"Yeah, well sister, you're sure not going to have to face them on your own," Julie says.
I start to shake my head—there's no way I'm letting her get mixed up in this—but she puts a finger to my lips.
"Don't even try," she says.
I'm torn between wanting to argue with her and getting outside. I settle on dealing with the Kings first and we head out into the crowded hallway. Before we reach the front door, Des has fallen into step beside us.
I turn to him. "You know you don't have to do this."
"Good one," he says.
My phone vibrates as we push through the front doors. I glance down to see a one-word text from Theo: Cory?
I thumb a quick response—Later—and stow my phone away because I can already see Ampora across the street, shouting at the half-dozen Kings who are waiting for us there.
I guess this is the point where the world finds out I'm a Wildling.
I pick up my pace, which leaves Julie and Des struggling to keep up. Juan looks up at my approach and laughs.
"Nice," he says, switching to English. "It's the bitch's sister."
"" I tell him in my mother tongue.
"
I take a step forward, fists clenched, but Ampora gives me a push.
"
My heart skips a beat and I turn around, but it's only Josh jogging down the block toward us.
That stops me. How did I get to "it's only Josh" so fast? Just a few weeks ago, he was always on my mind.
But then Juan grabs me by my shirt and hauls me so close to him that we're only inches apart and I don't have time to think about anything except for how this has gotten way out of hand.
"
Chaingang
I frown at Marina's quick response. What the hell is "later" supposed to mean? We need to get moving now, while we've still got a chance. She's just getting out of school so …
I get a picture in my head of her in her surfer shorts and a T, the swing in her walk. I think about all the days I sat there on my picnic table and watched her come and go from school—glowing like she just caught a wave. Maybe later's exactly where we should be at because right now I'm tempted to drive up to Sunny Hill, swing her onto the back of my Harley and take off—screw what anybody's got to say about it. Just drive until we get someplace where nobody knows us, where we can just be the two of us without any of the crap in our lives.
Yeah, like that's ever going to happen.
I shove the phone in my pocket, but before I can start up my bike I hear a giggle coming from the branches of the Jacaranda tree high above me. Peering up through the foliage, I see a little kid sitting up there, brown skinned and dressed for the beach in a baggy T and raggedy jeans cut off at mid-calf. I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl. I just see big eyes in a long narrow face, which seems strange for a child. Her face is framed by long curls that are matting into dreads as thick as his—her?—skinny little arms.
"What's so funny?" I ask.
The kid laughs and points down at me. "You are. How'd you get so big with that little cousin skin of yours?"
"What? How would you know—"
"—What kind of cousin you are? How could I not know? It's like the difference between land and sea—you know what that is, right?"
This kid has a hell of a vocabulary, and he doesn't give me a chance to answer. "You just know, little mouse."
Now I realize I'm getting a Wildling ping from the kid. I'd been feeling it all along, but I assumed it was just some Vincenzo residue. But the kid's definitely sending out a vibe—and it's not one I've felt before. It's not fresh, like Josh or Marina's, but it doesn't have the gravitas of the older cousins like Vincenzo or Auntie Min.
"Name's Theo," I say. "Not 'little mouse.'"
"What's wrong with mice? They crunch so nicely between your teeth—though maybe that's a rude thing to say to a mouse."
The trouble with Wildlings is, you can't tell what kind they are just by looking at them—or at least I can't—yet. This kid apparently has no problem. But the point here is that maybe this is just a Wildling kid fooling around, or maybe it's something a lot more dangerous. I need to know which. Another complication, or a possible ally?
"Okay, little boy," I say, leaning on the little. "What exactly do you want from me?"
"Little boy? What makes you think I'm some stupid boy?"
I hold up my hands, palms toward her, and make a note to myself that she's got gender issues.
"My bad," I tell her. "I'm just a stupid boy—what do I know?"
"Nothing."
"Apparently. Do you have a name?"
"Everybody has a name."
"Uh-huh. And what's yours?"
"Well, it's not Big Stupid."
I sigh. "Is there a point to your sitting up there yanking my chain? Because hey, I can just go."
She drops from her perch, bouncing from branch to branch, until she lands on the front wheel of my Harley, where she balances like a monkey. Her size startles me. It wasn't so obvious when she was up in the tree, but right in my face like this, I see she's no bigger than a toddler. If she tops three feet in height, I'd be surprised.
"How'd you get mixed up in Condor business?" she asks.
"The tall dude I was just talking to being the condor?"
She nods.
"Wasn't my choice. He just showed up out of nowhere and started leaning on me."
"In the old days, we'd just snap his neck and throw his body down some big deep hole."
"Uh-huh."
"We would."
"I tried. But it turns out he's a lot stronger and faster than me."
She cocks her head and studies me for a long moment.
"My name's Donalita," she finally says.
"And I'm still Theo."
"I know that. What are we going to do now?"
"What do you mean 'we,' kemo sabe?"
That earns me a blank look. Guess she never watches reruns of The Lone Ranger.
"What I'm trying to say," I explain, "is that I've got things to do that don't include having a kid tag along—no offense."
