1503951200

by Camille Griep

  “Len should get going, unless you need him for anything,” I say.

  I walk Len down to the makeshift paddock, where his horse grazes with the others. We agree that he will tell Cas about the car and find a way to warn Nelle.

  “Guess that’s it?” he asks, mounting up.

  I fish the note out of my pocket that I’d forgotten to give him the night before. “I’m sorry to ask this, but can you, um, give this to him?”

  Len takes a deep breath. “Syd, if he doesn’t . . . I’m sorry is all.”

  “I just want him to know that I understand if he was confused.”

  Len rolls his eyes. “You’re a better woman than I, Syd Turner. If he doesn’t change his mind, he doesn’t deserve you.”

  I turn away, before he can see my hot, fat tears. “Ride safe,” I say. “Tell Cas to keep strong. We’re coming for her.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cas

  I waited a full day before delivering Cal’s note to Sheriff Jayne, giving Len a chance to get to the Survivor camp and back to help with the fallout we expected during the Bishop’s arrest. It was a hazy sort of morning, where the heat was thick and held low to the ground—a kind of heavy atmosphere that felt significant, like wildfire in the distance.

  The courthouse was eerily deserted. People wandered the lobby as usual, but in fewer numbers than normal, their conversations muted. I continued through the twisting hallways to the Sheriff’s office. The ornate door was closed and the lights off. Inside, Jayne’s desk was not only devoid of her, but of her things. The walls were empty except for ugly penny nails.

  “She can’t have just quit,” I said to myself.

  “She’s not here.” I wheeled around. In the temporary holding cell, Deacon Pious was sitting with his heavily bandaged head in his hands.

  “Please tell me you haven’t been here the whole time?” I rattled the bars ineptly, then returned to rifle through Jayne’s old desk, an activity I was becoming intimately familiar with. “Your injuries. Shouldn’t you be at the clinic?”

  “Calm yourself, Casandra. It looks worse than it is,” he said, his voice more placid than it should have been in his condition. He was talking at me, not with me. It was my voice again. Ruined and useless. “Jayne will come as soon as it’s safe. She won’t leave me here any longer than she has to.”

  I pointed to the bars and held up my arms in query. “What happened?”

  “Your father happened.”

  The back of my throat began to ache. I hated grieving for him, the narcissist he’d become, and yet I did. “The Governor and I don’t claim one another anymore.”

  “He told Jayne to clear out or risk sitting in here with me. I’m sure she’s lying low.”

  “Any idea where she might be?”

  He frowned, shook his head. “There seems to be something wrong with my hearing, the head injury. Be careful looking for Jayne. She’s hiding in plain sight, but try not to lead them to her.”

  I nod. I won’t make any moves until I see Len, anyway.

  The Deacon dropped his head again. “I don’t suppose you have any information on Cressyda?”

  “I rode out to check on her the night before last,” I said. “She seems to be safe and sound for the moment. But right now, there’s something you need to see.”

  I reached through the bars to hand him Cal’s note. He read, folded, and passed it back to me before closing his eyes. “What have I done? Choosing the Bishop over my own family, again and again. This damned Blessing over all of our heads.”

  “None of us knew,” I said gently. I held my hand out, but he didn’t take it, wincing as he shifted his weight.

  “And Cal, keeping his gift. I should have known.”

  “He didn’t want to put you in danger. He was brave.” I thought about my mother. Whether she had wanted to give her gift away. Who she might have been. What New Charity might have looked like had we been whole.

  “Those who he took from, their hearts hardened,” the Deacon said. “They weren’t the same people.”

  “Syd never talked about him having a gift when we were small.”

  “Cal was quiet about his powers, used them to make his horses faster, but that was the end of it.” I was grateful we still seemed to be moving in the same conversational direction, as if perhaps the Spirit had settled over us, allowing my emotions to get through, if not my voice.

  Pi grabbed my hand, his palm clammy in mine. “Cal was a careful man. I think he saw all of this coming, didn’t he?”

  I nodded. He’d put the pieces together without the benefit of the cinematic horror in my head. “We’ve lost it forever, haven’t we?”

