Wicked as They Come

  “And well they should be.”

  “I don’t think you’re as vicious as you think you are,” I told him.

  “I don’t think you’ve seen me on a bad day,” he answered. “I have to keep up the show, terrify them, keep them in line. It’s a razor’s edge, to run a band of misfits, monsters, beggars, and thieves.”

  “Why do you do it, then?”

  “Because I love it. Because it’s what I am. And they’re not so bad. It’s you who’s different. You were supposed to be my solace, my heart’s ease. Maybe that’s why I’m telling you so much. I probably shouldn’t.”

  “I don’t understand why I’m supposed to be anything,” I said, feeling touched but also weary of his assumptions. “You said you brought me here. Tell me why.”

  “It’s a long story, pet. Why don’t you get undressed and into bed, and I’ll tell you while you fall asleep? Maybe I can bore you to dreamland.”

  Grinning, he slipped out the door and closed it, and I heard his footsteps creaking across the wagon. I hunted through the armoire until I found a long white nightdress. Then I realized that I couldn’t get undressed by myself. But I’d get as far as I could.

  I unlaced the neck first, and it felt wonderful. Then the wrists. Then I was able to tug the various laces loose enough to wiggle the dress over my head. Twisting and turning to untie the corset, I caught myself in the mirror in heavy makeup, black corset, black petticoats, and black boots. I looked like the cancan dancer of the damned. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the corset loose enough to wriggle out.

  How inconvenient.

  “Criminy, I need help,” I said softly at the door.

  His voice came from the other side, saying, “Name it.”

  “I can’t get the damned corset undone,” I said. “Can you yank out the laces? Or can you be that close to so much skin? Maybe your monkey could help?”

  Whoa. That didn’t sound good at all. I felt my cheeks go scarlet and turned my back to the door.

  I heard him slip into the room behind me. “Have you forgotten that I found you completely unclothed this morning and managed to get you here in one piece? I told you, pet. You’re different. For me.”

  Without another word, he began pulling at the corset more roughly than I would have preferred. I concentrated on not falling over, and as I felt it loosen, I put up a hand to my chest to hold it there when he was done.

  I could hear Criminy breathing, feel his eyes on my bare back. Nana’s bathing suit revealed more skin than what he was seeing. But I couldn’t forget that it had been three years since any man except Jeff had seen me naked. Well, if you forgot about that morning.

  In a world where people were forced to cover everything, I’m guessing a bit of back was considered the height of risqué. I was still trying to regrow my self-confidence, after Jeff’s constant complaining that I was ten pounds overweight. But his ragged breath in the small space told me that Criminy Stain had no complaints whatsoever about my body.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Um, you can go now.”

  “I’ll go when I’m ready,” he breathed, his voice low.

  I spun around, clutching the corset over my chest. I took a step toward him, trying to shoo him toward the door. He didn’t budge. He looked hungry. I took a step back. Then another. His hands were in fists. He licked his lips. If there was a gentleman in there, I was losing him.

  “Not this way, Criminy,” I whispered. “Please.”

  His eyes squeezed shut, and he shook himself, then stepped out the door and shut it. I didn’t realize until that moment that I was scared. And excited. But I wouldn’t admit anything more than that, even to myself.

  As quickly as I could, I shrugged into the nightgown, dropping neither corset nor petticoats until I was covered. Still, I felt exposed and vulnerable, and I undid my boots as quickly as possible and sought the protection of the bed’s covers. It was chillier in Sang than I was accustomed to.

  Part of me didn’t trust him, didn’t want to let him into the room. The other part knew that there were worse things than Criminy Stain in the world and that he was better protection than two wooden doors and four locks.

  “You can come in now,” I called, and the door opened just enough to show me his face, which was carefully blank. Reserved.

  “Well, you look cozy,” he said politely. “Are you ready for a bedtime story?”

  “I think so,” I said. I felt very much like a child, small and fragile, with the nightgown’s bow tied innocently under my neck. “Am I going to like it?”

