The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [13]
Two or three hours is a long time, even when the lesson is interesting.
Lunch, on the other hand, didn’t seem very long at all.
I joined Fortran and Espresso at what already felt like our table. They were arguing about whether there were boy flower fairies. Fortran said a real boy wouldn’t be caught dead dancing on roses, and Espresso said it was different for fairies, and what was wrong with dancing on roses anyway?
“Espresso, sister-girl!” a new voice broke in. “A thousand apologies for not catching you yesterday, but you know how it is on opening day.”
Espresso lit up happily. “Stonewall! What’s happening, man?”
Great. Another new mortal to deal with.
The newcomer was as colorful as a garuda, with rosy brown skin and bright blue hair gelled straight up like grass. His Inside Sweater shone with gold stars sewed on with colored thread. He grinned at Espresso and gestured to another changeling standing next to him.
“Danskin’s happening. He’s going to be a Costume Designer at Lincoln Center when he’s earned his galaxy and left Miss Van Loon’s behind. Danskin, this is Espresso. Earth Mother’s her fairy godmother, too.”
Danskin looked a lot like my friend Fleet—dark coppery skin, tiny black braids, big soft brown eyes. He smiled at Espresso. “Any god-sister of Stoney’s is a friend of mine.” His voice was coppery, too.
Espresso treated him to a measuring stare, then smiled. “Groovy, man. Grab a pen.”
As soon as they sat down and opened their magic bags, Stonewall started to ask questions. He was the nosiest person I’d ever met, Folk or mortal, and strangely hard to lie to. He even got Fortran to admit that he wasn’t really twelve, like he’d told us, but ten last full moon, and he did it so nicely that Fortran didn’t even sulk very much afterward.
“And you, Neef. How old are you?” Stonewall asked brightly.
After watching him deal with Fortran, I didn’t want to make any mistakes. “I don’t really know.”
Stonewall narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Twelve,” he said at last. “Coming up on thirteen, maybe. Could even be older. You know that changelings age slower than Outside mortals, right?”
I didn’t, but nodded anyway. There are only so many explanations a girl can stand in one day.
“So you’re the famous Neef,” Danskin said. “I hear you’ve been giving Tiffany a taste of her own medicine.”
“I didn’t even do anything,” I protested. “It’s like she hated me before she even saw me.”
Stonewall rolled his eyes. “Wild Child. I heard. East Siders are like that.”
“Folk wannabes,” Danskin said.
“Total idiots,” they said together, and smiled at each other.
“And you don’t want to be gorgeous and immortal and magic?” I asked. “You’re worse liars than Fortran.”
Stonewall laughed. He had a nice, bubbly laugh. “I like you,” he said. “Gimme five.” He held up a hand, like he was saying hello. There was a slightly embarrassing moment where Espresso realized I didn’t know what he meant and explained.
“Of course we wanna be Folk,” he said, after I’d slapped his hand. “But we know it’s not going to happen. The East Siders, now, they won’t accept that. They’re like Folk without the magic. They love power and beauty and gold. They don’t like change. They pitch fairy fits when they’re irritated. They never give anything away. They like playing nasty tricks.”
Espresso stared over my shoulder. “I hear you, god-brother. Dig that evil cat over there.”
I turned around. Abercrombie was creeping up on a boy hunched over a plate of raw fish at the end of a table. The boy was skinny and small and so pale that the dark fuzz on his head looked like ink spilled on white paper.
Abercrombie brushed his hand across the top of the boy’s head. The boy jerked and gasped in a huge gulp of air. Then he sat still, cheeks slightly bulged, lips pinched tight, narrow chest puffed and unmoving.
Abercrombie laughed nastily.