Mud laughed. “You better have eggs and bacon, then, sister mine.”
“I got ’em. You cook ’em.”
“Then we’re your girls.”
I smiled and pulled my thoughts from the land, opened my eyes, plucked leaves out of my hairline and one out of Mud’s. Gathering my blanket and my sparse gear, I stood.
Mud grabbed my hand and turned my nails up. She plucked leaves off my fingertips, her head bent over my hand, her voice soft. “That bad dream I had? It was about vampires and blood.”
“Okay. I’ll…I’ll hold that worry close.” It was a church saying, more mindful than “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Together, we walked into our sister’s pretty tree house and closed the door on the winter.
* * *
An hour later, with Mud still at Esther’s playing with the babies, I went back home. Occam was in my bed and I kissed him awake. He wrapped me in his arms and pulled me under the covers of my—our—bed, happily half purring; I rested against him for long enough to know he was very happy, and that made me very happy, and so I spent half an hour making us both even happier.
The phone call from the church came just as I was about to take my first bite of my second breakfast. Before I could even get hello out, my brother said, “Nellie, we’re getting ready to start services, but there’s a truck at the gate. Three men inside are saying they your’un friends.”
“I ain’t got no friends,” I said. “At least none that would go to the church.”But what if this is Ming’s blood-servants? Or worse, Torquemada’s?“Let’s see what they want. Get the guards to send me pics of the vehicle, the men, and if they feel like it’s okay, let ’em in. If they want to go inside and worship, let ’em. Otherwise, pull a couple young’uns outta church and set ’em to track and spy.”
“Nellie, what’s going on?”
“Heck if I know, brother mine. Jist giving intruders rope to hang themselves with if they’re intending harm.”
“It’s Sunday. Don’t cuss.” The call ended.
“Heck ain’t cussing,” I grumbled. My phone started dinging with pics, which I flashed through as I forwarded them to HQ to run the pictures and the vehicle plates. Three people in one old truck, slender men, fitting with no difficulty onto a bench seat. No one looked familiar.
I checked what I was wearing and it was vaguely work acceptable. Jeans and a button shirt over a tee. Black boots. Better than the hogwashers I’d worn earlier. I slid my badge clip onto my belt and took a dark work jacket with the wordPsyLEDon the back in big white letters.
Occam put something in my hand when I finished texting the pics to whomever was on duty at comms this morning. “You want me to go with you, Nell, sugar?” he asked.
While I’d been busy, my cat-man had rolled my eggs and bacon up in a wheat tortilla, making a wrap I could eat while I drove. He had only recently introduced me to the bready wraps and they were so convenient for on-the-job meals.
I took a bite. Occam had smeared on a bit of jelly. “ ’Ish is goo’,” I said, swallowing. “No. I got this. I’ll see you at HQ.” I scratched Cherry’s head, kissed my man, grabbed my gear, and walked toward my past, stopping to pick up Mud from Esther’s, so she could attend Sunday services, as my custody agreement required.
* * *
My nosy sister beside me in the cab, I flashed my ID at the guards, recognizing most of them. It was an odd mixture of younger and older churchmen from several different factions, including two from Jackson’s faction, Balthazar Jenkins and Obed Jackson. That had to be my brother Sam’s work, trying to heal the schisms that had been developing among the membership. Balthazar and Obed stared at me with hate in their eyes.
I scanned the others. One of the men was Jedidiah, Esther’s ex-husband, the man who had abandoned her when she grew leaves.
Mud made a face at him and he looked pointedly away, pursing his lips as if trying to keep from saying words he might regret later. The man had learned a lesson or two about how he treated me, especially where others might hear. Rather than riling him, I spoke instead to my half cousin on Mama Grace’s side.
“Hello, Joel. How’s Dinah and Miriam?” Joel had recently married a new wife, and the transition from a single-wife to a double-wife household was often fraught with arguments, jealousy, and pain.
“They seem to be getting along well enough,” he said, gruffly. “Thank you for askin’.”
“Where are these men who say they’re my friends?”
“At the devil tree,” he chortled, “getting stuck and cussin’. Evil tree is good for something, but I ain’t happy at the young’uns Sam set to keep watch, hearing them words.”
“Mmmm.” I didn’t say anything about the other things the boys might see and hear in their own homes, like women cryingin the night from neglect and abuse. I wanted to say it all, but I’d learned as a child to pick my battles and keep my allies. “I’ll see about getting the men off the church grounds.”
“Mighty thankful.”
I rolled on in, through the gates and past the line of young vampire tree saplings that had created an inner barrier. I didn’t know if it was intended to keep the people inside safe, or to eventually close off the gate and trap them. If I ever had time to read the church grounds and try to evaluate the tree’s possible plans, I would.
