Graveyard Child bsd-5, Page 2

  And yet, there was exactly where I was going. Back home to where it all began, or if it hadn’t begun there, at least someone might know some of what had happened. Might be able to explain some of the confusion that my life had become since Uncle Eric died.

  The snow had been coming down since we crossed the New Mexico border into Oklahoma. It was all hard round balls like bits of Styrofoam that tapped against the windshield and flew away again before they had the chance to melt. China Forbes crooned from the speakers about falling stars falling forever, and Chogyi Jake snored gently in the passenger’s seat. I imagined Ex behind me, staring moodily out the window, and Ozzie curled up with her nose tucked under her tail; but since I couldn’t see them, that said more about my state of mind than theirs. Gray clouds pressed the sky low enough it felt like a ceiling. I could feel the highway getting slick under the tires just by the way the steering wheel vibrated.

  “I think the dog needs to go out,” Ex said.

  Chogyi Jake grunted, yawned, and leaned forward, blinking into the gray.

  “Seriously?” I said.

  “Well, I’m not positive,” Ex said. “She’s just got that look on her face.”

  “What look?

  “That the-backseat’s-fine-with-me-if-it’s-fine-with-you look?”

  “Okay, message received,” I said.

  “We could use some lunch too,” Ex said.

  “Next stop coming up,” I said, willing my voice to be cheerful.

  Ten miles on, a service station huddled at a highway exit like a luckless hitchhiker. Along with gas pumps and the kind of bathrooms you have to go outside to get to, it boasted a little sandwich shop. Ozzie got to her feet as I pulled in, her wagging tail making a rhythmic thumping against the seat. Ex had apparently been right. It was kind of cute. I hadn’t pegged him for a dog person.

  “I’ll take her for a walk,” Ex said as I killed the engine. “You can order for me.”

  “Meatball sandwich, no cheese?” Chogyi Jake asked, though he didn’t have to. We’d all been working together for years now, tracking down riders. They were the spiritual parasites—riders was the generic term—that snuck in from the Pleroma or Next Door or whatever we called it and took up residence in the bodies of men and women. Bodies like mine. They were responsible for vampires and werewolves and lamias and a whole taxonomy of things that made the world weirder and more dangerous. Once upon a time, I’d thought we fought against them, but that had turned out to be a little simplistic.

  We’d traveled across the world together, the three of us, and—once upon a time—Aubrey. Only Aubrey was back together with his once and future wife, Kim, in Chicago, rebuilding the life that my uncle Eric had destroyed for them. And so it was just the three of us heading back to my family to try to figure out what Eric had done to mine.

  Well, the three of us and my dog.

  “Large iced tea,” Ex said, opening the SUV’s rear door. The blast of cold air pressed against the back of my neck for a second before the door closed again with a crash. I reached around for the leather backpack that I still used instead of a purse. Chogyi Jake stretched, squinting out into the snow. I felt another passing urge to apologize to him for ditching him back in New Mexico, but it would have been about the millionth time I’d done it, and I figured after about six hundred thousand it might start getting annoying.

  “You good?” I asked.

  “I try,” he said, smiling gently.

  I smiled back. “Smart ass.”

  The service station was small and tacky. Christmas tinsel still hung on the edges of the counter, and a bin of clip-on reindeer horns squatted by the bathrooms with a hand-drawn sign saying 50% Off. We ordered at the counter along the eastern wall, then sat at a chipped Formica table and watched the semis roll by on the highway. The horizon was lost, sky and earth fading into a uniform nothingness. I ate two bites of my sandwich and pushed the rest away.

  “Do you know what you want to ask them?” Chogyi Jake asked. He had a way of stepping gently into the middle of deep conversations we hadn’t had yet. Since I’d called my mother a week before and arranged for this sudden, probably unpleasant reunion, he hadn’t asked me why or what I hoped to gain by it. We could skip all that. I leaned forward and shook my head.

  “I keep thinking I should start with the riders. I mean, if they don’t even know that riders exist, everything else I want to know starts sounding pretty sketchy. Or with Eric. Or with whether Mom really had an affair.”

