by Toni Kerr
The boy actually giggled with childlike glee and Tristan resisted the urge to hug him. “Charley?”
The boy nodded.
“Your name is really Charley?” For a second, Tristan wondered at the odds, but the young boy shook his head. “Do you like that name?”
Another nod.
“Okay, then. You can be Charles when you’re old and sophisticated and Charley for now.”
The boy’s smile widened and he skipped up the trail.
“Charley it is.” Tristan kept walking, wishing he knew if he was late or not. They entered Grumpy’s clearing and the class had already begun gathering.
“Ah, Tristan,” Angelina smiled. “I was hoping you’d make it in today. Who do we have here?”
“I met him—” He drew a blank again, then shook the web of confusion from his head. “He was by my house and I thought....” Tristan glanced back only to find the boy trying to hide behind him. “He doesn’t talk much and I was thinking he would enjoy being around kids his own age. I know I should have asked first, but there wasn’t time. I didn’t want to leave him behind and I didn’t want to miss class.”
“Well, I do prefer a little background before taking new students. However, since you brought him and say he’s okay, he can stay.” She smiled pleasantly at the boy. “You may join us.”
The boy stared at her, looking completely confused.
“What’s your name?” Angelina asked.
Tristan gave him time, in case he wanted to say it himself, but the boy seemed on the verge of tears, ready to make a run for the forest.
“Charley,” Tristan said.
“Do you understand why you are here?” Angelina asked, kneeling down to be at eye level.
Charley took a step back, glancing between Tristan and Angelina. His large eyes grew more round as he looked even more frightened. He put his hands into his pockets and Tristan remembered the little ball he had.
“It’s school,” Angelina said quietly. “Beginning magic.”
Charley’s face lit up with excitement and he ran to Tristan, hugging him around the waist, nearly knocking him over.
Tristan patted him on the head, warmed by his own sense of happiness. If someone had given him the same opportunity when he was young, his life might have been incredibly different.
“Come on.” Angelina smiled with a look that could have been admiration or concern, Tristan wasn’t sure. He’d completely forgotten about the guard they had on him, until she glanced toward the house, where a man sat by himself on the porch.
The man nodded, apparently acknowledging the fact that he’d been spotted.
“I’d like to talk to him,” Tristan said. “Can I?”
Angelina sighed. “You might make matters worse.”
“Is it that bad now?”
She shrugged. “Make it fast. I’m not holding class for you.”
Tristan jogged to the man, who stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. The tattoos were mostly covered, but Tristan recognized him from the carnival. The man with the tomatoes and spinning rings.
“It’s Talak, right?” Tristan continued when the man didn’t respond. “I just want to say, I’m sorry about Stanley. I didn’t have anything to do with it, and I understand the need for a guard.”
The man narrowed his eyes and kept silent.
“I’m glad actually. Since obviously I....” He wished he’d stayed at the table. Parents were glancing his way. Was he making a scene? “I think you should know, someone’s been picking on me since I got—”
“I’m here to protect the children, not you.”
“It’s not that, I understand why you’re here. I just think you should keep an eye out for more than just me. Because I’m not the one who—”
“You telling me how to do my job? That people around here can’t be trusted?”
“No, but....”
“But what?”
“I’m being set up! If you get killed too, they’ll think—”
“Ah. So you think I can’t do my job. Or that I’m an easy target?”
“No, but—” He was definitely making things worse. “Never mind.” Tristan headed back to class, regretting the attempt.
“Tristan,” the man called, stopping him halfway. “I’m trusting Victor on this one, so thanks for the warning.”
What could he say? Was Victor the only reason they thought he might be innocent?
When he reached the table, Angelina was running through the rules. They both watched curiously as Charley picked a red crayon from the tin—it hovered above his paper while he looked around the table to see what the other children were doing.
Apparently, it met Angelina’s expectations for the class and she nodded her approval.
He made spiral circles, which quickly escalated to large scribbles, going off the paper and onto the table. He picked another color and did the same thing.
Tristan glanced at Angelina, but she just smiled as she prepared the next project.
“Why don’t you help me hand these out if you’re not going to participate?”
Tristan ignored his blank page and accepted the box of supplies. He watched Charley scribble with a fourth color, noticing a strange glint in his eyes, wondering if there was any thought behind the scribbling.
“One to each person,” she said. The box contained clear bags of colored clay. “Do you still think they care about what you can or can’t do?”
“No.” Tristan kept his eyes on Charley’s drawing. It was starting to make sense in a creepy way.
“You should learn from your little friend there. He doesn’t care if he goes off the paper.” She led Tristan farther from the table. “What do you know about him?”
“Nothing really. I don’t know where he lives, or why he was at my house.”
“It was risky to bring him here.”
“I asked if he could do any tricks and he broke my window with a drum thing.”
“Your mail drum? You better have Victor take a look at it, just to make sure it still works.”
“Mail?”
She sighed. “Tell him to explain, if he hasn’t already.” She glanced back at Charley. “Sometimes these abilities do funny things to people.”
“Why is it magic for them and physics for me?”
