by Holly Black
“Chill out, Lolli,” Sketchy Dave said. “Not in front of her. Not this.”
Lolli reclined against a pile of pillows and bags. “I like needles. I like the feeling of the steel under my skin.” She looked at Val. “You can get a little buzz off shooting up water. You can even shoot up vodka. Goes right into your bloodstream. Makes you drunker cheaper.”
Val rubbed her arm. “It can’t be too much worse than you scratching me.” She should have been horrified, but the ritual of it fascinated her, the way all the tools were laid out on the dirty shirt, waiting to be used in turn. It made her think of something, but she wasn’t quite sure what.
“I’m sorry about your arm! He was in such a mood, I didn’t want him to get started about the faeries.” Lolli made a face as she cooked the powder with a little water over the hibachi. It bubbled on the spoon. The sweet smell, like burnt sugar, filled Val’s nose. Lolli sucked it up through the needle, then tapped the bubbles to the top, pushing them out with a squirt of liquid. Tying off her upper arm with pantyhose, Lolli inserted the tip slowly into one of the black marks on her arm.
“Now I’m a magician,” Lolli said.
It came to Val then that what she was reminded of was her mother putting on makeup—laying out the tools and then using them one by one. First foundation, then powder, eye shadow, eyeliner, blush, all done with the same calm ceremony. The fusion of the images unnerved her.
“You shouldn’t do that in front of her,” Dave repeated, signaling in Val’s direction with a bob of his chin.
“She doesn’t mind. Do you, Val?”
Val didn’t know what she thought. She’d never seen anyone give themselves a shot like that, professional as a doctor.
“She’s not supposed to see,” Dave said. Val watched him get up to pace the platform. He stopped under a mosaic of tiles spelling out WORTH. Behind him, she thought she saw the darkness change its shape, spreading like ink dropped into water. Dave seemed to see it, too. His eyes widened. “Don’t do this, Lolli.”
The gloom seemed to be coalescing into indistinct shapes that made the hair stand up on Val’s arms. Blurry horns, mouths crowded with teeth, and claws as long as branches formed and then dissipated.
“What’s the matter? You scared?” Lolli sneered at Dave before turning back to Val. “He’s afraid of his own shadow. That’s why we call him Sketchy.”
Val said nothing, still staring at the moving darkness.
“Come on,” Dave said to Val, moving unsteadily toward the stairs. “Let’s go scrounge.”
Lolli pouted exaggeratedly. “No way. I found her. She’s my new friend and I want her to stay here and play with me.”
Play with her? Val didn’t know what Lolli meant, but she didn’t like the sound of it. Right then, Val wanted nothing more than to get out of the claustrophobic tunnels and away from the shifting shade. Her heart beat so fast that she feared it would spring out of her chest like the bird in a cuckoo clock. “I have to get some air.” She stood up.
“Stay,” Lolli said lazily. Her hair seemed bluer than it had a moment ago, shot through with aquamarine highlights, and the air flickered around her the way it did over a street in the hot sun. “You won’t believe how much fun you’ll have.”
“Let’s go,” Dave said.
“Why do you always have to be so boring?” Lolli rolled her eyes and lit her cigarette off of the fire. A good half of it went up in flames, and she dragged on it anyway. Her voice was slow, slurred, but her gaze, even from drowsy eyes, was severe.
Dave started up the yellow maintenance stairs and Val followed him, filled with an uncertain dread. At the top, Dave pushed up the grating and they stepped out onto the sidewalk. As she emerged into the bright, late-afternoon sunlight, she realized that she’d left her backpack on the platform with her return ticket still inside of it. She half-turned back to the grate and then hesitated. She wanted the bag, but Lolli had been acting so strange . . . Everything had gone so strange. But maybe even the smell of the drug could make shadows move? She ran through a health-class list of substances to avoid—heroin, PCP, angel dust, cocaine, crystal meth, Special K. She didn’t know much about any of them. No one she knew did anything more than smoke weed or drink.
