“But I don’t really know how to fly,” Tom said, startling himself. Both voices were his, though Peregrine spoke in a lower range.
“However you imagine it will probably work,” said Peregrine. “You have immense power reserves, and unknown connections and structures in your house of self. You need only choose a shape for the power’s expression and perhaps it will cut itself to your last.”
Maggie stirred. Tom opened his eyes and looked at her. “It just seems weird, you telling yourself things,” she said. “You don’t know what’s in your own head, do you?”
“Not until I talk to myself.”
She pushed her way free of his embrace. “Tell me about flying,” she said, standing on a carpet of fallen leaves.
“These waves pulse up out of the earth. You step on one and it lifts you up. After that, though, you have to cast nets or hooks to pull you where you want to go. I guess you could fly as fast as you wanted if you could think that fast. Faster than flying: it would be easier for me just to pull us back to Trixie’s house through the sideways place right now than to fly us across the river again.”
“But you’d miss the view, and the freedom. Want to be up there where nobody could touch me and just look down on it all.”
He stood up and took her hand. “Okay,” he said. He frowned, and blinked into Othersight. Then he touched her forehead. “Look, now. Do you see waves? There’s a gray one, like a whale, coming up out of the earth. Then another one inside, lavender, rising up like a bubble, spreading, growing; and others, can you see? Up into the air, then they swoop away…” Waves rose, faint but unceasing.
She squinted past his hand, her eyes moving back and forth. He glanced from the shimmery waves to her.
“I can’t—I don’t see them,” she said. She pushed his hand away from her forehead. “I can’t see them! You’re making all this up, aren’t you?”
“Here’s one right under us.” He let it lift him as it grew and domed. It carried him up until he was level with the upper canopy of the trees. “Wait,” he whispered to the wave, and it tensed beneath him and stopped expanding. He could feel its longing to spend itself across the sky, but it waited. “You see it, then you imagine it lifts you. There’s one under you right now.”
She jumped. She clenched her hands into fists and grabbed a breath. “Lift me, lift me,” she chanted, but her feet stayed flat on the earth.
“Down,” Tom muttered to the wave he stood on, and it lowered him. “Thanks,” he said, and the wave spilled up through him and thinned to nothing in the open air.
Maggie glared at him. “Can’t you just cast a spell and make me fly?”
Perplexed, Tom mulled it over. Could there be some way of throwing a net over her that would respond to her wishes? Carroll hadn’t needed instructions on how to fly when he had been turned into a crow. On the other hand, it wasn’t the first time he had been a bird, from what he had said to Maggie. “If I turned you into a bird—” Tom said to Maggie.
Her eyes looked into distance. She frowned after a moment, then said, “Want to fly like Peter Pan. We flew, Jaimie flew. People can fly, I know they can.”
Maybe it had to do with vision. He could manipulate a sky skin once he saw it. He had been able to dissolve Carroll’s net over him once he saw it. Though other people at the Hollow operated without Othersight, he knew Othersight gave him an edge. Maybe he could give Maggie Othersight. “I don’t know if this will work, but I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Want to try something?”
“Yeah! Ready for a change.”
He stood a moment, ordering his thoughts, then cast a tiny net toward the spot between her eyebrows, and requested that the net grant her the same extra sense he had, the ability to shape what she saw, and to shut off her second sight when she wanted.
“Ouch!” she said. She scratched at her forehead and ground her teeth. “Ouch! It’s like a toothache.”
“Try to relax.” He caught her hands.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch!” Her fingers tensed, clenched, released. He could feel the muscles in her hands pulling tight and tense. Her breathing speeded and jerked.
Tom realized his net was trying to close around something that wasn’t there—was scrabbling in her brain in search of a missing organ. “Stop!” he said to it, and it slackened and dissolved. “Maggie? Are you okay?”
She breathed like a panting animal, fast and shallow. He let go of her hands, and she put them to her forehead, pressing as if trying to push something through her skin and skull.
