Leo removed his wire frames and nodded. “I’m ready, Mom.” He reknotted his black belt and turned to the floor. A small hand grabbed his arm before he could move. It was his younger sister, Marin.
She blew him a kiss. “Snap punch him in the face and butterfly kick his butt!” she yelled. Then throwing a punch that included a leg lift, she said, “Knock him to the mat.”
Dan pulled Marin back into the throng. “Calm down, Attila the Hun. Let’s watch the match, okay?”
Leo smiled and faced his opponent in the middle of the rubber floor with a bow.
“You look weird without your glasses, Four Eyes,” Ricci whispered so the karate master could not hear.
Leo said nothing. But the color in his face turned a deep red. He looked to his mom with apprehension. She offered a sympathetic nod.
The boys ran at each other. Ricci’s punches were too wide and Leo’s first roundhouse kick missed the mark entirely. They now circled one another, half squatting, fists at the ready.
That’s when the front door Will was lounging against pushed open. “I hope I’m not late, Willy.” It was his mother’s aunt Freda, a large woman in a blue muumuu with a towering twister of blond hair. She held a supersized smoothie in one hand and a crocheted purse, big as a feedbag, in the other. “The line at Smoothikins was crazy. Then they ran out of my gluten-free cupcakes—ugh! Where’s your mama?”
Will pointed to the wall at the fringe of the fight mat.
“Deborah! Deborah!” Aunt Freda sang out, knocking aside startled parents and kids as she nudged her way to the front. “Had I known this many people were coming, I would have gotten here earlier and staked out a spot.” She kissed Deborah on her cheek and settled into a place near the broom closet.
“You’re going down, Squinty,” Ricci said under his breath. The boy spun around and delivered a blow that sent Leo crashing into the far wall.
Will stood on tiptoes, trying to see if Leo was rising. A bruise appeared near Leo’s trembling lower lip and his breathing was hard. Still he jumped up and tugged on the bottom of his uniform. His blue eyes locked on Ricci as he assumed a fighting stance.
“That’s it, let’s go, Leo,” Deborah Wilder said, clapping.
“Another shot like that, Ricci, and you’re disqualified,” the judge warned.
“Kick him into next week,” Marin bellowed before her father shushed her.
Will could tell Leo was angry. Whenever his brother got quiet, real quiet, Will knew it was time to run for cover. And now Leo, his fists pulled back at his sides, was still as a storm cloud before its first crack of thunder.
“Without your other set of eyes, your aim’s not too hot,” Ricci spat out from across the mat.
“That’s enough, Ricci. Last chance!” the judge yelled. “Respect your opponent or you’re out.”
Leo spread his feet wide and ran at Ricci.
“Oooh, he’s so fast,” Aunt Freda said, sucking on the straw of her smoothie.
Leo sailed through the air, one leg straight out, the other cocked under him. While he was in mid-flight, Deborah’s eyes narrowed. She could have sworn that Leo’s face had gone as white as his uniform—stark white—a shimmering white. The flying kick caught Ricci in the shoulder. The kid fell into a clumsy spin and then tilted toward Aunt Freda.
Ricci’s head collided with the middle of Aunt Freda’s smoothie cup, the contents erupting in all directions. Pink goo plopped onto Aunt Freda’s hair. The front of her blue dress looked like a flamingo murder scene. “Can you believe this? Look at me!” she screamed, oblivious to the passed-out boy at her feet. “Somebody’s going to pay for this.”
Leo, who had misjudged his landing, crashed into the broom closet. A bright illumination poured from the tight doorway.
Deborah and Dan, shielding their eyes from the light, rushed into the closet. Leo’s hands and face held an iridescent glow.
“Mom, what’s happening?” Leo asked, staring at his hands, tipped mops and pails all around him.
“I don’t know, honey.” Deborah couldn’t believe her eyes. She touched his hands, which were room temperature. “Do you feel all right?”
“I feel fine.” Leo smiled. “I got Ricci good. But what’s wrong with my hands?”
Owing to the glare, it was hard for his parents to look at either Leo’s hands or his face.
“Give me your…your sweater, Deb,” Dan demanded, squinting. “We can’t let anybody see him like this.”
