The Good House Part 43

"Myles Richardson,do you hear me? I'lljump!" the woman in the tree said.

When he was a child, Ma used to call him by his old name, Richardson, when she was angry. He'd known she was using emphasis the way some parents did with middle names, but it had always sounded like a reminder that he was adopted.

You have to admit this is magic. This is a curse.

Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back.

Myles's teeth ground as he took another step toward the VW.

"Two blind men cured...the dumb demoniac healed...the shekel in the mouth of the fish...the deaf and dumb man of Decapolis...," Myles whispered, digging up buried memories. As a boy, when he'd asked Gramma Marie why she believed in miracles, she said she'd witnessed miracles here and there, the way another person would mention seeing a bald eagle. When he asked her to specifywhat miracles, she challenged him to memorize the miracles of Jesus in the back of her St. James Bible.If you think of them all, one after the other, you'll see your way to believing.

"...a blind man of Bethsaida cured...Jesus pa.s.ses unseen through the mult.i.tude...the great catch of fish...the widow's son is raised from the dead...a woman is freed from her infirmity..." Comforted by his miracles, Myles kept his eyes on the VW six yards from him. If that driver's side door opened suddenly, he was ready to shoot.

"See you soon, Snook!" the woman in the tree said. Myles did not look around.

Instead, he darted to peek quickly into the driver's side window.

Two seats, the gearshift, a Wendy's bag, and ca.s.sette tapes all over the pa.s.senger seat. Empty. And there were no curtains blocking the back. Good.

Breathing hard, Myles ducked down. Keeping out of sight, he crawled to the front of the vehicle, eye-level with the spare tire on the car's nose. He took two breaths and popped his head up to peer through the windshield, his eyes trained toward the back. The first backseat was empty. The second backseat was out of his view. Even a man Tariq's size could be hiding there.

Myles ducked again. This time, he didn't hesitate. One, two,three, he thought.

He ran around to the still-open side door. Angling his readied bow, Myles climbed into the VW and surveyed it: The interior smelled awful, like rotting food and old condoms, and the floor was covered in garbage. Clumps of dead leaves sat atop food wrappers and cigarette packs.

But there was no one inside.

Myles ran back into the woods to hide. He ventured a look toward the tree where Ma had been sitting-or whatever had wanted him tobelieve it was Ma-and the branch was empty. Decoys don't always work, Myles thought. Any hunter knew that.

Angie was where he'd left her, waiting. Embraced by the salal leaves, she looked like a girl again.

Approaching her, he thought of the two times she'd tolerated him during the summer when they were young kids, playing hide-and-seek on the endless expanse of her grandmother's property. Her Gramma Marie hadmade her play with him, Angie never failed to inform him. With Angie's intelligent eyes, bold att.i.tude, and jet-black hair she wore in two pigtails, he had decided he was going to marry this girl the first time he'd seen her. But even then, life made it plain that he would never have Angela Marie Toussaint.Never.

But he had her today. Angie gave him a full, soft kiss.

"Tariq's not there," Myles said. He wanted to tell her about the woman in the tree, but didn't. He felt weak, manipulated. Maybe he was losing his grip. Even now, he wanted to go back to make sure Ma wasn't back there in a tree.

"I was worried when I didn't see you for so long," she said.

"I had to take my time. What do you need here, Angie?"

"I need to do a ceremony," she said. Her eyes were earnest, unself-conscious. Angie believed everything she said, a lunacy that would either save them or doom them.

"What does that mean?"

"I need you to watch over me, Myles. While I sit."

"Sit where?"

Her chin gestured toward The Spot, behind him. "Out there."

It was bad enough to be hiding this close to Tariq's van, inviting a chance meeting. But to sit out in the open? "Angie, that's foolhardy."

She nodded, agreeing, her cheeks drawn sadly. Despite the nonsense of her words, her eyes spoke perfect sense. He'd had the same reaction to her eyes inside Gramma Marie's house, when she challenged him upstairs. There was a fever in her eyes, as if she were in the throes of a mild ecstatic state. But therewas sense, too, undeniable. G.o.d might be talking to her.

