Man Made Boy (22 page)

But now I was the one who said, “I’m not going home.”

Mozart looked at me, his gray wolf eyes narrowing. “Do you realize how hard it was to track you down? We’ve been following your scent for weeks. Ruthven told me to bring you back, by the scruff of your neck if necessary.”

“I’m sorry, Mozart,” I said. “I’m not trying to be a dick about this, and I don’t want you to get in trouble, but I want a life outside The Show.” And that was true. Of course, I also couldn’t lead VI back to The Show. “I’m not ready to go back.”

He looked at me for a moment, scratching his beard, then he turned and gazed out across the field. “You know what? It’s kinda nice being out here in the countryside, on the road, traveling a little. It’s been a while for me. I’ll tell you what, Boy. The Siren can take Liel back in the van. I’ve been meaning to check in on an old friend of mine in Pittsburgh. Why don’t you and I head out that way and see him, and then we’ll talk about getting you back to The Show.” He glanced at the Siren, who still held the sniffling Liel in her arms. “That okay with you?”

She nodded once, slowly.

“So…” I said. “If the Siren is taking the van, how are we getting to Pittsburgh?”

Mozart slapped me on the back, then winked. “Stick with me, Boy. I’ll show you how a
real
road trip is done.”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE we hot-wired a car!” I shouted over the wind. The windows were down in our newly stolen rust-colored Pontiac Sunbird. Thick, leafy trees and green hills flew past on both sides as we sped down the two-lane highway.

Mozart drove with one hairy arm on the wheel and the other hanging out the window. He was wearing black aviator sunglasses and beneath his gray-streaked beard, his grin was so wide I could see his teeth. He fit in out here so well, which was surprising because I always thought he fit in well in The Show. Maybe some people could fit in to all kinds of places.

“
I
can’t believe how long it took us to find a car that was old enough that I knew how to hot-wire it,” he shouted back. “I guess the damn future happened out here while I’ve been flicking knobs in the booth.”

“Yeah, most cars these days have computerized ignition. It stops stuff like…well,
this
from happening.”

He just laughed and said, “God, it feels good to be out on the open road again! This is your first taste of the real America, isn’t it?”

“New York isn’t real America?”

Mozart shook his head. “No more than London is the real
England or Paris is the real France. Places like that belong to the world. But this?” He pointed to the rolling farmland in front of us. “This is just ours.”

“But it’s not. It’s
theirs
. The humans.”

He shrugged. “Close as we’ll ever get.”

“Maybe. But wouldn’t it be cool if we didn’t have to hide in places like The Show and pretend like we’re less than we are?”

He smiled, but said nothing.

“What?”

“It would be cool,” he said at last.

“But you don’t think it’s possible.”

He shrugged. “What do I know? Old dog, new tricks. All that.”

“Well,” I said, gesturing to the broken mess of the ignition and wires at the base of the steering wheel. “Some old tricks are pretty cool, too.”

We drove for a while in silence, and the scenery slid by endlessly. I’d never covered so much distance before, never seen things change from field to town to forest and back to field again like that. It was strangely relaxing, just watching it all flow past me. In constant motion, there was almost a sense of stillness.

“Sorry things didn’t work out with Liel,” said Mozart. “I know you really liked her.”

“Well, it had been bad between us for a while. I just…” Then my chest started to tighten up and my eyes felt pinched. I didn’t want to cry in front of Mozart, so I stopped.

After a minute, he said, “You know it wasn’t anything you did. It wasn’t your fault.”

I shrugged, not trusting myself to speak anymore. Wasn’t it my fault? If I’d been more considerate, better-looking, more successful, wouldn’t she have tried to make it work?

We sat there for a moment, the only sound the wind whipping
through the open windows. Then in a loud, deep voice, he yelled:

“Ahhhhhh, bitches!”

“That’s kind of disrespectful, don’t you think?” I asked.

“For me, it’s literal. One time, this she-wolf broke my heart so bad I tried to kill myself.”

“Really? So what happened?”

“She found out I sometimes looked like a human. Completely disgusted her. Wouldn’t have anything more to do with me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Turns out, you’ve got to get that silver bullet right in the heart. Otherwise it just hurts like hell. What I’m saying, Boy, is that I know what it feels like to have a relationship fall apart on you. It’s something that most of us go through at some point. At least, if you’re doing it right.”

“Doing
what
right?”

“Living,” he said.

I stared out the window. We were moving into an area with thicker forests and larger hills now, and the afternoon sun began to slide behind the horizon.

“I think you can do a lot better, anyway,” he said. “Back at The Show, the dating pool was a little shallow. But out here, it’s a different story. Trust me, there are some amazing females in this world. And I’m willing to bet at least one of them out there will understand you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

“I think I’m done with girls for a while.”

He smirked. “Good luck with that.”

