Over My Head

by Charles de Lint

Now the darkness feels like goop, like I'm swimming through mud. There's a burn in my chest where the calm was just a moment ago.

  Where the bullet went through me.

  Which is why I'm dying.

  I think of Marina and Desmond, how I never got to say goodbye to them, or to my mom, or anybody.

  And then that makes me think of Elzie and the last place I saw her.

  I guess I should have stayed over there with her. That otherworld is looking pretty good right now: So-Cal without pollution or Kings or any of the other crap we've got here, starting with somebody blowing a hole through my chest. I remember Elzie and I play-chasing each other in our Wildling shapes, she the sleek jaguarundi and me the mountain lion. I remember us all sitting around the campfire with Cory and Rico—

  Another memory pops into my head: Rico in the lab with me, missing a leg because the research freaks cut it off. But when he shifted into a snake and then back to his human form, he had both legs again …

  The mountain lion roars somewhere in the darkness. A bright heat spreads through me like a fever.

  Rico.

  Didn't have a leg and then he did. By switching shapes. Wham—bam. Just like that.

  The mountain lion roars again.

  Remembering what Rico did, I decide to set the lion free.

  I mean, what have I got to lose?

  It's all slow-mo again, but still flashes at lightning speed. It happens so fast that I don't have time to think about what I'm doing. I just do it.

  I shift into the mountain lion's shape. Sudden light flares in my eyes. My claws dig into the floor as I shrug off the weight of the table and suck in a deep lungful of air. Then I shift again, remembering to bring what I was wearing back with me.

  Nobody has time to react as I take two quick steps to where Chico is sitting. I pluck him up from his chair, grabbing him by the neck, and turn so that his body is between me and the rest of the Riverside Kings. Chico struggles in my grip until I give him a hard shake.

  The fever's still burning in me and everything's a little blurry. The mountain lion is right in my throat, growling deep in my chest.

  "My turn," I snarl in Chico's ear. "What do I pull off first? An arm? A leg?"

  He's making gagging sounds. The other Kings are pointing handguns and shotguns at me, their eyes wide with shock. Chaingang looks surprised, too, but a slow smile spreads across his face.

  I set Chico's feet on the ground. Before he can pull away, I grab his arm and twist it up behind his back. I grip his left shoulder with my free hand. He'd collapse if I weren't holding him upright. He gasps for air.

  "Wait, wait!" he wheezes.

  "Like you waited before you had me shot?"

  "No, no! It was mistake."

  "Doubtful," I tell him.

  "No, no. I swear I—"

  "Shut up! The real mistake was having one of your boys shoot me when all I was trying to do was talk it out. But now we've run out of options. Talking didn't help. And getting shot hurt—a lot more than this." I yank his arm up a little and he cries out.

  I see a guy huddled on the floor near Chaingang, just coming to, moaning and clutching an arm that dangles at a wrong angle. Chaingang's got a tire iron in one hand, a gun in the other.

  "Madre de Dios," Chico says in a strained voice. "You should be dead. What are you?"

  "The guy you shouldn't have pissed off."

  The mountain lion wants to stop toying with him. It wants to just snap his neck and then deal with the rest of them. I pretty much want the same thing, only I'm not sure I have the stomach for it. But I don't know what else to do. If I let them go, they'll come after me. Then they'll go after Ampora and her family. They'll go after Marina.

  I'm not letting that happen.

  I look to Chaingang, but I don't find any help there. I realize he's waiting for me to make the next decision. The problem is, I only see two options and neither of them is all that great.

  Either I let the mountain lion loose to kill a bunch of gangbangers, which puts their deaths on my conscience. I still have nightmares about the woman I killed back at the ValentiCorp labs.

  Or I let the Kings go and nothing changes. The Lopez family will still have a death sentence hanging over their heads.

  They'll come after me, too. After my mom and Chaingang because he's here with me. For all I know, I've already started a war between the Kings and the Ocean Avers.

  This so sucks.

  All I wanted was for them to leave us alone. Why does that have to be so complicated?