  “Your generation possesses the echoes. I think the vaccine—the one that protected us from the plague—muted the effects of the elemental powers in the children, though it was too late for you and your brother. You both manifested your powers so early, it would have looked bad to take them from you or kill you. Instead, he made you ornaments of the Sanctuary. I assume Becky Purcell still has some water magic in her, the way she’s wrangled her father’s fishing business. Syd, too, probably born to dance, with all that wind in her veins. But they’ll never have powers in the way they would have. The gifts were the true bounty of New Charity. We thought we were protecting something with the Blessing. We were easy marks.”

  “At least we have our lives.”

  He looked at me. Really looked. As if holding my hand had restored my voice in his head. “I misinterpreted his surety as faith in the Spirit. The Bishop knew we would survive the plague, didn’t he?”

  He’d said as much at the Acolyte apartment. “He said the Spirit decreed a rebirth, but it doesn’t make sense. The Spirit is supposed to be life. Isn’t it?”

  Pi nodded slowly, closing his eyes again. “None of this is an accident, Cas. Who else could be responsible for the virus running down the Basalt and beyond, while we sat here unscathed?”

  “He told me he wanted to remake the world. But Pi, he’s already halfway there.” I leaned into the bars, still clutching Pi’s hand. The whole of New Charity had been his accomplices. “We’re too late.”

  “Oh, Casandra,” the Deacon sobbed. “We’ve been too late for a long time.”

  I stumbled into the bright light, and down the courthouse steps, when I looked up to see Len riding through the gates, empty courier bag on his back.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Bad news or worse news?

  “Um.”

  “They fired her,” I said.

  “Jayne?”

  “And there’s more.”

  Len took his left foot out of the stirrup and extended a hand. “Hop on.”

  We hadn’t doubled up on horseback for many years. While we were quite a bit bigger, so was Len’s horse. It was easy to fall back in the rhythm of letting Len take the reins, though this time I was the one telling us where to go. If Sheriff Jayne was hiding out anywhere, it’d be a place she felt safe. Somewhere no one would be around.

  I pointed Len east, toward the Turner Ranch. There weren’t many words to explain to Len what we’d been accomplices to. “The Bishop.”

  “What now?”

  “The vaccine he gave us,” I said, carefully touching Len’s elbow, in the hopes he’d hear me better. “It protected us from the plague.”

  “We knew that.”

  “Because the Bishop is the one who put the plague into the water.”

  Len pulled gently on the reins, and the horse came to a stop. “Get off.”

  I hopped down and offered him my hand. He dropped off the track and into the grass, kicking dirt until he sat down, covering his head with his hands. I tried to grab one of them but he pulled it away.

  “He hasn’t won yet, Len. He’ll have to kill the rest of the Survivors another way. He wants to remake the world. But he can’t do it without me, and I’ll die before I help him.”

  I looked up toward the Governor’s mansion while Len swiped his eyes wit
h the back of his hand. Troy had ridden out of the barn and was making his way down the two track. He was in a hurry, but it wasn’t clear we were his destination until he was right up on us.

  Troy swiveled around, taking stock of our general heading. “You’re not headed to the Turner Ranch, are you?”

  “What do you care?” I asked.

  “Is she there?”

  I wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “Who? Syd? Of course not. She’s still at the camp. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Why, then?”

  “The Deacon’s in jail, Syd’s gone, I thought maybe someone should look in on the gray, make sure things are all right. Len’s just giving me a ride.”

  Troy dropped his voice. “One of the maids found Perry in our father’s office the night before last. He had a nasty concussion, kept babbling something about you two and the Turners.”

  Len jammed his left elbow into my stomach. I resisted the urge to put my fist in his kidney. “He has to be confused, Troy.”

  Troy narrowed his eyes at me. “What does that mean?”

  I had hoped some time would settle Troy down. But he was as heated and suspicious as he’d been at the Survivor camp. “Perry’s obviously dealing with some really hard emotions with his two worlds colliding. And the Governor isn’t helping.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Troy’s eyes were wide. “All of this chaos is Syd Turner’s doing. Did you know that it was Syd who first told Perry that Nelle was at the camp?”

