Wayfarer Page 5

  He shouldn’t have come here, Timothy realized with a flicker of apprehension. The street was too quiet, too dimly lit. Besides, the old church looked deserted: No light shone from its windows, and the battered wooden doors were closed. He was wondering if he should go back and look for the Old Victoria after all, when the door swung open, flooding the step with honeyed light. From inside he heard laughter, and the faint, lilting notes of a guitar. “You looking for Sanctuary?” said a cheerful voice.

  Suddenly the place seemed transformed, no longer a haunted church but a haven of worldly welcome. “Yeah, I am,” said Timothy, and hurried in.

  Brushing past the smiling boy at the door, he found himself in a vestibule plastered with posters advertising bus tours to Stonehenge, offering discount coupons for a local cafe, and announcing the opening of a new twenty-four-hour launderette, international visitors welcome. A wall rack that had once held gospel tracts was now stuffed with tourist brochures, while the shelves built for hymnbooks were full of visitors’ muddy shoes. Reassured, Timothy made his way through a second set of doors and into the noisy bustle of the hostel’s common room.

  His eyes found the guitarist at once: a young man with a lean face and fox-colored hair, eyes half closed as his fingers plucked out a Spanish melody. He sat alone on a dilapidated sofa in one corner, while by his feet two bored-looking and nearly identical boys in leather jackets played chess. In the opposite corner a small crowd had gathered, of varying ages and ethnicities; he could see a pair of Japanese girls giggling over a laptop, while two Arabs and a lanky Ethiopian carried on a passionate, hand-waving argument in French.

  The reception desk stood against the far wall, beneath a cracked stained-glass window. After giving his card to the hair-twirling girl on duty, Timothy got a locker key and a set of linens, and she pointed him through a second set of doors to look for Cubicle Nine.

  It didn’t take him long to find it. There were four bunks in the room, none occupied, so he dropped his backpack on the floor and started making up his bed for the night.

  “There you are!” said a delighted voice from behind him, and Timothy jerked to attention, nearly cracking his head on the upper bunk.

  It was the girl who looked like Miriam.

  Why Veronica hadn’t told him about Sanctuary the moment he’d admitted he was looking for a hostel, Timothy couldn’t imagine-but on the other hand, there was something special about meeting her again. It made him feel almost as though there were some greater purpose at work, and he hadn’t felt that way for a long time.

  “Look who’s turned up!” she announced as she tugged Timothy and his guitar back into the common room. “Another musician!”

  This was greeted by cheers, and Timothy was bemused. “What’s going on?” he whispered, but Veronica only laughed.

  “I love music, that’s all,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down and show Rob what you can do?”

  Rob turned out to be the foxlike young man on the sofa, who set his own guitar aside and regarded Timothy with shrewd dark eyes. “How long have you been playing?” he asked.

  “A few years,” said Timothy.

  “And where are you from? I can’t place the accent.”

  “Uganda. But I’ve been here since September.”

  “Ah,” said Rob, leaning back and slinging his arm across the back of the sofa. “Well, then, troubadour, why don’t you play us a song?”

  Half the people in the room seemed to be watching Timothy now. Veronica pulled a chair around and sat down across from him, eyes fixed eagerly on his face; even the black-haired twins set their chessboard aside, though they still looked bored and a little contemptuous. Timothy’s cheeks heated, but he lifted his guitar from the case and tuned it, trying to pretend that he was just practicing and that there was no pressure, no hurry. At last he lowered his head over the strings and began to play.

  He’d meant to start with something everyone would recognize, like the Beatles or Elvis Presley. But Veronica still reminded him of Miriam, and before he knew it, his fingers had started plucking out a Ugandan song instead. At first he played cautiously, unsure of his reception. But when he glanced up he saw Veronica smiling, and took courage.

  His thumb tapped the guitar’s hollow body, weaving percussion into the melody, and his confidence swelled as he saw the onlookers nodding and tapping their feet. Moving closer, they formed a loose circle around him, surrounding him with the warmth of their bodies and the rhythm of their hands, and when Rob picked up his own guitar and began thumbing a bass line, it seemed so natural that Timothy didn’t even falter.

