I touched the metal. It was cold and had sharp parts. Terrible stuff was coming. I remembered then that Telly was moving back. Maybe Telly was the terrible stuff.

“Rowan. Gloria said—”

“Shush, Maisy. Carl, can you try mine again?”

“Magic Boy.”

“Yeah,” Rowan said. “Let’s see what’s happening for me.”

The troll smeared the cards out again. Then he picked them up in a pile and Rowan tapped on them. He turned some over, but before he said anything he grabbed them up again. I saw they were all black, though. They were all upside-down shovels.

“Broken,” the troll said. “The cards are broken.”

Rowan looked sad because he didn’t get his future. He didn’t get a metal thing neither. Not like me. I wonder if it was because his hair was the wrong color. Gloria said my hair was spring chick, but Rowan’s hair was muck.

I stomped my foot. “I’m leaving.” I was getting cold in the shade and flies kept landing on me.

“Fine,” Rowan said. “I’ve got to get her home, Carl. I’ll see you later, though, okay? Bye, Girl!” The dog ran over and licked at Rowan’s hand.

The troll tugged on his beard. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it all evaluated. You’re not going, going, going, urh, away. Don’t listen to everything you see. Those wave particles are from the Workers. Not you, Magic Boy. That’s what I told Stan.”

“Who’s Stan?” I whispered.

“Never mind, Turtle. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does too,” I said, but Rowan didn’t say nothing else.

We walked through the bushes near the side of the bridge. In the leaves, a bird sang the same song over and over. After we’d been going for a while I said, “I don’t like him, Rowan. He smells. And he got garbage stuck on his face.”

“It’s just metal. Besides, you’ve got metal now too. Who cares?”

I touched the shiny twist in my hair again. “You shouldn’t go there.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because he doesn’t got a house. Because he’s a secret. Because he’s not good.”

Rowan broke off a stick and threw it. “Not good because he offered you food? Or played cards with you? Or gave you a lucky thing?”

“I—I don’t know. His clothes are bad. Gloria says we got to stay away from people like that. He likes you, Rowan. I can tell he does. I think he might be a wolf.”

“He’s not a wolf. Wolves don’t even exist. Not that kind, anyway.”

“They do too.”

“Not around here they don’t.”

“Well, it could be catchy. His kind of sick.”

“Don’t be a moron, Maisy. Just because he thinks differently doesn’t mean he’s not okay. That he’s not good inside.”