Em's Wheel

By Kris Heywood

Six misfits are drawn to the same snow-covered mountain. They settle halfway to the peak, build a fabulous garden, and proceed to create a new world that they cannot access without the help of young Em and her friends. She doesn't have a clue about what they, together, are capable of or what lies in store for them in the near future. Moving forward on trust, they navigate virgin, treacherous ground even after the people of Yates decide they are a coven of witches that must be destroyed. Increasingly desperate, they try to outrun their fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: XinXii
• Release date: Apr 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9780615517711

Kris Heywood

Kris Heywood was born near Lake Constance and grew up around Munich. After spending many years in Southern California, she craved moody skies and four seasons and moved to the Pacific Northwest, where she has occupied various mountain cabins, along with uncountable cats, dogs, rabbits, and guinea pigs. For a long time she took in strays, but recently she has allowed the pet population to shrink by attrition. These days she lives in town along with two very smart German shepherds. She is a confirmed novel writer and believes that good fiction must, first and foremost, be distilled truth. Kris has produced four books, which are all available as ebooks and print books. She is currently working on her fifth and is having lots of fun in the process. Kris is passionate about long, brisk walks, especially through the woods. She also loves yoga, animals of all kinds, literary fiction, good theatre, foreign and Indie movies, and spending time at her laptop.

Book preview

EM'S WHEEL

A NOVEL

KRIS HEYWOOD

C O P Y R I G H T

Em's Wheel

Copyright 2011 by Kris Heywood

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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www.xinxii.com

ALSO BY THIS AUTHOR

VOID

MARIA

PRIVATE WALLS

FOR ABRAHAM, MICHAEL, AND SETH

Contents

ALSO BY THIS AUTHOR

C H A P T E R 1

C H A P T E R 2

C H A P T E R 3

C H A P T E R 4

C H A P T E R 5

C H A P T E R 6

C H A P T E R 7

C H A P T E R 8

C H A P T E R 9

C H A P T E R 10

C H A P T E R 11

C H A P T E R 12

C H A P T E R 13

C H A P T E R 14

C H A P T E R 15

C H A P T E R 16

C H A P T E R 17

C H A P T E R 18

C H A P T E R 19

C H A P T E R 20

C H A P T E R 21

C H A P T E R 22

C H A P T E R 23

C H A P T E R 24

C H A P T E R 25

C H A P T E R 26

C H A P T E R 27

C H A P T E R 28

C H A P T E R 29

C H A P T E R 30

C H A P T E R 31

C H A P T E R 32

C H A P T E R 33

C H A P T E R 34

C H A P T E R 35

C H A P T E R 36

C H A P T E R 37

C H A P T E R 38

C H A P T E R 39

C H A P T E R 40

C H A P T E R 41

C H A P T E R 42

C H A P T E R 43

C H A P T E R 44

C H A P T E R 45

C H A P T E R 1

THE ROOM WAS A SOMBER BLACK, the dying embers providing only the faintest glimmer of light. It gathered on the shape of a red dog napping on a braided rug and the six pairs of bare human feet that rested lightly against the dog's luxurious fur. As usual, the feet were split into two distinct sections. Odasan and his wards, Lupe and Brendan, had theirs on one side of the dog. Alden and his most loyal follower, Hertha, had theirs on the other, matching ankle to ankle.

Anckar's feet lay all alone at the dog's tail end—also as usual. Six pairs of legs rayed outward, blending with the parlor's gloom. The door to the yard was open, allowing the shrill chirrup of crickets to stream inside.

We've done as much as we can by ourselves, Alden's dreamy voice said from the shadows.

To go on, we need the girl and her friends.

Lupe's question was timid and stubborn at once. Why should we go anywhere when we have paradise right outside this door? There is no place better than this. No one below knows we're here.

Anckar gave an indignant sniff. They know exactly where we are. It's only because this is such an inconvenient location that they haven't come after us—yet. Have you forgotten what happened to the original freaks?

Brendan stirred uneasily, as he always did when Lupe was under verbal attack. This time she's right, Lupe, he said gently. They put that sign in the store window. That's not exactly a peaceful act.

