Speak of the Devil Page 7

  “Congratulations,” Dario said, and smiled kindly down at Mindy.

  “For what?” Mindy asked.

  “You just realized that you’re human. You’re selfish and kind, and now you have the freedom to choose what you are going to do about it.” He didn’t speak the question, but it hung in the room.

  Mindy looked stunned, then relieved, then deeply torn in turns as she studied her freshly painted toes. Everyone else watched her surreptitiously.

  After a long, introspective moment, an impish smile creased her outdoorsy face. She looked at each of the people gathered around her in succession. Finally she offered sheepishly, “I didn’t know there was going to be a test.”

  Dario ran his fingers through Whitney’s rapidly smoothing hair. “Every day,” he said. “Every waking day.”

  Chapter 10

  It was ironic, Joshua thought, how the heat on the asphalt gave the illusion of water. As he drove down the long, slow curves nestled in the canyon that made this road so popular with motorcyclists and day-trippers alike, he leaned forward over the steering wheel of his car and looked up into the hills. The opalescent haze of blue in the sky above them was uninterrupted by cloud or smoke. Far to the east, the jet stream of a plane was hanging lazily like the discarded thread of a spider drifting through the remarkably thin air. “At least it’s not as windy,” he thought to himself. Which was a good thing, since he’d be working outside today on one of Sterling’s projects. Overall, the landscaping projects gave him a sense of satisfaction, leaving him pleasantly exhausted from the physical exertion and pleased to look around at the new plants and trees taking root at the end of the day. But when it was brutally hot like this, the labor often became more about beating the elements before they beat you. Joshua glanced over at the small cooler next to him. It was loaded with ice and sports drinks. He checked his pocket for the bandanna he would fill with ice and wrap around his neck—got it. Hat—got it.

  As he passed the dry riverbed, he saw a lone figure walking on the shoulder of the road up ahead distorted by the waves of heat shimmering between them. “Bummer of a day to not have a car,” Joshua thought, as it was a good four miles down to Foothill Boulevard and any kind of bus service. The figure must have heard his car approaching because he turned quickly and stuck out his thumb. Joshua braked and as he drew closer and recognized the figure. A thrill of expectation made his scalp prickle.

  It was Simon. Joshua pulled the car up on the shoulder of the road just in front of him and rolled down the passenger window as Simon approached warily.

  “Hi,” Joshua said pleasantly. “Remember me?”

  “Yeah.” Simon’s eyes were narrowed against the glare of the sun. Joshua could see the sweat on his upper lip, yet the young man gave no other signs of discomfort or weakness. “You want a ride?” Joshua asked after a long, silent beat.

  “Yeah, thanks,” mumbled Simon, and he opened the door and got in, arranging himself in a sprawling slouch. Joshua thought that everything about this guy shouted he was afraid, though he took such pains to portray the opposite.

  “You get out?” Joshua asked, and hoped that it sounded conversational.

  “Yeah.”

  Restraining himself from asking if that was the only syllable Simon knew, Joshua asked casually, “So, where do you want to go?”

  “The bus stop. You can drop me anywhere on Foothill.”

  “Okay. I’m actually going to work, there.” Joshua pointed at the new houses about a half mile up ahead on the corner of the only road intersecting the one they were on. “So I’ll drop you wherever you want and then come back.”

  “I can walk from there,” Simon said, but his flushed face looked stricken.

  “No biggie,” Joshua said. “It’s, like, a mile out of my way.”

  They sat in silence until they had made the turn and were entering the residential flats; then Simon spoke suddenly. “What do you work at?”

  Taken by surprise, Joshua stuttered a little. “Oh, uh,

  I work for a landscaper, my mom’s boyfriend, actually. I’m not starting college until winter semester, and I like working with my hands and things that grow, so he asked me to help him.” The whole time he was rambling Joshua was thinking he must sound like a idiot to this kid who would probably never go to college and to whom “working with his hands” would mean demeaning—and inevitable—manual labor.

  “He need somebody else?” Simon had kept his voice flat, but Joshua could hear the want in it.

