The Thread that Binds the Bones

by Nina Kiriki Hoffman

  Carroll bunched up like a rubber band being twisted tight. Then she sighed and relaxed. “All right,” she said. “Thank you, Ancient. Which Presence are you?”

  “Peregrine Bolte.”

  “The same that spoke to me after Michael’s and Alyssa’s Purification?”

  “The same.”

  “Threatened to unleash the deep fire on me?”

  “Aye.”

  “Ancient, could you grow me up a little bit, please? Please? Heal me and strengthen me? I should hate to die before I had a chance to give the Family a child.”

  Peregrine laughed. “I know it doesn’t seem it, but you are safe here.”

  Carroll gripped one hand in the other, twisted her fingers. “There is a feeling of safety like I have never known,” she whispered, “with Trixie. But what if my fetch finds me alone?”

  “She is my daughter, and she is finished with you,” said Peregrine in a stern voice, “provided you take pains not to provoke her again.”

  Carroll rubbed her hands over her eyes. “Ancient. She has been my fetch three years, and though at first I cherished her, I have not been kind to her. I have used and neglected her, and kept her a prisoner in her body. How can one screaming and one fight make up for that? Please let me protect myself. I promise never to harm her again, only to protect myself.”

  “How could you keep a promise like that?”

  She blinked. Tears glittered in her lashes. “Perhaps you’re right,” she murmured.

  “Why did you mistreat her? Why do you have this history? Where does this poison come from, descendant? Better not to sire children at all than to sire powerful poisonous ones.”

  “But that’s why,” said Carroll, her teeth clenched. “Because no matter how carefully I prepared, no matter what rites I performed, what spells I cast, none of my fetches gave me children. I tested that Magdalen. She was fertile, but she withheld it from me.” She hit the table again.

  “The fault was not hers.”

  Carroll glared. “I know! I did not want to know! Ancient, can I breed?”

  “I don’t know. Tom worked this change on you. I know not how. His power reserves are vast, and his techniques are foreign to me.”

  “So I’m stuck here?” She looked at her small hands, stretching out her fingers and staring first at the backs of her hands and then at the palms.

  “For now,” said Peregrine. “Descendant, I leave you now.” He seeped away.

  “But—”

  Tom stood up. “Come on, Carroll. I’ll make you another egg.”

  “But—all right.” She rubbed her eyes. She managed a smile and followed him back to the kitchen.

  They stopped on the threshold. Michael and Alyssa sat at the table between Laura and Bert. Alyssa stared down into the coffee mug she held. Michael, looking uncomfortable, hugged himself and glanced sideways at Bert, who looked puzzled and apprehensive. Trixie, her mouth a straight line, was clearing dishes off the table. Maggie sat very still. Laura offered Tom a wide grin.

  Carroll grabbed Tom’s sleeve. “You said I’d be safe here,” she whispered.

  “You will be. I’ll take care of you.” He took her hand and led her to the table. “Hi. Is this a stop on your honeymoon?”

  “Not exactly,” said Michael. He lowered his eyebrows and stared at Carroll, smiled, shook his head, then looked at Tom. “Wait a sec. Why do I think I know her?”

  “Family resemblance. Trixie, are these people bothering you?” said Tom. Carroll hid behind him, keeping a firm grip on his shirt.

  “Not as much as they would have day before yesterday,” she said. “I’m getting used to Boltes in the kitchen. Nuts and Boltes.”

  Michael’s eyes widened. He stared at Trixie and his face lost color. He lifted his hand—

  “None of that,” said Tom. Laura flicked her fingers at her brother. Tom saw, with Othersight, that she cast a small blue net around Michael’s hand, then tugged it tight so his outstretched fingers curled into a loose fist.

  Michael stared at her, his mouth open.

  “Our house and our hostess,” said Laura. “No casting.”

  “Did you really—” Michael straggled and managed to flex his hand. “Did you do that, Laura?”

  Laura looked at Tom, who nodded. “Probably,” she said. “Do you get the message? You’re visiting. Exercise courtesy.”

