Spell and Spindle

by Michelle Schusterman

  Half a block ahead, a bus idled at its stop. It let out a huge hiss of exhaust and pulled away from the curb, and Constance shouted, “Wait!” She put on an extra burst of speed, still dragging Penny behind her, and pounded on the side of the bus with her free hand. The bus jerked to a halt, and Constance hurtled up the steps. Ignoring the bus driver’s irritated stare, she pulled out her coin purse and dumped a fistful of coins into the slot before pulling Penny to a pair of empty seats in the very back. Panting heavily, Penny stared out the back window as the bus pulled into the street. The police officer was peering into the window of a restaurant, frowning.

  Constance and Penny slumped down in their seats and looked at one another. Then Constance started to giggle.

  Penny didn’t understand why, because what had just happened was not at all funny. But for some reason, laughter bubbled up in her own throat in response. And then the two were doubled over in hysterics, shoulders shaking, tears streaming down their faces.

  Penny felt Chance’s heart thumping a gradually slowing boom, boom, boom against his rib cage; she felt the rawness in his throat; she felt the way his bones suddenly seemed lighter, the way the muscles in his calves ached, how his legs wobbled in a way that assured her that standing was not an option at the moment.

  It felt wonderful.

  “Well,” Constance said at last, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. “That was fun.”

  “Fun?” Penny repeated it as a question, because even though she agreed, she couldn’t figure out why. “If that officer had caught us, we might never find Chance. It was frightening.”

  Constance smiled. “It was thrilling,” she corrected Penny. “Like Storm at Dawn. You can’t have an adventure without a little risk.” Leaning past Penny, she squinted out the window and sighed. “We’re heading uptown.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Kind of,” Constance said. “The park is just south of here. But the carnival will be all closed up at this time anyway. We need to find a place to hide for the night, and then we can head to the park in the morning.”

  “Where will we hide?”

  Closing her eyes, Constance took a few deep breaths. A smile still lingered around her lips.

  “I don’t know. That’s what makes this an adventure.”

  Just before sunrise, the puppeteer sat down behind the spinning wheel. The darkness behind him seemed to expand, like the cabinet was taking a deep yawn.

  Chance watched from his spot in the cupboard. He waited. But the puppeteer stayed perfectly still.

  The spinning wheel was driving Chance slightly mad. He saw it even when the door was closed, as if it were etched into his glass eyes. Perhaps it was easier to fixate on the wheel than on his situation, which seemed more and more hopeless with every passing minute. Chance could not focus on that, because there was nothing to be done about it. He could not think about Fortunato’s betrayal without falling into what the Storm would call “the endless gray abyss of despair.”

  Instead, he spent his time pondering the spinning wheel and what the puppeteer might do with it.

  So far, he’d just spun and watched the spokes fly, his expression contemplative.

  Right now, though, the puppeteer’s mouth was contorted in a grimace. A feverish glint lit up his eyes as he spun the wheel faster and faster. His fingers and hands and arms moved stiffly, as if he were a tin man whose joints needed oiling. He bared his teeth in frustration, and Chance suddenly wished he could stop watching, because now the puppeteer looked less like a man and more like a monster.

  Then, with a sharp hissing sound, the puppeteer stood abruptly, hands trembling at his sides.

  “Not even a little bit?” he hissed. “Surely there must be something left.”

  He glared down at the spinning wheel as if it had done him personal harm. Then he left the cabinet and slammed the door. He crossed the trailer, opened another cabinet, and after a few seconds of rummaging around, pulled out a small knife and a hand mirror.

  A wave of foreboding washed over Chance as the puppeteer examined his reflection. The man angled his face to study the gnarled wart on his neck. Then he lifted the knife and, in a quick, violent gesture, hacked the lump of skin off with a look of grim satisfaction.

  Chance screamed silently, focusing his gaze on the cabinet that contained the spinning wheel. After several seconds, he looked back at the puppeteer, bracing himself for a bloody, gaping wound.

