by Rysa Walker
More to the point, he can wreak havoc with Raum. And he can make getting home much more difficult. The bright blue light seeping through the windows of the house worries her. Has he set up camp in the old house?
Not that she could leave while Andras is mucking around in here. There’s too much at risk. On the plus side, if she and Andras are both in here, things should be fairly stable out there.
But they won’t be if Andras has his way. He’d like nothing more than to make his Council of Seventy-Two into a Council of Seventy-Three. And if he can eliminate her and make her side a Council of Seventy-One at the same time? So much the better.
Veering to the west, Zophiel sticks close to a narrow strip of woods that runs along the back of Martha Yarn’s neighborhood. She’s nervous, partly due to the close call with the car, but also to the nature of the vessel she’s chosen. There are far too many sayings about nervous cats, twitchy cats, cats on edge and ready to pounce, for there not to be at least some truth to them.
The cat’s brain seems a bit more complex than that of the bird Zophiel commandeered early in the day. She’s always believed animals to be mostly creatures of instinct, with limited free will, so she was a bit surprised to discover that the cat had memories. Not just of this town, but of the one before it, when it lived in a house and spent much of its time purring on the sofa. In this town, however, the cat is a stray, stealing from trash cans behind the bakery to stay alive. The creature had been a bit unnerved when it realized there were no other cats, no dogs, and barely any rats or birds roaming about. On the plus side, however, that meant less competition for the meager scraps the baker tossed into the dumpster each night.
Zophiel is impressed at the level of detail put into the cat, especially since it seems to be the only feline in Haddonwood. Is the cat a glitch? Or perhaps a little side project? Did Raum keep her around out of sentimentality like he had Martha? Normally, she might consider that a good thing, but now she’s not so sure. Emotion of any sort could be a liability right now. It’s another tool that Andras can use.
The cat’s speed is limited, and Zophiel doesn’t especially care for the way the brush tickles her undercarriage as she hurries toward town. The woods don’t feel empty, either, and every rustle of breeze in the brush makes her skittish.
But the cat is one of the few forms she can take without bending the rules beyond recognition. Zophiel doesn’t like bending rules. It’s too risky. There’s only so far you can bend a rule before it breaks. She’d thought she was merely bending the fraternization rule back in 1922, a rule that has been bent by nearly every member of the council from time to time. The job can get tedious. It can get lonely. The only time she ever sees her own kind is at yearly convocations.
There are no rules against taking human form for a few hours. In fact, it’s often part of the job. And if you happened to encounter a handsome vocalist in a jazz club in Memphis while you were in human form, and nature happened to take its course, there was no real harm. No risk of offspring from a brief dalliance with a human. No risk of the Seventy-Two becoming the Seventy-Three.
It was just a bit of fun. Everyone did it. Everyone still does it. It’s barely even bending the rules.
But someone else had been bending the rules that night, too. The devilish gleam she’d seen in the vocalist’s eye hadn’t been simple animal magnetism. And no wonder his voice had seemed familiar. She’d heard it at countless convocations.
He’d been a silver-tongued devil in more ways than one. And it was only after, as she looked up into the face directly above hers, that they’d both realized that this time, they weren’t simply bending the rules by fooling around with one of the more than one hundred million humans in their territory.
She’d calculated the odds. Even rounding down to one hundred million, they were astronomical. There was virtually no chance they’d ended up together by sheer coincidence.
Andras had spoken a single sentence. “If there’s a problem, you will take care of it.”
If she’d had any doubt at all about his identity, it evaporated with those words.
“Take care of it how, exactly?”
But his human form vanished before she could even get the question out, replaced by a giant crow. Its talons scratched at her bare breasts as it pushed off and flew through the wall of the hotel room.
