Nevernever

by Will Shetterly

  “No dummy, he spots a major case of mistaken identity and, proving he’s no dummy, comes to me. I spy a bit of the truth right off. In Faerie, I heard rumors: an heir born with three moles in a triangle on one shoulder. But the heir’s missing, no one knows its name, sex, or hiding place, and there are whispers about assassins—”

  “You speak of the distant past,” Crystaviel said.

  “Well, if your memory can still reach a few hours into this evening,” Strider said, “I decide we should set these kids straight before life gets too complicated for me good bud. No one’s home when we arrive, so we settle in. ‘Magine our surprise when you stroll through the door. It’s Old Home Week.”

  “Why the ride around town before you came here?”

  Strider smiled. “You’re the ones playing hide-and-seek. Just thought we’d give you a last bit of fun before the game was over.”

  “Is it over?” asked Ice Hair.

  Strider shrugged.

  Crystaviel looked at him and said nothing, then gave me the same treatment. She reached into her jacket pocket, and I tensed. She pulled out a bulky leather bag and slapped it into Orient’s hand. As he began to open its drawstrings, Crystaviel turned on her heel and left the apartment.

  “See you!” Strider called.

  Ice Hair smiled at him. “Yes. You shall.” Then he followed, and the silent goons trailed him.

  Orient whistled once. His palm was full of golden coins.

  “We didn’t break anything,” Sai said.

  Tick-Tick nodded, almost disappointedly.

  “We just wanted—” Sai began.

  Tick-Tick said, “To show them how wrong they’d been to suspect your friend. Which you did.”

  Orient looked at me. “Sorry about—” He made a circle with his hand, and I shrugged.

  Sai handed two Danceland passes to Tick-Tick, who frowned, then smiled. “Ah yes. Wild Hunt’s playing next month. Thanks.”

  “It’s late,” Strider announced.

  “Early,” said Orient, looking out at the lightening sky. He looked at Tick-Tick. “French toast in the Renaissance?”

  She shook her head, said, “Scrambled eggs at the Hard Luck,” studied us, then said, “Join us?”

  “Maybe some other time,” Strider said.

  “On us,” said Orient. “Since we inconvenienced you.”

  “Faerie gold,” said Tick-Tick. “Have to spend it before it turns into sticks and leaves.”

  Almost everyone laughed: Crystaviel’s gold was almost certainly good. That is, if she expected to keep a decent reputation in Bordertown.

  Strider looked at Sai, who nodded and looked at me.

  I smiled, shook my head, then turned my head to one side to lay it on a pillow that I made with my hands.

  “Gotcha,” said Orient.

  “Some other time,” said Tick-Tick.

  •

  We headed into the street. It wasn’t dawn yet, not properly. The air was clean and damp with dew. To the east, the night sky was rimmed in a paler shade of blue. I heard birds calling, “Wake up, wake up, it’s a beautiful day; let’s all go out and eat some worms.”

  “Need a ride?” asked Sai.

  I shook my head. I love Bordertown in the early morning, when it belongs to the few who are still awake or just rising, and Elsewhere was only a ten- or fifteen-minute walk away.

  Sai told Strider, “You can drive the Batcycle.”

  He blinked and stared at her.

  “It’s cold. ‘Sides, this way I can snuggle.” She got on behind him and gave him a tight squeeze. “Scratch the paint, you die horribly.”

  Tick-Tick told Orient, “Don’t get any ideas about who drives this bike.”

  Orient hopped into the sidecar. “At this time of the morning? It’s a perfect vacuum up there.”

  I looked at my hands. At times like these, I wanted a chalkboard. I just lifted one hand to wave.

  As Strider started the Batcycle, Sai called, “Hey, Wolfboy, there’s someone at the University Without Floors teaching sign. I was thinking about going. Interested?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Florida said she thought it’d be fun. We could talk even when the music’s cranked to eleven.”

  Strider said, “Be careful.” He meant that Crystaviel was going to wonder why her efforts to track the heir kept bringing her into contact with me, and now with Strider, too.

