Someplace to Be Flying

by Charles de Lint

  Annie shivered. "Back from where?"

  "The medicine lands."

  "But that's … impossible, isn't it? The medicine lands are long gone. They only exist in our memories."

  "That's why he never came back."

  "I always thought it was the cuckoos," Annie said. "That they'd poisoned him."

  "Oh, no," Maida told her.

  Zia nodded, a dark look in her eyes. "We always kill cuckoos when they even try to hurt someone we love."

  "Why … why did you never tell me this before?" Annie asked.

  "You never asked."

  Annie's gaze went from Zia to Maida, searching their unfamiliar solemn expressions for a flippancy that wasn't there.

  "No," she said finally. "I guess I never did."

  2.

  Dominique Couteau picked up Raven's pot as she had dozens of times since she'd finally acquired it this morning. She studied the chalice against the window of her hotel suite, noting the way the light played against the facets of the crystal and the small figure curled up where the stem met the bowl, and was no closer to understanding how it worked or what the figurine was than when she'd first held both in her hands.

  Cuckoo lore concerning the pot said nothing about its ability to change into a shape such as this, nor that there would be anything inside it. It frustrated her to no end to know that now she'd have to ask Cody about it. She'd expected Cody to be out of the equation by now. They'd only needed him to find the pot and he hadn't even been able to manage that, tangling everything up in complicated plans involving far too many others. The corbae weren't even supposed to know that her people were in the city, but Cody appeared to have mismanaged that as well. It was no wonder his plans never resolved as he expected them to. The man was a walking advertisement for incompetence.

  But audacious, she thought. She'd have to give him that. Cody walked large, with more to him than first met the eye. In that way he was much like this pot of Raven's. She'd always known it was potent, but who would have thought it could also be such an object of beauty? The only anomaly was the figure curled up in its bottom.

  She tipped the chalice, as she had before, but the figure never shifted. It was the same when she'd tried holding it upside down, tapping the chalice against the suite's plush carpet, or tried to poke at the figure with the end of a clothes hanger. She hadn't quite been ready to risk putting her hand inside to try to pluck it out. There was too much enchantment caught up in this pot of Raven's for her to chance that. All the stories concerning it revolved around one's stirring it—not with a ladle or any other object. It was always one's own flesh and bone.

  She could be patient, she thought, as there came a knock at her door. But not for too much longer.

  Setting the chalice down on the mahogany side table once more, she crossed the room and opened the door to find her son Armand in the hall.

  "What is it?" she asked, easing the sharpness of her question by patting him lightly on the cheek.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you, Maman," he said, "but Gerard called up to tell me that Cody is in the lobby."

  She sighed. "Ah, Cody."

  "Should we deal with him now?"

  "Unfortunately, no," Dominique told him. "It seems we still have need of his services."

  The disappointment in his features was obvious.

  "Oh, don't look so put out, mon cher." she said. "Soon you will be able to have your fun."

  Armand nodded and touched the "Hold" button on his cell phone. "Send him up," he said into the speaker. Returning his attention to Dominique, he asked, "Shall I wait in the suite with you, Maman?”

  "No. Let him think we still trust him. I have left the connecting door unlocked. And, Armand?" she added as he began to turn away.

  "Oui, Maman?"

  "What word on the blackbirds?"

  "Still nothing."

  "Bon."

  The trick to leadership, she'd long since discovered, was to always appear assured of oneself and in control. So she hid the worry that the corbae had yet to move against them. So many of her people in their city—when had the crows ever allowed such a thing before? What could they be planning? She was not so foolish as to imagine they weren't planning something.

  She walked back to the table and sat down, gaze drawn back to the chalice.

  Or were they still too busy searching for this lovely jewel that she'd managed to pluck from under their beaks?

  "It's open," she called when there was another knock on the door.

  Cody stepped inside, his handsome presence filling the room as it always did. It was easy to see how so many could fall under his spell with no more than a kind word and a smile from him. But she'd taught herself to see through his charm.

  "Now's that really so smart?" he asked as he closed the door behind him, then engaged the lock. "This isn't New Orleans, darling. You're sitting in crow city now and nobody's got any reason to love you here. I'd lock my doors if I were you."

  He leaned with his back against the door, tall in his cowboy boots, coyote grin in the dark eyes that were half-hidden under the brim of his hat.

  "I am not unprotected," she told him, her voice cool.

  Her gaze flicked to the door connecting her suite to that of her sons before she could stop herself. She returned her full attention to Cody to find him smiling at her.

  "Just so's you're playing it safe," he said.

  So he knew, she thought, her features giving nothing away. He'd probably always known that they would turn on him. Fine. She could be patient in dealing with him as well. She would treat him as a trusted ally for as long as it took for him to let down his guard.

  So she smiled back at him, guilelessly, as if to say, I know I should consider you my enemy, an ally for only as long as we need to work together, but you've charmed me too thoroughly.

  "We have reason to celebrate," she told him.

  "That's nice. About anything in particular?"

  She hid her impatience and gestured toward the chalice. "We have it."

