“Yep,” Jenny said. She was sorting the mail, which mostly looked like junk, shot through with the narrow white envelopes that meant either checks or bills. “And relatives of people in the zone get first placement. You get grandfathered in because of your aunt.”
“But ...” Selena leaned against the counter. It didn’t seem possible that you could get what you wanted simply because youasked. That wasn’t how the world worked ... was it?
Jenny sighed and set down the mail. “Selena, hon, if you haven’t noticed, people aren’t exactly clamoring to live out here. It’s hot and it’s dusty and it’s poor and there’s no theaters or restaurants or shopping malls. Most of our young people grow up and move out. The only people who moveineither grew up in a zone or are wild-eyed back-to-the-land types, and those sort don’t last.” One corner of Jenny’s mouth crooked up. “Well, except for the folks out at Rivendell Ranch, and they’re harmless.”
“Rivendell?”
“Yeah, you should meet Galadriel sometime. Actually, I think she’s coming to the crucifixion party this afternoon.”
And here it is,Selena thought.This is where I find out that everyone’s actually in a cult.“Crucifixion party,” she said, with what she thought was the right amount of mild interest.
Jenny grinned. “Lupé’s hosting. It’s good fun. Bring some interesting twigs. And fill out this change of address form while you’re here.” She slid a sheet of paper across the counter. “And ... let me print out one of the occupancy forms ...” She vanished into the back.
“Crucifixion party,” Selena said to Copper, who thumped her tail happily.
Thecrk-whirrrrof the printer preceded Jenny’s reemergence with a small stack of papers. “Sign here,” she said. “It says that you realize this is a historic zone and you won’t sue if anything historic happens.”
“Historic?” asked Selena faintly, wondering if crucifixion counted.
“Like getting kicked by a sheep.”
“Ah.” She scanned down the form, which said the same thing in more complicated language, initialed twice, agreed to binding arbitration, then signed her name at the bottom. Jenny signed as witness, then stamped it with a notary seal. “What else?” Selena asked.
“That’s it.”
“But there’s got to be more paperwork than that.”
“Sure,” said Jenny. “I’ll go fire up the computer tonight, click through about ten screens, and tell the government that I approved your application. Then somebody will come out to interview you—it’s only a formality, just to make sure you exist—and in maybe six months, you’ll get another form where they ask you about your net worth to make sure you’re not using the zone as a tax haven, and then in about a year someone will get around to sending you a form letter saying that you haven’t been accepted, and I’ll send another official request, and then they’ll send out a form letter saying that the requirements have been waived as long as you stay for at least five years. Which I hope you do.”
“Oh,” said Selena. “Me too.”
“Get on to Lupé’s,” said Jenny, not unkindly. “I’ve got to lock up here.”
Still slightly numb, Selena scoured the churchyard and surrounding bushes for some dry bits of wood that might be considered “interesting.” Copper attempted to help, although Copper’s definition ofinterestingwas a lot different than Selena’s.
Even as her hands were busy, Selena’s brain was silent. It seemed to have gotten stuck on one thought.
I can stay.
I can actually stay.
It was impossible. It had been too easy. It had come like a gift, not like something she had earned, and Selena was too used to gifts having strings.
And yet . . . and yet . . .
I can stay.
“No,” she said out loud, looking at her dog. “Wecan stay.”
It turned out, when Selena arrived at the café, that “crucifixion party” meant making decorative crosses. Half the people from the church potluck nights were there, including Gordon, along with a few women that Selena hadn’t met yet.
“Authentic folk art,” said one of the women, a big, sturdy matron with hips like empires. “Insomuch as we’re folks.” She grinned at Selena, who smiled tentatively back. “From a historic zone, no less. City people pay good money for stuff like this.”
That was pretty much it. Lupé broke out beer and a couple bottles of a cheap, too-sweet wine, which tasted better the longer the afternoon went on. Selena learned to tie twine around two twigs to hold them inplace—it wasn’t hard—and secure it with a dab of superglue. That was the simplest type to make, but people had brought all kinds of odds and ends—horseshoe nails and spotted chicken feathers and banded stones and bits of old leather—to get progressively fancier. Lupé tagged each one with a label before boxing it up. “The cooperative will send the money to Connor’s place once these sell,” she explained, “and you can pick it up as cash or put it on credit if you want.”
“How much money do they make?” asked Selena.
Lupé held up one of Selena’s better efforts, which had a little leather swag draped over the crosspiece, held in place with tacks. She’d glued small flat stones to the tack heads and the result was actually rather nice. “This one’s probably worth at least seventy-five, after the commission.”
