Free Roadside Magic by Lilith Saintcrow Page A

flee
her
. It crouched, a thin, bleached figure, near the grill. It was alarmingly gaunt—of course, without its mortal anchor, its substance was thinning rapidly. Its eyes, once as bright blue as Sean’s, were now the color of old much-washed cotton sheets and protruded from its starveling face. It made that tiny sound again, a baby bird’s pleading. A wet, filthy, red T-shirt with a picture of a dog stuck to its wasted chest; it hitched its similarly filthy jeans up with skinny, dirty fingers.
    Robin slowly, so slowly, sank back on her haunches, brushingat her skirt. She pushed her hair back, and the changeling cowered, shrinking away.
    “It’s all right,” she managed, as soft and soothing as possible. Her voice made sidhe nervous—those who knew of her, at least.
    Those who didn’t learned soon enough.
    The changeling sank down. It had a pair of red sneakers, just as muddy and wet as the rest of its attire. It settled on its knees and reached up, touching its own tangled, pale mop.
    Robin concentrated on breathing. Four in, four out. The changeling was alive, for now. There was, if she looked closely, an echo of Sean in its bird-thin grace, its fading coloring. It had lost the ability to speak—perhaps the shock. Just a faint copy, wasting away. It would dissolve into nothingness soon enough, if the childcatchers didn’t come back and snatch it. No doubt Summer would use the flint knife even on this sorry specimen.
    Even a changeling wasting away to nothing could still bleed.
    What was I thinking? Was I even thinking at all?
She dropped her hands, and the changeling did as well. Its piping stilled, and it stared at her.
    The wriggling of an idea in the back of her head became more pronounced. Robin stilled, her breathing evening out. A damp morning breeze touched her bare, steaming shoulders. The deck, hard and gritty against her naked knees, stayed just as solid, but she rocked a little as the idea crept out of its hiding place and presented itself.
    Don’t be stupid, Robin. It’s madness.
    And yet.
    Her hand stole out, found a glass shard tangled in the canvas. Wicked-sharp and slightly curved. The changeling stared blankly at her. It didn’t judge her a threat.
    Should it? It had the sense to flee from the childcatchers, or perhaps mere luck had saved it. Who could tell?
    Her fingertips skated along the glass shard. It was madness. Unthinkable folly. She should simply leave the fading thing to its fate.
    Then why did you come here, Robin? Why?
    She picked the glass up, delicately. Thin sunshine strengthened—the clouds were clearing. It would probably be a beautiful day.
    It’s insane. A Half can’t do what you’re thinking. That much chantment will hurt you, badly.
    If Summer ever found out . . .
    A small, pained smile lit Robin’s face, echoed by the changeling’s ghastly grin. It copied her slight movement to pick the shard up, brushing its filthy fingertips across decking.
    “Changeling,” Robin said, again so softly, soothingly. “Do you want to live?”
    Its mouth moved, nothing but the piping coming out.
    “Do you?” she pressed.
    Something struggled in its pupils, a dim spark. It stopped grinning, its forehead knitting, and for a moment it looked like a wizened old brughnie, its face a map of wrinkle-rivers.
    It nodded, and its outlines blurred.
    Robin set the glass shard against the back of her left forearm—not the inside, where the veins could be opened. She, after all, wanted to live as well.
    If she did this, she might even be able to salvage something of her pride. Or at least make the grief and despair a little smaller.
    She hissed between her teeth as she drew the glass along her flesh. It was surprisingly hard to slice, but once she’d made up her mind to do it, the sharp edge sank in, almost as if eager.
    She was going to leave a bloodtrail after all.
    The changeling hissed, too, and crept forward, its palms scraping the deck and its head bobbing. The hiss became that