1.5

Gregor noticed that Nina was beginning to drowse. As he'd read she had moved closer and closer, finally curling up next to him and closing her eyes to listen. She had been completely enraptured by the story. Now, though, it was getting late—he could see a silver crack of the moon in the window that faced out over the porch. Carefully he slipped a sheath of paper from his pocket into the book to mark their place and flicked a switch behind him to turn the light off. Nina stirred slightly as he lifted her up, but calmed again as he started to hum softly. Bright moonlight guided him as he carried her into her room and tucked her in.

He closed the door behind him as gently as he could. He heard no sound from behind the door—but of course, that didn't mean anything. He stood in the dark hallway for a long moment, thinking and listening.

Three minutes later, he was moving down the path with unnatural swiftness. His cane barely touched the ground. In another minute and a half he was closing the gate behind him, and in thirty seconds he was in the car and gone with the touch of a button.

He reached the city at midnight.

A small, secluded alley hid the car from sight, and Gregor hobbled away, moving slowly and leaning often on his cane. He avoided streetlights.

He came to a bar two blocks away, tucked in the pocket of a little side street. The windows were blackened and dusty. There was no sign on the bar, but none was necessary. If you came to the Black Widow, you knew where you were going.

Gregor pushed open the door and moved into the dim red light inside. The sound of his cane was amplified on the scuffed black tile floor. Tiny, delicate, wrought-iron tables dotted the room. The chairs around them appeared to be made of the same fragile black spiderwebs as the tables. Gregor was never comfortable sitting down in the Black Widow.

He was mostly alone in that, considering the crowd. Three old men huddled around a table in the corner farthest from the lights. A younger couple leaned against a wall, watching the room impassively. A handful of loners were strewn around. All regulars, of course. The girls by the wall glanced up sharply as the door closed, then smiled to see him. The shorter blonde took her arm from around the taller girl to blow Gregor a kiss. He smiled a brief acknowledgement to them.

Painfully, he hobbled to the bar. The stools here were far more reassuringly sturdy than the witchy little chairs; they had come with the building and were built into the floor. He sat slowly, his knees cracking. He leaned his cane against the underside of the bar and waited.

After a minute, a tall figure emerged from beyond a dark red curtain behind the bar. She glanced at Gregor and began to pour a drink. She handed it to him unsmilingly.

"Hello, Stella," he said softly.

"You're troubled," she answered. "You don't come straight to the bar without talking to anyone unless you have troubles, and I didn't hear a word once your cane started click-clicking in here."

Gregor sighed.

"Perhaps I'm just thirsty tonight."

Stella snorted. After another moment of his silence, she shrugged and disappeared behind the gossamer curtain again.

Gregor stared morosely at his drink. If he could put his finger on what exactly was troubling him, it may have helped. As it was, he was beginning to regret coming all this way. Everyone in the room was as depressed or lost as he, or more so. He really shouldn't have left a little girl alone like that, either, even if there was no one for miles. He'd never had trouble, living out there by himself all these years. But no, he had found one burglar on his land one morning almost six years ago...

As Gregor decided it was time to go back home and check on Nina, a hand clapped his shoulder. Its twin took the drink from in front of him and deposited it in the mouth of a very large man standing behind Gregor.

"Ugh!" he grunted. "How do you stand this stuff?"

"I don't," said Gregor. "You always drink it for me."

"Then start ordering something better."

Gregor shrugged. "I like gin."

"Then drink it before I have to next time."

Stella emerged from hiding again, a relieved smile apparent on her face. She never knew how to handle Gregor by herself.

"Stella!" boomed the large man. He heaved himself over the bar and landed with surprising lightness. He wrapped the thin, wispy woman in a bear hug that would have crushed a normal man. She giggled in delight.

"Hello, Tomas," she said, beaming.

