rotten teeth grind it up, and muddied saliva streams into his beard. I can’t help thinking that, were it not for Fiona’s fortuitous arrival on the scene, that’d be me in there.
“MMMMM,” says the giant. He turns and galumphs into the trees, vanishing all over again.
“Thanks.”
Fiona ignores me. She’s fiddling with the closure of hershoulder bag. “Damn! This is a brand-new purse. It’s what I get for lugging a cake around all day.”
“I thought you never bothered with the whole ‘say cheese’ thing.”
She looks at me, puzzled. “What would you have said?”
“Uh . . .”
Fiona gives up on the clasp of her purse, letting it flop loose. “Look at this. I totally stretched the leather.”
“So . . . do you work here? You’re a babysitter for giants? In a graveyard?”
She laughs. “No, I don’t work here. Why does anybody go to a cemetery?” She points at a modest grave two plots over. It’s a two-foot slab lying flush with the earth. It says:
Charles Ferdinand Sarlat
RIP
A plastic pot of flowers sprouts up in the corner.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” says Fiona. “He was a jerk. Prob’ly where my brother gets it from. When Mom remarried, she made me promise I’d still visit him once a week. A promise is a promise.” She motions with her head into the woods. “Which is why I’m such good ‘friends’ with David. I learned early on that if you happen to be a wolf and you wanna lope around this place by yourself, you need to appease the giant.” She shrugs. “It’s not a problem. David has simple tastes. Candyor cigarettes. I don’t approve of the latter—and I don’t need to. I’m always able to steal the leftover cake from my work. It’s a bakery.” She looks into the trees and laughs. “Nobody understands why I never get fat.”
The whole time, she’s hardly looked at me. Me, on the other hand— I’m staring . She ties the closure of her purse into a makeshift clasp and finally pays me some attention. She studies my face, leaning her head sideways, all the way to her shoulder. “We’ve met, right? You look kind of familiar.”
“Actually . . .” Only I trail off. I’m not terribly keen to remind her that I’m the guy her brother beat up about ten seconds after we (almost) shook hands.
Before I can make up a story, though, she leans in and reads the insignias sewed into my uniform. “Wait a sec,” she says. “You’re from St. Remus ?” She looks around. “Didn’t they just leave? I saw my brother, getting himself into trouble like always.” She squints at me. “I don’t get it. Why’re you still here?”
“I didn’t want to go back.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware that was their policy.”
“It’s easier than you think,” I say, feigning the confidence of a master escape artist. “Everybody’s doing it.”
Surprisingly, she nods in agreement. “I’ve lost count of how many time’s Roy showed up at my window in the middle of the night.” She shakes her head, inhaling fretfully throughher snout. “Enjoy it while you can. They always catch you in the end. The police, I mean.”
“Oh.”
“So what’s your plan?”
“My plan . . .”
“The reason you escaped?” She smiles. Her teeth are nothing like Roy’s, which have probably been knocked out and rearranged more times than he can remember. Fiona’s teeth, however, are smooth and pristine and gleaming white. “You got a girl on the outside, right?”
Sure, I think. You’re pretty much it . But instead I say, “I need to find a friend of mine.”
I can’t help but wonder if she’s scared of me, if she sees me as an escaped thug. While I’m wondering, she turns and starts off toward the gates. “Which way are you headed?”
I lope after her. “Toward Elvenburg, I think.”
“Convenient. I’m going the same way myself. We’ll take the streetcar together.”
She leads me off and I can’t help but prick up my ears. The noises seep through
“MMMMM,” says the giant. He turns and galumphs into the trees, vanishing all over again.
“Thanks.”
Fiona ignores me. She’s fiddling with the closure of hershoulder bag. “Damn! This is a brand-new purse. It’s what I get for lugging a cake around all day.”
“I thought you never bothered with the whole ‘say cheese’ thing.”
She looks at me, puzzled. “What would you have said?”
“Uh . . .”
Fiona gives up on the clasp of her purse, letting it flop loose. “Look at this. I totally stretched the leather.”
“So . . . do you work here? You’re a babysitter for giants? In a graveyard?”
She laughs. “No, I don’t work here. Why does anybody go to a cemetery?” She points at a modest grave two plots over. It’s a two-foot slab lying flush with the earth. It says:
Charles Ferdinand Sarlat
RIP
A plastic pot of flowers sprouts up in the corner.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” says Fiona. “He was a jerk. Prob’ly where my brother gets it from. When Mom remarried, she made me promise I’d still visit him once a week. A promise is a promise.” She motions with her head into the woods. “Which is why I’m such good ‘friends’ with David. I learned early on that if you happen to be a wolf and you wanna lope around this place by yourself, you need to appease the giant.” She shrugs. “It’s not a problem. David has simple tastes. Candyor cigarettes. I don’t approve of the latter—and I don’t need to. I’m always able to steal the leftover cake from my work. It’s a bakery.” She looks into the trees and laughs. “Nobody understands why I never get fat.”
The whole time, she’s hardly looked at me. Me, on the other hand— I’m staring . She ties the closure of her purse into a makeshift clasp and finally pays me some attention. She studies my face, leaning her head sideways, all the way to her shoulder. “We’ve met, right? You look kind of familiar.”
“Actually . . .” Only I trail off. I’m not terribly keen to remind her that I’m the guy her brother beat up about ten seconds after we (almost) shook hands.
Before I can make up a story, though, she leans in and reads the insignias sewed into my uniform. “Wait a sec,” she says. “You’re from St. Remus ?” She looks around. “Didn’t they just leave? I saw my brother, getting himself into trouble like always.” She squints at me. “I don’t get it. Why’re you still here?”
“I didn’t want to go back.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware that was their policy.”
“It’s easier than you think,” I say, feigning the confidence of a master escape artist. “Everybody’s doing it.”
Surprisingly, she nods in agreement. “I’ve lost count of how many time’s Roy showed up at my window in the middle of the night.” She shakes her head, inhaling fretfully throughher snout. “Enjoy it while you can. They always catch you in the end. The police, I mean.”
“Oh.”
“So what’s your plan?”
“My plan . . .”
“The reason you escaped?” She smiles. Her teeth are nothing like Roy’s, which have probably been knocked out and rearranged more times than he can remember. Fiona’s teeth, however, are smooth and pristine and gleaming white. “You got a girl on the outside, right?”
Sure, I think. You’re pretty much it . But instead I say, “I need to find a friend of mine.”
I can’t help but wonder if she’s scared of me, if she sees me as an escaped thug. While I’m wondering, she turns and starts off toward the gates. “Which way are you headed?”
I lope after her. “Toward Elvenburg, I think.”
“Convenient. I’m going the same way myself. We’ll take the streetcar together.”
She leads me off and I can’t help but prick up my ears. The noises seep through
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