  Everyone waved, and they disappeared around the corner. The smell of their exhausts dissipated. Since their engines were only cranked loud enough to warn people in the street they were coming, that sound faded as quickly as the smell. The city was entirely my own.

  The Mock Avenue Tower chimed the hour, which didn’t mean anything—it rang thirteen. I wasn’t the only one up. A skateboarder rolled by and nodded cautiously at me. Far away, someone was playing the violin, some energetic and melancholy tune.

  A couple of blocks from Orient’s pad, six or seven dogs came out of an alley. Dogs never know what to make of me. I held out my hand, and they sniffed it, and sniffed the rest of me, deciding I was okay. I was down on all fours, horsing (dogging?) around with them, when I heard a bike approach.

  Taz said, “Should’ve known. Leader of the pack.”

  I stood up. The dogs circled me, wondering if their new friend had an enemy.

  “Saw a whole bunch of elves leave the Finder’s place. They didn’t look happy.”

  I shook my head and smiled.

  “They going to be after you anymore?”

  I lifted both hands in helplessness, then turned my head slowly from side to side.

  “Just ‘cause you’re different.” She spit to one side.

  I shrugged.

  “That elf and that halfie stick up for you?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” One of the dogs, some kind of shepherd mix, was by her leg, so she patted it, then laughed. “Those damn Torches never did catch up to me. I led ‘em down by the river and ditched ‘em.”

  I stepped closer and gripped her shoulder once, then released it.

  “Listen,” she said. “You want to go somewhere?”

  Maybe that didn’t mean anything more than it seemed to. That was one thought that sped through my mind, and another was, Yes, I would love to go somewhere private with this strong girl and do my very best to see that one thing leads to another.

  Then I told myself I was reading too much into her question. I was reading everything into it. I thought she couldn’t be interested in me since I was a wolf kid. I thought she was interested in me because I was a wolf kid. I thought I could put up with that.

  And then I remembered Florida. She may not have made it back to Elsewhere. And Sparks was expecting to know how my evening ended, and Mickey would probably be worried, and Goldy, who hadn’t seen Mickey for a week, not since he moved out, might be waiting up at Elsewhere for news.

  Taz said, “Or maybe just a ride home?”

  I nodded. She gave me a small smile, and I realized that there had been a lot in her first question, but the answer I had given her was okay, too.

  •

  The first thing I noticed when we got close to Elsewhere was the smell of noodles baking at Wu’s Worldly Emporium. That always makes me feel like I’m coming home. When we turned the last corner, I saw the row of shops. A light burned in Ms. Wu’s, but the bookstore and the Gallery of Fine and Not-So-Fine Art were still dark.

  As I hopped off her bike, Taz said, “I’d say be good, but I guess you are. If you feel like being bad sometime, look me up.”

  I grinned and waved as she rode away, and I thought, This is all right. We can be friends. I like that.

  I knocked very lightly on the front door, rapping out the secret rhythm to let me through Elsewhere’s magical security system, then reversed the rhythm to start it up again once I was inside. Neither of the cats came to meet me; the cynical little fakers knew it was too early for me to feed them. I walked through the canyons of bookshelves. At the stairs,
I thought, You simpleminded git, you should’ve taken up Taz’s offer. What are you, scared?

  And I answered: Nah, I’m not scared. I just don’t want to be pitied.

  It seemed a good enough answer. I removed my sneakers and padded down into the basement. Halfway down the steps, as my feet entered the dim illumination from a night-light, I heard, “Woofboy?”

  Before I could try to say anything, the kid had dumped poor Doodle off her lap and charged from her cot into my arms. The cat calmly curled up in the warm spot where Florida had been. After one of her stomach-crushing hugs, Florida said, “Sparks ‘n’ I got back fine. Everything’s okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” She giggled. “You go to sleep now.” She dove back into bed, scaring Doodle again. “G’night, Woofboy. I love you.”

  I tapped my chest, then pointed at her. Turning away, I frowned. I wouldn’t have woken her if she’d been asleep, but finding her awake made me realize I wanted to tell someone about the night. Yet she was right, we were both tired. I could write a proper account for her the next morning, if she was still curious. And if she had some secret, I could learn it the next morning, too.

