Winterfolk

by Janel Kolby

  And I bite.

  He jumps back and holds a finger to his lip. His eyes widen to see blood. “Why did you do that?”

  “I’m not yours.”

  “I didn’t say you were.” He bites his own lip. “It’s that guy, isn’t it? The one who pushed you.”

  “I’m nobody’s.”

  He presses his lips together. “Listen. I think you need help. Do you know him? The police said they’ve seen him before. They might know where he’s staying, and it’s not a safe place. Has he been keeping you or something? I’ve read things like that. My mom wants to help, too. Do you have a place? If not, I’m sure you can stay with us.”

  My fingernails are sharp for a reason.

  His lips glisten. “You could stay with me.”

  A rustle sounds from the other bed, and Carter leaps back to the couch, where I can’t see his face no more.

  I climb back into bed, and pull the white sheet over me.

  That didn’t count as a kiss. Couldn’t. I wipe my eyes and refuse to let it be.

  My first.

  I can’t chance the phone. They’ll hear me.

  I wash my mouth and dress quiet—clothes still damp, one boot—and slip out the door.

  The lamps in the lobby are dim, and the air is still. No one here except for me.

  A lobby for ghosts.

  The dark waits outside the front glass doors. Taunts. But I know better. I sit myself on a puffy couch embroidered with flowers, my book on my lap, and wait for the dark to lift.

  I lean against a pillow, and my head tilts back. The ceiling is so tall I could fit my trees in here. A whole forest. But the light is artificial. They wouldn’t like it. Their roots would strangle one another.

  My head drops to the side, and I imagine how their limbs would scrape through the walls to search for the sky.

  Telephone.

  I sit up. There’s a telephone on the wall.

  It must be a trick. But the numbers throb on my arm and make me go to it.

  The phone has two parts with a coil connecting them. I pick up the top part that has holes to listen and holes to speak. The part attached to the wall has the buttons. I lift my sleeve and press the buttons in the right order.

  It rings. One time . . . two times . . . three times . . . four . . .

  “Hello?” says a voice pulled a long way from sleep.

  “Matisse?”

  “Hold on.” The phone crackles loud, and I cup my ear. “Are you still there?” The voice is more alive. “Hello?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Did you give it to him?” she asks. “He called me at work, and I told him you had it. You gave it to him, right?”

  “You didn’t get the message?”

  “I had to shut off my phone, but I got the message. Um, who’s Kerry?” Her voice is strained. “Where are you?”

  My lips brush the phone. “They thought I was a mermaid cuz they pulled me from the ocean.”

  “A mermaid?”

  “And I thought they were the three bears. But only at first.”

  “You didn’t take any of that stuff, did you?” she asks. “Or anything else? Did someone give you something?”

  I wipe my mouth. That kiss didn’t count as giving. “No.”

  “Good.” Her voice relaxes. “I’m sorry I didn’t call her back. I didn’t know who she was. You gave the bag to him, right?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Uh, yeah, you can,” she says. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “I told you. I fell in the ocean. Water got in the bag. It’s all gone.”

  Silence.

  “Matisse?” The coil wraps around my finger, and I watch it turn purple. “He didn’t give us a chance to give it to him. He had a knife, and I fell in the water. I don’t know where King is. I need your help.”

  “To help King,” she says.

  “Yes. And more.”

  The phone crackles.

  “You wrote Winterfolk again,” I say. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She breathes into the phone. “Have you ever had a dream you thought was real?”

  I’ve had many.

  “Or experienced something you thought was a dream?” she asks.

  Same answer.

  “Is that what you are?” she asks. “Winterfolk? Is that what you call yourself?”

  I squeeze the phone. “I live with the Winterfolk. In the Jungle.”

  She’s quiet.

  “It’s our home.” My throat closes. “But no one sees that. The city’s gonna tear it down tomorrow. And now King is gone. It was my fault. He could be hurt—he could be . . . they’ll all be . . .” I close my eyes and try to breathe. Pretend he’s in front of me, telling me to breathe.

