With hugs all around, Baz strapped on the backpack and went outside to the driveway. Me and Professor McLemore walked with him. Baz had protested. He said it would be better for him just to leave on his own, but the professor can be very persuasive when wants to be, so Baz agreed to let us walk him out to the road.
Baz walked down the drive with his head down watching every step like he was making sure his boots stepped in exactly the right place. He didn’t say a word. He was really going to leave and go back out into the world alone. You really can’t say you know all about somebody after only a day, but Baz was cool. Sure, he had the Isaiah Boy crap going, which turned him into a pock-marked creature of misery, but we all have issues, don’t we?
Professor McLemore broke the awkward silence. “Baz.” We stared at the professor. He cleared his throat and repeated, “I have a gift for you, Baz.” The old man reached into his jacket, searched the inside breast pocket, and pulled out a vintage pair of dark lensed, black-rimmed sunglasses. “Here,” he said. “One of my very first ELWA inventions.”
Baz wrapped his stubby fingers around the old sunglasses as though cradling a butterfly.
“I call them Evil Eyes.”
“‘Evil Eyes’?” I asked.
“Yes, the design was engineered to filter and protect from visual evil spells.”
“Did they work?”
The professor was taken aback. “They do work, Geoffrey.”
“How?” asked Baz.
The professor’s eyes lit up. He loved talking technical. “You know what light polarization is?”
We shook our heads.
“Electromagnetic waves, like light, vibrate in multiple planes, vertical, horizontal, etcetera. Polarization blocks out all but one plane so the light waves vibrate on a single plane.”
Baz held up the dark glasses. “Like these?”
“Yes. Sunglasses remove glare by filtering out planes of light waves, especially the horizontal ones that cause glare.”
I was confused. “You mean you’re giving Baz regular, old sunglasses to protect himself with?”
“Yes—and no. Yes, because they filter out certain wavelengths of light like sunglasses do. No, because they also do more.” The professor looked around and then pointed up toward the sun. “Light is energy, right?”
We nodded.
“Emotions, pain, happiness, joy—they all emit energy from the body. We can’t see those wavelengths of energy; they’re not visible. I am fairly certain this is the negative energy to which Baz is sensitive.” He pointed to the glasses in Baz’s hand. “These glasses were designed to filter out evil energy just like we filter out light wavelengths with the special lenses in sunglasses.”
Honestly, you’d have thought Professor McLemore would have lost both of us with all this physical science talk, but I was actually buying what he was selling. I understood. It made perfect sense. Just filter out the waves of nastiness that Baz seems to absorb.
“Can I try them?” Baz asked, holding the lenses up toward the sun.
The professor smiled. “Sure you can.”
Baz slipped on the dark sunglasses. He looked pretty badass with them on. His army coat and hoodie, baggy fatigue pants and those big ass black boots.
“Baz, you look like the freaking Terminator, dude.”
Baz stood a bit taller and stuck his chest out. “Really? Like, ‘I’ll be back’?”
“No caca, man.” I turned to my mentor. “Doesn’t he look badass, sir?”
He looked Baz up and down before the smile flashed across his face again. “I do believe you are correct, Geoffrey. He really does look ‘badass’.”
Me and Baz looked at each other with eyes as wide as saucers before cracking up at this proper, elderly gentleman using the word “badass.”
“That’s enough, boys.” He gave us one of his classic stern looks. “Now, Baz, we have to see if the glasses work as designed.”
“Okay … okay.” I straightened up and asked, “What do I do?”
“Geoffrey, act sad or something to see if it affects Baz.”
Honestly, I tried like hell to be sad. But every time I tried, I kept thinking about Professor McLemore saying “badass” and it just cracked me up. He shot another look at me. “I’m sorry. Seriously, I’m trying,” I squeaked out, barely able to catch my breath from laughing so hard.
Baz threw up his hands. “I got nothing. I can’t tell if they work or not.”