“Coming?” Dave called. She noticed the worn-down soles of his boots, the stains covering his jeans, the tightly corded muscles of his thin arms.
“I left my—” she started to say, but then thought better of it. “Never mind.”
“It’s just the way Lolli is,” he said with a sad smile, looking at the sidewalk and not at Val’s eyes. “Nothing’s going to change her.”
Val looked around at the large building across the street and the concrete park they were standing in, with its dried-up and cracked pond, and an abandoned shopping cart. “If it’s so easy to get in this way, why did we come through the tunnels?”
Dave looked uncomfortable and he was silent for a moment. “Well, the financial district is pretty packed around five on a Friday, but it’s nearly empty on a Saturday. You don’t want to be coming up out of the sidewalk with a million people around.”
“Is that all?” Val asked.
“And I wasn’t sure I trusted you yet,” Dave said.
Val tried to smile, because she guessed that he had a little faith in her now, but all she could think of was what would have happened if somewhere, walking through the tunnels, he had decided against her.
Val picked through a dumpster. The food smells still made her gag, but after two previous trash piles, she was getting more used to them. She pushed aside mounds of shredded paper, but found only a few boards studded with nails, empty CD cases, and a broken picture frame.
“Hey, look at this!” Sketchy Dave called from the next bin. He emerged wearing a navy pea coat, one arm of it slightly ripped, and holding up a Styrofoam take-out box that looked like it was mostly filled with linguini in alfredo sauce. “You want some?” he asked, picking up a hunk of noodles and dropping them into his mouth.
She shook her head, disgusted but laughing.
Pedestrians were wending their way home from work, messenger bags and briefcases slung across their shoulders. None of them seemed to see Val or Dave. It was as if the two of them had become invisible, just part of the trash they were sorting through. It was the sort of thing that she’d heard about on television and in books. It was supposed to make you feel small, but she felt liberated. No one was looking at her or judging her based on whether her outfit matched or who her friends were. They didn’t see her at all.
“Isn’t it too late to find anything good?” Val asked, hopping down.
“Yeah, morning is the best time. Around now on the weekday, businesses are junking office stuff. We’ll see what’s around, then come back out near midnight, when restaurants toss off the day-old bread and vegetables. And then at dawn you go residential again—we’ll have to get there before the trucks pick up.”
“You can’t do this every day, though, right?” She looked at him incredulously.
“It’s always trash day somewhere.”
She glanced at a stack of magazines tied together with string. So far, she hadn’t found anything she thought was worth taking. “What exactly are we looking for?”
Dave ate the last of the linguini and tossed the box back into a dumpster. “Take any porn. We can always sell that. And anything nice, I guess. If you think it’s nice, someone else probably will, too.”
“How about that?” She pointed to a rusted iron headboard leaning against an alley wall.
“Well,” he said, as if trying to be kind, “we could truck it up to one of those fancy little shops—they paint old stuff like this and resell it for big money—but they wouldn’t pay enough for the trouble it’d be.” He looked at the dimming light in the sky. “Shit. I have to pick something up before it gets dark. I might have to do a delivery.”
Val picked up the headboard. The rust scraped off on her hands, but she managed to balance the cast iron on her shoulder.
Dave was right. It was heavy. She put it back down again. “What kind of delivery?”
“Hey, look at this,” Dave squatted down and yanked out a box full of romance novels. “These might be something.”
“To who?”
“We could probably sell ’em,” he said.
“Yeah?” Val’s mother had read romances and Val was used to the sight of the covers: a woman tipped back in a man’s arms, her hair long and flowing, a beautiful house in the distance. All the fonts curled and some were embossed with gold. She bet none of these books had to do with fucking your daughter’s boyfriend. She wanted to see one of the covers show that—a young kid and an old lady with too much makeup and lines around her mouth. “Why would anyone want to read that shit?”
Dave shrugged, carried the box under one arm, and flipped open a book. He didn’t read out loud, but his mouth moved as he scanned the page.
They were quiet as they walked for a while and then Val pointed to the book in his hand. “What’s it about?”
