All had been forgotten about that time. By her.
Until He took David.
It was getting very dark and Izzy knew she had to get moving. Outside the car, things crept close and bumped against the glossy tan exterior. Shadows seemed to be moving just outside her peripheral vision, darting away if she turned to look. She didn’t look, didn’t need to. She had a good idea what she would see.
An odious task. No different than the dishes, the last load of laundry, wiping someone’s bloodied nose.
Izzy leaned forward and pulled the lever that popped the trunk. With a hollow snap it opened about two inches and stayed there.
Outside, the night was alive. Something dark darted past the car and there were sounds that might be … nothing, might be just the night, might be voices. Bits of things being said, only theoretically human, like the drone of a radio far away. There was another bump against the passenger side and the sound of something dragging along the car. Then it was gone.
She fished around on the floor for her leather apron, then opened the door and got out.
As if a drop of oil had been added to a dish of water, the shadows and shapes, the forms in the dark, spread out and away from her. Briefly she saw the outline of what might have been a woman, a flash of breast in the moonlight, a shimmer of hair. A hint of weeping permeated the air over her head.
Even in the moonlight, the dark seemed to follow her like a large shadow. She lifted the trunk lid. Inside the dog, clearly terrified, looked up at her with sunken eyes. He whimpered piteously as he jerked himself to his feet, awkwardly, painfully, from his cramped position.
Izzy put her hand on his head, both to keep him from jumping out and to soothe him. “It won’t hurt,” she said.
From somewhere around her there was murmured discussion, voices
(what might have been voices)
that disagreed, agreed, wanted to
see
.
From her bag she pulled a container and a small handkerchief. She poured from the one onto the other, and when the reek hit her nose she held her breath. It wouldn’t do to pass out, not here.
“It won’t hurt,” she repeated to the dog. She felt sorry, but from a distance. For the dog and for herself. Especially for herself, because of all the people who wouldn’t understand.
She stroked the dog’s head, so little flesh between fur and skull that she might well have been petting him long after he was dead. He looked up at her with knowing eyes. He didn’t fight when she pressed the sodden cloth to his snout and held it there.
In less than a minute his skinny body collapsed to the floor of the trunk, still breathing
(that was important)
but still as the night. Some other night. Somewhere other than this place.
Around her there was more discussion, fogged laughter, muffled delight. And maybe she heard
dead dead dead
It was hard to tell because the wind had picked up. As she lifted her offering out of the trunk, dropped it to the ground and dragged it to the porch of the legendary, boarded-up house, that breeze ruffled her hair with mock affection and whispered in her ears. Hollow sounds, like music from a seashell.
She laid the dog on the porch and dropped to her knees. She unrolled the leather apron and took out the large, well-honed knife. It caught moonlight and flashed—of course it did. She raised it above her head and brought it down on the poor thing’s throat. Blood sprayed against the door. Izzy didn’t notice her tears falling into the blood
(because it reminded her, as it always did, as everything always did, of David and how he’d fallen and how it had sounded and looked and the blood)
The blood formed a puddle on the porch floor, where it slipped towards the door.
“Please,” she said. “I bring you death.”
The things in the yard, which didn’t dare come to the porch, fell silent. She could hear the blood gurgle as it emptied from the dog.
“Tomorrow we have thirteen,” she said.
The porch door opened.
The large man stood there, grinning.
Please
she thought.
“What else do you offer me?”
Izzy hesitated, and in that quick second of reluctance she felt the old wound under her breast suddenly shoot with pain. But still a million images ran through her brain.
“A child,” she said. “I will bring you a little girl.”
He held the door wide and with a hand swept the air mockingly, gallantly, for her to pass. “Mi casa,” he said. “Su
casa.”
She dragged the dying dog behind her.
Afterwards she made it back to the car, but no farther. She slept, even as the voices around her quieted and dawn broke. Even in that place.
