The Night Shifters (11 page)

We drove down
the endless highway, past buildings and gardens that looked more
ancient than modern. The stars sparkled overhead with their usual
enthusiasm, which encouraged me somewhat. The Night didn’t seem
inclined to let me go, at least not yet. Eventually,
Blackie
would have to let me go.

Right?

“Sooner or later,”
I warned him, “one of us is going to have to go to the bathroom.
And it’s probably going to be me.”

He looked mildly
amused by that one, but he didn’t slow down.

And even if he did,
where did that leave me? With no job, now house, no shoes – and no
friends? At least, none that didn’t want to bite me and/or turn me
into a pet on a leash. The buildings I could see from the vantage
point of his motorcycle were intriguing, mysterious places. But I
couldn’t get a good enough look at them to see exactly what they
were. Shops, homes, temples, libraries, theaters, bungalows, odd
factories? Tree houses like Camilla’s? If I ventured into any of
them, would I be welcome? Was there one just for me? And once I got
there, what would I do?

I wrapped my arms
tighter around him and rested my head on his chest.

“Don’t you see?” he
whispered into my ear. “You’re a waif here, an outsider. Otherwise,
wouldn’t you know exactly where you belonged?”

I liked his tone of
voice, he sounded almost sympathetic. I savored it for as long as I
could, but then I had to say, “No.”

“
What do you
mean
No
?”

I lifted my
head and looked into his perfect blue eyes. “No, I probably
wouldn’t
know exactly where I belonged.
Because I never have.”

“Everyone knows
where they belong,” he insisted.

“Nope. Not
everyone. Not me, ever.”

He gritted
his teeth. “Then maybe
Nowhere
is where you
belong.”

“You’ve been
looking for Nowhere for the last several minutes,” remarked the
blond biker. “You can’t find it. So make up your mind, Blackie.
Either you let her go, or one of us will have to challenge you for
her, because we like her just fine.”

Blackie’s laugh
sent chills up my spine. He slowed and pulled to the side of the
road. The other Hunters followed his cue. One second before he came
to a complete stop, I remembered what had happened the last time I
had been in his lap – but not fast enough. Once again, he dumped me
off his bike. I barely managed to keep my feet, and I was anything
but graceful about it.

I whirled on
him. “You don’t have to be so
mean
about
it!”

But his expression
was glacial. “Yes I do. You’re right, Hazel, I love Serena. She is
a goddess, a celestial creature – you don’t measure up to her. If
she wants you out of here, why shouldn’t I oblige?”

“Because you
can’t,” said the blond biker.

Blackie shrugged.
“Then I’ll have to leave it to others. I assure you, Hazel, there
are plenty willing to take up the burden.”

And with that, he
roared off. All of the other Hunters followed – save one. The blond
biker lingered behind. He stared at me, silently.

“Why does he –” I
sputtered, “I mean, just what did I ever – how come – “

Earlier I thought I
had seen sympathy in his expression, but now he looked watchful.
His stare measured far more than my form. I wondered why he was the
youngest among the Hunters, but somehow the wisest, too. I rather
thought he liked me; I hoped he would give me a ride, perhaps fill
me in on some of those rules everyone kept telling me I didn’t
know. I took a step toward him.

He revved his
engine and rode after his comrades, leaving me in the dust – which
blew in my mouth, because it was hanging open.

“
Hey!” I
yelled (and coughed). “Hey you – you – of all the nerve! You guys
are jerks! You just
wait
and see if I ever
accept a ride from you again. You just wait!”

Fuming (and still
coughing), I stared after them long after they disappeared. At
first, I felt pretty miffed when I thought about the whole thing,
starting with my capture by Owner and ending in this dusty
rejection from the Hunters.

But my sore
feelings receded pretty quickly, and relief took their place.
Blackie wasn’t really my type – and the blond biker was too young,
despite his uncanny wisdom. And all of those guys were too bossy,
the Drivers and the Hunters. Much as I enjoyed being admired and
pursued, I would rather walk to get where I had to go than be
someone’s baggage.