  “Probably not,” he said with a shrug. “Doesn’t change anything.”

  “Where does it start?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “A long time ago, I had my heart broken by a Bludwoman in the caravan. Her name was Merissa, and she did tricks on the backs of a pair of white bludmares. She was a wicked lass, and she used me and left me for a necromancer. I was just a simple magician then, nothing more, and I was distraught. The caravan was parked near a heavy wood, and I ran away to find solace in the wilderness.”

  His eyes were far away, and I reached out a hand to him. He picked it up absentmindedly and held it in his glove, not noticing that the skin was bare.

  “One morning, I woke up to the sound of screaming, and I found a man, naked, being attacked by a bludstag. I chased it off, of course, and nearly made a meal out of him myself, but I was too curious. He had the most peculiar haircut. We got to talking, and he told me that he was under the care of a sort of chirurgeon in his world, and they put him to sleep, and then he found himself here, in Sang. I was fascinated. I had heard of Strangers before, but I thought it was just a trick by the Coppers, an excuse to drag in anyone suspicious.”

  “When was this?”

  “Oh, maybe fifty years ago. Strangers were more rare then. He started to tell me about his world, but then he vanished mid-sentence. I always supposed they woke him back up. Is that normal?”

  “Yes, surgeons put people to sleep and wake them back up every day at the hospital. I wonder how many of them end up here for a little while. And do they never remember it or just assume it was a dream?”

  And then I had to wonder about all the people who died mysteriously during surgery, their pulses dropping for no good reason. Had they found their own bludstags on the lonely moors of Sang?

  “Anyway, I had no idea what had happened. But I was very curious, so I went about making inquiries, doing research. I finally found a witch who wanted to be a Bludwoman, and we made an exchange. I gave her what she wanted, and she gave me a spell called the Drawing. I won’t bore you with all the details, but I enchanted the locket and sent it away to find you in whatever world you waited.”

  “Me?”

  “Part of the spell involved describing exactly what I wanted, but a measure of mystery is involved, too. The Drawing is supposed to draw the other half of your soul, wherever it is. But it’s tricky. You could have arrived at any time and in any place. I’ve been looking for you for a long time, you see.”

  “How do you know it’s me? That there’s not some other Stranger out there, working her way toward you?” I asked. “What if I was meant for . . . someone else?”

  “That’s not possible,” he said darkly, and I knew that he knew what I was thinking. He sneered at the door, showing fangs. We could both hear the delicate strains of a harpsichord coming from outside. Only I knew it was a nocturne by Debussy, the notes filled with longing, a lullaby just for me.

  “But what if—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Look into my eyes again.”

  I didn’t want to, because I knew what would happen. But I did anyway.

  His eyes gave me the same feeling I got on roller coasters, going down the first hill. As if my stomach was being turned inside out but in a good way. Even though I knew he was of a different species, unabashedly wicked, and apparently much older than he looked, I couldn’t help but feel the tug.

  “Like a magn
et,” he said.

  “Something like that,” I had to admit. “But are you saying you brought me here with magic because you were scorned?”

  “Not exactly. She just made me realize that what I thought I wanted wasn’t necessarily what I needed. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life chasing shadows, waiting for someone to love.”

  “Why, Criminy Stain,” I said. “You’re a romantic.”

  “Oh, no,” he said with a grin. “I’m fiendish and unscrupulous, a vicious killer and a thief and a bloodthirsty monster. And maybe a little romantic. But don’t tell anyone, or my reputation’s shot.”

  “But what about me?” I said. “Does it bother you that you’ve reached through to another dimension and pulled out a broken woman just trying to get her life back? I was weak for so long I barely even know who I am anymore. I feel so dull compared to you. I don’t understand what you see in me.”

  “I see you in you,” he said, tracing my face. “And as we’ve already learned, whatever you are in your world, you’re something else entirely here. Now, if I can just get you to give up this other life of yours and love me, I’ll be a very contented creature.”

