

### STOLEN CLIMATES

Aniko Carmean

STOLEN CLIMATES

Published by Odd Sky Books

First Smashwords Edition: June 2012

Second Smashwords Edition: November 2014

First Edition: July 2014

Copyright © 2011 Erzsebet Aniko Carmean

ISBN-13: 978-0984968909

Cover Art by Streetlight Graphics

Editing by Everything Indie

License

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. To view this license, visit <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/>.

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

## TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

1 DEPARTURE

2 INCIDENT

3 ARRIVAL

4 ENCOUNTERS

5 WARNING

6 DOWNTOWN

7 TREES

8 ARMOIRE

9 FOREST BRIDE

10 THORN

11 RESERVATION

12 SEIZURE

13 RULES

14 PEACHES

15 ICE

16 DRINKS

17 SYTRA

18 OVERHEARD

19 SLAUGHTER

20 CANKER

21 UNSAID

22 VINES

23 PADLOCK

24 BREAKFAST

25 CAVEAT

26 DRUGGED

27 TWINS

28 TANGLE

29 STAINED GLASS

30 ABORTED

31 COSMOS

32 COURIERS

33 AUGURY

34 SECRET

35 MORNING

36 STAINED

37 MOVING DAY

38 LOST

39 NATURE

40 TAP, TAP

41 TUMBLE

42 GIFT

43 MOLAR

44 KNOWLEDGE

45 ASSAULT

46 HIDDEN

47 CAT'S CRADLE

48 LOVE

49 TRADE

50 WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN

51 ESCAPE

52 TOO LATE

53 STRUNG UP

54 LA ZALIA

55 ACCELERATE

56 MOTHER'S MEAT

57 A NEW VESSEL

58 PYRE

59 MALCOLM

ABOUT ANIKO CARMEAN

## DEDICATION

For my husband.

## ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book could not exist without the effort and support of many people. I thank my husband for his unending belief in this story and in me. I send gratitude and love to Erika and Jeff, who were instrumental in the production of the book trailer. I thank Mo and Poppy for their lifelong support. Matt, Poppy and Jenn read an early draft and offered valuable suggestions and encouragement. You wouldn't be reading this if Tiffany hadn't helped me see indie publishing as a viable option. I don't like to starve, so I owe a debt of gratitude to Mike Couvillion, Corey Rhoden, Damon New, and Allen Gilmer for hiring me. Paul D. Dail and Meg Laverick provided valuable input to the creation of the back cover blurb and welcomed me to the blogosphere. Ania Ahlborn was kind enough to give me the name of her editor and discuss her approach to writing a novel synopsis. Not only did Streetlight Graphics design the cover and handle the task of electronic formatting, they were also supportive, friendly, and fun. Last, but not least, I thank Everything Indie for the thought and care they put into the copyedit and proofread.

You all amaze me.

## 1 DEPARTURE

Prentice Feyerbach lost his job and his girlfriend in the same week. He packed his belongings into a storage shed, bought a map, and highlighted the route to Texas in radioactive yellow. On a Friday morning he swept out of town, raucous music pushing his Corvette's speakers to the limit and a gas station coffee in the cup holder.

'I have a reservation in Breaker,' Prentice thought.

It wasn't a new thought anymore, but it still gave him a thrill. A song ended and Prentice sipped his coffee. A yellow light blurred and disappeared even as a pedestrian at the cross street gave Prentice a nasty look he tried not to see.

Like the idea of Breaker, the Corvette was no longer all that new, but it was still exciting. It was a big change from the hand-me-down beater Prentice bought before college and that he kept driving even after he got his first real job, the same job that laid him off without any more ceremony than a rented folding chair and an envelope with his name on it. Almost since the day he started that job, his paycheck had been enough to cover a car payment, but as long as the rust bucket was still running, Prentice hadn't seen any need.

It was his ex-girlfriend who made him feel the mustard yellow car was as noxious as mustard gas. That was when Prentice bought the Corvette. Blue as the other had been yellow, the mile-annihilating engine and pumped up sound system got Prentice closer to fine than anything he'd ever known. It was an ego boost. It blew away the fancy watch, far overshadowed the expensive Italian leather shoes that turned out to be more durable than both job and relationship.

Sublime speed carried Prentice beyond the farthest point he'd ever been and turned the scenery into something smeared and amorphous. It no longer mattered that when he bought the Corvette his girlfriend turned it around on him and said, "I had no idea you were so materialistic." It didn't matter that the last thing his father said to him was, "You've lost a lot this week, but leaving makes it look like you've lost your mind." It especially didn't matter that his psychologist pronounced Prentice as being "vulnerable to fantasy." Their echoes were muted by speed, distance, and the promise of Breaker.

Prentice crossed Tennessee's border and checked into a hotel. He felt authoritative and he felt alive. The room was a bit of a letdown, but it was reasonably clean and it was only for one night.

His ex-girlfriend had been a sober vegan, and Prentice thought of her when he ordered a rare steak and wine at the hotel's restaurant that evening. There were pricier bottles on the list, but Prentice picked an Eco Domani chianti. The cork's imprint read, "Here's Tomorrow" and Prentice smiled as he poured his first glass.

He sipped the chianti. It left his mouth feeling as if it had been swabbed with antiseptic leaves. To shift his attention away from his dry mouth, Prentice focused on the couple in the booth diagonal to him. They were sitting close together and speaking in low tones. The man was roughly the same build and coloring as Prentice and, because of that, Prentice felt that he was the one sitting next to the woman. Her eyes were blue, her mouth sensual yet sad, and her hair a darkly romantic, windblown mess. He was in love with the warmth of her body and the scent of the spices she exhaled.

"Nova," Prentice said, having decided that was her name.

The waiter arrived just as Prentice spoke. "Excuse me?" the waiter asked.

"Nothing," Prentice said. "Just the _vino_ talking."

The waiter set the plate on the table and said, "Will you cut into the steak and make sure it's done the way you like?"

As Prentice unraveled his silverware from the napkin, the waiter continued. "See any strange weather on your way here? There's been nothing in the news except floods and fires, like Mother Nature's gone insane."

"I didn't notice anything unusual," Prentice said.

"You were lucky."

Prentice sliced into flesh. Red juices poured onto the plate, life: diverted, appropriated, sacrificed. He forked a huge piece into his mouth.

"Steak okay?"

Prentice grunted his feral approval and the waiter left.

The next time Prentice looked up from his meal, the booth across from him was empty. He downed the last few drops of chianti and sat for a few minutes in sated comfort. Then he paid his tab and went back to his room.

Still clothed, Prentice fell upon his rented bed and dreamed he and Nova were sitting in the bough of a tree, eating a ripe peach. As they ate, the warm afternoon sun was supplanted by a sudden squall that changed not only the season but also Nova. Her hair became curlier, yes, and her eyes turned green, but more than that, she was scared. Nova was terrified because the tree was made of stone and the pit of the peach was an eyeball that blinked and blinked. The tattooed lid read, "Here's Tomorrow!"

## 2 INCIDENT

Linnae was a resplendent three years old. She wore an inverted Burger King crown and her face was sticky from a blue lollypop. Genny looked in the rearview mirror at her daughter, who was holding court over the mess of a birthday celebrated in the middle of a cross country move.

They were going to Breaker, Texas. Malcolm drove them through shimmering distances comprised of heat mirages that disappeared when they got close. In the surrounding countryside, trees fought their way up through whitestone soil to brandish leaves olive colored and drab. The persecuting eye of the sun followed the passage of their car and Genny covered her eyes, trying to carve a miniature slice of night for herself.

"Do you really think things will be better here?" she asked.

"Yes," Malcolm said, glancing over at his wife. "Getting out of suburbia and away from the strain and rush will help us both rest. There won't be any more incidents."

"It was an accident, not an incident!"

"Laney was in the car."

"I told you what happened," Genny said, and let her hands drop away from her face.

"You nodded off with your eyes open, and when people came to help you out of the wreckage, you said you heard the tree talking."

"No. I said I heard it _calling._ "

Malcolm's grip tightened on the wheel.

"I'm not suicidal! And it wasn't a hallucination. I was drawn and then everything happened so fast and I'm sorry!"

Genny leaned towards Malcolm, her seatbelt straining and her mouth trembling with emotion. Half a word escaped her and then Linnae threw her sippy cup onto the floorboard. It landed with a decisive thud.

"Mom-mee," she called.

Genny reached behind her seat, trying to get the blue cup covered in gold stars from the floorboard, but it had rolled too far away. If she could take off her seatbelt, it might just be possible to reach. She knew, though, that taking off her belt while the car was moving was the last thing she could do.

"Mommy can't get your cup, Laney-loo."

"Drink!" Linnae said.

"You're going to have to wait until we stop."

Linnae wailed. Malcolm took a deep breath. He was careful to go exactly the speed limit and not to swerve, not even when he turned to look at his screaming daughter and make a wordless plea for quiet.

FM-6060 had changed names and number designations no less than five times since they left I-35. Soon it would become Main Street and lead them right through the center of Breaker, but for now it was a rural road running alongside an orchard. The straight lines of trees extended out to the horizon, each tree lined up behind the tree closest to the road, then, in the very next moment, the same row of trees would cascade into a set of diagonal rows stretching back east. The illusion distracted Linnae from her lost cup. Her cries tapered off and then stopped all together.

"Peach trees," Malcolm said.

"They look strange," Genny replied.

A historical marker was posted in a small turn off, and Malcolm slowed the car.

"If you stop, Laney's going to want out, and it'll be at least twenty minutes before I can get her back in the car seat."

"We aren't due to meet Roth for another half hour and check-in at The Gauss isn't until one," Malcolm said.

"I bet they'll waive check-in time. They probably haven't been booked since that aborted oil rush in the eighties," Genny said.

"Breaker's on the way to Big Bend."

"This is the off season," Genny said. "Besides, the trees are hideous. All gray and sick looking."

Malcolm tapped the gas pedal and they went past the marker.

"Are you mad?" Genny asked.

"Not mad."

"Well, you're driving like you're mad." Genny smoothed her sweating hands along the fabric of her skirt. "I'm trying not to make you angry; let's go back."

Malcolm pulled the car into a controlled U-turn. He drove back to the pull-off, then checked carefully before crossing the opposite lane of traffic. Gravel crunched and popped under the sedan's tires as he inched closer to the sign, his window rolled down and the outside heat overpowering the car's AC.

" _Makepeace Orchard_ ," Malcolm read aloud. " _Established 1822 by Eduard Makepeace on land that had been cultivated by a native tribe, the Cayalanzuvan. The Cayalanzuvan grew a kind of medicinal plant here, something called sytra._ " He continued to scan the print. "There's a petrified tree at the entrance."

"What's petrified mean?" Linnae asked.

"Made of rock," Malcolm said. "Do you want to see a tree made of rock?"

"Is it scary?" Linnae asked.

Malcolm looked at Genny and said, "That's because she was in the car when you did your Seymour Glass impression."

"Mommy?" Linnae called.

"Yes?" Genny replied.

"I don't like it here."

"It's new, that's all," Genny said.

Malcolm rolled up his window and drove back onto FM-6060. The Makepeace Orchard was announced by a stone arch and a dirt road that led beneath it. On the right side of the dirt road was a stand with a hand painted sign that said, "Fresh Peaches." A woman was asleep by the stand, a paper fan in her lap. As Malcolm pulled the car under the arch, she woke and started to fan herself. She did not smile or otherwise acknowledge their presence until Genny opened the backdoor to get Linnae out of her seat. Then the woman stood, and all around them the leaves in the peach trees quivered and hissed in a wind that Genny didn't feel. When Malcolm got out of the car, Genny tried to get him to look at her, but he reached his arms overhead and stretched with his eyes closed.

"Hola," the woman called.

"We were wondering about the petrified tree," Malcolm said.

"It is there," the woman said, and pointed.

The stone tree was leafless, its whited branches twisted by winds long since stilled. Conscious of the woman's stare and the rows of gnarled trees surrounding them, Genny led Linnae around the back of the car. Together they accompanied Malcolm to the petrified tree.

"I want to go home," Linnae said.

"There's nothing to be scared of. See?" Malcolm said. To show her, he touched the tip of the branch closest to him.

Linnae made a frightened noise. It was the same vulnerable noise she made when a bee landed on her their first night away from home. Genny had been unable to move, certain that if she did, the bee would sting Linnae. The insect traversed the back of Linnae's hand before performing a terrifying ballet on the tender skin between her thumb and forefinger. As the bee danced, the leaves of the trees around them chattered and hissed. Then the bee took flight, and Genny had hugged her daughter, full of relief even when she felt the sharp jab of the bee's stinger and the burning rush of venom. The back of her neck was still itchy and swollen.

"Let's go," Genny said. "Laney's scared. It doesn't do any good to force her to look at things that scare her."

"We can't let her grow up terrified of trees," Malcolm said.

"You want picture?" the woman with the fan asked. She was standing very close to the Mercers, but none of them had noticed her approach. "Photo?"

Genny shook her head but Malcolm said, "Yes. I think that would be just the thing. Come here, Laney, while Mommy gets the camera."

"I don't want a picture," Genny said.

"Please, just go get the camera."

Genny took a deep breath, and then tried to pry herself free from Linnae's clasp. Genny looked at Malcolm. Not without difficulty, he picked up their daughter, her paper crown shifting atop her head.

"I'm scared," Linnae said.

Malcolm straightened her Burger King crown as he spoke calming words. Genny listened to the low cadence of Malcolm's consolation, pretending his comfort was meant for her. Behind them, the woman flicked her fan. She waved it around in the dense heat, sighing and shuffling her feet. Genny turned, ready to snap, but the woman was looking past her, watching Malcolm carry Linnae close enough that she could touch the tree.

"Don't!" Genny said, but her warning was too late.

Linnae pressed her palm to the stone bark. For a moment, everything was as it had been. Then she screamed.

All the orchard's blighted, gray leaves shook as if there was a breeze. Branches swayed, but there was nothing except the woman fanning herself. Genny dashed forward and swiped her daughter's hand away from the petrified tree.

"Stop scaring her!" Genny said, blinking at the shrewish sound of her own fear.

Malcolm cradled Linnae, rocking her as he asked, "What happened?"

"It stung," Linnae said.

She threw both of her arms around her father's neck and buried her face in the front of his shirt. Over the top of her bowed and still crowned head, Malcolm and Genny looked at one another. The smell of something going rancid wafted around them and a low hum skimmed and skittered through the preternatural quiet.

"You were right," Malcolm said. "Let's skip the picture." He stepped around Genny to carry Linnae to the car.

Genny moved a little closer to the stone tree. A shuddering darkness not unlike the liquid dark of the road's heat mirages seeped from the bleached bark. Genny pressed her forefinger into its shadow, but pulled back without touching the tree. The stench was worse now, thick with the gluttonous smell of a carnivore still drenched in the blood of a kill. As Genny backed away, her footsteps left reddish marks in the soil as if the whitestone dust were only a bandage beneath which suppurated a weeping and bloody wound.

With a flick of her wrist, the woman snapped closed the fan and asked, "No photo?"

"No."

"Peaches?"

"I don't think so," Genny said.

"Two for one dollar."

"No, thanks."

"Ah, then they are a gift."

The woman went over to the stand and put two peaches in a small brown bag. Then she folded the top of the bag over on itself and thrust the neat parcel at Genny. Inside, the two peaches rolled and bumped together like living things.

"Will you give me a hand over here?" Malcolm called.

Genny took the bag and said, "Thanks. I'm sure they'll be ... peachy."

She went over to where Malcolm was trying to get Linnae to let go of him long enough to put her back in the carseat. The girl alternated between hiding her face against her father and staring at the petrified tree. Genny touched Linnae's arm.

"Don't worry, Laney-loo. We're leaving now. But you need to be in your seat."

Linnae wriggled into her seat and sat looking out at the petrified tree as Malcolm strapped her in. When he was finished, she crossed her arms over her chest, a corpse pose. Malcolm closed the door firmly, but without slamming it.

"My blood pressure is singing," he said, the skin under his left eye twitching.

"Do you want me to drive?" Genny asked.

"No, I'm okay."

"If you're sure," Genny said.

Malcolm opened the passenger door and gestured her inside. When Genny was seated, Malcolm walked around to the driver's side. He passed close to the woman at her fruit stand. She was chanting, a repetitive sound that mimicked the rise and fall of the hum that started when Linnae touched the tree. Malcolm could make out only the end of the chant. "La Zalia," she said, but it was nothing that he understood.

"Good day," Malcolm said.

" _Sí,_ " she replied, and then resumed her chant.

Malcolm got in the car and cranked the key in the ignition too hard and too long. In the backseat, Linnae kicked her feet against the back of Genny's chair. It was a normal thing devoid of its normal annoyance.

"Can you hear it, Mommy?"

Malcolm put the car in gear, and backed them away from the trees.

"Mommy, hear it?" Linnae repeated.

"That's the car," Genny said. "Just the engine."

"No! The tree. It's singing," Linnae said.

Malcolm pressed one finger to the nervous tick of his fluttering eyelid. He looked at Genny, but she kept her face turned towards her window. Hot air blew from the vents in great smothering swathes. In the backseat, Linnae covered and uncovered her ears to hear the humming noise grow quiet then loud, quiet then loud.

FM-6060 became Main Street, an empty path of cracked pavement unaccompanied by trees or greenery. The sun-punished land gave structural birth to Breaker, raising a line of dilapidated buildings separated by narrow alleys. Malcolm and Genny looked at each other for the first time since the orchard.

"We're here," Malcolm said.

His voice was consumed by the town's silence. Empty diagonal parking spaces languished in front of the buildings, the chipped white lines a perfect accent for the fading colors of the facades. A few feeble awnings provided relief from the persecuting daylight, but there was no one in their shade.

"Where is everyone?" Genny asked.

"Work," Malcolm said. He drove more slowly and angled his head away from Genny so she wouldn't see his eyelid twitch. "It is the middle of the workweek."

There was a ghost town quality to Breaker's mix of Southwest adobe and Old West architecture. If not for the strobe light in the window of a hardware store, there would have been no indication of either electricity or people. A stucco building as still and white as the petrified tree served as post office, bank, and tornado shelter. The grocer's occupied what was once a bordello. The café was a green-trimmed building with three sets of double doors that opened onto a porch. The dusty storefront of the next building displayed "Genuine Antiques!" and a sign saying to call if they weren't open, which they weren't. The Gauss Hotel was a brick building with its own name posed on the roof, each letter a motionless marksman. At the far end of Main Street, there was a second hardware store that looked like an old movie theater, complete with an ornate doorway and marquee. "Dangerous Tree Removal," it read.

"Two hardware stores," Malcolm said.

"And no gas station," Genny replied.

"There might be one on a side street."

"I hope so; we can't live in a town without a gas station."

"We didn't come here for convenience," Malcolm said.

Genny shifted in her seat. Her left foot kicked the bag of peaches. The fruit seethed against the thin paper.

Malcolm turned down a side street. Most of the houses looked as abandoned as downtown proper and there was none of the suburban conceit of lawn or garden. Yards in Breaker contented themselves with stone sculptures of decidedly pagan origin or with nothing at all: no philodendron, no prickly pear, no potted plants.

"It's ugly as an old secret," Genny said.

Malcolm pulled their sedan to a stop. The idling RPMs vibrated something loose in the back of the vehicle. The sound was too much like the orchard's hum.

Genny whispered, "Mal."

"Yes?"

"Are you sure about this?"

Malcolm cut off the motor. He looked out at Breaker through a mess of smattered bugs and road dust. All along the desolate avenue, clapboard houses sagged their porches.

"I'm not sure about anything except that we agreed to try."

After a moment, they got out of the sedan. Genny leaned her arms on the top of the car, preparing to tell Malcolm she wanted to try, she wanted to be enthusiastic. Instead, she gave a sudden, inhuman squeal and flinched away from the sun-hot metal.

"What do you say we go meet Roth Huxley?" Malcolm asked. "I'm sure we'll feel better when we hear about the properties he's got."

Genny pushed her hair back from her sweaty face. The bee sting on her neck itched and the discomfort seemed somehow linked to the town. Linnae looked past her mother and started to chew on her fist, a babyish habit reemerging.

## 3 ARRIVAL

Helena was in the kitchen when the car arrived. She pulled aside the yellow flounce of curtain and looked out with her good eye, mindful to keep her blond hair falling like a second curtain across the maimed half of her face. A two-tone sedan was parked across the street; a man and a woman were inside, speaking. The man got out first. With his back to the car, he stretched his arms towards the sky as if in surrender and didn't see the woman lean towards him and burn herself on the roof. The woman turned away from the car and looked up and down the street.

"Nothing but houses, prisons of duty," Helena whispered.

The woman's mouth frowned: defeat. Helena sat on the window seat and tucked her legs under her with controlled grace. Her father was at the orchard, waiting for her, waiting with the grandmothers, all of them struck by blight.

"Have you seen Bennington? Have you seen Burlington?"

Helena sang her questions, her breath rebounding in false intimacy as she clutched at the curtain like it was the stranger's sleeve. The woman outside opened the back door of the car; she leaned into the traveling space beyond and let out the air from places other than Breaker. Helena took a deep breath.

When the woman stepped back from the car, she was holding a little girl. Helena's thoughts shredded themselves against the serrated edge of panic even as La Zalia's hunger overwhelmed her. The curtain fell closed.

## 4 ENCOUNTERS

Genny got Linnae out of her car seat and, holding the girl balanced on one hip, looked around them. An indeterminate shadow writhed behind the gauzy curtains of the house across the street. Genny held Linnae tighter.

"Someone is watching us," Genny said.

"Simple curiosity," Malcolm replied.

"Simply creepy, you mean. Will you pop the trunk? I want to get some toys for Laney."

At the hollow sound of the trunk popping open, Genny twitched. Malcolm took Linnae from Genny. "We're going to stretch our legs," he said.

As Malcolm led Linnae in the direction of Main Street, Genny went around to the back of the car to get the diaper bag. Now that Linnae was potty trained, it served as a portable toy chest. Genny wrenched at the bulging bag, but it stuck on something else in the trunk. Her next impatient tug forced open a front pocket; one of Linnae's dolls fell onto the ground. Genny leaned down to get it, kneeling and frowning at how the doll's face had gone gray and grainy with dirt. She wiped at the doll with one hand, intending to stand up and see where Malcolm and Linnae were, but paused in her half crouch, the doll dangling unclean, forgotten. A sapling was growing under the car. It twitched pale green leaves that held her attention with the sick captivation of a dangerous beast.

Linnae pulled free of Malcolm and ran back towards the car. "My doll!" she squealed. She tugged at it, but Genny didn't notice. The sapling was leaning toward Linnae.

The girl touched her mother's cheek, startling her. Genny straightened quickly, and swiftly ushered her daughter away from the sapling. The diaper bag remained lodged in the trunk.

"Is that all you're bringing?" Malcolm asked, and pointed at the doll Genny held.

"What?"

"I thought you were going to get out her toy bag."

"Under the car..." Genny said. "I mean, I dropped her doll."

"Are you all right?" Malcolm asked.

"The toy bag is stuck."

"But you're okay?" Malcolm asked, his expression sharp and painfully watchful.

"Just get the bag. Please."

Malcolm frowned but turned to wrestle the bag out of the trunk. As he pulled it free, something electronic cut on, emitting a tinny, slightly muffled melody. The bag hung from Malcolm's hand, a pink and white checkered pendulum counting out the moments he spent trying to read something in Genny's eyes or in the tilt of her head. Then he closed the trunk lid. The sound reverberated all along the empty street.

Linnae wiped off the doll's face. It left her wrist dirty and smudged. As they walked to the diner, Linnae cooed a low stream of unintelligible words in her little girl's voice, whispering them in her doll's ear.

The smells of coffee and cooking permeated the smoky haze of Manor Café. People turned to look at the family, then went back to smoking or inspecting their white, ceramic coffee mugs as if they had seen nothing at all. Genny did not smile at Malcolm when he looked at her.

A man rose from a booth on the back wall. Despite looking a great deal older and a bit heavier than the photo on his website, both the Mercers recognized him as their real estate agent, Roth Huxley. He wore jeans with a well-tailored sport coat that stayed just the right length on his arm even as he raised his hand to wave them over. As they approached, a small woman in a multicolored skirt arose from the booth. She had glittering white hair and eyes the dark blue of drowned and frigid depths. She turned her arctic gaze upon Linnae. Behind her, a tabletop jukebox jangled.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mercer, I'm Roth Huxley, and this is Olivia Hoyt, owner of The Gauss."

"Charmed," Olivia said, and extended her hand to Malcolm. "What a beautiful little girl you have. What's her name?"

"Linnae," Malcolm said. He shook hands with Olivia, and then stepped aside so that she and Genny could shake, but Olivia simply nodded at her. Genny did not return the gesture.

"Thank you for meeting us," Genny said, pointedly addressing Roth.

"Is Genny short for anything?" Roth asked.

"Genevieve."

"Ah, Genevieve. Genevieve Mercer. Lovely," Roth said, his canines glinting whitely. He took Genny's right hand in both of his, and shook it with an overzealous vigor. Genny pulled away, and drew Linnae close.

Roth knelt and said, "And how are you, Little Miss?"

For the second time that day, Linnae gnawed at her fist.

"Say, _Nice to meet you, Mr. Huxley_ ," Malcolm said.

Still chewing at her knuckles, Linnae shook her head.

"She can be shy," Malcolm said.

"I have two kids, so I understand," Roth replied.

He continued kneeling before Linnae, smiling with his teeth bared. Sticky strands of time gathered into an awkward mess of silence. Then Olivia said, "I like your crown, Linnae," and though her voice cut through the quiet, the stickiness of it remained.

"I'm a princess," Linnae said.

"Do you know what a princess becomes?"

Linnae shook her head.

"A princess becomes a queen, Olivia said, then shifted her attention to Genny. "I'll see you when you check in. I'm sure you'll feel right at home."

"Thank you," Malcolm said. "We appreciate your hospitality."

"It's my job but, in this case, also my pleasure. You have an adorable family. Now, I'll leave you to business."

Olivia stepped past them, trailing a faint yet acrid odor.

Roth and Malcolm spoke in the vague, meaningless way of men who are about to do business but haven't yet begun. Genny patted the seat of the booth closest to her and Linnae got in. The girl slid down the length of the bench to sit with her knees drawn up to her chin and her shoes on the cushion. Genny shook her head, and Linnae stretched her legs out in front of her; they reached just to the edge of the seat. The jukebox twanged to silence.

"Y'all have enough room over there?" Roth asked. He was seated alone on his side of the table and made no move to take up less space than he did.

"We'll be fine," Malcolm said.

"What do you say we get something to eat, then look over the property listings I've pulled? That is, if you can find something to order. The Manor's good for what it is, but heavy on the meat and potatoes."

"I'll just have a coffee," Genny said.

Linnae leaned forward and picked up the saltshaker. She put it close to her mouth, ready to lick at the grimy glass encrusted with greasy fingerprints. Genny took it from her.

"Now, like this café, Breaker's good for what it is."

"And what is that?" Genny asked.

"Remote. Isolated. Hot as blazes in the summer and no cell phone reception no matter the season."

With the salt out of reach, Linnae continued trying to pick up everything else on the table: the glass jar of nondairy creamers, the little plastic stand with individually sized fruit jellies, the peppershaker. One at a time, Genny moved the items out of reach, but Linnae grabbed a set of napkin wrapped silverware. The napkin unwound and utensils clattered to the floor.

"I think you'll find Breaker is pretty far from anything you've ever known," Roth continued, but his clients weren't paying any attention. Genny was leaning over, her face almost resting on the table and her arm casting around underneath for the fallen cutlery. Malcolm was turned towards the girl, his expression one of frazzled shock.

To give the couple time to get themselves together, Roth took inventory of the diners. There were only a few, but he knew them all, and knew them well enough to be sure they wouldn't say anything to the Mercers. He rubbed his chin with his itchy right palm and thought about the money he would make, but he wasn't thinking about his commission for selling a house. Instead, he was calculating his percentage of the revenue stream from Olivia's real business: not The Gauss, but sytra.

"I think the knife's over by your feet," Genny said.

"The wait staff will get it later," Roth replied.

"Laney's normally well behaved, but she's been cooped up in the car for days," Malcolm said.

Roth flashed his too-white smile and said, "She's perfect."

Linnae slipped down off the booth and wriggled under the table. "Laney, you get back in your seat right now," Genny said. She looked back under the table where the knife glinted just out of reach and Linnae was already climbing up onto Roth's side of the booth. By the time Genny sat up, Linnae had popped up on the other side, right next to Roth. The agent and the child looked at one another. Then Linnae slipped back under the table and ran to the other side. Genny caught her by the arm and half-helped, half-dragged the girl back onto the seat.

"You sit right there," Genny said.

Linnae laughed and launched herself across her mother's lap to the other end of the booth, where she was caught by her father. Roth was staring at the girl, his horrified expression a muted repetition of the horror on the faces of the other diners. A waitress approached their table.

"Welcome to Manor Café." She pronounced _Manor_ as _May-nor_ , and looked exhausted. She wore a clean, perfectly starched apron, but there was blood on her hands.

"You're bleeding!" Genny said.

"For fuck's sake, that's unhygienic."

The waitress set the menus she'd been carrying down on the table and then looked at her cut hand. Malcolm handed her a napkin. "Maybe you should get cleaned up," Roth said.

"How long's it been, Hux?" the waitress asked.

"Not long enough for you to learn any manners. Tell me, Margot, do you cuss around all of your customers? I find that to be in poor taste."

"Not all of us can be the hometown boy making good." The waitress leaned towards the Mercers. "Hux probably neglected to mention he grew up here."

"It's true; I'm a Breaker boy. That's one of the reasons I'm the perfect real estate agent for you folks. Not just anyone knows all there is to know about this place."

Margot narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath as if she were about to cuss a long and very blue streak.

"Do you have high chairs?" Genny asked.

"We've got a booster seat." Margot said.

"Can she be strapped in?" Malcolm gave Genny a strange look and she hurried to add, "I don't want her running back and forth under the table."

"There's no belt," Margot said.

"Then never mind."

"Y'all want something to drink?" Margot asked.

"Coffee would be great," Genny said.

"Cream?"

"No."

"I'll have coffee, too," Malcolm said.

"Make that three," Roth said.

"Anything for the girl?"

"A glass of milk," Genny said.

"I'll be back with your drinks in just a few."

When Margot was gone, Roth said, "Vulgar waitress aside, how do you like Breaker?"

"It's too early to know for sure," Malcolm said. He didn't look at Genny, just closed his menu and set it in front of him. It made a perfect, neat rectangle against the chaos of the stained and checkered table cloth.

"Why don't you still live here?" Genny asked.

"I was five when my sister was born, and my parents moved us out to Botetourt. That's about thirty miles from here, and it's where the schools are. Kids from Breaker and a couple of other towns are all bussed into Botetourt."

When Genny didn't reply, Roth shifted his gaze from mother to daughter. They both had green eyes and dark, curly hair. Linnae covered her face with her hands, and stared back at him between parted fingers.

Margot returned with a tray. She set out four waters, a glass of milk, and three mugs that she filled with coffee. "I'll be right back to take your order," she said.

"Mommy, I want down," Linnae said.

"Not now," Genny said.

"Yes, now."

"Uh-uh," Genny said, and put her arm around Linnae. Wiry, arching and light as a newly shed leaf, Linnae fluttered to the floor. Her red dress was a splash of color disappearing into the table's shade.

"I'll give you a spoon if you get back up here right now," Genny said.

The girl wedged herself up between her parents, giggling and reaching for the spoon.

"You just rewarded her for misbehaving," Malcolm said.

Roth took a deliberate sip of coffee as Genny spread and respread her napkin in her lap. When the predictable racket of the spoon drumming on the table began, Genny thrust her chin forward, daring someone to complain. Steam rose like smoke signals from her coffee.

## 5 WARNING

Margot put a mint under her tongue to kill the sour taste of vomit, and then swung open the kitchen door and stepped out into the dining room. The door swished closed behind her, coming into the dining room a little ways before sweeping back out towards the kitchen. Margot took a step towards Roth's table, then froze. Helena was there, her unbrushed hair loose about her shoulders and her thin body quivering with tension as she leaned towards Roth's clients. There was no other sound save that of Helena's voice.

"A terrific hunger smashes through the woods," she said. The heel of her right foot rested against the calf of her other leg as if she were about to dance the opening to some dark ballet. She pointed at Roth and said, "You know the hunger of the woods."

Linnae shrunk against her mother, and the two of them looked up at the woman who kept her hair in front of her like a veil through which no face could be seen, no eyes met.

Malcolm adjusted himself so as to make his body a barrier between the stranger and his family. "May we help you with something?" he asked.

"Helena Makepeace, you shouldn't be bothering these people," Roth said.

"Bother is wrong. Scare, terrify, _leave_. Yes, leave, that is right."

"La Zalia?" Roth asked, his florid self-satisfaction growing pale.

"Not La Zalia," the woman said. "Helena."

"You know you shouldn't be out alone," Roth said. "Where's your father?"

"Winding staircases turn to vines, and you bring a girl! She is not prepared. She is not from here."

"Helena, you need to leave now," Roth said.

She leaned past Malcolm, her hands on the table and her veiled face close enough Genny could smell something sour just beneath the jasmine and vanilla of the girl's perfume. "Do you know the necessity of shutters?" she asked. Malcolm put his hand on Genny's arm.

"I don't understand," Genny said.

Linnae grasped a handful of Helena's hair and Genny shuddered. The left half of Helena's face was destroyed. A scar shredded her skin and traced a path across where one eye should have been.

"You see now why you must have shutters?" Helena asked.

Genny stammered. She didn't hear the café door open, but she saw relief in the loosening of Roth's shoulders and looked behind her. A tall man was walking towards their table. He wore jeans stained with sap and greenery, and his muscular arms shot out of his shirtsleeves like two tree trunks.

"Helena," he said. "What are you doing?"

"Warn and help, help and warn."

"You take her on home now," Roth said.

"Roth Huxley. What brings you back here? We were all sure you wouldn't be back after the last ... _incident_."

"You mean the Lowells?" Roth asked. When the man nodded, Roth looked at Malcolm and said, "First of all, allow me to introduce Lael Makepeace. He's Helena's father. What he's referring to is the last couple I sold a house to here. They moved away not long after; things didn't exactly work out."

"Didn't work out? The woman went mad," Lael said.

"The trees," Helena said.

"What about the trees?" Genny asked.

"Get her out of here," Roth said.

"But what are you trying to tell us?" Genny asked.

"Get her out of here, for God's sake!"

Helena tossed her head back, laughing. Her fair fell away from her face, exposing both damage and beauty. When she finished laughing, she tilted her head in a way that might have seemed playful if it weren't for the scar knitting the left half of her face together and the one intense eye staring at Roth when she said, "No god, only goddess."

"It's time to go," Lael said. "I'm sorry if my daughter bothered you. She means no harm; she's just... special."

"No worries," Malcolm said. "Do you have any ties to the orchard up the road?"

"More than I could explain."

Helena tugged at her father's sleeve and said, "The flowers want the girl because she is sweeter than they." Lael turned Helena towards the door, but she did not step away from the table. Instead she looked over her shoulder. She looked right at Genny and said, "It will break her."

Roth jumped up from his seat and threw his napkin on the table. "You get her out of here _now_ or I'll show her to the door. I swear I will."

"You won't touch my daughter," Lael said. He tensed his wood-brown arms just enough to make muscles stand out like bolls on a tree trunk. His veins were scars where the pruning blade slipped.

Roth threw up his hands and said, "You know I just want to help."

"I doubt that," Lael said. "I doubt that very much."

Gently, he coaxed Helena into stepping away from the Mercers' table. As they walked through the café, everyone averted their gaze. Helena trembled against her father and keened, "Even if the Fiery-Brook comes, it's never Vermont for me!"

After a moment Malcolm said, "Is there something we should know?"

"Helena Makepeace is a few logs shy of a cord. That's it. Her unbalanced mind bred some sort of doomsday rubbish."

"She didn't say anything about doomsday," Genny said.

"Is she dangerous?" Malcolm asked.

"Not at all; she's harmless."

"She frightened me," Genny said.

"No one's comfortable around ranting, mutilated girls."

"Mr. Huxley..." Genny started.

"Call me Roth."

"I promise you, Roth, it wasn't just her face that bothered me. She seemed certain there's something about the trees. And when we stopped at their orchard..."

"When we stopped, we saw the petrified tree," Malcolm finished. He shook his head slightly at Genny, gesturing her silent. Her eyes narrowed a bit, but she held her tongue.

"That girl had a big ouchy," Linnae said.

Genny nodded and then said, "What happened to her?"

Roth patted his coat pocket, pulled out a pack of Marlboros. He flipped open the top. A lighter was nestled in the space vacated by spent cigarettes. He snapped closed the box and set it on the table before he spoke.

"It's funny you mention the orchard. There was an incident there when Helena was very young. Lael's wife died, and you saw what happened to Helena. It seems awful. But that's just the natural order."

Roth spun the cigarette box around by tapping it with his forefinger. A tremor ran through his hand, and he shoved the cigarette box and his hand deep into his sport coat pocket. Genny smoothed Linnae's hair, her head bowed to hide her fear.

"Mommy?" Linnae asked.

"Yes?" Genny said.

"I need to go pee-pee."

"Leave your doll with Daddy, and we'll go to the bathroom."

"I want to hold her."

"You don't want your doll in the bathroom," Genny said.

"But she's scared," Linnae said.

"All right, bring her."

As Malcolm stood to let them out, Roth pulled several manila folders out of an attaché case next to him in the booth. "Photos and specs of the homes on the market," Roth said. Linnae tugged at her mother's hand.

"We'll be right back," Genny said.

She led Linnae towards the sign for "Damas/Ladies." As they weaved between tables, they passed men who were dirty from hard labor or dressed like truckers; they all looked away from the only woman in the place other than the waitress. When they were just outside of the bathroom door, Genny took a quick glance back: not even one of the men had turned to check her out.

She pushed open the door and led Linnae around a ply board partition painted with whimsical images of smiling cacti. Margot was standing sideways near a full-length mirror, her hand smoothing her shirt over her stomach. Her apron was a funerary cascade of black fabric draped over her shoulder.

"Hi!" Linnae said.

Margot gasped, jerked her hands away from her belly.

I'm sorry!" Genny said. "We didn't mean to startle you. When are you due?"

"What do you mean?"

"No one stands at a mirror that way unless she's pregnant."

"I do," Margot said and put on her apron. It covered her stomach like a shroud. "I should get back to my tables."

"I hope I didn't insult you," Genny said, "It's just that they'd only be a few years apart and I haven't seen any other kids in town."

"I've really got to get back out on the floor."

"Come here, Laney, make some room for her to get by."

Instead of moving, Linnae motioned for Margot to lean over so she could hear a secret. When Margot knelt, Linnae cupped one tiny hand and whispered into Margot's ear. The waitress backed away from Linnae, her face a pale blur as she turned to hurry out of the room.

"What did you say to her?" Genny asked.

"It was a secret," Linnae said.

"You don't keep secrets from your mommy."

"I told her the stone tree doesn't want her baby."

"Laney, what does that mean?"

"I need to pee-pee."

"Why on earth would you say something like that?"

When Linnae shrugged, Genny opened the door of the stall closest to them. It was decently clean and stocked with T.P. "Do you need me to come in there with you?"

"I'm a big girl."

"Yes, you are. A big girl now. Just don't lock it."

Linnae in the stall, Genny considered herself in the mirror. Insomnia's dark stamp ringed her eyes and sent out thin red veins like solar flares across the whites. She pinched her cheeks to bring out some color, but then she just looked feverish.

"All done," Linnae called.

"I didn't hear you flush."

"I don't want to."

"Fine, come on out, and I'll flush it."

Linnae opened the door and ran straight for her mother. Genny scooped her up into a big hug, and then held her while she washed her hands. "Why did you tell the nice lady about the petrified tree?"

"Because it told me to tell her," Linnae said.

Genny set Linnae down then shut off the water. She cast about for the paper towel dispenser, and finally saw the wicker basket on a round table at the end of the sinks. When she came back with the paper towels to dry Linnae's hands, she said, "Let's not tell Daddy about the talking tree, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy."

"Wait right there and don't touch anything."

Genny went into the stall and flushed. When she came back out she tossed Linnae's used paper towels into the garbage can. Then they returned to their booth, just as invisible to the diners as they had been the first time past.

"Roth was just showing me the third property," Malcolm said.

"Could we just drive out and see them?" Genny asked. "I'd rather do that instead of sitting and looking at pictures."

"What about getting something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry and I have snacks in the car for Laney."

"We'll need to settle the tab," Malcolm said.

"It's on me," Roth said, and put a twenty on the table.

Malcolm stood up and slung the toy bag over one shoulder. He offered his other arm to Genny, and she placed one hand into the warm crook of his elbow. Her other hand held fast to Linnae. Someone dropped a quarter into one of the table jukeboxes. Old saddle, road dust: the unwelcome traveler sang them out the door and onto the sun-washed street. In the immensity of sky looming overhead, a vulture hung motionless upon a confluence of currents. There was road kill somewhere, carrion rotting and calling.

## 6 DOWNTOWN

The fastest way to Breaker bypassed Austin, but Prentice was done living by flimsy dictates like The Shortest Path or Punctuality. He was a free man, a spontaneous man, a man who didn't get sweaty palms at the thought of arriving to The Gauss late. At a stoplight, he forced himself to smile, but it was a tight, sick little smile and the panhandler working the intersection averted his eyes. "Ugly Stupid Broke," the panhandler's sign read. The light changed and Prentice skewed his Corvette a little in the turn.

He saw downtown Austin as a series of overexposed photos: Congress Street Bridge, beneath which thousands of bats hung themselves daily; the Driskill Hotel, an imperious beauty spilling her history of suicides and opulence out onto the street; the Capitol Building, still holding her dome and the memory of a deadly fire; a glass-eyed owl who played at being a bank and demanded, " _Who, who?_ " He cruised down Sixth Street, where oblivion was purveyed under a thousand clever names and, for a three dollar fee, you could tour the Museum of the Weird with its dimly lit collection that included a stuffed, two-headed calf who starved to death despite a third eye and two mouths to speak the truth. The ticket window of the Alamo Drafthouse advertised "Terror Tuesday," but Prentice didn't notice. He was entranced by a tower of luxury apartments with a spinning sign out front. It twirled in the wind of passing cars, a hypnotic repetition of "Now Leasing! Now Leasing!"

At a parking garage, Prentice turned on his left signal and waited for a break in traffic. 'I will live here with Nova,' he thought. 'Nova and I will have an apartment in Austin.' He peeled into the parking garage and punched the button for a ticket. When the barrier lifted, he twirled down all the levels, his tires squealing at each turn. A minivan honked, and Prentice honked back before realizing he was driving the wrong way. It was an awkward task pulling into a space, but with some back and forth he managed to get the Corvette parked. He killed the engine and sat in the light of weak bulbs that cast strange shadows. 'Ugly, stupid, broke, uglystupidbroke,' he thought.

It was enough to drive him from the car. He fumbled with his key fob until the Corvette squawked one short horn burst. The corkscrew labyrinth echoed the sound like an accusation.

After tripping over his new shoes, a great deal of weaving back and forth and not some few times of climbing over concrete barriers, Prentice found his way back to the street only to realize he'd forgotten his sunglasses. He looked at his watch without noting the time and felt better for having seen the sapphire face and platinum band. When he felt steady enough to look, Prentice found himself on a sidewalk filled with people going about their business in the shadow of the luxury high-rise. He crossed the street and stepped into a revolving door that disgorged him into the hush of a well-appointed lobby. Clusters of fine leather chairs settled around ornate coffee tables while glass elevators skimmed smoothly along the far wall. A flat panel television was mounted on one wall; the sound was down, but the picture was live from some place declaring a state of emergency because of an unprecedented mudslide. Prentice was distracted from the image of devouring mud by a busty brunette in a low cut sundress. She offered her name and her hand, but all Prentice noticed was her slightly sweaty cleavage.

"Pleasure's mine," Prentice said and dragged his attention to shaking her hand.

"Are you here visiting someone, Mister—don't think I caught your name?"

"Prentice. And no, I'm not visiting anyone."

"Nice to meet you, Prentice. Are you interested in leasing?"

"I'm interested, yes."

The woman leaned forward and there was no doubt she was luring him with the sparkling baubles purposefully ill-hid by her blouse just as there was no doubt that he was lured.

"Are you single?" she asked.

