The Midwest Wanderer

by Flint Maxwell

“Right. Makes sense that you saw that.”

  She nodded.

  “Where was the Gnome abducted to?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t abducted, at least not yet. He was only guided to the town of Ashbourne. They knew if they abducted him this early on in the journey, it would’ve been tough getting him there unnoticed.”

  “They made him think he stumbled onto his death by accident, but why?” Ignatius asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? What are Gnomes known for keeping? What is the reason you seek him?”

  Ignatius nodded, understanding coming over him. “His secrets.”

  “Precisely. Those who worship the Rogue Dragons know the only way to raise one is by dark magic; much like the only way into the world in between is the same. What dark spells? No one knows but the Gnomes and the dead.”

  Her words sent a chill through him.

  “Now I know Gnomes are normally stubborn, but Gelbus Cogspark has a loose enough tongue as it is. I fear it may already be too late.”

  “You think they’ve killed him?”

  Freida nodded. “It is possible, yes. I have heard nothing of Rogue Dragon sightings. Surely, news of an extinct evil would travel the land fast. We are not too far from Ashbourne, as it stands, but we are not close enough to see those hateful wings take flight. And there is always the chance that Gelbus spilled his information and the Dragon Tongue were unsuccessful.”

  Legs weakening, Ignatius found a nearby rock to sit on. He put his hand to his chest, above his heart. The pain there was immense. It ached for Gelbus Cogspark and his friend Elargo, and all the rest of the fisherfolk of Ashbourne. If the Rogue Dragon had somehow risen from the grave, what was stopping it from wreaking havoc across all the land? What was stopping the Tongue from raising more? Nothing, and there wouldn’t be anything to stop it until it was too late.

  “You care too much, Ignatius,” Frieda said, obviously noting the pained expression on his face. “It would do you better not to care.”

  She may have been right. When you don’t care, there are no consequences, but Ignatius Mangood was not raised that way. He believed, like his father and his father’s father before him, that justice and protecting all those who were in need were a wizard’s sole purpose. If not, then what were they given powers for?

  He thought of Maria then, how he had raised her the same way—to be honest, valiant, and honorable—and that only further complicated the situation. His plan had been to track down the Gnome by himself, to uncover the secrets and open the door to the world in between without the music box while Maria was nestled away safely on Earth. But a dragon? Ignatius knew he would not be able to slay a dragon on his own, and he did not trust Freida enough to enlist her help when Frieda was only interested in finding the Gnome. He had barely stood a chance against Malakai, who was already dead. He would need Maria. As much as he hated to put her in danger, he would have to.

  “We must go,” Ignatius said.

  “I know,” Frieda answered.

  “I’ve never slain a dragon.”

  “Neither have I.” Freida smiled. It was not the sly and mischievous one—it was genuine this time. “But it may not come to that. We may stop them before they can raise it from the ashes.”

  “I hope so.”

  Frieda sat next to him. A strong breeze rolled through the trees, rustling the leaves. It caught Freida’s scent and sent it to Ignatius’s nose. She smelled of wild roses. It was a nice smell.

  Then, as if he were a young man realizing the existence of women for the first time, he stumbled over his words. “I-I, uh, I—” He shook his head.

  Frieda chuckled. “All right, Ignatius?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, smiling back, finally getting control of his tongue. “I have to travel back to Earth. My granddaughter—”

  “Yes, the new witch. I have seen her in my flames as well, Ignatius. She is powerful…more powerful than even you realize.” Woodland Witches didn’t see all in their flames, but Ignatius was beginning to learn that they saw a lot.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “No, don’t be afraid.” She took his hand. His heart did a somersault in his chest. He had only been on a roller coaster once in all of his years on Earth. When Maria was younger, he had taken her and Claire to Cedar Point for her birthday. The nausea, lightheadedness, and nervousness he felt afterward were the reason he had sworn off rollercoasters for good. He never wanted to experience that feeling again, no matter how oddly pleasant the G-forces and weightlessness might have felt at times. But as Freida’s hand was in his own and her flesh warmed his, all those feelings came back and then some. “She is powerful, but she is also good because you, Ignatius Mangood, raised her. Take pride in that, and know she will always do the right thing, even in the face of temptation.”

