10: Fighting for Strangers
"Three parts coffee, two teaspoons sugar, one part Bushmills . . ."
Eric measured out the whiskey, then threw another splash of it in the mug for good measure.
After everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours, I definitely need a little Irish Breakfast—
"Isn't it a little early in the morning for that?"
Eric looked up at Beth, standing in the kitchen doorway. He shrugged. "Not all that early, by my standards."
"Methinks you drink too much, Banyon," Beth said, settling a grocery bag down on the counter. She gave him a thoughtful, measuring look; then in a lightning-quick change of mood, tweaked his nose playfully, and kissed him—a warm "hello" kiss.
For a moment, Eric hoped that the kiss might progress into something more than that, but Beth pulled away and shook her head, touching his lips with a fingertip. "Duty calls, bucko. First this, then we'll go talk with my friend, then there's the "Save the Faire" rally this afternoon. I'm thinking that we might be able to find out a little more about who's doing what, and where we can throw a wrench into the works." Something intense burned for a moment at the back of her eyes. "I'm sure looking forward to messing up their plans."
"They," of course, is Lord Perenor and the blonde, who I still can't remember. He let go of her reluctantly, and picked up his Irish coffee—which was warm and potent, but a poor substitute for Beth. Damn, but I wish Beth had less of a sense of responsibility, and more of a sense of, well, timing.
Beth turned away from Eric, opened the shopping bag, and reached into it as the brown paper rustled.
"What's in there?" he asked, leaning over her shoulder to peer inside. It was quite a jumble.
Looks like a lot of Baggies of herbs, some books, and—a knife? Nasty-looking piece of work, that. Probably street-illegal; it must be at least a foot long.
"My bag of tricks." Beth nudged him out of the way, then rummaged through the bag and tossed Eric a bright red apple. He managed to catch it without dropping the mug of coffee. "And breakfast, too. A better breakfast than that." She nodded at the doctored coffee. "How's our patient?"
"Sleeping, last I checked. He's a lot better, amazingly better, really." Eric bit into the apple in his best Tom Jones-eating-scene imitation.
Beth took the long-bladed dagger from the shopping bag, and slipped it, still sheathed, under her belt. He put a little more soul into his next bite. She ignored him. He sighed theatrically.
She continued to ignore him, and poured a glass of water from the tap, then carefully shook out three shakerfuls of salt into the water.
He gave up, took a swig of coffee, and returned to the apple without the additions from The Joy of Sex.
"What are you doing?" he asked as he sat down at the kitchen table.
She wore a little frown of concentration as she held her hand over the top of the glass. "This is to set up a protecting circle. Then I'll meditate for a while, try to reinforce the idea that nobody's here, not us or Kory."
He accepted that without a blink. A week ago he'd have been snickering into his apple.
But a week ago he hadn't been tossed around the room by magic, or watched a creep get trashed by magic, or—
—or helped heal somebody by magic.
So—I guess I'm getting used to this. This "circle" sounds like a good sort of thing to do. I'm glad Beth knows how to build this kind of stuff. I guess "build" is the right word. I just wish I understood how it works.
Beth unsheathed the long dagger at her belt, stirred the water with the blade of it, then resheathed it and began walking around the living room, flicking drops of water with her fingers at the walls. "This is the actual protection part," she said, as if she had overheard his thought. She flashed him a smile. "Witchcraft 101, Banyon. Salt and water are very strong protection against things you don't want around. You draw the circle with the consecrated salt water, making sure you do the doors and windows—"
"Hey, I've never had a girlfriend who'd do windows before," Eric teased. Beth gave him a look of acute suffering, then continued. "I don't know whether or not you believe this'll work, but figure it's like chicken soup—can't hurt. I believe, and I'm the one who's setting it, and that's what counts."
She stopped at the window, sprinkled water on the glass, then drew the dagger again. Eric munched on the apple, watching closely as Beth traced a pentagram over the glass, then moved to the next window, repeating the action.
