Long Black Curl (40 page)

“I don't c-care. I couldn't.”

“You've killed people before.”

“Not little children.”

“You mean not looking at them.”

Jeff felt the words like a scythe to his own neck. She meant Adele Anker and her family, one of whom, little Boone, was no older than the child Bo-Kate. He'd killed them in the metaphorical heat of his passion for her, and in the literal heat of a fire he set, but not, as Mandalay said, looking at them. “You're right,” he choked out.

Mandalay's voice grew hard. “I know.”

He sobbed some more. The memory of that curl falling into her little face sent another shock of anguish through him.

“You've doomed your people, Jefferson,” Mandalay said. There was no anger, no rage, just sadness. “You had the chance to do something no different than what you've done before, and you couldn't do it.
I
can't defeat her. I may have the wisdom of centuries, but I have the courage of a twelve-year-old. You were our last hope.”

“Just shoot her in the head!” Jeff roared. “Surely someone would do that for you.”

Mandalay smiled sadly. “It's not that easy. People have to want me to lead them, or I'm a tyrant like Rockhouse. Just killing a rival wouldn't do that.” She smiled, and it was the saddest thing Jeff had ever seen. “Good-bye, Jefferson. Keep going like you're going, and you'll find your way back.”

“Are you banishing me again?”

“What's the point? The night winds gave you the chance. You didn't take it. On February 3, it all ends. That's it.”

“What happens on February 3?”

“It's the night of the full moon. Everything changes. Bo-Kate wins.”

“So you're giving up?”

 

33

After he calmed down, he put on his coat again and did exactly as Mandalay said. He continued walking through the woods, stumbled around a little, then emerged once again directly behind the Wisby house. Only he knew he was back in his own time.

Of course I'm right back here,
he thought with grim humor. It wasn't really a surprise—the night wind was known for its perverse sense of humor—but he hadn't expected it, after what had happened here just minutes—or was it years?—before. He sorted through memories of the geography, to plot the quickest way back to the Pair-A-Dice, where he could retrieve his rental car and get the hell out of town.

Before he could, though, the back door opened and one of the biggest men Jeff had ever seen emerged. He was so large, in fact, that Jeff wondered if he'd actually tripped into some parallel universe where he would be considered a midget. But no, the door and windows were the normal height; this was just a huge guy.

He walked along the path to the outhouse in his shirtsleeves, hands in his pockets. He had a pronounced limp, and Jeff heard a faint metallic squeak with every step. When he passed through the glow of the moon, Jeff saw his face and almost gasped aloud. He'd known it, of course, but the reality had a weight he didn't expect.

It was Byron Harley, the Hillbilly Hercules, who had died sixty years before. This was no ghost or apparition; this was flesh-and-blood reality. He'd certainly heard enough of the man's music, and recalled all the pictures Bo-Kate pasted to her walls. All the connections clicked: the date of the concert synching with the date of the legendary plane crash, and now Byron Harley mere feet away, after Bo-Kate had resurrected him … but for what?

Byron went into the outhouse and shut the door. Jeff made a sudden decision and crept up behind it. He heard Byron settle down on the seat.

“There's a scattergun aimed at your back, son,” Jeff said quietly, with as much drawling menace as he could muster. “It'll go right through this wood and give you a 12-gauge enema. You just sit there and answer my questions, and you may get out of this alive.”

Harley did not respond.

“I'm gonna tell you something, and then I'm gonna go away. I expect you to acknowledge it. Are you listening?” He leaned close to a gap in the planks. “Do not help Bo-Kate Wisby take over the Tufa. You understand? Do not.”

“Why not?” Harley growled, and the intensity in the voice made Jeff jump.

“Because it's not right. The Tufa—”

“You Tufa stole my whole fucking life. My wife and little girl are dead. My grandbabies are dead. You want to shoot me in the back while I'm on the crapper, you go right ahead. That's how Tufa courage works, ain't it?”

