by Greg Keyes
He stared at her. She was serious.
“That makes no fricking sense at all,” Errol said.
“And yet here we are.”
“But—”
He was never sure after what he’d been about to say, because his brain at the moment went through a sort of temporary erasure. They had just come around a bend, where the creek got really wide, almost like a small pond. And standing in it just up to her knees was a naked girl.
Embarrassed, he tried to look away, but then he noticed her expression, how she tilted her head.
It’s okay, I don’t mind if you look, she seemed to be saying.
“Errol?” Aster asked. She sounded very far away, a voice from another room. “Errol, what’s wrong?”
The girl ignored Aster. She had skin the color of milk and her eyes were black. Her wet amber hair was plastered on her shoulders. He thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful.
“Errol, stay with me,” Aster snapped. “Don’t let go of my hand. Where is she?”
When the girl suddenly giggled, beckoned for Errol to follow and took off splashing down the creek, he wasn’t surprised. He jerked his hand out of Aster’s and hauled after her, laughing. She was mischievous, this girl, and bold, and he wanted to know her better.
Aster might have shouted after him, but he couldn’t be bothered with that. The girl sprinted downstream, lithely vaulted onto a half-submerged stump and from there sprang up onto the opposite bank. It was amazing jump, and for an instant he could only stand there, admiring. But then she crooked her finger and sped off through the ferny underbrush.
He lost sight of her, but then she giggled again, and he followed the cheerful sounds.
He was vaguely aware that the forest was growing denser and darker, but the girl’s flesh seemed almost to glow, making her easy to follow. She vanished into a canebrake, and he continued after, the canes rattling musically against his head and arms.
He hurtled out of the thicket and found her waiting for him at the edge of a pool. Heavy, leaf-laden branches blotted out the sky, and the air smelled like a storm coming.
“Hey honey,” the girl said, the first words she had spoken. “Come here.”
So he did, completely as if in a dream. It almost seemed like he heard music as she took his hand in hers. Now she seemed almost shy; she put her head down. But when she lifted it back up, he knew he was going to kiss her.
It was a small kiss at first, just their lips touching. Her eyes were open, and he could see it all, straight through to her soul. She was playful and bold and yes, mischievous—but never cruel or fickle. What he saw in her eyes was honest and real.
And she saw him, how he would love her, protect her. She gave a little sigh and pressed close as the kiss deepened. Her skin was both hot and cold, like a hot fudge sundae, like being in a warm lake but feeling a cold current come along beneath.
He felt happier and more peaceful than—well, ever.
He had a moment of dizziness, and he saw her hair was fanned out around her face, so she looked like a flower. It confused him at first, the lack of gravity, but then he understood that they were underwater. He wanted to laugh. That was her, always playful, pulling him in like that.
In the dim aquatic light, he saw her grin, and then she wrapped her arms around him and pressed the side of her face against his chest. He squeezed back, wondering how deep the pool was.
Then he felt his feet touch bottom, but it wasn’t the mud he expected. Something snapped beneath his wooden feet.
He started to look down, but she caught his chin and brought him back to her lips. As they tipped over backwards he wondered distantly how he was able to kiss with lips of wood. It sort of didn’t make sense.
They fell slowly, to settle horizontally on the floor of the pool.
He rolled so she was beneath him and there it was, her perfect face.
And a foot to the side, a much less perfect one, a bare skull, in fact, and now that he was looking around he saw that they were making out in a real bone yard. He saw at least four skulls and hundreds of other bones.
That snapped him out of it. Sort of. If he was flesh and blood, he would be dead by now, drowned. But he knew she wouldn’t do that, didn’t he?
Yeah, right. Like he had any judgment about women.
He broke away from her and began to swim toward the surface, half of him still willing to lie on the bottom forever, as long as she was with him. But he knew now it was a trick. Hell, it was always a trick, wasn’t it?
He was halfway up onto the bank when she caught his foot. He turned and saw her emerging, looking more hurt than he thought anyone could, and all of a sudden he just wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be fine. With a sigh of surrender, he turned back toward her.
He was half-dead anyway, right? What did he have to lose?
When Aster reached the pool, she saw only ripples. She waited, trying to peer through the murky water, every part of her wound tight as a wire. She hadn’t expected Errol to run off, although she should have. Even under normal circumstances he was a sucker for a pretty face, and most of his thinking was done way below his brain. But he only had to hold off for a few seconds, and he hadn’t even done that.
If she failed here . . .
But suddenly Errol erupted back out of the water and grappled with the bank. He only did that for a second, though, before he whipped around toward something she couldn’t see. Then he let go the land once more.
Aster flicked the water of life behind him, knowing that it was all she had, all she would ever have if this went wrong.
For a moment nothing happened, and she was sure she had missed, and everything she’d striven for was in ruins. But then the algae-covered bones of Veronica Hale’s skeleton appeared, clinging to Errol like the shell of a cicada to a tree. Water and mist swirled up from the pool, enveloping the bones, forming on them, until she was all there. Her skin was so white it was nearly translucent and her long fair hair fell more than halfway down her back. Her features were human, but her expression wasn’t, and the horror of it drove Aster back a few steps.
