Four and Twenty Blackbirds

"As I said, ma'am, thank you, but no. I'm already settled in here, and I'm not of a mind to leave."



"Dammit, girl, you come on!"



"No." I liked this game. This was fun.



"And why not? I'm offering you family privileges, an' here you are being an ingrate."



I couldn't hold my smile back any longer. "At least I'm not trying to milk you for your money like the rest of them mixed-breed illegitimates who want family privileges. Thank you kindly, Tatie, but I'm staying here."



Her wrinkly arms folded together, pulling a cable-knit sweater more tightly around her shoulders. "How come?"



"How come?" I repeated after her, still laughing on the inside with disbelief at the absurdity of it all. To be tactful, or not to be tactful? I went with the latter. "Because I don't trust you. No offense intended."



She nodded as if we'd reached some minor understanding, and it was good. "None taken. But since we're speaking plain, tell me why not."



"Because so far as I've heard, they've not yet caught Malachi. And I think you mean to hand me over to him if you can." I didn't really know if they'd caught him or not, but I figured she'd contradict me if I was mistaken.



"Well, that's not right. I'm not about to hand you over to him."



So he was still out there and Lulu had been right. Chattanooga considers Macon nearby enough to be a source of local news, so it wasn't surprising that she'd heard. "Well, I don't know that. Hell," I added, "for all I know he just followed you and he's planning to come for me once you're gone."



"That's not the case," she insisted.



"I'm afraid I don't believe you, Tatie. I'd love to be friends, what with us being family and all, but I don't believe you're as interested in that prospect as I am. If you want me at your place tonight, it's not because you've suddenly found your manners. You tell me why you really want me there, and I might think about it a little harder."



She shifted, tapping her feet and twirling her fingers in the sweater. She was getting cold. I was too, for that matter. If she didn't make her point before long, I was going to have to choose between inviting her inside and shutting the door in her face.



"You can't stay here tonight, girl. You and I know it's not safe."



"You're stalling. Besides, you and I know how little you care about my safety."



Her shoulders slacked and she quit bothering the buttons on the sweater. "If you must know . . ." she began, but then stopped.



"Oh, but I must," I prompted.



"Lord. It is Malachi, but not what you think. I swear, that boy's lost his religion now."



I laughed outright—practically in her face, which must have made her mad enough to boil. "Only just now? Christ, lady—what do you think he's been up to all this time? He's been as mad as a hatter most of his life, and you're only just now deciding it's so?"



"Never to me!" she shouted, raising one gnarled fist. "Neverto me! He's never put a hand against me, and I don't know what made him now, but the boy's lost his senses this time, and it just frightens me all to death. I can't stay in that house now, not all alone."



"What about Harry?"



"He's not so old as me, but he's an old man still and my nephew's a young one with murdering on his mind. I tell you, child, I'm just so frightened it sends my heart trouble."



Curiosity got the better of me. Even though I knew I might not get the truth, I couldn't keep myself from asking, "What did he do? Did he attack you?"



"He tried to choke me! He held his hands against my throat and would've killed me if Harry hadn't hit him with the poker from the fireplace."



"It seems to me like you and Harry are doing just fine without me. You ought to give Harry more credit. In a pinch, it sounds like he's got your back."



"But what if Malachi comes back?"



"Harry can whack him with the poker again," I suggested. "Last time it worked so well that you're not dead yet."



I think she wanted to say "please," but the word refused to pass her lips. Instead she launched on with her begging, disguised as commanding. "Girl, come on down to the house with me, won't you? I want someone else in the house, and there isn't anyone else who can come. You can pick whichever room you want, and Harry can make us supper."



"Now, Tatie, that doesn't make a bit of sense and you know it. The one thing in life Malachi wants is to see me dead, but you want to invite me in to keep him away? You're a daft old woman, and I'm not going to hear this anymore." I made like I was going to shut the door, pretty sure by now that she wasn't going to let me.



"Eden," she choked out my name in two soft syllables. "Come with me, won't you?"



"Lady, I'm no one's bodyguard."



Down at my feet something glistened. I kicked at it with the toe of my shoe. It rolled off the sidewalk and down over the curb, away to the gutter. Three or four more of the gleaming, rolling things were scattered about near my door. Some kind of beads. Harmless enough, but they hadn't been there when I'd come back from eating. They could have belonged to anyone, of course. No reason for me to be alarmed. They were only beads. Black and red, scattered across the walkway.



