Американские боги

           Therewasapauseattheotherendofthetelephone."I’llbethereinthemorning,"saidWednesday.Itsoundedliketheangerhaddieddown."We’regoingtoSanFrancisco.Theflowersinyourhairareoptional."Andthelinewentdead.

           Shadowputthetelephonedownonthecarpet,andsatup,stiffly.ItwassixA.M.andstillnight-darkoutside.Hegotupfromthesofa,shivering.Hecouldhearthewindasitscreamedacrossthefrozenlake.Andhecouldhearsomebodynearby,crying,onlythethicknessofawallaway.HewascertainitwasMargueriteOlsen,andhersobbingwasinsistentandlowandheartbreaking.

           Shadowwalkedintothebathroomandpissed,thenwentintohisbedroomandclosedthedoor,blockingoffthesoundofthecryingwoman.Outsidethewindhowledandwailedasifit,too,wasseekingforalostchild,andhesleptnomorethatnight.

           SanFranciscoinJanuarywasunseasonablywarm,warmenoughthatthesweatprickledonthebackofShadow’sneck.Wednesdaywaswearingadeepbluesuit,andapairofgold-rimmedspectaclesthatmadehimlooklikeanentertainmentlawyer.

           TheywerewalkingalongHaightStreet.Thestreetpeopleandthehustlersandthemoocherswatchedthemgoby,andnooneshookapapercupofchangeatthem,nooneaskedthemforanythingatall.

           Wednesday’sjawwasset.