Lament - Мэгги Стифватер

"Granna fell down or something. The EMTs aren't sure. It's probably nothing serious."

"Fell down?" I repeated again. Other people's grandmothers fell down. Granna wasn't the frail, falling-down type. She was the hauling-and-painting-furniture type. She was the beating-herbsinto-green-pulp-to-drive-off-the-faeries type. For some reason, I thought of Eleanor's fearsome smile right before she'd left.

"Or something," Delia said loudly, louder, if possible, than her usual voice. "We're just going to see if she's all right. I'm sure she'll be released shortly.

It's just precautions."

Mom glared at Delia, and I wondered what that argument had been.

Impervious to the slings and arrows of her sister, Delia looked regally down at me. "You saw her yesterday, Deirdre. Did anything seem unusual to you?"

I had probably been too self-absorbed yesterday to notice anything out of place. The only unusual thing there yesterday had been me. I shook my head. "She seemed fine."

Mom shot a triumphant look at Delia. "Let's go."

The two of them pushed through the door, leaving Dad and me alone. As usual, he was quiet, all the words he might have said already used up by Delia and Mom. Finally, he scratched his chin and looked at me. "You're seeing that flute player from the competition?"

Talking with Mom was difficult: you had to follow rules and play her games. Dad was easy. I nodded.

"Do you like him?"

I didn't embarrassed, but my cheeks reddened anyway as I admitted the truth. "A lot." "He like you?" "A lot."

Dad nodded and got his car keys from the hook by the door. "I'm glad. I'm going to go get the AC running in the car. Meet me out there when you're ready to go, okay?" He let himself softly out the back door, as quiet as Mom and Delia were loud, and I went back upstairs to get changed into something that didn't smell quite so strongly of wet grass and staying out all night.

Upstairs, as I was transferring my phone to the back pocket of a nice pair of jeans for work, it rang. I looked at the number, but didn't recognize it.

"Hello?"

"Hi."

I recognized Luke's voice at once, and despite everything, I shivered. In a good way. "You have a phone?"

"I do now. I never had anybody I wanted to talk to before." He paused. "Do you want to talk to me?"

"I shouldn't." I remembered Dad waiting in the car and began to hunt for a clean pair of socks.

"But I do. I just keep thinking you're going to bust out an explanation for what I saw in your head last night."

There was silence.

"Is this the phone version of that sad face you do where you say you can't tell me anything?"

"Yeah, I guess it is. I guess I was hoping that you'd see something that would counteract all those--the--that stuff--when you read my mind."

"Is there something that would counteract all that?"

Luke sighed. "Better count this as another phone version of the sad face."

I had more important things to ask him, but curiosity pushed me forward. "What happens when you can't tell me something? Does your tongue freeze, or what?"

He paused. "It's painful. My throat seizes up, sort of.

I never know exactly what's going to set it off, so I try to avoid it."

"What about writing it down?"

"That would hurt. A lot."

"So... telling me who is keeping you from talking would definitely cause you problems."

"Just thinking about telling you that makes my tonsils go cold," Luke said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Can I see you today?"

I contemplated just how idiotic that would be. Then I remembered. "Luke, Granna's in the hospital. My mom just left with Delia. They said she fell down or something. But--" "Granna doesn't fall down," Luke finished. I hesitated. "Do you think that it could be--" "Maybe.

Do you want me to visit her? I'd be able to tell."

"She hates you."

"She's not the only one. What about us? Can I see you again? You can say no. You'd crush all my hopes and dreams, but it's an option."

I pulled on my shoes while I thought. I could probably blame my hormones for all this. For my complete lack of ethics. A friggin' pile of dead bodies and here I was allowing myself cold chills at the idea of seeing him again. Oh man, and if he kissed me again, I'd probably explode. Earthto-Deirdre. Snap out of it. We're talking killer here, remember? But maybe there was a reason for the bodies. Or maybe I was just being pitifully hopeful. Out loud, I reasoned, "So, there just might be something to counteract what I saw in your head."

"I think I am allowed to say a definite maybe."

"And you aren't going to kill me."

The smile vanished from his voice. "I promise you that. If nothing else, I promise you that. I won't ever hurt you."

I wondered what it was like to have a normal relationship, where you didn't have to ask these sorts of questions. Would I feel the same about him if he just had a normal life and a normal past? I made my decision. "Then I'll see you later."

"You've made my day, pretty girl. I'm off to visit your granny. Keep my secret with you." The phone went dead in my hand.

Dave's Ice was officially dead. The hazy blue-gray sky of earlier had traded in its stifling heat for growing knots of storm clouds, and no one was in the mood to get ice cream. I leaned against the counter, staring out the large pane-glass windows at the gathering clouds and playing with the iron key, sliding it back and forth on its chain. I could think of one thousand places I'd rather be.

I didn't want to look at the clock, because it would just remind me how much longer I had to stay here. I didn't want to read old text messages from James, because that would just remind me how nobody had called and updated me on Granna yet.

