Manfred was literally sitting on the edge of his seat. For the first time, he understood how exciting sports could be. And though he found himself waiting for each pitch with almost breathless suspense, in the back of his mind he couldn’t believe this was the point of his presence. Team sports? Really, Xylda? All this way to appreciate bats and balls and team spirit?
When Ashley Stark came up to bat, Sookie directed Manfred’s attention to a man in a purple and gold polo shirt sitting right behind the plate, and a woman in khakis and a bright blue polo shirt who was one row up and a little to the left of him. “Scouts,” she murmured. “Purple and gold is LSU. The blue is Louisiana Tech.” Everyone on the Bon Temps bleachers seemed to catch their breath while they directed their will toward helping their girl to do well. It was their own kind of magic, a natural magic. Ashley was oddly beautiful in the batter’s box, her shoulders level, her grip on the bat relaxed and firm, her face a mask of calm.
The Lady Mudbug pitcher watched the signals from the catcher and gave a quick nod. The tension was so great that Manfred found himself absolutely absorbed in watching the girl wind up and pitch, for the first time appreciating an incredibly complex sequence of movements.
Manfred spared a side glance at Sookie. She was intent on Coach Fleming. The assistant coach was glaring back at her, his hands against his thighs as he stood in the dugout. His fingers were motionless.
Manfred’s gaze cut back to Ashley as she swung the bat. Ashley smacked the ball a mighty blow, and it flew straight and hard . . . directly into the Mudbug pitcher’s mitt. For a second it seemed as though the pitcher would fly away, the ball smacked her mitt with such force, but she seemed to dig her feet into the dirt to stand in place.
There was a collective groan from the Bon Temps supporters, and an ecstatic shriek from the Toussaint fans.
Sookie covered her face with her hands for a second, then straightened up, shaking the dismay off.
“Are you okay?” Manfred asked. “You went to so much trouble . . .”
“All I wanted was for her to have a fair chance,” Sookie said. “And the rest, well, that was up to her. Maybe the rest of the game will go better.”
Manfred did not comment on the fact that Sookie’s eyes were brimming with tears.
The top of the sixth did go better, to some extent, though Manfred watched it alone. Sookie had to leave since it was her turn in the concessions booth, and Manfred told her he’d come say good-bye as soon as the game was over. He’d known her for less than two hours, but he felt he couldn’t leave Louisiana without speaking to the telepath again.
Ashley Stark kept her composure and pitched beautifully, getting three Lady Mudbugs out in a row. In the bottom of the sixth, to Manfred’s pleasure, the Lady Falcons scored three runs. They were now tied with the Lady Mudbugs. The next inning would be the last. In Sookie’s absence, Manfred considered himself bound to keep a close eye on Coach Fleming, and he also felt obliged, in Sookie’s stead, to add his well-wishing to the swell of support for Ashley Stark.
He wondered what had kept Sookie from getting similar scholarship offers. It wasn’t much of a stretch to understand why she was so invested in the success of the Bon Temps pitcher.
In the bottom final inning, with the score still tied, Ashley got the hit that won the game. With two outs, and no one on base, she swung the bat with incredible precision and power. The softball flew over the fence. Ashley trotted around the bases with a broad smile, happy on many different levels. The other Lady Falcons jumped up and down and ran to meet her at home plate. The Lady Falcon supporters went nuts, hollering and jumping. But all her happiness condensed to one thing: she’d done well, she’d won the game for her team.
Was this why I came here, Xylda? To see this girl’s joy at doing something well, something she could only do with the help of others? If I recognize that, do I win, too? He wondered if Xylda was witnessing this moment from the blue hereafter.
On the field, the girls kept their game faces on as they formed two lines and ran past each other, hands held out to touch, chanting, “Good game, good game.” And then the Lady Falcons hugged each other, laughing, while the Lady Mudbugs retreated silently to their dugout to gather up their stuff. Their second pitcher was crying, and the first pitcher put an arm around her.
