Shadows Page 14

  By then my arms were full of Mongo. “Mongo, you loophead,” I said, burying my face in his fur, “what are you doing here?” But my stomach was telling me something was seriously wrong. “What are you doing here?” I looked up, still clutching Mongo, who didn’t anything like all fit in my lap. I could feel some kind of greeting going on between Mongo and Hix—Mongo was a licker, and since I could feel Hix, if faintly, maybe Mongo could lick her. I stared around. Even now, knowing the shadows were friendly—well, knowing that Hix was friendly, and since they’d just stopped the army guy I was ready to guess the way-too-many-shadows around us were okay too—it was pretty scary. I remembered that first evening, opening the door to Val and seeing the shadows rearing up behind him like the end of the world as I knew it.

  Which it had been, one way or another.

  It was normal-shadowy in the bus shelter; it was late afternoon and both the park fence and the first line of trees were between us and what was left of the sunlight. But sun shadows and gruuaa shadows were as different as—oh, as two black dogs from each other—when one’s a Pomeranian and one’s a Labrador.

  I looked at Casimir. He was looking a little green, although that might have been the normal bus-shelter shadows: the inside walls were painted seasick green. But Casimir was staring at the gruuaa, so I guessed it was more to do with them. He hadn’t looked green when we first got here. “I have never seen so many,” he said. He made it sound like a question.

  I was trying to decide what to answer when I remembered Val saying that most people had to be trained to see them. “You can see them,” I said. “And you knew that Hix was helping us.”

  Casimir went on staring at the gruuaa. Did he look a little shifty? I couldn’t decide. But, I thought hopefully, if the border tech didn’t stop him, maybe seeing gruuaa wasn’t going to get me jailed for the rest of my life either. I glanced at my algebra book. I’d worry about cobey-folding later.

  “Yes,” he said. “My mother gave all of us some basic training. I had little aptitude for most of it.” He glanced up at me and smiled, that mental-health-destroying smile. “If I were talking about cooking, I would say that I can boil water. I do not help in the kitchen at the restaurant.” He looked down again and shook his head. “So many,” he said. “So many.”

  “They all—er—belong—I guess—er—to my—stepfather,” I said. Belong? Stepfather? I was still having trouble with stepfather.

  “Your stepfather?”

  “Val,” I said, which was less creepo than going on calling him my stepfather. “He—er—he has a lot of them.”

  Casimir blinked.

  “He’s from Orzaskan,” I said helpfully. “I think they have more of them there. Like you said. In Oldworld.”

  “Orzaskan,” Casimir said thoughtfully. “Val . . .” He blinked again. “You don’t mean . . . Val Crudon, do you?”

  “Er,” I said. I should have kept saying stepfather. “Yes.”

  “Your stepfather is Valadi Crudon?” repeated Casimir wonderingly.

  “He isn’t, any more,” I said defensively. “A—whatever.” I didn’t want to say “magician” out loud. Even though that was maybe exactly what he was, then, now, any more, whenever.

  I didn’t want to ask if it had been a huge headline all over the Slav Commonwealth that Valadi Crudon had been his government’s executioner. I didn’t want to ask if Casimir had any idea how you took magic away from a magician. One of the things our mental hygiene class taught us about Genecor was that gene-chopping a young person was neat and clean and complete. On a middle-aged grown-up the magic gene had silted or fuzzed up and got tangled with its neighbors, and trying to chop it then was really dangerous.

  Could a magician maybe rust out, like an old car? If he didn’t use his magic any more? If his government had just kind of contained Val for a while? So whatever it was that happened that day out at the shed was maybe like the radio coming on when you twisted the ignition key of your old car, but the engine wasn’t going to turn over?

  “There is some great mystery about him,” said Casimir. “He disappeared—years ago. I was still a boy. There were two of them—Valadi and one other. The other is known to have died. No one knows what happened to Valadi. My mother was very distressed. She said he was the greatest magician in the Commonwealth—even greater than his friend who died.”

  His friend who died. I rushed to say: “He’s here, okay? Here in Newworld. He’s been here over a year. He has a visa and everything. He tutors really bright kids and really dumb ones in math and science. They made him leave it all behind—like you.”

