The next day, Sunday, Brendan awoke to find BLT tapping at the window. The temperature had dropped and snow had fallen overnight, the first of the season. Christmas was just over a week away. He let the tiny Faerie in out of the cold.
“About time!” BLT grumped.
“It’s not like you feel the cold, anyway,” Brendan pointed out.
“Not the point!” She shook snow off her wings and burrowed under his duvet, refusing to respond to his apologies.
It was one of those rare days when both his mother and father were home. He joined them for breakfast at the kitchen table while listening to them making their plans for the day.
“We have to get the tree put up,” his mother said, referring to her to-do list on the table in front of her. “And I need you to get the decorations out of the bins in the basement.”
“Absolutely, dear,” his father answered absently. He was preoccupied by the highlights from last night’s game on SportsCentre. The tiny TV on top of the fridge held at least half of his attention. “Decorations.”
“Hey, Dad,” Brendan interrupted. “Did they win?”
“Lost in a shootout.”
“Bummer.”
“They played hard, though.”
“Sure.” Brendan shook his head. Part of being a Toronto Maple Leafs fan was hoping against hope that this season would be better than the last, though it rarely was. Still, you stayed with your team through the good and the bad. When they actually did win, the victory would be worth waiting for. That was his father’s philosophy, at least. Brendan thought it sucked to be a Leafs fan, but his father had left him no choice. He’d been indoctrinated since he was a baby.^ 29
“What have you got on for today, Brendan?” his mother asked.
“I’m gonna try and get together with Harold and Dmitri. And maybe do some Christmas shopping.”
“That’s good. They were really down when you didn’t show up yesterday.” His mother raised an eyebrow. “Friends are important, Brendan. And not just girlfriends, either.”
“Mu-um.” Brendan was pleased that his mother seemed to be buying the girlfriend ruse, which might give him a little more time to work with Greenleaf and Kim in the days before the Challenges. “Where’s Dee?”
“She said she had some errands to run. Probably shopping at the mall with her friends. She left a few minutes ago.” His mum stood up and put her coffee cup in the sink. “I’m going to take a shower and then we’re going to get a tree.” She waited for her husband to respond. “Edward?”
“Hmm?” His father tore his eyes from the television. “Oh, okay. Fine. I’m ready any time.”
Satisfied, Mum kissed Brendan on the forehead and went upstairs, leaving him alone with his father. Brendan chewed his toast, watching the game highlights in silent companionship with his dad.
Finally, the show ended and his dad turned off the TV. “What a miserable shootout. Our goalie couldn’t stop a beach ball with a piano tied to it,” he said glumly.
Brendan had a sudden thought. “Dad, can I ask you something?”
“No,” his dad answered flatly. Brendan looked at him in confusion until his father laughed. “I’m kidding. What do you want to know?”
“Just some advice, kinda,” Brendan said.
“I’ll kinda try and help if I kinda can.”
“Right.” Brendan thought for a moment then struggled to form his question. “When you’re doing something difficult like, say, trying to learn a new song… ”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever just not been able to do it, no matter how hard you tried? I mean, for some reason, no matter what you do, you can’t play the song or whatever?”
“You mean, like having a mental block?”
“Something like that.” Brendan nodded. “In fact, exactly like that.”
His father frowned. “That’s happened before, sure. Sometimes, for whatever reason, your mind just can’t absorb something. I remember trying to learn ‘American Pie.’ Long song. Lotta words. Kind of annoying. I had to perform it at somebody’s wedding and I didn’t have it down the night before.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, I’d been killing myself trying to get it perfect and I’d spent hours and hours poring over the words, but I just couldn’t play it through perfectly. So… I convinced them to let me play another song.”
Brendan had been anticipating some words of wisdom. His face fell.
“Again, I’m kidding,” he laughed. “Although I think ‘American Pie’ is a pretty lame song for a wedding. I mean, you want to immortalize your union by singing a song about a guitar player who died in a plane crash? Buddy Holly’s great and everything, but come on. Turns out they’d met to that song and so… ”
“Dad!”
