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Alpha

By

Erin M. Kinch

The first time Callie saw Luke Hayes, her hackles rose. A cowbell clanked against the door of the Johnson Bar & Grill as he swaggered in, all tall shoulders, shaggy black hair, and ice blue eyes.

Want me to take this one? Millie drawled. Millie was a tough Texas broad whod worked at the grill since Callies parents opened the place. Her weathered face and graying ponytail spoke of practicality and long hours outdoors.

Callie felt the interlopers presence like a bonfire scorching her skin. Ive got it. She took a deep breath and approached the stranger. Get you a drink?

Glenfiddich on the rocks.

Callie raised an eyebrow as she poured. Not much call for this in Ryan. Thats six bucks.

He slid his platinum card across the bar. Ill start a tab.

She ran her thumb over the raised letters. Sure, Luke.

His hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist. Callie glared and her nostrils twitched; outsiders never touched her that way.

A smile softened his face as he released her. Dont I get to know your name?

The warmth of his caressing gaze did her in. Im Callie.

Let me buy you a drink, Callie. His slow grin shredded the remains of her modesty, and the low rumbling of his voice made her insides quiver. She was hyper-aware of his musky scent, the curve of his lips, and how his hair waved across his forehead.

At the other end of the bar, Millie slammed the beer cooler shut with a bang.

Callie blinked and retreated. Maybe some other time. She left his card by the cash register and headed for the back.

Darrel aint gonna like this. Millie cornered Callie in the hall. Aint gonna like him.

I dont care what Darrel likes.

Millie grabbed Callie by the shoulders. Your parents were Alpha. Its all kinds of horrible that the accident took em, but the pack cant go on like this. Youve gotta make it official with Darrel. Or somebody.

Darrel can lead the pack. I dont care! Callie jerked free and hurried to her office, fighting tears.

Of course, Millie followed. She always did. The pack looks to you, child. Whether you like it or not, youre Alpha now. Unless someone puts up a challenge.

I want to abdicate. Barb and Joe Johnson smiled at Callie from a photo on the bookshelf, so happy, so in love. Callie slammed it face down.

Your parents put this pack together from scavengers, misfits, and coydogs that had their tails between their legs. They made us strong, gave us a home. They made us family. Dont you care about that any more? Millie watched Callie with solemn brown eyes, equal amounts of chiding and concern in her smoke-roughened voice.

Callie allowed her curtain of light brown hair to fall forward, shielding her from the gaze of the one person who could still make her deal with pack politics. I love you all, but Im not cut out to be Alpha.

Sometimes theres more important things than what you want, Callie-girl. With your parents dead and your brother gone, who else have we got?

Darrel? Callie spat his name like a curse.

The pack will look to Darrel, if you look to Darrel.

The cowbell clanked again, interrupting the silence that stretched between them.

With a sigh, Millie went back to the bar to tend to business.

For the next hour, Callie hid in her office, ostensibly prepping the next weeks orders, but really sitting in her fathers desk chair staring into space. The comforting aroma of his pipe tobacco still clung to the upholstery six months later. The blank spot on the bookshelf gnawed at her. Finally, Callie righted the picture and faced her parents.

What am I supposed to do? Callie whispered.

In the next frame, her older brother glared at her from beneath his graduation cap. Rick hated growing up in Ryan. Joe groomed him to be Alpha, but Rick split the night after his high school graduation and hadnt been heard from since. Callie didnt even know where send him word about their parents funeral.

She sensed Lukes presence before she saw him in the doorway. Her skin prickled and burned as a familiar musky scent wafted toward her.

Frowning is bad for your looks. He touched his forehead. Wrinkles. Too many and the fellas stop sniffing around. He winked, and Callies stomach flip-flopped.

Callie planted her hands on her slender hips. Planning to lighten my mood?

My rides outside. Ill take you home and let you invite me in for coffee.

Tempting, but its happy hour. Callie pushed past Luke and felt his gaze on her backside as he followed her down the hall. She put a little extra sway into her stride.

Let someone else handle it.

Warm, scotch-scented breath caressed her face. Callie knew she should move, but she didnt. One of his long fingers traced a fiery line down her jaw.

Callie!

She jerked away from Luke as a short, stocky man with spiky red hair pushed through the curtain separating the hall from the bar. He looked from Callie to Luke, his nostrils flaring. Who are you?

Darrel, Callie answered, her voice flat, this is Luke.

Luke just smirked.

Whats he doing here? The back is family only. The pitch of Darrels voice rose until the last word was practically a yip.

Back off, Darrel, Callie warned, but it was too late. The brash, young werecoyote forced his way between his girl and the interloper.

Lukes voice was little more than a growl. I dont have a problem with you; lets leave it that way.

If you didnt want a problem, Darrel snarled, you shouldnt have messed with her! He threw a left hook that Luke sidestepped more easily than should have been possible. Darrel might be shorter, but he had the preternaturally fast reflexes of the beast within.

Her own beast twitched restlessly; Callies brown eyes flashed golden as her coyote urged her to attack Darrel and force him into submission. She took a few deep breaths, forcing her beast to quiet down, then grabbed Lukes hand, taking pleasure in the anger on Darrels face.

Were leaving, Callie told Darrel. Deal with it.

Luke chuckled and allowed Callie to pull him through the curtain and out the door

He mounted a black Harley Sportster with gleaming chrome that waited in the handicapped parking space. She straddled the leather seat behind him. Gravel sprayed as he gunned the motor and raced for the highway. She hollered directions over the thundering engine, then leaned back to let the rush of the wind blow her frustrations away. For the first time in weeks, months even, she felt free in her human form. The only other feeling that came close was racing through the countryside in coyote form, hunting rabbits and howling at the moon.

Too soon, they pulled into her driveway. Her parents had owned two hundred acres in the hill country outside of Ryan. The rocky, cedar-covered land wasnt much for ranching or farming, but it made the perfect hunting ground for a pack of werecoyotes. Callie had refurnished the tiny two-room cabin, creating her own private sanctuary. Luke killed the bikes motor and silence covered them like a blanket. Overhead, sunset painted the sky with dramatic streaks of pink and orange.

Nice.

She heard the genuine approval in his tone as he surveyed the property.

Thanks.

A porch wrapped around the cabin. She sat on the swing and gestured for Luke to join her. When he did, his long legs reached all the way to the porch rail.

Thanks for the rescue back there, she said.

Is Darrel your boyfriend?

Her short bark of laughter interrupted the crickets song. He wishes.

Im glad he isnt. He slid closer.

Callie knew she should stop him. She barely knew Luke. No one would approve, not Millie, certainly not Darrel, and definitely not her parents. His lips touched hers, and passion exploded. She pressed against him, plunging her tongue deep into his mouth. One of his hands cupped the back of her head while the other tugged her blouse out of her jeans. His jacket fell to the ground, and the heat of his skin singed her through his blue t-shirt.

