Wolf Who Rules

Chapter 13: Ignore That Man Behind The Curtain

Tinker sat high up on a towering cross, clinging to the cross-brace. Black was sitting at the very end of the cross-brace, sobbing quietly. The delicate-boned woman wore a puffy black mourning gown and a crown. Laying beside her was a long wand with a star attached to it. Her host of crows sailed over head, cawing “Lost, Lost!”

With a flurry of wings, Riki perched on the tip of the brace between Tinker and Black. He was wearing an odd red outfit. “There’s no shame in being afraid of heights. Most people are.”

“Oh, go away monkey boy.” She snapped.

“I’m not a flying monkey,” the tengu said. “I gave that up. You melted the witch, so I got out of my no-compete contract. I’m working strictly as a freelance crow. The health benefits suck, but I make my own hours.”

Tinker pointed to the sobbing Black. “Why is she crying?”

“She gave her heart to the tin man but she lost him.” Riki told her. “Not even the wizard can fix that.”

“Hey!” On the ground, Esme gazed up at them, wearing blue checked overalls and red ruby boots. “You can’t get down. You’re not smart enough. You’re head is full of straw.”

“I’ll figure a way down,” Tinker shouted back.

“Falling will work,” Riki said.

And Tinker was falling.

The dream seemed to hiccup and she was safe on the ground then. Esme had a wicker basket and a little black dog. Pony was there, his hair loose and curly as a mane, whiskers, cat-ears and tail to finish the cat-look. Oilcan too, looking like he was made out of metal.

“You have Black’s heart?” Tinker asked Oilcan.

“I have no heart.” He thumped on his chest and it echoed.

“That was a different tin man.” Esme butted between the two of them. “We need to find the wizard! Only he can solve all our problems.”

“I can take you to the wizard.” Oilcan squeaked as he moved his arm to point down a yellow brick road that lead into a dark forest of black willows. “But we don’t need to hurry, it’s only six o’clock.”

“We’ve murdered time,” Esme took out a pocket watch. It seemed to be coated with butter. “It’s always six o’clock — we have to run to stay in the same place.”

“We will have to go through the trees.” Pony’s cattail danced nervously behind him.

“I don’t know if that’s smart,” Tinker said.

“Of course you don’t, you have straw for brains.” Esme picked straw out of Tinker’s head to prove her point. “Look! See!” She held out the straw of evidence. “We have to get to the wizard. He’s the only one to give you brains so you can solve this problem.”

“But the road ended with the tree.” Tinker pointed out as they crept forward, clinging to one another.

“It’s not the tree,” Esme said. “It’s the fruit.”

The trees turned, their gnarled faces looking at them with wooden eyes. They were black willow trees but there were apples — red and tempting — in their branches.

“You need the fruit.” Esme pushed her hard toward the trees.

The trees plucked the apples from their branches and flung them like hard rain at Tinker.

Tinker flailed her way out of her sheets to sit up in bed. It was very early morning by the pale light in the window — the birds hadn’t yet started to stir. Windwolf was awake though, and dressing.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He came to kiss her. His shirt was still unbuttoned, and she burrowed into his warmth.

“I had another dream about the Black, Esme and the black willow.”

“Esme?”

“I figured out who White was — she’s Lain’s sister.”

“Ah, the one in white — you’re dreaming that she’s dreaming.” He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her hair.

“Hm? Oh, yes, the Escher thing.” Gods, it felt so right to be held by him.

“Have you talked to Stormsong?”

“Yeah. She — we fit.”

He tipped her head back to gaze intently into her face. “You’ve accepted her? To be your beholden?”

She gave a tiny nod. It sounded like some kind of wedding vow. Was this what elf society was all about — getting married again and again, only without sex? “Yes. To be mine.”

Windwolf gave her his smile that warmed her to her toes. “I release her to you. But—”

“But?”

“But that is not what I meant. You should talk to Stormsong about your dreams. She has some training in yatanyai. She might be able to help you determine what they mean.”

“She does?”

“It was thought she would be an intanyei seyosa but in the end, she had too much of her father’s temperament.” Windwolf kissed Tinker again and slipped out of her hold. “I need to go. True Flame expects me. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”

She eyed the bed. She was still tired, but to sleep would most likely mean another dream.

“I’ll send Pony to you.” Windwolf buttoned up his shirt.

“I’d rather have you.” She settled back into the warm softness.

Windwolf smiled. “I am glad of that, but alas, you can not have me, so you must make do with Pony.”

Did he really know what that sounded like in English? She curled into ball and resolved to be asleep before Pony joined her. And she was.

