The Hallowed Ones (24 page)

“Actually, I don’t remember the pain.”

“You
must
have been drunk.”

He turned in the light, showed me a mark on his chest, right above his heart. “This one hurt more. I was sober for that one.”

“I was going to suggest that you spend a lot of the time drunk,” I said dryly.

This looked like a stylized cross, burned black. I peered at it. “It’s a brand,” I said, in startlement. I’d seen enough of those on cattle. I reached out to touch it in spite of myself, feeling uneven skin.

“Yeah. It’s what the hipsters called scarification. You basically let a couple of buddies hold you down while some tattoo- covered sadist who calls himself an artist drops a red-hot brand on you.”

I glanced up at him. “Are you nuts?”

“Eh. Off and on.”

I stared at the symbol. It seemed both familiar and foreign. “And what does this one mean?”

“It’s an ankh. The Egyptian symbol of eternal life.”

“Strange tattoo for a man who believes he’s about to be dead.” I pulled back my hand.

“Hey, you buy into the eternal life thing too. Just in heaven.”

“Maybe. But we don’t have to be branded to obtain it.”

“I think I’d rather be branded than submit to some of the things that you have to.” He said this without spite, just a soft statement of fact. “I’m not strong enough to do that.”

I wrapped my arms around my knees. I had nothing to say to that. I didn’t feel strong. I felt small and weak and not nearly worldly enough to face what was happening.

Alex reached out, pushed a tendril of loose hair behind my ear. His touch was light as a feather. Not the clumsy fingers that I was accustomed to with Elijah. I shivered.

“You’re cold,” he said automatically. He unfolded himself and stood. “I’ll get you a blanket . . . see if I can haul one out from beneath the dog.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I should check on Sunny.”

I followed him and the bobbing beam of the flashlight to the back paddock, Copper at my side. The flashlight’s batteries were failing, and the glow was more of a dull ember, barely enough to see by.

Sunny was stretched out on one of her blankets and looked up when she saw me. I knelt beside her, stroking her belly. I could feel the puppies moving within her, restless. I kissed her behind the ear.

“She’ll have her litter soon,” I said. “Maybe in the next couple of days.”

“Um. I don’t know anything about puppies,” Alex said. That was the first uncertain note I’d ever heard in his voice.

“I’ll handle it. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good.” He dropped a blanket over me that smelled like dog, tucked it up under my chin. There was a peculiar tenderness in that gesture.

He dug in his bundle of clothes for a shirt. I was a bit sorry to see him put it on. I was fascinated by the marks he’d put on his flesh . . . and more than a little fascinated by the flesh itself. Blushing, I turned away.

“Will they notice you’re gone?” he asked.

“Probably not until morning,” I said.

“At the risk of sounding incredibly forward, I think that you should stay here until the sun rises.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he leaned forward and put his finger to my lips. My lips buzzed, and I forgot what I was going to say.

“Look, I’m not really concerned about your standards of decency. I’m more concerned about your safety.”

“I have the
Himmelsbrief,
” I said in a small voice against his finger, but I didn’t relish the idea of running the vampire gauntlet again.

“You mean you have it until the vamps glamour you into throwing it on the ground. Then you’re a midnight snack. Here you’re under the Hex sign.” He withdrew his hand, settled up against a wall with his arms across his chest. “As sad as it makes me to say it, you’re probably safer with me.”

“I’m quite sure that you say that to anything in a skirt,” I retorted primly.

“Historically, that’s probably accurate,” he admitted. “But I’m less of a monster than what’s out there.”

The flashlight winked out. I heard Alex scrape around in the straw to slap it twice, but it remained dark.

“Great,” he muttered.

My eyes adjusted slowly. Streamers of moonlight filtered in through the chinks in the boards. It wasn’t pitch-black, but I was accustomed to darkness. The Plain folk didn’t sleep with night-lights.

Alex leaned back up against the far wall of the paddock. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

I stood, crossed to the far side of the paddock, and sat down next to Alex. I opened the blanket like a wing. “I’ll share if you promise not to bite.”

He nodded, pulled the blanket around him. Gingerly, he put his arm around my shoulder. He smelled of straw and soap. I could hear his pulse thudding hypnotically in my ear.