  “Rain, where are you right now? Are you safe?”

  I breathe.

  “No one knows where I am.” That should make me feel safe, but it doesn’t. I look at the sign above the phone, and the words come to focus. “I’m at The Edgewater.”

  “Stay there. He might be at Lance’s, who’s another douche. I’ll fix it. I promise. After, I’ll pick you up.”

  “How will you fix it?”

  “Trust me,” she says.

  I put the phone back together, and the coil lets go of my finger.

  I wipe my eyes. I’m supposed to stay. While everyone’s doing something except for me.

  Where is King?

  I grab my book and go to the front door. One push, and I’d be out in the dark—doing something. Maybe I could take the bus. We got here by bus. I could trace where we got off. I could find it like I found the stairs. But I’d need more light.

  I look for the sun, but it’s not ready for me yet.

  I curl up in a chair behind a wall of plants.

  The chair’s arm tells me to rest awhile, so I lean into it and close my eyes.

  Soft footsteps brush the marble floor.

  I look through the plants. A young man stands behind the front desk in a coat and crooked tie. He has raccoon eyes. He yawns, which makes me yawn, too. He scratches his head. I must’ve made a sound, cuz he glances in my direction.

  The elevator dings.

  The door opens, and there she is. Kerry. I shrink into the chair.

  She looks around the lobby in a white cotton robe. Same as the one I was wearing. She’s looking for me. She is. But I can’t let her see me. She’d take me back where Carter is, and it’s not kind to talk about the past, but I would.

  She goes to the desk, and the man straightens. They talk. He shakes his head. She looks around the lobby again. He gives her paper and a pen. She writes and gives it back to him. She looks around one last time before she returns to the elevator to be lifted away.

  Once she’s gone, I hear those soft footsteps again, only this time they’re headed for me.

  “Rain?” he asks.

  I look up.

  He gives me a folded note. The back of his hand is furry. I take the note, and he shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk to her.” He scratches his head. Yawns again, then walks away.

  I open the note. The mom’s name, Kerry, with a phone number and a Sacramento address. And one more thing beneath the phone number:

  I believe in you.

  18

  THE V IS WHERE I remembered.

  A flutter of crows above startles me. They’ve perched themselves proud on the dancer’s pointed toes, and judge me.

  Well, I don’t have much choice.

  They say they’re going to tattle, but I tell them I don’t care.

  They flap back at me.

  Shoo!

  The blanket mound’s not here. Jessiebel must’ve done a good job last night to deserve sleeping on a couch.

  Bob the ferret isn’t at the window near the entrance either, so I try the door, but it’s locked. Too early. Nothing appears to be open this early. I could keep walking. Now that I know where the sun rises and sets, I know home is southeast of here.

  That way.


  Not sure exactly. I massage my boot across the back of my other leg.

  A loud click wakes me, and I look around for a gun getting ready, but all I see are people, and I remember where I am. I lift my head off the side of the building and shift to a not-so-numb part of my butt. Lots of people walking all directions. A tall man in a suit walks by with coffee, and the roasted smell floats down to me. My spoiled stomach gurgles, and I press it to my book.

  The click sounds again. Through the entry to the V.

  I lean around. Bob is at the window.

  Do what King did to get money.

  I go to the window and stand there some time before his head jerks up.

  I find my voice. “Is Denise here?”

  His head bobs. “What do you want with Denise?”

  “I’m a friend of King’s. He said to ask for her.” I can’t look him in the eyes when I say that untruth, but I hope I’m still convincing.

  “A friend of King’s, huh?”

  I nod my head. For that I’m true.

  “She might be up. I’ll give you fifteen minutes, then you’ve got to be gone. This place isn’t for kids. Go on. Go on in.”

  I shouldn’t be happy to see a witch. I know they’re not just in stories. But I’m a step closer to home. I open the door.

