Tails of Wonder and Imagination - By Ellen Datlow Page 0,18

that you won't look into his eyes. No matter what, do not meet his gaze with your own."

"Or what? He'll turn me into a pumpkin?"

"Something worse," she says in all seriousness.

She gets out of the car before I can press her on it, but I'm not about to let it go. I get out my side and join her on the sidewalk. She takes my hand and leads me quickly into the shadows cast by a tall hedge that runs the length of the property, separating her ex's house from its neighbours. I like the feel of her skin against mine. She lets go all too soon.

"What's really going on here?" I ask her. "I mean, I pick you up outside a girl bar on Gracie Street where you're dressed like a hooker, and now we're about to creep some magic guy's house to get your cat back. None of this is making a whole lot of sense."

"And yet you are here."

I give her a slow nod. "Maybe I should never have looked in your eyes," I say.

I'm joking, but she's still all seriousness when she answers.

"I would never do such a thing to another human being," she tells me. "Yes, I went out looking the way I did in hopes of attracting a man such as you, but there was no magic involved."

I focus on the "a man such as you," not sure I like what it says about what she thinks of me. I may not look like much, which translates into a lot of nights spent on my own, but I've never paid for it.

"You looked like a prostitute, trying to pick up a john or some freak."

She actually smiles, her teeth flashing in the shadows, white against her dark skin.

"No, I was searching for a man who would desire me enough to want to be close to me, but who had the heart to listen to my story and the compassion to want to help once he knew the trouble I was in."

"I think you've got the wrong guy," I tell her. "Neither of those are things I'm particularly known for."

"And yet you are here," she says again. "And you shouldn't sell yourself short. Sometimes we don't fulfill our potential only because there is no one in our life to believe in us."

I've got an idea where she's going with that—Hank and Moth have talked about that kind of thing some nights when we're sitting around a campfire in the junkyard, not to mention every damn social worker who's actually trying to do their job—but I don't want to go there with her any more than I do with them. It's a nice theory, but I've never bought it. Your life doesn't go a certain way just because other people think that's the way it will.

"You were taking a big chance," I say instead. "You could've picked up some freak with a knife who wasn't going to stop to listen."

She shakes her head. "No one would have troubled me."

"But you need my help with your ex."

"That is different. I have looked in his eyes. He has sewn black threads in my soul and without a champion at my side, I'm afraid he would pull me back under his influence."

This I understand. I've helped a couple of women get out of a bad relationship by pounding a little sense into their ex-boyfriend's head. It's amazing how the threat of more of the same is so much more effective than a restraining order.

"So you're looking for some muscle to pound on your ex."

"I'm hoping that won't be necessary. You wouldn't want him for an enemy."

"Some people say you're judged by your enemies."

"Then you would be considered a powerful man, too," she says.

"So the get-up you had on was like a costume."

She nods, but even in the shadows I can see the bitter look that comes into her eyes.

"I have many 'costumes' such as that," she says. "My boyfriend insists I wear them in order to appear attractive. He likes it that men would desire me, but could not have me."

"Boy, what planet is he from?" I say. "You could wear a burlap sack and you'd still be drop-dead gorgeous."

"You did not like the dress?"

I shrug. "What can I say? I'm a guy. Of course I liked it. I'm just saying you don't need it."

"You are very sweet."

Again with the making nice. Funny thing is, I don't want to argue it with her anymore. I find I like the