Black Locust Letters (10 page)

Even
though it seemed as though this chaos of dust, files, and dried-up
oranges had remained undisturbed for decades, Betty knew better.
Her trained eye could perceive drag marks through the unswept floor
and freshly clean files in two boxes, while a third had handprints
on them. She laid her own palm over the print—a large hand, too big
to be Slim's, but about right for her father's. Or Clarkin's. She
winced at the thought, but had to acknowledge it to be
true.

Though she had planned on spending up until closing down here
with the one naked, swaying light bulb, whoever had disturbed these
things had already done most of her work for her. She turned her
attention to the box which had all the folders replaced neatly. Was
one missing? It was hard to say.

An
hour or so passed, and she didn't find anything new, though she did
confirm what her father had stated: The Council had moved to start
Never Were identification cards, citing public security measures,
but the topic had continued for weeks, until only one member held
the final vote to make or break a two-thirds majority. Aaron
Riley.

He
seemed to be a man who was often the swing voter, and Betty
couldn't make out what it was that made him vote for or against any
particular thing. He didn't seem to have an agenda, which meant
that he most certainly did.

Betty sat back on her toes, annoyed that she had dusted up
her good tights for nothing.

“
We
always seem to meet in the strangest places.”

Betty sucked in her breath and narrowly withheld a yelp of
surprise. She didn't need to look around to recognize the smooth,
melodic voice that had made her heart skitter. She wobbled to her
feet and turned to find Clarkin standing in the doorway, the stairs
bright behind him, an amused smile on his lips. He wore khakis, a
black polo, a dark trench coat, and a white and black striped scarf
that fell down below his belt.

“
It
is customary to say hello,” he said. She stared at him, her mouth
an open gape.

Betty licked her lips. What was he doing here?

Clarkin jerked his head back up the stairs. “Miss Frissleman
asked me to check if there was anyone down here. She's closing up
early.”

He
continued to stare at her, seeming to enjoy her discomposure; but
there was something more to his gaze, something that made hot
thrills run down her spine. She took several steps, stopping when
he didn't move out of the doorway.

“
We
seem to run into one another an awful lot.” Her tone was abrupt,
and almost accusing, but Clarkin was oblivious to it.

“
Small town,” he said.

“
Not
that small.”

“
Then Fate insists on our acquaintance, wouldn't you
agree?”

Betty had been ready for him to stammer, not whip up a smooth
line like that. Charmer. She hated that she was blushing again and
embarrassed about the dirt smudging her otherwise neat
appearance.

All
the same, she tried to gather her composure. “I'm not one to
believe in Fate. The world turns out of cause and effect, action
and reaction, motives and results.”

“
I
had not thought you to be so unbelieving as that, you who sees the
evil in the shadows.”

“
Shadow is the absence of light. If you believe that light is
good, then shadow becomes evil, does it not?” She tried to nudge by
him.

Clarkin's expression warmed, and his smile turned soft and
musing. “So you are a believer, after all.”

“
I said
if
you believe. The world is cold and hard, and you
get out of it what you beat with a club. Now, I believe you said
that the library is closing?”

“
Precisely, and Tulle La Caffetteria is opening. Maybe we
could continue our discussion over supper. It's an older place, but
very delectable and it has the best crawfish alfredo you have ever
laid eyes upon. All the locals go there, and that's typically a
splendid sign.”

“
Thanks, but I need to get home.”

“
Have you some task that needs finished? Oh, but I forgot, it
is late for you, isn't it? I'll go with you.”

Betty's attempts to pass him had resulted in her being face
to face with him in the narrow doorway, and she felt the heat rise
off his body, and his soft words strummed through her skin and made
her light-headed. She remembered the wagon and how it felt to be in
his arms. Now she was nearly in them again, and his presence sapped
away the will to resist. He was intoxicating.

“
All
right,” she said.

Clarkin leaned forward. She closed her eyes. His warm lips
kissed her forehead. The ground lurched under her feet, and his
hand cupped hers as he led her out of the library.

To
Betty's surprise, the streets outside were already glowing in the
orange hue of the setting sun, and in the west, the sky was a
horizontal painting of pinks, purples, and red clouds. She looped
her fingers tight around Clarkin's and grabbed his elbow with her
other hand, drawing an affectionate smile from him. A cold wind
teased her hair, and Clarkin used their waiting time at a busy
street corner to wrap his scarf over her hair to keep it from
getting tangled. His fingers brushed her ears and jaw, and Betty
shivered at the contact.

They
talked about nonsense while they wandered through the streets,
comments about building architecture or favorite bawdy jokes,
things scattered between kicking up leaf piles and racing up steps.
When their path found them at the fountain with four stone lions
facing a tiered waterspout, Clarkin said, “Do you know the reason
behind these four beasts?”

Betty ran a hand down a carved mane. “They represent
directions. North, East, South, West.”

Clarkin held up a hand. “Ah, but they don't face those
directions. If anything, they're set on a forty-five degree
angle.”

Betty checked the setting sun and mused. “Perhaps more like a
thirty-five degree.”

“
Come back here with a real compass, and you'll see what it is
that I mean.” Clarkin took her hand then swept into a bow,
gesturing to the small park they were in. “No, no, my song, these
lions are guardians. They are the creatures of forgotten lore,
beings that keep the world held together and in balance. Life.” He
touched one. “Death.” He brought her to the other side. “Light.” He
touched the one facing north-east. “And Darkness.” He swept her
around to the last one, resting against it so the darkening sky was
behind Betty and she could see the faint traces of light still
playing on his face. “Do you know how they keep it all in
balance?”

