“Oh, well,” Saint said, “if there’s beverages to be snagged, then obviously,” so they left.
10
Hanging out with Tony was fun and all, and Saint was enjoying it, having a nice drink and a chat, but he couldn’t help but wish she’d just hurry up and go home, already. Then he could go burn that sanctuary place of theirs. The Hikurangi sickened him, now that he’d seen it, all those monsters playing at people. He’d burn it to the ground, burn it to ashes, burn it until there was nothing of it left and nowhere for them to hide. And then maybe catch a movie. He felt like popcorn.
He wished Noah was here. He just wanted to hang out with friends; was that really so much to ask? Tony was good company, at least.
“You smell of fire,” the fae woman said.
He paused. Glanced at her, wary. Tony was in the bar’s bathroom at the moment, and Hinewai, completely ignoring all the men (and a few women, and fair enough) staring at her covetously, was leaning forward on her stool, far too close to him for his liking, all jagged shadow eyes and perfect sharp teeth.
He had to play nice for a while, for Tony’s sake. She seemed like a sweet kid. Actually probably a year or two older than him, but – she was still a sweet kid. He stilled his fingers, which were inclined to tap at the bar restlessly. “Why thank you!” he said, with his sparkliest smile. “I must confess myself a little disappointed, though – this shampoo promised me something more along the lines of rainforest pomegranate, whatever that means.”
“What are you?” Hinewai said. “You saw me when no one else did. Are you a tohunga?”
“I have absolutely no idea what that means.”
“A witch-man, a man of power,” she said impatiently. “Of knowledge. There’s power in you, though not your own, I think. What are you, what are you doing here? Tell me!”
He leaned back a little, because he couldn’t help it. But he could at least pretend that it wasn’t because he was ridiculously intimidated, so he did pretend that, as best he could, like he was leaning back because he didn’t like the look of her. She reminded him unpleasantly of nightmares. (Buses, and rain, and blood wet-warm on his face, his memory of the whole thing a torn-open hole that hurt when he thought of it.) Could be that same woman, in actual fact, so he said, pleasantly, “Maybe you should try asking nicely, bitch,” and tapped his fingers against the bar again in a restless rhythm, half-threat. His head hurt.
What she did then was almost a grin, in the way that what sharks and skulls do are grins. “I can make you tell me.” Her hand curled around the flute-thing hanging at her throat. It was strange and shapely and made of bone and Saint’s heart was slamming against his ribs in panic. He was scared in a way that he hadn’t been when he was fighting the maero or the sea-goblins or any of the other things. There, the worst thing that could happen was physical hurt, physical pain – scrapes and slashes, bruises and bites. But this was his mind. If she really had the sort of power with her music that Saint thought she had then she could get into his head, she could twist it and shape it and make him… wrong. She could just wipe his mind completely, of course, or break it. But there were other things she could do; she could plant the seeds to make him a murderer or plant something deep in his brain to wake up at some signal, like hypnosis. She could break him in a thousand tiny subtle ways without him ever noticing. She could run around in the private little corners of his thoughts like they were her playground.
And then Noah was at his side again, like he’d never left, and his presence comforted Saint far more than he could say. Just standing there beside him, supportive. Saint swallowed. “Just try it,” he said, more gravelly than he intended. His heart was still beating fast, far too fast, and he wanted to plunge his face into icy water, he wanted to curl up in a ball but like hell was he going to let that stop him.
She cocked her head, her eyes very dark. “You are a fool and a sot, I think,” she said, “and nothing to be afraid of,” and she pulled the flute’s cord over her head, and Saint stood up and splashed his whiskey into her face. She spluttered and stared for a second, and it reminded him of birds of prey when they were wet, their beaks and eyes made ridiculous instead of alarming, all diminished by damp. He threw the glass at her as well, for good measure, but she dodged, dodged far faster than a human could, all lean arms and legs and white hair swaying. People were staring, had been staring since he splashed her. She brought the flute to her mouth, and he made a grab for her hand. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but he was sure that he didn’t want her to play that flute, and equally sure that he didn’t particularly want to set a room full of alcohol ablaze.
