The Prince of Two Tribes (10 page)

“It’s not polite to point!” She smiled, revealing strong white teeth.

The train arrived. Brendan stepped through the doors as they whooshed open. He turned and said angrily, “Leave me alone.”

She frowned prettily as the doors closed.

“That ain’t no way to talk to a girl.” A homeless man sitting on the train, bulging shopping bags piled around him, gave Brendan a reproachful look.

Brendan ignored him. No one else was on board so he had his pick of seats. He plunked down on a bench facing the platform, well away from the homeless man. The train started to roll. The girl jogged along until she was even with him, waving as she ran alongside. Brendan tried to ignore her. The train picked up speed. The girl kept pace, running with ease and grace. She puffed out her cheeks and pretended she was having trouble keeping up. Despite his annoyance, Brendan found her performance amusing. A small smile tugged rebelliously at the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly, she threw up her hands in alarm and dropped headlong from sight. Brendan leapt up to see if she was okay, pressing his face against the window beside the homeless man. The girl popped up and banged on the glass, scaring Brendan so that he staggered back and fell in his seat. She pointed and laughed, once again keeping pace with the train. Brendan rolled his eyes. She stuck out her tongue.

The end of the platform loomed. The girl waved goodbye and dropped back out of sight. Brendan didn’t wave back.

The homeless man had been watching the whole thing. “She can sure motor,” he said, eyes wide. “That’s some girl, there.”

“Yeah,” Brendan had to admit.

He took the subway north to Spadina. Rather than take the streetcar from the station, he decided to walk home through the softly falling snow. People were bundled up against the weather, but Brendan hardly noticed the cold. The sun was low in the grey sky.

By the time he got to what he’d taken to calling the Snoring Rock, it was already dark. Brendan came level with the black stone and found himself compelled to stop. Lately he’d avoided this place. Something about the monolith sitting in the schoolyard made him uneasy. He read the little brass plaque that decorated the stone.

T
HIS
B
ASIC
I
GNEOUS
R
OCK WAS FOUND AT A DEPTH OF

TWELVE FEET DURING THE COURSE OF EXCAVATION FOR THIS SCHOOL.
T
HE COMPOSITION IS OF A VERY RARE TYPE AND IS ASSUMED TO HAVE BEEN CARRIED HERE FROM
C
ARIBOU
L
AKE NORTH OF
P
ARRY
S
OUND BY A GLACIER DURING THE
G
REAT
I
CE
A
GE
12,000
YEARS AGO
.

Brendan could barely imagine the force required to transport a stone over such a distance and bury it so deep in the ground. Thinking about it made him uncomfortable, perhaps because the rock reminded him of the first terrifying and confusing day when he’d stumbled into his new life. He and Dmitri had been walking past this very spot when he’d heard the stone “snoring.” He remembered the harsh warning the stone had barked in his mind, telling him to stay away.

So why was he here? He could have easily taken another route. He stood in the yellow light of the street lamp with the snow gently falling around him, staring at the mottled black surface of the stone.

The world faded from his awareness. The surface of the stone swam before him. What at first seemed to be a chaos of bumps, gouges, and cracks began to shift and resolve into patterns. Brendan struggled to make sense of the markings, but their meaning was just beyond his perception. He felt that if he could just concentrate a little more, he’d be able to puzzle them out.

He heard a voice whispering his name. The voice was soft, insistent, and hypnotic.

Breandan.

Breandan.

I am waiting.

Breandan.

“Brendan!”

The voice was suddenly loud. Brendan came to his senses to find that he had climbed over the little fence surrounding the black rock and had laid his bare hands on its rough surface.

“Hey, Brendan!” His father stood on the sidewalk looking at him, concern plain on his face. “Are you okay?”

Brendan dropped his hands to his sides, embarrassed and confused. He didn’t remember climbing the fence and approaching the stone.

“Hi, Dad,” he said lamely, stepping back onto the sidewalk. “Where are you coming from?”

“Work. They called me in to cover a shift at the café. And I had to pick up some stuff your mother ordered.” He held up a couple of shopping bags. He cocked his head to the side and looked at Brendan again. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Brendan said. “I was, uh … I just thought I saw some graffiti tags on that rock. But it wasn’t anything. Just a shadow.” He smiled lamely.