There was a long pause, and then Hertha added in her rich tone, I don't know how much longer the store will take our stuff for trade. Tilden's wife is finally getting to him. What will we do without lamp oil? Without matches? Without grain?

The dog sighed and shifted, causing the six pairs of red-tinged feet to rise and settle again.

From the edge of the mountain forest, an owl screeched a high-pitched Whooo! A light wind blew faint life into the coals, shifting deep shadows.

Alden, tell us about the girl. Odasan's calm voice invited reasonableness. Why won't she come?

With a rueful laugh, Alden said, She reminds me of how it was for me. She lives in the same kind of small, dying village where the farmers are losing their fight with the drought. Every dream I send her she manages to forget the moment she wakes. She's so used to her miserable life that she thinks there's no other way to be.

And her companions?

I think there are three. One is an old friend content in solitude. The second is a man she has yet to meet. I haven't been able to form a clear link with the third but I do know none of these three will come without Em, and without her, we can't proceed.

Somewhere downslope, a second owl boomed a resonant reply to the call of the first. Twice more did one owl ask and the other respond before Odasan said softly, If we could fetch her somehow. It sounded almost like a suggestion.

The dog sat up, toppling their feet onto the plank floor, and apologetically licked Brendan's heels, spending a few extra seconds on the misshapen one. Then she went to stand in the dim rectangle of the doorway, gave one decisive bark, and was gone. Nada! Brendan cried sharply.

There was no reply. You don't suppose she'll—

Why not? Odasan said. Didn't we agree, when she first came to this clearing, that she is no ordinary dog?

The boy, who had never shown the slightest inclination to contradict his sensei outright, replied respectfully, True. And she's always been good at retrieving.

Abruptly, the crickets ceased fiddling. Deep silence spread over the steep, inky hillside. A cold draft invaded the cabin, bearing the scent of autumn and frost.

C H A P T E R 2

EM WOKE WITH HER LONG LEGS DANGLING over the end of her mattress. She fished for the stool she always used as a bed extender but could not find it. Most likely she had kicked it out of reach during that last vivid dream, already fading. Keeping her eyes closed, she took a deep breath and was almost sure she could smell a mouth-watering blend of vanilla and butter.

No doubt her birthday cake was already cooling on the kitchen sill directly below. Last year it had been rich with cream from their own cow, who had since died of heat and starvation. But there'd only been one candle stuck on top instead of the fifteen she had expected. She hadn't seen as much as a cake crumb since but her taste buds still recalled every nuance of flavor.

The tantalizing aroma of her new cake catapulted her out of bed and into her rough, hand-sewn summer dress, already too short and too tight. She smoothed her hair, scooped up her oversized sandals, and ran out to the landing for a better whiff but all she could smell was yesterday's stale heat. She leaned over the banister to look at the kitchen door, which was always kept open. This morning it was shut. From behind it came a mute scraping of chair legs, a plate set down unnecessarily hard, the sparse murmur of her parents' cheerless voices.

They were waiting for her.

She took the stairs three at a time, sliding a hand along the banister and hesitating at the bottom just long enough to yank the unevenly stitched dress hem toward her knees. Then she opened the door. A reflection of dawn colored the kitchen walls a festive pink, but there was no cake on the sill and the counter was equally bare.

The table was set for three with the unmatched everyday dishes, the usual rosehip tea and a dark loaf of rough-milled bread. Her father sat stooped over his plate on one side of the table, her mother over hers at the other. Both were tenaciously chewing.

Em dropped her sandals. Her mother turned toward her, twisting her mouth into a stingy smile. Land's sake, she said. You got up by yourself today. Must be a special occasion. It was plain that she didn't realize what day it was until the last word was out. Then a shadow of discomfort crossed her lined face.

Don't tell me you forgot, Em said, as if it wasn't entirely obvious.

Her father slurped tea to wash down his last bite. And a good morning to you, too, he said with his usual gruffness, not bothering to look up. Forgot what?

