by K.N. Lee
The words fumbled their way out into the car and hung in the air as if they should have been dropping but hadn't quite figured out how. Charlotte, in the meantime, listened to her son as he tried, verbally, to make sense of what had perhaps been a chance encounter he was reading far too much into.
"Lester," she said after a brief pause. "I don't know if I like the idea of you getting involved with a witch. I'm all for the idea of you having a girlfriend and such, but a witch? Even a girl who only has the reputation of being one, might be a bit much. You do want to fit in here, don't you?"
The comment brought to mind a previous school, Hammermill Academy, a prestigious all boys school he had gone to a sum total of six months after which he was invited not to return thanks to certain irregularities in his conduct, or so the letter sent to his parents had said. Lester was truly certain it was an issue of failure to conform to their mindless rules regarding the dress code and public conduct. If he dropped an f-bomb now and then there was no reason for anyone to really get all upset. Except in a school where such things were considered not just inappropriate but highly unsavory.
"I would love to fit in, Mom, but I don't think I want to at the expense of me, you know?"
"Lester, darling. You know I love you and will support you in anything, but think about this one long and hard before you go thumbing your nose at your classmates. They may know something about her that you don't."
"I'm sure they do. They've known her a lot longer, but I also think it is quite possible there is nothing wrong with her at all and they are just amusing themselves by picking on the underdog. After all, they have these stupid rules about magic which they are adding to the student conduct handbook. I was finally given a copy in my last class."
Charlotte initially said nothing, letting the soft hum of the engine comment for her.
"Mom."
"Yes, Les?"
"Do you believe in magic?"
"Yes, but I really don't want to talk about it. If you want to talk about magic, I strongly suggest you talk to your father."
With that, she changed the subject to what he thought his hardest teacher at this new school was going to be. He hadn't met them all but he was fairly certain Mr. Shooter was probably the frontrunner in the scary teacher category. The man seemed as if he had a chip on his shoulder the size of a small country.
Throughout the conversation though, he couldn't help wondering why his Mother, who often talked of anything with the sheer simplicity of a woman who has long since ceased to truly be surprised by the world would tell him to talk to his father about magic. It seemed a fairly easy conversation to have. He'd talk to his Father later.
"What do you want for dinner?"
They were home and in the process of letting themselves into the house.
"Anything you want. It isn't as if there is anything I won't eat."
"All too true and you're a growing boy which means food needs to be available all the time." His mother, her former cheery mood restored, ruffled his hair, kissed him on the cheek, and made her way into the kitchen to start preparing for dinner. Lester took that as his cue to his bedroom and begin the laborious process of doing the days homework.
Dinner and homework done, Lester had largely forgotten about calling his Father. The press of facts against his brain was enough to drive out most thoughts, except those of Melina. Her mystery was enough to keep him turning things over and over, so much so that while he considered it, he barely heard the phone ring. It was only when his mother called him from where she was sitting in the living room to tell him his father was on the phone did he break away from those thoughts and come out of his bedroom.
"Hey Dad."
"Things go all right on the first day?"
"Sure. Got to meet the principal, seems like a nice guy. Already causing a stir among my classmates, you know, the usual?"
"A stir in a good way, I hope?"
"Yes. I didn't blow anything up or anything like that."
"Oh good. Mom tells me you met a girl."
"Yeah..." He let the word hang in the air for a moment, trying to find the words to say what was next. He went with the easiest thing. "According to our classmates, she is a witch."
"A witch?" Lester could hear his Father working that word around in his mouth, trying it out. "And how exactly do you know this? Other than from your classmates?"
"I don't. It's just something that was said, but Dad, there's something about her. She walks in a halo of rose colored light as if she's being followed by a spotlight. It's gorgeous."
"Oh." Keton sighed across the phone line. "I guess we'll talk about this some more when I get back."
A far away voice called to Keton and he sighed again.
"Back to the circus. Take care of your mother."
"Ten-Four, Captain."
"I love you both, bye." The line went dead. He walked the phone back into the living room and put it up on the base. "Dad says he loves you."
"Ah huh." Charlotte didn't look away from the television. Lester smiled, shook his head, and went back to his bedroom.
Night had descended quietly and wrapped the Jameson household, now silent with the television showing nothing but darkness and the only two occupants curled up snug in their beds, in its embrace. Lester, despite the vague chill of the night, slept with his window open, the blue curtains bleached in the moonlight to a softer shade as they rippled over the bed. The boy himself lay on his side, head pillowed on his right arm, legs drawn nearly to his chest. In his dream, something dreadful was coming closer. His mind depicted it as a hungry animal, just out of reach of his sight, prowling along near enough for him to almost smell its breath, yet far enough away he couldn't quite give it shape.
He moaned in his nightmare and a tiny voice answered.
"Wake up."
He knew that voice. Blurry eyes opened. The room still had the contours of the jungle at the edges, the feeling of vines created by the hanging lanyards at the edge of the bed, and the shading leaves the curtains wavering over his head.
"Wake up!"
