CHAPTER FIFTEEN
No more my little song comes back;
And now of nights I lay
My head on down, to watch the black
And wait the unfailing gray.
Oh, sad are winter nights, and slow;
And sad's a song that's dumb;
And sad it is to lie and know
Another dawn will come.
Burlie dropped her fist and crumpled to the floor of the Bathatch ballroom at Fisk's feet. "Hunh?" she gasped. He knelt beside her. She didn't notice. The room spun.
"Burlie?"
She had a weight, a black weight with 16 TONS written on the side, planted on her shoulders and her throat hurt. Her every muscle was sore. She shook with exhaustion.
Ahhh, welcome home.
The Scouts were still wandering around. The floating leaf landed. She allowed Fisk to help her up and there was Lydia, staring up with those great big eyes. Burlie's spine snapped straight. "I'm okay." And her parents were there. Nate leaning on his cane, looking like Burlie felt.
He shifted his weight to his good leg and his pain was obvious. "Oh, honey. If I thought I'd be able to get up again I'd have gone to the floor, too," Nate said.
"How did you get here?" Burlie asked.
She realized Thorson was standing next to him. "Fisk brought us all." He snapped his fingers to demonstrate. "Great trick."
"I'm showing off for my new town," Fisk said, his hand still on Burlie's shoulder. She moved away from him.
"Well, I'm impressed," Thorson said.
And now Maeve was furious. "Showing off?" Her hands were on her hips. "Why did you put those weird, old-timey people in there?" she demanded. Fisk turned to look her up and down. His fingers flexed. "They were rude to me. And that bit with 'Dracula' frightened Lydia."
"No, that was cool," Lydia said. "I was just surprised."
Maeve wasn't finished. "What were you thinking?"
"What were you thinking?" Burlie rasped. "Are you crazy or stupid?"
"Burlie!"
"You sent a witch after me? After what happened? You think a little pixie dust and happy thoughts are gonna fix me?" Her hoarse whisper filled the huge, beautiful space. People were turning to stare. Burlie pointed to her head. "My brain's chemistry is off. I'm sick."
"Lower your voice!" Maeve ordered. Nate's eyes were wide. Burlie couldn't tell with what emotion. And she didn't care. Thorson and Fisk just stood there.
Burlie couldn't shout but her hiss bounced all around the ballroom. "You have to give the pills time to work, damn you!"
The word pills made Maeve throw her hands up. "Enough. We're going home. Right now."
"We'll catch the bus home when we're through." With the strength gifted to her by sheer rage Burlie caught Lydia by the arm and marched her out the door.
Let autumn fall on me
Where afield I linger,
Silencing the bird on tree,
Biting the blue finger.
White as meal the frosty field,
Warm the fireside haven,
Not to autumn will I yield,
Not to winter even!
Lydia didn't even make it past the opening scene of Destroy All Monsters. She had energy to burn at the carnival, bouncing from ride to ride and booth to booth. She could barely sit still on the Fancy Mule hayride. And oh! Thorson the Dogman! Lydia had to tell her all about Thorson and her new job watching Lili and the sky was so pretty in that weird place, huh? Did Burlie like Mama's Big Adventure? Wasn't Fisk cool? And look! She ate this brownie there. And now she could eat it again!
She even shared it again. Burlie had to agree that it was the best treat in the world, dense and gooey. Burlie suspected that disliking Thorson had hurt Lydia more than being afraid of him. The relief pouring off the friendly girl at the 'feud' being over was enough to trip a Geiger counter. And now she was friends with a giant viking werewolf with a badge and a gun. The best kind of friend to have.
Japanese monsters just couldn't compare. Lydia's head had landed in her popcorn almost immediately. Snore.
"We can't be related," Burlie whispered as she took off Lydia's cape and gently stuffed her into bed. Scrubbing the temporary tattoos and body paint off could wait until morning.
Burlie couldn't wait for a hot shower herself. She had to be completely clean and comfortable on going to bed or it would take even longer than normal for sleep to come. And 'normal' was usually a miserably long time. Or impossible.
Hack!
"Hairball," Lydia muttered and curled up on her side.
"Hairball," Burlie rasped.
Grateful that Lydia, at least, had benefited from this night's wild work Burlie shut off the movie and went to take her shower. One quick jerk pulled the scarab out of her naval with hardly any loss of skin. She held it in her hand and looked at it for a long time. If she could have mailed it to Anzo she would have. She put it in the soap dish.