  “Yes,” said Casimir. “But I had very little to leave behind. And his gruuaa came anyway.”

  My phone rang, and I was glad of the excuse not to go on with this conversation. Val was famous? Even if what had happened hadn’t been a headline, there was a reason his government had chosen him to . . . I dragged my phone out from under Mongo with difficulty. Mom. I clicked on. “Hi,” I said. “Mongo’s with me.”

  “I—oh,” said Mom. “Oh, thank the gods. He got out when—Where are you?”

  “I’m at the park,” I said cautiously. “I’ll be home—er.” I didn’t know the drivers on this route, and it was all downtown. They might not let Mongo on the bus.

  “I have a car,” said Casimir. “I will take you home. It is not a good car, but it is a car. Your dog and your gruuaa are welcome.” He smiled, and I lost track of my conversation with Mom.

  “Maggie?” said Mom.

  “Unh,” I said. “Casimir’s here too. He’s got a car, and he’ll bring me home.”

  “Casimir?” said Mom. “Is he another senior?”

  You could be standing in a burning building and the firemen are all yelling, Jump! Jump! and your mom would still want to know about the person whose name you’ve just said for the first time in her hearing. “No,” I said. “He’s the person I told you about—last night. Going to Runyon. Jill has met him, okay?”

  “I’m not sure that’s entirely reassuring,” said Mom. “He’ll bring you straight home?”

  “Yes,” I said, wondering what was going on besides Mom being a mom. She shouldn’t be home now, Mongo shouldn’t be out roaming the streets—and I would be totally freaked about this on any other day that I hadn’t almost been disappeared by a cobey—and this conversation should sound more like the standard mom-teenage-daughter face-off and it didn’t. It sounded like we were both really worried and not telling each other about it. I had my mouth open to ask questions and realized I didn’t want to know any sooner than I had to. I looked across the street at the long-legged army things. The human shapes standing stiffly beside them looked more like upright gizmos than like people, and everything looked worse and worse as the light faded toward sunset. In the leaf-shadowy twilight the tank was a monster out of a fairy tale. “See you,” was all I said, and clicked off.

  The big army guy who had almost busted us had long since disappeared into the park, but there were still a lot of other guys milling around. I hoped our reinforcement gruuaa could keep us hidden. If Hix had held onto both Casimir and me by herself, surely this gang could disguise half of Station? But that was before these great icky, woozy, loopy weird-air waves had started.

  I took my belt off so I had something to use as a leash—fortunately Mongo was still wearing his collar. The little broken cog rubbed at my hand as I fumbled my belt under the collar. You’re working, right? I thought at it. You’re making us safe and—normal. I thought my hands were maybe shaking a little. Casimir picked up my knapsack again. I had Mongo in one hand and my algebra book in the other, but Casimir stayed really close to me—because of the gruuaa of course. He even slid his free arm around my waist again. Because of the gruuaa. Of course. He wasn’t stupidly tall like Takahiro. When he turned his head to look up the street, the end of his ponytail brushed across my cheek. Odorokubeki. Amazing.

 
CHAPTER 7

  HE WAS RIGHT ABOUT HIS CAR NOT BEING A GOOD car, but I was used to the skanky cars Jill’s brothers let her borrow. This one ran. Mongo insisted on staying in my lap (which is majorly illegal so I hoped the gruuaa would disguise this from any ordinary traffic cops) and when we got to my house he still wouldn’t move and I couldn’t open the door or get out. Casimir came around and opened the door for me. “Get down,” I said, and heaved Mongo onto the drive.

  I looked at the house. It looked totally normal. No—shimatta—there were gruuaa, trying to look like standard shadows, lined out under the rosebushes along the front of the house. They looked eerily like some kind of fortification. They also looked smushed and unhappy, if shadows that aren’t really shadows can look smushed and unhappy. There was an odd little hum, almost a moan, from Hix. The rest of the gruuaa that had come with us washed across the lawn like a tide, and thickened—reinforced—the ones under the rosebushes.

