Little Birds
TJ Berg

Chapter 2. Under the City

Beneath, the water was so black that she could see only the vaguest shapes and darkness. She breathed. Her clothes dragged her as she tried to work her way into open water. She thought about leeches, pushed the thought away. A tiny red light appeared, a hand waved in its dim glow. She shoved herself toward it, could barely swim with her wet clothes. The pond wasn’t deep. She realized the diver was just sitting on the bottom. She allowed herself to sink down in front of him, worried the red light would be seen. The diver raised both hands in front of him, bent his fingers to form claws, then pointed over his shoulder as if to indicate something on his back. Then he turned around and shined his tiny red light on a series of hooks on his back, lined up with his shoulders. He wanted her to grab them, she thought. One more bit of trust. She supposed she could always let go. It couldn’t be worse than the two men waiting for her, could it?

She hooked her fingers around the clips. The diver immediately started swimming. He clicked out his red light and she could see nothing. She was in the dark, listening to her breathing. In a few moments, something clanged and her stomach lurched with a sensation of dropping down rapidly. Now they were really in pitch dark, and she thought they were moving. Jessica felt her heart start up faster and faster, suddenly sure she’d made a mistake. He would take her somewhere to drown her.

Then a light kicked on, bright and bluish. They were rushing along. Brick walls lined the sides of the cavernous tunnel. The current carried them. Jessica clung tightly to the diver. He kicked and turned them right at a split. This happened a few more times, then suddenly he reached out and grabbed a metal rung. They jerked to a halt so suddenly she almost ripped free of the hooks, but they held and she clenched her fingers.

The water flowed past them, not moving quite as fast as she thought. The diver reached back with one hand, rolled sideways so her back was to the current and she could see the ladder, then pointed up. Holding tight to a hook with one hand, she let herself get caught in the current, swung around him, grabbed hold of a bar with her free hand, hooked her elbow around it. Breathing hard in the mask, she let go of the diver and clutched the metal rung. She started climbing. Behind her, the light shined up. A few more rungs and her head was in open air. She hauled herself out of the water, up a few more rungs, then over an edge onto a brick ledge.

She scooted backward. It was completely dark except for the bit of light rising up through the water below her. She couldn’t see how far the ledge extended, but she wanted to make room for the diver. Feeling her way back, she scrambled slowly clear. The diver emerged from the water, his light briefly blinding her. Then he sat on the edge and twisted off his helmet. The lights were attached to the helmet. He set it beside him. He was just a boy. Someone close to her age.

"You can take the mask off." His voice, now that it was not being filtered through the helmet, was clear and youthful, but with a funny accent. Jessica removed her mask and unstrapped the tank. "Here," he said, reaching out for it. She handed it over and he turned a valve, then attached the whole thing to some hooks on his leg. "My emergency air," he said, tapping the tank. "In case the suit gets damaged."

"Oh." Jessica didn’t know what else to say. She was soaking wet and cold and could see nothing beyond their circle of light. What she could see was a ledge, dropping down, presumably to the water below. Above her was an arched ceiling of old brick, similar to what they sat on, though what they sat on was blacker. It was slightly slimy. Everything smelled of damp and mold and something a bit like wet fur and wet earth.

"Hey," the boy said. "Let’s get you some dry clothes." He sounded overly friendly, as if he was trying to cheer a small child who had been denied an ice cream.

"Why don’t you just lead me out of here and I’ll go home and get my own dry clothes."

The boy shook his head. "You think it’s safe to go back to your flat?"

"Why wouldn’t it be?"

He hesitated, nudged his helmet. "Listen, I overheard some stuff tonight. Why don’t you come with me and get some dry clothes and I’ll tell you on the way."

Jessica’s heart, only just calming, started hammering away again as she thought too many thoughts at once. This is a trap. Where’s my mother? Where am I? What does he want? Who were those men? Then inanely, she wished for Hamid’s hummus and felt bad about losing her mom’s canvas bag, the cute one with the bumble bees.

"OK," she said. She’d trusted him this far and she was really shivering now. How much danger could he be?

He stood up, unclipped several things from his suit then clipped them to his helmet. With some maneuvering and twisting he slid out of his suit. Made of something soft and flexible attached to metal rings, it accordianed down neatly into a flat stack that he bent slightly and slipped into his helmet. He snapped something free at the base of the helmet and a handle lifted off the ring that his head would have gone through were he wearing it. The helmet was now a carrier and flashlight. Two small tanks were attached to its side. The larger tank he pushed with a hollow metal shriek against the wall.

