Between Friends: A City Between Compliation Read online

  Between Friends

  A City Between Compliation

  W.R. Gingell

  Cover by Ammonia Nikolova

  Copyright © 2022 by W.R. Gingell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For Pet, JinYeong, Zero, and Athelas.

  Thanks for the memories and the sneaky therapy.

  Contents

  1. Training the Pet

  2. Pet vs Vampire

  3. Widdershins to Deiseil

  4. Zero Sum Game

  5. Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears

  6. North by Tuatu

  7. All the Different Shades of Blue

  8. Ties that Bind

  9. Watermelon in the Moonlight

  10. Hockey Sticks at Midnight

  11. Talking Shop

  12. Pins and Needles

  13. Zero Responsibility

  Training the Pet

  (This story occurs somewhere within the timeframe of book three)

  * * *

  The house was a mess. There was, in general, some mess to it; this time, however, the mess had all the distinct hallmarks of the Pet’s influence. The Pet, in fact, had been baiting the vampire, with the predictable result that JinYeong had bitten its arm.

  “Why can’t you train it?” complained JinYeong—or some facsimile thereof in Korean. JinYeong refused to speak English, and Zero understood him only because JinYeong tended to lace the things he wanted understood with copious hints of Between, making it inherently understandable to Zero.

  “Thought you wanted blood snacks,” said the Pet. “Look, my arm’s gone all floppy again. I can’t cook with a floppy arm.”

  “JinYeong, stop biting the Pet,” said Zero. He didn’t smile, and that was more than he’d hoped for.

  JinYeong said in excuse, “Yes, but hyeong, she’s so biteable.”

  “At least I’m not flamin’ annoying!” said the Pet.

  Zero saw JinYeong bite back a swift answer. Pouting now, the vampire said, “Pet. Good Pet. Give me blood snacks.”

  “Dunno,” said the Pet. “Told you; my arm’s gone floppy. How can I clear up in there with a floppy arm?”

  JinYeong made an annoyed noise and stalked into the kitchen, rolling his cuffs twice as he went. Zero heard the sound of dishes being cleared, and the Pet grinned its delight at the room.

  “I would also like to advocate for further training,” said Athelas, the fourth denizen of the house, though he looked more amused than disapproving.

  He was not, Zero noticed, sitting in his usual, favourite chair. The Pet had put Athelas’ tea and biscuits in a different spot this morning; it was now sitting cross-legged in Athelas’ favourite chair itself.

  “I don’t know,” said Zero very deliberately. “It seems to me that there has already been a more than successful level of training achieved.”

  Pet vs Vampire

  (This story also occurs somewhere within the timeframe of book three)

  * * *

  The vampire was hungry. Or was he irritated? He wasn’t sure.

  No, he was feeling oppressed; a gentle, flowery sort of oppression that curled its way around him and weighed him down invisibly.

  He had been feeling oppressed for the last week, in fact.

  He looked over at the Pet suspiciously, because when something went wrong or mischievous around the house, it was usually the Pet. His look did no good; the Pet was asleep with its brow creased, murmuring “No, no, no!” in an increasingly frantic voice.

  The vampire sauntered across the room and kicked the Pet’s couch as he passed by on the way to his bedroom. The Pet stopped whimpering with a small snort, falling asleep again, and the vampire padded softly upstairs.

  The feeling of discomfort was strongest in his bedroom, and he wanted to figure it out before the Pet was awake to watch him in silent sarcasm.

  The vampire paced into his room, and there it was again. That intangible sense of oppression.

  What was it?

  The vampire’s nose flared, and as it did, a sudden realisation struck him.

  There was an alien scent lingering in the air of his bedroom—or at least, a scent that wasn’t itself alien, but shouldn’t be where it was. Perhaps the familiarity of it was why it had taken him so long to figure it out.

  In his own language, he yelled, “Pet! Pet! Come here!” lacing it with magic to make sure the Pet woke.

  The Pet was there a moment later, big eyes blinking at him with unconvincing innocence. “Gunna hurt yourself, yelling like that,” it said, in English. Then it grinned at him. “Found something weird, did ya?”

  “Why is his scent in my room?” the vampire asked coldly.

  He asked it in his own language—as he always did. He knew the Pet could understand him; its eyes were dancing. No doubt it had put a drop of the house steward’s aftershave somewhere around his room—the wardrobe, by the smell of it.

  Despite that, the Pet said, “What? Can’t understand you. Speak English.”

  “Clean it up.”

  A little louder, as if to a deaf person, the Pet said, “What’s that? Can’t. Understand. You!”

  The vampire pointed into the wardrobe, warning the Pet with the faintest of snarls.

  “Oh, did someone spill Athelas’ aftershave in your wardrobe?” the Pet asked sympathetically. “What a shame. That musta been annoying you for so long.”

  The vampire grinned. No matter how sarcastic the Pet became, it would clean its mess.

