
# Rainbow Briefs

Volume 2

Kira Harp
Copyright ©Kira Harp 2018

Smashwords Edition

Edited by Sara Winters

Cover art by Karrie Jax – karriejax.com © 2018

License Notes

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Content warning: some stories may contain references to abduction, substance abuse, self-harm, or suicidal ideation.

# Introduction

These stories were first posted in draft form on the Goodreads Young Adult LGBT Books Group. Every month for years now, the group has voted on a picture prompt as an inspiration for members to create short fiction or poetry.

We have wonderfully creative folk on the group and have accumulated a wide range of pieces, from haiku to 12,000-word stories and all lengths and formats in between. Each story features YA characters with some element of LGBTQ. Many of the best stories aren't mine, but since I write for every prompt and had dozens of stories on the site, Sara Winters convinced me to do a collection of mine, to make them more generally available. With her editing help, the first collection— Rainbow Briefs— was released in 2013, and readers seemed to enjoy it.

Since then, I've written many more stories. Sara suggested that a second collection could be fun. This volume consists of additional stories from new prompt pictures, with characters across the LGBTQ rainbow. If you like these, do come check out the work of all our members. We also have Book of the Month readings, and keep lists and suggestions for YA LGBTQ fiction. There's a link at the back of this book to make it easy to find us on Goodreads, or you can search with the group name. I've also included at the end of this volume some of the helplines and resources we have posted on the group. If you're looking for a place to chat, or to get information, or a sympathetic ear, check those lists. Life has its ups and downs, but they're easier to get through when you can find people who'll be on your side.

\- Kira Harp

Aug 2018 

# Acknowledgments

Without Sara Winters, these stories would never have left the draft stage on the Goodreads YA LGBT Books group. Thank you, Sara, for your encouragement and editing (and pushing, and nudging, and occasionally much-needed nagging), and your unfailing enthusiasm for my writing that got me eager to polish and refine these and made this book possible. Many thanks to Eric, Kate, and K-lee for beta reading and the suggestions about which stories to include and where to make changes. Love and gratitude to Jonathan Penn, who not only did an amazing beta read, but created a spreadsheet with suggestions about order and length. And my gratitude to Aidan Zingler for zir invaluable help and advice on the stories with a gender identity focus. It takes a community to raise a book, and I'm lucky to share an amazing community.

# Dedication

For all the young people who are hoping, dreaming, and working to create a world that's more inclusive, more fair, more compassionate, and more full of rainbows than the one they were born into. 
Table of Contents

Rainbow Briefs 2

Copyright

Introduction

Acknowledgements

Dedication

All of Me, With Dragon

ILYA

In the Words of the Bard

Not the Cat's Meow

My Girl

The Strongest Shape

With Teeth and Blade

Lifeline

Ephemeral

Little Brothers Can Make a Person Crazy...

Dangerous Wishes

Letters from Abroad

Beginnings

The Trap of Songs

Second Chances

Flash of Red

Free Choice

Through a Door, Darkly

Expectations

Recollections

Well-Met by Moonlight

LGBTQ Helplines and Resources

About the Author

Also by Kira Harp

# All of Me, With Dragon

photo description: A slender figure stands inside a stone hall, submerged to the waist of her elegant dress in a pool of water. Her long, dark hair is held back from her pointed ears with an elaborate diadem. A gold armband worked in similar curves wraps around her upper arm. All of her attention is focused on the face looking into hers – the narrow muzzle and intent eyes of a scaled, spiny, sinuous, cat-sized dragon, wet and dripping in her hands, its long tail draped across her wrist.

I knew before I opened my eyes that this was a girl day. I felt softer, and my body rested on my down mattress lightly, almost weightlessly. The sheets glided over my skin when I moved my legs. I smiled, opened my eyes, and looked up. Through the skylight above me, the clouds scudded thick and dark across the sky. It was odd, how often a dark and stormy day woke the girl in me. Somehow, I felt stronger to stand against the wind and rain as a girl.

Like being a princess makes me a weather goddess? Hah.

The self-mockery didn't keep me from leaping dramatically out of bed and laughing up at the brewing storm, from the safe haven of my stone bedroom. I pulled off my sleep-shirt and cleaned up, using a razor to shave myself silky smooth all over. I'm not hairy anyway, but on girl days I want my skin to shine. I combed out my hair and clipped it back loose with a feminine diadem around it, instead of doing the tight braid with the tuck under. My silk dress went on like flowing water over my sensitized skin. I love, love, love the sensual quality of girl days.

My father called to me from the front room, "Kana? Are you coming to breakfast?"

"Just a minute!" I did a quick whirl and strike, making sure this new dress didn't cling too tightly for me to kick and run, because girl does not mean fainting flower. Then I headed down the hallway.

When I entered the eating room, he looked up. As usual, I saw the moment of calculation, when he looked at my dress, my hair, and shifted his expectations for me. I'd been his prince solidly for the last week, so he'd probably seen this coming. "Hey, honey," he said. "Your mother left early, so we're fending for ourselves. I made oatcakes."

I glided over and kissed his hair, wound an arm around his neck. "Thanks, Father."

He smiled. "Sit and eat. You're too skinny."

"Hah," I said under my breath. Every inch of me was honed muscle and he knew it well. But Mother was plump and round, and Father claimed to like that in a girl. I bit into an oatcake with darinberry jam and licked my lips. He slid the pitcher to me. "Have some milk."

"So," I said, remembering to take smaller bites, "What's the plan for today?"

"Well, the ambassador from Croyden is presenting Princess Anali to court. I'd thought..." He looked me up and down. "Well, I guess it's up to you. You can come and sit through the ceremony, or not, as you please. You'll have to be there for Betrothal tomorrow, of course."

"I'll come today." I bit the next cake harder. He tries, my father the King. He truly does. Here inside our apartments, with all duties and servants left at the door, he tries to be the perfect father. He works so hard to accept me on all my days, even the ones where I'm remote and not girl or boy, but my cool and unknowable self. But he can't help wishing, I think. Wishing that I'd make his life just a bit easier as his heir. He'd probably meant to present his son, Prince Kana, to the princess today. Instead he got his daughter.

I almost offered to go and change. I could do it, become the other, even if my heart wasn't in it. But I hated to wear my selves like a disguise, when they didn't fit. And if the princess was truly meant to be my consort, she'd have to deal with girl-me soon enough. Better now, before the betrothal, when she could still back out gracefully. I licked the jam off my fingers. "You're a better cook than Mother is."

"I should be." He snorted. "Your grandfather made his sons care for ourselves on hunting trips, to toughen us up. Your Uncle Ton is a terrible cook, so I learned in self-defense. While your mother's parents never let her white hands so much as touch a pan."

"So she says." I had to smile. My mother had never been the society type. My father likes to tell of their betrothal day, when they wrote their one true concern in the Question Books. His question was, "Do you truly want children, or just feel obliged to have them?" Hers was, "If I marry you, can I study medicine?" It turned out to be a match made by the gods, although the only child they got from it was me.

Father stood. "I have to go get started. There's a lot of business on my plate this morning. Princess Anali is due to be presented an hour before the noon bell. I think there's nothing to catch your interest before then, so there's no need to arrive earlier." His forehead furrowed, and he seemed to look inward. I wondered what the trouble was.

"I'll be there at late-morn bell then," I said. "Good luck with the morning court."

He made a sour face. "I'll need it. If Noble Duran complains once more about Xeres moving boundary markers, I'll probably..."

"Patiently send out a squire to measure it off again." I went and kissed him. "You're the best peacemaker ever. That's why the malcontents like Duran are so unhappy."

"Well, I try." He managed a smile. "I'll see you later, daughter."

As he opened the door of our suite, I saw his bodyguard go from parade rest to alert. Father waved, and then closed the door behind him. So. A morning to myself...

I had tasks I could do, including an archive of old books I was happily cataloging. But I had no patience for that today. I decided to go check on the hatchlings and say a word to the Dragonmaster. He was the wisest man I knew, and for some reason my father's ordinarily calm demeanor had shown a few cracks this morning. I wanted to know why.

I put on sturdy boar-hide boots. Briefly, I considered changing my dress to more practical trews as well, but I liked the feel of the silk, and the contrast with the high black boots. Anyhow, I wasn't going to be working with the dragons today, just talking to the Master. I buckled on a girdle around my waist, the one with a secret blade concealed on the side. I even reached for my dagger, but in the end I left it. I wasn't sure why I felt the urge to armor up, but the dagger was overkill within our own castle walls.

When I stepped out of our rooms, Jo was waiting as my guard of the day. She gave me a nod, then fell in at my right, where I wouldn't block her sword arm. "Where to, Your Highness?"

"The mews," I said.

"Very well, Your Highness."

I made a face. "Seriously, Jo. Can't you call me Kana, the way the others do?"

She shook her head, shaking the tiny braids of her hair. "It's not fitting."

"Not even if I ask it?" I gave her my slow smile.

She averted her eyes. "No, Your Highness." Her next step opened up a little more space between us.

All right, I wouldn't push. I'd noticed that Jo was more formal on the days when I was a girl. Whether it was from distaste or attraction, I still hadn't quite figured out. She was an intense woman, solitary and focused, an amazing fighter. I'd never heard her name paired with anyone, male or female. I trusted Jo with my life, because my father did, but I didn't really know her.

The mews were reached by way of two long hallways and three flights of stairs. The dragons preferred the deeper reaches of the castle. They needed dark, cool nooks, cut into solid rock, for sleeping, and they loved the bathing pool. They'd pop in and out of sight over the surface, shutting their wings to drop down like living stones into the water. As a child, I'd spent hours watching them at play down there.

I knocked on the outer door. As a Royal, I could, of course, have just walked in. But I'd no more barge into the Master's domain without permission than walk unannounced into my parents' bedchamber. There was a pause, then the door opened. A boy's face appeared, at my shoulder level. "Oh, it's you!" The pale face reddened immediately. "I mean, Prince Kana, oops, Princess Kana, come in." The boy tugged the door wide.

I smiled at the young page as I entered. He'd only been on mews duty a week. As far as I knew, he'd never seen me in a dress. "Is the Master around?"

The boy ducked his head. "Oh, yes, Your Highness. He's with the hatchlings." He pointed across the cavern.

When he turned to lead the way, I said, "I can find him. You go back to your work." I wanted to talk to the Master alone.

The boy looked unhappy, but ducked his head again and picked up a scraper and bucket, heading across the cavern. Clearly the master had set him to cleaning out the sand pit. No wonder he was looking for a reason to take a break, but for all my sympathy— I'd done that job for one long week, as part of my education— I wasn't going to let him tag along. In fact, I also told Jo, "You wait here, by the door."

She said, "His Majesty asked us to be more vigilant this week."

"He did?" I took a short breath. "Why?"

"It's not my place to speculate."

"It is if it makes me safer, to have some idea where the threat lies."

She hesitated. "Perhaps because the delegation from Croyden is staying within the walls? He just told us he had a bad feeling about this week. Even before they arrived, though."

"Hm." My father's hunches were notorious. In fact, some of the staff thought he was god-touched and could see the future. My mother said he was just an excellent observer of people and could see when something was a bit off. Either way, it wasn't a good sign. "Nonetheless, you will wait here. Nothing's going to harm me around the Master. Not even a dragon."

"True." She took a few calculated steps, pausing with her back to the wall, where she was in a position to watch me and the door. "I'll be over here." She eased into parade rest, looking like she could stand there stoically all day.

One of the guardsmen, Ry, had told me being a bodyguard was a very boring job, other than the rare moments when you wished it was more boring instead of terrifying. "Thank you," I told her.

I walked toward the hatchling room, circling around the pool. The smooth stone floor of the chamber echoed to the sound of my boot heels. I didn't bother trying to walk quietly. No one successfully sneaked up on the Master, no matter how silent they were. In the arched doorway I stopped, peering in.

I'd thought this season's hatch was done, but to my surprise, the Master was bent over one of the nests, the mother dragon perched on the curved edge behind him. A female dragon is the size of a furious cat, but with far more mobility, and better weapons. One scant stone's weight of scaled full-out predator, if she was angered, against fourteen-stone of man? An ordinary man would be in deep trouble.

I froze, watching, hoping nothing would set off her protective reflexes. The Master would be devastated if he had to hurt her. She chirred anxiously, her head bobbing on her small, slender neck. The Master held still as a lean, dark statue. With eggs hatching, I thought I should go, but he breathed, "Kana. Come help. Softly."

Now I did toe off my boots, trying to be silent. I padded across the stone in bare feet and stopped at his side. No wonder he'd called to me. There were three small eggs in this nest rather than one or two. All three showed a fine network of cracks in their translucent shells. The center one rocked slowly. The Master said quietly, "The big one on the left is yours. I'll deal with the other two." He didn't need to say more. I bent at the knees, slow and whisper-smooth, picked a round joyfruit out of the bowl at his feet, and held it in my fingers. Just as slowly I straightened.

The mother dragon looked at me, her multicolored eyes flashing. She was about the length of one of my arms, whip lean and spiked, thinner than normal now after her vigil at her nest. She raised her crest at me, then lowered it. She was lovely the way a sword is, the way a fighting woman is, all sinew and muscle. For a moment, I almost thought I heard her mindspeech, but of course that was impossible. Only their bond-linked and the Master could hear the dragons.

The Master relaxed slightly beside me, without looking away from the eggs. "Focus, Kana." He had one joyfruit in each hand, held steady, waiting.

The eggs cracked, wobbled, split apart. Mine was first, by a fraction of a second, but the other two broke as one. Sharp dragon-beaks emerged, gaping wide. Quick as we could, the Master and I tucked a fruit into each of the gaping, razor edged maws. My dragon snapped for hers, and I dodged quickly. It wasn't the little cut I was worried about, but the blood. Lose so much as a drop of blood into that hatchling meal, and the dragon would become predator indeed, hunting human flesh ever after. I smooshed the soft fruit into the hatchling's mouth and she bit down on it.

Following her instincts, the mother dragon arched her long neck over the nest, retching, bringing up her babies' intended first meal. From the look of the mess, she'd found a rodent of some kind for them. As one, the Master and I deflected the flow, shielding the fruit-gorging babies and catching the meat meal in our hands. I'd vomited myself, the first time I'd done this. The Master, damn him, had laughed. But now I just dunked my hands in the bucket of water he had set ready. He let me go first in the clean water. I was the Princess, after all.

Her duty done, the mother dragon curled back into her pose on the nest edge. If the babies had cried or choked or called out in hunger, she'd have gone for us in a fury of teeth and claws. But they chewed down their fruits, not even snapping toward each other's tidbits. It looked as though they hadn't tasted a single trace of the meat. It was good. They'd be mellowed now, far more likely to stay close to the castle and eventually bond, something that rarely happened with a meat-imprinted hatchling.

The Master gave me a nod as he washed his hands. "You were very timely. I was afraid I'd lose one to meat eating."

"What about that new page-boy of yours?"

The Master snorted. "The mother would've had him for lunch. He's too jumpy yet." He shook the water off his hands and ran a finger over the crest of the mother dragon, crooning to her. "Ah, little one, if you'd told me you were sitting on three eggs, we'd have been better prepared."

She managed somehow to look smug, as she accepted the caress.

I said, "I've never seen three."

"They're very rare." The Master gave the dragon one more rub and stepped back. "Sometimes I have a hint, but she kept her eggs hidden the whole time and didn't give me so much as a glimpse."

I reached for the towel he'd brought to dry my hands, and noticed a bit more of... something I didn't want to recognize under one nail. I rubbed my skin vigorously. "I still don't see how the mothers always manage to get some kind of meat meal into their holding-pouch before gestating. She's fruit raised, isn't she?"

"Oh yes, like the rest." He shrugged. "A thousand years of evolution. We haven't gotten around that one yet. Parental instincts are strong."

He gave me an oddly intent look as he said it. I was emboldened to say, "Speaking of parents..." I let it trail off and saw enough encouragement in his expression to continue. "My father's worried, and the guards are jumpy."

"Yes." He gestured with his head. "Come away." We walked over to the side of the hatchling room. From there we could see the new mother, still keeping her vigil on the side of the nest. There were a dozen other nests around the room, several of them still holding singletons or pairs of babies. All the other mothers had moved on, though, as soon as the babies had matured enough to stand up. The little ones snored or rustled around in their nests, sleeping the day away.

It would be weeks yet before any were ready to try to bond. I wondered how many would find a human to link. The Master had raised his success rate with each generation. His skill with the little drakes was legendary, and there were dozens of people now around the castle who had a dragon familiar acting as guard, message bearer and companion. But still most of the little dragonets would scorn us and fly off to the wild. It was foolish, but I hoped the triplet baby I'd fed would be one to stay.

The Master said, "All I know is that your father also sent me word to be alert for trouble."

"Just that? Nothing specific?"

"No."

"Could it just be a general precaution, with strangers in the castle?"

"It could. But His Majesty is a very astute man. Watch your back, my princess."

"I have Jo for that," I quipped.

Foolish of me, because a second later I felt a small blade prick the back of my neck under my hair. "Watch your own back, my princess." I stood still as stone, and a moment later the sharp tip vanished.

I had to wait for my heart rate to return to normal, even though I knew I had nothing to fear from the Master. "Yes, sir," I muttered.

"I think that His Majesty's feeling of danger has been around longer than the new delegation," he said, as calmly as if he hadn't just held a deadly weapon on a member of his royal family. "He asked me two weeks ago to present you to the next batch of bond-ready hatchlings, as soon as possible."

"Maybe just so I'd have something to impress the coming princess," I suggested. I'd been presented twice now. The first batch had all refused to bond, one by one popping out of the room and away. The more recent hatch had chosen not one but two women from the assembled candidates, but passed me by. "Maybe he thinks I'll look more desirable with a dragon on my shoulder."

"Foolishness. You don't need a dragon for that."

I flushed, but said, "I don't know. I'm strange. Who would want to partner with someone like me? Unless they're in it for my link to the throne, in which case I don't want them." My father wouldn't force me to a horrid match, but while he and Mother had the good fortune to marry in love, I'd probably have to settle for tolerance. A wedding wasn't optional, and allegiances mattered.

"Many would want you," The Master murmured. "If you don't know that, you're not watching the people around you closely enough."

"If you mean Troy..." The Master's last assistant had been reassigned, after some rather obvious drooling over me in my boy form.

The Master snorted. "Troy didn't take any watching at all. No, Your Highness. I've seen half a dozen other men, and two women, who are more than interested."

I blinked, trying to think who they might be. Jo? Maybe, but six men...

"Unfortunately, none suitable for Consort," he said. "But whether as girl or boy, you attract notice. And desire."

"Oh."

My warm cheer was cooled when he said, reflectively, "Although not always in both guises to the same person."

And there it was. Even the Master knew I was strange. As I stood there, wondering who among the men I knew wanted me, and how, there was a loud croon from the mother dragon. She shook herself and stretched.

"There. The babies are settled now." The Master locked gaze with the mother for a long minute. I knew they were speaking mind to mind. It was his gift. He turned to me eventually. "She says she would like to bathe, but she is feeling weak. Would you carry her to the pool?"

"I..." Dragons usually only wanted to be handled by their bond-link if they had one. "Yes."

"Slowly."

I went back to the nest and reached my hands toward the edge. The mother dragon got up and shifted over into my arms. She was compact and solid, feeling heavier than I knew her to be. She wrapped her long, sleek tail around my wrist. The barbed tip tapped my forearm gently.

"Take her to the pool." The Master's tones were gentle, and calm, whether for me or the dragon I wasn't sure.

I glanced down in the nest where the hatchlings slept, curled together, the birth fluid dried, a fleck or two of joyfruit around their tiny beaks. The mother turned to look with me, and then she flicked her gaze up to meet mine. Something warm buzzed in the back of my mind. Warm. Cool water would be good.

I carried her through the archway into the main room. When Jo saw what I held she straightened, but didn't move a step. I'd meant to set the mother, Malena, into the water at the edge of the pool, but she preferred the cooler depths. And when I hesitated, looking at my dress, I saw there was a fleck or two of, oh, yuck, something, on the skirt. Since I was barefoot, I just waded into the pool, still carrying her.

The water was silk-smooth on my bare legs. The fabric of the skirt clung, like gentle hands on my thighs. The stone floor gave way to sand, firm and stable, resilient beneath my feet. I waded in until the water reached my hips, soaking the stained parts of my dress.

Malena wanted to be lowered there, so I let my hands drift slowly down under the surface a few inches. She wriggled in my grasp, enjoying the feel of moisture on her parched skin. She lowered her beak to drink, and the wash of cold liquid down her throat was a taste of pleasure after two weeks of gestating without eating or drinking. Every pore in my little dragon's body seemed to open up to take in water.

She looked up at me. Good, good, good.

Yes. I thought.

Eat next? She was hungry enough to snatch a joyfruit from her own hatchling's jaws now.

Greedy, I chastised her. Those are your growing babies.

I'll get my own. She suddenly disappeared from my hands, the water frothing and air popping and crackling between my fingers. I was left standing in the deep pool, my empty hands out in front of me. I turned to stare at the Master. "By all that's holy, what...?"

He grinned. I don't think I'd ever seen the Master grin. It lit his face like a young boy's joy. "It would appear, Your Highness, that you have a dragon."

"I... Just like that?" I'd seen bonding ceremonies, attended them. There was food to tempt the dragonets with, candlelight and soothing music, hatchlings flying around, popping in and out, most of them drifting off to the wilds but a few returning, returning, drawn to one man or woman, until they came to rest on the chosen one's shoulder. Then the sharing of fruit and wine from the bond-link's mouth to the dragon's. Slow words spoken by the human, while the dragonets hummed and chirrred. It was like a dance, and Malena and I had skipped all the steps.

The Master shrugged. "You don't think the first bond-links in times past all happened to have joyfruit and sloe wine handy, and all that lovely poetry to recite? I imagine what you just did is the classic version."

"Well." I managed to get out of the water before sitting down hard. "Oh."

The Master said, "I'll send word to your father. He'll be delighted."

"Should I wait here? Till she...till Malena comes back?"

He smiled gently. "She's your dragon now. She can find you wherever you are. You should probably go change out of your wet things."

"Oh, yes." I stood, as gracefully as I could manage in the clinging wet skirt. "Jo?"

She came toward me, a slight flush on her high, dark cheekbones, not quite meeting my eyes. "Yes, Your Highness?"

"Home, I guess. And, don't tell anyone, right?"

That took care of the blush. She raised her chin. "I never gossip about you, Your Highness."

"Of course not." I tugged the skirt flatter. "My boots..."

"I'll get them." Jo hurried toward the hatchling archway, an odd stiffness to her gait.

I glanced at the Master and raised one eyebrow, in a gesture laboriously copied from Mother.

He cleared his throat. "That dress becomes quite, er, transparent when wet."

"Oh." I looked down. Sure enough, if you cared to, you could make out enough to know I shaved, everywhere. And which equipment I had. "Damn."

He went to the shelves on the wall and passed me a towel. "That might help."

Wrapped around my hips, it was just long enough to be decent. If I didn't move too fast. "Thank you."

He nodded. "You don't need the whole bond-link lecture, do you? You apprenticed here long enough, I imagine you could recite it yourself."

"Yes." Feed your dragon when she comes to you. Speak with her often, so it becomes easier. Don't worry if she spends time away from you, but summon her now and then with treats, so she learns to know your call. Make a place for her in your rooms... It had sounded easier when I hadn't had Malena's wild, dry voice in my head. She didn't seem like someone you could summon.

With a pop, Malena appeared in the air above my head, as if she'd heard me think of her. She hovered, wingless, buoyed by her own thoughts, then dropped enough to slip a claw into my hair, tug a strand free, and pop away again. I pressed a hand to my head where my scalp smarted, and stared at the empty space above me. "What was that?"

The Master laughed. "Oh, she's bonded all right. Taking something with your scent back to her old nest already. You may have your hands full with that one."

"Wonderful."

He touched my arm. "Yes. It is. You'll see. And here's your guard with your boots."

Jo set the boots on the floor beside me. The Master offered an arm for me to cling to as I forced my wet feet into them. He said, "Go get cleaned up. Be well. Watch out for your dragon." I got that amazing grin again. "Call me if you need anything. You'll do fine. Congratulations."

I let Jo guide me back through the familiar route to my room. My head was full of strangeness and my feet... arrgh, sand in boots. "Wait." I stopped in the first hallway. "This is driving me crazy." I took off my boots, shook them out, and then hesitated. "Don't look." I unwrapped the towel from around my waist and rubbed at my sandy soles.

There was the sudden tread of several pairs of feet on the stairs ahead of us. The boot heels struck with an oddly loud ring, foreign to my ears. I stood quickly, dropping the towel to let my hand drift near my hide-out knife in my girdle. Jo stepped ahead and to one side, her hand on her sword hilt.

A brace of unfamiliar men came into view, striding in lock step, with another pair behind. Between them walked a woman. She was small and plump, perhaps a decade older than me, with long red curls and milk-pale skin. Her mouth was generous, wide for beauty but perfect in shape. The points of her ears were elegant, her fingers dimpled and delicate. She glanced at me, and her green eyes widened. Her gaze tracked down me, and back up. Then she flushed and her lips parted. Even that was fetching on her. I couldn't help a smile.

Her men would have walked on past, but she put out a hand to stop them. "Hello." Her voice was warm, like new-collected honey.

"Hello." I met her gaze, watching her pupils dilate and the flush fade from her skin.

She smiled back at me. "We seem to be lost. I'm supposed to be headed to the main presentation hall, but this doesn't seem to be it."

"Gods, no," I laughed. "You're way off course. Don't you have a minder?"

One of her guards muttered, "Courtesy to the princess, please."

She gave him a little headshake. I blinked. Princess? "You wouldn't happen to be Anali?"

"Princess Anali of Croyden," the oldest guard growled.

I looked down at myself, wet, sandy, barefoot, and nearly indecent. I couldn't help a laugh. "I'm Kana."

"Prince Kana?" The guard looked like he was going to swallow his tongue.

I watched Anali, though. "Sometimes."

I waited, for the little moue of distaste, or the careful blank eyes. But instead she smiled, a tiny dimple appearing in one plump cheek. "Not today, apparently."

I gestured at the dress. "Not at this moment." Although I suddenly felt bigger and stronger, next to her sweet, compact form.

"Wow, interesting." Her smile didn't dim. "Still, we're supposed to find that hall?"

"I could show you..." It occurred to me that if she was due in court, probably so was I. "Ack. What's the time?"

Jo said coldly, "Mid-morn bell went while you were, um, bathing."

I hadn't even noticed. "Crak-it. Damn." I tugged a boot back on. I tried to ignore the show I was giving Anali in wet clothes; part of me was delightedly noticing that she wasn't ignoring it. "Must change. I can't show you there myself. Jo, would you guide them?" I stomped the other boot on.

"I'm not leaving you unguarded," she hissed at me.

"I can look after myself."

"Not a chance."

I smiled though my teeth at Anali. "Will you excuse us a moment?"

Before I could pull Jo aside, Anali said, "I wouldn't dream of taking your guard from you, Your Highness. Perhaps she could guide us to your room, and then find someone to take us the rest of the way?"

"Great idea," I said immediately. "Come on." I set a fast pace off down the corridor, before Jo could come up with reasons not to show strangers where the Royal rooms were. The others trailed along behind me perforce, up the stairs and down the hall. When we reached the Royal suite, one of my father's guards stood at the door. I stopped, far enough down the hall to have one less pair of ears on us. Ignoring the rest, I gave Anali my best smile. "I'll leave you here. Jo will steer you right. See you in court."

Anali's look was warm with humor. "I'll be the one with the overdone crown." She pointed at a basket her fourth guard was carrying. "Too heavy to walk in." Her guards frowned at her as one, but she tossed her head, setting her curls bouncing.

I said, "I'll be the one in drier clothes."

"Oh, not on my account," she breathed with a saucy smile.

It was my turn to blush. "Jo, show them the way?"

"As soon as you're inside the suite, Your Highness."

I turned away and hurried inside, brushing past my father's man at the door. To my surprise, my father stood in the main room, tapping his foot. He looked up as I came in.

"Kana. Thank goodness. And congratulations." He grabbed me in a short hug, cut off by the dampness of my clothes.

"Thanks." I stepped back. "I need to change."

"Definitely. And there's no time to talk. Damn." He touched my hair. "Kana. I need a favor. Could you go with boy-clothes for this? I hate to ask, but..."

"No. That's all right." I looked at him. "What's up?"

"That fool Duran may have more up his sleeve than I'd planned for. No time to explain. I'm sorry to ask it of you."

"It's all right." I had an urge anyway to shift lanes, to see what sweet Anali said when she met Prince Kana. "Ten minutes? Maybe a bit more?"

"I can't wait for you. Have Jo bring you down when you're ready."

"All right." I didn't mention I'd sent Jo on an errand. Knowing her, she'd be back in double time as soon as she'd delivered Anali and her guards.

Father kissed my forehead. "You're the best."

I suddenly clutched at his sleeve. "You're sure you wouldn't rather have had a real prince? Or a real princess, perhaps. Instead of in-between me?"

"Not a chance." He smiled. "You keep everyone on their toes. It's a good thing." Then he was gone out the door, leaving an empty space with the hint of his favorite vanilla scent.

I hurried to my room to change. For a while I stood in front of my mirror. Changing from girl to boy wasn't as simple as putting on the right clothes. Kana the boy was different, inside, not just out. I stood looking at the mirror as I stripped off my wet clothes, piece by piece, revealing my body, with the sleek, hairless limbs. When I was naked, I turned away. I let the calm of my room wash over me, and thought about Anali. And about Malena, my dragon. Too much in one day, perhaps. Excitement and nausea warred together, making me sick and dizzy, and I rubbed my flat stomach.

There was a pop of air, and Malena appeared overhead. I jumped, flailed, and almost put a hand through the mirror. "Knock first," I snapped at her.

She chirred at me, head tilted. You're sick?

No one was sure how much dragons understood. More than dogs, less than men. It was a wide range. I didn't try to explain. Just worried. Nervous. I'll be fine.

She opened a claw, and a golden soli-fruit dropped free onto my bed. You should eat. Air stirred again, as she popped out of the room.

Huh. I picked up the fruit. It smelled good. By long habit, I went to set it aside. Who knew where she got it, or from whom. But then I remembered the Master telling someone, Trust in the bond. Trust is the bond. Dragons know, somehow, what their people need. It's a lucky, lucky man who has one. I bit into the fruit. It was still warm from the sun, sweet and good, and as I ate it, my stomach and heart did settle. I straightened, licked my fingers, and dropped the pit into the trash. Father needed the Prince today. I could give him that.

Court dress meant stockings and breeks, tunic and blouse, and tail-cut jacket over it. I chose my favorite blues, the same shades as the dress. I could call for help at the pull of a bell-rope, but by now I was adept at all the fastenings and little buttons, and much preferred to dress myself. I combed my hair and braided it flat to my head, horse-tail tight, with the end threaded under and one clasp in to hold it. Prince Kana wore the more masculine coronet, without the curves and drop-jewel of the diadem I'd chosen this morning. I set the coronet straight on my hair. A quick look in the glass said I was ready.

I tugged my jacket smoother and went to the door. Sure enough, when I looked out Jo was standing there, and not even out of breath— that woman was in excellent shape. Or perhaps I'd been longer changing than I thought.

She looked at me and nodded. "Ready?" I noticed that her eyes didn't wander over me in this guise, and I held back a sigh. That was the problem. Who would lust for both of me? No one I'd met yet. I straightened my shoulders and stood taller, dropping my voice low.

"Yes. Let's go."

We walked down the hall, my boot heels striking the stone firmly.

When we approached the main hall, past the head-bowing courtiers and servants, I heard raised voices. Jo would have opened the family door for me to enter, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her. I eased it a crack to look in.

Past my father's rigid back, and my mother seated in her chair, I could see the main floor of the hall. Noble Duran stood there, facing my father, looking flushed, both angry and oddly eager. He raised his voice. "I say enough is enough. Today we have, as a guest in this hall, the daughter of the strongest king in half the known world." He gestured toward the dignitaries' seats. Sure enough, there sat Anali in her heavy crown, with courtiers around her and the four guards I recognized ranged behind her. Damn, I'd meant to get here before her presentation, but clearly I'd missed it. She looked very small, but composed.

Duran said, "It's an insult to her noble father..." I waited for him to say something nasty about me. But perhaps my father's expression quelled him, or even more likely Mother's, because after a brief hesitation he said, "Not to give her a choice. There are several noble sons here, besides the Princess Kana." He emphasized the female title. "Princess Anali should be given a choice of a real, virile man to wed."

My stomach lurched queasily. I always knew I could be used against my father. Duran had a following among the older nobles.

Father's voice was so cool and steady you'd not know I'd been insulted. Or that Duran's own son was aged two and twenty, and third in line for the throne, after my cousin Lady Mai and me. "If the betrothal question fails the match, I will of course ask Princess Anali if she wishes another chance to meet the best of our young men. And women."

Duran said, "In hope of the future, at her status, a fruitful match must surely be preferred."

"At her status, she must surely be allowed to choose."

Duran inclined his head and turned to Anali. "Your Highness, I meant no discourtesy." He bowed, perfectly correctly. "I think only of your interests."

"Over your own king's?" Her tone held a beautifully-judged note of disbelief.

Duran didn't even have the grace to blush. "You're a young noblewoman, far from home. I feel it incumbent on me to offer you our best. I know your father very well, you see."

"Oh?" She stood and looked him up and down. "He's never spoken of you."

I wanted to applaud, but instead I pulled open the door and strode in. "Your Majesties, Your Highness. I apologize for my delay." I stopped, facing the court, and called silently to Malena.

Duran said, "It's most discourteous to the Princess..." He was cut off by the gasp from the bystanders as my dragon popped into place above my head.

You need me?

Would you sit on my shoulder for just a minute? I felt in my pocket for the candy I'd tucked there. I have something for you.

Good to eat? Malena hovered in front of my face for a moment, then settled onto my shoulder, her tail wrapped around my neck for balance. I handed up the treat and she lipped it out of my fingers.

"I was a bit busy," I said to my father.

Mother looked at me with a wide smile. "So I see. Has she a name?"

"Malena, make your bows to the King and Queen," I said.

What?

What would a dragon bow look like? Bob your head a bit.

More food?

Not now.

Bob and go. She lifted off my shoulder, tucked her head up and down, looking more like an angry goose than a respectful courtier. Then she bounced in the air once and was gone. The little pop and rush of air was audible in the startled silence.

I walked over to stand in my place beside my mother's chair. Looking out at Duran, I raised a single eyebrow.

Noble Duran cleared his throat, but said nothing.

My mother stood up, between Father and me. "Betrothal has its rituals," she said. "Tomorrow, we'd planned to go through the dance of question and answer for Prince Kana, and Princess Anali. But sometimes tradition must bow to necessity. Our Noble Duran has concerns that I'd just as soon not let fester. Princess Anali, Ambassador Petroi, is it acceptable to move forward today?"

The man in ambassador's robes stood. "Your Majesty, all of our delegation is here in court already. It matters not to us, so I will leave the Princess to answer you."

Mother looked at Anali, who smiled, not the sweet warm one but something sharper. "I would be pleased to move this forward today."

Duran shifted from foot to foot, glancing from her to me. After a moment he burst out, "Your Highness, you do know that Prince Kana isn't always the man you see before you?"

I made a note never to give her cause to look at me with such scorn as she turned on him. "You mean when she wears her hair down and her dress is silk?" She shrugged. "She'll still have a dragon that comes to her shoulder, though. And the same eyes, the same mind."

I could almost hear Duran swallow. "You know...?"

Now she looked at me, and that smile was the warm one. "We've met." Deliberately she let her gaze drop to my breeches and move back up.

Over the rustling of the gathered crowd, my mother said, "Scribe Riki, please run and fetch the betrothal books. Step forward then, Prince Kana, Princess Anali."

I walked down the two steps from the dais to the floor and met Anali there. We stood facing, not touching, eyes on each other. Riki's feet echoed in the silenced room as he hurried out, returning a moment later with the two volumes.

Mother said, "As is tradition, even a royal betrothal can be broken, for one wrong word. Think now, Anali, Kana, and write in these books the one thing that can break this union apart."

The Ambassador of Croyden took one book and pen from Riki, and held the volume flat in front of Anali, passing her the pen. Riki handed me a pen of my own, and smoothed the fresh creamy page with my name already inscribed at the top.

A dozen things passed through my mind. Will you mind if my dragon drops a fruit on your head? Can I borrow your jewelry if it looks better on me? Will you hate me for not staying the same day to day? Will you bear us a child? But in the end, I wrote what I had planned. Can you vow yourself for life to someone who is both man and woman, and be content?

When I was done, Anali was still looking at me, her face unreadable, pen poised. It was moments more before she bent her head and looked down to write. When she was done, she handed her pen to the Ambassador. I gave mine to Riki and met her gaze. Eyes on each other, we stepped through the dance of books and hands, and stepped back. Her volume was held open before me in Riki's grasp. I couldn't look down. I watched, as the ambassador held the book for her to read mine.

The room was silent. After a moment she raised her head. Her smile was like sun shining through the dark of storm clouds. She said neither yes nor no, but "Read."

I looked down, blinking hard. In her neat, tiny script the words read, Can you come to love and trust a woman who has already enjoyed both women and men? I looked back up and felt the smile tug at my own lips. "Oh, yes," I said. "I might manage that."

She replied, "Yes. I also have no problem with your question. Let the betrothal stand, and we shall see what we can become."

The applause was loud and long, and covered the disgusted snort Duran gave, as he bowed low to my parents, to Anali, and to me. I caught sight of his eyes, and thought we might yet see trouble from him. But not now. Not today. He stepped back into the crowd.

My mother said, "Traditionally, the dance comes next. But this is not a ballroom, so perhaps just a few steps, for tradition's sake?" She waved to the door, where four no-doubt hastily assembled musicians stood. They struck up a slow massellae.

I held out a hand to Anali. "May I have this dance?"

"You may." She stepped into my arms. As I eased her around in the first measures of the massellae, she whispered for only me to hear, "When you wear skirts, I will lead, though."

"It will be my pleasure, my lady," I agreed.

####

# ILYA

photo description: A teenager in a black shirt and gray sweater stands with their face hidden out of the frame. In front of their chest, they hold a simple, hand-written card in both hands, facing the camera. The text on the card reads simply, "MUM, IM GAY."

You'd think they could tell, right? I mean, it's been years since I tried to fit in. Much.

The kids at school all know I'm gay. Some of the girls ask me for clothing tips, some of the guys laugh, but mostly it's a non-event. Same old, same old. It's been a long time since I heard "Danny's a dumb fag" or any other kind of juvenile teasing. At my high school, who's gay isn't half as interesting as who puked in the science room yesterday, or whether Mr. Taylor has a vodka bottle in the bottom drawer of his desk.

So it shouldn't be hard to come out at home. It's not like my folks will throw me out, or even start yelling or crying or anything. Mum might not like that I won't be a breeder. Dad might worry what his fishing buddies will say. At worst, it'll be one more way I disappoint them.

It'll fit right in with my B-minus grade average, my lack of baseball skills, and the time I almost drowned in two feet of water. Or the panic attack I had when I thought I might become an actor, and then tried to actually speak onstage in front of a crowd. Apparently I can play my flute no problem, but not utter real words out loud.

So not being what they'd hoped for is nothing new, no big change. Why can't I tell them?

In a year, I'll go off to college. I could wait. But it means another year of hiding. A year of laughing when Dad jokes about me marrying the girl next door. A year of nodding when Mum tells me what a great husband and father I'll be, since I'm so good with my niece. A year of pushing my voice down a little deeper, standing a little stiffer, wondering which of my shirts is too gay to wear on the weekend. Stupid stuff because I don't know what might mark me out. A year of losing myself a little more.

My phone chirps. ~have you done it yet?

I type, ~not yet

~Is she home?

~watching TV. Dr. Who

~maybe you can segue it in. "Hey mom, I'm a lot like John Barrowman" Only you'd say, "Mum"

I have to smile. Only Ben would write, "segue." ~I'm nothing like John Barrowman

~well, other than being gay. And black vests. That's why it's perfect, right? She'll say WTF?? You answer

~um. no

~come on, Danny. I want to put us on Facebook

~Facebook is dead

~You know what I mean

I do. It's the other reason I want to do this now. The best reason. Ben, with his SAT vocabulary, and that grin that shows one crooked tooth. Ben, whose Dad marched out and joined PFLAG the day he came out, who can charm birds out of trees and me out of my pants, and who is a sure thing for Cal Tech if he wanted to go. But who wants to go to University of Chicago with me....my Ben.

Who wants to be official and gave me a basic, simple, beautiful ring. That I've been too chickenshit to even wear.

After a while, he types, ~Hey, I know it's hard. You don't have to. ILYA

ILYA. I Love You Anyway. It's our catch phrase. When one of us does something really boneheaded and we're feeling like shit, we can tell each other what happened. And then we say, ILYA, and it becomes okay.

~I feel like I let them down

~Internalized homophobia

~Screw you

~Seriously. You're gorgeous and funny and you play the flute like a god. What more could anyone want?

~For me to be straight and breed?

~Tough. I want you to be gay, and I'm the one who counts, right?

I laugh, and it almost sounds real. ~Yeah. You count the most

~Even when you're being a dork ILYA. Don't forget it

I type back, ~I'm going to do it

~Good Luck !!!! Call me after

~I will

Before I can chicken out, I grab my backpack and go into the downstairs john. I put on the ring, for courage. On my right hand, because I'm still a little bit chickenshit. I have my cellphone camera, and a pen and paper. I write it three times.

The first time, the word "Gay" looks like a drunken scrawl. The second time it's too small to read. Finally I print it. All caps. Big and bold. "MUM, I'M GAY"

My fingers keep shaking, no matter how ridiculous I know that is. It takes six tries to get a picture without blur, or me being deer in the headlights, or the overhead lights washed-out look. I'm not a wishy-washy, pallid and fuzzy kind of gay. Not anymore.

Eventually I have one. It doesn't show the expression on my face. It'll work.

I could maybe send it to Ben first, to see what he thinks.

I could file it, and use it later.

Anytime later. All it would take would be two taps on the screen.

Tomorrow.

Maybe Saturday when she's off work, and I'm off school, and we can be well rested, and not home after a long day and wanting to just veg out and not deal with a family crisis, which isn't really a crisis, but maybe not a thing you tell your mum at ten at night on a weekday...

Almost of its own accord, my finger taps Mum's contact, and SEND. The phone chirps once, obediently.

I know she has her phone with her, waiting for Dad to call when he's done with his meeting. I know she'll answer it. I stare at myself in the mirror.

Tonight is the first night of the rest of your life.

I type to Ben, ~I sent her this. And show him the picture.

He sends back, ~ILY with no "A"

My hands only shake a little as I pocket my phone, step out of the bathroom, and turn toward the den and the sound of the TV.

####

# In the Words of the Bard

photo description: A young man stands in a grove of small trees leafed out in early-spring green and gold. A wiry coronet of vines is set on his long, wavy brown hair. His leather jacket hangs open to show his pale, hairless chest, and his hands are shoved deep into its pockets. He has sharp cheekbones, a strong chin, and pale, slightly-amused eyes.

I found Matthew on the other side of a clump of trees, away from the rest of the party. No surprise. All of us drama nerds were wild and flying, mostly just high on the incredible post-performance rush. Well, a couple of the boys had brought bottles, so folks were high that way too, but we'd been loud and crazy even before they showed up. And that's not Matthew's style.

I'd been surprised to even see him at the party when I arrived, before he slipped away. I guess he wasn't ready to shake Oberon from his bones, any more than I'd wanted to lose Titania. He'd been... amazing on stage. Lit up inside, powerful king to my faerie queen. There was still an echo of it in his eyes, as he turned to look at me.

"Well met by kind of crappy daylight?" I said. It was an overcast day, and as cool as if it was still March instead of late April. Not that we cared. We'd nailed that performance, a requested matinée for a local middle school. Our last hoorah, for senior drama, and that hint of bitter under the sweet made us clutch at this joy harder.

He gave me a little shrug and turned away. He'd changed into jeans and a jacket, unlike some of us, but kept the coronet of vines on his head. The crown seemed natural on his long hair, like he really was king of this glade.

It hit me again, how freaking good looking he was, and how little he seemed to know it. Here I was, holding myself back from staring at his bare chest and his full lips, and he was gazing off into the distance again. Like he could care less about having the prettiest girl in school eyeing his bod. (Okay, that's ego, but I'd been voted top for every based-on-your-looks-and-tits honor there was, all through school. I know how I look, even if most of the time I don't trade on it. With Matthew, I tried, but it didn't stick. He wasn't gay, I didn't think, just seemed oblivious, which was a whole other thing.)

I gave it another shot. "How long within this wood intend you stay?"

At least I got a direct look from him, with a glint of humor. "That was my line."

"Well, you're not talking, so I figured I'd say it for you."

"Mm." It wasn't a total rejection. After a moment he added, "You were awesome today, Kate. Well, awesome every performance, really. You're a great actor."

I curtseyed, holding the chiffon of my costume skirt in one hand and making a little sweep with the other. "I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks. I'm sad to see it all end. Like everyone, I guess." I waved toward the sound of the party, behind the trees. "We could go eat cake for comfort. Or maybe out of this wood do not desire to go. You want to hang out for a while?"

"I guess." He turned towards me. "I won't know what to do with myself, after today."

"It's gonna feel weird to have free time." We'd been in intensive rehearsals and costume making and set construction for so long, I was looking forward to just vegging out with YouTube. But it would be a bit strange. "We could get together, maybe. Go to a movie or something? See how the pros do it. Or how they screw it up?"

He tilted his head, looking steadily at me. Thoughts seemed to pass, coloring his gray eyes with shadows and then light, before he finally said, "I'd like that. But just for the movies, for something to do. Not as a date. No offense."

"Well, sure," I agreed, trying to pretend that didn't sting a bit. I'd had guys looking down my shirt since before I was old enough to have anything there. And while I hated being creeped on, I wasn't used to flat out dismissal. But I could act too, and I gave him a warm smile. "As fellow actors."

"Oh, thank God." His shoulders relaxed, and only then did I realize how his body language had been poised for retreat. "You don't mind?"

"Why should Titania cross her Oberon? I like hanging out with you, a lot. I'd miss doing that. No strings."

"You're cool." His pretty mouth curved into a smile. "You have no idea. Most girls look at me like I'm nuts when I say we should just have fun, like, without the romance stuff."

I gestured at his bare chest. "Most girls probably have a hard time breathing around that."

"I'm nothing special." He sounded like he actually meant it.

I snorted. I wanted to ask about most guys, but you just don't ask someone if they're gay. Not even in theater group. Especially someone as self-contained as Matthew. I said, "We could start off by heading back to the party before Andi feeds the leftover cake to Winston."

He gave a theatrical shudder and we said at the same time, "Bulldog farts!"

"Jinx!" I grinned at him. "Now you owe me a Coke. Come on."

We wandered through the trees. I wasn't in a rush, but there definitely wasn't that tension of walking in a dim space with a cute guy, wondering if he'll accidentally-on-purpose touch me somehow. It was restful. When we got to the clearing, a couple of the guys were having a sword fight with tree branches. Tad was dying theatrically on a strategically placed coat on the damp ground, while the group around him critiqued his style with creative insults. Seonho passed out marshmallows to roast over the ebbing bonfire.

Gabby rushed over to us. "Matthew! We missed you." She tucked her hair behind her ear, then freed it with a head toss. "You should grab some of the puppy chow before it's all gone. Don't drink the lemonade, though. Toby put salted caramel vodka in it and it's the grossest thing you have ever tasted."

She reached out to touch Matthew's leather-clad elbow and he threw me a look of half-amusement, half appeal. I said, "Matthew, you promised to get me a Coke."

"Right." He ducked his head at Gabby. "Later." Slipping away from her, he headed to the cooler with the pop.

Gabby looked at me. "You and Matthew?"

I wasn't going to lie about it, but it occurred to me he might not mind a little misdirection, so I just smiled like the cat that got the canary.

"He never dates anyone." She pouted, before turning to look away. "Hey, Seonho!" She raised her voice. "If you do it that way the marshmallows will fall off the sticks." She bustled off to instruct some other hapless male on the right way to do stuff.

Matthew appeared at my shoulder and handed me an unopened can. "Thanks."

"She means well."

"She's a hell of a stage manager."

"Remember when Tad tried to smuggle Bottom's head out for a Halloween costume?"

"And she got after him with a broom, and he dropped it?"

Matthew snickered. "And Mrs. Vincent threatened to expel both of them." We sat on one of the tables, sipped our pop, and reminisced about the various lame stunts our fellow actors had pulled in the last year. Tad got drunker and tried to get his girlfriend to dance. She pulled him over to sit on a log with her before he fell into the fire. She wrapped her arm around him and he slumped against her, chin on her shoulder.

The light slowly ebbed. Seonho and his boyfriend sat side by side at another picnic table, hands out of view. From the way they leaned together, eyes half closed, I had a feeling I might not want to know what their hands were up to. Or, given how hot both the guys were, maybe I would.

More people were pairing up, finding places to sit with a boyfriend or girlfriend. The non-theater SOs hadn't been invited to the actual cast party, but this was the after-cast-party, or as Tad dubbed it, the "overcast party," and most of them had showed up. Some of them were probably getting more attention from their theater person than they'd had in the last month.

The sky gradually flushed with colors. The sparks as someone poked the fire rose like brilliant gold butterflies against the dark backdrop of the woods. Matthew stopped talking in mid-sentence and sighed.

"What?" I asked softly.

"Nothing."

"That was definitely something. Not My uncle murdered my father and married my mother. But something."

He laughed, like I'd hoped. "Jealous, I guess."

"Of...?" I glanced around at the snogging and snuggling pairs of Theater 301. "Them? Didn't you just get done saying you wish girls wouldn't hit on you?"

"Yeah." He kept his voice soft. "I'm not making sense."

"Jealous of what?"

For a long time, I thought he wouldn't answer. Then he said, "Hugging. It's like, guys don't hug. It's too gay and if they are gay the hug comes with an ass-grab. And I'm not."

I could see that. He had a very grabbable ass. But I said, "Gabby would lead the line-up to hug you."

"But would she let go after?" He shrugged, and stood. "Never mind. I think I'm done. See you in school Monday?"

"What about that movie? Tomorrow?"

"You still want to?"

"Sure. Give me your phone." I put my number into it, while he fidgeted, then texted myself from it. "There."

He took the phone back and slid it in his pocket. The colors of the sky reflected in his gray eyes, turning them unearthly, amber and pale lavender.

I said softly, "I'd hug you and let go."

I wasn't sure he heard me, but then he spread his hands, just a little. I stepped up close to him and wrapped my arms around him. It was an odd hug. I was aware of his bare chest against my chemise, of the way the fluff of my skirt wrapped against his hips. I felt each breath he took, exhaled silently past my ear. His arms were strong and warm, leather sleeves across my shoulders. And I tried to be present, but not too present, tight but not too into it. My heart wanted to leap, but I kept it simple. The moment I felt his clutch ease, I let go.

He took one step back and looked at me, the amber in his eyes turned to bright gold over storm cloud gray. "You know that doesn't mean anything?"

"I know." I held my arms loose at my sides, didn't wrap them around myself, although a little shiver ran through me at the loss of his warmth.

"That's all I wanted, just a hug."

"That's all you get." I tossed my hair, and grinned.

Suddenly he laughed, like a kid on their birthday, loud enough to make the couple nearest us turn our way. "I like you, Kate!" he said. "I'll text you tomorrow."

He strode off across the long grass toward the cars, the crown of vines still riding easily on his long brown hair, his stride graceful as a prince's. He got in his old Pontiac, the lights came on, and he pulled away down the hill.

Leanne asked me, "Are you two dating, Kate?"

"Nope," I said, "We're just friends." But I dug into my purse, pulled out my phone, and set up a text to send when he'd be back home and off the road. ~I like you too, Oberon. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship. But not dating.

I smiled as I put my phone away. Matthew was one interesting guy. It'd be fun to see what we could find to do together while not dating. I'd just have to broaden my expectations. Maybe the rest of senior year would include some more moments almost as amazing as this. As miraculous as a sunset on a hilltop, on the day we set a little middle-school gym afire with the immortal words of the Bard. As fine as the brush of cool air on a spring evening, where the light had reflected liquid gold in a gorgeous boy's eyes.

There are more things in heaven and earth, I guess, than had been dreamt of in my philosophy.

####

# Not the Cat's Meow

photo description: A big ginger-striped cat crouches in the middle of a chessboard set up on a wooden floor, the game pieces on either side untouched. On the floor in front of the cat sits a slim, dark-haired, tattooed young man. He's bent forward, arms braced, leaning down until his forehead almost touches the cat's.

Malachi gave me the evil eye, from where he crouched on the chessboard, paws planted among the pieces. Deliberately, he lashed his tail hard enough to knock over the bishop. I winced and tried to remember where it had been. Uncle Sylvio was not one to take our long, drawn-out game lightly. He said chess represented life. (A depressing thought, considering I always lost, but I had other worries now.)

"I'm sorry," I said. I got down low on the floor to look him in his cat eyes, wondering if that would help me read his thoughts. Wondering if he still understood my words. "I didn't mean to!"

If the baleful glow of his yellow gaze meant anything, he wasn't interested in excuses.

"I'll fix it. I promise."

The next lash of his tail flicked a pawn across the room and under the radiator.

"Soon!" I couldn't help adding, "I did real magic, though! Isn't that sick? I mean, you're a cat! Almost like a real cat, but not as cute."

I should have expected the rake of claws down my nose. I never did know when to shut up. I sat back, pressing my hand to my face. Malachi sat up too, raised his front paw, and slowly licked those sharp claws, one by one, with his eyes fixed on me.

"Okay!" I said. "I get it. Not funny."

Malachi growled, sounding remarkably like his human self.

He's my uncle's older apprentice, and I guess he had a cushy life, being nearly perfect and all, before my uncle decided to start teaching me too. Mal has said, more than once, that the words, "I'll be teaching my nephew, Dion. I know you'll look out for him," probably sounded his death knell. Although he wasn't dead yet. Just... unintentionally felinified.

"Look." I stood and scooped Uncle Sylvio's giant grimoire back up off the floor. It was the advanced book. The one I wasn't supposed to use unsupervised, but surely I wasn't to blame if the pages fluttered open on their own to this fascinating story about a man and a satyr and a panther, and I started reading... and maybe I move my lips a bit when I read... although I certainly don't read out loud under my breath like Mal says I do... Anyway, it was just a story and Mal was there, leafing through a nature magazine, which was kind of like supervision...

Except suddenly the story took hold of my jaw and tongue, and I couldn't stop saying it, and then there was this whiff of smoke and a pop, and... hey, presto, felinification. Not that I was making light of it. My uncle was going to kill me. Slowly. With pain. Unless I could fix this.

I sat in an armchair with the book in my lap and started leafing through it. Looking for the, um, interesting picture that had caught my interest the first time. Clearly that story wasn't just a story.

Mal stalked over and leaped to the back of the chair, putting half his weight on the upholstery, and half on his two very sharp-tipped paws on my bare shoulders. I couldn't protest. Okay, didn't dare. I did say as evenly as I could, "Mind the spell tats. Don't want to scratch those up." My uncle himself had done the ink on my back, full of runes of protection. Malachi's paws flexed, delicately, just barely failing to break the skin.

I took the warning and bent over the musty old book. As I flipped the pages, my eyes were caught by one illustration or another, a stray phrase, a bit of rhyme; "...make a cut with knives of glass, a space too small for ghosts to pass..." or "...combine well, and rub on the skin around the navel..." I hesitated just a bit over a picture I didn't remember, of a heroic guy in a kilt with those muscle-bound thighs they call rough-hewn or maybe brawny. I didn't have time to linger, because Mal dug his claws in enough to prick out one drop of blood. Which wasn't the kind of prick I had in mind.

"Crap, Mal! Watch the talons." I flipped the page.

After some searching I found the original story. Mal perched further forward, craning his neck to look down at the book. I read the story over, carefully, silently. It still sounded like a typical heroic allegoric thing, with, um, some merging stuff between man and panther, not a spell. But clearly my knowledge of spells was limited.

I said, mostly to myself, "Now. We need to figure out how to reverse this thing, before Uncle Sylvio gets home."

Cats look very odd when they nod. Like a fuzzy parrot. I didn't say so though. I was learning to mind my tongue at last.

"So, most spells can be reversed by saying them backward," I mused. Mal nodded again. "As long as you don't mess it up, though." Reading perfectly backward is harder than you'd think, especially with crysiace, the language of magic. It's a bitch to learn, even forwards, and the pronunciation can be affected by the word order. But I was trained for this. Well, partly trained. I tried to sound confident. "Okay, that's worth a try. What could it hurt?"

I hesitated. The last time I did this, Uncle Sylvio had set me to light a candle and then put it out. It had been such a minor slip of my tongue. You wouldn't think a syllable wrong could cut all power and light to half a city block. Right?

Malachi looked like he was remembering the same thing, because he reached down a paw to cover the last three words on the page. He cocked his head around at an odd angle to look me in the eyes. His cat irises were deep yellow. They shouldn't have been. Mal has these amazing storm-gray eyes that change color when he's mad, or happy. I'd never seen them yellow. That was my fault.

