Welcome to Bordertown (36 page)

He drew himself up. “I would not
threaten
you. I am Alaunus. A knight and a lover.”

“Cool. Lead the way, Alopecia.”

“
Alaunus.
Or rather, Alaunus is what you may
call
me. My true name is difficult for human tongues to pronounce.”

“That’s enough about tongues, Al. Hey, Allie and Al, how about that. Now, less talk, more walk.”

“You might benefit from being more courteous.”

Allie said, “I guess we’ll never know.”

He shook his head. “Come, Allie Land. I will show you the way.” He beckoned, and they walked along the sliver of sidewalk that hadn’t been reclaimed by the savage flora of the encroaching lawns. Allie followed, glancing at the screen of her smartphone and the map, which now said, “Here Be Dragons” in Comic Sans font. She turned the phone off.

“The Way was closed for nearly a fortnight,” Alaunus said. “It’s gratifying to see new arrivals. This town thrives on novelty.”

“No shit, only two weeks? It’s been more like thirteen
years
on our side.”

He nodded. “So I heard. Time in the twilight lands can be strange. Humans tell stories of men who sleep on a hill and wake to find years gone by, do they not?”

“So the whole city pulled a Rip Van Winkle? I wish I’d known. I would’ve brought more stuff to barter—flash drives full of Internet porn, comeback albums by geezer bands, anti-retrovirals, the last few Stephen King novels, the rest of the Harry Potter books, designer drugs.” She had, in fact, brought some of the latter, as well as some prescription drugs. From the stories, B-town was all about sex, drugs, and rock and roll, and while she wasn’t interested in selling sex, she figured she could make a good living off the last two. Sure, they had free river water for drugs here, but it was supposed to be nasty, addictive stuff, and the shorter, more manageable highs and lows and altered states she had to offer would surely find buyers.

Eventually she would run out of drugs to barter, but music was forever, unless the drugs got hold of you, and they’d never gotten hold of her. Seeing her mom’s and dad’s excesses had cured her of any urges in that direction, except for a little weed.

“I suppose there would be a demand for those things,” Alaunus said. “Though I myself need only moonlight, and love, and wine, and poetry, and you.”

He was doing her a favor now, so Allie let that bit slide. He led her to a ramshackle-looking motorbike with rusty wind chimes dangling from the handlebars. “Climb on,” he said, mounting the bike. “And be sure to hold on to me
very
tightly.” Allie rolled her eyes but got on.

They drove away from the feral houses, the bike’s engine humming rather than roaring. After winding through various streets
and passing a block of sagging warehouses filled with broken windows and flickering firelight, they turned a corner and—
poof!
—there were lights, and competing blares of music, and sidewalk touts in exotic leathers and feather boas, and street carts full of sweet-savory-spicy flavors, and neon signs, and graffiti in sparkly paint, and a street jammed with lurching, listing, laughing drunks of various ages and degrees of elfishness and humanity. “Carnival Street,” Alaunus said. “The Dancing Ferret is just there. You said you were a musician? I know most of the important players here. You’ll be interested in the clubs and—”

“True words, Trueblood. Thanks for the ride. I can take it from here.”

He put one of his oddly delicate hands on her shoulder. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather find a quiet place to—”

“You’re persistent—I’ll give you that—but it’s never going to become an adorable little running joke between us, so stop hitting on me, all right?”

“You must at least give me a kiss. On the lips. A chaste one, if you insist, but I ask this much as payment for being your guide.”

Well, hell, it wasn’t like she’d never kissed a guy before, and she’d never kissed an
elf
before, so why not? She went up on tiptoe and planted one on his lips, held it for a moment, and pulled back before he had the chance to wrap her up in some dramatic, cheesy embrace.

He looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“The kiss … How was the kiss?”

“The total, and I’d guess eternal, lack of facial hair is a definite point in your favor, Al, but the fact remains: You’re a guy, and guys do not light my fire, curl my toes, or float my boat, so I don’t know what to tell you.” She shrugged. “Thanks again, and you should
keep an eye open for my band: It’s called Allison Wonderland, and you’ll be hearing about us.” At the moment, “us” was a stretch, but in a place like this, it shouldn’t be hard to find some people to replace her bandmates. What had Louis XIV said?
L’État, c’est moi?
“I am the State”? Well,
she
was Allison Wonderland.

“I don’t understand.” Alaunus searched her face. “I
kissed
you. How can you still resist?”

“You’re not that cute, Al. Viva la resistance, is what I say.” Better break this off before it got even more uncomfortable. “See you around.” She waited until a big crowd of raucous people in black and silver came close, then swooped around in front of them and slipped into the throng.

She dodged around people and made her way toward The Dancing Ferret, hoping Al didn’t try to follow her. Surely he was just hoping to score with a newcomer. He’d get over it.

*   *   *

“You still give a free beer to the noobs?” Allie said, and the owner, Farrel Din—who demonstrated that even Truebloods could get pudgy—lifted one eyebrow.

“Noobs? I suppose we do. Welcome to Bordertown.” He slid a mug of foaming, oddly sedimentary-looking amber liquid toward her.

“So if you were an awesome musician looking to make a big splash on the scene in a hurry, where would you start?”

“That’s an excellent question.” He smiled affably and walked away, and after a moment Allie realized he wasn’t coming back. Oh, well. So much for the direct approach. She drained her beer, which was weird-tasting and probably elfin, but it was no weirder than some of the things she’d tried at that one brewpub-with-bands where they tried to re-create, like, nine-thousand-year-old Chinese or Babylonian beers based on incomplete recipes. Though she supposed maybe elfin beers were even older.

The Ferret was okay, but soon Allie hit the street, knowing she should find a place to lay her head but wanting to get a better feel for the scene here first. She went toward the next nearest club, one with a new-looking sign over the door reading “The Grand Conjunction.” There, she bribed the burly bouncer with a couple tablets of Adderall when he tried telling her the place was too full. She shouldered her way into a crowded, dimly lit space that had a handful of tables and a few booths along the wall, a stage about the size of an ironing board, and the familiar smell of sweat, guitar amps, and spilled beer. She checked out the band—cute lead singer, raw but rockin’ good sound—and moved in closer to the stage as best she could while hauling her guitar and bag.

Allie stopped when she saw Alaunus in a booth. He was snuggled up with a couple of scantily clad human girls on either side and was surrounded by human guys who didn’t look remotely jealous of the attention he was getting but who kept pushing drinks toward him and laughing uproariously at whatever he was saying. Alaunus caught sight of Allie and said something to one of the guys. He was six foot seven if he was an inch and was wearing a brown leather jacket that looked like it had lost a fight with a crocodile. The guy pushed his way through the crowd, took the bag and guitar from her like he was plucking petals from a flower, and jerked his head toward the table. Allie hesitated—she’d blown Alaunus off, and he was a weirdo, but there wasn’t anywhere else to sit in here, and maybe she’d been too hard on him. All those people cozying up to him surely saw
something
in the guy. She followed the nonjolly giant, and the girls in their shiny tops glared at her but moved aside to let her sit next to Alaunus. Figured he’d be surrounded by human girls. Elf chicks probably had a natural immunity to all the bullcrap he produced.

“Of all the bars in all the Border,” he said, leaning in to speak in her ear.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, thinking,
What kind of elf quotes
Casablanca
?
“What’s the band called?”

“Children of Paradise. They weren’t very good when they started out—all enthusiasm, no execution—but the lead singer had his heart broken, and the experience helped him creatively.” He leaned in even closer. “Would you like to meet them? They’re the hottest band in town, this week. If I asked, they’d let you sit in for a set, I’m sure. It couldn’t hurt your aspirations.”

“You’d do that?” she said, rethinking her whole attitude regarding the elf. Even his Michael Jackson jacket was starting to look retro-cute. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad—

“Of course. I’d be happy to do a favor like that for … someone I felt sufficiently intimate with.” He moved from whispering in her ear to nuzzling her neck, his lips latching on to her throat with lampreylike force.

She elbowed Alaunus in the ribs. His lips made a wet popping sound when they unsuctioned from her neck. Gross. The table was bolted to the floor, so she couldn’t flip it over, which was too bad. She settled for standing up in the booth, stepping onto the tabletop—knocking over plastic cups of booze and unlabeled bottles of homebrew beer—and then jumping down to the floor. She flipped Alaunus the bird with both hands and said, “Go suck a shotgun, asshole.” His girls gaped at her, and the big guy laid a hand on her shoulder. Alaunus looked at her with narrowed eyes but shook his head minutely. The big guy took his hand away, threw her bag and guitar case at her feet—she winced as the latter landed—and pointed toward the door. She picked up her things and used the guitar case as a club to clear a path, fighting off the adrenaline shakes.

