Green Fairy (Dangerous Spirits) (34 page)

Here I stay quiet and nobody notices me. I am a stranger. But it is different with people you grow up with, because they know you all your life and when you change, they see you change. I applied to exchange program to see your country as well as to leave my own, and I am lucky my English is very good, and I am accepted.

But I am matched in program to small school in small town, because Samorodka is in small town, and so I find many of the same things. It is different because I am not known, and also because in this country, a boy who likes boys is not very unusual. Small unusual, but not big unusual like in Samorodka.

Yes, I am like that.

I think maybe you are too, but then you tell me that the otter is your girlfriend. But you do not act like boyfriend to her, not mostly. But even if you are not like me, I think maybe you will understand being me, not like other people here. I can not even tell host family and I can not tell other students. I am ashamed to say that I am almost glad you are leaving because it is easier to tell you now.

So I know it is difficult, but maybe you can write back to me. Maybe where you go there are other boys like me and you can tell me it is better here than in Siberian small town. Or just be my friend. From far away, nobody will see us being friends and it will be okay. I have many friends on the Internet but none I know nose to nose.

Again, I wish you very good luck in wherever you go.

Your friend,

Alexei

Sol stared at the phone. He wanted to kick himself. Tsarev—Alexei, that nice fox, he was gay? He’d been sitting in front of Sol for the whole year and Sol never knew? He started typing out a reply, but the words never sounded quite right—“I’m gay too!” “I do understand, because I am like that too.” “Awesome!”—and after the fourth try, he canceled the message. No words felt adequate to convey Sol’s delight and amazement, his eagerness to talk to Alexei and to listen to him, the doors he saw opening before him. That the second gay person he’d met would already be a friend of his felt astounding and miraculous, and it made him even more grateful for Niki. Think of all he would have missed if he’d left with Carcy, or if he’d hurt himself.

But at least he should send Alexei an e-mail of some sort, so the fox didn’t worry that Sol was ignoring him. He typed out,
Thanks for telling me. Actually, I ended up not going, so I’ll see you in school tomorrow. I hope we have time to talk.
That didn’t sound too bad.

Maybe this was Sol’s reward for sending Carcy away. He spent a moment imagining his arms around the fox, kissing him on the muzzle, but that fantasy did not feel quite right. Alexei was just a friend, not a boyfriend, but—he was gay, too! He was someone Sol could talk to and not be afraid, and Sol would be the same for him. Of course, he’d never talked to a gay person nose to nose before Carcy’s visit, but he already knew Alexei, already knew he liked him. Would they talk about their fantasies? Whether he had a boyfriend? Sol had no idea. But they might be the only two gay students at Richfield High. They were going to have to stick together.

And Meg. He had to talk to Meg. He spent several minutes looking at his desk, thinking about the absinthe in it. He wanted very badly to take another drink, to find out what happened to Niki. He had only one drink left, and he hoped that would be enough. But perhaps if he took just a taste of it tonight, that would be enough, and the magic would still happen.

The bottle felt warm to his paws. He poured just a splash into his glass and then drank it, and immediately nearly spit it out. The anise taste was overpowering, as bitter as mouthwash, without water or sugar to temper it. Sol gulped, fast, but the taste didn’t leave his tongue and palate.

Oh, he’d forgotten. “Prepare to accept the gift of the Green Fairy,” he mumbled quickly, and then breathed in, bringing the taste up into his nose. The tickle built and built until he sneezed, and even then his head felt terrible. He stripped off his shirt and fell into bed, opening his phone to “Confession.”

There was some extended recounting of the fallout from the night at the ball, but that wasn’t what Sol wanted to read about. He stopped where he saw Niki’s name, but it was just Jean yelling at his friend Thierry and throwing him out when Thierry told Jean to forget the fox. Sol skimmed the book to the point where Niki’s name came up again.

