Nevernever
Page 2
Two steps brought me from a bright and busy room to a dark and quiet street. The nearest buildings were skull-like ruins. The sky was cloudy, hiding the stars. The moon was a misty sliver from a silver coin. Godmom’s windows threw two large squares of light onto the sidewalk, but that light only reached a few feet into the night.
The air smelled of wood smoke, roasted meat, and fried vegetables from Godmom’s kitchen, and, under that, something clean and damp that meant rain within a few hours. Odors of dog shit and cat piss told me what animals had been by recently, but there were older scents from the droppings of other creatures, too: raccoons, rabbits, birds, humans, even a horse or a mule.
A little music and conversation came through Godmom’s front door. A little more came from the clubs and warehouse theaters several blocks away, near Ho Street. A dog howled somewhere, and I was tempted to answer, just to say, You’re not alone, there’s someone else awake, helping the moon watch over the world.
A couple of bikes sped by. The spellbox powering the first sounded like a gasoline engine, smelled like one too. Among the bikes of Bordertown, it was not especially distinctive.
I stared at the second, which had no wheels. I had heard of Dead Warlocks, suicidal show-offs who race floating bikes through a city where magic doesn’t always work. I had never seen one before. This one’s engine smelled like cinnamon and sounded like the spaceships in those movies where no one knows or cares that there’s no sound in outer space. I watched it pass and wondered what drove anyone into choosing to live like that.
If I hadn’t been so interested in the Dead Warlock, whom I never saw again, I might’ve paid more attention to the first bike. It had a sidecar, which is rare in Bordertown. Its driver and passenger both wore full-coverage helmets, dark and glistening like the bike. The passenger turned a blank faceplate toward me when they rode by. I waved. As the bike turned onto another street, the passenger lifted a gloved hand in reply.
Grinning, I watched them go. From the alley behind me came a small voice. “You should get a bike, Woofboy.”
I turned. Under all the smells of the street lay a trace of peppermint soap that I should’ve recognized.
“You wou’n’t have to worry about takin’ care of it, once you got one. I’d help. An’ it wouldn’t have to be a big bike, either. It could be a little, ugly bike no one would ever want to steal. You could teach me to drive, an’ we could make trips into the Nevernever on it. It’d be stone cool. Don’t you think?”
I crooked my finger for her to come closer.
“I di’n’t mean to follow you,” Florida said, stepping nearer. “Not all the way here, anyway.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Well, okay. I jus’ wanted to see how your date went.”
I bared my teeth. I must’ve told her twenty times that this wasn’t a date.
“Sparks is nice, huh?”
I nodded resignedly and pointed away, toward the Mock Avenue clock tower and the bookstore called Elsewhere.
“Do I gotta?”
I sighed, picked up a rock, and scrawled on a square of cement lit by Godmom’s window: DATE FINE. WINDOW PEEPER NOT. GO HOME.
I heard Godmom’s door open behind me, but I was still scratching a third line under HOME. As Florida nodded, someone said, “What you doin’ with one of ours, fairy lapdog?”
I recognized the Packers by the smell of their leather jackets and the sound of their leader’s voice. Before I could straighten up, one of them shoved me hard, rolling me toward the alley where Florida stood.
“Trying to steal a human child?” That was the skinny black Packer. His head seemed too small for his body, an effect exaggerated by his height and his slicked-down hair.
Florida started forward. “Ron!”
The leader stepped between Florida and me. “’S all right, kid. That thing won’t—” She yelled in surprise and pain. Florida drew her Bowie knife back, ready to jab the Packer’s other buttock.
I roared, “’O!” and charged forward. I meant it as a yell of No! to Florida. No one understood me. The other Packers, the skinny guy and Gorty, tackled me, pinning me on the street.
The leader caught Florida’s shoulder and yanked her forward, saying, “Why’re you protecting that— Oh.”
Florida stood near me in a square of light. She held the Bowie knife in front of her with both hands. Its sheath hung from a beaded belt wrapped twice around her waist.
