Amazon Ink

Chapter Eleven

Luckily, the back door led directly into the kitchen, not a room I’d spent much time in during any of my stays at this safe house. Future warriors, which had been my mother’s plans for me, did not learn to cook; future priestesses, my grandmother’s plans for me, were considered a threat to all things culinary. Their tendency to play with the elements, especially fire and wind, wreaked havoc with recipe outcomes.

By the time I’d settled into my own artisan plan as an adult, there had been no reason for me to enter the kitchen.

So, the room happily held no bad memories. I could almost pretend I wasn’t in the house where I’d lost my son at all.

Almost.

“Is there a problem?” Dana, she’d told me her name a few minutes earlier, stopped in the process of pulling an apron over her head. Her face showing curiosity and a little concern, she watched me as I stared through the door that led from the kitchen into the rest of the house. The dining room I remembered. Things hadn’t changed much in ten years-same battered oak table and chairs, same ugly 1970s gold chandelier. Memories started creeping back.

“No, nothing.” I shoved the swinging door closed with my foot and turned my back on it.

Dana chattered merrily, pulling pie pans, spoons, butter, and other necessities from cupboards, drawers, and the refrigerator. In the kitchen, or maybe out from under the other Amazons’ watchful glares, she was a different person-confident and content.

I grabbed a knife and did the only job I knew for sure I’d be able to master. I chopped the pumpkin in two and scooped out seeds, dumping the stringy stuff onto a cookie sheet Dana had set out for the purpose.

“The trips to Madison…” I prompted.

“They were fun. Maybe because we knew we weren’t supposed to be going there.” While Dana pulled out various ingredients, she watched as I cut the pumpkin into pieces. When I was done, she tossed them into a bowl with water, covered it with a lid, and put it into the microwave.

Pumpkin-cooking under way, she cut butter into a bowl of flour with a fork, sprinkled some ice water on top, and started kneading the mixture with her bare hands.

I watched, somewhat fascinated. It was like watching Bubbe perform a new spell. How this mess would work out to dessert was beyond my understanding.

After only a few seconds of kneading, she flipped the dough out of the bowl onto the flour-covered tabletop and held out a rolling pin. “Make it that size.” She nodded toward a pie pan.

I wiped my hands on my pants. Horror shot through Dana’s eyes. I spun, expecting Alcippe or a band of warriors to be standing behind me, but aside from Dana and me, the kitchen was still vacant.

With a shrug, I picked up the rolling pin and did my best to flatten the dough. “So, Madison. You went there to…?” I prompted.

Dana edged around me and took the now-steaming bowl of pumpkin from the microwave. After dropping the pumpkin into a blender and pureeing it smooth, Dana replied, “Boys, of course.”

Of course. “You find any?”

A tiny smile curved Dana’s lips and her hand moved toward her middle. “We did.”

“You’re pregnant?” The rolling pin fell from my fingers with a thud.

“I’m twenty-two.”

Well, then that was okay, another few years and her eggs would have been all dried up. I ground my teeth together to keep my sarcastic thoughts to myself. Thanks to the priestesses, Amazons had had control over their reproduction for centuries before female humans had. Because of our long lives, most of us waited into our eighties to have a child.

“Were the other girls…?” The thought made my stomach lurch. I hadn’t sensed spirits aside from the girls’, but I was far from the most experienced in such deductions.

Dana poured the pumpkin back into its bowl along with a mixture of sugar and spices. Stirring, she replied, “I don’t think so. None of the other girls who went with us are-just me.” Again with the dreamy, too-stupid-to-know-better look.

I mean, I loved Harmony. But at twenty-two, I’d have no more been able to take care of her than-I glanced around-than bake this pie. And that, of course, was the difference. Dana was a hearth-keeper and obviously one content with her fate. The whole maternal thing was probably as natural to her as casting a spell was to Bubbe or tossing a spear was to Mother. I’d never been that natural at anything. I was good at art, but even that didn’t come to me like breathing.

“So, boys. What kind did you meet?”

“College boys, mainly. Most of the girls were warriors. Tereis was. Aggie was an artisan.”

No one had told me the dead girls’ names, but it was easy to guess who she was talking about.

“They both wanted athletes.”

Of course.

“The bar we went to. A lot of UW football players hang out there.”

“And your guy?” It wasn’t really a piece of information I needed to know, but I was interested.

“He worked there. Part-time. He wasn’t as…you know.” She mimicked broad shoulders with her hands. “But there was something about him. I don’t think he was stronger than the guys the other girls went after. Just different.”

She walked over to survey my work. It must have passed muster. She flopped it into the pie pan.

“Was there any one guy the other girls showed interest in, or that showed interest in them?”

Busy pressing perfect ridges into the crust, Dana sighed. “All the guys showed interest in the others, especially the warriors.”

Some things never changed. “But no one in particular? Did Tereis and Aggie talk to the same boy?”

