by Holly Lisle
The robe was wool — coarsely woven, scratchy, hot, and heavy. Minerva felt like she was wearing a bedspread — and not a good one, either. “How am I supposed to do magic with this on?” How am I supposed to move with it on? she wondered.
Talleos sighed. “You have to suffer a lot to do magic. That is just the way it works. If you want your kids back, you’re going to have to wear the robe — unless...” He gave her a sideways glance and said, “No...”
Minerva hated games, and she had no time for coyness. “Unless what?” she snapped.
“Well, magic done skyclad is even more powerful than magic done wearing the mystical Robe of Exarp.”
“Skyclad. Skyclad?” Minerva didn’t recognize the term, but she didn’t like the sound of it.
“Nude.” Talleos gave her a hopeful little grin.
Her instincts were right on the money, she decided. “I’ll suffer.” She rolled the scratchy sleeves up all the way to her elbows, then reached down and tucked a portion of the front hem under the robe’s heavy rope belt. She brushed the cowl back with a quick swipe of her hand.
“There. See? This will do just fine.”
Talleos seemed to have been stricken by a fit of coughing. She watched him lean, shoulders heaving, against a rack of skulls. He gasped and choked, and his face turned duskier than usual.
“Are you all right?” she asked, concerned. She walked toward him, but he waved her off.
“Fine—” he croaked. “—Water—” and he clattered out of the room.
When he came back in, he looked much better. “Choked on some dust or something,” he told her. His color was still high. “Okay!” He gave her a bright smile. “Let’s get to work on the magic. Take a seat in the middle of the decagram.”
While Minerva sat on the hard floor, Talleos pulled a huge book out of the bookcase, propped it on a carved bookstand, flipped to the first page, and began to read.
“ ‘The beginning of magic is the beginning of the comprehension of the Manifest and the Unmanifest, the corporeal and the incorporeal, and the flow of the ions of time and not-time through the river of the Eternal Is. Within the spin of the single atom, the magus finds contained all secrets and all miracles of every facet of existence. And the harnessing of the powers of that atom is within the reach of the dedicated seeker. Above all, the seeker must strive for purity of intention, purity of thought, and purity of being.
“ ‘To attain the purity required of the magus, the seeker must reach within and find a personal and internally consistent meaning for each of the thousand spoken names of God. The first of these names is Ke-Seh-Haveh-Kalla, which means...’ ”
* * *
Minerva felt her eyes beginning to glaze over. This was the way to do magic, was it? Oh, God. Her kids’ lives — and her own — depended on her ability to learn this stuff?
It felt like chemistry class all over again. She’d hated chemistry.
“ ‘The second name of God is Gur-Gesh-Hegonokrisve-domio, which...’ ”
Darryl, she thought, I hope to hell you’re as miserable and as scared as I am right now.
* * *
“Geoff, I really don’t know what happened.... No... No — some kids found her while they were out playing.... No, not my kids; the police are still looking for them.... Not yet. The police have tapped the phone lines — there weren’t any ransom notes that anyone could find.... No, I guess they’ll be doing the — ah — the au-au-autopsy—...today...”
“No... I’m all right now.... Thank you. I appreciate that — a leave of absence would help a lot.... I’d — I’d really rather not talk anymore right now.”
All morning. The goddamned phone hadn’t stopped. People telling him how sorry they were; people telling him he was a miserable bastard and the police were going to find out what he did; friends of Minerva’s who wanted to commiserate with him; friends of his who didn’t know what to say.
Minerva was right there in front of him, right on the other side of the fucking mirror. He couldn’t touch her, he couldn’t hear her, he couldn’t actually see her — except once when she looked in a mirror. But, dammit, it was really her. Out of his reach.
He’d made the funeral arrangements. He’d sat on the other side of the funeral director’s desk and picked out a casket and discussed the service. He’d cried. He couldn’t help it. The funeral director had a mirror behind his desk. The whole time Darryl was discussing the details of the service, Minerva was standing behind the man, playing with powders and knives and wands and other weird shit. He wanted her back. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t believe she was coming back.
