by Chris Cooper
Ruby hopped down from the stage and walked toward the front of the house while those in the crowd made their way to the tanks. They seemed to be looking for proof the undead animals were all some elaborate illusion. But Oliver knew otherwise. Somehow, Simon’s son had made it to Amberley, and his blood must have been even more powerful than Oliver had imagined.
Oliver and Anna pushed their way toward the front of the house, where a line had already formed next to the closed door of the study. Caleb stood at the front of the line, taking cash from the first set of reading seekers.
“We should just go. Clearly, he’s still alive, so we know he survived. Let’s leave him alone,” Anna said in a low voice.
“We don’t know that. How do we know they aren’t mistreating him? What if they’re abusing him the same way Simon did? Don’t you remember how he looked, slumped over in the chair and dripping blood? They filled entire tanks with his blood, like the pool in Christchurch. They can’t be his friends.”
“Fine, but what are we going to do? Break him out of here?”
“I need to know he’s all right.”
“That’ll be twenty, each,” Caleb said without looking up, when they finally reached the front of the line.
Once they had paid, Caleb opened the door into Ruby’s study. Dark wainscoting bordered the walls, which were a deep green. Fringed cloth covered a small wooden table that sat under an old chandelier. Ruby sat at the table, sipping from a delicate floral teacup.
“Hope you enjoyed the show. Please, come in and have a seat,” she said as Anna and Oliver entered. “How can I help you?”
Oliver wasted no time getting to the point. “We know how you filled those tanks. Where is he?” He noticed a glimmer of discomfort in Ruby’s eye, which she quickly covered with a slight shake of the head.
“I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she replied.
“He came here a year ago, didn’t he? Probably acted as if he’d come from another place and time—like he was crazy. His father had been abusing him, and his arms were covered with scars. And you have tanks filled with his blood on your stage.”
Ruby drained the rest of her tea then stood up. “Clearly, tonight’s events have caused you great stress. It may be best if you leave and take time to calm yourself.” She walked toward Oliver and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“We helped him escape and just want to make sure he’s all right,” he said, jerking away.
Ruby bowed her head and clenched her fist as if mulling over the request.
“There are too many people here now. Come back tomorrow afternoon, and maybe I can help you. Now, I’ll have to move on to the next guest.” She ushered them to the door. As Oliver stepped through, she grabbed his arm. “I can guarantee he’s happier now than he’s ever been. We are not taking advantage of him.”
“We’ll see about that,” he replied as he pulled his arm away.
The line for readings had wrapped down the hallway and around the entryway. Oliver pushed through to reach the exit, and Anna followed suit.
“What’s going on in there?” she asked once they reached the street. “Think she was really talking with the dead?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But those tanks weren’t an illusion. What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”
“What do you think I’m doing tomorrow afternoon? You’re not coming back here alone. You can’t have all the fun.”
They walked toward the parking lot and drove Izzy’s car back to Christchurch. The ride was silent as both Anna and Oliver struggled to make sense of what they’d just seen.
Chapter Six
Oliver stood over the metal kitchen table, scowling at a lump of dough, which slumped sadly in front of him.
“Why does the dough hate me today?” he asked.
Izzy poked her head out from behind a metal rack. She walked to the table and poked the flat, sad mess. “Too much yeast. It’s collapsed in on itself.”
Oliver had slowly been “helping” more and more in the kitchen, but he was fairly certain he was doing more harm than good. Although he’d made substantial progress on the business side of the house, Izzy insisted baking skills were essential for anyone having anything to do with running a bakery.
“You have to know the dough before you can sell the dough.” She slid the collapsed lump into the garbage.
He’d managed muffins and cookies, but bread dough had proven to be his nemesis. Fortunately, flour was cheap, which eased his fear of single-handedly bringing the bakery to financial ruin.
Although his baking skills still needed work, Oliver had introduced Izzy to the novel concepts of spreadsheets and the World Wide Web. He’d made the mistake of helping her file her taxes, and her accounting system consisted of scraps of paper kept in a cardboard box under the table in the bakery kitchen. He had no clue how she had kept the business afloat for so long. In the last year, he’d also created a small website, and they were even receiving honey orders online. In the past month, they had sold more honey on the Web and at the Amberley Flea than they had in the bakery.
“Hey, who is the baking expert in the room?” Izzy raised her hand at her own question. “So who is more likely to be right about bakery-related miscellanea?” She kept her hand in the air.
Oliver rolled his eyes.
“Now, give me a hand with these tables. If you and Anna are planning on heading to Amberley this afternoon, we’ll need to make sure everything is ready for the council meeting.”
“I’m sorry to leave you hanging.”
“Don’t be. I can’t imagine what that poor boy has gone through.”
Although Izzy was one of the most carefree people he’d ever known, she had a worried look on her face that made him uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as they scooted several square tables together.
“Are you sure you can trust these people? What if they’re waiting for you and Anna to show up alone? What if they’ve done something terrible to that boy?”
Oliver hadn’t stopped to consider the possibility. What if they are waiting for us? “I’ll write down the address, and you can call the police if we’re not back by sundown.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. I’m just being silly.” She shook her head. “With all these witches and evildoers running about, my senses are all out of sorts.”