She
couldn't keep from laughing. “I couldn't guess! But I suppose that
you are going to tell me?”

“
Unless you do not wish it.”

She
looked at him again, and the brilliant gleam to his eyes was back,
and she was enjoying the thrum of his voice. She nodded to make him
continue. He stood and crossed his arm over, drawing her into a
spin, which she did, coming to a sudden stop as her back hit his
chest, one of his arms folded over her body.

Betty sank back against him, letting out a long, slow
breath.

Clarkin held her other hand, rocking her, speaking into her
ear. “You are aware of a theory, that states that light cannot
exist without dark, and vise-versa? And that without death, life
cannot exist, and without life, neither can death be? With the
existence of life and death, there comes light and dark. And within
every being on this earth and further, out into the milky way and
the cosmos, there exists a little bit of each element in everyone.
Some people are born to the light, some people to the darkness; to
life, or death.

“
We
draw to us other people who are similar, or those who complement
our motives. The lions say that no death is permanent, nor is life
perpetual, but the same people are born time and again, to be
warriors for their causes. Those who are newly made don't know of
the ancient war between the light and the dark, they don't know
that life is a constant battle to make one side win.

“
But
the older souls, they know, and so they fight. They fight with
hands, with words, and with chemicals. Others fight with medicine,
with a smile, and with encouragement. So the lions here, they are
here to remind us all that Death is temporary and dawn breaks after
the night. They are here to say that love endures when all else is
gone.”

She
shuddered, his words stirring strange emotions in her. “That's
haunting. And poetic.”

“
Much like this place,” Clarkin said, then pulled Betty
towards the path. “It's getting late.”

When
they were out of sight of the lions, Betty asked, “What brought you
to the library? Folklore studies?”

“
Ah,
no. I don't like the library so much. Books, yes, but that place is
too...shall we call it too still for me? I went to return a title
for my friend, who is away and doesn't wish for an overdue charge.
What of yourself, do you often go there?”

“
Only for research.”

“
Then Fate brought us together today,” Clarkin said, sounding
rather pleased with himself.

Betty wished he wouldn't hold her like he did, as though she
were something treasured and precious. It went straight to her
heart, and it was hard enough trying to push him away.

“
I
told you I don't believe in Fate.”

“
Then what do you call coincidence?”

“
Manipulation.”

Clarkin gave her a long, sad smile and shook his head. “Being
around you makes me feel young and vibrant, but when you speak with
such bitterness, I want to find the cause and set it right.” He
paused, thinking. “I feel like I've known you before. Have we met
before?”

Betty frowned. “Not to my memory.”

“
Ah,
well. I might have seen you when you went to see your father one
day. You wouldn't have told me apart from the rest of the
black-suits.”

Betty hesitated. “I never went to see him.”

“
Never?”

“
Not
once.”

“
Are
you so certain about your stance on Fate?”

But
then they were at a gate to the park, and it was locked. This was
the nearest exit to Betty's street, but Clarkin did not look in the
least bit disturbed by it. He squatted by the lowest part, locked
his hands together, and said, “I'll give you a boost.”

Betty giggled. “I'm in a skirt.”

“
Does that mean 'no'?”

“
That means 'no.'”

“
Ah,” Clarkin said, standing upright and thinking. “Then that
means either a longer walk with me, or...”

He
pulled a wire from his pocket and set to the lock. In a couple of
minutes, he had the gate unlocked, and opened it for her
chivalrously. As they continued on their way, Clarkin pulled Betty
closer, and she sensed something in the night, something that made
her skin crawl and her back tingle. Was her father watching
her?

She
didn't see anyone from the short stretch to the silo, then down her
street. In no time, they were once more on her porch, standing
beside the swing while she found her keys, fitted them into the
lock. She lingered there, not ready to say farewell yet.

Betty found herself caught up in his amber eyes. They were
mesmerizing, enchanting, almost orange in this light. He felt so
much bigger than he actually was, the several inches feeling like a
full foot taller.

Excitement coursed through her, a wild chaos of emotions that
made her pulse skip and her cheeks flush with heat despite the cold
of the night. Then his hand slid up from her fingers, skimming
along her sleeve, arcing over her shoulder and coming to a stop by
her jaw. He toyed with the lobe of her ear.

Fierce yearning ached through her, and she let him pull her
body flush with his, watched with bated breath as he dipped his
head down. He rubbed his face to hers, cheek-to-cheek, an embrace
as intimate as any kiss she'd ever had. They didn't speak, and
Betty felt the keys warm in her hand.

“
You
should go sleep,” Clarkin murmured as he drew away. Betty nodded,
but for a few more minutes, they stood there, her head on his
chest, him stroking her hair. Then his thumb traced the line of her
jaw. “You should go.”

He
turned the keys in the knob and nudged open the door. While she
stepped, dazed, into the house he took her hand and kissed
it.

“
Good-bye, Betty Cratchet,” he whispered, wrenching his gaze
to the ground, then turning on his heel before she could reply. She
watched as he shut the gate with the stiff sullenness of a man who
does not wish to reveal how upset he really was.

Next
day at the station Betty was distracted to say the least, utterly
unable to focus on a single line of text. She knew the meaning of
Clarkin's departure only too well: He was repeating the treatment
she had given him. He was saying that yes, however fond the two of
them were, their union would only bring dissatisfaction. The appeal
was that their relationship was forbidden. Had it been sanctioned,
there would be no appeal on either side for the other.