Spell Check

by Julie Wright

  “Oh, he’ll be up soon enough. Honestly child, you worry too much for so young a person.”

  “And like I’ve got nothing to worry about? I’ve cursed my entire family and my best friend. I should feel just fine.” I thought I had been pretty quiet with this new bit of grumbling but Farmor shot me a look as she stood over Robison.

  “I hear your muttering, girl. Complaining doesn’t help. We’ll have to carry him.”

  When she said “we’ll have to carry him,” she meant she’d magic him to the backseat. Before I could lift him into my arms, he was already hovering above the couch, curled up on a cushion of nothing.

  Alarmed, I asked, “Is he going to fall?”

  “Not unless I have a heart attack while holding the spell.” She swirled her hand through the air as though stirring it, and Robison’s sleeping body turned and headed out the door.

  “Do spells cause heart attacks?”

  She laughed. It felt like we’d spent the evening with her laughing at me. “No, älskling. Spells stay strong always unless something happens to the spell-caster. It can only be broken by being undone on purpose, or if I were to be immobilized. Other than that, spells are as reliable as diamonds.”

  I’d never thought of diamonds as reliable. I thought of them as pretty or expensive, but never as reliable. I wondered if Farmor’s Swedish-to-English translation had gotten mixed up somewhere. I hurried to follow Farmor and Robison down the stairs and out the door to the car.

  Once we were all outside, the Jensens from across the street were getting home from somewhere, and they looked over to wave at us. Robison hovered in the air all by himself. I hurried to step over to him and hold my arms around him so it looked like I was carrying him. What would they say if they saw him floating around? Images of hanging in the tree with an angry mob below me raced through my imagination.

  Mr. Jensen frowned as I smiled and nodded to him. “Do you think he noticed?” I whispered as Farmor opened the back door for Robison.

  She moved her chin in the direction of the back seat. Robison’s body lifted from where I pretended to hold him, and I had to scramble to follow along so it didn’t look weird to the neighbors. “Of course he noticed. He’s not blind. But he’ll keep what he thinks he saw to himself. He’s a prosaic.”

  “Prosaic?”

  “Common mortal. Prosaics lack self-confidence. They don’t know how to believe in themselves enough to trust themselves—even with what they see.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said, buckling a seatbelt around Robison’s sleeping body.

  “That’s exactly what I keep telling them.” She got into the passenger side.

  I stopped and stared at her. “Aren’t you going to drive?”

  “Why would I have a reason to get a license?”

  I scrambled out of the backseat, around the car and into the driver’s seat. “Then can’t you do whatever it is you do to snap us there without driving since you don’t drive?”

  “We don’t snap. I wish you’d stop saying that.”

  I froze and awaited the onslaught of her wish. When nothing happened, she smiled. “You’re the one charging your power. Not me. I can wish all day and nothing would happen. And I could magic us to the babysitters. But I’ve heard you need the practice to get your license. I just want to help.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

  “It’s not polite to mutter. I have excellent hearing.”

  “Of course you do,” I said, putting on my seatbelt and cautiously backing out of the driveway. All adults had great hearing where muttering was concerned. One would think I’d know that by now.

  On the way to Jake’s house, I pummeled Farmor with questions. “Can my dad do magic? Is he a Troll Kvinna too?”

  She laughed. “A troll is the creature you’ve heard of in fairytales. A kvinna is a woman. While your mother thinks your father acts like a troll, he isn’t a troll, and he is most definitely not a woman. So no, he isn’t a Troll Kvinna.”

  “But can he do magic?” I eased off the gas to make the turn.

  “No. Only trolls and Troll Kvinnor can do magic. There are other forms of magic founded through other means, but our actual power comes through the female line descended from our ancestors. The trolls were brutish sorts of creatures and didn’t like their women besting them in anything. They took the female thread of magic and hid it away from their women. That was how our ancestors found it and took it away from the trolls.”

  I cast a quick glance her direction. “So no men have it?”

  “None who aren’t trolls.”