You may well imagine my surprise when the thief reappeared at our door the following day. My spirit smarted still from the taunts of Bertrand and Charles, no matter how well I concealed it, and I confess that that evening I had already finished half of one bottle of wine, tired of it, and started on a second. My sobriety had no bearing on my comportment during that evening, I hasten to add. I have nothing but contempt for those who blame their actions on humors, on alcohol, on the stars, on anything but themselves. I am as I was born, as I was raised to be, and no mere bottle of wine is sufficient to alter that.

The sun had set; the moon was out. I sat by the window watching the reflections of the gas lights on the Seine. The night was quiet and still, so that there was nothing to trouble my thoughts on the last day. I could not see a way to restore my standing in the eyes of my peers. Thierry would no longer take me on adventures. Your dismissal, too, hurt me. Though I know you may not believe it, father, I spent many hours thinking upon your advice, and I concluded that you were right. It was time that I leave behind the games of youth and find a proper job, proper friends, a proper wife.

But no wife could compare to the elegance and beauty of Niki. No chamois or elk, no exotic impala or oryx, could be so graceful, with a predator’s disposition subject to my will. And none of the boys I knew would be able to dress so convincingly as a lady, to the approval of my peers. My fox was like nothing I had seen before, and would never see again.

I believe that was my thought at precisely the moment that François announced that I had a visitor. Before I could tell him to turn the visitor away, Niki pushed his way into the room.

I told François to leave us, and stood to confront the fox. He had brought the robe he’d been wearing when he left the previous night, but I did not care; my attention was set entirely on the fox. My heart leapt to see him, and yet of course I could not rejoice in his appearance without also dreading his departure.

I asked his business, presenting myself as coolly as possible so that he might not see the power he held over me. He had come, he said, to return my robe. Our association, he said, would thereby end.

His manner was in all ways resolute, but I detected below it a deep sadness. I have learned from you to read the tail and ears of our predator peers, and in Niki I saw that he did not truly wish to leave me, but that he had convinced himself—or been convinced—that it was for the best. Whether it was a result of the well-deserved scorn of the good people at the ball, or my over-excited attentions following, Niki had concluded that he had no place in my world.

How I attempted to persuade him otherwise! I pointed out that had he but kept his opinions to himself, he would have passed admirably and there would have been no frustrations for me to vent upon his person. I flattered his comportment, his elegant grace, his skill in movement, all so ladylike on the outside, and yet with the steel core of masculine presence inside for those who might take the time to appreciate it. I asked him, in all that he had sated my desires, had I not cared for him as well?

He remained impervious to my pleas at first, though I worked upon him. I could see him weakening at the idea that he could live a life of luxury and ease in my apartments—I meant for him to live in the apartments that Uncle Remy recently vacated—if only he would abide by some simple rules. And I believed, fool that I was, that he felt some of the same emotion for me that I felt for him.

In the end, it was a delicate mention of the money and the dress he’d taken from me that broke his will. Even such a creature as this courtesan had some sense of honor; after all, he had returned my robe. His affected ignorance of any existing debt between us was no obstacle for me. He had not fulfilled the agreed-upon obligations and therefore was not entitled to the compensation I had promised without rendering further services. I hoped, father, that in enticing him to stay one night so that I could show him my tender side, I would thaw his heart, show him that submitting to my extravagant gifts would be a demonstration of love and not a shackle to his pride.

And I promise you that that is how the evening began. I used every lesson of my years to demonstrate the affectionate companion I could be, how great was my charity and love for this mean creature. I was willing to kneel down and extend a hand to raise him up, and I thought that thereby I could win his heart.

Alas, father, I fear that your appraisal of my romantic nature was correct when you observed that I attend too closely to romantic plays of the stage. In such plays, whenever the kindly lord raises up the lady from the gutters, she proves to be a devoted and entirely suitable companion. And I believe that for the brief span of my acquaintance with the fox, I was blinded by the bright future promised by those plays. Curse the playwrights, for it is by their pens that I stand here pleading my case with you, father! Curse them for the bright colors in which they painted their world, colors so vivid that I could not believe them false, could not see the stains and imperfections they concealed. I learned my lesson, alas, too late, and my only hope is that some playwright might set down my story to the stage, that some young romantic might experience reality in the theater before he need experience it for himself. There, the knife is dulled, the wounds healed by the following morning. But here, father, I still feel the sting of that night.