Oh, nothing. Em made an effort to sound calm. Just my sixteenth birthday, is all. She glanced hopefully back at her mother. Did you . . . bake me a cake?

Foolishness, her father answered instead. "Waste. When flour's so costly right now.

Sixteen, you say? Old enough to know that money doesn't—"

—grow on trees, Em finished his favorite sentence for him, just to get it over with. "Mom?

A present? Just one?"

Her mother got up to rinse her plate in the sink. "We're heading out to the fields, Emma.

Before the heat comes on. You'll have to eat your bread while we're walking. No money for presents this year. Times are—"

—hard, Em supplied, still at the door. But Mom, I gave you something for your birthday.

What, that bunch of dried weeds? her mother scoffed. Tell you what—I'll pick you one just like it, soon as we get to the—

—fields, said Em, retrieving her sandals. You'll have to bring it back here then, because I'm not pulling a single thistle today. I'm staying home, and if nobody's willing to celebrate with me, I'll do it all by myself. She whirled out to the hall and slapped her big feet across the tiled floor and up the sagging stairs. Her exit would have sounded more impressive if she had worn shoes.

I'm sleeping in! she yelled from the landing. For as long as I want! And when I wake up, I'll bake my own cake. And I'll find my own self a present—just see if I won't! She slammed her door and hooked the latch, expecting immediate retribution, but neither of them came after her.

Maybe it was the one thing they were willing to give her on her sixteenth birthday—the once-only permission to be rude without getting punished for it.

Soon after, she saw her parents walk away on the dirt road. They looked stunted from her angle, both short, stiff backed, and shabby. Her father balanced a shovel on one bony shoulder, a hoe on the other, the lunch sack swinging from its sharp blade. Her mother carried both rakes and a water skin. They walked four feet apart, framing the space Em usually filled. Had always filled until now.

Part of her wanted to catch up and fill her old space, keep everything as it was, ease one of the rakes off her mom's shoulder and work extra hard in the furrows between them until they would pardon her lapse into defiance. Some other part of her jerked the curtains shut, gulped air already too warm, and knew she had finally breached a line that could not be mended.

An hour later, in a kitchen sweltering from the cook stove, she put something lopsided and lumpy on the sill. The counter was a sticky mess. She was tempted to leave it but didn't quite dare. While it was true that a girl shouldn't have to wash dishes on her birthday, it was also true that a mother shouldn't have to come home to the aftermath of a cooking disaster.

She scrubbed everything clean. Then she fetched her latest book and carried it out to the yard. In the shade of the carob tree, she gathered a handful of pods that had fallen during the night, sat with her back against rough bark, and examined each pod for worms. She kept only the best and nibbled on them while she scanned the book in pursuit of her favorite word, the one with the promise of accelerated action. It was suddenly.

There were two reasons she found it hard to keep her eyes tracking the page. The first was the quick metal glimpse she kept getting of that one last dream she'd had during the night, complete with patterns of pulsating light, a strange haunting song, and a quiet voice that had whispered incredible secrets into her ear. She could still hear the words though they'd stopped making sense right after she woke up.

The second reason was guilt. It made the carob pod she was gnawing bitter in her mouth.

How selfish could she get, using the last of the sugar and eggs and spilling costly wheat flour while her parents crouched over a nightmare of thistles and weeds, the sun sweating the lives out of them drop after salty drop? And surely it was wrong for her to read in the middle of the week when the book could have waited for Sunday.

If only they would admit how senseless their labors were in this endless drought, under a sky of merciless blue empty of the smallest hint of a cloud. Sitting in the shade of the carob tree, she wished she could do something, anything, that would make a difference.

You're about to get your wish, the voice from her dream seemed to whisper inside her ear.

Oh, hush, Em said, jumping up. You're not even real! The book dropped onto the hardpan, slamming shut.

And then, suddenly, the world went still.

It was as if every sound had been sucked right out of it. Her eardrums fluttered. She slapped her ears, expecting the pop that sometimes came with a yawn, but it didn't come. No crows, screeching. No hens, cackling. No village noises at all. Even the silence in Bena's old woods was louder than this, with the conifers rustling in the wind, making green waves.