“Sorry. Yeah, okay.” His dad smiled. “You know what I did? I did nothing. I stopped practising. Obviously, it was all there in my head and I was so worried I was going to fail that I was making myself fail. I put down the guitar and didn’t touch it until right before the ceremony.”
“Did it work?” Brendan asked. “Did you get it right?”
“Turns out I forgot a verse but they didn’t notice. Love tends to preoccupy people when they’re getting married. And the fact that they’re trying not to wet themselves with terror. My point is, you have to trust that you’ve done the work and let it go. Does that make sense?”
“Sure.” Brendan nodded, but inside he was disappointed. His father had no idea what the stakes were. Brendan couldn’t make any mistakes or they might be his last. There was no room for error. He didn’t want to worry his dad, though. “Thanks, Dad. I’m gonna get dressed and go out. See ya later.”
“Okay,” his dad answered, reaching for the paper. “What are you so worried about? What do you need to learn? Can I help?”
“Nothing,” Brendan replied, heading for the stairs. “Just something for school. Later, Dad.”
Brendan showered and dressed quickly, but by the time he came downstairs, the house was empty. His parents were gone. He’d called Harold and Dmitri but got their voicemail. He’d left apologetic messages for both and begged them to call him back. Pulling on his parka, he headed out the door.
He walked down the street to wait for the streetcar. BLT was content to nestle in his inner pocket out of the cold. Brendan felt his spirits rise a little bit. His breath gusted out in a white cloud. He liked the cold, and he especially liked the first big snowfall. He loved the way the entire city looked clean and fresh. He loved how all sound seemed muffled by the layer of white. He contentedly scuffed at the fluffy snow, sending puffs of flakes in front of him, savouring the squeak of the compressed snow beneath his boots. Snowflakes drifted in front of his face, and with his acute Faerie Sight he could see the intricate shape of each one. He could almost hear the tinkling as they collided with the ground.
“Beautiful,” Brendan breathed softly.
“You can keep it,” came BLT’s tiny, grumpy voice from his coat. “Cold. Wet. Blah!” She snuggled deeper.
Brendan was looking forward to spending the day doing normal (and by normal, he meant Human) things. He hadn’t been able to set aside any time for Christmas shopping. He wasn’t really sure if Faeries observed Christmas, but he decided he would get gifts for his new family, too. That meant double the gifts that he’d had to buy last year. Luckily, he had a little extra money saved.
He took the streetcar to Queen Street West and wandered in and out of the shops, searching for the right things for everyone on his list. His dad was easy: CDs. Mum was easy, too: she always wanted some new tool for the kitchen. Delia he could fob off with a gift card at a clothing store. The real difficulty was buying for his Faerie family. What did one buy as a gift for an immortal? A tie? Some tea? Nice-smelling soap?
He searched and searched but came up empty. The sun was already going down when he headed back to the subway. He was frustrated and tired from fighting the crowds, but most of all, he was a little worried. He couldn’t shake the feeling that somebody was following him. He found himself looking over his shoulder, stopping and turning around suddenly or even ducking into shops and watching the people passing by on the street. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t catch anyone tailing him. Perhaps the anxiety and pressure of the coming Challenges were making him paranoid.
He’d just decided to let go of his fears and head home on the subway when he came out onto the platform and found Charles waiting for him again.
She was leaning against a pillar, a latte in her hand, smiling.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said.
“So you were following me!”
She frowned in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Leave me alone,” Brendan said flatly, walking past her.
“But I like you,” she giggled, following him.
“Well, I don’t like you,” Brendan snarled.
“You have to get to know me,” the girl said, tossing her empty cup in a trash can. “I’m really quite fun.”
Brendan felt the rush of air that announced the arrival of the subway train. Light shone from the tunnel and the squeal of metal wheels on the tracks filled the air. He whirled, waving a finger in the girl’s face. “I’m not interested in getting to know you, and I don’t like being followed.”
Before Brendan could pull his finger away, the girl nipped his fingertip.
He yelped in pain and snatched his hand back. “You bit me.”
“It’s not polite to point!” She smiled, revealing strong white teeth.
The train arrived. Brendan stepped through the doors as they whooshed open. He turned and said angrily, “Leave me alone.”
She frowned prettily as the doors closed.
