As she sat now by her mother’s bedside, Sadie thought about Mrs. Bradford, and about her son’s thinning hair, and about every other person in Red Valley who’d driven up to see the Liar and put their blood in her book. What Lies could be worth it? Sadie remembered thinking about what Lies she’d tell if she could, about having more friends and living in a big house. But once she understood the Liar’s Price, those dreams withered and blew away. Life was short enough already.
And yet her mom had paid the Liar’s Price just to hide her cancer. The doctors had given her the diagnosis, and rather than come home and break the bad news to her daughter, she wrote down another Lie in her book and sealed it with her own blood. She’d given up hours—days? weeks?—together, and for what? To look pretty for one more day? So she didn’t have to see her hair falling out because of the chemo? Or so she didn’t have to have a hard conversation about death?
They’d fought that morning. They fought most mornings, about stupid shit: taking the garbage down their long driveway to the cans by the road, an unwashed coffee pot that had started to grow mold, or musty clothes scattered on the bathroom floor. Ever since Sadie had graduated from high school, their little house had felt even smaller and her mom less forgiving. You don’t like it, there’s the door was the unspoken threat under every argument.
A lot of her classmates had gone on to the state university in Paso Verde, the next town south, but Sadie’s grades had doomed her to a life waiting tables at the diner, seeing the same faces every day, a little bit older and more worn out each time. She’d been miserable at first, but as the interchangeable weeks became interchangeable years, she’d gotten used to it, numb to it, like blistered skin finally growing a callus. She still hated Red Valley sometimes, with its lifeless streets and dead-end jobs, but mostly she couldn’t bother to care. Red Valley had more than its share of strangeness: weird, unexplainable shit that might be the coolest thing you ever saw or the last, but the real power in this town was its ability to make sure nothing ever really changed.
Sadie watched her mom’s raspy breaths. She did still look healthy, but there were signs, if you looked closely. There were new wrinkles deep around her eyes. Her fingers—usually bright with some awful polish Sadie secretly coveted—were colorless save for dried blood around broken nails. Her lips were cracked.
“You let me yell at you about the fucking cornflakes,” Sadie whispered to the quiet room. She wanted to scream; she wanted to cry. Her heart was a dead weight in her chest and her whole world narrowed to a sliver of fluorescent light falling on a face she barely recognized.
Chapter Two
Her mom died around dinnertime. Sadie was holding her hand when it happened. She wouldn’t have even noticed if the machines hadn’t started putting up a racket; the change in her mom—from a person to a body—was subtle. Nurses came in, but they didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. They put up a bit of a fight, but Sadie knew it was mostly a performance, one last bit of dignity afforded to that poor woman and her stone-faced daughter.. Someone wrote the time down on a chart, someone else squeezed Sadie’s arm, and Nurse Abagail turned off the machines. The room fell quiet. Even the old A/C unit shuddered and went still.
Sadie just made it to the toilet down the hall before she threw up. Her whole body jittered like she’d grabbed an electric fence and held on tight. The bathroom’s tile floor was cold on her legs and her face felt like it was on fire. She sat there for a long time, afraid to even move, because once she did, she’d have to get up, and go back out into that hallway, and then outside into that heat that never let up, and then… where?
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Nurse Abagail found her there and gently helped her to her feet. She kept talking the whole time in a soft, careful voice, like you would to a wild animal you didn’t want to spook, saying how sorry she was, and how someone would call her about arrangements for the body, and how they’d pack up her mom’s things and drop them by her house, and how Sadie ought to go home and get some rest, and how she could cry if she needed to. But Sadie didn’t cry and didn’t speak. Just stood in silence on numb legs that didn’t know where to walk.
