Lori Devoti - Amazon Ink

With a shrug, I picked up the rolling pin and did my best to flatten the dough. “So, Madison. You went there to…?” I prompted.

Dana edged around me and took the now-steaming bowl of pumpkin from the microwave. After dropping the pumpkin into a blender and pureeing it smooth, Dana replied, “Boys, of course.”

Of course. “You find any?”

A tiny smile curved Dana’s lips and her hand moved toward her middle. “We did.”

“You’re pregnant?” The rolling pin fell from my fingers with a thud.

“I’m twenty-two.”

Well, then that was okay, another few years and her eggs would have been all dried up. I ground my teeth together to keep my sarcastic thoughts to myself. Thanks to the priestesses, Amazons had had control over their reproduction for centuries before female humans had. Because of our long lives, most of us waited into our eighties to have a child.

“Were the other girls…?” The thought made my stomach lurch. I hadn’t sensed spirits aside from the girls’, but I was far from the most experienced in such deductions.

Dana poured the pumpkin back into its bowl along with a mixture of sugar and spices. Stirring, she replied, “I don’t think so. None of the other girls who went with us are-just me.” Again with the dreamy, too-stupid-to-know-better look.

I mean, I loved Harmony. But at twenty-two, I’d have no more been able to take care of her than-I glanced around-than bake this pie. And that, of course, was the difference. Dana was a hearth-keeper and obviously one content with her fate. The whole maternal thing was probably as natural to her as casting a spell was to Bubbe or tossing a spear was to Mother. I’d never been that natural at anything. I was good at art, but even that didn’t come to me like breathing.

“So, boys. What kind did you meet?”

“College boys, mainly. Most of the girls were warriors. Tereis was. Aggie was an artisan.”

No one had told me the dead girls’ names, but it was easy to guess who she was talking about.

“They both wanted athletes.”

Of course.

“The bar we went to. A lot of UW football players hang out there.”

“And your guy?” It wasn’t really a piece of information I needed to know, but I was interested.

“He worked there. Part-time. He wasn’t as…you know.” She mimicked broad shoulders with her hands. “But there was something about him. I don’t think he was stronger than the guys the other girls went after. Just different.”

She walked over to survey my work. It must have passed muster. She flopped it into the pie pan.

“Was there any one guy the other girls showed interest in, or that showed interest in them?”

Busy pressing perfect ridges into the crust, Dana sighed. “All the guys showed interest in the others, especially the warriors.”

Some things never changed. “But no one in particular? Did Tereis and Aggie talk to the same boy?”

Dana poured the pumpkin into the crust, then tapped the spoon against the bowl’s lip. “Not that I noticed. Tim”-she touched her stomach, an unconscious gesture that told me who she was referring to-“tried to be polite, but they brushed him off. Had bigger fish to fry, I guess.” She carried the pie to the oven and jerked the door open. The rack inside rattled.

Then, as if remembering what had happened to the pair, she flushed. “Not that I blame them. I realize it’s important to pick someone strong. I just…” She stared down at the unbaked pie.

“Want something different.”

She looked up, her thumb gouging into the crimped edge of the crust. “Is that wrong?”

I took the pie from her and slid it into the oven, then ran a hand down her arm, just a light brush-my skin barely making contact with hers.

“Not at all.”

I spent another hour and a half wandering around the compound trying to convince some of the other Amazons to talk to me. A few did, but none were as forthcoming as Dana. The girl had a much better sense of who she was than I’d ever had, probably than I did right now, but I could tell we shared one thing. Neither of us truly felt as if we fit. I’d had friends, as it appeared she did, but living as an Amazon never felt quite right to me-like wearing someone else’s shoes. They might look right to the outside world, but you knew inside they weren’t, could feel it with every step you took.

She’d sought me out again before I left, shoving a cardboard box with the pie in it into my hands. My first pie. Okay, she’d done most of the work, but, still, I was strangely proud. I placed the box in the coveted position of shotgun for the ride home.

It was after two. I’d be able to make it back to Madison probably before Harmony arrived home. I might even be able to drive by the bar and see if Tim was working. If he worked at the place, he’d be familiar with the football players who hung out there, and probably more cognizant of who the girls went off with.

I was hoping one name would crop up for both. That would really simplify things. Unfortunately, I didn’t have pictures of either girl. Amazons weren’t big on photography. But I suspected a healthy American boy wouldn’t forget any of the Amazons too quickly.

I just hoped he didn’t ask about Dana. I wasn’t going to be sharing news of his upcoming daddyhood with him, but I didn’t relish the idea of hiding it from him either.

As it turned out, traffic was a bugger getting out of Illinois-some kind of mystery backup where a toll booth used to sit on Highway 39 in Rockford. I pulled into my drive at five. I wanted to see my daughter and my shop, sink into the life I’d built for myself. Visiting the Amazon camp had more of an effect on me than I’d thought it would when I had left earlier today. I’d had an itchy need to get home as quickly as I could since passing the traffic snarl. I’d almost been glad of the excuse to skip the trip downtown to the bar.

Harmony and her best friend, Rachel, stood outside the gym. Next to them, Pisto, the blond warrior who had confronted Peter’s client, demonstrated various stances with a staff. The pie box clenched in my arms, I walked up.

“I thought you spent the day at Rachel’s.”

Harmony glanced at me, her eyes wide, blue and innocent. “We did. She just walked me home.”

“And then what? You going to walk her back home?” Rachel lived two streets behind us. The walking each other home game had become a favorite ploy as soon as they were old enough that both Rachel’s mother and I felt secure to let them out of our sight for a few minutes. The “walk home” could take hours.

“No.” Complete indignation on my daughter’s part. “CleCle”-Harmony’s name for my mother-“said the tribe was taking in students. Rachel and I thought it might be fun to take some.”

“The tribe?” What had Mother done?

“Yeah. The self-defense group.” She frowned at Pisto. “Isn’t that what you called yourselves?”

Pisto tilted the staff back and forth in front of her. Her gaze caught mine. “We do.”

“Anyway, CleCle suggested it, and Pisto”-she nodded at the warrior-“said she’d work us in for free. You can’t beat that.”

“I doubt Rachel’s mother-” I started, but both girls cut me off, jabbering as only teenage girls can. Finally, Rachel’s voice won out.

“My mom will be thrilled. She’s been saying the school should offer some kind of self-defense class for girls. The killings really have her freaked out. Besides, in a few years we’ll be going to college. Everyone should be able to defend herself before that.” She pulled her body erect, speaking with all the authority of a middle-aged corporate executive-in other words, a perfect imitation of her mother. Her father owned a bead shop off Monroe. He was also head flapjack flipper at a local “pancakes for peace” event and had probably walked around the globe for various peace walks. I doubted the idea of his daughter learning to smash a man’s skull with a twenty-pound staff would hold a lot of appeal for him.