The Onion Girl (38 page)
Authors: Charles de Lint
Rattlesnake venom, milked at high noon.
A mescal button, chopped in four, each piece dried in the sun on a separate day.
A tincture made from boiling down pinecones till all you got left is a kind of sticky sap jelly.
Baked dog bones, powdered.
Shredded bits of fresh morning glory vine.
The chopped-up tail feather of an owl.
And lastly, a pinch of the top of the Mexican mushroom from which you make you your psilocybin.
“That's a mess of hard-to-find items,” I say.
“But they ain't impossible.”
“No, I guess they ain't. Though a body'd be traveling all over hell and creation tracking some of it down.”
“I guess a body's really gotta want to do it,” she says.
She finishes up, explaining how you got to mix it all together in a measure of corn whiskey and let it set for four days. Then stop it in a vial with a rowan berry and the blood red resin collected from the inner bark of a nutmeg tree, and finally bury it in an unhallowed graveyard for thirteen nights starting on the dark of the moon.
“And then,” she says, grinning, “you drink it down and wait for the change to come.”
“What do you call it? A death's wish cocktail?”
Miss Lucinda's still grinning. “I like a girl with a sense of humor.”
“I'm guessing there's some pain involved,” I say.
“Oh, there's a lotta things involved,” Miss Lucinda says. “Pain's only a part of it. You're talking about shifting the whole makeup of who your body thinks you are. There'll be fevers and shakes. You'll be seeing things
ain't there, and the things that are there are gonna be wearing new skins for a time. But you get through it, I believe you'll find it worth it.”
ain't there, and the things that are there are gonna be wearing new skins for a time. But you get through it, I believe you'll find it worth it.”
“Not everybody gets through it then?”
She shakes her head. “There's some ain't got the gumption it takes.” She looks from me to Pinky. “Course only the one of you's got to go through it. Then the other could just share a bit of her blood with her friend.”
“Thought you said these People didn't 'bide that kinda thing?”
“Oh, they can tell when it's a willing gift or if it's been stolen.”
We sit another spell then, Pinky and Miss Lucinda smoking, me thinking.
“I know why we come to see you,” I say afore we go, “but why're you helping us? I know you're one of these People, or pretty close-related. We could just take your blood, now's we know.”
“Could you?”
There's a change in her voice, low and dangerous, and her dark eyes are almost black now. I hear the clink of a glass and know that sudden wind's moving in the branches a the bottle tree again.
“Not that we would,” I quickly tell her. “It's just got me wondering, is all.”
The eyes are still black when her gaze settles on me.
“People come, time to time,” she says, “asking for something. Looking for potions and spells. Had me a girl with a desperate need to fly like a bird, once. But most of them ain't going to make the world any more interesting if I take the time to help them. Just the opposite, in fact. But you, girlâ” She's looking right at me. “You're different.”
“Different how?”
“There's a light in you,” she says, “a dark light so strong it hurts the mind to look on it too long. So you're wondering why I'm helping you? That light tells me you could make things interesting again, if a body were to give it a little direction.”
She lifts a hand before either me or Pinky can say a thing.
“Oh, I know what I said,” she tells us. “How I like the simple life and all. But there's two kinds of complications. The ones we bring on ourselves, and they ain't nearly so entertaining, and then the ones the world brings on us. The kind that make you feel kinda desperate and alive while you're trying to get through 'em in one piece.”
“You feel like that,” I say, “why don't you just give me a sip of that blood of yours and I'll see how interesting I can make the world for you.”
She shakes her head. “Don't think I ain't already thought've it. But the trouble you bring might not be appreciated by everyone. I don't want none of it coming back on meâthat's bringing it on myself, y'see? The cousins aren't so partial to those of us that meddle like you're asking me to, and the one thing you never want is a whole mess of such powerful folks coming down on you all at once. Trust me on that one. I seen it happen afore.”
She goes back to smoking then and I get the sense we're all done here.
“Well, we're obliged for all your help,” I tell her, hopping down from the banister.
“I'd say be careful,” Miss Lucinda says as we leave, “but if you were, that'd just spoil the fun.”
