Darling - K. Ancrum Page 0,38

going to go back to my family and apologize and get all my real paperwork, and I’ll get a job and go back to study. Maybe go to a trade school or something.”

“You could do this now,” Fyodor said lowly. “Nothing to stop you.”

Curly frowned. “The timing isn’t right yet. You don’t know what I did, Fyodor. Just take my word for it.”

Fyodor turned around to face them both, his heavy-lidded eyes serious. With the cigarette in his hand, he gestured at Curly’s pocket and at the prying tool he had on his back. “You make slingshot, you make that. You weld. You could get apprenticeship, easy. Anyone can see. You need to come out from pretty cave you made and choose real world. You are ready.”

“Bro, I don’t think we’re allowed to smoke on the bus,” Charles interrupted, looking over his shoulder at the cloud of smoke surrounding Fyodor.

“You are ready,” Fyodor said firmly, ignoring Charles. “Seventeen? Anywhere else, you are a man.”

Curly seemed very cross suddenly and opened his mouth to argue, but Fyodor kept going.

“You can keep that secret?” He nodded over at Ominotago. “You can keep secret of your freedom. I know this.” Fyodor reached over and squeezed Curly’s shoulder. Then he leaned back and grinned mischievously. “If not, would be easy finding women to take care of you. You make … pretty things.”

Curly’s entire face went pink immediately, his mouth a small o of shocked pleasure. Wendy watched in exhilarated surprise as Fyodor raked his eyes up and down Curly with astonishing heat and Curly covered his blazing cheeks with both hands. Apparently she’d guessed correctly about Fyodor’s flirting habits.

“Leave Curly alone!” Ominotago shouted across the bus, noticing instantly.

Fyodor barked out a peal of laughter, before winking at Ominotago and clicking loudly out of the side of his mouth in dismissal. He refocused his attention on Wendy and continued. “He make … what is it called? The hmm … display on the ceiling and walls in Peter’s house. Very talented.”

Wendy remembered the incredible bottle installation and understood Fyodor’s struggle to come up with a word to describe it. It was probably the best piece of art she’d ever seen in her life. There had to have been thousands of bottles, and it had to have taken Curly months or even years to build.

She also remembered the crates and the intricate placement of household objects by color. Then her gaze tracked back to the embroidery on Curly’s denim jacket.

“You’re incredible, Curly,” she gasped.

“It’s not a big deal,” Curly mumbled, clearly embarrassed by all the attention. “My mom was an artist.”

“You are an artist,” Fyodor replied lowly. He tilted his head back and let the smoke leak out of his mouth, sultry and smooth like a 1930s film star.

“FYODOR,” Ominotago cried, slamming a hand down on the seat sharply.

“Okay,” Fyodor said firmly, putting his cigarette out on the back of the seat in front of him. “I do not stop. She make us run drills,” he remarked to Wendy, rolling his eyes.

“We’re almost there.” Curly stood up suddenly, leaned over Fyodor, and pulled the cord on the window to let the driver know to stop the bus. Then he stumbled down the stairs to the side door, like he was relieved for a reason to escape the conversation.

Wendy turned anxiously to Tinkerbelle. She had been so tired from all the running, and distracted from meeting so many people in such a short amount of time, she’d forgotten they were going anywhere at all. She assumed they’d just hopped onto the bus to escape.

Tinkerbelle nodded out the window as everyone got to their feet. “The Mermaid’s Lagoon,” she said to Wendy. “We’re getting in through the back.”

“I bet you Peter is already there,” Ominotago said to Tinkerbelle as they stepped onto the pavement outside. “That son of a bitch can wiggle out of anything.”

Tinkerbelle made a little hum in agreement as Wendy followed her into the street. The bus door snapped shut behind Wendy, and she jumped anxiously. Unthinkingly she reached out to Tinkerbelle, then realized what she was doing and dropped her arms to her sides.

Ominotago caught the gesture and paused. She dropped Tinkerbelle’s hand and turned, catching both of Wendy’s hands in hers. Then Ominotago breathed in deeply and let the breath out slowly.

The lights of the Mermaid’s Lagoon glowed rainbows across the sidewalk behind Ominotago, and the streetlamp threw her face into shadow, like the center of a halo. Wendy glanced over Ominotago’s shoulder at