Мэгги Стифватер - Lament

I picked up the clover and set it down in the shadow of his leg. Cupping my hand, I said faintly, "Come on, clover." The clover and several other leaves rustled, and then skipped across the ground into my hand. A huge, dry collection of leaves, the color of summer, pressed against my fingers.

"Telekinesis." James' voice was as soft as the rustling of the leaves, and when I looked at him, I could see goose bumps standing out on his tanned legs. "Suddenly the world seems a lot more interesting."

What it seemed was a lot less ordinary.

FOUR

Tuesday. Wednesday. Two days crawled by. James came by, but he wasn't who I wanted to see. I might be able to move spoons without touching them and make clover sail like tiny ships across my bedstand, but I couldn't bring back what Granna had driven off. Nor could I vanquish the little voice that said he'd been driven off fairly easily.

"Deirdre, you haven't practiced for days." Mom pushed open the door of my room and frowned. I was lying on my back, studying the ceiling, and the techno CD James had given me for my birthday was shaking every flat surface in the room in time with the bass line. Mom turned off the stereo. "I didn't know you liked that sort of stuff."

"I do now." It came out sounding recalcitrant, but it was actually true. I'd never listened to techno before, but I was a sucker for good music of any sort. And the pounding monotony of the tracks perfectly matched what was going on in my head. Time passing for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

Mom opened the door wide. "Don't be sour. Go practice. Get out of this room. You make me nervous when you aren't doing something."

"Fine, whatever. I'll practice. I'm going outside to do it, though."

"It's almost dark, you know."

I slid off the bed. I didn't want to sit inside and have an ordinary night practicing. "Cooler."

She followed me downstairs and watched me gather up my harp, then trailed me to the back door. Abruptly, she bent down and picked something off the kitchen floor. "Deirdre, I told you to press these things in a book if you want to keep them. I'm tired of picking them up." She stuffed a four-leaf clover into my hand.

Good for driving away snakes. Curing scorpion bites. Seeing faeries.

Feeling rebellious, I pulled off Granna's iron ring and set it on the counter before I went outside.

Maybe I didn't want evil supernatural beings scared away tonight. Maybe the person I wanted to see qualified as one.

Outside, it was all the rich golds and dull blues of twilight, with long shadows cutting across the yard in the shapes of spectral trees. Fireflies glowed in the tall grass on the edge of the yard, and a mourning dove called, low and sad and beautiful. I found a seat on the crook of a tree and leaned my harp against my shoulder. I didn't know what to play, so I just let a little lonesome tune escape from the strings. I really ought to have played an I'm a Pining Idiot tune instead.

Mysterious. Extraordinary. That's what I wanted. I began to play a slow reel, "The Maids of Mitchelltown," a tune that promised mystery. The wind lifted the leaves of the trees; it was scented with mown grass, flowers, and thyme.

My fingers stilled and I lifted my head, catching the breeze again. I wondered if I'd imagined the smell. But no, the scent of thyme was undoubtedly there. Not only there, but getting stronger. I squinted at the shadows around me, trying to catch the direction, but it was impossible.

A shadow flicked across one of the bright strips of evening sun, and I jerked to look at it. There was nothing there. Then, between two of the oaks at the edge of the yard, I saw a form. The face looked at me and smiled--red-haired, freckled, reeking of thyme.

The kid from the reception. I blinked, and in that second, he was next to a beech tree, ten feet closer. My skin crawled.

"Beautiful night."

The voice was right beside me.

In the second it took for my blood to run hot with adrenaline, I swung a hard fist, feeling skin beneath my knuckles.

"God," groaned Luke from next to me. "Remind me never to sneak up on you."

My breath caught in my throat. I suppose I should've felt embarrassed, but I was too overwhelmed that it was Luke. I laughed in amazement. "I thought you were that freaky guy from the reception."

He stepped into the light, rubbing his jaw. "No, I'm not. Well, I am a guy from the reception."

His light hair picked up the gold of the evening and lent him a brilliant halo. He looked at where the four-leaf clover sat on my leg and took it, making a face. "Why do you seem to always have these with you?"

"Why does it always seem to bother you?" I immediately regretted saying it. The last thing I wanted to do was to drive him away again by violating the rules. "I thought you were gone for good."

Luke crouched next to me. He looked over at the beech tree where the ginger-haired boy had been, his eyes intent, then dragged his gaze back to my face. "You sound so sad, pretty girl."

I looked away, pretending to pout to cover up how I'd felt the past two days. "I was so sad."

"I thought I was gone for good, as well." He settled down, cross-legged, and set his flute case across his lap. "Unfortunately, I'm still fascinated. May I play with you?"

"Even though I punched you?"

"Despite that. Though you didn't say sorry."

"You partially deserved it, for leaving without any warning." I grinned and put my fingers on the strings.

Luke lifted the flute. "After you."

I began to play "The Maids of Mitchelltown" again, and Luke jumped in immediately, recognizing the common tune. Funny how much difference two instead of one made. With both of us playing, the reel was so beautiful I could have gotten lost in the threads of melody we wove.

