There is something rotten in Harrisville.
Itâs 1944 and Veronica works so she can afford to eat. Maybe one day she will save enough to own the home her family is living in, but for now, she doesnât have time for fanciful thoughts, or much else. She doesnât have time for the fire whispering to her, the ghosts trying to talk to her and the son of her boss, who canât stop staring at her. She definitely doesnât have time to think about Lazlo, the handsome black soldier that she processed at the draft office, but she canât seem to stop herself. As her ability to ignore Lazlo evaporates, so does her self-imposed ignorance about her hometown. There is, and always has been, something rotten in Harrisville. It shouldnât have been a surprise. After all, Veronica works in the cigarette factory, where corpses hide in the tobacco with the roaches.
There is something rotten in Harrisville.
Itâs 1944 and Veronica works so she can afford to eat. Maybe one day she will save enough to own the home her family is living in, but for now, she doesnât have time for fanciful thoughts, or much else. She doesnât have time for the fire whispering to her, the ghosts trying to talk to her and the son of her boss, who canât stop staring at her. She definitely doesnât have time to think about Lazlo, the handsome black soldier that she processed at the draft office, but she canât seem to stop herself. As her ability to ignore Lazlo evaporates, so does her self-imposed ignorance about her hometown. There is, and always has been, something rotten in Harrisville. It shouldnât have been a surprise. After all, Veronica works in the cigarette factory, where corpses hide in the tobacco with the roaches.
The headless chicken charging toward Veronica Crane was clinging to life against all odds.Â
Her friend Lizzie shrieked, dropped Veronicaâs arm, and jumped back as the chicken ran between them. It was followed by a large, round, and sweaty Hank Price. He charged down his dirt driveway, panting, with a hatchet still in his hand, and blood on his apron. The chicken was now trying to run up the incline to Veronicaâs small mill house but, being headless, it was running without direction. Its only motivation came from whatever vestigial brain was left, and was screaming run from the predator behind it.Â
âSorry ladies,â Hank called, passing them. âDang bird got away from me.â
The bird had made it onto Veronicaâs porch and was now scrambling around, bumping into things, and dripping blood everywhere. In its own way, it was heroic. The fact that it was sans head, made its attempt even more valiant in a doomed hero sort of way. But these thoughts vanished when Veronica realized that she would be the one having to clean up the blood on her front porch later.
âThat was an ugly kill, Hank!â Veronica called, as Lizzie clutched her arm and pulled her down the dirt road that they both lived on.
âCome on,â Lizzie said.
âHe should have secured it with something, cut its throat and let it bleed out,â Veronica said, eyes still on the tormented chicken.
âUgh,â Lizzie said. âLetâs go.â
Veronica rolled her eyes.
âI know you do it in your family, but my brother does it ours. And we donât do it often as we mainly keep the chickens for eggs.â
âWhen a chicken isnât laying anymoreââ Veronica began but Lizzie shook her head.
âI know. I know. I know,â she said, as she pulled Veronica onto the paved road that led to the city center.Â
There were no cars in sight as it was early Saturday morning, and most businesses didnât open until ten on Saturdays, but she and Lizzie had been lucky enough to get temp jobs at the draft office on the weekends, and they had to be at work by 7:30 a.m.
âHey, did you hear that there was another cat hanging from a telephone line this morning?â Lizzie asked her as they started down the road.
âUgh, how many is that?â Veronica asked, grimacing.
âTen in as many weeks.â
âWhen did it happen?â
âThey must have done it last night,â Lizzie replied. âBut they found it this morning, first thing. My brotherâs wifeâs brother works for the telephone companyââ
âYou mean Teddy?â
Lizzie nodded.
âAnd they donât have a suspect for it?â Veronica asked.
âNo,â Lizzie replied, âbut itâs cats, you know. I guess Chief Bishop has other more pressing problems.â
âObviously,â Veronica muttered.
