The Turn

by Kim Harrison

  “It’s wonderful,” she said as Daniel awkwardly moved closer, smelling like sweat and soap. “Thank you so much.”

  “The interstates are patrolled,” Benson was saying, “but we can do a slow drive past the train station. You can get out that way.”

  “And go where?” Daniel asked, but Trisk already knew, and she tugged the blanket in place, covering Daniel’s shoes. He’d lost his loafers somewhere, and the sneakers with hand-drawn peace symbols looked odd at the hem of his worn and dirty dress slacks.

  “DC,” she said. “From there, we can get the word out to everyone.”

  Benson nodded, tucking back inside the cab and closing the window to keep Johnny from trying to climb through it. Trisk settled beside Daniel, appreciating his warmth and hoping Orchid was okay under his hat. “How are you doing?” she asked softly, and his head dropped. “That must have been awful at the containment center. Daniel—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he interrupted, then started, his attention jumping to her when she took his cold hand.

  “Thank you for coming to get me,” she said, giving his fingers a little squeeze. “When I saw you with those blisters . . . I almost died. I thought Kal had shoved a tomato down your throat or something.”

  He smiled, a hand rising to touch them. “Orchid says they’ll be gone tomorrow. They itch like crazy. Passive pixy deterrent.”

  “I didn’t know she could do that.” The engine rumbled soothingly through her, and she slouched, trying to get below the wind. “Why are they helping us?” she whispered, glancing into the cab as she fingered the thick wool blanket. Humans might lack magic, but they made up for it in guile and cooperation. “Everyone is risking their lives for us.”

  Daniel shrugged, still not daring to take his hand off his hat. His expression was hard to see in the dark, and Trisk frowned when May turned off the truck’s lights and even the glow from the dash was lost. “Because I told them we could stop it,” he said. Twisting, he looked at her. “Was I wrong?”

  She shook her head, biting her lip as she hoped their confidence wasn’t misplaced. Then she hesitated, eyebrows rising as she heard the roar of another engine and what sounded like music echoing between the buildings. “Can you hear that?”

  “What?” Daniel asked, eyes squinting as he listened.

  “Music,” Orchid piped up from under his hat. “At least, I think it’s music.”

  “And a car,” Daniel said, looking through the cab to the night-dark streets they were racing through.

  Trisk sat up as the drums and wailing guitar turned into something recognizable. “Trouble Every Day”? she thought, having heard the odd music from Mothers of Invention coming from Angie’s radio at lunch just last week.

  Angie . . . she thought, a lump suddenly appearing in her throat. She’d probably been the first to die. Maybe she’d get her name in the history books for it.

  “That’s really close,” Daniel said, and Trisk looked up at the sound of a stressed engine. Fear slid through her when the howls of men and wolves joined it. The music was getting louder. Gears were grinding, and someone was shouting.

  “Look out!” Daniel shouted, and May shrieked, her arm flashing out to pin Johnny to the seat between her and Benson as she hit the brakes. They squealed a warning, and the van suddenly barreling through the intersection toward them swerved.

  This might hurt, Trisk thought, unable to look away as the van majestically slammed into the truck’s front fender. The truck rocked to a halt, and from the cab, May screamed. Trisk’s shoulder thumped into the wall of the truck bed, but the heavy farm vehicle hardly noticed. Daniel’s hand was tight on his hat, his face white as the truck’s engine stalled.

  Brakes smoking, the van careened to the right as the driver overcompensated, stalling out as well as it hit the mailbox on the corner. The music coming from the van snapped off, replaced with the sound of feminine swearing.

  Wide-eyed, Trisk looked at Daniel, his hand still holding that hat on his head. The night seemed both warmer and a lot quieter now that they weren’t moving. Johnny was crying inside the cab, but he was probably just scared. “Are you okay?” she asked Daniel, then called into the cab, “Anyone hurt?”

  “We’re okay, ma’am,” Benson said, holding Johnny tight.

  May was trying to get the truck started, but something didn’t sound right.

  Daniel looked dazed as he took his hand down. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “Orchid?”

  There was no answer, and panicked, he took his hat off. “Orchid!”

