Children of the Earth (3 page)

She found her imitation Uggs under the couch and mashed her feet into them, sweatpants and all. She fished the keys to Doug’s truck from his pocket and looked down at him one last time, at the blanket of sleep that had already fallen over his face and the gently snoring mouth that had once declared his undying love. She didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss that mouth or kick it, and so she did neither.

Instead, she let herself out of the house and started his truck, shivering as she drove off into the night.

4

M
USIC THROBBED THROUG
H LUNA’S BODY,
pulsing the blood in her veins and making her skin feel warm and alive. The tips of her multicolored dreadlocks brushed her bare back, tickling the sensitive skin where a tree tattoo sprouted from her root chakra and spread over her back and down her arms. She threw back her head and closed her eyes, letting the music roll over her shoulders and trace trails in the air from her fingertips.

Even in the darkness behind her lids, she could feel them watching her, hungering for her. Their eyes left hot retina prints on her hips, which swirled lazily, keeping the twinkling circle of her LED hoop aloft. From time to time she sensed a grubby hand reach for her, desperate to stroke even the tiniest patch of skin on her calf, but it was easy enough to send the hand’s owner stumbling backward with a well-timed kick of her vegan leather boot.

The Vein was packed, the music deafening, the air thick with crushed dreams and frustrated desires. Her Earth Sisters Freya and Abilene moved like panthers behind the bar, green eyes flashing as they poured shots down the prospectors’ throats and tucked their ample tips into holsters slung low on their hips. Orion winked at her from the DJ booth while Aura sent fog creeping across the floor and lasers dancing over the walls, and Gray and Kimo moved silently through the crowd, clearing glasses and mopping up spills, their lithe bodies no more than shadows that left the Vein’s patrons feeling inexplicably cold and empty as they passed, making them shiver and curse and hurry to the bar for another drink.

Oh, how the prospectors could drink! It took gallons of booze to fill their vacant souls each night. Their greed was massive and oppressive, their desire for easy money and cheap thrills so strong that sometimes Luna found herself forcing back bubbles of nausea while she twirled her hoop atop her go-go platform, above it all.

Radio signals of want radiated from them, so loud at times that Luna wanted to scream at the prospectors that these desires would leave them even emptier in the end, just as the alcohol drained not only their wallets but also their souls. She wanted to force them to see the beauty in the earth, the blinding happiness in a simple life spent worshipping the land, the incomparable joy of respecting every living thing. She wanted to make them understand the damage they did each day when they went tearing up the foothills looking for oil.

But she knew that route didn’t work. Her people had been trying to turn the tides for centuries, from the druids of Ireland to the monks of Tibet to the gentle hippies who had raised her on a commune called the Children of the Earth. Their warnings never worked. People were just too greedy, just too blind.

With the earth on the verge of destruction, the planet’s veins bled of oil, its airways choked with smog, and the water in its cells polluted with toxic chemicals, it was Luna’s responsibility to tap into the ancient power of the earth and take action. She had to stop the destruction before it was too late.

But she couldn’t do it alone. She needed the Children of the Earth—
all
of the Children of the Earth—at her side.

Somewhere below the go-go platform, a fight broke out. Glass shattered, and an arc of blood sailed through the air, the sound of fist meeting flesh exploding over the music’s driving beat.

Luna put down her hoop and leapt to the floor, landing silently on the thick rubber soles of her boots. She flowed through the crowd like steam, and it automatically parted to let her pass. In a moment she was between the brawling men, the solid center in a swirl of flying fists and hamburger-meat faces, of bloodied lips and bloodshot eyes.

“Stop.” She held up her hands, a palm facing each of them. She felt the magic build inside of her, the indigo-colored force that started in her throat chakra and roared to life in her veins. It sensed the men’s desires radiating off of them like a foul smell, knew by instinct that their fight wasn’t really over a spilled mug of ale but because they were frustrated, their thirst for approval and women and riches never slaked.

She fed on them, these desires, and now she knew what to do with them. The men may have thought they wanted to fight and win, but she sensed the need underneath: to feel completely safe and protected, the way they’d felt as infants in their mothers’ arms.

Luna glanced from one man to the other, the buzz of power pulsing through her. Up in the DJ booth, Orion cut the music, and the Vein fell silent.

