Free Finn Fancy Necromancy by Randy Henderson Page A

So, what do you say, get rid of the wolf time?”
    â€œMaybe,” Pete said, though he still didn’t sound excited at the idea. “But I still have to find a girl who’d like me.”
    â€œWell, that shouldn’t be hard,” I said, and hoped I wasn’t lying.
    A knock sounded at the door, and I almost fell off the couch.
    Oh crap. Had the enforcers returned?
    â€œPete?” a woman’s voice called from outside.
    â€œOh!” Pete said, looking at me. “I forgot to tell her you were coming home tonight.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œDawn,” Pete said. “She comes over sometimes at night, to talk. She usually brings dessert.” He licked his lips and glanced longingly at the door.
    Dawn. I looked around the room. Memory welled up as sudden and sharp as if summoned by the Fey.
    *   *   *
    Dawn closed the door to the mother-in-law cottage and turned on the boom box radio that sat on a shelf between empty flowerpots. Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do With It” filled the room.
    â€œUh,” I said. “Um.” I was smooth like that at age fourteen.
    â€œIt’s just a dare,” Dawn said, pushing her glasses up. She’d put multicolored bands all along the side frames that matched the ones in her cornrows. “You don’t have to get all weird about it.”
    â€œMort dared you to make out with anyone in the circle,” I said. “I think he wanted you to pick him.”
    â€œYeah, well, your brother’s stupid. And if he says ‘Chaka Dawn, let me rock you, let me rock you, Chaka Dawn’ one more time, I’ll beat him stupider. So, you going to kiss me or what?”
    â€œReally?” I glanced to the door and back to Dawn. “I thought, uh, you just wanted to pretend to kiss or whatever.” I glanced down at her body. I couldn’t help it, my eyes just did what they wanted sometimes.
    She grabbed my hand and placed it on her “Frankie Says Relax” T-shirt—over her breast. Holy hand grenade. My hand was on her breast!
    â€œSee,” she said. “They’re just boobs, not magic or anything. You don’t have to get all stupid around them.” Her words came out fast, even for her, and her hand on my wrist trembled lightly.
    She stepped in close to me, looked into my eyes. I could feel the heat of her this close, could smell coconut, and bubblegum, could hear my own heartbeat.
    I kissed her.
    Her lips were soft. I expected them to be soft, but not soft like this, warm and melting. Her tongue touched mine, and I tried to match its movements, to follow its rhythm as it moved in and out, a feeling like hunger rising with each thrust.
    I found myself shaking now, trembling as if my muscles were exhausted.
    Dawn pulled away, and I reluctantly opened my eyes to find hers staring into me. Waiting. Wary.
    â€œUh,” I said.
    She stepped back, and punched me in the arm. “Don’t go all stupid on me. It was just a kiss. It’s not like you’re my boyfriend now or anything.”
    She turned and rushed out of the shed, leaving me flushed and confused.
    *   *   *
    Another knock on Pete’s door broke the memory trance. I blinked. Was such vivid memory an aftereffect of exile?
    Dawn’s familiar voice called out, “Pete, are you awake?” She had the kind of voice you’d expect on a twelve-year-old girl if she’d been smoking for half those years—soft and sweet sounding, but with a scratchy edge.
    â€œYes,” Pete said. “Just a minute.” He looked at me, and whispered, “You want me to tell her to go home?” He didn’t sound too happy at the thought.
    â€œNo! Let her in.” I definitely wanted to see her, to catch up with her.
    And an idea occurred to me: Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to find Pete a date after all. Or at least a practice date.
    Pete grinned, bounced out