Under My Skin (Wildlings) by Charles de Lint Page A

plastered all over the news. You're definitely Joshua Saunders. I'm Elzie."
    I sigh and look away.
    "I'm not a reporter," she says.
    "I kind of figured that out. Look, no offence, but I just want some down time. I don't know who put me on the Wildling Welcome Wagon list—or maybe you're from some Wildling outreach program—but I'm calling time-out."
    "You should be a little more careful talking about that stuff with a stranger."
    "Yeah, except I know you're a Wildling, too, though I don't know exactly what kind."
    "That's good," she says. "It takes most of us more than a few days to be able to start recognizing others."
    I don't say anything.
    "I take it you've already been approached by someone?" she says.
    I nod, but I don't start handing out names. Maybe Wildlings can smell each other out or something, but if I have to lie to my friends about Chaingang, I'm sure not going to give him up to a stranger.
    "Let me guess," she says. "One of them was a guy named Cory and he warned you to watch out for me."
    I shake my head. "I've met Cory, but he didn't say anything about you. Why would he?"
    She shrugs. "Let's just say he doesn't like my politics."
    I study her for a moment.
    "You don't go to Sunny Hill, do you?" I say.
    Because a girl as cute as she is, I'd remember.
    "I'm from Long Beach," she says.
    "So you didn't get changed like the rest of us. You're like Cory."
    "No, I changed."
    "I didn't think it happened anywhere outside of Santa Feliz."
    "So far as I know, it hasn't," she says. "I changed when I was here visiting a friend. I tried to go back home, but my parents wouldn't let me. They were afraid of me."
    "That's harsh."
    I can't imagine Mom turning her back on me like that. But I haven't told her yet, have I, so what does that say?
    She shrugs again. "I don't blame them. They were afraid something would happen to my little brother if I stayed. So I dropped out of school and I live here now."
    "Something like what? What did they think you were going to do?"
    "Come on, don't play dumb. You heard about that kid who turned into a rattler and bit his old man, right?"
    "Yeah, but your own brother ? You wouldn't do anything like that."
    She shakes her head. "Except they couldn't know for sure for sure."
    "That totally sucks."
    "Anyway," she says. She waves her hand like none of it matters, but you'd have to be pretty dim not to see the pain in her eyes before she pushes it away. "I guess I am kind of like a Welcome Wagon. I just wanted to talk to you—let you know some of your options."
    "I know my options," I tell her.
    I'm not interested in talking about all that again. Cory already did and I don't need a bigger dose of paranoia than I already have.
    "Where do you live?" I ask, to change the subject. "How do you get by?"
    And do you have a boyfriend? I add to myself. Not like it'll make any difference, but I'd still like to know.
    My questions get me yet another shrug.
    "I live wherever," she says, "and I get by. Did Cory tell you how some of us are working to make this a better world?"
    "I'm not sure what you mean. He talked about how we're all connected by our animal blood and how some Wildlings have been around forever. I guess the old ones don't really like that the new Wildlings have kind of screwed up the secret existence that they had."
    "Yeah," she says, "but they need to look at the bigger picture."
    I look past her. There's a guy who's been standing with his back to the balustrade a little way down the pier, elbows on the railing. He's looking everywhere except at us and I find myself remembering what Desmond said about the Federal agents.
    They're not always going to be wearing black suits and driving SUVs. They could be anybody.
    This guy doesn't seem much older than me, but it's obvious he's been living hard. He's got the dark tan of a beach bum and he's wearing a dirty white T-shirt, baggy shorts, sandals, a small olive-green backpack hanging from one shoulder. His hair looks like he slept on it badly and