She's mocking us now, but there's not much we can do. I don't know exactly what she is, but them bottles start rattling on the tree beside us and there's still no touch of no damn wind at all. So I just lift my hand and give her a smile.
“Looks like we got our work cut out for us,” I say as we walk back through the forest to where we left the car.
“You don't believe that old bag, do you?”
“You saw her changeâjust for a moment there. Some kinda animal face looking at us. I know you did.”
“I don't know what I saw,” Pinky says, “but none of it makes me feel comfortable.”
“This ain't about comfort,” I tell her. “It's about being strong and getting stronger.”
But Pinky only shrugs.
I know what she's thinking. We got no reason to believe that old woman. She don't owe us a damn thing. But I got me the feeling that she was telling the truth. If nothing else, I think she's looking forward to the idea of me and Pinky stirring up some trouble.
I consider them dog boys that chased us off from our kill and I know I ain't going to let that happen again. But first I got to get me strong. Stronger'n them, that's for damn sure.
When we go hunting that night, we're somewhat cautious now as we don't want to run into them dog boys again till we're ready for 'em.
We talk about that potion of Miss Lucinda's, but it just sounds like too much work and we was always the ones to go for the quick'n dirty anyways. So when we cross over tonight, we're looking for only one kind a scentâsome kinda mix of human and animal like them dog boys had, 'cept we're planning on finding us a smaller critter. Something not quite so fierce as them.
Tonight's a bust, and that pretty much sums up the next week or so, but I ain't ready to go collecting all them potion ingredients just yet. By day I go haunting around my sister's old neighborhood and apartment, not being too cautious, I guess, since a couple of her little friends spy me once or twice. One of 'em even follows me into a store, but she's easy to lose.
Of an evening afore we go hunting, time to time, I have me a look in on my sister her own self. Once I even stand there over her bed while she's sleeping, wondering what she'd do if I put that pillow over her head and pushed down on it. Just pushed down hard and keep on a-pushing till all them broken bits of her stop moving altogether.
But I don't.
I also take me a ride back up to Tyson one afternoon and park nearby that trailer park on the end of Indiana Road. I just want me a look-see at Del, for old times' sake. There ain't much moving around in the park âcept a bunch of raggedy dogs and even raggedier-looking kids. But then I finally catch me a glimpse of my old boogeyman. He comes a-shuffling out a his trailer, walking down to the mailboxes, don't even look up at this mighty fine pink Caddy parked 'longside the road.
The years haven't been too kind on him, that's a fact. He's got him some ugly jowls and a bloated gut and he don't look so much scary as pathetic. Still I have me a little dream as I watch him collect his mail. I see me walking up to him, snapping that switchblade open, waiting for the look in his eyes. There gonna be a hint of the old hard Del in 'em, or is he just gonna be scared?
But I don't find out. I let him go back inside his trailer and I sit there awhile longer, not thinking of much of nothing. Finally, I start up the car and make the drive back to Newford.
And then one night we catch that smell we been looking forâpart man, part foxâand I know we're in business.
We already determined we ain't sharing this kill with the rest of the pack. We don't know who or what they are and once we got what we want from the blood of this foxman, we ain't gonna need them no mores anyhow. But right now they're a help to us as we run down our prey.
I guess the whole point of the dreamworld is that's it's going to be full of the unexpected, but I got to tell you, what we find tonight comes on us so outta the blue, my mind closes down on me and I pretty much stop thinking for a heartbeat or two. We're hot on the heels of that little foxman, just a-tearing through the woods, he's so close I can already taste his blood. I know we're seconds from taking him down when we break into a clearing and who do we find but my sister and one of her friends.
The wind's coming from behind us, so we had no warning, not no way. We just stop, the pack automatically forming a half circle, waiting for my lead. But me, I can't think. All I can do is stare at them. Then I realize how scared they are, and I know we got 'em. Don't know what the hell we'll do with 'em, but we got 'em all right.
I walk forward on stiff legs. That wash of red rage is flooding my sight. I think I'm going for 'em. The pack's following my lead, edging closer. But then the friend just ups and vanishes. My sister and me, we lock gazes for a long whiles.
“You know me, don't you?” she says suddenly. “You know me and you really don't like me much.”