Most of Callies limited romantic experience had been with members of the pack, but she had gone out with non-pack boys a time or two during college. Comparatively, non-pack boys were timid. The more aroused Callie got, the more her beast wanted to come out and play. If Callie wasnt going to Change, the beast demanded satisfaction in other ways. That kind of aggression in a woman scared the non-pack boys, but Luke met her urge for urge.

Finally, that realization broke through the haze of passion, and Callie pushed against his chest. Luke chuckled and tugged her closer. Callie shoved him back.

Get off!

This time he retreated to his side of the swing with a mutinous expression. What?

The coyote inside howled with disappointment, begging for action; her muscles trembled as she fought down the wild emotions. Callie spoke between ragged pants.

Your kiss, its not normal.

Normal is boring. Luke grinned, and his teeth glinted in the moonlight. Were his canines longer than before?

Tell me the truth! Her fingers itched as fingernails threatened to explode into claws, and her heart pounded in her ears.

His grin faded. You already know.

Youre were?

Werewolf.

Her hackles rose again, this time in response to an intruder in her territory. Werecoyotes and werewolves were usually rivals. This is coyote country. Why are you here?

Rick sent me.

Her brothers name twisted like a knife in her chest. The pounding in her ears became a roar, and her insides shifted; fangs filled her mouth. The half moon peeked over the tree line. She didnt have to Change, but she could. Her beast begged for freedom, promising that a run through the woods would clear the confusion and pain from her mind.

Large hands rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. With a force of will, Callie held onto her humanity. Fangs shrank back into teeth, and claws retracted. Luke seemed to sense that the urge had passed and returned to his side of the swing.

Thanks, Callie whispered. How do you know Rick?

He works at my club in New York. I was passing through Texas, so he asked me to deliver this. Luke handed her a square of paper that she unfolded with trembling fingers. The brief note was scrawled in her brothers handwriting and included a phone number.

I heard about Mom and Dad, and Im sorry. But dont let their dreams rule your life, Cal. Theres a place for you in New York. You can trust Luke. Hes a good guy, for all that hes a wolf. I love you.

Her eyes blurred with tears.

Luke sat with his feet propped on the railing, but the intensity of his gaze belied his casual pose. Will you come?

She couldnt answer.

If you do, Id like to see more of you. He covered her hand with his, and electricity shot all the way down to her toes, searing away her melancholy. Her beast grabbed the moment with all four paws, and Callie jumped him, smashing her lips against his. The more she felt, the less she had to think. Lukes hands on her bare skin made thinking impossible.

They sprang apart when they heard tires crunching on the gravel driveway. By the time they were presentable enough to descend the front steps, a semicircle of cars and pickup trucks surrounded them. Darrel exited first, followed by Shane and Kyle. Her father had called them the Trio, and theyd gotten into endless scrapes during high school. Only Joes firm hand, and sometimes his claws, kept them in line back then. All of the pack had come, except for two young mothers and the pups.

What is this? Callie asked.

The pack decided, Darrel said, we dont want you with him. If youre not going to get rid of him, we will.

Next to her, Luke tensed.

You all feel this way? Callie surveyed the familiar faces and found no support. Even Millie looked determined, though she didnt meet Callies eyes. What if I say no?

Boys! Darrel called, and then the Trio Changed, throwing off their clothes seconds before their beasts took over. Legs shortened, arms lengthened, noses extended into snouts, and teeth sharpened into fangs. Foreheads sloped back, ears grew, and fur sprouted all over. Kyle and Shane were brown, but Darrels fur shone with a burnished red. The other pack males started the Change as well, but the females watched, seemingly content to stay human. Though their pack was small, it was still fourteen male coyotes against one wolf. Formidable as Luke must be as a wolf, those were bad odds.

Get on your bike and go, she hissed. Ill keep them here.

Somehow, I get the feeling you dont have as much power over them as you think. Luke shed his clothes and began his own Change.

He was here because of her; she couldnt let him face down her pack alone. Callie released her beast from its cage. The coyote burst forth before Callie had time to strip. Fabric shredded and seams ripped as Callie morphed into a fifty-pound coyote with golden eyes and light brown fur. A long scar marred her left flank. Shed gotten it as a pup, fighting the other pups into submission, and her beast wore it as a badge of honor.

The Trio finished Changing first, but the others werent far behind. As a wolf, Luke stood much taller than the largest coyote, his dramatic gray and white coloring and light blue eyes looking like a glamour shot from the cover of National Geographic.

Darrel growled. Lukes ears went back and he snarled, baring his teeth. Callie yipped her own rebuke, placing herself between the red coyote and the wolf.

Kyle launched himself at Luke, snarling and biting. Luke twisted and bit down on Kyles neck, tossing the lighter animal into a nearby cedar. The coyotes head hit the tree with an audible crack, and when he landed, he didnt get back up. Callie moved closer to see if Kyle was still breathing. She whined with relief at the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

With Callie out of the way, the remaining members of the Trio sprang on Luke in a flash of fur and fangs. The coyotes pulled the wolf down, the pair of them equaling the giant wolfs weight. Luke hit the ground and rolled, the three combatants tumbling over and over, leaving a trail of crimson and bits of fur along the driveway. Luke freed himself and then ran into the woods, Shane and Darrel on his heels. The rest of the pack males, except two, followed.

One of the remaining two, Richard, paced protectively next to Kyle; the other, Art, placed himself between her and the path. She snarled, but Art, a middle-aged coyote with grizzled fur and a ragged left ear, didnt back down.

The beast within Callie raged, furious at her authority being questioned. Darrel and the others might have been insolent, but they had not disobeyed a direct command. With a snap of her jaws, Callie flew at Art. He might be bigger, but she was faster. She rammed him with the full force of her fifty pounds and knocked him to the ground. They rolled several times as Art tried to break free. Callie clamped her teeth around one of his front legs and bit down with all her might. He jerked, but Callie dug her teeth in more deeply. He pulled again, harder this time, and her fangs tore through a tendon. With a yelp of pain, Art hunkered down; she smelled his fear and howled. He crouched low in submission, looking anywhere but in her eyes. Callie let him up and turned to Richard, who ducked his head, as well. Behind them, some of the women clapped.

A wolfs howl slithered along the wind, echoing in the distance. Callie plunged headlong into the underbrush tracking her rogue pack. She smelled the pack before she saw them and took care to stay downwind.

The pack stood in a loose semicircle, the wolf between them and the pond. Blood stained the white fur of Lukes belly and dripped down one foreleg. Darrel and Shane advanced on him. Callie knew which one she had to deal with, and she was ready.

Callie burst into the middle of the coyotes with a crash of underbrush. Darrel growled, but Callie didnt give him time for more than that. She went straight for his throat. Darrel reared back, so she sank her teeth into his flank instead. They rolled, and she dug in with teeth and claws. When he shook her off, his blood stained her muzzle and glistened on her claws brighter than Im not a waitress nail polish.