He forced himself to look up at her eyes. "I have a fiancée. Her name is Nova and she'll be headed here from Tennessee as soon as she wraps up her doctorate."

"Lucky girl! And apparently smart, too. What's she studying?"

"Anthropology."

"Fascinating."

"Quite," Prentice replied, and smiled because his Nova was so smart.

"Any children?"

"Not yet. I want to have at least three years of marriage, just the two of us, before we start a family. We adore traveling."

"Then I guess you know the Austin-Bergstrom Airport is pretty close by. It's not the biggest airport in the world, but it has a decent set of connections. I'm sure you and your fiancée will get much use out of it."

"Indeed. Forgive me, but what did you say your name was?"

"Caroline. Would you like to get started with some floor plans?"

Prentice nodded, and Caroline led him over to a mahogany desk in the far corner of the lobby. He followed, enjoying the view. An elevator rose along its shaft, and Prentice was quick to fold himself into the chair opposite Caroline with the desk between them like a fig leaf.

She took out some glossy fliers and ran through the list of amenities: balconies, fireplaces, accent wall painting, the private parking garage and the rooftop pool. She fanned the fliers out on the desk, and leaned forward. With her breasts thrust towards Prentice, she said, "I think you'll find that all of us living here are very happy and _very_ close."

"You're a tenant?" he asked.

"Apartment 300."

"Do you have a balcony or a fireplace?"

"Well, neither. I'm just a little girl from Corpus, and even without the extras, I'm still blown away to be living at Westmoreland in the Live Music—"

"Do you have a three bedroom with both?"

"—Capital of the World. Both fireplace and balcony?"

"Yes. My Nova loves to entertain."

"I believe I have exactly the one for you, Prentice. It has a built-in wet bar!" Caroline put one manicured hand on her chest and flashed her smile. Everyone got this treatment from her, Prentice knew, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was with Caroline from Corpus, doing something real.

"Would you like to see the floor plan?"

"I'd like to see the apartment."

"I aim to please," she said, and got up from the desk. He followed her over to the elevator, being careful to keep his eyes on anything other than her rear. There was no sense in being a pervert, especially not when Nova would be here soon.

As they waited for the elevator, Caroline asked, "What line of work are you in?"

"Family business," Prentice replied. "But I'm on a two month sabbatical. I want every moment I can get with Nova, now that she'll be done with her studies."

"Are you from Tennessee?"

"No, that's just where she's going to school."

They stepped into the elevator and Caroline pressed the button for the fourteenth floor.

"Was it difficult being separated?" she asked.

"Lots of sleepless nights," he said and smiled in Caroline's direction as he looked at his watch.

"You'll have fewer of those here, not only because you'll be back together, but because Westmoreland is a great place to live. The apartment I'm going to show you is _fabulous_."

"You mentioned accent walls?"

"I did. And I see you as someone who will want the Sensual Palette. It uses complementary shades of rich reds and an arresting indigo."

"Indigo?" Prentice asked.

"Of course, if those colors don't work with your decorating scheme, we offer color combinations in Naturalist, Nautical and Meditative."

"Can we mix and match?"

"I'm afraid not; the color palettes come as a single unit."

"I just can't see one palette working for Nova."

"I'll tell you what, Prentice," she said. "I'll talk to my manager and see what we can do." She flashed him another smile.

The elevator came to a smooth stop at the fourteenth floor and Prentice followed Caroline down a hall lit by wall sconces and carpeted with plush patterns of creeping vines. When they got to 1401, Caroline unlocked the door and held it open with a flourish. Prentice stepped past her into opulence. Her sales prattle continued, redolent with sultry tones but unheard by Prentice as he walked through the main room. He took long, masterful strides; he ran his hands along the built-in bookshelves possessively; he took in the gleaming chrome and marble of the kitchen. The balcony opened up to an expansive view of Austin and when he stepped out onto it, the street sounds reached him like voices in a dream.

"The going rate for this apartment..."

"Price is not an issue," Prentice said, his back still towards her and his hands on the balcony railing. He wanted to walk along it like the wealthy firebrand only Caroline knew. He could dive down and down. Down to the accepting, calling street where he would leave the world as the man he always wanted to be. Instead he faced Caroline and said, "We have two marble lions and I think they'd look perfect here."

"How whimsical!"

"When can you draw up a contract?"

"I can do it right now."

"I have a business lunch nearby in about ten."

"Aren't you on sabbatical?"

"It's a tangled web," Prentice said.

"Can you come back to sign?"

"What would be the point if I didn't?"

"You wouldn't believe how many people come in on the pretense of leasing just to get a free look at the skyline."

"Tell me, Caroline from Corpus, do I strike you as that sort of man?" Prentice snared his keys from his pocket. The prominent Corvette fob swayed and his platinum watch glittered its sapphire face.

"No," she said, "I can see you aren't that sort at all."

Prentice led the way back out of the apartment and strode to the elevator ahead of Caroline. When they reached the bronzed doors of the lift, he caught the reflection of her adjusting her hair and pressing her lips together to spread covertly applied gloss. She looked hungry.

"What time should I expect you?" she asked.

"Is four amenable?"

"Perfect," she said, and stepped past him into the elevator.

They took their descent in silence. When they reached the lobby, Caroline once more offered her hand. Her cheeks flushed as he enfolded it in his own, grasping her a little too long partly because he was saying goodbye, but mostly because he was thankful for her belief.

"I'll need your full name to make out the lease—ours and your fiancée's, if you want it to be joint."

Prentice released Caroline's hand and held up one finger. He fumbled in his pocket and brought out his Smartphone. At this newest display of wealth, Caroline flushed a bit deeper.

"Four?" Prentice asked, covering the phone's receiver.

"Yes. But I need your names?"

Prentice smiled, and the apology in it was sincere, but he was done. He had his apartment, or at least as much of it as he needed. Making impatient noises at the nonexistent peon on the other end of the line, Prentice walked to the door. He kept up the charade until he was several yards away from the building. Phone back in his pocket, he scanned the street for a place appropriate to the new Prentice Feyerbach. The neon sign for the old Ritz caught his attention and he headed towards that glowing omen. The bar next door advertised rooftop seating.

Prentice stepped inside, where the bartender dipped dirty glasses into an alcohol bath and then set them out to dry. Several tables, most of them two-tops, were arranged around the perimeter of the room. A couple sat at one of them, a baby propped on the woman's lap, being fed spoonfuls of amorphous green foodstuff. A midday drunk was slumped at the bar, seated on the middle stool in mockery of his own temperance. The bar was large and well kept, the mirrors behind it stainless, and the bottles, the many bottles, were set in a dizzying array behind the U-shaped bar. There was simplicity in the coy half-light, but there was also complicity, as if everyone in the place was someone other than they seemed. Prentice hummed a few bars of Dave Mathew's _Dancing Nancy_ as he walked towards the stairs that would lead him to the roof.

"Roof doesn't open until four, 'migo," the barkeep said.

Prentice heard, but continued until he saw a velvet cordon barring the path. He didn't dare face the bartender, not when he felt it all going away: Nova, their apartment, even the cocksure set of his shoulders. He was sloughing his glitter and emerging as the drudge who drove a puke yellow Volvo.

_Breaker!_ he thought. _I have a reservation in Breaker._

Prentice took a deep breath, and then turned away from the stairs. The barkeeper had stopped washing glasses; now he ran a pure white rag along a section of the bar. "What can I get you?" he asked.

Prentice took a seat on the barstool farthest from the door and stared at the bottles of liquor. The old Prentice was a Red Bull 'n Vodka Man, a Beer Man, a Whiskey from the Bottle Man, but sometimes old friends could only cement any sense of current failure. Indeed, sometimes they were the only thing that could.

"I'd say you need a Mexican Martini," the barkeep said.

"I have a meeting at four," Prentice said.

"There's time to kill between now and the _quatro_ , my man."

"Set me up one, then."

"Salt?"

"No."

"What tequila do you want?"

Prentice stared at the mirror behind the bottles; his reflection was fragmented.

"I can offer some suggestions," the bartender continued.

"Top shelf," Prentice said and cringed at the uncertainty in his voice.

As the bartender went about mixing the drink, Prentice forced himself to look away from his broken image. The little family was still at their table, but the baby was in her stroller and covered over with a blanket that hung, tent-like, from the stroller's top. The man was standard issue, a mid-twenties guy wearing a band t-shirt and a goatee, but his wife had a fantastic sense of whimsy. She wore her long hair back from her face under a yellow print bandana, a blue spaghetti strap camisole top, and a pair of camouflage fatigues. She was talking, had been the whole time, but raised her voice now because of the thunderous martini shaking.

"Her little socks are so cute! But she's always losing them. I think she likes being barefoot."

"She has a cold," the goatee said. "She needs to be wearing her socks."

The woman pulled the tented blanket away from the top of the stroller and reached her hands into the bassinet, although it was the word _casket_ that struck Prentice. From somewhere in the depths, she pulled out two impossibly small, pink socks. They had a lacy frill at the ankle.

"See, she's kicked them off again!"

"Then put them back on," the goatee said.

The woman leaned over her baby and her hair slid over her shoulders to fall against her cheek. Baby feet, bare as the day they entered the world, kicked at the approaching socks. A wail shot up from inside the stroller.

The woman looked up at no one in particular and said, "She doesn't want to wear them."

Prentice glanced over at the barkeep, who seemed to be taking his damn time with the drink. Behind him, the woman crooned: "Come on, be a good baby, let me put on your socks." Prentice put his hands on the bar and curled them into tight fists. 'Don't let them do it,' he thought. 'Once they get you into socks, they'll strap you into shoes. They'll cripple you with your care.'

"Mexican Martini: high octane and high quality."

The bartender set a thin stemmed martini glass in front of Prentice. Three olives were speared on a toothpick with a haft carved like a fancy newel post. The rim of the glass was garnished with a lime wedge, but the real gem was the liquid being poured from a silver shaker. A skim of ice floated in disconnected floes upon the frigid ocean of yellow-green martini and, when Prentice lifted the drink, the scent and promise of oblivion wafted from the tequila. He took a sip, and felt it all starting to come back.

"What do you think?" the bartender asked.

"That's money," Prentice said.

"The cincher is a touch of olive juice in with the mix."

Prentice took another long swallow of his drink as he pried his shoes from his feet. He worked them off, heels first, using the lowest rung on the barstool. Left then right, they fell to the floor.

"She won't let me put her socks on," the woman said.

"We're not walking her home barefoot," standard issue said.

The baby worked herself up into the choking registers of protest, flailing her feet in anger. Prentice was pleased. His thoughts were now actions incarnate.

The martini shaker beaded with condensation, ice-cold water dripping like tears down the sides of the cylinder. He poured himself a second martini, and lifted the glass to his own reflection. The next time he noticed anything, the shaker was as empty as the table where the family had been.

"Set you up another?" the bartender asked.

"No, good man. I have a reservation."

The bartender turned to his cash register. The buttons on the touch screen were large enough that even a very drunk patron could aim for and hit the numbers. That didn't make any sense, really, but the total printed in large font did: twenty-one dollars' worth of self-image.

"Listen," Prentice said. "If a perky girl named Caroline comes in here and says she's from Westmoreland, will you send her a martini from me?"

"Sure thing," the bartender said, and punched in another monolithic twenty-one.

Prentice ate the tequila infused olives, the salty aftertaste of which still lingered as he stepped out the door and onto the street. He had signed the credit slip with a heavy hand and added a new flourish to his last name. The tip he left was rather generous for his old standards, but his new self was a rather generous guy walking in his socks along a busy road with a perfectly good pair of shoes clutched in his hand.

'Nova,' he thought. 'I'll get something beautiful for Nova.'

He weaved a bit closer to the glass shop fronts, looking in the one closest to him. A dazzling array of colored glass glittered at him: earrings, bracelets, necklaces. Something knocked against his forehead, and Prentice found he was leaning against the window. There, just on the other side of the glass, hung a pair of earrings with milky blue rectangles suspended from silver hoops. Prentice used the window to stand himself upright, and then went into the shop.

"Welcome," a woman said. She stood near a display of intricate glasswork. She propped a flattened wine bottle on a little stand and turned her full attention to Prentice.

"I'd like to get something for my fiancée," he said.

"I'm sure you can find the perfect gift here, but you really should be wearing shoes."

Prentice looked down at his socks. His socks looked back up at him, a circle of flesh exposed by a hole in one of them. Prentice tried to balance on one foot and slide a shoe back on, but ended up nearly falling onto a table of glassware.

"Oh! Never mind about the shoes! Really, I was only kidding," the lady said. "Keep Austin weird, right? Anyhow, what can I help you with?"

"I want to buy a pair of earrings from the display in the front window. They're blue and silver. Rectangular."

The woman crossed the room and picked a pair of earrings from the display. She held them by the hoops, blue glass dangling free. Prentice nodded because they were the pair he wanted and because he knew they would look perfect on Nova.

"Do you want them gift wrapped?"

Prentice nodded again, and the woman carried the earrings to the register. She packaged them, then wrapped the box in thick paper embossed with a twining pattern of flowering vines. She added a spray of ribbon and said, "Cash or credit?"

"Cash," Prentice whispered.

"Forty-two nineteen, including tax."

Prentice shoved his hand into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and put a fifty on the counter. She returned his change. The bagged purchase was handed to him, and then the woman led him back to the door, steering him around the display tables.

As he stepped out onto Sixth Street, the weight of his purchase settled to the bag's bottom, and he decided that because there was a hole in his sock he'd take them off and put them in there, too. Barefoot and smiling, Prentice walked to the parking garage, sure now that he wouldn't lose it. After all, he had a reservation.

## 7 TREES

Genny walked ahead of Roth and Malcolm. She held Linnae's hand. Roth lit a cigarette and Genny moved farther ahead of the men.

"I know," Roth said, "Nasty habit."

"I was a smoker for twenty years," Malcolm said.

"Why did you quit?" Roth asked.

"I became a father."

"Ah," Roth said, and then took a drag of his cigarette.

They stopped at the corner of Main and the street where the Mercers parked. Linnae hopped from foot to foot, jostling her mother's arm. "Stop it!" Genny said. Linnae pouted but Malcolm scooped her up so quickly her pout transformed into giggles. He lifted her up onto his shoulders for a piggyback ride, and passed the diaper bag full of toys to Genny.

"Where are you parked?" Malcolm asked.

"I'm in the public lot just up the road here. Are you thinking we'll caravan?"

"You could ride with us," Malcolm said.

"I'm happy to take my car and save you the gas," Roth said.

"Car seat," Genny said.

"That's right; we'd have to transfer Laney's seat to your car."

"Then it seems like it would be easiest to take yours," Roth said. "Will that be all right?" He directed the question at Genny, but she was already crossing the street, leaning over a little as if the toy bag she carried was freighted with something she almost couldn't bear. Roth tossed down his cigarette and forced a smile.

When they got to the car, the men found the checkered bag, but not Genny. The trunk was open, and a dry scrabbling sound like fallen leaves being blown along a quiet street came from the back of the car. Malcolm set Linnae down and walked around the side. Genny was kneeling, waving both of her hands in front of her just beneath the car's bumper.

"What are you doing?" Malcolm asked.

"There was a sapling here earlier," Genny said and then stood up. "It's gone now."

"What?"

"And that house with the yellow curtains—there—it's the Makepeace house."

"I see the nameplate above the door."

"She was watching us."

"So it would seem," Malcolm said. "I'm going to put Laney in her seat. I think Roth should sit up front."

Genny kept staring at the Makepeace home. She didn't look away until she heard Malcolm start the car, and even then it was only when he rolled down his window to call her that Genny broke her stare. She stowed the toy bag in the trunk before getting into the backseat of the sedan.

"Did you find whatever you dropped?" Roth asked.

"I didn't drop anything."

"But you were looking for something?"

"There was a sapling growing under the car, but now it's gone."

"Are you sure it was rooted there?" Malcolm asked.

"I said it was a sapling, so yes, it was rooted."

"Trees don't walk," Malcolm replied.

A coughing fit wrenched itself from Roth. His face reddened and he pounded at his chest with one hand. Malcolm looked in the rearview mirror at Genny, widening his eyes in an urging, do-something-say-something manner.

"Why don't you pass him a Kleenex?" Malcolm finally said, his voice very loud in the sudden silence of Roth's final cough.

"Kleenex?" Genny asked.

Roth nodded, his face still quite red, and Genny plucked one from the box on the floorboard and passed it up to him. Except for a few sputtering, strangled noises as Roth's breathing returned to normal, no one made a sound. Even Linnae sat quietly as they passed beyond the city limits and into Breaker County.

When Malcolm finally spoke, everyone jumped a little at the sound. "Anyone mind if I turn on the radio?"

"Not sure how much reception you'll get, but feel free," Roth said as he continued to watch the shifting scenery outside the passenger window.

Malcolm waited for some comment from Genny, some confirmation. When none came, Malcolm turned on the radio. The one station they could get was out of Botetourt, and it was already barely more than indecipherable static by the time they got to the first property.

The house stood crookedly on a treeless and craterous stretch of field that brought to mind parched mouths, sun-whited skeletons, and the kind of desperation inherent to using canned tomato soup as a sweetener for cake. They stayed only long enough to notice mold blossoming under the sinks and spreading up the bathroom walls like a shadow. Back out in the car Roth said, "The listing was less than forthcoming about the ..."

"Disgusting black mold?" Genny finished.

"Yes. It was _overlooked_ by the listing agent." Roth swiveled in his seat to look back at Genny. He was wearing his brightest predator smile.

"Was this the least expensive one?" Malcolm asked.

"It was," Roth said.

"No wonder you look so happy," Genny said.

"Commission aside, Genevieve, I don't think that was the right house for you and your family."

"It's Genny. And you'd sell it to us if we wanted to buy it."

"It's what I do."

"Good for all of us, then, that we aren't interested."

"You'll take a left at the next cross road," Roth said. "Once you make that turn, the house is about a mile up the road. It has a sunroom, three bedrooms, and one and a half baths. There's no traditional fireplace, but there is a wood burning stove. A note in the file says the current owners are happy to leave the chiminea and whatever gardening tools are in the shed."

"Sounds good," Malcolm said. "What do you think, Genny?"

Genny was watching Linnae, who was pretending that the doll was telling her secrets. She reached and touched the end of one of the girl's pigtails. It slipped through her fingers.

"This is it on the left here," Roth said.

Malcolm nosed the car into the rutted drive. In the center of a barren yard stood a little ranch-style house. Stumps of trees raised stubborn, wooden reminders of past greenery, and the only shade was under a three-walled shed with a corrugated roof.

Inside the house, Genny took Linnae's hand and let Malcolm forge ahead with Roth. The electricity did not work, so they moved through the gloaming with care, lifting the blinds of each room in turn. The front of the house was in good condition, with thick carpeting newly laid and spotless walls in a neutral color. The kitchen was galley-style, and the living room and dining room were part of an open floor plan that branched off into a long hall leading back to the bedrooms.

"Look what I can do!" Linnae said. She turned a somersault down a lightless hallway. As she tumbled past the edge of the dim daylight, Genny rushed after her.

"Laney! Stop that. Come here right now."

"But I'm being a gym-nest!"

"Over here. Now," Genny said.

Linnae came back up the hall, shuffling her feet and kicking at the floorboards. She turned her pouting face up towards her mother and let her lower lip stick out even farther. Genny took her daughter's hand and the two of them moved aside to let the men pass. Roth went first, fumbling for a doorknob. A click, and then the sticking noise of a swollen door squealing free of the doorjamb. A sexual and carnivorous smell flooded the hall. It was a stench so rotten, Linnae forgot to pout.

"Pe-ew-ey!" she said.

Roth put his arm over his nose and stepped into the dark to pull the blinds. As he did, daylight betrayed the presence of a gray-green tree with serpentine branches. Leaves rustled against the walls.

" _How_ long was this house empty?" Malcolm asked.

"Less than a month," Roth said.

"That can't be right; this tree didn't grow that fast."

"The carpet," Genny said, as she pulled Linnae close. "It's brand new, just like in the rest of the house."

"I'll be damned," Malcolm said.

"Damned, damned," Linnae repeated, her small voice serious and devoid of the trickster tone she normally used when repeating things she knew she shouldn't.

"I know some good contractors..." Roth said.

"Thanks, but no. We're not going to buy a house with this particular _defect_ ," Malcolm said.

Linnae's eyes widened and she tugged at her mother's wrist as the leaves pinged and waggled against the walls. Roth pushed past the Mercers to get out of the room. His shoulder brushed against one of the boughs, rattling the foliage and amplifying the odor. The family followed, squeezing through the doorframe as one. When they were out in the hall, Malcolm slammed the door closed.

"You okay?" Malcolm asked, looking from his wife to his daughter.

"Here, you take her," Genny said. "I might faint. The smell..."

Genny handed Linnae to her husband, and then went outside where Roth struggled with the lockbox. His hands shook. Malcolm came out then and saw Genny leaning over, hands to her stomach.

"You need help?" he called.

Genny waved one hand behind her, urging him to stay away. Malcolm shifted Linnae's weight, putting her closer to Roth. She pointed at the realtor's shoulder and said, "The tree bit you."

Roth dropped the lockbox. A resinous stain marred the fabric where he had brushed against the tree. He wrenched the coat off of his body and bunched it in a ball, being careful to keep the sticky stain facing inwards.

"That's going to wrinkle," Genny said. She stood at the bottom of the stairs with one hand on her stomach and her face very pale. "We can get a hanger for you to use."

"It's headed for the trash," Roth said.

"There's got to be something that can get that out."

"It's tree sap. There's nothing that can fix it. Not a thing." Roth took a deep breath and then scooped up the lockbox. A sibilant hiss of tree leaves came from inside the house and he hurried to close up the property.

They went to the car, but none of them spoke. Genny belted Linnae in and Malcolm spread a map out on the hood of the car and stared at it without really be looking at it. With his clients' attention elsewhere, Roth held out his coat and shook it until the sleeves flapped against the indignity of being upside down and spread-eagle. Choppy visions of the road away from the house appeared like hallucinations through the hole in the shoulder where the sap had been. When his cigarettes and lighter finally shook free of the pockets, Roth dropped the coat in the dirt. He scrabbled for his smokes and lit up in a half-crouch, wishing he kept his flask in the coat instead of in his glove box.

"How far to the next house?" Malcolm asked.

"It's about ten miles, and half of that's dirt."

"Will our car make it?" Malcolm asked.

"I guess we'll find out," Roth said, then took a drag on his cigarette. He couldn't help looking back at the coat, and flinched when Malcolm turned and looked, too.

"I'm afraid there isn't space in the trunk, but you can pass it back to Genny and she can put it on the seat between her and Laney," Malcolm said.

"It reeks like tree sap."

"We'll live."

Roth grunted, and then went over to retrieve the coat. He picked it up by the hem and inspected the hole. It didn't seem to be growing anymore, but that didn't mean it would ever stop, as he well knew. When he got into the sedan, he passed it back to Genny. It uncurled from the tight ball Roth had twisted it into on his way back over to the car.

"Be careful not to touch it," Roth said. "The sap's murder to get out."

When they made the left into the driveway of the final property, Malcolm tried to get Genny to smile at him in the rearview mirror; the house was a light green color with white trim and three steps leading up to a porch, and he was certain she could like it if she tried. Genny avoided his gaze, and stared instead at a lattice that supported a tangle of morning glory. The blue flowers opened creamy mouths voicing certain threat.

As Malcolm pulled the car to a stop, Roth said, "This home has depression-era architecture that, if it were in a city, would get zoned as historical." No one responded, so he continued. "There are two bedrooms, one full bath, and an open loft area. It sits at the front of a one-hundred and twenty acre lot. Which you can see for yourself is wooded. Heavily wooded. The current owners are mountain biking enthusiasts and built themselves a network of trails."

"It _sounds_ good," Malcolm said and cut the engine.

Heat drove them out of the car. To get to Linnae, Genny walked around the back rather than pass Malcolm, who was still trying to get her to look at him. When Linnae was free of her seat, she took a few conquering steps across the yard overgrown with Saint Augustine runners. A woody tendril snared her ankle and she stumbled but did not fall. Head held high beneath her inverted crown, Linnae covered and uncovered her ears like she had at the orchard.

"Would you like to see the inside?" Roth asked. He stood with his back pressed against the car, his hand on the door handle. Though he spoke to the Mercers, he was watching the woods.

"Sure," Malcolm said. "Why don't you go ahead and unlock the place. We'll be up in just a moment."

Roth forced a smile then released his grip on the door handle. "I'll just be on the porch," he said, but Malcolm was already moving across the yard to stand next to his family. Roth went up the driveway, his shoulders drawn up protectively around his neck and his stomach churning out acid.

Malcolm waited until Roth was almost at the house before he said, "What's wrong?"

"Why are there bars on the windows?" Genny asked. She pointed at the wrought iron lattices. They were foreboding and dark, not at all in alignment with the happy color of the house.

"We can take them off," Malcolm said.

In the woods, something moved amongst the great variegated mass of trees. There was a battering sound as it approached the tree line. Genny and Malcolm both reached towards their daughter, who had stopped covering and uncovering her ears to cover her eyes instead. From out of the dark flew a lone grackle, its wings beating frantic patterns in the dry, hot air. As it flew past the Mercers, it turned one unearthly eye upon them, the golden iris glinting. All around them, the woods remained impassive, watchful.

"Just a bird," Malcolm said and then chuckled with relief.

"It's okay, Laney," Genny said.

The girl offered one small hand to be held. As mother and daughter walked across the lawn, Malcolm lingered. The verdurous rush of the forest cast shadows across the lawn and draped darkness on his family.

"The house has a name," Genny called back to him, and pointed at a wooden plaque hanging above the door. "The Argentine."

"Like the story by Calvino," Malcolm said. He came up onto the porch and Roth opened the front door. "Or was it called Argentine Ants?"

"I'm not much of a reader," Roth said.

"What happens?" Genny asked. "How does the storyline go?"

"A family is overrun by ants when they move into a house in the country," Malcolm said.

"Comforting," Genny said.

"Shall we?" Roth asked, and swept his arm towards the open door.

As the adults looked into the house, Linnae half turned towards the woods. One hand still safe in the warmth of her mother's grasp, the girl reached out with the other. She came back with a clutch of leaves.

"Mommy, look," she said.

"Where did you get those?" Genny asked.

"The tree."

"Well, let's toss them back out onto the porch."

"Why?"

"Because leaves belong outside."

Genny pried the leaves from Linnae's fist. They smelled like chicken just about to turn, and Genny threw them out the door and wiped her hands on the front of her skirt. "Where did you say you got those?" she asked, but the girl had run down the hall, following her father and Roth. Alone in the foyer, Genny closed the front door harder than necessary.

The downstairs was one large room replete with broad windows. The kitchen was at the back of the room. The second story loft was perpendicular to the front door and opened out to a view of the stone fireplace that dominated the lower level. A tight corkscrew of a wrought iron staircase spiraled between the floors near a raised platform enclosed with carefully chinked planks. The men were in the kitchen measuring the refrigerator alcove, so Genny opened the door to the raised room by herself.

It was the bathroom. A claw foot tub and a timeworn sink stood before a window of rippled glass blocks that conveyed a sense of encroaching greenery. Genny let the door snick closed under its own weight.

In the kitchen, she brushed her fingertips over the cool surface of the granite counter and looked at the glass etching drawn on the small, rectangular window above the sink. The image was primitive, as if the glass etching were done as a project by someone who had loved standing at her sink and looking out at her verdant backyard. There was a chain next to the window, and Genny pulled it. A mechanical clattering brought down a metal, roll top shade on the outside of the window.

"All of the windows on the first floor are fitted with those _rouladens_ ," Roth said.

"Interesting," Malcolm said.

Genny pulled the chain again and the _rouladen_ receded. "Why are they selling?" she asked.

Her voice startled the men, and Roth let go of his end of the measuring tape; a hissing yellow and black blur, it coiled back into its case. Roth said, "This is the Lowells' home." When Genny shot Malcolm a worried look, Roth hurried to say, "It's a sad situation, I know. But they are _very_ motivated sellers."

"Not everything is about money," Malcolm said.

"Where's Laney?" Genny asked.

"She was just right here," Malcolm said.

"Laney?" Genny called.

She checked the bathroom, but it was empty. "Laney must have gone upstairs," Genny said. Without waiting for a reply, she rushed up the spiral staircase. From the loft, she scanned the bottom floor, most of which she could see. The window seats looked like coffins.

"Mal, check in the window seats," Genny called. "I think they open."

As Malcolm and Roth began to search downstairs, Genny scanned the loft. There were three skylights in the ceiling, but they were closed off by metal doors with punch-work designs that shut out most of the daylight. Oversized locks snapped the doors to the skylight frames, and the metal doors were dented as if some large, ravening thing had tried to force its way through. Genny stepped into the nearest room. It was spacious, with windows filling the two exterior walls. To the left of the door stood an armoire. It was the perfect hiding place for an inquisitive child. Genny wrenched it open and leaned inside.

## 8 ARMOIRE

When Genny screamed, Malcolm let the window seat he was holding slam shut. He took the winding stairs two at a time, but felt like he was getting nowhere. "Where are you?" he shouted.

"Hurry," Genny called.

Malcolm ran to the only open door. He found Genny pointing at the gaping dark of an open armoire, inside of which Linnae stood, humming to herself and holding an axe. Sunlight reflected from the metallic cardboard of her Burger King hat.

"Please, get it from her," Genny whispered.

"Hand Daddy the axe," Malcolm said. He reached into the armoire; obediently, Linnae let the axe fall in his direction. It was heavy and the weight of it drove the blade into the wooden floor near his foot.

"Blood," Genny said. "It's covered in blood."

"Mommy?" Linnae said.

"Are you okay, Laney?"

"I'm bored."

"Come out here," Malcolm said.

Linnae flounced out of the armoire. Genny knelt down next to her, cradling the girl until she started wriggling. She let her go and settled for smoothing some loose hairs back behind the girl's ears. Only when she was certain her daughter was fine did she look over at Malcolm. He was holding the axe.

"What was it doing in there?" Genny asked.

"What I want to know is why it's bloody," Malcolm replied.

Roth entered the room and said, "Mr. Lowell is a hunter."

"He used this to hunt?" Malcolm asked.

When Roth shrugged, Genny said, "I don't care what it's for, I just want it out of here."

"You mean the axe?" Roth asked.

"What else?"

"I realize this isn't the most opportune moment to mention this, but the armoire comes with the house."

"Come on, Laney-loo. Let's go look at the other room."

Genny took Linnae to the bedroom next door. Built-in bookshelves lined all of the walls except the one facing the backyard, where there was another barred window. Beyond the iron and glass, the press of forest swayed in the wind.

"Mommy, look! A rocket chair!"

Genny looked where Linnae pointed. An antique rocking chair sat idle in the corner. "Want to rock?" Genny asked.

Linnae shrugged, and Genny scooped her into her lap. They began to rock, but Linnae did not relax into the gentle motion. She squirmed, and Genny let her down. The girl ran around the room, zigzagging from wall to wall and making the crazed racket of a three-year-old kept cooped up too long. Genny sighed and hauled herself out of the chair. She went to the window and looked out on the backyard. It was thick with weeds. A scarred pine tree stood just outside the fence, a dying reminder of Christmas past. It looked malignant. It looked wicked.

"Can I play outside?" Linnae asked.

"That's a great idea," Malcolm said as he and Roth came into the second bedroom. He looked at the bookshelves and whistled. "Our library will look really nice in here, won't it?"

"I don't know about letting her play outside alone," Genny said.

"Why not? The yard is fenced, there's no traffic for miles. Besides, she's going bonkers."

As if in demonstration, Linnae tried to climb one of the bookshelves. Malcolm picked her up and held her, giggling, under one arm like a sack of potatoes.

"The backyard's just so overgrown..."

"Then she can play out front."

"All right. I'll go with her. But first, see that pine tree?"

"The one with all of the bolls?"

"Yes. It has to go."

"What?" Malcolm asked.

"It goes or I don't live in this house."

"Genny, that's not rational."

Genny looked at her husband for a long moment, then extended her hand towards Linnae. "Come on, Laney."

"We'll meet you out on the porch," Malcolm said.

Genny nodded, and then took Linnae downstairs. It was still hot out, and Genny kept to the shade while Linnae skipped up and down the length of the driveway. The morning glories were turning purple as they died, their one summer day nearly done.

## 9 FOREST BRIDE

Linnae was alone when she heard her name. It sounded like her mother, but Genny was up on the porch with the other grown-ups. "Hello?" Linnae said. When nobody answered, she shrugged. She was used to it; the trees were always talking.

The yard stretched out around her, big as forever. Linnae crouched down, leaning back on her heels and flattening the blades closest to her feet with one hand. When she lifted her hand, the grass sprang back into place. Blade after blade rose up, and Linnae held her hand close to feel it tickle. She let herself flop over, then lay on her stomach to look at the grass up close.

After a quick glance to make sure her parents weren't watching, she took off her socks and shoes. She held one foot above the grass which was moving on its own, each blade reaching for her sole. When her leg got tired, she let her foot fall. It plunged into the lush yard and she tried to lift her other foot up, but the grass had writhed and stretched to clasp her foot. She clawed at the tangles, but tendrils kept climbing higher. Linnae was about to scream when the lawn let go.

The grass made patterns that coalesced into a line leading to the edge of the woods. A sapling grew there, a little tree no taller than Linnae. It waved its boughs in exuberance, wriggled like a cartoon she had seen where trees with beautiful blossoms danced.

"Do you want to dance?" she asked.

The tree shook a bough at her, and Linnae ran over to grab hold with both hands. Something rustled deeper in the woods, and the little tree went perfectly, completely still. Linnae looked back at her shoes. They were a vast distance away, across grass that bristled in her direction. The yard looked sharp and angry, but she lunged towards her shoes anyways.

Then she was face down on the ground, her lungs burning from a belly-flop loss of air. Pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, she looked back to see her right leg was held fast by a vine. It tightened until her foot went numb, then wrenched her into the forest. She tipped onto her chin, bit her tongue. Blood poured from her mouth and left red stains on the leaves rushing past her face. Twigs and rocks scraped by underneath, cutting her stomach. She grasped at anything she could reach, and soon her fingertips were raw. The lawn slid out of sight. The little dancing tree waved goodbye.

Linnae let herself go limp. Her head thudded against the drought-hardened ground and her mouth filled with rotting leaves. The only part of her that wasn't in agony was her numb foot.

After some time, the wrenching stopped and the vine unwound from her ankle. It slithered through the layer of desiccated leaves, moving towards her head and making a sound like " _Shh, shh_." The shushing noise was joined by a tapping like claws ticking across a tile floor. Linnae tried to stay quiet, but she couldn't help coughing; blood soaked tree dust flew from her mouth. The ticking noise went faster, and a foul-smelling leaf brushed her cheek. Linnae pulled herself up onto her skinned knees to get away from it.

A moss covered rock stood near a wide, hollowed out stump that a low hanging branch dipped into before bouncing back up, splashing rainwater. Mouth full of last autumn's leavings, Linnae took a step towards the water. The branch splashed anew, and the taste of fetid greenery grew unbearable. She went to the stump and looked down into the watery hollow. Wavelets rippled from side to side, growing less agitated with every rebound until the surface became a mirror reflecting a girl alone in the woods. The branch cupped a leaf and dipped it into the reservoir. Brimming with water, it offered itself to Linnae. She took a sip, then several greedy swallows. The clicking sound became frenzied.

It was the thorny moss covering the rock, writhing and tapping. One flower opened with a sudden rush of hot color. The water was offered to Linnae again, but this time she slapped it away and tried to run from the clearing. Vines clasped her ankles and her wrists and the fronds lifted her off of the ground. She struggled, but the grip on her body did not loosen and she was carried to the rock. When she was close enough to see the delicate veins on the flower's petals, the forest made her kneel before a wetly dripping stamen. Linnae recoiled, but was powerless to prevent her left hand from being pulled close to the flower. It smelled of honey and death. The flower moved towards her hand and Linnae squealed, terrified.

The susurration of leaves accompanied thorns tapping a rhythmic tempo on the rock. Linnae whimpered, but she couldn't hear herself over the frantic cacophony. The flower dropped one petal, then another, and the falling petals were leached of color, drained of vitality. The stamen dried, grew brittle, cracked down the center. A single thorn emerged, gleaming like polished rosewood. The hideous tapping crescendoed and the trees tossed their boughs around in terrible ecstasy. The thorn thrust itself into Linnae's left ring finger, and the girl screamed.

The vines dropped her onto the mushroom dank of the forest floor. Her hair was littered with twigs and mangled leaves. She was an unwilling bride, wedded to the forest by the thorn that traced a straight, dark line through her pink quick.

## 10 THORN

"Laney's gone!" Genny said. She stood on the porch and pointed to the pair of abandoned shoes. Roth backed inside the house and shut the door behind him as Malcolm and Genny hurried to the lawn.

"Laney! Where are you?" Malcolm called.

"Linnae Ghislaine Mercer!" Genny shouted, sounding clipped—and worried.

They stopped just inside the woods, listening. A carrion stench burdened the air with intimations of meaningless death and the rot of Camus's mass graves, but without quicklime. A panicky and hunted animal crashed through the forest, heading straight for them.

"It's her!" Malcolm said.

"Come here, baby! Mommy has you, you're okay," Genny said. She enfolded her daughter in her arms and tried not to cry. Malcolm put his hand on Linnae's head.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

Without taking her face from Genny's shoulder, Linnae nodded. Genny pushed Linnae back a few inches and surveyed the injuries. "Baby, what happened?"

Linnae shook her head and started to cry. Genny scooped her up and stood. She glared at the tree line.

"Let me carry her," Malcolm offered, but Genny only clutched the girl tighter. The three of them went up to the house, and Malcolm held the door for his wife before going to get the first aid kit out of the car. Roth stood near the door, a bent cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Genny and Linnae were in the kitchen. Even from across the room, Malcolm could see the scrapes on her knees and elbows, the darkening bruise around one of her ankles. When Genny took the girl's dress off, she and Malcolm gasped at the cuts on Linnae's stomach. Together they washed the wounds and doused them with peroxide. Linnae howled the whole time and refused to open her left hand. When all of the other injuries were dressed, Malcolm pried Linnae's fingers out straight.

"Oh, shit," Genny said.

A thorn was shoved under the nail of Linnae's ring finger. It made a thick, dark line through the quick. Linnae looked at it and cried with renewed vigor.

"Where are your tweezers?" Malcolm asked.

"In my purse," Genny said and then leaned close to Linnae. "Who did this to you? You can tell Mommy."

Malcolm came back. Light glinting off of the tweezers, he took Linnae's hand. The thorn pulled free quickly, and Linnae slumped back into Genny's arms, sobbing. Malcolm held the thorn up to the light. It was half an inch long and tapered to a cruel point. Opening the back door, he threw it outside and slammed the door behind it. A tendril of grass snaked up onto the porch and pulled the thorn back down into the yard.

## 11 RESERVATION

Prentice shut off his music several miles outside of Breaker. Despite an iPod with a lifetime's worth of music, he felt as if he had heard it all, and all of it in the past three days. In the wake of the Corvette's wind, the last redbud on FM-6060 trembled a warning with branches of once red and still heart-shaped leaves. The redbud grew small in the rearview mirror and disappeared unnoticed beyond the rush of the horizon. Prentice cracked the passenger side window, and sniffed at the fuzzy scent of peaches past ripe. He saw the petrified tree that stood guardian over desiccated trees arranged like tombstones, and he fumbled for the control to roll up the window because he never had been comfortable breathing the air of graveyards. A white-hot and blue-tinged sparkle blossomed in the periphery of his vision and Prentice hit the gas.

The car carried him across Breaker in moments. Prentice pulled a U-turn at the far end of town and drove back through. He slowed down: thirty, twenty-five, twenty. He drove down the shadeless street, his left eye squinting against the invasive light and the beginnings of a migraine. The Mexican martinis had evaporated with the distance between Austin and Breaker, leaving him with tequila furred teeth and a dry mouth.

Prentice pulled into the curved drive of The Gauss. From his vantage, he could see only the steps leading to the door where someone wearing a pair of worn cowboy boots stood. Prentice lowered his window and said, "I have a reservation."

"You must be Feyerbach."

"Prentice."

"Hell of a name."

"Sure."

"Any luggage?"

"Yes."

"Then pop the trunk for me, and I'll bring your bags in while you park."

"And you are?"

"Monteque Hoyt." Monteque walked the length of the car, nodding in admiration. When he got to the back, he knocked on the trunk. Prentice pressed a button to pop it—and the door to the gas tank sprang open instead.

Armpits prickling with embarrassment, he hurried to open the trunk. Colorbursts spread from the edge of his vision and imparted everything with a feverish intensity. He had arrived, but none of the good had come with him; not even the thought of Caroline of Corpus could fix it so that he hadn't fumbled and opened the gas tank.

"Someone joining you?" Monteque asked.

"Joining me?"

"You've packed enough for an army."

Monteque slung a duffle and laptop bag over his shoulder and picked up the full-sized suitcase. He walked back up along the side of the car, shutting the gas tank as he passed. Prentice blushed.

"My fiancée," Prentice said. It sounded like he was asking a question, and he stammered to repeat, "My fiancée, Nova. She'll be here soon."

"You didn't specify a room for two."

"Is that, will it be...?"

"It's no problem. Olivia, my wife, takes care of ordering for the kitchen, and she'll want to know to expect another person being that this is off-season. When your girl arrives, we'll make up one of our bigger rooms for y'all."

"That won't be necessary. The bigger room, I mean. Of course she'll be eating." Prentice felt himself shrink and the hallucinatory colors of his illness smeared together into a sickly yellow. He tasted pestilence.

"You're the only one here for now, but we're expecting a family. You'll probably see them at dinner."

"Children?" Prentice asked, his voice lowered against the splitting pain driving through his head.

"Just one. A daughter." Monteque broke eye contact with Prentice before continuing. "Parking's in the public lot just up the street. Make a left when you leave The Gauss."

Prentice put the car in gear and moved down the driveway. The steering wheel was tacky with sweat and grime. 'I am really here,' he thought. 'There's an apartment back in Austin, a present for Nova in one of my bags, and I'm officially a guest at The Gauss.'

Prentice parked the Corvette but saw nothing of the lot save the terrible glare of his migraine roaring towards an epileptic fit.

## 12 SEIZURE

Sound coalesced from brightness: a chorus spoke words mottled with lichen. Despite mossy enunciation, Prentice could decipher familiar cruelties. He grabbed at the dirty steering wheel but knew there was no stopping it. The flare of color in his mind became an erratic pulsing that racked him like a strong wind blowing through a lonely copse. The tremors started with a balletic flexing of his fingers that transferred ferocious tension to his wrists. Tendons pushed at the branching veins running bluely through his skin. Tension extended upwards from his hands to his elbows; his left elbow popped. Prentice flailed in his blue Corvette. His limbs twitched and jerked without regard to propriety or the motions of other limbs. His face grimaced, griped, gaped. Teeth ground, molar to molar, and the spaces where wisdom teeth should have been mocked wisdom's absence. It took a long time for the mental light to gutter, but as it went out, the tension eased and the mossy voices dropped to a murmur. They sounded like nothing so much as dry leaves scuttling across an empty parking lot. Prentice opened his eyes.

A mutilated face was pressed to the driver's side window. One eye stared at him, but the other was missing. In its place was a jagged scar long healed, though not well; flaps of skin that used to be eyelids closed over the empty orbit. A mane of flaxen hair fell in luxurious waves that swayed as it breathed.

"I have some change in the glove box," Prentice said.

Nothing. Behind glass too thin, the horrible, crushed visage continued to stare, to sweat. Prentice unclenched his left hand from the steering wheel. He flexed it and flinched, both from pain and because the woman was pulling at the door handle. Prentice slammed his palm against the door lock button. The temperature inside the car was climbing and the dry heat scraped like tinder against flint as it moved through his lungs.

"Go away!"

His shout drove the disfigured woman into a frenzy. Her fumbling at the handle became relentless pounding on the window and Prentice shuffled painfully across the center console into the passenger seat. At first he couldn't get the door to open, but then he remembered to unlock it and he half-fell, half-jumped out of the car without shutting the door behind him.

"I don't know what you want, but fuck off! Leave! Do you understand?"

The woman stared at him across the roof. Then she did something strange with her face to pucker the skin over the empty socket. 'She's smiling,' Prentice thought.