Marin stuck her head into the closet. Her little mouth dropped open. “Wowzy. Aunt Freda’s all pinky and Leo’s a lightbulb!” she happily exclaimed.
Dan laid his wife’s sweater over Leo’s head and wrapped an arm around the boy. “Get on the other side of him, Deb. Put your hands in your pockets, son.”
They got Leo to his feet and led him out of the broom closet toward the front door.
On the studio mat, a smoothie-speckled Ricci tried to explain to his father how he had been knocked flat.
“Leo’s face got bright like the sun. I couldn’t look at him no more. And then he kicked me,” Ricci said.
Before the big man could respond, there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Aunt Freda, still decorated in smoothie juice, her face like a tight fist.
“I’m holding you responsible, Daddy.” Her bloated hand flicked a glob of smoothie from her bangs. “This dress is an original,” she said, shaking the splattered fabric, bits of fruit landing on Ricci. “Now where should I send the cleaning bill?”
The nervous karate master interrupted from the middle of the fight mat. “It looks like Leo Wilder is the winner of our first match. Congratulations, Leo.” Applause greeted the sweater-draped victor as he and his parents blurred by.
“He’s fine. Just a little overwhelmed by the excitement I guess,” Deborah explained with a strained smile to the judge as they pushed Leo along.
Will automatically held the front door open. From his parents’ expressions, he could tell something was very wrong. “What’s going on?” he quietly asked his mom.
“Follow us to the car and don’t ask questions,” she snapped.
As the trio passed, Will saw light leaking through the weave of the fabric nearest Leo’s face. If it wasn’t for the legs beneath the sweater, his parents could have been smuggling a domed halogen lamp out of the place, he thought. Marin yanked Will by the arm, pulling him after the other Wilders.
Down the block, Leo could be heard asking, “If I won, why are we leaving? And why is it so bright under here?”
Len Meriwether, after repeated attempts, parallel parked his dented maroon minivan along Main Street. Before exiting the vehicle, he stroked his little mustache in the rearview mirror. The thing looked like a tiny, worn broom sticking off his upper lip. After all the smoothing, the mustache was as unkempt as it had been before.
“Are you ready?” Len teasingly asked, rubbing the arm of his dumpling of a wife in the passenger seat.
Evelyn Meriwether’s thick knees bounced with anticipation. “Let’s do it, hon,” she cried, clapping her hands together. She spun her head toward the back of the vehicle where her daughter Cami was listlessly staring out one window and her son Max, in his wheelchair, stared out the other. “Cami, darling, help Daddy with Maxie’s ramp. If we don’t get to the bandstand soon, we’ll miss Mr. Sab’s entrance. Ooooh, I can’t believe he’s here,” she squealed. Wearing a white dress with beaded shoulders, she merrily jiggled out of her seat, struggling to hold on to several books, a camera, and a big white hat.
Cami had never seen her mother in such a state. For years, Evelyn Meriwether had listened to all manner of self-help audio books in the kitchen. Passing through day or night, Cami could hear one self-help guru after another advising her mom to “Find your inner peace,” “Be your best self now,” “Shed the weight you were meant to shed,” “Tap your inner brilliance.” But her mother’s fascination with Pothinus Sab was something altogether different.
Over the last few month
s, Sab’s slender face began appearing all over the Meriwether home. His bestsellers were in the bathroom, in the family van, on the coffee table in the living room, and stacked on Evelyn Meriwether’s nightstand. “Doesn’t he look just like a younger, more handsome, Omar Sharif?” her mother would croon anytime Cami even glanced at one of the books. Whoever Omar Sharif was, Cami could not imagine him being as creepy as Pothinus Sab. Nevertheless, when her mother saw the man himself on TV announcing the opening of a Karnak Center for Regeneration and Creative Therapy in Perilous Falls, the woman literally dropped a platter of chicken to the linoleum and shrieked with excitement. Evelyn was not just a fan; she was a self-professed Pothinut. In anticipation of the big event, she bought a new dress, ordered reserved VIP tickets near the bandstand, and made Len Meriwether promise to accompany her to the park. Now the big day had finally arrived.
