Marley hesitated. But it was Branwyn. “I got shot.”
“No way!” Branwyn’s chair rocked backwards, but she caught herself on the counter before she fell over.
Marley plunged on. “And that’s why I want to borrow the keys to your studio. And you shouldn’t go home, either. I think it’s dangerous.”
Branwyn slung herself over the counter. “Wait, who shot you? They were at the apartment?” Her green eyes were wide.
It’s Branwyn wasn’t enough. She couldn't find the words to explain the utter strangeness of the park, even to her. “I—I don’t quite know. It was at the park.”
“What did the cops say?” When Marley didn’t immediately answer, her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t call the cops. Or 911.”
“You’re not exactly a fan of the authorities yourself, Bran. And they would separate me from the girls, which would be... bad. It was just a graze.”
“Yeah, but guns... Well, what happened to the gunman, then?”
“They... went away.” She tried to squeeze shut memory’s eyes on that awful devouring static, and the speaking light.
Instead, she watched Branwyn’s face tighten. “You’re not telling me anything. Are you in shock? Sit down. Put your feet up.”
Marley fumbled for words as she sat down. I’m being stalked by a group of people with supernatural... a pair of older women attacked... and there was a girl with some dogs... No. Branwyn was open-minded, but Marley couldn’t bring herself to describe what she didn’t understand. “I don’t want to talk about it here. Maybe tonight, after I’ve had some time to process it?”
Branwyn stepped closer and investigated the bandages on Marley’s arm. Her gaze slid over to where the kids were getting water all over the floor. “Hmmm.” Her eyes flicked down to the cat carrier Marley was still holding. Then she fished a keychain out of her pocket and slid off a key. “Do you want me to leave work and take you there?”
Marley closed her fingers over the key, feeling its warmth. “No. I survived getting here. I'll be fine.”
Branwyn hesitated, then nodded. “All right. I have some errands I need to run after work, but I’ll be there later.”
“Oh, and I wanted to rent a car.”
Branwyn stared at her, then said, “I wish you could tell me why, Marley. Loaners are technically for customers.”
“Shall I go outside and key my hood?” Marley snapped. Then she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Branwyn. I don’t even know if I’m being too paranoid or not paranoid enough. But somebody shot at me.”
Branwyn put her hand on Marley's head as if checking for a fever, and then hopped over the counter again. “Yeah. Let me see what I can find.”
Marley focused on the twins splashing in the water they’d spilled. She suddenly realized she’d even seen Kari deliberately turning a cup upside down. “You two, cut that out. And clean it up.”
Lissa, who’d been drawing in the puddle, gave her an inscrutable look before grabbing some paper towels. But Kari kicked a foot across the puddle and then stomped it to make a teeny-tiny splash. “It’s. Too. Hot.”
Marley blew out her breath. “Yes. It is. We all agree. And if somebody goes to get some water and slips and falls because you made a mess, they’ll hurt themselves. And if you clean it up, you’ll cool down. Everybody wins.”
“The studio’s air conditioning is imaginary. Won’t that be a charming scene?” said Branwyn. “I’ve checked out a car for you. One of the premiums.”
Marley gave Kari the stink eye until she abruptly giggled and started moving water around with a paper towel. Then she turned to Branwyn and fished out her emergency credit card.
Branwyn gave her a scornful look. “Put that away.”
Marley was acutely aware of the mini-lecture she’d just given Kari on responsibility. “Bran, I need to—”
Branwyn’s look became positively unfriendly. “You want a different car because you think you’re being followed. Do you know if they can follow your credit card, too?” Branwyn shook her head as she typed into the computer. “In my opinion, Marley, you’re definitely not being paranoid enough.”
* * *
Branwyn’s art studio was one of a set on an unfinished third floor over a pawn shop, and it was breathtakingly hot. The local air pollution was so bad Marley could hardly see or smell the smoke from the wildfires. Smog clung to the heights of downtown, sucking the life out of what seemed like it should have been a busy, interesting street. But it was quiet on the block outside the studio, and felt as empty as a ghost town. Branwyn apparently liked it, but Marley had never understood why.
