Emily and the Spellstone

by Michael Rubens

  None of that would work, she thought.

  “Emily, look at this!”

  Her mom again, standing at the table, holding the tablet computer. She must have come in without Emily even noticing.

  “Mom, I’m trying to do my homework.”

  “But look how nice the venue for the reception is!”

  She turned the screen so Emily could see it. “See? It’s called the Overlook Bay Resort. Doesn’t it look—​hey!”

  Emily had snatched the tablet out of her mother’s hands and was staring fixedly at the image on the screen: an aerial shot of some sort of fancy resort perched near the edge of a high cliff, a cliff that overlooked a large bay.

  “Well, you certainly seem interested now,” said her mother.

  “What’s that?” said Emily, pointing.

  “That’s water, sweetie. What did you think it was?”

  “I mean, is it a lake?”

  “It’s a bay. Like the name of the resort says.”

  “A bay that connects to the ocean?”

  “Yes—​why?”

  “Nothing,” said Emily, and handed the tablet back to her.

  “Are you all right? You look flushed.”

  “I’m fine. I’m a lot better now.”

  When her mom left the room, Emily wrote, THROW STONE BACK INTO OCEAN WHERE IT CAME FROM and circled it three times.

  She stayed up until her parents ordered her to bed. Then she showered and brushed her teeth, took a deep breath, and went into her room.

  She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, regarding the sock drawer as if it were her enemy. Then, keeping as far away from it as possible, Emily made her way to her bed and climbed in. She kept the light on. She had decided that she wasn’t going to sleep: she’d stay up all night again and then sleep on the car trip the next day. Even so, her eyelids began to droop, then closed altogether as she drifted off.

  “Doot doot doooo . . .”

  She opened her eyes.

  “La la la laaa . . .”

  It was Gorgo’s muffled voice, coming from the drawer as he crooned tunelessly to himself.

  “Hmm hmm hmm hmm doot doooo . . .”

  Well, not exactly “to himself.” The sort of humming you do with an innocent air in an attempt to get someone to pay attention to you and respond. Emily didn’t.

  “Shoobie doo waaa . . .”

  She stared fixedly at the moon shining through the window. There was a longer silence. Gorgo must have given up. Phew. Her eyes started to close again.

  “Doop doobity doo waa waaaaaa . . .”

  Emily snapped her eyes open, threw back the covers, stomped over to the dresser, and jerked open the sock drawer.

  “Would you be quiet!” she hissed.

  “Okay,” said a voice from somewhere underneath the socks. “But since you posed that as a question, I’m taking it to mean that I’m now allowed to talk to you and will quickly take this opportunity to say that I reeeallly think we should chat!”

  “No!” she said.

  He was silent.

  “Okay, why?” she said.

  “First of all, can I come out? It’s very uncomfortable in here like this. My leg is asleep.”

  Emily thought about it.

  “You have to be quiet. And no fires!”

  “Of course.”

  She fished around under the socks until she found the Stone, then held it up. Again, without knowing exactly why, she said, “Awaken.”

  The Stone awoke, the gentle glow returning. Emily had seen it happen before, but still she couldn’t help gasping.

  She twisted the Stone this way and that. Again she had the illusion of looking through a small window, the tiny icons floating gently as if suspended in an infinite space. The moon rotating in the upper right-hand corner seemed to have waned just the slightest amount.

  “No rush or anything, but I seriously can’t even feel my foot now,” said Gorgo.

  “Sorry. How do I do it, again?”

  “You know the word.”

  “What? Oh, right. Um . . . abrakadonkulous.”

  This time there was no explosion. Instead, Gorgo reversed his folding routine: A small cube popped out of the Stone and landed on the floor next to Emily. Then, in a series of rapid movements, it unfolded and inflated its way into being Gorgo.

  “Ah, that’s so much better!” he said, even though his head was brushing the ceiling. He began vigorously massaging one of his legs. “Ugh. Don’t you hate it when your foot goes all numb, and then it’s the pins and needles, and—”

  “Gorgo, what is going on?”

