Yevgeny does the puzzles and Minzhu unlocks the people. There are lots of other Yevgenys in their neigborhood, but they don’t have a Minzhu. They live in Steganopolis and are very, very rich.
“Which won’t last long,” says Yevgeny. “We should enjoy it. Last month’s losers have connections within the city, and they’re unhappy with you.”
“With you,” she corrects. “I’m just a tourist trying to divine the city’s anima.”
“Really?”
“Kind of.”
“I told you what the secret anagram for ‘Steganopolis’ was, didn’t I?” Yevgeny’s face is sober now, alert and still.
“Not yet,” says Minzhu.
“Oops!” says Yevgeny, “Genitals.”
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Chicago’s hair has the curious trick of stopping abruptly, across a perfect horizontal line: she always looks like she’s just seen a barber with a ruler. This makes her look even younger, though less so when it’s short. She’s considered shaving her head.
At least that would provoke cold stares instead of simpers. “I need you to wait outside, young lady,” smiles RICHMOND, Administrative Assistant.
“I’m here to see the vice principal,” says Chicago.
“She’s a teensy bit busy–”
“Now,” says Chicago, “or I tattle about the low-quality joints taped under your desk,” and gets the cold stare after all.
Paraphernalia retains a few things in her name, on her wedding day: a Bible and rosary, grooming items and a key to her parents’ home. Everything else becomes the common property of the Wives of Newton.
Even the dress is theirs, one of three they let out or take in as needed. The bodice is a little loose. She tries not to fidget as the priest of Apollo drones Greekly on into the ceremony, and then Madam Conduitt is smiling, holding her husband’s golden hand on a platter.
“I do,” says Paraphernalia, and lets her ring clink with all the others.
The Wild Man of Summersend wears breeches with hair belt; he eats grubs and honey. He tried eating locusts and honey but apparently you don’t get locusts in the woods. He spends his time vomiting grubs and accosting travelers. “Guilt!” he’ll shout, and hurl a mudball down the path.
“Hello, God-touched,” says the Knight respectfully, raising his visor to wipe away mud.
The Wild Man drops his next mudball and stares. “Whose face are you wearing?” he whispers.
“Nought but my own.”
“Whose face!” shouts the Wild Man, then sees the Knight’s burnished chest and remembers: ah, yes, the mirror’s.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
“Wasabi,” says Daniel.
“On a peppermint,” says Alex.
“With ketchup,” says Daniel.
“And a thing from the freezer,” says Alex, “that I don’t know what it is.”
Toe squints at it. “I’ve eaten worse.”
“Wait wait,” says Daniel, “the piece de gras–” and lets fall one drop from the old man’s vial.
Toe nods, satisfied. “Forty bucks.”
Daniel and Alex whoop. Tyler leans over, hesitant as a man prodding a burning cat. “Look, whatever that stuff is, it’s not kung fu,” he mutters. “It could be dangerous. Don’t you think we–”
“Shh,” says Alex, and throws another five on the pile.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
“She escaped through an air vent,” says Inspector Dracula as they exit the elevator.
“Impossible,” says Mina flatly. “She’s too ill to move without a wheelchair and anyway, the cover screws on from the outside.”
“But hospital windows do not open.” Dracula politely allows a gurney to pass. “Security footage proves her door guard did not leave his post. She was not under the bed. If you will excuse me?”
He steps into Lucy’s former room and shuts the door in her face. Mina hesitates, then opens it again.
Dracula is recondensing. “Yes,” he says, “the vent is the only way.”
“Because you are chosen ones,” whispers the old man. “Because the sorcerer is waking in the East and he will be searching for it. Because you four must save us all.”
“Is this an RPG?” asks Toe. “I hate RPGs.”
Alex snorts. “You cried every time you killed Tifa.”
“Oh, are we going to bring up middle school?” Toe snaps. “Because we all did some things in middle school.”
“What were you saying?” Alex asks the old man quickly.
“Mix tapes,” says Toe. “With Disney showtunes.”
“You didn’t,” gasps Tyler.
“Do you want kung fu or not?” yells the old man.
Thursday, October 5, 2006