by J. A. Pitts
Yes, I said skipped. Give a girl a break.
The combination of me reforging the sword and all that mead made Katie a little wild last night. There were moments where I couldn’t remember my name. I’m just glad the apartment next door was vacant. No one to complain about the noise. Suffice it to say, even the guilt could wait while I enjoyed the ephemeral tingle—that ghostly memory of her mouth on my skin.
I shuddered, my breath coming a little faster. It was a wonderful day to be alive. Today would be a damn fine day. I could feel it in the air.
I’d parked in the only available space last night. I’d been a little preoccupied when I slid the Civic in between the Dumpster and a beat-up Volvo. Luckily I hadn’t gotten towed.
As I crossed the alley toward my car, a string of swearing drew my attention to the pair of filth-encrusted pants and broken boots sticking out of the Dumpster. Could only be one person inside those, I was fairly sure.
“Joe,” I called. “You okay in there?”
Joe stopped his thrashing for a moment, and then slid backward out of the Dumpster. In his left hand he held a crushed pizza box that rattled with several pieces of what I hoped was crust. He was an old man, gray and shaggy, with a beard down the front of his chest, and a mop of hair thick and ratted down past his collar. His clothes were disgusting, and he walked with a limp. He’d lost one of his eyes at some point, and the scar tissue and empty socket gave him a totally creepy vibe.
“Find anything good?” I asked.
He sniffed when he turned my way, his head cocked to the side so he could look at me with his good eye. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve and sniffed again. “Looking for apples,” he said, wrinkling his nose and sniffing like a rabbit.
“Got a cold, Joe?”
He pulled a crust of pizza from the box and stuck it in the corner of his mouth like a cigar. Made my heart break, him gnawing that stale rind.
Sweet Katie looked after the old bum, made sure he had some food and didn’t freeze in the winter. He refused much else. He was a mainstay in the neighborhood, but he was known to wander. We’ve found him in the heart of Seattle and as far north as Everett—even out at the industrial park where Carl shot his movies.
He pulled the crust from his mouth and waved it at me. “You stink.”
I took a step back. “Mighty big words, coming fresh from the Dumpster yourself,” I said with a smile. “You sure it’s me you’re smelling?”
He shuffle-stepped away from the Dumpster, and deeper into the alley. For a moment I thought he was going to run, but he rocked back on his heels and let out a broken-toothed whistle, shrill and off-key. “Different, I say.”
I smiled at him. Maybe he smelled Katie’s sandalwood soap on me. Who knows. “You like apples?” I asked. “I could bring you a couple next time I’m over.”
He was like a bird, tilting his head to the left, then the right, sniffing.
“I know you,” he said, stepping toward me, keeping the pizza box between us.
“Yes, I’m a friend of Katie’s.”
He laughed then, a cackle that turned into a cough. “Pretty Kat. She’s something.”
“Gotta agree with you there,” I said. It was getting to be time for me to head to work, but something about the way he looked at me kept me there.
“When the sky is black, and the wind howls, who do you cry to?”
For a moment, I felt as if someone had walked on my shadow. I looked around, expecting to see a large dog, or some bogey or other coming out of the Dumpster. The sun seemed to dim as Joe stepped closer. “You hear that?” he asked.
I listened, really straining to hear anything. All I got was his ragged breathing and the traffic out on Main. “You could hear,” he said, nodding. “You stink like someone who’s found her hearing.”
The wound where he lost his eye had left a long jagged scar down the left side of his face. That scar made a lopsided cross across the socket, running up from his cheek and disappearing into the ragged hair, and then across his eyebrow and over to his left ear. The white of the scar stood out against the dark weathering of his face. My eyes kept being drawn to the empty socket, the puckered flesh and the gaping wound. It was as if something hovered inside that shallow hole, something twisted and broken.
Gooseflesh broke out across my arms and back. “You really know how to charm a girl,” I said, taking a step back.
He walked past me, again with a side shuffle, carrying the pizza box against his chest like a shield. When he got to the beat-up Volvo he stopped and turned. “Can you hear the cracking?”
“What?”
He dropped the pizza box onto the ground and covered his ears with his hands. “Can’t you hear the bones? The bones of the earth?”
I stepped toward my car and unlocked the door, keeping an eye on dear, psycho old Joe. “Nothing here,” I said, although I doubt he heard me by that point.
“The hounds are gnawing the bones!” he shouted. “Cracking open the bones of the earth and sucking out the marrow.”
A jolt ran through me, staggering me against my car. Then, the Volvo hopped sideways a few inches and the alarm in Elmer’s Gun and Knife Emporium began to bray. A second jolt ran up my legs and I fell into the open door of the Civic to keep from sprawling into the alley, and to keep things from falling on my head. Down the alley, I heard something crash to the ground, a planter from an upstairs window, or a brick from the façade.
Joe curled onto the ground as the earthquake did a third stutter step and vanished like a breath. Car alarms joined Elmer’s up and down Main Street. I looked around, seeing if anything was damaged, but it was a pretty small quake—was there and gone in a breath or three.
When I got out of my car, Joe was gone.
That was creepy. Gnawing the bones of the earth? Not his usual, mumbling shtick.
I walked around the Volvo and found the pizza box open on the ground. The pizza crusts had been scattered under the car.
He wasn’t near the Dumpster, so I figured he had a bolt-hole to escape to. I picked up the crusts, put them back in the box, and placed it on the stoop of Elmer’s back door.
I got in my car, started it up, and slipped a Judas Priest CD into the player, then donned my sunglasses and pulled out onto Main. I paused, catching a sudden movement in the rearview mirror. A pair of shadows flew from the alley behind the Dumpster, two large birds, black as a sinner’s heart.
Ten
I CALLED JULIE FROM THE ROAD. SHE DIDN’T ANSWER AFTER six rings, which told me she was working the forge. Or she just didn’t want to answer the phone.
When the answering machine picked up, I left a message. “On my way, boss,” I said, as I pulled in front of a pink Honda Odyssey. New color made me think of stomach medicine. Nasty. “Hope the quake didn’t shake things up over there too much.”
I hated talking to machines.
I tried Katie’s cell a few times, but kept getting the all circuits are busy message
The rest of the drive took forty minutes, as everyone and their sister was on the roads. I hoped Katie was okay. I tuned the radio to NPR, listening for news. Katie was in class by this time, so I didn’t want to wreck her day by calling. I was just being silly. Overreacting. I’m sure she’s fine. Really.
I pulled over at the convenience store to get some caffeine. I cut the engine and climbed out. The store was open; that was a good sign. I recognized the guy behind the counter, but he didn’t give any indication of knowing I was alive until I set two bottles of soda on the counter.
I could see he was watching a small television and listening through an earbud.
“What’s the news?” I asked.
He glanced at me and shrugged. “Few lights out. One of the buildings in Pioneer Square lost some bricks again, and they are considering closing the schools.”
“Lovely,” I said, handing him a fiver.
He handed me my change and turned back to the television.
Closing schools. Maybe Katie was ge
tting out early. Now, if I could just get through to her cell, I’d feel better.
Back on the road, I could see that some of the lights were out in Renton, so getting through the 167 to 405 interchange was going to take a while. No good way to get from Kent to Redmond, frankly.
I didn’t pull into the parking lot at the shop until ten fifteen. Julie’s truck was parked at the diner across the street. I parked my car and Julie came out of the diner, waving her cell phone at me.
“Hey, Sarah,” she called, motioning me to cross to her.
I waited for a break in the traffic and darted across. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been trying to call the customers, see how they’re doing with the quake. Not getting through too often, lines are all jammed.”
“Yeah, sucks. Been trying to reach Katie, but can’t get through,” I said.
“Tried you a couple of times, save you a trip, but . . .” she shrugged.
“No worries. Any news on the magnitude yet?”
“Not yet, but Mary called from the Circle Q and the horses are all panicked. She asked if we could come out tomorrow instead.”
Damn, I thought. No work, no pay. “We have anything else lined up?”
She paused, which let me know something worried her. She talked like she walked, a freight train in constant motion.
“Actually, I got Puget Gas and Electric coming out. I think we broke a seal on the propane tank out back. Not gonna light any fires until they give me the all clear.”
“Want me to come do some paperwork or anything?”
“No, not today. Consider it a vacation day.”
“Bank account can’t take too many of those,” I said with a laugh. Gallows humor.
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” she said. She was well aware of my paycheck-to-paycheck existence. “Circle Q is a new gig for us. May end up with some overtime at first, if you are up for it.”
“Sure,” I said with a smile. Overtime was straight time, but she paid me for the hours I worked. “I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. I’ll see you at the crack of ten.”
With that she walked back into the diner, waving at me as she went.
I stood there for a second, hands in my pockets, and contemplated.
If they closed the schools, Katie would likely head over to her brother’s. I crossed traffic and pulled out my cell phone.
Katie’s brother, Jimmy, was our seneschal—the leader of our little band of mercenaries, House Black Briar. We were affiliated with the Society for Creative Anachronism. If work was being canceled across the Sound, most of the group would head to Jimmy’s for fun and frivolity. Like recess for grown-ups. Might be fun to get some combat practice in. The summer wars were a ways off, but it never hurt to swing some rattan.
It would take me a couple of hours to get out to Gold Bar with the crazy traffic, but I had the rest of the day to kill. I needed to call Carl at some point to see if they were shooting in light of the quake but I could do that. I didn’t smell any gas, so I went into the smithy and pulled the black blade from the safe. Once it was ensconced in the lovely case I made for it, I carried the bundle out to my car. Off to crack some heads, I thought. Pleasant thought. Maybe Katie had her cell on already. I called her as I headed out toward Gold Bar, but it went straight to voice mail.
So I left her a quick message and turned up the music. Nothing like some hard-hitting metal to put me in the mood to hit people with sticks.
Eleven
THE TRAFFIC LIGHTS ALL THE WAY THROUGH REDMOND AND Duvall were out, but I managed to use my special knowledge of the back streets to make it out to Gold Bar in just two hours. I drove through the little town, up past the tract housing and out Ley Road to the open country out beyond Wallace Falls State Park. Jimmy’s place was deep in the edge of the mountain range, a damn sight farther away from civilization than most folks would like. I can’t imagine what it cost to get electricity run that far out.
Turning into the gates of Black Briar, I could see that Gunther’s Harley was parked by Stuart’s Miata. I pulled around, pointing the nose of the Civic back toward the main road, and parked.
As I walked along the side of the house, I could see Katie inside with Jimmy’s wife, Deidre. I rapped on the window as I passed, drawing a wave from Deidre and a thrown kiss from Katie. Jimmy must’ve gone and picked her up.
Gunther and Stuart were dragging out the oak tables and setting them up along the side of the barn closest to the house.
“Hey boys,” I called as I crossed into the yard.
They set the heavy oak slab down and waved. Gunther had his hair back in a red bandana and Stuart had a green one.
I loved those guys. They’ve been best friends since elementary school and were thick as thieves. Both men were confirmed bachelors, but Jimmy assured me they were straight. Not many like ’em. Well, not where I’m from, at least. Bachelor farmers are one thing. Men who wore kilts, kept their hair long (like Gunther), and generally preferred the company of other men—they were labeled pretty quick out in God’s country.
Gunther was a lanky man, all gristle and grit. He stood six foot six in his stocking feet, but he preferred Doc Martens like me. He rode a Harley, dressed like a construction worker, and ran a small jazz record store over in the U District. His weapon of choice was a greatsword and he could name every musician ever to blow a sax or a trumpet in the last thirty years. Oh, and he drank like a warhorse.
That would have gone over big in my hometown. Not with my da, of course. Total teetotaler. Drink was evil. Made men do all sorts of wicked things, like fornicate. Of course, that was only bad because it could lead to dancing.
Stuart, on the other hand, was a short man, broad across the chest, and could bench two fifty cold. He was an electrician—ran his own crew over at the University of Washington. While Gunther brewed his own beer and drank with gusto, Stuart preferred mead over beer and drank out of an ornate goblet he’d had made for him by a silversmith we knew up in Banff.
His preferred weapon was a two-handed battle-axe named Madeline. He fought like a dervish and never seemed to tire. They worked well together as a team, creating a wide kill zone during the melees.
Nothing like watching the two of them, covering each other’s backs while a hundred or more men and women clashed together with padded weapons and full armor. Fun and games, until someone broke something. I’d been to many battles over the past few years with Black Briar. Stuart and Gunther were the best I’d ever seen.
The Society for Creative Anachronism was organized into kingdoms. Our little band played in the kingdom of An Tir. We weren’t officially affiliated with the local baronies. We fell into the mercenary camp. Jimmy wasn’t much of a joiner. Said the politics would kill you.
A sharp whistle brought my head around toward the house. Katie had come out onto the porch, a large bowl of potato salad in her hands.
“Come take this from me,” she said with a laugh. “Then you can go play with your little friends.”
I grinned. “The potato salad looks great.”
Katie stuck the bowl in my hands, and before I knew it, darted in for a kiss. I stiffened, mortified. Being alone with Katie was one thing. Flaunting it in front of the others though . . .
I wasn’t ready for that.
And if I thought about it too hard, I had to admit that I might never be ready for that.
Catcalls erupted behind me. Katie curtsied and opened the screen door, laughing as the flush ran up my cheeks. I turned, glaring at the two men. “Got something to say, ladies?” I growled as I stomped across the yard.
“Geez, Sarah,” Gunther said with a grin. “You’re not usually so casual with the PDA.”
“Public display of affection,” Stuart chimed in before I could say anything.
I set the potato salad down on the table and glared at them.
“How about some public display of an ass-kicking?” I asked.
The two men
backed away, their hands up, shaking and laughing. Any other time I’d join them, but this thing with Katie was too new, too raw. I wasn’t even sure how I felt about the whole girl-girl relationship and I was in one. No, scratch that. I knew exactly what I thought of it. Too many years in Crescent Ridge, living in the shadow of Mount Rainier—too many narrow minds. My da, believing in sins of all natures and how anything that isn’t in his rulebook is an abomination, seeking to punish rather than love. And even though I saved myself from that situation, on some deep level I guess a part of me still believed it, too.
The thing is, I made fun of girls like me when I was a kid, all the while knowing that I would never be what the locals would call “normal.” Made signs, marched at funerals—god hates fags. I hated the lying and tried for years to deny who I was. What I was. I ran away but the voices planted in my head followed me and I’m having an awful time getting them to shut up and go away.
And all of this is kinda hard to justify with what happened last night . . . and how it made me feel. My stomach ached. What had been joy was scattered to ashes by something as simple and pure as a kiss from my sweetie. Fuck you very much, Da. Thanks for the memories.
Deidre showed up with a plate of lunch meat and Katie carried a tray with condiments, silverware, and napkins. Jimmy followed behind them with a large basket of fresh bread.
“Why don’t you boys get a keg out of the barn,” Jimmy said, winking at me. “Leave young Sarah here alone before she kneecaps one of you.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” the two men said in unison. They grinned and turned toward the barn at a jog.
“Don’t let them rile you,” he said to me, keeping his back to Deidre and Katie. “You know she’s crazy about you, and the twins there think you hung the moon.”
“It’s not that,” I said, feeling even more embarrassed to be talking about this with Jimmy. It wasn’t just that he was her brother, but he was also our leader. I looked up to him. “I think Katie’s the greatest, it’s just . . .” I let it hang there, unable to voice my frustration.