“That ain’t no way to talk to a girl.” A homeless man sitting on the train, bulging shopping bags piled around him, gave Brendan a reproachful look.
Brendan ignored him. No one else was on board so he had his pick of seats. He plunked down on a bench facing the platform, well away from the homeless man. The train started to roll. The girl jogged along until she was even with him, waving as she ran alongside. Brendan tried to ignore her. The train picked up speed. The girl kept pace, running with ease and grace. She puffed out her cheeks and pretended she was having trouble keeping up. Despite his annoyance, Brendan found her performance amusing. A small smile tugged rebelliously at the corner of his mouth.
Suddenly, she threw up her hands in alarm and dropped headlong from sight. Brendan leapt up to see if she was okay, pressing his face against the window beside the homeless man. The girl popped up and banged on the glass, scaring Brendan so that he staggered back and fell in his seat. She pointed and laughed, once again keeping pace with the train. Brendan rolled his eyes. She stuck out her tongue.
The end of the platform loomed. The girl waved goodbye and dropped back out of sight. Brendan didn’t wave back.
The homeless man had been watching the whole thing. “She can sure motor,” he said, eyes wide. “That’s some girl, there.”
“Yeah,” Brendan had to admit.
He took the subway north to Spadina. Rather than take the streetcar from the station, he decided to walk home through the softly falling snow. People were bundled up against the weather, but Brendan hardly noticed the cold. The sun was low in the grey sky.
By the time he got to what he’d taken to calling the Snoring Rock, it was already dark. Brendan came level with the black stone and found himself compelled to stop. Lately he’d avoided this place. Something about the monolith sitting in the schoolyard made him uneasy. He read the little brass plaque that decorated the stone.
THIS BASIC IGNEOUS ROCK WAS FOUND AT A DEPTH OF TWELVE FEET DURING THE COURSE OF EXCAVATION FOR THIS SCHOOL. THE COMPOSITION IS OF A VERY RARE TYPE AND IS ASSUMED TO HAVE BEEN CARRIED HERE FROM CARIBOU LAKE NORTH OF PARRY SOUND BY A GLACIER DURING THE GREAT ICE AGE 12,000 YEARS AGO.
Brendan could barely imagine the force required to transport a stone over such a distance and bury it so deep in the ground. Thinking about it made him uncomfortable, perhaps because the rock reminded him of the first terrifying and confusing day when he’d stumbled into his new life. He and Dmitri had been walking past this very spot when he’d heard the stone “snoring.” He remembered the harsh warning the stone had barked in his mind, telling him to stay away.
So why was he here? He could have easily taken another route. He stood in the yellow light of the street lamp with the snow gently falling around him, staring at the mottled black surface of the stone.
The world faded from his awareness. The surface of the stone swam before him. What at first seemed to be a chaos of bumps, gouges, and cracks began to shift and resolve into patterns. Brendan struggled to make sense of the markings, but their meaning was just beyond his perception. He felt that if he could just concentrate a little more, he’d be able to puzzle them out.
He heard a voice whispering his name. The voice was soft, insistent, and hypnotic.
Breandan.
Breandan.
I am waiting.
Breandan.
“Brendan!”
The voice was suddenly loud. Brendan came to his senses to find that he had climbed over the little fence surrounding the black rock and had laid his bare hands on its rough surface.
“Hey, Brendan!” His father stood on the sidewalk looking at him, concern plain on his face. “Are you okay?”
Brendan dropped his hands to his sides, embarrassed and confused. He didn’t remember climbing the fence and approaching the stone.
“Hi, Dad,” he said lamely, stepping back onto the sidewalk. “Where are you coming from?”
“Work. They called me in to cover a shift at the cafe. And I had to pick up some stuff your mother ordered.” He held up a couple of shopping bags. He cocked his head to the side and looked at Brendan again. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah! Yeah!” Brendan said. “I was, uh… I just thought I saw some graffiti tags on that rock. But it wasn’t anything. Just a shadow.” He smiled lamely.
“Oh, okay,” his father said slowly. “That’s good. All right, then, shall we go home and see what’s for dinner?”
“Sure!”
