War For The Oaks Part 7

"No, not you. Eddi."

"Ah." He nodded. "It is, however, the same answer. You must think of Eddi and me as if we were new lovers. I shall not be parted from her for more than a moment."

Eddi rolled her eyes.

"Look," said Carla. "I give you my word of honor that I'll bring her back."

His smile became a roaring laugh. "And easy as that, you expect to trick the trickster? No, sweet child, try again!"

Carla glowered at him.

"However," he said at last, "I shall not deprive you of your dinner. We shall all go."

"I'd rather starve," said Eddi.

Carla considered for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't. And the thought of eating something out of your refrigerator makes me queasy. I say we go for it."

"Carla, are you crazy? We can't take him out in public! G.o.d knows what he'd do!" The phouka looked achingly innocent.

"Hmm." Carla frowned and paced to the window and back. "We'll go to the New Riverside Cafe. He can do anything he wants and no-body'll notice."

"Gnnng." Eddi pulled at her hair. "Weird vegetarian eggplant food."

"Maybe they'll make you a nice Wonder Bread and Skippy sandwich," said Carla.

Eddi glared at the phouka. "Why me? What did I do to deserve you?"

The phouka looked, for once, genuinely regretful. "We cannot always choose what life brings us, or how it is brought."

"Plat.i.tude."

"There may be truth in plat.i.tudes."

"Gnnng."

"Go get a jacket," Carla scolded.

The phouka was smiling a little, and something in that smile, the tilt of his head, offered Eddi a lazy challenge. She narrowed her eyes at him and went to the bedroom.

She put on her big denim jacket and turned the collar up. "Tough girl," she said to her reflection in the bathroom mirror, and tried out a sneer. It made her feel better.

Carla's wagon was parked at the bottom of the hill that was Spruce Place. In the shadow of the apartment buildings that lined the street, the air was chilly. "Don't you need your jacket or something?"

Eddi asked the phouka. The skin of his arms and shoulders was smooth as melted chocolate, without a goosepimple in sight.

"What jacket?"

"The one you had on earlier. Aren't you cold?"

He tipped his head back and laughed.

"Excuse me for asking." She wasn't really annoyed-not until they reached the car. Then she looked up from yanking open the slightly sprung pa.s.senger's side door, and found him eyeing the car, his lip curled.

"What's wrong?"

He made a face, as if he'd stepped barefoot on a dead squid.

Eddi leaned back against the car. "If you want to walk, we'll meet you there"-she smiled sweetly- "maybe."

"I... will not be comfortable in that."

"Gosh. I should have told Carla to bring the Mercedes."

Carla stuck her head out her door and looked at them over the roof. "Hey, Rover-we'll roll the window down, and you can ride along with your tongue out."

Eddi looked quickly back to the phouka, but he seemed to have missed the "Rover" entirely. He said only, "I would feel much better with the windows open."

It was a cold ride. The phouka sat in the back seat, and though he didn't quite lean out the window, he sat very close to it. Eddi slumped in the pa.s.senger seat, her shoulders hunched against the breeze, and whistled all that she could remember of "Won't Get Fooled Again."

Carla took the U of M West Bank exit, and said cheerfully, "Hey, you in the back seat! If you really can do magic, find us a parking s.p.a.ce!"

"That is not one of the things I can do."

"Then what good are you?"

The phouka, to Eddi's surprise, made no reply. She turned and looked at him over the seat. He'd leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yes." He cut the word off neatly at the end.

"You don't sound like it." What do I care? she wondered, surprised.

The seat b.u.mped her under the chin as the car bounced over something. Eddi turned around and found that they were lurching into the gravel lot across from Mixed Blood Theatre. "Remind me," Carla mut- tered, "to stay off the West Bank on a Sat.u.r.day night."

"And out of downtown, and Uptown, and off of University Avenue. I always do. You always ignore me."

"Heh." Carla parked the car at the far end of the lot and flung the door open. "Look out for puddles."

Eddi, mindful of her sneakers, did. The phouka was fumbling his hands across the inside of the car door, his face tense.

"What's the matter?" Eddi asked him.

"I'm afraid I don't know how to open this." His black eyes were round, and made his little smile look like a falsehood.

