Still the man said nothing, and I looked at his bare feet.
Over the noise came an aggressive, "Hey! You!"
My breath hissed in. Robbie turned to look, and even the man seemed alarmed.
"We need a cab," my brother said, grabbing my arm and pushing the man forward.
I twisted out of his grip and headed the other way. "We won't get a cab five blocks from here. We need a bus." Robbie stared blankly at me, and I yelled in exasperation, "The main depot is just over there! They can't close it off. Come on!"
"Stop!" a man's voice shouted, and we bolted. Well, Robbie and I bolted. The guy between us was kind of shoved along.
We dodged around the people with little kids already leaving, headed for the bus stop. It took up an entire block length, buses leaving from downtown for all corners of Cincy and the Hollows across the river. No one seemed to notice the small man's feet were bare or that Robbie was drastically underdressed. Song and laughter were rampant.
"There," Robbie panted, pointing to a bus just leaving for Norwood.
"Wait! Wait for us!" I yelled, waving, and the driver stopped.
The door opened and we piled in, my boots slipping on the slick rubber. Robbie had shoved the man up the stairs ahead of me, falling back when the driver had a hissy about the fare. I stood a step down and fumed while Robbie fished around in his wallet. Finally he was out of my way, and I ran my bus pass through the machine.
"Hey," the driver said, nodding to the back of the otherwise empty bus. "If he blows chunks, I'm fining you. I got your bus pass number, missy. Don't think I won't."
My heart seemed to lodge in my throat. Robbie and I both turned. The man was sitting alone beside a center pole, clutching it with both hands as the bus jerked into motion. His bare feet looked odd against the dirty, slush-coated rubber, and his knees were spread wide for balance to show his bare calves.
"Uh," Robbie said, making motions for me to move back. "He's okay."
"He'd better be," the driver grumbled, watching us through the big mirror.
Every block put us farther from the square, closer to home. "Please," I said, trying not to look desperate. "We're just trying to help him get home. It's the solstice."
The driver's hard expression softened. He took one hand off the wheel to rummage out of sight beside him. With a soft plastic rustle, he handed me a shopping bag. "Here," he said. "If he throws up, have him do it in there."
My breath slipped from me in relief. "Thank you."
Shoving the bag into a pocket, I exchanged a worried look with Robbie. Together we turned to the back of the bus. Pace slow, we cautiously approached the man as the city lights grew dim and the bus lights more obvious. Thankfully we were the only people on it, probably due to our destination being what was traditionally a human neighborhood, and they left the streets to us Inderlanders on the solstice.
The man's eyes darted between us as Robbie and I sat down facing him. I licked my lips and scooted closer to my brother. He was cold, shivering, but I didn't think he was going to ask for his coat back. "Robbie, I'm scared," I whispered, and the small man blinked.
Robbie took his mittens off and gripped my hand. "It's okay." His inhale was slow, and then louder, he said, "Excuse me, sir?"
The man held up a hand as if asking for a moment. "My apologies," he said breathily. "What year might this be?"
My brother glanced at me, and I blurted, "It's nineteen ninety-nine. It's the solstice."
The man's vivid blue eyes darted to the buildings, now more of a skyline since we weren't right among them anymore. He had beautiful, beautiful blue eyes, and long lashes I would have given a bra size for. If I had any to spare, that is.
"This is Cincinnati?" he said softly, gaze darting from one building to the next.
"Yes," I said, then jerked my hand out of Robbie's when he gave me a squeeze to be quiet. "What?" I hissed at him. "You think I should lie? He just wants to know where he is."
The man coughed, cutting my brother's anger short. "I expect I'm most sorry," he said, taking one hand off the pole. "I've no need for breathing but to speak, and to make a body accept that is a powerful trial."
Surprised, I simply waited while he took a slow, controlled breath.
"I'm Pierce," he said, his accent shifting to a more formal sound. "I have no doubt that you're not my final verdict, but are in truth…" He glanced at the driver. Lips hardly moving, he mouthed, "You're a practitioner of the arts. A master witch, sir."
The man wasn't breathing. I was watching him close, and the man wasn't breathing. "Robbie," I said urgently, tugging on his arm. "He's dead. He's a ghost."
My brother made a nervous guffaw, crossing his legs to help keep his body heat with him. We were right over the heater, but it was still cold. "That's what you were trying to do, wasn't it, Firefly?" he said.
"Yes, but he's so real!" I said, hushed. "I didn't expect anything but a whisper or a feeling. Not a naked man in the snow. And certainly not him!"
Pierce flushed. His eyes met mine, and I bit back my next words, stunned by the depth of his bewilderment. The bus shifted forward as the driver braked to pick someone up, and he almost fell out of his seat, grabbing the pole with white hands to save himself.
"You drew me from purgatory," he said, confusion pouring from him even as he warily watched the people file on and find their seats. His face went panicked, and then he swallowed, forcing his emotions down. "I suspected I was going to hell. I suspected my penance for my failure was concluded, and I was going to hell. I'll allow it looks like hell at first observance, though not broken and lacking a smell of burnt amber." He looked out the window. "No horses," he said softly, then his eyebrows rose inquiringly. "And you bricked over the canal, nasty swill hole it was. Are the engines powered then by steam?"
Beside me, Robbie grinned. "He sure uses a lot of words to say anything."
"Shut up," I muttered. I thought he was elegant.
"This isn't hell," Pierce said, and, as if exhausted, he dropped his head to show me the top of his loose, black curls. His relief made my stomach clench and burn.
I looked away, uncomfortable. Thoughts of my deal with Robbie came back. I didn't know if he would think this was a success or not. I did bring a ghost back, but it wasn't Dad.
And without Dad saying yes to the I.S., Robbie would probably take it as a no. Worried, I looked up at Robbie and said, "I did the spell right."
My brother shifted, as if preparing for an argument. My eyebrows pulled together, and I glared at him. "I don't care if it summoned the wrong ghost, I did the freaking spell right!"
Pierce looked positively terrified as he alternated his attention between us and the new people calmly getting on and finding their seats. I was guessing it wasn't the volume of my voice, but what I was saying. Being a witch in public was a big no-no that could get you killed before nineteen sixty-six, and he had clearly died before then.
Robbie frowned in annoyance. "The deal was you'd summon Dad," he said, and I gritted my teeth.
"The deal was I would do the spell right, and if I didn't, I would come out to Portland with you. Well, look," I said, pointing. "There's a ghost. You just try to tell me he isn't there."
"All right, all right," Robbie said, slouching. "You stirred the spell properly, but we still don't know what Dad would want, so I'm not going to sign that paper."
"You son of a—"
"Rachel!" he said, interrupting me. "Don't you get it? This is why I want you to come out with me and finish your schooling." He gestured at Pierce as if he was a thing, not a person. "You did a eight-hundred-level summoning spell without batting an eye. You could be anything you want. Why are you going to waste yourself in the I.S.?"