"So," he started awkwardly. "I was out in the river across from your apartment building, when I heard these guys. They were standing on the bridge. One said, yeah, the woman is secured finally, but I can’t get the daughter out. There’s some kids playing in the hallway. The other said, Well, watch the building. You may have to go in tonight. He doesn’t think we’ll have leverage without the daughter. It didn’t really sound like a wholesome sort of conversation."

Shoes squishing, Jessica followed the boy. "So you, what?"

"Well, I was trying to figure out what to do when they seemed to get all excited and ran off. Then you came down. I went under and popped up again to watch you."

"Why?"

He seemed embarrassed. He swung the helmet, its lights splashing all over the shadows. Something scurried out of view. "I like watching you and your mum go by."

"Oh, uh. Why?"

He looked away, then back to her, then away again. "Well, at first you know, I just saw your mum. You know she’s, like, really beautiful, right?"

"Oh." Of course. It was one of those things you couldn’t avoid knowing.

"But then, I realized she was your mum, and I really loved how she was with you, how you two were like, friends, and she really cared about you, and you liked to talk to her."

"So you stalk us? Uhm, from a river?"

"No! No, I just do a bit of clean up in the park there, for the swans and mudhens and stuff, and like to see how you two are doing. I didn’t really have a mum. So it was, I don’t know, kind of comforting."

They walked in awkward silence. Jessica wondered again if maybe this was a bad idea. The kid was pretty weird, watching her and her mother like that.

An intersection came into the light. The passages split left and right with the underground river flowing between them. The waters slid silent and black about three meters below them. A rope had been hooked to the wall on their side. "You’ll have to swing across," he said. "Whoever built these old sewers, it was a long time ago. I think there was a little bridge once but it’s long gone now."

"Gross. These are sewers?"

"They were, once. This section isn’t used anymore. It’s like Swiss cheese under this city, with all the old disused tunnels."

"It’s still kind of gross."

"Yeah, well, it’s getting us away." He handed her the rope. "Toss it back to me when you’re done?"
The bottom was weighted, which also gave her something to brace her feet against. She took a short running start and swooshed across. It was pretty fun, actually. She turned around, thought about not tossing the rope back, but of course, she’d probably never find her way out then. She swung it back. He bent over his helmet, divided the handle, slung it on his back, then swished over to her side. After hooking the rope, he took his helmet into his hand again where it could light their way better.

"Almost there," he said. They walked a few moments in silence, then he started again. "Well, anyway, you came down the path and I had this horrible feeling, you know, that it was you and your mum they were talking about. Completely irrational, I know. But it was this gut feeling. So I followed you a while, then thought I’d come up and ask you about your mum."

"And scare the crap out of me."

"Sorry. Sometimes I forget."

Forget what? Jessica thought. That he was in a creepy diving suit?

"Well, anyway, so you ran, which turns out was good, because you bolted right past where that guy was hiding. Then there were people in the park when you went through the first time. So they watched you instead. I was sure, by then, they were after you. I rigged up the old fountain system to make that water spout while I waited. Then when you came out and they grabbed you, I was going to come help, but you got away. That was righteous by the way."

"My mom made me stake self defense practically my whole life."

"Smart." He held out his helmet. "Here we are." He unlocked a giant padlock on a heavy metal door, turned a wheel, then pushed. The door opened silently. "Come on in." He waved her forward. He set his helmet down, then lights gradually brightened the room.

It was large and open, slightly warmer than the cold tunnels. Heavy tapestries hung on the walls. Two tatty couches with a faded flower print, a coffee table, a kitchen table with chairs, and a rather make-shift kitchen were warmly lit by an odd array of lamps and lanterns. It smelled like a rainy day.

"You live here?" Jessica said.

"I’ll explain, but I think you probably want to rinse off and get some dry clothes." The excess water had dripped from her on their walk, but she was still caked with wet mud.

"Oh, sorry." She felt herself blush. This was his home and she was standing here in muddy shoes. She bent and took them off, then didn’t know what to do with them. He laughed.

"It’s fine, just leave them there. I’ll be right back."

