Apressure came and went on Laurie's hair.Had she caressed him?Laurie couldn't wonder about it for long: he was back in thestrange tarot landscape, watching the flock of glass birds.Theywere fluttering with great energy now, and there were millions, notthousands.They whirled into a spiral, vortexed up above Nicole'shead.In each of them, a bestial image of Laurie thrust its hipsand groaned.Nicole smiled.She clapped her upraised hands, and theflock exploded outwards—up, down, in every direction, until she andWes were hidden in them, and the night was full of deadly silvershards.
Chapter Twenty One
Mateo'sshoulders were wide, shapely and strong from outdoor work.It hadtaken Sasha a long time to persuade him inside the house, let aloneupstairs into the bedroom.Gently Sasha ran his fingertips from onesmooth-skinned collarbone to the other, making the boy catch hisbreath and laugh.“I'm sorry.Did that tickle?”
“I'm sorry?”
“Te hizo eso cosquillas?”
“Oh.Ah, sì, a little.”
“Well, it's no good.You're forty two inches across there atleast.We'll never find a shirt to fit you out of Laurie's clothesand mine.”
“It doesn't matter.My uncle will lend me something—not as niceas yours would be, of course.But you've already done somuch.”
“You did most of it yourself.Come down and have a coffee, andtell me all about it.”
Theypadded down the broad staircase, bare feet silent on the polishedwood.It was the small hours of the morning, Mateo’s firstopportunity to escape his various dogsbody jobs and graveyardshifts and bring Sasha his news.Sasha indicated the chair at thekitchen table where he’d been working.The laptop sat open on thetable, idling through a screensaver mode of holiday snaps fromtheir last visit to the Languedoc.The photos were innocent—justCezanne pines and golden sands—but Sasha had such hot memories andassociations with that faraway shore that he was smiling as heswitched on the Gaggia.He'd tamed it to make plain black coffeenow, and it could rattle away to its heart's content in this emptyhouse.“All right,” he said, returning to the table with twosteaming mugs.“I'm sorry about the shirt, but let's make sureyou're ready apart from that.What time’s yourinterview?”
“Ten o’clock, with one of the advisors in the Ventura Boulevardbranch of the IGC.He says he thinks I’d be a good test case forDACA, just like you said.And...there’ll be an immigration officerthere, so things can start happening straight away, if—”
“Wait.You don’t have to agree to that.”
“I don’t mind.I really don’t have anything to hide, and I’mtired of living this way.I have to prove when I got here and howlong I’ve stayed.I don’t have papers, but I contacted some of myteachers from my high school, and they’d be prepared to speak forme.I have to be willing to register with Selective Service, and domilitary duty if I’m called.”
He satback, looking weary but pleased with himself.He had every right.“Sounds like you’re more than ready,” Sasha said, trying for asmile.The work was done, freeing Sasha’s mind once more forthoughts of Laurie.Sasha had repaired the phone but not tried touse it.He was once more aware of the damn thing sitting in hispocket, its silence like a hole punched in the fabric of the night.“That’s a big step, though, about Selective Service.Are you sureit’s what you want?”
“Of course not.But if I’m living in this country, and that’swhat its citizens do...”
Sashatucked the papers Mateo had brought with him back into their file.To each soul his own battlefield.If it gave Sasha a pang to thinkthat this boy, barely turned eighteen, might have to find his inthe dust of Afghanistan, the decision was none of his business.“You’re all set.I’m done with you.”
“How can I thank you?”
“For what?All you'll be doing is telling thetruth.”
“Without you, I'd never have known who to tell it to.Whichparts I should tell.”
Sashatucked the papers back into the file.He closed it reluctantly.That had been the essence of his Guidance Council job—to show wherejustice could be found and how to obtain it.In some ways he'd beenno more than a fingerpost, a conduit.But when that channel wasblocked, bad things could happen to people like Mateo, like YosiriCuza, and he missed his work.He wanted more from it now.He wantedto take his law degree, and more than anything he wanted Lauriesitting where Mateo was, hearing this decision with thediamond-bright joy that lit him up whenever Sasha overcame hisdoubts about himself and took a step.
Hisphone buzzed.Both he and Mateo flinched.Sasha overcame a pang ofbitter disappointment—only an email, and he clicked on itautomatically to stop the alert light from flashing.It was just avideo link, probably a virus or an advert for breast or penisenhancement: he got both, with his gender-neutral firstname...
No.Thiscame from Libby Palermo.Sasha frowned at it, bemused.What onearth reason did she have to contact him?She had all his detailsfrom the time when she’d been helping organise his visa, but theyhadn’t become friends.Far from it.Probably her account had beenhacked.Sasha shouldn't touch the link at all.
Then aterrible fear overcame him that something had happened to Laurie,something Libby knew about and wanted to tell him, and this was heronly way.The chances of this were remote, but Sasha felt as if hisheart would stop if he ignored them.Forgetting everything—Mateo,the paperwork, the subtle whispers of the night beyond the kitchenwindow—he tapped the link open, and watched while the screenchanged to the YouTube interface, then a black-and-white still shotof something he couldn't interpret.The clip began toplay.
Sashadidn't watch much TV.His Facebook account was a list ofprofessional posts from the Guidance Council, and he loathed theworld of celebrity culture and gossip; only ever used a searchengine that didn't thrust such vicious jabber upon him.
He couldhave lived for weeks safe from the sword-thrust the universe hadprepared for him.But Laurie had made an enemy of Libby Palermo,and the blade was in her hands.
She cutdeep.Sasha recoiled from the table.His chair clattered over andhe would have fallen, blinded and dazed by his need to retreat, hadMateo not caught him.“No,” Sasha choked, trying to push him away.“Don't touch me.”
“Sasha—mi amigo, what has happened?”
“Nothing.”The powerful arms closing round him were too warm tobear.They were stopping air from getting to his lungs.“Leave mealone.Just go.”
Automatic play and replay.Christ, Mateo was watching now.With a superhuman effort Sasha wrenched him round, away from thescreen.Mateo had never met Laurie—the pool boy didn't shake handswith the new young movie god—but he would know him, either fromtheBlood Moontrailers or the observations he made of all the neighbourhoodcomings and goings.Mateo would know.“Don't look,” Sasha pleaded.He lifted a hand and tried clumsily to cover Mateo's eyes.He'dblindfold the whole world if he could, shield it like a child andsomehow shield himself too, because each time this horror was seen,the sword would enter Sasha's guts again.It was twisting thereright now.He fought like a wildcat in Mateo's grasp,impaled.
Mateo took hold of his hand.The last time he had kissed itspalm.Now he immobilised Sasha with one arm, drew the hand down tohis mouth and brushed its knuckles with his lips, a gesture ofdesperate comforting, erotic and fraternal at the same time.“Mi queridoSasha,don't believe this.These things can be faked.Or if it is true—ifit is true, come with me.No-one should make a man like you cry.Come with me and I will love you.I will love you until all thisgoes away.”
