The Gypsy

SEVEN
The Wolf and the Spider,the Owl and the Chipmunks

Little Jimmy feeling blue

Doesn't know what he should do.

Little Timmy feeling bad

Doesn't know what makes him mad.

Little Timmy pushed around.

Doesn't know who makes the sound.

Little Timmy hears the voice

Knows he doesn't have a choice.

Little Timmy on the run

Goes to buy a little gun.

Little Timmy waits for dark

Goes to sneak around the park.

Little Timmy feeling mean

Goes to where he can't be seen.

Little Timmy off his head

Gonna shoot somebody dead.

I was dressed in yellow,

My brothers in green and red.

I don't know what we heard,

I only know we fled.

"RAVEN, OWL, AND I"

There was an itch in the back of the Gypsy's neck when he got to the park. He didn't know why, but he wanted his knife in his hand. He did not take it out; there was still some daylight left, and he knew the knife would make him conspicuous. For reasons he didn't understand, he kept to the edge of the park,then moved over to the fountain, keeping it between himself and the grove of oaks.

There were a pair of coaches on the street across from him, but something kept him from moving toward them. In the growing darkness and the snow, he couldn't see what either of the coachmen looked like.He strained his eyes, and the scene shifted and blurred,and there was suddenly a Wolf loping toward the coaches. He took a step backward as one of the coaches drove off, while the Wolf approached the other.

The Gypsy shuddered and hurried away.

This ain't the job I thought I signed up for,

But show me a way back out the door.

"STEPDOWN"

It was already getting dark in the park when he climbed out of the car. Chances were that the horse-drawn carriages were all turned in for the night. The evening was turning cool and grey and snow was falling, not at all the atmosphere for a carriage ride through the park. But no, there were two of them drawn up side by side beneath a street lamp that blossomed into light even as he looked at it. It had the eerie feel of a stage set, coming to life for his benefit.The horses were blanketed against the chill, and their drivers wore greatcoats buttoned to their chins and scarves swathed around their necks and faces. It could have been an engraving, a scene from a hundred years ago. Stepovich's stride faltered. If he climbed aboard one of those carriages and the driver whipped up the horses, would he be carried back to an older, simpler time? Then one of the drivers took out a pack of cigarettes and tamped one out and lit it with a disposable lighter. The illusion burned in that brief flaming,and Stepovich lifted his voice and called out, "Spider."

One of the men lifted an uncertain hand in greeting.Even gloved, the hand was thin and long-fingered, and the arm that stuck out of the coat sleeve was skinny.Like a spider he was, sitting in a dark blob up on the seat of his carriage, his long legs and arms dangling.Stepovich walked up to him slowly, giving him full time to assess his uniform. The other cabby tipped his hat,lifted his reins and clucked his team into motion. Good. The spoked wheels of his carriage grated on the pavement as his team drew him away, leaving Stepovich alone with Spider.

"Whatsamatter?" Spider demanded suspiciously as Stepovich drew near.

"Nothing. Nothing yet, anyway. I just want to ask you a few questions about the man who drove for you last Sunday."

"Oh, shit," Spider breathed fervently. "Not again,man. I tole you guys, none of it was my fault. Man's good with horses, I wanted to take a day off, have a little free time with my old lady. So I let the guy drive sometimes, we split the fares. How was I to know he'd get weird?"

"We just want to get clear what happened." Stepovich drew out his notebook and pen, tried to look as if he already knew it all. "So, one more time, if you don't mind. When did it start?"

Spider looked pissed. "How do I know? I wasn't here, remember, I took a day off. Ask the guy whose car got kicked. Ask the joggers who say he almost ran them over. Ask those guys that was riding in the carriage when it happened. Hell, it was half their fault,anyway, offering him extra money to go off the carriage trails, and then daring him to make the team gallop. They were all drunk; they probably gave Coachman the booze,"

"Okay. I see your point. Maybe the thing for me to do is to talk to the relief driver himself. Give me his name and number again."

"Hunh? I tole you I don't know it. This some kind of cop trick, or what? Coachman don't have no name.Coachman don't have no address. All he's got is booze. How come you're-?"

"I just-"

"What is this, anyway? Who are you?"

Stepovich thought quickly. "Sorry. No, the idiots at precinct screwed up again and I got the wrong info." He stopped and gave Spider a sizing-up. "All right, I'll be straight with you. Can you keep something under your hat?"

"Hunh? Yeah, sure. What is it?"

