Wisp of a Thing: A Novel of the Tufa (Tufa Novels) (31 page)

A quick look at the parking lot told her Rob had not returned to the Catamount Corner. She sighed; he must be with Bliss. The girl, bless her, was out of her depth with real leadership decisions. Still, as with all the true Tufa, Peggy understood that Bliss’s status could be neither revoked nor questioned. Mandalay led them and Bliss was her regent, just as Rockhouse led his people, and that was that. As the wind blows, so the trees bend.

She started the coffee and went out back for her first cigarette. She saw no sign of Curnen around the Dumpster, which was usually a good omen. But something bothered her nonetheless. She’d had that same dream again, of the hand clawing out of a grave. This time it was crystal clear, almost a vision of a real occurrence, and if she’d believed the dead could truly walk again in this world, she’d be frightened.

More than the image itself bothered her, though. She knew that if the dream came to
her
so clearly, it must’ve at some level touched all the First Daughters, and maybe everyone with any Tufa blood at all. Most would write it off as a nightmare, something inspired by a scary late-late show or a bad plate of food. But ripples traveling that far always came from something that made a huge splash, and Peggy wished she knew the source so she could be ready for it.

*   *   *

Rob emerged from the forest into Bliss’s backyard. The sun peeked over the mountains just enough to flood the valley with light that twinkled off the dewy grass. His legs ached, his shoulders felt as if they’d been pulled off his body and then reattached, and he was both sweat-soaked and chilled. He kept checking his pocket to make sure the piece of paper hadn’t magically vanished, although the words were safe in his head.

He looked behind him. Curnen stood at the edge of the forest, half-hidden behind a tree. Her expression was unreadable. She watched him sadly, steam rising from her sweaty skin. Then she flitted away.

Rob collapsed into his car, wincing as he settled back into the driver’s seat. He started the engine and let it idle as he endured the sudden wave of exhaustion. He couldn’t wait for the Catamount Corner’s soft mattress and heavy blankets.

He glanced at the house. Bliss sat on the side steps, watching him. She wore a robe, sweatpants, and a white T-shirt, and her long hair hung loose around her shoulders.

“Hi,” she said. She didn’t smile or show any other emotion. “Wondered why your car was still here.”

He forced himself to his feet, but leaned on the door for support. He hoped it looked nonchalant. “I found it,” he said.

“Your car?”

“The last verse of ‘The Fate of the Tyrant Fae.’”

She didn’t visibly react.

“And I know why that asshole Hicks wanted to keep it quiet, too. So quiet, he buried it with Great Kate Gwinn.”

“Curnan showed you.” It was not a question.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got it now, and I’m about to go shove it down that old bastard’s throat. Then we’ll see if I don’t talk to Stella Kizer.”

“Wait!” she cried, and ran to the vehicle. She knelt by his door. “If I take you to where you can find your friend’s wife, will that be enough? Will you keep the song a secret until…” She trailed off. What
was
the right moment to destroy the Tufa?

“You know what it says, don’t you?”

“Not the words. But the purpose.”

“And what do you think about it?”

“I think that you need help. And not just to find that Kizer woman.”

“You
want
me to take down Rockhouse, then?”

“I think you’re being guided by the powers that guide us, and they want it. And I’m willing to help.”

He thought about it. “The Gwinns didn’t see me, but they saw Curnen. They may figure out what we took. I was going to wait until tonight, but now that I think about it, I should go see Rockhouse now. Make him tell me where to find Stella Kizer.”

“You’re exhausted, Rob. Look at you.”

“I’m fine. A cup of coffee and I’m good to go.”

“Then give me five minutes. You have your guitar, right?”

“Yeah. Why?” But she was already inside. He yawned and felt his TM joint pop. He’d kill for a nap right now. Still, if he had a real chance to find Stella Kizer, and to wipe that smug grin off Rockhouse’s face, he wasn’t going to miss it.

*   *   *

Bliss stripped as she ran through the house to her bedroom, where she threw on jeans, a flannel shirt, and her tennis shoes. Then she quickly called the station and told them she’d be out again today. Her boss started to berate her, but she used her voice and Tufa skills to mollify him. She would put in extra hours to make up the time, she assured him. After all, she’d hardly missed any time before this, and never at short notice, so he could afford to cut her some slack. He grudgingly agreed, and she put that worry aside.