Dana poured the pumpkin into the crust, then tapped the spoon against the bowl’s lip. “Not that I noticed. Tim”-she touched her stomach, an unconscious gesture that told me who she was referring to-“tried to be polite, but they brushed him off. Had bigger fish to fry, I guess.” She carried the pie to the oven and jerked the door open. The rack inside rattled.

Then, as if remembering what had happened to the pair, she flushed. “Not that I blame them. I realize it’s important to pick someone strong. I just…” She stared down at the unbaked pie.

“Want something different.”

She looked up, her thumb gouging into the crimped edge of the crust. “Is that wrong?”

I took the pie from her and slid it into the oven, then ran a hand down her arm, just a light brush-my skin barely making contact with hers.

“Not at all.”

I spent another hour and a half wandering around the compound trying to convince some of the other Amazons to talk to me. A few did, but none were as forthcoming as Dana. The girl had a much better sense of who she was than I’d ever had, probably than I did right now, but I could tell we shared one thing. Neither of us truly felt as if we fit. I’d had friends, as it appeared she did, but living as an Amazon never felt quite right to me-like wearing someone else’s shoes. They might look right to the outside world, but you knew inside they weren’t, could feel it with every step you took.

She’d sought me out again before I left, shoving a cardboard box with the pie in it into my hands. My first pie. Okay, she’d done most of the work, but, still, I was strangely proud. I placed the box in the coveted position of shotgun for the ride home.

It was after two. I’d be able to make it back to Madison probably before Harmony arrived home. I might even be able to drive by the bar and see if Tim was working. If he worked at the place, he’d be familiar with the football players who hung out there, and probably more cognizant of who the girls went off with.

I was hoping one name would crop up for both. That would really simplify things. Unfortunately, I didn’t have pictures of either girl. Amazons weren’t big on photography. But I suspected a healthy American boy wouldn’t forget any of the Amazons too quickly.

I just hoped he didn’t ask about Dana. I wasn’t going to be sharing news of his upcoming daddyhood with him, but I didn’t relish the idea of hiding it from him either.

As it turned out, traffic was a bugger getting out of Illinois-some kind of mystery backup where a toll booth used to sit on Highway 39 in Rockford. I pulled into my drive at five. I wanted to see my daughter and my shop, sink into the life I’d built for myself. Visiting the Amazon camp had more of an effect on me than I’d thought it would when I had left earlier today. I’d had an itchy need to get home as quickly as I could since passing the traffic snarl. I’d almost been glad of the excuse to skip the trip downtown to the bar.

Harmony and her best friend, Rachel, stood outside the gym. Next to them, Pisto, the blond warrior who had confronted Peter’s client, demonstrated various stances with a staff. The pie box clenched in my arms, I walked up.

“I thought you spent the day at Rachel’s.”

Harmony glanced at me, her eyes wide, blue and innocent. “We did. She just walked me home.”

“And then what? You going to walk her back home?” Rachel lived two streets behind us. The walking each other home game had become a favorite ploy as soon as they were old enough that both Rachel’s mother and I felt secure to let them out of our sight for a few minutes. The “walk home” could take hours.

“No.” Complete indignation on my daughter’s part. “CleCle”-Harmony’s name for my mother-“said the tribe was taking in students. Rachel and I thought it might be fun to take some.”

“The tribe?” What had Mother done?

“Yeah. The self-defense group.” She frowned at Pisto. “Isn’t that what you called yourselves?”

Pisto tilted the staff back and forth in front of her. Her gaze caught mine. “We do.”

“Anyway, CleCle suggested it, and Pisto”-she nodded at the warrior-“said she’d work us in for free. You can’t beat that.”

“I doubt Rachel’s mother-” I started, but both girls cut me off, jabbering as only teenage girls can. Finally, Rachel’s voice won out.

“My mom will be thrilled. She’s been saying the school should offer some kind of self-defense class for girls. The killings really have her freaked out. Besides, in a few years we’ll be going to college. Everyone should be able to defend herself before that.” She pulled her body erect, speaking with all the authority of a middle-aged corporate executive-in other words, a perfect imitation of her mother. Her father owned a bead shop off Monroe. He was also head flapjack flipper at a local “pancakes for peace” event and had probably walked around the globe for various peace walks. I doubted the idea of his daughter learning to smash a man’s skull with a twenty-pound staff would hold a lot of appeal for him.

“Self-defense is an important skill for women in today’s world.” Mother had sneaked up behind me, like the cat that was tattooed on her breast.

I curled my lip, revealing a hint of the snarl that threatened to spill out. After everything that had happened, I couldn’t disagree with Mother. I could actually have been talked into letting Harmony train with her, but not with Pisto and the tribe. I couldn’t trust what they might tell my daughter. When she found out about the Amazons, it damn well had to come from me.

“Too bad the ‘tribe’ only has evening classes.” I glared at Pisto, daring her to disagree with my words. Her only response was a bored flutter of her eyelashes. I looked at my daughter, a have I got good news for you smile on my face. “I’ve already signed you up for classes after school. Your evenings are fully booked.”

