The Thread that Binds the Bones

by Nina Kiriki Hoffman

  —Fascinating, murmured someone in Tom’s head. He straightened. He had forgotten Peregrine’s presence.

  —How so? thought Tom.

  —I have not observed this twining of two settlements, tanganar and Ilmonishti, before, and I am curious about its operation.

  —Do you have questions?

  —Ask about the rules of fetchcasting. When I was alive, it was a thing only the very ill or the very destitute did.

  “What kind of rules do they have about, uh, fetchcasting?” Tom said.

  For a moment silence lay heavy in the bar, but then someone said, “Never take people out of their homes.”

  “They can’t take anybody who says no.”

  “Yeah, but they can trick you into saying yes.”

  “Take only people who have no relatives. Best of all to take someone nobody will miss.”

  “Lately, anymore, since this last generation started coming into their powers, it’s safer to keep the kids inside after dark,” said Trailer Court Hank.

  “One of the new rules is they can take people who’ve been real mean to them, like they deserve to get taken because of bad behavior,” said Bert. “Used to be you could talk to Hollow folks straight without worrying about the consequences, but lately it’s been getting spookier.”

  “But in the meantime,” said Tom, “you kind of cultivate strangers in the hopes that if the Chapel Hollow people come here looking for fetches, we’ll be the ones tapped?”

  No one answered him for a long moment. Maggie reached the bottom of her glass of root beer and set the empty on the bar with a gentle click.

  “It’s not like we planned it,” said someone.

  “We just don’t think about it too hard.”

  “We don’t think about them if we can avoid it.”

  “If you think about them too much, they can hear you and sometimes they come looking for you.”

  “Lord,” said Sam, “and here we are, a group of people thinking hard about them, talking about them, and harboring refugees, too. And we’re breaking the most important rule of all: never talk to outsiders about these things.”

  Dead silence.

  After a moment, Sam said, “How could we forget that one? It’s built in.” He stared at Tom.

  Eddie said, “Face it, we’re not exactly outsiders anymore. We been further inside than most of you.”

  “We knew that without knowing it,” said Bert. “The way we know when to shut up even when we don’t know somebody new is in the room. Like you said, Sam: built in.”

  “But we’re still talking,” Sam said. “It’s still an invitation to the Hollow people to come and interfere. Syd, Bert, Fred, you’re the oldest; you ever heard of fetches escaping before?”

  “No,” said Syd. “Not getting clean away. There was that attempt not too long ago…”

  Fred shook his head. “Nobody’s gotten all the way away.”

  Bert frowned.

  Sam said, “Think they’ll be mad about this?”

  “Yes,” said Fred.

  “Whose fetches are you?” Bert asked.

  “No one’s,” said Maggie, lifting her chin.

  “Sorry,” said Bert. “Whose were you?” His voice was gentle.

  Eddie, Maggie, and Tom looked at each other. “Mr. Carroll’s,” said Maggie reluctantly.

  “Miss Gwen’s,” Eddie said.

  Tom crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Miss Laura’s,” feeling peculiar because he was confessing to the indignity of being owned; even though it was not true, it felt demeaning. His appreciation for how Eddie and Maggie must feel increased.

  Everyone else in the bar moved away from them, either physically or mentally. “Oh, yes, they’ll be mad,” said Ruth, with a quaver in her voice.

  “Couldn’t have picked worse people to defy,” said Hank. He frowned. “Except Miss Laura isn’t—”

  “They’ll be on the warpath,” said Sam in a low voice.

  A moment’s considering silence edged past. “You want us to go back, don’t you?” Tom said.

  “We’re free and clear,” said Eddie.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Is Tommy right?” Eddie asked. “Would you rather we went back to Chapel Hollow?”

  Silence stretched and lingered. “No,” said Fred at last. “We just don’t know how to arm against them.”

  “There was an almost escape six years ago,” said Gus. “A stranger none of us ever met ran across country from the Hollow and ended up at the Henderson sisters’ place. They wrote down who he was and where he came from. That’s all Luke found when he went out there to deliver mail, a note in the mailbox. Margaret wrote that she saw the Hollow people coming toward them out of the sky, and that’s the last we ever heard of them. We figured the Hollow folks took the stranger and the Hendersons off.”

