Penny bawled and backed away. Her eyes were white and wide, incredulous with fright. She was shaking her head, muttering, “No, no, no.” She grasped and whispered, “Why? Wh-why are you doing this?”
I watched myself do it more than I willfully participated. I smashed her clarinet in a torrent of abandon. I was someone else, outside looking in. I glanced at Penny and back at the madman. It was astonishing behavior, more aggressive and violent than I knew a person could be. I watched the monster growl and wield the axe. The universe existed for this to happen. She had to understand what he was doing to me. This was the only way I could show her. Penny covered her mouth. She gagged for breath. Her hands were shaking, her whole body trembled in a wave.
23 Ting-A-Ling, Penny
To say that I was not myself after the incident with Seven would be an understatement. I was devastated. In the back of my mind, I had still been harboring gentle thoughts for him, romantic even. But he was gone, and there was nothing I could do.
It was too late, but I felt guilty. I owed Seven a debt of gratitude. After the incident with the reed, Velvet’s boyfriend-of-the-moment had cornered me in the band room. The guy was this big tuba player and he said, “You don’t deserve first clarinet! Velvet is so much better than you. No way you could ever beat her.”
And her throng was close behind. “Yeah,” they jumped in.
I don’t know if they were going to start throwing stones next or what. But Seven appeared, and he ticked that big tuba guy on the shoulder. “Well, she did win, didn’t she?”
“She probably cheated.”
He was twice as big as Seven, but Seven got right in his face anyway. “You don’t have to cheat to be first tuba, do you? There’s only one.”
A prissy French horn player spoke up, “Velvet’s going to play circles around you next time.”
Seven lowered his voice so they had to come to him. “There won’t be a next time. It’s the end of the year. That was it. Velvet lost and Penny won.”
They mumbled and dispersed. “Morons,” he said. We didn’t usually eat lunch together, but he saw me by myself and came over to me. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that I might have cheated.
Throwing rocks and acorns at my window was childish, yes, but he probably didn’t mean any real harm. I never thought he would try to hurt me. Or go berserk on my clarinet. My Selmer. The best one they had.
I had promised Victor I would come to him after meeting Seven. The three of us were perfect together, he said. The three of us. At the birthday party, he and Velvet had made me their blubbering servant. Then he offered me a deal to see Seven one last time. He believed I was forever in his gratitude, that he had elevated me, given me a place at the big table, by him. More than a mortal girl should ever dream. He really believed that, and Velvet did too. It was tempting in its way. He knew I wanted to see the wider world outside of Bellin. He could give me that so easily, as long as I never asked about Seven again. I could play along until I figured it out. But Seven may be too far gone. Victor not only had presence, he had power. He had fooled the whole town. With a death! He assumed he had me now, he had beaten me with a lie about Lyme disease. I had groveled through the hazing. He assumed that should be enough to keep anybody down.
But there were things that didn’t fit. He had gotten my clarinet back. He had stopped Seven from throwing the rocks. He had sent Mad Dog to babysit, cared for me when I was sick. He was there when I needed him after the funeral. As if the funeral were real. Victor was a mystery and it was not all adding up.
I let my mind wander further, and tingled at the thought. The three of us. Velvet is actually very pretty. And he’s the most handsome man I know. Maybe I should go with them. They would never tear me down again. The initiation was over, he said. Once and never again. It was only to make me strong. He insisted that Marie had made Seven into that, and he kept Mad Dog there as a kindness. Some magic was as strong as his, and for Seven it was too late. Too late for me to help him, so I might as well switch teams. I was torn and too confused to think. Seven was gone, inhuman. Never coming back. He had not seen I was there to help him. Victor told me his mind was gone, that he was only left with rage. I had not believed him. Now I had seen, and he proved Marie had done it. He reminded me that she kept souls on her blue bottle tree. He encouraged me to come with them. I had a chance at a new life. Leave Bellin. Begin again.
