I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, yet I felt I was heading in the right direction. After I passed through the first room, I entered a second archway and found myself outside again in a courtyard overrun by brambles. On one side, there were mounds of bricks that had once been the foundations of a building. Beyond that, there was a pathway that probably headed back to the dirt road. On the other side were the remains of a two-story house, half of which had collapsed in on itself. The roof beams protruded like stumps, which reminded me of a dead rabbit’s ribcage being pulled apart to make rabbit stew.
I noticed some writing on the remaining plasterwork. It was mostly graffiti, like the names of people, hearts, and symbols — the usual things that kids write whenever they find somewhere private to hang out. The windows on the ground floor had been removed, and the ones on the upper floor had been boarded up with pieces of spare wood. It was a depressing sight.
I cautiously approached the only open doorway. Patches followed warily. Only the hinges remained in the doorway. A low row of ferns brushed against my knees as I entered.
It was extremely cold inside the castle. It may sound weird, but it felt like the chill came from deep within me. Light filtered through cracks in the walls and the broken-down roof, but it was a cold light that didn’t warm the skin.
I recognized the remains of a stone sink. There were hooks hanging from a wall that looked like they’d once held pots and pans. “This must be the kitchen,” I said.
I carefully waded through the fern leaves and headed into a narrow wooden hallway. The floor creaked with every step. I involuntarily pictured myself falling through the floor into a basement filled with skeletons, chains, and rats. The thought made me silently curse all those horror films I’d watched on late-night TV.
Monsters or not, I didn’t want to end up with a broken leg in a remote underground cellar. So I took my time.
“It’s just an old abandoned house,” I said to myself. “Quit acting like a baby, Finley.”
What am I even doing here? I thought. The only justification I could come up with was that going to Aiby with my questions would probably just result in getting no answers — and more questions.
I looked around for Patches and saw his tail wagging among the ferns like a submarine’s periscope. I whistled to him, and he was by my side in an instant. He trusted me as much as I trusted him — that fact alone gave me the courage to continue exploring.
The next room I entered had to have been the living room. A tree had grown in one corner and torn a hole through the ceiling. Huge bushes of wild berries completely covered another corner. The walls had tattered sections of wallpaper that were rotten and dry. I tore a strip off and it laid in my hand like a dead leaf. The pattern had diamond shapes with bees, scorpions, crickets, and scarab beetles inside them.
I thought back again to the key hanging around Aiby’s father’s neck. I decided that this was enough proof that the house had once belonged to the Lily family. “Look, Patches,” I said. He stuck out his tongue and wagged his tail, obviously satisfied with my discovery.
A large stone chimney dominated the longest wall of the room. When I got up close to it, I discovered that someone had recently used the fireplace. Some particularly brave kids from the village had probably started a fire there.
My father once told me that the castle had long ago been used by the village boys as the setting for some kind of initiation or rite of passage. To prove to the others that you were a man, you had to go into the castle and carry out a certain task, like stealing an object and bringing it back, opening one of the upstairs windows, or even spending a night inside the ruins. My friends hadn’t continued these acts, although I sometimes wondered if Doug and his friends had.
Whoever had lit the fire seemed to have also scrawled a strange drawing on the chimney with a piece of coal. It looked like some kind of flaming pyramid. It reminded me of something I’d seen in my friend Jack’s record collection. He had a bunch of 70s vinyl records that his dad had given to him. Since I didn’t have anything to write on, I tried to memorize the drawing so I could ask Jack about it later.
I bent down to examine the fireplace. Upon closer inspection, I realized I had no way to really tell if a fire had been lit there two days ago, or two years ago.
While I was thinking about it, I heard what sounded like footsteps on the floor above me. Patches dashed into the next room like a stray bullet. “Patches!” I yelled.
I quickly jumped to my feet to follow him and smashed the back of my head against the chimney. My heart pounded in my chest and I felt dizzy.
“Dang it, Patches!” I said. “Get over here!”
Patches barked loudly. I rubbed my head and staggered after my dog until I entered a third room that was even darker and colder than the previous one. Patches was sitting at the bottom of a set of stairs. He had his paw on the first step, but he couldn’t seem to find the courage to climb up. His sharp barking filled the house with a deafening echo.
The familiar tangle of creeping ivy and crumbling architecture surrounded us. The stairs were little more than wooden slats with large gaps missing from most of the steps.
I went up to Patches and I kneeled next to him. When I touched his fur, he jumped as though I’d given him an electric shock.
“Stop freaking out! There’s no one up there,” I said, although I was far from convinced. “It’s probably just an animal of some kind. Maybe a badger, or a dormouse. Dad always says that once a dormouse gets into your house, they’re impossible to get out!”
I tried to pull Patches away from the staircase, but he started to growl. Gradually, I was able to calm him down. With silence surrounding us once again, it seemed worse than when Patches had been barking. The wooden beams creaked in the wind, and every nook and cranny seemed to sigh.
“It’s only an animal, Patches,” I said. “I mean, what else would be there?”
I stood on the first step and looked up the wooden staircase. The blowing wind created a strange noise that sounded like tinkling pieces of glass striking each other.
I was about to go up a second step but stopped when I saw something weird: there were thousands of letters written on the ceiling and walls in an unknown language. There were also a bunch of strange, creepy drawings made up of circles, pyramids, arrows, tridents, and other shapes.
I couldn’t read a single letter of the bizarre writing. As I stared, the letters seemed to quiver as though there were tiny worms trapped underneath the plasterwork. It was like the walls were alive.
I rubbed my eyes, figuring it was a trick of the mind, but then the letters started changing shape. Very slowly, the writing began to resemble something readable.
“This is crazy,” I whispered.
While the shifting letters reorganized themselves in front of my eyes, I saw something else at the top of the stairs: a fragment of a broken mirror. It was reflecting the outline of a man who was on the top floor. Again I heard footsteps above me — and this time I was sure I hadn’t imagined them.
I picked up Patches. “Let’s go!” I said.
As I ran, the Lily house seemed to shrink and expand like it was breathing. The walls of the drawing room groaned like the bowels of a sinking submarine. As I carried Patches through the kitchen, I heard a deep wail coming from the water pipes. I ran faster.
When we finally got outside, I tripped over the brambles. Patches and I went flying. I landed on my chest and lay still for a moment, collecting my thoughts. Then I heard a bang from the direction of the roof. I jumped to my feet and saw a flock of blackbirds take flight from the rooftops.
“Let’s go!” I yelled a second time, then started running again. I ignored the pain in my chest and continued to pump my legs. I checked back once to make sure Patches was following me and saw that he was just a few paces behind. We ran through the archway, through the creeping ivy, and half slid, half ran down the path through the woods. I dodged tree branches faster than I thought I could even m
ove. The adrenaline made my ears hum.
I finally stopped running when I saw Jules’s bike glimmering under the brush. I rested my hands on my knees and drew in huge, gasping breaths. Little by little, the sheer terror I felt transformed into nervous giggling. Moments later, I was rolling around on the ground and laughing like a madman.
I climbed back to my knees and scratched Patches behind the ears. Back to the land of the living, I thought with another chuckle.
“What happened in there?” I said to Patches, still breathing hard.
I moved aside the last of the bushes covering the bike, unable to shake the horrible feeling I’d gotten inside the ruined castle. It was like the house had come to life, a beating heart and lungs and all. Safe by the road and warm in the sun, I found it much easier to explain away the experience as simply a product of my overactive imagination.
“I just imagined it all,” I told myself. “Even still, I’m never going back to that house again.”
I walked the bike out from the brush and onto the road — then I saw her and froze. “Aiby?” I asked in amazement. “What are you doing here?”