She washed her crooked hair. The hot water pounded her aching shoulders but it didn't give her any relief. Drowning in it would, however. Her black paint swirled down the drain.
You have to give the pills time to work.
She'd be a hypocrite if she didn't listen to what she'd thrown at her mother. And, hey, Mama was right about one thing, she wasn't constipated anymore. Progress.
But.
She dried off and brushed her teeth. She threw talcum powder all over her skin and put on a comfortable, oversized t-shirt. Very important steps in her nighttime ritual, no matter how tired she was. She took her night pills and washed them down with cool water from the tap.
She heard a loud voice coming up through the floor. Her aunt Wylie's voice. Burlie paused and listened, genuinely surprised. Wylie had been patient and gracious since her home was invaded but even she had a breaking point. "Poooor Maeve! How you feel is your fault, right? Use your willpower to make yourself happy here, okay?"
"Okay," Burlie said and smiled. Aunt Wylie understood. Burlie knew she would. The voices pitched low and she struggled to hear.
Wylie broke through again. "Grateful for what? Grateful for you trying to rearrange my home and give away my yard?" The back door slammed. It opened again. "The world doesn't revolve around you, princess!" Wylie slammed the door again. "Grateful, my ass. She's crazy."
So, discussion over and Maeve had stormed away? Where did she think she was going?
Burlie came out and was surprised again to see her father sitting on Lydia's bed. He was white to the lips and peeling bits of his youngest's tattoos off with his fingernails. The girl was too zonked out to notice. "I'm hiiiding," he whispered.
She didn't blame him for that. "How did you get up here?" she asked, forgetting that she had decided never to speak to either of her parents again.
"I walked up the steps," Nate said, looking smug despite his pallor. He shot Burlie a look of pure love. "You look like shit."
"So do you." Burlie sat on her own bed and felt her vertebrae settle. It hurt. They watched Lydia sleep. The girl radiated peace and comfort, like a cat curled up on a nice, warm radiator. "How are you going to get back down again?"
"Same way I got up. Carefully. Or I'll sit and slide down. Whatever works." He looked at her for a long moment. "I don't have to tell you what a relief it was to get away from all this. I never imagined how," he waved his hand around, trying to capture the perfect word. "How tiring being in pain is. I sleep like the dead all night and I get up, get myself together, eat breakfast, and then it's time for my nap before I keel over. I'm tired. And I'm tired of being tired. I didn't even realize how far I'd sunk."
"You'll get better," Burlie said. Unlike some people, she wanted to add.
"I will. And wasn't it great? What an amazing break. Fisk could make good money by arranging out-of-body trips for invalids."
Was he joking? No, he looked too pained to joke. "You had fun?" she guessed.
"I did," he grinned. "Even if it did fall apart at the end there. Your imagination is too much, it really is.
Or was it Fisk's imagination? No, I'm sure it was you. But let me tell you..."
Burlie listened. Imagination? Wow, that was flattering, to think that her wasted mind could come up with all that.
As he talked, Burlie realized that he had a second wind. He'd been reminded of all that he'd lost and become inspired. Yes, he even looked stronger. "Fisk said he was going to put the monsters in there but how did you get them on your side? And why did you think up those antique people? Have you been watching old Disney movies again? Pollyanna?"
"I didn't invent anyone. They were already there," Burlie said. "They were the people of Souls who died of the flu in 1918."
Nate rubbed his hands together. "Ghosts again? Were they setting fires?"
"Torches. You saw them."
"Haunting a Halloween decoration?"
"No better place for ghosts."
"Ghosts aren't real," he began and went on but Burlie's attention had wandered away to a small keepsake box carved out of soapstone that she kept beside her bed. Inside was a silver fishing lure. And it didn't get more real than that.
Actually? Yes it did. "I'm going to New York," she decided.
Nate's good mood took an instant hit. "What?"
"I really thought I couldn't go," Burlie said. "I thought New York was for people who had something to offer and I didn't have that anymore. But I'll find a way." Yes, New York, New York, what a wonderful town. She was startled by the left-field suddenness of her decision but, yes! It was right. She would go to New York as she'd always planned. Broadway would be a stab to the heart, maybe literally, but it was being stabbed in New York, damn it, that was the important thing.
