The Wind City (24 page)

“Um,” Tony said, and she pushed her hair back from her face. “It’s… cold.”

“Ah.”

“So, right,” Tony said, speaking quickly, “your sister had this story blah de blah rainbows and stuff – what’s this all got to do with you?”

“Exactly,” Hinewai said eagerly. “It has nothing to do with me. She gets –
story
, she gets to
live
, and I? I, the woman-of-light-rain, the meek little sister – do you know what my role in this story was?”

“No,” Tony said, leaning forward curiously. “Tell me?”

Hinewai bared her teeth, remembering old wrongs. “To be lookout. That was all. To hover above the house and tell her of dawn’s approach, each day, until the day she did not heed me.”

Tony looked blank.

“That’s
all
,” Hinewai said. “That is all I got to do. For untold generations that is all people knew of me. I
have not lived
.”

Tony frowned. “So. This… this whole thing is because … Okay, let’s see if I’ve got this right. Big sister gets to star in this famous story, you’re annoyed that you only have a minor role, so …you hang around for a few hundred years and then eventually, when things are all modern and stuff, wander into a human city so you can fall instantly in love?”

Hinewai smiled fierce. “I want my
own
story,” she said.

“And… okay.” Tony scowled. “Wait, you seriously think that’s worth enslaving people’s minds for?”

“Well, of course,” said Hinewai, in some surprise. “It is important.”

“What makes your story more important than everyone else’s?”

“Nothing,” Hinewai said, starting to get annoyed now. Tony was mighty and fearsome and strong, but even that did nothing to combat her human upbringing, apparently. Her stupidity was bone-deep. “That’s why I need to fight for it. To hunt. To win.”

“Talking to you kinda makes my head hurt,” Tony said, and looked at her intently. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything you like,” Hinewai said, too quickly. Stupid. Never let people have power over you, and most of all
never
let them know it.

“No more hurting people,” Tony said. “Except when you need to. And no more fucking around with people’s heads! No scary fae mind control! Okay? Promise me.”

That would… take away all her power, leave her helpless here in this wretched place…

Tony was staring at her intently, not pleading, not
ordering
. Asking, that was all.

“I swear it,” Hinewai said, before she could think better.

“Great,” Tony said, leaping to her feet as though her delight was too great for her to remain still. “Okay, we have some shopping to do, Hin. And then Māui-hunting! Both those things.” She beamed at her, broad and delighted and so stupidly weak. “Girls’ day out but hopefully with more
terrible vengeaaance
.”

And Hinewai tried to smile back all sickening sweet and humanish. She could do this. She
could
.

She had to.

Saint raided the Flatmate’s room. It reminded him uncomfortably of the scene in
The Hobbit
where Bilbo and the others found the trolls’ cave; full of riches, but stinking of death. He found money there, notes stuffed in drawers and behind the mirror, but it was blood money. Dead people’s money. He stuffed it in his pocket a little uncomfortably, and exited.

Noah had been examining the toaster, but he glanced at Saint and frowned. “Are you all right?”

Normally Saint would brush that off, but hell – they’d gotten pretty close these last few days. “Well, firstly, I just realised I’m a lot more of a geek than I ever let on,” he said, “not that that’s bad exactly, and secondly… ” He waved the wad of notes. “There was money in loose notes, some just in coins even, so I have this – overwhelming feeling that the maero took this from his victims. Which is kind of terrible. But there’s no personal items or IDs here or anything. I mean, of course he wouldn’t keep those, but – those girls he killed, they had families or friends or
someone
, and I have no way of contacting them to say what happened.” He grimaced. “It’s just… less than ideal.”

Noah patted above his shoulder. “There’s not
much
money,” he said. “It can’t have been too many people.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s true.” He brightened. “And it would’ve been more people, if not for me. I saved some.”

“That you did,” Noah said proudly.

