Chapter 56
The wind followed the boy through the shadowed alley, and the boy followed the citrus and pearl dust scented woman. It was almost a game, tiptoeing behind dumpsters, ducking behind food carts, and flattening into the ventilation cracks spaced between brick walls.
The woman didn’t know the boy was following her, and the boy didn’t know the wind was following him.
It reminded the wind of when the boy was small and they’d played hide-and-seek in the woods to the north.
Its favorite type of hiding had been circling around and following the boy from behind as he peered in mossy tree hollows and under pine-cone mounds and beneath rotting logs, until finally, after a long time seeking, the wind would tap on the boy’s shoulder, and he’d swing around, laughing at how the wind had snuck up on him.
It was a fun game.
Maybe the boy would tap on the woman’s shoulder and she’d laugh too.
The boy was in a good mood. The corners of his lips kept tilting up every time the woman worriedly peered over her shoulder.
He even laughed when she grabbed a newspaper, hopped on a crowded bus, and then got off at the next stop as a completely different person.
The newspaper was like a theater curtain, and when it dropped, she’d changed from an old man into a young one.
She kept her head down, hurrying onto a busy sidewalk. Then, as if she sensed someone following her, she darted across the street, dodged a taxi, and ducked into another alley.
At the other end, she was another person again—this time a large, round man with a protruding stomach.
The boy leaned against a bus stop, his hands in his pockets, smiling as she darted past. His own features were obscured, the way Ward features often were, so the woman didn’t notice him, even though he was hiding in plain sight.
The wind sniffed the street. There’d been a quick rain shower that had sprinkled the sidewalks and tickled the wind as it flew to the boy.
It wasn’t enough to wash away dirt or grime, but it’d lifted the wind’s mood.
The raindrops were gone now, but the smell of rain remained.
It was still humid though—the rain hadn’t broken the heat.
The boy’s face was flushed, and a bit of sweat clung to his forehead.
He pushed off the bus stop and followed the woman across the street. She took one last, quick look over her shoulder and then disappeared down a cross street.
“She’s up to something,” the boy said, curiosity and laughter warring in his voice. “Don’t you think?”
Oh. So the boy did know the wind was following him.
The wind huffed.
“You’re losing your touch.”
It was not! The wind was silent. It was stealthy. It was the soft, padded paw of a ghost leopard. It was a raptor’s wing, eerily quiet, before descending and delivering death. It would never lose its touch.
How dare he—?
The boy laughed and held out his hands. “I’m kidding! I’m just kidding. You know, you used to think I was funny.”
The wind flicked the boy’s ear. It had never thought he was funny.
Besides, the boy always laughed at the wrong things.
He was laughing right now, his eyes watering as he wiped the tears away. If that wasn’t proof of laughing at the wrong things, the wind didn’t know what was.
It hmphed and followed after the citrus and pearl dust scented woman.
It stopped at the building she’d ducked into.
The wall was cool glass, and the wind flattened itself against the smooth surface.
There were stickers, advertisements pasted on, and fingerprints, but the wind could still see through the window.
The boy stopped next to the wind and let out a surprised huff.
Then his surprise turned into a wide grin.
He ducked into the shop, and the wind swirled in the bells jingling on the door.
A blast of sugar, toasted almonds, cinnamon, and chocolate wafted over the wind, and it moaned happily.
It drifted on the cool air currents, tasting the bakery’s smells.
The boy strolled to the counter, peering at the pastries, cookies, and cakes in the glass cases.
The citrus and pearl dust scented woman stood at the cash register. She was still disguised as the man with the protruding stomach. There were plenty of people in the shop, and she still hadn’t noticed the boy.
She paid, took a white box, and hurried out of the shop. The boy grabbed two coffees, dropped his money on the counter, and followed. The woman had ducked down a side street, and the wind had to point him to where she’d gone.
He stopped in a shadow when he finally saw her.
She was leaning against the sandstone wall of a building. The street was shadowed, still, and cool. The morning was just beginning, and the street was quiet except for the soft coo of a pigeon resting on the building’s stoop.
The woman had taken her dessert out of the box. It was the largest cinnamon roll the wind had ever seen. It was almost the size of one of the boy’s birthday cakes. It was thick, with ribbons of cinnamon and sugar, and glossy white icing dripped over the woman’s hands.
She closed her eyes, took a monstrously large bite, and then moaned happily. She tilted her head back and chewed slowly, savoring the sweetness. She swallowed and then took another bite, and another.
The boy watched. Enraptured.
When the woman licked the frosting from her fingers, one finger at a time, her pink tongue flicking over her skin, the boy’s cheeks turned bright red.
