Hold Your Fire

by Lisa Mangum

  He took the item from the god and turned it over in his hands. “It’s a phone,” Matt said.

  “It’s your phone,” Pan replied. “With a hit song loaded and ready to go. All you need to do”—the god pointed a finger gun toward him—“is hit send.”

  Matt opened the phone, and sure enough, there was a file loaded and ready to email to his guy at the label.

  “Thank you,” Matt said, but Pan was already gone.

  He opened the file and gave the song a listen. It was him. His voice, his style of play—everything. Somehow, he even remembered writing it.

  He collapsed to the floor and wept.

  Not at the loss of his guitar—and the shared memory of his grandfather. Not at the loss of his muse—and pretty much his best friend for the past five years.

  No, it was that the song was just that damn good.

  It was everything he’d ever wanted.

  He pressed send.

  “Another hit, Webster,” the voice on the other side of the line drawled. It was his guy at the label.

  “Thanks,” Matt said. “I was worried about that one.”

  “Yeah, me too,” the guy said.

  “Really?”

  “Nah,” the guy chuckled. “Not really. I knew it was a hit the first time I heard the turnaround to the chorus. Need the next one by 3:00—got a big meeting this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, alright,” Matt said with a chuckle. “It’ll be ready when it’s ready.” He ended the call and strummed a few chords on his new custom shop Fender Telecaster—blonde with a white pickguard, almost like his grandad’s, but with a nitrocellulose finish instead of an enchanted golden sheen.

  Most songwriters would kill to even chart, let alone have a song at number one. Calliope had come through with a hit, but it was the song Matt wrote the next morning that made him a household name.

  Matt always marveled at how he could work on a song for weeks, then turn around and pen something better in, like, five minutes. That’s exactly what had happened after the night at the Parthenon. He woke up the next morning and wrote the best song he’d ever written. No surprise, it was about the relationship between him and his grandpa.

  Turns out, it had never been about Pan the fake muse, or Calliope the real one, or his grandfather’s guitar. Instead, all Matt needed to do was trust himself and have the confidence to put pen to paper.

  There was a hell of a lot more than one hit in Matt Webster, and he couldn’t wait to earn them on his own. He grinned as he cranked up his amp and went back to work.

  About the Author

  Brian Corley lives in Portland, Oregon, with his dog, Brisket, and a lamp that looks like a bunch of grapes. Corley is the author of the novels Ghost Bully and Space Throne.

  The Door

  Kristen Bickerstaff

  Sometimes, on days like this, the wind told Sofia secrets.

  She wished Mamma would roll down the car window so she could listen. Outside, the sky sparkled with green and pink and purple, happy colors. Talking about the sparkles and the wind’s secrets made Mamma sad, so she didn’t say anything. But Sofia knew what the colors meant. They meant it was going to be a good day. Her dream last night had told her so.

  “Mamma, why aren’t we going to day care today?”

  Sofia knew why, but she wanted Mamma to tell her again.

  Mamma’s brown eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. They crinkled with a smile. Mamma always played along. Even when Sofia wasn’t really playing.

  “Because Auntie Giulia’s going to watch you from now on. Day care can’t take you all day, and I’ll be working late with this second job.”

  A thought popped into Sofia’s head, a cloud passing over the sun.

  “What about Bobby and Cherise?” Her bottom lip wobbled, so she bit it. She was a big girl now, six and a quarter since yesterday, not a baby. Only babies cried.

  “Oh, honey, we’ll find time for you to see your friends. Maybe we can have a playdate soon.”

  The cloud passed. The sun shone bright again.

  “Oh, okay. Then I can tell them about Auntie Giulia!”

  Mamma smiled at her, but the clouds had moved into her eyes now. She looked like Sofia felt when she was about to do something new that she wasn’t sure about, but that couldn’t be right. Mamma was always sure.

  Flowers waved in the wind as their battered minivan whooshed by. Sofia hummed a little flower song. It was a happy song, celebrating the rain coming tomorrow. Even so, a tiny seed of darkness grew in her stomach. Although she would never admit it to Bobby or Cherise or Mamma, she couldn’t remember exactly what her mother’s younger sister looked like. The last time she’d seen her aunt had been a long time ago. When she was five and really had been a baby.