Someone was standing outside her mom’s room talking to the nurses there. Sadie stared blankly at him until he noticed her. She recognized him then: Pastor Steve, the youth pastor from the First Church of the Risen Christ down on Walnut Avenue. Sadie had been to their meetings a few times over the years—her only friend in the world, Graciela, had wanted to check it out—but had never felt much during their singing or preaching. Graciela hadn’t cared much for the sermons either, but she had liked the hot young pastor, with his trendy haircut and tattooed forearms. He was a little older now, but still cute, if anyone could be cute under whitewashed lights in an ICU.
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly when he got closer. He had on faded jeans and a rumpled button-down shirt and had a well-worn bible tucked under one arm. “I was here doing my care visits, and the nurses just told me what happened. I’m just so sorry.”
“Yeah,” Sadie said.
“I’ve already called the church to activate the prayer chain,” he said. “People all over town will be praying for you and your family.”
Family. Her mom was all she had. Now she had nobody.
When she didn’t reply, Pastor Steve went on in his smooth, soothing tone, “No matter how it feels right now, remember that you aren’t alone in this time of trouble. We’re all praying.”
A short-lived anger rose up in her chest like the vomit that had carried her to the bathroom. What good are your prayers now? She’s already gone. But Sadie didn’t say anything. This was just another kind of asshole, like those at the diner. Fake smile, thick skin. She mustered the best smile she could and Pastor Steve didn’t press further. He gave Sadie a hug, the bulk of his bible smacking hard on her back, and then left her there, alone. Really, truly, fucking alone.
She signed a few forms, absorbed a few more condolences, and then made her way outside. The doors slid open to another hot Red Valley summer night. No breeze moved. The sky was still a little pink along the horizon, but it was fading fast. Thick-bodied insects tick-ticked away at the street lights in the half-empty parking lot. A pair of male nurses in green scrubs crowded around a concrete ashtray and blew gray cigarette smoke into the air.
So, she thought. What now?
A car slowly drove into the lot, blinding her for a moment with its headlights. It pulled up along the red-painted curb and stopped. The nurses looked up, but when they recognized the car—a charcoal 1967 Cadillac lined in chrome—they quickly averted their eyes. It was parked illegally, but in Red Valley, the laws didn’t apply to everybody the same.
The car’s door swung open on creaky hinges. Sadie didn’t move. She knew who this was; everyone in town knew who drove this car. You stood aside when you saw it coming, out of fear or deference; didn’t matter, as long as you got the hell out of the way. Sadie had seen this car—and the others like it—plenty of times, cruising slowly down Main Street or Baker Road, passing easily through stop signs and traffic lights, always watching.
The driver stepped out. He was a tall, gaunt man with sandy hair. His clothes—a decade or two out of fashion—didn’t fit quite right, including a brown leather jacket with a ripped sleeve. Sadie couldn’t see his eyes through his large mirrored sunglasses.
Some people in town called men like this mirroreyes, because when you stared at them all you saw was yourself looking back at you. Everybody in town called them creepy but never when one could hear you, and you never knew when they could hear. Their official name, if they had such a thing, was the King’s Men, and they were the King’s voice and ears in Red Valley. You didn’t want one of the King’s Men looking at you, and you damn sure didn’t want one of them talking to you. And you really, really didn’t want to get into their car.
The King’s Man was staring at Sadie.
“The King offers his sympathies,” the King’s Man said. Hi
s voice was flat, lifeless, like he was reading a prepared statement. His hands hung limp at his sides. The two nurses quickly crushed their cigarettes and retreated into the hospital.
“Excuse me?” Sadie said. Sweat was creeping steadily down her spine.
The King’s Man said nothing at first. Instead he cocked his head slightly to the side, as if he was listening to something. Then he said, “The King wishes to express that he thought fondly of your mother and mourns her passing.”
Mom knew the King? The Liar’s power came from the King, but Sadie had never considered that her mom might have met him. Everyone knew of the King, but no one interacted with him. As far as Sadie knew, no one had ever even seen the King, though the effects he had on Red Valley were felt every day. Everything weird in Red Valley had some connection to the King; his presence had seeped into the hills, the forests, and the fields, and had altered the land forever.
