Wayfarer: A Tale of Beauty and Madness (Tales of Beauty and Madness)

by Lili St. Crow

  “Fletcher?” Ruby’s expression was a study in pantomimed disbelief. She sized him up, from top to toe. A ripple ran through the crowd of schoolgirls heading for buses and cars, some of them straining to see who the interloper was. “Noseboy? Ave the Rave? Thought you’d end up on a kolkhoz.”

  It didn’t faze him in the least. “Go steal a chicken, de Varre. I graduated early once I quit skipping, you should try it. Hi, Sinder.” He shifted his weight, slightly awkward. “I thought I’d come and see if you wanted to hang out. Saw you at the train station the other day.”

  “I couldn’t stop,” Ellie mumbled. Cami was utterly still, probably with amazement. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, your mom looked in a hurry.”

  “She’s not my mom.” It burst out, and she stared at him, chin raised, her free hand curling into a fist.

  Again, unfazed. “Does that mean you don’t want to hang out?”

  “N-no.” Cami’s arm loosened. “She does.”

  For a second everything paused. Even Ruby was speechless, for once. She stared as Cami slid her arm free, grabbed Ellen’s shoulder, and gave her a little push. “Y-you bring her home safe, too.” The Vultusino girl fixed Avery Fletcher with a piercing, blue-eyed glare, spacing each word deliberately. “Or I’ll g-get you.”

  What the hell? “Cami—”

  “Go.” Now Cami scowled at her, with a softening around her pretty mouth to take the sting out of the look. “Go on. You n-need a break.”

  “I have homework.” Ellie couldn’t manage more than a hoarse plea for Cami to take pity. “I don’t think—”

  Ruby had caught on. “Please,” she snorted, tossing her coppery mane. “As if we won’t catch you up. I can do your handwriting standing on my head. Ta-ta, lovebirds. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” She proceeded to drag Cami away, her laughter a bright fluttering ribbon over the surf-noise.

  Leaving Ellie, cheeks afire and mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies, gawping at Avery Fletcher.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. The bubble of silence around them drowned out the staring, the giggles, the engines of the small luxurious buses grumbling.

  “Hi.” One corner of his mouth hitched up, tentatively, and Ellie realized she was actually dizzy.

  She got a breath in, closed her mouth, and shrugged. “Hey.”

  “I parked in the visitor’s lot. You, I mean, do you need to call, or check in, or . . .” A little puzzled now, like he couldn’t quite figure out what he was doing here. Of course, neither could she.

  He’s asking if I have to call home. “No.” If Dad had been alive . . .

  It was as if he’d read her mind. “I heard. About your dad.”

  “Everyone did.” As soon as it was out of her mouth, she regretted it.

  Now he didn’t look uncomfortable at all. The sun painted streaks in his hair and lit up his eyes. “I guess so. Look . . . I’ll drive you straight home, if you want.”

  “No.” What am I doing? “Somewhere else. I mean, I could go somewhere else.”

  The smile took over his whole face, then, and she saw the ghost of the kid he’d been, throwing sand at her and taunting. There was something else, too, some shadow she couldn’t quite place. It would take time and thought to suss it out.

  He didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. Instead, he offered her his hand, as if they were at a ball, about to waltz among streamers and glittercharms. “Sure. Anywhere you want. Come on.”

  TWELVE

  THE CAR WAS AN OLD PRIMER-PAINTED DEL TORO THAT nevertheless purred when he twisted the key. The Fletchers could of course afford better, but Ellie decided not to ask him why he was driving such a heap. He grabbed the steering wheel and shot her a look as the engine settled into its silken rumble, but Ellie stared straight ahead, at St. Juno’s rising gray and colonnaded above the sweeping bank of its front stairs. You could see the Mithraic temple it had once been, and the giant tau cross worked into the masonry above the arched front doors was a frowning algebraic symbol.

  He didn’t drive like Ruby, which was a relief. In fact, his driving was damn near sedate. Ellie sat, ankles crossed demurely, and stared out the milky-edged windshield, charmglass growing a cataract just like outside Mother Hel’s office. After they turned left on Holyrood Street, massive oaks stretching their green arms overhead, he finally cleared his throat, and she almost flinched.

  “So where do you want to go?”

  I’m alone with a boy in a car. Dad would have a fit. Her heart was beating a little too quickly. She kept her face a mask. “I don’t care. Just not home.”

  “Huh.” Then, very carefully, “How bad is it? At home.”

  I should have known. “Pull over.”

  “What?”

  “Pull over.”

  He hit the signal, slowed, and turned right. The network of residential streets around here was old and thickly grown with oaks, elms, and huge beeches, the houses small but expensive. It was far away from the castles of Perrault; it was more like Woodsdowne, where Ruby’s clan lived, under the slim iron fist of her formidable grandmother. Edalie de Varre took a slice of every import and export through the Waste, and the Seven Families did too. Everyone took a cut in New Haven, it was how business was done . . . and sometimes, Ellie had desperate thoughts of mortgaging whatever she had to, just to get sent away.

  It wouldn’t be a solution. Nobody would help her for love, which just left credits. Of which she had a small—but growing—pile.

  She counted them up mentally, again. Even with the new charming on Southking, they still added up to Not enough. And here he was, asking her about home. About how bad it was. Like he could have any idea. Like she was a charity case to him, too. Everyone coming off their pedestals and casting bread upon the stagnant puddle that was Ellen Sinder.

  He braked to a stop in front of a small white-painted cottage, a violently lush bramble hedge greening early along its leaning picket fence, under the sunshine and leafshade. Ellie reached for her seat belt buckle, and was out of it in a hot second, reaching for the door handle.

  “Don’t.” He didn’t yell, but the quiet force of the word halted her hand.

  The engine sang to itself, softly running inside its carapace of metal and charmfiber. He hadn’t turned the ancient radio on, either. She could hear him breathing.

  “You ask me about home, and I walk.” Her throat was dry. The bruise on her arm gave a twinge, every muscle in her body tightening, ready for action.

  “Okay.” Did he actually sound frightened? Maybe. “Relax, Sinder. I don’t want you to walk.”

  Why not? “Just don’t ask.” Well, didn’t she sound ridiculous now. “Okay?”

  “I already said so. You think I drove all the way out here so you’d get out in a hurry?”

  “I don’t know why you drove all the way out here, Fletcher.”

  “Put your seat belt on.”

  She did, wishing the burning in her cheeks would go away.

  He pulled away from the curb, cautiously, and proceeded to drive through the neighborhood with mind-numbing slowness, punctiliously obeying every traffic law. She could actually sit and watch the world slide by outside the open window, a flood of fresh air teasing at her hair. It was a nice change from screaming while Ruby tried to kill them all, but she was already thinking about the hell she was going to catch if the Strep saw her getting out of someone else’s car. Or if she got home too late.

  If it wasn’t that, though, it would be something else. Laurissa was always finding something wrong. It didn’t matter what Ellie did one way or the other. So what if she was in a car with a boy?

  I should warn him about Laurissa. “So, Fletcher . . .”

  “Avery. You might as well.”

  Charming of you. “I didn’t even call you that at Havenvale.” She snuck a sideways glance, and found out he was smiling as he navigated the tangle of streets to the south of Juno.

  “Not my fault. Hunter’s Park?”

 
“What?” Her fingers knotted together. Maybe he drove so slow so his conversation could leave her in the dust.

  “Hunter’s Park. We can sit under a tree and hang out. Or if you’re hungry, we can swing through Dapper’s. I haven’t had a D-burger in a long time.”

  Her stomach cramped. Dapper’s DriveThru had been one of Dad’s all-time favorite outings. He’d take her there on Thursdays sometimes, so they could get berrybeer floats. I need time with my favorite girl, he’d say. For that brief span of time he was all hers, listening to her chatter, telling her stories, a warm sun-bath of attention. “They closed.”

  “Awww, nooo!” He actually smacked the steering wheel a good one, and Ellie’s heart leapt in her chest. She tasted copper. “Damn it. I leave for a measly year and a half and see what happens?”

  I’m sorry. For a moment the words trembled on her tongue. She shoved them away with an effort. Mithrus, what was wrong with her? She leaned against the door, and kept track of his hands with her peripheral vision.

  He was silent, checking the traffic both ways on Silverthorn Boulevard. He waited a long time for a clear spot, his fingers relaxed and his face set. The pulse beat in his throat, and the T-shirt stretched over his chest. He was built pretty solid, not at all the weedy kid she remembered.

  “You used to have braces, didn’t you?” Her own voice caught her by surprise.

  “Hated ’em.” His grin was like Ruby’s, strong white teeth. Muscle moved in his forearm. “You can relax. I’m not about to kick you in the shins and call you . . . what was it?”

  Ellie Belly. God, I hated that. “You called me a lot of names.”

  “Yeah, well. You know about guys.”

  Are you kidding? Juno’s all girls. “Actually, I don’t. So if you think that’s why I’m in the car—”

  “Mithrus Christ, Sinder, I’m just trying to talk to you. Been looking forward to it ever since I got home.” He reached over, snapped the volume knob on the radio—a Marconi, that was how old the car was—and Baltus the Golddigger was singing about the sealed train coming around the bend.

  “Baltus,” she said.

  That earned her a startled dark-and-gold glance. “You’re into blues?”

  “Dad was. He had a bunch of old vinyl rounds. Two-Tail Harry, the Montags, Screamin’ Jack Hellward—”

  “Vinyl? Really?”

  Yeah. The Strep put them all in the dustbin. I saved what I could. “Yeah.” Her throat was full. “He loved that stuff. My parents met at a Hellward jam before the band broke up. Mom told me I was a child of the blues.” Her mask was cracking, she could feel it. But the smile that was rising didn’t seem dangerous, because he was watching traffic. It was really nice, she decided, to be in a car with someone who wasn’t driving to impersonate the Wild Hunt.

  She had to repress the urge to make an avert sign with her left hand. He really had her rattled if she was thinking about kid horror stories. Still, with the fey, it paid to be cautious, didn’t it?

  He was talking again. “Damn. So you were conceived at a Hellward concert. That’s amazing.”

  Oh, eww. Trust a guy to go there. “It was their first meeting. I don’t know.”

  He actually laughed, and her own giggle took her by surprise. She rolled the window further down, and by the time he pulled into the parking lot of the low chrome bullet that was the Briarlight Diner—he was on a nostalgic kick for sure, because the last time she’d been here was way back in middle school—she was wiping her cheeks and her stomach ached. It was kind of like being with Ruby or Cami, except . . . her heart kept wanting to pound, and the world looked a little less dreary.

  He cut the engine, and BessieDean Browne’s throaty voice turned off midway through the howling chorus in Digging Mah Tatoes. “Come on, babe. I’ll buy you a milkshake.”

  She struggled for breath. “I don’t—I don’t have any credits.” It was a lie, but she had to save everything she could. Her escape fund was growing way too slowly.

  “I said it’s my treat. God, you think I’d take a girl out and make her pay for her own lunch? Come on.”

  Her stomach cramped again. She was hungry, but still. “I don’t—”

  He popped his door open. “Stay there.”

  Then he was gone, and the car was full of the sound of the engine ticking as it cooled. The Briarlight was a long low rounded building, shining from far away, but close up you could see the flecks and pits in its galvanized walls. It used to be the place to hang out in middle school, and there was probably still a chunk of the vanilla beechgum she’d habitually chewed stuck under a table halfway down and to the right. Navy vinyl seats, the smell of old grease—she could almost taste their waffle fries, crispy on the outside and fluffy inside. The waitstaff had been kids attending Haven Community College; some of them probably never left.

  Her door creaked as Avery swung it open. He was wearing engineer boots, she saw, and they were charm-brushed. She even caught a breath of cologne. Was he shaving already?

  How had he turned into this guy?

  “You’re gonna have a milkshake at least,” he informed her. “And even if you had credits, babe, I wouldn’t let you pay. And after that, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  “My name is not babe,” she returned. I’m actually sounding huffy.

  “It’s Ellen Anna Seraphina Sinder. I know.” He rolled his eyes, and another laugh caught Ellie sideways, spilled across the parking lot like gold. “I snuck into the office and read your transcripts. I know all about you.”

  “You did what?”

  “Milkshake.” He offered his hand. The braided leather bracelet on his wrist wasn’t charmed, it was just worn and faded, as if he’d had it a long time. “Please?”

  “All right.” She slid her legs out of the car. “You snuck into the office? Past the Titon?” Mrs. Triumph, that was her name. That red lipstick, and her gold necklace, and those liverspotted hands. God.

  “Yeah. Almost got caught.” He paused, and a cloud drifted over the sun. A cool wind touched the backs of her scabbed knees, and she brushed at her skirt to make it fall right. “I had to find out about you, though.”

  “Find out what?” What could possibly be interesting enough for him to brave that beast?

  His grin widened, if that was possible, and he swung the car door closed. “Anything I could.”

  • • •

  Inside, it was just the same, except there were no middle-school kids leaning over the backs of the booths, catcalling, pooling their allowance credits for greasy food and tall milkshakes in frosted glasses. The tough, cheap navy carpet was a little more worn, the corners were a little dirtier, and the faces of the waitstaff were a little grayer and older. Maybe the community college kids had moved on to a place that had better tips.

  Deserted and drowsy, the grill in back hissing and a tired iron-haired waitress in thick-soled shoes shuffling toward them with all the speed of a damned ship limping into harbor. For a second the past doubled over into the present and Ellie half expected to see Ruby in their old usual booth, her head thrown back and her short hair—she’d taken clippers to herself in middle school, and ended up looking waifish and adorable—glowing, a much younger Cami next to her with that slight pained smile and the scars she used to have, roping up her arms.

  Avery laughed, a short surprised sound. “Wow. Nothing ever really changes here.”

  Do you not see it? You’ve been away for a while, you should. “Some things do.” She essayed a bright smile for the waitress, who had finally hove into port.

  “Two,” Avery said, and Ellie shuddered inwardly. The woman’s left eye was filmed with a webby, milky covering. Was she a jack? They’d never hired jacks here before.

  Shuffling away, listing slightly to the side, the woman led them right to Ellie’s old booth. Ellie slid in on her old side, sweeping her skirt underneath her with a practiced motion. The vinyl was just the same—faintly sticky—but the table’s surface was clean, at least. The salt and pe
pper shakers were the same mismatched glass pair, but there was a new spray of artificial silk flowers in a small, cheap yellow plastic vase. New was only a relative term, since they were dusty and obviously had been battered a few times.

  The view out the window was just the same, too—the parking lot, mostly empty because nobody drove here, they cadged rides from older siblings or, in Ruby’s case, cousins, or were lucky enough, like Cami, to always have someone who could drive her around and most times pick up Ellie too.

  “You still have the old milkshake machine,” Avery told the woman, who blinked and nodded, dropping a couple yellowing, fluttering menus between them.

  “Oh,” she said slowly. “Thing breaks down twice a week an’ the cook charms it inta workin’ again. But still here, ayuh.”

  “Can we have two big ones? Chocolate? Unless you want something else.” He looked at Ellie anxiously, and she realized he was nervous.

  Why would he be worried, though? He was the one in charge.

  “Chocolate’s fine.” On impulse, she dropped her hands into her lap and waited for him to look away.

  “Two chocos.” The waitress turned and shuffled off, her hips thick and stiff, the hairnet over her graying bun tattered, bits of hair sticking out. There was another hiss and a muttered groan from the kitchen, as if something had gone wrong.

  “Wow.” He looked a little embarrassed, too. “Place has gone downhill a little. Sorry.”

  Her right-hand fingertips found a familiar bump on the table’s underside. It was beechgum, and it maybe still held the marks of Ellie’s younger teeth. A scalding wave of feeling—relief? Embarrassment to match his? Both, or something else?—roared through her.

  “It never was that uphill to begin with.” She searched for something else to say. Dropped her hand back into her lap. “It’s nice, though. It’s quiet. And you’re here.” Her cheeks still burned. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell.