Whai bristled. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“She’s nowhere near mad enough to be one of your kind,” said Ariki, “or wild enough, or dead enough.”
Whai jerked back like he’d been hit. His face went dangerous. Which was strange, because it had been dangerous all along, snarls and ferocity. Now there was a blankness to him, though. Tony thought of him by the pools outside, vulnerable, brokenness etched into the tense lines of his back.
Ariki looked to Tony like he rather regretted saying that. If so, he was too proud to take it back.
In a matter-of-fact way Whai grabbed Ariki’s tie and started to strangle him.
“No,” Tony said, too quiet. No one in the café moved to intervene or even looked concerned. What were they thinking? “No,” she said, louder, and she slammed her hand down on Whai’s hand hard enough to break his grip, then placed a hand on each man’s shoulder and shoved. Whai went flying in one direction, Ariki in the other, stumbling awkwardly into a table and clutching at his neck.
Tony stood there, breathing hard. More-or-less silence had fallen. The other atua were staring. She felt hideously embarrassed, now, but this wasn’t over yet.
“You!” she barked, glaring at Ariki. He pointed at himself questioningly. “Yes you, you poncy idiot! It’s okay to needle him, he needles you back, he can take it. But fight fair! Okay? And you!” She rounded on Whai, glaring. He shrank back. “You,” Tony said, more quietly, “are gonna be treated to a nice lunch and I might hug you some more. And stop gnashing your teeth at him!” she added, aggressively, and Whai wiped one hand across his mouth and nodded.
Better.
“What was that about?” she asked later, when they were sitting at their table. Whai had for some reason chosen to purchase an albino eel, all pink pits for eyes and slickly white scales, and he was eating it with an air of cheerful defiance. To antagonise Ariki, maybe. Maybe that was the atua equivalent of fighting. Like, instead of throwing beer at them and shouting FISTICUFFS, just being like, ha, dude, I am going to eat my eel menacingly at youuuu.
“Well of course coffee’s going to be more expensive here,” he said impatiently, “people don’t ask for it as often. A lotta folk don’t like hot things.”
“No no, not that,” Tony assured him quickly. Her mocha was frothy and delicious and basically worth king’s ransoms. Mocha was so good. “I meant with you and Ariki, before.” She glanced over at Ariki, who was cutting a raw and bloody steak into perfect cubes.
“The bickering and whatnot?” Whai had the decency to look vaguely ashamed. “He’s a prick! All patupaiarehe are pricks, but he’s the worst of ’em. Uppity little… ” He chewed on his eel vengefully. She was glad he was back to his normal self, but she was worried, as well – she couldn’t help wondering how much of it was a mask. Whether the real Whai was this silly exaggerated poser or the broken man she’d seen, or both.
“No, I meant… ” She chewed on her lip. “That stuff about him meddling with my mind? You sounded pretty serious.” This place felt cosy and safe, mainly, so that had jarred.
Whai looked surprised. “Well, it’s what they do. Patupaiarehe. They dance around in people’s heads. With music mainly, their kōauau or pūtōrino. Dumbass flutes,” he added by way of explanation.
“What?”
He waved vaguely with the hand that wasn’t currently wrist-deep in eel innards. “’S in all the stories,” he said. “They lure pretty humans away, make ’em live with them in the mist till they’re bored of them – or just make them spend the night, sometimes. Send them off on their way to pine and moan and in good time bear li’l halfblood babes.” He chewed thoughtfully. “It’s horrible, really. Stealing humans away like that.”
“Yeah.”
“Instead of just drowning ’em, like sensible folk.” He shook his head. “Patupaiarehe. They’re all thick.”
It was a mark of Tony’s distraction that she didn’t even pay attention to the drowning remark. “They – what, enchant people? With flutes?”
“That’s their gig, yeah,” Whai said. “Sound sorcery, guess you could call it, ’s like weaving a magic but with music ’stead of nets. Can make people think however they want them to without people even noticing half the time. Cowards!” he added disparagingly.
Tony thought about that for a second. Thought of coldly beautiful people like Ariki, like Hinewai, playing sweet music in misty mountain forests, luring people their way, twisting them to do their bidding. And then when they got bored? What then?
Playing music, and their pet human following it, eager, following the music until suddenly there wasn’t ground beneath their feet any more and they were falling.
Kōauau. Tony had noticed Hinewai’s flute the day after she moved in, had asked her to play it – it sounded sweet and wavering, like rain on the wind, and even just remembering it made goosebumps spring to life on her skin, made her shiver. I carved it myself, Hinewai had said. From the bones of an eagle, back when there were eagles. It hung from a tough string around her neck, and Tony had wanted to touch it, trace the cord’s path along that perfect pale skin, trace back to her neck, touch the jut of her collarbone, the curve of her jaw. Hold her close and feel the warmth of her.
Sound sorcery. They dance around in people’s heads. Can make people think however they want ’em to.
No. No no no. No. That couldn’t – no –
“Tony,” Whai said, poking at her, and she blinked and looked up. He was watching her with vague concern, and when she looked up he relaxed and smiled. “You well? This too much for you?”
“No, it’s… this is, I just.” She struggled for words. Couldn’t find any, nothing to fit the feeling of hurt and betrayal that was like a knife in her gut. Twist them to their bidding. “I – I just, this isn’t –”
“What’s ailing you?”
And, “I miss my boat,” was somehow what she said, staring down at her mocha as though it could divulge the secrets of the universe. “I just. I really just miss when I was out on the sea, showing people amazing things, making them smile, just – the salt, and the routine, and I just… miss my life, okay? This is nice, this is cool, and I’m pretty sure I’ll adjust really quick because that’s what I do, but… I miss it.”
Whai finished off his eel. He looked at her thoughtfully. “Hang on a sec’,” he said, muffled, because he’d started to take his shirt off, peeling it away from his blue skin. Tony sat there and blinked. Whai dumped his shirt on the ground beside his chair and stretched out, sighing. He looked a lot more comfortable. For some reason he glanced over at Ariki, looking almost smug, but when Tony looked as well Ariki was staring fixedly in the other direction.
Tony decided not to think about that.
“Are you trying to seduce me, is that what this is?” she said, grinning. “Are you trying to comfort me with your masculine wiles!”
“Ugh. Don’t be foul.” He wrinkled his nose. “I’m proving a point, is all. Looksee.” He leaned forward. He had gills, she noticed. Wow, cool. No wonder he’d been uncomfortable, though; they’d have to be sensitive, surely, so it couldn’t be nice to cover them up with chafing fabric. “The point I’m making here is something that somehow hasn’t gotten drilled into your thick taniwha skull yet, and it is: you are safe here. This is a home to all that need it. This is your home. Rest easy.”
Tony blinked at him. “Um?”
“He’s right,” someone said, and Tony blinked again and looked up at Rongo, the guy who’d been behind the café’s counter when they got their food. He looked – perfectly normal, actually, but given the kind of place this was he couldn’t possibly be. “This is a refuge, a peace place.” He patted her shoulder, comforting and warm, and gave her a crinkle-eyed smile. He reminded her of her uncle and she couldn’t quite figure out why; he just felt of safety, of home. “There’s spells to keep people safe here, woven into the fabric of it all. And anyway, no one would dare. None of our people would ever risk breaking the peace of this place.” (Th
at would explain why no one had seemed too concerned by Whai and Ariki’s squabbling, Tony thought; they must’ve known it wouldn’t come to fighting when all was said and done.) “This is our place.”
“Our place,” echoed a few of the other diners, almost reverently. A plump woman with bright feathers sleek against her skin gave Tony a friendly smile and nodded encouragingly.
Safe. She was safe. It didn’t matter if Hinewai was playing with her mind, or whatever it was Māui was doing that no one had properly explained yet, and it didn’t matter what she was or what the world was, none of it mattered as much as it had because she was safe here.
Tony sipped at her mocha thoughtfully.
“We could use some music,” she offered. She wanted to ask Whai what had happened to the other ponaturi – there weren’t any in the café, this whole bunch of strange creatures gathered together in harmony but not one other of his kind. What did that mean? But he’d only just gotten comfortable, finally, and she didn’t want to see him sad.
“Too strong a thing,” Rongo grunted.
“No, no, not the magic kind – well, if it’s magic it’s the normal kind of magic music has, making people feel all together and united and stuff and basically what I’m asking is, does anyone here know… ” She wracked her brain for a suitably patriotic band that they’d have a decent chance of knowing. Crowded House? Gin Wigmore? That song “Somebody That I Used to Know”? No, that was way too depressing. What the café really needed was something silly and vibrant and – ah. Perfect! She grinned like a madman.
“Anyone know Flight of the Conchords?” she said gleefully.
They did.
And that was how Tony ended up standing on a table to lead a mismatched bunch of atua in a rousing, surprisingly heartwarming group rendition of “Robots”. Once again without emotion, the humans are dead!
Later, as she was leaving, Whai caught her sleeve.
“Wanna go get a drink?” he said. He tilted his head at her. “I… never got round to telling you nothing of what I ought to. We were meant to be talking of Māui and how you can be of use. You’ve barely even swam yet, you sad little thing. Wanna go to the water and find out what you’re made of?”
“Insults aside, I’d love to,” Tony said. She stuck her hands in her pockets and sighed. “There’s… something else I need to do first, is all.”
He made an irritable sound. “Why you gotta be so –”
“Human?”
“Why you gotta be so determined and secure in your sense of self!” Whai snapped, hunching his shoulders.
“Uh.”
“’Cos this – this is to do with that net that’s on you, ain’t it,” Whai said, and she blinked at him. He shrugged. “Noticed it when I first met ya – well, when first we talked, I’d seen you before that plenty of times –”
“Oh god, you complete stalker.”
“– trying to figure out if you could help,” Whai finished, scowling. “But you barely even got the guts to take on whoever it is charmed you, dunno what I was thinking. I could come help, if you want,” he added, while she was still glaring at him. “Help kill ’em for you. It’d be a pleasure.”
Whai was the most ridiculous mix of sweet and infuriating. Quite a lot like family, in that respect.
“Tomorrow,” she said. He grunted. “I’ll bring… fish,” she hazarded, and he shrugged.
“Like I can’t catch my own food, it’s, it ain’t like there’s anything keeping me from the hunt,” he muttered. “Ain’t like my kin are… ” He trailed off. “Ain’t like they don’t listen to… ”
“I’ll bring liquor,” Tony said, “the really good stuff. And we can talk about Māui and after that go swimming or grouse about boys or something. We’ll have earned it.” And Whai’s face split into a snaggle-toothed grin.
6
Steffan drank coffee not out of inclination but out of necessity. In high school he’d always been fond of tea, just because it seemed like the kind of thing he ought to be fond of; now, though, he associated it with this one night that had been really quite terrible, so coffee it was, coffee by the gallon, by the bucketful, coffee enough that his bloodstream was caffeine and his waking hours were always.
Steff had a jitter in his leg by the time Saint appeared across from him, and for a second he just stared up at him, fingers curling around the handle of his cup.
“Saint?” he said. He’d almost forgotten about inviting him to meet him here. He certainly hadn’t expected Saint to show up, not after all his evasions. He was doing serious work; he’d brought his laptop and everything, was wearing his contact lenses instead of glasses in case of rain or absentmindedness.
“Heya,” Saint said. He saluted.
“I didn’t think you’d actually… ” Steffan said. He trailed off. “Have a seat, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Saint said, sitting, “I’d love a coffee, cheers. And a pie.”
“No.”
“A sandwich.”
“No!” Steffan said, exasperated. “I was objecting on account of my wallet, not your health.” Not that he couldn’t afford it, but he resented that Saint thought he didn’t even need to ask. Saint wouldn’t even like the food here, anyway. He didn’t like this place in general, Steffan figured; it was all subtlety and class, dark wood and shiny mirrors making it seem more open. The table Steff was at was cosied up to the storefront, sheltered by it, out in the air but out of the elements. It was all quite elegant. Plastic and chipped paint and jukeboxes was more Saint’s aesthetic.
“A really tiny sandwich?”
Steffan closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them again Saint was leaning forward, staring intently into his eyes.