  To his surprise, the Pet grinned back at him. “All right, fair cop,” it said. “But if I go overtime cleaning up here with soap and water, your dinner’s gunna be late.”

  The vampire’s eyes narrowed. They flicked from the Pet and down to his watch, then back to the Pet. There was barely half an hour before dinner time, and he was not the only denizen of the house.

  He pursed his lips, but clicked his fingers at the perfumed stain. The lingering scent of aftershave rose from the carpet and dissipated slowly.

  “Thanks!” said the Pet, its eyes bright. “See ya at dinner.”

  It skipped away down the stairs, and the vampire remembered too late—much too late—that tonight was takeaway night.

  He opened his mouth to call the Pet back, but it was already long gone, gurgles of laughter tripping down the stairs after it, and the vampire found that he was smiling.

  With difficulty, he made his mouth prim again. There was still the faintest scent of aftershave in the air, but he no longer felt oppressed.

  “Next time, Pet,” said the vampire.

  Widdershins to Deiseil

  (Yep. Book three again. If you look carefully, you’ll know exactly where…)

  * * *

  “Oi.”

  Detective Tuatu closed his eyes briefly, and opened them again. He knew that voice. A phone call from the girl called Pet was usually trouble.

  “What?” he asked cautiously. He already had a plant that seemed to watch him no matter where he was in the room thanks to Pet, and he didn’t want anything else off-loaded onto him. “I’ve got enough house plants and I’m better now.”

  “Know anything about widdershins?”

  “What?”

  “You know, widdershins?”

  “My grandmother said never to go that way.”

  “Oh. Whoops.”

  “Whoops, what?” Detective Tuatu stood involuntarily. Pet was trouble, but she was also human, unlike a lot o
f his new acquaintanceship, and he had a certain brotherly sort of care where she was concerned. “Where are you?”

  “Between a couple of floors, I reckon,” she said. “Relax. Sit back down. I’m fine. What else did your grandmother say about widdershins?”

  “Never go that way!”

  “You said that.”

  “Go back as soon as possible.”

  “What else?”

  Detective Tuatu found that he was squeezing the phone too tightly, and loosened his white-fingered grip. “Pet, where are you?”

  “Told ya. Between floors somewhere. Did your grandma tell you something about how to get out of somewhere when you’ve gone widdershins?”

  He cast about wildly in his mind, trying to think of those long-gone, sunny island days when his grandmother had seemed more mad than sane, but he hadn’t cared because he was a kid and she loved him.

  Nothing.

  He stared at the pot plant, and the pot plant stared back at him; then, dredged from the deepest mires of his memory, a word rose to the surface. “Deiseil!” he said. “She said you have to go deiseil to fix it. You have to look for the sun.”

  “Don’t reckon that’s gunna help,” she said. “I’m inside.”

  Detective Tuatu was about to ask again, and with considerably more force, exactly where she was, when it occurred to him to ask instead, “Does it have to be a real sun?”

  “Ohhhhh!” said Pet, her deep little voice amused and satisfied. “Ah man, that’s clever! Thanks! Catch ya next time!”

  She actually hung up on him.

  Detective Tuatu called her back, stabbing at the circular numbers on the touch pad of his phone, and when she picked up, he said, “Pet—”

  “Don’t call me,” said Pet’s voice. “I’m supposed to be sneaking. I’ll bring ya something nice as a thank you later on.”

  “Don’t bring me something!” said the detective, but it was too late. She’d already hung up again. He said accusingly to the pot plant, “Now look what you’ve done.”

  Zero Sum Game

  (This one is set between—ha!—books three and four)

  * * *

  Athelas sipped his tea.

  “You owe me,” said the Pet. “You flamin’ killed me!”

  “And yet,” said Athelas, “here we are!”

  “Doesn’t mean you didn’t kill me.”

  Athelas smiled faintly. The Pet was terrier-like in many ways.

  “I broke no bargains by killing you,” he told her.

  “That’s rude,” the Pet said gloomily. She didn’t argue, but that was true to form; the Pet had forgiven him for killing her, and she wouldn’t push beyond that forgiveness, even for the answers she so desperately wanted. “Could at least answer a few questions.”

  She knew he wouldn’t do so—he had made it very clear to her that he gave nothing for free.

  “Three questions,” he said, running a finger along the lip of his teacup briefly. “Nothing owed, nothing given.”

  “Thought you said it didn’t work like that,” said the Pet, shooting him a surprisingly sharp look. “Thought you said it had to be an even exchange.”

  “Consider this an exception.”

  “Can I save ’em up?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Can I save ’em up? Ask ’em another time.”

  “No.”

  “Oh. That’s a shame.”

  “You have no questions?” Athelas asked, amused. “How unusual.”

  “Nah. Got some questions about Zero.”

  Athelas stifled a sigh. He should have known. He would have to be careful how he answered questions about his lord.

  “How come Zero really keeps me here? And don’t tell me it’s ’cos of my cooking—I won’t believe you. I’m pretty sure you could get a fae butler who cooks better.”