  “Huh?”

  “There was . . . something in my room last night.”

  “Ah, right. I thought I felt something. Some sort of shade or spirit, probably sniffing around after the Stone.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe someone sent it. Or maybe it just showed up, drawn by the Stone,” he said. “You’re about to say ‘why’ again, aren’t you.”

  “Yes. Why. Why would that thing be drawn to this Stone?”

  “Because it’s a Stone. They’re incredibly powerful, Stones are. Powerful and rare. A Stonemaster can use them to work great magics. That’s a very ancient relic you have there. Well, sort of modern ancient. The first Stones were massive. You’ve heard of Stonehenge, right? Well, those are really old-fashioned. You couldn’t move them anywhere. The one you have, though, it’s portable, or, uh . . .”

  “Mobile?” said Emily.

  “Right!”

  “A mobile . . . Stone?”

  “Precisely!”

  “A mobile Stone for casting spells.”

  “Right again.”

  “It’s a Mobile. Spell. Stone.”

  “You seem fixated on that.”

  “It’s like a mobile cell phone.”

  “Not sure what you’re talking about, but if you say so.”

  “What are all these thingies floating around?” Emily swiped at the icons experimentally, just like you would do with a touchscreen device. And sure enough, her motion caused those icons to disappear offscreen, replaced by new ones that floated in from the side. “They look like apps,” she said.

  “So you do know something,” said Gorgo. “Except it’s pronounced ‘apths.’”

  “Apps?”

  “No, apths. With a th sound.”

  “What’s an ‘apth’?”

  “It stands for ‘applied process thaumaturgical.’ They’re like little spells.”

  “Thauma . . .”

  “Thaumaturgy. Magic. I think there’s an apth for pretty much anything you want to do. But you have to be very careful with them. But hey, you’re the Stonemaster.”

  “No, I’m not,” said Emily. “I’m just a normal kid. Why is this happening to me?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows. Some prophecy or whatever. Are you the seventh son of a seventh son?”

  “What? No. I’m not anyone’s son.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Because I’m a girl?”

  “Right! Of course! Okay—​seventh daughter of a seventh daughter?”

  “No.”

  “Seventh daughter of a seventh son?”

  “No.”

  “Seventh male or female offspring of any possible combination of—”

  “I can’t be the seventh anything. I only have a brother and a sister!”

  “Ah. So, lemme see. There’s you, your brother, your sister . . .” said Gorgo, counting off on his talons. “That’s, uh . . .”

  “Three,” said Emily, narrowing her eyes.

  “Of course it is. And three is . . . ?”

  “Less than seven.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Fairly certain, yes,” said Emily.

  “Huh,” said Gorgo, scratching his chin in perplexity. “So the seventh-offspring-of-seventh-offspring thing wouldn’t explain it. Aha! How about third cousin twice removed of twin great nephews of a descendent of
the fourth high king of GlackenKlack who reigned during—” He paused. “I’m guessing from your expression that you don’t know what GlackenKlack is.”

  “I don’t even know what a third cousin twice removed is.”

  “Neither do I, really. Who does? Look, sometimes these things just happen. You got the Stone because you deserve it for some reason. I imagine you’re plucky and adventurous and full of derring-do.”

  Emily thought about that.

  “I’m not any of those things. Especially the adventurous part. I hate adventures.”

  “I think you’d better start developing a taste for them.”

  “If something magical is going to happen, why can’t it be something normal? Like, a coin that you have to wish twice on, or . . . or finding out that I’m supposed to go to a boarding school for wizards or something?”

  “Boarding school for wizards? Ha ha ha! That’s ridiculous. Absurd. Hee hee hee!”

  “And what about you?” she said. “Do all Stones have a demon trapped inside them?”

  “Okay, first, not a demon, and second, no. I think it was just a useful vessel for the person who trapped me in there.”