She walked around the front of the car. Prentice backed up, careful to keep the open door between them. The aftershock of the seizure left him weak, trembling. Around and along the long hood, the woman kept coming. She wore a salmon colored sundress and her body was thin as a dancer's, tall and lithe with only a hint of breasts beneath the stitched and beaded bodice. The embroidery described flowers in fanciful exaggerations and intimated a vine that grew in tangles and connected all of the blooms in one great and intricate chain. As she stepped around the open door, Prentice saw that she had long legs that drew the eye upwards to the rustling hem of her skirt. She was close enough that he could smell, nearly taste, a scent more intimate than mere perfume, something floral but with hints of decay. She brushed her fingertips against his hand. Prentice flinched, though there was no more force in the touch than from a butterfly's wing.

"Leave me alone!"

She smiled and attempted to touch him a second time. Prentice leapt backwards with the revulsion reserved for roaches, vomit, mangled carcasses. Her smile wilted and Prentice heard himself say, "Don't cry."

"The flowers sing such a sad song for you," she said.

"Okay..." Prentice replied.

"The dragons are snapping!"

"If you say so."

"See you soon, Fiery-Brook."

She twirled away from Prentice. A sudden gust of wind carried a hint of lyrical chiming and a deep resonance as if someone were twitching finger cymbals and tapping a felt mallet against a gong. She crossed the narrow lot and disappeared into a break in the fence. The wind died. Prentice was alone with his exhaustion and the bone-rattled soreness of a seizure gone.

His left cheek was suffused with a heaviness, a deadness. There had been only one previous seizure, and he didn't remember anything about a loss of sensation. He did remember that a repeat performance would cost him his driver's license.

"No fucking way," he whispered.

He tried to slam the passenger door closed, but he was too weak and it barely snicked shut. After a moment, he began to stagger across the parking lot on legs that refused to work right. When he was out on the street, he looked back at the empty lot and took the emptiness as proof of a nightmare.

Either way, Prentice clicked the lock button on his key fob twice, just to be sure.

## 13 RULES

When Prentice finally made it back to The Gauss, he was met by a woman sitting on the front steps. A multicolored skirt covered her legs to the ankle, but exposed two mushroom-white feet. In the center of the horseshoe shaped driveway, two concrete pylons with iron wires sprouting from them anchored a ladder-like structure of a very tall light post. Prentice pointed and said, "What is that?"

The woman stared up at him without shading her eyes, impassive beneath her aggressive spill of color.

"I have a reservation," Prentice said.

After a long moment she replied, "You must be Prentice."

"Yes."

"I'm Olivia Hoyt," she said, and extended a sallow hand. He took it as if to shake, but Olivia had given him her left hand and he held it with awkward uncertainty as she used him to pull herself up. Still clutching at his hand, she looked down on him from second step. Her eyes icy mirrors devoid of welcome. He pulled his hand away.

"This isn't a good town for singles," Olivia said.

"I'm not single."

"Is that so?"

"Nova," he said, "her name is Nova."

"The Fiery-Brook brings a supernova."

"What?" Prentice said. "Why did you say that?"

"Why did it bother you?"

"I'm not bothered; I just want to check in!"

Prentice pushed past Olivia to the front door. Her skirt brushed against his leg. It felt chilled, as if she had stood for a long time in a walk-in freezer or a luminescent cavern. He wrenched the door open and found himself in a room with mounted stag heads and a set of French doors opening onto a courtyard. Yellow walls cast a sick pallor over everything, and the glazed eyes of the deer were dusty. The green marble fireplace at the end of the room was a hulking beast that died with the rictus of insane laughter on its gaping and soot-stained maw. Hung above the cold hearth was a black and white photo of The Gauss; there was no overgrown streetlight out front, the yard was filled with native plants, and every window overflowed with verdant flowerboxes. Near the fireplace huddled several ratty sofas. Fustiness suffused the space, and not even the Southwestern pillows strewn along the length of the sofas brought any sense of welcome.

"I thought you might've decided to just keep driving."

Prentice swiveled; it was Monteque. He stood behind a tall mahogany desk topped with marble. A silver bell sat near one end of the desk, and a hotel mail shelf, all cubby holes and golden hooks hung with skeleton keys, was mounted on the wall behind the desk.

"You met my wife," Monteque said.

"Yes," Prentice said, and looked away.

Olivia came inside and stood with her arms crossed. She turned her frigid gaze on Prentice and said, "Breakfast is set at seven, lunch at noon, and dinner at seven. Checkout is no later than eleven A.M. and if you're here a minute after you pay for a whole day."

"I'm booked for two weeks."

"Any later than eleven and you'll be charged."

"I'll need your credit card," Monteque said.

Prentice put his hand into his pocket, but he couldn't feel his wallet. He considered the infinite number of places it might be: the shop in Austin, the space between his car seats, in the lot with the crazy girl. He made an audible sound of relief when he found it in his other pocket.

"I hear you," Monteque said, and took Prentice's credit card. He ran it through an old fashioned imprint machine. It made a metallic slide-click, slide-click.

"I want to pay for the full two weeks now."

"We don't give refunds if you leave early," Olivia said.

"I'm not leaving early. I spent three days driving here. I had to skip an important appointment to get here on time, and I'm not leaving early."

"I'll run your card for the total," Monteque said. "You'll be in room fourteen, on the second floor."

"You mean the first floor?" Prentice asked.

"No, room fourteen on the second floor."

"Don't room numbers normally correspond to the floor?"

"Welcome to Breaker," Monteque said. He pushed a paper and pen towards Prentice, then turned to pluck a skeleton key off of the hook. "The bottom floor has all of the common areas and a couple of suites; our numbered rooms, Los Portales, are upstairs."

"My baggage?" Prentice asked.

"Already in the room."

His hand hurt but Prentice took up the pen; his signature was a scrawling mess, a forgery.

"You all right?" Monteque asked.

"Just tired, very tired."

"I'll show you to your room."

Prentice followed Monteque through the rundown lobby and past the sagging sofas. They went down a semidark hall lined with the shadowy forms of oversized furniture and up a steep staircase with steps that seemed just a bit higher than normal and a railing that hovered out of reach. Near the middle of the staircase, a wash of green was cast upon the wall, lighting up the crenellations of the stucco. Prentice crouched to see beneath the stairway's lintel.

"Is there a stained glass window down there?" Prentice asked. "Behind that huge dresser?"

"Most people don't notice," Monteque said. "And it's a gun cabinet, not a dresser."

"Why block the window?"

"To keep it cooler. We close up all of the windows at night and lock the main door to the hotel at sundown. If you are outside then, you'll stay outside."

"Can I get a key to the front door?"

"If you stay out after dark, you won't need one."

"Then how will I get back in?"

They reached the door to room fourteen. Monteque handed Prentice the key. It wasn't his dominant hand, but Prentice used the one that the mutilated woman touched because his other still shook from the aftermath of his seizure. The door swung into the room. It gave a creaking groan that, in another place, would have been laughable in its horror-movie impression.

Monteque flicked on the overhead light. It illuminated a cramped space dominated by a high bedstead and the stuffiness of a room long closed. There was no luxury expended, no comfort in the faded pictures of tree lined Breaker streets. A narrow window was blotted from sight by thick, dusty drapes. A water-stained ceramic basin stood in the far corner with a matching and chipped pitcher.

"The bathroom's across the hall, one door up. You'll have to share it with the other guests."

"It's stuffy in here," Prentice said, and crossed the room to the window.

"If you're opening it, be sure it's closed before dark."

"Why?"

"Nature has a way of getting in, even on the second floor."

Prentice pulled aside thick drapes, only to find blue sheers and lowered wooden blinds that made a defiant clatter as he lifted them. The window pane was wavy with years and gave a distorted view of a stone courtyard and corrugated metal shed. Prentice slid the window open, little difference that it made.

"We have drinks in the lobby before dinner," Monteque said.

Prentice let the drapes fall back over the window and replied, "Thank you. For bringing my stuff up here, and for showing me the room."

Monteque nodded and then left the room. Alone, Prentice touched his left cheekbone with his fingertips, exploring the extent of the numbness there. Too tired to worry, he went over to the bed, and pressed both of his fists into the mattress. His left hand felt agonizing pressure, but the right felt only the give of the mattress. He stood up then, opening and closing each hand in turn.

Exhaustion rose its obliterating mists. Prentice flopped bodily onto the bed, his prone form at an angle and his face thrust into a pillow filled with down ripped from geese. Whether they were alive or dead when the ripping occurred, Prentice didn't know.

## 14 PEACHES

Late afternoon light rebounded from Roth's car as Malcolm pulled up beside it. Genny shut her eyes against the awful sunlight and tried to ignore the stench that had started as a faint whiff, like driving past road kill. By the time they got to Breaker, it smelled like something rancid was plastered to the undercarriage.

"What is that smell?" Genny asked.

"I don't smell anything," Malcolm said.

"You can't smell that? It reeks! You must have hit something."

"I smell peaches," Roth said.

"What time would you like to meet tomorrow?" Malcolm asked.

One hand on the door handle and the other ready to disengage the lock, Roth said, "I can be here anytime after sunrise."

"What about eight?" Genny said.

"Done." Roth unlocked his door and cracked it open. "Shall we meet at The Gauss?"

"Yes," Malcolm said.

"Sounds good. It's been nice getting to meet all of you today, especially after so many emails. Now, go get settled in at The Gauss, and don't be shy about putting their hospitality to the test."

Roth got out of the car and Malcolm said, "Are you going to come sit up front now, Genny?"

"He left his coat," she said, and then got out of the car. She tried to catch Roth's attention, but he was already in his car and starting the engine. Muffled talk radio chittered out into the street and Roth hit the gas. He peeled out of his spot, but not before Genny saw him glance her way. She was motioning that he should roll down his window and waggling his coat in his direction, but Roth just kept going. When he was a pair of taillights dwindling in the distance, Genny got back in the car.

"You're really going to sit back there?" Malcolm asked.

"I'm really going to puke; the smell is much worse in here than it is outside."

Genny set Roth's coat on her lap. The hole in the shoulder was big enough that she could stick three fingers through it. She held it up between the two front seats and said, "I think the sap from that tree burned a hole in it."

"It must have been like that all along," Malcolm said.

"I would have noticed."

"You know what the logical explanation is."

"Just get me to that hotel," Genny said. "I need a drink."

Malcolm turned the car onto Main Street and headed for The Gauss. A dull metal structure stood upright and impervious to the heat, and the top of the metallic lattice was surmounted by a ring of six lamps. The double Cerberus of lamps kept watch from their place in the center of the drive as Malcolm parked the car. He cut the engine. Linnae woke up; conscious now and once more aware of her injuries, she started to cry.

"Shh, Laney-loo. I know it hurts. Mommy's sorry."

Genny got out of the car, and went around to get Linnae. Once free, the girl shook off her tears. She ran to a concrete pylon radiating taut cables.

"Stay where I can see you," Genny called. She leaned over to look in the car at Malcolm. "Pop the trunk, will you?"

He opened the trunk just as the oversized doors of The Gauss opened, and two people came outside. One was Olivia, the other a man in cowboy boots.

" _Bien vienidos_ ," Cowboy Boots said. "I'm Monteque and this is my wife, Olivia."

"We met at the Manor," Malcolm said.

"You did?"

"This morning," Malcolm replied. He looked to Olivia for friendly confirmation, but she was looking past him at Linnae climbing up onto the pylon. "Laney, get down from there," he said.

"She's not hurting anything," Genny said.

"They may not like their property used as a jungle gym."

"It's all right," Olivia said. "Let her play."

"What is it?" Malcolm asked, gesturing at the structure.

"That's our Moonlight Tower. The rest of them that still work are in Austin," Monteque said, and turned towards Genny. "May I take your bags?"

"No, thanks. I carry my own weight."

"Strength is a good trait for a Breaker woman."

"Why don't you all go ahead and get checked in. I'll watch your daughter. It certainly looks like you could've used some help earlier," Olivia said.

"She took a tumble at one of the properties," Malcolm said.

They all turned to look at Linnae walking on the pylon.

"Come on, Laney," Genny called.

"Olivia offered to keep an eye on her," Malcolm said. "Didn't you hear?"

"Laney! Over here now, please."

Linnae jumped off of the pylon and ran over to Genny.

The men went inside. The heavy door closed behind them and Olivia stepped in front of Genny, blocking her from the entrance. Genny tugged her wheeled bags to the right a little, indicating that she wanted to go around, but Olivia stood firm.

"I see you're still wearing your crown," she said. Linnae tilted her head to one side and looked up at Olivia. "Don't you remember me from the restaurant this morning? We met, and discussed princesses and queens."

Linnae turned her attention to Genny and said, "Mommy, I need to pee-pee."

"Excuse us," Genny said.

"We'll talk again soon," Olivia said.

For another second she lingered, appraising mother and child. Then she stepped aside, and Genny dragged the suitcases up the three stairs. Despite the approaching evening, it was still warm and Genny was sweating by the time she got to the door.

Stale tasting air billowed from the decrepit hotel. Linnae ran past Genny; she bumped against Malcolm's leg and held on with her face half hidden in the crook of a knee. Malcolm waved Genny over to the counter, and she struggled against the sulphuric enervation of the lobby's yellow walls.

"Everything all right?" Malcolm asked.

Genny shot him a look and he hurried to say, "You'll never guess which room we got."

"I'm sure I won't."

"Thirteen."

"Seriously?"

"It's all yours for the next month," Monteque said. "It overlooks the courtyard at the back of the hotel."

"I need to pee-pee!" Linnae said, wriggling for emphasis.

Genny scooped her daughter up. Linnae was tiny, but she was big enough now that holding her made Genny's lower back sore. The pain was reminiscent of the heavy months of pregnancy when Linnae had been enclosed, safe.

"We better get to the room before there's an accident," Genny said.

"This way," Monteque said.

Malcolm picked up the two suitcases and hauled them upstairs, lagging behind his family and Monteque a little. When he got to the room, Genny was using a skeleton key to finagle the lock. Door opened, they were presented with walls the green of bile. The bed was made up in an ensemble of whites faded to the yellowed ivory of a deathbed. A tattered pelt of fur improperly preserved hung above the headboard. Two armchairs with flattened seat cushions and a sway-backed hassock stood in the far corner of the room, while a bureau hulked near the door. There was only one window, and it was covered with a thick, dusty drape.

"Where's the bathroom?" Genny asked.

"Right next door," Monteque said.

"A hall bath?"

"It shouldn't be too bad. We only have one other guest. His fiancée is supposed to be here later on, but you'll be gone by then."

Genny sighed and then said, "I'm taking Laney."

The hall was a mélange of brown water spots and peeling wallpaper. Shadows separated the rounded cones of tired light given off by the few functioning sconces. Genny knocked on the door to the bathroom and, when no one answered, set Linnae down and pushed open the door.

The room was shaped like a backwards " _L_ " with a disproportionately chubby lower half. A sink, a freestanding wardrobe, and an ancient claw foot tub swallowed space and all of the air with it, leaving the room stuffy. A shuttered window was at the end of the room, across from the toilet.

"Go pee," Genny said.

Linnae stared at the toilet; it was old, water tank high on the wall and a chain dangling down to flush. She rubbed her eyes and her expression foretold caterwauling. Genny knelt down next to her and said, "It's sure funny looking, isn't it?"

Linnae nodded.

"It will be more fun than a normal one because when you're all done, you get to pull that chain. Doesn't that seem like fun?"

Linnae stopped rubbing her eyes and reached for the chain.

"You have to pee-pee first," Genny said. "Then I'll let you pull the chain."

As Linnae used the toilet, Genny unlatched the shutter. The window sill was cluttered with a decaying pile of dead insects that made dry, scratching sounds as Breaker air blew hot through the opening. The grimy courtyard below was the color of despair; not a single flower broke the gray monotony.

"All done!" Linnae crowed.

"Good girl. You can flush now."

Linnae wrenched on the chain and Genny stretched out her hands for fear that the ancient tank would pull right out of the wall. It would not flush, even after several attempts. Genny climbed up on the toilet and lifted the plunger in the tank.

"I want to go home," Linnae said.

"You said it, sweetie," Genny said. "What do you say we wash our hands now?"

Linnae let her hands be put under the water, then started to fight. Most of her fingertips were cut, and the soap stung. When she was finally washed up, Genny looked in the wardrobe for a hand towel. There were stacks of them, thin yet thankfully stainless. Genny dried Linnae's hands as gently as she could. Olivia's voice rang out in the hall and Genny flung the wet towel onto the floor.

"Stay next to me, Laney," she said, and led the girl out of the bathroom.

The door to number thirteen was open. Malcolm and Olivia stood just inside the threshold. Genny glowered at her husband.

"Hello, again," Olivia said. "I was passing your car when I noticed you left your peaches in there." She held out the brown paper bag to Genny. "They're a shame to waste."

"You went in our car?" Genny asked.

"I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? Of course I _mind_."

"I was just trying to help."

"She did us a favor," Malcolm said.

"In the future, I'd prefer it if you didn't do us anymore... favors."

Olivia set the bag down on the bed. Then she looked at Linnae and smiled. "I'm sure you all would like to get settled in. It's been a big day for the Princess."

"For all of us," Malcolm said.

"Dinner at seven," Olivia said. "I was so excited about your arrival that I personally cooked the meal. I just know you'll love it."

"I'm sure we will," Malcolm said, and started to shut the door behind her. She leaned back in through the opening and continued, "Cocktails at six-thirty."

"Thanks again," Malcolm said. He closed the door and turned to Genny. "Why are you so upset?"

"Lock the door," Genny said.

"We don't need to lock the door."

"Fine. I'll do it. Where's the key?"

"On the nightstand."

Genny got the key and turned it in the lock. After checking that the door would not open, she turned back to Malcolm and said, "I don't understand why you're not upset. A stranger went through our possessions!"

"She hardly did that," Malcolm said.

Linnae wandered around the room, uncertainly touching the chair rail, the furniture, the thick drape hung over the window. Malcolm sat down on the bed and ran his hands over his hair. The bag of peaches tipped over.

Genny sniffed at the air, then covered her nose and mouth with one hand. The other waved in front of her, batting at the air as though it were smoky. "They're stinking up the room!"

"They don't smell," Malcolm said.

"Laney, do you smell something yucky?" Genny asked.

"No." She trotted across the room, her little girl belly leading the way. She went over to Malcolm and climbed up on his feet to try and reach the paper bag.

"You want to try a peach?" Malcolm asked.

"They say it tastes like candy," Linnae said.

"Who says that?"

"The trees."

Linnae put her arms over her head and swayed like a tree. Genny and Malcolm looked at one another, but Malcolm looked away first. He rubbed one of the peaches on his shirt to clean it, then took a bite.

"No!" Genny said, and tried to knock fruit from his hand.

"Are you serious?" Malcolm asked.

"There's something wrong with it!"

Confusion and wariness darkened Linnae's features, and Genny sank to the ground, her head in her hands. She rocked herself a little, swaying in the rotted fruit stench. When Genny could trust herself to look up, she saw her husband and her daughter seated on the high bed, both of them very far away from her. Alternating between them, they were each taking bites of the peach. Genny gagged.

"See," Malcolm said. "There's nothing wrong."

"It's yummy!" Linnae said. Saliva dribbled from the corner of her mouth. It was tinted pink and was somehow frothy.

"Are you feeling all right?" Malcolm asked.

Genny shook her head.

"Maybe I should take Laney for a walk so you can rest."

Genny shook her head again and uncovered her mouth. She tasted rot. "You really can't smell that?"

"No, I really can't."

"And it tastes normal?"

"Why don't you take a bite? It might help."

"Help what, Mal? The fact that I'm losing it? Help me not smell things that are apparently not there to smell?"

"It's been a long trip..."

"It's been the same distance for all of us but I'm the only one hallucinating!"

"Just try one bite."

Genny crept forward on her hands and knees. Noisome air pressed into her nostrils and filled her mouth. She could taste the stink in her exhales, as if the decay were inside her. Malcolm and Linnae were no longer eating but were instead staring down at Genny, worry knitting identical lines in their brows. Genny forced herself to stand up.

Malcolm handed over the peach. It was mushy, as if it were about to spill liquefying decay all over her hand, but Genny raised the fruit to her lips. It smelled like a corpse. Her teeth broke through the fuzzy skin as if sliding through putrefied flesh and stringy globules tore free of the pit. Genny wanted to gag, wanted to spit, but her family was watching so she chewed. She chewed and chewed. Spit filled her mouth, mixing with the decomposing flesh.

She couldn't swallow. Genny staggered across the room and vomited into the ceramic wash basin. The peach fell to the ground with a wet thud.

"Genny! Genevieve, my love," Malcolm said.

He stood behind her, pulling her hair back over her shoulders and out of the mess in the basin. Genny heaved again. Consumed by her misery, neither parent noticed Linnae pick up the peach and continue eating it.

When Genny was done being sick, Malcolm took a hand towel from the bar next to the basin and moistened it with water from the pitcher. He handed it to his wife, and then led her over to one of the armchairs. She stared into the middle distance, and when she did not move to clean her face, Malcolm did it for her. Linnae sat in the corner, whispering. Malcolm pulled the basin out of the stand and said, "I'm going to go clean this out."

When he came back, Linnae was sitting in Genny's lap, petting at her mother's face and cooing. As he went through their travel bags for the toothbrushes, he caught a bit of Linnae's singsong. Eyelid twitching, he jerked to face his daughter.

"What did you say?" he asked.

" _Omital talia es La Zalia._ "

"Why are you saying that?"

"The trees told me to."

Malcolm looked at Genny, but she was still unresponsive. Her only movement was to wipe at her mouth with the back of her hand. In silence, Linnae returned to petting her mother's face and smoothing her hair. Malcolm gathered the toothbrushes and paste, then picked up the second peach by crumpling the paper bag around it. He threw it in the waste basket so hard it rebounded almost to the top.

"Here," Malcolm said, and showed Genny the toothbrushes. "Why don't you freshen up?"

"What?" she asked.

"Brush your teeth, get rid of the bad taste."

"That's a good idea."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm just... tired."

"Come on, Laney," Malcolm said. "Get down off Mommy's lap."

Linnae climbed down and stood on one foot. She held the other in her hand, her sole exposed. Malcolm led Genny to the basin and poured water from the pitcher onto her brush. Near their feet was a juicy smear where the peach had fallen, but the fruit itself was gone. Searching for it, Malcolm scanned the room.

The peach pit was shoved into the eye socket of Linnae's doll. Malcolm snatched up the doll, which lowered the other eyelid in a coy wink. He pried at the slimy pit, hurrying to free it. Behind him, Genny brushed her teeth.

Pit free, Malcolm tossed it in the garbage and dropped the doll back on the floor. The eye that had the pit in it opened on a gaping blackness. Unsettled, he crouched to press the eyelid closed.

"I'm sorry about that," Genny said. She turned away from the basin just as Malcolm stood up. "It was really nasty."

"Feeling better?" Malcolm asked.

"I don't know."

"Do you remember the last time you got sick like that?"

"I'm not pregnant."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Did you throw away those peaches?"

"They're gone."

"Good." Genny went over to the dresser and picked up the ice bucket. "I know they're serving drinks soon, but I could use a belt or three now."

"Want me to find the ice machine?" Malcolm asked.

"No, I need out of this room. You be good for your daddy, okay, Laney?"

Linnae nodded, but she had her head tilted towards the window as if she were listening to someone else.

## 15 ICE

It was six when Prentice woke from his nap. Only half an hour until cocktails! For the first time since his meeting with Caroline of Corpus, Prentice smiled.

'I made it,' he thought.

The bag with Nova's gift sat on top of his stack of luggage. He displaced the Bible to make room for it in the nightstand drawer before opening the suitcase. Inside, the clothing was neatly folded, the price tags still hanging from the shirts. He picked a short-sleeved linen and agonized over pants or shorts. He went with the shorts, partly because it was hot, but mostly because he had a new pair of rugged sandals that would pair well with them. Prentice left his room carrying the outfit and his leather toiletry bag.

A woman in room thirteen said, "I'll get the ice myself."

Not wanting to look like he was eavesdropping, Prentice hurried down the hall. He walked past the bathroom and had to turn around; the snap and squeal of worn floorboards betrayed his blunder. A woman with an ice bucket stepped out of thirteen and the piping chatter of a little girl was devoured by the musty still of the hallway.

"Are you real?" she asked.

Prentice stammered for words, acutely aware that he was clothed in nothing but his boxers. She stood a couple steps away, looking at him. Nervous uncertainty trembled at the corners of her mouth.

"Say something," she said.

"Hi?"

"Then you're real."

"I'm Prentice; my room's across the hall from yours."

"Genny. I guess you're headed to the shower?" He nodded and she thrust her ice bucket towards him. "Hold this," she said. Prentice shifted his bundle of clothing and took the bucket from her. She brushed by him into the bathroom, her shoulder bumping against his arm. The light pressure sent pain all the way to his elbow and he flinched.

"I'll be right out," she said, and closed the door.

Prentice listened for the sound of the lock being thrown, but it never was. Her scent lingered, a flowery presence. It carried none of the dire potency of roses, but there was a wildness to it that conjured fields of flowers Prentice couldn't name.

When she finished, Genny took her ice bucket without a word.

## 16 DRINKS

Genny set the ice bucket on the crooked table in their room. Malcolm poured two generous glasses of whiskey and added ice. They sipped without toasting.

After a moment Genny said, "I met our neighbor in the hall."

"Any impressions?"

"He was only wearing his boxers."

"And?"

"And he needed a shower."

They sat in silence, both of them looking at Linnae. She had wrapped her doll's head with a blanket. One eye looked out, the lid drooped in sly knowledge.

"Are you feeling up to happy hour?" Malcolm asked.

"I'm already there," Genny said.

"Maybe tomorrow we could ask Olivia to watch Laney for a little while, spend a little time just the two of us."

"I'm not leaving my daughter with that creepy witch." Genny stood up from the table. Her chair made a loud scratching noise as it skidded across the floor.

"Why is your doll wearing a bandage?" Genny asked. She crouched down next to Linnae, her back to Malcolm. He poured more whiskey into his glass.

"Helena had a seed in her."

"I thought her name was Tabby."

"Not anymore," Linnae said. She removed the bandage and put her finger in the doll's empty eye socket. She tilted her head as if listening to a low sound, but the only thing Genny heard was the ice settling in the bucket.

"The trees told us what Daddy did," Linnae said.

"Trees don't talk," Malcolm said.

"They do."

"What did the trees say Daddy did?" Genny asked.

"Don't encourage her," Malcolm said.

"He took the seed."

"I don't understand," Genny said.

"There _is_ nothing to understand," Malcolm said. "After you got sick, I threw away the peaches."

"Mal, be straight with me! I feel like I'm going crazy, and you hiding things makes it worse. What really happened to the doll's eye?"

With a slight shake of his head, Malcolm said, "Laney shoved a peach pit in it."

Genny pulled the doll away from Linnae. "Helena Makepeace. That's who she's named after and that's who she looks like!"

"Enough!" Malcolm said.

Genny flung the mutilated doll onto the ground and scooped Linnae up. She went to the door. "We're going."

"I want Helena," Linnae said.

"We're not taking Tabby with us."

"And you're not taking Laney with you," Malcolm said.

"Helena! Want Helena!"

Genny had to raise her voice to be heard over Linnae's frantic cries. "Who are you to tell me I can't take my daughter with me? Just who do you think you are?"

"Her father."

"You doubt me as a mother?"

"You drove our car into a tree."

"I'm not crazy!"

"I never said..."

"You don't have to."

Malcolm stood between Genny and the door. She tightened her jaw and twitched her hair back over her shoulders. Linnae's shouts settled into hiccupping whimpers.

"Have you considered that maybe there is something wrong?" Malcolm asked.

His voice was low, his shoulders sagging. Genny petted their daughter's hair, shocked out of her rage. They all flinched when someone knocked on the door.

Prentice stood in the hall. Something poked forward suggestively in the front of his shorts and, because Genny was too tired and too startled to be discrete, he fished the skeleton key out of his pocket. "This thing's going to be a constant embarrassment," he said.

"Is there something we can do for you?" Malcolm asked.

"I was just heading down for a drink, and wanted to see if you were going, too."

"I am," Genny said. "Right now."

She brushed past Malcolm and stepped into the hall. He touched her shoulder, pressing his fingers through the thick and slightly dirty mess of her hair. "Don't worry," she said, "we won't be alone." Then she walked down the hall, leaving the two men standing together. Prentice turned the skeleton key over and over in his hands until Malcolm quietly closed the door in his face.

Prentice was halfway down the stairs when the phone in the lobby rang. Although no one from home knew where he was, Prentice was certain that it was someone demanding he come back. He took the rest of the steps at a panicked jog; when he neared the bottom, he grabbed onto the stair rail and swung himself over the last few steps to land, tripping and stumbling, just as Olivia lifted the receiver from its cradle. Prentice forced himself to go into the lobby where Genny stood near Monteque. She gave him a wan smile and Prentice blushed.

"Just a moment," Olivia said to the caller. Prentice cleared his throat, ready to say that he wasn't taking any calls. "Genny, is your husband coming down?"

"Who is it?" Genny asked.

"John Teryan of Bluebeard Computing."

"Mal works with him."

"Do you want to speak to John?" Olivia asked.

"No," Genny said.

"Should I take a message?"

"That won't be necessary." Malcolm entered the lobby and went over to the receptionist's desk. Olivia handed him the phone, then leaned on the counter, her elbows propped on an ornately carved wooden box.

"Teryan, Mal here."

The tinny and indistinct sound of a distant voice came from the phone, and Malcolm tuned away from the group. As the voice went on, it got louder. Malcolm's eyelid started to flutter.

"This cannot get out," Malcolm said. "You know what I mean. It jeopardizes everything."

"Would you like a drink?" Monteque asked, and both Genny and Prentice gave a little start to be interrupted at eavesdropping.

"What've you got?" Prentice said.

"A bootlegger's dream: scotch, vodka, rum, gin, and three types of tequila."

"Make mine a strong margarita," Genny said.

"Same here," Prentice said.

Still on the phone, Malcolm said, "I'm in Texas, moving my family. I'll get there when I can, but until then, handle it. And do it to my satisfaction or you'll be joining our lying scientist."

"Salt?" Monteque asked.

He held a margarita glass with a stem that looked like a cactus. Prentice looked at Genny, but she was frowning at her husband and Prentice just shrugged. Monteque salted the rims as Malcolm hung up the phone.

"You aren't seriously considering leaving now, are you?" Genny asked.

"Let's discuss it later," Malcolm said.

"We're in the middle of a cross country move, trying to buy a house!"

"There's an emergency with the prototype."

"But I thought the tests went well. You said your team was going to change the way we live, change reality itself?"

"It looks like the results were faked."

Genny reached out to Malcolm, but stopped short of touching him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know how hard you worked."

Monteque handed Prentice a margarita and he took one great swallow. The taste was all citrus and mind-eraser, sour as the Mercers' mood. He was about to take another drink when he felt someone tug on the hem of his shirt. Linnae had to crane her neck to look up at him, so Prentice knelt. Her little face was serious, her eyes unblinking and grave.

"Hello," Prentice said.

"What's a dryad?" she asked.

Prentice looked over the top of Linnae's head at Genny, but she was staring into her drink. "A dryad," Prentice said, "is a woman who turns into a tree." Linnae continued to scrutinize him with her solemn expression and Prentice checked the time on his watch.

"Oooh, that's pretty!" Linnae said. She smiled then, and suddenly seemed just like a regular little girl. Prentice turned his arm this way and that, letting the light glint on the sapphire face.

"Laney, stop bothering the gentleman," Malcolm said.

Malcolm stood next to Monteque at the drink cart, both looking very tall to Prentice. Linnae scurried over to her mother, giving Prentice a half wave as she went. Prentice stood up then, sloshing his drink over his hand and feeling very inadequate until he realized he was several inches taller than Malcolm.

"Work woes?" Prentice asked.

Before Malcolm could answer, Olivia stepped between them. She carried the carved box that had been on the lobby desk. On top of the box was a little doll made out of a sock. "I have something for you, Laney," she said.

"You know better than to take gifts from strangers," Genny said, and took hold of Linnae's arm.

"Think of me as Auntie Liv, not a stranger."

"What are you trying to give my daughter?"

"Just a doll."

Monteque poured a double shot of scotch into a square glass. Monteque picked up the glass and turned towards Malcolm. It was then that Linnae spoke.

"The trees say not to worry," she said.

The glass fell out of Monteque's hand, crashing into shards on the drink cart. Linnae pulled away from her mother and ran towards Olivia. She stopped when she was several steps shy of the woman and put out her hand to receive the doll. Olivia bowed, the engraved box held out in front of her like an offering tray. Linnae snatched the doll from the box, then ran back to her mother.

Monteque started to pick up the bigger pieces of glass, but for every two he picked up, another clattered back onto the cart. When his hand started to bleed, he stopped. Because everyone was looking at him, he said, "Next time I'll pour the drinks for everyone else before I have one myself."

"I didn't even see you drinking anything," Prentice said.

"He's always been a klutz," Olivia said. "I have to go take care of some things in my greenhouse. I'd like it if you'd all come along."

"I could use some fresh air," Prentice said.

"Are you going outside?" Linnae asked.

"I am. Would you like to go?"

Linnae turned to her mother and said, "Please?"

"I'll take good care of her," Olivia said.

"I don't think so," Genny said.

"Please, pleaseplease," Linnae whined.

"Fine, but I'm coming with you," Genny said, and took Linnae's hand.

Olivia led them to the French doors on the other side of the sitting area. Genny and Prentice followed, the girl walking between them. When Olivia opened the heavy wooden door to the backyard, heat pressed itself upon them with a dry solidity.

## 17 SYTRA

Olivia led the group across the courtyard to an archway, where she stopped and turned to face Genny. "Did you put an offer on the Lowell place?"

"How did you know we saw that?"

"I run a hotel in a small town; I hear everything."

"Then I guess you heard why the Lowells left?"

"The isolation drove them out," Olivia said. "The wife wasn't expecting the forest to have a voice, and I don't think either of them was expecting her to get pregnant. The baby, a girl, was stillborn."

Uneasy and already missing the air conditioner, Prentice took another sip of his drink. He swirled what was left in the glass and followed the women under the arch and into a courtyard that was barely big enough for all of them. The wall opposite the entrance was hung with the skulls of deer and cattle. Some hung at angles or even upside down, while others were hung so close together it was hard to tell where one skull began and another ended. Impenetrable darkness filled dozens of empty sockets.

"It's a tree," Genny said, her voice sounding flat.

Prentice took another swallow of his drink. He looked at the wall, ignoring the individual skulls to concentrate on the shape they made. "Creepy much?" he asked.

"Our little _momento mori_ ," Olivia said.

"Are those heads?" Linnae asked.

"Skulls," Olivia said.

"They're horny."

"I can relate to that," Prentice said, and then winced when Genny asked, "No girlfriend?"

"No, no girlfriend," he said. "I have a fiancée."

"Will you guys live here?" Genny asked.

"No, just vacationing. We have an apartment in Austin."

"Hold this, Mommy," Linnae said. She thrust the little doll Olivia gave her into her mother's hand, and then ran across the courtyard, weaving around the derelict tables that sat crookedly before their unused chairs.

"There's something else I'd like to show you," Olivia said. She propped the carved box on her hip and turned to watch the girl as she ran. "It's something special I'm cultivating."

Prentice nudged Genny and whispered, "Tannis root?"

"That's not funny," Genny snapped.

"Oh, come on; it's a little funny."

Olivia cleared her throat. When Prentice and Genny looked at her, she said, "The name of the plant is sytra. It is quite rare."

"What is it used for?" Prentice asked.

"It has medicinal and ceremonial uses."

"Ceremonial?" Genny asked.

"Ritual, yes."

Olivia led them to a windowless shed at the back of the courtyard. "Sytra is photosensitive. To keep from burning the plants, we need to enter quickly and close the door as soon as we're in."

"How will we see?" Prentice asked.

"I'll turn on the lights; they're red to protect the sytra."

"Linnae," Genny called, "come over here and hold Mommy's hand. Don't touch anything."

The door swung open. A smell tore out of the darkness, a mescaline fetor that brought to mind the vomited pills of a basement suicide. Prentice followed close behind Genny and Linnae, a gargoyle's protectiveness in his stance. He turned from the Mercers only long enough to shut the door; by the time it was shut, bulbs strung along the apex of the ceiling filled the space with the ruby and viscous light of a placenta. Metal shelves held terracotta pots of spiny plants shaped like hands contorted by convulsions. The lewd, peppery scent forced itself into nose, mouth, lungs. Genny and Linnae passed down the main aisle, keeping to the center to avoid the sytra reaching for them in the womb-light.

"Are you okay?" Genny whispered.

"The smell..." Prentice began, but trailed off when he saw that Genny was speaking to Linnae. The girl stared up at the hands. She showed no recognition of her mother's voice, nor any acknowledgment of her mother's touch.

"I think maybe we should go back outside," Genny said.

"At least see a bloom before you go," Olivia said.

Genny backed up, pulling Linnae along with her. She bumped into Prentice, who hadn't moved from his spot near the door. He said, "Say the word and I'll throw this door open so wide these weird seedlings will think they've finally died and gone to hell."

"Here's one," Olivia called.

"Well?" Prentice asked, already reaching behind him for the door latch.

They had no chance to leave. Linnae pulled free of her mother's grasp and ran towards Olivia. Genny followed her into the vermillion lunacy and Prentice let his hand fall back to his side.

Mother and daughter moved down the wide center aisle, the dirt beneath them heaving up a musty scent that mingled with the sytra. When they reached Olivia, she gestured towards a sytra plant that looked like a thirteen-fingered hand. An improbable lotus grew from the palm, deep blue and shaded to an ultraviolet blaze of purple by the red lighting.

"Gorgeous, isn't she?" Olivia asked.

Prentice caught up with the group and, leaning closer to Genny than was strictly necessary to see the bloom, said, "I thought nothing _good_ grew in the dark."

"Nothing good does," Genny replied.

"Sytra blooms sell for thousands. This is the only crop north of Panama and people will do anything for a cut of the profit."

"Like what, for instance?" Prentice asked.

Olivia laughed. The mirthless sound rebounded from the corrugated walls of the shed. Genny looked at Prentice, her eyes wide with something not far from panic.

Prentice took Genny's arm in his hand and gently turned her away from Olivia. Together they led Linnae back to the door. Olivia's laugh quelled itself in a smile, but there was nothing kindly to it.

"Thanks for showing us the herb," Prentice said. "It was _interesting_."

When they were outside, Prentice and Genny heaved the door shut as a pair. They leaned against it, sucking in deep breaths of air less befouled by sytra. A small, hot breeze blew; it felt chilly in comparison to the blistering heat of the closed shed.

Malcolm stood at the French doors of The Gauss's lobby. He waved to his family, and Linnae scampered over to him. Once the girl was inside, Genny shuddered so hard Prentice felt a vibration in the metal door behind his back.

"I should go make sure Laney's all right," Genny said.

"Someone should make sure I'm all right, too. Can you believe I said it was interesting?"

Genny responded with a strained giggle, and Prentice raised one hand skyward in mock exasperation. "Interesting is a two-headed calf. The Gaussian _momento mori_ is interesting. That, in the shed? That was way fucking beyond interesting."

Laughter wrenched itself from Genny. The sound sent a flush of pleasure through Prentice that was even better than owning a Corvette. He didn't know where his margarita glass was, but that blunder couldn't ruin the fact that he, Prentice Feyerbach, had made sad Genny laugh.

## 18 OVERHEARD

The moment over, Genny stepped away from Prentice. Her skirt was loose, and her elbows were a size too big for her arms. Without looking back at him, she went inside.

Prentice hurried after her.

From his place on a fusty couch, Malcolm said, "Laney tells me you all had an adventure." Monteque sat opposite of Malcolm. Both of them were drinking scotch.

"Olivia showed us her greenhouse," Genny said. "It was interesting." She tried to catch his eye, but Prentice was staring at Malcolm.

"Should I have worn slacks?" Prentice blurted at the men; both were wearing long pants.

"Excuse me?" Malcolm replied.

Prentice caught himself fiddling with the hem of his shirt. His hands were twitching, hairy, worse than simian. Malcolm stood up and put his arm around Genny's waist and, although she was looking at Prentice, the curve of her hip was under Malcolm's calm hand.

"I'm going to go check out the dining room," Prentice said.

"Just down the hall," Monteque said, "on your right just past the stairs."

Prentice left the lobby and wended the first floor of the hotel. He located the dining room, and then kept walking. 'I'm here,' he thought, but there was no glitter to it, no shine. The things he saw were a meaningless clutter of doors and objects. When he reached the end of the building, he simply turned and headed back the other direction. As he neared the kitchen, he heard raised voices.

The kitchen was a spur off the main corridor. It was closed off by two swinging doors with porthole windows. Prentice crouched as he entered the hall and crept up to the doors.

"What the hell are you thinking, showing them the sytra?" Monteque said.

"Guests get curious about the shed," Olivia said.

"Had anyone even mentioned it? Had anyone shown the slightest interest in the shed? Or even the patio?"

"Think of me as a magician showing there's nothing up my sleeve."

"Do you realize what will happen if they figure it out?"

"No one can figure out what they can't anticipate."

Prentice stood up slowly and peered into the left window. Monteque stood with his arms crossed and his mouth held in an ugly snarl. Olivia was somewhere out of sight.

"If they even get a whiff of what you really want, they'll be gone."

"You'll be to blame if they leave. This whole mess is your fault. If only you'd been man enough to give me the next La Zalia..."

"We shouldn't have involved outsiders."

"Just stir the beans, Monte; they've formed a skin."

"Stir the beans? The _beans_? You offer Huxley a cut of the sytra profit to bring you a mother-daughter pair, and you want me to stir the beans? "

" _Calmate, calmate_. We have a dinner to put on. Guests to beguile."

"No doctor ever verified that our childlessness is my fault. Have you ever considered you might be the problem, that La Zalia, Mother Nature herself, never meant you to conceive? That aside, what about Feyerbach?" Monteque asked.

"He is nothing, nothing at all."

Prentice backed away from the kitchen doors on feet like clumsy blocks. He stumbled into the dining room and slumped down on a chair. The Mercers, already in the room, gave him strange looks. Before Prentice could speak, Olivia arrived. She carried two platters of food, and Monteque followed with three bottles of Texas wine. Prentice nodded when Monteque asked if he wanted some wine. He picked up the full glass; his hand shook and the agitated wine rose up along the inside of the vessel.

Linnae tugged at his sleeve and Prentice fought the riptide of his unease to nod a greeting. 'I'm not a nobody,' he thought. 'I can't be, because now I know something.'

## 19 SLAUGHTER

Helena sat on the kitchen counter, her salmon colored sundress hiked up a little to let her legs swing. Lael paced the hall with heavy, thudding steps and chewed his gum loudly. Helena kept her head lowered and watched his work boots pass the doorway through the fall of her hair.

"The dragons, they _are_ snapping," she whispered.

"Your father is worried," Maura said. She cracked a handful of spaghetti in half then tossed the noodles in the boiling water. "We're both worried."

When Lael had caught Helena dancing home from the parking lot, he took her wrist in his leather gloved hand. As they walked, she felt the work glove drawing soul-stuff from her until it grew supple and warm with life. It was a problem, this incidental leaking of herself out of herself.

Lael stomped past again and Maura, Helena's grandmother, stirred the pasta sauce. The sound of Lael's steps reverberated down the long hall as he paced towards the front door. Her chin still tucked to her chest to avoid eye contact, Helena said, "There was a Fiery-Brook, Nana."

"I'm sure there was," she said.

"It thrashed and it flailed; it rocked itself in such sleek, sleek blue!"

Lael left his work boots by the front door and entered the kitchen unheard. The floor fan turned its whirligig head to look at him and, having looked, turned back the other way. The sauce began to burble, spitting blobs of red onto the burner that sizzled and crisped. The spaghetti water boiled. Lael placed his work glove on the counter near Helena.

"This has to stop," he said.

The glove twitched, its empty fingers stretching and bending. The pinky lifted itself up and flexed experimentally before bending backwards over the body of the glove. One after another, each finger bent itself until the entire glove flipped over, the four fingers pointing at Helena and the thumb pushing against the countertop to propel the glove towards her. She lifted her head then, and her crushed face was pale.

" _Omital talia es lazalia_ ," Maura cried.

"My Self!" Helena said. She covered her one eye with both hands. The glove inched closer, rasping as it moved across the pink linoleum of the counter.

"I said make it stop!"

"I leak: it lives."

"End this!" Lael said, his voice raised against Maura's feverish chant.

