Bloomer

21. A Bath to Die For

Beehive's nose wrinkles as she stretches to peers over the counter at Whiskers. "You gotta pay in advance. We take food, clean water, and liquor." She holds out her hand while I fish a can of peas and a box of macaroni out of the satchel. She inspects the faded label on the peas and rolls the can between her hands. Then she peeks through the flimsy, plastic window on the macaroni. "This will do. Have a seat and someone will be out in a minute."

"You don't happen to have eucalyptus oil, do you?" I ask. "It would really help his breathing."

Beehive snorts. "You'll have to go to Junction if you want something fancy like that."

She points to a row of mix-matched chairs along the wall and I help Whiskers into one. His wheezing is getting louder. I pat his arm and recite a prayer, one that seems appropriate.

Goddess comfort Whiskers and take away his pain.

"You sure have a mean sluggin' arm...for such a slender thing," he says between rasping breaths. "I don't think I ever seen anyone punch Merrick...who didn't end up on the ground after...including females. What's your secret?"

Does the old guy suspect I'm a caster? Did he see the sparks fly in the galley? I shrug, making it seem like I handle jerks all the time. "It's a technique my dad taught me. You just have to equalize your thrust between both arms."

The lie sounds all right to me, and, when Whiskers nods, I realize it's probably as good as any his wife told him. But Bastian is right. I need to keep my magic in check or I'll be lying to everyone. "How long has Bastian been friends with Merrick?"

"Longer than I've known the Cap'n. And I wouldn't 'xactly call 'em friends. More like rivals. If one of 'em finds a good scavegin' spot, the other is right behind 'em. And if one of 'em gets a pretty girlfriend, the other tries to steal her." Whiskers nudges my elbow and offers a sly grin. I know what he's hinting at, but I don't 'xactly feel like Bastian's girlfriend.

"What about Della? Did Merrick try to steal her?"

"Nope. Bastian stole Della from Merrick."

A pale-faced woman in a wet apron walks through a doorway and looks at Whiskers. She doesn't scrunch her face at the sight of him like Beehive did. She softens it, which makes me like her instantly. "I've got a hunch you're here for a bath. Come on now, while the water's hot."

I help Whiskers off the chair and the woman takes his arm, guiding him through the doorway. The room beyond is filled with the toxic glow of burning coal. Not the best kind of air for Whiskers right now. Hopefully, she'll be giving him his bath. The poor guy is a rattling bag of bones. One slip and he's done for.

I steal a glance at Beehive and notice she's stealing glances at me. After a few minutes of awkward exchanges, she walks over and hands me a tattered magazine.

"Here's something to read while you're waiting. It's about two years old, but it's got some entertaining articles."

"Thanks. I haven't looked at one of these since...since I left home."

"Where's your home?" Beehive asks, as she shuffles back to the counter.

"It's north of here, in Utah. At least it was. It's buried under lava now."

The woman bobs her head solemnly. "Mine too."

Silence falls between us, the silence that comes when people share the same pain. I distract myself with the pretty actress posing on the front of the magazine. She's wearing a black dress with stiletto heels, and her lips are the color of firethorn berries. I recognize her from a vampire drama I watched at Justine's house. Mom didn't approve of television, but she admitted the show was well researched. I glance at the print date and realize the actress posed for the photo just two months before her city chunked off into the Pacific.