“Want something different.”
She looked up, her thumb gouging into the crimped edge of the crust. “Is that wrong?”
I took the pie from her and slid it into the oven, then ran a hand down her arm, just a light brush-my skin barely making contact with hers.
“Not at all.”
I spent another hour and a half wandering around the compound trying to convince some of the other Amazons to talk to me. A few did, but none were as forthcoming as Dana. The girl had a much better sense of who she was than I’d ever had, probably than I did right now, but I could tell we shared one thing. Neither of us truly felt as if we fit. I’d had friends, as it appeared she did, but living as an Amazon never felt quite right to me-like wearing someone else’s shoes. They might look right to the outside world, but you knew inside they weren’t, could feel it with every step you took.
She’d sought me out again before I left, shoving a cardboard box with the pie in it into my hands. My first pie. Okay, she’d done most of the work, but, still, I was strangely proud. I placed the box in the coveted position of shotgun for the ride home.
It was after two. I’d be able to make it back to Madison probably before Harmony arrived home. I might even be able to drive by the bar and see if Tim was working. If he worked at the place, he’d be familiar with the football players who hung out there, and probably more cognizant of who the girls went off with.
I was hoping one name would crop up for both. That would really simplify things. Unfortunately, I didn’t have pictures of either girl. Amazons weren’t big on photography. But I suspected a healthy American boy wouldn’t forget any of the Amazons too quickly.
I just hoped he didn’t ask about Dana. I wasn’t going to be sharing news of his upcoming daddyhood with him, but I didn’t relish the idea of hiding it from him either.
As it turned out, traffic was a bugger getting out of Illinois-some kind of mystery backup where a toll booth used to sit on Highway 39 in Rockford. I pulled into my drive at five. I wanted to see my daughter and my shop, sink into the life I’d built for myself. Visiting the Amazon camp had more of an effect on me than I’d thought it would when I had left earlier today. I’d had an itchy need to get home as quickly as I could since passing the traffic snarl. I’d almost been glad of the excuse to skip the trip downtown to the bar.
Harmony and her best friend, Rachel, stood outside the gym. Next to them, Pisto, the blond warrior who had confronted Peter’s client, demonstrated various stances with a staff. The pie box clenched in my arms, I walked up.
“I thought you spent the day at Rachel’s.”
Harmony glanced at me, her eyes wide, blue and innocent. “We did. She just walked me home.”
“And then what? You going to walk her back home?” Rachel lived two streets behind us. The walking each other home game had become a favorite ploy as soon as they were old enough that both Rachel’s mother and I felt secure to let them out of our sight for a few minutes. The “walk home” could take hours.
“No.” Complete indignation on my daughter’s part. “CleCle”-Harmony’s name for my mother-“said the tribe was taking in students. Rachel and I thought it might be fun to take some.”
“The tribe?” What had Mother done?
“Yeah. The self-defense group.” She frowned at Pisto. “Isn’t that what you called yourselves?”
Pisto tilted the staff back and forth in front of her. Her gaze caught mine. “We do.”
“Anyway, CleCle suggested it, and Pisto”-she nodded at the warrior-“said she’d work us in for free. You can’t beat that.”
“I doubt Rachel’s mother-” I started, but both girls cut me off, jabbering as only teenage girls can. Finally, Rachel’s voice won out.
“My mom will be thrilled. She’s been saying the school should offer some kind of self-defense class for girls. The killings really have her freaked out. Besides, in a few years we’ll be going to college. Everyone should be able to defend herself before that.” She pulled her body erect, speaking with all the authority of a middle-aged corporate executive-in other words, a perfect imitation of her mother. Her father owned a bead shop off Monroe. He was also head flapjack flipper at a local “pancakes for peace” event and had probably walked around the globe for various peace walks. I doubted the idea of his daughter learning to smash a man’s skull with a twenty-pound staff would hold a lot of appeal for him.
“Self-defense is an important skill for women in today’s world.” Mother had sneaked up behind me, like the cat that was tattooed on her breast.
I curled my lip, revealing a hint of the snarl that threatened to spill out. After everything that had happened, I couldn’t disagree with Mother. I could actually have been talked into letting Harmony train with her, but not with Pisto and the tribe. I couldn’t trust what they might tell my daughter. When she found out about the Amazons, it damn well had to come from me.
“Too bad the ‘tribe’ only has evening classes.” I glared at Pisto, daring her to disagree with my words. Her only response was a bored flutter of her eyelashes. I looked at my daughter, a have I got good news for you smile on my face. “I’ve already signed you up for classes after school. Your evenings are fully booked.”
“What?” I could see my daughter getting ready to dig in her heels, to scream about the injustice of being signed up for something without her full and prior approval. It didn’t stop me from sending her to gymnastics when she was five (something Mother had fully approved of), and it wasn’t going to stop me now. I shoved the pie box against Mother’s chest, trusting she wouldn’t let it fall to the ground, and looped my arm through my daughter’s. “Art class. A friend of Peter’s is teaching it.”
“Peter’s?” Rachel nudged Harmony in the side. I ignored the gesture. So what if Peter’s “friend” wasn’t exactly what they might be expecting. Far be it from me to shatter their hormone-ridden dreams.
Harmony quickly moved from objection to negotiation. “Can Rachel take it too? What kind of art will we be learning? Will I need any supplies?”
Once she mentioned shopping, even if it was for dry art supplies, I knew I had her.
I stopped to toss a smile back at Mother. She had lifted the aluminum foil cover Dana had placed over the pie and was staring as if the box contained a two-headed lizard. “It’s a pie,” she said.
“I know. I baked it for you. I was thinking some hearth-keeping skills might be a good thing for Harmony to learn too.”
The look on Mother’s face made my entire day worthwhile.
We had the pie for dessert after dinner. I ate well more than my share, just to enjoy the expression on Mother’s face every time I picked up the knife and sliced into the orange goodness. Bubbe seemed to be on to me, but Mother was as easy to provoke as a two-year-old who had missed her nap-at least when it came to hints of hearth-keeping. And honestly, I wasn’t just prodding her. Working with Dana had made me realize yet another part of life I’d missed out on. Being taught how to cook, clean, and take care of babies wouldn’t scar my daughter-it was one of Artemis’s aspects, after all, and key to survival.
No, Harmony learning a few skills wouldn’t be a bad idea. Me learning a few wouldn’t either. And there were plenty of classes available in Madison. When everything settled down, I just might see about enrolling us-a nice mother/daughter treat. Maybe I’d ask Mother if she wanted to join us.
All in all, I went to bed happy. I felt like I’d started fulfilling my promise to the dead teens. I’d gotten Harmony to agree to the art class. And I had a full-if somewhat bloated-belly. Life was as good as it could be with a gymnasium full of Amazons and a serial killer on the loose.
The last fact was where my mind went first when I woke at one A.M., but there had been no stone cast against my window. It was the dead girls. They were back.