Another day, another dress. She really had to do something about clothing. She picked out the Wind Clan blue dress and had the staff add pockets to it while she ate. Breakfast proved that Windwolf’s household was still intent on mothering the life out of her. They stacked the garden table with plates of pastries, omelets, and fresh fruit. Tinker eyed the collection of dishes with slight dismay.

“If they keep this up, they’re going to make me fat,” Tinker complained.

“Eat.” Stormsong pointed at bench, indicating that she was to sit. “You and Pony both lost weight since Aum Renau.”

Pony nodded, acknowledging that this was the truth. “You should eat.”

“Pft.” Tinker began loading a plate. “Fine, but you both have to eat too.”

A sign of their “fit,” they ate at first in companionable silence, then drifted into a conversation about which of the sekasha would work well with them. Of Windwolf’s four Hands, they came up with a list of seven possible candidates to fill the three open positions of Tinker’s First Hand.

“We can spend a few days pairing with others to see who works best with you.” Pony meant Tinker. “Windwolf chose all of his sekasha so we work well together, and we’ve had years to learn each other’s ways.”

“What are your plans for today?” Stormsong asked. “Are we finished with that tree?”

“I don’t know,” Tinker whined. “I had another dream about it. Windwolf said I should talk to you about it.”

“You dream?” Stormsong said.

“I don’t want to believe that I do,” Tinker said, “but things keep showing up out of my dreams.”

“Dreams are important,” Stormsong said. “They let you see the future.”

“Oh gods help me if this is my future,” Tinker muttered.

“Tell me this dream,” Stormsong said.

“Well, I had a couple, and they’re all centering around two people, and the tree.” Tinker explained the first dream and then the discovery of Esme’s identity, and then last night’s dream, ending with, “And I don’t have a clue where all that weirdness came from.”

Stormsong cocked her blue head with a faint disbelieving look on her face. “It sounds like Wizard of Oz.”

“What’s that?” Tinker asked.

“It’s a movie,” Stormsong said.

Tinker had never heard of such a movie. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about — It’s about — It’s odd.” Stormsong said. “Maybe you should just see it.”

Since Tooloo rented videos, Tinker gave her a call.

“I’m looking for the Wizard of Oz.”

“Well, follow the yellow brick road,” Tooloo said and hung up.

Somehow, Tinker had totally forgotten how maddening it was to deal with Tooloo. She hit redial, and explained, “I’m looking for the movie called Wizard of Oz.”

“You should have said so in the first place.”

“Can you set it aside? I’ll be by to pick it up.” And while she was there, she’d find out why Tooloo had lied to Nathan.

“No, you won’t.” Tooloo said.

Amazing that someone can give you an instant headache over the phone. “Yes, I will.”

“You can come but the movie won’t be here.”

“Oh, did someone else rent it?”

“No.”

“Tooloo!” Tinker whined. “This is so simple — why can’t I rent the movie if no one has it?”

“I never had it.”

“You didn’t?” Tinker asked.

“It was fifty years old when the first Shutdown hit, and I couldn’t stand it after having to watch it every year for thirty years running.”

Should she even ask why Tooloo had to watch it every year? No, that would only make her head hurt more. “So that’s a ‘no’?”

“Yes,” and Tooloo hung up.

Tinker sat drumming her fingers as she considered her phone. Should she call Tooloo back and try to find out why Tooloo was telling people she wasn’t married to Windwolf? Go and visit the crazy half-elf in person? She suspected that even if she could understand the logic behind Tooloo’s action, she wouldn’t be able to change it so the half-elf would stop.

She decided to focus on her dream. Where had she seen the movie? Her grandfather thought movies were a waste of time, so that left Lain.

“I don’t have that movie,” Lain stated when Tinker called and asked.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Esme insisted that we watched it every year after Thanksgiving. God knows why they picked Thanksgiving. It always gave me nightmares. I would be quite happy never to see that stupid movie again.”

“Esme liked it?”

“She always identified too much with Dorothy, though she never understood why Dorothy wanted to come back home. Esme would go on and on about if she was Dorothy, she would stay in Oz, which would make my mother cry. Every Thanksgiving we have this huge family fight about watching it, Esme would win, mother would cry, and I’d have nightmares.”

They said their goodbyes like polite people and Tinker hung up. Where had she seen this movie?

She called Oilcan. She never watched a movie alone, so he most likely had seen it with her. “Hey, I’m trying to remember something. Did you see Wizard of Oz with me?”

“The what?”

“It’s a movie called Wizard of Oz. It’s about Dorothy who goes to Oz.” That much of the story Tinker had gathered from Lain, although she wasn’t clear where Oz was. Africa?

“It’s not ringing any bells.”

She sighed. “If I track this down, do you want to watch with us?”

