Yarrow

  ringing wild across the hollow hills

  and beyond

  unto the moon's rim

  and beyond….

  And always,

  there is the Road….

  He cocked an eye at her and she nodded politely. "Do you know that Road?" he asked.

  "I think so."

  "It's the Green Man that makes it merry, for a merry fellow he is. But gentle it is too, as a place the fairies dance could be called gentle. Fey, do you see?"

  "What do you hope to find when you get to the end?"

  "But that's the thing!" Toby said. "It's following the Road is all. It has no end. Like Ouroborus— the great serpent swallowing its own tail. It's the doing, Mistress Cat, not the done. For once it's done, you've only to begin again, hey?"

  "I think I understand now," Cat said. "I've just never heard it expressed quite like that before."

  It was like her writing, she thought. Each book had its own theme, but there was one underlying thread that bound them all together, and each book took that thread— that Road— a little further along the way. If she ever got to the end, there wouldn't be anything left to write about. Maybe that was why she was having so much trouble now, what with—

  "Have a cake?" Toby asked. "There's plenty. Honey or berries? Or both?" He held up a wooden bowl brimful of strawberries in one hand, a small clay honey jar in the other.

  "Berries, please. You're very kind to share your breakfast with me."

  "And you're very kind to stop and talk with me. That wood now." With his chin he pointed to the direction she'd come from. "Not this one here, but the one beyond the valley. It's through it that you've come?"

  "Yes."

  "And were there ghosts?"

  Cat started. "What do you mean?"

  "I was told to take the haunted wood, once I left these hills."

  "That's Mynfel's wood."

  Toby put an index finger along either side of his head and wiggled them. "She's one of the horned folk?" he asked.

  Cat nodded.

  "Then that's the way I'll be going. Pity you're heading the other way." He passed her a flatcake with berries rolling from it. "It's fingers only, I'm afraid."

  "I'm not really going anywhere in particular," Cat said around a mouthful.

  "Oh?" He looked her up and down. "You're not exactly equipped for wandering the wilds, are you?"

  "It's a long story."

  "That's right! You said you were a storyteller. I love to hear the flap of my own lips— comes from wandering about on my own so much, you see— but I like a story better, so off you go."

  "Well, it's sort of difficult to explain. I come here when I fall asleep in my own world and—"

  "But that," Toby said, "presupposes that this is a dream." He gave himself an exaggerated pinch. "I feel real to me."

  "Yes, but…" Cat shook her head. "All I know is that when I go to sleep in the world I live in, I come here."

  "As though it were a dream."

  "I suppose."

  "I've never heard of such a thing. Still, the Road can't be the same for everyone, or what a clutter there'd be on it. But do go on. I won't interrupt you again— at least not much."

  "Well," Cat said. "It started when I was very young…."

  "One thing is certain," Toby said when she was done.

  "What's that?"

  "This isn't a dream. Because if it was, I wouldn't be real, and I most certainly am real. At least I was the last time I woke up." He shook his head. "But it certainly sounds very confusing. And not entirely pleasant. I don't like the thought of someone stealing my dreams. They're such… well, personal things, as it were. More tea?"

  Cat nodded and handed him her cup. He filled it to the brim and spooned in a dollop of honey that made the liquid spill over the sides. Swishing the spoon about, he handed it back to her.

  "This world is like a dream," he said suddenly. "I'll grant you that. For there are things here that fair take the breath away. Magicky things. I'm a conjuror myself, you see, but it's not the same thing at all." He held out his hand, palm open in front of her, then closed it. After tapping it with his free hand, he opened it once more to produce a small round ball. "Nothing fancy," he added. He swirled his fingers and the ball vanished. "But it's what I do."

  Cat smiled. "That was very good."

  "A pittance. A trifle. Merely warming up. What I really want to be is a mage. No more tricks and trickery. I want to be magic. I want to touch the heart of the world and make it smile. I want to be a friend of elves and live in a tree. Or under a hill. I want to marry a moonbeam and hear the stars sing. I don't want to pretend at magic anymore. I want to be magic.