“Geoffrey, can you please … ”
I held my hand up in the air as I bent over in a fit of laughter. I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Geoffrey?”
More laughter.
Professor McLemore reached out and grabbed my upheld wrist as quick as a cat. In one simple, easy move, he had my arm bent behind my back, shooting pain up through my shoulder.
“Crap!” I squealed.
He jerked my arm up higher. The pain intensified. My eyes watered as pain radiated through my entire upper body.
“Stop!” Baz yelled. “Stop it!”
Professor McLemore tightened the grip once more and held it tight. “Now, Baz.” He took a couple quick breaths. “Can you take the glasses off now?”
Baz froze and tilted his head slightly. He reached up and slowly removed the sunglasses. The effect was instantaneous. He cringed and bent over like he was kicked in the gut. The pain in my shoulder disappeared like a wave retreating into the ocean. I still couldn’t budge my arm and I even felt the professor jerk up one more time to tighten his hold.
I felt nothing. No pain at all.
Baz, on the other hand, had fallen to his knees, the glasses grasped tightly in his right hand. Red splotches rose from the back of his neck into full-blown welts. The better I felt, the worse the physical manifestation of my pain appeared on Baz.
Professor McLemore spoke again, calm, and cool. “Now, Baz … put the glasses back on.”
He struggled to lift both hands, cradling the glasses up to his face. The glasses trembled in his grip as he struggled to put them on.
The pain seemed to arc back in space, into my body, and I was again the one who crumbled to the ground in pain. The professor let go of my arm and the pain slowly subsided.
“Damn, sir.” I said grabbing my shoulder. “Did you have to do that?”
“I must apologize, Geoffrey, but we had to make sure the glasses worked and, since you were having some difficulty generating negative emotions on your own, I felt compelled to assist you.”
Looking up at him, I managed to force a smile. “You sure compelled me well.” I glanced at Baz, who was sitting down on the gravel drive massaging his temples. “You okay, bro?”
He looked at me and I saw my reflection in the dark lenses. The welts had receded to splotches.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse.” He smiled and took the glasses off. He looked at the professor. “These things work like nobody’s business. I get to keep them?”
The professor nodded. “Yes, you do. I hope they can bring you some respite from your suffering.”
Baz walked over to Professor McLemore and wrapped him up in a bear hug. “Thank you.”
“Hey,” I said. “What about me? Don’t I get any thanks for taking one for the team there?”
“Thanks, Geoff.” We bumped fists.
We headed toward the end of the driveway once again. Baz put the sunglasses back on and shook his head. “Evil Eyes. Cool.”
We reached the end of the driveway. I leaned against the mailbox. This was it. Baz was really leaving. There were hundreds of things I wanted to tell him, but couldn’t get anything past the one word stuck in my throat. “Stay.”
All I wanted was for him to stay. I knew it was fruitless to try talking him into staying though. Like mom said, Baz was a wandering soul and a wandering soul had to wander.
The professor stood at the edge of the asphalt roadway and stared blankly at the woods across the s
treet. Baz set his knapsack down by the sign and looked both ways like he was contemplating which direction to go. I picked some cracking paint off the top of the mailbox, pretty sure we were all thinking the same thing all guys think-but-don’t-say when they don’t really want to part ways.
Finally, Baz looked down to where the road disappeared into the horizon. He picked his pack back up, slung it over his shoulder, and, with one last nod of his head toward me and the professor, Baz started on his way.
Behind me, down the road in the other direction, a car engine started and broke the silence. I didn’t pay it any mind until the revving of the engine was accompanied by squealing tires. I looked at the professor, who turned toward the sound with a concerned look on his face. I glanced to Baz, who stopped and was now staring over Professor McLemore’s shoulder. He froze.
With a wave of recognition, followed by pure fear, “Shit! He’s here!” Baz screamed. The scream echoed through the woods surrounding us. “It’s him!” Baz took off in a sprint.