Luke's eyes were far away as we played, staring at the beech tree near the edge of the yard, though there was nothing there. I abruptly remembered the freckled kid again-- somehow, Luke's presence made me forget everything but Luke--but there was no sight of him. I didn't want to think about what could have happened if Luke hadn't arrived.

The tune ended. As if sensing my troubled thoughts, Luke lowered his flute and said, "Let's play something a bit happier, shall we? Something that makes you smile?"

You make me smile, I thought, but I obliged him with a crooked grin and began to play "Merrily Kiss the Quaker's Wife" instead. He joined in immediately, and turned his back firmly and deliberately toward the beech.

FIVE

Thursday found me back at Dave's Ice, wearing the usual white T-shirt bearing the image of Dave the penguin. My coworker: Sara. We managed to avoid anything but trite conversation during the busy morning, but as the day wore on, the clouds began to threaten rain, and customers slowed to a trickle. I tried to fight off further contact by pulling the Thornking-Ash application out of my backpack. Leaning over the icy cold counter with my back to Sara, I began writing my name at the top, very slowly, hoping she'd get the hint.

It didn't work.

"So, you know you've got to dish." Sara's voice was ominously close. I wasn't sure how to respond. This was possibly the first time anyone had ever expressed interest in my personal life, and I wasn't sure if I should answer her or chronicle the event in my scrapbook.

"About this application?"

Sara snorted. "Duh. No. About the hottie you brought in the other day. Are you two going out?"

"Yes," I lied, without even pausing to think about it. I didn't want her getting the idea he might be available. I'd hate to have to punch her like I did Luke last night. Swallowing a laugh at the mental image, I wrote my address on the application.

"Whoa. No offense, but I never thought, like, you'd be the type to get a guy, so ..."

I turned around. It occurred to me, in a me-looking-at-my-own-life-from-outside-my-body way, that Sara was being condescending. I raised an eyebrow.

She said quickly, "Not that you're ugly or anything. You're just so ... ordinary. "

I wasn't ordinary. I was fascinating. "I guess he didn't think so," I said.

Sara tapped her shimmery pink nails on the counter and studied them as she did. "It was just a little surprising to see you come in here with this guy who was, like, wow."

I had to turn around again to hide the smile that was forming. "Yeah, he is pretty nice to look at, huh?"

"Are you kidding?" Sara burst out. "He is out-of this-world hot!"

I couldn't keep from laughing this time. "Yeah, he is, isn't he?" Which world was he from, I wondered?

The bell dinged as the door admitted two men, who ordered from Sara as she smiled encouragingly at them. Shaking my head, I told her, "I'll get one of them."

I took the opportunity to move to the other end of the counter and make the sundae. I hadn't lied when I told Luke I liked working here. Really, scooping ice cream was quite satisfying. Every flavor was a different color, and the feeling of the scoop cutting through the perfectly cold ice cream was as appetizing as actually eating the ice cream. I'd tried to explain this to Sara before, but she didn't get it. She just scooped ice cream into bowls and cones. I made ice-cold masterpieces.

"Whoa, that looks so good," said Customer Number One as he watched Customer Number Two take a sundae out of my hands. Of course it does, I thought. Each scoop is perfectly round and I made the syrup and whipped cream perfectly symmetrical. The brownie is square and covered just so by ice cream. The nuts are sprinkled with enough creativity to look random and yet not patchy. It should be on the cover of Ice Cream Today. Most gorgeous sundae ever. Created by yours truly.

Customer Number One accepted a substandard, Sara-made sundae with a slightly disappointed look. His was not symmetrical and would never find its picture on the front of a magazine. Sara had even slimed some chocolate ice cream from the first scoop onto the second scoop, which was vanilla. Quite unsightly.

Customer Number Two smiled warmly at me and stuffed the tip jar in front of my register full of ones. He flashed another smile, and his flirtations rolled gently off my back like water off a duck.

"Better hurry," I said. "The brownie will melt your ice cream."

"Your brownie's warm?" Customer Number One asked with dismay. They made their way out of the shop, with Number Two happily extolling the pleasures of his sundae. I returned to my application and Sara returned to my side.

"So, where did you meet?"

But I was staring at my tip jar. Stuffed in with all the ones and change that I'd acquired throughout the day was a leafy green edge that was out of place. I took the jar and tipped it out on the counter.

Sara jumped back as a few pennies bounced in her direction. "What are you doing? Are you mental?"

Sure enough, among the crumpled bills, half-crushed by a quarter, was a four-leaf clover. I picked it up and Sara stared at it, too.

"Whoa, aren't those really rare?"

I frowned. "I thought they were."

The bell dinged again, and both of us looked up. Sara made a soft noise and I grinned, because it was Luke.

He smiled back at me. "Hello, lovely." The smile on his face dimmed when he saw what I was holding. "Another one?"

My expression mirrored his. "It was in my tip jar."

Dropping his eyes to the pile of money on the counter, Luke shook his head. "I don't think you need that kind of luck."

"Every girl needs luck," Sara offered. "I'll take it if you don't want it." I looked at Luke, and he shrugged, so I gave it to her.

As I scraped the coins back into the tip jar, Luke said, "Rumor has it you're getting off soon. Can I drive you home?"