  "So you see, when I saw you stepping from amongst the trees— and making a dreadful racket in the brush while you were at it, I might add; a good sneaker you're not— but be that as it may, when I saw you I thought, now here's someone with magic. A fey waif if ever I saw one. And I was right, what with your hobnobbing it with elves and gnomes and such.

  "But now I find it doesn't make any difference, because any moment you might wake up there, leaving me here with only the trees to talk to. Not exactly an inspiring proposition. Of course, I don't blame you, not one bit, but still… it's all rather frustrating."

  He made three balls appear, juggled them for a moment, then put them away in one of the many pockets of his jacket. Next he produced a worn pack of cards, smiled ruefully, and stuck them in another pocket.

  "I must sound very selfish," he said. "Here you are, with all sorts of very real problems, and here I am, playing the fool."

  "Well, you've certainly made me feel better," Cat said. "And you're a good listener— when you're not talking yourself, that is."

  "But still and all and this and that, I wish I could do something to help you. If I was a mage…" He leapt to his feet and struck a wizardly pose, then sat down again. "But I'm not."

  "I can take you to Redcap Hill," Cat said, "where the gnomes used to live."

  (Oh, Tiddy Mun— where are you?)

  "Is it long?" Toby asked. "Is it far? Is it safe?"

  "Yes and yes and…" Her face clouded. "I'm not sure. Probably not. I only saw Mynfel there, and she wasn't much help. Everybody else is gone."

  "The winged shadow that dropped from the sky," Toby said, glancing up. "It's chased them all away. So safe it's not. But still…" He plucked his knife from the ground and brandished it. "Perhaps cold iron will stop it. Your fey friends wouldn't be able to handle iron, you see?"

  "Do you think…?"

  "Often. But that's neither here nor there." He regarded her seriously. "We can only try, can't we?"

  Cat nodded. "If I…" She was going to say wake up, but thought better of it. "If I should suddenly disappear on you… I'll be back. I'm not going to let him keep me away anymore. It doesn't matter who or what he is."

  "Well said!"

  Cat's enthusiasm came to an abrupt halt. "Why do you want to help me?" she asked.

  "Why, if I help you with your dream thief, then surely in return you'll help me become magic, won't you? Shall we strike a bargain? Shall we clasp hands and cry, 'Done!'?"

  Cat regarded him steadily, then reached over and shook his hand. "Done," she said.

  "Then it's time we packed up and were on our way."

  Detective Bill McKinty parked his car on Nepean Street and walked back to the corner of Bank, where a uniformed constable was waiting for him.

  "Fredericks?" Bill asked as he approached.

  The constable nodded. "He's on the bench in front of the take-out. The one in the middle."

  Bill glanced across the street. There were three shabbily-dressed men sitting in front of the Friendly Corner Take-Out, their legs sprawled out on the sidewalk in front of them, their backs slouched against the back of the bench. As he watched, they passed a bottle in a paper bag from one to the other while accosting the occasional passerby for a handout.

  He recognized Ron Wilson as the man turned to say somethi
ng to one of his companions. Before crossing the street, Bill managed to identify the other two as well. Ralph "Redeye" Cleary was the one on the left with the rheumy eyes. The man on the right, with the smallpox scars on his cheeks, was Danny Farris.

  "Thanks, Fredericks," Bill said, and started for the curb.

  "You want a hand?"

  Bill shook his head. "I'm not taking them in. I just want to talk to Wilson."

  He crossed the street and approached the trio from the rear. Leaning on the bench's wooden backrest, his hands near Ron's shoulders, he cleared his throat. Three heads turned.

  "You two," Bill said, indicating Red-eye and Danny. "Blow."

  Recognition dawned in their eyes, quickly replaced with guilt. Derelicts, Bill thought wearily, always looked guilty when you stopped them. All three started to rise, but Bill placed a hand firmly on Ron's shoulder, forcing him back onto the bench.

  "Not you, Wilson."

  Stuffing their paper-bagged mickey bottle in his pocket, Danny backed from the bench. He and Red-eye shuffled off, looking back over their shoulders as they went. Bill came around the bench to sit down beside Ron. He wrinkled his nose, but put a smile on his lips.