Professor McLemore’s eyes flashed, understanding what was happening around us. He sprinted in Baz’s direction. The car picked up speed as it rounded the curve, just around the bend from the driveway, and then accelerated in a beeline right for Baz.
I caught a glimpse of the driver. He had long, black hair, dark clothes, and dark glasses with a pepper gray beard and an evil, murderous smile on his face.
Baz stopped and looked toward the approaching car. He stumbled backward down the road and stepped one foot onto the gravel shoulder.
The car was heading straight for him. I yelled, “Baz, move!” But Baz didn’t move. He froze like a deer in headlights. I didn’t want to watch. I couldn’t. He was going to get run over. Just like that. That fast. The dude was going to get killed right before my eyes. Professor McLemore flashed in front of Baz. A black streak, he collided with Baz and knocked him out of the way of the car. Baz was out of harm’s way, but the black car slammed into the professor’s right hip, sending him wheeling through the air, and landing with a bounce in the ditch. The car didn’t even slow down before speeding away.
I ran to Baz. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he groaned, the sunglasses askew on his face. I helped him up and he shook out the cobwebs. “The professor!”
I sprinted to where McLemore lay motionless in the tall grass and knelt beside him. Baz stood a short distance behind me. My hands moved over the limp body of my mentor, not knowing, if I touched him, if he would break even further.
“Is he dead?”
I bent closer to him and heard a low, raspy breathing at irregular intervals. “No, he’s not dead,”—but he wasn’t in very good shape at all, either. I looked down the road as the speeding, black car disappeared over the horizon. “At least, not yet he isn’t.”
“Can we move him?”
“Better not,” I said, pointing to his right leg protruding at an unnatural angle. “Broken leg.” I leaned over his body and felt my stomach churn. The left side of the professor’s head was dark red with blood from a gash, his grey hair matted down and blood dripping onto the ground. “Shit! His head’s cut open.” I circled around to get a better look. “Baz, give me something I can use to compress this wound. We have to slow down the bleeding.”
Baz ran to his knapsack and rummaged through its contents. He pulled out a couple of my old T-shirts and threw them to me. As gently as my shaking hands could manage, I placed the cotton fabric over the gash, wincing more than Professor McLemore did, and pushed lightly, just like he’d taught me in first aid training.
I looked back at my friend. “Did you see that dude in the car? He tried to kill you.”
Baz nodded.
“He even looked like a demon.”
Baz bent down to touch Professor McLemore. “That was my dad.”
“What?”
The professor began to convulse. “Never mind. We have to do something.”
“We need to get help.” But we were alone. “Baz, run to the house and get help. Call 911.”
“There’s not enough time.” He drew in a deep breath. “He’s dying.”
I couldn’t stop the tears. “I know.”
As calm as Baz had been since he’d been here, he grabbed me by the arm. “Step back, Geoff.”
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry, but you need to stand behind me. I can’t handle you and him at the same time.”
I had no clue what he was saying, but I let go of the shirt compress and stepped behind him anyway.
“Here goes nothing,” he said and took off his Evil Eye sunglasses. He inhaled again and spread his fingertips along the back of the old man’s neck.
The shock was immediate. Baz crumpled like he’d been shot in the belly. I reached down to hold him up, but he screamed for me to stay away. His skin boiled and red blotches appeared suddenly at the surface. Every inch of Baz’s body became covered in angry boils as the pain flowed from the professor into him.
The blood-soaked T-shirt on the professor’s head began to clear up and dry. The blood disappeared right before my eyes. The scrapes on his cheek slowly faded to nothing, and the broken bone in his leg began to straighten and shift into its proper position. Baz looked horrid, as if a whole baseball team had taken their batting practice swings on his body. He was sobbing now, his breathing shallow.
Professor McLemore gasped for air. It was like someone had flicked a switch to reboot his system. Baz crumpled to the ground at the exact moment the professor opened his eyes.