Since Cami had a standing Saturday morning brunch with her friends, she had a good excuse to skip the Sab event. Cami volunteered to take Max with her. She knew he couldn’t stand the sound of Sab’s voice. Whenever he heard the dramatic Egyptian voice pouring out of the kitchen, he would start singing loudly or roll himself into another room.
Cami helped her father pull a metal ramp from the side of the van. Max’s new motorized wheelchair allowed him to maneuver onto the sidewalk with just a flick of his left hand. “Have fun, Mom. I’m sorry, Dad,” Max laughed, his head rolling along the black cushion that supported it. His Duchenne muscular dystrophy had taken a severe toll on his legs, his right arm, and his lungs, but his spirit was untouched.
“Let’s go, funny man,” Cami said, tapping her brother on the shoulder.
“Keep an eye on Maxie, and we’ll see you at home after”—Evelyn’s voice shot into the stratosphere—“Pothinus Sab!”
Len Meriwether shrugged apologetically to the kids, taking possession of his wife’s books and camera. Evelyn positioned the wide-brimmed hat on her head and waved a plump hand in the air as she turned, practically dancing toward the park. Mr. Meriwether pursued her.
Watching them go, Cami slowly shook her head. “Let’s get into Burnt Offerings before she comes back or she’ll drag us to see…” She eyed Max, signaling the inevitable. Together they sang with gusto: “Pothinus Sab.” They laughed all the way to the restaurant.
Burnt Offerings was Cami and her friends’ favorite breakfast spot. Owned by Simon Blabbingdale’s cousin, there was always an open seat and an open tab for Simon and his friends. The bowed wooden floorboards of the restaurant groaned under the rolling weight of Max’s wheelchair. He and Cami glided through a series of slightly tilted rooms, each with a fireplace big enough to dine in. The warm, low-beamed back room was dominated by a huge round table. Simon Blabbingdale sat at its center facing the doorway like a bored King Arthur awaiting the return of his knights. He read a thick paperback while beside him, Andrew Stout, a big kid with red hair, bent over a basket of muffins and a plateful of eggs. He was too busy eating to acknowledge Cami and Max’s arrival.
“I’m glad you brought Max since we are down one of our regulars,” said Simon in his typically nasal tone. He closed his copy of The Grapes of Wrath and folded his bony hands. “I cannot believe that Will is bailing on us again. For those taking note, this is the third week we’ve been stood up for one of his ‘work sessions’ at the museum. I’d like to know what kind of work he’s doing exactly.”
“Lay off him,” Andrew said, his mouth full, swatting Simon with the back of his hand. “It’s his family’s business. He’s helping out and cleaning up and stuff. If you’d use your mouth to chew rather than talk, we’d all be in better shape. Will-man’ll come when he can.”
“It’s great to see you both,” Cami wryly observed, standing in the doorway. Pulling her long ponytail over her shoulder, she sat near Simon, Max rolling into the room behind her. “My mom and dad went to see that Pothinus Sab character. Crowds of people were headed to the park.”
“Oh, the mayor is going to introduce him,” Simon erupted. “She was telling my father all about it at the house this morning.” Simon’s dad was a judge and a very important figure in Perilous Falls. “She went on and on about how she invited Mr. Sab to come here and what a boost this will be for Perilous Falls. The mayor’s still pretty upset about what happened earlier this summer.” Simon leaned far over the table and whispered in a voice that could be heard well into the hall, “You know, with the croc monsters and everything.”
“Like she battled them! What’s her problem?” Andrew asked, sliding the muffin basket toward Max and Cami.
“Funny you should ask. Mayor Lynch actually mentioned Will and his aunt Lucille. She’s convinced that his great-aunt is a menace to the town. She and my dad were arguing about it. The mayor claims to have evidence that Will’s aunt and her friends caused all the trouble this summer. We did see some strange things.”
Max stopped chewing his muffin and placed it on the small tray of the wheelchair. Concern washed over his face. “I’ve seen strange things too. In my dreams.” The boy stared at Simon.
“I hope you’re not talking about ravens and blood.” Simon began to giggle. “Remember after all the craziness a few months back? Max kept saying a black raven was coming and that there would be blood—”
“Just let him talk, Simon.” Cami touched her brother on the arm encouragingly.
