Part One of the Backstory

June, age 0:

She was alone in the warmsoftplace and it was bad because she was never alone and so she drew breath and cried and the warmsoftplace filled and became brightshining and she was up in the air above the warmsoftplace and it was wrong.

Her cries weren’t answered. Cooing and armholding and she wouldn’t quiet even when she felt the hotdops falling on her because she needed to hear her companion. Not booming voice, not music voice, but another shrill, keening sound. And no cry back, no form huddled near, her lungs gave in, and the room faded mid-cry.


September, age 4:

She shifted nervously on the mat, sitting Indian-style and waiting her turn to be called on. Miss Cindi called her name and she sat at a table, legs dangling from the chair.

“Okay, Caitlin, your turn. Can you tell me your name?”

“Caitlin Leah Ristow.”

She looked back down at the form; Caitlin tried to look at it, but Miss Cindi moved it out of her sight. “That’s right. And tell me your mommy and daddy’s phone number?”

“Three-zero-nine-three-seven-six-three-two-six-one.” She rattled the numbers off quickly, as though afraid she would forget them before she had a chance to finish.

“Very good! And your address?”

“Three-zero-one double-you Washington Street, Carlock, eye-ell, six-one-seven-two-five.”

“Good job!” Miss Cindi made a mark on a piece of paper. “And your mommy and daddy’s names?”

“John and Sue.”

“Okay, that’s it, Caitlin. You did very, very good.”

She frowned. “You didn’t ask me about my brothers and sisters. You asked Alycia.”

Miss Cindi smiled. “But you don’t have any brothers and sisters, Caitlin.”

“I do so!”

The teacher furrowed her brow, wondered if her information was incorrect. “Okay. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Uh-huh! I have a brother!”

“Okay. And what is your brother’s name?”

“Um. . .” She looked around the room, her gaze stopping on a small boy with reddish hair who was busy playing with . “Him! He’s my brother!”

The teacher suppressed a small laugh. “Damon isn’t your brother, Caitlin. He’s your friend.”

“I *do* have a brother!” She crossed her arms

“Caitlin, you know what we say about liars.”

Caitlin looked at Miss Cindi, her small face set in determination, blue eyes glittering like jewels as she searched the teacher’s expression. After a moment, she narrowed her eyes and nodded.

“You did very well. You can go sit down now.”

The girl stood, strode back to the carpet with a strange, stalking grace, then sat back down, cross-legged again, and buried her face in her hands.


January, age 14


Kit sat on the rafters, swung sneaker-clad feet over the barn floor, and tried not to inhale the smoke drifting off of Damon’s cigarette.

“You know, doing that in here is, like, a total fire hazard, right?” She shivered, gripped the beam she was sitting on tightly, and secretly wished she’d worn more than a windbreaker.

“Then go outside and wait.” Damon took a long, greedy pull, hands red and shaking. “Except, we’re not supposed to even fucking be here, so. . .”

“You were so wanting to get out too. You know it. It isn’t like the militia’s gonna jump out of the corner or something.”

“I’m not scared. God. . .” He exhaled violently. “I was just saying.”

“I know.” Kit turned towards the window, let the late-afternoon, cloudy blue fall on her face. “But, like, maybe I am?”

Damon looked at her from the shadows, the end of the cigarette glowing between his fingers. “What do you mean?”

“He’s still doing it. I mean. . .they still have the meetings at night, and people staying over, and he’s gone a lot, and. . .” She closed her eyes. “. . .and I just get scared, okay? Cause he says that things are bad, really bad, and—and then my mom gets upset and they fight, and. . .I know he’s doing something big, okay?”

“Do you think he’s running fugitives?” Damon’s face lit up.

“I don’t know. Maybe, like, I dunno, nekos?” She laughed, though it came out high-pitched and dry as the straw under Damon’s feet. “That would be kinda cool.”

“But you think it’s more. You think he’s some kind of leader or something.”

Kit turned red and started climbing down from the rafters. “It’s totally freaky when you do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Know what I’m thinking.” She grins. “Hey, maybe you’re, like, a wizard!”

“Don’t even fucking *joke* about that.”

Kit stuck out her tongue and darted outside, blinked in surprise at the snow starting to fall heavily around her. “God, it’s snowing. Come *on*.”

There was no answer, no sound from the barn behind her. “Da—“

Strong arms came around her in a bear hug, held her steady, and she drew breath to scream as a bag was shoved over her head. Then she felt a prickling on her backside. Then nothing at all.