Megan Lindholm - Wizard of the Pigeons

This was no Seattle he knew. The patterns of brick in the buildings suggested vague faces, the fireplugs that hunched beneath snow caps were like cossack trolls. It was all alive and watching, awareness in the details like a Kay Nielsen illustration for a metropolitan fairytale. Cassie’s grip was firm on his arm and he was suddenly grateful for it, sure she guided him past dangers and pitfalls. This was no place of dead stone and bare pavement, though thousands might walk its streets by day and believe so. This was an ecosystem, vital and aware, of interdependent life. of predators and prey and parasites. Wizard’s heart nearly stopped as be thought how blindly he had wandered through these streets.

“This way. Down this way.”

An alley mouth, and a wooden door in a brick wall. And then stairs. Stairs that barked his shins and cramped his cold calf muscles. He followed her up them, and through a door into a place that pressed him with silence and warmth. He noticed little more than that at first. He sank into the corner of a fat couch upholstered in cream cloth with large blue flowers on it. He let his head sag back against the cushioned support, feeling warmth and smelling dust. He heard her close the door, and men she moved into his field of vision again. She swirled a dark cloak free of her body, ridding it of snow with a snap.

The tack. tack of her boots faded into another room, and was followed by the homey clatter of pans and cups. His cheeks and forehead tingled as his skin began to warm. Somewhere a kettle whistled, and a spoon stirred against ceramic mugs. A refrigerator opened and closed. Then he heard the soft tread of bare feet on carpeting and suddenly smelled rich chocolate.

He opened his eyes, wondering when he had closed them. She was placing a tray on a low coffee table before me wide couch.

“Hungry?” she asked.

He dragged himself upright. The smell of the food beckoned him, but he hesitated, wary as the wolf lured to the trap. He stared at the woman.

She was dressed in a long soft robe as white as the snow they had come from. It fell to her bare feet and then puddled wound them as she suddenly sank down to sit gracefully on the floor by the table. Her long dark hair, dampened by the soow, hung straight past her shoulders, but short tendrils of it wisped around her face- And her face was classic, oval, with a straight nose and chiseled mouth such as one might expect to find stamped on ancient coins. Her eyes were darker than brown but not black, and the chill of the night had flushed her cheeks. He suddenly felt dirty and uncouth.

Behind her was a jungle. Hants lined and banked the wall, plants that trailed or climbed or stood upright on their stalks.

Some bore blossoms in a rainbow of colors and some were innocently green- He recognized none of them. Turning his head, he discovered more plants, in tubs and pots and basins.

Yet me room did not feel crowded. There was a harmony to this interior garden that he had never sensed before- They took in tension and breathed out peace.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, and he realized she was repeating herself. He nodded dumbly and took the mug she offered.

It was a most unorthodox meal. There was hot chocolate topped with dollops of cream, small rich hiscuits swirled through with cinnamon and brown sugar, and little oranges she peeled for him because his hands were stilt too cold to manage them.

He watched the long curls of rind, more green than gold, trail from her graceful fingers. The oranges were sweet and tart, and strangely right with the chocolate. He had not realized how cold he had been until he abruptly stopped shivering, and breathed a deep sigh as his body relaxed.

“Warmer now?” she asked, and when he nodded, smiled and said, “A quick shot of sugar will do that for you. Helps the body chase off the chill.”

“You’re gentler this time,” he said suddenly, and then wondered what had prompted it from him.

“Am I? Sometimes I am. It depends on my mood more than on my form. Why, did I scare you before?”

“A little. I guess I’m just not that used to dealing with people anymore. I still don’t understand what’s happening, or who you are, or why I’m here. I’m just glad to be warm.”

“For now, that’s probably enough. But I’ll give you a little more than that to think on tonight. I’m Cassie. And you’re here because you have a lot to find out, and you won’t find out what you already know by crouching behind a dumpster and freezing to death.”

He nodded as if that made sense. “And where are we?”

“In my place. One of my favorite Seattles. We’re in the one that would have been if the great fire hadn’t happened at the turn of the century.”

“Right. Bring on the rabbits with pocket watches.”

“Not quite. More like bring on the wizards and wicked witches.”

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

“Precisely!” and she laughed delightedly. He laughed with her, uneasily, and rose as he did so.

“I think I’d better be going.”

She shook her head with bemused tolerance. “I think you’d better stay. You need dry clothes, a haircut and a shave, and another meal or two before you’re fit to try your wings. It’s going to be a different world for you out there. Most of all, you need to understand who you are.”

Her amusement stung him. “Listen, lady. I already understand myself just fine- Maybe if you understood me a little better, you wouldn’t feel so cosy about what you’ve just dragged up to your apartment in the middle of the night. Picking up someone like me off the streets isn’t a smart way to get your kicks.”

“Maybe if you understood a little better just who had picked you up, you wouldn’t feel so comfortable about being here, either. Now sit down and stop ruffling your feathers at me. No one has to feel threatened. Does the idea of dry clothes and a bath hurt your feelings?”

“No. But then what?”

“Then whatever. We’ll take each step as it presents itself.

Look, uh… what is your name?“

She had him there. He just stared at her, knowing he knew it, knowing he could remember it if he had to, if he wanted to. Then he tried to remember it, even wanted to remember it, and couldn’t. And remembered that this had happened to him before.

“You see?” she said softly, and he suddenly felt the trap he had fallen into. She didn’t push it. “The bathroom’s down that hall, to the left. We’ll talk later.”

He stared at her for a long moment, thinking of a dozen possible courses. He could walk out the door, or insist that they talk right now, or throw the coffee table against the wall, or… She didn’t break away from his stare, but held him steady until it had alt passed. He felt suddenly hollow and old.

“To the left?”

She nodded.

He had been terrified that it would be all pinks and posies, with tiny bars of soap and ice white towels and delicate crystal soap dishes and figurines. It wasn’t. The hot water steamed the big mirror in its wooden frame. The soap filled his hand, white and unscented. The towels were huge, brown, and mildly scratchy. But even shaved and washed he looked something of a wild man. Rough brown hair straggled over his ears and forehead. His eyes were rimmed with pink. He broke a toothbrush from an envelope of plastic and scrubbed at his teeth until his gums bled. He dug grime from under his fingernails, paying attention to each minute detail of cleansing himself so he wouldn’t have to think.

His clothing had disappeared while he showered. Fresh jeans and a soft blue sweatshirt supported white underwear and socks.

Eventually he had to emerge, feeling strangely vulnerable and light-headed in his cleanliness.

She was not in the living room, nor in the kitchen when he peered around the door. He stood still, wondering whether he should sit down quietly on the couch and await her return, or call to her. He sat, but no sooner had he sunk into the couch’s soft embrace than he felt he had to find the woman. Cassie.