6.

Moonbow stood resolutely beside her sister, and together they formed a barrier at the front door. Their arms were folded over their chests, their faces as hard as they could make them. It had been nearly half an hour since Cable Olin had gone bellowing up the street, more than that since Mrs. Carmody had wandered around, singing to herself so badly they wanted to cover their ears, and couldn't because it was so horribly fascinating. Twice in the past hour, Moonbow had raced down to Trey's, but he still wasn't home. The chariot was still in the carport, but there were no lights on inside, no response to her banging on the door, and the house . . . smelled . . . empty.

He hadn't come back.

Maybe, she had thought, he wasn't ever coming back.

But she didn't believe it. He had promised her, he had promised all of them that he was here to stay. Never again vanishing for weeks or months at a time, coming back in moods so black it made nighttime look like noon. Sometimes coming back like the last time, bruised and cut and wearing a cast.

He promised her a birthday present, a necklace of pearls.

But he wasn't back.

Tonight they were on their own.

"Momma," Starshine said, trying to imitate her mother's most stern voice, "you can't go. We . . . we're not gonna let you."

"That's right, Momma," Moonbow agreed. "You heard what's going on, we can't let you go."

Jude stood in the living room, back in the shadows where the end table lamp didn't quite reach. "I have to," was all she said.

Moonbow felt her sister wavering, and nudged her with a hip, reminding her she had an ally.

"We can't, Momma," Starshine said. ."We can't let you do it."

"It isn't right," Moonbow said. "You know it isn't right. You know she can't do anything. If you'd just wait a little while, until Trey-"

"He's not coming back," Jude snapped. "You saw the suitcase, you told me he had a suitcase. He is not coming back."

"How do you know?" Moonbow answered, practically screaming. "You don't know that. You don't!"

"They're all there," Jude said patiently. "I have to be there, too."

"Roger isn't," Starshine said.

They had changed clothes as soon as they'd run back into the house once they'd greeted Eula, and they had huddled on the porch after the sun went down, watching them going up to Eula's one by one. It was spooky. None of them acted right. Muriel singing, Rick talking loud to himself, and Cable the worst with his yelling and screaming and looking like he was going to jump on Steph and beat her up.

But Roger wasn't there, hadn't shown his face.

Starshine took a deep breath. "Momma ... if she can do what you ... what you think she can, why doesn't she fix Roger, huh? Why doesn't she get him to stop drinking? If she's so good, she could do that with her eyes closed."

"Listen," Jude said, that patience growing thin enough to raise her voice, "in the first place, you do not tell me what I can and cannot do. I know you're concerned, but this is my decision, not yours." She moved out of the shadows, a long white dress, hair brushed to a shine, eyes glittering wetly above the veil. "And secondly, I cannot read her mind, so I don't know why she hasn't done anything for Roger."

"If she can," Starshine said sullenly.

"Maybe she already has," Jude countered. "Now let me pass, girls. I don't want to be too late. I don't want to miss... I don't want to be late."

They didn't move, and Moonbow was afraid her mother would push them both aside, and what would they do then, fight her? Really fight her? A look at her sister's face showed her she was thinking the same thing. And she knew that they wouldn't touch her. They would have to let her pass.

"Momma," Starshine said, "I'll make you a deal. We'll make you a deal."

"Yeah," Moonbow agreed. "We'll make you a deal."

Jude shook her head. "No deals, girls. Please move."

"You go to Roger's," Starshine said quickly. "You go to Roger's and see. Just see, okay? You do that for us, and we won't bug you anymore. Just go see him, Momma. Just go see."

"Yeah," Moonbow said, adding a firm nod. "For us, Momma, okay? Do it for us."

Jude put a hand to her brow, briefly covering her eyes. "No more trouble?"

"No, Momma," they answered quietly.

"You'll stay here?"

This time they hesitated, until Starshine finally said, "Yes, Momma. We'll stay here. We'll wait on the porch."

"No trouble," Moonbow said. "We won't cause any trouble, promise."

Jude looked at each of them carefully, weighing the strength and sincerity of their promise. Then, with a decisive nod: "All right. But you stay on the porch? You don't come sneaking after me?"

They agreed, adding a hint of you don't trust us? hurt that made Jude laugh without losing the frown they could see above the veil.

"Okay, then."

Moonbow moved first, and Jude walked between them, pushed open the screen door and waited for them on the porch.

The street was dark, except for Eula's place; and silent, except for the music they could hear, so happy, so excited, it made Moonbow want to spit.

"No cheating."

"No, Momma."

Starshine poked her arm. "But you have to come back and tell us first, okay?"

