Free Out of This World by Charles De Lint Page A

Then a third, and a fourth. They’re on all sides.
    That can’t be good.
    I’m on my feet and over the wall just in time to see the raggedy man disappear around the corner of a building, the walls still standing covered in vines.
    â€œHey, wait up!” I call after him.
    I put on a burst of Wildling speed, winding my way through the rubble and brush, but he’s motoring along at a good clip for all his bulk and it takes me a couple more blocks to catch up to him. When I do, it’s only because he’s crouched down beside a rusted old car. I’m about to ask what he’s doing when I see the dog. I get a momentary glimpse of it, maybe three blocks away, then it’s behind some brush and lost from sight again.
    â€œThey’re closing in on us,” the raggedy man says.
    The horns sound again, one answering the other, all around us. They’re much closer now. I don’t think I was entirely convinced before, but I am now: the men with the long hair and black dusters are definitely hunting us. Maybe with a pack of dogs. Maybe they can turn into dogs.
    â€œHow do we get away from them?” I ask my companion.
    â€œWe need to be invisible,” he says. “Sight, sound and smell.” He taps his brow. “In here, too.”
    I look at him like he just grew a second head. “How are we supposed to do that?”
    â€œThe same way you do anything—you will it to happen.”
    I shake my head. “I don’t have that party trick. How’s it even possible?”
    â€œLook away,” he says.
    I hesitate.
    â€œGo ahead,” he says. “Trust me in this one little thing.”
    He’s odd-looking, but since he hasn’t seemed threatening so far, I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt and do as he asks. But I’m ready to swing the pipe if he tries anything.
    â€œNow look back,” he says.
    His voice comes from the same place, except when I turn back around he’s not there anymore. I mean he’s really not there. I reach out with my free hand, then jump back when I touch his invisible chest.
    He reappears like the Cheshire Cat: first a grin, then the rest of him.
    â€œYou see?” he says. “It’s easy.”
    I shake my head. “Falling off a board is easy. That is just impossible.”
    â€œThink of Prince Jayden with his magic cloak,” he says.
    I give him a blank look.
    â€œLike in the old story,” he explains. “Remember? He got it from the thrushes to help rescue his sister, Princess Maika, when she was trapped in the Iron Tower.”
    â€œWe don’t have that story where I come from.”
    â€œReally? That’s sad.”
    â€œWe have other stories,” I assure him.
    The horns sound again.
    â€œWhat about this cloak?” I add.
    â€œPretend you’re wearing it—or it can be a blanket. It doesn’t matter. Just make it whatever’s easiest for you to imagine. Wrap it all around you so that no one can see you, or smell you, or even sense you. Use it to block anyone from being aware of you.”
    â€œBut I don’t have a cloak or blanket.”
    He sighs and glances down the street before turning back
    to me.
    â€œ Imagine you have one,” he says.
    I guess the panic I feel is written on my face because he sighs again.
    â€œI can show you how to do it,” he says, “the way we teach our infants survival skills when they’re still too young to understand language.”
    That doesn’t sound too dangerous. But I still have to ask, “Is it going to hurt?”
    Maybe wherever he comes from infants are way tougher than So-Cal teenagers.
    â€œIt’s more startling than anything else,” he says. He shoots another worried look down the street. “We don’t have much time.”
    â€œOkay,” I tell him. “Go for it.”
    Please don’t let me regret this. And can I just say how much I wish I had a