Crossroads (26 page)

Chapter 33

Kira gasped, scrambling to her knees, scraping both hands in knife-sharp gravel. A blood red moon-in the form of a grasping, four-fingered claw-ripped its way through the starless sky overhead. Crimson rays slashed hither and yon across a narrow trail closely bordered by swaying fern-like trees taller than the tallest pines. Glancing about she noticed a slim figure in a dark cowled cloak watching from the woods, and at first Kira was sure it was the
Empty-eyed-man.
But then the figure turned away-something glinting at its side-and disappeared into the forest. Kira took a moment shaking off her initial fear. Whoever the hooded person was, they weren’t the
Empty-eyed-man.
They weren’t after her.

But where was the Grig?

The night smelled fungal and dank, and the soft rustling of the fronds sounded ominous, as though some huge snake were slithering stealthily through the underbrush. She clambered to her feet and whirled just as a telltale clicking sounded behind her. The eerie red moonlight glistened off the Grig’s bright eyes and turned his white, razor teeth into dripping bloody blades. The creature was less than ten yards away, but apparently as stunned by its sudden translation back into its own world as she was.

Still, the clicking noises increased in volume and speed until the Grig sounded like the flapping of the Wheel of Fortune. But Kira knew that before it wound down, she was going to be dead. She searched desperately for a way out, but the fern trees had no lower branches to climb upon, and she sensed that the trail was a trap, leading only deeper into the unknown. This was the Grig’s home, not hers, and without Jen to hide her, she had no hope.

But she refused to just die.

She steadied herself, searching for a weapon, but the frond forest seemed devoid of even bracken, and the low, grasslike lichenous substance that grew along the ground was soft when she stepped upon it-although it made a strange mewling noise-easing herself out of the moon’s crimson glare. The Grig’s eyes never left her, its rapidfire clicking ratcheting through the trees and away like echoing machine gun fire.

As her fists clenched and unclenched, she realized that the mirror had been left behind, probably still sitting atop the hood of Sheila’s car. There was no way back for her now.

The Grig crept slowly toward her, its mouth widening until the gaping maw looked large enough to swallow her whole, and it occurred to her that that might be even worse than the quick death of the teeth. She drew in a deep breath, but when she wished once again for a weapon she felt her fingers tingle. The Grig stumbled, and she glanced at her right hand and saw something shimmering there as it took form.

A knife. A glimmering silver blade with a bejeweled pommel and a taut leather grip. She clutched it tightly in both hands, holding it before her like a sword.

"I couldn’t create a gun?" she muttered to herself, backing away a step as the Grig advanced again.

Suddenly the beast leapt, slashing six inch claws toward her face, the razor tips brushing her cheeks, and she fell back onto her butt waving the knife overhead as the black ball swept past. The Grig landed and spun, but Kira was just as quick, jumping to her feet again and pointing the knife at it. It stared at the blade and replied with a torrent of taunting clicks. She could see it bracing for another attack, and this time it wasn’t going to be fooled by fancy footwork.

As it drew back its short legs for the leap, Kira surged forward, brandishing the knife. The Grig seemed taken aback, caught in mid-crouch. It’s eyes turned suddenly wary, and as it prepared to leap to one side, Kira lurched in the same direction, slipping between the grasping talons and burying the shining blade deep in the side of the dark beast. It fell to the ground, and the knife was jerked from her hand.

The Grig let out a pitiful whining noise as its legs convulsed, and a horrid smelling black ooze issued from the wound when Kira reached to withdraw the blade. She stood there gasping, unable to believe that she had just singlehandedly killed a Grig. There was an overwhelming exhilaration to the deed, to finally be able to get even the smallest manner of revenge for her parents’ deaths, for Clancy’s and all the others.

But as she watched the beast’s death throes she also felt a sorrow that she had been forced to take the life of even so horrid a creature. She had never killed with her own hands before, not even a bug, and having to watch the thing die was a terrible thing. It seemed as though being surrounded by death, causing death in one manner or another, was the only fate she had before her. The jungle world around her seemed to echo her dark thoughts, the ferns swaying to some unseen, unfelt, yet malevolent breeze.