He had told me he had the house to himself for the summer. So I did not have to worry about running into his parents and explaining what I was doing there. I walked up the long drive. It was a dark night, and the only light was coming from the turret. It was a castle really, made of gray stone. As I got closer, I must have tripped a sensor, because a string of lights for the winding driveway came on, then at the porch, then inside the door. It was unlocked and as I stepped in I heard him call, “Come on up.”
Inside the turret was a winding spiral staircase that went up and up, unbelievably high. There were red candles burning at every half turn, giving the minimum for visibility. Even with my new blood and improved stamina, I was out of breath by the time I got to the top. The spiral staircase opened into a wide round room, bigger than I would have expected. It was open to the night air. Victor had a sniper’s rifle on a stand and a high precision scope. The barrel was pointed through an arrow slit. “Wow, Victor. What are you doing up here?” It was the first time we had really been alone.
“You like it?”
There was a wide circular hole in the wall and his big blue drum was mounted there, projecting the sound out. “I thought I heard drumming. Was that you?”
“Maybe.”
There was a daybed behind him, with a swooping swan’s neck meticulously etched in wood. The swan was craning, fainting into its widespread wing. It looked like an antique. He followed my eyes and gestured toward it. I lay back and propped my feet up, was instantly calmed by touching the swan’s beak. It was luxurious. “Oh, this is nice!” The words escaped like steam whistling from a kettle. I never wanted to move again.
“I can bring it to Nashville for you. You’ve decided to come with us?”
He peered through the rifle’s scope, studying something in the distance. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing—just keeping an eye out for varmints.” He said it with a country twang, joking.
“Do you kill them?”
He scratched his chin with the hoof. “No. I only scare them. These bullets are shot shells. They fire a little pattern of steel grains. They don’t kill. They just sting a little, and keep the possums away.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised no matter what you were doing.”
He frowned like I had wounded him. “I’m not a monster.” There was anguish in his voice, like I had implied he was less of a man. Like I was too small-minded to look past his deformity to see the person there.
“No, of course I didn’t think that.” I felt required to say it, but I also heard falseness in his voice. I had never listened to him intently before, or watched the lines on his face. He had wrinkles in his forehead, his heavy brow must have stayed down a lot.
“I like you, Penny. And I’m glad you’re coming with us. It won’t cost you anything to live with us, and I know you won’t mind cleaning the house, or doing the cooking.” His voice rose in the end, like it was a question. He went on as if the answer were understood. “Nashville will be your window to the world. You’ll be allowed to go out. At least once a week.”
“Wait a minute. I thought you were going to get me into Vandy.”
“Well, yes, eventually.”
He wanted me to serve them. Wow. And despite how good-looking he was, deeper inspection of those eyes found them not just blue and sparkly. There was a dangerous man in there. I read him better than before and he struck me as someone who could slash your throat while licking his favorite ice cream. “I must have misunderstood your offer.”
“You have to earn it, of course. And you were not as able-bodied the other night as
we had hoped you would be.”
“You could have killed yourself!”
“Oh no, not with you there.”
“But you guys are a couple. I see that now. I don’t want to cramp your style.”
“We like you.”
“I think Velvet is still mad at me about that clarinet thing.”
He waved away my distress with his hoof. “She’s over it. I promise. She wants you to be with us too. Besides, I don’t want to bring Rickey. Your potential is so much greater than his.”
“Speaking of which. My clarinet was just destroyed. By Seven. Who really is a monster. You were right about him. Obviously Seven isn’t dead. But he’s changed. He’s not who he used to be. What happened to him, Victor? What did Marie LaVey do?”
I saw that he wanted to tell me, but was not sure if he should. “There’s a long history between our families. They had power for a time. It was actually a curse from Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, that gave me this.” He exhibited his hoof like it was a foreign being.
“Seven had to be punished. To make things even.”
He was distracted, peering through his scope.
“I don’t think Marie would do that.”
“What’s done for her benefit is the same.”
He was clever with the riddles just like she was. Opposite sides of a coin. “What’s going to happen to him?”
