The Library at Mount Char (8 page)

Jennifer pursed her lips, searching for the right words. “She makes ‘brah-neez.' ”

“ ‘
Brah-neez?'
You mean brownies?”

“Right!” Jennifer nodded. “That! You
do
understand.”

“Er…no, Jennifer. I'm sorry. I'm not following you at all.”

Jennifer's face fell. “She makes brownies,” she said. “She doesn't eat them herself, but she makes them anyway. She does it every few days.”

“I still don't…”

“Sometimes she sings when she does it,” Jennifer said. “That's how I know. It doesn't have to be words. Hearing someone sing or even just hum can tell me everything.”

“About what?” Carolyn asked, utterly lost.

“Her pathology,” Jennifer said. “The brownies aren't for her. They're for someone she lost a long time ago.”

“Her husband?” Mrs. McGillicutty's husband was a couple of years dead.

“No,” Jennifer said. “Not him. He spent most of their marriage at work. That was what defined him. And he had other women. Once she tried to talk to him about it and he beat her for it.”

“Lovely.”

Mrs. McGillicutty bustled in the kitchen, her eyes far away.

“But there was a child once. She doesn't even know it herself, but the brownies are for him.”

“What happened?”

“The boy liked getting fucked in the ass,” Jennifer said. “This made his father very angry. One day the two of them came home and found him doing it on the couch. It was an older man, one of his father's friends. She wouldn't have minded, not much, but it made the boy's father crazy. He beat the child rather badly, broke his left tibia and the mandible in two places. He was in the hospital for a long time, but the bones eventually healed. The damage to his spirit was catastrophic, though. The boy and his father had been close, when he was younger. The beating broke him. He started taking drugs—amphetamines, mostly, but anything he could get his hands on. He withdrew. He stayed away for days at a time. Then one day he didn't come home. They spoke to him once or twice after that—” Jennifer pointed at the thing on the wall.

“It's called a telephone,” Carolyn said. She had gotten Miner to explain about telephones before she killed him the first time.

“Right. That. They spoke twice on the tel-oh-phone, and once there was a note. He was in a place called Denver, then another one called Miami. Then they didn't get any more phone calls. That was ten years ago.”

“Where is he?”

Jennifer shook her head. “Dead, probably. No one really knows. At first this was agony for her. Every phone call, every knock on the door ripped open the wound. She lay awake every night for years. Her husband recovered…moved on, forgot. He was a man who never felt anything very deeply, just as Mrs. McGillicutty's own father was. But Eunice cannot move on. She lies alone in the dark and waits for her little boy to come home. The waiting is all that she has now.”

Carolyn looked at the sad woman bustling about in her kitchen and felt something stir inside herself. It was compassion, though she did not recognize it as such. It was not something she felt often. “Oh,” she said softly, “I see.”

“She thinks that if her son were to come home now it would be like waking from a dream. She would feel again. But the boy will not come home, and though she will not allow herself to know this, she knows it anyway. And so she makes brownies for the memory of her baby. She can't help herself—faint comfort is better than no comfort at all, you see? Her world is very cold, and this is the thing she warms herself over with.”

Jennifer looked at the old woman cooking eggs in the kitchen and smiled sadly. “It is a heart coal.”

“We should do something,” Carolyn said. Her right index finger trembled, just the tiniest bit. “Rachel could find her son. Even if he's dead, you could—”

Jennifer looked at her, surprised. “That's kind of you, Carolyn.” She shook her head. “It wouldn't help, though. It never works out the way you would think. The problem with a heart coal is that the memory
always
diverges from the actual thing. She remembers an idealized version of her son. She's forgotten that he was selfish, that he enjoyed giving little offenses. It wasn't really an accident that they saw him and the other man fucking on the couch. If he came back now it wouldn't help. He would be gone again soon enough, only this time she would no longer have the
comfort of the illusion. Probably that would destroy her. She isn't very strong.”

