Stranger

by Sherwood Smith

  She beckoned to him. “I’ve finished my lesson plans, so we have the whole evening.”

  She’d taken her hair out of its usual braids, and it stood out around her head like a black dandelion puff. Instead of the comfortable shirts and pants she taught and fought in, she was wearing a bright red dress with a skirt that ended above her knees.

  She was as pretty as ever, but that dress, the color of blood—the color of the singing tree—he hated that color now. Dr. Lee had said his nightmares would fade with time, but, if anything, they were getting more and more vivid.

  As they walked down a long hall, a gust of wind rose from beneath a closed door, rippling Jennie’s skirt and startling Ross.

  “Good work, Yolanda!” called Jennie. Another gust answered her.

  “Yolanda lives here?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yes. Lots of kids do. Paco Diaz lived with us when Sera was on Ranger missions until he was old enough to be left alone. Sometimes we take in Changed kids to teach them how to use their powers, or at least get used to them. But Yolanda . . .”

  Jennie’s voice stayed even, but Ross was used to watching for subtle alterations in her face when they sparred. Her eyes were narrowed in anger. “She Changed, and her parents disowned her. She says she won’t go back even if they change their minds, so I guess we’ll adopt her. She’s already begun calling herself Yolanda Riley.”

  Jennie’s room was almost as big as Mia’s cottage, but otherwise it was completely different. Framed pencil drawings of her family hung on the walls. The only things on the bed were pillows and an embroidered quilt. Plants grew in a box fitted into the window; the room smelled of sharp herbs and sweet flowers rather than of oil, metal, and chemicals. Both rooms, however, were full of pages from old books—Mia’s lay in drifts on every flat surface, while Jennie’s were neatly stacked on her desk, and there were even a few bound books on a shelf.

  “Here.” She dropped a pile of folded clothes into his arms. “When Paco grew out of these, he donated them to us. Try them on. If they fit, you could wear them to the dance.”

  Ross eyed the polished floorboards. Now that Jennie had mentioned trying the clothes on, which meant he’d have to take his own clothes off, he was too embarrassed to even look at her.

  “I’ll go make sure the play yard is empty. We can have our dance lesson there.” She opened her wardrobe. A full-length mirror hung on the inside of one door, and a crossbow, a sword, and two daggers were mounted on the other. “I’ll knock before I come back in.” She whisked herself out.

  The room held so much of Jennie’s presence that he instinctively glanced around to make sure she was gone. It even smelled like her. She must put the herbs from the window box in with her clothes. He thought his mother might have done that.

  He set his backpack down, making sure the book was tucked out of sight. Mia had encouraged him to show it to Jennie, and it would be fun to see her excitement—but he was uneasy enough having the Lees know. He’d already put them at risk. He might be endangering the Rileys as well.

  He was as unused to thinking about these things as he was to borrowing clothes. But Jennie was waiting.

  With a quick glance at the closed door, he shook out the garments. The black linen pants were embroidered down the outer seams, and the white shirt down the front and around the cuffs. The blue jacket was beautifully cut. The whole outfit was worth several months of work in trade, or a winter’s worth of food. He could hardly believe that anyone would trust him with something so valuable, even for an evening.

  Ross barely recognized the guy in Jennie’s mirror. He looked tired, but not hungry. His hair was clean and brushed. Though the cuffs of the expensive shirt came down to his knuckles, the equally expensive pants fit perfectly. He looked . . . prosperous.

  A knock at the door made him jump. “All dressed?” called Jennie.

  Ross almost said no. He liked the thought of her seeing him in these fine clothes, but it also made him nervous. He forced himself to straighten up before he spoke. “Yeah.”

  Jennie came in, red skirt swinging. Trying to avoid the sight of it, he watched her face instead, and was rewarded with a delighted grin. “You look great, Ross. Like it?”

  “I’m afraid something will happen to it,” he admitted. “I might tear it, or spill a drink on it.”