  The Kings are starting to get restless. They're looking from one to the other, getting brave again. A few moments ago, they were wide-eyed and making the sign of the cross. Now I can see they're almost forgetting what just happened and I don't blame them. I'm freaked about it, too—I think I was pretty much dead for a moment before shifting to the mountain lion brought me back. It's so much easier to just believe none of it happened.

  Chico struggles a bit—testing me—and I jerk his arm up again.

  "Enough of this!" a new voice says.

  I turn just enough to keep the Kings in view while I glance behind me. It's the old man. He's standing up from his table, glaring at us.

  Maybe I'm making the Kings a little nervous, but they're not shy when it comes to tearing into this guy.

  "Piss off, you stinkin' asshole," one of them shouts.

  Like all the bandas, the shouter's tatted up, big crown on one side of his neck, a cross on the other. He's wearing baggy jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt with a brown stingy brim fedora. I'm betting there are tats on his head as well.

  The old man stares the banger down and asks, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

  Fedora says something in Spanish and lifts his gun.

  "You got a name, old man," he adds, "so I can find your grave to piss on it?"

  "You don't need to know my name," the old man says. "All you need to know is that I'm from Halcón Pueblo."

  And with those words, something weird happens. I feel Chico stiffen in my grip. Fedora lowers his gun. All the bangers lower their weapons and stare at the floor.

  "Pardon, tío," Fedora says. "I didn't know."

  Chaingang and I just look at each other, thinking WTF? I reach out with all my senses, looking for that ping that lets me know he's a Wildling. I don't get anything.

  The old man nods. "You will all go now. But you will do as the young man said and leave his people alone. There will be no reprisals for what happened here today. Your weapons stay here."

  "Not so fast," Chaingang says. "These ass-wipes shot Josh."

  The old man's eyebrows go up. "So I saw. But he seems fine to me now."

  The bandas have put their weapons on various tables and are moving toward the door. A couple of them hoist up the guy Chaingang took down. Chaingang keeps looking from them to the old man, plainly unhappy that he's not getting to take any retribution.

  "These men are not the immediate danger," the old man tells him. "The danger that you should be worried about comes from your own kind."

  Chaingang shakes his head. "The Ocean Avers would never—"

  The old man cuts him off. "I didn't say your affiliation. I said your kind." Then he turns to me and adds, "I would appreciate it if you would let Chico go as well."

  I meet his gaze for a long moment before I give Chico a shove away from me. Chico doesn't even turn in my direction. He only has eyes for the old man.

  "I will give your message to Fat Boy," he says. "There will be no problems. I swear."

  The old man gives him a slight nod and Chico scurries out the door after the other gang members. I hear their cars starting up, the crunch of tires on the dirt as they leave the parking lot.

  Chaingang's gaze never leaves the old man. He's obviously pissed. He lifts the gun he's holding, points it at him.

  "So what's your deal?" he asks. "Are you some kind of bandas godfather? I caught the bit about the pueblo. Halcón—that means hawk, right?"

&n
bsp; I start and look at the old man in a new light.

  "You—you're one of los tíos," I say, remembering what Solana told me about them, how they can turn into hawks or see through hawks' eyes or something.

  "The uncles?" Chaingang repeats, still pointing his gun at the old man. "I don't care if you call yourselves the aunties. I just need to know what's going on here."

  "No, it's cool," I say. "Put down your gun. Agent Solana told me about them. They're like these warrior shaman."

  That makes the old man smile.

  "Yes," he says with a chuckle, "we are very fierce."

  He stands there smiling, just this skinny old guy, but something in his eyes says he's not really joking. Still, I find myself smiling back at him.

  "So are you here to help me?" I ask.

  "I'm here to eat my enchiladas. The floor show was just a bonus."

  He turns and reaches into a dusty backpack on the floor by his table, pulling out a piece of cloth. When he tosses it to me I realize it's a T-shirt.

  "You might want to change what you're wearing," he says. "The policía don't take kindly to people walking around the way you are."

  I look down at my chest. My shirt's a mess, drenched with blood, and there's a big hole in it where the bullet tore through. But at least I shifted back with my clothes.

