Part 27 (1/2)
Her gray eyes follow it. I wonder if I could hypnotize her by doing this long enough. She taps her chin with her index finger, completely oblivious to me. ”I don't know about oracles, but if I were a magical object with an owner, I could find her anywhere.”
I push the bike to the map on the wall. ”We're here.” I glance around to where people walk in and out of the train station. Ryan is dead and the world continues like it didn't even happen. I shake my head to focus. ”What do I do?”
”Just hold it near but not against. It should guide you to her.”
A bald man walks past with his children in hand. ”Daddy, that man stinks so bad!” The man gives me a nasty look but smiles at Gwen, the mermaid princess.
”Stand over there, will you?” I ask her.
”Why?” Hands on hips.
”Because if you're standing there smiling, no one will pay attention to me.”
”Oh.” She leans against the bike, reminding me strangely of the posters on Angelo's bedroom walls.
I feel so stupid holding a pink pearl against a grimy subway map while a mermaid queen in a bikini stands against a bicycle. Nothing happens at first, but just when I'm going to pull away and blame it on Gwen, the chain pulls against my hand. Like a magnet, the pearl runs along the map, past Brooklyn, past the Verazzano Bridge, and I curse at the thought that we might have to go to Staten Island. But it rights itself and shoots straight up to Manhattan, past the Empire State Building and Times Square, right to Turtle Pond in Central Park. ”Got it.”
”Good, because that man just gave me this.” She holds a twenty in her hands.
”I should keep you around more often.”
We make it through the doors just as the conductor announces them closing. I grab a seat in the middle by the maps. We're alone.
”May I?” She holds her hand out to me, and I place the pearl in the center of her palm. It's funny how the lines in her palm are so different from mine, thinner and shorter. I don't know what I'm expecting her to do-make it bigger, make it dance. She makes a sweet, pensive sound, then hands it back to me. The train lurches and she falls on top of me. The bike falls to the floor. For a second all I can think about is crochet and sequins.
She pushes herself up and gets comfortable across the three seats with her feet on my lap. She wiggles her toes, which I guess is a mermaid thing. The newness of feet.
”Stop thinking about it,” she says.
”How can I stop thinking about it? I see his face when I shut my eyes.”
”There's nothing you could've done.”
”I hate when people say that. Because it's not true. I could've been faster. I don't expect you to get it.”
She regards me coolly. ”Just because I've seen a lot of death does not mean I'm immune to it, Tristan. This isn't a game. It's a war of few, but still a war. You have to decide that you're going to come out of it alive or not at all.”
”You know, Gwen,” I say, ”I'm glad that you're on my team.”
”I'm not on your team. I'm on my team. You just happen to be on it as well.”
”I'll be sure to remember that.”
We get off at Sixty-Third and Lexington Avenue, a train station so far underground that I lose count of the flights of stairs we have to climb before we're actually out.
”It's like trying to ascend the circles of h.e.l.l,” Gwen gasps.
”Wait a minute. Is there a mermaid h.e.l.l?”
”Yes,” she says, ”I call it humanity.”
I roll my eyes at her. ”Shut up. You love humans.”
”I do not. Using land as an escape from boredom is natural. It's like taking up a lover or going to one of those theme parks.”
Taking up a lover? I shake my head. I've already learned that lesson. ”Just for the ride?”
The air is grittier in Manhattan. There are more people on the streets than near the small Brooklyn hangouts. We hop onto the bike and head into the park, which is fairly deserted at this time of the night.
”Another map.” Gwen points. I hit the brakes, and she falls onto me. ”Now you're just doing it on purpose.”
She studies it in the soft light of the lamp post. ”It's not far. That way.”
Something about the way the breeze blows around us and then s.h.i.+fts suddenly to the west tells me she's right.
”This park smells new,” she comments.
”That's what happens when you're so old.”
”If there were a gentleman here, he'd slay you for speaking to me that way. I'll teach you a thing or two about chivalry yet.”
”Didn't they tell you? Chivalry died about the same time as punk rock.”
”I think you like to say things that I'm not going to understand on purpose.”
”But you're so cute when you're confuzzled.”
She smacks the back of my head.
”This isn't right.” I stop pedaling, this time slowly so that she doesn't fall off. ”No. It's not.” I'm no oracle, but the pond is so open, so bare. I can see the water, the ripples of lamp posts and shadows. A tiny movement catches my eye. Between the shadows of buildings that cut right through the night sky, the squirrels scavenging and dogs barking, I don't know how I notice her, but I do.
A tiny woman wrapped about a hundred times in a deep red shawl stands at the top of a small mount. Her face is blocked by shadows and a mess of black hair. She stands and stares, tilting her head to the side as if something about me is amusing. Then she turns and walks right into a pa.s.sage of trees, so it looks like the darkness swallows her.
The ground is too littered with rocks and broken branches to take the bike. We feel our way clumsily.
”Keep your dagger out,” Gwen whispers behind me.
I unzip the familiar pocket of my backpack and feel for my blade. I can feel Gwen's cool fingers reach out for my wrist, then slide down to my hand. Even on a nice summer night like this, my skin p.r.i.c.kles.
”Why isn't she saying anything?”
I shrug but then realize she can't see me in the dark. ”Maybe she's mysterious. Aren't oracles supposed to be mysterious?”
”Maybe she's not the oracle. Isn't New York famous for crazy humans?”
”If something is funky, you need to leave without me, okay?”
She doesn't respond, because I know she isn't going to listen to me. The downward slope of the path comes as a surprise. I miss the step and slide down on my heels. My flip-flops come off, and I lose them in the dark. Gwen isn't far behind. I land in a puddle that is part of a small pond. Tiny specks of light wriggle and laugh over my head. They're fairies, about the length of my hand. One of them comes close and presses her whole body against the side of my face. I can feel her teeny, tiny mouth kiss me before she pulls away and hides in the hole of a gnarly tree.
”Fairies,” Gwen says distastefully.