“I don’t know yet,” Sketchy Dave said. He sounded annoyed. They walked for a while more in silence, his face buried in the book.
“Look at that,” Val pointed to a wooden chair with the seat gone.
Dave regarded it critically. “Nah. We can’t sell that. Unless you want it for yourself.”
“What would I do with it?” Val asked.
Dave shrugged and turned to walk through a black gate into a mostly empty square, dumping the romance novel back into the box. Val stopped to read the plaque: SEWARD PARK. Tall trees shadowed most of the deserted playground equipment sprawled over the space. The concrete was carpeted with yellow and brown leaves. They passed a dried-up fountain with stone seals that looked as if they might spurt water for kids to run through in the summertime. The statue of a wolf peeked out from a patch of brown grass.
Sketchy Dave walked past all that without pausing and headed for a separate gated area that bordered one of the New York Public Library branches. Dave slid through a gap in the fence. Val followed, climbing into a miniature Japanese garden filled with small piles of smooth, black rocks in stacks of varying heights.
“Wait here,” he said.
He pushed over one of the stone piles and lifted up a small, folded note. Moments later he was back out through the fence and unfolding it.
“What does it say?” Val asked.
With a grin, Dave held the paper out. It was blank.
“Watch this,” he said. Crumpling it into a ball, he threw it into the air. It flew out and downward, when it suddenly changed direction as though blown by a rebel wind. As Val watched in amazement, the paper ball rolled until it rested beneath the base of a slide.
“How did you do that?” Val asked.
Dave reached underneath the slide and ripped a tape-covered object free. “Just don’t tell Luis, okay?”
“Do you say that about everything?” Val looked at the object in Dave’s hand. It was a beer bottle, corked with melted wax. Around the neck, a scrap of paper hung from a ragged piece of string. Inside, molasses-brown sand sifted with each tilt of the container, showing a purplish sheen. “What’s the big deal?”
“Look, if you don’t believe Lolli, I’m not going to argue with you. She told you too much already. But just say that you did believe Lolli for a minute, and say you thought that Luis could see a whole world the rest of us can’t, and say that he does some jobs for them.”
“Them?” Val couldn’t decide if she thought this was a conspiracy to freak her out or not.
Dave squatted down, and with a quick look at the sun’s position in the sky, uncorked the bottle, causing the wax around the neck to crumble. He sifted a little of the contents into a tiny baggie like the one she’d seen Lolli pour her drug out of. He shoved the baggie into the front pocket of his jeans.
“Come on, what is it?” Val asked, but her voice was hushed now.
“I can honestly say I have no fucking clue,” Sketchy Dave said. “Look. I have to go uptown and drop this off. You can come along with me, but you have to hang back when we get there.”
“Is that the stuff Lolli shot in her arm?” Val asked.
Dave hesitated.
“Look,” Val said. “I can just ask Lolli.”
“You can’t believe everything Lolli says.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Val demanded.
“Nothing.” Dave shook his head and walked off. Val had no choice but to follow him. She wasn’t even sure she could find her way back to the abandoned platform without him to guide her, and she needed her bag to go anywhere else.
They took the F to Thirty-fourth Street then switched to the B, taking that all the way to Ninety-sixth. Sketchy Dave held on to a horizontal metal bar and did pull-ups as the train thundered through the tunnels.
Val looked out the train window, watching the small lights marking distance streak by, but after a while her eyes were drawn to the other passengers. A wiry black man with close-cropped hair swayed unconsciously to the music on his iPod, a load of manuscripts balanced in one arm. A girl seated next to him was carefully drawing a glove of inky swirls up her own hand. Leaning against the doors, a tall man in a striped gray suit clutched his briefcase and stared at Dave in horror. Each person seemed to have a destination, but Val was a piece of driftwood, spinning down a river, not even sure in what direction she was moving. All she knew was how to make herself spin faster.
