That’s the way it was with Noble, and with everyone who came before him. Everyone I ever saw, really. But not Alexander. It’s as if he didn’t come in from out there but materialized, more of this place than any of us. With the shadows cast by the bars on the windows already etched into his face, with the voice as soft as the rustle of the rain. Possessing memories of each of us. He seemed to have been born here long ago, absorbing all of the colors and smells of the House. He kept his word. He’s never done anything that someone else would not be doing. He was quiet, pointedly so. He did have fits from time to time, breaking and ruining everything in his wake, but that happened rarely. There was just one thing he did allow himself—chasing away our bad dreams. I saw how he did it: he would jump up all of a sudden, walk over to someone who was asleep, whisper indistinctly in his ear, and go back. We were no longer awakened by screams—either our own or someone else’s. Our nights became more peaceful. Except for those that came after Wolf . . .
I catch that thought by the tail and try to turn it back.
DO NOT THINK ABOUT THAT!
Except those nights. When even Alexander could do nothing. When . . .
ENOUGH! NOT ALLOWED!
With a desperate effort I manage to put the brakes on it. Then I realize I’ve been crying for a while. Good thing the rain’s picked up. Coming down for real now. I throw back my head, intent on getting soaked. Then I start shaking. The cold managed to creep under my coat and vests while I was occupied. Teeth start chattering. Time to go.
I wheel over to the porch and wait. The darkness falls suddenly and swiftly. Shadows are floating past the curtains on the windows. The music seems to be louder than usual, or maybe I’m just imagining it because of the rain and the darkness and me here all alone, forgotten and abandoned. I feel sorry for myself. Then I feel very sorry. Then extremely sorry.
“Tabaqui! What’s wrong?” Alexander thunders down the steps, holding a jacket like a tent above his head. “I thought you wanted to stay.”
“I did, and then I didn’t anymore. And the ramp is too slippery, as you can see. So I had to call for some help.”
He drags me into the elevator. I shiver and rattle my teeth, rather theatrically. He leans over, looks me in the face.
“What was it you saw, Tabaqui? I can feel it.”
“Lots of things. You’re not old enough to know.”
“Sorry. I won’t leave you by yourself for that long next time.”
On the way to the dorm I explain to Alexander that liking a drizzle is an altogether different thing from liking a downpour. The latter happens to play havoc with vehicles not designed for prolonged exposure to the elements, and a wheelchair should be kept dry regardless of one’s love for rain.
“Mustang has been in service for a long time now, and is deserving of attention and respect. Even if its churlish rider, also owner, is not.”
“Tabaqui, stop it,” Alexander pleads. “I’m going to have a hard time sleeping tonight as it is.”
While he’s drying and dressing me I take the stone out of my pocket. This time I manage to take a closer look at it, even though it’s not easy with the towel scrubbing my head. It is oblong and light blue in color. Both the color and the shape seem familiar, resembling—what? I keep fiddling with it, turning it this way and that, trying to figure it out.
Alexander wraps me in a dressing gown and deposits me on the bed under the blankets. I burrow even deeper and keep thinking. The stone is warm in my hand. We go to sleep together, and the dream I have is about it and about that which it resembles.
I wake up to soft guitar chords. It’s dark except for the red Chinese lantern hanging low above the bed. It gives off barely enough light. I stare at it for a long time, until I start swaying in unison with it.
Somewhere very close—Sphinx’s voice. He’s singing, something about “the hole in a black truck tire against brown grass.” Muffled noise on the other side of the wall, like there’s a party going on. I pull off the covers and sit up. Could it be that I missed dinner? That’s something that doesn’t happen very often.
There’s something awfully familiar about Sphinx’s song. Vulture’s head is nodding over the guitar’s strings. And what looks like Shuffle’s feet are hanging off the headboard. His right one especially is very distinctive.
“Are you awake?” Humpback whispers. “You’re not ill, by any chance? You’ve missed dinner.”
“If I am, then chance had nothing to do with it. What’s that noise?”
“Celebrating the new Law. Or have you forgotten? So we’re also kind of celebrating. The old gang’s here.”
I remember. Everything, including my dream. The stone in my hand is wet. Now I know exactly what it looks like. And it’s a very strange coincidence.
