Universe Between

by Dean Wesley Smith

  “You’ve obviously thought about this,” Sydney said, starting to laugh. “Would that have been so bad?”

  “Only if he’d decided to be a coniferous tree,” Erin said. “I don’t think I could handle people hanging things on him all the time. In this city, he’d probably end up covered with beads and condoms.”

  ***

  Erin’s early optimism was misplaced: Her father and Sidney were nowhere to be found. Minutes became hours, photos became constant, and eventually both of the girls needed to rest again. Finding an empty miniature living room at a Magic Cards vendor’s booth, both of them willingly plopped down.

  “I had no idea people still played this game,” Erin said.

  “Apparently they don’t,” Sydney said, looking around at the empty chairs and couch next to them. “Or at least they don’t here. Maybe they like to keep their Magic private.”

  “You keep your magic private, don’t you? You’re not in a costume at all,” Erin continued without hesitation. “You really are a snake person, aren’t you?”

  “Erin, I think you’ve been spending too much time at fantasy conven—”

  “It’s cool if you don’t want to tell me,” Erin said. “I get it. It’s obviously a personal thing.”

  “It is,” Sydney said, sighing as she did so, “and it’s about time I returned the favor you showed me. But before I tell you, how did you know?”

  “I’ve been going to these things since I was five years old. That’s no makeup job you’ve got on,” Erin said. “That, and you don’t have any ears.”

  “Lizard people never have ears,” Sydney said. “I checked, all the way back to early Star Trek.”

  “No, you just can’t see them, but they’re there under the makeup and prosthetics,” Erin said. “You don’t even have bulges. So unless you shaved them off—and you don’t strike me as the deranged Van Gogh type—you’re the real deal.”

  “How does a kid know about Van Gogh?”

  “As I said, I spend a lot of time hiding behind the curtains,” Erin said. “It always helps to have a Kindle Fire. Now, I believe you owe me an explanation?”

  “Well, it goes like this: I’m from Nexus, out in Cajun Country,” Sydney said. “And save for the space chick over there with six boobs, it’s pretty much a living ComicCon everyday of the year.”

  Listening without interrupting, another rarity in a kid, Erin let Sydney completely finish her story before she began asking questions. A lot of them.

  Her last one, however, was solely about Sydney and her brother: “OK, you mentioned everyone’s having unexpected discoveries, a kind of dark side to their metamorphosis. My favorite is the cheerleader who eats dogs, by the way.”

  “Hold on now, I said that’s just a rumor,” Sydney said. “Even in a town like Nexus there are some things you just never do.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Erin said. “It was a Chihuahua. They’re not even real dogs. But what about you and Sidney? What’s your unexpected discovery?”

  “We shed our skins a lot,” Sydney said. “ And when you’ve got a brother who never cleans the shower, it gets kinda gross.”

  “That’s not so bad,” Erin said thoughtfully. “That happens to me every time I get sunburned.”

  “Yeah, but yours aren’t from head to toe,” Sydney said. “Or anatomically correct…”

  “OK, I’m officially grossed out now.”

  “Speaking of gross, there’s our boys now,” Sydney said, pointing down the aisle. “Hey! Where the hell have you been?”

  “Sis, you would not believe this! People paid me money—lots of money—for a picture!” Sidney bragged to his sister. “I’ve been over there behind that curtain for hours raking in the bucks. We can take a cab home!”

  “The curtain says, ‘Megan Fox.’”

  “Yeah, she got pissed and left after someone said Optimus Prime had better acting skills—and breasts,” Sidney said. “So, good for us! Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Returning to the spot behind the black curtain, Sydney headed out of the doors, relieved they were finally going home. Whether because they were slipping out the back or because they’d let half a day go by, she was sure the church zealots who’d been hunting them had given up.

  “Well, shit,” Sydney said, as a screaming voice proved her wrong. “They’re still here!”

  “How is that possible?” Erin asked, hearing the doors lock behind them. “There are dozens of doors out of this place.”