  As I peel off my shirt, Chaingang finally lowers the gun. He looks at it for a moment, then lays it on a table. I'm mesmerized by my own bare chest. There's not even a scar. But there's blood all over the floor. A lot of blood. I stare at it with a morbid fascination, my senses flooded with its metallic smell.

  My blood.

  "So now what?" Chaingang asks. "You here to do some kind of Yoda thing?"

  That pulls me out of the little trance I fell into. I drop my bloody shirt into the pool of blood on the floor and put on the one the old man threw over to me. I guess it was white once. Now it's greyed from age and use. But it's clean. I can smell the detergent on it. Lemon. I focus on that instead of the blood.

  When I look up, I see the old man shake his head in response to Chaingang's question.

  "I told you, I'm here to eat my enchiladas," he says. "And you should go. You have bigger problems than some boys playing at being gangsters."

  I think about all those guns the Kings had, about getting shot by one of them. That seems a little more serious than boys playing around to me.

  "We will speak again," the old man says to me, "but you have other challenges to face before that time comes."

  "Nuh-uh," Chaingang says before I can respond. "You're not pulling that crap on us—the mysterious old guy who knows more than he's saying. If you've got something to say, no games. Tell us now."

  The old man gives him a mild look. "And if I don't?"

  Chaingang's mouth opens, but then he just shakes his head.

  Yeah, I think. Maybe it's not such a good idea to push our luck with a guy who could send all those Kings running away like a bunch of little girls.

  "Why can't you tell us now?" I ask anyway.

  He smiles. "Because until you have faced your challenges, I won't know if you're the right one."

  "Right one for what?"

  He studies me for a moment.

  "I will tell you this," he says. "You are only as weak as you think you are. Expect to be defeated and you will be."

  "Seriously?" Chaingang says. "That's all you got?"

  But the old man doesn't answer. He sits down at his table and goes back to his enchiladas as if we're no longer here.

  "I could find better advice in a fortune cookie," Chaingang mutters.

  The old man continues to ignore us.

  Chaingang and I exchange glances. I see the frustration on his face. But then he shrugs and starts for the door. He steps outside. I follow him to the door but I stop and turn back.

  "Um—thanks, I guess," I tell the old man.

  Still nothing. He lifts a forkful of enchilada to his mouth and chews.

  "Will you at least tell me your name?" I try.

  That has him lift his head.

  "Sometimes I answer to Goyo," he says. "You can call me Tío Goyo."

  And returns to his meal once more.

  I wait a beat longer before I finally follow Chaingang outside to the hot parking lot. All the cars are gone, though there's still a little dust in the air. The only vehicles left are Chaingang's Harley and that rusted pickup that must belong to Tío Goyo. Then my gaze is drawn across the street to where a tall, dark-haired man is standing, looking our way.

  At first I think he's just some resident of the barrio, out for a stroll. He must have stopped to watch all the Kings come tumbling out of the taquería and peel away in their cars. But he doesn't look Mexican—his skin's really pale, for one thing—and though people don't always have a lot of money around here, they dress better than this. He's wearing a shabby black suit with no shirt under the jacket and he's barefoot.

  I'd think he's just some homeless guy, except I'm getting a serious Wildling ping from him. I got nothing like that from the old man inside the taquería and Tío Goyo's obviously got some kind of powerful mojo going on. But this stranger is really rocking the Wildling vibe, and there's something in the way he's looking at us that makes my skin crawl.

  "Chaingang?" I say.

  Chaingang nods before I can finish.

  "Yeah, I see him, bro," he says.

  Marina

  The afternoon drags. It's one of those days that seem to go on forever, which isn't helped by the endless circle of my thoughts. Between worrying about Josh and my little sisters, and this business with Ampora, I can't get my brain to shut up. And then I have the joy of how, in between each class, Juan Ruiz makes a point of letting me see him make a gun shape with his fingers and pretend to shoot me.

  Just before last class he comes up behind me.

  "After school, pocha," he says.

