Fiendish (9 page)

“Hey,” I yelled.

Fisher didn’t even look around, just headed for the back paddock, where the meadow grew long and where Harlan Beekman kept his stud bull, which was a thundering, vicious thing that hated kids and dogs and anything else dumb enough to wander into the field.

Harlan himself was a huge, scowling man, with a great denim-covered belly and a mess of bristles that crept down his neck and up around his jaw. His eyes were small and deep-set, and his eyeteeth were sharp, so that on the bottom they stuck up like tusks, giving him a passing resemblance to a razorback hog. For all that, he was a kind man, and a good one, but he would light you up for stepping into the bull paddock.

I started to run, throwing the suitcase over the top of the fence and wriggling through the wire, crashing through the witchgrass after Fisher. “Hey! You can’t go back there. Harlan will ruin you!”

Fisher glanced over his shoulder, then stopped walking and rubbed the back of his neck. “Harlan Beekman’s been dead for two years.”

All my life, Harlan had owned the pasture behind our house and most of the land around it. He’d been protective about it, and particularly about the thick stands of trees that marked the top of the hollow.

The news of his death hit a tender spot in my heart that wasn’t sad, exactly, but more like sore. He’d been old, and I’d been little, but still, it seemed wrong that someone so comforting in his dailiness could simply stop existing.

Fisher shook his head, misunderstanding my look. “The land deed fell to the town chamberlain. My grandmother’s been looking after the property ever since. I’m
allowed
to be here.”

I nodded, but it was clear he didn’t care what I thought about his right to be there. He didn’t waste any time before turning away again. His back was broad and indifferent, moving away from me, leaving me there like we’d never broken into the zoo together, never stood in the road. Never watched each other shyly in the dark and then looked away.

I picked up the suitcase and called after him. “You have to tell me how you knew where to find me!”

Fisher stopped walking. This time, when he turned around his face was put together. It was no expression at all. “What?”

“How’d you know? How did you know there was a door there?”

“I know what a goddamn
door
looks like. Now, do you want to tell me what you’re doing out in Beekman’s back pasture with a suitcase?”

I wanted to tell him what Shiny had just told me—that I was the reason my mother was dead. I was dangerous and terrible. I was smack at the heart of the worst thing that had ever happened in Hoax County.

But all I said was, “I ran away from Myloria’s.”

“Really.”

The suitcase was heavy and I hitched it up. “Well, I guess I mostly ran away from myself.”

He nodded, like that was the first thing I’d said this whole time that actually made sense. “Sometimes, that’s all you can really do.”

Then, without another word, he hopped the fence and started toward the trees, in the direction of the hollow.

“You can’t go down there,” I said to his retreating back.

“Too bad,” he answered, not bothering to look around. “It’s where I’m going.”

I’d never been down in the hollow, not even on a bet or a dare. I’d grown up with it nearly in my backyard, but it was drilled into me that no one was ever supposed to go past the fence for any reason.

Fisher had no such misgivings. He walked right out to the rocky bluff and disappeared over the edge.

Wixby Hollow was a place where craft was in the very ground—in the air and in the water—and only the roughest and the most reckless people went there. If I followed Fisher down, I’d be walking into someplace wild. I might see hell dogs and monsters. I might see the fiends that lived there. But I would be someplace that held those fiends inside it, and down there, whatever power I had brought out of the cellar might be held in check and the Willows would be safe from me.

I climbed the last fence and went plowing through the weeds to where the bluff dropped off. The brush was so thick I couldn’t see the bottom, and I didn’t like the way the hill was littered with rocks. I was half-tempted to leave the suitcase sitting under the trees, but I didn’t like to lose track of the only piece of property in the whole world that I sort of owned.

The way down the bluff was steep and slow going. There was no path that I could see, but Fisher had done it like it wasn’t any trouble, so I took the suitcase in both hands and followed him, down into the place where the trees grew almost on top of each other and the branches were so tangled that they blocked out the sky.