Definitely looks weird. Huh, I should talk. But—you know, somehow this whole routine is just like Beth. Sharp as a knife, always knows what she wants, and more than a little weird at times. I guess that's part of what makes her so terrific. His mind drifted back to the astonishing events of the previous night—what he could remember of them. Like she was last night. She's such a complex woman, sometimes so strong and independent, sometimes sweet and cuddly beyond words. Just looking at her makes me think about—
Eric hid behind the coffee mug, glad that Beth was occupied with the window, and didn't see how he was blushing. God, that's all I ever think about. I just look at her and want to drag her back off bed again. It's something in the way she smiles, the way she looks at me—
His thoughts faltered a little as a memory of green eyes superimposed itself over the memory of brown.
What really seems . . . bizarre . . . was that Kory was looking at me the same way. So serious, honest—like he'd never lie to me, never intentionally hurt me. And like he was worried about me. The careful way his hand touched mine—
Eric shook his head, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable memory and the equally uncomfortable feelings it was causing. I don't understand it. Beth, sure—I've liked her for a long time, and I could see us getting together, that it could work. But—Kory? He's an elf—and a guy. I shouldn't feel that way about him.
But—
I do feel that way.
God, what's going on in my head? Why am I feeling like this—about another guy?
"Hey, Eric—"
Eric glanced up. Beth had finished trickling water around the living room, and was standing at the bedroom door. "I'll need some quiet for this last bit," she said. "Don't come into the bedroom, or open any doors. It'll just take a few minutes, okay?"
"Sure," Eric replied, taking another swallow of his Irish coffee. "I'll just stay put out here."
"Thanks." Beth headed into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.
Too many strange things have been happening lately, that's what's going on with my mind. And what I'm feeling about Kory, that's just part of it. Everything's so completely weird right now. Like that big gap in my memory. Like the woman Bethie was telling me about, the one I can't remember—
He closed his eyes for a minute, as something like a twinge warning of headache-to-come hit his forehead. Unbidden, an image rose in his mind, of a beautiful blonde woman holding out her hands to him.
:Bard—are you thinking of me?:
Eric opened his eyes, startled, and glanced around the empty room, suddenly disoriented. What the hell? For a minute there, I thought someone was talking to me.
But I'm alone. There's no one here but me—
Must be a TV show in the next apartment.
Then he heard the voice again, low and seductive, as if someone was speaking right into his ear.
:No. I am here, Eric.:
Eric blinked, and his disorientation grew. Say what?
:Close your eyes and dream of me, Eric, and I will come to you—:
He closed his eyes obediently, and then saw her clearly.
Blonde hair, cascading over her bare shoulders. Blue eyes, bright as sapphires, and blood-red lips curving in a smile. She was naked, gloriously nude, and the sight of her made his breath catch.
:I have not forgotten you, Eric. I cannot forget you. You are a longing that I cannot deny, a fire in my blood. Dream of me, think of me for just a moment more, and I will find you. And we will be together—
She moved closer to him, smiling. From a distance, Eric thought he could hear music, a quiet melody slowly building in strength, and another voice, softly chanting.
"By salt and water, blade and Will
None shall harm, or wish ill
Upon those within this circle round
That wish with my power, I have bound."
What's going on here?, he thought fuzzily. Why do I feel so strange? He tried to focus his eyes, to stand up, but something seemed to be clouding his thoughts and his vision, slowing everything down to a crawl, turning the world into flitting shadows and impenetrable darkness.
:Do not think, Eric, just feel. Close your eyes, and I will find you—:
Caught by her words, Eric closed his eyes again. Then he felt the touch of her hands upon him, and forgot everything else. She was running her hands down his chest, her breath warm against his skin—Beth? No, she isn't Beth, Beth's in the other room. Who—
The distant chanting voice faded away, barely audible over the pounding of his blood. All that existed was his unseen lover, her body entwining with his, warm flesh like silk beneath his hands. Lips, touching his in the darkness, a kiss that made his heart beat even harder. Coherent thought fled before the rising fever in his blood, the longing and the need—
And the silent voice, whispering in his thoughts.
:Dream of me, Bard. Just a moment longer, and then I will be with you—:
:Yes—: Eric heard himself answer. :Yes, I will, I am waiting for you—:
He could feel her silent laughter, the richness of her thoughts, drawing closer to him, reaching for him.
:So close—another moment—and—:
Then Beth's voice, loud and disrupting.
"By the innermost fire, grant me this desire
As I will it so shall it be!"