Manfred had never been as lonely as he was while he watched the celebration among the Lady Falcons. Most of the Mudbugs looked as though they were locked in their own private unhappiness, especially the assistant coach. They filed out of their dugout to go to their bus.
Xylda, did you want me to learn that even clever dishonesty can go wrong? Though that didn’t seem like a Xylda message. Normally, when Manfred had been able to guess what game Xylda was playing, he’d feel her approval. But he hadn’t felt that today, no matter what he did or guessed. He shrugged. Xylda’s wiles were beyond him, today. He scrambled down the stands to work his way to the concession booth, a squat cement-block building. He looked back at the field. He figured the booth workers could get a glimpse of the scoreboards but not a good view of the events.
Manfred got in line, since there was simply no other way to speak to his new friend. The woman ahead of him (whose daughter was playing in the next game, from her cell phone conversation) got nachos, and he had to control his disgust as Sookie poured tortilla chips from a bag into a paper dish and ladled liquid “cheese” over them, topping the whole toxic concoction with jalapeño pepper slices.
The very young woman working the concession booth with Sookie looked up at him while she handed the woman her change. “Next?” she said inquiringly. When their eyes met, something in his gut lurched, not in lust but in recognition.
“Manfred,” Sookie said, “this is Quiana Wong.”
Manfred struggled to absorb many impressions at once. This girl (she couldn’t be more than eighteen) was a racial mixture he’d never encountered. Her hair was straight, coarse, and black. Her eyes were slightly slanted and dark brown. Her skin was golden, like the perfect tan. She was short and skinny . . . and she was a psychic. Like him.
Her desperation rolled over him like a blanket of fog.
He glanced around; for the moment, he was the only customer at this window, but that wouldn’t last.
“I started thinking about why you might be here,” Sookie said, to fill the fraught silence. “So I called Quiana. She’s an orphan, so she hasn’t got a permanent place to live. She’s like you, as I can see you’ve realized. And she hasn’t had any training or ‘mentoring,’ as they call it now.” Sookie beamed at him. She clearly felt she’d solved the mystery of why Xylda had manifested herself in Manfred’s dream—so he could rescue Quiana. Manfred spared a moment from his contemplation of the girl to understand that Sookie was a rescuer, and she could not conceive that he might not see himself that way.
“You want to get out of here,” he said to Quiana. It was evident in every line of the girl’s body. “You want to meet other people like yourself.”
“Yes,” Quiana Wong said. She had a heavy Southern accent. “I don’t fit in anywhere. I do want to meet more people like me. You’re the first one.”
“Quiana’s mom was half Chinese, half African American,” Sookie said quietly. “Her dad was no-account white.”
Quiana nodded. “He was that and more.”
“They’re gone?” Manfred said. “Dead?”
Quiana nodded again. “They fought all the time anyway,” she said flatly. “Neither of them could rise to the challenge of being together, but they couldn’t let each other go, either.”
“What do you do now?” Manfred asked her.
“I’m a nanny,” the girl said. “I take care of twins.”
“I’m not going to be too popular with Tara,” Sookie muttered, turning to put more hot dogs on the rotating grill. “Hey, Quiana, can you load up more popcorn?”
Quiana obliged, and then Ma
nfred had to step aside as she became busy. The concession stand was just as noisy as the spectator area, with the background noises from the popper, the chatter of customers, the hum of the crowds, and the crackling of the sound system. Children too young to sit still to watch a game were running and yelling in the space between the back of the stands and the concession stand. While Manfred waited, Quiana Wong and Sookie served a man wanting two bottles of water and a candy bar, a little girl who wanted a hot dog with mustard and pickles, and a boy with braces who wanted a Coke and some nachos. There were also requests for candy bars, bags of potato chips, and sunflower seeds. Two other volunteers were just as busy at the window on the other side.
To Manfred’s relief, two plump middle-aged women popped into the stand to relieve Sookie and Quiana, who stepped outside, looking tired. By silent mutual consent, the trio drifted over to an empty area near the fence surrounding the fields, far enough from the entrance booth and the clusters of players to remain unheard.