Big surprise there, sister of mine.
I lunge for her, but then she follows her friend's lead and just vanishes and I come up hard against the tree behind her. I lose my balance, fall in a tangle, rise up fast, snarling at the pack as they move closer. I piss on the place my sister was standing, then walk stiff-legged away, snapping at the shoulder of the nearest of the pack. She gets submissive real quick, let me tell you.
I look at Pinky and she looks at me. We both know there's no point in following our little foxman now. He's gonna be long gone. I give Pinky a nod and we wake up, the two of us, lying on our motel bed.
“That was her!” Pinky's saying. “Goddamn, but if'n it wasn't your own sister.”
I can't talk yet.
It's not just seeing my sister, it's seeing her over there. In the dreamlands. My goddamn dreamlands.
“How'd she get there first?” I finally manage to say. I sit up and look at Pinky. “How the hell did she get there, walking in her own body like she never got hurt?”
“It's a puzzle, all right.”
I shake my head. “No,” I say, my voice still kinda rasping in my throat. The red veil's still hanging over my eyes. “It's a mistake. She made her a serious mistake 'cause now I got to put her down. No way I'm sharing this with her. You hear me, Pinky? She don't get no more chances.”
“You think this through,” Pinky says. “You don't want to do no more time. Hell, we got us a death penalty still. You kill that girl and you're going to get worse'n time. They're gonna feed you the injection and that'll be all she wrote.”
“I can't let this go.” I stare at Pinky. “All my life, everything that's gone wrong with my life, it was her doing. I can't let her have the dreamlands, too.”
“I ain't saying let it go. I'm saying use them brains of yours to find a cautious way to deal with it.”
“I can't think.”
“Okay,” Pinky says. “You're mad and hurtin'. That's okay. So I'll do your thinkin' for you.”
I just look at her.
“First thing we're gonna do,” she says, “is stay on track here. Hunt us down one of them critters and get the blood we need. And thenâ”
“Then we hurt her.”
Pinky grins. “Hell, Ray. Then we do any damn thing we want. Ain't that how it's gonna work?”
I stare at her through the red haze, but it's starting to fade now.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice still rough. “That's how it's gonna work, all right.”
NEWFORD, MAY
Wendy really did plan to wait
until the next day to go see Jilly with Cassie. She knew waiting would be the sensible thing to do. Sure, Jilly would like the adventure of Wendy sneaking in to see her after visiting hours, but considering how hard they were working her in the rehab, she'd probably be asleep by now anyway. But the problem for Wendy was that the whole experience with the cards already had a certain dreamlike quality about it. Having screwed up by losing the images on the cards, she now felt an urgency to share what she had seen with Jilly before her own memory of it faded away as completely as the images had.
until the next day to go see Jilly with Cassie. She knew waiting would be the sensible thing to do. Sure, Jilly would like the adventure of Wendy sneaking in to see her after visiting hours, but considering how hard they were working her in the rehab, she'd probably be asleep by now anyway. But the problem for Wendy was that the whole experience with the cards already had a certain dreamlike quality about it. Having screwed up by losing the images on the cards, she now felt an urgency to share what she had seen with Jilly before her own memory of it faded away as completely as the images had.
It would have been better if she was an artist and could simply render the images she'd seen, but her drawing skills didn't go much past stick people, so writing it down would have to do. She'd go home and do just that, then, when she went to see Jilly tomorrow she'd have her notes and Cassie would be there to fill in whatever holes there might be in her memory.
So home it was.
She waited at the bus stop and got on her bus when it arrived. It wasn't until she sat down that she realized how, without even thinking about it, she had gotten onto the bus that would take her to the rehab instead of the one back to her own apartment. Settling in her seat, she decided to allow fate to run its course.
She didn't have notes, or Cassie to help her out, but surely her memory would hold for a few more hours. She'd sneak into Jilly's room, wake her if she had to, and tell her what she and Cassie had learned. But when she got to the rehab and snuck past the nurses' station to Jilly's room, it was to find Sophie sitting on the edge of the bed, the two of them arguing, voices pitched low.
“What's going on?” she asked from the doorway.