And I slept the dreamless sleep of the dead.

“Hey. Wake up.”

“Huh.” I was warm and didn’t want to get out of bed just yet.

“Sun’s rising.”

I blinked. I wasn’t in my bed. I was in the kennel, curled up next to Alex with my head on his chest. His arm was draped over me, his thumb resting lightly on my collarbone.

I was terrified. And I didn’t want to move.

“C’mon, Katie. You’ve got to get back before they notice you’re gone.” Alex’s voice was slurred in sleep. I thought for a moment that he had me confused with Cassia, but he’d called me Katie.

He kissed me on the top of my head.

That scared me. I slipped out from under his arm and the blanket and crawled over to where the dogs lay. Sunny’s head felt warm, as it usually did. I ran my fingers over her sides. No sign of labor yet. But there would be soon. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow.

I turned back to Alex, who’d risen and was folding the blanket. “If she goes into labor before I get back . . .”

“Um, no . . . that’s not gonna happen. I don’t do labor.” Sleepiness gave way to terror on his face. “You have to get back,” he pleaded, cleared his throat. “For the dog.”

I continued, firmly. “If she goes into labor before I get back, don’t panic. This isn’t her first time. Give her water. And watch her. The puppies will come on their own. Give her a couple of minutes to tear off the membranes for each pup. If she doesn’t do it, you have to, or the pup will suffocate.”

“Shit.” Alex watched me with rounded eyes. He was awake now.

“Tie the umbilical cord off and cut it about an inch from the puppy’s belly.”

“Shit,” he repeated. “With what?”

“There are scissors in the tackle box in the front of the barn. Expect about one pup an hour after she’s gone into hard labor.”

“Shit. How many will she have?”

I grinned. The look on his face was worth listening to his swearing. “Usually four.” I stood and patted his sleeve. “You’ve faced the Undead. You can handle this.”

He looked at me skeptically. “Um . . .”

“She does all the work. Just be there for her.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay.”

“Don’t panic,” I repeated.

“Shit.”

I walked to the front of the barn. Alex hauled open the door to the dawn.

The gray of night had given way to a red gash at the horizon. I glanced at him. “Is it safe now?”

He stood with his hands in his pockets, barefoot, shirt open, and hair mussed, blinking into the wan light. “Yeah. As soon as the sun comes up. As long as you stay out of shadows and shade.”

I nodded, ran my fingers through my hair. I pinned it up in a loose roll with the hairpins I had remaining and straightened my apron over the tear in my dress. There was nothing to be done for the lost bonnet, but I hoped to be back before anyone noticed I was gone. I realized then that I looked very guilty. So did Alex. I blushed.

“Hey,” he said.

I half
turned toward him, eager to be on my way and escape this awkwardness.

He caught my hand. “Be careful, will you?”

His fingers meshed in mine. I nodded wordlessly and moved away, pulling against his grip.

But he didn’t let go. He reeled me back in as if I were a fish. With a startled gasp, I stumbled and landed against his chest. A flicker of amusement glittered in his eyes.

He kissed me on my forehead, whispered against my skin. “Be careful, Bonnet.”

He released me. I stumbled backwards, nodded again, and turned to walk the way back home with my heart thundering in my chest.

***

I let myself in the back door, wincing as the screen door banged against my calf. I heard footsteps above me, and I lurched to the cupboards to begin banging around with pots and pans.

My mother descended the stairs, tucking her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. She was always the earliest riser in our family. “Katie. You’re up early.”

I lit the kerosene stove burner with a match. I smiled at her and remembered what Ginger had said about the simplest lie being the best one. “Couldn’t sleep. Would you like some eggs?”

“That would be lovely.” My mother seemed relieved to see me in the kitchen and puttering about in an obedient fashion. I flopped a chunk of lard into the skillet and took some eggs out of the egg basket.

My mother plucked a piece of straw from my dress. I swallowed. My mouth was dry around the half-truth: “I saw Sunny this morning.”

“How big is she?”

I wrapped my arms around an imaginary dog belly the size of a barrel. “Huge. Her temperature hasn’t dropped yet. The puppies could come soon. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Good.” My mother slid into a chair at the table. “About yesterday . . .” she began.

