Cherokee Bat and the Goat Guys by Francesca Lia Block Read Free Book Online

Cherokee untangled herself from Raphael, crawled out ofthe tepee and tiptoed across the wet lawn to the garden shed. She saw Witch Baby and Angel Juan lying together on the floor, their dark hair and limbs merged so that she could not tell them apart. Only when they moved slightly could she see both faces, but even then they wore the same dreamy smile, so it was hard to tell the difference. Then Cherokee saw the horns gleaming in a corner of the shed. She lifted them carefully, wrapped them in a sheet and carried them away with her.
    Cherokee got on Raphael’s bicycle and started to ride to Coyote’s shack. But at the foot of Coyote’s hill Cherokee stopped. She took the horns from the basket on the front of the bicycle and stroked them, feeling the weight, the smooth planes, the rough ridges, the sharp tips. She thought of last night onstage, the audience gazing up at The Goat Guys, hundreds of faces like frenzied lovers. It had never been like that before. She thought of the witch and angel twins, wrapped deep in the same dream on the floor of the garden shed.
    Cherokee did not ride up the hill to Coyote’s shack. Goat Guys, she whispered, turning the bike around. Beatles, Doors, Pistols, Goat Guys.
    When Cherokee got home, the horns weighing heavy in the basket on the front of Raphael’s bicycle, the sun had started to burn through the gray. Some flies were buzzing around the trash cans no one had remembered to take in.
    Cherokee felt sweat pouring down the sides of her body and the sound of Raphael’s guitar pounded in her head as she walked up the path.
    Witch Baby was waiting in the living room eating Fig Newtons. She glared at Cherokee. “Where are they?”
    Cherokee handed over the horns. Then she turned and went to her tepee, pulled the blanket over her head and fell asleep.
    The wind blew a storm of feathers into her mouth, up her nostrils. Goats came trampling over the earth, stirring up clouds of dust. Horns of white flame sprang from their heads. And in the waves of a dark dream-seafloated chunks of bone, odd-shaped pieces with clefts in them like hooves.
       At the next Goat Guy show, the band came on stage with their wings, their haunches, their horns. The audience swooned at their feet.
    Cherokee spun and spun until she was dizzy, until she was not sure anymore if she or the stage was in motion.
    Afterward two girls in lingerie and over-the-knee leather boots offered a joint to Raphael and Angel Juan. All four of them were smoking backstage when Cherokee and Witch Baby came through the door.
    Witch Baby went and wriggled onto Angel Juan’s lap. He was wearing the horns and massaging his temples. His face looked constricted with pain until he inhaled the smoke from the joint.
    “Are you okay?” Witch Baby asked.
    “My head’s killing me.”
    Angel Juan offered the burning paper to Witch Baby, She inhaled, coughed and gave it to Raphael, who also took a hit.
    “Want a hit, Kee?” he asked.
    The girls in boots looked at each other, their lips curling back over their teeth.
    “No thanks,” Cherokee said. She went and stood next to Raphael and began playing with his hair.
    The girls in boots crossed and uncrossed their legs, then stood up.
    “We’ll see you guys later,” said one, looking straight at Raphael. The other smiled her snarl at Angel Juan. Then they left.
    “Ick! Nasty!” Witch Baby hissed after them.
    “I saw that one girl in some video at The Vamp,” said Raphael. “She had cow’s blood all over her. It was pretty sick.” He took another hit from the joint and gave it back to Angel Juan.
    “Let’s get out of here,” Cherokee said, wrinkling her nose at the burned smell in the air.
    But the next time Raphael offered her a joint, she smoked it with him. The fire in her throat sent smoke signals to her brain in the shapes of birds and flowers. She leaned backagainst his chest and watched the windows glow.
    “Square moons,” she murmured, “New moons. Gel it? New-shaped