Page 60 of Tricks for Free

“Not just that,” he said, wrapping his tail loosely around my left wrist while he kept rubbing his hands. I flashed him a smile. We walked on.

At the end of the tunnel, I gently unwound his tail from around my wrist and turned to face him. “Okay, this is what happens next,” I said. “I’m going to go out and see if my friend Cylia brought you that hoodie. If she’s there, and if she did, we’re in the clear. If either of those things is missing, we’ll figure it out. Either way, we’re not on Lowry property anymore, so things should get a little easier.”

“Who’s Cylia?” Sam asked warily.

Crap. That was the step I’d forgotten. “She’s someone I skate with back at home,” I said. “She’s trustworthy, I promise.”

He relaxed. “So she’s not human, but you don’t want to say she’s not human because that’s her business, not mine,” he said. “Cool. I mean, you kind of have to tell her right now, me being furry and everything, but you don’t gotta tell me until she’s comfortable with it.”

“Exactly.” I kissed his cheek—quick and light—and opened the door, letting the summer sunlight come slanting in. It was brighter than I expected, almost blinding after the dimness of the tunnels. I squinted.

There was an avocado-colored muscle car parked at the curb.

Silently thanking every deity I could come up with for Cylia’s lack of a local social life, I trotted over the dusty ground between me and the street. The window was already down when I reached the car. I leaned inside. Cylia gave me a look split evenly between worry and curiosity.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Did you bring the hoodie?” I asked.

She nodded before leaning into the back seat and pulling out a cloak. An actual cloak, the sort of thing Alex used to wear when he was going off to war with his SCA buddies. (Because pretending to go to war on the weekend was absolutely a fun thing when there was always the chance of the Covenant of St. George bringing the war home to us. Yes. Fun, and not weird and a little questionable. Really.)

“We have some pre-game shtick involving Merlin and the tree and it’s a long story, but will this work?” She thrust the cloak at me. I took it.

It was easily six feet long, and while the fabric was heavy enough to cause heat stroke if worn for long in this climate, Sam wasn’t going to be wearing it for long. “It’s perfect,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I turned then, running back across the ground to the tunnel opening. The door was cracked slightly, and I could see Sam peeping out. When I was close enough, I grabbed it, hauled it open, and thrust the cloak at him.

“Put this on,” I commanded.

“What the—whoa. You have friends with wizard cloaks in their closets? Just like, lying around?” He looked at it for a moment, bewildered, before swinging it around himself and fastening the clasp. “I am super nerd,” he breathed, with actual reverence. Then he pulled the hood up.

It couldn’t conceal the fact that his features weren’t quite human, but it blunted the effect enough that if we didn’t stop for burgers, we’d be fine. “You are super nerd,” I agreed warmly, and pushed the door open. “There’s the car.”

“Got it,” he said, and took off running.

Sam’s speed wasn’t as much of a factor on flat ground—he was a leaper, not a sprinter—but it was still impressive to watch him running full-tilt toward Cylia’s waiting car. I followed, pausing only long enough to be sure that the door was latched and wasn’t going to swing open again as soon as we were gone. The last thing I wanted to add to today’s pile of troubles was a reprimand for leaving one of the exits open. Then I turned, and I ran.

Sam reached the car at least fifteen feet ahead of me, grabbing the back door and throwing himself bodily inside. I put on a little extra speed, slowing only when I reached the car. I slammed the back door before opening the front and sliding myself into the seat next to Cylia. Sam was a fabric-swaddled lump in the back, the hood pulled down until it covered his face completely. Cylia was looking at him with curiosity, and not asking. The sound of her not asking was almost loud enough to fill the car.

“Okay,” I said. “We’re clear. Sam, this is Cylia, the friend I told you about. Cylia, this is Sam, my boyfriend.”

“You finally got a boyfriend? Damn.” Cylia’s tone was light, but her face remained worried. “Elmira’s going to owe me so much money when we get home.”

“Miracles happen. Sam? It’s okay to pull the hood back a little. I promise Cylia won’t freak, and I don’t want you to suffocate.”

“I got the air-conditioning fixed yesterday, on a hunch, but this is still Florida,” said Cylia.

“Okay . . .” said Sam warily, and pulled the hood back, enough to show Cylia the shape of his features, the furry streaks along his cheekbones.

Cylia gasped.

Sam had time to look hurt—and I had time to question the wisdom of being in this car—before she shook her head, putting her hands up, palms outward, one toward me and one toward him.

“So you’re a fūri, that’s fine, good for you, and Annie, good for you, too, you found a boyfriend with bones that are really hard to break, I’m babbling, sorry, I just . . . what happened to you?”

“Not sure what you’re talking about, not sure I want to sit here while you explain it to me,” said Sam darkly.

“It’s not the fūri thing, I swear!” protested Cylia. “It’s your luck.”