If you want a better world, you have to make it.
"If I can make it there," she sang, pointing at a haunted house decoration that had fallen out of Lydia's bucket. "I'll make it anywheeere!"
Nate didn't even notice her attempt at a song. "Please do not run off to the Big City and get killed by muggers and the mafia and the traffic just because your parents had a bad idea," Nate softly said. Burlie was surprised, she thought he'd conveniently forgotten her reaction to her little day trip. "Just because your Mama had a bad idea," he amended, looking around with shifty eyes. "It's all her fault, I wasn't even there."
"You weren't?"
"And I was also injured and high on pain pills so I'm triply not responsible. Is triply a word?"
"It is now," Burlie said and smiled. He'd climbed the stairs. He'd made a heroic effort. She'd consider forgiving him.
He smiled back and peeled the American flag off Lydia's arm. "I am sorry," he said. "I only wanted you to have a good time, for a change."
She forgave him.
The back door slammed again. Maeve was back. Of course.
Nate braced himself on his cane and stood with a groan. "There she is now. I'll give her what for." He would have shaken his cane but he was using it.
"Can you get down okay?" Burlie asked.
"Oh, yeah, down is easier than up for some reason." Burlie still followed him. He spoke the truth. Each step was slow, careful, and painful, but he made it. He looked up at her in triumph and then he moved towards the kitchen where Burlie could hear drawers being slammed. She went back to her room.
She almost had to crawl the last few steps. Would being exhausted be enough to send her straight to sleep? Please, oh, please.
She turned the overhead lights out and Lydia's Wonder Woman night light on. She walked carefully across the room. She pulled back the covers on her twin bed and turned to open the window. Fresh air was important for her bedtime ritual, too. She needed some. She breathed in the night. The soupy humidity was entirely gone (you're welcome, world) and the air was refreshing at last. Sweet, clean oxygen. The stars above shimmered.
They were dimmer than they were in 1918. The modern-day electric lights on the ground were strong competition. Still beautiful, though, and much brighter than they were in Savannah. They reflected in Burlie's eyes as she savored them.
Movement below startled her and she leaned back. It was Fisk. His costume was off and he was in jeans and a sweatshirt. He was walking along the driftwood fence on the property line, staring longingly down at Aunt Wylie's huge back yard. All he had was a strip of rocks and weeds around his house on its tiny plot. Did he really garden?
Burlie wondered if he ever threw a barrier around Well Deserved Rest. Probably not. He probably forgot his promise to Thorson. And he probably still expected Aunt Wylie to give up part of her yard. Probably he ate kittens.
A witch. Thanks, parents. Now she was angry again. She was angry? She'd take it. It was better than nothing. And Burlie had long ago had her fill of nothing. She turned back to her bed and crawled in.
What could she do in New York? She couldn't sing! She could not sing. What did that leave? Secretarial work? Well, that's what Aunt Wylie did until her books began to sell. Could she take up writing? What could she do? Burlie looked around, her eyes adjusting to the dark, despairing already.
And then she saw the arrow. An arrow on a tin sign on Lydia's side of the room. THIS END UP was stamped above an arrow pointing down. It was pointing at a small stack of coloring books and Crayola crayons.
Talk about an obvious sign from the heavens. All right, then. Art. Burlie was good at art. Starving in an artist's loft or garret or whatever held no appeal, though. What then? School. Commercial art. Learn computer animation. Pursue a job in cartoons and the movie industry. Design believable CGI people because somebody had to. And, yes, maybe even start writing. Not murder mysteries, though. Fantasies. Science Fiction. Monster movies!
Just how was she going to pay for it all? She'd find a way. There were scholarships and jobs and things. Bank robbery.
New York.
New York anyway.
She smiled. Her anticipation was weak but it was there.
An artist. Not at all the life she'd dreamed of but definitely a life she could live with.
And at the end of all that mess (she looked at her trinket box that held a silver worm) she would go to an Autumn Fete and see her friends again. Or would Piggsbee keep his promise and visit? Could she help Anzo find his brother? She'd even enjoy taking another swipe at Madame Maxima.
Good plan. All of it.
Right now? Sleep. Please, oh, please. She closed her eyes and visualized peaceful nature scenes. A bright golden haze on the meadow. Heather in the gloaming. Secret islands.
Sometimes it actually worked.