The spaghetti boiled over, but only the fan turned to look. Everyone else stared at the glove's torturous crossing. Helena slid off the counter, graceful despite her trembling and her tears. She picked up the glove and it nestled in the crook of her arm. The leather began to fuzz over with the short, brown hairs of a cow's hide. Helena sang, her song devoid of words, but full of a mother's love. Her entire body a cradle, Helena swayed at the hips to rock the sightless thing she had brought to be. The abomination nestled against her, the small needy thing pressing itself to her for protection even as she pulled the kitchen shears from the knife block. Helena's tears splashed darkly on newborn fur.

The cutting was difficult. After what seemed a very long time, Helena set what was left on the counter. Her thin body convulsed with sobs as she slumped to the floor. Maura stopped chanting, but the boiling water continued its protracted hiss. Lael's glove, shredded and bloody, lay forever stilled.

"This can't happen again," Lael said. His voice was very quiet. He crouched before his weeping daughter, but found he could do nothing except stare down at his own hands.

Maura swept the bits of flesh into the garbage can. She sprayed the counter with a lemon scented cleaner, but the stench of slaughter was more tenacious than citrus. Her body cut through the bloody air like scissors through tender flesh, carrying her back to the stove and the mess of starchy water and burnt sauce.

"Her condition," Lael said. "It's getting worse. Is La Zalia's power fading?"

"It's only been twenty-five years since the last La Zalia, and she passed on to her deciduous eternity at ninety-three. Without any weakening of power. Without..." Maura gestured at the empty counter. Lael stood up then, his knees popping even louder than his gum.

"You were there when it happened, Nana, when the last La Zalia turned dryad," Helena said. Words slurred and pronounced through thickened spit, she sounded like she was waking from a heat-induced afternoon nap. "Mommy was taken away. Do you remember she screamed when they ate her? Do you remember how, later, she got quiet—very, very quiet?"

"I remember," Maura said.

Lael pressed his hands to his temples and said, "Stop."

"After all of these years that Helena has been honored by La Zalia, you still won't accept Caroline's sacrifice as necessary."

"She was my wife."

"She became more than that," Maura said.

Helena stood up. Her flaxen hair billowed around her like the white blooms of a peach tree tossed by a gale. Her face was tear-streaked, but otherwise untouched by her recent grief. Instead, she was radiant with joy. A girlish giggle fluttered from her and Lael looked at Maura, alarm overtaking his anger.

"They must cross," Helena said. "To take the mother, they must cross the Fiery-Brook! The current will carry me, float me free, wash me out of myself!"

"What is this Fiery-Brook?" Maura demanded.

"A jittery drop of water on a frying pan."

Maura looked at Lael, and he shrugged. "Another nine peach trees have the blight," he said.

"My poor grandmothers," Helena said.

"The trees are dying. Entire branches are turning to ash and the bees won't go near the infected blooms. They're panicky, prone to stinging, and the workers are quitting, one or two a day. _Se dicen,_ _las abejas_ , but it's not the bees. It's not the fire ants, either, nor the stench of the blight."

"La Zalia must go to the orchard," Helena said. "All the fuzzy little peaches cried to me. I heard them. But I was pulled under and under, down into the electric blue."

"The Fiery-Brook," Maura said.

"Yes," Helena replied.

"What is it?" Lael asked.

"A new future."

"I don't understand," Lael said.

"There probably isn't anything to understand; this is another of her stories, like the time she told us the tomatoes were telling jokes," Maura said.

"This isn't anything like that. Not when you consider the glove. She needs a doctor."

"Maybe she does," Maura replied. "But we're not taking her to one."

"My only daughter is sick!"

"Your only daughter has no birth certificate, no Social Security Number. She makes plants grow by thinking about it. She controls the weather patterns in this part of the world. A goddess frequents her body. There isn't a doctor in the world we can take her to, not now and not ever."

"Something is wrong with the trees, wrong with _her_."

"They'll put her away like a common schizophrenic."

"She's needs help, Maura, and you know it."

"We didn't take her to the hospital when it could have saved her eye for all of the same reasons we won't take her now."

"There's a lot more at risk than an eye," Lael said.

"La Zalia is at risk."

"It's not La Zalia I care about!"

"Stop," Helena said. "Stop, stop, stop!"

Her entire body was racked with a violent trembling. A stench of dying green fecundity filled the room. Gathering his daughter into his arms, Lael trembled, too; she reeked of death.

"Come on now," Maura said. "Let's get you to your room."

Lael released Helena. She was shaking still, but steady enough on her feet to follow Maura to the winding metal staircase. Helena took careful steps, her hand trailing along the cold banister.

When she was twelve, Helena discovered M.C. Escher. She drew spiral staircases that turned into vines and, when she was nineteen, one of her pieces won an award in a national competition. Helena did not receive the accolades. Instead, a college major at a small arts school in Vermont was named the winner. It was all confusion when he said he wasn't the artist and had never even so much as seen the work. A call was made for the real creator to come forward, and when no one did, the prize was awarded to the runner up. The piece itself was left in the care of the college and _Stairs and Vines Number 22_ was added to the permanent collection of their museum.

Helena was at the top of the staircase when she said, "If I were not La Zalia, I would go to Vermont."

"You are La Zalia," Maura said.

"But isn't Vermont a pretty thought?"

"Your place is here."

"Never anything but Breaker for me. Is that it and is that everything?"

"For you, yes, but you still have more than most: you have a _purpose_."

Maura led Helena to the doorway of the girl's room. The door was closed, and Helena frowned; she disliked this door, disliked it very much. Ancient as it was heavy, it was impervious to her powers.

Keening a bit, Helena stepped into her room. The ceiling was painted a shade of cerulean that mocked the real sky, and the walls were decorated with great swaths of varicolored cloth that fluttered like butterflies badly pinned and still alive. The ceiling sloped down from its apex at the entrance, lowering to just over five feet at the far wall lined with bookshelves that overflowed with novels. Helena had everything written by Iris Murdoch, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Margaret Atwood; she had dozens of dog-eared and underlined collections of poetry, including those by Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Robert Lowell; she kept Capote's _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ next to Murakami's _Sputnik Sweetheart_ , and read them often, imagining as she did that _she_ was someone's Holly, someone's Sumire. Where the ceiling was high enough to admit a floor lamp, one stood next to a crushed velvet armchair surrounded by spent magazines flung aside for failing to perpetuate their illusion of other places. A single oversized and ornately framed mirror hung low enough for Helena to practice her ballet, but not have to see her face. The floor was covered with overlapping, threadbare rugs.

"Is your chamber pot empty?" Maura asked.

"Will the door deny me?"

"You have been caught twice wandering the town. I have to lock you in."

"Don't, please!"

"Good night," Maura said, then stepped back into the hall.

The door swung closed and from behind it came the sound of the lock being thrown. Helena was alone, isolated. She sank to the floor and lay in a Yogi's corpse pose. Uneven layers of carpet dug into the back of her legs but she remained patient and unmoving.

## 20 CANKER

A perfect circle of green appeared in the vast dark of Helena's consciousness. Brilliant as jade but more luminous, the circle expanded. It grew as all concentric things grow: by radius and diameter. It grew until it encompassed Helena within its verdant and unbounded light. La Zalia came from the vanishing point, a tall woman wearing a skirt of grasses and leaves, her red hair falling in scintillating waves that covered and uncovered her breasts as she strode across forever.

La Zalia's feet were bare and bleeding. As she walked, she left crimson tracks behind her. Helena tried to shout that it was too much blood, far too much blood, but in this place of moss and malachite, she had no mouth with which to speak. The Goddess pulled her spill of hair back over her shoulders. The smooth flesh of her stomach was tinct with the emerald of their meeting place, but her belly button was a well opening into an annihilation of nothing, nowhere, no one.

A seedling grew from La Zalia's navel. It opened into a flower of such radiance there admitted no discernable details beyond an overwhelming brightness and perfection. A dark spot appeared at the edge of the blossom. Screw worm, canker, borrowing destroyer! It cut a dark path through the light as it moved towards the effulgent center. Fetid blight spreading across her, La Zalia writhed. Her bloodied footprints began to disappear, fading first at the horizon.

Whatever sphere had opened for Helena was closing as the darkness moved through the blossom. She felt herself to have a body, to have hands to reach and help, to have a mouth to shout, to have one eye left for crying. La Zalia reached into the dying light and pulled a mutilated hand from it. The green-lit circle contracted until only La Zalia's face was visible. Her teeth were filed to points, and her red, red tongue lapped human blood from where it welled up from the torn skin of the palm.

Helena opened her eyes and looked up at the false sky of her ceiling. She gagged with revulsion. The message had been clear: only a sacrifice could halt the dark canker.

## 21 UNSAID

After dinner, Malcolm went up the stairs first. His family and Prentice followed. All of them walked in the same half-light of the wall sconces, but only Linnae put both of her feet on each stair. It was a child's way of climbing, and Prentice had to walk very slowly to not overtake her. When they got to the landing, Prentice reached over Linnae's head to tap Genny on the shoulder. She turned to him. Exhaustion stamped black rings under her eyes.

"I have something to tell you," he said.

"It'll have to wait; I'm dead on my feet."

"It's important."

"Tomorrow," she said.

"First thing tomorrow?"

"We'll be out with Roth..." Genny started.

"Who?" Prentice asked.

"Roth Huxley, our real estate agent."

"He knows Olivia. He's in the sytra business with her. That's part of what I need to tell you."

Genny shrugged and gave Prentice a half smile. "Sleep well," she said. "Come on, Laney."

Together, the mother and her daughter stepped away down the cavernous hall. Prentice reached out to them, but his hand clasped on nothing. They were in their room before he realized he'd never wished them a good night.

## 22 VINES

Malcolm had just kicked off his shoes when Genny said, "We forgot the Play'n'Sleep."

"Do you want me to get it from the car?"

"She can sleep with us tonight," Genny said. "What do you think about sleeping in the big bed, Laney? Won't that be fun?"

Malcolm sighed, shook his head.

"Don't be like that," Genny said.

"I'm going to go brush my teeth," he said. He grabbed the travel bag of toiletries from where it sat on the table. "If you're asleep when I get back, I'll see you in the morning."

Malcolm left and the door closed behind him with a decisive click. Linnae looked up at her mother. From the crook of her elbow dangled the doll Olivia gave her.

"Let Mommy see your new doll," Genny said.

Linnae removed it from its perch and held it out to her mother. It had two green eyes and a yellow crown perched on the mass of black yarn doubling as hair. Genny squeezed the doll in her fist; the peppery scent of sytra rose in virulent puffs from the sock doll's stuffing.

"Mommy, you're hurting her!" Linnae said.

"We can't keep this doll," Genny said.

"But I want to!"

"You have lots of other dolls, better ones."

Linnae pouted and rubbed her eyes with both fists. Genny went over to the toy bag and pulled out a stuffed dog. It was white, brown and well loved.

"Here, snuggle Rontu."

Genny moved Linnae's fists away from her eyes, and gasped to see her daughter looking so tired.

"Let's get you all ready for bed," Genny said.

She handed the dog to Linnae and, while the girl was distracted, stuffed the sock doll deep into the toy bag. When Linnae was dressed in her pajamas, Genny tucked her into the center of the bed. Linnae fell asleep, Rontu still wrapped in her arms.

Genny got herself ready for bed, then sat in the armchair sipping a glass of brandy, her robe tied around her and the ends of the belt dangling absurdly long because she had lost so much weight. When she finished her drink, Malcolm hadn't returned and she got in bed next to Linnae, dumping her robe on the floor in a terrycloth bunch. Genny closed her eyes and let the warmth of the brandy lull her with the illusion of sleep that, this time, turned out to be real.

When she woke it was into darkness, one arm stretched across Linnae, the other resting on Malcolm's side. She listened to Linnae breathing; Malcolm snoring; something scraping against the wall their room shared with the bathroom.

Genny threw the threadbare sheet off of her and swung her feet to the floor. Her ankle was ensnared and Genny bit back a squeal of terror. 'Just my robe,' she thought, and leaned over to untangle herself.

"Malcolm?" Genny whispered.

He rolled over, but did not wake.

Genny struggled with the incomprehensible shape of her robe in the complete dark. She managed to put it on, but couldn't find the belt. As she held it around herself with trembling arms, the scraping sound was replaced with a coordinated ticking.

"I left the window open in there," Genny said. Neither her husband nor daughter stirred. "I think I'll go in and chase out whatever animal got trapped; it's probably scared."

With as much noise as possible, she unlocked their door. The bolt made a shocking clatter. Glancing back toward Malcolm, though, she found him still asleep. She stepped out into the hall. Dusty sconces cast dim, brown light

The scratching became more like battering or clawing noises. Something bigger than a mistaken bat or foolishly enterprising raccoon was in the bathroom. Before fear could elongate the hall into an unending series of dumbfounding, paralytic moments, Genny ran to the bathroom and flung open the door.

The Moonlight Tower cast relentless illumination upon the sinuous, leafy thing coming in through the window. It lolled from side to side, blind as a parasite and just as stubborn; it lost its balance and thudded against the window frame. A length of it fell inside and lay, coiled, upon the tile floor while more of the stalk slithered over the sill. An evergreen stench roiled out of the bathroom. Genny gagged.

To her left, the scratching noise increased. A venous network of moss punctuated by a horror of thorns covered the wall. The barbs undulated together, digging at the drywall and making dust fall in powdery veils. The spikes gathered closer together in some areas, knitting into darker patterns beside lighter ones. A picture formed.

It was Genny, standing in her open robe.

A single orange flower opened in the center of one mossy eye to waggle furred pistols and sticky stamen. The vine near the window uncoiled from itself. It slithered along the floor, the leaves slapping at the tile. The vine bumped along the wall, slewed halfway up before gravity pulled it down, sliding it sideways like a snake slicking down the glass of an aquarium as it nosed towards the heartbeat of a mouse, of meat. As it struck the ground, the orange flower dropped a petal.

A second vine wormed over the window sill even as the first sped across the floor with precise, carnivorous intent. When it was within a foot of Genny, the vine reared up. It stunk like the peaches from the orchard and Genny grimaced as she backed slowly and silently towards the door. The flower widened its sightless eye, the thorns returned to gnawing at the wall, and the vine lunged. Genny ducked. She wrenched open the door to the linen bureau and hid behind it, both hands splayed against the door and her eyes closed in terror. The vine battered, rattled, thumped.

Then it all stopped: no thorn tick nor vine struggle. Afraid to leave the cover of the bureau, Genny looked over at the mirror. The vines faced one another, two adversarial predators weaving back and forth like cobras in a silence broken only by Malcolm's snoring as it drifted up the hall.

Genny dove towards the bathroom door, throwing herself in the direction of her family and safety. Behind her, the vines lunged. They met in a confusion of shredding leaves even as Genny tripped over a tangle of damp towels and fell. She crawled to the door a frightened animal but, once across the threshold, she stood and faced the bathroom, her fists raised in human defiance.

Oblivious to her, the boneless violence of the battle continued. Genny slammed the bathroom door. She backed away, her hands covering her mouth to trap an upswell of hysteria.

Creeping back into her room, she felt her way to the bed and clambered in. Her entire body shook with exhaustion. It took a long time, but finally the only noise was Malcolm's snoring.

## 23 PADLOCK

Genny woke to the smell of coffee and the sensation of small hands fluttering against her face. She sat up so fast she tumbled Linnae off balance, but the girl did not mind; falling sideways on the mattress, she giggled. The clock said seven thirty.

"Morning," Malcolm said. He was already clothed and standing next to the dresser, dropping sugar cubes into a mug of coffee. A quick stir with a spoon, a sip, then he carried his coffee over to the window and, with one hand, began to peel back the drapery.

"No!" Genny said, and scrabbled along the length of the bed towards him.

"I'm going to let in some sunlight."

"Don't open it!"

"Headache?" Malcolm asked.

He grabbed the cord and began to haul up the heavy wooden blinds. They clattered and snapped. Genny shot off of the bed, daylight lapping at her feet and rising along her legs in a steadily widening bar.

"There's something out there," she said.

"A beautiful day."

"Mal, stop!" Sunlight swelled around her thighs, riptide and flood. "Stop before you let it in!"

Malcolm stopped lifting the shade and turned to face Genny. "Let what in?"

"Just—I can't explain! I saw it in the bathroom. It's probably still there, or at least some parts of it must be."

"Did you see a monster?" Linnae asked.

"No, baby," Malcolm said. "Mommy had a nightmare."

"Not a nightmare: I saw it!"

Genny ran to prevent Malcolm from pulling the shade up any farther; her haste was ungainly, and she knocked into him. Coffee sloshed up the side of his mug, splashed onto the floor. He let go of the shade's drawstring to gather Genny against him, spilling more coffee.

"I'm not losing it," Genny said.

"It's been a long haul," he said.

"They came through the window," she whispered.

"We're on the second story."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"I don't even know what you're saying."

Genny leaned away from Malcolm. His eyelid was twitching and, despite all of his snoring, he looked exhausted. With a shaky breath, Genny wrenched the blinds all the way open.

The room was submerged by brash sunlight cast by an indifferent sun. Genny craned her neck to see in the direction of the bathroom. No vines grew along the side of the building. No vines, no moss—the grounds were completely barren. Genny slumped against the wall, her hand pressed over her eyes.

"You're dressed, shaved. You've been to the bathroom this morning. Haven't you?"

"Yes," Malcolm said.

"Was there anything strange?"

"There's a padlock on the window."

"What did you say?"

"The window's locked closed and there are shutters over it from the outside."

"It wasn't like that last night."

"Nothing came in that window."

"Someone closed it, someone must have!"

"Genny, are you all right?"

Genny lurched away from the window, intending to fall upon Malcolm and beg to leave The Gauss, leave Breaker, leave Texas. His too watchful expression hardened Genny against her tears and she continued across the room alone. She listened at the door, one ear and both hands pressed to it.

"Will you dress her?" Genny asked.

"Where are you going?"

Genny left without answering. She walked to the bathroom, trailing her fingers along the brittle wallpaper. Outside the door she paused: no ticking, no scratching. No stench. She threw open the door and stuck her hand inside, searching for the light switch and whining a little at the thought of what might grab her. There was a tiny click as the switch toggled on. The overhead light flared, casting a yellow and imperfectly spread illumination that left darkness to linger in the corners and beget the seeds of night. The window was shuttered from the inside and bolted with a padlock. Genny scanned the rest of the room and stopped when she saw the freestanding linen closet.

"You sneaky bastards, I see what you've done!" she said.

The linen bureau had been moved farther down the wall; now it was much closer to the tub. A wooden hamper occupied the bureau's former space. Genny opened the hamper. It hinged along the bottom and tilted back to reveal a plastic bin stuffed with used towels. She let it fall closed with a thud then wrenched the hamper away from the wall. There was no dust behind it, no marks on the wall.

When Genny went back to her room, Malcolm was trying to put Linnae's hair in ponytails. It was a daily battle to brush the squirming three-year-old's hair, and normally Malcolm left Genny to handle it. Seeing him trying to help, Genny dredged up a bit of gratitude.

"Thanks," she said. "And you were right. It must've been a dream. I guess all the travel and getting used to a new bed every night must be getting to me."

"Then you feel all right?" Malcolm asked.

Genny nodded and then said, "How are you?"

"My inadequacy as a hairdresser aside, I'm okay."

"Really? I thought you'd be upset about work."

Malcolm gave up on the ponytails and let Linnae climb down from the bed. She ran over to Genny and wrapped her arms around her mother's legs, but Genny continued to look at Malcolm. He sat down in the spot vacated by Linnae.

"I'm going to have to go deal with it," he said.

"I know," Genny replied.

"It doesn't feel right leaving you alone."

"I'm fine," Genny said. She straightened her shoulders and tried on a smile. "I'm sure all I need is a shower and some coffee."

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Genny tilted her head and let her hair obscure her face. She bit her lip against the panicked rush of questions and fears; she ate her own false smile.

## 24 BREAKFAST

When Genny came back to the room after her shower, Linnae was wearing her favorite pair of sneakers, the ones that lit up when she walked. "Mommy," she said, and ran across the room. Genny leaned over, scooped the wriggling girl into a tight hug.

"I love you, Laney-loo. You know that? Always and forever."

"Okay," Linnae said.

"Was the shower revitalizing?" Malcolm asked. He was seated in the chair, the thin daily newspaper from Botetourt opened on the table to a story about invasive Virginia creeper. When Genny nodded, he went back to reading.

Genny found a clean black tee and settled on a pair of turquoise shorts that stress had made too sizes too large. The rest of her wardrobe was in the dirty clothes bag, stained with the sweat of driving cross country in a silent car. She had to dig down into the recesses of her suitcase to find a pair of underwear; it was a backup pair, but clean.

Genny dressed, dropping her robe to the ground after her underwear and shirt were on. Linnae ran back and forth between the door and the far wall, squealing with delight at the way her shoes flashed. As Genny twisted her hair into a sloppy chignon she said, "What time are we meeting Roth?"

"Are you talking to me?" Malcolm asked, lowering the folded paper a bit.

"Of course I'm talking to you."

"I'm hungry," Linnae said.

"I know," Genny said. "Mommy's trying to find out from Daddy where we're going to eat breakfast."

"Roth suggested we eat here."

"I'd rather not," Genny said.

"It's included in the price: bed _and_ breakfast."

"There was sytra in my salad last night."

Malcolm stood up, the newspaper crumpling in his grip. Genny looked up at him, stubbornness in her stance. Linnae ran circle eights around them, the sign of infinity blinked out by the red LEDs in her sneakers.

"You need to eat," Malcolm said.

"I will. Just not here. Everything tasted weird."

"The meal was a little heavy on cilantro."

"It was sytra!"

"It was _cilantro_ , but the suggestion of sytra was ..."

"Was what? Stronger than my sense of reality? Maybe I was imagining the sytra, but what about Olivia? She's creepy as hell."

"She's an old woman who wanted children and never had any."

"Olivia's not any older than you."

"Well, she's not creepy."

"At least admit the doll she gave Linnae is creepy."

"Where is my little doll?" Linnae asked.

She stood between her parents, swiveling to watch them speak in turn as if she were watching a volley of tennis. A tangled rat's nest of hair snarled from the back of her head. "Your hair is tangled," Genny said.

"Daddy already brushed it!" Linnae said, and tried to outrun her mother's quick reach.

"Gotcha!" Genny said. "Let's make you all pretty."

"Then can I have my little doll?"

"You can bring Rontu. And we'll have a nummy breakfast. Now sit down over here, good girl, and let me brush your hair."

"Roth is probably downstairs," Malcolm said.

"This won't take more than a couple of minutes," Genny replied. She held a section of Linnae's hair and set to detangling the knot. Linnae fussed, but soon she was sporting two neat pigtails with matching ribbons.

When the Mercers stepped out into the hall, Prentice opened his door immediately. He wore a pair of boxers, a sleeveless tee, and the messy hair of someone just out of bed. Linnae pointed at him and said, "Don't let my Mommy brush you."

"What?" Prentice asked.

"Morning," Genny said.

"Can we talk?"

"We're on our way to see our real estate agent."

"But it's important."

"I'm sure we'll see you later," Malcolm said.

Genny nodded agreement, and then led Linnae down the hall. When they got to the staircase, she looked back at Prentice. He raised one hand in a half salute.

"Speaking of creepy..." Malcolm whispered.

"He's nice," Genny said.

Sunlight flowed over the banister in parallel bars of multicolored light that came in through the stained glass behind the dresser at the bottom of the stairs. Homey sounds of cooking and a radio turned low drifted from the kitchen. The air smelled like brown sugar, pecans, bacon.

"Morning," Olivia called.

She was seated on a stool behind the lobby desk. Knitting dangled from needles flashing with movement in her hands. Linnae tilted her head with interest and shoved her stuffed animal at Genny for her to hold it.

"Good morning," Malcolm replied. "Has Roth Huxley arrived?"

"I'm over here," Roth said, calling from the sitting area.

"Breakfast and coffee are being set," Olivia said.

She put her knitting down. It was a pouch of some sort, bright green and emblazoned with a gold pattern of vines with small, stylized heads where leaves should have been. Olivia went around the corner of the desk and knelt before Linnae.

"Hello, Princess. Where is the little dolly Auntie Liv gave you? Don't you like it?"

"Mommy took it. She put it in the bag. That's Rontu," Linnae said, and pointed at her mother holding the stuffed dog.

"What a very nice doggy," Olivia said. "Still," she continued, looking up pointedly at Genny, "it would make me very happy if she could play with the doll I gave her."

Genny sidestepped the comment, saying, "I hope you didn't go to too much trouble over breakfast; we're going to the Manor."

"It'd be a shame for you to miss out on The Gauss's famous waffles," Roth said. "I was looking forward to them, myself. Loaded with Texas pecans. You really ought to try them."

"We've already made enough for everyone," Olivia said.

Malcolm looked at Genny, but she shook her head. "I'm afraid we're going to have to pass," he said.

"Come on, come on! At least just take a peek. If it doesn't look good, we can go to the café on me," Roth said.

"We can at least do that," Malcolm said.

Genny's mouth tightened, but she kept quiet. They filed into the dining room where the table was set for seven. A samovar of coffee and two salvers steamed from their place atop the buffet. Roth opened the one on the end, revealing stacks of golden brown waffles studded with pecans. Carafes of syrup in three different flavors stood at the end of the line. When Linnae saw them, she clapped her hands and said, "Mommy, I want!" Genny shook her head, but Malcolm picked up a plate from the table and went to the buffet.

"Did you know that the word salver comes from the Spanish word to describe the act of having someone test the food for poison?" Malcolm said, his voice overly genial.

"That's appropriate," Genny said.

"Sorry, but I didn't quite catch that," Roth said.

"Just some marital chatter," Malcolm replied. He picked up one of his waffles and tore a huge bite out of it. The remainder of the waffle fell back to the plate, the edges ragged as his patience. Malcolm chewed, swallowed. "It's good," he said.

Defeated, Genny took up a plate from the table. She put one waffle on it. The strawberry syrup looked best, but before she could pick it up, Olivia stayed her hand.

"The peach syrup is to die for, and it's local."

"I'll pass," Genny said.

"But it's goes so well with the nutmeg in the waffle."

"I'll try it," Malcolm said.

Genny shrugged Olivia's hand off of her then picked up the strawberry syrup. She drizzled some on the waffle. Then she took the top from the other salver and got a slice of bacon.

"Laney, pick a chair and sit."

"It won't move," she said, struggling with a wooden chair.

Olivia pulled the chair out for Linnae. When the girl was seated, Olivia tucked her up close to the table. "You want to try some peach syrup, don't you, Princess?"

"Here's your breakfast, Laney," Genny said, and set the plate she'd prepared in front of her daughter. It landed on the table with a thud, and Roth raised one eyebrow. "Strawberry syrup: your favorite."

"Auntie Liv and the trees want me to have peach."

"Call her Mrs. Hoyt."

"I like it that she calls me Auntie."

"Here," Roth said, and poured peach syrup onto Linnae's plate.

"I'd appreciate you not feeding my daughter," Genny said.

She shoved herself between the real estate agent and the hotel proprietress, scooping up a knife and a fork from Linnae's place setting. She went to work hacking the girl's breakfast into pieces, vehemence in the clatter of utensil against ceramic. When she finished, Genny picked up a mug from the stack near the samovar and poured herself a coffee. Then she took a seat at the table away from any of the place settings. The other adults went about serving themselves breakfast.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Roth asked when he sat down.

"I'm not hungry," Genny said.

"You really should have something," Malcolm said. "The waffles are sweet. _Nothing_ except sweet."

Genny took a swallow of her coffee and nearly gagged. It tasted like sytra and the horrid aftertaste lingered even after she swallowed. She shoved the mug away from her.

"When was that picture taken?" Genny asked.

She pointed at a color photograph of The Gauss hanging on the wall. The cars parked in the U-shaped drive were of an indeterminate age, although more recent than not, and there were flowering trees and shrubs growing in the front yard where the Moonlight Tower now stood. Two ornate concrete planters decorated the porch, overflowing with bright flowers.

"I'm not sure; years ago, at least," Olivia said.

"What happened?" Malcolm asked. "Drought?"

"Drought, extreme heat, cold winters," Roth said. A masticated brownish ball of waffle moved between his over-white teeth. When he saw Genny looking at him, he snapped his jaw closed.

"Breaker's gone from having a Gaussian Eden, to where the only thing that grows is sytra?" Genny asked.

"Climate change is real," Olivia said.

Genny lifted her mug to her lips. She set it back down on the table without taking a drink. "Do you need a hotten up?" Olivia asked, gesturing at Genny's mug.

"No. I don't care for this particular... blend."

Roth and Olivia looked at one another across the table. "What was that?" Genny asked.

"What was what?" Malcolm asked.

"Not you. Them. They looked at each other," Genny said.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" Olivia asked.

Genny flushed. Her mouth opened to say something rude, but she caught Malcolm's expression and took a deep breath instead. After a moment she said, "You're right. I don't feel well."

"I'd be happy to make you a calming tea,"

"No, thanks. I just need to go lie down."

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Malcolm asked.

"No, that's okay. We need to get the negotiations started with the Lowells. The sooner we're settled, the sooner you can take care of your work issues, right?"

"True, but you're more important than that."

She rose from the table and went over to Malcolm and kissed him on the top of his head. He took one of her hands in his, and they looked at one another. "It's just my tummy," she said. "Nothing serious. Now, Laney, you be good for your daddy."

"Okay," Linnae said.

Without another word, Genny left the room. She went back upstairs and paced. There was either something wrong with her or something wrong with Breaker. Chances were good the problem was her, so she swallowed a sleeping pill. She lay down with her arms crossed over her chest and waited for the dark absolution.

## 25 CAVEAT

Olivia cleared the table while Linnae played on the floor with Rontu. Roth and Malcolm remained seated. Hot coffee sent out ghostly exhalations from their mugs.

"I want to draw up an offer on the Lowell place."

"Without seeing it again?"

"We saw enough. Genny alluded to the extenuating circumstances that necessitate some haste. The sooner I can get my family settled, the better."

"I understand."

Olivia returned, wearing an apron and a pair of wet dishwashing gloves.

"Do you mind if we use the dining room?" Malcolm asked.

"Mr. Mercer would like to draw up an offer," Roth said.

Olivia grinned and brought her gloved hands together with a wet slap. "By all means, use the room! This is wonderful news! Do you want me to watch Laney? It would really be no problem."

"That would be a big help," Malcolm said.

Turning to Linnae, Olivia asked, "Do you want to bake some cookies?"

The girl looked at her father and when he nodded, Linnae said, "Yes, please."

Olivia took the half-empty tray of waffles out of the salver and blew out the candles that had been keeping the food warm. Then she smiled at Linnae and together they left the dining room. As the door swung shut, Malcolm saw one last flare of light from the LEDs in his daughter's shoes.

Roth pulled his briefcase out from under the table. Inside, he had a laptop and several manila folders. As the computer booted he pulled out one of the folders.

"The Lowells have a stipulation," Roth said.

"What is it?"

"You must read and sign a statement before a notary."

Malcolm laughed. "Is there a notary in Breaker? Or in the tri-county area?"

"You're looking at one."

"Good for me, then. Do you have the statement with you?"

Roth opened the folder and pulled out an envelope. There was no writing on the front, but along the seal someone had written _Caveat emptor_ in a shaking hand. He passed the envelope to Malcolm.

Malcolm sliced through the flap on the envelope with a butter knife. Inside was a single sheet of high-grade paper. When he unfolded it, creases that were neither equidistant nor straight marked where it had been bent. Malcolm tried to smooth it flat, but one end or the other kept popping back up. Roth fidgeted in his seat and Malcolm began to read.

"Potential Buyer. The house is as good as it seems. The walls are plumb, the floor well leveled, the windows sealed against the winter winds and screened against the summer sunlight. The house won't be your problem." Malcolm paused to scan ahead; confusion etched his face. Roth felt his pocket, patting the pack of cigarettes nervously. When Malcolm continued, his voice was lower.

"The house won't be your problem," he repeated. "At first, you will probably love it the way my wife and I did. We were outdoor enthusiasts: hiking, biking, camping. We spent weeks carving trails out of the woods, but the trails we found never seemed to be the ones we made. That was part of the problem. The rest of it, the real crux, are the woods themselves. I'd explain, but it would be a waste of time because you're either from Breaker or you're not. Someone in the first category already knows. Someone from the second: buyer beware."

"Is that it?" Roth asked. His cigarettes were in his hand now, the cellophane crinkling. Malcolm smoothed the paper again and nodded.

"Remember, Lowell's beside himself with grief," Roth said.

Malcolm took a deep breath. He crumpled the envelope into a ball; _Caveat emptor_ looked back at him, fragmented. "Pass me a pen," he said.

Malcolm signed and dated the page. Roth reached for the paper, but Malcolm laid both hands upon it. He leaned very close to Roth.

"You will not mention this letter to Genny."

"Not a word," Roth said.

"We'll offer an additional five thousand over asking," Malcolm said and passed the paper to Roth.

"Over?"

In his surprise Roth fumbled the paper. It fluttered to the floor and skittered on an errant breeze. The noise it made was like dead leaves scraping along a deserted road.

## 26 DRUGGED

The phone rang. The sound drove the sharp edges of fragmented thoughts into the calm center of Genny's sleep. Her peace fell away from her consciousness the way glass falls away from a broken pane in jagged, uneven sections.

Malcolm answered the phone and Genny's repose was skewered, snagged, pierced.

Hanging up, Malcolm said, "That was the front desk. There's a fax for us."

"Where's Laney?" Genny asked as she propped herself up on unsteady elbows.

"She's helping in the kitchen."

"What kitchen?"

"Shh, don't worry." Malcolm went to Genny and adjusted her blankets. "I'll be right back."

Sleep reclaimed Genny almost instantly. Her eyes flittering closed, Malcolm kissed her forehead. She rolled away from him, messing up the covers.

Across the hall, Prentice heard the Mercers' door open and stumbled to look through the key hole in his own ancient door. Malcolm was leaving the room. Prentice held his breath and leaned away from the door, certain that the other man would know he was being watched. Breath held, Prentice counted to ten, but there was no angry rapping, no shout to show himself. Only then did he crack his door just enough to peer down the hall. He half expected Malcolm to be standing just out of sight, ready to brand Prentice as a creep. But he was gone, and Prentice stepped into the hall.

Bare feet did nothing to stop the old floor from creaking and Prentice practically leapt the rest of the distance to Genny's door. He knocked. No answer. He tried again, this time calling, "Hey, it's Prentice." When he still heard no answer, Prentice tried the handle. The door opened onto the half-light and stuffy air of a mausoleum.

Genny was sprawled on the bed, her limbs contorted. Her hair was a mess spilling across her pillow, and her face was pale. Prentice stood at the threshold.

"Genny? Genny, wake up. I need to tell you something."

When she didn't move, Prentice took a step inside. As he did, he noticed the prescription bottle on the nightstand; Genny wouldn't be talking anytime soon. Prentice backed into the hallway and closed the Mercers' door behind him.

## 27 TWINS

Olivia handed Malcolm the fax. The sheets of paper were so thin he could see the print from the second one through the first. When he finally managed to separate the main form from the cover sheet, he read the whole thing before taking his next breath.

"Our offer on The Argentine has been accepted," he said.

"That's wonderful!" Olivia said. "Laney's such a special little girl, I'd be sad to see her ever leave Breaker."

"Thanks for watching her today."

"It was no problem. Genny looked like she could use a break. I'm sure now that she's had some rest, she'll be sweet enough to eat."

Malcolm paused in his reread of the acceptance to look at Olivia, but she had picked up her knitting and didn't look back. He set the fax on the lobby desk. Olivia's needles flashed, and Malcolm scanned the lobby, but they were alone.

"Where is Laney?"

"Still in the kitchen. The Cayalanzuvan twins are watching her."

"Pardon?"

"They're seasonal workers from Mexico. I think she's already learning the language and I'm certain her cookies are going to be all the rage at dinner."

"We're going to have to pass tonight," Malcolm said.

"I understand! You'll want to celebrate. Should I have dinner delivered to your room?"

"Don't trouble yourself. Laney could use some time outside, and I know a walk would do me good. We'll pick up something from the Manor."

"If you change your mind, let me know," Olivia said.

Malcolm gave a curt nod. "I'm going to get Laney. You should have told me you couldn't watch her yourself."

Without waiting for Olivia's reply, Malcolm left the lobby. Faint sounds of singing echoed down the hall from the kitchen; his daughter's high, clear voice floated above a man's lower tones. Malcolm hurried, as uncomfortable with the atonal harmony as he was the idea of his daughter alone with strangers. It wasn't until he reached the dining room that he could hear distinct words. _Arbol, abuelita, corazon:_ these he recognized, but their collective meaning was mired in a tangle of other words he couldn't translate. Malcolm swung open the door to the kitchen. The song stopped.

The twins stood on either side of the kitchen, and Laney was seated at the island counter in the center, stringing elbow macaroni on a thread. One twin chopped onions. The other twin was at the stove, stirring something that smelled of ancho and chocolate. They were small men, but broad shouldered. Their movements were taut with the lithe grace of powerful and protective creatures.

"Hi, Daddy," Laney said.

"I see you're making friends," he said, and then turned to face the man at the stove. "Thank you for watching her. I hope she hasn't been bothering you."

The man smiled at Malcolm. His teeth were filed to points. Malcolm beckoned to Linnae and the pointy-toothed man scooped her up and set her on the ground. Linnae giggled, then ran over to her father, shoes blinking their red light beneath her. When she got to Malcolm, she wrapped her arms around his legs. Several macaroni necklaces adorned her, but Malcolm didn't see them until she leaned back to look up at him.

" _Omital talia es La Zalia,_ " she said.

"She is smart," the twin chopping onions said. "She learns our language very quickly."

"Did I also recognize some Spanish?"

"Yes, but the Cayalanzuva are Mexican or Panamanian or Texan only in as much as the old lands have been divided into arbitrary nations. It is true there has been some borrowing of words. Yet we are still Cayalanzuvan in all the ways that matter."

Linnae tucked her hand into Malcolm's. He looked down at her small, earnest face. Her eyes were shockingly green, brighter since their arrival in Breaker.

"Where is Mommy?" Linnae asked.

"She just asked the same thing about you. We're going to take a walk before we go see Mommy. She's napping now."

"She's _still_ napping!"

"Mommy's sleepy."

"Don't worry, Daddy. The trees still want her."

With an involuntary spasm of unease, Malcolm snatched his hand away from Linnae. To cover it up, he lifted her up onto his shoulders for a piggyback ride. Linnae's confused hurt dissolved into giddy laughter.

" _Buenos noches_ ," Malcolm said to the twins. They nodded their reply, their dark eyes watchful as Malcolm carried Linnae out of the kitchen.

To make her giggle, Malcolm trotted down the hall. Olivia was still at the front desk, knitting some kind of purse with a bizarre pattern. She watched them over the top of her knitting, her hands moving with sure, independent motions.

"Do you know Cayalanzuvan?" Malcolm asked.

"Why?" Olivia asked.

"There's a phrase I keep hearing and I want to know what it means. Something like _omitalia es La Zalia_?"

" _Omital talia_ ," Olivia corrected.

" _Omital talia es La Zalia_ ," Malcolm repeated. "What does it mean?"

"La Zalia is a phrase that's been linked to Mayan. It doesn't translate directly, or at least not without seeming somewhat silly. The closest we have in English is _Mother Nature_. _Talia_ is _life_ , and _omital_ is the verb _to give_."

"Mother Nature gives life?" Malcolm asked.

Olivia's needles clinked together, the two sharpened tips darting in a choreographed dance. When she did not respond, Malcolm carried Linnae to the front door. They left without farewell.

The evening was hot and dry. An eighteen-wheeler roared down Main Street, thumping and clattering the shutters on the buildings. The sound of the truck shifting through gears could be heard coming from ever-greater distances, and then father and daughter were alone in the silence. A VW was parked in front of the grocer's, but there were no other vehicles on the street. Malcolm set Linnae down; her little body was radiating too much heat to keep holding her, no matter how much she loved the makeshift palanquin of his shoulders.

"Do you like it here?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Why not?"

"I miss Mommy."

"We'll go back to the room in just a little bit."

Linnae looked up at her father. Her gaze magnified the emptiness of the streets, the utter quiet of the treeless expanse. Malcolm began to sweat, but it wasn't just from the heat.

"What is it, Laney?"

"I want to go home."

"We're getting a new home."

"But the trees tell me stories that make me sad!"

"Baby, trees don't talk. And I promise that Mommy and I are going to make sure our new house is safe. Don't worry."

Linnae stared down at her shoes. Her hair gleamed with sun-bright radiance, and Malcolm reached to pat her on the head but stopped without touching her. The sunlight was so bright that the LEDs on her shoes could no longer be seen.

"Would you like an ice cream?" he asked.

"I want Mommy."

"Let's pick up dinner from the café, then go see her."

Linnae nodded and he took her hand as they crossed the street to the Manor Café. Inside, ceiling fans clicked in their orbits above Margot, who was half asleep in one chair of the otherwise empty dining room. Malcolm touched her arm and she felt his wedding band on her bare skin.

"We'd like to order," Malcolm said.

"Take a seat anywhere."

"Could we make it to go?"

Margot stood, stifling a yawn. She rubbed her lower back with both hands and leaned close to Malcolm. "Food at The Gauss not to your liking?"

"It's fine."

"Mommy doesn't like it," Linnae said, and Malcolm shot her a warning look. "Well she doesn't," Linnae insisted.

Margot laughed, then handed the menu to the unsmiling Malcolm. He flipped through the plastic pages, stopping occasionally when one stuck to the next.

"She uses a fuckload of sytra, doesn't she?" Margot asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malcolm said, his eyelid fluttering.

"Is your wife knocked up?"

"Certainly you can't be _expecting_ an answer," Malcolm said. He turned to the next page and jabbed his finger at an item. "We'll take Blue Plate Specials two and five, family style."

"Salad or applesauce?" Margot asked, smirking.

"Is there cilantro in the salad?" Malcolm asked.

"I serve, not cook."

"Then we'll have the applesauce."

"I'm hungry," Linnae said.

Malcolm turned the menu over to look at the children's plates. "Chicken nuggets or macaroni?" he asked, and Linnae nodded with excitement, choosing neither. "Chicken nuggets," Malcolm said.

"Anything else?"

"A bottle of bourbon."

"Haven't got a bottle, and it's not bourbon," Margot said, as she pulled a flask out of her apron pocket. She held it out to Malcolm. He eyed it, shook his head; she shrugged and took a gulp.

"We'll be over there," Malcolm said, indicating a booth near the front.

"You'll be there a long time."

"Why?"

"The kitchen's on break."

"The whole kitchen?"

"Actually, the evening shift hasn't arrived. You want to know the funny thing? They're over at The Gauss, preparing the meal ya'll won't be eating."

" _Los gemelos_?" Linnae asked.

" _Los_ fucking _gemelos_ ," Margot said.

"Language," Malcolm said. "She's only three. When do you think our food will be ready?"

"Hour, hour and a half."

Malcolm took a deep breath, and let it out in a long, slow exhale. Linnae reached for Margot's flask. Margot looked at the girl and said, "Sorry, sister, can't serve underage kids."

"What does _gemelos_ mean?" Linnae asked.

"Twins," Margot said.

"Am I a twin?"

"Nope; you're one of a kind," Malcolm said.

Linnae looked thoughtful. She stood on one leg, folding the other up behind her and holding it by the ankle with her hand. For a few seconds, she hopped in place, and then let her leg down.

"I'll ring you up," Margot said. "You really want to sit there the whole time? I can bring it over to The Gauss when it's done, if you like."

"That's not a problem?"

"Not as long as you're a good tipper."

"Fair enough," Malcolm said. "Come on, Laney. Let's go see Mommy."

## 28 TANGLE

Malcolm and Linnae walked back to The Gauss. The car that was parked in front of the grocery store was gone, the store itself tightly shuttered. No one else was out on the streets. When they were back in their own room, Malcolm turned on all of the lights. Genny groaned.

"Have I been asleep long?" she asked.

"It's after five," Malcolm said.

Linnae ran over to the bed and clambered up beside her mother. Leaving Linnae to pet her mother's hair, Malcolm poured himself a bourbon. The splashing liquid made a happy burbling that was out of place in the depressing room with its threadbare carpet and stained ceiling.

"Pour one for me," Genny said.

"You shouldn't mix alcohol and your medication."

"Dr. Mercer," Genny said, her inflection playful.

"I guess a sip won't hurt. Especially since a toast is in order," Malcolm said. "The Lowells accepted our offer."

"We got the house."