THE HOLLOW

CHAPTER TEN

T
he ground at the bottom of the hill was squishy with moss and standing water. The Blue Jack Creek forked off all through the county, sending hundreds of tiny streams creeping out into the stands of birchwood and sprawling across acres of cow fields.

A branch of it wound down through the hollow, clear and shallow. When I stood too close, the dampness soaked out of the ground, straight through the canvas of my shoes.

I crouched at the edge of bank, watching as water bubbled up into the muddy gouges left by Fisher’s boots. The white of his shirt still showed in flashes through the trees and I followed, picking my way through the brush.

The farther we went, the harder it was to be quiet.

Under me, the moss was full of strange little tendrils poking up like fingers, catching at my ankles. The trees had turned knobby and wild. I moved carefully, watching for anything that looked like craft or like Shiny’s stories of the reckoning, but as far as I could tell, the hollow mostly just looked like any other green, tangled place.

Ahead of me, Fisher had stopped on the edge of the water and was poking around in the weeds and bog moss like he was looking for something.

I stumbled down the bank and ran after him, splashing through the stream. “Fisher, wait.”

He glanced back, then turned to face me and threw up his hands. “What are you
doing
?”

I stopped, holding the suitcase up out of the water with both hands. “Following you.”

“Well, don’t,” he said.

I shook my head. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who can be back here. I’m allowed to walk down through my own yard.”

“It’s not your yard. The hollow doesn’t belong to anybody.”

He was looking at me with that strange, steady gaze, and suddenly, something in his eyes made me think that he was very lonely. Even just seeing it there made me lonely too.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” I whispered. “All I wanted for so long was to get free. I thought if I could just get out of the cellar, everything would be better, but maybe it’s not. Maybe that bricked-up closet was just where I belonged.”

I tried to sound matter-of-fact, but it nearly hurt to be so honest. I waited for him to nod or argue or maybe even tell me he understood, that he knew exactly what I meant.

His own craft was something wondrous, but most people were not at ease in the presence of miracles. I thought if anyone would understand, it would be him, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m not sure I belong out in the world,” I said, finally. “I think bad things might happen when I’m around, and if that’s true, then maybe the hollow is the safest place for me.”

Fisher was still watching me in that blank way that made him impossible to read. “I’m sorry you feel like that, but I don’t think you’re going to belong down here, either. It’s not that kind of place.” His voice was low, and lonelier than his face.

“Let me come anyway,” I said. “I won’t be any trouble, and I’ll keep out of your way. You don’t have to worry about me getting scared.”

That made him press his fingers into his eyes and tip his head back. “Believe me, I know. Okay, look—just stay close to me and don’t go bothering anything.”

The walk down through the hollow was like the drive we’d taken to the zoo, quiet and purposeful. Every now and then, Fisher would stop and poke around in the moss by the water, but he always straightened up and then moved on.

I was crunching along after him, pushing branches out of my way, when a pale fluttering caught my eye and I stopped. A pencil drawing had been nailed to one of the trees. The paper was rumpled, waterstained from being left out in the woods, but the picture was clear. It was of a little old woman with dark, wicked eyes and a jagged razor-slash of a mouth.

I stood with my hands against the tree trunk, flat on either side of the drawing. “Why is there a picture of an old lady hanging way out here in the woods?”

Fisher stopped and studied the drawing. “That’s my grandma,” he said finally, sounding less surprised than I would have imagined.

“Well, why’s there a picture of your grandma out in the woods?”

He shrugged. “It’s some old kind of craft. Supposed to be a way to keep someone from using on you—draw their picture and nail it up someplace no one will find it.” He leaned closer, running his fingers over the paper. “Someone thinks she’s working them.”

“And is she?”

He laughed a sharp, ringing laugh that echoed in the trees. “Oh, probably.”

Then he yanked down the drawing and shoved it in his pocket.

“Why’d you take that, if someone put it there to stop her from working them?”

“Because if Isola’s working someone, they probably deserve it.”

