- Chapter 8

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# Chapter Eight:
Carolan's Welcome

On Monday, when they weren't even looking, they found him.

Kayla and Eric had spent the morning checking abandoned buildings on the Lower East Side—dangerous in itself, as condemned buildings were condemned for a very good reason, and most of them were falling to pieces. Eric was feeling cross and absent-minded—and trying hard not to share either emotion with Kayla. Not only was getting uptown to keep his appointment with Oriana going to take a big bite out of the afternoon, he'd promised to see Ria this evening to make arrangements to bring in the professionals.

When he came out of Oriana's—the session hadn't gone well, more indication of how foul his luck was running lately—Kayla had suggested cutting across town and seeing what they could turn up at this end of Manhattan.

"Hosea said that Serafina said there was supposed to be a couple of flops up here somewhere around St. John. With all the rebuilding going on, there's a lot of tenements waiting to be torn down," Kayla said encouragingly.

"Sure," Eric had answered. He didn't have any better ideas. Just a lot of dead ends. He'd barely managed to keep from snapping at Kayla when, after they'd crossed Lex, she'd spotted a grocery store and wanted to stop. Didn't she ever stop eating? Where was she putting it all?

"Chips, soda. Feed the beast. It won't take long."

He followed Kayla along the aisles—more from inertia than any interest in making his own purchases—as she dawdled along. He forced himself to remain calm. It wasn't as though there was anywhere he actually needed to be, after all. All they had to look forward to was an afternoon of running down more dead ends. Even a false lead would be more action than they'd gotten so far.

He was watching his feet, rather than his partner, when Kayla suddenly stopped and he almost ran into her. He glared at her with irritation, but she wasn't paying attention to him.

He began to give her a little shove to get her moving again.

"Eric!" Kayla hissed, elbowing him savagely in the ribs. Eric looked where she was looking, just as she kicked him painfully in the ankle as a further inducement to silence and attention.

Magnus was walking along at the other end of the aisle, pushing a cart.

Eric quickly looked away, feigning an intense interest in the row of bottles in front of him.

There was a girl with Magnus. The two of them were concentrating on the list the girl held in her hand. Eric moved casually around the end of the row, where he could watch them more easily. He didn't dare use the least hint of Bardic magic, not if Magnus' own magic had awakened. And it did seem to have—he could feel it from here. Talent, raw and untrained.

From behind an end-cap display of potato chips, Eric watched his brother. The teenager looked healthy—not thin, not drug-wasted. Was he in love with the girl beside him? They certainly seemed to be very close. . . .

"When they leave, I'm going to follow them. Alone," Kayla said firmly. "Don't argue. There isn't time. One can do it better'n two. I'll fit in, and they can't be going far. Look how much they're buying."

Eric stole another glance. It was true. The shopping cart was filling up with bags and boxes. Nothing that needed a refrigerator or a stove to cook it, he noticed. In fact, most of it was ready to eat.

"All right," he said reluctantly.

"Stay back here," Kayla said, kicking him again to underscore her point. "Learn to love frozen foods."

She drifted away, leaving Eric to watch Magnus and the unknown girl until they, too, passed out of sight. Kayla was right—wherever Magnus had found to live, it must be nearby.

He didn't want to leave following them to her, but he had to admit the young Healer was right. If he couldn't use his magic to disguise his presence, they might notice him far more readily than they'd notice someone close to their own age.

When he was sure the three of them had left, Eric picked up a bag of chips and a bottle of water to account for his presence in the store, and went up to the front.

Paying for his purchases, Eric went outside. The street was empty—at least of the three people who interested him. And he and Kayla hadn't had a chance to set up a rendezvous point afterward.

For a moment, he panicked, then he told himself not to act like an overprotective father. Kayla had more up-to-date street smarts than he did. To a Healer, his magical aura was unmistakable.

Join the twenty-first century, bonehead. Remember your cell? Besides, they both had their phones with them. All she had to do was call if she needed him or couldn't find him.

Eric went to find a reasonable place to set up his pitch.

Before he began to play, he took his flute apart and removed the strand of Magnus' hair from around the mouthpiece. It wouldn't do to call him back now, when Kayla was tracing him to where he slept. Then he reassembled his instrument again and began to play.

The flute's notes soared through the chill November air—songs now of hope and possibility, not longing and loss. Passersby stopped—whether out of curiosity at seeing a street busker so far uptown, or drawn by the joyous optimism of the music—and the flute case slowly filled with coins. Small ones, but amazing that anyone up here felt moved to part with even a penny.

He'd been playing for almost an hour when his phone rang.

He paused, and fumbled it out of his pocket.

"Hiya. I'm over at the diner by the 6 at 103rd," Kayla said. "Wanna meet me?"

* * *

"Well?" Eric demanded a few minutes later, sliding into the booth where Kayla sat hunched over a cup of coffee. He was so impatient to hear what she had to say that he was tempted to reach over and shake it out of her.