  I climbed upstairs, thinking, Of course, the kid’s okay—you knew you could trust Sparks to deliver her safely. You should’ve gone with Taz. So what if it turned out she was using you? Couldn’t you use each other?

  The living room was dark. Something smelled odd, but then I recognized Goldy’s and Sparks’s scents. I imagined them up here, having tea with Mickey and worrying about how I was doing, and I felt a little better.

  I saw light under Mickey’s door. Thinking to tell her I was back, I stepped up to it and raised a fist to knock. Then I realized Goldy and Mickey had resolved their differences, at least for the time being, and I moved away quickly, a little pleased and a little embarrassed.

  I started to put my sneakers back on, because I owed Sparks the story of the night. She’d probably have coffee and freshly baked bread. If her housemates were up, she and Jeff and King O’Beer and I could sit around until my eyes were so red that I had to trek home for vampire sleep. It would not be a bad end for the night.

  I decided to hit the bathroom first. There, I washed my hands and my face, and since they had served their purpose, I washed off the three marks that Sai had drawn on my shoulder during our only stop on the B-town Tour. I dragged a brush across most of the hair on my head and the backs of my hands, then stepped into the hall, ready for the last trip of a very long night.

  The door to my room was ajar. A light flickered within it.

  I remembered Strider’s warning about Crystaviel, and then Florida’s giggle. Did I want to disturb Goldy and Mickey when the only thing inside might be one of Florida’s crayon drawings? Did I want to walk boldly in when the room might be packed full of some kind of ninja elf assassins?

  Telling myself that Crystaviel wasn’t going to do anything horrible to me just ‘cause I’d made her look stupid, and almost believing that, I touched the door. It swung back, slowly, silently. I peeked around the frame.

  Sparks was lying on her stomach on my futon, reading her copy of Oscar Wilde by candlelight. Her jacket was draped over her shoulders like a shawl. Her green-and-yellow dress clashed with my purple-and-pink quilt, but I noticed that less than the way the thin cotton draped her legs. Her feet were bare; her blue cowboy boots stood beside my desk chair.

  I wanted to watch her, ‘cause she looked so peaceful, and I wanted time to unravel my suddenly quite tangled emotions. But she gasped and sat up. “Ron, you’re back! Mickey said I could nap in here if I really wanted to wait for you. But I couldn’t sleep. Do you mind?”

  I waved one hand in a very cool dismissing gesture.

  “I’m glad.” She plucked a spiral-bound notebook and a fountain pen from the floor beside the futon and held them out. “Tell me about it?”

  I took the pen and paper and tried to think of how to begin. When I looked at her, wondering how much I could tell her, she said, “You don’t have to.”

  I snorted a dog laugh and wrote, EVER NOTICE WHEN PEOPLE SAY “YOU DON’T HAVE TO,” YOU DO?

  “Not if you don’t want to.”

  SOMETIMES YOU DON’T KNOW YOU WANT TO UNTIL YOU’RE TOLD YOU DON’T HAVE TO.

  “Mmm. How’s that apply here?”

  I shrugged my frustration. She laughed like that was hysterical, and I laughed ‘cause she was laughing. She didn’t seem to mind hyena chuckles.

  “What don’t you want to have to do?”

  EVERYTHING.

  She laughed again. “Ooh, rebellious youth. That’s too easy, Ron. That’s why you came to B-town.”

  OH.

  “So, what don’t you want to have to do?”

  PRETEND.

  She almost gasped, she looked so shocked. “You don’t have to pretend with me!” There was the slightest pause before she added, “With any of your friends!”

  I KNOW.

  She leaned closer to me. “So, what do you pretend with us?”

  I waved one hand: Drop it.

  “No, really.”

  THAT I DON’T FEEL LIKE A FREAK.

  She stared at that. “What’d you feel like before you came to B-town?”

  I smiled. TOUCHÉ.

  “What’re you pretending now?”

  NOTHING.

  “Excellent.” She took my hand. “That true?”