“I’m eighteen,” Quiana said. “I’m free. I graduated high school.”
“And you want me to take you when I leave, to find a psychic you can stay with and learn from.” Manfred wanted to be sure he understood what was on the plate.
“That’s what I want more than anything in the world. I know it can’t be you. That wouldn’t be right. I need to learn how to control this power, without the sex thing getting messed up with it.”
She meant each disjointed phrase, meant it absolutely. Manfred noticed that Sookie was looking at Quiana almost sadly, and he was sure the blonde was revisiting her own teen years in Bon Temps, when she, too, had been on the fringes of everything.
“I’m thinking,” Manfred said, when he realized both Sookie and Quiana were waiting for him to speak. Who would take Quiana? If his grandmother had been among the living, his course of action would have been easy. He considered the possible choices in his small community—small in numbers, but spread all across the United States and Canada. To his surprise, a name popped into his mind.
“I do know someone. Marilyn Finn. She’s got a going business, real small, but she has genuine talent. She needs some help.” She’d told him so via e-mail, not a week before. She’d hinted around that he himself might like a place to stay and work, now that his grandmother was gone. “What . . . are you?”
“Spirits can get into me,” she said. “I don’t know what to call it.”
“You’re a true psychic,” he said. “That’s what I’d call you, anyway. Quiana, let me step away and give her a quick call.”
“Great,” Quiana said, but her eyes closed and she swayed for a moment. Then she looked at Manfred with an eerie directness, as if she could see through the back of his eyes and into his brain. “I see you in the desert,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I see you in an old place, with lots of old things, and people who have amazing secrets.” Then her eyes were focused on the outside of Manfred again. “Sorry. Sometimes I have the foreseeing, too.”
Manfred took a deep breath and waited for a moment. She seemed to be through exhibiting her talents, and he was profoundly glad. “Ah, thanks for the heads-up on that. Back to Marilyn. You’d have to work hard. I’m assuming she’d have you meeting clients and giving them the procedure to follow during the readings, taking the money, answering the e-mails, and so on. But Marilyn has a lot of contacts in our community, and she’s more social than I am. You’d meet a lot of people and you’d learn a lot. She’s a good woman, too.”
“Anything is better than sleeping in a room with my cousin’s two little boys,” Quiana said earnestly.
Manfred gave her a quick smile, walked away, and made a phone call, his back to the two women, though he knew as far as Sookie was concerned this privacy was only an illusion. He was relieved to hear Marilyn Finn answer the phone herself.
When he snapped his phone shut and walked back to the thin girl and the robust blonde, he was smiling with relief. “She said okay,” Manfred told them. He didn’t add that he had been bound to promise to do two large favors for Marilyn in return.
“Thank you,” Sookie said sincerely. But Manfred could tell she had reservations. Any sane woman would, at the prospect of sending a girl into a completely blind situation on the say-so of a brand-new acquaintance.
Quiana was openly excited.
“I swear to you, it’s on the up-and-up,” Manfred told Sookie. She flushed.
“I’m holding you to that,” she said. “And Quiana will let me know if it’s not.” She hesitated, then quietly said, “You’re doing a good thing.”
In Sookie’s eyes, Manfred could see he was cast in the role of rescuer of a fair young maiden. He glanced at Quiana, trying not to smile. He had to admit that he didn’t exactly find her fair, and he was pretty sure she was no maiden. But he did have a lot of sympathy for her: that would have to do.
Maybe Sookie is right. Maybe this is why Xylda sent me, Manfred thought. Not to meet Sookie Stackhouse, or thwart the Mudbug coach, but to rescue Quiana. Have I gotten to the goal, Grandma?
“So . . . how will this work?” Quiana asked, suddenly getting down to brass tacks. “I’ve gotta tell the du Rones I’m leaving. The parents of the twins. I owe that to them. Where does this Marilyn Finn live? How do I get there? Am I going to be staying in her house with her?”