"But I want to see how your story goes. I could be a big help. I know all kinds of things."
"I'm sure you do. But if people see me hanging around with you, robbing the cradle's the nicest thing they're going to say."
"You mean I look too young?" she asks.
"That's putting it mildly."
"Well, how's this?"
I'm looking right at her, but I still don't see it happen. One moment she's this toddler, perched on my tire, the next she's a teenage girl standing with her legs on either side of the wheel, head cocked, laughter in her eyes. She's still skinny, but now she's about as tall as me.
"How—how the hell did you do that?"
"It's a secret."
I give a slow nod. "Yeah, I can see how it would be."
She gives my shoulder a friendly push. "I'm kidding. Lots of the cousins can do this, though it's mostly the tricksier ones."
"The tricksier ones," I repeat, still trying to get my head around what I just saw.
"Sure. You know. Like coyotes and crows and hares and such."
"So what do you really look like?" I ask. "I mean, do you even have one real face?"
Again, it happens too fast for me to see, but now there's a coatimundi sitting on my handlebars, looking at me with her white nose and bandit face, the plume of her ringed tail rising straight up behind her. Then she's the teenage girl again.
"So you're a coati," I say.
"Maybe. Or maybe that's another trick."
"Oh-kay."
She gives my shoulder another push. "Don't look so worried. With me helping you out, everythin
g's going to be great."
"And you're helping me because …?"
"I don't like the Condor Clan."
"Even though you can just snap their necks and then throw their bodies down some big deep hole."
"Maybe I exaggerated that part a little."
"Did you now?"
She shrugs.
"So what've you got against the condors?" I ask.
"They're mean and ugly and … and …"
"Stupid?"
She shakes her head. "They're stupid but not stupid stupid. The problem with them is that they're oh-so-very clever. And scary. If Vincenzo died, I'd laugh and dance and sing for days and days and days."
"What did he do to you?" I ask. "Be straight with me now."
All the good humour leaves her features. Her eyes go flat and hard.
"He killed my little sister. We'd been together forever—from before you people came here and built all your roads and houses—but he just snapped Luisa's neck like she meant nothing. Except she did mean something. She meant everything to me."
I lay a hand on her shoulder and give it a squeeze.
"I'm sorry," I tell her.
"Me too."
"Why'd he kill her?" I ask.
"He found out that she took her boyfriend into el entre. Her human boyfriend. He killed them both."
"El where?"
"You know—the world on the other side of this world."
I give a slow nod. "And that's Vincenzo's job, to keep it a secret?" I ask. "Something he does for the elders? Or is he just a cruel bastard on his own initiative?"
She gives me an odd look, then says, "We don't have the same hierarchies as the five-fingered beings do. There aren't any police or bosses or anything."
"Then what gives him the right to go around doing what he does?"
"Nobody can stop him."
"Right."
"But there's always somebody stronger," she says. "We just have to find that somebody and get them to kill him."
"I'm down with that. But I'd rather deal with him myself."
She grins. "You see? That's why I like you. You're not scared of some stupid old condor."
"Oh, I'm scared of him," I tell her. "But that won't stop me from trying to figure out a way to take him down. Nobody threatens my friends and family and gets to brag about it."
The corners of her mouth droop. "At least your family's still alive."
"Yeah, but for how long?" I think about that handy ability of hers. "So can you take any shape?" I ask. "Like, could you be a bear or something like that? Something big enough to take him on?"
She tilts her head back and forth as she answers. "I could look like a bear, but I wouldn't smell like a bear and I'd only be as strong as I normally am."
Makes sense that she can't do more or she wouldn't be here now, looking for me to help her. She'd already have done it herself.
"Got any ideas on how we can deal with him?" I try. "Beyond finding somebody bigger and stronger to do the job for us?"
"I thought you were going to figure that out," she says and grins at me expectantly.
Which puts me back to square one.
"Well, at least we've got a little breathing room," I say.
"Because of what Vincenzo told you?"
I nod. "Yeah. He said everything's on hold until he figures a few things out."
"So this would be the perfect time for him to make his move," she says.
Damn. Why did that not even occur to me?
"What does he want you to do?" she asks.
"Kill the Great White Hope of the elders, except he's not all that white, and he doesn't want any part of whatever they've got planned. Doesn't seem to make any difference to Vincenzo, though. He just wants the kid gone."
Her eyes go wide. "Do you mean the new boy from the Mountain Lion Clan?"
"Yeah. His name's Josh."
"You have to tell the elders."
I shake my head. "Can't. If I do that, Vincenzo starts killing the people I care about, starting with my grandma."
"Oh, this is bad," she says. "This is so very bad."
"Got that right. She's a great old lady."
"No, I mean, yes, but no, I was talking about that new boy—Josh."
"Why? What exactly do they have planned for him?"
"I don't know. I just know that he's the last of you new cousins to be born."
"There haven't been any others?" I say. "Really? I just thought kids had finally wised up and learned how to lay low."
"No, he's the last. That's got to mean something—right? Like why ever it was happening stopped because they finally got it right. Whatever right is." She frowns. "I'm sorry. That doesn't mean that you're—"
I wave a hand before she can finish. "It's okay. I get that I'm not part of the big picture."
