by Greg Keyes
“Will it heal?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never been shot before.”
“Look,” he said. “We’re going to help Aster finish this thing, and we’ll get that water or whatever, and we’ll be fixed up. Good as new. Better.”
“Is Dusk okay?” she asked.
“She’ll live.”
“She’s awesome,” Veronica said.
“You’re awesome,” he replied.
“Huh,” she said. “Well, of course I am. Except for being dead. And this hole.” She looked up at him. Her eyes seemed to swallow the moonlight.
“Admit it,” she said, pointing at her wound. “You think it’s nasty.”
“Close your eyes,” he said.
“Why?”
“Humor me,” he said.
“Fine.”
“Now imagine your heart beating, and air coming in and out of your lungs.”
“Errol . . .” she began, but he stopped her with a kiss.
“If I had flesh and bone,” he said when it was over, “that is exactly how I would like to kiss you.”
Veronica leaned her head against his shoulder.
“That’s really sweet, Errol,” she said.
Then, after a moment’s pause, she chuckled.
“What?” he said.
“You realize that ‘freaks’ doesn’t even begin to describe us, don’t you?”
FIVE
HIDDEN
Aster was clear of the “Moon’s Portion” by morning, but she wasn’t allowed to go anyplace until she had bathed in the stream. She did that as soon as it was light enough to see. The water was surprisingly cold, but she found herself enjoying it. She washed her clothes, too, as best she could, and hung them on branches to dry. Then she dressed in the clean clothes the girls had given her; a knee-length dress of soft deerskin and knee-high moccasins of the same material. She sat for a few minutes, and was watching a crawfish emerge from hiding in the creek bottom when she heard a soft footfall and looked up.
She had seen a lot of things most people wouldn’t believe since crashing her car in the Marches; but she had been prepared for them, had been preparing her whole life, reading her father’s books, questioning him when he would talk. Obviously she had gaps in her knowledge; she hadn’t known about the menstruation thing, for instance.
Now, for the first time, she saw something that was to her not only unbelievable, but inconceivable.
“Mr. Watkins?” she said, rising and backing up.
“Yes, Aster, it’s me.”
She knew creatures existed that could take any form they wanted, who could read your desire and appear as its incarnation. But why would such a creature appear as Mr. Watkins? She hadn’t given him a thought since her father had distilled him.
“You father sent me for you,” he said.
“Okay,” she said, more to herself than to him. “That actually makes sense.”
She took in the whole image, then. When she had last seen Mr. Watkins he had been in his usual uniform; a stylish black suit and tie, white shirt, and snakeskin shoes.
The jacket and tie were gone, but he still had on the pants and white shirt, the latter of which was hardly white anymore but soiled with mud, ash, and what appeared to be dried blood. His normally neat hair was a mess, and a dark shadow of young beard had crept across his face. He also had a wild sort of look in his eye that she didn’t care for.
It suddenly occurred to her that he had appeared conveniently soon after she had dressed.
“Yes,” he said. “If any of this makes sense. He sent me for you, and now I’ve found you, so let’s go while we can.”
She took another step back.
“Mr. Watkins, I’m sorry if my father inconvenienced you by sending you to fetch me, but I’m not in need of fetching. I came here to do something, and I’m going to do it.”
He sighed and took another step forward.
“If you only knew what I’ve been through,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “But it was not my choice.”
“Aster, there is a bad man near here, and he has with him some very bad young men. I won’t tell you the things I’ve seen them do, because they are unspeakable.”
“You mean the Sheriff.”
“You don’t know him,” Mr. Watkins said. “He won’t stop until he gets you, and then I really fear for what will happen to you. Please, let me help you.”
“You’ve been with the Sheriff?”
“I was his prisoner,” Mr. Watkins said. “I got away from him during the fighting.”
“He can’t reach me here,” she said.
“He’ll wait. And when you leave he’ll catch you. Let me take you where you’ll be safe.”
He sounded sincere almost to the point of being unhinged.
“I must decline your offer, sir,” she said. She backed away, but he sloshed into the stream.
“Wait,” he said. “Just wait. At least tell me why. What’s so important about this place you would risk your life?”
She suddenly felt sorry for him. She doubted that her father had talked Mr. Watkins into coming here; almost certainly he had compelled him with a spell of some sort. He deserved, at least, to know what was going on.
“My father,” she said. “He’s sick. There’s something wrong with his memory.”
“I gathered that much,” Mr. Watkins said.
“There is something here that can heal him. I have to find it.”
“Find what?” he asked.
“A special sort of water,” she said.
“So you’re on a quest for some sort of magical cure?” he said. “Aster, listen to yourself. Listen to me. What your father has is a damaged hippocampus. It’s a well-known medical condition. It’s not magical, and there’s no miracle cure for it.”
“You asked,” Aster said. “I told you. Goodbye.”
“Don’t go,” he pleaded.
“I have to,” she said.
“I meant what I said at school,” he said. “About you being special. How someone would eventually figure it out, and how lucky they would be.”
She saw where this was heading now, and she really didn’t like it.
