Blood & Flowers (15 page)

Nicholas stopped. Then he looked down at the
box in his hands, as if he'd just remembered he was holding it. With reluctance he said, “I need to get this inside.” He shook his head. “I don't know anything about faerielight. Maybe it explodes if it's trapped for too long without air. Maybe it grows.” He repeated, “Let me just get it upstairs.”

I didn't think faerielight grew or exploded. Fred wouldn't let Nicholas handle growing or exploding stuff. But I was more than happy to follow Nicholas inside. Practicing your art was always important. And practicing kisses as art was even better. They were like chocolate, those kisses. Addictive.

W
e Outlaws were on a roll. Nicholas and Fred were concocting stilt platforms that would fit on our pilfered bicycles. Once they were finished, the platforms were going to be rigged to hold faerielights and gels. Floss was creating three-quarter life-size puppets dressed in lace, taffeta, ruffles, and fishnets. When I complimented her on her imagination she looked at her creations with a critical eye.

“Do you think so?” she asked. “I was worried that some of the people I'd modeled them on might take offense.”

I looked at the nut brown pointed ears, at the gleaming teeth, at the seemingly lidless eyes, at the
extra digit fingers. “You know people who look like this?” I asked. “Because even in the restaurant, I didn't notice anyone with those eyes.” I looked again, more carefully this time, and added, “Some of the ears, maybe, but not those eyes. And certainly not those teeth.”

She shrugged. “Persia. You haven't seen everyone, but I'm sure you've seen these. Maybe you're not paying attention.”

I shook my head. “I'm paying attention, all right. I've seen Reginald, for example, and even though he's supercreepy—even he didn't have those teeth and those eyes.”

Floss was working with tea-colored lace. She draped it around her neck, walked over to me, and searched my eyes. Then she shook her head. “There's no cloud over your eyes, Persia. You're seeing clearly.”

She juggled the ends of her lace back and forth and seemed to be thinking. Then she said, “Maybe you're one of those who see the inside, not the outside.” She looked at me again, and this time she nodded.
“Uh-huh. That's what it is, I think. It's your own form of magic.” And she went back to crafting an elaborate ruched collar and tie for the shaggy turquoise dog made of Elbe's dinosaur fur.

I started to ask her to explain personal magic, and then I remembered it was Floss I was talking to. I might not understand, but if Floss said I had magic, it was probably true, at least on some level. It was also something I was going to have to figure out without her help because, again, this was Floss. She'd said what she thought. After that, she was usually through, no matter how much her comments left the other person in the dark.

I found Lucia involved in a deeply choreographed hand puppet chorus line, which isn't all that easy to do with hand puppets. Supplying her background music was Max, crooning dance-hall songs in a beautiful baritone. I watched for a minute. “Excellent,” I said. “Quite dax. And this mixes with karaoke how?”

Max stopped singing. “Tonio's working out the final kinks in the dance-hall idea, so Lucia and I thought we'd work on the audience participation
aspect. We handle the bigger puppets, and they get the small, less-important ones. They choose their song depending on the action.”

I considered all the responses I could make and finally gave him the best one of all. “I like it.”

“Of course you do,” Tonio said, popping his head into the room. “The main idea was yours, after all. And that red you used for highlights on the posters is perfect for this. We just need to give everything that circusy, vaudeville look.”

My mind ran with contrasting colors and design ideas. “Yes. Easy.” I was almost out the door when I remembered what Floss had said. I repeated it. “Floss says I see the insides of things, not the outsides.”

Lucia glanced up from the little earrings she was adjusting on her puppet's head. Without taking time to think she said, “You always have, ever since I've known you. You saw what I was right away.”

“I saw a smart, sweet person who'd had a rough time,” I said. “I saw a sparkle.”

“Right. Most people saw a dirty, nasty street kid who was out to get them.”

I stared at her in shock. “You?”

Lucia shrugged. “See?”

Tonio said, “The first time you saw me, Persia. Remember?”

“You gave me a paste pot and said that I looked open-minded.”

“Yes, and you thought?”

Without considering I replied, “Kind. Gentle. Vaguely injured. Trustworthy.”

Max grinned. “Perfect. Most people don't get past the first impression of gay.”

“He was kind of flamboyant that day.” I smiled. “But that's so superficial.”

“What Floss said.” Lucia's puppet nodded. “You see underneath.”

