Whispering Nickel Idols

67

I was exhausted-again-by the time I got to the Tate compound. The snowfall continued, light but persistent. A teenage cousin whose name I couldn’t remember let me in. He pretended he was pleased to see me. I pretended I didn’t know every male Tate and all their forebears nurtured an abiding desire to see me suffer some debilitating misfortune. Or that Tinnie would come to her senses.

The boy made chitchat. He seemed terribly young and inanely naive. I couldn’t help reflecting that if these were the war years, he’d already be engaged in part-time basic training in anticipation of his call to the colors.

“It was a bad day,” I told Tinnie. “Mostly a bad day. You weren’t in it. How did yours go?”

She tried giving me the grand glower with rheumy eyes. I was on her list for barging in when she was at less than her ravishing best.

“Don’t start that. You were there when I was dying. Now I’m here.”

“I just have a bad cold.”

Sounded like it, too.

“Tell me about it,” she suggested. Once I had, she said, “We should’ve suspected the Tersize people. There had to be a reason they bought a business that has no market for its product.”

“They still do some legitimate baking and milling. You know them?”

She shrugged. “I never liked them much.”

There would be more to the story. Maybe some history.

She grabbed my hand. “Don’t mind me. I’m glad you’re here. You must be exhausted.”

I nodded but didn’t go on about it.

“My father wanted me to marry one of the Tersize boys when I was fifteen. He wanted the business alliance. He didn’t have his heart set on it. I got around him.”

I couldn’t imagine her not manipulating any men before she was out of diapers.

She mumbled, “I know some of the answers to the questions you still have.”

“Great! How about the meaning of life?”

“Life’s a bitch. And then you die.” A moment later, she started snoring.

So I held her hand and fell asleep myself.

A teenage niece popped in. Food and drink were her excuse. Tinnie’s people are busybodies, too. Only there’re more of them. This was a fifteen-year-old edition of the professional redhead. Sizzling. And knowing it. And stoked up with all the attitude I would’ve expected of Tinnie at that age. She was disappointed in us old folks. Antiques, just holding hands. And snoring. Not doing anything embarrassing.

Tinnie rips a mean log. Naturally, she’ll never admit an accomplishment so unladylike.

We ate. I said, “You were going to give me the answers to all my questions. After which I’ll launch the cult of Saint Tinnie the Delectable.”

She said, “Kyra, invite yourself out. Please.”

“Please” as an afterthought, in the command form.

Showing a pout that guaranteed she’d lurk in the woodwork, eavesdropping, the apprentice redhead departed.

“Don’t be such a chicken, Garrett. Grab hold of my hands again.”

“But then you’ll kick me.”

“I might.” She smiled. But she didn’t mean it.

Time to be a little less me. “Sorry.”

“You can’t help it. Your mouth takes over when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Of course you are. You’re scared shitless that I’ve gotten up enough nerve to decide what I want from you and me.”

Good point. I’m always afraid that will happen and I’ll respond by shoving both feet a yard down my own throat. But I was afraid we’d never work it out, too. “Some,” I confessed. “Because chances are, someday you’ll have an attack of good sense and make me go away.”

“That, probably, would be best. Half the time I just slow you down. But I’m spoiled. I grew up overindulged. I can’t picture my life without you in it.”

Gah! This was gonna get deep. “I know what you mean. I can’t, either.”

“But that isn’t what I want to talk about. That just came out.”

Sure. The woman has no self-control whatsoever.

“I wanted to talk about Penny.”

“Oh?” I squeaked. She saw the relief flood me. She managed a credible scowl. The effect of which was lost when she had to blow her nose.

“All right. What about Penny?”

“She isn’t really a priestess.”

“No! The surprises never stop.”

“Knock it off, smart-ass. She isn’t a priestess because she wasn’t ever invested. She was too young. She’s still too young. She’s only thirteen. Though you’d never believe it if you saw her undressed. Which damned well better never happen, even after she does turn fourteen.”

“I’m missing a detail or three to pull all that together.”

“She turns fourteen-she’s officially an adult. In her cult, that means it’s time to be a holy semipro. Putting it out to honor the goddess-and add a little cash to the temple pot-until she finds a husband.”

“Ymber must have been interesting, back in the day.”

“You would’ve loved it. You would’ve been in church every damned day instead of just for weddings and funerals.”

Could be. If the religious catch wasn’t too big. “I could surprise you.”

“You could, but I doubt it. You’ll never be anything but sixteen when it comes to that. You can’t see beyond the moment.”

She wasn’t entirely incorrect. But we were getting personal again.

She said, “That’s not what we need to talk about. I shouldn’t fuss about that. She won’t let you get near her, anyway. She’s scared to death of you.”

“Huh? But I’m just a big old huggy bear. Why be scared of me?”

“Because-”

“Tinnie.” Theses words were scarcely louder than a whisper.

Penny Dreadful, pale as the weather outside, peeked round the frame of Tinnie’s open bedroom door. She did look scared as hell.

“Are you sure?”

“I have to do it sometime.”