Nevernever

by Will Shetterly

  Gorty gaped at her. “You got to be kidding.”

  “Nah. It’d be way fine.”

  Gorty shook his head. “Freak City.” When I looked at him, he added, “Nothing personal, Rover.”

  Taz said, “Who’s not from Freak City? Best to be the freak unique.”

  Q. Paul said quietly, “A lone wolf hasn’t got a pack, Taz.”

  I clapped to get their attention, then tilted my head, rolled my eyes upward, and held out my open hands in exasperation.

  Taz said, “Okay, El Lobo, we’ll stop talking about you in front of you. Right?”

  Gorty and Q. Paul shrugged and nodded.

  Milo opened the front door. “Sure you don’t want a ride around the lot before you go? I just bought the Mustang from someone who found it in a basement garage. It’s a ‘sixty-three, so it fishtails some, but—”

  Sparks kissed him on the cheek. “It really is late, Milo. Thanks.”

  I followed her out the front door. The halogen lights slew my night vision, but on the breeze I smelled hot metal, gasoline exhaust, and a dash of burned oil.

  And none of Milo’s cars had been driven recently.

  I turned on the pad of my foot, bumping Florida in the doorway and sweeping her back into Milo Chevrolet’s home. The others stared. All I could do was waggle one hand in reassurance.

  Sparks stood exposed in the open lot. “What’s wrong? Forget something?”

  I nodded quite calmly and beckoned for her to return. She shrugged and came back. I pulled the door shut behind her.

  Milo looked expectant as I scribbled. That changed to disappointment when he read, WHERE BACK DOOR?

  “This is a trick question, right? It’s in the back. You want—”

  I nodded.

  Milo looked at Sparks, who shrugged. Gorty asked, “This have anything to do with us?”

  I shook my head.

  “Good.” He reached for the front door. “Let’s ride.”

  Taz shook her head. “Nothing but sleep waiting back at the flat.”

  Q. Paul said, “Too true. Who’s out there?”

  I shrugged.

  “But someone is.”

  I nodded.

  “You know what they want?”

  I thought I did, but I shrugged again.

  Milo said, “If you’d like to know who you’re fleeing, I have a pair of military-spec Night Peepers with a two-hundred times zoom.”

  I smiled. Milo smiled back. It was the first real clue that we could like each other a lot if we didn’t do anything stupid like fight over Sparks.

  Gorty said, “If you’ve got any ground-to-ground missiles among the army surplus, we could solve a lot of problems.”

  “Ooh,” said Q. Paul. “You be the target?”

  Milo had disappeared behind some shelves. Florida stood nearby, watching me solemnly. I made a circle with my thumb and forefinger, and she nodded. “’S okay, Woofboy.”

  Sparks said, “If you’d let us know what’s going on—”

  I nodded, but as I reached for my notebook, Milo reappeared with a heavy old pair of Night Peepers. I motioned for patience, balanced the Peepers awkwardly on my nose, and looked through them into the street.

  As the Wolf, I see shapes and motion better at night than I used to. But looking through the Peepers was like looking into a grayscale monitor—the world existed in 128 distinct shades. Textures and shadows were impossibly crisp. In the far wall, I saw each pit in the surface of the bricks, each swirl in the mortar.

  I zoomed out and panned the street. A tailor shop and a barbershop had windows like steel walls; there was no light within them for the 2Peepers to magnify. A couple of cars were parked on the street, but they were rusty, wheel-less hulks from before the Change. A cluster of bikes were parked in front of an apartment building that some gang had reclaimed, but no one stood around them. The apartment building was as dark as the shops near it.

  In the alley between the apartments and the tailor’s was a familiar dark motorcycle with sidecar. Its driver and its passenger had removed their helmets to watch Milo Chevrolet’s place.

  I zoomed in. The driver was a female elf with short, pale hair and a wry smile. Her passenger was a male human, dark haired, with sharp features that almost made him look elfin. He stared at Milo Chevrolet’s windows as if he could see me. He didn’t smile at all. His eyebrows were drawn together in concentration or pain.

  I handed the Peepers to Milo. I’d seen the human the day before, at Elsewhere. He’d bought some books, but I couldn’t remember the titles. One had been the autobiography of a detective that had a cover like a how-to book. Maybe the kid was tailing us for homework.