  “I don’t know. I know I could use some help on this job right now. He has a couple other guys he usually uses, but I think they’re busy on another site. I could ask him.” Joshua hoped he didn’t sound too hopeful; he wasn’t sure how Sterling would feel about hiring a convicted juvenile felon, but he thought it was the best chance he was likely to get to find out more about Simon.

  “Whatever,” Simon said dismissively.

  “I’ll ask. You got a phone number?” Joshua fumbled in the storage space in the armrest, coming up with a pen and an old envelope, but before handing it over to Simon, he got a better idea. “You know, he’s meeting me at work. If you have a few minutes, I could introduce you and you could ask him yourself.”

  Simon’s body went, if possible, even more tense than it was already. “Yeah, I can spare a few,” he said.

  “Great.” Joshua slowed the car and readied to make a U-turn at a four-way stop. As he glanced to his right to check for cars, he saw the unmistakable figure of the little dog just over Simon’s shoulder, and it was yapping silently, furiously at him.

  Joshua searched for a way to open the subject. Just to one side of them, a large golden retriever lay sprawled out in the iffy shade of an aluminum carport.

  “I like those dogs,” Joshua offered lamely. Simon did not comment, so he went on. “Do you have a dog?”

  The entire right side of Simon’s body seemed to twitch; his shoulder and his knee both jerked forward before Simon was able to repress the movement. He turned to look out the window, away from Joshua, but he said, “Used to.”

  “Oh, what kind?” asked Joshua, well aware that he’d hit a sensitive spot and trying to act as if he were completely unaware of it.

  “Just a mutt.”

  “What happened to him?” Joshua asked, hating himself for pressing right now but unable to stop himself.

  “Died.” The slight jerk happened again, but not as dramatically, as though Simon had been ready for it and reined it in.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Joshua said sincerely. Though, of course, he had already known that it must be dead, or he wouldn’t be seeing it.

  “It was just a fucking dog,” Simon said.

  Thinking it was time to change the subject, Joshua tried another topic. “So, do you mind my asking what you were in the camp for? I mean, partly I’m curious, and partly I think Sterling, that’s my boss, might want to know.”

  Simon was nodding resignedly, as though he knew that would be the first question. “I was in because some fucker ran their mouth.” His own mouth had thinned into a hard line, and his hands, Joshua noticed, had curled into tightly balled fists.

  “Really?” exclaimed Joshua with genuine surprise. “So, you didn’t do anything?”

  The idea seemed to take Simon aback, as though it had never occurred to him that he might have been punished because of something he did. Joshua came to the slow realization that, in Simon’s world, breaking the law might be the norm rather than the exception, and punishment was expected only if you got caught. It was an interesting concept.

  Slowly, Simon turned and looked Joshua in the face for the first time. “I wouldn’t have been in that shithole if somebody hadn’t snitched,” he said as though struggling to make his point clear to himself as well as to Joshua.

  Joshua turned his attention back to the road and said, with as little emotion as he could, “But for somebody to snitch on you, you’ve got to do something to snitch about.” He glanced at Simon and shrugged. “I’m
just saying.”

  Simon said nothing for a couple of blocks, and then, his voice dripping with acid, he said, “You don’t know shit.”

  “I’m just saying,” Joshua said again quickly, “that maybe sometimes we are responsible for what happens to us. I mean, a little bit. Right?” He fell silent, thinking of the images that came to him unbidden—that were changing his life, altering every plan he had made. Then he thought of how presumptuous it was of him to judge Simon, and he felt a flash of shame. Finally, Joshua laughed out loud and Simon’s head snapped around to look at him as though he were about to be attacked. “Then again,” Joshua said, still laughing, “maybe not.” He grinned at Simon’s alarmed face. “You’re right, what do I know? I don’t fucking know.”

  Then it happened, a sneaky, unbidden smile crept across Simon’s high-security face. “I don’t fucking know either,” he said.

  They had reached the new homes, and Joshua was pleased to see that Sterling’s truck was already there, the back of it loaded solid with plants in one-gallon containers. Joshua recognized coyote bush, white sage, and California sunflower, all low-water natives.