So I decided to
make the best of it. I inspected my feet, which looked surprisingly
tidy under the circumstances. The road on which I found myself
seemed new, and the asphalt was embedded in a rubbery substance
that felt comfortable to walk on.

Going in the
direction the Hunters had taken seemed foolish, so I walked back
the way they had brought me. Or at least, I thought it was the way,
because the road winded through the ancient structures I had spied
earlier. It curled and twisted much more than I remembered it
doing, so I didn’t make quick progress through this silent little
suburb, and I had plenty of time to ogle the buildings. On closer
inspection, they were ancient in style, not in condition.

The road meandered
in and out, around and through, as if its purpose were to display
each building and garden to best effect. Earlier Nostradamus had
complained that the houses on his block were cheap and ordinary,
and I argued that nature was more beautiful than man-made things.
But this little road seemed determined to teach me that some people
knew how to harmoniously wed nature and architecture. Even
Nostradamus might be impressed, though I doubted he would be
satisfied with the relative smallness of these houses. They favored
quality over quantity, and that didn’t seem like his style.

Garden paths
tempted me, but I stayed on the road, mindful of the dangers of
unpaved ground in the City of Night. I saw no lights in any of the
windows I passed, only reflected starlight. As always, there was a
watchful quality to these structures, and I found myself wondering
who lived there. I rather wished
I
did.

I heard water
splashing, and suddenly my dust-coated throat couldn’t stand to be
dry one moment longer. A paved pathway forked from the road and
into a moon garden full of extravagant floral trumpets and bells;
my feet followed the sound of the water before I could think better
of it. A fountain stood at the center, tinkling water that sparkled
so beautifully, it seemed to be raining stars. At the center of the
fountain, an amazing marble dancer posed with a stone diadem on her
head. The diadem was just about all she was wearing. She was
incredibly beautiful, and her water must certainly be perfect,
better than the purist spring water. I leaned down to take a
drink.

“Ouch!” My crystal
heart gave me a hot jab. I rubbed my chest resentfully. “I’m
thirsty!” I complained. “Couldn’t I have one little sip?”

My heart gave me a
smaller, but equally pointed jab in reply.

Sighing wearily, I
gazed at the perfect, mostly-naked lady. She smiled with cold,
stone lips. I wondered if Serena were as beautiful as this fountain
lady. She seemed packaged to tempt, – and if my crystal heart was
any judge of character, her intentions were not benign.

And now that my
mind wasn’t completely dazzled by thirst, she looked rather slutty,
too. Not cheap slutty – fancy slutty. Goddess-class slutty. I
walked around her, wondering how she was managing her raining-star
illusion. That’s when I saw the plaque.

Worship at the feet of the Celestial Whore
, it advised.

“No thanks,” I
said, and turned away. It seemed safe to assume the Celestial Whore
did not have my best interests at heart, and much as I admired her
razzle-dazzle, I’ve never wanted to be a worshiper. Or to be
worshiped, for that matter.

Six arbors promised
better hunting, elsewhere. I started toward the nearest. And then I
heard a second fountain, across the courtyard.

How I could have
heard it over the sound of the first one, I don’t know. Its singing
was more subdued, but also more steady. I followed the sound
through an arbor of night-blooming vines whose blossoms released a
clean, sweet fragrance when I brushed past them. Another fountain
stood in an herb garden – and another figure knelt at its center,
raining clear water from her cupped hands. She was as unclothed as
the first fountain lady, but her demeanor was modest, even shy. I
admired her haircut, since it looked exactly like mine. But I would
be lucky to be half as lovely as this celestial someone, whose
smile seemed poised between happiness and yearning. I looked to see
what her plaque said.

Accept cool water from the Celestial Lover
, it suggested.

