Dust Girl: The American Fairy Trilogy Book 1 (15 page)

My body fell, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I stared up at Morgan’s swollen face as the railroad bull bent over me. There was a flash of movement and a yell, and Jack kicked Bull Morgan in the kneecap. Morgan leapt back, but Jack kicked his other knee and Morgan toppled over. I felt
his pain too, and his wish for the one who caused it to be dead, dead, dead.

“Callie!” Jack had hold of my wrists and tried to pull me to my feet. “Callie! Come on, get up!”

He wished I’d get up. My scattered thoughts grabbed hold of that wish, knotted around it like his hands were knotted around my wrists.

And I could stand. I could see. I was all right. Except I was all right in time for Bull Morgan to rear up behind me.

“Run!” shouted Jack. He bolted backward, and I bolted forward. Morgan was reaching for his club, but I got there first and yanked it right out of his holster. Morgan stumbled, and with all the fear and strength I had in me, I slammed that club against the side of his head. There was a sharp crack, and Morgan sprawled into the dirt. I was staring again, because there was blood spattered on his temple, and on my hands.

Jack shoved me sideways, knocking me down, and dragged me under the nearest boxcar, pushing at me until we scrambled out the other side and took off running. All the while I felt how Bull Morgan wasn’t moving, wasn’t even breathing, and his blood mixed with the dirt on my hands.

“He’s dead.” I panted. “Oh, my God, he’s dead. I killed him!”

“Stop it!” Jack jerked hard on my hand. “Just run!”

I closed my mouth and ran.

There should have been plenty of places to hide in that dark yard. But at every turn there was somebody in front of
us, somebody with a gun or an ax handle or in the thick of a fight. It went on forever, the flashes of light, the cracks and the screaming. I was crying and Jack was cussing, taking us this way and that. We climbed over the couplings between the trains; we dodged around sheds and coal piles. My lungs burned and my legs got heavier with each step, and the whole time my head was babbling,
No way out, no way out, no way out.…

“There!” boomed Morgan’s voice. “There they are!”

I looked. I couldn’t help it. Bull Morgan reared up in the floodlights like a monster, with a crowd of shadows at his side. He pointed at us with his club.

“Get ’em!” he bellowed. “Bring ’em here!”

Men surged forward, guns and ax handles ready.

Jack swore and we ran. Ahead, I spotted the livestock pens.

“Jack!” I pointed. He saw, and he dove forward.

We were small, and we were running for our lives. We slid between the slats; we climbed over gates the blow dirt had drifted shut. We even ran on the top rail of the crisscrossing fences, a game every farm kid has played. The men swore and stumbled and got stuck and swore some more. But they kept coming.

Bullets sound like hornets when they pass too close to your head. After a while, the world closes down. You can’t hear much, you can’t see much, just the way ahead, the next slat, the next open gate. All you know is running; the only place that’s real is away.

Finally, we hit the edge of the stockyard. Jack swerved
toward the lights of Constantinople. I hesitated, but when a truck engine rumbled up from behind us, I tore after him. If we headed out to the prairie, they could drive us like rabbits. Back among Constantinople’s houses, we’d have a place to hide, and maybe the vigilantes wouldn’t be so ready to fire off their guns in the middle of town.

Not that I was thinking that straight then. I just followed Jack as close as I could. Jack dodged into the streets, ducking around buildings, trying to get walls between us and the headlights and shouts.

“Gotta get inside somewhere.” He panted. “Gotta …”

“Movies!” I shouted, pointing at the lit-up Bijoux.

Jack swallowed hard. This time, I took the lead, and after a split second, he followed.

There was a small, plain door in the back of the theater. I grabbed the knob and yanked it open, and all but fell inside.

Jack slammed the door, fumbled for the latch, and shot the bolt home. As it snapped shut, I felt the world twisting around us.

“Jack?” I whispered. He was near me. I could feel him, but I couldn’t see much.

“Yeah?”

“We’re somewhere else.”

“What do you mean?”

I hesitated, trying to dig up words to explain. Now I could make out shelves stacked with boxes. We were in a storeroom, except, of course, it wasn’t just a storeroom. “I got this feeling when I walked into Shimmy’s juke joint, like the whole world had turned around. I just felt it again.”

