Threshold

by Caitlin R. Kiernan

  “This isn’t about what’s factual, Chance,” she said. “It’s about what’s true, what’s true to you. You know that there’s a difference, don’t you?”

  So now she’s sitting here with Deke in this too-white, fluorescent-drenched room in a Tallahassee mental hospital. The ward where they keep the violent cases, all the patients who are a threat to themselves or someone else. Like something from a prison movie, she thinks, the cramped and shabby cubicles, the thick Plexiglas divider to keep the sane and insane apart, and they can only talk through the big black rotary telephones.

  “You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?” Deacon asks her, sounding worried and confused. “It isn’t too late to back out.”

  “We’ve already driven all the way down here,” she says.

  “That doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t be angry.”

  But then it is too late, because a woman in a white uniform is leading the girl to the chair on the other side of the Plexiglas. The teenage girl dressed in blue jeans and a gaudybright Disney World T-shirt, Mickey Mouse and Pluto as if this wasn’t already absurd enough. For a moment Chance can only sit silent and stare speechless at the girl, her hair and skin so white they’re almost translucent. Her eyes like white rabbit eyes, shades of pink and scarlet, and she blinks uncertainly back at Chance from behind the protective plastic barrier, blinks her heavy lids that droop a little too much to be completely awake. That’s just from the medication, Chance thinks. Whatever they’re giving her in here.

  Chance reaches for the telephone, but Deacon’s already picked up the receiver for her, puts it in her unsteady hand, and the albino girl is watching her now the way a cat that isn’t particularly hungry watches a careless bird. Then she lifts the telephone receiver on her side, and “Hello,” Chance says. “Hello there, Dancy. My name is Chance.”

  “Hello, Chance,” the albino girl says, and she’s slurring a little. “You know my name.”

  “They told me. The nurses told me,” and the girl nods her head once and glances back at the orderly standing guard behind her.

  “They think they know everything,” she says. “They think God comes down from Heaven every morning and reads them the newspaper.”

  Deacon’s holding onto Chance’s hand now, holding it tight, like he’s almost as shaken as she is, and that makes her feel better. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it does, Deacon and all the weird things he tells her whenever he gets drunk enough, the stories about Atlanta and the things he’s seen, the stories she’s never really believed, but even he’s unnerved that this girl is alive and breathing and sitting there looking back at them.

  “I dream about you,” Chance says. “For months now, I’ve been dreaming about you.”

  “Are they scary dreams?” the girl asks, and she leans forward suddenly, moves quick, and the orderly takes a cautious step towards her.

  “Sometimes,” Chance says, trying to think of the things she needs to say, the things she said over and over again on the drive down so that she wouldn’t forget. She glances at Deacon, but his eyes are on the girl, staring at her like there’s nothing else in the world and she might vanish in an instant.

  “Sometimes, in my dreams, you’re the one who’s afraid, Dancy. And I can’t ever make you stop being afraid, no matter how hard I try.”

  “They give me these pills to make me not be afraid anymore,” the albino girl says and looks back at the orderly again. “Sometimes I spit them out. They don’t work, either.”

  “Dancy, I need you to tell me what you’re afraid of, why I keep dreaming about you. Please, if you know, I need you to tell me.” Chance is crying now, her eyes burning and tears rolling down her cheeks even though she swore to herself that she wouldn’t.

  “ ‘There are things of which I may not speak,’ ” the girl says, and then she rubs her hands together like they’re cold. “I have done things, Chance. I have done so many things I can’t remember anymore.”

  “No,” Chance says, and she leans forward now, too, places her left palm against the Plexiglas, and this is the way she should have cried when her grandfather was buried, the night her grandmother killed herself, the way that she’s never been able to cry her whole life.

  “It’s all right now, Dancy. I came here to tell you that. You can’t seem to hear me in the dreams, so I’m telling you now, because I know we’re awake and you can hear me.”

  “I try to stay awake,” the girl says, and now she’s started crying, too. “But they give me these pills.”

  “It’s okay to sleep, Dancy. I think that’s what I’m supposed to tell you. I think that’s why I dream about you. Whatever happened, whatever it is, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

  And now there’s a snarling, keening sound coming from the girl, like an animal trapped and dying, hurting and no way to know that eventually the pain will stop, and she slams the telephone receiver against the divider so hard that one end of it shatters in a spray of jagged black shards. Chance flinches, but she doesn’t move her hand, her fingers that would reach through to the girl if she knew how.

  “I am not afraid,” the girl growls, hurls the words like stones or sharp knives, and pounds the broken phone against the Plexiglas again. Blood on her knuckles, blood smeared back and forth across the invisible divider to show it’s there. “I am fire and metal wings,” she says. “I am all the burning swords, and I’m trying to forget you, Chance. I’m trying hard to forget you.”

  The orderly is on top of her then, dragging the albino girl back, fighting her, and in a moment there’s another woman, a woman with a syringe, and Chance wants to look away, wants to turn and run, as the needle pricks the girl’s white skin. Then the nurse that led them in is standing behind Deacon and Chance. “You should both leave now, Miss Matthews,” he says, his voice as soft as velveteen.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Chance says. “You know that, Deke. You know I didn’t ever want to hurt her.”

  Deacon takes her hand away from the Plexiglas, folds it up safe in his own.

  “It isn’t your fault,” he says and puts his arms around her. “This sort of shit isn’t anyone’s fault, Chance,” and in another moment the orderlies have taken Dancy Flammarion somewhere else, and the nurse hurries them from the visiting room and down the long and sterile hallway that leads back to the day.

  GLOSSARY OF PALEONTOLOGICAL AND GEOLOGICAL TERMS

  (mya = million years ago)

  actinistian The coelocanths, one of the three major groups of lobe-finned fishes (or sarcopterygians), which first appeared in the Middle Devonian.

  amphineuran Primitive mollusks including the extant chitons.

  brachiopod Also known as “lamp shells”; marine invertebrates with two unequal valves.

  bryozoan Group of small, colonial, marine invertebrates, superficially resembling corals.

  calcareous Containing calcium carbonate (CaCO3).

  Carboniferous Fifth subdivision of the Paleozoic Era, following the Devonian Period and preceding the Permian Period; 360 to 286 mya; in North America, the Carboniferous is subdivided into the Mississippian (lower Carboniferous) and Pennsylvanian (upper Carboniferous).

  crinoid Group of predominantly sessile echinoderms, common throughout the Paleozoic with some forms surviving to the present day. Crinoid stems are very common fossils and compose the bulk of many Carboniferous limestones.

  Devonian Fourth subdivision of the Paleozoic Era, following the Silurian Period and preceding the Mississippian Period; 410 to 360 mya.

  eocrinoid Among the earliest-known echinoderm groups, ranging from the Early Cambrian to the Silurian.

  ferruginous Term used by geologists to describe rocks with a high iron content, such as the Red Mountain Formation.

  formation In stratigraphy, the primary unit into which rocks are divided, based on distinctive features or combinations of distinctive lithic features (i.e., Pottsville Formation, Red Mountain Formation, etc.).

  genal spine In trilobites, elongat
ed, paired, posteriorly directed processes from each side of the head (or cephalon).

  geology Science that studies the earth, including its history, physical composition, and the processes which have formed it.

  hematite A mineral, Fe2O3, the primary ore for iron.

  horn corals Solitary, conical corals (Subclass Rugosa) common during much of the Paleozoic.

  Marsh pick Double-headed pickax, named for American paleontologist O. C. Marsh (1831-1899), and commonly used by vertebrate paleontologists.

  microfossil Fossil remains of microscopic organisms, such as nannoplankton, forams, and pollen; the domain of micropaleontology, once crucial to the location of oil deposits.

  Miraspidinae Subfamily of spiny, Devonian trilobites, including the aptly named Dicranurus monstrosus.

  Ordovician Second subdivision of the Paleozoic Era, following the Cambrian Period and preceding the Silurian Period; 505 to 440 mya.

