Death on the Family Tree (16 page)

Jon answered almost immediately. “Hey, Mom, what’s up? Isn’t it nearly midnight there? You ought to be getting your beauty sleep. I was fixing to head out and find a bowl of noodles.”

“I’m about to go to bed, but I wanted to ask you something and tell you something. Do you remember Zachary Andrews?” She had to move away from the window a little to hear him, the rain was drumming so loud on the slate roof.

“Zach? Yeah. Why?” His voice was guarded.

“Tell me a little about him.”

“You remember him. He used to come over and play.”

“And took apart the chain on our cuckoo clock, as I remember, and burned holes in my new bedroom carpet.”

“Not two of his finest moments, huh?” Jon’s gurgle of laughter sounded as if he were just across town and made Katharine clutch the phone, she wanted so badly to have him near.

“What was he like in high school?” she asked.

“He didn’t improve much. He was both a genius and a wild man. He got straight A’s when he bothered to crack a book, but he got into trouble a lot.”

Katharine jumped to the immediate parental conclusion. “Drugs?”

“Among other things. He took his daddy’s new BMW without asking one weekend and wrecked it drag racing. He drank a lot, too, and threw parties when his parents were out of town. The neighbors called the police a couple of times. I wasn’t ever there,” Jon hastened to add, “but I heard about it. He was kicked out junior year because he threatened a teacher who was fixing to give him a C. I don’t think I’ve seen him since. Why do you want to know?”

She answered his question with one of her own. “Do you know how long Hollis has been dating him?”

He laughed. “Hollis? No way. I mean, she knows him and all—”

“Posey says she’s been dating him at least since Christmas, and I’ve seen her with him a couple of times this week. Both Hollis and Amy Slade.”

“Oh, really?”

Something about the way he said that made her press him. “What about Amy?”

“Nothing.” He was obviously considering what to tell the grownup. “In high school, she was a space cadet.”

“She must be brighter than she seems. She got into college and managed to graduate.”

Jon gave a cynical laugh. “Her granddaddy’s contributions may have helped. I used to wonder if Amy had dropped in from another planet. Really. She’s always been weird. But maybe she’s improved since high school. Zach has, from what I’ve heard. He’s still a bit intense, but people say he’s a lot calmer and straighter than he used to be.”

“Straighter than an arrow,” Katharine agreed. “He’s working for Brandon Ivorie.”

Jon whistled. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, and as you can imagine, the idea that Hollis is dating Zach and hanging out with Amy has your Aunt Posey in conniptions.”

Jon laughed. “Tell her to be careful, or she’ll wrinkle her face. And tell her not to worry. You know Hollis—champion of lame ducks and lost causes. But underneath the black clothes and vampire lipstick, she’s solid.” He changed the subject abruptly. “Did you and Dad finally celebrate your birthday?”

“No, he couldn’t get home. We’ll celebrate next weekend. But I did want to tell you something else. Remember that escape plan you made up years ago, in case we had a burglar when Dad wasn’t there? It works. I had a burglar tonight and came out unscathed.”

“While you were home?” His voice rose so high it nearly cracked. Katharine could picture his green eyes wide, red eyebrows almost meeting his hairline, freckles standing out across his nose.

“Yeah, but I ran to the hideout and was able to call 911 on my cell phone.”

“I didn’t put cell phones in the plan.”

“A definite improvement on the original. Everything is fine, now, and I’m over at Posey’s for the night. There’s a big storm going on and all the power is off at our place.”

“Did he steal anything?”

“I’m afraid so. He got your Daddy’s jade.”

“Dad’s gonna die!”

“Let’s hope not. But it seems incredible to me that anybody would come out in a storm like this to rob a house.”

Jon was silent for an expensive half-minute, then quipped, “And I’ll bet it happened too late for you to make the eleven o’ clock news, huh? There went your ten seconds of fame.”

She was glad she had called. Jon could always make her smile. But the lightness was gone from his voice when he added, “You didn’t get hurt or anything, did you?”