When Burlington finally stepped away from the window Fisk stopped pretending to study the ground. He looked up. Bloody hell, what a debacle. But if it hadn't happened he'd never have learned...a shiver took him. Ghosts! But they couldn't be ghosts. You might as well believe in Bigfoot. But...oh, he'd think about it at length tomorrow. The implications were...he forcefully put it out of his mind.
And realized he was still angry. Maeve McLauren was dangerous. She hadn't lied, no, she'd given him and Thorson the facts as she saw them. "She's such a teen! Moping around all day and all night for no reason. She needs to be snapped out of it. Maybe you can help." No reason? No reason, she'd said. How conveniently she'd forgotten the details.
So now Fisk was the idiot. A complete idiot. Duped by an earnest mother, what an idiot. And not a single question asked. Some investigator.
Oh, and don't forget the sheer embarrassment of being beaten, hands-down beaten, by a powerless fifteen year old. That had been a humbling growth experience, hadn't it? Yes, indeed. He shoved that away for tomorrow, too. But the respect stayed.
He studied Burlie's window. He cocked his head. He couldn't read minds, no witch could, no matter what some claimed, but a little mental effort let him know she was still awake. Awake but still as a stone. Trying to will herself to sleep? With the neurons in her brain misfiring she may as well be trying to will her dark hair blonde.
To sleep, perchance to dream.
That wasn't funny.
Well, that particular struggle
of hers, at least, was ended. Burlie would sleep and sleep well tonight and every night he was capable of making sure of it. She would mend faster.
It was the very least he could do for his wife-to-be.
Mind reading was beyond him but rare, shocking glimpses of the future were not.
It happened on his first day on Linger Lake. He'd been salivating over the neighbor's enormous plot of land, thinking surely he could charm his way into a loan of a few feet, when he spotted one of them walking slowly towards the lake. She had on black jeans and a striped, lavender shirt. Her face long as a mile. Clearly some sort of silly gothic type.
Then everything changed.
She was older, smiling, beautiful and walking towards him up the aisle of St. Barnabas, a bouquet of Autumn roses on her arm. "Do you, Burlington Emilia McLauren, take this man, Fisk Lennon Iping, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do." She was smiling, smiling up at him and the vision ended, leaving a shattered young man behind. The way he'd felt...he'd never felt like that . Never in his life.
And he didn't feel it now. But he would. Someday.
Fisk put a hand over his chest. He pulled the fabric out and looked down his collar. That there weren't three nasty holes in his flesh was a continuing shock. "And you thought this town was going to be dull," he muttered.
He gently swept all that away, too. He had to concentrate.
Fisk looked up at Burlie's window and gathered up the peace of the night. He listened to the small waves of the lake play along the smooth pebbles of the shore. He breathed the cool, fresh air. "Sleep, baby, sleep," he sang and was pained to hear his own tuneless voice. He'd never forget hers. Something truly precious had been stolen from the world there.
Witches.
Bastards.
"Sleep." He lifted a hand in the air as if he were releasing a bird.
Burlie was reduced to counting backwards from a hundred when a soft, relaxing warmth settled over her like a snow of thistle down. Her exhaustion leached away until she was left with nothing but peace. It was a sensation so far from the norm she was almost afraid.
Almost.
She didn't have the strength to commit.
She fell and fell and fell.
And this time she was very glad to go.
Wally Piggsbee III (or IV) let himself into his apartment with a sigh. Why were people so willful? Burlington! Selfish little brat. Well, he wouldn't give up on her. She needed his help. She needed him to give her hope and a reason to live and he needed her to take his choir to the state finals. Who was going to vote against a girl who'd lost her voice? Who was dancing her heart out instead? Nobody! Wally rehearsed the interviews he was going to give to Channel Five. It's so important to reach out to others, especially the broken people. Anything I can do to make them whole again, to make the world a better place, I'll do. And he imagined his gracious acceptance speech as his choir won State. As his choir visted the White House! I just do the best I can with who I have, Mr. President, he would modestly say.
But first things first. He needed to call Hurly Burly's parents to ensure they made their daughter do the right thing. The noble thing. As an apology for flipping him off if nothing else. He hated to have to mention that but they had to know, for Burlie's sake. That sort of behavior couldn't continue. He would point out that he'd forgiven her, though. He didn't bear a grudge. She wouldn't get into trouble at school.
