Page 6 of The Salt-Black Tree
Snow stacked at the edge of the windshield wipers’ arcs, frozen white mini-peaks toppled as the wind veered or the car bounced. The engine-beast hummed, happy to be running again though it disliked not using its full speed.
“Friendly wants your heart, too.” Little Drozdova surprised him once more; she sounded amazingly steady, all things considered. “How often do divinities eat each other?”
“How often there a plane crash? Safer than driving, but rubes afraid to get on the fuckin’ plane.” Dima considered manifesting a bottle of mortal alcohol in the car; the only thing he had right now was his flask. At least the smoke kept her scent corralled.
Walking into Baba’s office, she’d smelled entirely like prey. Now his littledevotchkawas stronger, blooming bright and sure, petals stretching but not fully unfurled. His mouth still watered, and he suspected it would for a long while yet.
Hunger was an old friend, in all its different shades and forms. It could also be a tool, wielded sharp and swift; what else induced the rubes to his worship? They wanted, and he provided a way.
“But my…” She paused. “ButMariadidn’t eat yours. Even though she knew this country would make her sick.”
Bright little girl. Was she putting together the pieces?She’s my mother,Nat had hissed at him.Can you just not?
Or was she beginning to believe his hinting? Dima couldn’t quite decide whether he liked the prospect. “Dead God’s Heart not gonna do your dear mamma any good,zaika moya. Like cow eating lamb instead of grass.”
“But Friendly’s different.” Another shy, sipping, distrustful glance, as if she expected him to snap at her. “Because he’s a cop and you’re…”
“Robber? We play that game,da.” Deadly serious, like all amusements.
“Why didn’t de Winter eat me? Or Maria?”
“Oh, no.” He had to laugh, a fox-bark freighted with heavy scented smoke. Explaining how water was wet and the sky blue normally irritated him, but they had a long drive before them, and at least she wasn’t ignoring nasty old Dima. “Baba eat you, she have to hive off a new Springtime. Learned her lesson in the old country, having to change shape with the weather instead of when she like to.” His ears tingled, catching the subtlest of shifts—twice now,Mariainstead ofMom.
Perhaps the little girlhadfigured out a thing or two. Loyalty bred blindness; so did its opposite. Much better to stick to business, and stealing, of course, was best of all.
“Hive off.” Nat shuddered again, a delicate movement. The car took no notice, a hard shell around tiny, tender cargo. Some of his nephews transported goods, and no doubt skimmed a little off the top as everyone had to in order to survive. “That sounds unpleasant.”
“Lot worse in the world,devotchka.” Another truth nobody would ever thank Konets for. They blamed him, as if he was the disease instead of a mere symptom.
“Yeah.” She settled her backpack more comfortably. Whatever was inside made his hands itch all the way to his wrists. “I’m beginning to find that out.”
You have seen nothing yet, my little doll.But there was no point in saying as much. He decided they could go a bit faster, and the car’s thrumming dropped a few notes. “Nice things too. You like cheeseburger? I know good place, it’s on the way.”
The rubes would not quite see his car at this speed. They would sense his passage—a chill on the nape, an angry subsonic buzz—and the more sensitive among them might hear distant smoke-roughened laughter, or perform some atavistic, propitiating action without knowing why. Knocking on wood, lighting a candle, throwing salt over a shoulder, or simply pulling overand waiting until the cold current bulging under the skin of the world subsided were all time-honored ways of avoiding notice.
Or attracting it. Sometimes an entire mortal gathering would turn silent while a divinity passed, a herd sensing predatory proximity.
“Like your brother’s biker bar?” The girl’s tone was dry as Dima’s sensitive fingertips. She was probably raising an eyebrow like Baba herself.
The Drozdova was doing very well indeed. A thief could feel grudging respect for bravery from one not of their kin; it wasn’t against any rule.
“Oh, no. This a purely social call.” More laughter bubbled under Dmitri’s breastbone, along with a faint gurgling. He wasn’t precisely hungry, not for physical sustenance.
But maybe he should show her a pleasure or two. After all, Baba was attending to their pursuers tonight, and if you were passing by Deadwood, it was silly not to stop for a bite.
ARCANA
Trapped in a metal cabin traveling at unspeakable speed through a South Dakota snowstorm, bouncing gently as if the tires weren’t touching pavement, wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened to her in the past few days.
In retrospect, Nat could see all this was probably inevitable. What normal kid was greeted by talking cats, not to mention the birds, dogs, and even the high piping voices of rats intoninggood morning, little Drozdova? What normal child found a circle of softly singing mushrooms under a tree’s skirts in an overgrown bit of playground; what normal mother smelled like ozone when she was angry or had a front gate that opened on its own as she drew close? Of course everyone considered their own upbringing ho-hum and humdrum no matter how haunting or horrific, until they grew up a bit and could compare notes.
Of course Nat Drozdova would end up here. Of-fucking-course.
Dmitri looked very pleased, all things considered, and the cut on his cheek now just a thin, shrinking line. Nat was just busy thanking her stars she didn’t get carsick. Of course, the sisters at school would have said she should thank God, the Virgin, and maybe some saints to top it all off—wouldn’t want anyone to feel left out.
Why had Mom sent her toCatholicschool? Did nuns keep the hungry shadows away?
Dmitri kept smoking, puffing like a steam engine; every time Nat’s shoulders relaxed slightly and she closed her eyes, absorbing the heat blasting from the car’s vents, the images from the Well returned and she jolted back into stinging alertness.