A wasp swooped close and hovered in front of her nose, its wings vibrating without the usual hum. If wasps got thirsty enough they would land on bare skin, wanting the sweat. She backed away from it and walked around the big tree, staying in its circle of shade. When she returned to her starting point the wasp was gone. She stooped for the book at her feet just as the voice in her ear said,

Now listen!

Sound rushed back in—first the din of crows and the shrieking of hens, then the shrill neighing of a stallion, followed by an incoherent, terrified scream. It pierced clear through her.

Something nearby was hurting. She ran, letting her heart pull her down the same road her parents had walked, around the same two curves, toward the fields. She could hear boys hooting and wasn't surprised to recognize Nev's voice among them. It had been his stallion, trumpeting—

Thunder, who had taken Em's place in his affections, for whom he had so easily betrayed her.

She was rounding the second curve when the scream rose again, tearing through excited male laughter.

Bull's eye! Sean shouted. He had made fun of Nev all of last year for playing with Em, who was growing not by inches but by feet, looking more grotesque with each passing month.

On the day Nev finally saw her through everyone else's eyes, Sean had promptly slipped into the best-buddy role she had to relinquish.

My turn. Watch this! yelled Tim, the sheriff's son.

And then she saw everything—Thunder rising, Nev proud in the saddle, his two friends on either side of the horse. Tim was aiming a stone at something too close to miss, something trying to hide between two low furrows. It was red, dusty, and utterly defenseless.

Hey, Em yelled, outraged. She snatched up a crumbling piece of fence post. Hey!

Tim dropped the stone. Thunder's hooves came down. Nev shrank in the saddle.

Well, if it ain't your old sweetheart, the giant, Sean drawled. The cavalry to the rescue. Or is it Horse-Face to the rescue?

Neither, Tim sneered. It's Spider-Legs, wearing a dress for a change. Not that it does her much good. Homely is homely.

Nev shrank some more. So did Em, but on the inside, where it didn't show. She ran on, wielding her stick. The thing in the furrows raised its head and looked hopefully in her direction.

As she closed the last few yards it tried to crawl toward her. A dog?

Careful, Nev said. She's got the mange. Don't touch her. We're trying to chase her away before she passes it on the village dogs.

Em glared. No reason to use her for target practice!

Nev looked away.

Em dropped the fence post, sank to her knees, and stretched out a hand. A red muzzle bridged the gap left between them. The instant that hot, dry nose touched the back of her hand and the dog's round red eyes locked onto hers, a shiver of pure recognition passed through Em, even though she was quite certain they had not met before.

Leave that sick bitch alone, Nev warned. She doesn't belong here.

She does now. She's mine. Em rose, one hand under the stray's scabby chest, the other supporting the hind legs.

Tim made a puking sound.

Sean said, Ugly giant, ugly dog. You two deserve each other!

But Nev wanted to reason with her. Put her back down, Em, he said as Thunder nervously danced sideways. If we don't chase her away the sheriff will shoot her.

Em clutched the dog to her chest. Today's my birthday, remember? And this is my present, the way Thunder was yours. You know I always wanted a dog.

Nev twisted the reins and looked to where the fields met the forest as if wishing himself far away. What's the matter, Nev, Sean said. You're not still sweet on the freak, are you?

You kidding? Nev kicked Thunder in the ribs and the horse reared again, drumming air.

The boys jerked away from the hooves, scowling at Em to hide their lapse into panic.

She turned her back on them all, retracing her path to the road, around the curves, and to the house. The dog in her arms was as light as skin, bones and an empty belly could get. The longer she held her, the more she felt a bond growing between them, like the one she used to have with Nev. He had been more twin than friend until the day his father took him aside and told him he was getting too old to hang out with girls, especially gawky ones who made him look like a midget. He'd offered him Thunder instead and Nev cut her loose and accepted the bargain without thinking twice.

Funny how the stray in her arms could almost make it stop hurting.