  He's right in my ear. There's nothing I'd like better than to turn around and punch him right in the smirk that I know is there. But I know it's the last thing I should do. If I get caught fighting again, it won't be a trip to Ms. Chandra's office. Principal Hayden will have no choice but to suspend me.

  And you know what? I'd deserve it.

  So I clench my fists, hold my tongue and let him slip away into the crowded hall.

  I'm also getting a little worried at how I can't seem to keep my temper in check lately. I goof around with Des and Josh all the time, giving them a push or a tap on the shoulder. That's not new. What's new is my wanting to do some serious damage to people like Juan and my sister Ampora.

  Where is this coming from?

  Sea otters aren't particularly aggressive animals, so far as I know. I should ask the Wildlings who come to my blog if they've noticed anything like this in themselves. The Wildlings I know aren't exactly a great barometer to judge anything against. Theo's always been a tough guy, getting into scraps. But then I think of Josh. He's never been like that. Except, ever since he's become a Wildling, he's a lot more aggressive. Maybe it's just the situations he's been in that have made him that way.

  I have a flash from that video monitor we saw the night he escaped from ValentiCorp.

  Josh as a mountain lion, killing that researcher.

  But now Des says he's facing off with the Kings …

  God, what if people like Congressman Householder are right? What if we are dangerous?

  Great. Something else to worry about.

  "Hey!"

  I turn to find Julie and Des coming down the hall toward me.

  "So what happened?" Julie asks.

  "Yeah," Des says. "Did you get busted for your girl-on-girl with Ampora out on the football field?"

  I start to raise a fist to give him a punch, then realize what I'm doing.

  What is wrong with me? Okay, so I usually give him a whack when he comes out with something like that, but why is that my response? Because it's not that far a stretch from joke-punching Des to wanting to have a serious go at
Ampora or Juan.

  I let my hand fall to my side and just nod instead.

  "But he let us off with a warning," I tell him. "And we have to go see Ms. Chandra to work out our issues with each other."

  "Dude," Des says with sympathy. "I'd rather have the suspension."

  "I wouldn't," Julie says. She's sympathetic, too, but I can also see the worry in her eyes. "What's going on?" she adds.

  "It's too long a story," I tell her. "We all have to get to class."

  Julie nods. "I'll catch up with you after school."

  I think of Juan's warning and his finger gun. He and the rest of the Kings are going to be waiting for me just off school property. Waiting for me and Ampora. And they won't just be making pretend guns with their fingers.

  Do I really want Julie caught up in that as well?

  "You know what?" I say. "I'm ready to cut class. Let's hang in the library and catch up."

  Des raises his eyebrows.

  "Oh, come on," I tell him. "I've skipped school before."

  "To go surfing, yeah. But this? I don't know, Lopez. Fighting. Going to the office. Cutting class. Dude, between you and Josh, I'm seriously losing my bad boy cred around here."

  Julie and I look at each other and smile.

  She reaches up and puts her index finger under his chin. "I hate to break it to you," Julie tells him, "but no one ever saw you as a bad boy."

  He puts a hand over his heart. "Just for that, I'm going to class. You two can gossip without me."

  Julie makes kiss-kiss noises as he leaves.

  "So dish," she says as we head for the library. "I know you and Ampora have never been tight, but you've always taken the high road before today."

  I sigh as I walk along beside her, trying to figure out what to tell her. We hurry because the halls are emptying and we don't want to get caught out here without a pass. But when we turn the corner to the library, I stop dead in my tracks. It takes Julie a second longer, then she stops, too.

  "Oh, crap," she says.

  No kidding.

  Erik Gess is standing between us and the library door. He looks a mess. His eyes are puffed, his face flushed, his clothes dishevelled, and he's got a serious case of bed hair. But it's the wild-eyed way he's looking at us that makes me check his hands to see if he's turned into some gun-toting whack-job. The fact that they're clenched into fists at his thighs, empty, doesn't instill a lot of confidence that he's operating with a full load. Not with that crazed look in his eyes. But maybe it means I have a chance of subduing him without anybody else getting hurt.