There were three ornate black metal box fans in the studio, functional works of art created by Branwyn herself, and once they were turned on, at least there was a hot breeze to dry their sweat. More bits of twisted metal and spools of wire were piled around a long table littered with tools. There was also a utilitarian shower, and a sink large enough to bathe a small child.
Marley filed that thought away for later. For the moment, the twins seemed content to pant on the couch, exhausted from the strange day. Even Neath flopped bonelessly on the floor, too hot to explore. Marley understood the feeling. Once she had the fans pointed at the couch, she sank down beside the girls and her eyes seemed to drift closed all by themselves.
She dreamt first of her idealized bedroom, and a doll-sized fairy waving at her. “There you are! I’ve been waiting for you for an oak’s age.” Dream-Neath leapt off the bed, pinning the fairy to the floor. A sparkle devoured the walls of the bedroom. Then, even though there was a muffled, “No, come back, get this thing off me—” from the fairy, Marley was back in the park, reliving the nightmare from earlier in the day. That happened nine or ten times, until Marley was viewing the events through a review column she was writing. “Too post-modern for my tastes,” she wrote, and shoved the scroll through the keyhole from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It stuck there, because it wasn’t the key.
She woke up, feeling as if her head had been buried in sand.
The girls were still asleep, taking long, deep breaths that suggested they wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. Marley went to the window and looked out. The mountainside was mostly a charred black, with spots of orange where patches of fire still found fuel. The main line of fire was out of sight, hidden behind the cityscape. That meant the fires were bad this year. Marley wondered if maybe this year, all the warnings and evacuations and careful fallback plans would be justified. Then her wandering gaze passed over a familiar figure leaning against a wall across the street.
It was the man from the library, the one who’d helped her escape it and had otherwise been so uninformative. There were big black birds at his feet, and on the building around him. Marley glanced at his face and met his eyes; he was staring directly at her.
She swore and ducked away from the window, her heart pounding. How had he found her so quickly? He wasn’t the most frightening thing that could have appeared outside her window, yet if he’d found her, surely Jeremy the Lawyer and his interns could, too? But she thought of Kari opening a locked door, and the monster in man’s clothing on the highway. She had no idea what the rules of the world were anymore.
She peeked around the window frame. He was still there, still looking up at her. His hands were crammed into his pockets, and he looked angry. Marley bit her lip and then stopped suppressing the catastrophe vision. A wheel of possibilities wreathed the tall man. Death was still on the wheel, but it was no longer the most prominent future. Instead, an image of loneliness painted into a forest of self-loathing was clearest in the stack, though not pinpoint sharp.
Marley caught her breath. Why? If this vision was some kind of precognition, why did she only see bad things ahead of everybody she looked at? Everybody but the twins. She turned to gaze at them. Cherubic in their sleep, they still seemed utterly safe to her, as if nothing could harm them or tarnish the possibilities of their future.
When she looked back outside, the man acr
oss the street was gone, although the flock of black birds remained. Several of them seemed to be looking up at her window. She blinked at them, trying to determine if that was actually true, or a trick of the late afternoon shadows. Then there was a creak in the hall outside the studio, and a soft knock on the door.
Marley raced over to the door. It had no chain, just an ordinary lock on the knob that she was suddenly very happy she’d remembered to turn. She leaned her shoulder on the door, and waited.
“Hello?” came a masculine voice, muffled by the door. “I wanted to introduce myself. We met at the library. My name is Corbin Adair.”
“And why were you outside my building, Mr. Adair?”
The floor creaked, and the door moved a tiny bit; Marley realized he was also leaning against the door. His voice, when he spoke, was uncomfortably close. “Watching over you.”
“Right. Because you’re oh-so-helpful. I forgot. I still don’t know why, though.”