âRonnie donât be like that,â Lizzie replied. âCJâs an okay guy, and his dad is an okay guy. It canât be easy to be chief of police.â
âOf course not, Harrisville is such a teeming metropolis that it must be emergency calls twenty-four hours a day,â Veronica said, thinking of the short, round police chief. Anyone who had enough food to get fat was never going to get her sympathy. âI bet he even has to skip meals occasionally.â
âYou know, people think you are snobby because you talk like that,â Lizzie said.
âLike what?â
âUsing big fancy words like metropolis,â Lizzie replied.
âIf anyone doesnât like my word choice, they donât have to talk to me,â Veronica snapped.
âWow you are grumpy this morning, did you have any breakfast?â Lizzie asked.
Veronica shook her head.Â
âFranklin needs the breakfast more than me,â Veronica said softly. âBesides, Iâm not really hungry.â
This was lie, and Lizzie knew it. Veronicaâs mother had been sick a couple of days last week, and so they were low on money. Right now, there was nothing in their icebox and they were down to the last jar of preserves from the previous summer. Veronica did without so that her mother and brother could have a little more.
âHere,â Lizzie said, pulling an apple from her lunch box and handing it to Veronica. Veronica didnât argue. She and Lizzie had known each other for too long to put on airs. Lizzieâs family was far from well off, but they always had enough food on their table. The same was not true for Veronicaâs family.Â
âHow is Franklin?â Lizzie asked her as they turned onto Broad Street with its tree-lined sidewalks.Â
âFine, for the most part,â Veronica replied.
âWhat do you mean, âfor the most partâ?â Lizzie asked.
âHeâs already working full time at the pig farm, but now he just got on at the fire departmentââ Veronica began.
âWell, thatâs fantastic, Ronnie.â Lizzie beamed. âHeâs always wanted to be a fireman.â
âWell, heâs not exactly a fireman yet,â Veronica replied. âHeâs just helping out for the moment, but it could lead to a full-time job later, if he can pass their test.â
âThey have a test to be a fireman?â Lizzie asked, grimacing.
âMm-hmm,â Veronica responded. âBut itâs a written test, so Iâm sure he can pass it and the fire chief seems really nice. I hope he is as nice as he seems.â
Lizzie nodded, taking Veronicaâs arm again.
âThe problem is that heâs already working so many hours, what with the pig farm, and the factory on the weekend, that he barely has time to sleep. And they donât pay him as much becauseââ
âI know,â Lizzie said, kicking a stone viciously. âItâs not fair though.â
âNo, itâs not,â Veronica replied, as the sincere, handsome face of her brother appeared in her mindâs eye.
They had now entered the part of town where the richer folks lived. The houses were large with wraparound porches. Veronica had always thought that they looked like gingerbread houses.
Even the smaller houses here were larger than Veronicaâs. Almost all of them had real front and back yards and about half of them had a second story. Veronica suspected that the people living in these houses had their own bedrooms.Â
A group of men who worked at the mill walked by and whistled at them. Lizzie laughed and flipped her hair. Lizzie Goodwin was an unquestionable beauty, and everyone knew it⌠including Lizzie. She was often compared to Veronica Lake, as she had light blonde hair that she curled in waves. Despite her beauty, she wasnât really vain. Lizzie viewed her beauty as a tool to get her out of poverty by marrying up. Veronica couldnât rely on her beauty to get her anywhere. She was okay, but far from Lizzieâs level of beauty. Her breasts were too small and her hips too wide to fit the traditional beauty standards. Her hair was a pretty auburn, but she had pale freckles across her cheeks and nose that she hated. Her only vanity was her slate-gray eyes, with a little ring of gold around the center. They were not as beautiful as the blue eyes of her brother or grandma, but they were nice.Â
As they approached Marvin Bear High School, they saw a group of colored men standing in the street in front of the school. In truth, they looked more like boys than men. They were huddled together, with their heads down. Some were smoking but most were simply talking.Â
âWhat are they doing there?â Lizzie whispered to Veronica, although there was absolutely no reason to whisper.
âI heard that we would be processing boys for some colored units,â Veronica replied.
âI donât like it.âÂ
âYou donât like that someone wants to fight for their country?â Veronica asked. She knew what Lizzie was implying, and it annoyed her.