She gave him a smirk. "Chill, Lone Stranger. We can pick them up any time. It's a big place off 110th. I followed along from about six blocks back, but that's where they went, damn skippy. I figured we could go back and check it out together early tomorrow morning—safest time; they should all be asleep then. But I figure we need a plan, seeing as we've found them."

She made a rude noise at the look of bafflement that crossed Eric's face. "A plan?" she repeated. "Phase One is now complete, Earth Commander. We have tracked the tiger to its lair. Now what?"

* * *

Find him and make him safe, Ria had said. Well, they'd found him. But as for making him safe . . . how was he going to do that?

Eric remembered his own days on the street, the early ones before he hooked up with the RenFaire crowd and got himself a seat in a van full of peregrinating buskers, on the run from he wasn't sure what. If someone had walked up to him offering to fix everything, he would have been sure it was some kind of a con. And he hadn't been a seventeen-year-old, justifiably paranoid runaway! Magnus would have every reason to be doubly certain that anybody offering him sanctuary was running some kind of a scam on behalf of his parents . . . particularly someone who said he was a brother he had no reason to believe existed. Why should Magnus trust him? Or believe a word he had to say, for that matter?

Of course, no matter how strong Magnus' innate Gift was, Eric had the advantage of training and experience. He could certainly overpower Magnus and whisk him Underhill before Magnus knew what was happening.

Sure. Treat him like an object, the way everyone else has his entire life. Force him to do what I want, just because I'm older and stronger than he is, and I think I know what he needs better than he does. There has to be a better way!

"If I could just get him to trust me," Eric said slowly. "Get to know him . . . try to explain . . ."

"Well, getting us in there where you can talk to him shouldn't be that hard," Kayla said. "They probably aren't the only two denning up there, especially considering all the stuff they were buying. I just need to get an invitation from one of the other kids living there to get us in."

"You think?" Eric asked doubtfully. Those kids—there wouldn't be one of them that was over eighteen, he was sure. He had never felt so old before. "I mean, you know what we used to say, 'never trust anyone over thirty.' You don't think they'd figure me for someone trying to hustle them?"

"Well—not if you make like Rainman," Kayla replied, with a sly grin. "Someone whose ducks aren't all in a row—harmless, but dippy. Then you use your winning ways to get next to him, scope out the situation, and figure out where to go from there," she added, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Eric thought about it. It seemed like an elegant solution, even if he would have to give an impression of a lunatic. If he could get the chance to talk to Magnus, get an idea of what his situation was—or what Magnus thought it was. The best thing would be to find some way to break through the spell barrier Magnus had surrounded himself with, so that Eric's own magic could work reliably, and so if Magnus ran again, Eric would have a tag on him.

And at least this way he'd have something to go to Ria with. If he'd already found Magnus, there was no reason to go searching for him, and no reason to hire more specialists.

For to see Mad Tom O'Bedlam, ten thousand miles I'd travel. The song rang through his head, unbidden. Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes to save her shoes from gravel. . . .

So here they were, Mad Tom and Mad Maudlin.

"It sounds like the best idea . . . if we can pull it off," Eric said slowly. "But I can't use magic to get us in. He'll sense it."

Kayla made a face. "Every problem in the world doesn't have to be solved by magic, Ultra Bard," she said. "Now come on. There's an alleyway outside the building. Let's find some place where we can watch it . . . and be inconspicuous about it. It's going to be a long cold night, whether we pull this off or not."

"Just give me a minute to call Ria once we get outside," Eric said. "I've got to break a date."

Not that he thought Ria would be unhappy about that. At least, not this time.

* * *

She was sure they'd been followed, but Ace hadn't seen anybody. She didn't say anything. It had been hard enough talking Magnus into coming out with her, but he'd been jumpy and cross all day (more than usual), and she'd thought a breath of air—even New York air—would do him some good. Besides, if he came with her on her shopping run, she could buy more stuff, and she wouldn't have to worry as much about being jumped on the street.

She wondered what was bothering him. In particular and lately, of course. Probably somebody was trying to rope him into something—everybody was always trying that. So far he'd had the sense to stay clear, just as she had, but the offers Magnus was probably getting were undoubtedly more tempting than hers. They wouldn't just be asking him to sell his body. No, they'd be asking him to run drugs, or numbers, or do any number of other things that seemed cleaner but were just as bad—and far more dangerous over time.

But lecturing him would do neither of them any good—and would probably drive him right into doing them.

When they got back and divvied up what she'd bought, she went to check on Jaycie, as usual. He was right where she'd left him, and Ace breathed a sigh of relief.

He'd given her an almighty fright this morning. She'd been having trouble sleeping because it was so cold. The other kids were still coming in and out, so she hadn't really been doing a good job of getting her head down, and the place was fairly well-lit besides, and one time, when she'd looked over to where Jaycie slept, he hadn't been there.