I had to fix it. I picked up the book and surged to my feet, dumping Mal to the ground. He landed fine, of course. A cat was a good fit for Mal. He was so rarely off balance anyway. I looked down at the page and before he could stop me, I began declaiming the story, backward. "...l'oread canbear doshoi de im fascial cnasme Hoi..." It was working, I could feel the power build.

Malachi crouched at my feet, hunkered close to the floor, eyes like baleful coals burning in his skull. I read faster. Backward. Perfectly. Almost.

We both heard the slip. The moment when I said, "ganeal" when the text said, "janeal." I had an instant, just enough time to mutter, "Crap." Then the book fell and so did I. The ancient tome hit the floor with a little puff of dried-leather-and-old-parchment dust, right in front of my face. And when I painfully slid my hand out over the boards to touch it, a long, black furry paw advanced to pat the binding. My paw.

"Crap!" I said, without moving an inch. "Fucklike crapity shit."

Malachi's striped furry face appeared, inches from my eyes. "Honestly, Dion, I have never met... hells, I've never even heard of anyone as ham-handed, half-witted, disaster-prone and just plain stupid-assed incompetent as you!"

"Hey!" I said, watching his cute pink kitty-mouth utter curses. "I can understand you!"

He bit me. Seriously! Bit me right on the nose and it hurt! I yowled and jumped back. I had the oddest desire to quickly turn away and lick my butt, although, who does that? Right? I said, "Ouch! What was that for?"

He sat down, curled his tail over his toes and glared at me. "Let me count the ways. First, you weren't supposed to touch the damned book. Second, you should never read a grimoire aloud without planning ahead. Never! Third, you turned me into a freaking alley cat. Fourth..." He got up and stalked toward me, his tail lashing with sinuous anger. "You." One of his paws flashed out and whapped me on the head. "Got." Whap. "Janeal." Whap. "Wrong! Again!" Whap.

I backed away, feeling hurt. "When did I ever...? Oh. Yeah." Two weeks ago. That lesson on hard and soft "g" sounds. He'd gotten so frustrated with me, I'd sworn I'd study it on my own.

I backed away another step. "Sorry! Really!" I bumped my butt into something, stumbled and stepped on an ivory rook. "Ouch! Sharp corners."

Malachi gave a cat laugh, then sobered. "Now, we need a plan of action."

"Right." I twisted around to lick my sore paw. "Maybe you'd better make the plan."

"No maybe about it." Mal came over and sniffed at my foot. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. No bleeding." I met his eyes, so close to mine, and dropped a little of the attitude. "Sorry, Mal. I didn't mean to forcibly shift you. Or me."

He bumped my scratched nose gently. "I know. Now let me think."

We sat side by side, and he leaned in, his shoulder against mine. In human form, Mal always kept his distance. That sleek, elegant, sexy body had never leaned up against me like this. Of course, it wasn't the same with fur on us, but I half-closed my eyes and enjoyed it anyway. I heard a little soft rumble in his throat, as he thought hard.

Since thinking isn't my best thing, I tried to help him along by rubbing my cheek against his neck. For a moment, the purr got louder, then he bumped me away. "Don't do that right now. I can't think when you touch me." His eyes got wide, like he just realized what he'd said.

I did a smirk-face, even though I knew he didn't mean it that way. "You loooove me," I crooned. "You waaaant me."

He blinked hard. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You said it."

"I did not!"

I was going to tease him some more, when I realized an odd thing about being a cat. I could hear the truth. His truth. My truth. And when I'd said that he wanted me... "Holy hells, you do want me!"

"Right now, I want you to shut up and let me think," he said dryly.

My cat senses told me that was true too, but... "You don't hate me!"

"Hate you?" He stared at me. "Of course not. You're my spell-brother, my fellow Sylvio-sufferer. I don't hate you. I may want to smack you around sometimes." He lashed out another swift paw-smack to my ear. "Yeah. Satisfying. But I could never hate you."

I sat back on my haunches, out of paw-range, and watched as he crouched down again, eyes closed, brow furrowed, tail-tip twitching in little jerks. I thought about pouncing on that tail tip. Then I remembered that Uncle Sylvio was due back any time now, and I really, really didn't want to meet him in cat fur. "What now?"

"I'm thinking."

"What about after you think?"

"I'm probably going to smack you around some more. Shut up!"

I shut.

Eventually he said, "Well, as far as I can remember, there's nothing that says a mage has to recite a spell in human form for it to work. Just that it must be recited with power."

"I was just reading, though. I wasn't using power," I objected. "The first time anyway."

Mal came over to me, his head tilted to stare at me. "You are power, Dion. That's why Sylvio took you on. You're lit with it, like a bonfire. That's why he told you not to go near spells without one of us supervising."

"I am?" I heard the truth in his words, but had a hard time believing it, cat sense or no. "Uncle Sylvio says I can't even do baby magic right."

"Because you don't focus." Mal rubbed his cheek on mine, his soft fur slipping past my whiskers. "I swear, Dion, it's like you're playing with dynamite, all the time. You drive me crazy. You're going to kill yourself one day."

"I don't..." I stopped, here where lying wasn't possible. "I thought he was just doing my dad a favor. Taking me off Dad's hands, so to speak."

"No way. Sylvio petitioned to mentor you. Although you and he are like oil and water, so it might not have been smart. But if you ever settle down and apply yourself, you'll be better than either of us."

"You have got to be kidding!" I stared at him. Uncle Sylvio was like a thunderstorm, all power and flash and noise. Mal was a blade, smooth, silent and deadly fast. I was more of a... wind-up monkey with cymbals.

Mal bumped me again, forehead to forehead. "Start believing in yourself. And take your magic seriously. How many people could work a true transformation, when they thought they were reading ménage porn?"

"I didn't..." I sighed. "Oh, hells. All right. I'll try to do better."

He purred. "Maybe something good will come out of this after all. Now come on, help me flip the pages in that book. And I'm going to read it. You sit there and look sleek and sexy."

"I what?"

"Slip of the tongue. Just sit there quietly."

Together we turned the heavy book and paged through it to the correct spell. Mal began reading it, backward, every syllable perfect, smooth and clean and distinct. He read on, not speeding, not slowing. Pressure built. Then suddenly there was a release, like the world was on a rubber band, and someone just snapped it. Mal blinked, jolted, and flickered— cat, human, cat, human. Then he stood up, tugged his sweater straight, and rubbed his hands over his snug, gray slacks. "Damn. Cat hair."

I said, "Now me."

Mal looked down at me, and his lips tilted in an unholy grin. "What was that? I can't understand you. You say you want to stay a cat for a while? Till your uncle gets home?"

I swiped at him with razor-claws but he jumped back. "Uh, uh, uh. Be nice to me, or I won't fix you."

Well, who needed him anyway? I turned to the book. We'd proven I could do this with a cat voice. I opened my mouth.

Suddenly long-fingered hands swooped me up, and a soft palm covered my lips. "Holy hell, Dion. I was teasing. Don't do that." He set me in his lap on the floor and reached for the book. I cuddled in against his chest, as he began reading again. Absently, he stroked me, as the words flowed from his lips.

Shifting is an odd feeling, but at least it's over fast. One moment I was purring and getting black hair on Mal's sweater. The next moment I was curled in his lap with my hands in an interesting place, his palms on my bare shoulders, and his mouth in my hair. We both froze. I expected him to dump me and leap away, but he didn't. For a minute, his hands skimmed over my upper arms, and down the protection runes on my spine. "Thank the spirits," he said softly. "It worked. You're back."

Then he dumped me and stood up. "You'd better put the book back and get that chess game reset, fast."

"What do we tell Uncle Sylvio?" I asked, as I lay on the floor to dig the pawn out from under the radiator.

"The truth, of course." Mal hesitated. "Eventually. After he has dinner. And brandy."

I set the pieces where I thought they'd been. "Sounds like a plan."

We both heard the front door bang open downstairs. Uncle Sylvio's footsteps thumped loudly in the entry. We looked at each other. Mal set aside the magazine he'd been reading, picked up the beginner's formulary I was supposed to have been studying, and patted the couch beside him. "We could read this together?"

"Because that won't make Uncle Sylvio suspicious," I sneered. But, on the other hand, I'd waited months for that invitation. I hurried over and dropped down next to him, snuggling my bare skin against the softness of his sweater. "I like this."

Mal said softly, "I do too. As long as you actually pay some attention."

"Oh, I'm paying attention." I turned my head to stare at the line of his jaw, so close to my eyes. "You missed four hairs shaving this morning."

Mal sighed loudly.

From the stairs, where we could hear him ascending, Uncle Sylvio called, "So, boys, what have you been up to?"

Mal winced, hard enough to jolt me.

I said, "I know how to distract him. He'll never imagine I turned you into a cat." I twisted my fingers into Mal's soft, sandy hair, guided his face toward me and kissed him, as my uncle came into the room.

You know what surprised me the most? Not Uncle Sylvio's bellow of, "You call that studying?"

Not how wonderful Mal's mouth tasted.

But the fact that sexy, amazing Mal sighed again, closed his eyes, and kissed me back.

####

# My Girl

photo description: The sun creates a silver halo through one girl's natural black curls, as she stands with her arms around her girlfriend. Her smile is wide and bright but there is something a little guarded in her eyes, and her sweater-clad arms are protective around the shoulders of the smaller woman in front of her. That second girl observes the world with a trace of humor and a trace of challenge in her raised eyebrows and tiny smile. Her short hair is hidden under a tweed cap, and she stands slim and strong, held sweetly by her girlfriend, but not leaning into that support.

"That's not fair! This sucks!" Tonya's voice was loud enough to make heads turn, even in the bustle of a Ragstock sale.

I looked away from the skirts I'd been picking through. "What is?" She was staring down at her phone, a scowl on her face. Could be anything. My girl's fierce, the way she defends any underdog. Whether it's some guy arrested for walking while black, or an injured dog— she's on their side in a second. I love that about her. Among other things.

"Our school." She read off the phone, "Carringford school board sides with parent on books removed from elementary library."

"What books?"

"You remember. I am Jazz and King and King."

"Oh, right." Some Nazi mom had been browsing the library shelves for a book for story time and found -gasp!\- picture books with gay and trans characters designed to corrupt innocent young minds. She'd whipped those offending books off the shelf, and demanded that the school board ban them, plus a couple more she'd hunted down. "They let her get away with that?"

"They helped her. Douchebags."

"That sucks."

"I know, right?" Tonya frowned in the familiar way that said she was thinking about a plan of action. That's a scary look, although I always back her up. Maybe because I always back her up.

"What do you think of this one?" I asked, holding up a navy skirt with an angled hem to distract her. Mom always told me to dress in bright colors, to set off my dark skin, but I like black and brown and navy.

"Nah. I found a better one. Here." She led me across the store to the guys' section and grabbed something, holding it up against me.

"A utility kilt?" It was black and heavy and I kind of liked it. "If it fits my hips, the waist is gonna be way big."

"You're good with a needle. It goes with the jacket."

"True." I'd bought a black velvet jacket that looked like the kind guys wear with a kilt. They'd go together.

"With black tights and your faux-Doc boots and a white shirt. That's your prom look."

"Okay." I grinned at her. We were going to look awesome. She'd found a gray tux for rent that was just the color of her favorite snap-brim cap. It brought out the golden-brown tones in her skin and turned her wiry thinness to elegance.

"So buy it and let's figure out what we're going to do about the books."

I headed toward the register. "Why's it up to us?"

"Well, the school's not doing anything. Why not us?"

I was sure there was a good answer to that, but I couldn't come up with it. The kilt was on sale though, so at least one thing was going our way.

Tonya seemed to have forgotten about the book problem as we wandered the mall looking for a good deal on a white shirt. We ran into Maria and her sister as we were coming out of the outlet store. Tonya gave Maria a fake smile and slipped her arm around me. She doesn't usually do PDAs— it's not the safest idea. But Maria and I have history, and Tonya knows it. We dated for a few weeks, before I decided sweet and soft wasn't my thing, and Maria decided that guys were the safer side of being bi.

Maria muttered "Hi, Brenna" to me, like she wished I wasn't there. It went with the "don't tell my sister" look that I was sick of. I hadn't outed her in all this time. I don't know why she still looked scared that I might. I could feel Tonya winding up to say something so I gave her elbow a tug and said "See you" to Maria. The sister muttered something, but we were through the doors and I couldn't make it out.

Tonya shook loose. "Why'd you do that?"

"What?"

"You know what. I was just going to say hello."

"You were going to rub her nose in what she's missing."

Tonya gave me a cool look. "Nah. She ain't missing that much. I was going to rub her nose in her closet door."

I kicked her ankle, and then tugged her into the side corridor toward the bathrooms. "Not missing much?" It wasn't really a safe place to kiss her, despite being momentarily empty, but I let her see I wanted to.

"Well, maybe a little something."

I glanced around, then, hidden between us, grabbed her wrist and put her hand on my boobs. "Little?" Tonya's slender, like an elf warrior, all subtle curves, and I like that, but she likes that I'm not.

She patted me and let go fast. "Big enough."

Damn, I wanted to get my mouth on hers. That was the most unfair thing of the whole homophobia bullshit— that I was in a quiet place with my girl, and I didn't dare even touch lips, for fear someone would see us and take offense. Like straight couples weren't making out everywhere you look. But if you can't deal with unfair in this world, you won't survive it. "Later for you," I told her.

"Mm." She gave me a look dark with promise. "Let's get the shirt from Hot Topic and get out of here."

"Seriously? It has poofy sleeves." I'm not a poofy person.

"It goes with the kilt and jacket. For once, you can live with a little fluff."

Well, she'd agreed to wear a gold bow tie with her tux, to please me because it brought out the gold flecks in her dark eyes. I could do poofy for her. "All right."

She led the way out of the hall, back into the bustle of the mall. "And then we can talk about the book problem. I think I have an idea."

The chills up my spine might've just been for how fine her ass looked in those worn jeans. I tried to believe that. But I had a bad feeling about this.

***

Despite that, a week later I found myself on the auditorium stage for the talent show, clutching my big sketch pad, just like Tonya asked. The elementary students were sitting on the floor in the front of the gym, with our classmates in the seats behind. There were parents out there too. The stage lights made it hard to see them, but I could hear the restless buzz of bored kids. Clarissa had done a great job with her piano playing, but it wasn't gripping material for pre-teens. Beside me, Tonya murmured to herself, as we waited for our names to be called.

I've never done the talent show. My thing is drawing, mostly pencil, a bit of pen and ink. I wasn't about to stand up in front of a crowd and say "look at my pictures." But Tonya's thing is words, and she decided we'd do it together. She'd write poems for my pictures, or I'd draw pictures for her poems, or whichever.

The principal had made her hand in her poems to be okayed first. They didn't preview all the acts, but they know Tonya— how worked up she gets about making a difference, and the reformer fire that nothing's ever gonna quench in my girl. Plus they never cut her half the slack the popular kids get. Seems like they have their eye on her all the time, waiting for her to screw up.

I'd bet they expected a bunch of angry rap with stuff they could censor. She gave them Dr. Seuss rhymes and a haiku, a Shakespeareish bit about peace and children, and a limerick. The closest to controversial was the one about Martin Luther King, who's become a "safe" black symbol for white folk. Like, all they remember is the Dream, and not the man who said there was something wrong with capitalism and called his government the greatest purveyor of violence in the world, and said militant black people were a good thing. Tonya kept her words safe, though, and they said okay.

They hadn't heard the new bit.

Our names were announced, and I walked out beside her with my shoulders back like I was cool with this. Inside, my stomach was doing loops. I glanced at Tonya and the little smile she flicked me settled my nerves. My hands only shook a little as I set my thirty-six-inch pad on the easel under the spotlight and stood ready to flip the pages.

Tonya leaned into the mike, and spoke. She started out with a couple of easy ones, as I showed off my sketches of kids playing, of an owl in a tree with a dead mouse just a shadow in his talons. Then the limerick they had okayed.

"You can lock up a man but his words

Will escape prison bars and be heard

King faced beatings and jail

So his cause wouldn't fail

Fight goes on, and we won't be deterred."

That one went with my picture from the Birmingham jail, but behind King I'd put other black men from today who'd been done wrong by the courts. Maybe the kids wouldn't recognize an innocent guy who died after waiting two years in prison just to get a trial. But he was there. I tipped my chin up and stared out toward the audience, then flipped the pad. The next page had MLK in big block letters.

Tonya came over, pulled a marker out of her pocket, and put a letter in between them. Now it said MiLK. She turned to the audience and pulled the mike in closer.

"Mankind like bitter birds will peck to death

The ones with face and manner singled out,

Believing to a last bigoted breath

Their right to kill those who injustice shout.

One letter joins two men across ten years

Each standing up for those who shared their fate

Each scared, yet not acceding to their fears

Each with a righteous world they would create.

A black man and a gay man murdered when

Two vile men claimed the right to shoot them down

Abetted by the hate of other men

Who still enable death in every town.

Don't want your son the next to pull the trigger?

Teach LGBT truths before he's bigger."

I flipped the page. We'd fought about this image. Tonya wanted to pointedly have the covers of all the banned books. I was sure the school board would flip out, since they've probably never reversed a decision since the day they crawled out of their dinosaur eggs. We ended up with a montage of images.

Harvey Milk at the top left. 1930-1978. "Shot for being gay." Then other people across the rest of the page. Two manga guys in love, 'cause the younger kids would like that style. Two girls almost cribbed from Lumberjanes. Neil Patrick Harris and his husband kissing with sleepy kids on their shoulders. The real Jazz, not the whitewashed book cover, and just the crowned head of one of the storybook kings. And my favorite, the two old women who got married in their nineties, in wheelchairs, after seventy years together.

I hope that's me and Tonya, someday. Not holding my breath for it, because that girl is headed up and out. She's going to be a civil rights lawyer, while I'm going to work a day job and do art in my spare moments. But maybe, just maybe, someone who flies that high needs someone with their feet on the ground to keep them in touch with the earth. Maybe we can make it.

Tonya stepped away from the mike, turned to me and raised one eyebrow. We'd talked about how we'd end this, and she said she'd let me call it when the time came. She knows it bugs me to be stared at, more than it does her.

I took the marker from her. On my big artwork, I put a heart, top right. Inside it I put our initials, a little crooked and rough like on a tree, with a plus sign. Then I turned and kissed her, fast and light and done, before anyone could say anything. And if my palms were wet with sweat, my head was high as we turned to the audience.

There was applause. Some of it was loud with cheers, and a bit of gorilla hooting because Joe Tyler is a jerk. Some was polite, maybe the younger kids just happy the show was about done. There were a couple of pockets of silence. Mrs. Henderson hustled on stage and grabbed the mike stand, like she was afraid Tonya might have more to say. "Very well, girls, go on now, make room for Richard. And take that easel with you." She said into the mike, "And now our next student is Richard, who'll be juggling for you."

Rich passed us with a grin sent Tonya's way. "You go, girl," he muttered, before stepping into the spotlight and settling himself with beanbags in hand. Tonya gave me a puzzled look, because Rich was white, and as far as we knew, straight. But then, a high school's full of closets and hidden allies. Mrs. Henderson herded us offstage, like a nervous Border Collie, and Rich began keeping four beanbags in the air at one time. Mostly.

I closed my pad and hugged it to me. I'd dreamed last night that the principal stomped up and took and burned it. That was dumb in the light of day, but I kept the big pad awkwardly clutched tight. Some of my best work was in there. As we cleared the wings, Mr. Carter loomed up beside us. "My office, ladies."

"Why, sir?" Tonya tried for the big eyes innocent look but it wasn't her strong point.

"This way." He gestured towards the hallway.

Tonya glanced at me, then led us through the door, her chin up. I followed her, like I do. Mr. Carter brought up the rear. When he closed the door behind us, the laughs and clapping turned muffled and distant. The hallway was quiet and stuffy, echoing the clomp of our feet. A ray of sun through the entry door caught dancing motes of dust.

"In here, please." Mr. Carter opened his office and waved us inside. Tonya sat in front of his desk like a queen settling on her throne, so I eased down on the other chair, clutching my sketchpad. Mr. Carter went around and leaned on the back of his chair, looming over us. "Tonya, that last poem wasn't in the set you gave us for approval."

"I bet Clarissa's encore wasn't in the program either."

I caught the little twitch of Mr. Carter's lip that happens when he holds back a smile, and felt better. He's the vice principal, and while Principal Boyagian is super-strict, Mr. Carter doesn't always agree with her. It's always better to get things over with in his office. I said, "Are we in trouble?"

He sighed. "I'm sure someone is going to make a stink about impressionable minds and our rules against PDAs in school."

"It was a performance," Tonya said. "Like when Andy kissed Kristen in the school play. And twice as short."

"I'll try to present it in that light to whichever parent calls me up to complain."

"You will?" I stared at him.

He turned to me. "Of course I will. Fine art and iambic pentameter in the talent show? What could be more educational? Speaking as an ex-English teacher, I'm delighted. Speaking as your vice principal, that kiss walked right up to the edge of the line."

"That was my idea. I'm sorry," I said.

"Yes, well, it's done now."

"I wasn't sure the little kids would understand the poem."

"Probably not." He sighed again. "I'll have your backs on this. After all, Megan's dance number was a lot sexier than your kiss, so they'll have to say the L-word. But there may be some fall-out. You know how the school board hates controversy."

"Like picture books with two kings kissing," Tonya said.

"Ah." He nodded. "I wondered what set you off."

"It sucks that little kids are being taught gays should stay out of sight. Like we're a disease that might rub off on them if they know we exist."

"And what did you want your presentation to tell them?"

"That gay isn't just some stranger in a book, it's Brenna and me. That ignorant little boys grow up to be men who grab a fu-freaking gun and shoot people for no reason."

"Both good messages. I'll try to reinforce them." He gestured to the door. "Go on then. We're done. You can tell people I chewed you out for the PDA in school hours, just as much as we always chew out kissing couples."

Which was basically not, for het couples, unless the guy had a hand up the girl's shirt. I had to admire his use of the truth.

Tonya stood up. "Thanks, Mr. Carter."

"Sorry I made you miss Rich's juggling."

"Ah, no, you don't gotta apologize for that. Really."

"Don't have to." His grin made him look ten years younger. "Get back to the gym. I'll see you tomorrow."

Tonya slipped out the door, murmuring, "Not if we see you first." As soon as the door shut behind us she grabbed my free hand and gave me enough of a tug to make me stumble forward against her. "Whoo-eee! We did it. He liked your pictures."

I juggled the pad and leaned against her. "He liked your poetry. English teacher, remember?"

"We didn't suck."

"Nope."

"Probably those kids didn't understand a word." She nudged my shoulder.

"I'm sure they got the kiss. You're the one who decided to use vile and abetted."

"I'm a poet."

"And you know it." I wanted to kiss her again, but with my luck Carter would walk out on us.

"The words were for the parents anyway."

"How many of them know acceded?"

"Tough shit." She hugged me and then whirled in a kind of dance. "I'm sure they got the point. Can I have that last picture? I want to frame it."

"Sure. It's yours." I'm yours.

***

If there was any kind of backlash from our talent show in the next week, we didn't see it. Our classmates gave us shit for kissing in front of the audience, but not in a serious way. Wasn't like they didn't already know we were a couple. Our coming out was seven months back; our friends and the classroom jerks had all mostly gotten over it.

It wasn't till study hall the next Friday that I got a bit worried. The librarian, who'd never seemed to even know I existed, pulled me and Tonya out to help her with discarding some old, beat-up books. Just the two of us, even though there were some strong guys there who'd love to carry boxes instead of study their calculus. I traded looks with Tonya as the librarian gave us each a heavy carton, then held the door so we could lug them to the recycling bin.

Once we'd struggled the boxes up and into the bin, she lowered the lid. "I hate doing that. Even when they're so beat up half the pages are falling out."

Tonya nodded. "Feels like there should be a bugler playing taps."

I had a sudden vision of that, the battered books falling, fluttering, pages splayed, as a bugler blew his horn up to a sunset sky. My hands itched for colored pencils, or maybe pastels. It was almost a surprise to look up and see blue overhead. I shook my head.

Tonya said, "Well, maybe that's a bit much."

I murmured, "No. I like it. I hate throwing things out too." A lot of my best pictures came from some simple thing Tonya said.

The librarian dusted her hands off on her slacks. "On the plus side, I'm making room for some new volumes." She looked back and forth between us as if that should mean something. "No? Well, someone donated a whole box of LGBTQ kids' books in your names."

"Oh." Tonya smiled slow and wide. "That's cool."

"I figure I'll put a few out at a time, rotate them. If someone gets the board to ban a couple, there will be more, and more." Her expression was surprisingly fierce, for a librarian.

"How many did they send?" I asked.

"Thirty. A nice assortment. You know, when I was your age there weren't thirty picture books with gay characters in all the world. Hell, there probably weren't five. You girls may not see it right now, but things are getting better."

"Doesn't feel like it sometimes," Tonya said.

"Are you two going to prom together?"

"Yeah."

"Not dressed in satin on the arms of a couple of male beards?"

"That would be hell, no."

"Progress." She gave us a firm nod and pulled the door open. "Which doesn't mean we don't have work to do yet. Now go back to study hall."

"Who sent the books?" I asked as we stepped inside.

"Anonymous donor. You girls go on to the library. I'm going to wash my hands." She disappeared into the girls' bathroom.

I glanced at Tonya. "You don't think it was Mr. Carter? Or maybe she bought them herself?"

"Maybe. Probably not, though. Picture books gotta cost at least ten bucks each. That's three hundred dollars' worth. More likely some parent. Although—" She eyed the closed bathroom door.

"What?"

"She told me once she knew someone who died of AIDS, back in the nineties, so maybe she would do that."

"She's not one of us?" I'd kind of assumed, from what she'd said.

"Not sure." She bumped my elbow. "Too old for you anyway."

"Ew, no. You're the one who's friends with her."

"Way too old for me." She glanced down the hall, then pushed me against the wall and stepped close. "There's only one girl for me."

"Yeah?" I loved when she got pushy. The first time she told me off, eyes flashing, fists on her hips, was the moment it hit me like a two-by-four to the brain. I didn't want a tough, dick-waving man or some sweet, soft girl. I wanted this woman, perfectly butch, perfectly girl, perfect for me.

"You know what?" she said.

"What?"

"I just realized I never actually asked you to prom. We just assumed."

"Well, of course."

"I want you to have all the things. Including the promposal moment. So." She took my hand, then laughed. "After all that, it's just a dumb question. Will you go to prom with me?"

"Nah, gonna wash my hair." I squeezed her fingers, then kissed her. "Don't you know, girl? I'd go anywhere with you. That auditorium stage. Prom. Chicago when you hit college. Life."

"Me too. You."

I kissed her again.

Behind us, the librarian cleared her throat. "Or study hall, right?"

We jumped apart. "Yes, Ms. Chen."

But all the way down that hall, till we reached the library door, I kept hold of her hand, and the smile on my face could probably be seen from orbit. Tonya and me? We're going places.

####

# The Strongest Shape

photo description: Three young men sit huddled close together on the pavement, their backs against the sweeping stone side of an impressive staircase. The guys are alike in their short-cropped, dark hair, their casual clothes, and in the deep anxiety of their expressions. The tallest boy, sitting in the middle, has his arms firmly wrapped around the shoulders of the other two. They lean in toward him, their hands clasped across the center guy's knees. He grips the wrist of the guy on his right, firmly and comfortingly, while pressing a kiss to the temple of the boy on his left.

I knew it was bad news the minute Shane slammed out of the hallway into my room. He's a bit of a hot-head— my wall had more than one dent from Shane and the door getting too rough with each other— but I'd never seen his eyes wild like this.

"Paul! They can't! I refuse."

"Whoa." I grabbed him and pulled him into a rough hug, pinning his arms because sometimes it takes a tight squeeze to keep him together. "Who can't what?"

"Pull me out of school! My parents!"

"Oh." That damned feeble response was all I could get out, past the breath leaving my chest. Jesus, no!

Shane jerked away from me and took a whirl around the room. "Someone, some interfering bastard, told them the school was encouraging me to be gay."

I blinked. "Encouraging? How?" I mean, things weren't awful for gay kids at Goldman Academy, but they sure weren't what I'd call encouraging either.

"How the hell should I know?" Shane slammed his hand on the wall, then winced. "Because we have a GSA? Because they don't waterboard us straight?"

"Like, join the twenty-first century?"

"I know, right? But Mom says they're sending me somewhere with 'traditional values' that will 'focus my attention on college prep and not hanging around those kinds of boys.'"

I struggled to sound normal. "Hah. Like you need encouragement to hang around boys."

Shane gave me a smirk with a tenth of his usual wattage. I reached out and noogied him on his soft dark, short-cropped hair. I was lying anyway. It'd taken Dylan and me weeks to get Shane out of his closet, even in private. Speaking of which, "Does Dylan know?" I was the official peacemaker and speaker-to-adults of our trio, but Dylan was the idea man.

"He's in theater practice."

"Oh, right." Our Dylan's one of the prettiest guys you will ever see; blue eyes, light brown hair, perfect nose, cheekbones. He's promised to buy the three of us a place with a pool and a home theater when he hits it big in Hollywood, and he just might do it.

Shane flopped on the bed with a loud sigh. "I don't know what the hell to do."

"How long do we have?"

He pulled out his cell phone, checked it. "Two hours."

"What the fu... hell?" Some kinds of swearing cause enough trouble that I tried to avoid practicing them. Although, today, maybe I didn't care. "What the everlasting fuck? Two hours?"

"And seven minutes." Shane looked up at me, his dark eyes wet. "Paul? Help?"

I lay down beside him with my arm around him but kind of loosely in case my roommate came in. Not that Bob didn't know what Shane and I were to each other, or to Dylan for that matter, but he preferred us not to rub his nose in it. "Start from the top. What happened?"

"I don't know!" Shane sniffed and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. "I got called into the Director's office. Miss Lindley said my parents were on the phone and wanted to speak to me. I was shit-scared for a second. Can you believe it? I was worried they were sick or in a car accident or getting a divorce or something."

"I bet." I'd met Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, and they were not a warm couple. They came to school events in stiffly formal clothes, spoke to Shane and his teachers while standing a foot apart at all times, then drove away in their latest model BMW. I could imagine a divorce, if they could bring themselves to be that uncouth.

"Then they told me they're coming to pick me up; I should be waiting with my essentials packed by nine. They'll send a service for the rest."

"Ouch." I hugged him closer.

"I asked why, y'know? I'm doing okay in class, now that I have you tutoring me in math. I got third place all-around on Field Day. I won the damned hurdles despite having the shortest legs in the entire race. I'm doing everything Dad told me to do."

I kissed his short hair, feeling the soft plush against my lips. I wouldn't lose this. Couldn't. I squeezed him hard.

"Dad said I was failing one major thing. No son of his can be out and gay. It's bad for business. He didn't even ask me if it was true, just said, 'I discovered you're being homosexual at that school, and they aren't doing anything about it. We've chosen an academy with more traditional values.' Like he can just swoop down and rip me out of my life."

"Maybe Mr. Marcus could talk to him." Marcus was our GSA advisor. He wasn't gay, he was straight, married with three kids, which made him a good advocate to the parents.

Shane shook his head against my neck. "I asked. I told Dad to wait. I said I'd quit the GSA, even though there's lots of straight kids in it too. I asked if I could have him talk to my teachers."

"And?"

"He laughed. He said this school hadn't been his choice from the start and he had somewhere better for me. I said changing in the middle of my junior year would kill my grades, and he said I'd have time to buckle down at St. Stephen's before my college applications go in."

I closed my eyes and nuzzled in against Shane's skull.

"I could refuse to go with them. Run away." Shane's voice buzzed against my skin. "Maybe hide out here in town and get a job."

It was my role to be the one keeping it real, even when I didn't want to. "What kind of job?"

"Anything. Bagging groceries. Cleaning bathrooms in bars."

"You can't live on that kind of money. And you gag when you walk into a dirty bathroom."

"I could get over it."

"You're seventeen. You can't work in a bar. Anyway, your parents would have you picked up by the cops."

"Then I'd just run again." Shane rose up on one elbow to look down at me. "You're not taking this seriously."

"I am. God, I am." I pulled him down on top of me. "I can't stand the thought of losing you." It would be like the sun going dim. Shane was our firecracker, our sparkplug. He kept us going. "But it's so damned hard to fight adults when we're underage. And two hours..." I rubbed my own damp face on his shoulder. "Let me think, okay? Let me lay here," —and hold you— "and think?"

Dylan burst into the room after I'd had about fifteen minutes of futile, useless, hamster-in-a-wheel thinking that went nowhere good.

"Hey, guys. There you are! I thought you were going to meet me..." He wound down. "What's wrong?"

Shane sat up and looked at him, his throat working. After a minute I said, "Shane's parents are pulling him out of Goldman and sending him to St. Stephen's."

"What? Why?"

"Because someone told them he's gay here."

"Like he's gonna be straight somewhere else?"

"They're trying to make that happen."

"What? They can't!"

Shane let out a laugh that was far from funny. "That's what I said. But until I turn eighteen I'm their property and they sure as shit can try."

"Tell them you won't go." Dylan dropped onto the bed beside us and grabbed Shane's arm. "Tell them if they send you to St. Stephen's you'll flunk out and become a druggie. Worse than gay."

Shane gave us a soggy smile. "You tell my Dad that. Go on. I dare you."

"Wouldn't it be worth it?" Dylan laid a hand on Shane's neck, slid up to touch his cheek. He has these gestures, I think he learns them in theater, and from me they'd look fake but when Dylan does it to Shane it makes my chest feel all warm. Except that day it felt cold as ice. "To stay with us?"

"Sure." Shane turned enough to rub his lips on Dylan's hand. Then, because he was Shane, he sucked on one of Dylan's fingers and pulled off with a pop. "It'd be worth anything. But it wouldn't work that way."

"Why not? If you gave him the choice..."

"I don't give my Dad ultimatums." Shane closed his eyes, and Dylan and I moved to put him between us. Shane said, "Dad's like a pit bull when his mind's made up. He might skip St. Stephens, if he took my threat seriously, but he wouldn't let me stay here. That would be giving up his authority. He'd hire a tutor, or pick some school over in England, or who knows, some lock-down turn-the-gay-kid-straight place in Mississippi."

Dylan leaned into us harder. "Fuck!"

I muttered, "That's what I said."

Shane managed a smile. "He really did. Mr. Perfect said the f-word right here in school."

"Damned fucking right," Dylan muttered. "So, now what?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I'm thinking and nothing's happening."

Normally that would have been the cue for the other two to give me shit, but tonight we just huddled closer.

The door popped open and Bob came hurrying in. "Yuck. No PDAs guys. You know what I said..." He paused, looking at us. "Whose dog died?"

Shane said, "The 'rents are pulling me out of school. Tonight."

"Shit. What'd you do, Robinson?"

"I was gay with intent to embarrass."

"The fuck? You're not even out, really. I mean, yeah, everyone knows. But those two are the official lovebirds. You're the dumb, oblivious, straight third wheel."

Shane gave him the finger. "Someone told my Dad."

"Who?"

Shane shrugged. I felt a surge of hate for whoever had passed along that lovely bit of gossip. If I ever found out...

Dylan said, "It might not've been on purpose. All the parents know each other, pretty much. Maybe someone mentioned it to their folks and it got passed on. It doesn't matter now."

It mattered to me, but I tried to let go of the anger. Now wasn't the time.

"It matters if you could deny it. Make Shane look straight." Bob snapped his fingers. "I could call Suze, get her to sneak out of the house. She could come here, and when your folks arrive, there's Shane and Suze, making out in the quad. You think?" Suze was Bob's townie girlfriend, and a sweet girl. She might actually go for that.

I felt a surge of hope, but Shane shook his head against my shoulder. "God, I was too stupid for that. When Dad started in on me, I was asking and begging, and then when he wouldn't budge I told him he could pull me out of Goldman, but nothing he did could ever turn me straight." He sighed and gripped my wrist, hard enough to hurt. "I think I burned my straight card."

"Oh." Bob subsided. "That sucks."

We all nodded. Bob backed up to the door. "Okaaay. I'm gonna give you guys some space. And I just want to say..." His face got red, but he plunged on. "At first, I thought you were all whacked. I mean, liking guys over soft, pretty girls is weird enough. Liking two guys at once?" He shook his head. "I thought you were crazy and you'd break up or kill each other in a week. But you didn't and, well, I'm kind of used to seeing you together. Without Shane, well, it's not gonna be the same, you know?"

Shane said a feeble, "Thanks."

"Like, call or Skype or whatever, right?" Bob backed out all the way and shut the door behind him.

Shane looked at his phone. "Hour and a half."

Dylan said, "We could all run away, together. I know Shane can't stay, if his folks don't foot the bill. But we could all leave. Find a place together, just the three of us."

For a minute, that glorious vision rose before my eyes. We could find an abandoned cabin on a lake, hunt and fish and fuck, not bother anyone or see anyone... The vision broke apart on the realities of electric bills and snow and three sets of searching parents. "I wish."

"You have a better idea, Mr. Responsible?"

"That's not an idea, that's a dream. A nice one. Real nice."

We lay together for a bit longer. The sun was setting outside and the room was bathed in that golden evening light. I don't know who started the kiss. Maybe we all leaned together. Sometimes it seemed like we did that. But Shane's lips were stiff and cool, and Dylan's tasted of salt. We kissed for a while anyway, pressing close, not trying for anything more.

Eventually we broke apart enough to talk. Shane said, "One good thing. I'm out. No closet anymore. And I'm gonna be loud and proud, and Dad can just get stuffed."

"Careful though." Dylan hugged him harder. "Don't let him hurt you. You talked about that ex-gay shit. Don't let that happen."

"I don't think he would." Shane's voice wobbled. "I think he does love me, kind of. More than Mom does, anyway, and Dad calls the shots."

Dylan said, "My parents love you too, you know that. Even without knowing you're more than my best friend."

"I know. You lucked out."

"Yeah."

I thought a bit longer, took my own resolve in hand, and said, "So. Guys. Here's what I see. You tell me if I'm wrong."

"Ooh, you bet we will," Dylan said. "We'll mark it on the calendar."

I went on loudly, "As I was saying, I don't think we can fight this right now. If Shane's parents won't keep him in Goldman, he's out."

Dylan said slowly, "My parents might chip in for his tuition. If I explained."

I shook my head. "Goldman wouldn't keep a kid against his legal parents' wishes. For now, we have to figure on Shane going to St. Stephen's."

Shane said, "Maybe I could get crappy grades there. Ask them to send me back."

"You said your Dad hates being pressured."

"Yeah. He'd probably just hire me a tutor. Probably a fifty-year-old nun with a big ruler."

"There are worse places he could have picked," I pointed out. "St. Stephen's is only a hundred miles away."

"It's four hours by bus. More by train, and the schedules suck. We worked that out when Rick got sent there."

Dylan added, "And we never get enough hours free. It doesn't work. We'll never see him."

I said, "I think we can."

"Huh?"

I sighed. "You know my dad wants me to intern with his company this summer."

Shane just looked at me. Dylan said, "You got that forestry internship, though."

"Yeah. But I didn't accept yet. I didn't tell my folks. So, what I didn't tell you guys is, Dad tried to sweeten the pot. He said he knew I'd want to be able to see my friends during the summer, so he'd buy me a car, insurance and all, so I could get around."

Dylan frowned. "You hate the packaging business."

"I can do it for three months. I can handle it." It hurt to think of losing the internship, a summer out in the open air doing the job I wanted someday. But for Shane, for Dylan, I could do it. "I'll tell Dad I'm weighing things, considering the internship or his place. I'll tell him Shane got transferred, and I need the car now, to see him sometimes."

Shane said, "We're not supposed to go out of town. You're not supposed to have a car, either."

I eyed him coolly. "Shane Robinson is telling me not to break the rules?"

Dylan said slowly, "It might work. Help, anyway. If we can get our free days to match up."

"I'll ask Dad to garage it in town. We can take the bus in for the day, like usual, and just... disappear. And see Shane."

Shane rubbed his face. "This sucks. This just totally sucks! I don't want to see you guys once every couple of weeks." His voice broke. "I don't want to be alone and gay and by myself at some suck-ass religious school."

Dylan did his fake sexy growl. "The only suck-ass you should do is with us."

Shane hit him, not gently. "You'll have each other. I'll be the one alone. You'll be together."

Dylan and I met eyes over Shane's head. Dylan said, "Do you want us to swear we won't get off together when you're not here?"

Shane stared at him, then at me. "You can't promise that." But there was hope and pleading in his eyes. I realized how much he needed to know we would stay three, and not just two.

"Sure we can," I said. "The blue balls will be something fierce, and Dylan will probably wear out his right hand, but we can. It's no different than Bob and his girl in town."

"You shouldn't have to. You have each other."

"But we won't have you." I kissed him, and then Dylan did too. I said, "Hang on," and got up to rummage in my drawer.

Shane said, "What are you after? I can't. Not now."

"Mind out of the gutter." I found the little silk bag and came back to the bed. "This was for next week. Our anniversary of that first time, you know?"

Dylan said softly, "Yeah. We remember."

"So, I wanted to get something." I dug in the bag and pulled out three loops of fine chain. I passed one to Dylan and put one in Shane's damp palm. "These are us." They were simple, a series of twisted links that lined up flat. I'm not a jewelry guy, but these caught my eye because they had a repeating pattern of copper, silver and gold. "The three of us, right? Take out any one color of link, and the whole thing falls apart." I touched the copper. "That's me, solid, you know." The silver. "That's Dylan of the silver tongue." The gold. "That's you, Shane. The bright part."

Shane looked at his silently. Dylan slid his over his head, tucking it down under his shirt. I put mine on and turned to Shane. After a moment, Dylan took the chain out of his fingers and slipped it over his head. "There."

Shane said, "I don't know if I can do this."

"Sure you can," I said. "We can. We will. We have evenings on the phone or computer. We've got Skype, WhatsApp, Signal. We'll find days, hours, whatever we can get. I'd drive two hours to spend an hour together, if that's all we have."

Shane said, "I'm scared you'll forget me. After a while. It'll be too much bother."

Dylan kissed him, with lots of tongue and enthusiasm.

I said, "We could all die tomorrow. But until then." I flicked the chain around his neck. "This is us. Linked. Better together. In less than a year, we'll all be eighteen. In a year and a half, we'll head to college."

Shane shook his head. "Who knows if I'll even get in."

"Pessimist." I kissed him too. "We'll all need to hit the books hard for a year, get the grades so we can have a fighting chance at acceptances to the same places. But either way, we'll be adults. Things will change, if we can just hang on."

Shane grabbed the chain around my neck and hauled me in closer, nearly choking me with his grasp. "Promise."

"Promise. Unless I die of strangulation."

He opened his hand. "Sorry."

"No sorrys." I tipped the three of us down on the bed.

We used up most of another hour just making out, clothes pulled open, kissing and touching. I tried to memorize every inch of Shane, every sound and smell and texture. I think he was doing the same with us. Eventually he sat up though and tugged his shirt straight. "I should pack some stuff. Or I'll be going home with nothing."

We trooped to his room. His roommate was out but that was okay. They barely tolerated each other anyway. The guy was going to be a Wall Street wizard and he'd probably be relieved to get Shane's discordant energy out of his space. Dylan and I helped Shane pack his favorite things into his sports bag. He dumped his track and field gear on the floor of the closet. "Won't need that. I only did it for Dad."

Dylan swatted his ass. "I thought you did it to stay hot for Paul and me."

I swatted Shane too. "Yeah. Don't you go getting flabby on us."

He managed a laugh as he sorted through the stuff in his desk. "At least these days, everything that matters most is on my phone. Pictures, Texts." He looked at me. "Blackmail material."

I nodded. We'd reeled him in that first time, when he claimed not to be interested, by showing him pictures, one after another, of him staring at me, or perving on Dylan's ass. When he freaked, we sent him some shots of the two of us kissing, as counter-deterrent. I knew he'd saved those. "With passwords, right?"

"Damn right."

Eventually he had a duffle and a backpack filled. He set them by the door and we looked at each other.

Dylan said, "We should say goodbye here, I guess. For as long as we can."

Shane glanced from him to me, then said, "Fuck that!"

"Huh?"

"I'm done hiding. I'm through keeping anything on the down low. Miss Lyndley said to wait for my folks in the hall. Will you wait with me? The three of us? I really need you guys."

I said slowly, "Together, you mean? Like, touching out in the open, all three of us?"

"Yeah." He got quieter. "If you want. Is that okay?"

We'd never done that, three-way PDAs at school. Dylan and I would hug or even kiss briefly, despite the rules. But Shane had kept it cool.

Dylan said fast and hard, "Yeah. Absolutely. This is us, the three of us, and anyone says anything tonight, I'll shove their nose up their face."

I nodded. "No fighting. The last thing we need is you getting expelled. But yeah, I'm in."

Shane took a breath and hefted his bags. "Come on, then."

The front hall of the admin building was erected a century ago, all marble floors and echoes and columns. When we got there, Mr. Wu was showing some prospective new kid and parents around. Wu gave us a worried look, before pointing out some other fine feature of the building. Shane dumped his bags and glanced at us. "C'mon."

We went out the front, down to where the cobbled drive swoops around by the front steps. Shane leaned on the wall, then slid down, like his legs couldn't hold him, He pulled his knees up to hide behind, staring off down the drive. In the warm evening light, his eyes were dark and shadowed. I sat beside him and put my arm around him. I expected Dylan to take his other side, but he sat beside me instead and just reached for Shane's hand. Their fingers locked, resting on my thigh. Dylan said, "Why does it have to be like this? Why can't people just let us love each other, like my folks do?"

I wrapped my other arm around him and kissed his temple. "I don't know. But they can't stop us. They can only slow us down. We're seventeen and counting."

Shane muttered to his knees. "The man with the plan. Keep us together, Paul. Please?"

"Always." That was a promise.

We sat there, the three of us, and waited for the BMW to come into view down the drive.

Eventually, too soon, the big car loomed up out of the dark, headlights sweeping over us as it came to a stop. Shane didn't get up, so neither did I. The front door opened. That thin, small silhouette against the interior lights was surely not Shane's father. I wasn't sure if it was better that he sent the chauffeur, or worse, but then the chauffeur opened the back door and Mr. Robinson emerged. I felt Shane flinch, but he still didn't stand. Dylan took a short breath. Shane's hand was white-knuckled on his.

Mr. Robinson strode over and stopped, looking down at Shane. With the headlights behind him, it was hard to read his face, but his tone was pure acid. "Get up. Get away from them. I'm not having you destroy your future like this."

"I'm not destroying anything." Shane's voice wavered. "They're my friends." I hugged him tighter.

Mr. Robinson walked past us and headed inside without another word.

"What the hell?" Dylan asked.

"Getting the paperwork in order, I'd bet," Shane said. "Legal. He's always about the right signature on the right line."

"You think the school might protest? They'd hate to lose his money."

"I think they're probably shaking in their shoes and hoping he doesn't badmouth them to his friends. They might even refund him for the rest of the term."

I was sure Shane was right, and yet I waited for someone to come out— Principal Borenstein wasn't a bad guy, and a couple of the teachers were pretty liberal. Of course, Shane was right. Money talks. When the front door opened it was just his father. His fancy hard-soled shoes clicked our last hopes away, one stair at a time.

He passed us, then turned to address Shane. "Where are your bags?"

"Inside."

"Get them."

Shane pulled out of my grasp and stood, forcing Dylan to let go too. We both scrambled to our feet to stand beside him. Dylan said, "You know, most major companies these days are going out of their way to be gay-friendly. From the NCAA to Apple. Shane's on the winning side."

Mr. Robinson ignored him like he was invisible. "Count of ten, Shane, or we'll leave without your things."

I could practically feel Dylan vibrating with all the things he wanted to say, but Shane was curling in on himself and Mr. Robinson was hard as stone. I said, "Dyl, get Shane's bags."

"No! I—"

Shane said, "Please."

Dylan cut off his protest, turned and ran up the steps to the door.

I turned to Mr. Robinson and held out my hand. "Good to see you again, sir."

He didn't offer to shake hands, but he did look at me. I lowered mine casually. "I'm sorry you're making such a hasty move. I've been tutoring Shane in math. He's likely to ace the next exam. Why wreck that now?"

"I'll hire a tutor."

"He's been increasing his grade point average every term. And you're breaking up a winning sports team."

"What do you know about sports?" There was enough light to see his lip curl.

"I play left field in baseball, and right wing in hockey."

Mr. Robinson shook his head, rejecting the idea. "I'm not having my son jeopardize his future for some stupid schoolboy experiment. If he fights me on this, he'll lose."

"Today," I said. "What about in a year? In five? Do you really see him settling down under your control forever, if you drag him away now?"

"He'll do as he's told. His mother wants grandchildren."

"I won't!" Shane burst out. "I'll be eighteen soon—" He stopped abruptly. We both knew his dad was the kind to double down under a threat.

Sure enough, Mr. Robinson scowled. "My money pays for every bite you eat, everywhere you live, and everything you wear. You will make me proud at St. Stephens, or I'll find another option."

Dylan came down the steps behind us with the duffle and backpack. He set them on the ground at the bottom of the stairs and stood there, chin up, eyeing Mr. Robinson. Shane glanced from his father to Dylan, then headed for Dyl. I followed him.

Under his breath, so only we three could hear, Shane said, "I'm scared to push him harder. I'm such a coward."

"You're not." I gave his back a quick rub. "We agreed. Play the long game. There are worse places than St. Stephens."

"Promise you'll call, and come by."

"And come," Dylan murmured, skimming his hand down Shane's thigh. "We promise."

Behind us, Mr. Robinson said loudly, "Four... Three... Two."

Shane grabbed his backpack. I snatched up the duffle, suddenly unable to stand there and watch him turn away. He glanced at his dad, but let me follow him toward the car. His father strode ahead of us.

I wasn't going to let Robinson make this into a heavy tragedy with his ominous last pronouncements. I called, "Hey, Mr. Robinson. You want the bags in the trunk? Or is there room for the backpack on the seat."

"Trunk." I could tell he grudged the word.

"Thanks. Could you get the chauffeur guy to pop it open?"

He had to stop and speak to the chauffeur, before getting in the back seat, leaving the door ajar.

The trunk lid rose slowly. I tugged Shane around to the back behind it. Dylan crowded in against us. After hefting the duffle inside, I put an arm around each of my guys. "We're shielded here. Let him wonder. Make it last."

We kissed— me and Shane, Dylan and Shane, and a mash of faces that brought the three of us together. Dylan groped Shane a little, not that either of them wanted it now, but that was Dylan, making a statement. We didn't stop till the horn tooted, a pathetic little beep rather than the blast Mr. Robinson had probably asked for. Warning enough, though.

"Skype, tonight, midnight," I said.

"If I have my computer and access," Shane said glumly.

"Or call. Text. Landline. Something."

"I'll try."

Dylan said, "There is no try, Grasshopper."

"Quit mixing your fandoms." Shane kicked the side of Dylan's sneaker, then mine. "Love you guys."

"Love you," Dyl said.

"Long game." I put a hand up on the trunk lid, nodded to each of them, and slammed it shut.

Shane went around the side, got in, and closed the door. I pulled Dylan aside as the car moved forward in expensive, ponderous silence. There was something so wrong about standing with one arm around Dylan and the other empty at my side, as the red tail lights circled the drive and pulled away.

I stood watching until the lights wavered and were lost in the soft, dark, spring night. My chest hurt.

Dylan stood on tiptoe to kiss my temple. "This is just a delay. You said it yourself. Come on, Paul, if I can keep it together, you can."

I am. Aren't I?

He ran a thumb under my eye, but then sucked the damp off it suggestively. "We'll find something to do till midnight." The wicked smile was one of his better performances. I wasn't fooled. I took his hand and tugged him toward the door, fingers tight in mine, thanking all the gods that it was the twenty-first century and we could do this. How many guys in eras past had their hearts ripped in half, with no hope of a better ending? I squeezed his hand. "Three hours. Enough for you to study chemistry once more. You're going to ace that test."

"Study? Now?"

"Grades. College. The future." Our Shane might be riding away through the night beside a dad who couldn't love him for who he was. But he had the two of us, who did, and time was on our side. "Eyes on the prize."

*** Three years later ***

I glanced across the kitchen counter at Dylan. "Is that the last of the milk?"

He lowered the carton and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Um. Yeah? Sorry?"

I held out my coffee mug. "In there."

"I had my mouth on it."

"Considering where we had our mouths last night, should I care?"

Dylan laughed, and poured the last drops into my mug.

Shane wandered in, yawning and rubbing his face. "You guys are freaks." He looked sexy all sleep-rumpled, although the circles under his eyes were darker than I liked. He worked a lot of late shifts at the coffeehouse while hunting for a better job. I felt a flash of sorrow over what Shane had lost, walking away from his folks and college money to be with us here, while Dyl and I went to the U. With their income, he couldn't even get financial aid, but he claimed he didn't care.

Before I could say anything sentimental, he picked up a piece of junk mail and swatted Dylan on the back of the head. "I don't know how you can be so perky this fuckin' early in the morning."

Dylan tossed the milk carton in the sink. "I'm never perky." He caught Shane in a headlock. "Take that back!" Their wrestling brought them up against me hard enough to knock me back a step.

I sighed. A year of living together, and I still got elbows in the ribs and no milk. "I have early class, you morons. See you later."

Before I could pick up my bag, they both reached out. Dylan got the front of my sweatshirt, Shane looped a finger through the three-color chain around my neck, and they both pulled me in. Shane kissed me. "Drive safely."

Dylan kissed me. "Buy milk."

I hugged them, pushed them away, grabbed my backpack, and hurried out through our front door, into the bright sunshine.

####

# With Teeth and Blade

photo description: They both peer out of the picture with similar intense expressions – the dark wolf with golden eyes, and the metal-breastplate-clad figure standing beside it. The warrior has dark hair swept back from a strong forehead, and slim, muscled arms braced on the hilt of a sheathed sword. In the background, an old, gnarled tree spreads its green-leafed branches in the sun.

I didn't look at Kaal, as she came out of the undergrowth. But I murmured, "Guards?"

She came close enough to nudge my hand with her muzzle, four times. Four guards. Goddess above, this was going to be hard.

"Any archers?"

One nudge.

I leaned on my sword and thought about it. Two years of training were never going to be enough. I might've molded soft flesh into hard muscle, and learned how to handle my father's sword without being more of a danger to myself than my enemy, but I had no illusions. I couldn't take on four trained soldiers, even with Kaal's help. If I even tried, Master Bron would have my head, if they didn't finish the job first. "We can't fight them all."

Kaal heaved a pained sigh, one of the most human sounds she made. She dropped to her belly in the grass and lowered her head to her paws.

I knelt beside her. "We're not giving up, silly." I ruffled the fur over her skull, and tried not to think about what her hair had felt like when she was human. It had been long and silky black and... I ruffled her ears instead. As a human, Kaal would've put me on my back in the dirt if I'd taken liberties, but as a wolf she liked that. "Time to plan differently."

The last time we were here, the witch had only two body servants— huge, strong, young, tongueless men. We'd trained to defeat them. I'd been stupid to assume things would wait unchanged for me to get through the training. "Are either of them the muti-twins?" We'd nicknamed them, trying to take away some of the fear.

Kaal made one soft chuff for yes.

"Well, that's something, at least. Are the others young?"

One chuff.

"Equally big?"

Two chuffs.

All right, then. Not veterans. How many times had the Master said, "Nika, girl, listen to me! Stop worrying about size and pay attention to skill. A merely strong opponent is always easier to defeat than older and experienced." But still, four of them. And my two years with the Master didn't make me anything but young myself.

"All right, I need to find a way to get a better look."

Kaal growled, but got up, dug clear a little patch of dirt, and scratched "tre" with her claw in the dirt.

"Tree?" It was getting harder to understand her. At first, when the witch changed her, Kaal struggled to be as human as possible. She'd let me teach her to read and write, back in happy days, and she battled hard with a quill trapped between her toes, trying to get words on paper. But now she wrote rarely, and almost always just a few letters with a claw. Whether it was frustration, or Kaal losing hope, or losing herself into the wolf, well... I didn't like to think about it too much, and I hadn't dared ask.

Kaal led me out of the clearing. I sheathed my sword and tried to move silently through the forest. After ten minutes, she paused at the base of a tall oak, and scratched the bark lightly once.

I unbuckled my sword belt, took off my boots, and stretched out my shoulders. Kaal nudged me with her head, perhaps to encourage me to get on with it. Reaching up, I grabbed the lowest branch and chinned myself up. As I climbed, I had a moment of disconnection, almost like I was standing outside myself looking at this strong, muscular girl making easy work of climbing a hundred armspans up the old tree.

I'd always been a tomboy. I was my mother's despair when I was smaller, running away from mending or cooking to play in the woods or trying to follow my father the sheriff at his work. After she died, I'd tried to do better with my womanly duties, keeping my father's house in her place, but I still yearned for a man's life and a man's work.

And when my heart found the person I wanted to share my life with, it was Kaal. We'd sneaked around, spending an hour here or there on the pretext of her teaching me healing arts and midwifery. I'd still worn women's skirts, with my hair in braids, and soft shoes on my feet.

That had all changed and I'd meant it to. But time and again in training in the last two years, taking a firm step with a man's boot, or feeling the pinch of armor on my chest, I'd wondered who this new person was. Who had I become? Every gain has a loss in it, and there were moments when I grieved the person I once was. Not as many as when I cheered my changes, though.