"Eden, what do I have to do to get you to come with me?"



What was it about those beads? An old jingle ran circles in my head, or perhaps it was a whispering hint from one of the ghosts—I couldn't be sure. Red and black, friend of Jack. Red and yellow, kill a fellow. True of snakes, at least, but I couldn't see it as a sign. To go with Tatie would only be to invite trouble, and I knew it.



"Eden?"



"Yes?" I stared back at her, pretending I'd not been distracted.



"Well? What do I have to do to get you to come?"



I looked down at the beads, and back at my hotel room. I listened hard, but heard no warnings or prohibitions from the grave. Something was up, but whatever it was, my ghostly guardians must have felt I could handle it. Besides, even without Eliza's fussing, I wouldn't have felt safe in that motel another night; and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious to know what she really wanted. I didn't believe for a moment that she was scared of Malachi, not any more than I was.



"I don't know." I sighed, knowing I ought to know better. "Do you have cable?"



"Cable television? No. No, I don't. The old TV barely picks up the locals."



No big surprise. "Then just say 'please.' "



"That's all it'd take?"



"That's all."



"All right then, please follow us home. And be sure you don't leave that knife here."



"Don't worry," I told her. "It stays with me."



II



She gave me a room on the second floor with a window that overlooked the front yard. The portal was flanked by immense, heavy draperies that hung down from cast-iron café rods and tied back with gold cords. I let them fall closed, sealing myself into the place with only the light from the bedside lamp.



The bed itself was tall, nearly waist-high against my torso, and covered with a light duvet warm enough for winter, but not so heavy that it'd cook the sleeper in summertime. My duffel bag was perched atop the overstuffed pillows leaning against the thick, darkly varnished headboard. The antique board rather uncannily resembled a huge wooden tombstone, carved with deep swirls and lilies; it lacked only an epitaph and the requisite dates to cross that fine line from tacky to the macabre. I wasn't sure I'd be able to sleep in it at all, but truth be known I didn't plan to sleep anyway. Not in this house, much less in that bed. Even if Malachi were safely in police custody, Tatie had many secrets, and I was willing to bet she kept them within arm's reach.



Specifically, I had a feeling she knew about that book with the stolen hand. Perhaps it was intuition, but it was possibly something more independently minded. Either way, I had little upon which to base my suspicions. I'd inferred from our previous conversation that she'd had more contact with Avery than one might have thought, and she was therefore only one degree removed from John Gray himself if, as I was by then fairly certain, Avery had joined him at his Florida coven. It wasn't much to go on, but it was better than nothing.



I'd been instructed to make myself comfortable and then return to the main dining hall for supper. I didn't think Harry would be able to top IHOP, but by then it had been a long time since I'd eaten and food sounded good.



Tatie Eliza was already ensconced at the head of the table when I arrived. An ice-filled glass of sweet tea and a white china place setting signified my seat at the other end. Harry had laid out more silverware than I was likely to use all day, but I knew roughly what fork went with what dish, so I wasn't too afraid of looking like a fool.



Harry pushed the swinging door to the kitchen aside with his thigh and brought forth salad and rolls. I reached for the outside fork and munched on the greens without speaking. Eliza did the same.



Since I was uncertain what would offend her and unwilling to make myself appear ignorant, I wondered privately where Harry ate and whether or not he'd care to join us. No doubt it was profoundly improper for the manservant to join the family, but when the family was reduced to one lonely old woman, what did propriety matter? She couldn't have been so dead set on formalities as all that; after all, she did have a colored girl sharing her table. Her parents would do barrel rolls in their coffins if they knew.



"Tell me," I eventually broached, determined not to eat in silence. "How did it happen—what Malachi did to make Harry take a poker to him?"



She chewed pensively at a wedge of tomato before answering. "He raised a hand to me. That boy raised his hand up against his own flesh and blood."



In the name of good manners, I refrained from pointing out that I was his own flesh and blood as well and he'd made a fine tradition of raising a hand to me for fifteen years. "How cowardly of him, to attack a woman of your . . . health."