  "I don't want no trouble," Ron began.

  "No trouble," Bill agreed. "I just want to ask you a couple of questions about your late pal Farley, okay?" To ease Ron's nervousness, he dug a five-dollar bill out of his pocket and pressed it into the wino's hand. Greed overcame fear as Ron closed his tobacco-stained fingers around it.

  "What'cha want to know?" he asked.

  "You know how Farley died?" Bill began.

  "I don't know nothing 'bout—"

  Bill cut him off with a quick motion of his hand. "Ease up, Ron. Listen to the question before you answer it— got it?"

  "Yeah," Ron mumbled, looking at his feet.

  "What I want to know," Bill continued, "is whose bad books was Farley in? Who did he cross that likes to cut people up?"

  Ron glanced sideways at the detective, then back at his feet. "Everybody got along with Farley," he said. "You know that. You must've checked his record, talked to a couple of the uniforms on the beat."

  Bill nodded. "Okay. Farley got along just swell with everybody. That's why someone took out his throat with a knife."

  "He's not the first," Ron said softly.

  "Meaning?"

  "Hell, you know Crazy Dick got it the same way in July. Somebody's out to get us— that's what I think. Somebody's trying to clean up the city. But we don't hurt nobody. You know that. What do they want to hurt us for?"

  "Who's they?"

  Ron shrugged. He looked past the detective to the end of the block, where Red-eye and Danny were hanging around, trying to look casual. Christ, Ron thought. He could use a shot of what was sitting in Danny's pocket.

  "Farley ever talk about anybody out to get him personally?" Bill asked. "Did he sound at all nervous or scared lately?"

  Ron started. "He was scared," he said, looking the detective in the eye. "He picked up a bad case of the heebs a couple of nights back. Kept talking about snakes. Or men with snake heads. I can't remember which."

  "Snakes?"

  Ron nodded.

  "And that's it?"

  "Yeah." But then Ron remembered something else. "There was this guy in the park yesterday— up by Tamson House. We were sitting around, taking it easy, when he walks by. Young fellow— maybe thirty, tops— blond hair, good-looking, wearing a real sharp suit. When Farley saw him, he damned near shit his pants. Looked like he'd seen a ghost or something. Damned near spilled the whole bott— er, the coffee we were drinking."

  Bill ran Ron through the incident twice more, but couldn't get any more details out of him. "Anything else?" he asked, standing up.

  Ron shook his head.

  "Well, thanks, Ron. You take it easy. If I were you, I'd find someplace else to sleep at night— off the streets."

  Ron shrugged. "I'm thinking of moving on. I got a cousin lives down in T.O. Maybe I'll give him a visit. I don't know."

  "Okay, Ron. Thanks for your help. We'll see you around."

  Ron looked down at how his fingers trembled where they gripped his knees. Not if I can help it, he thought. Not if I can fucking help it.

  After Ben left, Peter tried to keep himself busy. He walked about, straightening books on their shelves, dusting, writing out a couple of checks and one order, rearranging his display tables. When he sat down behind the cash once more, he found he'd killed no more than an hour. Business was slow— business was invariably slow during the week— and he had the store to himself for the most part, which left him with too much time in which to worry and think.

  He considered calling Cat more than once, but he'd left her the note and knew she'd call when she got up. He tried to read, but Tiddy Mun's face kept looking up at him from the pages of the book. He thought about the way both Cat and Ben took this vampire business so seriously.

  He could almost understand Cat's embracing the theory— no matter how outlandish it might seem in the light of day. From what she told him, she'd already spent the better part of her life flitting between the real world and the one of her dreams. What was one more supernatural wonder to her? Though horror might be a better way of putting it. But Ben…

  The way he and Ben had sat around this morning discussing the whole problem so seriously really bothered Peter. What it was, he realized, was not really knowing for sure. It was having to sit around and wait while doubt gnawed away inside him. It was knowing, when he managed to muster his beleaguered reason, that it was all crazy, but being afraid that maybe it wasn't. For there was what he'd seen himself, and what Ben had felt last night and in the park, and Cat and her ghosts. Allowing Cat's prowler supernatural powers only complicated an already confusing situation.

