Page 84 of Spring's Arcana
Maybe she was watching. Waiting to see what he’d do.
So just go, please.
Stupid, cringing girl. Stupid Dima, offering something for free. Or maybe she was a wise little girl, knowing there was a price for everything.
Even for dreaming.
His lip lifted again as he streaked onto the interstate, frozen droplets hammering the windshield, and on a far hill a flash of drenched starlight showed a dim shape standing still, back turned to the wind. A man on a horse, his hat pulled low and his fringed jacket running with rain, the big black horse with its hellfire eyes flicking its fine plumed tail. Holding the high ground, watching the flocks of cars move through the secret veins of night. And in every icy pellet striking the car there was a fingertip-scratch of an iron-haired beldam, an impatient drumming.
Others were watching, too. Dima’s smile stretched, turned lipless. The girl might well scream if she saw him now, the least attractive of his faces turning savage as he flickered through his many forms, jammed the accelerator to the floor, and bit the glass neck of the bottle, crunching slivers between his teeth before taking another hit from a cold, burning mouth as sharp as his own.
DANGEROUS GIRL
Sleet and restless almost-snow rattled in soft waves against the windows while Ranger made hot chocolate in a dented tin saucepan and Nat read the Scrabble rules. They played for hours at a kitchen table covered with yellow gingham cloth; Nat took off her peacoat, hanging it on the back of a wooden chair while her backpack rested at her feet. The house was roomy enough, an open floor plan and big bluff wooden furniture grazing on mellow hardwood starred with antique throw rugs.
Another fire pop-crackled in the living room’s big stone fireplace, and sometime past midnight he pointed her down a hallway.
“Couple rooms and a bath, sleep where you like.” He paused, a shadow of stubble growing on his ebon cheeks. “All the doors lock, ma’am. I’ll be on t’other side of the house, unless I go out.”
A yawn teased at Nat’s throat; she denied it. “Did we just have to wait for daylight?”
“You looked like you could use some real sleep.” His smile was slow and conspiratorial. “And maybe it’ll do that horsethief good to roam the highway and think about things a bit. He’s dangerous, but you ain’t no slouch yourself.”
“How many points wouldhorsethiefget me?” Nat shook her head. It felt good to smile, as if he was a friend. “I’m not dangerous, though.”
“As many points as you want, ma’am. Ain’t been beat like that since the Scribe came through last; good thing I’m not a sore loser.”
“Good thing.” Nat found herself grinning like an idiot, and sheoffered her hand once more, unsure of the etiquette. “Thanks. I mean, I just… thank you.”
He shook gravely, his broad pinkish palm warm and sure against hers. “Wasn’t what you were expecting?”
“Not really?” She might have winced, but it was impossible to doubt his calm. “Everything so far’s been awful.”
“I’ll bet.” He nodded, examining her face, and let go, stepping back. “But, little Nat, youaredangerous. Want to know why?”
“Certainly.” Her other arm was full of her peacoat and backpack; she shifted them as she leaned against the wall. “If you can tell me.”
“Springtime.” He scratched at his forehead again; a faint indentation showed skin remembering where his hat rested. “Prettiest bit of the year, everyone says. New green, new life everywhere, sap risin’ and the foals friskin’. But spring’s also when a man gets tempted to thinkin’ he can be somethin’ he ain’t. And say a girl comes by—a pretty girl, almost a woman, with that flash in her eye and that certain way of talkin’, and a man with black and bloody hands starts thinkin’ he can be somethin’ else.”
Was he talking about Dmitri, or himself? Or Leo? Or any guy? “Can’t you?” She kept coming back to that same essential question. “Or, you know, can divinities? Be something else?”
“Maybe, darlin’. With enough reason, I reckon anyone can. But what’s enough?” Ranger shrugged, easily. “You remember that, dealin’ with that horsethief. He got his temper, and it’s a foul one. But you ain’t got to put up with it.”
It would be nice not to, yeah. “It’s just for a little while.” Nat hugged her coat. “Did you play Scrabble with Mom?”
“Oh hell no, pardon my French, ma’am. Maria never slowed down long enough for that. Don’t take it wrong, but I like you better. Good night, Nat.”
“Good night, sir.” A weight she hadn’t even known was still present fled Nat’s shoulders.
I like you better.There was a first time for everything.
She couldn’t stop smiling while she brushed her teeth—did divinities get cavities?—in a painfully clean bathroom where themirror was losing its silver. The good feeling didn’t fade when she carefully turned back the pine-log bed with a red checkered counterpane in the smallest bedroom at the end of the hall, though she did make sure the door locked, just as he said it would. She curled up under blankets, her head on a cloud-soft pillow, breathing in a ghost of someone else’s fabric softener, and might have listened more to the freezing, hissing, pouring rain.
She wasn’t really tired. Not physically.
But sleep came like a sinkhole suddenly swallowing a busy street; Nat Drozdova dreamed of galloping hooves, rolling grassland, and thunder sweeping before storms that filled gullies with foaming water.
And that wasn’t all.
