The Caretakers by David Nickle Page B

to the nape of Evelyn’s neck and slid down the flesh of her back. “She’s not wearing boots. Not like Amy.”
    Evelyn took Leslie’s hand, lifted it away, and Leslie sighed.
    She let her fingers intertwine with his and drew him back down the hall in the direction of the bar.
    â€œNot today?” asked Leslie, and Evelyn said, “Not now,” and as they emerged into the bar, Leslie agreed: “Especially not now.”
    â€œOh,” whispered Evelyn.
    Bill had not moved from his seat in one of the easy chairs. Miss Erish had positioned herself on the sofa at his right-hand side. She wore a dark green jacket over a snow-white blouse, a matching green skirt. Her hair was bound and tucked beneath a small red cap, from which descended a funereal-black spiderweb veil that provided only nominal concealment. Her skin gleamed in the low light, like carved mahogany: sanded, stained, and nearly as hard. She saw them immediately and with one hand waved them over.
    â€œMr. Allen was explaining to me about Miss Wilson’s escape ,” she said, and motioned to the empty sofa alongside her. “You will sit.”
    Leslie sat at the far end—coward!—and so Evelyn sat between them. Miss Erish was scented with clove oil and cinnamon this morning, a favorite of hers. In her lap rested a tablet, screen glowing softly yellow around the edges of its burgundy folio. She patted Evelyn on the knee and returned her attention to Bill.
    â€œShe was frightened?”
    â€œYes,” said Bill. “Or that was my impression.”
    â€œI wasn’t here when she left,” said Evelyn, as Miss Erish glanced her way.
    â€œWell, no matter. Miss Retson shall fetch her.”
    â€œI’m sure she will,” said Leslie.
    â€œDo you want to know what I think?” Miss Erish looked to each of them, as though it were a question with more than one possible response. “I think that the Spheres have realigned.”
    â€œHave they?” said Bill. Leslie nodded.
    â€œDon’t all look so worried,” continued Miss Erish. “They have not slipped . No no. The heavens will not tumble on us any more than the sea will rise to consume us. The realignment is a blessed adjustment. It is a return to order. But one might feel it, were one sensitive to the deeper movements.”
    Miss Erish paused, her mouth hanging expectantly. Evelyn was the one who asked.
    â€œDo you believe that Amy—Miss Wilson might be sensitive in such a way?”
    â€œIt scarcely matters what I believe,” said Miss Erish. Her hands settled on her tablet case. She opened it, and her fingertips made a clicking sound as she entered the passcode on the screen. An email then appeared … one from [email protected], but not one that Evelyn had seen before. Miss Erish didn’t appear to mind, so Evelyn started to read it over her shoulder.
    â€œYou may read it aloud,” said Miss Erish.
    Evelyn nodded, and went back to the beginning.
    â€œ Dear Miss Erish ,” she read. “ Thank you so very much for everything. I have just got internet up and running in the apartment ( Amy had abbreviated to apt .) , and this is the first email that I am sending using it. I am looking out at a view on the Park, which I never thought I would see from my own place!!! It is so beautiful. Classes start in two days, so I have to finish unpacking. But I wanted to thank you Miss Erish. I could never have afforded this by myself. Love XO Amy.”
    â€œI was rereading that note just this morning,” said Miss Erish, “as I waited. I had been looking forward to seeing Miss Wilson, you see. She had seemed grateful for all I have done for her.”
    â€œWe’re all grateful,” said Bill, and both Leslie and Evelyn nodded and agreed until Miss Erish appeared satisfied. She shut the folio on her tablet, and as she did, it seemed to Evelyn as though the light dimmed throughout. It was, of