Welcome to Bordertown (11 page)

At least, that’s what’s supposed to happen, and damn it, that’s very nearly what happens. But then the magic of the Border hiccups, sending ripples of disturbance so strong they probably reach all across the city. The spell gets stuck, the mechanics sputter, my fail-safes fail, and this is what happens: The illusion we’ve built is flickering in and out—flock of birds one moment, instrument the next—while Spider stands frozen like a rabbit in the headlights and the rest of the band falls suddenly silent.

Because it’s not just our spell flickering in and out, it’s every damn thing inside the entire club that’s been enhanced by some kind of illusion: blue and pink hair turns dishwater brown, curls go straight, tattoos disappear, skirts of fine elfin brocade turn to rags, and Faerie jewels turn into plastic and paste. Some kids
stand practically naked as bits of their clothing vanish altogether. Even the drinks are affected, with elfin brews changing into water or sludge (I’ll never drink those particular brands again), and Farrel Din’s famous Realmwood bar is revealed to be made of cheap plywood. Things flicker like strobe lights back and forth between their enchanted and unenchanted forms, and people are laughing or crying or pointing or shrieking or doing all four at once. Spider is doubled over and laughing so hard there are tears streaming down his face, while the rest of the band looks on, aghast, at the chaos our spell has unleashed.

I run for the nearest spell amp, hoping I can do something to break the circuit, when suddenly Rosco starts growling and I turn and look behind me. And stop dead in my tracks …

*   *   *

At first it was kind of funny—all the people losing their clothes and their glamour. Then, behind her, Trish heard a scream of pure rage. “By the Apples of Death! Who dares to stand against me?”

The elf lady was magnificent in her fury. But Trish saw only the man at her side, a dark-haired man without a shirt who stared at his own smooth hands, amazed.

“Anush!” Trish cried. “Anush Gupta!”

He smiled at her. She ran to him and threw her arms around him. Because if his story was really Tam Lin, then she was Young Janet, and she had to hold him fast and fear not, while his lady worked more terrible transformations on him, until she won him free.

“Was it you who did this deed?” the lady cried, just like in the story. Trish shivered and held tight, and Anush’s strong arms went around her, too. “Have you no decency?” the lady raged. “No sense of personal property? Do you know who I am?”

“It’s not all about you, lady,” the bouncer said mildly. “Look around this room—”

“Collateral damage,” snapped the elf. “Proud mortal, how dare you?”

Everyone was staring at them. The lady lifted her slender white hands, and Trish prayed that whoever had worked Widdershins’ magic would know how to save them. She squeezed her eyes shut, and Anush clung to her—

And then there was fur all over her, and hot breath and a slobbering tongue on her face, but she held tight and tried to fear not—

“Down, Rosco! Down, boy!”

It wasn’t Anush; Anush was still holding her with one bare arm and trying to push away a dog with the other, a big black mutt jumping all over her like he was her long-lost buddy.

The bouncer was pinning the elfin lady’s arms to her side—but there was a sudden puff of fuchsia smoke, and the bouncer had hold of nothing.

“Out.” A fat guy was making his stately way through the crowd, which parted before him.

“I don’t like a fuss in my club,” said Farrel Din. The fuchsia smoke cleared, and a silver snake writhed on the floor at the bouncer’s feet. “Out, and regain your true shape on the other side of my door.”

Trish held on to the dog, who wanted to chase the snake.

And a big guy came rushing toward them, shouting, “Rosco, what are you— Oh my god. Trish!”

Who was this guy? How did he know her real name?

“Trish, it’s me! It’s Jimmy!”

“Jimmy?” She stared at the tall man in the Mr. Fix-It T-shirt.

“I’m Jimbo—your brother!”

How could it be Jimmy? Jimmy was her baby brother. This was a grown man, her age or even older, with a big, muscular frame and large, hard hands and long brown hair pulled back in a
rubber band. He looked like a factory worker, like Dad or her uncle Al.

“And this is Rosco, Trish—remember Rosco, our puppy?”

The big hound licked her with a long pink tongue. And then she started crying. It was a good thing she had the dog to hold on to, to bury her face in while she sobbed for the lost years.

