Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [27]
Professor Isabella does not ask how the rent is being paid but once. Abalone meets the inquiry with silence and then walks out.
I touch Professor Isabella’s arm. “Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?”
“And would we want her to?” Professor Isabella replies. “No, as long as she is careful. Sarah, that girl is nearly as great a mystery as you and, yet, perhaps none at all.”
She shakes herself and straightens the neat skirt and blouse that have replaced her ragged layers. I like her better this way; she smells sweet, like roses, but she radiates tension.
I remember that, like me, she has been insane. I wonder if the retreat from the streets and relief from the daily battle for food and heat have left her with too much to reflect upon.
“He who can, does. He who cannot, teaches,” I say, balancing Betwixt and Between on the window ledge so that they can see the sparrows eating bread crumbs on the crusty snow below.
“Are you twigging me, Sarah?” Professor Isabella looks astonished, then amused. “You have become sharp. Fine, if Abalone is going to support us, I will teach you—and her if she wishes. Perhaps if I get enough into your pretty head, we’ll have the monkeys, typewriters, and Shakespeare.”
I puzzle over the last, but do not worry about references. Professor Isabella is happily opening her worn poetry anthology and the crisis is over for now.
Later, when she has nodded off over the book and Abalone has vanished out into the night, I lie on the floor with my dragons on my stomach.
Head Wolf had come with Abalone when she had returned to our hideout in the motel. He bowed to Professor Isabella and embraced me. Strangely, I wanted to weep. There was little discussion, nor did he seem angry.
“The Law says ‘For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.’”
I nodded, wishing never to leave those arms.
“Do you want to go, Sarah?”
The dark eyes overwhelmed me. The ache I felt was loneliness, love, and lust. His skin smelled of cinnamon and salt. Hurting, I managed to nod. Then I pushed myself away.
“If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly,” I managed, fighting tears.
“Well, then.” He hugged Abalone, bowed again. “Good Hunting!”
The memory hurts no less now for having been reviewed a dozen times. I rock to my feet and pace from wall to wall, in and out of my room, the kitchen, each of the bathrooms, and around again. When I am weary, I needlepoint a pattern I am making for Professor Isabella. Abalone has promised me that she will take me hunting again soon.
I drift off and dream of sharks with golden hair and hard, green eyes. They smile with pearly teeth and sing a deadly requiem.
Some days later, the weather turns with one of those warm spells that January brings, teasing with forty degrees and sunshine as a stripper tosses away a thigh-high stocking. Not even Blake, who has delighted me until now, can keep my attention. Abalone is asleep and so I whine like a puppy at Professor Isabella.
“Well, I suppose we could go walking in the Park, perhaps over to one of the museums. Would that suit you?”
I nod, clapping my hands. Then I dart off for my shoulder bag and winter coat. Neither Abalone nor Professor Isabella seem to mind Betwixt and Between as much if I keep the dragon covered.
Professor Isabella takes longer to get ready, pausing to write Abalone a note. When we are out in the fresh air, she perks up and trots next to me.
Pointing across the grey-brown lacework of barren treetops, she says, “We’ll walk that way, take a look at the museum, and then be rested to come back.”
Although the walk invigorates me, the museum overwhelms me. From the