Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara (62 page)

Jason considered him: his ghostly, luminous quality and his rough appearance, all those scars, his missing finger, and that tattoo like a brand left on him by the man who’d recruited him.

“Something really bad happened to you back then, didn’t it?” Jason asked.

“Something bad happened to most everyone back then. At least I’m still walking,” Falk replied. He watched Jason almost warily. But Jason wasn’t about to force him to talk about anything he wasn’t ready to share. He’d endured too many mandatory psychiatric sessions himself to treat another person’s private history so cavalierly.

“So where is this place?” Jason asked instead.

“Remains of the Elysian Fields after the bombings of ’42,” Falk replied. “Eight square miles of dwarf-flower preserves. A community of faeries settled here about fifty years back. Whatever you do, don’t swat any of them.” Falk thumbed up at the sky.

Jason gazed up to see a single, colorful cloud rolling slowly closer. As it drifted near, Jason realized that it was composed entirely of pale moths and butterflies. The majority of them settled across the carpet of flowers but several of them fluttered only a few feet from Jason.

A faint haze surrounded each insect with what looked like the silhouette of a human body. Then suddenly the haze around the nearest moth grew solid and in an instant the moth was gone and a dainty woman with oddly yellow hair, eyes, and lips stood only a foot from Jason. The faintest shadow of a moth fluttered over her heart. Jason didn’t scrutinize it too closely, since it did nothing to clothe her small, bare breasts.

“A new face to our sunny fields!” The woman cocked her head back to beam up at Jason from just above his belt. “Have you come to dally among the flowers, fair traveler?”

“No. We—we’re just passing through,” Jason replied quickly. The woman’s flirtatious gaze and nudity unnerved him far more than her sulfur-toned mouth.

“He’s with me, Buttercup.” Falk took an almost proprietary step closer to Jason. Buttercup’s lemon brows rose and she peered up at Jason.

“You don’t look like one of the dead.” She leaned so close that her cheek brushed his arm; her skin felt as cool and powdery as cornstarch. She flicked out her shockingly orange tongue as she drew a deep breath of Jason’s chest. “You don’t smell dead either…Oh, not at all! In fact, you smell sweet and fiery and young, like cinnamon bark and semen!”

An embarrassed flush heated Jason’s face.

“Give it a rest, Buttercup. He’s spoken for.” Falk gently drew Jason back and Buttercup stared at him.

“Oh! That’s how it is?” She raised her brows.

“Yeah, that’s how it is,” Falk stated firmly, though he shot Jason an odd glance. Then he went on talking to Buttercup. “But I have a different proposition for you, my girl.”

“Of course you do! But what could a tiny starving faerie offer you, Half-Dead?” Buttercup smiled brightly at Falk and batted her long yellow lashes. “Not my helpless little body?”

“Your little body’s about as helpless as a black widow’s,” Falk replied. “I’m looking for three pinches of dust.” Jason wasn’t sure what exactly that meant, but Buttercup nodded.

“What you got for it?” Buttercup eyed Falk speculatively, though Jason noted that she never drew too near him.

“Treasure from another kingdom.” Falk reached into his pocket and drew out what looked like three red-and-white-striped straws.

“Pixy Stix!” Buttercup’s entire expression lit up. The shadowy moth floating over her heart beat its wings wildly, as if attempting to fly to Falk’s hand. Jason noted several other moths rise from the flowery carpet at their feet, but Buttercup swung her arms out, waving them away.

“Mine!” she called out and the moths fell back. When she returned her gaze to Falk, Jason thought her eyes might actually be sparkling. “Three for three.”

“Three for three,” Falk agreed. He extended both his hands, proffering the paper-wrapped candy to Buttercup with his right. “A trade fair and true, says I.”

“Fair and true, says I,” Buttercup echoed. She flicked her right hand from her chest to Falk’s empty left hand three times. Each time Jason saw her fingers brush through the shadowy moth at her heart, collecting a velvety gray dust from its wings, which she brushed across Falk’s palm. The instant she made the third exchange she snatched the candy from Falk and bounded back as if she expected to be pursued.