Darrels fangs ripped through her ear, and she reeled back in pain. Behind her, Luke growled a warning at Darrel. Shane snarled a counter-warning at Luke. Callie took advantage of Darrels distraction and launched herself at him. She had to finish this before Luke got involved. If he helped, she wouldnt truly be Alpha, something she finally knew she wanted.

The pair of coyotes moved so fast that a non-were couldnt have tracked all the bites and gouges. The only sounds in the clearing were the snarls and yelps of the combatants. She kept him on the move, wearing the larger coyote down. Then Callie sank her teeth into his side. Darrel yipped and wriggled away, but Callie lunged against him. They fell to the ground, and this time when the rolling stopped, Callie stood over Darrel, her fangs at his throat.

After a long moment, Callie loosened her grip just enough for him to roll over. Darrel snapped at her, so Callie clamped down until she tasted blood. Her beast urged her to tear out his jugular and spill his lifeblood on the dirt. But then Joe and Barbs faces flashed in her mind. They wouldnt want this. Darrel was family, too.

He whimpered. Callie forced down her bestial urges long enough to release the pressure just a bit, but she didnt move until Darrel rolled over and exposed his belly in submission. Callie forced him to maintain that position until she was sure the pack understood; then she let him up, nuzzling him briefly before allowing him to slink off into the middle of the packher pack. She howled, and the other coyotes echoed the call.

Back at the cabin, they found Kyle, Richard, and Art human again. A sling made from a pillowcase supported Arts arm; Kyle seemed groggy, but alert.

Millie waved Callie and Luke into the cabin. Yall Change and well take care of the rest. Under Millies direction, several of the older women tended Luke in the bedroom while Millie herded Callie into the bathroom. Soon Callie found herself back in human form, wrapped in her blue terrycloth robe, with Millie fussing over her wounds.

You gonna go off with that wolf now? the older woman asked.

Callie shook her head. Im staying right here.

With him?

Alone. Callie pulled her hair to one side so Millie could swab antiseptic over her ear. The damage was not as dramatic once her flesh had knitted itself back into a human-shaped ear, but it would be a long time before she could comfortably wear earrings again. You were right. I am Alpha, and Im not hiding from it anymore.

A smile wrinkled Millies face. Im glad, Callie-girl. They hugged, and for a moment, Callie felt like she was in her mothers arms. After seeing to Callie, Millie took the first aid kit outside and called for the other women to follow. Callie heard Millie barking orders, and the thought flickered through Callies mind that Millie would make a better co-Alpha than any mate Callie might take from within the pack. At least for now. Her pack had always been untraditional.

The bed creaked as Luke stood. Both Ace and gauze bandages wrapped his muscular chest; he winced when he pulled his T-shirt over his head. You arent coming to New York, he said. It was a statement, not a question.

Callie tightened her robe. Modesty seemed odd since hed seen all of her shapes, but there it was anyway. I have to stay. This is my pack.

I had a pack once. Luke slipped his arm around her shoulder. Keep yours strong.

I will. She leaned against him for a moment, noticing how perfectly she fit in his arms.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Heat pulsed between them, only slightly muted by mutual exhaustion, but Callie knew she couldnt have both Luke and her pack. Her decision was simplethe pack needed her. When Luke let go, she didnt protest.

Callie followed him outside. Give Rick my love.

Luke straddled his bike and winked. The engine revved, and she watched his taillights until they disappeared. Millie waved at Callie from the window of her pickup. Art, Kyle, and Darrel all rode in the back. Richard and me are takin the boys to the doc. Well call and let you know how theyre doin.

When she was finally alone, Callie turned off the lights and settled into the porch swing, letting her eyes adjust to the moonlight. She took a deep breath and relished the solitude.

The Texas wilderness grew quiet and sleepy, surrounding her with the familiar sounds and smells of her childhoodwildflowers, cedar, crickets chirping, mosquitoes buzzing. In the distance, Callie heard the staccato howl of a real coyote, and in her heart, she answered.

Her Own Skin

By

K. Bird Lincoln

In my prior existence, I was human. My widower father sold carved seals, both wooden and the more expensive ivory chops that only the Samurai Lords could afford. I kept house for him in our small village close to the Edo highway. Although I walked the streets everyday, I never exchanged anything more than formal greetings with the other shopkeepers and girls my age. My life was a series of days I barely seemed to inhabit. Soon, my father and I stopped talking about when I would be married.

One early morning, nearing thirty years old, I looked in the mirror and discovered my face was gone. Instead of the usual formations of eyes, nose, and mouth, my face was a shell-smooth, pale blank. Trembling fingers confirmed an utter lack of features. I knew life couldnt go on like this. Yet, I felt angry, like losing my face was a punishment. It was unfair to heap more troubles on the head of a girl who never did any harm.

I was unsure of where or how I had lost my face, but I was sure that I could no longer keep house for my father. I hoped he wouldnt be too upset. Maybe he would be relieved that the burden of his unmarried daughter had disappeared.

Instead of stoking the fire under the rice pot or cutting daikon radish for fathers miso soup, I put on a warm cotton robe in a sensible shade of brown, tied it with my second best obi, and walked out of the shops front door. Over the sliding door, the hanging curtain noren printed with the characters of my family name fluttered in a morning breeze. The name felt like someone I knew long ago.

The wind brought the salty tang of the Pacific Ocean with it, reminding me how I lacked eyes to make salty tears. Could Noppera-bo cry? The question occupied me as I made my way out of town, unseen by early rising inhabitants. I stopped at the outskirts in front of a farmers small shrine to Inari-sama, the rice god, attended by foxes molded from baked clay. I decided to try crying, thinking that was what anyone else would do. I thought of my father and my old life. I thought of my former dark eyes, which I always considered my finest feature. I thought of the daughters I would never have. Nothing. I pushed a little, as if squatting in an outhouse, but despite my efforts, no moisture came. Any normal person would have been crying. I was ashamed. Was I really this cold? No wonder I lost my face.

What to do now? I had never paid attention to Noppera-bo stories before, but thats what I had become. Really Id only heard about them from the itinerant entertainers who set up on the street near the town teashop. I should have paid more attention. Was I supposed to hurt people like the oni, the demons? I didnt feel particularly clever like a trickster fox spirit or shape-changing tanuki badger. In the stories, the Noppera-bo only appeared to scare the unwary traveler. I couldnt remember the stories telling about what the Noppera-bo would do in between appearances.

Something tightened in my chest. I hadnt done much as a seal-carvers daughter. I should try harder as a Noppera-bo. If this were my fate, then I had better get on with it. I decided to walk down the main road that lead away from my village. There would be people at the inn on the Edo highway. If one of the maids or travelers caught my eye, I could wait until dark and try to scare someone.