  “And dozens of church members to keep an eye on every one,” Sydney said. “They’ve been waiting for us the whole time. Looks like it’s time to run again, bro.”

  “We shall run together!” BiCentennial said. “Follow me, I know these streets. We shall take safety among my people!”

  Not having any idea what he was talking about, the Latours nevertheless began to run after him along the Mississippi River. Only Erin seemed to hesitate: “Dad! This isn’t a game anymore!” Her words either ignored or unheard, he continued on, and Erin finally followed.

  Once again, the church members chased them, on foot and in vans. And once again BiCentennial threw them off for a time, turning left toward Bourbon Street going the wrong way up a one-way street. Within minutes the four found themselves in the middle of a parade—literally.

  “What the hell is this?” Sydney asked Erin, looking at jesters and drag queens beginning to march down the street. “Mardi Gras’s not until next month.”

  “This happens every day. It’s the locals’ way of kicking off the party for the afternoon. And the evening. And the morning…” she said, now looking at Sydney far more incredulously than she ever had during the story of Nexus. “Haven’t you ever been to Bourbon Street?”

  “I told you about my mom, right?” Sydney said. “She believed the best travels were in one’s head. We didn’t exactly get out of town a lot.”

  “Fear not, my snake siblings!” BiCentennial crowed. “We shall join with my kin in the parade and leave our foes behind!”

  “You know,” Erin said, reconsidering her father, “that’s just crazy enough to work.”

  And it did, all four of them matching quite nicely with the other costumed crazies making their way northeast on Bourbon Street, and safely ensconced among dozens of other revelers, there was no way for the church members to get to them.

  But then the parade ended, and as the crowd peeled off left and right down St. Ann Street, all four of them realized they were alone—though not for long. Suddenly coming from all four directions were Pastor Duke and his congregation, slowly closing in a circle. Forcing the Latours and Erin behind him, BiCentennial backed them up against the wall of The Bourbon Pub.

  “La Luche! Remove the secret weapon from my wig!”

  “Dad, for God’s sake, this is no time for a phaser or a blaster or any other damned thing,” Erin pleaded. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  “Just take off my wig and get it!” Erin’s father said. “It’s a—”

  “I don’t care what it is!” Erin screamed, as the church crowd now closed to within a few feet. “You’re no superhero!”

  “No. I’m your father, and these are our friends,” he said, now whirling around to point at the leader of the church mob. “And if you touch my daughter I’ll kill you.”

  Erin burst into tears, grabbing her father around the waist. “Please don’t make me leave you,” she cried. “I won’t leave you, Dad…”

  Watching this, Sydney patted her on the shoulder.

  “Erin, this isn’t your fight, or your dad’s. We always knew this might happen,” Sydney said, now talking softly under the growing clamor of the crowd. “Just promise me if we die here, you’ll keep our secret safe.”

  “Die here?” said Pastor Duke. “Who said anyone’s going to die here?”

  “Then what in the hell do you goddamn want?” growled Sydney, now putting herself between the leader and her three companions.

  “A picture.”

  “A
picture?” Sydney screamed. “Are you shitting me?”

  “We’re from the Rock House Holiness Church, Jackson County, Alabama,” Pastor Duke said. “We’re a snake-handling church, and those are the coolest costumes we’ve ever seen.”

  “You handle snakes?” Sydney asked, her fear now turning to complete confusion. “In church?”

  “They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover,” he said, as if that explained it all. “Mark 16:17-18.”

  “You couldn’t just have gotten one at the ComicCon like everyone else?” she asked. “You scared the shit out of us.”

  “We’re terribly sorry,” he said. “And we did think about coming inside, but even if we could have afforded the $40 per person ticket, we heard it was another $30 a person inside to get a picture with the snake people. And Megan Fox, whoever that is.”

  “Did you now?” Sydney asked, shooting a sideways glance at her brother. “Well, let’s get this over with. And be careful around the ears, they’re pinned down pretty tight under these hoods.”