  The minivan pulled up to a one-story blue house on a corner.

  “Is this it?” Sofia asked. Orange threads of disappointment tangled around her fingers, snuffing out the purple sparks. She shook them off with a huff. No bad colors today.

  The grass was long, and the bushes around the fence looked like Sofia’s hair had after she had gone on the hayride and Bobby had pushed her into a hay bale. The flowers by the door were sad and droopy. Sofia didn’t want to hear their song. It would sound like a thunderstorm.

  The black shutters were shiny with new paint, though, and the outside of the house was happy-sky-blue. Much different from Nonna Claudia’s house. Sofia decided this was a good sign.

  “Yep, we’re here,” Mamma said. “Hang tight. I’ll get you out.”

  Mamma unclipped Sofia from her booster seat. They walked hand-in-hand to the door. Sofia frowned at the flowers, wishing she could put her hands over her ears. Their song made her want to cry.

  They waited forever. Just as she was about to ask Mamma how much longer, the door opened a crack.

  “Giulia? It’s Connie and Sofia,” Mamma called out.

  The door opened wider. Sofia stared at the skinny woman standing behind it.

  Giulia didn’t look at all like Sofia had thought she would. She was thin, her bones sticking out from under her skin like knives. Her green eyes were ringed with the dark circles, but she didn’t wear makeup to cover them up like Mamma did. Her long, black hair hung in a tangled mess, not in a neat braid like Mamma’s.

  The worst part, though, was something only Sofia could see. A dark cloud clung to Aunt Giulia, sliding over her arms and torso, slithering down her legs, chaining her to the ground.

  Sofia balled her hands into fists so the darkness couldn’t reach her fingers. She snapped her blue shoes tightly together, making herself a smaller target. She wouldn’t be scared. Mamma needed her to be brave.

  “Come in,” Giulia said. Her voice sounded like she hadn’t used it in a long time.

  Giulia retreated into the shadows of the house, and Mamma nudged Sofia to move forward.

  “Go play out back, Sofia,” she whispered. “I’ll be back before bedtime. I love you very much.”

  Her mother smiled, but blue waves gathered around her, the ones that meant she needed a hug.

  Sofia sighed. She couldn’t pitch a fit now.

  “I love you, too, Mamma.”

  She looked down. The darkness had snuck an inch closer to her sneakers. With a little gasp, she ran away from her aunt, the center of the darkness, and further into the house. She would be brave again in a minute.

  She ran past a messy stack of boxes toward the sliding glass door that led outside. Instead of going into the backyard, though, she crouched behind one of the boxes. Sofia told herself she was just gathering more information about this mysterious aunt of hers, even as gray tinges of guilt bubbled under her sneakers.

  “If you have any questions, just call me,” Mamma said to her sister.

  “Connie, I already told you, this is a bad idea,” Giulia grumbled. “You should have Mamma watch her.”

  “No, she’s too busy teaching her cooking classes. Giulia, she’s only six—”

  And a quarter, Sofia co
rrected.

  “She’s a good girl,” Mamma continued. “She’s got quite an imagination. Just get her started on a game of pretend, and she’ll be entertained for most of the day. Make sure you’re watching her, though. Don’t just leave her in front of the TV and go back to your room.”

  “I’m not incompetent, Concetta.”

  Mamma ignored that and placed a hand on her younger sister’s shoulder the same way she did when Sofia was hurt or scared. The soft light of her love radiated toward Giulia.

  “Listen, Giulia, the company will be good for you. I know you’re still in a bad place, but it’s been eight months. It’s time to start living again. Scott would have wanted—”

  “Stop it,” Giulia interrupted in a rough voice. She turned away from Mamma, crossing her bony arms tightly against her chest, holding her dark clouds close. Streaks of angry red appeared like lightning. “Just … stop. I don’t need life advice from you of all people. Worry about your own shit. You’ve got plenty of it.”