She'd been terrified. She'd never seen him leave The Place—never!

She'd sat bolt upright, trying to figure out what to do. Wake Magnus? Go out looking for him herself? She'd worked herself up into a fine tizzy and had just been about to shake Magnus awake when Jaycie had come strolling in, innocent as you please.

She'd realized then she was just being foolish. He'd just gone to the bathroom. He couldn't spend every minute in bed, after all.

But then he'd seen she was awake, and smiled—that heartbreakingly beautiful smile of his—and taken her hand. And before she'd realized quite what he was about, Jaycie was back in bed and she was holding a wad of money that would choke a Central Park carriage horse.

She hadn't told Magnus about that, either.

But now . . .

"He's getting sicker," she said harshly, looking down at the sleeping boy. He was thinner than before—she'd seen it clearly this morning when he'd been up and about. And paler than he had been, almost as if there were a light shining through him. And he slept even more than he had when she'd first come here. Now Jaycie slept almost all the time.

"He isn't," Magnus said stubbornly. "He isn't sick."

"He is," Ace said, not bothering to lower her voice. "He always wakes up when I come back—but he isn't waking up now."

Magnus dropped to his knees beside Jaycie and shook him roughly, which just went to prove that he was as scared as she was, for all his fine talk.

"Magnus, no—" Ace cried, but it was too late.

You did not startle Jaycie, or wake him up suddenly. Both of them knew that. But she'd frightened Magnus, and he'd forgotten.

She heard a cry—Jaycie's—and then something happened—she didn't know what. And then a yelp from Magnus as he went flying across the room, knocking bags and jar candles every whichway. And Jaycie was on his feet, staring around himself wildly, about to run.

"Jaycie?" Ace said softly, moving a little so he'd focus on her. She stepped back, not forward. "It's me—Ace. We didn't mean to wake you up."

Now that was a flat lie, but she didn't think he was quite awake yet. The important thing was to wake him up the rest of the way, so he'd know where he was before he went and did something almighty foolish. He looked terrified—his face was as white as scraped bone, and he was panting just as if he'd run a dozen blocks.

"Jaycie?" she said again, very softly. "It's okay. You're safe here."

Finally his eyes focused and he saw her. Some of the wild look left his eyes. "Ace?" he said. "I thought— I saw— I dreamed—"

He reached for her—a rare gesture—and she went to him, holding him tight. She could feel him tremble as she held him, and worse, she could feel how the layers of cloth collapsed inward at her touch. He was nothing but skin and bones underneath all those clothes.

"It's all right," she said again. "I'm sorry we scared you."

He leaned his head on her shoulder, sighing deeply.

"They won't find me here," he said, and there was a faint note of triumph in his voice. "They'll never find me here."

And if she could get her hands on the people he was running from, Ace thought grimly, she'd break every promise she'd ever made to herself and sing one more song, a song with every ounce of her Gift in it, a song that would let them feel one-tenth of the pain and fear they'd made Jaycie feel. She knew it was wrong, and she didn't care: wasn't it wrong to do something like this to someone as just plain good as Jaycie was? He deserved to be with people who could take care of him, not hiding out here.

"That's right, honey-lamb," she said, giving him one last hug. "Nobody's going to find any of us. Ever. Now—since you're up anyway, why don't you come and see what I've brought back from the store? I got some nice soup—if Magnus hasn't gone and spilled all of it," she added unfairly, "and it should still be hot. You need to get something into your stomach before you start in on that nasty chocolate of yours."

She stepped away from him and—finally—looked to see if Magnus was okay. He was: Jaycie hadn't meant to hurt him. He'd just been startled. And the bag with the cartons of soup and the coffee hadn't been among the ones he'd knocked over, so that was good.

"Must I?" Jaycie said plaintively.

"You must," Ace said firmly. She breathed an inward sigh of relief. At least he felt so guilty about hitting Magnus that she could get him to eat some real food for a change!

"See?" Magnus said smugly, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. "I told you he was fine." He went over to get the soup. "You want chicken noodle or vegetable beef?"

But Ace didn't think so. Magnus didn't want to believe it, but she had eyes in her head, and she knew what she knew. And she didn't think Jaycie was fine at all.

* * *

Kayla had been right about "long" and "cold." She and Eric watched from various places along the street as evening faded into night. About half a dozen kids came slinking out of the alleyway at various times—none of them either Magnus or the girl he'd been with—heading toward Broadway. When Kayla followed one of them, Eric followed her.

They passed along the northern boundary of Central Park, heading west, and for the next several hours drifted up and down Broadway, barely keeping each other in sight. Eric was careful to stay in character—not hard, for someone with his years of RenFaire experience, though this was a Faire of a different sort, one in which he didn't think it would be reasonable to try to set up a pitch. This was a rough, edgy crowd, with its mind on everything but music.

