"Me? I'm not sick. A little indigestion now and then, but you show me a cop who doesn't get an acid stomach, and I'll show you a cop who's too dumb to be scared."

"Naw, Mike." Ed gave a sigh. "It's the way you're living. It's starting to bug the shit out of me. At first,I thought, well, it's just going to take him a while to get used to things. But it's been more than a while,and you just aren't adapting."

"What the hell do you mean?" The sudden anger he felt was unreasonable in its intensity.

"I mean like that kitchen of yours. It doesn't look like you live there. I mean, it's more like you're camping out for the weekend, and expect to go back to Jennie and the kids next Tuesday or something."

"I don't like clutter."

"The hell you say. I'm not talking about clutter.I'm talking about having something besides ketchup in the cupboard, or more than three forks in the drawer. When's the last time you bought a carton of ice cream, or ate some meat that didn't come out of a can? You don't even have a real salt shaker, only those cardboard things from the store. And I'm talking about having books. You used to read all the time,in the break room. And I'm talking about the way you fall asleep on the couch most nights rather than go to bed and admit you're sleeping alone. And why you're sleeping alone, I don't know. And-"

"Ed. Give it a rest, okay?"

"I've given it a rest too damn long. You can't just put your life on hold. You got to-"

"Look." Stepovich was having trouble keeping his voice level. "You've made your point. Let it go. I know you're my partner, and-"

"No, Mike. I'm not your partner. And that's another thing. Who's your partner is that big green kid who isn't learning a damn thing because you aren't bothering to teach him. 'Cause you think maybe he isn't permanent. Well, you ignore him long enough,he damn sure won't be permanent, because he'll be dead."

"Let me off here," Stepovich's words were cold and hard.

"Oh, fuck you," Ed replied unhappily, and drove the rest of the way to his apartment in silence.

NINE

The Old Woman and the Devil

It seems like I been on this road

Ever since I was a kid;

I could tell if I was sorry

If I remembered what I did.

"RED LIGHTS AND NEON"

The Gypsy spent the night below the freeway bridge,waking up to morning fog and a promise of more snow. He stared straight up, unmoving, and tested his memory. Yes, he was the Gypsy, a name that would do for now. And, yes, he had sworn, long ago,to bring light to the world below-Her world, if you will, because all worlds that don't have the warmth of the sun, the promise of the moon, or the beauty of the stars are Her domain. He had sworn to bring the light to a dark place, in spite of Luci; that much he remembered.

But what had She done that made the memories come and go? And what had happened so that She was now in his world? Had he ever known? Would it come back, the way his recent past was beginning to?Most of it was there: The capture by the cemetery,the knife, the Wolf Who Waited Before Striking. All that was missing were his brothers.

He pulled himself up, and breathed city air, faintly cloying with traces of exhaust and humanity. Cars and trucks roared by overhead, and he marveled that man could build bridges that would stand up to such traffic.Harsh fog from the sewers swirled before him. He called to it, "Stay, brother mist. Stay and speak to me. You who travel beneath our feet through the length and breath of the city, you who hear all we say, stay and tell me whereto find the old woman." On a sudden impulse, for no reason he knew, he threw a piece of garlic and the cord from his trousers into the mist, and was not surprised when he failed to hear them strike the ground.

The warm air swirled before him.

It was no voice that spoke out of the mists, but the Gypsy heard words saying, "You must do this no more."

"Do what?"

"Use the skills of another world in this one. This time, I can protect you, but-"

"Protect me from what?"

"Those skills have no place in this world, and your memories of this world have no place in the other. You cannot have both."

"I think I understand, but-".

"Do not forget again."

"But-"

"And you must neither eat, nor drink, nor must you sleep."

"Not eat or drink? Not sleep? That is impossible."

"Not for you."

"Why?"

"Fool! Do what I say!"

"Who are you, and how can I help you?"

"Who am I? You know who I am, you have asked the Wolf to set me free. And to help me, here, you must make a spinning wheel from the mist, and send it to me. It will keep the fair Lady from tormenting me while I do what I must."

The Gypsy began to make his hands spin, and soon the mist was spinning with them. As he did so, he said, "Is there anything you can tell me, that will help me drive the Fair Lady back to Her own realm?"

"You must find the Coachman."

"But where?"

"Where? You'll find him driving a coach, fool." The voice was very faint now. "And you must find your brothers. And you can do nothing if the Wolf eats you,and eat you he will unless you place yourself within his jaws. But only at the right time. Too early and he will devour you, too late and he won't protect you."

"How will I know the right time?" he asked.

But there was no answer. A soft breeze blew the mist away, and he was staring at a foggy street and the beginnings of the morning traffic.

I don't know why

You don't cry

For freedom.

"IF I HAD THE VOICE"

The fair Lady puts down Her knitting and frowns. The midwife glances up and says, "What is it, mistress?"

"I don't know," says the fair Lady. "Something is wrong."

The midwife, who has also been knitting, sticks her tongue out and wags it around. Perhaps she tastes the thickness of the air, perhaps the flavor of the woodsmoke."Perhaps it is the prisoner, mistress. I will check on her."

But before she can move, the nora comes scampering into the room on his hands and feet. "Mistress, mistress," he cries.

"Well, what is it?"

"The woman has gotten a piece of garlic from somewhere, and she rubs it on her breast so I can't go near her!"

The Fair Lady smiles and pats the nora's head. "Is that all? Well, that must be what I noticed. Come, I will attend to that nasty young woman."

But when she gets there. She finds that She cannot enter,for the room in which the prisoner sits has been tied shut with a piece of trouser cord.

"What do you think you're doing in there?" She cries,but there is no answer. She calls to the midwife, who sings a gentle song to the trouser cord, and at last it unties itself.When the Fair Lady enters the room. Her prisoner is still there, but she is smiling now, and with her hands she works a spinning wheel, and she is spinning, though nothing appears upon the wheel.

"Now, though I am a prisoner, you can't touch me,"says the old woman.

The Fair Lady gnashes Her teeth with anger, and stamps Her feet until the nora is afraid She will stomp them right through to Hell, but at last She is calm again. "I know who did this," She says. "And he will pay for it. And though I can't touch you, here you will remain until you fall asleep at your work, and then you will be mine again."And the Fair Lady slams the door.

After a while, She goes back to her knitting.