“We met many years ago in the Florida woods,” she says. “His family took care of me until I met the Stouts.”
“Fine,” I say. “Don’t tell me.”
I introduce the boys to Callie and say, “This is the first time they’ve left Geek City in years.”
“Geek City?”
“It’s okay,” Curly says. “We named it that.”
Dr. Box comes in and says, “Don’t forget your promise.”
“You’ve seen the press kit?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“It’ll do.”
“We’ll send it out today.”
“What about our dinner?”
“The one with you and your mystery guests?”
“That’s the one.”
“Soon as Callie’s back to normal.”
“Fair enough.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Dr. Box,” Callie says.
“I enjoyed seeing you naked,” he says. “Highlight of my career, in fact.”
I frown.
Callie says, “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I’ve done my part, Dr. Petrovsky can take it from here.”
“And Rose?” Callie says.
“I’ll stay till you’re on your feet,” she says.
54.
Callie and Creed.
Sensory Resources.
TO KEEP GWEN at bay, Callie called her and said she had to assassinate a drug lord, and would be out of the country for eight weeks.
Gwen said, “You can’t do that.”
“Do what?” Callie said.
“Just come and go for eight weeks at a time without giving me notice.”
“It’s how the job works. You
“Well, maybe I’m sick of your job.”
“Meaning?”
“Maybe I won’t be here when you decide to come home.”
Callie said, “Do what you’ve got to do. But in the meantime, don’t call me.”
On day five Callie takes her first steps since the shooting. Her wounds are healing at a miraculous pace, and because she’s convinced it’s due to the birch bark tea, I ask Rose to teach me how to prepare it. She takes me to the woods, points out a stand of birch trees, and has me cut the bark strips. Then she shows me how to boil it.
“You should drink a cup every day,” Rose says.
“Because my great-great-grandfather did?”
“That’s right. And he lived to be a ripe old age. Considering the times.”
“How did he die?”
“That’s for you to look up.”
“How is it you know so much about my ancestors?”
“How is it you know so little about them?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Then she says, “I’ve sent you two presents over the years. From the past.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Think about it.”
“I’m tryin’ to think but nuttin’ happens!” I say, imitating Curly, from the Three Stooges.
“One of the gifts is in your pocket as we speak.”
I reach in my pocket and feel the silver dollar my grandfather gave me all those years ago.
“Unless you’re my grandfather, I think you’re wrong.”
“Someone had to give it to him,” she says.
Like I say, she’s an odd one, this Rose.
“Where’s the second gift?”
She frowns. “You squandered it.”
“Do tell,” I say, sarcastically.
“I sent you a cannonball.”
I recall the cannonball. But it wasn’t a gift. It fell from the sky during a horrific hail storm and crashed into the back of a truck I was sitting in.
…In St. Alban’s Beach, Florida.
I look her over, carefully, and remember a hallucination I saw just before the cannonball struck. There had been a store near the truck. Through the rain I could barely see, but there appeared to be a young woman standing on the roof of that store, laughing. She had jet black hair, and eyes that glowed yellow, with a vertical black line in the center, like a jungle cat. If Rose’s eyes looked like that, I’d haul ass and never look back.
But like I say, it was an apparition, something I imagined. Because when I blinked my eyes a single time, she was gone.
I don’t recall telling anyone about the cannonball, but there were several men with me that day, and the guy who owned the truck kept it as a souvenir. If Rose has spent any time in St. Alban’s, it’s quite possible she could have heard about the cannonball.
And everyone who knows me knows about the silver dollar.
And there’s this: she knows C.H., my elfin researcher. Charlie.
How’s that possible? A woodland creature from centuries ago?
Obviously a bullshit story.
And yet it’s clear they know each other from somewhere.
I think it over. Charlie’s one of my top researchers. He certainly knows everything about my family tree. If he’s been communicating with Rose over time, he might have told her about my heritage. My gut feeling says Rose isn’t dangerous. She’s grandmotherly, in a strange way. And yet I wonder if she’s up to something. If so, I might have to find out the hard way.
How would it feel to torture someone who gives off a sweet grandmother vibe?
That afternoon, Rose leaves for New York. Callie and I finally find ourselves alone.
“Is there any such thing as too much love?” she asks, dreamily.
“I guess we’ll find out,” I say. Then add, “I know the true cost of love.”
“Tell me,” she says.
“Power.”
She frowns. “Excuse me?”
“All love comes from power.”
“You’re serious?”
“I am.”
