by Gwenda Bond
“I can take it away,” he continues. “I can give you freedom.”
Bloody Bones, coming to fetch you…
The feeling of being on fire fades as soon as he removes his finger, until the sensation subsides to a scoured-raw feeling. He leaves the room without another word. What he said lingers.
If he takes the curse away, what will be left of me?
*
Grant is outside on the deck when I finally go in search of him. His forehead presses against the middle bar of the wood railing, his feet dangling in space. He looks out into the tree house world of the Grove.
I admire him for a stolen second, unnoticed. He’s been kinder to me than anyone ever has. Hope is an unfamiliar thing for me to feel, but that’s what I most associate with him. Dee is killing that hope. Maybe it’s already dead.
Sidekick breezes past me and over to Grant, wiggling his head under Grant’s arm. “Hey, boy,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Join me.”
That’s the best offer I’ve had in hours.
“What’s tomorrow?” I ask, slipping down next to him. I leave Sidekick between us, without letting Grant be too far away. Every moment we have feels like one where I’m saying goodbye.
“How’d you know I’d find out?” he asks.
“I didn’t bother trying — I knew you’d figure out what they’re up to.” That wins a flash of white teeth in the dark, a brief smile.
“They’re going to put on the production and conduct some sort of ceremony,” Grant says. “It will make all this permanent, from what I can tell. I think they need the townspeople there. They’re calling it a special Dare County night. This is from Bone, but I believe him.”
So I swayed Bone’s allegiance after all. “Wow. That’s perfect.”
“Why?”
“We have Dare County Night every year at the beginning of the season.” My vision has adjusted to the dark enough that I see his eyebrow raise in question. “The play isn’t exactly the same every year — it changes. Sometimes big changes, like the year the director inserted a bunch of people in animal suits, but usually smaller ones. Anyway, we have a town night every year, a free show, because the locals are the ones who make or break it. They’re the ones who talk it up to the tourists… or not. It’s a big deal. A special thing the town and the theater have together. This year’s season is almost over, and tomorrow’s an off night. No ticket holders to piss off. They can do a special one.”
Grant turns his head toward me, temple against the railing. “You’re right. It is perfect. This one, this performance, is supposed to be to celebrate the return.”
“Everyone will cover it.” That must be why the cops are staking out the theater. Security to keep everyone out until the big night. “When Dee does… whatever, won’t they just think he’s crazy?”
“This is John Dee we’re talking about here. Crazy is just the beginning.”
“Point taken. I’ve been sewing gray witch cloaks for the past two hours.” The moonlight wanes over us, its light thin, and we’re both quiet for a moment. Then I say, “He told me he watched me when they were… wherever they were.”
Thin moonlight or no, Grant’s scowl is unmistakable.
“What?” I ask.
“I bet he was watching,” is all he says.
I let it go. Minutes squeeze by before he speaks again.
“What did he offer you?” he asks.
Freedom. “The one thing I ever wanted.”
“Oh,” he says. “He offered to make my mom one of his minions.”
“But he’ll save her?”
“So he says.”
I don’t believe Dee either. But the hope… I have to honor it. “I can convince him to help her.”
Grant shakes his head. “No.”
“I’m doomed as long as I wear this mark, anyway. I can convince him. He wants me.”
Saying it out loud makes it worse. Realer somehow. There’s my skin, crawling again. He does want me. Maybe he wants me as much as he wants his New London. His followers. His alchemical madness. And he’s dressed up in my dad.
Ewwww doesn’t begin to cover it.
“He’s the devil,” Grant says. “He is.”
Sidekick moves his head over onto my leg. I think I could sit here forever with my dog and Grant and be happy. If none of the rest of this existed.
“I know.”
Chapter 32
GRANT
I wake up to discover my legs tangled with Miranda’s. Whispering leaves frame a soft blue sky. She fell asleep sometime after we stopped talking, oozing into unconsciousness on the deck. I vaguely recall giving in and stretching out beside her, closing my eyes.… But how we ended up sleeping so close together that I can’t move without jostling her awake is a mystery.
Miranda’s fists are curled to her chest like she’s ready to fight dream monsters, her hair tossed in messy fronds. From this angle, the snake mark on her cheek doesn’t exist. I can almost pretend that none of what’s happened the past few days exists. That we’re normal people doing normal things, and I came home for a visit and saw her again. That we stayed out all night and soon we’ll have to deal with overreacting parents.
A shadow flickers across the edge of my vision, and I hear voices other than my own internal one.
No longer sleeping —
Wake up —
She’s awake —
Maybe you’ll listen —
Reality sinks sharp teeth into me. I need to check on Mom.
I intend to scoot a safe, non-awkward distance away before I get up, but as soon as I move, Sidekick whines. I never had a dog growing up, but figuring out this is a plea for one of us to take him off the deck to the bathroom isn’t rocket science. Still, I regret not being able to freeze this moment. Slow down the clock.
Sidekick’s whining jolts Miranda awake, and she blinks, then slides her legs from mine and stiffly sits up. She stares out into the forest instead of looking at me. Is she blushing?