"He gave you that, didn't he?" Sara interrupted my boredom. She leaned against the other side of the counter, revealing a lot more of her cleavage than I'd ever wanted to see. Even though she was wearing the same chaste Dave's apron I was, she'd managed to find a shirt that made it look like all she was wearing was the chaste Dave's apron.

I glanced up at her. "Yeah."

"I saw you guys on that first day, sitting out by the car. He really is cute." "Yeah."

Sara leaned toward me, conspiratorial. "And older. He's a senior, isn't he?" "Yeah."

She poked a finger in her ear and squinted out the window as if trying to see what I was looking at. "I know I said it before, but I just can't get over, like, that someone like you ended up with someone like him. No offense. Seriously, no offense."

Previously, on Deirdre's Life: in the last installment of our show, Deirdre receives casual putdown from Sara, and because Deirdre's socially paralyzed, she takes it without a squeak.

This week on Deirdre's Life: Deirdre fights back.

I rolled my eyes toward her. "I think older guys go for a more subtle look, don't you?"

Sara followed my gaze down into the cavern between her breasts. "I--uh--never noticed. Do they?"

"Yes," I said firmly, warming to my theory. "You know, younger guys want arm candy. Older guys want depth."

I swallowed a smile and went in for the kill. "It's why I wouldn't date any of the guys from school." I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with her--like we were friends. I wondered if this was how the other girls in high school were, the ones that babbled in front of their lockers about their boyfriends and the music they liked. Maybe they were all just pretending to be buddy-buddy, when really they knew nothing about each other.

Sara's eyes opened wide. " That's why you didn't date? I totally thought it was because you were some kind of freak."

On a scale of one to ten, Sara definitely scored an eleven on the Tact-O-Meter. I don't know how I could have been intimidated by her before. I shrugged. "That's what a lot of people say who don't know me. Their loss."

The awed look on Sara's face was worth a million bucks. The feeling I had pulsing through my veins was worth a million more.

And then Freckle Freak came into the shop, and my two million bucks went down the toilet.

Again, he was perfect and preppy, the collar turned up on his layered polo shirt and fingers linked in the pockets of his perfectly tailored khaki shorts, revealing half a dozen leather bands knotted around his wrist.

There was one big difference from when I'd seen him before, though--this time, I could tell he was a faerie. It wasn't the sharp herbal scent that accompanied him into the store. Rather, he had the same kind of mind-bending perfection as Eleanor, which I was beginning to think was the mark of a faerie. It wasn't that he was beautiful, though he was--it was the way the beauty hurt to look at. Also, he glowed from within, healthy and warm, though the fluorescent lights of the shop and the storm-light outside washed all the color out of my face and Sara's. How could I have ever mistaken him for human?

When he put his hands up on the counter and smiled at us, I saw the dull glint of a tore under his left sleeve. Sara discreetly tugged up her apron and slid down the counter toward him. "What can I get for you?"

Freckle Freak looked from Sara to me and back again. "I don't know. Everything looks so delicious." Sara's mouth quirked; I stayed where I was, my skin crawling. Just beneath the surface of my own perceptions, I could sense Luke's memories of Freckle Freak churning, threatening to break through.

"Well, you can take a minute to decide," Sara said, gesturing to the empty store. "No hurry."

He pushed off the counter, running his fingers on the edge of the display glass, ceaselessly moving as he had the last time I encountered him. I watched his fingers jerk back from a metal strip on the display, and then return to their lazy path along the glass as if nothing had happened.

In my head, Luke's memories flickered dimly: Freak driving a herd of yearling cattle into a river, laughing as their wide eyes disappeared into the unexpectedly deep water. Freak circling Luke as Luke held three iron nails in a white, knuckled hand. Freak running his hand over the bloody skin of a terrified looking girl, the knots of the leather bands on his wrist dragging tracks across her. I gritted my teeth, wanting to forget what I'd seen.

"So hard to choose," he said softly, smiling slowly at Sara. "Can I get more than one if I can't decide?"

Sara glanced at me and laughed. "Are we still talking about ice cream here?"

"Were we ever?" Freckle Freak leaned toward Sara, his tongue flicking on the edge of perfect lips. I had my necklace, but there was nothing to keep him from Sara.

I couldn't believe I was going to have to protect the skank from him. I joined her, my arm pressed against hers, and said firmly, "I think you ought to pick a flavor--of ice cream--or get lost."

To my surprise, Sara didn't protest, but moved subtly backward, away from him. Maybe even she had her limits. Maybe even the most innocent of sheep could smell a wolf if it stank enough.

Freckle Freak made a startlingly high leap onto the counter with surprising grace, and behind me, Sara made a soft noise. He swung his legs over and dangled them on our side of the counter. I stepped out of reach of his legs, and he clucked. "Oh, don't be like that. I just thought Luke might share his playthings." He grinned at me, hungrily, and pointed to the key around my neck.

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