Into the Woods: Tales from the Hollows and Beyond(11)
Author: Kim Harrison

"Take a flier?" a man said, his voice dulled from repetition. He was the only person facing away from the circle as he moved through the crowd, and I had prepared my no-thanks speech before he had even gotten close. But then I saw his "Have you seen me?" button and changed my mind. I’d take a stinking flier.

"Thanks," I said, holding out my gloved hand even before he could ask.

"Bless you," he said softly, the snow-damp paper having the weight of cloth as I took it.

He turned away, numb from the desperate reason for his search. "Take a flier?" he said again, moving off with a ponderous pace.

Depressed, I looked at the picture. The missing girl was pretty, her straight hair hanging free past her shoulders. Sarah Martin. Human. Eleven years old. Last seen wearing a pink coat and jeans. Might have a set of white ice skates. Blond hair and blue eyes.

I shoved the flier into a pocket and took a deep breath. Being pretty shouldn’t make you a target. If they didn’t find her tonight, she probably wouldn’t be alive if and when they did. I wasn’t the only one using the power of the solstice to work strong magic, and it made me sick.

A familiar figure captured my attention, and I smiled at Robbie in his new long coat. He had a hesitant, stop-and-go motion through the crowd as he tried not to bump anyone with the hot drinks. Besides the new coat, he now sported a thick wool hat, scarf, and a pair of matching mittens that my mom had made for him for the solstice. He was still in his thin shoes, though, and his face was red with cold.

"Thanks," I said when Robbie shuffled to a halt and handed me a paper and wax cup.

"Good God it’s cold out here," he said, setting his cup beside me on the planter and jamming his mittened hands into his armpits.

I scooted closer to him, jostled by some guy. "You’ve been gone too long. Wimp."

"Brat."

A man in an orange security vest drifted past, the way opening for him like magic. I busied myself with my drink, not looking at him as the warm milk and chocolate slid down. The bottle of potion felt heavy in my pocket, like a guilty secret. "I forgot tapping into the communal will was illegal," I whispered.

Robbie guffawed, taking the top off his drink and eyeing me with his bird-bright eyes brilliant green in the strong electric lights that made the square bright as noon. "You want to go home?" he taunted. "Come to Portland with me right now? It’s freaking warmer."

He was getting me in trouble, but that’s what he did. He usually got me out of it, too. Usually. "I want to talk to Dad," I said, wiggling my toes to feel how cold they were.

"All right then." He sipped his drink, turning to shield me from a gust of snow and wind that sent the crowd into loud exclamations. "Are you ready?"

I eyed him in surprise. "I thought we’d find a nearby alley or something."

"The closer, the better. The more energy you can suck in, the longer the magic will last."

There was that, but a noise of disbelief came from me. "You really think no one’s going to notice a ghost taking shape?" It suddenly hit me I was stirring a white charm in a banned area to get into the I.S. This will look really good on my employment essay.

Robbie gazed over the shorter people to the nearby circle. "I think you’ll be all right. He’s not going to be that substantial. And that’s assuming you do it right," he added, teasing.

"Shut up," I said dryly, and I would’ve bobbed him but that he was drinking his hot chocolate.

Marilyn Manson finished his . . . really odd version of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and the people surrounding the stage screamed for more.

"They’re drawing names," Robbie said, watching the circle instead of the stage.

Excitement slithered through me, and as the crowd pressed closer, I levered myself back up onto the planter wall. No one would make me leave now for standing on it. Robbie moved so I could steady myself against his shoulder, and from the new vantage point, I watched the last of the names pulled from the informal cardboard box. I held my breath, both wanting to hear my name blared from the loudspeaker and dreading it.

Another man with a city event vest put his head together with an official-looking woman with white earmuffs. The two spoke for a moment, her head bobbing. Then she took the wad of names and strode to the stage where Marilyn was blowing kisses and showing off his legs in black tights. The crowd turned like schooling fish, the noise growing as a path parted for her.

"Can you see?" Robbie asked, and I nodded, bumping my knee against his back.

A wave of expectation grew to make my fingertips tingle. With my back to that huge rock and high above everyone, I had a great view, and I watched the woman stand at the stage and peer up at the band. Someone extended a hand to help her make the jump to the plywood. A laugh rippled out when she made the leap, and the woman was clearly flustered when she tugged her coat straight and turned to face the crowd. Marilyn handed her a mike, giving her a word or two before the straitlaced woman edged to the middle of the stage.

"I’m going to read the names now," she said simply, and the square filled with noise. She glanced shyly behind her to the band when the drummer added to it.

Robbie tugged at my coat and I missed the first name-but it wasn’t me. "You should start now," he said as he peered up, his cheeks red and his eyes eager.

Adrenaline spiked through me to pull me straight, and my gloved hand touched the outside of my pocket. "Now?"

"At least set it up while everyone is looking at the stage," he added, and I nodded.

He turned back around and applauded the next person. Here, on our side of the square, there were already two people standing in the middle of the circle, flushed and excited as they showed their IDs to security. I glanced at the people nearest to me, heart pounding. Actually, Robbie had picked a really good spot. There was a narrow space between that big rock and the edge of the planter. No one else could get too close, and with Robbie in front of me, no one would see what I was doing.

The snow seemed to swirl faster. My breath left me in little white puffs as I dropped the egg-shaped red and white stone to the ground and nudged it into place. The shallow dip in it would hold a potion-sized amount of liquid. It was one of my mom’s more expensive-and rare-spelling utensils, and I’d be grounded for a year if she knew I had it.

The last name was read, and the crowd seemed to collectively sigh. Disappointment quickly turned to anticipation again as the last lucky few made their way to the circle to sign their name in the event book and become part of Cincinnati’s history. I jumped when the big electric lights shining on the square went out. Expected, but still it got me. The tiny, distant lights from the surrounding buildings seemed to shine down like organized stars.