Page 52 of Spring's Arcana
Nat flinched again. The strength ran out of her legs; she tilted sideways, collapsing against a locked metal cabinet. Getting as far away as possible from that… thatcold,was absolutely necessary.
“Yes,” the woman said, and a faint curve touched her thin, livid mouth. “Did you have fun on the swings, honey?”
The clerk smiled, a dopey, dizzy, beautiful grin. His entire body relaxed, and a sharp powerful stink filled the tiny space behind the orange counter and the open register. Nat let out a soft inarticulate sound. Small replies whispered in the store aisles—crackle of plastic, a baritone humming, a soft slithering step as Dima selected snacks.
“There.” The woman turned her head slightly, that fever-stricken gaze resting lightly on Nat. “It wouldn’t have changed anything, you know. It was his time.”
“You.” Nat’s mouth was desert-dry. Her arms and legs were quivering water. “You’re…”
“Yep.” She straightened, looking down at the body. “It wasn’t a bad life. He loved his mother.”
“Wait.” The words tangled in Nat’s throat. “Wait. You can’t just—”
“You want to know about your own mother, don’t you? Sorry, baby. Even another power can’t unloose my lips, though night and day my doors stand open.” The smile remained, terrible in its infinite kindness married to utter indifference. “For what it’s worth, though, we’re all watching very closely.” She turned and stepped over Nat’s legs, a high, balletic motion; her bare foot landed with soft authority and she halted, looking back over her shoulder.
“You keep sending me gifts,” she continued. Her head twitched for a moment on her long, supple neck, and the shiver ran all theway through, down to her soft bare toes. “You know I haven’t returned a single one, dearest.”
Then she was gone, gliding through the burst-open door into the snow. Nat, her fingers tingling-numb, stared after her in disbelief.
“Nice lady.” Dmitri stepped into view, his arms full of brightly packaged junk food. “You wanna get me a bag? Lot of stuff here.”
Oh, my God. “How can you?” she whispered. The stink was awful, titanic, it was like an open toilet in Grand Central after the drunks had come through—and she knew, without knowing quitehowshe did, that it was normal. All the sphincters relaxed when… when you…
That’s going to happen to my Mama.Bile burned the back of her throat. Of course Mom wanted to live.
Everyone did. If Nat could bring back something that would fix her beautiful, demanding mother she might be able to make up for the crime of being born, of costing cash every time she outgrew her clothes, of intruding on an important life.
And maybe, just maybe, Nat could move out on her own, find out what the hell this divinity bullshit was all about, and go to college. It sounded good.
It soundedgreat. But her hands were full of blood.
“It was quick.” Dmitri regarded her solemnly. “Boy was lucky. He got to look at you while he was going, too. Think that happens a lot? Now be a good littlezaikaand hand me a bag, will you?”
She made it outside before she vomited, a thin stream of yellowish leftover coffee that burned on the way out. It splashed accumulating snow, and Nat went to her knees, the fluffy white warm as a tropical beach after the terrible, devouring cold the black-clad barefoot woman carried with her.
Back in the car, the engine purring and her mouth sour, Nat scrubbed her palms against her damp jeans. There was no trace of blood; Dmitri had simply glanced at her hands,tut-tuttedlike Leo when she came home with her school uniform torn, and the streaks of clotting, darkening crimson fled into invisibility.
Maybe he simply liked being in last night’s dirty suit, the way Nat had used a big boxy sage-colored cardigan all through middle school. She’d worn that sweater almost to pieces, rain or shine.
Sometimes, you just needed some armor.
The gangster cracked a bottle of radioactive-green Mountain Dew and took a long hit as the black car reached the freeway again. “Needs vodka,” he commented, and merged without checking his blind spot or using his blinker. The snarling hood ornament probably warned all other traffic out of the way.
There wasn’t enough air in the car. Nat rolled her window halfway down, ignoring the rushing wind and staring at whirling snow. The tires reached through fresh flakes and old ice, chewing hard, and she wondered vaguely what others must think of a low-slung sports car without chains slithering through gaps left by more cautious drivers.
Did they even see this vehicle? The fringe of the storm had caught up with them, but it didn’t seem to matter.
Nothing did.
“I got all good stuff.” Dmitri tucked the soda bottle securely in his lap and rustled the plastic bag on the armrest between them, its sides bulging with junk food. “Corn chips, cheese curls, potato chips, Red Hots, Red Vines, Snickers, circus peanuts, Mike-Ikes, grape gum, Milk Duds—”
Her mouth moved slightly. She couldn’t force the words out.
“What? Can’t hear you. Roll up the window,zaika.”
Fuck you. Nat forced her ribs to expand, took a deep breath. “You could have stopped him,” she managed, a thin thread of sound over rushing, snow-freighted wind. “You could have.”
“What?”