“Not at all. I wouldn’t have told you, but I didn’t want to tell your Dad yet, and I needed to tell somebody. You came to mind because your hideout may have saved my life.”

“Cool. I wonder if it’s too late to get extra credit from my third grade teacher. But why not tell Dad yet?”

“Because he’s got an important meeting Monday morning, and I don’t want to bother him until it’s over.”

“So what’s new?” On that note their signal either got dropped or he hung up.

What’s new? Jon’s question hung in the silent room.

She stared into the darkness beyond the window and silently totted up what was new. This restlessness was new. Anger with Tom and his job was new. That crying jag after his call was certainly new—Katharine never cried, she coped. She prided herself on that. Having her house broken into and her privacy violated was new. Seeing Hasty again was new—and had dredged up emotions she had all but forgotten. And this sense that she was useless and slipping away, and nobody was noticing—that was definitely new.

Perhaps it was a reaction to so much newness, but she felt a need to touch something old. She fetched the bag with the necklace and the copy of the diary, wrapped herself in a soft afghan Posey had draped over a small side chair (the air-conditioning was definitely too cold in their house) and stretched out on the chaise. Perhaps she would translate a few pages of the diary to help her sleep, but first she felt a strong need to hold the necklace. She would turn it over to someone else soon enough, but for tonight, it was hers.

She laid her head back against the soft down cushions and closed her eyes. While the rain drummed on the patio below her window, she stroked the circlet of bronze.

A sound startled her. She opened her eyes and saw that the lights had gone out, but in the dimness, she could make out the shape of a man coming through the door. “Wrens?” she tried to ask, but could not speak. She tried to sit up, but could not move. She watched, terrified, as he closed the door behind him and felt his way through the darkness. Then she heard a voice. A woman’s voice, drowsy and soft. “It is finished, then?”

The words were in a harsh, unfamiliar language, but Katharine understood them. She also understood the man when he growled. “It is complete.” She could tell that he was pleased with his work, whatever it had been. She heard the soft whisper of covers drawn back, although the bed was not where it should have been. She sat paralyzed, wondering what she should do. Slowly she reached for her cell phone, which she had left on a table by the chaise. The table was no longer there.

The man began to snore.

With heroic effort Katharine willed her muscles to move. She slipped silently from the chaise and tiptoed toward the door. The other woman was there before her, opening it without a sound. Katharine crept out behind her and found herself not in Posey’s upstairs hall with a nightlight burning, but in a dim room lit only by a banked fire on a hearth. The light was sufficient to see that the ceiling was low, the room without windows. The air was thick with the smells of hot metal and damp earth, and the floor rustled underfoot. Katharine knew, without knowing how she knew, that she walked on rushes and straw.

She could hear the other woman ahead of her, but when she tried to speak, she still had no voice. The woman bent over the fire and rose with a small taper of light. She held one hand in front of the light as she crossed back to the door and closed it, then she went to the middle of the room and lit a wick. The flame flared in a small pottery lamp and leaped in the darkness to reveal the woman herself. She was tall and dark, her hair black as a crow’s wing and hanging loose to her waist, her face long and thin with eyes as dark as night—a face Katharine felt sure she had seen before. The woman wore a shapeless gown tied at her waist. Its sleeves fell back on her bare wrists as she fumbled in a nest of cloth and lifted something up to her face.

Katharine gasped. It was the necklace! But it was no longer green. It gleamed in the dim light from the lamp. She had not imagined it had ever been so beautiful.

“You are not complete.” The woman’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Your metal has been fired, but it is not inspirited.”

Her fingers moved around the circlet of bronze. “You have been shaped to the neck of the overseer’s bride, but you will give more pleasure to the one who made you and the one who gives you than to she who wears you. Those knobs will lie heavy on her slender chest—as heavy as this marriage will lie on her body and soul.” Her fingers touched each knob in turn. “Poor child, do you know what a brute you will wed? He whips men to death who bring out too little salt. You will need strong protection from him—and from his relations, should he die before you. If they believe, with or without cause, that you had any part in his death, they will consign you to fire.” The woman turned in one sharp movement. “But I must turn my thoughts away from such darkness. My mind must be clear and pure for what I would do.”