The winding path beside the water finally led out through the bottom of the hollow and into a wide, sunny meadow, full of wildflowers and a kind of thick, silky grass that made me want to lie in it. The stream had run itself out, ending in a clear trickle that seeped out into the field.

It was a quiet place, full of bog moss and clusters of tiny purple flowers. I walked out into the sun, leaving Fisher still kicking around in the soggy ground by the water. He was businesslike about it, but if his boot uncovered a box turtle or a lady’s slipper plant, he was always careful to step around it.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, watching from the edge of the meadow.

“Nothing. Just, sometimes I collect agates and certain kinds of flowers for my grandma. She uses them for . . . stuff. And if you buy from someone who deals in those kinds of things, it’s pretty expensive.”

I nodded, wondering what kind of people would risk coming down here just to deal in rocks and leaves.

Across the meadow was a big, gnarled dogwood tree, sitting alone on a little rise with wild roses and black-eyed Susans all around it. I wandered over, dropping the suitcase under the tree and sitting on it. The place was familiar. Like home, in a way that I hadn’t known a place so wild and strange even could be.

“I know this tree,” I said, looking up into its branches.

Fisher stopped kicking around in the moss and came across the grass to me. “I thought you’d never been down here.”

“No, I know. But in the cellar, I wasn’t always just . . . myself. I had a lot of dreams. Sometimes they seemed almost close to true. And this tree, I’ve seen it. In the dream, though, the flowers were all the wrong colors.”

He studied me, almost like he was waiting for something. When I watched him back for too long, though, he looked away.

“It’s nice here,” I said. “How come no one in town ever wants to come down?”

He didn’t answer right away, just stood over me in the shade of the dogwood tree. He was leaning against its trunk with his hand up, so that his fingers were hidden in the leaves. “Some people do. The Beekmans always did, and I’m pretty sure Greg Heintz makes his whole living off selling sticks and rocks and anything else he can carry out. Not a lot of people would admit it, but more than a few will keep a hollow charm for luck or protection. More than you’d think, for sure.”

I sat with my back against the tree trunk, looking around the clearing. “And you don’t worry about the fiends?”

For the first time since we’d come down the side of the pasture, Fisher smiled a true, honest smile.

He held up the arm he’d cut on the dove cage the other night. “Do I look like someone who worries about much? Anyway, they’re supposed to be pretty private. They keep to themselves unless you have a question or a problem. And even then, you have to bring them stuff.”

“Like presents?”

“Blood is what
I’ve
heard, and a steel spoon for them to drink it.”

I wrinkled my nose. “That’s disgusting. Have you ever seen one?”

“Naw,” he said, but he said it with a shrug, like seeing a fiend would be no big deal. “I bet they’re not as scary as people think, though. Nothing else down here really is.”

He ran his hand through the leaves above us, almost like he was petting them. And that was when the miracle happened, like the miracle of how his skin had closed up. Like nothing I’d ever seen. When he touched the branch, flowers began to sprout from it. One minute, there weren’t even buds. The next, the tree was teeming with them, starting at the place where his hand rested and spreading out along the branches, sweet-smelling and creamy pink.

In that moment, I understood that everything Shiny had told me about Fisher and everything I had guessed was the absolute truth. It wasn’t only people out in the Willows who came from old families. Who had pure craft running in their blood.

He smiled at me, but it was a slow, uneasy smile, like I might be shocked at him, or frightened. Like I might run away.

I stared up at the impossible clusters of flowers. They looked like any other dogwood flowers that might grow around any other stream. I reached up to feel the rough, flaky texture of the bark, but my touch didn’t do anything. I squeezed a petal, and it was soft and smooth, turning to paste between my fingers.

I considered him, trying to make sense of what he’d just shown me. “Did you
make
this place?”

He nodded, then shook his head. “It’s not like that. It’s more like it listens to me.”

When he said it, his eyes got faraway, and he looked past me, like he was looking for something to make the explanation easier.

His bottom lip was very soft, and suddenly, I wanted to touch his face. But when I raised my hand, he ducked and turned away. I thought I had never seen anyone look so wholly ashamed over something so amazing.