Gregor watched them with a small smile. Sixteen years married and they were still constantly delighted by each other. They made an odd pair, him tall, broad-shouldered and rugged, with ruddy skin and fluffs of untameable red hair, and she, long and thin and dark, with smoky eyes and sleek black hair. Stella poured Gregor another gin under Tomas' patiently disapproving eye, then drew a tall mug of beer for her husband.

Around the room, light chatter started up.

Tomas drained his mug, kissed his wife, and set about cleaning behind the bar as his wife started gathering empty bottles and glasses.

Stella was the bar's heart and soul, but Tomas was what gave it life.

"So!" he barked once the bar was looking cleaner. "What's wrong with my dear old friend this time?"

"This time?" murmured Gregor with a smile.

"As opposed to every other time you've come in here with a scowl and thunderclouds stuck in your ears and not drank a drop of your gin."

Gregor shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it in front of the whole crowd. He knew Tomas would get the hint.

"Suit yourself, then," said Tomas. He continued wiping down the bar, until it shone like new wood. Stella came out from the back with a tray of freshly washed glasses and set it on the bar to be put away. Tomas winced at the splatter of water across the counter. He took a deep, sad breath, and turned to Gregor.

"Fancy a smoke with me a minute?"

Gregor paused a moment, then nodded. Tomas came out from behind the bar—through the door, this time—and together they walked outside. They stopped a few feet away from the door and stood, their breath steaming in the cold.

Neither of them smoked.

"What is it, Gregor?" asked Tomas.

"Well...yesterday, I bought a young girl," began Gregor. Tomas exploded.

"What? You never! You wouldn't dare! I oughta—"

"Tomas!" snapped Gregor. "Really, you know me better than that. I don't want her for...that."

Tomas took deep breaths, calming himself. To Gregor he sounded like a winded bull. He waited a minute for Tomas to regain his composure.

"You know I've lived in that house in the country for...years, now. All alone."

"And we've been begging you to move in town, if you'd just listen—"

"No. You know me better than that too. No, I love it out there, but it gets so lonely. There's no noise in that house at night. Not a cricket, not a creaking board. I've never been...good with women, you know, and I'm getting old. I just wanted a daughter to care for, to keep me company."

Tomas looked at Gregor quietly. His expression was unreadable.

"Well, what do you want?" snapped Gregor. "If I hadn't gotten her, she would have been snapped up by one of those filthy bastards you hate so much and they would have raped her and used her and—and killed her innocence! And..." here his tone changed, softened, "and she is so innocent. She's fascinated by the flowers outside. She ate a ham sandwich like it was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted. I read her to sleep, today, and her face glowed." Tomas wondered if Gregor realised he was glowing himself.

"Then I suppose it sounds like you saved a girl from a horrible life and found a delightful companion to see you to old age. What's the problem?"

"She's...God, I hate to say it. She's mute."

Tomas stared at him for a long time.

"Well?" Gregor said impatiently.

"So?" said Tomas.

"So?" echoed Gregor incredulously. "What do you mean, so? She's mute! She can't talk! Not a single noise!"

"So?" repeated Tomas. "She sounds sweet and pleasant and one little flaw doesn't ruin anything."

"One little flaw," muttered Gregor with a laugh. "Little flaw—I yearn for conversation, Tomas. A...a small mind to teach, to shape, to ask me questions and tell me confidences...now, this..."

"I don't see the problem," Tomas said with finality. "Teach her to communicate some other way. She's still a sweet child, and now she's yours. It seems straightforward to me. Goodnight, Gregor."

Tomas turned and went back into the bar. Gregor stood and stared at the sky for a long time, his fist clenched around the handle of his cane in anger. Tomas didn't understand. He had no idea what it was like out there, alone, in the quiet night with only your thoughts and nightmares to keep you company. A small, sweet voice was all he'd wanted—a small ray of light in the dark loneliness of the country. And he'd been cheated.

Slowly he hobbled away towards his car. Of course Tomas didn't understand. He had a wife, two children. There was nothing more in the world Tomas could want for.

Gregor drove home in silent darkness.