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CHAPTER ELEVEN

“YOU’RE WORKING LATE,” I TOLD Lucinda, as I walked up the stairs. The kitchen was private only to a degree. Anyone could walk there at any time. I wanted to be in my apartment for this call.

“It’s just past five,” Lucinda said, sounding surprised.

“Oh right, west coast time.” I rolled my eyes.

“I got a copy of the contempt order,” Lucinda said. “I didn’t want to wait for you to contact me about it, because you need to act fast.”

My pulse thudded heavily. I could feel it in my wrists and my temples. I hadn’t even thought of calling Lucinda about this. She wasn’t a five-hundred-dollar-an-hour lawyer, but she still charged by the hour and I didn’t have oodles of spare cash.

I wasn’t sure what I had planned to do. I’d put aside the worry, today. Events had distracted me from coming to a decision about what to do. I did know that calling Lucinda hadn’t been one of the possibilities.

“Act fast how?” I asked. “I owe the money. I’m not disputing that.”

“You don’t want this on your record,” Lucinda said. “You have to talk to Jasper. Get him to withdraw the complaint.”

My middle squeezed. “He can do that?”

“Of course he can! The court would rather see the two of you settle this by yourselves. And trust me, so do you, for all sorts of reasons.”

“I can’t talk to Jasper,” I said heavily. I stepped into my apartment and shut the door. “I mean, he won’t talk to me. It’s not as though he reached out and asked me to pay up, when I missed the pay date. He waited barely twenty-four hours after the deadline passed to file the complaint. He’s not going to talk to me.”

“It could be his lawyer who did that,” Lucinda pointed out. “I can get him to the table to talk, if you will talk. Will you?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to talk to Jasper. I had learned too much about him since the divorce to even look at him calmly. There were good reasons I called him my odious ex. Too many reasons.

But I also didn’t want to get dragged through court.

“I’ll talk to him,” I told Lucinda. “Although I don’t know what good it will do.”

“It will make you look like the reasonable one,” Lucinda said. “And that is not nothing. Very well, I’ll set it up tomorrow. I’ll email you the details.”

She asked me how I was going. It was small talk, and I couldn’t afford small talk even at Lucinda’s rate. I wrapped it up quickly and hung up, then sank onto the cushion of the wing chair closest to the door. My heart was doing strange, fluttery things.

Just thinking about talking to Jasper made me sweat. My skin prickled under my arms.

How could I speak to him civilly? How could I speak to him at all? How was I supposed to ask him to compromise and give me time to come up with the taxes on his house?

I dealt with that horrifying prospect as I had dealt with the complaint letter itself. I pushed it out of my mind. I got to my feet and went to finish all the tasks I needed to do before the end of the day.

I didn’t go into the bar. There were at least three locals watching Axel King and his agents. They didn’t need me. And I didn’t want company.

I fell into bed nearly three hours later, my feet throbbing and my fingers smelling of oranges.

·

For more than a decade, my dreams had often featured a freak-show rendition of searching for something. Or someone. And for many years, I always found myself in the same bewildering place that even in my dream, I knew was somewhere in L.A., but it wasn’t a place I had ever visited while awake.

Yet I had come to know that collection of Brutalist-inspired buildings well in my dreams. I would find myself there, looking for a way out, looking for someone (usually one of my kids), or looking for a particular apartment or shop that I urgently needed to reach. And every time I thought I’d remembered how to get to wherever it was, something would stop me from reaching it. I’d be waylaid, or I’d forget that I had to go a different route to reach it, or…well, there were dozens of ways my subconscious had found to torture me in my sleep.

The dreams persisted even though I was living in Haigton, but lately they had shifted locations, too. It was a forest that I wandered, now. A forest that felt a lot like every forbidden, dark, tree-infested forest I’d ever seen in the movies. I was getting to know this forest, too. The paths that I thought should get me to where I wanted to go had become familiar. The mother trees that held up canopies of dense foliage that spread dark, cool shadows across the earth were mileposts, anchoring my orientation.

Even the Greenway featured in these dreams. It was exactly as it appeared in real life, right down to the green moss that covered the rarely used road, which gave the Greenway its name, and the baked-in corrugations that threatened ankles and axles alike. But the town itself was not nearby. Only the Greenway, and the trees.

I pushed through trees, looking for a path I knew, that might lead me to…I don’t know where I was heading. Perhaps I was looking for a way out. And just ahead, there did seem to be an opening. The end of the forest? Or just another clearing? The clearings in this dream forest shifted. I could never find them where I remembered they had been before.

But this clearing stayed where it was, and it was with a deep sense of relief that I stepped out into weak sunlight slanting through the opening in the canopy.

I stopped, astonished, for I knew this clearing. It was the little patch of open ground behind the old, abandoned hall that sat on the corner of the crossroads directly across from the hotel. The hall was falling down and dangerous. It was the only structure on that side of the crossroads.