  He’d never played this well before, every fingering perfect, every note vibrating clear and true. But after the first couple of numbers, playing other people’s songs wasn’t enough for him anymore: He wanted-no, needed-to improvise, and when he shifted into a different rhythm and a chord progression that was all his own, the crowd whistled and clapped as though they knew. Rob cocked his head to the side and cast him a swift glance, then joined him on the new melody.

  A pair of bongo drums appeared from nowhere. A bleached-looking Nordic girl conjured up a flute from the depths of her purse. Soon half the room was playing, dancing, even humming along with the tune-his tune. Timothy felt an incredulous warmth in the pit of his belly. It had been months since he’d felt wanted and valued, instead of like an outsider. But these people were happy to be near him, and they seemed to love every song he played…. It was intoxicating. Nothing mattered but the music, now; he could forget where he was, who he was, and simply be.

  Veronica slipped onto the sofa beside him, so close that he could smell the spice of her perfume. Timothy’s heart quickened and his fingers flew across the strings as the melodies kept pouring out of him, each more brilliant than the last. Where were they all coming from? Would he even remember any of them tomorrow? He had no idea. All he knew was that he never wanted it to stop-

  All at once Rob played a sour note, a discord so loud and obviously deliberate that it startled Timothy and the others into silence. Then he thrust his guitar aside and stalked away.

  Fatigue washed over Timothy as his exhilaration faded. He could feel the strain in his arms and shoulders, and his fingertips had throbbed. How long had he been playing?

  “Never mind him,” said Veronica, her eyes shining. She touched his shoulder, adding playfully, “Poor boy, we’ve worn you out. I’ll walk you to your room.”

  “You played so well tonight,” she said softly as Timothy fumbled the door open. “And such wonderful music…I do believe Rob was jealous.”

  It would have been flattering to think so, but Timothy wasn’t sure. Rob hadn’t looked envious when he’d stopped the music-he’d looked angry.

  “Those songs you played,” Veronica went on, “were they from Uganda?”

  “Some of them,” he said. “And some”-he ducked his head self-consciously-“I just made up.”

  Her wide mouth spread in a smile. “I thought so,” she said. “I have met musicians of all kinds since I came to Sanctuary, but seldom ones as gifted as yourself. Players are easily found, but composers…those are rare.”

  There was something odd about the way she was speaking, but Timothy was too tired to question it. He slumped down on the edge of his bed, stuck his key in the locker, and pulled out his backpack for the night.

  He was unzipping the top of the pack when realization struck: There was no one else in the room with them. He’d expected to have one or two roommates at least, but the cubicle was still empty, the other bunks and lockers bare. And when Veronica put her back to the door and gently pushed it shut, he felt a stir of misgiving.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She walked toward him, still smiling. “Such a sweet boy,” she said, and with that she bent swiftly and pressed her lips to his.

  Her mouth was icy cold, and Timothy flinched away as though she had burned him. Veronica’s brows arched. “You’re stronger than I thought,” she said. “One might almo
st think you were…protected.”

  Timothy rubbed his hand across his mouth, shaken. “Stop it,” he said hoarsely, though a part of him didn’t want her to. “Get away from me.”

  “Oh, I will,” she said, sounding amused. “Just as soon as I’ve taken all that lovely music you carry inside you. But don’t worry, by the time I’m done, you won’t even miss it.” And with that her long fingers curled around the back of his neck, nails stinging bloody crescents into his skin. Timothy yelped, but Veronica gripped him with inhuman strength, and though he struggled, he couldn’t pull away….

  “LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

  Timothy’s backpack erupted, shooting socks and underwear in all directions. Suddenly there was another girl in the room with them, her hands shaping light and hurling it through the air. Veronica staggered back as the flash hit her, the brown tones melting away from her skin and her braids unfurling into a silky blonde crop that looked nothing like Miriam’s at all. She cursed and fled, leaving the door open behind her.

  Timothy sat up slowly, staring at the strange new girl. She was small but shapely, with a round face and brown curls tumbling about her shoulders. The light she had flung at Veronica still glowed on his retinas when he blinked. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “My name is Linden,” she said, dropping to a crouch and looking up at him with earnest hazel eyes. “But never mind that just now. Can you move? We have to get out of here.”

  Five

  It had been a long ride from Oakhaven. Hidden away in Timothy’s pack, Linden could see nothing of the journey, and her heart had trembled at every unfamiliar noise she heard, every new smell that filtered in to her. This city was so loud-full of screeches and hisses and thumps, the blare of raucous music and the growling voices of more humans than she’d ever heard in her life. She had felt every jolt as Timothy walked, and when he’d swung the pack off his shoulders and let it drop onto the floor of the hostel, she’d had to clap her hands over her mouth to keep from shrieking. It was a relief to finally be free.

  And yet it was also terrifying. She was still learning to use the magic the Queen had given her, and compared with the easy power of someone like Veronica her own skills seemed hopelessly puny. It had taken all her concentration to cast two glamours at once-one to make herself large and the other to startle the other faery away-and her head still ached from the effort. Nor had Linden ever taken human shape before, and standing so tall with no wings to balance her, she felt as though she might teeter over at any minute.

  Meanwhile Timothy still sat motionless, staring at her. Of course he was in shock: He’d never seen her before, and here she’d popped up suddenly out of his backpack. But she had no time to explain, not now.

  “Please,” she said. “We can’t stay here, we have to get away before it’s too late!” Snatching up his discarded pack, she stuffed his clothes back into it and tossed it against his chest. “Come on!”

  “But…where did you come from?” Timothy said slowly.

  “I’ll tell you everything, I promise, but just come!” She pulled at his wrists, but he still wouldn’t move. How could she get him to obey? In desperation she looked around-and saw the guitar case sitting by the door.

  “Hey!” he protested as she snatched it up and ran with it.

  Linden didn’t look back, didn’t hesitate. If he didn’t come now, there was no hope for either of them. But the subtle herb fragrance of her fellow faeries was everywhere in this place, and she could only pray that when she reached the end of the corridor she would find only humans there, and not Veronica or one of her allies.

  She could hear Timothy pounding down the corridor behind her, shouting at her to stop; her plan had succeeded, but they were far from safe yet. Linden burst through the doorway and collided with a stranger on the other side, a young man with jutting cheekbones and feathery dark hair. He stumbled back, knocking into another boy who looked just like him, and she stammered out an apology before ducking past and looking around wildly for the exit.

  Merciful Gardener, where was it? There seemed to be doors everywhere, and the scent of faery was stronger than ever. Would she never find her way out of this place? But then a whisper of cool air touched her cheek, and she caught a glimpse of starlight as another human came blowing and stamping in from outside. Linden plunged past him and threw her weight against the outer doors until the metal bar gave way and they flew open. Still dragging the guitar, she stumbled down the steps to the edge of the road and waited for Timothy to join her.

  It was only a few seconds before he emerged, a tall figure silhouetted against the light. “Give me back my guitar,” he warned, stalking down the stairs with his hand outstretched. “Or I’ll call the police.”

  “You don’t understand!” she pleaded with him, backing away. “You have to come with me! Now!”

  “Don’t listen to her, Timothy,” said Veronica’s throaty voice from the doorway. “She’s a thief and a liar.” Her face softened as she walked out onto the step. “This has all been so confusing for you. I’m sorry. Why don’t you come back inside with me, and we’ll talk about it?”

  Linden watched Timothy waver, his gaze shifting from her to Veronica and back again. The other faery’s magical disguise was back in place, and her words were laced with enticement. Though Linden’s head still throbbed from the spells she’d cast already, she knew what she had to do: She grabbed Timothy’s hand, and willed him to see Veronica as she truly was.

