Daphne petted her hair and smiled. “Don’t worry. We’re fine. Mary’s right about the storm.”
Shirley gave off a little laugh. She shivered and hugged herself, then said, “Rats,” and shivered again as if pleased to be scaring herself in just a small way. “Rats.”
“Sit down, Mary,” Daphne said. “You, too, Anne, by the lamp. We can chat a little more, but we should at least sit down together.” She folded her long legs as she nestled onto the floor. “This time you sit next to me, Shirley, so I don’t have to hear Anne moan if she doesn’t win again.”
Anne rose, her black T-shirt making her torso briefly invisible against the dark behind it, and said, “Fine, but Shirley better stop laughing through her nose. Last time she blew a chunk of snot into my lap.”
Mary and Daphne smiled at that, but Shirley bristled. “I did not!”
They all took their places, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Mary and Daphne flanked Shirley to keep the girl feeling as calm and comfortable as possible.
Settling in, Mary rubbed her hand in a small circle on the floor in front of her. “Rats. I hate the vile animals.”
“Because you think we’re all about souls, that people are better. Don’t underestimate the rats,” Anne said with a smile. “There’s a lot of power in pure hunger. A lot of pleasure, too.”
Mary stiffened. “I don’t underestimate animals. I simply choose, if at all possible, not to become one.”
“All right, girls,” Daphne announced. “Since Anne is in one of her moods, I guess we’ve had enough chitchat. It’s time. I’ve got the Clutch.”
“Well, at least you didn’t lose it,” Anne said, casting a look at Shirley.
Shirley seemed offended. She spat out a piece of nail and announced, “I’ve never lost the Clutch!”
“No, it only took you an hour to find the last time you hid it,” Anne said.
“It did not!” Shirley answered loudly. “Not an hour!”
“Shh. Don’t waste your energy, either of you,” Daphne said, sounding somewhat motherly, but really more like a boss. “After all, it could be your turn tonight.”
Shirley shrugged, bit at another nail, and mumbled, “I don’t see it. I haven’t had a turn in days either.”
“And how happy are we for that?” Anne asked with a sneer.
That was all the abuse even the mousy girl could take. At once, Shirley reared, her woolen gown unfolding as she rose, eyes widening as if she were a crazed bird, head shaking. Mary gasped, but Daphne, somehow faster than Shirley, managed to rise behind her and gently, but firmly, push her back down.
“Annie, that wasn’t very nice, or very smart. We’ve agreed to support each other. To wish each other the best, not tear each other down.”
“Right. I forgot the warm and fuzzy Oprah crap,” Anne said, and looked away. “Well, give them here. My turn to open the bag.”
Shirley seemed defiant a moment, as if still in the thrall of her sudden rage, then sighed and let her shoulders slump back into their usual position. Daphne drew a vermilion bag from the pocket of her men’s pajamas and held it toward Anne.
“Take it, then.”
Anne reached forward and snatched the bag. The sudden move rumpled her T-shirt, so she had to adjust it as she sat back down, legs crossed, her pale knees sticking out from beneath the folds of the shirt.
Everyone stared at the Clutch as Anne’s eager fingers unraveled the knot in the golden string that held it closed. As she upended it, hard, ivory shapes tumbled onto the floor between them.
They looked like bones, little ones. Animal bones, perhaps, or carved from something larger. Each had a shape: a tiny jawless skull, a thigh, a small spine, and more—five in all. There were dark lines on the faces of each, carved symbols.
Anne was staring—they were all staring—at the bones.
“Shirley goes first tonight,” Mary said, snapping them out of what started to look like a trance.
Shirley’s face remained solemn. She gingerly picked them up and pressed them between her small hands, gently rolling them back and forth across her palms. She held her hands out as if at the end of a prayer, then separated them, letting the bones just drop. They fell in a tight pack, almost clumped together, making hardly a sound on the floorboards.
The girls all leaned forward. Mary was the first to shake her head. “No.”
Shirley pouted, deeply disappointed.
Daphne moved things along. “Who’s next? Anne, isn’t it?”
Anne rolled her eyes and grumbled.
“What’s wrong now?” Mary said. “Are you going to be like this all night? You’re lucky to be second.”
Anne scowled as she scooped up the bones. “Oh, right. Anyone remember someone going second and winning? I don’t. Second blows. First and third. That’s always best.”
“It seems petty to keep score,” Mary said. “Besides, any time we see a pattern like that, it changes. Lightning never strikes twice. The only pattern that stays the same is the one that always wins. Three of that same mark.”
Anne grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She cupped the bones and shook them vigorously. The things chittered in the hollow of her hands; then she tossed them. Unlike Shirley’s gentle drop that had caused the bones to land more or less together, Anne’s throw made them explode on the floor and fly in all directions. Again they all leaned forward, but this time they waited until the thigh bone slowed its spin enough to read.
“Wrong again, Anne,” Shirley said, pulling free a nail-shard from her thumb. “You win. Happy now?”
“Thrilled. It’s about damn time,” Anne said, with a half chuckle. “Sorry for being so bitchy.” She leaned forward and pinched Shirley on the cheek. “With any luck you won’t have to put up with me much longer. But since that isn’t likely, I can at least try to scare the pee out of you again.”
Shirley swatted the hand away, then frowned and sort of folded into herself, lowering her cheek into the high collar of her woolen gown. “Why are the stories always so terrible?”
“Because life is terrible,” Anne said.
“But our stories, should we ever find them, will they be terrible too?” Mary said. “Shirley’s right. Murder, suicide, rape, incest—we’ve told the rats in these walls so many horrid things.”
Anne, considerably cheerier, now mocked Mary’s genteel tone as she had Shirley’s whine before. “Oh, but Mary, you know as well as I that these are mere decor. One must whittle one’s little finger past the muscle and the bone to get to the bloody heart of things.”
“Enough,” Daphne said. “The night doesn’t last forever, ladies. Why don’t you get started, Anne?”
Though grammatically a question, it didn’t sound like a request, but an order. Anne just nodded and looked down at the bones, studying them, absorbing something from them. Her brow, for the first time, knitted, and the previously catty girl fell deep into thought.
Seeing Anne quieted seemed to delight Shirley, who grinned, though she tried to hide it. After a while, head still down, gnawed fingernail still near her mouth, she said, “Have you got it?”
“Yeah,” Anne said, raising an eyebrow as she settled back on her haunches.
The others shifted briefly, trying to find the most comfortable position.
Then Anne began the story, and it went something like this….
1
No one at Lake Crest High was surprised when Nicolette Bennington didn’t show up for classes that Wednesday morning. Nicki, or Naughty Nic as she was called in whispers behind her back, skipped classes all the time. If she wasn’t in trouble at school, then she found trouble at home or in the world at large. It was all very fascinating and/or amusing to her peers because Naughty Nic was fun. She didn’t pull lame pranks that hurt people’s feelings, but she had a knack for shaking things up. Once, she pretended to be blind and walked her dad’s Great Dane, Hamlet, through the mall and into the food court, where he promptly peed on the condiment stand. At Lady Foot Locker, Hamlet found himself with a taste for a Reebok running shoe, which he grabbed off a plastic stand and proceeded to gnaw with much glee. When a salesclerk ran up and snatched the wet leather wad from Hamlet’s lips, Naughty Nic handed him a credit card and said, “I’m sorry, but he’s kind of doing you a favor. Nobody’s wearing those anymore.”