most certainly do not.”
“Oh, but I’m quite thirsty,” said Coyote. “Just one drink?”
“First rule of bartending: never let a trickster speak.” Old Scraps pointed a stiff finger toward the door. “Out!”
“But I’ve already spoken. If you kick me out now, you might be doing exactly what I want you to do.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
Coyote leaned back out the door and looked up at the sign. Then he leaned back in. “What if I assure you that I am quite damned?”
“Of that, I am most certain. Still won’t get you a drink. Out! Out, out, and out.”
A moment of silence gripped the bar; a standoff, a stare down. Coyote dared not take a step farther without permission, as only a fool angered a drunk. Nevertheless, Old Scraps was equally as cautious; if Coyote wasn’t there for him, there was no need to earn his ire.
“Why’d you do it?” asked Colby. All eyes fell on him.
Coyote smiled. “Whatever are you—?”
Colby interrupted him coldly, his tone bitter and calculated. “Pretend for a moment that I know exactly how smart you are. Why’d you do it?”
Coyote was caught in a lie and had the sheepish grin to show for it. “All things must be taught a lesson,” he said. “Even ancient ones. Especially ancient ones. I am life’s hard lesson.”
“I know what you are,” said Colby. “Why are you here?”
“Because nobody ever learns. Here we are fourteen years later and children are still slaves to their wishes. You’d think growing up would change that, but it only makes it worse.”
“I think we’ve heard enough,” said Yashar.
“Yes,” smiled Coyote. “More than enough.”
“Get out,” said Old Scraps.
“Good night,” said Coyote before fading away.
Only the overhead bulbs made noise, their stinging hum slightly less abrasive than Coyote. Yashar leaned forward onto the bar top, shaking his head. “Never, in all my years, have I met a creature who could kill a good buzz quicker than Coyote.”
Old Scraps nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Bartender,” said Colby. “Why don’t you hit me and my imaginary friend here with a double each? I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.”
“You can s-s-s-s-s-say that again,” Yashar slurred.
Colby eyed Yashar for a second. “Is that a new jacket?”
“Yeah,” answered Yashar. “You like it?”
“Whatever happened to the robes and the sash and all the gold doodads?”
“I just wear that getup for the kids.” He smiled, basking in his own cleverness. “I mean, honestly, would you make a wish to someone in this jacket?”
“I certainly wouldn’t have held your hand.”
“Touché.” Once again, the two fist-bumped without having to make eye contact. “It’s all about appearances, my friend. Sometimes it takes a bit of a con to get someone pointed in the right direction.” He paused for a moment. “You know that’s what Coyote was doing, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Colby nodded dourly. “I know.”
“But you’re going to go check on Ewan anyway, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“No way I can talk you out of it?”
“You could always give me another wish.”
“Forget it. You’re overdrawn, my friend. You’ve had more than your fair share of wishes.”
“Aw, but I haven’t actually gotten anything I really wanted yet.”
“Oh, shut up,” said Yashar. “I gave you everything you asked for. Don’t blame me for your taste in wishes. I could have given you a puppy and a girlfriend and you would have been the happiest eight-year-old in north-central Austin.”
“And miss out on all this?” said Colby, motioning around the spartan bar.
“I could take it all back, you know. Undo the whole thing. I’d do that for you.”
“Yeah, I know. But you can’t take back time.”
“No. No one can.”
“You might as well just cut out my eyes and seal my ears in wax. I’d know what was beyond the veil, but couldn’t see or protect myself from it. I’d spend my days rocking back and forth, paranoid about whatever was standing looking over my shoulder.”
Yashar nodded. “I could make you forget, but . . .”
“. . . then you’d have to start from scratch, yeah. New kid and all.”
“Yes.”
“That wouldn’t work either. I’d be dead inside a week. I’ve made my bed, now I’ve got to spend the rest of my life lying in it.”
Old Scraps wiped the bar top in front of them with a greasy rag, leaving more slop behind than he was picking up. “How many times are you two dillholes going to have this conversation?”
“Till we don’t have to have it anymore, I suppose,” said Colby. Shaking his head he threw back