  It’s darker than it was in the hotel lobby. Wouldn’t think it’s day from in here, or that there’s an ocean on the other side of the door, which I close behind me. The only lights are from the stripe of red around the rectangle ceiling and the stripes of blue around three circle stages. The center stage is the biggest, with a pole stuck through the center of a glowing blue V planted on the stage. The pole goes from the point of the V all the way up to the ceiling. The smaller stages are V-less. Long, high tables with chairs circling. Against one wall is another long, high table with chairs. The wall is covered with all shapes and colors of bottles and drinking glasses. The room’s empty, but a door at the back shows a crack of light.

  The blue V pulls me to center stage, and I climb the steps to meet it. We’re the same height. I touch the pole at its center. It shocks my fingers. I let go and step back.

  Drum music plays. Not real drums. But I can almost imagine myself home.

  I look around, and the room’s still empty.

  I hug my book and spin once on my one stockinged foot. I close my eyes and spin around again. Ba-boom. And again. Ba-boom. And again. Ba-boom.

  Clapping.

  I open my eyes at the silk-robed witch. She smiles wide and clasps her hands.

  My own hands tremble, and I press them to my hidden book.

  “Lovely,” she says. “Just lovely.”

  She climbs the steps and nears me.

  “Are you my new little chicken?”

  I hold my book tighter. Just yesterday I wouldn’t have spoken to her. Now my mouth opens. “I’m no one’s anything.”

  “Of course you’re not. And you never should be. You have talent. A little rough, perhaps, but the elegance of a real dancer is there. Ready to make an appearance with proper training. The music takes you to another place, doesn’t it? It does with me, too.”

  A jungle, maybe. Not my jungle. But one with rain forests and active volcanos that rain ash.

  “I doubt you’re aware how others could see you,” she says. “So lovely.” The eyes of a mother look me up and down, then stop at my boot. “Oh, dear. What happened to your other shoe, darling? What size are you?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “You look the perfect fit.” She slips off her black, pointy heels with red ribbons at the back. “Here. Try these.”

  I’ve never worn ribbons. Especially not at my feet. “You think I could dance?”

  Like King.

  “Go on,” she says. “Try it on.”

  I remove my foot from my boot and put on the dancing shoe. It fits snug, but not too much. I insert myself into the other, and wobble.

  “Hold to the pole for balance,” she says.

  I grab to the pole with my free hand, but the world tilts. I drop my book and hold with both hands. Steady . . . steady.

  Steady.

  How can she walk in these?

  “That’s right,” she says, “the pole will keep you balanced. That’s all you need. Find your balance. Try leaning away from it now, your body straight. Slowly. Yes. Majestically. Do you have a dress?”

  “A dress?”

  “What are you doing?” says a loud man’s voice.

  I collapse to the ground.

  Bob is at the doorway, head quirked to one side. He’s looking at her. Not me. “I asked what you’re doing.”

  Denise smiles. Her teeth shine. “Oh, Bob. You interrupted us.”

  “She’s a kid, Denise.”

  For a moment, color rises to her cheeks. She looks like she’ll explode. But then she shakes back her hair and simpers. “We were playing. Don’t be so serious.”

  He looks at me. “Is this what King sent you for?”

  “King?” She looks sharply to me. A witch again. “She’s hardly a kid if she knows King.”

  I shake off her shoes. What if King had walked in on me? What would he think? “I came to see if I could borrow some bus money. So I can go home.”

  “Bus money,” he says. “You hear that, Denise? Bus money. Come here. I need to talk to you.”

  She holds the pole to put on her shoes, and winks. “I’ll be right back. We girls have a lot to talk about.”

  The ratty cover of my book glows blue and red. I don’t think we have anything to talk about. She can keep her ribbons.

  I grab my things and run to that doorway at the back with a sliver of yellow light. I need to find an exit. I open the door to a room of blue plush couches. All round are red drapes with gold trim.

  Sprawled on one of the couches is Jessiebel in a silver sparkle tank top and black leather pants. Barefooted. His face is sand-dollar white.