  Paleontology Branch of biology that deals with the history of life through the study of fossils.

  Paleozoic One of the eras of geologic time, occurring between the Precambrian and Mesozoic eras; 544 to 245 mya.

  Pangea The Pangean supercontinent comprised all the world’s landmasses and formed during the Late Carboniferous, but began to break apart during the Early Mesozoic Era.

  Pelmatozoa Subphylum of echinoderms, most possessing jointed stems, including crinoids and eocrinoids.

  pleural spine In trilobites, paired processes of varied length arising from the body (thorax).

  occipital ring In trilobites, a portion near the rear of the head (or cephalon).

  radula Movable toothed or rasping structure found in the mouths of mollusks, used in feeding.

  rhipidistian Extinct group of predatory, freshwater lobe-finned fishes, dominant during the Late Paleozoic.

  scale trees Large members (some over thirty-five meters high) of the Lycophyta, the oldest extant group of vascular plants, forming a major component of Carboniferous forests.

  siderite A mineral, FeCO3, which may also contain Mn and Mg; chalybite.

  Silurian Third subdivision of the Paleozoic Era, following the Ordovician Period and preceding the Devonian Period; 440 to 410 mya.

  spicule Small calcareous or siliceous structures, contained in the tissues of some invertebrates, including sponges.

  temnospondyl Very diverse and successful group of early amphibians, including giant, predatory forms reaching lengths of ten-plus meters. Common during the late Paleozoic, a few species survived as late as the Cretaceous Period (146-65 mya).

  tetrapod Literally, “four-footed.” Sarcopterygian “fishes” possessing distinct digits at the ends of paired fins; fish-and amphibian-like vertebrates that first appear in the Late Devonian and eventually abandoned freshwater habitats for land, giving rise to amphibians, reptiles, birds, and mammals.

  trilobite Diverse group of marine arthropods with segmented shells and compound eyes, common worldwide throughout the Paleozoic. Divided into eight major orders, more than fifteen thousand species are currently known.

  Daughter of Hounds

  Available now from Roc

  THE ghoul lady takes out her white linen handkerchief and uses one corner to dab at her watering left eye. It’s an old wound, a relic of her spent and reckless youth, but it still bothers her sometimes, especially when the weather Above is wet. And today the weather Above is very wet, all of Providence caught up in the final, rainy death-rattle sighs of something that was a hurricane only a few days before. She sits on the wooden stool that’s been provided for her and blinks and gazes down her long muzzle at the dozens of faces staring impatiently back at her from the candlelight and shadows trapped beneath the Old North Burial Ground. The restless assembly of her wards, ghoul pups and human changelings seated together on the damp earth, wriggle about and whisper among themselves. She clicks her teeth together once, a sound that might draw blood, and they grow a little quieter. She wishes again that she were back in the warmth of her own dry burrow, deep beneath the basement of the old yellow house on Benefit Street, the familiar weight of College Hill pressing down around her, protecting her ancient, aching bones and her bad eye from this damned inclement weather.

  “Myself, I would have postponed this outing,” she says, and not for the first time that night, “but Master Shardlace feels most emphatically that schedules are made to be kept, so here we are, one and all.”

  Up front, one of the changelings sneezes.

  “Likely as not,” says Madam Terpsichore, addressing the child directly, “we shall all catch our deaths this evening. But let us not falter an instant in our dedication. At least the program shall not be disrupted,” and with that, she shifts her poppy-colored eyes towards the spot where Master Shardlace, lately of the Mystic and Stonington Village warrens, is crouched, half hidden by the dangling roots of a sycamore tree. He flinches at her glance, and that gives her some small measure of satisfaction. “Wipe your nose,” she barks at the child who sneezed, and it does so.

  “The question at hand,” Madam Terpsichore continues, “that most urgent matter of history and propriety and etiquette which has brought us forth from the succor and haven of our dens, which has brought—nay, dragged—us each and every one out into this tempest—” And she pauses here to spare another acid glance for Master Shardlace and his roots. He pretends not to notice. “The question,” she says, “is, indeed, a grave thing.”

