I sat there, on my point, watching the odd glow in the distance. Blocks of glow, actually. She approached from behind.
“So you see it too,” she said to end the vision, as if her very voice dispelled it. I looked around. Ruby Fantasie (!).
“Ho-how?”
“Cool tree,” she spoke amidst my studdering, looking over at the live oak. “*Baker Bloch*.”
Of course I invited her inside for tea and cake. She said she just wanted coffee. *Hot* coffee. Ruby Fantasie! And she always declared she would never stay here during the winter. “Circumstances change,” she spoke in a “normal” voice to me, completely absent of the usual, thick Jamaican accent. This is how she instantly knew who I was: Baker Bloch. The user was the only one she lost the accent with, we learned back in photo-novel 12.
“Where do you live here?” I queried politely. Don’t say here, don’t say here! I thought.
“Ebonshire,” she answered, making me wipe sweat off my brow inwardly.
“Oh, that’s nice.”
She moved her coffee away from her mouth, gauging me. “You thought I was going to say here — didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” I quipped back reflexively and defensively. Why did I say “maybe.” I should have said “no.” But somehow I couldn’t lie to her. We were tight that way. User and usee.
She looked around. “It’s okay. I know you have enough problems now with the wee ones.”
So she knows about *them* as well, I speculated, envisioning an axial alliance between Jamacian witch and gremlin-ish wees, like Norris. The handshake: big black on small white.
“What wee ones?” I decided to lie better but was instantly seen through. I suddenly felt stupid… and alone. Ruby Fantasie had vanished before my eyes. I knew she wouldn’t return until I wised up.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 