  Ignatius offered a weak smile. His eyes found hers. They were a deep blue, like that of the Caribbean Sea; not the way he had originally pictured a Woodland Witch’s eyes to look—black and red and beady. No, Frieda’s were beautiful. Sure, it could’ve been a spell doing that to her eyes, but Ignatius didn’t think so. There was truth in her gaze.

  “Have you seen that in your flames, that she will always do good?” he asked.

  Frieda shook her head. “I don’t need to.”

  Ignatius looked out at the towering trees, gleaming in the sunlight, swaying in the wind. The two of them sat there, hand-in-hand, saying nothing.

  It was nice. It was perfect.

  After a moment, Ignatius stood up and said, “I have to go back and get her.”

  Frieda rose, too. She nodded.

  “Would you…maybe want to go with me?” Ignatius asked. “Since we’re partners now—not partners as in…you know.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  It’s like you’ve never spoken to a woman before, Ignatius, he thought bitterly.

  That sly smile was back on her face. “No, I understand.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “I have never seen Earth.”

  “It’s beautiful. We won’t be able to stay long, but it’s better than nothing.” Better, Ignatius, he thought. Now take her hand. He did. “I’d be honored if you came along with me,” he said.

  She blushed and looked down at her shoes.

  “Well, I’d be honored to come along, Ignatius Mangood.”

  He almost said it was a date, but luckily the more mature part of his mind stopped him before he could make even more of a fool of himself.

  “I shall open a portal then.”

  They parted, Ignatius stepping forward and drawing on the magical energy present in Orcieran’s core. He sang softly. No less than five seconds later, the portal appeared, and Ignatius was looking onto his street, devoid of cars.

  “Have you ever had buckeye ice cream?” Ignatius asked, turning to look at Freida. Her mouth hung wide open; her eyes were even wider. She must have never seen a live portal before. Most on Oriceran were able to open them, but some were too scared to leave their homeworld. Ignatius didn’t blame them. The first time he fled Oriceran and went to Earth with baby Maria in one arm and the music box in the other, Ignatius was terrified.

  Of course, he already knew the answer. Freida might’ve had ice cream or something like it—though he doubted that—but she had never had the deliciousness that was Salem’s buckeye ice cream, which he currently had in his freezer at home.

  “You’re in for quite a surprise,” he said. He stuck his hand out. Hesitantly, Frieda took it. He noticed how it had gone from warm to clammy. She was nervous. Ignatius didn’t blame her.

  “You ready?”

  She nodded, her eyes still wide, studying the other side of the portal.

  “Let’s go.”

  And they went.

  CHAPTER TEN

  While Ignatius had sat at the Ves Ielan with a burning glass of Firejuice in front of him and a crowd of curious onlookers behind him, Claire had hung around the Apple’s house with Sherlock, watching the Soap Network. It wa
s a rerun of this old canceled soap opera called Passions, and it was enjoyable…if a little weird. The town, which was called Harmony, even had a witch named Tabitha, which reminded Claire…she pulled her phone out and texted Tabby.

  Tabby responded almost instantly.

  She had invited Tabby to come over and wait for Maria to get back so they could find out if the date went well or not.

  Tabby replied by saying she was on her way, and not much later, Tabby arrived. Her dad was on his way into town and had dropped her off, though he thought she should’ve been in bed resting since her “accident,” which was definitely not explained to him as getting attacked by a giant humanoid spider.

  They watched Passions for a while; turned out the Soap Network was running an all-day marathon of the show.

  “This show is odd,” Tabby said.

  Sherlock was sitting on the couch between them. He thought the same thing.

  “I agree. We should play a board game or something. That’ll help pass the time until Maria comes back,” Claire said.

