I patted Sterling’s arm as a sort of wordless “Thank you,” then shrugged him off and shook him loose. I looked around myself at all the stalls and attractions, then scratched the back of my neck. “I’m not really good at any of these games, though.”
“That’s silly,” Sterling said. “You’re good at a lot of things.” He winked slowly. “You know. Like stealing?”
“Sterling.” I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets and hissed. “I am not stealing from this place of purity and happiness. You’re joking.”
“I’m sure Madam Babbage won’t mind,” Asher said. “What’s one little prize? A stuffed animal? Pretty sure most of these games are rigged, anyhow.”
My eyes narrowed, and I squinted at him accusingly. “Since when were you okay with shit like this? We’re not criminals.”
“And if we were,” Sterling said, waving his lollipop like an instructor’s baton, “we would be handsome criminals.”
“It’s just a little innocent fun,” Asher said.
“It’s not like you’re going to hurt anyone,” Sterling cooed, his voice like butter.
“You’re a bad influence on him, Sterling. You know that, don’t you?”
Sterling scoffed. Asher shrugged. Then slowly, the two of them gave me the same lopsided grin, each mouth smiling out of the same corner.
“You guys are the worst.” I frowned, but then the gears started turning in my head.
What could it hurt? And
fine, I could stand to have a little mindless, harmless fun every once in a while. Sure. Why the hell not? I was a rogue. A rake. A charlatan. This was in my nature. Suddenly, my fingers itched. I reached for the star-metal amulet around my throat – my mother’s necklace, its jewel glassy and cool. It had become a touchstone in recent times, something to ground me, and give me strength.
“Gimme one of those lollipops, damn it.”
Asher peered into his bag. “Flavor?”
I set my jaw, peering into the distance, assessing the stalls as I searched for an easy mark. “I don’t care,” I declared, pouring more than a little bravado into my voice.
He unwrapped a lollipop for me, his mouth half-open in awe, then stuck it in my outstretched hand. “Here. For courage.”
I set my shoulders back, stuck my chest out, and rammed the lollipop in my mouth. Mmm. Strawberry. “I don’t need courage.” I pulled up my sleeves. “Here I go.”
“I’m swooning,” Sterling said. “He’s being so strong. Am I swooning? Asher, hold me.”
Asher just looked at him funny. But that did the trick. Emboldened, perhaps by a combination of gung-ho machismo and Sterling’s dumb supplications, I walked over to a tree, folded my arms, and leaned against its cool bark. When the coast was clear, I leaned further, deeper into the shadows, until I had entered the Dark Room.
Shadowstepping was second nature to me by then. All I really needed was to be in contact with enough darkness, a large enough pool of shadow to accommodate my awesome, totally ripped, not-at-all scrawny body, and I could slip into the mazes and tunnels of the Dark Room.
And go where? I did spot a pretty busy stall at the far end of the grounds, one of those games where you shoot a water gun into a clown’s mouth. The operator looked distracted enough, so I could appear in the shadows at the edge of his booth, quickly palm a prize, then go back to Sterling and Asher. Easy peasy.
The cool air of the evening ran over my skin as I slipped back out of the Dark Room and reentered our reality, right where I wanted: at the back of the stall, in a pile of confusingly oversized plush bears and rabbits. The air was misted with the misdirected spray of so many clown guns. I frowned at the players from the darkness. Learn to aim, guys.
I sputtered and picked something off my tongue – a piece of fluff, probably from one of the dolls – and for a second I considered what I was even doing. Not bowing to peer pressure, oh no, that’s for sure. And I certainly wasn’t stealing a gift for anyone but myself. I was doing it for me. For fun. And most importantly, for me.
Not for anyone else, I thought to myself, as I wondered whether Herald would prefer the blue bunny or the pink pig. Herald, who was – what were we, anyway? Just buddies, right? Just a couple of dudes. Best friends.
Which was why I couldn’t just mess everything up between us. I couldn’t risk ruining a friendship forged over long nights spent talking, or playing video games on his couch, of doing one or the other so late into the night that we’d look out the window to find that morning had nearly arrived.
And sometimes, we would share a beer on his balcony, watching the coming of a new sun, saying nothing as the sky went from black, to purple, to gold. And sometimes, he’d fall asleep on my shoulder, drooling out of one corner of his mouth, and when he’d wake up I’d mock him and pretend that I hated it.
You know. Just regular friend stuff.
In the end I grabbed a tiger, who frowned at me with his angry little tiger face. I don’t know. It was cute. It seemed appropriate.
Careful not to draw attention to myself, I slipped the tiger inside my jacket, my heart thumping with the thrill of petty thievery. My other hand, though, was already reaching for my wallet, thumbing through the bills.