Round Trip Fare

by Barb Taub

  “And when those teeth did come in, they were crooked.” Bain cocked his head as she grumbled out loud. “Harry made me wear those damn braces and said it was my own fault.” Getting to her feet, she flashed Bain the perfect smile Harry’s orthodontist had bullied her teeth into. He didn’t look impressed, and bumped her leg. “Okay, come on, Bain. Let’s see what we can do about you.”

  They walked all the way through the train, nodding to the handful of passengers. Finally, they came to a car with a locked entrance. As she jiggled the handle, her tattooed wrist accidentally brushed the door. She hissed, then sucked in a breath as it opened. Beyond was a large car full of cabinets, ovens, sinks, and other kitchen equipment. It smelled faintly musty, and surfaces were covered in dust as if nobody had been in there for a while.

  Continuing through the dark car, she came to another locked door. A gentle brush of the tattoo had that door opening to reveal a bedroom with a bathroom just beyond. The little room was like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle. Everything—bed, tables, wardrobe—fit perfectly into its own slot in the walls, giving a sense of functionally perfect space.

  Frowning, she threw her sweatshirt across the bed, and opened her backpack to strew more belongings across the room. She plugged her iPad into an outlet below a small shelf next to the bed, opened its cover into a stand to display the St. Helens Halloween picture of her with Connor and Harry, the three of them dressed in tie-dye as a seventies rock band. She started her workout playlist and centered the little kaleidoscope in front of the iPad stand. Better, but still not right. So she laid out her knives on the shelf, hung her sword from a pair of hooks next to the bed, and arranged a selection of her throwing stars in a cup next to the iPad. She stepped to the doorway and nodded approval. Yep, nothing says home sweet home like weapons within easy reach.

  The next car was the biggest surprise. It was full of—was that…dirt? Bain sneezed. No, maybe it was shredded bark mulch. Okay then. He took care of pressing business, and she scooped it automatically. Well, that was…unexpected.

  Returning to the dusty kitchen, she noticed a couple of handwritten pages torn from a notebook and clipped together with a clothespin, sitting on top of an unopened package of men’s boxer shorts, size small. Taking them into the bedroom, she put the notes onto the narrow bed and went into the tiny bathroom to fill Bain’s collapsible water dish. Side by side on the floor, they shared her last package of beef jerky. Carey pulled the clothespin from the pages of notes, leaned back against the wall at the head of the bed, and began trying to decipher the appalling handwriting.

  Dear Next SA: My tattoo has almost disappeared, so it’s starting to look like I might be gone before you get here. I don’t have much time but I wanted to pass along some of the things I heard from the SA before me.

  Carey paused to consider her bandaged wrist. Was it some kind of timer for how long she’d be on the train? She felt an unexpected pang at the thought of losing her only tattoo, but turned back to the handwritten pages.

  In no particular order, here are a few tips that might help:

  1. There is a washer/dryer in the closet next to the bathroom. Above that are shelves with towels and sheets, plus some spare Metro logo shirts.—I’ll try to wash mine before I go, but you should check the washing machine.—When I started my SA, the shirts were all in two sizes: imp and troll. I ordered size L shirts, but I’m sorry about all the sheets and towels being pink now. Apparently you aren’t supposed to wash brand-new red cotton shirts with the rest of your laundry. Who knew?

  2. The two big doors at the back of the kitchen car are an industrial fridge and walk-in freezer. Supplies come on at most stops, and you can give them your new supply orders, both for the food trolley and for anything personal you might need. But the Metro doesn’t travel a straight line through space or time, so when those orders actually come in is anybody’s guess. Some stuff might come because you—or someone—ordered it at a stop in the past.—I know. It makes my head hurt too.

  You might see some boxer shorts and an iPod charger that I’ve been ordering since my first week. Or not.—I managed without the charger because a demon left one behind, but there were a lot of commando days because they keep sending size small on the shorts.—Freeze anything you possibly can. You never know how long it will be before your replacement orders come in.

  3. You can make coffee and/or tea for the food trolley and take it to the passengers. Depending on what food comes on board, you can take along sandwiches or other items as well. Nobody ever said anything about paying, so I never charged anyone for the food or drink. An imp told me that when one of the minor dragons was SA, she used to charge a lot for the trolley food. Of course, everyone knows how dragons are, so I’m sure she just didn’t know better.

