The thing that I love about Central Park is that once you’re past its gates, as long as you don’t look up and see the skyscrapers, it’s like you’re not in the city anymore. Instead it’s its own secluded patch of universe, out of time and out of mind; away from the noise and pollution and total jerks that make up New York City. It’s a place where my kind of people can actually belong. I tried to express this feeling to Anjin once, but all he said was, “What the hell have you been smoking, Kiyohime?”
Which is partly why he’s not my boyfriend anymore.
I came to the park after we broke up. It was too cold for anybody to be out, so the chance of muggers was next to nothing. I would have liked to see one try and jump me in this mood, though. Just like Anjin, they would have gotten a hell of a surprise.
I walked to blow off steam. Each footstep pounded the pavement—if I’d been my other self, it would have been reduced to rubble. I couldn’t believe the things Anjin had said to me, or that I’d stayed with such a jerk for so long. The thought of him made me so, so angry. I felt my other self writhe inside me, eager to be let out and to cause chaos.
No. I told it. You’ve had enough for one day.
My other self shrieked at that. Its screams were harsh and grating and something that only I could hear. I gritted my teeth. Not even the park could calm this fury. I prayed that a mugger would be stupid enough to attack me. I really needed to hit something.
I was walking by when I spotted him. At first I thought he was just another homeless person, huddled on a bench with his long, dirty grey hair blowing in the wind. But he looked up as I passed, and I saw that he was young, too young for that hair; and absolutely beautiful—in a wasted kind of way. I found myself stopping and staring. His eyes were the color of a leaf, shifting from spring green to a rich orange, and finally down to a skeletal, fallen grey. Behind the kaleidoscope, they were…empty. Their owner was dying inside.
So I did the only thing that I could do. Clearing my throat, I looked him in the eye and asked,
“Can you play the bass?”
He said that he couldn’t, but that he was willing to learn if it meant a job. It’s better than nothing, I thought. Even with Anjin, our band hadn’t exactly been on our way to becoming the Gods (and Goddess) of Rock. We hadn’t had a gig in quite a while, and nobody could decide on a name. Now that Anjin had walked we needed something, and we needed it now. I deemed this a chance worthy of taking.
I brought my new friend to the Y and gave him some money and the combination to Anjin’s locker. I told him to take anything he needed from it (Anjin wouldn’t need anything anymore), and then to meet me later. I also gave him the address of the Loft, my band mate Ouro’s place, where we usually practiced and often crashed. He nodded his thanks, and I turned to go. For a split of a second he looked like there was something he wanted to tell me, but then he simply went inside.
Which left me with nothing left to do but explain to the band. Taking a deep breath, I headed to the Loft.
“WHAT?” Manx yowled. The string he was tuning suddenly snapped. As our guitarist, he’s has always been a little (forgive the pun) high-strung, but I’d never seen him this wired before.
I shrugged and sat down on one of the beanbags scattered about the room.
“I thought it was worth the risk.”
“Worth the risk? Worth the risk?!?”
“Cool it, Manx. Blood pressure.” Ragdoll, our manager hissed. She’s either his sister or his girlfriend, but I’ve never thought of a polite way to ask. The two of them have a tendency to scratch out the eyes of those who offend them.
Manx set his axe down and sprang to his feet. His golden, slit-pupil eyes were glowing under his shaggy hair. “I’m not gonna ‘cool it’! Godsdammit, Kiyo! You find some random hobo on the street and say ‘Gee, mister, wanna join my band?’ How thick can you get? It was hard enough hiding things from Anjin, and now you’ve gone and got us another mortal. And a hobo at that!”
My other self started at the insult and growled. I fought it down and said, “Hobos don’t exist anymore. And I didn’t find him on the street. He was in the park.”
Ragdoll stopped her grooming. Manx froze. The door to the kitchen opened and Ouro stepped out, all muscle and tattoos. In his soft, somehow resonant voice, he asked,
“The park? What was he like then?”
I described the guy, especially his eyes. Ouro sat on a beanbag and sighed. Ragdoll yawned and went back to playing with her hair. Manx hissed, his own hair practically on end.
“You. Have. Got. To. Be. KIDDING ME!”
I shrugged again. “I’m not.”
Manx tugged on his hair and moaned. He was quiet for a moment, but then he was off again, his voice a sardonic purr.