  Everyone was staring at me. I wrote, 2 KIDS—RODE BY GODMOM’S EARLIER. IN THE ALLEY, WATCHING US.

  Q. Paul said, “We didn’t do anything to ‘em.”

  Gorty said, “We could, though.”

  Taz sighed. “Give it a rest, guys.”

  I wrote, MAYBE THEY PICKED US AT RANDOM, TO FOLLOW FOR A LARK. I didn’t believe that.

  Taz said, “Let me look.” She stared through the Night Peepers, then said, “Cute guy.”

  “Yeah?” Sparks accepted the Peepers from Taz. “Yeah.”

  Milo, a bit irritated, took the Peepers and studied the watchers. “He looks like a hundred kids you’d see on Ho Street. She’s cute, though.”

  “Yeah?” said Gorty, grabbing the Peepers. “Oh. An elf.” He continued to stare. “I’ve seen ‘em somewhere.”

  Q. Paul said, “My turn?”

  “Oh, right.” Gorty gave him the Peepers.

  Q. Paul whistled. “Ah. The Finder.”

  I glanced at Florida. She had her nose against the window as she stared into the lot. She was rubbing her left shoulder with her right hand, but her face was calm. My heart Bungee-jumped.

  “The wha’?” said Gorty.

  Q. Paul said, “Didi pointed him out at Homegirl’s, remember?”

  I tapped his shoulder and took back the Peepers. In the alley, the human kid was frowning and shaking his head; a lock of dark hair moved across his forehead. The elf touched his shoulder, but he shook her hand off, almost angrily. She smiled that tolerant elven smile that could mean anything, and they continued to watch Milo’s lot.

  I gave the Peepers to Florida. She looked into the alley, then said, “I dunno’em, Woofboy. Friends?”

  I held up one hand and waggled it from side to side.

  Gorty snapped his fingers. “The Finder! Yeah. What a racket.”

  “What’s he find?” asked Sparks. “Besides girls’ hearts?”

  Taz snorted a laugh, said, “Stuff. If you can’t find something and you’ve got trading goods, they say he can help sometimes. Or will help. I don’t know which.”

  Q. Paul said, “Didi said a friend of a friend lost her dog once, and he found ‘im right away.”

  Gorty grunted. “Guy prob’ly swiped the dog in the first place. Didn’t the elf have some racket, too?”

  Q. Paul grinned. “Yes! Finder and Fixer.” He frowned. “But what’s she s’posed to fix?”

  Sparks said, “What he finds?”

  No one answered that. Milo said, “Still want the back door? I could turn off the yard lights if you’d rather go by the front.”

  I wrote, COULD YOU SEE FLORIDA BACK TO ELSEWHERE? and showed it to Sparks.

  Florida peeked from behind her to read it and said, “Hey, no way!”

  I wrote, YES WAY.

  Florida said, “I c’n get home by myself just fine.”

  I shook my head and wrote, IS IMPORTANT. STRIDER WOULD AGREE.

  She glanced up at me when she read Strider’s name. I growled quietly, “I’ o’ay.”

  She said, “Really okay?”

  I shrugged, then nodded tentatively, then cocked my head to one side to say, MAYBE. I THINK SO.

  “Where’re you going?”

  About the only thing I know about dealing with kids is you should never lie to them. I pointed toward the wa
tchers in the alley.

  Florida said, “I’m comin’.”

  I wrote, HAVE I EVER ASKED FOR A FAVOR?

  She shook her head.

  I wrote, GOOD. GO WITH SPARKS.

  She said, “Woofboy, that’s a totally stupid fa—”

  I clasped my hands together and rolled my eyes upward.

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  Sparks flicked her eyes at Florida and asked me, “They’re after her? Why—”

  I shrugged again. Florida said, “I’ll go with you, Sparks. You don’ want to be alone if those’re bad people.”

  Sparks looked at me, then looked back at Florida and nodded. The favors were piling up fast.

  Florida said, “Be careful, Woofboy. I’ll tell Mickey you’ll be back soon. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  Sparks said, “R— Wolfboy, what’re you planning?”

  TO FOLLOW THE FOLLOWERS FOR A CHANGE. THAT’S ALL.

  After reading it, she passed that note to the others.

  “That’s all?” said Gorty. “Shoot, let’s go out, grab ‘em, and make ‘em talk.”