  “They were there,” said Maggie. “The women chopping vegetables in the kitchen, Tom.”

  “They’re still alive? They were old even then,” said Dr. Alton.

  “Yeah, they’re alive,” said Eddie, “but they’re scared. We offered them a chance to run away with us, but they said no.”

  “See? They knew better,” said Sam. “They knew they’d only hurt whoever helped them, and they couldn’t get away without help.”

  “Hollow people will not be coming after us,” said Eddie.

  “Excuse me, but I grew up with Miss Gwen and Mr. Carroll,” said Dr. Alton, “and I don’t think they let go of anything they consider their own.”

  Tom stood up. “Maybe we’d be better off somewhere else. Fred, I lost my wallet out there. I don’t know when I’ll be able to settle up.”

  “You did that yesterday, Tommy, remember?”

  “Oh, right,” he said, then gave Fred a smile. “You did try to warn me. Thanks. Bert, do I still have a job?”

  “Anybody who can drive to hell and come back with fares has a job with me. Thought I’d lost Old Number Two forever.”

  “How about my room? Okay if I stay there?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks, Bert. This is Maggie.” He touched Maggie’s shoulder. She held out a hand to Bert, who shook it, smiling. “Can I clear out one of the storage rooms and put down a mattress for her someplace? She needs to stay close.”

  “Sure,” said Bert.

  “Hell, Tom, that’s statutory rape,” Sam said. Maggie gave him a look, and he flushed.

  “She’s sleeping alone,” said Tom. “If anybody gives her trouble, they’ll answer to me.” He glared at everyone. Most of them shrugged.

  Maggie stood up, close to Tom’s side.

  “Wait,” said Hank. “You can’t leave yet. What are we gonna do if—what makes you so sure they won’t follow you?”

  Maggie held out her hand, showing her silver brand. “We got a magic mark,” she said. Torn buried his hands in his pockets, hiding his ring. “You know they have rules. This means they got to leave us alone.”

  “Where’d you get that mark?” asked Fred. “Could we get one too?”

  Maggie’s brow furrowed. She glanced at Tom, and he wondered what he would say if she told them everything. Spelling the whole town wasn’t something he felt like doing, especially in his present mood. The town had whispered “almost home” to him, but the people in it had welcomed him because he was being set up. Except for Bert, who seemed genuinely happy to see them. Bert puzzled Tom.

  “You can only get the mark if you’ve been a slave out there,” Maggie said. “It isn’t prevention; it’s a cure. It isn’t easy to find. Miss Laura brought it. Been waiting for it a long time.”

  “Oh,” said Fred. He looked at Eddie, who pointed to the mark on his arm, and at Tom, who shrugged.

  Eddie downed the last of his beer and stood, thumping his glass down on the bar. “I gotta go find Pops,” he said, “see can I get my job back. Thanks for the beer, Fred.”

  “You’re welcome. Listen…I mean it. Welcome back to town. I don’t think we did that right. We’
re just too damned scared.”

  “I guess you got good reason for it,” said Eddie. “Come on, Tommy, Maggie.”

  “See you soon,” said Bert, as the three of them left the bar through the door where only yesterday Laura had walked into Tom’s life.

  Chapter 11

  “Want a ride to Pops’s?” Tom asked Eddie as the door closed behind them. “Bessie needs gas. One more stop before we go home okay, Maggie?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “That’d be great,” Eddie said. They climbed into the front seat of the cab. “Especially if it turns out he doesn’t want me back. I feel like I have a disease. If it turns out like that, Tommy…” He stared out the front windshield. “Gonna need to blow this town right away. I don’t know how that’ll work out, with this mark and everything.”

  “Neither do I,” said Tom. “I’ll help you do whatever you have to.”

  “Thanks.”

  Maggie slumped against the seat, hugging her knees. She looked at Tom. He put his hand against her cheek, tilting his head to look at her. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his hand. After a moment he patted her hair and reached for the keys, started the car. “Thanks for not giving anything away, guys,” he said.

