it might have been facial exercises. She couldn't tell. Anne made suds in the tiny sink and washed the mixing bowl.
Anne looked good. The docs were calling it remission. Her hair was growing back, the thick lovely hair that she had lost with the chemo. And she looked oifferent with a nat-style torso, two breasts, fake but shapely. She wasn't even unhappy about the line of scars where her other five pairs of breasts had been.
Humming a tune. Zoe hadn't seen her this happy - since she cooked for Bjorn. Zoe swallowed coffee and tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.
Croyd polished off the late plate of blintzes, drank down the juice, chased it with coffee, and got up. He brought his empty, make that gleaming, plate to Anne.
"Excellent blintzes. Wonderful blintzes. The best blintzes I have ever had." He bent and kissed Anne's cheek, as if he were a son, a long-lost member of the family. Anne just glowed.
"I like a little exercise when I wake up," Croyd said. "Is it spring?"
"It's May," Anne said.
"Good. I need to walk. Come with me, Zoe." He twisted his hands in odd circles, stared at his palms, lifted up on his toes as if he were trying to fly. Weird.
"Uh ..."
"Please?"
Well. She might just be inclined to follow that grin almost anywhere, and she didn't want his twitchy behavior to disturb Anne.
"Sure."
Zoe gave her plate to Anne and hugged her.
Croyd hurried toward the souk at a fast pace, his hands in his pockets, alert, watchful. He sniffed at the air as if to catch every scent.
"So those were blintzes," Croyd said. "I've never had blintzes before."
"Did you like them?" Zoe asked.
"Yeah."
She was glad she had her sneakers on. They were moving at almost a trot.
"What's the hurry?" Zoe asked.
"I'm hungry," Croyd said. He looked up at the rooftops along the narrow street and suddenly swerved to get close to the wall. "We're being watched."
"Yeah. Fist guards." She couldn't see anything, just purple twilight and a clear sky. "They watch everything."
"I don't like it."
"They're on our side, Croyd."
She followed him under a vendor's awning. On our side? Well, yes, maybe. The bastards. She'd been unable to figure out a safe way to contact them again. They weren't exactly in the phone book, and she didn't think another trip to the Gate was a good idea.
Needles hadn't said a word to her since her visit to the Gate. He was trying to be subtle about it, but he just wasn't around when Zoe was awake. Angelfish had found things to say to her, had been very nice the last few days, had been available to chat, which wasn't like him at all. Guarding Needles from her, her from Needles. But Needles looked okay. Sort of.
Croyd bought three skewers of shaslik, lamb and peppers and tomatoes, richly spiced, dripping and grilled almost black. He dipped the sticks in a paper cup of yogurt sauce and munched them down. "Want one?" he asked.
"No, thanks. Why were you wiggling around at home?"
"Checking to see what powers I've got this time."
"Did you find out?"
"Nope." He turned to the vendor and thanked him effusively in a language Zoe had never heard. The old man bowed, slapped Croyd on the back, and replied at length, smiling a gap-toothed smile.
Croyd did a little bow, one of those maneuvers with gestures toward his forehead, heart, and middle. He handed over the skewers and grabbed Zoe's hand, pulling her toward the back of the stall and through a gloomy doorway.
"Well," Croyd said. "I never spoke Basque before."
"Basque?" Zoe asked, but they were in a dim space filled with brass and carpets, and Croyd was chatting with a very large man dressed in a caftan of a most violent shade of purple. Something went from Croyd's hand to his, and something went in Croyd's pocket.
Out the back door, into an alley, through another door, and then another, Zoe had never known the Joker Quarter to have so many passageways, or so many places to eat.
Croyd tried a piece of baklava and then bought a pan of it. He ate cucumbers,
Anne looked good. The docs were calling it remission. Her hair was growing back, the thick lovely hair that she had lost with the chemo. And she looked oifferent with a nat-style torso, two breasts, fake but shapely. She wasn't even unhappy about the line of scars where her other five pairs of breasts had been.
Humming a tune. Zoe hadn't seen her this happy - since she cooked for Bjorn. Zoe swallowed coffee and tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.
Croyd polished off the late plate of blintzes, drank down the juice, chased it with coffee, and got up. He brought his empty, make that gleaming, plate to Anne.
"Excellent blintzes. Wonderful blintzes. The best blintzes I have ever had." He bent and kissed Anne's cheek, as if he were a son, a long-lost member of the family. Anne just glowed.
"I like a little exercise when I wake up," Croyd said. "Is it spring?"
"It's May," Anne said.
"Good. I need to walk. Come with me, Zoe." He twisted his hands in odd circles, stared at his palms, lifted up on his toes as if he were trying to fly. Weird.
"Uh ..."
"Please?"
Well. She might just be inclined to follow that grin almost anywhere, and she didn't want his twitchy behavior to disturb Anne.
"Sure."
Zoe gave her plate to Anne and hugged her.
Croyd hurried toward the souk at a fast pace, his hands in his pockets, alert, watchful. He sniffed at the air as if to catch every scent.
"So those were blintzes," Croyd said. "I've never had blintzes before."
"Did you like them?" Zoe asked.
"Yeah."
She was glad she had her sneakers on. They were moving at almost a trot.
"What's the hurry?" Zoe asked.
"I'm hungry," Croyd said. He looked up at the rooftops along the narrow street and suddenly swerved to get close to the wall. "We're being watched."
"Yeah. Fist guards." She couldn't see anything, just purple twilight and a clear sky. "They watch everything."
"I don't like it."
"They're on our side, Croyd."
She followed him under a vendor's awning. On our side? Well, yes, maybe. The bastards. She'd been unable to figure out a safe way to contact them again. They weren't exactly in the phone book, and she didn't think another trip to the Gate was a good idea.
Needles hadn't said a word to her since her visit to the Gate. He was trying to be subtle about it, but he just wasn't around when Zoe was awake. Angelfish had found things to say to her, had been very nice the last few days, had been available to chat, which wasn't like him at all. Guarding Needles from her, her from Needles. But Needles looked okay. Sort of.
Croyd bought three skewers of shaslik, lamb and peppers and tomatoes, richly spiced, dripping and grilled almost black. He dipped the sticks in a paper cup of yogurt sauce and munched them down. "Want one?" he asked.
"No, thanks. Why were you wiggling around at home?"
"Checking to see what powers I've got this time."
"Did you find out?"
"Nope." He turned to the vendor and thanked him effusively in a language Zoe had never heard. The old man bowed, slapped Croyd on the back, and replied at length, smiling a gap-toothed smile.
Croyd did a little bow, one of those maneuvers with gestures toward his forehead, heart, and middle. He handed over the skewers and grabbed Zoe's hand, pulling her toward the back of the stall and through a gloomy doorway.
"Well," Croyd said. "I never spoke Basque before."
"Basque?" Zoe asked, but they were in a dim space filled with brass and carpets, and Croyd was chatting with a very large man dressed in a caftan of a most violent shade of purple. Something went from Croyd's hand to his, and something went in Croyd's pocket.
Out the back door, into an alley, through another door, and then another, Zoe had never known the Joker Quarter to have so many passageways, or so many places to eat.
Croyd tried a piece of baklava and then bought a pan of it. He ate cucumbers,
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