  “I believe that Zero thinks you have hidden depths,” said Athelas thoughtfully, for he could only guess, himself. He had had his own reasons for instigating his lord to keep the Pet, but he was quite sure those reasons weren’t the same as Zero’s reasons for keeping her, though perhaps they overlapped. “You are certainly an oddity, for a human.”

  “How come you gave me three questions?”

  Athelas laughed softly. “Is that one of your questions?”

  “Nope,” said the Pet, and her little face was sharp and bright. “Just checking something.”

  “What were you checking?”

  “Oi, whose questions are these, mine or yours?”

  “Answering a question with a question, Pet?”

  “Getting good at this, aren’t I?” she said, with a small, deep chuckle.

  “A matter of perspective, I suspect. Well?”

  “You said not to get fond of Zero, because fae can’t be fond of people.”

  “Quite correct—but not a question.”

  “Yeah, but you’re fae, too.”

  “Also correct—also not a question.”

  “Well, what do you do when you find yourself getting fond of someone?”

  “I do not,” said Athelas, sipping his tea, “get fond of people.”

  “All right,” said the Pet. “You want another cuppa?”

  Athelas, for once startled into putting down his teacup, asked, “Are you not going to ask your last question?”

  “Nope,” said the Pet, perching on the arm of his chair. “Reckon I know the answer to it, anyway. Have a bikkie.”

  The Pet, thought Athelas, his mind running very swiftly now, acted as though she had gained the information she wanted. That was a dangerous thing, for despite what he had told the Pet, the game was always the same.

  In this game, anything the Pet gained was something which Athelas lost, in equal measure. And Athelas couldn’t afford to lose anything.

  Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears

  (This story is firmly in the middle of books five and six, shaking its fist at the rest of the series)

  * * *

  They say Behind is dangerous and Between is chancy—that only the human world with its blind, bumbling occupants is a haven for the Fair Folk. Well, I’m not exactly one of the fair folk, and if Australia isn’t as dangerous as the most feared parts of Behind, I’ll eat my own wooden leg.

  Properly speaking, there’s Australia Behind and Australia Between, but when it comes to Behind and Between, it’s nearly the same thing no matter where in the human world it joins up. Go anywhere Behind and it’s the same Behind; it’s all fae and vampires and selkies, that sort of thing. A few of us leprechauns, too. Behind is the place the human world doesn’t know exists. Even Between isn’t too different; it’s just the way it looks that’s different—depending on if you know how to look, if you get my drift.

  It’s not the same when it comes to travelling between places in the human world. I’ve been in civilized places like England and Canada, and it’s a world away from the nightmare land of red heat and deadly animals they call Australia. They don’t let you into Australia from Behind until you’ve passed your survival fitness exam, which should tell you something.

  I hadn’t passed that exam. I didn’t want to pass that exam. I would have gladly spent the rest of my life in a cubicle safely Behind the human world. And yet here I was, stuck headfirst in a tree on the human-world side of Australia, with my behind exposed to the elements and the dull thud of dropbears hitting the ground around me.

  Let me explain. I wasn’t planning on going to Australia that day—that day or ever. I’m a leprechaun, the closest thing you can get to a living calculator, and until that day I was perfectly happy crunching numbers in my cubicle. For us, it’s about the closest thing you can get to pure happiness unless you own your own private supply of gold coins to count every day. That rainbow with the promised gold at the end of it—that’s what a cubicle and something to count means to a leprechaun.

  I was ready for a big day. My wooden leg was hurting when I got up, and that means a day of either finding or losing huge amounts of mo
ney. And if you’re going to tell me a wooden leg can’t hurt, you can kick off out of here any time, because mine always hurts when there’s going to be big money, so there. I just didn’t know whether it was going to be a finding or losing day. Finding or losing doesn’t matter to me, mind you—I just find out where the money’s gone. If it was my money, it would matter a lot more; but it’s not, and it doesn’t.

  I sat down in my chair at the office in an almost jovial frame of mind. I startled the coffee boy by grinning at him, scaring him so much that he spilled the coffee and had to go back for more. Served him right, lanky-legged little lollygagger that he was. Grinning a bit wider, I logged onto my work portal and rubbed my hands together to see the first case waiting for me.

  “Never failed me yet!” I declared, slapping my wooden leg. The first case that popped up on my portal was the one I’d been working off and on for the last few months—something from a group called Allied Traders. They were a group that worked across Between to trade with the human world (coffee and other stuff that the humans do better than Behind) and on paper, things almost looked kosher. Almost.

  Then you went a bit deeper and found that the things you should have found a bit deeper weren’t there. Things like human resources—Allied Traders had warehouses on this side and the human side of Between for any resources from the human world—weren’t in the warehouse they were meant to be in. Actually, there wasn’t anything in the warehouses at all except a very sleepy fae guard once you got past the magical defences. Good thing leprechauns are so good at getting past anything magic, isn’t it?