girl was crouched on the floor. She had on a white party dress that looked like it was made of old surgical gauze and also like it might have been on fire at some point. She was sitting with her legs pulled up, drawing on the stone with a burned stick. All the pictures looked like eyes and giant mouths full of teeth.
Luther leaned against the desk and pressed a little brass bell. "Here's your boy."
The girl turned and looked up at me. When she smiled, I stepped back from the desk. Her face was young and kind of shy, but her mouth was crowded with small, jagged teeth. Not a nice, respectable thirty-two, but closer to fifty or sixty.
"Oh dear," she said, putting down her stick and reaching out a dirty hand. "I ought to have been more cautious." Her voice was soft, and her train wreck of a mouth made her lisp. "You think I'm ugly."
The truth was, yes. She did look ugly, maybe even horrifying, but her eyes were wide. She was going to be terrifying if she grew any bigger, but for now, she was cute the way even a turkey or a possum can be cute when it's a baby.
She patted the heavy, high-backed chair beside her. "Here, sit and talk with me. Tell me about yourself."
I didn't sit down right away. It was hard to know what to think of her. She was different from Luther and different from the girls at Stephanie's party. Her jagged teeth and her tiny size made her seem more implausible, more impossible than all the rest of them.
When I took a seat on the edge of the chair, she went back to drawing on the floor.
"I've been curious about you," she said, scraping a new charcoal mouth with her stick. "We were so pleased that you survived childhood. Castoffs generally don't."
I nodded, staring down at the top of her head. "Who are you?"
She stood up and moved closer, staring into my face. Her eyes were dull black, like the feathers on a dead bird. "I'm the Morrigan."
The word sounded strange, like something in another language.
"I'm so pleased that you could find it in your heart to visit us," she whispered, reaching to touch my chin. "It's wonderful that you need us because we need you, you see, and business arrangements are so much more satisfying if they're reciprocal."
"What do you mean 'need you'? I don't need anything."
"Oh, darling," she said, smiling and reaching for my hand. "Don't be silly. Of course you need us. You're becoming so frail, and it's only going to get worse. This really is the best solution for all of us. You'll help me, and in return, I'll make sure you're supplied with all the remedies and analeptics you need and you won't have to live out the rest of your days in slow agony."
I watched her, trying to see the reason behind why I was even here. "What do you want?" I said, sounding more nervous than I would have liked.
"Don't look so alarmed. I won't ask you to do anything you don't already desire in your heart." She turned away and knelt on the floor again, picking at her hair. "While music is hardly the most powerful kind of worship, it's fine and adequate. We're always looking to bring new blood to our stage."
"What does that have to do with me, though? I'm just . . . no one."
"You have a good face," she said, crossing her legs and fidgeting with her dress. "An undamaged body. Your wholeness makes you immeasurably useful to me. If it's agreeable, I'll send you out onstage with the rest of my musical beauties to stand in front of the town and receive their admiration." Each time she pulled out a clump of hair, she set it carefully off to the side of her drawings, like she was starting a collection.
"Rasputin, you mean? When?"
"Tomorrow, at that estimable venue, the Starlight."
"But I just saw them. They played last night."
"We're in a bad time," she said. "Don't tell me you haven't seen the signs."
I thought of the rusting grates and brackets at the Starlight and nodded.
"The town is drawing away from us. The rains dishearten them, and their attentions are half felt at best. We need all the
Luther leaned against the desk and pressed a little brass bell. "Here's your boy."
The girl turned and looked up at me. When she smiled, I stepped back from the desk. Her face was young and kind of shy, but her mouth was crowded with small, jagged teeth. Not a nice, respectable thirty-two, but closer to fifty or sixty.
"Oh dear," she said, putting down her stick and reaching out a dirty hand. "I ought to have been more cautious." Her voice was soft, and her train wreck of a mouth made her lisp. "You think I'm ugly."
The truth was, yes. She did look ugly, maybe even horrifying, but her eyes were wide. She was going to be terrifying if she grew any bigger, but for now, she was cute the way even a turkey or a possum can be cute when it's a baby.
She patted the heavy, high-backed chair beside her. "Here, sit and talk with me. Tell me about yourself."
I didn't sit down right away. It was hard to know what to think of her. She was different from Luther and different from the girls at Stephanie's party. Her jagged teeth and her tiny size made her seem more implausible, more impossible than all the rest of them.
When I took a seat on the edge of the chair, she went back to drawing on the floor.
"I've been curious about you," she said, scraping a new charcoal mouth with her stick. "We were so pleased that you survived childhood. Castoffs generally don't."
I nodded, staring down at the top of her head. "Who are you?"
She stood up and moved closer, staring into my face. Her eyes were dull black, like the feathers on a dead bird. "I'm the Morrigan."
The word sounded strange, like something in another language.
"I'm so pleased that you could find it in your heart to visit us," she whispered, reaching to touch my chin. "It's wonderful that you need us because we need you, you see, and business arrangements are so much more satisfying if they're reciprocal."
"What do you mean 'need you'? I don't need anything."
"Oh, darling," she said, smiling and reaching for my hand. "Don't be silly. Of course you need us. You're becoming so frail, and it's only going to get worse. This really is the best solution for all of us. You'll help me, and in return, I'll make sure you're supplied with all the remedies and analeptics you need and you won't have to live out the rest of your days in slow agony."
I watched her, trying to see the reason behind why I was even here. "What do you want?" I said, sounding more nervous than I would have liked.
"Don't look so alarmed. I won't ask you to do anything you don't already desire in your heart." She turned away and knelt on the floor again, picking at her hair. "While music is hardly the most powerful kind of worship, it's fine and adequate. We're always looking to bring new blood to our stage."
"What does that have to do with me, though? I'm just . . . no one."
"You have a good face," she said, crossing her legs and fidgeting with her dress. "An undamaged body. Your wholeness makes you immeasurably useful to me. If it's agreeable, I'll send you out onstage with the rest of my musical beauties to stand in front of the town and receive their admiration." Each time she pulled out a clump of hair, she set it carefully off to the side of her drawings, like she was starting a collection.
"Rasputin, you mean? When?"
"Tomorrow, at that estimable venue, the Starlight."
"But I just saw them. They played last night."
"We're in a bad time," she said. "Don't tell me you haven't seen the signs."
I thought of the rusting grates and brackets at the Starlight and nodded.
"The town is drawing away from us. The rains dishearten them, and their attentions are half felt at best. We need all the
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