A moment earlier, she could’ve been any little kid in dirty jeans, a baggy T-shirt reading home is where the art is, and a shapeless multicolored cotton hat. Now the hat had slipped to one side, and her short, dyed brown hair did not hide her silver eyes or her pointed ears.
The Packers’ leader touched her own butt, looked at the blood on her fingers, then looked at Florida. “We’re too late. It’s a changeling.”
Florida, keeping the knife in front of her, said, “That’s stupid.”
The leader stepped toward her. “Drop the knife, and we won’t hurt you.”
“Jus’ go away.”
The leader smiled. “What, you want to make us hurt you? I don’t understand elves.” She took another step closer.
The other two still held me. Since I hadn’t resisted, they watched the contest for the Bowie knife. Florida waved it at the leader, saying, “I mean it! Ge’ back! I’ll stick you hard this time!”
I twisted and rolled free. Gorty yelled, “Hey!” lunged for me, and missed. I pushed him into the skinny guy, who called, “It’s loose! Watch out!”
The leader looked over her shoulder. I ignored her and ran to stand by Florida.
The leader shrugged. “So, Fido, you want to do this the hard way?” Her hand was back in her jacket pocket, and she smiled, scared and cocky. Then I realized who she looked like. She looked like one of my cousins, Maria or Lupe.
I glanced up at Godmom’s windows. Several diners were laughing loudly, without any idea that anything might be happening in the street.
I shook my head.
“Good. Give us the knife, and we’ll let you go. Is that a deal, or what?”
I had a theory why the Packer had started this. I’d frightened her when I’d sauntered into Godmom’s. Now she wanted to prove to herself that she had never been frightened at all.
I held my hand out to Florida. She looked at me. I nodded. Biting her lower lip, Florida set the handle of her Bowie into my palm.
“That’s more like it,” said the Pack leader.
“Yeah,” said Gorty. “That’s more like it.” His patter hadn’t improved since he’d left the Strange Pups.
The leader reached for Florida’s knife. I drew it up by my ear, and she ducked. I brought it down fast and released it, sending it spinning past the Packer and into my target, Godmom’s wooden front door.
It would’ve been more impressive if it’d stuck there. The handle banged the door once, loudly, and the knife clattered onto the stoop. A moment later, fifteen or twenty faces were pressed against Godmom’s windows. A moment after that, kids came pouring into the street. The first four were elves in red leather.
“What’s this, then?” said one.
“A little fun with friends from Faerie?” asked another, the only one smiling.
“We can improve the game,” said a third, a girl as tall as any of the guys.
“Or end it,” said a fourth. A switchblade dropped into his hand.
Before he thumbed it open, Sparks pushed through the crowd and past him, her eyes wide, her breathing fast. She looked at me, then at Florida, then at the elf with the blade, and said, “Listen, don’t do this. It’s stupid.”
Florida nodded. “That’s what I said.”
“Do what?” said the fourth True Blood. “Have we done anything?” His unopened switchblade was still in his hand.
“No,” said Godmom, a backlit figure in her doorway. “There’s coffee and cheesecake for everyone willing to keep it that way.”
“You think—” one of the elves began.
The Trues looked at each other. One said, “Cheesecake is good.”
The others nodded. The switchblade had disappeared.
The Packer looked at her buddies, then said, “We thought the girl was in trouble.”
“Yeah,” said Gorty, who must have had a parrot for a parent. “We thought the girl was in trouble.”
“We didn’t know she’s an elf,” said the black Packer. “They tricked us.”
Godmom looked from the Packers to me. “Did you?”
I shook my head.
Florida said, “Woofboy’s my friend.” She indicated the Packers. “They think elves’d steal human kids and substitute elf kids for ‘em. How stupid can you get?”
The leader of the Packers winced. Looking at me, she said, “If you set us up, dog meat—”
I held my hands out wide and shook my head. The Packer just glared.
Sparks blinked at Florida’s dyed hair and said, “Florida?”
Florida grinned. “Yeah. Hi, Sparks.”
Gorty gaped at her. “Flor—”
Florida frowned. “I ‘member you, Gorty. Why’d you jump us?”