Alarmed, Tom opened Othersight and looked at Maggie. Her green and lavender aura had a dark, bruised spot where her fingers pressed her forehead.—Peregrine! What have I done?
—Care, said a woeful Peregrine.—With great care, you can mend it.
Tom knelt in front of Maggie, gripped her shoulders. He tensed, then sent out the smallest tendrils he could imagine, stroking her damaged aura, coaxing it into re-weaving itself. His awareness focused down on the project completely, watching as each microfilament healed and wove itself in among the others, with him offering raw materials somehow to replace those that were damaged; the threads he presented were silver, but they stained lavender or green as soon as Maggie’s aura accepted them.
He had just gotten to the point where the bruise was gone, overlaid with Maggie’s colors—but how fragile the whole looked, now that he had seen its building, how thin the individual threads, how delicate the fabric—when something touched his shoulder, startling him out of trance. “What! No! Not now!” he cried, muscles that had been locked loosening, spilling him out of his crouch.
“Tom!”
The air was chilling sweat on his face; his body inside the impermeable clothes was awash, and he could smell his own odor, strong as it was after a whole day’s hard labor under a summer sun. His hands hurt, still locked into the curved grip he had had on Maggie’s shoulders. His arms and legs shook with fatigue, and sweat dripped from his eyebrows into his eyes. With great effort he worked himself awake, to realize that the sun had moved and Laura was standing over him. Maggie stood earth still, unblinking.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Laura asked. “Maggie! Are you all right?” She snapped her fingers in front of Maggie’s face three times.
Maggie woke. “Oh, God,” she said. She rubbed her forehead with the first two fingers of her left hand. “What happened?”
Tom put his hands on the ground, forcing the fingers to open, and sat up. “I tried to cast the spell you wanted, but it worked wrong. Can you think straight, Maggie?” His voice was hoarse.
“Got a terrible headache,” she said.
“But your mind, it’s all there, isn’t it?”
“Huh?” She stopped rubbing her forehead and stared at him, then closed her eyes a moment. “Think so,” she said.
“Bless the Powers and Presences,” he said, and heard Peregrine speaking in his voice.
She began rubbing her shoulders. “Ow.” She opened her jacket and peered under her overall straps and T-shirt. “How’d that happen?”
“What is it?” Laura asked.
Maggie peeked at her other shoulder, then wrapped her jacket tight around her. “Bruises,” she said, her face going blank.
Tom looked at his hands. “I did it. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“What happened?” Laura asked as Maggie iced over.
“She wanted to fly. I thought if she could see what I see, she could—but she doesn’t have the right equipment. Oh, Maggie, I hurt you in your head.”
“I remember,” she said in a small voice.
“Peregrine helped me fix it, but I guess I squeezed your shoulders.” His fingers were still stiff and aching. “Oh, Lord. Hate me if you have to. I’m just so glad we could undo the harm.”
Laura went to Maggie. “May I touch you?” she said.
“Why?” Maggie asked.
“I don’t have many of the Bolte gifts, but I have a small healing spark.”
Maggie shrugged. La
ura placed her long-fingered hands on Maggie’s shoulders and began to sing. The sounds spoke of warmth and comfort without using any words Tom knew. He hugged himself, trying to let the sound soothe away his misery, knowing he had hurt Maggie when she trusted him most: he had used both magic and physical strength on her, neither in ways she needed. The more he thought about it, the less he liked himself. Why hadn’t he stopped to consider? How could he take such a chance with powers he’d only known for two days? How could he practice on a child when he’d never even experimented on other things? Just because everything else had come easy didn’t mean…
—Stop wallowing, said Peregrine, in a stern but kind mental voice,—and think about our daughter.
He opened his eyes, realizing that he was sitting there hugging himself, knees drawn up, in the posture closest to invisible, the one he had used in tense situations when he was a child. Laura sang. Tom blinked, saw a strong golden force cloaking her hands, flowing into Maggie’s shoulders. Laura stroked Maggie’s head, her hands spreading light wherever they touched. Maggie frowned. Her eyes were bright. She swallowed.