  It might have been the armydar. It was making me feel pretty moany. It was just as bad here as it was in the center of town.

  “Do you want to come in?” I said. I didn’t know what I was leading him into but I was feeling that I could use all the friends I could get, even ones who thought I was some weird mythic thing and not just a clueless seventeen-year-old girl. I looked over my shoulder like I was expecting a column of soldiers to be trotting along Ramage Avenue and across the mouth of our little street. Not yet. “I can probably give you that cup of coffee we didn’t have downtown.”

  Casimir tried not to brighten, but he did. That’ll be the thought of meeting Val, I thought drearily. Never mind. I got to look at him a little longer. The line of his throat when he turned his head . . . and that dimple when he smiled. “Thank you,” he said.

  It also meant he carried my knapsack up the walk to the door. Some of the gruuaa peeled off from under the rosebushes and joined us. Mom opened the door before I got my hand on the knob: she must have been looking out for us. Her face was all pinched up with worry. She shouldn’t be worried and at home in the middle of the afternoon. Ran—no, if it had been something about my accident-prone little brother, she’d’ve told me. She was immediately distracted when I introduced her to Casimir, however. Her expression struggled between amusement and “wow.” When she turned away to lead us into the kitchen and the coffee machine she shot me a look that said, “Yup. Gorgeous.” Some other day this might have annoyed me. Not today. Besides, he was gorgeous. Even your mom could see it.

  I noticed there were a couple of new little origami critters on the windowsill (not that there was room. One of them was arched over an African violet like a dragon protecting his princess) and a third on the kitchen table. I had known Takahiro was going to be taking some kind of gizmohead science tutorial with Val, and I hadn’t liked the idea at all. When he’d told me I’d wanted to say, hey, whose friend are you? but I hadn’t. Staring at the little creature on the table now I had this dumb spasm of feeling that Taks’ origami made everything all right. I was sure it had been my new mascot that had taught me (somehow) to do whatever it was I had just done as Hands Folding Paper in the park. The throb of the armydar almost faltered.

  This didn’t last even as long as it took Mom to bring the mugs of coffee out of the kitchen. I looked into her face: she was really frightened. “Maggie,” she said in this unnaturally calm voice, “would you take a mug out to Val? He’s in his office.” Which was what we called the shed when anyone else was around.

  I couldn’t very well ask her what was going on with Casimir sitting there, or why she was sending me instead of going herself and leaving me to entertain my guest. I flashed an “it’s okay, Mom’s harmless” smile at Casimir and picked up the mug, telling myself that whatever happened it was not going to freak me out like it had the last time something weird had happened out there.

  I let myself out the back door, Mongo plunging through before I could decide whether I wanted him or not, and a lot of gruuaa with him. I didn’t think they had to wait for someone to open a door, but maybe they were being polite. As I walked the few yards to the shed door it got harder and harder to put my feet down and go that way. It was so peculiar a sensation I couldn’t decide if I was just feeling reluctant—which I was, although I wouldn’t have said it was strong enough to glue my feet to the path—or whether there was something really trying to stop me getting to the shed. Hix patted my face. It felt like, Go on, I’m here.

  If there was something trying to stop me, it failed. I knocked. “Val? Mom sent me out with some coffee for you.”

  There was movement that didn’t sound like someone walking to the door—but it sounded like it had something to do with something large. Then the ordinary sound of footsteps, and the door opened. A crack. “Maggie,” said Val.

  I held the mug out. Whatever was going on, I was happy to stay out of it. The day had been dreepy enough already.

  “I would like you—I would ask you to come in,” said Val carefully. “But—please prepare yourself.”

  Prepare myself for what? Hix was silent and motionless. I looked down. Mongo was wagging his tail. It was a happy, hopeful wag. Well, so it couldn’t be too bad—could it? Huh. Mongo was an optimist.