  Sighing, Peter picked up his book once more.

  "Where are you from, Toby?" Cat asked.

  They were in Mynfel's wood, the oak trees towering high above them as they walked through a green twilight. Toby glanced at her and shrugged.

  "From another world again," he said, "though when I came here, I thought myself finally come home. My homeland is a mountainous place called Ayrn and I lived in its Luckenhare Dales. I did this and that for many's a year— from digging graves to digging potatoes— but was never happy with what I did. I was living in Kerr-on-the-Water, a town famed for its cheeses and clockmakers, when I met up with a band of traveling folk and first took to the road. With a small r, I might add.

  "They were a merry company, and I lived with them for the better part of five years. We had a juggler, a mime, three acrobats, a strong man, and Elsie Telfer, who read fortunes. It was Elsie who told me about the Secret Road— about the borders between the worlds and how there were some places where the Gentle Folk were to be found, and every third tree hid a wizard."

  When Toby spoke of borders, Cat thought of her own book and its central character, Aldon, the Borderlord. Kothlen had told her of him, antlered-browed and tall. "There are borders between the worlds," Kothlen had said, "and each has its guardian, its protector. They keep the unwary from straying, and guard the magicks of the borders from those who would put them to ill-use." From that her novel had grown. From a tale of Kothlen's. A story. And now…

  She stopped the turn of her thoughts. If there was an Otherworld, why not several other worlds?

  "What are these borders?" she asked.

  "They're the places where the Road touches a world. Like a gate, as it were. They can be tricky to find, but Elsie showed me one outside Rosdun— that's on the way to Killydownfair…." He paused and gave her a quick smile. "I don't suppose the names mean anything to you, so I don't know why I mention them. Still, be that as it may, the border Elsie showed me was on a low hill just off the road outside Rosdun. 'Walk straight in betwixt those longstones,' she told me, 'and if you've the way set in your mind, and your heart yearns strong enough, sure and you'll find the Road just beyond them.'

  "Well, I did just that
— upped and came, and here I am, as it were. I've been here the better part of a fortnight, just walking with only the wide open land and me. Then I came to the hills. The last time I heard a voice, other than yours or my own, was that same fortnight ago when I shared my supper with a raggedy man on the Road who claimed to be a warden, set there to warn folk from this very world."

  "Why was he doing that?" Cat asked, feeling a sense of déjà vu. It was like The Borderlord coming to life for her.

  "Well, I think he was part mad and the other part fey, myself. 'Too many magicks abroad,' he told me. 'But that's why I've come,' I replied. And then, when he saw I would be going whether he said no or not, he gave me what few directions I have. Named the Katmeiny Hills for me. Warned me not to talk to strange waifs who popped out of the woods at breakfast time."

  Cat laughed. "He didn't!"

  "Ah, well. Perhaps not in so many words. But he was full of warnings, that one was, with his wild hair and tattered clothes and eyes like they'd looked once too often into the unknown. Gave me a proper fright he did, at times. If it wasn't for Elsie's foretellings, I might have turned back, there and then."

  "What did she tell you?"

  "That if I wanted real magicks, I must go to where magicks are real. That there was danger on the Road, but great joy as well. That I would arrive in the place I sought, but would not return." He gave her a wink. "Suitably nebulous, of course, but promising enough to send me packing and—"

  "Here you are," Cat finished for him.

  "Exactly. A wee touch older than when I left, but not a great deal wiser— though that doesn't worry me overmuch, for: 'If you wait long enough at the ferry, sooner or later you'll cross the river,' or something like that. Isn't it time you told me another story?"

  "I suppose. What sort would you—"

  But before she could finish her sentence, forest and companion were gone and she was crossing the borders between one world and another, as quick as a hawk dropping from the sky.

  Cat woke up and regarded the familiar confines of her bedroom with a certain amount of regret. She should have felt exhausted from all the running around she'd done in her dream. Instead she felt rejuvenated. Newborn. She hadn't had a dream like that in so—