  But, impossibly, the puppeteer’s neck was clean.

  No blood, not even a scratch. His skin was still as colorless as ever. The puppeteer studied what Chance assumed was the wart in his cupped hand. Then he set it heavily on the table with a soft plunk. Chance stared at the shiny, hardened thing and was reminded forcibly of the base of the spindle. The memory of the weight of it in his palm, warm and glowing with magic, put thoughts in Chance’s head that he did not wish to ponder further.

  Calmer now, the puppeteer put the knife back in its drawer. Then he glanced over at Chance. Slowly he walked over to the cupboard. He did not speak or smile. In fact, Chance had the distinct impression he was allowing Chance to take a closer look, to confirm what he’d just witnessed. And there, on the puppeteer’s neck, was a small indent where the wart had been. It looked as though someone had shaved a shallow chunk out of a bar of soap.

  The puppeteer smiled, as if he’d heard the thought and agreed.

  Then he went back into the cabinet with the spinning wheel and closed the door, leaving Chance with nothing but questions, violent images, and no hope of even sleep as an escape.

  An early sunbeam shone through the stained-glass window of a church on 145th Street, casting a colorful kaleidoscope over the pale faces of the two children in the first pew. The girl slept with a gentle smile on her face, as if her dreams were filled with rainbows and sunshine. The boy curled up at her side slept more fitfully. His brows were pulled together, and he was mumbling incoherently.

  Sister Maria Ignacia was the first to arrive for morning prayer, and therefore the one to discover the two children. For a few minutes she fretted over what to do, reluctant to leave them alone long enough for her to call someone to help. Yet she feared that they would panic when they saw her upon waking and would flee.

  At last she sat very quietly at the boy’s side to wait for the others to arrive for service. She wondered when the two had turned up. The church had had midnight Mass last night, but only about a dozen had attended, and Sister Maria Ignacia was sure she had not seen these two faces among them. They must have entered the church after one in the morning, a distressing thought given their ages and the fact that they were quite without adult supervision.

  This, truth be told, was another reason Sister Maria Ignacia was hesitant to call for help. Because if these children were runaways, the police would take them home. But Sister Maria Ignacia knew from experience that children who risked sneaking out of their homes in the dead of night often had very good reasons.

  On the other hand, the city held potentially greater threats. Last month the orphanage at which Sister Maria Ignacia volunteered on weekends had reported a missing boy. And back in the spring, posters had gone up for twins who had run away from home, leaving their grandparents distraught. The nun had kept these children in her prayers, their names a mantra in her mind: Linda Goldstein, Lyle Goldstein, Jack Wright. She knew many had given up hope. She could never do that, though. She believed they might still be found.

  And Gil, too. He’d vanished months ago, and his family feared the worst, but she refused to give up on her sweet young nephew.

  Linda Goldstein. Lyle Goldstein. Jack Wright. Gil Espinosa.

  Sister Maria Ignacia normally loved summer. The warmth, the sunshine that persisted into late evening, the geraniums that bloomed from patches of grass here and there along the paved sidewalks. And the carnival, always a sea of smiles a
nd bright, sunburned faces. Gil had adored the carnival. He’d talked about it all spring, right up until the day he disappeared.

  This summer was different. As if some invisible shadow loomed over the city, darkening its soul. The very air felt charged, full of static, ready to burn at any moment. Sister Maria Ignacia had found herself returning to the convent well before dark and avoiding the park altogether. She knew, logically, that this must be because of what had happened to Gil. Her nephew’s disappearance had threatened to destroy her entire family. Paranoia had caused her brother and his wife to all but lock their remaining children in their rooms to keep them safe. They went to school, they went to church, they went home. And while Sister Maria Ignacia believed deeply in the power of prayer, she could tell her brother’s children were frustrated with their parents’ passivity and their own confinement. They longed to take action. To search every corner of the city until they found Gil and brought him home.

