Page 43 of Caretaker

“Well,” I replied, absently. “He’d have to be, wouldn’t he?”

We walked back out onto the porch to greet the new arrival, and I watched, fascinated, as a large black woman climbed from the driver’s side, then rushed around to open the passenger side door.

She reached inside and emerged with a black cane, then tucked it under her arm as she helped a white-haired, elderly black man from the car.

I started down the porch steps but Rhys grabbed my arm. “What are you doing?”

“Going to see if they need help. The old dude looks like he can barely walk,” I whispered.

“By all that is holy,” Rhys hissed, “do not offer to help.”

“Show respect,” Clayton muttered.

I suddenly got the feeling they were both a little afraid. And that made me afraid. I swallowed and stepped back, my heart beginning to beat hard and fast.

If the owner disliked me, I wouldn’t get the house.

Before the lady could slam the door shut, a chicken jumped from the car, clucking as it walked around the man’s feet.

A chicken.

It appeared to be a white rooster, with a vivid red comb and black tail. When the man and woman began walking toward the house, the chicken followed, occasionally pecking at the ground.

It was torturous watching the old man trying to get up the porch steps. I clenched my teeth and wished Rhys would just rush down the steps and carry the old guy up.

But finally, they made it to the porch and then, as the three of us stood back, silent, he and the woman ambled to the door. They never once acknowledged us.

The door opened as they reached it. No one touched it, it just…opened.

I watched, mouth agape, as the little procession filed into the strange house.

It was hard telling how long we would have stood there in our little knot of nervous silence if the woman hadn’t stuck her head out the doorway. “Well? Himself don’t have all day!”

We hurried into the house, and still, despite everything, I had not one shred of doubt in my mind. I wanted to live at the way station.

I needed to.

“You’d be wanting the house, lovely?” the woman asked, as the man leaned on his cane and stared up at me through gleaming black eyes.

I barely restrained myself from bobbing a quick curtsy. “Yes, ma’am.”

She thought a minute. “Himself says you’re a tall drink of water.” She shrugged. “I apologize for his tone.”

I looked from one to the other, unsure. “Himself” hadn’t said a word. I said nothing, because I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“Himself says you didn’t see the entire house,” the woman said, then stuck out her hand so quickly I flinched, thinking that perhaps Himself had ordered her to smack me. But she only wanted to shake hands. “I’m Nadine.”

I squeezed her hand. “I’m Trinity.”

“Himself says you are the Light-Bringer.” Then she patted my hand and peered into my eyes. She and I were nearly the same height, but her thick hair, piled on top of her head, made her at least five inches taller. “Your despair will hold you back. This sadness is for a friend.”

I frowned, glanced at the silent and stiff Rhys and Clayton, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am. One of my friends is in the Byrdcage.”

She turned her stare to the little man on her right, then nodded. “Angus Stark. Himself has a fondness for Angus. Himself says to go to the island tonight and seek his freedom.”

“But…” I shook my head, feeling just a little desperate. “I’ve lost the judge’s wife. If I can’t find her, they won’t give me Angus.”

Storm clouds swirled in her eyes. “Are you refusing Himself? Do you dare to?”