  4. Most people don’t ride this train for fun, so be careful about asking questions. Lots of passengers have weird gifts, some human, some not. The ones from Watcher Court—white robes—probably won’t talk. The ones from Fallen Court—well, some of them are pretty friendly and talk a lot, but somehow I kept losing stuff whenever they came on board. People think imps are bad-tempered and rude, but I think they’re just misunderstood. Sure, imps will think you’re ugly and stupid, but they like to bargain, especially for coffee and chocolate.—In case you haven’t met any before, imps look like teddy bears. Four-foot-tall, red, scaly teddy bears.—DO NOT give imps anything with cherries in it. Imps with cherry poisoning are just disturbing.

  5. Your tattoo will unlock most doors, but you can’t get into the engine. And sometimes new train coaches appear or disappear. We had one guy who came with a pack of hellhounds, and a car full of some kind of shredded bark or something showed up, which was a good thing because those hellhounds…well, I’ll just say they must have all had VERY healthy appetites because there was a lot of digestive processing if you know what I mean.

  6. Garbage gets left at the end of the platform when you stop. If you haven’t been on the Metro before, you might not realize that as it jumps between whens, things get pretty rocky. You’ll probably want to make sure those “Mind the Gap” bags are in every seat. They WILL be needed. Some of the nonhumans are kind of…violent…when they hurl. Rubber gloves and a clothespin over the nose are your best friends here.

  Overall, this SA gig is boring but not too bad. You’ll meet some interesting people. Just remember, most of them could kill you if they wanted to. Or if they just got bored. If you make it to Null City, ask for me.

  I forgot. I had to bargain away my last name for a shortened SA service. Don’t ask for me. But Poppy—if she’s still Null City Anchor—should be able to find me.

  Good luck.

  Zach Menard Smith

  P.S. That five-prong outlet in the kitchen only works when there are two moons shining, but it tends to melt most things plugged into it. I have ordered a new toaster. And that red Emergency button above the toaster? You really don’t want to push it. Trust me.

  P.P.S. Laundry detergent makes a good fire extinguisher.

  »»•««

  Carey folded the two pages of notes and put them into her pack. The bed looked inviting, but… Zach the note-writer did say he went commando. Hell. She staggered over to the hallway closet and found the washer/dryer. Sure enough, it contained sheets and towels, as well as two T-shirts, all a delicate rose pink. After a quick shower, she pulled on one of the T-shirts and a pair of the new boxer shorts, each of which sported a different, strategically placed superhero logo. “What do you think, Bain?”

  He contemplated the Man of Steel sagging limply against the front of her boxers and offered a belly to rub.

  “That bad, huh?”

  Bain waited a diplomatic few minutes after she climbed onto the bed before hopping up to arrange himself across her feet. The train wheels were soothing, and she was exhausted. But she lay awake, staring at the picture on her iPad showing that last Halloween at the ranch, the three of them costumed as a seventies rock band. His golden hair spilling back from hi
s face, Harry was bowed backward, his guitar pointed up and a wholly unangelic look of glee on his face, while she and Connor in their tie-dyed shirts and headbands laughed so hard they could barely stand.

  As Carey finally reached for the switch of the little light built into the wall over the bed, the phone buzzed for an incoming text message.

  Harry: Eat your vegetables. Love you.

  Carey: Yes, Mother. Love you back.

  Standing the iPad so the picture faced the bed, she put one hand on the bowie knife under her pillow and was asleep almost before her eyes closed.

  A cold nose and polite doggy sneeze woke her. The iPad’s clock suggested she’d been in bed for over ten hours. Her rumbling stomach confirmed it was time for breakfast, but first things first. After a visibly relieved Bain visited the mulch car, he followed her to the kitchen.