Both of her friends started, looking almost guilty when they turned in her direction.
“I'm sure I don't know,” Sophie said. “Jilly's gone all wonky on meâas bad as Jinx.”
“Okay,” Wendy said. “Now I'm way confused.” She came into the room and sat on the end of the bed. “Anyone care to enlighten me?”
“But aren't you supposed to reach nirvana on your own merits?” Jilly said.
Sophie gave her a pointed look. “Jilly,” she said in her “it's time to be serious” voice.
Jilly sighed. “Okay,” she said. “But this doesn't mean I agree with you,” she added to Sophie.
“About what?” Wendy asked before they could start to argue again.
Between the two of them, they told her about their evening, how they'd traveled together to the dreamlands, the little man-faced fox they'd seen, the wolves, how the leader of the pack had reminded Jilly of her little sister.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” Wendy said. “Now it makes sense.”
Two blank faces turned in her direction.
“I was just over at Cassie's,” Wendy explained, “and she did a reading for me. Well, for Jilly actually. About this whole problem.”
She described the three images that the cards had shown.
“The first was obviously you when ⦠when you were a kid,” she said.
“Not necessarily,” Jilly told her. “Who knows what happened to Raylene after I left home.”
For a moment none of them could speak as they considered another child having gone through the same torments that Jilly had.
“Okay,” Wendy said, “but the wolves with those faces superimposed on them. The one that looked like you, Jilly. It could have been your sister, right, and not some ⦠um ⦠?”
“Evil psycho twin?”
“I didn't say that.”
“Did you and your sister resemble each other?” Sophie asked.
Jilly gave a small nod. “The whole time we were growing up, she looked exactly like all the pictures of me at the same ages. So it makes sense that the resemblance continued. There was even this guy, when Geordie and I went back to Tyson in '73, who thought I was her.”
“So,” Sophie went on. “If it is your sister, which is starting to seem ever more likely now, she's got access to the dreamlands as well. Along with a bunch of her friends.”
“There was only one other person on the card,” Wendy said.
“There were six or seven in the dreamlands.” Sophie gave a slow shake of her head. “And they were hunting this little man-faced fox. That can't be good.”
“Well,” Wendy said. “If she ran Jilly down with her car and then wrecked all her paintings, we're not exactly talking about a nice person here.”
“You don't understand,” Jilly told them. “Raylene was just the sweetest little kid you could imagine. There's no way she could do those kinds of things. We don't
know
it was her.”
know
it was her.”
“I saw her on the street outside your apartment,” Sophie said. “And so did Isabelle. At least we saw someone who looked
just
like you, Jilly. Who else could it have been? And if she didn't wreck the paintings, then why's she hanging around your street?”
just
like you, Jilly. Who else could it have been? And if she didn't wreck the paintings, then why's she hanging around your street?”
But if Jilly's sister had destroyed the paintings, Wendy thought, why
would
she still be hanging around? But she kept the question to herself, not wanting to interrupt the flow of Sophie's argument.
would
she still be hanging around? But she kept the question to herself, not wanting to interrupt the flow of Sophie's argument.
“And if she doesn't mean you any harm,” Sophie went on, “then why hasn't she come to see you?”
“I don't know.”
“What about the other card?” Wendy asked. “The pink Cadillac?”
“It doesn't even start to ring any bells,” Jilly said.
Sophie started to nod in agreement, but then held up her hand.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I remember that morning I saw the doppelgänger. There'd been a pink car on the street that morning, farther down the block from your place. A long, pink convertible. I remember I started humming that Fred Eaglesmith song when I saw it.”
That brought smiles all aroundâa welcome moment of respite from the intensity of their present conversation.
They'd seen Eaglesmith playing with his band at Your Second Home in January and danced the night away like mad dervishes to the driving sound of surf guitar meets electric bluegrass/country rock, with those gruff but biting vocals of Eaglesmith and the driving delivery of his lyrics cutting above the sound of the band. They'd been utterly enchanted from the first song when they realized that the surf guitar was actually a mandolin treated with electronics. The icing on the cake was the mad percussionist, a fellow called Washboard Hank who'd played a washboard, naturally, but also had a metal fireman's hat with a cymbal on it and all these air horns attached to the washboard. Each of them bought a different one of his CDs after the show and they'd been trading them back and forth ever since.