“Midsummer’s Eve is coming. The one just past my twenty. It’s when the curse of ages will finally be put to rest. I have won. I am victorious. Of course, I always knew I would be. Biding my time has been so boring.”
“But what about Seven?”
He glanced up from his scope and met my eye for a second. “Oh, he’ll die on Midsummer’s Eve.”
I cringed and shook my head.
“Let’s just put him out of our minds.” He scanned the yard. The floodlights popped on again, and there was Mad Dog, coming toward us, wobbling up the lane. “Humph. There’s a varmint. A Mad Dog, as they say. Should we shoot him?”
I could not tell if he was kidding or not. I stood up and peeped at Mad Dog through one of the arrow slits.
Victor clicked the rifle’s scope to the proper place and stared down it, taking aim. The shot was silenced, just a little poof from the barrel. Mad Dog yelped, grabbed his shoulder in shock, and fell to the ground. He was sprawling and flailing, rolling into a fetal ball and out of it, trying to figure out what had happened. Usually, I don’t think I would find this so amusing, but it was hilarious. I laughed out loud.
“Fear is so unattractive,” Victor said.
I nodded, my hand over my mouth so Mad Dog would not hear me, even as far away as he was.
Victor meant for his remark to include me, too. It was a little jab, and probably true. I tingled again, imagining how the three of us would fit together, all squirming around on his bed. He seemed to know and it disarmed me. “You’ve been programmed,” he said, “to fear the unknown. There is a false morality instilled in you, and it blocks you from embracing your true self.”
Yes, he did know what I was thinking. “What exactly,” I cleared my throat, “do you want me to do?”
“Just let yourself go, and do what you want, without thinking if you should. It’s the second-guessing that makes people so dull. When you lose the mental block, the what-you’re-supposed to do, what you’ve been brought up to believe is right, and how to behave and act—because it’s all an act, really. Everything about you is an act, Penny. When you let go of that, then you can find yourself. I will help you. And it’s okay to want things that aren’t necessarily good for you. You have the freedom to be bad.” It was a seductive thought and the freedom to be bad had a satisfying sound.
A few hundred feet from us, Mad Dog stood and rubbed his shoulder. Victor diverted my attention to him. “Do you like Mad Dog?”
“He’s okay.”
“Don’t lie.”
“Well then, no. I guess I really don’t like him,” I said. “He’s dumb, and I don’t trust him.” It was liberating to be so honest.
“Does it bother you that I shot him?” I had laughed. He answered for me, “No. I didn’t think so. Doesn’t that feel better? I don’t like him either. He does not have the capacity to be loyal. Have you ever noticed how he plays one friend against another? He was Seven’s pal until I showed him some attention. Then he turned into Seven’s enemy, just like that.” Mad Dog glared up at the turret and jogged toward us, responding urgently to an unsent invitation. “I shot him, but he’ll be okay.”
We could see he was fine. “I know you wouldn’t hurt him.”
“Would it be wrong if I did? After all, you don’t like him either.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“Ah, hate. Yes, we’ll get to that.”
It was like a door opening—a naked truth he was showing me. I was not required to like everyone. I was not required to always be nice. And if I did not like Mad Dog, why deprive myself of the humor I felt when he was hurting? It was hard to disagree.
“You have been taught to love everybody, and it has made you weak. If someone harms you, it is self-preservation to fight back. Your enemy would kill you for turning the other cheek. Love my enemy? That would place me at his mercy. Only a fool would do that.”
“I guess.”
“Have you ever known a Christian who would literally turn the other cheek?”
“I don’t think they mean it literally.”
“I was around when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain.”
My bullshit detector finally rang. Ting-a-ling, Penny. “So, are you the devil, Victor? You want my sympathy?”
“More so than most.”
I let his words hover. It seemed like a crime against nature that he could be so good-looking and so wrong-headed at the same time. He was challenging. Maybe if I could get rid of Velvet, and get more time with him alone, I could bring him around, to at least something halfway normal. I’d invite him to church. Everybody goes to church sometimes.