  A few of the students snicker at the pun while Madam Terpsichore dabs at her eye again. One careless moment more than a century ago, but she still bears this scar, the ugly mark of a lost instant’s indecision, an insult that she would have done well to let pass, and tonight her eye would not be throbbing and watering as though it envied the storm above.

  “A wonder we are not all drowned,” she says dramatically and shakes her head.

  “The lesson,” Master Shardlace growls softly from his hiding place, prompting her, risking another glare or something more substantial. “If we could only proceed, we would sooner find ourselves home and snug again.”

  “Oh, most assuredly,” Terpsichore hisses between her long incisors and eyeteeth, and he looks quickly down at the ground between his splayed feet and retreats deeper into the tangled veil of sycamore roots. She wonders, for the hundredth or so time, exactly what he might have done to deserve his exile and, more importantly, whyever Master Danas chose to give him safe haven in Providence. And, more importantly still, what she must have done to so displease the dark gods that she deserves to be weighted with such an officious waste of hide and bone and sinew. Her bad eye weeps, and she wipes the tears away.

  “Yes,” she sighs. “The lesson at hand,” and the ghoul draws a deep breath, filling her lungs with air that smells and tastes and knows of the subtle complexities of mere human death, the turning of great stone wheels upon the infinite axis of time, the sugar-sweet reek of loss and forgetfulness and regret, slow rot and embalming and scurrying black beetles. Above, the storm reminds her that summer has finally given way to autumn, the orange-browngolden season of harvest, of reaping, of closing doors and grinning pumpkins, and if her kind ever had a season in this world, it would be autumn. She makes a tight fist and squeezes until her claws draw claret droplets of blood, then Madam Terpsichore opens her left hand and holds it out for all to see.

  “We play so desperately at being fearsome things,” she says, and her sooty lips curl back in an expression that is not nearly so kind as a smile, but still something more charitable than a snarl or a grimace. One of the changelings coughs then, the same girl who sneezed a few seconds before, a pretty ginger-haired girl who has chosen for herself the name of Sparrow Spooner, a name she borrowed from a tombstone as has always been the custom of the stolen ones, the Children of the Cuckoo.

  “Take strength, child,” Madam Terspischore tells Sparrow Spooner, and the ghul offers her bleeding hand to the girl. “Warm yourself against the cold and the wet and what’s to come.”

  Spar
row Spooner hesitates, glancing anxiously from Madam Terpsichore to the faces of the other students. She can see that some of them are jealous of her, and some are frightened for her, and some are hardly paying any mind at all. A pup named Consequence rolls his yellow eyes, and a boy who hasn’t yet taken a name sticks out his tongue at her. She turns back to the ghoul, not pretending that she has a choice, and crawls on her hands and knees until she’s kneeling in front of Madam Terpsichore’s stool.

  “We need the world to think us monsters,” the ghoul says to her, “and so monsters we become.”

  The girl leans forward and begins to lick at the blood oozing from her mistress’s leathery, mottled palm.

  “We must, all of us, keep apart the night from the day, the world Above from the world Below, the shadows from the sun, and we must keep them apart at any cost,” Madam Terpsichore says, watching the others as she gently strokes the child’s head with her free hand, her razor claws teasing at Sparrow Spooner’s matted ginger hair. “Even if we should find our death of cold in the effort.”

  “There has been a breach,” Master Shardlace grumbles from the safety of his place among the sycamore’s dangling, dirt-clod roots. “A trespass has occurred, and we are all—”

  “I am coming to that,” Madam Terpsichore barks back at him, and he mutters to himself and grows silent again.

  Sparrow Spooner stops cleaning her mistress’ bleeding left hand and gazes up at Madam Terpsichore. Her lips and chin and the tip of her nose are smeared with sticky crimson, and she absently wipes her mouth on the sleeve of her dingy dress.

  “I know you, child. You’ve come a long, long way, through the Trial of Fire and the Trial of Blades. Next full Hunger Moon, you’re up to face the Trial of Serpents and, if you survive, you’ll win your Confirmation.”