Page 88 of That Ain’t Witchcraft

James, gaping, said nothing.

She turned to look over her shoulder at him, giving a small “well, hurry it up” nod of her head at the same time. “Why am I here?” she repeated urgently.

“Uh,” said James.

Cylia stepped forward. “Our friend wishes to contest an unfair crossroads deal,” she said, voice loud and carrying. “He has that right.”

“Only if he does so of his own free will,” said Mary, still looking at James. “Well? We haven’t got all night.”

“I do!” he gasped, staggering to his feet. “I mean, I am. I mean, yes. I’m here to contest an unfair crossroads bargain.”

“You have made no bargains with us,” snarled the voice of the crossroads. “What trickery is this? Do you think to cheat?”

“It’s not a cheat,” said James. “I didn’t make the bargain, but Sally did. She came to you to find a way to get me out of this town. Well, she didn’t get me out. She didn’t get me anything but left alone. The deal that keeps me in New Gravesend is still in place, and Sally’s gone, and that means the bargain you made with her wasn’t honored. You’re a liar and a cheat, and you didn’t give me what Sally paid for, and I demand recompense!”

“Oh, you’ll have it,” said Mary, and smiled like the sun before she clapped her hands together and the world, such as it was, flashed corn-gold and blight-black in the same moment, and then everything was gone, and we were gone with it.

Twenty-three

“Family is more than what’s in your blood. Family is what’s in your heart, and who you reach for when the sun goes down.”

–Mary Dunlavy

In the liminal space between worlds … because that’s a great idea

THE FLASH FADED, and we were standing on a new road.

The corn still surrounded us, but where before it had been ordinary, even pleasant, the sort of corn that can be found in any farmer’s field, this corn was threatening, almost predatory, if that word could be applied to a plant. It grew higher than my head, and as the wind whispered through it, it rustled, a sound like the gnashing of a million terrible teeth, like the sharpening of a thousand cruel claws.

The road under our feet was hard-packed dirt, and the twilight was gone, replaced by blazing midday sun. Everything smelled of heat-baked earth, of rust, and the distant, unmistakable taint of long-dried blood.

Mary had moved during the transition, and was on the other side of me now, putting herself between us—all of us—and the shape that had suddenly been sliced out of the flesh of the world. It was a person and it was a void at the same time, more of an absence than anything else. It hurt my eyes if I tried to look directly at it. It was wrong, an offense to everything that was good and right and true, and I was suddenly, horribly grateful Leonard was here. Maybe now that he’d had a look at a true abomination, he’d start chasing those and leave the innocent cryptids of the world alone.

Or maybe he’d run screaming and kill anything that frightened him twice as hard. People are complicated and difficult and hard to predict.

“My God,” whispered Leonard. I’d never heard a member of the Covenant of St. George sound so afraid.

“A complaint has been raised,” said Mary, voice clear and carrying. “I did not arbitrate the bargain in question, but I am here now. I will speak for the man James Smith, who carries such complaints against you.”

There was something lilting and old-fashioned in her voice, like the modern world was falling away from her one syllable at a time. She had lived and died in the 1930s, but the sound of her now was much older.

James stepped up behind her, one hand pressed over the wound in his side. “Yes,” he said. “I have a complaint.”

The crackling, impossible shape of the crossroads somehow managed to get across the impression that it was snarling at the pair of them. “Dead men can’t carry complaints.”

“But he’s not dead yet, and Antimony brought him to the crossroads,” said Mary. “Sally made her bargain before Annie did. It takes priority, and that means the complaint against it takes priority. You must resolve this before he becomes touchable again. Those are the rules. You want to follow the rules, don’t you?”

There was a thin edge of warning in her voice, like failing to follow the rules would have consequences. Maybe they would. This place … this wasn’t a real place, not like Earth, not even like the various dimensions where my grandmother searched for her missing husband. This was a gap hewn out of the space between worlds, and if the rules dropped away, there would be nothing left to keep it standing.

Break one of the rules here, break them all. The crossroads had created their own prison when they seized a place that seemed impermeable to outside attack. Sure, they were almost untouchable from the outside, but once someone was able to get in …

I took a step backward, away from the brewing confrontation. Sam gave me a curious glance. I nodded, and he mirrored my movement. Cylia, Fern, and Leonard did the same, until all five of us were backing carefully away, moving inch by inch down the road, away from Mary, and James, and the terrible fury of the crossroads.

Finally, we were far enough away that it felt safe to turn and run, paralleling the corn, which continued to rustle like the world’s greatest graveyard.

“I do not want to go into that!” shouted Sam.

“None of us do!” I replied.