Tempest (Playing the Fool #3)

by Lisa Henry

She nodded.

  “I’ll make you girls hot chocolate,” Ana said.

  “With marshmallows!” Cory crowed.

  “Pink ones,” Viola added.

  “Then we’re going to do science,” Cory said.

  Viola nodded. “Sebastian, will you and Mac come and see our science?”

  “We’re busy, Vi.”

  Her face fell. “You said you would!” A childish, petulant tone that didn’t match her age.

  He lowered his voice, aware that everyone was watching. He tried to keep his voice reasonable and calm, and was acutely aware that it was too easy to tip over into Patronizing Fuck. “We don’t have time for that, Vi. We’ve got a serious problem here.”

  Viola narrowed her eyes.

  Yeah. Patronizing Fuck.

  “You promised.”

  Had he? He couldn’t remember now. Not after everything. For a moment, he actually envied Viola her childlike determination. She kept her eyes on the prize, Vi, whatever the fuck got in the way. OPR agent, alien invasion, or total nuclear holocaust: Vi would still remember that he’d promised. Once, before he’d put her into care, she’d sat up waiting for him all night because he’d said they’d play Go Fish before she went to bed, and he’d forgotten and gone out. Came home six hours later with a busted lip, smelling of sweat and cigarettes and some john’s cum, wanting to fucking die he ached so much, and Vi had met him at the door with a smile on her face and the pack of cards in her hands.

  “Can we play now, Sebby?”

  He fucking hated her sometimes, but he always hated himself more.

  “I know.” He drew a deep breath. “But it’s too late for science now.” In the corner of his eye he saw Cory, looking outraged, open her mouth. Ana smacked her gently on the back of the hand, forestalling what Henry imagined would have been a lecture on how it was never too late for science. “In the morning, okay? You can show us in the morning.”

  For a second he thought Viola would get angry. Lash out, throw something, break stuff. She’d nearly given them away at the old house, until Mac had calmed her down. So now apparently even Mac was a better caretaker than Henry. He blinked, remembering the feel of Vi’s arms around him, just like when they were kids. Mac had cheated, had used what Henry had told him—had used Sebastian—to get through to her. But it had worked.

  No way was he going to tell Mac or anyone how convinced he’d been, cowering in that closet, that he was going to die. That ghosts were reaching out to him, whispering. It was a feeling that had little—if anything—to do with Janice Bixler. He’d needed Vi in that moment more than ever.

  She glared at him and huffed.

  “Girls, why don’t you go and watch TV?” Ana asked. “I’ll bring your chocolate in there.”

  Henry could still feel the full force of Viola’s glare as she stood up and followed Cory to the living room.

  Crisis temporarily averted.

  “Sorry,” he murmured to Mac and his parents. He drew a deep breath. “So, what’s the plan, Mac?”

  Mac’s forehead was creased in concern. “Is she going to be okay staying with Cory?”

  Rage flared inside him. “She won’t hit a kid, Mac.”

  “That’s not what I asked you, is it?”

  Suddenly he felt as childlike as Viola. Felt like throwing a fucking tantrum. He curled his fingers into fists instead, and tried not to be a total dick. “She’ll be fine. She’s angry with me, not you guys. Anyway . . .” He tried not to let his voice hitch. “Anyway, by tomorrow she’ll forget we were even fighting.”

  He wished it were as easy for him to forget.

  “So what do we do?” he asked. “I mean, I could see if Stacy can find us a place without letting the rest of the Court know she’s helping an FBI agent, but . . . Why are you staring at me? Mac, we can’t stay here.”

  He watched Mac exchange a glance with his dad.

  Ian cleared his throat. “If you two want to stay, we want you here.”

  “Now that that Bixler woman’s searched without finding you, maybe she’ll leave this place alone,” Ana pointed out, shaking hot chocolate mix into six mugs.

  Henry stared at Mac, mouth open. Was he the only sane one in this room? They were compromised. And when you were compromised, you did the logical thing and ran.

  “I wouldn’t feel safe anywhere else,” Mac said quietly.