Like a door banging shut, something slammed down between Eric and the other. He caught a brief snarl of rage, of frustration and thwarted desire, before the whispering voice faded into silence.
Eric opened his eyes, and blinked.
What in the—did I just doze off, or what?
Christ. That—that was quite a daydream. I haven't had a dream like that since I was a teenager and I swiped Jeff's fathers Playboy.
He looked around the living room, and slowly shook his head. Jesus. You'd think that after last night, I couldn't be thinking about sex, at least for the morning!
A moment later, Beth walked out of the bedroom, carrying the cup and knife. She glanced at him, then walked over to the table, setting the implements down and looking at him closely. "Are you okay, Eric? You look kinda pale."
"I'm just a little tired." He shrugged, then grinned wickedly at her. "Didn't get enough sleep last night, I think."
She hugged him, and mussed his hair good-naturedly. "I bet. Maybe I'll let you get some sleep tonight." She breathed into his ear, "But don't count on it."
He caught Beth's hands, drawing her to him for a lengthy kiss. "Do we really have to go to that rally? I can think of a better way to spend the afternoon."
"Absolutely," she said. "Besides, our patient is still soundly asleep in the bed. I wouldn't want to disturb him."
"Didn't he wake up when you were chanting?" Eric asked.
Beth looked at him strangely.
"Eric—I didn't say anything out loud," she said after a moment's pause.
Yeah? Then what did I just hear?
Oh no. The universe is getting weird on me again. God, I hate this. Like daydreaming about that blonde, just now. Or how I felt when I was with Kory, earlier this morning. I can't deal with this stuff, really, I just can't—
"Does—does Kory look okay? Is he sleeping all right?'"
"He seems to be fine," Beth said. "I guess these elves are pretty tough. But I'm thinking that maybe we should move him to my place, later—I've put some serious protections on it over the years. A lot more than I can do in a few minutes over here." She glanced at her watch, "Listen, if we head out now, we can catch my friend at home, and still get to the rally in time. I want you to meet this guy—he's the one who first told me about the L.A. elves."
"Sure," Eric said, standing up. "Who is this friend of yours?"
"Oh, you'll like him," Beth assured him, as they walked to the apartment door. "He's as crazy as we are. He has to be—he's an animator."
Phil always made Beth smile, no matter how serious the situation was. Today was no exception.
"Beth, sweetling, it's good to see you again." The deceptively frail-looking old man hugged her, then stood back a pace and looked at her intently. "You're looking good, honeybunch—there's a nice glow in your eyes, and jeez, you're in terrific shape. Keeping yourself busy, I hope?" He gave Eric a speculative glance. Eric, of course, began to blush.
Oh, Banyon, I can't take you anywhere!
"I'm doing fine, Phil," Beth said, kissing his weathered cheek fondly. "This is Eric Banyon, a friend of mine. Eric, Phil Osborn. We're here because of another friend of ours, who isn't doing fine."
"Well, come in, sit down, and tell me about it." Phil ushered them into the small apartment, then vanished briefly into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with three cans of Coke. He handed them each a can, then sat down in his favorite old overstuffed armchair.
Beth saw the way Eric was staring at the living-room walls, decorated with animation cels and original sketches, and smiled to herself. Well, we've lost Banyon for a while, I think. I know how I was the first time I saw Phil's apartment!
"Our friend is one of the elves," Beth began, sitting down across from Phil on the couch.
Phil started, then settled back in his chair, a look of speculation on his face. "So you finally got your wish, hmm, honeybunch?" He lowered his voice for a minute. "Should we be talking about this with your young man here?"
She sighed. "He's in on it. In fact, he's further into it than I am."
"Oh." Phil considered that for a moment. "Something tells me your experience wasn't entirely pleasant."
"Most of it wasn't pleasant at all, Uncle Phil." She frowned, and haltingly began detailing the entirely bizarre events of the night before.
And it feels like it was a year ago.
"So things are going pretty badly for all the elves," she concluded, "I guess you must have known some of that. Poor Kory got more than his share of getting dumped on, though."
"Who did for him, honeybunch?" Phil ran his hand thoughtfully through his thatch of gray-white hair. He was taking her story entirely at face value. Hardly surprising; he was the one who'd told her all about the elves in the L.A. hills when she was a child—and convinced her that they were real when she'd grown up.