  “And why did they?”

  “I’d rather not tell you.”

  “But you’d have to if I commanded you to.”

  “Yes. But . . . I think maybe you don’t want to know.”

  He looked at her evenly. She shuddered.

  “Okay,” she said. She was noting now that in addition to the bumps and spikes on his gray-green skin, he had an impressive assortment of scars. She decided she didn’t want to know where those came from, either. Another thing she noticed: “Where’re all the flames?”

  “Eh.” Gorgo shrugged. “That’s mostly for show. I can control them, unless I get excited or angry. Or nervous.”

  “Or burp.”

  “I really am sorry about that.”

  “Emily, are you talking to someone?”

  It was her mother, outside her door.

  “Quick!” said Emily. Gorgo sighed but folded himself up and disappeared into the Stone.

  “Emily,” said her mother, opening the door. “What are you doing out of bed? Get to sleep! We’ve got a long drive tomorrow!”

  Before Emily got into bed, she went to put the Stone into her drawer again.

  “Hey, c’mon,” said Gorgo. “I get so bored in here.”

  “Gorgo?” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you please leave me alone? While you’re in there, I want you to plug your ears and close your eyes and stop paying attention to me and stop talking to me.”

  “Yes, Stonemaster.”

  “I’m not a Stonemaster!”

  “Yes, Mistress Snack Food.”

  “And don’t call me that!”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Okay,” she said, and started to put the Stone into the drawer again.

  “But one last thing,” said Gorgo. “And I’m not just saying this because I’m bound to serve you for eternity until such time as I can somehow free myself and devour you. Which, believe me, I will. I don’t know anything about how to use that Stone. But I do know this: That thing that showed up last night? That was nothing. Sooner or later other things will show up. Worse things, things that you can’t drive off or destroy with a bit of light.”

  “Fine,” said Emily.

  “And Emily,” said Gorgo, “you can’t just get rid of the Stone. I know you want to, but you’re stuck with it.”

  We’ll see about that, thought Emily, and shut the drawer.

  Chapter

  Six

  Maligno Venomüch Sr. walked along a dark, stone-lined hallway. The only illumination came from a flaming torch in his hand. Things skittered out of the way as he approached. In his other hand he was holding the raw, bloody haunch of some sort of animal.

  He came to a thick wooden door.

  There was a deep snarl from the other side.

  “Hello, dogg,” he said. The second g was audible. The word sounded like “daw-guh-guh.”

  There was more snarling.

  “I have a present for you.”

  Maligno unlatched a smaller door within the door and pushed the haunch through. It was immediately yanked out of his hand. There was more snarling, and ripping and tearing and chewing and swallowing noises. Then, “Ptoooey.” The thigh bone from the haunch sailed out of the smaller door and hit the opposite wall before falling to the moist stones below. It had been picked clean.

  Maligno had something else in his hand: a small jar containing a writhing patch of darkness, a tiny remnant of the carrion shade he had sent to find the Stone. He opened the jar, stuck it through the smaller door, and felt the dogg sniffing at it.

  “Good dogg,” said Maligno. “Now fetch.”

  The drive to the wedding was long. Emily slept a lot. She had finally fallen asleep the night before despite herself, but she still felt as if she could sleep for three days straight.

  Her sister sat in the third row of the minivan and listened to music, occasionally singing out loud in her off-key voice. Dougie sat next to Emily in the second row, sometimes poking her in the ribs to wake her up, and once dipping his finger into his yogurt shake and then sticking his finger into her ear, until she screamed at him and her parents scolded her and ordered her into the back row with Hilary. Then she stared out the window and worked on her plan to get rid of the Stone.

  The wedding was lovely. Her cousin was beautiful in her dress. The groom was, well, well-groomed and handsome. Grownups cried and blew their noses like trumpets. Emily’s mother sobbed.

  Emily, her thoughts dominated by how to get rid of the Stone, barely registered any of it.