  “Why do you want to know about that?”

  I plucked a potato chip out of his bag.

  “You don’t think it’s important?”

  “It might be,” Chogyi Jake said. “Or it might not. But I wondered why you would begin with that.”

  “It’s not her,” I said. “It’s not like her. I mean, I can’t imagine that she’d ever do that.”

  “Are you thinking then that it must have been the product of magic,” he asked, “or that you might not understand your mother as well as you believed?”

  Outside, Ex and Ozzie trotted back toward the SUV. I’d seen dogs smile before, and she trotted along at his side, looking up at him, a black Lab with a graying muzzle and fewer problems than anyone else in the car.

  “I was thinking magic,” I said. “You’re telling me it’s not?”

  “I have no way of knowing. But I see how it would be difficult . . . maybe impossible . . . to look into one part of this without looking into all of it.”

  “I love you. I do. But I don’t even know what the hell that means.”

  He laughed and I grinned. Ex opened the SUV door and Ozzie hunkered down, thought about it, and then jumped, clambering up to the seat. The lousy little radio at the back of the station went from commercials to an old Lady Gaga tune without changing tempo.

  “I mean,” he said, choosing each word as he said it, “that we’re going in hopes of understanding what Eric’s plan was. How you came to have a rider in you, why he left you his accumulated wealth, what his greater purpose was. All that.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “It may not be possible to address that without addressing other issues. Who you are to your family. Who you have become. What your relationship is to them.”

  “Boy, am I not seeing that,” I said.

  Chogyi held up a finger. In someone else, it would have been condescending. In him, it just meant he needed a second to think.

  “If your mother’s infidelity wasn’t related to Eric or the Black Sun or anything that’s happened in the last few years, does that make it unimportant to you?”

  And so maybe then I did understand. I’d been away for a long time. I wasn’t the girl who’d snuck out the window. I wasn’t even the girl that girl had changed into. I had to be five or six incarnations down from that by now, and each new version of me had taken me a little further from who I’d been. Yes, I wanted to know about Eric and my father and my mother. I wanted to know why Dad had forbidden us from talking to my uncle. I wanted to know why my uncle had helped me hide the tattoo I’d woken up with after my epic sixteenth-birthday lost weekend. I wanted to put it all in place. But I also wanted to see what happened when I walked back in the door, and that didn’t necessarily have anything to do with ghosties or ghoulies or long-legged beasties.

  Which was what made it scary.

  Ex pushed into the station, brushing corn snow out of his long, pale hair. I more than half expected the guy behind the counter to give him the hairy eye, but instead he lifted his chin to Ex and said, “Peace be wit’cha.”

  “And also with you,” Ex answered, and headed over to our dingy little table. “Snow’s getting thicker.”

  “Think we’ll have a problem getting through?”

  He sat across from me, scowling.

  “Don’t think so,” he said. “The new car looks pretty weather ready. And we’re on a major highway. It’s not like we’re going between Taos and Questa again, and you handled that just fine.”

 
; “Yeah,” I said, surprised by the prick of regret. Some part of me had been hoping the roads might close. We might all be forced off into some Bates Motel–looking dive where I could put off the trip for a few days. Until after New Year’s. Possibly forever. Forever would be good. Ex took a bite from his sandwich and nodded toward mine.

  “Not hungry?”

  “Guess not,” I said.

  “Get it wrapped up, then,” he said. “You might want it later.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. Ex could be weirdly paternalistic, but as long as I was the one signing his paychecks, I didn’t mind. Not too much. I found myself secretly pleased that we hadn’t fallen into bed together before. It was going to be hard enough introducing them to my parents as it was. Mom. Dad. These are my friends. They’re both men, and we go everywhere unchaperoned. The nice one’s the ex–heroin addict, and the grumpy one used to be a Catholic priest. Never mind. I might as well have slept with him.

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Ex’s scowl deepened, and he shot a glance at Chogyi Jake.

  “Just thinking,” I said. “It took me years to get away from Wichita, and it’s a ten-hour drive back.”

  “Life’s strange that way,” Ex agreed.