“Thank you?” Sadie managed to reply eventually.
“The Liar is a vital part of Red Valley,” the King’s Man said. “It is an essential function.”
Another car entered the parking lot. Behind the glare, Sadie could see a rack of lights mounted on the roof and a seven-pointed star painted on the door: a sheriff’s car. It moved real slow toward the King’s Man, almost reluctantly.
“Well she’s gone now,” Sadie said, maybe a little too sharply, considering who she was talking to. She knew she should be afraid and could feel the expected fear down deep in her gut, but every time it started to take over, she pictured her mom’s still face and suddenly there just wasn’t any room for fear in a head choked with grief and anger. “I guess we’ll all have to make do.”
The sheriff’s car circled the lot, staying conspicuously far from the hospital entrance.
The King’s Man raised one of his pale hands and traced the tip of a finger across his pale lips. It was a strange, foreign gesture, and she wasn’t sure he was even aware he was doing it. “There’s always been a Liar in Red Valley. There will always be a Liar in Red Valley. There must be.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”
Another pause. “Your mother had an arrangement with the King. Her mother did too. And her mother. And hers.” The King’s Man took a step closer, or at least she thought he did, but she didn’t see him move. He was just suddenly only a few feet from her, the lights from inside the hospital glaring back at her from his mirrored eyes. “And now so do you.”
“What?” Sadie backed up. “I’m not the Liar.”
“You are,” the King’s Man said. “You will be.”
The sheriff’s car finally pulled up next to the Cadillac and turned on its lights. Pulsing red and blue filled the parking lot and flickered off the King’s Man’s glasses. A deputy got out of the cruiser and stood there behind the door like it was a barricade.
“You’ll need to move your car,” the deputy said. There was a forced strength in his voice, manufactured bravado. He had one hand on the car door, but Sadie couldn’t see the other one. “This is a Red Zone. For emergency vehicles only.”
The King’s Man didn’t react. He didn’t look at the deputy or even acknowledge his arrival. The muscles on his face were slack, his hands limp.
“Did you hear me?” the deputy said, louder now. He moved out from behind the car door and now Sadie could see his other hand resting on his pistol. “I said move the damn car.”
The King’s Man cocked his head again. Some brief, muted emotion played around his mouth. Surprise? Amusement? Then he turned toward the deputy.
“You have lived in Red Valley a long time, Deputy Jason Allen Johnson. You were born here, in this very hospital. You grew up here, played little league—third base—and watched fireworks over the River on the 4th of July. Your family lives here. You have roots in the community, Jason Allen Johnson.” The King’s Man turned his head to stare at the flashing lights for a long moment, then turned back to the deputy. “So you know better.”
The deputy swallowed. His grip tightened on his gun. “Things change. Laws get enforced on everybody now,” he said shakily. All that swagger had leaked out of his voice by now. “Orders of Undersheriff Hassler.”
Sadie wanted to move back, move away, get out of any crossfire if this kid with a gun decided to man up and be a hero. But in that moment, her body decided the best thing it could do was not move even a muscle.
“Laws,” the King’s Man said. “The King has been in Red Valley long before your laws. The King was here long before there was a Red Valley, before there were hills, before there was sky. The King has always been here, blessing the land with his presence and bestowing boons upon his faithful. And you would interrupt the King’s business over a parking violation?”
The deputy looked at Sadie for the first time. His hand was still on his gun. Then he looked back at the King’s Man. His fear was curdling into a new-found resolve and Sadie cringed.
“You need to move your car, sir,” the deputy commanded. “Or I will have to arrest you.”
The following silence thundered in Sadie’s ears. She’d left her mother’s deathbed only a few minutes ago, and walked into this?
The King’s Man said nothing. Even after his customary pause, he remained motionless. The lights flashed in his mirrored glasses.
The deputy drew his gun.
Then the King’s Man moved.
To Sadie, it was just a blur, backlit by blue and red. One moment, the King’s Man was in front of her. Then he was gone. And then he was back.