The weather was bad, cold and thinking about raining or worse, but never quite able to make up its mind. Despite the weather's nastiness, the streets were full, with people going home, people going out to eat, and people just eddying about.

As the night wore on, the people who had places to go to diminished, but the people whose world was the street remained. A couple of times Eric saw police cruisers make slow passes through the area, but they didn't stop. They were looking for bigger fish than were to be found around here.

He had an academic understanding of what had to be going on around him—drugs and prostitution—but it wasn't all that easy to spot at first. After a while, he was able to pick out the girls, and realize that the ones getting so cheerfully and quickly into the cars that pulled up to the curb didn't actually know the drivers. . . .

He kept an eye on the ones who'd come out of the building that Kayla had targeted, but none of them seemed to get into any of the cars. They hovered around the edges of things, looking nervous and hopeful.

Around midnight, Eric stopped at an open-air juice counter, feeling oddly like an extra in Bladerunner. It was on the corner, and the counter went around two sides. You could order greasy gyros, watered-down sugary juice, or toxic coffee, and a purchase bought you a chance to lean at the counter while you consumed it. Eric chose the juice. The awning kept off some of the not-quite rain. Despite the weather and the hour, there were a lot of people around, none of them the kind Eric would have freely chosen as companions.

There was a time, once, when you wouldn't even have noticed them, as long as you had a bottle or a nickel bag in your pocket. He thought back to those days and shuddered.

"Hey, Boss, buy me a coffee?" Kayla whined, in a voice completely unlike her own. "C'mon," she wheedled. "It's cold. I know you got money."

"Buy your own coffee," Eric grumbled, not looking at her.

"Mean," Kayla sulked, pushing in next to him. "Don't be mean to Kayla, Boss, I'll be so nice to you, I'll—"

"If Ria heard you talking like that, she'd boil me in oil first and ask questions later," Eric whispered, fishing a dollar out of his pocket.

"Girl's gotta have a hobby," Kayla retorted in the same low tones.

The counterman brought over a coffee, taking Eric's money. Kayla dumped several packets of sugar into it, sipped, and shuddered.

"We're doing good," Kayla said. "I got to strike up a conversation with Chinaka—she's the black girl we saw in the pink jacket, the one with the silver lipstick? All the pimps around here run strings, and all their strings have territories. You poach on somebody else's territory, you'll get cut up bad. So they're looking for someplace that nobody else is working. That's why they're just hanging around, not going on dates."

"Jesus," Eric said feelingly. Kayla shrugged, but Eric could see she was keeping her face studiously blank.

What am I doing—dragging someone who's a Healer and an Empath out into this?

"My shields are a lot better than the last time I lived on the street," Kayla said quietly. "I'm fine."

"Since when can you read minds?" Eric said, startled.

"Not hard to guess. You'd better do a better job of getting your game face on with them than with me," Kayla said simply. "Or they're going to think you're an undercover cop. Now, we'll just hang around for a couple of hours, and look pathetic and homeless. Maybe they'll take us home to Mama." She grinned wickedly. "That's your job. Remember, they won't expect us to tell them much. I'm Kayla. I don't have a place to stay. I steal things. You're . . . this guy. I feel sorry for you 'cause you're not all there, but you make pretty music, so I look out for you."

"Okay," this guy said. "And if it doesn't work?"

"We keep hanging around until it does—or until one of us thinks of something else," Kayla said simply. She finished her coffee and drifted off, the picture of a young grifter looking for wallets to lift. If he hadn't known her, Eric would have distrusted her on sight.

* * *

The weather was in their favor. About two o'clock Chinaka and Dakota decided to wait at an all-night coffee shop for their friends to get back from someplace unspecified. Kayla got herself invited along, and Eric attached himself to the group.

They weren't certain about him at first, and Eric realized he was going to have to risk a little magic. Enough to convince these skittish runaways that he and Kayla were friendly and trustworthy enough to invite back to wherever they were staying, or the rest of this wasn't going to work. Magnus shouldn't pick up on that, at least—it wouldn't be directed at him, and as far as Eric could tell, he was nowhere in sight.

So he wove the finest and most subtle spell he could—Master Dharniel would have been proud of him!—around the two young runaways, to convince them that he and Kayla were harmless, friendly, and completely trustworthy.

As it touched them, he saw their faces relax. Chinaka smiled.

"Well, sure he can come with us, girl. But he gonna have to pay, right?" Both of the girls laughed.

Kayla laughed too. "Boss always pays."

"Thanks a lot," Eric muttered under his breath.

* * *

The diner wasn't particularly clean, though very noisy. The counterman came out from behind the register when they came in.

"You! Get out of here before I call the police!"

"It wasn't us!" Dakota said quickly, backing up against Eric and looking as if she was about to cry. "It was Shimene and those other girls—we weren't even here—"

"You think I don't recognize that crap jacket of yours?" the man demanded. "Get out."