  The red lightning struck out and hit Mamma’s blue waves. Sofia’s lower lip wobbled again, and she bit down hard. Why was Mamma leaving her with this lady? She was mean.

  The blue waves crashed around Mamma. Sofia hunched in a tight ball, afraid Mamma would drown. But Mamma just took a deep breath … and another.

  The waves calmed, retreated. The love light returned, shining stronger than ever.

  “Giulia, please just watch Sofia for me,” Mamma said. “It’s only temporary, and I think this will be good for you. For both of you. I’ll be back at nine.”

  Afraid Giulia would catch her listening, Sofia slipped outside—and gasped.

  Compared to the shadowy hallways of Giulia’s house, the backyard was a paradise. Flowers of every color bloomed. Happy flowers, not sad like the ones out front. They danced in the wind and sang a cheery song, and Sofia bounced along in time.

  If Bobby were here, he would say there was no such thing as singing flowers. Cherise would pretend to hear, but Sofia would know from the strained look on her face that she couldn’t really. Only Sofia, always Sofia, heard and saw these things.

  But there, in the middle of the yard, she saw something strange, even for her: a frosted glass door. It wasn’t connected to any walls or gates; instead its thick wooden frame was planted in the grass like a tree. It looked brand-new, the white paint gleaming in the morning sunlight. The glass was decorated with a design that looked like vines, showing glimpses of a green yard beyond the door. A painted wooden sign hung from the top of the frame from a piece of twine—Escape Here.

  And it glowed. The light was so bright, Sofia had to squint.

  The door to the house opened, and Aunt Giulia stepped outside, shading her eyes. Sofia crept toward her. She very much wanted to ask about the door, but she didn’t want Giulia to yell at her.

  Her aunt wasn’t looking at her, though. Giulia’s tired eyes skimmed the flowers and the grass and the fence. The dark cloud still hovered around her, drifting this way and that. It stretched to the ground, pulling and pulling. Sofia couldn’t believe her aunt hadn’t fallen under all that weight.

  “A-a-auntie Giulia?”

  Giulia started, then looked down at Sofia. Gray and blue edged the dark cloud.

  “Yes?” She looked at Sofia the way Mamma looked when an unfamiliar dog came too close.

  I won’t bite, Sofia almost said.

  “Why is there a door in the yard?” Sofia didn’t mention the light. She didn’t know if Giulia would get nervous like Mamma did or tease her like Daddy used to.

  Giulia sank into one of the nearby lawn chairs. The cloud wavered, then darkened.

  “It’s a door to another world,” she said.

  Sofia perked up. This was what she had been waiting for: an adventure.

  “What kind of world?” She peered at the door. It shone back at her, the light dancing around the wooden frame. The silver doorknob sparkled, begging her to touch it.

  “Um, a magical world, filled with fairies and dragons and stuff,” Giulia said, the words spilling out in a hurry.

  “Stuff? Are you just making this up?”

  Sofia hated when people said things they didn’t mean or teased her about the special things she saw. Daddy used to do that, before he left. Why don’t you go look for those fairies or whatever under your bed? I’m in the middle of something. It made her feel silly and small … and different. She didn’t want to be different. Different meant being alone.

  Sofia plopped down on the grass. She pretended to study the long, waxy blades while she secretly kept an eye on the door.

  “I don’t believe you,” she declared.

  Giulia fought the urge to groan. She wasn’t good with kids. She had never been good with kids. Scott had always wanted them, but she …

  Grief’s hot knife pierced her heart, turning time into molasses. She sat in its agonizing spell, unmoving, until she finally dragged her mind away from the memories.

  Don’t think about it.

  How did she make the door sound believable? Even when she had been as young as Sofia, she had never really believed in magic.

  Tesoro, look, watch the cards. Hear the secrets they tell, Giulia’s grandmother would say as she flipped playing cards onto the kitchen table.

  They’re just cards, Nonna Rosa. They can’t say anything, Giulia would always reply. But she couldn’t stop looking at the cards.

  If you listen right, they will, Nonna Rosa would insist with a wink. She tapped a long, red fingernail on the Queen of Hearts, a patient smile on her face. It’s in our blood, my mother from her mother from her mother. You just need to listen.

