to wind up spending the rest of the evening soaked to the bone in the unseasonably cold air.
Climbing the stairs to the porch of the merged structure, she reached out to touch the doorjamb. The wood of the bayou structure transitioned smoothly into the carved, clean lines of stone. She could not identify exactly where one began and the other ended.
She shrieked as the door flew open.
“Come in! Come in, come in, sweet one.” It was a man’s voice who greeted her. Deep and gravelly, but warm. “No need to linger. No need to lurk.”
“I was doing neither of those things. I was just…”
“Trying to understand that which you can’t hope to reconcile with your eyes alone. Come, sweet thing. Come inside. It’s warm in here.”
Being warm would be quite a nice change of pace. They hadn’t dared burn a fire in the house where they had taken up residence. They had not wished to risk it. But she could smell the fire burning inside the strange building, and the idea of thawing her chill bones by it was too much of a temptation to pass up.
She stepped inside, and her jaw immediately dropped open in surprise.
The room was utter chaos.
It was filled, top to bottom, with things. Bowls and pots, spoons, dried herbs, dried flesh—she could even make out a few leathery objects that looked like they might have been skinned heads hung up to dry. Animal parts mixed with more human remains as if they were all the same to whomever mounted them. Some of it was tied into bundles that looked like they were prepared with express purpose. She recognized them—maybe not for their exact mixtures, but for their purposes. Magic.
But mixed with them were vials and glass jars, containing objects pickling in liquid she could not begin to identify. Spools of copper wire mixed with gears and pulleys. Beakers and Bunsen burners were scattered about. For every ounce of black magic that seemed to fill the space, it was matched in equal measure by science.
There was a figure standing by the fire, having retreated into the room to stab at it with a poker to kick up the flames. He was looking at her.
But he was facing away from her.
He was doing both at once.
Maxine froze, gaping. Not understanding what she was seeing. There was a face on the back of the man’s head. Indeed, there was a body facing her, bent in improper ways like a suit he wore over his back. It was the face of a pale man, with a close-trimmed goatee and glasses. His eyes were closed. Yet the posture of the man was facing the other way, stabbing at the fire.
“Don’t be frightened, sweet thing.” The other half of the man turned to her, and she drew back reflexively.
There was another face on the other side. Another whole man. At the edges where the two met was black cording, holding together flesh like one might sew a canvas sail.
This one’s skin was dark, his smile broad and easy. He was cleanshaven, but his hair hung around his face in thick braids. She recognized his accent now—Creole. She had been to the deep south once or twice in her travels with the Roma. A few escaping slaves had even joined their band. She had always loved their way of speaking.
But the warmth and friendliness of his smile did not distract from what she saw before her. Elizabeth’s words suddenly made sense. Why she had spoken of one person but used “they” in reference.
There were two men, stitched together.
“My God…”
“No god here, sweet thing. No god worth listenin’ to, at any rate. Mine only jabber, and they’ll take little notice of you. Come, come, don’t be frightened of the old Witch. Come.” He waved her over and gestured to a chair by the fire. There were two. “Tea? Yes? You folks love your tea.” He gestured to the back of his head and grinned lopsidedly. “Would you prefer to speak to him first, hm? Is it the color of my skin that gives you pause?”
“No, it is the fact that it appears you are two men cobbled together into one body that I am reacting to, sir. Sirs. Nothing else.”
“Forgive me, forgive me. Never can tell with folks. Come, sit. Please. And no, no sirs are here at this moment. He is a sir,” he pointed again at the back of his head with a jab of his thumb. “Not I, not I.”
Maxine