That scumbag. Expecting her to screw him for a favor? Sure, she wanted to be a star, more than anything, always and forever, but she wasn’t willing to give up her dignity for a lousy outside
chance
at stardom.

On the street, she paused, wondering what to do next. Being pissed off wouldn’t put a roof over her head. Maybe she should try to find one of the hostels she’d read about, or someplace else to crash. Carrying all her worldly goods on her back was getting tiresome, and she didn’t want to run into Alaunus again.

She set off walking, and on the next block glanced down an alley and saw a handpainted banner that read “New in town? Free orientation!” with a few people wearing backpacks talking to outrageously dressed Bordertown residents. Seemed as good a place to start as any. She took a step toward the alley, but a hand grasped her shoulder. She was afraid it was Alaunus or his thug again, but when she turned, she saw it was a tall, pale woman, probably in her forties (though even thirty was way older than most of the crowd around here), dressed in black velvet over dark jeans. “You don’t want to go in there,” she said.

“Why not?”

The woman stepped off to one side, away from the alley mouth, and Allie followed. The woman glanced around, then said, “They’re promising people a warm bed, taking them around the corner, knocking them over the head, and stealing everything. It’s a halfie gang, though not one of the worst ones, not Rune Lords or anything. I don’t think they’d kill you on purpose, but accidents happen, and I’d hate to see you lose that guitar.”

Allie blinked. Muggers right off the main drag? Wouldn’t the cops … Right. This was B-town, not Brooklyn. There might be cops, or the local equivalent, in some neighborhoods, but not down here.

Now primed for suspicion, Allie said, “Why tell me, and not the people they’ve already lured in?”

“The stars guide me. They led me to you. And if I interfered with the gang more obviously, I’d be the one they hit on the head. I command a certain amount of respect in some circles, but the halfie street gang circle isn’t one of them. I’m Psyche. Are you looking for a place to stay?”

“Are you going to try to sleep with me?”

Psyche laughed. “You’re too young for me, and the wrong gender, so I’d say you’re safe.” She held out her hand, which was so thin it might have floated away without its ballast of silver rings, and Allie shook it.

“I’m Allie. The stars led you to me, huh? What, are you an astrologer?”

“Not by choice. I used to be an astronomer. But the sky here”—she glanced up—“it’s not like the sky anywhere else, on either side of the Wall. Come, it’s a bit of a trip to my home, and you must be tired.”

Allie followed her along the street, dodging jeering and indifferent groups of kids, many younger than Allie. “So many runaways,” Psyche said. “Are you a runaway, Allie?”

“Nah. Emancipated minor. Mom died in a car wreck when I was thirteen, and by the time Dad went to jail, I already had a job working in a music store, way more responsible than he ever was, so the court made me an official grown-up. I moved to New York, started playing music, picking up some gigs, working crap jobs, things like that.”

“No school?”

“Dropped out.”

“That’s a shame. Education is so important.…”

“It’s not like I don’t
read
, lady. And besides, I’m going to be a
rock star. One job you don’t even need a high school diploma for.”

“That’s your dream? To be a famous musician?”

“Being a famous musician’s part of it, yeah, pretty much a necessary prerequisite, but there’s so much more to being a rock star—the whole lifestyle, doing anything you want, living life as hard and on the edge as you can. The key is to keep the destructive stuff to a minimum, stay off the hard drugs so you can keep the party going longer. My old drummer called it ‘sustainable hedonism.’ Getting the most pleasure for the longest time.”

“Why come to Bordertown? Music is popular here, but the audience is limited.”

“Ah, but if I get huge here and then go out into the World, I’ll have that whole B-town mystique added to my repertoire, maybe get an elf playing in my band, you know? Especially with Borderland appearing again after so long, the public will be hungry for that kind of stuff.” Allie followed Psyche up the street to another alley, where a beat-to-hell-looking motorcycle stood—complete with a sidecar. Psyche climbed onto the bike and gestured at the sidecar.