Dead End

by C. P. Rider

  Racking my brain for the meaning of the term, I thought back to social studies class—or was it history? A Harry Potter story? Anyway, I remembered that a fortnight meant two weeks. People in England used the term. So Dead End must get shipments every two weeks.

  "Your bathroom things are over there." He pointed to the top of a polished oak dresser. "Hope you don't mind, but I unpacked your clothes, too."

  I wasn't sure how I felt about being unpacked in this strange new world. It felt a little like I was admitting that I'd never get back home to Dad.

  Grandpa left to start dinner and I tottered over to the dresser. Pulled open the top drawer and stared at the folded and organized contents. It had been a long time since I'd been able to put my clothes in an actual dresser. They were usually crammed in my suitcase because Dad and I never stayed in one place for long. We could never let our guards down. The Kilshaw Agency was always close. Hunting us.

  We were never free.

  The rumbling began beneath my feet and reverberated up into the walls. Shocked at my loss of control, I chanted the words Dad always used to focus me at times like these.

  "Don't lose control, Maria Guadalupe."

  I focused on slowing my breathing in an effort to regain control. The trembling wasn't strong, but it would be noticed if it continued, and the breathing didn't seem to be helping.

  "Relax, Loops. Breathe. Just breathe."

  A short yip sounded in the doorway as Toby trotted into the room and over to me, his ears and tail at attention.

  "You're back." Relief flooded me as I knelt beside him.

  Toby's fuzzy tail wagged and he jumped up—his way of asking to be held. He rested his head on my shoulder and let out a dog sigh. The warmth of his little body relaxed me, and the trembling faded just as quickly as it had begun.

  "You'll have to be careful with that." Abuelo Emilio's voice was low and gravelly. "Magic is stronger here."

  "Magic?" I tightened my hold on Toby. "What do you mean?"

  Abuelo Emilio knew what I was, what I could do. I wondered if Grandpa Holli knew, too. If so, neither one seemed bothered by it.

  "I mean magic. Or science, God, whatever your people call it. The force that powers your ability. However strong you were in the Other—" He said the word as if it were the name of the place where I was from. "—you can double or triple that here. Maybe more. Hard to say without experimentation. That's not permission to experiment."

  When I frowned in confusion, he said, "Think of the moon's gravity. Up there you might bounce around like a rubber ball in a room full of right angles, but on Earth, you weigh more, so … no bounce. Sanctum is the moon and the Other is Earth in this analogy."

  "Oh, I get that part. What I'm hung up on is you thinking magic, God, and science are the same thing."

  For a long time he said nothing, simply stared at me the way I'd stare at someone who'd just told me she believed the earth was flat.

  "Dios, I will never understand my daughter's fascination with that world." He whistled for Toby. "Go wash up, Maria. Dinner is almost ready, and we have a city council meeting at seven."

  "Meeting? I don't have to go, do I?"

  8

  "The Dead End city council meeting is called to order." The man banging the gavel was very tall. Not in the way that basketball players are tall, but in the way telephone poles are tall.

  "How does the mayor fit in the building?" I whispered to Grandpa Holli after I'd gotten past the eye-bugging, jaw-dropping shock. We were seated in the townspeople section of the largest meeting room in City Hall, according to my grandpa. Abuelo Emilio was in a high-backed swivel chair behind a raised curved podium with the other council members.

  "Look under the desk, at his chair."

  "Where is his chair? I only see more torso."

  "Exactly. You must have noticed that the exterior of the building is smaller than the interior would suggest," he whispered as the city reports were approved and seconded by the council. "Smaller than even this single room would suggest. And with three fewer floors."

  I nodded.

  "That's because the three lower floors are in another dimension. We conduct all official business in this room, but the other floors are used for non-official events, storage, and transdimensional apartments." He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap.

  "Grandpa Holli?"

  "Yes, dear?"

  "It seems as if you think you answered my question, but I'm still confused."