  “You ask a lot,” I said, troubled.

  “I’m not used to disappointment.”

  He smiled warmly, gently, and leaned over to kiss my forehead.

  “But it’s time for you to sleep, love,” he said. “And we’ll see how you feel when you wake up.”

  10

  I rolled over and snuggled into the down pillow. Criminy turned off the light and left the room, and I heard him rustling around in the other half of the wagon. The dark pressed down on me, as oppressive as the morning sky of Sang, and before I could even think about his confession or daydream about Casper, I was asleep.

  An alarm was going off somewhere far away. The insistent bleating was infuriating, and I had a vision of a bludbunny with large red numbers on its side, hopping around and beeping, trying to lure me closer so it could bite me. I wanted to find it and toss it tail over teakettle into the field until the beeping went away.

  “Shut up, you stupid rabbit,” I muttered.

  Then something brushed my face, and I was sure the numerical bludbunny was purring. I opened my eyes and saw Mr. Surly’s blue eyes only inches away. The color was eerily similar to that of Casper’s eyes, and I smiled. Dream or not, I had to admit that there were two ridiculously cute guys in Sang.

  Back to reality. I got out of bed to turn off the alarm and scratch my ankle, which itched like crazy. Right where the bludbunny had nipped me, there were two puffy pink bug bites. Was it evidence that Sang was real, or did Mr. Surly have fleas?

  I guess I would finally know for certain the next time I went to sleep. The alarm clock, which wasn’t actually a bunny, said 7:32, so I had a little more than twelve hours before I would find out the truth. I was definitely going to bed early. I hated to admit it, but it was going to be a really long day, just waiting to go to sleep again.

  All I could think about was Sang. And Criminy. And Casper.

  I couldn’t wait to visit him on my nursing rounds. Sure, his body in my world was wasted away, the mind empty. But I could look around his house with new eyes, learn more about him. When I thought of his piano and his nimble fingers stroking up and down the keyboard, I had some very unprofessional thoughts.

  While I showered and got ready for work, I thought about the way I looked in the mirror after Mrs. Cleavers’s ministrations, with the paint and the hair and the heavy layers of clothing. Only the locket remained, and it no longer shone. But I could open it whenever I wanted and study Criminy’s face and think of his scent, red wine and vines. I sniffed my usual perfume, but it seemed rank and fake, so I didn’t wear it.

  While I dressed, I felt exposed in my T-shirt and scrubs. I was amazed to realize that I missed my corset, which molded my least favorite body part into a pleasing shape. I felt downright frumpy, actually.

  As I stared at a cabinet full of cereal trying to decide between Wheaty-O’s and Oatey-Squares, I got stuck. What was the difference? It was all packaged crap, none of it real. My life felt idle, easy, bland, safe, a neutral-colored apartment crying to be beautiful and interesting. And that brought to mind the estate sale where I had found the necklace. I had to go back to Mrs. Stein’s house and see what was in that bloodred book.

  When I showed up at 8:30, Nana was her usual sprightly self, her early-morning nightmare and subsequent phone call forgotten. I didn’t bring it up. I always took good care of her, but today I took super-extra-great care of her, making sure that she was in the best health possible.

  “Sugar, you seem sweeter than usual. Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked in her most innocent Southern-belle voice.

  “No, Nana,” I said just as sweetly. “Just doing my job for the grandma I love.” And I planned on giving her an extra half an Ambien that night, hoping to keep those nightmares away.

  When she was all squared away for the day, I backtracked to the estate sale. No signs, no cars in the driveway, no lights on in the house. The sale was clearly over. But I had to get that book and see if it had the answers to my double life in Sang.

  I tiptoed up to the house and peeked through the window beside the front door. Lots of the stuff inside was gone. The table where people had paid for their purchases was still there, but the cash box and notebook were missing. I wondered what happened to all the things that hadn’t been sold, if they had been trashed or given to Mrs. Stein’s greedy kids or sold to the junk man. Surely no one would miss a grungy old book, if it was still there.