Kyra, Ella said, lets go back inside. I want to try the sauna.

The geezers at the far corner of the rotemburo nudged each other again at Ellas English. With her smooth black hair, dark brown eyes, and stubby nose, most people in Japan assumed she was Japanese. It always frustrated them when she didnt understand them.

Youre such a liar, Kyra said. You hate saunas. They make you sick. You just dont want to hang around here with these guys. Do they really make you that uncomfortable?

Yes, they do, Ella said. The clerk said all the locals go to bed early. We should have had the rotemburo to ourselves. Ella regretted coming with Kyra, but it was the first time anybody had invited Ella on a trip. She was too shy to travel around by herself, and it was a waste to be in Japan and not see more of the country where her mother was raised.

Okay, Ella, said Kyra. Ill take care of it. She swam over to the geezers. They were grouped in a little inlet formed by fake rock jutting into the water in front of a fake waterfall. Kyra climbed on one of the rocks, standing up in full nude glory, and screamed English obscenities at them.

The geezers sat for a moment in stunned silence, probably more in shock over the sight of fully naked Kyra than her crazy antics. One of them laughed, and soon the whole lot of them were clambering out of the water, waving goodbye and shaking their heads in wonder.

Was that really necessary? Ella said.

It worked, didnt it? Kyra jumped back into the water, making a small tidal wave that washed over Ellas shoulders and chin. Her cheeks felt hot with more than just the steam rising off the water.

Ella sighed. She was envious of Kyra. It was so easy for her to play the foreigner card. Ella tried so hard to fit in, making tea in the morning with the other female teachers, staying late at her desk, and trying not to get into anyones way. Kyra jumped around naked on rocks and never had to suffer tedious conversations in broken English with drunken male teachers.

Ella heard a soft, garbled sound. A murmur, perhaps. It came from behind the bamboo partition separating the women-only section of the hot springs from the co-ed rotemburo. She held her breath to listen again but only heard crickets chirping punctuated by an occasional gust of wind. Ella was used to nighttime with a more modern set of noises. Living in Tokyo meant she fell asleep to the lullaby of sirens, revving of engines, and her neighborhoods familial disputes. While she sometimes felt cranky about losing sleep, the noises also gave her a feeling of belonging. If only she could feel that way when she was awake, too.

Kyra was strangely quiet. The outside lights flickered and went out. Slowly all the voices from inside faded away. In the dim light visible from the windows, the steam rising off the water obscured Kyra, changing her head into one of the rock formations. Ella tilted her head to look for stars. The giant pine trees surrounding the resort formed a canopy over the rotemburo, letting only a few bright stars peek through.

When Ella looked down, a woman sat, facing away, on one of the bamboo stools near the washing station. Masked by the dark and steam, the woman filled a pail with water and poured it over her long hair. The splashing sounds were muted, far away.

Kyra, Ella said. Lets go inside now. Ellas voice felt loud and out of place, but Kyra made no sound or movement. Ella pushed up onto the edge of the rotemburo. The chill hair made her shiver. Im going.

Kyra still didnt acknowledge her. Ella made an exasperated sound and stood, reaching for her towel. Kyra could just sit here until she turned into a raisin. She could be so selfish sometimes. As Ella approached the other woman, she mumbled excuse me in Japanese. The woman didnt turn around, give a little nod, or make any of the automatic gestures Japanese women made in these situations.

Opening the door to the bathhouse, Ella turned to give Kyra one last chance to come with her. It was then Ella caught a glimpse of the Japanese womans face. At first, Ella couldnt understand what she was seeing. The womans face was smooth, white, and devoid of features. With strands of wet hair hanging over the surface where her face should have been, she looked like the corpse of a drowned woman.

Ellas lungs squeezed for air, and she gave a strangled moan. She couldnt tear her eyes away from the loathsome sight. The faceless woman turned toward Ella, and Ella put her hands in front of her own face to block the horror. Heart pounding, Ella ran through the door, past the inside bath, and into the well-lit hallway of old men and women dressed in the resorts blue yukata robes. They looked at her with annoyance and surprise.

Ella was a troublesome mouse. I knew when I first saw her visiting an abandoned farmers shrine near her school. I wanted to scratch those dark eyes of hers out of her face. I couldnt wait to give her a good scare. Of all the girls Id been stuck to over the years, she was the most hopeless. That one good scare at the hot water springs should have jolted Ella right out of her morose skin, or at least sent her running home. Going home always helped the confused ones. Ella was certainly confused. Even now, a whole year after the hot springs incident, I could feel it in Ellas dreams at night as a restlessness that stayed, just under the surface, even in the daylight. I felt immersed in her restlessness like a too-hot bath. I watched Ella go to sushi restaurants and taste nothing of what passed her lips. Or sometimes Ella would watch TV and rub her arms over and over again if Western actors appeared on the screen, until her skin turned red as sunburn.

Ella stayed and stayed even now that her job was almost over and her foreign friends had gone home. What did she think she would find here? Unlike all the others Id been with over the years, I was uncomfortable around her. I couldnt summon up my usual rage. I felt only unreasonably annoyed. I wanted to kick her on to an airplane and out of Japan. Part of Ella was lost somewhere, maybe floating like a feather caught in currents of air and tossed in meaningless patterns, yet unable to drop to the ground. Ella did not quite fit inside her own skin. I felt embarrassed for her, an emotion painfully tangled up in memories of myself before I became a Noppera-bo.

Truthfully, I resented Ella. I wished I could go on to the next one so I wouldnt have to feel this way. Maybe it was the look in Ellas dark eyes, her best feature, or maybe I was tired. These days I constantly had the odor of butterbur blossoms around me, medicinal and bitter. I couldnt leave her alone in her five tatami apartment, rubbing herself raw. We were stuck with each other, for better or worse.

Ella watched the other women in the locker room out of the corner of her eye. Since she moved to Portland, she couldnt get over how blonde everyone was and how fleshy women seemed, tummies and breasts spilling over bras and jeans.

Her own petite body made her invisible in Japan, but here she fell back to feeling inadequate. Two Chinese ladies in the next row of lockers chattered away in Cantonese as they contorted under towels, putting on their swimsuits. The same pale skin, the same dark hair and eyes, the same flat chests as Ella, and yet with their permed hair and long, painted fingernails they made an island of belonging around themselves that excluded her. Ella looked down at her own chewed fingernails and sighed.

She would like a girlfriend to chat with in the gym locker. Being alone exposed you more. But all of the other female teachers at the language school seemed too busy. Standing at the coffee maker in the break room, Ella smiled and nodded at the right places when a teacher talked about her childrens school antics or another complained about her boyfriend, but it felt fake. Ellas life felt like acting in a play where she didnt quite know the lines and her timing was off.

Ella was in no hurry to dress, and by the time she was in her clothes, a little girl was the only other person left in the dim room. Ella went to the toilet stalls, making sure not to accidentally meet the girls eyes in the mirror as she passed. It was easier in these situations to keep to oneself.