  “The nice thing about clothes is, you can wash them,” Jennie said with a chuckle. “But wear it with your own jacket, not Paco’s. That should turn some heads.”

  “My leather jacket?” It fit well and gave reasonable protection against cold and sharp objects, but it was hard to imagine it being an object of admiration. “It’s old. It’s patched. It’s been through a million fights.”

  “The fights are what make it cool. Most of the guys here would trade their younger sibs for it.” She smiled at him. “Speaking of a million fights, the kids keep wanting me to ask you about them. About what you’ve seen in the world. The whole town is interested in you. Most of us never get farther than our fields. Could I write a newspaper article about you?”

  The thought of the entire town knowing things about him made his neck tighten.

  Jennie said quickly, with another smile, “I don’t mean now, but someday. Later on.” She indicated his old clothes. “Do you want to dance in those, or stay in what you’re wearing?”

  “I don’t want to get these sweaty,” he said, glad she’d changed the subject.

  Ross felt an odd mixture of relief and regret as he put on his old clothes. Then he stashed the dancing outfit in his backpack and followed Jennie into an empty yard fenced with juniper bushes. The hard-packed dirt was pale gold in the fading light.

  “How much you do you know about dancing?” she asked.

  Ross had come to hate all questions that began with “How much do you know,” but not as much as he hated the answers he had to give. “Nothing.” Of course.

  “It’s easy. Think of it as very slow set sparring. I move, you back up. You move, I give.”

  She took a step toward him. He slid backward, his shoes moving smoothly over the even ground. He watched for the frown that would mean he was doing it wrong.

  Instead, she smiled. “Good! Now you come forward. Step, don’t slide.”

  Ross took a step, and Jennie glided away.

  “Forward.”

  She stepped toward him. This time he retreated, matching how she placed her feet. Then she beckoned and he stepped forward. They repeated the sequence. As she’d promised, it was easy, not that different from what you’d teach someone first learning to fight.

  She added in a sideways sway and began guiding him around in a circle. After all their sparring, it felt natural; he’d gotten used to the way she moved, though it was strange to go so slowly.

  Jennie stopped, and he stopped with her.

  “Okay, that’s the basic step. Everything else is variation. Shall I show you some?” He nodded. “The first is the waltz. That’s a dance for two. Put your right hand here.” She patted her waist.

  Ross had touched her before, but rarely for longer than it took to strike or block. After that first match, he’d never managed to take her down again. The tree-red dress clung to her body, outlining the dip and curve of her hip.

  “Slow sparring,” she said encouragingly. “Very slow.”

  He put his hand on her waist. The cloth slid under his palm, and he had to press firmly to keep his hand in place. He could feel the warmth of her skin, and his hand slipped again as she inhaled.

  The normal rhythm of her breathing was briefly interrupted, and a tiny muscle tensed in her jaw. If they had been sparring, he would have thought it had occurred to her that he could win.

  She reached for his left hand. His fingers twitched, locked, and refused to close. The scar pulled and ached. But she molded her hand to his. Forcing his muscles to relax, he coaxed his fingers into cl
utching a little tighter. Her hand was cooler than her waist, with ridged calluses and scars on the striking surfaces of her knuckles.

  She lifted their linked hands to shoulder height. “Move in place, step-two-three, step-two-three.”

  Ross moved, unable to concentrate on anything but his right hand on the curve of Jennie’s waist, his left hand holding hers, and the weightless touch of her other hand on his shoulder. Back two-three, forward two-three, and one step sideways. Linked together, they moved in that back-and-forth circle, close enough for him to feel her breath as she counted aloud.

  So this was dancing. He relaxed into the pattern, inhaling her scent of dried flowers and herbs. Her half-closed eyes caught the ochre rays of the sinking sun, and tawny sparks glinted against deep brown.

  “Ready for the fun stuff?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  She took a big step, whirling him outward. He stumbled, then caught the rhythm. They spun and turned around the yard, step-two-three, step-two-three, until the house and the juniper bushes blurred around him, and her cloud of hair tickled his cheek.