  A check of the refrigerator had her closing it quickly. Apparently Zach had been gone for some time, and it was going to take that clothespin over her nose to get it cleared out. The freezer was more helpful. She liberated a—frozen—carton of milk, and another of orange juice. Randomly, there was also a bag of granola. Almost the entire freezer back wall was stacked with industrial-size packages of chocolate chip cookies, while another set of shelves held enough frozen hamburger patties in shrink-wrapped rolls to supply a burger stand for months. She grabbed a package of the cookies. Sorry, Harry. No veggies. What a shame. Adding a roll of the hamburger, she whistled to the dog sitting in front of the freezer. “Hamburger for breakfast, Bain. You’re going to love it here.”

  She spent the rest of the morning cleaning the kitchen. Despite mixed feelings about the teabags and instant coffee in the front of the first cabinet, she decided beggars couldn’t be choosers and put them onto the food trolley cart. Then she hit gold in a back cabinet. The ancient espresso machine she unearthed looked like it was in perfect shape, as did the hand-crank coffee grinder behind it. Taking them to the sink, she dismantled the moving pieces, polished up the elaborate brass fittings, and sighed wistfully. A check of all the drawers turned up a pencil but failed to yield anything she could use for a shopping list. She shrugged and grabbed a stack of Mind the Gap bags. “Shopping List: Espresso beans. Milk. Dogfood. Sugar. Coffee beans. Tampons. Espresso beans. Peanut butter. Lots of everything else, especially espresso beans. Italian, if possible.”

  The bells-voice that reminded her of the Tickets machine announced the train was approaching Fallen Court Station. Clutching her shopping list, Carey made for the door of the kitchen car. When the train stopped, she stepped out to find a post with a small clipboard labeled “Metro Supply Orders.” After clipping her list to the board, she turned to the pile of boxes and bags, only to be frozen by the sight of half a dozen four-foot-tall red teddy bears milling around the steps up to the train. They had a mountain of luggage between them, so she ran over to help. As she heaved the last, surprisingly heavy, bag aboard, the train was already blowing its whistle. Dashing back to the kitchen car supplies waiting on the platform, she didn’t stop to see what they contained—hopefully, not eggs—before throwing everything into the waiting car. The Metro was already moving, Bain barking furiously, when she swung herself back aboard.

  As she unpacked the bags, her amazement grew. In his notes Zach seemed a little scattered, but surely he hadn’t ordered this stuff, all of it in industrial-size containers. “Pickled red peppers.” She held up a case holding a dozen jars for Bain’s inspection. “You suppose Harry would consider them vegetables?” Bain laid his chin on crossed paws. “No, I didn’t think so either.” She unpacked box after bag, trying to imagine the meal they could combine to make. Coconut milk? A bag with 144 cinnamon-scented tea-light candles? Ground nutmeg? Cornstarch? A gallon jug of Worcestershire sauce? Darn—there were the eggs. “Looks like it’s scrambled eggs for dinner, Bain. I promise I won’t put any of this crate of anchovies in them.” Bain whined. “Okay, fine. Hamburger for you.”

  »»•««

  After filling a pair of insulated jugs with boiling water from the kettle, she loaded the trolley with tea, instant coffee, and chocolate chip cookies. The first car was empty except for two tall beautiful men in white robes. The robes reminded her of Harry, and she gave them a smile. They ignored her so thoroughly she caught herself checking her reflection in the window to make sure she hadn’t somehow become invisible.

  She pushed the trolley to the next car, opening the door on…bedlam. A cacophony of sound slammed her back against the door as it closed behind her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Between: Metro Train

  Screams, threats of violence, promises of retaliation, and what Carey strongly suspected was swearing in several nonhuman languages filled the air. She ducked a flurry of Mind the Gap motion sickness bags tossed by a dozen men in blue-and-white polo shirts gathered on one side of the car. They were answered with an avalanche of the Metro’s bright orange blankets and small pillows, pitched with equal enthusiasm by the crowd of red-skinned imps on the other side.

  Carey groaned as she recognized the two figures in the no-man’s-land between the two groups. Claire Danielsen stood in front, looking grim but determined. And didn’t Carey just know that the girl aiming pleading looks and tear-drenched eyes at the polo shirts would be her former ARC prisoner and reluctant rescuer, Leigh Ann Shay.

  “Hey, you lot!” Her yell went unnoticed in the general din. “Shut! Up!” Nothing. Well, okay, then. “Bain, speak up!” Fingers to her mouth, she blew an eardrum-torturing whistle, immediately followed by Bain’s concert, several growling barks ending in a howl worthy of a hellhound.