"And being Mountain Lion Clan," Donalita adds. "That's a pretty big deal."
"Yeah? And why's that?"
She shrugs. "It just is. It's what everybody says."
So she doesn't know, either. If I had a filing cabinet in my head labelled "weird-ass crap I need to figure out," it just got a little fatter. Maybe it's time I got more serious about getting up to speed.
"So these everybodies," I say. "Do you think any of them know more than the others?"
"You mean about your friend?"
"Sure. But while we're at it, about Vincenzo, too. What's he get if Josh is dead, and why doesn't he want anybody to know he's behind it?"
"We could ask Auntie Min."
I shake my head. "Somebody who isn't an elder."
"You don't trust Auntie Min?" she asks, eyebrows raised.
"How about Cory?" I say, ignoring her question. "Do you know how to get in touch with him?"
"Cory? But he's coyote."
"Yeah, so?"
"They're the tricksiest of us all."
"Again—so what? If I'm going to trust you, why wouldn't I trust him?"
"Because he's killed people."
I think about her telling me how she'd like to throw Vincenzo into a pit and dance on his grave, but all I ask is, "And you wouldn't? If you had Vincenzo dead to rights, you're telling me you wouldn't pull the trigger?"
"I …"
She gets such a pained look on her face that I feel bad. She's a sweet kid—even if she's probably a few centuries older than me.
"You know," I tell her, "that wasn't fair. But the point is, if Cory's killed people, that doesn't automatically make him bad. Maybe they deserved it. Maybe he had no other choice."
She studies me for a moment, then smiles.
"You're not really a Big Stupid, are you?" she says.
I can't help but laugh. "How the hell would I know?"
She steps around to the back of the bike and climbs on behind me.
"Let's go talk to Cory," she says.
Josh
When I come around the corner, I see Ampora, Marina, Des and Julie facing off a half-dozen Kings across the street from the school. Juan grabs Marina and I sprint at Wildling speed—I don't care who sees me.
I straight-arm Juan and he goes stumbling, falling onto his back in the weeds and dirt. Marina takes a step toward him, but I put out my arm to stop her.
"Let me deal with this," I tell her.
"But—"
"Lookee, lookee," one of the other Kings says to me. "It's Chaingang's bitch."
"Yeah," another puts in. "It's so cute the way he got rid of his dreads. Guess he wants to look just like his boyfriend."
They all laugh. I recognize Gordo and Lil' Puppet from the other night when I shattered Trucho's shoulder. Then there's the guy they call Tiny, who's kind of like the Kings' version of Chaingang, except he's even bigger and he's got such a mean streak that everyone at school gives him a wide berth. I don't know the guy who just spoke or the skinny one standing beside him.
Juan gets up from the dirt, an open switchblade in his hand.
"Yeah, well," he says to me. "Chaingang isn't here, is he, ese?"
/> "You need to call Fat Joe, right now," I say.
"And you need to shut your mouth. I'm not calling the boss on the say-so of some little ass-licker."
"Then call Chico."
I see the confusion on the faces of Ampora and my friends. They think I'm nuts. But they weren't at the taquería.
"You on drugs?" Juan says. "I'm not calling nobody."
"Okay," I tell him. "Then this is on you. I'll make sure not to break your jaw so that when you're talking to your boss from your hospital bed, you can tell him we don't have a deal anymore."
He steps closer, threatening me with the knife. "What the hell are you talking about?"
I don't budge.
"You ready to start a war?" I ask him. "Because that's what you're doing here."
Juan flicks the knife toward where Marina and the others are standing.
"And is this your army, ese?" he asks. "It's going to be a short war."
"I don't need an army," I tell him.
"Maybe you should listen to him," Gordo says.
"Yeah," Lil' Puppet adds. "Doctors say Trucho might never be able to use his arm again."
I see the momentary uncertainty in Juan's eyes as he tries to match what his friends are telling him to the kid he sees standing in front of him.
"That was you?" he asks.
I don't bother answering. I'm trying to be calm about this so that it doesn't escalate into what happened at the taquería. But Juan's not ready to lose face.
"You think you can take me?" he asks.
I still don't respond. When he moves, it's fast and I'm not expecting it. The switchblade slashes at me and I dance back, but not quickly enough. The tip of the blade opens a shallow cut across my stomach. The sudden scent of my own blood again tears away my pretence of calm. My gaze fills with a film of red anger.
Before I realize what I'm doing, I grab his arm as the blade comes back for a second slash. With a hard snap of my wrist I break the bones in his forearm. The switchblade falls from his limp grip and goes clattering along the pavement. I give Juan another shove and he cries out with pain when he lands on his broken arm.
For a long moment nobody moves, then Tiny charges me.
"Audience," I hear Marina say.
She's speaking softly, but the word cuts through my rage and I understand the warning. She means that we've got an audience of students gathering to watch the fight from a safe distance. So instead of tearing into Tiny the way I want to, I dart up close. Before his big hands can grab me, I punch him in the solar plexus with all my Wildling strength.
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