Wizard of the Pigeons. Megan Lindholm

kid in spite of his magic. Or maybe because of it.

      ‘Your den is the storm’s eye,’ she said without preamble. ‘Whatever it is, it’s coming for you. You want to tell me about it, so I can at least warn the rest of us?’

      Wizard shook his head, trying to breathe. ‘I can’t. Not because I won’t, but because I don’t know what you’re talking about. I mean, I don’t know anything about it. Not exactly. Anyone with any magic at all can tell that there’s something hanging over the city. But I don’t know what it is, and –’

      ‘It’s coming for you.’ Cassie’s voice brooked no denial. There was a chill in it that was not the absence of feelings, but the hard edge of emotions kept in check. ‘Whatever it is, it’s yours. If it has a balancing point, only you will be able to reach it. The sooner you stop it, the better for us all. But you can’t stop it until you give it a name. Do you know what I’m saying?’

      ‘I know you’re scaring the hell out of me.’

      ‘Good. Then you do understand. Be on your toes. Keep your rules.’

      ‘I do. You know I do.’ He added the last reproachfully.

      ‘Yes. As I keep mine. I suppose I know that best of all.’ There was regret in her words. It stung him.

      ‘Cassie. I’m not holding out on you. If I knew anything, wouldn’t I tell you?’

      She leaned back on the bench, not speaking. Silence fell between them. Thin Seattle sunshine, a mixture of yellow and grey, cautiously touched the uneven paving stones. A sea bird flew overhead, too high to be seen against the sun’s glare, but its mournful cries penetrated the city sounds to echo in Wizard’s soul. A terrible foreboding built within him, forcing words out.

      ‘There was something, once. Like a hunger, an appetite. Something like that. I don’t remember.’

      ‘It didn’t have a name?’

      ‘It was grey,’ he admitted uneasily.

      ‘So it was.’ Cassie sighed heavily. ‘So you’ve told me. Listen, Wizard. If you needed help, you’d come to me, wouldn’t you?’

      ‘Who else would I go to? But you’ve got something backward, Cassie. I heard about the grey thing from you.’

      ‘You did? Well, if you say so, it must have been so. Just remember, Wizard. If you need help, I’m your friend. Just let it out that you need me, and I’ll come to you. And…it doesn’t have to be danger. If you just want some company, that’s fine, too. If you just want to see me…’

      ‘If I need a friend. I know that, Cassie.’

       She lifted a slender hand that hovered uncertainly for a moment before falling to gently pat the bench between them. ‘Listen,’ she said suddenly. ‘You want a story? I’ve got a story for you if you want it.’

      ‘Sure,’ he lied, covering his reluctance. He never liked what Cassie’s stories did for him.

      Cassie settled in. She took a breath, and after a moment began, ‘Once there was a war, where a guerrilla force was fighting an army from across the seas that was struggling to keep a government in power.’

      ‘If you mean Viet Nam, say Viet Nam,’ he said with a bravado he didn’t feel.

      ‘I didn’t say Viet Nam, so shut your mouth and listen!’ When Cassie was interrupted, she was as fierce as a banty on eggs. ‘There was an old man in a village. He had an old rifle, and whenever the foreign soldiers came near, he would fire a few shots in the air. This was because the guerrilla forces expected him to snipe at the foreign soldiers. He could not bring himself to do that. So he would fire a few wild rounds at nothing in particular, and the guerrillas would hear the shots and be satisfied he was doing his part. The foreign soldiers understood. Sometimes they’d even let off a burst or two, to make things sound lively. And the old man’s family slept safely at night.

      ‘But into this there came a very young foreign soldier who didn’t understand the rules of the game. So when he saw the old man fire the old rifle, he took him seriously. He killed him.’

      Wizard’s mouth was dry. Cassie had stopped talking as suddenly as the jolt of a rear-ended vehicle. He sat silently, waiting for more, but she said nothing. After a moment she bent her head to dig through her purse, and offered him a Lifesaver.

      ‘The moral?’ he asked, taking one. His voice cracked slightly.

      ‘There isn’t one.’ She spoke to the roll of candy she was peeling. ‘Except that the next week, the guy sniping at them from that hamlet wasn’t shooting into the air.’

      Another electric jolt from those incredible eyes. He withstood their voltage, gripping the edge of the bench to keep his hands from shaking. She rose and walked away, leaving as silently as she had come. He tried to watch her go, but the sunlight was making his eyes water, and it seemed that she just melted into the passing foot-traffic.

      ‘Cassie,’ he sighed softly, feeling empty. And wondered why.

       CHAPTER THREE

      Wizard came awake. His blanket, tucked so carefully under the edge of thin grey-and-white striped mattress, had pulled free. A large damp tomcat had insinuated itself between the flap of the blanket and the small of his back, to curl in contented sleep. November’s chill damp of night infiltrated his unheated room; the cold air condensed on his unprotected back. But neither the cat nor the cold had awakened him. Behind his closed eyelids, his mind had clicked into instant awareness. Something was out there.

      His fingers tightened on the fraying edge of the blanket, his knuckles white. Without opening his eyes, he turned his concentration in, to hold his breath to the steady cadence of sleep and keep his strung muscles from a betraying twitch. No one, nothing, could have known that he was now awake. Even Black Thomas, curled serenely against him, was unaware of his watchfulness. Reassured that his personal perimeter was still intact, Wizard cautiously deployed his senses.

      A subtle wrongness pervaded his room. To his nostrils came the familiar mustiness of the dank walls, the city cat stink like damp wool, and beyond that the cheesy odour of pigeon droppings. A light rain had fallen on Seattle since he had drowsed off. It had cleaned the metropolitan air and cooled it, the falling drops pressing down the fumes of the cars and buses and rinsing the oily gutters. Beneath the streetlamps, the drops would sparkle on the green glass sides of discarded wine bottles. He could find the sparkle breaking into a thousand night sequins beneath a bench in Pioneer Square. But all of this was absolutely and totally as it should be. The very rightness of it stiffened his spine with dread. Whatever it was, it was very clever.

      But sound would betray it. He smiled without a twitch of muscle. Hearing was his gift, Cassie had told him. His ears could pick up the tortured hum of a fluorescent light, could sense the shop-lifting detectors that framed the doors of so many stores these days. He could feel the rumble of a diesel truck in his skull when it was yet blocks away. He passed his power to his ears and let them quest outward. But his ears were filled with his own deep breathing and the rising thunder of his heart. Be still! he bade it angrily, but it would not heed. Danger pressed all around him, waiting for such an internal betrayal. Fear soured his stomach, sending his heart thudding high in his chest, hammering against his throat, making his pulse leap. He had to waste precious strength and time by turning his power on himself, to quiet his fearful body. He gave his heart a slow count and repeated it until it could hold the rhythm of a natural sleep. His lungs sighed in harmony. Secured, he peered from his position, listening.

      There was the whoosh and hiss of traffic on Jackson and Occidental Avenue South. Less traffic than usual, far less than on a King Dome night, and it was moving cautiously over the dampened streets made treacherous by a slightly suspended film of oil. He could hear the rainbow arching of spattering water as fat tyres spun past. Subjugated to the traffic sound was the gentle creaking and grumbling of the old