  “I don’t feel safe here!” Henry turned to Ian. “No offense.”

  “I just—” Mac started.

  “You know when I really did not feel safe?” Henry interrupted. “Stashed in a closet while some psycho was sniffing around outside the door.”

  “If Remy gives us something usable tomorrow, we might not need to hide anymore. Surely we can stay here one more night, and then sort this out tomorrow?”

  Henry continued to stare. “Viola,” he said finally.

  Ana looked at him. “We wouldn’t let anything happen to her, Henry. If someone came around while you were gone, we’d do whatever was necessary to protect her.”

  God. He wanted to do the right thing and smile politely and say thank you. But another part of him, the darker part, wanted to laugh in her face because she didn’t know. She didn’t know how Vi could get, when she screamed and yelled and hit, and all he could do was try to hold her down while something inside him broke every single time.

  His fault.

  His fault this had happened to his smart, funny, loving sister.

  Because keeping his mouth shut had always been a problem, hadn’t it?

  He pushed his chair back. “I need some air. Excuse me.”

  Ana shot him a look of concern as he went out the door.

  He walked down toward the chicken pen and hooked his fingers through the wire. It was too dark to see into the coop, but he could hear the gentle crooning noises the hens made.

  He wasn’t surprised when he felt Mac standing behind him, big and safe and warm. He closed his eyes as Mac brushed the hair at his nape.

  “You okay?”

  “Not exactly.” He tightened his grip on the wire. “I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. Am I fucking this all up, Mac? Am I letting this go?”

  “No. You’re not fucking this up, and neither of us is letting it go.”

  His eyes stung. He leaned with his forehead against the wire as Mac rubbed his neck. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “Everything, I guess.”

  “Turn around.”

  He obeyed, and found himself in an embrace. “Why, Mr. McGuinness!”

  Mac shook his head solemnly. “None of that.”

  “None of what?”

  “That thing you do. Deflection.”

  “Oh, are we back on the pop psychology thing again?” He bumped his pelvis against Mac. “I really wanted to skip it and go straight to the part where we fuck.”

  “No.” Mac caught Henry’s wrists and raised them above his head. Held them against the wire of the chicken pen. “You need to shut up for once.”

  “Fine.” He was a little breathless. “But only because I like where this is going.”

  “You were scared tonight. But you have to know, you’re safe now.”

  “Don’t feel safe,” he whispered.

  “I know, and I’m sorry.” Mac leaned in and kissed him softly, quickly, the contact gone almost before Henry had registered it.

  “It’s not just what happened tonight.” The words were out before he could stop them.

  “What do you mean?”

  Henry pulled one hand free and gestured around them. “I mean Green Acres here. It’s beautiful and perfect and the goats shit heart-shaped meadow muffins, but . . .” He looked at Mac helplessly. How to explain? Something bad’s gonna happen, Mac. Something really bad. “Should have known it wouldn’t last,” he finished lamely.

  “Superstitious?” Mac teased gently, catching his wrist again.

  Henry shrugged. Tried to smile. “Never thought there were monsters under your bed, Mac?”


  “I don’t believe in—”

  “I know.” Henry’s heart rate slowed. “No werewolves, monsters, or magic in Agent McGuinness’s world.”

  Mac gazed at him so intently that for a second Henry wanted to bolt. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “Oh, Mac.” Henry shook his head.

  “No, listen to me. You are safe with me.”

  Saying it doesn’t make it so.

  “I don’t know.” Henry looked away. “I’m an idiot. Forget it.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll go back to Indianapolis and find Remy. We’ll have this all sorted out in a few days.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “If we don’t, you and Vi can stay here for as long as you need.”

  “Even if you’re in jail?”

  “Oh,” Mac said, smiling slightly, “an optimist.”

  Henry lifted his face for another gentle kiss. He felt calmer than he had all night, just him and Mac in the darkness. The stars blazing above them. “You can let me go now, Mac.”

  “Hmmm.” Mac nipped at his lower lip, pressing him against the wire until it squealed. “I don’t think I’m done with you just yet.”