“A movie night? Cool. Sure. Meet you at your loft?”

She hadn’t considered where to watch the movie once she found it. She suddenly realized it had been two months since she’d been home to her loft. Weirder yet, she didn’t want to go — as in ‘not want to go to the dentist because it would hurt’ way. Why the hell did she feel that way? Her system made Oilcan’s look like a toy, which was why they always used her place. But she was cringing at the thought of doing movie night at her loft.

“Tink?” Oilcan asked.

This was stupid — it was her home. “Yeah, my place.”

“See you later then.”

“Later.”

She slumped forward onto the table, resting her check on its smooth surface. Three phone calls, she hadn’t yet stirred out of the garden, and already she was emotionally raw and tired. Damn, she wished she could get a good night’s sleep. Her exhaustion felt like it was teaming up with all her problems, conspiring to keep her off balance.

“Domi,” Stormsong said quietly. “When I saw the movie, I rented it from Eides.”

At least something was working out in her life.

Eide’s Entertainment was an institution in Pittsburgh, down on Penn Avenue in the Strip District. Established in the 1970s as a comic bookstore, it been one of the many landmarks that somehow not only survived but also flourished when transplanted to Elfhome. It was a Mecca of human culture, which not only humans but also elves went on pilgrimage to. Tinker and Oilcan would always hit the shop once immediately after Startup to see what was new, and then several times a month to see what used music and videos were brought in by other customers. Besides music, videos, and comic books, the store was treasure trove of collectible items: non-sport cards, magazines, big little books, pulps, and out of print books.

Ralph raised his hand to them as they entered. “Hey, Lina, long time no see. I’ve got that Nirvana CD you wanted in the back.”

It wasn’t until Stormsong touched hands with Ralph in a rocker’s version of the handshake that Tinker realized he had been talking to Stormsong. Lina? Ah yes, Linapavuata, which was Elvish for “singing.” Ralph looked past the elf, saw Tinker.

“Tinker-tiki!” Ralph used Tinker’s racing nickname, which meant Baby Tinker. “Look at you!” He ran a finger over Tinker’s ear point, making her burn with embarrassment. “Like the ear job. Love the dress. You’re looking fine.”

Pony slapped Ralph’s hand way and reached for his blade, but Stormsong kept him from drawing his ejae.

“Their ways are not ours.” Stormsong murmured in High Elvish to Pony, and then dropped to Low Elvish to continue. “Ralph, this is Galloping Storm Horse on Wind, he looks to Tinker ze domi—and she is very off-limits now.”

“Forgiveness.” Ralph bowed and used passable Low Elvish. “Does that make you Tinker of the Storms?”

“Beloved Tinker of Wind.” Pony corrected Ralph with a growl.

Ralph glanced to Stormsong and read something on her face that made him decide to flee. “Let me go get that CD.”

Tinker turned to Pony who was still glaring after Ralph. “What was that about?”

“He should show you respect,” Pony said.

Stormsong clarified in English. “’Baby Tinker’ is disrespectful, nor should he have touched you.”

“I’ve known him for years!” Tinker stuck with low Elvish. She didn’t want to cut Pony out of the conversation. “Oilcan and I go to his parties. Tinker-tiki is what all the elves call me.”

“Used to call you,” Pony said. “No elf would be so impolite to use it now.”

“Only because they fear you would call insult,” Stormsong implied, with a glance, that Pony would use his blade in dealing with anyone that insulted Tinker.

“Like — kill them?” Tinker asked.

“We have the right to mete out punishment as we see fit,” Pony explained. “By the blood and the sword.”

Oh boy. The little things people don’t tell her. “You can’t just whack the head off anyone that pisses you off!”

“If the insult is severe, yes, we can.” Pony said. “Sekasha are divine warriors, who answer only to the gods.”

“We have the right,” Stormsong said. “Our training guides us not to take the options allowed to us.”

“Look, if I’m insulted, I’ll punch the guy myself. As far as I’m concerned, you guys are just here for oni and monsters with sharp teeth.”

“Yes, domi.” Stormsong gave an elaborate bow.

Pony looked unhappy but echoed, “Yes, domi.”

Which didn’t make Tinker happy, because she felt like she was somehow the bad guy for not letting them lop off heads right and left. Worse, she knew it was all really Windwolf’s fault since her life got weird the exact second that he entered it. Suddenly she was very annoyed with him — but didn’t want to be — which made her grumpier. She tried to ignore the whole confusing swarm of emotions and thumped over to the video rental section. The sekasha and stinging feelings, unfortunately, followed close behind.

She’d never actually rented video from Eides before and their categories confused her. There seemed to be two of every category. “Why two?”