"There may be more involved in this."

"Like what?"

Stepovich shook his head. "Did you ever see Coachman with a knife?"

Spider stared at him, and Stepovich recognized the look of the witness who wants to be part of something interesting. "A knife? Well, he had a hoof pick. That's how we met. Bunny was throwing her leg a little funny, not limping, really, and this guy walks right in front of the team and reaches up and grabs their heads and stops them. Before I can say more than Shit, he picks up her foot and pops a nasty little piece of gravel out of the frog."

"Frog?"

"Her foot. That was what was making her walk funny. So, a hoof pick, yeah."

"No, I mean a sheath knife with a bone handle."

Spider looked disappointed. "Naw. Once, maybe,I saw him cutting his nails with an old clasp knife that might've had a bone handle. I don't know. Maybe.Hell, maybe it was someone else. You want me to,uh, keep my eye out or anything?"

"The department would appreciate it," said Stepovich. "And if you should happen to find his address, let us know."

"Hey, you bet. What did he do?"

"Nothing directly. It's part of something else. When everything's settled, I'll see if I can let you know."

"Hey, thanks."

"The least I can do," said Stepovich, and returned to his car.

Well, that had turned out for shit. Except that there might be more information on this Coachman on one of the witnesses' statements, if he cared to try and dig through them. If only he'd turned in the knife as evidence in the first place, put the extra charge of concealed weapon, none of this would have happened.

As he was getting into his car, a Chevy very much like Durand's heap drove past. Stegovich stared after the blue car until it faded into the fog. He was sure he was mistaken. Damn, he was getting paranoid.

He found the table where Timmy D. sat

And settled in like he wanted to stay,

Put his money out on the board

And said, "Hey, boy, teach me to play."

"THE GYPSY"

And around it went, like the steps of the csardas,always back to the same place, only different, with anew tension. He was in front of Tiny's, almost exactly twenty-four hours later. What had he done? He tried to remember, and a headache came on. Where were his pills? A walk to an apartment, a conversation, a debt fulfilled, sleep, a meal, a walk in the park, a wolf,and now back here. What had he gained? What had he lost?

Two girls came out of a bar down the street and walked past him, complaining about the "prick"who had thrown them out. Too young, he thought.

They stopped and turned back. "What was that?"He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. The one who queried him had blonde hair with dark roots and wore a very short leather skirt and stockings. The other,dark of hair and taller, with a fuller body though a younger face, was dressed in tight-fitting jeans with grey splotches on them. They both wore very short jackets that didn't look like they would keep snow or cold out.

"I said, too young," repeated the Gypsy.

"Who asked you?" said the blonde.

"There is a time to be in the adult world, and a time to be in the child's world, and you will cheat yourself if you leave the one too soon."

They looked at each other and giggled. "What a weirdo," said the dark one. As she spoke, the Gypsy shivered. Something about her voice resonated within him, seemed familiar.

He shrugged and said, "The road will be there,whenever you set foot on it. But you won't be the same after. You can't go back."

"Ooooo," said the blonde. "Heavy stuff, huh?"She looked at her friend and giggled again. Then she said, "Wanna get lucky, big guy?" and laughed some more.

The dark one said, "Chrissy!" in a tone that mixed shock and amusement.

"Oh, he won't do anything. If he does, we'll scream. Right, big guy?"

The Gypsy looked away, and said, "If you give all you have to the Fair Lady, what will be left when She's finished?" When he turned back, they were staring at him, wide-eyed.

"How do you know about the Fair Lady?" whispered the one called Chrissy. Groups of people walked by, ignoring them. The police could go by any minute, but he couldn't leave these two unwarned.

"There are three worlds," he said. "Each held in place by a tree, each with its sun and moon, each with its own sky full of stars. The top branches of the tree of our world reach to the roots of the next,the roots of our tree reach to the branches of the world below. The Fair Lady comes from the world below, which She has covered in darkness, for She wishes to be the only brightness in the world. She has climbed the tree of Her world and come to ours,and now wishes to cover ours in darkness. To some,She brings gifts, hoping they will serve Her. Others She directs by fear, or by casting their minds in darkness so She is all they see clearly, I am the one sworn to return light to Her world, but first She must be cast out of ours. She is Luci, the seductress,who brings the diseases that waste. Do not listen to Her. She will draw the light from your youth and cast you into the darkness that will ravage your soul."

He stopped at last. They stared at him, then, without a word or a look between them, turned and ran up the street and were soon lost in the crowds. The Gypsy stood alone, his own words coming back to him.