  After a while, she slowed and began to speak. “Paco wore that outfit for folklórico—that’s a group dance. If you want to learn it, you’d have to ask him once his knee heals. But I can show you some different ones.”

  She taught him some simple moves, then returned to the waltz. Unlike sparring, dancing wasn’t so tiring that you were forced to do it in brief rounds or collapse from exhaustion. He wondered how people knew when to stop, but didn’t ask for fear that she’d demonstrate. Maybe they could keep moving forever, step-two-three, step-two-three, just him and Jennie and the broad sky above them.

  She finally brought them to a halt. Ross expected her to move away, but she didn’t, leaving him conscious all over again that he had his hands on a girl’s body. Two instincts fought in him: to pull her in and hold her close, and to run. He tensed with the effort of doing neither.

  Jennie let go of his shoulder, twirled under his hand, and stepped back. It was natural to let their hands drop then, and he surreptitiously wiped his clammy palms down his jeans.

  “And also we have solo dances!” Her words came faster than usual. “I forgot about those.”

  “Dancing alone? With people watching you?”

  “You don’t have time to learn one anyway,” Jennie said hastily. “But I can show you one of mine. No one’s seen it yet. You’ll be the first.” She clapped her hands in a fast beat. “Can you keep this rhythm?”

  Ross’s left arm ached too much to clap, so he slapped his right thigh instead. She stamped her feet while her arms moved with piston-like precision, mapping patterns that were almost too fast to see: her left arm executed a set of five gestures, her right did a different set of eight, and all the while her hips swung to make her skirts fly out and her feet pounded a counterpoint to his beat.

  All those difficult movements were done with the same beauty and power she brought to her martial arts. Ross could have danced with her forever, but he could have watched her forever, too.

  With a quick grin, she leaped high into the air and threw herself backward in a spectacular series of flips, landing on her hands just before she would have crashed into the junipers. She balanced upside down, her skirt over her head, long dark legs in scarlet shorts stretched out elegantly, toes pointed toward the sky. Then she brought her legs down slowly, showing off her strength and control, until she was bent over backward like a bridge, her palms and soles pressed to the ground. She stood with a flourish, as if it had all been easy.

  “I was thinking of doing that one for the dance.” Ross could tell exactly how easy it hadn’t been by the lines of sweat trickling down her face. “What do you think, Ross? Do you think people will like it?”

  He couldn’t even begin to put into words how much he thought they would. Finally he settled for “Yeah.” Then he added, “I think I’m actually looking forward to the dance now.”

  Jennie smiled. “Would you like to go with Mia and me? We talked about it, and we’d both like to go with you.”

  “Sure,” Ross spoke before he thought. Thinking about it, he added, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  He wondered how Mia danced. Would she have as much strength and grace as Jennie? Or would she be awkward and shy, like he had been? Either way, it was something he wanted to see. He had an image of himself at the dance with Mia and Jennie beside him, and he almost believed it would happen.

  Jennie had trusted him with those fine clothes, and with the first look at her new solo dance. And Mia trusted Jennie. Ross slowly walked to his backpack.

  “I have something I’d like to show you. But it could be dangerous to know about it. Do you want to take a look?”

  “Yes. Let’s see it.” Jennie took the book as carefully as if it was a newborn pup. First she examined the binding, then reverently turned the pages. Unlike Mia, who had focused on the diagrams, she drew her finger down the lines of writing.

  To his surprise, she looked at him and laughed. “So all this time, you’ve been walking around in borrowed clothes with a king’s ransom in your pack! No wonder that bounty hunter was so determined.”

  “Mia said it’s in Japanese.”

  “Yes, I think she’s right. You could get Yuki Nakamura to read it.” She glanced at him mischievously. “You’ll have a perfect opportunity at your riding lesson tomorrow.”