—You can creep up to her and beg forgiveness, but who will that serve, you or her?
He expelled breath, let his arms down. “I don’t know what I’m doing yet,” he said to Maggie.
“I know.” Maggie worked her shoulders, turned her head. Laura lifted her hands. “Much, much better. Thank you, Miss Laura,” said Maggie.
“Quit calling me that,” Laura said, poking her in the back.
“Ma! Thanks, Ma.” Maggie went to Tom. “Listen, Tommy. Worse things have happened to me—much worse things, and they took a lot longer to stop hurting.”
“I didn’t ever want to hurt you, Maggie.”
“Know that. After thinking about it, I figured that out. You’re not my real father.”
He looked blindly up at her.
“Stop it,” she said, angry. “You got to listen to me. You’re not my real father, you’re nothing like him, hear? But if you’re gonna be my father, you got to think. You can’t give me everything I want. You don’t even have to try. Sometimes what I want isn’t good for me. You’re older. You’re supposed to know this stuff.”
“Not that much older.”
“So maybe you don’t know it!” She lifted her hands, shook them in the air. “So maybe next time I hurt you without meaning it. People always hurt people. So don’t worry about it anymore, okay? Want some lunch!”
“More like dinner,” said Laura. Maggie and Tom glanced around, noting the shift in shadows and sunlight.
“You’ve been gone a long time,” Laura said. “I had to track you down with my ring.”
Tom got his trembling legs and arms under control and managed to rise to his feet. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It didn’t help.
“Do they have any food in the house?” Maggie asked, looking worried.
“Barney started cooking rice in chicken broth half an hour ago. They have cheese and bread and butter and coffee. Tom? You all right?”
“Just tired.”
“Lean on me.”
Tom looked at Laura. She wore a jean jacket over her purple jumpsuit, and she looked as fresh as a mannequin in a store display.
“I need a shower really bad,” he said.
“It’ll have to wait.” She came to him and pulled his lax arm around her shoulders. “Come on,” she said. She held her hand out to Maggie, and they stumbled back to the house together.
When Laura opened the back door, a gust of warm air came out, carrying the welcome scents of woodsmoke and chicken broth. Laura settled Tom on a chair and handed him a ragged end of a loaf of bread and a hunk of butter on a plate and a knife. Tom ate bread and butter and felt the trembling ease. He took pleasure in eating, recognizing he was restoring himself, fueling up his power systems; he watched his aura strengthening around him.
“Phew,” said Trixie, waving her hand in front of her face, “you stink, Tom. Eat in the corner. What have you been doing?”
“Working,” he said. “And unless this house has a shower, you’re going to have to stand me on the flight back across the river, Trix.”
“Just put me to sleep. I’ll go quietly. What kind of work? I’ve seen you working at all sorts of things, but never this hard.”
Laura brought him a plate of steaming rice.
“Never mind,” Tom said. He thanked Laura and watched Annis nurse the baby until Barney’s glare made him lower his eyes. He grinned.
“Laura says you’re moving to Portland,” Jaimie said to Tom. “Now that we’re almost legitimate, we might follow you out there. It would be nice to move to a place where we already know some people. I’ve lived all my life with people I know. I don’t like to think about facing a world full of strangers.”
“Thought you wanted to go home, Miss Jaimie,” said Maggie.
“Sirella. You can talk—I keep forgetting. Who cured you?”
“I was never really sick,” she said. “At least not that way.”
“It was all a lie? You’re an amazing kid, you know that? I don’t really want to go back to the Hollow right now. I just hated feeling like I was exiled forever. Now, if I really want to, I can go see my parents…my sisters…not very likely, but possible. You’re moving to Portland with Tom and Laura?”
“Yes,” said Maggie. “Starting over. My third time, I think.” She stared at her hands, which lay relaxed beside her half-empty plate.
“How did you find this house?” Tom asked after a moment’s silence. Everyone was eating more slowly. Outside, the chill afternoon was darkening into an even colder evening; in the kitchen, fire purred and crackled in the stove, and someone had made glows, or summoned them, he was not sure how one got them, and hung them about the room so the table was lit with soft, everywhere golden light.