“What then? Is there anything that can be done?”

Jennifer shook her head. “No. Not for this. She will either find a way to let the boy go, or she will die of the memory.”

“I see.” After that they sat in silence. Jennifer drank her coffee and asked for seconds. Carolyn sipped her lemon soda.

The others were waking up, drifting in. Carolyn translated breakfast orders between them and Mrs. McGillicutty, relayed thanks, helped wash things when it seemed appropriate. Then she announced that she was going to go for a walk and slipped into the woods heading west, toward the bull.

As Carolyn walked, she felt the coal of her own heart acutely. She wondered if she had ever hummed or sung around Jennifer. Certainly she wouldn't have done so in the last ten years, not since the plan began to come together, but before that she just couldn't remember.
If Jennifer knew, she gave no sign, but…
She turned it over in her mind for a little while, then put the question aside. Jennifer might know, or she might suspect. Or she might not. It didn't matter.

It was far too late to turn back now.

A
n hour later she stood on the ridge of the clearing, overlooking Highway 78. On the far side of the road down below, the weathered wooden Garrison Oaks sign creaked in the wind. It was ostentatious, in the way of real-estate signs, but now the raised wooden letters were silvery and cracked with age.
Perfect, really
. Among his other skills, Father was very good at camouflage.

She was a bit early, so she stopped there to collect her thoughts. The bronze bull loomed behind her, shiny clean and horrible, not quite out of sight behind the trees. That was where they were to meet, but she didn't want to be near it for any longer than she had to.

She was thinking about Nobununga. It was crucial that this informal
meeting go well, and she was trying to think of things she might do to ingratiate herself with their noble guest. Ideally, she would have liked to have brought along Steve's heart—currently marinating in a Ziploc bag in Mrs. McGillicutty's vegetable crisper—but of course that would tip David off that things were taking place behind his back.

Beyond that, she couldn't think of much. She and Nobununga had never met, and she didn't know much about him other than what she'd heard from Michael. He apparently had an appetite for raw meat, as did many of Father's ministers. There was the bit about “thunder of the east,” of course, but that was a long time ago. A very long time, actually. Unlike most of Father's early allies, Nobununga had never fallen from favor, never been stripped of his rank.
He will be loyal, then. Unshakably so
. Of course, there was more to it than that. Supposedly he and Father were friends as well, which was strange to think of. But Michael loved him without reservation, so probably he was a decent sort. And he was reputed to be clever.
Possibly we can
—

Far behind her, from deep in the forest, came the sound of cracking wood.

Carolyn tilted her head, suddenly alert.
That sounded big
. She remembered enough from her time with Isha and Asha to be certain that this was not a falling tree.
No. That was a branch cracking
. Cracking under the foot of something very large indeed, by the sound.
Barry O'Shea, maybe? Surely it's too soon for
—

She twisted on the rock to get a better angle, then let her eyes unfocus. She put all of herself into the act of listening. On the road below a car passed by, pleasantly distant. Not far off a whippoorwill called out something that she couldn't quite understand at the moment. It sounded urgent.
Michael would know
.

Crack
.

This time it was closer.

She hopped down off the boulder, suddenly wary. Isha and Asha had lived in fear of bears. She had never seen one, but Michael agreed that there were a few around, and a few unnatural creatures as well—pneumovores and the like.
They weren't any danger when Father was nearby, but now…time to go, I think
.

Even so, she wasn't especially worried. Anything unnatural would smell the Library on her, and be afraid. About the worst possibility was a hungry bear, and after the week she'd had she couldn't quite manage to be afraid of something like that.

Another crack.

The whippoorwill screamed again. A rabbit darted out of the underbrush, panicky, heading for the bluff.

Whatever it is, it's definitely coming my way
.

She sighed and set out toward the bull at a trot. She moved with all the craft Isha had taught her, and more she had learned on her own. She was very quick, and she made absolutely no sound. She still wasn't especially worried. The bull had a presence on several planes other than the physical. Animals sensed this more than humans, and it made them uncomfortable. No natural beast would approach it. If she got within a stone's throw she would be safe.

