A Red-Rose Chain

“Not to the bus,” I said. “Trust me.”


Tybalt nodded, looking like he wasn’t sure about all this, and turned his attention to the window. Portland scrolled by outside, greener than its Californian equivalents, but otherwise similar, in the way of modern cities built on the West Coast, where the weather is milder and the chance of earthquakes is higher. It’s a delicate balance that has defeated more architects than anyone can say, resulting in a lot of single-story homes that might as well have “please don’t fall down” stenciled across them in electric yellow. But for all the similarities, there were differences as well: different sorts of gingerbread and decorative wainscoting on the houses, different sorts of quirky independent businesses sandwiched between the chain stores and the municipal buildings. If there was a Portland style, I couldn’t recognize it well enough to describe it yet—and at the same time, I knew we weren’t in San Francisco anymore.

We had been on the bus for about ten minutes when Tybalt pulled the cord, sending a long tone reverberating through the bus. He pulled it again immediately after. The tone was not repeated. Scowling, he pulled twice more before I managed to reach up and snag his arm.

“No,” I hissed. “The bus knows. Come on.”

I slid out of the seat, tugging him with me. He came reluctantly, eyeing me the whole time like he was sure that this was some sort of a trick. I didn’t have the time to explain, and raising my voice enough to be heard over the hiss of the bus’ brakes would have meant risking the spell that concealed us, so I didn’t say anything; I just pulled him into the small safe haven of the bus’ rear door, waiting for the vehicle to come to a full stop. There was already a woman standing there. As soon as the doors unlocked, she pushed them open, and we all but fell out of the bus behind her.

Pulling Tybalt out of the way before we could be trampled by the other commuters, I moved us to the edge of the sidewalk, out of the way. The idling bus engine was loud enough to cover my voice as I said softly, “Hold here. I want to be sure no one followed us.”

Tybalt nodded. The bus pulled away, and I watched as our fellow riders moved off down the street, some doubling back to get to a destination a short ways behind them, others turning corners or just walking away. In a matter of seconds, they were all either gone or going, and we were alone.

The sidewalk wasn’t deserted. I scanned the people who remained in view, looking for any who seemed to be distorting the air or accompanied by unexplained glitter trails. Everyone I could see appeared to be human. I relaxed a little, turning back to Tybalt. “I think we’re clear,” I said. “Where to now?”

“This way,” he said. He started walking, and I walked with him, allowing him to lead me down a side street to a small, tree-lined shopping promenade. It opened on a courtyard packed with food trucks. My stomach rumbled and he paused, smiling. “Hungry?”

“A little,” I admitted. “Breakfast was a long time ago, and I didn’t get to finish my donut.”

“These kitchens on wheels are definitely safer than Rhys’ private dining hall; we could stop, if you would like.”

I shook my head. “I need to eat at the knowe. I basically skipped breakfast, and I’m supposed to be preventing a war, not insulting the King’s hospitality so badly that he invades us twice as hard.”