But she seized his hand before it could reach hers, effortless. She gripped tight. Saint had been expecting long sharp claws like every other atua creature ever had, but no, her fingernails were neat and elegant and pretty. That almost made it worse, the normality of it. Because she gripped tight, she gripped his wrist tight enough that his hand went limp and he whimpered without meaning to. He thought he could hear his bones crackling under the skin, could feel them grinding together. She gripped his hand that tightly without the effort even seeming to strain her, and she drew in breath to play –
Suddenly Tony was in between them, yelling, “What the hell?” and looking entirely terrifying.
They stood like that for a second anyway, Hinewai still holding the flute and Saint’s wrist, Saint’s other arm in the process of moving – he didn’t know whether he’d been planning to punch her or burn her; either would probably have been a bad idea. Then Hinewai released his wrist and took a neat step back. She smiled at Tony, her head tilted as though in tolerant confusion at the girl’s anger. Tony made a disgusted noise and switched her furious glare to Saint, raising her eyebrows. When he said nothing, she crossed her arms as well, and multiplied the glare by several dozen furnaces. He shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable. He glanced at Hinewai, who somehow still managed to look glamorous and perfect even with her glamorous perfect white hair dripping alcohol into a small puddle at her feet. He glanced around at all the people who were staring at the two of them wordlessly.
“… She dissed the All Blacks,” he said.
An ‘ahhh’ went around the room, and several people nodded, satisfied, as though that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. They went back to their drinks.
Tony did not seem inclined to nod in satisfaction and go back to her drink. “What the hell,” she said again.
Saint drew himself up tall. “I do have some patriotic pride, you know,” he said. “Can’t just let a thing like that slide, can I?”
“Saint,” Tony said, slowly, and oh, damn, her arms were still crossed, argh, how the hell did that manage to be so scary when she was such a tiny wee thing, “I had to explain to Hinewai what money was. There’s no fucking way she’s even heard of the All Blacks! Jeez!”
Saint widened his eyes at her, and clapped his hand over his heart. “What!” he said, shocked. “Are you saying that the All Blacks aren’t important enough?”
“I’m saying she’s kind of really stupid about human stuff,” Tony snapped, “and that there’s no way that even slightly makes sense, seriously.” She glanced at Hinewai. “What really happened? You looked like you were about to hurt him.”
Hinewai looked at the flute in her hand, then tried, guiltily, to hide it behind her back. Saint fought a mad urge to grin.
“She was,” he agreed. “She most certainly was. Hurting was definitely on the agenda. Before reading the last meeting’s minutes, even.”
Tony crossed her arms even more. “Hinewai,” she said, dangerously, “were you going to hurt this nice guy that I went to all this trouble to introduce to you to?”
“No,” said Hinewai hastily. “Of course not. That’s ridiculous. Why would you say that ridiculous thing.”
Saint stopped even trying not to grin.
Tony sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “Right. So, what – that’s your idea of being friendly, is it? Snapping pe
ople’s wrists?”
“I’d say it’s more just sort of agonisingly dislocated,” Saint said helpfully.
“Shut up, Saint,” Tony said, and glared at Hinewai even more, if that was possible. Hinewai looked like a cat who’d caught a mouse, only to discover that this was the sort of scary, dangerous mouse that turned around and bit it right on the nose – in other words, thoroughly confused and a little startled and almost scared.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think.”
And just like that all Tony’s anger left her, and she was a sweet adorable girl again. She heaved a sigh. “Ugh, you are so annoying,” she said almost gently. “Look, why don’t you go get some air, okay? Come back in when you’re better able to deal with people.”
Hinewai nodded, and wiped her face with the back of her hand, and went outside. Saint relaxed. He tried to sit on a stool and ended up half-collapsing onto it instead, trying to calm his breathing down. He really fucking hated patupaiarehe.