  His reaction was nothing like she'd supposed it would be. She'd expected anger, since he'd made it clear when he first approached her that no one was to touch the pot if they managed to find it. It was too dangerous, he'd told her. Only he could handle it safely.

  But now Cody merely tipped his hat brim up with the tip of a finger and ambled over to where she was sitting. Taking a chair, he turned it around and sat down, arms folded across the back. His gaze rested for a long moment on the chalice, then finally rose to meet hers.

  "And what is it that you think you've got?" he asked.

  "Don't play games with me."

  "That works two ways, darling. Why don't you explain what I'm supposed to be so excited about?"

  "The photographer had the pot all along," she told him. "It was a moment's work to acquire it from her."

  Cody nodded. "Well, I can see how it would be … considering this isn't Raven's pot."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know," Cody said with a grin. "Cast-iron, big-bellied, has some weight to it. Not all delicate like this, though I will give you it's pretty."

  "The pot has never kept to one shape."

  Cody shrugged. "Maybe. But it's never had something lying at the bottom of it either. What is it you've got in there, anyway?"

  He leaned closer, then sat back and gave a low whistle.

  "Now what?" Dominique asked.

  Cody's dark gaze lifted to settle on her. "You've got Jack's little red-haired girl in there, darling. How'd you manage that?"

  "She was there when we acquired it."

  "Uh-huh."

  "It's true."

  "That's not going to mean diddly to Jack. I heard he's been out looking for her and if he finds out you've got her, you better pack your bags, darling, and start in on running as far from here as you can."

  "What are you talking about? If you think—"

  "You just don't get it, do you? I was the first one of all of us to wake up in the l
ong ago, but who do you think I saw looking down at me from the trees? Corbae, darling. Not your little rooks and jays and 'pies, but the big guns: Raven and the crow girls. And old Jack Daw."

  "And your point is?"

  "Did you folks learn nothing from what happened in Freakwater Hollow? They don't just live forever, darling. They can't die. They're not like us. You can fire a half-dozen notched slugs into his head and he's still going to be coming for you."

  Dominique shook her head. "Everybody can die."

  "Then how come all those Morgans are gone and he's still walking? I heard there were some real crack shots living in the hollow, but they're all dead and not even you can believe he snuck in and killed them in their sleep."

  "No, but—"

  "So the point, darling, is you don't want to piss him off."

  "You're afraid of him, aren't you?" Dominique said.

  Imagine. Cody as much as admitting to a fear. Who would have thought his bravado would let him even hint at such a thing. But then he surprised her more.

  "Damn straight," he told her. "But the important thing to remember here is, I've got no quarrel with him. Never had and don't plan to."

  He rose from the chair and looked down at her.

  "If I were you," he said, "I'd have a real careful think on what you're doing here."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "Well, darling, call me naive, but I really thought we were working on the same wavelength—you know, we'd get the pot and then I'd give it a stir, return everything back to the way things were before I started screwing it all up. But I can see now you've only got a hard-on for some corbae blood, and I don't want any part of it."

  "You hate them as much as we do."

  "Wrong. We disagree some—I'll give you that—but I don't hate them. That's like saying you hate the moon and stars, things that just are. Things that are bigger than any of us."

  "But you wanted—"

  "I was sincere, darling," Cody told her. "I do want this world to end."

  "But the corbae—"

  "Have nothing to do with how it got screwed up. How can you not get that?"

  "Because you're not making a great deal of sense," Dominique said.

  "That's because you never made much of an effort to get to know me, darling. See, the thing is, I'm tired. Tired of all the pain I hear and see and feel. Tired of being on the road, of having nobody I can call a friend to walk beside me. Tired of people being so damn ugly to each other. It gets to be like broken bottles in my head, grinding away against each other. I'm tired all the time. Tired of trying to help and just making things worse. Tired of the lonesome dark. But mostly I'm tired of the hurt and pain. There's too much of it and I can't stop it. I can't even bear to look at it anymore."

  This was a Cody that Dominique neither recognized nor understood.

  "So I wanted to put an end to it," he went on. "Get things back to a time and place when things could be good again. I thought that was what you wanted, too. To get your people to stop playing all their little hoodlum games and regain the dignity they had in the long ago. But you know, when I look back in my head to that time, the corbae are there. Truth is, I'm not all that sure there'd still be a world, you take them out of the equation."

  Dominique's lip curled in a sneer. "You're pathetic."

  "You're not the first to call me that, darling, but the funny thing is, it almost feels like a compliment, coming from you."

  "I won't let you stop us."

  "I'm not even trying. This is between you and the corbae. Me, I'm heading back out into the high country to wait for the fallout to settle down. Maybe we'll see each other again, but I'm doubting there'll be much of you left to sweep up once the crows get done with you."

  "How charming," Dominique said. "Go then. But not before you explain how the pot works."

  Cody shook his head. "Maybe you've got the genuine article there, and maybe you don't. But there's one thing you have to know about the pot, darling. Everybody's got to figure out on their own how it can work for them."

  "It wasn't a request," she told him.

  She knew Armand had been listening. Now the door connecting to her room opened silently and Armand stepped through.