  NO.

  She laughed. “And?”

  Sometimes you have to take chances. I’M PRETENDING IT’S NO BIG DEAL TO FIND SOMEONE IN MY BED.

  She said quietly, “I’m pretending it’s no big deal to be in someone’s bed.”

  I looked out the window. It was definitely dawn. A couple of pigeons sat on the opposite rooftop, as if they expected us to entertain them.

  “What is it?”

  That was one of my brother’s bits of advice: Sometimes you have to take chances. I touched the back of her hand. She put her other hand over the furry back of mine and tilted her head up a little, as if to see me better. Her lips parted a little, as if to speak.

  Look, our first kiss wouldn’t win any awards, okay? It took me a little practice to figure out what to do, but it really wasn’t all that difficult. I began to fumble at her clothing, and it seemed like my fingers didn’t work nearly as well as they usually did.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “There’s no hurry.”

  I wanted to say I know that, but I hadn’t been acting like I knew that. I’d been acting like a little kid with a new present. My brother had given me another bit of advice that I’d never had a chance to use: When the time comes, don’t worry about your fun. Worry about the other person’s fun. It’s twice as good that way.

  •

  (The rest of this chapter is in parentheses so you can skip it, if you want. All it’s about is sex. It’s totally gratuitous and has nothing to do with the struggle over Faerie’s heir. You can safely skip to the beginning of the next chapter, honest.

  (It has occurred to me that I should stop with our first kiss, then start the next sentence, “Afterwards—” Or maybe I should write one of those vague scenes where Sparks says nothing but “Yes yes oh yes” and no one’s quite sure what’s happening, including the writer.

  (There are at least three reasons to avoid writing about sex. It’s embarrassing, and the act of sex is always less important than the consequences of sex, and if this is ever published in the World, there may be people who’ll want to censor it.

  (But one thing my favorite writers do is tell me that I’m not alone when I feel stupid and awkward and inept. So I’ll try to return the favor: If you’re about to have sex for the first time, or for the first time with someone new, and you’re a werewolf, it’s okay to be embarrassed. The other person’s probably embarrassed, too.

  (And details are important. If I’m telling about losing my virginity—or rather, about choosing to leave my virginity behind—I should say something about what I learned. Either you’ll le
arn something, or you’ll be amused, or you’ll be bored and skip to the next chapter. What’s to lose?

  (As for censors, they’re insane. You can’t guess what little thing might set them off. They believe people have to be guarded from knowledge. Yeah, right. Talk to some of the pregnant runaways at the Free Clinic about what ignorance did for them. Censors don’t realize that if you want people to stay out of a room, they need to know what’s in the room and why it might be a bad idea to go in.

  (Hmm. After all that, you’re going to expect extremely explicit details. Tough. Here’s what you get:

  (I remembered that ears were supposed to be an erogenous area, so I licked Sparks’s. She laughed, saying, “That tickles!”

  (Feeling like a total loser, I stopped immediately. Sparks looked at me, then said, “Hey, it’s okay. I like it.” She smiled. “This is supposed to be fun, y’know.”

  (I hadn’t known that. In movies, people roll around desperately without talking, like they’re doing something they have to but not something they’re enjoying. Relieved and grateful, I nuzzled her ear and under her jaw, and she laughed a little and began to make a cat’s sound of contentment: “Mmmm.” And when I paid attention to what inspired that sound, she added things like “Oh, my,” and “That’s nice.”

  (As clothes and sheets became a tangle around us, I began to think less about Sparks and more about what I wanted to do next. Suddenly she was pushing against my chest, saying, “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

  (I didn’t know what I’d done, or hadn’t done. I sat back, feeling angry because I didn’t want to stop, and stupid because I didn’t know what I’d done wrong, and disappointed because this was all such an awkward and oddly unromantic process.

  (Sparks said, “I’m not, you know, I didn’t—” And then she pursed her lips and said, “If we’re going to go any further, I want you wearing a rubber.”

  (I stared. None of the things that I wanted to do right then included hunting for a funny-looking synthetic sheath and putting it on.