Wally sprawled out on his adult-sized beanbag chair in front of the TV. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hoped the McLaurens were still up. He hated to leave a message. He was a people person. Which was good because...
He wasn't alone.
Every red hair on his freckled arms stood straight up as he listened and listened hard for a repeat of the noise out of place.
He heard the familiar ticks and creaks of his home. He could hear the fridge hum. He could hear the upstairs neighbors laugh at who knew what.
There it was again!
Wally shot to his feet, his eyes bulging. His place was small. There was nowhere to hide. But that was definitely the scrape of a boot heel. He whirled around. No one. Where was it coming from? The phone died in his hand with a gurgling beep. He almost screamed as he dropped it to the floor.
There was another step, right behind him. The heavy tread of a man. It stopped. Wally raised his hands in the air. "Don't hurt me! I don't have any money! I don't have anything!"
"Son?" said a strange voice and Wally almost choked to death as he gasped in fear. "Truer words were never said. Turn around." Wally dropped to the ground and curled up into a quivering ball.
Sheriff Wallace J. Piggsbee stared down at his offspring in disgust. "My girl was being kind. I thought so." He nudged Wally with his toe. "Hey."
"No! Go away! Please don't hurt me!" He flapped his hands.
Piggsbee shuddered. "You and I are going to have a little talk." He glared around at the dingy little hole, at the cowardly blob at his feet. Ninety-two years. This was how his family had turned out? No. Absolutely not. "A great many little talks."
"Steady," Randy cautioned. Ruddy's paddle was covered in cloth. They'd read in the history books that you could muffle the sound of the water sloshing as you rowed if you wrapped your paddle with a woman's bloomers. Don't ask where and how they got those but it was worth it. It worked! The Bliss brothers pussy-footed across Linger Lake.
"Anything?"
"Shhh, no," Randy whispered.
The full moon was bright but Randy would've preferred a real light...he startled as he noticed a gleaming boulder in the water. Where no boulder had been before.
"Thar she blows," Ruddy whispered. "Go!"
Randy slowly stood up. The rowboat wobbled but he was steady. He raised a makeshift harpoon. "Thus! I give up the spear!" He threw it.
It bounced off scaly hide with a TWANG! and into the water. Leroy the Lake Snake awoke. It whipped around and spotted the men. An insulted hiss cut through the air. "Whups," said Randy. "Row! Row! Row!"
Ruddy cackled with laughter as he did just that. Randy landed on his knees and picked up his own paddle.
A splash of fresh water and the boat rocked from the violence of the wake of Leroy's pursuit. "Whoooa!" The brothers rowed faster on the crest of the wave.
"Now this is fishing!"
The End
Author Info
The adventures continue in Souls by the Sea: Without, Burlie McLauren is the first victim of a dark force that sends decent townspeople running wild. No one, not even the strongest witch, is safe. And who's safe from that witch? Here's a hint, nobody. Burlie, without any power at all, must step up to save the town from itself. Without a prayer.
Jessie G. Talbot lives in Raleigh, NC, and is addicted to houseplants and sweet iced tea. Sign up for her Newsletter! A quick note sent out on (or around) the 1st of each month featuring news, sneak peeks, and great deals on all new releases.
There's something for everyone on her website.
Paranormal Urban Fantasy - Souls by the Sea: How can Burlie McLauren be the top hero of a coastal town crawling with monsters when she doesn't have a spark of magic in her? Well, it ain't easy. There's Souls by the Sea, Souls by the Sea: Without and Souls by the Sea: The Glorious Fourth in this ongoing series of PG13 adventures.
Romance - The Kids' Table: Hollin Clocke is sixteen and determined to take her place at the adults' table for Thanksgiving despite her entire family in the way. She could use a friend. Justis MacNair could be so much more than a friend but will his lack of trust ruin a beautiful thing before it can begin?
Family Fun - B or How the Bogeyman Didn't Save Christmas: Christmas is steamrolling the holidays and Santa Claus is loving every second. Then he really makes a mistake and it's up to Honoir Battle, a ten-year-old football fullback, to put things right. With a little help from a very unusual friend. And Super Witch: Lydia McLauren wanted to be the best witch in school but she has no talent, no brains, and no hope. Her teach
er said so. Well! Since she's so terrible at being a witch she's going to be a super hero instead. And maybe she'll discover the courage she badly needs.
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