by Sara Hanover
The suit, still dapper. The bowler hat, on his dark hair. The pocket watch, hanging outside of his vest pocket. The brolly, lying on the ground beside him.
But I could barely recognize him for the red flames instead of eyes burning in his contorted face.
He knew me, though. Hands still in the air, he cried, “Don’t touch me! Don’t get any closer.”
I couldn’t if I wanted, and Scout huddled next to me, equally terrified, his body pressed as close to me as he could get. Steptoe’s blazing eyes held us transfixed. Another source of fire sat in a shoebox on the ground in front of him, itself crowned by a dancing flame, and shooting off sparks that seemed to catch on Steptoe and hang there. Although fire raged in spits and spurts about him, he didn’t seem to actually catch. The thought raced through me that perhaps his sort of creature couldn’t burn easily. Even if he didn’t physically feel the heat, I could tell that whatever it was ate away at him, painfully and dangerously. I could see the agony in his face.
“What can I do?”
“You can stay away from him, that’s what,” growled the professor behind me. He shoved me aside as he stepped between us. I didn’t know what had brought him outside with me and Scout, and wasn’t sure if I should be glad to see him. Had the tell-tales told him? “You’re out of control, Simon.”
“Too right, guv’nor. Keep Tessa away, if you can.”
I squinted into the night. “But that’s my shoebox.” And it was, sitting right there, yet the compelling and foul book it held couldn’t be seen. What had Steptoe done? Had he destroyed it, the only link I had between this house and the magic that might have swallowed my father whole? “Give it back, Simon. It’s mine.”
“Yours?” The professor gave me a startled and disappointed look. “What’s yours?”
“A book. I found it jammed into an old desk in the mudroom. I think it’s tied to my father somehow, but touching the thing makes my skin crawl so I hid it out here. In that box.” I looked at my friend as flames spat up and down his body, sizzling out here and flaring up there. “What have you done?”
The professor took a few paces closer, also pressing for an answer. “Did you invoke anything?”
“Never. Never again, and certainly not here.” Steptoe danced uncomfortably in place.
The professor turned back to me. “Does this book have a title?”
“Something about Dark Arts. It’s ancient. The ink is faded, the pages are crumbling at the edges and half the words I couldn’t even recognize. I put it away, somewhere safe, I thought.” I nodded my chin toward Steptoe.
“Oh, ducks. That’s what I felt the first night I camped out here. I thought it was a welcome aura, like, for me. Homey. Some place with a spot of welcome. I didn’t know it was the dark reaching for me again.” Simon dropped his hands to swat at his suit, trying to squelch the tiny blazes. “It started calling to me. Fair drove me crazy, it did, so I finally went hunting it. The minute I grabbed the box off the shelf, it tried to fry me, to crawl inside me. I punted it outside so it wouldn’t set the garage alight. Then you two showed up.”
The professor moved. “Convenient. I’ll just take it, then.”
“And let it take you like it tried to take me? No way. It’s mine if anyone’s . . .”
Steptoe lunged at Brian when he moved to grab up the box and quicker than I could say “Fight!” they were in one, tussling round and round and over and about, the box in between them. The professor might have a young, ab-hard body in Brian, but he seemed to have no idea what to do with it, while Simon seemed disadvantaged by the book itself attacking him. They swung and kicked and thrashed at each other without making many connections. There was no way I would use my bludgeon of a flashlight on either of them.
After a few moments of grunting, heaving, swatting, and general fisticuffs, the two had the box poised between them. I could see the fire reflected on Brian’s face. The book reached out to him, as he stood breathing hard, dots of flame coming to life on his flannel shirt and worn-out jeans. He slapped at them. I darted off for the garden hose and came back with the water running when it occurred to me that salt, my universal remedy, might be the better weapon. But I hadn’t any on me.
The two men shoved apart from each other. Brian groaned and doubled over, holding his head between his hands.
“Shut it away. It’s trying to worm into me. Whatever you do, keep it away from Tessa.”
