by Holly Black
“You’re persistent—I’ll give you that—but it’s never going to become an adorable little running joke between us, so stop hitting on me, all right?”
“You must at least give me a kiss. On the lips. A chaste one, if you insist, but I ask this much as payment for being your guide.”
Well, hell, it wasn’t like she’d never kissed a guy before, and she’d never kissed an elf before, so why not? She went up on tiptoe and planted one on his lips, held it for a moment, and pulled back before he had the chance to wrap her up in some dramatic, cheesy embrace.
He looked at her expectantly. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“The kiss … How was the kiss?”
“The total, and I’d guess eternal, lack of facial hair is a definite point in your favor, Al, but the fact remains: You’re a guy, and guys do not light my fire, curl my toes, or float my boat, so I don’t know what to tell you.” She shrugged. “Thanks again, and you should keep an eye open for my band: It’s called Allison Wonderland, and you’ll be hearing about us.” At the moment, “us” was a stretch, but in a place like this, it shouldn’t be hard to find some people to replace her bandmates. What had Louis XIV said? L’État, c’est moi? “I am the State”? Well, she was Allison Wonderland.
“I don’t understand.” Alaunus searched her face. “I kissed you. How can you still resist?”
“You’re not that cute, Al. Viva la resistance, is what I say.” Better break this off before it got even more uncomfortable. “See you around.” She waited until a big crowd of raucous people in black and silver came close, then swooped around in front of them and slipped into the throng.
She dodged around people and made her way toward The Dancing Ferret, hoping Al didn’t try to follow her. Surely he was just hoping to score with a newcomer. He’d get over it.
* * *
“You still give a free beer to the noobs?” Allie said, and the owner, Farrel Din—who demonstrated that even Truebloods could get pudgy—lifted one eyebrow.
“Noobs? I suppose we do. Welcome to Bordertown.” He slid a mug of foaming, oddly sedimentary-looking amber liquid toward her.
“So if you were an awesome musician looking to make a big splash on the scene in a hurry, where would you start?”
“That’s an excellent question.” He smiled affably and walked away, and after a moment Allie realized he wasn’t coming back. Oh, well. So much for the direct approach. She drained her beer, which was weird-tasting and probably elfin, but it was no weirder than some of the things she’d tried at that one brewpub-with-bands where they tried to re-create, like, nine-thousand-year-old Chinese or Babylonian beers based on incomplete recipes. Though she supposed maybe elfin beers were even older.
The Ferret was okay, but soon Allie hit the street, knowing she should find a place to lay her head but wanting to get a better feel for the scene here first. She went toward the next nearest club, one with a new-looking sign over the door reading “The Grand Conjunction.” There, she bribed the burly bouncer with a couple tablets of Adderall when he tried telling her the place was too full. She shouldered her way into a crowded, dimly lit space that had a handful of tables and a few booths along the wall, a stage about the size of an ironing board, and the familiar smell of sweat, guitar amps, and spilled beer. She checked out the band—cute lead singer, raw but rockin’ good sound—and moved in closer to the stage as best she could while hauling her guitar and bag.
Allie stopped when she saw Alaunus in a booth. He was snuggled up with a couple of scantily clad human girls on either side and was surrounded by human guys who didn’t look remotely jealous of the attention he was getting but who kept pushing drinks toward him and laughing uproariously at whatever he was saying. Alaunus caught sight of Allie and said something to one of the guys. He was six foot seven if he was an inch and was wearing a brown leather jacket that looked like it had lost a fight with a crocodile. The guy pushed his way through the crowd, took the bag and guitar from her like he was plucking petals from a flower, and jerked his head toward the table. Allie hesitated—she’d blown Alaunus off, and he was a weirdo, but there wasn’t anywhere else to sit in here, and maybe she’d been too hard on him. All those people cozying up to him surely saw something in the guy. She followed the nonjolly giant, and the girls in their shiny tops glared at her but moved aside to let her sit next to Alaunus. Figured he’d be surrounded by human girls. Elf chicks probably had a natural immunity to all the bullcrap he produced.
“Of all the bars in all the Border,” he said, leaning in to speak in her ear.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, thinking, What kind of elf quotes Casablanca? “What’s the band called?”
“Children of Paradise. They weren’t very good when they started out—all enthusiasm, no execution—but the lead singer had his heart broken, and the experience helped him creatively.” He leaned in even closer. “Would you like to meet them? They’re the hottest band in town, this week. If I asked, they’d let you sit in for a set, I’m sure. It couldn’t hurt your aspirations.”
“You’d do that?” she said, rethinking her whole attitude regarding the elf. Even his Michael Jackson jacket was starting to look retro-cute. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad—
“Of course. I’d be happy to do a favor like that for … someone I felt sufficiently intimate with.” He moved from whispering in her ear to nuzzling her neck, his lips latching on to her throat with lampreylike force.
She elbowed Alaunus in the ribs. His lips made a wet popping sound when they unsuctioned from her neck. Gross. The table was bolted to the floor, so she couldn’t flip it over, which was too bad. She settled for standing up in the booth, stepping onto the tabletop—knocking over plastic cups of booze and unlabeled bottles of homebrew beer—and then jumping down to the floor. She flipped Alaunus the bird with both hands and said, “Go suck a shotgun, asshole.” His girls gaped at her, and the big guy laid a hand on her shoulder. Alaunus looked at her with narrowed eyes but shook his head minutely. The big guy took his hand away, threw her bag and guitar case at her feet—she winced as the latter landed—and pointed toward the door. She picked up her things and used the guitar case as a club to clear a path, fighting off the adrenaline shakes.
That scumbag. Expecting her to screw him for a favor? Sure, she wanted to be a star, more than anything, always and forever, but she wasn’t willing to give up her dignity for a lousy outside chance at stardom.
On the street, she paused, wondering what to do next. Being pissed off wouldn’t put a roof over her head. Maybe she should try to find one of the hostels she’d read about, or someplace else to crash. Carrying all her worldly goods on her back was getting tiresome, and she didn’t want to run into Alaunus again.
She set off walking, and on the next block glanced down an alley and saw a handpainted banner that read “New in town? Free orientation!” with a few people wearing backpacks talking to outrageously dressed Bordertown residents. Seemed as good a place to start as any. She took a step toward the alley, but a hand grasped her shoulder. She was afraid it was Alaunus or his thug again, but when she turned, she saw it was a tall, pale woman, probably in her forties (though even thirty was way older than most of the crowd around here), dressed in black velvet over dark jeans. “You don’t want to go in there,” she said.
“Why not?”
The woman stepped off to one side, away from the alley mouth, and Allie followed. The woman glanced around, then said, “They’re promising people a warm bed, taking them around the corner, knocking them over the head, and stealing everything. It’s a halfie gang, though not one of the worst ones, not Rune Lords or anything. I don’t think they’d kill you on purpose, but accidents happen, and I’d hate to see you lose that guitar.”
Allie blinked. Muggers right off the main drag? Wouldn’t the cops … Right. This was B-town, not Brooklyn. There might be cops, or the local equivalent, in some neighborhoods, but not down here.
Now primed for suspicion, Allie said, �
�Why tell me, and not the people they’ve already lured in?”
“The stars guide me. They led me to you. And if I interfered with the gang more obviously, I’d be the one they hit on the head. I command a certain amount of respect in some circles, but the halfie street gang circle isn’t one of them. I’m Psyche. Are you looking for a place to stay?”
“Are you going to try to sleep with me?”
Psyche laughed. “You’re too young for me, and the wrong gender, so I’d say you’re safe.” She held out her hand, which was so thin it might have floated away without its ballast of silver rings, and Allie shook it.
“I’m Allie. The stars led you to me, huh? What, are you an astrologer?”
“Not by choice. I used to be an astronomer. But the sky here”—she glanced up—“it’s not like the sky anywhere else, on either side of the Wall. Come, it’s a bit of a trip to my home, and you must be tired.”
Allie followed her along the street, dodging jeering and indifferent groups of kids, many younger than Allie. “So many runaways,” Psyche said. “Are you a runaway, Allie?”
