The Prince of Neither Here Nor There (18 page)

“Why should I do anything you say?” Brendan shouted. “I don’t know what’s going on. Who are you people?”

“Certainly, who we are is important,” Kim said urgently. “But what’s more important is who you are. You are a Faerie. You’re one of us.”

“Fairy?” Brendan was confused. “What do you mean, I’m a fairy?”

“A Faerie! One of the Fair Folk,” Kim said, exasperated.

“But …” Brendan began.

Orcadia chose that moment to ignite. Brendan felt the birds’ minds wink out as they were incinerated. They dropped to the ground, lifeless and smoking in a ring around Orcadia’s feet. Brendan felt a sharp stab of shame. They were just innocent birds. He’d lied to them and now their deaths were his fault.

“Now, you will all die!” Orcadia shouted.

Greenleaf suddenly threw his arms toward Orcadia. The funnel cloud carved across the pavement and enveloped her. She shrieked, but her voice was muffled by the wind. The cloud lit up from within with flashes of lightning as she struggled to escape. The funnel cloud lifted off the ground and rocketed skyward.

“No time to explain. If you don’t want to be a dead Faerie, you’d better move your ass right now,” Kim threatened.

Brendan had no choice. He jumped onto the scooter behind Kim and wrapped his arms around her waist as she sped away.

⁴⁸
 A
whelp
is a newborn puppy. The insinuation of the insult is that it’s somehow bad to be a newborn puppy. I don’t know about you but I like newborn puppies. Except for when they pee on the carpet, but even then, they’re kind of cute.

⁴⁹
 There are several different types of Faerie Arts, what we might call Magic. The Disciplines allow Faeries to manipulate the Energy of the Earth to affect matter, mind, and even time. Weaving is one of these disciplines. A Weaver is a Faerie who has the power to manipulate magical energy. They can do this in any number of ways, depending on the craft they prefer. Some use music. Some use visual arts such as painting or carving. Some quite simply weave, but that’s a little bit obvious. They are vital to the continued existence of the Faerie People, as they allow the Fair Folk to live in hiding alongside human beings.

⁵⁰
 
Keen
means weep or mourn. It is an old Irish word. Not that the word is used by old Irish people. It’s a word from olden times. That were Irish. You know what I mean.

⁵¹
 The bird, not the construction vehicle.

⁵²
 This action is a good example of Faerie “Magic.” Faerie Magic is sympathetic: it can only manipulate an already existing situation. What I mean is this: Kim couldn’t make a barrier of thorns grow on the moon because no plants would be available for her to manipulate. And she would suffocate because there is no air on the moon, but that’s beside the point.

⁵³
 Sadly, his life was in danger of being snuffed out so he was practically wetting his pants.

⁵⁴
 Speaking with animals is an Art unto itself. And I don’t mean just talking to animals. I do that all the time. I have a guinea pig named Mr. Pants who listens while I read the newspaper to him every morning. Faeries are capable of speaking to animals and listening to their responses. There’s a big difference. The Faerie Gift is amazing while what I do is merely a bit pathetic and lonely.

OVER AND UNDER

Despite his tight grip around Kim’s waist, Brendan almost fell backward over the end of the scooter as it shot forward. He stifled a shout as Kim wove through the parked cars at a speed certain to break both their necks. Without slowing, she swerved around the end of the building, vaulting onto the lawn, and zoomed straight for Queen’s Park Crescent with its steady hum of cars. Brendan watched in horror as she gunned the motor and headed for the thickest traffic.

“Are you out of your mind? Slow down!” Brendan shouted in her ear. “You’re gonna kill us.”

“Holy Mother of the Moon!” Kim spat. “Would you just relax and try not to get your skirt caught in the wheel, Granny?”

Brendan was about to shout a retort but terror stole the words away. They shot into traffic without slowing in the slightest, Kim sailing into a gap between a limousine and a gigantic SUV. Car horns honked. Tires squealed. Brendan buried his face in Kim’s shoulder waiting for the inevitable collision. He clenched his entire body around Kim as if she were a rock in a tossing ocean.

“Loosen up, will ya?” Kim grunted. “You’re gonna break me in two.” Brendan didn’t let go of his grip. He waited for the screech of tires that would announce their painful demise, but it didn’t come.