âWell, theyâre not like us,â Lizzie said. As Veronica had never met, let alone known, a colored person, she couldnât argue with this.
âYou mean you arenât scared of them?â Lizzie asked.
âOf course I am, but not any more than any other man. Horrible comes in all colors.â
âWell, the police chief thinks that one of the colored folks might be the ones killing the cats,â Lizzie said.
âWho told you that?â Veronica asked.
âBen,â Lizzie replied, nodding knowingly. Of course, it would be Ben. He was Lizzieâs longtime boyfriend and Lizzie took everything he said as gospel.
âBen said that CJ also thinks itâs the coloreds,â Lizzie said.
The back of Veronicaâs head began to throb. The spot Grandma Janie used to call her âknowing spot.âÂ
âOf course, CJ would say that,â Veronica muttered.
âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âCJ has too much spare time,â Veronica replied. âIf he had to work as hard as we do, he wouldnât waste his time looking for reasons to hate people.â
Lizzie laughed.
âWouldnât you like to have that problem, though?â she said, poking Veronica in the side.
âHi de ho, hi de ho!â came a loud voice from just behind them. Ben Morton, Lizzieâs boyfriend, squeezed in between them and put his arms around both girls. âWhat a lucky guy I am.â
Veronica hit at him with her purse and pulled away.Â
âDid I offend Ronnie again?â He laughed, releasing Veronica, and pulling Lizzie closer to him as they walked.Â
âI think your breathing offends Ronnie,â Lizzie said.
âAinât it always the way?â Ben said, grabbing at his heart. âThe most beautiful dames are forever out of reach. So I guess I am stuck with you.â
âFor now⌠if you are lucky.â Lizzie pulled her arm away from him.Â
âOuch!â Ben said. âHey, donât be like that, sugar.â
âYou are paying for my lunch today,â Lizzie snapped.
âI always pay for your lunchââ he began, but Lizzie held up her hand.
âAnd Ronnieâs lunch,â she said.
âI thought Ronnie always brings her lunchââ he started, but at Lizzieâs glare he held up his hands.
âAnd anything Ronnie wants to eat, of course. Jeez.â
Lizzie smiled, winked at Veronica, and put her arm through Benâs.
âAre you taking me to a movie tonight?â Lizzie asked. This was a common game for them. None of them had the extra money for something as frivolous as a movie, unless it was a free film put out by the war department. Veronica was expecting the normal âSure, babyâ response that Ben always gave. Instead, his brow furrowed.
âI canât, thereâs going to be a pep rally tonight,â he said, chewing the inside of his lip.Â
âArenât you a little old for high school girls?â Veronica asked.
âItâs not a school pep rally,â Ben said, his voice softer. âItâs a Knights of Harrisville rally and Iâm hoping to be invited.â
Lizzie rolled her eyes.Â
âBen, when will you stop trying to be friends with those guys?â Lizzie asked. âThey donât like you. You arenât a townie.â
âCJ is a good guy,â Ben replied. âThe others are nice too. You just donât know them very well.â
âNeither do you,â scoffed Lizzie.
Veronica turned to go, but Lizzie called after her.
âRonnie, meet us at the soda shop for lunch.â
Veronica waved her hand and walked alone toward the entrance to the school gymnasium that had been appropriated on the weekends to process army recruits.Â
As she walked into the building, Veronicaâs mind drifted back to the headless chicken. In some ways she envied it. If you were headless, at least you didnât have to listen to foolâs talk.Â
*
The gym was split into two halves by white screens on rollers. There was one opening in the screens on the right side of the room, and another opening on the left side of the room. In front of these screens were desks that had been arranged along each wall. At each desk was a chair, a typewriter, and a filing cabinet. On top of each desk was a letter tray.Â
Mrs. Cartwright, their supervisor here, stared at them as they huddled together. It was early May, but it was still cold enough outside to require a coat. The inside of the gym wasnât heated, and it was drafty. Veronicaâs hands started to ache, so she began to open and close them slowly at her sides. Lizzie ran in to join the group, earning a harsh glance from Mrs. Cartwright.