“Magic is a term that excites the mind, without creating false barriers of incompetence. As they get older, they will learn the physical reasoning. But for now, the doing doesn’t require an explanation like it seems to for you.”
Tristan understood, wishing he didn’t have to learn how and why at the same time.
“I suppose he might have been left with the hopes that someone like you would take him in,” she said. “But it does make me nervous. I’m sure he’s a nice boy and all, but he’s learned to conceal his thoughts and that’s highly unusual for that age.”
Charley filled his paper with color and the other students were complaining as a renegade crayon traveled around the table, marking each page with scribbles on its way. “Charley!”
Angelina stopped the runaway crayon and put it in the box. All the scribbles Charley had made on the other papers vanished. The children quieted. Charley sat with his head bowed, his lips pinched tight with anger.
“If you would like to color more, there’s plenty of paper available.” Angelina motioned to a stack of blank paper in the center of the table. “We all have our own projects and there’s a rule that nobody interferes with another’s work. Does that make sense?”
Charley nodded. Tristan tried not to smile at how pitiful the boy looked. The kid might be able to conceal his thoughts, but he had a long way to go for hiding his emotions. How did Landon cope? Feeling emotions would be far worse than hearing thoughts.
Angelina returned to her pleasant, singsong voice. “Are we ready to move on to the next project?”
The class shouted hoorays and Charley straightened with anticipation. Crayons flew from around the table toward the tin, where they collided crash
-derby style.
Angelina placed a box with rolling pins, cookie cutters, wooden knives, and waxed paper in its place. “Create away—whatever you’d like.”
Bags of clay rustled as the children tried opening them without fingers. Tristan automatically reached for his, immediately scolded. He watched Charley experiment with his clay, still in the bag. It transformed into odd shapes, as if squeezed by a fist.
Most of the class had their clay out of the bags and either rolled it out for stamping shapes, or made balls and squares with it.
Tristan sat fascinated, amazed by how natural the activity seemed for everyone. Even Charley, who finally had his clay out of the bag. But it seemed for him, whenever he tried something telepathic, it took all his concentration just to locate the molecules, not to mention pushing and pulling them in different directions.
“Tristan?” Angelina interrupted his thoughts. “Are you going to participate at all today?”
“Can I do it at home?” He had an idea in mind, he just wasn’t sure if his plan would work.
She cocked a disapproving eyebrow, but ultimately agreed. He continued watching the kids, captivated by the globs of clay transforming from one shape to another. Without any physical contact.
“I think that’s enough,” Angelina announced when the hour was up. “Well done, everyone!”
Tools flew to the box and the children hurried off to their parents with their art projects. Tristan and Charley watched them go.
“What about you?” Tristan asked. “Is your mother waiting somewhere?”
Charley shook his head no.
“Your dad?” Tristan waited for a response, regretting the question when Charley’s face pinched tight and reddened. “Hey!” Tristan ducked to avoid a flying clump of clay.
The boy stood from the table and ran across the field to the basketball court.
“What do you suppose that means?” Tristan asked, helping Angelina with the cleanup. They watched the boy sit on a log with his head on his knees. “I offered him food at my house, but he wasn’t hungry, so I assume someone’s feeding him. He didn’t want a shower either.”
Angelina laughed. “Most kids don’t appreciate a good shower.”
“Should I go talk to him?”
“He does seem to like you. Don’t forget your homework.”
Tristan kept Charley’s drawing and collected leftover clumps of black, white, and yellow clay to add to his bag of brown, and glanced toward the cliff, not for the first time, for signs of Shaely.
A smile twitched at his lips, just for thinking of her.
“See you tomorrow, Tristan. And do be careful,” she added, glancing at Charley.
Tristan promised he would and walked toward the boy, brightened by the thought that if he stayed long enough, Shaely might show up.
“Know how to play?” he asked, picking up a basketball stranded in the grass. He tried to make a shot, grimacing as the ball missed the hoop by a solid three feet. “That’s not exactly how you do it.” Tristan walked to the ball, less enthused, stopping completely when Charley made an eager run to reach it first.
Tristan sat to watch, ignoring the ache developing behind his eyes. “You could try aiming with your mind,” he suggested, wondering if the hoop could be lowered. Charley threw the ball as hard as he could, slamming it against the backboard.
Over and over.
Tristan’s head reverberated with each shot and he rubbed his temples to distract himself. He couldn’t just leave the kid here, could he?
“What’s wrong?”
Tristan turned to see Landon and Victor standing behind him, watching Charley.
“Nothing. Did you find out anything?”
“Yeah,” Victor said, glancing at Landon. “He wasn’t in Austria, but he was under surveillance at all times.”
Tristan nodded and went back to rubbing his temples, closing his eyes. Charley continued slamming the ball.
“We talked to Angelina,” Landon said. “Who’s your friend?”
To Tristan’s relief, Victor walked onto the court to do a bit of coaching. The slamming came to an end. “Charley. He seems to have adopted me.”
“And so you have a headache?”
