13 Little Blue Envelopes(23)

“Well, I put all that stuff back there.”

Ginny reached up and shifted a rapidly sliding David into an upright position.

“I’m taking him to my place. Let him sleep it off there. I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll take you home.”

David made it to the sidewalk in front of Richard’s house before Keith’s prediction came to pass. As soon as they stopped, he opened the door and unleashed his worst. When he had recovered, Keith and Ginny walked him up and down the street a few times until the spell seemed over, then brought him back and leaned him against the gate.

“He’ll be all right,” Keith said, nodding. “He needed that.

Clears the head.”

David was slowly slipping down the gate. Keith grabbed him by the arm and propped him back up.

“Better go,” he said. “That was good, what you did with your leg. Very good. Fast, too. You’re not totally mad.”

“Um . . .”

“Yes?”

“Earlier . . .”

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“Yes?”

“I was coming to ask you if you wanted to go to Scotland

with me,” she said quickly. “I have to go to Edinburgh, and since you said . . .”

“What are you going there for?”

“I’m just . . . going.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow?”

David lunged forward and fell against the hood of Keith’s car. Keith stepped over. It looked like he was reaching for David, but at the last moment, he turned, took Ginny’s face in his hands, and kissed her. It wasn’t a tender, slow, “your lips are like delicate flower petals” kiss. More like a “thank-you” kiss. Or even a “good game!” kiss.

“Might as well,” he said. “Show’s not until ten tomorrow

night. Kings Cross Station. Tomorrow morning. Eight thirty. In front of Virgin Rail.”

Before she could even react, Keith had grabbed David and

stuffed him into the car; he gave her a quick salute before driving away. Ginny stood there for several minutes, unable to move.

She put her fingers lightly on her mouth, as if to hold the sensation there.

She didn’t even notice right away that a small animal had come out from behind a nearby car and was slowly making its way toward the trash can she was standing near. She flipped through some old files in her mind, trying to come up with what this thing might be, and after a few seconds decided that— impossible as it seemed—it was a fox. She had only ever seen foxes in illustrations in a book of collected fairy tales. This thing 102

looked like those pictures: it had a long snout, a small nose, red fur, and a shy, thief-like gait. It pawed closer to her, tilting its head curiously, as if asking her if she had plans on going through that trash can first.

“No,” she said aloud, and then immediately wondered why

she was talking to what was probably a fox—a fox that could very well be rabid and preparing to leap for her throat. Strangely, she had no fear.

The fox seemed to understand her answer and gracefully

jumped up to the rim of the trash and dropped down inside. The big plastic bin rattled as he explored its contents. Ginny felt herself filled with a weird, swelling affection for the fox. It had seen her kiss. It was unafraid of her. It was hunting. It was hungry.

“Hope you find something good,” she said quietly, then

turned to go inside.

103





The Master and the Hairdresser

The ride to Scotland took four and a half hours, most of which Keith spent dead asleep with his head against the window, a comic book (“it’s a graphic monthly”) clutched in the grip of his fingerless leather gloves. He woke with a snort and jerk of the head just as the train was pulling into Edinburgh.

“Waverly Station?” he asked, blinking slowly. “Right. Out, or we’ll end up in Aberdeen.”

They came out of the station (which looked pretty much like the station they’d just left) and walked up a long flight of steps to street level. They were on a street full of large department stores. But unlike London, which felt low and compact and overstuffed, Edinburgh felt wide and open. The sky stretched wide and blue above them, and when Ginny turned around, she saw that the city seemed to be on a hundred different levels. It scooped and dipped. Over to her right, sitting high on a great jutting piece of rock like a pedestal, was a castle.

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Keith took a deep breath and banged on his chest.

“All right,” he said. “Who’s this you’ve got to go see?”

“A friend of my aunt’s. Some painter. I have a map to her house. . . .”

“Let’s have a look.”

He took the letter out of Ginny’s hands before she could say a word.

“Mari Adams?” he asked. “I know this name.”

“She’s supposed to be kind of famous,” Ginny said, almost as an apology.

“Oh.” He studied the directions some more and frowned.

“She lives in Leith, on the other side of the city. Right. You’ll never find this. We’d better go together. Let me just stop into the Fringe office, and then we’ll go.”

“You don’t have to . . .”

“I’m telling you, you will get lost. And I can’t have that.