“We’ll be careful.”
“Good. I don’t know what I would do without you and Anna. I would have to teach Pan to bake, and that would tough, considering the little guy doesn’t have thumbs.”
“You could always ask Bev to help you.” He grinned.
“Speaking of Bev, I don’t suppose you’ve told her about your little adventure in Amberley or anything related to Briarwood, have you?” She rested her palms on one of the tables and looked up at him.
“Mom has a hard enough time accepting that I’ve moved off into the country to bake. I think we can omit the terrifying supernatural elements from our conversations for now.”
Izzy and Oliver pulled the remaining tables out from the booths and bumped them up together for the council brainstorming session. She’d offered the bakery as a place to discuss the upcoming fundraiser while the council’s typical meeting spot at the town hall was being repainted.
The plan was to host a music night at The Horseman and to use the funds to replace the aging sidewalks around the square and repair the uneven bricks next to the fountain. After Widow Morgan nearly broke a hip on her afternoon stroll a few weeks before, the Elders decided something had to be done.
Izzy needed the car for a few afternoon deliveries, so Oliver and Anna walked to Christchurch station as soon as they’d wrapped up at the bakery.
“I think Izzy expects someone to murder us,” Oliver said as they boarded the train.
“Thanks for putting that thought into my head,” Anna replied.
“Just letting you know, if things go south, you will have to defend us both. I’m not a figh
ter.” He laughed.
“If things go south, you better hope you can run faster than I can. That’s all that matters.”
Amberley’s train station reminded Oliver of the one back in the city. Old bits of gum speckled the dirty tile, trash cans overflowed, and people sat in the corners with cardboard signs asking for spare change.
They took the street exit and headed in The Parlor's direction.
“Talk to your mom at all today?” Anna asked.
“A bit. The first thing she asked was why I was out so late last night. I was tempted to tell her the truth, just to see her reaction. She seems to have eased up a little, though. I think the time in the bakery may have convinced her I’m working hard.”
“Sounds like she’s coming around,” Anna replied.
Although the streets had been filled the previous night, the evening crooners were nowhere to be found, and Oliver assumed the college students were still in bed, sleeping off hangovers.
The daylight revealed details about The Parlor that had been hidden in the darkness. The house’s shingles shimmered like scales in the sun, and intricate wooden flourishes lined the box-gutter borders. The building still held its eerie charm, but the sunlight revealed a house that had been deeply cared for by its owners.
As they approached the front gate, Oliver heard a rustling from the alley next to them. He peered around the corner and noticed a man hunched over one of the open trash cans. The man nearly lost his balance as he teetered over the edge and fished for some unknown buried treasure. After a few moments, he emerged victorious, holding two crumpled aluminum cans, which he dropped into the plastic bag next to him. Although the man stepped back from the can, the hunch remained, his head nearly at the same level as his waist.
Oliver couldn’t look away before accidentally catching the man’s eye. He hobbled toward Oliver and Anna, his oversized wool sweater stained with evidence of his regular dumpster dives. He wore strapped sandals, and the nails of his clubbed toes hung awkwardly over the edges as if his feet were slowly absorbing the leather.
Anna tugged at Oliver’s arm, but the man gave a wave and a cheery snaggletoothed grin that made him feel guilty for turning away.
“Hey there,” the man said.
“Hey,” Oliver said, returning the wave.
Upon closer inspection, he saw the man had a nearly full set of teeth, blackened and worn down to the gums. His breath carried through the air and hit Oliver’s nose, the fetid stench nearly knocking him backward.
“You shouldn’t go in there,” he said. “Full of demons, that place.” He pointed at The Parlor’s entrance.
“Oh, really?” Anna replied, feigning worry. “What kind of demons?”
“They bring the dead back to life in there. Very dark stuff.”
“We’ll be careful,” Anna replied.
“Very dark stuff,” he said again, more to himself than to Anna and Oliver.
“Thanks for the warning,” Oliver added.
“I used to play Paganini, you know—the ‘Devil’s Laughter.’” The man hummed to himself and fluttered his fingers as if he were playing an invisible violin. He turned his back to them and stumbled around the alleyway to the melody.
“Let’s go before he comes back,” Anna said under her breath.
“He’s harmless.”
“Well, we don’t have an hour to stand and talk to him.” She gestured toward the staircase.
The two climbed the stairs and rang the doorbell. Jen must have been off for the morning because Caleb greeted them at the door.
“Help you?” he asked.
“We’re here to see Ruby. She told us to swing by this afternoon,” Oliver said.
“Oh, of course.” Caleb opened the door the rest of the way and welcomed them inside.
The place felt even larger than it had before, since the crowd had dispersed. Ruby sat at the lounge bar, hunched over a teacup. Her face appeared even paler than before.
Caleb turned the corner into the lounge. “Your guests are here.”
“Gah! Not so loud,” Ruby replied. She didn’t turn to acknowledge them but instead beckoned them with a half-hearted wave. “Come join me.”
