Don said nothing.
“Where you coming from?”
“Visiting some friends, sir.” He hoped his tone was flat and noncommittal, but suspected that any answer would be the wrong one.
“You been drinking?”
The question took Don by surprise. Actually, he’d had nothing to drink, not even water, since he left home, and was suddenly aware of his own ravenous thirst. “No, sir,” he said.
Pafford leaned down and shone the flashlight in Don’s car. Then he blasted it into Don’s face, studying him for a long moment. Finally he stood with a sigh and said, “I ain’t getting paid to chat with you high-yellow Tufa bastards. Get on out of here, boy, before I decide you were resisting arrest.”
Don was speechless. He put his car in gear and drove carefully away, watching the rearview mirror for any sign of pursuit. The cherry-top lights blinked out just before he topped the first hill, and he didn’t feel truly safe until he was in his own driveway and five minutes had passed without Pafford roaring down the road toward him.
He sat alone in his living room, all the lights out, for a long time. Susie had pulled a double shift, so the house was empty. It seemed impossible, but had Pafford truly not recognized him? He clearly thought he was one of the local Tufas, not the reporter he’d chased away from the Hyatts; was he that stupid, or was something else at work? Fairies, he’d learned earlier that very day, could hide their true appearance behind something called glamour. And if he was a Tufa, and the Tufa were fairies…
“Oh, come on,” he said aloud. That was as crazy as believing the real Shady Grove stood in the barn door, like a shade summoned by a song.
No, not a shade. Around here, they called them haints.
22
The First Daughters of the Tufa met irregularly, but always on the full moon. There was no arcane significance to this, only the practicaclass="underline" they convened deep in the forest and wanted to avoid flashlights or anything else that might allow them to be followed. There were those who resented the power of the First Daughters, especially among their opposite number in the Tufa clans led by Rockhouse Hicks.
Bronwyn’s recovery would have astounded her grim army doctors. Less than a week after her surgery, she no longer needed the cast, and had replaced her crutches with a single walking stick loaned to her by Carvin’ Ed Shill. The handle was shaped like a rattlesnake’s head, complete with the little pits along its lips. The motif continued to the tip, which was a genuine rattle from a huge diamondback, shellacked and varnished to impenetrable hardness.
When Bliss arrived to pick her up, Brownwyn limped down the yard under her own power. Kell and Aiden flanked her but didn’t actively help. With the setting sun flaring through the thin cotton dress, Bronwyn looked like she was edged with flame. Considering the topic of the upcoming meeting, that was truly a bad omen.
“You’ve come a long way, baby,” Bliss said.
“This isn’t Virginia,” Bronwyn said, “and I ain’t Slim.” Up close the pain and effort tightened her face, but her determination kept her going.
Kell opened the passenger door and helped Bronwyn inside. Aiden watched with evident concern. “Be careful,” he called to his sister.
Kell kissed her cheek and said, “Remember, that cane’s for walking, not whacking people.”
“I never whacked anyone who didn’t need it,” Bronwyn said. She turned to Aiden. “And don’t look so serious, I’ll be back before you go to bed.” She glanced up at the house, but saw no sign of her mother. There wasn’t much Chloe could say, but it still sent a pang through Bronwyn; the meeting was to prepare for Chloe’s possible death.
“I’ll take good care of her,” Bliss said. Once they were on the road, she turned to Bronwyn. “I guess you know we’re going to talk about your mother. Everyone will want to know if you’re ready to learn her song.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“Show me.”
Bronwyn closed her eyes, then began to sing:
Bliss nodded. “That’s good.”
“Mom keeps after me. Says it won’t take long to learn her song when I’m ready.”
They reached the turnoff for the road that led to the meeting. Once they went behind a stand of trees, they would be invisible from the blacktop. They went down a hill until the headlights revealed five other cars parked along the road. Bliss parked her truck; then she and Bronwyn began the descent to the meeting place on foot.
It took longer than normal because of Bronwyn’s injuries. She remembered her first time here, brought by her mother to meet the latest generation of First Daughters, all children like herself. Once a daughter reached what they called “the age of cognition,” she was offered the chance to join her mother in the group, an honor few declined. Bronwyn had not, either, although she’d often wished she had. She suspected some of the others did as well.
There was no light to mark the way, only the cool overhead moon turning everything gray, and the shimmering fireflies that danced in the trees and grass. Here and there, a patch of foxfire glowed on a fallen limb. Bliss stayed close, ready to act if Bronwyn fell but otherwise content to let her struggle on.
They reached the clearing, where eleven other women waited for them. They ranged in apparent age from childhood to close to a century, but not even the oldest betrayed any sign of infirmity. Local legend had it that you could kill a Tufa, but they never did just die. That wasn’t accurate, but it wasn’t a total lie, either.
Bliss stopped. The other women stayed back, mere shapes in the darkness. Bliss raised her chin and sang:
Bronwyn cleared her throat and sang, in a considerably weaker voice:
Bronwyn fought the urge to roll her eyes as she and Bliss made the same elaborate sign with their left hands. She wanted to maintain the solemnity of the occasion, but couldn’t shake both her annoyance at the pretentiousness and the sense that, in this day and age, these arcane convocations were just plain silly. Only the very real threat to her mother would ever have gotten her down in this valley again.
“Welcome, sisters,” said Peggy Goins. She hugged Bliss, then kissed Bronwyn on the cheek. “Ain’t had a chance to properly welcome you back yet. The last time I saw you, there were five thousand people in the way.”
“I should’ve invited you out for some iced tea and pie,” Bronwyn agreed. It was etiquette to say it, but she also meant it; she’d sat in her house and waited for everyone to come to her, like some queen bee. “Same for all of you. My mama would be ashamed of me.”
Bliss turned suddenly and looked behind them up the hill, toward their parked vehicles. She raised a hand for silence. “Someone’s coming.”
“No, someone’s here.” The voice was young and feminine, and as the girl stepped into the moonlight, they all recognized her. “Someone who’s got as much right to be here as any of you.” As if to prove it, she sang: