Return of the Trickster

by Eden Robinson

  “Are you blaming me?”

  “No. I’m trying to figure things out. Mom. I can’t. Everything’s—I’m lost. I’ve done awful things. Really awful things. I don’t think you’ll like me when you know what I’ve done.”

  He wanted to tell her about what had happened after David tried to kill him. About Georgina. But his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind and he remembered odd things, like the first time he’d eaten a Koola Pop or the way he and his mom would howl at the moon when they were at their summer cabin. He tried to pull his thoughts back together so he could make himself clear. Sophia turned her head, looking away. He didn’t want to read into that and he wished he could keep his stupid mouth shut.

  “We all do things we regret,” she said.

  Things felt strained. He wanted something that she couldn’t give, something that had been an illusion. What they had right now was thin as an eggshell. But it was real. She might actually like him, even the Trickster version.

  Sophia said, “Are you willing to meet a guide to your new world?”

  “What kind of guide?”

  “Someone who can help you be less lost.”

  “That’s specific.”

  “This is an optional field trip,” she said.

  A little guidance would be nice. He’d appreciate someone who could tell him what the hell was going on and how he could make sense of everything. Facts were always more helpful than guesses.

  “Okay,” Jared said. “I’m in.”

  “I’ll pick you up at one tomorrow afternoon.”

  6

  IN THE REALM OF THE WILD MAN

  Kota buzzed up to the apartment the next morning and told Jared to shake a leg. Jared took the elevator down. They went to Jared’s regular group and he was too raw to share, but people came up to him after, welcoming him back, saying they were glad he was safe after his aunt had reported him missing. Jared stuck close to Kota, but let himself be hugged by one of the old-timers.

  They walked to their regular coffee shop and stood in line.

  “Do you want a breakfast sandwich or something?” Kota said.

  “Still full from last night.”

  “You’re not eating,” Kota said. “You’re pretending to eat.”

  “Dude, stop noticing shit. It’s creepy.”

  “I’m glad you fell off the wagon,” Kota said. “It makes me look better.”

  “Nice.”

  “I know, I know. What a selfish prick. But it’s hard being the family fuck-up, right? Me and you, we’re two bad apples rolling around the bottom of the barrel. Unicorns of fuckery.”

  Jared waited to see if Kota had any other gems. “That was the worst pep talk. Ever.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sponsor material. Latte?”

  “Please.”

  Kota ordered himself a double espresso.

  They sat outside on the patio so Kota could smoke. The chill in the air meant snow soon.

  “Cookie Dude?”

  He looked up and a girl came up and gave him a hug. Her fringed, black leather jacket was painted with roses. She wore leggings and a sweater she was using as a dress. She was Native, with a heart-shaped face and large eyes with false eyelashes that made her look like a deer.

  “Hey,” Jared said.

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “Long time, Jared.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hi,” Kota said.

  “Oh, sorry, I’m Mallory,” the girl said, holding out her hand.

  “Kota.”

  “Me and Jared had this thing. I was breaking up with my boyfriend and he’s a really good listener. Thanks, by the way.”

  “No worries,” Jared said.

  She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a pen, grabbed his hand and wrote her number on it.

  “Call me!” she said, blowing him a kiss before she turned and walked away.

  Kota quirked an eyebrow. “Did you remember her?”

  “Not really,” Jared said.

  “What was the Cookie Dude thing about?”

  “I used to sell pot cookies.” He frowned. “I think she’s mixing me up with someone else. I think I would have remembered her.”

  “Or,” Kota said, “you hooked up when you were partying and she left before you sobered up. A little fun, like Lex.”

  Jared frowned. That name rang a bell.

  “The weird chick. Blue hair. Horrible, braless nightmare that screamed crazy but you banged anyways?”

  “Oh, metal girl, Lex. Right,” Jared said. “I’d remember Mallory. Well, maybe.”

  “Are you going to call her?”

  “No,” Jared said. “Everything’s too raw.”

  “Your ex is couchsurfing next door at Hank’s, by the way.”

  “Sarah’s here? In Vancouver? In the building?”

  “She came down the second she heard you disappeared and she was going pretty hard to find you. I think she’s carrying a torch for your sorry ass.”

  Jared considered his empty cup. “I dunno.”

  “Must be nice to live in Jared World,” Kota said. “Where your family cares if you’re safe and you get to pick and choose who you love.”

  “I love you, Kota,” Jared said. “I want you safe.”

  Kota side-eyed him. “I wasn’t fishing.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “You’re lucky I like you,” Kota said. “Or pow! Right in the kisser.”

  “Bugs Bunny?”

  “Are you done? I’m done. Let’s get you back to Mave before she calls the cops and reports you missing again.”

  * * *

  —

  Kota watched Jared from his truck to make sure he got back into the building. Jared hesitated in front of Hank’s door, right next to Mave’s, with his arm raised, ready to knock. Seriously, what could he offer Sarah? What would his friendship get her but trouble and death? Hank would have told her he was back. If she wanted to see him, she would come over.

  Jared went and lay down on his bed, exhausted. His guts gurgled, his organs complaining. The room felt empty without his supernatural friends, the painted heads, the dolphin people who lived in the floor, and the ghosts Dent and Shu. He wanted to check his e-mails and messages, but his laptop was missing and his phone had been in the back pocket of the jeans he’d ditched in the alley when he shape-changed into a raven to avoid being burned to death by David, his mom’s preppy psychopath of an ex-boyfriend, who couldn’t get his mom to be scared of him so stalked Jared instead.

  Jared made a quick search of his room. When she was still pretending to be a benevolent force in his life, Georgina had sent him a copy of Alcoholics Anonymous: The Story of How Many Thousands of Men and Women Have Recovered from Alcoholism. The Big Book. He’d kept it mostly because he’d forgotten he had it. Tucked inside the book was a blue envelope with his name written in careful cursive. Inside was the paper she’d written on, pale yellow and delicate. Her writing slanted right in neat rows. She’d included ten crisp hundred-dollar bills that he’d used to get Sarah home for her grandfather’s funeral, among other things. He’d unfolded and read the letter after his first trip to the house and collection of trailers she called the compound, which ended with him running for the exits. He hadn’t dealt well with learning she’d married into coy wolves who used skins to transform into their human shapes.

  Dear Jared,

  You left before I could give you the chip, the Big Book, and the money. Congratulations! One year is quite the accomplishment. I have 67 sober years. Each year is a challenge but none of them were as hard as the first. When you live as long as I have, everyone dies and you are left alone so many times. I know the pity ditty well—poor me, poor me, pour me another drink. The money is for your schooling. This doesn’t obligate you to me and you don’t need to pay me back. I give this to all
my nieces and nephews and grandchildren for their first year of post-secondary education. If you are uncomfortable accepting it, do pass it along to someone who needs it.

  I’m sorry we scared you. I didn’t think you could see as well as you do. Most humans can’t. We will leave you alone. You will never hear from us unless you initiate the contact. I promise.

  On that note, please don’t think me presumptuous, but I’d like to offer my assistance if you ever need it. Magic can get you drunk too. You lose the ability to function without it. You lose sight of what’s important and you use until you are spent, and then you borrow. I borrowed. I was indebted to creatures and people and beings you can’t even imagine. If you ever find yourself in that position, please don’t hesitate to call me. You have my phone number. You don’t have to fight it alone. I’m here if you ever need me.

  Yours,

  Mrs. Georgina Smith

  * * *

  —

  She’d claimed to be his aunt. Whether she was or not, right now he couldn’t think about her without his brains spazzing, but if he could give the book and letter to his mom, she’d know that the danger they were facing was bigger than David. If he could tell Sophia, she’d know…

  Jared blinked. He felt as if he’d just woken up from a nap. What was he looking for? What did he need? He stood in the middle of his bedroom, confused. He needed to find something and it was important. Just then, Mave called out that she was starting lunch. Could he set the table?

  Sophia popped in as Mave served up a stir-fry. Jared ate a bit. Sophia made yummy sounds but said she’d already grabbed a sandwich. Sophia said that they should head out and Mave kissed him as though he was a baby. At least Justice had gone back to her place, so he didn’t have to be kissed by her too.

  The driver’s name was Walter. He called Sophia ma’am and ran to open her door, practically bowing as he closed it. He ignored Jared, which was fine. The limo had an optional privacy screen that Sophia sweetly asked Walter to raise.

  They drove through East Van towards the Second Narrows Bridge, and then followed the highway upwards. Sophia stared out the window, her expression distant, but she held his hand.

  “How many of the Otherworld have you met?” she said.

  “The what?”

  “The supernatural contingent. Other than your father.”

  “I dunno. A couple.”

  “I hope you’ve shown manners. Some of these beings live a long time and they don’t forget disrespect.”

  Jared remembered the girl he’d hung with who said she was a Selkie, and decided not to share that little moment with his…former grandma? Friend? What was her role now? She seemed to want to help him because she liked him. That was— It made him feel things he couldn’t identify. Glad? Relieved? Grateful? None of them were close, but they hinted at this new thing. He braced himself to tell her about Georgina. But once again he couldn’t get his mouth to form the words and then forgot what he was trying to say and then he was cold. Something important had dropped out of his mind. Something he needed to tell people. He struggled to remember, but he was so tired.

  “Can you hear the sky?” Sophia said out of the blue.

  “Um, no.”

  “How about mountains? The ocean?”

  “Like when it’s windy?”

  “Do you hear them singing?”

  “Is that a thing?”

  “It’s one of the indicators of raw talent. A medicine man I know can hear the stars.”

  “That sounds awful.”

  “By his account it’s delightful, although not terribly useful. It does make him a horrible driver.”

  She rummaged through the mini-fridge and brought out a can of club soda and orange juice, which she mixed and handed to him in a wineglass. She poured another one for herself.

  “When you see people with things hidden under their skin, avoid, avoid, avoid,” she said.

  “So run away. That’s your advice.”

  “Run hard.”

  “Then why are we going to one of those people for advice?”

  “He can tell you things I can’t. If you were my grandson, I could teach you, but you’re not, so I can’t.”

  “I’m a slow learner, but I get there.”

  “The old ways have broken down, all the old ways. People forgot the rules or they don’t care. There are things I know but can’t tell you. Charles can.”

  “Because of rules that no one’s following.”

  “I’m still following them.”

  The limo blew past the exit leading to Sophia’s bungalow. “Where are we going?”

  “His kind love mountains, forests, the less human-infested places of the world.”

  “His kind.”

  “The Wild Men of the Woods. What the modern world derogatorily calls ‘sasquatch’ or ‘Bigfoot.’ Don’t think of him like that. Charles is sensitive.”

  “Charles is a sasquatch.”

  Sophia slapped him upside the head.

  “Ow.”

  “What did I just tell you? Manners, Jared. Manners still count for something.”

  “Hitting isn’t exactly polite, you know.”

  “You need him. He doesn’t need you.”

  Jared rubbed his ear. He wished people would stop hitting him and screaming at him. “So sas— the Wild Men are real?”

  “Most have assimilated. Charles is unique, even among his own kind. He’s a hugan, for starters, which means he doesn’t eat people anymore.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “He makes his money on vacation rentals. He had a house in Alta Vista before the first Olympic bid.”

  “Charles is a landlord.”

  “His properties are in Whistler. He lives in the wilds of Emerald. Lakefront. Lovely, lovely cabin.”

  Jared didn’t know what to think about visiting a sasquatch for advice. He also wondered if her version of “cabin” was the same as his or if she meant under five bedrooms and no live-in butler. They turned north, away from Horseshoe Bay, and followed a curvy highway. The ocean whitecapped below a solid-grey sky, reminding him of the Douglas Channel, a fjord-like mix of steep mountains and water. He sipped his drink, not expecting the pulp of fresh orange juice, the burst of citrus and sour tingle of bubbles. Sophia’s message alert started to ping.

  “Delightful,” Sophia said, scrolling through her phone. “You’ve annoyed your mother enough that she’s rage-texting me.”

  “Her Caps Lock keys are probably stuck. Tell her to jiggle them.”

  Sophia smirked. “Tempting, but I have no desire to be cursed.”

  “What’s she going on about?”

  “Anita Moody is re-entering the arena.”

  “Gran’s coming?”

  Sophia sucked in a shocked breath. “What an interesting catalyst you’re turning out to be. Mave, Maggie and Anita in one room. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Mom’s coming back? I thought she went to Winnipeg.”

  “Your mother dearest would normally vaporize anyone who irritates her as much as you do. But here you are, the object of her affections. What does that tell you?”

  “I don’t want to be like Wee’git, getting people hurt. Playing with them.”

  “You’re nothing like Wee’git. Once Wee’git tasted power, he pranked all the people he felt had wronged him until his village got sick of his tricks and sent him into exile.”

  “I’m his son.”

  “Yes, and given your mother’s history with him, she shouldn’t be ranting at me. Your grandmother shouldn’t be catching a ferry to visit you. I shouldn’t be sitting here beside you, regarding you with this much fondness.”

  Ugh, all the feels. Sophia liked him. That bounced around inside and lit up his caution warnings, warming up old scars that ached. His mom. His mom and his gran
. His aunt Mave. He’d never experienced them all in the same room. He should be afraid, but he was mostly worried that they’d hurt each other, that the damage was too deep to navigate without trained professionals. The Big Book was full of people-pleasers like him, bending themselves out of shape to make other people happy, willing to compromise everything so that someone would stay fond of them. He wanted to sit someplace quiet and untangle the knots. He didn’t want to go visit another otherworldly being who’d bring their weirdness to his already overflowing smorgasbord of strange. But he didn’t want to be alone either.

  “Wee’git told me I’m putting Mave in danger by staying with her,” Jared admitted. “That people would use her to get to me.”

  Sophia burst out laughing. “Oh, that raven. Afraid for Mave, a sweet, helpless little battleaxe.”

  “Should I tell Mave I’m a Trickster? I tried, but she brushed it off, said it was just Mom and Granny Nita being superstitious.”

  “She didn’t believe your mother and your gran, so I doubt she’ll believe you. But work your charms. When it blows up in your face, you can stay with me.”

  “That’s not confidence-inspiring.”

  “Isn’t this the day we spit truth at each other?”

  “I’m putting my cards on the table.”

  “All of them?”

  The limo began an endless climb, the engine effortlessly shifting. Eventually, they passed through Squamish.

  “That was unfair of me,” Sophia said. “If I can’t tell you everything, I shouldn’t expect you to tell me everything.”

  * * *

  —

  They parked in front of a big square house on a street with mansion-sized houses overlooking a lake. He’d been expecting a cabin of some sort and what he got was glass and concrete shot through with decorative wood beams in a muted green, brick red and slate grey. The lot was large and private, filled with old western hemlocks and a type of spruce Jared wasn’t familiar with. Beneath the trees, the yard featured ferns in artful circles, shrubs cut into woodland creature shapes and a pond surrounded by tall grass. Jared noticed something sparkling in the trees. He heard an unmistakable thrum of power.