“These are bootleg copies with subtitles in Low Elvish.” Stormsong pointed out a sign in Elvish that Tinker had missed because a male elfin customer stood in front of it, flipping through the anime.

The elf noticed Stormsong with widening eyes, bowed low and moved off with a low murmured “Forgiveness.”

“The other elves — they’re afraid of you?” Tinker noticed that all the elves in the store covertly watched the sekasha and had cleared out of their path.

“If they do not know us, yes,” Stormsong spoke quietly so her words wouldn’t carry. “You are one that sleeps in the nest of dragons. You do not know how rare we are — or how dangerous.”

“What makes you so special?”

“The Skin Clan did; they created the perfect warrior.”

Tinker was afraid to ask how this gave them the right to head lopping in general, so she focused on why they were here — to rent Wizard of Oz. Knowing that Pony would be watching the movie with her, Tinker scanned only the translated videos. Unlike the originals in their glossy colorful boxes, the translated videos had plain white covers with Low Elvish printed onto the spines. She pulled out one at random and studied it. The movie was ‘The Wedding Singer’ which had been translated to ‘The Party Singer’.” Was it a bad translation or was there actually no Elvish word for wedding? How could the elves exist without the most basic of life ceremonies?

Tinker put the movie back, and scanned the shelves.

Stormsong had been searching too, and now pulled out a box and handed it to Tinker. “This is it.”

The translator hadn’t even tried to find Elvish to match the words Wizard and Oz. Instead, the title was phonetically spelled out.

Tinker turned and found Tommy Chang leaning against the end of the DVD rack, watching her with his dangerous cool. He was wearing a black tank top that showed off the definition in his muscled arms, a corded leather bracelet, and his signature bandana. Tommy organized raves, the cock fights in Chinatown, and the hover bike races — the last being how she knew him best.

“Hi, Tommy.” Somehow, the normal greeting sounded dorky. Something about his zen-like menace made her feel like a complete techno geek. If she didn’t watch it, she ended up overcompensating around him.

He lifted his chin in acknowledgement. “I wasn’t sure if they’d let you out.” He glanced toward Pony. “They keep you on a short leash. In a dress, even.”

“Piss off.” That was a record.

“Aren’t we touchy now we’re an elf?”

“Excuse me, but I’ve had one fucked over month.”

“So I heard.” And then, surprisingly, he added. “Glad you’re still breathing.”

“Thanks.”

“You still going to ride for Team Tinker?”

She felt a flash of guilt as she realized that she hadn’t thought about racing in months. Last she had heard Oilcan had taken over the riding. “How is my team doing?”

“It’s been Team Big Sky’s season since,” he lifted a finger to indicate her appearance, “the whole elf thing.”

That made sense. Oilcan was heavier than she was, had a different center of gravity, and was less aggressive on the turns. Team Bonzai would have lost their edge when the oni stole Czerneda’s custom-made delta. That left John Montana, Captain of Team Big Sky, with the only other delta in the racing circuit, and his half-brother, Blue Sky, a good match to her build and skills.

“So — you going back to riding?” Tommy asked.

“I don’t know. A lot of shit has hit the fan that I need to deal with before I can think about that.”

A flash of Wyvern red outside made Tommy look toward the store windows. “Yup, a lot of shit.”

Her loft smelled of garbage. Months ago — a lifetime ago — she, Oilcan and Pony had eaten, washed dishes, left trash in the can to be taken out, left and never came back. Stormsong was too polite to say anything, carefully sticking to low Elvish. Even after they’d opened the windows and let in the cool evening air, the place depressed Tinker with its ugliness. She had lived alone at human speed; always too busy cramming in what was important to her to deal with beautifying the place she lived. All the furniture was all battered and mismatched used stuff she picked up cheap. The couch been clawed by someone else’s cats, the leather recliner was cracking with age, and the coffee table was something she welded together and topped with a piece of glass. The walls were the same dark green from the loft’s last occupant — not that you could see a whole lot of them as her cinderblock and lumber bookshelves covered most of them and overflowed with her books. She had nothing beautiful — everything was just serviceable and in need of a good cleaning.

She knew it could be made pretty. She had time now, if she wanted to take it. The place could be cleaned, painted, and furnished. She could even hire carpenters to make her bookcases and kitchen cabinets. There was no room, though, for all the people in her life now. The place was for one busy person that was barely there or a married couple with no interests outside one another. Windwolf would never fit — his life was too big — and she didn’t want to live without him. Without Pony. And of late, not without Stormsong either.

She didn’t fit into her old life anymore. This wasn’t her home anymore, and it saddened her for reasons she couldn’t understand. Perching on the couch’s overstuffed arm, she tried to cheer herself up with an inventory of what replaced her old life. A stud muffin of a husband with wads of cash who was crazy in love with her. A luxurious room at the best enclave. Fantastic food for every meal. A best friend that was now sitting beside her on the couch, eyeing her with concern.

“What is wrong?” Pony asked quietly.

“I think I’m homesick,” she whispered and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “Look at this place. It’s a dump. And I miss it. Isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?”

He pulled her into his lap and held her in his arms. “It is not stupid. It only means you lived with joy here, and it is sorrowful to put joyful things aside.”

“Bleah.” She sniffed away tears that wanted to fall. “I was lonely, I just never let myself know how much. I made the computers all talk, just so I felt like someone else was there.”

“You can grieve for something lost, even if it was not perfect.”

The front door open and Oilcan walked in. “Hey,” he announced, not noticing that he started Stormsong to attention. He balanced boxes and a carton of bottles. “I didn’t think you would have anything to eat here, so I brought food.” He settled the various boxes onto the coffee table. “Hey, what’s with the sad face?”

“I’m just tired.” She didn’t want him to know how lonely she had been, or think that she was unhappy with her life now. “I’ve been having all these bad dreams. It’s put me on edge. It’s like I’ve been rubbed down to all nerves.”

“Ah, yeah, that can happen.” Oilcan suffered from horrible nightmares when he first came to Pittsburgh. For that first year, she’d climb into his bed late at night, armed with boxes of tissues, to get him to stop crying. It was one of the reasons she led and he followed despite the fact he was four years older.

“Scrunches?” He asked her if she needed held, just as she once asked him.

“Pony has it covered.” She leaned against Pony. “What’s in the boxes?”

“Chicken satay with peanut sauce.” He lifted up the first lid to show off the sewers of marinated chicken. “Curry puffs, fried shumai, thai roll, pad thai noodles, and drunken chicken.”

He went into the kitchen to collect dishes and silverware.

“We’ll get fat eating all this.” She helped herself to one of the thai rolls, dipping it into the sweet chili sauce. He must have come straight from the Thai place as the thin fried wrapper was still piping hot.

“Feed the body, feed the soul, you sleep better.” Oilcan handed her one of the plates and found room for the others on the crowded table.

“Feed on spirits,” Stormsong added as she examined the bottles of alcohol. “Hard cider, vodka coolers, and beer?”

“Beer is for me. Figured I’d bring a mix for you guys.”

“These are good.” Stormsong handed a cooler to Tinker. “The cider carries less of a punch, so Pony and I should stick to them.”

“Ah, leave the hard drinking to me.” Tinker twisted off the top. Half a cooler, a curry puff and a plate of pad thai noodle later, she realized that the rubbed raw feeling had vanished, and the loft felt like home again.

Tooloo had mentioned that the movie was old, but Tinker still was surprised when it started in only sepia tones. Dorothy was a whiny, stupid, spoiled brat who was clueless on how to manage a rat-sized dog. When Tinker was Dorothy’s age, she was an orphan and running her own business. Esme identified with this girl? That didn’t bode well.

The Earth the movie showed was flat, dusty and featureless. Tinker was with Esme — why would anyone pine for that?

“Is that what Earth is like?” Pony asked.

“I don’t know — I’ve never been to Earth.” Tinker groaned at yet another stupid thing that the girl did. “I’m not sure I can take a full ninety minutes of this.”

“It — changes.” Stormsong said.

And change it did as a tornado sucked the house up into the air and plopped it down in glorious color. Dorothy’s dress turned out to be blue checked and she acquired glittering red high heels that they called “slippers,” the source of Esme’s overalls and red boots in Tinker’s dream.

It took Tinker several minutes for Tinker to realize how Glenda the Good Witch worked into her dream. “That’s Black. She had the wand and the crown. And she was crying.”

“I think I would cry if I was stuck in a dress like that,” Stormsong said.

Tinker had to agree with that assessment. Tiny little people in weird clothes surrounded Dorothy and talked in rhyming singsong voices.

“Oh this is so weird.” Tinker whispered.

“Does this make more sense in English?” Pony asked.

“No, not really,” she told him. “Do they ever stop singing?”

“Not much.” Stormsong said as the munchkins escorted Dorothy to the edge of town and waved cheerfully goodbye.

“Oh, of course they’re happy to see her go; she’s a cold-blooded killer,” Tinker groused as Dorothy discovered a talking scarecrow. “Oh gods, they’re singing again.”

Dorothy and scarecrow found the apple trees that threw fruit, and then the tin man, whose first word was “Oilcan.” Tinker huddled against Pony, growing disquieted.

“What is it, domi?” Pony asked.

“How did I know? I didn’t see this movie before, but so many things are just like my dream.”