I cracked four eggs, one by one, into the skillet of sizzling lard, waiting for her to continue.

She stared down at her hands, knotted together before her, as if in prayer, working the piece of straw between them. “I know that it’s difficult to understand why the Elders do what they do. But it’s for the best.”

I turned over my shoulder, smiled reassuringly at her. “It’s all right.” As bad as things were, a tiny flicker of something had lit inside me. Hope. Despite the Elders.

I seasoned the eggs with salt and pepper, then scraped them out on two plates with a fork. They were tender and slightly runny, just the way my mother liked them. I took my plate and sat across from her. I was ravenous and rushed through my prayer to get to the eggs.

My mother set her fork down. “I just want you to accept that things are the way they are for a reason. We may not understand it. But we have to do as we’re told.”

I spoke around hot egg in my mouth, not meeting her eyes.
“Gelassenheit.”

“Yes.
Gelassenheit.
” She tapped the piece of straw on the table. “Sometimes I think that your father and I have been too lax with you.”

I looked up in alarm.

She continued. “But then I remember the kinds of freedoms I had at your age. When I was on
Rumspringa,
I was riding a motorcycle.”

My jaw dropped. “You . . . what?”

My parents had told me little of their time Outside, only allowing stories to come in bits and pieces as circumstances warranted.

Her eyes twinkled, and she nodded. “We are not nearly the sticks in the mud that you think. I know your heart, that you are a good girl. You are bright and a hard worker. I have faith that you will eventually come around to what’s best. As we all do, sooner or later.”

My stomach turned, and I pushed the half-eaten plate of eggs away. I forced myself to look my mother in the eye. She seemed in such a perfect state of denial of everything, clinging to her beliefs and the way things used to be. “Thank you, Mother. I will . . . strive to do better.”

“That’s my girl.” She reached across the table to pat my cheek.

“May I go begin my chores?” I asked.

“Yes. And remember to bring more milk and eggs in today,
liewe.
”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And one more thing.”

I looked at her expectantly.

“Bring Elijah some supper today.”

“Yes, Mother.” I bit my tongue so hard it bled. More likely, I’d feed it to the dogs. Or the Outsider.

“You and I will talk later about getting baptized. Your father and I have decided that this is best for you.” The set of her mouth showed that she would brook no argument.

I slid away from the table, scraped the remainder of my plate into the trash. I slipped down to the spring room to wash and retrieve a clean dress from the laundry before I left the house. I reminded myself to put the
Himmelsbrief
in the pocket of my clean dress. Apparently, the
Himmelsbrief
didn’t seem to mind my wavering faith as much as my mother did.

The sun had climbed high enough on the horizon that I could see its full yellow body. I headed due north when I left the house. Not toward the chicken coop, the cows, or the Miller house. But to the Hexenmeister.

Herr Stoltz’s house lay at the farthest northern edge of our settlement. His vegetable garden was overgrown and tangled with thistles, and the shade cast by the nearby forest over his small dwelling lent a palpable chill to the land. The whitewash on the house was speckled with mildew, and sprigs of peppermint grew wild around its foundations. The shade around it made me nervous, as I thought of things that could lurk there. I steeled myself, reasoning that the Hexenmeister’s property would be better protected than ours.

As children, we avoided this place. The Hexenmeister was a bit frightening. He’d never done anything to harm anyone, but we feared the way he talked to himself and watched how the adults gave him a wide berth. But I needed him now.

I screwed up my courage and knocked at the door. It echoed back through the rooms of the house.

I waited and knocked again, more insistently.

Eventually, I heard shuffling and the thump of a cane against the floor. The door opened, and the Hexenmeister blinked dazedly at me. Well, not at me . . . He looked beyond me at the sky.

“Oh, it’s sunrise already. Good thing.”

I swallowed hard. “Herr Stoltz, may I speak with you?”

He stepped aside to let me in. I noted that the collar on his shirt was wrinkled and bore paint stains. He smelled like he needed a bath.

I had never been inside the Hexenmeister’s house. Whenever it had been his turn to host church, he always did so from the yard. I could see why.