“You don’t fight in my club.” Her voice was quiet, her eyes cool. “Understand?”

“Yes’m.” The men murmured, bashful, staring down at their muddied shoes. Their anger fizzled and seemed to leak from their suddenly unclenched fists. They didn’t dare meet her gaze.

“Now get out.” She raised her face to the teeming crowd, meeting all of their eyes at once, making them blush all the way to the roots of their greasy hair. “All of you. We’re closing up for the night.”

Moving as one, the staff of the Vein pushed the mob of prospectors toward the exit. Within minutes the bar was empty. Only the Children of the Earth remained.

“Are there any left?” Luna asked Kimo as he slipped by with a push broom.

Her Earth Brother stopped. He tilted his head to the side, so that his stiff black Mohawk almost disappeared, and sniffed the air delicately. His eyes went a shade greener, glowing incandescent in the bar’s gloom.

“There’s two in the bathroom,” he said. “You don’t even want to know what they’re doing.”

Luna nodded. “Get them out.”

Kimo hurried away, and she grasped the railing of the spiral staircase and took the steps two at a time. Orion paused from packing up his turntables to give her shoulder an affectionate squeeze as she wafted past him and through a black door.

Ciaran sat at a desk in the management office, counting the night’s earnings. His fingers were dragonfly legs dancing across the backs of bills as he sorted them into piles. They didn’t stop as he looked up.

“Evening, Earth Sister.” He tossed a long, honey-colored lock of hair from his eyes.

Luna kissed his golden cheek. “We do well tonight?” She perched on the edge of his desk, swinging her legs.

“We cleaned up, like we always do.” He punched numbers into a calculator, his smile never losing its glow. “If those prospectors knew how to make money like we do, they’d stop looking for oil in all the wrong places.”

She tapped him on the nose. “If they knew how to make money like we do, we wouldn’t make money like we do.”

“Touché.” He opened a safe in the wall and placed the bills inside. “But you’re not happy,” he observed. “Something’s bothering you.”

Her legs stopped mid-swing. Ciaran was the first of her Earth Siblings to arrive in town after Owen, but she still wasn’t entirely used to the way he could see inside her mind. It was his power, just as manipulating desires was hers.

She got up and closed the door, then leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “He isn’t back yet.”

Ciaran’s brow wrinkled. “That guy? The one who was supposed to take care of Daphne?”

“Yeah.” The word tasted dark. “Something happened. Something bad. I can feel it.”

Ciaran scratched his knee through a hole in his jeans. “Maybe it’s a sign,” he said finally. “From our gods. Telling you that this is wrong.”

Frustration simmered in her throat. “How can it be wrong? I’ve tried everything else: reason, begging, magic. Owen won’t leave her. I know that deep down he wants to be with us—when I sleep, I can feel him reaching for us in his dreams. But that girl has a hold on him, and until we get her out of the picture, he won’t come back. And without him, we can’t—”

She broke off, unable to face the enormity of what it would mean to lose this war. It meant that the greedy and ungrateful would go right on pillaging the earth until their beautiful planet was nothing but an empty, smoking husk hurtling through space. It would mean that she had failed.

Ciaran placed a hand on her shoulder. His compassion broke something inside her, and she felt the lump of frustration move up her throat and push against the back of her eyes.

“I just miss him.” Her voice trembled, and she glanced down at her knees. Ciaran held her by the shoulders, his hands soft and soothing.

“I
need
him,” she continued. “We can’t do this without him. Without all thirteen of us, we won’t have the full strength of the circle, and we can’t call the Earth God to heal the planet.”

“I know.” Ciaran’s voice was like cool moss on an open wound. “It’s okay, Luna. He’ll come back, and we’ll be able to work our magic. We’ll do what needs to get done.”

She looked up at him. She hated feeling this vulnerable, this lost, but Ciaran understood. He understood, and he didn’t judge.

“Yes.” Their eyes locked, green on green. “I promise, Luna. Owen will come back, and our circle will be complete.”

5

A
T FIRST ALL SHE SAW
was white. The shapes were fuzzy and indistinct, overlaid with horrific remnants from her vision like slides held up to the light. She saw the man with stringy hair and different-colored eyes, the knife glinting in his grasp. She saw flames clawing their way into the sky around the oil derrick, and the unbearable hugeness of the shadow drawing them closer. She clawed at the air, trying to grasp the visions and tear them apart, and as she swam into consciousness, her eyes cleared and the white came through, antiseptic and safe.