Dinner was sloppy joes and homemade french fries, Brendan’s favourite. There was also a big salad, since his mother always forced him to eat at least one plate of greens as well. He demolished two joes in short order, suddenly famished. He still felt weird after his latest encounter with the Snoring Rock. He guessed he had to call it the Talking Rock now. He pondered the experience while he ate, his mum and dad chatting happily about their days.
Toward the end of the meal, he noticed that Dee was quieter than usual. He kept catching her looking at him.
“What?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” she sneered.
“Then stop looking at me.”
“I’m not.”
“Good!”
“Good!”
“Wow,” his father laughed. “Some siblings have trouble communicating, but you two are so in sync. It’s heartwarming.”
“Time to decorate the tree!” His mother was eager to defuse any brother-sister meltdown. “Let’s get to it.”
The next hour was spent re-enacting a ritual that occurred every year. His father would string the lights and mildly curse when he couldn’t find the one bulb that was burnt out and keeping the whole string from shining. Then there was the argument over tinsel placement: throw or drape carefully. Then taking the ornaments out of the boxes, finding which ones had broken and which were just too plain ugly to use this year and should be retired.
Finally, all that was left was the star on the top. His mother climbed the ladder and placed the antique silver star that had been in her family for generations on the spindly top bough of the blue spruce. The star meant a lot to his mother. The year before his grandmother had passed away, she’d handed it down to his mum. His mother and his father had no living parents, so any token that reminded them of those who were gone was special.
His mother was just climbing down the ladder, helped by his father, when the doorbell rang.
“Who could that be?” she asked.
“Beats me.” His father shrugged. “Are you expecting anyone, Dee?”
“No.” Delia shook her head.
“Brendan?”
Brendan shook his head. The bell rang again.
“Well, I know one way to find out who’s at the door.” Brendan’s father pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m going to open it. Don’t try and stop me.”
Brendan followed his father down the hall to the front door. After peeking through the curtains that shrouded the tiny window in the top of the door, Brendan’s father grasped the handle and swung it open.
Brendan’s heart sank. Standing on the front porch in the glow of the porch light was Charles. She was the picture of thin teenage waif in ragged jeans and a Clash T-shirt. An oversized leather jacket draped her shoulders. She carried a backpack encrusted with patches and band buttons, held together with safety pins. Seeing Brendan’s father, she grinned shyly, completing the helpless persona.
“Allo,” she said, affecting a heavy Quebecois accent. “Is Brendan at ’ome?”
“You’re in luck. He’s right behind me,” Brendan’s father said. He stepped aside to reveal Brendan, whose face was a mask of shock.
“I ’ope you don’t mind my just coming over but I was passing by,” the girl said shyly.
“Who’s this, Brendan?” said his mother, coming out of the living room.
“She? Uh… ” Brendan stammered. “Uh… ”
The girl laughed prettily. “I can’t believe Brendan ’asn’t mentioned me. My name is Charlie Lutine.”
Getting over his shock, Brendan felt anger bubble up in his stomach. This was way out of bounds! This was breaking all the rules!
Brendan’s mum raised an eyebrow at Brendan. “I’m sure he was working up the courage to introduce us to his new girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” Brendan’s dad was beaming. “Well, isn’t this nice?”
Brendan’s jaw dropped. Girlfriend? His heart sank. His conversation with his mum had backfired. He tried to think of a way out but he was stuck.
“You should have called,” Brendan said, trying to hide his fury with a light tone.
“I’m sorry.” She smiled sweetly. “My cellphone, she die an hour ago. Like I said, I was ’oping to surprise you.”
“Oh, it’s a surprise all right,” Brendan muttered between gritted teeth.
Delia shouldered her way between her parents. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Charlie,” the girl said with a smile. “You must be Delia. Brendan’s told me a lot about you.”
Delia managed to look disgusted, surprised, and suspicious all at the same time. “He has?”
“Oh, yes!” Charlie assured her. Then she shivered theatrically.
Brendan’s father practically leapt to take her arm and draw her into the house. “Come in out of the cold. We’ll make you some tea.”
Brendan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. All he could do was stand by helplessly as his parents ushered the girl into his home.
^ 29 Being a Toronto Maple Leafs fan can now be used as a mental disability claim and a legal defence.