  The last comment meant for Erin, Sydney saw her smile in response even as she still clung tightly to her father. Listening closely, Sydney could make out their conversation. She assumed Erin wouldn’t mind.

  “Dad, why didn’t you just tell me to run,” Erin said. “Instead of all that nonsense about a secret weapon in your wig. Hell, you could have given me your cell phone and had me call 911.”

  “Where do you think I keep my phone?” he said, now looking upwards at his wig. “It’s not like this spandex suit has pockets.”

  Laughing, Sydney was interrupted by two younger church members, girls, probably 13 and 14: “Excuse me, Miss Snake Person?”

  “Yes, how can I help you?”

  “Do you think your brother would bite us on the neck if we asked?” the older one asked. “We’d be the coolest girls in school if we could come home with a snake hickey.”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind all your blood turning to Jell-O when his venom leaks,” Sydney said, having no idea if what she knew of snakes applied to her and her brother. “You’d have lips so big they’d cast shadows on your eyebrows.”

  Not sure if she was kidding or not, both girls backed up slowly, neither turning around until they were well behind their parents in the crowd. A crowd that held her brother, somewhere, whom she had no doubt was loving the attention. Honestly, she couldn’t blame him one bit. However else they might be perceived in America, here on Bourbon Street two residents of Nexus fit in just fine.

  Thinking of her claustrophobic high school friends on Nexus Island, Sydney began to think Bourbon Street might make one hell of a field trip. Indeed, as she walked over to Erin and Reginald to give them both a hug, she knew she could make a promise that they would be back. More, she had a feeling Erin and her dad would be, too.

  “So, I take it we can expect to see BiCentennial and his trusty sidekick La Luche Libertad once again leading the parade on Bourbon Street?” Sidney asked.

  “Perhaps,” said Reginald. “But right now I think I just want to get my daughter home. She and I have a lot to talk about.”

  “Like what?” Erin asked, fully content with what had already happened today.

  “Like how we tell your mother about BiCentennial,” he said. “I’ve been keeping that a secret far too long. And about being a bisexual as well. I’m not sure how she’s going to react.”

  “Uh, yeah, Dad,” Erin said, now starting to lead her father back to ComicCon. “About that…”

  Introduction to “Between the Lines”

  Karen L. Abrahamson returns to our pages with a story quite different from the one that appeared in our special Crime. “Between the Lines” takes place in the unique universe of Karen’s Cartographer series. The first book in that series, Afterburn, introduces Landon Snow.

  Karen got the idea for this story at a World Fantasy convention.

  “I happened to meet a man who used to work for the U.S. Geological Survey,” she writes. “We talked about mapping and some of the interesting ‘bits and pieces’ left out by the old time surveyors. Those bits and pieces resonated with my character, Landon Snow, and voila, [became] ‘Between The Lines.’”

  Between the Lines

  Karen L. Abrahamson

  When Sylvia Bishop walked into the bar, the earth trembled under Landon Snow’s feet, or maybe it was his heart. It could have been the earth because meeting her again seemed to make the seething ley lines under the earth’s surface grow a little hotter and flow a little faster. He should know, as the chief researcher for the ultra secret American Geological Survey. But it was probably his heart because even though it was years since he’d last seen her, his heart still ached for the need of her.

  She was a slender sylph of a woman, and the dimly lit bar left her looking like an elven queen discovered in a dark forest. The amber light from over the mahogany bar seemed to catch in the crowning coil of her silver hair and in the edges of her pale blue eyes. Pale points of color rouged her cheek bones and she moved like a breeze through the low tables and leather chairs to his corner booth table. She wore a pale peach colored dress that flowed around her like sunrise.

  When she slid into the booth across from him the scent of apricot and sunshine evoked nostalgia so powerful he felt like crying. Sylvia, whom he’d loved from first grade. Sylvia, who had been his friend when other kids had been afraid of the strange albino boy in their midst. Sylvia, beside him, lounging fully clothed across his bed engrossed in college course books and totally unaware that all he had wanted to do was kiss her and tell her how he felt.