“Well,” I said. I'd have to think about this. I turned to go tackle my part of the preproduction, but I stopped in the doorway. “What's the final name of this, then?”

“Stay with
Sing Cubed
,” Max said. “We thought we'd subtitle it
A Dance Hall Karaoke
.”

I nodded. “Just so you know, Floss is making a blue
dog with a collar and tie.”

“Darling,” said Tonio, “you know Floss can make everything do anything.”

He was right, of course. I nodded again and left to make vaudeville-themed programs. These would be my audience books for this production, but they'd be much more elaborate than my earlier books. Now that I'd had practice with Dau Hermanos's menus, I could fly with these books of lyrics. First the gray-and-black-washed covers with that red trim. Bindings stitched with those fabulous threads from Elbe's. Then all I'd need were the song lists. Maybe I could write the titles in gold and blood-red? Then they'd mimic the posters. When these programs passed through the crowd, they'd wow people. I was sure of it.

I
've always liked to get up early. Less competition for thinking time and sitting time and staring into nothing time. It turned out that Bron had the same habit, so we'd come to the point of joint early-morning breakfasts. It was a little ritual of tea, sweet breads, and egg tacos. We'd sit in the early patches of sun that washed through the windows of Dau Hermanos. We wouldn't talk much, and when we did we'd just sort of throw words out and wait to see if they got caught. So it was something of a surprise when Bron addressed me directly just as I bit into a rolled tortilla. The other surprise was that he sounded hesitant, not like Bron at all.

“Persia,” he said, and then his voice just faded away.

He shifted in his chair and looked at the bar instead of the window and tried again. “Persia.”

I said, “Yes, Bron?” this time in an attempt to encourage him.

“There's something that may be a situation.”

It took him a long time to say that sentence, and I felt a little chill run through the sunlight. “Maybe you just want to say it?”

He sighed a soft puff of air. “There's a rumor floating through the area. Reginald seems to have a houseguest.”

Thankfully I could only imagine what living as Reginald's houseguest must entail. Just as I could only imagine what kind of a person would find a stay with Reginald attractive. “More power to the houseguest.”

“Yes. Well. The particular houseguest seems to be a large part of the rumor. He's not fey. He crossed over without a guide so he must have a good deal of power.”

“Lucia did it.”

“Because she had a need, I imagine. She was hurt, after all. This visitor may or may not have been hurt when he came, but he does seem to have a tinge of helpful fey magic clinging to him.”

“You just said he didn't have a guide.”

Bron looked at me with wide eyes, then said, “A guide isn't at all the same as trace magic. You do know that, correct?”

“Actually, no, I don't know that. I also don't know if that's your point.” I waited. When he didn't say anything else I asked, “So did Lucia have trace magic when she came?”

Bron shook his head. “Lucia didn't have the guide or the magic. I think she made a successful trip because of that trace of fey blood she carries.”

I sat up straight. “Fey blood? Is that what gives her that sparkle when you look at her sideways?”

Bron eyed me with interest. “You see that?”

I nodded.

“Floss said you saw inside. Interesting. There aren't many of you.”

I blushed. “I didn't even know there was one of me
till Floss said it. I'm still trying to figure out what it means. For example, does it mean I'm fey?”

Bron grinned. “Aren't we all?” he asked grandly.

“My parents would kill me if that was really true,” I said.

“Not fans of Faerie, then?”

I laughed. “That's putting it so very mildly.”

He laughed too. “Ah, well,” he said, and he sounded vaguely rueful. Then he added, “Don't try to figure it out. Just let it be. It might mean you're part fey, it might mean you're sensitive, it might only mean you're highly perceptive. Worry about it too much and you might scare it away. Let's worry instead about Reginald's guest.”

The chill crept back into the room, and I knew, just knew, what Bron was saying. “It's Major, isn't it?”

Bron watched me carefully as he said, “It's possible.”

I growled. “He almost followed Floss once, and he's not happy with her because she doesn't appreciate his charms. Not that he has any, but still. He's furious angry with Tonio for jilting him and taking up with
Max. And those are just the reasons I know about for him to dislike us.”

“So you think there are more?”

I wiggled my shoulders. “I'm sure there are, in his mind. Who knows how a brain like his works? Tonio says Major is power-mad. People like that can hate other people for almost anything. But Floss said a while ago that hate and anger weren't really good ways to get here. She said they were skinny emotions.”