She could practically feel the frustration in his voice as he said, “Because I don’t know what else to do.”
An unexpected sympathy swelled within Marley, but she crushed it ruthlessly. “And how exactly did you find me?”
The pause from the other side went on too long. Finally, he said, “I don’t want to explain it like this. I don’t think you’d understand.”
Marley pressed her lips together. “Really. Give me some credit, Mr. Adair; I’m not an idiot.”
“Did you understand what happened at the park today? AT told me about it.”
“I understand that some people shot at me, and I don’t know why, or who sent them. Was it you?”
“No! Damn it!” There was a thump on the door, at about head-height. “Look, whether or not you believe me, we want the same things: to find Zachariah, and to protect those kids. And I expect you want to survive the next few days, but who knows if that’s actually true. God knows I’ve been wrong before.”
Marley bit her lip. “Are other people going to follow me the same way you did?”
“No, absolutely not. And if they tried, I’d know about it.”
She raised her eyebrows at the door. “You’re that certain? Well... good.” She closed her eyes. “Still not going to let you in, though. You know how it is. I’m a helpless woman with some kids to protect, and you’re a big, strong, deceptive man who won’t explain himself to me.”
There was a snorting sound from the other side. “I’m going back to keeping watch. If anybody else does show up, I’ll warn you, and distract them.”
“My friend Branwyn is coming over. She has green hair. Don’t you touch her.” Then curiosity drove her to add, “How will you warn me?”
The door shifted again as he moved away from it. His voice drifted back. “There will be wings at your window.”
-twelve-
At first, Corbin returned to his position across the street. But, apparently, he didn’t like the view, because as the sun sank below the skyline, he moved to the near side of the street. It was just out of Marley’s line of sight, unless she pressed her cheek to the screen, which didn’t feel very pleasant. So she gave up on watching him watching her, and turned her attention to the waking little girls. Tepid showers soothed grumpy tempers admirably, and afterward she watched them play with the cat among Branwyn’s projects and wondered what to do about dinner.
When Branwyn showed up, she called Marley’s cellphone rather than knocking, and Marley opened the door to help her with the armful of fast food bags she was carrying. They exchanged meaningful glances that meant “food first, before the little girls eat us,” and settled down for a hamburger picnic on the studio floor.
Marley, who’d been thinking about what to tell Branwyn, started the conversation. “Do you remember those stories your great grandmother used to tell us? Black dogs and white cats and horseshoes? And the magpies?”
“All her superstitions from the old country? Yeah.” Branwyn smiled briefly at a memory. “Two magpies to the right is lucky! Never ask a fisherman where he’s fishing!”
“And all the stuff about fairies. That old story about a world under a burning mountain, and trooping fairies on the move.”
Branwyn nodded. “And a covenant requiring a tithe to Hell. Yes. What about it?”
“I’ve just been thinking about it. She really believed that stuff—it wasn’t just stories to her.”
“People ‘really believe’ all sorts of stupid things,” Branwyn said. “At least she had the excuse of being born a long time ago.”
“You mean, before we knew it was all stupid things?”
Branwyn’s eyes narrowed. “Before people were educated enough to question what they were told. Are you leading up to telling me that Zachariah was stolen away by fairies? Because he’s about forty years too old for that.”
“No! I’m not. And he’s not that old. I’m thinking about angels, actually, and not because of Zachariah. Angels and demons and why so many people believe in them. But they don’t believe in magic. How does that make sense?”
“Doing as you will creates a bigger burden on the conscience than doing as you’re told.” At Marley’s questioning look, Branwyn sighed and continued. “People want a higher power to blame, so they don’t have to be held accountable for their own actions and decisions. The strength and authority comes from outside them. Magic, of the wizardly variety, represents personal responsibility. So that’s the fantasy.” Branwyn’s mouth twisted in disgust. “It’s the same reason big corporations are so popular.”
“But you don’t believe in magic or religion,” Marley pointed out.
