Malus Domestica (73 page)

“Yes,” wheezed Gendreau. She already knew this, but it was nice to get a second opinion, a rational confirmation…or at least, as rational as ‘magic’ could get.

“Cancers are not natural occurrences,” he added. “They are… how shall I put this? …Attempts. Trespasses.”

“Attempts at what?”

“Entry. Something’s trying to use our bodies as doorways.”

Robin’s neck bristled. She stared at the curl of hair nestled inside the watch. “What is it?”

“We don’t know. Ereshkigal? Whatever it is, it’s trying to force its way into the material world…and the teratomas are the closest it can get. Teeth. Hair. Eyes.” His eyes were dark and steely. “It’s trying to use humanity to give birth to itself.”

She closed the watch and slipped it into her pocket. “This wasn’t completely Eduardo’s idea, was it?”

Gendreau shook his head. “No. He only volunteered.”

He took a deep sip of his coffee and placed it kindly back on the table with both hands, in a meditative fashion. “Consider the watch your enlistment bonus. If you’ll join us. You’ve got the experience. You’ve got the power—”

“The po-
werrrrrr!”
sang Lucas, strumming an air guitar.

“—And if you’ll accept my proposal, I can guarantee you that the warrants you’ve racked up in your adventures the past couple of years will …shall we say, get lost in red tape.”

“Red taa-
aape!”
Lucas power-chorded.

The curandero gave him a disapproving scowl and continued.

“There are arson and murder cold cases out there, Robin. Breaking and entering charges floating in the legalsphere. Detectives still looking for a Caucasian woman in her late teens, early twenties. You’re rocketing toward five million YouTube subscribers. You used to
never
use real names in your videos—your operation is going to shake to pieces because you’re getting cocky. How long do you think it’s going to be before the wrong person finds out about your videos and puts two and two together? We can
protect
you.”

Robin sighed, feeling stupid and reckless. He had a point. Did she think she was going to be invisible forever? Did she think the goodwill of that handful of beat cops that lavished secret praise on her videos and offered allegiance in her page comments would continue into perpetuity?

Could she even be certain that they would still be on her side if they found out that the incidents in her videos were real?

“I don’t do well with leashes.”

“Trust me, it will be a long one.” Gendreau gave her an earnest smile. “You will get to keep your videos, your van, your life … for the most part. You saved mine. I will do everything in my power to make sure yours stays intact and that the worst analysis you’ll have to endure is a cheek swab.”

She swallowed, biting the inside of her cheek, looking at a tin sign nailed to the kitchen wall. D
RINK
C
OFFEE
! D
O
S
TUPID
T
HINGS
F
ASTER
!

“Can I have a couple days to think about it?”

Sara smiled. “And talk to Lover-Boy?”

Robin pulled a hand-towel out of the oven handle and chucked it at her face. Sara juked, but it landed on the table.

“I’m a little star-struck, if you want to know the truth,” said Lucas. “I’m a big fan of your videos. Well, what I’ve seen of them this week, anyway.”

“I uploaded the latest one today as a Halloween special. Almost an hour long. People are going apeshit for it. It’s already got about ten thousand views.”

The front door opened and closed. Kenway came into the kitchen, his keys jingling in his hand. “Looks like I’m missing a sweet party.” He sidled around the crowded table and framed Robin’s face with his big hands, kissing her on the forehead. “Hi you.”

Her heart leapt. “…Hi.”

Gendreau shotgunned the last of his coffee and pushed back his chair, rising.

Kenway started. “Don’t let me run you guys off.”

“Oh, we were just leaving,” said the curandero, with a chastened smile. “I’d like to relax and find a good meal before we head home tomorrow. There’s a Mongolian barbeque restaurant here in town and I’ve heard lovely things about those.” He leaned on his headless cane.

“Happy Halloween, by the way,” said Kenway.

“Happy Halloween,” agreed Robin.

“Happy Halloween,” the three Dog Stars echoed in unison.

“Thank you for the coffee,” Gendreau told Robin, handing her the empty mug. As she reached for it, he locked eyes with her. “…And again, for saving my life.”

