The Thread That Binds the Bones (19 page)

“All right.”

“Let’s divvy the pot and start a new hand,” said Trixie, collecting cards.

“What are the rules to this game again?” Laura asked.

Trixie yawned into the back of her hand as she led them upstairs. She had already shown Maggie to her room and gotten her thrift store and attic clothes stowed away. She clicked on the light in the boys’ bedroom, revealing twin beds with Corvettes all over their red bedspreads, brown scuffed furniture, and several model airplanes hanging from fishing line tacked to the ceiling.

Tom moved past her into the room, setting Laura’s suitcase down near a battered dresser. “Do you mind if we rearrange the furniture?”

“Not if you do it silently.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Fine. Make yourselves to home. Good night.”

“Thanks for everything,” Laura murmured as Trixie stood back and let her past.

“You’re welcome.”

As the door closed behind Trixie, Tom walked to Laura and held her.

“Our first home away from home,” she whispered. Curtains closed and lights went out.

Tom didn’t move any furniture that night.

When he woke, he could tell from her breathing that she was already awake, though she had her back to him. In the narrow single bed they had slept curled against each other, and waking to her warmth delighted him. He stroked her shoulder, letting his Othersight open, and saw a golden glow at their contact points, a color so rich and fine he felt he would like to drink it. She turned in his arms. “Do you think she was right?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Maggie.”

“What?” He thought back. “Possibly.” He gently released her and sat up.—Peregrine? You awake?

—Yes.

Tom nibbed his eyes.—I forgot all about you last night.

—A reasonable adjustment to our relationship, in my opinion, student.

—Good. You know how they test for power in the Hollow?

—A simple matter. The child was right; ask Laura to snap the biggest lights she can. It’s a method of measuring how much oil one has in the lamp.

—I’ve never snapped lights.

—No need.

“Laura? Peregrine says if you want to measure your power, snap the biggest lights you can.”

She sat up and pushed back the cover. She snapped her fingers, and small glowing lights appeared, flickered, and faded.

“Do that again.”

She snapped, and this time the glows were dimmer than fireflies.

“You’re not trying,” he said.

“I am!” She frowned with effort and snapped faint wet flickers. She looked at Tom and shrugged.

“Last night you did much brighter ones. Own your power if you want. Let it be inside you, let it come out.” His voice was deepening into Peregrine’s. “What you’re doing—obstructing yourself—takes more effort than relaxing and doing it correctly.”—Grant me, Peregrine thought.

—Go ahead.

Peregrine leaned forward and stroked the insides of Laura’s forearms with his thumbs, strong smooth strokes from her elbows to her wrists. “Feel the channel open,” he said, his voice rich and hypnotic. “Feel the power flow. Let it flow. Relax. Relax.” Gradually his touch lightened until it was almost the brush of a breeze. Heat glowed from her arms. “Now. Snap,” he said.

She snapped her fingers, and two small suns shone in the room. They were glaring white, as intense as movie lights.

“Oh,” she cried in a stricken voice. She hid her eyes behind her arm.

“Don’t lie to yourself any more, descendant,” said Peregrine, gently pulling her arm down. “Look at your own light.”

She blinked and narrowed her eyes, stared into the little suns. “No,” she said, “it’s a lie. You did this. You’re only pretending I did it.”

“Stop deceiving yourself.”

She sat with shoulders slumped, even her hair looking limp. She took a deep breath, waited a moment, then exhaled. “All right.” She held out her hands to the lights. They lowered and rested on her palms, brightened until all the details washed out of the room, then seeped back into her.

“I feel it,” she said. “There’s a humming in me ...” She turned to him. “Tom. Be Tom now. Not ancestor.”

He closed his eyes and felt Peregrine sink back into his bones. “Sorry,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I didn’t marry
him.
”

He held out his hands to her, and she put her hands in his. “I didn’t ask you about that, either. I’m sorry, Damn!”

“This married business takes getting used to. Look, I’m glad he’s there. He helped you when you needed him. I just feel—it’s very odd to be sitting in bed with a naked stranger. I don’t want that to happen again until I know him better, and maybe not even then. Besides, what about—?” She looked at their clasped hands, turned hers palms up.