  Wait, I thought. You already stole one necklace. Now you’re trying to justify breaking into the house and stealing the book. What are you becoming?

  I’m not a thief, I told myself sternly in answer.

  You already are a thief. What’s one more thing that no one wants?

  Stop talking to yourself, I thought, trying to shake the voices out of my head.

  I walked around the side of the house, hoping to look inconspicuous. When I glanced up and down the street, I couldn’t see a single neighbor. Mrs. Stein’s neighborhood was always quiet. I felt as if I was alone in a huge world. And I felt as if the house was waiting for me.

  Unfortunately, I had already turned in my key. I ran around back and tried the door, which had an old-fashioned keyhole. I jiggled the knob, but the lock held. Beneath the old welcome mat, I found a key. I couldn’t believe that a suspicious old biddy like Mrs. Stein had actually kept a key in such an obvious place.

  The house was silent, except for the boards creaking under my nursing clogs and my heart pounding in my ears.

  I ran past her closed bedroom door and up the stairs, checking every window I passed for movement outside. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my body, and I could hear every gasp of dust and tiny groan in the ancient house. As I pounded up the dark, rickety stairs to the attic, I realized that I would be cornered up there if anyone showed up. And I’d never been a very good liar.

  The bright red book was easy to spot. I didn’t even stop to open it, just ran back down the stairs and out the back door, twisting the lock and slamming it shut. Once I was standing in the grass, I allowed myself to breathe again.

  Just then, I heard tires crunching on gravel, and I tossed the book behind some big hydrangea bushes fighting for space against the back of the house. I walked around the corner, pretending to inspect the grass.

  “Excuse me, young lady,” came an annoyed Southern drawl. “Can I help you?” She was built like a ship, in a lavender power suit and black hose. Judging by her makeup, she spent her days lawyering and her weekends pushing Avon.

  “Oh, I hope so,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “I was at the estate sale yesterday, and I think I dropped my wallet outside.”

  “No one turned in a wallet,” she said, her shifty little eyes roving over me suspiciously. “Can you describe it?”

  “Sure. It’s light blue with flow
ers and a zipper.”

  My wallet was actually tan leather. I didn’t even know why I lied to her, where the mental image of the nonexistent wallet had come from. It came to me so easily. The lies were just blooming, one after the other.

  “Did you buy anything with your credit card? I might have the records,” she said with a cloying sweetness that told me I was being hustled. “What’s your name, sugar?”

  “Valerie Taylor,” I said. “But I didn’t actually buy anything.”

  She flipped through her pink leather notebook anyway, muttering “Valerie Taylor, Valerie Taylor” under her breath. As if it might actually be there somewhere.

  “No, no record of anything. Sorry I couldn’t help you. Perhaps you should take this matter to the police?” She held out her arm toward our cars and put on her best hostess smile. I didn’t budge.

  “I’d like to keep hunting around the grass, if you don’t mind,” I said. “I’m sure it’s out here somewhere.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s appropriate. Private property and all.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said with a warm smile. “But I promise not to bother anyone. The house is empty, right?”

  She spluttered and turned red right down to the pearls looped around her neck. “Yes, well, um, but yes, well, you see . . . property rights and all . . . transition of ownership . . . deeds . . .”

  “Great. Don’t let me get in your way. I’m just going to be poking around in the bushes. Thanks so much for your help, ma’am.”

  I turned my back on her. She turned to the door, still blustering, and opened it with her own key. She had to turn sideways to get through the narrow door, and the second she disappeared, I dove for the book and dropped it into the waistband of my scrubs. I poked around in the bushes for a minute before calmly walking back to my car and driving away with Mrs. Stein’s spare key still in my pocket.

  That was so easy, I thought. I put my hand on the book and grinned from ear to ear.

  But then my brief high of smugness was replaced with horror.

  I was a thief now, and a liar, too.