  “Okay, then.”

  Mac drew back. “You’re not going to argue?”

  He shook his head. “Not this time.”

  “Good.” Mac sounded surprised. This time their kiss was deeper. Mac held his wrists tightly. Mac took control of the kiss, and Henry let it happen. “Good,” Mac said again, this time his voice a whisper.

  Henry murmured his agreement and closed his eyes.

  Viola lay in Cory’s bed. Cory was in her sleeping bag on the floor.

  “I hate how Sebby never lets me do anything,” Viola said to the ceiling.

  Cory shifted. “What do you mean?”

  Viola rolled onto her side and looked down at Cory. “Tomorrow Mac and Sebby are gonna go away into the city. Nobody asks me if I want to help.”

  Cory propped herself on one elbow. “I know what you mean. The vacation my parents are on, in San Francisco? I asked if I could go too, because there’s the Exploratorium there. But they said no. I like staying with Nana and Papa, but they always have their friends over to play cards. And they never ask if I want to play or anything.”

  Viola gazed at Cory through the darkness. Sebastian’s words still played in her head, still stung. “We don’t have time for that, Vi. We’ve got a serious problem here.”

  As though Viola didn’t know anything about serious problems.

  She’d only wanted to cheer Sebby up. She was mad because he’d yelled at her in the closet. But Mac said Sebby was just scared. She didn’t want him to be scared.

  “People don’t take us seriously.”

  “They hardly even notice us,” Cory agreed mournfully.

  “I want to be allowed to decide things.”

  “You should,” Cory told her. “You’re a grown-up.”

  Viola rolled onto her back again and gazed up at the model pterodactyl skeleton. In the dark, it looked kind of scary.

  A grown-up wouldn’t be afraid of that.

  Though maybe that wasn’t true. Sebby was scared of lots of things. Like thunder. And the bad people who’d tried to find them tonight. And Mac. Sebby was scared of Mac—not scared because Mac was a Bad Person. But scared for some other reason Viola didn’t understand.

  Maybe it was okay to be scared of things no matter what age you were, or how smart.

  “Cory?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad we’re friends.”

  “Me too,” Cory said. “After you leave, will you still visit me?”

  “Yes,” Viola said firmly.

  If Sebastian tried to say they couldn’t visit Mac’s family, Viola would go alone.

  She was a grown-up, after all.

  The next morning, Mac looked Henry up and down as he approached the truck. Refrained from shaking his head as Henry settled into the passenger seat. “I thought you’d be wearing a disguise.”

  “Seriously?” Henry smoothed down his tie. “I am wearing a disguise. Look at me. I could be selling magazine subscriptions. Or Jesus. Or subscriptions to magazines that are exclusively about Jesus. White Jesus. Or maybe I’m on my way to a job interview at an accounting firm.” He flashed Mac a smile. “Yeah, I’ll bet that’s what I’m doing.”

  Mac frowned at the pants. There was something both weirdly familiar and aesthetically disturbing about the houndstooth pattern. “Are those my dad’s pants?”

  “Circa 1974. Your dad wore ’em tight. This is his tie too.”

  “You’re really wearing a tie?”

  “You like boys in ties.” Henry ran his fingers down the silk, in a gesture that would have been a hell of a lot sexier if Mac didn’t remember buying that tie for his dad one Father’s Day. “Look at you. Even in jeans something about you just screams cop.”

  “I’m not a cop.”

  “I know. But ‘something about you just screams authority figure who can deprive me of my freedom’ just doesn’t roll off the tongue in the same way, does it?”

  “I guess not.” He stared at his parents’ house a little longer, then turned the ignition. The truck rumbled into life. “You ready for this?”

  Henry pulled a packet of Skittles out of his pocket. “I’m always ready for a road trip.”

  Of course he was.

  They headed for Indianapolis.

  Mac let Henry fiddle with the radio and spill candy and talk bullshit at a million miles an hour, because that was Henry. It was how he dealt with stress. If he talked fast enough, if he teased, if he didn’t stop, then he didn’t have to deal. Even a week ago Mac would have been irritated by that. Would have wanted to slap him around the back of the head for being so damn irritating. Like Energizer Bunny irritating. But not today.