Aiby Lily was about ten feet ahead with her back to me. She was barefoot and wearing a dress with green, red, and purple stripes that went to a few inches above her knees.
Patches dashed off toward Aiby, wagging his tail in excitement. “Finley!” she cried. “Where have you been?!”
“What do you mean?” I asked, completely confused.
Aiby held a long, curved stick in her hand that was almost as tall as she was. “I don’t have time to explain!” she said, motioning with the stick. “Give me your hand!”
I could see that she was frightened — maybe even more frightened than I was. So I reached out for her.
Aiby rapped the stick on the ground and said: “Home!” In an instant, we found ourselves in front of the red house in Reginald Bay.
My jaw dropped open in disbelief, but Aiby didn’t give me time to ask any questions. “This way!” she said. “Quickly!”
Aiby dragged me to the side of the red house that overlooked the sea. I saw her father — he was backed into a corner between the house and the edge of a cliff. His hands were raised like a fighter’s, and his face was bloodied and terrified.
“At last!” Mr. Lily yelled when he saw us appear.
I couldn’t believe my eyes — a floating sword was dancing around in front of Mr. Lily! Its tip was aimed at him as it rotated menacingly in midair. It had a long, flat blade with a vicious-looking, jagged edge. Its iron hilt had a large, strange-looking stone set into it.
It was clear that Mr. Lily was trapped. If he moved to the side, the sword would be able to strike his body. If he moved forward, the sword would pin him farther back into the corner.
“What the heck is going on?!” I asked Aiby.
“It’s all my fault!” she said. “I freed it by accident!”
“You freed it?” I asked.
“It’s a Djinni Wizard Slayer from the thirteenth century,” Aiby explained. “It fell out of its sheath when I was polishing it and immediately attacked father. It’s a miracle that he’s still alive.”
Mr. Lily dodged a frontal thrust. “Not for much longer,” he cried. “Unless you do something — and fast!”
I blinked hard. “Wizard Slayer?” I repeated.
“It’s a magical sword,” Aiby said, clearly getting agitated.
“So your father is a wizard?” I asked.
“Do you mind if we answer your questions later?” Mr. Lily yelled.
Aiby tried to pull me forward, but I didn’t budge. “He’s not a wizard,” she said, “and neither am I, but that sword is magical. And the only way to stop it is for a man to grab hold of it.”
I pointed at myself, dumbfounded. “You mean me?” I asked. “But I’m not even in high school yet!”
“You’re the only male I know here,” she said, pleading with me. “I’d do it myself if I could!”
The sword cut through the air and missed Mr. Lily’s leg by less than an inch. “Ah!” he shouted. “Stop bickering with each other and help me!”
“Finley!” Aiby cried. “You’re our only hope of stopping it. There’s no other way according to what’s written in the BBMO.”
“What the heck is the BBMO?” I asked.
“The Big Book of Magical Objects,” she said. “Do you remember what I was reading the other day when you came to the shop?”
I tried, but the memory was all hazy. I shook my head.
Aiby slapped her forehead. “Of course you can’t!” she said. “I had to use the Professional Memory Remover Dust on you.”
Now I was completely lost. “Huh?” I said.
Mr. Lily yelled out. “For Djinni’s sake, boy! Just do what my daughter tells you! Now!”
Aiby gave me a gentle push forward, putting me less than four steps away from the magical sword. “I don’t understand what’s going on here, Mr. Lily!” I cried. “The other night I saw you on the road with a bunch of flowers. And then — and then you . . .”
The sword darted forward. “I know, boy! I know!” Mr. Lily said. “I know it all seems strange to you right now, but I assure you there’s an explanation. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not be turned into a shish kebab.”
I took a slow step toward the sword, worried that it might turn on me at any moment. “But what about your pants, Mr. Lily?” I whispered. “They were walking!”
