Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

JoJo, back at HQ, sent the footage of the attack in the PsyLED parking lot to the unit’s cell phones, adding to the evidence that Larry had been working alone, which meant that the zip-stripped men were released and none of them had to be brought in for official questioning. When things had settled, Sam came by and whispered to Mama and me that, based on the evidence, Brother Aden was planning to call for formal banishment of his son. Mama’s head dropped lower, and I realized that she hadn’t met my eyes, not once. Was Mama afraid of me? I couldn’t figure out how to ask that and Sam moved away.

As the discussions between law enforcement and the churchmen took place, and the tensions continued to decrease, my headache subsided to bearable. I drank the water Mama brought and when I could hold the bottle by myself, she announced that my hands were now fine. My fingers were indeed pink and much less painful, and Mama patted them before leaving me to wander around, listening and taking in the gossip. I knew that, later, she and the other mamas would have a long gossipfest and compare notes on the happenings of today.

In the back of the crowd, I spotted Esther, my sister, the one I thought might be a plant-person, like me. She was staring at the odd clusters of leaves and thorns in the parking area, clusters that hadn’t been there an hour ago. Her hand slid up to her hairline as she stole through the gathering. It was the same gesture I made when I was feeling to see if my leaves had grown. Without speaking to me, she slipped away.

With the approval of the churchmen who had gathered to watch the proceedings, Larry was strapped to a gurney, hauled off in the ambulance to the hospital, and then to jail, in custody of the sheriff. He was still unconscious, but would be charged with kidnapping and violent assault on a federal officer, both potential federal crimes, and a host of other, lesser charges.

I was in a daze still, but I gave select members of the church the stink-eye as the ambulance rolled out of sight. My expression promised retribution the minute anyone looked at me or Mud. A couple of the Jackson cadre looked back with hatred and a promise of their own to get even, and I committed the names and faces to memory. As for Larry, I’d tasted his blood like a vampire. It was on my clothing. In my hair. If he came to my farm again, he would nourish Soulwood just fine, and something in my demeanor must have communicated my intent and willingness to do violence, because all the churchmen stepped back.

Yes, I thought at them. I am an officer of the law. But I’m more than that. And you best remember.

Communicating threats and promises through body language and expressions cost me in terms of the headache, and when tears gathered in my eyes, it was apparent that I needed contact with Soulwood sooner rather than later. I sat back and asked to go home.

My coworkers divvied up vehicles so that Occam could drive Mud and me home in Rick’s car, which seated more than two, while T. Laine and Rick took the other cars. I was pretty useless and didn’t argue. And didn’t remember how I got to my house, into my jammies, and on a blanket in the backyard, my hands in contact with the ground. But I guessed it was thanks to my baby sister and my cat-man.

? ? ?

I woke in midafternoon, pain free, to a scent that had to come straight out of heaven. It turned out to be venison stew from my freezer, and commercial, boxed, dried pasta heated in the microwave. There wasn’t a better smell in the world. I trudged inside to the long kitchen table and took my place, letting Mud serve me. We sat silent and I closed my eyes, the peace of Soulwood flowing up through the floorboards, through my bare feet, and into my bones. Through the soles of my feet, I felt Occam in cat form patrolling the church side of my property lines, keeping us safe while I slept. I called him to join us for dinner, knowing we’d be through before he got there.

Mud, seeing my eyes closed, took my hand and offered thanks in a traditional church prayer. “We thank thee for mercies great and small and for this food. And for Mama, who come—came—to help me cook it.”

I smiled slowly and said, “Amen.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Occam was at the door. Any upset he might have experienced from my kidnapping and rescue was gone. He’d shifted and run and killed and eaten a turkey. He had lain on Soulwood and let the land soothe his soul. In human form, silent and tranquil, he ate microwaved leftovers from a good stoneware plate, squeezed my fingers, and took off in Rick’s vehicle, leaving us alone, all without a word spoken.