  But they both looked up at a familiar wing clatter, and relief filled Trisk as she saw that the pixy had flown to safety. “She’s okay,” Trisk whispered, her attention going to the van. The swearing had stopped. A fan belt screamed and metal groaned as the van, painted with a psychedelic wizard fighting a dragon, backed off the curb and jostled onto the road.

  Their truck, though, wouldn’t start, and there were Weres in the street.

  Howls rang from nearby, the calls sounding odd in the city streets. In a sudden insight, Trisk realized the van didn’t hold roving Weres looking for them, but fleeing people. And they have an Ohio plate, she thought, seeing the Cincinnati radio bumper sticker beside it.

  “Stay here,” Daniel said as he levered himself over the side of the truck, his sneakers almost silent as he jogged to the van, whistling and waving for the driver’s attention.

  “Daniel?” she shouted, her high voice echoing off the buildings, and he turned, gesturing for her to stay.

  “They might be hurt!” he called back, slowing as he halted at the open window.

  Trisk looked into the truck’s cab. May was gathering their things, and the Weres were getting closer. “Why won’t it start?” she asked through the open window, and May looked at her apologetically.

  “I think I flooded it,” she said, handing Benson a grocery bag and taking a tear-streaked Johnny in return.

  Trisk watched, not knowing what to do as the small family got out. Kal lay unconscious at her feet. We’re getting out? she thought, at a loss.

  The sound of the van’s side door opening rolled through the night, and Trisk’s lips parted when a teenager got out, his orange pants and red dreadlocks unforgettable. “You have got to be kidding me. It’s the bass player,” she whispered as he and Daniel jogged back to the truck.

  “Let’s go, Trisk,” Daniel said as they got closer. “I got us a ride. They can get us out of the city.”

  But she couldn’t move as the kid lowered the tailgate and dragged Kal to it. “No way!” he said as he saw her. “The lady scientist? Oh, man. You should have heard the fuzz swearing about you. He’s going to toast your candy ass when he finds out you split.”

  That shook her out of her funk, and sitting down, she scooted to the tailgate. “Yeah? I’m not the one who broke out of jail, stole my van out of impound, and lied to my mom about where I was going.”

  The kid’s mouth dropped open, and then he grinned at her. “Right,” he said as he grabbed Kal’s feet. Daniel took his shoulders, and together they half ran to the van, Daniel clearly struggling with the added weight.

  “Come on, Trisk!” Daniel called as they tossed Kal in.

  “Let’s haul ass!” a high-pitched voice shouted from behind the wheel. “I’m not spending Halloween in jail!” the unseen woman added, revving the engine to make the van shimmy.

  Borrowed blanket tight about her shoulders, Trisk started after them, hesitating as she realized Benson and May were still standing by their truck as if waiting for the bus.

  “There’s lots of room,” Trisk called, and Benson waved her on.

  “Go,” he said, voice raised in urgency. “They’ll stop chasing you if they get us.”

  They’re going to get caught so we don’t? Trisk slid to a halt in the middle of the intersection, heart pounding. She could hear the Weres. They were only a street off. “There’s room,” she insisted.

  “We’ll be fine, ma’am,” M
ay said, apparently eager to be caught. “It’s up to us to save as many people as we can here. We’re grateful you told us what to do. Go do what you can in DC. Go!”

  “Trisk!” Daniel shouted. Kal was a dark shadow in the van. Daniel waited, one hand outstretched, the other holding his hat to his head. Orchid must be back with him. “They’ll be fine!” he exclaimed, and her eyes widened as she saw the flitting shadows at the end of the street.

  She ran.

  “Hurry up!” the kid demanded, and Daniel lurched through the wide-open door, turning to extend a hand to her. The van was already moving, and breathless, Trisk dove for it, feeling Daniel’s grip take her shoulder and haul her the rest of the way in.

  “Got her!” the kid exclaimed, and Trisk rolled across the van, coming to rest against a cold wall. The door slammed shut as the van accelerated with the scent of burning rubber. Trisk gasped when they lurched onto another curb, and then back onto the street with a spine-tingling thump before picking up speed.

  Eyes wide, she looked up from the shag rug floor of the open van. There were no seats except the two up front, just an empty space filled with black-enameled boxes. Kal was slumped against them, and as they careened through the streets, Daniel began to laugh.