The open land behind the hall backed onto the forest. It was in that earth that we had buried Juda, in January.

Nothing of the crossroads or the old building was in the dream. The other side of the clearing was lined with more trees and maidenhair ferns, while deep shadows wound between them.

The clearing was the same, though, with the little hillocks and old, dried clumps of dropseeds, and the wild thyme that had adopted the area and tangled with everything. I knew it was the same place because where Juda’s grave and homemade headstone should have been was, instead, a waist-high structure made of roughly chopped tree branches, denuded of leaves, and laid in neat layers, each layer running across the one beneath.

And on top of the bed of branches was Juda. He wore the clothes I had last seen him in. The clothes he had died wearing. No blood showed on them and Juda’s throat appeared to be normal. I could see no gaping cut running across it from where I hovered by the last tree, fear gripping my throat.

He didn’t move. His eyes were closed. After all, he was dead.

I stepped out of the trees, making my way with slow, hesitant steps closer to the bed of boughs. As I drew closer I could see that not a spot of dirt clung to him. He was as neat and fresh as he had always appeared to be, before he had died. His chin jutted up in the air, the closely trimmed black beard making his rich olive skin seem fine in comparison.

The town had killed Juda, just as the town had made Juda kill my mother to bring me here. Even though Juda had died by his own hand, he had been driven to it by the town lodging in his brain, driving him toward insanity with its constant hounding.

He had welcomed death, but I still felt sick every time I remembered the night we had stood in a ring around the crossroads and watched him die.

I felt sick in the dream, too. But I didn’t stop moving steadily toward the bed he laid upon.

I stopped beside it. Juda turned his head and opened his eyes, looking directly at me.

I trembled. “What? What?” I demanded. “Why am I here?”

His gaze shifted to my hand. I was holding a branch of my own. The top of it was wrapped in rags that burned, the flames crackling and leaping, making the light in the clearing brighter.

Juda’s gaze shifted to the branches he laid on.

Horror burst through me, for I knew what he wanted. “No!” I protested. I tossed the burning branch away. I didn’t look where it landed. “No!” I repeated again.

And again. And again.

·

I was grateful to wake up, even though the beginning of my days were as crammed as the end of them.

I washed and dressed and rushed down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Since yesterday, the number of people I had to feed had jumped from eight locals plus three guests, to eight locals and eleven guests. The guests outnumbered us now. I would have to spend more time in the kitchen, as I hadn’t planned for this many diners and would have to tap into the long-term pantry items on the metal shelves. I’d worry about replacing them later.

I paid little attention to anyone already seated in the dining room when I took out the trays and dropped them into the warming frame. I was moving too fast to chit chat. Besides, I was hungry, too.

There were two types of oatmeal; one with a touch of cinnamon and brown sugar, the other plain, for I had a feeling that Percy would recoil in horror at the cinnamon. Or the sugar.

In addition to the oatmeal, I added plenty of the usual breakfast foods; bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, lots of toast, hashbrowns, grits, fruit, pancakes. I put the waffle maker on the sideboard and a pourable bowl of waffle mix.

By the time I headed out into the dining room with my last load, another plate of toast, nearly everyone had served themselves and all I could hear was the scrape of utensils across china, and the occasional murmur of conversation.

Nearly all the tables were occupied, too. I’d have to bring tables up from the basement, if more diners and guests showed up.

Another thing to worry about later.

I stacked the toast in the basket, then loaded my plate and headed for my chair at the local’s table by the window. Nearly everyone was there, except for Trevalyan. They were all eating steadily.

“Where’s Trev?” I asked.

Broch was busy slicing up a sausage and mixing it with the small portion of eggs on his plate. He lifted his chin toward the back of the room.

I looked. Trevalyan was sitting at Percy’s table, one hand resting over the other, listening hard while Percy spoke.

Olivia leaned toward me as I sat down. “We couldn’t quite place him,” she confessed in a low voice. “Trevalyan thought talking to him would resolve that.”

“Maybe Trevalyan should talk to Aurora Caro,” I said, for Aurora was in the corner at a table by herself, hardcover book spread before her plate, nibbling on bacon.

“Oh, she’s a witchlette,” Olivia said dismissively. “One of those who thinks they can grow their powers at Beltane. There are some silly myths about Beltane.” She sipped her coffee.

Witchlette ? That was a new one. I wondered if it was an official category or if Olivia was being sarcastic. I wanted to laugh, but I was too hungry. I ate a quick mouthful of eggs, took a bite of toast and chewed furiously. “Everything about Beltane is a myth to me,” I pointed out. “What actually is true?” I drank three big mouthfuls of coffee. I was going to need a lot of coffee today. I had woken feeling drained and I had a full day ahead.

“The veil between worlds grows thin at Beltane,” Olivia said.

“I did know that one,” I said, a touch relieved. “That’s it? You have a bonfire and the veil grows thin?”