"You're bent on getting me killed today, Angela Marie," Myles said. He'd meant it as a joke, but it sounded more like simple-told truth.

Angie shook her head, her face distraught. He knew that the tear gliding down her face was for him."No, Myles," she said, pressing her palm to his cheek. "That's why I asked you not to come. I'm still not sure you understand."

"I..." Myles sighed, surrendering. "I saw someone in a tree who looked like Ma."

"It wasn't her," Angela said, her eyes fervent. "You see? It was trying to trap you."

Myles nodded. That felt more true than blaming his imagination. He shivered to his soul.

"I don't know what happens next, Myles. Idon't," Angie said. "But this thing won't want me to do this. It's going to fight us as soon as I get close to finishing what I need to do."

"So you need me," Myles said. "Admit it."

Angie gave him a full smile, a sight that made his heart gladden despite the terrible new weight it carried. "Yes," she whispered, her face soft in a way it hadn't been all day. "I need you."

She pressed her hand against his parka, at mid-chest-to be sure he was wearing his pendant underneath, he realized. When Angie felt the hard clay pendant she'd given him safely in place, her smile relaxed. He thanked G.o.d he was wearing it, too. He thanked G.o.d for his cross of gold. Jesus help poor Art Brunell. Jesus help them all.

"I'm still me," he said, touching her cheek.

"Me, too," she said.

They kissed as if it were their last chance.

There are moments when time seems to slow, and others when it gains speed. Good times race past, memories before they're properly under way; and bad times linger, interminable. To Angela, from the moment she walked to the center of The Spot, time became a fog. Seconds and minutes were indistinguishable to her.

Only one moment mattered:Now. Her future depended on it. Much more than that depended on it.

The Spot wasn't muddied like the trail, Angela noticed. That didn't surprise her.

Myles was out of sight. He had chosen a strategic spot to watch her and the surrounding areas, hidden. He'd used what sounded like military terms: The van was at twelve o'clock; the trail, Tariq's likeliest entry point, was at six o'clock. Myles was hiding in the bed of salal at four o'clock, at a slight angle from the trail, which gave him a view of the trail, the entire clearing, and some distance beyond the van, except for one blind spot behind it. Myles had spoken his last word to her earnestly, holding her cheeks tightly between his palms:Hurry.

Everything rested, it seemed, on time.

Angela sat cross-legged as close to the fire-pit as she could, trying to anchor herself to the center of The Spot. Her gun remained in her hand, as Myles had instructed, the safety off. Thegovi was at her feet. She was as prepared as she could be.

Immediately, stillness enveloped Angela, a sensation so immediate that it startled her. Her heart had been racing when she left the sanctuary of the woods, but now it was so calm it was nearly silent. Angela was afraid to close her eyes. When she did, she felt as if she were releasing a part of herself, allowing one part of her to sleep so another could awaken. Her arms tingled violently, and then all sensation left them. Her feet tingled next, vanishing from her.

Frightened, Angela gazed toward Myles again, although his parka made him nearly invisible in the thicket. But she could see the brown spot that she knew was his chest, and she imagined where his face might be; where his eyes were gazing out from hiding, watching over her. She almost smiled at the place where she thought Myles's eyes were, until she remembered not to give his position away. Tariq might be watching. He most certainly was.

During the most dangerous time of her life, how could she feel so safe?

Angela gazed upward, toward the soaring treetops. As she stared at the trees, Angela realized she could already see something she had never noticed before: All of the trees bordering The Spot leanedinward, toward the place where she sat. They did not lean precariously, so it hadn't been obvious in all these years, but Angela saw the slight bend in their angles now, as if the trees themselves were bowing in worship.

It's happening now. I'm losing myself now,she thought, and she went rigid.

This felt like bedtime all over again, when she slowly surrendered to sleep and jumped to wakefulness as soon as she slipped into new territory, into places that scared her. She ran from the memories. She always ran. But she would not run now. She could not. With a deep sigh, finding strength in the scents of cedar and fir around her, Angela closed her eyes.