“âThat's a mighty big car,'” Jilly sang softly.
Sophie nodded. “Maybe it's hers. Your sister's, I mean.”
“I suppose.”
They all fell silent again.
“So what were you two arguing about when I came in?” Wendy asked.
“Sophie wants me to tell Lou about my sister. But I don't want the police involved. I don't want to get her into trouble.”
“But, Jillyâ” Sophie began.
“Especially
not if she had to go through what I did. If I abandoned her to that.” Jilly shook her head. “Who'm I kidding? Of course that's what happened. No wonder she'd be messed up.”
not if she had to go through what I did. If I abandoned her to that.” Jilly shook her head. “Who'm I kidding? Of course that's what happened. No wonder she'd be messed up.”
“But you went through it,” Sophie said. “And you're not messed up.”
“Oh, please. All that crap's been living inside my head for as long as I can remember.”
“But you're not going around hurting people because of it,” Sophie said.
“I was just lucky,” Jilly told her. “I got help. Like in a fairy tale. But she didn't.”
“We don't know that. We don't know anything about her.”
But Jilly wasn't listening. “Did you know that after the accidentâwhen I was still in a coma Joe brought in some magical healers to help me?”
Wendy and Sophie both nodded.
“But they said they couldn't do a thing because first I had to fix that old hurt. Except
how
do you fix something like that? Never mind me dealing with what happened to me. There's also what I did to Raylene. That's not something that can ever be forgotten. Or forgiven.”
how
do you fix something like that? Never mind me dealing with what happened to me. There's also what I did to Raylene. That's not something that can ever be forgotten. Or forgiven.”
Sophie started to speak, but then she just bent her head and took Jiily's hand, giving it a squeeze.
Wendy sighed. Of the three of them, she was the only one who didn't have to deal with some horrible trauma left over from her childhood. The rules that made the world turn had all worked for her. She hadn't had a brother who'd abused her, a mother who'd deserted her, or any of the horrible things that seemed to have happened to two out of any three of the women they knew.
“Well, I agree with Sophie,” she said, reluctant to keep pushing at it, but knowing that someone had to. “I think you have to tell Lou. And you should tell Joe, too.”
But Jilly was already shaking her head.
“Why Joe?” Sophie asked.
“Well, do you know anybody else who knows as much about the dreamlands?” Wendy replied.
Sophie smiled. “Besides me, you mean?”
“He knows different stuff. He doesn't go there just in dreams, right? He'd know how Jilly's sister can be like a wolf over there.”
“If it is my sister,” Jilly said.
“Right. Maybe he could figure that out, too.”
Jilly shook her head. “I don't want her hurt anymore.”
“But what if she's hurting other people besides you?” Wendy asked. “Maybe on some cosmic karma chart, you deserve penance for running off on your sister the way you didâthough I, for one, don't believe it. God, you were just a kid yourself. Look at all the years you were so messed up.”
“That's an excuse?”
“No,” Wendy told Jilly. “That's just a fact. But what if she's hurting other people? Innocent people. Are they supposed to pay penance as well?”
“No. Of course not.”
“So we have to tell.”
“Oh, god, I don't know,” Jilly said. “Can we leave it until tomorrow ? I just can't think about it right now.”
Wendy exchanged a quick glance with Sophie.
“Of course we can,” she said.
Jilly studied her for a moment. “Promise me you won't do anything till after we've talked tomorrow.” She looked at Sophie as well. “Both of you.”
“I won't tell Lou,” Wendy said, “but I think Joe should know as soon as possible.”
Jilly didn't say anything for a long heartbeat, then finally gave a small nod.
“Sure,” she said. “We can tell him. Though how you expect to find him, I don't know. He's gone deep into the dreamlands.”
Wendy nodded. “That's what Cassie said. But I'll pass the word on to herâand,” she quickly added, “I'll tell her not to talk to anyone else about it.”
There was little to say after that, so Sophie and Wendy got ready to leave.
“You'll be okay by yourself?” Sophie asked.
“As okay as I ever am these days.”