Seconds passed. He was still alive. He mustered his courage and peeked over Kim’s shoulder.

They were heading south in the long turn around the provincial Parliament, accelerating smoothly. Brendan couldn’t believe how fast they were going. He noticed something else. Usually, Kim’s scooter had the high-pitched whine shared by all vehicles with small engines, but as they zipped along, Brendan realized he wasn’t hearing that sound. Instead, emanating from the engine was a low, harmonic hum that shifted through a spectrum of sound depending on their speed. It almost sounded like a choir of tiny voices. He looked down and saw that where he had assumed the scooter was built of metal and plastic, it was actually an amalgam of different woods, skilfully carved with strange symbols up and down its chassis. The saddle was beautifully tooled leather, the pattern a series of swirling lines chasing each other across the surface. The scooter’s lines were sleek and perfectly harmonious. It was more like an animal than a machine.

“I thought this was a gas scooter,” Brendan shouted over the wind. “What does it run on?”

“Trapped zephyrs,”
⁵⁵
Kim called back.

“Trapped what?
Yaaaaaaah
!” Brendan screamed as they approached an intersection, weaving through the cars stopped at the red light.

Kim ignored Brendan’s cries of panic. She gunned the motor as she timed their approach to the intersection of College and University perfectly, the light winking green as she sailed through. They flashed down the wide boulevard, weaving through the cars.

Brendan opened his eyes, surprised that he wasn’t dead. The wind ruffled his hair. He relaxed his grip ever so slightly. “Where are we going?” Brendan asked. He was not entirely over his initial fear but was starting to enjoy the ride. A little. The speed of their passage and the beautiful hum of the engine’s song were exhilarating.

“Someplace safe,” Kim said dismissively.

“Why don’t we go to my house.” His father might be at home. Maybe they could get him to help, call the police.

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Orcadia knows where you live. She’s already been sniffing around there. If you go back there, you’ll put your family in danger.”

Brendan hadn’t thought of that. Orcadia had been the mysterious relative his mother had talked to last night. He shivered at the thought. His mother had no idea what danger she’d been in. He decided, whatever happened, he’d try to keep these weirdos as far away from his family as possible. “Then where
are
we going? To the police?”

“The police? Ha! They can’t help us.” Kim shook her head. “No, we’re going to a place I know. It’s a safe place, neutral ground, a meeting place called the Swan of Liir.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t have. It’s for Fair Folk only.”

“What if we get separated? How will I find it?”

“If we get separated, you’ll never find it. No one can find it on their own. You have to be shown the way.”

“But if something happens to you …”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“But what if it does?” Brendan insisted.

“Will you quit whining? If anything happened to me, well then, you’ll probably die,” Kim snarled. Brendan’s mouth snapped shut. “But nothing is going to happen to me, so shut up and let me drive. I have to concentrate, and I can’t do that with you whining in my ear.”

The sudden wail of a siren cut off their conversation. Brendan looked back over his shoulder and saw a police cruiser pull out from a side street. The red and blue lights on the roof of the car were flashing and the siren screamed. There were two officers in the car, one female constable driving and the other, a man, speaking into his radio. They didn’t look happy.

“We should pull over,” Brendan suggested. He had never been in trouble with the police and he didn’t want to start now.

Kim laughed. “Not today.” She glanced up at the swath of sky visible between the tall buildings. Brendan looked up and saw purple clouds spreading south, almost as if they were following the scooter’s progress. “Uh-oh. Looks like Greenleaf couldn’t hold her. We have to get to safe ground. She’s coming for us.”

“Why does she want me? Is she really my aunt? Where’s my father? My mother?”

“Do you ever stop asking questions? Just shut up. Everything will be explained to you when we get to the Swan,” she barked. “Try to relax!”

“Relax? I’m attacked by some crazy woman. I can talk to squirrels and birds! People are trying to kill me! You’ve basically kidnapped me and I’m supposed to
relax!”
Brendan’s voice cracked. He was about to lose it.

“Like I said,” Kim repeated, “everything will be explained when we get to the Swan. If we don’t get to the Swan, it won’t matter.”

“Is it far?”

Kim looked up at the darkening sky. “Far enough. Just zip it and hold on! I’ve gotta shake the fuzz.”