“You did well,” Noah said, and Saint smiled at him, a bit tiredly but real.
“Hey, have you figured out that thing that was bothering you?”
“Eh?” said Tony, looking confused, and Saint sighed internally. He’d have to hold off the conversation until Tony was gone.
Which was fine, because now that Hinewai wasn’t right there being all terrifying and argh argh argh, he was a lot more inclined to enjoy himself.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Your friend’s a little, uh… ”
“Yeah.”
“Yep.”
“Sorry.” Tony patted at his hand sympathetically. “Guess you’re not her,” and she went all Disney, “one true love, then? That’s what she’s searching for.”
Which was like a sliver of ice down his spine, painful and surprising, the memory: “I don’t think you’re my true love,” the girl on the bus had told him, dismissing him completely, and then her music clawed all memory of it right out of his brain, sloppily enough that splinters of it were left to stab at him whenever he tried to remember. He flinched.
“Yeah that’s definitely a ‘no’,” Saint said.
“Fair enough – she’s pretty horrible,” said Tony, looking fond. “I appreciate you trying, though. Really smooth!” she added, condescendingly, and he bristled.
“Of course it was. Smooth and suave is my middle name. Middle names. Uh. Middle phrase.” He grinned. “… My entire middle phrase is, of course, much more dramatic and eloquent. Presumably it involves rhyming.”
“‘Ode to Saint-ness’,” Tony said.
“Actually, I can’t decide whether I’d rather it be a Homeric-style epic or a limerick of some sort. Could you do both?” He scratched his chin. “There once was a guy named Odysseus, who …wanted to get back to his miss-ius… ”
“Or how about no,” Tony said.
Saint grinned. “Don’t even hate,” he said. “Uh, hey, I think I could use some fresh air too – do you mind if I vacate for a minute or two?”
Tony looked startled. “What? But Hinewai’s outside.”
Saint flinched a little. “Yeah, I… I’ll go out back.”
“Coolcool. Have fun.”
“You too! Uh, I’ll stand you this round. To make up for us all deserting you like this.”
“I think that we are going to be friends,” Tony said solemnly, and she ordered a pricy cocktail. Clever girl.
Saint had been to this bar a couple of times before, and he knew that there was a little alleyway before the bathroom, open to the air and customarily used for smoking and poorly spelt graffiti. He leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette with fingers that shook only a little.
“Well that was emotionally trying,” he said, going for ‘lighthearted’ and missing it by a long shot.
“You’re terrified of them, aren’t you?” Noah said, soft.
“Yeah,” Saint said, because what was the point of hiding that? “Her particularly. I think. I don’t know, I don’t… ” He rubbed at his face with one hand. “I don’t remember, not really.”
“They are cruel,” Noah said, “and have used you ill.”
Saint glanced at him. The ghost’s eyes were wide and serious, but Saint didn’t see anything like the condemnation that had been there when Saint so miserably failed at fighting the patupaiarehe guy in the suit. Or anything like pity, either.
“I haven’t exactly been handling it like a champion, let’s be honest here,” Saint said, and he stubbed the cigarette out on the wall despite the fact that he’d barely started on it. “Less lovably fearless, more… endearingly fearful. Charmingly burdened by emotional issues! Handsomely terrible at life.”
Noah tilted his head. “I can think of no one I would rather choose.”
“Ugh. Didn’t mean to fish for sympathy, sorry.” He sighed. “Trauma makes me all contemplative, I guess.”
“It would affect anyone so,” Noah said quietly. “You are not to be blamed.” He paused. “You’ve… you have been manipulated.”
Saint frowned at him. Noah looked… worried. “Hey, hey, don’t fret, pet,” he said, and then laughed a bit at the rhyme. “I’m fine. Honestly.”
“That is not entirely what concerns me,” Noah said, and he sighed. “Saint, I think we should stop.”