And slipped, as if through a hole in her mind. A low hum surrounded her; not a machine's hum, but a hum that sounded like a chorus of human voices in soft unison. She heard the pattering rainfall, which sounded like drumming. She heard repeated rhythms, endless patterns inside the rain. One in particular transfixed her: Tap-tap-TAP-taptap Tap-tap-TAP-taptap Tap-tap-TAP-taptap Her body swayed gently to the call, and she slipped again, deeper into herself.

Corey is here. Corey's spirit is strong, and he makes Gramma Marie stronger.

The realization came to Angela so vividly that she nearly snapped back to herself, wanting to reach out to her son somehow, but she willed her mind to remain calm. She allowed her heart and mind to follow only the sound of the rain.

Bad images came, because she could not avoid them.

She saw Mama standing beside her dresser in house shoes and a thin pink nightgown, a pistol stuck in her mouth like a toothbrush.Don't worry, Sugar. It's not loaded. She saw Mama's cornrowed scalp on the kitchen table beside a gla.s.s of orange juice. She saw Mama as a girl with bows in her hair, clapping her hands over her ears and screaming the day the demon came.

Have you ever seen magic, Bo?

Involuntarily, Angela stiffened when she saw the next image: Corey and Sean yelling and crying as they witnessed a horror, trying to pull someone out of the mud. Then, she saw Corey climbing down the stairs to the wine cellar, grinning back at her.I'm gonna take care of you good, Mom. And Corey's blood on the floor, snaking toward the wall.

I can't do this,she thought.I can't do this.

Yes,cher.Yes, you can.

The images faded. Instead, she felt herself floating, flying.

"Come to me, Gramma Marie," she whispered. "I surrender to you. Come."

Then, Angela felt herself digging her fingers into the damp ground, pulling out clumps of soil. When she had two hands full of soil, she raised them to her face and smeared the soil on her skin, rubbing it into her hair. She felt her entire body tingle the way her arms had been, coming to life.

Vinn jwenn mouin, Angela Come to me With her hands that no longer felt sensation, Angela reached for thegovi. More than ten years ago, three days before her dying breath, Gramma Marie had blessed thisgovi, leaving strands of her hair and clipped nails inside to preserve hergros-bon-ange, her life-spirit, which would become heresprit when she crossed to the plane of death. She had labored to paint the wall blue so she could send Angela or Corey to find her when the time was right. She had screamed from the effort of pushing the stove in front of her altar, so it would be hidden. She almost hadn't bothered with so much effort, but she'd had a terrible dream the night before that thebaka was perched in her walnut tree, reminding her thatsomething could go wrong with the papers she'd left in the closet.

Thegovi was her secondary plan. If the papers failed to bring someone to rid this place of thebaka, she would have to find the strength to come back through hergovi. With Corey's spirit beside her, she had that strength at last. She herself would set it right.

Angela poured the hair and nails from thegovi into a hole in the soil, then she buried them, patting the soil down. She was nearly finished. She had only to remember the word now, speak it.

But the smell was here already, rancid, as if it were rising from a ma.s.s grave directly beneath her. Thebaka was still strong. Thebaka would fight. This was its last chance to live.

Angela's index finger burrowed into the soil, drawing the characters from her ring in a circle around her, to spell the stolen word Papa Legba craved to have returned to him.

But hurrying was useless. The fight had begun.

A terrible shout came. Angela leaped to her feet dizzily, popping back into her own head. Her limbs felt awkward to her, difficult to control. She swayed and blinked, confused by the trees bowing around her. Why was she outside?Where was she?

Then, she saw Myles.

Myles stood outside his hiding place, his face in a grimace, his arrow pulled back to his cheek. He was going to shoot her. His face looked as if he had waited all his life for this opportunity to shoot an arrow through her chest. Angela felt more disappointed than frightened when she saw the alarm and hatred in Myles's face. Thebaka had circ.u.mvented his charm, and now poor Myles was suffering just like Art Brunell. The demon was probably making him watch.

Nearly too late, Angela thought to raise her gun. But her gun was no longer in her hand.

"Down!"Myles shouted at her.

