A November Witching Hour

Part VIII

The noon sun flew in behind them as they walked to the front of the town hall, Cicero in the lead. They arranged themselves behind him as he stood at the pulpit, Alaric on his right, Lenora on his left, gazing out at their leiges of Breton. Those who met their eyes dropped them after a quick second. The only sound was from an impolitic little bird invisible outside. Reilly’s mother was sitting in the second pew; Lenora hadn’t cared to look for her. The grand doors were closed. Cicero rested his right hand above the top button of his silk double-breasted jacket.

“A century ago, I stood before you and announced the man who will be my successor: Caedmon Fillier. Now it is my pleasure to introduce his partner, wife, and love: Lenora Fillier.”

Everyone stood and applauded while Lenora smiled, standing like she was balancing a pile of books on her head. After everyone was seated again, Cicero opened his mouth to speak. Before a syllable could pass through his lips, however, the maple doors opened, and sunlight stabbed into the hall again. A girl entered. She had black skin, and a single dark plait fell over her shoulder. No one in Breton nor any of the elders had ever seen her before. She took a seat with reverberating footsteps in the third row from the back. The elder’s faces had transformed to marble, and the people of Breton stiffened their backs against the pews. The girl held Cicero’s eyes, but neither spoke. Her full lips slowly curved upward on one side. She put her elbow the corner of the pew, and rested her chin on her fist. She was pudgy and her neon yellow shirt clung to the excess flesh in a  very non-flattering way. Cicero deliberately removed his gaze from her, and continued his speech, and with each word the people seemed to stiffen more and more till their ligaments were turned to wooden boards. The stranger girl was the exception of course: she tilted her head as she listened, then after a few minutes she closed her eyes and seemed to cease to hear anything not in her own head. Lenora thoughts she saw her lips moving too.

The speech finished itself and the citizen automatons stood and applauded. Lenora couldn’t see if the girl stood or not, past the people. Quietly, they filed out the hall, needing no dismissal, but the elders stood in their same places immovable as Venus de Milo. The stranger girl threaded her way through the fleeing Bretons to the stage. Cicero moved out from behind the pulpit to the lip of the top stair. The girl stopped directly in front of him, her head barely coming up to his chest. She smiled up at him, her  right hand hanging from the black braid.

“Impressive speech,” she mused. She left foot kept rolling from its flat to the its side, but her eyes stayed steady on his.

“Thank you,” Cicero returned her smile, but his teeth looked like icicles. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I’m Isra,” she replied. She giggled quietly, then, but no one knew what was funny.

Cicero’s smile was still in place, then he seemed to mentally shrug, the marble slipping off his shoulders and sliding down his back. “I’m sorry if the welcome was a little cold,” he said, “We usually reserve meetings like this solely for the citizens of Breton.”

“Oh, that’s all righty,” she answered quickly. “We’re all chillin’ of Adam and Eve.” No one knew what that had to do with anything. Except for her, of course.

“Well, seein’s as how ya’ll don’t seem to get strangers much, I should tell you why I’m here,” she continued unbidden.

“I was driving down Fisher Road, takin the back way to work, when I went past ya’lls road (which was a lot longer than I thought it was goin to be btdubs) and God was just like you should go that way, so I was like sure, awesome...And yeah.” Lenora blinked.

Cicero tilted his head. “Well. How long do you think God will have you stay with us, my dear.”

“I ‘n know,” she answered. She looked around. “I mean I do not know,” she said enunciating every word.

“Then,” he said, “perhaps we will see you again before you are called away.” He nodded at her, and walked for the door. The elders followed her, the men’s shoes and the lady’s dress trains making music on the hard wood floor.

Isra watched them go, wrapping her braid around her finger. She shook her head, and giggled.