Jeff had never heard such venomous hatred. This man wouldn't be dissuaded unless he was killed, and if Jeff really had a shotgun, he might've used it. But he didn't, so he said, “All right. But come the night of February third, you better be watching over your shoulder.”

“Yeah? Or what?”

But Jeff had already crept away into the woods, toward Donal Road, where he hoped he could hitch a ride back to the Pair-A-Dice and pick up his car.

*   *   *

When he went back into the house, Byron stomped up the stairs and banged on Bo-Kate's door so hard, the wood cracked. When she opened it, he said, “Somebody knows all about the little cotillion you got planned.” Then he told her about the incident outside.

Bo-Kate grinned. “That's called free publicity, Byron. If they're that worried, then they'll definitely show up to see what happens.”

“If they don't stop us first.”

“Byron, they can't stop us. The guy could've blown your head off, but he didn't. He was too afraid of me. So just go back to your room and relax.”

“I'm tired of my goddamn room.”

“Just a little bit more, I promise you.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, then whispered, “I'll come visit you as soon as I can.”

She saw the anger leave his face, replaced by something equally violent, but quite different. “I'll be waiting,” he said.

*   *   *

Bo-Kate looked at Nigel on the bed, propped up on his elbows. “What was that about?” he asked.

“Byron just had a case of the jitters,” she said. “He'll feel better when he beats up someone else.”

“That's a comforting thought.”

She shrugged. Nigel was attentive and considerate in bed, and she supposed at some level she loved him for it. But Byron
took
her, using his weight and strength to pound into her so hard, she worried he might crush her in his fury. And at the same time, she enjoyed the feminine submission he demanded from her by his treatment. Most men, Nigel included, were content to follow her lead and subsume their own desires to hers. But not Byron.

She slipped back under the sheets and turned off the bedside lamp. “Now, where were we?”

“You were, I believe, on your back. I was—”

“I remember exactly where you were,” she said as she assumed her previous position and pushed his head down her body.

*   *   *

Mandalay lay in bed wide awake. Illumination from the security light by the road reflected off the snow onto her ceiling, through which the shadows of bare tree branches waved in the night wind.

She had two pressing problems: whatever Bo-Kate had planned, and whatever was going on between her and Luke Somerville. The first was clearly the most important: the entire future of the Tufa rested on it. But it was the second felt so urgent that she wanted to scream.

She couldn't be in love, not really. She was a child, and one advantage of holding so much inside her head was that it gave her a perspective far beyond childhood; hell, far beyond the span of a regular human life. With a little effort, she could see the patterns of history stretching out behind the events of the day, and could make a far better guess about what the future held than the average person. But the turmoil in her heart over Luke shorted out all that insight and left her as adrift as any other twelve-year-old girl nursing her first serious crush.

Does he like me, too?

Does he think I'm pretty?

Does he want to kiss me?

She rolled onto her side and punched her pillow in annoyance. Luke was from the other side; that made things even more complex. There was nothing stopping them from getting together, of course—the days of the real blood feuds were long over, and in fact, there had already been several couples quite happily married across that divide. But in those cases, their Tufa blood was diluted, mixed with human strains and not subject to the same urgent call. It was impossible for anyone to be more Tufa than she was, and Luke was certainly tied firmly into his people.

Some of her predecessors had been wives and mothers. Many had not. Each bore the burden in her own way. But none of that had any real influence on her life, and her decisions.

She wasn't deluded that she'd found the love of her life. But she wondered how, if this first infatuation felt so strong and incapacitating, she'd survive anything worse.

No, damn it, concentrate. Bo-Kate's going to make her move soon, and you have to be ready. Jefferson blew it, so now it's all up to you.

*   *   *

Jeff walked through the woods to the road, and caught a ride with a farmer driving two horses somewhere, for some purpose; the old man didn't talk much. It was almost dawn when the farmer dropped him at the Pair-A-Dice, and from there he drove to the Catamount Corner. He expected to have to ring the bell to be let in, but the door was open; apparently her grief had caused Miss Peggy to abandon the habits of a lifetime.

