Carolyn shrugged. “You never know.” Just as Michael spent most of his time with animals, Margaret was most comfortable with the dead. “Any luck?”
“We’ll see shortly,” Jennifer said, and looked pointedly at the pile of rock. Carolyn, taking the hint, walked over to the pile and hefted a medium-sized stone. They worked in silence with quick, practiced efficiency. With the three of them at it, it wasn’t long before the pile was gone, scattered throughout the surrounding underbrush. The ground beneath it had sunk only a little since the burial. It was still relatively soft. They squatted down on their knees and dug at it with their hands. Six inches down, the smell of Margaret’s body was thick. Carolyn, who hadn’t done this in some time, stifled a gag. She was careful to make sure David didn’t see. When the hole was about two feet deep she touched something squishy. “Got her,” she said.
Michael helped brush away the dirt. Margaret was bloated, purple, rotting. The sockets of her eyes boiled with maggots. Jennifer hoisted herself out of the grave and went to gather her things. As soon as Margaret’s face and hands were uncovered, Carolyn and Michael wasted no time getting out of the pit.
Jennifer took a little silver pipe out of her bag, lit it with a match, and took a deep hit. Then, with a sigh, she hopped down and began her work. Stoned or not, she was very gifted. A year ago Father had paid her the ultimate compliment, surrendering the white sash of healing to her. She, not Father, was now the master of her catalog. She was the only one of them he had honored in this way.
This time the murder wound was a vertical trench in Margaret’s heart, precisely the width and depth of David’s knife. Jennifer straddled the corpse and laid her hand over the wound. She held it there for the span of three breaths. Carolyn watched this with interest, noting the stages at which Jennifer said mind, body, and spirit under her breath. Carolyn was careful to give no outward sign of what she was doing. Studying outside your catalog was—well, it wasn’t something you wanted to be caught at.
Michael moved to the other side of the clearing, away from the smell, and wrestled with his cougars, smiling. He paid the rest of them no attention. Carolyn sat with her back against one of the bull’s bronze legs, close enough to watch as Jennifer worked. When Jennifer took her hand away the wound in Margaret’s chest was gone.
Jennifer stood up in the grave. Carolyn guessed this was to get a bit of fresh air rather than for any clinical purpose. The stench was bad enough over where Carolyn was, but in the pit it would be overwhelming. Jennifer took a deep breath, then knelt again. She furrowed her brow, brushed away most of the insects, then knelt and put her warm mouth over Margaret’s cold one. She held the embrace for three breaths, then drew back, gagging, and set about rubbing various lotions on Margaret’s skin. Interestingly, she applied the lotion in patterns, the glyphs of written Pelapi—first ambition, then perception, and finally regret.
When that was done, Jennifer stood up and scrambled out of the grave. She started toward Carolyn and Michael, but after two steps her eyes widened. She cupped her hand over her mouth, bolted into the underbrush, and retched. When her stomach was empty she walked over to join Carolyn. Her steps were slower and shakier than before. A thin film of sweat glistened on her brow.
“Bad?” Carolyn asked.
By way of answer Jennifer turned her head and spat. She sat down close and laid her head on Carolyn’s shoulder for a moment. Then she fished out her little silver pipe—American, a gift from Carolyn—and fired it up again. Marijuana smoke, thick and sweet, filled the clearing. She offered it to Carolyn.
“No thanks.”
Jennifer shrugged, then took a second, deeper drag. The coal of the pipe flared in the polished bronze of the bull’s belly. “Sometimes I wonder…”
“Wonder what?”
“If we should bother. Looking for Father, I mean.”
Carolyn drew back. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I—” Jennifer sighed. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just…I wonder. Would it really be that much worse? If we just…let it go? Let the Duke, or whoever, take over?”
“If the Duke repairs himself to the point where he can start feeding again, complex life will be history. It wouldn’t take long, either. Five years, probably. Maybe ten.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jennifer fired up her pipe again. “So instead we have Father. The Duke…well, at least his way would be painless. Peaceful, even.”
Carolyn made a sour face, then smiled. “Had a rough couple of weeks with David, did you?”
“No, that isn’t—” Jennifer said. “Well, maybe. It actually was a pretty goddamn rough couple of weeks, now that you mention it. And where have you been, anyway? I could have used your help.”
Carolyn patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Here, give me that.” Jennifer passed the pipe. She took a small puff.
“Still, though,” Jennifer said. “Doesn’t it ever get to you? Serious question.”
“What?”
Jennifer waved her arm, a gesture that took in the grave, Garrison Oaks, the bull. “All of it.”
Carolyn thought about it for a minute. “No. Not really. Not anymore.” She looked at Jennifer’s hair and picked a maggot out. It squirmed on the end of her finger. “It used to, but I adjusted.” She crushed the maggot. “You can adjust to almost anything.”
“You can, maybe.” She took the pipe back. “I sometimes think the two of us are the only ones who are still sane.”
It crossed Carolyn’s mind to pat Jennifer’s shoulder or hug her or something, but she decided against it. The conversation was already more touchy-feely than she was really comfortable with. Instead, by way of changing the subject, she nodded in the direction of the grave. “How long will it be before…?”
“I’m not sure,” Jennifer said. “Probably a while. She’s never been down this long before.” She grimaced and spat again. “Blech.”
“Here,” Carolyn said. “I brought you something.” She rummaged in her plastic shopping bag and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Listerine.
Jennifer took the bottle. “What is it?”
“Put some in your mouth and swish it around. Don’t swallow it. After a few seconds spit it out.”
Jennifer looked at it, dubious, trying to decide if she were being made fun of.
“Trust me,” Carolyn said.
Jennifer hesitated for a moment, then took a sip. Her eyes went wide.
“Swish it around,” Carolyn said and demonstrated by puffing out first her left cheek, then her right. Jennifer mimicked her. “Now, spit it out.” Jennifer did. “Better?”
“Wow!” Jennifer said. “That’s—” She looked over her shoulder at David. He wasn’t looking, but she lowered her voice anyway. “That’s amazing. It usually takes me hours to get the taste out of my mouth!”
“I know,” Carolyn said. “It’s an American thing. It’s called mouthwash.”
Jennifer ran her fingers over the label for a moment, an expression of childlike wonder on her face. Then, with obvious reluctance, she held the bottle out to Carolyn.
“No,” Carolyn said. “Keep it. I got it for you.”