“What?” I could see my daughter getting ready to dig in her heels, to scream about the injustice of being signed up for something without her full and prior approval. It didn’t stop me from sending her to gymnastics when she was five (something Mother had fully approved of), and it wasn’t going to stop me now. I shoved the pie box against Mother’s chest, trusting she wouldn’t let it fall to the ground, and looped my arm through my daughter’s. “Art class. A friend of Peter’s is teaching it.”

“Peter’s?” Rachel nudged Harmony in the side. I ignored the gesture. So what if Peter’s “friend” wasn’t exactly what they might be expecting. Far be it from me to shatter their hormone-ridden dreams.

Harmony quickly moved from objection to negotiation. “Can Rachel take it too? What kind of art will we be learning? Will I need any supplies?”

Once she mentioned shopping, even if it was for dry art supplies, I knew I had her.

I stopped to toss a smile back at Mother. She had lifted the aluminum foil cover Dana had placed over the pie and was staring as if the box contained a two-headed lizard. “It’s a pie,” she said.

“I know. I baked it for you. I was thinking some hearth-keeping skills might be a good thing for Harmony to learn too.”

The look on Mother’s face made my entire day worthwhile.

We had the pie for dessert after dinner. I ate well more than my share, just to enjoy the expression on Mother’s face every time I picked up the knife and sliced into the orange goodness. Bubbe seemed to be on to me, but Mother was as easy to provoke as a two-year-old who had missed her nap-at least when it came to hints of hearth-keeping. And honestly, I wasn’t just prodding her. Working with Dana had made me realize yet another part of life I’d missed out on. Being taught how to cook, clean, and take care of babies wouldn’t scar my daughter-it was one of Artemis’s aspects, after all, and key to survival.

No, Harmony learning a few skills wouldn’t be a bad idea. Me learning a few wouldn’t either. And there were plenty of classes available in Madison. When everything settled down, I just might see about enrolling us-a nice mother/daughter treat. Maybe I’d ask Mother if she wanted to join us.

All in all, I went to bed happy. I felt like I’d started fulfilling my promise to the dead teens. I’d gotten Harmony to agree to the art class. And I had a full-if somewhat bloated-belly. Life was as good as it could be with a gymnasium full of Amazons and a serial killer on the loose.

The last fact was where my mind went first when I woke at one A.M., but there had been no stone cast against my window. It was the dead girls. They were back.

I sat up this time, my sheet pulled around me, my back against the headboard. A nervous energy danced around the room, like the girls’ spirits wanted to tell me something but couldn’t figure out how to get the thoughts across.

After their last visit, I’d made a few preparations in case they returned. I pulled a bag of dirt and a candle from my bedside table’s drawer, along with the two totems I’d decided to keep. Not reinstating Bubbe’s serpent ward had told her I’d been snooping around her space. As soon as she made that discovery, I knew she’d immediately cataloged all her possessions and discovered they were missing. Why return them now?

I kneeled on the floor, then carefully dumped the dirt and formed it into one small compact pile. With the candle shoved into the middle and the two totems lying on the soil, I was ready.

The girls brushed around me, breaths cool, then hot, stirring the hair on the back of my neck, causing my worn T-shirt to flutter against my skin. They were agitated, even more than they had been on their last visit. The sadness I’d sensed then was still present, but pressed down by something heavier, darker…angrier…

Praying their movement wouldn’t make my job harder, I lit the candle with trembling fingers. The flame flickered but held.

If I’d known their givnomais, the process would have been easier. The combination of telios and givnomai was as unique as a fingerprint. No two living Amazons through history had shared the same matching combination. A priestess checked to assure this before she gave any girl her givnomai. This caused a lot of disappointment when a girl’s first choice was taken, but since the magic would be weakened if shared, they all got over it. They didn’t have a choice.

I could have drawn the givnomais in the dirt. It wouldn’t have given them their voices, nothing as dramatic as that, but it would have guaranteed no interference and no listening in-a private call versus talking on a party line.

But I hadn’t thought to ask while at the safe camp. Chances were, none there knew anyway. Because the combination was so personal, most Amazons kept their telioses hidden. A secret only their closest friends, relatives, and the artist who gave them the mark knew. I knew Mother’s, but not Bubbe’s. And I knew the fifty or so Amazons I’d tattooed before leaving the tribe. And I knew Zery’s. That was it.

The flutters changed to a flap, whispers to murmurs. I could almost make out a word. A hiss like a snake. The serpent from Bubbe’s ward? Were they warning me against it? Or against someone from the serpent clan?

Frustrated, I bent lower until my chin almost touched the candle’s flame. I placed a hand on each totem, willed my brain to understand what they were trying to say.

The smell of wax filled my lungs. A breath, strong, like a slap, hit me from the side. The candle went out.

Alone in the darkness, I heard it…“Zery…” and the girls were gone.