That done, she grabbed her denim jacket and rushed back downstairs to rejoin Rob before he had time to really think about things.

*   *   *

“You sure this is the right way?” Rob demanded as, still following Bliss’s directions, they turned off the overgrown gravel road onto a path that would’ve bounced a tank driver out of his vehicle. Bliss had her hand braced against the roof so her head wouldn’t slam into it. He could imagine nothing other than a tractor ever using the two ruts down which they now proceeded, and any moment, he expected the sound of protesting metal as the car’s oil pan or tailpipe was ripped away.

“This is where to find Rockhouse’s people,” Bliss answered. “Remember how I told you they had their own place, just like we have the barn where you played? We’re going there.”

“Will they be there this early in the morning?”

“They’ll be there.”

The road dead-ended at what looked like a huge patch of briars and saplings. Rob stopped the car. Bliss said, “Just push through. It’s not as thick as it looks.”

“What’s on the other side?”

“Like I said, Rockhouse’s place.”

“Another barn?”

“Look, will you just drive? It’ll take me twice as long to describe it as it will for you to see it for yourself.”

Choking down the spike of anger, Rob muttered, “All right, whatever,” and pressed the gas pedal down slowly until the bumper parted the briars. He gritted his teeth against the sound of sharp thorns scraping against metal, and struggled to hold the steering wheel straight. She was right, though; the passage took maybe fifteen seconds, and they emerged into an open space that made him slam on his brakes despite their sluglike pace.

They looked out over a gently sloping mountainside, cleared of all but a few trees. An old mill, its big wheel immobile and partially buried in a dry creek bed, dominated the scene. The walls had been removed, so only the frame and semi-intact roof still stood, like the ruined gate in
Rashomon
. The mill mechanism inside had been taken apart, leaving only pieces too big to carry, including one of the grinding stones.

And behind this, black and dark in the morning sun, was the wide mouth of a cave.

It stretched thirty feet across the hillside, ten feet high at the center. It descended almost at once, but there was light visible far down and back. Music also drifted out, distorted by the stone walls so that it sounded harsh and arrhythmic, like the songs played by the Gwinns.

“They have their barn dance in a
cave
?” Rob said as he took out his guitar.

“It used to be a bootlegger’s hideout. They’d meet up here to play and run off some moonshine. For a long time, it was the biggest cash business in Cloud County. But then they made beer sales legal, and somebody opened a liquor store in Unicorn, so the demand dried up.”

Skeletons hung from the arched opening like ghastly, primitive wind chimes. Three were deer, one must have been a bear, but a third looked unmistakably human, even though it was missing its skull, hands, and feet.

Rob pointed at that skeleton with his guitar case. “Must be the last person who crashed this party. So we just walk in?”

“You do. Remember the scene when Rockhouse showed up at the barn? It’d be the same thing if they saw me here.”

“Rockhouse knows me.”

“Rockhouse is sitting on the front porch of the post office, trust me. I’ll keep him busy. Besides, you’re not looking for him, are you?”

“Stoney knows me, too.”

“Stoney saw you once, when he was drunk. He won’t remember you.”

“I have a black eye. That’s pretty obvious.”

“Only if you’re looking for it. Unless you mention it, no one in there will see it. They’ll just see a Tufa they don’t know coming to jam with them.”

“I’m not a Tufa.”

“
Stop
it, Rob. People who think they have Tufa blood in them are always coming to Cloud County, looking for their roots. Some stumble onto our barn dance, some find this cave. It’s not that unusual, and more than likely, they’ll just let you play and hope you go away soon.”

“More than likely,” he repeated doubtfully.

“You won’t get better odds.”

“How do I get past the guards?”

“There are no guards. They don’t need them. It’s like our dance—you can’t find it unless you’re meant to, or unless a real Tufa brings you. And I mean, look at it. Would you go in there if you didn’t have to?”

He looked at the cave, back at Bliss, then at the cave again. “It’s a little too Orpheus for me.”

