Flicker (15 page)

“Could
you slow down?” Filo was
half a foot taller than h
er—Nasser, she remembered
suddenly
, was still
taller—and his strides were swift and smooth. She found herself
almost jogging to
keep up.

He jammed his hands into his pockets and a
djusted his pace, grimacing
. “You’re thinkin
g about running off, aren’t you?
”

Lee didn’t answer. The thought had definitely crossed her mind, first when she saw the street through the glass storefront, and again when she was outside and breathing the free air.

But something held her back.
The events of yesterday were beginning to sink in. She’d seen women transform into birds, and watched a reel of strange memories flash before her eyes. She’d been told that magic wa
s real, and that she’d spent seven
years among faeries. All that, with only two strange boys to offer an exp
lanation
. Even so
…

“I knew it,” Filo said eventually.

“Can you blame me?”

“Not really.” Filo adjusted the strap on h
is messenger bag. “Lucky you’ve
got the c
hoice, kid. To back out, I mean.
Try to make
your own life. Most people like us don’t get that opportunity.”

She
looked up at him. “How old
are
you, anyway?”

He didn’t
speak
for a moment,
like he was
debating
his answer
. “Sixteen,” he admitted finally. “Why?”

“I just didn’t think you were old enough to be calling me ‘kid.’ And you’re not. We’re the same age.”

“No,” he corrected her. “If you were sixtee
n before, then you’re twenty-three
now. I’m sixteen. Or thereabouts.”

“Well, if you’re gonna nitpick,” Lee began sourly, then stopped. “Thereabouts? What does that mean?”

He shifted a little under her gaze. “I don’t
…
Well, I’m not precisely sure of when my birthday is, so it’s hard to get an accurate number.”

Lee’s mouth fell open. “
You don’t know when
your own
birthday
is?”

“Nobody ever told me,” he said,
almost
defensively. “I just c
ount myself a year older on New Year’s Eve
. It’s easy to remember that way.”

“That’s so sad.”

He looked puzzled. “It’s not sad.”

With a sigh, Lee shook her head. “How old is Nasser?” Those embers of curiosity we
re smoldering again.

Filo had to think about that one for a moment. “He ought to be nineteen by no
w,” he said
. “Yeah, that’s righ
t.
His birthday’s near the summer solstice
.”

“Nineteen?
” She was almost impressed despite herself. The only nineteen-year-old she’d ever known was Kendall’s older brother, Kerry, who was away at college. College-aged boys were as curious and unattainable as other planets.
“
That’s old.”

“Not really—compared to you, at least.”

Though she glared at him, Lee said no
thing. She didn’t want to
match wits,

didn’t want to argue. It was too early in the day, and she had too much on her mind.

Lee focused on the sidewalk. She didn’t have to look up at Filo in order to follow him; mostly she just stared at his
scuffed black work boots
, and fell in step beside them. Neither of them spoke as they trudged the rest of the way to the station.

The
underground
station was
grimy
and had a
certain
foul smell, like stale urine or a litter box.
Graffiti
decorated the walls, and everything was
washed out to a dingy gray
.

Filo stopped walking suddenly, and Lee nearly
ran into him. He turned to
her, his expression grave.
“
I have to do something. It’ll just take a second
. While I’m gone, you stay right here,” he instructed,
pointing at her. “Right. Here. I mean it.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Then I shouldn’t have to worry about you wandering off,
should I?” he snapped
. “I mean it. Stay r
ight here.”

“Why?”

“Just stay!
I’ll be back in two seconds. And try not to get kidnapped,” he added. “I’ll never hear the end of it from Nasser if you do.”

Before she could
reply, Filo had already
disappeared
into the crowd milling through the station
, just another bustling figure
.
She edged
forward, trying to determine where he’d gone. Though they certainly weren’t friends, she preferred having him in sight over standing by hers
elf.

Filo
was
standing by a tiny, mousy girl with
short brown hair
and large hazel eyes. She wore a baggy
white
sweatshirt with a poncho thrown over it, and faded
beige
cords. A backpack was slung over one of the girl’s shoulders, and a sketchbook was clutched in her hand. If the girl’s hair had been
much
shorter, or if the angles of her thin face had been any less delicate, Lee would have thought she was a boy.

They appear
ed to be arguing
. Filo was frowning
as he spoke
, his shoulders hunched. The girl
scowled up
at him. At one point, she swatted him with the sketchbook.

At that, Filo seemed to give up. Looking weary, he drew something from his pocket and handed it to the girl, who immedia
tely tried to give it back. Her
face
was lined with a blend of worry and frustration
. But Filo just shook his head and walked away.
As she watched him go, the girl’s face fell, her expression twisting into something like longing.