When Ella exited the stall, her flush a jarring noise in the heavy silence of the locker room, the girl was carefully combing her long hair with a green comb. She straddled a bench, and bent over so her hair fell down over her face like a wet curtain.

Ella closed her jeans and went to stand in front of the mirror against the far wall. There were dark half-circles under her eyes. She scrounged her own comb out of her bag and started to coax the tangles out of her hair. Masami would be waiting at their apartment, watching a Seinfeld rerun for the hundredth time. He knew American sitcoms better than Ella, yet another thing that people remarked on when they found out he was Japanese and Ella was American. They would get an uncomfortable look in their eyes, as if her ignorance of the last three years of U.S. movies or TV was some unimaginable social gulf they didnt have the time or inclination to bridge.

Ellas hair finally lay sleek against her head. She put the comb back in the bag and turned around to go. Thats when she saw the girls shoulders shaking and noticed her arms were clasped tightly around herself. Curious, Ella took a few steps towards her and the door. Now she heard faint sobs coming from the girl.

Are you okay? Ella asked. She stepped nearer to the girl. Is your mother waiting for you? Should I go get someone? Ella felt hesitant to get any closer, unsure of how much she could do before transgressing some boundary of politeness or custom shed lost sight of in her years abroad.

Without lifting her head, the girl spoke in a soft voice. Maigo desu. Im lost.

Was she Japanese? Daijyobu desu yo, Ella reassured her. Then, Shall we go up to the front desk? Ella put a hesitant hand on the girls thin shoulder. The girl straightened and her hair fell away from her face.

It was the smooth ovoid of an egg, unmarred by any feature.

Maigo desu. Kimi mo, watashi mo.

The words echoed in Ellas head as she backed out of the room, her mouth dry and her heart pounding. Lost. Both of us, lost.

I was pleased. Ellas hometown was nice. I liked how the buildings had wide sidewalks and how Americans were loud and familiar, filling up silences I had always felt awkward in before. Ella evoked in me less resentment and more exasperated affection today, as if she were a wayward toddler. When I followed Ella down one of the sidewalks crowded with skater-boys, urban mamas, old ladies in furred collars, I could feel myself expanding, as if it were no longer forbidden to inhabit the nooks and crannies of myself long ago abandoned by a spinster daughter.

Last night, after the locker room haunting, Ellad gone home to Masami in tears. Shed pulled out old yearbooks and photo albums. She finally fell asleep, her fingers still stroking her own, black and white face.

Today I accompanied Ella to a caf with steel beams in the ceiling and overstuffed couches arranged in little circles. Ella got a decaf latte and sat down to glance over someones leftover newspaper. I felt antsy as the sweet bitterness of Ellas coffee settled over me.

Ella pulled out a novel in Japanese from her shoulder bag and began reading it, her brow wrinkling in concentration. I sighed and studied the dark circles that were a permanent fixture under Ellas eyes. Ellas nasal breathing and constant downward glances didnt annoy me. I felt tenderness, like a sweet ache beneath my ribs. This poor girl; Id been tied to her for so long now. When did I come to understand her every flinch and sigh? Would things have turned out differently if Id had someone like Ella before? I couldnt remember being able to read my father in this way.

A young stranger leaned across the sofa table behind Ella. You can read that? she asked Ella. Her sweatshirt had a local college name on it. Black, square-framed glasses perched on the end of a short, wide nose. She had dark eyes, with a trace of epicanthic fold, and thick hair cut short in a black brush that stood up from her head.

I winced. Ella usually had sarcastic replies ready for comments like that. It was her way of fending off the perils of social contact.

Not really, Im just pretending, said Ella.

Im sorry, that sounded completely stupid, said the woman. Its just that Im in my second year of Japanese at school and Im still in awe of anyone who knows more than ten kanji.

Ella looked up at her in surprise.

Ive seen you here before, reading Japanese, the woman added, almost stuttering. I thought you might have some advice, or something. I mean its nice to talk to someone in the same boat. The woman put a hand with chewed fingernails on the back of the couch.

Ellas looked at the girls face, and then back down to her Japanese book. She picked a cuticle hanging from her thumb. What was this? Ella looked back up at the girl, eyes making contact for second. Did Ella see something in this girl? Something that kept her from being afraid?

I felt a familiar excitement and tension, the same feeling Id had as a little girl when my father had called me over to unveil one of his finished carvings. For the first time since Id become a Noppera-bo, I thought about how my father truly watched his daughters face. I saw how he breathed a sigh of relief when I smiled at his creations. I had been as blind as Ella.

Ellas surprise turned into several beats of staring past the girls shoulder. The girl blushed. She lifted her own mug in Ellas direction in a kind of farewell and turned to go. Sorry, she mumbled.

No, no Ella. Dont leave it like this. I wanted to shake her, as if I could force her to stop building walls by breaking up her insides.

Ella sighed. She flushed red. She took a deep breath. A smile teased at the corner of her mouth.

Yeah, said Ella in a whisper. Its nice to talk to someone in the same boat. Now I was confused, because Ella was laughing, but her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

Okay, said Ella. And then again, louder, Okay.

It was an answer to some internal question, but I felt the word like a blow to the sternum. It shook me, loosening things, pushing other things aside, revealing a hard, smooth place. I looked at Ella, poor, hopeless, dear Ella, who could laugh like that, a self-mocking, but forgiving laugh. And the hard place cracked. Inside was a murky slush of memories. I remembered ignoring the morning greeting of the next-door neighbors son, flustered by his kindness. I remembered looking everywhere but at the customers eyes as I added up their purchases. And I remembered not going to sit by my fathers side as he lingered over his evening tea with a far away look in his eyes.

Inside me, something was melting. The melting feeling, not all that unpleasant, extended to my limbs, my skin wavering and swelling in odd places.

I saw Ella go after the young girl. The two women sat together and compared kanji dictionaries. Ella didnt make an excuse to leave. She stuttered and fidgeted, but she stayed, speaking to the girl, her dark eyes large with her own daring.

The conversation continued as I flowed and rippled with heat. Finally, I burned so brightly, I knew no more. This was strange. This was not how it had ended with the others. The heat grew more intense until I felt incandescent. The patina and burden of years burned away.

Somewhere, I heard Ella laughing.

And here, something emerged from the brightness. It was a face. It had fine, dark eyes, just like Ellas. I reached out and pulled it on like a mask. I reached up to touch the face, and my fingertips felt wetness. I was crying.

The Other Magic

By

Gere McClellan

Meriadme stared at the tiny gears, her brow creased in bemused irritation. Why wouldn't the silly spell run its course? Granted, its works were ancient. But she'd spent the better part of the last week disassembling it, cleaning every delicate tooth, repairing every worn piece and oiling every moving part.