  Henry glanced out the window at the darkening sky. “Looks like rain.”

  “Storm’s not supposed to hit until this evening.”

  “Great. Let me get out my umbrella and tap shoes.” Henry changed the radio station again. Then suddenly slapped the radio knob, turning it off. “Can we stop for donuts, Mac?”

  “Says the guy who just put away two omelets for breakfast.”

  “Which is my protein requirement for the day. Now I need my sugar and frosting requirement for the day. Oh, and my milkshake requirement. Strawberry.” He jiggled his leg. “Definitely strawberry.”

  “If we see somewhere, we’ll stop.”

  Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious? I don’t need to argue about this?”

  “Nope.”

  Henry slumped back down in his seat. “Well, now I know you think we’re gonna die.”

  Mac glanced sideways at him. “Maybe I’m just tired of arguing with you.”

  “Or maybe you want me to finish these Skittles and put something else in my mouth. Want me to taste your rainbow?”

  “Not while I’m driving, I don’t.” Flirty Henry was incorrigible. He was also deflecting again. One day, Mac decided, he would surprise the fuck out of both of them and say yes to whatever crazy suggestion fell out of those candy-stained lips.

  “You’re so boring, Mac.”

  “Shut up, Cheese.”

  Henry smiled a little.

  They turned onto the highway.

  “You want to tell me about your friend Remy?”

  “Not much to tell.” Henry turned to stare out the window at the flat farmland beside the highway. “He’s my best friend. Don’t know what that says about either of us.”

  “Will you be able to contact him when we get to the city?”

  Henry nodded. “Yeah. You go and do whatever you have to do—buy a more stylish shirt maybe?—and I’ll go to the Court. He’ll know to go there, or leave a message. It’s what we do.”

  “Because a phone call is too mainstream?”

  “Oh, please.” Henry smoothed his tie. “Don’t let the tight pants fool you. I’m no hipster. Fo
r your information, Remy isn’t answering his phone. I tried this morning while you were in the bathroom sanding your head or whatever it is you do.”

  “He’s not answering?”

  “No biggie,” Henry said. “Remy’s always losing his phone. Or selling it. You lose your phone or you ditch it, first thing you do is leave a message at the Court of Miracles.”

  “I don’t want us to split up.”

  “You can’t come to the Court with me. God, can you imagine?” Henry upended the bag of Skittles in his mouth. He chewed for a while before he spoke again. “We’ll meet up when we’re done. What about the Circle Centre? The food court on level three.”

  “This is not a good idea.” Mac shot him a look. He told himself that he knew Henry wouldn’t run, not as long as Vi was at the farm, but he didn’t actually believe it. Nothing was impossible when it came to Henry. Anyway, splitting up could be dangerous. They had no real idea what they were up against here. “We need to stick together.”

  “That’s sweet.” Henry inspected the Skittles bag as though he hoped to discover it was bottomless. Then, wrinkling his nose in disappointment, he scrunched the packet up and tossed it onto the floor of the truck. “But Remy won’t talk to you without me, Mac. And you cannot—cannot—come to the Court of Miracles.”

  Mac would have argued, but he knew there was no point. He shook his head and watched the road instead.

  Henry should have worn a hoodie. He resisted the urge to turn and look over his shoulder when the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Instead he straightened his tie and walked along the fence that ran beside the Court of Miracles.

  Snuffling and whining followed him the length of the chain link.

  “Hey, Doorbell.” He let the dog lick the back of his hand.

  Doorbell sagged against the fence happily.

  He wondered how Mac imagined the place. An underground cavern full of gypsies and vagabonds? A legendary twilight world full of magic and mystery? Well, a basement apartment in Fountain Square that was so far resistant to gentrification was probably not what he had in mind.

  He took his key out of his pocket and let himself into the Court.

  It was quiet.

  Even the kitchen was empty. Yesterday’s newspaper lay open on the little table, half a cup of cold coffee beside it.