Steptoe shook his head, panting, and got out his answer, “Right-o. We need to close it off then, guv.”
And then the two began to work with each other, hands moving in patterns, a cage of silvery strands building about the shoebox and with each weaving, the fire retreated. They grunted with each pass. Steptoe staggered a bit as Brian swayed, but they stayed at work. Their words both clashed and meshed with each other, like musical instruments vying to lead an orchestra. Muttering to each other, hands working in tandem with the other man’s, the blazing aura started receding. Scout’s ears came up, interested. I hoped then that the tide had turned.
Suddenly, it sent out a flare, a lance erupting and aimed dead center—at me. It struck. I toppled with a sharp cry of pain. My heart pounded as though someone had stabbed me through the chest. It hurt. Ice so cold that it burned shot in and out of me. I folded up, hands to my chest, fingers curled about an orange spear, but I couldn’t pull it free. Steptoe and the professor shouted at me, but my ears roared, filling with the crackle of flames. My maelstrom stone lit up, blinding me, and I lost control of my hand as it slid along the length of the object. The stone inhaled the spear noisily, devouring, and didn’t stop until I could breathe and hear again. I lay weakly in the grass as Scout tried to revive me with puppy breath kisses.
With a whoosh, the air about the box sucked in and the thing collapsed upon itself until a silvery ball rested on the ground.
“Whoa.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
TO GLOW, PERCHANCE TO MAGIC
“SHE’S RADIATING.”
“Undeniably, but radiating what? Can you catch the spectrum?”
Steptoe shook his head slowly.
I’d been hit by lightning. Or electrocuted. Or zapped by the biggest static charge ever. Brian and Steptoe looked over me with expressions both dazzled and dismayed.
I tried to stand up and couldn’t, every joint in my body like jelly. Never mind the oversized puppy trying to sit on me. Sparks seemed to be showering from me like a Fourth of July firework. I could feel my blood pumping warmly throughout my body, coursing through my heart and back again, my lungs breathing, and the sensation of my nerves pinging. For a moment I wondered if I’d been given some kind of drug that opened up awareness until every impression became almost too painful to endure. Then, like an ocean that must give way to an outgoing tide, it began leaving me. I felt both relieved and bereaved. The last of it left me, except for that stone in my hand. It alone seemed alive and extremely cognizant of everything around me, no longer an odd piece of marble inhabiting my palm. True, it had warmed and pulsated and shielded me and manifested before but only rarely. Now it felt almost like a window into something more. I stared up at the two looking down at me.
“This doesn’t look promising.” The professor scratched his temple.
“Carter will have our hides. Both of us.”
They watched me, assessing. Steptoe’s eyes had returned to their normal inky color.
I tried to speak and squeaked instead. I concentrated on breathing.
“Perhaps the maelstrom has converted the energy.”
“Or not. I can’t differentiate. We could possibly run an experiment or two . . . You read the booklet on it. Any ideas?”
Steptoe considered before answering. “The only hope I can give you is that it matters a great deal who holds the stone.” He sounded like the shock had driven his street accent right out of him.
“Well, then, we
should be all right.” Brian ran a hand through his copper-toned hair again as if his scalp crawled. “It’s difficult to tell. I’ve always had confidence in Tessa, however.”
I looked up at the two of them as the damp seeped into every fiber of the clothing I wore and grew shivery cold by the second. Clearing my throat, I managed, “Guys. A little help here?”
“Oh. Oh! Right-o.”
They both leaned down and caught an arm, heaving me to my feet, bolstering me up between the two of them. I felt like the filling in a wizard-and-demon sandwich but couldn’t have stayed upright otherwise.
“Don’t move,” I begged. They were warm, and my legs felt like wet noodles.
“Ever?” queried Brian. He grunted when Steptoe lightly cuffed him up the back of the head.
“Look alive, Prof. She needs you.”
Brian sighed. “He’s tired. Really, really tired.”