“And now it is time to humbly accept my just reward, by which I mean a kebab, probably, I’m starving. That ought to be fairly fun for you to watch; there’s these, like, solid pillars of meat. Does it outright hurt you to be in sunlight?”

“No, no. It’s just… difficult. It’s easier with you there to focus on, though.”

“Come on, then. Let’s saunter.”

They sauntered, chatting idly. Saint bought a kebab crammed full of lamb and salad and yogurt and finished it off faster than he’d been intending to, because Noah looked a little disconsolate.

“Not-living getting you down?” Saint asked as they left. A couple of people glanced at him. He frowned, then grinned and held up his hand next to his ear like he was talking on a phone. “Ha! Now it looks like we’re just regularly conversing. Seriously, though.”

“Of course it is,” Noah said, looking irritable. “You try being dead and see how
you
like it.” Then he looked stricken and held up his hands. “I didn’t mean that, please don’t think I meant –”

“Calm down, I know you didn’t.” Saint wiped his mouth with a serviette and tossed it into the nearest rubbish bin. He sauntered on, thoughtful. “That idea is not without its merits, though, I gotta say. We could be like, ghostbuds. Hanging out playing pranks on people. It’d be fun.”

“It’s not,” Noah said. “Nothing about this is fun.” He looked apologetic again. “I mean, you are, you’re fun, but… ” He pursed his lips. “It’s because you’re all of the things I’m not, I think. You’re… impulsive, bright – I don’t know. Just… very alive.”

They were making their way down Cuba Mall – so many good kebab places on Cuba Mall! – and there were lots of people about and maybe that was why Noah felt free enough to talk so openly about things that pained him, the evanescence and anonymity of this, other people talking in the background. “Can you possess people?” Saint asked.

Noah shot him a look of irritation mixed with hurt. “I told you,” he said, stiff and formal, “none of this is
fun
. Don’t make mock of me. I’m not some amusing poltergeist, I don’t pull
tricks
.” He nearly spat the word.

The ghost-bird thing was basically a trick, but Saint wasn’t about to say that. “So that’s a no?” he went on. “That ponaturi guy who knocked me out, he had, like – magical powers or something, yeah?” He talked rapidly, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. “Do you think someone like that might be able to make you a physical form? I mean an actual body would be ideal, but maybe some, I don’t know, golem or something. Or perhaps we could work on giving the form you
do
have more substance. Could you shape the wind into something more solid? Basically what I’m saying here is… ” he said, and he stopped walking. “There might not be any way to make you alive again – and we maybe don’t want to, yikes, that’s sort of a, a monkey’s paw situation if ever I’ve seen one – but are there any ways to at least make things better?”

He looked at Noah, finally. Noah looked stunned. “I… I don’t know. I hadn’t thought to try.”

“Might be that’s our next order of business, then.”

Noah continued to look stunned.

Saint started walking again. “Then again, we are on beautiful historic Cuba Street,” he said, “there’s sure to be some kind of shop here. Picture that. Hello shopkeep, yes, I am here for necromancy.”

Noah laughed.

“Where do you keep the dead goats, I have this really pressing sacrifice to make,” Saint said.

“Hello, yes,” Noah said, “I’d like to visit the land of Hinenui-te-pō where the dead ones gather, and also purchase some fried potatoes.”

Saint grinned. “Hello sir can I purchase a perfect replica of a human body – oh no it’s not for
me
, it’s for my friend Noah.”

“Shoptender, do you happen to have a sense of decorum and tact in stock? No, no, it’s not for me, it’s for my friend Saint.”

“Good luck with that,” Saint said, laughing, “no one ever believes that ‘Saint’ is an actual real name. Not even when it’s me that’s telling them. I think most people think it’s some sort of ironic statement, if they think about it at all.”

“I don’t know much about naming conventions in the present day, I must admit,” Noah said. “Is yours unusual?”

“Ish? It’s not my
real
real name, though. My given name’s Santiago. But obviously I’m not going to go around calling myself
Santiago
.”