"You could turn into a dog and jump through the window," Eddi suggested. She opened the door for him. "Here," she pointed to the inside handle, "pull this toward you to unlatch it. If that doesn't work, it means you have to pull this up first." She pointed to the k.n.o.b that worked the lock. "And if that doesn't work, it means that the door's b.u.g.g.e.red up, and you can yell at Carla." Then he swung his feet out onto the gravel, and she stared. "You're not wearing any shoes!"

He straightened up, and his chest swelled with a long intake of breath. "That's true."

"No shoes, no s.h.i.+rt, no service," Eddi said with relish as Carla appeared at her elbow. The phouka looked baffled. "You can't go into a restaurant in bare feet," she explained.

"Tell you what," Carla said. "You turn into a dog, and we'll tie you up outside while we eat. And we'll bring you a doggy bag."

The phouka turned his gaze on Carla, and even in the light of sunset Eddi could see her pale. "A pity I have to deny you that pleasure. Come along." He strode off across the gravel.

Eddi touched Carla on the shoulder, but Carla's eyes were still on the phouka. She pointed after him.

The phouka now wore low black boots.

Carla said, her voice wobbling, "He must have got 'em on when we weren't looking."

"Hypnotism," Eddi a.s.sured her. "Special effects. Mirrors."

"Right," said Carla-but she stayed wide-eyed.

They caught up with him at the corner. "I have decided to forgive you," he smiled hugely as they came up. "I even waited for you."

"Meaning," said Eddi, "that you couldn't find the place by yourself."

The phouka c.o.c.ked his head. "You said the New Riverside Cafe. That"-he pointed down the street at a set of dark green awnings-"reads 'New Riverside Cafe.' How could I miss it?"

"You can read, and you can't open a car door?" Eddi said.

He nodded at a piece of construction machinery parked off the road. "You can read. Can you operate that?"

"It's a little more complicated."

"Not to whoever operates it." He smiled. "Come along. After you've eaten, you won't find so much pleasure in posing silly questions."

Eddi had to admit that the Riverside was not as bad as she herself had described it. The most recent renovation had brightened and enlarged the room; it no longer looked like the kind of place where wistful sixties anarchists reminisced about bombing the student union. And tonight's dinner was vegetarian pizza, with, blessedly, not a trace of eggplant.

"I'm buying," Carla said, "so don't starve yourself."

"Does that offer include me?" the phouka asked.

"Do you have any money on you?" said Carla.

"Not a penny."

"How'd you pay the cover charge last night?"

"By magic," he said happily.

Eddi and Carla exchanged looks. "Don't get anything expensive," Carla sighed.

The phouka shook his head. "Ah, gone are the days when your people gave to my people freely and with good heart."

"Yeah, stuff like a nice job picking cotton," Carla muttered. The phouka only laughed his throaty laugh.

They took their loaded trays to a table near the stage. Eddi found herself arranging a band on it.

"Nothing bigger than a five-piece," Carla's voice cut across her thoughts.

Eddi grinned sheepishly. "You read my mind."

"What mind?"

"b.i.t.c.h. I think you could get six people up there."

"Not with keyboards and a full drum kit."

"Mmm. Anyway, it's not my problem anymore." She tore into her pizza.

"So you say. What are you gonna do if you're not working in a band?"

"I'll find a job, for G.o.dsake."

Carla shook her head. "The whole town's on unemployment, and you're gonna find a job."

Eddi looked up from her pizza and found the phouka gazing fixedly at her, as if she were a movie in a foreign language. "Having fun?" she said.

He nodded solemnly.

A slender, brown-haired man came out of the back hallway that led to the alley, clutching a drum case to his chest.

"Isn't that the drummer for Boiled in Lead?" said Carla.

Eddi studied as much of the face as she could see. "I think so."

"So that's who's playing," Carla said. "Windows are gonna rattle tonight."

"Mmm," said Eddi, concentrating on her pizza. It was natural to feel a momentary pang of jealousy. She felt it every time she saw another band play when she couldn't. It was a habit now, and would go away soon. A few months, at most.

"How are you gonna go about it?" Carla asked.

"About what?"

"Finding a job."

"The usual ways."

"Uh-huh. What are you going to tell 'em when they ask about your skills?"

Eddi regarded her bleakly. "I guess I'll have to tell them I can type."

Carla looked sympathetic. "And answer phones, don't forget. You answer a mean phone."

"Want to go apply for food stamps with me?" Then Eddi saw the phouka's smile. "What's your problem?"