Bron held my eyes with his as he said in a careful voice, “Floss could be wrong in her assumption. Not about hate and anger in general—she's right about that. But there are factions that could find hate and anger very attractive. People who enjoy plying those particular emotions work easily with others who are like them.”

It was obvious that I was being given a clue. “Reginald is in one of those factions, isn't he?”

“Reginald is…unpleasant. He's fascinated by Lucia. To put it mildly, he's not overly fond of Fred or me. We have a long history. He and Major would complement each other, I believe. And there are others
in this corner of Faerie who might latch on to that hate and anger as well.” He hesitated, then added, “Feron isn't overly fond of his younger brother, or of me, either. And Feron and Floss have never gotten along.”

“Fred said Feron wasn't around.”

“There are different ways of being around,” Bron said, which I thought was a slanted comment.

“Just when things were getting really good again.” I don't think I was talking to Bron right then. I was just talking. “And Tonio. Damn, he was finally starting to really look like Tonio again. And Nicholas is so happy trying to understand those faerielights. Floss is building blue dogs. Lucia is playful, and Max—Max is singing!”

“Things are rarely perfect, and if they are it's not for long. And you knew that there was danger in Faerie, just as there is in your world. Major, if it is Major, is only a part of that.”

I waved my hand, brushing aside the idea of fey danger. “I know, you said. Everyone said. Floss especially. But there hasn't been much sign of it.” I sighed, then glanced sideways at him and, slightly
embarrassed, said, “I wanted to believe it was all sunshine and flowers.”

Bron snorted. “You see inside things. Don't expect me to believe you didn't see danger.”

“Little things. That blood smell when we came through. Creepy Reginald, and if I really do see inside things, I don't see any difference between the inside and the outside of him. That aura that surrounds you and Fred sometimes.”

“You saw that? I thought we had that under wraps.”

I opened my eyes wide. He shrugged. “It's mostly just something that happens when there's someone close by that we have bad feelings about. Reginald brings it out in spades.”

“More information?” I asked, when he didn't offer anything else.

“No more. It just pays to be wary. Exactly like in your world.”

I waited, but it seemed like that was all I was going to get. I said, “You know, I wanted it to be safe here. I wanted it to be better than home. I wanted us to be happy.”

“But aren't you? Right now, at this time, in this place, aren't you?”

“I was,” I said, emphasis on the past tense. “Why can't Major just quit?”

“I suppose he gets some points for stick-to-itiveness.”

I growled again. “He gets no points. Never, never, ever.” Then I brightened. “If it was hard to get through, maybe he's hurt. Maybe he'll die.” I sounded like an eight-year-old wishing revenge, but I didn't care. I widened my eyes at Bron and waited for some kind of confirmation.

Floss said, “Who's going to die? Besides me, I mean, if I don't get coffee and something to eat.” She filled a huge mug from a tiny silver pot and snatched two tacos from the warming tray. She drenched the tacos with enough hot salsa to last me a solid week, then dropped down at our table. After finishing one taco in three bites she swallowed a big gulp of coffee and repeated, “Who's going to die?”

“Probably no one.” I sounded morose. “Probably it's just wishful thinking on my part.”

Floss seemed surprised when she said, “Death wishes. Not your normal thing, Persia, unless of course you were talking about Major, who'd deserve it. Or at times my older brother. But since Major's not here, and Feron seems to be out of the area too, I don't…”

She stopped like she'd run into a wall. “Major's here.” It wasn't a question. “If you're talking about it”—and she looked at me—“it has to be Major. You'd never know if Feron was around.”

“From your previous description, Major seems to be a good guess,” Bron said in a toneless voice. “I couldn't say about Feron.”

Floss devoured her second taco, finished her coffee, put both elbows on the table, dropped her head into her hands, and said, “Major. I should have paid more attention. Oh, fuck.”

“I heard that.” Tonio spoke quietly. “And I'm not talking about the swearing. Floss, whatever's going on isn't your fault.”

Floss just sighed, a deep, mournful sound that came from her boots.

“Maybe he'll just die,” I tried again. “Or better, be
so hurt he'll leave and never try again.”

Tonio stepped in front of me, tilted his head, and said, “That doesn't even make sense.”

I said, “Bah.”