  “You find this funny?” Trisk said dryly, then reached for the wall when the van leaned precariously as they took a corner. The brakes squealed in protest . . . and then the van righted itself and they raced down a straightaway.

  “Everyone okay?” the driver asked, her childishly high but beautifully resonant voice flowing out along with “House of the Rising Sun” from the radio. It sounded eminently right blaring from the huge speakers as they ran from Weres in the moonless night. The girl’s window was down, and her long black hair whipped in the wind as she took a quick glance at them.

  “I don’t know,” Trisk said, wondering if she’d hit her head at some point and didn’t remember it. How could she have just left Benson and May like that? And with a little kid, too.

  The girl gave her a grin before turning her attention back to the road. With a sudden shock, Trisk realized the driver was sitting on a phone book. Even so, Trisk took in her curves and adjusted her age to be about nineteen. She was just really small. A Were, maybe? she wondered, breathing deep for any telltale smell of wolfsbane as she looked from her to the tall boy. They didn’t look anything alike, the tiny woman’s pantsuit in dark shades of brown and black, and the tall boy in orange-and-yellow bell-bottoms that went with his hair and little else.

  Uneasy, Trisk cleared her throat. Kal rolled back and forth as the van wove through the empty streets. Exhaling loudly, Daniel slumped against the wall, his knees bent and his feet spread wide for balance. His hat was leaking silver dust. Seeing her questioning look, Daniel shrugged. “Ah, I’m Trisk, and that’s Daniel,” Trisk finally said.

  “Hey,” Daniel said, giving them a little wave.

  The gangly adolescent whooped when the van took a bump hard, his smile never dimming. “I’m Takata,” he said, pointing to a sticker on one of the boxes stacked up against one side. “And that’s Ripley. She’s my drummer.” He glanced at the driver. “Take it easy, Rip. I think we lost them. You’re going to bust my ride.”

  “I’m not your drummer,” the woman said. “You’re my bass.”

  Trisk’s eyebrows rose as she realized what the odd-shaped bumps taking up most of the van were. Pelhan said he was in a band, she thought, worried when Ripley picked up speed as they headed out of the city.

  “We’re going to Cincinnati,” the kid said as he brushed the dirt from his orange slacks. “If my mom finds out I ditched work to play a gig this Halloween, it won’t be the plague that kills me. Then they cancel it. Dude.”

  Trisk put a hand to her middle, not feeling well from all the sudden shifts and bumps. “It’s in the tomatoes,” she said. “Just don’t eat them.”

  “That’s what I heard!” Takata’s gaze touched on Daniel’s blisters before turning to the woman. “You owe me a Coke, Ripley. It’s the tomatoes.”

  She flipped him off, but Takata didn’t seem to care as he leaned close, whispering, “Your friend is all right. He doesn’t have the plague. He’s been pixed.”

  Trisk’s lips parted, and from Daniel’s hat, Orchid shouted, “You’ve seen a pixy? Where!”

  “No way!” Takata shook Ripley’s shoulder when Orchid pushed the hat up, peering out at them as Daniel tried to hold it down. Bright silver pixy dust spilled from under his hand, looking like an aura as the wind ripped it away and it pooled at the back of the van.

  “It’s a pixy!” Takata exclaimed, and then his face went still, eyes wide as he glanced from Trisk to Daniel, clearly knowing he was a human. “Ahh . . .” he said, looking almost terrified.

  “Where!” Orchid demanded, but the kid was tongue-tied.

  “It’s okay,” Trisk said, putting a hand on Takata’s shoulder. “I’m taking care of it.”

  “Like hell you are,” Orchid said, and Daniel yelped when she poked at him to stop trying to get her to hide. “If anyone has to kill Daniel, it will be me. Besides, he’s not going to say anything,” the pixy added. “He’s cool with all of us. You know where there are pixies?”

  Still unsure, the kid rubbed the back of his neck in what looked like remembered pain. “We had a family of them in the woods behind our house when I was growing up. They might still be there.” He chuckled. “I told my mom it was poison ivy.”