FIFTEEN
R
OWAN HADN’T SAID ANYTHING
about her stomach ache to her mom. It would have been hard to explain, given that she was eating her second piece of French toast slathered in butter and syrup. But the pain hadn’t gone away; it had settled into a kind of ache that she couldn’t put her finger on. She didn’t feel like throwing up. She didn’t have to go to the bathroom. It just sort of
hurt
down there. A dull throb in her lower half, sometimes poking into her back. She was starting to get used to it. Maybe later she would ask her mom for an Aspirin. That helped headaches, so maybe it would help this ache.
Old Tex was sitting at her feet. She’d discreetly fed him some of her French toast when her mom was at the stove making her another piece—“You must be in a growth spurt”—and he was still licking syrup off his snout when his head shot up and he started getting awkwardly to his feet, tail wagging.
From the porch they heard, “Hello in there,” followed by a friendly bark.
Rowan started to say, “I think that’s Mr. Keyes,” but her mom was already on her feet and she and Old Tex were on their way to the door.
Jeez
, she thought, with a twelve-year-old’s embarrassment,
anxious much?
She ate the last square of French toast on her plate, then went to the door too. Her mom was leashing up Old Tex. The two dogs were wagging and panting at each other, and Gusto was tugging on his leash to get close enough for a sniff at Old Tex.
“Hey, Rowan,” Mr. Keyes said. “You feel like a walk with the boys?”
“Yes!” She grabbed her blazer from the hook by the door.
Her mother frowned. “It might be too warm for the blazer, honey.”
Rowan took Old Tex’s leash from her hand and shook her head. “I need to wear it,” she said, and patted the pocket quickly, feeling reassured by the lump. She tugged on Old Tex’s leash. “Let’s go, old man!”
Mr. Keyes laughed. And they all went for a walk.
Tap tap tap
In her dreams, Izzy Riley squirmed in the seat of her car.
No. Not ready. Don’t come for me
.
tap tap tap
Her lovely face screwed into a grimace and she turned away from the sound. Inside her head was the image of the thing in the house, malevolent, hungry, and her heart
tap tap tap
pounded in fear. It reached a paw out to her.
It is time?
She groaned and slowly opened her eyes. Facing her through the windshield was a cat, a single paw on the glass. Tansy. When she saw Izzy’s eyes open, she dropped her paw and sat there, tail flickering. Beyond the cat was the Chapman house, in daylight. It stared at her with its second-storey windows. Izzy looked at the cat. The cat stared back, at least benevolently. Her friend.
She rolled the window down. “I’m awake,” she told Tansy. “Get inside.” The cat delicately dropped off the hood of the car and jumped easily through the driver’s-side window. She landed on Izzy’s lap. She was purring. She rubbed up against Izzy, who brought her hands to the cat’s head and stroked.
Good girl
.
Tansy accepted the petting and then stepped elegantly over to the passenger seat and curled up. Her tail moved above her like a thought before wrapping around her body. Izzy started the car.
As she drove she reached for her cellphone on the dash and turned it on. Twenty-seven messages. She would pass for now.
It was Thursday. Everyone had to hold on for one more day. She looked at the house receding in the rear-view mirror.
Ego sum vestra serva
. I am your servant. For better or for worse.
In the end it would be worse. She knew that now.
At the end of the lane she turned right to drive along the river. The road eventually angled away and met with Proctor, the street that circled Haven Woods. It was a pretty drive, with the trees lining the river and the houses so neat and new. It never betrayed the monstrosity that she’d left behind.
She must have slept deeply, but she was tired. The skirt of her suit was grimy from picking up the dirty dog, and a cat’s paw print lay dead centre above the hem. She pulled down the sun visor and quickly peered into the mirror. Her hair was a mess, her makeup worn off.
As she flipped the visor back up, she saw people walking towards her, with dogs. She squinted. Smiled.
Paula was still here. And the girl.
Izzy gave thanks.
Ego sum vestra serva
.
She broadened her smile and slowed as she approached them. Through her open window she waved for them to stop. They did, five sets of eyes staring at her like deer in headlights, as she pulled the car alongside.
“Hello there, Paula,” she said, but she was looking at the girl. The child’s expression was grave and suspicious.
Good for you
. She was holding the leash of Audra’s stupid, ancient dog. The thing should be dead already. She’d once bought her friend a cat, but it had disappeared, run off or something. Izzy suspected the dog.