"Told you you shouldn'ta took it," Chinaka said in a low mutter.

"But it's mine," Dakota said, her eyes filling. "She stole it! That B. stole my jacket and I wanted it back—"

The counterman was heading back behind the counter, toward the phone on the wall. Kayla slithered out from behind Eric and the other two girls and went over to him. It was too noisy in the diner for Eric to hear what she was saying, but Eric saw money change hands.

"C'mon," Kayla said, coming back. "Let's go sit down."

Both girls stared at her.

"He gonna call the police," Chinaka said suspiciously.

"Somebody stiffed him for the bill," Kayla said, shrugging. "So I paid it. If the cops show up, everybody's going to bail an' he'll be out a lot more'n one check. Who cares? It's too damn cold to go lookin' for another place that's open. Besides, it's not my money." Kayla laughed heartlessly.

Dakota and Chinaka looked at each other for a long moment, then shrugged. They walked on in.

The four of them found a booth in the back. Kayla slid in beside Eric, and Dakota and Chinaka piled in beside each other.

"He paying, right?" Dakota said again.

"I already paid for that other thing," Kayla said, arguing to make it look good. The three teenagers engaged in a long, circular and—to Eric—nonsensical argument about whether Eric should still buy them dinner when Kayla had already paid for Shimene's previous meal, allowing Chinaka and Dakota to come in here at all, even though Dakota hadn't been the one to stiff the diner. Eventually it was agreed that the two of them would pay Kayla back the money she'd spent and Eric would pay for dinner.

It was all pointless. With Underhill backing, Eric had enough money to buy the diner if he happened to want to. But he was supposed to be a homeless busker, and Kayla was supposed to be these girls' new best friend.

When the waitress came, the girls didn't bother with menus, but ordered with the ease of long practice—an amount of food that made Eric blink to contemplate it. Kayla ordered a similar amount.

"Coffee. French fries," Eric said, when the waitress looked at him.

"You'd better be planning to pay this time," the waitress said, glaring at all of them.

"Why does everybody pick on me?" Dakota wailed.

"Man, that Shimene set you up," Chinaka said admiringly. "She prob'ly wore that nasty-ass jacket all over town, stealin' things."

"It's a nice jacket," Dakota said stubbornly.

It might be, Eric thought, but it was certainly conspicuous. A fashion from a few seasons back, it was quilted denim with studs, rhinestones, fringe, and inserts in several colors of fluorescent lace along the back and sleeves. It was the perfect thing to wear while robbing banks, because if you did, no one would ever remember your face.

"Well, you oughtta trade it, before word get out what Shimene done. Or you tell Ace about her. Maybe she throw her out, 'cause what she done, that almost like stealing."

It wasn't almost like stealing, Eric thought with a sense of unreality. It was stealing, though he supposed things might look different to a couple of street kids. Lord knew he'd done more than a few things he wasn't entirely proud of before he'd met Kory.

But nothing like this . . .

Yeah, well, you weren't underage and completely without any way of earning money, were you? You weren't out for more than a couple of days before you were in that van, and you had money in your pocket when you ran out on Juilliard, too. That might have made a difference. . . .

Their food came—the waitress stood right there until Eric paid the bill—and when he had, he realized what this must look like to her: either a pimp out with his string, or worse. He sighed inwardly. He'd never be able to show his face in this part of town again!

"Where you staying?" Dakota asked, after she'd finished the first part of her hamburger platter.

"Subway," Kayla said.

Chinaka shook her head in sympathy.

Eric said nothing, not sure how to play this.

"You got any stuff?" Dakota asked.

"Transit cops got it couple days ago," Kayla said matter-of-factly.

"You could—" Dakota began.

"We can't—" Chinaka hissed.

The two of them huddled together in the corner of the booth, arguing in whispers. Eric caught fragments of the conversation—Dakota thought they should bring them along with them when they went back, Chinaka didn't—and a name again: Ace, who seemed to be their leader.

He risked another thread of magic, encouraging them both to trust him and Kayla, to agree that it was a very good idea to bring them back with them.

"Well, okay," Chinaka said, sighing. "He did get us out of trouble. So I guess it okay. There a place you could maybe sleep. But you gotta promise not to tell anybody."

"We promise," Kayla said. "Right, Boss?"

"Right," Eric said.

* * *

The two other girls were named Graciella—Graz for short—and Alice. They arrived just as the others were finishing dessert. Both of them looked surprised to find their friends in the diner, and it didn't take any leap of logic for Eric to realize that they'd been with Shimene on her last visit here.

Eric quickly wove his spell of trust and friendship around them as well. It wouldn't hurt to have as many allies as they could muster when Chinaka took them back to where they were going. From what little he'd been able to overhear of Chinaka's conversation with Dakota, that place was supposed to be a closely guarded secret, and bringing strangers in was expressly forbidden. He just hoped he'd be able to charm this Ace person—without magic—into letting him and Kayla stay.