Branwyn took a bite of her veggie burger, chewed it, and swallowed. “Or big corporations. That’s because I don’t need a metaphor to help me take responsibility. I believe in me.”
“It isn’t just because religions encourage the faithful not to believe in magic?”
“Personal responsibility. But while we’re on the subject... Penny called me this afternoon. I went to see her after work. She’d been crying.”
Marley lowered her gaze. “What was wrong?”
“Well, apparently you told her that her new boyfriend was using her to get to the kids, for one.” Branwyn paused for a moment and then went on.
“And thinking over her date last night makes her wonder if it was true. She said it was ‘too perfect.’ Actually, she said it was ‘more perfect than she deserved,’ but this is Penny, so I ignored the latter bit.” She frowned. “But he called while I was there, and she... transformed. Talking to him made her happy like I’ve never seen before. It was strange.”
Marley chewed on her lip again. “What was she like, after?”
“Happy and confused. She said Jeremy told her she had a higher purpose in his organization, which she laughed at, but... I could tell she really liked the idea.” Branwyn scowled. “I think Lawyer Jeremy’s pulling Penny into a cult.”
Marley eyed her friend and thought of a group of happy, well-dressed young people. “I could believe that. What did you say to her?”
Branwyn looked irritated. “Nothing. That sort of accusation makes me sound like an overprotective mother. But I’d love to prove to her that the bastard is just using her.”
“Break her heart for her own good, you mean.” Marley shook her head. “I’d rather he just... went away.”
“Me too!” chirped Lissa, who was listening intently.
Marley gave her a look. “You go play with your sister.”
“She’s listening too! Right, Kari?”
Kari, dangling a makeshift fishing pole before Neath, said, “Right! Fairy lawyers!”
Marley rolled her eyes and dug out a pair of picture books from her hastily packed luggage. When she’d settled the twins on the other side of the room with Lissa reading aloud to Kari, she returned to Branwyn.
“Did you see that guy outside? Dark hair, loitering outside the building?”
Branwyn perked up. “I did. Is he one of the bad guys?”
Marley made a
face. “You’re as bad as the kids. And I don’t know. He says he isn’t. I’m not afraid of him like I should be, either. And I keep wondering if it’s... I dunno, Stockholm syndrome or something. Because there’s no reason not to be afraid of him. Just because he says he’s on my side doesn’t mean anything.”
Branwyn eyed her. “Yeah. About that. What’s going on?”
Marley launched into the abridged explanation. “My theory is that Zachariah has some information that a ‘business rival’ wants, and his gang is trying to kidnap the kids to give them some leverage over him. And I think the authorities are compromised in the whole deal, so I can’t go to them.”
Branwyn’s expression was very dubious. “And the gunmen who just ‘went away’?”
“Oh! There were other people around. Including this girl with three really big, aggressive dogs. I think they got spooked into shooting before they were ready, and then ran. Everybody could see their faces and everything.” Even as she spoke, Marley felt a pang of guilt, and she busied herself cleaning up the remains of dinner. Branwyn didn’t want to hear about flashes of wings and light—that much was clear from their earlier conversation. And for all Marley knew, she was telling the truth. Maybe the flash of light had been a hallucination brought on by shock. Not talking about it until she understood it better was the responsible solution.
She heard Branwyn stand up, and then suddenly the taller woman was hauling her up by her injured arm. “Hey, ow, what are you doing?” Marley demanded. When Branwyn ripped the bandages off, it didn’t hurt as much as Marley feared because they hadn’t adhered completely to the scab over the half-healed wound.
Branwyn ran her hand over it. “What the hell is this? Come on.” She tugged Marley over to the big sink. “Soak your arm here and we’ll clean that up.” She started the sink filling. Then, conversationally, she said, “My friend Stephen got shot once. In the leg. It took a chunk out. I saw it the next day. After a doctor had stitched it up, sure, but it still looked raw.” She shot Marley a look, her green eyes blazing.
Matchbox Girls Page 8