“Fine with me,” Saint said, glad of that. Conversations about actual emotions? More like wow no. He felt safe with Noah, more or less, but being vulnerable in front of anyone still made him deeply uneasy.
“Really? I –”
“So hey, what do you think of Tony?”
“She seems nice enough,” Noah said, looking a little wary. “I’m glad you’re making friends with her; it’ll be good for you to have friends in the atua community.”
Saint winced. “Hey, come on – just because she’s chummy with Madame Mindfucker doesn’t mean that she’s a close-knit part of the community, let’s not generalise here. That’s like saying you are, just because you’re a wairua or whatever.”
“I’m rather more and rather less than that,” Noah said. “That was just the simplest way to explain it.”
“Yeah, yeah. But you get my point.” Saint clicked his fingers to make a spark of fire leap up and dance in the air, just for a second. The sky was clear at the moment, and the stars burned cold and bright.
“I am glad you’re getting to know her,” Noah said. It sounded sort of stilted and awkward. Saint raised an eyebrow at him. “Truly!” Noah protested, though he still sounded less than convincing. “I, I’m glad your life is back on track to the extent where you’re comfortable pursuing, ah, romantic, um –”
Saint laughed out loud. It felt good to laugh. “I don’t want to date her, pet. Or fuck her, either. ’S not that kind of liking. Either of those kinds.”
“Oh!” Noah said. “Good. I mean, uh – truly? You don’t seem the kind of person to spurn any opportunity, based on what I’ve seen of you.”
“Mm, true,” Saint allowed. He paused. Considered. “… Yeah, true.” He rolled his shoulders and let out an exaggerated sigh. “But what can you do? When you don’t like someone, you don’t. And when you do, you do. That’s really all there is to it.” He stared intensely into his companion’s eyes. “Can’t do much about it. It’s destiny.” He leaned closer. “… Hormones. Whichever.”
“Rather fatalistic for a rule-breaker,” Noah said curiously.
Saint shrugged. “To be honest,” he said, leaning away enough to gesture with one hand now that he was warming to his topic, “I can like most anyone? I like people because they’re pretty, or interesting, or both. I tend to date girls mainly, though, just because it’s… I don’t know. Easier? You get less weird looks. And when you like a girl it’s a lot more likely, statistically, that she’ll like you back.” He shrugged again, holding up both hands like he was measuring something. “Most girls like guys. I’m a guy. It’s easy.”
“Easy is not something romance was ever described as when I was alive,” Noah said, looking amused.
“Well, yeah, I mean, even nowadays it’s far from perfect.” Saint shot him a glance. “Sometimes when I flirt with guys they don’t even realise that I’m hitting on them. Even when I’m really obvious about it. It can be kind of a pain.”
“You’re handsome and charming,” Noah said reassuringly, “I’m sure you’d never have any real trouble.”
Saint gave up.
“I’m gonna go talk to Tony some more,” he said. “You can just sort of – hang around the bar, I guess. Observe the aioli. Try and guess what’s in the mystery shots. A spirit looking at spirits! Gods I’m good.”
He turned to enter the bar, and found Hinewai standing in the doorway.
“Holy mother of fuck,” Saint said, strangled, and he took half a pace back. His legs felt wobbly, like they couldn’t support him. Burn her, burn her, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t, not yet. Tony would never understand.
Hinewai tilted her head. “Interesting,” she said. “So it is you.”
“Who’s me?” Saint said, stepping back. Oh. He danced a fireball in his hand, held it high in readiness. “Don’t tell Tony,” he said, warning, “don’t you dare,” and Hinewai laughed, a mirthless laugh with her head flung back to show the sharp of her teeth, the curve of her neck.
“You think to threaten me, foolish mortal thing?” she said.
“Yup,” Saint said, fighting to keep his tone light, fighting not to show any of the terror that still boiled in his stomach at the sight of those black eyes, the sound of that lilting voice, soft and cold as death. “How are you even friends, anyway? I mean, come on. You’ve gotta be manipulating her somehow, right?”
The Wind City Page 21