*   *   *

Anush looked helplessly down at the weeping girl and then at the big guy who was her brother. Not knowing what else to do, he held out his hand. “Anush Gupta,” he said. “I’m a friend of Trish. This is, um, what I really look like. When I’m not messing around with elves.”

“Nice to meet you.” The brother shook hands. “I’m Jimmy. She just calls me Jimbo. Nobody else does.” Anush heard the warning, and nodded. “Kind of a shock for her, huh?”

“Kind of.”

“I’m with the band. Special effects.”

“Really?” Anush was impressed. “Then I’ve got you to thank for helping me out. Indirectly. You must have blown every magic fuse in B-town.”

Jimmy ducked his head. “No big.” He glanced behind him at the chaos that still reigned. “Listen, I’d better get back there and try to fix things. But … could you look after Trish for me? I’ll talk to her as soon as I can. But meanwhile, tell her I’m here for her. Tell her it’s all gonna be okay.”

“Sure.” Anush nodded. “There’s just one thing—do you think you could find me a shirt?”

Jimmy grinned and untied the flannel shirt from around his waist. It was a little wrinkled, but at least it didn’t smell like wet dog.

Up on the stage, a tall, spidery guy with silver dreadlocks took
the mike. “Folks!” he said. “Lords and ladies of Soho, please try to control your flashing eyes and floating hair—because the Show Must Go On!”

There were cheers and jeers from the floor.

“Elfies, halfies, and long-leggity beasties … you came for music, and music you shall have! After we—and maybe some of you—perform a few minor technical adjustments. Meanwhile, however, I am glad to say that we have with us in the house tonight, Soho’s very own harper of high renown, the Master of Melody, the Sultan of String, the great—though not the late—
Mister
Ossian Feldenkranz!”

*   *   *

Trish looked up as the harper took the stage. He settled on his chair and lifted his hands.
Oh, please
, she thought,
oh, please
.… She buried her fingers deep in Rosco’s fur, willing it to happen. And the harper struck the opening notes of the song she needed him to play.

At last, Trish heard the answers to the Riddle Song.

My head is the apple without e’er a core.… My mind is the house without e’er a door
.…

She’d thought no one understood that. But long ago, someone somewhere had known and had written a song.

She felt a hand on her head. She prepared herself to look up, full of apologies, at Jimmy.

But it was Anush, tentatively stroking her hair. He crouched down beside her. “You okay?”

Trish nodded.

He handed her a hankie. “Want to stay? Your brother’s some kind of genius.”

“I know.”

“He’s with the band. He said he’ll be back.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I think we might have to dance, though.”

“I could do that,” Trish said with a smile.

*   *   *

The gig’s a crazy success. Widdershins makes its magic even without the rest of our special effects (we don’t dare turn on the spell amps again just yet), and people dance, and the music rocks, and everyone’s happy. The band. The audience. Farrel Din. Me, I’m probably the happiest of all. I’ve finally found my long-lost sister.

Afterward, Spider sweeps us all up and off to the Hard Luck Café for some celebratory (or is it commiseratory?) beers: the whole band, Cam and Seal from the Chimera, Trish, Anush the monster guy. Even the Queen of Elfland comes along. You know Spider, he doesn’t take no for an answer, and soon we’re all out the door and on our way. My sister keeps looking at me funny, a little bit shy and a little bit freaked out. I guess it’s weird for her. She’s the Trish I knew, but I’m just some big, galumphing guy who turns up in Bordertown one day and claims to be her younger
brother. Correction, her older brother now. No wonder it’s a little stiff between us.

It’s so late that the streets of Soho are almost quiet, or at least as quiet as they get—even on Ho Street, where the lights of Danceland are turned off, the Saturday-night crowds have melted away, and there’s only a single busker playing a mournful violin near Snappin’ Wizards. The Hard Luck is open, as it always is, and it’s crowded even at this hour. There’s a table just big enough for us all at the back if we crowd around.

An elfin guy at the grill looks up and says, “Hey, don’t bring that Hell Hound in here!”

“Relax, Nabber,” says Cam. “That’s no Hell Hound—that’s just Rosco. He’s with us and he’s completely harmless.”

