hard and hurrying back to Harmarkâs van when sheâd become aware of it. A feeling of . . . well, there was no other word for it: evil. It almost had an odor, something of rot and sickness. Sheâd turned her nose toward it and realized it wasnât from Stefan, though he certainly gave off the same vibe. But this one was different. More fully developed? And it was coming from around the school. If sheâd had more time, she would have searched it out right then and there, but she couldnât risk it. And then it had dissipated and sheâd had to jump in the van and leave fast, before anyone was about or Harmak woke up.
Now, she unlocked the man-door to the garage and crossed to her room, registering the musky and dry and sometimes pungent scents of the herbs, plants, mushrooms, and various substances inside that comprised the mainstay of Mr. Blueâs stash. The deadlier plants were elsewhere. Mr. Blue didnât want anyone knowing about them unless there was a particular deal to be made, and then it was at his choosing. He also traded in illegal drugs like Rohypnolâroofiesâto the right person and since Rohypnol was sold legally in Mexico, he had his own connections that were outside the traffic of the vicious drug lords of that country. Mr. Blue had his own rules, and he was more of a connoisseur of rare and exotic botanicals than your ordinary dealer who only worked for money could ever hope to be. You had to have a damn good reason to come to Mr. Blue for help, and then he might, or might not, deign to offer you what you sought.
She could smell chicken and herbs and realized Mr. Blue was making soup in the kitchen, so she removed her hand from the locked knob to her room and instead opened the door to the interior of the house, stepping inside.
Mr. Blue, whose real name was Hiram Champs, was stirring a large pot on the stove. He looked over upon hearing her and said, âIâve made us dinner.â
She looked into his blue face and said, âIâve got the sourdough loaf.â
âCut it up and put the butter on the table. Itâs already set.â
Lucky put the sack sheâd carried from the car onto the counter, grabbed the bread knife and started slicing. At the last moment, Lucky had remembered sheâd told him she would get some groceries and sheâd pulled into a Safeway on the edge of Laurelton before turning west and heading home.
She glanced over at Mr. Blue, whose hair was a light gray but whose skin was blue. For years heâd drunk a concoction of colloidal silver that he made for himself, believing in its medicinal properties. The silver had settled into his skin and turned him permanently blue. Though he pretended not to mind, he rarely went out in public, preferring not to be stared at. The color added to his overall mysticism and he had followers and minions who attended to all his needs, just wanting to be near him. But the only person he allowed to stay more than a few minutes at a time was Lucky.
They ate in near silence, seated across from each other at the dining room table, which was placed in front of a picture window that faced out the back and onto his herb garden. Beyond that was a forest of Douglas firs, maples, and pine. Luckyâs room could be seen through the window to the south and the eaves were hung with bird feeders. Hummingbirds hovered, even on the coldest day, and when Lucky was outside they sometimes whirred past so fast it felt like a huge insect zooming near her ear.
âDid you finish what you set out to do on this trip?â Hiram asked, ladling up the last of the soup in his bowl.
Lucky hesitated. Normally, he didnât ask questions that he might not want to know the answer to. âI was just thinking Iâve left some loose ends.â
âAre you winning the battle?â
Lucky froze, her spoon in midair. This was as close as heâd ever come to talking about her mission. Maybe he knew
Now, she unlocked the man-door to the garage and crossed to her room, registering the musky and dry and sometimes pungent scents of the herbs, plants, mushrooms, and various substances inside that comprised the mainstay of Mr. Blueâs stash. The deadlier plants were elsewhere. Mr. Blue didnât want anyone knowing about them unless there was a particular deal to be made, and then it was at his choosing. He also traded in illegal drugs like Rohypnolâroofiesâto the right person and since Rohypnol was sold legally in Mexico, he had his own connections that were outside the traffic of the vicious drug lords of that country. Mr. Blue had his own rules, and he was more of a connoisseur of rare and exotic botanicals than your ordinary dealer who only worked for money could ever hope to be. You had to have a damn good reason to come to Mr. Blue for help, and then he might, or might not, deign to offer you what you sought.
She could smell chicken and herbs and realized Mr. Blue was making soup in the kitchen, so she removed her hand from the locked knob to her room and instead opened the door to the interior of the house, stepping inside.
Mr. Blue, whose real name was Hiram Champs, was stirring a large pot on the stove. He looked over upon hearing her and said, âIâve made us dinner.â
She looked into his blue face and said, âIâve got the sourdough loaf.â
âCut it up and put the butter on the table. Itâs already set.â
Lucky put the sack sheâd carried from the car onto the counter, grabbed the bread knife and started slicing. At the last moment, Lucky had remembered sheâd told him she would get some groceries and sheâd pulled into a Safeway on the edge of Laurelton before turning west and heading home.
She glanced over at Mr. Blue, whose hair was a light gray but whose skin was blue. For years heâd drunk a concoction of colloidal silver that he made for himself, believing in its medicinal properties. The silver had settled into his skin and turned him permanently blue. Though he pretended not to mind, he rarely went out in public, preferring not to be stared at. The color added to his overall mysticism and he had followers and minions who attended to all his needs, just wanting to be near him. But the only person he allowed to stay more than a few minutes at a time was Lucky.
They ate in near silence, seated across from each other at the dining room table, which was placed in front of a picture window that faced out the back and onto his herb garden. Beyond that was a forest of Douglas firs, maples, and pine. Luckyâs room could be seen through the window to the south and the eaves were hung with bird feeders. Hummingbirds hovered, even on the coldest day, and when Lucky was outside they sometimes whirred past so fast it felt like a huge insect zooming near her ear.
âDid you finish what you set out to do on this trip?â Hiram asked, ladling up the last of the soup in his bowl.
Lucky hesitated. Normally, he didnât ask questions that he might not want to know the answer to. âI was just thinking Iâve left some loose ends.â
âAre you winning the battle?â
Lucky froze, her spoon in midair. This was as close as heâd ever come to talking about her mission. Maybe he knew
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