  “A board game? What are you, like, lame or something?” Tabby said.

  “No, but since I don’t know the Wi-Fi password, it would probably be better than sitting around watching this weird show or doing nothing.”

  Tabby shrugged. “Got a point there.”

  “I know Maria’s grandpa must have some weird board games, if he’s from another world and all that jazz. Maybe Jumanji.” Claire looked down at Sherlock. “Since I know you can understand me, can you show me where they are, instead of me rummaging through the house like some crazy burglar?”

  Sherlock looked up at her, wagging his tail. As far as he was concerned, Claire and him at Dog Prom was still a thing—though, truth be told, he didn’t exactly know what Dog Prom was; but it contained lots of techno music, a cat piñata, and an all you can eat garbage/Milkbone buffet.

  He zoned out thinking about it. When his eyes came back into focus, everything black and white, he was still staring at Claire and wagging his tail.

  “Sherlock, there’s food in it for you,” Claire said. “Whatever you want. Garbage included.”

  He stood up on the couch and thumped his tail harder, but instead of hitting the cushions, he hit Tabby in the face.

  “Ouch, quit it, Sherlock!”

  Now he jumped down and barked.

  He would show her where the board games were. Hell, he’d do almost anything for the promise of food. That was one of the few things he lived for—the others included serving his masters, chasing squirrels, finding dead squirrels, and now, peeing on Gnomes. What a rush!

  “Good boy!” Claire said, and that was the best thing she had ever said to him, especially when what she normally said to him almost always involved complaining about his farts. Whenever Dog Prom happened, Sherlock made a promise to himself to hold it all in just for Claire.

  He padded up the steps faster than normal. When he reached the top, he looked back down at Claire, who was slowly making her way, and barked at her. It wasn’t a mean bark, but it was one of urgency.

  “Coming, coming,” she said.

  Now he went down the hallway, moving so fast, he almost tripped on more than one occasion. Ignatius’s room was cracked open. All Sherlock had to do was nudge it the rest of the way with his nose. He was so excited and happy that when he did push the door open, he left some moisture behind on the wood from his snout.

  “Always feel weird going into this room,” Claire said. “Smells like Oriceran. Huh, funny that I know what that is, now.”

  Sherlock guided her to an odd looking chest up against the wall opposite Ignatius’s bed, next to his dresser. It looked like a pirate’s treasure chest, and it smelled like the sea. Sherlock wasn’t sure where he had gotten it, but he wouldn’t have been surprised at all if Ignatius had, in fact, stolen it from pirates.

  He barked at the chest—one of the many downsides to not having opposable thumbs.

  “In there?”

  He barked again. It’s so much easier communicating with Maria. Imagine if she would’ve been able to do that from birth. I’d probably have been able to pee on so many more Gnomes!

  Slowly, Claire knelt and opened the chest. It smelled like cinnamon so strongly, it tickled her nose. Inside were stacks of board games—Monopoly, Clue, Risk, Operation, and the endlessly entertaining Mouse Trap. But Claire didn’t think Tabby would go for any of those. They were suited for a much younger audience.

  She looked at Sherlock, who sat near her, watching with a canine intensity. “Looks like we’ll be watching that Passions marathon after all,” she said.

  Sherlock whined through his nose.

  Claire gathered all the dusty boxes to stuff them back into the chest where they came from. With the five boxes clutched to her side, she leaned over the chest and saw that she had forgotten one. It was half-buried under a scarf. She only saw the corner of it, but it looked quite worn and well used. She moved the scarf.

  Under it was a Ouija board; one of the originals, from the look of the box—or at least from the fifties. If Ignatius has only been on Earth since the mid-nineties, what is he doing with a Ouija board from what looks like the fifties?

  That man is one big mystery, Claire thought. But there was a smile on her face as she pulled the box out of the chest, blowing the dust off of it. It came away in a cloud, and both she and Sherlock broke out into a sneezing fit.