Wendy's heart broke to hear the resignation in Jilly's voice. After they said their good-byes and were walking down the hall, she turned to Sophie.
“You could look for him, too, couldn't you?” she asked.
Sophie shook her head. “I wouldn't know how to start. But I can certainly put the word out when I go to Mabon tonight.”
“We've got to help her through this,” Wendy said. “All of this.”
Sophie gave a glum nod. She fit her hand into the crook of Wendy's arm and the two of them left the rehab with their heads leaning together, trying to gather what strength and comfort they could from each other.
I'm so scared to go to sleep after Sophie and Wendy leave. I'm not even close to being ready to believe that my sister could be trying to kill meâeither with a car in the World As It Is, or in the dreamlands as a wolf. I know people change, but that much? It doesn't seem possible that the
sweet kid I left behind when I ran away from home could grow up to become some kind of monstrous shapechanging killer. It's too big a stretch and my mind can't accept it.
sweet kid I left behind when I ran away from home could grow up to become some kind of monstrous shapechanging killer. It's too big a stretch and my mind can't accept it.
But whoever occupied the brain behind that wolf's eyes sure hated me.
That
I have no trouble believing. And it makes me nervous about going to sleep. I mean, I know I can just wake up to escape her if I run into her again, but what if she follows me back this time? Is that possible? I know Joe can walk in and out of the dreamlands at will. What if I only surprised her that last time and she wasn't quick enough to follow? Or what if she is quick enough, but she just hasn't yet? Or maybe she already knows where to find me, the Broken Girl lying helpless here like some bedridden version of Little Red Riding Hood, and she's just biding her time until she finally decides to come and get me here.
That
I have no trouble believing. And it makes me nervous about going to sleep. I mean, I know I can just wake up to escape her if I run into her again, but what if she follows me back this time? Is that possible? I know Joe can walk in and out of the dreamlands at will. What if I only surprised her that last time and she wasn't quick enough to follow? Or what if she is quick enough, but she just hasn't yet? Or maybe she already knows where to find me, the Broken Girl lying helpless here like some bedridden version of Little Red Riding Hood, and she's just biding her time until she finally decides to come and get me here.
I wish I hadn't thought of that, because now I find myself straining at every odd sound I hear, imagining the click of a wolf's nails on the marble floors. I can't hide. I can't get up out of this bed. I can't even pull the bedclothes up over my head. And there wouldn't be just the one wolf either, but a whole pack of them, making their way down the hall to my room.
And this bugs me, too, because I've always loved wolves and now she's got me scared of them. I know they're predators and all, but I also know they don't attack humans unless they've been provoked.
But what did I ever do to provoke it?
Sophie's arguments come back to me and I'm full circle again, denying it could be my little sister Raylene, but I'm even more tired now than I was when Sophie was actually here for the conversation, my eyelids drooping like leaden weights, but my pulse working double time because of what might be waiting for me on the other side of sleep.
I'm surprised I ever get to sleep at all. But when I do, when I step back into the once upon a time of my dreams â¦
As I feel myself drifting away, I concentrate on that last place I was with Tobyâhigh up in the branches of the biggest of the cathedral treesâbecause I feel I'll be safe there, far from the reach of any wolf, shapechanger or otherwise. At least it sounds good in theory.
Except what if she can just appear up in those branches the way I hope to?
She has to have been here first, the logical part of my mind argues. That's how it works. You can slip over and end up anywhereâthe way people do when they're dreaming, and then they barely remember it anywayâor you can decide where you want to go, but you have to have been there before to do that. And what are the chances she's been there before?
But if she's a shapechanger, what's to stop her from changing into human form and climbing up after me? Or taking the shape of a bird, for that matter.
I fall asleep before my logic can find a way to make me feel better about that and then it becomes a moot point anyway because, instead of finding myself safe in that cathedral tree, I'm on a hilltop with a strange building at my back, looking down at where an enormous forest starts at the distant foot of the slope and runs off into the far horizon. It takes me a moment to realize it's the Greatwood I'm looking at. I've never seen it before from this vantage.