  He was still tongue-tied in her presence even though he was a man now, albeit a diminutive one, for neither the height gods nor the melanin ones had blessed him.

  “Landon. My god you are a sight for sore eyes.” She smiled, revealing perfect even teeth. “You look good.”

  She reached across and fingered the light linen sleeve of his shirt in a gesture so intimate it took his breath away. All the years slipped away and he was a foolish undergraduate praying she would finally, finally realize what she meant to him and perhaps feel the same way.

  But she never had. He shook himself.

  “Sorry. You look just as amazing as when we last met—what? Ten years ago in that airport?”

  She nodded. “At least.” Another sad smile. “A lot of water under the bridge since those days.” The fingers on his sleeve trailed down to the back of his hand. “I’ve missed you.”

  A little sad and wistful, but maybe that was wishful thinking on his part and he was not going to make himself vulnerable again.

  He slipped his hand out from under hers and made a show of motioning for the waitress. When she arrived, Sylvia ordered a gin and tonic with a lime twist. “Still drinking the same thing, I see.”

  She shook her head. “Just for old times. Seeing you reminded me.”

  So she had moved on and was humoring him. He inhaled deeply and caught her scent again while he sipped from his scotch, neat. “So why am I here, Sylvia? Why the urgent phone call after all these years?”

  The waitress returned with the G & T and departed like a ghost into the wilderness of tables. Sylvia sipped her drink and nodded and then finally met Landon’s gaze.

  Her pale blue eyes skittered around the room like a nervous horse and finally settled at his face. He could see her mind racing as she tried to find the words. After all these years had she realized her mistake in not loving him back?

  “I need your help, Landon. My daughter is missing.” Saying the words seemed to weight her shoulders. Her proud carriage slumped and her ice-pale eyes filled with glacial water. “They’ve taken her,” she whispered.

  “They?” When all he wanted to do was ask Daughter? She had a daughter, which meant that she had been married or had loved someone enough to have a child with them while he’d spent all those years telling himself that she had simply
chosen to be by herself. “You have a daughter?”

  She nodded, bit her lip, and swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Chloe. She’s fifteen.” She smiled and her smile was almost wistful. “She’s smart and funny and serious and sometimes she reminds me very much of you the way she can be so fastidious and fussy about her person and so meticulous about her school work. She looks like me, but she has her father’s eyes and build.”

  “So.” He couldn’t help himself. “Where is her father? If she’s disappeared, what is he doing about it?” Not exactly the question he should have asked first.

  Another fortifying sip of the G & T, as if she recognized his error. “I haven’t told him. We divorced five years ago and if he knew this had happened he’d be in court so fast demanding custody I’d never see Chloe for dust. He’d make sure of it. That’s why I came to you, Landon. You always knew what to do. You were always good at finding things.”

  Which was what made him such an asset to the American Geological Survey, researching the anomalies of the Gifted people who could actually Change the landscape, reshaping it with their minds. It did not, unfortunately, mean he was a field agent, for along with failing to give him height and skin color, the gods had given him the talent to read the ley lines and to recognize the Gifted, while withholding the power to use the Gift itself.

  “What do the police say?”

  The smooth column of her neck shifted as she swallowed. “I haven’t gone to them, Landon.” She closed her eyes.

  Sylvia leaned over the table and caught Landon’s hands in hers, again. “Landon, there have been people following me. I saw them outside Chloe’s school one day and then two or three other times. I tried to tell myself it was a coincidence, but after she disappeared—well all I could think of was you. I thought maybe you could help. Maybe you could track them the way you used to be able to locate people in school.”

  She sagged against the table as if telling the tale had left her exhausted. He closed his eyes and felt even smaller than his stature. Yes, in school he’d always seemed to know where certain of their friends were. Now, though, he was too small to do anything to help her, because he truly wasn’t a field agent. He rode desks and herded data collection. But when he opened his eyes again, Sylvia Bishop still waited.