“I—” Gorty looked at me. “I went after that thing. I didn’t go after you.”
“You hurt my friend, you hurt me.”
Gorty looked at his hands. The Packer leader tapped Gorty’s shoulder, then began to limp into Godmom’s, following the crowd.
Sparks saw the dark stain on the back of the leader’s black jeans and said, “You’re bleeding!”
The Packer nodded. “It’s a human thing.”
Sparks said, “I’ve got a friend who’s a doc. You don’t want to risk an infection.”
The Packer stopped at the door. “Let me get this straight. You expect me to pass on cheesecake so more people can poke things in my ass?”
Florida giggled. Sparks said, “After the cheesecake?”
The Packer looked from her to Florida, then back to Sparks. “After the cheesecake.”
Chapter 2—Magic Rules!
The Packers ate Godmom’s free dessert at their table. The leader perched on the edge of her chair with one leg straight out before her but otherwise didn’t seem to be bothered by her wound. She laughed with Gorty and the skinny guy and never caught me watching her.
At our table, Sparks ate chocolate ripple cheesecake, Florida ate plain with strawberries, and I ate plain, plain. While I wondered whether Florida thought this was what dates were supposed to be like, she and Sparks talked about people we’d all known during our Castle Pup days.
Sparks told us, “Rave—Star Raven—and Durward returned to the World. They want to see if they can sell artwork from the Borderlands. I don’t know why, but I don’t think they’ll be coming back.”
I nodded; I thought I knew why. People who decide to chase money rarely decide to stay in Bordertown, and they never decide to stay in Soho. I also knew Sparks understood that, so I didn’t try to write anything for her.
She said, “King O’Beer and Jeff are still together and taking free classes at the University Without Floors.”
I nodded again. It’s always good to hear that people you like are happy.
Florida said, “They’re nice. Jeff told me to read Half Magic. It’s funny.”
Sparks scraped the last of her cheesecake off the bottom of her plate with her finger, then licked the finger clean. “What about you guys?”
Before I could write anything, Florida said, “Ron an’ I’re living at Elsewhere now. We might have to move, ‘cause Mickey and Goldy broke up, an’ neither of ‘em wants to run the store without the other.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. About Mickey and Goldy, and about Elsewhere.”
“Yeah,” Florida said firmly. “Mickey might sell it. Goldy’s a bouncer at Danceland with Strider and Sai now, and I miss him.” Before Sparks or I could do or say anything, Florida laughed. “Everyone calls them the Terrible Trio. Pretty funny, huh?”
Sparks glanced at me and grinned. “Yep, pretty funny.”
“Did you hear Wiseguy had her baby?”
Sparks shook her head.
Florida nodded. “His name’s Mooner Ronald Uriel-Green. He’s got brown skin like Wiseguy, and pointed ears an’ silver eyes like Leander. He’s beautiful.”
I sipped coffee and listened to them talk and thought about friendships and time and vaguely sad things, the sort of things you think about when you’re trying to decide whether you want to get romantically involved with a pal when you’re also attracted to someone who just tried to beat you up in the street.
Which is better than thinking about whether you want to get romantically involved with anyone when you’re a monster.
Which is better than thinking about whether you want to get romantically involved with anyone when you’re a seventeen-year-old virgin and everyone else in the world who’s your age seems to have been having sex for years.
Watching Sparks, I wished I could decide who I wanted her to be. She noticed me watching and smiled, quickly and shyly. I smiled back and decided not to decide anything yet.
When the waiters began stacking the chairs and mopping the floor, we got the hint. I paid our bill with a handful of old coins, leaving extra for the waiter I’d scared.
The Packers exited without us, but Sparks ran into the street, calling, “Hey, c’mon! My friend’ll fix you better than new in a couple of minutes. Isn’t far.”
I winced, because life would be simpler if she let the Packers go their way. Then I smiled, thinking Sparks was the sort who’d always be taking home strays. Then I winced again, wondering what she thought I was.