  “If she did, then it has to be because Nelle asked her to.”

  “No way. She had this whole thing planned from the beginning.”

  I looked at Len. “He’s not listening to me. You try and talk some sense into him.”

  Troy wasn’t finished. “She’s probably known Nelle for years. They’re just acting like they don’t know each other. You saw her at the camp, all buddy-buddy with those men. Or worse.”

  Len sighs. “There’s an enemy here, but it’s not Syd. She doesn’t know them any better than she knows the Felton boys. They’re just people, Troy.”

  Troy’s horse minces its hooves beneath him, nervous. “If she doesn’t know the Survivors, it’s even worse. Hitching her wagon to whoever comes along.”

  “You shot the arrow into your own heart,” Len said. “Only you can stop breaking it.”

  “I don’t understand why you two keep making excuses. She’s leaving you, too—”

  “You know, there was a time I looked up to you, admired you, thought you were a gentleman,” Len interrupted. “I’m telling you, you’ve got her wrong. Here.” He fished a note from his pocket. Unfolded, it was a little larger than the paper in Cal’s journal. He held it out to Troy, who snatched it from his hand.

  “You too, eh? Under her spell?”

  Len laughed sorrowfully. “No, Troy. She’s my friend. Our friend. How is it possible you don’t know us by now?”

  “Piss up a rope,” Troy said, staring at the note.

  “Listen to me,” Len said. “You are the bad guy here. Read the note. Apologize. Make this right. She believed in you, and knowing Syd, still does. She thought you were going to be there for her.”

  “She’s right where she wanted to be.” His volume had risen, causing his horse to back up and hit its hooves on the sandstone lining the road. He jerked the reins, using his heel to kick the horse away from the rocks. But his frustration only succeeded in upsetting the horse more. Its ears lay flat against its head.

  “Just read the damn note,” Len shouted.

  “Whoa,” I said to everyone, no one. I stood, and tried to grab Troy’s reins, but missed. The horse tossed its head at me, white eyed.

  “You can tell her this is what I think of her goddamned note.” Troy held the note up to the sunlight. I could see Syd’s inelegant scrawl in reverse. He proceeded to tear the page into strips and the strips into yet tinier pieces.

  “Have I told you lately that you’re an asshole?” Len asked.

  “Have I told you you’re a bunch of suckers? You’re both in love with a woman who doesn’t love you back. The only person Cressyda Turner loves is herself.”

  Troy threw the handful of paper at Len and me, but as it fell in front of his horse’s eyes, it was the last straw for the animal. It reared up, dancing away from the shining white confetti.

  It was as if time slowed down. Troy fell, back arching to rebalance himself, and then suddenly he was flying free, arms windmilling to find a way to right himself. He hit the rocks at the side of the road headfirst, landing with a stillness we knew—though couldn’t yet accept—was permanent.

  The day became a series of snapshots. I was at Troy’s side. Len was sprinting up the two track to the mansion to get help. The sun was hot on my back, my brother’s still-warm hand in mine.

  Troy’s face was relaxed, handsome, perfect, without malice, as if all of it had seeped into the air around us. Like water hitting a griddle. I tried to move the rocks away from him, to make it not true. They were so heavy for their size. It was then I started to cry, and I didn’t stop for a very long time.

  At some point, Sheriff Jayne arrived. She moved me back from Troy’s body and took his pulse. She shook her head at the rest of the people who’d gathered behind me. One of them was the Governor. I did a double take when he began to cry. “My good son,” he cried. “What happened to my good son?”

  Mama stood stooped and uncomprehending next to Perry, who observed the scene with a slack-jawed glaze, arm looped through hers. I didn’t recognize these people, my family. I didn’t recognize this loss that had changed them suddenly and irrevocably. I walked backwards a few steps, running into Len, who turned me around and hugged me.

  “I should go,” I whispered.

  “Not until you’re ready.”