“Maybe we did see it and forgot,” Oilcan said.

“Something this weird?” Tinker asked. “And we both forgot?”

Pony’s lion showed up next. Tinker scowled at the screen. It annoyed her that she didn’t understand how she had dreamed this movie — and that her dream self had cast Pony in such a cowardly character. “All these people are dysfunctional, delusional idiots.”

Finally the foursome plus dog found the Wizard who turned out to be a fraud.

“What was this dream trying to tell me?” Tinker asked.

“I am not sure,” Stormsong said. “Normally an untrained dreamer borrows symbols uncontrollably — and this movie is rife with them. Everything from the Abandoned Child archetype to Crossing the Return Threshold.”

“Huh?” The only threshold crossing Tinker knew about related to chaos theory.

“Dream mumbo-jumbo.” Stormsong waved a toward the television screen.

The wizard/fraud had produced a hot air balloon, and was saying goodbye.“…am about to embark upon a hazardous and technically unexplainable journey to the outer stratosphere.”

“Dorothy is taking a heroic journey,” Stormsong continued. “She crosses two thresholds, one out of the protected realm of her childhood, and the other completes her journey, by returning to Kansas. If you were familiar with this movie, I would say you were seeking to move past your old identity and claim one that reflects growth. The tornado could be a symbol of the awakening of sexuality, especially suppressed desire.”

Tinker resisted the sudden urge to shift out of Pony’s arms. “I didn’t dream about the tornado.”

“Yeah, well, the odd thing is that you’re not familiar with the movie. So the question is: where is the symbolism coming from?”

“Don’t look at me!” Tinker closed her eyes and rested her head on Pony’s shoulder. “So, what should I do next?”

“Tell me your last dream again.”

“I’m up high with Riki and he’s a flying monkey. He’s got the whole costume, and I’m the scarecrow. Riki talks about me melting the witch and setting him free. Then I’m on the ground, and Esme is there as Dorothy, Pony was the lion, and Oilcan was the tin man.”

The movie was obviously drawing to a close as Dorothy tried to convince people that her journey had been real.

“We wanted to go to the wizard,” Tinker said. “But the road ends with the black willows, but they’re also the trees in the movie that throw their apples. Esme keeps saying we need the fruit. I don’t know. Do black willows even have fruit?”

Thankfully the movie was over and the credits rolled.

“I am not sure,” Stormsong said slowly, “but I think, domi, finding out more about this Esme would be best.”

“I’m going to have to talk to Lain about a lot of things.” She went to her phone mumbling, “Fruit. Esme. Flying monkeys. Yellow brick roads. Munchkins.”

She got Lain’s simple unnamed AI. “It’s Tinker.”

“Tinker,” Lain’s recorded voice came on. “I’m going to be spending the next few days at Reinholds with the black willow. If you need me, you can find me there.”

Tinker hung up without leaving a message. Sighing, she considered her home network. She should take it out before someone broke in and stole it. Pushing back from her desk, she lazily spun in her chair, scanning her loft. “I should really — you know — move out.”

Oilcan glanced around, bobbing his head in agreement. “Yeah, unless you get divorced, I don’t see you living here again. Well, I’ve got to go. I still have those last drums on the flat bed. I need to go dump them with the rest.”

“See ya.” She continued to spin, thinking of what she needed for the move. A truck. Boxes. People. As she considered how many boxes and how many people, she realized what little she really needed to move. Her computer. Her books. Her underwear. Most of her clothes were ratty hand-me-downs of Oilcan’s, or too oil-stained to wear around the elves. Her battered furniture, her unmatched dishes, and all her other sundry things were just odds-and-ends she picked up over time and weren’t worth keeping. She could have a yard sale. She could make up a flyer and put an ad in the newspaper. They would need a way to tag all her stuff, a cash box with a starter kit of change, a tent case it rained. They could sell hot dogs and sauerkraut to raise more money — except she didn’t need money. Hell, a yard sale was a stupid idea.

She spun in her chair as plans came to mind and proved unneeded. And where would she move her stuff to? She supposed the computer could live in her bedroom at the enclave, but what about all her books? Her jury-rigged bookcases would clash horribly with the elegant hand-craved furniture. She could probably get bookcases. Snap her fingers. Make it so. But where would she put them?

Windwolf didn’t fit into her life, but did she fit into his either?

She bumped into something and stopped spinning.

Stormsong stood beside her, looking down at her. “You’re going to make yourself sick doing that.”

“Pshaw.” She stood up and toppled over.

Pony caught her and carefully put her back into the chair.

“I wish you guys wouldn’t hover.” Tinker snarled as they stood over her.