On that night, nearly a century ago, she’d learned that bending the rules can be dangerous. But she likes breaking them outright far less. Hiding Raum had no doubt broken the rules, but…surely the Head Office knew? Otherwise that whole omniscient thing seemed a bit iffy. And if the Head Office knew, they could have prevented it. She’d have been transferred, at a bare minimum. The US-East and US-West looked down their noses at her territory, but looked at from a global perspective, US-South was a damn good assignment.
For whatever reason, the fact that she had crossed the line with Raum was being overlooked or ignored on purpose. Had her interference with the old woman crossed the line yet again? Martha Yarn, or someone very much like her, had once had free will. Not much of it, not as much as your average person walking the street, due to an accident of birth. But there were days when she’d made choices on her own, and her life had been, in its own way, a happy one.
Martha’s last decision felt like a product of free will, too. Zophiel didn’t force her in any way. Would not have forced her if she balked. Could not have forced her without shattering the rules. And there’s still a chance the old woman will change her mind. Sticking around to make sure she followed through felt wrong. It felt invasive. Coercive.
But she did make sure the old woman understood what was at stake. She did lay out the options in full detail. And then she left, leaving whatever animated the old woman, whether it was free will or simply her basic programming, to make the decision.
If the woman does as Zophiel believes she will, Raum will be furious at her interference. There’s a chance that Raum’s anger will work against her. It could push him right into the flight path of a certain white-eyed crow. But what choice does she have?
What choice has she ever had?
Even if she had been inclined to harm Raum, to take care of it as Andras had insisted, how do you kill an immortal?
Four
BEN
Ben backs out of his space in the unmarked high school parking lot, nearly scraping the side panel of the shiny new Nissan, whose owner apparently decided it was a fabulous damn idea to wedge into the tiny space between Ben’s truck and the one on its right, which is almost as beaten up as his own. He’d have been halfway to Chase’s school by now if that privileged asshole had been willing to walk an extra twenty yards or so.
The call that has him back in the truck came over the intercom about twenty minutes into third period. Susan Snell, the guidance counselor at Chase’s school, was on the phone. Chase had experienced some sort of episode in class. That’s all she would tell him. When he asked to speak to Chase, Snell said he was with the school nurse—and was there any possibility Ben could come pick him up? She’d like to chat with him for a few minutes.
To be honest, Ben’s relieved that they called him, but it’s all kinds of weird. He’s certain the standard protocol when dealing with a sick kid is to contact the parents before pulling an older sibling out of class. Their mom might already be at the diner. Sometimes Neil Prescott gives her an extra shift if one of the other waitresses calls in sick. But his dad is at home. Which either means that Ralph Rey was too drunk to answer or in too much pain in the wake of their boxing match last night. If there’s any frickin’ justice in the world, it’s the latter.
Or—and this is what really worries him—Chase might have confided in Ms. Snell. She has a friendly smile. Kind eyes. And Ben is pretty sure that she actually is a nice person. The problem is that even though Chase has a decent ability to read people, he’s still a kid. He doesn’t realize that no matter how nice a guidance counselor may be, she’ll still have to report any signs that Chase is being ne
glected or abused. That could land him in a foster home, probably somewhere outside of Haddonwood. On the one hand, it might not be worse than the situation the kid is in now. There are good foster parents out there. But there are also bad ones. At least at home, Chase has one person in his corner. One person who can shield him from the worst of it and who will get him out. Just a few more months to go.
Ben is almost certain there are no bruises on the boy. Kids heal fast, and he managed to intercept the blows that good ol’ Ralphie aimed at Chase last night. But there’s always a chance that something happened when Ben wasn’t around. Chase could be wearing a yellowed remnant of an angry wallop from a week or so back. He doesn’t think so, but he knows it’s possible.
When he pulls into the school parking lot a few minutes later, there are only three kids on the playground, which seems kind of odd. Usually it’s either empty or packed. But then a side door opens, and a few dozen kids shove their way through, swarming toward the play fort at the center of the field.