Mad Dog made his way up the spiral staircase, huffing and puffing as he burst in the room. “Man, you wouldn’t believe what just hap—” Victor ejected the spent shell from his rifle. “Did you shoot me?” He opened his shirt to reveal a red and angry blotch of swelling skin.
“I thought you were a possum. Or like, a rabid dog.” Victor nudged me and I picked up the joke, chuckled with him. “Maybe we should call you Rabies instead of Mad Dog.”
“That’s not cool,” he said. His chest deflated and he plopped down on the daybed, turned his head, and I believe he wiped a tear.
“Oh, come on Mad Dog. You can take a joke, can’t you?” Victor’s encouraging tone was all it took to bring Mad Dog back around, like a puppy who had been kicked and then petted. “We were about to get a drink. Will you do us a favor? Go down and get my absinthe set. There is a little brown bottle that says datura. Bring that, too.”
He scurried off down the winding stairs, eager to oblige. A few minutes later he was back, carrying a tray with the absinthe, a bowl of sugar cubes, a special spoon, and the brown bottle of datura. Victor balanced the wide, perforated spoon on a mixing glass, and placed a sugar cube on it. Next, he carefully expelled a single drop of datura from the medicine dropper onto the sugar cube, burning a hole through it. Then he poured absinthe on top of that, melting the sugar completely. He added ice, shook it, strained the ice out, and gave it to me in a cocktail glass. “Remember this?”
“Yes, it knocked me out.”
“It had too much datura then. This one has barely a drip.” I took a sip and it was like licorice. I waited for the rush but it was subtle, a pleasant warmth in my throat, migrating to my brain and settling there, bringing with it the certainty that all was well.
“Oh, that is better.”
“It’s a funny thing about this datura. Very tricky. A little can be so nice, but a touch too much and you’re down in a very dark place. You hallucinate, see and hear things that seem completel
y ridiculous later. Is that what happened last time? You said some crazy things while we were playing cards at my birthday.”
“I don’t remember playing cards.”
“You weren’t yourself. But you did seem to have a good time. You couldn’t stop playing with my toys.”
“I’ll say,” Mad Dog said, hoping to share in the joke. Victor shook his head like Rickey was speaking out of line, like he was a fool. I took another sip, enjoying the ease with which Victor managed Rickey. It was not simply that Victor was the alpha of the two. It was more than that. Mad Dog deferred to him like a master. “Can I have one?”
“No, Rickey. These are for myself and the ladies. Velvet’s going to be here soon. You’ll probably need to get going.”
“Come on, Vic. Let me stay,” he pleaded.
I had not heard Velvet jiggling her way up the steps, but there she was, boobs barely concealed behind triangular tissues and a polka dot bow. She had been listening and said, “We should keep Rickey. He might amuse me. You don’t mind if we tie you up, do you Rickey?”
Mad Dog looked to Victor for his answer. He was excited and frightened, battling over which would be better, or worse. “He just shot me,” was the best he could find, and said it to Velvet as if her compassion were something he could beg. “Just like he shoots…”
“Rickey!” Victor said. “This is why you aren’t invited here more often. You don’t do well in company.” Mad Dog clenched his teeth, having embarrassed himself as he so typically did.
“You can tie me up,” Mad Dog said to me, thinking I was the least dangerous of the three.
“But I don’t want to tie you up.” There was no need to continue a discussion with Mad Dog. Victor was, again, leading me down the garden path. “Wait, so that was real or not real at your birthday party? We were not playing cards. You’re saying I imagined the stuff I saw? Uh-uh. Why do you guys even do that?” The drink must have been working because my question was piqued with interest. I really wanted to know. My curiosity was bending toward experimental, to give in like he suggested. What would it hurt to try? I took another sip of the drink and felt bolder than I ever had. I wanted to know what they did. The thrill of banishing fear by embracing it. Be wicked and do the terrible thing. Tonight, I would be obedient to whatever Victor asked me.
Blue Bottle Tree Page 18