"So," he said to himself, very slowly and quietly,not noticing those who took wide detours around the oddly dressed man who stood talking to himself. "So,now I know what I am to do. But I cannot do it alone."

I can see the ravens gather

From the places where they feast on last night's news

I am guessing they'd really rather

Find out exactly who they should accuse

They can't get me 'til I've collected what I'm owed.

So I'll keep searching further up this road.

"UP THE ROAD"

He drove carefully through the snowy streets, his windshield wipers on the low setting to keep the wet flakes cleared from the glass. He hoped it wouldn't stick. Least bit of snow on the streets, traffic got all screwed up. He didn't want to spend all day tomorrow calling for wreckers and investigating people sliding into guardrails. Shit.

Home, he shucked off his uniform and got into his sweats. He added his uniform shirt and pants to the rest of his laundry to make a load and took it down the hall to the laundry room. Set it sloshing.

Back to the apartment. Part of a package of fish sticks, part of a bag of frozen French fries. Dump them on a cookie tray, stick them in the oven. Get out the ketchup. Frost had formed inside the packages from being open in the freezer compartment. The French fries came out wet and hot and steamy. Flavorless.He ate them anyway. Go down the hallway, take the wet stuff out of the washer and stuff it in the dryer. Go back to the apartment and open a beer.

Stepovich began the nightly ritual of flicking through the channels. Apartment came with cable.Cable TV and roaches, free with the rent. At least having the cable gave him plenty of channels to flip through. He watched about three hours of television a night, and as Ed had once observed, that was a lot,at only three minutes per channel.

The steamy romances potboiler on four put him in mind of Durand and Tiffany Marie, and he watched the couple on the tube make fish mouths at each other while he thought about what a jerk he'd been today,climbing on Durand about Tiffany Marie. When he got to feeling too abashed he switched to seventeen.Quiz show time, stupid questions and dumber answers, because the contestants were movie stars and they were more concerned with being witty than with getting the answer right. That was him in the park with the horse-hack, and he'd learned about as much from him as he was learning from the show. Click the channels some more, to a rock video of young girls writhing and moaning. He could call Laurie. Hell, he should call Laurie, except that Jennie probably wouldn't put him through. She'd as much as told him to butt out. Not that she would really make him butt out, but she could make it uncomfortable. But he could call and promise he wouldn't say anything to her about what her mom had talked about today. But,hell, that wouldn't fool anybody. Laurie would know why he was calling. She was one smart kid, Laurie was. Growing up so fast. Too fast, and he was missing it. Click the channel selector.

Thirteen had on a horror flick, with unavenged ghosts and a battered old gypsy woman telling the hero to beware, but also telling him that he was the one destined to free them all. Find out who killed me,that sort of line. Click.

A cop show. Two partners had gone bad, were dispensing vigilante justice, and the good cop was hunting them down.

Click.

Rocky and Bullwinkle. He watched Boris and Natasha once more temporarily vanquished, watched the little fairy sweep up the fractured fairy tale, and was just getting into Shermie and Mr. Peabody when the phone rang.

Eleven o'clock. No one but Ed ever called him this time of night. He picked up the phone and said,"Yeah?"

"I thought you said you'd call me," Marilyn snapped. He sat up straight on the couch, zapped the TV set into oblivion.

"Jeez, I'm sorry," he said, "I meant to, but…"

"I thought this was so all-be-damned important to you, and so I go ahead and…"

"It is, it is," Stepovich assured her hastily. Where was his notebook? End of the coffee table. He reached for it, knocked the ketchup bottle rolling onto the floor, but let it go. It was a squeeze bottle, it wouldn't leak much anyway. Grab the pen, and "Go ahead,what did you find for me?"

"Too damn much, that's what, and not much at all. You want stuff done by gypsies, I got a ton of it.You want stuff done by John Does, possible first name Chuck, I got a ton of that, too. I mean, good lord,Stepovich, half the gypsies in the world have facial scars. Doesn't this man have a tattoo, or a lisp, or a birthmark or anything?"

"Not that I know of. There was no overlap, no gypsy of that description, possible first name Chuck?"

Marilyn sounded miffed when she replied. "I knew you'd ask that. I knew it. So I dug, and I dug like hell. How about a vagrancy, possible involvement in an arson, six years ago? In Kansas City?"