C H A P T E R 3

EM CARRIED THE DOG BEHIND THE BARN and put her down in the coolest part of the shade. Don't move, she said. I'll bring you some water. The dog's tail twitched in response as she obeyed. But her red eyes anxiously looked after Em, who glanced over her shoulder twice before she rounded the barn corner. Turning to peek, she found the eyes still trained in her direction.

In the kitchen, she filled her mother's oldest pot with water and grabbed some meat scraps out of the cooler. She laid her offerings before her new friend who drank in great gulps, ignoring the food. Then Em took her first close look at her one and only birthday present. The dog's hide was flaky and raw, hanging in loose folds. Em's dress was stained with rust-colored blood from carrying her. Since it was already dirty she used the hem to wipe pus from the dog's runny eyes.

You're a mess, she said. Good thing I found you. But don't worry. I'll fix you up somehow.

There were certain weeds, much as her mother scoffed, that held the power to heal—but she wouldn't know which to pick until she had an idea of what ailed her new friend.

Then she noticed a leather strap around the thin neck. It was crusty with dirt, but somebody must have cared enough to fasten it on her. Someone she lost, maybe weeks or months ago. Em tried to work the tight knots, stopping when a fingernail split. Maybe I can't help you get home, wherever that is, she said. But I promise to take good care of you here. She eased herself to the ground beside the dog and stretched out full length, crooking one arm for a pillow, resting the other on a red flank. Red, she said. That's what I'll call you. Now let me think this through.

The dog put her muzzle trustingly on Em's chest, right over the diaphragm, where it moved up and down with Em's breathing. The food scraps attracted a fly that proceeded to buzz loudly in wide circles. An ant climbed over Em's ankle and traveled up her shin. A wasp landed on her big toe and squeezed itself into the valley between it and the second toe.

She held her foot still. The wasp's tiny feet tickled. Then it rose to investigate the fly's treasure, adding its drone to the buzz. The fly retreated to land on one of the dog's oozing sores.

Red twitched her hide, sending it back into the air. Em yawned, closed her eyes, listened to the buzz and the drone, and felt the ant tickling her knee. She thought about flicking it off—but what harm did it do?

Her mind floated and sank. Catnap was her next-to-last thought. She changed it to dognap and slept.

Her rumbling stomach awoke her. Lying sweat-drenched in a patch of bright sun, she felt too heavy to move. Her lids seemed glued shut. It took her forever to put a hand over her belly.

As soon as she managed the feat, an array of faces appeared on the screen of her mind, each smiling at her with prompt recognition before making room for the next. If she had seen any of the faces before it sure wasn't in this life. She rarely left the confines of Oren except for an occasional secret trip into the wildest part of the forest and her monthly hikes to the used-book store in Clydestown.

She answered each of the smiles with one of her own. What could it hurt? The last face to appear belonged to a pale, long-haired man wearing a red bandana tied over his brow. He looked drowsy and daft. I'm Alden, he said without moving his lips. Welcome to the fiery hill.

Startled, she jerked her hand off her belly, whereupon his image disappeared. She must have been out in the hot sun too long; it was baking her brain. Red raised her head, panting. The water dish was dry. The food scraps were gone. So were the bugs. I know where to take you, Em told her. To Clydestown. There's an animal hospital across from the bookstore.

The dog cocked an ear as if considering the suggestion.

The vet will know if you've got the mange or not, she explained, turning over one of Red's paws. The pads were worn raw. On her other feet, too. You can't walk on these for two hours, but light as you are I can't carry you that long.

Red wagged her tail, waiting for Em to work it out.

I know, Em said. We'll borrow Pop's handcart. I'll be back in a minute.

She thundered upstairs to her sweltering room, snatched the hot piggy bank off her dresser, stuffed it in a bag along with an old blanket and the aluminum flask from her closet shelf, and carried everything to the kitchen to add more leftovers from the cooler. While she filled the flask and Red's dish she briefly considered the collapsed cake on the sill. With a shudder, she decided to take along a few slices of plain bread instead.