Pony crouched down so he was now eye level with her. “You are still upset.”

She sighed and leaned her forehead on his shoulder. “I don’t like being like this. This isn’t me. I feel like I’m living without my skin. Everything hurts.”

He put his arms around her and eased her into his lap. “Domi, I have been with you every day for some time now. I have seen you happy and relaxed. I have seen you bored. I have seen you snarling into the face of the enemy. And you were always yourself until two days ago. Something has changed.”

“Do you think the oni dragon did something more to me that just draw magic through me?”

He considered for a few minutes, and then shook his head. “I do not know, domi.”

“How do we check?” She asked.

He and Stormsong exchanged looks.

“Let’s go to the hospice,” Stormsong said. “And have them check you.”

The hospice people poked and prodded and did various spells on her and shook their heads and sent her home feeling even more unbalanced. Her beholden fended off Windwolf’s household, else she probably would have been doused again with saigin and put to bed. Ironically, the only place she had to retreat to was her bedroom which didn’t feel like home.

“There’s no me in this room!” She paced on the bed just to get as tall as the sekasha. “This is not a room I live in. I need a computer. And a television. Internet connection! Is it any wonder that I feel like I’m going nuts when the most mechanical item in this suite is the toilet? Hell, I don’t know even where to find my stuff! Where is my datapad? Where’s — where’s — shit, I don’t even own anything anymore!”

The sekasha nodded, wisely saying nothing, probably thinking she was insane.

“I mean, how am I suppose to do anything? I know I have stuff. I had you put stuff in the car to bring home. Where did it go?”

“I will find it.” Stormsong said and went off to search. She returned while Tinker was still pacing the bed with the mp3 player Riki left for her at Turtle Creek, the Dufae codex, her grandfather’s files on the flux spells and Esme, and a bottle of ouzo. Of course everything cleaned and given lovely linen binders tied with silk ribbons. Elves!

Tinker settled down with the file and a glass of ouzo. Smart female Stormsong. Must keep her. She tossed the player onto the nightstand where she might remember to take it to Oilcan, dropped the codex and the flux folder onto the floor, and opened up Esme’s file. As she noticed earlier, the file contained general public information. NASA bios. Newspaper clippings. Interspersed into it, though, was detailed personal information. One paper was a genealogy chart of Esme’s parents going back a dozen generations on both sides. Another set of papers chronicled out medical histories for family members. Another sheet claimed to be account numbers for a Swiss bank account. Tinker weeded these unique papers out, wondering how and why her grandfather had such information on Lain’s sister. Lain herself, she could understand. But Esme?

Last item in the file was an unlabeled manila envelope. She opened it up to find a photo of her father and Black wrapped in each other arms, looking blissfully happy.

“Who the hell?” Tinker flipped picture but the back was blank.

“What is it?”

“This is Black.” Without her blindfold or hands covering her face, Black was clearly a tengu. She had the black hair, the blue eyes, and the prominent nose that in the males was very beak-like.

“This is Oilcan?” Stormsong pointed to Leo.

“No, my father.” Tinker looked in the envelope to see what else was inside.

There was a handwritten note stating:

The attached form noted that Leonardo Da Vinci Dufae had deposited sperm to be held in cryo-storage for his personal use.

The last sheet of paper in the file was a form from fertility clinic on Earth. Tinker read over it three times before its full import hit her. It was a record of her conception.

Esme Shenske was her mother.

She was still shaking when she found Lain at Reinholds’. The xenobiologist was dressed in winter clothing and running the slim willowy limbs through a machine. She glanced up as Tinker stormed into the big freezer.

“What is it, dear?” Lain paused to pluck something off the limb and place it in a jar.

“Look at this! Look!” Tinker thrust the form into Lain’s hands.

Lain took the paper, scanned it, and said quietly. “Oh.”

“Oh? Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

Something about Lain’s tone, the lack of surprise, her uneasiness got through, and after a stunned moment, Tinker cried, “You knew!”

“Yes, I knew.”

“You’ve known all along!”

“Yes.”

“How could you lie to me all this time? I thought you…” She swallowed down the word “loved”, terrified to have to hear it denied.“…cared for me.”

“I love you. I have wanted to tell you about Esme for so very long, but you have to understand, I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t?”

Lain sighed and her breath misted in the freezing cold. “You don’t know everything. There’s so much that I had to keep from you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means what it means.” Lain busied herself labeling the jar; the contents wriggled like worms. “Don’t come storming in here all hurt and emotional about something that can’t be changed.”

“You could have told me!”

“No, I couldn’t have,” Lain said.

“Tinker, my sister is your mother. See how easy!” And then cause and effect kicked in. “Oh my gods, you’re my aunt.”