“Nah. Emancipated minor. Mom died in a car wreck when I was thirteen, and by the time Dad went to jail, I already had a job working in a music store, way more responsible than he ever was, so the court made me an official grown-up. I moved to New York, started playing music, picking up some gigs, working crap jobs, things like that.”
“No school?”
“Dropped out.”
“That’s a shame. Education is so important.…”
“It’s not like I don’t read, lady. And besides, I’m going to be a rock star. One job you don’t even need a high school diploma for.”
“That’s your dream? To be a famous musician?”
“Being a famous musician’s part of it, yeah, pretty much a necessary prerequisite, but there’s so much more to being a rock star—the whole lifestyle, doing anything you want, living life as hard and on the edge as you can. The key is to keep the destructive stuff to a minimum, stay off the hard drugs so you can keep the party going longer. My old drummer called it ‘sustainable hedonism.’ Getting the most pleasure for the longest time.”
“Why come to Bordertown? Music is popular here, but the audience is limited.”
“Ah, but if I get huge here and then go out into the World, I’ll have that whole B-town mystique added to my repertoire, maybe get an elf playing in my band, you know? Especially with Borderland appearing again after so long, the public will be hungry for that kind of stuff.” Allie followed Psyche up the street to another alley, where a beat-to-hell-looking motorcycle stood—complete with a sidecar. Psyche climbed onto the bike and gestured at the sidecar.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Allie said.
“You’d rather ride bitch? You can, but I bolted on the sidecar knowing I’d have a passenger. There’s room for your guitar if you wrap your arms around it.” Psyche put on a black helmet and a pair of aviator goggles. Then she passed over a helmet with a big daisy painted on top. Allie swallowed her mortification and put it on. At least nobody knew who she was, so she didn’t have to worry about any of her friends seeing her. She got into the sidecar, strapped herself in as much as possible, got her stuff arranged, and held on to her guitar as the motorcycle lurched and growled and nosed its way out of the alley and along a bizarrely circuitous route that seemed to involve a lot of doubling back.
“We’re driving in circles!” she yelled, and Psyche yelled back, “We’re avoiding gang territory!” and then they both gave up because yelling over the sound of the engine was too difficult. And even when the engine quit and a funny box strapped by the seat started humming and emitting blue light, the sound of the rushing wind—yeah, the bike kept going, engine or not, must be magic—was still too loud for easy conversation.
The bike wove through neighborhood after neighborhood as they crossed the city from south to north, and then, Allie noted with alarm, they seemed to be leaving the city altogether. She wondered if she’d misjudged Psyche, if she was going to become a ritual sacrifice or something. They bumped up a rutted road that climbed a hill, and then she saw a little house on a ridge, looking over the city lights below. It was dark—there wasn’t much of a moon—but the motorcycle’s headlight beam revealed enough of the house to give Allie a sense of ramshackle disrepair barely held in check.
“Okay,” Psyche said, climbing off the bike. “Let’s go in.”
“You don’t live in the city?” Captain Obvious kind of question, but Allie wondered why.
“The Nevernever is better for my work. It’s useful living this close to the Wall.”
Allie didn’t know what Psyche was talking about, but confusion was probably a geographical hazard on the Border. “Thanks for taking me in.”
“Of course. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason—but our meeting did. Come along. And welcome to Stargazer House.”
* * *
The inside of the house was just as ramshackle as the outside, with shelves on every available bit of wall, sometimes in the form of planks simply nailed to the paneling, all crammed with books and sheaves of paper. A drafting table covered in oversized sheets of paper dominated the center of the room, and a lamp with a multijointed neck clipped to the side of the table provided the room’s only illumination—its electrical cord was wired into one of those weird spellboxes, and the light was weak and yellowish but probably better than candles for writing under. Copper charms and crystals and feathers dangled from the lamp’s neck in such profusion that you probably couldn’t even adjust it without making a huge clanking, rattling noise. The only other objects of note were a futon in couch form, covered in a dark blue blanket dotted with yellow crescent moons and stars; a dark wooden table, with the legs carved in a similar night-sky motif; a wood stove, currently unlit; and a black iron spiral staircase that must lead to an attic room or something. Little model solar systems hung down from the ceiling, lightweight planets swaying from mysterious breezes or maybe just the vibrations of their footsteps. There was a tiny galley kitchen, a short hallway to what must be a bedroom, and a door that Allie devoutly hoped led to a bathroom. Psyche confirmed it and told Allie to feel free to freshen up.