“If your face drags any lower, old pal, we can use it to sole your shoes.” Birkwelch leaned along the back of the armchair and hung his head upside down, in front of Darryl.
As a sight gag, it probably would have been pretty funny, but Darryl wasn’t in the mood. “Go ‘way,” he snarled.
“No, man. I want to go to McDonald’s and get some fish sandwiches and fries. They’re my favorite.”
“Good. Go.”
The dragon did not get his face out of Darryl’s way. “I want some company.”
Darryl lost his grip on his calm. “You miserable son of a bitch,” he yelled. He grabbed Birkwelch around the dragon’s long, muscular neck and tried to strangle him — a feat he discovered was about as smart as trying to strangle a boa constrictor. One minute he had his hands around the dragon’s neck; the next, he was lying on the floor on the other side of the room, watching lights going round and round on the ceiling, wishing he could remember how to breathe.
His mother stood over him, an unreadable expression on her face.
“How did you do that?’
He couldn’t quite breathe yet. “Do what, Mom?” he wheezed.
“Jump across the room like that? And who were you yelling at?”
Yeah, Darryl, he thought, how did you do that? Taken up flying in your spare time, have you? “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom,” he said. “I just fell down.”
“Uh-HUH.” His mom looked, very slowly, from the armchair fifteen feet away to the place where Darryl lay and gave him the Fishy Mother Eye. He knew the look. It was the same look she’d given him when he came home at three A.M. from the party at Lisa Sherwood’s house. It was the look that meant, “Don’t give me that shit, dear. Mothers can read minds.”
They could, too, he decided. He and Lisa Sherwood had been up to no good, all stories to the contrary aside.
He just shrugged his shoulders and sat up. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t knock. I let myself in. I wasn’t sure whether you would be answering the door today or not.” Her face said the next time he planned on frolicking with Satan’s minions, he needed to lock the door.
He thought that was a fine idea.
He stood. “Well — ah... Did you come over for any particular reason?”
She tipped her head to one side. She crossed her arms. Birkwelch, standing inches behind her, mimicked her every move. “I thought I’d stop over and see how you were holding up,” she said.
“I wanted to make sure you weren’t drinking yourself under the table or hanging yourself from the rafters,” Birkwelch said in Darryl’s mother’s voice.
Birkwelch’s imitation was dead-on. Darryl, afraid he might laugh, tried hard not to look at the dragon, and ended up avoiding his mother’s eyes, too. “I’m holding on,” he said.
His mother glanced over at the armchair again. “You might want to hold on tighter,” she said.
Birkwelch stopped his imitation in mid-move and stared at the woman. “She’s pretty funny, you know?”
“I know,” Darryl said, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, realized he had answered the dragon out loud. He could feel the blood running to his feet. We do not speak to our hallucinations when our mother is in the house. Do we, Darryl? No, we do not.
“Well, I’m gl
ad,” his mother said.
Dumb luck. She thought he was talking to her. He might not be so lucky twice. He took his mother’s elbow and guided her to the front door. “Mom — I’m really not feeling up to company right now.” He reached for excuses. “And — I need to stay by the phone, in case the police call back with news about the kids.”
“So you haven’t heard anything?”
He shook his head. “I’ll call you as soon as I do. I promise.”
“I really think,” she stopped on the steps and looked up at him, “you ought to come home with me. The police will be able to call you at our house—”
“The kids haven’t memorized your phone number.”
She stopped, and pursed her lips, and cocked her head to one side. “You’re right. As soon as you hear anything, then.”
“I promise.”
He went back inside and looked at the mirror. He still couldn’t figure out what Minerva was doing. Whatever it was, he wished she wasn’t doing it with a naked creature out of Greek mythology who was hung like a bull.
The dragon came over and stood beside him.
“Who — and what — is that guy?”
“Talleos. My roommate. He’s a cheymat.”