She leaned down and wiped the blood off the blade onto the lichenous grass, noticing as she did so that the plant melted away beneath as though the Grig’s bodily fluids were acid. She carefully tucked the knife into her belt and stared both ways up and down the crimson shadowed trail feeling as lost and alone as she ever had in her life.

Somewhere in this place there had to be another mirror, and since the only evidence she had for human habitation was the ghostly watcher who had disappeared into the forest, she chose to leave the path and try to find him or her. The decision was hardly made when she knew it was the right one, in the same way she had known which roads to take to reach Sheila Bright. Her feet seemed to tread upon welcome ground with each step, and a sense of being where she was meant to be both followed and preceded her deeper and deeper into the alien woods.

Chapter 34

"What do you mean she went
in there?"
screamed Sheila, staring at Jen and then the mirror and shaking her head. "What did you do to us? Where is that thing... that Grig?"

Jen shrugged, nodding toward the hood where the rearview mirror now rested. Marguerite stood on the other side of the car, watching both of them.

"Bring her back!" shouted Sheila, pounding the hood.

"I cannot," said Jen, sadly. "I cannot even follow her now. Unless she calls me."

"What do you mean, unless she calls you?"

"That is the way of it," said Jen, sighing.

"So why doesn’t she call?"

"Because she doesn’t know to," said Marguerite, quietly.

"What?" said Sheila, whirling.

Her mother nodded, but she was staring at Jen.

"That’s it," she said. "Isn’t it?"

Sheila repeated her mother’s words.

"Yes," admitted Jen.

"You mean you really could go in there and get her if she called you?" asked Sheila, incredulously.

"Yes."

"Then why wouldn’t she know that?"

"Because no one has ever told her."

"Why not?" screamed Sheila, slapping the hood again. "Why didn’t
you
tell her?"

"Because she never asked," said Marguerite in that infuriatingly calm voice.

"This isn’t happening!" shouted Sheila, hammering her head against the car door.

Her mother walked calmly around past Jen who still regarded Sheila with her usual blank calm even as a small trickle of blood appeared above Sheila’s left eye. Her mother dabbed at it with her sleeve, but the cloth passed right through the blood, and she frowned.

"This isn’t happening," whispered Sheila, tears of frustration streaking her cheeks. "It isn’t."

"Yes, dear," said her mother, scrunching up her lips sympathetically. "I’m afraid it is."

"It doesn’t make any sense."

Marguerite tried to pull Sheila into her arms, and finally Sheila let herself be hugged. For the first time she thought she could actually
feel
her mother’s touch. She began shake with sobs. Then her hands rose up her mother’s back, and they clutched one another tightly, and Marguerite broke out in ghostly tears as well. When Sheila finally extricated herself she took a good hard look around.

There was a small crease in the front bumper where she’d collided with the Grig. The windshield was gone, and fingernail-sized bits of glass lay inside and out. The car idled quietly, as though insisting that they move along, and she seconded that opinion. But where?

"What about the other Grigs?" she asked Jen.

Jen shrugged, and Sheila nodded her understanding.

"They won’t come now because Kira’s gone, right?"

Jen shook her head. "They may."

Sheila frowned. "Why would they come if they know Kira is gone?"

"Kira is not all they are after."

Sheila frowned, stroking the pendant through the cloth of her blouse. "Is it these amulets they want?"

Jen nodded. "They are called Oculets."

"Then why don’t we just give them to them?"

Jen shook her head. "You cannot do business with Grigs, or with the one Kira calls the
Empty-eyed-man.
It would serve you no good, and even were you allowed to live, you would only hasten the demise of all of us."

Sheila sighed. "You are a cheery sort, aren’t you? Have you ever been called a harbinger of doom?"

Jen frowned. "I do not think so."

Sheila lifted the mirror off the hood and stared into it, but all she could see was rainbow refractions from the headlights.

"There’s no way," she muttered.

"Then where is she?" asked her mother. "Where is the Grig."

Sheila sighed. "Maybe they ran off into the woods."

"No," said Jen.