“Yes, yes, they’re my special pants!” Mr. Lily cried. He was now at the edge of the corner on the cliff. “And before you ask, I then used a very ordinary flask of Spirit Powder and some other basic relics from the mid-eighteenth century. Now can you please do something about this Wizard Slayer?”
I took another step forward. The sword was now within my reach. It shimmered menacingly in the air.
“I just have to grab it?” I asked.
“Just take it by the handle,” Aiby said. “It won’t hurt you, it only cares about my father!”
Then why are you standing so far away from me? I thought.
“It’s moving so fast,” I said. I could barely keep up with the movement of the sword while trying to ignore my maddeningly rapid heartbeat.
“Have courage, Finley!” Aiby whispered. She had moved closer now. I could smell her perfume on the air.
The sword, the sword, I repeated in my head. Take hold of the sword. Just grab it!
I closed my eyes. I just couldn’t do it.
Then I heard Aiby’s voice. “The other day, when you were about to enter the shop, Finley,” she said, “I asked you something.”
My heart skipped a beat. I opened my eyes again. The sword was dangling close to where my hands were. I could feel the subtle shifts of air it was creating.
“I asked you if you were afraid of me,” Aiby said. “Do you remember what you said?”
I shook my head, but kept my eyes focused on the hilt of the sword. “No, I don’t remember.”
“You said you weren’t afraid of me,” Aiby said. “That’s the reason I came to get you. I need someone who isn’t afraid. Not of me, or that sword!”
I smiled. A moment later, my fingers closed around the grip and squeezed hard. I could feel the cold metal in my palm. At first it was like holding a metal snake, or pulling in a tug-of-war in the midsummer Highland games. A second later, the blade went still and the tip fell to the ground.
“Don’t let go of it!” Mr. Lily shouted, running toward me. He yanked the sword from my hands and pushed me out of the way. I fell to the ground in a heap.
Without saying another word, Mr. Lily stomped toward the red house. I heard him swearing under his breath at Aiby’s carelessness, my hesitation, and the Djinni Wizard Slayer itself. A moment later, Mr. Lily slammed the door shut and I couldn’t hear him anymore.
Aiby sat down next to me. “Sorry, Finley,” she said. “He’s really angry, but he didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so grateful for what you did for him.”
I
brushed the dirt off my shirt. “You know what, Aiby?” I said. “I think we need to have a nice, long talk.”
She anxiously glanced back at the red house. “Not here,” she said, “and not now.”
As far as I knew, a screaming axe or a singing lance could emerge from the house at any moment, so another time and place was just fine by me. “Tomorrow, then,” I said calmly. “Should I come to pick you up, or will you just . . . teleport there?”
Aiby smiled, apparently amused by my joke. She was still holding the stick that had teleported us here. “It can only bring me to places where I’ve left a Journey Sign,” she explained.
I had no idea what she was talking about. Frankly, between my escape from the castle and the homicidal sword, I’d had enough excitement and mystery for one day.
We agreed to meet at the flour mill at three in the afternoon the next day. “And no games this time,” I said. “Promise me you won’t use memory erasing gadgets or any other stupid stuff like that.”
Aiby nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I promise.”
“And no more lies,” I added. “If you want me to trust you, then you have to trust me.”
“I never lied to you,” she muttered.
“Telling me the truth and then forcing me to forget it isn’t any different than lying,” I said.
Aiby blushed. Or maybe it was just a reflection of light from the red walls of the Enchanted Emporium. I noticed for the first time that there was a ladder by the entrance of the house where they were hanging a shop sign.
I said goodbye, and Aiby ran back toward the house.
“One last thing,” I shouted before she disappeared inside.
Aiby stopped on the doorstep and turned to face me.
“That stuff about courage,” I said. “You said that I said I wasn’t afraid of you. Did I really say that?”
Aiby frowned at me, fixing her green eyes on mine. She didn’t speak.
I sighed. “Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll ask you tomorrow.”
Suitcase of Stars Page 6
