R. Anderson - Rebel

He’d never played this well before, every fingering perfect, every note vibrating clear and true. But after the first couple of numbers, playing other people’s songs wasn’t enough for him anymore: He wanted-no, needed — to improvise, and when he shifted into a different rhythm and a chord progression that was all his own, the crowd whistled and clapped as though they knew. Rob cocked his head to the side and cast him a swift glance, then joined him on the new melody.

A pair of bongo drums appeared from nowhere. A bleached-looking Nordic girl conjured up a flute from the depths of her purse. Soon half the room was playing, dancing, even humming along with the tunehis tune. Timothy felt an incredulous warmth in the pit of his belly. It had been months since he’d felt wanted and valued, instead of like an outsider. But these people were happy to be near him, and they seemed to love every song he played… It was intoxicating. Nothing mattered but the music, now; he could forget where he was, who he was, and simply be.

Veronica slipped onto the sofa beside him, so close that he could smell the spice of her perfume. Timothy’s heart quickened and his fingers flew across the strings as the melodies kept pouring out of him, each more brilliant than the last. Where were they all coming from? Would he even remember any of them tomorrow? He had no idea. All he knew was that he never wanted it to stop All at once Rob played a sour note, a discord so loud and obviously deliberate that it startled Timothy and the others into silence. Then he thrust his guitar aside and stalked away.

Fatigue washed over Timothy as his exhilaration faded. He could feel the strain in his arms and shoulders, and his fingertips had throbbed. How long had he been playing?

“Never mind him,” said Veronica, her eyes shining. She touched his shoulder, adding playfully, “Poor boy, we’ve worn you out. I’ll walk you to your room.”

“You played so well tonight,” she said softly as Timothy fumbled the door open. “And such wonderful music…I do believe Rob was jealous.”

It would have been flattering to think so, but Timothy wasn’t sure. Rob hadn’t looked envious when he’d stopped the music-he’d looked angry.

“Those songs you played,” Veronica went on, “were they from Uganda?”

“Some of them,” he said. “And some”-he ducked his head self-consciously-“I just made up.”

Her wide mouth spread in a smile. “I thought so,” she said. “I have met musicians of all kinds since I came to Sanctuary, but seldom ones as gifted as yourself. Players are easily found, but composers…those are rare.”

There was something odd about the way she was speaking, but Timothy was too tired to question it. He slumped down on the edge of his bed, stuck his key in the locker, and pulled out his backpack for the night.

He was unzipping the top of the pack when realization struck: There was no one else in the room with them. He’d expected to have one or two roommates at least, but the cubicle was still empty, the other bunks and lockers bare. And when Veronica put her back to the door and gently pushed it shut, he felt a stir of misgiving.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She walked toward him, still smiling. “Such a sweet boy,” she said, and with that she bent swiftly and pressed her lips to his.

Her mouth was icy cold, and Timothy flinched away as though she had burned him. Veronica’s brows arched. “You’re stronger than I thought,” she said. “One might almost think you were…protected.”

Timothy rubbed his hand across his mouth, shaken. “Stop it,” he said hoarsely, though a part of him didn’t want her to. “Get away from me.”

“Oh, I will,” she said, sounding amused. “Just as soon as I’ve taken all that lovely music you carry inside you. But don’t worry, by the time I’m done, you won’t even miss it.” And with that her long fingers curled around the back of his neck, nails stinging bloody crescents into his skin. Timothy yelped, but Veronica gripped him with inhuman strength, and though he struggled, he couldn’t pull away…

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

Timothy’s backpack erupted, shooting socks and underwear in all directions. Suddenly there was another girl in the room with them, her hands shaping light and hurling it through the air. Veronica staggered back as the flash hit her, the brown tones melting away from her skin and her braids unfurling into a silky blonde crop that looked nothing like Miriam’s at all. She cursed and fled, leaving the door open behind her.

Timothy sat up slowly, staring at the strange new girl. She was small but shapely, with a round face and brown curls tumbling about her shoulders. The light she had flung at Veronica still glowed on his retinas when he blinked. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“My name is Linden,” she said, dropping to a crouch and looking up at him with earnest hazel eyes. “But never mind that just now. Can you move? We have to get out of here.”

It had been a long ride from Oakhaven. Hidden away in Timothy’s pack, Linden could see nothing of the journey, and her heart had trembled at every unfamiliar noise she heard, every new smell that filtered in to her. This city was so loud — full of screeches and hisses and thumps, the blare of raucous music and the growling voices of more humans than she’d ever heard in her life. She had felt every jolt as Timothy walked, and when he’d swung the pack off his shoulders and let it drop onto the floor of the hostel, she’d had to clap her hands over her mouth to keep from shrieking. It was a relief to finally be free.

And yet it was also terrifying. She was still learning to use the magic the Queen had given her, and compared with the easy power of someone like Veronica her own skills seemed hopelessly puny. It had taken all her concentration to cast two glamours at once-one to make herself large and the other to startle the other faery away-and her head still ached from the effort. Nor had Linden ever taken human shape before, and standing so tall with no wings to balance her, she felt as though she might teeter over at any minute.

Meanwhile Timothy still sat motionless, staring at her. Of course he was in shock: He’d never seen her before, and here she’d popped up suddenly out of his backpack. But she had no time to explain, not now.

“Please,” she said. “We can’t stay here, we have to get away before it’s too late!” Snatching up his discarded pack, she stuffed his clothes back into it and tossed it against his chest. “Come on!”

“But…where did you come from?” Timothy said slowly.

“I’ll tell you everything, I promise, but just come!” She pulled at his wrists, but he still wouldn’t move. How could she get him to obey? In desperation she looked around-and saw the guitar case sitting by the door.

“Hey!” he protested as she snatched it up and ran with it.

Linden didn’t look back, didn’t hesitate. If he didn’t come now, there was no hope for either of them. But the subtle herb fragrance of her fellow faeries was everywhere in this place, and she could only pray that when she reached the end of the corridor she would find only humans there, and not Veronica or one of her allies.

She could hear Timothy pounding down the corridor behind her, shouting at her to stop; her plan had succeeded, but they were far from safe yet. Linden burst through the doorway and collided with a stranger on the other side, a young man with jutting cheekbones and feathery dark hair. He stumbled back, knocking into another boy who looked just like him, and she stammered out an apology before ducking past and looking around wildly for the exit.

Merciful Gardener, where was it? There seemed to be doors everywhere, and the scent of faery was stronger than ever. Would she never find her way out of this place? But then a whisper of cool air touched her cheek, and she caught a glimpse of starlight as another human came blowing and stamping in from outside. Linden plunged past him and threw her weight against the outer doors until the metal bar gave way and they flew open. Still dragging the guitar, she stumbled down the steps to the edge of the road and waited for Timothy to join her.