  Val opened the door the rest of the way. Behind him on the floor was a huge shaggy grey and silver dog with yellow eyes lying on a heap of rags. It looked tense and miserable. Val looked pretty tense too, and worried. Like Mom. Mongo’s tail beat harder. The huge dog was panting heavily, although it was cool in the shed, and its tail was clamped between its legs. I looked down. Mongo had his head lowered and his ears not-quite flat, his eyes wide open but soft, and his tail was going like four hundred and twelve. Friendly but submissive. I looked at the other dog again.

  It looked awfully like a wolf.

  “Please come in,” said Val. “Mongo too, if he wishes.”

  The shed wasn’t that big. To get the door shut behind me I had to go closer to the huge dog (or wolf) than I wanted to. As soon as the door was shut I backed up against it till I couldn’t go any farther. I could still feel that keep-away sensation I’d felt outside, but inside the shed it was weirder. Much weirder. It was both go-away and please-please-please-stay. The shed had gruuaa everywhere—there was even one wrapped around the cord that the little ceiling light hung from.

  Mongo got down on his belly and crept toward the other dog. One of the other dog’s forefeet gave a funny twitch and then it whined—a pathetic, heartbreaking sound. I knew that sound; I heard it at the shelter all the time. I also knew that the last thing you do is rush up to a strange animal and touch it just because you know it’s miserable.

  Well, okay, I didn’t rush. I took two deliberate steps—past Val, who made no move to stop me—and knelt down by Mongo, who was by this time licking the big dog’s chin. Petting this monster seemed rude somehow . . . not that what I did was sensible. I sat down next to it and reached out for it like it was Mongo. Like we were on the sofa, and he was sitting next to me. I reached out as if I was going to drag the front half of it into my lap.

  Never, ever do this.

  It gave a moan, and shoved its gigantic head under my arm and . . . there was a totally doolally blur, I don’t know, all teeming and boiling and wildness . . . not wholly unlike a smaller denser version of what had wrapped around Casimir and me in the park . . .

  . . . and I suddenly had my arms around Takahiro. A naked Takahiro. Val produced a blanket out of somewhere and dropped it over him, and then knelt down beside him and hung on: Takahiro was shivering like he was having some kind of fit. He still had his head under my arm, and his arms were across my lap. One of them reached around behind me and grabbed the pocket of my jeans like it was saving him from drowning. I didn’t know what else to do, so I wrapped my arms around his naked chest and back and held on too.

  It was over in maybe a minute. Then he went limp, and his hand fell away from my jeans pocket. Val and I let g
o, but Val was tucking the blanket around him, as tenderly as if Takahiro was his baby son. A six-and-a-half-foot baby son. I realized the rags that the “dog” had been lying on used to be clothes. I thought I recognized what used to be a sweatshirt with our high school logo on it. He rolled away from me and tried to sit up. Val had begun chafing his blanket-covered back and shoulders like you might do someone you’ve just saved from drowning. “You’re all right,” said Val, pausing to retuck a bit of the blanket. “It’s over. You’re all right.”

  “I’m not all right,” said Takahiro in a voice I barely recognized. “I have never been all right. I have always been this.”

  I wanted to scream or throw up or run away or all three, but I couldn’t. Takahiro, as many times as I’d wanted to kill him in the last more than seven years, was my friend. And werewolves were a myth. Like mgdagas. I got up, a little unsteadily, and picked up the mug of coffee on Val’s table. “Coffee?” I said inanely, and held it out toward Takahiro.

  He glanced up and away again as if he couldn’t meet my eyes. The blanket slipped down over one shoulder. He had the most beautiful creamy skin, like a golden pearl. He pulled the blanket up over his shoulder again—Val was still kneeling beside him, rubbing his back. I kept on holding out the coffee (Taks was as much of a coffee hound as Jill and me) and eventually, without looking at me, he took it.

  I sat back down on the floor too, immediately in front of him, where he would have to look at me (I hoped). I was fighting wanting to scream or throw up, and if I still wanted to run away—and with the army out there cranking its zappers and wave machines, I did want to run away—I wanted to take Takahiro with me. Far away from this world where everything was going so rats’ assy. Mongo, however, was thrilled by the situation. He crammed himself between Taks and me. Taks got the soulful brown eyes. I got the being beaten to death with a tail.