"All we need to do is sign the papers, and The Argentine is ours," Malcolm said, and passed Genny her glass. They clinked glasses in cheers, but Genny did not smile. After they both took a couple of sips, Malcolm said, "You don't seem happy."

"I'm sorry, Mal. I guess I'm just groggy."

"Mommy, I want to brush your hair," Linnae said.

Genny swung her legs so that her naked feet hung off the side of the bed. She pulled open the drawer on the nightstand and took out her round brush. She passed it to Linnae.

"We can move in immediately," Malcolm said.

"That's good," Genny said, but refused to look at him.

Linnae stuck the brush into the tangle of Genny's hair and pulled. The tearing noise of knots being ripped loose filled the room. Genny winced.

"You know I don't have to leave right away, if that's what's upsetting you."

"But you have to go. If you don't, it's like I'm sick— _crazy_ sick. I _need_ you to take care of your business so that we can build a new, untainted life."

The brush thudded against the back of Genny's head and Linnae dragged it halfway down the length of Genny's hair. Without making sure the hair came free of the bristles, she put the brush back to the top of Genny's head. As Linnae threw her whole body into tearing the brush free of a tangle, Genny cried out in pain.

## 29 STAINED GLASS

Prentice woke to the thickened heat of evening. The ceiling fan turned above him, shoving hot air around and around in the gloomy space. He got out of bed and kicked his dirty clothes into a pile under the suitcase stand. It was almost cocktail hour and, even if the Mercers missed that, he was sure they would go to dinner. Prentice put on new shirt; a small hole unraveled at the seam where he ripped off the price tag.

When he went to cocktails, Prentice passed the Mercers' closed room. 'I'll convince Genny to go out to the patio with me to talk because I am a man who has a fiancée, a high-rise apartment, two stone lions and a gift tied with perfect bows,' he thought. The lobby was empty but Prentice poured himself a vodka rocks. Monteque passed through, made himself a drink. He didn't sit near Prentice the way he sat near Malcolm, and when Monteque left, his drink was only half empty. Prentice gulped the rest of his vodka and then went to the dining room.

Dinner was a solitary affair. Prentice sat facing the hall door. It never opened and, as time dragged forward, his expectancy waned. When he finished eating, he set his fork tines down at the edge of the plate. He'd wait. Just a little longer.

The Mercers never arrived, but Olivia did.

"You didn't eat much dinner," she said.

"My appetite must be off because of the heat," he said.

"I don't think that's it," Olivia said.

"Excuse me?"

"Have you been talking with the Mercers?"

"Not today," Prentice said.

"That's good, very good. Genny needs her rest. It would be a shame for _anyone_ to upset her." Olivia stepped closer to Prentice and put her hand on his wrist. She squeezed. Her look was ammonia, battery acid, venom. "You seem on edge, Prentice. Boredom can do that to a man. My suggestion would be to go home."

"My fiancée will be here soon and my home is where she is."

"How special," Olivia said, and released him.

The door from the kitchen opened and one of the twins stepped into the dining room. He extended a plate laden with cookies to Prentice, who took one from the top. The man spoke with Olivia in a language Prentice didn't recognize, put the tray down on the table, and went back into the kitchen.

When they were alone, Olivia said, "Aren't you going to try your cookie?"

Prentice took a bite and gagged. The cloying sweet of chocolate and sugar was followed by a bitter taste. Specks of drab green laced the cookie.

"Sytra," Prentice said.

Olivia smiled and handed Prentice a paper napkin from a holder on the buffet. "If you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend," she said.

As soon as she was gone, Prentice spit the bite of cookie into the napkin. He shoved the wet lump of paper into his pocket, where it felt warm against his upper thigh. Then Prentice grabbed another cookie from the tray. The outside looked normal, but when he broke it in half, he could see traces of sytra. He continued checking until a stack of broken cookies piled up next to the tray. The dark herb was in all of them, but in none of them so much as the one that had been balanced on top. Prentice shuddered.

He hurried from the dining room back to the lobby, which was still empty. Restlessness drove him out the front door. His watch gleamed the hour, but he knew by the lengthening shadows that the day was drawing to an accusatory close. A whole day, and Genny unwarned! Prentice stomped down the front steps and walked the stark brick length of The Gauss. The setting sun glinted off of the stained glass window on the side of the hotel, spilling red and umber across the dry, rutted yard.

The stained glass depicted an orchard. The background was rows of trees that dwindled to the horizon. In each trunk, a hole was drilled and fit with a small pipe. Red sap poured out of the pipes as from fatal wounds, flooding the ground. The rising tide spread towards a naked woman standing in the foreground. She had green eyes and stylized breasts but, from the waist down, she was a tree.

Prentice backed away from the gruesome picture. Sunlight flowed through the edges more brightly than the center and he understood this was the window blocked by the wooden armoire at the bottom of the stairs. A sullen breeze caused the gate at the end of the side yard to creak. It was unlatched. Pushing through, Prentice found himself in the grotto of Olivia's _momento mori_. The tree made of skulls greeted him with the unseeing stare of a hundred empty eyes.

Voices arose: a man and a woman were speaking urgently near the stained glass. Prentice leaned close to the gate, which was still open a crack. Monteque and a woman wearing a waitress's apron were talking.

"You said you would get it," the woman said.

"I can't risk taking a bloom, not yet," Monteque said.

"Is there more than one?"

"Yes."

"Then why won't you?"

"If one goes missing, Olivia will know someone is against her."

"Your daughter needs it."

"Not until the third trimester; it can even be given with the first milk."

The woman turned her back to Monteque. She was facing the gate to the courtyard, and Prentice held his breath. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her apron pocket and shook one loose.

"You shouldn't be smoking," Monteque said.

"And you shouldn't have been fucking a waitress."

Margot lit her cigarette, took a drag, exhaled a serpent of smoke that curled itself around the musty smell of sytra. Back still to Monteque, she asked, "Is any of it true? That the goddess is dying?"

"Lael said the orchard has blight."

"Then this is real."

"It's been real the whole time," Monteque said. He put his hands on her waist and turned her to him. Their combined shadow was a hulking darkness.

"All I have to do is tell her that you knocked me up. Olivia will drop you and drop you hard. She'll drive your cheating ass out of Breaker."

"You won't do that."

"Are you sure?"

"We're meddling with ancient ways. We'll only be allowed to live if we succeed. Only if our daughter is the next host."

Margot threw her cigarette to the ground where it smoldered brightly before going out. Her empty hands fluttered near Monteque's face, near her own stomach, then flew up to cover her eyes. "Shit," she said, her voice shaking.

"Don't cry. I don't know what I'd do if you cried."

"Screw you," Margot said.

"That's the girl I know."

"You promise we'll have everything?" Margot asked.

Monteque nestled Margot against the echo chamber of his ribcage and said, "The Gauss, the sytra business, Breaker, Nature herself: it will all be ours."

Margot nodded. "I guess I should get going," she said.

"Just a second," Monteque said.

He pulled her cigarettes out of her apron. Margot made a grab for the pack, but he crumpled it. Bits of tobacco swirled down on eddies of hot, stale air.

"Jackass," she said.

He tucked the mangled pack into her pocket, and patted her stomach.

"I'm getting pouchy."

"You're beautiful."

"Let me stay here tonight."

"We can't risk that; not when there are guests. Especially not these guests. Olivia is already on edge because Genny isn't taking to the sytra."

"It was all so much _clearer_ before good old Roth Hux got involved _._ Now we've got some random bitch with her perfect little daughter to contend with. They aren't staying in my room, are they?"

"No."

"Then let me sleep over; no one ever goes to that part of the hotel."

"You know I hate sending you away."

"Go fuck a motherless goat, Monte."

"You're upset."

"Just make sure I get the Manor's plates back."

"Promise me you'll try to relax; treat yourself to a long, hot bath or something."

Margot flipped him the bird and walked away without looking back. A bright pink purse was slung over her shoulder. When she walked through the reflected light of the stained glass window, the color muddied to that of an oxidizing blood clot.

Prentice stumbled away from the gate. Monteque was heading towards him, his thumbs hooked in his pockets and his eyes cast down to stare at the dust and dying light. Prentice ran from the grotto. When he was in the main courtyard, he threw himself upon a chaise lounge at the far end. The plastic center sagged, giving him an uncomfortable swayback, but he composed his face into what he hoped was a slightly drunk and entirely ignorant expression.

"Feyerbach!" Monteque said.

Prentice cringed.

"You been braving the heat long?" Monteque asked.

"I think I must've fallen asleep."

"Come have a drink."

"Thanks, man, but I think I've had enough."

Monteque was standing at the foot of Prentice's chaise lounge. The sun sunk lower than the courtyard walls, spreading soundless twilight. "Everything okay?" Monteque asked.

"Woozy from drink and heat," Prentice said, and cringed at the strain in his own voice.

To cover his uncertainty, Prentice got up from the lounger. It was awkward because of the sagging center, and Monteque gave him a hand. They walked to the covered patio, but only Prentice was sweating. Monteque ducked inside to the drink cart, and Prentice waited, filled with the groggy panic of an animal playing dead. When the hotelier returned, he had two drinks. One was water with lime, while the other was straight whiskey. He handed the water to Prentice.

"My town treating you good?" Monteque asked.

"Sure, yeah."

"Glad to hear it. We should go in. Get you a real drink."

"You go ahead," Prentice said.

"The... _mosquitoes_ come out at twilight."

"I'll take my chances."

"More than you know," Monteque said.

Prentice shrugged and passed Monteque his empty cup. Then he wiped the palm of his hand on his shirt, drying the condensation and giving himself something to do until Monteque was inside.

When Prentice was alone, he took a huge, shaking breath. His thoughts lit up and burned out, bright flashes of half-formed plans skittering through the slick country of his anxiety. The Gauss reared up in front of him, a ponderous weight upon his conscience.

## 30 ABORTED

Margot walked up the street to her house. The paint was peeling on the porch steps and gusts had whipped the wind chime into a contorted mess. The sensor should have turned on the porch light, but the bulb had burned out days or weeks ago. She opened the squeaky screen and then had to shove the main door open because it no longer hung true. Inside, unopened mail and junk fliers were stacked on a dusty end table. She set her purse beside the stack and then turned back to look out at the town. She and her souring milk were separated from the night by nothing more than the sagging screen.

A rotten smell filled the house, and Margot sniffed at it the way a rodent sniffs at the air when it scents a predator. She followed the stink into the kitchen, and found a head of lettuce liquefying in its own decomposition inside the fridge crisper. Margot left the lettuce where it was.

She hung her purse on a hook, and took her hair down from the tight twist it had been in all day. It cascaded around her shoulders and swayed as she kicked off her shoes. Only then did she weep.

Monteque would never leave with her.

In the living room, a light snapped on, triggered by the timer she installed for all the nights she slept at The Gauss. The illumination pelted her with accusations, showing her the aged grime on the stovetop, the greasy dust coating the refrigerator, her own sweat-slicked arm. Opening the knife drawer, she considered, and then withdrew the sharpest one.

"Maybe a long, hot bath is exactly what I need," she said.

The light browned out and the hum of the fridge went quiet for a moment. Down the street, the Moonlight Tower came on. As Margot made her way down the hall to the downstairs bath, the fridge resumed its electric life and the light flared to a brilliance that she left behind her.

Margot shed clothing as she walked. Apron, shirt, bra, then everything else as fast as she could strip while carrying a knife. She was naked by the time she reached the bathroom.

The mirror over the sink showed her a small breasted woman with darkening areolas. It was her reflection; it was her pregnancy, and she was more than pouchy. She was showing.

Margot started the bath running. Water swirled along the bottom of the tub, a crashing tidal wave. When the water splashing back from the far side returned to the drain, Margot stoppered the tub. The mirror watched her with distaste. She was terribly, awfully dirty.

The heat scalded, but she finally managed to seat herself. Waves rose and fell against her chest until, little by little, the tsunami of her submersion dissipated. An ancient piece of soap bobbed here and there, dissolving into the water and glistering in milky blue patches.

To herself she confessed, "It's the power he wants, not me."

Her voice reverberated as if the air had forgotten how to attenuate noise and knew only how to amplify and intensify words, phrases, despair. A crack in the plaster of the ceiling traced its torturous path across the void. Margot found no meaning in this scrimshaw, yet still she knew the answer. She picked up the knife from where it rested on the tub's edge. Beneath the water, her body was distorted.

Steam fogged the blade and blurred Margot's piecewise reflection of her eye, the corner of her mouth, one nostril. She twisted the knife back and forth in front of her, watching as her reflection was veiled more by mist and became less and less clear. Her body wanted to scream; her heart wanted to cry. Mind overruled both. If she were to scream, no one would come, not after dark, not for any reason. And she'd already asked for help. "You should get a long, hot bath," he'd said.

Margot pulled the knife across her forearm. For a moment there was no blood – then there was an upwelling of passionate red. It grew in a straight line, a perfect and surgical slash that marred its own perfection by overflowing the banks of the incision. A curtain of blood seeped down to her elbow. The ends of Margot's hair swirled in the pinkish water and she let her arm drop down by her side. The edges of her vision grew dim. The darkness meant to lay claim to the flicker of life that held on within her.

It meant to take her daughter.

The knife clattered to the floor as Margot pulled herself up onto her knees. A drop of water fell from her hair and a perfect pink circle appeared on the white tile. Then, her knees slid out from under her. She cracked her chin on the edge of the tub. Teeth aching, Margot pushed herself back up, climbed from the porcelain confines.

Margot grabbed a towel from the rack; a cloud of dust blossomed from it. She wrapped her wrist and felt the first razor-bite pains of her actions. The steamy mirror reflected only her midsection and the steam was in her mind, too, wrapping itself around her thoughts until she couldn't recognize anything but the idea of leaving Breaker.

"I'm going to be a mommy," she said. "I'm really going to be a mother."

Margot tightened the towel around her arm and shuffled down the hall. A trail of bloody footprints marked where she'd been, darkest near the bathroom and almost invisible by the time her right foot bumped up against the shirt she'd shed earlier. Blood seeped out through the towel and Margot fell more than sat. She applied pressure to the cut. Soon she would go upstairs, get a proper bandage, pack a bag, go back downstairs, get her purse, leave Breaker. She smiled. It was all so simple.

Margot rested her head against the wall, intending to shut her eyes for just a moment. She woke with a dry mouth, a headache, and a sore tailbone. "Like the mother of all fucking hangovers," she said. Her voice caught on the edges of the syllables, snagged on the sharpened exhalation of the 'h'. She swallowed, and her throat clicked.

Margot grabbed at the banister with her good arm and used it to pull herself up. Her legs threatened to crumple under her as a trapped bird beat panic-tipped wings against her ribcage. Margot shoved one hand between her thighs and pulled it back, looking for blood. There was nothing except the dried spatter of her own aborted suicide.

Margot stumbled to the kitchen, one hand on her belly the whole way. The first aid kit and aspirin were in there, but she couldn't remember if aspirin was a blood thinner or not, or if she could take aspirin while pregnant. There were so many things she didn't know. Even worse were the things she did know and had refused to do right. Her last thought before she saw the Cayalanzuvan twins was that she'd have to be healthier.

The twins were seated at the kitchen table. The ceremonial sytra box was between them, glowing blue and casting just enough hazy light to illuminate handles carved to look like braided vines. The twin nearest Margot got up and pulled out a chair for her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she sat down.

"You have been taking sytra. Preparing. Is that true?"

"Go fuck yourself."

The twin who speaks took the seat next to her. He put one hand over Margot's. When she tried to pull away, he held her wrist.

"You have transgressed," he said.

"Look, it doesn't matter. I'm leaving."

"No, you aren't."

The silent twin pulled a pack of unfiltereds from his shirt pocket and extended it to Margot. She took a cigarette from the pack, but managed to snap it in half before she could bring it to her lips.

"That shit's not good for the baby, anyhow," she said and wrapped her arms around her waist.

Wet thumping noises and slithering sounds came from the direction of the kitchen window. Margot focused on the sytra box and its engravings. Across it crept a stylized vine, a two-dimensional image of a plant growing evenly spaced leaves from a thick stalk that branched into twin stems blossoming with flowers. The vine grew from a thatch of sytra plants, each one a many-fingered and deformed hand. Most of the leaves on the vine were represented by ovals with a line down the center. The other leaves were more horribly executed. They were human heads progressively becoming more transfigured into plants.

"Water," Margot said. "I'd like ice water."

The silent twin got up from his chair. He opened cabinet after cabinet, trying to find the glasses. Something heavy fell into the sink below the kitchen window; it tumbled down onto the dirty dishes, breaking them. Margot kept staring at the sytra box. Her baby lay within her, still as a corpse in a mausoleum.

Water gurgled from the dispenser and then ice clinked into the glass. A waft of stale cold from the freezer touched Margot's neck and she shook off the torpor induced by the sytra box glow. Angry and frightened, she rose, turned, ran.

The smell of rotting lettuce was nothing compared to the scent of the greenery cramping the hall. Vines writhed along the walls and flowering plants carpeted the floor. Margot covered her eyes with her hands; she did not fight when the twin who does not speak guided her back to the chair. He tucked her up under the table. In front of her stood the glass of water, and Margot wrapped both bloodied hands around it.

"You don't have to do this," she said.

"Drink," said the Cayalanzuvan who speaks.

Margot took a sip. She was enraptured by the moisture and the life it represented. When she closed her eyes, she saw the face of her unborn daughter.

The glass shattered. Water and blood and shining glass shards tumbled to the floor. The twin who speaks held his bloody knife; La Zalia's retribution through him had been swift, unsentimental, and righteous.

" _Omital talia es La Zalia_ ," he said, and both twins lowered their heads in reverence.

Margot's body began to slump forward and to one side. The silent twin kept her from falling while his brother made space by moving the sytra box and pulling the chairs away from the table. Then the Cayalanzuvans lifted Margot onto the kitchen table, their sacred concentration unbroken even by the obvious swell of her belly. They took turns wielding the small hatchet; they cut off Margot's right hand. When they were done, four deep grooves marked the surface of the table, scars the same length as the injury she had done herself.

Her hand was wrapped in ceremonial fabric and placed in the box with a dying sytra bloom. The flower gave off a pungent scent that lingered even after the box was closed. The riot of plants kept tumbling through the window until there was enough that they began to overflow the sink and the countertop.

" _Debemos levarla al baño_."

The silent twin nodded then picked up Margot. Her mutilated right arm hung down, and the vines in the hallway surged towards the sluggish seep of blood. They fell back, restive, but did not touch the Cayalanzuvans as they carried Margot to the bathroom and lowered her into the cooling bathwater.

They left Margot alone with the roil of greenery. Above the tumult of torn ligament and crushed bone, the ceiling scried for no one at all.

## 31 COSMOS

Helena lay on the floor of her room, one hand above her navel, the other below. A cosmos grew out of her belly button, the incarnation of her vision of La Zalia. A petal fell.

Lael knocked at the door and said, "Helena? Are you okay?"

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"I hurt."

Lael flung open the door. There, naked on the floor, was Helena. A flower grew from her midsection and her thighs splashed with blood.

"Your period," he said, and looked away.

"Earth, too, is a mother and every root an umbilicus."

Helena's robe hung from the hook on the back of her door, and Lael grabbed it. He held it out to her. "Put this on."

Helena sat up and the cosmos bloom moved with her, shook with her ragged breath. She wrenched it free of her body and a clotted rush of blood stained the carpet. Helena cradled the plant to her chest and rocked the way she had when she held the glove.

"My child, the cosmos: she dies and dies." Helena looked up from the flower at her father. "I'm so sorry."

Lael knelt next to Helena and wrapped the robe around her thin shoulders. Her hair was a wild mess obscuring her face, and her posture was that of an exhausted child. Tears threatened and Lael raised a hand to cover his eyes.

"Don't be sorry. Never be sorry," he said.

"Rot, rotting, rotten, rotted," Helena said and showed him the flower. Brown petals fell onto the blood stained carpet. Their thin flesh soaked through, turning red.

"What's wrong?" Lael asked. "What's happening to you?"

"My self spills."

"You keep telling me that, but I don't understand."

"The creative static, the life-spark. I use it for good."

"Are you saying, Heaven help us, are you telling me you've been using the La Zalia powers for yourself?"

Lael turned Helena to face him. Her breath reeked of putrefaction and her eyes were lambent with confession. Lael felt the uncomplicated breaking of his heart.

"How long?" he whispered.

"My good friend Orion, he was sky-high and lovely."

"Since Autumn you've been..."

"Helping."

"Is that why the Cayalanzuvans are here?"

"La Zalia won't tell me."

Helena looked down at the cosmos. The stalk was black and all the petals gone. She clutched it more tightly, but nothing happened.

"Who have you been helping?" Lael asked.

Helena brought the deadhead of a bloom closer to her face. She exhaled. Her breath was devoid of the electric blue of sytra and La Zalia powers. The cosmos crumbled into desiccated pieces too small to hold. A trickle of blood ran out from beneath the hem of her robe.

"I can't bring it back," she said.

Lael pulled Helena into a hug. They sat together, both of them trembling, for a long time. It was Helena who broke the silence.

"Is it true that the trees in Vermont go orange, go yellow, go red?"

"In the Fall, yes."

"And then they go dead?"

"The leaves do, not the tree."

"People don't have leaves."

"No, baby, people die all the way."

"Except good vessels; they'll be dryads. Eternal peach queens, grandmothers and a great! But you will die, Daddy, you and Grandma Maura."

Lael took Helena by the shoulders and pushed her away from him gently so he could see her face. "Who have you been helping? Which of us are you trying to save?"

"She's been helping me," Maura said. She stepped into the room, giving up her hallway eavesdropping.

Lael stood and lunged at Maura. He grabbed her by the shoulders. Although her bones felt frail, he couldn't make himself let go. Maura coughed. A haze of spittle clouded the air and Lael shoved her away.

"You selfish bitch."

"La Zalia needs me. Helena needs me. _Breaker_ needs me."

"No, we don't!"

Maura knelt next to Helena and placed her hand against the girl's face. When she looked up at Lael, her eyes were blurred with tears. "I've done it all for love and duty," Maura said.

"No. I don't accept that. You did it for yourself."

"I am the Guardian. I must see that the transfer from one generation to the next is done. I cannot die before that happens!"

"Yes, you can. The roles are what matters, not the people. Someone else could act as Guardian, and you know it." Lael opened the door to Helena's room. "I want you out of my house. I want you out of our lives."

"It tires," Helena said, her voice very low. "My bloom bowl of red, opening and closing. It is slowing."

"It's going to get better," Lael said.

"Please, listen to me!" Maura cried.

"I said get out, you deranged crone!"

"I will die!"

"All the better," Lael said.

"Please, Helena, please!" Maura said.

"I can't."

"You must!"

Maura grabbed Helena by the robe and yanked her hard enough that their heads bumped together. The air between them was putrid with illness and decay and Maura pressed closer, clinging to her granddaughter. A jolt of blue static coursed from Helena and traveled the twining intricacy of Maura's veins and arteries. It traced a path to her diseased lungs, to the bronchi branching like two trees. Maura took a deep breath; her color was restored, and the pain dropped from her eyes like fog melting beneath an onslaught of sunlight.

"Let go of her!" Lael said.

He grabbed Maura, intending to fling her to the ground, but it was Helena who swayed and fell. Her face was sweaty and her hands trembled. She began to cough an old woman's cough.

Lael shoved Maura out into the hall, then bent to examine Helena. When her coughing subsided, she smiled at him. Despite her wrecked beauty and her frailty, it was the most beautiful smile Lael had ever seen.

"She needs to rest," Maura said. She stood just outside the threshold, stretching with indulgence and vigor. When Lael refused to look at her, Maura left the room; she was singing.

Lael's jaw clenched to hear his mother-in-law's voice so sweet and pure, so girlish and stolen.

"Daddy?" Helena said.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"I want to go to Vermont, to see the green turn to gold and the staircase turn to ivy."

"I know." For a moment, Lael entertained the idea of escape, but then he remembered the Cayalanzuvans and his brief hope guttered. "You know that your duty is here, serving the Goddess."

"Am I not more than my duty?"

"No one is."

"Then what will I be when La Zalia leaves me?" Helena sat up and put her face very close to her father's. "Tell me, Daddy, what will I be then?"

It took all Lael's strength not to scream.

## 32 COURIERS

The Cayalanzuvan twins walked down Main Street carrying the carved sytra box between them. They were listening to La Zalia. Her voice was the wind; it was the inky darkness violated by lamplight; it was the sound of their feet on the road. She was telling them to bring the box to the house of her host. She was telling them to hurry.

## 33 AUGURY

Prentice paced the length of his room. Each time he changed direction, he passed through the invisible screen of his own acrid body odor, of his cowardice. All he had to do was cross the hall. All he had to do was knock on the Mercers' door. All he had to do was tell them to leave.

"Genny," Prentice whispered.

He repeated her name, letting it leave his lips a bit louder each time. By the time it was loud enough to impersonate strength, he was pounding on the Mercers' door. He said, "Genny!" but it was Malcolm who answered.

Their room was a mess. Takeout boxes from the café were strewn across the table; on the plates, food was moved around and cut up, but not eaten. A scatter of toys and discarded clothing cluttered the floor. The bed was rumpled, and a disaster of coverlet and sheets wound around Genny, leaving only her hair visible.

"What can I do for you?" Malcolm asked.

"I need to speak to Genny."

"She's turned in early."

"Is she okay?"

"Just tired."

Prentice rubbed his numb cheekbone. His hand was shaking, and he hadn't combed his hair or put on a proper shirt. Before he could think himself out of it, Prentice said, "I think you should leave."

"Excuse me?"

"You and your family should leave," Prentice said, his words coming out too fast and running together.

"Leave The Gauss? Is there a fire?"

"No, leave Breaker."

"We're buying a house here."

"You shouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because something bad is going on."

Genny sat up, her face creased from lying in bed and her green eyes dulled by sedative. She came over to the door and stood next to Malcolm. Behind them, Linnae popped up from her hiding spot on the far side of the bed; she stared at Prentice.

"Genny," Prentice said, his voice lower than a whisper.

She shivered slightly, wrapping her arms around herself. Her vulnerability was a boulder blocking his resolve. There was nothing he could say.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Prentice was just saying he missed us at dinner, weren't you, Prentice?"

"I'm sorry," Prentice said.

He spoke to Genny, not to Malcolm. Prentice reached out to Genny as if she were falling and he had only this one chance to save her, but just when he was about to take hold of her hands, Linnae rushed between them. She had dropped an oversized marble. Prentice bent to pick it up and saw Genny's feet were bare, that the bones in her ankles were delicate, so very delicate.

Prentice scooped up the marble and stood. It felt wrong to be taller than Genny, to hold his head higher than hers, but she only wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. He gave the marble back to Linnae.

"What do we say?" Genny prompted.

"Thank you," Linnae said.

Her marble clutched firmly in her hand, the girl ran back into the room. She bumped the table, and all of the glasses on the top rattled together. Genny shrugged, offered a faint smile, then followed Linnae. Malcolm and Prentice were alone in the hall, but there was nothing to say and, after a moment, they both went to their own rooms. Both doors closed at the same time.

Prentice fished his phone out of the pair of pants he'd left it in. The battery was low and reception even lower. He dialed 911, but the call never connected.

## 34 SECRET

"Let me help you to the bathroom." Lael said.

"Tired," Helena said. "Too tired for bathing."

She tried to stand. Her hips and knees articulated with geriatric percussion and she fell forward onto the floor. Another round of wet coughs shook her thin frame. Lael wiped sputum and blood from her chin with his handkerchief, and then carried her over to her bed. She was very small amongst all of her pillows, and when he pulled the covers up over her bloody thighs, Helena almost disappeared.

"Does La Zalia know what you've been doing?"

"I keep a place in my mind that no one can go, not even Her. She knows about my hiding spot, but not what is hidden. Suspicious is the Goddess who cannot occupy the full vessel!"

"She doesn't know," Lael said. "Then no one must find out what Maura has made you do. Not anyone, but especially not _los gemelos_."

"They would punish the life right out of me."

"No, baby, I won't let them."

Helena gave a small, sad smile to her father. "You cannot stop what is righteous. Not even for love."

Lael bent and kissed Helena on the forehead. She smelled like rotten produce and the smell invited panic. When he left the room, Lael's hand shook as he turned on a nightlight shaped like a maple leaf.

## 35 MORNING

Lael woke later than usual, still reeling from the bottle of Maker's he used to wash down Maura's betrayal. He had been only halfway through his first drink when the Cayalanzuvans had arrived with their grisly offering; he'd excused himself and taken his bottle and glass to his own room. It didn't help. He could still hear them trying to puzzle out what was going wrong with the _vessel_. The third time they referred to Helena as vessel, he threw his tumbler against the door.

Broken glass and sticky runnels of whiskey sent Lael looking for his slippers despite the rising heat of the day. He settled for shoving his feet into an old pair of boots before stumbling through the night's wreckage and across the hall to his bathroom. He showered, brushed his teeth, and dressed in sun-bleached clothing.

Plans to thwart Nature herself buzzed like crazed bees in his mind.

## 36 STAINED

Maura was in the kitchen, butchering a woman's hand. She filleted the flesh of the palm away from the fine, white bones beneath. Lael watched her, his mouth flooding with spit in preparation to vomit.

"The twins said this would restore her," Maura said.

"Helena won't eat it," Lael replied.

"Don't be so sure. La Zalia craves sustenance. She needs to sustain Helena until the Solstice."

Lael gripped the edge of the counter. Behind him, the wet, ragged sound of flesh being sawed through continued. "There are no children," he said, "none in Breaker, and Margot's not due for months."

"Margot?"

"She's been preparing. I've smelled the sytra on her. But her child, if it's even a girl..."

"Margot is dead, Lael."

"What do you mean?

"This is her hand," Maura said, and let the palm fall onto the cutting board with a slapping sound.

Lael winced.

"Pull yourself together. I need your help. Or would you rather I shove a feeding tube up Helena's nose?"

"If she's dead, then there is no one else to..."

"Don't be daft. And make yourself useful. Bring me the eggs and that brick of cheddar."

Maura set a frying pan on the stove and started it warming. Lael got the eggs. It took him a few seconds to find the cheddar, but when he did, he held it out of reach of Maura.

"We don't have time for this," she said.

"Tell me who the next vessel is."

"The girl at The Gauss."

"But she's not even from here!"

Maura took the cheese from Lael. Her fingers left bloody smears on the plastic wrapper. Lael fell more than sat on the window seat; the yellow curtains wrinkled and bunched behind his back.

Maura started to grate the cheese. "You know," she said, "Helena was already sick before I asked for her help. I haven't been the only one."

"I saw you last night; you didn't ask."

"When it started, I didn't even know I was sick. She would brush by me or give me a hug and I would feel better. It wasn't until she told me that I realized what was happening."

Lael rested his head in the cradle of his hands. Voice muffled, choked with emotion, he said, "Her goodness is killing her. She didn't know what would happen."

Maura broke two eggs into a glass measuring cup. One of them had a double yolk and the other was fertilized, but she didn't bother removing the red dot of the chicken fetus. She added a splash of milk and whisked the mixture with a fork.

"You should have stopped her," Lael said.

"No one in my situation would have," Maura said.

"It would have been the right thing to do."

"Honor is no use to a dead woman." In a quieter voice, Maura continued, "She'll be up soon. If there is any chance she can be made better, we need to convince her to eat."

After a long pause, Lael let his hands fall from his face. "How can I help?"

"Get me the food processor."

Lael knelt down and opened the cabinet. He pulled out a wok filled with stackable bamboo steaming baskets, a heavy waffle iron circa 1960, a set of nested Melamine mixing bowls. The food processor was way in the back, stored in a cardboard box and labeled with Maura's controlled handwriting. Lael pulled the box out and set it on the counter. Inside the box, sharpened blades clinked against one another.

Lael assembled the food processor; he built a machine of lies. Then he filled it with human flesh that smelled like iron, like steak. He slammed the top on the processor to block out the odor.

"It's the button on the side," Maura said.

Lael swallowed hard, then pressed the button. Flesh thudded against the insides, a hand helplessly beating at the walls of a deadly chamber. It was torn first into large pieces, then shredded and ripped until it was rendered a stringy mess.

"It doesn't look vegetarian," Lael said.

Maura agitated the curded mass of eggs with a spatula one last time before putting them on a tortilla. Lael pointed at the little pile of shredded cheese that should have cooked with the eggs.

"I'm going to add it to the meat just as it finishes cooking," Maura said.

She opened the food processor and then pulled the blade out of the reservoir. It caught on the mangled puree; droplets of human blood rained onto the counter. Lael turned his back on the mess and got out a bag of frozen veggie crumbles. He poured oil into the frying pan where the eggs cooked, but it was still hot and burning little brands popped onto his forearms. Meat substitute spilled onto the stovetop and the floor.

Helena opened the door to the kitchen and said, "Good morning to you and also to you."

Lael dropped the entire bag of crumbles. Helena was only halfway through the door and Maura was blocking her from opening it any farther. The scent of blood hung in thick swathes, opulent as velvet and just as conspicuous.

Maura opened her eyes wide, commanding Lael to do something, but he was suffocating beneath the velvet. Helena tried to push her way into the room. Panicking, Lael blurted: "Go get the newspaper."

"But we don't get the newspaper," Helena replied and pushed at the door again.

"Helena!" Maura snapped. "Can't you tell I'm standing here? Stop shoving the door into me and wait until we call you down to breakfast."

"I _am_ the sad chattel," Helena said. She slipped away from the door, leaving it to snick and swing a bit in the frame.

"The _newspaper_?" Maura said.

Lael shrugged.

They were both sweating and smeared with blood. Lael turned back to the stove, but the veggie crumbles were dry now, crunchy. He was stirring them, willing his mind go blank as Maura dropped the chopped meat into the pan. It sizzled and Lael felt sick, literally sick, with hunger. "Forgive me," he whispered.

The flesh browned and released thin rivulets of watery pink that rose to the surface. The juices shimmered then dripped down to sizzle in the pan. The crumbles were beyond overdone, and not even the steam and juices of Margot's sacrifice could restore their wholesomeness.

"What are we going to do?" Lael asked.

"We're going to clean the kitchen."

"Should we throw away the food processor?"

"Why would we? There's nothing wrong with it."

Lael twitched with revulsion.

"You weren't so squeamish when we made our last sacrifice to the Goddess."

"That was different; it was ritual."

Maura rolled her eyes and then turned back to the stove. She added the cheddar to the meat and crumbles mixture. The skeletal remains of the hand were still on the cutting board. Lael picked it up and was about to shove it in the garbage can when Maura stopped him.

"Wrap the rest of it up in this," she said, and passed him the ceremonial cloth of Cayalanzuvia.

Lael picked up what was left of the hand by the thumb. He could feel the fingernail; it was polished. He flung it onto the cloth, and Maura carefully folded the remains into the fabric before putting the bundle into her apron pocket.

Lael cranked the water on as high and as hot as it would go, and waited for the steam to rise. As he waited, he pumped gobs of soap from the dispenser. Even after he lathered, he could still feel the stickiness of the blood between his fingers and itching where it dried on his wrist.

As he started scrubbing the food processor, Maura scraped the meat mixture onto the eggs and dumped chipotle salsa on top. Despite their efforts, the meat looked nothing like soy and the smell had nothing in common with vegetables. Maura folded the burrito up; salsa squeezed out from one end, red as accusation.

From out in the hall, Helena said, "May I enter?"

Maura tossed the spatula into the sink and then picked up the frying pan. The metal handle was hot, and she shoved Lael out of the way so she could douse it. The water made a hissing noise as it hit the pan.

Helena started to sing an ancient hymn. Her voice was pure and every note came full with its own perfection. She was very close to the kitchen door now, and Maura scrubbed at the pan.

When all of the dishes were wet sparkles on the drying rack, Maura nodded to Lael. He went to the door and opened it a crack.

Finally permitted to enter, Helena stepped into the kitchen. The hem of her skirt whisked and fluttered around her ankles as she walked past her father to stand in the middle of the room. Lael kept wiping his hands on his pants legs; he couldn't look up, and he couldn't stop feeling Margot's blood.

"Go sit at the breakfast table," Maura said. "I made you a burrito. You need to eat it to get your strength back."

Helena went to the breakfast nook and took her seat. Maura pulled the burrito out of the warming drawer, and then used a dishtowel to wipe the edges of Helena's breakfast plate. The towel came away greasy and stained. She set the plate in front of Helena, but the girl just looked at it. It took a long time before she picked up her fork and knife. The burrito was going soggy from the salsa.

"It's going to get cold," Maura said.

Lael forced himself to sit at his accustomed place at the table. He kept his hands in his lap, rubbing one against the other. He and Maura both watched Helena sniff at her burrito.

"Spicy," she said.

"It's the salsa you like."

"And eggies?"

Maura nodded. This seemed to satisfy Helen, who picked up her cutlery and began to saw at the burrito. She brought the fork to her mouth and then chewed for a long time before swallowing.

"Chewy, lots to chew," she said. A piece of sinew was stuck between her front teeth, and Lael shoved his chair back from the table with a sudden clatter. Maura half-stood, silently mouthing that he should sit back down.

Helena pointed at Maura. Blood rose like rust stains from Margot's severed hand and leaked through the thin fabric of the apron. "My nightmare is on your apron," Helena said.

## 37 MOVING DAY

A truck idled in the drive below Prentice's window. It burped and rattled and huff-huff-huffed through the false dark of his room to chase out confused dreams of Nova and Genny. The sound not only roused him, but also his need to urinate, and he got out of bed.

His window had three internal coverings, two that he drew back, and a third that he raised. He opened the window and shoved at the wooden shutters; they parted, and he was assailed with the overwhelming gold-white of day. He reeled back a few steps, blinking against the assault. The darkness behind his eyelids was shot through with lightning streaks of rose and violet, a soundless storm of static marking where the light had been.

Little by little, he could open his eyes. Outside, Linnae jumped off of one of the Moonlight Tower pylons with a whoop of glee. As she scrabbled up again, he turned his attention to the noisy truck. "Acorn Moving," the sign on the side read: "We'll help you put down new roots!!" Genny came out of The Gauss and walked over to the movers. One pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, and all the muscles in his arm were cast into shocking, virile relief. He nodded a close-cropped head and passed a cigarette to Genny.

"I didn't know you smoked!" Prentice shouted.

Genny looked up at him even as she leaned forward to accept a light from the mover. "I don't," she said. A banner of smoke traced the outline of her words as they left her.

"Guess you're feeling better?"

She shrugged.

"What's up with the truck?"

"We're moving to our new house."

"Already?"

"Yes," Genny said, and then took a long hit of nicotine and tar. She held the poison within her. Only when she exhaled could Prentice breathe again.

"It's making me short of breath to see you do that," he said.

"What?"

"Just... This is really fast. Doesn't this seem fast to you? You haven't even been here three days."

"Mal's the decisive, no-moss-gathers type," Genny said.

"Mommy, look at me!" Linnae called. She wore her Burger King crown magisterial and waved from her pylon throne. Then she jumped, one leg kicked out in front of her.

"Ten out of ten," Genny said, and held up both hands, her fingers waggling.

Prentice leaned very far out of his window and said, "I need to talk to you."

"We're about to leave."

"Will you be back for dinner?"

"We're _moving_ ," Genny said.

"Right, of course. The van. I'll come down," Prentice shouted.

Prentice stumbled back from the window, tripping over his own feet and reaching for any clothing he could find, clean or not. Still buttoning his shirt, he burst into the hall. The air had a new density that pressed against him, seeming to slow him down and impede his breath. When he finally got to the stairs, he took them a dangerous four at a time, using the railings to launch and then steady himself. Rushing past the lobby desk where Olivia sat, he ran out the front door of The Gauss. It slammed shut behind him.

Malcolm was strapping Linnae into her car seat. She was crying about wanting to ride in the truck, and Malcolm called something to Prentice, but he sprinted past. Genny was in the passenger seat of the moving truck and Prentice jumped up on the running board.

"Where?" he said, pushing out the word.

"The Argentine," Genny said.

The movers sat on the bench seat next to her. They were both staring at Prentice, but only one of them was nudging the other and leering at Prentice's sweaty panic, his wrinkled shirt half-buttoned, his desperate grip on the door. Malcolm honked his car horn.

"Pal, we gotta go," the driver said.

Genny put one of her hands on Prentice's. He reached to grasp with his other but the truck lurched into gear and he stumbled down from the running board, grasping nothing. Malcolm pulled past in their sedan and Linnae's screams pulled Prentice after her, but she was already gone.

Prentice rushed back into The Gauss and ran to the desk. In his hurry, he bumped his knee against the unforgiving wood of the thing and gave a sharp cry of pain. "Where is The Argentine?" he asked.

Olivia paused in her knitting and then held her work up for Prentice to see. "Isn't it lovely? This design predates European invasion of the Americas."

"Do you know or not?" Prentice said.

"I know that you are expecting a fiancée, aren't you?"

"What?"

"Nova, isn't that her name?"

Prentice leaned across the counter and grabbed the knitted purse. A needle clattered onto the desk, and though the woman tugged at the bag, Prentice did not relent. "Tell me where The Argentine is!"

"Go west on Main Street, then keep going."

Prentice nodded and then looked at the knit bag. The design showed human heads growing from a vine, each as unique as any two people. He dropped the bag back onto the counter, and wiped his hand on his shirt.

"You look like hell," Olivia said.

Prentice shrugged dismissively. He could feel a seizure coming on, and that was bad enough, but he wasn't having it in front of her. The first tremors already shaking him, Prentice staggered to the front door.

"Go home, Prentice Feyerbach. Go back to whatever or whoever it is you really have. Breaker's not for you."

Prentice opened the door and stepped into the agony of a seizure.

## 38 LOST

Genny pulled the visor down, but the sunlight couldn't be stopped. It bore down from above, flaring over the road and sending out waves of threatening heat. The air conditioner wheezed nonstop doing nothing at all, and the mover who sat in the middle of the seat kept fiddling with the radio. There were no stations, just a few bursts of static punctuated by the unintelligible garble of distant voices. He shut off the radio and turned to Genny.

"So where'ya from?" he asked.

"The east," Genny said.

"Do you miss it?"

"One place is as good as another."

"Do you really believe that?" the driver asked.

"No," Genny said.

They drove on. Around them, the truck made mechanical noises while the tires hissed against the blazing road. Mirages shimmered and then disappeared, taunting them on towards The Argentine.

"You travel light," the mover in the middle said. "Not even half the truck is full."

"This is just household necessities. The kitchen stuff, bedding, some more clothing. The rest will be shipped later."

"The guy in the car, he's your husband?"

"Yes," Genny said.

"Then who was the guy hanging off the side of the truck?"

"I don't know."

"Really?"

"He was the only other guest at the hotel, but that doesn't mean I know him."

"That's not what it looked like to us, was it?" the driver asked and nudged his partner.

"I don't care what it looked like to you," Genny said.

"Ok," the mover in the middle said. "You didn't have a thing. Then what was he so worked up about?"

"What do you mean?" Genny asked.

"He was all keyed up."

"I didn't notice," Genny said, and closed the conversation by turning to face the window. Outside, barren pastures gave way to copses of scrubby trees. In the side view mirror, Genny could see their black sedan following the truck. Its headlights were on, lending an air of funeral procession to their caravan. Genny shuddered.

"Someone walk over your grave?" the mover asked.

"I don't know what that was," Genny said.

"You're probably excited about moving to your new digs."

"I guess. The turn will be coming up soon. The house is on the left; it's green."

Despite her directions, the driver missed the turn. Several miles of road later, on which there were no driveways, they swung around in a three-point turn and came back. By the time The Acorn moving van pulled into The Argentine's drive, Malcolm was already parked and getting Linnae out of her car seat.

The yard was more overgrown than Genny remembered. Some thistle plants were waist high, and gigantic dandelions sprouted with invasive, colonizing intent. Yellow and hoary white, they nodded in the direction of the truck. Near the tree line, prickly pears grew wild. The driver swung the van into position and then cut the motor.

"Mommy, Mommy!" Linnae called as she ran over.

"Hello, Laney-loo. Did you have a nice ride with Daddy?"

"He's in a mood," Linnae said, putting one tiny fist on each of her hips.

"Is that so?" Malcolm said.

He patted Linnae on the head, but looked at Genny. She was climbing out of the truck and into the shadow cast by the house. The movers rolled open the cargo hatch, but she made no move towards her new home.

"How are you doing?" Malcolm asked.

"I'm a little overwhelmed."

"Did Prentice upset you?"

"I'm not upset, Mal. I just need some time to adjust."