The mad eyes focused on her, and with a terrible little shriek the nov bounded at her, fingers outstretched like claws. But then her feet went wobbly and her features took on an air of terrible confusion. She opened her mouth and water poured out, and then she began coughing up more. Finally, panting, her eyes unfocused, Veronica looked up.
“What?” she said, and sat down on the mossy bank. She tucked her knees under her chin and began to rock.
“What, what, what?” she whispered.
“It’s going to be fine,” Aster said. “You’re going to be fine. Look, I’ve brought you some clothes.”
The girl kept rocking.
“Veronica,” she said. “I’ve brought you some clothes.”
The girl’s motion slowed and stopped.
“That’s my name,” she said.
“I know,” Aster said. “Why don’t we get you dressed? I wasn’t sure what size you were.”
She pulled out some old khakis and a big t-shirt. Veronica, shivering, nevertheless stared at them for a long moment.
“I don’t remember . . .” she mumbled.
“I’ll help,” Aster told her.
“What have you done to me?” Veronica moaned, as she pulled the shirt over her head.
“Restored you, at least partly.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“I’ll explain,” Aster said. “But let’s get to a safe place first, okay?”
“It’s too late for that,” the girl said. “He’s almost here. He won’t like this. He’ll catch us.”
“He who? What?” Errol interrupted.
Always with the questions, Errol. As if he couldn’t think without talking.
“Just lead us out of here, Errol, now,” she said. “Everyone hold hands.”
A strong wet wind whipped the tree branches into a frenzied dance and a raindrop struck her shoulder. T
hunder rumbled above.
She grabbed Errol’s hand and placed Veronica’s in his other.
“Don’t let go this time, okay?” she said.
Errol looked like he was still in something of a daze. He kept staring at Veronica.
“Errol, she can’t get out of here without your help,” Aster said. “Neither can I. Get it together.”
He nodded and then began walking, retracing their steps. The rain came, falling in sheets that tore through the canopy and stung her shoulders. Back behind them she heard something louder, something wetter and more massive than any storm.
She’s mine. It went through her head like the keen of a buzz saw.
She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small paper packet of gheizhe and scattered it in the rain behind them, hoping it might throw him off for a few seconds, anyway. It was a small hope, as she wasn’t even sure what was coming. She had only expected to find Veronica.
They sloshed across the creek to the path. When she had chased Errol across it, it had only been a foot deep or so. Now it came up to her waist. The stream pulled at her viciously, personally. She fell, and her scream was cut off by water flooding into her mouth, but Errol didn’t let go; he gripped her fingers so tightly they hurt. He dragged her through the stream until they were on the bank, stumbling back the way they had come.
Witch! You do not dare!
He was too close. They weren’t going to make it. She looked left at the river and saw the dark form building in it. Her feet were getting heavy.
She reached into her pocket again, and brought out something she had hoped to save for later. It didn’t look like much, just a little silver sphere, but it had been her mother’s.
She tossed it toward the thing.
“Belas,” she murmured, and suddenly it was as if the sun had come for a visit. A terrible, decidedly inhuman shriek cut though the downpour and then they were out of it, tripping through beer cans and candy wrappers.
Witch, the voice was very faint now. Thief. I smell the Northeast Wind on you. I mark you now.
It hung in her mind, as Errol began babbling questions again and Veronica made baby noises.
That was unexpected, she reckoned, and bad, but not as bad as being caught by whatever-it-was.
And now she had two of her companions. Just one to go.
FOUR
DADDY
Veronica.
She gripped the name, tried to open it like a book and see all that it contained. She remembered new, white tennis shoes, and the woman who gave them to her. She remembered looking down at them and the waterfall beneath . . .
Right here. She stared at the falls, so close, and yet for eternity so unattainable. How many times had she tried to swim that way? And how long since she quit trying?
“I’ve been here,” she said, aloud. Not for the others, but for herself.
The skinny girl with the brown hair answered anyway. “Attahacha falls,” she said.
“Yes. I—Veronica—was here before.”
The girl had done something to her, freed her from him and those dark waters. It was almost as if she had placed a shining crystal inside of her mind, lighting up all of the places that had been dark for so long. At first the shock of the change, of stepping back into Veronica had been frightening. Now, here, in this half-remembered light, all of her fear drained away.
“Veronica,” the girl went on. “Do you think you can tell me what that was that came after us?”
The girl seemed serious, although the question was a pretty silly one.
“Him,” she replied. “The Creek Man.”
“Oh,” the girl said. “A vadras. Bad news.”
“I don’t know that word.”
“There’s no reason you should,” the girl replied.
But Veronica thought she should. She wanted words again. She wanted to fill her head with them.
“What’s your name?” she asked the girl.
“Aster,” she replied. “Aster Kostyena. And this is Errol Greyson.”
“I remember you, Errol,” Veronica said. “I kissed you.”
“Yeah,” Errol replied.
“You’re made out of wood. I didn’t notice that before.”