"He told us it was an elf called Perenor. He seems to be part of the bunch trying to destroy the L.A. Elizabethan Faire site, the magic nexus." She took a swallow of Coke, and leaned forward. "I remembered the stories you used to tell me, and I thought maybe you might know something that would be useful about Perenor, something we can use to stop him, or something we can do to bring the other elves out of Dreaming so they can get out of here before the nexus goes."
Phil frowned unhappily. "I hadn't heard about this until you told it to me—but then, the elves are so locked up in Dreaming right now I couldn't shake most of them loose with dynamite. So, somebody is figuring on destroying the magic nexus? That's serious bad news, Beth. Very, very serious."
"I know, Phil," she said, patiently. "That's why we're here. If there's anything you know that might help us—"
"Beth says that you know a lot of the L.A. elves," Eric said from across the room, where he was looking at a framed cel of Snow White.
Phil raised white eyebrows abruptly, so abruptly it looked as though they'd jumped halfway up his forehead. "So you weren't B.S.-ing your old Uncle Phil. This is another Believer. Well, well . . ." He turned slightly to get a better look at Eric. "So, Beth told you that I know something about the elves, hmm? Well, that's very true. A lot of them were my friends. Back in the early days, when I first started working in the Industry—did Beth here tell you that I created Defender Duck? He's still my favorite character. Saving the world from Fascism and duck-hunters everywhere—"
"Phil," Beth interrupted carefully, "You were telling Eric about the elves."
"Oh, that's right. Where was I?" He suddenly smiled, a sly, mischievous smile, like a little boy who's just gotten away with something.
Eric was looking at Phil with the stunned expression of someone who can't reconcile what's before his eyes with what he knows.
Is he seeing something I don't?
"Why don't you tell Eric everything you've told me? That way we'll have a different perspective on things."
Phil smiled again. Beth began to suspect something. What, she wasn't sure, but she began to suspect Phil of trying some kind of complicated game on them, "Well, I started in '38 with Warner, then moved over to Disney."
"Uncle Phil—"
"I'm getting there! It was years later—I was working right here in Burbank on the studio lot—when I saw my first elf. We were watching the dailies for one of the early color features—you know what dailies are, don't you, young man?—and I noticed that someone was sitting a few seats over from me, somebody I'd never seen before. I figured he was one of the execs, dropping in to see what we were working on, but then—"
The old man's eyes brightened, and softened with remembrance. "Then, when they turned the lights back on, I saw him clearly. He was very tall, wearing the strangest clothing, with lots of golden hair, curling all over his shoulders. No one, mind you, especially not an executive, wore long hair in those days. My God, he looked just like Snow White's Prince Charming, the way I wanted to do him. Jeez, what a travesty that was. See, the Old Man had this thing about long hair on guys—he'd've just as soon put crewcuts on the Greek gods!"
"Uncle Phil—"
"Right, the guy. He just sat there, looking up at me and smiling. And the most peculiar thing about it was that no one else seemed to see him. It was like he wasn't there. That's when I saw the ears, and I had it figured: either he was an elf, or I was drunk. And I wasn't drunk, at least not that day. He saw me looking at him, and he kept smiling at me. And then . . . and then he leaned real close to me, and whispered, like it was a big secret: 'Nice work on that last scene, Phil. But you got something wrong—a unicorn's hooves are supposed to be silver, not gold!'"
Phil's cackling laughter rang through the room, and Eric smiled, slowly. "Well, that was the first time I saw Prince Terenil. I wanted to talk with him some more—after all, I'd never seen an elf before—so I just told him right back, 'Look, whoever heard of pastel unicorns, anyway? It's artistic license!' He laughed, and said we ought to go talk about it. I tell you, I was just about to bust out with excitement. I mean, me and an elf! We got some sandwiches from the commissary and sat under the trees on one of the backlots, just talking. Talking about everything—animation, art, elves, humans. Turns out he was a real cartoon fanatic—thought it was amazing how we created living characters out of nothing but voices and blobs of paint. We had a lot in common, for an animator and an elven prince." He shook his head reminiscently. "He really liked the Duck. You know, that Duck was sure my fav—"
"Uncle Phil—" Beth said warningly, having finally figured out what was going on. "You can put on that senile act with everybody else, but it isn't going to work with me."