A light disco pulsed near his head, making him blink hurriedly. That was when the shadow fully descended over him. Lester half rolled and looked up, directly into the face of a woman he had never seen before. Her lips were the color of flames, moving and shifting. She was beautiful. Heat emanated from her, dropping down upon him in waves. A sultry warm heat. Her lips were pursed to kiss him.
"Get away!" the tiny voice insisted and Lester obeyed. He rolled away and brought his feet to the floor, just barely escaping Cassandra's attempt to grab him.
"MOM! DAD!"
In his fear, he snatched open his door hard enough to bang it and sprinted down the hall. Without looking back, he knew the woman was in pursuit.
"HELP!"
He hit the staircase at a sprint.
The world swung.
Lester ran bodily into a waist high iron railing. He had come down a staircase, but it was not the one in his home, it was a fire escape.
"MOM! DAD!"
*
Keton Jameson was on his second beer and just happened to be looking out the window when his son, pajama clad and half the world away from where he was supposed to be, came clattering down the fire escape in his bare feet screaming for his parents. The beer bottle hit the floor and he shouldered his way past an Aunt he barely remembered and the first cousin who had insisted on dancing with him at his wedding to throw open the window.
"Lester," he hissed.
The boy turned to look at him and went pale. He shivered and clutched the fire escape for dear life.
"Come on." He waved the boy in the window.
Cautiously, he climbed in.
The assembled were, rightfully, staring at him. So many faces he didn't recognize, a few he did, but even they looked strange gathered together in funeral finery. The black made them all look as if they were nothing more than heads and jewelry.
"Dad?"
"It's okay, kid, don't wo
rry about it."
His father was already working his way through the crowd, pulling Lester along, as they headed into the small bedroom Mother Skya had kept for herself. It was quiet, empty, and warm. Lester's mind slipped back to the dream, and the lady who was like a walking heater. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla wandered about the room, slowly losing itself without the previous occupant. Lester laid down on the bed and covered himself with a coverlet that smelled faintly of vanilla and lavender, the final scent much lighter than the others, hiding in the covers -. The smell lulled his senses. His own fear fled his limbs and left his eyelids heavy. He was nearly asleep when his father finally left the room, his clever tongue and more clever brain already explaining to itself how a sixteen year old boy had ended up on the fire escape in his pajamas when he had gone to bed in an entirely different part of the country.
"Whatever happened?"
"Oh, it's nothing. Just a night terror. Sometimes they come on even in children that age," Keton said lightly. "He'll be fine in the morning." He patted the concerned woman on the shoulder and moved on to his brother where he took a hold of his arm and whispered in his ear.
"I'm craving a cigarette just now, care to join me?"
His brother merely nodded, finished off the beer in his hand and kissed his wife on the cheek.
"Going outside with Keton to smoke. I'll be back soon."
"Sure, sure."
The two men stepped out onto the fire escape and Maxwell, Keton's older brother, lit a cigarette. They passed it between them. Keton hadn't smoked in nearly a decade, not since he'd had a lung cancer scare. The idea had been enough to bring that particular habit to a screeching halt.
"So I saw what I thought I saw?" Maxwell asked, one eyebrow going up.
"Yeah. You saw it. I saw it. Lester's here and you're gonna have to help me cover it up that he wasn't actually here earlier. Otherwise, there are going to be some uncomfortable questions."
Maxwell Jameson was not in the same physical shape as his brother, never had been. While Keton got the movie star good looks and the physique to match, Maxwell was closer to an old Roman gladiator, built to fight lions and bears. He was a big man, going softer as he aged, but not enough that one would notice while he had his clothes on. He was still a more formidable opponent than most would ever take on. At least until he smiled. When he smiled, suns lit up. It was the smile and the combination of his sky blue eyes that had won him his wife, who was casting glances out the window every so often, waiting for the pow-wow to come to an end so she could be let in on the secret.
"What you really mean is you need Ana to help you hide this because let's face it, she's the one who's going to do most of the talking."
"Can't say she isn't good at it."
"Too true. If you ever want the entire world to find out something and believe it, tell my darling Ana to whisper a few words in the right ears and by tomorrow the President will know and be willing to give a press conference about it. So what's the official story going to be?"
The cigarette paused between them, still held by Keton who was letting out his breath in a stream of gray mint flavored smoke.
"What won't stretch her conscience too much, you think?"
Maxwell considered.
"Lester was here. You put him to bed in the house before we left for the wake. There was really no one here but you, me, Ana, Thomas, and his wife then, so there are fewer people to bring in on the story. Maybe he wasn't doing so well after the flight. So he was asleep when we got back, slept through most of the carousing, then something frightened him, he got confused, climbed out the window, and ended up on the fire escape where you got him and brought him back in."
"About what I was thinking."
"Nice to know we still think alike when it comes to hiding things."
"Remember when we only were hiding something simple from mother?"
"Yeah, I do, and wish it this were something simple. You know why or how he got here?"