It wasn't until she came out into piercing sunlight that she remembered the dismal state of her dress. Running up to her room again, she changed into a loose pair of shorts and the sleeveless blouse she'd helped her mom sew, shed the sandals in favor of socks and her sturdy walking shoes, snatched her wide-brimmed straw hat from its peg behind the door, and was ready to go.

The trick was to leave the village unseen, especially by her parents, who couldn't refuse permission as long as they were conveniently absent. Em avoided asking herself how they would like the new family addition. When she's made sure Red was comfortable on the folded wool blanket inside the cart, she took off at a brisk pace, thankful her father kept the wheels so well oiled. The Clydestown vet would prove Nev wrong, of course, and then Red would be safe anywhere in Oren.

*

TWO HOURS later she slumped on the bench in front of the bookstore, dejectedly wiping her brow with a sunburned arm, frowning at the small sign across the street, tacked to the animal hospital's door. Closed until two. It was barely one—the hottest time of the day. She wanted to browse in the store but dogs weren't allowed. Clydestown seemed to have run out of shade and Red was panting again.

More water? Em asked, stooping to push the dish under the dog's nose. She straightened in time to see an oddly shaped horseless black wagon roll up the street toward her. It had fat black wheels that moved soundlessly, as in a dream. When it drew nearer, she noticed a thick sheet of glass in front of the young man sitting inside, and the tops of plush seats finer than any Nev's mother kept in her parlor. The driver seemed as startled by her as she was by him. He nodded at her when the wagon drew level. Then he veered the contraption into the alley that went to the rear of the clinic.

Without a thought in her head Em grabbed the cart handle and clattered in pursuit, catching up to the thing just as one of its doors swung wide. Out came a knee, followed by an oversized foot in an extremely large shoe. Then the rest of the man emerged, unfolding one limb at a time.

She could hardly believe someone that tall had fit inside. His hair flamed in the sun. A trim beard, equally red, spread in jaunty curls over and under soft lips still trying to leave boyhood behind. From the cart, Red gave a deep-chested purr, like a contented cat. Scrambling out, she limped as fast as she could to throw herself belly-up at the man's feet. He crouched, letting the wiggling dog lick at his beard.

Em's eyes pricked with jealous tears. That's one of those old-timey cars, isn't it? she said crisply. I can hardly believe no one's set fire to it yet. They're illegal in these parts.

Not this one. He rubbed the dog's back, carefully avoiding the sores. It's a Doble. Runs on steam. I've just about convinced all of Clydestown that it's entirely harmless. You're not from around here.

We've come from Oren, she explained, wishing Red would show a bit more restraint. To see the vet. I need to find out what's wrong with my dog.

He tightened his mouth. You've left it overly long, don't you think?

I just rescued Red this morning, she sputtered, offended by his critical tone. Some boys were torturing her. They claimed she has the mange. What's it to you?

Rising to his full height, he was an amazing head taller than she.

I get upset whenever I see someone mistreating an animal, he said instead of apologizing.

As it happens, I'm Dr. White's new assistant. He's out to lunch. Anything I can help you with?

He was obviously too inexperienced to do Red much good. If she was going to trade her savings for an examination she'd rather take her chances with a real vet. Out to lunch? she repeated dully, wiping sweat from her forehead. I don't know. Another hour in this heat . . .

He jiggled some keys. I was about to suggest you come inside where it's reasonably cool. I have to tend to my patients but you can skip to the head of the line. Shouldn't take long just to check for the mange. He unlocked the back door and ducked on his way in. Em fervently hoped she had reached the end of her growth spurt—she'd forget to duck. Steel cages lined the dim corridor walls. Inside them, dogs barked, cats yowled, and one lone brown hen, her neck feathers plucked, red goose-bumpy skin full of stitches, tilted her head from side to side and crooned a soft question.

Patience, my friends, he said. You'll get my full attention as soon as I'm done with the ladies of Oren.

Em and Red followed him to the far end of the corridor where he opened a door and beckoned them in. Our examining room. If you put Red on the table I'll take a look. He busied himself at the sink. Em lifted the dog up and stayed close to keep her from jumping back on the floor. The young would-be vet pushed the dog's rear into a sit before scraping a knife over several lesions. Then he smeared the samples on a clean rectangle of glass and slipped it under a black tube, nodding at the wall switch. You can click off the overhead light.