“Oh, okay,” his father said slowly. “That’s good. All right, then, shall we go home and see what’s for dinner?”

“Sure!”

Dinner was sloppy joes and homemade french fries, Brendan’s favourite. There was also a big salad, since his mother always forced him to eat at least one plate of greens as well. He demolished two joes in short order, suddenly famished. He still felt weird after his latest encounter with the Snoring Rock. He guessed he had to call it the Talking Rock now. He pondered the experience while he ate, his mum and dad chatting happily about their days.

Toward the end of the meal, he noticed that Dee was quieter than usual. He kept catching her looking at him.

“What?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she sneered.

“Then stop looking at me.”

“I’m not.”

“Good!”

“Good!”

“Wow,” his father laughed. “Some siblings have trouble communicating, but you two are so in sync. It’s heartwarming.”

“Time to decorate the tree!” His mother was eager to defuse any brother-sister meltdown. “Let’s get to it.”

The next hour was spent re-enacting a ritual that occurred every year. His father would string the lights and mildly curse when he couldn’t find the one bulb that was burnt out and keeping the whole string from shining. Then there was the argument over tinsel placement: throw or drape carefully. Then taking the ornaments out of the boxes, finding which ones had broken and which were just too plain ugly to use this year and should be retired.

Finally, all that was left was the star on the top. His mother climbed the ladder and placed the antique silver star that had been in her family for generations on the spindly top bough of the blue spruce. The star meant a lot to his mother. The year before his grandmother had passed away, she’d handed it down to his mum. His mother and his father had no living parents, so any token that reminded them of those who were gone was special.

His mother was just climbing down the ladder, helped by his father, when the doorbell rang.

“Who could that be?” she asked.

“Beats me.” His father shrugged. “Are you expecting anyone, Dee?”

“No.” Delia shook her head.

“Brendan?”

Brendan shook his head. The bell rang again.

“Well, I know one way to find out who’s at the door.” Brendan’s father pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m going to open it. Don’t try and stop me.”

Brendan followed his father down the hall to the front door. After peeking through the curtains that shrouded the tiny window in the top of the door, Brendan’s father grasped the handle and swung it open.

Brendan’s heart sank. Standing on the front porch in the glow of the porch light was Charles. She was the picture of thin teenage waif in ragged jeans and a Clash T-shirt. An oversized leather jacket draped her shoulders. She carried a backpack encrusted with patches and band buttons, held together with safety pins. Seeing Brendan’s father, she grinned shyly, completing the helpless persona.

“
Allo
,” she said, affecting a heavy Quebecois accent. “Is Brendan at ’ome?”

“You’re in luck. He’s right behind me,” Brendan’s father said. He stepped aside to reveal Brendan, whose face was a mask of shock.

“I ’ope you don’t mind my just coming over but I was passing by,” the girl said shyly.

“Who’s this, Brendan?” said his mother, coming out of the living room.

“She? Uh … ” Brendan stammered. “Uh … ”

The girl laughed prettily. “I can’t believe Brendan ’asn’t mentioned me. My name is Charlie Lutine.”

Getting over his shock, Brendan felt anger bubble up in his stomach. This was way out of bounds! This was breaking all the rules!

Brendan’s mum raised an eyebrow at Brendan. “I’m sure he was working up the courage to introduce us to his new girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Brendan’s dad was beaming. “Well, isn’t this nice?”

Brendan’s jaw dropped. Girlfriend? His heart sank. His conversation with his mum had backfired. He tried to think of a way out but he was stuck.

“You should have called,” Brendan said, trying to hide his fury with a light tone.

“I’m sorry.” She smiled sweetly. “My cellphone, she die an hour ago. Like I said, I was ’oping to surprise you.”

“Oh, it’s a surprise all right,” Brendan muttered between gritted teeth.

Delia shouldered her way between her parents. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Charlie,” the girl said with a smile. “You must be Delia. Brendan’s told me a lot about you.”

Delia managed to look disgusted, surprised, and suspicious all at the same time. “He has?”