For no matter how gently I treated the fox, no matter what heartfelt verses I poured out to his ears, he submitted only physically to me. And when we had finished, he laughed at me, said I had no more appreciation for him than for the paintings that hung in the ballroom of the Justines. He said that he would seek out Bertrand and Charles and show them my secret, and share their laughter, for a courtesan may prefer his own gender without sanction, but a senator’s son would be ridiculed and mocked for his nature, over which he has no control.

I fell to my knees, father. I had thought that the previous day had ruined me, but here, here, I saw my life laid out and shattered by this heartless prostitute, this fox whose predator’s nature revealed itself at last, who even though his physical teeth might be bound, still had fangs to sink into my heart.

Sol startled awake at his alarm. He stared at the clock, disoriented for a moment until he remembered he had to go back to school. It was only when he was stretching that it occurred to him that he had not dreamed of Niki. He shot a baleful look at the desk and the hidden absinthe bottle. So he needed the full glass and perhaps the ritual after all, and he would have but one more look.

He’d learned by now not to trust Jean’s account of events, but the chamois’s words about those who would blame their behavior on “anything but themselves” stuck in Sol’s head. He’d already made up his mind to apologize to Meg, and though he’d apologized to his mother, he felt he owed her more of an explanation. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday. There was still a sore spot when he thought about the events of two days ago, a pressure that built behind his eyes and down into his nose, but it was over, over, and he had to keep telling himself that. Carcy would answer for his own actions, somehow; Sol had his own mistakes to make amends for, starting today.

When he got on the bus, he sat toward the back and stretched his legs out so nobody would slide in next to him. And when Meg got on the bus, last of all the students at her stop, he reached out and grabbed her paw.

“Lemme go,” she snapped, and walked on toward the back of the bus.

Sol watched her go, then slid out of his seat and marched back to join her. “Siddown,” the bus driver called, and at that, Meg looked up and saw Sol. She’d sat in a seat by herself, and now she slid to the outside as Sol walked up to it.

“Get lost,” she said.

A porcupine behind them lifted his head. “Ooh, lovers’ quarrel.”

“Fuck off, Cory,” Meg said without turning.

“I need to talk to you,” Sol said. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

The bus driver looked in the mirror, back at Sol. “Siddown!”

“You better go sit down,” Meg said without moving.

“Fine.” Sol plunked himself down in the aisle and looked up at her. “I’m gonna stay here, then.”

“Hey, Sol!” The bus driver was half out of his seat now. “Find a seat or we’re gonna be late to school.”

This sparked interest around the bus. “Stay there, Sol!” “Yeah, don’t move!” a couple students yelled.

Sol looked up at Meg. “Please,” he said.

“Oh, God.” She slid over. “This is only because I don’t want to be the center of attention here.”

“Thanks.” He scrambled up and into her seat, and the bus struggled forward on its way.

“I told you we’re done,” she said, but he cut her off.

“I know, just give me a chance, one chance. ’Til we get to school.”

She rolled her eyes and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Fine. You’re lucky I’m a fucking softie.”

“Yeah, you’re a regular Ma Teresa.” He dug into his bag as Meg snorted, and came up with a thumb drive. “Here, first of all.”

“What’s that?”

“I wrote up some essays for our project. Figured you could use it when you put it together, if you’re doing that by yourself.”

She took the thumb drive between thumb and forefinger, looked past it at him. “You’re not helping?”

“I will if you want.”

She held up the small plastic drive and then stuck it into her pants pocket. “We’ll see. That all?”

“No.” Sol took a breath. “I’m really sorry for ignoring you. I still want to go somewhere with you. Maybe not Millenport, but…” He twisted his paws together. “You remember I told you I got dreams? Well, I felt like I needed to go back to the dream to figure out what was going on in my life.”