“Hello, Rowan,” she said. The girl raised her hand in semi-greeting.
“Hi, Mrs.—Izzy,” Paula said, with some warmth. She smiled.
The man with her smiled too. He was attractive, and somehow familiar.
“And who’s this?” Izzy asked, and saw Paula redden.
“Sanderson Keyes, this is Izzy Riley. Sanderson grew up in Haven Woods,” she said awkwardly, not wanting to bring up the obvious. “We grew up together,” she added, as a clue.
Izzy’s face sobered, her smile slipping.
hey Lonnie and
“Not Lonnie Keyes’s brother?”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I was a friend of David’s,” he said, without Paula’s awkwardness.
She reset her smile. “I remember. And your mother too. She was never happy here, was she.”
Sanderson was noncommittal but polite. “I do think she’s been happier since she moved away.”
Izzy returned her gaze to Rowan. It was remarkable how much the child looked like Paula. It was like seeing her as a child again
(and the blood that ran through her was lovely alumna blood)
“How are you enjoying your mother’s old hometown, Rowan?”
Rowan shrugged and Izzy frowned.
Rude
. She tried to stare the child down, but the girl turned her attention to the dog, stroking him. The dog had dropped his head and was glaring at Izzy, his upper lip curled.
Back off, dog
. She grinned to show her teeth.
“Rowan, answer Mrs. Riley,” Paula said firmly.
“It’s good,” Rowan said, without looking up from the dog. “What’s wrong, boy?”
Izzy chuckled, her laugh a tinkle. “I have Tansy in the car. He must smell her.” At the sound of her name, the cat on the seat beside Izzy raised her head and got up in a stretch. The stretch ended as she placed her front paws on the dash and peered out through the windscreen at them all.
“A co-pilot.” Sanderson Keyes laughed. “Gusto sticks his head out the window. He’s useless as a navigator.”
Izzy looked at Gusto.
Another dog
. A beagle, if she wasn’t mistaken. Just what the neighbourhood needed.
Rowan tugged on Old Tex’s leash and brought him closer to her, pulling his head into her stomach. She muttered to the dog, “It’s okay.”
Something was peeking out through the fur on his throat. Izzy squinted to see what it was. “Old Tex seems quite taken with you, dear. It’s nice to have an animal friend, isn’t it?”
Hearing her voice directed at the girl, the dog turned his head abruptly once again. The thing around his neck was red.
“What’s he wearing there?” she asked.
Rowan reached down and touched it. “New collar,” she said. “My grandma made it for him.”
Izzy’s eyebrows went up. “Really? How crafty of her.” Inside she could feel a slight panic. “Can I see? Audra is always making lovely things … And where are you all headed so early?” She put her arm out the window and waggled her fingers for the girl to bring the dog closer.
“We’re just walking the dogs,” Paula replied. “We might take Rowan to the river. We’ve gone near, but we haven’t gone down to the banks yet.”
Rowan stayed where she was. Izzy waggled her fingers again and looked sternly at the girl, her face a mother’s face, commanding. Rowan stepped towards the car, tugging on the leash. Old Tex took a couple of steps too and then dug in, baring his teeth. He barked, angrily, loudly.
“Oh my,” Izzy said.
Paula was on him.
“Tex!”
The dog looked up at her reproachfully, his teeth still bared, but clearly not at her. “Stop!”
He ducked his head and stopped growling, but he would not cave in to Izzy. Gusto watched his new friend carefully for some sign.
“It’s the cat, I’m sure,” Izzy said. “That’s all right. Nice doggy.” Tansy, serene, never took her eyes off Old Tex.
“Sorry, Izzy,” Paula said.
“Oh, no worries. I’d better get a move on. It was nice to see you, Paula. You and this darling here”—she indicated Rowan—“are coming to Marla’s tomorrow evening, right?”
“Yes, we’re looking forward to it.”
Rowan looked sharply at her mother and shook her head, barely perceptibly.
The rebellious child. Their saviour.
“Well, enjoy yourself this morning. It sure is a lovely day.” Izzy put the car in gear, called a friendly goodbye out the window and drove off. She checked the mirror, watching the five move on. Only the dog looked back at her.
