The Atheist's Daughter (15 page)

Sinking to the middle of the square, Mrs. Norton rested to her knees. She opened her mouth, screaming at last, knowing the vortex would capture the sound and swallow it.

Inside her throat, her hunger whirled, faster and faster, singing inside of her. It cried for attention, pleading for notice, begging,
begging
for Khagean the Guardian to hear its prayer.

Mrs. Norton’s body shook, vibrating as she made her incantation. Extending her arm, she cut into it with the edge of the knife. The fine tip slipped beneath her crystalline skin, carving a trail of fire from her wrist to the center of her forearm. Agony washed over her but her vocalization never wavered.

She dropped the blade, letting it fall beside her. Her arm wept, a single clear pearl splashing onto the knife.

Her body burning, her head bent, she felt the vortex start to slow. The platform trembled beneath her. Above her, the ceiling opened and was gone. She sensed rather than saw the emptiness erupting above her head.

One of the deities was manifest. Although it could never truly
be
in this reality, the Dark One was as close as a whisper, its presence brushing at the nape of her neck. She could feel its enormous power.

Inside herself, she heard his voice.
Tell me.

Khagean was the Guardian of the Void and he had come to her. Twice before, he had answered her call and, twice before, he had deigned to answer her questions. Consequently, all of her sacrifices were made in his name. When she triumphed, she thanked the Guardian in her prayers. When she failed, she cursed his enemies for her fate.

Ever his faithful servant, she dared take little for granted. She knew she must pose her question carefully, saying nothing of Kristin Faraday. Her Lord did not care about mortals.

Nor did she, the truth be told. It aggravated her that the girl, this insignificant
thing
, was somehow still alive. Alive and here, in Winterhaven, as if she was normal and whole.

What was wrong with her family? Even if they lacked the decency to rid the world of her, why weren’t they shamed enough to flee with the pest, taking her to another city? Yet, here she remained...and she was curious about her betters.

Her very existence had brought Mrs. Norton to her knees. Alice Poe, Miss Sweet, Mr. Brass – they carried no obligation to the Other. If they choose to leave, they could.

Not that they’d survive for long without her.

Finally, she asked the one thing she needed to know:
May I leave this place?

This is why you summoned me?

An irritated wind whipped around Mrs. Norton’s body. She heard the silver candle holder fall from its perch, clattering to the ground.

You bother me with THIS?

Was the Guardian somehow unaware of her situation? It was possible, she supposed. His duty was to the Void. His interest in his followers was, at most times, superficial.

Mrs. Norton fought to clear her thoughts, keeping her secret to herself. It was for naught.

A new voice entered her:
It’s because of the girl.

Ajanosek, the Protector of Newborns, carried no love for Mrs. Norton or her kind. The Protector was rarely cruel without reason but she could be vengeful.

You stole from her
, Ajanosek chastised.

It was a trifle,
Goddess
, Mrs. Norton offered. 
The tiniest of thefts. I meant no disrespect.

A debt is owed.

The words twisted in Mrs. Norton’s stomach, threatening to make her sick.

The girl must be given an opportunity to make her claim.

An opportunity? I understand, my Goddess. I obey, my Goddess.

But for how long? How much time must pass while she ponders her choices?

Above her head, the cosmos swirled.

What if
the girl should leave this place?
Mrs. Norton asked.
Or if she should choose to – to make a more permanent exit?

Suddenly, the sensation of illness was gone. Mrs. Norton felt well and whole and, for the moment, not hungry.

Without words, Ajanosek had given her the answer. With his silence, Khagean had allowed the answer to stand.

The room fell into darkness, its ceiling in place again. The gods had returned to their dimension.

And, for now, Mrs. Norton would remain in Winterhaven.

Chapter Twenty-Three

His dead wife said, “Where have you been, Howard?”

What could he say that wouldn’t anger her? Start with the truth, perhaps. “The doctor told me I needed more sleep, Eustacia. I only did what the doctor said.”

“You’re sleeping now.”

“It’s not the same,” the Reverend Hawkins said. “When I see you at night, it haunts me throughout the day. Because...because I miss you so.”

She smiled, torn flesh rising.

“You’ve been coming to me so often lately. Two or three times a week. I thought, with a little more rest, I’d be better company.”

“Silly.” She fluttered her remaining eye flirtatiously. “I like your company, no matter what. I want you with me always.”

He knew she did. He used to want the same thing. “The medications help me sleep more soundly.”

“Medications.” The tone of her voice went flat. “You mean, drugs.”

“Medicine. Prescribed medicine. Doctor Barnes –”

”Drugs are the gateway to Satan’s playground,” Eustacia interrupted. “How many times have you said that very thing from behind your lectern? How many times have you implored your congregation to
do the right thing
?”

“Not prescription drugs, darling.”

“It’s a fine line, Howard. A damned fine line.”

Now she
was
angry. She never cursed unless she was angry.

She turned the shattered half of her body toward him, forcing him to confront the damage she’d suffered. “Does Gideon know?”

“It’s none of Gideon’s business.”

“Has he seen you swallow your pills? Does he watch his father stagger about in a stupor?”

“No.”

“Has he seen you stumbling about like a common drunk?”

“It’s Ambien, love, that’s all.” He swallowed deeply. “One white tablet. The smallest dose.”

“Well.”

“I’m cautious when I take it. I never drive after. Never.”