  A shadow fell over us. The Bishop grabbed our shoulders, separating us by his wingspan. Turning to Len, he said, “Hold out your hands.”

  Len did as he was asked. The Bishop poured a mixture of dirt and the shreds of Syd’s note into his hands. I looked up at his face, old, drawn, and haggard. He’d been using his Hindsight, again, and indiscriminately, it seemed.

  “You’ve cast your lot,” he said to Len. “If your sympathies are to the Survivors, then you’re no longer welcome here. The Governor’s children can no longer pass through the gates as they wish.”

  He knew about Syd’s letter and Len’s journey outside the gates. Did he know about the note in my back pocket? Did he know it was only a matter of time before everyone found out who he was, what he had wrought?

  If so, he didn’t seem concerned about it. He continued to stare at Len. “Like the Survivors, you’ve abandoned the Spirit. And now New Charity. Neither has any need of you.”

  My blood turned as cold as the Basalt. “You can’t. Not Len, please.”

  The Governor was howling. “Are you happy now, Casandra? Are you?”

  My mother turned to look at the Governor. Her face cracked into anguish. “I gave up everything I was. I gave it up for you. Giving and giving and giving. What will you have us lose next?” But he ignored her, frothing like a rabid dog. Jayne stood up from Troy’s side, and backed a few paces away.

  Len tapped his back pocket, making sure I remembered the note, and nodded toward the Truax place, likely hoping I would tell Al where he’d gone. His voice was sturdier than my own. I tried to say something, but no sound came.

  “It will all be okay, Cas. You know what to do,” Len said. “I love you.”

  He mounted up, and nudged his horse into a gallop. The gates were already opening at the far end of town, as if to swallow him whole.

  “I love you, too,” I said, but the cacophony around me swallowed my words.

  The Bishop directed the clot of people who’d gathered up the hill to the mansion. He spared one last look back at me. “I took your answer to be a no, Casandra. You owed me your time, your answer, and instead you spent the morning with our fair Deacon. I am a man of my word. Your brother did
not suffer. All the same, your refusal is still an answer, so I hereby lift the curse on your voice, Acolyte.”

  “Bastard,” I sobbed. “Why bother?”

  “It doesn’t matter whether or not they hear you. Look what you’ve wrought.”

  I must have picked up the rock in my hand when I was next to Troy. I ran toward the Bishop, wanting to bash his head in, wanting to dig my fingers in and hurt him. To make him bleed.

  The Bishop raised his hand, repelling me with a sudden blast of air. Cal’s gift. I thought I’d crash straight into the rocks next to Troy, at best irrevocably broken, but instead, the ground literally rose up to meet me, lowering me softly, gently to the dirt.

  “You,” the Bishop said, lurching forward.

  “Me,” Jayne said, shouldering past me. The earth magic had come from Jayne?

  “I knew the last of it was somewhere.”

  “Now you know.”

  “Well, then.” The Bishop gathered himself up tall, his face falling into blankness. He turned and followed the group up the hill. They hadn’t even turned around.

  Jayne offered me her hand, but I stayed on the ground until everyone was inside the mansion. Then I stood and dusted myself off. Like Syd had said once, loss upon loss upon loss. This time, it was a loss she and I shared. We’d share the ones to come, too, if we couldn’t stop him.

  “Are you with me, Jayne? We’ve got work to do.”

  It wasn’t as if we were hiding out at the Turner Ranch. Anyone could have found us there the evening of that terrible day, turning the afternoon over and over again in our minds.

  Jayne and I retrieved Pi from his cell once the courthouse had emptied and the town’s attention was focused on the mansion and the wake inside. We put the Deacon to bed on the couch downstairs, then Jayne set out a few bottles of wine. I drank deeply, trying to push back the edges of bloody visions, ebbing and flowing unbidden.

  “Like you,” Jayne explained, “I came into my powers well before the vaccine. But my father was gone and my mother was too busy to notice. When I came back, the Bishop had begun collecting gifts. I didn’t trust him. Having lived in the City for a while, I’d learned that some things are too good to be true. His promise that we’d receive—”