He left and returned with some folded clothes and a towel. It was a bit frayed. He pointed through a doorway blocked off with a curtain. "Toilet and shower in there. We only ever get about five minutes of warm water, so you’ll want to be quick." He walked over, pulled the curtain aside, and set the clean clothes and towel on a trunk. "I hope those fit. You’re a bit taller than me." That was an understatement. She was at least five or six centimeters taller than him, and broader in every way.

He dropped the curtain down and left Jessica alone. She didn’t know how the plumbing was rigged but everything looked normal enough. She stripped, piled her muddy clothes and sodden jacket in a corner of the shower, then soaped up in the warm water. It did little to break her chill. She rinsed her muddy clothes, squeezing them clean as best she could when the water got cold. Then she dried and dressed in the loose bottoms and shirt he’d left her. She wondered where he got them. They’d clearly have been too big for him. She was a big girl and he was small for a guy.

When she came out, he’d made tea and hot soup and handed her the largest, thickest bathrobe she’d ever seen. "Here, you need to warm up," he said.

She sat at the kitchen table, sipped the tea, and thawed. As her chills passed, she began to worry about her mother, and everything the boy had said. Then, again realizing she’d been very rude, she said, "Thank you, for everything. My name is Jessica, by the way. Jessica Sparrow."

"Hello, Jessica Sparrow," he said, extending a hand to shake. She laughed at the formality. "Nice to finally meet you. I’m Jack-Under-The-Black."

Jessica laughed. "That’s a funny name."

"The Crush don’t know a lot of human names, so they called me Jack, and I live under the Black River, so . . ." He trailed off. Jessica tried to squelch the expression, but her mouth sprung open to express disbelief before she could. She bent her head to eat her soup. Some kind of tinned bean and vegetable soup, but it still tasted marvelous.

"I’m pretty worried about my mom," she said, changing the subject.

"I bet. When you’re done, maybe go report this to the police?"

"I guess," Jessica said, but she didn’t think the police would be very helpful. Her mom had often complained of their corruption and complacency, especially with regards to immigrants. She would probably be better off asking Jamile for help. "I’d really like to see, just to make sure, if she’s at the apartment. She’ll be really worried if I don’t get back. She’s probably already freaking out." She paused. "If she’s there." What Jack had told her about what he’d heard was too frightening. Did someone take her mother then try to take her? If so, why? Perhaps they were fairies. Her mother had told her they coveted beautiful humans. That would exclude Jessica herself, but if they wanted her mother to come peacefully, maybe they were going to try and take her, too. If that was the case, no one could help her now.

"I could go up," he said. "Check your flat. Obviously you’d have to stay hidden."

"Why are you being so helpful?" Jessica asked.

He shrugged. "It’s kind of hard not to help people when they need it."

Jessica froze a moment, unsure if she should laugh, then realized he wasn’t just serious, he was being totally genuine. "Fine. Thanks." Jessica finished her soup. "Can we go now?"

"I think it would be better if you waited in my room. It’ll only take me about twenty minutes. I’ve got books."

"I’d rather go with."

He gestured toward his diving gear. "I can take the fast route if I go alone."

She had to agree. And there was something so harmless and innocent about him, she found it hard to mistrust him. She told him her building and flat number and gave him her key. He made her a pot of tea and carried it on a tray through another curtained door. She followed him to a room with a rounded ceiling and lined entirely in books. A small bed, a chair, and a desk were the only furniture, and they were surrounded, also, by books. Jack set the tea tray on his desk. He studied her face, looking dejected. "Oh, do you not like books?"

Jessica realized she was frowning. She shook her head, then nodded. "Yes, yes I like books. I was just thinking how much my mom would love this. How do you have so many?"

"Oh, well, Straddler gets them for me." He busied himself over the tea, though it didn’t seem there was anything for him to do. He clanked a spoon loudly. "I’ll hurry off," he said. "Please stay in here?"

"Straddler?" Jessica asked.

"I’ll explain when I get back. Uh, I don’t expect him today, so don’t worry."

She didn’t argue, as she wanted to know as soon as possible what had happened to her mother. Then she had another thought. "Do you know a corner market, called Hamid’s? Other side of the cemetery?"

"Sure."

"Could you bring a note there, to a man called Jamile, if my mom isn’t at our apartment?."

Jack shrugged and agreed. Jessica scratched out a hurried note, telling Jamile what had happened. But then she wasn’t sure how to tell him to contact her, so she just said she’d be in touch again soon. She handed Jack the note. "Thanks. I owe you." He smiled. It almost seemed as if he was just happy to be helping someone.

