Ivory and the Horn by Charles De Lint Read Free Book Online Page A

to open up a bit more? I think, looking at Angel, What would her bullshit detector do if I told her about Shirley?
    Angel stretches out her legs, then lowers them to the floor.
    “Come on,” she says, offering me her hand. “Let’s go talk about this some more.”
    I look around the squat and compare it to Aunt Hilary’s apartment. There’s no comparison. What made this place special, we took with us.
    “Okay,” I tell Angel.
    I take her hand and we leave the building. I know it’s not going to be easy, but then nothing ever is. I’m not afraid to work my butt off; I just don’t want to lose sight of what’s really important.
    When we’re outside, I look back up to the window where we were sitting. I wonder about Shirley, how’s she’s going to work out whatever it is that she’s got to do to regain her own sense of peace. I hope she finds it. I don’t even mind if she comes to see me again, but I don’t think that’ll be part of the package.
    I left the bus ticket for her, on the window sill.
     
    10
    I don’t know if we’ve worked everything out, but I think we’re making a good start. Angel’s fixed it so that I’ve dropped a few courses which just means that it’ll take me longer to get my diploma. I’m only working a couple of days a week at QMS—the Saturday shift that nobody likes and a rotating day during the week.
    The best thing is I’m back following my trade again, trash for cash. Aunt Hilary lets me store stuff in her garage because she doesn’t have a car anyway. A couple of nights a week, Tommy and I head out with our carts, the dogs on our heels, and we work the bins. We’re spending a lot more time together and everybody’s happier.
    I haven’t seen Shirley again. If it hadn’t been for Aunt Hilary telling me about her coming by the house, I’d just think I made the whole thing up.
    I remember what Bones told me about ghosts having their own agendas and how maybe we both had something to give each other. Seeing Shirley was the catalyst for me. I hope I helped her some, too. I remember her telling me once that she came from Rockcastle. I think wherever she was finally heading, Rockcastle was still on the way.
    There isn’t a solution to every problem, but at the very least, you’ve got to try.
    I went back to the squat the day after I was there with Angel, and the bus ticket was gone. Logic tells me that someone found it and cashed it in for a quick fix or a bottle of cheap wine. I’m pretty sure I just imagined the lingered scent of rosehip and licorice, and the button I found on the floor was probably from one of Tommy’s shirts, left behind when we moved.
    But I’d like to think that it was Shirley who picked the ticket up, that this time she got to the depot on time.

M R. T RUEPENNY’S B OOK E MPORIUM AND G ALLERY

     
The constellations were consulted
for advice, but no one understood them.
—attributed to Elias Canetti
     
     
     
     
    My name’s Sophie and my friend Jilly says I have faerie blood. Maybe she’s right.
    Faeries are supposed to have problems dealing with modern technology and I certainly have trouble with anything technological. The simplest appliances develop horrendous problems when I’m around. I can’t wear a watch because they start to run backwards, unless they’re digital; then they just flash random numbers as though the watch’s inner workings have taken to measuring fractals instead of time. If I take a subway or bus, it’s sure to be late. Or it’ll have a new driver who takes a wrong turn and we all get lost.
    This actually happened to me once. I got on the number 3 at the Kelly Street Bridge and somehow, instead of going downtown on Lee, we ended up heading north into Foxville.
    I also have strange dreams.
    I used to think they were the place that my art came from, that my subconscious was playing around with images, tossing them up in my sleep before I put them down on canvas or paper. But then a few months ago I had this