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TWENTY

Cirocco Jones went from the meeting to the place where she knew she would find Hornpipe. She moved in the way she had learned, in the way that so befuddled Robin when she used it to show up at the meetings of the Council. No one took any notice of her.
She wondered if it might be the last time she could move that way. Not knowing where the power came from made it that much harder to believe it could last after what she planned to do.
She mounted Hornpipe and he galloped out of the city. Soon they were moving through the jungles of southern Dione, not far from Tuxedo Junction.
She reached the shores of the Fountain of Youth and dismounted.
“Stay close,” she advised Hornpipe. “This will take some time.”
The Titanide nodded, and faded back into the jungle. Cirocco stripped off her clothes and knelt on the sand. She opened her pack and took out the bottle containing Snitch. He blinked woozily. She dumped him on the ground and watched him stagger and curse. It would take him a little time to come around to any degree of intelligibility.
Cirocco felt her body, as she might explore an unfamiliar and possibly dangerous object. Her ribs stood out. She still had more breast tissue than she was accustomed to, and her thighs were firm and full, but the knees were getting bony. Her hair was once more streaked with gray. She could feel the fine wrinkles around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.
She flicked Snitch in the face and he spat at her, but without any real heart in the gesture. Without having to be asked, Cirocco got the bottle from her pack and used the eyedropper to squeeze seven fat drops into his upturned and eager mouth.
Snitch smacked his lips, and used the expression that passed, in Snitch’s limited facial repertoire, for a smile.
“The old hag is feeling generous today,” he said.
“The old hag isn’t in the mood for any games. You want to hear how I’ll flay you alive if you don’t talk? Or are you as tired of that as I am?”
Snitch balanced on one limb and used the other to scratch behind his ear.
“Why don‘t we skip all that?”
“Fine. How is Adam?”
“Adam is peachy keen. He likes his great big grandmaw. One day soon Gaea will have him—you should pardon the expression—in the palm of her hand.”
“How is Chris?”
“Chris is blue. On his good days he still thinks he can win the heart and mind of the aforementioned Adam, his son. On his bad days, he thinks he’s already lost. These days, most of his days are bad days. This isn’t helped by the fact that Gaea is starring him in some of her television shows, and making him do some distasteful tasks to earn his  . . .  bread and butter.”
Snitch blinked, and frowned. “Did I mix a metaphor?”
Cirocco ignored the question.
“What about  . . .  Gaby?”
Snitch cocked an eye at her.
“You’ve never asked me about her before.”
“I’m asking you now.”
“I could tell you she’s a figment of your imagination.”
“I could shove your head up your asshole.”
“God,” Snitch said, with a grimace. “Would that such a maneuver were the impossibility for me that it is for you.”
“You know it’s not.”
“How well I remember.” He sighed. “Gaby  . . .  is preparing her dirty trick. You know what I’m talking about. Gaby treads a thin line. You may never know just how thin. Leave her alone.”
“But I haven’t seen her in—”
“Leave her alone, Captain.”
They stared at each other. Such a remark called for punishment. Cirocco wondered what it meant that she was prepared to let him get away with it this time. What was changing? Or was she just too tired to care?
She put it out of her mind, gave Snitch three more drops of pure grain alcohol, and put him back in his bottle. Then she moved carefully into the purifying heat of the Fountain, reclined in it, and took a deep breath of the waters.
She did not move for ten revs.

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TWENTY

Cirocco Jones went from the meeting to the place where she knew she would find Hornpipe. She moved in the way she had learned, in the way that so befuddled Robin when she used it to show up at the meetings of the Council. No one took any notice of her.
She wondered if it might be the last time she could move that way. Not knowing where the power came from made it that much harder to believe it could last after what she planned to do.
She mounted Hornpipe and he galloped out of the city. Soon they were moving through the jungles of southern Dione, not far from Tuxedo Junction.
She reached the shores of the Fountain of Youth and dismounted.
“Stay close,” she advised Hornpipe. “This will take some time.”
The Titanide nodded, and faded back into the jungle. Cirocco stripped off her clothes and knelt on the sand. She opened her pack and took out the bottle containing Snitch. He blinked woozily. She dumped him on the ground and watched him stagger and curse. It would take him a little time to come around to any degree of intelligibility.
Cirocco felt her body, as she might explore an unfamiliar and possibly dangerous object. Her ribs stood out. She still had more breast tissue than she was accustomed to, and her thighs were firm and full, but the knees were getting bony. Her hair was once more streaked with gray. She could feel the fine wrinkles around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.
She flicked Snitch in the face and he spat at her, but without any real heart in the gesture. Without having to be asked, Cirocco got the bottle from her pack and used the eyedropper to squeeze seven fat drops into his upturned and eager mouth.
Snitch smacked his lips, and used the expression that passed, in Snitch’s limited facial repertoire, for a smile.
“The old hag is feeling generous today,” he said.
“The old hag isn’t in the mood for any games. You want to hear how I’ll flay you alive if you don’t talk? Or are you as tired of that as I am?”
Snitch balanced on one limb and used the other to scratch behind his ear.
“Why don‘t we skip all that?”
“Fine. How is Adam?”
“Adam is peachy keen. He likes his great big grandmaw. One day soon Gaea will have him—you should pardon the expression—in the palm of her hand.”
“How is Chris?”
“Chris is blue. On his good days he still thinks he can win the heart and mind of the aforementioned Adam, his son. On his bad days, he thinks he’s already lost. These days, most of his days are bad days. This isn’t helped by the fact that Gaea is starring him in some of her television shows, and making him do some distasteful tasks to earn his  . . .  bread and butter.”
Snitch blinked, and frowned. “Did I mix a metaphor?”
Cirocco ignored the question.
“What about  . . .  Gaby?”
Snitch cocked an eye at her.
“You’ve never asked me about her before.”
“I’m asking you now.”
“I could tell you she’s a figment of your imagination.”
“I could shove your head up your asshole.”
“God,” Snitch said, with a grimace. “Would that such a maneuver were the impossibility for me that it is for you.”
“You know it’s not.”
“How well I remember.” He sighed. “Gaby  . . .  is preparing her dirty trick. You know what I’m talking about. Gaby treads a thin line. You may never know just how thin. Leave her alone.”
“But I haven’t seen her in—”
“Leave her alone, Captain.”
They stared at each other. Such a remark called for punishment. Cirocco wondered what it meant that she was prepared to let him get away with it this time. What was changing? Or was she just too tired to care?
She put it out of her mind, gave Snitch three more drops of pure grain alcohol, and put him back in his bottle. Then she moved carefully into the purifying heat of the Fountain, reclined in it, and took a deep breath of the waters.
She did not move for ten revs.

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