The oak was the tallest tree around, rising from the crest of a small hill. Once I climbed past the level of the ash and poplar around it, I could see toward the witch's manor. It was made of gray stone, more castle than house, with very few windows on the ground floor and those all barred. There was a high arched gateway in the front, and the road led to it. I'd only been inside at night, but I knew there was a courtyard in the middle where foul deeds were done. Even at a distance, I could make out a man standing guard at the gate. From his size, he might be one of the twins.

As I watched he paced, four strides across the gateway, and four back. His hand hovered near his sword hilt. He seemed ill at ease, despite the quiet of the day and the remoteness of the mansion. I wondered if somehow the witch knew we were nearby. If she had that much awareness, we'd be doomed indeed.

I'd thought a place where magic was worked at night might sleep in the daytime, but raising my eyes to the crenellations of the lone tower, I spotted the shape of the archer Kaal had seen. The witch would be hard to take unaware. Perhaps night would be better after all. But my heart quailed at going back through that gate in the dark, into the foul miasma of that black courtyard.

The portcullis behind the guard rose suddenly. The grinding creak of the gears was loud in the quiet afternoon. The first person through was the other twin, the exact match to his brother in size and shape obvious, even at this distance. The person behind him was the witch.

I held my breath, even though not the sharpest-eared owl would hear me from so far away.

She was smaller than I remembered, and more bent. Not ugly. The things she'd done didn't show on her plain, ordinary face. For all that she lived in a fine manor, she wore a simple blue dress, with a white cap, and her dark hair braided neatly. She looked like a servant, but I knew her. Every fiber of my body knew her.

The witch stopped and put a hand on the guard's shoulder. They both turned to look down the road leading away to the west. At first I saw nothing, but they remained there, poised, waiting. Then I saw a small cloud of dust in the distance. A minute later I could make out a banner, and horses. Several of them. Five minutes later I could see a lady's closed litter, and an array of guards around it. Not just the standard four, but a score or more. And behind them, bearers carrying another concealed lady, and more guards.

I almost fell, scrambling down out of the tree. Kaal stood, staring toward the manor, her ears pricked sharply. I said, "Someone's coming. A lot of someones. This might be our chance, to get inside in the confusion instead of fighting our way in."

Kaal nodded, then shrugged sideways. She dug fast, pressed her hip to flatten the ground, scratched, "IF THY IN."

"Yes, of course. She might not let them in. But litters in the party means spoiled society women. We're leagues from the nearest hostel. The weather is warm. They'll want drinks and rest." This might not be our home province, and customs vary, but upper-class women are much of a kind. "Either way, I want to get close enough to hear."

She nodded again and glided off down the hillside, silent among the underbrush. I followed, trying to make equally little noise. And failing, of course, though the sounds I did make might be covered by the drum of the approaching feet and hooves.

It took us fifteen minutes to work our way to the edge of the trees along the road. A hundred spans from our goal, Kaal blocked me with her body, and growled low in her throat when I'd have walked closer. I took the hint and dropped to my knees and elbows. She was always after me to be more cautious— too cautious, really, while she took crazy risks— but we were both on edge. I'd not push her over it now.

I crawled, low on my belly like a stalking cat. I was grateful for the leather trews in place of skirts, though my sword hung up in the weeds. Stupid. I'd practiced crawling through much worse in full armor with a bow. My skills seemed to be deserting me. Despite hard-won calluses, the rough forest floor stung my bare hands. Beside me, dark, silent, and deadly, Kaal crept forward too.

When we reached a good vantage point, screened by a tangle of buckthorn but close enough to hear, the traveling party had stopped before the gates. I'd missed whatever name they'd first announced, but I heard the witch's reply. "And what brings such illustrious folk to my humble home?" There was nothing humble in the tone of her voice. Or in that house, of course.

A man at the forefront of the crowd, holding the reins of a fine stallion, said, "You gave your word. A favor for a favor. You swore it."

The witch turned to him, her dark gaze sharpening abruptly. "Who calls in this favor?"

"Lord Troy."

"Ah." She stood still, biting her lip. The crowd around the two litters was made up mostly of soldiers, who stood at parade rest or sat their horses quietly. But there were also several ladies on well-bred palfreys, and a pair of young noblemen on restive stallions. The horses shifted, chewing bits, stretching their necks. Leather creaked, metal rang softly. The witch was silent.

The man at the front said, "Lord Troy commands..."

"He does not command me."

"Asks, then." The man held out a hand toward her. "Begs, if necessary."

I heard Kaal in the underbrush beside me rumble a snarl, low and soft, at this man humbling himself before the witch.

Surprisingly she didn't gloat, or sneer. Just sighed, as if taking on an irksome chore. "If I must. Did you have to bring a parade?"

The man glanced at the company in confusion. "My lady is accompanied as always."

"Of course she is." The witch took a step back. "Very well. You, the lady, her attendants, no more, may enter."

"She must have her guards."

"She will be safe in my house."

I almost laughed. Safe! I bit the heel of my hand to control the sound. The way Kaal and I had been safe?

"Lord Troy will not allow his wife to be unguarded."

"Lord Troy isn't here." The witch sighed loudly. "If it will save you having the vapors, very well, two guards. They must leave their swords at the gate and touch nothing."

The man looked like he might protest, but then gestured to two guards on horseback. They dismounted, hanging their sword belts from their pommels, and stood on either side of the gate. Then the witch turned and went in, followed by the two curtained litters, the ladies on their palfreys, the leader and the two unarmed guards. When one of the gentlemen tried to follow, a muti-twin stepped into his way, hand on his sword hilt.

"I'm supposed to stay with her," the man said haughtily.

The twin didn't move or speak, just stood there like a flesh mountain.

The man reached out with a hand, as if to shove him aside, but something about the quality of the twin's stillness must have spoken a warning. The man dropped his hand and turned aside, muttering. And then everyone waited.

I put a hand to Kaal's ruff and tugged her backward. She took the hint, easing back through the trees until we were out of easy earshot of the gate. I sat in the lee of a fat tree trunk and scraped a bit of earth for her to write. I said, "This has to be our chance. The gate is open. The witch is distracted. But I'll be damned if I see how to use the situation."

Kaal sat and tucked her tail across her feet, her head tilted in her thinking attitude.

I wished Master Bron was there. He'd led soldiers and saboteurs. He would have ideas.

Kaal reached out with her foot and scratched, "I STAMPEED HRSES"

"You could scare them, no doubt," I said, "But then what? You'd be spitted on a sword, or shot by that archer."

"YU SNEK IN."

I reached out and shook her by the ruff, gently. "This is all for naught if you get killed doing it."

"WONT. YU LET ME IN LATR."

It was crazy. What were the odds that the guards would be drawn away from the gate enough to clear my way? And yet, the odds were worse that I might disguise myself as a latecomer lady in waiting, or a soldier, among men who knew each other well. Or that I might take on all the defenders of the manor with my sword and win.

"CANT LOSE TO TRY."

Kaal hadn't written so much in months. Her golden wolf eyes burned into mine.

"It can if you get hurt."

"TRUST ME."

I hated the idea. I had no better one. "I'd have to get close to the gate, to be ready."

She nodded.

"Someone will see me."

She shrugged, then lowered her head. "TRU. NOT SAFE FR YOU. BAD PLAN." She sighed and lowered herself, chin on her front paws. Her head dropped, and I heard a tiny whine escape her throat.

"Let's try." I bent and hugged her furry neck. "We have to try. We knew when we decided to do this that it would be risky."

She shouldered me aside and wrote, "YU SHUD GO HOME. FRGET ME. MARRY"

I bent to whisper in her ear, "I'd rather be in the witch's hands than marry a man."

"FIND A GRL THEN"

"I have a girl. Don't I?"

For a moment she leaned on me, the weight of her hot, furry, wire-thin frame almost knocking me off balance. She reached out a paw. "WOLF"

"Not if I can get my sword on that witch's neck," I snarled, as vicious, as angry as any sound from her wolf's throat.

"HOPE"

It was our only hope. That somehow I could force the witch to undo what she had done, two long years ago. That the spell could be undone. That once Kaal was a human girl again, we could somehow escape with our lives. If I thought about how unlikely that all was, I'd never start.

"So. You create a big distraction, I sneak inside. Once in, I hide, and when it's quiet I find a way to open one of the barred windows to let you in. And then we confront the witch."

Our eyes met. It would never work. It couldn't. But the human light in Kaal's eyes today was the closest to my beloved I'd seen in a long, long time. If this failed, I just knew she would sink back. My Kaal would disappear into the beast. Perhaps never to rise again. She'd come near it once. She'd killed a horse, eaten a part of it. She'd risen from her kill, muzzle red-dripping, snarling at Gant as he raised a sword. Only my sharp cries of her name had gotten through, and that slowly. She'd eased down, a little, a little more, and then backed up and vomited the horse meat at her feet. She'd not written or even nodded for a week after that. I knew how close I was to losing her.

Uncounted minutes later we heard new sounds from the gate. As if broken from a trance, we both startled. Kaal leaned forward and licked my nose, then turned and vanished from sight, a black ghost among the bushes. I followed more slowly.

I was able to work my way through the woods to within thirty spans of the gate. I could smell the sweaty horses, hear the muttered conversation of the bored guards. The new noise had been a servant, an old man, bringing flagons of drink out to the waiting men. Personally, I'd never have taken anything given me on a witch's doorstep, but these men seemed to find no threat in it. I watched as the servant disappeared inside and came back with yet another tray. Once all had been given drink, he brought out a huge basket of breads. As he passed among the crowd at the gate, offering the basket, I saw a flash of motion in the brush on the other side of the road. Then all hell broke loose.

A huge stag, antlers soft with velvet, broke from the trees right by the gate. With a bleat of fear, it crashed into the nearest horse, shoving it sideways into the next. The stag rebounded, but instead of turning back it plunged on, with more of the herd appearing behind it. There was a wolf howl, sharp and shocking in the broad daylight. Behind the deer, Kaal leaped into view, yodeling the most awful unwolflike sound. The stag startled, trying to leap over a horse in its path. The rider yanked his mount aside, but not fast enough and both horse and stag went down in the road, thrashing. Kaal flashed past them and leaped at the flank of one of the gentlemen's horses. The horse screamed and bolted, slamming its neighbor aside. The men, caught with flagons and bread in hand, dropped their drinks to grab for their swords.

One of the men shouted, "Mad wolf!"

Another yelled, "Enchanted wolf!"

Then the muti-twin guarding the gate ran to help the gentleman trapped under his fallen horse. As Kaal screeched and bit and slashed mayhem all around her, I forced myself to look away and dash along the manor wall and in through the gate.

It was hard to see in the sudden dimness of the tunnel. The shouts and yells and howls behind me were difficult to ignore. But I slid along the wall, heading for the courtyard, and almost fell through a door standing ajar. To my left a narrow stair headed upward. To my right a hallway led to an open kitchen. There was another doorway before the kitchen, and I ducked through there, finding myself in a storeroom. Barrels lined the walls, mostly empty of the last season's harvest, smelling of old apples and the musty green of cabbage. I circled the room and found a place I could slide in, between a flour barrel and a stack of crates. For the first time in two years, I was grateful that the training I'd done had made me stronger but not added much to my girl-sized body.

Someone ran down the hallway from the kitchen. The shouts from the front gate still echoed. I didn't hear Kaal anymore.

I hunkered down in my hiding space as more footsteps pounded past. I desperately wanted to go see, to know what was happening. I could tell people were still shouting and calling instructions but the words were muffled to nonsense. Kaal was smart, and crafty. Even as a human, she'd always been the clever one, the one who know what made people react. I had to trust that she'd done her work and gotten clear. My job now was to wait.

I hated my job.

Time passed at less than a crawl, measured in heartbeat after heartbeat. I heard people in the hallways, and someone saying, "Don't bring that thing in here. There's blood everywhere." My breath caught in my throat, as someone added, "Anyway it's probably got the madness disease."

Then another replied, "Nonsense. The wolf was mad. The stag was just afraid. Stupid to let it go to waste."

"Did you kill the damned wolf, at least?"

"No. I think Alric wounded it, but it got away."

I bit back a sob. Wounded. That could be anything from a scratch to crawling off to die. What if the wound was mortal? What if I found a window tonight and opened it, and Kaal never came? What if I never saw her again? I was a wreck for a long time after that, trying so hard to control my breathing and make no sound that I missed any distant conversations.

For hours, I crouched in hiding, torn between hope and despair. People came and went. A meal was prepared in the kitchen down the hall and served elsewhere. Then I heard a mass of people and hoof beats. The witch said clearly, "Make sure she drinks it all. One flask a day for the week. And tell Lord Troy I consider my debt paid in full."

"Perhaps the lady should stay longer." The leader's voice was low and harsh with warning. "You would not want ill to befall her by sending her away too soon. Lord Troy is a bad man to anger."

The witch snorted. "Then you'd better follow directions. All will be well if you do. If not, I'll be the one talking to Lord Troy."

"It's getting late."

"You'd better hurry then, if you want to make it to Sainbry before nightfall."

"We have two injured horses."

"The riders will have to walk then, won't they? Or perhaps someone can ride pillion." The witch's tone was cold as ice, inflexible as granite.

The leader made a sound that was almost a growl, but clearly did as he was told. The crowd slowly moved out of the manor. Dimly, I heard the sound of hooves and gear, as they departed the gateway.

After a while, surprisingly close, I heard the witch say, "Close the gate, Sim. I'm heading to bed. I don't want to be disturbed for anything less than the king himself possessed by a fire daemon."

I didn't hear a response, but the witch added, "Good. See to it."

I went back to waiting, while the portcullis ground down, while servants cleared the kitchen, while the manor settled and quieted into sleep. By the time I thought it was safe to move, the darkness was thick and my body so cramped that I fell rather than climbed out of my hiding spot. My feet felt like blocks of wood, my legs prickled and burned with the pain of rising. But I'd trained in holding still, and knew how to flex the muscle groups silently, over and over, shifting my weight against the stone. I breathed through the rush of fire down my thighs and legs and feet until I could stand again, and then move.

The room was pitch black. I hadn't had time to look it over before diving into my rathole for safety. I felt my way very carefully, a hand always on something. I moved from barrel to crate to wall to barrel again. It was a long time before my fingers found the door. Slowly and carefully I pulled it open. The hallway beyond was only slightly less dark. A rectangle of gray marked the corridor end. Another was the probable location of the entry tunnel. I headed for the kitchen, keeping the fingers of my left hand on the wall and my right on my sword hilt.

When I reached the kitchen, I could hear someone snoring. Whether cook or scullion, someone slept on a pile of bedclothes near the hearth. On the other side of the kitchen there was another door and beyond it a sliver of moonlight. It was enough to let me ghost across the room, moving as Master Bron had taught me, easy and slow but not jerky. I touched nothing and the snorer never woke as I passed by.

It took a while to find my window, but eventually I located another storeroom, this one with linens. A small window high in the wall opened through to the outside and not into the courtyard. I slid into the room and closed the door behind me. The moon was already high, its silver light frosting the landscape. I stood a moment, staring at the colorless world beyond the bars, wondering if Kaal was out there. If she would see where I was. If she even lived.

There was no point in thinking about that. If she didn't, then I would put my sword through the witch's neck instead of against it. Her death would precede mine by only moments, no doubt, but I'd see her die. Though I might deny it, that was the outcome I'd expected since the first time Kaal had scratched in the dirt, "WE LL MAKE HER FIX IT BY FORCE IF WE MUST" Even then I'd looked at her lean wolf-form and my small female one and thought the witch would laugh to know we were coming for her. But I never said it. It gave Kaal hope.

And here we were. I wasn't giving up now. I went to the window. There was a barred grate across it, sure enough. The bars were iron and not likely to yield to less than a blacksmith's hammer. But the whole grate was made to swing open and locked with a pair of locks. I'd seen the like in the nunnery, where the windows served as a way out in case of fire. There, the keys had hung on a nail, not far from the window. Here there were no convenient keys I could see.

Master Bron had taught me to fight. He'd also taught me to trick and deceive. And to pick locks. I pulled the wires from the slim pocket in the belt across my chest and set to work. It didn't take long. These locks weren't built to be difficult. Set as they were, out of reach from the window, they didn't need to be proof against a thief's skills. Anyone who could reach them was already inside. The top one yielded to me in minutes, the bottom even faster. I started to swing the grate open and froze as a harsh rasp sounded from the hinge.

For several moments I did nothing but listen to the silence from the hallway, and the pounding of my heart. Eventually I decided no one had heard. Leaning close, I spat on the hinges again and again. This time when I swung the grate, fraction by fraction, it made only a soft whisper. I pulled it back against the stone.

The night air was soft beyond the window. Somewhere out there, if the Goddess was kind, was Kaal. How would she find this window? Could it happen soon enough? What if she was too injured to come to me?

Before I had time to panic, I saw a lithe dark form break from the edge of the woods, running toward me, almost invisible against the dark weeds and grass. My heart rejoiced. Kaal! And running, not hurt, not dead. I stood on my toes enough to lean my head out the window. I stretched a hand through. Kaal reached the dirt at the base of the wall and paused there, looking up at me. Her gold eyes reflected the moonlight, glowing with a shine all her own.

She gathered herself and leaped. I almost made a sound, caught by surprise, and jerked back. But it was a test leap only, her fur caressing my outstretched hand even as I pulled it inside. I looked out again. She crouched, met my eyes, and gestured with her head. I stepped back enough to clear the window and waited.

Her leap brought her forepaws to the sill of the window. For a moment I saw her muzzle. Then she fell back with a scrape and a grunt. I froze, and from the silence outside so did she. But when there was no response as the minutes ticked by, she tried again. This time as her paws and head reached the opening, I snatched for her.

One hand caught a fistful of fur, the other an ear. I didn't let go, just set my weight and pulled. It hung in the balance a moment, whether I'd pull her in or she drag me out. I heard the scrabble of her hind legs on the stone, and then like a cork out of a bottle she tumbled in on top of me.

I hugged her. The weight of her on my chest, and the living tension of her body, eased my soul. I think she felt the same, because she pressed her muzzle against my neck for a moment. But she was faster to shake off the mood and roll away from me. In the moonlight from the window we looked at each other. I saw that the tip of one ear was wet and dark. For a second I thought it had been my grip on her, but then I realized it was a sword cut, leaving the flap dangling and crusted black with blood. I winced, and would have checked her for more wounds but she turned away, heading out of the room. I had no choice but to follow.

We'd never had a good plan for this part. We'd thought of finding the witch in her bed and setting teeth and sword to control her. But when Kaal's nose and ears led us up stairs to a large room with a curtained four-poster, the bed was empty. Kaal rose on hind legs to sniff at the sheet, then tilted her head at me. When I breathed, "What?" she took my hand in her teeth and pulled it to the covering of the mattress. It took a moment for me to realize what she was showing me, that the fabric was still warm. The witch had risen only minutes before.

"Where?"

Kaal turned and led the way out, silent as ever. Down the hall, back down the stairs. Questing through the dark passageways. Then she paused in a doorway. As I stopped behind her, her haunches against my knee, I felt her shiver. Beyond the doorway was the courtyard. For a second, I thought it was memory that wafted the scent of woodsmoke and saffron and pitch to me. But then I saw the witch, standing there before the fire.

She turned to us, and said, "There you are, girls! I was worried."

My leap was only a fraction behind Kaal's. My sword jumped into my hand. Kaal's fangs gleamed in the firelight as she snarled, open-mouthed. But the witch wasn't there to meet her rush, or my swing. From behind us, she said, "Stop." The command sang in my bones.

With difficulty I turned to face her. I managed a step. My sword dropped lower, until the tip hit the cobbles. The shame of that let me raise it and take one more step. The witch said, "Stop there. No more."

I wanted to kill her! I wanted to hurt and kill and rip her apart more than I've wanted anything in my life. At my knee, Kaal's body shook with the force of her snarling. But we both stopped, as told, there in the courtyard.

The witch said, "If you stop fighting me, I'll let you go. I mean it. You need to calm down."

"Calm down!" At least my voice was my own. I should've kept silent, probably. Anyone drawn by the noise would be the witch's servants. But what did it matter, when she could command me with a word? "Calm? After what you did?"

To my amazement, she looked unhappy. "You're right. It was a terrible thing. But if you'd let me explain—"

"How can you explain that? You dragged two young girls from their beds, tied them, brought them here, and turned one of them in to a wolf. You fed her to a demon! Explain that!"

"I didn't!" She sighed and pushed her dark hair off her face. The firelight reflected in her eyes. "Not exactly."

I felt the force of her command lessening slightly and leaned my weight onto my forward foot. Perhaps she could be distracted. All it would take would be one long leap. My sword wasn't as massive as a two-handed broadsword, but it had a decent length of blade. One leap, and one swing, and her head would roll on the cobbles. I'd like to see her explain that.

"It felt like that." I hated that my voice wobbled. But the smell and the night were bringing it back. I could see again the haze of smoke and the shape within it. That apparition had been something less than human, and more than human. The witch had spoken to it in an unknown tongue, offering it me, I was sure, and then Kaal. And when it spoke back, in a voice like the hiss of water on hot steel, she'd smiled. And gestured. And my sweet girl had fallen to the floor and...no! "You gave her to that thing."

"Not exactly. Not entirely."

Kaal snarled again, deeper, saliva dripping from her open jaw. Truly she looked like a ravening beast, devoid of humanity. I made myself reach for her anyway. My fingers brushed her ruff, and the tone of her growl eased a little. There was still something of my Kaal inside the wolf.

The witch said, "There was a demon, it's true. One of the worst. He'd been running loose ever since some halfwit offered him freedom in exchange for wealth. The usual sort of fool's bargain. 'Bring me gold and I'll set you free of the circle.' His summoner was the first to die, naturally."

"Naturally?"

"Well, yes. There's nothing in that bargain that says, 'Bring me gold and don't eat me.' The one does not prevent the other. I'm sure the lackwit was a wealthy man, for a minute or two. Then he was dinner."

I was puzzled, but it only lasted a moment before anger rose again. "And you thought it should eat Kaal for dessert?"

"No. Not... exactly." The witch bent and picked up another branch for the flames. In that moment her control slipped enough for me to leap. Unfortunately, also for Kaal to leap. We crashed together with the witch underneath. I didn't dare swing for fear of hitting Kaal. I heard her snap and the witch cried out. Then we were grabbed and tossed aside. The muti-twins stood over us. One had his giant hands around my neck. The other held Kaal's scruff in his fist, a knife at her neck.

"Don't hurt them!" the witch said quickly. She stood. In the firelight, I could see the blood trickling down her arm from Kaal's bite on her shoulder. She clamped her fingers over the wound, and then turned to the fire. Her voice went thin and sharp. "Ires estroy simelia, cmor est..."

The words brought back that night, clearer than ever. She was calling the demon.

Desperately I struggled against the grip of the huge man behind me. My sword lay on the cobbles, but I still had a dagger, and teeth and nails and feet to kick and stamp. I tried. But the big man held me immobile like a doll. Two years of work, all I could do, and it would never make me the equal of this man. I sobbed wildly.

In the smoke of the fire, a figure appeared. It was taller and thinner than I remembered. Maybe it was hungry. Eyes of flame looked at me, then at Kaal.

The witch said, "Is there aught that can be done?" This time the words were clear.

The apparition said, "Perhaps."

"You owe me a debt."

"Not a large one."

"A life debt, Ires."

"I'm not alive."

The witch tightened her hand on her shoulder and winced. "Don't mince words with me, spirit. I'll rip your insides out through your mouth. We'll see how not-alive you are when you're wearing your guts for a neck-cloth."

I wouldn't have thought a spirit of flame could blanch, but it did. "No need to be hasty. I said I would help."

"There's not much time. It'll be morning soon."

"I need materials. The body of a slain man or woman."

I expected the witch to command my death, but she said, "I have none."

"A horse? A large side of beef?"

"I don't..."

A voice from the corner said, "There's the dead deer in the larder m'lady."

The witch peered into the shadows. "Cook?"

"Yes, mistress."

"What have I told you about watching?"

"S'dangerous. I know, m'lady. I can't help but be curious."

"Yes, you can." There was a thread of amusement in the witch's tone. "But for now, your penalty will be to bring the bleeding carcass of that deer here, now. Have Dorn help you. And hurry."

As the unseen footsteps hurried away, I had to ask, "What foul thing are you doing now?"

The witch laughed harshly. "Besides ruining my favorite dress with my own blood? I'm making a new body for your friend."

"You're what?"

"Well, she can't run as wolf forever. Not much longer at all, I'd think." She leaned toward us and explained, as soft and reasonable as if she hadn't done the vile deed herself, "Staying too long in animal form is dangerous. She'll start to lose her human self. I've been very worried."

"You've been..." Words failed me.

"Yes, of course. You girls ran off while I was weakened. And then those idiots Mar and Var mislaid you in the swamp. I've regretted that for two years."

I felt the big man behind me shift his weight at her words.

"Regret." I'd regretted it too, so many times. Regretted every minute, from being the one to suggest the inn, to the wine I'd drunk, to coaxing Kaal into the stable away from prying eyes. I regretted being too drunk to defend us. I regretted not killing the witch that night while Kaal was still human, or not leaping into her foul working ahead of Kaal, even if I'd died right there. Every choice. Every failure. I shouted, "You don't know what regret is!"

"Oh, child, I've been alive fifty years longer than you. I have far more in my past." She looked up at the sound of something approaching. "Well, at least it's not too late for this. Here comes the stag."

The carcass was dragged into the firelight. The draggers were revealed to be the old serving man, and a scullery boy. The witch gave them each a pat on the back and her thanks, then addressed the spirit of the flames. The demon sucked the flames toward the dead stag and bent over it until I could smell singed hair. "All right," it said eventually. "Not very fresh but it will do."

Kaal was panting loudly now. The twin holding her unwound a rope from his waist and tied her up, with loops around her feet and her neck. He left her jaws unbound and the gasps of her breath made me feel ill. "Please," I said.

"Please what? I'm busy."

"Please. Take me."

"What?"

"For whatever you're doing. For this spell or feeding or whatever it is. Take me. She's suffered enough! Two years as a wolf. Can you even imagine it? Take me."

The witch glanced my way and smiled. It was so strange, to see that warm, gentle smile on that face. "Don't be silly, child. This is for her."

Twin two dragged Kaal toward the fire and the dead stag. The demon leaned forward, the flames licking around him. He said to the witch, "This pays all debts."

"Agreed."

He breathed out. Long, hard, more and more. His breath was smoke, was flame. It enveloped the deer carcass, and then the heat and crackling redness spread across the flagstones and consumed my beloved wolf. I cried out. Perhaps I screamed. I wanted to close my eyes, to not see her black fur catch fire. To not smell the acrid scorch of hair. "No! No, no, no." I fought against the other twin's grip so hard I could feel the bones of my neck grinding, and the pressure over my windpipe closing in. But what did it matter now? "Kaaaaal!"

"Stop!" The witch commanded me.

Once again that word froze me. I didn't care what would be done to me, but my body betrayed me into stillness.

"Wait," she said. "Almost completed."

Slowly the flames lapped back across the cobbles. As they cleared, I saw someone lying on the stones. It wasn't Kaal's beloved furry shape, or the deer. It was a girl, with hair as brown as the deer's hide. Then the girl moved, turned her face to me, and it was Kaal after all. "Nika?" She pulled in her arm, rolled to her side. "You?" Her voice was rusty and dry.

Not even the witch's command could hold me now. I dropped to the cobbles at her side. "Kaal." I ran shaking fingers over her bare shoulder, touched the shape of her face. I knew that face, knew every inch, every line. I knew the little scar over her left shoulder, where the miller's boy had tripped her by the river years ago. I knew the way her left eye tilted up slightly more than the right. The texture of her skin under my hand was a miracle, the slide of her soft hair beneath my fingertips was a benediction. The color mattered not a whit.

I pulled her against me, unclothed, shaking, brown-haired, still and always my Kaal. After a moment her arms came up to hold me just as tightly. We rocked together, both gasping for breath. It was a long, long time before we separated enough for our eyes to meet. Her dark eyes shone with unshed tears reflecting the firelight... firelight.

I whirled on my knees to face the witch I'd almost forgotten, pushing Kaal behind me. "What did you do?"

"What I could." She peered over my shoulder at Kaal. "How are you?"

Kaal's mouth worked, and the sound she produced was more whine than words. She blinked hard, shielding her eyes with an oddly-crooked wrist. A paw, I realized. I took her hand, rubbing her fingers, and she blinked at me. "I... you..." She pulled free and spread her fingers in front of her face. "Hand?"

"Yes. You're back."

"Back." She sat up straighter, running her hands over her naked skin. "Human. Oh, Goddess! A voice." She choked, then gritted her teeth and stared at the witch over my shoulder. A low growl that was still more wolf than girl came from her throat.

I hugged her harder. "Shhh." I was burning with anger too, but the witch had more power than I dreamed. This was not the moment to attack her.

"She changed me."

The witch said, "And changed you back. It was necessary? How do you feel?"

"Strange. Confused." Kaal scooted herself up beside me, although she didn't shrug my arm from around her. "Explain!"

"I will." But for a minute the witch bowed her head and said nothing. When she looked back up it was to say, "Cook, can you fetch some clothes for the girl?"

"Not like ours will fit her, m'lady."

"Bring something of mine. The blue robe with the black girdle is too small for me. It will do."

"Yes, m'lady."

As the cook hurried off, Kaal grated out, "Explain now."

The witch sat down heavily on the stones. One of the twins handed her a plain cup and she drank thirstily. "Demons. They come in all kinds. All intentions. I'm known for figuring them out, and dealing with them. Sometimes banishing them."

I said, "Oh, really?" I don't know what made me so unbelieving. Well yes, I do. Kaal's naked shivering form set my every nerve on edge. I wrapped both arms around her, pulling her against my body to warm her. "Not taking power from them?"

"Sometimes. Mostly banishing. Two years ago, the sheriff of Creston came to say his town and all the countryside around was being bedeviled by a demon. I went to check on it, assuming it was more likely human evil, but he was right. It was a demon."

"Go on."

"I trapped it. Brought it back here to my circle. I tried to banish it, but it was too powerful. I tried to make a bargain, but it kept eluding me. And although I had it bound for a time, it was strong and getting stronger. I needed to send it back, but it wouldn't fall for any of my tricks. Then it got too confident. It bargained to return home if I would take a human life. It made me pledge to take a virgin girl's human life. Phrased exactly like that."

"I don't understand."

"Well, I don't kill. It knew that. If it could corrupt me, then all its offers of power for freedom might look more appealing to me. It wanted to make me break my own rules, and if that broke my soul that would have made me vulnerable. But handling demons is all about the loopholes. I couldn't, wouldn't, kill a virgin for that demon's bargain. But at the same time, it was close to getting free. Then it would go back, unchecked, ripping apart a man, woman or child, night after night. Also not acceptable."

"Wasn't there anyone else..." I let the question trail off. I'd said over and over that I wouldn't listen to excuses, that there were no excuses. And yet here I sat. "Had it killed that many?"

"Oh, yes. A dozen adults, even more children. It was hungry for blood, hungry for corruption. And so I did the only thing I could think to try. I took a virgin girl's human life. But not her spirit."

"Oh. Oh!" I stared at her.

Kaal said hoarsely, "Did it work at least? Tell me it did. Was it worth it?"

"Yes." The witch almost reached for her, but then clearly thought better of it and jerked back her hand. "It was banished. For a hundred years plus one it may not return to human lands. And I put the girl's spirit into the wolf Mar had rescued from a trap. Her human life was gone, but her life force was not. It was there waiting to be reclaimed. But I was exhausted and the twins were no better, after the work of trapping the demon. Then you'd fled from me. Even though I set my men to look for you, there was no trace. That was well done." She raised an eyebrow. I said nothing,

Eventually, she said, "It set such a pall on my work, that you were gone somewhere I couldn't find you— knowing that what I'd meant to be for a night and a day was lasting. That a vibrant young woman was sinking into her animal side. It hurt my heart to think about it."

"Yet given the choice, you'd do it again?"

"Yes. Not the same way, perhaps. But the evil that was being done by the demon outweighed anything short of murder myself."

"Now what?" Kaal's voice held a world of fatigue.

"Now you have your body back, as close I can manage. This demon built it from the image in your mind, from the flesh of wolf and deer. It may not be perfect, but it will be close to what you were. A wrong has been righted."

"And what?" Kaal made as if to spit on the floor, though she produced nothing. "Now we just go home like good little girls and mention this to no-one?"

"Tell whom you like. I'm willing to be feared, even distrusted, in order to be known as powerful. People won't plague me to cure boils and find lost cattle if they fear my power."

"And what's to keep you from doing this to us again?"

"Nothing." The witch leaned forward to stare at both of us. "Remember that. Nothing could stop me, except my own conscience." The sound of the servant returning was her cue to stand up. She took the stack of clothes. "Get dressed, then come inside. We'll talk some more."

I helped Kaal into the good woolen robe and tied the girdle around her. It was a slow thing. Both our hands were shaking, and she moved oddly, as if her limbs were still alien to her. I saw that although the scar on her shoulder was there, the little one by her ear was gone. Her shape was the same, unchanged, while my hands were older now, more worn. Our fingers brushed as we worked, closing buttons. But we did not kiss, or speak.

Eventually I helped her to her feet. She leaned on me, wavering as she shifted her weight. Her feet were bare on the cobbles, and I slid my arm around her waist. She staggered as we moved forward, but I was able to hold her upright, a lighter weight than I recalled. Or perhaps I was just stronger.

The young scullion waited by a lit doorway and beckoned us that way. I was torn. I wanted to sweep Kaal off her feet, to sling her over my shoulder and run. I wanted with every fiber to escape the witch's realm with my prize. But Kaal was unwell, and the portcullis was closed. And I knew my girl. She would have a thousand questions, and if I took her away from the answers I'd feel her teeth in my... no! Never again teeth! The joy of that suddenly lifted my heart. She would smack me hard enough to see stars. Then laugh and kiss me. She would.

I helped her through the doorway and to a room nearby. There were three chairs set at a table. The witch sat in one, eating and drinking fiercely, as one of the twins served her. She glanced up, said, "Magic drains me," and went back to guzzling. I helped Kaal sit and when the cook set a mug of broth in front of her I helped her drink it. She took a small sip first, then as it hit her throat she moaned and sucked it down. The cook stood by with a soup pot and ladle to refill it. Four mugs later, Kaal finally set the cup on the table and looked up.

The witch was still nibbling on a slice of bread, but more politely. She raised an eyebrow, and then set the crust down. "You have questions. Ask."

Kaal said, "Why me?"

"Ah. Chance, I'm afraid. I was in the inn, trying to decide who would know what village girl might still be virgin but in her prime. It's not a thing written on the skin, you know. I went out to tend my horse, and heard you two in the hay, together. Laughing, in the aftermath. You said you had never been with a man, not ever. Your friend said she had, and you missed nothing."

"Oh." My stomach dropped. One more thing that was my fault. "So you knew she was..."

"A virgin by the demon's terms. Yes. I don't know if it really mattered to him, or he thought it would matter more to me. Innocence. Well, he was a male demon, and they have a very narrow view of both virginity and innocence. I knew she would fit the letter of the spell, and I was ready to perform it."

"You had no right!" Kaal's voice was pained.

"Perhaps not. But when you stand over the charnel-house body of a little girl, her liver smoking where the demon chewed it, you see things differently. You were my soldier, against the demon's army of strength."

"You could have asked me."

"It could not be a willing sacrifice. That would not have pleased the demon at all, and I needed in the ultimate moment to meet his need. Or appear to."

I said, "So you brought us here. Why both of us? Why me?"

"A mistake." She bit the bread again, chewing slowly. "I thought you would be shocked and afraid, easy to hold here and control. That having you here would keep the wolf here too, for a night and a day, until I could re-house her in human flesh. Instead you knocked out a guard and stole her away while I was still recovering. I underestimated you."

Kaal put a hand on my arm and said, "Many people do. She's amazing, and hides it under that severe look."

The warmth of her touch, the words, soaked into my parched spirit. I'd wondered recently if she even remembered who I was.

"Now what?" I asked the witch, even if it was Kaal I really wanted to question.

"You two are welcome to stay the night. Or longer. Or if you do not wish to stay under this roof, I will have Mar raise the gate for you to go. I'd advise waiting though. However good you may be with your sword, there are things out there at night you do not want to face."

Kaal said, "What things?"

"Wolves?" She smiled, but then sobered. "Men who want to gain my power. Demons drawn near by the magic we worked. Especially on a day with two workings of power. Better to wait till dawn."

Her words reminded me. "That woman today? Was that a working of power?"

For a while she was silent, but then she said, "As a witch, I am not bound by the same code as a healer. I will tell you. Perhaps the warning will spread."

"What?"

"Lady Troy has been married to her lord for ten years, without a child. She aches for a child, and he hints that he can wait no longer for an heir. Eventually, she went to a dark witch."

Kaal interrupted, "Is that different from you?"

"It's a matter of balance. We're none of us unstained, but if you call up more demons than you banish, we call that dark."

"Oh."

"The dark witch promised to help her, and set her in a summoning circle, with a gift for the demon and told her to speak her true wish."

"Asking a demon for a child?" I couldn't keep the incredulity from my voice.

The witch laughed shortly. "Fools think that rank and power let them bend the world to their wishes. They believe that even a demon can do no less than commanded. In which they are right."

"Right?"

"A demon must stick to the bargain made. But if you will bargain with them, a fool's choice from the start, then you must lay out your terms well, with no loopholes." Her lip twisted. "Not get mealymouthed and ask the demon to kindle new life to grow within you. Faugh."

Kaal swallowed hard. I asked, "What did it do?"

"Made her pregnant with a demon. When it became bigger, it began to claw at her, and mutter within her belly."

"Goddess!" I made the sign, heart and brow. "Did you... could you..."

"I took care of it. She will never have a child now, but if she does as she is told she will live."

Kaal shuddered and I wrapped my arm around her.

The witch took a long swallow of ale from her cup. "Dealing with demons is folly. But greed is the human condition, and those whispers of your heart's desire, offered in the night, are hard to resist."

"So, this is what you do?" I waved a vague hand. "Right wrongs?"

"Sometimes. Or do a lesser wrong to fix a greater. I'm not a saint of the Mother, to lay a hand and heal a man. I do what I can."

Kaal said, "What of the twins? Their tongues? It's said you cut them out so they can't tell your secrets."

The witch glanced at the twin standing beside her and wriggled her fingers in a pattern.

He did the same back, and his smile at her was surprisingly warm.

She looked sad. "No. They were born strong and healthy, except in one thing. Both had the stumbling tongue, where they spoke in stutters. Both were unable to learn better, and as grown youths were turned down by women they desired because they seemed fools, unable to speak a simple word. Then they found a witch and made a bargain."

"Oh, no." I had a sudden idea what was coming.

"Yes. They did not ask the demon for clear speech. They asked not to stutter anymore. The demon fulfilled their wish. He took their tongues. They never will stutter again."

"Goddess." It was Kaal who touched her brow this time. She'd never been a believer, but this night had clearly shaken her.

"They came to me for help, but unless I did as I did with you, commanding a demon to make a new tongue for them, I had no recourse. And they rightly did not trust such a thing in their mouths. Instead, they chose to remain and serve. I taught them a sign language. They are content to help others tormented by demons."

I asked, "Kaal's body. It's...safe? It will not rot, or turn for ill, or..." I didn't want to speak more nightmares aloud. Kaal was already pale as milk.

The witch said, "I think not. I made the spell as airtight as possible. And yet, I left hair color out of it. I cannot swear that it is perfect. Still, better than trapped in the wolf."

"Oh, yes." Kaal's words sounded heartfelt. I tightened my arm around her and kept my fears behind my teeth. Perhaps only time would tell.

"May I suggest a bed?" The witch said. "You'll share, of course. Decide in the morning if you wish to stay and aid me as well, or move on. I have a place for two people who can face a demon and not flinch, but I also understand the pull of family, or the push of past nightmares."

I'd have said we'd leave at dawn, but Kaal spoke first. "We'll rest and talk. And let you know."

"That sounds wise." The witch stood, and the twin immediately put a hand under her elbow. I saw that she looked more bent and frail than she had that morning, standing before her gate. "Cook will show you to a room. If you wish, you may open the window grate to have an escape. They keep out only men, and you have a sword and some skill, I imagine. My spells keep out the demons."

"We might do that," I said. "By the way, I opened a storeroom."

She smiled at me, soft and almost proud. "I know. We locked it again. You have surprised me at every turn. If you do decide to aid me, I'd be proud to have you. Both."

Kaal said, "Good night," in a voice that closed the discussion.

When the witch had gone, and the cook was clearing the dishes, I said softly to Kaal, "What made you angry at the end there? Why now?"

"I didn't like the way she looked at you."

"The way what?"

"She wants you."

"Oh, I doubt that."

"No, she does. You never see it."

"Wants me? But." I gestured at myself. "I'm dirty and clad as a man, muscled like a boy, my hair a finger's length and cut with a knife..."

Kaal leaned toward me, her eyes on mine. Leaned in, and in, until her lips brushed mine. "You are lovely. And you are mine. I will remind you. Perhaps not tonight. I want to lie and just hold you tonight. And be held. But someday soon I will remind you what I nearly forgot as wolf."

I returned her kiss, harder, sliding my hand into her soft hair. Eventually I broke enough to ask, "What did you forget?"

"Not that I love you." She brushed her lips over mine softly, a ghost of a kiss. "Not that you are strong and smart and honorable." A kiss to my brow, a firm buss to my mouth. "But that you are also more desirable than any girl should be." This kiss was fire, was air and water and heat. And we only stopped when we couldn't catch our breath.

She smiled at me, although her smile wobbled around the edges. "Sleep with me. Hold me. Let me hold you. And whether we go or stay, let me take that thought further tomorrow?"

"Yes," I said. I'd never done well saying no to my lady. And I'd never wanted to do so less than in this moment. "Yes. Yes. And definitely, yes."

####

# Lifeline

photo description: On a windy, rain-drenched hillside, two young men sit pressed together. The taller holds a tartan blanket over their heads like a tent, while bending to kiss the other man's hair. The guy in front leans against him, hugging one knee to his chest. Despite the comfort of someone to support him, this man looks out blankly at the falling rain, not moving even as the downpour soaks the bottom of his jeans. An empty bottle leans drunkenly against the backpack beside him, and he wears a bleak, thousand-yard stare.

"Riley. You son of a bitch!" I said.

He scrabbled at the dirt, sitting up blearily, and blinked at me. "Jake! Is it, um, Wednesday?"

"It's Thursday." I didn't kneel, didn't touch him yet. "You want to know how I can tell? Because I got into town last night, which was Wednesday, and spent all last night looking for my goddamned best friend in every freaking dive and barn for fifty miles."

"Sorry?" His eyes still didn't seem focused. "Guess I lost track of time."

"I guess you did."

"I was waiting for you. I was. Then Zachary and Luke came by..."

I sighed, set my bags down, and sat beside him. The wind was cold against the back of my neck, and the air held a threat of rain. We were in a field, hundreds of feet away from the barn where he'd presumably spent the evening drinking with Zachary and Luke, and whomever else. Drinking and maybe more. I grabbed his jaw and turned him to look at me. His eyes were glazed, his pupils pin-points. "What the hell did you take? That's not just booze."

"Don't be mad at me." There was a thin wobble in his voice that ripped my heart.

I couldn't do anything except wrap my arms around him and pull him in close. He felt thinner, stiffer in my arms than ever before. He hid his face against my neck.

"I'm not mad," I said, although it was a lie. Or at least partly a lie. "I'm worried. You look wrecked."

Against my skin he mumbled, "I was just passing time till you got here. Waiting. I dunno. Luke said something about mushrooms." He waved a vague hand at the empty bottle of cheap wine in the dirt near his knees.

"And you took it, just like that?"

He shrugged.

"Jesus, Riley. You can't go on like this. You can't keep doing this."

"Sure I can." He turned into my hold. "On and on 'n on. Work, work, eat, drink, sleep, work, work, drink."

I put a hand over his mouth. "Why?"

He pulled back enough to stare up at me. "You know why."

I did. "I saw your mom last night, when I went by the house." To find you. Before even looking in on my pops. Before even putting my backpack down. "She looked, um, worried."

"She's not doing great," he admitted. "But what can I do? She won't leave the house. She won't see a stranger. She barely comes out of her room for Doc Banion. If she opened the door for you, that's better than most."

"It took a bit of knocking and calling out my name." I hugged him against my side.

His eyes drooped shut and he softened against me. "I dunno what to do," he mumbled. "Everything I can isn't enough."

I rested my chin on his hair. "Then do something different."

I'd known when I left for college a year ago that Riley's situation was fucked up. It was just him and his mom, all the years we were growing up. She was a great mom. She loved him fiercely, and she worked like a dog to give him a safe home and clothes and the occasional treat. But she had no education, had dropped out to have him, and if she knew who his dad was she'd never said. Her parents kicked her out. She got by with whatever work she could find, cleaning houses, a concession stand at the fair in the fall, stuffing envelopes, selling vitamins. And year by year she got smaller and sadder and quieter. We'd planned to go to college together, studying like mad for scholarships, chasing the student aid, but Riley had to drop out senior year and get a job at the mill. His mom's agoraphobia got so bad that half the time she couldn't get out the door to go to work.

And once he was earning enough for groceries, it was like she let herself fall down a well. She never left the house now, didn't come to my graduation even though she'd been almost a mom to me when Riley and I were small. She kept the house clean as a whistle, everything in its place, and hid inside there. Riley did the rest.

And I left them. I went off, fifteen hundred miles away, and left them.

Riley and I fought over that. God, we had a pitched battle. I said if he was staying in little Podunk Dead-end, Minnesota, then I would too. But in the end, he convinced me that one of us needed to get out. One of us could get an education that would mean a decent job, and maybe a future for both of us someday. He promised to wait. But it had been just a year, and there wasn't much of my sweet, funny, crazy boy left. Three more years would kill us both.

The rain began to fall on us, light mist at first and then more. I said, "C'mon. Let's go home."

"Not yet." He leaned against me heavily and wrapped an arm around my leg. "Stay here. Just you and me. Let me pretend a minute. An hour." He shivered, and I pulled him closer. His gaze was still unfocused, looking out at the open fields, the blank, bare expanse of his life. "Please, Jake?"

I sighed, pulled the blanket I'd used on the train off the top of my pack and held it over us. I kissed his forehead. "All right. For a bit longer."

His sigh was so deep, it was like everything in him pouring out, leaving him small and limp. His voice was almost too low to hear. "Love you."

I kissed his hair. "Love you too. We'll work it out."

He shrugged, and tightened his grip on my leg, like a drowning man holding to a rope.

I sat there, as the rain blew against my shirt and dampened my jeans, and just held him. But I made a vow. Things would change. They'd change now. I had two weeks home, before fall classes. I'd go to Dr. Banion and tell him I needed Riley's mom drugged up enough to travel without a panic attack. I'd hog-tie my guy if I had to. And I'd bring them back with me when I left.

I had a job back at school. It wasn't much— night clerk at a little store, so the owner could spend evenings with his family. But it came with an apartment over the store that had two bedrooms. His mom could have one, and Riley could help in the store until he found other work. Which he would. Riley was a damned hard worker.

We'd find help for his mom. Somehow, someone. And we'd be together, not me off there worrying and Riley home here, unravelling and wearing himself down and drugging himself into oblivion.

It wasn't just for us either. I'd never tell Riley, but when I stopped at his house last night, once his mom knew it was me, she invited me in. She sat me down at the table and poured me a cup of coffee. And she said, "Get him out of here, Jake. He has to go. Before I drag him under. Make him go with you, so I can rest."

She looked at me, and deep in her eyes I saw what she meant by "rest."

Not happening! Not on my watch! My own mom died when I was four, and she's the closest to a mom I have. So they're both coming with me, and we'll make it work somehow. Sitting there in the rain, with Riley's dark hair in my mouth, and his fingers leaving bruises on my leg, I vowed it...

***

Ms. Linda Townsend invites you to join her in witnessing the marriage of her son

Riley Townsend

to

Jake Shultz

Son of Richard Schultz and the late Anna Schultz.

August 14, 2017 at 2:00 PM

At the United Church, Cortela, Minnesota.

A reception will follow at the home of Richard Schultz. The couple will return to San Francisco for their honeymoon. In lieu of gifts, please consider donations to support the amazing work done at the WestSide Community Mental Health Center of San Francisco.

####

# Ephemeral

photo description: A teen boy with dark, straight hair sits on a park bench, as a light snow falls. A dusting of white begins to cover the bench, and coats the arching branches of trees above the wide path. The boy's bare hands are pressed together between his knees, as snowflakes dot his hair and eyelashes, jeans and sneakers. Face tilted up to the sky, he watches the lacy flakes fall.

I first saw him in the park laughing and catching snowflakes in his palms. Eyes shining, mouth open. Pure joy. So... so odd, because when you're our age, you know acting like that is not cool. At all.

He was taller than me and his silky-looking hair was almost as white as the snow. He called to me, "Isn't it great? The way it melts in your hand?" Words out of the blue, like we were friends, not strangers.

My sister Nina tugged on my arm, trying to move me along, but I stopped and told her, "I'll catch up with you in a bit."

She wrinkled her nose. "Don't start chatting up cute-but-weird-guy and forget. Mom's picking us up in fifteen minutes."

I just smiled. "You think he's cute?"

"Objectively, sure. I can admire, even when I'm not interested." She gave me a flick of a wave. "Go on then, flirt. Just be at the parking lot on time."

I waited until she'd walked off, hesitating. But my best friend Jason had left town a couple weeks ago, and the coming months promised to suck. I was really alone right now. How could it hurt to spend a few minutes meeting a new hot guy, even if he was weird? I went to join the guy, who was now standing with his gorgeous all-cheekbones-and-full-lips face turned up, letting the snow kiss his closed eyelids. "Hi."

He jumped, but turned to me with a bright smile, as if it was no big deal to be seen playing with snow. "Hi. Who are you?" He stuck out his hand. "I'm Drake."

I wondered if maybe he was special needs, because seriously, who does that? His eyes were bright and intelligent looking, fixed on my face. Maybe Asperger's? I knew a girl like that. His hand was still held out, so I shook it. "I'm Matt."

"I love this snow." He turned in a circle. "So white and perfect."

"Um. Do you come from California?" His bright ice-blond hair and tanned smooth skin made him look out of place in our little Vermont town. "Somewhere warm?"

He blinked at me. "Yes." His tone became flatter and more guarded. "Where I come from, there is no snow. I did not think it would be this beautiful. I forgot myself for a moment. Sorry."

"No, hey, that's okay." His eyes were the bluest I'd ever seen, and I preferred them shining and bright to shadowed. "Nothing wrong with enjoying yourself."

"Thanks. Do you live around here?"

"Um, yeah. A few miles away. My mom's going to pick me up soon." I suddenly didn't want to waste a minute of the ten we still had talking about the weather. "Have you been here long? Do you go to school here?"

A flash of sadness crossed his face. "No. I am only around for a little while."

"School trip?" I looked around for other Cali-tanned folk, but didn't see any.

"In a way. Also personal. I'll be leaving soon."

That wasn't promising, but I went on doggedly, "Want to exchange numbers? Or Snapchat or Skype? You look like you could use a good native guide, while you're here. I come cheap."

That got me a smile almost as bright as he'd given the snow. "How cheap?"

"A cup of coffee?" I waved left. There was a vendor down the way, and it was the right direction for the parking lot. I wanted to text Mom and tell her not to wait, I'd find my own way home, but we had family coming over, and she'd rip me a new one if I was late to greet my grandparents.

"I haven't tried coffee." Drake peered toward the vendor's stand, which was doing a brisk business. "People seem to like it."

"Seriously, dude? You never even tried it?"

"I like the smell?" The corner of his mouth quirked upward. "But I don't like some tastes."

"Well, how're you gonna know unless you try? Come on."

I bumped him in the right direction with my shoulder as I headed out. He turned and fell in at my side, footsteps silent. I wanted to touch him, hold onto him. He seemed insubstantial even though my shoulder thump had met firm muscle and bone heavier than my own.

We waited in line. To entertain us, I began the game of "What do you think that person does for a living." Not the raunchy version, because there were people standing all around us, but even so I got a few disdainful sniffs.

You can tell a lot about people by what they pick in that game and what I found out was that he was... odd. In small ways, like claiming that the old woman picking through the trash in a bin down the path was a teacher. Or that some guy in a suit gave tours of graveyards. When we got up to the front, I ordered my double mocha, and turned to him. "Are you a sweet person? Milky? Chocolate? More bitter? Or salted caramel?"

"I think I'm sweet," he said.

I bit my cheek hard to keep from ragging on him. Or maybe to keep from agreeing. "He'll have a small white mocha with a shot of caramel and whipped cream," I said. "On me."

He turned, a near-invisible eyebrow raised. "Whipped cream on you?"

"No!" I laughed and coughed, because a bit of me had said sure. "Good thing I didn't have a hot cup in my hand."

The barista smiled. "Seven-twenty, please."

After I'd paid, we stood together waiting until we got our drinks. Then, by silent agreement, we held the warm cardboard between our hands and walked along to a more private spot. He watched me as I took my first sip, then tipped his to his mouth. A range of expression flitted across his face. After a while he said, "Perhaps I like coffee."

"Ooh, don't blow me away with your enthusiasm."

He took another long slow mouthful. "It is getting better."

I turned to snark at him some more, and saw a man coming up behind him. It had to be his father, or some close relative. Taller and older, but the same near-white hair and golden tanned skin. I said, "Your dad's here."

"My...?" He turned, saw the man, and his enjoyment shut down to cool restraint. "Sir."

"We're all waiting for you." The man's tone was deep, but not harsh. If anything, I'd say a little amused. "I told you we didn't have time for sightseeing, this trip."

"I know but... It started snowing." He gestured with his cup hand, seemed to notice, and shoved the cup toward me. "I'm ready to go, sir."

I took the cup reluctantly. I wanted to ask again for his number, or email, but his stiff formalness to this dude didn't make it seem like a good idea. I said, "Keep in touch. I'm Matt Vernon. I'm on Facebook, and our home phone's listed. My dad's name is John."

He gave me a quick glance. "Right."

I was pretty sure he'd never call.

The older guy said to him, "They're waiting for you, down that way." He gestured along the path.

Drake hesitated only a second, giving me a quick look, a flash of pure blue from under pale lashes. "Nice to meet you, Matt. Thanks for... everything." He hurried away.

His dad-whatever looked at me and sighed. "He means well."

"What? He seems like a cool dude."

"He's a fine boy." He reached toward me. I'd have dodged his grip, but I was too slow, and his bare hand landed on my wrist below my pushed-up sleeves. "But he doesn't belong here. You will forget him. Forget us. Your people are not ready for mine."

He stared into my eyes, and my questions and protests were lost in a sea of blue, sky blue, glacier blue, sea blue, wide and deep.

. . . . .

. . .

. .

.

I took a sip from the cup in my left hand, and almost spat it out. Way too sweet and creamy. What on earth possessed me to order that? I tried the cup in my right, which was my usual brew, but it tasted off in my mouth. I tossed both of them at the nearest bin. One hit the rim and bounced out.

The old woman in a torn parka who was standing by the bin said, "Pick that up, young man. Children in my classroom do not make that kind of mess. Quickly, now." She coughed and pulled her clothes tighter around her. "Don't want the boogie man to get you for littering, huh?" Her laugh showed missing teeth.

I picked up the cup, binned it, and walked away. Mom was coming to pick us up. Nina would be waiting.

But for a moment, I sat down on the next bench, watching the snow fall. It was lovely. Each flake, a pristine miracle, fragile, unable to bear the touch of my hand, but the coming snow storm could kill me. I'd never thought much about the wonders of the world before, but the thought struck me until I rang like a bell with the truth of it. One weak flake becomes the avalanche. I turned my face toward the sky.

A touch on my shoulder made me jump. Nina said, "Why are you sitting here like a lump? Mom's waiting."

"Sorry." I jumped to my feet. "I got distracted."

"By that cute guy?"

I stared at her sly smile. "The cute...? Oh, him." I had a vague flash of some weird dude, laughing at snowflakes. I couldn't even remember what he'd looked like. "Nah, I never bothered to talk to him. I was just thinking about stuff. Come on, Mom's going to hate driving on these roads and we need to get home."

"That's what I said." She kicked my ankle lightly.

As I led Nina out of the park, I couldn't help watching the snow, as it fell past my face. The thickening layer of white was perfect, a soft blanket. The gentle, falling flakes hushed the air to silence, and people walking by merged into the monochrome art of the snow-kissed world. It was so beautiful.

A huge snowflake spiraled down, bigger than the rest, and I laughed with pleasure and reached out. For an instant, glittering perfection settled in the palm of my hand, before vanishing away in a touch of cool water. Somehow, even though it was gone, the memory lingered like a comfort. Maybe this wasn't going to be such a bad winter after all.

####

# Little Brothers Can Make a Person Crazy...

photo description: A blond, young boy stands with his back to a battered alley wall. He's dressed in a T-shirt, rolled up jeans, and a jacket. In one hand, he clutches the paw of a brown teddy bear with big, dark eyes, and on his other shoulder rides a small, translucent dragon.