“The light,” he said. “Is it all right that this happened?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel about this.” She got up and walked to the window, parted the curtains. The sky was lightening but overcast. She opened the window and looked out. “I feel—” He saw the light around her flare. “I feel dangerous. I’m scared of myself. What if I—?”

“What?”

“What if I
do
start mistreating people? It’s what I know.”

He got up and joined her at the window. Air so cold it smelled sharp came in. The view showed the cut between the southern hills where the highway lifted out of the gorge and headed across the state toward California. There was a school yard below on the other side of the street, empty in the predawn light, and lining the street stood trees starting to drop their leaves, holding naked arms up to the sky. A scattering of houses stood between Trixie’s house and the eastern hills. A dog trotted by on the road below. Tom sensed a strange undertone of music in the hushed landscape, an anticipation of sunrise.

“You can lock it all up again if you want,” he said. “Or you can watch how you use it, every time you use it. Wouldn’t you like to play with it before you lock it up, though?”

“No,” she said. “Then I’d never want to give it up. Show me how to damp it down again.”

—Peregrine?

—She has built structures to contain and deny her power all these years, and doubtless those structures are still in place. I just opened their gates. Help her close them again.

Tom held Laura’s face between his hands. “You’ve got walls in here. He opened the gates in them somehow; all you have to do is close them again. Can you imagine?”

She closed her eyes, and he studied her face in repose: golden domed forehead under strands of pale silky hair, brows fine and light, the swell of her lidded eyes, strong high cheekbones, straight narrow nose, tender rose lips slightly parted to reveal the bottom edges of her upper teeth. She had a firm rounded chin. She smelled like wild plants and musk. He looked at her and loved her as he felt the working of her mind between his hands.

She frowned, her brows drawing down a little. “All right. I think I’ve got it.”

With Othersight he saw the strong glow fading around her, leaving a fainter blue aura than she had had when he first met her. “I don’t feel good, Tom.” She sagged, clutching her stomach.

He gripped her shoulders, looked at his hands with Othersight. The golden glow of contact was gone. Her skin had lost a rosy glow he hadn’t even noticed until now that it had vanished. “You shut down
everything.
Open one of the gates a little. You’re used to having a little of your spark out where you can play with it.”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes again. A moment later her aura strengthened, blossomed in faint pink, blue, and gold. She took deep breaths and smiled at him. “All right. I’ll keep the little attraction powers. I’m used to them. Feels much better.”

“Good.” He put his arms around her as they gazed out over the winterleaning landscape. Puddles in the street below had iced over in the night. He suddenly realized the air coming in the window was freezing; Laura had goose-bumps all over. “Come back to bed,” he said, reaching around her to shut the window.

They crawled back under the covers and shared warmth.

“Trix? What are Trix?” asked Laura, turning the cartoon-colored cereal box over as Maggie got down bowls. It was still early morning. Dasher danced around, staring at anything foodlike with large soulful eyes and making an obstacle of himself. Trixie had not come downstairs yet. Laura was wearing a long-sleeved purple corduroy jumpsuit; she had twisted her hair into a thick cord and pinned it in a coil at the back of her neck. Maggie had on her new overalls, her Grateful Dead T-shirt, and her denim jacket. Tom, wearing his white outfit again, examined the contents of the refrigerator.

“Taste ’em and see,” said Maggie. She took the box from Laura and poured two bowlsful of pink, orange, and yellow cereal. Laura, eyebrows up, accepted one. Maggie got milk and spoons and led the way to the table. She poured milk over Laura’s cereal.

“Thanks.” Laura held her hands above the cereal a moment, whispered a phrase in
Ilmonish
,
then took a bite. “Ooh. Weird!”

“Normal American family stuff,” said Maggie. She sat down with her own bowl and watched milk sog the little multicolored balls. She sighed and smiled. “Yep. We used to have these for breakfast—times when Dad gave Mom enough money. It was something to look forward to in a day full of potential disaster.”

“
This
?”

Maggie ate a bite and smiled. “Crazy, huh?”

Tom set up the drip coffee pot, put the kettle on to heat water, and made toast.