His eyes never left Simon. “I do still see the raven at night. It comes here. Its black feathers are in the streets. And it will bring blood—everywhere!”
“Where is the raven?” Simon asked.
“I don’t know. But in my dream it flies through Perilous Falls. People pet it because it seems so nice. When they pet the raven, its feathers fall off and stick to them. Then everything gets dark. After that, all I see is blood. The raven brings blood and darkness.
“Lately, I’ve been seeing Will and his aunt in my dream. Will was chasing the raven. His aunt was very sad.”
No one moved at the table. Andrew even stopped chewing. “Why was Will-man after the raven?”
“It took something. The raven took it and flew away.”
“What did it take?” Cami asked.
“I’m not sure, but Will kept saying, ‘Give it back, give it back.’ He was confused. He couldn’t see because it was so dark. Black feathers covered the whole town.”
Simon lowered his rectangular glasses to the bottom of his nose. “I’ve never seen a raven in Perilous Falls ever, Max. Is it one big raven or a flock of ravens that are supposed to descend upon us?”
“Can it, Simon.” Andrew leaned back, his big arms dangling over the sides of the chair. “We should tell Will about this. If I was poppin’ up in somebody’s spooky dreams, I’d want to know.”
Simon continued, undisturbed. “I only want to know if we are dealing with one raven or an invasion.”
“One raven. I only see one,” Max answered through gritted teeth.
Cami started flipping the end of her chestnut ponytail. She checked her brother’s serious expression and turned back to her friends. “I agree with Andrew. Max told me about everything Will did with the relic this summer before it happened. And though I still don’t understand some of it, like the Sinestrees—”
“Sinestri,” Max corrected. “The monster voices in my dream said Sinestri.”
“You heard them. I’ll take your word.” She flashed her newly brace-free smile at Max before resuming. “Even if we only mention it to him, Will needs to know about the new dream.”
Simon tried to calm himself by casually buttering a biscuit. “Max was saying the same thing two months ago and nothing happened.” The quivering hand holding the knife betrayed him.
“It’s different now. I had the dream every night this week,” Max said.
Andrew pushed away from the table and started to rise. “I say we go tell Will right away,” he said.
“Of course you’d say that, lummox. Why do you want to worry him? I mean, you said it yourself—he’s probably really bu
sy.” Simon’s voice turned shrill. “Was there a lot of blood in your dream, Max? Did anyone get hurt?”
Max’s eyes widened. “There was blood everywhere. Lots of people were screaming. Will was running,” the boy said flatly.
“It’s only a dream, right? It’s not reality. It’s a dream—a figment of Max’s imagination. Could be nothing at all.” Simon chuckled, vainly searching his friends’ faces for support. Seeing none, he leapt from his chair, dropping the biscuit on the plate before him. “Okay, let’s go tell Will.”
In Jacob Wilder’s office, Aunt Lucille strained to reach a pair of old transparent jars from a high shelf. The bottom of the jars were round and wide with twisted glass necks that spiraled upward. Dried red wax caps sealed the mouths of the jars. Aunt Lucille’s blue eyes studied the pot-bellied glassware. They were completely empty. She held them behind her back and approached Will, who was seated at his great-grandfather’s mahogany desk. He repeatedly spun around in the high-backed leather chair, his mind clearly on other things. “So Leo was in the middle of his match and he jumps at this kid and—”
“There’ll be time to share all of that later. I need you to concentrate on your training now, Will.” Lucille placed one of the jars on the edge of the desk. “What I am going to show you are the very same sight training jars that my father used to instruct my brother, Joseph—the same ones he used to train your…” She stopped herself, frowning. “All right, let’s focus.”
Will stopped spinning. “I have to tell you about what happened to Leo.”
“Look into the jars as I show them to you,” Aunt Lucille sharply ordered, disregarding Will’s huffing. “My father always said we were never to tamper with any of these. Inside each jar is an object—objects most people cannot see. But for a Seer, for you, it should be fairly easy.” She nudged the jar on the desk closer to Will, concealing the other behind her back.
Will Wilder #2 Page 4