"Are you still busy now?"

I jolted in the middle of a kiss, knocked Amelie's lip with my teeth, and turned to glare at my brother over my shoulder. "What the— does it look like?" I censored out the swearword because Cory would be sure to echo it back at me. Probably in front of Mom and Dad. "Go away, brat."

Amelie has a soft heart. Plus she doesn't have any younger brothers. She leaned out of the circle of my arms to ask, "What's wrong, Cory?"

He brushed straight blond hair out of his eyes and said flatly, "Just the imminent destruction of the known world. I guess Laura thinks kissing's more important, though."

I sighed. With Cory, it's impossible to know what's real and what's fantasy. I wasn't worried about an actual apocalypse, but he might mean anything from a dead spider to a toilet overflowing water through the ceiling. "What kind of destruction?"

"I have to show you. Like I said before."

I let go of Amelie reluctantly. "This had better be important."

She said, "Go on, Cory, show us."

"Follow me!" He turned and sprinted out of the room, his battered teddy bear swinging from his left hand.

Amelie took off after him, with me bringing up the rear, cursing in my head. Not that I mind running behind Amelie down a flight of stairs, out the door, and across the yard, because it's a hell of a view. But this already looked like one of Cory's crazy times, and we only had half an hour before Mom got home and started enforcing no girls in the bedroom with the door closed rules on me. Amelie was shy about kissing with the door open, and I wasn't half done with her sweet mouth.

Our house backs up on a gully, full of weeds and brush, with a culvert at the end, under the road. Cory plunged down the slope without stopping. Amelie paused at the edge of our lawn, peering at the stalky weed-filled scrub. "Cory?" she called. "Are you sure we have to go down here?"

"Come on!" His voice trailed back from where the bushes shook to mark his progress. "My dragon says it's critical!"

"His dragon?" She turned to me, her eyes wide.

"Who knows? It's invisible, it turned up a year ago, and it makes him do crazy things."

"Is he...okay?"

"Is he nuts, you mean?" I bit my lip, because even though he could be a brat, Cory was my brother. I hated when he got all squirrelly to where everyone could tell he was different. "He's―" I didn't want to try to explain, all the diagnoses and changes of diagnoses, and worries. I pulled out his favorite term. "He's not neurotypical. But he's still just eleven, and who knows what trouble he's getting into down there. You don't have to come." I headed down the slope after my nutcase brother, grabbing at the trunks of spindly poplars to slow my slipping feet in my good sandals.

"Of course I'm coming," Amelie said behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and she was following, more sure-footed than me, probably from her gymnastics skills. "I've never seen a dragon."

"Well, you're not gonna see one now," I muttered, trying to avoid running into bushes.

At the bottom of the gully was a worn dry creek bed. I slid to a stop on the sand, glancing both ways. "Cory?"

"Over here. Hurry!" His voice came from down toward the culvert by the road.

I hurried down the creek path and rounded the trees in time to see him tug the metal grate out of the end of the culvert and set it aside, like it weighed nothing at all. I stopped so short Amelie ran into me and had to grab my arm to keep us upright.

"How did you do that?" I demanded. I'd played down here a lot when I was younger, and that grate had been bolted in, massive, rusted and impossible to move. Let alone lift.

"Dragon helped me," he said. "No time to explain!" He ducked under the lip of the round opening and disappeared inside the musty, black-as-night tunnel.

"Wait!" I shouted. Amelie and I exchanged wide-eyed looks.

His voice echoed back, clearly moving away from us. "End of the world! No time to waste..."

"Fuck." I said it softly enough he'd never hear me. "Now what?"

Amelie put a hand on my cheek, her palm warm and slightly damp. She brushed a quick kiss over my lips. "Now we follow your brother into the dark."

Fuck. I hated the dark, and confined spaces, and creepy things. Amelie knew that. Hell, Cory knew it, damn his big innocent eyes. How dare he make me do this?

Amelie reached for my hand, wove our fingers together, and tugged me forward. I followed her into the opening, saying loud enough for Cory to maybe hear me, "No light! No plan! Sandals with effing heels! Cory, you owe me!"

"This waaaay," he called to us from deeper and darker in.

"It's not so bad." Amelie took the lead, my white-knuckled grip keeping our hands locked together. "At least it's dry."

"How far can it be?" My voice came out a hoarse whisper. "The road's just four lanes wide. We should see through to the other side easily." I glanced back over my shoulder, to reassure myself that the opening was still there. Through the arch, I could see the dusty-green poplars, and a scrap of blue sky.

Suddenly Amelie tugged me to a halt. "There." She pointed to the left, even though there shouldn't be anything to our left. But sure enough, the culvert branched out, the concrete sides narrowing toward a dull gray doorway. Cory's shape was unmistakable, standing just inside the frame, with Teddy in one hand and a— a what— a lump of something like mist on his shoulder. He glanced back at us and waved with his free hand. "We have to hurry."

"Don't you dare!"

As usual, he paid no attention to me at all, just turned and rushed off into that gray space. Amelie and I ran side by side after him. I ducked through the doorway without even hesitating, glad to get out of the narrow, dark tunnel. But after two steps we both stopped short.

The archway opened not into the familiar ditch on the other side of the road, but into an alleyway, grubby with soot, under a leaden, rain-heavy sky. The walls on either side loomed high and close, two stories of old brick and peeling stucco. At the end of the alley, Cory stood peering forward. On his shoulder, the mist was— how could it be? It moved, with the breeze, surely, although the air was wet and still. It coiled, a gray sinuous trail of— not that, of course not—

"It is a dragon!" Amelie said, sounding far too happy.

"It can't be." I dropped her hand and hurried up to him.

"Shhhh." Cory flashed me a serious look, and whispered, "Don't let them hear us."

"Them?" I throttled my voice down at the last moment to a whisper not much louder than his. "Who?"

He gestured at the street ahead and to the left. I looked out carefully over his shoulder, keeping a safe distance from the— the mist thing. "Ick!" It was an automatic reaction. The street was seething, writing with a tangled mess of— something elses. Not the dragon shape that rode my brother's shoulder, whip-tail lashing like an angry cat's. But a flow of serpents, or perhaps tentacles. Things long and supple and round, from the width of my wrist to bigger than my thigh. All down the road, for as far as I could see, the ground heaved with the slither of those things.

Every now and then one of them raised up, a blind, featureless end waving above the mass. I saw no eyes or ears, but I couldn't help thinking it was trying to see us somehow. Or sense us, anyway.

Cory nudged me backward deeper into the alley, and I closed my hand on Amelie's arm and pushed her ahead of me, until we were out of the line of sight. Cory said, "We can't let them get through."

"Through where?" Amelie's face was pale, and I realized that although she didn't mind the dark like I did, the sight of giant snakes was probably not making her feel great. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into me.

"Yeah," I said softly to Cory. "Explain. Right the— now."

"Let's back up a bit more," he murmured. "I don't think they can hear well, but they seem to know when I'm around."

"They ssssense your life forssses," a thin voice said. The little dragon's multifaceted eyes locked on mine. The dark ear-horn things on its head twitched and oriented, like antennae tuning in. "They're huuungry now that all the Viansss are gone."

"The who?" I asked. I'm talking to a figment of my brother's imagination. But in this place, anyone with answers was doing better than I was. "What are they?"

"Sssssworms. They eat life, warm bloodssss. The Vianss built thiss sssity, thiss land. But they are swormsss food now. All gone. Sssstupid predator, that leavesss no prey to reprodussse."

"You mean that out there—" I ducked past Cory to take another quick look past the corner of the building. The writhing mass of tendrils seemed closer. Oh God. I stepped back into the shelter of the alley. "They ate all the people here? Everyone?"

"Ssssucked them down to dry hussssks. Every last being."

The nasty gagging sound of Amelie being sick on the dirty alley pavement almost made me barf too, but I swallowed hard. "What do we do? How did we get here? How do we get home?"

Cory said, "There's a portal in the culvert. I found it long ago. That's how I met Sssssilver."

The little dragon stroked my brother's face with the barbed tip of its tail. "You mean, that'sss how I found you."

"As for what we have to do?" My brother frowned at me, like a teacher with a slow pupil. "We have to stop them, before they come through."

"Through?"

"Into our world. Duh."

"Duh." I choked back a laugh, then crammed my fist into my mouth to muffle the strange sounds I couldn't stop. "Uhn. God. I'm crazy. You're crazy. I'm talking to a figment dragon."

Cory kicked my shin, hard enough to hurt. Which helped, actually. "Quit it, Laura. You can go all psychotherapist on me after we save the world. All right?"

"Oh sure." I still had to bite my lip to hold back giggles. "Of course, let's save the world first."

He shook his head and turned to Amelie. "Did you give my sister some pot or something? She's not usually this slow on the ball."

"I don't do pot," she snapped back. "Maybe a real explanation?"

"No time, sssstupidsss," the dragon hissed. "Do now or die."

"Do what?" I said.

"Consssseal the portal. Trap them here to sssstarve."

"Oh. Sure. Of course."

Cory kicked me again, in the same spot.

"Ouch. You brat!"

He sighed, sounding a lot older than me, and then said, "Here." He held Teddy out to me. "It's all in his pouch."

The stuffed bear had a space in him where normal little kids could put their pajamas. I could feel through its fur that the space was full of lumpy somethings. "What is?"

"This way." Cory pushed between Amalie and me and jogged back down the alley, the dragon bobbing on his shoulder, wings lightly spread for balance. I met Amalie's miserable gaze, and we followed.

At the end of the alley, we reached an arch lined with brick. The space beyond it held the familiar damp smell of the culvert. The little dragon opened its wings, lifted off Cory and hovered, its tail pointing at a circle-pattern painted on the wall. "Thissss. It wasss the lock on the door, the consssealment of the portal."

I bent to look closer. Amalie did the same, her blond disarranged curls brushing my cheek. The thing was a complex pattern, almost a mandala, with a circular symmetry, and symbols in each space. It was painted on the stucco of the wall, and a crack in the surface had broken free a flake and damaged the pattern.

"It's not working anymore," Cory said. "We have to redo it."

"Like, repaint it?" I asked.

"Yeah. I put a couple of tubes of your acrylic in Teddy and brushes."

"Bessst to put it on a more ssstable sssurfasss," the dragon said. "The sssstucco wass fine when the guardianss made the roundss every night, to check it. But they are all dead now."

"Is it like a spell?" Amalie asked.

"It isss a ssspell, human girl."

"So." I knelt to see it better. "I just have to redo the same pattern? Is there a chant or herbs or, you know, anything else magic?"

"Belief is magic," the dragon said. It returned to Cory's shoulder. "The linesss, and your belief are enough."

"I don't know if I do believe," I said.

Cory made an impatient sound. "Remember those sworms? I'll believe for you. Just draw the thing."

"Why didn't you just do it—?" I stopped because Cory's bleak look reminded me that his issues went beyond invisible dragons, and no sense of personal space, to real trouble with writing.

After a moment of silence, Amalie offered tentatively, "It is pretty complicated."

"And he has dyslexia," I told her. "Could be a problem with writing a spell."

"Yep!" Cory's humor was forced. "If I do it, it might turn us all into rabbits, or open the door to the underworld."

"Oh, sure."

I said, "Here, I'll do it. I'm the artist." I dug into Teddy's tummy, shaking off the odd feeling that I was disemboweling a live creature. Just because the dragon Cory talked to was real— seemed real— didn't mean his teddy bear was. The tubes of paint in there were green and red and blue, and he'd put my good ten-dollar sable brushes in too. I handed the spare to Amalie. "Don't lose that. It's worth more than the kid is."

"Thanks," Cory muttered. "Can we stop being funny and start painting? You think?"

The dragon pointed with one curved claw. "There at the bottom. That line that isss green. Do all but that one."

"Okay." I knelt, running my hand over the flat concrete of the foundation. "This might be a good spot." The damp of the moss-slimed ground soaked the knee of my good capris. The light was fading. There was a clap of thunder, and then the rain started. A sheet of water lashed down, soaking us all. I hunched under its lashing, and just endured it until it slacked off enough to look up. "Crap. You know, acrylic won't be waterproof until it's fully dry."

"Can we cover it somehow? Make a roof?" Amalie looked around. Her hair was plastered to her head, and she shivered.

Cory had found a little niche and gotten to it ahead of the rain, with Teddy and the dragon. They looked smug and dry. "Over here," Cory said. "Will this do?"

But the dragon launched out into the continuing drizzle. "No. It mussst be in a line with the portal." It flew over and somehow perched on the edge of the foundation, little claws sunk into the line of mortar above it. It arranged its wings, rearranged them, then hunched and set itself into a huddled V, the rain dripping off to each side. "Will thisss do?"

I took the hem of my shirt— my good shirt that I'd put on for Amalie— and dabbed at the stone below the dragon's belly. After a moment, I touched it again. Still dry. "Yeah. But it'll take two hours to get dry enough to hold, longer to really set hard."

"I will endure asss long asss nesssesssary." The dragon hunched its neck and didn't move.

Cory suddenly knelt and reached out to stroke a finger over the dragon's little forehead. "But... you were going to come back with me."

"If duty allowed me. It clearly doesssn't."

"But. I'll miss you." Cory touched the dragon's neck, swiped beads of rain off its wings.

It occurred to me that he touched this dragon as he touched nothing and no one else, that he'd let it pet him and stroke his face in turn. My little brother, who'd come no closer to a friendly touch than kicking me, for the last five years. His face was stark with pain. "Please come back with me."

"I cannot." The dragon rubbed its cheek on his finger. "But you will ssssseee me. This lock musst be renewed, unlessss that paint isss the ssstrongesst I have ever known. When it beginsss to fade, I will break the lock and come find you to renew it. Will you sssstill believe a dragon on your shoulder, when you are a man grown?"

"Always." Cory bent his head, until the dragon's muzzle was nearly touching his forehead. "Always."

The dragon's little forked tongue flickered, a quick touch to my brother's fair skin. "Then it will be well. Now, make room for your ssssitssster. Quickly."

Cory scrambled back into his dry nook, Teddy clutched to his chest. Amalie said, "I'll keep the paint dry." She opened a tube of red, and bent over, shielding it with her body.

"Thank you." I took it from her, dipped my fine brush, and passed the tube back, my hand cupped over the end. The cold rain soaked my short hair and ran down my back.

"Look!" Cory said suddenly. He pointed down the alley. At the far end, a forearm-fat, eyeless snake-tendril had looped around the corner at my shoulder height. It waved around, back and forth, as if taking our measure.

"Quickly," the dragon repeated. "As fine a copy as you can, without the green"

At least, semesters of Mrs. Greenwold's art class, uncoupling my brain from the eye-hand connection, had made me a good copyist. I bent to my work. To keep my hand steady, I didn't look down the alley, or at Cory, or even Amalie. The mandala spell took shape, each line as close to the original as I could make it. A couple of times Cory took a sharp breath, or I felt Amalie stiffen and then tremble. But I stuck to my work.

"There," I said an eternity later. "All but the green."

The dragon curved his neck and twisted his head, looking beneath himself at my work without shifting a wing. "Well done. Yessss."

"Now what?" Amelia asked.

"Now when Sssissster paints the green, the sssspell will begin to form. You mussst crosss the portal before it isss complete. Hold onto each other, and head back to your own ssssky. With all sssspeed."

I glanced down the alley. The sworms had clearly decided they were interested in us. The opening was filled with a knot of tendrils, and three ends waved above the knot, advancing in our direction. I glanced around our little group. Cory's face was wet, and I thought not just with rain. Amalie looked half-drowned. The dragon held his place, still as a statue, the slacking rain still slipping over his wings. "Will you be okay?" I asked him.

"They cannot sssenssse my kind; I cannot work ssspellsss, but I cannot be found by them either," he said. "It issss why we are sssstill here, alone of all the life on this world but the ssssworm. If you go quickly, all will be well."

I looked at Amelia. "You and Cory should go first, while I finish the last line."

"We go together," Cory said. He held out Teddy toward Amalie by one furry arm. "Take his hand."

She glanced my way, and when I nodded she gripped the other stuffed paw. I put green on my brush, capped the tube, and tucked the paints in at the base of the wall. "In case someone else needs it. I can bring more. Next time." The dragon dipped his head.

I reached my left hand behind me, and Amalie took my fingers in her chilled wet ones. Then, with as much care as I could, I reached out with the brush into the dry space below a translucent waterproof dragon, and painted one more, curved, graceful line on the concrete.

There was a snap, like a spark, and the smell of smoke and ozone. I dropped the brush, and the dragon growled, "Rrrrun, children."

As I scrambled up, Amalie dragging me by the hand, I glanced at the end of the alley. The sworm tentacles waved in frantic movement, a dozen or more, gathering, moving forward. The pile of knotted forms rose across the gap, as they drew nearer. Swaying. Slithering. Rising higher.

"Come on!" Cory yanked on Teddy, which pulled Amalie and then me forward. The stumbling motion snapped me out of my distraction. I turned my back on the sworm and followed my little brother through the arch into the darkness.

"Faster." Cory towed us into the black as if he could see easily, jogging, his wet sneakers squeaking. "Move your buttses."

I fixed my eyes on the dull gleam of Amalie's skin where her wet hair parted at the base of her neck, and followed blindly. The light faded, faded, until I could barely make out the shape of her shoulders, and the dark seemed to press in. Behind us, the world of rain and giant snakes must have been a dream, a nightmare, had to be, not something that would chase us silently in the blackness... I followed the squeak of Cory's shoes. Until he yelled, "Run!" And it echoed off unseen stone. Run, run—un.

We ran. The damned culvert couldn't be this long, but I staggered and stumbled after Amalie in the blackness, my heels slipping on the floor, my hand clutching hers in a death grip. Until there was a whoosh and a snap behind us, and suddenly there was light ahead. A mellow sunshiny arch with sage green and blue. Amalie's blond hair brightened, and ahead of her, Cory's straight shiny mop caught the light. In just a few more strides, we staggered out into the daylight.

We all let go and turned, eyes on the opening, bent over painful chests, hands on knees, whooping harsh breaths. Cory recovered first and straightened. He went to the opening and peered in, still as stone. I tried to silence my breaths. After several long minutes he said, "I think that did it. I don't feel anything."

"Anything like what?" Amalie asked.

"Like anything." He went to where the iron grate leaned against the embankment. "Help me. I can't shift this alone."

Together we heaved and dragged the grating over to cover the opening. I twisted the bolts and clamps that should have held it, until my hands ached and were smudged with rust and the grate was as secure as we could make it. Amelie put her hand through to the wrist and looked at it. "Those are kind of big holes."

"The hardware store has that steel mesh we used on the cats' sun porch. I can get some." In fact, I made a mental list to get more clamps and bolts and some wire. Thick wire. No hole bigger than half an inch would be left by the time I was done with this sucker. On either end of the culvert.

Cory turned away without speaking and headed down the creek bed. Amalie and I followed him. When he started to scramble up the slope I slowed and took her arm. "Are you all right?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know. Ask me tomorrow? Next week?"

"Can I see you before next week?"

She tilted her head, then leaned over and kissed my cheek. Her face was still damp and cold from the rain in that other place, but the sun sparkled on her hair. "Yeah. I'm sure you will."

We were silent as we headed back to the house, and stayed that way as Amalie had a glass of water and rinsed her mouth, and got into her little old Ford and drove herself home. I tried a couple of times to ask Cory gentle questions. How he found the portal. How long it'd been. But he just stared through me, and when Mom got home not long after, I quit mentioning it. It was hard to sleep that night. I kept thinking everything that moved was a tentacle, a worm. For once, I was up before my alarm.

But then school was the same as ever. Amalie and I met at her locker. Her kiss tasted the same. We spent the afternoon together, making that damned culvert as secure as we could, even though Cory refused to help. We added finer mesh, and more bolts and wires. Talking a little, here and there, about what had happened, or had maybe happened, or we thought happened. Nothing slithered, there in the darkness.

Over the long weeks after, as we checked our defenses daily, nothing ever changed. But each time we kissed, there in front of that dark opening, in remembrance, in relief, in wonder, it got better.

I patted Cory's shoulder once, without thinking. That night he asked Mom to cut his hair super short. Shave it all off. He looked different. Older. He never talked to his dragon anymore. He didn't talk to me much either but that was nothing new. Hell, the most I'd ever heard him say to me was in that strange world at the other end of a drainage culvert.

I painted a picture eventually. After the dreams faded. Cory standing, fist clenched, dragon on his shoulder, Teddy at his side. Waiting. The hero no one saw in the shaved head, defensive, closed-down almost-teen. It won an award at school, but the day I hung it back home in my room it disappeared. Cory, of course. Even if he wouldn't admit it aloud. He handed me a tiny scrap of ripped up painted canvas and turned and left.

I caught sight of him one day when he failed to close his door, sitting in front of his closet, looking in at my missing painting that wasn't destroyed after all, touching his shoulder. He didn't look sad or worried or anything at all. Just blank, as his hand brushed his right shoulder, his neck, his cheek, over and over. His eyes never blinked, staring at that painting. I eased his door shut, and never called him on the theft.

Then, on a warm day in May, we came home from school and I brushed past him a little too close, going to the refrigerator for a pop. Usually he'd have growled something wordless at the contact, but that day he turned and actually smiled. "Did you know a weasel shut down the Large Hadron Super Collider?"

"Um." Being noticed, combined with a smile, shut my brain off. "No. Yeah. I mean, that's oddly cool."

"Isn't it?" He leaned against the counter. His head tilted to one side, and he cocked his hip slightly. His hair was growing out from the stubble, and the blond showed soft and pale. "Weasels are cool. Especially invisible ones."

"Um. What?"

"Yeah. Although the weasel in the collider was quite visible. Or they'd never have known."

I blinked, and pulled out my phone. A few clicks and there it was on the news. It was a thing. Apparently. "They're kind of cute."

"They have sharp teeth and claws. There's nothing domestic about a weasel." He turned his head slightly and spoke to empty space. "Is there?"

I licked my dry lips. "And you've seen one? An invisible one?"

"Don't be silly." He grinned at me, like I hadn't seen in a long, long time. "What? Do you think I'm crazy?" He reached out and took the pop can out of my hand, still careful that our fingers didn't touch. Which was reassuringly normal. Until, as he turned and walked out, his head still tipped to one side, he murmured without looking back, "You can't see the invisible kind. Can you, Whiskers?"

I stared at the open kitchen door for a long time, before hitting my speed dial. "Hey," I said. "Amelie, any chance you can come over?"

"Sure." Her voice was sweet comfort. "Any particular reason? You were going to study."

"I need to see you," I said. "Little brothers can make a person crazy..."

####

# Dangerous Wishes

photo description: On the frozen surface of a woodland stream, a boy lies sprawled on his back. His eyes are closed, his smooth face expressionless, his body— clad in a light jacket and jeans— looks limp. Along the bank of the stream, gray-brown trees and rocks are snow-covered and icy. The only color in the scene is the pale tan of the boy's cheeks and his curled fingers, resting bare against the ice.

"That's not what I wanted!" I tried to shove Asad out of the way. My hand passed right though his insubstantial form with the faintest resistance. I snatched it back.

His perfect forehead wrinkled. "Why not?" He waved at Leo's still body lying on the ice of the creek, ten feet away. "You wished for the boy to be with you. There he is."

"Passed out cold!" I dodged around him and scrambled to the bank of the stream. Leo's foot was within reach, so I grabbed for it. I didn't trust that ice. The last thing I wanted was to dump the guy I'd been eyeing for months into ice-cold water. I tugged roughly and his sneaker came off in my hand.

"Shit!" I dropped it and clutched at his foot. He was so still, so limp and cold, even through his sock. I pulled more carefully and his body slid toward me, his hoodie scrunching up under his arms. I managed to get his other foot and tugged him closer. I could see his skin getting paler with each moment on the ice. Leo only wore a lightweight sweatshirt, and it was the middle of winter. "Help me," I snarled at Asad.

"Alas, I cannot. Unless you wish to use another of your wishes... You'd still have two more left, after all. You are granted three."

Three. Like some crazy fairytale. I almost used one, but his coaxing tone made me bite my tongue. Whatever he'd done to Leo, it might take both my remaining wishes to undo. "Screw you, I'll manage."

"Screw? Do you wish to fornicate with me? Is that a wish?" Asad's voice became all honey and smooth, slick oil. For an instant, every nerve-ending in my body responded. He was perfect and sensuous, dark-haired and olive-skinned and gorgeous. And magic. Which didn't turn my crank.

"No. Just stay back." I ignored the creature at my side to ease Leo further onto the bank, trying to guide him into my lap off the snow. He was surprisingly heavy and hard to handle, unconscious like this, even though he was smaller than me. His head lolled back, exposing his bare throat. In a sudden panic, with my hands busy trying to hold him against my chest, I pressed my lips under his jaw. There was a soft bound of his pulse under my lips. Oh god, thank god! "What did you do to him?"

"He sleeps. A prince, awaiting his... prince."

"So it's what, a spell? Like some old fairytale? I can wake him with a freaking kiss?" It wouldn't be a hardship, except for the part where Leo Kawashima would wake up in my arms in the middle of the forest being kissed against his will. If he didn't scream "roofies!" at the top of his lungs I'd be really lucky. Guaranteed I'd be in deep trouble.

"Well, not a kiss."

I dragged my gaze away from Leo's lips to turn and stare at Asad. "Then what?"

"Do you wish to know?"

I almost said "yes" but caught myself. "Would that count?"

"As your second wish? Yes, Master."

"Don't call me that." I struggled out of my parka, one arm at a time, trying to keep Leo from falling over. When the parka was wrapped around him, he looked a bit less pale, but the wind cut through my shirt like ice-cubes to the spine. "Let me think."

How the hell did I get into this mess?

I'm not normally like this. Weird, I mean. I am queer, but in the most boring way. I go to school, I play ball, I do my homework, I get turned on by impossible guys and never do more than beat off thinking about them. Ordinary.

But then last week, my Uncle Wilbur's will was read, and he left me this old lamp. With instructions to take it somewhere private, rub it, and have fun. Uncle Wilbur, unlike me, was a really weird guy. Although apparently also queer, because when I decided, after a week, to take the stupid lamp out to my favorite of his hunting blinds... well, Asad came smoking out of the lamp. The son of a bitch smiled hotly, looked me up and down, and said, "I am Asad. I am here to serve you, Master. What is your dearest wish?"

You'd think I'd figure out, from the sudden appearance of a translucent, sexy guy, that this could be dangerous. Or else, the sight of those huge dark eyes staring at my crotch should have made me wish for fun with Asad. Or at least I could've thought, for once in my life, before speaking. But what came out of my damned mouth was, "I wish Leo Kawashima was here with me."

And hey, presto, fuck-the-hell-up-o, there he was. Unconscious.

I stuffed Leo's shoe in a parka pocket and stood, managing to lift him in my arms though I staggered a bit. I am a football player, and I work out. "I'm going to take Leo somewhere safe and warm. Then we'll talk, you and me." I tried to put some menace into my tone. It's not something I'm good at.

Carrying Leo was harder than it looks in the movies, but I didn't drop him or whack him on anything. Much. When I got to the hunting blind where I'd dropped the lamp, I managed to sink to one knee, pick it up, and stuff it in another parka pocket, then lift Leo and stand again. Go me. I didn't drop the hottest boy in school on his head in the snow. I staggered on. The blind was private space, but almost as cold as the river. My uncle's hunting cottage wasn't far off.

It only took about five minutes of trudging through the snow to reach the cabin. I almost fell when Asad said suddenly at my elbow, "I have been here before."

I grunted, fumbling with the door. The cabin was deep on Uncle Wilbur's private land, and not locked, but I had no hands free. Eventually I managed to turn the handle enough to go in. The main room was chilly too, but at least there was no wind. There was a futon-thing, and I set Leo down there. Then I turned to making a fire in the fireplace. It was laid ready, the way Uncle Wilbur always kept it, and took only a match to start, although the heat was feeble at first.

I straightened, tossed the end of the long match into the growing flames, and glared at Asad. "Talk, you douchebag!"

"I what?"

"Never mind. Who are you? A fucking genie, right?"

His lips curved up far too knowingly. "Sometimes, yes."

"Magic. From in the lamp." I could see the brightness of the window shining through his shoulder, but I still didn't believe it.

"Yes."

"I rubbed it and you came out."

"Yes."

"And granted me a wish. Stop me anytime."

"I granted you the first of your three wishes. Yes."

I staggered two steps and sat on the floor beside the futon. Leo's lax hand was reassuringly solid against my shoulder. Or maybe not so reassuring, given how he got there. "Uncle Wilbur gave you to me. At least, he gave me the lamp."

"I assumed as much. I felt the old Master pass."

"Did you give him three wishes too? What...? No, don't tell me."

"Do you not wish to know?" He came toward me. Stalked, I decided was the right term. Like a cat after a mouse. "Would you like to hear how your uncle used me?"

"No!" I threw up a hand as if that would hold him. Then snarled, "Stop there!" Because I was no mouse. "What I want is to get Leo back home safe and sound, and to get out of this weird shit with my brain intact."

"Ah?" To my relief, Asad stopped where I told him.

First things first. "How do we get Leo back where he belongs?"

"That's easy. Use your second wish."

I tilted my head, looking at him. "And he'll be just the way he was before?"

Asad blinked slowly. "That depends on what you wish for."

"Crap." I'd never been that good at logic, or words. I'm a simple guy. "So if I word it wrong, what then?"

"Well, you get your wish. Whatever it is."

I shoved my fingers into my hair, wishing it was long enough to pull. "Why? Uncle Wilbur, why me?"

Asad actually looked concerned. "He had to will me to someone. That's the way it works. Three wishes, and lifetime guardianship. Then you pass me on."

Something about his tone made me look more closely. It was probably my imagination that his eyes seemed sad. "How long have you done this?"

"Over two thousand years. Sixty-one masters. A hundred and eighty wishes."

I was crap at math, but... "Shouldn't that number end in a three?"

"Some second wishes are fatal."

"Oh. Wonderful." I sat there on the hard wooden floor. Behind me on the futon, Leo breathed slowly and deeply. The fire popped, as a small branch broke. The heat was improving. "Did anyone not take their wishes?"

"Some tried. But a lifetime is a long time to resist temptation. At some point everyone wishes for magic." Once again, I thought there was something in his tone that wasn't seduction or gloating.

"Like when they were dying?"

"Occasionally. More often for the benefit of someone else."

Oh. Hell, yeah. If I could've kept Uncle Wilbur alive with a wish, I'd have had a hard time resisting. "So can you do that? Keep someone from dying? Bring back the dead?"

"I'm magic, but not a god. I can't bring the dead to life, and while I can heal the sick and injured it seems to go badly."

"Like what?"

He sighed. "Like Shan, who asked me to heal his wife, dying in childbirth after giving him a healthy son."

"Did you?"

"Oh yes. Then a week later, she got up in the dark, felt faint, and dropped her oil lamp. The fire killed them all, man, woman and babe."

I swallowed hard.

"I have found it's generally best to get my masters to use up their wishes right away on something trivial, before they try for eternal life or great wealth."

"Wealth seems like it'd be simple."

He raised one perfect brow. "One might think so."

Behind me, Leo snuffled and grunted, like a little snore. The sound reminded me it was my fault he was now snoozing ten miles from where he lived. Which I happened to know exactly, from having maybe once followed him home by accident.

"But you can undo wishes? I mean, if someone wished for the wrong thing, they can reverse it?"

"Well, not if anyone died. And not as simply as wishing you'd never wished. That ends by replacing one harm with another, usually."

"Sounds like you're not a gift from Uncle Wilbur, you're a curse."

"A responsibility, say." He shrugged, an odd motion with the window flickering behind the motion of his ribs. "You can wish me solid, then wish me to suck your prick, and all is done."

I swallowed hard for a different reason. "But Leo would still be here. And wait, if you're solid, how would you go back into your bottle?"

"Any wish that alters me does not last long. So what is your wish, Master?"

I fumbled thoughts around in my head. If I said, "Wake Leo up," who knows how Asad might decide to do it? I'd have to specify how, and for how long, and that he was allowed to sleep again at night, and not be made to stay awake forever. If I said, Put Leo back exactly the way he was," well, who knew? What if he'd been crossing a street on the green light, and now that light was red? How much control did Asad have? How much leeway? How much power?

Eventually, I said, "I think I'm ready but I want to know, after the three wishes, what happens to you?"

"I go back in my bottle. And you and those you care for are safe. Well, safe from my magic, until you die and your heir gets three wishes."

"And you what? Sleep?"

"I wait."

"Wait?" I stared at him. "Like, you're awake in there? For years?"

"Decades. Centuries. Millenia. Yes."

"That totally sucks!"

His lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh. Or maybe cry. "It does."

"How can you get free?"

"A Master would have to give up one of his three wishes, and wish me home safely."

"So? Why not? It sounds like they're crap to use anyhow."

"But powerful. I could truly make you the best quarterback ever born. Or give you the winning lottery ticket for a hundred million dollars. Or save a loved-one's life, whatever came after. Few men want to give up those possibilities."

"How did you know I'd want to be a star player?" A flash of suspicion tightened my chest. "How do you know about things like football and lotteries anyway?"

"Your Uncle kept my bottle near the television set. It was a kindness. Except during election years."

"Oh." He was right. I could feel the temptation so strongly I had to press my hand to my mouth. I was second string quarterback, and odds were I'd never be first. And how cool would it be to be the best, most amazing ever, and then come out as gay? In the NFL? God. God!

It was the sadness, deep in his eyes, that helped me in the end. I took my hand away. "Two wishes. I wish you'd tell me exactly how to have Leo wake safely and with no lasting harm."

"Wait."

I waited. After a few minutes of fraught silence, I said, "Hang on. That's your answer?"

"Yes. Wait. Eventually he will wake up. You will have to think of a story to explain wherever you put him before that happens. But there will be no harm done to him that way."

"Oh. All right." I turned to look at Leo. His dark hair was drying in the warmth of the fire and he looked more healthy than pale. His eyes shifted under his closed lids, like he was dreaming.

I turned back to Asad. A million dollars. A Lamborghini. A cure for cancer? that last had me almost asking, until I realized how fraught it was. A cure, that didn't kill the patient, didn't cost too much, was available on Earth, lasted forever, didn't cause other major harm... "I wish you would go home, safely, to where you belong, with no harm to anyone."

His eyes brightened from dark to gold, and he leaped toward me. For a moment I panicked, thinking I'd freed some evil creature. But he grabbed my face with nearly imperceptible hands, and pressed the faintest of kisses to my mouth. "By all the Gods! Thank you, nephew of Wilbur. May you live long and prosper!" There was a bright flash, and a snap, like something breaking, and he was gone.

I sat there, my back to the futon, Leo's limp hand against my arm, for a long, long time. Eventually, Leo stirred, grunted and rolled onto his side. I twisted to look over my shoulder and our eyes met. He sat bolt upright. "What the hell! Where am I?"

"Uncle Wilbur's cabin," I said. I'd thought about leaving with him, but he was heavy and I was tired, and help was miles away. "I found you lying out in the woods, passed out." It was the truth, after all.

"You what?" He leaned forward, pressing his hands to his head. "I don't remember. I don't have a clue how I got there."

"What do you remember?"

"I was shopping for my mom. I picked up an eggplant. There was a noise..." He lifted his face from his palms to stare at me. "I know you. Vic. You're the quarterback."

"Um. Yeah."

"And you found me?"

"It was a good thing too. You're not dressed for the snow. That's my parka you have on."

He stared, then ran his hands over the jacket wrapped around him. "Wow. It's not mine." He dipped a hand into the pocket and grunted. "Huh?" He pulled out his fist clenched around a crumble of clay. "You keep dirt in your pocket?"

In the mixed rubble, I saw hints of blue, a little flash of gold. Goodbye, Asad. "Sometimes," I said.

"Weird. Not that I have anything against weird. But how did I end up out here?"

I couldn't help saying, "A genie, maybe?"

"Don't be a jerk." He leaned toward me and put his clay-smudged hand on my arm. "Vic. I'm... confused. A bit freaked, to tell the truth. But thanks for the jacket and everything."

"No problem."

"Would you, can you help me out?" His eyes were the color of melted chocolate. "I need to get home and, um, maybe a doctor? Or maybe... maybe I won't tell anyone yet. I don't know. I... fuck, I'm confused."

"Do you feel sick?" I desperately hoped the shift from grocery store to frozen stream hadn't hurt him.

"No. That's weird too. I feel fine." He glanced around. "Except for being here, I feel normal. God, this is freaky! Vic?"

That tone in his voice made my heart hurt, but I couldn't say so. Instead, I said what I could. "Don't worry. We'll figure it out. As long as you're not hurt, that's what counts. Right?"

"I guess. Thanks, dude. I'm so glad I didn't wake up alone out there, you know?"

"I'm glad too," I said. "And I'll help, any way I can."

His smile was my reward. And maybe I'm going to hell for never telling him how he ended up lost that day, but, well, we've been together three years and counting now and the opportunity hasn't come up. Anyhow, I bet hell is fabulous and I'll fit right in there. Maybe that's where genies come from, after all.

####

# Letters from Abroad

photo description: In antique black and white, the photo shows a man standing at the iron rail of a pier. He's huddled in a greatcoat, with the collar turned up around his ears. The water beyond the rail is leaden gray with restless small waves, and a gull wheels overhead. Down the pier, one old steamship is tied up and another is coming into port.

Dear Joe,

I finally have a chance to write, as the ship has set anchor at last. Whether you will read this... That we don't know. Will you open the envelope, or let it sit untouched on the mantle, or will you perhaps rip it up and burn the pieces unread, in your determination to move on?

I have to try, anyway. Because, dear Joe, sweet Joe, we hope and pray with all our hearts that you are making it through without us. No matter that we made the decision all three together, the night we graduated. No matter how you promised to be strong, promised you could bear it; we're worried. The fact remains that Derek and I are here, a thousand miles from you, and you are there stuck at home, beginning your new summer job, alone.

When our hearts hurt from missing you, we have each other. When yours aches, who do you have? Who do you tell? Joe, if I didn't know your dog Shep was always at your side I think I'd have jumped over the rail right there in the harbor. Looking back at you solitary on the pier, as we steamed away, was the hardest thing I've ever done. I hope we chose right.

I must get some sleep. We start off overland to Derek's new post in the morning. But at least now we can write, even if there will be leagues and weeks for the letters to cross. Write to us often, Joe. Tell us how your days go, how your job is working out, whether the home team is winning, whether Mrs. Campbell has another cat. God, I'm so homesick, for the city and for you. But I will be strong and resolute and worthy of Derek. We will survive. We will thrive. Just, write to us.

-Anne

Just a note, Joe. What Anne said goes for me too. Miss you. Worry about you. Keep in touch and don't you dare turn all broody and sad. Or I'll tell someone to go over there and kick your rump. It's hot here, and strange, and if it weren't for a good, worthy job and a chance to help Anne find the life she deserves, I'd have jumped that rail too.

-Derek

Dear Anne and Derek,

Don't worry. I'm well. The boss likes me. I go in early and work late most days, and he knows he can always call me for extra hours. He says he might even give me a new position and a raise, if I keep it up. I miss you both, like I'd miss my right hand. But I have no doubts. Thinking about you two, together and happy, keeps me going. There was no way we could do it differently.

No way at all.

My father keeps telling me how badly I messed up, letting Anne go. He says I could have married her this summer, started a life and family now, if I'd only made a push. He says graduating from school should have made me smart, not dumb enough to lose the prettiest 18-year-old girl in the whole state. He has no idea that seeing D go was just as hard. He knows nothing about me, about us, and never will.

No regrets. Make me proud. I'm doing fine.

Write often.

-Joe

Dear Joe,

We just got your letter and I wanted to write back immediately. Are you really okay? Are you working so hard because you like the job, or because it fills the time? When you write next, please tell us about the ball game you went to or the new books you have read. Tell us about good things. We worry.

We're fine. The heat is oppressive and the poverty here is heartbreaking. I'm teaching in a little school, and Derek is busy helping build the health clinic. The people are friendly and grateful, but Father Adam keeps hinting about how a single girl like me should think about finding a husband. With dark looks at Derek. He's a snoop, too, so we've had to be very careful about how we get together.

We miss you, worse than ever. I thought it would get easier, turning to my right to Derek, then to my left and finding only empty space. So far it hasn't, though. I hope it has for you. Many warm hugs and more.

-Anne

Nothing much to add. What she said goes double for me. We're doing good work, and I wish more of my heart was in it. Father Adam is a good man but with a bee in his bonnet about sex. I bet he's never had any.

Joe, don't listen to that stuff ^^ - Derek is a bit frustrated.

A bit. Hah. Wish you were here, Joe. I really do.

-D

Dear Anne and Derek,

I'm glad the charity work is going well. Get married, if that's what it takes to be together. I can't bear thinking of you a room apart and alone. Bad enough that I'm here and you're there. Let me imagine you happy.

-Joe

Dear Joe,

Are you sure? D. got caught sneaking into my room a few nights ago, and it got a bit ugly. But no matter how much pressure Father Adam puts on us, we won't give in without your blessing. I guess I need to hear it one more time. I wish you were here. I wish people could just let people be.

-Anne

Joe, I know you never say what you don't mean. Write it again, for this stubborn woman's sake, but I'm going to marry her, maybe even before your letter gets here, to shut up all these nasty busybodies. I'm sorry I was such a fool. Too little sleep and too much eagerness, and the old priest with a tiny bladder did us in. So, so sorry. -D

ANNE AND DEREK STOP CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR ENGAGEMENT STOP I HOPE YOU ARE MARRIED BY THE TIME YOU SEE THIS STOP JOE

Dear Anne and Derek,

You idiots. I hope you got my telegram. I hope you're married and ***ing around every night. I hope that Father Adam is green with envy and can't sleep for the noise. At least now it's just two of you in a church-sanctioned bed you don't have to keep it quiet. I still have a scar on my palm from D's bite-mark.

I mean it. You two being happy is the only thing that lets me get out of bed in the mornings.

-Joe

Dear Joe,

Anne is everything I could ever hope for in a wife and we are happy, although the bed is less crowded than we would like. But you need to find someone to get out of bed for in your own right. No matter who. Someone. You hear me?

-D

Dearest Joe,

I agree. You're so special in our hearts and never more than when your telegram arrived. It was clear, your blessing, and safe to be seen, and it half-broke my heart. But we are married now and that is a joy. And I kiss Derek warmly in front of Father A, now and then, just to see him turn puce.

You deserve happiness. You deserve a wife. (I wish I could say, "or husband" but we know the world is not ready for that yet. One day, God willing.) Don't you dare moon about at home missing us forever. Go meet people.

We love you. We want you as happy as we are.

-Anne

Dear Anne and Derek,

You left. You don't get to tell me how to live. I'm fine. I'm glad you're happy. No one here can hold a candle to either of you. The girls are shallow flirts, the guys are either boring or wild, the college crowd is so superior they make my teeth ache.

Anyway, I have a new hobby. Shep and I are walking the city, night by night. I plan to learn it well, and perhaps take up driving a hack. That would be a nice quiet job, and perhaps pay better.

-Joe

Dear Joe,

Damn you. You made Anne cry. I won't show her this letter. The clinic is nearly built, and Father A is considering me for permanent staff here, despite my being a sex-crazed eighteen-year-old hedonist. (He called me that to Mrs. Rodriguez. Fortunately she likes me better than him. And she didn't know what "hedonist" meant.) Anyway, we are looking ahead to the fall and either a more permanent post here, or perhaps moving on deeper in-country with the construction crew. I wish I could be easy in my mind about you though, and Anne is threatening to go home, money or no money. Write to Anne, something cheerful. Make her believe you're okay... make me believe it.

Damned world.

\- Derek

Dear Anne and Derek,

I hope you decide on a fall project that makes you happy. I like imagining Anne with a classroom of small children, their eyes rapt on her. (And how ironic that the most teacher-challenging girl in our school is teaching now.) I like imagining Derek, up on a low roof hammering tiles, his shirt off and skin bronzed by the sun. I like thinking of you together, pale skin against tanned. I'm happy too. Shep likes to walk.

-Joe

Dearest Joe,

The days are getting shorter again. Down here, it's still quite warm, although fall rains come without warning, drenching us at times. Back home, I imagine the leaves turning colors. I imagine the children heading back to school, and the air smoky and cool. This is our first year as adults. Our first year when that school bell does not start our day, together. This summer has been like a dream, and I feel like I'm waking now to a more sober world. It will never be as it was, for three years of Septembers.

Are you still working for Mr. Brown? Or did you begin a taxi job as you had hoped? The clinic here is finished, and we must decide within a few weeks what we'll do next. Are you and Shep still walking? Do you ever see a pretty girl and think, maybe it's time to move on? I want you to. I really do.

-Anne

She's the poet. I've felt like an adult since I married the girl. Still, she's right. No high school, no books, no baseball team, no you. Sometimes I still turn around, expecting you there. But I'm happy in my marriage, more than happy, and I pray I keep Anne contented too. I think we will stay here. This clinic is a solid place as well, and worth my time to keep it going.

You should have love and all good things, too, Joe.

\- D

GOOD LUCK WITH THE CLINIC STOP SHEP DIED STOP ALL ELSE IS WELL STOP JOE

Dear Joe,

So, so sorry about Shep. God, so sorry we weren't there. We're coming home. I told Derek flat out, I can't do this. He agreed. In fact, he'd bought the tickets on the boat before I even spoke. We'll work it our somehow. We were lying, to ourselves and to you. We can't do this without you. We'll be home in a month.

Love always,

-Anne

Thank God you let us know. I've had chills, thinking about you alone now, and what if you'd just buried your dog and not said a word? Winter's coming. I know you hate winter. We'll be back before then.

-D

DONT WORRY STOP I WAS DRUNK LAST TELEGRAM STOP DONT LOSE JOB STOP JOE

JOE WE WILL ARRIVE ONBOARD SOUTHERN QUEEN NOVEMBER TWENTY FOUR SAVE THANKSGIVING TURKEY FOR US STOP

Dear knothead,

If you wrote anything to us again, after your last telegram, Anne and I won't get it now until it's forwarded, long after we're home. I hope you saved your breath. I'm going to speak plainly here, so you might want to hide this letter extra well after you read it.

Yes, hearing about Shep was the last straw. But it wasn't the first straw. You said it yourself. Being apart was like missing an arm, or a leg. For three years it was you, me, and Anne, falling in love. Having a girl there kept people from looking too closely, but it didn't mean I love you any less for loving her. There I wrote it. On paper. I love you, you stubborn man.

This church trip, this job for Anne and me, seemed like the best chance to get her out from under her father's iron thumb, and that worked. I went along with your damned heroic self-sacrifice for her sake. I don't know why she did. Lack of imagination, maybe, seeing no other way out. But we can't go on like this. We're both agreed.

When your telegram came, we both had that vision of you alone. We pictured you in your tiny room with only the bitter old bastard of your father around, tearing you down at every turn. If I could fly, I'd be there right now with Anne at my side.

We'll be there the day after Thanksgiving. We might beat this letter, but I think not quite. I hope not. I want these words in your heart as you stand waiting on the pier.

I love you.

-D

And I love you too. So much.

We want to be with you, somehow, anyhow. We're married now. If we share an apartment with another man to save money, who will know or care what takes place when the door closes? And if they do, the world is wide, we're all smart and work hard. We will make a place in it for ourselves.

Together. All three of us. Promise, Joe, that you'll be on the pier waiting when our ship comes in. Promise that this will someday be just that odd summer after high school when we separated for a while, to get me out of my parents' house, before we got back together, forever. See you soon.

All my love— well, half my love. - Anne

And fully half of mine. - Derek

***

I stand on the pier, the same place I said goodbye to them, long months ago. The boat's an hour late, and I worry, although it's a common thing for it to run hours slow. Wouldn't it be Fate getting the last laugh if I lost them now?

I pull my coat tighter around me against the wind. I can huddle in the turned-up collar and almost imagine I'm warm. It was my school coat last winter. I don't remember it being so large on me back then. Perhaps all the walking I did before... before, took some pounds off. Better than too small, I guess. The letter rustles in my breast pocket. I remember every word.

It's so cold on this pier. Little flakes of snow flit through the air and the breeze whips across the open water. Everyone else is waiting inside, like sane folk, but I can't look away. I need to be here, near the rail. There's one ship tied up, but it's the wrong one and I strain my eyes against the leaden-gray of the day. Is that something out there?

I rub my eyes, then dry my fingers on my slacks. I think I feel something soft, like a brush of fur against the back of my hand. The touch steadies me, but when I look down there's nothing there. No rough-coated collie, head turned up to keep deep soulful-brown eyes on my face. Just my imagination. It happens now and then and I'm not sure whether to be grateful or afraid.

Then, as if by magic, a ship is looming up out of the mist and snow. The smoke from her stack is dark against the sky. There are lights on inside her. I strain my eyes, trying to see. The rail at her bow is almost as deserted as this one. Likely, it's no warmer there than here.

Then something, someone, moves on the prow of that ship. I keep my eyes fixed out there, not blinking till the chill nearly freezes my eyeballs. I recognize Derek first, by his lean height, and then Anne's red hair under her hood, where she leans against his shoulder. Their hands are raised, waving.

The snow stings my face, my eyes. I rub furiously, but can't keep from tearing up with the cold, and my lashes clump together. So I just close my eyes at last. I stand and wait. I don't need vision now. The ship is close enough to hear two voices, one male, one female, both beloved, calling my name.

####

# Beginnings

photo description: Out-of-focus small lights create blurry pinpoints of color across the scene. In front of the neon-lit window of a store, two teen boys stand tentatively holding each other. They're both slender, short-haired, and wear light, casual jackets over open-necked shirts. In the reflected light from the shop window, they lean together, eyes closed, lips parted, moving in for that first kiss.

I'd got my first Christmas gift that year when I stood in front of the measuring stick in the nurse practitioner's office. Five-foot-ten! Finally taller than Evan. Only an inch, and it shouldn't have mattered, but it did to me.

Dr. Chowdry smiled when I told him at the end of my counseling appointment. "I guess you're getting a little height kick from the hormones after all, huh, Scott?"

"Yeah." He and the endocrinologist had both told me not to count on any, but after being stalled out for a couple of years, I'd grown two inches in the last five months. My voice was deeper too. I'd been called "sir" on the phone a couple of times now, and it warmed me to the bone.

The height boost had helped keep me skinny. Not bony, like I was before Dr. Chowdry started working with me, when I'd tried to fast my curves away by not eating, but thin. No soft bits. I stood and stretched up on my toes, feeling surprisingly good.

"Do you want to keep up your food journal over the holidays?" Dr. Chowdry asked. "Some people like the routine, but some get triggered by writing down the holiday food list."

I'd always appreciated that he asked my opinion, rather than telling me what to do. I'd had a couple of crap therapists in the last two years, but Dr. Chowdry made me feel like we were partners in getting me where I needed to go. "I think I'm ready to stop journaling."

"How do you feel about your weight right now?"

"I'd like to put on more muscle mass."

It was only half an answer, and I knew he noticed, but he just nodded. "Well, don't forget to give the T some protein building blocks to work with, then. You're doing well, Scott."

"I promise I'll be sensible. I plan on running every day. And doing more with my dumbbells. Dad's friend Abdi gave me some pointers on lifting weights." He'd been cool about it too, not saying one word about my skinny arms. I could already see a little difference in my biceps.

"Healthy goals. You've come a long way. Anything else before we wrap up?"

I shook my head.

"You need a Xanax refill?"

"Nope. Sill have lots."

He gave me a penetrating look. "Good. Just remember, taking a dose is a self-care choice, not a failure. It's another tool in your toolbox."

"I know." I tried a wry grin. "If Aunt Trina does come to Christmas dinner I'll use it."

"Good man. I'll see you in three weeks."

That was the longest I'd gone without seeing him, since last summer. Even in the lingering pleasure of I'm-taller-than-Evan, I hesitated. "Are you sure you can't...?" I let the phrase trail off, not wanting to admit I still worried about going three weeks on my own.

His eyes were kind, but he shook his head. "I'm visiting the grandkids in Colorado. I'll be back on the ninth, and I have you written in for four o'clock Thursday the thirteenth. These days I've got patients who're more rocky than you, who'll need my first few days. Have faith in yourself."

I nodded, my throat tight. At least it wouldn't be a Friday the thirteenth. No bad luck. I'd manage.

"You have the emergency number. Use it if you have to. But I expect you won't." He mussed my hair and punched my arm lightly.

I said, "Sure, Doc. I'll see you on the thirteenth."

"Have a great holiday."

"You too."

When I got downstairs, my mom was sitting in the car outside. She never came up to my therapist's office, and she didn't look at me until I'd gotten in and we'd turned the corner. Eventually she said, "So, are you glad to be done with school for the holidays?"

"Yeah."

"Exams went okay today?"

"Fine. I messed up in French, but I think I still have an A." I sure hoped so. That was part of my bargain with Mom. I had to show her this "trans stuff" made me a better person. Better, smarter, able to leap small buildings and ace all my exams, and never, ever feel suicidal again. Then maybe she'd believe it was for real. Thank God I had Dad on my side, up or down. I took a breath. "I grew another inch. I'm five-ten now."

"That's nice." Her voice was flat as a frozen pond.

The rest of the drive went past in silence. At home, I ran up to my room and stuffed my backpack into my closet. I hadn't been lying about being glad school was out for Christmas. Two weeks without homework, without cafeterias and trigonometry and Chad Bronkowski. It sounded like a slice of heaven. Before I could get changed, Mom called up the stairs, "Linda? I'm going to the nursery to pick up the poinsettias. Do you still want to come along?"

I gritted my teeth hard enough to hurt. A year since I came out, and she still stumbled over using my deadname. But hell yeah, I wanted to go. So I just called back, "Five minutes?"

"Sure."

I ran into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and ran a comb through my newly-trimmed hair. What would Evan think of it? I loved the masculine look, but would he think it was too short? Overcompensating? What about my eyebrows? I thought they'd gotten heavier, and darker...

Mom's voice floated up the stairs. "Come on, I want to go before it gets dark!"

"Coming." I ran down, two steps at a time, and grabbed a light jacket off the hook.

Mom asked, "Is that jacket warm enough?" Then caught herself with a shake of her head. "Sorry. I forget you're not ten any more. Sometimes I wish... Do you want to drive?"

I was working on my thirty hours for my license, and normally I'd have jumped at the chance. But today my palms were sweaty and my heartbeat felt fluttery and fast. In ten minutes, I'd see Evan. "Not today, thanks."

Mom looked at me quizzically, then shrugged. "Okay."

I was grateful she didn't ask why. I'd had to share so much of myself with adults this year. I'd had to drag my needs and fears, and all the jagged edges of not-right out into the light to get the help I needed. Doctors, therapists, Mom and Dad, teachers and school officials. Everyone insisted on knowing my private stuff, before they'd help me. Things were better for me now, for sure. But I felt like there was so little left that was just mine, private and secret. Of what there was, the best thing was Evan.

Evan. Just thinking his name made me feel lightheaded and warm. Five-feet nine inches of gorgeous, brown-haired, gay boy. We'd been friends for years, back when he lived in town, in the way kids can be friends. We did everything together, ran through the woods and swam in the pond, had innocent sleep-overs, and grew, with Evan always a couple of inches taller. He was the one person I came out to, the first and only, back when we were twelve. He told me he thought he was gay, and I told him I knew I was a boy. And after we untangled all that, we snuck online together, on his dad's computer, trying to make sense of it.

If his folks hadn't gotten divorced and moved that same summer, we'd have gone on figuring it out together. He'd probably never have dated Ken the Douche when he was fourteen, if I'd been around to tell him the guy was bad news. I might have managed to tell my dad about me before I hit sixteen with girly hips and tits. Maybe I'd have managed not to find myself sitting on my bed nine months ago, with an empty pill bottle in my hand.

Evan gave me shit for that, afterward. When I was allowed to have phone calls, the third one I got was Evan. "What the hell did you do, Scott?"

I'd managed, "Sorry," before my throat closed up.

"No sorrys. Just swear to me, you won't do it again. Tell me you're going to come out, like you promised, and get help. Promise you'll be there when I visit Gram and Gramps for Christmas."

I'd promised, and here was December. Evan had texted me that morning. ~Getting on the plane see u soon.

I stared out of Mom's car. The familiar streets were brightened here and there by displays of lights. The big house on the corner had a tasteful gingerbread-house frosting of icicle lights along every roofline and window. The little bungalow halfway down had a giant inflatable Santa, six flashing reindeer, pink-and-white candy-canes lining the walk and Ho, Ho, Ho spelled out in lights on the roof. We were hitting every red light. My breathing was funny somehow.

Finally we pulled into the lot of the Townshend's nursery. Mom said, "You want to help me pick out the plants?"

My voice was impressively cool as I said, "I think I'll see if Evan's around."

"Oh yes, you said he was coming back to town. I hope you..." Mom gave me a smile that looked almost real. "I hope you two boys have fun. I know you miss him."

"There's no one like Evan." I scrambled out the door almost before the car stopped moving. As I hurried toward the Christmas tree lot, I yanked out my phone.

~Im here You?

~Side by the saplings

I hurried around the corner of the building. Most of the young burlapped trees had been moved elsewhere for the winter. The space was empty, with stretches of bare plant tables, coils of hose, and lines of markers to show where it would come to life in the spring. Standing next to one of the tables was Evan.