The old man raised his cola can to her, not looking the least bit repentant. "Okay, sweetling. Yeah, those were the days. We used to meet a couple times a week like that, sitting in a backlot, eating lunch, and talking." Phil's eyes clouded suddenly. "Until the big layoffs, that is."
He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "That was a bad time, for me, for a lot of people in the Industry. Leila—my wife—she was alive then, and working days in a department store. We were all right for a while, living off her salary and our savings, but then money started getting tight. Just when I thought I was gonna have to go back to being a security guard, Prince Terenil showed up on the doorstep, with a leather pouch in his hand. Honeybunch, did I ever tell you that Leila could see the elves, too? Wonderful woman, Leila. God, I miss her."
He fell silent for a moment, and just stared sadly off into space, so sadly that Beth didn't have the heart to prompt him. "Best thing that ever happened to me, was Leila," he said softly. "She really was. God, I miss her—"
The old man's eyes were so lost, so infinitely lonely that Beth finally had to pretend to examine her Coke can, overwhelmed by the feeling that she was intruding on something very private.
Phil cleared his throat, and took another sip of his cola. "Yeah, she could see them; she and Terenil had a real thing about keeping me from not going off into a gloom about the layoffs. So Terenil showed up. He said he had a sudden craving for a piece of Leila's pecan pie—but after she'd fed him, he said, 'It's about time I returned a little something for your hospitality.' He opened that leather pouch up over the kitchen table, and then there were all these sparkling stones on the formica. A dozen little gems. I thought my jaw was gonna come off, and Leila—she started crying, and hugging him . . . He would never tell us where he got them, just that he didn't steal them. Leila sold them to a jeweler, and we had enough money to live on until the studios started hiring animators again."
You never told me that story before, Uncle Phil.
"It was right after that he took me over to the Elfhame side of . . . whatever. What they call 'under the Hill.' My, now that was different." His eyes had lost their sadness, and were focused on something infinitely lovely, but very far away.
"Did you ever meet Perenor?" Beth asked. The animator nodded, but his cheerful smile faded. "Oh, I definitely did, Beth. That was quite an afternoon. Prince Terenil and I were at the Elfhame Grove, you know, the one where they all used to meet and party. We were eating oranges and taking—that was when most of the San Fernando Valley was still orange orchards, Beth, years before you were even born—and suddenly Terenil stands up. He has this intent look in his eyes, like he's listening to something, even though I can't hear anything but the birds in the trees around us. Then he starts off through the trees. I didn't know what was going on, but I followed him."
Phil's lips thinned to a hard line. "And there, on the edge of the oak trees, is this handsome silver-haired elf, with a human boy. They're just sitting there, not doing anything that I can see; but the boy has this look on his face like he's drugged out of his mind. And Terenil starts shouting at this other elf; about how that's forbidden magic, that Perenor's hurting the boy and he doesn't even care. Perenor just shrugged. So Terenil just grabbed the boy and stormed off with him. And Perenor gave me this look, like he wanted to rip Terenil apart, but wouldn't mind killing me instead, so I ran and caught up with Terenil."
The old man stared down into his Coke can, as if searching for an answer that wouldn't come. "That boy was in a real bad way. Like he was lost somewhere inside himself. Like those kids they call 'autistic,' now. I took him home to his parents, didn't tell them about the elves, just that I'd found the kid wandering in the orchards. His parents told me that he'd been a normal child, no, more than normal—really a special kid, a bright little penny, with a singing voice that you couldn't believe. But he couldn't speak, or hear, not after that afternoon with Perenor. And, months later, I came back to see if he was doing better, and found out that the kid had been hit by a car. He was walking across the street and the driver honked and the kid couldn't hear it." Phil paused, taking a long swallow of his soda, as if he was washing away something bitter.
"Later, I heard that Terenil had exiled Perenor from the elven community. All I heard of him after that was a few years later, that he had found himself a human girlfriend, and they had a child, a little blonde girl. Arianrhod, I think that's what her name was. Terenil told me about her, about how she was going to inherit human and elven magic, but I don't remember exactly what he said. It's been a good many years."
A little blonde girl—yes, that makes sense! That's the bitch who was with Perenor last night. His daughter—
Out of the corner of her eye, Beth saw Eric shudder slightly. Maybe he's figuring it out too, or remembering something of what happened last night in the club—damn, but that Perenor and his daughter are a nasty set of people.