I take my gaze from the panorama and study the slope around me. There's such a jumble of rock and so many little ravines you could hide a dozen packs of wolves down there. When I don't see anything move after long moments, I turn slowly to have a look at the building.
There's not much to see from where I'm standing. There are windows in its stone wallsâthree tiers of them, one for each story, I guessâbut the glass is too dark for me to see in. The fieldstone walls themselves appear to have been raised from material gathered close at hand and there's still plenty more of it to be found there, a quarry's worth of loose rocks and small boulders scattered all the way down the slope of the hill before it disappears into the forest. The roof of the building is thatched and the only opening I can see in the wall is this large arch that appears to lead into a cobblestoned courtyard, though oddly it has no keystone.
I give the slope and the forest a last look, then start for the building. A few minutes later, I step through the archway and into the courtyard. The space inside is large, maybe the size of a baseball diamond. There's another arch directly opposite and large wooden doors in the walls on either side. Wooden benches are set against the walls and there's a well in the center of the cobblestones. Higher up, the walls are studded with more windows, the glass all dark like the ones I saw outside. The lower
ones have window boxes under them, overflowing with herbs and flowering plants.
ones have window boxes under them, overflowing with herbs and flowering plants.
I walk over to the well and look down. I can't see the bottom. The air in the courtyard is crisp and clean, but I can smell beer and things cooking: something spicy and the unmistakable aroma of fresh baked bread. Of the four doors, only two are open. Through the one to my right I can see stalls and bales of hay so I guess it leads to the stables. Through the one on the left I can make out a scattering of wooden tables with chairs set around each. My gaze lifts above the door and finds the sign hanging there:
Inn of the Star-Crossed
Now I know where I am. This is that building I saw from the branch of the huge cathedral tree I climbed when I was with Toby the other day.
There doesn't appear to be anyone around, but someone has to be cooking and baking, and maybe brewing beer. I want to call out, but I'm nervous about bringing the wrong kind of attention to myself. It's all too easy to imagine wolves skulking in the shadows, or watching me from behind the dark panes of all those windows.
I walk toward the door with the sign above it and step inside, blinking as my eyes adjust to the dimmer light. There's a long wooden bar directly to my left. It looks like something out of a cowboy movie with a mirror the length of the bar on the wall behind it and all the bottles and glasses on the shelves in front of the mirror. As my eyes adjust to the light I realize that the liquid in those bottles are all the colors of the rainbow. Weird. I can't imagine turquoise wine. Or blue whiskey.
Farther to the left is a hearth with no fire in it. There are wooden booths like in a diner on either side of the hearth, more along the wall to my right. Paintings and tapestries hang from the wallsâlandscapes and old-fashioned portraits. Each table and booth has a couple of fat white candles on it, unlit. There's no one sitting at any of the tables. No one behind the bar.
I clear my throat.
“Um ⦠is anybody here?”
There's no reply, but I hear the sound of cloth brushing against cloth, as though someone's shifting their position. Then I see that there's a person
sitting in one of the booths to the right of the hearth. I hesitate a moment, waiting to see if he or she'll speak. When they don't, I look around myself once more, then cautiously cross over to that booth, winding my way through the empty tables, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
sitting in one of the booths to the right of the hearth. I hesitate a moment, waiting to see if he or she'll speak. When they don't, I look around myself once more, then cautiously cross over to that booth, winding my way through the empty tables, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
The man sitting there watches me approach, but he doesn't say a word. He has a glass filled with a blue liquid in front of him on the table. There are wet blue rings on the wood around the glass. The man is handsome, in a rough sort of way. Bad-boy handsome, Wendy'd say. The kind you see outside of pool halls, but not so much a loser as a bit of a romantic loner. He'd have a motorcycle and he'd smoke, but he'd probably have a paperback of Rimbaud in his back pocket. Or at least something by one of the Beats. Dark hair pushed back from his brow and clean-shaven. Blue-eyed with long dark lashes that most women would kill for. Lean, dressed all in black. The hand resting on the table beside his drink is slender and well formed, but it's not a weak hand.
“Um, hello,” I say. “I'm sorry to bother you ⦔
He keeps looking at me, but doesn't give me any indication that he understands what I'm saying.
“Do you speak English?” I try.