“Before I headed out here, I told my agent I’d be gone a week,” Laura said. “She nearly fainted. I never take vacations. Maggie, I don’t know about this stuff. Wait a second.” She ate three more bites. “It grows on you. What do you think, Tom? How long will Bert’s little while last? I need to get back to Zandra with a revised itinerary. I don’t want her lining up jobs for which I’m not there. Nothing can destroy a rep faster than missing appointments.”

“I don’t think we can be specific,” Tom said. “Maybe you could ask her to hold your calls? Where are we going back to, anyway?”

“Well ...” She grinned. “I
do
live in Portland. Can you stand it?”

“Yeah. I’ll change my name. Tom Bolte. Hmm. I wonder if Bert will give me references.”

“Your spark could help you get a job.”

“But I don’t—I—” He looked down at the butter knife in his hand. Earlier, he had been saddened by how easily she pushed her power away, denying herself access to her full potential. Hadn’t he always done the same? Until he went to the Hollow, his power had been dormant, waking only in emergencies, and afterwards he buried the memories as deep as he could.

Now his power was alive, and not about to sleep anytime soon. Using it to get a job smacked of cheating to him; but using it to
do
a job—he would have to figure out the right job.

He finished buttering the toast and poured hot water over the coffee grounds.

Trixie wandered into the kitchen as Tom located the dog kibble in a lower cupboard and filled Dasher’s dish with it. She headed straight for the coffee pot. She looked more subdued than Tom was used to seeing her, wearing jeans and a fringed brown, white, and black alpaca poncho with llamas marching across it and several holes in it where threads had come unknitted. Her red hair lay flat against her head, not brushed out into full frizz as he’d always seen it at the garage. “Hi, kids,” she said as she poured coffee in a mug and downed some.

Someone knocked at the back door. They all looked at each other. Maggie got up and opened the door.

A young woman, her dark curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, her face pale with chill, stood on the back stoop. She wore a baggy green sweatshirt and black jeans, which concealed her body but apparently didn’t keep her warm. She had her hands buried in her pockets.

“Miss Jaimie,” said Maggie faintly.

“Hi.” Jaimie looked around the room, spotted Laura. A smile flickered on her face.

“Jaimie.” Laura got up and came to the door. She opened her arms and hugged her cousin.

“Bert said you got yourself a husband and were staying with Mrs. Delarue.”

“Yes,” said Laura. She glanced at Trixie. “Can she come in?”

“What? Oh, sure, sure,” said Trixie, still fuzzy from lack of caffeine.

“Thanks,” said Jaimie.

Laura led Jaimie inside, and Maggie shut the door. “Here’s my husband, Tom.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jaimie,” he said, coming around the end of the counter to face her. She had a square chin like May’s, but her features tended toward the other side of the family’s, slanting dark brows, tilted green eyes like Carroll’s, and a generous mouth. Not sure of Hollow customs, Tom didn’t extend his hand.

“Me too,” she said. She held out her hand, and he took it. “You—know anything about our family, or did you just meet Laura ... Outside?”

“I know a lot about your family,” he said. “I’ve been to the Hollow and back. Did Annis have her baby okay?”

Jaimie’s brows rose. She glanced at Laura. “Mom didn’t know,” Laura said. “I mean, she knew Annis was expecting, but she didn’t know anything since you left.”

“Well—the birth part went all right. He’s a gorgeous little boy. We hardly had to spell for him at all, and he came out perfect.” Her gaze roved the walls, then fixed on Laura again. “We haven’t tested him yet.”

“Maybe you don’t have to. You’re not planning to go back to the Hollow, are you?”

“I’d like to,” said Jaimie. “I miss the people more than I ever imagined I would.”

“Mom said Annis and Barney didn’t get married. I don’t know how the Presences would react to the whole thing. Did you do any krifting?”

Jaimie hesitated. “You know, Astra and Annis and I were talking in the cavern three years ago before Birth Day, and suddenly we had auguries. Very clear. They pointed Annis toward Barney in no uncertain terms. We never questioned, but we didn’t consult anybody else, either. We went out and got him. I told Daddy the Powers and Presences would probably sanction Annis and Barney, but he didn’t believe me.”

“Hmm,” said Laura.

Tom felt Peregrine restless within him, sending little spurts of self down Tom’s arms toward his hands, then retracting them.