  Afterward, as they drove to the reception at the fancy resort on the high bluff above the bay, Emily’s mother said, “Wasn’t it lovely?”

  “What?” said Emily. “Uh, yes. Lovely.”

  Meanwhile, a dogg was sniffing and snuffling its way through many dimensions, following a particular trail of magic. A path of spirit slime, left by Emily’s nocturnal visitor.

  Portals opened before and closed after the animal, like someone unzipping and then zipping a dogg-size portion of reality, allowing it to move from world to world, universe to universe. Its sudden appearance—​and its fearful physical appearance—​was generally greeted with screams of terror in each location as it passed through: an office building where the workers looked like furniture and the furniture looked like people; an island filled with purple cloud creatures; a snow-covered realm where an insufferable talking lion was pontificating to a group of children, pausing in his lecture to yelp in surprise when the dogg materialized and just as quickly vanished.

  With each world, the dogg was getting closer to the Stone.

  The wedding reception was held on a flagstone courtyard in the back of the resort. There were white tablecloths on the tables and an extensive buffet, the evening tableau illuminated by dozens of glowing paper lanterns. Hilary flirted with the waiters. Dougie used his spoon to catapult peas at other tables. Emily ate her food without tasting it, interacting with her family only enough to prevent Dougie from sticking a buttered muffin onto her forearm.

  As soon as the wedding band started up and the guests headed to the dance floor, Emily made her move.

  There was a broad lawn beyond the courtyard. It led to the cliff above the bay. Wooded areas flanked the lawn on both sides. Making sure no one saw her, Emily slipped off the flagstone and onto the lawn, and then to the trees. She followed a path that she figured would take her parallel to the shoreline, peering up through the branches at the moon now and then to make sure she maintained her course.

  She went deeper into the woods, the music fading behind her. When she could no longer hear the band at all, she turned left and headed toward where she thought the cliff edge and the water would be. Sure enough, after a short while the trees thinned out and then stopped altogether, and there was a band of rocky ground between the woo
ds and the edge of the cliff.

  When she got a few feet from the edge, she slowed and then cautiously inched forward. Emily had never been a huge fan of dresses, so after much debate with her mother that morning, she had been allowed to wear a pair of nice pants with a fancy embroidered top to the wedding. Now she was wishing she were wearing shorts, because she would have preferred to crawl the remaining distance to the edge.

  “I. Hate. Heights,” she muttered to no one, taking the few shaky steps she needed to get all the way to the lip.

  She peeked over the edge and instantly regretted it, her head swimming. Far below her was a thin strip of rocky beach and then the calm waters of the bay. She quickly scrambled back from the precipice and caught her breath.

  “Hate them.”

  She opened her little beaded purse and pulled out the Stone.

  “Goodbye,” she said. “And good riddance!”

  Then, drawing back her arm, Emily hurled the Stone with all her might toward the bay. She watched it fly in a high arc, following its path until it landed in the water with a faint splash.

  “There,” she said. “That’s done!”

  Then she turned to walk away.

  Phew. That was over. Now she could go back to being a normal kid who—​

  What was that sound? Like another splash, but a splash in reverse, as if something had been ejected force-fully from the water. Emily spun around and—​“WHOA!”

  She flinched, turning her head away and closing her eyes, and jerked her hands up reflexively to ward off the object that was streaking directly at her—​just in time to catch it in her right hand, her fingers curling around it automatically. Her face still turned away and scrunched in a grimace, she waited for the sting of the impact to reach her brain. It never arrived. She opened her eyes and looked at the object in her hand.

  It was the Stone.

  “No,” she said. “I cannot believe this.”

  The Stone had come tumbling back at her at the same speed she had thrown it—​faster, even—​but instead of painfully slapping into her hand like a hard-thrown baseball, it had slowed at the very last moment and nestled itself perfectly into her waiting palm.

  “No!” said Emily. “Get out of here!” And she hurled the Stone away again.