Meg shook her head. “I told you, you want pot. Relaxes you, chills you out, shows you that nothing is that big a deal. Dreams are just confusing puzzles of shit our subconscious throws at us.”

“I was dreaming about this guy…”

“Oh, I get it.” She smirked.

“Not…not like that. But he was going through some of the same things I was. I wrote it down to show you…”

Her eyes held a small spark of interest now. “So did he fix your problem?”

“No.” Sol stared down into his lap. “But I kinda figured out I need to do something about it myself. Like forget about…you-know-who, to start with.”

“I told you that.”

“And I need to apologize to you about something else, too.”

Meg frowned. “I already figured you’d drink all the absinthe. It’s okay, you can pay me back.”

“Not that.” He lowered his voice, even though the bus’s clattering engine drowned out most conversation, and the two cubs in front of him were small-eared, a squirrel and a mouse. “I almost…I was gonna kill myself.”

She watched him patiently. When he didn’t go on, she said, “And?”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“I figured that out, Lord Peter Wolfy. What else?”

Sol frowned. He felt like sticking his tongue out at her. “Isn’t that enough? Did you hear me right?”

“Sure. I think about killing myself once a week, twice during fucking Woodstock anniversary week. So what’s the big deal?”

He stared at her unconcerned expression. Silver glittered from her fur, reflecting the sun. “You never told me that. Are you okay? I didn’t know…”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you. I don’t tell you who I have sex dreams about, either. You’re a great guy, when you’re not being an asshole, but there’s some things a gal keeps to herself. What’s going on here?”

Sol stared down at his knees. “I guess it doesn’t matter, but the thing is, y’know, when I was thinking about how shitty a thing it is to do, I was thinking about what you’d feel like when you found out.”

“Aw, Sol, that’s sweet. Look, tell ya what. You feel like killin’ yourself again, come on over and we’ll do a suicide pact.”

“For Christ’s sake.”

Meg laughed, softly. “How were you gonna do it?” He refused to look at her. “Come on, how? Let me guess. Ma’s sleeping pills.”

“Bathtub,” he said.

“Drowning yourself? Oh, no, Sol, you weren’t going to cut your wrists?” She put a paw on his wrist when he didn’t answer, drew a claw down it. “Probably weren’t gonna use any topical anaesthetic, either.”

“Topical what?”

“Numbing cream,” she said patiently. “Otherwise you’d get a shallow cut in one wrist, it’d sting, and knowing you, you’d bleed all over the bathroom and chicken out.”

This was not at all how he’d envisioned this conversation going, but then again, he’d never really been able to accurately predict a conversation with Meg. “Well, how would you do it?”

“Sleeping pills.” She didn’t hesitate. “Got a stash of them from when I was ‘troubled.’” Her fingers made air quotes.

“‘Was’?” Sol asked, making the air quotes back at her.

Meg shook her head and then laughed, leaning into him. “Just got better at hiding the symptoms.”

“You’re crazy,” he said, but his tail flicked between them on the seat.

“For the record.” Meg kept her voice low. “I’m glad you didn’t try to cut yourself. Prob’ly they would’ve decided I was a bad influence on ya. Go read up sometime on what they do to attempted-suicide kids. And if you’d managed to do it—which I don’t believe—that woulda sucked.”

“I’d miss you, too.” Sol leaned back against her.

“I didn’t mean that.” She didn’t lean away. “I mean that you’d manage to kill yourself before me. I’d lose all my goth cred. My vampire fox friend would never talk to me again.”

Sol rolled his eyes, even as his tail tried harder to wag, pressed between the two of them. Meg shifted away from it. “Hey, tell your tail to stop molesting me.”

“Sorry, it has a mind of its own.”

“Glad one of you does.” She leaned against the bus window and affected boredom. “So what stopped you?”

Here was the moment. She’d brushed off his dreams enough times, but she was asking, she was listening. Sol took a breath. “I think it was…the guy I was dreaming about.”

