“I tol’ you you shouldn’ta bought all them magazines, Mr. Jack.” She handed Jack a ten-dollar bill from her purse, and Jack put it on the counter for the man, who gave him the change and two brass keys, along with a pile of towels and two cakes of soap from under the counter.
“If you kids want breakfast, it’s in the dining room, eight sharp,” he said as Jack gathered up the towels and Shimmy picked up the cases. What he meant was we could eat in the dining room but Shimmy couldn’t. I couldn’t have either, of course, if he’d gotten a proper look at me.
“Thank you, suh,” said Shimmy with a big smile. “I’m sure it’ll be right good too. Come along, chillun.”
I tried not to scurry out of there.
Cabin six was one little dingy room. The cabins had been electrified, but that maybe wasn’t such a good idea, because when Shimmy snapped the light on we were able to get a good look at the place. The gingham curtains needed a wash, bad. The sheets on the two narrow, sagging beds would have given Mama a lemon-juice face for a month. I reached out to pull down the shade over my bed and to look at cabin seven. There was Jack, doing the same. He waved and gave me a thumbs-up.
There was a mirror over the dresser. It showed that my skin was back to its own color in here. So was Shimmy’s. Shimmy pulled off her hat and set it on the dresser. Her hair was pulled into a tidy bun, except for the line of curls that lay flat against her forehead. She ran her hand carefully over her hair. I knew that gesture. I’d done it plenty. She was making sure it was still straight enough.
“How do you do that?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Do what?” She snapped the case open and shook out a fresh dress, this one with green flowers. She hung it from the clothes bar.
“How’d you do the magic?”
“That’s because you use too much. Not your fault, you ain’t had no training. But you have to use as little power as possible when you’re making wishes come true. It’s like pepper in the soup-you want just enough to do the job, and no more.” Shimmy lifted another dress out of the suitcase. This one was bright green with white cuffs and collar and looked too small for her. In fact, it looked about my size.
“But… they’re still looking for me… us… aren’t they?”
“See for yourself, why don’t you?” She nodded toward her handbag.
It felt a little strange digging into Shimmy’s bag. The silver compact was round, with an engraving of leaves and flowers on the top. This time, when I pressed the catch, awareness of a change rippled over my fingers. It wasn’t exactly the turning-key feeling, but it was something close. For a minute, I saw my own eyes and sunburned cheeks in the clear mirror beneath the lid. This time the glass turned black, like the fade-out between movie scenes. When the next scene brightened up, I saw Bull Morgan. He had both hands planted on the counter of a general store. Damp stains spread under his coat sleeves and around his shirt collar, and sweat-or something-dripped down his puffy face. He leaned in close to a skinny little man with a bushy beard and one eye drooped almost shut.
“She’ll be travelin’ with a darkie woman and a Jew boy,” Morgan said in his soft, husky voice. “They got themselves a big silver Packard. Probably stolen.”
The little man tried to back away, but he bumped up against his own shelves. He coughed, and coughed again. I thought how Morgan must be smelling pretty bad by now. “I ain’t seen nobody through here like that,” the little man wheezed. “But maybe you wanna check over ta Burden. They been sayin’ the road’s clear thatta way.”
Morgan nodded at the man, hooked his badge back on his belt, and stumped out to the truck. Two men with shotguns and slouch hats were waiting. Both looked awful fidgety.
“Sam…,” began the one wearing the brown canvas jacket and the scraggly beard.
“What?” Bull Morgan climbed heavily into the driver’s seat.
“Me and Eddie was thinkin’…”
“Well, you can cut that out and get in the truck.” Morgan jerked his thumb at the open back.
“We’re hungry, Sam,” said the second man. He was flagpole skinny, and kept his blue jeans tied at the waist with a piece of old clothesline. “We gotta slow down.”
“If you’d even just let us go in there and get something to eat…” Brown Jacket pointed to the store.
“Shut yer yaps, both of ya, and get in the truck!”
The man with the rope belt pushed his hat back on his head. “It’s just a couple of kids, Sam. They ain’t even in our town anymore!”
Morgan heaved himself out of the truck. The mirror didn’t show me his face really clear and I was glad. What I could see was his puffed-up hands curled into fists. Despite the fact that they were both carrying guns, the other two men backed up. “I said shut yer…” But Morgan stopped. Not paused, stopped dead. He cocked his head to one side, looking carefully. No, listening carefully. Except no one was talking.
“All right,” said Morgan, but he wasn’t talking to the two in front of him, just like he wasn’t listening to anything they could hear. Slowly he shifted his eyes back toward the other vigilantes. “You go on and ask the guy where there’s a good diner.”
“Okay, then.” The vigilante settled his hat back into place and started for the store. Sam Morgan shoved the other guy away from the truck and jumped in faster than somebody so big should have been able to move. He’d barely slammed the door when the truck shot forward in a cloud of dust, with the two vigilantes running behind, waving their arms and shouting.
Then I saw my own reflection again.
Shimmy came over to my side and looked down at me with sympathy shining in her eyes. She took her compact out of my hand and checked the mirror.
I wished it wasn’t her here. I wished it was Jack. I needed to talk to somebody I could trust. I couldn’t trust Shimmy, but I couldn’t not trust her either. Jack was my friend, but it was Shimmy who knew what was really going on.
“Shimmy?” My voice sounded awfully small, even to me.
“Mmm-hmm?” She stowed the compact back in her handbag and snapped the catch shut.
“When you said we were kin… you meant you’re… you’re half…”
“I’m a daughter of the Midnight People, but my daddy was a mortal man.” She returned to her unpacking, pulling pajamas and underthings out of the suitcase and laying them in the dresser drawers. “Now, I’m none so high up and powerful as you, of course, but I do have me a foot in both worlds.”
“And the… the… Midnight People… they wanted you there?”
She turned and looked right at me. Her eyes were big and brown, and as human as mine. “More than anybody ever did here.” She nodded in the direction of the office. “You know what we are to that sort. You know the names they’ll call us because we’re a strange color in a strange town.”
I folded my arms and tucked my hands into the pits.
Shimmy’s eyes narrowed. “She tried to hide you, didn’t she? Your own mama tried to hide you.” I nodded, ashamed, and she shook her head. “It’s all right, Callie. We both know what’s what. But you have to understand this. The Midnight People don’t care
“But you’re not there now. You’re here.”
“I was on watch. Now that my shift’s over, I’ll go back.”
“What’s it like where they live?”
“It’s everything you want it to be.” Shimmy plunked herself on the other bed and clasped her hands together, her face suddenly all distant and dreamy. “It’s beautiful as Heaven and sweet as Christmas morning. Everything’s easy and free. No hunger, no hard times, never. Just music and dancing. Pretty boys too, though maybe you’re a bit young for that.”
“But… but… what do people
“Whatever they like to do best.”
I had to admit it sounded peachy keen. Tired, filthy, and frightened like I was, the idea of someplace where I could do whatever I wanted, or not do anything at all, seemed pretty wonderful. Then I remembered the Trixies, and Bull Morgan rearing up in the dark.
“That ain’t what it’s been like so far.”
She laughed. “Oh, you ain’t been on the other side yet. You’ve only been inside the tunnels from the twilight