  “It’s not going to stay like this,” Eddie said as they pulled away from the curb. “What do you think they’re going to say when they find out Miss Laura’s your wife and not your owner?”

  “I don’t know. I think everything will change. It already has, even though I thought we could stop it. They’re not happy to have us back.”

  “Except Bert,” said Eddie. “But then, Bert’s always struck me as a maverick.”

  Tom pulled in beside the bubble-headed gas pumps at Pops’s Garage. “Yeah. Something weird about Bert.”

  Eddie got out, cleared a transaction off the Supreme pump, and dipped the nozzle into Old Number Two’s tank. He started pumping gas.

  Pops, brought by the ring of tires on the bell-line, came shuffling out of the shop. “Eddie, Eddie!” he cried, breaking into a slow run. “Eddie! Never thought I’d see you again, son!” Then he was hugging Eddie, almost joggling the gas nozzle right out of the car.

  Eddie set the automatic feed cock on the nozzle and embraced the little old man. “Oh, Pops. Music to my ears! You’re really glad I’m back?”

  “I missed you so much. No one else has your touch with an engine. No one else knows when to laugh at my jokes. No one else made coffee with eggshells in it and acted nice before breakfast. You come back to work for me?”

  “Sure did, Pops, if you’ll have me. Just got back from the Hollow, though. The people at the Dew-Drop don’t think I’m safe to have around.”

  “Nonsense! Any of those Hollow people come by, I’ll talk to Mr. Hal. He studied automobiles in the shop with me while he was a boy. I thought maybe you found the woman of your dreams and wouldn’t come back. But no?”

  “No, Pops. I found Miss Gwen. Or more like she found me, and I was took. She spent a couple weeks playing with me, and that was dynamite, but then she turned me into a dishwasher. I hated it.”

  “I should have gone out there to see Mr. Hal.”

  “No, Pops. I’m back now. Glad to be here.”

  “I kept your trailer clean while you were gone, and ran the Harley once in a while.”

  “That’s great!” Eddie gripped Pops’s shoulders and smiled down at him. “After talking to those people in the bar, I thought maybe I’d never feel like this again. Thanks, Pops.”

  “You’re welcome. Eddie, people say Arcadia is a strange place compared to the rest of the world. I’ve lived here most of my life and don’t know. But from what I’ve seen on TV, we’re like other places one way—we got all different kinds of people living here. No good to see some people acting one way and decide everybody will act the same, okay?”

  “Okay,” said Eddie.

  Pops leaned over and peered in through the cab’s window. “Tommy? You the one who got Eddie out of there? Fred said yesterday you took off for the Hollow with Miss Laura.”

  “We escaped together,” Tom said.

  “You had the transportation. Come anytime for a free fill-up.” Pops topped off the tank, then cleared the pump and hung up the nozzle.

  “Thanks, Pops. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome!”

  Pops and Eddie headed back into the gas station, and Tom started the car and drove off, jealous of Eddie’s welcome from Pops and grateful for it. Maggie still hugged her knees. Her face was blank.

  Tom pulled into Bert’s open garage, two blocks from the service station, and turned off the engine. It ticked in the echoing silence. The garage was dark except for a slant of sunfall from the open doors behind them and dim electric light from the glassed-in office against the left wall. Grease spotted the concrete floor, and the air smelled of exhaust and pencil shavings. Tom opened the cab door. “Come on,” he said to Maggie, “I’ll show you my place.” He glanced toward the office, realized somebody was there, and led Maggie that way first. The door stood halfway open. He peered around it and said, “Hi, Trixie.”

  Trixie the dispatcher sat at a big old desk, a fragrant mug of coffee in front of her, a space heater glowing orange to her left, her Adidas-clad feet up on the desk, and her nose buried in the latest issue of Scientific American. At Tom’s hail, she dropped the magazine and lunged to her feet. “Tommy?” she cried. She raced to him and hugged him.

