Free Whispering Nickel Idols by Glen Cook Page B

good or blessed with a little magical assistance. I couldn’t shake him, nor did I manage to ambush him. Melondie Kadare kept on snoring. The kittens didn’t like delays. They got antsy when I tried to lie in wait. Then noisy when I fooled around too long. “You guys getting hungry?”
    It was quiet tonight, the weather good despite the season. A big old moon up top silhouetted bats zipping around above the rooftops. There was a nip in the air. Scatters of cottony cloud tumbled across the sky. I didn’t think the bats would find many bugs. Winter wasn’t far away.
    Melondie groaned and whimpered. “It’s your own fault, Bug.” In the distance, Whitefield Hall cast a cheery glow. The pixie crawled out of my pocket. She tried her wings. I caught her before she crashed, tried to put her away again. She wasn’t interested. She clung to my shoulder instead. But when I stopped to listen for footsteps she slithered inside my shirt. When you’re small you lose body heat fast.
    “Don’t bounce around so much, Biggie. And keep them cats away.”
    The streets remained deserted, which was unusual. TunFaire goes round the clock. But I was content. It’s nice when no sense of dark imminence hangs in the air.
    “Hey, Bug. We’re almost home. And I’ve got an idea. How about you help me catch this spook that’s dogging us.”
    “My head!” She groaned. “What you mean, us, Big’un?”
    “All right. You. Because who the hell would be after me for a bucket of cats?”
    “Smart-ass, All right. I’m listening. But keep your voice down. What’s the plan?”
    The plan was, I plunked my little friend on a ledge, out of sight, then headed on along. I took a right at the next cross street, took another right and then another, and soldiered on until there I was, plucking my shivering sidekick off her ledge.
    “Did you have to stop for a beer?”
    “Whiner. I would have, if I’d seen a place. It’s past my time to start sipping. So, Bug. What’s the evil word? What wicked dark lord off the Hill is dogging me through the alleys of the night?”
    “You’re so full of shit, Garrett. A blivit. Hell, the world’s first hyperblivit. Forty pounds of shit jammed into a ten-pound sack instead of just twenty.”
    “But I’m so pretty. All the girls want to love me.”
    “If they’re some kind of weird, like sky elves. Or ratgirls. Or troll jiggles so ugly they can’t find themselves a guy who’s rock hard.”
    “Unfair.” No troll girl ever chased me. “You’re upset because you’re too teeny to enjoy the special Garrett charm.” I wondered how trolls tell the girls from the boys.
    “Sure you’re not imagining things, Garrett? Because that’s not what I hear.”
    “Ooh! How sharper than a frog’s tooth. Come on, Mel. Who am I dragging along behind me? Before I need to scope out how to turn my last two hairs into the perfect comb-over.”
    “You’re no fun anymore. All right. It was that little girl-boy. Or boy-girl. The one who brought the cats.”
    “Penny Dreadful? That kid can bang around behind me, keeping up, and I can’t catch her? That’s hard to believe.”
    “I can believe that. You being you, with your appreciation of you. Face it. You don’t have the mojo this time, Big Guy.”
    “I’m thinking about showing you some genuine Garrett mojo, Bug. I know some things. I know some people. I could have you bigasized.”
    “You couldn’t handle it. You’d have a stroke or a heart attack.”
    And so it went. We headed south on Wizard’s Reach, turned west on Macunado. And there we were, home again, home again, ziggity-zig. In time to get behind the door ahead of a band of do-gooder city employees who missed seeing us by half a minute.
    They pounded on my door. I used the peephole but didn’t open up. Melondie Kadare snickered and giggled. She was having a good time.
    “Why don’t you check on your people? I’ve got cats to feed.”
    She couldn’t do that from inside. I’d been clever enough to