Mud and I spent the rest of the afternoon upstairs in her room in the eaves, in front of the air conditioner, putting together outfits she would wear to school soon and adding to the list of clothing, supplies, and other purchases she would need in order to become Cedar Bluff Middle School’s newest green tree Giant. Even with the AC, it was hot, sweaty work, and I remembered sleeping on the second-story landing in the summers, my cot close to the top of the stairs so I could hear Leah—John’s first wife—if she called out as her illness took her slowly away from us. And then, later, so I could have privacy from John. The fans that turned continuously on both floors did little to move around the cooler air between floors, and had Mud not come from the church, she might not have been able to bear it. Churchwomen were sturdy stock and Mud seemed not to notice the trickles of sweat and the clothes that stuck to us.

As we worked, we talked about Larry, the kidnapping, his arrest, and Mud’s questions about what Larry had planned to do to me. It seemed to help us cope with the trauma of the day. When we had it all out in the open, we fell silent, working together. It was serene and quiet, a peaceful discourse.

When the clothes were put away, I took another nap, what the townies called a power nap, and I called a cat nap, for a lot of reasons. When I woke, I discovered that I had missed a visit with Occam.

Mud said, “Mr. LaFleur and Occam brung—brought—your truck back.” She added, “They was in a hurry and Occam said I wasn’t to wake you since you was asleep. Should I have waked you up anyway?”

Disappointment scurried through me on little mouse feet, but I shoved it away. “No. It’s all right. He knows his time limits. But the proper verb forms are, They were in a hurry and Occam said I wasn’t to wake you since you were asleep.”

Mud repeated me. “Townie English is hard. Can we look at the house plans?”

Carrying a tape measure, we walked through the entire upper floor, looking at the huge storage space at the top of the stairs that might become the bathroom, discussing where the fixtures would go if bathroom plumbing could be worked out. The upstairs was composed of multiple large spaces. There were two big bedrooms with low vaulted ceilings and dormers facing the front and the back of the house. On either end of the house, on the far sides of the bedrooms, were large, unfinished spaces, kept closed year-round, each with a dormer, both hotter than the armpits of hell. Currently, the unfinished space on the east side of the house held old furniture and antique chests full of John’s family’s belongings; the space on the west side was used for the solar batteries. It was a big house. It had been built for multiple wives and lots of children. With a little elbow grease, wallboard, paint, and added dormers, the rooms could become additional bedrooms. We were dreaming about spending a lot of my as-yet-unearned money, which made my belly ache just thinking about it. The unaccustomed stress of entering the modern world of debt was offset by the happiness of Mud possibly living with me.

Still dreaming, we stripped her bed and put on fresh sheets. Mud was stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase, her back to me, when she said, “Soooo … Mama met Occam.”

I dropped onto her bed, rumpling the smooth summer bedspread. “What?”

“She likes him, even though he’s a werecat.” Mud shot me a playful look. “She done invited him to church on Sunday. She quoted scripture to him and he quoted some back. Didju’un know he was the son of a preacher?”

“Yes,” I said softly. I’d heard Occam’s story, or as much as he would tell. My family knew that Occam was a werecat, and Mama had seen Occam rubbing my arms, the claiming-type touching on the church grounds. My brain waffled back and forth in near panic. I wasn’t a churchwoman anymore to be courted and claimed and treated like property by a man. But I wanted Occam. Mama would have kittens. That thought made everything inside me come to a screeching, flustered halt and I smiled. Mama would have kittens.

“Mama … liiikes him.” Mud drew out the word.

That snapped me back to the conversation and Mud’s laughing, knowing eyes. “Oh dear.”

“Uh-huh. She likes him a lot. He knows the Bible. He called her ma’am and called Daddy sir. He was polite. And he kept Sam outta jail. Mama’ll be matchmaking soon.”

“Oh dear,” I repeated.

“Him being a werecat ain’t no problem, not when Mama’s got love in her eyes.”

I suddenly understood JoJo’s actions the one time I’d seen her banging her head on her desk. “Ummm …” I started and floundered. I broke out into a sweat that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“And you like him too. I seen the way you look at him.”