"Mr. Mercer?" one of the movers called, coming around the front of the truck with a clipboard in hand. "Here's the manifest."

"Laney and I are going for a walk," Genny said.

"Don't you want to tell the movers where to put things?"

"Oh, yes. Silly me. Things labeled _Kitchen_ go in the kitchen, things labeled _Bathroom_ , put in the bathroom..."

"I see your point," Malcolm said. "Just be careful. There are miles of trails and you don't want to get lost."

He and Genny stared at each other across the few feet separating them. Then Genny turned away and led Linnae to the forest's edge. The girl faltered, tugging at her mother's hand and whimpering.

"Daddy?" Linnae said.

"He's going to stay and help the nice men put all of our stuff in the house. You and I are going to take a walk. We have to show Daddy we can be brave, okay?"

Linnae nodded and let Genny lead her into the forest. The girl flapped one hand out behind her: goodbye, farewell. Malcolm's eyelid began to flutter as his wife and daughter disappeared together.

It was twenty degrees cooler in the woods than it had been in the unfiltered light of the yard. Genny and Linnae followed a path that was rutted as if bicyclists had come through just after a storm. Live oak, chinquapin and yaupon all reached towards them, and the cedars gave off a heavy spice of baking evergreen. Wooden squeals and ominous creaking came from the places where trees scraped together. Both of Linnae's hands clutched at Genny's.

"Don't be frightened," Genny said. Her voice was very quiet, her tone unconvincing. She forced herself to speak more loudly and said, "Those little noises are just the trees bumping into each other, nothing to be scared of."

"I want Daddy."

"We'll go back soon, but it's important that we aren't scared. You don't want Daddy to worry, do you? To be scared?"

"No."

"Then we'll walk just a little farther."

"There are too many," Linnae said. "They're all talking."

Genny shivered despite the fact that she was sweating through her shirt. All around them, the trees continued creaking in the wind. There were no other sounds: no birds crying, no animals scuttling in the underbrush.

"What's that?" Linnae asked.

She pointed at a peach colored swatch of something stuck onto the trunk of a dead tree. Genny tensed, but they went closer. The shadows shifting through the canopy made it hard to see the object clearly until they stood in front of it.

A knit doll was tied there with a makeshift rope of creeper. A riot of dark, curly hair framed two green eyes. Genny wrenched it free and cried out. The doll had a knit purse slung over one shoulder that was a less-detailed version of what Olivia knitted and, except for the bag, the doll was nude. Thin vines bound the doll's feet and trussed her hands behind her back. Genny flung the doll into the woods.

"Come on," she said.

"What about the dolly?"

"You have plenty of dolls."

"But I want that one!"

Genny pulled Linnae down the trail. Her grip was too tight, she knew, but she couldn't bring herself to ease it. "Why?" she asked. "Why would you want that horrible thing?"

"Because she looked like you, Mommy."

Genny stopped, abruptly jerking Linnae. They had followed the trail into the woods without taking any turns, but none of the surroundings were familiar. The trail itself was narrower, darker, and less tamed than it was when they started. She pivoted slowly, pulling Linnae around in a circle with her.

"I'm scared," Linnae said.

"Me, too. Let's go back to Daddy."

They skirted a tangled stand of trees. Bark hung from the trunks in brittle strips, gray-brown as diseased flesh and fibrous as sinew. Linnae pulled a piece off as they passed. It trailed after her, a banner made of sloughed skin. Beyond the trees, the footpath forked. Genny swiped at the hair sticking to her sweaty face.

"Do you hear them?" Linnae whispered.

"I told you, the trees make those noises because the wind is bumping them together."

"But I don't like it!"

Genny crouched down with her face very close to Linnae. Around them, the sunlight broke through the canopy in moments of gold quickly swallowed by forest dark. Genny breathed in her daughter's spent air.

"Can you still hear them talking?"

When Linnae nodded, Genny hugged her. She looked over the top of the girl's head at the patient, teeming vegetation. She swallowed and stood back up.

"We're having a real adventure now, aren't we?" Genny said, forcing brightness into her voice.

Linnae's response was to wrap her arms around Genny's legs and bury her face against her mother's thigh. Itching from sweat, Genny scratched the bee sting on her neck. Regret was immediate: instead of itching, it now burned. Without jostling Linnae, Genny scanned their options. No matter which direction she looked, the trail was a strangle of boscage and almost too overgrown to traverse. The unreality of the situation made Genny tired, but she needed to get home, to get her daughter out of the woods. She separated Linnae from her and said, "I think we need to go that way."

Linnae did not move when Genny gave a gentle push in the direction she thought led home. Instead, the girl leaned a little to one side, then tilted her head to the other, as if she were listening to multiple speakers each whispering in turn. "Thank you," she said, and Genny fought against an impending faint.

"Go that way," Linnae said, and pointed opposite of the direction Genny picked.

"How do you know?"

Linnae shrugged and scuffed her feet on the ground. She uncovered a raw patch of hardpack that was parched and white. It looked like bone.

"I guess one direction is as good as any, right? We can't be that far from home. If we walk too long, we know to turn around and go the other way."

They headed the direction Linnae picked. Nothing looked familiar. Every now and then, something would move in the rot of yesteryear's vegetation, or a tree would make a particularly human squeal and they would start to walk faster. It wasn't long before Genny picked up Linnae and settled her on one hip. Ashen soil raised itself in plumes beneath her hurrying feet and trees swiped with thin twigs that cut exposed skin. Linnae was facing backwards, watching the strip of bark she'd peeled from the tree flutter along behind them. When she dropped it, it tumbled to the ground like a broken snake.

"Hurry, Mommy," Linnae said.

Genny turned to look behind her and tripped over a root. For a terrifying instant she lost her grip on Linnae, but clutched the girl back to her and started to run as fast as she could. Tree branches tore at Genny's ponytail, but she surged forward because something had been moving along the trail behind them.

Then, as suddenly as the forest had closed in upon them, it disgorged them upon the yard. Genny sprinted to the center of the lawn and then turned to face the woods. The trail they'd come back on terminated in the same place as the one they had taken when they left, but it wasn't the same trail.

## 39 NATURE

A handwritten sign in the Manor Café's window said it was closed in remembrance of Margot, but Prentice didn't notice it as he shuffled by, his face spasming as his seizure built up a full charge. There was no one on the street to see him stumble when his left leg gave a first violent kick. His hands began to close and open; his fingers took up strange calisthenics. When his right leg gave out, he went down on his knees. Tears fell on the hot sidewalk, edges receding as they began to evaporate. The unforgiving concrete caught him on the chin as he tipped forward, and blood filled his mouth. The full assault of the seizure flailed his arms, kicked his legs, and smashed his skull against the ground.

And then, suddenly and thankfully, there was nothing hard or unforgiving.

His head rested on a woman's lap, and his face was caressed by gentle hands that did not shy from the contortion of his numb flesh. A lock of her blonde hair draped itself across his exposed neck. His body rocked and flung itself with painful fury, but he stopped crying. Her touch loosened his jaw, releasing his swollen and mangled tongue from the prison of his teeth. Blood coursed from his mouth to fall, bright and red, upon her yellow skirt.

"I," he said, then paused because he was out of breath. The woman smoothed his shirt with her hands and suddenly he could feel his abdomen rise with a deep, even breath. "I can feel your hair against my face."

The dark current of his illness was flowing out of him, leaving him everywhere she touched. She took his left hand in both of hers and rubbed health back into it. Grateful, amazed and eager, Prentice shoved his other hand towards her, moving it as best he could despite the seizure.

"Patience! I will get to all of your every," she said.

She laid his head on the sidewalk gently and then crawled on her hands and knees down to his waist. She pressed her hands to the thigh closest to her. The tightness there was replaced by a comfortable, newly stretched sensation and she moved to his knee, then down to his shin and calf. She patted the top of his foot, then moved back up along the other side of him, massaging this one from the ankle up. When she was waist level, she ran both of her hands up along his inner thighs and over the stiffness at his crotch.

Then she turned to face him and Prentice sat up, scrabbling with his hands and arms to pull himself away from her and her hideous, crushed face.

"You," he said. "From the parking lot."

"The parking lot, the forest, the orchard."

"What are you doing to me?"

"Helping."

"Why?"

"No time for the who-what-where-why-when," Helena said, and leaned closer to him.

"Look, thanks, but my seizure _is_ over," Prentice said.

"I must take it all or it will return to you."

"Take what? What do you think you're taking?"

"The illness," she said.

Her face was very pale. She held one hand out in front of her; it clenched open and closed in an involuntary way. When it steadied, she touched her cheek.

"Numb," she said.

"I never told anyone about the loss of feeling."

The body speaks, and yours still has more to tell."

Helena reached towards him again, and Prentice let her slide her hands up under his linen shirt. So close, with her scars hidden from view, she was beautiful. Prentice put his arms around her waist. Her lips brushed his. A dark energy vomited from his mouth, mixing its oily flavor with the aftertaste of his own blood.

Helena gagged and turned her head to swallow. Her entire body shook. She was seizing.

"Help!" Prentice shouted. "Someone help us! Call 911!"

He stood up, his body strong and lithe. There was still no one on the street, but the grocer's blue and white sign was flipped to _Open_. Prentice took a half step towards the store before Helena grabbed his ankle. She looked up at him, her one eye pleading and her head shaking no, no, no. As she went into the worst of it, he knelt by her side.

When her seizure ended, Prentice cradled Helena in his arms, rocking her a little and resting his chin on her head. The tang of sickness rose from both of them. Helena's skin felt clammy and too cool, and Prentice stared at the grocery store in a wordless plea for someone, anyone.

"Don't worry," Helena whispered.

"You need a doctor."

"No doctors."

"You just had a seizure!"

"So did you."

Prentice looked down at Helena, and saw that she was smiling. She had very even teeth with a small, but sexy, gap between the front two. Prentice cleared his throat.

"What now?" he asked.

"Now we go," she said, and stood with one fluid motion.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"The orchard."

She led Prentice to the parking lot where she stood grinning next to the driver's side of his Corvette.

"I don't think so," he said.

"I want the zooms."

"You can have them from the passenger side."

Helena huffed, but went around to the other side. Prentice unlocked the car. Hot air poured out when they opened the doors and Prentice blurted, "Look, I'm sorry about how I acted when we met; I feel like a real jackass."

"We need to go," she said.

"I'm still sorry," he said.

They got in the car and rolled down the windows. The feral roar of the engine bounced off the nearby buildings and Helena squealed with delight. Prentice put the car in gear.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Tricky question," she said.

"No it's not."

"It is when you have more than one name."

"I can concede that." When she didn't volunteer anything, Prentice continued, "But what should I call you?"

"Helena."

"That's a nice name."

"Meh," she said, and waved her hand like she was shooing an insect. "I'm ready to go. Go, go, go!"

Prentice drove the car to the end of the lot. They idled with Main Street spread out in both directions. "Which way is the orchard?" he asked.

"East."

"You better stick with left or right."

She pointed, and Prentice pulled out onto the road, drove out of the town, and started to cruise. Helena stuck her arm out of the window, laughing as her hand was blown back by the wind. Her hair billowed around her in soft clouds of whitish gold, and although sweat was pooling behind his back, Prentice didn't turn on the air conditioning.

"I love this," Helena shouted.

Main turned into FM-6060. The Corvette chopped the miles into a smeary collection of moments. When Helena pointed to a drive that ran beneath a stone arch, they were going too fast to turn. They flew past the entrance and Prentice wrenched the car into a skidding U-turn that sent up a hail of rocks when they slewed across the shoulder on the opposite side of the road. The rear of the car fishtailed when it came back up on the pavement, and Prentice overcompensated first one way, then the other. The car skidded under the arch and aimed itself for the thick trunk of a white tree. Slamming on the brakes, he resisted the urge to close his eyes. The wheels whined—and then stopped. The front bumper was only inches away from the tree.

A woman shouting in Spanish walked up and slapped the hood of the car. She rapped on Prentice's window. He forced his fear-stiff fingers to unclench from the steering wheel and tried to plaster a conciliatory expression over the death mask of his own shock. The woman knocked at the window again. On the other side of the car, Helena sobbed.

"Helena! Shit, I'm sorry! Are you all right?"

She stared at the tree and shook her head, horrified.

"We didn't hit, it's okay, we didn't crash."

The woman shouted something at them and Helena leaned across the center console. She was graceful even in the awkward stretch and Prentice wondered how either of them could be doing so well despite their recent seizures. Through her tears, Helena smiled at the woman.

The woman dropped to her knees. She bowed her head. Silver strands in her dark hair sparkled in the unrelenting sunlight.

"What's she doing?" Prentice asked.

"Offering obeisance."

"To you?"

"To La Zalia. Come, and I will explain. Great-Grandmother tells me time is less than it was."

Helena grasped her door handle and Prentice said, "Can you tell that woman I wasn't trying to kill anyone? That it was an accident?"

Helena nodded and got out of the car. Prentice took a deep breath then nudged his door. He paused, waiting for the woman's anger.

The orchard air vibrated with a sound like power lines. Helena spoke and the electric thrumming quickened or slowed with the cadence of her words. The sound came from the tree he almost hit, the petrified tree Helena had just called _Great-Grandmother_.

_Start the car_ , Prentice thought. _Leave. Drive._

He didn't. Instead, Prentice climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him. The woman turned to look at him.

"The Fiery-Brook has carried me here," Helena said.

The woman nodded.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," Prentice said.

She looked at him for a moment longer, then bowed her head. Helena put both of her hands on the woman, spreading her fingers out over the top of her skull. The electrical sound modulated into the improbable music of stars singing themselves to sleep. Prentice felt his heart ushering his life force through his veins, felt the dovetailing rush and flow of the blood moving through the woman, felt the sap wicking through the trees, felt the minute flashes of existence as a worm or a pill bug squirmed in the great darkness of the Earth's embrace. Then Helena stepped away from the woman and only the electrical hum remained.

The woman's hair was no longer streaked with gray. Her complexion was unweathered by age. Prentice touched where his cheekbone used to be numb and then knelt beside the woman, both of them kneeling before Helena.

"Already you are welcome, yet you thank me. It is a sign of honor." She knelt down in front of him and put her face very close to his. "I am honored," she said.

"What are you?" he whispered.

"I am a vessel for what must be."

"I don't understand."

"Walk with me, Fiery-brook."

They stood. The woman began to chant ecstatic phrases, but did not rise. Helena led Prentice to the other side of the petrified tree.

"This is the first in an ancient line," Helena said.

"It's petrified."

"She, not it. Always she."

"She?"

"Great-Grandmother is old as the earth. Eternal life is the reward for those who are hosts, those who are the vessel. You've heard of dryads?"

"Yes."

"This is the truth of the myth. This entire orchard: dryad, dryad, dryad." She punctuated each instance of the word by pointing from tree to tree. Then she pointed to herself.

Prentice swallowed hard and then said, "You're going to be a tree?"

"Eternal life will be mine, if such pleases La Zalia."

"La Zalia. You've said that before, but I don't understand."

"That is her name here, but she goes by others. You call her Mother Nature. She works through her hosts and I am one."

"The hosts—they are the trees in this orchard?"

"These are hosts who have fulfilled their duty. There are others like me, other orchards like this. _¿Comprendes?_ "

Prentice shook his head: no, he didn't understand.

Helena took hold of his elbow and led him down between rows of peach trees. A smell of decay wafted around them, not just from the sere ground where fallen fruit lay bruised, but from the trees themselves. The leaves were drooping and gray. Swarms of ants climbed in jagged lines up and down suppurating bark.

"Are they sick?" Prentice asked.

"Yes," she said. "Blight."

"Can you help them?"

"La Zalia can."

"Did La Zalia help me? Is she the one who made that woman back there young?"

"No. I did those things."

"Aren't you La Zalia?"

"As The Gauss is to you, so I am to La Zalia."

Helena turned away from Prentice and put one hand on the trunk of the tree nearest her. Ants crossed the smooth expanse of her hand, a few at first and then many. Her hand disappeared beneath a black and red confusion of thoraces, antennae, legs. The humming sound got louder and the mass grew baseball-sized before Helena took her hand from the tree. She knelt and put her hand close to the ground. The writhing throng fell from her, insect by insect, and started an orderly march towards the edge of the orchard. Prentice stood behind Helena; his skin prickled as if the bugs were on him, but none came near. Ants climbed down the trunks of all the trees now, hordes of them joining the original line. The dry scratch-scratch of their passage mixed with the electric vibration. Despite the intense summer heat, Prentice shivered as Helena stood and turned to face him. Her hair flew in a breeze reserved only for her.

"She is coming," Helena said.

"Who?"

"Kneel!"

Helena grasped Prentice's shoulders and pressed down on him. She wasn't strong enough to bow him, but a swarm of bees was weaving across the orchard and he obeyed. Tree by tree, the swarm grew. Prentice grabbed at Helena and tried to pull her down by him, where they might cower beneath the furious passage of bees. Instead of crouching, Helena jerked backwards, her entire body tensed with arms flung out to the sides. The bees flew straight for her, their sound fearsome and vast. They gathered around her head, a dark halo, buzzing. She looked down at Prentice but she was no longer Helena. Her eye was green, not blue, and her gaze was hideous with knowledge and erotic with the lusty abandon of blooming flowers. When she spoke, her voice was the fire, rain, wind; it blasted and caressed, warmed and teased, placated and conquered. Her words were all that there was and then there were trees, everywhere trees, and all of them in the ripest throes of fecundity. Leaves lost their pallor, even as the bruised and stinking peaches plumped and sent out fresh perfume. Her chant continued, and La Zalia began to glow. Her light roared from her with a rush of candescence that could be felt and heard, but seen only as a brilliance seeping through shuttered eyelids. Prentice prostrated himself upon the Earth. He lay in obeisance; he lay in worship.

When Helena crumpled to the ground beside him, she was moaning in pain and terror. Prentice rolled towards her, but could not bring himself to touch her prone body. Instead, he whispered her name. Her hair was tangled with dried grass, and her skirt was hitched high up on her thighs. She was weeping.

"There was no gentleness," she said.

"It's not always like that?" Prentice asked.

"Never like that."

Helena sat up and adjusted her skirt, pulling it down to cover her legs before smoothing it out over and over. Prentice sat up then, too, but still did not touch her. After awhile, she spoke.

"The good vessel does not pour itself. No! I _am_ a thief! The world is rife with my plunder. Yet I do not feel wrong."

"You've been helping people without La Zalia's permission."

"Yes."

The humming sound was a low rumble, almost inaudible. The ants raised columns of dust as they continued their progress across the dry orchard. Helena stunk like rotting vegetation, and Prentice swallowed against the rising pressure of his own questions.

"La Zalia hungers for another," Helena said.

"You mean Laney," Prentice said, his voice less than a whisper.

Helena leaned close to Prentice's ear. He flinched in the onslaught of her fetid breath, but he did not draw back. "The sacrifice is mother, the nourishment is mother, but the continuance is daughter. The daughter is everlasting life. She is the vessel, but there can be no daughter without the sacrificial mother."

"They're going to kill Genny?"

"On the solstice, there will be a Treeletting. The sap will pour like blood from the daughters who have served before me. And blood will pour like sap from the mother."

"Why are you telling me this?" Prentice asked. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because, Fiery-brook, you are the one who saves."

"I'm not anyone's savior!" Prentice stood up, towering over Helena. She looked up at him, her expression sweet with compassion.

"You will be," Helena said.

"You're crazy."

Helena let her head drop until her chin rested on her chest. All Prentice could see was her mussed hair. Scraps of desiccated leaves were mixed in with the flaxen tangle.

"Go," she said. "Get in your electric blue and run like all streams."

"That's the first sensible thing you've said." Prentice began to walk away from her. The orchard loomed around him, dreadful in its perfect bounty.

"Treeletting will happen," Helena called.

"Why?"

"Life is an exchange: there is no life without death."

"And this Treeletting is carried out by some sort of cult?"

"It is not a cult; it is the natural order."

"Look, Helena, if there is some cult practicing human sacrifice, we can call the police or the FBI. They can stop it. They can save Genny!"

"Oh, my fiery one. Think how crazy you will sound!"

"You can back me up!"

Prentice returned to Helena. He extended his hand and she took it, pulling herself to her feet. Face to face they stood, and Helena gave a gentle laugh.

"Your only proof is a girl who believes she's a part-time Goddess."

"Damn it! I can't stop a group of crazies by myself. I don't even have a gun!"

"You saw La Zalia. Guns are not a sticking point, not a stopping point."

"We need to go to Botetourt and tell the police."

"It will not help and, besides, there is no time."

"You said it happens on the Solstice; that's tomorrow!"

"What will they prosecute, what can they hold as evidence?"

Prentice kicked at the ground. Helena touched his arm, and he looked up. "If you believe this is the—what did you say, natural order? If you believe that, why do you want me to stop it? Why would you even try?"

"Nature must be kept in balance, and La Zalia is that balance. Without her the elemental forces will tear the world apart. Nothing would live."

"But why do _you_ want to stop it?"

"We cannot stop it; the Treeletting will always be."

"I don't understand! If I don't stop it, how can I save Genny?"

"Separate the people from the practice; the ceremony is eternal, but the roles can be played by anyone."

"So all you want is to delay the Treeletting?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I haven't seen Vermont," Helena said.

"Vermont? Really? That's your whole reason?"

"Do I need more?"

"To subvert what you believe is a cosmic imperative? Yeah, I'd say you need more. A lot more."

"Listen: if the woman survives this Solstice, another year must pass before the next Treeletting. The woman and child will escape. And I will see Vermont."

"But what about next year?"

"Another will be chosen."

"You mean another woman will be murdered."

"Everybody dies."

"But not everybody is, what? Burned at the stake?"

"There's no stake; just a tree."

Prentice flinched.

"What happens if I can't get to the Mercers, or if I can't get them to leave?"

"Then our only hope is to subdue La Zalia and prevent her from participating." Helena's mouth twitched in a grim smile. "But I would recommend against the necessity of trying."

Prentice reached out for Helena. They clasped hands, tightly, two children lost in a dark wood. A faction of bees flew past them, headed out of the orchard.

"What do we do now?" Prentice asked.

"Go back," Helena replied.

"I can't stay at The Gauss."

"There is nowhere else." Helena let go of Prentice and began walking towards the parking lot. He followed behind her, careful not to step on the uniform columns of ants.

"You know I'm calling the police when we get back," he said.

"Then this is our final goodbye."

"What are you talking about?"

"Olivia hears everything and she will kill you."

"Olivia has powers, too?" Prentice asked.

"No, but she can listen to all of your calls."

"I'll use my cell phone."

"Have you tried it?"

"Yes."

"Then you know there's no Fiery-brook certainty."

They got to the car and Prentice opened Helena's door for her. The old-young woman at the fruit stand bowed. As they pulled out of the orchard, the scream of the road poured in the open windows and swirled the smell of decay around and around in the car.

"You must go to The Argentine tomorrow," Helena said.

Prentice nodded, and then said, "How do I contact you?"

"You don't."

"What if Olivia knows what we're planning?"

"Then we have failed."

They drove back to Breaker in silence. In the parking lot, Helena slipped through the tear in the fence and Prentice punched at the dashboard until his knuckles split and bled. What finally drove him out of the car was the turgid stench of Helena's lingering rot. Shoulders squared, his back straight, and his concentration focused on the metallic weight of his watch against his wrist, Prentice walked to The Gauss as if he were walking to The Westmoreland. He walked as if he were someone else.

## 40 TAP, TAP

The movers finished unloading the truck and left The Argentine. The Mercers were alone for the first time with their new house and the cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked. Silence thickened the air, acrid as smoke and just as threatening. Genny fought against it by ripping open the cardboard boxes, slicing through the tape with the glinting and sharpened edge of a razor blade. She grabbed the packing paper, crinkling it into tight balls that she threw to the floor. When she found a sheet of bubble wrap, she gave it to Linnae.

"Pop all of them," she said.

The plinking snap of burst bubbles exacerbated the suffocating feel of the silence. When Malcolm removed it from Linnae, she didn't protest. Genny kept unpacking. Unearthed pots clanged and pans slammed onto the counter. A tragedy of strewn paper fell to the floor.

"I want our first evening in the house to be perfect," Malcolm said.

Genny leaned into a box, struggling to pull out the Kitchen Aide mixer. Malcolm put one hand on her back. "It can wait," he said.

"No," Genny said. "It can't. In another day, you'll be away on a business trip. I'll be alone, in the middle of nowhere, looking after our daughter in this ... this place! I don't think it's too much to ask that you help me get things in order."

"Genny, love! What's bothering you? Did something happen when you and Laney were walking?"

Linnae tugged at her father's pants leg, nodding up at him.

"What happened?" Malcolm asked.

"It was nothing," Genny said.

"We found a little doll out there."

"You did?"

"Mommy wouldn't let me keep it."

"Oh, Mal! It was awful! I didn't tell you because I know you have so much to worry about with your job and with, well, everything else that's gone on recently."

"Your wellbeing comes before anything else." He tucked a stray lock of Genny's hair back behind one ear.

"I realize it has to be coincidence, but the doll looked like me. She was naked and tied up. It was obscene."

"Where did you find it, exactly?"

"I don't know! We got turned around. I have no idea how it happened, but we got lost."

"It would've happened to me, too. We're new and, let's face it, pretty soft from suburban living. Starting tomorrow, I'll make some maps of the trails."

Genny pulled away from Malcolm and said, "Tomorrow?"

"The sooner, the better."

"But what about the problem at work?"

"You come first."

Genny leaned back over the box she had been unpacking. She tugged at the mixer, but it remained lodged against something and she stood back up empty handed. She looked at Malcolm and said, "I need you to go."

"I don't feel right about it."

"I don't either, but I have to be able to handle things on my own. I refuse to go through life as a broken woman..."

"You aren't broken."

"But I've felt that way since the incident!"

"I didn't know that."

Genny shrugged, just a little. Linnae trotted around the kitchen, kicking the discarded and crumpled papers. Then Malcolm swept his arms out in an expansive, grand gesture.

"Celebrate with me," he said.

Crossing to the freezer, he withdrew a bottle of pink champagne; it was the same brand they had at their wedding. Two champagne flutes were on the counter and he grasped them by their stems with one hand as he presented the bottle to Genny.

"My favorite," she said.

"Let's drink to new beginnings," Malcolm said.

"That sounds good to me," Genny said.

"First, though..." he said, and handled the bottle and the cups to Genny. He reached into the box Genny had been unpacking and pulled out the mixer. "Where do you want it?"

"Anywhere you can find a space, thanks."

When the mixer was on the counter, Malcolm and Genny carried their celebratory items out onto the front porch. Linnae rode her Big Wheel down the driveway, pedaling slowly and looking over at the forest. Genny looked, too, then made an effort to ignore it.

"Laney," she called. "Come back over here and you can watch the cork fly."

Linnae jumped off her bike and ran to her mother.

"She seems skittish," Malcolm said.

"There've been a lot of changes."

"Are you sure she isn't getting worse?"

Linnae was at the base of the stairs now, goggling up at her parents.

"Come on up here next to Mommy," Genny said.

"Ready?" Malcolm asked.

The girl nodded and Malcolm popped the cork. Mother and daughter both jumped a little and then giggled. Champagne overflowed the bottle and Genny fumbled to catch it in one of the glasses.

"Bubbles!" Linnae said.

"My rare girl, how right you are: it's bubbly!" Malcolm said.

When both flutes were filled, Genny and Malcolm clinked glasses. Champagne spilled over the top, overflowed the vessel. Genny took a sip and smiled.

"I want some," Linnae said.

"Okay, one sip."

Genny held the glass while Linnae took a taste. She made a horrible face before spitting the champagne onto the porch. "Bleh," she said.

"Not a huge fan of the pink champers, I see," Malcolm said.

Linnae blew a wet raspberry directed at the champagne bottle before trotting down the steps and over to her Big Wheel. She pedaled in the direction of the road. Malcolm and Genny sipped their drinks as Linnae moved away from them.

Setting down his glass, Malcolm said, "I don't think I can leave you."

"You have a job to do, Mal. Life has to go on. Our lives have to move on and grow beyond what happened."

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep here?"

Genny lowered her head, and plucked at the hem of her wrinkled shorts. Bruises darkened on her thighs from carrying boxes that were far too big and almost too heavy for her to bear. Malcolm leaned over her lap, bowing to kiss the injuries.

"Mommy?" Linnae called. "Daddy? What is that sound?"

"What?" Malcolm said.

"Tap, tap," Linnae said.

"I hear something, too," Genny said.

Linnae got off her Big Wheel again and ran up to the base of the stairs. With one foot she reached back until she found the bottom step, and then she took the step up, pulling her body along behind her foot. Genny caught the girl around her waist and carried her up to the porch.

"Is it bad?" Linnae whispered.

"Of course it's not 'bad'!" Malcolm said.

He shaded his eyes. It was a Vesuvius reflex, a Hiroshima reflex, a useless and ageless reflex. His arm cast a narrow shadow over his eyes; through it, he scanned the trees nearest the house.

"They're coming," Linnae said.

"Who?" Genny asked.

"The trees."

"No they're not," Malcolm said.

"Mommy knows they are."

"Laney-loo," Genny said. "Do you see the fence? The nearest trees are behind the fence, same as they've always been, and trees can't leave where they're rooted."

Linnae wrapped her arms tighter around her mother and shook her head. Malcolm's gaze lingered on the pine tree Genny hated. Some trick of backlight or shadow made it look taller and more densely needled, but that had to be his imagination. Besides, the tapping sound had a hard quality to it, a cracking sound too sharp for a pine, and Malcolm looked elsewhere, to other trees with broader, less ominous leaves.

"There, see! It's a woodpecker," Malcolm said. "It's just a woodpecker!"

"Where?" Genny asked.

Malcolm pointed, then started laughing. A flurry of motion accompanied a barrage of hammering. Genny pointed at the tree to help Linnae locate the bird.

"It's really a woodpecker," Genny said.

"Laney, you almost had me going for a minute there," Malcolm said. He pulled Genny to his side and then kissed the top of Linnae's head. To Genny he said, "Do you feel better?"

"I guess I do."

"Want some caviar and crackers to go with the bubbly?"

Genny nodded without looking away from the bird.

"I'll go get it," Malcolm said.

He kissed Genny, just at the corner of her mouth. She began to turn to him, but her gaze stayed on the bird. After a moment, Malcolm went inside by himself.

"I want avi-are," Linnae said.

"You don't even know what that is," Genny said.

The girl wiggled, and Genny set her down. She held open the screen door for her, and then watched as Linnae disappeared into the house. When she let go of the door it thudded shut, reinvigorating the woodpecker's frenzy.

Genny picked up her champagne and went to sit on the top stair. The patio planks were smooth beneath her thighs, the evening sunlight warm on her face, and the champagne exactly cold enough. She took a deep breath to make her shoulders relax. She failed: the woodpecker fluttered to the pine tree and her entire body tensed.

The bird hopped up the pine a little ways, then set to knocking. A red mouth opened in the tree trunk. It spilled sap and the dark secrets of foliage. The woodpecker flapped its wings in a valiant thrusting of feather and hollow bones, but the mouth was hungrier and faster. Gnarled bark engulfed the bird headfirst but the wings kept flapping in the desperate rhythm of lost hope. The red maw pouted outward: sensual, sucking, devouring. As the bird disappeared into the tree, Genny's cup fell to the porch, a cataclysm of shards and spilled champagne.

## 41 TUMBLE

Malcolm left the day after the woodpecker died. He took one suitcase and the bag with his laptop. He took the car.

Genny stood with Linnae on the porch to watch him go. Linnae kept waving even when the dust raised by the tires settled, her entire body leaning in the direction her father had gone. Terrible heat thrummed with a threat of lightning unfulfilled by the hideous blue of the sky.

"He can't see you anymore," Genny said, sounding cross.

"Is he coming back?"

"Maybe we shouldn't have let him go."

"What?"

"Nothing, Laney. Don't listen to your grumpy mommy."

"Maybe you need a nap."

"I need something."

Genny led her daughter back inside. They crossed through the living room, past the boxed mementos of a life that couldn't be transferred to this new place despite protective cardboard and graying shrouds of packing paper. Whatever had made the decorative plate or the brass candlesticks or the flaring suncatcher meaningful had been burned up by their travels. Worst of all were the well-framed, glass-plated family photos. They leaned against the back wall of the room and stared with dead eyes.

Genny made an effort to ignore the pictures when they walked past them. It was difficult, but it was important that she not allow herself any room for baseless fears. She had to be strong.

She had to be sane.

They were almost to the top of the winding staircase when Genny asked, "Do you think you want to watch Mommy chop down a tree?"

"You'll hurt it!"

"Trees don't have feelings," Genny said. She paused at the top of the staircase to let Linnae pass in front of her. The girl took only one step past her mother before turning around.

"They feel! They are mad. Really... pissed."

"Laney, language!"

The girl didn't look away or apologize. She just stared up at Genny, her jaw set in determination, a feminized version of her father. Genny knelt before Linnae.

"Are they talking to you?" Genny asked.

"Yes."

"What are they saying?"

Linnae reached out with both of her hands. Genny felt the pressure of fingers against her shoulders, then felt the first wrought iron stair smash against her right elbow. The staircase made a dull ringing sound, like a bell with a felt clapper, only it wasn't the clapper punching against the inverted U of the bell, but her head slamming into banister rails. Genny tumbled to the base of the stairs. She sprawled on her side, body contorted like a ragdoll.

"Mommy!" Linnae screamed. "Mommy!"

Genny rolled onto her back and assessed herself for broken bones. Her right elbow throbbed but her legs seemed fine. Linnae continued to scream from the top of the stairs. Her face was pale, and her hands, the same tiny hands that shoved Genny, were outstretched. She took a step closer to the stop of the staircase and Genny used the handrail on the stairs to pull herself into a standing position. She dragged her aching body up stair by stair. When she reached the landing, Genny smoothed the girl's hair with trembling hands.

"Let's go to your room," Genny said.

Genny led Linnae into the girl's room. "Sit down," she said, and motioned to the little bed, with the sweet yellow covers and the frilly pillowcases. Linnae climbed up onto the bed and sat with her feet sticking out in front of her.

"Why did you push me?"

Linnae burst into a renewed frenzy of tears.

"Did the trees tell you to do it?"

Linnae threw herself face first into the yellow bedclothes.

"I'm not mad, Laney-loo. I'm not angry at you, but I need to know the truth. Did the trees tell you to push me?"

"I'm not in trouble?" Linnae asked, her words muffled by the covers.

"No."

"I'm scared."

"I know," Genny said, and sat down next to her daughter.

"I don't want to hear them anymore, Mommy!"

Genny let one hand lay upon the girl. Both of them were shaking, and Genny felt fat beads of nervous sweat tracing wet lines down her sides. "I'm going to try and make it stop, but you have to be brave," Genny said.

"I can't!"

"Oh God, you just have to be!"

"I want Daddy."

"Daddy can't help us."

"I want to go home."

"We will."

Linnae sat up, her face blotchy from emotions too big for a toddler. "Can we go now? Will Daddy be there?"

"I have to take care of something first, but as soon as Daddy comes home, we'll get in the car and go. I swear. We'll go right home."

"Okay."

"That's a good girl."

## 42 GIFT

Out in The Argentine's driveway, a car door slammed. Genny went to the window, stumbling on a toy. She fell against the glass pane with a thud, and peered out through a smear of her own perspiration.

"Daddy?" Linnae asked.

"No. It's... Prentice?" The last part she called loudly and the unexpected stranger looked up at her. He held a backpack in one hand and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

"Mind if I come in?" he shouted.

"Door's locked; hang on," she replied.

"Come on, Laney, let's go downstairs."

As they left the room, Genny reached for the top of the doorframe. One of the first things Malcolm had done when they moved in was to put the keys to all of the rooms up on their doorframes to keep them from becoming irreplaceable toys in one of Linnae's games. Genny tried to knock down the skeleton key to Linnae's room but couldn't reach it, not even when she hopped.

"Can I have a cookie?" Linnae asked.

"You can have anything."

Genny led Linnae down the stairs, keeping one hand clutched on the girl's hand and the other on the banister. Downstairs, Prentice was banging on the door. The porch creaked as he walked around to the nearest window, and then came the dulled rapping of knuckles against glass, accompanied by a greeting that sounded more like a question.

"Hello?" Prentice called.

He continued to bang and shout until Genny felt the frenzy of his noise as the ache of her elbow. Once downstairs, she threw open the door without hesitation.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," she said.

"Likewise," Prentice said.

"I don't know what you're doing here, and I can't say I care. Just, wow, just come inside."

"Thanks."

"What's in the bag?" Genny asked.

"A few things I didn't want to leave without."

"Leave?"

Prentice stepped closer to Genny and let the backpack fall to the ground. He reached towards her face, then stopped just shy of touching her. He could feel the heat of her skin, and stammered when he said, "Did someone hit you?"

"The staircase," Genny said, and motioned to the wrought-iron spiral.

"You fell down?"

"Pushed, actually."

"Your husband pushed you?"

"No! Of course not."

"Are you sure?"

"Stop asking."

Prentice drew back then and surveyed the room. After a moment he said, "I brought you a present."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"I want a cookie," Linnae said, and tugged at Genny's arm.

"Just a minute," Genny said.

Prentice knelt beside his knapsack. He unzipped the front pocket and pulled out a glossy bag. For a moment, he continued to crouch there, the bag hanging from his hand, but then he stood and turned to Genny. Thrusting the bag towards her, he exhaled heavily when she took it. He stood lighter somehow, as if a weight was gone. Genny reached inside.

"Did you wrap this yourself?" she asked. "It's gorgeous."

"No, can't say I did."

"Where did you get it?"

"Austin."

"You were in Austin today?"

"No," Prentice said. "I bought it on my way to Breaker."

Genny tilted her head a little to one side, and said, "You bought this before you met me?"

"Please open it."

Genny shrugged, but pulled the crushed bow from the paper. It left a tear in the wrapping through which the bone white of a gift box showed. She handed the bow to Linnae, then ripped off the rest of the wrapping. Paper fell to the floor, a shed skin. The box opened.

"They're beautiful!" Genny said.

"You like them?"

"I, well, I just don't know what to say."

"Will you wear them?"

"I can't accept these, Prentice."

"You have to."

"You know I'm married."

"It's not romantic."

"Then what is it?"

Linnae stuck the bow to the front of her shirt. It hung lopsided, but that didn't dampen her exaltation. Genny patted the girl's head, and continued to wait for Prentice's answer.

"This is going to sound ridiculous," he finally said.

"Try me," Genny replied.

"If I had to say what the earrings mean, what the gift itself means..."

"Well?"

"Cosmic," Prentice said. "It signifies our connection."

Genny laughed lightly, but not unkindly.

"I'm being serious."

"I know," Genny said. She took the earrings out of the box, handed the packing to Prentice and set about fastening them to her ears. When she was wearing them she said, "How do I look?"

"Ooh, pretty," Linnae said.

"It looks like they were made for you," Prentice said.

"I don't normally wear blue, but these are lovely. Thank you."

"You're most welcome."

"Can I ask you to do me a favor?"

"I'll do what I can, as long as we leave soon."

"Leave?"

"Together."

"Not romantically, right?"

"No, of course not."

"Okay. I do think we should go. But there's something I need to do first. It's going to sound strange."

A gust of wind broadsided the house and sucked the front door closed with a slam. Prentice and Genny both jumped, and then grinned at each other. Prentice made an effort to look around the room, but it felt odd pretending a casual interest and he looked down at his feet and wondered if maybe it wouldn't have been better to wear something other than his sandals.

"I can't get over how windy it is," Genny said. "No one ever talks about how windy it gets in Texas. Had anyone ever said anything about it to you?"

"I guess not."

"Isn't that strange."

Prentice shrugged, and looked up from his feet. Genny was going away from him, but motioning him to follow. She was three steps up on the stairway before he could make himself move.

"It's in the master bedroom," Genny said.

"What?"

"I said, it's in the bedroom."

"I mean, what's in there?"

"You'll see," Genny said.

Though Genny's back was to him, Prentice nodded as if he could understand what could be more important than leaving. When she got to the top of the stairs, Genny disappeared into a door on the right. Prentice followed, pausing only to look down at Linnae carefully flattening the wrapping paper out on the ground before following Genny. He lingered outside the door, uncomfortably staring at the bed Genny shared with Malcolm. She was at an oversized armoire, tugging out dresses that piled around her feet in a confusion of color and hangers. A spill of shoes tumbled onto the dresses, trouncing and kicking their way out of the bureau. Genny leaned into the armoire and came back out holding a large axe.

"Holy shit!" Prentice said, and backed out into the hall.

Genny adjusted her grip on the axe, then looked up at Prentice and laughed. "You should see your face!" she said. His shock was a silence broken only by the wind soughing down the chimney like a death rattle.

"Want to play lumberjack?" she asked.

"Let me hold that," he said.

"Why, don't think I can handle it?"

"Just let me see; I've never held a real axe."

Genny passed the axe to Prentice. The handle was worn, but uncracked, and the axe head didn't jiggle. There was something on it but Genny was moving impatiently to the stairs and he followed her without looking more closely.

When they were back on the main floor of the house, Genny said, "Come on, Laney-loo."

The three of them went out to the back porch. Clouds towered darkly and the wind from the approaching storm set the whole yard in motion. The grass and the spindly, insectile blades of weeds flattened to the ground, only to spring up and vibrate in the wind's wake. The trees threw fisticuffs, their branches scraping together with inhuman squeals. Against the backdrop of thunderheads, the herky-jerky trees glowed with a supernatural phosphorescence. Genny touched Prentice's arm, and he jumped.

"You feel it too, don't you?" Genny asked.

"Maybe we should just go," Prentice said.

"I want to cut down a tree first."

"What?"

"Please," Genny said. "I need to show you something, to prove I'm not crazy."

"The storm is about to break."

Genny wheeled around to face Prentice. She grabbed the axe and tried to take it from him. Prentice held on, afraid that the heft of the thing would pull her off balance. When she stopped struggling, Prentice squared his shoulders and stood up as tall as he could. There was an instant when he felt manly and decisive, and then Linnae spoke.

"I'm scared," she said.

Prentice maneuvered the axe so that it was hidden by his body, and Genny stepped around him. She picked up her daughter and carried her inside. When the screen door slammed closed behind them, Prentice let the axe hang from one hand. The wind grew persistent now, grinding the trees against one another with barbaric intensity. He touched his cheek and warily watched the riotous forest.

## 43 MOLAR

Genny came back alone.

"Where's Linnae?" Prentice asked.

"I put her in the pantry. Don't look at me that way. It's the only room I've got a key to and she thinks it's an adventure because I gave her cookies and milk and told her to pretend she was camping."

"Camping."

"Keep your sarcasm to yourself."

"You're not supposed to lock them in closets."

"It's a pantry!"

"We should go, get out of here before the rain."

"Nothing's stopping you."

"I came here to get you!"

"No one asked you to."

The glass drops of the earrings trembled with her emotion and Prentice said, "Where's the tree?"

When Genny reached for the axe, Prentice relented and stepped aside to let her cross the yard ahead of him. The butt of the handle stuck out near her right hip, and the metallic wedge of the blade stuck up above her left shoulder like a banner. Prentice followed as best he could, tripped up by the strange thickness of the grass and the sharp blades of some scimitar weed cutting his ankles. When he got to the fence, he put both of his hands on top and vaulted over. He crashed down on the other side, rolling like a drunk in the compost smell of dead leaves. Genny stood near him, her entire body tensed behind the axe. She swung at the pine. A gash bubbled fonts of thick fluid that was blackish in color to start, but became an alarming carmine as it thinned and trickled down the trunk.

"It's bleeding," Genny whispered.

Prentice stood up and brushed bits of leaves off himself. The swell tide of fluid staunched itself in an opaque, resinous mass. Genny hacked into the pine again, grunting as she drove the blade. She struggled then, trying to pull it out with her back taut and her arms hard, overextended. At first it held fast, but then suddenly came free with a red spray of mist that spattered Prentice.

Genny drove the axe into the same spot. Red coursed down the trunk and puddled in the valleys between knobby roots as she kept swinging. A tempo evolved, the arboreal beat of a maiming. When the trunk was nearly severed and the tree was wavering upon its own mutilated base, Genny dropped the axe. She leaned against the tree and Prentice helped her then, putting his hands above hers and throwing his weight into the effort.

With a sudden crack, the tree broke and fell. It bounced slightly, then lay prone, its evergreen limbs thrown wide to the witnessing sky. Wind swayed the lowered boughs.

"Is that what you wanted me to see?" Prentice asked.