“Okay.” Jack swallowed. “Okay.”

We both stood there, trying to catch our breath and not doing a very good job of it. We were both thinking about the riot, and the vigilantes in the streets, and Bull
Morgan in front of all of them. Jack had his hand on the door, but slowly, he lifted it back. I understood. We couldn’t leave by that route. We didn’t know what was in here, but we for sure knew what was out there.

There was another door ahead of us, partly open. Through it, we could see the red carpet and gold trim of the Bijoux’s lobby.

“I guess we see the show,” said Jack. Side by side we walked toward the light.

I’d actually been in the Bijoux before. Mama used to take me to the pictures when we could afford it. The last time was to see
Tarzan the Ape Man
with Johnny Weissmuller and Maureen O’Sullivan. I played Jane-Being-Kidnapped for weeks afterward, until I tried swinging on the drapes in the Moonlight Room and Mama put a stop to it.

The theater looked exactly like I remembered, with the red carpet and drapes, velvet ropes, and shiny gold paint on the curlicue trimmings that reflected the light from the chandeliers. I started to think maybe I’d been wrong about what I’d felt. There was nothing strange about this place. It was just a movie theater. The popcorn smelled warm and buttery, and the candy counter was laid out with a crazy quilt of Jujubes, Baby Ruths, Milk Duds, Zagnut bars, and licorice whips. None of which we had money for. That was okay; I was still full of barbeque. I did wonder if I could gin up some money, though. If the Hoppers could do it, why couldn’t I?

We handed the tickets Shimmy had given us to an usherette with frizzy gold hair, short pants, and a jacket like an organ-grinder’s monkey’s. She popped her gum and led us to our seats in the half-empty theater, shooing us in place with the beam of her flashlight. We sat where she told us and stared at the closed scarlet curtains up front. The theater was air-cooled, and at first it felt like Heaven. Now, though, I was shivering. Jack gave me his coat, and I huddled into it. I was tired. The longer I sat there, the less I liked the quiet. I felt for sure something was sneaking up on us.

“Don’t worry,” whispered Jack. “If Morgan and his bunch come in, just duck down in the seats.”

I nodded and bit my lip. Something squeaked, and I jumped. But it was just the curtains up front pulling away to reveal the rippling silver screen. Above and behind us, the projector whirred. A beam of flickering white light shot out over our heads, and the picture show started.

The newsreel came first. President Roosevelt waved to crowds and talked about the New Deal. The courage of the American businessman was on the rise. Then it was over to New York City. The United Nations was complaining about Germany’s rearmament policy. Adolf Hitler didn’t seem to care; in fact, he was making military service mandatory. Lefty Gomez opened the season for the Yankees.

After that, there was a Betty Boop cartoon. Despite everything, Jack and I both started laughing at the silly dancing and the crazy machines Betty’s grandpa invented to
help out with their party. It felt good to just laugh, even for a minute.

The screen went black, and to my surprise I almost felt okay. If Morgan had been on to us, he would’ve been here by now, wouldn’t he? And as for this being someplace else, some fairy place … I must have been wrong about that. Just my worried mind borrowing trouble. I mean, how in the world could fairies get their hands on a Betty Boop cartoon?

Then the projector started whirring again, and the white light flickered. Fresh music blared out of the speakers, and a new title card appeared on the screen:

“
This
is Los Angeles!” declared the announcer as the camera panned across an expanse of straight streets and squared-off buildings. “A city of commerce … recreation … and of course … glamour!”

There was the
HOLLYWOODLAND
sign. Next shot was of a beach with clean sand and rolling ocean waves. Women in bathing suits and floppy hats stretched out under striped umbrellas. Then there was another shot of a straight white street with a big Rolls-Royce car driving past a row of palm trees.

“And
MovieTime News
has been granted an exclusive look at what the nation’s official glamour capital will be wearing this summer!”

The scene blurred and cleared. Now we were shown a
stage with a long platform stretching out in front. Spangled translucent curtains screened off the back, but behind them you could see the silhouettes of women carefully posed in overstuffed chairs.