  Then Giulia’s mother would shoo her away and tell Nonna Rosa to stop playing at being an old strega, a witch. Giulia had secretly agreed with her mother, a rare occurrence. If her grandmother’s cards were right more often than not, well, she was just good at reading people.

  Scott hadn’t thought like that.

  I wish I could have met your grandmother, he had said wistfully when she’d told him about the cards. Folk magic is supposed to be the strongest, especially when it follows the family line.

  She had shoved him, rolling her eyes. You can’t actually believe in this stuff.

  His white teeth had flashed in a grin, then he’d wrapped his arms around her from behind, her back pressed against his chest. She had curled her hands around his forearm and dropped a kiss on his warm brown skin.

  We’ll get you believing yet, my lady scientist. Like your Nonna Rosa said, witchiness is in your blood. I’ll find a way for you to see it.

  The door had been Scott’s latest attempt to prove there was something beyond what they could see, after moonlight meditation and incense and a thousand other things had failed to produce any results. A portal, he’d called it, a threshold to cross to change the way they perceived the world.

  She would have gone along with it, humored his immovable belief that there was something more out there. But …

  The knife stabbed her again.

  Giulia glanced longingly at the shadowed depths of her house. She wanted to lie down, to sleep, to retreat into her dreams where Scott waited. Anything but sit outside and drown in her loss.

  Sofia looked at her with Connie’s dark brown eyes, still full of innocence and wonder. Giulia wasn’t the only one who had been dealt a bad hand. She got out of her chair and sat next to Sofia in the grass.

  “How do you know the door is magic?” Sofia asked.

  Giulia looked over as well, her gaze lingering on the sign. Escape Here.

  “My friend has seen it,” Giulia whispered, trying to sound like Scott when he talked to little kids. Sofia’s eyes lit up at her tone. “When you walk through that door, your whole world changes. You’ll be able to see things if you have magic eyes.”

  “Magic eyes?” Sofia gasped. “Oh! I have those!”

  Giulia’s lips twitched up. Connie said her daughter had an active imagination.

  “Then you already know
. In this very backyard,” Giulia said in a low voice, as if sharing a very important secret with Sofia, “there are hundreds of fairies and magical creatures just waiting for a little girl who can see them. Sometimes they can look just like ordinary objects, like leaves or flowers.”

  She certainly didn’t want her niece to complain when the fairies and magical creatures didn’t appear. She was already grasping at straws.

  “I can do that.” Sofia lifted her tiny chin. Giulia saw so much of Connie in her in that moment, ready to jump headlong into the next adventure. “Can I try?”

  “Go ahead,” Giulia replied. “Just remember that you have to come back through the door when you’re ready to return to the real world.”

  The little girl frowned. “Wait. You aren’t coming with me?”

  “I can’t go with you,” Giulia said. Her chest constricted, pressing the air from her lungs. “I … I don’t have magic eyes.”

  “Oh.” An inexplicable sadness crept into Sofia’s eyes. “Maybe you’ll learn. And then you can come with me. It would be nice to finally have someone else who could see.”

  “Maybe,” Giulia said, “but not today. Go ahead. Have fun.”

  Giulia got up, awkwardly patted Sofia on the head, and retreated inside, to her bed and her dreams. Where Scott was still alive, and she wasn’t alone.

  Giulia’s phone buzzed on the dresser. She slapped it into submission. Stupid alarm, why had she set one—

  “Crap, Sofia!” she cried, bolting upright.

  Giulia rushed out of her room and down the hall. Visions of Sofia trapped under a bookcase, taken by a wandering child predator, or bitten by an escaped dog filled her mind. Her heart pounded against her ribs, threatening to break free. Giulia peeled around the corner, her socks slipping on the hardwood. She barely missed the stack of boxes filled with Scott’s art supplies, then threw open the sliding door to the backyard.

  Please be there, please be there.

  She jerked to a stop, gulping in breaths of fresh air, hands on her knees. Quiet, it was too quiet.