I looked at the ball of what appeared to be silver string, wrapped around and around and around as it sat next to the shoe box. “Pretty.” I reached for it, sagging out of their hold. I felt drunk, and I knew what that felt like because I’d been drunk a few times before deciding that state of being wasn’t for me. I liked being able to think and function clearly. What hurt me terribly before now bubbled through me like a sweet and sparkling wine which fizzled merrily. Had the tide come back in? I swayed.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Steptoe pulled back on his grip of me and kept me from my destiny of face-planting as I tried to pick up the silver sphere.
“But I need my book. Is it still in there?”
“More or less.”
The object my heart desired twinkled at me, roughly tennis ball–sized. “Looks like less.” I could feel my lower lip tremble. “It’s gone!”
“No, if it were, you wouldn’t want to hold it. But neither is it here in its book form because we had to translocate it to protect the three of us from its influence.” The professor gave a hearty sigh. “Not that we were entirely successful, it seems.”
“What’s all that mean?” I peered at the professor. “And stand still. You keep . . .” I waved my hand. “Floating off.”
“This is just an anchor.” Steptoe put the edge of his shoe to it. “We can yank it back if we have to, but it’s safer that way.”
“Oh, who wants to play safe? I don’t!” And a giggle floated out of me that threatened to soar with me into the night sky like a kite. Scout let out a low woof and grabbed at the bottom of my jeans leg. I looked down at him. “Good dog. Good puppy.”
Brian shook his head. “I’d say the overall influence looks to be lawful or chaotic good. Still. Tessa rules it.”
“Pfffff.”
Scout put his wet nose to my fingers as if to agree with me.
They both stared at me, so I stopped scoffing at them. I shrugged. I held up my palm with the stone in it. It had settled into a cozy golden glow, making its marble tones even more beautiful. “It looks fabulous.”
Ignoring me, Steptoe offered, “We could ask the Society for a review.”
That brought the professor standing tall with a vigorous rebuff of the idea. “Never. They’d rake her over the coals.”
“Ewww. That sounds like it might hurt.” And then I hiccoughed so hard I felt my eyes cross. I looked at one man and then the other. “My eyes crossed. Did they stay that way?”
“No,” they answered together.
“We’ve got to get her inside and to bed. See how she is in the morning.”
“Will it fade?”
“Dubious,” the professor said to Steptoe. “I think it might be permanent. It’s possible we’ve got a brand-new sorceress here and all we can do is hope for the best. The giddiness, however, should dissipate.” He shored me up. “I’ll walk her in while you return that to the garage. If you can.”
“Got it, guv’nor, never you mind. It’ll be put away safe.” Steptoe peeled off his jacket and dropped it over the silver ball. “Neat as a bug in a rug.”
“But your coat—” I worried as Brian and I began to wobble our way back to the house.
“It’ll be fine. I’ve got a clean one waiting. Get some rest, ducks. You’re going to be needing it.”
I fell into bed and knew it might be a difficult night. The bed wanted to float off like that kite tried to earlier, and even though Scout jumped up next to me, his weight wasn’t enough to keep it steady. At least the room didn’t spin. I knew what that meant.
* * *
• • •
Morning tiptoed in like a nearsighted bull in the proverbial china shop. I groaned as my phone alarm went off. Scout rolled over my feet with a puppy moan of his own. The bed, as it should, had stayed in place, more or less, although my throbbing head told me we could have been out tripping the light fantastic anyway. I sat up with care.
The stone gave a little throb. I put my hand to the back of my head, just in case it fell off like it felt it was going to—and the stone hummed a little. The pain faded, not only my headache, but the tightness in my shoulders, too. I put my hand down to stare at the maelstrom.
“Why didn’t you tell me you could do that before?”
“Because it didn’t have the power.” Scout yawned, his long pink tongue lolling in and out, and his eyes considering me.
I jumped.
“You talked.”
“No, I did not.”
“Doing it again.”