  “Think Tab will go for this?” she asked Sherlock once they got control of themselves. "I know we can't afford any messed up juju right now, but I think if we used the board right, we could maybe communicate with whoever Maria's trying to save. We could help instead of just sitting here on our asses. What do you say, Sherlock?"

  Sherlock barked. It sounded like a bark of approval to Claire.

  “Claire!” Tabby said. “Please tell me how to turn the channel on this TV! I can’t even figure out how to turn it off!”

  Claire snickered. There must’ve been some spell on the TV that prevented anyone but Ignatius from changing the channel. Clever old man, she thought.

  Claire went downstairs with Sherlock at her heels. Tabby was standing in front of the television, pressing every button visible with no luck.

  “Think outside of the box,” Claire said.

  “I am!”

  “No, literally think outside of the box.” Claire bent behind the television and pulled the plug free from the outlet. The TV snapped off with a click.

  “You must think you’re so clever,” Tabby said, crossing her arms.

  Claire shrugged.

  “I found this.” She showed Tabby the Ouija board game.

  “Whoa…” Absentmindedly, Tabby began smoothing the bandages under her chin.

  “I know, right? Everything else was, as you would put it, ‘lame’. I figured since you’re hardcore, that’d you’d be more interested in this.”

  Tabby took the box from Claire’s hands and looked it over like it was some fine piece of art. “You know me so well, Claire.”

  Claire beamed. “Sometimes, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  “Real funny.” Tabby stuck out her tongue.

  “C’mon, let’s go in the dining room.”

  ***

  They did, but not before Sherlock reminded Claire of what she promised. He went in the kitchen and barked his head off until Claire came in. She opened the fridge and let him take his pick. Sherlock wound up eating about a pound of sliced roast beef and, oddly enough, a bottle of horseradish.

  Doesn’t taste like horse, he thought.

  Claire thought it was pretty gross, especially seeing the horseradish smeared all over the Bloodhound’s muzzle. But I made a promise, and I never go back on my promises.

  Sherlock burped and laid down on the kitchen tile. Just leave me here. I can die happy, now.

  Claire did, returning to the dining room.

  The lights were off, but a few candles sat flickering on the table. Claire and Tabby sett
led next to one another, obvious fear and excitement in their eyes.

  They set up the board, which was tattered and falling apart. Claire wondered why, but the answer came to her soon enough. Wasn’t Maria tasked with finding a way to get a village of people out of the world in between? Otherwise known to the commoner as a type of purgatory?

  Yep.

  Claire believed Ignatius probably picked up the Ouija board at a garage sale or something, and used it as much as he could, trying to communicate with his old village.

  “You ready?” Tabby asked.

  The game was fairly easy to set up. All it consisted of was the board, the wedge piece, which Tabby and Claire both had their fingers on lightly, and their fear.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Claire asked Tabby.

  Tabby grinned. “Seriously?”

  “Should’ve guessed.” But who am I kidding? She had never used a Ouija board before, but she had seen the horror movies where the characters would bring one out, and all hell would break loose. Of course, that wasn’t real…but neither were witches and wizards and magical worlds until the day before yesterday.

  Tabby went on anyway, unaware of Claire’s fear.

  “Are there any spirits here that want to communicate with us?”

  The wedge drifted to YES.

  “I didn’t do that,” Tabby said. “Look how lightly my fingers are on it.”

  Claire hadn’t done it, either. In fact, she sincerely hoped the wedge wouldn’t move at all, that Ouija boards were nothing but a gimmick.

  Amusement on Tabby’s face, she said, “What is your name?”

  Again, slowly, the wedge moved across the letters and stopped on ‘D,’ then traveled to ‘E.’ Two letters in, and Claire already knew what the spirit was going to spell.

  ‘DEATH’.

  She snapped her hand away. Not the time for that, she thought.

  “Claire! You can’t take your fingers off the wedge.”

  “Then stop moving it!”

  “I’m not. It was Mr. D-E,” Tabby answered.

  “You know what that’s going to spell, right? You’re not dumb.”