Hart & Boot & Other Stories by Tim Pratt Page A

himself.
    Billy looked around. The far edge of the circle went right up to the wall of the Safeway. There was a hole in the bricks there, a small opening half-hidden by a broken pallet. Billy pointed toward the hole. Caroline frowned. Billy gestured more vigorously, a shooing-in motion. She shook her head.
    Trust me , Billy mouthed. Caroline scowled, then nodded. She moved laboriously away on hands and knees, carefully avoiding the fragments of the casket lid. Billy got up and tiptoed to the casket. When Caroline reached the edge of circle, near the dark hole, Billy put his hands on the casket and shoved as hard as he could.
    It didn’t resist him this time. The glass box slid off the pallet and smashed on the asphalt, shattering just like Dad’s brandy decanter had when Mom hurled it into the fireplace. Caroline scurried into the hole, the noise of her escape covered by the splintering of glass. Fragments of the coffin cascaded over the chalk line, breaking whatever charm had hidden Billy before.
    Mr. Mancuso blinked at him, then stepped on the broken glass. “Where is she?”
    Billy did his best to look like a scared kid. It wasn’t hard. He whimpered and backed away. “I don’t know. I broke open the coffin, and let her out, and then she drew this circle around me and told me that if I stepped outside it her dad would catch me, and put me in a glass box until I ran out of air and died.”
    “Why did you shove the coffin over?” His hands moved slowly, sinuously, as if independent of the rest of his body.
    Billy shrank away. “You came so close, I was sure you’d find me. I was afraid you’d put me inside the box, so I broke it. I was afraid you’d put the lid back on and seal me up.”
    “That’s just what I should do, too,” he said. “Why didn’t you do as I asked? Why didn’t you take me to her? I would have given you your father back.”
    “I know,” Billy said, and when he cried, the tears were real. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
    Mr. Mancuso kicked the fragments of the coffin. “I should punish you, little boy. I should tie you to your mother forever, make it so you vomit blood if you’re ever out of her sight. Does that sound nice?” He grinned, and the snake-dance of his hands sped up. “You don’t have the will my Caroline does, you’d never manage to break that bond. And when your mother dies—because all of you always die—you’ll have to lay atop her grave just to stay alive. Yes. I’d make you a devoted son.”
    Billy closed his eyes and whimpered.
    “Bastard,” Caroline said. “Leave him alone.”
    Billy’s eyes snapped open. Mr. Mancuso whirled around. Caroline was standing outside the circle. She must have crawled through the dark, charred inside of the grocery store and come out another hole in the wall. She held a large triangular shard of glass, from the coffin or just from the general wreckage around the store, Billy didn’t know. She put the point of the glass against her throat. “Let the kid go, Dad, or I’m really going to leave you forever.”
    “You wouldn’t,” Mr. Mancuso said.
    “You know I would.”
    Mr. Mancuso looked at Billy, then spat. “Fine. Come back to me, and I’ll let the boy go.”
    “No negotiation, no compromise. Let him go now, or I’ll cut my throat.”
    “If you kill yourself, I’ll do anything to the boy I want.” His hands were moving slowly again, hypnotically, but Caroline didn’t look at them.
    “You won’t let me kill myself, though. Then you wouldn’t have anything left.”
    Mr. Mancuso’s hands stopped moving, and then he slumped. He suddenly looked very old. “Go on, then,” he said, flapping a hand at Billy.
    “I want your blood on it, Dad. That you won’t harm him or anyone he loves.”
    Mr. Mancuso frowned. “Are you trying to trick me? You think he loves you , that you’ll be protected?”
    Billy looked at her, startled.
    “He might love me a little,