“What is the thing with elves and dogs anyway?” I ask Cam as the menus are passed around.

Spider exchanges a look with the Queen of Elfland; then the two of them start snickering behind their hands. Cam just rolls her eyes and says, “Don’t even bother asking, Jimmy. It’s just one of those weird Realm things.”

That’s it? That’s all? There’s no more explanation than that? But what the heck, I take her advice and let it go. Like so many things about the elves, this, too, will remain a mystery. They are strange in ways we humans can’t begin to fathom, and no doubt we’re just as strange to them. And it doesn’t even matter. We’re all friends around this table, human, elf, halfling, and wheezing Hell Hound.

My sister orders some kind of weird tea, then sits quietly ruffling Rosco’s fur with a wistful, inward look.

“Hey, sis,” I say, and take hold of her other hand. She’s startled, because we’re not a touchy kind of family—but she leaves her hand resting in mine and finally looks me straight in the eye.

“Hey,” she says. “It’s okay. Really.”

“It’s all kind of strange, isn’t it?” I say.

“It’s not what I expected.”

If she means Bordertown, I have to agree. It’s so much
better.
I let go of her hand as the drinks are plunked down and smile at her—but my sister’s not smiling back. Trish isn’t even looking at me now.

And then it hits me. She’s knows I’ve come to take her home. And of course she doesn’t want to go. I wouldn’t either, if I were her. No wonder she’s being so quiet.

“Look, Trish,” I tell her quickly, “if you don’t want to come back, I guess I can understand that now. I’m not gonna drag you back to Milltown.”

I have her full attention now.

“I’ll explain it to the folks. I’ll tell them that I saw you, that you’re doing fine, and that you belong here and ought to stay.”

Trish puts her tea down with a thump. “Well, then, you would be lying,” she says to my surprise. I see her exchange a look with the monster guy, who seems to figure in her life somehow. Then she leans forward, looking through my eyes straight into my soul, like she always could.

“You’re the one who belongs here, Jimmy. Don’t give me that look. It’s so completely obvious. How else do you explain all this?” she asks, her gaze sweeping around the crowded table. “You’ve been in town for, what, five minutes, and you have a home and a band and a café full of friends. Just like you used to on the playground, where you were always at the center of things, remember?”

“Oh, hey—” I start to say, embarrassed. Like she has to bring that up in front of everybody?

“Okay, you’re not the little Jimbo I once knew, but some things
never change, do they? And the thing about you that hasn’t changed is that when you’re happy, you practically shine.”

The table has suddenly gone quiet. Everyone is looking at me and Trish.

“
You’re
the one who has to stay,” she says.

“Of course he’s staying!” Spider chimes in, and there’s a raucous wave of agreement from the others.

But of course I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I try to explain it to Trish, to everyone. “Somebody has to go back to the World and look after our family.…”

“That somebody will be me,” says Trish firmly. “I’m the one who is going home.”

“But—”

“I
want
to go back to the World, Jimmy. Not to stay in Milltown, but to go to college like I’d always planned. Anush is going to help me find a school where I can study myth and all the things I like. There are schools that might be even better for me than Harvard, and we’re going to get scholarships. And wherever it is, I’ll keep an eye on Mom and Dad. Good heavens, Jimmy, they’re not
helpless.
”

“
We’re
getting scholarships?” the monster guy pipes up.

“Of course,” she says. “You need one, too, don’t you?”

“Tara, I mean, Trish, I don’t even know if I can get back into school anymore.”

“Then you’ll write your fantasy novel instead,” Trish says in the decisive way that I remember from years ago.

“What novel?” he asks her, baffled.

“The one that no one else has written yet,” she tells him, as if it’s obvious. “The one based on that Indian saga you were telling me about.”

My sister’s friend blinks, like he’s had a revelation. (Trish has that effect on people, I remember), and Spider says, “Well, then, my friends, it’s all settled,” and he calls for another round.

Is it really settled? Is it possible? Trish sees my expression and begins to laugh. “You may be six feet tall and nearly nineteen now, but you’re still my
little
brother, Jimbo. So listen to me. You’re staying. I’m going. End of discussion. Now drink your beer.”