Angela didn't pause to think. She dropped flat to her back like a rag doll. She immediately heard ashwwwwwuNNk sound, and she watched Myles's arrow fly only three feet above her eyes, gone in a blink. Behind her, someone howled.

Angela turned toward the cry. Tariq came limping out of the brush with his Glock, his mouth wrenched with pain. Myles's arrow was buried in the meat of Tariq's upper left thigh. He must have been hiding on the other side of her, ready to shoot, but Myles had seen him first.

Tariq's gun was aimed directly at her.

The last time Angela had seen Tariq was in divorce court, when he was all composure and his pain-reddened eyes turned from hers after she'd ignored his attempts at a greeting. He had not seemed so big then. She would have felt sorry for him, if her anger had allowed it. Seeing him now, Angela remembered how much she used to cringe when the anger in Tariq's voice pa.s.sed the danger point, when she knew he was ready to hit her. Or, if he could have his wish, to get his gun and kill her. All these years later, he was ready to use his Glock to shut her up.

Another arrow flew, this one lodging in Tariq's left shoulder, inches from his heart. With another howl of pain, Tariq stumbled, turning off-center as he absorbed the impact of the arrow, but he did not fall, and he did not drop his gun.

This time, he didn't aim at Angela. He aimed beyond her, toward Myles.

Angela saw Myles reaching for his quiver. For an arrow.

Her hands grabbed her .38, her last gift from the man whose grandfather had run a mile to tell Gramma Marie that her daughter wouldn't stop screaming, a kindness Gramma Marie never forgot. Angela had a firm grasp, and she aimed the gun toward Tariq.

Five bullets. Shoot twice. Her mind knew what to do.

She squeezed the trigger.

The trigger held firm, not moving. Still, a gunshot exploded in the quiet woods, crumbling Angela's thoughts and chasing away the birds that had been nesting silently around them. Angela tried to pull the trigger again, but there was silence this time. She checked the safety, and it was still in theoff position Myles had shown her. How had she fired if the trigger hadn't moved?

A moan made her look back at Myles. His bow had fallen, and he was doubled over, making a terrible noise she had not allowed herself to hear before she looked at him.

Tariq staggered behind Angie, within five feet of her, so close she could smell the stink of thebaka on him. The terrible reeking almost drove her to vomit. "I'm disappointed in you, Angie," Tariq said, his voice surging low from his throat. "He's the best you could do?" Tariq was festooned with the two arrows, wincing in pain, but he grinned at her.

With a scream of frustration, Angela aimed directly up at his broad, smiling face, tugging on the trigger again. Again, it stuck in place. Thebaka hadn't been able to still Myles's arrows, but it had frozen her gun. Her body felt full of sand, heavy and useless.

"Angie,run!" Myles groaned, and she turned in time to see him fall to his side, curled in a ball.

"No, Angie, please stay," Tariq said gently. "I planned this especially for you, Snook."

"Leave him alone!"Angela cried. As Tariq strode toward Myles's p.r.o.ne form, Angela hurled large stones from the fire-pit at him. As a stone sailed over Tariq's head, she heard Myles's bow crack beneath Tariq's foot. The next stone hit Tariq squarely in the back with athunk, but he only turned and wagged a finger at her. Then, he aimed his Glock at Myles's head.

Angela begged, blubbered, bawled. She felt as detached from herself as she'd been as she poured the contents of thegovi into the soil, present and yet not present. Her mind was breaking.

"Run-"Myles implored again, through gritted teeth.

Tariq fired.

With a scream, Angela wrenched her eyes away. But not before she saw the spray of blood.

Angela's legs rediscovered their strength, and she pitched herself toward Tariq's van, pushing off the rear b.u.mper to help her run faster into the woods. When she heard the third gunshot, Angela's legs felt so drained of strength that she had to cling to a tree trunk to keep her balance. Her scream became a sob. The tree was friendly, covered with soft moss that caressed her face as she fell against it. She swung by her arms, steadying herself. The tree helped her run on.

Angela was crying and blind from tears of grief and fright, but she ran; leaping over fallen trunks, squeezing between standing trees, fighting her way into vine maple and salmonberry.

She ran as if she were flying.