Professor McLemore sat up, looking at Baz. “What did he do?”
“I think he saved your life, Professor.”
“Baz.” He shook him and got no response.
I kneeled and tried to shake him. “Come on, Baz. Stay with us.”
“Let’s get him to the house, Geoffrey. Viola and your mother will know what to do.”
We lifted Baz off the ground and each of us slung one of his arms over our shoulder. We carried the unconscious, moaning Baz toward the house as fast as we could manage.
Baz lay stretched out across the daybed in the ELWA guest room. The only sign of life was his raspy breathing with an occasional groan of pain. Mom and Ms. Applewhite worked frantically to make him comfortable. Mom wiped his forehead with a cold cloth, while Ms. Applewhite tried to get a few drops at a time of a healing tea into Baz.
“Professor, do you think he’ll be okay?”
“I really don’t know. I have no idea how much he can absorb at one time before it’s gone too far. This is beyond my skill level.”
“Should we call 911?”
“Let’s give him a few minutes before getting the authorities involved. This is a dire situation, but I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to get him into the legal system right now.”
I shook my head. It wasn’t like Baz had the kind of injury a medical doctor could take care of anyway. I don’t imagine treatment methods for a patient who’s an “absorber of pain and negative energy” is in any of their medical journals.
Mom dipped the washcloth into a bowl of ice water, wrung it out, and placed it on Baz’s forehead.
“Professor,” I looked at him studying Baz lying on the bed. He looked ten years older and he was pale as a sheet. The usual light in his eyes had dimmed to a flat grey. “Can you fix the Isaiah Boy part of Baz?”
He closed his eye for almost a minute. “I know you mean well, Geoffrey, but I don’t think that would be a good road to take. As the German philosopher, Nietzsche, said, ‘Be careful lest in casting out the devils you cast out the best thing that’s in you.’”
The professor always has a way of putting things so they make sense. We could lose all that’s good in Baz if we tried to heal him of his “gift.” We are who we are, I guess, and if I’ve learned anything in my time with ELWA, it’s that we are all given a set of skills and it’s up to us to hone them for use toward good or toward evil.
“Why did that car
try to run him down?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, either. Did you notice the symbol hanging from the rearview mirror?”
“No.” How did the professor notice a tiny detail like that when a car was barreling down on him?
“It was a hexagram over a raven; a symbol of evil—and of dark, dark magic. It’s a mark associated with a group I’ve not heard a whisper of in many years; the very worst kind of dark magic the likes of which I haven’t seen since.”
I stopped. “You mean dark witches tried to kill Baz?”
“It appears so.”
A lump jumped into my throat. I felt a sudden grip of horror for the boy we helped between us. “Professor?”
“Yes, Geoffrey?”
“Baz said something right before he saved you.”
“He did?”
“He said he knew the man driving that car.”
“Really?”
Baz groaned and rolled over. The marks on his body didn’t seem as severe as they did a few minutes ago. He was drifting back to us and hopefully into a safe zone.
“He said it was his father.”
Professor McLemore turned a deathly shade of pale. He looked at Baz with the same sadness I felt.
“Oh, dear.”
“This is bad, right?”
“Yes.
“Geoffrey, Baz needs our help. He will need to stay with us for his own welfare. There will be others searching for him. Very bad forces, I’m afraid, are active again.” The professor rubbed his temples with his index fingers. “He will be safe on our grounds and safe under Witch Assassin protection—this is what the ELWA does.”
I wanted to smile through my fear because now Baz was going to stay. He would have another reason besides our friendship and school … he needed to stay for his own survival.
A chill gust of wind lifted the curtain at the open window across the room. “Times are changing, Geoffrey. The old enemies are gaining strength and the old wars are returning,” Professor McLemore sighed. “Times are definitely changing.”
THE DEMON WAS ME
Sharon Hughson
In the Beginning (Anthology) Page 8