“Daphne!” Uncle Floyd flew to her bedside. “You’re awake.”

Concern dragged at the leathery folds of his face, but the weight of his hand on hers was a relief. Beyond him, other figures blurred into focus: Aunt Karen, Cousin Janie, and Pastor Ted.

“Where am I?” She looked around at the white walls and perforated ceiling tiles, the IV trailing into her arm and the rails on her bed. “The hospital?”

“You had a seizure.” Aunt Karen smoothed back her hair. “But you’re fine now. See? Your whole family’s here with you, me and Floyd and Janie, plus Pastor Ted and, uh . . . Owen from the rig, too.”

“I was asleep . . .” Her head felt heavy and dull, like someone had stuffed cotton between her ears.

“They gave you a sedative.” Owen leaned against the wall, his face half-hidden by oil-colored hair. “In the ambulance. You were still kind of freaking out.”

Floyd narrowed his eyes, and Daphne wished she could tell her uncle how good Owen truly was, how much he meant to her. He wasn’t the monster everyone in Carbon County thought he was. If only there was a way to make her family see.

“Oh.” She shook her head. “I was having such weird dreams.”

“You’ve been through a terrible trial, Daphne.” Pastor Ted stepped forward, his round, smooth face solemn under uncombed hair. He must have woken up in the middle of the night to come to her bedside, she realized guiltily—and he was so busy with his new TV show and growing congregation as it was. “The man who attacked you may not have been an ordinary man. I suspect he was an agent of the devil, sent to erode our faith by murdering our prophet. It’s only by the grace of God that you were able to defend yourself.”

“You did a darn fine job of it, too.” Pride percolated in Floyd’s voice. “Put ’im in a coma, using just your own strength.”

“But Floyd.” Pastor Ted turned to her uncle. “It may not have been just
her
strength. You see, when someone is touched by the Lord, they sometimes become a sort of conduit for divine power. God saw that Daphne was in trouble and channeled His own power through her to vanquish the evildoer.”

“Thank goodness He did.” Tears brimmed in Karen’s eyes. “Can you even imagine . . .” she sniffled, unable to finish the thought.

“Now, Daphne, this episode you had . . .” Pastor Ted gazed down at her intently. “Do you remember anything from the time you were out? Did you hear or see anything, maybe receive a message?”

“I—” Daphne gulped, her mouth suddenly dry. She couldn’t help sneaking a glance across the room at Owen, remembering the way he’d appeared in her vision: eyes burning with evil, his giant hands coaxing flames from the foothills to engulf the oil rig.

“Go on, Daphne.” Pastor Ted leaned forward. “You can tell us. You’re in a safe place.”

Her voice came out in a rough, hoarse whisper. “There was a fire at the rig. It was huge—it swallowed the whole sky.”

Pastor Ted gripped the railing on her bed, his knuckles growing pale. “That’s from Revelations 8:6!” His voice turned deep and sonorous as he quoted the Bible, but he couldn’t quite mask the glee that always crept into his speech when he talked about the Rapture. “‘When the first angel sounds his trumpet, there will be a mixture of hail and fire that will burn up a third of the earth.’” He turned to Daphne, face flushed. “Anything else?”

“Well . . . there was a shadow, like the shadow of a man. He was holding his hands up to the flames. It looked like he was controlling the fire . . . like he was trying to bring it closer.”

She knew she should tell the whole truth: that the “shadow” was Owen and that she saw nothing but evil blazing in his eyes. But how could she? If she confessed what she’d seen in her visions, the already-suspicious townspeople might drive him out of town.

Plus . . . it was Owen. Owen had held and soothed her while the bruises from her hands were still fresh on his throat; he’d traveled in the ambulance with her and even braved her disapproving family, just to stay by her side. How could she possibly admit, even to herself, that the evil figure in her vision had been
him
?

Pastor Ted gasped. For a moment, he was speechless.

“What?” Daphne sat up straighter. “What does it mean?”