“Oh, yes!” Charlie assured her. Then she shivered theatrically.

Brendan’s father practically leapt to take her arm and draw her into the house. “Come in out of the cold. We’ll make you some tea.”

Brendan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. All he could do was stand by helplessly as his parents ushered the girl into his home.

²⁹
 Being a Toronto Maple Leafs fan can now be used as a mental disability claim and a legal defence.

HOME INVASION

Half an hour later, the Clairs were sitting around the kitchen table watching their visitor devour leftover sloppy joes.

For such a scrawny little runt, she can sure put it away,
Brendan thought bitterly, watching his alleged girlfriend mopping her plate with a piece of thick white bread. He had no idea how he was going to get her out of the house. She was playing the part of the new girlfriend meeting the parents to a T. One sure way to get into his mother’s good books was to show a healthy appreciation for her cooking. Charlie didn’t demur when offered something to eat and even asked for seconds, making her a superstar in his mum’s eyes. Brendan watched, despairing, as his mother made sure the girl didn’t run out of food. His father was conducting a mild interrogation, but Brendan could tell that he was utterly charmed as well. The only one who looked unconvinced was Delia, who leaned in the doorway watching with intense interest, like a hawk examining a mouse in an open field.

“So how did you meet Brendan? At school?” his dad asked.

“Mais oui.”
She stopped chewing long enough to grin at Brendan. “I ’ave just moved to the area, and Brendan was kind enough to show me around.”

Brendan glowered back.
What a barefaced liar!
he wanted to shout in her face, but instead he just smiled, choking back his anger.

“He hasn’t mentioned you at all,” Dad said. “I would’ve thought he’d want to let everyone know he had a girl as pretty as you.”

“Oh, come on,” Charlie said, blushing.

“I had an inkling something was up.” Mum smiled knowingly. “He was probably just embarrassed.”

Brendan kept a straight face but inside he was seething. He wanted to yell at her,
Who are you, really? What are you doing in my family’s house? Get out of here!

Instead, he bit his tongue and listened as his father asked her: “Where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“Montreal,” she said, finally pushing back her plate. “My father is in banking. ’E was transferred.”

“I’m sure Charlie has to get going,” Brendan said, looking to move her along. He just wanted to get her out of the house before she said something that didn’t ring true for his parents. “I’ll walk you to the streetcar.”

“Brendan.” His mother glared at him. “You’d think you didn’t want us to get to know her. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“So, what are you into?” Brendan’s father asked, offering the girl a chocolate chip cookie. “Do you like music?”

She took a cookie. After popping a piece into her mouth she shrugged. “I like the music, me. I play the guitar and sing. I like busking in the street sometimes.”

“You busk?”
³⁰
Brendan’s father’s eyes lit up. He loved performers like himself. “Are you any good?”

“I like to think so.” She grinned at Brendan.

“We have to jam sometime. I’ve tried to interest Brendan in music but it’s really not his thing.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Brendan said flatly, annoyed that his father would volunteer personal information.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlie said, with a wink at Brendan. “Brendan ’as a lot of ’idden talents. ’E could surprise you.”

“He already has.” Mum laughed, punching Brendan’s arm lightly. “We had no idea he had a girlfriend.”

“It’s not like that,” Brendan groaned. “We’re friends. That’s it.”

“Then, my son,” Dad said, shaking his head, “that only proves what I’ve thought all along: you’re crazy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Brendan said. “I appreciate your support.”

“I’m just saying,” Mr. Clair laughed. “If I had a girl this cute, I’d be bragging to everybody!”

“Edward,” his mother warned.

“I’m just saying!”

“Brendan,” Charlie said, giggling before he could respond, “I never imagined you ’ad such a nice family.” Brendan could tell this act of hers was working on his parents. They’d been so worried about him since they’d told him he was adopted. Finding a girlfriend would be a good sign that he was a “normal” teenage boy and not suffering some secret pain. Whoever this Faerie named Charles actually was, she was playing his parents like a violin. And that accent! She was really laying it on thick. How could anybody be fooled by it? It was up to Brendan to get her out of the house before she could cause any trouble or expose his secret. Every second she stayed was fraught with disaster.