balloon that’s just popped. It’s as if First was there… and then he wasn’t. As if the giant has simply wished him out of all realities altogether.
For the first time, Mona begins to understand exactly how powerful her Mother really is.
Yet the moment First is gone, Gracie begins to change. She doesn’t notice it initially: she is bent over on the ground, sobbing… yet then her hair begins to rise, as if she is holding on to a Van de Graaff generator. Her sobs taper off, and she looks up, confused.
Mona jumps slightly: Gracie’s eyes are now coal-black.
“What’s happening to me?” Gracie asks. “What… what’s going on? Mona?”
Mona, in turn, says, “Parson?”
“A transfer of power,” says Parson.
Gracie starts breathing very quickly. Then, as if suddenly, terribly pained, she begins screaming. She stands up, but there’s something unnatural about it—something in the way her arms appear limp, and her torso is slumped forward—that makes Mona think she’s not standing, but being pulled…
Could it be, thinks Mona, another of Mr. First’s puppet tricks?
Gracie flings out her arms to point to the sky. She stops screaming; then, slowly, she begins to levitate, rising about nine feet into the air and turning to face the giant. The air grows shimmery around her, as if her body is radiating immense heat, and her skin loses color until it’s as white as paper…
“I always wondered,” says Parson beside her as this horrific change takes place, “why he made her more like him—more like us. He didn’t need to, not for his little dalliances. But eventually I understood—he was getting her ready. He wanted to leave her a way out. He wanted to give her the abilities to punch through the fence encircling Wink, evade capture, and go free. Naturally, in all of Wink, only Mr. First himself had that sort of power. And the only way to give it to her…”
“Was for him to die,” says Mona quietly.
“Yes.”
Gracie’s body slowly relaxes. The hairs on her head begin to lie back down again. Then, slowly and gracefully, she descends to stand on the street again. But there is something about the way she stands that causes Mona to wonder if she’s still floating: it’s as if, should she want, she could go flying up into the atmosphere, shrieking like a fighter jet, and never return.
“Gracie,” says Parson (and Mona is pleased to hear that he is a bit wary), “are you all right?”
Gracie does not answer.
“Can you hear me, Gracie?” asks Parson.
Gracie nods.
“Do you understand what has happened, Gracie?” Parson asks.
“Some of it,” says Gracie softly. There is something hollow and resonant to her voice, as if it is echoing down many invisible passageways.
“Then you know this change will not last forever,” says Parson.
Gracie nods again.
“How long do we have?” asks Mona.
“An hour, perhaps less,” says Parson.
“That’s it?”
“Yes. I believe this change was only intended to get Gracie out of Wink.” He looks back at the giant, which is quickly approaching the town proper. “Along with us, if things had gone accordingly…”
“What the hell do you mean, if?”
Parson’s tiny child-face begins sweating. “Unless I am mistaken… First’s skirmish with Mother did not quite go as he foretold. It was meant to take longer, give us a chance to prepare. He must have forgotten Mother’s strength.”
“Prepare for what?” asks Mona.
“I told you where the wildling is,” he says. “But with Mother approaching so quickly, I do not know what to do with it. This is not what was predicted, Miss Bright. I was supposed to have more time.”
“So… you don’t know what to do?”
He shakes his head. “I did not plan for this. I could try what I’d originally planned, but we have only minutes to spare… I am sure it would not work. I’m sorry.”
Mona looks at Gracie. “You got any ideas?”
Gracie stares off into space with her black eyes, head cocked. It’s like she’s on some wonderful drug. Mona envies her, a little.
“Well, fuck.” Mona sighs, and looks at her rifle.
Gears start engaging one another in her head.
After all, deep in every Texan’s heart, there remains the steadfast belief that any problem can be solved with a big enough gun.
“I think I have an idea,” says Mona quietly. “But it’s a desperate one.”
Parson watches the giant run toward them. “Well, I, personally, am quite desperate.”
The idea keeps dripping into Mona’s head, taking shape, turning color.
This is such a dumb thing to do, she thinks. And it is. Because it would take innumerable things happening in the