  The dust spilling from under Daniel’s hat spun through a kaleidoscope of color, and the tiny woman stared at all of them, clearly torn. “You should go with them,” Daniel said softly, clearly knowing the problem, and Orchid’s dust turned a blue so dark it was almost unseen. “We’ll get to DC okay.”

  “Not until I know no one is going to kill you to keep the silence,” she said, tucking back under the hat, her expression becoming pensive.

  Mood undimmed, Takata tapped a rhythm on his knee. “Man, I gotta write a song about this. ‘Little death, looking for love.’ ” He turned to the woman. “Ripley. ‘Tiny little death, held captive by silence,’ ” he sang, shocking Trisk with his beautiful voice. “ ‘Pining for love, made strong by violence.’ ”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Just no.”

  Takata spun back to face them, seemingly undaunted.

  “Sorry about running into you,” Daniel said, his hand still holding his hat in place. “We have to get to DC to tell the dewar how to stop the plague. Can you drop us at the train station? The Weres are patrolling the roads.”

  Takata’s exuberance didn’t so much dim as utterly vanish under a wash of intense concentration. “They stopped all outgoing trains this afternoon,” he said, turning to Ripley and telling her not to have a cow and that he knew all the back ways into Cincinnati. “Everything,” he added when he turned back to them.

  “Great.” Trisk slumped into the boxed drum set to feel the road rumble all the way up her spine. “How are we going to get to DC? We can’t drive there dodging cops all the way.”

  “Cincy is still running trains out,” Takata said, his pride at his hometown obvious. “They never stop, not for plague, or war, or worker strike. Ripley and I will get you there, and you can hop a boxcar to DC. You can be on the East Coast by tomorrow night, slick as Crisco.”

  Eyebrows high in consideration, Trisk looked at Daniel, seeing by his shrug that he was good with it. “We’ll do that,” she said, and Takata bobbed his head, flicking his dreadlocks back as he turned to the front, his long fingers tapping out a complex rhythm that was hard to follow.

  I can do this for five hours, Trisk thought as she settled back and closed her eyes. And maybe she could catch a few winks in the meantime. They’d be in Cincinnati by dawn, maybe sooner the way Ripley drove. There’d be a train leaving for the East Coast soon after that—and then everything would be fine.

  34

  The engine hummed through Trisk while she sat, wide awake and listening to the radio as they
raced through the predawn. “Bang Bang,” Cher’s new single, was on, and Trisk felt the bumps the gun made in the pocket of her Chicago Police jacket as she thought about Kal. It wasn’t advisable to keep someone under a sleep charm this long, especially when they’d been knocked unconscious to begin with, but he’d cause problems the moment he was awake, and she couldn’t tell her future child that she’d shot his or her father dead—even if it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

  Her attention fell on Daniel, across the van from her. His features were soft in sleep, huddled in the jacket that Pelhan had given him. Seeing him next to Kal, it was obvious that he wasn’t an elf, his blond hair, slight build, and studious demeanor aside. The glasses gave him away, and his chin wasn’t angular enough. His blisters were gone, though, and she smiled at his slight snore. Takata was up front doing the same thing.

  Sunrise was a few hours off yet, but she stretched, giving up on sleep. Orchid was sitting on the rearview mirror, and her dust coating the shrunken head dangling from it in a silver glow was decidedly eerie. Nodding her greeting to the pixy, Trisk stepped over Kal to kneel between the front seats and look out at the fading stars. She’d been on her natural sleep cycle for days now, meaning she was most alert at dusk and dawn. She kind of liked it.

  “Bang, bang. My baby shot me down.”

  “Morning,” Ripley said, her voice rising and falling to make the two syllables into a song.

  “Morning.” Trisk coughed to get the cobwebs out. “You want me to drive? It’s nearly sunup.”

  “We’re almost there,” the woman said with a yawn. “Orchid’s been keeping me awake.”

  The pixy shifted her wings to invisibility. “Two hours, seventeen minutes,” she said, then added when Trisk’s eyebrows rose in question, “Until sunup. Pixies have great sun sense.”

  Trisk’s gaze went to Takata as the kid mumbled something that rhymed in his sleep. “Thanks for taking us to Cincinnati,” she said, and Ripley’s gaze lifted from the teenager, going from an expression of fond protection to one more dangerous.