“Stop this, Mr. Watkins,” she said.
“Why would I say those things, do you think?”
She realized she was angry, now.
“Because I’m weird,” she said. “Because I don’t have any friends, and I’m not pretty. So that makes me easy. You think if you tell me I’m sooo special and sooo beautiful that no one can even see it but you, I’ll gratefully fall into the sack with you.”
His mouth fell open.
“That’s what you think of me?” he said.
“Pretty much,” she replied.
“But that’s not true. Aster, I have feelings for you. I know I shouldn’t—I don’t want to—but I have them. You have a light in you —”
“This is nuts,” Aster said. “And I’m not listening to another word of this.”
“You have to!” he said. “I love you!”
He said it with such utter conviction, with such desperate desire. It wasn’t flattering, or amusing, or annoying.
It was terrifying.
“You heard me,” he said. “I can’t think of anything but you. Without you I’ll lose my mind. I’ll wither away. I’ll die, Aster!”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m officially gone.”
That’s when he came at her with an expression on his face as unreadable as it was chilling. She didn’t have time to be original; she used the same Utterance as she had against Shecky. When the wind died down he was lying, groaning, on the other side of the stream. She ran, looking back often, until he was out of sight.
When Errol peaked in on Dusk the next morning, he found her sitting up on the edge of the bed. She was dressed in the same buckskins most of the women in the village wore, and her hair was down, hanging in dense curls. He had seen her without her armor before, but she had always
kept on the padded gambeson. Without it she seemed younger, somehow, softer.
“Errol,” she said. “You saved my life.”
“I did what you would have done,” he said.
“Well, thank you,” she said. “I’m in your debt. Again.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She nodded. “You fought well,” she said.
“We fought well,” he replied. “I think our teamwork has improved.”
“Since we got stuck to the Snatchwitch?” she said. “I should hope so.”
She looked past him. “And you, Veronica. I heard you turned the tide of the battle.”
Veronica slipped in behind him. He felt her hand rest a little possessively on his shoulder.
“Just doing my usual creepy thing,” she said. “Do I get to be included in the team?”
“Of course,” Dusk replied. “The three of us are unstoppable.”
Approaching the townhouse, Aster heard her companions congratulating themselves, and waited to enter until they were done.
Aster didn’t ask if she was on their little ‘team.’ She didn’t have to. Yet again she had been left out of their adventures.
“I’m glad to see you’re all okay,” she said, trying to keep the false little smile frozen on her face.
“Nice braid,” Veronica said. “How was the sleepover?” She leaned against Errol.
Aster started to retort, but knew it would only make things worse, so instead she decided to get on with things, if she still could.
“Just aces,” she said. “Except Mr. Watkins just tried to kidnap me.”
“Mr. Watkins?” Errol said.
“Yeah. Apparently Dad had a lucid moment and sent him after me. He’s been riding with the Sheriff.”
“Well, where is he now?” Errol asked.
“I don’t know,” Aster replied.
“But you just saw him,” he said. “Don’t you think we ought to keep an eye on him?”
“Something is wrong with him,” Aster said. “His cheese has slipped off of his cracker, if you know what I mean.”
“I can say with certainty I have no idea what you mean,” Dusk said.
“She means he’s a few clowns shy of a circus,” Veronica explained.
“That doesn’t clear things up,” Dusk said. “She means he’s crazy,” Errol said. He turned back to Aster. “Crazy how?”
“He was . . .” she twitched her nose to the side and suddenly couldn’t make eye contact.
“He tried to attack me,” she said. “He was saying crazy things.”
“Like?” Veronica asked.
She sighed, really not wanting to say. But they needed to know.
“Like, he loves me and can’t think of anything but me,” she said in a rush.
“Yes,” Veronica said. “That’s positively certifiable. This is that teacher, right?”
Errol was nodding, and at first Aster thought he was agreeing with Veronica.
“I don’t know,” he said. “There were rumors about him. And he kind of watched you a lot, Aster.”
Aster felt her face warm. “What do you mean, ‘watched me’?”
“I don’t know. He would always look at you when you came in the door. And one time he asked me about you, if I knew what your story was.”
“Yeah, that I believe,” Aster said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. Trust me, he’s lost it. We are not inviting him along. And speaking of that, there are only so many hours in a Sunday. We should talk to Jezebel.”
“Billy is already at her place,” Errol said. “We were just waiting on you.”
Jezebel’s place turned out to be a treehouse perched thirty feet above the ground between two twin oaks on the outskirts of town. It had an odd, wandering floor plan dictated more by the limbs that supported it than by any sense of architecture. Jezebel had changed into a calico dress decorated with hundreds of tiny silver bells. Errol wondered if she was a snatchwitch during the week, like her sister, or if she took the form of some other sort of monster—perhaps something with wings, given the nest-like nature of her house.
Billy was seated next to her.
“Come in,” she said. “Make yourselves comfortable. Billy has been explaining your quest to me—and some of your difficulties.”
“I’m sorry the Sheriff followed us here,” Aster said. “I didn’t mean to bring trouble.”