She softened, showing the undamaged portion of her face. “I only ask because I care.”

“Of course.” He reached out his hand, stroking the unbroken skin at the left side of her cheek.

“Do you remember the last time we talked?”

“You know I do.” He wasn’t sure he did, though. Sometimes, the dreams remained vivid for days. Lately, with Brenda in his life, some of those memories had started to blur.

“I told you there was evil in Winterhaven.”

“Yes, you told me. I do remember.”

“What are you doing about it?”

He tried to remember exactly what she’d said but nothing came to him. “Doing about the evil?”

“The unclean spirits.” Her green eye fixed at him. “The ones who come to us from the mouth of the dragon and from the mouth of the beast.”

Was she quoting scripture to him? Eustacia, who always liked being a preacher’s wife but never quite found the time to open a Bible? “What do you want me to do?”

“Kristin Faraday.”

“Kristin? Gideon’s friend?” the Reverend asked. “What about her?”

His bedside alarm went off. His eyes came open.

Eustacia was gone.

He breathed in slowly, calming himself.

Time to start the day
.

* * *

His father was at the lectern, waiting for him. There was a bucket of soapy water at his feet and a large orange sponge in his right hand.

Hawkins’ heart sank. “Lord, why hast thou forsaken me?”

“You know what I think about that kind of humor.”

Yes, he surely did.

“Think before you speak, son,” the Reverend continued. “The people in this community watch you. You’re a role model for others.”

Me, a role model?
Hawkins thought.
Get real.

How much of a role model could he be, when everybody knew his best friend wasn’t a believer? She wouldn’t come to his own church, no matter how often he asked. It bugged his father – it bugged him, too, truth be told – and he knew people talked about it behind their backs.

Too bad. He loved Kristin.

Not in some perverse way. He didn’t have those thoughts about her. He
did
have those thoughts about other women, he wasn’t some religious ‘bot free from lust in his heart, but Kristin was somehow absent from the graphic fantasies that intruded into his day.

He guessed most guys had similar needs. Did his father?

Once he’d have doubted it. Now....

“The windows?” Hawkins asked. “All of them?”

“From top to bottom.”

“I cleaned the pews. Even the ones on the far right side, the ones no one sits in.”

“You did a good job of it, too. Ed couldn’t have done any better.”

“Can’t the windows wait until he gets back?” His stone-faced father didn’t bother with a reply. Hawkins let his shoulders slump forward. “Do you know how many windows we have in this place?”

“Since you ask, yes, I do. A man of the Lord knows everything about his particular house of worship.”

“A preacher can’t know everything about his church.”

“Let us count the number,” he told him. “Six windows in the nave, two on each side of the chancel, one at the apse, and two across from the altar. Thirteen windows.”

“Okay, I get it,” Hawkins said. “I need to pay more attention. But I did notice we have seven big stained glass windows. I mean,
big
. When it comes to cleaning something like that, a stained glass window is like ten ordinary windows. That’s seventy-six windows altogether.”

Reverend Hawkins let the orange sponge splash into the bucket. “Good thing you got here early.”

* * *

Mickey Mouse sat on the dashboard, his head bobbing on its coiled spring as the car cruised down the street. Mickey’s bright happy face suggested he was in a much better mood than the frowning Liz Wheeler who waited at curbside.

“That’s because Liz isn’t a morning person,” Kristin told Mickey as she directed the car to the side of the road.

Liz opened the passenger door. “I prayed your mother wouldn’t let you borrow the car.”

“She was good with it.”

“Just my luck,” Liz said, climbing inside. “I got up at dawn, just so we could drive over to Susannah’s? You couldn’t call her, instead?”

“I did call. Last night.”

“And?”

“She’s fine,” Kristin admitted. “She wondered why I was on the phone, I think, but was too polite to mention it.”

“But we’re still going out to her place this morning. For some reason.”

“Because I’m feeling gitchy about things.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Now I get it. You’re gitchy.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Do you have any idea what time my alarm clock went off this morning?”

“Ten minutes ago?”

“That was your alarm clock, fashion disaster. Mine screeched at me over an hour ago.” She surveyed her companion. “Girl, what’s the matter with you? No make-up, no perfume, naked nails, and wearing shoes so out of style it would embarrass a hobo.”

“A hobo?”

“What are you going to do if you meet the perfect man today?”

“Hope he likes someone with no make-up, no perfume, naked nails and hobo shoes.”

“As if.” Liz relaxed against the head rest. “At least we’re not traveling in the Hawkmobile. This car is totally lacking in Cheetos smell.”

“You’ll notice the absence of mustard-stained hamburger wrappers as well.”

“So I did,” she said. “I’m doing this exactly why?”

“Because I’m worried about Ms. Guitierrez.

“Hmmm?”

“I had a dream.”

“Right, right. You were in a meadow and Susannah turned into plastic or started bleeding or something. Then, the next time you saw her, things were all wrong – whatever. But that’s you. My point is, why am
I
doing this?”

“You’re my friend.”

“I’m your ‘get me up at noon so we can go shopping’ friend. Hawkins is your ‘it’s so damn early I can’t believe it’ friend.”

“Hawkins is doing some kind of a church thing.”

“At this hour? He’s an idiot.” Liz closed her eyes. “Me, too, I guess. After we see Susannah, you are
so
taking me to breakfast.”