Mad Maudlin

by Mercedes Lackey

  As it touched them, he saw their faces relax. Chinaka smiled.

  "Well, sure he can come with us, girl. But he gonna have to pay, right?" Both of the girls laughed.

  Kayla laughed too. "Boss always pays."

  "Thanks a lot," Eric muttered under his breath.

  * * *

  The diner wasn't particularly clean, though very noisy. The counterman came out from behind the register when they came in.

  "You! Get out of here before I call the police!"

  "It wasn't us!" Dakota said quickly, backing up against Eric and looking as if she was about to cry. "It was Shimene and those other girls—we weren't even here—"

  "You think I don't recognize that crap jacket of yours?" the man demanded. "Get out."

  "Told you you shouldn'ta took it," Chinaka said in a low mutter.

  "But it's mine," Dakota said, her eyes filling. "She stole it! That B. stole my jacket and I wanted it back—"

  The counterman was heading back behind the counter, toward the phone on the wall. Kayla slithered out from behind Eric and the other two girls and went over to him. It was too noisy in the diner for Eric to hear what she was saying, but Eric saw money change hands.

  "C'mon," Kayla said, coming back. "Let's go sit down."

  Both girls stared at her.

  "He gonna call the police," Chinaka said suspiciously.

  "Somebody stiffed him for the bill," Kayla said, shrugging. "So I paid it. If the cops show up, everybody's going to bail an' he'll be out a lot more'n one check. Who cares? It's too damn cold to go lookin' for another place that's open. Besides, it's not my money." Kayla laughed heartlessly.

  Dakota and Chinaka looked at each other for a long moment, then shrugged. They walked on in.

  The four of them found a booth in the back. Kayla slid in beside Eric, and Dakota and Chinaka piled in beside each other.

  "He paying, right?" Dakota said again.

  "I already paid for that other thing," Kayla said, arguing to make it look good. The three teenagers engaged in a long, circular and—to Eric—nonsensical argument about whether Eric should still buy them dinner when Kayla had already paid for Shimene's previous meal, allowing Chinaka and Dakota to come in here at all, even though Dakota hadn't been the one to stiff the diner. Eventually it was agreed that the two of them would pay Kayla back the money she'd spent and Eric would pay for dinner.

  It was all pointless. With Underhill backing, Eric had enough money to buy the diner if he happened to want to. But he was supposed to be a homeless busker, and Kayla was supposed to be these girls' new best friend.

  When the waitress came, the girls didn't bother with menus, but ordered with the ease of long practice—an amount of food that made Eric blink to contemplate it. Kayla ordered a similar amount.

  "Coffee. French fries," Eric said, when the waitress looked at him.

  "You'd better be planning to pay this time," the waitress said, glaring at all of them.

  "Why does everybody pick on me?" Dakota wailed.

  "Man, that Shimene set you up," Chinaka said admiringly. "She prob'ly wore that nasty-ass jacket all over town, stealin' things."

  "It's a nice jacket," Dakota said stubbornly.

  It might be, Eric thought, but it was certainly conspicuous. A fashion from a few seasons back, it was quilted denim with studs, rhinestones, fringe, and inserts in several colors of fluorescent lace along the back and sleeves. It was the perfect thing to wear while robbing banks, because if you did, no one would ever remember your face.

  "Well, you oughtta trade it, before word get out what Shimene done. Or you tell Ace about her. Maybe she throw her out, 'cause what she done, that almost like stealing."

  It wasn't almost like stealing, Eric thought with a sense of unreality. It was stealing, though he supposed things might look different to a couple of street kids. Lord knew he'd done more than a few things he wasn't entirely proud of before he'd met Kory.

  But nothing like this . . .

  Yeah, well, you weren't underage and completely without any way of earning money, were you? You weren't out for more than a couple of days before you were in that van, and you had money in your pocket when you ran out on Juilliard, too. That might have made a difference. . . .

  Their food came—the waitress stood right there until Eric paid the bill—and when he had, he realized what this must look like to her: either a pimp out with his string, or worse. He sighed inwardly. He'd never be able to show his face in this part of town again!