“Obviously,” said Noah, looking amused.

“So I could be Saint, or I could be Sante – and I don’t want to be associated with a chocolate bar, thank you very much! At least not most of the time, I mean, there are extenuating – anyway, I could be Saint or Sante or I could be, I don’t know, Santa or Iago, and I couldn’t really be either of those, I’m a bit rubbish at beards.” He gave a casual shrug. “So there you have it. The fascinating chronicle of my name.”

“Your tangents are thrilling, as always.”

“Your sarcasm wounds me to the core. Like a spear of
ice
. Like –
damn
it, why did I have to say ice, now I’m cold.”

“Mwahaha?” Noah said hesitantly.

“You learn, grasshopper. You learn.” He could just light a fire or something, but he couldn’t exactly do that on a crowded street. He thought
warmth
, trying to will himself warm, but apparently it didn’t work that way. “… Would you mind terribly if I pause this conversation to grab a coffee or something?”

“No?”

Saint grinned at the uncertainty in his tone. Ridiculous lost shadow of a man. “It’s fine, it won’t take long,” he said, swaggering towards the nearest café, which was, annoyingly, the same one he’d visited Steff at yesterday. “Cafés are ten-a-street here, come on. Wellington is like, café
city
. It is all
about
cafés… ”

He stopped walking.

Noah continued for a few metres then stopped and looked back at him, stepping slightly to one side so a middle-aged couple didn’t walk right through him. “Saint? Why did you stop?”

Saint wished he could grab him by the shoulders and shake him, he was that excited. He restrained himself to walking forward and pushing his face very close to Noah’s, grinning broad and excitable. “Cafés,” he said.

Noah looked more confused than anything else. “What about them?” he said, and then he caught on. His eyes widened. “Oh.
Cafés
.”

Saint bounced. “Does that help?”

“I’ll go look now,” Noah said, distracted already; he was trailing into wisps. “There are many likely spots, but I can be in several different places at once if I care to. Now I know what I’m looking for it’ll be simple enough to – that is, if you don’t mind pausing the conversation?”

“Nah. Plenty of time to talk later.”

“Farewell for now, then,” Noah said, and he was gone.

Saint amused himself by scorching rude doodles into the paving stones and trying not to look like he was loitering. Which wasn’t that hard: it was drizzly and damp and generally unpleasant that day, so someone hanging around undercover wasn’t
too
inexplicable, though it’d make more sense for them to hang around inside. Ah well.

Just as he was putting the final touches on his unloiter he ruined it by bumping into a girl. Well, she bumped into him, really, and knocked him clean over. He sprawled on the ground for a second, confused. She’d fallen over too, rather more elegantly.

She was cute as a button, with a cheerfully chaotic tangle of dark hair and a big battered duffel-coat and bright pink gumboots. Aside from the gumboots she was dressed mainly in greens and browns. She sprang to her feet immediately, and gained a few points in Saint’s eyes when the first thing she did was offer him her hand, despite the fact that she’d been carrying several bags of shopping that were now scattered all around them.

Saint took her hand and she pulled him up with surprising ease. He gave her a charming look. “Sorry about that,” he said, “I was busy musing artistically.” Then he added, “Nice boots,” because they were.

She dimpled at him. “Nice coat!”

They grinned at each other for a second or two, the pleased, vaguely conspiratorial grins of those who have just found people of like mind. “I think,” Saint said. “That we are going to be friends.”

“Gosh, I hope so,” the girl said, and she snatched up her bags with one hand and held out the other. “I’m Tony!”

Instead of shaking he bowed with a flourish. “Saint, at your service,” he said. Hey, look, something they had in common: bizarre names. “Your parents must’ve
hated
you.”

“What? Oh, no. Mum just loves Marvel.” Tony sighed. “It could’ve been worse! I mean, I could’ve been Xavier or Steve or something.”

“You would make a perfectly charming Xavier,” Saint assured her.