“Why not?” Price said, and it took Bobo a second or two to realize Price was responding to his statement. Finally, Bobo noticed how odd Price was acting. The man seemed almost mechanical.

“Because you can’t stand me,” Bobo said, watching Price closely. “Because we thwarted you when you wanted to beat me up and rob me last time. Because you sent a woman to pretend she loved me, in order to get information.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Price said, still very matter-of-fact. “I just want to buy a gun.”

“But you have guns,” Bobo said, even more confused and aware something was seriously off. “Why do you need to buy one from me?”

Olivia flew out of the trapdoor, her bow and arrow in hand. She’d been experimenting with holding her arrows in her bow hand and firing that way after she’d watched a video on YouTube. After hours of practice the results had become impressive, judging by the target in the open ground north of the pawnshop. She was ready to try her new technique out in live action, and she was smiling.

Bobo felt relieved now that she’d appeared, and he expected Price to back down, even leave. But Price was looking at Olivia as if he’d never seen her.

She stood, clearly ready to shoot him.

He didn’t react at all.

This situation was getting stranger and stranger.

“Olivia, this is Price Eggleston, in case you two haven’t ever met formally,” Bobo said quietly. “I figure you remember him from Aubrey’s funeral.”

“I know who he is,” Olivia said, lowering her bow perhaps an inch. “What does he say he wants?”

“To buy a gun,” Price said promptly.

“Sketchy,” Olivia said.

“But true,” Price said. “That’s what I want.”

“What do you want a gun for?” Olivia said, a question Bobo had never thought to ask.

“I’ll kill myself with it,” Price said, in an absolutely calm voice.

Olivia lowered the bow and arrow she’d held nocked and ready. She exchanged a shocked glance with Bobo.

“Why will you do that?” she asked.

“Because that’s what he wants me to do.” There was still no emotion in Price’s voice.

“Sell the man a gun,” Olivia said to Bobo, smiling again. “You heard him.”

“That’s just wrong.” Bobo glared at her.

“Even him?” She jerked her head in Price’s direction. “Him that planted Aubrey here to betray you? Him that ruined her funeral? Him that terrorized us all and had you beat up?” Olivia might have lost sight of her grammar, but she’d held on to her point. She laid down the bow and her arrows on the counter.

“Even him,” Bobo said, grinding his teeth together. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“You wouldn’t have said that a few months ago.” Olivia’s voice was almost taunting.

“I’m saying it now.”

Price had been looking from one speaker to another—not as if he understood the result of their argument meant his life or death, but more as if he were mildly curious. He shifted from foot to foot, his only sign of impatience. He’d gradually moved a little closer to them.

With a suddenness that made Bobo and Olivia both jump, Price grabbed an arrow from the counter and pounded out the front door. As they launched themselves in pursuit, Price, standing on the dirt margin at the curb outside, gripped the arrow and drove the point into his own neck.

Even Olivia shrieked.

It was a horrible death. As soon as the arrow was lodged in his flesh, Price appeared to come to his right mind, choking on his own blood and terrified. His eyes were wide with horror. He looked directly into Bobo’s face.

At least his death was quick, though it might not have seemed so to Price Eggleston.

And once again, the ambulance and the police came.

10

Now that Midnight was again the center of a lot of attention, everyone was angry except Kiki. She had been bored already, but for the rest of the day she entertained herself with the media people, especially the fringe bloggers and those people who reported for websites like Paranormal America and Eerie Homeland USA.

Fiji had always known that her sister was a smooth liar, but she had never appreciated the scope of that talent until now. She would hear snatches of conversation in which Kiki, representing herself as a longtime resident, hinted at wild orgies and secret sacrifices. At first Fiji was entertained, but then she was embarrassed, and after a short and stern visit from the Rev, she was alert to the real harm Kiki was doing to Midnight.

With some reluctance, Fiji began to marshal her arguments, and after an afternoon in which she’d had no customers at all because they didn’t want to be somehow urged to kill themselves, she sat down with Kiki over a supper of salad greens tossed with chicken and bacon and blueberries, and sourdough bread.

“What is it? You look like you’re going to spit nails,” Kiki said, after a moment. But she wasn’t really taken by surprise. The consciousness of her outrageous behavior was there in the way she avoided Fiji’s eyes.

“You have to stay away from the news people,” Fiji said. “Or leave.” Kiki’s upper lip lifted in what was almost a snarl. “Are you gonna make me? You’re going to throw out your own sister, after I came to you for help?”

A deep voice said, I’ll kill her for you.

Fiji froze. She did not waste time disbelieving what she’d heard. And she did not imagine she was going crazy. She had heard the voice of the thing under the crossroad.

“Why?” she asked.

Kiki looked at her oddly. “That’s what I’m asking you. I came to you to ask for some sisterly protection. Now you’re telling me I have to leave?”

I’ve been calling the ones who’ve done you wrong. The voice was deep, and gloating, and seductive.

But I’d never met the man who shot himself, she said, hoping he could hear her internally.

I had to get enough strength to start the summoning, he said pettishly.

She said, Don’t talk to me now.

Fiji took a deep breath, pushing away the outrage that such a creature would speak directly to her. She had to continue this conversation with her sister. Fiji pictured several ways she could make Kiki leave, and that helped her calm down. She felt collected enough to continue the conversation, taking care to make her tone reasonable. “Kiki, you haven’t done anything since you got here but bitch about how small and dull Midnight is. You’ve told me you don’t want to be with your husband any more, and you don’t want to help Mom with Dad. But you haven’t told me why you left your job. Were you fired? Again?”