Page 41 of The Salt-Black Tree
“Sit down.” Apparently mollified, Georgia turned away from the sink. Both her strong, thin hands were now full of lambent yellowish glasses. She indicated the table with an irritable little motion, and Nat hurried to obey. “What are you here for?”
She almost answeredI don’t know,but realized just in time that was a lie. Nat accepted one of the glasses, now heavy-full of liquid; condensation was cold on its slick sides. “To ask you where the salt-black tree is. And to see what else I can find out.”
“Ah.” Georgia nodded, pulled out one of the stools with adragging screech, and settled on it with a quick, birdlike movement, her bony hips twitching. “You want your mama to die, girl?”
How the fuck could she answer that? Nat took a deep breath, pulling the other stool from its home. Thankfully, it didn’t scream at her, and she found the words she wanted were available after all. “I want to survive.”
“Not quite an answer.”
“I love her.” Nat hitched a hip carefully onto the seat, observing a prudent distance from the old woman. “But…” Her throat threatened to close, and that buzzing in her chest mounted. “I think…” All she could produce was a strangled whisper. “I think I hate her too.”
Saying it was terrifying, so she bolted half the vodka in the condensation-greased glass.
It was indeed cold, just this side of freezing, and it went down easy. It exploded in her chest, next to that strange mounting vibration, and her eyes watered as if she was about to cry.
But not nearly enough. It wasn’t tears, and it wasn’t the alcohol. It was something in between.
All this time, she’d been so frightened of Dmitri. He was scary, sure, but nothing compared to this.
“So youcantell the truth.” Georgia snorted, took a hit off her own glass. Whatever was in it was sticky, and glowed rubescent. “They try to beat it out of you, don’t they. After a while you stop fighting back.”
Was that what happened to you?Nat didn’t think asking would get her anything good. “Or you move out to the desert.”
“If you have to. One way…” Georgia shook her iron-colored head, her hair settling into slight twitches instead of that nauseating, hypnotic dry writhing. Her eyes were very bright. “Or another.”
There didn’t seem to be much to say, so Nat stared into the remaining vodka. The cut-paper shadows probably wouldn’t dareto step into this woman’s yard, but this definitely wasn’t a place to hide.
Georgia didn’t seem to like guests very much.
“Each one of us has to learn,” the old woman finally said, softly. She studied her own drink like it held the secrets of the universe, and who knew? Maybe it did. “You think it’s pleasant, being what we are? Power’s got to be paid for. Some of us think we control things, but we’rein service, and don’t you forget it. Even the Eternal, even that Cold Bitch herself. If you can’t do the job, get out of the way and let someone else.”
“Like my mother.” Nat wondered what the greenish, barefoot Cold Lady would say to this woman; she also wondered if Georgia would scare even Dmitri Konets into behaving.
“If you want.” Georgia made a slight, shrugging motion; clearly, she didn’t care either way. The old woman cast a very dark shadow on rounded tiles; Nat’s own held tiny golden sparkles at the edges. “Some day you might find yourself dragged to another shore by mortals. What wouldyouchoose?”
“I don’t know.” Nat suppressed a flinch—even truth could feel guilty, sometimes. If she had some of Mom’s stubbornness, it was a good thing, right? Obstinacy had brought her this far; it had dealt with Dmitri and even forced a galloping-black motorcycle-horse to bring her back to Ranger’s. Not to mention everything else. “I hope it would be the right thing.”
“Oh, everyone’s got some idea of the right thing. Usually it’s close to what they won’t admit to wanting.” Georgia rolled her dark, dark eyes, a strangely teenage expression. When she shifted, the stool creaked as if she was much heavier than her slimness looked. “That thief-boy, now, at least he’s honest about what he is.”
Yeah, and I’ll bet he’s fucking furious right now.Nat couldn’t scrape together an ounce of fear at the thought, not while she was sitting here. “Yes. At least.”
“You could learn a lot from that.” The old woman set her glasson the table with a slight, definite click. “Finish your drink, I’ve got painting to do.”
Nat lifted her vodka as politeness demanded, and stopped. Lowered it. “Where do I go next?”
Did a flicker of a smile touch the old woman’s bloodless lips? Perhaps. “Depends on what you want.”
So she was going to make Nat say it. Fine. “The salt-black tree.”I might as well. “I want the Dead God’s Heart.”
If she was being honest, she wanted a lot more. Natlikedthe deep warm sense of well-being, she liked Baby and driving with the windows down. She even liked Spring’s Country, though she couldn’t go back until her mother…
Until her mother was dead. Which might happen sooner or later, but either way Nat had promised to find the jewel for Baba.
And once she held it, what would the gangster god do? Whatcouldhe do to her? It probably couldn’t be worse than being eaten by your own mother, could it?
“Louisiana.” Georgia’s black gaze fastened on Nat’s face, as if the younger woman was a toddler, easily readable. “New Orleans. Look for the woman with the power. She doesn’t like liars either, mind you.”
I’ll try not to be one, then.But for fuck’s sake, couldn’t any of these divine assholes be polite toher,for once? Even Marisol hadn’t saidpleaseeven once. “Thank you.”