The air in the meadow was clear and there was no colored halo around him, but it didn’t matter. Now that we were in the hollow, I caught glimpses of him everywhere—doubt and frustration and shyness—when out in the everyday world, his moods were hidden, like he was keeping himself behind a wall.

The black-eyed Susans around his feet were leaning, drooping sadly against his legs. They had a look about them like they were hanging their heads.

“It’s pretty,” I said. “You should make nice things more.”

Fisher leaned closer, watching me in a careful, sidelong way. “You’re not surprised? Or scared?”

I twirled a picked flower between my fingers. “No, not much.”

The sky brightened and Fisher reached for one of the dogwood branches, pulling it down close to his face. He blew gently, making the petals scatter. They floated away from us, white against the tremendous blue of the sky. I waited for them to lose their balance and fall back down on our heads, but instead, they simply floated higher, higher until they were gone.

“Now you’re just showing off,” I said, but I couldn’t help smiling at the way grass rippled merrily around us.

Fisher shrugged. “It’s how things work for me down here. I mean, it’s not even a real trick—just, everything about me is stronger.”

“It must be nice, having that kind of power.”

“Can’t you do anything?”

I stepped away from the tree and tried to look fierce. It was hard though. My mouth kept wanting to laugh. “I can do a
lot
of things. I’m not helpless.”

“That’s not what I meant. Like, if somebody cut you, though, what would happen? Are you like me, where you’d heal up?”

“No, I’d still bleed.”

“So can you do any sort of charms or tricks, or read the future in a bowl of milk or anything? Like, there used to be these guys out in the hills—the Farriers—and they could melt just about anything by touching it with their hands. Or, even your cousin is crazy tough. At the bonfire a few years ago, I saw her pick up a stray log and chuck it back in like it was nothing.”

I sat back down on the suitcase and pulled my knees up, looking over the meadow, thinking about all the things there were to figure out—locks and clocks and engines. The three-speed gearbox in the Ranger, and the sprawling hallways of Myloria’s house.

“I can understand how things work inside. And sometimes I see the colors around—” I stopped though, because I was starting to feel like maybe the light I saw around him was something private. I was starting to wonder if maybe it wasn’t the kind of thing meant to be seen at all.

So I started over, even though my mother had warned all my life never to tell lies. “I see colors around people, how they look inside when something worries them, or when they’re upset or happy.”

The look Fisher gave me was long and lazy and amused. He had me sort of trapped under the tree, standing over me with his feet planted on either side of the suitcase, but I didn’t really mind.

He smiled, leaning closer. “Colors like this?”

His voice was husky. Above us, the dogwood flowers were changing color, going from white to deep cherry-red, so dark it was almost purple. Bruised. It was a red I’d never seen blooming on any tree I could remember. A red so impossible it nearly matched my hair.

“How did you find me, really?” I said. “I saw the cellar door and it was covered over.”

“I heard you.”

I shook my head. “I think you knew before that, though. Before I ever turned the music box key on that bear, you knew you were going to find something.”

“I heard a sound,” he said again. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Quiet and steady and just
there
. I think I heard you breathing.”

“That’s impossible.”

He looked away, shaking his head. “Whatever. You don’t have to believe me, but I’m telling you the truth.”

And I could see from the liveliness of the hollow that he was. It was in the changing shapes of clouds and the bright, restless jewelweed springing up around his boots.

“Do you know about the reckoning?” I said, watching his face.

“Everyone knows about the reckoning. What’s to know?”

“Nothing, just that I think it’s why I was down there. Rae Dalton said that someone went to a lot of trouble to keep me shut up, like maybe they thought getting rid of me would save the town. I guess it even did.”

Fisher looked at me like I had lost my mind. “You think you being buried in a cellar is what saved the town?”

“I don’t know. But something changed. Shiny told me how it was—like the whole hollow just came out into the world. How do you stop something like that? You can’t. But still, after I was put away, everything was fine.” My voice sounded tired, suddenly.