  He pulled the car into the driveway of one of the nearly finished houses and got out. Simon followed him hesitantly.

  Sterling was marking the brief hillside that sloped sharply down from the retaining wall—which had been built to create enough additional space to squeeze in one more five-bedroom home—with small, flagged sticks. Each stick bore a different colored tape to signify which plant went where.

  “Reporting for duty, sir,” Joshua called out.

  Sterling straightened up and gave Simon an appraising look. “Who’s your friend?” he asked.

  “Oh, this is Simon. He’s looking for work, so I said I’d introduce him.”

  Sterling climbed the burlap-covered hillside and stood looking down on the smaller Simon, his mocha skin glowing with perspiration in the unforgiving sun. “So you want to work?” he asked him.

  Simon seemed to find it difficult to look the commanding black man in the eye. “Yeah,” he muttered. It seemed to confuse him that Simon spoke with a sharp British accent; Joshua would have been amused if he hadn’t felt so anxious for Simon.

  “You ever done yard work or landscaping before?” Sterling asked the teenager.

  “No.”

  Joshua thought, At least he’s honest. He knew that would count for something with Sterling.

  “When do you go back to school?”

  Simon snorted slightly. “I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do, if you want a job with me. You get in trouble? Is that why you need a job?”

  Simon hesitated and then nodded without looking up. Joshua stared in open amazement, but Sterling’s seeming clairvoyance was explained in his next statement. “Yeah, you’re not the first kid from the fire camp I’ve hired. And I’ve developed a few rules over the years. You show up on time, you do what I or Joshua here asks you to do, and if I catch you stealing or destroying anything, I will not only prosecute you, I will personally kick your butt.” Sterling paused and leaned closer, waiting until Simon, out of sheer curiosity, looked him in the eye. Then he said softly, “And you do not want to test me on that.”

  It was clear to Joshua that Sterling had experience dealing with what might be considered the rougher element, and he could see from the grudging respect on Simon’s face that Sterling’s tactics had been effective.

  Sterling straightened up. “So, as long as you work hard and earn it, I’ll sign off on your hours and give you a paycheck for it. Fair enough?”

  His face lighting into a grin in spite of himself, Simon spoke up: “That’s cool.” Though he tried to hide it, there was a sense of satisfaction around Simon that made him seem taller.

  “You want to start now, or tomorrow?” Sterling asked.

  “I got nothing else to do today.”

  “All right. Grab some work gloves out of the truck and start unloading those plants. Let’s line them up along here, and then we’ll dig the holes and I’ll show you how to prepare the soil mixture.” Sterling waited until the boy had walked away before asking Joshua, “What’s the deal?”

  By way of explanation, Joshua just said, “I ran into him working on a crew when I was hiking, and then I saw him walking down from the camp by himself. Nobody even to pick him up?” Joshua shrugged. “I figured he could use a little help.”

  Sterling looked over to the truck where the young man was enthusiastically pulling the black plastic containers and their contents out of the bed and said, “That’s for damn sure.” Then he narrowed his eyes at Joshua. “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” When Joshua nodded but said nothing, he sighed. “Just be careful. Some of these kids are bad news, and I know you want to help him, but they don’t always thank you for it.” He watched Simon again before adding, “I should know.” The last statement was spoken so softly that Joshua felt he had eavesdropped on a private thought and, pretending he hadn’t heard, turned quickly away.

  Chapter 11

  The air in the upstairs room of Greer’s house was tinted with sweet-smelling smoke that rose in animated paisley curls from a small brazier before dispersing into the atmosphere. It was the smoke of lotus oil and althea leaves, dropped and crushed onto the small circular charcoal that burned, sparking and graying, on the tiny brass grill.

  On a purple cloth in front of the brazier, Greer had placed two items. She now picked up the first of these, a small leaf from a live oak, and turned it slowly in the smoke, making sure every surface was touched by the energy she saw imbued in the pearl gray tendrils.

