The Thread That Binds the Bones (7 page)

“What’s a
tanganar
?” Tom asked Hal.

Hal licked his lower lip. “Which Presence did you host, do you know?”

“What?” Tom sat back. “I—I hosted Peregrine.” He touched his forehead. “Weird. I didn’t know till you asked me, but he left traces. Peregrine Bolte.”

“Did he tell you the joke?”

“No, and I notice you’re avoiding my question.”

“
Tanganar
are the mind-deaf, the ungifted, the powerblind.” Hal shifted in his chair. “I take it you are not
tanganar
.”

“Probably not,” said Tom.

“There are tests—”

“Stop it, Dad,” said Laura. “Tom, this is my Great-aunt Agatha Keye,
Arkhos
, and Uncle Christopher and Aunt Hazel Keye, my younger brother Perry and my little sister Astra, and Great-aunt Fayella, who teaches us all the special disciplines—” She pointed to the tiny white-haired woman across the table, whose eyes were bright as fresh-spilled blood, whose mouth had returned to its grim line. “My brother Michael you met; Alyssa Locke, from Southwater Clan, is his fiancée; Great-uncle Jezra Bolte, who married us; Uncle Ferdinand and Aunt Sarah Keye; Cousin Hilary Locke, Cousin Lucian Scale, Cousin Keziah Bolte, Cousin Meredith Scale—of the other people at Purification, about half came up from Southwater Clan, and a bunch of the others have already put in a hard day and have gone to bed. This isn’t a full formal council meeting. You going to remember everybody?”

Laura’s parents, Hal and May, were distinct to him already. Hilary was the stocky dark man who had fetched the glasses. Great-aunt Agatha had thick glasses and gray hair, and she had helped May carry the cider cauldron to the table. There was no way he could forget Fayella; she gave him the creeps. Jezra, still beaming, looked older than everyone else. Laura’s brothers and sister sorted themselves out in his mind. The others blurred. “Hello,” he said.

“Enough chitchat,” Great-aunt Agatha said. Her glasses glinted in the candlelight. “You’ve had the wedding. Now we need the consummation.”

“Is that something we have to do in public too?” Tom asked.

“No. The house will let us know when it’s happened. Go away, youngsters.”

“But—” Perry said.

“You had better not say what I think you’re about to say, young man,” said May. “I repeat, the Presences matched them, and no one with wisdom would come between them. I don’t know if that applies to you, Perry. I don’t like to get too optimistic about you children when you’ve given me so little evidence.”

Tom rose, Laura’s hand in his. “Good night,” he said as Laura stepped over the bench. She led him away, leaving sounds and scent and very breath of the family behind in the lighted kitchen. They held hands as Laura navigated twisted ways to take them back to her room.

Chapter 6

“Whew,” said Tom as Laura closed and locked her bedroom door with them safely inside.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Actually,” he said, and stopped. He looked at the glass horses on the shelf. “Better than all right,” he said. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up yet. How are you?”

“Scared.” She went to the bed and sat down. “Everything’s happening so quickly. This is so much like my family, and so far from what I thought was real life. I feel trapped on track again. I don’t even know you, Tom.”

“Except for a few essentials,” said Tom, “like, the Presences and Powers matched us. What does that mean, anyway? I mean, I get it that you call ghosts Presences.”

“Ghosts, and other spirits; bodiless beings.”

“You people let ghosts boss you around?” He sat down beside her on the bed, held out his hand. She slid hers into it. She smelled of evergreens, and he knew her mouth must still hold the spiced tang of cider; his did.

Her brow furrowed. She stared down at their nested hands. “There are lots of different ways to die. Some go on to some other place, and they don’t come back. Those who have worked long and hard for the Family, though, those who care very deeply about our survival, they root in our home ground, and we consult them on major decisions. Except we haven’t had a spirit-speaker born for several generations now, not since Scylla the Krifter, and she died about twelve years ago, so now we have to rely on auguries and omens.” She frowned at the floor, then looked up. “We can tell what the Powers and Presences want from the way the light treats people, like Michael, tonight—it looked so bad—”

“I didn’t understand that.”

She stared into his eyes. “He’s flawed.”

“People have to be perfect?”