Kim continued her swerving route down University Avenue. The scooter slalomed from lane to lane, barely missing vehicles on either side. The police were hampered by the traffic but the siren was clearing the way as motorists pulled over to allow the cruiser through. The police were slowly gaining ground.

“Pull over to the curb immediately!” A policeman’s voice was amplified through the public address speaker on top of the cruiser.

“Maybe we should stop now!” Brendan said hopefully.

“Do you always do whatever you’re told?” Kim laughed.

“When it’s the police telling me, yes!”

Brendan felt sure that Kim would slow now. Up ahead, the light at Queen Street turned red. Cars streamed across their path in a thick flow. They would certainly be killed if they tried to cut across. The scooter did slow slightly as Kim scanned for a way through.

In front of them, a fist of lightning slammed into a Mercedes convertible that was just few metres ahead. The car sizzled as the rainwater turned to steam and its paint crackled. The stricken vehicle swerved, smashing sideways into a van. The crunch of metal and the smell of scorched rubber stung Brendan’s nostrils.

“She’s here!” Kim shouted. “Time for an alternative route.”

She angled the scooter to the right, aiming it at the sidewalk. They bumped over the curb, Brendan almost being jarred loose, and fishtailed through a group of pedestrians, narrowly avoiding a collision with a sausage vendor’s cart. People shouted in anger and shook their fists.

“Sorry!” Brendan called.

The police cruiser screeched to a halt at the curb. A female officer leapt out and began to run after them while the other went to investigate the accident caused by the lightning strike.

“Halt!” the female cop shouted.

Kim ignored the command. Swerving across the sidewalk, she jumped the curb again, shooting across the intersection diagonally.

“Oh sweet Christmas!” Brendan shrieked.

“Yee-haw!” Kim crowed.

They had almost made it to the other side of the intersection when a transport truck turned in front of them. The broad side of the van loomed, a mass of wheels with a flatbed laden with coiled wire for some construction site.

“Hang on!” Kim cried as if there was an alternative.

The scooter tilted. She turned side on to the truck, and they slid along the pavement, the dark, greasy underside of the truck bed passing above them. At that instant, lightning struck the coiled wire on the bed of the truck. The impact was followed by a shower of sparks that curtained over them as they slid out the other side of the truck. The shock wave that followed deafened Brendan for a moment, but amazingly the two of them were still on the scooter.

Kim thrust her leg against the pavement and threw them upright again. She gunned the motor, and the scooter zoomed along the curb down Queen Street. They had left behind them a wake of swerving cars. The traffic was snarled in the intersection.

“We’ve gotta get out of the open,” Kim shouted. “We’re too exposed.”

Brendan was completely incapable of speaking. His throat was frozen and his eyes wide with shock. He’d always thought that chases in the movies were so cool and that he’d like to be in one. Now he was in one, and he wanted it to stop. To add to his horror, Kim pulled an object from her blazer pocket and stabbed at it with her thumb.

“You’re going to make a phone call?” Brendan squealed. “Now?”

“Keep your panties on,” Kim said.

“May I point out we’re involved in a police chase on an unstable, two-wheeled vehicle …” He trailed off when he caught sight of the cellphone.

Instead of being made of plastic like the cells he was familiar with, it was a small featureless palm-sized block of wood. When Kim pressed the centre of the wood with her thumb, the wood began to glow with patterns of light that settled into the shape of a keyboard. A crack appeared along the edge of the block, and it flipped open to reveal a tiny glowing screen.

“A wooden cellphone?”

“Cool, huh,” Kim said. “It’s a Faerie thing. We like organic stuff. Metal and plastic don’t mix well with us. The Artificers finally figured out how to copy the Human technology.”

“Artificers?” Brendan asked.

“Shhh!” She pressed the phone against her ear and guided the scooter up onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians dove for their lives.

“Yeah.” Kim was speaking into the phone. “We’re on our way. We’ve got some cops on our tail. I think we’ve lost them but we’ll need some damage control.
⁵⁶
I’m going underground so I’ll be out of touch …”

She tapped the block of wood with her thumb and it returned to its original state: a wooden block. She tucked it into her pocket and leaned over the handlebars of the scooter. Rain continued to fall in hard, cold droplets, stinging Brendan’s exposed face and numbing his hands.