“Not doing it again.” Scout pawed at his nose. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.”
“And I have to pee.”
“That, too.”
“I’m a dog, what do you expect? C’mon!” He jumped off the bed, tail wagging.
In the hallway, the tell-tales took a look at me and began to jump up and down in their vase in excitement. I shushed them and took him downstairs while he chanted “Kibble, kibble, kibble! Annnnd bacon!” before pushing him outside while I took a shower.
When I returned, Mom had let him in where he concentrated on gulping down a huge bowl of puppy chow while she scrambled eggs for the two of us. Steptoe knocked politely on the side door before coming in to a wave from her.
“Morning, Mary, Tessa.”
I sat down with one eye open and the other eye closed. I rubbed it gently before it agreed to join the wide-eyed and bushy-tailed half of me, which seemed to be neither, but I could hope.
Mom gave me a concerned look. “Feeling all right?”
“Scout had stomach problems. We were out several times during the night.”
“Oh, poor pup. He seems fine now, though.” She smiled as Scout backed away from the empty dish and promptly came over to Steptoe, who was pouring himself a cup of steaming hot tea to go with leftover biscuits. That’s the nice thing about biscuits. A day or two old, they are just as good when dunked as they are fresh out of the oven.
Scout seemed to agree as Simon slipped a pinch of crumbs to him. His tail whacked the kitchen floor noisily.
I glanced sideways at Steptoe, who concentrated on sugaring his tea and not looking at me. At least he wouldn’t tattle on me, even if he couldn’t meet my eyes.
“Can’t miss classes today, and don’t forget you’ve got the game tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to wake up a little more.”
Mom looked sympathetic. “Want me to drive you?”
I considered that before declining. “No, thanks. We need milk and eggs, I’ll stop on the way home.”
“And bacon.” She handed me an envelope. “Carter left some funds.”
“Right.” Always more bacon. I considered forming our group into a union and charging bacon by the pound for dues. We had a budget, after all.
My phone chimed gently. Evelyn, waiting for me.
I snatched up my backpack by the door, waved, and hit the sunlight wit
h my eyes squinted up and my feet half a step behind. Thank goodness it was Thursday. Halfway to the Statler house, I realized I hadn’t put on my gloves and that the stone filled the car with bouncy little bubbles that reflected all the colors of the rainbow before they joyfully burst. At the stoplight, I fished around until my soft pink pastel gloves came to hand and donned them before motoring onward. All was right with the world until some idiot in a truck with—not one but two—flags unfurled and displayed in its tailgate came flying through the four-way stop and nearly ran me off the road.
I shook a fist at his disappearing bumper as he soared down the street.
Imagine my shock when all four of his tires blew and he came to a screeching stop in the middle of the next block.
I looked at my hand. The glove seemed fine, but the tips of my bare fingers smoked. Pink smoke.
The last celebratory bubble popped, plinking cheerfully at me as I kept driving until free and clear.
I pulled over and called the house. “Hey, Mom. Erm . . . is Steptoe still there? Or is Brian awake?”
“Yes and not yet.” A thoughtful pause. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Not really.” They couldn’t trace it back to me, anyway, right? I hadn’t actually touched the truck. “I just have a question.”
I could hear the phone being fumbled around before Steptoe answered. “Allo. What’s up?”
“I just blew the tires off an F-150. Or I think it was me. Can I do that?”
“The question is not can you, but should you.” A chair scooted across the floor. “Come along, Scout. You need your constitutional.”
A little more noise, and then I could tell Steptoe had escaped to the backyard.
“What the ’ell happened?”
“I shook my fist at an offensive driver. Halfway down the road, all four tires blew.”
“Interesting. Did you say anything? A chant or a wish or somewhat like that, luv?”
“No. Just strong thoughts. It’s got to be the maelstrom stone, right?”
“I think not. You’re going to have to be careful. Seems the old prof is right. Welcome to sorcery, Tessa Andrews.”
