down to its usual stuck position.
He padded lightly down the fire escape, moving almost as silently as the cats did. At the bottom, there was a drop. He landed lightly on the old red bricks that paved his alley. As he stepped into his shoes he remembered, too late, that he had brought no change with him. True, his magic prohibited him from carrying more than a dollarâs worth of change at any time, but he could at least have started the day with enough coins for coffee. Once he had found a fifty-dollar bill pinned inside the sleeve of a Goodwill coat. He had not squandered it, but had parcelled it out, fifty-seven or sixty-two cents at a time, for coffee. He only drew from his hoard in gravest need. His battle last night had drained his power to the dregs. He needed coffee and warmth and a washroom with hot water and taps that stayed turned on. He was not ready for this day. Survival would be that much tougher.
But not impossible. Some days he flowed with his power.Today the current of the magic roared against him, and he was hard pressed to cling to a rock in the rapids. But he would survive, like a one-legged pigeon, by keeping a new balance. This was his city; it would feed him and shelter him and lead him to Cassie. The rock in the current.
CHAPTER FOUR
Wizard left his alley, hit Jackson Street and tried to put some purpose in his lagging stride. First of all, he had to stop looking like an urban blight resident. There was a public restroom near the fire station, only a block and a half away now. But he dreaded its stainless steel walls and fixtures and the bizarre patrons it attracted. Instead he steered toward the Amtrak passenger station on Third and Jackson. Its tall tower and severe clock face reared up above the other buildings like a red brick daffodil. It had been months since he had last been there. It was an âemergencies onlyâ stopping place, by his own rules. But today was a day for breaking rules it seemed, and he had saved the train station for plights such as this.
He pushed through the heavy doors. Within was a stale smell, like an unused car with full ashtrays. It was not busy right now. The inside of the building was as generic as the outside was distinctive. Nothing about it suggested trains and railroads. It was a faceless place, with vinyl covered chairs and metal ashtrays that could have come from any airport or bus station or hospital waiting room. The bright Amtrak posters were unconvincing. Wizard believed they were neither current nor real; the waiting passengers looked artificial, too.
The lavatory boasted a small sitting room. A weary janitor was mopping this area, swirling his mop strands around the legs of the stuffed chairs. He didnât spare a glance for Wizard. The room stank of bleach and disinfectant. Wizard skidded on the damp floor, then walked more carefully.
After relieving himself, Wizard stood before a mirror and eyed himself critically. It was not bad, he decided, considering his quick exit from his den, but it was scarcely professional. Taking off his overcoat, he folded it carefully and set it on the tiled counter. He adjusted his conservative tie over his pastel yellow shirt. Damping a paper towel, he sponged away a spot of mud on the cuff of his polyester jacket. The one thing an expert scavenger could not look like was a scavenger. Leave that for the dreary men in overcoats perched on their benches. Strange, how they looked like scavengers, but were not. They were not even survivors, except in the briefest sense of the term. Wizard was. He inspected his clothing. He could now pass for anything from a car salesman to a food service supervisor. Almost.
From the pocket of the tan overcoat he drew a small vinyl case. Once it had protected someoneâs pocket camera. Now it housed a straight razor, neatly folded; a small bar of hotel soap; a sample size bottle of Old Spice Lime cologne; a small toothbrush and a comb. He washed, brushed his teeth, and
He padded lightly down the fire escape, moving almost as silently as the cats did. At the bottom, there was a drop. He landed lightly on the old red bricks that paved his alley. As he stepped into his shoes he remembered, too late, that he had brought no change with him. True, his magic prohibited him from carrying more than a dollarâs worth of change at any time, but he could at least have started the day with enough coins for coffee. Once he had found a fifty-dollar bill pinned inside the sleeve of a Goodwill coat. He had not squandered it, but had parcelled it out, fifty-seven or sixty-two cents at a time, for coffee. He only drew from his hoard in gravest need. His battle last night had drained his power to the dregs. He needed coffee and warmth and a washroom with hot water and taps that stayed turned on. He was not ready for this day. Survival would be that much tougher.
But not impossible. Some days he flowed with his power.Today the current of the magic roared against him, and he was hard pressed to cling to a rock in the rapids. But he would survive, like a one-legged pigeon, by keeping a new balance. This was his city; it would feed him and shelter him and lead him to Cassie. The rock in the current.
CHAPTER FOUR
Wizard left his alley, hit Jackson Street and tried to put some purpose in his lagging stride. First of all, he had to stop looking like an urban blight resident. There was a public restroom near the fire station, only a block and a half away now. But he dreaded its stainless steel walls and fixtures and the bizarre patrons it attracted. Instead he steered toward the Amtrak passenger station on Third and Jackson. Its tall tower and severe clock face reared up above the other buildings like a red brick daffodil. It had been months since he had last been there. It was an âemergencies onlyâ stopping place, by his own rules. But today was a day for breaking rules it seemed, and he had saved the train station for plights such as this.
He pushed through the heavy doors. Within was a stale smell, like an unused car with full ashtrays. It was not busy right now. The inside of the building was as generic as the outside was distinctive. Nothing about it suggested trains and railroads. It was a faceless place, with vinyl covered chairs and metal ashtrays that could have come from any airport or bus station or hospital waiting room. The bright Amtrak posters were unconvincing. Wizard believed they were neither current nor real; the waiting passengers looked artificial, too.
The lavatory boasted a small sitting room. A weary janitor was mopping this area, swirling his mop strands around the legs of the stuffed chairs. He didnât spare a glance for Wizard. The room stank of bleach and disinfectant. Wizard skidded on the damp floor, then walked more carefully.
After relieving himself, Wizard stood before a mirror and eyed himself critically. It was not bad, he decided, considering his quick exit from his den, but it was scarcely professional. Taking off his overcoat, he folded it carefully and set it on the tiled counter. He adjusted his conservative tie over his pastel yellow shirt. Damping a paper towel, he sponged away a spot of mud on the cuff of his polyester jacket. The one thing an expert scavenger could not look like was a scavenger. Leave that for the dreary men in overcoats perched on their benches. Strange, how they looked like scavengers, but were not. They were not even survivors, except in the briefest sense of the term. Wizard was. He inspected his clothing. He could now pass for anything from a car salesman to a food service supervisor. Almost.
From the pocket of the tan overcoat he drew a small vinyl case. Once it had protected someoneâs pocket camera. Now it housed a straight razor, neatly folded; a small bar of hotel soap; a sample size bottle of Old Spice Lime cologne; a small toothbrush and a comb. He washed, brushed his teeth, and
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