Off to her side she heard a rustling, slight but unmistakable.
Is that…is it
stalking me?

Surely not.

Then, a hundred yards away, half-hidden behind a stand of crocus, she saw what was hunting her.

A
tiger
? Really? In Virginia?

Their eyes met. The tiger nudged aside the spiky leaves of a datura stem that had broken up the lines of his face. He allowed her a brief look at the whole of him—orange fur, black stripes, white underbelly—then set out toward her. He trotted, hypnotically graceful, green eyes flicking here and there. His nostrils flared. Three feet of tail swished gently in his wake.

Her instinct was to skid to a stop and run the other way as fast as possible. Instead, she turned
toward
it and sped up a little, involuntarily, as the adrenaline hit. She drew the obsidian knife from its sheath in the small of her back. Now she did scream, but it was a war cry, not panic, a low and brutal human sound.

The tiger's eyes widened ever so slightly.

Then, suddenly, she was gone from its sight. With a single bound she broke left, hidden behind a thick pine. When she could no longer see
it—and, more important,
it
could not see
her
—she launched herself at a second, smaller pine. She hit it a good five feet off the ground, wrapped her legs around it, then her arms. She began to shimmy up. The bark was rough against her chest, her belly, her thighs. It crumbled into her eyes as she climbed.

A few seconds later she chanced a look down and was surprised to see that she was almost thirty feet up in the air. The ground below her was empty. For a moment she entertained the thought that she had imagined the whole thing, that it was—

Nope
, she thought,
that's a tiger, sure enough
.

It sidled out from behind the thick pine, languid. Even listening closely, she could hear no sound.
It must have been toying with me earlier
, she thought.
Making little sounds, cracking branches, to see what I would do. It must have been—

The tiger looked up at her and roared. Carolyn fought the urge to wet herself. She moved two more feet up the tree, as high as she dared. The trunk was getting thinner here, and she was concerned that her weight might—

The tiger sat back on its haunches. It lifted one massive paw, inspected it, gave it a lick.

A moment later, Michael stepped into view. “Carolyn?” he said. His speech was stilted, halting, the way it was when he had been conversing with animals. “Why are you in the tree?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, gritted her teeth. “Hello, Michael,” she said. “I'm just out for some fresh air and exercise. I thought it might be fun to climb a tree. How are you today?”

“I am well,” Michael said, clearly confused by the anger in her voice. “You should come down, Carolyn. You look silly.”

“Yes. Yes, I don't doubt that I do.” She began to inch her way down the tree.

When her feet touched the earth Michael and the tiger watched her for a moment. Michael nodded at the ground. She looked blankly at him, not understanding. He pointed at the ground again, then patted his belly.

Oh
, Carolyn thought.
Right
. She lay on her back and showed her belly
to the tiger. He nuzzled her, taking a sniff here and there. When that was done Carolyn stood.

“Our Lord Nobununga honors us with his visit,” she said.

Michael translated, surprisingly deep rumbles booming from his small chest.

Then, as an aside to Michael, “You might have told me he was a fucking tiger, Michael.”

Michael blinked at her. His expression was blank, guileless. In that moment she could have strangled him and smiled as she did it.

“You didn't know? I thought everyone knew.”

W
ith Nobununga's blessing, Carolyn backtracked a little bit to meet Peter and Alicia. She wanted to give them a bit of warning about Nobununga, spare them the sort of fright she'd had. Everyone was on edge already. She intercepted them at the bluff, half a mile or so back, walking together. That was a surprise.

“What did you tell David?” she asked. Peter's catalog was mathematics. Alicia explored the permutations of the future. She could think of no business that might plausibly have required both of them to go out together.

They exchanged a glance.

“We, ah…” Peter began, then trailed off. He was blushing.