When he spotted Lee, his blue eyes narrowed. Several purposeful strides later, he was standing before her, glowering impressively. “I
said
stay
right
there!”

“Dogs slip leashes.”

“I thought we’d established that you’re not a dog.”

“I’d expect a person to have even less trouble, actually.”

Filo swore loudly, striding away from her. She hurried to catch up.

“Who was that girl?” she asked.

“Nobody
. Stop asking.”

By that time, they had boarded the train.
Af
ter he took a seat
, Filo
dug around inside his bag,
withdrawing
a
stout
paperback
from
its depths
:
The Collected Shakespeare.
The spine was creased and the pages
were
yellowed with age, but overall, the book was in good shape.
He’
d clearly read it many t
imes: After years of working
in her mom’s used bookstore,
Lee
could spot a well-loved book at ten paces.

“I didn’t really peg you for the Shakespeare type,” she told him.

He
set
his bag
between them.
“Shakespeare,” he answered coolly, “
is one of the few things in the world that’s actually worth caring about.”

Then he opened the book, apparently ignoring her.

Lee chewed her lip as the train lurched forward, suddenly feeling nervous.
Her thoughts
kept wandering forward to what would happen when they reached Bluewood. Would she go home and find he
r mother waiting for her?
Or would she find nothing at all that was familiar?

No one is going to believe me,
Lee thought suddenly, her stomach clenching painfully. Anyone willing to listen would write her off as a lunatic when she started spouting about faeries and magic. But what could she possibly say? The truth would almost certainly land her in a mental institution, where she would become just another jibbering patient, swallowing candy-colored pills out of paper cups.

Insanity wouldn’t explain everything, of course, like her still being sixteen after such a long disappearance. But it would be the easiest thing for everyone involved. Lee had seen enough movies to know
that
.

Shivering, Lee forbade herself from considering that again. They wouldn’t have her
committed or anything like that.
They
couldn’t
.
Because she wasn’t crazy. Was she?

She began tapping her sneakers together, focusing on their rhythm. She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. It made her feel a bit safer, more shielded, like she could protect herself from whatever came next.

* * *

Nasser had given up
searching
for J
ason. H
e’d been all over the city
, having visited all
Jason’s favorite haunts and spoken to as many of Jason’s friends as he could track down. Even Laurel, t
he half-pixie Jason
dated
off-and-on, hadn’t heard from him
in several days. Neither had Marisol
, the shape-shifter girl Jason
also
dated. Danielle, the werewolf, had gotten so angry at the mention of Jason’s name that she chucked a glass paperweight at Nasser before he could finish asking if she’d seen him. They must’ve just broken up again. Perfect timing.

Nasser had nowhere left to look. All he could do now was return home, sit on his hands, and hope that Jason decided to come back.

Music
drifted
from the next street. Nasser’s pulse quickened instantly when he heard it, as did his pace. He knew that sound.
He rushed around the corner, then stopped in his tracks.

At the far corner of the street, Jason strummed a guitar with practiced ease.
His singing was rough with honesty, edged with yearning.
An overturned hat, filled with crumpled bills and coins
, lay at his feet. A small crowd was clustered around him, watching silently, transfixed.

Nasser recog
nized the song
: It was one their father had taught them to play years ago, before he left. The air
hummed
with music, so heavy with magic that it affected even Nasser.

It was with a guitar that Jason had discovered the magic in music—the
real
magic.
Jason had
become
the instrument, learning to channel
his
magical energy into a guitar. He could create music almost as hypnotic and powerful as the music of faeries.
That was his gift.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Nasser joined the circle of waters.
Though Jason’s music was inherently magical, he did have
some co
ntrol o
ver its effects. Like a sort of
Pied Piper, Jason could use his music to wipe the minds of his listener’s blank and fill them with his own suggestions and commands. He could play a song that would make them all walk into traffic, or happily hand over their wallets and jewelry, or collapse onto the sidewalk weeping, mad with grief. He could make them
want
to do whatever his music asked.

But Jason rarely did anything of the kind. Instead, he toned himself down: Just now
,
the sound was
highly
alluring,
its natural state,
but not irresistible. He preferred people to listen because they liked his music, not because he was using his magic to root them to the spot.

Bracing himself against the effects of
the
music,
Nasser
growled,
“Jason.”

Jason froz
e
, his song breaking off. Sensing t
he show was over, the watchers dispersed. Some
dropped a few bills into the hat as they walked away.

“Where have you been?” Nasser demanded.

Jason
just slung his guitar across his back, not
speak
ing
. Nasser grabbed his shoulder.
“At least
look
at me, Jason. Where. Have. You. Been?”