  “All right,” said Michael. He glanced at Alyssa.

  She licked her lip and ventured a little smile. “We’re nervous,” she said.

  “But curious,” said Michael. “Still in white, Tom?”

  “I haven’t had time to pick up my other clothes. These are great. They stay clean no matter what else happens. Did you do that on purpose?”

  “I don’t know. I was a little drunk at the time.”

  “Have you met everyone?”

  “I haven’t,” said Alyssa. “Laura was just going to tell us—” She peeked past Laura at Maggie. “But you look familiar.”

  “Uncle Carroll’s fetch,” said Michael.

  “Her name is Maggie, and Tom and I have adopted her,” said Laura. “This is Trixie Delarue, our hostess. Trixie, my brother Michael and his wife Alyssa.”

  Alyssa and Trixie nodded at each other. “We’ve met,” said Michael, but he looked puzzled.

  “You probably came into my husband’s pharmacy, like everybody else,” Trixie said.

  “Your husband?” Michael looked at Bert.

  “Not him. My husband, Tyke Delarue. Tyke’s?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Michael. He looked at his hand a second, then held it out to her.

  Trixie stared at his hand just long enough to raise his hackles, then took it, shook it, and let him go. He glared at her. She burst into peals of laughter. “My, that feels good,” she said.

  “What?” asked Michael, insulted.

  “Not being afraid to offend you.” She smiled, radiating cheer. “You Hollow people stomped on enough uneaten candy bars to keep a town full of trick-or-treaters happy, and broke enough toys to give an orphanage a merry Christmas, not to mention what you did to the domestics and drugs. That’s one of the reasons I was just as glad we sold the business when Tyke retired. The waste broke my heart. I like getting a little piece of it back.”

  Carroll peered out at her from under Tom’s left arm. Feeling the child’s gaze, Trixie glanced at her.

  “Manners?” Carroll said.

  Trixie’s grin was bright as lightning. “Yes! Maybe that’s why I’m glad you’re here. Somebody didn’t raise you right. I know I can do better.”

  “Who—?” Michael glanced from Trixie to Carroll and back.

  “No, we’re skipping Bert,” Laura said. “Michael, Alyssa, this is Tom’s boss, Bert.”

  “I know Bert,” said Michael.

  “Like your dad. Interested in cars,” Bert said. “But you didn’t go ask Pops how they work. Used to open up my cabs and break the engines a new way every week, trying to figure it out on your own.”

  “I didn’t mean to break them,” said Michael. “I just wanted to find out about them.”

  “Did it ever make sense to you?”

  “No.”

  “If you want to know something, asking questions is a good way to find out. What’s done is done, though,” said Bert.

  “Michael, is your whole past like this?” Alyssa asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Full of people you hurt, people who couldn’t protect themselves from you? I’m amazed we’re sitting here in this kitchen.”

  “What do you do at Southwater?”

  “We never show our powers in public,” she said. “That’s how we’re raised; gifts are family matters. We pass for normal. Only sick people take fetches, out of necessity. I can’t remember anyone in my lifetime taking one; it’s something I’ve only read about in history. You have a whole town that knows about you and fears you. I don’t understand how it operates.”

  “Tradition,” said Bert. “Chapel Hollow and Arcadi
a are locked to each other by ages of tradition. Used to be more positive for both sides, remember, Trix?”

  “Mm,” she said, nodding.

  “Started changing, gradually, about thirty years back. Just been getting worse and worse. Might be changing for the better now, though,” said Bert.

  “How?” Michael asked.

  “Well, look. You’re sitting at a table with us.”

  Michael, hugging himself, with his hands tucked into his armpits, glanced around the table. “Yeah,” he said. “It feels really strange, but here we all are.” He looked at Carroll. “Only who’s the kid?”

  Carroll glanced at Laura, who raised an eyebrow. “Your decision,” Laura said.

  Carroll kept a grip on Tom’s sleeve. She stepped up beside him and looked up at him; he looked down at her. “This is how it is?” she said.