He went up to his room and dialed Janet Ling back in New York.

“It's me,” he said.

“It's you,” she agreed sleepily. “What time is it?”

“I don't know for sure. An hour later than it is for you. Listen, sweetie, I may … There might be some unforeseen problems with me getting back.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know, if I did, they wouldn't be unforeseen. But I just wanted to tell you that you've always done a great job, and on some days you've been the single bright spot. And I regret that I never saw you naked.”

Janet giggled. “Wow, Jeff. How drunk are you?”

“Not a bit. Hopefully I'm just being melodramatic, and you can feel free to tease me unmercifully. But just in case … I love you, Janet. Like a sister, or a daughter. You've been more loyal to me than any of my family, and I just wanted you to know that in case—”

“Aw,” she said, clearly believing he
was
drunk despite his protestations. “I love you, too, boss.”

He hung up, took off his coat, and collapsed onto the bed. Gray winter light was already filtering through the curtains. He was asleep at once, and dreamed of a long black curl.

*   *   *

The roads were clear enough for school on Monday and, in fact, all of Cloud County resumed its normal routines, despite the ominous forecast. The only one who didn't was Peggy Goins, who still sat in her living room, staring at the floor, occasionally sniffling. Processing the absence of Marshall would take her a while.

*   *   *

There were only fifteen kids in the sixth grade at Cloud County Consolidated Schools, so there was no way Mandalay and Luke could really avoid each other.

Monday was a busy day, as Mrs. Welch struggled to make up for lost time, especially in English. The class was reading
Wuthering Heights,
and the discussion of star-crossed lovers sent shards of metaphoric glass into Mandalay's heart. She wondered if Luke also felt the parallels.

Yet neither made eye contact, nor spoke before class, and Luke shot out of there so fast at the end of the day that Mandalay had no chance to speak to him. Which was okay, because she could only think about Tuesday night, under the full moon, when Bo-Kate Wisby might very well kill her.

*   *   *

Jeff awoke around eleven that morning, went across the street to the Fast Grab, and bought a case of beer. He returned to his room and drank until he fell asleep again. There was nothing he could do, and he just wanted to blank out the rest of the day, and his life. And the image of that curl falling into a little girl's face.

*   *   *

As darkness fell, Bo-Kate stood naked at the window in her bedroom, looking out at the snow. The sky was purple and pink in the west, and its whimsicality seemed totally at odds with the impending darkness, both outside and in her soul.

“Nigel,” she said casually, “I think I'll kill Bronwyn Hyatt first. She's the real threat, even in her delicate condition.” She said the last two words in a cold, mocking way.

Her casual tone frightened him more than anything. “Bo-Kate, I think that perhaps you're being a bit rash. Why not wait and see how your evening goes tomorrow night?”

She turned to him, and her nakedness did nothing to dim her intimidating intensity. “Nigel, this is it. Fish or cut bait. Shit or get off the pot. I've haven't kept secret what I planned to do here, and I need to know I can count on you.”

Nigel gathered the sheets around him as nonchalantly as possible, feeling suddenly as vulnerable as a Stradivarius beneath a hanging anvil. “Bo-Kate, you can count on me, of course. But part of my responsibility to you is to make sure you don't do something exceptionally foolish.”

“Are worried about the law? There's no law here. You could send every cop in the state, and they'd never find me. This place isn't like anywhere else.”

“So I understand.”

“The only law is the one that's always bound the Tufa to this spot. Everything else is negotiable.”

“Even murder?”

She walked over to the bed, putting an extra sashay in her movements. “Nigel, if I could do it with a damn drone strike like those soldiers everyone calls heroes, I would. But I can't; I have to get my hands dirty.”

Nigel chose his next words carefully. He'd promised Snowy that he'd remain neutral, and God knew he wanted to, but he couldn't let this pass without at least trying to convince her to change her plans. “She's
pregnant,
Bo-Kate. Extremely pregnant. You'll be killing her and an unborn baby. Doesn't that count for anything?”