Looking around, Veronica counted eighteen girls. That was a high number for a recruiting office.Â
âLadies, I need your attention please,â Mrs. Cartwright said, as she walked in front of them. She walked and spoke like a military man. Veronica wondered if her husband or father had been in the military.Â
âWe will be processing several busloads of recruits this morning. You will register them and fill in all the information needed on their cards and forms. You can all type, canât you?â
Most of the girls nodded but a few shook their heads.
âUgh,â Mrs. Cartwright said, rolling her eyes. âOkay. As they didnât specify that you needed to type, those who canât can just write in the information.â
âOnce you have processed them, you are to send them past those screens, where they will get their medical exam. But do make sure they go to the correct side.â
âWhat do you mean the correct side?â asked Missy, a petite brunette who Veronica had known since kindergarten.
âI mean that we will be processing white men and colored boys,â said Mrs. Cartwright. Several of the girls gasped audibly. âEvery day, half of you will be working to process the white soldiers and the other half will process the colored boys. The next day, you will switch.â
âWill we be safe?â Lizzie asked.
âThere will be soldiers overseeing the operation, so yes, you will be safe, Miss Goodwin.â Mrs. Cartwrightâs words were meant to be comforting but they were dripping with condescension. Lizzie was not making a good impression.
âAlso, the military is seeing fit to pay you more on the days that you process the colored boys.â
Missy raised her hand.
âOh, Iâll volunteer for both days,â she said.
âThe schedule is neither optional nor flexible,â said Mrs. Cartwright, glaring at Missy.
Clearly it was better not to speak to this woman. Veronicaâs hands were starting to throb, and she desperately wanted to rub them, but she just put them behind her back and continued to open and close them.
âIâm going to separate you into two groups. Group 1 will register the white men today,â she said. âGroup 2 will register the colored boys.â
As she said this, the doors opened, and five soldiers walked in. Mrs. Cartwright nodded to them. Four of the men went to stand at each corner of the room. The fifth came up to Mrs. Cartwright.
âThis is Sergeant Deal, he will be overseeing operations today,â Mrs. Cartwright said. âIf you have any problems or feel any discomfort, feel free to raise your hand and get my attention or his.â
âLooks like he got a raw Deal,â Lizzie whispered in Veronicaâs ear. Veronica bit her lip and tried not to smile.Â
âAll right, ladies, letâs line up,â Mrs. Cartwright said, clapping her hands.
They were lined up and numbered. Veronica and Lizzie were both assigned to Group 1, the white men.Â
âIâm not sure if itâs better or worse,â Lizzie said, as they all moved toward their desks. âI donât have to register the negroes today, which is good, but then I have to spend all night worrying about tomorrow.â
Veronica shrugged and went to her desk. She didnât care much one way or another. Well, that wasnât strictly true. She agreed with Missy more than Lizzieâshe could use the extra money. Her mind was practical that way.
Once the registration began, she didnât have time to do much besides process the men who came in an endless flow. Missy was sitting at the desk next to her. Veronica occasionally saw Missy sigh and blow her bangs out of her eyes. The gesture was both childlike and world-weary in equal measure, which was a good description of Missy. Her father had died when Missy was two and her family were just as poor, if not poorer, than Veronicaâs family.Â
At about 10 a.m., they were all interrupted by the voice of Sergeant Deal.Â
âBoy, are you deaf or something?â he bellowed at a group of colored boys in the line. They all cringed backward and cast their eyes downward. All except one.Â
âYOU! BOY!â the sergeant yelled, pointing at the one boy who was looking at him.Â
âAre you stupid or something? What are you doing standing in the colored people line?âÂ
All the men froze, wide-eyed, as the sergeant strode toward the line, grabbed the boy out of it and pulled him to the center of the room. The boy he was yelling at was brown haired and tan, but his skin was much lighter than most of those around him and his hair was straight.