  Sister Maria Ignacia empathized. But like her brother and his wife, she could not bear the thought of losing another precious child. They could not take that risk.

  “Mmphf.”

  Startled, Sister Maria Ignacia looked down at the boy. His eyelashes were fluttering now, exposing the whites of his eyes in flashes. She fought the urge to offer a comforting hand, worried she would wake him. If the children panicked upon seeing her and ran off, she could do nothing to stop them. And she wanted to help.

  The boy whimpered, and her heart ached for him. His mumblings grew louder, his fingers and feet twitching, and then his eyes flew open and he cried:

  “Lottie!”

  “It’s okay,” Sister Maria Ignacia said in the most soothing voice she could manage. Which was difficult, because the boy’s expression was genuinely alarming. His mouth was stretched in a silent scream, his blue-green eyes darting rapidly from the altar to the stained-glass window to Sister Maria Ignacia’s face to his own hands, upon which his gaze settled. The nun, more than a little disturbed and hesitant to frighten him further, watched as he wiggled the pinkie on his right hand, and then the forefinger and thumb on his left. He stared back up at Sister Maria Ignacia, and a thought entered her mind as clearly as if someone had whispered it in her ear.

  This is a lost soul.

  Her eyes welled with tears, which she blinked back. “You’re safe here,” she said quietly. “I promise.”

  The boy’s sister stretched and yawned, and when her sleepy eyes focused on the nun, she leaped to her feet as if she’d been shocked.

  “Oh! Good morning!” she cried, smoothing out her skirt and tucking her hair behind her ears. “We came in extra early to, um, say a few prayers before breakfast, and—”

  “You spent the night,” Sister Maria Ignacia said gently, charmed by the girl’s flustered manner. “It’s okay. You’re both welcome here.”

  “Oh, well, thank you, I’m sorry,” the girl babbled as she tugged her brother’s arm. “Come on, Chance, we need to get home. Mom’s probably wondering what’s taking us so long.”

  “Please, wait.” Sister Maria Ignacia got to her feet as well. She stole another glance at the boy, who seemed to have mostly collected himself, though his eyes were still a bit wild. “If you’re in trouble, I can help you.”

  “No, everything’s fine!” the girl exclaimed. “We’re just late, that’s all. Chance, let’s go.”

  Sister Maria Ignacia watched helplessly as the two scurried down the aisle. She took a step after them and then stopped, for what could she do to keep them here? Nothing.

  But there was something else she could do. She didn’t want to, she wasn’t sure it was right, but it was her duty.

  Once the doors had closed behind them, the nun walked past the altar and slipped through the exit. At the end of a short hallway, she opened the empty classroom in which she taught Sunday school, picked up the phone on the desk, and dialed the police station.

  Penny and Constance did not speak as they left the church. Constance kept a firm grip on Penny’s hand but did not run, though Penny suspected she was fighting the urge. Instead, they walked briskly around the corner, down a block, a right turn, two more blocks, and a left turn, then finally slowed their pace.

  “I shouldn’t have said his name,” Constance said. Her eyes were closed, and she was drawing deep, shaky breaths.

  “What?”

  “I called you Chance in front of that nun. Twice.” Shaking her head, Constance shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other. “If she calls the police and gives them one of our names, and my parents have reported us missing, they’ll know we were here.”

  “Then, we just have to keep moving,” Penny told her, and they did.

  Constance gave Penny one of the sandwiches they’d packed, then took the other for herself. She thought out loud as they ate and walked.

  “I still have some money left, but not much. It’s a long walk to the park, but I’d rather save the bus fare, because we’re going to need more food eventually. Oh, that nun was nice, I feel awful for being so rude and running out of there, but there’s no way she would have believed us, you know? About Chance, I mean. I can’t imagine what she would have said if we’d told her the truth about you.”

  That I’m a demon? Probably not welcome in a church. Penny did not think this was what Constance meant, which was why she kept the thought to herself. Still, something about the way Constance said it stung a little bit.