  “Does Dad know what you are?”

  She smirked. “Your father believes in aliens, but he’d eat his own socks before suspecting his mother is anything aside from a bit odd.”

  How could my dad be so unaware of Farmor’s capabilities? Granted, he was sort of complacent. I shrugged in admittance. He remained unaware of all sorts of things.

  I hated dropping Robison off at such a late hour to people I fantasized about having for in-laws someday. But we arrived too quickly for me to get worked up. Farmor kept Robison cradled on his cushion of air making it awkward for me to try to pretend to hold him because of the way he had his knees drawn up to his chest. I did my best and made it to the door, which flipped open before I rang the bell.

  “Jake!”

  In my surprise, I almost forgot to keep a hold on Robison, but it must have looked like I was just buckling under the weight because Jake held out his arms. “Here, let me take him in.”

  I sent a well-intentioned look to the car and hoped Farmor was paying attention. She must have been because Jake actually stumbled a little once the full weight of Robison’s bulk settled into his arms. “Wow. He’s heavier than he looks.”

  I gave a nervous laugh. “Yep. He sure is.”

  His mother met us at the door as well and, with deep lines of worry etched in her face, looked toward the car where Farmor sagged against the window, looking slightly pathetic and ill. “Are you sure you don’t want me or Jake’s dad going to the hospital with you?” she asked.

  “We’ll be fine. Farmor has all her insurance information and really just wants me along for company.”

  “Farmor?” Mrs. Warren looked confused.

  Oh, my grandma. She’s from Sweden. That’s what they call grandmas in Sweden.” I didn’t go into the explanation of Farmor meaning only father’s mother and that if she had been my mother’s mother, she’d be a mormor instead. I flashed a nervous smile at Jake’s mom. Jake had already carried Robison off to put him down somewhere.

  “Oh,” I said. “And Robison is a deep, deep sleeper. Don’t panic if it’s hard to wake him up in the morning.” I had no idea how long it would take him to rest from his spell, but hoped by morning he’d be fine. What would the poor kid say when he woke up at Heather’s house?

  I bit my lip. “Umm, Mrs. Warren? Do you have some paper and a pen? Robbie’s likely going to be disoriented when he wakes up. I mean he has really vivid dreams, which is why he’s such a deep sleeper, I guess. But he always wakes up talking about crazy dreams—even at home. He might freak when he wakes up in unfamiliar surroundings. I’d like to write him a note.”

  “Of course.” She stepped aside to allow me into the house.

  I glanced at Farmor in the car, and put a finger up to show I’d be another moment and followed Mrs. Warren inside. She led me into their family room where we’d played games on my birthday. Robison was on the couch already, and tucked under a pile of blankets. He looked peaceful and comfortable, making me feel better. At least he’d be safe and protected.

  Mrs. Warren opened a drawer in the coffee table and pulled out a tablet and a pen. She handed them off to me.

  “Thanks,” I said, and hurried to jot down a quick note.

  Sob-Rob

  Don’t worry about anything. Everything’s fine. Mom and Dad are fine. I had some things that had to get done, and so I asked Heather’s mom to wat
ch you. You can take the bus with Heather to school. Love you, kiddo. Be good. Don’t panic. Everything’s fine. I promise.

  xoxo

  Ally

  By calling him Sob-Rob, he’d know I wrote the note for sure. I used to call him that all the time when he was little and cried about every little thing—that or Sobbie-Robbie, but I hadn’t called him that since I got my cell phone, because my mom threatened to take it away if she heard that name again. Robison didn’t mind the nickname at all. But Mom did. I left the note on the coffee table in front of the couch.

  “We’ll make sure he sees it,” Mrs. Warren said. She looked out the big window to where my mom’s car idled in their driveway. “You’d better get her to the hospital.”

  “Of course. You’re right.” I turned and hurried to the doorway. Jake followed me.

  “I hope your grandma’s okay,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sure she’ll be fine. It’s probably just a flu bug or something. Thanks though.” I stood there for an awkward moment wanting him to hug me or something before considering how it made me look like a creep to be standing around on a porch when my grandma needed medical treatment. “I better get out of here.” I gave an awkward smile and left the porch, cringing over my lameness and hurrying back to the car.

  Pulling out of the driveway, I asked, “So what now?”

  “Turn right at the end of the road,” Farmor said, still looking a little pathetic and sickly.

  “They can’t see you anymore,” I told her.

  “The mother is looking out the window at us. She appears to be concerned.”

  I didn’t ask how she knew that. I flipped my blinker on and turned the corner as instructed.

  Fog suddenly shrouded the car. The street, buildings, houses, and other cars disappeared into the heavy swirling mist. The fog swaddled the car so entirely it felt like it was trying to digest us whole. Streaks of lightning arced through the dark clouds rolling over and around us.

  I saw nothing in front of the car, and, with my thoughts still lingering on my fender bender previously that night, I imagined ramming into a huge truck. The brakes and I squealed at the same time—though my noise was much louder than anything the brakes could have done.

  But nothing happened. The brakes didn’t work. I pumped them hard. Nothing. “Farmor!” I cried.

  “It’s okay, älskling. The car is under control.”

  “Under control?” My heart beat so hard, it felt like it had bruised itself against my ribcage. But as I tasted her words from all angles, my fingers loosened on the steering wheel. “Under control?” I said again, feeling a little calmer, less worked up. “As in under magical control?”

  Farmor nodded and pointed forward. My eyes followed her indication to the front of the car where the fog melted away to reveal huge leathery green leaves slapping the windshield and hood of the car.

  We were driving twenty seven miles per hour in my mom’s beat-up Civic through a jungle.

  Chapter Ten

  Note to self:

  Keep mosquito repellent in your purse.

  Apparently, emergency trips to the Amazon are a thing.

  A jungle! In a car that did not have four wheel drive, and had really crummy brakes and even crummier suspension, or whatever it was that kept cars from bouncing the passengers all over the place on rough roads.

  Because of that crummy suspension, the seat belt left burns on me as my body was thrown all over the car. I slammed on the brakes again, which thankfully worked this time, though we skidded before actually stopping in the slushy dirt and decayed leaves that made up the jungle floor.

  “You totally could have warned me that you were going to do that,” I said, fighting with my seatbelt to get it off me. It took me three tries to unbuckle it and another several tries to disentangle my arm.

  “I did tell you. You knew we were going to get your parents as soon as we dropped off Robison.” Her sideways glance and soft snort proved she didn’t think much of my sassing.

  Shame pricked at me. I’d never argued or sassed Farmor before. She and I were pretty good friends in spite of her living in a different country. She was my best and favorite online buddy. And I felt like she knew me better than anyone, even if I had only seen her physically a handful of times. Why had everything changed with that gift of the wooden troll?

  A bird chattered from one of the jungle trees, and then it hit me. I’m in the Amazon! I reached out and almost touched a plant, but drew back at the last moment.

  Farmor grinned at me knowingly. “You truly have the talent. The leaves on that one are poisonous—though if you handle them carefully and boil the toxins out, they make an excellent salve for burns and insect bites.”

  I nodded. Of course I had no idea about the salve for burns, but handling the leaves was a definite bad idea. It felt wrong to touch the plant, yet I also felt the plant’s usefulness. “So, the way I know things about plants and herbs, the way I know what people in Mom’s store need . . . is that part of the magic?”

  She started walking—away from the car and into the thick growth of trees as though she were in a park. She expected me to follow, so I did. “In a way. Yes,” she said. “Trolls are very natural creatures, and their magic helps them to control animals and plant life. The woman’s half of the magic is definitely more involved in coaxing growth and creating substances from that growth that allow healing and protections. The trolls became very sick for a time after their men took their women’s power. Many died. They went to war with our ancestors to get the power back until a truce was made.”