* * *

At least the candles made it a little warmer. She'd lit all of them, so that it was bright enough to read, hoping they'd drive out the dampness, at least. Even Jaycie was awake, watching them study and gnawing on his horrible chocolate.

She had to admit that it was a lot easier with Magnus helping. They'd started out with the math problems, and for the first time it seemed as if she'd be able to get through them eventually. They worked on that for a couple of hours, until Magnus got bored, and Ace was sure that if she closed her eyes, she'd see nothing but numbers.

The Place was noisier than usual. Some of the kids had just stayed inside because of the weather—or gone out and come back early. Shimene was prowling around, trying to look as if she wasn't poking into the other kids' things, looking for something to steal. Ace sighed inwardly. Shimene was a thief and a troublemaker—she'd "borrowed" Dakota's jacket and wouldn't give it back for weeks, but had been suspiciously meek when Dakota had walked out wearing it this evening, having finally gotten it back somehow.

Ace would have been happy to toss Shimene out onto the street weeks ago for the good of the others, harsh as it seemed, but she knew she really didn't have the power to do that. It was as much as she could do to keep the other kids from picking on Jaycie, and she knew she was buying them off with the money Jaycie brought in from . . . somewhere . . . to get that much of a concession.

And when it doesn't work any more? What are you going to do then? Sometimes I feel like a lion tamer in a cage. And I'm just hoping they won't notice I don't really have a whip and a chair.

She thought about the man she'd met down at Jacob Riis. Hosea. He'd seemed nice. She wondered if he'd help the three of them—if he could help them—her way, without any names or parents. She knew this couldn't last much longer, and only a fool would think it could.

Maybe she'd ask. What he didn't know he couldn't tell.

"Let's work on your stuff now," she said to Magnus.

She could see Magnus was reluctant, but Jaycie turned the tide.

"Stories?" he asked sleepily.

"Stories," Ace agreed. "We could read them aloud. No elves, though."

"I don't care," Jaycie said, settling down expectantly.

Even Shimene settled down after a while and stopped prowling around, though Ace couldn't shake the feeling there was going to be trouble soon.

A couple of hours later—Jaycie had fallen asleep on her shoulder, and Magnus had gone back to drumming—some of the others came in.

And to Ace's utter and complete horror, they had strangers with them.

"No strangers" was the first rule of The Place. The more kids who lived here, the greater the chance it would be discovered by the authorities and they'd all be thrown out—or turned over to Social Services.

And that meant Daddy Fairchild would have her back, sure as taxes, even if she refused to tell them who she was. There must be all kinds of wanted posters of her around, even all this way back East. And her fingerprints. He'd find her.

Ace shuddered.

The trouble was, none of these kids, wily and feral as they were, had the sense God gave a goose. Anyone they brought in might be just the bully or predator she and Magnus couldn't outface, and then the three of them would have to leave.

She glanced at Magnus, and saw he'd realized the danger as soon as she had.

"Back me up," she whispered, getting to her feet and easing Jaycie gently down onto her sleeping bag. He didn't stir.

She walked over to where the newcomers were standing. They were with Chinaka and Dakota—and Alice and Graz, two of Shimene's posse. Shimene wandered over, moving as if she were underwater. High again, Ace realized, groaning silently. This just kept getting better.

" 'Kota," Ace said.

At least the girl had the grace to look guilty, if just for a moment.

"This's Eric and Kayla," Dakota said brightly.

Ace took a good look at them, and her heart sank. Eric was old—he must be somewhere in his twenties. No way he wasn't going to try to take over and run everything.

"We can bring people here if we want," Chinaka said aggressively, seeing Ace's expression. "This isn't your place! We were here first!"

"Yeah," Graz said. "What if we're tired of your stupid rules?"

"What if we're tired of your stupid face?" Magnus said, stepping up beside Ace. "So we leave—and take Jaycie with us." He grinned coldly at the girls. "Then you can do whatever you want. How's that?"

The other four looked at each other. They obviously hadn't expected the threat.

"Hey," Kayla began. "We don't—"

"Hey-y-y . . . 'Kota. Nice jacket," Shimene said, her words slurred. She giggled. "You go over to the All-Nite?"

Dakota shrieked and lunged for Shimene.

Ace had known there was going to be some kind of trouble between the two of them, but she hadn't been expecting this. Apparently this guy Eric had. He moved really fast, and got an arm around Dakota before she reached Shimene. Shimene backed up unsteadily and sat down hard on the floor, still giggling. Alice and Graz knelt beside her.

Dakota turned around, sobbing against Eric's shoulder.

"He okay, really," Chinaka said to Ace. "Shim beat the tab over at the All-Nite only the guy thought it was 'Kota on account of her jacket so we couldn't go in there but Kayla made it okay an' Eric bought us waffles an' everything. So it okay they stay, right?"