I submerged my
hands in the pool, shivering with pleasure at its cool embrace.
When I sipped the water from my cupped hands, my heart did not
trouble me. Next I splashed my face, then my arms, and finally I
sat back to gaze into the face of my stone benefactress. I thought
her smile seemed happier.

“I would much
rather be loved than worshiped,” I confided. “But I guess not
everyone makes that choice.”

Her expression
seemed to confirm that conclusion.

She looked so
familiar. I felt comfortable in her presence, so I couldn’t help
lingering. I remembered a couple of lines from a poem,
The woods are lovely,
dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before
I sleep...

I didn’t remember
any promises to keep, and for all I knew, sleep wasn’t necessary in
the City of Night. But I understood those lines, maybe for the
first time in my life. The water of the Celestial Lover renewed me;
I never felt so refreshed in my life. But I couldn’t stay
forever.

“Thank you for the
cool water,” I said, at last. Her smile remained a modest
acknowledgment of gratitude.

Waving goodbye to
the Celestial Lover, I wandered to the edge of her garden, where
another arbor led to stone steps. These descended to a wide landing
at the top of a hill that peered over the edge at a panorama of the
City of Night. It glittered beneath my feet, beckoning,
promising.

“But what are you
promising?” I said. “I’m glad I don’t have to go to my rotten job
anymore – you took care of that nicely. And I’m grateful, really.
But where do I go from here?”

Come on down
, the City
seemed to call.
We’ll play it by ear.

More steps
descended from the landing.

Before I could take
them, something whacked me in the back of my head. I looked down
and saw another pink envelope.

* * * * *

“Ow!” I rubbed the
back of my head. Whoever had thrown the pink envelope had aimed it
as if it were a weapon, so one of the corners jabbed me on impact.
I didn’t think I was misconstruing the intended insult. I surveyed
the garden, but no one lurked there.

The envelope lay on
the ground, my name penned prettily across the front. Maybe Serena
was in a better mood this time. I knew I should just kick it over
the edge of the steps, but I felt curious. After all, her last note
had gotten me out of a jam. And I had learned a lot since I read
those first letters; I wasn’t so easy to jerk around anymore. These
are all the excuses I told myself as I picked up the envelope and
tore it open.

“Dear Hazel,” it
began, pleasantly, “Let me point something out to you. Every time
you follow your heart, you end up in trouble. You ran away from
Bernard and got lost; you blundered into Sir John’s study and
almost got killed; you dropped out of school again and just ended
up antagonizing the Car King and alienating the Masked Man. Now
you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere and no one likes you! The one
time you took my advice, I saved you from the monster at the book
store. So who should you believe around here?”

I didn’t like to
admit it, but she had a point. By trusting my own instincts, I had
stepped on a lot of toes. No one seemed likely to vote me Night
Shifter of the month.

“Now you’ve lost
your job, so you’ve got no way to make a living,” she went on. “You
can’t find your house, so you’ve got no place to stay. Even if you
could get back to that wretched house you used to live in, you’re
going to run out of food pretty quickly. So what are you going to
do, Hazel? Knock on someone’s door and beg for shelter? Around
here, no one gives something for nothing. If you have to beg,
you’re going to owe big favors that you can’t even begin to
pay.”

I blushed with
shame. Had I run out on my responsibilities my whole life? Did I
really have so little to offer? What meager favors could I
grant?

“You keep acting
like you were invited here. But what if you ended up here by
accident, Hazel? If you belonged in the City of Night, wouldn’t you
have your own place, like Nostradamus – your own closet full of
pretty clothes, like Camilla? Wouldn’t you be a Night Shifter? All
you do is bounce around like a pinball. I tried to help you out
because I felt sorry for you, and how do you repay me? With
insults.”

I wondered if she
was referring to the remarks I had made to the Celestial Lover
about the Celestial Slut – I mean Whore (like that’s better). But
why should Serena take that personally?

“If you belong
here,” she concluded, “prove it. Let’s see you go down into that
city and make something of yourself. Knock on the first door you
find. If you belong in the City of Night, it will accommodate
you.”