"That's not really what I was looking for," Stepovich muttered, not sure if he felt frustrated or relieved.No serial killings in some obscure part of the U. S. at least. No string of crimes attached to that description and name. "Is that all there was?"

"I swear to God, I been working with you too long.If you aren't too fussy about the gypsy description, I can give you about thirty-two shoplifting cases. Three grand theft auto, two of those from auto dealers in Sacramento, looks like a regular scam. A porno ring in Fort Lauderdale, but the ones they caught weren't really gypsies. Still, there was a Chuck involved. Airplane hijacking. In Oklahoma. Almost funny, that one's so stupid. Cropduster hijacked from one field to another."

"That's not what I meant," Stepovich cut in frustratedly. "I was looking for a felony, or a string of felonies, something serious. The arson and vagrancy were the only ones where there was a good overlap between the name Chuck and the description of the Gypsy?"

Marilyn sighed. "Almost, I had a feeling you were going to be stubborn on this. I pulled up stuff I didn't even know I could access. Stuff I would have sworn was too dead or too cold. How's this. New Orleans,A stabbing. In a bar. Victim Timothy DeCruz, also known as Timmy Dee, sometimes Tim del Mendicant much on the killer, but the victim had a file of past convictions as long as your arm. Mostly little scams, but the kind that hint he was involved in bigger, nastier stuff but didn't get caught. Cause of the fight was possibly cheating at cards, it was never clearly established. Ugly crime. The medical report comments on the strength required to drive a knife that size through a leather vest and completely into a man's body. The hilt left a bruise, it impacted so hard. Talk about your crime of passion. The guy was either horribly strong, or totally enraged. Witnesses described the killer, and it fits your guy to a tee. But for all that, they didn't seem too hot to help the investigation. The perp was never found."

A little prickle of certainty ran up Stepovich's spine,that little trickle of instinct that never betrayed him."It's him. When was it, and who handled it?"

Nasty satisfaction as she said, "August 12, 1935. But the description does match your man."

"Shit, Marilyn, my guy probably wasn't even born then."

"Maybe it was his father then. Maybe it's a gypsy crime family, and you're tracking the youngest member."

He was beginning to get an inkling of just how bad he'd pissed her off. "Jeez. I'm sorry. I guess I wasted a lot of your time today." Cautiously. "You sure that's all there was?"

He heard her breathe out through her nose in disgust. "You talk to Durand today?" she demanded,ignoring his question.

"Yeah. Marilyn, I don't think it's quite how you're seeing it. I think he really likes her."

"That's why he stood her up tonight, right? She turns down a date with a nice college boy to wait fora sleazy-ass cop who doesn't even show."

"I don't know nothing about that," Stepovich objected.

"No. Of course you don't. You didn't drag him off on this wild goose chase of yours, did you?"

"Swear to God, I didn't, Marilyn," Stepovich said fervently. "And Jesus Christ," he said, becoming annoyed in turn, "I lit into my partner like I was going to tear his throat out, just on your say-so, and it turns out the damn fool's in love with her. How do you suppose that makes me feel?"

"What makes you think-?"

"I see them together. You don't. All right?"

"Hmmph. I'd have seen them together if he'd shown up tonight."

"Marilyn, he's my partner, not my goddamn kid. I did what you told me to, and you were wrong about him."

"Well," she said, relenting a little. "Well. Maybe I was. Sorry. But you have to talk with him anyway. He's not right for Tiffany Marie, he isn't going to bring any good to her life. You reason with him."

"Sure," Stepovich said. "Sure, I'll do that. And you talk to her. Okay?"

"Okay."

The click as she hung up was a relief. For a moment he stared at the blank television screen. Then he heaved himself up with a sigh to go get his laundry out of the dryer. It was all stuck together with static,and as he sat on the couch and peeled it apart, he remembered the shiver up his back, and wondered how a patrol cop was going to get hold of the notes on a 1935 murder in New Orleans.

Raven, the hunter,

Was content to stay and poach,

Owl wished to go back home,

And I, to find the coach.

"RAVEN, OWL, AND I"

Raymond had seen three airplanes this morning, and nineteen birds. It was now four thousand, six hundred and twelve days since he had seen his brother,the Raven, and as for his older brother, he had lost count some time ago, much to his regret. Another bird went by overhead. Twenty. He unwrapped his tambourine from the old towels that protected it from the elements, and idly tapped it a few times.