Falk closed his hand into a fist and then slipped it into his coat pocket—where Jason was beginning to suspect he kept an inordinate number of odd things.

Buttercup tore open one of the red-striped straws and tossed back the contents. An instant later she let out a crow of joy and danced back to him and Falk. Her cheeks flushed bright orange and her feet hardly touched the ground as she skipped around them gleefully.

“What was in that thing?” Jason asked softly.

“Colored sugar, citric acid, and all the anticipation of a six-year-old on Christmas morning.” Falk’s expression softened slightly as he watched Buttercup. “The bright packaging doesn’t hurt any.”

“More beautiful than phlox, sweeter than honeysuckle, sharper than lemon blossoms!” Buttercup paused a moment to hold the straws to the cloudless blue sky. “I would wed you, sweetness, if I weren’t going to devour you instead!”

Falk gave a quiet laugh and then asked offhandedly, “You haven’t heard anything of a bauble-snatcher called Phipps lately, have you, Buttercup?”

“Passed through early yesterday, sweating and swearing. Left word that buyers could find him at Red Ogre’s.” Buttercup glanced away from the bright candies for only an instant. “Be careful doing business with him, Half-Dead. He’s just your opposite, a handsome hollow wrapped around a rotten pit.”

“I’ll keep my head up. You take care as well, beautiful.” Falk flashed her a smile, then turned to Jason and beckoned him toward the port-o-let.

“It’s about time for us to go. But first, there are a few things I need to tell you about the bazaar. Most importantly is that our human laws have no authority there, so be careful and stay close to me. Law in the Grand Bazaar is a force unto itself. Definitely don’t accept anything unless you’ve paid for it, even if it seems like it’s being offered for free—nothing is ever free at the bazaar. And don’t give anyone your real name. Your identity in particular needs to be protected. So today you’re Agent August, got that?”

“Agent August,” Jason repeated, though he doubted that anyone would mistake him for an agent of any kind. “What should I call you?”

“Most everyone knows me as Half-Dead Henry.” Falk sounded tired of it, but then his tone lightened. “You could just call me Henry, if you like.”

“Sure, Henry it is.” Jason didn’t know why, but he felt almost touched to be on a first-name basis with Falk. Then he scowled at his own sentimentality. Fortunately Falk had turned to return Buttercup’s farewell wave.

“I don’t really look the part of an agent,” Jason commented as Falk’s attention turned back to him.

“But you will.” Falk raised his dusty left hand and lightly traced a symbol across Jason’s brow. Then Falk leaned close. Jason smelled the earthy aroma of his skin and saw silver light flash between his lips as he whispered, “Faerie dust, deceive all eyes. On this stately form lay August’s dour guise.”

Jason tensed, feeling the tingle of a spell pass over him. But it faded in an instant. He glanced down at his hands and arms. Nothing seemed different. But then how would he know, he wondered.

“Did it work?” Jason asked.

“Like a charm. Now you just have to remember to keep looking unimpressed—” Falk lifted his head slightly as if catching a scent on the air. “I think our ride is rumbling into the station. Let’s leg it.” Falk drew Jason through the port-o-let door. When he opened it again, an entirely new world spread out before them.

***

Jason did his best not to gape at the vastness of his surroundings. He stood only a foot from the edge of a dark, watery canal that flowed between long alleys of densely packed and ornately carved stone buildings. Brilliant banners and strings of gold bells hung from the upper floors of the buildings. Below, crowds of odd, eerie, and beautiful creatures hustled past Jason, conversing in a cacophony of strange languages. The air felt hot, smelled exotic, and pulsed as if filled by hundreds of foreign radio stations.

Two small creatures that looked very much like goats from a children’s book—complete with beribboned aprons and prim bipedal gaits—bleated loudly in Jason’s direction. When he glanced to them, they lifted their aprons to display bulbous pink udders. They both let out shrieks of laughter at his shocked reaction but then raced away when Falk turned his attention to them.

“The Pepper Sisters,” Falk told him. “I think you just got an eyeful of the new ad campaign for their dairy.”

“Were those the owners or the producers?” Jason asked.