The spell had worked yesterday, when she'd finally finished putting it back together. But it had frozen up overnight, quite inexplicably, and that wouldn't do. Lios wanted it ready today, and he had all the patience typical of youth. None, that was to say.

It should have been vexing, but Meriadme smiled ever so slightly as she slowly, carefully began tracing the power train with an expert touch.

Ah! The chain on the counterweight had slipped slightly, probably when the mouse tried climbing it. She ought to have thought of that. She straightened the chain with the slightest touch of her forefinger and the spell spun back into life.

"Wonderful! You've got it working again!"

Meriadme glanced up as Lios rushed across the room, grinning at the tiny flakes starting to fall from somewhere just below the ceiling. "You said it was impossible, but I knew you could fix it. You can fix anything."

Meriadme bowed, brushing the creases out of her long, embroidered robe. "It was impossible, my lord; that's my specialty," she said, smiling at her own bravado. "Actually, it was more a matter of cleaning than of repairing, though," she admitted. "These old works can be rather exacting."

The flakes were bigger now, and falling more rapidly.

"How long will it take to fill the room?" Lios demanded. "Will it be ready tonight, for the dinner?"

"With the proper adjustments," Meriadme said, carefully closing the silver door that hid the spell's inner workings. "Someone will have to monitor the humidity levels so it doesn't end up dehydrating your guests. One of your mages should be able to manage it."

"Can't you?" Lios entreated. He brushed snow from his smooth brown hair. "Won't you stay?"

"My time is costly, Lios," she told him.

"I mean... as my special guest?" he tried, smiling shyly.

Inwardly, Meriadme sighed. Lios Erduin wasn't the first to try this line with her. But for all his charms, the handsome young lord was little more than a child. "I have several commissions awaiting my attention," she said. "I put them aside for a few days as a personal favor to your brother Tiam, but I must return to my workshop now that it's is done."

"But there's something else," Lios said softly.

"There's always something else."

"Beg pardon?"

"Please, Lios," Meriadme said. "Do you think you're the first one to implore me to repair some frippery and then suddenly decide it's time to invest the walls with a few extra defenses?"

"It's not that at all," the young man said.

"You fear you've been ensorcelled? You think I can make you king?"

"No, Meriadme. It's Tiam."

"What about Tiam?"

"I think he wants to marry Althilde."

The spellmaker flinched. "Althilde Gornam? Why? Surely he's not fooled by her?"

"I thought maybe she'd used a love philter on him or something, but you would have sensed that as soon as you saw him, wouldn't you?"

"Those things don't work anyhow, Lios; they're just a fraud. What put it in his head to marry her?"

"Please," Lios said, touching the sleeve of her robe, "at least stay for lunch and let me tell you what's been going on."

"Very well," Meriadme acquiesced, pulling her arm away. "I'll listen, at least."

Lord Lios Erduin served a simple lunch on a simple table one that stood still on its own four legs and was set with plain china, not enchanted serving pieces. Chicken roasted with rosemary and sage waited quietly on its platter, not whistling so much as a note. That sort of thing was all the rage in Parsidon, but it was widely known Meriadme scorned such silliness.

Meriadme scorned many things, for that matter; her attitude was part of the reason her clients were willing to pay so much for her services. That, and the simple fact there were very few who could match her skills. Unlike most occult practitioners, she refused to limit herself to a single discipline. It was widely known she had studied witchcraft, sorcery, enchantments, magery and transformations. She'd even gone to the unheard-of length of familiarizing herself with the physical sciences. There were whispers she had dabbled in darker matters as well.

"Tell me why you think Tiam is interested in Althilde," Meriadme said as a servant removed the salad plates. "But first, explain why you waited until today to mention this."

"The dinner tonight was his idea, but he wouldn't tell me why," Lios explained. "I was so surprised that he'd suggested such a thing - that he actually wanted to see people socially - I wanted to do something special."

"Thus the snow-speller," Meriadme reasoned.

Lios nodded. "It wasn't until yesterday that he told me that he and Althilde had an announcement to make. They plan to tell everyone tonight."

"And he didn't say why?"

"He says it's what he wants, but I'm afraid he's doing it for me. A union of our two families would give me considerably more clout on the council."

"It had occurred to me."

"The price is too high," Lios said. "And Althilde wouldn't agree to it unless she thought it was to her greater advantage."

"Of course it's to her advantage. She has that rare ability to fool people into thinking she's interested in the common good," Meriadme agreed. "Very dangerous."

"And more dangerous if she has the Erduin name behind her."

"You could forbid it," Meriadme suggested.

"What if he really is in love with her, though? What if he sees something in her we don't?"

"People who count on a dragon's better nature seldom live to count beyond ten."

"This is Tiam we're talking about," Lios reminded her. "I owe him so much."

"You consider it a debt; he doesn't. He never wanted to be Lord Erduin."

"But if he's found something he does want, he will have it," Lios insisted. "Please, won't you speak with him?"

Meriadme shook her head. "What would Tiam tell me what he wouldn't tell you?"

"I'm still just his little brother. You're his friend."

"Is Althilde here yet? Perhaps I could speak with her."

Lios grinned. "She's in the guest suite right now. I'll have you announced."

"Well, Mistress Meriadme; I'd heard you were here," Althilde said, adjusting the waistline of the pale green gown she was wearing as greeted her guest. "I assumed you'd be busy this afternoon."

"I am."

"Oh?" Althilde said. She walked over to the long mirror. "Is this the right gown, do you think?"

"The color doesn't suit your fair hair, but it does signify fertility. Are you that anxious to get started on an Erduin heir?"

Althilde giggled. "Whatever are you talking about, Meri? This one makes my hips look big," she said. "Although you might think that signifies fertility, too, I guess." She giggled again. "Oh, Meri! You think the silliest things."

"Do I?"

"What would you say if I wanted to wear red, I wonder? Or black?"

"I notice you're not considering white."

Althilde laughed. "In the snow, dear? I'd blend right in."

"Of course," Meriadme said drily.

"Whyever are you so concerned about all of this?"

"I think Tiam's fooling himself."

The other woman smiled. "I don't concern myself with other peoples' motives, so long as I feel it's all for the best. This was his idea; I'd be foolish not to agree."

Meriadme gazed at her a long moment, long enough to make the other woman wonder if some spell was awork. "Wear gold then, Althilde; let them see what it is you

really want."

When she left Althilde, Meriadme had every intention of going straight to Tiam, but she found herself going back upstairs to the ballroom instead, to check on the snow-speller. It was doing well; there was almost an inch of dry powder on the floor, and Lios' servants were carefully arranging candelabras and torchieres so as to ensure they'd be artfully draped in snowy white by the time guests arrived.

Meriadme opened the workings' silver door and stood staring at the tiny gears inside, watching for any fault or slipping.