From the station, they walked a few blocks to the edge of Riverside Park, a sprawling patch of green that sloped down the highway to the water beyond. Across the street, town houses with park views had curling ironwork at the windows and doors. Intricately carved concrete blocks framed doorways and stair railings, forming fantastical dragons and lions and griffons that leered down at her in the reflected glow of street lamps. Val and Dave passed a fountain where a stone eagle with a cracked beak glowered over a murky green pool choked with leaves.
“Just wait here,” Sketchy Dave said.
“Why?” Val asked. “What is the big deal? You already told me all kinds of shit you aren’t supposed to.”
“I told you you’re not supposed to be along.”
“Fine.” Val relented and sat down on the edge of the fountain. “I’ll be right here.”
“Good,” Dave said and jogged across the street to a door without iron grillwork. He walked up the white steps, put down the box of romance novels, and pressed a buzzer near where someone had stenciled a mushroom with spray paint. Val glanced up at the sculpted gargoyles that flanked the roof of the building. As she was looking, one seemed to shudder, like a bird on a perch, stony feathers rustling and then settling. Val froze, staring at it, and after a moment, the gargoyle went still.
Val jumped up and crossed the street, calling Dave’s name. But as she got to the steps, the black door opened and a woman stepped into the doorway. She wore a long white slip. Her tangled, brown-and-green hair looked unwashed and the skin under her eyes was dark as a bruise. Hooves peeked out from under the hem of the slip where feet should have been.
Val froze, and the skirt settled, covering them, leaving Val unsure of what she’d seen.
Sketchy Dave turned his head and gave Val a fierce glare before he took out the beer bottle from his bag.
“Come inside?” the hoofed woman asked, her voice rough, as though she’d been shouting. She didn’t seem to notice that the seal had been broken.
“Yeah,” Sketchy Dave said.
“Who’s your friend?”
“Val,” Val said, trying not to gape. “I’m new. Dave’s showing me the ropes.”
“She can wait out here,” said Dave.
“Do you think me so discourteous? The chill air will cut her to the bone.” The woman held open the door and Val followed Dave inside, smirking. There was a marble-lined hall and a staircase railed with old, polished wood. The hooved woman led them through sparsely furnished rooms, past a fountain where silvery koi darted, their bodies so pale that the pink of the
ir insides showed through their scales, past a music room holding only a double-strung lap harp on a table of marble, then into a parlor. She sat down on a cream-colored settee, the brocade fabric worn thin, and beckoned for them to join her. There was a low table near her and on it a glass, a teapot, and a tarnished spoon. The hooved woman used the spoon to measure out some of the amber sand into her cup, then filled it with hot water and drank deeply. She flinched once, and when she looked up, her eyes shone with an eerie, glittering brightness.
Val couldn’t stop her gaze from straying to the woman’s goat feet. There was something obscene about the glimpses of short, thick fur that covered her slender ankles, the sheen of the black keratin hooves, the two splayed toes.
“Sometimes a remedy can seem another sort of sickness,” the goat-footed woman said. “David, be sure to tell Ravus there’s been another murder.”
Sketchy Dave sat down on the ebonized wood floor. “Murder?”
“Dunnie Berry died last night. Poor thing, she was just coming out of her tree—it’s horrible how that iron gate fences her roots. It must have scorched her every time she crossed it. You delivered to her, no?”
Sketchy Dave shifted uncomfortably. “Last week. Wednesday.”
“You might well be the last person to have seen her alive,” the goat-footed woman said. “Be careful.” She lifted her teacup, swigged down a bit more of the solution. “People are saying your master peddles poison.”
“He’s not my master.” Sketchy Dave stood up. “We’ve got to go.”
The goat-footed woman stood, too. “Of course. Come in the back and I’ll get what I owe.”
“Don’t eat or drink anything or you’ll be more fucked than you already are,” Dave whispered to Val as he followed the woman into another room, leaving his salvaged box of romance novels on the floor. Val scowled and walked over to a display case. Inside the glass door was a large, solid chunk of something like obsidian. Beside it were some other things, equally odd. A bit of bark, a broken stick, a sharp burr in the shape of a pinecone, each fold razor sharp.