Anna and Oliver pulled up barstools next to her.
Ruby rested her head in her hands and massaged her temples. She seemed to forget Oliver and Anna were sitting next to her.
“Thanks for letting us come today,” Oliver said after a moment of awkward silence.
“Like a cup?” she asked, pointing at her flower teacup.
“Oh, no thank you,” Oliver replied.
“Sure, why not?” Anna added.
“Caleb, another cup please,” she said loudly.
A few moments later, Caleb returned and placed a teacup in front of Anna.
“Thank you.” Anna lifted the drink to her nose and choked on the smell. “It’s whiskey.”
“How insulting. It’s cognac,” Ruby corrected, “from my personal bar. I don’t drink the swill we serve to customers.”
“Early, don’t you think?” Anna asked.
“What do you want with Asher?” Ruby asked, ignoring the criticism.
“Asher?” Oliver asked. “That’s his name?”
Ruby looked up from her drink. “You mean to tell me you never learned his name? You know who I’m referring to—the man I found stumbling through the streets a year ago, muttering insanity about his father being chased out of some imaginary town. He promised me a handsome sum if I helped him find his way back. I had no clue what the hell he was going on about, and he couldn’t seem to remember from which direction he’d come. I thought he was a heroin addict at first, and so did everyone else who passed him by. He acted as if he’d never seen a city before, like he’d dropped out of the sky and everything was new to him. He looked like someone had tortured him.”
“So he told you about Briarwood?” Oliver asked.
“He was shell-shocked at first but opened up once he realized he was safe. Unfortunately, the only experience he seems to have is confined to whatever cell he was locked up in. He refuses to come out of the goddamn basement most of the time—says he likes it down there.”
“What about the blood? How did you find out?” Oliver asked.
“He told us after we noticed the scars. Naturally, I asked why the hell he’d sliced his arm up several hundred times.”
“And you believed him?” Anna asked.
“Darling, have you seen the show? He’s not the only one around here with unusual talents.” Ruby pointed at the empty teacup in front of her and swirled her index finger. The cup jiggled at first, then two small porcelain legs shot out from underneath. The cup ran across the bar, past Oliver and Anna, and promptly jumped off the edge, like a lemming hurling itself off the side of a cliff. Oliver and Anna stared down at the pile, unable to process what they had just seen.
“Only thing is,” Ruby said, “what Asher can do is real. All I have are illusions.”
Oliver looked up at Ruby, who sat in front of the same empty teacup that had just committed porcelain suicide. He looked down to where the cup had fallen and found no evidence of the broken shards that had been there just a moment before.
Anna lifted her cup and downed the contents with a single swallow.
“So I can relate to the man. He’s been punished for something he can’t control and abused so that others could take advantage of his unique abilities.”
“But you’re using his blood in your shows,” Oliver added. “Isn’t that taking advantage of him?”
“He insisted and even tried to get me to use it on myself. Lord knows I could use it. Those big illusions take it right out of me. He wanted to contribute, and we allowed it, but we won’t use his blood on ourselves. That’s out of the question. Unnaturals shouldn’t take advantage of each other.”
“Unnaturals? What are you talking about?”
“Self-explanatory, isn’t it? People with abilities normal society would refer to as unnatural. The most common is t
elekinesis, but it manifests itself differently in everyone. Runs in family lines, but there seems to be no rhyme or reason who in the family gets it.”
“There are more people like you and Asher?” Oliver asked.
“You don’t really think Asher and I are the only two in the world with this condition and we just happened to cross paths, do you, darling? There are people like us all over the place. I’ve never seen another Unnatural like him, though. He’s a walking, talking fountain of youth.”
“I’ve heard nothing like this before. How can so many people exist without being noticed?”
“You think we’re eager to be discovered? Remember the Witch Trials? See how Asher has been treated? No, most of us like to keep quiet. Sure, an occasional mishap makes the news, but it’s a rare exception.”
“But anyone who wanders into The Parlor sees what you’re capable of—the mirror and dead animals.”
“Parlor tricks. Perhaps some think I can really channel the dead, which I can’t, but most assume they’re being tricked. That’s what they pay for. Everyone loves a good magic show.”
How many people like Ruby and Asher have I come into contact with without even realizing?
He could see the exhaustion in Ruby’s eyes and wondered how much of it was because of the use of her powers and how much came from trying to survive in a world that saw her as unnatural.
“Does Asher know his father’s dead?” The question had been percolating in the back of Oliver’s head.
Ruby slumped over her teacup. “Shit. No. What happened?”
“Age. They carted him off to jail without Asher’s blood to keep him going. The man might have been one hundred years old, for all we know.”
“He seems to be coming around. We’ve had a few conversations about his father, and he gets the man was a murderer. He understands how abusive Simon was to his sister and to him, but I don’t know how he’ll handle his father’s death. His sister’s was hard enough.”
“Can we see him?” Oliver asked.
Ruby hesitated for a moment. “He may not react kindly to you. He’s mentioned the man who tried to kill his father—I assume that’s you—and even though he’s come a long way, I’m sure he’s still got hostility hidden away somewhere.”