  I’m so glad to see him. I run over and kneel on his crumpled blanket. “Jessiebel, wake up.” I tap his shoulder. “Jessiebel.”

  He doesn’t move.

  I pat his face with a small smack like I sometimes do Dad. “Jessiebel.”

  His eyes roll back, then flutter.

  “Please wake up, Jessiebel.”

  His eyes grow wide and slowly focus on me.

  What are you doing here? they ask. His mouth says, “Water.”

  Glasses litter the tables around us. I find one with clear liquid and smell. I think it’s water. Water from a place like this. I put it to his lips, and he drinks.

  “That’s vodka,” he says.

  I move the cup away, but he grabs it along with my wrist and drinks down. “It works.” He sits up and rubs his eyes. “I need to get out of here.”

  “I need you to help me get back home. But we can’t go out the front. Is there another way?”

  “There’s a side door by the restroom.” He stands and wobbles like I did wearing heels.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Of course he’s okay.” Denise walks in. “A little too much dancing. One too many beers. Right, Jess?”

  He glares at her. “Sure.”

  She glares right back at him. “You leaving, little chicken? You know you owe me.”

  “You owe her?” I ask. “For what?”

  He strips off his glitter top and throws it to the ground. Sweat glistens on his forehead. “I don’t owe you for that.”

  She raises her eyebrows.

  He unzips his pants.

  “Stop.” I cover my eyes. “You shouldn’t owe her those pants. I think King wore them.”

  The witch chuckles. “You know King well, don’t you, girl?”

  “Naturally.”

  I’m dreaming. But I’m not. I know I’m not. I uncover my eyes.

  King stands tall at the door. One eye—yellow-brown, less swollen than yesterday. The other so deep I might swim in it. His hands hold my boot’s lost companion.

  “King.” Denise
backs up. “Your . . . uh . . . little friend was looking for you.”

  My arms are already around him. He holds to me, and I can feel the heat coming from his neck. He breathes hard, as if he’s been running. His arms squeeze, and his hands reach to the back of my hair.

  Jessiebel steps back.

  King’s voice is soft in my ear. “Are you mad?”

  Yes.

  I shake my head against him. No.

  Now, more than ever, I want to be like snow, so I can melt into him.

  He shivers. “Do you have it?” The bag with white powder.

  “It’s gone,” I tell him. “The ocean took it.”

  He pulls back to look at me, and I confirm what he’s thinking. His eyes glaze over. “Okay. We gotta hurry. Ready?” He squeezes my arm and doesn’t let go.

  I take the boot from him to join with the other.

  “Great.” Jessiebel’s friend-face is gone. “I’m glad you found your . . . uh . . . friend. It’s been a rain barrel of fun. Ha. Truly. I wish you the best in your journey. I don’t know where I’m going, dears, but I’m not staying here.” He turns to Denise. “Where’s my kilt?”

  King looks at me. “You know him?”

  Denise tightens the sash around her robe. “Where it belongs. In the dumpster. Along with that rag of a shirt.”

  “Those were my only clothes.”

  “Now you have new ones. You can thank me. You should thank me.”

  “And what about my shoes?”

  “What do you think?” She turns around to face King. “I booked you for next week.”

  “You can’t be serious,” he says. “After you had her onstage? Bob told me. You know how I feel about that.”

  “I had her onstage?” She looks to me and laughs. “So innocent, aren’t you?”

  Of course not.

  “What is she talking about?” King asks.

  I look straight at him. “Nothing.”

  Denise stretches out a smile and looks at me. “I’ll see you when you’re ready.” She looks to King. “And you and I are dancing next week.” She softly nudges King’s shoulder with her own, and King tightens his grip on my arm.

  He adjusts his cap while she walks out of the room. “Let’s go.”

  “Let’s go.” I hold my boots out to Jessiebel.

  Who smiles wide and reaches to take them. “I wanted these.”

  King raises his eyebrows. “Who is he?”