Izzy’s smile was completely gone. The dog. The dog was a problem.
She pulled over to the side of the road, opened the door and got out. She bent over and looked at Tansy, sitting up on the passenger seat. “Get rid of that dog,” she said.
The cat gave a stretch and picked her way over the seat, then jumped down to the road. She flicked her tail goodbye and ran into the trees towards the river.
Audra struggled to clear the fog from her brain. Whatever Tula had done to make her sleep before she left, it hadn’t been painful. It may have been an act of kindness, but she doubted it. Tula did not have the imagination for kindness.
She did know that Paula hadn’t come to visit today. The hospital was silent as the grave. Tula was noticeably absent too. But for how long?
When she’d woken, she’d tried to call for Tula, though her throat was parched, her tongue fat with dehydration. She’d opened her mouth to call and—
the sound that came out of her was that of an animal. She could guess which one.
Judas goat
On her arms was a spattering of coarse hairs, white and long. It might not be noticeable to others yet, but if it got any thicker …
She had no idea how far this would go. Misplaced, unbidden pieces of thought ran through the space between her ears where cognition used to be. Snippets of songs, conversations she’d had years before, headlines. Oddly placed and terribly distracting. She had to concentrate. She had to act.
Paula hadn’t come to see her yet and she had no way of knowing why. Had she left town, or had something happened to her or Rowan? Had she simply forgotten to come? That was unlikely.
She had to do something before Tula came back. She wriggled up to a sitting position and looked around the room.
Under other circumstances she would have been confident they would not do the
sabbat
without her, but they were desperate. There were things you could invoke. She was sure Izzy had thought of something. Or one of the new bunch. The young ones were a clever lot.
No, it all hinged on Paula. She was the thirteenth.
That couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it.
Audra looked around the room for something, anything, to enchant. There was the closet with her things in it. She went over the items that might be in her purse: makeup, shopping list, pen
—Aren’t you glad you use Dial? Don’t you wish—
Pen.
Pen
. Audra struggled to get the thought back. Pen and notebook. Keys? No, she’d given them to Paula. There was a safety pin stuck in the lining of the bag for emergencies, there was her chequebook, her wallet.
The heart monitor was still in the corner. There was the table beside her
(what was in the drawer?)
on which stood the water jug, some plastic cups, the vase and flowers Paula and Rowan had brought her.
Audra closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding; she was breathless and losing focus again. She let her head fall back against the pillow and listened. There was nothing to hear. She was still alone on the floor.
There was nothing in the room to work with.
She looked at the flowers, a cheap bunch from the grocery store—more sweet for that, somehow. Rowan had walked in with them, but had Paula held them?
Mom, smell
She thought Rowan had taken them from Paula and put them in the vase, the vase procured by Tula. Izzy had been there.
(had Paula held them?)
She tried to remember. Rowan hadn’t come in right away. Paula was holding the flowers. She’d buried her face in them, then held them out
smell, Mom
They would have to do.
The vase was about four feet from where she lay, maybe a little less. Audra’s joints felt so unyielding. She felt confined in unfamiliar flesh that was sprouting stiff little hairs up and down her arms
(and who knew where else her chest was itching even if she didn’t want to think about it)
There was no help for it. She leaned forward and tried to shift herself along on her bottom, moving an inch at a time. Her leg joints were as rigid as her arms; only her neck seemed fluid. She led with her neck and got her body as close to the edge of the bed as she could. She leaned, but the vase was just out of reach. A fading daisy dangled; she swiped at it with a heavy and unwieldy hand and caught it, toppling the vase. Water spilled across the tabletop.
Startled, she yelped, but managed to grab a handful of the flowers, a mash of daisies, carnations and baby’s breath. A single fern clung to the tangle of stems, and she snatched it with her other hand.
Audra clutched the flowers. She called every name she could remember, the sounds coming out of her mouth guttural, animal, unintelligible. But, she hoped,
they
would know what she meant. Amid the stray memories and other mental intrusions, she began her chant, each syllable a pain and a relief, her heart broken yet full.