Widdershins

by Charles de de Lint

  But it explained a lot. It explained how the battered toy bear from the story had become this powerful creature standing at her side. And it raised some horrible questions in my mind.

  Was my brother Del really here as well, perhaps transformed into some even more monstrous version of himself, made gigantic and even more fierce, the way that Prince Teddy Bear had been changed?

  And what about my body? White Deer Woman said I was here in my body. That it wasn’t still lying in a bed in that hotel in Sweetwater. Did that mean I was somehow trapped in my own mind?

  I can’t even start to understand how that would work—how it would even be possible.

  “Mattie,” I say.

  But she shakes her head before I can go on.

  “I need to think about this,” she says. “About what we’re going to do to you. Maybe we can give you to him, and he’ll leave us alone.”

  “No,” I say. “We need to face this together.”

  But I’m too late. She and the bear are gone, and I’m alone in the woods again.

  I look around myself, starting at every sound. Bird calls make me turn my head quickly, looking for the source. Because Del used to be able to mimic bird calls.

  The rustle of a squirrel in the underbrush sets my pulse into quick time.

  This is crap, I tell myself. I’m a grown woman now. I can deal with Del. My brother’s just your everyday human freak with a yen for abusing his sisters, not some otherworldly monster. These days he’s nothing more than a fat old drunk, arms covered with jailhouse tattoos, living in a trailer park where, according to my sister Raylene, folks call him Bottle.

  Except, Mattie’s still scared of him, and she has a giant protector at her side.

  And I don’t have to work too hard to call up the way I saw him as a little girl: big as the world and twice as mean. If that’s the way he is here, no wonder Mattie’s scared of him, even with Grath to protect her.

  I don’t have anyone to protect me.

  I don’t have anything.

  Grey

  After a fruitless night of walking Newford’s streets, dawn finds us on Palm Street near Vine, standing by the entrance of Jimmy’s Billiards. Officially, the pool hall on the second floor there above us would have closed at three, but looking up, I can still see light spilling from its windows. That’s the way it is—it’s always open for cousins.

  Jack leans against the brick wall of the building as he rolls himself a cigarette.

  “You want to grab a beer?” he asks.

  “Sure, why not. It’s not like we’re doing anything useful on the street.”

  He gives me a look and I’m afraid I’ve given him the wrong idea, like I don’t think he can do the job. But I know that he’s more than capable. We might not have found the bogans yet, and he talks way too much for my liking, but his skill as a tracker and his instincts as a hunter are astonishing. Where I couldn’t see a thing, Jack found the traces of the bogans’ trail that led us straight back to the city. Okay, so then it finally got lost in all the fairy traffic this place supports, but no one could be expected to sort through it all to find the one trail we were following.

  Jack has an eye for an ambush, too, and while there were never bogans waiting for us at any of the likely sites, I have to admire the way he sifts through the possibilities. And let’s face it. I’d rather he errs on the side of caution than for us to walk unsuspecting into a firefight.

  I don’t think these skills are necessarily just canid traits. I’ve met others of the dog clan who don’t have near his smarts. I figure it’s because he can be so single-minded when he puts his mind to it. Sure, it’s obvious that he likes to talk and joke—there’s always humour dancing in his eyes—but he also seems to know just when and how to get a job done, and then follows through.

  “Look,” I start to say.

  But Jack just claps me on the shoulder. “Patience. You blackbirds don’t know how to hunt. Mostly it’s a waiting game.”

  “I can wait.”

  “Yeah, but are you patient when you’re waiting, or are you chomping at the bit? See, that makes all the difference. Now, I’m not the most patient canid you’re going to meet—I mean, Cody can take a hundred years to make sure a deal plays out just the way he wants—but I’ve learned that calm persistence gets a man a lot further than a lot of aimless running around.”

  “Which is what we’ve been doing all night,” I have to say.

  Jack shrugs and holds the door open for me.