"No, and I don't think he's in the proper mindset to tell me, so I'm going to wait until in the morning. Gonna have to find him some clothes."
"He's nearly big enough to wear yours."
"All too true. Kid is growing like a weed." Keton shook his head, took one more drag off the cigarette and passed it to his brother. "Get rid of that. Half of my brain is screaming go brush your teeth before Charlotte smells that on you, but then I remember she isn't here." With a sigh, he let his eyes drift to the skyline. "I wish she was."
"You'd better stay out here and call her. Let her know what's going on and that her son hasn't run away from home. Otherwise, you'll get back and the police will be staking out your place trying to find your runaway boy."
"Yeah. You go talk to Ana. I'll call Charlotte."
He had his phone in his hand before Maxwell had ducked his bulk back into the small apartment.
"Hey honey," he said when she picked up, her voice groggy. "I've got something to tell you. You're lying down, right?"
Lester wore his Father's clothes to the funeral. The gray dress pants had to be cuffed and the belt, borrowed from one of his older cousins, had to be cinched in to the last notch to keep them from sliding off his hips, but the dress shirt looked perfect and the suit jacket covered a number of fashion sins. The shoes didn't match, tennis shoes borrowed from his Uncle Maxwell, but at least with the laces they didn't flop like clown shoes.
A number of concerned relatives asked solicitously about his nightmare from the night before, but he just gave them a wane smile and said he was much better that morning. It was the only thing he could say since he knew for certain what he'd encountered had been anything but a nightmare. Yet he simply smiled as best he could, ran his fingers through his hair, thanked them for their concern, and hugged his Father's shadow. Eventually, the concern abated as the funeral service began.
The deep throb of the organ through the tiny church was enough to set one’s teeth on edge, but he made himself not think about how much he despised the idea of death. He preferred celebrations of life. This was anything but. Somber faces surrounding him. Eyes fixed on the coffin in expressions of misery.
His grandfather, Thomas, Skya's closest - living relative sat at the front. Skya herself had married, but did not leave behind any children. Her husband had proceeded her in the quest for the pearly gates. He sat with his back ram-rod straight, his cane held between his knees. He was an old man. So old most of the assembled weren't actually completely sure of his age, only that he was the oldest member of the family still living. He kept his gray hair cropped short except for the single lock of strawberry hair which grew at his right temple. It was allowed to grow long and even had a tiny bead at the end of it which laid against the stark white of his dress shirt like a drop of blood.
He hadn't looked up nearly the entire time the service was going on, his gaze locked on a space between his black leather shoes, shiny for perhaps the last time in their history. Those around him cried. He sat, quiet, his face not quite stony but made of sterner stuff than those nearby. At one point in the service, he turned around and fixed Lester with that cool blue steel gaze. Or at least Lester thought it was meant for him. Then he looked away again. How he had found him amid all the other faces in the church the young man wouldn't know, not yet.
It wasn't until Mother Skya was in the ground and people were making their ways back to the vehicles that brought them that Thomas sidled up to Keton and Lester with the ease of someone used to having to sneak.
"Show me your hand, boy." The command was quiet, certain, and without inflection. Lester looked at the man whom he only really knew by reputation. Keton was no help, waving him to make his own decision. He showed him his hand with the ring. The older man took it, turned it one way then the other as though he'd never seen a ring before. "Be mindful, boy, be mindful indeed. This ring brings power, but it also brings trouble. Mind you listen well."
"Yes,sir."
"Don't sir me. It's Thomas. Say that name like you kno
w it."
"Yes, Thomas."
"Thank you. My Aunt wore that ring from her younger years. Wore it well. Used it well. You take care to do the same and hopefully trouble won't come to you."
Then the old man continued along the dusty brown path, his cane leaving behind little circles beside the mark of his right foot.
Keton rubbed his lips and watched him go.
"More and more these days I wish I was a smoking man again," he muttered to no one.
"Mom would kill you if you took it up again."
"I suppose I'd do better not to tempt it then." There was a smile in his voice his face didn't show. "And I'd better be getting you back to her too; otherwise, she might just call the police anyway." He clapped a hand on his son's shoulder hard enough to make him wince.
All Lester could do was laugh and rub the offended shoulder. Charlotte Jameson was protective of her boys, husband and son. Even from themselves and each other. No use in getting in the middle of that unnecessarily.
They were in the car on the way to the airport when he finally said, "So what happened and how much do you know about it?"
"I don't know anything, but I can guess plenty," Keton replied, his eyes still trained on the road. "That ring is legendary in the family, you know?" He gestured to the jewelry Lester now wore. "It is said to be able to make the wearer capable of predicting the future of relationships and a number of other things, but I don't know all of them. I don't think Mother Skya used much more than that." Keton rubbed his lips again. "I'm guessing it had something to do with you showing up at the house after I clearly left you in Sun City. So want to tell me how you came by it?"
"A fairy gave it to me, said Mother Skya meant for me to have it." Lester stared down at the ring. "I don't really know much more than that. It said it was the Ring of Love."
