Then he understood. It was two days until Halloween. "Oh. Well, thank you."
"You aren't busy tonight, right?"
"No."
"Then you're busy tonight. See you at six." She hung up.
He stared at the phone for a moment. Then he laughed.
That afternoon, McCain asked to meet Danny in the infirmary.
"What can I help you with, Line?" Danny said, absurdly aware that he was playing the old country doctor.
"It's about not getting-a girl pregnant."
"Well, there's condoms." This was getting more ridiculous by the second.
"I know about rubbers. I have to know if there's anything better. Something that can't miss."
"There are pills-"
"For the guy?"
"No, the girl. And there are those sponges."
"No. Not something for her. For me." Between the topic and the crazy urgency in McCain's voice, Danny was hopelessly out of his depth.
"I don't think anything's absolutely perfect. But if you cover from a couple of angles… There's a cream, too, that kills sperm. If you use that with the rubber, you ought to be all right."
"Okay. I guess that's good. Have you got some of that?"
Danny had to hunt around in the cabinet, but there turned out to be four tubes. "You don't have to tell me, Line," he said with what he hoped was quiet understatement, "but why-"
McCain said flatly, "I'm a Vamp. Loop Garou, as if you couldn't guess."
Danny managed not to blurt out anything stupid. "But… you don't…"
"Not anymore. But they say you don't ever get it all out. The idea of a kid born that way… couldn't do that, Doc."
The revelation, from McCain, made Danny feel like whistling in the graveyard. He dispensed the meds and what wisdom he could offer with them.
"Thanks, Doc," McCain said. "Wasn't something I could talk about with Stagger Lee. Don't tell him that."
" 'Course not."
When McCain had gone, Danny let out a long breath, and stocked his own pockets.
The movie at Laughs was The Ghost Breakers. Damn hadn't much liked the Bob Hope movies he'd seen, but this one wasn't bad, funny and mysterious and even a little scarv. Ginnv's hand locked onto his during the first thunderstorm scene, and never let go until they were out of the theater and in the restaurant up the street. Then she let him go long enough to get into an inches-deep pizza with half the garden on top.
A bulky figure in a baggy, wrinkled trench coat came up. "Good evening, loyal readers."
"Hi, Lucius."
"Don't stop," Lucius said. "I may be a busybody-in fact, I am a busybody, and a highly paid one at that-but I know better than to interfere with serious eye contact."
"It's a birthday party," Ginny said.
"Oh? Oh, I see. Happy birthday, Doc."
Ginny said, "Would you join us for a while, Mr. Birdsong?"
"Oh, Ginny. Have all those long scotches come between me and my first name?"
Danny said, "Sit down, Lucius. Please."
He spread his hands, shrugged his coat off, pulled up a chair.
Ginny said, "We want to go out someplace after dinner. Not one of the usual places. Do you have any suggestions?"
Lucius ordered a beer. He was frowning. It looked strange on him. "Can I tell you a story, by way of answering that? One you'll never read in the column?"
Danny said, "Sure."
"Okay. Wait for the beer. It needs a beer." They talked about nothing in particular until Lucius's drink came. He clicked glasses with them, took a sip.
"Once upon a time," Lucius said, "I got lost on the Levee. Somewhere up around Division and the River. I mean, / got lost: the Minstrel of the City Streets. I certainly wasn't going to ask directions. Even if I'd seen anyone to ask, which I didn't. It was a cool night, not cold, good for walking. So I walked. Straight line, keep going. After all, sooner or later I'd hit Elfland, or the lake, or New Orleans, or San Francisco, any of which would do for orien-tational purposes."
Danny had never heard Lucius tell a story before. His voice was soft: he was speaking only to the two of them. He had some of the same manner as the newspaper column, but not so dry, not so distant.
"Eventually there was a neon sign up ahead: not buzzing, wired to a spellbox, so I hadn't crossed the Line without noticing. It was a dance joint, jumping pretty good; in go I, who do not exactly jump with the best. It was Danceland. Ever hear of it?"
Danny said no. Ginny said she'd read a magazine article.
Lucius said, "The immediate point is that Danceland is a Shadow joint, but not our Shadow, not the Levee, understand? You can't just turn on Blessing Way and Michigan and get there. But I got there.
"Inside, there were elves in leathers, whole-Worlders in destroyed denim, halfies in anything and all. A bunch of them were slamming, and though he might jitterbug or even Madison if the cause were strong, Birdsong does not slam. Two half-naked Ellyllon were doing the lambada-I don't suppose either of you has ever seen a lambada?"
They shook their heads.
"Good for you. Oh, and a werewolf was waltzing with an elf maiden. Waltzing, Jesus Matilda. So I watched for a while, and then went to the bar, because there are some true compasses in the thickest weather.
"I turned around then. Maybe something made me turn. I saw a man: my height, my build, my color. Thinner, but if any of my other parts got the exercise my tongue does I'd be pretty trim too. He was wearing buckskins, moccasins, and eagle feathers in his hair. He looked me dead in the eye, and he started to dance, solo. Slow, not hard to follow, one-two, step-two. And I follow.
"No one looked at us. What's strange enough to stare at in Danceland? Not dancers, surely. I danced all night with mv eagle brother, until the spells that drove the neon died, and the loose fairy dust in the air got thick enough to choke on, and the fire we show the World went out. Never did touch a drink."
Lucius reached inside his jacket, took out a flat leather case. He showed them three feathers, black and white and golden. "You're an open-spaces man, Doc: have you ever seen an eagle?"