“I better take Sidekick down,” she says, the dog nosing her arm.
Since the moment I want to freeze is now past, I now wish for the ability to snap my fingers and make things not awkward. I search for something to say that will make her laugh, relax. But what comes out is, “I don’t know how much sleep we got, if you’re wondering.”
Why did I say that? All we did was sleep.
Miranda climbs to her feet and stretches, her back curving a long arch beneath her T-shirt. “I can’t believe I slept at all.” Then she pulls the screen door open, and Sidekick trots inside. His tail tucks down between his legs as soon as he enters the house.
Miranda pauses. “You hear that?”
The trees rush like water in a gust of wind. Nothing else.
“No. What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing. That’s my point. No birds or insects… it was quiet when we got here last night too, aside from Kick’s howling. It’s like they’re all in hiding. Or maybe took off for less-messed-up pastures.”
I push to my feet as she disappears into the house. How did I not notice the unnatural silence? A forest should be full of sounds. I’m totally off my game, officially plan-free. And I forgot all about getting news to Dad. He’s sure to be way past freaking out at this point.
Just then a voice speaks, remarkably clearly and unfragmented: Don’t worry about him. He’s safe. Unlike you.
Great. Even the dead’s comforting messages are troubling.
At least Dad is safe, unlike me and Mom and Miranda, lost in this too-quiet forest. Dee said the natural world can sense flux, but maybe animals are just smarter than people. You don’t see them trying to outwit death and build immortal societies.
Inside the house, I encounter a handful of girls and women, dressed normally and back at the sewing. Several more people — men and women — cr
owd into the small kitchen, involved in some other weird activity. Water steams, and there’s the smell of burning… is that wax?
Spying four fresh cartons of doughnuts propped open on a short bookshelf beside the kitchen. I grab one. “Morning, creepy, doughnut-loving alchemists,” I say.
No reaction whatsoever.
I head to the room where Dee stashed Mom, taking a bite of what tastes like sugar and cardboard. The doughnuts are from Stop and Gas, for sure.
The bed where Mom should be unconscious is made, the puffy pink comforter smooth and vacant. Bone, wearing another of his seeming lifetime supply of Tarheels T-shirts, sits in a corner of the room staring at it. I swallow, my throat stuffed with dry dough.
Shadows loom on either side of me and whisper: Worse than you think — much worse. I’m fighting to keep my panic theoretical.
“Where is she?” I demand.
Bone rubs a hand over his cheek in a gesture that makes him seem older than usual. Maybe his actual age. “She’s fine — I mean, awake. Doing better. A lot better.” Bone stops and chooses his next words carefully, possibly the most frightening thing that’s happened yet. Finally, he says, “She’s with him. The ‘master.’”
“What?” I can’t understand.
Dee enters the bedroom at that moment. He’s changed into a fresh suit, and his skin glows like a commercial for skin cream.
He’s getting stronger.
I waste no time on being polite. “But I didn’t choose. You said it was my choice.”
“I believe I told you I could offer her a choice, help her. I could not stand by watching the poor woman suffer through the purification cycle any longer. Now she’ll have time to build her strength before tonight.”
“Where is she?”
“Come see for yourself. She’s much improved.” Dee sweeps out his arm and leaves the room, obviously meaning for me to snap to and follow.
Bone gets to his feet. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
I nod. I feel like I’m hovering inches off the floor, the surfaces around me distant and unreal. As I leave the bedroom to see Mom’s miraculous recovery, I feel like one of the ghosts that glide quietly around me.
Dee preens on the tree-shaded central lawn outside. He lifts a hand to point out Mom in the swarm of people gathered there.
Mom’s health has improved greatly. There’s no arguing that. She chats and gestures, her energy at odds with the subdued peo-ple around her, all members of the returned, I assume. Maybe some of them are even from her rook club.
I scan the scene. Between the people outside and the ones in the kitchen, all 114 settlers must be accounted for.
At the edges of the main group, a few uneasy people lurk. Confused family members? I consider trekking over to them and casting my own confused lot with theirs. There’s also a smattering of other people. They give a wide berth to the lawn, to-ing and fro-ing among the houses like they belong. They must be the regular theater workers.
Dee really is going to put on a show.
Miranda stands near the door with Sidekick. She’s staring at my gabbing mother. Scratch that — Dee already is putting on a show.
Mom spots me and smiles. I lift my hand and give her a forced wave. I’m glad she’s awake and smiling. But not like this. Not if it means she’s cozied up to these body thieves.
Mom crosses the lawn to me, the members of the group moving to let her pass. She looks like this is some sort of town event, and she’s heading over to say hello and catch me up on the gossip. She still wears sweats, her clog straps dirty around her heels.
It pains me, but I have to admit… she looks great. After we moved to the island, too often she wore exhaustion like a second skin. The weight of her worry as plain as coffee stains and cigarette smoke. All because of me.
That weight appears not to exist anymore. Her happiness taunts me. Dee gave this to her. Dee repaired the damage I did.