The woman smiled and turned to him. “Want some?”
He coughed and then asked, “You knew I was here?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Of course I did.”
Ha! The boy was losing his touch. The wind ruffled his hair, and the boy flicked him off. Ha. Who lacked a sense of humor now?
The boy wandered into the shadow, where the dark of the sidewalk gingko and the building met. “I brought coffee. I didn’t know how you liked it, so . . .”
“Two sugars.”
“I looked it up and found a fan site that said you drink it black.”
The woman’s shoulders dropped.
“But that didn’t sound right,” the boy continued, “so I brought sugar packets.”
“And cream?”
He shook his head.
“Good.” She smiled. “I don’t like cream in my coffee.”
She tore a large chunk of the cinnamon roll free and held it out to the boy. It was still warm, the dough was soft, and the icing dripped over her fingers.
“Here.”
The boy looked down. He didn’t have a hand free, since he was holding a coffee cup in each.
The citrus and pearl dust scented woman’s eyes darkened. “Your hands aren’t free.”
“No,” he agreed.
She stared at him for a long moment. “You really trust me.”
She sounded surprised. The boy, by not having a hand free to conjure, was leaving himself vulnerable. He could drop the cups, but that breath of time could mean the difference between life and death.
“Well,” the boy said, “why not?”
The woman shook her head and held out the cinnamon roll, touching it to the boy’s mouth. His flush deepened, his cheeks turning red. The wind rode over his hot skin as he accepted the dessert.
It was a strange picture. The woman was disguised as an old, potbellied man. The boy was taller than her, blond, with two days of beard growth, wearing a wrinkled T-shirt. Anyone who passed by would wonder at the look in the boy’s green eyes.
The woman traced her fingers across the boy’s mouth, wiping free a bit of frosting. “Good?”
The boy nodded then ducked his head and reached for the coffee cups. “Here. Coffee.”
He shoved the cup into the woman’s free hand and then took a long swallow of his drink. He coughed, gasped, and turned to the side. “Hot. Sorry. It’s hot.”
The citrus and pearl dust scented woman laughed. Her laughter was like seashells tinkling musically under a playful tide. Oh, the wind liked the sound.
The boy’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled. “I came for my favor.”
The woman’s breath caught, and then she dropped the cinnamon roll back into the box. She hid her expression behind her coffee cup’s lid and took a long, deep drink. Her eyes watered, and she wheezed. “You weren’t kidding.”
The boy shook his head, then he set his coffee down and put his hands in his pockets.
“So. Your favor?”
The wind circled around their ankles.
“Right,” the boy said. “Do you have time?”
“Now?”
He nodded. “Now. Today.”
“All day?” The woman leaned toward him and smiled. The wind traced the tilt of her mouth. She tasted like sugar and cinnamon.
“Until lunch.”
“Oh.” The woman dropped back and frowned. The wind kicked the boy. The woman wanted to spend all day with him, not just the morning. The wind kicked him again. He should ask—
“Sorry, did you want to spend longer?”
“No. No, that’s okay. Until lunch is good. Great. I only . . . I only . . . I need to stop by my place and leave a note for Raggie. He worries. I mean . . . oh . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I’m rambling. What’s wrong with me? What is this?”
The boy’s eyes widened. “What?”
“You don’t understand. I don’t do this. I don’t .
. . ramble. I’m sophisticated. I date. I enjoy men.
I have many, many admirers, including actors, musicians, heads of state, royals .
. . oh . . . I’m doing it again. I’m rambling.
Okay, here it is. I’m going to admit something.
Do not laugh.” She glared at him, then she said in a rush, “I’m nervous. ”
The boy nodded. “I know.”
She shoved him. “You aren’t supposed to admit it!”
He smiled. “Why not? I’ve seen inside your mind. I already know you’re nervous.”
She scoffed. “Look. I need to know. Today? Are we going to—?”
“No!” The boy held out his hands. “No.” He cleared his throat. “No.”
He flushed, and the woman laughed.
“Lia . . .” The boy sent his hand though his hair, making the ends stand up. “I’m here because I want to do something you’ve never done. I want to give you something no one else has. I want . . .” He paused. “I want . . .”
“You want . . .?”
He nodded. “Exactly. It’s a surprise. A gift. I want to give you a gift.”
The woman studied the boy’s pink cheeks and his earnest expression. She reached out and brushed her fingers across his flushed skin.
“Jacob?”
“Yeah?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really nice?”
He smiled. “No.”
She didn’t seem surprised. “Well you are, but I won’t let anyone know.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She took the boy’s hand. “Okay. You have until lunch.”