Raymond looked nothing like an Indian. His face was swarthy, but not in the same way. His cheekbones were high, but his forehead was all wrong. His eyes had just a hint of slant. But still, tourists thought he was an Indian, and so paid him well to guide them through the Rockies, near Boulder. It was just as well.He knew the land. He spent most nights huddled in the ruins of the old "castle" on Mount Falcon, overlooking Red Rocks. He could find the best hiking, rock climbing, and sight seeing. The authorities for the most part ignored him.

It was full dark, and the stars were out in all their glory, the Pleiades as clear as spring water, looking like he could touch them. Four chipmunks gathered near his small fire. He held out nine pieces of bread for them to nibble from his hand. He couldn't always tell them apart, but two of these he recognized. One was a small, old female he called Brandy, and the other a very dark, large male whom he had named Fleetwood, after a Cadillac he had owned many years before. FIeetwood took the bread and said, "The Raven is flying. It is time for the Owl to do the same."

Raymond studied the chipmunk, surprised at how calm he felt to be addressed by the animal; it was almost as if he'd been waiting for something like this,and perhaps he had been. He said, "It is years since I've seen the Raven, or the Dove for that matter."

"It is time to see them both," said Fleetwood.

"Where?" said Raymond.

"That I cannot tell you."

Brandy spoke in a high, clear tenor. "The road will tell you. It is only for you to set foot upon it."

Raymond nodded. "If it is time for me to find my brothers, then find them I will. But what is our task to be?"

"I cannot tell you that, either."

"Will there be a way home again?"

"That will depend," said Fleetwood, "on whether the Coachman is loyal."

"You mean sober."

"Well, yes."

"And on whether your brothers are loyal, as well,"said Brandy.

"That's clear enough," said Raymond. "I'll set out in the morning."

The chipmunks nodded, and accepted more bread,and spoke no more to the gypsy guide who looked nothing like an Indian.

She can find your secret madness,

She knows your secret name.

What demons do you hide, my friend?

What creatures lurk inside, my friend?

To her, you know, it's really all the same.

"THE FAIR LADY"

"I stole it," Laurie said boastfully. Or tried to. The words didn't come out quite right, and she wondered if Chrissy could hear they weren't quite true. Laurie had gone to the stupid rummage sale at the youth center yesterday evening after Chrissy had stood her up to go downtown with that Sue and her friends.Now she wanted to make Chrissy feel as if she'd really missed out on something; not just Laurie finding the black sort-of-tapestry cloth that now covered her bed, but the adventure of Laurie stealing it.

And Laurie really had intended to steal it. She'd wrapped it up in the two dollar silky bathrobe she was going to pay for and stuffed it in her shopping bag with the old books Jeffrey wanted and the sweater she thought her Mom would like. The tapestry with the weird old square-footed animals on it was marked twelve dollars, and she wanted it but couldn't afford it. So she decided to steal it. All the way up to the cashier she'd justified it, thinking this rummage sale was supposed to raise money for the youth center,and all the stuff was donated anyway, so it wasn't like they were really losing money when she took it.But then the lady at the counter had just said, "It's all three dollars a bag after five o'clock," and had taken her money. Six months ago, she would have told Chrissy the whole story, and they'd have laughed about it. Now she just wanted Chrissy to believe that she had stolen it.

But Chrissy only stared at it for a minute. She didn't even seem to notice that all Laurie's dolls and stuffed animals had been packed away, or that there were candles and incense set out on her dresser or the way she'd hung towels over her curtains to make the room dimmer. Chrissy's eyes got that apprehensive look they sometimes got lately as she stared at the tapestry spread. "Looks like something of Hers," Chrissy said in a whispery voice, and then giggled in a funny way. Like she'd meant to whimper and giggled instead.

"What?" Laurie demanded, feeling stupid. Again. Lately she always felt stupid, or left out when she was around Chrissy. It was the same way she and Chrissy had felt when they were in the bathroom at school and some of the popular girls came in and started talking about boys and makeup. Only this was worse, because it was Chrissy making her feel like there was something big and important going on, and she was too much of a kid to understand it. If Chrissy grew up and left her behind, then she'd really be alone.

"Those things, there. Like lions only sort of square.She's got a thing like that. Except it talks. And it looks even weirder than those things do." Chrissy's voice trailed off and she continued to stare at the bedspread.

"Who has an animal like that?"