“A cheymat.” Darryl got a glimpse of the creature when Minverva turned her head “He looks like one of those Greek things. Watchacallems. Satyrs.”
The dragon grinned broadly. “If I tell you a secret, you have to promise not to tell.”
Darryl shrugged.
“He is one of those satyrs. But it pisses him off no end that one of his ancestors got around so much — so he says Pan was just a myth. He’s the last satyr. Who’s going to argue with him?”
Darryl frowned. “Pan wasn’t a myth?”
“He was a legend, man. He was inspirational.”
“You knew him?”
The dragon tipped his head back and sighed soulfully. “Oh, yeah. Now there was a guy who knew how to cruise chicks.”
The phone rang. Darryl ran for it. It wasn’t going to be the kids. Knowing what he knew, he didn’t think the police were going to call with anything useful, either. It was more likely his mom, deciding he ought to get Call-Forwarding so he could go over and stay with her and dad. Nevertheless—
“Yeah,” he said.
“Darryl. I heard about your wife. How awful.” The voice was feminine, sweet, sexy — and he couldn’t place it.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“I baked something for you — I’ll bring it over,” the voice said.
Who is this? Who is it? he wondered. “Um, I’m not really feeling like company—”
The voice interrupted him. “I understand completely. I’ll just drop this off and leave. But if you need to talk, you know I’ll be there to listen. All you have to do is say the word.”
Right. Say the word — and figure out who the hell you are. “I appreciate that.” He hung up the phone, still not able to put a name or a face with the voice.
The dragon had stretched out in front of the French doors and was lolling on the kitchen floor in the sunshine like a cat. “Anything interesting?”
“Somebody from work bringing over food.”
“That’s good.”
“I don’t know. Can’t quite place the voice.” Darryl looked at the beast on his floor. “Don’t you have something useful to do?”
“I’m doing it.”
“Working on your tan?”
“Keeping you alive. That useful enough for you?”
Darryl looked at Birkwelch to see if the dragon was trying to be funny. For once, the monster looked like he meant what he said. “It will do for a start.” He looked around the kitchen, then out through the French doors into the side yard, overtaken by paranoia. “Um, should I, um, lay low or anything?”
The dragon snorted. Faint blue tendrils of smoke curled from his nostrils and circled around the dust motes in the sunlight. “Nah. The trouble is coming, but it isn’t here yet.”
“How do you know?”
“Dragons exist in five dimensions simultaneously, while humans only exist in four. We’re superior. We know things.”
The doorbell rang. “So if you know things, who’s on the other side of the door?”
The dragon grinned, and closed his eyes, and started to speak. Then he stopped and his smile faded. “That’s funny.”
“Don’t know, do you?”
“No. I don’t.”
Darryl went to answer the door. “Goddamned cocky dragons aren’t as brilliant as they’d like to think,” he muttered.
He opened the door, saw who was standing on the other side holding a bean dish, and slammed it.
“Internal Revenue Service?” the dragon asked
“Cindy Morris.”
The dragon cocked his head and studied Darryl like an entomologist with a new bug. “The name is unfamiliar, but the guilt certainly speaks volumes. Something about this is fascinating. Invite her in.”
Darryl, speechless, nodded. He opened the door again. Cindy Morris still stood there, her expression bewildered. “Hi, Darryl,” she said, and gave him a sweet, puzzled smile.
He couldn’t think of anything he really wanted to say to her — but the dragon wanted to get a look at her. “Won’t you come in?”
Her smile grew. “I brought you a casserole. There aren’t too many things I know how to cook, but—” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged.
Darryl suspected the shrug was supposed to be cute. He took the casserole dish, and she followed him into the kitchen. The dragon was nowhere to be seen. Interesting time to have to take a leak, Darryl thought. He had no idea what to say to Cindy.
“Um,” he said. “Ah.”
“I know this probably seems awkward,” Cindy said
Darryl nodded. Awkward was the least of what it seemed.
“I didn’t want you to feel guilty about the other night.”