I slowed down when I saw him, trying to walk with a deliberately heavy and confident stride. He watched me coming, his head tilted and a little smile playing across his mouth. The colored lights strung all over the building danced sparks of gold and red in his light-brown hair. In the gathering gloom, his eyes were shadowed, their familiar blue now mysterious darkness. When I got close he grinned, a quick flash. "Scott."

"Evan."

We stood there a foot apart, breathing the same air, looking at each other. He'd changed a little too in the last year. His hair was shorter, his jaw stronger and less round. I thought his shoulders looked wider, although that might have been the effect of the tan jacket he was wearing. "Nice clothes."

"At least I have taste. What kind of gay guy dresses like you?" He sniffed and gestured at my baggy jeans.

"One with hips," I said. I regretted it a moment later. My stomach dropped in a swoop of nausea. Three sentences into our first time together in a year, and I had to wreck it with my crap. Who could blame him if he quickly found somewhere else to be?

But he said, "Yeah. I guess that's an added complication." He stepped toward me, not away, and ran a rough hand over my head. "I like the hair."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It suits you. You look... damned good, Scott. Best I've ever seen you."

I swallowed hard. "Thanks. You too."

"I like the voice too."

"You've heard me on Skype."

"That's different from in person. It fits. All of you fits now." His gaze slid across my chest, where my new binder flattened me, and up my jaw, where I could believe I was getting hint of facial hair. "Scott." My name sounded different this time.

I rubbed a hand over my head. "Yeah, well, I have a ways to go yet, you know. But, yeah, I feel..."—better, stronger, going somewhere at last—" real now."

He took my arms in both hands, squeezing my biceps hard enough to hurt. "You always were real, Scott. Always. But you look happier, more confident, I don't know. Better."

The touch of his hands was fire right through my jacket and shirt. I was aware of the flutter of his breath, the scent of his soap. I didn't want to end the moment, but if I didn't, I was going to say something I couldn't take back. He'd had two real boyfriends already, after Ken the Douche. Two bigger guys with beards and dicks and Adam's apples and balls and all. I stepped back enough to break his hold.

"I'm glad you're here," I managed. "And I am better. I hope we'll get lots of time to hang out."

"Of course." He was still looking at me intently. "Tell me something?"

"Yeah?"

"You're still sure you're gay too, right? You still like other guys?"

I loved every bit of the way he said that, although I felt my face heat as I nodded.

"But no dates yet?"

"I'm not ready for the complications."

"Of?"

"Well, this." I waved up and down myself. "Telling someone."

"You look so good now. You could have a first date and no one would know." He grinned. "As long as the guy wasn't too handsy."

"As long as." I didn't tell him I was looking at the only guy I'd ever really wanted. So far. I always added, so far. Someday I'd be ready to look further.

"What about kisses?"

"What?"

I thought he was flushed, but in the odd lighting I couldn't be sure. "Well, have you ever?"

I looked at my feet. "No."

"Do you want to?"

"Huh?" I stared at him. Yeah, he was definitely blushing.

"Look. Scott. I've, well, it's always been you and me, and I already know... Damn. Crap." Then Evan took one step closer, put those warm hands on my waist, and tipped his mouth to mine. And waited.

For a second, I didn't close the gap. Every bit of me was screaming Yes!, except the smart one-percent that was saying it was crazy, and a risk to our friendship, and probably pity, or experimenting, or... I leaned down just enough to bring our lips together. Evan's eyes fluttered shut, but I kept mine open to watch him. We kissed, softly, slowly, as the lights of Christmas danced in his hair. My hands came up of their own accord to grip his jacket. My mouth opened on a sigh.

A moment later he pulled back enough to smile at me. "Oh yeah, nice."

I couldn't answer. I waited for the next words. Would he tell me that was my Christmas present? Or an experiment? Would he say that's how it'll feel when you finally meet the right guy? And how would I ever find someone else who felt this right? I fought a hitch in my breathing because it wasn't fair. This should've been so easy, two guys, both gay, best friends, simple story. But it was so far from simple. Who was I kidding?

I wriggled, trying to loosen his grip, but he held me there. His smile faded, but his gaze was steady on mine. "Scott, if you didn't like that, tell me and I'll let go. But if you did..." He raised an eyebrow.

For his own good, I should laugh it off, say we were friends. But Evan's steadfast blue gaze hadn't changed, in all those years. I had to meet it with truth. "I loved it. But..."

"But nothing. Wanna go again?"

I said something garbled, but I guess the yes was clear enough.

He kissed me again, harder, then opened his mouth for my hesitant tongue. His hand slid from my hip to my ass and squeezed. He brushed his lips along my jaw, murmuring, "Hey, stubble." He kissed my neck.

This time when we separated we were both breathless. I touched his cheek, and ran a hesitant thumb over his lower lip. "What are we doing?"

"Test run? You're my best friend, and I know you, all the way through. You don't have to pretend anything for me. And you know me, better than any other guy ever has. So what do you say? Do we have to stay just friends? Or can we see where this goes?"

"You're leaving in two weeks."

"And I'll be back in the summer this year. It won't hurt us to take things slow."

"Why even start?" I pushed him away, because I had to see his expression, his stance, all of him as he answered me. "You could have anyone. You could have a regular guy."

"Will you stop with that?" He frowned. His eyes glittered with reflected gold and he held out a hand. "I've had other guys. I want you. I know you. No one else makes me feel like you do. Even on Skype. I've ditched hanging out with the guys more than once, to not miss talking to you."

"Really?" I'd have done the same, if there'd ever been any guys, but I hadn't guessed that he would.

"Sure."

I don't want to lose you. I could see us staying friends forever, but boyfriends? People changed, they broke up. I still had my own changes coming, hopefully good ones, but sometimes the path forward seemed full of rocks and ditches. My friend Evan would probably stick around and give me a hand up if I fell. My boyfriend? I wasn't sure. "Will you be mad if I say not yet?"

"I'd be sorry. Not mad."

God, I wanted to say yes. But. But. I'd just told Dr. Chowdry how fragile I felt. Two weeks of falling headlong into something intense, and then stopping, would be enough to mess myself up royally. "Can we wait? You're coming back for the summer." That sounded safer. We'd have three months, and time to be ready for it. My heart was shouting, You idiot! You're blowing it! For once, I tried to listen to my head. "Not that I'd hold you to waiting for me, if you see some hot guy—"

"Shut up, Scott." Evan folded his arms, head tilted, looking at me. "Waiting till summer. Okay. I can do that."

"You're sure?"

"Been waiting fine so far." His laugh wasn't totally happy. "Apparently so well you didn't even know it."

"You dated other guys!"

"Well, I guess. Okay, I wasn't just waiting. But somewhere, somehow, I always thought it might be you and me. Didn't you?"

I shrugged rather than admit how I'd hoped.

"So summer." He straightened his shoulders. "Got it. What do you want to do now?"

I could change my mind. I could say "kiss you." It would be true. But also a lie. "My mom's buying poinsettias. Want to come over after, and see if you can finally beat me at Halo?"

"Hah. Finally. Like it's not the other way round." Evan shoved my shoulder, like the last ten minutes never happened. "Sure."

"Deal."

"Come on. Let's go inside. If we're not hiding here making out, then heat is a good thing." He turned for the back door, and I followed him. He paused, hand on the door. "And Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Just FYI, you are a regular guy. Also turning into a hot guy. Waiting's not a hardship." He pulled the door open, and pre-Christmas music spilled out around us. I've always loved the holidays, but for once, they wouldn't be the best part of December. I already had something even better. I let Evan lead us forward, into the cinnamon-scented warmth.

####

# The Trap of Songs

photo description: In a narrow space of draped cables and metal walls, a slim person with a mop of tousled silver-gray hair sits, back to a panel, holding a violin to one shoulder. The bow is grasped in a fingerless-gloved hand, angled against the strings. They wear an old-fashioned, draped, cowled tunic and knee-high boots, dimly revealed by the light of a tiny lantern which stands glowing on the floor nearby.

Space is silent. Space stations are not. They whir and ping, echo and rumble, with the noise of too many people too close together in an artificial world. But I'm hearing a new sound. Music?

It's not the wall-muffled bass thump of someone's speaker up too loud. It's high and thin, and yet it pierces deep into me, tugging at my insides. I can't make out the tune but it stops me in my tracks, wafting through the stale, filtered air toward me, like a magnet calling to an iron filing.

I've taken two steps into the service corridor before I even realize I've moved. Idiot. You have no time for this. I'm headed to my after-class job, and my supervisor has no tolerance for "lazy, space-brained girls who can't show up on time." But still, I can't turn back.

As I stand there the music changes. It's sadder now, softer, the pull like a child's hand on the hem of my smock. Something that could be ignored, if I'm willing to break a heart. A plea, not a demand.

I head away from the well-lit hallway, down the narrow corridor.

About twenty feet along, there's a branch, and the music thread bends left. I walk around the leftward corner and take a few more steps. The bare plassteel walls and overhead ducts close in, and the light gets very dim. This is nuts. When service techs come here, they activate the light strips. They don't wander around ducking under half-seen cables in the dark. I hesitate, about to turn back. Then I spot a new light ahead.

Warm light, oddly yellow, flickering. Almost like a flame, like the tiny candle we're allowed on our birthday cake each year, in one moment of true fire, before it's blown out and carefully dowsed. This light reflects off the walls of the next branch. It dances on the dark gray panels, winking off a stainless connection in the rat's nest of cabling.

At least I won't end up wandering in the dark.

My feet carry me forward, and around that corner. The music swells, filling my chest and ears and taking my breath. The musician looks up at me from where they sit against one drab wall, bowing an antique fiddle. And they smile.

My perception flickers along with the light. Old. Young. Sad. Happy. Worried. Ecstatic. Femme. Masc. Neutro. It's as if the musician is a hundred different people, all in one, a kaleidoscope of images. Then the music stops and they lower their bow. As if that releases my vision, I see them clearly now.

They're smooth-skinned and slender, with a mop of hair that shimmers bright silver-gray. Probably dyed. They're overdressed for the constant temperatures of the station, with knee-high cuffed boots, a thick, draped tunic, and fingerless gloves. I've seen a costume or two like that, in some of the historical vids, and Jamii wore one not too different, the year he was a Victorian pickpocket in theater class. This person wears it without irony or show, though, and the clothes seem old and well-worn.

Without untucking the violin from under their chin, they say, "Well. You're not quite what I expected."

"Neither are you!" I retort, before my brain catches up with my mouth. "I mean, who are you?" The station's not that big. I know everyone my age in this sector. And most people of any age.

They hesitate, looking me up and down. "You came into my space. Why not tell me who you are?"

"These are public corridors." But I'm too curious to argue. "I'm Annalyn Bard, she-her. Now, who are you?"

"You may call me Lisst."

Okay, I'm not going to ask if that's their real name. That would simply give them the chance to smirk and say of course not, or it's one of them. Because I've obviously fallen into someone's cos-play, complete with all the clichés. Plus they haven't given me pronouns, so I'll stick with 'they-them.' "What was that music you were playing?"

They tip the bow toward me. "Surely you still recognize a fiddle?"

"I said the music, not the instrument." I sound more snappy than usual, because I can still feel the tug of that music down under my breastbone. Probably someone using subsonics. Maybe they're testing it out here, before playing it for an audience in the theater. I sneak a look at the violin, trying to spot an electronic pickup. It must be tiny.

"A little tune of my own," they say, then they laugh. "Ah, that does sound coy, doesn't it?"

"More like a line from a play. Is this being vidcorded? Some kind of performance art?" I want to look around for cameras, but nothing looks dumber on a vid than someone twisting their neck in pretzels, trying to find the hidden lenses. So instead I decide to cooperate and play along. "You called me, O Master Violinist?"

Lisst laughs again. They have a nice laugh, real enough to have a little snort at the end. It doesn't sound like bells, or like that perfect social laugh actors use in interviews. "Hardly a master, more like a journeyman. But it serves me."

"To do what?"

"Open doors. Find players."

I wish they'd given me a script before pulling me into this. I can't help a glance over my shoulder, but all I see are dark service corridors. The little light by the violinist's knee is awfully low-wattage for filming, although the dancing shadows are cool. "Players. Well, I flunked drama. Sorry." My teacher said Annalyn has a hard time immersing herself in the subject material. She wasn't happy when I kept pointing out the logic-fails in the plots.

"I think you'll do just fine." They swing the violin off their shoulder and stand, glancing me up and down. "Small but fierce."

That's the last straw. "Take a long walk out a short airlock!" I turn on my heel, but then the sound of the fiddle starts again. Faster, louder, a dance tune that snares my feet. I mean to walk away, but instead I turn back. Lisst is dancing as they fiddle, those cuffed boots strangely silent on the serviceway tiles. They sway, their body bending like water, with their elbow rising and falling, fingers almost separate characters cut off by the line of those black gloves, flickering over the strings. No one plays like that!

Lisst's whole body beckons to me. Their music rises, filling me, until the sound becomes the air I breathe, and the light in my eyes. Gray, and green, and dark, and green, and GREEN. I think I step forward. Or maybe sideways. The ground feels like it tilts, although with artif-grav that's not possible. Down is always down. But I'm sliding, into the music. Straight at Lisst and the green around them, until I raise my hands to fend them off.

Instead, my hands pass into them, improbably sliding into the raised arm and the slim shoulder draped in tunic folds. "Sorry," they whisper, as my slide brings my mouth close to theirs. Then, as I brace for an unexpected, unwanted kiss, the music twists and we're both falling sideways, into the GREEN.

I wake up with a jolt. Just a weird dream. I'm both disappointed and relieved. Then, as I blink sleepily, I sit up with braced hands and feel an odd rough prickle under my palms that isn't my familiar sheets. I open my eyes fast.

The stuff under my hands is low plants, growing wild for yards around me without a box or border, green, thin-bladed, dense - I snatch my hands off it, not to crush vital flora, and realize I'm sitting on more of the stuff. I've seen vids like this, of groundcover that is allowed to be stepped on, and my brain says grass, but I scrunch up to make my imprint small. Overhead, the images of huge trees arch higher than I'd ever imagined. I tip my head back to track their leafy branches against the sky. Higher than the SensiDome. Impossible. Dizzy. I blink fast. This is crazy. Just a better VR show. That's all.

I've done virtual reality, of course, in school. Geography. Nature studies. Even one with grass and trees, recorded in one of the Preserved Miles on Earth. Never had the high-end kind like this, with feely-touch. This must be one of those. It's rad-cool, right down to the little flow of air across my cheek, like a real breeze.

Behind me, Lisst's voice says, "We really should be going."

I whip my head around. Sure enough, they're standing a few feet away, in that ridiculous outfit that looks only slightly less crazy against the backdrop of wide trunks and gnarled bushes. "You!"

Of course they grin and say, "Me!" Of course they do.

I scramble to my feet and cross my arms firmly. "You can stop now."

"Unfortunately not."

"Look." I'm getting worried about how crazy this is, but VR at this level of detail - especially VR that must be lased to my eyes because I have no goggles or lenses on – well that stuff is expensive. Whatever they're up to, it's not some prank. "You made your point. This tech is hot-hot. I'm sure you'll make a bundle off it. But I absolutely need to head to work."

Lisst shakes their head. "Your work's a bit out of reach right now."

"It's just over there..." I turn in a circle looking for the break in the VR but it's perfect. Trees, taller than any I've seen even in classic Old Earth pictures. A sky overhead like a distant blue dome. Grass and little plants and flowery things all around me. I want to run away, and at the same time I freeze, so I don't step on delicate life. If those are real... plants are vital to station ecology and atmosphere.

My heart beats faster. "Blast it. Enough!" I turn again, little tiny steps to not crush anything underfoot. The trees waver in my vision. But not because they don't look real. "You can stop now," I whisper.

"Annalyn." Lisst shakes their head. "I'm sorry. I know this is always a shock."

"Always? What?"

"To mortals, I mean. Ending up here."

Mortals? I don't ask. I don't want to know how crazy Lisst is. Instead I say, "Where is here?"

Lisst waves their hand at the forest. "Fae-home. The Neverlands."

I can't manage to push out words. I take a big step back. The green smell of grass crushed under my feet makes me shudder.

"This land is my home. I brought you here in obedience to my king."

There are so many things wrong with that I don't know where to begin. "We're in space. Station Minerva is suspended five hundred and seven kilometers above the surface of Altera 5. There are no trees."

Lisst walks a few steps, and slaps their hand on a huge, rough trunk. The sound echoes in my head. "Seems solid to me." They raise one eyebrow. "Care to try it?"

"I want to go home."

The faint humor in their face fades. "I know. But you can't. You're here now, and you'll have to make the best of it."

"Why? Why me?" My voice gets louder, shriller, till I sound like a toddler. "I don't want to be here. I want to go back. I don't belong here. Let me go!"

"Annalyn." They take a step towards me.

I take a bigger one back. "Don't touch me. What did you do?"

Lisst stops, and shrugs, raising the violin in their hand. "I played. It's my job, to play, in all the odd corners of the human worlds, and call the unwanted, the lost, the ones with a touch of magic in their bones, and bring them home."

I grit my teeth. "This is not my home."

"It will be." They sigh. "What is done is done. You have fae blood in you, from somewhere, and the music called you."

"I can't stay here. I have duties."

"So have I." They raise the violin and draw the bow across the strings. The music swims in the air, soft and warm like a mother's hug.

I know it's not real, the calm I feel washing through me. It's the music. The magic, even, although I never believed in that. When less than a meter of plassteel stands between you and the cold of outer space, you'd better be putting your faith in mathematics, not magic. And yet... here I am. Explain this, Pythagoras.

The tune changes to something brighter, and faster. Lisst turns on their heel and walks away, and I follow without meaning to. They lead me down a path between the trees. I feel better once the sky is screened out overhead by the arch of branches. It was too open and high above the meadow. It felt like I might get sucked up into the blue. This path might almost be the great hall at home, decorated for a very realistic nature festival. I try to pretend it's true.

After about ten minutes, we arrive at a stone wall, with a door in it. Lisst has to stop playing to reach for the handle. With the silence, my fears come crashing in again.

Only not quite as hard. I manage to bite my tongue and not beg to be taken home. They swing the door open and look at me. "This isn't some magic threshold. You already crossed that. This is just the way in to find food, and beds."

I don't need a bed, and I feel like I may never eat again, the way my gut is twisted up. But I nod. When they hold the door open, I step through. What else can I do? I could run away into the forest, but even if they didn't catch me, for all I know there could be wolves or bears out there. Or evil wizards, with how crazy this place is. I yearn for the shelter of solid walls and a roof over my head.

Lisst follows me inside, and pulls the door closed behind us.

We're in a long hallway, lit by fixtures along both walls. The lights flicker and glow like fire, but there's no scent of wax or char. I suddenly remember the lamp on the corridor floor back home. "These lights. Do they really burn? With fire, I mean?"

Lisst blinks at me, as if wondering what I'm talking about.

"The one you left behind. It won't start a fire when it burns down, will it?" Fire is the one thing that scares the crap out of all of us on Minerva.

"Oh! No, be at ease. It's magic, light without heat." They walk over and lay their bare palm on the glass over one of the lights. There is no hiss, and they don't appear to feel it, any more than I would touching a corridor LED.

"Oh. That's good."

"It's the queen's magic. To bring light. The one I left behind will have gone dark when I withdrew."

"Ah." Magic. What do you say about magic, when it's lighting the dark place you're in? I don't believe in you - go away?

"Come. This way." Lisst leads off along the corridor, and I can't think of anything to do but follow.

We're halfway to the big doors at the end, when a bit of the side wall draws back and a tall, lovely person rushes out and almost bumps into us. They stop short, their arms full of satiny fabric. "Lisst? You're back?"

They make a sweeping gesture down themselves. "As you see, m'lady."

M'lady was for women, in the old lit. She/her. I take note.

The lady says to Lisst. "Marian makes her choice tonight. If you hurry you might bear witness." Brushing past us, she strides to the big doors, fumbles the handle to open one and slips through.

Lisst says, "Come on. This will explain better than I can." They jog on after the woman.

I catch up with them at the door and grab the trailing bit of their tunic. "What will?"

"Hush. Quickly, follow me and do not draw attention to yourself." They pull the door open and step through.

I want to say no, but I also don't want to lose my only connection to my real life in this insanity. I follow them.

The doors open to a much wider corridor with windows on one side and doors on the other. Lisst hurries along it and I follow in their wake. Other people, mostly tall, slim and as lovely as Lisst, pass us in both directions, and most throw me a sharp glance but say nothing. The corridor takes a sharp turn right, losing the windows, and then we reach an atrium. The vaulted ceiling is painted with moons and stars, and stone pillars break up the space. People are hurrying through it, into three doors at the far side. Lisst leads me to a small staircase winding up a wall to a kind of landing, and opens a small door there.

"We'll be less noticed up here."

We step out onto a little balcony, above a big, noisy hall. There are other small balconies around the wall, but only a few are occupied. Most people crowd the main floor. Everyone is dressed in gorgeous, exotic wear, from flowing silks to shining armor to furs and cloaks, and one beautifully curvy green-haired person with round breasts barely covered in pasties made of shining leaves, a trail of blossoms winding from a wreath on their hair to their hips. The outfit shows a lot of lush skin, and if I wasn't ace I might have given them more eye time. But the rest of the crowd is more fascinating.

As I look, I start seeing the body-mods, the little differences of winged eyebrows, pointed ears or no ears, horns, even antlers, skin so pale it's translucent, or so thick and gnarled it's like wood. I know I'm staring. I'm mega glad Lisst brought us up here, where I don't have to worry as much about being rude. Even as I think that, a tall masculine-built one with horns like the old vids of mountain sheep looks up and meets my eyes. At this distance it's hard to tell, but I think their irises are yellow. I know they're not happy to see me watching them. I look away fast.

There's a stir, then a warble of some kind of brassy synth. No, I'm wrong. It's the short person by the back door, with an actual bugle-thing to their lips. They step to one side, the door opens, and people come through in a swirl of cloaks and skirts.

Lisst whispers, "The king and his high court."

The king's tall, with a silvery crown on his head. There's something about the way he walks, the way he looks around the room, singling out this one and that for a stare, that reminds me of a predator, like in the planetary vids of tigers or slaythers, before they leap and kill something. A ripple of bows and knee-bending precedes him, as he walks past the edge of the crowd and steps up on a low stage. There are two chairs there, fancy enough to probably be thrones, and he swirls his cape out of the way and sits on the higher one. The person behind him, slender in a silver gossamer gown and white furs, sits in the other. Gradually the fancy people who just came in arrange themselves on the stage. Only one other is in feminine costume, and although the outfit is elaborate, gorgeous and blue, my eyes keep wandering to the colorful array of characters who line up at the back of the stage.

There are probably a dozen of them, each dressed like they're auditioning for male royalty in a play by Shakespeare. All gorgeous, tall and fit. The youngest is as smooth-faced as Lisst, with a similar mop of hair, although the width of their shoulders and the cut of their legging-things show a body that is strong and not childlike. The oldest has some slack to their skin, and a line of bone that is more prominent, with bushier eyebrows. But their age is impossible to guess. Their hair is black as space, without a strand of gray, and they don't look like the type to color it.

I breathe, "Who are they?"

Lisst hesitates, then murmurs, "The men, for Marian to make her choice."

I note her and men, for politeness. I'm about to ask Lisst to explain the choice when the king raises his hand, and the crowd immediately shuts up. You can feel their attention lasering in on the stage.

The king says, "Marian, my dear?" and gestures at the stage in front of him. I shiver, because I've never heard "my dear" sound like a threat before.

The woman in blue glides forward, goes to one knee on the polished wood at his feet, and bows her head. Her smooth balance in that cumbersome costume is amazing, and I wonder why she seems so dull to me. It's like her skin is muddy, or pasty and dry. Or... No, it's the way everyone else around her shines.

I put my hand on the balcony rail, next to Lisst's. My skin looks like tan mud, next to their slim, pale, perfect fingers, so white against the black half-gloves.

Before I get the nerve to ask why, the king speaks again. My gaze snaps to him, as if on command.

"Marian, have you made a choice?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Speak, then."

She glances past him at the row of standing men, then says, "I choose Lord Carabal."

There's a little sigh in the room, as if a hundred people breathed out at once. The king raises an eyebrow. "Truly? Very well. So be it." He glances over his shoulder. "Carabal?"

The second-youngest-looking man steps forward, and walks over, to kneel at Marian's side. They glance at each other once, but I can't read their expressions. Then they each hold out one hand to the king, and Carabal takes Marian's, lacing their fingers together. The other monarch in the splendid silver gown passes the king something that proves to be a ball of silver ribbon. He stands, and begins to wind the ribbon around their wrists, tying them together. "I pronounce the Lady Marian and Lord Carabal handfasted, in the sight of this court. The wedding will occur at the rise of the new moon, four days hence." He finishes the wrapping with a twist, then taps it with one finger. "By my will and my rule and my word."

There's a puff of white vapor, and when it dissipates, the ribbon is gone. Or invisible, because Marian and Carabal still hold their hands locked together, and when the king steps back and gestures for them to stand, they do so with hands clasped. And how crazy is it that I'm thinking invisible, like that's a real possibility? I rub my eyes, but nothing changes.

"Let the celebration begin." The king waves toward a corner, and the crowd parts to reveal a quartet of musicians. As they start playing a song with a fast beat, Lisst's fingers close on my wrist.

"Come on," they say.

"Not to the party." I look down at the swirling crowd, where a space for dancing has opened up in the middle of the floor. "I can't."

"Of course not." Lisst tugs me away from the rail. "You have to be presented to the king, before aught else to do with the court. But first, we'll go to a quiet room and clean and dress you."

I clutch my smock close with my free arm across my chest. It may be my work-wear, and not fancy, but I'll be spaced if I'll give it up. I tug back against the pull. "First, you'll answer questions."

They hesitate, then say, "Yes. If I can. Come along now."

We go down the stairs into the lobby area. Several people look our way, but no one comes over as Lisst tugs me to another door, another corridor, a bend, a passage. I'll never find my way out. I'm about ready to scream when they open a door and usher me in. "This will be your room, for now."

It's about five times as big as my room back home, but I don't look around. Whirling to put the stone wall to my back, I snap out, "What are you doing?" Words begin to tumble over themselves. "I don't belong here. I'm not staying. I'm a hydroponics tech. I need to be at work... soon." I have no idea how much time has passed. I'm probably crazy late already. Or just crazy. I shudder and wrap my arms around my middle. "I'm not staying."

Lisst still has their violin and they raise it to their shoulder, taking the bow in their other hand.

I slam forward off the wall, and smack the wooden side of the fiddle, sending it to the floor. "No!"

Lisst looks furious! I cower back against the wall, sure they're going to punch me. We stand, huffing short breaths, eyes locked. But instead of hitting me, they slowly sigh and step back one pace, bending to pick up the violin. "Better hope it's not damaged. You cannot earn the cost of this instrument in a lifetime of service."

"I don't care. You try to drug me with it again and I'll break it in pieces."

They look at me from under that gray mop of hair, eyebrow raised as they run fingertips over the strings. "You could try."

"I would." The tremble of my voice makes me grit my teeth. "Blast you, anyway."

"You don't understand."

"Then talk to me."

Lisst hesitates, then sets the fiddle on top of a chest of drawers that looks like real wood and sits on the edge of the high bed. "Promise to hear me out?"

"Do I have another choice?"

"Well, not a good one."

"Then shoot."

"I'll not shoot you. Yet."

I'm not sure if that's a joke. They travel between worlds or times or whatever this place is. They may or may not know my slang. Too bad. "Talk."

"Once upon a time—"

"I don't need fairytales."

"Ah, but this is the land of the fae. Here, they're true."

I have no answer for that, so I ask, "How old are you? You look my age, you know, eighteen Standard, but you talk like an old person."

"I'm ageless." They give me a look that challenges me to contradict them.

"And what are your pronouns? I've been using they in my head so far."

"Pronouns?" They look at me, head tilted to one side.

"Sure. I told you mine are she-her. You use he-him for your king. But your people are so varied, I don't want to assume about you."

"I—" For the first time, they look totally confused. "You mean if I'm a woman or a man?"

"Or fluid, flux, agender, bigen, whatever." I rush to add, "Of course, I'm not asking for you to ID. Just to give me the courtesy words."

"I— well, I've always been he."

The little hesitation makes me push. "But is that your right word?"

"I don't like being called it. What other choice is there?"

"They is most common, that's always polite, but some folk like ze. On Kepler 6 more people use xi. Not many people like it, but a few do. It's kind of rude most places."

Lisst's expression goes blank, like something is happening inside that can't be let out. "Call me what you choose. It matters not to me."

"Shall I stick to they?" Because they didn't exactly claim he, and my mother taught me to be polite, even to frenemies.

The nod of their head is tiny, almost small enough to miss. Then they jerk their chin up and the look of snooty superiority returns. "You'll do as you please, anyway, no doubt."

Mum would probably excuse me saying, "You're so annoying."

"And you're interrupting." That high and mighty tone is back. "Listen well. Once upon a time, Fae-Home and the mortal worlds lived side by side. Sometimes people crossed, one side to the other, but rarely. Just enough that some fae seed was sown in the human realm."

"You mean some people ended up pregged by fae guys," I say, because my teeth are on edge.

Lisst winces. "As you say. Pregged. Ye gods! At any rate, humans multiplied and flourished in the sunlit lands, while the fae realm continued on apparently unchanged. But the king and queen began to notice, as centuries passed—"

"Centuries!"

They frown at me. "We're long-lived folk. Though not immortal. As I was saying, we noticed that very few of our women became great with child. Every decade, fewer babes were born. Here. In human lands it was different."

"You were luckier." History class was full of stories of the Earth swarming with more people than they could feed, of air too polluted to breathe, of the droughts that led to the Diaspora, and the wars that followed. The fae hadn't suffered through the great Plague that might have been engineered, or might not, as it killed one in four of us. They'd gone on living in this green land while we struggled to come back from that, and then reach for the stars.

"We were dying out. That's not luckier."

"I guess."

"First, the king sent out a few of his men to bring back human women."

"Bring? Like, kidnap?" Am I kidnapped?

"Entice. Lure." They sigh. "Steal. Kidnap. Regardless, it turned out not to help. Though they became pregnant easily enough, they soon sickened here, and died, and the babes with them."

"Great Asimov, you kidnapped them, raped them, and this place killed them, and the children?"

"There was no rape!" Lisst bounces to their feet, glaring at me. "They all chose the man they would be with. Many were love matches. But they could not survive it."

"Not much difference."

"It was to them, and the husbands who loved them." They pace to the door and back. "We despaired then, and resigned ourselves to dwindling slowly. Then my father, who was King's Bard before me, did a favor for the magic hills and was given this fiddle in payment. He went to the human lands. There he played the fiddle in a traveling show for a time, and earned the love of a beautiful human girl. When he had to return to Fae-Home, she followed him back here, although he tried to forbid her. And she thrived here and had three children. Myself and two sisters."

"How?"

"That was the question on everyone's lips when my older sister was born. And again on the second child. And they sent scholars to the human world to trace what was known about Bria Lori White and her ancestors."

"And?"

"And most of the records had been destroyed. But my father became convinced that his wife had fae blood in her. When I was young, he began going back to the human lands with his fiddle, and he played here and there. On rare occasions, the fiddle would call a person to him, and if they were a young woman he would bring them back here."

"So I am kidnapped!" I wish I'd shut my teeth on that because Lisst gives me a very dark look.

"As I was saying. The women who came here were shown the wonders of this land. Where they had lived it was dark with ash and dry as bone and deep in sorrow. They chose to stay. After a year, each chose a husband from among the eligible nobles. And babes were born once more. And then my father was killed, on one of his trips to the human world."

"I'm sorry." I know how that feels. Dad was only forty-standard when the space debris damaged his suit, too far from an airlock. I wonder where Lisst's father had been going. "Dark with ash" sounds like the mined-out surface of Terra-beta, or maybe even the backslid colonies on Old Earth.

Lisst sits back on the bed, the fiddle in their lap, running a finger around the satin curves of its shape. "For years, no one could play this fiddle. It was silent, even when the best musicians in the land lifted the bow." They give an odd laugh. "I remember watching Dorian, still in his golden years, drawing the bow across the strings and getting no more than a squeak. I think he'd have smashed it if it weren't a treasure of the realm. And our only hope."

"Let me guess," I say sarcastically, to hide the shaking in my gut. "On the day you came of age, you raised the bow and it sang for you alone."

"Precisely," Lisst says, as if to take the wind out of my sails. "But actually, it was my sister Veria who found she could play it first."

"So where's she now? She dumped the job of uterus-snatching for the nobles onto you?"

"She didn't like the human realm and sickened when she visited it. She's in charge of the king's stables now. She passed the violin to our sister Talia, who has no ear for music, who passed it on to me."

"And you what? Go out on femme-hunting road trips?" A thought occurs to me. "Marian. Did you kidnap her?"

Lisst shakes their head. "It was not kidnapping. She was the bed toy slave of a ship's captain of very ill repute, when he paused on a street in New France to hear my sister play. Later Marian crept back and begged Veria to take her away with her. She did, and she is well content."

I hope that's true. Nonetheless. "I didn't beg to go with you. I didn't even know it was possible."

"Don't you like it here? Can you really prefer your drab little shell of a world, orbiting above the land? Steel and false fabrics and walls closing in and nothing real about it?"

"Hey! That's my space station you're talking about. Minerva may not be perfect, but no one starves, the kids all get free ed, and free med too. All news vids are livestreamed, so everyone is informed. We do all right."

"It was like a can, small and hard and echoing."

"Wait." Something occurs to me. "You said Marian was one of your sister's victims."

"Rescues."

I wave my hand. "Whatever. That was just a year ago, right? Veria passed the violin to your other sister, then to you. So how long have you had it?"

Their chin jerks up. "Long enough."

"How many victims have you brought here?"

They glare at me. "This will be your room, for now. I'll have suitable clothes brought for you, to wear to meet the king. The court will be taken up with Marian's wedding for the next three days, but after that—"

"No!" I fold my arms, confidence rising. "No. You say I'm not kidnapped. Well, I want to go home. Now."

"You can't."

"Then I am kidnapped."

"No! Yes, well, not really."

"Which is it? Am I able to go home or am I a prisoner?"

They run a long-fingered hand through that mop of gray hair. "You're not a prisoner. But how can you leave before you see the beauty of our gardens, taste the food, and the wine? At least a meal."

A vague memory surfaces from my mother's bedtime books. "Isn't it supposed to be bad to eat food in fairyland?"

"Don't call it that. We're not fairies."

"Answer the question."

"It's not bad." The emphasis is faint, but there.

"Is it safe? Does it change anything?"

Lisst huffs. "All right. I'll take you back."

"You what?" I put a hand on the wall, off balance as if they'd pushed me. "You will?"

"Yes. But it must be now. Right away. You'll see nothing more, taste nothing. Back to your little iron can with you, spinning in space, doing a drab job, marrying some drab man who will probably beat you."

I laugh, because that's sour grapes for sure. "For one, if I ever marry it'll be someone femme. And no one lays a hand on me, at least, not twice."

"You don't like men?"

"I like them. Don't want to live with one. And I don't screw anyone. Lots of aces don't marry, since it's mostly to create a fam unit for kids. If we do want offspring with a lover, then we might get the full license."

Lisst's dark eyes blink fast, as if they're trying to process what I said.

I put a hand on my hip, cock my head. "You do have Rainbow folk here, right?"

"Rainbow?"

"Men who marry men? Women who love women, or both, or all, or none? You seem to have genderspec folk, even if you do think it is the only nonbinary pronoun." I gesture up and down their body, and yeah that's mega rude, but so is kidnapping.

"Men don't marry men." They frown. "They may be with them, as lovers, yes. And women with women."

"Well, like I said, marriage is about kids. If I marry, and it's a big if, it'll be because some woman has convinced me children aren't little squealing demons and I want to nurture hers."

"You don't like children?"

"Not at close range, no."

Lisst finally looks less than sure of themself, the bow drooping from their fingers.

I press my advantage. "Look. The fact that I'm femme-romantic is irrelevant. The thing is, you didn't ask me. I don't want to be here. I won't stay here!"

"I must not fail my people." Their voice is thin.

"Hey, it's not a disaster, just take me home and go find someone fertile and masc-attracted who wants to be rescued and become a princess. A pregnant princess."

"The Prince is already wed."

"Fair lady, then. Elfwife. Whatever! It's not for me."

Lisst shakes their head. "It's not that simple. In ten years, my father only found a score of women who responded to the music and came back here on its magic. My sister found three. That's a start, but not much of one. And we've never taken anyone back."

"But you can?" My heart thumps against my ribs.

"I've never tried."

"Well, you went to Minerva when you grabbed me. How did you get there?"

"I played the violin within a gate, and something called to me. When I do that, the music changes and shows me the way. And then I am there."

"A gate?"

"A thin place, between the worlds. They can be crossed if one has the power."

"So we go back and you do it again." My voice is steadier than I feel.

Lisst glares at me. "Just like that? Oh, sure, just do it again."

"Well, what does it hurt to try?"

"We could end up somewhere totally different."

"Somewhere human?"

"Well, yes. Probably."

"I'll take it." There were no doubt a thousand human worlds and times worse to live in than this green world, but the air in my lungs is getting thin, imagining being trapped forever. "Maybe I'll go back to the golden age of Old Earth." That's bravado. I suddenly miss Minerva's stale smells with a gut-deep ache.

Lisst shakes their head. "We do not cross time. Only worlds."

"Even better. Let's go." I turn to the door.

"Wait!" They sound panicked.

I turn back reluctantly. "What?"

Their elegant face is creased with worry, and they reach out a gloved hand to me. "We have to plan this. You were right."

"Of course I was." I don't take their hand. "About what?"

They bite their full lower lip between very white teeth for a moment, then say, "About me. That I haven't... I mean, that this was my first actual rescue. Of a girl."

"Kidnapping. Of a person."

"Well, how did I know?" They slide the violin onto the covers and bounce to their feet. "There you were in that drab, dry, dirty, echoing place, dressed in naught but a threadbare sack—"

"Work clothes. You try draining hydroponic lines in your party gown."

"And I was excited, because I'd tried and tried and you were the first, and maybe I rushed it..."

"Maybe?" I want to shake them, shout in their face that they never asked, but they are my hope of getting home.

"All right, I did. I'm sorry. But you're here now and I don't know if I can take you back, and the king will be furious if he finds out, and I may not lure another girl for years. Would it be so bad to stay?"

"Yes," I say flatly. "It would."

"Oh." For a long pause we just look at each other. Their dark eyes under the tousle of gray bangs seem sad, or maybe scared. "I didn't mean harm."

"But you did some. So now undo it."

"The king would compel you, for the good of the realm."

I shiver, unable to do more than shake my head. I remember that shining figure on the throne, all light and strength, but without softness and humanity. I just bet he would.

Softly, Lisst says, "But my mother was human, and I will not. We'll leave now, before word of you spreads." They laugh bitterly. "There was a time when the king and guard awaited my return with the fiddle, in hope, over and over. It's a good thing they despaired of me being of much use, and stopped bothering to watch for me. But someone will realize that I did not come back alone this time."

"I'm ready."

They pick up the fiddle and bow, and tilt their head toward the door. "Follow me."

When we return to the corridors, they're nearly deserted. Maybe some other party is going on. I don't ask. I'm not going to jinx us. We turn down a couple of different branches before we run into anyone who stops to take a second look.

A child, barely into their teens but with tiny horns parting the dark curls on their head, pauses as they pass to take a second look. "Bard, who's the lady?"

Lisst says, "One of the Lady Marian's handmaids, dressed down to not outshine her mistress."

The child smirks. "Well done, then. I'd almost say she looks human." They tip their head to me. "No insult meant, m'lady."

"Get along with you," Lisst says sharply, and they hurry off.

Lisst blows out a breath. "He's not the sharpest blade in the armory, but eventually it will occur to him that my explanation made no sense, and he still doesn't know who you are. Come on."

We turn again and end up at a door that is larger and thicker than those lining the hallways. Lisst unbars it and ushers me through. Outside, the sky is darkening. There are stars appearing in one direction. In the other, the sky has a wash of lavender and pink and turquoise, draped with gilt-edged clouds. I stand, gaping at it, my mouth hanging open. I mean, you can see pictures of sunsets, and vids, and read poetry about them, and yet none of that comes close to having that amazing color arcing high over your head.

Lisst grabs my wrist. "Come on. You didn't want to stay, so move."

For a second that glory in my eyes makes me want to change my mind. But I remember almost human and no offense and decide my instincts were correct. I follow Lisst, stumbling a bit as I take glances up. Within a few minutes, we're heading along a path between the trees.

It's darker in here, but still the brilliance of the sky is enough to light our way. Lisst hurries, the violin and bow cradled against their chest, still gripping my arm painfully tight. It feels like no time at all before they tug me along off the path into a grass-paved clearing.

"Here?" I look about but it seems no different from any other open space we passed.

"This is one of the gates. A minor one. I tried using the major gates at first, but—"

"But?"

"Failing is less painful when no one is watching."

"Hey." I put my hand over theirs on my wrist, not sure why I feel the need to comfort them. "You didn't fail. I mean, yeah, you got the wrong person. But it worked."

They nod slowly. "True. I will remind His Majesty of that fact, when he finds out what I've done."

"Will you really be in trouble? You did your best."

Their laugh is not reassuring. "As long as I am the only one the violin sings for, all will be well."

"That's not an answer."

"It's close enough." They raise the violin to their shoulder, and tap it with the bow once, softly.

"Wait. Are you coming with me? You know, to find a better choice?"

They quirk a half-smile at me. "Right now, I'm not even sure you're going anywhere. Who knows? I play the music, but the magic plays me."

"Do you want to come? You could even stay." I'm suddenly taken with the idea. My best friend Jess left on an out-system freighter last year. It would be fun having Lisst to show around, even if immigration would have conniption fits if they ever found them. "It would be nova! So much I'd like to show you."

But they shake their head. "I may not be good at this, but I have value, real worth, to my people. And I couldn't live in a dry tin can."

Before I can answer, they draw the bow across the strings. The sound is amazing, an arrow into me that tugs at my bones. I move closer, my feet jittering on the grass without my control. The song soars, and my breath goes with it, lifting toward that sky of stars. But after a while I'm snapped back to reality as Lisst breaks off short.

Reality in a grassy forest clearing.

Not Minerva's corridors.

Asimov's balls! It didn't work.

Lisst pauses, violin on their shoulder. "That is the song I used before."

"Well." I tug at my hair, trying to think. My brain's still whirling somewhere above the ground, and I can't put words together.

"Maybe this," Lisst says, and raises the bow again. They play something else, something with weight that pushes at me, until it weaves into another song that flows over my skin like water, and then another. Something shifts under my feet and I catch my balance, waving my arms. Lisst pauses again. "Yes, that might work. Last chance to stay?"

"Last chance for you too," I say. "Come with me. Don't be a tool."

A voice to our left says, "Bard? What are you doing?"

We both whirl and look. Lisst slides to one knee, the fiddle still on their shoulder. "My lord."

It's not the king, but a person who looks a lot like him. A lord. A man of power then. Maybe a bit younger, a bit less severe, but with the same features so perfect they could cut glass. The lord says, "I felt the gate opening—"

Then suddenly, without standing, Lisst whips the bow across the strings. The sound wails from the violin, leaping, climbing.

The man says, "Wait!"

I feel myself lifting, an odd disconnection from the ground as if I'm being pulled through an airlock by a pressure gradient. I see the lord draw a short blade from a sheath at his hip, and want to shout a warning, but the music is sucking my breath from my lungs.

With their cheek still pillowed on the violin, Lisst calls to me, "Don't worry. I'm worth too much to my king to be damaged." Or maybe they're calling it to the man, because the lord stops and stands still, the blade bare in his hand but not doing anything with it.

Then the music climbs, louder, denser, filling my head until sight and vision and touch are nothing but song. It's gorgeous and too much, too strong. The very cells of my body are saturated with it, until I cry out, losing myself in the sounds— and drop hard onto a smooth, slightly dirty tile floor. My ears ring with the silence, my knees ache. A tiny blade of grass clings to my left shoe.

I collapse all at once, like a blob of slime mold. Flat on the corridor floor, breathing hard, I reach with shaking fingers to touch that tiny fragment of green. There is no grass on Minerva. It's a useless plant, on a station. I stroke that fragile wisp of another world, and breathe, and gasp, and breathe, in the stale, dry, perfect air of my home.

***

Epilogue

It's two years since the workers found me collapsed in a corridor, after I was reported missing. No one was sure why it took so long for me to be found. The S&R folk swore they swept that corridor hours earlier and found only an odd metal box. I couldn't tell them anything about what had happened to me. Nothing they would believe anyway. I got out of the hospital after a day. There was really nothing wrong with me.

Except the nightmares. Sometimes I dream that the king is standing in my cubelet, right by my bunk, reaching out to drag me away. Sometimes the guy with the blade cuts Lisst's throat, before Lisst is done playing, and they bleed out in my arms on that green grass. Sometimes I'm returned to a Minerva silent and echoing, a far future where my home station is a dead moon around a dead planet. But they're only dreams. They fade when I switch on the lights.

Somewhere I lost that blade of grass. Nothing remains, except odd memories and dreams, until I'd begun to believe I'd imagined it all. A collapse, a seizure, a hallucination. A gas leak maybe, though none was found. Lisst's face, their gray mop of hair, their voice, fade from memory. Although sometimes I can still hear a wisp of their music, somewhere in the back of my mind.

Then today, someone brings me a gift, a thing, found lying in a station hallway. It's real paper, the ancient kind, inscribed on the outside "Annalyn Bard" and sealed with a blob of wax. The finder is desperately curious why such a valuable artifact has my name on it, and they hint at calling in an authority to see it, but I send them off with no more than a thank you. I sit for a long time, turning it in my hands, before gathering the nerve to open it.

~ My Lady, it reads.

In case you were worried, I am still useful to my king. And this time, the lady has no hope here and she wants to come with me, to meet a lord. ~

Just that. Not even a signature, and the wax is not marked with any sign. I have no doubt, of course, who it's from. Should I do anything? Do I have to warn Security there's another way on and off the station besides the airlocks? Should I check for a missing person report? Try to tell someone where she's gone?

For a long time, I sit staring down at those few words. I can imagine what the newsies would say if I went public with what happened. And what Security and the docs would say. Inciting public fears. Station fatigue. Hallucinations.

I wonder if the new fairy-uterus-kidnappee is happy. Scared? Excited? Wishing she was home? Or breathing that flower-scented air in wonder?

I wonder if Lisst has settled into who they are and what they do. Did I misgender them, there at the end when they would not claim their pronoun, or did I perhaps show them something new they needed to see, in that world of lords and ladies? I wonder if "useful to the king" hides a punishment. You could do a lot to someone and still leave them able to play the violin.

In the end, I set the paper inside my closet, in the box with my father's service pin, and the lock of my mother's hair. I will believe that Lisst was not harmed by the king, and that they would not repeat their same mistake twice. I'll trust their words and their intentions. I'll wish their new lady well, and hope that I taught Lisst enough about asking first. There's not much else I can do for her now. No one would believe what I'd say.

Some other femme— and blastit, I hope that she truly made her choice — is waking amid the green grass and tree trunks of a fairy world. Perhaps the sun is setting in that wide sky. I don't even slightly regret being the girl who stays here, when some other Minervan travels to fae-home. But I pull up the list of down-planet jobs and start thinking about a work rotation off-station, when my classes are done. I'd really love to see another sunset someday.

####

# Second Chances

photo description: Two young men head down a paved path through a wooded park together, their backs to the camera. One is tall and dark haired, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans. The other has broad shoulders and strong arms revealed above the back of his wheelchair. With one hand he rolls his chair forward, while with the other, despite the awkwardness, he keeps a firm grip on his boyfriend's hand.

"Dammit! Because you can't!" My friend Louise stuck her foot out, blocking the left wheel of my chair.

"Move it or lose it," I snapped, rocking back and forth like I'd actually roll over her. Not that I ever would. I'm a hundred and sixty pounds, not counting the chair, and she was wearing soft sneakers. But I get so sick of being bossed around "for my own good."

"All right!" She stepped back. "But I'm not waiting for you, and I'm not coming back. You hear me? If you're not down at the lot when the bus arrives I'm getting on it, and you can just wait for the next one."

"I'll race you down there. Wheels beat feet." That was pure brag. I mean, it's true on a city sidewalk, but not on the hilly trail that she'd watched me drag my ass up and down this far. Especially not with the bumpy path we stood at the top of. Plus the quick route down that I was pretending to consider was never meant for wheels. "You're like a bitchy old lady today," I added.

Sure enough, that did it. She visibly gritted her teeth. "If you break something, I'm going to sit back and laugh. You suck, Joel. I only came up here for you; you know that. I could've been home."

"Painting your nails and watching cat videos. You're missing so much."

She whirled away and headed down the steep trail to the right. It was the fast way to the parking lot, all right, but it'd be suicide in the chair. I sat watching her slither and jump from step to boulder to gravel. What the hell did you just do, Joel Brady? The impulse to call her back was strong, but I clenched my hands on the rims and sat silent.

At the bottom of the first rough bit, she slowed, turned and looked up at me. Then she fumbled in her pocket. My phone beeped. I dug it out and read the message.

~You're not really nuts enough to follow me, right? Should I come back up?

She was staring up at me, her worried frown visible at a distance. I almost rolled forward to the edge, almost made a joke. But I was getting sick of my own attitude, so I texted, ~No. I just need a bit of time. Catch your bus. I'll see you later

For a moment longer, she stood looking up. Then she gave me a wave, pocketed her phone, and turned to head on downhill at a saner pace. Leaving me up on Mount Troyis by myself, just me and my trusty steed and my stupid head and my bad mood. Crap.

The trail that I actually could manage ran off to the left. It wasn't super easy, even with someone around to give me a boost over the occasional root or rut, but it was doable. Or had been doable, when we came here with my boyfriend Zane. Ex-boyfriend. Crap.

Flashes of memory from that day came to me. Laughing as Zane and Louise acted out a Tarzan scene, him scooping her up while I chased them with my wheeled rhino-substitute across the parking lot. The safety of Zane's hands on my chair when we hit the steep bit. Looking down from the top at the view, with Zane sitting in my lap, complaining about doing all the work. Breathing into the back of his short brown hair, the heat and sweat gluing my chest to his spine despite two layers of T-shirt.

I looked off to my right at the view, which was still spectacular, and empty. Silent. Zaneless. Whose brilliant idea was this? I'm supposed to be getting over him.

Of course, this had been my idea, not Louise's. I'd show him I could have just as much fun without him. I'd prove how much damned fun I could have... Louise was some kind of saint for putting up with me.

The breeze cooled my damp hair as I sat. The sun was getting lower, but I had plenty of daylight left. I toyed with the idea of watching the sunset from here, and the fall of night. But that was too emo even for me, besides which the park closed at dusk. As I wheeled back and turned to go left, a couple of girls came panting up the path behind me.

"Look! I told you it was amazing!" The dark-haired one in front turned to me with a big smile. "It's hard work to get to the top, but worth it." She ran a quick glance from my face down to the chair and over my legs, not quite disguised by the baggy jeans. "Hi! I'm impressed you made it up here."

Her taller friend stepped up beside her and nudged her, saying in a stage whisper, "That's kind of rude."

"What?" The first girl glanced at her. "I'm just sayin'. I barely made it on two good feet."

"Yeah, but..." The other girl shrugged, as if unable to say why a compliment was a bad choice.

It wasn't the first, or the fiftieth, time that someone's praise sounded like a back-hand to me. I trotted out my practiced smile. "The eagles dropped me off. I'm waiting for Radagast."

The tall girl frowned, but the smaller one laughed easily. "I'll pass word by way of Rivendell."

When her friend whispered "What?" she added to me with a smile, "I'm educating her. She's from a very practical family. Don't hold it against her."

"I won't." I rolled the chair further under a tree to clear the summit space for them.

She nodded, then tilted her head. "Would you take a picture of us?"

"Sure." It was kind of cool not to be treated like a slightly embarrassing piece of furniture by strangers, something to be silently ignored, or glanced at only sideways while pretending not to look. "Where?"

"In front of the view?" She handed me her phone, and they posed with the backdrop of the valley behind them.

I snapped a couple of shots. On the third one they edged closer together. Something about the way their hands touched made me think they were more than best friends. I said, "I can take a couple more. If you want. Different poses."

"Thanks." They clowned a bit, then did a mock-embrace, the smaller girl leaning away with her back bowed. They looked at me as I tapped the phone, eyes sparkling but wary.

I thought I knew that look. It totally sucks, wondering if you dare come out. Wondering if the person who seems so pleasant will suddenly turn into a raging 'phobe and quote Bible verses at you. Or push your chair over a cliff. But although there were two of them, with working legs, and one of me, I still felt like I was the safer one. So I said, "My boyfriend and I used to come here. Well, my ex."

I was right, because immediately they straightened and both smiled. The tall girl said, "One more pose then?"

"Sure."

They turned to each other. We all hesitated, then glanced toward the empty trails before they moved in close, arms around each other. The shorter girl lifted her face, the other bent to meet her. They kissed, in the sun at the top of that hill, with the world falling away at their feet. I took the picture, and a couple more to be sure.

When they separated, the smaller girl came over to me. "Thanks."

I handed her back the phone and they bent their heads together, looking through the shots. The taller girl said, "Yeah. These rock. Thanks." She met my eyes. I'm not sure what she saw, but she said, "Are you okay up here? Getting down, I mean."

"Fine," I said, waving to the left. "I'll take the baby route."

Her girlfriend looked each way and laughed. "Then I'm a baby too. I'm not jumping down that other one like a demented mountain goat. Hey, wanna come down with us?"

I hesitated, because I really wasn't sure I'd get down intact alone. But my black mood still hovered, and I wasn't going to inflict it on them on what looked like a date. "Nah. Thanks, but I'm going to hang out here a bit. Take some more pictures. I've done this a bunch of times. I'll be fine."

"If you say so." She glanced back, as she and her girlfriend headed off along the easier trail, holding hands now. I just gave her a thumbs-up, and they went out of sight around the first bend.

I sat for a long time, in the shade of that tree. I caught myself wishing that was still me and Zane, back when we were new and teasing and finding out about each other. Although, I'd learned the hard way that wishing was for suckers. Work was what counted. Did I work to keep Zane? It was hard to remember now, looking back at that last fight with the bitterness and accusations and the way we each knew the painful places to stick a knife in.

People passed by along the trail. I entertained myself betting who would turn right, taking the challenge of boulders and loose scree, and who would go left and wander down safely. I usually got it correct, although a pair of middle-aged women surprised me by joyfully, and skillfully, taking the steep route. Their voices echoed back up the hill, even after the scrape of their steps faded. They sounded happy.

I hadn't meant to stay so long, but it felt like something was shifting inside me. If I sat here, and stared across the wide valley, and didn't pay too much attention, something in my head was letting go and rearranging. I watched a hawk climb on a thermal, out over the small lake. It didn't move more than the tip of a wing, and yet it soared higher and higher, lost in the blue.

I came back to myself as a cooler wind brushed over my bare arms, raising goosebumps. The sun was lower than I'd intended. I realized no one had passed me for quite a while, and I wheeled out from under the tree, because I wasn't dumb enough to want to be the last one down the trail. Just in case.

The so-called easy path seemed to have sprouted roots and brambles since the last time I was here. I wished I had my all-terrain chair. I'd insisted on coming here on impulse, and it wasn't my smartest move. The smoother tires of my regular chair slipped on the packed dirt, and failed to grip over the occasional rubbed-bare root, but I powered on. I worked out for this. I'd win any arm-wrestling contest, despite the creative handicaps Zane could come up with... Crap.

I'd just hit a flatter spot halfway down when my phone chimed. I stopped to check it. Louise. ~Are you okay. I feel like shit leaving you alone

I texted back, ~Fine. Needed the time to get my head on straight. Almost at the bus now. It was close to true.

~Text me when you get on the bus, you bastard

~OK

The light was becoming uncertain under the trees, and maybe I was distracted, because one moment I was rolling along just fine, and the next I stopped short with a jolt, and a tilt. I looked down. The right wheel of my chair had slipped tightly into a space between two polished thick tree roots, canting me about ten degrees to starboard. I rocked the chair back and forth, carefully at first, then harder, then with all my strength and as much throw of my body against the seatbelt as I dared. Nothing worked. I could get an inch of motion in either direction, but that was all.

I glanced around. I was on the trail. Someone would come along at any minute and give me that humiliating, helpful, able-bodied push out of my captivity. Motherfucking crap with a cherry on top!

I sat there fuming, helpless. I rocked and leaned and tried to force the rims until my hands ached. Because yeah, brilliant me didn't wear my gloves either. I'm just too pathetic to live. Oh, woe, my boyfriend ditched me, let me go sob on a mountaintop without basic preparations.

But as the light dimmed over ten minutes, and twenty, no one came down the trail. How embarrassing would it be to be found at first light, exhausted, having peed myself, still stuck on the trail? I cursed louder, pushed harder. Nothing.

Of course, I had my phone. I pulled it out. Louise? She'd never let me live it down. What's more, she'd hover ever after, like a smothering blanket. I just knew it.