  As Constance rambled on, Penny remained silent and focused on the dream she’d had. Or at least she tried to. But the moment Penny had opened her eyes, the details had begun leaking out like water through a sieve. The emotions had lingered, though. Very strong emotions. Fear, confusion, anger. And another one, a powerful emotion Penny didn’t have a word for, but just the memory of it filled her to bursting, made her feel as though she’d do anything for it. It was a beautiful, terrifying feeling, like soaring uncontrollably across the sky with no hope of stopping, and no desire to.

  She wondered if the content of the dream, whatever images had filled it, had come from her or Chance. It was, after all, still Chance’s brain in this body. Perhaps it had accessed his memories while his body slept.

  “You lost, little lady?”

  Penny blinked, shaking these thoughts from her mind. A man was slumped on a bench outside a barbershop with a CLOSED sign in the window. He was looking at Constance. Penny looked at Constance too.

  She smiled. “No, sir, we’re fine.”

  “Sure I can’t help you with anything?”

  Penny was confused. The man’s words seemed kind, but something was off. The corners of his mouth had curved up, but it wasn’t a smile, exactly. And his eyes slid up and down Constance as if she were an item he was considering for purchase.

  “No,” Constance chirped. “We’re meeting our father right up the street. He’s taking us to the carnival for the day. He’s driving, and our car is parked right around the corner, so…”

  Constance, Penny was beginning to learn, spoke even faster when she lied.

  “Clear now, but it’s supposed to rain this afternoon,” the man said, gesturing at the silvery sky. “Don’t want to get that pretty hair wet. I’ve got an umbrella here.” He patted the black umbrella Penny now saw lying beside him on the bench.

  “I’m sure our father will have one,” Constance said. Her voice was still cheery, but it was hard underneath, like a layer of silk over steel.

  “You sure? I don’t mind walking you over there.”

  “That’s all right,” Constance said firmly, squeezing Penny’s arm until she winced. The man still had not given Penny so much as a glance, as though she were invisible. They began to walk again, and the man called out:

  “Come on now, honey. Don’t I at least get a ‘thank you’?”

  Penny’s heart was pounding hard now, like when she’d run away from the polic
e officer. She heard Constance let out the softest of sighs before facing the man again.

  “Thank you, sir!” And before he could respond, she set off down the street, pulling Penny along. Penny glanced over her shoulder at the man, whose eyes still lingered on Constance.

  They turned the next corner, and Constance let go of Penny’s arm. She kept walking, the same fixed smile on her face. But Penny noticed her hands shaking a bit.

  “It’s fine,” Constance said, blinking rapidly. “We’ll be fine. We just need to get to the park.”

  Penny suspected that Constance was actually talking to herself, so she didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what to say anyway. The entire encounter had been very confusing, and she couldn’t figure out why, exactly, she felt this unsettled by it.

  They walked another block in silence. Penny was still thinking about the Thank-You Man, and several minutes passed without her taking in her surroundings. But when she saw the market on the corner, she stopped in her tracks.

  “What’s wrong?” Constance asked, frowning.

  Penny exhaled slowly. She wanted to explain this just right.

  “I have this feeling,” she told Constance, her eyes still locked on the market. “I’ve had it a few times since Chance and I swapped, but it’s really strong right now, and I don’t know the word for it. That market down there, with the yellow awning? It feels…familiar. Like I’ve been there. But I’ve never even seen it before, so that doesn’t make sense.”

  Constance’s face relaxed into a real smile. “Oh, that’s déjà vu!”

  “What?”

  “Déjà vu,” she explained. “It’s when you feel like you’ve experienced something before even when you haven’t.”

  “Do you ever feel that way?”

  “Sure!” Constance shrugged. “Sometimes. Happens to everyone occasionally.”

  Penny wondered if it ever happened to anyone several times in less than two days. The chores, the lanky man at the train station in the ill-fitting suit, the song that had played on the radio in the car. At least she had an explanation now, and a word to match the emotion.