“Want me to get you anything? Glass of water?” It would get him out of her face for a minute. “Sure. A glass of water would be great.” She thought about just ditching, but where would she go? She turned to sit down at a little patio table but a bat swooped down in front of her face and then — hovered there, flapping its wings. She stepped back. She was sure bats weren’t capable of hovering, but this one was stubbornly hanging where it was. “Ava?” “Yes, it’s me.” The bat opened its mouth and made a weirdly electronic beeping sound (was that how bats normally sounded?), but Maya heard the AI’s voice in her ears as though she were wearing earbuds. Like the little beastie was throwing its voice. “Listen, you’re in danger. You’ve come to the attention of a minor power, a daemon named Fiddlywink. He’s looking for you. I think probably he’s working for someone else, and we need to find out who.” “What are you talking about?” Maya said, in a voice nearly as squeaky as the bat’s. “How are you a bat? How is this real?” “You need to stop thinking in terms of real and unreal. They’re not useful concepts to you anymore. Now listen. Fiddlywink is going to catch you, but I’m going to help you deal with him. Okay?” “Okay. Sure, why not.” “Good. Hold still.” The bat dove forward and latched onto her neck. It took every bit of control for Maya not to smash it, but in three seconds the bat was off her and hovering again. “Good,” it said. “When he comes, follow your instincts. And remember, we need to find out who he serves. Ask him who his master is.” Maya had fallen to a crouch, hand at her neck, tears in her eyes, but she nodded. The screen door squealed open. “Here’s your water,” Xan said. “Thanks,” she muttered, and looked at her hand. A few drops of scarlet there. “Are you bleeding?” he asked, newly concerned. “What happened?” “It’s just a scratch. I walked into a branch. Listen, could you get me a Band-Aid? Sorry, I’m kind of a mess tonight.” “Yeah, no problem, be right back.” As soon as he closed the door she went out the back gate. She didn’t have a plan, she just needed to move. She felt the impulse to run and gave into it. If her friends saw her sprinting away they’d think she was crazy, but moving felt good, even with the drinks she’d had. She didn’t go far, maybe eight blocks before she slowed to a walk. More brownstones, a liquor store visible a block away as she crossed the street. The moon above late summer leaves. She turned the corner and Fiddlywink was waiting, grinning his yellow grin and waving a gloved hand at her. She turned and ran, but from behind her she heard his voice, which seemed to come from a great distance, like a scratchy phonograph heard through a wall. “Fee, fi, fo fum, Tweedly dee and a rum tum tum, Peek-a-boo and out I come, Biddy biddy bum, biddy biddy bum!” She turned toward the liquor store she’d seen, but made it not half a block before Fiddlywink floated out from behind a dumpster, still singing: No. 129 “Fiddle dee dee, fiddle dee doo, Fiddlywink wants a new chew-chew, Bibbity, bobbity, boo, boohoo, Chippity choppity you, yoohoo!” She turned again, down the alley, blindly, going anywhere, nowhere. She went three steps and Fiddlywink popped up like a jack-in-the-box, right out of the pavement, and seized her upper arms in his enormous gloved hands, squeezing hard, lifting her into the air. He grinned with carious teeth, grinned wider than anyone could grin. “Rub a dub dub,” he said, “tub full of blood.” She screamed, and felt something change in her. With sudden strength she twisted free of his grip and clawed at his face. Long slashes opened on his doughy visage, weirdly pink blood flying, and she slashed at him again, then grabbed him by his polka-dotted outfit and threw him to the ground. He should have been heavy, by his look and height he must have weighed two-fifty easy, but she tossed him down and held him there by the throat. Her body felt on fire, like she was glowing, like she could have thrown a building down as easily. And, she realized, she was hungry — ravenous, actually — his blood smelled sweet — Ask him who his master is. So she did, in a voice she barely recognized, something feral. Fiddlywink’s smile was tremulous, yellow eyes twisting side to side, but he didn’t hold out. “Hey diddle diddle, girl with a riddle, Fiddlywink sings the tune. The cat starts to laugh, the mouse feels the wrath, And the Archon swallows the moon.” He started to giggle, but she tore out his throat with her teeth. His blood tasted like cotton candy. By the time she was done his body was starting to soften, to melt away like cheap ice cream. She turned and a glowing portal opened in the street. Out stepped a small figure, childlike, with bug-eyed lenses and a head-to-toe covering that she knew to be a spacesuit, more or less. She was already numb and beyond surprise, but even aside from the events of the past half hour, she’d met cytobytes before. “What did she do to me?” she asked this one, aggressively advancing. “Vampire mod,” it answered. “I think she was improvising.” “Is it permanent?” “Nothing’s permanent. You’ll learn.”
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