Chapter 19
Nineteen
Later, Arthur could not quite remember the chronology of events—none of them could.
Later, they could not even agree how long they worked at bringing King Sorrow over from the Long Dark. Donna and Van thought
everything happened that Friday night. Gwen said it was the night after, on Scatterday evening—Gwen insisted that Scatterday
was the secret day hidden between Friday and Saturday. Colin liked the idea of Scatterday . . . a pocket in time crammed full
of junk, like a small child’s pocket, only instead of marbles and string it held dragons and trolls and sorcery. Allie said
not only did Scatterday exist, but there was an extra number between midnight and one: dragonedy. She insisted it had been
ten after dragonedy when King Sorrow first spoke to them.
He had worked his full shift at the library and walked out of the place a little after six, with the Crane journal in his
messenger bag. Twenty minutes later he walked into The Briars. The others were waiting for him in the kitchen. Gwen was on
her usual stool at the kitchen island and knew at a glance that he had stolen the awful book Jayne had commanded him to take—understanding
passed between them without a word. All of them knew.
They gathered in front of the TV to watch America’s Most Wanted—not as good as Unsolved Mysteries, but it would do in a pinch—settling in the big second-floor room at the back of the house, a den with aromatic cedar beams and the quality of a refinished attic.
Colin left them during the first commercial break and returned with a package of mottled white paper, soft as unprocessed cotton, which he unfolded to reveal a clear plastic bag of bright sapphire leaves.
He rolled a joint for Van, who took a long sucking hit and then casually passed it to Allie. He rolled another for himself
but gave it up when Donna wordlessly reached for it. Then he tossed back the flap of Arthur’s messenger bag and helped himself
to the Crane journal. Colin settled in one corner of the couch, reading by the light of the TV. Later that seemed significant:
memory began to fragment and splinter—for all of them—as soon as he cracked the cover of the book. Of course, it wasn’t just
reality that went hazy right around then. The air was so fogged with ganja smoke, the room was turning into a Navajo sweat
lodge. It swirled in serpentine patterns, as if invisible snakes moved in the air.
“He branded himself. With a hot cross. Right between the eyes. To make the devil’s voice go away,” Colin said, without looking
up from the book.
“How old was he?” Gwen asked.
“Thirteen.”
“Sounds like adolescent schizophrenia,” Allie said, without looking from the TV. “Onset is usually thirteen. It affects less
than one percent of children and is more common in boys.”
“Allie,” Van said, “you know the percentages on everything. What are the odds you’ll smoke enough of this shit to get horny
and want to ride a cowboy?”
“About the same odds as you ever being a cowboy,” Donna answered for her. “Zero.”
Colin brightened. “He branded the Cobbett sisters too! One of them wanted it and one of them didn’t. The one who didn’t was
nine. They held her down and branded her on the stomach. They all had devils in them, bossing them around.”
“What were the devils telling them to do?” Donna asked.
“The usual devil shit. Dance naked in the woods. Butcher their mothers like hogs. Denounce Christ and bow before the rulers
of hell. Baal. Ereshkigal. Father Ruin.”
“I’m pretty sure Father Ruin is on tour with Ratt next summer,” Van said.
“And King Sorrow,” Colin said, his finger moving along the page. “They had to swear fealty to His Majesty King Sorrow. We
don’t want to forget him.”
“How could we forget King Sorrow?” Arthur asked. “Give me some of that.” Donna passed him the blunt.
“I didn’t know you smoked weed,” Gwen said.
Arthur said, “I didn’t know I committed felonies. Turns out I’m full of surprises.”