“They used to have to be, if they wanted to have children. But ... our numbers are so few, the fewest they’ve been in centuries. And the babies ... they die. Sometimes when they’re born. Sometimes they just get sick while they’re still young, and nothing we do saves them. We can all heal a little, but we haven’t had a strong healer in a long time. Scylla foresaw the weakening of the blood. She consulted with the Powers and Presences in 1936, and the council decided to relax some of the breeding restrictions. They did another loosening of those threads in the fifties. People don’t have to be as perfect as they used to. But Michael—” A tear streaked her cheek.

“He almost failed,” Tom said. “What would have happened to him if he failed?”

“He would lose his power of generation,” she whispered.

After puzzling over this, Tom said, “Sterilization?”

She flicked the fingers of her free hand as if warding off evil.

He sat beside her, listening to his own breathing, wondering who these people he’d tangled himself up with were.

After a little while she said, “I didn’t know if I would ever come back to the Hollow. I ran away, six years ago, tried to lose myself so they couldn’t find me. Because I knew I would never pass. I’m the weakest of my generation—”

“But you did pass, didn’t you?”

Her grin lighted her face. “Yes. Oh, yes. I don’t understand it. And you passed, and you’re not even a member of the Family.” Then her grin faded. “But see, here we are. We’re married! That’s not how outsiders would handle it, marry on the day they met. And I’ve always wanted to be an outsider.”

“Why?”

“Because the Family is cruel. It’s not just the breeding restrictions. Some of my cousins are just plain mean, and they can do worse things to you than anybody outside.”

He put his other hand over hers. “Laura ... I’m confused about a lot of things. One of them is this talking-underneath thing. Underneath, on the way out here, you said, ‘Almost home, almost home.’ On top you say you don’t like being here. Which part of you is telling the truth?”

“I still don’t believe you about talking underneath!” Laura said, frowning ferociously.

—Don’t force it. She’s not ready to deal with this yet, Laura’s buried whisper said.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I guess what I really wonder is, where are we going to live?”

—Not here!

“Not here!” she said.

He smiled. “Okay. Glad to have that settled. I have to tell you that as a husband I don’t have much to offer you. I live in a shoebox over Bert’s Taxis in Arcadia. You want to move in with me? I couldn’t ask you to do that. We could get a bigger place. I could try to make more money.”

“You don’t use your talents to live on?”

“No. Whatever talents I may have, I’ve kept them buried for years. Do you use your talents to live on?”

“Such as they are. I’m a model. I don’t think I’m very interesting to look at, normally, but when the photographers start snapping, I speak to my spark, and it makes pictures of me exciting. I look good in clothes. I have more calls than I can take. I have plenty of money. Would you move to a city with me?”

“Anyplace but Portland,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Come to think of it, they’ve probably forgotten by now, so even Portland might be all right.”

“Oh—you’re
that
Tom Renfield?”

“You heard?” he asked, astonished.

“Teasing!” She grinned. “Why? What did you do?”

“I don’t want to discuss it, especially not this very moment.” He looked at her, one side of his mouth smiling. She looked back. Her hand was warm inside his, and her scent had strengthened, carrying an undertone of musk. After a moment, they kissed, and this time when his interest deepened, he did not calm it. Laura held him fiercely, then pushed him away and tugged at his robe until he took it off. She pulled hers off too, and they examined each other with hands as well as eyes.

They slipped under the covers. Laura snapped her fingers and most of the light faded.

“Laura ... I forgot to ask ... and it’s too late now, but—did we need protection?”

She laughed in the darkness. “We were searched, purified, and matched by Presences and Powers. We don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Was Aunt Aggie serious when she said the house would let them know when we, uh, consummated?” Tom asked drowsily some time later.

“Aunt Aggie!” said Laura, and burst into gales of giggles. “Aunt Aggie!” She tickled him until he managed to distract her. “Mmm, that feels good!”

“Is the house spying on us?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It might have missed the first time. Want to go for ‘in no uncertain terms’?”

“Uh-huh.”

* * *

Above the bed’s canopy, a skylight let in morning light, printing a rectangle on the flower-sprigged material. Tom stood up and pulled the canopy down.