"No place else to go," Kayla said apologetically, shrugging, looking at Ace. She sidled over to Ace and spoke low. "He's okay, really. I kinda take care of him, y'know. He's got this flute, and he plays music on the street, but he's really hopeless. He's like, twelve or something in his head half the time." She shrugged again wordlessly.

Ace looked at Magnus. He shrugged in turn. She couldn't throw the two newcomers out, and they both knew it. They'd come close to getting thrown out themselves: threatening to take Jaycie—and the money he brought in—away with them was a trump card they couldn't afford to play very often.

"I guess you can stay," she said grudgingly, putting as good a face on things as she could.

"Cops took all their stuff," Dakota volunteered. "But maybe there's a extra blanket around or something."

"I'll make them up a place over by me," Magnus said firmly. "There's room."

Good move, Ace thought. At least that way, if the strangers tried something funny, there was a chance the two of them would spot it.

* * *

So here they were, Mad Tom and Mad Maudlin; and they fit right in with the rest of this place and its inhabitants, if Eric was any judge.

The place stank. And it was nearly as cold as outside. And with all those candles, it was a miracle it hadn't already burned down. Eric concentrated on looking vague and harmless. He hadn't expected things to turn so ugly so fast.

He'd barely moved fast enough to grab Dakota when she'd gone after the other girl, and he'd been afraid he'd blown it then, but Magnus and Ace—she was the girl he'd seen Magnus with at the supermarket—had been too worried about other things to pay much attention to him. They were obviously running a delicate balancing act here, trying to boss a bunch of runaways around without any real authority to back it up. But oddly enough, the threat to leave and take someone named Jaycie with them had made the others back down.

And it seemed the two of them were going to be allowed to stay.

With the four girls to vouch for them, they were accepted by everyone else. Everyone was curious about them, and Eric turned down several offers—he supposed they were well-meant—of drugs, cigarettes, and liquor—while meeting most of the rest of the inhabitants of The Place.

There was Tommie, who was from Kansas, and gay. He'd left home when his parents had decided he was possessed by the Devil, and decided to have the Devil beaten out of him by a local faith healer.

Ruthaileen was from Kentucky. She'd left home "after Momma died," and that was as much of her story as she'd tell.

Shimene said that her father was a famous rapper, and she'd run away from home to be with him. And as soon as she could get in touch with him, they'd be together.

Alice intended to become a famous actress as soon as she could get a screen test or an audition.

Johnnie said that here was better than home, and everyone had to be somewhere.

Chinaka said her mama wouldn't miss her anyway, with eight more kids at home, and why bother to go back? Her mama got the check from the Welfare whether Chinaka was there or not, after all.

Graz said it didn't matter, because New York was better than any other place she'd ever been, even if her no-account boyfriend had dumped her when they'd gotten here. Eric wondered how old she was, and where she'd come from; it was hard to tell beneath the heavy mask of makeup she wore.

They were all curious about the flute.

"Can you really play that?" Ruthaileen asked.

Eric nodded.

"Play something, then," Shimene said disbelievingly.

Eric hesitated, but what could it hurt? There wouldn't be any magic in it, other than the magic that was in all music. He got his flute out of his shoulder bag as the kids began to gather around.

He considered what would interest them, then dismissed the thought. A half-crazy street musician wouldn't think of such things. He decided to give them one he'd always liked instead: Vaughn Williams' Fantasy on a Theme of Thomas Tallis, which itself was a variation on "Star of the County Down." He put the flute to his lips and began to play.

The silvery notes skirled up through the shabby empty space, transforming it, in imagination, to a vast cathedral. It wasn't the best venue, and the acoustics really sucked, but he'd played worse. Eric closed his eyes and gave himself up to the music, and his flute—gallant, played-out old warhorse that she was—did her best for him.

He stopped, and opened his eyes.

"Stupid," Shimene said dismissively, turning away. The other kids mostly looked confused—obviously this was a new experience for them—though a couple of them looked pleased.

"No," a new voice said. "The music is very fine."

Eric turned toward him. It was a dark-haired boy he hadn't met yet. The boy stood unsteadily, clutching a can of Coke in his hand and regarding Eric.

There was a glamourie around him. It blurred and shimmered in the air to Eric's trained mage-sight. He didn't need to pierce it to know what it concealed. He stared in horror as the Sidhe boy raised the can of Coke to his lips and drank.

Caffeine in every form was toxic to elves. It worked on them like the worst combination of alcohol and heroin, sending them first into a drunken stupor; then, after long and intense exposure, into the Dreaming—a kind of coma—and in the end, the Dreaming killed them.

With a great effort, Eric restrained himself from knocking the can out of the boy's hand. That wouldn't accomplish anything. He'd just ken another one. And if he couldn't ken it, he'd get one from one of the other kids.