Genny turned to face him. Her expression was that of a woman just waking from a terrible yet deep sleep, and her entire body was spattered with the strange red effusion of her victim. She spat pink tinged froth onto the ground and Prentice blushed.

"It tastes like blood," she said in a voice so low Prentice leaned forward to catch the words. "Just like blood." She stamped her foot in one of the puddles then kicked at the raw injury of an oozing stump.

"Let's go," Prentice said, but she didn't reply.

Genny leaned over the stump. She dug around in it and the red ooze made a viscous squelching. Then Genny stood, one arm upraised in victory and something small pinched between her thumb and forefinger. She brought it down against her shirt and rubbed it clean. The object was gold colored, not quite rectangular, and had a surface too smooth – too polished – to be a wood chip. They goggled at it, perceiving but not accepting.

"Is that?" Prentice started.

"A gold tooth," Genny said.

"It...that can't be!"

Genny held her find up to his face. The valley in the center of the molar was still gummy with stain, but the rest of the crown was clean, the improbable gold shining in the fitful light assaying through cloud and canopy. Prentice probed the backs of his own clenched teeth with his tongue.

"I have a gold tooth," Genny said.

"I see that."

"No, in my mouth. It hurt for months after they put it in. Now I almost never think about it."

Her voice was dull, too matter of fact for the situation. Prentice swallowed against his unease. It took effort for him to say, "You knew you were going to find that."

"No. I knew I'd find something, not this. Not something... human."

Genny picked up the axe and walked along the felled tree, stepping over the outreached boughs until she got about midway. A grim smile twitched across her spattered face and then the axe was slicing through the air. It hit, not with a crack, but with the wet noise of a rubbery bladder popping. An awful putrefaction suffused the air as Genny wrenched the axe free. She jabbed at a gelatinous mass exposed by her cut.

"This is what I knew I'd find," Genny said, and Prentice forced himself forward.

He stopped just to the right of her and took a moment to steady himself against the smell and the memories of Helena it conjured. Then he looked. He knelt and stared.

"Feathers?" he asked.

"It ate a woodpecker."

Prentice reeled back from the tree. "We need to go," he said. "We need to fucking get out of this place."

He grabbed Genny's wrist, but she struggled and said, "Wait! The axe." She picked up the weapon, and they ran. Together, they splashed through the puddles of blood-sap and tripped their way back across the yard, which was frowsier with stinging nettles and flowering thistle than it had been when they left. They reached the porch at the same time, colliding senselessly with each other as they both dove for the door handle. Then they were in the kitchen, sprinting to the pantry.

"Laney!" Genny shouted.

"Mommy!" the girl cried.

Genny unlocked the door and said, "I'm here, I'm here."

Prentice stood with one foot in the pantry and the other in the kitchen, an accidental intruder upon a mother's love for her child. A thunderous lightning clap rattled the windows.

"Let's go," Prentice said.

"I have to pack," Genny replied. "I have to get our things."

"Buy what you need."

"It'll only take a few minutes."

Genny remained kneeling by Linnae, petting her hair. Outside, the trees and the wind caught and tore at one another. The bitter imbroglio spilled over into the overgrown yard where the grass bristled like the raised hackles of some unpredictable beast. The only still spot was the place where the pine tree had fallen. It lay in eerie quietude, unmoved by the vigor of the approaching storm; it lay with a predator's patience.

Genny stood and followed Prentice's gaze to the kitchen window. "You're right," she said. "Let's just go."

She scooped up Linnae and they ran to the front door. Prentice clicked his key fob and the Corvette's answering chirrup was swallowed by the howl of wind. He sprinted ahead of Genny to open the passenger door, but she stood shaking her head.

"Her car seat's in our car," Genny said.

"We'll have to go without," Prentice replied. "It wouldn't fit anyways. There's no back seat."

"What are we going to do?"

"She'll have to sit in your lap."

"It's not safe!"

"There's no choice."

Genny nodded. She folded herself into the Corvette then, swinging Linnae around to sit on her lap. Prentice closed their door, and ran to get in the driver's seat. The morning glories growing on the side of the house glowed electric blue in the storm's twilight. Prentice drove them down the driveway, the tail spinning out a bit when they turned onto FM-6060.

When they straightened out, Prentice hit the gas. In the rearview mirror, he saw white moon blossoms unfurling their tightness in response to the sudden dark of the storm. They opened like hungry mouths.

"If there's an accident..." Genny said.

"We're going to be fine. As long as we're out of there, we're going to be fine."

Genny hid her face in the tangles of Linnae's hair. Prentice shifted into overdrive. They were on the straight, thundering towards safety. Rain started to fall, the fat drops splattering windshield and spreading obscene tendrils of obscured vision. Prentice switched on the wipers, but they did no good. The squall's onslaught was sudden and complete; the wipers could no more clear away the rain than they could have cleared away the seven oceans. He dropped out of overdrive, then cycled back through the gears until they were crawling through a tunnel of water. The wipers thudded and whirred, arcing momentary swaths of visibility across the windshield. Another thunderbolt announced the collision of two cloud titans, just as a bright flash of lightning closed their useless eyes. Somewhere in front of them came the sound of devastation, of rending and snapping. A tree fell across the road, split down the middle and smoking where the lightning struck.

Prentice hit the brakes. The car lurched into a sickening spin that made Genny scream and clutch at Linnae. It felt like the slide would never end, but Prentice regained control of the Corvette.

They sat in the stopped car, all of them panting and shaking. Torrents of water and wind assaulted the vehicle as the headlights reflected from the rain in jittery glimmers that illuminated nothing. Linnae whimpered and the adults looked at one another.

"We'll have to go the other way, towards Botetourt."

Genny nodded and made herself loosen her grip on Linnae. Prentice drove them onward through the unrelenting downpour. They passed the garish white of moonflowers gulping the tempest and left The Argentine behind a second time. Not half a mile down the road, they encountered another felled tree. Prentice put the car in park.

"Give me the axe," he said.

"What?" Genny called, shouting to be heard over the pelting rain.

"The axe! I'm going to try and cut a path."

Genny shook her head; the blue earrings trembled like waterfalls. "I didn't bring it. I grabbed Laney and forgot the axe."

"Shit."

"I'm sorry."

Without speaking, Prentice drove them back to The Argentine.

## 44 KNOWLEDGE

They made a quick dash from the car into the house, but ended up drenched and dripping on the linoleum. Genny sat Linnae on the countertop and wiped stray drops of water from the girl's face. Prentice touched Genny's shoulder, but she didn't turn around until a flash of lightning, crooked with white heat, slanted across the sky and the lights in the kitchen went out. Then she shoved past him, bumbling into the kitchen chairs and patting her hands along the wall until she found the light switch. She flicked it up and down a few times with no effect, then said, "There are candles and a campfire lamp in the cabinet next to the stove."

Prentice knelt and opened a cabinet. He sent his fingers in, brave but luckless explorers that found naught but pans and pots. Genny stumbled her way across the room to knock around in the cabinet on the other side of the stove. After a moment, there was a click followed by the glow of battery powered light. Face thrown into shadowy relief, Genny carried a green Coleman lantern to the table before returning to the cabinet. She took out a box of thick white tapers and a few brass candlestick holders.

"There are matches in the drawer just above the cabinet you're in," Genny said, and passed a taper and a holder to Prentice.

Prentice was about to pull open the drawer when there was a thudding sound behind him. Linnae sent up a thin, girlish wail, and both adults breathed her name. They hurried to where she sat on the floor, crying and rubbing her eyes.

"What hurts?" Genny asked.

"Is anything broken?" Prentice asked.

"I should never have left her there," Genny said as she bent to inspect Linnae. She articulated the girl's elbows, knees, felt her head for bumps. "Shh, Laney-loo, you're okay."

Aside from Genny's hushed crooning, the house was silent. The electronic whir of refrigerator and air conditioner were silenced by the power outage, and even the fury of the storm was muted as it retreated into a great, exhausted abeyance. Prentice pounded the table with his fist, startling the mother and daughter into standing. The lantern jumped with each impact of his fist, shaking the light into myriad shifting shadows. "I should have got you out of here sooner!" he said.

"We'll go tomorrow," Genny said.

"Tomorrow will be too late!"

"Now you're just being melodramatic." Genny patted him on the arm. "I'm going to get cleaned up. Think you can put together a few sandwiches for our dinner? There's lunch meat and some cheese in the fridge and bread in the keeper, just over there."

"We need to talk," Prentice said.

"We will, but not now."

Genny took one of the tapers out of the box and put it in the candle holder she'd given to Prentice. She struck a match that burned almost all the way down to her fingers before the wick would hold its own beacon of light. When she picked up the candle, their shadows splashed onto the walls, monstrous and dark.

"You should take the lantern," Prentice said.

"Won't you need it to make the sandwiches?"

"Take it, please."

She obliged, leaving the candle on the table. "Be good, Laney," she said. The girl nodded and Genny left Prentice and Linnae alone in the inconstant light.

Prentice reached for the bread keeper; he could smell his own fear wafting from his pits, and he blushed. He pulled out the loaf of bread, then went to the fridge. The chill exhale was a momentarily respite from the water-heavy heat left behind by the storm. American cheese and sandwich meat clutched in one hand, Prentice slammed the fridge. "Shit," he said, then turned to look at Linnae, but she seemed to be hypnotized by the candle's flicker and showed no sign of having heard him.

For the second time, he opened the refrigerator to look for condiments. After all, it didn't matter if the contents of the fridge spoiled, since one way or the other there wouldn't be anyone left at The Argentine tomorrow. He came away with some sandwich spread and a jar of pickle spears. As he set to making dinner, he listened to Genny moving around upstairs and hoped she would come back soon. By the time she did come downstairs, he had three plates set at the table, and had even managed to find a bag of chips to round out the meal.

"That looks good," Genny said. "I feel like a terrible hostess, though. You must want to get cleaned up."

"I don't think any of us would mind if I were to shower."

Genny opened the drawer nearest her and took out a table knife. She cut one of the sandwiches into quarters, and then pared off the crust. When she was finished, she added a small handful of chips and set the plate in front of Linnae. The girl dug in, humming happily as she ate. Genny smiled at Prentice, the earrings he gave her still dangling from her ears.

"Let me put out some fresh towels, and maybe at least find a clean shirt of Mal's for you to wear. Pants are out of the question, though, because you're so much taller. If you keep an eye on Laney, I'll do that and we can eat when you've been able to freshen up, too."

"I'd like that," Prentice said.

"I'm thirsty," Linnae said.

"Mr. Prentice will get you some milk, okay? Her sippy cups are in the cabinet over there; yes, that's it. No more than half full, please, or she'll have an accident."

Genny left the room. The cup Prentice took from the cabinet was decorated with dancing blue stars, and Prentice poured milk into those stellar depths. He fiddled with the top, finally managing to get it screwed on properly, and then sat down in the seat next to Linnae. She took a long gulp accompanied by the cup's airy noises. When she finished, she took the bread off the top of one quarter of her sandwich and removed the flaccid slice of processed yellow cheese he'd carefully unwrapped. She sniffed at it before setting it on her plate. Then she leaned towards him, her face strange in the threadbare light.

"La Zalia knows," she said. "She knows your soul."

## 45 ASSAULT

Prentice stood and backed away from the table. Laney started up a stream of childish chatter. Her weightless words fluttered and floated above the dark abyss of her pronouncement.

"What did you mean, what does she know?" Prentice asked.

"Who?" Laney replied.

"You just said something about, about..." He turned to face the child. She was holding her pickle spear up near her face, bending it into a U-shape.

"A smile!" she said.

Prentice felt a laugh bubbling up, but there was a panicky heat to it and he held tight to himself. When he was sure he could manage, he allowed himself a chuckle. Linnae devoured her green smile.

An odd yellow light trailed the departing storm. The air was rank with the mingled scents of torn leaves, ozone, melting candle wax. The staircase creaked as Genny started back downstairs and Linnae slurped at her sippy cup.

"More," she said.

"Your mommy said you can't have any more."

"I'm thirsty."

"Maybe you can ask her..."

"Ask me what?" Genny said as she came into the kitchen.

"I want more milk. Please."

"You've had plenty."

Linnae threw her sippy cup onto the floor. It made a loud clatter, and the candle guttered and flared in the wind of her discontent. Prentice looked to Genny, but she seemed not to notice the outburst.

"What is it?" Prentice asked.

"Shh, I think I heard something."

"Besides the temper tantrum?"

"Do you hear that?"

Genny went to the back door and leaned with her ear against it. For the first few seconds, all Prentice heard was the relative silence of the house, then there was something whispery, like a thousand sightless worms nosing through airless loam. Genny threw the lock on the back door, and all of them looked at the window over the sink.

"The shutters!" Genny said. "We've got to seal off all of the windows."

"What's out there?"

"The forest," Genny said.

She pulled the chain for the _rouladen_ that covered the kitchen window. The rolled metal covering clattered down along the outside, cutting off the last of the sickly daylight. The kitchen constricted around the candle's glow and both adults moved into the light's perimeter, one on either side of the child. Nothing happened, and they exchanged half-grins at their absurd reaction. Then something thudded against the _rouladen_. The metal shimmied in its track and their grins were lost; each hoped that it had been a fluke, a disoriented bird, a deaf bat. When it happened a second time, Genny picked up the axe from where it leaned against the pantry door.

"We've got to roll them all down," Genny said.

Carrying Linnae with her, Genny dashed into the living room and pulled up short. The pine tree they cut down was leaning against the picture window, the gash where she cut out the woodpecker pressed against the glass. A hideous mouth, it opened and closed with obscene deliberation, squelching wetly and oozing opaque slime. Prentice stepped around Genny, and the tree vomited a spray of decomposing feathers. Then the tree went still, as if worn down by the effort of disgorging the avian remnants. The banging in the kitchen ceased, too, and The Argentine was quiet enough that when Genny swallowed, Prentice could hear her fear-thickened spit catch in her throat. They looked at one another, their eyes wide and unblinking.

Then the tree outside the window started to move. It bristled all of its needles straight up, then slapped them down hard against the branches. Over and over it bristled and flattened. It made a sound like a fire catching. Linnae screamed.

The chain for the _rouladen_ was on the side of the window farthest from them. To get to it, Prentice passed directly in front of the tree, inciting a renewed barrage. Needles rebounded from the glass with a pinging noise, and the tree flexed its unnatural mouth. A crimson gush splattered the window inches from Prentice's face, but he didn't slow. He slapped his hand against the wall, desperately groping for the chain.

"Hurry!" Genny said.

"I can't find it," Prentice said. "Damn it!"

"Maybe I can," Genny said.

She took a step towards the window, but Linnae flailed and Genny had to stop or risk dropping her. Prentice kept running his hand along the wall, feeling for the chain even as the pine tree leaned away from the window. It tilted back very far, too far, but it didn't fall. Instead it flung itself forward. The window rang: across it, a crack. Again the tree leaned back.

Then the chain was in his grip, and Prentice started pulling it with frantic hand over hand motions; the _rouladen_ started its slow downward passage. When the tree threw itself a second time, it slammed into the bottom edge of the _rouladen_. The mechanism propelling the shutter groaned under the pressure, but it kept sliding. When it was down, Prentice fell limp against the wall, breathing heavily. Too late, he realized that he had accidentally left an opening between the bottom of the _rouladen_ and the sill.

The _rouladen_ crept back up as a slender branch slid in between the shutter and the sill. Needles were shorn from the branch and bark peeled back to expose white, but the tree did not give up. The metal shutter groaned as it started to wrench free of the tracks.

"Let's go upstairs," Genny said.

"There's no door on the staircase."

"There are doors on the rooms, though. Come on!"

"Help me secure the window!"

"It's too late!" Genny said.

"If we open it, we can shove the branch out."

Prentice slid the window up and the room filled with a miasma of rot. Face contorted by the overwhelming stench, he pushed at the invading branch. It pushed back.

"It's not working!"

"Back up!" Genny said.

Prentice had just a moment to register what was happening and move his hands out of the way before Genny brought the axe down on the branch. The assault on the house grew more frenzied, shaking not only the damaged _rouladen_ , but also the walls. The leaning stacks of family photos toppled over, and shattered glass exploded across the tile floor. Genny dropped the axe and knelt to help Prentice pull down the _rouladen_. The fit wasn't snug, but at least it was closed. The pine tree went into a fury, pounding against the casement and bristling its leaves in a racket of whooshing thuds. Linnae threw herself at Genny, whimpering hysterically.

"Why, Prentice, why is this happening?" Genny asked.

She buried her face in Linnae's hair and Prentice felt a sudden stab of lonely uselessness. Red tree sap coated his hands, sticky in its tenacious refusal to wipe clean on his shirt. There was nothing for it but to tell her.

"There is no one named Nova," Prentice blurted.

"What?"

Genny lifted her face towards him and Prentice shouted over the tree noises, "There is no Nova."

"I don't understand."

"I—I made her up."

"How can that possibly matter now?" Genny asked.

"Because I need you to understand that I'm telling the truth when I say that they're going to kill you."

His words were stones dropped into watery depths and moving under their own implacable weight. Genny's shoulders slumped. She looked tired and crushed, but not surprised. Prentice reached to gather her in an embrace. She flinched. "Don't," she said.

"Are you crying, Mommy?" Linnae asked.

"It's okay, Laney-loo, don't worry."

"I'm not going to let anything bad happen," Prentice said.

"Sure," Genny replied.

Prentice recoiled from the raw, cutting tone of her voice. He stood blinking as she turned and started up the stairs. A fine powder of ceiling dust floated down from where the staircase attached.

"Wait!" Prentice called. When Genny didn't slow down, he continued. "We have an ally. This girl from town. She's got powers; she's the one who told me what was going to happen."

"Powers?" Genny asked, as the curve of the staircase brought her around to face him.

"She cured me of my epilepsy."

"I don't see how that helps us."

"She can control Nature."

"Can she stop the trees?" Genny asked, and leaned over the banister to see Prentice.

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you bring her?"

Genny stood Linnae on the step in front ahead of her before wiping at the tears skidding down her face. "If you knew about all of this, why didn't you bring her? Why did you come alone?"

"I thought I could get you out of here."

"You were wrong."

She was about to continue up the staircase when they both noticed the silence. Without breaking eye contact with Prentice, Genny reached and took Linnae's hand. Prentice launched himself at the staircase and they ran. Ancient animal sensibilities untouched by money, power, or love propelled them to higher ground. It was not over.

## 46 HIDDEN

Prentice was at the top of the stairs before he noticed he'd grabbed the axe. He had a moment to be thankful that his familiar bumbling hadn't left him unarmed, and then Genny pointed up at the skylight.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"I thought I heard something," she said.

Something tapped at the skylight and though already on edge, they both jumped. Linnae started to cry again, her tears tracing trails through the path of previous lamentation. Then the skylight gave way. Prentice shoved Genny and Linnae aside as a confusion of vines tumbled through the opening. Prentice lost his footing and fell to his knees, hard.

"Hurry, we're in here!" Genny shouted.

His left hand kept hold of the axe as he rolled onto his back. Above him, vines were piling in through the skylight, but they were getting knotted around themselves and banging against the punchwork metal shutter that hung open and useless. Sick fascination kept him prone until one long loop tumbled free. It dangled just above his feet, then dropped with a jerk onto his ankles. The vine's touch was without pulse, heat, or humanity. Prentice scuttled backwards, but not fast enough; the creeper wrapped about one of his sandals. Another whorl of greenery tumbled through the skylight, and Prentice severed it with a resounding thud. The vines snaked away from him, moving fast enough to hiss against the floor. Clumsy and off-balance, Prentice stood up. A third vine assayed the hall and Prentice ran lopsided towards where Genny still shouted for him, his shoeless foot seeming to come down from a very great height before slapping onto the ground to propel him forward.

Genny was in the doorway of the master bedroom. Prentice barreled into her. Genny untangled herself first and Prentice stayed where he was, gulping huge lungfuls of air that did nothing to fill him. Linnae was in the middle of the room. Her eyes were overbright with fear and so green it took him a moment to remember the door. When he did, he turned to find Genny struggling to close it. It took both their efforts to slam the door, copping off some tendrils that had been sneaking over the threshold. Undead, they quivered and trembled. Genny stomped on them, her screams replaced by the wordless silence of inexpressible fury.

"Where's the key?" Prentice asked.

"On top," Genny said, and tilted her chin at the top of the doorframe without taking her eyes off the tendrils she fought.

Prentice slid his fingers along the ledge until he felt the metal edge of the key. He grabbed it and locked the door against the vines that kept thudding against the other side. Several thin green shoots slipped beneath the frame. Genny hacked at them with the axe, leaving deep gouges in the floorboards. As he jumped away from her, Prentice lost his other sandal.

"We need to put something in front of the door," he said. When Genny kept hacking away at the shoots, Prentice shouted, "We need to block that door!"

"With what?" she asked.

Prentice scanned the room, and then pointed at the armoire. "How about that?"

Genny took another swipe at the encroaching vines, then followed Prentice over to the armoire. They leaned against it, grunting and straining, but it didn't move. Prentice wrenched open the doors and started tossing the little clothing that still remained in it out onto the pile Genny made earlier. Again, they tried to push it; again, it did not budge. Prentice was about to give another shove when Genny stepped back, her face pale.

"No!" she shouted, and reached towards the door.

Linnae was crouched there, rocked back on her heels and leaning with her arms crossed on top of her knees. Her chin rested on her arms as she watched the plants creeping under the doorframe. She was singing.

Genny rushed towards her daughter, but Prentice stopped her.

"Let go of me!" Genny said, and twisted against his grip.

"Wait," Prentice said. "Look at what's happening!"

Linnae kept singing. It was an atonal sound, and the words were neither English nor Spanish. The tendrils lay at her feet, peaceful and unmoving.

"They're listening to her," Prentice said.

Genny swung around to face Prentice. Teeth exposed and spittle flying, she hissed. Her next words were guttural: "Don't you ever keep me from her again you, you,..."

"She's okay. We're all okay as long as she keeps singing."

"Let go of me!" Genny said.

"I think we should leave her alone. Genny, please. Trust me."

She lowered her head and the tension left her arms. Prentice let go. Their breath was ragged and loud, the only sounds.

"Sing, Laney, don't stop!" Prentice said.

The girl shook her head very slowly. An utterly unchildlike calm settled over her. She looked right at Prentice when she said, "They want us alone."

"We are alone," Genny said.

Linnae shook her head, and pointed at Prentice.

"Will they go away if he leaves?" Genny asked. "Laney, tell me: will we be okay if Prentice goes away?"

Linnae nodded.

"Absolutely not!" Prentice said. "That would just make it easier for them to take you. Besides, where can I go?"

Genny met Prentice's gaze, then tilted her head towards the window.

"We're on the second story!"

"It's not that far up."

"We'd have to open the shutters," Prentice said.

"I know," Genny said. "Come here, Laney."

The girl went to her mother without any fuss and let herself be placed inside the armoire. Genny grabbed a clutch of dresses from the floor and started hanging them back up. Linnae crawled out from behind the clothes and Genny said, "No, sweetie. You stay in here and hide. You don't come out, no matter what, until Mommy says it's time to come out, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy."

"That's a good girl," Genny said.

As she gently positioned the girl farther back in the armoire, Prentice crept towards the axe. The floorboards gave him away, and Genny darted across the room. They scrabbled together amongst the vines, but Genny came away with the weapon. She gripped the axe in both of her hands and raised it over her head. Prentice backed up, hands raised.

"You should hide, too," Prentice said.

"Leave, and I won't have to."

"I'm not going anywhere without you!"

"Then so help me, I'll kill you."

"You won't."

"Don't be so sure," Genny said and swung the axe.

The razor-sharp blade sailed past Prentice's cheek, caressing him with a kiss of displaced air. Hands raised, he backed away. The room contracted around the gummy edge of the axe and Genny's anguish; the room shrank and left nowhere for Prentice except the bed. He sat upon the mattress, awakening springs that spoke in tongues. Genny raised her weapon. Greenery spread away from the door the way a fan expands outward from its center.

Prentice leapt forward.

He had the handle of the axe in both of his hands. One wrenching motion: overkill. Genny flew forward, tripping over her own surprise to hit her head on the nightstand.

Prentice dropped the axe and knelt next to her. He touched her on the shoulder and, when she didn't move, pushed her hair away from her face. Blood ran from a cut on her forehead, tracing vital accusations across her face.

"Genny," he whispered. "Can you hear me?"

When she did not answer, Prentice picked her up. Her arms and legs were dead weight, her neck unreliable and lolling. Prentice carried her to the armoire. The pale green shoots proliferated across the wooden floor to riot and writhe even as heavier plants rattled the door with blind insistence. Moving faster, he shifted Genny in his arms to open the armoire; behind them, plants were growing over the axe.

A band of light fell upon Linnae's upturned face. "Mommy?" she asked. She was trying to climb out of the closet, but kept getting tangled in piles of clothing.

"Stay in there, Laney," Prentice said.

"I'm scared."

"It'll be okay."

Prentice knelt and set Genny between his knees. Her body relaxed into unnatural ragdoll angles and slumped forward a little. Linnae let out a strangled squeak.

"Mommy has a boo-boo."

"It's just a little cut," Prentice said. He used his wrist to try and wipe some of the blood from Genny's cheek. It left a warm, sticky smear on him but failed to clean her face.

Linnae crawled forward again and then stopped. Her eyes were opened wide and she trembled. Moss with large thorns grew on the far wall and Prentice pushed Linnae farther back into the armoire.

"It's going to be okay," he said.

"I don't like the sharp plants!"

"If you hide far back in the closet, they can't get you."

"They can't come in?"

"No," Prentice said. "Scoot back now. That's a girl."

As Linnae disappeared into the dark recess, Prentice half-lifted, half-dragged Genny into the closet. Her head was propped against one wall; as soon as he managed to fit one leg into the closet, the other flopped out and tipped her body towards the opening. Prentice caught her and, still holding her by one shoulder, bent the leg dangling out of the closet as carefully as he could until it, too, fit inside. A crazed time-bomb of ticking clattered from the back wall of the room as the thorns on the moss started to move. It was a savage, unrelenting sound.

"I don't like it in here," Linnae said.

"Me, either," Prentice said. "I'm going to close the door and it's going to get dark, but you have to stay very quiet. Like playing hide and seek, understand?"

"Can I be It?"

"Maybe next round, Laney, maybe then. But for now, you stay very quiet. Your mommy is going to keep you company."

"What if they call olly-olly-oxen-free?"

"Don't come out, not even then," Prentice said.

Linnae crept forward and put one small hand on Genny's cheek. Prentice stood and slid the dresses over on the rack. The last thing he saw was the gash on Genny's head. Then he covered her legs with clothes scooped from the floor. It wasn't an effective blind, but it was something.

"I'm going to close the doors now. Remember to be quiet and that you're safe. If your mommy wakes up, tell her I've gone to get help."

Prentice waited a moment, but Linnae didn't respond. He closed the door, cringing. Linnae did not scream, did not even whimper; Prentice let out a long, shaking breath. Miles across the room, the axe lay where Genny dropped it. Only the butt of it showed through the tangle of vines overtaking the nightstand. On the bed, the comforter bunched and shimmied, animated by the leafy runners jostling beneath.

When the window broke and the thick branch of a tree swept a lamp from the dresser, Prentice ran for the axe. Sinewy and bloodless, the plants brushed exploratory leaves against his ankles and plucked at the hem of his shirt. He slapped them away with one hand as he reached into the tangle thickening over the axe. A slender shoot flicked at the ticklish opening of an ear and Prentice felt panic beating in time with his heart. He swung his head from side to side, grunting like a tormented herbivore, and leaned closer to the ground. Quicksilver shoots scaled his bare legs, leap-frogging one another to pile on his back. Prentice shouted and threw his body backwards. The axe tore free of the vegetative mass and, swinging wildly, Prentice used it to sever his attackers. He kicked and shook the clutching remnants free of his body.

Prentice stumbled to the door. Jittery fingers and jackhammer fear made it difficult to turn the key, but the door finally unlocked; the audible clang reinvigorated the ticking and scuttling rampage of voiceless plants. Prentice opened the door.

## 47 CAT'S CRADLE

In the hall, a monstrous ballet of plants writhed and lashed. Prentice closed the door behind him and raised his axe. The plants shrank back, parting their screens of vegetation. For one lean instant he was a hero in some golden-lettered tale.

Then he saw the Cayalanzuvans.

" _Lo siento_ , what a mess!" said the twin who speaks. He and his brother stood at the end of the hall, blocking the stairs. Prentice let his axe rest on his shoulder.

"You did all of this," Prentice said.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Give us the woman and child."

"You're too late; I got them out of here before the storm."

The twins exchanged a glance and Prentice took a step towards them. Though the axe rested upon his shoulder, in his mind he prepared his attack. All he had to do was catch them off guard, and the unforgiving spiral of the staircase behind them would do the rest.

The silent twin motioned with his hand. A mass of vegetation uncoiled—and sprang. Prentice didn't get anywhere near the twins before the vines caught him. He was pinned in mid-air, absurdly dangling above the floor with the axe clasped in his useless hands. The vines worried at him, tugging and probing with obscene indiscretion.

Prentice revolved slowly, helplessly. Whorls and loops of vegetation encased him and a bit of something surreal as Spanish moss in the Mojave swayed from the crook of his left elbow. The twins approached. Prentice began to struggle, and the vines tightened around his ribcage.

"As long as you move, they will keep tightening," said the twin who speaks.

Prentice forced himself to go limp. The constriction did not abate, but neither did it increase. One twin opened the door to the bedroom and Prentice shouted, "La Zalia's _vessel_ is going to be your downfall!"

As Prentice spoke, the Cayalanzuvans turned to look at him. The silent twin took a knotted length of string out of his pocket. Fingers flicking with exquisite precision, he morphed though the whole cosmos of cat's cradle designs and Prentice began to flail.

The vines tightened. Prentice's breath came in hoarse gasps as the twin who speaks pushed open the door to the master bedroom. Prentice began to fight harder.

" _Calmate_. Be still! Your death will not prevent the woman's sacrifice."

"But..." Prentice wheezed, "I told you. They aren't here!

"I smell the mother's blood."

"Take me."

"La Zalia must have the girl."

"Fuck her!"

The silent twin hit Prentice with a backhanded slap. The blow cut the inside of his mouth and set Prentice swaying. Through bloodied teeth Prentice whispered, "Spare them."

" _No entiende_."

"No, you don't seem to understand! She's only three." Prentice paused to gasp for breath before continuing. "The girl is only three."

The silent twin twitched his string. The resulting shape was a map of the universe. He let a loop slip, and the entire shape collapsed into a meaningless ball.

Crossing the threshold into the bedroom without a backwards glance, the Cayalanzuvan said, "She will live forever."

Prentice fought his futile, oxygen-deprived fight. Darkness flew in from all directions, buzzing with hypnotic silence and weaving like the swarms of bees in the orchard. The silent twin put the string back into his pocket and Prentice was devoured by nothingness.

## 48 LOVE

When he woke, Prentice was laying on the floor in the upstairs hall. A gaunt man stood over him, chewing gum and holding Genny's axe. He wasn't Cayalanzuvan, and he wasn't Malcolm, but the blade was close to Prentice's face, and he scooted backwards.

"I'm Lael," the man said. "Helena's father. I guess that makes you Fiery-brook."

He offered Prentice a canteen of water, but Prentice pushed him away. There was no sound aside from Lael gnashing his gum: no creepers battered the outside walls, no trees shattered windows, no Laney, no Genny. A heliotrope drawn by something other than sunlight, Prentice swiveled the aching stalk of his neck. The door to the master bedroom was open. Struggling to his feet, he stepped into the open mouthed, silent scream of the doorway. The armoire stood bereft.

"They've been taken," Prentice said. "They've got Genny."

"Fiery-Brook."

Prentice picked up a trampled dress from the ground and said, "This can't be happening."

"You need to listen to me," Lael said.

"This just can't be real!"

"It is, or I wouldn't be here."

Prentice let the dress fall back onto the ground. He leaned against the armoire, his body sapped of spirit. Through the blood taste in his mouth he said, "How did you get past the roadblocks?"

"Roadblocks?" Lael asked.

"The storm knocked trees onto the road. I was trying to get Genny and Laney out of here, but the road was blocked in both directions. Those twins were able to, well, they could make the plants move." Prentice reeled away from the armoire and got right in Lael's face. "Did they move the trees for you?"

"No."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I came here for Helena, my only daughter. Where is she?"

His bluster spent, Prentice caved inward; despair aged his face, failure sagged his shoulders. Lael grabbed Prentice by the arm and shook him. It wasn't violent, but it was sudden and Prentice jerked backwards.

"Where's Helena?" Lael repeated.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her since... since she helped me get better."

Prentice continued to back away, but the other man made no move to follow. Lael's head hung down, and he shook it back and forth, a silent bell tolling voiceless negatives. "She shouldn't have done that."

"I know," Prentice said.

"She was always too good," Lael said. "It's a corruption, that kind of compassion."

"I refuse to accept that. Compassion is never wrong. Goodness is never bad."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"I know about La Zalia. I know Olivia is behind what happened here. I know they're going to kill Genny and enslave Linnae. So, Lael, you tell me. What exactly don't I know?"

Lael lifted his head and looked straight into Prentice's gaze. Voice furred with emotion, he said, "She's undone the universe and I still love her. I was going to kill the little girl. I was going to murder a child to save Helena."

"Monster!"

"Am I? What wouldn't you do to save the people who matter to you?"

"I wouldn't kill a child."

"Then you don't know what it means to love," Lael said.

They stood amongst the ransacked belongings of another man's family. Again, Lael gestured to Prentice with the canteen. After a moment, Prentice took it.

"Linnae's only three," he said.

"Helena has never left Breaker."

"This whole thing is sick."

"It's the way the world works."

"Then why are you fighting it?" Prentice asked.

"Knowing how things work isn't reason enough not to try and change them."

"Do you think we stand a chance?"

"Not really, but I don't see that we've got any choices."

Prentice lifted the canteen to take a sip; his arms shook so badly he spilled water down his chin and onto his shirt. When he did take a sip, it stung the cuts in his mouth. Axe in hand, Lael walked out of the room and Prentice was alone with the ticking of his watch.

## 49 TRADE

Prentice followed Lael out onto the front porch. The Mercers' yard was a thicket of shoulder-high weeds battered down here and there by fallen branches. Remnants of the thunderstorm floated overhead, cloud-gray dirigibles threatening to explode. A late twilight darkened the east, but did not touch the long, grinding day. It was Summer Solstice.

"We've got to get back to Breaker," Lael said.

"I'm not going back," Prentice said.

"Are you running?"

"Fuck you."

"It's not like anyone would blame you."

"I'm not running; I'm meeting Helena at the orchard."

"You'll be spotted."

"I'm sure I will."

"They'll kill you."

"Then tell me where we can hide!"

Lael spit his gum over the porch rails before saying, "There's an abandoned barn across the road from the orchard. It's only half standing."

"Good thing the Corvette sits low," Prentice said.

"You're more likely to make it through the night if you take my truck."

"What are you saying?" Prentice asked.

"We should trade."

"Are you kidding?"

"No."

"You want me to trade my Corvette for that beater?" Prentice laughed, and started down the steps. Lael grabbed Prentice by his shirtsleeve.

"Don't be an ass," he said.

"Don't be a... Man, let me tell you something: my life is shit. I have an imaginary fiancée. The one person I've managed to connect with is about to be murdered. I'm probably going to completely bungle my only chance to do something that matters. The only thing I have is that car, and you're asking me to give it up."

"If my plan works, you'll have it back tomorrow. I give my word."

"Plan?" Prentice asked.

"Helena's expecting to meet you. She trusts you. And she knows your car."

"Right."

"I want to help her escape, but she won't trust me. She loves me; she loves everyone. But she won't let me take her anywhere unless she believes that you're in agreement."

"You can't just _tell_ her I agree?"

"Put yourself in her place: would you trust my word?"

"Isn't that what you're asking me to do?" Prentice asked.

Lael took a deep breath and nodded.

"Say Helena does go along with you. What happens then? Will they just let Genny go?"

"I doubt it."

"Then how does this help?" Prentice asked, his voice cracking a little as it rose.

"The girl won't be made a vessel. She won't have her entire life subjugated. Her mind won't be broken."

"If they can't use her, they'll kill her!"

"Once I have Helena, we'll drive to Botetourt and tell the police that a woman and her child have been abducted by a cult of human sacrificers."

Prentice laughed; it was a bitter sound. "Don't you think I considered the police? Helena told me they couldn't help."

"What crime did you have to report?"

"Olivia was planning to kidnap Laney, for starters..."

"Did you have any proof?"

"I heard them planning."

"An officer might have swung by The Gauss, questioned Olivia, but he wouldn't have found anything. And if he had been unlucky enough to get close to the truth, the Cayalanzuvans would have made sure he never radioed HQ. Now, give me your keys."

"How are you going to explain having my car?"

"When I came to get Helena from you, I found her gone and you dead. My truck wouldn't start, and I had to get back for the ceremony, so naturally..."

"It makes sense."

"And they won't be looking for you," Lael said.

Prentice nodded. He took his keys out of his pocket. After a moment he said, "If this works, where are we going to meet?"

"I was thinking Austin," Lael said.

"Will your truck make it that far?"

"She'll make it."

"All right. There's a bar across from The Westmoreland. I don't remember a name, but we could meet there."

"What's The Westmoreland?"

"A luxury apartment high-rise; trust me, you can't miss it."

"All right," Lael said. "The Westmoreland it is."

With reluctance on Prentice's part, the men exchanged keys.

"You look like you just lost your best friend," Lael observed.

"I think I did."

"This is the right thing to do."

"I know; it sucks."

"You understand where the barn is?"

"Yes. I'll go there as soon as I tell the police."

"There's no time."

"We're closer to Botetourt from here than we will be from the orchard."

"I said there's no time! If something goes wrong and I can't get Helena, you have to help her. Everything depends upon us getting to her before Olivia does."

"Okay," Prentice said. He took a deep breath. "Let's do this."

"Good luck," Lael said.

"See you in Austin."

They shook hands, and then they walked down the drive. As he passed it, Lael put the axe in the bed of his truck. The yard was rife with burr plants, and hitchhikers stuck to the hem of Prentice's shorts. He could feel their sharpened spikes clawing his legs and he paused by the truck to pick them off himself.

Lael started the Corvette and then purred past where Prentice stood. As he turned onto FM-6060, he switched on the radio. The static maelstrom of dead air hissed like a portent and Lael hit the gas.

## 50 WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN

Lael drove past the orchard. The trees waggled water-fat and healthy leaves in the wake of the electric blue Corvette. 'You helped them,' Lael thought. 'You healed the blight and you saved two human lives. You are the best and stupidest girl.'

Lael gritted his teeth. The sport suspension of the car translated every bump in the road to his back. It exacerbated his sense of encroaching mortality and the usual aching of age, but he kept right on speeding towards Breaker.

When he got to town, he peeled into the U-shaped drive of The Gauss. At the tiptop arch, he idled, revving the engine. When no one approached, Lael cut it off and got out. He slammed the door, locked the car with the fob. The obedient Corvette chirruped, but still no one came: the door of The Gauss remained shut, Main Street was empty, and Helena was nowhere to be seen. Lael squared his shoulders and drew himself up tall despite his aching back. He entered the hotel without knocking. Olivia and Roth Huxley were seated at cater-corner sofas in the lobby. Neither of them smiled.

" _Omital talia es lazalia_ ," Olivia said.

"Where is Helena?"

"You tell me; she's your daughter," Olivia said.

"Don't toy with me," Lael said.

"But it's such fun," Olivia said.

Roth stood up. "If you'll excuse me."

"Is that your payment?" Lael asked, gesturing at the attaché case Roth held. "Tell me, what _is_ the going rate for manipulating an unwitting family into giving up their only daughter?"

"No more than you got for Helena," Roth replied.

"Now, boys, be nice," Olivia said. "We're all in this together. We're going to save the world."

"The world? You don't give a damn about the world or anyone in it. All you ever cared about was money."

"I can't speak for Livvy, but in my defense, I do have three ex-wives," Roth said.

He straightened his tie and then made a show of passing the briefcase from one hand to the other as if it were very heavy. His lips drew up in a wolf-like grin that caused Lael to lunge towards him. He was about to grab Roth's collar, when he realized Olivia had a gun. Lael forced himself to stand still.

Roth brushed past Lael, bumping into him as he did. Lael reached into his shirt pocket. Olivia aimed the gun at his head, cocking it.

"I'm just getting a stick of chewing gum," Lael said.

He took out a piece of peppermint gum. It was warm and stuck to the paper, and Lael took his time picking off every little scrap of wrapping before bending the gum into thirds and putting in his mouth. Then he had a seat on the couch.

"I'm going to go get prepped for Treeletting," Roth said. "It was a real pleasure to see you, Lael. As always."

Roth left the room, and Olivia sat down across from Lael. She kept the gun in hand, but no longer aimed it. She nodded at the end table next to her.

"I finished the Sytra Bag," she said.

"Then you have the mother."

"Of course."

"It won't matter without Helena."

"La Zalia will see that Helena makes it to the orchard."

Roth rushed back into the lobby. Olivia looked puzzled, then annoyed. He was stealing her scene.

"Shouldn't you be preparing?" she asked.

"Lael's got the Corvette," Roth said.

"What?" Olivia said. She had the gun pointed at Lael again, and was leaning forward. "Where's Prentice?"

"Was that his name, the one who drove the 'Vette?"

"Yes, that's him," Olivia said.

"He's dead. I hope he paid for his room in advance."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw his body out at The Argentine. I thought Helena might have gone there to try and warn the Mercers. That would have been misguided, but she's been so unpredictable..."

"Do you really expect us to believe you were going to bring her back here?" Roth asked.

"I've never expected _anything_ of you, Roth."

"Stop for a second and let me think," Olivia cut across. She rubbed her forehead with the back of the hand that held the gun. The barrel aimed at random, targeting Lael, Roth, even the woman herself. She took a deep breath, then leveled the gun on Lael. He kept chewing his gum at the same pace and settled himself more comfortably on the couch.

"Roth, you go and get ready," Olivia said.

"What about the body?" Roth asked.

"Didn't I ask you to leave once already?"

Roth narrowed his eyes, but left the room. When he was gone, Olivia leaned towards Lael. "Are you certain he was dead?"

"The life was crushed out of him by the Cayalanzuvans' playmates."

"It's odd they left the body."

"We can't worry about that now," Lael said. His speech was pressured, an impatient and forceful bid to draw Olivia's attention away from the strange circumstances. "We need to find Helena."

"Now just wait," Olivia said. "I don't know if it's possible I could have been wrong about you all of these years. Where is the bitter man who feels his wife was murdered and his daughter stolen?"

"Both of those things are true."

"Then why are you helping us?"

"Helena's reward is eternal life. Her only hope is to submit to La Zalia, to repent at Treeletting. Otherwise she will have lost not only her life, but her immortality."

Olivia dug the cold snub nose of the gun into the spot above Lael's collarbone. "Lael, sly old man, you almost had me. Now, tell me where she is."

"I don't know."

"Tell me!"

"No."

"I'll shoot you."

"You won't. Not if you think there's any chance I know where she is. I don't, but you'll never believe me."

Olivia grimaced and shifted backwards, but kept the gun aimed at Lael. "You really don't know where she is, or you wouldn't have come to me," she said. "What pisses me off is that now you know I haven't got a clue where she is, either."

"How's it feel to be playing the first shell game you don't control?" Lael asked.

"Get out of my hotel. Go prepare yourself for Treeletting. And be grateful you're still alive."

Lael looked from Olivia's eyes to the knitted Sytra Bag. It was empty, but would soon be filled with noxious blossoms. Lael rose from his seat and walked to the door, hope stealing into his spirit.

## 51 ESCAPE

Lael drove the Corvette down Main Street. The sun was even with the horizon and the last rays of spring blinded him. When he made the turn into the public parking lot, the buildings blocked out the sunlight and the sudden change was like falling into the heart of absolute nothing. The autosensor cued the headlights. Illumination spilled out upon the cracked pavement, the broken fence at the back of the lot, the white stone where Helena sat like a tombstone angel.

Lael cried out in his surprise. No one else was in the lot, and no one had followed him when he left The Gauss. The second time he cried out, it was from sheer joy.

Helena jumped down off of her perch. He unlocked the door for her and she climbed inside. When she turned to look at him, her smile faded.

"You are not Fiery-brook," she said.

Helena turned to leave but Lael said, "I'm here to help."

"Why masquerade as one whom you are not?"

"Fiery-brook gave me his car."