The crowd on the playground still isn’t as large as he remembers. People are moving away. Finding jobs and raising their kids elsewhere, like Marybeth clearly wants to do. Like he should want to do. There’s nothing anchoring him to this town aside from Chase. No jobs worth having. They’d all be better off somewhere else. He knows that, but the plans he makes in his head all seem to revolve around Haddonwood.
Maybe it’s just a residual desire to take care of his mom. Ben might not be able to save her, but he could stick around to keep an eye on her. Drop by the diner during her shift. Stop by the trailer and beat the shit out of his old man if it looks like he’s crossed the line again. You know…the good life.
But the idea of moving away also scares him a little. Life in a bigger city is more complicated, and he’s not sure he’ll know how to navigate out there. And maybe there’s even a bit of nostalgia in the mix. Things have never been simple for Ben—that’s just not possible when you’re Ralph Rey’s son—but at least it was simpler when he was at this school, on the little kids’ playground. Who you were and what you had in life didn’t matter as much when you were that age. Everyone called him Benjy back then, at least until fifth grade, when his old man made one of his rare appearances at a Little League game. Ralph had told the coach, in front of the entire team, that Benjy was a fag name. Then, he’d demanded his son’s name be listed on the roster as Bingo, which was the pet name he used for Ben when he was drunk or just pissed off and looking for someone to wale on.
The coach, who was a decent guy, had gripped the clipboard holding the roster so hard it looked like it was going to snap, and then asked Ben how he wanted his name listed. Ben had shrugged and said Bingo was fine if that was what his dad wanted, partly because he suspected there would be trouble if he told the coach otherwise. Some of the kids snickered, and Carson Weeks said Bingo was a dog’s name, but then he’d said that about Benjy, too.
Ben felt like he had won that round, simply by letting his father know he didn’t care one way or the other about the stupid name. It was a giant fuck-you to Ralph. Your nickname doesn’t scare me, old man. I OWN it. And the coach had quietly changed it back the very next week, without Ben even asking. Ralph wasn’t in the bleachers for that game. It was right after his mom’s payday, and Ralph had celebrated in his usual fashion by tipping back an entire bottle of Old Crow.
Luke Randall had moved to town at the beginning of summer that year, into the trailer three lots over. There were only three black families in all of Haddonwood back then—not that there are many more currently. Luke was just two years older. Their friendship was one of convenience at first, and if Ben is being entirely honest, he has to admit that he’d started hanging out with Luke partly because he knew how much it pissed off his old man. But they’d spent the better part of that summer fishing, riding bikes, and tossing the football around, and it was a solid friendship by the time school started up. A few kids made cracks about it from time to time, but Ben had gotten pretty damn good with his fists, and even Carson Weeks, who was a grade-A asshole, generally steered clear of his bad side.
Luke’s got a place of his own now. Married—although Ben can’t see how he puts up with the woman—and a brand-new baby. In a couple of years, Luke’s daughter will be one of the little tikes climbing on this play fort. Luke makes pretty good money over at the plastics factory, and Ben thinks if he can just get a job there, get out of the trailer and away from his dad, Haddonwood could be a decent place to live.
As Ben walks toward the entrance, a blur of pink fabric on the playground catches his eye. It’s a blonde girl of around six or seven, in a pink dress. The dress isn’t an especially vivid pink, and he’s not sure why it caught his eye until he realizes that there are at least five other identical dresses on the playground. The girls wearing them look the same, too. Surely he’d have heard if someone in Haddonwood had identical—what would it be…sextuplets?
A flash of reflected sun hits his eyes. He winces, holding up his arm to block the glare. When he looks back at the playground, he realizes he was wrong. Yes, there are a half dozen or so girls in pink, but they’re all different shades and patterns, and only a few are wearing dresses. Christ. This day is going to be murder, thanks to no sleep. It’s not even noon, and already his eyes are playing tricks on him.
He only half believes that, though. Some stubborn part of his brain insists that he saw exactly what he thought he did. Six identical girls in identical pink dresses.