  "Oh, sorry dear, I forget you're not from here. Mayor Docket is able to fit in the building because, one, half of his person exists in another dimension, and two, because the part of him that serves as Dead End mayor is comprised of more than fifty percent of his total person. Anything less and he wouldn't be considered a resident." He sat back in his chair again and grinned at Abuelo, receiving a small smile in return.

  Nope, still confused. However, I decided to drop it, because I didn't think more information was going to make things clearer.

  "There are eight seats, but only six people are here," I said.

  "Yes. One member only votes by proxy and the other member is absent."

  Of the members present, I recognized Bert, the man I'd met at the One Way Café and Laverne, though she wasn't entirely present.

  "Laverne?" I whispered to Grandpa Holli.

  "Astral hologram, of course. Laverne is unable to leave the café property."

  "Astral hologram. Of course." I patted my lap and Toby leapt from the floor onto it. His tiny head bobbed back and forth as he watched the council members speak. My dog seemed a lot more interested in this meeting than I was. Probably because I'd been to a few when Dad was a cop and had been bored out of my skull.

  I hadn't had Toby then, but even if I had, Dad wouldn't have let me take him. You rarely saw terriers in city council meetings back home. One area where Dead End had it over the other world, for sure.

  My hand was halfway into my backpack, fingers brushing the spine of a horror novel I'd been reading for the past week, when I heard someone from the townspeople section yell, "It's on the agenda, Frank, and this time you'd by God better not skip it."

  "Jeez, Dan, I'm not going to skip it. You've been harping on it for a month," the mayor replied. His voice echoed, as if he'd spoken into a canyon. No other voice in the room echoed.

  "Because they're worse. So much worse."

  Abuelo Emilio adjusted his black-framed glasses. "What's worse, Dan?"

  "First agenda item: Danford Martindale's garden gnome," the mayor announced.

  "Gnomes. And lawn flamingos, Frank. I told you on the phone. The jackasses are working together."

  "Please approach the microphone, Mr. Martindale. Not that anyone is having trouble hearing ya," Bert said.

  "And refrain from coarse language." My abuelo took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes.

  "Sorry for that." Danford Martindale shuffled up the aisle, knitted cap clutched in his hands, his white hair infused with static electricity and standing on end. He was a small man, much shorter than the microphone, so he had to adjust the stand. The second he touched it, a burst of light the size of a summertime sparkler flew off his fingertips.

  Toby let out a yip and a low growl. I patted him reassuringly.

  "Good gravy," Laverne's hologram said, "he'll burn down city hall."

  "Sorry. My ability is all over the place right now. I'm stressed out."

  "He's a conductor," Grandpa Holli whispered to Toby and me. "He doesn't generate electricity, but he can absorb it from the environment—usually at a low-grade level."

  "That's kind of amazing."

  "Amazing? Perhaps. Annoying at town meetings? Always."

  "Hollister, would you please?" The look on Abuelo's face when he said this made me want to laugh. I'm pretty sure that's what my books meant when they described a person's expression as "long-suffering." I pulled my hand out of my backpack and sat up taller in my seat.

  Grandpa Holli adjusted
Dan's mike and sat back down.

  "As I was saying, I apologize about the cursing and the interruption. I'm just going straight out of my head. Carol keeps saying that's what I get for buying a house across from the sacred gardens. She's gone to her mother's until I solve the problem."

  "Exactly how many garden gnomes do you have, Dan?" Bert asked.

  "Started with one. Now there are thirteen." He held up a color photograph—a real photograph, not a sheet of photo paper printed from someone's ink jet printer—of what looked to me like a group of typical ceramic garden gnomes. Red hats, white beards, green or blue tunics, black boots… "They seem to reproduce in odd numbers, unlike the flamingos."

  "How many lawn flamingos do you have?" Abuelo asked.

  "Started with two." He held up another photo, this one showed average lawn flamingos, plastic, pink, long necks, metal rods for legs. Back home, Mr. Plunkett, the elderly man across the street, had fourteen of them strewn across his yard.