And the deputy was screaming.
The deputy’s gun was on the blacktop. He held up his hand, or what remained of his hand. Blood spattered the ground, his shoes, his pants. His eyes were white and wide, his skin already losing color.
“You’d best go inside,” the King’s Man said without looking at the deputy, “and get that looked at.”
When he spoke, Sadie could see blood in his teeth. The deputy’s blood.
Nurses rushed out of the sliding doors at the sound of screaming. They quickly and quietly ushered the deputy into the hospital, eyes carefully averted from the King’s Man and Sadie.
The King’s Man ignored them. “The King apologizes for that unfortunate spectacle.”
Sadie struggled for a moment to get enough moisture on her tongue to reply. “Okay,” she said.
“The ledgers,” the King’s Man said. “The Liars’ books. They are yours now; not just your mother’s ledger, but all of them. Others will covet them. With your mother gone, they will come looking for them. They do not respect the sanctity of secrets. They do not understand that some things deserve to be forgotten.”
Sadie had no idea her mom had other ledgers, from her grandmother, and her grandmother. They didn’t have many books in their little house, magical or otherwise. But where was her mom’s ledger? She always had it with her, but Sadie hadn’t seen it in the hospital room, though she had been distracted at the time.
“So all the King asks is that you keep the books safe,” the King’s Man said. “And you keep the books secret.”
“Okay,” Sadie said again, not trusting herself to say anything else.
“The King values one thing above all other things,” the King’s Man said. “Loyalty.”
“You can trust me,” Sadie said as she tried not to look at the puddle of black blood by the deputy’s car. “I’ll take care of the books.”
“Good.” The King’s Man produced a crisp white card. Sadie took it. There was a phone number on it, nothing else. “For emergencies,” he said.
“Thanks.”
After a long, weird pause, the King’s Man said, “Have a pleasant evening.” And then he returned to his car, turned it on with a rumble, and drove slowly away, leaving Sadie alone in the deserted parking lot. No one came out from the hospital. Even the deputy’s screams had died away. The only sounds now were the cicada hiss of insects and the distant murmur of traffic on the road. Sadie stared out into the growing dark and realized s
he had no idea how she was going to get home.
Chapter Three
Sadie waited for almost two hours before she decided the bus wasn’t coming. She wasn’t used to riding it this late in the day—her mom usually picked her up from work—and hadn’t had many opportunities to catch a ride from St. Elizabeth’s, so maybe she got the schedule wrong. Or maybe it just decided not to bother. She couldn’t blame it.
So she shoved her hands in her pockets and started walking. The sun was long gone, but it was still well into the 90s. Mosquitos buzzed around her head and gravel crunched under her shoes. A few cars passed her on the road, but they didn’t slow down. She tried not to look at them, because when she did, she pictured the King’s Man and his mirrored eyes staring back at her, drops of the deputy’s blood quivering on his lips.
Yesterday, the world had made sense. It hadn’t been kind or fair, but Sadie thought she’d understood it. Her life—uninspired as it was—had an order to it, a structure. Rules. And then one phone call and a few hours later, she didn’t even have a ride home.
Bats flew overhead, chittering and flapping into the dark. Other things followed, bigger and meaner, with glinting granite eyes and hungry mouths, but they left Sadie alone. There was an order to Red Valley too, and at least that still held. The humans lived out their lives on one side of the River, and the other things mostly stayed on the other side. In reality, it wasn’t that simple; plenty of people lived on the far side of the bridge—real estate sure was cheaper—and other things sometimes crossed over here as well. But even when they did, they didn’t mess with the people of Red Valley, on the King’s orders. The King’s Peace, it was called.
And Red Valley had its rules, too. Every kid in town learned them from a young age, if they wanted to live to an older one. In a normal town—if there was such a thing—kids might learn not to run out in traffic, or play with fire. In Red Valley, the rules were simple:
The Liar of Red Valley Page 2