“Yes, I am.”

“But what about those tests you did to show Oilcan and I were still related? You used your own DNA as a comparison.”

“I didn’t use my own. I used a stored test result. I wanted to make it clear that you and Oilcan are still cousins.”

Tinker could only stare, feeling betrayed.

“Oh put the hurt eyes away. I have been here for you, loving you as much as humanly possible. What does it matter you called me Lain instead of Aunt Lain? I have always given you the care I would give my niece, no matter what you or anyone else might know.” Lain snorted with disgust. “I always thought that Esme was a result of lavish parenting until you came along — daily I’ve been stunned to realize it was all actually genetic.”

“That hurts.” Tinker snapped.

“What does?”

“That you could look at me and see my mother and never share that with me.”

“Nothing about your birth and life has been cut and dried. I suppose that was one reason I wasn’t that surprised when — out of the blue — you changed species.”

A sound of hurt forced itself out of Tinker, and Lain came to fold her into a hug.

“Oh ladybug, I’m sorry, but I did my best.”

“Can we get out of here and talk? It’s very creepy and cold.”

“Oh, love.” Lain sighed, rubbing Tinker on her back. “This is the only time I’m actually going to be able to do this.”

Tinker pulled out of her hold. “What are you doing that’s so damn important?”

“I’m justifying all your hard work at preserving this.” Lain gave her a hard look that meant that she thought Tinker was acting spoiled. “I’m scanning the structure of living limbs before this thing wakes up.”

“What are these?” Tinker picked one of the jars. Inside, small reddish-brown capsules had broken open, spilling out tiny, hairy green seed-like things, all wriggling like worms.

“Those are its seeds,” Lain said. “It’s possible that the Ghostlands somehow drained the tree of magic and made it inactive. It hasn’t accumulated enough to wake, but the seeds need less magic.”

“Seeds — are — fruit, aren’t they?”

“Yes, dear.” Lain focused on the limbs.

Okay, I have the fruit. Now what? Tinker eyed the seeds as they wriggled about. “I think —”

“Yes?”

“I think — Esme is trying to drive me nuts.”

“Ah, that means you’re family.”

Tinker shoved the jar at Pony to keep while she continued her argument. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you and Grandpa keep it a secret? Why Esme? Was she in love with my father?”

“I never knew why Esme did any of the things she did. She certainly never explained herself. I don’t think she ever knew your father. I didn’t think she knew your grandfather and yet — somehow — they managed to create you. She called me from a roadside pay phone right before she left Earth. She told that she’d hidden clues to her greatest treasure in my house the last time she had visited but wouldn’t say anything more. She kept repeating, ‘the evil empire might be listening, and I don’t want them to have it’ like she was some type of rebel spy.”

“Huh?” Tinker felt as if the conversation just veered around a blind corner. “What evil empire?”

“That’s what we called our family; the empire of evil. Our stepfather was Ming the Merciless, his son was Crown Prince Kiss Butt and our half brothers were Flying Monkeys Four and Five.”

Tinker fought to ignore the sudden intrusion of Wizard of Oz into the conversation. “I was her greatest treasure?”

“Yes.” Lain went back to examining the limbs. “Although I’m stunned that she had the maturity to recognize that. I was expecting something more trivial like her diary, or bearer bonds she’d stolen off our stepfather. But no, it was a copy of that form, and your grandfather’s address, and a note saying ‘Watch over my child. Don’t tell the empire of evil — or a world away won’t be far enough.’ No please, no thank you, no why she had done it.”

“So you’re not happy that I was born?”

“Don’t you twist that into something personal. I thought — and still think — it was horribly selfish and irresponsible of her, as if a child needed no more care than a dandelion seed. Throw it to the wind and hope for best.” Lain made a sound of disgust. “Which is so like Esme.”

“I don’t understand, though, why you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was wise to trust such a secret to a child. Could you have kept it from Oilcan?”

“Oilcan wouldn’t have told anyone.”

“Tooloo?”

Tinker looked away. Yes she would have trusted Tooloo, but who knew what Tooloo would have done with the information. Just look at what the half-elf was doing now — spreading lies about her not being married. “You could have told me when Grandpa died.”

“Yes, I could have, but I didn’t.” Lain found another wriggling bundle and dropped it into a specimen jar. “My family are takers. If there was something they want, they have the money and power to take it. No one can stand against them for every long. They go above, around and sometimes through people to get what they want.”

“But — But— what does that have to do with not telling me about Esme?”

“I don’t think until you met Windwolf and had seen the kind of power he wields that you could have possibly understood our family. One word to the wrong person, and they could have snatched you back to Earth, and nothing that you, your grandfather, or even I could have done would stop them.”