  When Greer was satisfied with that step, she placed the leaf carefully into a small bowl, the bottom of which was filled with oil she had made herself, steeping it with sage and rosemary until the mixture was a thick, pungent green. She held the leaf submerged until it was completely saturated, then laid it on the purple cloth and took up the second item, an acorn, repeating the ritual with first the smoke and then the oil.

  And as she worked, she kept intoning the same words over and over under her breath: “Safe from harm. Safe from harm. Safe from harm.” The words merged together until they were almost indistinguishable from each other and became more of a chant than a phrase. Moving slowly, her eyes fixed, almost trancelike, on the slow dance of white smoke, Greer finished the first part of her task. Next she opened a blue silk bag, about two inches square, and after placing both objects inside of it, she tied it closed with a long, blue ribbon knotted at its ends, creating something like a necklace with a charm. Then she held the silken bag between her palms in a prayer position, the ribbon swaying gently beneath, and closed her eyes.

  “As the mother, so the child,

  Turn all fear and harm aside.

  Circle them in golden light,

  Protecting them both day and night.”

  Three times Greer repeated the verse; then she remained motionless for a long time as the late-afternoon sun infiltrated the room and dropped behind the high canyon walls, lending the partial relief of shadow from October’s constant heat.

  Finally, with a deep, filling breath, Greer opened her eyes and looked at the small talisman that she held in her hand. There was one thing left to do. Standing, she went to an old wooden box in which she kept her most treasured objects and took out a small knife with a blade that glinted gold as she held it up in the dusky light. Placing its sharp point against the pad of her middle finger, she pressed down, hard and fast. A drop of blood rose from the tiny puncture, and Greer pressed it into the fabric, where it was quickly absorbed into a circular stain with tiny, fluted edges.

  Greer felt the energy pass from her body like an electric shock. With a strong exhalation, she dropped to her knees and leaned limply forward onto her hands to steady herself. A few deep breaths later, she was able to stand again, though she felt slightly light-headed.

  The sensation would pass, she knew, and it was with the sense of having done all she could that she pocketed the
charm and went cautiously down the stairs.

  Joshua was at the refrigerator, filling a huge cup with ice and water. He gulped it down eagerly and then started to refill. “Hi, Mom,” he said.

  “Hi, sweetie. Did you have a hard day?” She sank down onto one of the wooden chairs at the large oak table and rested her head on her hands.

  “Actually,” answered Joshua, “it turned out to be a pretty decent one.” He was thinking of how Simon had shown up again and wondering if that was actually good or bad, but then he frowned, noticing his mother’s unusual lethargy. “It was hot.”

  Greer blinked heavily and she smiled at her son a bit wanly. “Yes, it was. Still is, actually.”

  “Are you okay?” Joshua asked. “You look really tired.”

  “I’ll be fine in a little while. I just borrowed a little energy to lend to a friend. By the time I go to bed, I’ll be my old, peppy self.”

  “Good timing.”

  “I thought so.” Greer smiled at him, mustering enough verve to dispel some of his concern.

  “Tell you what,” he offered, “why don’t I make dinner?” He opened the refrigerator door and started to rummage around. “What’ve we got in here?”

  “I bought fresh pasta and there’re veggies. I was planning on making primavera.”

  “That sounds great. I think I can handle that. You, uh, fry the pasta, right?” Joshua, who had always loved to cook, tossed a grin over his shoulder at his mom and started pulling peppers and onions from the crisper.

  “I’m sure you could.” Greer mustered a little laugh. “So, what made the day a good one?”

  Placing his fresh finds on the butcher block, Joshua glanced at his mother and reached again into the fridge. He came up with a pitcher of iced tea, which he mixed with some peach nectar in a tall glass, and put it in her hand before he answered.

  “Well, you know I’ve been trying to learn to control what I see,” he began hesitantly. Even though his mother understood his sensitivities perfectly, Joshua still felt self-conscious talking about it at all. “I ran into this kid when I was hiking. He was working with one of the fire-camp crews, and I saw something near him, and . . .”