When he was gone, and she was so suddenly alone in this strange place, Jessica sat on the edge of Jack’s bed and dropped her face in her hands. She sat like that for a time, not crying, not really thinking at all, just feeling overwhelmed. Then she shook it off. Surely Jack would come back and tell her her mother was at their apartment, that this was some mad misunderstanding, and her mother would help them sort it all out. Unless this was a trap. She jumped up and ran through the curtain, to the door. She almost fell over when it tugged open. He hadn’t locked her in.

Jessica returned to the room and perused Jack’s books. He had them arranged by categories: physics, history, fiction, mathematics, engineering, bird identification. Endless topics. Outside of bookstores and libraries, she’d never seen so many books. There was an entire section that seemed to be dedicated to their city. Wren: The layer cake city. A History of Wren: The Settlement Years. The Birds of Wren. Urban Garden: Foraging Wren’s Wild Edibles. The Crush: Conflicts and Resolutions. The Great Transport Scheme of 1791. The Brightest Light: The Miranda Babel Complete Biography. Crossing the Nolectric Zone. Myths and Legends of Wren.

Jessica picked up that last one. She sat at the desk, sipped the tea she’d been given, and tried to lose herself in the book.

***

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she heard some scuffling noises in the other room. The curtain pulled aside and Jack stood in the door, looking grim. "I’m sorry," he said. "I knocked and knocked, but no one answered."

Jessica slumped down in the chair. Jack fidgeted in the doorway. "I think it gets worse," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"This friend, Jamile, what does he look like?"

"He’s tall, has a short beard, kind of dark and curly. He’s, I guess he’s in his late twenties or early thirties. Has really big eyes and long lashes for a guy. I don’t know how else--" Jack was already shaking his head.

"Oh no." He crossed and sat heavily on the bed. "When I got there, I asked the guy behind the counter for Jamile, and he said that it was him, and so I gave him the letter, but then I heard a crash from behind the door that was behind the register, and someone shouted something, but it was cut off. The guy behind the counter said something about his mum and pop, and I said I had to go." He met Jessica’s eyes. "He didn’t have a beard."

Jessica wanted to shout at him, call him an idiot for giving the man the letter, but she bit back the urge. This wasn’t his fault. He was just trying to help. "I don’t know what to do now," she finally said.

"I guess report it to the police."

"If I go to the police, even if they do help, they’ll just put me in a home, and I won’t be any help to my mom. What about you? Could you go?"

"Me? I think, I don’t--" He picked up one of his books and touched its cover. "I don’t really exist, so I would probably get in trouble if I went to the police."

"What do you mean you don’t exist? You’re right here."

"I mean, officially. The Crush, they found me in the sewers. The rats had pulled me out of the water. My mom flushed me, I guess. According to the Crush, they find a lot of dead babies. They don’t usually find live ones. So they saved me. Don’t look at me like that."

Jessica turned away, not sure what expression she’d been making. She mumbled an apology.

"Well, if the police ever picked me up, it would be foster care, like you. If they’re honest. If not, they might sell me to the gangs." He sighed. "I can’t even go to school."

"Not missing anything," Jessica said.

"Sure, well, so you say, but you get to go."

"You seem to do all right," she said, pointing at all the books.

"It get’s a bit lonely."

"Is that why you stalk me and my mom?"

"I don’t stalk--"

"I’m teasing you." She sipped her tea to hide her smile at his embarrassment. "What about this Straddler you mentioned?"

"Oh, no, I don’t think Straddler would go in a police station. I don’t think his work is really . . . legal."

"Oh. Anonymous phone call? You could tell them what you saw, maybe tell them some other things, like that you saw her abducted. Tell them I’m missing, even."

"Lie?"

"Well, yeah."

Jack straightened a not-misaligned book on the shelf. "OK, then what? Does your mom have any other friends in Wren besides this Jamile?"

"The people she works with I guess. And we’re friendly with our neighbors."

So they worked out what exactly he should say. She wrote it down--her mom’s work number, the names of neighbors. Jack put the paper in his pocket. "You should probably stay here again. There’s a pay phone not far away. It will only take me a couple minutes to get there. Won’t even need to go underwater."

At first Jessica wanted to insist on going with him, but she thought of those men still out there, looking for her. They weren’t looking for Jack. Then she realized they might be. He’d brought Jamile a note from her. "Wait, they could be looking for you, now," she said. "You should wear a hoody, cover your face.

So he donned a hat, hoody, and long coat. He bowed. "M’lady," he said. "I shall return."

Jessica knew she should laugh, but she could barely manage a smile. All she could think about was her mother. So she just thanked him and turned again to her book. Its section on fairies was disappointingly short.

Largely a rural folklore, stories of urban fairies never-the-less do make an appearance in Wren’s history. The founding of Wren between the River Black and the Wend River was said to be plagued by bad fortune until the city’s founder, Brenda Wren, took the advice of her rural mother-in-law and began laying out dishes of milk for the fey folk. This is the origins of the tradition of the Grand High Mayor of Wren placing a saucer of milk on the doorstep on the eve of inauguration day and of the next day providing free milk for the poor. Historians agree that the likely source of the troubles during the founding of Wren probably derived from their disturbance of a colony of the Crush.

The only other major story involving the fey folk was the infamous trial of Victoria Celeste Didier. Didier claimed that she awoke on the night of the sixth of Harvest, founder’s year 167, universal 1877, to the sound of a disturbance in her child’s room. Running to the room, she glimpsed her daughter in the arms of a tall, thin man, clad only in a translucent, filamentous suit "like spider’s webs and dandelion fluff," crawling out of their third story window. She ran to her two-year-old daughter’s aid, but too late, as the man leapt through the air, landing gently on the ground below. Her screams for help roused the neighbors, but the man disappeared down a darkened alley, child in his arms. The case might have been ruled a kidnapping if not for several unusual factors. Didier claimed the man was a fairy, come to steal her child, who all agreed had been an unusually beautiful little girl. This might have been accepted as the derangement of a bereaved mother, who had also recently lost her husband, had not her two infant boys died under suspicious circumstances four years previous. Didier was institutionalized after the trial. Of note, the investigator’s report contained a strange addendum. "Unusual sticky white substance like thick spider webs found on windowsill and on street."

Didier’s house was put up for sale by her brother to cover the cost of the institution; however, considered unlucky by neighbors and other residents because of the deaths, disappearances, and madness, it was not sold. Four years later, a neighbor reported to the police unusual sounds in the abandoned house. When the officers arrived, they found a young girl, with white hair and greenish skin, quite sickly, and only able to speak in a nonsense language, walking aimlessly through the house. No one was able to confirm if she was the lost child of Victoria Didier, as the unfortunate woman had died in the institution only a few days before. It is said the brother denied the child, and the Grand High Mayor at the time took pity on the girl and adopted her. Little is known of the child’s fate after that, as it is said that the adoptive parents were reluctant to expose the fragile girl to the prying eye of the public.

The short chapter was accompanied by a copy of an old news article with a faded, fuzzy photograph of Victoria Didier looking very sad. Jessica closed the book and searched the shelves for anything else on mythology or fairies. She found a book called Lost Folk of the Old World and the New. As she pulled it down, she heard someone moving around in the other room. She set it on the desk and waited for Jack to come through the curtain, but instead, the other room just went quiet. She stepped to the curtain just as it was pulled aside. She jumped back. A man stood right in front of her. Her heart hammered. She reached behind her, thinking to grab anything to hit him with. He sniffed the air and tilted his head slightly.

"Thought I smelled a girl," he said. He looked down on her. He was tall and muscular and a scar cut down from his right eye to his chin. He was also missing part of his left ear. "Where’s the boy?"
"He’s bringing the police," Jessica said. "They’ll be here any moment."

"What?" The man barked a laugh that sounded like a string of firecrackers.

He dropped the curtain. Jessica stood still, feet heavy. She heard nothing on the other side of the curtain. She didn’t know whether to look or not. Was it safer here? Should she go out? There was no exit from this room. At least if she went out, she’d know if the man was alone. Still, her feet didn’t want to move. She reached out, leaned forward, pulled the curtain aside. She couldn’t see the man. She stepped forward, then again, then peered out. The man was in the kitchen boiling water in a kettle. She stepped over the threshold. He ignored her. The water boiled noisily in the kettle, but he was otherwise perfectly silent as he made coffee. Its aroma filled the room. He sat down at the table, where he had placed a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and a sausage. Using a sharp knife, he sliced off pieces and ate them together. Next to him sat an open newspaper.

