Ducky ambled out of the bedroom, toting a dirt-flecked Tupperware tub. There were loose packets of pills, lime-green and pink lozenges, a couple of vials with faded labels. A hypodermic needle, securely wrapped and sterilized. He set the Tupperware down on the wobbly-legged kitchen table, inviting Seelie to inspect the lot.
“Got your whole shopping list,” he said. “Month’s supply of the good stuff. Got your estrogen, anti-androgens—”
Seelie held up a vial and squinted at the fine print. “Cutting a little close to the expiration date here.”
“Hey, as the saying goes, beggars something choosers something. It’s all good. You know I deliver.”
“You do. Same price?”
“Same.”
Seelie had a small wad of cash, courtesy of Arthur. The last one ever. She realized she should make it last, for safety’s sake; on the other hand, these weren’t the kinds of medications you could skip taking once you started.
She peeled off almost the entire stack of bills and handed it over. She’d have to figure something out by this time next month, find another reliable source of income, but she was good for now. Ducky gave her the ultimate show of respect in his line of work: he pocketed the cash without counting it.
“So, about this guy you might have,” she said.
“You know why I like you, Seelie?”
She glanced down at her concert T-shirt. “We’re both Nightwish fans?”
“Because you’re my one and only customer who I know will never pull any stupid junkie shit. When you asked if I could get your, you know, your meds, I thought you were crazy. Not my usual line of product.”
“Worked out for both of us,” Seelie said.
“It has. And more importantly, I know you’re not gonna get strung out and show up on my doorstep with a piece, looking to rip me off. That kind of emotional stability is rare and exceptional, considering my usual clientele. So when you tell me you’re trying to crack into some stolen goods, I get a little concerned.”
“It’s not stolen,” she said.
“Just not yours.”
“It’s complicated.”
He gave her an appraising look. She responded with sad kitten eyes, batting her lashes as melodramatically as she could, until he held up his hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay. Camera shop over by First Avenue and East Sixth. Brett, the guy who runs the place, does a little fencing on the side. He’s always willing to buy electronics, no questions asked. If anybody can get into a locked phone, he can. I’ll call ahead and vouch for you.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, unzipping her backpack.
She dug out a little nest in the heart of her folded clothes, making room for the medicine. Ducky nodded at the wrapped hypodermic.
“Just don’t make me regret it. You want me to do your Estradiol?”
Seelie shoved her sleeve up. She could inject herself—squeamishness had to be the first thing to go when you accepted the grim necessity of turning your body into a DIY fixer-upper project—but Ducky was better at finding a vein. He had gotten off the smack a couple of years ago, but the pinprick scars along his arms were trophies from a lifetime of practice.
One more needle pinch. One more pill. One more wave of nausea and dizziness and stomachache as her body chemistry transformed, a magic trick slowly revealing itself. One more hormonal spike, one more tidal wave of fear and anxiety crashing down, one more night spent huddled on a bathroom floor, clutching her knees to her chest, rocking from side to side like Seelie’s bones were a cradle for the woman being born.
Birth was painful. That was all right. The pain brought a bit of beauty with it, to soften the sting. With every passing day Seelie felt a little more comfortable in her own skin. The mirror was a little easier to face, and the person in the glass looked a little more like her, her outsides and her insides drifting closer to alignment for the first time in her life.
Someday she would be all-the-way-Seelie, and that would be a grand day. For now she would just keep moving forward, keep swimming, keep surviving.
Seelie wasn’t under any illusions. She wasn’t chosen for some secret mission, wasn’t special. Arthur didn’t want her to have the phone: he just wanted it kept out of the missionary’s hands and she was in the right place at the wrong time. And the missionary was out there. Hunting her.
She’d keep moving. Keep swimming. Keep surviving.
7.
Tyler was a careful man.
Careful enough to exasperate his work spouse, who would jump