  "And now?" One of the other city council members asked. The name plate in front of him said he was John Gale. Mr. Gale was a lanky, white-skinned, sandy-haired human who reminded me of my seventh-grade science teacher.

  "Twenty-six."

  "In a month?" Laverne's hologram flickered as if reacting to the shock in her voice.

  "No. They've done most of the multiplying in the last week. There were only three gnomes as of midnight, but when I woke up this morning, there were nine more of the suckers on my windowsill, watching me sleep. It was unsettling, let me tell you.

  "Also, the lock on my front door was tampered with, and all my boysenberry syrup is gone. Everyone knows gnomes love boysenberries. That's why we keep them in the garden altar."

  "Why don't you just trap the little critters and stick ’em in a kennel until we figure out what to do?" someone called out from the back of the room.

  Dan glared at the man who spoke up. "Have you ever tried to catch a greased spider monkey, Herbert?"

  The man in the back whistled. "That fast, huh?"

  "Ten times that fast. Those gnomes are like vapor, and that's if they're playing with you. If they're running from an enemy, the little buggers are even speedier."

  Mayor Docket cleared his throat. "You mentioned the garden altar. Has anyone checked on it lately?"

  Another townsperson cleared her throat and stood. "Well, no. That is, Mr. Bernard was the only Dead Ender who was allowed to enter the inner sanctum of the sacred gardens, and he passed away three months ago. We haven't gotten anyone to fill his position."

  Bert slapped his hand against his forehead. "No one is replenishing the altar? I'm surprised half the trees in this town haven't attacked. If we don't get this dealt with, we'll have a lot more than thieving garden gnomes to worry about."

  "They're bullies," Dan said. "The gnomes, though the flamingos are just as bad. Those blasted birds have claimed the mailbox as their territory and will only allow me to collect one piece of mail a day. If I try to take any more than that, they peck my legs until I bleed."

  Abuelo glanced at John Gale. "Any ideas?"

  "One. Edina?" John directed the name toward the woman who had volunteered the information about Mr. Bernard. "Would you consider taking the vacant position?"

  "I don't think I'm qualified," she replied.

  "There is a spiritual learning curve, but you can handle it. We supply the boysenberries, lavender, and small gray rocks for the altar. That arrangement always worked well when Bernard was running things."

  "I understand that, John. The thing is, it's a lot of responsibility…"

  "It's a paid position, Edie." Laverne rolled her eyes.

  Edina nodded. "I'll do it."

  "That should take care of your gnome and flamingo problem, Dan. Second item on the agenda—"

  "Just wait a dang minute. What am I supposed to do in the meantime? It takes at least a month to achieve the internal peace and horticultural sanctification necessary to enter the sacred gardens. By that time, the little buggers will have amassed an army."

  "Why is Dan the only resident near the gardens being affected by the gnomes and flamingos?" Again Laverne's image wavered, then snapped back into focus. Her eyes were narrow and suspicious. "They don't usually bother folks that don't bother them."

  My abuelo echoed Laverne's expression. As did the other council members.

  "Oh fine." Dan threw his hands up. "When I was a kid, I entered the sacred gardens’ inner sanctum without permission and stole some rocks off the altar on a dare."

  Bert shook his head. "When you say kid, are you talking seven, eight years old?"

  "Eighteen," Dan grumbled.

  "Mystery solved. Eighteen is the age of consent." Bert shook his head. "Lawn fauna is big on retribution. They'll remember your actions for generations."

  "You sound like Carol," Dan said.

  "Your wife sounds like the only person with any sense in her head," someone called out from the townspeople section.

  "Not helpful, Lurleen." Dan turned his pleading gaze on the mayor. "What am I supposed to do to keep the critters from destroying my house?"

  "My advice? Stock up on boysenberry syrup." The mayor held up two enormous fingers. "The second item of the evening is the annual Dead End deworming. Is there a representative from the deworming committee here?"

  "I'm here, Mayor Docket. Misha Luna." A creature unfurled itself from within a pair of dragonfly wings and levitated forward. It tapped the microphone once, sending a high-pitched whine through the room.