“Marilyn lives in Oakmont, Pennsylvania,” Manfred said. “It’s got a lot of charm. I’ll take you to the airport in Shreveport when I leave here, and we’ll go in and work out the best route for you. Then we’ll call Marilyn, and she’ll meet you at the airport when you land. Marilyn and I are splitting your ticket.”
“What if I don’t like her?”
“Then we’ll work out something else,” Manfred said. “But I’m hoping you two will get along fine.” Manfred tried to keep You’d better out of his voice, but Quiana understood. She gave him a sharp nod.
“If it doesn’t work out, you call me,” Sookie said, and Quiana looked relieved.
The Lady Falcons were clustered under a tree about five yards away, and their coach was giving them a serious lecture, rehashing the things they’d done right and the things they’d done wrong. The lecture ended at that moment, and the girls dispersed, some running to get in line at the concession booth, some meeting with their parents, who’d been waiting a respectful distance away. When Sookie, Manfred, and Quiana walked back to the booth (Quiana had to retrieve her purse), a couple of Lady Falcons approached, obviously wanting to talk to Sookie. One of them was Ashley Stark.
Quiana reached into the little building and grabbed her purse, and told Manfred she was going to her cousin’s home to call the du Rones and to pack her things. She pointed down the street from the softball fields to a row of dilapidated houses that had obviously all been built at the same unhappy time by the same inept builder.
With the understanding that he would pick her up in an hour, Manfred tuned in to the conversation Sookie was having with Ashley.
“That was weirdest thing I ever saw,” Ashley was saying, and Manfred thought, Uh-oh. Though it was wounding to always be regarded as fraudulent, if not worse, Manfred truly believed that the world was better off in general if fewer people believed in the other world, the hidden world.
Sookie said, “It was a fluke, Ashley. You got a great hit in the last inning, Manfred says.” She introduced him briefly, but Ashley hardly spared him a glance. She was too worried. Sookie returned to the previous topic. “I just know someone’s going to pay attention,” she said, hugging the senior.
“I want it more than anything,” Ashley said. “If I’m ever going to get out of here . . .” Manfred could read the intensity in the girl, the iron in her.
Sookie jerked her head to the left and said, “Look, Ashley. I think someone’s waiting for you.”
Manfred turned to look in the direction Sookie had indicated, and he saw a man and a woman who were clearly Ashley�
��s parents, if resemblance was any indication. They were standing with the scout from Louisiana Tech. They were all smiling.
Ashley took a deep, ragged breath. Her back stiffened. She said, “Talk to you later, Miss Sookie,” and walked off to meet her future.
Manfred was almost bursting. “Maybe she’s destined for great things, or for some spectacular moment, and that’s why Xylda sent me here . . . to make sure she got that chance.”
Sookie Stackhouse laughed out loud. “You got to have one reason?” She sobered quickly. “Seriously, you lead a simple life if things happen to you for only one reason.”
Manfred felt himself flush. He couldn’t imagine that a barmaid in a hick town could have that complex a life. “Right,” he said, and there was an edge to his voice.
She looked at him with a touch of surprise and a little sorrow. “I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said.
For one of the few times in his brief life, Manfred was ashamed of himself. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, trying to keep the reluctance out of his voice. “Maybe Xylda wanted me to come here for five different reasons. She loved her little games. She always challenged me. She never made it easy.”
“My gran was real different from the way you describe Miss Xylda,” Sookie said. “She never played games. She stepped off the beaten track one time, and she regretted that transgression, in some ways, all her days. She was a little superstitious, though. She always thought bad things came in threes.”
“Xylda said it was oversimplification to believe that events happen in threes—three deaths, three good things, three bad things. She said it all depended on your time frame.” Manfred smiled, trying to smooth things over.
“If you add things up over a year, or over four months?”
“Or an hour,” Manfred said. “She thought if you fixed on three, you limited yourself.”
“She was quite the psychologist,” Sookie said.
Games Creatures Play Page 3