  Ozzie looked out from the SUV, her dark eyes nervous and her breath fogging the windshield.

  WE WERE only a few days past the winter solstice, so darkness came on early. Ex took his turn driving, and I took the backseat with Ozzie, letting my head rest against the metal of the doorframe. Ex got to change the music, so we were listening to some old jazz numbers he liked, and I closed my eyes for a minute. Just to rest them.

  In the dream, I was in the desert. It was the same place I’d been a thousand times before, though now the bare landscape had scars and scorch marks. She was with me, the other Jayné. Most of my life, I hadn’t known what she was, only that sometimes I would dream that there were two of me. Now I could see the lines in her skin where the plates of the mask met. Her eyes were still like mine, though. Her hands were folded in her lap, and mine were too and they were the same hands. Far above us, two suns burned in the limitless sky. One of them pressed down heat and light, but the other, paler one radiated purification.

  You will outgrow me, one of us said, but I didn’t know which, and the thought left me sad and elated. I had the sense that this was what going away from home was supposed to be like. Sorrowful and exciting, terrifying and grand. You will outgrow me, and so we should be ready.

  “Jayné?”

  I opened my eyes, disoriented for a moment. We were on a two-lane road. Not the highway.

  “Jayné,” Ex said again, “what’s the place we’re staying?”

  “Best Western,” I said. “They take pets.”

  “And it’s on Fifty-Third.”

  “Yes,” I said, leaning forward. “What’s the matter?”

  “I can’t find it,” he said, “and there’s nothing here. Seriously, I think someone stole your city.”

  I blinked. We’d outrun the clouds and the snow, and dark fields opened on either side of us, unfolding forever. It was unreal because it was familiar.

  “That up ahead on the right?” Chogyi Jake said, his voice uncertain.

  “No, that’s Heights. It’s a high school. You went the wrong way off I-35. You have to turn around. It’s right by the exit there.”

  “Thank God for the native guide,” Ex said, pulling over to the shoulder and waiting for an oncoming truck to pass. I leaned back. I’d known a kid who went to Heights. Jimmy Masterson. He’d had a high forehead, he’d asked a friend of mine to homecoming, and he hadn’t even crossed my mind in years. Ozzie chuffed as Ex made the turn. I put my hand on the dog’s side.

  “Well, Toto,” I said. “We’re in Kansas.”

  chapter two

  In the morning I took Ozzie for a walk in the freezing brown of December, the leash in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The steam from the coffee was like my breath. The chill left my face feeling tight and expressionless. I wasn’t looking forward to the day. Ozzie did her best to ignore the leash, pulling me along when there was something interesting to sniff at, and standing like a rock when I was trying to move her along. I couldn’t complain about it too much. She’d lived a long time without anyone telling her what to do, and in her place I probably would have done the same.

  When I got back to the hotel, Ex and Chogyi Jake were at the Country Kitchen. Ex was on his way through a plate of bacon and eggs with a cup of acid-smelling coffee. Chogyi Jake was eating yoghurt and drinking tea. I plopped down beside Ex and caught the waiter’s eye. He nodded that he’d bring me a menu in just a second. It was a lot of information in a small gesture, and I wondered if it was a local idiom, or something I’d been seeing and doing all across the world. It was so small, so automatic, that I couldn’t remember.

  “Where’s Ozzie?” Ex asked.

  “I put her in the room.”

  “Not the car?”

  “Cold,” I said. “Besides, Mom doesn’t like dogs in the house. They shed.”

  The waiter swung by, dropping off the promised menu. It took only a couple seconds to realize I didn’t want anything. I folded my hands on the table and quietly willed the guys to finish. A vague nausea floated at the back of my throat, and the smell of bacon wasn’t helping.

  “So what’s the plan?” Ex asked.

  “Go home,” I said. “Talk. See what we can find out about Eric. Jay’s going to be doing some wedding preparations still, and I’m hoping that we can use that to put people at ease.”

  “You sure you want us horning in?”

  “I don’t see an option. Besides, they’re going to be pretty damn curious about all of us. Won’t be hard to start conversations.”