Jessica watched him, wondered if she should leave. He seemed at home here. He never looked at her, not even a glance, just ate and read his newspaper. The door opened and Jessica jumped again, sure it was another man to take her away. It was Jack. He glanced at her, then closed and locked the door behind him. "Hello, Straddler."

"Boy." He pointed with his knife. "Books for you."

"Thank you, Straddler."

Now the man looked up. "Brought a girl here, that’s a first."

"Yes, Straddler. I’m helping her with something."

"One of them ones you stalk at the park."

Jack glanced at Jessica, then away. "I wasn’t aware you knew . . . "

"Got eyes, fool." He ate another bit of food, chewed slowly. Sipped his coffee. "Remember what I said about girls."

Jack turned a deep red and stared at the floor. "Yes."

"Tell me."

He cast Jessica a panicked look, then said, "Always ask, always listen, and always use a condom."

"Good boy. And?"

"And same goes for boys."

Seemingly satisfied, he continued eating. Jack picked up the sack of books and hoisted them over his shoulder. He led Jessica back into his room. He dumped the books on his bed, sat next to them, and studied their titles. Jessica sat at the desk again. "So what did the police say?" she said, hoping to get him past his embarrassment.

"Oh, they seemed kind of annoyed. I told them everything and they said that calling in something like this anonymously was inappropriate, and I asked if they would check it out and they tried to get my name and so I had to hang up. Didn’t know if they’d be able to trace it or something." He picked up a book and leafed through it idly, eyes not focusing on any particular page.

Jessica wanted to be surprised, but she wasn’t. Her mom had always said that the police were there to protect the rich, and that very few of them cared at all for the poor or the people that really needed protection. And amongst the poor, the immigrant communities got the least protection of all. Her mom dealt with the police a lot, running the women’s shelter. This city has gone bad, she would say. I’m sorry, sometimes, to be raising you here. But Jessica knew the unspoken words that came after. If her dad ever escaped the fairies, he’d be looking for them in Wren.

"I told you they wouldn’t help." She crossed her arms, uncrossed them, snatched a book from the pile. Hydraulic Engineering. The inside front cover had the name V. R. Vaneesharama hand-written along the bottom. "Where’s he get these?" she asked.

"I think he steals them." Jack picked up another, read the cover. "Do you know, he’s never once brought me a duplicate book. It’s as if he remembers every single title he’s ever brought."

"Maybe he writes them down."

Jack raised his eyebrows skeptically. Jessica tossed the book back.

"So he’s a thief?"

"I guess. I don’t really ask questions. All I know is that the Crush found him near death once, nursed him back to life, and he owed them. So that’s why he agreed to keep me here, teach me things the Crush couldn’t, get me food they couldn’t. I moved out of the Crush’s burrows and over here when I was about seven or eight."

"So he’s like your dad?"

"No, not at all. He’s like a man that occasionally barks advice at me, feeds me, corrects my grammar, and brings me stolen books and clothes. He also found a prostitute to breast feed me. Sometimes she still comes by to borrow money from me." He didn’t sound particularly upset. He said these things in the matter-of-fact way that you might tell someone what school you went to and what bus you caught to get there.

Jessica didn’t know what to say. She picked up her cold cup of tea. "Doesn’t it bother you?" She’d be so angry, if that was her life.

"Why should it? I’m lucky even to be alive. I was thrown away, and the rats and the Crush saved me. I get all the books I want. Straddler said he’ll get me an identity in the next year or so, so I can start working." He laid his hands on the open pages of a book. "But I really wish I could go to university. But without school records, I don’t think I ever will."

"You really think school is more awesome than it is."

"Why do you think it’s so bad?"

Jessica put down her cup of tea and walked over to look at his books. "It is," she said. He let her words hang in silence. She said, "Maybe it’s different, outside the schools where the immigrants tend to be, but where I am, it’s all cliques. You stick with the people like you--your religion, your skin color, your old Home--and you keep with old grudges from the Homes. There is no one ’like me’ in my school, so I have no friends, and school with no friends rots."

Jack stirred, as if he wanted to reach out, but his hand dropped. He said, "I’m sorry."

Jessica fiddled with a book on the shelf. She wanted him to feel how awful school was, how lonely and useless, how cruel other kids would be, but there was no words for the empty spot that school had made in her. So she changed the subject. "I need to figure out how to find my mom."

Jack rolled with the shift in topic, almost sounding relieved. "I was thinking we could start with her work, see if they know anything."