She nodded meekly and turned to put the cup in the sink, staring out the window for a brief moment. Collecting herself.

Out front, a white Toyota Sienna waited by the curb, looking like an egg on wheels. Kenway and Robin stood on the front porch and watched the magicians march down the front walk. Sara wedged herself behind the wheel, grunted something about a ‘fucking Oompa-Loompa’, and readjusted the seat.

“You don’t strike me as the minivan type,” Robin told Gendreau.

The curandero paused to emulate sucking on a lemon. “I’m not,” he rasped, tossing his cane in the back with Lucas. “But the rental selection here in Podunk leaves much to be desired. And thank the stars for good insurance, or we’d be
walking
back to Atlanta. Hertz isn’t going to be pleased that the Suburban’s little better than a box of parts now.”

Eduardo scrabbled up into the van and Gendreau slid the side door shut with a
crump.

He turned back to them, one hand tucked into a jacket pocket like a Napoleonic dandy. He tipped the blue velvet top hat, folding himself into the passenger seat. “I await your answer, Miss Martine.”

Robin waved with a half-hearted smile.

The Sienna pulled away and rolled down the street, where it flashed its taillights at the stop sign, turned right, and disappeared.

“What was he talking about, an answer?” asked Kenway.

“Joining their Order thing. They probably want me to be their pet demon-girl or something.” She sat on the front stoop, where the wind tugged and swept at her silky black wig. “Where have
you
been all day?”

“I got you a surprise.”

“A
what?”
Robin’s face burned. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

“What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

She screwed up her face. “How
much
was it?”

“Some dollars.”

She got up and slap-pushed him in the chest. “That’s not a real answer, Hammer Boy.”

He laughed and snagged her witch-gown, pulling her in and crushing her against him, and suddenly she was intoxicated by him, his cologne (was he even wearing it? she wasn’t sure) making her dizzy. The wig tumbled down her back as he lifted her face and gave her a deep kiss.

Her hands balled into fists of their own accord, scrunching his shirt.

He broke away, then kissed her several more times all over her cheeks and forehead, slow and methodical. His beard was like being blessed with a loofah. “Come on,” he told her, heading into the house to fetch Wayne. “We’ll go check out your surprise.”

46

T
HEY
DROVE
SLOWLY
UP
Broad in Kenway’s Chevy. Even after two days, the street was still littered with a rock-concert aftermath of trash and cast-off clothing. The city had towed away Doc Gendreau’s overturned Suburban and the water company capped the broken fire hydrant outlet, but the amount of debris in the road was… well, the word “excessive” came to mind. Many of the shopfronts near the central plaza were busted out, leaving jagged-toothed mouths plundered of their contents.

Nobody could give the cops a straight answer as to why a riot had broken out in uptown Blackfield. But the prevailing theory, going on hearsay and conjecture, was that the car accident that kicked it off—the garbage truck running a red light and slamming into the Suburban—started with bystanders pulling the driver of the garbage truck out with the intent of beating him to death and it escalated through mob mentality and pure panic into a full-fledged riot.

They never learned who the driver of the truck actually was, or how he’d even gotten his hands on it…but the mutilated body of a man named Roy Euchiss (brother of renowned shitheel Owen Euchiss) had been found in the wreckage of Fisher Ellis’s comic book shop, beaten to death. The acid damage to his skin seemed to corroborate Joel Ellis’s story of what happened Sunday, and the fact that Michael DePalatis’s (partner of renowned shitheel Owen Euchiss) body was found with Joel’s stolen car seemed to link the brothers as accomplices.

The cops were still processing his fingerprints against prints found in Black Velvet, but Robin was sure they were eventually going to agree that the guy with the smashed face was the one and only Serpent that had been sending them creepy, taunting letters for the last couple of years.

She also had the feeling that the twin brothers might have even been sharing the Serpent name from time to time.

A deep sigh blew from the little boy beside her.

Robin took Wayne’s hand and leaned over, looking into his eyes.
We’ll find him.
The look of stony misery on his face broke her heart.

Kenway pulled into angle parking in front of his art shop, put the truck in gear, and turned it off.

He sat there so long that even Wayne looked over at him.