As one gear turned, it pushed another. The second moved a third; each in minute, controlled increments. The movement of each gear affected every other gear; one tiny slip and the whole mechanism failed. But nothing moved at random. If a gear did slip, it did so for a reason, some failing in the spell.

"Meriadme?"

The low voice broke her reverie, but she did not look away from the gears. "I cannot find the pattern, Tiam," she said softly.

"Some patterns can only be seen from the proper perspective," the dark-bearded man said, grinning wryly.

"So tell me, then: Why Althilde Gornam?"

"Because no one else would do."

"It makes no sense," Meriadme said with unaccustomed vehemence as she spun to face Tiam.

"It makes no sense to you," Tiam corrected her. "There's a difference."

"I'm not even sure Althilde knows why you're doing this, Tiam; don't try to tell me it's for love."

"You asked Althilde about this?" Tiam asked, chuckling. "That must have been interesting."

"You're evading the question."

"But I am doing this for love, Meriadme," he said, smiling. "You just don't see it, do you?"

"Quit taunting me, Tiam!" Meriadme noted the snow around her was beginning to melt. She drew a deep breath; checked her temper. "This isn't a joke, Tiam; I thought you realized how dangerous a woman like Althilde can be."

"You are, of course, merely concerned for the dynastic stability of the Erduin line? Stability being good for business, of course."

She glared at him, oblivious as all the snow within several yards of her feet evaporated. "Tiam, I already apologized for what I said that day we...."

"And I accepted that apology," he said, cutting her off. "I'm sorry I brought it up. But I assure you, I know what I'm doing."

"You don't," she said. "You can't possibly."

He smiled again, that annoying, all-knowing smile of his that made her want to both slap his face and smile, too. "Do you know what you're doing?" he asked. "Or did you intend to melt all of the snow two hours before the guests arrive?"

Flustered, Meriadme glanced about. He was right; only the farthest corners of the room remained covered in white. Red-faced, she turned back to the spellworks; when she looked up again, he was gone.

Meriadme stood in a well-lit corner her guest chamber, beset by unfamiliar doubts. Other than on business, she did not attend social events; she had a strict policy against such things. She certainly hadn't thought to bring a gown suitable for such a gathering when Lios summoned her; not that she owned one, anyway. She could have worn her ordinary robes, perhaps; they were simple but finely made. But such somber clothing would have drawn attention, and that was the last thing she wanted.

So Lios had offered his staff's help in assembling a suitable ensemble, and skilled hands had quickly altered an old blue dress. Now properly dressed, she whispered a quick spell and her straight brown hair coiled itself into elaborate braids. With her right ring finger, she sketched a circle in the air around her face. A shimmering mask of her features appeared in the air before her. Working quickly, she added color: pink to the cheeks, a little kohl around the eyes and on the lashes, a glistening, soft red to the lips. Once satisfied, she carefully placed the mask over her pale, slender face. The mask vanished, leaving the cosmetics behind.

Meriadme crossed the room to check her work in the small mirror above the dry sink: quite acceptable, if barely recognizable.

She felt foolish, though, laden with all the trappings of feminine artifice. It might be wiser, she told herself, to leave Tiam to his sorry fate and go on back to her workshop. Might be? Would be. But the man was convinced he was making the right choice. Maybe if she stayed he'd see things differently.

Cursing her curiosity, Meriadme made her way back up to the ballroom, uncertain how to carry herself in the unfamiliar full skirt. The snow was still falling when she arrived. They'd had to run the spell at near-blizzard conditions for a while to make up for all that had melted. The results were not quite as graceful as one would have hoped, but the guests who already filled the hall seemed suitably impressed. Snow spellworks were notoriously cantankerous.

Tiam laughed when he saw Meriadme's futile attempts to keep her hem dry.

"Count yourself lucky I gave up curses," she growled at him, "or you'd have three heads and flipper feet right now. Where's Althilde?"

Tiam shrugged, unconcerned. "Late. Planning to make an entrance, I imagine."

Meriadme stared at him. "You don't care?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's typical of her, though she didn't know she'd miss seeing you arrive in full frippery."

"Damn you."

"You look lovely, by the way."

"I feel like a fool," she scowled, blinking away a snowflake that had landed in her thickened eyelashes.

"You shouldn't. What's wrong with being a woman instead of a wizard for a change?"

"I don't have to wear silk and facepaint to be a woman, Tiam."

"I'd noticed; I was just wondering if you had," he said, nodding a greeting to a passing guest.

"What do you mean?"

He looked at her. "I thought I'd made that clear once before."

She glared at him, exasperated. "We agreed to put that day behind us."

"We agreed to put that particular argument behind us. The underlying issue remains unresolved," he said calmly. "Please don't melt the snow again."

"Quit with the mysteries, Tiam: What are you up to?" Meriadme said, glancing at the bare floor near her feet. At least her hem might dry now. "What is it I'm missing?"

"Listen, Meri, you've been a good friend. You're concerned; you spoke your piece. I listened. Why does it still matter what I do?"

"Because you don't love her. You can't. And I don't know why else you'd do this to me."

"To you?"

"Damn it, Tiam. You know what I mean." Thanks to the damp fabric around her ankles, she was quite literally steaming, she realized with chagrin.

Ignoring that, Tiam smiled and glanced toward the door, where there was a flurry of movement. A flourish of trumpets greeted Althilde's arrival, and Meriadme's heart froze. The woman had selected a blue gown in the end, just a shade darker than Meriadmes. But Althilde's was draped in jewels and gold, and the falling snow sparkled on her delicate shoulders as Lios formally greeted her near the door.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Tiam whispered; a smattering of voices throughout the room echoed him. The crowd watched as Althilde crossed the room.

"Stop it, Tiam," Meriadme whispered, and the snow fell more heavily. "Please."

He glanced at her and hesitated before stepping forward to greet Althilde, cautiously, for the floor nearest Meriadme was suddenly coated with ice.

"Welcome, Miss Gornam," he said. "I am so glad you could join us this evening."

"The pleasure is mine, Sir Tiam," Althilde purred, bowing slightly.

"You honor us," Tiam replied, lowering his voice. "But I'm afraid I must beg your pardon for a moment."

"Oh?" Althilde asked merrily, glancing at Meriadme. "But I've just arrived."

"My sincerest apologies, m'lady."

"Of course, then, sir; our matters will keep."

With a nod, Tiam headed toward the door. After a moment, Meriadme followed uncertainly, treading carefully across the ice.

A few people greeted her as she passed; all would-be clients. To those with no current need of her services, she was as good as invisible. For once, she was thankful for that.

She found Tiam seated on a bench in the quiet hallway, hands covering his face, and stood before him silently, waiting.

"I'm sorry," he said at length. "I should have known it was a bad idea when Althilde agreed to it so readily."

"That surprised you?" she asked, amazed.

