A breeze lifted, raced across the yard, carrying that smell of ash and the fall chill. She hugged herself, trembled pleasurably. Distantly there came the sound of a horn, a saucy, jaunty thing, and Terry cocked his head, listening, but it must’ve been music from a car passing on the highway, because in a moment it was gone.
“I miss him, you know,” Glenna said. “Like I can’t say.”
“Me, too,” he said. “It’s funny, though. Sometimes…sometimes he’s so close it’s like I might turn around and see him. Grinning at me.”
“Yeah. I feel that, too,” she said, and smiled: a tough, generous, real smile. “Hey. I should go. See you in New York, maybe.”
“Not maybe. Definitely.”
“Okay. Definitely.” She got into her car and shut the door and waved to him before she began to back away.
Terry stood there after she was gone, the breeze tugging at his overcoat, and looked again at the empty foundry, the blasted field. He knew he should’ve been feeling something for Ig, should’ve been racked with grief…but instead he was wondering how long after he got to New York it would be before Glenna called, and where he ought to take her. He knew some places.
The wind gusted again, not just chilly but genuinely cold, and Terry cocked his head once more, thought for a moment he heard another distant snatch of trumpet, a dirty salute. It was a beautifully wrought little riff, and in the moment of hearing it he felt, for the first time in weeks, the impulse to play again. Then the sound of the horn was gone, carried away on the breeze. It was time for him to go, too.
“Poor devil,” Terry said before he got into his rent-a-car and drove away.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS, NOTES, CONFESSIONS
EXPERTS DISAGREE ABOUT THE LYRICS of the Romantics’ seminal 1980s hit, “What I Like About You.” Ig sings it “you’re whispering in my ear,” but many other listeners claim that Jim Marinos is hollering “warm whispering in my ear,” or even, “phone whispering in my ear.” Given the widespread popular confusion, I felt I could allow Iggy to have it his way, but I apologize to rock purists who feel I got it wrong.
The copy editor on this book noted, correctly, that locusts die off in July, but the author chose to pretend otherwise, for those famous artistic reasons we’re always hearing so much about.
My thanks to Dr. Andy Singh, for providing me with a rough sketch of BRCA1, the form of cancer that claimed Merrin’s sister, and might’ve claimed her, if my plot didn’t demand otherwise. Any errors regarding medical fact are, however, the author’s own. Thanks as well to Kerri Singh, and the rest of the Singh clan, for indulging my hand-wringing over this particular novel, during the course of a variety of evenings.
Much gratitude as well to Danielle and Dr. Alan Ades. When I needed a place to work where no one would bother me, they found me one. Thanks as well to the folks at Lee Mac’s for feeding me for four months. I’m grateful to my friends Jason Ciaramella and Shane Leonard, who both read this book in manuscript form and provided me with a good deal of helpful feedback.
Thanks to Ray Slyman, who filled me in on the Don Orione cross; to my sister, the minister Naomi King, who pointed me to several useful passages in the Bible. A book, God’s Problem: How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Important Question—Why We Suffer by Bart Ehrman (HarperOne), also proved a helpful resource. I read God’s Problem while I was neck-deep in the fifth draft. I suspect that if I had read it earlier on, this would’ve been a very different novel. Not better or worse, just different.
A dedicated team of passionate book people worked on Horns behind the scenes at William Morrow/HarperCollins: Mary Schuck, Ben Bruton, Tavia Kowalchuk, Lynn Grady, Liate Stehlik, Lorie Young, Nyamekye Waliyaya, and copy editor Maureen Sugden. My thanks to the whole crew for doing so much to make me look good.
Appreciation is due as well to Jody Hotchkiss and Sean Daily, who are passionate book people themselves (as well as passionate movie people), and who were fierce, happy advocates for this story.
There was a point at which I came to feel that this book itself was the devil; I’m grateful to my editors, Jen Brehl, Jo Fletcher, and Pete Crowther, and to my agent, Mickey Choate, both for their patience while I struggled with the thing and for all the help they offered to guide me through the nettles of my own story. Finally, love to my folks, Leanora, and my boys; without them, I wouldn’t have had a hope in hell of finishing Horns.
—J.H., August 2009
About the Author
JOE HILL is the author of a previous novel, Heart-Shaped Box, a story collection, 20th Century Ghosts, and an occasional comic series, Locke & Key. You can learn more at www.joehillfiction.com and follow him on Twitter, where he goes by the inspired handle of joe_hill.
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ALSO BY JOE HILL
Heart-Shaped Box
20th Century Ghosts (story collection)
Credits
Jacket design by Mary Schuck
Jacket photograph of Pitchfork by Vladimir Godnik/Getty Images
Copyright
The excerpt from “On Daemons & Dust” is from Maps and Legends: Reading and Writing Along the Borderlands by Michael Chabon, copyright © 2008 by Michael Chabon.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
HORNS. Copyright © 2010 by Joe Hill. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
EPub Edition © January 2010 ISBN: 978-0-06-196946-1
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