"It’s possible, but I’d really like to know if you have any books on fairies."

Jack closed his book with a thump, sat a moment in silence while Jessica read the titles on his shelves. Finally, he said, "Why?"

"Because they probably took her."

Jack scratched at his head, just above his ear. "You think your mum was abducted by fairies?"

Jessica sat down again. "Yes. They took my father when I was just a baby, because he was so beautiful."

"Why would you think your father was taken by fairies?"

"Because my mom told me they did. Every night she puts out a saucer of milk to keep them happy. She hopes that one day they’ll bring my dad back. That’s why we stay in Wren."

Jack scratched at his head again. His stiff brown hair stuck up, as if caught in a wind. He studied his book shelves. "Have you ever told anyone else this? Like, your mates at school?"

"I just told you, I don’t have friends at school," Jessica said.

"How can you not have any--"
"I don’t have friends at school." How could she explain to someone like Jack? Her mom had set her up to fit in with no one. Almost all the immigrants from the Homes had some kind of religion, and Jessica’s mom had abandoned hers. She had never expressed distaste for any religion, but she did not speak warmly of the hybrid religious beliefs Najordan. And if having no religion weren’t bad enough, she couldn’t even fall into a category of escaped slave. Coming from Najordan, her mom’s fair skin marked her as someone from the master-class, while Jessica’s dark skin revealed that her mother had defied social boundaries. She’d found love in a slave. Her mother told her so little about what had happened, how, why. Jessica knew only that she’d been a forbidden child that had driven her mother from her Home, and that the kids she went to school with were no less forgiving of her ancestry than anyone in Najordan would have been. She’d already tried to explain her isolation. She didn’t want to tell him more. So she just said again, "I don’t have any friends at school, OK?"

Jack stared at the curtain as if it might move. The room was very quiet. His voice seemed too small when he said, "You know fairies aren’t real, right?"

"Why do you think they’re not real?"

"Well, they’re just . . . not. They’re something people made up a long time ago to try and understand things they couldn’t explain."

"Well, maybe they were the right explanation."

"But, have you ever seen a fairy?"

"I’ve never seen the Crush."

Jack stood up, sat down again. One of his books fell to the floor with a thump. "But I’ve seen them. They raised me."

"So other people say they’ve seen fairies." Silence again. Jessica was surprised he didn’t believe in fairies. He claimed to be raised by something that only a few people in books had ever claimed to have dealings with. Stories about fairies stretched back deep into history--to even before the Religion Wars and the Breaking and the United City States. Fairy legends were far older than anything about the Crush, if she could even believe Jack’s ridiculous story. A baby flushed down the toilet and saved by rats and the Crush. Did he think she was that naïve?

"Fine," Jack said. "Maybe your father was taken by fairies because he was just too beautiful, but that doesn’t really fit with what happened tonight. You think those men were fairies?"

"I don’t know what fairies look like."

"One of them was trying to drug you. Why would they do that? Don’t fairies have magic?"

"Maybe they can’t use it here. And it’s not like legends are exact. There’s a hell of a lot of things we don’t understand."

"Sure, but they’re possible."

"Why aren’t fairies possible? I mean, come on, why do the rubbish beasts only eat garbage and not everything else? How is that possible? They can digest tin cans and paper cups and broken plates but don’t touch a house or street or piece of nature? How is that possible?"

"Right, but we know it’s possible because we see it every day, even if we don’t understand it. We don’t see fairies."

"Well, maybe we do but don’t recognize them. With all the mad things in the world, you pick on fairies? Look at the Broken Lands. You go in there and the impossible happens all the time and no one knows how or why or how it even stays in just the Broken Zones. They say you can fall in there and be changed into anything. A talking toaster, a pile of dry leaves, a monster. And you think fairies are impossible?"

His hands swished through his hair again. "But fairies are a legend thing, from before the Breaking. And things don’t come out of the Broken Lands."

"Don’t they?" Jessica couldn’t understand why he was arguing. If her mom said her dad was taken by fairies, that was what happened. So why would it be so strange that the fairies might then also come for her mom? "Call them what you will, my mom doesn’t lie to me. She told me fairies took my dad because he was beautiful. So something took my dad and something took my mom. What I don’t understand is why they came for me, too."