“You look very handsome today,” Saint said. “Very clever. Very… ” He leaned forward still further, uncomfortably close. He smelled like smoke. “Generous,” he whispered.
Steffan glared at him and ordered a sandwich. Saint leaned back, lounging comfortably in his triumph.
Steff had always had difficulty being annoyed at him when he did this, right from the start he’d never gotten as angry as he should’ve.
They’d been friends since Steffan’s first day of high school – thank goodness; it would’ve been wretched otherwise. Saint later insisted, loudly and at length, that he’d approached Steff because he had seen ‘the gleaming golden shine of your sterling soul, and knew then that we were destined to be soulmate bros for the rest of our allotted existence’. But Steffan suspected it was mainly because he’d been stupid enough to say yes when Saint asked if he could have some of his wedges.
And so it had gone.
And now here Saint was, grinning at him across the table all self-satisfied and cocky because he’d gotten what he wanted, again, without even trying. Steffan wasn’t in the best of moods already – his research into the deaths had gotten nowhere, as he should’ve predicted. Like he was any good at anything in the real world. Stick to theoretical things, to facts and figures, he chided himself, tart, that’s what you’re good at. And on top of that here was Saint, his almost-friend, Saint who just did whatever the hell he wanted, and it didn’t matter what he did because there weren’t any hopes riding on him, and Steffan was jealous of that, sometimes. Saint’s parents never pressured him into –
He stopped himself there. Sometimes Steff wasn’t as good a person as he’d like to be – he could be snobbish, he knew, superior. And he got too tied up in his work sometimes. But even at his worst, he wouldn’t wish Saint’s family on anyone. He resolved to be polite, no matter how much Saint tried him.
“So, hey,” Saint said, “if you hypothetically had a phobia of beautiful elven psychopaths that sometimes wear suits for some reason and this phobia was getting in the way of your relationship with a co-worker, what would you do about it?”
“What the actual fuck,” Steffan said.
“I mean, not relationship relationship. I’m strictly professional.”
Steffan pinched his nose. “Not real
ly what I was asking about, Saint. When you actually showed up I thought you might’ve dropped this… ” He made a frustrated gesture. Normally Saint had enough respect for him to make his lies interesting, at the very least. He struggled for words. “… stupidness!”
The sandwich arrived, and Saint picked at it. “Mm,” he said, drawing out the word like a deliberation. “… Nah. Still being stupid. Awful sorry if it offends your delicate sensibilities, you southern lady you.” He seemed agitated, twitchy. He cupped a cigarette in his hand and lit it in a motion that Steffan couldn’t quite make out.
“I thought you quit,” Steffan said.
“I thought your face,” Saint griped back at him, and he blew smoke at him, grinning when Steff coughed. “Relax, pet. You’re not the one with the deadly elf problem.”
“I’m also not the one with the, the addiction problem,” Steffan said irritably, and Saint raised an eyebrow at him.
“How many cups of coffee have you had today exactly?” he said, looking amused, and Steff, who had been about to take a sip from his cup, sat upright and pushed it away. “Cheers,” Saint added, and he grabbed the tepid espresso and drained it.
Steffan tried to glare but found himself smiling a little instead. It was just such a Saint thing to do. He’d missed him.
Saint set the cup down and lifted the top off his sandwich, then gingerly let it fall again. Still staring at the bread, he said, “I’m not joking.”
“That would certainly be a first,” Steffan said.
“No, I. Seriously.” Saint ran a hand through his hair. “I’m in a bit of a bad spot. I wanted to talk to you. Honest.” He looked tired. Weird, considering how he was always boasting about his high-cost enviable dashing lifestyle, and how great it was, and how very thoroughly he didn’t need any friends or any help or anything at all.
Steffan closed his laptop. “Fine. Talk.”
Saint lit up, went from slumping and exhausted to sitting up with – well, if you could somehow swagger while being seated, that was what he did. “See, me and this colleague, I think he’s pushing me a little hard,” he said, “asking too much, kind of? He’s not… being very respectful about the aforementioned phobia thing. And, wow, I don’t have to tell you how odd it is for me to be indecisive on anything, I normally go in all hands blazing –”
The Wind City Page 11