"Where is he?"

"We'll see him tomorrow."

"Then he saved them."

Helena smiled. Joy brightened her face, but only for an instant. Then darkness obscured her sunny relief. She gripped her father's wrist, shaking her head against the words he was already starting to speak.

"I'm sorry, Helena. The Cayalanzuvans stopped him."

Helena pulled her feet up to curl herself into a seated fetal position. She withdrew her hand from Lael. Bleak was a color, a taste, and a smell.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"They're coming for us."

Lael looked around the car and said, "I don't see anyone."

"It is too late."

"You remember the fallen barn across from the orchard?

"Of course."

"Fiery-brook is there."

Helena lifted her face from her knobby knees. She let her feet drop back onto the floorboard. "Go," she said, "zoom!"

"I want you to take the car."

"Me?"

"Go to the barn, and let him help you."

"What about you?"

"If they're coming, it's because I've led them to you."

Lael unbuckled his seatbelt. He leaned over and pulled Helena into a hasty hug. "I love you," he said.

"I know," Helena said, and smiled.

Lael smoothed her hair once. Then he got out of the car. After Helena climbed from the passenger seat into the driver's, Lael shut the door. She put the car in gear and hit the gas. The tires squealed as she headed right at the brick wall of the building opposite the car, then screeched as she made a sharp turn towards the road. A red streak of tail lights diminished with distance, and Lael watch them go. He was not alone. Olivia was at the edge of the lot, gun in hand.

"That was her, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Who?" Lael said. He spit his gum out, aiming for the battered toes of Olivia's boots. It fell short.

Olivia raised the gun. "I should just kill you."

"Go ahead."

"No. It's not going to be that easy. I'm going to make you watch her change, make you see her skin turn to bark and her fingers turn to twigs."

"Helena won't be there."

"She can't stop a goddess!"

"We'll see," Lael said, and smiled.

## 52 TOO LATE

The truck sluiced through standing puddles of storm water, carrying Prentice like a piece of flotsam caught in a riptide. He thought he passed the place where the fallen tree had been, but this thought had occurred to him many times so far, and he had no idea really whether he had or not. When the road's current swept him to the orchard's edge, Prentice gave up looking for the felled tree and started looking for the dilapidated barn.

Shadows thickened and spread their dusky promise of night. The barn was a dark and slouching presence beneath a collapsing roof. There was no door, and the open barn gaped at the orchard with a crazed and toothless O-gaze.

Prentice stopped the truck and cut off the headlights but, out of habit, flicked on the turn signal. Bright orange light flared once, twice. He slapped the signal off. When no other cars appeared and no lights came on in the orchard, he sped across the lanes and onto what was more pasture than road. The old truck groaned and creaked across the rutted ground, knocking Prentice first one direction, then another, until he gripped the wheel and held himself firm. Fear of a broken axle made him slow the truck as he turned it and started to back into the barn. The truck was wider than the Corvette, and the driver's side mirror caught against the splintering doorframe. It gave way with a shocking crack. Prentice hit the gas and rocketed back into the barn.

Nightfall turned the orchard into a series of tarpaper cutouts propped up against a cobalt backdrop. Stars blinked down in useless brilliance. Prentice started to sweat. After a few minutes, he rolled down both windows. The stale heat of the barn forced itself into the truck; it smelled like neglect.

Headlights crested the horizon. Prentice felt his stomach do something vile to his heart. The car turned into the orchard, fanning the area near the entrance with high beams that brought color as long lasting as the bright nothing of fireworks. Green leaves, peach fruits, and the pallid white of the petrified tree flared into being for an instant, and then melted back into the murky darkness. Strange acoustics carried the sound of a car door closing right up to Prentice, and he jumped in his seat. In his larynx, a nervous giggle lay stillborn. There was a sudden onslaught of light as whoever arrived in the car turned on the orchard's outdoor lighting.

Strings of white Christmas lights wrapped around the trunks of the peach trees and snaked up into the lower boughs. More lights festooned the stone arch at the entrance. Two spotlights illumined the petrified tree, shining a lurid violet the tree seemed not so much to reflect as to magnify.

The Cayalanzuvan twins stepped into the purple light. Stylized trees were drawn on their shirtless torsos and vines were tied around their upper arms. They donned masks shaped like the half-formed heads adorning the sytra box, their armband vines writhing with mesmeric motion.

Olivia stepped into view. The Cayalanzuvans knelt before her. This time, Prentice's heart did something to his stomach and he stifled an urge to vomit.

He was slouching down in his seat, trying to get below the line of sight from the orchard when he heard the familiar rumble of a Corvette engine. His car crested the hill, then sped down. The headlights were off and, despite the deep purring, none of the weird trio at the orchard paid its passing any mind.

'Lael's got her,' Prentice thought, relief roaring throughout him. 'They're going to Botetourt to call the police. It will be over, it will all be over; I will have done it. I will have really done something.' He lay his head against the cracked plastic of the steering wheel and let himself breathe.

Then the Corvette turned onto the dirt road leading to the barn. 'No, no, no,' he thought, relief turning to sick horror as the sports car continued to drive towards him. It parked on the far side of the barn, out of sight of the orchard. The engine cut off. Silence – and then the passenger door of the truck opened. Prentice gasped against the sudden chokehold of the barn's stale air. His mind screamed wordless commands his body did not obey. Even after he recognized Helena, his heart and his stomach continued their vicious brawl.

"Hi," she said.

"I don't understand," Prentice whispered. "I thought your dad was going to take you away. What happened?"

"Too late we flew and too soon they came."

"Then it's not over," Prentice said.

"Look, my Grandmother has arrived," Helena said.

She pointed over at the orchard where Lael and Maura were being led into the nacreous glow of the petrified tree. Olivia had a gun shoved into Lael's solar plexus. Maura reached towards Lael, but he would not let her lean on him. She shuffled along, pausing every few steps to cough. The hacking sound filled the night.

"I thought you made her better?" Prentice asked.

"Hers is a day by day cure, and I have been away for a day and day."

The collapsing barn creaked a bit, settling under the weight of the night's blackness. Amongst all the dark, Helena's pale flesh and flaxen hair seemed to glow. Prentice reached to touch her, but stopped when she spoke.

"You did not save them," she said.

"I tried."

"Try again."

"That's why I'm here."

A brand new BMW pulled up to the orchard and parked. The Beemer's dome light came on, and Roth Huxley took off his shirt. He hung it neatly on a hanger, then checked his hair in the rearview mirror. He lit a cigarette. The red end of his smoke brightened, dimmed, and brightened again before arcing down to the tarry road.

"What do we do?" Prentice asked. "How are we going to help them? There are so many people there already..."

"There will be more. See?"

A line of headlights was coming up the road from Breaker. Others came in from the opposite direction, cars with mud splashed up on the fenders, cars that had passed The Argentine. They were parallel parked along the road, and disgorging passengers who strolled into the orchard. Many put flowers at the feet of the Cayalanzuvans and knelt before the petrified tree. A bonfire was lit.

"We should have called the police," Prentice said.

"We have always been beyond that, outside of it."

Prentice bit back frustrated words and turned his attention to the orchard. Olivia stood in front of the petrified tree, nude now except for vines tied around her upper arms. Wind lifted her hair and the bonfire sent out red sparks that wrote fleeting messages upon the sky. Olivia raised her arms out beside her, palms to the heavens. The mingled voices of the crowd rose in chant.

" _Omital talia es lazalia! Omital talia sera lazalia! Sin fin, eterna!_ "

"It is time," Helena said.

"Wait! Where are you going? Hey, get back in the car!"

Helena's open door triggered the truck's interior lights, and Prentice scrambled to turn them off. Over in the orchard, the chanting continued unbroken. No one even turned to look at the barn.

Prentice got out of the truck. Helena was in the farthest part of the barn that was high enough for her to stand with her head unbowed. She pulled a length of rope out from the shadows; it was coiled in a figure eight and wrapped tight around the center with its own tail. She handed the rope to Prentice. He took it without understanding.

"You will need the axe," she said.

"What for?"

"To stop me."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't want to stop you. I want you to help me rescue Genny."

"I must be null. There is no more I can do. Bind me, blind me and, failing that, kill me."

"That's the plan? To tie you up?"

"If La Zalia does not attend, the girl cannot be hurt."

"We have to help Genny."

"Haste and bravery, Fiery-brook! Put on both. La Zalia nears!"

Helena put her arms out, wrists together. Prentice shook his head, tried to say no, but she fell to her knees, her arms raised and her wrists still together. Her eyes were luminous with the green imminence of La Zalia. Relenting, Prentice wrapped the rope around Helena's wrists.

"Down, down to my feet," she said. "These ankles would be traitors!"

Prentice helped her to sit back. He bound her hands to her thighs, and worked the rope down to bind her calves and ankles. Over at the orchard, the chanting came to a sudden stop.

"There is a cloth bag near me," Helena said.

"What should I do with it?" Prentice asked.

"Blind me."

"Cover your head?"

"Now, Fiery-brook, now!"

"Tell me: what are they going to do to Genny?"

"Already she walks to the other side," Helena said.

"Then we're too late."

"It has never been otherwise."

Prentice wrapped his arms around Helena, pulling her into a tight hug. They shivered together for a moment before he yanked the bag down over her head. The ends of her long hair spilled out of the sack and onto her bound hands.

"Thank you for believing in me," Prentice whispered.

Then he went to the truck and got out the axe.

## 53 STRUNG UP

Genny woke with a headache. She was propped up against a tree, surrounded by scrubby Texan forest. It was neither familiar nor strange, but simply frightening.

"Laney?" she whispered. "Prentice? Is anyone here?"

Leaves whispered their response. Genny stood, spooked. She wore nothing except a knitted bag hung around her neck. It reeked of sytra, and she tried to take it off, but it wouldn't fit up over her head and pulling on it made it tighter. She forced herself to take stock of her body. Aside from the headache, she was unharmed. A sickening rush of gratitude swept over her: she hadn't been raped. Then, in its wake came a devouring fury.

"Give me back my daughter!" Genny screamed.

Her indecision a cage, Genny paced the little area near where she woke. There was no trail, there was no moon. She shivered despite the heat.

"Why are you doing this? What do you want? What the hell do you want?"

A monstrous, elongated face loomed above a briar of thorns. The domed forehead of a fetus predominated a grotesque pod of features. A door opened in the wall of Genny's indecision, and she ran through it because it led away from the hideous face.

Branches grabbed her arms. Knobby roots stubbed her toes. Leaves slapped at her face and twigs tore at her hair. The ground itself was a hard-scrabble of loose rocks that skidded over the surface of the hardpack beneath, threatening her balance. Genny turned to see if the face was gaining and tripped down a steep hill. The ground slammed into the base of her ribcage. All of her air rushed out into the night. She skidded down the hill, and came to an agonizing halt at the base.

The air had been knocked out of her, and a terrible pressure built in her lungs. Genny couldn't breathe. She rocked herself up onto her hands and knees; her head hung, tongue protruding. In the airless space, her heart thudded. As bits of darkness thicker than the night circled her, she pictured Malcolm holding Linnae, and a great fire lit her from within as air stretched her abused lungs. Drooling, panting, she stood. Both of her elbows and her right palm bled, but nothing was broken.

A rock tumbled down the hill, bouncing and rebounding from the whitestone. The face was at the top of the hill. It had a body now, a body that was carrying it down the slope towards her.

Genny's legs trembled, and her scrapes throbbed, but she managed a trot. There was a path now, and the light of fires in the distance. She threw herself into the underbrush to the side of the trail, making a desperate dash away from where it seemed she was meant to go. Pod-face stepped out in front of her. Genny wheeled around, only to find that a second masked assailant was behind her.

"Leave me alone!"

They came closer. Genny struck the faces and knocked the carved wooden masks askew, but no more. She bit an arm that came too near to her face; she tasted blood, and then she felt the impact of a return blow chatter her teeth. She spit the blood out in a fountain-like spray that showered the twins. Impassive, they stood with their arms crossed, the vines on their biceps flowering with pink blooms.

The twins each took her by an arm. They tried to pull her towards the path, but she threw her weight against them. Her fight was not enough and they dragged her to the trail, bloodying her knees.

"Where is my daughter?"

No response.

"Please, just tell me she's safe."

A voice echoed out from the mask on the right and said, "She is where we are going."

The last of Genny's fight left her and she walked between the men. Pain transmitted its panicky messages from every point of her body, but the overflow of awful was bubbling up as a crazed laugh. She clenched her teeth against the sound; she swallowed her sanity.

"You must walk alone," said the twin who speaks.

"To the fire?"

"Yes."

"I don't think so." The silent twin gripped her arm tighter, but Genny kept shaking her head. "I don't even know that my daughter is really there."

"You will go."

Genny looked at the mask but there was nothing human in it, and she looked away. The men let go of her, and stepped to either side of the path. Genny took a deep breath and started walking.

Painful steps carried her to the edge of the timeless orchard. Fires lit a trail that Genny followed through nectar sweetened air. Her stomach growled, and she plucked a peach from the tree. After a moment of hesitation, she took a bite. It was not at all like the one she tried when they first arrived. This peach was juicy and sweet; a few drops dripped down from her chin, tickling her neck. No one hurried her when she stopped to eat, and she gnawed the flesh from the pit. She reached for a second peach, but stopped. She needed to find Linnae.

"Laney!" she shouted. "Laney, where are you?"

When she passed the next bonfire, she lifted the knit bag up to look at it. The background was the color of sky beyond midnight. Incised upon this knit firmament was a tree with heads for fruit. Genny let the bag fall back against her chest and crept past the edge of the firelight. Her eyes adjusted and forms appeared. People flanked her, staring. Genny crossed her arms over her breasts, lifted her head, and snarled.

The people paired off and moved to stand in front of the trees. Genny took a few small steps. When no one stopped her, she trotted down the aisle between trees, conscious of her nudity and the bounce of her buttocks. Pairs of people stood in front of every tree, turning time and movement into a cruel illusion. One person in each pair knelt, head against the trunk while the second person raised an axe.

The axes fell at the same time. Blood ran from the trees and poured onto the bowed supplicants. They lifted their slaughterhouse mouths to gulp and guzzle with blood-soaked ecstasy. Genny ran past the Treeletting and ended up in a surreal mimicry of a Christmas tree farm. She stopped in the unexpected dazzle of electric light.

Olivia appeared. A press of ensanguined people put their red hands on Genny's bare skin: Monteque; the maimed crazy girl's father; her realtor.

"Roth?" Genny said, bewildered more by the appearance of her real estate agent than she was by the Treeletting or even the masked Cayalanzuvans.

"Genevieve Mercer," Olivia said.

"I want my daughter."

"You have been chosen."

"The fuck I have, you crazy bitch!" Genny said and tried to wrench the knit purse from her neck.

"Calm down," Roth said.

"I'm not your dog, so don't tell me what to do!"

"You should listen to him."

Craning her neck to find the speaker, Genny saw the Cayalanzuvan brothers stood at the edge of the crowd, their masks like fallen half-moons floating above the bloody townsfolk.

"You—how?" Genny said.

"You stopped to eat," Olivia said.

"I..." Genny started, and put her hands over her eyes as she understood.

"Her preparation is complete," Olivia announced. "It is time!"

The twins took hold of Genny's arms. They led her across the gravel clearing and past the fruit stand. They came to a stop in front of the petrified tree.

"Where's Laney?" Genny asked. "You said I would see her."

"You will," Olivia said.

Genny shouted, "Laney! Laney, don't be scared, Mommy's here!" There was no sign of the girl. She was not in the crowd because there were no children there at all.

Townspeople grabbed hold of Genny's arms and legs. She struggled and here or there a hand would fall away, but each small victory was met with the reprisal of stronger hands and more of them. Genny was immobilized with her back against the rocky trunk, her arms forced up over her head. The Cayalanzuvans undid the vines wreathing their biceps and used them to truss her wrists to the lowest branches. Genny kicked at the faces nearest to her and screamed, but her legs were crossed at the ankle and bound together with another vine.

The vines grew. Buds burst open and poured forth flowery soporific. Fatigue hit her, soft and inviting; she bit her tongue to stay awake.

Everyone knelt except for Olivia and the Cayalanzuvans, who remained standing. Sharp thorns sprouted from the vines, digging themselves into the tender skin of Genny's wrists. Blood ran down her arms and fell upon her crossed feet.

"Please," she said. "Somebody, please help me!"

Olivia hummed an atonal melody and the vines on her arms feinted and darted. As Genny shrank back against the tree, Olivia and the Cayalanzuvans began to dance. Their movements were measured, repeated, hypnotic. Voices throaty with bloodlust, the townspeople chanted in Cayalanzuvan. Olivia stepped forward holding a knife. Genny struggled against her bonds, but the only escapee was her fear-pitched whine. Olivia's approach was implacable. She raised the knife. Genny closed her eyes and in a moment, she felt a rush of air and then the sudden absence of the sytra bag. When she opened her eyes, Olivia was holding the bag and a chalice filled with tree sap. Still humming, Olivia emptied the sytra into the chalice before stirring the mixture with the knife.

She held the soaked blade up against Genny's face, not to cut her but to mark her. Genny's forehead, chest, and belly were smeared with sap and sytra before Olivia turned the knife upon herself to draw a diagonal line starting from her left shoulder and trailing down between her sagging breasts. Then Olivia faced the crowd. Roth stepped forward to be marked and, when he went back into the crowd, he carried the chalice with him. The chanting ceased; only the crackle of the bonfires remained.

"Where is the host?" Olivia asked.

A small murmur arose, full of dissatisfactions.

"I asked: where is the host?"

Maura tried to speak, but ended up coughing. She was left gasping, speechless and pointing at her son-in-law. Lael stepped into the forbidding ultraviolet glow of the footlights.

"My daughter is not coming," he said.

The crowd stirred; people shouted.

"Tell me where she is," Olivia said.

"No."

The Cayalanzuvans advanced on Lael. Lael smiled a brilliant, victorious smile. "You can beat me, threaten to kill me, but I can't tell you what I don't know!"

"La Zalia must come!" someone shouted.

"Steady," Olivia said. "Trust in your Goddess!"

She motioned the Cayalanzuvans close to her and told them something. They stepped off into the orchard, beyond the bonfires' blaze. A few people started a tentative chant; they were joined by a few more, then many. When the twins returned carrying a palanquin, the chant was at full swell and rising towards ecstasy. Silk curtains swayed as they walked, their footfalls matching the beat of the chant that rolled through the rows of peach trees.

They brought the palanquin before Genny. Olivia pulled aside the curtains. Genny started to cry.

Linnae was inside. She wore a resplendent green gown and her Burger King crown. In her lap was a sytra doll.

"Hi, Mommy."

Ragged with sobs, Genny said, "Laney, sweetie. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay."

"I love you."

"I know."

"I love you so much, and I'm sorry. I'm very sorry."

"The trees say I have to go now."

"No, please!"

Olivia lowered the curtains, and the Cayalanzuvans carried the palanquin back into the orchard's primordial dark. Genny sagged against her bonds, weeping. The chanting resumed with feverish intensity. Olivia raised her knife overhead. Genny closed her eyes. She felt the heat of Olivia's breath and the dry rasp of the other woman's thigh against her own. Then all Genny felt was pain.

Olivia had cut a piece of flesh from Genny's side. Blood gushed down, making a sound like rain falling on parched ground. Genny stared at her wound, too shocked and pained to do more.

## 54 LA ZALIA

"Oh my God!" Prentice said. "She cut her! Olivia cut Genny!"

Prentice glanced back at Helena. Her posture was stiff, and her head tilted in the direction of the orchard. Prentice walked back to where she was, the axe held out in front of him.

"Did you hear what I said?" he asked. Helena did not move, but he could hear her breathe, and see the burlap sack sucking in and out over her mouth. "I can't just stand here and watch them kill her."

He leaned over to check the knots and was assailed by a stench of vegetative rot. Electricity pulsed and ran in ultraviolet rivulets across Helena's skin. Her breathing quickened with the single-minded effort of a wild animal in labor.

"Helena, are you still here?"

Her head whipped in his direction so quickly he backed up and ran right into the bumper of the pickup. An unmanly squeal escaped him and Prentice slid along the length of the bumper until he stepped beyond it, backing towards the barn door. The Helena-thing shifted its covered head to follow the sound of his steps.

"Helena, please tell me you're in there, that you're in control. I have to go to Genny. They're killing her!"

The Helena-thing slid along the barn floor towards Prentice. Sparks flew off her skin to smolder on decayed straw and desiccated cow dung. She sang a wordless song, whispery as leaves unfurling from branches.

"Stop," Prentice said, and covered his ears.

The bottom corner of the axe blade rapped the top of his head and Prentice let down the arm holding the axe. The Helena-thing grew quiet, her entire attention fixated on the orchard. Her skin glowed a uniform emerald.

Prentice crouched near the Helena-thing and pulled off the burlap sack.

"What am I supposed to do?" he shouted.

She opened her eye, and Prentice realized his error too late. The ropes that held her did not so much break as disintegrate and slough from her like the dusty wake of a comet. With one graceful movement, she stood. Prentice grabbed her wrist and a jolt of electricity tore through him. He scrambled to stand, placing himself between La Zalia and the door. The palm of his hand was burned, but he didn't flinch when he grasped the axe. La Zalia's green iridescence brightened, and the brightness obliterated everything except his swing.

The axe never hit her. Instead, Prentice was flung across the barn; he rebounded from the front wall and landed on his stomach with his face in a calcified pile of feces. His consciousness shrank in on itself, and although he tried to pull himself up onto his knees, the inner darkness dragged him down.

La Zalia left the barn. She shed Helena's clothing but not the sick stench of rot. She crossed the road to the orchard, heading towards her new vessel.

"She comes!" Roth said, and pointed at La Zalia.

The crowd cheered and called, " _Omital talia es lazalia!_ "

Wind blew from La Zalia, and the worshipful voices were auditory streamers stretching from their wet mouths to the orchard. Peach trees vibrated in the wind, leaves fluttering in sibylline hiss. One after another, the bulbs in the strings of lights popped. People fell to their knees beneath the rain of glass until only Olivia remained standing. She and La Zalia regarded one another. The chant ascended onyx heights, snagging only briefly in the stone branches of the petrified tree. Then Olivia extended a hand to the Goddess in offering, Genny's flesh in her grasp.

## 55 ACCELERATE

Prentice came to with a jolt of terror. 'Genny!' he thought as he stumbled to the front of the barn. Across the way, Genny still hung from the tree. She was struggling against her bonds, but no one was paying her any attention. They were bowing before La Zalia.

La Zalia took a bite from the offering. Raw flesh stretched, then gave way between her gnashing teeth as light bulbs continued to flare and burst. Knife blades glimmered and went dull in the mercurial light. Prentice got into Lael's truck.

He drove out of the barn and across the rutted pasture. The broken mirror slapped against the side of the car, making a racket that would have betrayed him if La Zalia weren't bringing her people to rapture. He was crossing the road when they rose as a group, all of them gripping knives. The mob advanced on Genny, and Prentice turned on his headlights. The people across from him raised their arms to cover their eyes; only Lael stared into the light without flinching.

Prentice revved his engine and grinned. The line of assailants wobbled out of its half-circle and regrouped in uncertain segments. La Zalia looked at him from out of Helena's missing eye, but he only saw Genny.

"Please," she said.

He took his foot off of the brake. The truck rocketed across the road. As it screamed onto the orchard's gravel drive, rocks blasted out from beneath the tires, turning into projectiles that stung the people standing nearby. Olivia shoved Maura out of her way and left the old woman sprawled on the ground in the truck's path. La Zalia swiveled her head to look at the woman that was her host's grandmother, but did not help.

There was a wet thud as the truck ran over Maura, but Prentice kept accelerating. He was barreling down on La Zalia when Lael pulled her out of the way. For a moment Prentice could see Helena fighting to surface, fighting and failing, and then she was a blinding green light reflected in the rearview mirror.

The truck slammed into the petrified tree. Metal crumpled and peeled back even as the rest of the vehicle accelerated into the impact. Prentice broke against the steering wheel, his face thrust towards the windshield, towards where Genny was crushed against the tree.

The last thing either of them saw was the other's eyes.

## 56 MOTHER'S MEAT

No one approached the wrecked truck. Maura's body was wedged under the chassis. Her shoes stuck out, their orthopedic white turned a virulent lavender by the petrified tree's illuminating spotlight.

The tree had not toppled, had not even cracked, but stood unperturbed within the embrace of the truck's hood. Genny dangled from the lowest branches, her shoulders dislocated and her head lowered as if inspecting the impossible damage that grafted her to both tree and truck. Her torso and the passenger compartment of the truck were obliterated.

" _Se muerta_ ," said the twin who speaks.

Monteque stepped out of the hushed crowd to peer into what was left of the driver's side window. After a moment, he shook his head. Then he started laughing with pure, bitter rage.

"All of your plans," he said. He pointed at Olivia and continued. "You took Margot from me; you killed my unborn daughter. I couldn't do a damn thing because I had no power: not human, not Goddess. Then comes this stranger, this east coast dandy!"

"Stop it!" Olivia demanded.

Monteque grabbed Olivia by her neck; her feet scuffed against the dry ground as she struggled to pry herself free. Wordless rage roared from Monteque as he wrung his wife's neck. The Cayalanzuvans approached, but La Zalia waved them back. The Goddess herself plucked Olivia from Monteque's grasp, then forced him to kneel. He sputtered with fury, and La Zalia compelled him to lie upon his stomach, his face at Olivia's feet.

"La Zalia has eaten of the Mother," Olivia said. Her voice was hoarse yet triumphant. "You will now bear witness to the miracle of her rebirth! _Omital talia es la zalia!_ "

The atmosphere dragged green clouds across the sky like moldy winding cloths. The townspeople looked around at each other. A few smiled.

"I said: _Omital talia es lazalia!_ _"_

The crowd responded, " _Omital talia sera lazalia!_ "

They gathered around the petrified tree. Roth was the first to cut a piece from Genny's corpse. He left it skewered on his knife as he pushed his way back over to Olivia.

"Will it work if the mother is dead when we eat?" Roth asked.

"Have faith," Olivia said.

"Remember that I've done my part. I delivered a mother and daughter as agreed. This mess at the ceremony has nothing to do with me."

"You'll get exactly what's coming to you," Olivia said. She pulled the flesh he'd gathered from his knife. "You don't mind getting yourself another piece, do you? I'd suggest you hurry. The best bits go first."

Roth took a step closer to Olivia, malice in his body language. La Zalia turned her green gaze upon him and Roth took two steps back. Olivia licked the raw meat.

## 57 A NEW VESSEL

The Cayalanzuvans left the circle and returned with the palanquin. The townspeople gaped, their mouths bloody centers in moonflower faces. Olivia stood behind the palanquin, La Zalia in front. The Goddess led her people in the direction of Vermont, to the northeast corner of the orchard. As the procession passed where La Zalia still forced Monteque to lie, Olivia stepped on him; she was only the first of many.

When La Zalia stopped, the Cayalanzuvans lowered the litter to the ground. Linnae climbed out. She clutched the little sytra doll to her chest and looked around.

"Where is my Mommy?"

"She is with all of us," Olivia replied.

"I can't see her."

"No, sweetie, she is beyond sight."

Linnae lowered her head to listen to the doll. Her paper crown pointed six rounded spikes at the crowd. When she looked up again, she asked, "Will it hurt?"

"Not much," Olivia said, and gave the girl a gentle push in La Zalia's direction.

Linnae stepped towards La Zalia. All around her, the townspeople closed their eyes and shoved their heads down against their chests like people awaiting some elemental devastation: tornado, earthquake, tsunami. Linnae alone beheld the Goddess.

La Zalia twitched. The muscles in her face spasmed, pulling her mouth into a rictus of a smile; clotted blood was at the corners of her lips. Her eye glowed with a supernatural light, then faded to a human blue, alternating between the two beings occupying the body. La Zalia lurched in Linnae's direction, and the girl backed away from the epileptic Goddess. Linnae ran into the Cayalanzuvans, hiding her face against the knee of the silent twin.

The townspeople raised their heads, and a murmur of confusion rippled through the crowd. Olivia stepped between the people and the spectacle of La Zalia's seizure. She raised her arms and her voice.

"The old vessel is corrupt! It fights against the power of Nature herself, but La Zalia will prevail! Balance will be restored!"

"That vessel is my daughter," Lael shouted. "She is making her own balance! She has been since she started using the La Zalia powers for good..."

"It is not good that she works for," Olivia said, and turned to address the crowd.

"Helena Makepeace upset the Natural order by selfishly saving her own grandmother and boyfriend. Her actions untamed the weather patterns. Destroyed crops, flooded cities, killed innocent people!

"The other vessels are doing their best, but just today there was a report of thirty-five tornadoes in a three square mile area. When one vessel is compromised, the entire world suffers. Helena Makepeace worked evil. Not good. It was never for good."

"Olivia! Look!"

The Burger King crown was on the ground, and La Zalia had her hands upon Linnae's head. La Zalia trembled, but the light she emitted was bright and pure. Lael screamed.

Viridian brightness forced the onlookers' eyes away. The only one among them to see the transfer was Linnae, who was within the light. At three years old, she grasped the cosmos.

## 58 PYRE

Night returned to the orchard. The spare luminosity of broken Christmas lights did nothing to beat back the darkness of the moonless Solstice. Helena cradled Linnae.

"I am sorry," Helena said. "I am so sorry."

Helena wrapped her arms around Linnae as the change came. Helena's skin thickened with bark and her dancer's feet planted themselves in the ground, each toe a taproot. Her arms fought to hold the girl, but soon became two swaying boughs with five branches apiece. She grew a great canopy of leaves that she looked up through until her face was lost, her eye obliterated by a knothole. Linnae clung to the peach tree that had been Helena.

"It is done," Olivia said, but no one listened.

They wiped at their faces over and over, then shoved bloodstained hands into their pockets as they went to their cars. Up and down the road, engines started with the normalcy of internal combustion. The townspeople went home to their bathos, thankful for the everyday of dogs and dirty dishes.

Lael sobbed. He pressed his face to the eternal life of pith and heartwood that was Helena's reward. Linnae patted him on his back and he crumpled to the ground.

Roth and Olivia stood a few feet from the Lael's spectacle. Roth spoke first, saying, "We have to do something about the mother's body. If we cut her down, we could bundle the whole thing up as an accident; after all, affairs do tend to have rather nasty endings."

"Even Botetourt police will notice the knife marks," Olivia replied.

"Not if the whole mess catches fire."

"Fine. Do whatever it takes. I'm going to check on our new vessel."

Linnae was curled up next to Lael, sleeping. Except for a slight pallor, she looked unchanged. With reverence, Olivia touched the girl's face.

"Wake up, Laney. It's time to go home."

"Mommy?"

"No, it's Auntie Liv."

Linnae nodded, and then rubbed at her eyes with two balled up fists. Olivia sat down next to the new vessel. "What was it like?" Olivia asked.

"What?"

"When La Zalia brought you into the light, what did it feel like?"

Linnae snuggled up against Olivia, sighed. It took a few moments for Olivia to realize the girl was asleep again, but when she did, she held her more securely. They stayed that way until the Cayalanzuvans appeared.

"Go home," Olivia said. "Tell the Council the transfer is complete and that the vessel is under my care. She will not be corrupted."

"She will not be yours."

The silent twin pulled Linnae from Olivia's arms. Olivia clutched at the girl's ankle, tugging. "You can't take her from me!"

"What was never yours cannot be taken from you."

A sharp report startled all them. Roth had ignited the remains of the truck. A Promethean glow spread like false dawn.

"Why are you taking her?" Olivia asked. "Who has given more than me?"

The Cayalanzuvans did not respond. Olivia carped in soundless disbelief as the twins carried Linnae away from her. They brought the girl to where Lael communed with his changeling daughter. Not even the explosion reached Lael, and it took several tries before the Cayalanzuvans could get his attention. The silent twin handed Linnae to Lael.

"You will make the father understand," said the twin who speaks.

"I will never ask a father to do what I have done."

"If you do not, she will be lost to him forever."

"She's lost already!"

"He's not going to help you," Olivia said. "Let me have the girl and we won't need the father."

"No," replied the Cayalanzuvan.

"Lael, why won't you help me?" Olivia asked.

"Because I don't like you," Lael said.

Rage, rage that they were taking _her_ daughter, welled inside of Olivia. Knife in hand, she lunged at the nearest Cayalanzuvan. The other twin repelled her and Olivia fell upon the dusty ground, her weapon out of reach. She screamed, and the long, wordless noise woke Linnae. Her face, the same little face that had looked unflinching upon a goddess, was now crumpling with fear.

"Come on, let's go see your daddy," Lael said.

Linnae looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. She tilted her head and listened to the tree voices. "She is all right now," Linnae said.

"You can hear her?"

"I hear them all."

"She doesn't hurt?"

"Love is all she feels."

Overcome, Lael began to cry. Helena's leaves rustled a benediction. One by one the strands of lights went dark in the orchard until only the glow of Genny and Prentice's pyre remained.

## 59 MALCOLM

Lael called Malcolm on June 22 and told him Genny was murdered.

"My daughter," Malcolm asked, "what about Laney?"

"She is safe."

"Where is she?"

"Safe."

"You better pray she's okay when I get there," Malcolm said, and hung up the phone.

He grabbed his wallet and keys from the top of the dresser in the hotel room. His clothing was folded on a chair and his shaving kit on the bathroom sink, but he left it all when he left the room. Loss hollowed his gut; only the thought of Linnae kept him from collapsing.

Traffic on I-35 was a crawling heap of metal. Malcolm put on his cautions and sped down the shoulder. When he stopped for gas, Malcolm's fury frightened the cashier.

It was twilight when he got to Breaker. All along Main Street, windows and doors were open to the night air. A few houses had flower boxes hanging from the windows, and a man was outside planting a huge agave in his front yard. Malcolm pulled into the U-shaped drive of The Gauss, where the Moonlight Tower stood dark despite the encroaching night. He practically flew from the car and rushed into the hotel.

Olivia looked up from where she sat at the front desk. A bottle of Chartreuse was in front of her, and she had just poured herself a drink. She raised her glass to Malcolm.

"Where is Makepeace keeping my daughter?"

"It doesn't matter; she's not your daughter anymore."

Malcolm slapped the glass out of Olivia's hand. It shattered on the tile floor, and Olivia picked up the bottle. She took a long drink and then said, "I see now that I should have included you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You will."

"Tell me where my daughter is!"

"Genny was perfect, you know."

"Do you know something about her murder?"

"Prentice did it."

"Prentice? Why?"

"Does it matter?"

Malcolm put both of his hands flat on the counter and leaned towards Olivia. Voice flat and forceful, he said, "Tell me where Lael Makepeace lives."

Olivia tilted her head and looked at Malcolm for a long moment. He wrenched the bottle of Chartreuse from her hand and broke it against the counter. When he thrust the jagged edge of the bottle towards her face, Olivia leaned away from him, exposing a necklace of bruises: the marks from Monteque's throttling.

"I'm not fucking around." Malcolm touched the broken glass against her bruises. "I have no qualms about finishing what someone already started."

Olivia shrugged, and got up from her seat. She walked over to the drink cart and looked at the bottles. Malcolm grabbed her arm and shoved her against the wall, pressing the broken glass against her neck hard enough to draw blood.

Olivia laughed, and Malcolm bore down on his weapon. Rivulets of blood seeped from the cuts he made. "You won't win," Olivia said.

"Tell me," Malcolm said, and drove the glass in deeper.

"Third house on the left, not that it matters."

Malcolm let go of Olivia. She touched her neck, and then licked her own blood from her fingers. Without saying anything, she offered Malcolm a taste.

"Genny was right about you," he said.

"I can taste her in me now," Olivia said.

Malcolm smashed the bottle against her head and Olivia crumpled to the floor. Setting the bloody bottle back on the lobby desk, Malcolm went out to his car; he pulled out of the drive so fast he fishtailed in the road. The drive to the Makepeace home took less than a minute. As he pulled up, the front door opened.

"Daddy!"

Linnae ran to the edge of the porch. She grabbed hold of the handrail and walked down the steps as fast as her little legs would let her. She was smiling.

Malcolm got out and ran around the car to meet her. Linnae slammed into him, and he gave her a great bear hug that made her laugh and wriggle. His relief was but a momentary respite from his rage.

"Daddy, why are angry?"

"Because we have been robbed."

"There's a bad guy?"

"Yes, but Daddy's going to take care of him."

Someone came close to them and Malcolm stood up. He pulled Linnae around behind him, shielding her with his body. It was Lael, and he stood with both of his hands half-raised in surrender to make it clear he was unarmed.

"We need to talk," he said.

"We're leaving now."

"I can tell you what really happened to Genny," Lael said. "Just come inside, please. Laney and I made dinner."

"I got to mix the cornbread!" Linnae said. She grabbed Malcolm's hand and pulled him in the direction of the house. Malcolm hesitated, and then let himself be led.

"Do you want to get cleaned up?" Lael asked.

"Just tell me what the hell is going on."

"Well, then, the dining room's this way."

At the table, one place was set. A cloth-lined basket overflowing with cornbread sat in front of it. Lael gestured that Malcolm should take that seat.

"Want a drink?" Lael asked.

Malcolm nodded, and Lael poured them both a whiskey. Linnae hopped up and down next to her father, and he lifted her up onto his lap. She nestled against him, humming to herself.

"Laney has been chosen," Lael said.

"Chosen?"

Lael pointed at Malcolm's drink and said, "You might want to take that shot."

Malcolm took the drink.

"Linnae has been chosen to be the human embodiment of a climate goddess named La Zalia. The ritual was performed on the Solstice. It cannot be undone."

"Enough!" Malcolm said. He stood up, holding Laney. "We're leaving."

"You can't."

"We can, but this isn't the end. I will see you all executed for the murder of my wife and the kidnapping of my daughter. I will do it myself."

"I know you're angry."

"Angry doesn't begin to describe it."

"If you leave now, you won't make it out of Breaker. They will take your daughter and she will have nothing of her own. Damn it, there are forces bigger than you. I know because I used to be you. My daughter was La Zalia."

"Your daughter was mentally ill, not a goddess."

"Please, sit down."

When Malcolm didn't comply, Lael took a gun from the top drawer of the buffet. Malcolm's face twitched with restrained rage, but he sat back down. "You have my attention," he said.

"Please, try the cornbread," Lael said.

"I helped make it," Linnae whispered.

Malcolm took a square of bread out of the basket. He broke it into two pieces. It was very dry and took a lot to swallow.

"I want to help you," Lael said. "I have been where you are, and I can help if you let me. Will you just hear me out?"

Malcolm glowered and Lael set his gun on the table. It was still within his reach, but no longer an active hostility. Lael poured them both another shot of whiskey.

"Linnae is something more than what she was. She has superhuman powers and a defined role in the cycle of Nature. All of that is true."

"I don't buy your cult bullshit," Malcolm said.

"You won't feel that way for long; not once you start to see her powers. To get her safely through acclimation, you will need two things: the knowledge of the Cayalanzuvans, and the experience of this town. We can help her learn to control the La Zalia powers."

"Do you really think you can hold me hostage forever with one gun?" Malcolm asked. He put his chin on the top of Linnae's head. She smelled like peaches.

Lael continued as if Malcolm hadn't spoken. "Acclimation doesn't last forever," he said. "There isn't much more danger until puberty. By then you both will have learned how to manage the... _unpredictability_. You won't need us."

"Where is your daughter?" Malcolm asked.

"She is gone."

"Where is your wife?"

"Murdered, same as yours."

"Assuming that anything you say is true, why should I believe you would help me?" Malcolm asked.

"Because you can do what I was too weak to do! I didn't have the courage to take Helena away from here. But you, Malcolm—you are different. You can escape!"

"Recall, _friend_ , that you're the one who pulled a gun on me."

"You're not listening! You can't leave now. You must bide your time."

The men looked at each other, their gaze locked over the cornbread and the gun. One long moment passed, and Lael let his eyes drop to nothing particular. A haze of tears clouded his vision.

"Your wife suffered," Lael said. "I couldn't prevent it."

Malcolm shuddered.

"I want Mommy," Linnae said.

"Mommy is gone, Laney. Forever. She is dead."

Linnae threw a hissy fit. She flailed and Malcolm couldn't keep her from climbing down off of his lap. She went to the window, she looked down at the street; she made a frantic circuit of the room, calling for her mother.

Then she began to cry. Malcolm got up from the table and went to her. He sat next to her on the floor and gathered her close. She ran out of tears before she ran out of strength to sob. When she looked up, her eyelids were swollen and her face blotchy.

"What are they?" she asked, and pointed to the ground.

Seedlings sprouted from the carpet, morning glory babies growing where her tears fell. Linnae brushed her fingers against the leaves, and the plants grew taller. Malcolm blinked against the impossible greenery nodding and swaying at Linnae, and then lurched to his feet, Linnae clutched to him.

Before Lael knew what was happening, Malcolm had the gun. The scent of crushed flowers filled the room. Chlorophyll from trampled seedlings spread like blood on the floor.

"Don't worry," Malcolm said, "Daddy's going fix this."

He backed down the hall to the front door, the gun trained on Lael.

"You don't know what you're doing!" Lael said.

"You're wrong. I know exactly what I'm doing."

The Cayalanzuvans were waiting on the front porch. Malcolm swung around, alternating leveling the gun at the twins and at Lael. Linnae screamed.

"She is no longer yours," said the twin who speaks.

"She's sure as hell not yours," Malcolm said. "Now back off or I'll shoot."

"Be reasonable," Lael said.

"Reason died with my wife."

Lael put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. Malcolm swung around and broke Lael's nose with the butt of the pistol. Lael tripped backwards into his house.

"Close the fucking door," Malcolm said. "I want to hear the lock. If I don't hear it, I will shoot you through the door, understand?"

Lael looked at Linnae. Malcolm raised the gun as if to take another swing. That did it; Lael closed the door. The bolt snicked shut. Malcolm spun back towards the Cayalanzuvans.

"Clear out," Malcolm said.

" _No es possible_."

The silent twin took a loop of string from his pocket. He looped it over his hands and started to play cat's cradle. Linnae gulped back her cries, quieted by the dance of shapes.

"Back your primitive asses up," Malcolm said. He stepped down to the next lowest stair. The gun was level with the speaking twin's neck.

Shaking his head and refusing to back up, the Cayalanzuvan said, "It is too bad you will not remain her guardian; you have _cajones_."

The twin did step back then, nodding in the direction of a tangle of vines swarming around the side of the house and heading towards the Mercers. Malcolm pulled off two ineffective shots before the blind and feral horde of plants swarmed his feet. As the vines twisted around his legs, the Cayalanzuvan who speaks took hold of Linnae. He tried to pull her away from Malcolm, but she screamed and the vines shriveled into a brown mass. The silent twin let his cat's cradle fall slack, an open loop between his hands.

"Hey, motherfucker, guess what!" Malcolm said. When the twin looked up from the dead tangle of plants, Malcolm leveled the gun at him. "I've still got bullets!"

There was a crack, and the twin who speaks was punched backwards like a ragdoll. Malcolm swung towards the silent twin, preparing to squeeze off another shot, but the other twin was already on his back. The cat's cradle string was twisted into a meaningless ball and getting stained by blood pouring from a wound that matched the gunshot on his brother. Malcolm lowered his weapon. Then, crushing desiccated vines underfoot, he carried his daughter to the car and put her in the safety seat.

Unseasonable hail pounded Breaker as they sped out of town.

From then on, everywhere they went, the weather was bad.

## THE END

Austin, Texas: June 27, 2010

## ABOUT ANIKO CARMEAN

Aniko Carmean is a Virginia girl living in Austin, Texas. She writes stories and novels in a variety of genres including horror, science fiction, and literary-artsy. Aniko is the sole proprietor of Odd Sky Books, a publication imprint dedicated to serving discerning readers of surreal fiction. Aniko's major literary influences are Italo Calvino, Shirley Jackson, Amelie Nothomb, Iris Murdoch, and Sylvia Plath. After graduating with a degree in Physics from a small liberal arts school, Aniko married her college sweetheart, and took a day job in software to support her writing habit.

Aniko's favorite shoes are Doc Martens.

Her favorite way to think is while is walking, favorite number is twenty-two, favorite month is October, and her favorite pastime is lingering over a hearty meal and talking with friends.

Aniko has lived in more than one haunted house, which goes a long way towards explaining her fascination with the surreal.

Want to get to know Aniko better? Join the Odd Literati, and get a monthly newsletter full of quirky, personable content from her. Join here: <http://www.oddskybooks.com/odd-literati>

