Martin Greenberg: The Best Paranormal Crime Stories Ever Told

“She is really driving me crazy.”

“Hah. You’re getting there on your own.”

“What is her role? Why is she important?”

“It’s the sex,” Gran said quietly. “And not the sex. It’s not the act; it’s the possibility inherent in the act.”

Maggie looked pointedly down at Connell.

“The maiden never has children.”

“Why?”

“Because children are the mother’s. Try to pay attention.”

“So she gets to have-”

Gran held up a hand. “She’s important, because she’s dreaming,” she said quietly. “Dreams are fragile, and endless; they’re also a tad self-centered. Have to be. Heroes dream. She’s dreaming, and she can walk in any direction she wants. She has a freedom that neither you nor I have.”

“You envy her?”

“You don’t?”

“I’ve seen what happens to dreams,” was the bitter reply. “Young girl dreams. You’re right. I was stupid.”

Gran’s smile was bitter. Old. “I didn’t say you were stupid,” she said. She had, but I didn’t point this out. “Or if I did, I didn’t mean it.” She sighed, and caressed the bowl of her pipe. “Sex is union,” she said quietly. “When it’s done right. Union of body. A glimpse of dream. It transfigures us.”

“Sex is about babies.”

“Wasn’t always.”

“Is now.”

“Hah. You want my answer?”

Maggie shut up.

“Having sex doesn’t destroy the maiden. Abstinence doesn’t define her- unless she lets it . The maiden has freedom. But she doesn’t see it yet. Maybe she will. More likely, she’ll lose it; shackle it; accept what others tells her. By the time she wakes up, she’s given over dreams to reality. She’s become something solid, but she’s not-”

“The maiden.”

“Not anymore, no.”

Maggie was thoughtful. “This is why you haven’t looked for her.”

“She’s not entirely necessary,” was the reluctant reply, “and she’s much abused. Always. It’s hard. To keep her. And it’s damn painful to lose her,” she added.

“How can you say she’s not entirely necessary?”

“Sometimes dreams have edges. Sometimes they just cause pain.”

“A world without dreaming-”

“There will never be a world without dreaming,” Gran replied.

“Joan of Arc was a maiden?”

“Maybe. And look what happened.”

“Buffy?”

“Buffy?”

“Television character,” I told Gran. I started to explain, and she lifted a hand. “Maybe. First two seasons at any rate.” Which really surprised me, given that Gran doesn’t hold with television. “But she’s not real. If she existed, she would be.”

“So all we have to do is find-”

“We don’t have to find anything.” Gran stood up. End of conversation.

Question two was never asked.

Maggie’s hands were on her hips. Unfortunately, no children were. This was her battle posture, and I didn’t much like it. “Your grandmother drives me nuts.”

“She has that effect on people.”

“I thought wisdom was supposed to be soothing.”

“Judge for yourself.”

Maggie snorted. “We need to go on a Unicorn Hunt,” she said at last.

Which more or less brings us full circle. “Why?”

“Because.”

More argument, which I’ve already mentioned, followed by grim silence, which I may have failed to add.

“The ring,” she said at last. “I would have held on to that ring forever. And it would have cost me my life. No, I’m not saying it would kill me-but look at me now. Look at me then. I’m alive now. I live in the present.” She walked over to her computer and flipped up the lid. I suppose it won’t come as a surprise to say Gran doesn’t hold with computers much either, so I’m not real familiar with how they work.

“So you want revenge?”

Maggie was silent. For a minute. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever understood why your grandmother calls you stupid,” she said in a flat voice.

“Ouch.”

“Live with it.” Maggie shouted a warning to Shanna, who seemed intent on turning two teetering chairs into a makeshift ladder. “I know the maiden is out there,” she said at last.

“Pardon?”

“I know she’s out there. I think she’s close.”

“How?”

“Because I feel younger than I have in years,” she replied softly. “And I feel-right now-that I can do anything .”

“You’re the mother,” I told her.

“Even the mother has to dream. Maybe especially the mother.” She looked fondly at the head of her younger child. “Look at this.” The computer was now flickering.

“Unicorn hunt.”

“It’s all garbage,” she added. “I’m sure your Gran was right about that.” Big concession. “But there’s got to be a grain of truth in this somewhere. What if,” she added, as her fingers added prints to the screen, directly across the face of a painted woman with a delicate, horned head in her lap, “it’s true?”

“What’s true?”

“Not that Unicorns are drawn to virgins,” she said, “but that they’re drawn to maidens .”

“Which is usually the same thing.”

“In Unicorn speak.”

“Don’t you start that too.”

Maggie didn’t seem to hear me. “If we go out on a Unicorn hunt,” she continued, “we’re bound to find the maiden.”

“Okay. But.”

“But?”

“What the hell does a Unicorn want with the maiden, anyway?”

“My guess? To kill her,” she said softly.

“That’s phallic.”

“Idiot.”

“And all that rot about Unicorn horns and healing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s something in that. We can always find out.” She paused. “But I’m guessing that Unicorns don’t actually look like this either.”

“They’d be pretty damn hard to miss.”

So Maggie and I went over to Gran’s house. Gran was waiting for us on her porch. Which is to say, she was sitting on it, her arms crossed, her expression pure vinegar.

“You know why we’re here,” Maggie said, without preamble.

“I might.”

“We need your help.”

Gran pushed herself out of her chair. “I don’t have a lot of help to offer,” she said at last. “You’re going in search of the maiden.”

“We’re going in search of Unicorns,” Maggie replied firmly. “And we’re not certain that we’ll be able to even see them.”

“You might. She won’t.”

“I think you can see them well enough, if a glint of ring could tell you so much. We need to be able to see them.”

“You won’t like it,” Gran said, as if that would make a difference.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll live; we all do what we have to.” She paused, and then added, “I’d like it if you kept an eye on the kids while we’re out.”

“That’s your job.”

“Yes. And I’d guess yours would be to find the maiden, which you aren’t doing.”

Gran relented so quickly it was pretty clear she’d already made her decision. “I’ll go to your place,” she said. “They won’t be as safe here.”

The tone of her voice made me wonder if I’d misjudged her reasons for keeping them out of her house in the first place. And I liked the older reasons better.

She gave us glasses. Sort of. Nothing you could wear on your face, though. She gave us some sort of sticky, foul-smelling ointment as well. “You might need it,” she said. “But if you don’t, don’t waste it. Costs a fortune to make.”