Sean Cullen - The Prince of Neither Here Nor There

“Hold on,” Kim shouted. She twisted the throttle grip with her right hand and they sped up. In the distance, sirens wailed. The cops at University Avenue had obviously called in about their little jaunt.

A scream of terror rose behind them and then another. Brendan craned his neck to look back and saw that something was cutting a swath through the crowd of pedestrians on the sidewalk. A canine howl rose from many throats, chilling his blood. It seemed very close.

“What is that?”

“Orcadia’s hired some help!”

Kim cut right and zoomed through an open door into the perfume section of a department store. A security guard shouted something incoherent. Kim shot along an aisle lined with glittering bottles, scattering white-coated sales clerks in a flurry of paper scent samples.

Brendan looked back and saw two canine shapes burst in the door after them. He didn’t get a good look at them because Kim chose that moment to reach out an arm and sweep hundreds of bottles of perfume off a shelf. The bottles fell and shattered on the floor. Brendan was about to protest the wanton destruction of property when the scooter skidded in a sharp right turn and shot down the escalator to the lower level.

“Did you have to smash that stuff?” Brendan shouted, his teeth chattering with the impact of each step.

“Throws the hounds off the scent,” Kim explained. “Buys us some time.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“Underground,” Kim said.

That much seemed obvious to Brendan as they hit the bottom of the escalator and swerved through kitchenware.

They sped down the wide aisle and past a coffee shop. The subway entrance loomed, but heavy glass doors barred their way. A homeless man, begging with a cup as he opened the door for shoppers, saw them coming and grinned.

“Ride it, Ki-Mata!” he shouted as he swung the door open.

“Thanks, Tik!” Kim guided the scooter through.

“You know that guy?” Brendan asked.

“One of us,” Kim explained. “We’re everywhere!”

“How many of you… us are there?”

Kim was about to answer but a security guard reached out to grab them as they sailed past.

“Halt!” he shouted.

“I guess he’s not one of us,” Brendan said sarcastically.

Kim ignored Brendan. She also ignored the security guard. She gunned the scooter and guided it straight for the entrance to the Queen Street subway station, a set of tiled stairs heading farther underground.

“Oh, no!” Brendan cried.

“What’s the matter? The subway is an excellent alternative mode of transport. Very green!” Kim seemed very merry, given the circumstances.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Brendan screamed.

“Hahahahahahahahaa!” Kim laughed like a maniac.

They shot off the top step and plunged down the stairs. Both of them ducked instinctively, fortunately, or the lower ceiling of the entrance would have decapitated them. They landed hard on each tread. Kim struggled to keep a grip on the handlebars as the tires thudded down the steps. Two businessmen in sensible suits and ties, on their way to the food courts, pressed against the walls on either side to avoid being mowed down.

Kim guided the scooter to the edge of the platform and launched it onto the tracks. Brendan screamed and buried his face in Kim’s shoulder. Surely now they would die.

When he looked up again, they were speeding down a subway tunnel. He concentrated on holding tight to Kim. The last thing he wanted was to fall off in the dark and crack his head open or, worse, land on the third rail and be fried to a crisp.

Light bloomed ahead as they sped toward the next station.

“King Street subway, next stop!” Kim intoned in the flat tone of a Toronto Transit Commission driver. “Change here for King streetcar!” She laughed at her own imitation. Brendan tried not to be sick.

King Street, Brendan thought. I never thought I’d see it from down here. Men and women in business suits holding newspapers and briefcases looked down at them, slack-jawed, as they motored through the station. Something in Brendan relaxed. If he weren’t going to be in so much trouble, he now thought, the ride would actually have been quite fun! A line of elementary school children, probably on a field trip, stood ranged along the platform at the far end. They waved and hooted at Kim and Brendan as they rocketed past like it was the coolest thing to see two kids riding a scooter through the subway. Brendan had never felt cool before. He had never been the centre of attention in a way that wasn’t him making a total fool of himself. He let go of Kim with one arm and waved to the kids, who cheered.

Of course, he immediately fell off the scooter.

He bounced and rolled along for a few metres and ended up on his hands and knees in darkness. He groaned. Sitting back on his haunches, he took stock. His palms hurt. They were probably skinned and bleeding. He felt his legs and discovered he’d torn his grey trousers and his knee was bleeding freely. Apart from that, there was no serious damage. Nothing broken.

Farther up the tunnel, he heard Kim screech to a halt. The headlight of her scooter swung wildly in the darkness. He heard her shout in alarm.

Light filled the tunnel. The glaring illumination seared the darkness.

Brendan whirled to stare as the blunt silver wall of a subway train swelled to fill the tunnel. He froze in terror, his expression a mirror of the driver’s in his tiny control cabin.

Faced with the oncoming train, Brendan looked to either side but there were only sheer blank walls of concrete.

“Help!” he screamed, not expecting any. In despair, he threw his arms over his face, waiting for the impact.

^55 A zephyr is a lesser spirit of the air. There are many types of spirits, all with different powers and properties based on their home elements. Water Spirits, Fire Spirits, Wood Spirits, and more are embedded in objects by Artificers to create magical tools. What’s an Artificer? If you don’t mind, I’m getting tired of this footnote. I’ll get back to you later when you absolutely need to know.

^56 Usually, Faeries are able to hide their existence very effectively from the Human populations they are hiding in. Of course, sometimes situations occur in which they have to cover up obvious breaches in secrecy (like riding a scooter through town while being pelted by balls of lightning). When these problems arise, Faeries rely on Fair Folk moles who are embedded in the media and in government positions to spread misinformation and doctor evidence to cover up Faerie involvement. The Faeries’ greatest defence is that Human beings would rather believe anything besides the idea that magical beings share the Earth with them.

He was yanked off his feet. He wasn’t expecting that. He was expecting to be smashed into bits from the front. The roar of the train filled his ears, but now it was below him.

He dared to open his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. He was dangling above the train, his feet centimetres away from the silvery roof of the cars as they flashed past. He felt slightly ill.

Worse was yet to come. Hanging by the scruff of his neck, the fabric of his grey RDA blazer cutting into his armpits, he looked up and saw his rescuer.

In the strobe light of the train cars passing below, he caught a stuttering glimpse of a large face as square as a concrete block with a lantern jaw and cavernous yellow eyes. A grotesque parody of a human face, it was in every way harsher and more savage-looking. One large tooth jutted from its lower jaw, poking almost into his captor’s slitted right nostril. Its skin was blue and rough like the hide of an elephant. As Brendan took in all the details of the thing’s face, the thing stared at him, wide-eyed.