Darryl stared at her. You have to be kidding, he thought.
“No, really. I’ve been in love with you since I started at Phelps,” she said. “I seduced you. I knew I shouldn’t have at the time, but — I wanted you. I really came over to apologize for taking advantage of you.” She smiled at him again.
She still had the greenest eyes he’d ever seen.
“Um, Cindy,” Darryl finally managed, “I appreciate the apology. What happened — it wasn’t all your fault. And I appreciate you bringing the casserole, and — um, and everything—” He stared at his feet. “I don’t think we should see each other again, though.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say that. I know we started out badly, but I was hoping we could be friends.”
“I’m sure you were,” Birkwelch said. He walked up behind Cindy Morris and blew a tongue of flame at her.
She spun around, and her green eyes grew huge. She shrieked.
“She can see you,” Darryl said.
“You bet your ass, she can. Why don’t you make a pass at me, hey, sweetheart?” the dragon asked the woman.
Cindy hissed. Her skin melted and flowed; she became an animated Dali painting, stretching and deforming and changing into something other — something awful. Her body grew dark and leathery, gaunt and twisted. Her arms transformed into talon-tipped wings, and her face lengthened into a lipless muzzle, both jaws lined with hundreds of wicked, needlelike teeth. Only her eyes were the same — still wide and glittering, emerald green. She hissed again, and started to puff herself up.
The dragon snapped at her, his jaws only missing crushing her head because she darted out of the way.
The transformed Cindy lunged for the door, knocked it open clumsily, and launched herself into the air.
Through the entire exchange, Darryl had stared, rooted to the floor. He couldn’t believe what he’d seen. “A-ha-ha-a,” he gasped.
Birkwelch sauntered back into the kitchen. “Don’t eat the casserole,” he said
“Okay.” Darryl felt like sitting on the floor and gibbering for a while. He was wi
lling to be meek. “What was that?”
The dragon stretched back in front of the French doors again. “A Weird. They are bad ba-a-a-a-ad news. So that was your one and only fling, huh?”
Darryl nodded, and shivered. Goosebumps rose on his arms and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. “ ‘Weird’ seems a pretty mild description,” he whispered.
“No. A Weird. One of the magic-masters of Eyrith... the ones who want you dead. You’re lucky, pal.” The dragon chuckled softly. “If you weren’t wearing that ring — or if you had taken it off for any reason while she was with you, she would have eaten you alive. Knowing her kind, she probably would have started with your dick.”
Darryl closed his eyes and ran his hand over his forehead. He leaned weakly against the kitchen counter. The room looped and swayed around him, and his heart thudded desperately in his chest. I could have lived, forever without knowing that, he thought.
* * *
Barney woke to find his sister’s knee in his face, his brother’s legs over his stomach, and Murp sitting on his chest licking his nose. He scratched the cat’s head and looked around him. There wasn’t much to see. All four of them were still trapped in the stone room, right where that terrible thing that stole them from the monsters had put them.
The room had no windows, and no doors, and no lights. The walls glowed faintly, and by the light of these Barney could see there was nothing in the room except for the children and the pile of filthy rags on which they lay.
Barney rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and frowned. He wasn’t too hungry, but he had to go to the bathroom. Bad. He thought about this for a moment and decided it would be better if he didn’t think about it. Instead, he tried to remember what he’d been dreaming. He vaguely remembered he and his brother and sister had been someplace with his mother, only the — the what? The Unweebil? Something like that — wouldn’t let them go to her. They’d been in sort of a restaurant — but with singing food.
There were bathrooms in restaurants, Barney thought.
He really had to go.
He made himself a piece of chocolate, watching to see if the little firefly things would be there again. They were. He thought it was cool that he could see right through the chocolate at first, while the firefly lights swirled around — but as soon as they started to disappear, he couldn’t. He wondered if maybe the lights were little tiny people, and they made the chocolate. It was all very interesting, and quite distracting — until his brother shifted and stuck a knee right into his belly.