“Mm,” said Laura, watching him. Sunlight washed gold into her hair, dazzled gold from her eyes as she looked up at him. He sat down amid the crumpled bedclothes and studied her.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, and watched her answering smile.

“I think you are too,” she said. She sat up and put her arm around him. Her hair brushed his shoulder as she leaned, warm and salty, against him. He slid his arm around her, easing her closer. Yesterday morning he had awakened alone and cold in the little room above Bert’s garage, wondering if anything interesting would liven up the day ahead.

He listened to her breathing, slowed his to match. They sat quiet for a while, melting into each other without moving. At last he murmured, “What time is the wedding?”

“Last night?” she asked.

“Not ours. Michael’s.”

“Oh.” She held out her hand, and her watch drifted over from the bedside table to land on her palm. She studied it a second, straightened, said, “Oh, no! We have to shower and get out of here.” She slid off the bed.

“What are we supposed to wear?” he asked, following her into the bathroom.

She looked back. Her eyebrows lifted.

“I mean, is this another white robe thing? My other choice is that white taxi-driver outfit. Is that appropriate?”

“Uh,” she said, “well ...” She turned on the water, grinning at him.

“You told me marriage was a serious business in your family,” he said.

“Yes, but the hard part’s over.” They walked into the warm rain, and this tune they washed each other.

Afterward he sat on the bed and watched her dress. First, underclothes and silky silver stockings; then she took a pale gray V-necked dress overlaid with silver lace flowers out of her suitcase and slipped into it. Its billowy sleeves ended in frothy ruffles that hid her hands, and its skirt was hemmed with points and corners. She fastened a gray belt with a silver shell buckle at her waist, stepped into a pair of gray high heels with silver bead roses on them, then stood back, arms out, in a classic display pose, and quirked an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Shadowy.”

She glanced down at herself. “Isn’t that odd? I knew it was appropriate when I bought it, but I didn’t know why. It’s not a good color on me, but shadowy is how I feel in this house.”

“Guess I might as well wear my own outfit,” said Tom, rounding up his T-shirt, jacket, shorts, jeans, socks, and hightops. They were so white they glowed. As he dressed, she brushed her hair, then handed the brush to him. She opened the door of a free-standing closet, revealing a mirror, and they stood side by side, studying themselves and each other.

Her tawny hair and summer skin were at odds with her frost-touched gray dress, and his own coloring—black hair, blue eyes, outdoor tan—was intensified by contrast with the smudgeless white of his clothes. He stood half a head taller than she, and quite a bit broader. He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and bounced on his hightops. “What do you think?”

“Mm,” she said, and tugged at his jacket until he leaned over far enough to kiss her.

He said, “You taste great, but this reminds me. When was the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday morning,” she said, putting a hand on her stomach.

“I had some beer nuts right before you arrived in the bar. I’m starving.”

“I am too. If we hurry, maybe we can snatch something in the kitchen before the ceremony.” As she unlocked and opened the door, though, a gong sounded through the halls.

“Damn! It’s the summons.” She grabbed his hand and ran.

They arrived in the kitchen. People Tom had not seen the night before were hard at work at the business end of the kitchen. None of them looked up as he and Laura ran in. Laura slipped her hand out of his and darted through a small opening, returned with handfuls of brown bread torn from a larger loaf. She handed him a chunk, then tugged him past the workers to a narrow tunnel which took them out into the morning sunlight. They ate as they ran.

Music sounded from the amphitheater, a fiddle, a harp, a drum; the melody mixed klezmer, Celtic, and gypsy, verging on, then veering away from, the familiar.

“Oh, good, they haven’t started yet,” said Laura.

People wandered or stopped to cluster and talk near the amphitheater, which sunlight revealed as pillars of dark, lichen-laced rock thrusting up in a ring, shoulder to shoulder, offering many places to sit, descending in height toward the wide flat center, the earthen circle where lights and ghosts had danced the night before. A gap between the pillars closest to the house gave access into the circle. At one end of the central open area stood a dolmen, two squat upright stones capped with a flat horizontal one at about waist-height. On the capstone two wreaths of mingled red roses and white lilies lay, also a clay bowl, a silver goblet, a bone-handled knife, and a small sturdy gong, which Michael was striking.