"It's not what you think," he said, bending low enough to hide his face. "I'm sorry. I told Lios we had an announcement to make, that's all; I thought that would be enough to make you curious. The rest... just happened. Were not betrothed. We're founding a charity, she and I."

"And you let me think "

He looked up. "I wanted you to think that. I wanted you "

"Wanted what?" Meriadme demanded, blue sparks cracking the air around her.

"I wanted you," he whispered. "I love you. I thought maybe I could make you listen for once."

"By all that Is, Tiam, I already told you that's just not possible," Meriadme swore. "I'm too busy to marry, and you need a fine lady at your side."

"Don't you tell people the impossible is your specialty?"

Meriadme scowled; she hesitated; she closed her eyes and sighed. Then she smiled slightly.

"I stand corrected, Tiam. Apparently it's yours."

Riding Fourth

By

Margaret Yang and Harry R. Campion

The police station was one square room, divided into cubicles, with a reception area the size of a welcome mat. Walter peered through the tiny window in the door until someone decided he was harmless enough, or persistent enough, and buzzed him in. He stood inside, grateful for the warmth, and waited to be noticed.

The officer, female and petite, looked like a high-school kid, except for the very adult weapon she wore holstered on her uniform belt. She stared at Walters tie. Yeah?

Im a fourth, Walter said. I was picked up in Novi for a ride downtown. The occupants of the car robbed me.

How much they get?

Walter stared down at the officer. Her name was embroidered on a patch above her shirt pocket. Linden. What difference does that make?

Well, you know, theres robbery, and theres felonious larceny.

A hundred and twenty dollars for the round trip. Enough for his wifes meds for a week plus some to chip away at the hospital bills. They owed him that much. He sighed. They took sixty dollars, the entire mornings fee, and dumped me. I have their first names, and the last name of one of them, although that could be a fake. I have the license plate number.

Linden shifted from foot to foot. So, they didnt actually take anything of yours, they just stiffed you for the fourthing fee?

The fee was mine!

Heads prairie-dogged above the cubicles at his outburst. A tall cop propped an elbow on the divider. You need any help, Linden?

Linden put her hands on her hips. Nope. I can handle him. Your name, sir?

Walter looked at the other cops, all young like Linden, although most of them much bigger. They waited, hiding smiles. Once again, Walter found himself the morning entertainment.

Walter Glass, he said.

Mr. Glass here isnt going to give me any trouble. Are you, Mr. Glass?

Walter dropped his shoulders and put on his fourthing face. Pleasant. Non-threatening. The other cops disappeared behind the dividers to the sound of keyboards and ringtones. Somewhere in the background, a loud printer spat out hardcopy. He turned to Officer Linden. You mentioned a report?

Linden put one hand to her cheek and tilted her head to the side. Thats the thing, see? Im not sure what kind of report to fill out, here. I know its not a T-41. Maybe a 38? She pulled out a hand-held and scrolled through screens. Hold on a sec. She called over one of the dividers. Hey, Bennett, what was that thing you had last year, where the working woman was stiffed by her john? What form did you use?

Walter drew himself up to his full height and stared down his nose. Fourthing is legal, Officer Linden. Half the city wouldnt get to work without us.

Linden shrugged. Do you want to fill out the form or not?

Walter gritted his teeth. Yes.

I had her fill out a UNU-38, said Bennett from his cubicle.

Right. Thats the one. Linden beamed at Walter. Im going to have you fill out a UNU-38 report. If youll give me your e-dress, Ill text it to you.

Walter gave her the e-dress and pulled out his hand-held. He dutifully filled in the blanks in the form, knowing that the police wouldnt even file it, much less act on it. The money was gone, half a days work was gone. It was already 9:35. He should have been sitting in a nice, warm coffee shop by now, texting all of his data processing, figuring out the accounting for someone elses problem. He glanced out the window. No bus stop, the monorail was kilometers away, and he couldnt afford a taxi, even if one would come down here.

He turned his attention back to the form, typing, erasing, retyping, trying to tell them what had happened.

The space beside the on-ramp, a strip of cracked and shifted paving, was only twenty square meters. Not much room for the seven men who stood there, but Walter had added himself to the group, offering a charitable nod to two others he recognized. In better weather, they might have spread onto the grassy verge that sloped down to frame the highway, but that was a mistake. You looked odd standing on the slope, too angular, and if you sat down, looking like you were resting, worse. No one got chosen off the grass. And Detroit in January? A moot point. The citys assiduous salting of the roads coated the grass with a grimy slush that wrecked your shoes.

Walter checked his watch - 6:31 a.m. - and concentrated on looking alert, but not anxious. Enthusiastic, but not eager. The right frame of mind was important. A ride would be nice, but I dont need it. The traffics tempo picked up and even the less experienced among the other men stood a little straighter. Walter changed his stance and faced the ramp directly: man waiting for bus. Without a trace of impatience, ignoring the quiet tsk he heard behind him, he kept his eyes on the cars as they approached.

A cream BMW. The headlights behind it picked out only three silhouettes before the wash of the overhead streetlamps turned the windshield into a glare of reflected light. It slowed.

It was always tempting to take a step forward, but here was the test. If everyone surged forward like puppies in a shop window, the choice became random, exasperated, and ultimately, a matter of take-it-or-leave-it. He held himself back and waited. The passenger window slid down and the man inside tilted his head in Walters direction.

Walter took three purposeful strides to the car. There and back?

One hundred at six oclock.

Cheap bastards. Sixty dollars, twice.

Hugh! Well be late, said the woman at the wheel. Make a deal and lets go.

Walter was already opening the Beamers rear door. He slid in next to an older fellow reading an honest-to-God magazine. He hadnt gotten much of a look at the guy in shotgun and now all he could see was the back of a head, blond hair shorn close in a standard executive cut. The smell of coffee hit him hard, from the travel cup held by the driver, a blond woman. She put down her cup and leaned into the mirror to search for a gap in the line of cars.

Walter spared a quick look at the other fourths hed left behind. Now all of them were fronting up as he had, indifferent poses forgotten in the face of his success. Amateurs. He took the trio of twenty-dollar bills handed to him and folded them once, putting them in the breast pocket of his suit.

The man in the back seat watched Walter the entire time, as if he couldnt believe his cash was disappearing into a fourths pocket. As the car surged forward and into a gap barely long enough to admit both bumpers, the man stuck out a hand to him. Lorne Vandessy.

Walter, he said, gauging the hand he was holding before applying firm pressure in return. Walter Glass.

Lorne barked sudden laughter, exposing an array of artificially-whitened teeth, then tapped his knuckles against his chin as if to keep back further mirth. Forgive me, he said with a grin. Im a lover of puns.

Me too. He wasnt, but the phonetic coincidence of his name made for a conversational opening. It runs in the family.

Lorne went for it. Oh?

All the way from Grandma Crystal down to little baby Stained.

So, Walter, what do you do? ShotgunHughentering the conversation.