The Best Paranormal Crime Stories Ever Told

“Sex,” Gran replied primly.

Maggie stared at her as if she’d started speaking in tongues.

One week later, round two.

“So, the maiden is about sex?”

“That’s what I said.”

“If she’s about sex, she can hardly be a maiden.”

Gran shook her head. “That’s Unicorn talk,” she said firmly.

“Will you quit that?”

“I could call it something else, but you probably don’t want Shanna to repeat it at school.”

Maggie hadn’t asked for the ring back, and failed to mention it. Gran failed to offer. This was an armistice.

“The maiden has always been the most vulnerable of the three,” Gran continued. “The hardest to find. The hardest to keep.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“It’s the sex.”

“Something like that.”

Maggie turned to me. “Your grandmother is driving me crazy.” Unfair, trying to drag me into the discussion. “It’s because of the sex, right? There aren’t a lot of young women who don’t. Have sex.”

“It’s because of the sex, but not in the way you think. You’re thinking like a Unicorn,” she added. So much for armistice.

“Look, what are Unicorns? I’ve seen a lot of pretty pictures, and I’ve read a lot of pretty books. I’ve done more internet research on that than I have on almost anything, and my saccharine levels are never going to be the same. For something malign, they seem to occupy a lot of young girls’ minds.”

“Not the practical ones,” Gran snapped.

“Fine. Not the practical ones. Are we looking for a practical girl?”

Gran seemed to wither. “No,” she said at last. “We’re not. That’s why it’s so hard. To find her. To save her.”

“She dies?”

“Not the way you or I do. But her gift is the easiest to lose. It gets passed on, but sometimes it’s just the blink of an eye.”

“Unicorns are usually associated with purity.”

“What the hell is purity?” Gran snapped. “A bottled water slogan?”

Round three.

“Okay. If the maiden isn’t defined by not having sex, and she isn’t defined by purity-which,” Mags added, holding a squirming Connell while trying to get him to eat, “I’ll agree is pretty nebulous, I have two questions.”

“You’ve got a lot of questions. How, precisely, are you intending to pay for the answers?”

Maggie glared. It was a pretty glare. “By being the mother,” she snapped.

Gran nodded, as if this was the only answer she expected. “What are your questions?”

“One: there are three. Maiden. Mother. Crone.”

Gran nodded.

“You’ve been waiting for me.”

Nodded again, but more wary this time.

“But we’re only two. The third one must be important.”

“She’s important.”

“But you weren’t waiting for her.”

Snorting, the old woman said, “I wasn’t exactly waiting for you, either. I just knew you when I saw you.”

“Fine. And the maiden?”

“You’re not going to let go of this, are you?”

“No.”

“Fine. Be like that. What’s the other question.”

“You haven’t answered the first one yet.”

“Never promised answers.”

“She is really driving me crazy.”

“Hah. You’re getting there on your own.”

“What is her role? Why is she important?”

“It’s the sex,” Gran said quietly. “And not the sex. It’s not the act; it’s the possibility inherent in the act.”

Maggie looked pointedly down at Connell.

“The maiden never has children.”

“Why?”

“Because children are the mother’s. Try to pay attention.”

“So she gets to have-”

Gran held up a hand. “She’s important, because she’s dreaming,” she said quietly. “Dreams are fragile, and endless; they’re also a tad self-centered. Have to be. Heroes dream. She’s dreaming, and she can walk in any direction she wants. She has a freedom that neither you nor I have.”

“You envy her?”

“You don’t?”

“I’ve seen what happens to dreams,” was the bitter reply. “Young girl dreams. You’re right. I was stupid.”

Gran’s smile was bitter. Old. “I didn’t say you were stupid,” she said. She had, but I didn’t point this out. “Or if I did, I didn’t mean it.” She sighed, and caressed the bowl of her pipe. “Sex is union,” she said quietly. “When it’s done right. Union of body. A glimpse of dream. It transfigures us.”

“Sex is about babies.”

“Wasn’t always.”

“Is now.”

“Hah. You want my answer?”

Maggie shut up.

“Having sex doesn’t destroy the maiden. Abstinence doesn’t define her-unless she lets it. The maiden has freedom. But she doesn’t see it yet. Maybe she will. More likely, she’ll lose it; shackle it; accept what others tells her. By the time she wakes up, she’s given over dreams to reality. She’s become something solid, but she’s not-”

“The maiden.”

“Not anymore, no.”

Maggie was thoughtful. “This is why you haven’t looked for her.”

“She’s not entirely necessary,” was the reluctant reply, “and she’s much abused. Always. It’s hard. To keep her. And it’s damn painful to lose her,” she added.

“How can you say she’s not entirely necessary?”

“Sometimes dreams have edges. Sometimes they just cause pain.”

“A world without dreaming-”

“There will never be a world without dreaming,” Gran replied.

“Joan of Arc was a maiden?”

“Maybe. And look what happened.”

“Buffy?”

“Buffy?”

“Television character,” I told Gran. I started to explain, and she lifted a hand. “Maybe. First two seasons at any rate.” Which really surprised me, given that Gran doesn’t hold with television. “But she’s