  “Except,” he says, “we also paid our respects to Walker’s daughter, and we now know a lot of places where these bogans aren’t.”

  I smile. “I could name you a thousand off the top of my head.”

  “Sure. A thousand unlikely places—but unless you actually check them out for yourself, you’ll never know for sure. Now, are you coming in, or do I have to hold this open for the rest of the night?”

  “I’m coming.”

  I follow him up the steep stairs to the second floor. The door to Jimmy’s is closed, but it opens when Jack gives the wood panels a push and then we step into the pool hall.

  Jimmy’s turtle-blood. I’ve heard it said that he carries the world on his shoulders—you know, like he’s that turtle, took on the weight back in the long ago, when Raven brought everything into being. Maybe it’s true. Maybe the good-natured owner of the pool hall was actually there when time and the world began and accepted the responsibility from Raven. I don’t know. What I do know is that for as long as I can remember, there’s been a pool hall, an inn, a tavern—some establishment where the cousins can gather that’s called Jimmy’s. And waiting inside, there’s always this same thick-set man with a half-smoked cigar sticking out of the corner of his smile.

  He says hello to us with a nod, like he just saw us yesterday, and starts to draw two pints without our having to order. But that’s not magic. This time of night, what else would we be here for?

  “There’s my friend Joe,” Jack says. “Remember I told you about him?”

  He nods toward the other end of the room where a tall man in jeans, cowboy boots, and a leather vest is talking to a half-dozen men who all have the dark skin and sleek, jet black hair of the corbae clan. A long black braid hangs down to about the middle of his back. Most of the men he’s with are crows, although one’s a rook, a little shorter than the others but wearing the same black shirt and jeans as the rest of his companions.

  Jack reaches into his pocket to pay for our beers, but Jimmy waves the money off.

  “First one’s on the house tonight,” he says.

  “Thanks,” Jack tells him, then turns to me. “Let me introduce you to Joe. Hell, he might even have some information for us. Sooner or later he hears about pretty much anything that happens in this city.”

  So I follow him to the back of the room where we come in on the tail end of something his friend Joe’s saying. We’re too late for the details, but it’s enough for me to pick up that he’s looking for someone, too.

  “Who’d you lose?” Jack asks.

  Joe turns. He nods a vague greeting in my direction before answering the canid. I hardly register what he’s saying for a few moments, because I’m still adjusting to that momentary weight of his gaze on me. Now I know why Jack calls him Crazy Dog. I never saw eyes like that: part clown, part I don’t know what. Spooky and dark. I’ve seen my share of that kind of cousin, but never anybody like this.

  “Jilly’s gone missing,” he tells Jack. “I was just asking the boys here to keep an eye out for her in their travels. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”

  “No, but we weren’t looking for her. This connected to what happened the last time with that wanna-be canid?”

  Joe shakes his head. “No. How many times do I have to tell you? Her sister’s cool now.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I don’t know. I’d laid a safeguard on her awhile back, and something sprung it, but it didn’t take her back to the Greatwood like it was
supposed to.”

  The corbae he’s been talking to begin to drift away. A couple who’d been playing a game rack their cues, then they all head for the door. The rook picks up a beer from one of the side benches, downs it, then pauses before he follows the others.

  “We’ll get the word out,” he tells Joe.

  “Thanks. I owe you.”

  The tall, dark-haired rook flashes his teeth in a humourless smile and shakes his head.

  “We don’t keep a tally for this kind of thing,” he says.

  Joe nods. “Thanks.”

  Jack leans against one of the wooden support pillars scattered throughout the pool hall and takes a sip of his own beer as he watches the corbae leave.

  “You should’ve let that woman of yours set the spell on Jilly,” he says, turning back to Joe. “You always screw that kind of thing up.”

  “I’m not really in the mood for jokes,” Joe tells him. “I’ve been in and out of the otherworld all night, trying to get a lead on either Jilly or the Old Woman, and I haven’t had much luck with either.”