"You don't know anything else about Perenor, or maybe his daughter? Something about them that might help us?"
Phil suddenly grinned, raising his can of Coke meaningfully. "Sure. Just take 'em out for a glass of cola, and you'll take 'em out, fast enough." Beth just looked at him. "What do you mean?" The animator sipped his soda, then looked at the can thoughtfully. "It's something that Terenil told me about, years back. Caffeine. It's just a minor stimulant for us, but for the elves, it's a deadly and addictive drug. In small amounts, it acts like a trank, sends the elves into Dreaming, even if they're okay before they down it. Enough of it, and they'll die from overdose."
"Well." Beth thought about that for a moment. "That's useful information, though I don't know how we can hold Perenor down long enough to pour some coffee down his throat." Though I'd sure love to do that to you, you murderous bastard—
"Besides, I don't know if it would work on his daughter, since she's half-human." Phil shifted in his chair, glancing at Eric. "You're being very quiet, young man."
"Just thinking," Eric said, obviously subdued. "They're holding all the cards, aren't they? The people who own the Faire site have already sold it to a developer, it's going to be turned into condos, and that'll destroy the nexus. Perenor's masterminding that, somehow. I mean, he may be a powerful elf-lord, but he's got a corporation doing his dirty work for him. How can we stop that? You don't stop corporations with magic, I don't care how good you are."
"That's one thing that doesn't make sense to me," Phil mused aloud, "that Perenor wants to destroy the nexus. After all, the loss of magic would hurt him as well as the others. He'd fall into Dreaming, just like them, and then when his magic ran out, he'd fade. And then, what the loss of that magic would do to Los Angeles—"
"What would it do?" Eric asked. "I mean, it would just hurt the elves, right?"
Phil shook his head. "Unfortunately, that isn't the case, young man. You don't realize how much we depend on that magic here. That's why the film industry, and most of the music industry, are located here. That magic nexus gives the elves what they need to live, but it also powers human creativity, the human soul. Without it, we might as well build cars. Because our films would have all the soul of a Chrysler, all steel and Fiberglas."
Eric looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face. Phil turned the can around in his hands, thinking. "You know, there's already places where the magic has died—look at downtown Detroit, where the druggies are stealing the aluminum siding off the walls of houses. Think of the Jersey Turnpike. If you lived there, your imagination, your soul, would wither and die. Think about it."
Beth did think about it. Maybe that's why I'm still living in L.A. This place has so much potential, so many creative people, all trying to do something meaningful. That's the magic that means the most, the magic of the human heart. If that magic dies—
"Now, what I want to know," Phil continued, "is how Perenor will benefit by destroying the nexus. I think I'll go out and do a little research. Most of the elves I know, like Terenil, are trapped in Dreaming. But maybe one or two of them are coherent enough to talk to me."
"Meanwhile," he said, glancing at Eric and Beth, "I do think that you should talk to these corporation people. See if they understand what they're doing. Without making yourself sound like loons, of course. I'd really hate to have to spring you out of a mental institution, Bethie."
"I'll try to stay out of trouble, Uncle Phil." She grinned. "And we're going to a protest rally at the corporation headquarters this afternoon. I'm hoping we'll find out something useful." And, with any luck, we'll find a way to stop these bastards—
Eric looked up at the towering building, the opaque glass window exterior hiding everything within. Anything could be going on in there, and we'd never know, he thought, gazing skyward.
So, this is the home of Llewellyn Investment Corporation, the guys who bought the Faire land—I wonder if it's as intimidating on the inside as it is from out here?
All that stone, that glass—it made him think of . . . prisons. Buildings like this were meant to trap, to hold, to clutch—
He looked resolutely away from the intimidating facade. Caitlin's inside, talking with some of their execs. She's really doing her damnedest with this. She, of all the Admin people, really cares about what happens to the Faire.
He glanced around at the rest of the protestors, looking to see if any of them glowed in that peculiar, silvery way the old animator did. Was that strange, magical light just something that only people who knew elves had? And why was he beginning to see it around people now?
That question triggered another. I wonder if any of these people know that there's more at stake than just an Elizabethan Faire site? Do any of them know about the magic nexus?