“I heard about the house from Bert,” said Barney. “Old Man Morrison used to live out here. He was a hermit, kind of the recluse of Klickitat County. He grew up in Arcadia; Bert knew him from a long time ago, before he rusticated on the wrong side of the river. He died a couple years back. Never heard what became of the house, but Bert suggested we check it out. We came here right after we ran away, and it was all dust and chipmunks. So we figured it was safe to move in. There’s an owl in the attic. Jaimie made friends with it. She did most of the fixing up.”
“You helped, Barn,” said Jaimie.
“Yeah, but I can’t ask dust to dance itself out the doors, or seal the leaks with patches made of air, or ask the wood to split itself into logs and kindling like you can.”
“You’ve got a lot of other skills,” Jaimie said.
“And I,” Annis said, “I just lay there being sick and a burden.”
“You had a baby!” Jaimie said, shocked. “That’s the most important job of all.”
Annis looked at Rupert, who lay in a nest of blankets in a laundry basket on the floor. “Maybe,” she said, and managed a faint smile. “I’m tired. I’m going up to bed.”
“You haven’t finished your supper,” said Barney.
“I’m not hungry,” she said, stooping to lift Rupert. “Good night, everybody. Thank you for coming. I hope you’ll stop by again before you leave for the city.” She headed for the kitchen door.
“Descendant,” said Peregrine.
Annis stopped on the threshold and looked back.
“What troubles you?”
Her eyes were bright. “You honor me with your presence and aid, Ancient. Please don’t worry. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“What’s the matter, honey?” asked Barney.
“Just tired. It’s been a long day. Thanks, Ancient.” She left.
Barney jumped up. “Excuse me,” he said, and ran after Annis.
“What’s going on?” Trixie asked. “You—Presence—you explain it, why don’t you?”
“She is tired,” said Peregrine.
“No kidding. What can we do?”
“Nothing, just now,” he said, “ex
cept, perhaps, go home.” He turned to Jaimie. “Descendant?”
Jaimie eyed him and waited.
“You give me hope for your generation. You are accomplished, and I joy in you. I foresee troubles coming. I want you to call on me if you need help.”
She nodded. “How?”
Peregrine looked at Maggie, who studied her palm, then held it out for Jaimie to see. “He gave me a mark to summon him with,” she said, her face pale.
“You are sealed to him?” Jaimie looked upset.
“Is that what it is, Pa?”
“Yes, child.”
Jaimie bit her lip. “No offense, Ancient, but I don’t want that.”
“Your choice. I will listen for the silver calling, then, as best I can while cloaked in this flesh and sitva. My name is Peregrine Bolte, and I am a power of air. Thomas, my host, can persuade more than one element; we have not found his limits yet.”
“Thanks,” said Jaimie. She frowned. “Ancient, I don’t really remember my training in the calling.”
“There is something lax in the Family teacher if you can’t remember such basic training. You have learned flight and unsee, trace and housewifery; you were an apt pupil—?”
Her cheeks colored. “Well, I…but Fayella never seemed to care if I learned anything, or Annis, or Laura, even. We didn’t have the…”
“You did,” Laura said, after Jaimie let the silence stretch a moment. “You used to be an avid disciple of the dark. You were the little teacher’s pet.”
Jaimie shrugged. “Yeah, well…I kind of changed my mind about that direction, and then she didn’t care about me anymore. She liked Sarah and Gwen and Marie more. The people who excelled in the dark disciplines, the ones who obeyed her. I think she was scared of Michael, so she tried to keep him ignorant. She left the rest of us to fend for ourselves.”
“No wonder the blood is thinning. Without proper tending and teaching, you are all grown up crippled.” He looked at Laura. Her jaw firmed and she glared at him. “That is fine, if you are content with it. But it does not advance the Family for its members to weaken themselves.”
“Everything must be in service to the Family, huh?” asked Laura.
The Thread that Binds the Bones Page 18