“Oh, it’s the Sheriff,” she said. “I don’t blame you for him. And the boys that died did so bravely, which is all anyone can ask.”
Errol thought one could ask for a lot more than that, but he didn’t say so.
“I don’t even understand what he wants,” Aster said. “Not really.”
“Well,” Jezebel said. “You worked magic beyond the Pale, and that got his attention. He’s supposed to prevent that sort of thing. And he’s supposed to keep beings like your friends here from that world as well.”
“Yes,” Aster said. “But we aren’t in our world. We’re here.”
“Ah, but in his mind you’ve broken the law, and must be punished.”
“That’s sort of psychotic,” Errol said.
“Well, he’s bitter,” Jezebel said. “He once was someone in the Kingdoms, a powerful man. Becoming Sheriff was a punishment. He’s exiled from the Kingdoms, except when his duty allows him here. He believes that if he keeps the law and enforces it well, he will be allowed to return.” She patted Aster’s hand.
“He won’t come in my village. We have a different bargain in these parts, different laws, which is why he tried to enter the village by force. But if you leave this place, you will have to deal with him, I fear. You are welcome to remain here. Eventually the Sheriff will find other offenses to occupy him.”
“I can’t stay,” Aster said. “I have to go on.”
“Hang on,” Errol said. “Do we even have a place to go? Do you know where we can find this giant?”
Jezebel nodded. “Yes. But I advise against the journey.”
“I won’t quit,” Aster said. “And I won’t wait.”
Jezebel shrugged. “Beyond these hills lies the Hollow Sea. Cross that and you’ll reach the Mountains of the Wind. In a valley on the slopes of those peaks you will find the orchard, and the giant. It isn’t an easy journey, even without the hounds of the March on your trail.”
“I didn’t think it would be easy,” Aster said.
“You will have my help,” Dusk said. “If you still want it.”
“I’ll go,” Billy added.
“Looks like you have all the helpers you need,” Veronica said. She was standing close enough to Errol he could feel her presence. She was starting to seem more possessive, always close to him, leaning against him and such. He liked it, sort of, but he worried what the others might think was going on. Not that very much could be happening, obviously, and it was stupid to think Dusk would have any interest in him.
But there it was. As impossible as it was, he wanted Dusk to like him, and if she thought something was going on between him and Veronica . . .
He lifted his mechanical hand and looked at it.
Stupid, he thought.
He realized that Aster was talking to Veronica.
“I promised you I would do what I could to return you to life and health if you helped me,” she said. “That still stands, even if you want to stay here.” She glanced at Errol. “That goes for you, too.”
“Okay,” Errol said. “But I’m going. Whoever said anything about not going?”
Aster shrugged. “Okay then. Thank you.”
Jezebel sighed. “You had best start packing now,” she said. “Chula and some of the boys will escort you as far as they can and then lay some false trails. Now the rest of you get along. I need to talk to Aster alone.”
Once the others were gone, Jezebel sat her in a chair across from her. She stared at her so hard that Aster felt like an insect, pinned to a board by the woman’s gaze. But then the old woman flashed a weary little smile.
; “Hattie sent you to me with the hope that you could end our curse,” she said. “But I don’t know if I see that. At least not yet. But hope lives and hides in strange places, and I see no reason not to help you with your immediate troubles.”
“Thank you,” Aster said.
“I say ‘immediate’ because even if you succeed, you will only be opening a larger box of worries, dear.”
“Well, I’ll bear that in mind.”
Jezebel shrugged. “I want to show you something,” she said. She lifted the lid of a cedar box and brought out a hand mirror. She held it up so Aster could see her reflection.
“Did you know about this?” she asked.
A little shock when through her. On her forehead was a small golden star.
“No,” she whispered.
“I didn’t think so,” the old lady replied.
“Dusk has a star like this,” she said. “What does it mean?”
“To begin with,” she said. “It means that you, like she, are a child of an Elder Kingdom, one of most high and far-off places.”
“Are we relatives?”
“Can’t you see the resemblance in your faces?” Jezebel asked.
“No,” Aster said. “She’s so beautiful, and I . . .” she shook her head.
“That is what prevents you seeing the resemblance,” Jezebel said. “The way you think of yourself. Look harder, child.”
Aster studied her face, realizing as she did so that it had been a long time since she had looked in a mirror. Why should she? She didn’t wear make-up or do anything fancy with her hair. Any other use of a mirror was pure vanity, which she had no time for. And she knew what she looked like.
But now she saw what the old woman meant. She had the same high, broad cheekbones as Dusk, the same heart-shaped face, pointed chin, and large, almond-shaped eyes.
The face in the mirror had only a little resemblance to the one she held in her mind.
“This mirror,” she said. “It shows hidden things?”
“The only thing about your face that is hidden is the star,” Jezebel said.
“I guess Dad did that,” she said. “But it must have been way back, or I would remember.”
“I could make it visible,” Jezebel said. “But if your father went to such great lengths—and he must have—to hide it, maybe it’s best it remains unseen.”