“You okay?” asked Robin.

“I sold the shop,” said Kenway. One of his big hands came up and he scraped an eye with the heel of his hand.

She saw his face twist up and that was all it took to compel her from the truck and around to his side. She opened the driver door and took his arm, and Kenway turned in his seat, dropping his face into his hands. He started crying into them,
urgently,
a great shuddering-shaking that elicited deep, hitching gasps,
hup-hup-hup-hup-hup.

Robin took his wrists. “Hey! What’s wrong?”

“I sold the shop, Robin,” he said between sobs. He let her pry his hands down. His face had turned a livid red and his eyes were bloodshot. Sitting sideways had tugged the cuff of his left pants leg up and the prosthetic foot clanked against the rail under his seat. “I sold it early this afternoon over
hup-hup-hup
lunch.”

“I can’t say that was the best of ideas,” she said, “but why are you crying?”

“Because I’m letting him down again.”

“Who? Let—”

Oh.
Ohhhh.

She had figured it out, but she didn’t need to, because he said, “Hendry. Chris. My old buddy.”

“…Ah.”

“I made breakfast and I let him d—” He cut himself off, and pain flashed across his face. “…I let him down, and now I’m sellin the shop and leavin town.” With the last word, anguish tightened inside him and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heel of his fist to his forehead.

Fresh tears rolled into his mustache. “I’m leavin, man…and it’s like he’s dead all over again.”

Just seeing this big man crying his eyes out made Robin want to bawl too. She pushed his hair out of his face with her fingers and held his face. Veins thumped in his temples. “You’re not letting him down, babe,” she told him, her own eyes burning, “you’re letting him go. You’re lettin him go
on.
He’s
letting
you
go.”

He shook his head, his fist still jammed against his eyebrow.

Wayne undid his seatbelt and got up on his knees, putting a hand on Kenway’s back. She caught his eyes over the vet’s shoulder and they traded a concerned vibe.

She let him cry it out for a little while.

“I did it because I needed to,” he said.

“You did,” she agreed.

“I need to quit…quit kicking around this town—”

“Quit kicking
yourself.”

He nodded. “That too.”

“You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for what he did.” For a change, she took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. “You did what you could, and he did what he felt like he had to do. None of that was on you. Okay?”

Kenway nodded, scrubbing the corners of his eyes with the collar of his shirt.

By now it was completely dark, and bright sharp stars glittered through holes in the gray tent of the sky. The Halloween night air was brisk and drafted down the street in damp, heavy canvas waves. A block down the street, a troupe of college-age trick-or-treaters walked by on their way to some party or other, screaming and laughing.

Robin got her jacket out of the truck and put it on against the chill of the night’s breeze. The hoodie looked anachronistic on top of the witch-gown.

When the knot in his chest finally loosened, Kenway dug in the door pocket for a handful of napkins and mopped his face with them. A sodium vapor streetlight behind them cast a dismal, rust-orange light over the scene.

“I’m probably ruinin your surprise, ain’t I?” he asked, and blew his nose.

Robin couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, no, not at all.”

She stepped back to let him get out and he wadded the napkins into a ball, stuffing them into his pocket. Wayne got out and he shut the door.

“Come on,” said Kenway, taking a shuddery breath. Heat lightning flickered silently across the pendulous clouds.

They followed him down the block to the little side parking lot reserved for the dentist’s office and the Mexican restaurant. Robin’s C
ONLIN
P
LUMBING
van was no longer there—it was parked against the curb next to Joel’s house—but parked in the slot where it had been was now a motorhome.

“Oh my God,” said Robin, venturing closer. “You did not.”

“1974 Winnebago Brave. I know a guy… he collects stuff like this. You should see his property, he lives on the road goin south out of town, across from the Methodist church. Old VW bugs all over the freaking place.”

The Brave was one of the ugliest, boxiest things she’d ever seen. It resembled an ice cream truck, with a racing stripe down the side that bobbled near the front fender to form a heartbeat W. Kenway unlocked the door and opened it, and she climbed a tiny set of metal stairs into a wonderland of wood paneling. The inside of the motorhome was a cross between a treehouse and an armoire.