Free Moonlight & Vines by Charles De Lint Page A

said.
    â€œBut you have to.”
    â€œSays who?”
    She frowned at him. “You just do. It’s obvious that you won’t be able to find your way by yourself and if you stay here you’re just going to start feeling more and more alienated and confused.”
    â€œLet me worry about that,” John said.
    â€œLook,” she said. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot—my fault, I’m sure. I had no idea it was time for you to go already. I’d just come by to check on you before heading off to another appointment.”
    â€œSomebody else that you’re
watching?”
    â€œExactly,” she replied, missing, or more probably, ignoring the sarcastic tone of his voice. “There’s no way around this, you know. You need my help to get to the gates.”
    â€œWhat gates?”
    She sighed. “You’re really in denial about all of this, aren’t you?”
    â€œYou were right about one thing,” John told her. “I am feeling confused—but it’s only about what you’re doing here and how you got in.”
    â€œI don’t have time for this.”
    â€œMe neither. So maybe you should go.”
    That earned him another frown.
    â€œFine,” she said. “But don’t wait too long to call me. If you change too much, I won’t be able to find you and nobody else can help you.”
    â€œBecause you’re my personal watcher.”
    â€œNo wonder you don’t have many friends,” she said. “You’re really not a very nice person, are you?”
    â€œI’m only like this with people who break into my house.”
    â€œBut I didn’t—oh, never mind. Just remember my name and don’t wait too long to call me.”
    â€œNot that I’d want to,” John said, “but I don’t even have your number.”
    â€œJust call my name and I’ll come,” she said. “If it’s not too late. Like I said, I might not be able to recognize you if you wait too long.”
    Though he was trying to take this all in stride, John couldn’t help but start to feel a little creeped out at the way she was going on. He’d never realized that crazy people could seem so normal—except for what they were saying, of course.
    â€œGoodbye,” he told her.
    She bit back whatever it was that she was going to say and gave him a brusque nod. For one moment, he half expected her to walk through a wall—the evening had taken that strange a turn—but she merely crossed the living room and let herself out the front door. John waited for a few moments, then rose and set the deadbolt. He walked through the house, checking the windows and back door, before finally going upstairs to his bedroom.
    He thought he might have trouble getting to sleep—the woman’s presence had raised far more questions than it had answered—but he was so tired from twelve straight hours in the studio that it was more a question of, could he get all his clothes off and crawl under the blankets before he faded right out? He had one strange moment: when he turned off the light, he made the mistake of looking directly at the bulb. His uninvitedguest’s features hung in the darkness along with a hundred dancing spots of light before he was able to blink them away. But the moment didn’t last long and he was soon asleep.
2
    He didn’t realize that he’d forgotten to set his alarm last night until he woke up and gave the clock a bleary look. Eleven-fifteen. Christ, he was late.
    He got up, shaved and took a quick shower. You’d think someone would have called him from the studio, he thought as he started to get dressed. He was doing session work on Darlene Flatt’s first album and the recording had turned into a race to get the album finished before her money ran out. He had two solos up first thing this morning and he couldn’t understand why no one had called to see where