He lifts his glass and has a drink, then sets it down to make a new blue circle to join the others.
“Well, well,” he finally says. “Look what we have here. The mother of misery herself. Well, you've come to the wrong place, dearheart. Anybody who comes here is already full up on their own unhappinesses. No need for you to come 'round and peddle yours.”
He has the kind of voice that immediately makes little catpaws go running up your spine. Low and resonant. Very personable, for all the nasty things he's saying. I don't want to like him, but I can't help but feel drawn to him and that annoys me.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
“Does it matter?”
“Well, if you're going to be unkind, I think you should at least have a reason. Or are you just naturally mean-spirited?”
The blue eyes regard me for a long moment before he says, “Though some might consider otherwise, I save my cruelty for those that deserve it.”
Lovely. Mr. Congeniality here isn't exactly a wolf with hate in her
eyes, lunging at my throat, but he's obviously not a member of my fan club either. This being immediately disliked by people and creatures I don't even know is a novel and unnerving experience for me. It's not that I'm perfect or think that everybody should like me or anything. But I've never made enemies very well, and whenever I have hurt anybody, however inadvertently, I make a point of apologizing and trying to set things right as soon as I can. Always have.
eyes, lunging at my throat, but he's obviously not a member of my fan club either. This being immediately disliked by people and creatures I don't even know is a novel and unnerving experience for me. It's not that I'm perfect or think that everybody should like me or anything. But I've never made enemies very well, and whenever I have hurt anybody, however inadvertently, I make a point of apologizing and trying to set things right as soon as I can. Always have.
Except for that one time when I ran away from home â¦
That makes me wonder. Maybe he's mad at her and has the two of us mixed up with each other.
“Do you know my sister?” I ask.
“Heaven help us. There are two of you?”
“Look,” I say. “What's your problem? So far as I know, I've never met you before so you don't know anything about me.”
“You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?”
“What I think is you've either got me confused with someone else, or you're just a rude person.”
“They call me the Tattersnake,” he says then. “Does that help jog your memory?”
The name rings a bell, but I can't quite place it. It think it's lost in one of my little memory holes until it suddenly comes to me.
“You're Toby's friend,” I say.
Except what had Toby said?
You can't be friends with the Tattersnake. That's like trying to be friends with the stars or the moonâever so filled with the potential for disappointment. Because they're so bright, and they hang so very high.
“No, not friend,” I add before he can make some new nasty comment. “Toby said you weren't the sort of person you can be friends with.”
The eyebrows lift and fall and there's a mocking look in those blue eyes of his.
“Is that what he said?” he asks.
There's just a hint of danger in his voice and I start to feel nervous again. I keep myself from looking around, but where
is
everybody? Shouldn't there at least be an innkeeper?
is
everybody? Shouldn't there at least be an innkeeper?
“I'm a friend of Joe's,” I tell him, using the name as a talisman, hoping that it will mean something the way it did with the cousins I've met in the Greatwood. “You know.” I have to think a moment to retrieve the name Jolene has for Joe. “Animandeg.”
“But Joe's not here, is he?”
I don't let my fear show, unless you count the trembling in my legs, but his gaze is locked on my face so I'm guessing he doesn't see the way they're shaking.
“Yeah, well, it's been fun,” I tell him.
Before I can start to back away, he makes a negligent wave to the bench on the other side of the booth from where he's sitting.
“But, please,” he says “Don't go off pouting now. Have a seat. Share some of your wisdom with me.”
“I don't know what you mean.”
“Oh, come on. Everyone's talking about you down in the Great-wood: the dreaming girl with the big spirit light burning in her. They're all so sure your arrival means something grand.”
He's having fun with this, but his amusement only goes so far as the mockery in his eyes. I don't need to be a mind reader to know that he's got some serious “I hate you” jones that he needs to express. I want to be out of here before it goes from verbal to physical.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I tell him. “I don't know anything.”
“And yet you're so very free with your advice and wisdom. Oh, and your help. You're so very helpful as well, aren't you? Or at least for so long as it suits you.”
I start to back up. I don't know who he's got me mixed up withâmy sister, some complete strangerâbut I don't like where this is going. Not at all.
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