Sparks stopped about fifteen feet ahead of Florida and me; the Packers stopped ten feet beyond her, about to get on their bikes. Another bike rolled by on the street, and the beam from its headlamp swept across them. The city was wet from a shower that’d fallen while we all ate dessert. It looked like the Making-Streets-Look-Like-It’s-Rained trucks had prepared the stage set.
(That’s kind of a joke, for a couple of reasons. Video almost never works in Bordertown. Photography isn’t much more dependable—if you manage to develop your film, it hardly ever shows what you thought you’d shot. Magic doesn’t like some kinds of technology. Don’t hold your breath for a Bordertown show every week on TV.
(And it’s kind of a joke because if you look at the world right—or maybe, wrong—everything’s a set. You get to decide whether you’re a star, a villain, a supporting character, or a walk-on.
(Okay, maybe I should’ve warned you that you can skip paragraphs that’re in parentheses. Here’s the deal: I won’t waste words on weather and landscape, and you’ll tolerate my occasional attacks of motormouth, so long as they’re plainly marked.)
It was only after the bike had gone by that I noticed it, dark and gleaming, with a passenger in its sidecar who looked back at us until we’d disappeared into each other’s horizon. I thought it was a coincidence, seeing the same people twice on the same night. But this was Bordertown, where there are many coincidences, or none, depending on how you look at it.
“Well,” said the Pack leader. The three looked at each other, then the leader glanced back at us. “Who’s this doc?”
“Milo Chevrolet.”
The leader’s eyes went wide. “I don’t think my butt needs major magicking.”
“C’mon,” Sparks said. “You don’t want to let a knife cut go till morning. Not when there’s an easy alternative.”
“Well...”
“It’s free. He likes company.”
The leader nodded. “Okay. I’m Taz.” She jerked her chin at Gorty, then at the skinny Packer. “Gorty says he met a couple of you already. Mr. Smoothtalk beside him is Q. Paul.”
“Yeah,” said Gorty, looking at one of the bikes.
“Happening,” said Q. Paul, grinn
ing at Sparks.
Sparks said, “Sparks, Florida.” She looked at me, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking as she added, “Wolfboy.”
Gorty jerked a thumb at me. “I’ve seen my share of strangeness out of Faerie, but nothing like Wolf-face there.”
I put a hand on Florida’s shoulder and gave him my toothiest grin.
Gorty shivered. “I dunno, Taz—”
“That’s true,” she said. “We like you anyway. Hey, it’s my butt on the line.”
Florida said, “You were tryin’ t’ hurt Woofboy.” She put her hand on her Bowie knife. “He wasn’t tryin’ t’ hurt you.”
Q. Paul laughed. “Little lady, when you’ve put on ten years and fifty pounds, you come carry me off to Faerie, hear?”
“Humans can’t cross the Border.” Florida spoke with the exasperation of explaining what everyone knows.
“Not by themselves.” Gorty looked at me. “Keeps you safe. But you can cross when you want, steal our women, take our kids.”
I probably would’ve said something like You’ve got a problem with elves ‘cause you can’t get a girlfriend? Sparks just said, “Where’re you from, Gorty?”
By Bordertown standards, that’s a rude question; your past belongs to the World or Faerie. Gorty glanced at her. “Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada. Why?”
“Why didn’t you head for Toronto or New York?”
“I went to Toronto. If the first thing someone says about a place is it’s clean, it’s stone dull.”
“If you hate elves, why come to Bordertown?”
Gorty stabbed a finger at the street. “’Cause this is ours! Humans built this city!” He glared at me. “I’ve got more right to it than any of you!”
I stared, thinking he’d back down. His hand plunged into his pocket, but Taz slapped it away, saying, “I can’t take you anywhere.”
Q. Paul said, “Gorty’s heart is good, man. He’s more the Scarecrow than the Tin Man.”
Florida squinted at me. I made a mental note to borrow a copy of The Wizard of Oz from Elsewhere’s shelves for her.
Sparks said, “The elves say this was theirs, before. Now they’ve returned, it’s theirs again.”