against my skin, and the way the goose bumps spread out from the touch of cold water on a burning-hot day. Then there’d be another drop, and another. Soon there’d be too many to count, pattering on the ground, making a sound like paws.
I’d wished for rain every day since the dust came, just like all the folks behind us did. It was my wish and their wish, all together, as strong and as real as the wish for food among the hobos in the rail yard.
The wind blew hard and suddenly cold. Behind us, the clamor faltered. The light turned dirty-canvas yellow and then smoky gray. I risked a glance up. Clouds churned in the hard blue sky. But these weren’t brown dust clouds. These were thunderheads, great piles of them, filling the sky.
Something cold hit the top of my head. Then my arm, and my cheek, and my brow.
Rain.
Fat, ice-cold raindrops hit the ground and raised puffs of dust. They smacked against the dead cornstalks, making the stems buckle and sway. I could see the people between the drooping cornstalks now. The whole line of folks in dusty clothes, with hats on their heads and dented pots in their calloused hands, stood with their faces turned toward the sky.
“My God!” someone cried. “My God!”
They stared openmouthed at the sky. The individual drops now turned into a solid sheet of water, rippling in the wind, pouring down over the dead earth and the desperate people. The rain fell faster and thicker with every heartbeat. It poured out of the clouds, out of my wishing, and out of me too, until I swayed as much as any of the cornstalks.
“No!” bellowed Morgan. “Get after ’em, you fools!”
But no one was listening to him. The rabbits vanished into the corn, splashing through the new puddles as they made their escape, and no one cared. The people laughed and held their arms out to the sky, mouths open wide to let the rain pour right in. They hooted and hollered and banged on the pots, the ones they weren’t holding up to catch the water. They danced among the cornstalks, swinging each other around and shouting hallelujahs.
With the rain, I felt something else dissolve. The spell on their eyes. My rain washed that magic clean away.
I wasn’t the only one who felt it. Bull Morgan roared. He swelled like he was a bag filling up with the rain, and he teetered toward us, the revolver stretched out in front.
“You’re dead, you darkie brat!” he howled. “Abomination! Gonna kill you dead!”
“Run!” hollered Jack.
I tried, but my legs had turned to rubber and I just sagged. Jack caught my arm and kept me upright. Shimmy grabbed my other arm, and between the two of them they dragged me deeper into the cornfield. Shimmy pushed me forward into Jack’s arms so he could pull me with him while she shoved us both from behind.
There was a shot, and another. How many bullets had that been? How many did Morgan have left? My head spun. My stomach heaved. I was jouncing and jolting, deadweight in Jack’s arms. The clouds I’d called up hid the sun. I had no sense of direction. Jack swung around to the right, like he knew where he was going. Maybe he did. He always had before. Behind us, Morgan shouted and plunged through the corn and the pouring rain.
A hollow opened up in front of us. Jack threw himself flat on his face in the mud and pulled me down beside him. Shimmy dropped to her knees and then to her belly beside us. There was something wrong with her dress. It had a dark stain across the shoulder, something shining and wet that mixed with the rain and the mud. Shimmy put her hand on my back and held me down like she thought I might get up and start dancing. I couldn’t move. Each raindrop that hit me felt like it weighed five pounds. I was being pummeled flat into the ground by my own rain.
“Give it over now, Callie,” Shimmy said. Then she coughed. “Give it to me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The-the wish.” She coughed again.
Panic was blooming inside Jack. I could feel it like the rain battering my skin. Something was wrong, very wrong. I knotted together the last of my strength and made myself look at Shimmy, and at that dark, spreading stain. It wasn’t just a stain; it was a tear, straight through her shoulder.
She was shot.
“I got it now.” Shimmy’s voice trembled. “You let go.”
“But you’re… you’re bleeding…”
She coughed. “It’s not so bad.”
I made my eyes roll up to look at Jack. He shook his head. Shimmy was lying.
“I can’t let you…”
“Yes, you can!” Shimmy snapped. “You wish you felt better, don’t you, sugar? You wish you could run. Give it to me now.”
Shimmy huddled on the slope of the hollow. I didn’t know what to do. Bull Morgan was thrashing around up there with his gun, looking for us. It was a matter of seconds before he tripped over us in that little hollow, and I didn’t know how many bullets he had left, but I figured it was enough. The rain was punishing me down to my bones. I had no strength for another wish.
“You got to get away,” croaked Shimmy. “Take the car, get to Kansas City. You got to promise me you will.”
“Okay.” I swallowed hard. “I promise.”
Shimmy smiled, and I saw the glimmer of golden light in her brown eyes. “Don’t look like that. You just be sure you tell our king and queen that Shimmy never let you down.” She wrapped her hand around mine. It was as cold as the rain, as cold as death. I felt her reach inside me, felt the spark of mischief and determination, and her wish. I felt Shimmy wish I could give her the rainstorm, and I passed it over to her. Simple as breathing.
It was like a whole sack of stones rolled off my back. I could stand. I could back away.
Shimmy rose up from the mud. She was tall and solid, more real than the storm overhead or the mud underfoot.
“Bull Morgan!” she shouted. “Bull Morgan! Come here!”
Jack pulled me deeper into the corn and the rain.
We heard Morgan shout. We heard Shimmy laugh.
We broke through the edge of the corn, and there was the Packard, parked crooked on the side of the road. Jack had known where he was going after all.
A shot split the air like thunder, and another.
I dove into the passenger side of the Packard while Jack cranked the engine to life. I dug into Shimmy’s handbag for her compact. The tires spun and squelched in the mud as Jack forced the car forward, rocking and bumping across the dirt road’s ruts. I flipped the compact open.
The mirror went black again, then gray and shimmery with rain. Then the rain cleared away.
Bull Morgan was squinting, turning drunkenly in place, waving his revolver. Looking for us. For me. Shimmy lay in the mud at his feet, and she wasn’t moving.
“Where are they?” he shouted like she could still answer him. “Where?”
The wind blew until the cornstalks bent almost double. Then, slowly, the light began to change. It grew clean, bright, and hard. The rain slowed, then stopped. The white light turned Morgan’s sagging skin the color of chalk, like he’d walked off the screen from some old silent film.
“You have failed us, Samuel Morgan.” The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. There were no beautiful beings this time, just this voice that belonged to Judgment Day.
“No…”
“We gave you our trust and our favor, and you have failed!”
“No! No! I can still find her. I know where she’s gone!”
“Your time is over, Samuel Morgan.”
The light faded. Bull Morgan cried out and staggered forward, but he collapsed to his knees. He sagged slowly, deflating like a tire with a slow leak. I watched, my heart in my mouth, as Morgan slumped forward until his hands pressed into the dirt.
“No. No. Don’t leave me! I can find them. I will find them.”
But the magic was gone. The light was only the bloody twilight over the ruined prairie. The long stripes of the