  "You see," she began. "We can't simply let you—"

  She blinked in sudden shock. One moment Cody had been empty-handed, now he stood with that pearl-handled .45 in his hand, the muzzle of its long barrel pointed at her head.

  "I guess you don't hear too well," Cody said. "When I told you I was out of it, I meant it. Now, I'm no corbae, so I figure that little jackass boy of yours might put a couple of shots in my back and do me in, but I'm still going to live long enough to kill you and probably him. So what's it going to be? Am I walking out of here, or are we all leaving in body bags?"

  Looking into that flat dark gaze of his, Dominique knew he wasn't bluffing. She found herself thinking of how only moments ago she'd called him pathetic for being afraid of Jack Daw. But now, with death staring him in the eye, he seemed, from the twitch that now touched his lips, to be almost amused.

  She swallowed dryly.

  "Is that a clock I hear ticking?" Cody said.

  "Maman?" Armand asked.

  "Leave us," she told her son. "Everything is under control."

  "But—"

  "Do as you are told."

  When the door clicked shut behind Armand, Cody's .45 vanished back under his jacket as magically as it had appeared.

  "I'll be going now, darling," he said. "Can't say it hasn't been fun."

  "The blackbirds …"

  "I told you, I'm out of this."

  "You won't warn them?"

  Cody tipped a finger against the brim of his hat. "You have my word on that."

  "Then there will be peace between us," she said. "If you keep your word …"

  Cody smiled. "I'm like the devil, darling. I always keep my word—right to the letter."

  When he left, she turned to look at the chalice once more, troubled by Cody's parting comment, though she didn't know why.

  3.

  Crossing the foyer of the hotel, boot heels clicking on the wide expanse of marble floor, Cody spotted Gerard glaring at him from a chair by the door. Cody knew all about cuckoo pride, but he couldn't stop himself from making a gun shape with his fingers and pointing it at the man. He made a firing motion with his thumb as he went by.

  "Bang," he said.

  Then he went out the big oak-and-brass doors, tipped the doorman a ten-spot, and got into his long white Lincoln.

  He hadn't lied to Dominique. He was finished here—let the crows and cuckoos sort it out while he headed straight for the high country. And he'd keep his promise, too, just like he said he would. He wouldn't be talking to any crows on the way out of town—not that they'd listen to him anyway. But that didn't mean there was nobody else he could talk to.

  Picking up his cell phone, he flicked it open with one hand, then pulled the short antenna out with his teeth and hit the speed-dial for Ray's number. He was a little surprised when Ray actually answered. Cody'd thought for sure Ray would have thrown that phone away by now.

  "It's Cody," he said into the mouthpiece.

  "I told you," Ray replied. "I'm out of it."

  "Now, Ray. Is that a friendly way to answer the phone?"

  "What do you want?"

  Cody touched the down control for the driver's seat window and stuck his elbow out into the open air.

  "Funny thing," he said. "Turns out, I'm out of it, too."

  "So why're you calling me?"

  Cody could hear the suspicion in his voice.

  "Well, that's the other funny thing," he said. "I'm just on my way from Dominique's hotel room and you'll never guess what she's got in there."

  "I'm in no mood for games," Ray said. "Just tell it straight."

  "Straight it is. She's got herself something she thinks is Raven's pot. Looks like a crystal chalice, but I didn't put my hand on it so I can't say for s
ure."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Well—and this is something you might want to share with Jack, you two being so chummy and all lately."

  "I'm hanging up, Cody."

  "You'll regret it."

  He heard Ray sigh. "Okay. What's this big news?"

  "She's also got one of your granddaughters up there with her and her boys."

  "She's got—"

  "Don't say I never did you any favors, Ray," Cody said.

  He touched the "End" button and tossed the phone out the window. "Maybe now you'll know we really were friends," he added as he headed for the freeway.

  4.

  Kerry could feel her newfound confidence begin to wane as they crossed the long stretch of empty lots that lay between the school bus where they'd met Paris and the junkyard she was leading them to. It was hard to feel self-assured, let alone bold, right about now. She hated to be the center of attention and wasn't especially comfortable meeting new people in the best of circumstances. Knowing that Paris's friends would probably greet her with the same animosity Paris had at first only made her feel worse. But it was too late to back out now.

  They walked three abreast, the tattooed woman on one side of her, Rory on the other, the dogs ranging ahead of them. When they approached the front gate, which appeared to be the only break in the chain-link fence enclosing the junkyard, a larger pack of dogs appeared and the two groups barked at each other from either side of the fence, snarling, jaws snapping against the links.

  Kerry moved a little closer to Rory. The dogs sounded so fierce her pulse had begun to race.

  "Don't worry," Paris told her when she noticed Kerry's nervousness. "They just like to carry on. It'd be different if you were trying to break in or something, but you're perfectly safe with me."

  She pushed open one half of the gate and the dogs that had accompanied them slipped through the widening gap, immediately beginning to tussle with the ones that had been inside. Kerry let out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding when she realized that there was no real animosity between them. More importantly, none of them appeared to be interested in taking a bite out of her.