“OKAY, KID,” SAID Mozart after we’d been on the road for about a half hour. “You know I love you, but we have to do something
about your stink. Even with the windows down, I’m dying here.”

“I actually can’t remember the last time I took a shower,” I admitted. “A month at least.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

“Look, I would love to clean up, but where am I going to do that?”

“You have much to learn, road-trip rookie.”

A few minutes later we pulled into a big truck stop.

“Here.” He handed me a twenty-dollar bill. “The shower is about ten dollars, I think. It comes with soap and towels. Use the rest of the money for anything else you might need. I’ll wait here for you. Take your time. Do it right.”

The store had pretty much everything I needed. A T-shirt, socks, underwear, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. I took them up to the counter and said, “All this, and, uh, a shower.”

The guy behind the counter was older, with a short white beard. He looked like he knew exactly what my situation was. But he didn’t look disgusted or uncomfortable. Instead, he smiled kindly as he handed me slip of paper with a pin code on it and said, “Stall six. Enjoy.”

And I really did enjoy. A private stall with a clean towel and all the hot water I wanted? After living in some bushes behind a travel plaza, I felt like it was a luxury spa. I stripped the dirt and grime and blood from my body with the industrial-strength soap from the dispenser. Then I let the spray pound my back as I watched the water swirl down the drain until it ran clear.

When I climbed back into the car, Mozart nodded approvingly.

“Much better,” he said.

“I
feel
much better, too.”

“I’ll bet. How’s your stitching holding up?”

“It’s getting a little frayed. I tightened it up around my face and hands, but that’s about the best I can do for now.”

“How long will it hold?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to, like, fall apart or anything.”

“Good,” he said as we got back on the highway. “Because we’ve got some traveling to do.”

COMPARED TO NEW York, Pittsburgh was pretty small. But there was something about it that I really liked. It was a little run-down, maybe even seedy. But it seemed relaxed and unpretentious. It also had a lot of hills that curved all over the place, like a city built on a roller coaster, which was fun.

“So who’s this friend of yours we’re going to see?” I asked.

“His name’s
Der Dampfmensch
. But everybody calls him Adam Iron.”

“What kind of creature is he?”

“He’s man-made, actually.”

“Like my dad?”

“Not really. He was made by a German engineer named Hornburg back in the late eighteen hundreds. He’s mostly made of iron. Hence the nickname. Some wood and probably other metals. He was steam-powered, originally. But then his maker retooled him to be completely clockwork.”

“Isn’t that, like, going backward in tech? I mean, steam was way more powerful than clockwork.”

“Yeah, but he was a performer. Hornburg used to take him all over the world and put him on display. ‘The Amazing Steam Man’ or something. But the steam engine limited him to outdoor venues. That was fine at first, but then vaudevilles started getting popular and he wanted to try him out on an indoor stage.”

“How did you meet him? Adam Iron, I mean.”

Mozart didn’t say anything at first, just drove on in silence for a little while. But then a smile slowly crept onto his face. “Well, back when I was young and stupid. Like you.”

“Thanks.”

“Enjoy it, Boy. It’s the only time in your life when people expect you to do stupid stuff. Anyway, back then, I partied with humans a lot.”

“Partied? Are we talking like getting drunk?”

“And high. Actually, mostly just high.”

“Pot?”

“And other stuff,” he said, and shrugged. “Anyway, I was in college, doing college stuff. I hung out a lot with this one guy, a computer science major named Allen. You have to remember, this was back before everybody had computers. They were these big, expensive monstrosities that seemed fairly pointless to me. Took you an hour just to get it to draw a square. You had to be hard-core into it back then, with no hope of ever really making much money. Allen was a good guy. He actually figured out my secret about a year after we became friends. But as far as I know, he never told anybody. And man, he knew how to throw a party.

“Anyway, Allen used to live in this old run-down mansion on Fifth Avenue that had been broken up into apartments. Really weird place. Lots of abandoned junk just kind of lying around in public areas. The piano had been gutted, and people used it to hide drug paraphernalia when the cops came to break up parties. There was also a basement. And you can imagine, if the public areas were that junked up, the basement was even worse.

“So this one night he was throwing a little party. Just a few of us. We were all wasted and somehow he and I got the idea in
our heads that the basement contained treasure or something. I can’t remember exactly. So we were down there, stumbling around in the dark, using lighters to see, burning our thumbs, and swearing a lot. Suddenly, Allen lets out this girly scream. I go running over to where he is, already halfway wolf, ready for trouble. But all that’s there is this old-fashioned, wooden-headed statue in a tweed suit with a monocle and a top hat. We didn’t know what to do at first. We checked him out, just kind of assuming he was some elaborate mannequin. He didn’t move or talk. Just sat there. But then Allen found a key hanging from a chain on his neck.

“‘I wonder what this goes to,’ he said.

“My eyesight was better in the dark than his, so it was me who saw the hole in the back of the mannequin’s neck. But Allen was the one who wound him up.”