âBoy, you must be deaf,â the sergeant barked. âOr are you just so in love with them coloreds that you have to stand with them?â
âIâm Brazilian, I thoughtââ began the boy, his voice softer and smoother than seemed right, given the fact that the sergeant was right up in his face.
âI donât care where youâre from, boy,â Sergeant Deal yelled, spittle flying. âDo you look like those colored boys? You donât, do you?â
The boy had adopted a more stoic expression, eyes down⌠but Veronica saw a slight smile playing at his lips.
âGet yourself over to one of those white ladies, right now and get yourself registered,â the sergeant yelled, grabbing the boy by the arm, and shoving him toward their tables.Â
The boy walked over with much more ease and grace than should be expected in such circumstances and came to stand just in front of Missy. Up close, he had a very handsome face with a straight nose and wide-set, dark eyes. His lips were full but not to the extreme.Â
âI think I am supposed to register with you now,â the boy said. Rather than looking down, the boy looked directly at Missy and smiled. Missy blushed.Â
âOkay, ummmm, whatâs your name?â Missy asked, turning to her typewriter.
âCaio. Caio Silva,â he replied, sitting down.
âDo you have a middle name?âÂ
âL.âÂ
âDoes L stand for anything?â Missy ended the question with a little giggle and hair flip.
âNo, just L.âÂ
Missy laughed and flipped her hair again. Veronica put her hand over her mouth to suppress a smile, but she didnât have any more time to watch what was happening with Missy, as her next recruit of the day approached. From that point on she had her hands full with the recruits who came through her. After a few hours of processing, Veronicaâs hands had stopped complaining and started screaming.Â
At around 11:30 a.m., she raised her hand to take a short break to go to the washroom. She didnât really need to use the restroom, but she did need to take a couple of aspirin for her hands. After she had taken the tablets, she held her hands in water as hot as she could stand for as long as she could bear it. After that, she wiped them gently with the towel on the wall and hurried out of the doorâand ran straight into two young men standing in the hallway.Â
âExcuse me, maâam!â exclaimed one of them. He was a young colored man and his facial expression was almost comically horrified.
The other was the boy Caio that Missy had processed earlier. Both were dressed in only undershirt and underwear. Veronica could feel her face beginning to burn. She had never seen a man in underwear, apart from her brother.Â
âThis is George,â Caio said. âHe was just looking for the restroom.âÂ
âOh, itâs right there,â Veronica said, pointing to the menâs room, just behind her.
âNo, maâam. I am looking for the colored restroom,â George said. âYou have those here, right?â
Veronica nodded.
âDo you know where the nearest one is?â Caio asked her.
âI donât⌠I donât know,â Veronica said, shaking her head.
âDonât worry yourself, maâam,â said George. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt.
âI canât go in the white manâs bathroom,â George said to Caio.
Before she could stop herself, Veronica blurted out, âMaybe you can go to the white womanâs bathroom.â She giggled. This wasnât funny and she knew it, but this whole situation felt unreal.
âI doubt white women would appreciate that,â George said.
âI donât care what bathroom someone goes in, as long as they wash their hands afterward,â Veronica said.Â
George and Caio stared at her for a moment, and then laughed out loud.
âThat is very sensible of you, maâam,â George said. âI wish you were in charge.â
Veronica smiled, waved at them, and then turned and ran back to her desk.
Have I just flirted with those boys? That just wouldnât do.
Still, they thought she was funny, and she had a little smile on her face when she sat down. She took off her shoes and settled at the typewriter.
Veronicaâs hands gave her a break for the next two hours. So much so, that when Mrs. Cartwright called for lunch break, she realized that she hadnât had any pain at all in hours.Â
As Veronica was putting on her shoes, Missy leaned over.
âDid you see where he went?â she asked.
âWho?â
âThe boy named Caio,â Missy whispered.
âWhy are we whispering?â Veronica replied, in a softer whisper.
âBecause he was handsome, wasnât he?â Missy said, biting her lip and giving a little shiver.
âYes, but it was strange that he was standing with the colored boys,â Veronica whispered back.