  Arms crossed over her chest, Maggie leaned against a wall and watched, grinning. Trixie, somewhere in her fifties, was tall, broad-shouldered, and wide-hipped. Her short hair stood out in a henna-red halo around her head. Her clothes were casual, jeans and a cable-knit off-white fisherman’s sweater. She stepped back and stared at Tom, her fists on her hips and her elbows jutting out. She smiled, her eyes narrowing with pleasure.

  “Bert said one of those Bolte sirenes ran off with you, too. Like a plague, first Eddie, then you. Closer together than usual.”

  “Eddie came back out with me. So did Maggie. Trixie, this is Maggie. Maggie, this is Trixie. Maggie’s going to live upstairs with me. Bert said it was okay.”

  Trixie turned and studied Maggie. “Good lord!” she said. “It’s a child!”

  Maggie trembled without understanding why. Suddenly everything in her was shaking. She opened her mouth, and a young child’s wordless wail emerged. Trixie took two steps and enveloped her in a hug. “There, baby, there,” she said. “You go ahead and yell it all out. Nobody listening but us.”

  It had been a long time since anybody had considered Maggie a child, not since her mother’s death when Maggie was nine. A lifetime. Maggie leaned against Trixie’s safe warmth, thinking about her mother, and felt tears rise that she had swallowed for seven years. She put her arms around Trixie and clung to her, sobbing against her soft breast, feeling the warm strength of her embracing arms. In that unfamiliar haven Maggie thought of all the fears and sadness she had smashed down inside her. Something warm rested on her head, and comfort flowed from it like warm water. The brand on her palm tingled. A strange river glowed golden through her thoughts, bringing her comfort and carrying away debris from the past. Hurts rose in her one by one and washed away on a tide of tears.

  When she had cried away as many things as she could think of that she wanted to get rid of, she lifted her face from Trixie’s now soggy sweater front and looked around. The warmth on her head slipped away; it had been Tom’s hand, she discovered. She breathed deeply, smoothing out the sobs until they stopped. She listened to her own breathing in the silence of the early afternoon in the garage. Finally she released Trixie, slid out of her arms, and turned to hug Tom. After a moment he hugged her back. She focused on the embrace, reading the undertones. His hands rested on her back as if that was all they wanted to do, not as if it were a prelude to something else; no arousal pressed against her belly. Warmth, and no desire. She pushed her face hard into his shirt front, smelling wood-smoke and male. She couldn’t remember feelin
g safe with a man before.

  After a moment she let go of him and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry,” she said to both of them.

  “Don’t be, child,” said Trixie. “Sometimes crying is the best medicine you can give yourself.”

  “I never cry,” Maggie said, hearing the tears in her voice, and the anger. “Crying’s for people who are helpless.”

  “Who told you that?” asked Trixie.

  “Learned it from looking around.”

  “Well, it’s not true. You can’t always judge by appearances. Crying’s a power tool to cleanse the soul, if you use it right. I think you used it right. Do you feel helpless?”

  “No,” said Maggie, checking inside to find out what she was feeling; she couldn’t remember the last time she had done that. “Just feel stupid.” She rubbed away a final tear and thought a little longer. “Stupid and kind of light,” she said, frowning. She glanced up at Tom.

  He smiled at her. She read untangled affection and kindness in his smile, and she felt an aching warmth in her chest. She straightened. Had to watch that. It always hurt when someone could touch your heart. “Stupid and kind of light, and stuffed up, and like I must look silly,” she said. “Want to wash my face.”

  “Come on upstairs. I’ll show you our rest room,” Tom said.

  “Tommy, you can’t seriously think the child could live here—and share a bathroom, let alone a bedroom! People will talk ugly.”

  “She needs company, Trix. She was out at Chapel Hollow three years, and they did their worst.” Belatedly, he looked at Maggie to see if it was all right for him to share that information. Maggie hunched her shoulders and waited for Trixie’s verdict.

  “Oh, you poor child. You come on home with me, sweetie. I’ve got a little guest room—used to be my daughter’s before she moved to Seattle—snug and comfortable. Wouldn’t you like that?”