Two little girls wearing big hair bows and dresses with pleated skirts came forward, unrolling a length of carpet to make a runway. Jack made a strange noise, like a squeak. I thought he was starting to laugh and elbowed him in the ribs to keep him quiet. But he wasn’t laughing. If anything, he looked like he was going to be sick.

I stared at the screen, trying to see what was so terrible. The music swelled as the little girls walked back to draw the sparkling gauze curtains open.

“We’ll start with Maggie,” said the narrator. “Maggie’s modeling a daring little evening number, perfect for cocktails by the sea.…”

The woman strolled forward. She wore a silvery, shimmery dress that went down to her ankles and draped loose around her neck. Diamonds sparkled at her throat and on her hands. She sauntered easily down the runway and turned to show how the back of that silver gown pretty much wasn’t there. My fingers dug hard into the arms of my seat. Maggie, the smiling woman wearing that daring little evening number, was Mama.

Mama looked relaxed and comfortable. More than that. She looked young. She smiled a dazzling smile that I’d never seen on her before. She looked so happy as she walked back slowly to join those other beautiful women.

The announcer kept talking. Other women walked down the stretch of red carpet the little girls had laid down. I didn’t hear anything. I just stared at Mama. She lounged in her seat on the stage and rested her chin in her hand as she watched the other models parade for the camera.

“What’s she doing there?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack softly.

That shook me out of my confusion. “How do you know my mama?”

“Your mama? Where?”

I pointed at “Maggie.”

“Your mother’s in Hollywood?”

The shushing started up all around us. I shook. A woman in a flowery skirt and sleeveless top was parading down the runway now. At the back of the stage, Mama held out a cigarette in a long holder for another woman to light. She looked perfectly at peace as she leaned back and blew a languid cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

“I gotta get out of here.” I was on my feet and heading up the aisle without even bothering to see if Jack followed me. I was all the way into the lobby before I realized my cheeks were soaked with tears.

I made it as far as the glass-and-bronze front doors. I put my hands on them, but I didn’t have the strength to push. I just stood there, shaking and crying, until Jack came up all quiet next to me.

“It can’t be true,” he whispered. “What was on that screen. It can’t be.”

He’d seen something too. Something or somebody. I knew I should ask about it, but I couldn’t get any words out at all right then. I just made crybaby noises and wiped at my face.

“They’re liars, Callie,” Jack said. “You said it yourself.”

“They told some of the truth,” I whispered.

“Why would they tell the truth about this?” His face went from pasty white to angry red. “This is just another trick. They want you to go with them, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it.” That had to be it. I couldn’t trust them. I couldn’t trust any of them.

“Come on,” said Jack. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What’s your hurry, honey?” said a brassy voice from behind the curtain. “You ain’t even seen the main feature yet.”

We both jumped. It was the usherette, the blond woman with her flashlight. She stepped out from behind the curtain at the back of the candy counter, popping her gum and grinning at us with her wide red mouth. There was something different about her this time, a sharp, sly look to her face that hadn’t been there before.

She sauntered around the lit-up counter with its Jujubes and Zagnuts, swinging her light from the loop around her wrist. She had white gloves on her hands and sheer stockings on her perfect legs. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a Busby Berkeley feature, like any minute she’d start dancing and a screen would lift to reveal a dozen other blond girls, dressed just like her.

“We’ve got plenty more to show you.” The usherette grinned straight at Jack and popped her gum. “Both of you.”

“Who’s we?” I whispered.

“Silly! Who do you think we are?”

I knew. But I didn’t have the words. I could just about remember the ones Shimmy used. “You’re the Shining Ones.”

The gum cracked like a gunshot. “We’re the ones who got your mama, sweetie.”

“You … you …,” I stammered at the blond woman.

“Oh, yeah.” The usherette leaned her bottom against the counter and crossed one perfect ankle over the other. “Now, maybe where she’s at ain’t quite as pretty as what you saw up on the screen, but she is with us now. Not that we really want her.” She examined her perfect fingernails, which were the exact same shade of scarlet as her mouth. I got the creepy feeling it wasn’t lipstick or polish making them match up like that. “She’s pretty used up now. Not much fun for anybody anymore. But you knew that, didn’t you, sweetie?”