Free Mulberry Wands by Kater Cheek

do. Being with Fallon also didn’t
feel like talking with customers about where they wanted their
shelf installed. He could do that too. Being with Fallon felt like
trying to lecture in front of a crowded auditorium, something he
had done once and never again. It was her silence that made it
difficult. Conversations were easy. Monologues were not.
    “So, um, what kind of television shows do you
like to watch?’
    “I do not watch television.”
    Pause. Smile. Sip. Silence.
    “I must know information about Susan
Stillwater,” Fallon said.
    “Who?”
    “A mage. She lives not far from you. You deal
with mages.”
    Griff shook his head. “Never heard of
her.”
    Fallon frowned, and that was the end of the
conversation.
    Pause. Smile. Sip. Silence. Griff decided to
call it off.
    “Well, maybe I should go.” He got up and
gathered his trash. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
    “I am sorry to see you go.” Fallon laid a
hand on his arm. “I have enjoyed your company. I am new to town,
and want to meet new friends, but it is difficult. Humans are
difficult for me.”
    “No, no, you’re fine,” he said.
    “When I’m playing the games, I see my armies
and everything is clear, but when I’m trying to read a man’s face,
I don’t understand.”
    “I think you’re cute,” he said. “And I want
to see you again soon. May I have your phone number?”
    “I don’t have a phone yet.”
    “I’ll give you mine.” He tore a slip off the
newspaper and fumbled for a pen. “Some friends of mine are getting
together next week to play the new Halo. You would certainly be
welcome. Thursday, sevenish. I could pick you up?”
    “Meet me at the game store,” she said.
    “Great. Yeah.”
    Fallon lapsed into silence again.
    Griff mumbled some goodbyes and walked
outside.

Chapter
Six

     
    He’d bought an umbrella, a large black one
that created an octagonal shadow just deep enough for him to walk
down the street under, if he concentrated. He’d been back in
society for a month.
    He’d managed to find a job as a janitor. He’d
never had a problem with hard work, having worked more or less
continuously since he was sixteen. He’d seen school as a waste of
time, and had only graduated high school because his mother forced
him to.
    His family had come to Phoenix when Paul was
a child because they heard there was work there and the living was
cheap. Before that they’d lived in Michigan, but he didn’t remember
it at all. His mom was a nurse, and she openly resented being a
working mother. She dressed him, she cut his hair, she made sure he
got baths and good food and did his homework and had a present
under the tree and a cake on his birthday. She took care of him
like he was one of her patients, capably, effiiciently, with no
hint of affection. Paul knew why. He had disappointed her. She saw
in him all the faults of his father, with none of the charm.
    His father was a handsome, charismatic man,
and when he talked to you he convinced you he was capable of
anything, even well past the point at which he failed to prove it.
He broke promises to everyone but Mom, and even to her he broke
one. Dad called himself a musician, but what that meant was that he
played the guitar on street corners when he wasn’t taking odd jobs
or hustling for cash.
    Mom once said that she was blissfully
grateful that Dad chose her from among all the girls who adored
him. He hadn’t quite understood that, because it seemed his dad
liked to choose a lot of girls when one of them happened into his
life. But Mom explained that it didn’t matter, because it was her
that Dad always came home to, no matter how long he’d been gone. He
didn’t go home to those other girls.
    “Going to Flag to play for a couple nights
with the band,” he’d say, guitar slung over his shoulder. “I’ll
come home to you.”
    “See that you do,” Mom would always reply.
She never told him not to go, even though Mom always got angry when
he was