“I’ve got the purrfect name for the band, guys. Freakshow. How ‘bout it? After all, we’ve already got a dragon girl, a couple of werecats, and the personification of primordial unity—soon to be joined by a flippin’ faerie. I bet he’s a junkie. Most mythics who come out of the park are, you know.”
“Funny.” Ouro said quietly. “But didn’t I find you there?”
Manx’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment I could see his other form, a scruffy little lynx with yellowish eyes. Then he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. After a moment Ragdoll stood and stared at Ouro, and then at me.
“Sorry, guys.” She went to follow him, but when she opened the door somebody was standing in her way. It took a moment for me to recognize that it was the guy from the park; the flippin’ faerie, as Manx had put it. He looked even more beautiful now that he was clean, but also terribly embarrassed.
“Have I come at a bad time?” His voice was almost as soft as Ouro’s, with an accent that I didn’t recognize. Manx was right. This guy was no mortal.
“Nope.” I told him. “This sort of thing just tends to happen. You know string players. Always a little neurotic.”
He dipped his head in what might have been a little bow. “I’m afraid that I don’t know of such things.” He paused and glanced around. “Perhaps I should leave.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Ragdoll just angled past him and went off down the hall. He looked like he wanted to follow her, but then Ouro said,
“Wait a minute. Let’s try you out.”
I could hardly believe my ears. Staring open-mouthed, I asked for what must have been the hundredth time,
“Are you sure you’ve never played before?”
The faerie was standing there awkwardly. He was using Anjin’s bass and wearing Anjin’s clothes, and it all looked so strange to me; but damn, could he play.
“No.” He said. “I have not.”
I gave a sideways glance to Ouro. He grinned at me and then said, “I think we’ve got ourselves a bass player.”
The faerie flushed slightly, looking pleased. He suddenly bowed, his long hair—silver now that it’d been washed—flowing stream-like over his shoulders.
“Thank you. I shall repay your kindness in full.”
For some reason I flushed too, and Ouro raised an eyebrow. Looking at our newest band member, he asked, “What’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking.”
This made the faerie blush even more. “The closest parallel, I believe,” He mumbled to his boots. “Is Silver be thy Steps.”
“Sounds like a mouthful to me.” I said.
Ouro shot a look my way and held out a hand to him. “I think it’s a fine name. I’m Ouroboros.”
Silver be thy Steps stared at Ouro’s hand blankly. He clearly didn’t understand the gesture. Suddenly wanting to keep him from being even more embarrassed, I smiled at him and said, “And I’m Kiyohime.”
Silver be thy Steps looked up at me, and I noticed that his eyes weren’t that dead grey anymore. They were now a pale yellow. He bowed again, slightly, and said,
“A pleasure to meet you, Kiyohime.”
It took me a moment to tear my eyes away from his. I heard Ouro click his tongue quietly, and I elbowed his ribs. Silver be thy Steps watched it all with confusion.
The next few months flew by in a flash. At first Manx hadn’t been thrilled to meet Silver (As he’d eventually become known); but then again he might have just been annoyed with me because of how I’d described him to him: A fair enough axe player, but he can’t sing and he’s really just in it for the girls. The bloody tomcat. The two of them got on well enough after a while, though, especially after Manx realized that girls seemed to flock wherever Silver went. Even so, he still gave me the silent treatment for about a week.
Ragdoll, on the other hand, was my new best friend. It was amazing, according to her, that I had been able to single out the one person who could possibly save the band. And it really seemed like Silver could, too. For whatever reason, whenever Silver played with us, our fingers flew faster, the notes were sweeter-I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was working a kind of magic.
Ouro was probably the only one who wasn’t affected by our newest member. He was the same as always, playing his keyboard, breaking up fights, and dispensing little pearls of wisdom wherever needed. One bit of advice, however, I was loathe to follow.
“Don’t fall in love with Silver, Kiyo.” He warned me one night. “If you thought Anjin was a bad deal, you’ll find he’ll be even worse. It’s in his nature. Even so, he’s a nice kid, and I’d hate to see him get the same as Anjin.”
I flushed, and my other self snarled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ouro gave me one long, level stare. For a moment he seemed ageless, and I was reminded of how frightening he had been when I had first met him.
“I know what you’ve done, dragon girl. I’m not going to turn you out or in, but I want you to keep your scaly self under control. Do you understand?”
I nodded, feeling one self shake, and the other self roar.