911? I could do that. Call for a hunky paramedic to save me. Everything inside me writhed miserably at the thought. I stared down at the screen.

My fingers moved of their own accord.

~Zane? Got a minute?

~Sure

That was Zane, always more mature than me. If your boyfriend called you names and said he never wanted to see your cripple-phobic ass again, would you answer his next text with "sure" like that?

~I kind of have a situation

~I think I need more info

~How mad are you?

There was a pause while he apparently thought about that one. Or maybe erased his first "you can suck dirt and die" answer for something kinder. But no, that was me again. Zane wasn't like that.

~I'm more sad than mad, actually. Why?

~Me too I was shocked to realize that there was a sob caught in my throat. What the hell was that? I gritted my teeth, breathed in through my nose, and added, ~I'm sorry

~Joel! Are you dying?

~Smartass

~Just a bit. Really, I'm kind of worried

~I'm fine. I'm...It took me a minute to add the next word— stuck

~For words? In mud? In a guy?

~Right. I'd text you in the middle of bad sex

~ ;)

I stared at that. ~A winky face? Seriously? How old are you?

~Older than you, baby face

God, I'd missed this. Just bullshitting with someone who didn't watch every word they said to me. On impulse, I wrote ~I miss you \- stared at it for a moment, then sent it before I could think better of it. I quickly added, ~Also I am stuck before he could respond.

~Where?

~On the trail down from Mount Troyis. About halfway

~Seriously? Don't tell me you went up by yourself

~No

~Did someone ditch you? Do I need to kill somebody?

I sighed, staring down at the phone. That had been one of our fights— how fast he was to defend me, rather than letting me do it myself. Sometimes against threats I didn't even think existed. It shouldn't have warmed me to see that. ~Not unless you want to take on Louise

~No way. She's scary. You're on your own

~Big brave boyfriend I wanted to call that back the moment it left my fingers. He wasn't, anymore. But I didn't want to type in "ex" and add it either.

There was another pause, then he sent, ~We'll talk. But right now, you seriously need help?

~Like, a fifty-pound added push to move the chair out of a rut

~That's not too bad

~It is when I'm ducking stuck

~LOL

~Stupid autocucumber

~Why not call Louise?

Yeah? Why not? But the answer was simple. ~You'll make me feel like an idiot. You won't make me feel like a child

~I thought I did

~Not really. That was OTT

There was another pause. I wondered if he was also thinking back to our last fight and the words we'd thrown at each other like spears. Whiner. Nanny. Reckless. Overprotective. Ungrateful. User. Blind. Overcompensating 'phobe. Spoiled brat. Sick fascination. Raging bastard. We'd hurt each other until he'd stormed out and I'd thrown a pen after him, leaving an ink splotch on the wall higher than I could reach. It mocked me every time I went out that door.

Eventually he wrote, ~I'll come. No strings

~Thanks

~On either of us

~Right

_~10 min drive, 15 up the trail_

~I'll be here unless a cute guy comes by first

~At least text me if that happens

~Yeah

I was caught between hoping someone would come along, and not. I'd like to roll on down, to meet Zane on my own terms, safe at the bottom. At the same time, I'd dragged him out of his apartment, probably pulled him away from playing WOW. I felt kind of shitty about that. How much worse if I didn't end up needing the help?

It was academic, because no one did come along. I sat in the damned chair, rubbing my sore palms and thinking wild thoughts about what I'd say. How I could spin this. Until I heard fast steps on the trail below, and Zane came into view.

He looked good. So damned good it surprised me, like I'd blocked out what a hot guy he was, by being mad at him. He had on a loose black T and a scuffed pair of regular jeans and he still was everything I wanted, jogging towards me.

I crossed my arms on my chest. "Took your time, huh?"

He stopped, breathing hard, and frowned. "I came as fast as... you shit-head."

I laughed. "Hey, Zane, thank you." All the stuff I'd planned to say disappeared out of my head, but that was what mattered.

He shrugged. "You know you can always call."

I hadn't been so sure, but here we were, so maybe I'd known, deep down. "Yeah."

"I thought I'd find you, like, half upside down in a gully."

I put my hands on the rims and shoved hard. The chair rocked forward an inch, stopped and rolled back when I let up. I did it again.

Zane's lips twitched.

"Don't you fucking laugh."

He snorted a breath, choked. "Monkey trap."

"You're the monkey. Give me a push, dammit."

He walked around me, eyes bright. "Couldn't you have gotten down on the ground, lifted the wheel out, and got back in?"

"Yeah," I said softly. "I maybe could." It wasn't quite that simple. My back was as fucked as my legs, and lifting the chair out of the rut while lying on the ground under it might've been a bad, bad idea. But there was a time I'd have tried it. "I decided to call you, rather than be dumb enough to screw my back up."

"You sent your hiking buddy away."

"Yup. That, I was dumb enough for. She's texted me like four times." I kept telling Louise I was fine, fine, fine, heading home. "Heading" being a nice loose term.

He came over and squatted beside me. It was one of the things I liked about Zane, right from the first day, that he just naturally got on my level to chat, so I wasn't always talking to his stomach. "We need to talk."

I knew it was true, but I looked away from the intensity of his blue eyes. "Can you unstick me first?"

"I kind of like you stuck here so you can't run."

"You ran last time." The sound of that, both truth and lie, hung between us. Eventually I admitted, "I might have pushed you a bit."

"Might've. Yeah." He stood and went behind me. "Ready? Set?"

It took very little from me, added to his push and lift, to get me out of the trap and rolling down the path. He's strong, even though when we lie down together, I'm bigger than him. He let go as soon as I was steady, and turned to head downhill, slow enough that I could stay close behind him.

I wanted to say something, but it all sounded either trite or too real to say to his ass in those torn jeans. So I followed along the path, down around the twists and turns. There was one more tough spot, where erosion had washed the sand away from the base of a rock, leaving a step up. He must've heard me bump and rebound, because he turned and waited.

I made it over on the third try, without help. He nodded and led on.

When we finally hit the wider paved path down to the parking lots, the sun was behind the trees, although the sky was still light. Zane slowed for a step or two, so I could come alongside. We went on in silence. Eventually I said, "You're not going to chew me out?"

"For?"

"Ditching Louise? Taking the hill trails in my house chair?"

"Do I have to?"

"Nah. But you'd be right."

"I don't need to be obvious, just to be right."

"Smug bastard." I bumped the back of his hand with mine for a second. He didn't look over, but I saw his lips curve up.

After another minute I said, "I'm so sorry, for real."

"Me too."

We turned the corner onto the smooth part, where the old rutted walk had been repaved. I bumped his hand again. "Can we start over?"

He paused, then glanced at me. "Can we have sex on the first date this time?"

A giggle rose embarrassingly in my throat. Our first sex had been put off, and put off, date after date, with my fears and nerves and limits, and his worries and consideration. And then, when it happened, it was so easy and right we both felt like idiots. "That might be arranged."

"Okay." He turned and began walking again. "I'm parked over in Lot B."

There were a ton of things we probably should talk about. I didn't know precisely how and where I'd hurt him with my words. I needed to air the things that had led to that explosion. But for now, starting over was good enough. I pulled out my phone and texted Louise. ~Zane is giving me a ride home

I powered the phone off so I wouldn't hear the twenty chimes she'd no doubt text me back with. For now, I wanted to be here in this place, with Zane. I reached out and took his hand in mine. His fingers closed, warm and strong, but he said, "One handed chairing? I'm not walking in circles with you."

"Then pull me enough to balance it, lazybones."

He stepped forward to add a little steady pull to our grip. "I was in the middle of Grizzly Hills when you called."

"I figured. And don't say grizzly until we're out of the park."

"Wuss." He tugged at me gently. "I might want to get back online for a bit first, when we get home."

"Oh yeah?" I squeezed his fingers rhythmically, closing my hand around his in an unsubtle suggestion.

"Or not." He picked up the pace, pulling me along, and I spun the left rim to match him.

"I'm an idiot," I added eventually.

"I kind of have a thing for idiots." After another step he added, "And you maybe had one or two points. In there somewhere."

We moved on, out of the park, towards his car, holding hands in the gentle, fading light of a day that ended far better than it began.

####

# Flash of Red

photo description: Two girls kiss, hair blowing around their faces. One blond, one redhead, nearly mirror images in different shades, dressed in similar dark jackets. Behind the swirl of blond hair, it's impossible to see if they're looking at each other, or have closed their eyes for this meeting of mouth on mouth.

The first time I saw her, it was a flash in the corner of my eye as I bent to pick raspberries, a flicker of bright copper that came and went in a blink. I whipped around but there was nothing there. No person. No Irish setter or flap of cloth. Just trees and tall grasses, the lazy buzz of insects too sun-drunk to bite, a blue sky with wisps of cloud adrift way up high. Not even a bird moving in the branches.

Must've been some kind of reflection, or a floater in my eye. I went back to picking berries.

Two days later, I was much less romantically picking up dog poop, with a light drizzle misting my hair. The sky was slate gray. Gusts of wind plastered my skirt against my legs and flipped the leaves in wild semaphore. And there it was again, just that splash of color, vibrant like nothing I knew, on the very edge of sight. Brilliant red-gold. There and gone.

That time I searched, despite the cold water running down my collar. There was nowhere something that bright could hide on our manicured street. The oaks had been pruned ten feet up, with no stray branches. The grass was mowed within an inch of its life. A cat? A squirrel? A blowing metallic wrapper? I saw nothing out of place for minute after minute, until the skies opened in a downpour that drove me inside.

It became an obsession, driving me crazy. I'd be sitting in class in a room full of bored, restless friends and fellow prisoners, and there it would be. Always just on the edge of sight. When I reacted, whirling to stare over my shoulder, I was the one that got frowns and laughs.

"Hey, Lindsey, bug in your pants?" "Spastic, much?" "Quit staring, crazy bitch." That was from Julie in the seat behind me. She never liked me anyway. The teacher droned away about covalent bonds, oblivious.

Surely someone else must've noticed. But as the week went on it was clear that no one did. Whatever I saw— thought I saw— no one else reacted to.

My boyfriend Mike noticed the change in me. Friday, at the lockers, he wrapped one of his big arms around my back. "Hey, Linds, I'm gonna take you out tonight."

I leaned into his shoulder. Nothing like a six-foot-three linebacker to make you feel secure when the world's unsettling. "Don't know if I have the energy. How about a couch and popcorn?"

"Nope. You've been weird all week. Gonna take you out to the bonfire and dancing at Joe's place. Tradition. And you can shake your ass and quit twitching."

"I don't twitch."

"You sure do." He waved a hand by my head and I flinched, even if his pink palm was nothing like copper and light.

"See? I'll pick you up at seven. Be ready."

He walked off down the hallway, pausing to punch one guy's shoulder, and hip-check another. I swear, the football guys have this physical code I'm still trying to decipher. How hard and where you maul someone is key to how good friends they are. Or something. Luckily, Mike also has a sweet side, and a nerd side, and I can hang out with those parts.

When he came by that evening, he wore his tightest jeans and soft leather jacket. I stepped out the door and wolf-whistled. "Trying to make all the girls pant and the guys jealous?"

"Or vice versa." He cocked a hip. Mike wasn't out to anyone but me, and maybe a guy or two he'd messed around with, but he was as bi as I was and had no problem with being admired.

I stood on tiptoe to kiss his jaw. "Just don't go home with anyone but me."

"No way." He led me down the drive to his car. He didn't open the door for me. He knows I hate that stuff.

I shivered as I got in. "Man, where's the nice weather gone?" Second week of school, and already the evening had an unexpected bite to it.

He shrugged out of his jacket and passed it over. "There, you wuss. Wrap up."

I took it and slipped it over my sweater without arguing. Mike was like a furnace permanently turned on high. He wore leather because it was sexy, not because he couldn't be comfortable in a T-shirt in a snowstorm.

"You're welcome." He pulled away from the curb.

"Thank you." I snuggled into it, tucking my fingers up inside the knuckle-dragging sleeves. "You're sweet. For a non-wuss."

Mike laughed. "I missed you this summer." He'd been off at football camp. "We're gonna have a good senior year."

My spirits rose. There, surrounded by his warmth, cruising toward a party with his laugh in my ears, I believed it. "Hell yeah."

Joe's place was out at the end of a dirt road. The sides of the lane were already getting parked up, so Mike found a spot and pulled in. We hiked down the road together, under the darkening sky. Ahead, we could hear voices, and the air held the tang of woodsmoke. I had a flash of memory, doing this in other years with Angelique and Nora, before we each paired up, apprehension and excitement a nauseating mix as we looked ahead to a new school term. I reached for Mike's hand. He folded my fingers in his, and this year excitement won.

A flicker of copper-gold.

I didn't look, didn't turn. Tonight, I was going to ignore that whatever-crazies it was. "You think there'll be good booze? Or just beer?"

Mike's fingers tightened momentarily. "Why? You don't drink."

"I might start."

"If you like, baby. I'll watch out for you." He tugged me closer, so I stumbled against him. "You might be a fun drunk."

"I won't get drunk. Just take the edge off."

The bonfire was in sight. His steps slowed. "You wanna tell me about that edge? We can walk for a bit."

"Hell, no." I didn't want the one person who loved me to think I was crazy. "Come on. Dancing. Jell-O shots."

"If you call Jell-O shots good booze you do need an education in alcohol. The best you'll get here is a bottle of something passed around."

I wrinkled my nose but tried to sound eager. "Here's to new experiences."

I felt his flinch in the twitch of his hand, but he let me drag him toward the fire.

It was oddly surreal. The party was familiar, even if we were all a year older, and the pairings shifted. This year, Nan was tossing her red hair in Deon's face, not Mark's. red hair... almost but not... Luis had Jason on a string, fetching and admiring. But it was us, the usual suspects, with hot dogs on sticks and marshmallows and cokes and beer in cans, and the crackle of sparks rising, laughter a shade too loud, and the same old boom box that probably belonged to Joe's dad, cranking out a random mix of The Aces, Black Honey, Black Sabbath, and for some reason Jethro Tull. Someone's playlist on drugs. And not good drugs.

After we'd managed to dance to a couple of songs not meant for dancing, Mike guided me to where Joe had some logs and boulders set out. "Did you really want a drink?"

I wasn't sure. But another rapid flicker in the corner of my eye decided me. "Yeah. Hit me."

He tapped the side of my jaw with his fist. "Be right back."

I huddled into his jacket as the flush of heat from dancing left my skin. A cool wind brushed my damp forehead— copper flash, off to the left.

Shit! Despite my resolve, I turned, but before I could get up, Mike was back with a plastic cup. "This is Coke and whatever Nick had in his flask, which was probably more high class than Fred's vodka." He held out the cup. "Sip it slow."

I lifted it to my lips and took a mouthful, tasting the familiar old-socks-and-bubbles of Coke, sharpened by something smoky and bitter. It burned as I swallowed but I managed not to choke. After a couple more sips, it went down warmer and with less bite. I became aware of Mike watching me, his forehead creased in anxiety. "What?"

"I kind of liked that you didn't drink."

"One time only." Already I was finding my vision a little fuzzed around the edges. "Emergency."

Mike snagged my free hand and tugged me to my feet. "Okay, we're gonna walk and you're going to talk. Enough vaguebooking."

I followed his pull but kept my hold on the cup. As we left the fire, the wind picked up, blowing my hair in my eyes. Mike brushed it away from my cheek, tugging the blond strands. "You're so pretty. And important. And weird all last week. Talk to me."

I took a longer drink. "I'm just seeing things. Like, a flash in the corner of my eye. Something moving, but when I look there's nothing there."

"Like floaters? Little flecks? I had that after a bad tackle last year. It was fricking annoying, but it went away."

"No. Not exactly."

"Maybe you should see an eye doctor."

"I don't think it's in my eye." Somehow, I was sure it wasn't. It might still be in my head, though. I hugged an arm across my stomach. "Something bigger. Moving. Reddish." I bit back a flowery description of that red-gold color that haunted my dreams now. This was weird enough without that.

"A person? A stalker?" He glared out at the dark, as if daring someone to harass me.

"Maybe?" I shook my head, and downed the last booze, feeling loose and floaty. "No, can't be. I've seen it in class, several times. But no one else did."

"That's, um, weird."

"The word you're looking for is c-c-c-crazy."

"No, it's not." He took the empty cup out of my hand and put his arm across my shoulder. "No more booze for you."

"I was crazy before the booze."

"You're not crazy!"

"What would you call seeing hallucinations?"

"A problem. Like, a problem to be solved. Did you hit your head?"

"Not recently."

"Maybe someone drugged you."

"Without me noticing?"

"Spiked a drink. Like, with acid. You might be having flashbacks."

"I think I'd have noticed the original trip."

He hugged me closer. "Maybe it's some other kind of drug. Or, you know, epilepsy. Don't they get, like, auras?"

"I haven't had a seizure."

"Still, you should get checked out. I don't want anything to happen to you."

I was somehow sure this wasn't physical, not illness or brain trauma. A drug? Maybe, but lasting a week? And getting stronger? Insanity? I didn't feel insane. Did crazy people know they were crazy, or did it feel like this, like the world around them was tilted— flash of copper, long streak of copper, there...

This time I took off running. For once, despite the dark, I could detect my quarry. Something anyway. Little flickers and flashes of color leading me deep between the trees. Behind me, I heard Mike crashing through the brush as he called for me to wait up. Somehow I managed to avoid the worst branches, running in a mad dance between obstacles that loomed and receded.

Then the copper was gone, and as I froze, Mike crashed into my back.

"Oof." He grabbed me hard and kept us both from going down. "Lindsey! What the actual fuck!"

"Did you see it?" I turned in his grip to shake him, fists clenched in his T-shirt. "Did you? Bright and shiny?" I whipped around again. The woods were dim, trees looming in dark-on-dark shapes. With the wind blowing, movements surrounded me but none of it copper-flash.

"I just followed you." Mike's tone was strained. "Running in the dark."

"Crap. Shit!" I strained my eyes, peering left and right. "There? No there!"

"What was that?" Mike stepped in front of me. "Did you see something?"

"You saw it too?" My knees almost buckled in relief. Not crazy?

"I'm not sure now. A flash?"

"Yes! A color, like copper or gold, but brighter. There and gone." I stepped up beside him, pressing my shoulder into his arm and waited, straining my eyes against the near-dark. Waited. Waited. "That!"

"Freaky." He didn't sound freaked though, more intrigued. I guess when you're two hundred pounds and can bench press an elephant you don't get as scared in the dark. "There!"

"There!"

We stood, heads swiveling, as the flickers got faster, longer, here and gone, then sometimes prolonged, a smear of light rather than a flash. Then there was a break, long minutes when nothing happened but the rustle of leaves and creak of boughs.

"Think it's gone?" I wasn't sure why I was whispering.

"Who knows?" Mike pulled out his phone and turned on the light function, sweeping it around us.

Its beam was short and all it lit were trees and shrubs, some red-tinged wild grapevine that was not quite the right color, brambles, a fallen snag— "Shit!" A face, a dozen feet from mine, haloed in light.

I scrambled back and Mike went with me. The face vanished, came back in the same spot, steadied.

"She looks like you." He raised his voice. "Who are you?"

The strange girl faded out, solidified. This time her body came with her. I saw what Mike meant. She was my height, my build, and she wore jeans and a cream sweater, under an outsized, studded and stitched leather jacket. Luckily for my sanity, her hair wasn't my dirty-blond, but a glorious gold-red, peaches and strawberries and fire, in a silken fall around a face much more beautiful than mine.

"Who are you?" I echoed, trying to keep my voice steady.

Her lips moved, but if she spoke, the sound was below my threshold. She faded again, thinning until Mike's light reached the tree behind her. Then she came back, as solid and real as we were. She took two steps toward us, raising her hand toward Mike.

"Stop right there!" I commanded. This whatever that had been haunting me for a week set off all my creeper vibes. She was not touching my guy, just like that.

She paused and her gaze snapped to my face. "Yes, you." This time I heard her clearly, a voice like flowing water. "I remember." She took another step, reaching my way.

"Stop!" Mike managed a lot more volume than I had. "What are you doing?"

"Must touch. Must cross." She glanced over her shoulder, and what looked like fear twisted her face. "Now. Tonight."

"Cross what?" I asked.

"Barrier." She glanced back again, then turned to face us and squared her shoulders. "I have been trying to escape." Her voice was like an actor in a fancy play, all cut-glass vowels and clipped consonants. "I am trapped. You must help me. He hunts me."

"Who does?" Mike bent and picked up a branch off the ground. "Hunts?"

"I must not say his name. He seeks." Her eyes flicked sideways. "Soon he will come. I have tried to find my match. You. My love. To cross."

"Your love? What the hell? I'm not your love." I brushed my arm against Mike's.

"You have potential."

"Potential? I also have an awesome boyfriend, thank you very much."

She tilted her head. "Possibilities? Is it the same word?"

I shook my head. "If you're looking for love—" The whole conversation suddenly was crazy. "Mike, you're seeing her too? Hearing her?"

"Yeah. Understanding, not so much." He eased forward until I was sheltered behind his shoulder. "What do you need Lindsey for? You have to explain. Are you a ghost? Do you need to cross over to Heaven?"

"Not a ghost. A wight, a sylph, a—" From somewhere behind her came a howl, thin and drawn out, with a scream in its ending. She jumped forward. "The hounds. Please!"

"What?" The shrieking cry came again, closer, and all three of us shuddered. Somehow it made the unreal much more likely. "What do I do?"

"A kiss."

"A what?" I stared at her.

"He trapped me, but a lover's kiss breaks enchantments."

"We're not lovers." I glanced at Mike. "I've never even kissed a girl."

He stared past the girl into the dark behind her, his jaw set like whenever he took the field for that last play of the game. "But you've thought about it. And I don't like the sound of what's coming, do you?"

"No." I moved a step closer, paused again. "This is nuts." I glared at her. "If I kiss you, that doesn't make us lovers. It doesn't make us anything at all."

"It makes us a possibility. Close enough to break the spell, I hope. He's not a true adept."

"I love Mike. I'm not looking for possibilities."

"I can pledge to leave you the moment the spell is broken." Her red hair whipped around her face from a wind that wasn't stirring mine. "Never plague you again."

"This isn't like some trick? They won't follow you across? Or like eating fairy food where you can never enjoy mortal food again?"

"I swear, by the Queen's light. No."

Mike was hit by a fit of giggles. "Once you go queer, you won't ever want straight." He bit his lip. "Sorry, had a guy say that to me before he sucked me off. Odd echo. Wasn't true then either." He sobered. "I love you too, Linds, and while I'll never be straight, I promise I'll love a girl forevermore. No matter how good he sucked dick."

I wasn't sure that helped in this odd dark forest with a magical girl and hellhounds howling. But it was a good try. "You think I should?"

"Kiss the girl? Save a life? If you're with me forever, here's your chance to let your freak flag fly. Only fair."

"This is crazy." I stepped forward one more pace, close enough to reach and touch her if I chose.

Her hair rose in wild, silky strands, straight and free and bright as sunlight. The light around her filled the little clearing more with each moment. The matte bark of the trees became rough brown with broken shadows, and the black of leaves took a greenish tinge. There were pink flowers on the bush beside me. She raised a slim, pale hand and smoothed her hair down, and the tremble of her fingers was the most real thing about her.

The howls came again, in different pitches, three or four hound voices in unison, wavering as if bounding forward. She reached my way, but when her hand neared my lapel there was a layer between us, keeping us from touching. I tried to touch her too, and was held off by that something, clear as air, thin as silk, hard as glass. "I can't."

"It has to be a kiss." She leaned forward. "Now, an' it please you. They are very near."

I wasn't going to crane my neck like a dumb giraffe for my first girl kiss. I moved close. She tilted her head. For a moment our lips glided over each other, the slick barrier between us.

"Think of me," she murmured. "Possibilities. You could love a girl, were she the right girl."

Could I? I looked into her eyes, blurred green, inches from my own. Her body was soft curves beneath familiar leather, and though I couldn't touch it, I began to smell that scent. Her breath was sweet and grassy, like some plant I had no name for. Our mouths met again and I traced the bow of her lower lip, smooth, then soft but real. She was pliant and sweet, then demanding and wet. Our kiss deepened. Her tongue touched mine.

I fell against her as something let go. Her jacket was fine leather under my fingers. Her hair brushed my cheek. She leaned into me and we staggered back a step. For an instant, she was flame against me and I breathed in heat. And then I jumped back, caught by Mike's big hand.

"Are you okay?" he asked me.

"Yeah, fine."

The girl knelt the instant I let her go. Behind her, a bright edge outlined a space, a rip in the air, jagged edges glowing. She scooped up brambles and branches and tossed them through the space. "Push through equal weight to close this. Fast, unless you wish the hounds to cross."

Her words jerked us into action. The light from the rip was bright enough for me to find big branches and toss them, while Mike hefted a rotted piece of trunk and then a small boulder, and staggered to lob them through. Suddenly the rift began shrinking. The howls of the hounds took on a new urgent note. The girl scrabbled up tufts of grass and twigs, forcing them into the rapidly closing space. Then, with a sizzle and a bang, the edges came together and their light went out.

The girl slumped, her chest heaving with the force of her breaths. For a moment, she bowed her head. Then with a toss of her hair, she stood and shoved her hands deep in her pockets. "My thanks. That was well done."

Mike dropped the second boulder he held and eyed her. "Now what?"

"Now I go to find my kin."

"Your kin? You're leaving?" My voice wobbled, for no reason.

"But of course." Her smile had something sharper around the edges than I'd seen before. "I'll not tempt a mortal by staying."

"You don't tempt me. I was just curious." I went to Mike and took his hand. "Scraped your knuckles, boy. Showing off with the big stuff."

"You know you love it." He wove our fingers together, though. He's a smart guy.

"I am in your debt." She choked, like that was hard to say. "An' you need help, you may call on me, one favor for one favor. Call out 'Lorlindian', three times aloud. And as part payment, hear me when I say, do not do this again, if you are asked. There are few in that realm who'd not shove your body back through the rift, for equal mass."

"They'd better not try." Mike said between clenched teeth.

She smiled at him. "Fierce protector." The light around her was fading and it was hard to see her expression without the flame of her hair. "Farewell." There was a brief flash, copper-gold-bright, and gone. When the green afterimage faded, we stood in a dark wood, wind-whipped and empty.

I shuddered, hard enough to make my teeth chatter. Then I turned to Mike and grabbed his head in my hands, tugging him down for a kiss. His hair was coarse under my fingers. He tasted of stale beer and mouth. Real and familiar, wet, a little awkward. Not herbal and perfect and strange. So good. I pressed against him and kissed him harder.

He hugged me, then eased my grip off his hair. "Hey, Linds. Seriously, are you okay?"

"I am now." I couldn't help looking quickly around. "That was the weirdest thing that ever happened to me."

Mike laughed. "I think we can live to a hundred and it'll still be the weirdest thing ever."

"What do we do now?"

He shrugged. "Go back to the party?"

Hanging out with drunk, oblivious classmates was the last thing I wanted, and although it was too dark to see, he must've felt me flinch because he added, "Or go home. Maybe we should watch Buffy? Enjoy the weird."

"Only if I can drool over Willow," I said.

"Got a thing for redheads?"

I tried to sound defiant, but probably sounded confused. "Maybe, yeah."

His arm around me was warm and perfect. "As long as I can drool over Oz."

"Oz? Seriously?"

"Hell yeah. Short, sarcastic, smart, and mouthy. What's not to love?"

I leaned on him, loving the solid size of him. "He's too small. I like a big guy."

"And a good thing, too." He raised his phone, casting its feeble beam across the clearing. "I think the car is that way. You said you had popcorn?"

My first steps were stumbling, but I found my feet. "Yeah. And butter."

"Well, of course. And seasoned salt."

The steady sound of his voice grounded me, as we dodged through the trees toward the distant bonfire flicker. "Do you think she'll come back?"

"I'd say don't try calling her if you don't want to find out."

"I don't even remember her name." Something that vital, and it'd slid from my memory like sand through my fist. "Lor-something."

"I remember. I'll write it down for you. But—" He paused.

"But what?"

"I don't want to sound like a jealous guy."

"You have nothing to be jealous about. You're my guy."

"I don't trust her. I'd say unless you're dying, don't call. That last smile—" He surprised me by shivering, hard enough to shake me.

I stopped, pulled him in and hugged him as hard as I could. "I won't. No interest. No trust."

He shook the mood off with a clear effort. "Well, you got your guilt-free girl kiss, anyway."

"I guess."

"Was it good?"

"Not bad."

"Better than Willow?"

"I've never kissed Willow." I got us started back on our way.

"You've thought about it."

"Maybe better than thinking about Willow."

"Better than me?" The hint of anxiety he was trying to hide was like a dash of cold water.

I tugged him to a halt one more time, and framed his face in my hands. The firelight was enough to light us here. Maybe our friends could see. Maybe I didn't care. I kissed him again, as well and as deep as I could. "No one's better than you. No one ever will be."

He wiped his brow with an exaggerated gesture but there was real relief in his voice. "Well, then, I'll share my popcorn with you."

"My popcorn."

"I'll share your popcorn with you. Let's go home, Linds."

A flicker in the corner of my eye made me jump. My heart pounded, mouth suddenly dry. Mike's grip on my arm bit to the bone. We both turned fast, to see Luis dropping a branch on the fire. Flames shot up and subsided. A flash of red-gold, bright and then gone.

"Let's go home," I agreed. "And I think I'm going to take a pass on bonfires for a long, long time."

####

# Free Choice

photo description: Two girls are posed in front of a backdrop of leafless winter woodlands. One's a dark-haired girl in black leggings, and a long black-belted top, who stands fingering the collar of her fuzzy jacket, looking surprised. In front of her, a blond girl in a fashionable jacket and wrapped scarf kneels, looking up into her face with hope, holding up a single flower.

"You what?" I stared at Lia, as she stopped by my locker at school, not sure I was hearing her right.

"Earth to Amy? I asked if you want to hang out with me after school. We could walk in Silverbrook Park."

"I, um." A big part of me was saying yes, yes, yes!!! But a little cold part in my stomach was saying, Oh, no. Because I did something wrong this morning, and I'm so, so scared that I ruined us.

You see, Lia's gorgeous and smart and confident and popular. Her mom takes her shopping at all these cool stores and she wears designer jeans and leather jackets, and she drapes scarves the right way.

I've given up wearing a scarf unless it's, like, twenty below outside, because they're this lumpy mess around my neck. Lia makes it look perfect.

Whereas me, I try too hard. I know I do. I buy funky stuff, hoping it will cover up how cheap it is, except mostly it doesn't. The only thing that saves me is I do have good legs, maybe a bit skinny, but I can wear leggings or tights and then throw something short on top, and it kind of works 'cause everyone looks at my legs. Not at the fuzzy jacket I thought was cool until I got to school in it, or the pendant my little sister made that I always wear because it makes me feel better. I'm dorky and there's no way around it. One of the things I like about Lia is that she never seems to care.

Lia's the one person I've really wanted looking at my legs. We're friends, and I'd have loved to be more, but I didn't think she did, until now. "A walk? Like, just you and me?"

Her eyes laughed at me, even though she kept her lips sober. "Yeah. Like a you and me get to know each other better kind of walk. Yes?"

How could I say no? "Sure. That'd be cool." I heard myself say it, and felt the flush on my cheeks. Honestly? Cool?

But she just smiled for real and said, "Great. See you after French class."

It was a damned good thing there was no quiz in French class.

When we were done for the day, we left our stuff in our lockers. The park's just a few blocks down from the school, and it'd be easy to come back afterward.

Silverbrook is a sweet little nature center. I'd walked there a lot in the fall, enjoying the wooden bridges and the little patch of wilderness inside our busy suburb. I'd never come here with anyone else before, though. It felt different.

The trail through the evergreen clump was like a tunnel to another amazing world. We passed through it and on over the hill. The path down by the pond opened up like an oil painting, sleeping trees in early spring browns and grays, with barely a touch of green anywhere, all backed by the high, blue-gray arch of sky. It was so sharp, it hurt my heart, and I shivered.

"You're cold," Lia said. "I'm dumb. Those tights are amazing on you but they're not made for this weather."

"I don't care!" I said quickly. "I mean, I don't mind. Not right now." My face was hot enough, for sure.

"You are interested in girls, right? In me?" Lia caught my sleeve and turned to face me. "I haven't been reading it wrong?"

"Oh, no! Not wrong. I am," I said really fast, so she wouldn't worry. "I'm interested."

"Well, it's Valentine's Day. Now, I got some cards, but they were all, like 'Aliens invaded my brain and made me send you this.' You get any?"

I shook my head.

"So, you're single and I'm single." In a quick, graceful move she dropped to one knee on the paved path and pulled a rose out of her pocket. "Say you'll go out with me. Be my Valentine."

I stared at her, stared at the flower, remembered this morning, and flushed worse than ever. Oh god, oh hell, I did this so wrong. We were becoming friends, slowly, if I could have waited.

The sweet anticipation faded from her face as I struggled to speak. "Well, this is awkward. Sorry the flower is a little squished."

"Oh! No!" I kept saying that, like it would help. I took the rose and sniffed it, inhaling the bruised-petal scent. "It's lovely. No one ever..." I broke off, my throat so tight I couldn't get words through it.

She stood as gracefully as she'd knelt. "Sweetheart, don't cry. Okay? Whatever I did wrong—"

"Nothing. You did everything right. It's me who was wrong."

"Wrong how?"

"I made you do this." I sniffed and rubbed my hand over my eyes. I had to tell her and then she'd hate me and go away, and all I'd ever have would be the dried petals of this rose. I'd put them in my favorite book and when I opened it, in my lonely apartment somewhere, the scent would spill out and I'd remember how I could have had someone like Lia in my life if only...

She put a warm hand on my arm. "Whatever is spinning in your pretty head, would you share it already?"

"Pretty?"

She chuckled. "Yes. Like you don't know it." I sobbed and her smile faded. "Or maybe you don't. Amy, what's wrong?"

"I messed it all up. I'm so stupid."

"Valedictorian stupid. Right. Now tell me."

I couldn't say it. But I had to. Confession, right? Valentine's is close to Lent, and I know religious people do some Lent self-negation stuff, and I had a vague impression it might involve confession. It'd be fitting if I told her what I'd done, here beside the Lent-bare gray trees and the Mallard ducks floating self-satisfied on the cold water...

Her sigh was loud enough to startle me, and she waved a hand in front of my eyes. "Amy? Remember me?"

"I went to a witch," I said flatly.

"You what?" She giggled. "Seriously?"

"A real one." I was a little hurt by her tone. "I researched it. I did a statistical comparison of the positive and negative comments on the websites and eliminated the duplicates, ran them through the fake-review filter, and found the one with the best success rating."

"Of course you did, hon. Then what?"

I stared at the gray sky and said, "I asked her for a love potion."

"You what?" This time her tone was more alarmed.

I hurried to reassure her. "Not a big one, like permanent true love or anything. Not to take away free will. Just a notice-me-and-think-about-it potion. And here you are, and I really, really wish I hadn't."

"You don't want me?"

"I do! But I want it to be real."

She looked at me, her head tilted. She was so beautiful it hurt. "What did you do with the potion?"

"I put it in your coffee this morning." We both liked to stop at The Shack across from the school to grab a cup of coffee in the mornings to take to school. I'd always gulp mine down as I put my stuff in my locker and mentally prepared for homeroom. "I tried it out on myself first, two days ago, to be sure it wasn't poison or anything. I wouldn't hurt you. And it didn't do anything scary, or anything at all, really. So today, oh God, today I put a drop in your cup while you were paying for it. Just a drop. I'm so, so sorry."

"Well."

"I'll go now," I said wildly. "I'll change schools. I'll tell everyone what I did."

"Shut up." She took a grip on my fuzzy sleeve and pulled me closer. "Why would you do a thing like that?"

"Because I like you so much." Here, just inches from her, my voice could whisper out all the truth I hadn't ever shared. "Because I'm so lonely and you're so beautiful and I wanted just for a few days for you to think about me that way. I knew it wouldn't last, but I wanted that. But now it's ruined."

"You're beautiful too."

I shrugged that off. "I know what I look like. I should have just tried to be content the way things were."

"The way things were." Suddenly she kissed me, a little off center and fast, but right on the mouth, then pushed me away a few inches. I brought my hand to my lips in shock. "You want to know how things were? I bought that damned rose two days ago. I practiced my little speech. I lay awake for hours deciding whether to go on my knee or whether that would look too silly."

"You did?"

"I wrote a note to put in your locker. Then I tore it up. Then I wrote it again, and decided to put it in there tomorrow. I spent twenty minutes picking out this scarf. All before I ever saw you at The Shack this morning."

"Oh." That hit me in the stomach, until I doubled over. My heart was screaming. I could have had this for real, if I'd trusted her.

Her arm was suddenly warm around me, and she pulled me against her. "God, don't cry sweetheart. I'm not angry. Well, a bit. But mostly I'm happy that you like me that much, that way."

"For real?" I hid my face in my hands.

She took my wrists and pulled them down. "Yes. So, will you still go out with me?"

"You still want me to?"

"Looks like I do." Her smile reappeared, tugging the corner of her mouth upward. "I seem to have fallen for a crazy nerd."

"Oh, yes. Please. But tell me—" I didn't want to ruin this, but I needed to know. "How can you forgive me?"

"Well, it might take a kiss or two," she teased. "No, seriously, Amy, I know you. I know your foster parents barely notice you're there, I know your little sister is miles away in another home. I know you're shy and quiet and have no clue how stunning you are. So I can understand you thought you needed help."

"Oh." I didn't realize she saw me that clearly.

"Plus." She wrapped her arm higher around my shoulders, then turned me in toward her, in a cozy hug. "That wasn't my coffee."

"What?" I leaned back to meet her eyes, which were dancing in amusement. "But... you buy one every morning!"

"For Kevin. When he bounces his wheelchair up the curb he spills stuff, plus he's slow getting to class, so I bring him a coffee on my way to my locker."

"You never even drank it?"

"Nope." She hugged me in against her until I could feel the curve of her hip and the strength of her arms. "You hooked me all by yourself."

I could feel how wide my smile was. The joy took over my body and I felt light and free. I leaned forward and did what she had, brushing our lips together. I felt so bold, so brave, in that moment.

Then we both said together, "Kevin?"

Lia laughed. "Well, he's gay, so he's not going to fall in love with you. If it makes him get up the nerve to ask Donny for a date, that'd only be a good thing. But mostly, I think whatever you paid that witch is going to be wasted money. As long as you're sure it's harmless."

"I took it on the weekend and stayed in my room for two days. I documented my heart rate, temperature, respiration and other symptoms. I had to make sure it wouldn't hurt you."

"Of course you did." She kissed me again and this was better, softer and slower. It left the taste of her lingering on my lips. "Well, don't do it again. You don't need to, right?"

"Right," I agreed. "Absolutely never again, against anyone's free will. I've been feeling awful all day, ever since I did it. I hate myself."

"Hush. No hate. But I think you should kiss me some more, to make it up to me."

We were on a public path, even if few people were crazy enough to walk for pleasure in February. But she was everything I wanted, and I took her confidence for my own. "Sounds fair," I said. And kissed her.

####

# Through a Door, Darkly

photo description: in a narrow, unfinished space, between makeshift walls, two dark-haired boys kiss. The taller boy braces his arms on the wall, framing the smaller, who grips his elbows. There's a foot of space between them, and an air of tension in the grip of hand on elbow, and the angle of mouth on mouth. They both have their eyes closed.

Caleb paced as well as he could in the narrow space. Three steps forward, pivot, three steps back. The pressfiber walls brushed his shoulders. His nyla shorts swished against his thighs and his retro sneakers squeaked annoyingly. His wrist felt weird and light, with his trackband locked away in his room reading fake data.

Three steps. Pivot. Three steps. He counted them under his breath to keep his growing claustrophobia at bay. Owen was late. Which was scary, because Owen was never late. What if they found out? What if they're coming for us?

They'd done this once already, breaking the rules to meet here, the fifth day of his sequestration week. The second day of Owen's. It was forbidden, of course, to talk with anyone this week. They were supposed to keep to their rooms, or their private library infocubicles where all the information they could want to make a life-determining decision was theoretically at their fingertips.

Owen claimed the data was all massaged within an inch of its life, stacked cold, orchestrated to tell them whatever would steer them in the correct direction. Caleb was never sure if Owen was brilliant or just paranoid. Paranoid and late. Come on, Owen, it's our last chance. Three steps. Pivot.

He heard Owen before he saw him, a brush of soft-soled shoe against smooth concrete. It was enough for him to take a breath and plaster a calm expression on his face before Owen swung around the door-frame into the storage. "Oh, thank Krypton! You're still here."

Caleb started to tease Owen for taking the cartoon in vain but his words were swallowed in Owen's hard kiss. Owen pinned him against the wall, his mouth hot and eager. Caleb wasn't about to argue. He closed his eyes, put his hands on Owen's strong, wiry forearms, and let himself drown in the kiss. So, so good.

After a while, Owen had to break away for a few fast breaths. "Sorry. I was worried you wouldn't wait."

Caleb raised an eyebrow, aiming for skepticism. When had he ever not waited for Owen in the freaking last six years?

"Worried you wouldn't be able to wait," Owen clarified. "This is your last SW Day. I wasn't sure if they might be hanging around watching you."

"Not till tonight." Caleb's stomach cramped and he was glad he hadn't eaten any of his lunch.

"Of course." Owen moved closer, pulling Caleb against him. His arms were strong and comforting, and for a change, Caleb let himself just wallow in that. Owen kissed his neck, his ear, and then whispered, "Are you ready?"

"No. Not even slightly."

Owen hugged him tighter. "Are you..." He paused, tried again. "Have you changed your mind?"

"Have you?"

"No. But you know I meant it when I said it's your choice. Whatever you do, I'll do."

That's not fair! He didn't want Owen to put their future in his hands like that. Not when they both knew that if Owen was alone, if he didn't love Caleb almost as much as Caleb loved him, his path would be crystal clear. He'd made his decision years ago.

Ninety-nine point seven percent of guys opted for the safe and easy decision. The logical one. The contribute-to-modern-sane-society one. They'd take the amygdala-receptor-blockers, accept the anti-testosterone autoimmunostim, and leave their sequestration week a peaceful and productive member of the Greater Western Alliance. The City Mothers would welcome them, and all the benefits of high-tech modern life would be theirs.

But Owen had never planned to be one of them. Unless Caleb asked him to. Asked him to shut down part of who he was, so Caleb could stay safe.

He squeezed his eyes tighter and buried his face in Owen's neck. He had one more day— less than a day— he had a few hours to nerve himself up to leave the city forever and wait for Owen, or to take the Adult Transform, and then go out into the city and wait there, to try to sneak him a message and see if Owen would actually follow. "We shouldn't have to choose," he whispered, or maybe whined, against Owen's warm, familiar skin.

"Better than having them do it to every one of us by force, like Greater China does."

"Well, yeah." Caleb brushed his mouth over Owen's neck, feeling the rasp of light stubble against his lips. "I just wish we could trust what we think we know about Outside."

Owen raised a hand to cup the back of Caleb's head against him, and his voice took on the crisp, perfectly-unaccented tones of their favorite edu-vid narrator. "Life outside the cities has declined to nineteenth-century levels of tech. Death rates are high, illness sometimes goes untreated, work is physical, hard and unending..."

Caleb snorted. "And yet we're choosing it."

"Over tiny, predictable, constantly-supervised lives? Yeah. D'you know how many cameras and sensors I must've fritzed with the scrambler in the three corridors and the stairwell to get here? And that's just these maintenance levels."

Of course I know. Caleb knew more about tech than Owen did, even if it was Owen's contacts and money that had bought them the scramblers. But being watched didn't bug him the way it did Owen. City life had its downside—he wasn't crazy about a future of boring work and tight controls, and a bunch of laws governing every waking moment— but he could go either way.

Owen muttered, "There's a full detector system in every bathroom, 'in case there is a medical emergency'. There's probably a computer record somewhere of how many zits you have on your ass today."

Caleb opened his eyes. "I don't have zits on my ass."

"Wanna show me?" But Owen dropped the suggestive tone before he could take it further. "No time. Crud."

"And that's another thing." Caleb pushed him away and leaned on the opposite wall to put a foot of space between them. "Those recent reports said there were actual gay-bashings out there. That it's regressing into macho hetero land. It's not good if we make this choice together because we love each other, and then someone beats the crap out of us, because we love each other. If we stay, we can get married next week. Or, you know, whenever."

Owen shook his head. "I told you, the best info says that's exaggerated. There are twenty guys for every woman who leaves the city. If we're gay, we're not competition for those women. Mr. Lucas says that the City Mothers are just trying to keep gay guys inside, because we tend to be a good fit to the social matrix."

Caleb gritted his teeth. He hated when Owen quoted Mr. Lucas. If Outside was so wonderful, why wasn't Mr. Lucas there? In his mind, he knew health problems kept their teacher tied to a high-tech home. But in his heart, he wanted to shove the guy out the door to Outside first, like a test canary, and reel him back in later for a firsthand report, before gambling Owen's future on this. And his own.

"It might not be forever," Owen said softly. "We can petition to return."

"Yeah. If they let us in. With penalties and augmented testosterone-blockers and end up taking Vigora each time we want to get it up for the rest of our lives."

Owen's blue eyes were steady and sorrowful. "I wish there was an in between..." The buzzer in Caleb's pocket went off. "Crap. Shards! It's late. We have to go back."

Caleb dove into his arms. Too late for fighting, arguing, second thoughts. Too late for anything except this— the feel of Owen's arms, the live heat of his body and the wetness of his mouth, the force of a kiss so hard that Caleb could only hang on and go with it. He closed his eyes and put all he was into the kiss. Owen pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth. "You choose."

Caleb broke free, panting. In the end, under Owen's hopeful, painful gaze, there was only one choice. "I'll see you Outside," he said. Then he ran, away from his lover and the tight wooden hiding place and his last chance and choice, toward the rooms where his clothes would be waiting.

He let himself through the access hatch with the illegal code key Owen had given him a week before. It got him through a second hatch and then a service door. He slipped it into his pocket, switched off the monitoring-scrambler device in there as he did so, and began to walk down the corridor like he'd just been to the library cubicle.

The door of his bedroom opened silently and he locked it behind him. There was no sign anyone had been snooping. He opened the drawer, reset his trackband, and put it back on his wrist. The scrambler and key burned a hole in his pocket, but he had to believe Owen when he said they were untraceable, couldn't be connected to Owen or his friends, would be retrieved. He slipped out of his clothes and bundled them up with the devices inside. Owen's planning had been sharp so far. Probably the cleaner would collect them as promised. Either way, he'd be long gone.

In his closet, the two outfits awaited him. He pulled each one out and laid them on the bed. A slick new tracksuit and silk shirt for city life, or rough jeans, natucotton shirt, and padded jacket, sturdy enough for Outside.

He was athletic, and six years of tagging along in Owen's obsessed wake had pushed him into top shape. Sure, he loved running and climbing too. He'd gloried in the fact that he and Owen had been the only two in his high school pod to make it to the top of the cliff-climb on their senior trip. He'd prepared for Outside. But he liked his city toys. He loved soft body-stretch fabrics and conditioned air, new tech and cruising the Infonet. It was Owen who'd had his eyes fixed on the Outside since they were kids, while Caleb had always gone both ways.

If only he'd been born younger than Owen, instead of three days older... If only it'd been Owen who had to choose first. He could follow Owen Outside, but could he lead the way there? Should he? Would Owen maybe even do better in the wilds without him?

He stood for a long time, staring at the bed, until another soft alarm-sound forced him to reach out. His hand slid across fabrics, soft, harsh, cotton-tough, silk-smooth. And he chose.

***

Owen paced his tiny room three days later. He could do a circuit, though he'd had to put his chair up on the desk to make it possible. Nine steps took him around the room. And around, faster, faster, until he found some relief from the whirling of his thoughts in the whirling of his head. Only a few more minutes and he'd stand before the Arbiter and make his choice, and be shown through the door.

It'd never been difficult decision for him. He was a climber, a scrapper, unable to hold still, addicted to the adrenaline highs of whatever extreme sport he could manage to find. He'd been wearing jeans for days now, announcing his choice to anyone who asked. He was going Outside. But the thing that had him pacing, sick and dizzy and cold in his gut, was whether he'd find Caleb out there. Despite that last promise, he knew Caleb had doubts.

If only he could look up what Caleb's choice had been. But they wouldn't tell. It was all part of the government's policy of infoflow. Whoever controls the database, controls the people. Men were much less likely to choose Outside when they were no longer allowed to do so in groups. If the risky decision had to be made by you and for you alone... well, it was no wonder that most guys stayed with the safe and familiar.

They wouldn't tell him where Caleb was now. Not until he came out of sequestration himself on the other side.

What if he chose wrong? What if Caleb had gotten sick, or scared, and opted for the city? What if he'd been persuaded by his sister's recorded messages of love and support and you'll-be-welcome-home-forever-after-your-shots? What if he'd been coerced? Caleb was scary smart. The city probably didn't want to lose him. Owen figured they weren't putting in a big effort on his own behalf. Despite his family's wealth, they'd probably breathe easier with him Outside, truth be told. And his sister wasn't a Council aide. But Caleb's was.

If Caleb had changed his mind, he'd have gotten word to Owen somehow, though. Wouldn't he? Caleb was brilliant enough to manage it, despite the rules. He wouldn't just let Owen walk through those doors alone... Even if he thought it was for your own good? Even if he knew you'd stay in here with him, and maybe hate him afterward, for that choice?

He tugged at his hair, welcoming the pinch of pain. Thing was, he'd thought about doing that to Caleb. Saying he'd stay, so Caleb would pick safety, then leaving instead. Leaving him behind where he'd maybe be happier. Would Caleb have done it in reverse?

Or what if he did go Outside and something happened to him? What if he hates me?

No answers. No good answers. He paced faster, almost running

There was a chime and the door opened. "Ready, Owen?" The monitor's brow creased in a frown. "I see you are. Are you sure? Last chance to change your mind."

Owen bit his cheek hard enough to taste blood. Go big, or go home. "I'm sure."

"Follow me, then."

There was a line of young men in the anteroom. Owen took his place, noting that he was the only one dressed for Outside. The guys ahead of and behind him drew back slightly, as if afraid his decision might contaminate them.

In turn they stepped forward and spoke their choice to the Arbiter aloud. The boys who were staying in the city rolled up a sleeve, to accept the hissing injection of the nanobots and immune stimulators that would forever alter their brain chemistry. Once it was done, one or more of their female family members came forward to hug and congratulate them on joining the low-aggression society of the future. They left the room, chatting, smiling, while inside them, the medical miracle of male-aggression-syndrome blockers began to take effect.

When it was Owen's turn, he stepped toward the med team and the Arbiter.

"You've chosen to leave us?" The Arbiter's voice was emotionless. Even at a point-three percent departure rate, he was clearly old enough to have seen a lot of teen boys go through the Outside door.

"Yes, sir." He wondered if he'd get another lecture, another attempt at persuasion. But apparently, if you got this far, they figured you were hopeless. The Arbiter waved him right, instead of left. As he crossed toward the marked door, his sister came out of the audience to him. He stopped.

Alia looked at him for a minute. "You're really doing it."

"Are you surprised?"

"Not a bit." She hugged him hard. For a second, he buried his face in her hair and almost changed his mind. She was ten years older, and had raised him through his teens. Unless he changed his mind and accepted Fixing, or she braved the red tape and dangers of Outside, this might be their last time face to face. He breathed in the vanilla and rosewater scent of her. And let go.

She stepped away from him. "Good luck, Owen. I know you'll do well. Let me know, if you can."

"I will." He had to ask. "Do you know, did Caleb get in touch at all?" If he'd changed his mind and stayed in the city, surely he'd have asked Alia to get word to him. Unless he was ashamed. Or coerced.

She shook her head.

"Okay. Take care, then, sis. Don't keep feeding that guy Rogi unless he gets himself a job." Her boyfriend was a bit of a deadbeat, and while money wasn't an issue, she deserved better. Owen wished he could have stood the thought of staying to help her. His throat ached.

"You live your own life. I can handle mine." She gave him a misty smile. "Give my love to Caleb."

There was certainty in her eyes and it helped. Owen tried to remember that, rather than the worry of Caleb's gaze in that storage closet. He turned and let them open the white door, and close it behind him.

Getting Outside wasn't a matter of just one door, of course. There was a hallway, a little shuttle-pod, and then a staging room. The guy there looked pleased to see Owen. It was probably a damned boring job, most days.

Owen had to ask, "So, did you let anyone else Outside recently?"

The guy just grinned without answering. He took Owen's trackband and got Owen his pack of supplies, enough equipment to survive Outside for a while. Owen hefted the pack and slung it on his back. The weight was comforting, but his wrist felt naked. He told himself the flutter in his stomach was excitement.

The guy said, "Now, you'll want to get away from the door fast. There's some deadbeats from Outside who hang around, waiting for the newbies. Soon as you get out of the range of the cameras, they'll grab your gear, if you let them."

"I thought there were, um, police patrols out there."

"Sure. They have police, but some can be bribed to look the other way. It's a much rougher world."

Owen unslung the pack, rummaged in it, and found the regulation knife. Eight inches of stainless steel blade. He repacked the rest and kept the blade in hand. The guy nodded. "You look like you can use that."

"I've practiced." He had, ever since he'd known what his choice would be. He'd made Caleb practice too, but Caleb wasn't as good. He was fast, but he always held back. Owen had a rush of nausea. What if Caleb had made this choice and then someone jumped him outside the door? What if he was already dead? Why in hell hadn't Caleb safely been the younger one? "Let me out. Now!"

"Keep your shorts on." The guy unlocked the inner airlock door and Owen stepped through fast. The door closed behind him. For a moment, as he stood there trapped between the thick metal blast-doors, he had a flash of claustrophobia. What if the worst of the conspiracy nuts were right? What if instead of a real Outside, they just gassed everyone stubborn and recalcitrant enough to take it this far?

Then the outer lock opened.

It was night Outside. The lights of the city behind him were bright, up behind the high walls, but ahead the darkness closed in. It was cold too, and Owen shivered in his jacket. He'd researched carefully, and known it would be near freezing at this time of year. He'd deliberately spent as much time out in parks and open spaces as he could in the city, for years now, but this felt colder somehow.

There was a lighted path, moving away from the Wall. Owen debated whether to follow it or strike out away from it. If there were robbers waiting, they'd probably expect newbies to stick to the path. But that was also the logical place to find Caleb. In the end, he set out parallel to it, making his way as quietly as he could through the brush, ears and eyes tuned to the sign of other people.

He'd gone less than three hundred meters when someone said in his ear, "No further." The order was enforced by the touch of steel against his neck. He froze, knees shaking, cursing internally. So much for his pride, and his preparations. And Caleb would've been worse off.

As steadily as he could, he said, "What now?"

"Now you hand me that knife and head to the path. Go into the light." The man behind him snorted in amusement.

Owen held his right hand out and the hilt was taken from his fingers. He began walking slowly toward the path. At least the guy hadn't hurt him yet, so maybe Caleb was all right. Maybe... As they hit the path, he felt a rough hand grab his ass-cheek.

"Nice butt. Are you gay or straight?"

"Celibate," he choked out, jumping away from the touch.

The man laughed. "Ain't none of us that out here, boy. Keep walking."

The path wound through the trees for almost a klick. The guy didn't manhandle him again, but whenever Owen tried to pause or look back, he got a sharp poke and a "Keep going." Eventually they came to a small building, constructed out of real wood. There was a single window with yellow light streaming out and the door stood ajar. "Go on in," he was ordered.

Cautiously, Owen stepped through the doorway. The front room was full of men. They were all dressed warmly but roughly, and all had beards and long hair. Three lounged on crudely-built wooden chairs while another four sat on the floor, playing cards. They all looked up as he entered, and the biggest man unfolded his legs and got up off the floor to loom over Owen.

"Hey. You caught one." He peered at Owen, who tried to stand tall and look unimpressed.

"He came right to mama." The man behind squeezed in past Owen, sheathing a short knife as he did so. "Wasn't doing too badly though. He was walking quiet and off the path, at least."

"Hm." The tall man took Owen's chin in his rough fingers. "What's your name, boy?"

Owen shook his touch off, although not hard. "Owen, sir," he said, aiming for deference but not fear. "What's yours?"

The man gave a shout of laughter. "I like you. I'm Eric. You can call me Boss."

"Boss of what?"

"Of this crew." He waved a hand at the other men, a couple of whom gave toothy grins. "Which you may, just may, be invited to join." He nodded to one of the seated men. "Check his pack."

Owen didn't protest as the pack was lifted from his shoulders. None of that mattered right now. He swallowed, tried to choose his words carefully. "I'm looking for someone."

"Out here?'

"Yes."

The man with his pack interrupted to say, "Standard supplies, Boss, except they're skimping on the antivirals again. He's got three doses."

"Bastards," Eric said. "Well, divvy it up like usual."

Owen looked away, refusing to get distracted by the sight of his supplies being split up and packed away. "This guy I'm looking for. He's young, like me. A newbie. He'd have come Outside three days ago."

"Three days?"

"Yes." Owen's heart was pounding. "Have you seen him?"

Eric shook his head. "Hey, Gulliver. Who was on the Door three days ago?"

A short stocky man glanced up from the cards. "Kane's crew had last week."

