13 Little Blue Envelopes(26)

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But then Mari went on.

“I marked my hands and feet to remember my companions,

the ones I loved,” she said, looking at her tattoos.

Keith’s eyes lit up and he got as far as opening his mouth and making an “eeee” sound before Ginny got to his foot again.

“What’s your birthday?” Mari asked.

“August eighteenth,” Ginny replied, confused.

“Leo. Ah. Back downstairs, love.”

They oozed back down the stone steps. There was no rail, so Ginny gripped the wall for support. Mari shuffled back to her worktable and patted a stool next to it, indicating that Ginny should sit. Ginny crossed over uncertainly.

“Right. Let’s see.” She eyed Ginny up and down. “Why don’t you just take off your shirt, then?”

Keith folded his arms and sat on the floor in the corner, deliberately not averting his eyes. Ginny turned her back to him and self-consciously pulled off her shirt, wishing she’d put on a nicer bra. She had packed a good one, but of course she’d put on the stretchy, sporty gray one.

“Yes,” Mari said, examining Ginny’s skin. “I think the

shoulder. Your aunt was an Aquarius. It makes so much sense, when you think about it. Stay still now.”

Mari picked up her pens and began to draw.

Ginny could feel the pen strokes on the back of her shoulder.

They didn’t hurt, but there was a sharpness to the pen. It didn’t seem right to complain; after all, there was a famous artist drawing on her. Not that she knew why.

Mari was a slow worker, drawing dot by dot, poke by poke, working against the pull of the skin. She got up frequently for 113

chocolate, or to look at a bird that had come to the feeder in the window, or to stare at Ginny from the front. It took so long that Keith fell asleep in the corner and began to snore.

“There,” Mari said, sitting back and looking over her work.

“It won’t last forever. It will fade. But that’s how it should be this time, don’t you think, love? Unless you’d like it tattooed in. I know a very good place.”

She pulled a tiny mirror out from a drawer of supplies and tried to hold it at an angle that Ginny could see. She had to crane her neck around painfully, but she caught a glimpse of it.

It was a lion, colored in bright gold. His mane shot out wildly in all directions (big hair seemed to be a theme with Mari), eventually turning into shooting blue rivulets.

“You’re both welcome to stay,” Mari said. “I’ll have Chloe—”

“The train,” Keith said quickly. “We have to catch the train.”

“We have to catch the train,” Ginny repeated. “But thanks.

For everything.”

Mari walked them to the door, and on the top step she

stepped forward and wrapped her fleshy arms around Ginny.

Her crazy hair filled Ginny’s field of vision, and the world was black with streaks of orange.

“Keep this one,” she whispered into Ginny’s ear. “I like him.”

She stepped back, winked at Keith, and then closed the door.

They both blinked at the patterns of salamanders for a moment.

“So,” Keith said, taking Ginny by the arm and leading her back in the direction of the bus, “now that we’ve met with Lady MacStrange, why don’t you explain to me what’s been going on?”

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The Monsters Attack

Outside the train on the ride home, the scenery was changing rapidly. First city, then green hills and pastures with hundreds of sheep nibbling at endless patches of green grass. Then they were riding along the sea, and then through towns with tiny brick houses and looming, unbelievable churches. There was strong sun, sudden fog, then a final bright burst of purple as it slowly got dark. The passing English towns were just streaks of orange streetlights.

It had taken almost the entire ride to explain the basics. She’d had to go back to the very beginning of everything . . . back to New York, back to Aunt Peg’s “today I live in” games.

She brushed quickly over the events of the last few months—the phone call from Richard, the horrible sinking feeling, the drive up to the airport to claim the body—and got to the interesting part, the arrival of the package with the envelopes. She waited for Keith’s big reaction, but all she got was: 115

“That’s a bit crap, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“The artist excuse. If you can call that an excuse.”

“You really had to know her,” she said, trying hard to make it sound light.

“No, I don’t. That is crap. I know crap. I have seen crap before.

The more you tell me about your aunt, the less I like her.”

Ginny felt her eyes narrowing a little.

“You didn’t know her,” she said.

“You’ve told me enough. I don’t like what she did to you.

She seems to have meant the world to you when you were a

kid, and she just left one day without a word. And her entire explanation to you comes in the form of a few very odd little envelopes.”

“No,” she said, feeling an anger rising suddenly. “Everything interesting that ever happened to me happened because of her.