âI know. I mean it was obvious that he wasnât,â Missy said. âHe said he was from Brazil. Thatâs in South America, not Africa. So he is American.â
Veronica laughed.
âBut people would tease me if I said anything because they would have seen him go into the colored line. I mean, he clearly isnât colored. He looks almost Italian.â
âHow do you know what an Italian looks like?â Veronica asked.
âHughâs family has Italian ancestors,â Missy said.Â
Hughâs face popped into Veronicaâs mind⌠all white-blond hair and milk-pale skin and she laughed out loud.Â
âHughâs last name is McBrayer, and heâs about as Italian as I am.â Veronica giggled. âHe even gave you a Claddagh ring. You donât get much more Irish than that.âÂ
âHeâs Irish on his dadâs side, silly,â Missy said, but she was smiling. âHeâs Italian on his motherâs side.â
As far as Veronica was concerned, Hughâs pale, dark-haired mother looked no more Italian than his father did, but she thought it was time to let this go.
âAre you meeting Hugh for lunch?â she asked.
Missy nodded.Â
âIâm meeting him at the soda shop. You should get Lizzie and come,â Missy said. âBut donât say anything about that boy Caio.â
âNot a word,â Veronica said, pulling her finger across her mouth.Â
âHe was really handsome, wasnât he?â Missy whispered, picking up her coat and purse.
âYes, he was,â Veronica replied softly, realizing with a shock that she had noticed it herself.
Before she had seen Missy blush while talking to Caio, she had never considered whether such a person could be attractive to her. The truth was that she rarely considered any man attractive. Her only real experience with men had been her family. Her brother, who was the most decent person she had ever known, was taunted and bullied for his differences from ânormalâ men. The only ânormalâ man she had known well was her father.
And he had taught her that having a man in your life was not worth the pain.
Â
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 LS Delorme has done it again. Fanning Fireflies, the third installment of her Limerence collection has the same arresting storyline and breathtaking romance as its predecessors, Caio and Bright Midnights. This most recent book is set in Harrisville, a small North Carolina town. It is 1944 and Veronica Crane, our heroine, struggles to make ends meet. While at her weekend job in the draft office, she meets Lazlo Fox, a black recruit. Sparks fly between Lazlo and the white Veronica, even as sinister energies take root in the townsfolk. The increasing hate and violence put Harrisville on the radar of powerful entities determined to quash its evil before it spreads further. This un-put-down-able book will have the reader desperate for Lazloâs next letter while on the edge of their seat wondering if Veronica can keep her family- and her secrets- safe from her neighbors and the vengeful forces only she can see.
    I cannot say enough wonderful things about Fanning Fireflies, but Iâll start by singing the heroineâs praises. Veronica Crane has got fire in her- in more ways than one- a strong sense of justice and she doesnât miss a trick. Unlike some unabashedly trailblazing heroines of the genre, Veronica knows sheâs powerful, but making waves has real consequences, not just for her, but for the people she loves. The need for self-preservation is real and relatable; it lands like a physical blow to see Veronica roll over when we know she could fight because weâve all made that choice. We understand. Readers see themselves in Veronica when she stands up, but also when she keeps her head down.Â
   Delormeâs commitment to consistency and realism in her worldbuilding, plot, and characters is masterful. She carefully lays out each characterâs personal experiences and context so that each word and action make perfect sense to the reader. The one exception is the awkward avoidance of racial slurs. âColoredâ is as strong a word as the violently racist Harrisville White Knights use. The intentions of the author are admirable, but the refusal to include hate speech in the rhetoric of characters who literally commit hate crimes creates a dissonant experience, especially since Delorme is otherwise so committed to accurately representing harsh realities. On the whole, though, readers who crave consistency can rest easy. There are no throwaway lines or lazy devices in Fanning Fireflies. Every iota of the story has its purpose in Delormeâs master plan. I give it 5 out of 5 stars. makes this third book in the Limerence collection a must-read. Fans of science-fiction, paranormal, metaphysical, and others will be enthralled by the subtle blend of genres and realities where dreams bleed into waking life and the supernatural is all around.