  “Do you really want to go back?”

  She looked at Trixie. Her eyes misted. “No,” she said. “’Cause I could make somebody do it, but it wouldn’t be the same.”

  “Do what?” asked Michael. “What are you talking about?”

  She glared at him, then closed her eyes. Her face smoothed. When she opened her eyes again, she was still, centered. “Quiet, please. Give me a moment.” She let go of Tom’s sleeve and went to the table, gripping its edge, staring at Trixie. “Can I please stay with you, please?”

  Trixie took a deep breath, let it out. “You want me to raise you?”

  “Yes, please. I need…a teacher.”

  “Manners and all?”

  “Manners. And electric blankets?”

  “Oh,” said Trixie. “Both?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s going to happen when you turn thirteen? I need rules. And if you stay here, you’re going to do your share of the work. Are you going to hate me for that?”

  “No,” said Carroll.

  “Because I’m not going to cherish you if you plan to destroy me or anybody else. I hear you talking about anything like that, I’m going to send you to bed without your supper, understand?”

  Carroll frowned at a fork on the table in front of her. After a moment, she looked up. “I understand. But will you talk to me?”

  “Yes. I’d like that. I’ve been lonely since the kids left. You’ll have to go to school, though, or people will wonder. Hell, they’ll wonder no matter what, but I can say you’re a grandchild. Can you handle that? Go to school, and behave at home?”

  Carroll tapped her lips twice with her index finger. “Yes.”

  “Things won’t be what you want all the time.”

  Carroll glanced up at Tom. “I’m learning that. I don’t like it, but I think I can learn it.”

  “Bert, what do you think?” Trixie asked.

  “I think you’re crazy. What do you think’s gonna happen when she gifts? Think she’ll stay this way? She’ll go back to being her old self. You don’t keep a cougar as a pet just because it was a cute kitten.”

  Light flared in Carroll’s eyes. She stared at Bert, her lips thinning. He met her gaze unsmiling. At last she looked away. She picked up the fork and felt the tines of it, then looked at Trixie, tearblind.

  “Maggie?” Trixie said.

  Carroll turned to look at Maggie.

  Staring at her, Maggie said, “Last night?”

  Carroll waited.

  “You were right, and I hate that. I hate what you taught me. I’m going to get rid of it, not live that way.”

  “Yes,” said Carroll.

  “Klanishti koosh. If I can, you can. Bert’s wrong.”

  Carroll tapped the palm of her left hand with the business end of the fork. She began jabbing herself. “I don’t know,” she said to Maggie. “I don’t know what’s wrong or right. I don’t know what I can let go of.”

  Maggie jumped up and grabbed her hand. “Stop that!” She jerked the fork out of Carroll’s hand and slammed it onto the table top. “Nobody gets to hurt you but me. Look what you did.”

  Carroll looked at her left palm and saw it was beaded with blood.

  “Laura, will you please fix this?” Maggie said.

  “If you let me do your eye.”

  Maggie stared at Laura; her breathing deepened. Then she turned to Carroll. Each of her breaths held the tag end of a sob. “Oh, I hate you,” she said. “I hate you and I love you.” She closed her eyes and hugged Carroll…and felt small arms return her embrace. For the first time she felt warmth from Carroll. Then gradually something changed—the embrace still felt warm, but different, familiar. She squinched her eyes tight shut, hugging as hard as she could, trying to resist unwanted knowledge.

  “Sirella,” she heard Michael whisper, and she opened her eyes. The face closest to her was male, and he had his eyes tight shut too. Carroll, restored, knelt with his arms around her.

  “Let go,” she whispered. “Please let go.”

  His eyes opened. He released her and stared, appalled, down at himself. “No,” he said, “No, not now. Not now!” He turned to Tom. “Not now.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You must have. Please. Change me back, please. Maggie—”

  She backed away from him.

  Carroll, still on his knees, looked at everyone: Laura, who looked sad; Bert, remote; Alyssa, frightened yet intrigued; Michael, appalled; Maggie, waiting; Tom, puzzled; lastly, he looked at Trixie.