“Yeah, got anything for it?” Tristan laughed, hoping Landon would understand that he really did have a headache. “Look. I’m not an addict for painkillers, or any other drug.”
“I never thought you were. You’re probably just dehydrated. Drink more water.” Landon sat next to Tristan and watched the basketball lesson. “Have you seen Shaely?”
“No. Did something happen?” Tristan glanced at the cliff where he’d last seen her as a terrible list of possible disasters ran through his thoughts.
“I was just curious,” Landon said, “that’s all. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Oh. Good. I mean, it’s not like we had arrangements to see each other again.”
“A group of us are getting together tonight, here at Grumpy’s. You’re invited to join in.”
“Can Charley come, too?”
Landon stared at Charley, who was mimicking Victor. “We don’t know anything about him. It might not be smart to get attached.”
“He seems okay to me and I think he’s here by himself. What if he doesn’t have a place to live?”
“We don’t take just anybody.”
“He’s not just anybody, he’s obviously been abandoned. He’s confused and he trusts me.”
“He’s had training. He’s probably hiding something.”
“Maybe he was left behind by someone from the festival. I think I saw him there.”
“It was invitation only.”
“Maybe his parents didn’t know what to do with him, and they had someone else bring him—someone who was invited. But didn’t you also say a lot of people were there without invitations?”
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“Do I feel right?” Tristan bit back his anger. “You guys have to post a guard just to make sure the kids are safe.”
“You’re different.”
“No, I’m not. Why can’t we include him just this once?”
“Fine.” Landon’s tone softened, but he still looked suspicious. “I have homework to do. Meet us here at 8:00.” Landon walked away without further comment.
“See ya tonight!” Victor called with a wave, running to catch up with Landon.
Charley made continuous baskets for the next ten minutes. Tristan walked to the cliff where he and Shaely met and searched the surrounding branches for the falcon, trying to ignore the swimming hole below.
He heard Charley’s running footsteps and instinctively took a few steps away from the ledge. “The puddle,” Tristan said flatly, introducing Charley.
Charley peered over the cliff as if a mound of presents waited for him at the bottom. Other boys his age were taking running leaps, hollering with joy.
“Go ahead,” Tristan said.
Charley waited for Tristan to do something, pleading with his big blue eyes.
“I don’t do water.”
Charley pointed back to the court.
Tristan shook his head. “I’m going home. You stay and play. Be here at 8:00 if you want to see what else they do for fun around here.”
Charley nodded, stripping off his shirt. Tristan did a quick scan for signs of abuse, spotting only the stark contrast between dirt and pale skin. “Do you have a place to stay?”
The boy nodded.
“Okay.” Tristan smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair, assuming he wouldn’t be so excited about jumping if he couldn’t swim. “Will you be here tonight?”
Charley shrugged his shoulders and kicked off his shoes, clearly anxious to get with the other kids.
“Have fun—see ya when I see ya.” Tristan headed for home.
* * *
A note was taped to Tristan’s front door. He unfolded the page and read it as he entered the cabin.
I was checking in with Eleonora and she suggested I fix the
window for her, as she will be unavailable for the next few weeks.
I’ll be sure to add ‘assembly’ to the lesson plan.
~Angelina
Tristan studied the glass carefully, finding no evidence of it ever being broken. For all he could tell, the window was brand new. Just like the mirror Landon had fixed. Even with a headache, he couldn’t wait to learn how to do it himself.
He forced down as much water as he could tolerate, taking Landon’s advice, and got started on his experimental homework assignment.
When the clay sculpture was as good as it was going to get, he got an upside-down view of Charley’s scribbled drawing.
“No way,” he said to himself, snatching up the paper for a better look. No matter which direction he held the multi-colored scribbles, Lazaro’s head, curly hair and all, stared back at him with an evil, happy glare.
Tristan slammed the drawing face-down on the table and covered it with a largest book he could find.
21
- EYE OF THE BEHOLDER -
TRISTAN KNEW HE WAS DREAMING; he’d had this dream before. Alleys between buildings became more twisted and narrow. Objects exploded in his path, sharp chunks of debris stabbed into his arms and face as he ran faster. Things flew over his head—garbage cans, cars, wooden carts filled with food. They piled into an endless mountain in front of him, blocking his way, forcing him to climb with unstable footing.
A pack of dogs passed him, turning at the top of the pile to growl down at him. The clickidy-clack of horse hooves on cobble got closer.
Cold fingers wound around his neck.
Tristan’s eyes shot open as he gasped for air. He leaped to his feet, having fallen asleep on the couch. The dogs appeared to be barking from outside his cabin. Only then did he hear it as a knock on the door. The acrid flavor of blood coated his mouth and he listened cautiously, in case it was a trick.
“It’s me. Landon.”
Tristan swallowed hard and rubbed his face, waiting for reality to catch up with him. Landon let himself in. “What’s—”
Tristan held up a hand, holding his breath. “I’m fine.” Tristan licked the back of his hand to check for traces of blood on his tongue. There was none. He rushed to the bathroom to throw up and slammed the door behind him.