The bathroom was cramped, and there didn’t seem to be any hot water—if that was life in Bordertown, Allie would have to make some mental adjustments—but she was able to pee and wash her face and rinse the yuck out of her mouth. Her stomach complained—she hadn’t eaten since a gas station sandwich in the morning—and she hoped Psyche’s hospitality would extend to dinnertime. She didn’t think Psyche would trade food for pills; she seemed more like the natural-high-or-nothing type.
When Allie came out, Psyche was nowhere to be found, so she strolled over to the bookshelves. Thick and serious-looking science books—some of which even had titles Allie couldn’t make sense of—mingled with more comprehensible popular science books by Neil deGrasse Tyson and Michio Kaku, along with astrology books and new age–looking stuff with titles like Unlocking Your Star Power and Overcoming Astrological Adversity and Cosmic Compatibility.
“Allie?” Psyche’s voice came from above. “I’m up here. Sorry, I have to do a little work, but you can join me if you like.”
Allie spiraled up the staircase, lifting a trapdoor at the top and climbing up, expecting to find an office, a bedroom with a desk in it, something like that.
Instead she found herself on the roof: an open-air platform with a big telescope mounted in the center and a couple of deck chairs, and Psyche lying flat on her back on a yoga mat, staring up at the sky. “Look with me,” she said.
Allie hadn’t looked at the stars in … hmm. She’d gone camping upstate the year before, but she’d gone with this girl she liked at the time, and they hadn’t seen much besides the inside of the tent after nightfall. And in Brooklyn it never got really dark, certainly not so dark you could see the stars like this. She lay down on her back beside Psyche and looked up. With the trapdoor closed, the blackness was
nearly total, which was weird, since Bordertown was right down the hill and should have been filling the sky with light pollution, but maybe this unnatural blackness was a Nevernever thing.
The stars were almost overpowering in their density, their profusion, their clarity: The sky was less a sheet of black scattered with stars and more a sheet of light webbed by darkness. The scope was unimaginable, and Allie—who had no greater ambition than to be a truly huge star of a different sort—felt an uncharacteristic sense of smallness, and humbleness, and proportion, and a sense of the unfillable vastness of the universe. “Wow,” she said.
“Do you see it?” Psyche said.
Allie scanned the sky, expecting a shooting star or something, but there was nothing new. “See what?”
“Do you know much about stars? Constellations?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Ah,” Psyche said. “Then you wouldn’t notice. This sky … is not our sky. Not our constellations. No Sagittarius, no Capricorn, no Orion’s Belt, no Big Dipper. No North Star. No moon. Down in the city, there’s a moon, but here? Not tonight. Sometimes, yes—but it’s not our moon.”
Allie shivered, though it wasn’t all that cold. “So you’re saying this is, what, the sky over Elfland? Or whatever they call it, the Realm?”
“I’ve had Truebloods up here to look, and they say it’s not their sky, either, though it’s hard to be sure, since passing through the Wall does strange things to your memory, apparently. But I think it’s an entirely different sky. Perhaps a mingling of ours and theirs. Perhaps something else, a sky just for the Borderlands. Whatever it is, wherever these stars are from, they have powers.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was an astronomy teacher back in the World. Fresh out of school, working at a community college. After my first semester, I stopped being surprised when students dropped the class after realizing I wasn’t teaching astrology, showing them how to do horoscopes. Astrology! It’s so absurd. The idea that the orientation of the stars in the heavens can somehow affect your personality, or the shape of your life, it’s so ridiculous. Aren’t stars amazing enough without applying that kind of softheaded thinking to them? So I started doing a lecture, asking people when they were born … and telling them what their real signs of the zodiac were.”
