Mockingbird by Sean Stewart

could find a little corner inside to sleep in. But when she gets closer she sees there’s light coming out of one solitary window. So she creeps up to that window and stands up on her tiptoes and peeks inside.
    â€œThere she sees the strangest thing. She sees Pierrot and the Preacher and Mr. Copper in the same room together, playing dominos. From the cigarettes in the ashtray and the empty bottles on Mr. Copper’s side of the table she can tell they’ve been playing together for a long time. The dominos are white as bones, and click together at every play. And the strangest thing is, the tablecloth they’re playing on is brown and black and red and gold, all kinds of soft colors. When the Little Lost Girl squints a little harder, she sees that’s because it’s woven up from real girls’ hair.” Momma presses my fingers to her cheek and kisses my hand. “Do you understand, baby?”
    I realize I have been holding my breath. “No, ma’am.”
    Momma kisses my hand again and looks at me. “It’s all made from beautiful, beautiful girls’ hair.”
    And that’s the end of the story.
    Some time after Sugar mounted me in the Galleria she walked out of me again, leaving my head pounding. My breath came in great whooping gasps and I sobbed helplessly, completely unstrung. Every part of me was trembling with exhaustion. The crying jerked my whole body, making my shoulders jiggle, and my thighs and my feet, limp as a jellyfish.
    â€œOh, thank God,” Candy said. “You’re back.”
    I tried to nod, but it came out as more crying. I hadn’t been able to open my eyes yet, but there was crushed velour under my cheek and we were moving. Candy was driving me around in the old Oldsmobile Momma had given her. The car slowed and gave the kind of rolling nod that Candy uses to recognize stop signs. We turned a corner and drove on.
    I had forgotten how soothing it was to lie in the back of a car. Momma told me any number of times that I had been a colicky baby. There was many a day when she had lost her temper with my fussing and shoved me into Daddy’s arms after dinner and he would take me out in his old Chevy Impala and drive around Houston, and I always went silent as a lamb, they said, as soon as the car started up, and would go to sleep before he drove a mile.
    Candy must have remembered the same stories. I opened my eyes. “How long was it?” I asked.
    â€œAbout two hours.”
    Sugar had mounted me for two hours. I knew it had to have been her from the peaches smell. Momma always had the same smell on her when Sugar was in her head.
    I squeaked and tried to sit up. “Two hours? With Sugar? In the Galleria!” My legs felt cold. I looked down and gasped. I was wearing a skirt so short it showed the top of a black stocking at the hem. Stupidly I tried to tug it down, but there wasn’t any more to tug. And garters. I was wearing garters. I could feel the cool elastic against my thighs. And a pair of panties you could mistake for a Kleenex. “Omigod.”
    Candy glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “I must say, Sugar is a lot of fun to shop with. Wait’ll you see what’s in the trunk.”
    I whimpered. “How much?”
    â€œI couldn’t keep track, to tell the truth. I just put it on your gold card. American Express,” she intoned. “Don’t leave your body without it.”
    â€œI’ll call them up. I’ll cancel the purchases and return everything.”
    â€œYou’ll do no such thing,” Candy said. “Hey, I had to sign for it all. You want me to get in trouble for faking your signature? Besides which, they aren’t your clothes to give back. They’re Sugar’s.”
    â€œShit. You’re right.” A new thought occurred to me. “Oh no. Candy, did she . . . ? I mean, she didn’t go off with anyone, did she? Not in two hours.”
    â€œNot