She decided to focus on her dream. Where had she seen the movie? Her grandfather thought movies were a waste of time, so that left Lain.
“I don’t have that movie,” Lain stated when Tinker called and asked.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Esme insisted that we watched it every year after Thanksgiving. God knows why they picked Thanksgiving. It always gave me nightmares. I would be quite happy never to see that stupid movie again.”
“Esme liked it?”
“She always identified too much with Dorothy, though she never understood why Dorothy wanted to come back home. Esme would go on and on about if she was Dorothy, she would stay in Oz, which would make my mother cry. Every Thanksgiving we have this huge family fight about watching it, Esme would win, mother would cry, and I’d have nightmares.”
They said their goodbyes like polite people and Tinker hung up. Where had she seen this movie?
She called Oilcan. She never watched a movie alone, so he most likely had seen it with her. “Hey, I’m trying to remember something. Did you see Wizard of Oz with me?”
“The what?”
“It’s a movie called Wizard of Oz. It’s about Dorothy who goes to Oz.” That much of the story Tinker had gathered from Lain, although she wasn’t clear where Oz was. Africa?
“It’s not ringing any bells.”
She sighed. “If I track this down, do you want to watch with us?”
“A movie night? Cool. Sure. Meet you at your loft?”
She hadn’t considered where to watch the movie once she found it. She suddenly realized it had been two months since she’d been home to her loft. Weirder yet, she didn’t want to go — as in ‘not want to go to the dentist because it would hurt’ way. Why the hell did she feel that way? Her system made Oilcan’s look like a toy, which was why they always used her place. But she was cringing at the thought of doing movie night at her loft.
“Tink?” Oilcan asked.
This was stupid — it was her home. “Yeah, my place.”
“See you later then.”
“Later.”
She slumped forward onto the table, resting her check on its smooth surface. Three phone calls, she hadn’t yet stirred out of the garden, and already she was emotionally raw and tired. Damn, she wished she could get a good night’s sleep. Her exhaustion felt like it was teaming up with all her problems, conspiring to keep her off balance.
“Domi,” Stormsong said quietly. “When I saw the movie, I rented it from Eides.”
At least something was working out in her life.
Eide’s Entertainment was an institution in Pittsburgh, down on Penn Avenue in the Strip District. Established in the 1970s as a comic bookstore, it been one of the many landmarks that somehow not only survived but also flourished when transplanted to Elfhome. It was a Mecca of human culture, which not only humans but also elves went on pilgrimage to. Tinker and Oilcan would always hit the shop once immediately after Startup to see what was new, and then several times a month to see what used music and videos were brought in by other customers. Besides music, videos, and comic books, the store was treasure trove of collectible items: non-sport cards, magazines, big little books, pulps, and out of print books.
Ralph raised his hand to them as they entered. “Hey, Lina, long time no see. I’ve got that Nirvana CD you wanted in the back.”
It wasn’t until Stormsong touched hands with Ralph in a rocker’s version of the handshake that Tinker realized he had been talking to Stormsong. Lina? Ah yes, Linapavuata, which was Elvish for “singing.” Ralph looked past the elf, saw Tinker.
“Tinker-tiki!” Ralph used Tinker’s racing nickname, which meant Baby Tinker. “Look at you!” He ran a finger over Tinker’s ear point, making her burn with embarrassment. “Like the ear job. Love the dress. You’re looking fine.”
Pony slapped Ralph’s hand way and reached for his blade, but Stormsong kept him from drawing his ejae.
“Their ways are not ours.” Stormsong murmured in High Elvish to Pony, and then dropped to Low Elvish to continue. “Ralph, this is Galloping Storm Horse on Wind, he looks to Tinker ze domi—and she is very off-limits now.”
“Forgiveness.” Ralph bowed and used passable Low Elvish. “Does that make you Tinker of the Storms?”
“Beloved Tinker of Wind.” Pony corrected Ralph with a growl.
Ralph glanced to Stormsong and read something on her face that made him decide to flee. “Let me go get that CD.”
Tinker turned to Pony who was still glaring after Ralph. “What was that about?”
“He should show you respect,” Pony said.
Stormsong clarified in English. “’Baby Tinker’ is disrespectful, nor should he have touched you.”
“I’ve known him for years!” Tinker stuck with low Elvish. She didn’t want to cut Pony out of the conversation. “Oilcan and I go to his parties. Tinker-tiki is what all the elves call me.”
“Used to call you,” Pony said. “No elf would be so impolite to use it now.”
“Only because they fear you would call insult,” Stormsong implied, with a glance, that Pony would use his blade in dealing with anyone that insulted Tinker.
“Like — kill them?” Tinker asked.
“We have the right to mete out punishment as we see fit,” Pony explained. “By the blood and the sword.”
Oh boy. The little things people don’t tell her. “You can’t just whack the head off anyone that pisses you off!”
“If the insult is severe, yes, we can.” Pony said. “Sekasha are divine warriors, who answer only to the gods.”
“We have the right,” Stormsong said. “Our training guides us not to take the options allowed to us.”
“Look, if I’m insulted, I’ll punch the guy myself. As far as I’m concerned, you guys are just here for oni and monsters with sharp teeth.”
“Yes, domi.” Stormsong gave an elaborate bow.
Pony looked unhappy but echoed, “Yes, domi.”
Which didn’t make Tinker happy, because she felt like she was somehow the bad guy for not letting them lop off heads right and left. Worse, she knew it was all really Windwolf’s fault since her life got weird the exact second that he entered it. Suddenly she was very annoyed with him — but didn’t want to be — which made her grumpier. She tried to ignore the whole confusing swarm of emotions and thumped over to the video rental section. The sekasha and stinging feelings, unfortunately, followed close behind.
She’d never actually rented video from Eides before and their categories confused her. There seemed to be two of every category. “Why two?”
“These are bootleg copies with subtitles in Low Elvish.” Stormsong pointed out a sign in Elvish that Tinker had missed because a male elfin customer stood in front of it, flipping through the anime.
The elf noticed Stormsong with widening eyes, bowed low and moved off with a low murmured “Forgiveness.”
“The other elves — they’re afraid of you?” Tinker noticed that all the elves in the store covertly watched the sekasha and had cleared out of their path.
“If they do not know us, yes,” Stormsong spoke quietly so her words wouldn’t carry. “You are one that sleeps in the nest of dragons. You do not know how rare we are — or how dangerous.”
“What makes you so special?”