“It’s what happens because the veil grows so thin that draws people to the places where the veil thins the most.”

“Haigton is one of those places,” I guessed. “That would explain the influx of guests.”

“Plus, it’s a nice night,” Olivia added, with a small smile. “A feast, a bonfire.”

“Dancing around the maypole?” I suggested.

“That’s an English custom that we didn’t import,” Broch said, lifting a fork loaded with eggs and toast toward his mouth. “But the reason for the dancing remains.” And he chuckled as he put the fork back down.

Was that what he did to fool people into believing he was eating? I suppose I had never actually watched people eat every bite on their plates. It was just something humans did. It was the conversation around the dinner table that I paid attention to. “And what’s the reason?” I prompted him.

“Ugh…mom, these eggs are revolting!” Ghaliya said, pushing her plate away from her. She put a hand to her belly. “Ugh…” she repeated.

“That is your second plateful, dear,” Olivia said, with an indulgent smile. “Perhaps your belly has decided that it has had enough.”

“What was the reason?” I asked Broch.

Broch put his knife and fork together on the plate. “Connection,” he said.

“That seems…ordinary,” I said.

Harper snorted. I wasn’t sure if that meant she agreed with me, or thought I was being obtuse.

Trevalyan sat in his usual chair and put a loaded plate on the table.

“Connection at Beltane is more than it appears. It is quite profound on a number of levels,” Broch said. “That’s the reason handfasting was popular on Beltane, when handfasting was still legal.”

“You’re mystifying it,” Trevelyan said. “It’s just simple people feeling the power and getting randy because of it.”

Olivia made a tsking sound.

Trevalyan smiled at her, took an enormous forkful of eggs and chewed. Then his mouth grew still and his jaw slack. He brought his fingertips to his sealed lips.

“There, see?” Ghaliya pronounced, looking at me and pointing at Trevalyan.

“Give him a napkin,” Olivia urged Harper, who sat beside him.

Harper gave Trevalyan the napkin off her own lap. Trevalyan put it to his mouth, then wiped carefully and rolled up the discarded eggs in the napkin. “…. Lord…!” he breathed and reached for his coffee.

“They were fresh eggs,” I said. “Not even a week old. But I’ll check all of them after breakfast.” I looked around the table. “Sorry.”

“Not at all, dear,” Olivia said. “I had eggs, and they were just fine.”

“You must have got the good batch,” Trevalyan said, his voice croaky.

“It was all the same batch,” Olivia said. “The tray was full when I took mine.”

“And it was nearly empty when I just got mine,” Trevalyan said. He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The bacon is just fine ,” and he bit into a piece with relish.

“What did Percy Finch tell you?” Ben spoke quietly so his voice wouldn’t travel to the other tables.

Trevelyan took a bite of hashbrowns, chewed, and said, “He doesn’t know how he ended up here. Says he just drove around. He was looking for somewhere quiet to walk off his week. He was going to read under a tree or walk in the woods.”

“But he stepped in a puddle, then went hunting for a dry cleaner, then turned off the road to Gouverneur and ended up here instead?” I asked. “That’s a long string of coincidences.”

Hirom and Broch both shook their heads.

“What?” I said.

Hirom was chewing. Broch said, “He’s a dead leaf.”

Hirom pointed at him and nodded.

“A dead leaf?” I repeated.

Hirom shoveled his last forkful of food into his mouth and slid off his chair. “Gotta go open up.” He hurried out of the dining room.

“Dead leaf?” I said again.

“Some people get pulled into the town like leaves down a drain,” Ben said. “After a while, they leave.”

“You mean, they’re drawn by the power?”

“We’re not sure,” Trevalyan said. “They don’t have any power themselves. Finch is a cold, dead stone, in that regard.”

“Not even a flicker?” Ben asked, his tone curious. “I thought everyone had a touch.”

“Even witchlettes, which is what gives them eternal hope,” Olivia said, her tone indulgent.

“Not Finch,” Trevalyan said firmly. “He’s got nothing. He’s like all the other dead leaves. He just found his way here. Later, he’ll drift off again.”

“Probably after Beltane,” Broch said. “Once the power has dialed down.”

“Um, boss?” Trevalyan said, surprising me. He was right by my elbow. His face looked strained. “There’s a new guest out in the foyer.”

“I didn’t hear the door open,” I said, for we left the door closed when no one was in the bar.

“I think he’s been there a while,” Hirom said. “Just waiting.”

That wasn’t good. “We need to put the bell somewhere more obvious, I guess,” I said, for the bell sat beside the register on the sideboard and no one used it.

“Or a sign that says they should ring it,” Olivia suggested as I got to my feet.

“I just don’t think we’ve got a room that will suit him,” Hirom said. He patted my arm. “Over to you, boss.”

“Why do I feel like he’s escaping?” Trevalyan murmured, watching Hirom leave.

I had that feeling, too. I headed for the foyer to greet my next guest.