Chapter 6 #2
one hand in a tricksy sort of way. “Come on, let’s begin. If we all focus, we ought to be able to prove the existence of ESP
by the time the spice cake is out of the oven.”
Donna and Van settled at opposite ends of the games table and tried to read each other’s minds.
The Zener deck had symbols on the cards: a square, a circle, a star, some wiggly lines, a plus sign.
Van would draw one and stare intently at it and Donna would tell him what she thought it was, while Colin kept a score of hits and misses on a notepad.
At first Donna and Van didn’t have it. Allie stood behind Donna, massaging her shoulders. “It’s okay. Some days Satan is with
you and some days he isn’t.”
“Triangle,” Donna said.
“There are no triangles in this deck, bitch,” Van said wearily.
Donna put on a pair of mirrored shades and tapped one temple. “Headache. I wouldn’t be surprised if I get a nosebleed. Telepathy
is always giving people with psychic powers nosebleeds. A well-known fact established by many, many movies.”
Donna took her turn drawing the cards and, after a couple misses, the twins went on a run, ten in a row.
“There it is,” Colin said. “You’re finding it. Van, do you feel like you’re inside your sister’s head . . . or is it more
like she’s pushing her thoughts into yours?”
“Or—and I’m just throwing this out there,” Arthur said, “does it feel like you’re seeing the cards reflected in Donna’s sunglasses?”
Van reached across the table, grabbed the deck of cards, and threw them at Arthur.
Colin wasn’t fazed. “Ah, of course. It’s obvious now that Arthur points it out. But you had something going on that day in the cafeteria.”
“Sure,” Arthur said. “A better way to cheat. Hey, Van? How do you say ‘We’re full of shit’ in your secret twin language? The
one that sounds a lot like Louisiana Creole?”
“Kass twa,” Van said.
“This is disappointing,” Colin said, not sounding disappointed at all. “I was hoping to have scientific proof of ESP by now.”
“I’ll try the Zener deck,” Arthur said. He hardly knew himself. He had forgotten, in the last few days, what happiness was
like. “I’m ready to read someone’s deepest, darkest secrets.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Gwen. She stood in the door holding a tray with the spice cake and mugs of cocoa upon it.
“Guys, this is Gwen Underfoot,” Colin said.
“Ignore him,” Van said. “You’re not underfoot, babe. Bring that cake right over.”
“That’s her name, dipshit,” Donna said. “Don’t talk to her like she’s the fucking help.”
“I am the help,” Gwen said.
“No, you aren’t,” Colin said. “Your mother is the housekeeper.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” Gwen said. “My grandmother was the housekeeper before her. Whenever a Wren needs to wipe his
ass, there’s usually an Underfoot standing nearby with the toilet paper.”
She put the tray down on the card table and everyone helped themselves. There was a single marshmallow in each mug—they were
big blocks the size of Rubik’s Cubes. Those marshmallows were like everything else at The Briars: magnificently grand and
vaguely implausible at the same time.
“Go on, Oakes,” Colin said. “You and Gwen have a try.”
The piano began to play. It was Allie at the keys and she was actually playing, not pumping the pedals. The werewolves were roaming London.
“Pretty bold, doing the Friday New York Times crossword in pen,” Arthur said, as he picked Zener cards off the floor.
“If that’s your idea of bold, I bet you’re a wild date,” Gwen said.
Donna yelled with laughter. “She’s got your number, Arthur. Allie, what are the odds Oakes is still a virgin?”
“Maybe you’ve got Arthur’s number,” Van said, “but Allie’s got all the others. She’s been taking graduate courses in statistics
since she was seventeen. Personally, I find that offensive. You shouldn’t be better looking than your friends and smarter than them . . . they’ll lose heart and look for companionship more on their level.”
“You don’t need psychic powers if you’ve got statistics,” Allie said. “A big data set is way more reliable than tarot cards.”
She began to sing.
I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
sixty percent chance he’ll order the moo goo gai pan!
I saw a werewolf with a blue-collar job in Michigan
eighty-five percent chance he voted for Reagan!
“That’s,” Van stammered, “that’s—not the rhyme scheme, Allie—stop—I love Warren Zevon—you’re hurting me—” He squeezed his head between his hands.
Donna greeted Gwen with a little wave. “Donna McBride. My homunculus over there is Donovan.”
“We’re twins,” Van said. “I meant to eat her in the womb, I swear.”
“I’m Allison Shiner,” Allie sang, “of east Texas, by the bayou. And there’s a ninety-three percent chance I’m gonna like you.”
“Shall we?” Arthur asked, holding up the Zener deck. It rubbed him wrong that he had to share Gwen with the others and that
they were more entertaining than him. He wasn’t funny like Donna and Van, wasn’t dazzling like Allie, wasn’t a sophisticated
alien intelligence like Colin. It was tiring to have remarkable friends.
But Gwen grinned at him and thumbed her glasses up her nose. “All right, then. Let’s see if I’ve got in your head yet, Arthur
Oakes.”
“I don’t think that’s in question,” Arthur said, and looked at the top card. Then he looked up and met Gwen’s eyes. He couldn’t
hold her gaze for more than a moment. It made him short of breath. He blinked down at the card again.
“Star,” she said.
He looked down at a plus sign. “No.”
“I meant to say you’re a star, obviously. Square?”
“No, sorry.”
“I haven’t activated my powers yet. I was asking if you’re square.”
“Yes. I read medieval French for fun.”
“Good,” she said. “I’m a square too. But you already knew that. I do The New York Times crossword puzzle in pen.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Come on, old buddy. Make a real guess.”
“Cirrrr—” He shook his head at her. “—rrrrr plus sign!”
“That’s it.”
Colin said, “Wow. The psychic charge between you two is off the charts.”
Colin was ribbing them, but Gwen got the next one right (square) and the one after (plus sign). They got five in a row before
Arthur risked meeting her gaze again.
She was studying him: a thing both terrifying and lovely. Her eyes weren’t brown exactly. They were green at the outer edges,
a very pale green, like looking through the side of a Coke bottle. But there were threads in them of what almost looked like
gold foil. He inhaled deeply, feeling good, then thought about someone holding a knife under his mother’s eye in a photograph,
and was stricken with guilt for feeling even a moment’s pleasure.
“Polaroid,” she said.
“Huh?”
Gwen shook her head. “Sorry. For a moment I was picturing an undeveloped Polaroid. Let’s try again. Wavy lines?”
“Mm-hm,” Arthur said, feeling numb.
“You’re doing well,” Colin said. “You’re up to six in a row now. We’re approaching statistical relevance. This is really sexy.
You’re undressing him with your mind, Gwen.”
“Keep your innuendos to yourself, Wren,” she said.
Gwen called nine of the next twelve correctly, but Arthur didn’t need to draw another card to know that she could read him
like a book.