For a long time, Chrissy didn't answer. And when she did, it was in an odd, breathy voice, and she didn't close her mouth between the sentences. "The Fair Lady. Sue finally took me to see Her. She lives,well, in a place like an elevator stuck between floors,only it's a whole world. So the floor is blue, like a sky under your feet, only cold and hard. But sometimes it seems like you're standing in it, instead of on it.And the ceiling is like rocks and dirt and roots hanging down. Only not natural, not uneven like in a cave,but all polished, like someone made it that way. It's like columns in some old temple or something. And the walls are like-I don't know, banks of stone, with these fossils in them, only the walls aren't always in the same places. There was this window, only Sue said maybe it was only a painting, because it looked out but only into the sky, and all you could see from it was half a sun and half a moon. Sue said it was only a painting, but when Sue wasn't watching, I saw Her throw the skinned kitten out of it. It looked so much littler without fur." Her eyes grew even more unfocused. "It was like that man said, that gypsy guy. There wasn't much left when She was through with it." Chrissy's face went a shade paler, and she talked faster. "It's always warm there, even hot, but She has all these fireplaces, and some of the fireplaces have chimneys that go down instead of up. And She has these… things. Like people made of animal parts… or something."

"Chrissy," Laurie objected tentatively. This wasn't like her. She'd never been into imaginary games or stories of any kind. "Are you-are you doing drugs with Sue?"

She gave that giggle again. For a moment she didn't answer. Then she looked directly at Laurie and blinked her eyes a few times. "Drugs? Naw. No one needs drugs around the Fair Lady. She can make you feel so good. Sooo good." Chrissy stood vacant-eyed,idly rubbing her wrists together. It was an odd movement. "No one can make you feel so good as She can," Chrissy said softly. "Or so bad," she added in a tearful whisper. "But what's going to be left when She's through?" She cowered suddenly, like a small animal swept by the silent shadow of an owl's wings.

Laurie reached to put an arm around her, like they had used to do when they were best friends and one of them was crying. But at her touch, Chrissy gave a sudden start and backed out from under Laurie's embrace with a contemptuous hoot. "Hands off, Laurie!You turning into a lezzy on me?"

It was like a punch in the stomach. Laurie turned aside, fixed her eyes on the tapestry animals as if suddenly fascinated by them. Get it under control, she told herself, wishing her eyes could suck back the tears that welled in them. She and Chrissy had never said things like that to each other, not even jokingly. She stared steadily at the tapestry animals but they wavered before her. She didn't lift a hand to wipe at her eyes; that would have given her away. Instead,she said, "I got a bitch of an algebra test tomorrow.I'd better start studying now if I'm going to pass it."

Still without looking at Chrissy, she crossed to where she'd dumped her bookbag on the floor when they came in and began digging into it. With her head bent forward, her hair came forward too, hanging like curtains on either side of her face. She blinked quickly, hoping it would disperse the hanging tears.

"Like, you want to go with us some time? Sue and me, I mean?" The voice was almost like Chrissy's old voice, almost apologetic. But the old Chrissy would have been over beside her, saying she was sorry for saying such a rotten thing. Still.

"My mom would never let me go," she said. Laurie found the algebra book, dragged it out of the bag.She opened it and pretended to be looking for a certain page.

"Well?" Chrissy demanded suddenly. "So what?Do you want to go with us to the Fair Lady's place,or not?"

"I'm not supposed to go to houses of people she doesn't know unless she has a phone number and has talked to them first." The words came up out of her throat like rough-edged rocks, but she forced them out. It was the rule and she was stuck with it.She couldn't break it without hard consequences; not like Chrissy's mom, who hardly noticed anything she did anymore.

"Well," Chrissy paused. "So Mommy won't let you. Well, the Fair Lady probably wouldn't let me bring you anyway. You're not at all what She's looking for."

"I guess not," Laurie said in a disinterested voice.

"See, the Fair Lady, She's going to change the world. But She has to have faithful followers to help Her do it. People who can do what She says, right now, without asking questions. Later, they'll be rewarded."

"Sounds like a comic book," Laurie said in a low voice. She was dragging out her binder, scuffling in the bottom of the book bag for a pencil. She'd show Chrissy. She'd actually go ahead and start doing her algebra homework right in front of her. Chrissy was only in pre-algebra.

"Go ahead, make fun of it. But don't blame me when you miss out later because you were afraid to take a few chances." Chrissy paused, to allow Laurie a chance to plead for more information. Instead, Laurie picked up her binder and book and took them over to her desk.

