Page 48 of Tricks for Free

“She knows about Mary?” asked Sam. “Wait—a parade fell on people? How does that even happen?”

His questions, while valid, were more than I felt like answering right now. I was tired, and I wanted to go to bed and sleep for a year, and I wanted to throw myself into his arms and enjoy the feeling of having someone I could hold onto, someone who wouldn’t push me away, no matter how much I encouraged them to. I couldn’t do either of those things. I rubbed my face instead.

“Mary told you I needed you,” I said wearily.

Sam nodded. “She said things were getting really weird for you, and she wanted someone on the ground who was allowed to help and was faster than you are. I think it helps that I’m not, you know, actually one of your relatives.”

“Family can’t come here,” I agreed. “Blood. Too easy to trace.”

“I’m here.” Fern sounded hurt. “I’ll help you if you need me.”

“But I’m still faster than you are.” Sam stepped out of his flip-flops.

I knew what came next, and so I watched Fern instead of Sam as he transformed, marking the way her jaw tightened and her eyes went wide. Her shoulders seemed to lift a few inches higher, signaling a decrease in her personal density. That was an instinctive flight response in sylphs. As it wasn’t followed by screaming, jumping into the air, or running away, I guessed it was probably okay.

I looked back to Sam. He was recognizably the same person, only . . . not . . . at the same time. His hair had shifted from black to a dark brown ticked with blond undertones, while also spreading down his cheeks in what would have been sideburns, if they hadn’t been so clearly made of fur. His features were broader, more simian in some ways, and entirely alien in others, and his arms were longer, fingers resting slightly below his knees rather than at mid-thigh. The biggest changes were his feet, which now looked more like a second pair of hands, and his tail, which was long and curved behind him in what I had come to recognize as a relaxed position. All of him looked more relaxed this way. Maintaining his human-esque form was a matter of effort and concentration, and he was only truly comfortable when he could stop and be himself.

“You’re a fūri,” said Fern, in a tone that couldn’t make up its mind between wonder and irritation. It would have been impressive, if she hadn’t been directing it at Sam. “Why didn’t you say you were a fūri? I thought you were extinct!”

“I get that a lot.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I didn’t say it because it’s not the sort of thing I go around saying to the lady at the Starbucks, you know? But I really am faster than you. I’m faster than just about anyone.”

“Are you faster than I can take off my glasses?”

The voice was Megan’s. All of us turned. She was at the mouth of the hall, her wig in her hand, the snakes covering her head rising into silent strike positions, their eyes fixed on Sam. Her other hand rested on the arm of her glasses, ready to whip them off.

I sighed. I couldn’t help myself. “Please,” I said. “Please, can we all just accept that we’re friends here, or at least not enemies, and stop threatening each other? This is starting to feel like a bad comedy routine.”

“Whoa,” said Sam. “Gorgon.”

“Pliny’s gorgon,” said Megan. I could have used her voice to chill my drink. “I live here. Who are you?”

“Megan, this is my boyfriend, Sam Taylor,” I said. “He’s a fūri, which is a kind of yōkai. Sam, this is Megan, my other roommate. She’s a resident at the local hospital. Megan, please don’t paralyze Sam. Sam, please don’t get paralyzed.”

“What, I don’t even get to fight back in this scenario?”

“She can look at you faster than you can throw something at her.” That’s what makes gorgons, of all types, so dangerous. I rubbed my face again. “Can we talk about all this after we’ve had some sleep? My head is spinning.”

“Is he staying the night?” asked Megan.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I looked at Sam. “Are you?”

“Only if you want me to,” he said, and smiled uncertainly.

“He’s staying.” I turned back to my roommates. “Please. Sleep, relax, and know that I absolutely vouch for him. I trust him with my life.”

“That’s good, because you’re trusting him with ours,” said Megan.

She turned and walked back down the hall to her room. Fern followed, pausing to pat my arm and lean toward me.

“He’s cute,” she whispered, sotto voce, and was gone, leaving me and Sam alone.

I looked at him. He looked at me.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he answered. His tail, which sometimes seemed to have a mind of its own, wrapped itself around his left leg, pulling tight in clear anxiety. He looked down at it and scowled. “Sometimes I wonder why I don’t keep this thing put away.”

“Because it would be uncomfortable for no good reason,” I said, and took a step toward him. The urge to touch him again, to reassure myself that he was really here, really real, was almost overwhelming. I was angry, yes, but not at him. All my anger was reserved for Mary. When I looked at Sam, all I felt was . . .