  In the ensuing silence as all eyes swung to Carey, Leigh Ann’s voice was soft but fervent. “Crap.”

  A moment later a babel of voices broke into passionate explanation. Carey held up a hand and unleashed her glare. Silence returned. “Okay. I don’t need you to tell me how you all thought you were going to help. As it happens, Miss Shay and I already know each other. So I’m going to offer everyone a nice cup of coffee or tea and some cookies from my trolley here. ’Cause that’s what I do. My dog will bite the next person who says one single word other than coffee, tea, or Thank you, ma’am. ’Cause that’s what he does.” At her signal, Bain repeated his comments.

  Twenty-five pairs of eyes locked on her. “You may all sit down now.” Twenty-five butts hit seats as she pulled her trolley opposite the nearest polo shirt, which upon closer examination, seemed to sport a chest appliqué featuring a tiny rodent wearing a miner’s headlamp. “Coffee or tea?”

  None of the shirts did more than point to the coffee or tea as she wheeled her trolley down the car. Sniffing in disdain, the imps shook their heads at the beverages but silently accepted cookies. After serving the last imp, Carey grabbed Leigh Ann and marched her to the end of the car. Stopping only to retrieve a small suitcase, Claire followed.

  Before leaving the car, Carey leveled one last glare at the passengers. The imps seemed unimpressed, but the shirts sat up straighter, and one of them made a dash for the bathroom. “The three of us are going into the next car for a little chat. My dog will remain here to remind you all to respect your fellow Metro passengers. We thank you for choosing Metro, and hope you enjoy the rest of your trip. Bain, hold them.”

  The old shepherd who had helped her train Bain told her that a good herding dog had what he called “eye.” Most Aussies and Border Collies did fine with sheep, but it took a strong eye to herd larger animals such as cows. Bain, he claimed, had exceptionally good eye. Her dog lowered into a slight crouch and eyed the occupants of the car. The imps made a big deal of ignoring the dog’s laser stare. But every one of the polo-shirted passengers looked back at the dog, then looked down and froze.

  Ignoring Claire’s raised eyebrow, Carey used her wrist tattoo to lock the door behind them. She pointed to the first bench seat and glared at Leigh Ann, who flounced down. Followed by Claire, she locked the far door and gestured to a bench seat where they could keep an eye on Leigh
Ann at the other end of the car. “I have a feeling I can guess, but what happened in there?”

  Claire shook her head. “I’m not quite sure. The guys in the suits said something about being a coterie of prairie dog shifters whose burrows were being poisoned by ranchers in South Dakota. They’re going to Null City to relocate their company—apparently they make all the branded sports and alumni apparel for the South Dakota School of Mines—before their families join them. I wasn’t paying much attention because I was trying to bargain with the imps for news about you. I brought chocolate. The good stuff. But I think Leigh Ann told the prairie dogs some crap story about me destroying her family’s apple orchard and kidnapping her, so they were trying to rescue her from me. Then the imps decided the shifters were after their chocolate, so they defended me.”

  “I told her she should give up on the apple orchard.”

  Claire nodded absently and leaned over for a better look at Carey’s tattooed wrist. Not a hair was out of place in her elegant twist, and her Accords dress jacket and slacks remained perfectly pressed. She looked like she might be sitting down to lunch in an upscale restaurant instead of holding a somewhat battered cookie and a paper cup of tepid tea. “Nice ink. Does Marley know about it?” Her expression was mildly interested, and her voice could have been remarking on the seasonable weather.

  “See, that’s why nobody will play poker with you anymore,” Carey complained.

  “Okay.” Claire sucked in a small breath and hissed the words. “Carey Parker, what the effing-Accords are you doing with your life? Director Jeffers pulled Anderson off escort and told me to take the Null City delivery run for that Mary-Sue-from-Hell. All he would tell me was you ran into some trouble so you’re taking a vacation for a few months, and that you’d be happy to see me.”

  As Carey opened her mouth, Claire showed her the hand. “Shut. Up. I’ve got quite a bit of my mad left here.”

  Carey nodded.