"See, it's like a war, right now," Chrissy suddenly resumed. "And, we're like Her spies and stuff. And some of us do even harder stuff, like being ninjas for Her, or something. See, there are people out there who know about Her and would do anything to keep Her from carrying out her plans. Because once She comes to power, well, everything's going to change.People who used to push us around are going to be real sorry, because we'll belong to Her and they'll have to do what we tell them. She's going to make them crawl for us."

There was great satisfaction in Chrissy's voice. Laurie glanced sideways at her through the curtain of her hanging hair. She was staring off through the wall, a look of petulant gloating on her face. Just the way she used to look when she'd talked about running away,and how her Mom and Dad would be really sorry they'd been so mean to her once she was gone. Only then she did run away and hid out at the shelter for two days, and her parents never even called the police. She glanced at Chrissy again. It suddenly struck her how dumb she looked, with her bangs starched up stiff over her forehead, almost like a rooster's comb, and one shaved spot over her ear. It was a tough punk hairdo, but she still had that fat, round little face she'd always had. Laurie's dad had always said Chrissy looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid with too much stuffing in her. She still did. Cabbage Punk,Laurie thought to herself, and giggled.

"So what's funny?" Chrissy demanded, instantly suspicious.

"Nothing," Laurie muttered. "I was thinking about something else."

"Listen, Laurie. You want in on this or not? Because if you do, you're gonna have to take some chances, and not worry so much about what Mommy and Daddy say." Chrissy thrust one hip out and put her fists at her waist. Like that one rock poster. Laurie wondered if she'd been practicing in front of the mirror.

"I don't know," she muttered. She didn't. The way she was acting, she didn't even know if she wanted to be friends with Chrissy anymore. Except, if she wasn't best friends with Chrissy, then she wasn't best friends with anyone. Heck, she was hardly any kind of friend with anyone. "I gotta think about it, okay?"she amended. She finally let her eyes meet Chrissy's. But there was no understanding there. Chrissy only shrugged.

"Well, don't take too long," she said flatly."There's stuff going on. Big stuff. You wait too long,you won't be in on it. You'll be one of them."

Laurie just stared at her. Waiting for her to say something else, to add something that wouldn't make it sound so flat, so final. But she didn't. Finally, she turned away from Chrissy's unsmiling face.

"I got an algebra test tomorrow. You know?"

"Yeah. I know. Hope you get a hundred percent and Mommy sticks a gold star on your forehead."

Laurie didn't look up again until after the door slammed. Then she stared at the space where Chrissy had stood, trying not to let the tears loose, and vaguely wondered where Chrissy had gone. And how long it would be before she gave in and followed her.

Watch the trail, now, it's coming to an end;

The river speaks the terms of my fate.

I can hear the laughter of the falcon and the wren;

I fear my repentance comes too late.

"LANNAN SIDHE"

Not even the stupid waitress uniform could make her look bad. She still had her hair pinned up out of the way, but that couldn't stop the streetlamps from snapping copper highlights off it. Durand looked at her, and felt angry at Step all over again. How the hell could that idiot look at a woman like Tiffany and still remember some stupid mess she'd gotten into as a kid?

She spotted him and came over to the car, opened the door and slid in, just as if she'd been expecting him. She leaned over and hugged him and gave him a quick hard kiss before she said, without malice,"You stood me up last night, you asshole."

"Couldn't be helped," he told her. "Cop stuff doesn't stop at five o'clock."

She sat looking at him with those huge eyes of hers.If any other woman had called him an asshole, he'd have told her to take off, find someone else to abuse. But coming from Tiffany, it didn't even bother him.Sometimes, when he wasn't around her, he wondered why. He knew all the stuff Step had told him was true, and always before he'd had a rule against dating women who had any kind of trouble in their past, divorce or illegitimate kids or smoking pot, or anything. Sometimes he tried to tell himself she'd been a whore and he shouldn't like her so much. But when he was with her it didn't matter. So he'd broken his own rule, to date her, and she kept right on breaking all his rules of how he thought a woman should be. Like now.

After two seconds of thought, she shrugged and forgave him. "Next time, try to call," she said, and settled in beside him.

"Buckle your seat belt," he told her, as he always had to.

Reluctantly, she slid back to her side of the car. As she dragged down the shoulder harness, she observed, "You ought to install a seat belt in the middle, so I could sit next to you instead of clear over here."

"In my spare time," he promised her, in the joke they shared about him never having any spare time.

"What would you like to do? Dinner and a movie?"

"Okay. But I got to go home and change first. You mind?"

