Flicker (5 page)

“Perhaps I thought better of you,”
Neman
chirped. “Things change.”

“
Will you
tell
Morgan
?”

“She already knows.”

Filo groaned.
Neman
la
ughed and pinched his arm with two clawed fingers
, hard enough to
bruise
. He jerked away, which only
made her laugh harder
. That was another thing about
Neman
: She showed irritation and approval with the same gesture.

“And, before you ask,” she said
, “
I will not
tell you where Jason has run off to.”

Filo shook his head. “I have to go,” he said, trying to excuse himself from
Neman
’s presence. “I’m late, remember?”

“T
he hob
is
rather
busy
at the moment.
He won’t notice your
lateness
if you
are quick
,” she advised.

“I’m not a kid
,
Neman
,” he said sullenly. “D
on’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”
Neman
cocked her head to one side, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not. In the end, he just stepped around her and started up the sidewalk.

“I’d better hurry,” he sighed. “We don’t have all day.”

“That’s better.”
Neman
’s words were clipped off at the end, turning to a harsh
caw
. Filo glanced
up
in time to see a
hooded
crow soar
over his head.

Neman
was right. He didn’t have time for any of this. Alice, Nasser, Jason
…
they weren’t part of his life anymore
. They’d chosen their
paths
. He shouldn’t care about them, shouldn’t wonder and worry. He shouldn’t even
think
about them. But he did, more often than he would ever admit. And he hated himself for it.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. As
Neman
had reminded him, there was still work to be done.

* * *

The
train didn’t go
all the way
to Bluewood,
so Nasser had to catch a bus
on the outskirts of the city
to travel the last thirty or so miles into the small, sleepy town. As he
disembarked, glad to be free of the cramped bus, he fumbled
with the
buttons on his coat
and
shoved
his hands into his pockets. The wind cut easily through his clothing.

After his mother’s death when he was twelve, Nasser and his younger brother Jason were taken to Bridgestone City. Nasser couldn’t sleep for weeks. He
couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the great, terrible flames tha
t had consumed his old life. Terror
coiled in his gut every time one of his new masters entered the room.
The
exhaust fumes and ever-wailing police sirens became like a constant itch crawling across his brain
; he couldn’t
relax
with
the
unfamiliar,
unrelenting
noises.

He’d
since grown used to the city sounds, but after the first time he visited small, quiet
Bluewood
, so much like
his hometown
, Nasser had harbored a secret desire to live here. In a place like
Bluewood
, he co
uld almost believe in the possibility
a new life, a
normal
life, where he and Jason were just normal people.

But that was years ago
. He was nineteen now, and he felt like all his dreams had been burned out of him.
These days, Nasser only made the trip to
Bluewood
so he could troop around in the woods and
find mushrooms
to grind into powder or boil into potions.
And today he’d made the trip
so he could troop around in the woods and look for his foolish little brother.

From the
bus stop
, it was about a
ten
-minute walk to reach the woods outside of town. He tried to lose himself as he walked, to focus on
the barking of dogs
out for a mid-morning walk, the soft rumble of cars
, the Halloween decorations up in store windows.
But
his thoughts
kept straying
back to Jason
, to scenarios of all the trouble Jason might be in
.
Grimacing, Nasser hunched his shoulders and walked on.

* * *

Filo
crossed
the vaca
nt lot,
which was crowded with
w
ithered bushes, discarded tires
and trash cans.
On the far side of the lot, a
pile of broken boards and wooden crates
was
nestled against a chain-link fence. Litter-filled holes were dug all over, like traps.

He’d checked the address three times. This was definitely the place.

“Hello?” Filo turned in a small circle, g
lancing around the lot. “Anybody
home?”

A nearby trash
bin
rattled violently. It tipped over with a crash, and Filo had to jump to avoid several pieces of flying garbage. A short, stocky creature scrambled out of the
bin
. He had bat-like features, and the top of hi
s head was covered in scraggly hair. His clothes
appeared to have been stitched out of burla
p sacks and filthy pillowcases.

“Are you the hob?” Filo asked.

“Hob
goblin
,” corrected the ho
b. He had a wet, mushy voice, and
was just slightly taller than Filo’s knee.

“Whatever you say,” Filo
shrugged
. “I’m from Flicker. I’m here to deliver your o
rder.” He
fished around insid
e
his bag
until he came up with a small
wrapped package.

The hob jumped up and snatched the package from Filo’s hands. “Let’s have a look, then,” he muttered. He tore the paper and turned away from Filo, peering closely at the package. A moment passed, and
he looked up at Filo
. “Good enough.”