Owen gritted his teeth. "What does that mean?"

Eric patted his cheek with a sharp little slap. "Pushy boy. The weeks get divvied up, from crew to crew. Recruiting and supplies. It's a gamble, you know. Waste a week and a lot of times no one comes out. But sometimes a newbie appears like manna from heaven. Or at least, like a med kit and fresh meat."

"You need the med kits?" He didn't want to think about the "meat" comment. The meal packs had vat-meat. He hoped that was all they meant.

"Yep. Some of that crap's real expensive to trade for. They set you babies up pretty well when they push the chicks out of the nest. Although they're starting to short you on some of the good stuff. Or someone's skimming it at the door. Who knows? The effect's the same."

"Look," Owen said desperately, "I'll give you my pack—everything in it—if you help me find my friend. He'd have come through on Thursday. He's about my size, a little shorter, skinny, dark hair."

A blond man laughed. "You don't need to describe him. Not like a lot of newbies come prancing out the Door these days."

Eric said, "Kid, we already have your pack."

"Please."

"If he came through on Kane's week, they'll have him in their crew. He'll be fine. They're a rough bunch, but not slavers. I'll send word you're looking."

"I need to see him." To be sure he's all right. To know I didn't kill him with my damned insistence on taking this path.

Eric's eyes narrowed. "Boyfriend?"

Owen jerked his chin up. If these guys were homophobic backsliders, it might be wrong to admit it. But he remembered the grab on his ass. "Yes."

"Hm." Eric smiled, and then licked his lips slowly. "What will you do for me, if I go looking? Cute kid like you?"

Owen swallowed.

The blond guy said, "Give it a rest, Boss, or I'll cut your bossy balls off." He stood and draped his arm over Eric's shoulders. "I'm this guy's partner in every sense. Don't worry. He won't touch you. He's mine. But Kane might not want to give up your boy."

"He'll have Caleb's supplies. What else would he want?" The sympathetic look in the blond man's eyes made Owen feel sick. "No."

"Listen, don't panic." The blond slapped his arm. "Kane's okay, mostly. And that crew has a couple of wives who rule the guys with an iron hand. Just... sometimes they slip a bit, away from home. We'll send someone to inquire."

"Maybe they'd trade?" He glanced towards his empty pack, realizing how little he had. "Maybe me for him, if I have to? You could ask?"

Eric said, "You'd do that?"

"To keep Caleb safe? Sure."

"What makes you think we're any better than them?"

The blond punched Eric in the ribs, hard enough to make him grunt softly. "I swear, quit teasing the kid. We'll go hunting wild dogs or something, as soon as our week is up, and you can kill something then. Work off the testosterone." He turned to Owen. "The crews do vary. Slavery's illegal but some of them don't care. You got lucky here."

"So I could leave, if I want to?"

"Sure. Without most of your gear, 'cause that's how the world works. But we'd let you keep your boots, which is more than Kane's crew would."

"Sounds like if I walk out, I starve?"

"Depends on how good you can live off the land." The blond grinned. "Or you could stick with us. We're mostly the good guys, other than Moose over there." He waved at a heavyset man who flipped him off, and there was some good-natured hooting and pushing. "I'm Dave, by the way. Anyhow, Kane's is far from the worst. Most likely, if they keep your boy, it won't be for anything worse than his labor. If he works hard, they'll keep feeding him."

"Then what can we do? Rescue him?"

Eric shook his head. "Not worth a fight."

"To you!" Owen glanced toward the door, wondering if he could make a run. And find this Kane somehow. And rescue Caleb singlehanded. Shit. "How can I persuade you?" He'd drop to his knees for this guy, if that was what it took, but he wasn't sure that was a good idea.

"What's special about this newbie? Why should we bother?" Eric bent to undo his boots, like the answer didn't matter much.

"He's smart. Genius smart. He can fix or repurpose just about anything and he's been researching old tech, learned it inside and out."

"Not much tech out here."

"So you must want to keep what there is running, right? Caleb's an ace at that." It was the skill he'd worked on, to give him a way to earn a living out here, though it was hard to know what would be in demand.

Eric tossed his boots under one of the beds. "Keep talking."

"He's a good guy. Won't pick fights, won't slack out of his work." What else? Caleb's deep curiosity, his sweetness, his good heart, weren't likely to be selling points out here. "Keeps his word."

"Sounds like a superhero."

"Maybe a short, skinny one. He's not going to leap tall buildings." He went for a little flattery. "But a smart guy like you must know how useful real brains and common sense are."

"Uncommon sense," Eric said. "Especially if he's a cityscape kid. You know, half of all the newbies are back at the gate within a year, begging to be neutered and let back inside."

"Do many get in?" It seemed unlikely, or there'd be better Outside data.

"Nah, one in a million. They all figure they're special. Doesn't happen. This wouldn't be the boogey monster Outside if there was a way back, would it?"

"I guess."

"Some of those guys never quit being deadweight. Or dead meat. Why should we waste time on someone who won't stick? Hell, you might not stick yourself."

"I will. I'll swear to it. So will he, if you rescue him. Ten years. Whatever you need."

"Maybe he's fine with Kane. You think of that?"

"Not without me." He said it without thinking, then blushed.

Gulliver said, "Aww, baby sweethearts. Makes me puke."

Eric glanced at him. "Just 'cause you ain't got laid in a month."

Dave laughed. Owen decided this was the time for begging. He slid to his knees. "Please. I'll do anything."

"Hell, get up, kid." Dave pulled on his arm, dragging him to his feet. "You baby gays break my heart."

"Please. At least help me try to rescue him."

Eric shook his head. "Not letting you blunder in, wrecking our peace with Kane." He came over and gripped Owen's chin with rough fingers, staring into his eyes. Owen tried to look back calmly, not afraid, not angry. Eventually Eric let go and patted his cheek, hard enough to sting, then moved away. "Right."

"Right what?"

"We'd have to trade for him. Less risk. Can't start a feud."

"But... if I don't have my pack, I have nothing to trade. Except me." Which would put them in different places again, although he'd feel better if Caleb was with these guys. Probably. If they weren't lying. He rubbed his forehead.

Dave put an arm around Owen's shoulders and stared at Eric. After a while the crew boss sighed. "Now what, Dave. You want to keep 'em as pets?"

"They'll work hard," Dave said. "Won't you, kid?"

"Sure! Anything."

"I've got a good feeling about this one."

Eric sighed again. "Well, keep that good feeling above the waist, or I'll cut your balls off. All right. Lucas?"

The man who'd captured Owen said, "Yeah?"

"You do it. Take the kid's knife, the rope and fishing stuff, most of the ready meals."

Dave said, "You think that'll be enough?"

"Ah, mother. All right, take one of the antivirals too. But keep it in reserve. Buy the kid for us. And take this one along to make sure you're getting the right guy. Gulliver, Corby, go as security." He waved at the door. "And David, how about we take a walk down to the stream and you thank me real enthusiastically?"

Dave laughed. "Go on, kid. Stick close to Lucas. I'll keep this guy happy."

Lucas hefted a cloth bag and gestured to Owen. "Come on, kid. Time for a lesson on the way things work around here."

***

Caleb sat in the dark, flexing his fingers, unable to sleep despite the long, hard day. His hands ached, his empty stomach growled, and his chest hurt. All he could think of was that today, Owen would've walked through the Door and probably right into the arms of waiting men, just like Caleb had. Different men, even though he'd begged these guys to wait one more day for Owen. Pleaded until they'd gotten tired of his asking and gagged him. Apparently there was a rule. They'd walked hours away from the Door before stopping for the night. He didn't know the way back. He might never see Owen again.

His eyes prickled with tears, and he squeezed them shut. Never give up. That'd always been Owen's motto, but he was adopting it, as of now. Owen was good at outdoor stuff. Maybe he'd escaped his welcoming committee and was even now looking for Caleb. Or maybe he'd get his own chance to get loose and go find Owen. He rubbed his wrists where the dirty, frayed ropes dug in tight, and flexed his fingers again.

Three days of peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots and tools and cleaning muddy boots had left his fingers raw. His mouth still tasted of the dirty rag they'd used as a gag. Although it was gone now, they hadn't given him water tonight and his tongue was thick and dry. But it could've been much worse. He'd caught a couple of the men looking at him, sideways and hungrily. But the Boss had growled at them not to touch the kid if they wanted to come home with the crew, and no one had. He was cold, sore, and hungry, but nothing more.

He'd tried to sell them on his tech skills. They had a few devices, some lights and at least one wrist com. He'd offered to fix anything broken, if they'd give him a chance to show them. But they'd laughed and handed him more potatoes.

The door to his shed banged open. Caleb jumped and fought the temptation to curl up in a ball. The shape of the man filling the doorway was already familiar. Pete was the biggest guy in the crew, and also the quietest, hard to read. Caleb thought he wasn't very smart, but Kane seemed to trust him with prisoner control. Of course, given that Caleb was the only prisoner at the moment, it wasn't a very demanding job.

Pete came over, bent and untied his wrist-rope from the post, holding the end. Caleb froze, torn between relief and fear. He'd never been let loose after dark before. "What's going on?"

"Shut up. Stand up."

Caleb obeyed. His left foot tingled with pins and needles and he stamped it, wincing as the rough gravel bit into his bare skin. His new boots had fit one of the other guys.

"Go ahead of me."

His heart beating fast, mouth cotton-dry, Caleb limped over and out the shed door with Pete's bulk close behind. There was a man standing in the clearing holding a powerful flashlight trained towards them. Caleb couldn't make out any details beyond the blinding light. He had the impression of a couple of other guys, further in the shadows. All the stories about slavers and organ-sellers that they'd discounted came leaping to mind. The beam of the light swept over him, dazzling his eyes, and he flinched.

Kane stood to his left, facing the newcomers. "You seriously want to bid on this kid? He's not that pretty."

The stranger said, "Pretty enough that Ellie won't be happy if you bring him home with you."

"He peels potatoes okay. She'll appreciate the help."

The stranger said, "Sure. So, kid, is this the guy?"

Caleb said nothing, confused. Then he heard Owen's voice at the stranger's shoulder. "Yes, it is."

Caleb lunged forward and was brought up short by Pete's tug on the rope. "Owen!"

Owen's tone was disdainfully cool in response. "He's kinda skinny but he could be worth keeping. Worth something anyway. If they want a trade."

Caleb gasped a painful breath. Owen? He wanted to run over, wanted to cry, wanted to know why Owen just stood there, behind the light, sneering at him. All he could do was keep quiet and wait.

Kane said, "What's your offer.?"

"Our kid says he knows him, he's a decent worker. We lost a couple of guys last year so we're short. We'll give you our newbie's knife, a couple fishhooks, and the nylon rope for your kid." The stranger seemed barely interested. Caleb could only hope that was a ploy.

Kane snorted. "He's worth more than that."

"Black market back in town, yeah. But Captain Rufus is getting good at tracking down slave deals. He might make you cut the kid loose before you can try to sell him, or shoot you after. Why not turn a profit now, while you can?"

"For that kind of crap offer? I'll take my chances."

The stranger pulled out something silver, that caught the torchlight. "We'll toss in a couple of ready-meals. Our boy came through with the beef stew. How long since you had vat-grown beef?"

"Our kid had the chick'n," Kane said in a grudging voice. "Crap. It's still not worth it."

The stranger shrugged, the pack glinting in his hand. "I'm not authorized to go higher. We don't need the extra hands that badly. Maybe if Rufus rescues him in town, he'll throw his lot in with us for free." He turned away, moving the light off Caleb's face. Through the bright blue afterimages, Caleb strained for a glimpse of Owen. All he could make out were moving shadows.

Don't go! Don't leave me here! He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out.

"Wait." Kane made a sound like a growl. "Feckit. All right. The knife, the nylon rope and the tenselon cord, fishhooks, all the meals. You get the kid."

"Deal." The stranger stuffed the silver mealpak into a big bag and tossed the bag at Pete's feet.

"Check it," Kane ordered.

Pete didn't let go of the rope around Caleb's wrists as he bent to the bag. Eventually he said, "All here, boss."

"Let him go."

Pete dropped the rope and gave him a shove. Caleb's first step was tentative, stumbling, stubbing his bare toes. His next was faster. The last three he ran. Then Owen's arms were around him, sturdy body against his. He smelled Owen's familiar skin and sweat. Owen pushed him off a bit, fumbling with his wrists.

"Damn," Owen muttered, his voice hoarse. "I can't see..."

The man said, "We'll worry about that later, kid. Come on now, back away from the stationhouse slowly." The big light snapped off, leaving a faint glow from one of the other guys' handheld.

Caleb let Owen guide him into the darkness with an arm around his shoulders, not caring about anything, even when a boot landed on his toes. He was out and free, and Owen wasn't letting go. I hope it's not just another dream. The pain in his foot was reassuring.

After a few minutes they stopped and the stranger turned the big light onto the ground. It was enough illumination to show Caleb their faces, but there was only one he wanted to see. He turned in Owen's arm to meet his gaze.

Owen put a hand on Caleb's cheek. "Ah, thank Krypton and all the druids."

Caleb's laugh bubbled free, crazily. "You're such a freak."

"You're one to talk."

Out of the darkness, the stranger said, "We've got a bunch of walking yet to do, and there's always work tomorrow. Get him loose quick."

"Knife?" Owen asked.

"We don't cut ropes, kid, even crap ones like that. Untie it."

"Right." Owen bent, fumbling with the cord at Caleb's wrists. Eventually the knots came free. Owen tossed the rope to one of the men, then, as Caleb rubbed sore his wrists, Owen dropped to his knees.

"What?" Caleb stared down at him.

"Socks." Owen pulled his boots and socks off. "Pity your feet are bigger than mine, but these'll help. Put a hand on my shoulder."

Caleb's eyes stung as he watched Owen touch his feet gently, picking off bits of grass, sliding those thick socks over his cold toes. Owen's shoulder under his hand was an anchor, keeping him from flying out of his head.

"There." Owen tugged Caleb's pants leg down over the second sock, then fumbled his own boots back on.

"Those boots'll rub you without socks." His voice sounded shockingly normal in his own ears.

"Don't care." Owen bounced to his feet.

The tallest guy said, "We need to get going. Owen, kid, kiss your boy now, then let's move."

Caleb closed his eyes and took a deep, free breath. Then Owen's mouth on his proved Owen could sometimes follow orders. His kiss was sweet, then hungry, so welcome, too short.

"Time, kid. Move it."

They broke apart. Caleb swayed, suddenly disoriented. Owen took his hand, giving him a tug as the men headed out. Caleb fell in close beside him. Willingly following Owen— as he always had— into their new life.

####

# Expectations

photo description: Above the surface of the water, her shoulders rise, human and lovely, smooth-skinned and rounded. She has the face of a romance heroine, framed by long dark curls. Below the water's surface, her arm becomes angular and thin, with a claw-tipped hand. Her submerged torso narrows into a whip-muscled body and scaled tail, all fins and flukes and snakey length. Beside her, fully under the surface, another of her kind shows a narrow blunt snout full of teeth, small deep-set eyes, and no humanity at all.

The setting sunlight lay on the water like melted gold. The beach was totally deserted. No one else was dumb enough to hang out beside the ocean in the freezing wind, with night coming on, but it suited my mood.

The jetty where I sat was a shadowed, blocky tumble of broken concrete, huge and cold and hard underneath me. Indifferent, like the rest of my world. It seemed fitting. Yeah, that's kind of emo for a guy who's almost seventeen, but it'd been a bad year. I laid my palms on the rough stone on either side of me and pushed experimentally. The denim of my jeans rasped forward across the broken surface.

A little more and I'd fall. As the sun sank lower, the water below me faded from gold to black, a restless inky liquid, winter's ice barely melted. Deep and full of rocks – I'd only have to make the choice once, and it would be over.

"Hey!" A woman's voice made me jump, and my face went hot. I hate being caught unguarded. I snapped my head around but the beach was still empty and silent. Stupid. Just my own damned fear talking. It won't be bad. It'll be over quick. I turned back to the sea, but the voice spoke again sharply. "Don't you dare jump!" I stared down, seven feet to the waves below. What the fuck? I could just make out the shape of a naked girl in the water. She clung to one of the rocks, bobbing slightly in the swells, long hair around her shoulders, seeming unworried by the tide, and the depth... and the cold! She'd freeze in minutes down there!

"Jesus!" I jumped to my feet and almost fell in, now I didn't want to. "What happened? Let me get someone to help you!" I ran back toward shore. Behind me, she said something I didn't catch.

I sprinted over the tumbled blocks, my damp sneakers rubbing on my heels. Fifty feet up the beach, breath rasping in my throat, I dialed 911. I gasped out something incoherent about a girl fallen in off the pier. The nearest house was fancy, with a big wooden deck. Pounding up the stairs, I hammered on the back door, and...

Well, that was the start of the most humiliating evening of my life. They all came, of course. Fire and cops and Coast Guard rescue. They brought lights and ropes and searched. And found nothing. No grateful hypothermic victim, no dead body, no laughing practical joker in a wet-suit. Nothing.

They questioned me over and over. "Tell us again, Rick. She was in the water down there?"

"Yes."

"Not yelling for help?"

"Well... no. She spoke to me."

"What did she look like? You didn't recognize her? What was she wearing? What do you mean she was naked? Why did you run off and leave her? Are you sure she was alive? Are you sure it wasn't floating weeds or debris? What do you mean, 'She had a strong voice?' What've you had to drink today, kid? What're you on?"

Eventually they packed up, eyeing me sideways. It was still quite possible for her body to have floated away. She might wash up on a beach somewhere, those dark eyes shut, long hair full of seaweed. Or I might be crazy. Or I could be some no-good teen boy playing some nasty tax-money-wasting game. I think opinions were evenly split.

Mom was there by then, and she made me come home and have something warm to drink and go to bed. My familiar life seemed unreal, walking beside her to the house, hearing this neighbor or that one call a comment to each other. It felt like walking on one of those glass bridges in the big mall in town, where there are these people below, living their lives, and you watch and don't touch. I stood in the kitchen, shivering, still clutching my jacket around me.

But Mom hugged me. First time in months. "What were you doing, Rick? Why were you out there? It's so cold..."

I lied, "I wanted to watch the sun set over the water. It's worth the chill, to see something spectacular like that."

"Oh." She blinked. She's practical, not romantic. Sometimes she looks at me like the stork must have delivered the wrong baby. "Well, you should get some rest. That poor girl. Her poor mother. I hope they find her."

At least she believed me. I gave her a hug back, surprised by how I suddenly was grateful for her. "Yeah. Thanks, Mom."

All that night I tossed and turned, wondering if I was crazy. Well, other than the seriously-thinking-about-jumping-in crazy. Somehow, hunting for a possibly dead girl for hours had brought home what I'd almost done. Instead of standing beside Mom, watching the search, that might have been my body out there, and Mom waiting for word of her only child.

God, it still hurt to be me— and worse ever since I told Kelsey that I thought sex was kind of gross, when you look at it objectively. Don't know why I let that slip out. Just... I was sick of pretending to enjoy the invasion of her tongue in my mouth. Tired of acting all worked up, then pretending I was holding back out of respect. She already made fun of me for that.

If she was going to laugh and push at my limits, and call me "Dickless Rick" anyway, why not just tell the truth? I don't want to have sex with her. Well, the new jokes and the whispers and the fag sneers were why. Worse almost, because I didn't want to kiss a boy either. My mother said, "You haven't met the right kind of girl yet," and signed me up for college prep classes. Why can't people let other people be? Why do they pile on, and pile on, stupid messages, memes, comments, looks? I was sick of it.

But that night a new curiosity tugged at me. And an odd kind of shame. When I got up and went down to the beach the next morning in the gray early light, I wasn't thinking about jumping.

There were a few cops down there by the pier already. I could see them walking the shore and peering off the jetty. Someone had believed me enough to come back for a daylight search. I backed away, and went for a run instead.

When I'd run as long and hard as my legs were willing to go, I went home, showered, and headed over to the diner. Our town is small. If the searchers had found anything, the word would've spread in minutes. Miss Andi greeted me with a sideways glance, but just said, "Your usual, Ricky?"

"Yeah. Thanks." She'd called me Ricky for years, and always would. Better then Feeble Fred or Sicko Ricko or any of the oh-so-funny names I was getting lately. I slid into a booth and she brought me breakfast.

I ate slowly, listening to the gossip around me. Someone was getting a divorce. Someone else had been conned out of money by an Internet scam. But through two coffees, and three donuts, and a plate of bacon and eggs, no one announced a drowned girl on the beach. Eventually I couldn't stand it anymore and headed out.

I meant to go home. I had practice college essays to write. But somehow I ended up at the beach instead. It was colder than ever, a blustery wind scouring the bare sands. All the searchers had clearly gone home. I tugged my jacket closer around me and walked out along the pier. At the end, I stood and stared down into the water. In the daylight, I could see how impossible my odd vision had been. That rough water would kill a naked girl in minutes. In seconds. A hard shiver rocked me. I must have gone a bit crazy. I must have been insane!

I don't know how long I stood there. Long enough to have my feet turn to ice. Then I flinched, my heart in my throat, as a dark shape loomed in the depths below me. Oh, God. Her body. I thought I could see the swirl of hair in the eddies. I bit my fist so as not to make a sound.

Then her head broke the surface, eyes bright and alive. "You again!"

"Me? What about you?" I sputtered. "What the hell are you?"

Her smile was wicked and sharp, her uptilted eyes glittered with it. "I'm your imagination. Your dreams. Your desires."

"Screw that," I said. "I have never once dreamed about a naked girl."

Something odd passed over her face. "Never?"

I shook my head. "Or a naked guy." I'm not sure why I felt like that needed to be said, but it came out without hesitation.

"Are you ill?"

"No!" That came out loud. There's nothing sick about not wanting sex.

"Then why were you going to jump in?"

"I... what?" I could tell my face was flushed again. My pale skin is a curse. "I didn't."

"Because I stopped you. You might have."

"This is nuts." My knees suddenly wouldn't hold me, and I sat down hard on the stone. "I'm arguing with a naked, um, mermaid?"

She rose a little higher out of the water, enough for me to see one slim shoulder lift in a shrug. "Your word, not mine."

"What are you, then?" I'd given up any idea she could be human, playing a joke. There wasn't a goosebump on that smooth, wet skin, not a shiver, and her lips were red, not blue with chill. Either she was something other, or I was headed for a straight-jacket and institutional Jell-O.

She said a word that sounded like a wave on rocks.

"Creeishta?" I tried, although in my voice it sounded like a bad role-play name.

She laughed. Her chuckle was deep and amused, and oddly dangerous. "Close enough."

"Is that your name?"

"It's what I am."

I rubbed my face, then my eyes, hard. She still bobbed there, icy surf slipping over her bare arms in a wash of silver bubbles. "Why? How...?" I couldn't find words. "I've never heard of anything like you."

"And you should not have."

"Then why are you here? Why did you talk to me last night?"

"You were thinking about jumping. I could tell. It's my job to prevent that, if I can."

"Your job?"

"As a Guardian of the shore."

"You keep people from going into the water?"

"I try to keep people from choosing the water as a way to die."

"Why?"

She smiled at me. She was lovely, sleek, slender, the curve of the tops of her breasts sometimes shaping the flow of water. I could tell that most straight guys would want to fall into her arms, not run from them. But there was a sharpness to her teeth I more felt than saw, a hunger in her eyes that did not make me want any body part near her, even if I'd liked that kind of thing. She said, "The young are hatching. It's not good for their first meal to be human flesh."

"I... what?"

But before the second word was out, she'd slipped beneath the water. Her shape was distorted by the ripples of the surface, seeming to grow and change as she sank from view and was gone.

I waited and waited, but she didn't surface. Eventually, I went home, went to bed, and hid under the covers. A couple of hours later, I woke with my head thumping like a drum, my nose running snot, and every bone in my body aching. The flu really and truly sucked. For days, I had no energy except to moan about how miserable I was. By the time I went back to school two weeks later, Kelsey had a new boyfriend, and I'd half convinced myself I had a hell of a fevered imagination.

But I kept away from the jetty all that spring and into the summer.

Summer jobs in our town are hard to come by. I totally lucked out, when an oceanographer set up a research station and picked me out of all the local students as her assistant. For the first few weeks, Dr. Weissman had me writing notes as she cataloged the fishing fleet's catch coming into the plant. She was amazing, able to spot and identify by-catch in the mass of fish that slid down the delivery chute, naming them off as I kept count. It was smelly, boring work. But then her assistant broke a leg, and she offered me something better – taking the boat out to get water samples, ones that matched where the ships reported their catch was from.

I only hesitated for a moment.

I'd crewed on boats practically before I could walk. I'd sailed my little dinghy solo almost as long. The launch she had me using was a seaworthy craft, sleek and equipped with GPS and radio, and every safety device. There was no real reason for the shiver that passed through me the first time I took her out of the harbor to the open sea.

The air was warm and tangy with the smell of salt and kelp. I put my head back and forced a smile, as the dead fish taint cleared from my nose for the first time in weeks. So good. So good! I'd been dumb to stick to shore out of some fear of the bogeywoman. Small swells rocked the boat as her sleek prow cut through the water.

GPS put me at "Sample Site 1" by late morning. I reviewed the directions, and dipped the sampler to fifty feet, and twenty, and ten, and surface. Each sample was checked for temperature, and then poured into a labeled, sealed vial in the cooler. I was so caught up in doing it right that I ignored the feeling of eyes on my back.

It wasn't till I was done, and turned to restart the engine, that I saw her. Bobbing in the waves, five feet off the stern. Smiling.

"Oh, shit!" My first impulse was to slam the throttle to full power and get the hell out of there. If I hadn't fumbled it, I might have followed through. As it was the engine coughed, backfired, and died.

The merperson— Creeishta. I found my ears could still remember her speaking her name— waved a delicate hand in front of her face and coughed. "You humans have the foulest habits."

"Well, excuse me," I said. Was it a comfort to decide I wasn't crazy? Or not, to know she actually was real? I put a hand to my forehead, under the brim of my cap, but I was no warmer than expected.

She swam nearer. "I thought it was you. I never forget a flavor."

"I haven't forgotten you either." It was true. I might have convinced myself it never happened, but my dreams were still sometimes haunted by a sinuous underwater motion, and wicked dark eyes.

She tilted her head. "Are you in trouble? Broken boat?"

"Huh? No. It's fine. I just need to start it properly."

"You don't seem sad now."

Her words seemed to flow into me and seek out the corners of my soul. I realized she was right. I wasn't happy, exactly. But I'd come to terms with who I was, and was figuring out what I wanted. Next year, I'd take more science and apply to college. I wanted to be part of the discovery teams when the world still held so much exciting and unknown in it. "I'm not, anymore."

She rose higher, presumably kicking with her legs to propel herself halfway out of the water. It was a strangely graceful move. The sun shone off the sleek damp skin of her breasts and as she rose higher, it glinted in droplets in the dark curls below. She was gorgeous. No wonder the ancients used to talk about being lured against their will by sirens of the deep. She was most men's idea of sex walking, or rather swimming.

She eyed me, having risen somehow barely hip deep, then slid back into the water and came over to the boat. Surging up, she grabbed the ladder that hung over the side. I felt a flash of fear, but she stopped and swung round, seating herself on the narrow step, with just one graceful foot in the water. She tilted her head to look up over her shoulder at me. "Am I beautiful in your eyes?"

"Sure." I frowned. "Don't you know?"

"You feel cool and easy," she said. Turning her head, she gazed out over the ocean silently. A moment later, another near-human head rose above the surface. This woman was a shade lighter, her hair a little straighter, but her grace and silence as she swam over were just as eerie. She seemed bulkier than she should be, and scarier than a slender, stunning brunette with sunlit skin ought to. She stopped at the base of the ladder and gave me a long stare. When she spoke, it was in a liquid trill without clear words.

Creeishta said, "English, dear heart." She looked up at me. "This is my soul-sister, Sheeshaun. Lover-mine, this is..." She quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Rick." I tried to get a hold of myself. "Pleased to meet you."

Creeishta suddenly pushed off the ladder into the other woman's arms. They kissed, passionately and slowly. Shoulder deep in the water, their embrace became a sensuous dance. Stunningly lovely. I stared longer than I ought, before looking away. A loud splash grabbed back my attention.

As I whirled back around, the wide shoulders of a dark-haired, bearded man drove up from the water right behind the women. I gasped a wordless warning, but at the same moment, they turned to face him, and he bowed his head to Creeishta. "You called me?"

"Dear Torrrest. I wish you to meet Rick." She gestured in my direction.

The merman's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he swung himself between the women and the boat, staring up at me. "Who is he?"

"I'm not sure. A hope, perhaps?" Creeishta laid a hand on his bare, muscular shoulder. "What do you think, lover?"

Torrrest gripped the ladder with both hands and surged up towards me. I froze for an instant, mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze, then jumped backward. He stopped though, his thighs level with the gunwale. "Hello, Rick." He had a voice like molasses over gravel, rich and deep. "Good to meet you."

"Um. Yeah." I couldn't help fumbling behind me for the nearest object, something, anything I might use. He was inches taller than me, and far broader, with muscles upon muscles. His furry chest was wider than my shoulders, his thighs thick as my waist. His hooded dick hung naked and proportional, and unashamed. But it was the eyes that held me. Creeishta's eyes, nearly, but bigger and harder and less amused.

I swallowed and tried to stand straight. "You have, um, mermen too?" There was a squeaky undertone to my voice, but I got the sentence out.

"Hmmm." He kept his gaze on me as he scratched his belly, and then down one thigh, with his wide fingers.

I swallowed, looking away deliberately at the women, as if it didn't scare the shit out of me to take my eyes off him. "Can I get you all anything? Um, fresh water? An apple?" I hadn't eaten my lunch yet, but peanut butter seemed not quite the thing.

Creeishta laughed, silky and amused. "Oh no, at least, not yet. Torrrest?"

The merman looked over his shoulder, then dropped back to the water, with hardly a splash. I tried to hide my relief.

The three of them put their faces together, communing, meditating, speaking telepathically, I couldn't tell. I'm not sure when the kiss began, but they were all three together, mouths and hands. I saw Torrrest's darker fingers on the mound of Sheeshaun's breast. Creeishta lowered her mouth to the merwoman's throat and licked the water from her skin. I felt uncomfortably like a peeping Tom. It all seemed personal, not just a show. Under my discomfort was a touch of envy. Not for the sensual quality of it, but for the little smile Sheeshaun gave Torrrest before kissing him. For the tender way Creeishta pushed a wet lock of hair out of Torrrest's eyes.

I wondered if I'd ever have that. Someone who stopped in the middle of whatever they were doing to touch me with affection. Maybe I sighed, because they broke apart and all three looked up at me.

"What are you?" Sheeshaun asked.

Torrrest said, "He smells ordinary."

"Thanks so much!" I said involuntarily.

"He's someone different," Creeishta told them. "Controlled. Immune."

They all stared at me, three sets of eyes like dark lasers. I thought their heat should've burned me, staring that hard, but they didn't.

"Well," Torrrest said eventually, "This is a find."

"This is a person who's late for the next part of my job," I said a bit nastily, because he was now eyeing me like a piece of meat or a nice garden statue he might buy. "Is there something you need?"

"Your voice." I hadn't realized how thick the teasing had been in Creeishta's voice until it was gone. She spoke simply now. "Your help."

"How can I help you?"

"My people need your help." She swam close and tilted her head to look up at me. "Soon, very soon, we will be discovered beyond hope of hiding."

"From humans, you mean?" A bit of my brain was gibbering in fright over putting that in words. Not human. But part of me was excited too.

"Yes. Your probes head into the deepest waters now. Your satellites spy on the middle of the oceans. You spread out from shore to shore, in the remotest islands."

I nodded, although the deep oceans are the planet's last unexplored frontier.

"We have debated long and hard about what to do. The answer was to find allies. To find humans who will speak for us, with us, when that time comes."

"Me?" My voice squeaked and I coughed. "Why me?"

"We... are not the same to all people."

"Huh?"

She gave me that smile I'd seen before. The one that looked like she was thinking about having me for lunch. "Most humans find us... desirable."

"In an, um, sex way?" I bit my lip. "Yeah, I can imagine." Any of them could have knocked the hottest Hollywood stars off the top of the list. "But there are a lot of pretty people, too. I mean, we learn to deal with it."

"More than that." She sighed and the smile faded. "In the old days, sailors who saw us would leap from their ships for wanting us. Marooned men would chase us, and swim out after us, without thinking of food or drink, until they died."

"Like, seriously?" I blushed stupidly again, but this wasn't the time to worry about that. "They went that crazy?"

"Yes. And in turn we're drawn to those emotions in humans. To their want and lust, for sex." She eyed me sideways. "And to despair, for hunger."

"Um." I remembered that first meeting. "You... eat people?"

Torrrest said, "Not often." He smiled.

That was hardly reassuring.

Creeishta thumped his chest with a pointed elbow. "Rick. I promise you. As adults, we do not eat people. And we try to keep our younglings away from anyone too... appetizing. Had you jumped to me, in the water, I'd have taken you to shore."

"But I didn't."

"No. And I thought it was because you were too sad to really see me. But now I wonder. Perhaps it is more."

"More what?""

"We need to negotiate. We've done nothing effective, for decade upon decade, as your species has warmed and befouled the waters and killed off the life in the sea. But soon we'll have no choice, if we wish to live."

"Why haven't you done anything?" I asked. "Pollution isn't new. So why not take some kind of action? Sabotage, maybe? Scare people off?"

Creeishta said, "We have always retreated and stayed hidden, because you outnumber us a thousand to one. Before we realized the danger to our home, your weapons had become horrific, and your willingness to use them more so. And... we have limitations I will not discuss with you."

"So what now?"

"We must open treaty talks with humans. We can still do great harm to your people, before you could wipe us from the seas. We hope for a compromise, an agreement. A rational way to co-exist."

I couldn't help biting my already-sore lip again, because us humans aren't known for being rational. "Where do I come in?"

"It's hard to find humans who can speak with us and be at ease." She sighed. "Most humans, by far, want us for only one thing. Their minds take flame at the sight of us. They have no thought but sex, until we leave them or they die."

"Yeah. Okay. That could be a problem."

"We have met only a few who do not. A few such as you. And some of them are not fit allies."

"Why not?"

Torrrest said, "Too old, too ill, too afraid, too self-centered, too violent, too narrow-minded."

Sheeshaun said, "Too human," with a little grimace of distaste.

"Hey!" I snapped. "Like you're all perfect?" Not that I had a clue, but people are people right? And that little sneer didn't look perfect.

Creeishta shoved Sheeshaun under water with a hand on her head, although she came back up as serenely gleaming as ever, not choking or blinking. Creeishta looked up at me. "No, we're none of us perfect. But that changes nothing. In fact, it's worse, because some of us cannot be trusted not to take advantage."

"How?"

Her lips twisted. "Imagine a powerful man meeting a woman, and from that moment thinking of nothing, nothing, but how to please her."

"Oh." I frowned. "But why not use that? I mean, not that I'm suggesting it..."

"Powerful men are watched, and surrounded by protectors. How long would that woman live?"

I tasted blood, and made myself quit chewing my freaking lip. "Mm. A problem."

Creeishta said, "Many of our best minds are working on our approach. But when the time comes, we will need humans to speak with and for us. You're young, where our few current allies are growing old. You're immune to the pull that drags most of your kind to mindless rutting. You're a hope, when we badly need one."

"I. Well, sure. I mean, if I can do something useful. Although I don't know how much good I'll be." I imagined a warship, the rail lined with machine gunners, getting rid of the pesky problem the easy way. Imagined dead beautiful merpeople in the bloodstained water, and me in a rowboat trying to hold off bullets with my hands. "I hope you have better ideas than I do."

"Plans are forming. We're working on it. We hope to have a few years, at least. Years for you to get to know us, as well. Years to learn where our few allies will be the most use."

"Oh." I sat down on the deck hard, as if my strings were cut. Years. Time. Suddenly something crazy and impossible became intriguing. Fascinating. "Well, yes, that sounds okay." I wasn't ready to tell them about online sites for asexual folk, and suggest it as a recruiting possibility. Maybe being ace wasn't why I was immune to them, but it might be. It was good to have time to think that through, before tangling anyone else in this mind-blowing situation.

Creeishta said, "If you work these waters this summer, we'll have time to talk. You can meet our elders."

"Sure."

"But one last thing."

"What?"

"I would not want you to think us weak."

"I don't," I protested. It was the last adjective I'd have used.

"Or to say later that we deceived you."

"How?"

She lifted one slim arm out of the water and beckoned. "Come down to us."

I hesitated. Through all this, I hadn't touched them. I hadn't been within reach. Maybe they couldn't leave the water. Maybe if they couldn't lure me with sex, they'd do it this way.

Torrrest curled his lip. "He's too scared. What help will a coward be to us?"

"I'm not afraid, I'm just not stupid," I snapped. "I need your word." I looked at Creeishta. "Promise me..." What? "Promise I'll get to leave here unharmed. Swear it." Although for all I knew, they might have no such concept.

She nodded, though. "I swear. No harm to you from me and my loves. You'll go home."

"And how can you trust me?" I asked. I was itching to go get my phone from my backpack and take pictures. To have proof. "What if I tell people?"

"That you saw a mermaid?" She smiled, all teeth then. "Write to me from your padded room."

For a long while, I held her gaze and she met mine. She felt stronger than me in every way. But not as strong as my freaking curiosity. "All right. What should I do."

"Come down into the water. You do swim?"

"Since I was two." I pulled off my shirt and hat, stripping to swim shorts, and put my life vest back on. Before I could think twice, I grabbed a safety line, and hooked it on, then climbed over the rail and down the ladder. The water was cool on my hot bare feet, as I dangled off the end of the ladder, then pushed away and dropped with a splash. I didn't have to tread, with the vest on, so I was free to realize how big Torrrest was, how athletic Sheeshaun seemed, how in their element they all three were. They swam around me, the water moving past my feet as if huge forces propelled them. I couldn't look away from Creeishta's face as she came closer and closer. "Are you courageous?" she murmured. "Is your mind open? Do you find the world full of wonder?"

"I'm trying to," I said.

"Brave man." She flashed her hand toward me, grabbed my hair, and dunked me under water.

For a moment I struggled, thrashing, blinking at the salt. I had the vague impression of things moving around me. Leviathans, monsters, shapes from my nightmares. Then I surfaced, sputtering, and three stunningly-sensuous faces were turned to me, dark eyes intent.

"What the hell!" I squeaked. "What was that for?"

Creeishta had let go of my hair moments after I went under. She looked at me steadily now, not like someone laughing at her own joke. "What did you see?"

"I—" I swallowed hard, tasting brine and fear. "Nothing."

"Look again."

I glanced around, face to face. None of them cracked a smile, none of them moved. Slowly, trying to watch all of them at once, fighting the buoyancy of the vest, I eased my face under the surface.

It was hard to keep my eyes open. The sea water stung, and my mind kept wanting to shut off the video. Because there, beneath the surface, was... horror? Insanity? As I stared, at thin, angular hands, at long spiny backs and forked tails with strong flukes, my brain kept shorting out.

Above the surface, the mers were human, more than human, sleek and perfect. Below the waves, they were nothing close to human. As I stared, and held my breath till black sparkles edged around my vision, Torrrest slipped lower, his body moving deeper below the waves. Flesh changed to sharkskin, chest hair to scales. Until his face leered at me in the briny sunlit sea, all gleaming teeth and slitted nostrils and trailing tentacles behind his flat, long skull... I broke the surface trying to run, trying to swim. I've never climbed the ladder that fast in my life.

I flung myself over the rail and hit the deck, gasping in whooping, painful breaths. Bile rose from my empty stomach, burning my throat. I gagged and heaved, pressing a fist to my gut. It was an untold time later that I finally turned, reluctantly, to look out at the water.

They still bobbed there. Torrrest had gathered Sheeshaun in his very-human, muscular arms, while Creeishta laid one slender hand on his neck. Below the surface...

I gulped, and kept my eyes fixed on Creeishta.

"Still willing to help us?" she asked. "Still fascinated by the not so beautiful? By the dangerous and grotesque?"

"You're, well, not grotesque," I said feebly. "Dangerous, I guess."

"You guess right. Although not by human standards."

"By what?"

She looked tired for the first time. "Every large predator on the planet now lives on human sufferance. Teeth are no match for high explosives. Or poisons."

I licked my salty lips. "Yeah."

"We are what we are. We still need— beg— your help."

Torrrest growled at that word, but she turned to him. "What? Pride must bend to survival."

I pulled myself together. "I'll, um, yeah, I still want to help. But I don't understand."

"What?"

"How you can be, um, that." I waved a shaking hand in their direction. "Amazingly human above the water and so totally... not, underneath. Changing that way." It looked like magic. The real kind, not photoshop. And I was a scientist at heart and I'd never believed in magic.

"Sea and land, we're bred to both."

"That's not an answer."

"I don't have an answer for you. We are the Seeesleeen. Sea people. We have always been this way."

"Can you control it? Can you look human under the water?"

"Can you breathe the water?"

"No." I felt a flash of anger. I was trying here. "Don't change the question."

"I wasn't. We are all what we are made. My people are like this. The hatchlings are born in the deep sea, and they heed the call of land. In the cold waters they make their way upward and shoreward. We watch them emerge for the first time and find their air-form. This is the way it has always been."

"And if there are people about, they eat them." I remembered what she'd said and shivered.

"Rarely. A great many of us are taxed to prevent any contact of the hatchlings with humans. And most humans are too smart to leap into freezing waters."

I nodded, until I felt like a bobblehead. And then stopped. What were the right answers here? Hell, what were the right questions? What should I do? Did I owe it to mankind to try to get pictures, to report to... someone? Was there such a thing as a species traitor?

Creeishta held my gaze another long, long moment. "Think. Remember. Know who is at higher risk here. Every person we contact is a potential threat. Every day a step closer to disaster. You can help us, or be the straw that breaks the merman's back. Or you can come out here again, and speak with the elders and take your time. We're in your hands this day, Rick."

As I stood silent, she and Sheeshaun slid into the water and vanished. Torrrest stayed a moment longer. In that voice of rocks and honey he said, "She's the best thing in my life. Betray her, and you will face me, somehow."

I cleared my throat. "Tell her I'll be back out here tomorrow. Tell her... Tell her I'll think about this. If the elders want to meet with me, I'll meet them." I felt the oddest smile stretch my face, wide and actually joyful. The future would be stranger than I'd imagined, and damn, it was fun to think I might be a part of that.

Torrrest nodded and raised a hand gracefully. "I will tell her. Be safe on water and land, human Rick. We will see you again." He slid lower and was gone. I could imagine his long, shark-tailed form, heading out silently into the depths. How wonderfully strange.

In a trance of mind-blown stupor, I tidied the boat, locked the cooler, set the GPS, and restarted the engine. All the rest of the day I scanned the waves over and over for movement. Every time I saw something, it was a bird, or a boat, or the flash of a dolphin. As the sun got low, shining gold across the waves, I headed into the harbor.

I should have been excited. Or maybe scared, or angry, or puzzled, or curious. What I was, oddly, was content. From that sad boy, adrift and sinking on the rocky pier, to who I was now— a man with a purpose, a wonder, a dream— what a short, strange trip it'd been. Tomorrow, the world would open a little more, a little wider, with my supposed weaknesses become strengths and all my expectations overturned.

I faced back toward the sea, where the sun was slipping beneath the rim of the world, and waved, goodnight, but not goodbye.

####

# Recollections

photo description: Behind a bent, rusting fence, across a lawn full of weeds, stands an elaborate wooden house, abandoned to decay. The lower windows are boarded up, and half the paint has weathered off the siding. The dormers and the pointed roof of the hexagonal tower show missing tiles. A few faded curtains still hang in the upper windows, but the sagging porch and the lean of the tower suggest it may never again be safe to go inside.

Look at that place, Joseph. God, if your mom could see it now? Or your dad? They'd have hammers and paintbrushes and mops in our hands before we could say "boo."

So sad, but maybe it's for the best. Let it fall down. Let it decay. Let the memories we made there, the good and the bad, and then the unbearable, turn to sawdust and dirt, to feed the grass and brambles, and maybe a tree one day. Life from death.

Look at that tower room, windows like blinded eyes. Do you remember the first time you kissed me there? We were what, fourteen? No, fifteen, because your brother Mike had gone off to the Army and that's why we were in there without worrying about him walking in on us.

It was summer...

The sun through the tower windows was warm on my bare back. I sprawled on your bed, while you sat up against the headboard, a pillow between you and the metal frame. You were reading a book, dark head bent over the pages, that lovely look of concentration on your face. Your specs had slid down your nose, and you pushed them up with one finger. I cherished that gesture, the way you didn't bother to look around self-consciously afterward, when it was just us alone together.

My face was sweaty too. Downstairs in the living room, the big overhead fan would be stirring the muggy, heavy air, while your dad read his paper and your sisters did their homework. It wouldn't feel like an oven down there. But I'd happily melt into a puddle to be up here, with you, rather than share you, even with your family.

I rubbed my forehead on the hem of your shorts, pretending it was just in play. "You make a good towel."

It took you a moment to come back from the land of the Hobbits, but then you grinned and shoved my head gently. "Take your mucky sweat away."

Instead, I did it again, my temple higher against your hip, letting the light gray cotton absorb the sweat from my cheek. "But I'm all sticky."

You sighed and set the book carefully down on the covers, your finger still keeping your place. "Me too. Want to go down and get some lemonade?"

"Not really." I slid higher on the bed to sit up beside you and plucked at your damp T-shirt. "How can you wear that? Get comfortable."

You hesitated, way longer than my simple comment should have warranted. Except we both knew it wasn't a simple comment. After a bit, you said quietly, "All right." Then your lips quirked up at one side. "Hold my book. Don't lose my place."

I took the novel from you with the care you required. Then I grabbed a slip of paper off the side table and marked your place, and set the book aside. Tolkien might be a God among authors — your words, although I liked his fantasies too — but he was in the way right now.

You handed me your glasses, then pulled the faded blue cotton over your head. Fast, not slow. No different from a hundred other times, when we'd worked in the summer heat shoveling manure or picking rocks in the fields. No different from a dozen times when we leaped into the pond to cool off. But I could hardly breathe, watching.

Your skin was tanned dark on your arms from summer work, with farmer's lines at your biceps and paler gold above. You had scattered freckles over your shoulders and down your neck. You were smooth and skinny and... perfect.

You reached for your glasses, but I held them away from you. My vision sparkled at the edges, and I let out my held breath and took another.

You said, "Come on, Davy. I need those."

"Not right now, you don't." I set them carefully on top of the book.

Without the specs, your eyes were huge and blue, under dark lashes your sisters envied. You blinked at me, still mild and easy, although I saw the pulse beating harder in your neck. "I can't see a foot in front of me without them."

"I'll come closer." I still don't know where I got the courage. I'd been dancing around this moment for a year and I'd figured it would never happen. I knew what I wanted, but I wasn't sure of you. You, Joseph, my lovely professor with the rational attitude to everything — I'd asked once what you thought about queers, just casual-like but with my heart in my throat. You gave me a lecture about variety in nature which caused me hope and aggravation at the same time. Not an answer. Not quite. But not condemnation either.

Still, I figured I'd end up working on Dad's farm, and your parents would scrape together the money to send you to college, where you belonged. We'd be friends till then, and drift apart after. But wanting more was suddenly choking me and I had to know. Even if you hit me, afterward. Or looked at me with disappointed disgust, which'd be more your style. Even if you told me to go and never come back.

As I leaned toward you, our bare shoulders touched. We'd wrestled, even slept side by side, but I'd never been as aware of one tiny patch of my skin as in that moment. I stopped, my face a few inches from yours. What the hell was I doing? Did I really want to risk everything this way?

I'd have backed off with a joke and a laugh, but you raised a hand and touched my face. The barest brush of your fingertips along my jaw, but it gave me courage. I leaned in, and kissed you.

For a moment we stayed like that, lips barely touching. I had no clue how kissing went. I'd sneaked a look at Wendy and her fiancé, courting in the parlor. But her man was a cold fish, who barely pecked her on the cheek and held her hand. Mum and Dad exchanged a fast smooch in the mornings... and I wasn't thinking about family now, with your mouth under mine.

You moved your lips against me, pressing gently, no more assured than I was. But the sweetness of it made me gasp. Your hand in my hair was hotter than the summer sun. Your bare shoulder against mine made all of me come alert, shaking, wanting. I pulled away before my intensity could scare you. "Was that... all right?"

Your smile was far more serene than I felt. "It was exactly all right."

"You don't hate me?" I hadn't meant to ask, but waiting for the answer took the breath from my chest.

"Of course not." Your eyes sparkled. "I've been wondering what a kiss would feel like for a long time."

"Oh. Um. Any kiss? Like, an experiment?"

"No, you numbskull. Kissing you."

"Really? You've thought about it?"

"Lots." You reached out again, running your fingers from my jaw, down my damp neck, till you lost courage somewhere above my nipple. You pulled your hand back, and I saw a shadow cross your face. "Kisses and more. But I don't know if I'm ready for more."

I caught your hand in mine and raised it to my lips, trying to be gentle, trying to light that spark in your eyes again. "Don't worry. There's no rush. We have time. Heck, we have years and years, before you go off to school. I can wait."

You met my gaze, the blue of your eyes darker, worried. "What if I never want to do anything else? What if I'm too chicken for anything past a kiss?"

I swallowed, loud enough for us both to hear. I wanted more, I surely did. But I said stoutly, "Then that's all we'll do. You're my best friend, Joseph." I had no other word for what you were to me. "I'm not going to ask for anything but that."

Your smile was a bit watery, a little shy and tentative. But you turned your hand that I still held, so your fingers brushed my lips. "I guess we'll see. Perhaps you should kiss me again, for incentive."

I could do that. I did. With my heart in every clumsy, fumbling moment. Then we stopped. Without a word, you reached for your specs and I rolled off the bed and stretched. But I felt a golden cord stretched between us, my heart to yours.

And before you took up The Two Towers again, and bent over its pages, you said, "We do have years. Who knows what could happen. Anything's possible, from rapture to death."

I must have looked grumpy, because you grinned at me then. "Come on, Samwise. It'll be an adventure. Like any real tale, we don't know our ending yet, and wouldn't want to."

I figured you might be quoting. You'd read the books many more times than I. Plus I really did kind of want to know, right damned now, how this tale would turn out. But I could never resist you in your fey moods. I smiled too, and faked a British accent. "We'll adventure together, Mr. Frodo."

***

Perhaps it was just as well we didn't know our fate ahead of time. Would you have had the courage to finally take me to bed that first time, a year later, knowing that your sister Rose was eventually going to find out? Knowing that the fights and the anger and the misery would tear your family apart, and separate us for ten long years?

And yet if you hadn't, would we have remained together through the strains of growing up gay, or even found each other again, the way we did?

We were two battered young soldiers, home from the war in Vietnam, when we met again at my father's funeral. Your arms around me kept the dark at bay then. They've done it ever since. You held me though my nightmares, I nursed your bad back and cheered your good ideas, days and weeks and years together since that funeral in 1974. We left this bleak, judgmental little town and never looked back. The GI benefits made you Dr. Joseph, and made a reporter out of me.

It's been a good life.

So look at that old house, and don't grieve, lover. It's an inheritance, not a prison. We won't stay here long, just till your brother's in the ground and all the paperwork is done. Then we'll go home to our little brick house and the cats. They'll shun us for two days and vomit in your shoes for leaving them with the pet sitter. Our life's waiting there.

If you can't tear your eyes away from this ruin, then look at that tower room. I'll take your glasses, your specs, like I used to before kissing you. The lines'll blur, the boarded windows will fade. Look at the shape, the point of that high roof, the bay of the curved front room.

Remember your single bed there under the roof. The heat in summer, the chill in winter. Remember reading books together, with just your shoulder against mine. Remember kisses, fast and slow, my skin on yours, your hands on me, through the seasons. Don't think about that last day.

Remember how we loved each other, two boys, laughing and wanting and needy and clumsy, and unashamed, in that high tower room, when we were young.

And remember all the wonder and the love of our lives, ever after. Come on, Joe, your back must be getting stiff standing here in the weeds. Let's go home.

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# Well-Met by Moonlight

photo description: Two girls sit close together on the seat of a red motorcycle parked on its kickstand outside a low building. The girl in front seems at ease, one foot on the ground, her long brown hair framing a lovely, smiling face. Behind her, the other girl huddles in, feet pulled up, eyes closed, leaning her cheek on the front girl's shoulder. There's comfort, or amusement, or maybe protection, in the way the girl in front presses the other girl's knee in against her own thigh, holding her there with the palm of one hand.

A velvet-soft female voice behind me murmured, "You see nothing unusual. You're going home, same as always. Walk past the motorcycle and past the truck to your car, and drive home."

I stared at where the red-roan horse stood in one parking space, shifting weight from one back hoof to the other on the hard pavement of the school's student lot. That was one amazing horse, glossy in the moonlight, fine-boned and long-tailed. It wore a black saddle, sliver-spangled reins, and a bored expression. The other two cars still in the lot looked... like a newer pickup and my rusting-out Camry. "These are not the droids you are looking for," I muttered to myself.

"What?" Her voice was less purry-smooth this time, more familiar.

I raised a hand to rub my eyes, slowly. The horse didn't change, though. Just cocked the other hip and blew out a blubber-lipped breath, eyes drooping shut. "That's a horse."

"It is not." The girl behind me cleared her throat, and lowered her voice into that vibrato again, "I mean, you're dreaming. Seeing things. You should drive home and get some sleep."

I turned, using the movement to take a step back too. "Okay." I stared into Tamsyn's changeable hazel eyes. "What the hell are you up to this time?"

"Me?" She gave the little twisted smile of mischief that always made me go weak at the knees. And she clearly knew that got to me, the way her eyes went brighter. We were best friends, and we'd been dancing around going out together for months now. For some reason— and I'm pretty sure it wasn't because we were both girls— she kept turning me down and then kept coming back with some unexpected gesture of friendship as if to make up for saying no.

But a horse was over the top, even for Tamsyn. "Yeah, you. Where's your bike? How did you do that?"

She flicked a glance over my shoulder. "My bike is there. What are you talking about? Have you been into your foster brother's stash?"

I winced, and she had the grace to look ashamed. She knew I didn't do drugs, and that living around Jimmy, who did, was not fun and games.

"Sorry. But really, Gwen. You see a horse?" Her laugh was fake.

"You tell me." I started to turn toward it but she grabbed me by both arms, leaned in and kissed me.

"Mph!" I pulled free, angry now. "You did not just do that!"

"Don't you want to?"

Of course I do. I'd wanted to kiss her since she walked in the homeroom door back in January. Five months of chasing her, and now she was willing? Like that didn't stink to high heaven of ulterior motives. I whirled and dashed down the steps toward the poorly-lit parking lot. I'd surprised her enough to be two strides ahead of her, so she only caught up to me as I reached the end of the sidewalk. She grabbed my shirt from behind, and I yanked free, and shouted loudly, "Hey! Horse!"

Okay, not my most brilliant move ever. But there was this impossible, insane horse parked at the curb, and the girl I thought was my friend was trying to tackle me, and I was not high.

The horse came alert with a start, arched its neck and blew a breath toward us. And said, "I do not answer to Horse."

"Oh!" I stopped so short that Tamsyn crashed into me from behind and had to wrap her arms around me so we wouldn't both go down. Too bad I had no time to enjoy it.

Tamsyn muttered against my hair, "Now you've done it, dumbass."

The horse— the stallion because there was no doubt about that— came towards us, its steps light and tightly controlled, almost mincing, and its nostrils flared. "I don't believe I know this human, Your Highness. Introduce us."

Tamsyn said, "Way to convince her there's nothing going on here, Sprite."

"She is already far too well aware." The horse was bigger than I'd thought, looming up alarmingly as he came to a stop in front of me. I managed not to flinch when he lowered his head to sniff and then blow into my face. "No scent of Second Sight here. No primrose or clover, no ointment on her eyes."

Tamsyn hugged me closer, then stiffened, "Gwen, why is your shirt inside out?"

"It is?" I felt a moment of embarrassment; I'd taken a quick wash in the school bathroom after finishing in the office, since at home we shared one bathroom between seven foster kids. I must have screwed up... "So what? Do I have to be properly dressed to meet His Majesty the horse?"

The horse's voice was amused, rather than angry. "Turning your coat at the moment of moon-rise on Beltane is one way to see things that are not safe for human eyes. Was it an accident then?"

"Turning my..." I tugged at the front of my T-shirt. "This isn't a coat. And this is all crazy. And I'm arguing with a horse."

"You're not. You're listening to one." His long hairy face came closer to mine, until I couldn't see his eyes and his mouth at the same time, and I focused on the little blaze of white between his flared nostrils instead. "Tamsyn, this is your problem. What do you propose to do about it?"

Tamsyn's arms around me tightened. "I'll handle it. I swear."

"Well, you know the rules." The horse suddenly nudged my chest, knocking us both back a step. "I am not going to face down your mother over this for you."

"I wouldn't ask you to." Tamsyn set me to one side and put a hand on the horse's wide roan forehead. Her white fingers looked tiny against his head, but he backed up at her touch. She walked him three steps away from me, just with that hand on him, each faster than the one before, his head lowering as he went. "Don't get above yourself, Sprite."