"Why, dear," Jude said with that same exaggerated don't you trust me? tone they'd used on her, "you think I'd cheat?" Then she took her hands on their shoulders, leaned over, kissed them on the top of the head. "This is important to me," she told them. "I want it to be important to you, too. That's the only reason I'm going to Roger's. Because I want you to want this for me, for yourselves, not just because I want it."

She kissed them again and hurried off, the slap of her sandals soft on the ground.

Once she was out of earshot, Moonbow rapped her sister on the arm. "What'd you do that for?"

Starshine rubbed the arm absently. "To give us time to think of something else."

"But we promised, Star. We promised."

"But if we stall long enough," she said, and looked down the street toward Trey's.

Moonbow understood, but she knew it wouldn't work.

She had seen the suitcase.

She knew Trey was gone, with that funny old man and that frightened woman.

"I just wish . . ." Starshine said.

"Wish what?"

Starshine turned around to show her sister the tears in her eyes. "I just wish that stupid bitch would turn that stupid music down!"

7.

Jude walked quickly, drifting rather than angling toward the other side of the street. She was mad at her children for putting her in this position, and mad at herself for letting them do it. If she hadn't needed their support so badly she would have broken the deal without a second's thought. But she wanted them to be on her side. She needed them to understand she wasn't getting any younger, but she was definitely getting more lonely. It was amazing, a miracle, that they accepted her as well as they did, as if her face were the norm and all the others were disfigured. The girls had been that way since the beginning, and sometimes, in bed, Jude wept uncontrollably, soundlessly, because she knew she didn't deserve their strength.

So she would go over to Roger's, have a short talk, report back, and ... go to Eula's.

The music was loud, and as she cut across Roger's front yard, she wasn't sure but she thought she heard laughter. Was it true, then? Could Eula do it?

She hopped onto the porch, made sure the veil was in place, and knocked on the door.

Yet if Eula really could do it, could do what she never said aloud but strongly implied, why wasn't she famous? Why wasn't she besieged with the crippled and the sick? Why did she stay here, in Emerald City?

She knocked again, harder, and the door swung open, a hinge creaking softly.

Wonderful, she thought; wonderful.

"Roger?"

No lights inside, except for a faint glow to the left, where an arch led to the narrow hallway that separated the front room from the bedroom and bath.

"Hey, Roger, it's Jude."

Freneau had a major crush on her; that had been obvious from the first day they'd met. Since then, it had been almost comical the way he stumbled around her, watched her from a distance like a foundling puppy uncertain about his welcome. She hadn't encouraged him because, aside from his sudden, ridiculous efforts to turn himself into a lush, there was something dark there that made her uneasy. Nothing she could put her finger on, but it was there nonetheless.

She sang, "Roger," and stepped inside.

He could be across the street, of course. He could already be at the party, if party it was. Still, she used the glow to keep her from tripping over furniture and piles of books and a few empty bottles, crossed the empty hall and stood in front of his open bedroom door.

"Roger?"

It smelled funny in here. A long time since a cleaning, and something else, but she couldn't place it. When she heard the groan, she closed her eyes briefly in disgust.

"Damnit, Roger, are you drunk again?"

She marched across the small room to the open bathroom door, looked in, almost didn't see him lying in the tub, only his bare knees showing. Then an arm flopped over the side.

Another moan, and violent coughing. "Jude, help me, huh?"

Common sense ordered her to turn around, go home, but she figured the least she could do was make sure he hadn't fallen while trying to take a shower. Drunk or not, maybe he needed medical attention. He might have cracked his skull on the porcelain, could be bleeding to death in there.

"Roger, how do you do it?" she said. Averting her eyes because the last thing she wanted to see was Roger Freneau naked, she grabbed his hand and pulled. "Did you fall?"

"Help," was all he said, voice rasping.

She pulled again, rolled her eyes as she realized she'd need to take his other hand. Pulling this way, oh virtually dead weight, would only slide him around, not sit him up.

Which meant she would have to look.

She did.

"Jude ... help ..."

She jumped back so quickly her legs hit the toilet and she sat on it, hard, hands up as if to push the sight away.

His face and upper chest were marked with vivid pink pustules, most of them concentrated around his swollen lips, his puffy eyes, in the hollow of his throat. Thin trails of fresh blood twisted across his face from his brow where he'd been scratching; pus glistened on his chest, on his stomach; a foul darkness to his skin under the eyes and across his temples.

A stench that made her gag.

When his lips parted and she could see the bright color of his tongue, when he croaked, "Jude..." she screamed and ran, slipped on a small rug and slammed into the door. Screamed again and battered her way out of the house into the street, thinking that she had to get home, stand for as long as she could take it under a boiling shower, then take the girls and run.

It was here.

The Sickness was finally here.

8.