Into the Woods: Tales from the Hollows and Beyond(13)
Author: Kim Harrison

His accent sounded thick, like an old TV show, and I wondered how long this guy had been dead.

Robbie reached up and grabbed his wrist, pulling. "It’s going to be hell if we don’t get out of here! Come on!"

The man lurched off the planter. All three of us stumbled on the slick stone, knocking into people wearing heavy winter coats and having red faces. "Sorry!" Robbie exclaimed, all of us in a confused knot as he refused to let go of my wrist.

I squinted as the wind sent a gust of snow at me. "What did I do wrong?" I said, too short to see where we were going. The fireworks were still going off, and people in the square had started singing.

"Me, me, me," Robbie cajoled, shoving the ghost ahead of us. "Why is it always about you, Rachel? Can you move it a little faster? You want to end up at the I.S. waiting for Mom to pick you up?"

For an instant, I froze. Oh, God. Mom. She couldn’t find out.

"Hurry up! Let’s go!" I shouted, pushing on the man’s back. He stumbled, and I jerked my hands from him, the sight of his bare feet in the snow a shocking reminder of where he had come from. Holy crap, what have I done?

We found the blocked-off street with an abrupt suddenness. The smell of food grew heavy as the crowd thinned. My lungs were hurting, and I yanked on Robbie’s sleeve.

His face was tight in bother as he turned to me, but then he nodded and stopped when he saw me gasping. "Are you okay?" he asked, and I bobbed my head, trying to catch my breath.

"I think they quit following," I said, but it was more of a prayer than a true thought.

Next to me, the man bent double. A groan of pain came from him, and I lurched backward when he started in with the dry heaves. The people nearby began drifting away with ugly looks. "Too much partying," someone muttered in disgust.

"Poor uncle Bob," Robbie said loudly, patting his back gingerly, and the man shoved him away, still coughing.

"Don’t touch me," he panted, and Robbie retreated to stand beside me where we watched his hunched figure gasp in the falling snow. Behind us, the party continued at the square. Slowly he got control of himself and straightened, carefully arranging his borrowed coat and reaching for a nonexistent hat. His face was almost too young for his short beard. He had no wrinkles but those from stress. Silently he took us in as he struggled to keep his lungs moving, his bright blue eyes going from one of us to the other.

"Robbie, we have to get out of here," I whispered, tugging on his sleeve. He looked frozen in his thin shirt with only his mittens, hat, and scarf between him and the snow.

Robbie got in front of me to block the man’s intent gaze. "I’m really sorry. We didn’t mean to . . . do whatever we did." He glanced at the square, arms wrapped around himself and shivering. "This wasn’t supposed to happen. You’ll go back when the sun comes up."

Still the man said nothing, and I looked at his bare feet.

Over the noise came an aggressive, "Hey! You!"

My breath hissed in. Robbie turned to look, and even the man seemed alarmed.

"We need a cab," my brother said, grabbing my arm and pushing the man forward.

I twisted out of his grip and headed the other way. "We won’t get a cab five blocks from here. We need a bus." Robbie stared blankly at me, and I yelled in exasperation, "The main depot is just over there! They can’t close it off. Come on!"

"Stop!" a man’s voice shouted, and we bolted. Well, Robbie and I bolted. The guy between us was kind of shoved along.

We dodged around the people with little kids already leaving, headed for the bus stop. It took up an entire block length, buses leaving from downtown for all corners of Cincy and the Hollows across the river. No one seemed to notice the small man’s feet were bare or that Robbie was drastically underdressed. Song and laughter were rampant.

"There," Robbie panted, pointing to a bus just leaving for Norwood.

"Wait! Wait for us!" I yelled, waving, and the driver stopped.

The door opened and we piled in, my boots slipping on the slick rubber. Robbie had shoved the man up the stairs ahead of me, falling back when the driver had a hissy about the fare. I stood a step down and fumed while Robbie fished around in his wallet. Finally he was out of my way, and I ran my bus pass through the machine.

"Hey," the driver said, nodding to the back of the otherwise empty bus. "If he blows chunks, I’m fining you. I got your bus pass number, missy. Don’t think I won’t."

My heart seemed to lodge in my throat. Robbie and I both turned. The man was sitting alone beside a center pole, clutching it with both hands as the bus jerked into motion. His bare feet looked odd against the dirty, slush-coated rubber, and his knees were spread wide for balance to show his bare calves.

"Uh," Robbie said, making motions for me to move back. "He’s okay."

"He’d better be," the driver grumbled, watching us in the big mirror.

Every block put us farther from the square, closer to home. "Please," I said, trying not to look desperate. "We’re just trying to help him get home. It’s the solstice."

The driver’s hard expression softened. He took one hand off the wheel to rummage out of sight beside him. With a soft plastic rustle, he handed me a shopping bag. "Here," he said. "If he throws up, have him do it in there."

My breath slipped from me in relief. "Thank you."

Shoving the bag into a pocket, I exchanged a worried look with Robbie. Together we turned to the back of the bus. Pace slow, we cautiously approached the man as the city lights grew dim and the bus lights more obvious. Thankfully we were the only people on it, probably due to our destination being what was traditionally a human neighborhood, and they left the streets to us Inderlanders on the solstice.

The man’s eyes darted between us as Robbie and I sat down facing him. I licked my lips and scooted closer to my brother. He was cold, shivering, but I didn’t think he was going to ask for his coat back. "Robbie, I’m scared," I whispered, and the small man blinked.

Robbie took his mittens off and gripped my hand. "It’s okay." His inhale was slow, and then louder, he said, "Excuse me, sir?"

The man held up a hand as if asking for a moment. "My apologies," he said breathily. "What year might this be?"

My brother glanced at me, and I blurted, "It’s nineteen ninety-nine. It’s the solstice."

The man’s vivid blue eyes darted to the buildings, now more of a skyline since we weren’t right among them anymore. He had beautiful, beautiful blue eyes, and long lashes I would have given a bra size for. If I had any to spare, that is.