But what was he doing here? Elves avoided New York for a very good reason. It was full of iron, and iron burned them, as well as making their magic go crazy. The very air here was toxic to them. Even Kory, who was obsessed with all things human, couldn't stay here for more than a day or two, and that only with the help of stronger spells than Eric could see surrounding the boy.

And Eric was very much afraid he was a boy. Kory was two centuries old and looked about Eric's age, but Eric had the awful feeling this kid might be about the same age he looked—early teens—in which case he was way too young to be out of Underhill alone.

Where was his Protector? Every Sidhe child received one at his or her Naming ceremony. Even little Maeve, who was human, had one, and Lady Montraille was sworn to put Maeve's safety before the defense of her home and her own honor—and certainly before her personal safety. This boy's Protector would never have let him come here—unless he or she were dead or somehow imprisoned . . . or unless he'd been kidnapped and dumped here to die.

Who would do that to a child of the Sidhe? Elven politics were a tangled web, and the Unseleighe Court was as nasty as they came, but Elven children were precious and rare, and even the Dark Court would never intentionally harm an Elven child. Even the child of an enemy would be kidnapped and subverted, not hurt nor abandoned in the World Above. And the Bright Court valued all children, human and Elven.

Did the boy know what caffeine could do to him? Eric couldn't just stand there and say nothing. That would be like standing by and letting someone commit suicide. But an ordinary mortal shouldn't know that elves existed . . . let alone be able to pierce the glamourie one had wrapped around himself to walk in the World Above unnoticed.

"That isn't good for you, you know," Eric said softly. Maybe the boy would take his comment as the knee-jerk remark of a health freak. Or maybe he'd see the truth behind it.

The boy glanced up and met Eric's eyes.

"Speak of it, Bard, and I will speak as well," the boy said warningly. His eyes flared wolf-green.

Oh, shit . . . Eric though, his stomach sinking. He knows exactly what he's doing to himself. He's doing it on purpose.

"Come on, Jaycie," Ace said, taking Jaycie's arm before Eric could frame a reply. She led the boy away from Eric, back to his own corner of the room.

* * *

He knows exactly what he's doing.

Eric sat huddled under a musty quilt with Kayla curled up under his arm, watching Jaycie drink Coke after Coke as Ace read to him out of Lord of the Rings. Magnus was sitting with his back to them, drumming out endless patterns on a rolled-up sleeping bag with a pair of drumsticks. It sounded like falling rain.

He was good. Eric could tell. But he certainly wasn't the concert pianist the senior Banyons wanted. Magnus' musical influences were considerably more contemporary than that.

And now Eric's problems were considerably larger than they had been when he'd arrived at The Place, because he could not just close his eyes to the problem that Jaycie represented. He not only had to figure out the best way to talk Magnus into coming home with him, he had to figure out what to do about Jaycie.

The only consolation—and it was a small one—was that Jaycie still seemed pretty functional. Eric knew that elves could spend years addicted to caffeine before finally falling into the Dreaming. Terenil had, after all.

But Prince Terenil had been an adult Sidhe, centuries old. Jaycie was still a child. How long could he keep this up?

For that matter, what was he doing here? How had he gotten out of Underhill? Elven children were rare, and well-protected. Eric had spent years in Underhill and had never even seen a Sidhe who wasn't a full adult.

Why didn't Ace or Magnus notice? Not what he looked like—glamourie was pretty nearly instinctive for the Sidhe, and Eric didn't expect either of them to be able to see through it—but that a couple of cans of Coke got Jaycie as drunk as half a bottle of bourbon would one of them? Didn't they care?

But looking at the three of them together, Eric knew that they did care. Watching Magnus and Ace with Jaycie was like seeing himself, Beth, and Kory from the outside, and Eric wasn't entirely sure he cared for the comparison. Sidhe were enchanting, in every sense of the word. The other two would never abandon Jaycie—or do anything against his wishes. They'd go with him wherever he ran, and do anything to keep from being separated from him.

And Jaycie had recognized him as a Bard. He'd as good as warned Eric that if Eric made any attempt to send him back Underhill, Jaycie would make trouble. Only Eric didn't know how much Jaycie actually knew—or had guessed—beyond that simple fact. Or how much trouble Jaycie could make.

At least Eric knew who'd been blocking Ria's scrying spells now. And that the Talent he'd sensed in the supermarket wasn't Magnus'.

It was Ace's.

She shone with it. Whatever it was—and that was something he couldn't tell—she was used to using it. Magnus might have a Gift as well—in fact, as Ria had pointed out, he probably did—but between Jaycie's glamourie and Ace's Gift, it was nothing Eric could sense. And he still didn't dare use magic. Jaycie would recognize it instantly. And he had no idea of what Jaycie would consider a threat.

Great. Now I'm at the mercy of a paranoid teenage Sidhe runaway.

But how paranoid were you if everyone really was after you?

Maybe Jaycie had fled Underhill for a very good reason.

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