“Yes, but she’s not Euridice,” Bliss said. “The best you can hope for is Persephone.”

“Yeah,” Rob said. Rationally, he knew he should walk away, that he was liable to learn that
Deliverance
was in fact a documentary if he entered the cave. But rationality had nothing to do with his presence here. “Are you taking my car back, then?”

“I don’t need a car,” she said. “Just be careful, don’t eat or drink anything, and get out as soon as she says she’s not leaving.”

“You’re so sure that’s what she’ll say.”

“As sure as I am of the sunrise. It’s not her fault; it’s just the way things work.”

“Even if I sing the song?”

“Won’t matter. Rockhouse isn’t here.”

He laughed coldly. “Right. Okay, then.”

He started toward the entrance, then looked back. Bliss was already gone. Reflexively he looked up, but the sky was clear and empty.

29

Steps carved into the stone led down toward the light and music. Beer cans, broken glass pipes, and crushed Styrofoam cups littered the way, growing thicker as Rob descended. He gingerly stepped over a discarded condom.

The path narrowed to a tunnel that turned just ahead. A thick electrical cable was attached to the stone wall near the passage’s roof, and a series of copper pipes ran along the ceiling. He stopped and listened. It sounded like at least two dozen people talking, laughing, and singing. Guitars, mandolins, and banjos rang out, completely lacking the sense of fun and skill he’d heard at the barn dance. These people had no interest in harmonizing, in weaving any sort of musical spell. They just played for themselves, even if they all played the same tune.

Heat surged up, making him sweat like he was in a sauna. Worse, the smell was awful: body odor, burning chemicals, and human waste. He wasn’t sure he could stand it without gagging.

He looked back and up at the entrance. The blue sky outlined the skeletons, especially the one he suspected was human. The bones swayed in the faint wind and clacked softly together.

His belly knotted with tension, but the sleep deprivation also gave him a sort of bravado. He stood up straight, flexed his fingers around the guitar case handle, and entered the cavern.

It was a great upside-down bowl, the center thirty feet high. A pinpoint of daylight was visible at the top of the dome, which was good since it let the smoke from the fires escape. He counted three: one at the center of a group of men, the other two small ones that heated water for a row of tubes and pipes set up on a series of tables. He realized with a start they were brewing methamphetamine down here, as well as making moonshine. The very air was probably filled with poisonous fumes. So much for rustic backwoods charm.

Then he noticed the people. They had the same black hair as all the Tufa, as he himself did, but that was where the similarity ended. Clad in ratty overalls and well-worn clothes from the last century, they milled about muttering and laughing. He saw wide-flared jeans, tube tops decorated with peace signs, and even grunge-style tattered flannel. Everyone looked sullen, and as Bliss had predicted, no one glanced his way.

More than their clothes were distorted, he realized. There was something indefinable but definitely wrong in their physical appearance, a contradictory spindliness and softness that gave the impression of insects rather than people. They didn’t move; they scuttled, or crept, or just sat still like spiders waiting for prey to cross their path.

Around the central fire clustered the musicians, their instruments battered from misuse and lack of care. It was the photo negative of what he’d seen and experienced at the barn dance, and it both disgusted and frightened him.

He walked slowly, stepping around rocks and bodies he hoped were only passed out. He kept his face neutral, but looked around for Stoney Hicks and Stella Kizer. Stoney, at least, was a good head taller than anyone else in the cave, so he’d be easy to spot.

He reached the circle of musicians. He waited until they finished an atrocious version of “Companions Draw Nigh,” then said, “Hi. Mind if I sit in?”

Only one of them looked up at him. He had a beard down to the middle of his chest, and only two visible teeth, one in each jaw. “If your ass’ll fit on the box,” he said. His eyes were all iris, and the skin around them was a creased, dried-parchment map of his hard life.

Rob sat on the indicated apple crate, opened his case, and took out his guitar. By the time he got it situated, the banjo player had begun a too-fast version of “Little Omie Wise,” and the others jumped right in. It took Rob several bars to catch up.

The banjo player began to sing in a voice so pure and high, it made Rob think of a castrato:

I’ll tell you a story of little Omie Wise,

How she became deluded by John Lewis’ lies.