  One glimpse of the face behind the glamour, and he recoiled. No longer an enticing twin of the girl in his mother’s photograph, but a pale, sharp-faced blonde whose beauty was far from human…

  Linden handed the guitar case back to Timothy, a silent pledge of her good faith. If he didn’t come with her now, he never would.

  “Run,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He ran.

  “We need a place to hide,” Linden said breathlessly as the two of them dashed down the street. “Somewhere with lots of people, where she won’t dare to try anything even if she finds us….”

  Timothy barely heard her: His head was still reeling from all that had just happened to him. How could Veronica have made herself look like Miriam, when in reality the two girls were nothing alike? What had she meant about taking his music, and how had Linden shown up so suddenly to rescue him? The guitar case thumped against his leg as he sprinted along, shivering. He’d left his jacket back at Sanctuary, but there was no way he was going to turn around and get it now.

  “I can’t see her anymore,” Linden said after a few minutes, slowing to a trot. “Maybe we’ve lost her, or else she’s given up-”

  “This way.” Timothy panted, grabbing her arm and yanking her beneath the glow of a fast-food restaurant sign. Through the window he could make out a scattering of diners and a boy in uniform mopping the tile. Not exactly lots of people, but it should be safe enough. Timothy tugged the door open and wrestled himself and his luggage inside.

  He was leaning against the wall trying to catch his breath when he realized Linden was no longer with him. He turned to see her still standing on the sidewalk outside, her hands pressed helplessly to the glass.

  Well? he mouthed at her, beckoning, but she seemed unable to open the door or even find the handle. Frustrated, Timothy dropped his guitar and his backpack and pushed it wide for her. “Come on!”

  Linden stumbled into the restaurant after him, looking ready to collapse. “I couldn’t get in by myself,” she gasped. “Not until you invited me. That’s never happened to me before-it must be because I’ve got magic now. But that means she won’t be able to come in here unless someone invites her, either.”

  He wished she wouldn’t keep talking nonsense; it made him nervous. Timothy shoved his baggage beneath the table and slid into one of the high-backed booths, keeping his head low so he wouldn’t be visible from the street. Hesitantly Linden padded to join him.

  “No shoes,” said the boy with the mop, pointing to Linden. “Can’t serve
you like that.”

  “It’s not her fault,” snapped Timothy. “Give us a minute.”

  “It’s all right,” said Linden. She reached behind her back and pulled out a pair of slippers that hadn’t been there a second before. “I have some.”

  She bent to put them on, while Timothy stared at her. The attendant shrugged, leaned his mop against the wall, and ambled behind the counter. “So what’ll it be?”

  Reluctantly, Timothy got up and took out his wallet. He paid for two Cokes and a large order of chips, while Linden edged into the booth and sat there looking around uncertainly, as though she’d never seen a restaurant before. Their food arrived; he carried the tray to the table and thumped it down between them. “All right. It’s time you told me who you are. Where you came from. What happened back there-”

  “I told you, my name is Linden,” she said. “I’ve been with you ever since you left Oakhaven.” She leaned forward and added in a husky whisper, “I’m a faery.”

  “A what?”

  “A faery,” she repeated. “And so was that Veronica-only she’s a bad one. Very bad.” She put a hand to her forehead as though it pained her, and the corners of her mouth pulled down. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself to you back at the House, but I didn’t know if I could trust you yet. I was just working up the nerve when I realized you were going away, and then all I could think to do was hide in your pack and hope for the best.”

  Timothy regarded her blankly for a moment. Then he jabbed the straw into his Coke and took a long, deliberate sip.

  “You don’t believe me!” Her face darkened with indignation. “How can you be so stubborn when you saw for yourself back there-”

  “Saw what?” It had all happened so fast, he couldn’t be sure what he’d seen. Maybe Veronica had drugged him, and he’d been hallucinating. Maybe she and this girl were a team, trying to trick him into saying he believed in faeries as part of some hidden-camera television show.