  She stepped over a moss-covered log and parted a curtain of vines. As I stumbled to keep up, she grimaced and pointed. “There they are.”

  My gaze followed her finger to a river where two people stood in the center of a leaky blue raft with big sticks in their hands. My mother used her stick to try to paddle the raft to the side while my father held his stick over the water threateningly. They were filthy and dripping in either sweat or water from having been dunked in the river. It was hard to tell which. Maybe both.

  Startled, I fell back over the mossy log when a huge snake leapt ten feet out of the water, shadowing the raft and my parents as my dad used his bat Louisville-slugger-style and took a swing at the snake’s head.

  The snake dodged the swing and dove at my mother’s face. She yanked her stick from the water and caught the snake full on in the mouth, then she rolled under the snake and next to my father. “That’s how you hit a snake!” she yelled at him as she used the moment of the snake’s surprise to hit it again.

  “I know how to hit a snake!” he yelled back. “If you’d keep rowing us to the shore instead of trying to take over my job, we wouldn’t have to hit it anymore!”

  “I don’t know if you noticed, but every time I try to get us out of the current, I almost get my head bitten off. I swear, it’s like you’re trying to get me killed! Did you take a life insurance policy out on me that I should know about?”

  Their voices and the sound of my mom’s continual beating on the snake started to fade away as the current carried them farther downriver.

  Feeling an enormous amount of guilt, I looked back at Farmor. “You’re right,” I said. “If we hadn’t come for them, they would never have gotten themselves out of here.”

  Farmor pursed her lips. “Yes, well, we better hurry. They’re tired. They won’t last much longer.” With that, she disappeared into the deep foliage as she followed the river down. I stood a moment longer—frozen into inaction by the horror of her words. They won’t last much longer.

  I never intended this, never intended to put my parents in danger. I wanted them to like each other, to get along, to live in the same house again, not get killed. I looked around. The jungle had seemed to move into a more hushed, reverent state without my parents there churning up the water and shouting at each other. And then I realized I was alone.

  My feet finally moved as I dove between the trees where Farmor had gone. I’d expec
ted to see her immediately upon sweeping those huge leathery leaves aside, but she had truly gone. There was no flash of color from her cape, no hint she’d ever been through there at all.

  The noises of the jungle had also seemed to erase her from my life as the birds called out to each other and the monkeys howled in the canopies of the branches. Crickets hummed, and the river lapped into the sides of earth as the current swirled it past me.

  “Farmor! Grandma!” I cried out as I moved like a lost child in the grocery store past branches and limbs, and over moss-covered rocks and fallen trees.

  “Farmor!” My cry seemed lost to the thrum of jungle life. I kept going, keeping the river in sight as much as possible until alarm completely overtook me. “I wish Farmor was with me now!” I yelled.

  She appeared right in front of me, her face filled with rage, a thick branch held high in her hands as she swung at my head. I fell back to avoid the blow. “What are you doing? Why are you hitting me?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, and she looked around her in much the same panic I’d felt before I wished her back to me. She dropped her hands to her side, letting the branch fall with a thud to the shrubby undergrowth of the forest floor. “You wished to see me?” she said dryly, folding her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes.

  “You left me,” I said, feeling totally bewildered.

  “We’re in a bit of a hurry, Allyson. And I wasn’t hitting you. I was hitting the snake who was trying to eat your father. We’re busy here. And wishing me back might have resulted in something terribly unpleasant.”

  “Unpleasant?” My voice was a squeak.

  “Bad.” She nodded.

  Without really thinking, I yelled, “I wish we were back where Farmor last was!” Halfway through my wish, I heard Farmor cry out, “Allyson! Wait! No!”

  But it was too late, and then the ground turned rather unsteady and mushy. No. Not ground. I looked down to see my feet standing on the slithering coils of an anaconda. Farmor had landed just to the side of it and managed to get out of the way before it noticed her. Of course, I was a pretty big distraction for the snake. It swung its head back to look at what had happened. It never occurred to me that a snake could look surprised, but this one looked just that—surprised.