Meg’s expression didn’t change. “Because…you wanted to have more dreams about him?”

“No, I mean literally.” The bus stopped at the traffic light outside the school. The scenery behind Meg wasn’t moving, and neither was she. “Something picked me up off the floor and threw me away from the bathtub. And I think it was the guy I was dreaming about, who lived a hundred years ago.”

“So a ghost stopped you from killing yourself.” The bus struggled forward, creaking around the turn. “You know, Sol, you might want to keep that story to yourself.”

“You don’t believe me.” He’d expected as much, but hoped for more.

“I believe that you believe it.” Meg shrugged. “Ronald and Valinda believe in mystical powers and it never brings them shit. But it makes them kinda happy. So if you want to believe it, I won’t stop you.”

“It was real! It hit Carcy to get him off me, and then it dragged me away from the bathtub. It had the same ragged ear, the green eyes…” He lowered his voice. “I don’t make up stuff like this.”

“No, you don’t,” Meg said. “But you were pretty freaked out when I saw you that day. You’d be amazed what people can imagine when they’re freaked out like that. Well, I guess you wouldn’t. Look, Sol, the problem is that getting rid of Def Match Dickhead, stopping yourself from getting into the bathtub—that’s stuff you should be proud of doing. If you put it all up to some ghost, then what are you gonna do when the ghost isn’t around?”

Sol bit his lip. “I wasn’t imagining it,” he said.

“And if there were ghosts, then why you? Why come across a hundred years just to slap around some cub rapist?”

The bus doors opened. Students near the front began filing out. “That’s what I want to find out,” Sol said. “That’s why I needed to go back into the dream.”

“Well, do what you have to do, I guess.” Meg watched the students around them leave. “Just promise me you’re gonna try to keep some hold on reality, okay?”

“I’ll try.” Sol picked up his bag and stood. “We can keep talking about Millenport.”

“I said
keep
some hold on reality.”

He smirked, sliding out into the aisle. Meg walked behind him to the front and down the steps, and as they walked toward the front doors, he said, “What stops you?”

“What? Oh, from offing myself? Spite, mostly.”

“Spite?” He held the door for her.

“Yeah. Because fuck if I’m going to let this shitty universe win.” She grinned, brushed him with her tail, and walked on ahead of him.

When Sol walked into homeroom, Tsarev—Alexei, rather—was bent over his desk doing some last-minute assignment on his netbook. Sol slid into his desk, and the fox’s ears flicked back. He turned quickly, eyes wide, ears flat. “Hi,” Sol said. “Look, it’s cool. Don’t—”

Tanny threw a crumpled paper at his ear. “I did not think you would be here,” Alexei whispered.

“It’s okay,” Sol said.

“Hey, meatless,” Tanny said. “Save the luuuuv talk for after school. Nobody wants to see you two make out.”

Alexei leaned back and whispered, past Sol to Tanny, “I have heard that when a girl opens her muzzle to a boy so much, it is because she wants his cock in it.”

Tanny looked shocked for a moment, and then she said, loudly enough to make Sol’s ears flatten against his head, “
Fuck
you, Ivan!”

“Detention,” Mr. Fortune called from the front of the room.

Sol stared at Alexei and the fox winked back. The bell sounded for opening announcements, and all through them, Tanny muttered, “Goddamn commie bastard fuckhead.” But she didn’t say another word to Sol.

Alexei and Sol went off to separate classes; Sol wouldn’t see him again until lunch. He submerged himself in the comfortable normality of Physics, and it was while walking from Physics down to Social Studies that Sol ran into Taric, Xavy, and a few other wolves from the baseball team talking in the hallway. One of Taric’s coyote friends hung back, leaning against the locker and checking messages on his phone, or maybe playing a game on it, though his ears were perked toward the conversation the others were having.

Taric was talking up a story about some female fox he’d fucked. The wolves looked only somewhat interested. As Sol walked by, Taric said, “But meatless there wouldn’t know nothin’ about that.”