This sense of confusion mixes uneasily with the feeling of dread that hits Ben as he steps inside the main office of the school. It’s mostly remembered dread, because one of the most vivid memories from his childhood is walking through this door when he was in third grade to find his mother waiting with little Chase propped on one hip. She’d been crying, and even at eight, he could spot what would soon be a nasty bruise blooming high on one cheek. Her lip was split, too. The ancient secretary—the same one currently behind the desk—kept her eyes averted, pretending to be involved in some fascinating paperwork, while Aileen Rey signed him out.
When Ben followed his mom outside, he found pretty much everything they owned crammed into the car. There was barely enough room for him to squeeze in next to Chase’s car seat. He had no idea where they were going, but he didn’t care. All he had felt in that moment was joy and an overwhelming sense of relief that she was finally going to do it. That they wouldn’t have to live with his father, that he wouldn’t have to lie awake at night worrying that this time his dad would actually kill her.
His mom cried all the way to the county line and then pulled off the road. They sat there for the longest time before she put the car back into gear and turned around. That’s when Ben started crying, pleading with her. But it didn’t matter. Aileen Rey drove back to their trailer at top speed, so fast that Ben was terrified they’d have a wreck. She told him to help her unpack the car when they arrived, but he refused. Normally that would have earned him several sharp whacks on the bottom—his mom was nothing like his dad, but she didn’t shy away from a spanking if she felt he needed it. But that day, she just told him to stay out of her way and keep an eye on Chase if he wasn’t going to help, and then she went about the work of putting their belongings away.
Later that night, she told him that one day he’d be an adult, and he’d understand. Ben will be an adult in just a few months, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand the choice his mother made that day. The choice that she made over and over again. Ralph is dead weight. They’d have been better off—financially, physically, and emotionally—if she’d had the guts to cut him loose back then. But instead, they fell back into their normal pattern. His old man apologized. He’d had a job back then, and he splurged on flowers for Aileen and a giant Hershey bar for the boys, even though Chase was too young to eat chocolate. Ralph’s display of emotion was disgusting, and Ben saw right through it. The worst part of the memory, though, was knowing that he’d eaten the damn candy, rather than flushi
ng it down the toilet as he’d briefly thought of doing. He’d eaten it because it was chocolate, but mostly because, just like his mom, he had wanted to believe.
“You’re here for Chase Rey?” the secretary asks.
He looks directly at her for the first time, expecting to see the same look of pity on her face, a look he still remembers vividly from that day nearly a decade ago. But the secretary just gives him a perfunctory smile and points him toward the visitors’ sheet. Maybe she’s forgotten. Maybe it’s a common occurrence for teary-eyed women with battered faces to yank their kids out of school midday.
When Ben finishes signing in, she tells him to take a seat. He does as he’s told, feeling eight years old again. Nothing much seems to change in this place. He doesn’t remember a security camera pointing at the front entrance when he was a student, but otherwise, everything looks the same, including the holiday decorations. Black balloons and orange streamers hang from the ceiling. A line of construction paper cats stretches down the hallway between the office doors, their arched backs displaying a multitude of colors and levels of ability with safety scissors. It’s definitely the same paper skeleton on the wall next to the trash can—Ben remembers its taped-on arm, the result of some mishap that occurred even before his time. The skeleton’s smile looks a bit more sinister than before, but that’s probably just due to anxiety about whatever Chase has told the guidance counselor.
Fortunately, Ben doesn’t have to wait long. Ms. Snell opens the door of the second office down the hall and motions for him to join her.
“Where’s Chase?” he asks when he realizes that it’s just the two of them. “Is he okay?”
“He’s with Nurse Harper, Benjamin, and he’s fine now. I just thought it might be best if we spoke privately for a few minutes before he joins us.”
Ben braces himself, because he can’t think of any universe in which Chase’s guidance counselor wanting to speak to him alone could possibly be a good thing. “Sure. What exactly happened?”