"You saw it, Sheila," insisted her mother.

Sheila clutched the mirror to her breast. "She saved us by sacrificing herself."

"She is not dead," said Jen.

Sheila blinked. "How can you be so sure."

Jen frowned. "Because if she were dead, I would not be."

Sheila shook her head. "Would not be what?"

"I would not be," repeated Jen, simply.

Marguerite nodded. "She has no reason to exist without Kira."

"You mean if anything happened to Kira you’d just like pop out of existence or something?" said Sheila.

Jen nodded.

"Crazy," muttered Sheila.

"I don’t think we should stay out here in the middle of the road," said Marguerite. "For one thing I wouldn’t like you to have to explain to anyone how the windshield got blown out like that or where all these scratches and dents came from."

Sheila nodded, climbing into the driver’s seat again. When they were all back in she stared at her mother. "But what do we do now?"

Her mother shook her head, glancing back at Jen.

"We must continue on," said Jen, thoughtfully. "Our paths may have diverted, but our destiny and Kira’s have not parted."

"Continue on where?" said Sheila, irritably.

"Forward," said her mother, smiling. "On to Graves’ Island. We must ride the whirlwind of our fates now."

"Sweet Mother of God," whispered Sheila, shaking her head.

But she jerked the stickshift into drive and gave the car its head as though it were not some inanimate machine but a charger, prancing off to battle.

The Glisten Glass Company was surrounded by more tall, faded-brick factories, and once again bleak dark windows gaped down at them all around. Max hurried to open the front door of his shop as Sheila climbed out of the car. There were lights on in the second floor, and she saw a shadow gliding across the thin curtains.

Jen and Marguerite followed them inside. The entrance to the tiny lobby was cluttered with stacks of glass wrapped in brown paper, each bearing a handwritten, yellow invoice. A couple of cheap, plastic upholstered metal chairs rested against one wall. But as soon as all three of them were inside Sheila heard Jen’s sharp intake of breath, and she followed Jen’s eyes to the back wall.

There were mirrors in metal frames, plastic frames, wooden frames, ornate gilt frames, no frames. Flat mirrors. Concave and convex mirrors. Oddly shaped mirrors with beveled edges. There was even a display with a dozen different rearview mirrors on metal pegboard hooks. But thankfully Sheila saw no eyeless face staring back at her. There were no wide, multitoothed mouths nor gnarly claws reaching through the polished surfaces. She stared at Jen, waiting for her assessment. Finally Jen shrugged, and when she let out a slow breath Sheila did, too. Marguerite looked at both of them and shook her head before approaching the small desk cut into one wall.

Max stuck his head out and smiled at Sheila. "I got a windshield in the back that will fit," he said.

"Max," she said. "How much is this going to cost?"

Max frowned at her. "No charge."

Sheila frowned back. "I can’t do that. Please let me pay."

"I want to do it," said Max. "It’s a fair trade, believe me."

"Thank you," said Sheila, at last, handing over the keys.

Chapter 35

July 31
^st

Having hiked for what seemed hours, with the menacing moon still clawing at the sky just above the jungle canopy, Kira’s legs ached, and thirst raked at her throat. When she heard what appeared to be the trickle of a stream she followed the sound down through the surrounding fern forest to a narrow but clear running creek. Preoccupied with slaking her thirst she stumbled across the boy without warning.

He spun around so fast that he fell on his butt in the shallow water and crabbed backward toward the other shore. Kira stopped at the stream’s edge, raising her hands in supplication and smiling. The boy froze but remained poised to run, his eyes regarding her warily.

"Who... who are you?" he stammered.

"My name is Kira."

"What are you doing here?"

"I’m lost...and thirsty. Is the water safe to drink?"

The boy straightened, shaking his bare feet off in the warm orange light. His pants were frayed at the calf, and he was covered to the waist by a heavy shirt of some sort of dirty broadcloth with wide sleeves that drooped about his narrow wrists. His blond hair was unkempt and looked as though it had been cut by pinking shears, but his bright gray eyes shone like silver coins with inner intensity and cunning. He appeared to be about eight or nine.