  “I think what Ex is asking is whether this is a private moment, or if you want us there with you?” Chogyi Jake said, then ate the last of his yoghurt. I coughed out something close to a laugh.

  “Are you kidding? I can’t do this alone.”

  “Just thought we should check,” Ex said. He sounded a little petulant. I had the momentary urge to put my hand on his, to reassure him. I’d spent weeks traveling with him, just the two of us together. I didn’t know if the distance I felt in him now was from being back with other people or if he was still grieving for Father Chapin, his old mentor who’d died in my arms less than a month before. Or if he still thought of me as an innocent woman possessed by a demonic force from which he had to save me. Whatever it was, I didn’t put my hand on his, and if he noticed, I couldn’t tell.

  The waiter came, and I settled the bill. Twenty minutes later I was turning the SUV down the familiar streets, my breath shallow and my brain spinning. There was Mr. and Mrs. Mogen’s place, but the old green truck he’d driven had been replaced by a red Impala. A younger man’s car. I wondered what had happened. We passed Carol McKee’s house, where I’d gone for Wednesday Bible study from the time I was twelve until I was sixteen. I was driving down two different streets; the one I saw with single-story houses with no fences to divide the yards, one-car garages built back when cars must have been about a foot thinner, and then I was also going down my street where I’d always been. Where I belonged.

  There’s a way things are supposed to be, and it’s how it was the first time. A city was supposed to be like this. I’d been to Denver, Chicago, New York, New Orleans. I’d traveled through the winter desert of northern New Mexico. I hadn’t thought about the ways they were exotic for me. Now, for the first time, I could see. They were strange and rich and uncanny because they weren’t Wichita. Until I saw it all, I didn’t know how much I’d missed it, and after about three minutes I wanted to get the hell away.

  I turned right, went two more blocks, then left. The houses got a little closer in. More had another story, or half story. And then there it was. A green house with blue trim, a small covered porch with a swing, tight-mowed buffalo grass. The tree I’d climbed in the summers to get away from Jay and Curt. Over on t
he side, the window I’d gone out of. Home. The driveway had a white Nissan I didn’t recognize, and my dad’s truck was on the street. There were about half a dozen other cars parked by the curbs too, so I had to go down three houses before I found a space big enough to swing the SUV up to the low curb.

  “Are you all right?” Ex asked.

  “Right as rain,” I said. “Spiffy.”

  “Because you’re looking a little pale.”

  I killed the engine and sat for a few seconds, listening to the car click as it cooled.

  “This is usually where you put in some inappropriate humor,” Ex said. I couldn’t tell if he was making fun of me or being gentle. Maybe both.

  “Why didn’t the chicken cross the road?” I said.

  “I’ll bite.”

  “Because it was too chicken,” I said, and opened my door. “Everyone out. Let’s get our travesty on.”

  I stood on the doorstep for ten or fifteen seconds. It felt like forever. The house was smaller than I remembered it. Like going back to a grade school classroom. Like walking into a recurring dream. I pressed the doorbell.

  It wasn’t a breath before my mother opened the door. The smells of pinesap and woodsmoke mixed with the generic soap she always bought wafted over me. She looked older, her hair more white than not, her skin thinner. She looked like an older version of my mother. Not the same woman.

  “Well,” she said through a tight little smile. “I suppose you should come in. Cold out there.”

  “Thank you,” I said, but not in much more than a whisper. I ducked my head as I stepped in, like I was sixteen and late for curfew. I hated that I was doing it, and I could no more stop than I could fly through the air like a sparrow. “This is . . . Jake. And Ex. They’re my friends. They’ve been helping me.”

  Mom nodded to them both as they stepped into the atrium.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she said. “Can I take your coats for you?”

  As Ex and Chogyi Jake made their mixed chorus of yeses and thank you ma’ams, it hit me just how lost I was. I’d come here to grill this nice, polite, brittle brick of a woman about screwing around on her husband over two decades ago. I didn’t have any idea how I’d even start a conversation like that. So I heard from this psychic kid in New Orleans that you were knocking boots with someone besides Dad. How’d that happen? My God, the woman had barely been able to tell me how tampons worked. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.