“Works for me. Now pay up.”

The hob made a great show of hacking something up from deep in his chest and spitting it at Filo’s feet.

“Jeeze!” Filo shouted, disgusted. “What was that for?”

“You were late.”

“By, what—five minutes?”

“Late is late,” said the hob. He puffed out his chest a bit, like he was trying to make
himself more intimidating
. “
And you call yourself a businessman?”

“Five minutes,” Filo cried, gesturing toward the overturned trash can. “Five minutes, and you didn’t even miss it!”

The hob squinted up at Filo. “How do you know what I miss?”

“You were rooting through garbage,” Filo said
, through clenched teeth
. “
Garbage
. Don’t get all high-and-mighty with me.”

“Insolent
little human
.” The hob flattened
his e
ars against his skull like a cat
.
“I won’t pay.”

“
Oh yes
you
will.” Filo reached i
nto his pocket and pulled out a
clear plastic bag
filled with
clumpy powder. It was the same mixture of
uncooked
oatmeal
flakes
and salt that he kept in all of his pockets, just for situations like these.
Faeries—especially weaker ones, like hobs—hated the scent of it.
He
dangled the bag in front of
the little creature
.
“Smell that?”

The hob scowled, wrinkling his fleshy nose in distaste.
“You
wouldn’t
dare.”

“Wanna bet?”

Hissing
, the hob turned and
scampered across the l
ot. He dove headfirst into a deep ditch and
rooted
through it
. He finally resurfaced and ran back over to where Filo stood. The hob
chucked
something at him;
Filo caught it
handily
. It was a Block: a puzzl
e-piece-shaped piece of wood,
carved with
runes, used in casting
certain spells.

“All right, then,” Filo
said
, stowing the Block in his bag. “I think we’re done here. Nice doing business with you.”

The hob stalked back toward the overturned trash bin, muttering in Old Faerie, a language in which Filo was fluent. He distinctly he
ard the words “filthy human boy
” and “no respect,” as well as a few more colorful phrases.

Smirking
a little
, Filo
turned toward the sidewalk. A piece of
litter
-covered ground gave way un
der his foot
, and a moment later, he found himself face-down on the ground. Behind him, the hob’s victorious cackling was distorted and tinny, enclosed by the trash bin.

Filo’s face warmed
as he stood. Gritting
his teeth, Filo stalked out of the vacant lot.
It didn’t matter which creature he was dealing with, or why—it was always too early for this.

* * *

The sky was clearing up, and the sun stood high and bright when Nasser stepped from the winding trail, working his way deeper into the woods.  He’d only been walking for about ten minutes when sharp, shrieking laughter from somewhere among the thickening trees reached his ears. Music
drifted through the air, and a
tingling, electric chill washed over him.

It was unmistakable.

Nasser moved slowly, turning in a small circle, trying to pinpoint the direction of the music. Only when he spotted
blue and green
will-o’-the-wisps flashing between
the
trees did he settle on a direction.
He picked his way carefully among the greenery, following the lights.

Nasser pushed his way through a veritable wall of shrubbery, then stopped abruptly. Beyond
the thick foliage, a huge clearing had opened up
, ringed by tall trees with knotted bark that formed vague faces on their trucks.
Fallen-tree tables, covered with tablecloths
of lichen,
were piled with strange food and drink.
Huge dragonflies
flitted over the tables and among the vines. It was warm here, windless and clear, an October day turned June.

Many faerie
revels weren’t in the mortal world, not
quite. They were in Otherworld—the realm of the faeri
es, just beyond the human world,
past borders so thin they could simply be walked through. When Nasser stepped into the clearing, he had stepped out of his own world an
d into the other one, the world from which magic and supernatural creatures first came.

Nasser’s eyes flicked back a
nd forth
, trying to take it all in. Strange, exotic flowers crowded over the ground and up tree trunks. All manner of creatures ambled over the grass.

Faeries milled about everywhere
; Nasser searched for his brother’s face, trying not to draw any attention to himself
.
If he was quick and
kept his head down
, he might be able to slip in and out of this revel unnoticed.

Two green-skinned pixies sat on a grass mat, one playing a
flute and the other strumming a
guitar
, coaxing a fast-paced reel from their instruments. Nearby, a group of faeries with antlers
and hooves
instead of
feet danced and clapped.
Nasser had to hurry past to avoid being
drawn in
by their music. When he was out of earshot, he
stepped
carefully around the
faeries
that lounged
on a pile of mossy mats, half-dozing in the late morning sunlight.