Read Online Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free by Randy Henderson - Free Book Online
Authors: Randy Henderson
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protect feybloods against poaching or hunting. But those same rules forbade feybloods from having firearms at all, so it was to everyoneâs benefit they not be given the excuse for an arms escalation.
Besides, sasquatches could smell gun oil a mile away, and I didnât want to spook Salâs love before we got close enough for them to meet.
I loaded the Kin Finder into the back of the hearse and headed out.
I turned onto Washington Street and stopped to let a family of deer cross the road. The waterfront of Port Townsend spread out below me and to the left, where a steady stream of people moved along the row of brick and stone buildings. Tourist season was in full swing, people attracted by the artsy small-town charm, countless Victorian buildings, and wooden boat culture. I still wasnât used to how much the town had become focused on the tourists. Gone were the days of community barter and families gathering at the tavern every evening.
Even the arcana families seemed more worried about their property taxes or running small businesses than improving the world through magic; they ordered their magic supplies online and interacted more through cell phones and the Internet than meeting in local moots or forming circles. They barely celebrated the Wheel of the Year, where once we could count on large house or beach parties at least four times a year.
Iâd certainly wanted to get out of necromancy and chase my own mundy dream once, and so I found my own reaction to all the changes even more confusing.
Maybe it was just that I didnât really have anyplace else to call home. And if Pete and Vee were taken away, it would feel even less like home.
As if reading my private thoughts, Alynon said, *You must face that your brother is no longer arcana. Sooner or later, he shall need help related to his waer spirit, the kind of help you cannot give.*
I turned on the radio rather than respond. It was set to the âoldiesâ station. Before my exile, the oldies station played classics from the â50s and â60s. Now, it played the music of the 70s, 80s, and even 90s, music Iâd grown up with, the music that defined my teen years and music that would have defined my early adulthood if Iâd been around to hear it. I tried not to think about that too deeply, and changed to an empty station. I pushed play on the iPod that Dawn had given me.
âLove Shackâ by the B-52âs started playing over the radio.
âSeriously,â I said. âHow amazing is this thing? Thereâs, like, hundreds of albums worth of music in here!â
*Yeah, amazing,* Alynon replied in a less-than-amazed tone. *A few clever thaumaturges have begun moving human experience from physical objects into a virtual cloud, where experiences are only given form when manifested through choice and action and a bit of power. Hmmm, I wonder where they got that idea from? I mean, itâs not like thereâs an entire Other Realm that works something like that?*
âWhatever,â I said. âAt least I donât have to keep a pencil around to rewind the cassette every time it tangles.â Our hearseâs cassette player had eaten tapes with the enthusiasm of Slimer in a hot dog factory.
*Indeed. And soon, your infomancers will have control over everything you own and are.*
âParanoid much?â I asked.
*Clueless, much?* Alynon responded.
âAt least I have an excuse,â I replied, and turned up the music.
I had twenty-five years of history and pop culture to catch up on, everything that happened between my exile in 1986 and 2011 when I returned. At Dawnâs suggestion, and with her help, I was doing it chronologically. Weâd started at 1987, the year after my exile, and each month we moved to the next year. We watched movies and television shows of the time, and highlights of the year on YouTube. And she made me playlists of all the best, or at least most popular, music from
Besides, sasquatches could smell gun oil a mile away, and I didnât want to spook Salâs love before we got close enough for them to meet.
I loaded the Kin Finder into the back of the hearse and headed out.
I turned onto Washington Street and stopped to let a family of deer cross the road. The waterfront of Port Townsend spread out below me and to the left, where a steady stream of people moved along the row of brick and stone buildings. Tourist season was in full swing, people attracted by the artsy small-town charm, countless Victorian buildings, and wooden boat culture. I still wasnât used to how much the town had become focused on the tourists. Gone were the days of community barter and families gathering at the tavern every evening.
Even the arcana families seemed more worried about their property taxes or running small businesses than improving the world through magic; they ordered their magic supplies online and interacted more through cell phones and the Internet than meeting in local moots or forming circles. They barely celebrated the Wheel of the Year, where once we could count on large house or beach parties at least four times a year.
Iâd certainly wanted to get out of necromancy and chase my own mundy dream once, and so I found my own reaction to all the changes even more confusing.
Maybe it was just that I didnât really have anyplace else to call home. And if Pete and Vee were taken away, it would feel even less like home.
As if reading my private thoughts, Alynon said, *You must face that your brother is no longer arcana. Sooner or later, he shall need help related to his waer spirit, the kind of help you cannot give.*
I turned on the radio rather than respond. It was set to the âoldiesâ station. Before my exile, the oldies station played classics from the â50s and â60s. Now, it played the music of the 70s, 80s, and even 90s, music Iâd grown up with, the music that defined my teen years and music that would have defined my early adulthood if Iâd been around to hear it. I tried not to think about that too deeply, and changed to an empty station. I pushed play on the iPod that Dawn had given me.
âLove Shackâ by the B-52âs started playing over the radio.
âSeriously,â I said. âHow amazing is this thing? Thereâs, like, hundreds of albums worth of music in here!â
*Yeah, amazing,* Alynon replied in a less-than-amazed tone. *A few clever thaumaturges have begun moving human experience from physical objects into a virtual cloud, where experiences are only given form when manifested through choice and action and a bit of power. Hmmm, I wonder where they got that idea from? I mean, itâs not like thereâs an entire Other Realm that works something like that?*
âWhatever,â I said. âAt least I donât have to keep a pencil around to rewind the cassette every time it tangles.â Our hearseâs cassette player had eaten tapes with the enthusiasm of Slimer in a hot dog factory.
*Indeed. And soon, your infomancers will have control over everything you own and are.*
âParanoid much?â I asked.
*Clueless, much?* Alynon responded.
âAt least I have an excuse,â I replied, and turned up the music.
I had twenty-five years of history and pop culture to catch up on, everything that happened between my exile in 1986 and 2011 when I returned. At Dawnâs suggestion, and with her help, I was doing it chronologically. Weâd started at 1987, the year after my exile, and each month we moved to the next year. We watched movies and television shows of the time, and highlights of the year on YouTube. And she made me playlists of all the best, or at least most popular, music from
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