The pastor shook his head slowly. “Of course, I can’t say for sure, but when a prophet sees a dark figure controlling fire—well, it can really only be one thing.” He took a deep breath, and everyone in the room leaned forward. “The devil.”

Before they could react, a raspy voice jerked their attention to the door, where a portly cop stood scowling. “This Daphne Peyton’s room?”

“Why, yes, Sheriff Bates.” Floyd still looked dazed from Pastor Ted’s words. “She’s right here.”

“Great. I’m gonna hafta ask you some questions.” The sheriff barged past Pastor Ted, his bulk devouring the rest of the space in the already cramped room. He was a large man, soft around the middle, with thinning hair and a doughy chin. Beside him, his head just level with the cop’s ample stomach, hovered a boy of no more than six or seven years old.

“Well, hello, Charlie.” Pastor Ted knelt and ruffled the boy’s otter-pelt hair. “Are you helping your dad fight crime?”

The sheriff glared at him. “He’s here ’cause I got nowhere else to put ’im when I get a late-night call. Now, if you don’t mind, I got questions to ask, and it’s gotta be witnesses and family only. So Ted, you can go ahead and skedaddle.”

“I see.” The pastor straightened. “Daphne, please don’t hesitate to call if you remember anything else. And Kenneth,” he nodded at the sheriff, “you know you’re welcome back in church anytime. We’ve missed seeing you since Ellen passed.”

“Missed me, or missed the extra coins in your collection plate?” The sheriff sniffed. “Thanks, but no thanks. With all those drifters stirring up trouble, I got no time for church these days anyhow.”

The pastor shot him a wounded look, but Sheriff Bates had already turned back to Daphne.

“So you were attacked, huh?” He towered over her bedside.

“Yes,” she replied. “I just—”

“I’ll ask the questions around here, if you don’t mind,” he interrupted. “Now, tell me everything: where it happened, what time, who was there.”

Daphne squirmed. She knew that being at the motocross track would arouse suspicions, but that’s where the ambulance had found her. There was no point in lying, but no way to tell the truth without revealing her relationship with Owen.

“Um.” She paused to gather her thoughts.

“Could you maybe hurry it up?” The sheriff butted in. “I got a kid here who oughta’ve been in been in bed hours ago.”

She glanced at Charlie, who regarded her with curious, chocolate-colored eyes.

“Hey.” Owen straightened from his slouch against the wall. “Go easy on her. She’s still sedated.”

The sheriff turned to him with a piggish glare. “And who are you?”

“Your witness,” Owen said evenly. “I work with Daphne at the rig, and right before our shift ended, I noticed she was acting strange. I followed her when she left, up to the old motocross track—”

“
That
place?” the sheriff burst in. “What are you, nuts? She’d be crazy to go there alone at night.”

“I
said
she was acting strange,” Owen hissed. “Obviously she wouldn’t have gone there otherwise.”

Daphne sank back into her pillow, weak with gratitude. Owen may have been stretching the truth, but he was doing so to protect her and to keep the secret of their relationship safe. He went on to recount the way he’d “followed” her through the drifter’s camp, losing her briefly but rushing to her side at the sound of her scream.

“I didn’t see the whole thing,” he finished truthfully, “but the man who attacked her had a knife. Whatever she did to him, it was in self-defense.”

The sheriff nodded, frowning, and jotted things in a notebook. “What she did was put him in a coma,” he said finally. “He’s just down the hall, on life support—and until he comes out of it, he ain’t talking. Now you’re sure that’s all you saw?”

“That’s it,” Owen shrugged.

The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “Does this corroborate your version of events?” he asked Daphne.

“Yes,” she insisted. “All I remember is being attacked at knifepoint. And even that’s kind of a blur.”

“And you’re sure you don’t know why you were at the track in the first place?” Suspicion hovered in his voice.

“I’m sure,” she said. “I wish I could remember. But I can’t.”

“Now listen here.” Floyd’s face had gone from its usual ruddy red to the mottled fury of a bruised plum. “Daphne’s had a terrible shock. According to our pastor, she was just face to face with Beelzebub himself. So if you don’t mind, I think she could use some rest.” He glowered at Sheriff Bates, rage steaming his glasses.

“Fine.” The sheriff glared back. “I was just about done anyway. If I think of anything else, I’ll be back. C’mon, Charlie.”

