Welcome to Bordertown by Ellen Kushner, Holly Black (editors) Page B

fuchsia smoke cleared, and a silver snake writhed on the floor at the bouncer’s feet. “Out, and regain your true shape on the other side of my door.”
    Trish held on to the dog, who wanted to chase the snake.
    And a big guy came rushing toward them, shouting, “Rosco, what are you— Oh my god. Trish!”
    Who was this guy? How did he know her real name?
    “Trish, it’s me! It’s Jimmy!”
    “Jimmy?” She stared at the tall man in the Mr. Fix-It T-shirt.
    “I’m Jimbo—your brother!”
    How could it be Jimmy? Jimmy was her baby brother. This was a grown man, her age or even older, with a big, muscular frame and large, hard hands and long brown hair pulled back in arubber band. He looked like a factory worker, like Dad or her uncle Al.
    “And this is Rosco, Trish—remember Rosco, our puppy?”
    The big hound licked her with a long pink tongue. And then she started crying. It was a good thing she had the dog to hold on to, to bury her face in while she sobbed for the lost years.
    *   *   *
     
    Anush looked helplessly down at the weeping girl and then at the big guy who was her brother. Not knowing what else to do, he held out his hand. “Anush Gupta,” he said. “I’m a friend of Trish. This is, um, what I really look like. When I’m not messing around with elves.”
    “Nice to meet you.” The brother shook hands. “I’m Jimmy. She just calls me Jimbo. Nobody else does.” Anush heard the warning, and nodded. “Kind of a shock for her, huh?”
    “Kind of.”
    “I’m with the band. Special effects.”
    “Really?” Anush was impressed. “Then I’ve got you to thank for helping me out. Indirectly. You must have blown every magic fuse in B-town.”
    Jimmy ducked his head. “No big.” He glanced behind him at the chaos that still reigned. “Listen, I’d better get back there and try to fix things. But … could you look after Trish for me? I’ll talk to her as soon as I can. But meanwhile, tell her I’m here for her. Tell her it’s all gonna be okay.”
    “Sure.” Anush nodded. “There’s just one thing—do you think you could find me a shirt?”
    Jimmy grinned and untied the flannel shirt from around his waist. It was a little wrinkled, but at least it didn’t smell like wet dog.
    Up on the stage, a tall, spidery guy with silver dreadlocks tookthe mike. “Folks!” he said. “Lords and ladies of Soho, please try to control your flashing eyes and floating hair—because the Show Must Go On!”
    There were cheers and jeers from the floor.
    “Elfies, halfies, and long-leggity beasties … you came for music, and music you shall have! After we—and maybe some of you—perform a few minor technical adjustments. Meanwhile, however, I am glad to say that we have with us in the house tonight, Soho’s very own harper of high renown, the Master of Melody, the Sultan of String, the great—though not the late—
Mister
Ossian Feldenkranz!”
    *   *   *
     
    Trish looked up as the harper took the stage. He settled on his chair and lifted his hands.
Oh, please
, she thought,
oh, please
.… She buried her fingers deep in Rosco’s fur, willing it to happen. And the harper struck the opening notes of the song she needed him to play.
    How can there be an apple
    Without e’er a core
    How can there be a house
    Without e’er a door …?
     
    My head is the apple without e’er a core
    My mind is the house without e’er a door
    And my heart is the palace
    Wherein she may be
    And she may unlock it
    Without e’er a key
     
    At last, Trish heard the answers to the Riddle Song.
    My head is the apple without e’er a core.… My mind is the house without e’er a door
.…
    She’d thought no one understood that. But long ago, someone somewhere had known and had written a song.
    She felt a hand on her head. She prepared herself to look up, full of apologies, at Jimmy.
    But it was Anush, tentatively stroking her hair. He crouched down beside her. “You okay?”
    Trish nodded.
    He handed