Cruel Zinc Melodies

69

The sound was like the low of the great mother cow in the origin myths of several primitive religions, complaining because she needed milking. Then the zinc wind chimes started. New ghosts formed all round. I saw bland shimmering pillars but, obviously, they presented intimate detail to everyone else.

One Hill type murmured, ‘‘Oh, excellent!’’

The music grew loud enough to rattle skulls. As more ghosts materialized.

And the place began heating up.

All of which thrilled the Hill pack.

Belle Chimes made a swift departure while Link Dierber and Schnook Avery were distracted. Quick as he went, though, he came close to getting trampled by Luther and his crew. Not to mention Bobbi, Lindy, and Alyx.

I made hand gestures advising Tinnie to keep up with her friends. She replied, ‘‘You don’t get shut of me that easily, Malsquando.’’ She glared at my hazel-eyed friend. She was shaking all over but she meant to stand her ground.

Sometimes the girl doesn’t have sense enough to add up to a penny.

Heather kept stalking ghosts.

That great planetary bray sounded again as she skewered another apparition. The zinc xylophone hammered out an even louder, more energetic tune. There was a tremor in the earth.

Dust and dirt fell again. There must be an infinite supply. Maybe there’s universal continuous creation when it comes to dirt and dust.

The wonder folk from the Hill commenced to begin to fix to get ready to start considering the possibility that they ought to get the hell out because none of them had a clue about how to stop the racket. Several, like Schnook Avery and his good buddy, definitely decided that the wisest sorcerer would contemplate future events from outside the World.

Where they got distracted by a row over who had lost track of the Bellman.

Then there were just four of us left inside. Me, Furious Tide of Light, loony Heather, and Tinnie Tate. Tinnie was not going to leave me unchaperoned, be the final trumps of doom themselves a-braying.

Which she paid for in good old-fashioned wet-your-pants terror.

I was having no courage crisis. I was too damned dim to be scared.

Furious Tide of Light snapped, ‘‘Stop that woman!’’ Meaning Heather. Her eyes rolled up. She went away somewhere, the way her sort sometimes do.

‘‘Tinnie. Help me get Heather out of here.’’

Green eyes big, freckles standing out against skin gone dead white, Tinnie got herself going. My gal. Never panics. She had enough clever still engaged to get in Heather’s way while I sneaked up behind.

I held on tight and managed not to lose focus because of the hottie wiggling. Tinnie pried the hat pin loose, flung it through the doorway. All the while snarling, ‘‘What in thehell were youdoing, telling these people that I’m yourfiancйe ?’’

Uh-oh.

Did I do that?

‘‘I don’t remem . . .’’

My survival instincts kicked in.

I was caught in a cleft stick. Nothing I said would be the right answer. And silence would be a loser, too. Again.

‘‘Ow!’’ I let go of Manvil’s favorite niece. ‘‘She stomped on my foot!’’

‘‘Which is what you’re supposed to do when a bad guy grabs you, Malsquando.’’ She stayed put.

To do anything, stupid or otherwise, Heather had to go through Tinnie first.

Oh, I’m so clever! Oh, I’m so smart! That saved me having to answer for minutes and minutes.

Heather was in no mood to be moved. Or subdued.

The two of us had just enough push to get the job done.

I helped herd Heather through the doorway, gave Tinnie an encouraging swat on the behind, then went back to give the Windwalker a hand.

Not quite the same hand. Though it was a cruel strain, keeping my favorite pair to myself. With her magic engaged that beanpole radiated sexual compulsion more potently than the wildest elfin girl. And elf girls are the lodestars of sex. They define the irresistible, compulsive attraction. In fact, the Windwalker so resembled an elfin woman that I was sure elf sap ran in her family tree. Not far back, either.

The ghosts were all over her now, tight as a gang of constrictors. And that didn’t bother her.

I guess she knew they weren’t dangerous.

To her.

Curious.

Furious Tide of Light had no guilt. Or understood the ghosts so well that she wasn’t vulnerable.

I fought an urge to throw her down and make her squeal. I did go grab hold and begin tugging her toward the exit. Gently.

The ghosts felt the same attraction, I suppose. And they didn’t need to show any self-control.

‘‘Whoa! Hey!’’

The Windwalker had begun making little noises. Suspiciously sensual sounding. While the zinc racket took on an urgent rhythm.

Then silence as we reached the doorway.

The Windwalker collapsed.

Outside, in a voice loud enough to be heard for blocks, Tinnie said, ‘‘You still got some explaining to do, Malsquando!’’