Near him the motley group of Faire people (some wearing mundane clothing, others in their colorful Faire garb) milled around uneasily. Beth was several feet away, talking with some of the dancers from her Faire show.
It's strange, I know so many of these people, but here I am, feeling as though I'm standing out here all by myself. It's not that anyone's excluding me, or deliberately not talking to me. It's just that I feel like I'm on the outside, looking in.
He felt odd, uncomfortable—and obscurely unhappy. He wanted to get a little distance from the crowd—but he didn't want to leave them, either.
It's funny, I never thought about it, but I guess that's how I am with Faire people in general. The L.A. Elizabethans, the Texas folks, everyone else I've ever played shows with. I know so many people, but they really aren't friends. Not really.
He swallowed, not liking the direction his thoughts were taking. Maybe this is what Beth was talking about over the weekend, about how I never commit to anything.
But I don't want to get hurt—
"If I don't let them get close to me, they can't hurt me." Yeah, that's true, but look at where I am now. Standing alone in a crowd.
The building seemed to loom over him, gloating at his unhappiness. He could almost hear it in his mind—
Then he did start to hear a strange, slithery voice in the back of his head.
"See," it seemed to say, "see how utterly insignificant you are? See how utterly meaningless this all is? Why, you can't even call any of these people a friend, not really—and what good are friends, anyway? Will they buy you power like this?"
Friend . . . The only one I feel close to at all is Beth, and maybe a few of the musicians. Like Aaron, that crazy fiddler, over there on the sidewalk with a few of the other Irish.
But somehow he couldn't bring himself to join them. Now that I think about it, I guess this is how my life has been for a long time. Years. Always moving on before I can make any friends, get to know anybody real well. What kind of a life is that? No commitments, sure, but no real friends, either. Even my girlfriends, it's always ended with me leaving town, moving away. I don't know why, but that's how it is . . .
"And that's the way it will always be," the voice said in his ear. The building loomed silently, staring at him with a thousand cold glass eyes.
But that hit his stubborn streak. That's just my own paranoia talking. And hell, maybe I can change that. Right now. I'm needed here, to help Kory with whatever it is he needs me to do. Save the Faire land, save the elves. And, after that? I don't know. But maybe—maybe Beth would want me to stay here. And Kory—
He shuffled his feet. The very thought of Kory made him uncomfortable in a different sort of way.
I don't know what to think about Kory. Already, I feel like he's a close friend of mine, even though I've only known him for a few days. And, yeah, there's something else going on there, something I dont understand. It feels good, but—I don't know. I like him in a way that definitely is more than "just a friend." I don't know what's going on there, I just don't. How can I feel that way about a frizzy-haired elf?
Eric shook his head, looking out at the gathering crowd. Better not think of it now. Looks like everything s about to get started here.
Caitlin walked out from the entrance to the Llewellyn building, with a business-suited man at her elbow. She stopped at the top of the steps. "Okay, everybody, they've agreed to hear our grievances. We're going inside in an orderly fashion—not like the Noon Parade, youse guys! Go into the conference room on the right side of the lobby and sit down. Some of their executives are going to talk with us there."
Eric joined the throng of Faire people moving toward the large double glass doors.
This place looks normal enough inside. Dozens of suits, but that's to be expected. God, my imagination is working overtime. What did I expect? Sorcerers in gray-flannel robes!"
Then he glanced around the busy lobby, and saw him.
An older man, tall, distinguished, talking with another businessman by the receptionist's desk. Perfectly normal, except—
Except for the tips of his ears. Pointed ears, showing through the immaculately-groomed silver hair.
A flashback of memory hit Eric like a slap in the face.
Sitting on the bus, looking out the window at the limo. And that man, that man with the green eyes—
Green eyes, emerald ice—gazing at me—and reaching— reaching—
Oh shit, it's him! That's Perenor!
Eric ducked back through the crowd, trying to put as many people and as much distance between himself and the Elflord as possible. He tried to signal to Beth, but she was already walking into the conference room with some of the other Rennies.
He looked around quickly, trying to spot anything he could use for cover. In another minute, everybody will be in the conference room. And I'll be out here in the lobby, with him standing less than twenty feet away. Shit!
God, get me out of this!