  The dragonfly creature cleared its throat. "The committee has trapped seventy-one worm larvae this last week." There was a buzzing sound in the back of the room. "Apologies, I meant to say seventy-two. Thank you, Alvin."

  I shifted Toby to the side and reached into my backpack for my book again. This sounded like boring administrative type stuff to me, even if a giant dragonfly was saying it.

  Misha, the dragonfly, continued. "We're down to sixteen larvae. Half were cremated, and Chuck Stockles took the rest to his restaurant. He puts them in a slow cooker with barbecue sauce and two tablespoons of garlic. Serves the whole thing over rice."

  "Isn't that dangerous, Misha?" Bert asked. "They're venomous."

  "If you cook them long enough it takes the poison right out of them, though there's always a chance of paralysis—or spontaneous fur growth. I think we all remember Thelma Cole's tiger-striped beard."

  "How long did it take to get rid of that thing?" the Mayor asked.

  "I don't recall, but it was down to her knees by then."

  I dropped the book back into my backpack.

  9

  Tuesday, Grandpa Holli took me to school. He'd approached me the previous night before bed and told me I didn't have to go yet if I didn't feel up to it.

  When I said I was fine, he'd asked me again, just to be sure. Then again, twice before breakfast, once while I was in the bathroom braiding my hair, and three more times on the way to the car.

  Although I was nervous, there was this part of me that wanted to see what a normal high school experience was like. I'd had to be home-schooled after the unfortunate pool crater incident, and I'd never really had friends before that. I wasn't smart enough to hang out with the overachievers—thanks, geometry—and I liked listening to my teachers, so I wasn't a delinquent. I was okay at sports, so not a jock, I read way too many books, and didn't wear nearly enough makeup to exist even at the fringes of the popular crowd.

  "Are you certain you're ready, dear?"

  "I'm sure." I glanced at his profile from the passenger seat. His mouth was set in a firm line and his kind eyes were hooded, like he hadn't gotten enough sleep. "Grandpa?"

  "Yes?"

  "Are you worried about me?"

  He appeared to think that over before replying. "Not worried, per se. It's only that you've already been through so much. I hate to see you put yourself under more pressure. Dead End High School isn't like the schools where you're from."

  "I wouldn't kno
w the difference. I told you, I never went to high school." When he sighed, I smiled and said, "You are worried about me."

  "I suppose I am."

  "Thank you."

  "Thank you?" He frowned.

  "Yeah. You know, for caring about me."

  "Maria, you're my granddaughter. Of course, I care."

  "You just met me."

  "That doesn't matter. You're Maria's child, which means you're ours, too. Your abuelo and I both care about you."

  Now that I wasn't so sure about. But I said nothing, only smiled because it was nice to have someone besides Dad say they cared about me.

  Dead End High was across town from my grandfathers' house. The trip took exactly five minutes, including parking the car. I'd grown up in a small town—population under five thousand—but this place was tiny.

  "How many people live in Dead End?"

  "People-people? I couldn't say. But the town population is 1,523—counting you." He smiled, kind eyes crinkling at the corners like Santa Claus’s, though that was my slim grandpa's only resemblance to the portly present giver. "Some of us live on the outskirts, and a couple live beyond city limits."

  I probably should have thought it was strange that he knew the exact number of residents, but I'd been faced with a lot of bizarre stuff since turning the lock on the café door, so on my weird-to-normal scale, it barely registered.

  Dead End High School looked like a cross between a prison and a motel on a vintage postcard. Heavy black gates in front opened to reveal a two-story classroom building painted dark red with white trim and built in a boxy U-shape. The classroom doors on both floors faced each other, and a grass and cement courtyard, around which picnic tables were scattered.

  Sullen-faced teenagers perched on the tables here and there. Some sat on the ground, some leaned against the walls. Three hung from the second-floor railing by what appeared to be aqua tentacles. Dr. Pacifico's kids?

  Very few of the students were human, none of them smiled, and I felt intensely self-conscious the second I walked in. Yep, this was definitely a high school.