  Ross grimaced. “I nearly killed his rat, and I was worthless during the snake attack. I’m sure he’s still mad at me. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

  “It’s too bad you and he got off on the wrong foot. I think you have a lot in common.” Before he could protest, she added, “But I won’t say a word unless you give me permission.”

  “Good.” Now that she knew, he decided to take an even bigger risk. “Can you hide it for me? I don’t think the bounty hunter has given up, and he knows where I’m staying.”

  Jennie’s smile vanished. “Sure. I’ll put it in the schoolhouse, up on the rafters. No one ever looks up there, and they wouldn’t see it or be able to reach it if they did.” She indicated a diagram. “This looks like an alarm system. We could use—”

  The door latch rattled. He lunged for the book, but Jennie was faster, flipping a fold of her skirt over it to hide it.

  Tonio burst through the door. “Jennie! Pa wants you right now!”

  “Tell him I’m coming.” Ross followed her back to her room, where she hid the book in a drawer, under her clothes.

  His hand dropped to the empty loops in his belt, and then he reached toward the daggers in Jennie’s closet. “Can I?”

  “Go ahead.”

  They ran out, Ross patting the borrowed knives as he kept pace. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do if it was a family crisis. But if it was a wild animal attack, he was set.

  They found the rest of the Rileys gathered outside around a sobbing Dee, who was crouched on the dusty ground.

  Jennie sat down next to her sister. “Dee? What’s the matter?”

  Dee lifted her tear-streaked face. “I’ve Changed.”

  “But honey, you wanted to Change.” Jennie put her arm around Dee’s shoulders.

  “Not like this. I wanted a cool power like yours or Pa’s. Look what happened to me!”

  She blew on the powdery dirt between her feet. A puff of dust rose up, formed itself into a dust devil no bigger than a man’s finger, spun for a moment, and then died.

  “That’s it?” José exclaimed. “That’s pathetic.”

  As Dee let out a fresh howl, Mr. Riley said, “José. You do not put down other people’s powers. They are a blessing from God, and you know it.”

  Dee wailed, “But you only get one blessing. Now I can’t get anything good! You can see for miles and Ma can talk to horses and Jennie can grab things and José can make earthquakes and even Tonio can light up dar
k places, and all I can do is make stupid little dust things!”

  “Maybe it’ll get stronger, Dee,” José said doubtfully.

  Mr. Riley jerked his thumb over his shoulder. José went back inside, followed by the other kids.

  Lowering his voice in the hope that only Jennie would hear him, Ross said, “I think I’d better go.”

  To his alarm, he only attracted Dee’s attention. She lifted her head. “Right, Ross? Isn’t this the most useless power you’ve ever seen?”

  He thought about it. “No. I met a guy once who could make little horns grow out of his forehead. Now, that was a useless power.”

  Dee managed a smile.

  Jennie patted her on the arm. “You know, Dee, when I was a toddler, I couldn’t lift anything bigger than a pebble. It’s like baby steps. José was right. If you keep practicing, you should get stronger.”

  “Great,” Dee muttered. “Someday maybe I can make a big dust devil.”

  “That would be very useful in a fight.” Her father scooped her up and set her on her feet. “Dee, this is your Change Day, and you know what that means. José and I will get the food ready for your party. Wash your face and invite your friends. And be quick. It’s getting dark.”

  A sharp twinge in his wrist made Ross realize that he had been rubbing his scar. He didn’t want to get stuck at a party full of little girls, but he didn’t want to head back to the Lees’, either. Since he didn’t seem able to sleep, maybe he could try napping in the day, like Mia. That might trick the nightmares into staying away.

  “I’ll start the pie first,” said Mr. Riley. “What kind do you want?”

  Dee scrubbed at her face. “Lemon meringue.”

  “I think we’ve got enough chickens left to round up some egg whites. Lemon meringue it is.”

  As Dee scampered back into the house, a tiny dust devil swirled after her, collided with the threshold, and collapsed.

  “Baby steps,” said her father.