Tonio shook his head. “I understand the sentiment, but we have to at least make logical sense. It's a requisite for humanity. If he were that hurt, how could he move?”

“Bah,” I repeated, but this time I wasn't disgusted. Tonio wasn't in panic mode. He wasn't in despair, either, which would have been worse. He was just Tonio, which made me feel that the morning had just taken a giant step toward improvement.

El Jeffery and Fred came in just as the rest of the Outlaws clattered down the stairs. And because Tonio wasn't despairing, once everyone was up-to-date our discussion seemed more of a chat or an intellectual exercise than anything else. I relaxed and even Floss began to seem a little less guarded.

“It's still only a rumor, after all,” El Jeffery said. “And rumors flow around here like marsh water after a long rain.” It was many cups of coffee later, and we
were all looking well-fed and a little lazy. Everyone nodded.

Then Rohan came in. He motioned Bron to the other side of the room, the side by the kitchen door. Everyone tensed again. I felt it and I started a new ride on the roller coaster of bad news. Because, really, why would Rohan be whispering if he had good news?

Bron came back to the table, and Rohan came with him, his face grim. “Rohan has a cousin,” Bron began, “who often walks through Reginald's land. He reports a flurry of activity lately, something easy to notice. Reginald is generally very low-key, and low movement. And the cousin reports a dark-haired human, badly injured.”

“No magic or fey blood about him,” added Rohan. “It's hard to hide what you truly are when your strength is gone. But there is definitely some kind of Faerie assistance running with him, and it doesn't feel like it belongs to Reginald.”

Floss sat up straighter. “Feron?” she asked. “He's just the kind to help someone like Major, although Mab knows how they would have met. But if they had
met, they'd match each other perfectly. And Feron and Reginald have always had some kind of strange connection.”

“Nastiness attracts?” Fred asked.

“Of course it does,” said Bron. “But all the other things we've put together are guesses. Except, of course, for the fact that Reginald's guest is a mortal.”

Rohan added. “And if he associates with Reginald, we can assume he's an unpleasant or dangerous one. Right now he seems to spend most days sitting near the river in the sun. I believe your guess as to his identity is correct, though. One afternoon my cousin heard Reginald call him Major.”

There was one of those long seconds of silence. Then Floss shook her head hard, hard enough to make her hair fall into her eyes. I thought I heard it swish in the breeze. She looked straight at Tonio and said, “So we were right. Oh, Tonio, I'm so sorry. I got all caught up in the play. I was at home. I felt safe.” She paused and then, shoulders slumped, she added, “I should have known better.”

Tonio rubbed Floss's left hand. He was almost
casual when he said, “I told you before. Nothing that's happened is your fault.”

“But I was supposed to be the fey guide. I was—”

Tonio interrupted her. “Floss. Really. We all knew there were risks. They're all around us—all around everyone, really. Every day. Drop it.”

Floss sighed one more time. The glance she slid toward Tonio held that Floss–Tonio bond. He saw it, and his lips curved in a small, quirked smile. Floss sat up straight and gave him a sheepish half-grin back.

When she spoke again, sounding more like herself, she only said, “I just wish I knew who helped him. This is all too coincidental—we come here, Major comes here, and Feron isn't in evidence. Major's living at Reginald's; Reginald and Feron have always seemed to think alike.” She hesitated, then finished with “It's all so random that it shouldn't mesh at all, and those are usually the things that are most true. Fred, is your Feron radar better than mine?”

Fred shrugged. “I haven't been able to tell a damn thing about him since I was six.”

“That part's all guesswork anyway,” Tonio said, waving the idea of Feron away. “For now we'll just consider Major.”

 

Confirmation is an interesting thing. Now that we all knew, knew for sure that we had Major in our lives again, there was almost a sense of relief. It was as if we'd been waiting without knowing what we were waiting for.

“Maybe,” Max mused, “it's dealing with the familiar.”

Floss made a low noise deep in her throat.

“I know, I know,” Max said. “But everything's been turned upside down since we came here.” He looked at Floss and amended, “Well, for most of us. In some weird way this kind of puts us back on level ground.”

“Right,” Nicholas said. “Not good ground, but level ground.”

Lucia, though, looked stricken. She shook her head. “It's too rocky to be level. Major. Reginald. Maybe your brother, Floss. Sometimes even the magic is hard.” She looked like she was going to cry. “It's too
much stuff. Too much to deal with.”