  I shook my head. MIGHT GET AWAY. IF THEY TALKED, COULD WE BELIEVE THEM? LET THEM SHOW WHAT THEY’RE UP TO.

  Milo said, “You want to scare them away?”

  I wrote, & NEED WAY TO FOLLOW THEM.

  “Easy,” Taz said. “Ride with me.”

  I blinked at her. When Sparks had agreed to take Florida home, I’d felt a twinge of relief that was only partly about Florida. I’d thought it meant that for another day at least, I wouldn’t have to worry any more about what Mickey calls “the whole hearts-and-groins thing.”

  Taz just shrugged. “Night’s young. Why break up the party?”

  MAYBE THEY’RE BIKE THIEVES. YOURS WOULD SELL FOR A FAIR BIT.

  Taz lifted an eyebrow as if she’d watched too much “Star Trek” as a kid. “They would’ve made a try for it by now.”

  I JUST DON’T WANT ANYONE HURT FOR SOME BRAIN-DEAD IDEA I HAD.

  Taz grinned. “You spoiled our fun once already. You owe us.”

  I looked at Sparks, who smiled helplessly.

  •

  We made our plan then. Here’s how it went:

  Florida and Sparks waited in Milo’s home, ready to scoot out the back a few minutes after we went out the front. I explained that by saying the watchers might not’ve spotted everyone, and there was no point in giving them a second look at anyone till we knew what they were up to.

  At the door, Florida hugged me. Sparks gave me a kiss on the cheek. I caught the tail end of almost everyone’s reaction to that: Gorty seemed annoyed, as if he didn’t think any human should be kissing me. Milo seemed interested and annoyed, as if this was more data for a problem that he had thought was already solved. Q. Paul seemed interested and amused, as if he wondered about his chances with Sparks and displays of affection made him grin. Taz just seemed amused; I couldn’t guess why.

  At the last minute, Sparks said, “You’ve got to let me know how this ends, you know.”

  “Big ditto,” said Florida.

  I nodded, then Milo, Gorty, Q. Paul, Taz, and I sauntered out under the halogen lights. Milo was saying something technical about his cars. I think Taz was the only one who understood him, and she didn’t seem to be paying close attention. We were all avoiding looking into the alley.

  Realizing that, I looked into the alley. The Finder and the Fixer were still there, motionless in the darkness. I glanced away before they could know I’d seen them.

  Milo slid behind the wheel of the biggest vehicle on the lot, a black Roadmaster, a tank of a car that looked like it should have had gangsters with tommy guns leaning out its windows and crouching on its running boards. The three Packers and I strolled over to their bikes.

  The watchers had to know something was happening, but they couldn’t know if we were planning to race around Milo’s lot or drive someplace interesting. They would certainly be getting ready to ride, whatever we did. That was part of the plan.

  Milo waited until Q. Paul and Taz put on their helmets. The Roadmaster started immediately and idled with a tiger’s purr. Milo pulled into the center of the parking lot, pointing his grille toward the street. The rest of us had mounted by then. Taz, in front of me, nodded once.

  Milo revved his engine, a dragon’s roar, and popped on the headlights. The beams carved a path for the Roadmaster, straight through the lot, across the street, and into the alley, where a human kid gaped and an elf looked very grim.

  Milo dropped the motor into gear. I saw his face lit from beneath by the dashboard lights: He wore a tight, determined grin. That made sense. He was about to test two extremely different skills.

  The Roadmaster leaped like a panther after prey. Trapped in its headlights, the human kid started to rise, as if he was going to abandon the sidecar and run. Then the elf stood and kicked the bike’s starter. The human dropped back into the sidecar. He had more faith in his partner than I would’ve.

  As the Roadmaster’s engine crossed the edge of Milo’s lot, it coughed and died. The headlights went blind. But nothing altered the Roadmaster’s direction or momentum: It was crossing First Avenue at something like seventy kilometers an hour, aimed at the mouth of the alley. The watchers’ choices were to drive forward to meet it or race backward to escape it—but Milo had said the alley dead-ended in less than thirty meters.

  Just as I began to imagine the Roadmaster rolling into the alley while people screamed and metal crashed, the watchers’ bike whipped into the street. The shriek of its spellbox filled a vacuum of sound. The elf and the human leaned into a tight turn within inches of the Roadmaster’s front bumper. I wanted to close my eyes but couldn’t.