"Well, it’s not like you’re--"

"Don’t bother. I’m not like my mother. Beauty is this whole other thing and you know she has it." Jessica pulled on the short mop of curls that sprung wildly from her head. Black and frizzy, they shot in every direction about her round face. Her nose was round too, all her features round and big, with nothing of her mother’s delicacy that seemed to attract people so much. "At best I’m cute, or maybe Amazonian, and it doesn’t bother me. But . . ." She trailed off thinking. What if that syringe was meant to kill her? Some death that would look like she’d overdosed, something to cut her mom’s ties to the world? Or maybe they planned to hold her imprisoned so her mom would cooperate, with whatever it was fairies wanted humans to do. "Listen," she said. "Can you at least consider the possibility? Help me find some books on them?" She felt guilty. He was lonely, he clearly wanted to help someone--he seemed to have some kind of hero complex. Probably read too many books. And she knew she was manipulating him. "And then, we can also look for other things, other reasons she might have been taken."

Jack pulled his feet up onto his bed, rumpling the blanket. It had a faded print of daisy chains. "Right. We explore all possibilities."

So they sat together and made a plan. They would start with her mom’s work as well as trying to find out more about her history. She’d come from the Southern Homes, where all those hundreds of years ago the people had gone who still wanted to practice religion after the Religion Wars and the Breaking, while the United City States rebuilt without religion. She’d run away from her family in Najordan, where women were little more than property. Jessica’s father was from Najordan as well, but her mother had never wanted to tell her more in case it put her in danger. All Jessica knew was that Najordan had a unique and extreme religious system, the One Faith, and that her mom had betrayed it by being with her father and so had to flee. It was possible that her mom’s family had found her. Or perhaps she’d stirred up something at work. As a social worker, her mother encountered all kinds of people involved in drugs, crime, and illegal immigration. Who knew what might have made her a target.

The first problem they had was that they would have a hard time going back to the flat, since it might be watched if they were still looking to catch Jessica. The same problem for her mother’s work, although there it would be easier to get in and out, as there would be many people coming through. They decided to start with her work, then. Jack had two baskets of clothing on his floor, one for clean and one for those needing washing. He upended the clean basket and they rifled through, looking for something that would disguise Jessica. Not many of his clothes fit her, but there was enough. They layered on a few shirts and then put a large hoody over the top, tucked her hair under a furry winter hat with ear flaps. Then Jack poked his head out.

"May I borrow some of your make-up, Straddler?"

Jessica heard no answer, but Jack returned with a glossy wooden box containing three small clay pots and what looked like brushes and pencils. He opened each one and instructed Jessica to close her eyes. He had small, delicate fingers, and their touch on her face was light--a few gentle strokes under her eyes and at their edges, then around her cheekbones. Something pointed touched her face.

"Right," he said. "Open your eyes." Jessica opened her eyes and faced a small hand mirror he was holding up. She grimaced. What he’d done looked good but it was weird to see. She looked older, more careworn. He’d painted bags under her eyes, subtle crows feet, made her cheeks look more gaunt. "I look like sick me."

"Oh, one more thing."

Jack pulled a trunk out from beneath a shelf, swept a couple books off the top, then flipped open the lid. Inside were all kinds of things: random bits of wire, string, screws, nails, all in jars. Broken umbrellas, single gloves, shovels, fabric, eyeglasses, sunglasses, keys. He reached in and dug out a pair of glasses, square-framed with thick black rims. He held them up to the light, cleaned them off with his shirt, then slipped them on her face. "Can you see with them on?" he asked. The world was a little warbled, kind of blurry at the edges, but not bad.

"They’re all right. I’ll put them on when we get closer." She folded them into a pocket.

"Are you ready, then?" he asked. She nodded.

He tucked a note pad and pen into the pocket of the long coat he wore, and swapped hats for a black leather flat cap. Jessica thought he had, perhaps, been reading too many mystery novels. He picked up the box of make-up as they left the room and disappeared a moment into the bathroom. Straddler had left the table and now sat on the couch with his newspaper. He set the paper down and examined Jessica.

"Girl, you have a name?" he asked.

"Jessica Sparrow." She found his manner, his size, his silence, intimidating, but she didn’t want to show it. He reached into his pocket and tossed something her way. She caught it.

"Just in case, little bird," he said. "Don’t get the boy in trouble."

Jessica was holding a very illegal switch blade in her hand. She slipped it in her pocket and Jack returned. Straddler resumed reading.

"Goodbye, Straddler," Jack said as he grabbed his diving gear and left. There was no reply.