  “I slept with you last night,” she said, and laughed uproariously.

  “That was the nicest thing that ever happened to me,” he said, resting his hands on his thighs. “Will you do it again?”

  “Hell, I was ready to adopt you.”

  “Please,” he said. Then to Tom, “Change me back? I know I can’t do it right myself. I want these rules and these manners and—” He glanced at Trixie. “I don’t want to lose everything important.” He frowned and looked at Maggie.

  “You can do it for yourself,” Tom said. “You’ve been inside of it. You know it from skin to bones.”

  “If I try and screw it up, will you help me?”

  “All right.”

  “Can we go in the other room?”

  “Okay.”

  Carroll rose to his feet. He pinched the material of his jeans and shirt; they had grown with him, which made him wonder if Tom were lying when he disclaimed responsibility. It took a neat thinker to adjust clothes as well as body. And how else could this have happened?

  “Wait a minute,” said Maggie.

  He looked down at her. It felt strange to see her from above again.

  She took two steps forward, then a third. “I’m not scared of you anymore,” she said.

  He smiled.

  “Want to try an experiment.” She took his left hand and looked at it. It bore fresh scabs from his recent attack with the fork. “Now you can heal it yourself, can’t you?”

  “Not one of my strong suits.”

  “You can so heal. I know from experience. Do it.”

  Eyebrows up, he sent energy into his hand and healed it.

  “Okay, good,” Maggie said. “Remember what I told you, about getting rid of stuff.”

  “I remember everything I’ve heard you say.”

  She tugged on his shirt. “Come back down here a second.”

  He went down on his knees in front of her and waited.

  She hugged him. He closed his eyes and breathed carefully, afraid anything he did would upset her, not wanting to upset her during the first touching she had ever initiated with him in his own form, but he could feel his body responding to her; without his intending it, his arms went around her. It was not like hugging Trixie; the energy was different, not a vast outflowing of uncomplicated love and acceptance from her to him, but the touch of two bodies who had known each other in many ways, seeking to learn a new way to relate. He felt uncomfortable but excited, uncertain, afraid. She moved one of her arms and he froze, wondering what would happen next. She slid her hand up between them and gripped his chin, then tipped her head and kissed him, surp
rising him completely. He felt heat flash through him in a way he had never experienced before, but his body’s physical response was familiar. He gripped Maggie’s shoulders and gently pushed her away. “I don’t know how this works for you,” he said, and stopped, thinking about that. He had never focused on how his partners felt, beyond a rudimentary concern for their comfort and readiness, “—but I can’t take any more.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I wouldn’t stop if we went any further. I don’t want to do that to you again. But I do want to—” He touched her black eye, channeled healing at it, stopped when the discoloration and puffiness had vanished. Then he let go of her and put his hands on his thighs again.

  “Don’t change, Carroll,” she said.

  “How can I learn when there are no restraints?” Already he could feel the wanting rising in himself. All these people watching them. Simplicity to turn them into stones so he could be alone with Maggie, explore what they might do next. Or he could take Trixie into another room, weave the slenderest of compulsions and lay it tenderly on her, setting in her mind that he was a cherished son who could do no wrong. It wouldn’t hurt her, and how wonderful it would be to know that he could always come into town and be welcome into the warmth of this house.

  “Put them on yourself. You can.”

  He thought about that. If he cast a tangle just right, he could give himself a mental straightjacket, reduce his abilities to near nothing, with a secret word to unlock it in case of emergencies. Or he could try to operate from one moment to the next, block all the impulses he had grown accustomed to satisfying. Hard work. He could work hard, and did, in service to the Family. But so much easier to have the restraints be external. He looked at Maggie. “I don’t know. And there’s two parts to this, anyway. The other part is fertility.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it. “You were planning to have a baby?” she said.

  “Is your head screwed on tight, boy?” Bert asked, apparently against his own will.

  Carroll turned terrible smoky green eyes on Bert, who leaned away from him.