  "Where you staying?" Dakota asked, after she'd finished the first part of her hamburger platter.

  "Subway," Kayla said.

  Chinaka shook her head in sympathy.

  Eric said nothing, not sure how to play this.

  "You got any stuff?" Dakota asked.

  "Transit cops got it couple days ago," Kayla said matter-of-factly.

  "You could—" Dakota began.

  "We can't—" Chinaka hissed.

  The two of them huddled together in the corner of the booth, arguing in whispers. Eric caught fragments of the conversation—Dakota thought they should bring them along with them when they went back, Chinaka didn't—and a name again: Ace, who seemed to be their leader.

  He risked another thread of magic, encouraging them both to trust him and Kayla, to agree that it was a very good idea to bring them back with them.

  "Well, okay," Chinaka said, sighing. "He did get us out of trouble. So I guess it okay. There a place you could maybe sleep. But you gotta promise not to tell anybody."

  "We promise," Kayla said. "Right, Boss?"

  "Right," Eric said.

  * * *

  The two other girls were named Graciella—Graz for short—and Alice. They arrived just as the others were finishing dessert. Both of them looked surprised to find their friends in the diner, and it didn't take any leap of logic for Eric to realize that they'd been with Shimene on her last visit here.

  Eric quickly wove his spell of trust and friendship around them as well. It wouldn't hurt to have as many allies as they could muster when Chinaka took them back to where they were going. From what little he'd been able to overhear of Chinaka's conversation with Dakota, that place was supposed to be a closely guarded secret, and bringing strangers in was expressly forbidden. He just hoped he'd be able to charm this Ace person—without magic—into letting him and Kayla stay.

  * * *

  At least the candles made it a little warmer. She'd lit all of them, so that it was bright enough to read, hoping they'd drive out the dampness, at least. Even Jaycie was awake, watching them study and gnawing on his horrible chocolate.

  She had to admit that it was a lot easier with Magnus helping. They'd started out with the math problems, and for the first time it seemed as if she'd be able to get through them eventually. They worked on that for a couple of hours, until Magnus got bored, and Ace was sure that if she closed her eyes, she'd see nothing but numbers.

  The Place was noisier than usual. Some of the kids had just stayed inside because of the weather—or gone out and come back early. Shimene was prowling around, trying to look as if she wasn't poking into the other kids' things, looking for something to steal. Ace sighed inwardly. Shimene was a thief and a troublemaker—she'd "borrowed" Dakota's jacket and wouldn't give it back for weeks, but had been suspiciously meek when Dakota had walked out wearing it this evening, having finally gotten it back somehow.

  Ace would have been happy to toss Shimene out onto the street weeks ago for the good of the others, harsh as it seemed, but she knew she really didn't have the power to do that. It was as much as she could do to keep the other kids from picking on Jaycie, and she knew she was buying them off with the money Jaycie brought in from . . . somewhere . . . to get that much of a concession.

  And when it doesn't work any more? What are you going to do then? Sometimes I feel like a lion tamer in a cage. And I'm just hoping they won't notice I don't really have a whip and a chair.

  She thought about th
e man she'd met down at Jacob Riis. Hosea. He'd seemed nice. She wondered if he'd help the three of them—if he could help them—her way, without any names or parents. She knew this couldn't last much longer, and only a fool would think it could.

  Maybe she'd ask. What he didn't know he couldn't tell.

  "Let's work on your stuff now," she said to Magnus.

  She could see Magnus was reluctant, but Jaycie turned the tide.

  "Stories?" he asked sleepily.

  "Stories," Ace agreed. "We could read them aloud. No elves, though."

  "I don't care," Jaycie said, settling down expectantly.

  Even Shimene settled down after a while and stopped prowling around, though Ace couldn't shake the feeling there was going to be trouble soon.

  A couple of hours later—Jaycie had fallen asleep on her shoulder, and Magnus had gone back to drumming—some of the others came in.

  And to Ace's utter and complete horror, they had strangers with them.

  "No strangers" was the first rule of The Place. The more kids who lived here, the greater the chance it would be discovered by the authorities and they'd all be thrown out—or turned over to Social Services.