She carried the circlet and glided on silent feet toward a door in the far wall.

Katharine knew she ought to try and find the stairs. Posey’s stairs must be there somewhere. Instead, she followed the woman.

The carefully opened door swung without a sound on leather hinges. The woman murmured, “Thank you, blessed spirits,” as she hurried out. Katharine hurried after her.

Stars glittered overhead. Katharine recognized Orion the Hunter and was comforted to meet a friend in that strange place. The Great Salt Mountain—she knew it at once—loomed black against the fainter gray of the sky. She shivered, for the air was cold and damp and she was glad for Posey’s afghan as she followed the woman up a steep track. The woman did not seem to mind the cold, or the breeze that whipped her hair around her shoulders and across her face as they climbed. She held the circlet aloft to the wind, bent to dip it in icy dewdrops that dotted tall grass along the bare path, and touched it gently to the earth. “Bless it, Oh Wind, Water, and Earth, but you alone are not strong enough for what I desire. That requires the Fire.”

Her foot encountered an obstacle in the path and she bent and pried out a large stone. “A sign!” she exclaimed, her voice stronger. “You were not there the last time I ascended the mountain. But it is your nature, Oh Earth, to throw up things that have long lain hidden, the nature of all the blessed spirits to uncover, scour, reveal, and refine. Nothing can stay hid forever. Nothing!” Her voice was fierce, and she turned and looked straight into Katharine’s eyes. But she said nothing more, just turned and began the steepest part of the climb.

Katharine was gasping by the time they reached a broad flat rock. She hung back as the woman climbed onto it, sat down, and waited.

Katharine knew the woman was praying, for she felt her own spirit joined to the prayer, groping wordlessly toward that which is too mighty and holy for words. At last a rim of gold edged distant mountains and began to spread upward. The woman rose and held the circlet up to the faint light. The bronze gleamed with light of its own, as perfectly shaped as the day.

She intoned softly:

I call upon thee, Fire of heaven,

brighter than any forge.

Purge this circlet of any impurity in which it was created.

Shield her to whom it is given

from the evil of him who forged it and of him who bestows it.

Protect her from darts of hatred and vice

and those who would commit violence against her life.

Guide the woman who possesses it through strange and fearful places,

grant her blessing and brightness, wisdom and joy

now and forever.

And through the refining of your mighty flames,

Bring her enemies to judgment.

As she finished, the first cock crowed to herald the dawn. She held the circlet aloft until the sun was full over the shoulder of the mountain, until gleam of metal and gleam of sun mingled into one flash of light. “Now you are complete!” she cried.

Trembling, she turned and began her descent.

Katharine moved aside to let her pass and saw a girl step from behind a boulder down the hill. Little more than a child, perhaps twelve, she had pale gold hair and eyes like a mountain pool. “What were you doing?” she asked in a high childish voice.

The woman stopped, as if uncertain what to say. Finally she held out the necklace. “I was blessing this.”

The girl drew a breath of delight. “Is it for me?” She took the necklace and clasped it around her neck. “It fits perfectly! Your man is so clever with his hands!” She reached up and touched each of the knobs.

“Of course,” the woman agreed with a haughty lift of her chin. “His rings, bracelets, and circlets are prized by princes. Fortunate is the mere man of wealth for whom he consents to make a circlet such as that.”

“His works are also considered amulets against ill fortune. Some are credited with saving lives.” The girl’s face had grown anxious. “Is that true?” She clutched the necklace as if aware for the first time how dear life is.

“Some have that power,” the woman acknowledged. Her gaze wandered to the top of the mountain and the rock now bathed with sunlight. “Not all.”

“I pray this may be one of them.” The girl took it off reluctantly and handed it back.

“Pretend to be surprised when you receive it,” the woman cautioned. “My man would beat me if he knew I had taken it from his forge.”

“I will. Good morrow!” The girl skipped down the hill as lightly as a gazelle.