“Grant,” Mom says, pulling me into her arms.
I let her, but it doesn’t feel right.
“I called your dad,” she says, speaking louder than necessary. She pushes me back to arm’s length, a hand on my shoulder. “He knows we’re both here and that everything’s okay now. He’ll keep the others away until it’s over.”
Dee grins at Mom, who returns a stiff smile. Getting a closer look at her, I decide that what I initially read as happiness is simply relief. She made a deal with Dee.
Miranda walks over, Sidekick close on her heels. The other people outside pretend to be ignoring us, but they’re as nosy as the people whose bodies they wear. And the normal people at the fringes, they’re nosier. Their town drunk commands the scene.
Then again, he’s supposed to be dead, so they must have convinced themselves this is some stranger. People are used to that. But they’ll still want to know why their mothers and sisters, brothers and sons want to hang out with the theater people. Dee must have conjured up a convincing story if they’re content to stand by and watch.
“Everything is most definitely not okay,” I say, finally.
Master Dee chuckles and says, “Does your mother look harmed? She will be one of mine now, Grant, an immortal. It’s almost like Virginia has come back to us — not in blood, of course, but you are her family. It’s as if you are one of us too. There will be a place for you in New London.”
The stiff smile remains on Mom’s face. I want to grab her shoulders and shake her.
Miranda appeals to her. “Sara, please. Think. You know Grant can’t be part of this.”
Mom dismisses Miranda’s objection. “He can’t stop it either,” she says. “We are all a part of this now, and we’ve come too far to stop. The world is going to change. Tonight. And no one has to be hurt for it to happen. We can all get what we want.”
Her certainty sounds like a little kid’s. So does her logic.
“What about your rook club?” I ask. “Your friends.”
“There are some things I’m willing to let go of and some things I’m not. You are my son. They would understand.”
Doubtful. But Mom is too scared to listen. Nothing I can say will change her mind. I can guess just how Dee managed to manipulate her to his way of thinking. As long as Mom thinks Dad and I will come through this unharmed, she’ll go along.
I have to try anyway. “Mom, you can’t give up your soul.”
Dee steps closer and places a hand on my arm. “I value those who are mine, Grant. You need not worry for your mother any longer, unless you try to disrupt the ceremony. I would never willingly give up anyone who belongs to me.”
I don’t miss where Dee’s eyes land — on Miranda.
“You see, Grant. This is fine.” A slight falter in Mom’s voice gives her away, but I don’t believe she’ll do anything to cross Dee, even if she changes her mind.
Just then a short, square-jawed man joins our small, unhappy group. His face is tight with barely concealed anger, and a gray-haired woman I’ve never seen before is at his side, frowning at him.
“Master, I apologize for the interruption,” the woman says.
“No need, Eleanor,” says Dee. “What can I do for the director?”
The voices have stayed quiet, the barest suggestion of being present. They are trapped, they whisper, soft, so soft, overlapping. We feel them. They whisper as if they’re afraid Dee will overhear. What they’re saying makes zero sense to me.
“Who is Eleanor? Wait, I don’t care.” The director is clearly used to holding court. “You have to understand one thing: I won’t have my name associated with a sham production. Not while the whole town is watching. If we’re going to put on the show, I need my employees back,” he says. “That includes my intern too.” He looks past Miranda, to where Bone is lurking. “And my other intern, the screwup. I need all my people. Now.”
Beside Bone is his father, holding his
leather valise. Whitson smirks at the director trying to direct the dead man.
Dee smiles, slow and cold. “They are not yours any longer and —”
“This is Polly’s support group,” Miranda interrupts. “And Kirsten’s and Gretchen’s. Surely you can sub in someone for them this once?”
Dee watches Miranda with naked admiration. He stays silent.
The director cracks his jaw. “And you? You need a support group?”
“Me, well… I…” Miranda’s shoulders tick down a fraction, but I’m probably the only one who catches the movement before she lifts them. She shrugs. “I quit.”
“Me too,” says Bone, though he sounds happy about it.
The director isn’t trying to conceal his outrage anymore. He opens his mouth to respond, but Dee lifts his hand and touches the man’s shoulder. “Leave us in peace. You have work to do.”
I brace for a fight, knowing the director can’t have a clue who he’s dealing with, but he gives a simple nod. “I agree,” he says, scowling like he wants to argue with what he just said. He turns on his heel and leaves.
What just happened?
Dee must not want any of us thinking about it too hard. “Now, Sara, you’d best continue with the others,” he says. “The director is not the only one with work to do. Today is all we have to finish the preparations.” With that, he ushers Mom away, Eleanor trailing them like an obedient puppy. Bone and Dr. Whitson do the same.
“I can’t believe I quit,” Miranda says once we’re alone. “Or that your mom’s decided to go along with this. What are we going to do now?”
Before I can answer, music begins and swells into something like a waltz, swooping and old-fashioned, grand and polished. The song comes from within the crowd. As the gathered people move back, I see a handful of the returned men are playing instruments while Dee looks on with approval.
