had always amplified the effect of any preternatural weirdness, but thanks to the manitou, we were all in weirdness overdrive.

“Later I may not be so cooperative. Pull it one more time.”

With a grunt, I gave one last hard yank. I was sweating from exertion, and when I glanced down, I could see nipples through my long-sleeved white silk undershirt. I had dressed for winter, in layers, but it was too hot for sweaters now. Unfortunately, I hadn’t thought to wear a brassiere, and my breasts were still swollen and tender.

Never mind. Focus on the present dangers. I took out my cell phone and tried to reach Red again. Again I got a signal but no response. I was about to close the phone when I saw that I had two new messages.

“Abra,” Malachy said, sounding annoyed. “You’ve made this too tight.”

“One minute,” I said, trying to listen to my voice mail. To my disappointment, the first one wasn’t from Red, but from my mother, who wanted to know if I’d been trying to call her. This, of course, was her way of letting me know that she was pissed off that I hadn’t been in touch.