"Nope." He pulled away from the curb, the old Chevy's clutch slipping. That was another thing he was going to have to fix in his spare time.

Durand was content to drive in silence, just smelling the faint trace of perfume that Tiffany brought with her, feeling her left hand rest on his shoulder as he drove. But Tiffany asked, "Aren't you even going to tell me about it?"

"About what?"

"About what kept you last night?"

"Oh. Cop stuff." He always hated to talk to her about anything to do with Step. He was the one thing they could never agree on. It was ironic, because if it hadn't been for Step, they never would have met. He was the one who had introduced them, on Durand's first day on the job. Of course, it had been Tiffany who'd followed up on the introduction, and called him at work to say she'd like to see more of him. No woman had ever done that before.

"It's Mike again, isn't it? What did he do to you this time?"

He drove two more blocks before answering, and she let him have his silence Then he said, "I'm starting to think he's mixed up in something dirty."

"Oh," she said. That was all. Waiting to hear the rest before she said anything more. Probably only he knew her well enough to hear the tiny chill in her voice.

Durand sighed. "It's like this. You know, I told you about that gypsy guy we busted, and how he got turned loose somehow. And the murder at the hotel and everything. Well, Step's been talking to me like it's over, homicide gets to handle it now, forget it.But yesterday I noticed he didn't change out of his uniform after work. So I kind of followed him, and saw him go to the park and talk to this guy with a carriage. And after he'd left, I go talk to the guy, and it turns out Step's been asking him all kinds of questions about a gypsy and a knife."

"I don't see how that means Mike is doing something wrong. I mean, don't cops do that all the time,follow up on cases?"

"Yeah," Durand admitted uneasily. "Only usually they let their partners in on it. And this bit about the knife; I think I remember that the gypsy had a knife when we busted him, but I don't ever remember Step turning it in. And the hotel murder was done with a knife. See?"

"Not really." Her tone flatly denied that Mike could be mixed up in anything he shouldn't be.

"Look," Durand amended. "I'm not saying he's done anything wrong. But I think he's bending the rules, a lot. And no cop can afford to do that, even a little. My dad taught me that, when I was real small.A cop always has to play by the rules, whether he likes it or not. A cop without rules is nothing."

"Rules without common sense are stupid," Tiffany said flatly.

Durand was silent for three blocks. This was as close to a fight as they'd ever come, and he didn't want to get any closer.

"So," he finally said as the Chevy idled roughly at a stoplight. "What would you do? Ignore it?"

"Of course not! For crying out loud, you're partners! Come right out and ask him about it."

"And of course Step will tell me the whole story,"Durand observed with heavy sarcasm.

"He will, if you ask him right," she said quietly,He glanced over at her. She was staring straight ahead, and he knew that, in some odd way, he'd hurt her. It bothered him a lot more than he'd have thought it would. Especially since her left hand had never left his shoulder. He tried to find words to apologize, but it didn't seem like apologizing was the thing to do either.

The Chevy crept out into the intersection, clutch complaining all the way. "Okay," Durand said quietly. "I'll do my best to ask him right."

"Thank you," Tiffany said, just as quietly. Durand was left reflecting on why it was that the times when he understood her least were also the times when he loved her most.

If there's more to making choices

Than luck and happenstance,

I hope I do it right

Next time I get the chance.

"NO PASSENGER"

The bus hissed like a tired snake as the door opened.The Coachman was the first man off. He leapt to the ground and pirouetted, smiling. "Welcome to Lakota," he said.

Daniel climbed out, buttoning his heavy green coat.He followed the Coachman out to the street, and looked up at the glass skyscrapers. "A city," he said."Is a city."

"Not so," said the Coachman. "Each has its own rhythms. You'll see."

Daniel snorted. "If you like. In any case, we're here. What now?"

"Now? Well, it is Wednesday. Tomorrow, we will begin looking around. If we haven't found anything,I'll try to borrow a coach on Friday. I'm sure to get it on Sunday, if we haven't had any luck before then."

"What will we do with a coach?"

"Ride around the city. If your older brother has arrived, and your younger brother hasn't let himself be killed, I will find them, and pick them up, and then we will see what happens. Or maybe not. I don't know as much about this as you may think I do."

"Well,1 know even less. As I said, what now?"

"Have you any money?"

"Some."

"Good. Let us find a place to sleep. It would be good to stay out of sight, if we can."

"Whose sight are we staying out of. Coachman?"

"The Wolf's, of course," said the Coachman,smirking, and hailed a taxi.