  Maybe Milo used magic to slow the car at the last moment. Maybe the elf was as fast as we’d hoped she’d be. The Roadmaster’s bumper kissed the elf’s back tire, making her slew sideways. Then her wheels gripped the road, and she shot toward Soho.

  “Ee-hah!” Gorty yelled. His Kawasaki was first from the lot. Q. Paul grinned and followed.

  Taz said, “Hold like it’s true love,” and we chased the screaming engines into the night.

  Since there was nothing to do after that except worry, I worried. I worried that we were doing what the watchers wanted: while we chased them, someone could grab Sparks and Florida from the street as they made their way home. I worried that we shouldn’t be doing anything at all. I worried that we were following the best plan, but the Packers and I were the worst choices to carry it out.

  Then I told myself we were the only available choices to carry it out. Odd how that thought wasn’t comforting.

  Taz and I fell farther behind Q. Paul and Gorty until we were a full block back from them, maybe three blocks behind the kids we were chasing. The Fixer turned onto Market Street. As soon as they were out of sight, Taz mumbled something. Our lights shut down, and so did the sound of our engine.

  We rolled silently through Soho’s dark streets. At Market, we turned too. Gorty and Q. Paul’s taillights were bright before us. Taz brought her Moto Guzzi’s throttle back full, and we raced ahead. The streets outside of Soho are kept better than the ones within. On smooth pavement, our only sound was the wind we made as we rode.

  The Fixer knew Bordertown well or was very lucky. None of the alleys she took came to dead ends; none of the streets held impassable pits or makeshift walls. After the fifth turn, her lights disappeared.

  I thought we’d lost her, but Gorty, in the lead, turned decisively. We followed. As he passed Riverview, he blinked his taillights once, and he and Q. Paul rocketed onward. Taz and I turned onto Riverview.

  We couldn’t muffle the sound we made knifing through the wind or, firmly announcing our return to Soho, bumping over potholes and rubble. Neither could the Fixer and the Finder. Their noise should’ve made it impossible for them to hear ours. Unfortunately, the reverse was true.

  I tapped Taz’s shoulder twice. She slowed. I listened. Something moved in the distance. I
tapped her again. We shot forward. I tried not to wonder how good Taz’s night vision was.

  Seeing a black shape moving in the road, I tapped Taz twice again. My eyes were probably better than the Finder’s, unless he had Night Peepers, and might be better than the elf’s, but there was no point in taking chances.

  And no need. I had their odor now: the petrochemical smell of their bike, the leather smell of their jackets, the wildflower scent that one of them wore. I grinned, and I only stopped because I imagined my teeth reflecting light from the occasional bright window. It would look like some demonic canine relative of the Cheshire Cat was flying through Bordertown’s streets.

  The Finder and Fixer stopped in front of a two-story townhouse in Soho. Taz and I waited a block back until they’d entered. Then I hopped off the bike, made a Stay! motion at Taz, and ran forward.

  I was thinking about what lay ahead when I realized that Taz was riding beside me. I made a Shoo! motion, and she whispered, “I’ll wait at the next corner. How many minutes?”

  I rolled my eyes, then held up both hands with all of my fingers splayed wide.

  She nodded. “Good. I’ve got a short attention span.”

  A light went on in the second floor of the building that the Finder and the Fixer had entered. I leaped onto the wall and climbed up. My claws sounded loud to me as I jammed my fingertips into the cracks between the bricks, but then, so did my heart.

  I hesitated by the window, thinking, Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a— Then I heard an elf say, “Clearly, my understanding is more limited than I’d thought.”

  “Oh?”

  I peeked over the sill. The Finder sat at a table cluttered with magazines, books, loose sheets of paper, a couple of apples in a wicker bowl, and a shiny silver toaster with its cord wrapped about itself. His face was cradled in his hands.

  “Yes.” The Fixer handed him a mug and kept one for herself, then filled them both from a metal thermos. “I thought that when you follow someone, your quarry is supposed to stay in front of you.”

  “Oh, all right, we’ll try it that way next time.” He sniffed the mug and straightened up. “Ah! The staff of life.”

  “Espresso beans, m’lad,” the Fixer said. “That staff will drub a good deal of life into you.” She sat across from him, picked up the toaster, smiled, and set it aside. “Found what appears to be cream in your icebox. You try it first.”