He turned and trundled out the door, the linoleum floor tiles sighing under his bulk. Charlie stood silently, appraising them all with solemn brown eyes, before scurrying after his dad, nearly tripping over his small legs in an effort to keep up.

Gratitude surged through Daphne. The sheriff’s presence in the room had been harsh and jarring, a fluorescent light too bright in her eyes. Now that he was gone, she felt flattened against the hospital bed, limbs heavy and head stuffed with sand.

“You should get some rest.” Karen was by her side again, patting her hand. “But don’t you worry: Between us three Peytons, we’ll keep you company tonight till you’re ready to go. Floyd and I will just run and get some coffee down the hall, won’t we? Janie, honey, can I get you anything?”

“Coffee’s fine.” Janie sank into a chair, watching the tiles on the floor blur and drift back into focus. Exhaustion kept throwing fuzz into the evening’s events, scrambling everything her dad and Daphne and the sheriff said like a bad TV signal. She could see the emotions running between them, the way if you turned a sweater inside out you could see the mess of loose ends and scraggly knots behind the picture on the front, but she couldn’t make out the words—or why anyone even bothered to talk. From where she sat, it seemed like they all just liked the sound of their own voices.

“I guess I should go, too.” Janie felt Owen’s glacial green gaze on her, like being splashed by water from Hatchett Lake. A moment later it was gone, and he was looking back at Daphne, just like he’d been doing all night. The only times he took his eyes off of her was when he was raising his voice in her defense.

“I guess.” Daphne sounded soft and far away. “Thanks for . . . you know. Everything.”

“Of course.” Owen went to her bedside and dropped a hand on her shoulder. His eyes cut back to Janie, and he coughed nervously. “Happy to help.”

Janie pretended to study the wheels at the bottom of a hospital cart. But from under the fringe of her lashes she saw the way Daphne’s hand snuck up to meet Owen’s, the brief but intimate touch as their fingers intertwined. It was only for a second, but that second was like a punch in the gut, a reminder of how it had once been to reach for someone and know he’d be there.

“I’ll see you at the rig,” Daphne breathed.

“See you.” Owen’s voice was heavy with meaning. Janie watched him lope out of the hospital room, leaving the faint scent of metal and earth in his wake.

Once he was gone she leaned her head against the too-shiny white wall, thinking that the sedative would drop Daphne back under and she could finally get some rest herself. Her parents would come back and see her like that, realize she was tired, and send her home to the dull safety of her faded pink sleeping bag on the couch in the Varley manor. Maybe she’d sneak into the echoing terra-cotta chef’s kitchen first and grab a nip or two of Deirdre’s cooking brandy, just to make sleep come quicker.

“Janie.” Daphne watched her cousin’s head loll against the wall. She’d smelled alcohol on Janie’s breath, noted the puffiness below her eyes and the sallow tone of her skin. “Are you okay?”

Janie started, her eyes blinking slowly into focus. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

A laugh scratched Daphne’s throat. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” she tried again.

“Yeah, well, you made it pretty clear you didn’t want me moving in with Doug.” Janie studied the spots of mud on her boots. “Even though, y’know, we’re
married
. So it’s not like I expect you to come and visit.”

Daphne opened her mouth, but words evaporated on her tongue. It was true that she’d tried to talk Janie out of moving up to the Varley mansion, had even suggested that she file for divorce. But it was crazy that her cousin had stayed with that monster after he’d threatened to sue Janie’s entire family, and it was obvious to everyone in town how miserable Doug made her. Everyone, it seemed, but Janie herself.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Janie scuffed her boot against the floor. “You’re too busy with all that bogus prophet stuff anyway.”

“What?” Daphne croaked. “What do you mean, bogus?”

Even through the fog of her sedative, Daphne could see how jaded her cousin had become. Once upon a time, Janie would have been the first to believe in Daphne’s visions from God. But it seemed like her cousin, who used to insist that everyone had a guardian angel and that prayer really could cure all that ails you, had left town for good, replaced instead by this cold stranger with dead blue eyes.

“Oh, c’mon.” Janie weaved a little as she stood, and Daphne caught another flash of booze on her breath. “This prophet crap’s just a cover-up. You’re hiding something. Or maybe some
one
.”