  “How’d Nokomis get involved?”

  “I don’t know that either. She just came up in the cards Cassie drew for me.” He looks at me before returning his attention to Jack. “Can you give me a hand on this?”

  “We’re on a hunt of our own,” Jack says. “Trying to track down some little bogan freaks that thought it’d be funny to use Walker’s daughter for target practice and a Happy Meal.”

  “Aw, crap. Did she pull through?”

  Jack shakes his head. “Tonight was the second night of her blessing ceremony. You know the cerva—they aren’t going to do anything—so we thought we’d bring a little justice to the problem.”

  “I understand,” Joe says. “Thanks anyway.”

  “I didn’t say we wouldn’t help,” Jack tells him. “What you’ve got seems like it’s a bit more time sensitive than our gig. It’s not like those bogans won’t be around tomorrow.”

  He turns to me to see if I agree.

  I hesitate. I think about what had happened to Walker’s daughter, what might happen to somebody else who got in the way of this pack of bogans.

  “Who’s Jilly?” I ask.

  “A human with a shine on her like you wouldn’t believe,” Jack says before Joe can answer. “And she’s got friends in high places: Raven, the crow girls, us. Not to mention the Old Woman herself, or at least the aspect of her that people call the Mother of the Wood.”

  “Who’d mess with someone carrying that kind of medicine?”

  Joe’s gaze goes flat and hard—the clown in his eyes completely gone.

  “Somebody who’s tired of living,” he says.

  “They go way back,” Jack explains to me. “Jilly and Crazy Dog here. You’ve never met a woman like her. The world can’t seem to stop throwing crap at her, but all she does is shrug it off and keep on trucking. Always has the time and a kind word for anybody that needs it. Sort of like Walker’s daughter—you know, that deep, peaceful nature the cerva have down pat—except Jilly’s proactive, too. She’ll try and fix anybody’s unhappiness, if it comes to her attention. And if it can’t be fixed, she’ll comfort.”

  “Sounds like a saint.”

  Jack shakes his head. “No, she’s just a person who lives her life the way we all should.” He smiles, then adds, “Short version: she’s a big story in a little package.”

  That actually wakes an answering smile from the grim-faced Joe.

  “I know I promised I’d help you,” Jack goes on, turning back to me, “but I’m wondering if we can put a hold on tracking down our little bogan freaks—just until we get this business with Jilly resolved.”

  I guess I don’t really have to give it that much thought. It’s not hard to weigh the fate of someone still nameless that the bogans might hurt against that of someone who needs help right now. And like Jack had said, it’s not like the bogans won’t still be around tomorrow, or the next day.

  “What can we do?” I ask.

  “Let me check in with Cassie,” Joe says. “See if she’s got any news.”

  As he walked over to the bar to use Jimmy’s phone, Jack puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “I appreciate this,” he says.

  I shrug. “Like the rook said, nobody keeps a tally for this kind of thing. It’s what sets us apart from the ones that came after.”

  “Humans aren’t all bad.”

  “I know. Just like cousins aren’t all good. But our word still means something.”

  Jack looks like he has something he wants to add to that, but then Joe rejoins us.

  “Anything?” Jack asks.

  “Nada,” Joe says.

  “So, what do you want us to do?” I ask. “If we split up, we can probably cover more ground, but you’ll have to tell us where you’ve already looked.”

  Joe shakes his head. “I’ve already checked all the obvious places.”

  “Sounds like us and our bogans.”

  “So I figured to try something different,” Joe goes on, “and I could use some backup—just to put up a stronger front.”

  I’m not sure where this is going, but Jack seems to have an inkling.

  “Just what are you saying?” he asks.

  “I want to petition the fairy courts for some help. They see places we don’t.”

  “Why would they help?” I have to ask.

  Joe turns to me. “Don’t know that they will. But Jilly’s got ties in their world, too. That might make the difference.”