  And that meant Daddy Fairchild would have her back, sure as taxes, even if she refused to tell them who she was. There must be all kinds of wanted posters of her around, even all this way back East. And her fingerprints. He'd find her.

  Ace shuddered.

  The trouble was, none of these kids, wily and feral as they were, had the sense God gave a goose. Anyone they brought in might be just the bully or predator she and Magnus couldn't outface, and then the three of them would have to leave.

  She glanced at Magnus, and saw he'd realized the danger as soon as she had.

  "Back me up," she whispered, getting to her feet and easing Jaycie gently down onto her sleeping bag. He didn't stir.

  She walked over to where the newcomers were standing. They were with Chinaka and Dakota—and Alice and Graz, two of Shimene's posse. Shimene wandered over, moving as if she were underwater. High again, Ace realized, groaning silently. This just kept getting better.

  " 'Kota," Ace said.

  At least the girl had the grace to look guilty, if just for a moment.

  "This's Eric and Kayla," Dakota said brightly.

  Ace took a good look at them, and her heart sank. Eric was old—he must be somewhere in his twenties. No way he wasn't going to try to take over and run everything.

  "We can bring people here if we want," Chinaka said aggressively, seeing Ace's expression. "This isn't your place! We were here first!"

  "Yeah," Graz said. "What if we're tired of your stupid rules?"

  "What if we're tired of your stupid face?" Magnus said, stepping up beside Ace. "So we leave—and take Jaycie with us." He grinned coldly at the girls. "Then you can do whatever you want. How's that?"

  The other four looked at each other. They obviously hadn't expected the threat.

  "Hey," Kayla began. "We don't—"

  "Hey-y-y . . . 'Kota. Nice jacket," Shimene said, her words slurred. She giggled. "You go over to the All-Nite?"

  Dakota shrieked and lunged for Shimene.

  Ace had known there was going to be some kind of trouble between the two of them, but she hadn't been expecting this. Apparently this guy Eric had. He moved really fast, and got an arm around Dakota before she reached Shimene. Shimene backed up unsteadily and sat down hard on the floor, still giggling. Alice and Graz knelt beside her.

  Dakota turned around, sobbing against Eric's shoulder.

  "He okay, really," Chinaka said to Ace. "Shim beat the tab over at the All-Nite only the guy thought it was 'Kota on account of her jacket so we couldn't go in there but Kayla made it okay an' Eric bought us waffles an' everything. So it okay they stay, right?"

  "No place else to go," Kayla said apologetically, shrugging, looking at Ace. She sidled over to Ace and spoke low. "He's okay, really. I kinda take care of him, y'know. He's got this flute, and he plays music on the street, but he's really hopeless. He's like, twelve or something in his head half the time." She shrugged again wordlessly.

  Ace looked at Magnus. He shrugged in turn. She couldn't throw the two newcomers out, and they both knew it. They'd come close to getting thrown out themselves: threatening to take Jaycie—and the money he brought in—away with them was a trump card they couldn't afford to play very often.

  "I guess you can stay," she said grudgingly, putting as good a face on things as she could.

  "Cops took all their stuff," Dakota volunteered. "But maybe there's a extra blanket around or something."

  "I'll make them up a place over by me," Magnus said firmly. "There's room."

  Good move, Ace thought. At least that way, if the strangers tried something funny, there was a chance the two of them would spot it.

  * * *

  So here they were, Mad Tom and Mad Maudlin; and they fit right in with the rest of this place and its inhabitants, if Eric was any judge.

  The place stank. And it was nearly as cold as outside. And with all those candles, it was a miracle it hadn't already burned down. Eric concentrated on looking vague and harmless. He hadn't expected things to turn so ugly so fast.

  He'd barely moved fast enough to grab Dakota when she'd gone after the other girl, and he'd been afraid he'd blown it then, but Magnus and Ace—she was the girl he'd seen Magnus with at the supermarket—had been too worried about other things to pay much attention to him. They were obviously running a delicate balancing act here, trying to boss a bunch of runaways around without any real authority to back it up. But oddly enough, the threat to leave and take someone named Jaycie with them had made the others back down.

