Death's Excellent Vacation by Charlaine Harris, Daniel Stashower, Christopher Golden, Jeff Abbott, Katie MacAlister, Jeaniene Frost, Lilith Saintcrow, A. Lee Martinez, Toni L. P. Kelner, Chris Grabenstein, Sarah Smith, L. A. Banks, Sharan Newman Page B

bear has the lazy man’s lumbering, rolling walk, the boy has a girl’s shy smile.
    “Cold water makes them—change. They change their shape. Hot water turns them back into human,” Lan says, her teeth chattering still.
    “How did you do that to them?”
    “I don’t know! As if I knew!”
    “There’s got to be some way to undo it.”
    “There was another spring. It’s gone.”
    It’s another kind of Talent from anything he knows. “I don’t believe in this. It’s magic.”
    “But you can fly,” she says, half laughing and half shivering.
    “I don’t have to believe in myself.”
    She watches the kids through the window. “Maybe all kinds of magic exist. Somewhere, in a cave, a family of werewolves is reading old
Green Force
comics and saying, ‘Of course he isn’t
real
.’ Ghosts are reading
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
and saying what you’re a metaphor for. And the bats sleep through the day and dream of all of us.”
    He thinks of the Bat in his Cave. “And we’d all rather be human.”
    “I thought you could make them human again. Or at least give them time.
You
don’t get old—”
    “No,” he says sharply. “No.”
    When his parents began to get old, he thought about fixing their aging bodies. “There are stories about things I did. Humans getting old but not able to die. People turning into trees. They weren’t trees. You don’t want me messing with those kids.”
    I want to die. I want to get old and older and oldest and die, and turn into a tree, into a rock. I’ve been a man.
    She shudders, cold or dispirited. “What can you do, then?”
    “When my wife got old, I did nothing. That’s what I could do for her. I did nothing.”
    “No.” She turns toward him. In the half dark where they are watching, her eyes have turned dark as prophecy. “What can you do?”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Move the light,” she says. “Move the light from the window. Can you do that?”
    He moves it an inch to the right. Parlor trick.
    “You can move
light
. But you got the kids to cover up the igloo because you were worried about satellites. You moved the water out of my lungs, but you didn’t move the fog off the lake. You heated the air for me, but you didn’t cool it for them. Here we are standing out in the cold. What can you do? I mean, have you ever thought about it? In an organized way?”
    She’s shouting at him.
I can get old,
he thinks.
I can be old like a bitter old man. I can be bitter.
    But I can’t be an old man.
    I can’t be a man at all.
    The kids are looking out the window at him, adoring, hoping for miracles.
    “Who are you?” he says. “What right have you to ask me to do anything? You and they will be dead by the time I’ve had my lunch. You want me to do anything for you? You want me to care about you? That’s going to hurt me, and it won’t help you or them.”
    “You have no idea what you can do, do you?”
    He knows what he can’t do.
    “Then I’ve given you your wish, Green Man,” she says. “You are dead. You care about nothing. You are a rock. A stone. An old man fishing until the end of the world.”
    I can’t,
he thinks.
I don’t have the talent for that either.
    “Then let’s try something else,” she says.
     
    SHE could book a flight on her magic phone, but she doesn’t. She makes him zip them across the Atlantic in a glowing green saucer a hundred feet long. She tells him he can make it invisible to radar and infrared and light, can’t he? The kids scream and giggle and bounce around the inside of the flying saucer and ask him to turn off the gravity inside, which he does. The kids fly. He’s a terrified protector, afraid of the villagers, helping them from a distance, a watchdog and not a man. He is bony ribs around the kids’ beating hearts. He feels like someone in an airplane, speeding along too fast, cradled by something he can’t control.
    They land on the Mars-rocky shore of the loch, between the pines and the peaty