  “Jilly doesn’t see any difference between people,” Jack explains to me. “Fairy, cousin, human—she takes them all at face value. But the interesting thing is, they reciprocate. I don’t know any place she isn’t welcome, except for some of the Unseelie Courts.”

  “I’ve got to meet this woman,” I say.

  “I’m hoping you’ll get the chance,” Joe tells me.

  “Who do you want to try?” Jack asks.

  Joe shrugs. “Hell, why not start at the top and see what Tatiana McGree has to say?”

  I just shake my head. I might not spend any time in the city, but even I know that name. Like the Queen of all the Newford fairy courts would even grant us an audience.

  “You sure you don’t want to call in a few more bodies?” Jack asks. “Maybe grab us a flock of those blackbirds like you were talking to? You know, show her we’re really serious.”

  “Nope. Then she’ll think we’re trying to force the issue.”

  “And we’re not?”

  “First we’re going to play nice,” Joe says.

  “You know if fairies are involved,” Jack says, “she’s never going to give them up.”

  I nod in agreement. Fairy are all about keeping their skeletons to themselves. They’ve got this big colonization mentality—the way they see it, only fairy can lay judgment on another fairy.

  “We don’t know fairies are involved,” Joe says.

  Jack shoots back a sudden fierce grin.

  “But this is as good a way as any to find out,” he says. “I get it.”

  I do, too, though of the three of us, I think I’m the least happy with the idea. Because if fairy are involved, what exactly does this pair of canids think we can do?

  But all I say is, “Count me in.”

  I’ve already made the commitment, given my word. I’m not like some humans, ready to take it back the moment the going gets a little tough. But I’m wondering about Jack’s earlier caution about not wanting to start a war by taking out the wrong pack of bogans. This Jilly must be something really special.

  I’m looking at Joe, not letting any of that show, and he gives me a nod, those crazy eyes of his glittering like he’s ready for anything.

  I get the feeling he probably is.

  “Let’s do this thing,” he says.

  Geordie

  By the time Cassie arrived, I was a jumble of nerves. It was only forty-five minutes from when I’d talked to her on the phone—not even ten o’
clock yet—but it felt like it had been hours. Hours of rattling around in this hotel, wanting to be doing something, anything, only there was nothing I could do but wait. It got to where I couldn’t be inside anymore—not in the room I was sharing with Jilly, not in one of the other band members’ rooms, not in the cafe or the bar. So I went outside, walking up and down Main Street a couple of times before I finally took the stairs across from the hotel and went down to the waterfront.

  The others checked in with me from time to time, but mostly I was there on my own, looking out across the water, worrying. Con had just left when Cassie arrived with the crow girls, who’d given her passage through the between. It wasn’t that Cassie couldn’t navigate the between herself—it’s just not the same for humans as it is for spirits. We really need to have been, at least once before, to the place we’re going, otherwise we’d take just as long to make the trip as if we’d gone by more conventional methods.

  I’ve never learned the trick of it myself.

  They made quite the sight and would have cheered me right up if I wasn’t so worried about Jilly. Cassie was her usual flamboyant self: bright yellow T-shirt which set off her dark skin and dreads, even brighter pink baggy cotton pants, purple running shoes. The crow girls were dressed in plain black T’s and jeans, but their hair was done up with what looked like a hundred barrettes and Zia was doing a handstand when they suddenly arrived on the pier beside me. Zia almost went off the edge of the pier, but she caught herself just in time. Maida clapped when she did a perfect flip to a standing position.

  Most people can’t seem to tell the pair of them apart, but I always have, right from when I first met them. I can’t tell you what the difference is because they sure look identical. I just know.

  All three had big smiles for me, though in Cassie’s eyes I could see a trace of the worry that I was feeling. I couldn’t tell what the crow girls were feeling, but then who can?

  “Hello Geordie-Pordie,” Maida said. “Don’t you worry anymore.”