  And it seemed the two of them were going to be allowed to stay.

  With the four girls to vouch for them, they were accepted by everyone else. Everyone was curious about them, and Eric turned down several offers—he supposed they were well-meant—of drugs, cigarettes, and liquor—while meeting most of the rest of the inhabitants of The Place.

  There was Tommie, who was from Kansas, and gay. He'd left home when his parents had decided he was possessed by the Devil, and decided to have the Devil beaten out of him by a local faith healer.

  Ruthaileen was from Kentucky. She'd left home "after Momma died," and that was as much of her story as she'd tell.

  Shimene said that her father was a famous rapper, and she'd run away from home to be with him. And as soon as she could get in touch with him, they'd be together.

  Alice intended to become a famous actress as soon as she could get a screen test or an audition.

  Johnnie said that here was better than home, and everyone had to be somewhere.

  Chinaka said her mama wouldn't miss her anyway, with eight more kids at home, and why bother to go back? Her mama got the check from the Welfare whether Chinaka was there or not, after all.

  Graz said it didn't matter, because New York was better than any other place she'd ever been, even if her no-account boyfriend had dumped her when they'd gotten here. Eric wondered how old she was, and where she'd come from; it was hard to tell beneath the heavy mask of makeup she wore.

  They were all curious about the flute.

  "Can you really play that?" Ruthaileen asked.

  Eric nodded.

  "Play something, then," Shimene said disbelievingly.

  Eric hesitated, but what could it hurt? There wouldn't be any magic in it, other than the magic that was in all music. He got his flute out of his shoulder bag as the kids began to gather around.

  He considered what would interest them, then dismissed the thought. A half-crazy street musician wouldn't think of such things. He decided to give them one he'd always liked instead: Vaughn Williams' Fantasy on a Theme of Thomas Tallis, which itself was a variation on "Star of the County Down." He put the flute to his lips and began to play.

  The silvery notes skirled up through the shabby empty space, transforming it, in imagination, to a vast cathedral. It wasn't
the best venue, and the acoustics really sucked, but he'd played worse. Eric closed his eyes and gave himself up to the music, and his flute—gallant, played-out old warhorse that she was—did her best for him.

  He stopped, and opened his eyes.

  "Stupid," Shimene said dismissively, turning away. The other kids mostly looked confused—obviously this was a new experience for them—though a couple of them looked pleased.

  "No," a new voice said. "The music is very fine."

  Eric turned toward him. It was a dark-haired boy he hadn't met yet. The boy stood unsteadily, clutching a can of Coke in his hand and regarding Eric.

  There was a glamourie around him. It blurred and shimmered in the air to Eric's trained mage-sight. He didn't need to pierce it to know what it concealed. He stared in horror as the Sidhe boy raised the can of Coke to his lips and drank.

  Caffeine in every form was toxic to elves. It worked on them like the worst combination of alcohol and heroin, sending them first into a drunken stupor; then, after long and intense exposure, into the Dreaming—a kind of coma—and in the end, the Dreaming killed them.

  With a great effort, Eric restrained himself from knocking the can out of the boy's hand. That wouldn't accomplish anything. He'd just ken another one. And if he couldn't ken it, he'd get one from one of the other kids.

  But what was he doing here? Elves avoided New York for a very good reason. It was full of iron, and iron burned them, as well as making their magic go crazy. The very air here was toxic to them. Even Kory, who was obsessed with all things human, couldn't stay here for more than a day or two, and that only with the help of stronger spells than Eric could see surrounding the boy.

  And Eric was very much afraid he was a boy. Kory was two centuries old and looked about Eric's age, but Eric had the awful feeling this kid might be about the same age he looked—early teens—in which case he was way too young to be out of Underhill alone.

  Where was his Protector? Every Sidhe child received one at his or her Naming ceremony. Even little Maeve, who was human, had one, and Lady Montraille was sworn to put Maeve's safety before the defense of her home and her own honor—and certainly before her personal safety. This boy's Protector would never have let him come here—unless he or she were dead or somehow imprisoned . . . or unless he'd been kidnapped and dumped here to die.