Clydestown was bigger and richer than Oren, entitling it to longer bouts of electricity, although oil lamps stood on a nearby shelf to take over the next time the electric lights failed. Em flicked the switch. After a long, silent minute in the dark, he pronounced, No sign of the mange. He flashed something violet. When he turned the ceiling fixture back on he was smiling.

Nor is it a fungus. Now that's the kind of news I like to tell.

If it isn't the mange, what is it, Doctor? Em asked. Or do I call you Assistant?

My name's Driscoll.

Deciding he didn't need to know hers, she wondered out loud, Why is she going bald?

He stroked his short beard. It could be a flea allergy. Or malnutrition. She looks as if she ran a long way. Probably couldn't find much to eat. Not much water, either. He peered at one of Red's pads, shaking his head. She ran a very long way. Her nails are worn to the quick. Aha!

He had discovered the collar. Obviously she belongs to somebody. Shall we look?

Em didn't like the direction the exam was taking. Red belongs to me now, she said. She's my birthday present to myself.

He worked the knots, broke a fingernail, and gasped, Ouch! under his breath.

Tough knots, aren't they? she said with satisfaction.

Not tough enough. He sliced the leather with one of his blades and gently pulled it away from the dog's neck. It grew right into her skin, he grumbled, shaking his head. Made a groove.

She must have belonged to a very thoughtless person, Em said. I would have checked the collar regularly to make sure it stayed loose.

He held the piece of leather up to the light. "There's something stenciled inside. Brendan's Nada. Fiery Hill. Is that a town? Odd name."

Peculiar, she was quick to agree. And not very helpful. Then she remembered her half-dream behind the barn. That man with the bandana—hadn't he said something about some place called Fiery Hill? But his name was Alden, she muttered to herself.

Driscoll cocked an eyebrow. Whose?

She shrugged, feeling self-conscious. "I had some kind of dream before we came. There was a man in it with a rag tied around his head. I thought he said, 'I'm Alden. Welcome to Fiery Hill.'

The dream sounded absurd, even to her. I must have got sunstroke. I fell asleep in the shade but it moved.

His eyebrows arched higher. She felt her cheeks go hot with a blush. But he was no longer looking at her. He was staring right through the wall as if he could see what was on the other side. And then he grinned, fully present again. I hate to admit it, but I had a similar dream. Just last night. A rolled up kerchief, tied on his brow. Unusual, shimmering eyes.

Red heaved a sigh and looked first at Em, then at the floor. She put out a restraining hand to keep her from jumping off. "There's no town named Fiery Hill anywhere around here, is there?

Clydestown is the farthest I've ever walked. I like to come to the bookstore."

I know, he said, his voice growing warmer, "I've seen you go in. Once a month, is it? I asked the clerk about you. Made up my mind to say hi the next time you came. You beat me to it.

I believe you're the tallest girl in this desert of dust. Hard to miss. She frowned, finding the observation less than endearing, but he failed to notice her reaction, for the faraway look had returned to his eyes. As a matter of fact, I think I might know where this Fiery Hill is, he said slowly, as if he were trying to recall something he once read. It's not a town. It's a mountain. I always planned to go there someday."

The last thing Em cared to see was a burning hillside. Oren is as hot as I can stand it, thank you, she told him. And if you have some medicine for my dog we'll leave you to your regular patients and be on our way.

He fingered one of the lesions. I only told you what it isn't. I don't know what it is yet. We should do some tests. When can you come back?

That's okay. Clearly, he had no idea how long a two-hour walk was, especially if you had to do it twice in one day. Em pulled the piggy bank out of her bag, pried out the plug, and spilled her paltry coins across the steel table. You told me what I needed to hear. I think I'll take her to somebody I know who doctors deer and rabbits and such. I've never seen her work on a dog, but how different can they be? Skin's skin. She's got all kinds of salves. She's a— She managed to stop herself before she could say 'witch.' To hide