Alex Bledsoe - Wisp of a Thing

“Well, duh,” Mandalay said. “Look, it’s pretty plain. None of us would have anything to do with ‘The Fate of the Tyrant Fae.’ We know what it is, and what it does, which is why Rockhouse keeps hiding it. But the night winds clearly want it found, and sung. They made sure it got put on tombstones, stuck in the back of that book in Cricket, even put it on the cover of one of Rockhouse’s albums. They’ve basically rubbed our noses in it forever. But we haven’t done anything with it, and they’re tired of waiting.”

“Why?”

“Why are they tired of waiting, or why do they want something done?”

“Both.”

She hopped down off the rail. “Rockhouse’s time is over, I’d guess.”

“And Curnen?”

“Curnen’s a lost cause, Bliss. I’m sorry to say it, but you know it’s true. Every time I see her, there’s a little more gone. My stepmom doesn’t even remember her anymore. It’s sad and it’s awful, but it’s beyond our control.”

Bliss clenched her fists. She forced herself to stay focused on the bigger picture. “Rockhouse is what holds us together. He may not lead both tribes, but he’s the reason we’re here. If he loses his power—”

Mandalay smiled. “You remember what Bronwyn Hyatt said when she got back from Iraq, don’t you? We have to change and evolve, we can’t keep hiding from the world.”

“If Rockhouse loses his power, Mandalay, we don’t know who will step in.”

She sighed. “Tell me about it. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t scare the pee out of me. But if it’s what the winds want, I’ll just have to suck it up. Put on my big-girl panties, like my stepmom says.”

“So if all that’s true… why did I play that Kate Campbell song for him? That song had the lyrics that the haint of Rockhouse told him in Atlanta. Why am I in the middle of this?”

She moved close to Bliss and took the older woman’s hands. “Nothing lasts forever. Not Rockhouse, not us. Bronwyn had it right: Everything living has to change, or die. You’re part of the change.”

Bliss felt the absurdity of being lectured by a ten-year-old. “And what about Rob?”

“When he got the ability to see our reality, he also got tied to it.”

“Did the winds kill his girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to think not. But whatever got him here, he’s doing what the winds want now. That means we have to help him.”

“ We. You mean me. ”

“Okay, you. That’s why they gave you the Kate Campbell song.”

Now things fell into place, but it did not reassure her. Not at all. “I’m supposed to help him take down Rockhouse?”

Mandalay nodded.

“How?”

The girl smiled and shrugged. “Wait and see which way the winds blow.”

Rob lay awake, listening. The player wasn’t very good, skipping whole chords and apparently unconcerned with meter, and the singing was atrocious. Unlike what he’d experienced at the barn dance, this music was ugly. When it finally stopped, he disentangled himself from Curnen and peeked over the log.

Dawn began to lighten the sky. Mourning doves called from the woods. The oil lamps in the windows had either gone out or been extinguished. Only two people remained on the porch, and just when he thought they were asleep, one of them leaned over and spit into the grass. Two big, lethargic dogs under the porch raised their heads.

“Curnen,” he whispered. She awoke with a start. He placed a hand gently over her mouth. “We have to go check this now, if we’re going to. It’ll be daylight soon. But there’s still people on the porch.”

She nodded and carefully looked over the log. He heard her make a low growling sound, barely audible even to him.

The nearest dog’s ears perked up, and it crawled out to stand beside the porch. It was some mongrel beast with a head like a hyena, all teeth and jaw muscles. It looked around the yard, past their hiding spot, then turned to rejoin its compatriot.

Curnen growled again. The dog froze, looked up at the sky, and howled. Curnen continued to growl, and the beast cried out three more times. Then she fell silent, and the dog went back under the porch.

“You hear that?” one of the men from the porch said. “That sum’bitch howled four times and quit.”

“So?” the other man said with a yawn.

“Daddy always said if a dog howls four times and stops, means somebody in the house is going to die soon.”

“That’s horseshit,” the second man said.

“Yeah, well, it happened to the Potters down by Jonesborough. Their dog did that, lightning hit the house the next day, and it plumb blowed up.”

“That’s because they had a meth lab in the basement, dumb-ass.”

“So what you want us to do?” a third man demanded, annoyed. “Go kiss the dog’s ass or something?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to go ask Momma.” He went inside, and after a moment the other two followed.

At the instant the door closed, Curnen slithered over the log and dashed to the graveyard. The tattered dress flapped behind her as she ran. Rob expected the two dogs to bark and bring the Gwinns running, but the animals did not stir.

Curnen threw herself to the ground behind one of the grave shelters. Next to it rose a seven-foot tombstone carved in the shape of a cloth-draped pylon. It tilted awkwardly on the slope, and Rob was afraid it might tumble down on top of her. But it remained solid, and she motioned for him to join her.

Rob crouched low as he ran and slid to the ground beside her. An awesomely repulsive smell swamped the whole area, originating at the three outhouses just up the hill. He gagged, blinked back tears of nausea; then he looked up at the tombstone, eager to find the missing verse in the dim morning light.

The surface read only, KATE OVERBAY GWINN, BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER, 1882–1922. So this was the grave of Great Kate, the bootlegger too fat to arrest. And her maiden name was Overbay. Bliss had called Tiffany her cousin, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

He checked the two other sides he could see from his position, but those were completely blank. Could it be on the side facing the house? That would be just his luck. He turned to Curnen and whispered, “Where is it?”

But the wild girl had vanished.

Oh, shit, he thought. Even crouched behind the grave shelter, it was light enough that he’d be spotted by the first Gwinn who looked out the window. They’d torture him, then kill him, and his body would never be found. Tiffany would use his testicles for castanets.

He heard movement near the house, and watched one of the dogs walk out into the open, stretch, and hike its leg at a corner of the foundation. Someone moved inside, big feet thudding on old, creaking wood.

He glanced at the woods behind him. He’d have to make a break for it and hope he could lose himself in the trees. He had no idea which way led to Needsville, or even the nearest road; but with the sunrise to mark east, he could at least ensure he was running in a straight line away from the Gwinns.

Then, something wriggled under him, beneath the ground.

Startled, he moved aside. Was it a mole? Then he realized it wasn’t moving horizontally under the surface, it was burrowing its way up through the soil, from inside the grave of Great Kate Gwinn.

He stared and almost screamed when a corpse-pale, dirt-encrusted hand clawed up into the air.

The hand waved at him. This hillbilly zombie knew he was there.

Then it curled and dug its fingertips into the dirt. Rob’s heart threatened to rip its way out through his ribs and flee on its own.

Another hand burrowed out beside the first, only this hand clutched a letter-sized envelope. Then the two hands spread the ground between them, widening it into a opening big enough for a dark-haired head to emerge.