“Both. It’s an employee-owned co-op. Chemical-free too now that Pickle’s quit smoking.” Falk moved ahead into the tight confines of the crowd. Jason followed him, still trying to take everything in.

Overhead a cluster of gold birds took wing from a windowsill, and higher in the clouds, Jason thought he sighted something that looked like a fighter jet—but with wide, gaping jaws. Rays of light flashed off its silvery body and fell across the cobbled streets like streams of sunlight.  

Despite the sinister coils and huge, serpentine heads of sea creatures breaking the surface, a fleet of small boats skimmed across the deep, dark canal waters. As Jason watched, three beautiful youths lifted their faces from the waters and then hefted their muscular torsos and long fish-like tails onto the deck of a moored boat. They pulled nets filled with wriggling eels up after them.

Commerce fueled it all, Jason soon realized. Beneath every banner and in every doorway displays of ludicrous, luscious, and glittering goods abounded. Jason glimpsed pungent fruit, gaudy baubles, skeins of feathers and fabric, oily bicycle chains, and steel cages brimming with glassy-eyed teddy bears. Merchants called from both the surrounding streets and the canal waters and shoppers bartered with them through a din of competing transactions.

Only the ubiquitous flocks of tiny, bright gold birds seemed to have nothing to buy or sell. They flitted between buildings and watched the populace passing below with dark indigo eyes. What Jason could catch of their songs sounded like quiet laughter.

“Do you know what kind of birds those are?” Jason asked.

“Birds?” Falk glanced between a large raccoon selling blood sausages and two plump women offering a variety of felt hats.

“The little gold birds flying all around us.” Jason started to point one out, but Falk caught his hand.

“It’s not polite to point,” Falk said. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Especially not at spies no one else can see.”

A nervous thrill rushed over Jason and he quickly averted his gaze from the nearest of the birds. Falk quickly drew him down a narrow, dark alley.

“Spies?” Jason asked under his breath.

“Shadow Snitches, they’re called,” Falk replied. “Are any of them following us?”

“No. They’re fluttering around all over the place, but none seem interested in us.” Jason tried to appear casual as he scanned the lichen-crusted bas-relief of the surrounding walls and peered up at the azure sky. “Who do they spy for?”

“Anyone with a few pounds of pumpkin seeds,” Falk replied quietly. “The bazaar’s famous for its gangs of invisible informants. Some may even be on the lookout for you. I should have mentioned them, but I didn’t think it would matter with the glamour protecting you.”    

Jason felt the blood draining from his face. He didn’t think he could stand another encounter like the one that had taken place at the HRD Coffee Shop yesterday.

“Don’t look so worried,” Falk told him. “As far as anyone here can see, you’re an Irregulars agent who dresses far too nicely for the company you’re keeping. That’s all. The only thing that might give you away is if you started pointing out Shadow Snitches and the like.”

“Right,” Jason agreed, though he wasn’t certain how he was supposed to know what everyone else wasn’t seeing.

“Here. These should help.” Falk dug down into his coat pocket. “They’re pretty scuffed up, but I think the glamour on you will disguise the worst of it.” He held out a pair of plastic sunglasses that looked much like the ones he’d given Jason when they’d first met. One of the lenses bore hairline cracks along the edge and the black frames were scratched, but otherwise they appeared to be intact.

“You lost them in the shade lands and I picked them up before we left.”

Jason slipped them on and all at once the stone walls lining the alley took on the luster of abalone shell. The flocks of gold birds blinked out of sight, as did several doors and windows. Bright signs filled with flashing gold script popped into existence over numerous doorways. Simple boats bobbing in the canal transformed into resplendent gondolas.

Jason also noted his clothes—yellow T-shirt, hooded jacket, jeans, and old sneakers—had upgraded into a tailored charcoal suit, a white dress shirt, and tastefully expensive-looking leather shoes.  

Beside him, Falk dulled. His eyes cooled to a washed-out blue; wrinkles and shadows weathered his naturally luminous flesh. For the first time Jason wondered why Falk disguised himself in such a manner. Had he, like Gunther, been transformed?