“That’s kind of funny,” he said. But he didn’t sound like he thought it was funny at all.
“I guess that’s why you’re still alive,” she said.
“So you were trying to kill me,” he said.
“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” Veronica explained. “I was just doing what I do. I don’t think about it.”
“How many men have you killed?” he said, in a fairly noisy way. Anger? Was that what that was?
“I think we can agree they basically killed themselves,” she replied.
“No!” Errol said, more loudly than before. “I don’t agree with that at all. Aster, this is nuts. Do you know how many bodies were down there?”
“I’m sure Veronica will be a good girl from now on,” Aster replied.
“I am a good girl,” Veronica said. “My father always said so.” She smiled, then, at the sudden image of his face.
“I remember my father!” she said.
“You will remember more and more, as time goes by,” Aster said. “You’ll remember about being human.”
“But I’m still not human, am I?”
“No, you aren’t,” Aster replied. “But you’re closer than you were.”
Veronica felt like laughing again when she saw the car. It was funny-looking—not like the cars she remembered—but she knew what it was. Her head was filling up with words again.
Things could have been worse; the yellow Toyota could have been waiting for them when they arrived, instead of pulling into the long driveway just as Aster was getting the house door open.
“Get in, Errol,” Aster said. “Take her and hide her someplace.”
“That’s Ms. Fincher,” Errol said.
“I know who it is,” she snapped. “Get going.”
She watched the car arrive, stop, and Ms. Fincher step out. And not just her, but Mr. Watkins, too. She fought off panic and tried to smile.
Behind them, she noticed a murder of crows settling in the field across the highway.
“Hello, Ms. Fincher, Mr. Watkins,” she said.
“Hello, Aster,” Mr. Watkins said. “We missed you at school today.”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” she said. “I had a doctor’s appointment. I was going to bring a note tomorrow.”
“You’re soaking wet,” Ms. Fincher said. “Exactly what sort of doctor’s visit was it?”
“It rained,” she said.
Ms. Fincher looked up at the clear sky and cocked her head.
“It rained.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“What about your friends?” Mr. Watkins asked. “Did they have appointments as well?”
“Those are my cousins,” she said, noticing as she said it more crows arriving in the field. “They’re just staying for a few days.”
“Visiting from out of the country?” he said. “How exciting.”
“Yes, I suppose,” she said.
Ms. Fincher smiled. “Here’s the thing, Aster. We would like to speak to your father. Now.”
“He’s not here right now, Ma’am.”
“We’re here to help,” Mr. Watkins said, soothingly.
Ms. Fincher’s smile faded. “Listen to me, Aster. If we leave, we’re coming back. And when we come back, we’ll have the sheriff with us. Do you understand?”
“I don’t see why the sheriff would be interested, Ma’am,” she said, trying to stay calm. “I’m not a kid. This is my first absence this year. I had a doctor’s appointment. I’ll bring the note tomorrow.”
“Why not just show it to me now?” Ms. Fincher asked.
Mr. Watkins looked apologetic. “There’s no need—look, just let us talk to your father, Aster.”
Aster blinked. Ms. Fincher was glaring at her and Mr. Watkins was looking earnest, but they
were suddenly the least of her worries. A black mass rose up from the field, a whirling tornado of cawing, shrieking birds, thousands—hundreds of thousands—of them.
“Oh, not now,” she groaned.
Ms. Fincher heard the noise and turned.
“Sweet Lord!” she squealed.
In that instant, Aster had two plain choices; duck inside and slam the door, leaving Ms. Fincher and Mr. Watkins to bear the brunt of this latest conjuration—or pull them in, as well. If she did the first, she at least wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore. But then the police would come anyway, wouldn’t they? There would be questions.
So she grabbed the two of them by the hands and hauled them in, just as the avian storm struck the house, a shuddering blow.
“What in heaven’s name?” Ms. Fincher let out. She backed away from the door. Mr. Watkins’ mouth was working but sound wasn’t coming out.
Aster kept hold of their arms and led them to the first room down the hall.
“Just have a seat here,” she said. “We should be safe inside.”
“Safe from what?” the woman gasped.
“I’ll get you something to drink,” Aster said. “How about some orange juice?”
“Safe from what?” she shrieked again, as Aster ran down the hall.
“Wait,” Mr. Watkins called. “Aster—”
She reached the door to her father’s room and paused for a moment, then with a sigh unlocked it and pushed it open.
Errol led Veronica back through the winding maze of the house, but they hadn’t gone far when a shock struck the building, and all of the power went out.
“Great,” he muttered. “Again.”
“What is it?” Veronica asked.
“Cows, maybe? I don’t know.”
But he started back toward the front door. Halfway to the foyer, he saw Aster dart across the hall, and followed her instead, figuring she would know what was up.
He caught up with her just in time to see her open the door.
The room looked like a tornado had been through it, and it appeared that the tornado had made a stop at the liquor store first. Whisky and vodka bottles littered the floor or stood empty on tables, chairs, and bookshelves. He could see all of this because of two oil lamps sputtering at either end of the room.