The horse backed up another few quick steps, putting space between them. It shook its head, neck arched, mane rippling. But its voice was more grumpy than arrogant as it said, "And I suppose you want me to just stand here some more, bored stiff."

She laughed quietly. "No. That's all right. Go ahead and run."

I cleared my throat, because I have never been good at hanging about quietly keeping my opinions to myself. "Yeah, no one will be surprised to see a horse galloping loose through the suburbs. Or a ghost-ridden motorcycle."

The horse gave me an unfriendly look, then shivered. Its muscular red-coated body blurred, changed, shrank, and became a fox. With a yip of disdain, (and it totally was disdain, even in a fox voice), the creature dashed off across the grass and under the hedge. A flick of white-tipped tail, and it was gone. The parking space where Tamsyn's familiar bright-red bike had been parked was... empty.

I turned toward her. The early May evening air was suddenly cool, and I hugged my arms across my stomach. "So. Let me guess. You're the Chosen One."

"The what?"

"You know. The Slayer. All that stands between the Earth and utter destruction." My voice wasn't quite steady but I got the whole quote out. Not that I could believe it, exactly. But it was something to say that wasn't gibbering in fear and confusion. I added a scowl for good measure. It was unfair that she had long straight hair like dark silk, and the face of an angel, somehow even brighter and finer tonight than ever, but that wasn't enough to make me play nice.

"I am nothing you need to know about. Take off your shirt and fix it."

"I think I like it this way. I think truth is always better than pretty lies." When you're a foster kid, you learn real fast not to fall for a good story.

"So." She tossed her head, flicking that long hair, but I had the impression she was less confident than she wanted to seem. "I have a magical horse. He can look like a motorbike."

"Or a fox."

"Sometimes."

"And you have this, like, sarcastic Kelpie-horse because...?"

"Oh, Sprite's not a Kelpie." Tamsyn's expression was surprisingly serious. "You don't want to meet those. Really sharp teeth. Carnivorous, you know. Sprite's just a fae-horse."

"Just."

"Well, yeah. Practically ordinary."

"I could tell." I didn't unwrap my arms.

"They live a long time. They get, um, touchy sometimes about their duties."

"Snarky, even."

Tamsyn sighed. "Now what?"

"You tell me? What's the punishment for pissing off a fae-horse? Or seeing the real face of whatever you are, Your Majesticness?" I hadn't forgotten the horse had called her royal. I was common as common gets, and not half as gorgeous, even without the added shine she wore that night, but I'd always been faster with words.

"Highness," she corrected as if that came automatically. Then she pressed her lips together.

"High and mighty of what?"

"Well, the fae. One tribe of us anyway. My mother has the real power. And I have a dozen sisters. I'm a spare."

"Going to school with humans for shits and giggles." That probably came out more bitter than I meant it, because I'd spent those five months lusting and pining after someone I apparently didn't really know.

"Um." She cocked her head. "Would you believe this school is built over a Hellmouth?"

Damn her, she made me snort and loosen a little of my desperate grip on myself. "No." That was unfair. I'd been the one to make her watch Buffy. She didn't even like it much. Or claimed not to.

"Well, you'd be right. Joss Whedon has a great imagination, but in fact I was doing something much more banal. Well, kind of banal. From a fae point of view."

"What's banal to a fae?"

She sighed. "You're not going to change your shirt, let me get you drunk, and pretend this never happened, are you?"

"I'm eighteen. I don't drink." I couldn't afford to get arrested, ever. When you're in care, they dump you out at eighteen, ready or not. I was lucky that my foster parents were letting me rent my bed from them for another month, until school was over. They had the right to kick me out on my birthday. This way I had a month longer to prepare. I'd found a college, a stipend. But every useful bit of it went away if I got busted. "You know what? You're safe. Go away and don't sweat it. I can't afford to have anyone thinking I'm crazy."

"And when you see me in school tomorrow?"

"You're going back to school? On purpose? Your Highness?"

"I'm a Hunter."

"Not a Slayer?"

"Quit with the Buffy, already!"

"Sorry." Although I wasn't really. "But you're hunting something?"

"Someone. A shreevahn."

"What's that?" I'd read a fair bit of folklore and the name didn't ring bells. Although a lot of things didn't sound the way they looked on the page.

"A shreevahn. They're a kind of vampire."

"Ooh, do they sparkle?"

Tamsyn hit my arm, hard enough to sting. "Absolutely no Twilight. Ever."

It somehow shook me loose of the paralysis that had been gripping me. "Sorry. That was a low blow."

"They prey on weaker humans, but they hide their presence well. I know there's one around, but I can't find him. Yet."

"And they're out there sucking blood? No wonder so many kids look anemic first period."

Tamsyn said in a hollow voice that made my throat hurt, "No, they suck hope. Life. Light. They drain a kid dry and leave the shell. Those seven suicides this year? That's what brought me here. That's what a shreevahn does."

"Oh." I'd known Daniel, just a little, watched him go from a quiet geeky kid to a silent ghost, and then one day he wasn't there and they brought the grief counselors in. Again.

"I Hunt for the dark ones who break the law, at my mother the Queen's command."

"That's... good." My brain still hadn't caught up with all this, although the hollow feeling in my stomach said I was getting there.

"Well." Tamsyn's tone eased. "Don't give Her Majesty too much credit. She doesn't care what they do to humans, until it risks exposure. But killing human children is high on the shit-list."

"Do you care?" I realized I desperately needed to know that.

"I'm half human," Tamsyn said. "My father was a musician, brought Underhill for his hair like black silk and his voice like velvet." There was an odd trace of mockery in the way she quoted that, like it meant more than it said. Or less. "He was allowed to go back to the human world after seven years, when I was six. But he'd eaten of fairy bread and drunk liquid sunshine, and within a month in the mundane lands, they told me he'd killed himself. Yes, I care."

"I'm sorry." I reached out. Her arm under my hand felt the same as ever, warm and smooth, with a swimmer's muscles. I frowned. "They told you he committed suicide. When you were six?"

"Oh, it was a lesson. I'd pined to go with him." She shrugged then, and moved away from my hand. Her voice had seemed to float in and out of two worlds too, sometimes a teenaged Minnesota girl, sometimes drifting higher and smoother and more formal, but now she spoke almost roughly. "Tonight, I get to do something good up here. Earn my keep, and justify my title."

"You're going to go after the—" what had she called it— "sheevin?"

"Yes." Her face turned cold, almost avid. "After months of a hint here and a miss there, darkness slipping away when I search for it, tonight I'll get him."

"How? By yourself?" I swallowed. "Can I help?"

"Beltane celebrates the divine feminine, regeneration, rebirth. It strengthens me while it weakens him," she said, "And no, and no. I have Sprite. And you can't."

"He ran off," I pointed out sourly.

"Just shaking the tickles out of my feet," a voice growled by my knee. I jumped sideways and stared down at the fox who was suddenly sitting on the sidewalk. He licked his whiskers, deliberately. "And getting a morsel to eat."

Tamsyn said, "He'd never abandon me. He's a friend."

The fox gave a little high-pitched yip. "Not to mention your mother the Queen would have my guts for garters, an' I left you in danger."

"That too." She looked at me. "We need to talk, I guess. Later. Right now, I need to do my job. You should be safe, going home. The shreevahn preys on those he considers weak and easy. You've never been that."

I heard myself say, "I could be easy," and blushed. "Seriously, I want to help. I knew a couple of those kids."

"They weren't all the shreevahn's work."

"So? If any of them were, I want to—" what had the fox said? "—have its guts for garters. Although not really, because yuck."

The fox said, "Time's wasting, Your Highness. Send the girl on her way, and to work we go."

But Tamsyn gave me a long, considering look. "Can you follow orders? Help only when asked, and leave when told?"

Sprite snorted, down by my knee. "Aye, she's done so well with that thus far."

"I can try," I said, because blank-check promises are not my thing.

"Come on!" Tamsyn held out her hand, and I'd have had to be made of rock to resist. I took it. She laughed in a way that was excitement and anger together, and turned to run toward the school, dragging me in her wake.

The doors were locked, of course. At this hour, they only opened from the inside, and I'd been last one out. My job taking care of the office earned me some bucks, and even better, some references, and I was paid by the hour on the clock. I didn't cheat, but I found extra stuff to do that ran as late as I could get away with. And then I'd used the john.

Tamsyn tugged the handle and muttered something. The fox said, "Silverseal, Highness."

I didn't know what that meant, but even as Tamsyn unslung her backpack from her shoulder I said, "I've got a key."

She glanced at me, and this laugh was softer. "Like this was meant to be. Let us in, then?"

I opened the door and punched in my code in the alarm box. If anyone cared to look, they'd see I keyed back in ten minutes after going out. But I'd just say I forgot a book or something. The fox's nails clicked on the tile as he slipped past Tamsyn. I closed the door behind us. "Alarm on or off?"

"Best leave it off, in case."

I did that. It would be harder to explain a long gap. Hopefully there'd be no reason for anyone to look at the night's record. "Now what?"

Tamsyn led the way into the main hallway, dim with only the security lighting on. Her reflection danced across the glass fronts of the trophy cases, and the frames of the teacher portraits that lined the hall, reflecting shadowy flashes of pale skin and dark hair. I kept my eyes on her.

She set down her pack and dug through it. Pulling out a small jar of ointment, she dabbed a little on her eyelids, then glanced at me. "Do you want this?"

"What is it?"

"Primrose ointment, for clear sight. It's generally forbidden to humans, since it lets mortals see the Fae as we are, but that ship has sailed anyway. It gives us clearer sight yet when used under Beltane Eve's moonglow."

"Not much moonglow inside the school," I pointed out.

"I'm working on that." She tilted the pot at me questioningly.

"Well, what the hell. Sure." Clear sight was always a good thing, right?

She stood and brought it to me. Reached out a finger tipped in the stuff and I closed my eyes. Her touch over my eyelids was cool and soft, the barest brush, but I felt it to my toes. The smell of the ointment was summer green, mown grass and crushed leaves, and clear water.

"You can open them."

I did so, slowly. She was standing there, so close. Still the same, although with that wild glow I'd already seen, but still Tamsyn, gorgeous and untouchable, and I closed my hands to fists not to reach for her.

Then she stretched out again and put a finger on my lips. "Later. Hold that thought."

Before I could respond she'd whirled away, calling, "Sprite! Get your ass over here!"

The fox reappeared, skittering down the hallway. "Mine ass is thine to command, my foul-mouthed lady."

"Manners later," Tamsyn said. "As Gwen has pointed out, we need moonlight." She dug into her pack and pulled out two polished silver mirrors. She held one to me. "Here, take that." The other she extended to the fox, who patted it with a paw, chittered at it, and then blurred. When he re-formed, he was a red-coated monkey, with a ruff of white around his face.

"The things I do at my lady's behest," he muttered, scratching over his rump with agile black fingers. Then he took the mirror and ran off down the hallway on his back legs.

It turned out that I was useful. We worked with the few windows interspersed along the corridors and caught the light on our mirrors, reflecting it up and down the rows of lockers along the walls. Sprite was uncanny in his ability to angle one mirror at another, and the silver surfaces seemed to amplify and spread the soft white light.

For a while, nothing happened, as we shone our lightbeams over the scratched blue-painted metal. Tamsyn stalked behind the glow like a hunting cat in denim, her lip curled in frustration at row after row of boring nothingness. Then one locker glowed oddly, turning the silver light to smoke. Tamsyn paused there. She dug in her pack for a handful of something which she tossed into the air with a muttered curse. Or perhaps spell. It wasn't English, either way.

I should've been freaking out. I should've probably been curled up catatonic on the sidewalk out there when the horse became a fox. Or driven home and tried to pretend I hadn't seen a thing. But instead, this night, this hunt, made my heart race and the blood spark in my veins. Slow as this part had been so far, watching a monkey with a mirror and Tamsyn prowling was the most fun I'd had in forever.

We all kept our eyes on the motes she'd tossed in the air, as they swirled, formed shapes as they fell. The monkey grunted. "Old trace."

"Proves we're on the right track," Tamsyn said. "Keep going."

I angled my mirror a touch to the left. "Old trace?"

"The shreevahn had his claws into whoever has that locker, but a while ago. Either one of the suicides, or he moved on to easier prey. He leaves a trace on his victims, a slime of doubt and pain, that lingers where they touch. Kids handle their lockers many times every day. It concentrates."

"Oh. That's what you're looking for."

The monkey said, "Less talk. Turn the glass, human girl."

I gritted my teeth, but swept the light slowly down the row.

It was a big school. Way too big. Kids got lost in the shuffle all the time. I bet there were kids went there for four years and not one adult knew them well enough to put a face to their names. We found three more lockers with old trace until, on the second floor, we found one that had smoke boiling over it like the fumes from dry ice.

"There!" Tamsyn's triumphant shout echoed loudly in the still corridor. The monkey set his mirror down, the smoke vanished, but we gathered in front of the locker anyway. Number 2016. Halfway down from the History classroom, and across from the boys' john. Nothing special to mark it.

"Now what?" I asked. "Can you, like, trail it?"

"We need to know who the human child is," the monkey said.

Tamsyn fiddled with the lock. "Silverseal and lock-picking time. I wish I was better at this."

"I told you to pay more attention," Sprite murmured.

"I did." Tamsyn dusted something on the lock, then bent to listen to it, turning the dial slowly. After a moment, she tugged on it. I'd come far enough in believing her powerful to be startled when it didn't open. "Oberon's balls," she muttered, and bent to try again.

On the third failure, Sprite began a less-than-helpful coaching. "More. Turn slower. Listen carefully. Use your perfect ears for once, Highness."

I could see Tamsyn flinch at that last one. I said, "Why don't you just do it, if you're so expert?"

He bared long yellow teeth at me. "Cold iron. I can't touch it. Half-breeds can."

I thought for a while, as Tamsyn worked over the lock. "What about a bolt cutter? There's one in the janitor's tool closet." They'd cut open the locker of a student who got busted for meth. I'd seen it then.

"I'd rather not leave marks on the locker of a kid who might—" She bit her lip, but I heard the unsaid, "turn up dead tomorrow."

"Well, do you need to get in, or just know who it is?"

"We need a name, address, something. And tonight, not tomorrow, so we can't just stake it out."

"We could look in the computer," I said. "Lockers are assigned, and recorded."

"They—" She straightened fast. "I wouldn't begin to know where to find that."

"I would." I grinned smugly at Sprite. "I can get into the system. Mrs. Benedict has all her passwords written on her desk calendar." Working in the office had been eye opening in many ways.

Tamsyn looked at me, her eyes shining. "If you can, that'd be awesome."

I'd have done far more than breaking and entering to get her to look at me like that. Plus I didn't have to break. Just enter. "Come on."

The offices were on the ground floor. I let us inside. For a moment I worried about cameras, because they'd talked about security upgrades. But with Tamsyn crowding me urgently, and Sprite muttering about the time, I kept going. I did say, as I sat at Mrs. Benedict's desk, "If there's a video of me talking to a monkey, I'll never live it down."

"I have a glamor on us," Tamsyn said. "Can't do invisible, but we're mice, squeaking."

"I bet we get the exterminator called in," I muttered, clicking on the desktop screen with a tissue wrapped on my fingers. Worth not leaving fingerprints, if there wouldn't be damning video. Maybe I'd get away with this after all. It took me a few minutes to get into the system and find the locker records. I typed in 2016.

The record opened. "Bradley Thompson." I went to student records, used another password to get into them. Honestly, Mrs. Benedict's laziness was coming in handy. I read out his address. Sprite and Tamsyn recited it back in eerie unison. I shivered, as I powered the system down. "Now what?"

"Now we Hunt," Sprite said. I could hear a bloodthirsty capital in the word.

"Come on." Tamsyn took my hand, her warm palm a comfort against Sprite's sharp tone. She tugged me up out of the chair, and then hugged me hard and fast. I'd have risked anything for that, even though it lasted only a moment of her body against mine. "Let us back outside now, and leave no trace."

I did as she said, wiping the door handles as we locked the office, and priming the alarm as we left the building.

The air outside was warm and still. The moon shone full, touched by the smallest wisp of a cloud. Sprite looked up, then at the horizon. "Time's wasting, Your Highness. Let's go."

"Can you find the address?" I asked.

"I have all these streets memorized," Sprite said with disdain. "I am a fae steed."

Tamsyn turned to me. "Time for us to go."

"Let me go with you." I wasn't ready for the magic to end. And I knew Brad, if only by sight. "I might be useful." When Sprite snorted, I said to his face, "Useful again. There's obviously things you two can't do."

"I don't want you hurt," Tamsyn said.

"You said it preys on the weak and the lost. When have I been weak?" Lost I had been. It's hard not to be, when they shuffle you from house to home, from family to group counselors. I'd never lived one place long enough to feel like I belonged. But I was not weak.

"Bring the girl," Sprite said, to my surprise. "But we must go now." He shuddered and grew, bulking up, stretching out. Until Tamsyn's familiar red bike stood there on the pavement, chrome gleaming.

"I thought he couldn't touch iron," I muttered, to cover my startled recoil.

Tamsyn slung her backpack over her other arm and smacked the front fender, with a hollow clunk. "Not metal."

I didn't want to think about how flesh and blood could become fiberglass, or if that was bone...

Instead I shouldered my own backpack.

"Stick that in your car. It'll just get in the way. And then come on."

I went quickly to my car, tossing the pack on the passenger side floor— it felt so normal. I fought a moment's impulse to get in and leave. Instead I stuck my phone in my pocket and locked the door. The phone was just a cheap burner, no GPS, no Internet minutes with Google maps. But it could call 911 in a pinch.

Tamsyn was already on the bike. I went and swung on behind her, awkwardly grabbing her around the waist with her lumpy pack between us. She tugged my wrist, cursed, and then slipped free to take the pack off. "Here. You wear this. And hold on tight." The instant I was snugged down against her back, arms wrapped across her stomach, the bike took off like a bat out of hell.

I might have whooped a bit. It was perfect. Sublime, even. I never had an excuse to use that word, but this— rushing through city streets, the bike an unnaturally low purr beneath us, wind and speed and Tamsyn's hair in my face, Tamsyn's body against mine— this was worth every SAT word I knew, and then some.

We slowed at the top of a hill and rolled soundlessly down to the curb in front of a small one-story rambler. Tamsyn swung off the bike and held out a hand to me. When I was clear, the bike shuddered and became a cat, tabby-striped with tufted ears and about twice normal cat size. It shook its tail at me, sat down, and began grooming its shoulder.

Tamsyn took back her pack and stood close to me. She murmured, "Down there," and pointed two houses further along, at another small single story. "That one. The shreevahn is there."

"Can you, um, see it?" I spoke equally softly.

She gestured at a window on the near side. With that clue, I could see the trail of fog seeping around the edges to vanish in the moonlight. "What now?" I asked.

"We can't barge in uninvited. Not unless he asks us inside. Not even I can, though my half-human side gives me other protections."

"I thought that was vampires."

"All our folk have a hard time crossing thresholds to a human hearth and home. Some can. If we'd brought a Brownie, they're house dwellers." The cat cleared his throat, and Tamsyn glanced down. "I know. You said so. I still think keeping a Brownie out of mischief for months would have been less than worth it."

"So then, what?" I asked.

Tamsyn began to walk toward the house, the cat stalking at her side. "Sprite will try. People find it hard to resist him."

"Really?" I looked down at his powerful, rangy body. I don't know that I'd have let that twenty-pound hunting cat into my house, and I like cats.

Sprite smirked up at me, and changed some more, smaller, softer, until as we reached the hedge between the two houses he was fuzzy and small, all big kitten eyes, and quivering whiskers.

"Oh."

Tamsyn and I stood back and watched as he jumped to the sill of the window and rapped on it with his nose, little pink mouth open in a plaintive mew. It would've made me all gooey and eager to help, but the window stayed shut. After a couple more tries, he jumped down and scurried back to us.

"The boy is in there, sitting in his bed with that carrion-crow of a shreevahn perched on the headboard."

"What's he doing?" Tamsyn asked.

"Staring at his hands. He didn't even look around. The misery is thick as night in there."

Tamsyn swore softly. "I can try."

"Let me," I said quickly. "I know him, a little."

"All right." Tamsyn touched my cheek. "If he lets you in, the moment he lets you in, you call, 'Titania and Sprite-of-the-meadows, I invite you to enter.' Repeat that."

I did, not even choking over 'Sprite-of-the-meadows' despite his toothy kitten grin.

"Good luck," she murmured, and then pushed my arm. "Now. Quickly."

I hurried over to the window and looked in. Bradley sat on the bed, hunched over his crossed legs like his stomach hurt. His hands were in his lap and his whole body was tense and still as stone. With the dimness of the room, it was hard to see the shreevahn, but there was an aura of darkness, like the pall of smoke over a burned-out building, behind him. No face, no eyes that I could make out, but a cold, hungry, waiting thing.

I rapped hard on the window. "Hey! Brad!" He didn't turn to look at me, didn't even flinch from his fixed pose. I knocked harder, shouted loud enough that Sprite hissed, and I was glad no neighbor yelled back at me. But Bradley didn't seem to care. After a moment he took a deeper breath, and I saw the moonlight flicker, a tiny silver flash on something in his hands. The dark cloud at his shoulder flowed a little closer to his skin.

I reached down and yanked off my boot, pulling my own little knife out of its sheath as soon as I got it off. Noah got me that knife when I was thirteen, a wicked smile on his angelic face as he said, "Take this. Hide it. Use it if you have to."

With the heel of my boot, I smashed the window and sliced through the screen with the tip of my knife. Quickly, I broke out the rest of the glass, clearing the sill of shards with a sweep of the lug sole. Bradley did glance over then, his face pale but still blank. The window was low enough for me to boost myself up and get my stomach over the edge, until I tumbled into the room.

Bradley's expression went from dull pain to startled, which was an improvement. "What? Who?" His voice was thin and rusty-sounding.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't!" I could see the blade in his fingers, close against the inside of his wrist, the first drop of blood welling at its tip. "Listen to me."

"Um? Gwen?"

Confusion was good. But even as he said it, a little softer and more like his real voice, the dark cloud behind him surged forward across the floor and touched my bare foot.

It was an odd touch, comforting almost, familiar and gentle and yet exhausting. It took away pain, took the ache in my back from moving boxes of paper for an hour, and the blisters on my feet from boots a size too small that I couldn't afford to replace. Took the loneliness of knowing there was not one adult in the whole world who'd be sad for more than a moment if I disappeared. The sharp quality of all that was gone. It got softened, blurred, grayed out. Nothing really mattered, after all.

Nothing mattered. There was no grand significance to it. My life was a little spark, a guttering ember in the dark, dull sewer of the world. We humans had it all wrong, thinking that we could grow and grow and eat the planet and never stop. The end was coming. We'd go out, not with a bang but with a whimper. Flood waters rising, air thickening to choke us, water that you could light on fire dripping from our taps.

The powerful didn't care about people like me. Look at my life. No dad, mom dead when I was eight. And at eight, already too old for anyone to want me. Home after home, passed around for the foster money. Ditched from one place when the mom, who pretended to like me, got pregnant with her own, real baby. Sent from another when one of my foster brothers broke the TV. Ran away from the one where the uncle watched me, day after day, with that look in his eyes, and ended up in the group home where the adults were doing pot on the back step while the boys beat each other up.

Not one of them ever cared about me. No one had. And why should they? What was I? Ugly, unpopular, geeky and confused. I was eighteen and in a month, I'd be out there on my own, to sink or swim. I'd sink, of course. How many of my foster sibs were on the street somewhere, turning tricks, doing drugs, sinking in the uncaring dog-eat-dog of American life where you had to sit up and beg pretty for every bite they gave you?

I turned the little knife in my fingers over, and over, looking at the shiny blade. Somewhere, someone was speaking but it was dull and far away, irrelevant. That knife held an answer. I pressed it in on my skin, watching the pale inside of my wrist dip under the flat of the blade. Just a little more, just a turn from flat to edge, and I wouldn't care anymore. The blade was sharp. Noah had taught me to hone it...

Like a clean, cold breeze, the memory of Noah swept through my mind. Noah, who could have auditioned for any K-pop band, all cheekbones and black-silk hair. We'd only shared a home for a month, before I woke to shouts and a siren in the night, and we were all taken away and separated the next day. But before that, he'd bought me the knife somewhere with his own money. He called it a butterfly knife, showed me how to pull and flip it ready. Made me practice. I sewed up a sheath and clip with the leather from an outgrown boot, and kept it on me, always.

Noah had said, "For protection. We both know you might need it. But." He'd reached out with long slim fingers and gripped my wrists, so tight I had bruises the next day. "If I ever, ever, hear about you using it to cut or shit like that, I'm gonna come bust your ass. Got it?"

And I'd said, "Hey. I don't do that stuff."

He'd said, "Yeah. You're tough. You're gonna make it." And let me go with a satisfied sigh.

So why was I sitting here with the blade against my skin?

I pulled it away and slashed, blindly, down toward the soft touch on my ankle. The blade passed through nothing, hit nothing, but for a moment the fog in my eyes lifted. I remembered. Yelled, "Titania, I invite you to enter." Coughed like I was clearing smoke from my lungs and added, "Sprite-of-the-meadows, come in too. I mean, I invite you to enter."

As the words left my mouth, there was a crash and something landed on my ankle. It hurt but the grayness was ripped away. I rolled and sat up. There was Tamsyn, her eyes blazing, hand raised. She stood at my feet and tossed a handful of something at the swiftly coiling gray fog at the headboard. Her voice came loud and commanding, syllables that I heard with my ears but couldn't hold in my mind.

The fog condensed, thickened, pulling in and in. I saw out of the corner of my eye that Bradley hadn't turned to look, just hunched tighter and smaller. A thread of the gray was still wrapped around his throat. I got my feet under me and leaped for the bed, grabbing at his wrists. I got one, missed the other, but my fingers came between his blade and skin. The shallow slash across my knuckles stung like fire, but he gasped and cried out like it had caught him instead.

Tamsyn's voice got louder, and Sprite in big-cat form sprang, and bit at that strangling thread around Bradley's neck, teeth snapping shut. Sprite caterwauled through clenched jaws but didn't let go. A second later the thread fell away from Bradley and he collapsed like a puppet cut from its strings, slumped down on the bed. His chest heaved, so I knew he wasn't dead.

I kept my hands on him but my eyes fixed on Tamsyn. God, she was stunning. Her hair whipped around her head like a storm cloud and her eyes were brilliant with starlight. She raised her hands, gesturing as she spoke. Slowly, slowly, the dark form on the headboard shrank into a humanoid creature. It was tiny, perhaps a foot tall, and stunningly beautiful.

Tamsyn said, "You are mine to command now," and either it was in English, or I began to understand another language.

The tiny man with pointy chin and cheekbones sharp as cut glass spat in her direction but didn't move from where he perched, hands and bare feet gripping the top rail of the bed.

"By iron and rowan and tansy I bind you." Her voice was clear. She tossed another handful of powder at the small figure and he shivered, but didn't dodge the fine dust that settled over him.

Sprite leaped from the bed to the floor, dropped the dark coil he was carrying onto the floor and batted at it like a cat with a string, but his eyes blazed too and he kept them on the shreevahn. For a moment, the only sound was the padding steps of the cat, as he finally flicked the coil out the window with a scoop of one broad paw, and then went to sit at Tamsyn's side.

"By what right?" I'd expected the little man's voice to be horrid, or tiny, but he had the rich, mellow tones of a revival preacher. "You cannot hold me."

"By word and warrant of our queen," Tamsyn said.

"Your bitch-queen, not mine."

"On Mayday's Eve, Seelie holds sway over Unseelie for a night," she said evenly. "And you might want to watch your words."

"Let me go." He stood, balancing easily on the headboard as if the edge was a broad roadway. "I've harmed none of yours."

"I'm a Hunter," she said. "All humans are mine. And you've been careless and greedy enough to bring attention to yourself. The Queen does not forgive that."

"I can do better." The little man looked down at Bradley, curled up on the covers with his eyes squeezed shut. "Let me finish that one and I will go. Of my own will. I'll not feed for a year, on my oath."

"No deal."

"He's almost empty anyway." The creature licked his lips. "Only the nugget left. Two years, then, after."

"No, and no." Tamsyn stepped toward him, one hand out to her side with the moonlight from the window pooled in it like liquid silver. "Tonight, I hold all the cards. I need no bargains, and no oaths. We'll see what deal you make in Her Majesty's prison."

The little angelic face twisted. "It's my nature. We all live by our natures."

Sprite snarled, "And die by them. You lost."

The shreevahn sprang at him without warning, small, sharp, white teeth bared. Tamsyn tossed the moonlight in her palm, and it became a noose, a loop of pure silver that dropped over the shreevahn and yanked tight, jerking it out of the air.

Sprite snarled at her. "I could've dealt with him."

"We promised to deliver him." Deftly, as if it was a familiar task, Tamsyn began reeling in the dangling, struggling shreevahn, wrapping the cord around him further and further. As he was pulled into the moonlight by the window, the cord thickened and flattened, tying up his arms and hands until he was half-cocooned. Tamsyn gave Sprite a grin. "You want to walk up to my mother and say, 'I know we were supposed to bring the wight in to you, but I preferred to eat him'?"

Sprite looked sulky. "No. Highness."

The shreevahn said on a gasp of breath, "Release me and I'll give you a wish. Two wishes."

Tamsyn laughed. "And you'd twist them to ill. I know your kind." She held him on a short string, dangling and kicking. "Sprite, you want to deliver our package to my mother's court?"

Sprite blinked. "While you do what?"

Tamsyn's smile dimmed. She gestured at Bradley and me on the bed. "Clean-up."

"Oh. Right." Sprite eyed us too, for a long moment. I pulled my gaze off Tamsyn, in her glory and power, to meet his eyes. Those bright green eyes narrowed and darkened, but I'd stared down worse than him. I kept my stare steady on his. The air in that room was thick with so many things. I wanted to look at Brad and make sure he was all right. I wanted even more to look at Tamsyn, to take in every moment I had. Because of course she'd be leaving, now her job was done.

That realization hit me like a punch to the chest, knocking out my breath. She would be gone. But even that wasn't enough to make me take my eyes off Sprite.

Eventually he said, "I'll deliver our prize, aye. And Your Highness, sometimes you don't have to give up everything for the job. Sometimes your life can be fit in, around the edges."

He looked up at her, breaking our staring contest, so I did too. Her expression was puzzled, confused, perhaps needy. He shifted, doubling in size, until he was a lanky, thick-maned, red-coated bobcat that I was sure had never appeared in the pages of Wikipedia. This time it was Tamsyn's gaze he held for a long moment. Then he said, "See you soon, m'lady." He leaped, snatching the sliver-wrapped form of the shreevahn from where it dangled below her fist. Then he paused, shook his head, whipping the unfortunate shreevahn around, sneezed, and mumbled around his full mouth, "Argh. Burns. T' many iron filings in t'mix, Highness. Less is more w' that spell."

"You can dunk him in a stream on your way," she suggested.

"Don' think I won'." He adjusted the silvered shreevahn in his mouth, his tongue working and face scrunched like something tasted awful. "No one'll care if't arri'es wet." The shreevahn's gaze crossed mine but before he could speak, Sprite whirled him away to the window. The last I saw of the evil little creature was his twisted, wailing face, as Sprite gripped him firmly in his jaws, sprang out the broken window into the moonlight, and was gone.

The air in the room got lighter and cleaner, like after a storm has passed. Tamsyn turned to me. Her eyes were just her eyes, lovely and dark but not flashing with power. Her face was stunning, her hair like silk, but it was a human beauty. It hurt my heart more than her flashing your-highness power ever could. So I said, "Okay, I'm betting you're ugly as a troll under the glamor, right?"

She laughed, a human sound. "Right. I actually look like a large rat."

I couldn't help a snort. "Sure you do."

She came over, sat on the bed beside me, and reached for my hand. "You cut yourself."

Brad shuddered against my knee at her words, eyes still closed. I said, "Yeah. Sharp knives around. It happens."

"Gwen, I, um. Now I..."

It was almost refreshing to see her unsure. I said, "You have to go report in. And then what? Another hunt?"

"It's what I do. Who I am."

"Sure. Like a cop. Or a bounty hunter. You need a tattoo, and a machine gun." I was talking randomly, to cover the thinness of the breath in my chest.

At least I made her laugh. "I have Sprite, and moonlight. It's enough."

"And me?" I left it ambiguous. She had me, if she wanted, but she didn't need to know that if it made her uncomfortable. If it was impossible. So that might be just a question about my fate. Which I was rather curious about. "What happens to a mortal who shares a hunt with a princess?"

"Half-breed Hunter."

In case there was a put-down in those words, I laid my unbloody hand on hers. Her skin was silk-smooth under my palm. "The best kind. But what now?"

"Now? I take his memories and turn them to dreams. I should take yours."

"But you won't!" I said it fast and hard and fiercely. "That's like mind rape." Through everything that had ever happened to me, the inside of my head had always been my own.

"No-o, not yours." She said it slowly.

"Your word on it!"

A long breath. "My word."

I sighed against the thumping of my heart. "Thank you. You can trust me, you know. I won't tell."

"I know." She slumped, leaning against me until my shoulder was under hers.

Her weight was heavy on me. For a moment I felt older, wiser, tender. I turned my head so my lips just grazed her hair. It wasn't a kiss. "How old are you, Tamsyn? How long have you done this?"

I thought she might not answer, but eventually she said, "Twenty-one. And four years. It used to be all fun."

"And now?"

"It's mostly fun. But sometimes I wish there was more."

"More? Like?"

She straightened away from me, to meet my eyes. "You know like what. And I can't have it, when I move on every few months, at my mother's whim."

"Can you quit?"

"It's a calling, not a job. I can't hand in my papers."

I swallowed and wet my lips. I had to try, had to dare. "You might find someone willing to move on too. Someone with no ties, no family, willing to scratch a living wherever you land, however long."

She reached out and touched my cheek. "I wouldn't do that to someone I cared for."

"They might think it worthwhile."

"You have plans. College on the foster-care supplement. You've worked for that future for years. You told me how hard."

"Plans change. I own the car, fair and square. I can travel... once I get my diploma, anyway." I heard that fall out of my mouth and winced. She was right, I was too cautious to give that minimum up. I sighed. "A month. Less than."

"I'll be weeks gone."

"Can't you tell me where you land? Send a text? A red-winged carrier pigeon."

She chuckled with the sound of tears in it. "Right. I'll tell Sprite he's reduced to letter-carrier."

"Well, he already does packages."

She hugged me, suddenly, fiercely. Her arms around my neck almost strangled me. "I'm going to miss you so much."

My eyes stung and blurred. I said, "Kiss me goodbye?"

"If I do, I'm not sure I can leave."

"Let's test that," I whispered. I turned my head, and she did the same, slowly, until our mouths met. She tasted of salt. Neither of us made it more than a simple press of lips on lips, because that was enough and almost more than I could bear.

When we separated, she said, "I still have to leave. I don't want to."

I rubbed my face with the back of my hand. "Well, you know where to find me. For three weeks."

She reached for me, the hem of her shirt in her hand. "You have blood on your face." I sat silently and let her mop at my cheek. "There. Better. I can't bear to see that." She touched me again, the trail of a fingertip across my skin. "Perhaps. Maybe. Think of me now and then?"

"Like I'm going to forget you after making you swear to leave the memories alone," I said, trying to sound tough. "I'll think of you in my shower. Now and then."

She actually blushed, a flush of pink across her cheeks in the moonlight. "Um. Okay, I don't mind. And other times?"

"Now and then," I said roughly.

She pushed away and stood. From the pocket of her pack, she grabbed a handful of the dust and held it up. "Back off the bed."

I tumbled to the floor as she threw it, to drift down over Bradley. "Only dreams, in the moonlight, a cat broke the window. Sleep now," she said. Brad twitched and took one long slow breath.

She turned to me, her cool Highness look in place. "You have a cut on your foot too. Don 't forget to tend it. Want a boost out the window?"

I hesitated. Another moment with her, another touch of her hands... but it was clear she was going to make it impersonal. That might hurt worse than nothing at all. I looked at Brad. His breathing was getting shallower and more ragged. "What about him?"

"He'll wake with no memory of the shreevahn or us."

"Or thinking about killing himself?"

She dropped her gaze. "I don't know. That's probably not a new thought for him. The shreevahn picks victims who are already going down, and tugs them under. I can't fix that with a puff of rowan and a spell."

"Then I'll stay." I got up and sat back on the foot of the bed. "For a while. So he doesn't wake miserable with blood on the sheet and a knife beside his hand."

"You could steal the blade."

"That wouldn't fix the problem."

"No. True." Her expression did soften then. "Will you be okay? I know it touched you too."

"I have never been a victim," I said. "Not starting now."

"One of the best things about you. You're a fighter, through and through." She went to the window, sat on the sill. "Stay safe and strong, Gwen. For my sake."

"For my own," I said with a toss of my head that I didn't actually feel. The lump of my scraggly bun thumped against my neck where her hand had been. "Unless you come back."

"Right." She seemed to think about that, nodded, raised a hand to me and was gone out into the night.

I whispered after her, "And you stay safe, for me."

The room was cool and empty. The night air came in through the broken-out glass, at least fresh and clean. Before I had time to wallow in how I was feeling, Brad woke with a shout, sitting up fast.

"What the...? Get away from me!"

"Take it easy," I said. "I'm here to help."

"I don't need help." It was a reflex growl. "And who the hell are you?"

"Gwen. Rider. From school?" I slid off the bed slowly, staying low so I wasn't looming over him. Found my boot on the floor, and slid my knife into the sheath inside it. Butterflies are as illegal as switchblades, most places. I didn't want it seen. I said, "I've cut myself on the glass. Pass me some tissues?"

"What?" He still gaped at me.

"Tissues? Kleenex? Little cheap squares of paper that soak up blood?"

"I. Um." He blinked, then tossed the box at me.

I caught it and pulled out a handful, pressing them to the glass cut on my heel. "Crap. That stings. Don't get out of bed. There's more glass on the floor."

"What? Why?" He shifted around, trying to sit tall. "Why are you here?"

"You first. Why were you sitting there with a knife to your wrist when I looked in?"

"I what? I didn't..." He looked down, and I knew the moment when he saw the little bloody nick in his skin, and felt the sting of uncertain memory. He jolted and pressed his fingers there.

I tossed the tissue box back on the bed. "Try those."

He gave me a startled look, obediently pulled out a couple and used them. "I don't remember." His voice was thick and uncertain. "I don't think I meant to."

"Well, I wouldn't have busted out the window if I thought you were shaving your arm hair," I said tartly.

"You broke the window?"

"If you'd opened it when I yelled at you, I wouldn't have had to."

"You... yelled?"

"Get with the program." I folded a couple of tissues against my heel and managed to cram my foot back into the boot. It hurt like a bitch, but that was nothing new. My cash all went for the car right now, and the phone, and rent. Boots would wait.

I sat on the end of the bed, as far from him as I could get. Carefully I leaned forward and slid my hand along the sheets until I found the knife. It was a Swiss Army, sharp enough though not extra well-honed. He could've done the job with it, if he was determined enough. A good thing he'd picked such a crap tool, though. That little cut he had wasn't much, and my fingers would live. I held it up. "Recognize this?"

"I, um, it's mine."

"And it's in your bed with blood on it for what? Moonlight ritual?"

"No." He looked down. "I guess not."

"Ever played with it before? Cut yourself a little? Pressed there, where the vein is? Wondered if you dared?" I'd known kids who cut, and kids who tried more. Foster sisters and brothers, gone into the bureaucracy; who knew where. I hadn't told on them, hadn't helped them. I was stronger now.

He flushed and looked at the wall without answering me. Which was a kind of answer.

At that moment we both heard the garage door going up. Then a house door slammed. Two voices carried down the hall, male and female. Brad glanced up at me in a panic. "Quick, you have to get out of here!" he whispered urgently. "Go! Now!"

I thought about it. His secrets were his own. Until they could kill him, that is. "I don't think so," I said softly. "What kind of people are your folks?" I knew real family life wasn't all roses. Maybe they didn't care.

"I don't want them to know," he muttered. "They'll carry on and worry."

"Beat you? Throw you out? Buy you a sharper knife?"

"What?" He looked stunned. "No! They'll be all smothery and anxious—"

That was enough for me. You can fix anything except dead. I said very loudly, "I'm not leaving yet!"

There was a stunned pause, in the room and out, then footsteps and a knock on the door. A woman's voice. "Bradley? Honey? Are you okay?'

"I'm fine, Mom," he called out. "Just a bad dream."

"Are you sure? Can I get you anything? Want to talk about it?"

I don't know if it was the fairy ointment still on me, or just the ache of never having heard that myself, that made me read her voice. But I could hear it— the deep worry and fear for him, the love and confusion, that made her linger at his door— so I said clearly, "He's not as okay as all that. But watch the glass on the floor."

He smacked at me with one hand, easy to dodge.

The door swung open. There were two people there, a short, round woman with a frown on her face, and a taller, thinner man behind her. The both stared at me, and around the room.

"Who are you?" The man's voice was deep and rough.

"A friend of Brad's from school." I slumped, trying to look small and harmless. Being a girl would help too. "I was worried about him."

"I hardly know you!" Brad protested.

I frowned at him. "So I should let you slit your wrists in peace?"

"What?" His mother took a step closer. I saw she still had street shoes on, so I didn't stop her. She had eyes only for her son. "Brad, you didn't?"

"No," he lied flatly. "I—"

I tossed the knife onto the blanket between us, the blade still open. His parents both looked at it like it was a snake, then his dad leaped over and grabbed it. His mom kind of collapsed onto the bed sitting with her back to me, her arms open to him. "God, baby, no!"

For a moment I thought he'd still deny it. Then it all seemed to catch up to him, and his face crumpled. He let out a wail that was all misery and no words, and the last half was muffled against her shoulder. She rocked him, murmuring reassurances. I got up then, and backed away, the glass crunching under my boots. His father looked back and forth between us, then gestured out into the hall. I nodded and followed him.

Outside the room, he turned to me. "Tell me what happened."

I've always preferred truth from other people. Doesn't mean I'm not an excellent liar. And the best lies are mostly truth, with flavoring. "I know Bradley, a little, at school. He's been down a lot lately, and for some reason today he looked, um, off. Gray." Especially in the greedy-shreevahn smoke of despair. "I was worried, and I don't have his phone number but a friend knew where he lives."

"And you just... came over?"

"Our school has lost seven kids this year. Seven!" I didn't have to fake the thickness in my throat. "A couple I knew better than Bradley. Every time we all said, 'If I only knew. If I only did something.' So this time it bothered me, until I did something."

"What did you see?"

I didn't pull my punch, with this man's worried blue eyes on me. "He was so fixated on the knife in his hands, he didn't even hear me knock, so I broke the window. And came in and took it away from him." I tilted my head. "He might not admit it."

His father shook his head. "It's his knife, and his mother will get the truth out of him. We should have, sooner. We didn't want to pry."

"Sometimes it's good if someone wants to," I agreed, relieved. "Is it okay if I go now? You'll get help for him?"

"Yes, of course. But." He looked down at my hand. "You hurt yourself. Do you need the ER? Or a bandage?"

The scrape along my fingers had broken open again, a few drops welling up. "I'll take some gauze if you have it. It's not bad."

"Wait a moment." He hurried off and came back with a roll bandage he insisted on helping me wrap around my hand. "What's your name? Can I drive you home?"

"Gwen," I said, suppressing the impulse to lie again. After all, I'd be in the yearbook when it came out next week. "And I have my car nearby." I could hardly say I came over on a shape-changing fairy-bike.

"Gwen." He said it like he was memorizing it. "Shall I at least call your parents? Tell them why you're out so late?"

"Fosters. And God, no." I shuddered at the thought. "Don't wake them up. There'd be hell to pay. I'm fine."

"Seriously? They wouldn't think you did a good thing?" He touched my arm like he couldn't believe it.

I shrugged his touch off. "In theory, yeah. In practice, not enough to be woken at midnight. No worries. The door is this way?" I set off down the hall.

He followed me in silence, but as he reached to open the door he added, "Whatever happens now, we owe you. My wife and I, and Bradley too, even if he's mad right now. I'd like to repay you somehow."

I shrugged. "I'd have done it for anyone."

"But you did it for my son."

It was never a bad thing to have someone owe you a favor, but in this case, I didn't want to be sucked in. I said, "Pay it forward?" I thought of Noah, and the knife, and the night I never saw him again. I'd have to try to find him. Some people you shouldn't lose. "That's kind of what I did."

"All right. But if you ever need anything..."

"Thanks."

He reached for my hand, like men do, sealing everything with a handshake, but I held up my bandage with a smile, slipped past him out the door, and took off running.

I had no clue where I was, and those boots made it torture. As soon as I was out of sight I slowed down. I'd have to walk till I found a gas station or Seven-Eleven and ask how to get back to school and my car. I turned in a circle, peering down the dark streets for a promising direction. Then a squirrel scurried down a tree, scampered across the sidewalk to me, and said, "Can we at least get off the common road?"

"Sprite?"

"An' how many fae-steeds do you know?"

"One, apparently." I only realized how unhappy I'd been by the lift in my spirits to see him.

"This way." He led me up alongside a thick hedge, deep in shadow. "I'll bring you to your car. Don't thank me though. Don't ever thank the fae. It's dangerous to acknowledge a debt to us."

"Oh, all right." I thought, said cautiously, "It would be good to have a ride."

He chuckled, "Aye, that's the way. It's the letter of the law that counts with us. We'll twist the spirit of it in a pretzel and wrap it round your throat, or perhaps crown you with it if we like you."

"Do you?"

"Like you? I've known worse. For a mortal."

He flowed, changed, became the bike, engine throbbing quietly. "Get on."

I startled, wondering how the hell he could talk in this form, with no mouth. Although, a cat's mouth wasn't made for English. Let alone a horse's... He revved impatiently, and I swung a leg over the saddle, grabbed the handlebars and hung on.

Damn, he was fast when he wanted to be. And yet, whether he was cornering low enough to brush the cuff of my jeans on the pavement, or flying off the top of a rise, I've never felt as secure. My arms missed the living warmth of Tamsyn in front of me, but it was still glorious.

He pulled up beside my car, in the quiet school lot. The truck was still there too. All was still, and ordinary. I got off, my knees suddenly shaky. I caught a reflexive thank you back at the last moment and said instead, "That was fun."

"You don't lack for nerve," he murmured. "Go on now. Build your life well and strongly, like she was never coming back. But keep your eyes open."

"For what?" I firmly squashed the rise of hope in my heart.

"Ah. That would be telling." He rolled back a couple of feet, shuddered, and became a stallion again, free and unharnessed now. With a neigh loud enough to echo off the concrete and walls, he reared, plunged past me, leaped the seven-foot fence, and was gone.

"Show-off," I muttered.

There was my car. The battered, rusted, twenty-year-old hope for a future that sucked down all my money. On the passenger floor, my backpack, with a bunch of books that mattered very little now in these final weeks. Acceptances were out, I'd got in at the U, with a foster-kid scholarship, so long as I passed. No money for room and board, but I'd find a job this summer, and live in the car, at first. I'd done it with Mom and knew how it worked, till the weather got cold. By then I'd have savings again. I could do this.

It all seemed dull and pointless, as I glanced back to where a red-roan horse had leaped an impossible height, and taken the last color of the night with him.

No.

I could do this.

I dug out my keys, opened the car, got in, drove home. I could do this. I wasn't weak, wasn't prey. I wasn't a toy, even for a Hunter. Life went on, right? And you danced on the grave?

It wasn't quite as easy as that, but I managed. Bradley missed three days of school, and then came back looking a lot less gray. I kept a subtle eye on him. I'd be damned if he'd get lost in the crowd again. But he seemed to be staying above water, as the year drew to a close. He spotted me once, and came over, not quite looking me in the eye. Said, "Thanks."

I said, "No problem. Pay it forward." And walked away.

I didn't go to prom. No money for a dress or pictures, no one I wanted to see. I spent the evening job-hunting on the library computer at the community college. When they closed down at eleven, I left grudgingly, behind a pair of younger guys talking basketball, and a girl texting on her phone. I was the last one out, my car the last in the lot. On the windshield, its stem tucked under the wiper, was a single rose. It was a strange color, almost silver with a hint of pale pink. The waning moonlight glinted off the edges of the petals as if they were sharp, but their touch was soft as velvet. The parking lot was deserted, though.

I took the rose with me, set it on the passenger seat as I drove home. And hoped. Even though in the morning, despite putting it into a glass of water, all that remained was a heap of glittering dust on the milk-crate by my bed.

Graduation was two days after the end of term, a warm sunny day. Everything I owned, which was pitifully little, was packed in the back of my car. My foster parents were off at a tractor-pull, which was fine with me. We'd done best when we ignored each other. They weren't the worst, by far, but I had no illusions they wanted more from me than my rent.

Under my gown I wore practical clothes, khaki pants with good pockets, the sneakers I'd found on the hood of my car two days earlier, and a sleeveless shirt because my new tattoo still stung a bit. A dumb waste of money, you could say. But I'd wanted to write some reminder of that night on my skin. Something I'd never lose. The cut on my knuckles was healing, and a scar on my heel was a piss-poor souvenir. I'd drawn this complicated thing, with a bike and a cat, a kitten and a horse, and smoke, a knife, a rose, a silver whip. Everything except Tamsyn, because I couldn't do her justice. I pulled from my meager savings and found a guy to ink it on my arm. It was worth the cost.

I stood in the shade offstage, overheating in my gown as they called our names. They called Tamsyn's by mistake, and the silence afterward ran cold down my spine. But there was a mutter of, "Sorry, she left," and then the roll went on.

"Gwen Rider."

I went up the steps onto the stage. The sun was hot on the black broadcloth across my shoulders. My unruly bun was coming down again, wisps tickling my neck like eyes on me; hairpin failure seemed to be my fate. I was given my diploma, and found out I also got the science award. It came with a little certificate and no money, but it was nice. I walked off the other side to the sound of polite clapping. Done. Graduated.

We were supposed to stay and take pictures and I don't know what all. But instead, I snuck away, leaving my gown with the company rep at their booth. The cap was apparently mine to keep. I sailed it into a tree, where it hung like a Dali version of a crow, black on a branch. Done.

As I rounded the school, with the sounds of the ceremony still coming muffled from behind the building, a girl on a red bike coasted to a stop beside me. "Hey." Tamsyn's voice was rough. "Going somewhere?"

"My possibilities are wide open," I said.

"Care for a ride?"

"Maybe." I squinted at her. "Are you going to disappear for three weeks again after?"

Sprite's voice said, "Get on my back, girl. Then Her Moodiness might stop pining."

I felt a smile pull at the corner of my lips. "Have you been pining, Tamsyn?"

"Not a bit," she said. "Now get on the damned bike."

I swung my leg over and swung on behind her. She pressed a hand on my knee, pulled it in against her leg. I leaned my head on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her. She laughed softly. "I bet you didn't miss me any more than I missed you."

"Nope." I dared to lay my hand on her thigh. She was warm and solid to my touch. "I've forgotten you completely."

She turned, her long hair brushing my cheek, and looked at my new tattoo. "You have six versions of Sprite painted on your skin. Should I be jealous?"

"I go for the unpredictable type," I muttered.

"At least you added my rose."

"That was from you? I thought I had some secret admirer."

For a moment I thought I'd gone too far, but then she laughed. "Not so secret. That was a long three weeks."

"Mm." I closed my eyes and turned my forehead against her neck.

"I was going to let you go." Her voice was soft but steady. "I thought I could do that. Move on. Next job. I missed you with every breath I took. So... I do have a new job, new Hunt. It could be dangerous."

"I laugh in the face of danger! Then I... hide until it goes away."

"The hell you do." She hesitated. "Oh, wait, that's Xander, right? Um, The Witch, right?"

"Have you been studying?"

"No, I just, well, you like that show. I thought there must be something to recommend it."

Sprite rumbled, "She memorized it."

A laugh bubbled up in my chest and I didn't try to hold it back. "We'll turn you into Buffy yet."

"No chance. Maybe Willow. She's cool."

"And hot?"

"Not compared to you."

"Oh." That did it, right there. I squashed my diploma to wrap my arm around her.

She turned and kissed me, a fast, light brush of her lips. "So, Gwen. Will you come with me?"

"With us?" Sprite said.

Tamsyn kicked him in the side. "Hush, you. I'm courting."

"Badly," I suggested, just because.

"Too badly?"

"Nope. I like finding out there are things you don't do well. Go on." My body felt light and warm.

"So, this time I'm a secretary. An excavation company dug up something that should have stayed buried. It escaped. I have to find it."

"Exciting."

"You've never been a construction company secretary."

"True."

"So I need someone. I need you. To, um, let off steam with. So I don't shove my boss's chauvinistic tongue down his throat before I finish the Hunt."

I smiled. "Coming with you would be a service to humanity, then?"

"He's barely human. But it might save me from the queen's anger."

"Sounds worthwhile."

She breathed against my throat. "I'd make it very worthwhile."

Sprite shifted underneath us. "The humans are going to be heading out here soon. Quit playing."

I took a long breath, but it was mostly for show. "Yes," I said. "Yes, I'll go with you. Wherever. Let me help."

She kissed me again, this time tongue to tongue, our tastes mingling, sealing the choice. I leaned back eventually, smiling, then blinked, seeing a mist suddenly wisping across the sunny lawn behind us. "Um." I waved. "Is that a problem?"

Sprite snorted. "That's the bridge to Underhill forming. I think Her Highness is a bit carried away."

Tamsyn's laugh was wonderfully free. "What about you, sweetheart? Would you like to get carried away? Shall we check out the lands of Underhill on our way to New Ulm?"

I tried to be practical. "My car? My stuff?"

"Oh." She hesitated only a moment. "How about a run through the gardens of the fae, and then we'll come back. You can drive your ugly car home behind me."

It sounded like the best dream I'd ever had, but I didn't get this far by dreaming. "I have a scholarship in September."

"Three months. We'll do a lot in three months. We'll figure it out."

"Hmmmm." I had to tease her. She could feel the clutch of my arms around her and the pounding of my heart against her shoulder. "Are there silver roses there?"

"As many as you like. All for you."

"Well, hell," I said. "How can I pass that up?"

I grabbed on tighter as Sprite popped a wheelie, standing still, and then leaped forward. His voice drifted back to me over the rush of air, as the mist thickened around us. "About time. What wordy creatures you humans be."

I felt more than heard Tamsyn's reply. "Words are good. I missed you. I need you. Nothing wrong with words."

"Actions are better," I whispered in her ear. "Is there a quiet glade or a nice soft bed, in Faerie?"

Her laugh was joyful and free. "I have the day off. I bet we can find one."

I was laughing too, breathless, scared, exhilarated, safely wrapped around my lady's back on her elfin steed as the world I knew faded from sight into the mists of a new land.

####

If you enjoyed these stories, you can find more stories and poems for a wide range of prompt pictures, by various authors, on the Goodreads YA LGBT Books Group.

# LGBTQ Helplines and Resources

US resources:

The Trevor Project \- LGBTQ youth nationwide, 24/7 crisis intervention lifeline, digital community and advocacy. The Trevor Lifeline: 866-488-7386

GLBT Near Me \- a US-based search engine for LGBT organizations close to a zip code you enter

Brandon Shire's website \- an extensive list of LGBT organizations

PFLAG \- Parents, Family and Friends of Lesbians and Gays

Gender Spectrum \- a resource site for trans/genderfluid kids and their families

Trans Youth Family Allies

Gay Straight Alliance network \- for starting school GSAs and dealing with LGBTQ support issues especially in US schools

Stomp Out Bullying \- a non-profit with info and resources about bullying of all kinds

It Gets Better Project (including international help sites - "Search by location" under "Get help")

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline \- 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Rape Incest Abuse National Network \- 1-800-656-HOPE (4673)

ACLU: Know Your Rights! A Quick Guide for LGBT High School Students

The Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network

Intersex Society of North America

Asexual Visibility and Education Network. AVEN

International:

Canada Youthline \- The Lesbian Gay Bi Trans Youth Line peer support - 1-800-268-YOUTH

PFLAG Canada

OK2BMe - Ontario, Canada

Lifeline Australia \- 24hr/7 day a week helpline for crisis support, suicide prevention & mental health support. - 13 11 14

New Zealand: Rainbow Youth (new)

In the UK the main starting point for LGBT information is Stonewall

UK - Queer Youth Network

Mermaids a UK organization in support of gender-variant kids and their families

Germany: Lambda Youth Network.

France: Le Refuge

# About the Author

I've been writing since I could put words together. Early stories were about dolls and horses and kids who surmounted the odds and came home with a kitten. Gradually I learned about punctuation and point-of-view and my characters grew up. But real life came along, with forays into psychology and teaching and then a biomedical career and children. Writing happened in my head, for my own amusement, but didn't make it to paper.

Then several years ago, my husband gave me a computer. My two kids were getting older and developing their own interests, so I sat down and typed out a story. Or two. Or three. Now I have adult novels published, and the chance to share some of my YA stories.

I currently write constantly, read obsessively, and share my home with my younger teenager, my amazingly patient husband, and a crazy, omnivorous little white dog. I can be found at my author page on Goodreads, and I look forward to sharing many more stories with YA readers in the future. 

# Also by Kira Harp

Intervention

The Benefit of Ductwork

Rainbow Briefs
