A heavyset black man emerged from a brightly lit shop. He was taking licks from the bottom dip of a large double-dip cone where the ice cream met the edge of the cone. The young man signaled vigorously to his companions, and they sprang out of the alley to meet him.
O O O
Rose pushed open the door of the shop. It was raining pretty hard now, one of those unexpected summer showers. The few pedestrians left on the street had covered their heads against the sudden storm with anything they had in their hands: briefcases, newspapers, magazines.
“It’s really coming down, now,” Rose said. She felt in the bottom of her purse for the little plastic bonnet she always carried. It was getting shopworn, but she never left it out when she cleaned her purse because it might come in handy, as now. The others huddled close by her, staying under the eaves. “Should we call it a day?”
“No!” both young men chorused. The stars, rust and blue, appeared out of their pockets.
“We want to keep going,” Ray said.
Rose, loving them for their eagerness, smiled through the droplets that settled on her cheeks and eyelashes. “All right, then. Where are we going?” She watched as Ray’s face contorted with concentration.
“There’s a really big string going that way,” he said, pointing south.
Rose took her senior’s wand out of her purse to check. “That is a tough one,” she said. “But it feels too far away to walk. We’ll get soaked!”
“I have my car here,” Jeff said. “I’ll drive us wherever we have to go.”
“No. Parking is awful in the city on a weekend,” Rose said.
“Not for fairy godparents,” Jeff said, with an insouciant grin. “I’ve noticed that parking spaces just open up when I need them.”
“Well, we’d be a little conspicuous in some neighborhoods,” Rose said. “We’re right near public transportation. It’s better if we’re on foot.”
Ray took Rose’s arm and leaned down to put his mouth next to her ear. “I haven’t got any money,” he said in a low voice. “Payday’s not until Tuesday.”
“Not to worry,” Rose said. “You’ve been reading the bylaws, right? ‘Persons shall not hinder a fairy godparent in the pursuit of her duties, and should help whenever possible.’”
“And how does that apply?” Ray asked.
Rose turned them toward the El station, and took a boy by each arm. “Come on and see.”
She stepped over a milky stream that poured into the gutter from the remains of a double-dip cone, kicked out of sight behind the door of the ice-cream parlor.
O O O
Ray was very wet, and wishing he had brought a jacket, any jacket, by the time they were under the wooden canopy. If he only had himself to consider, he’d be on his way home to a nice dry room, but that need string pulled at him.
A train was just arriving as they started up the steps. A man came down toward them. Ray pushed to one side of the narrow stairs to make room for him. As the man came level with him, he pushed something into Ray’s hand.
“Here,” he said. “It’s still good. I’m going home.”
“Hey, thanks,” Ray said. A woman in a tight-fitting cerise business suit cut between him and his benefactor, who disappeared down and into the street traffic. As he got to the platform, Rose was behind him, panting and clutching a pass. Jeff had another transfer and an umbrella.
Ray looked at the papers in their hands. “They know, or were they just being nice?” he asked. He flipped his collar to get the water out of it, and Jeff held the umbrella over all of them.
The droplets of rain on Rose’s rain hat twinkled in the station lights.
“Yours was just being nice,” she said. “Mine knew. That was Sheila. She doesn’t get to too many meetings, so I’m not surprised you don’t know her. Jeff’s was a good Samaritan, too. You see? You need, and our little bit of luck prompted two people, all unknowing, to give you what you needed. Thank heavens, and let’s go!”
A train roared into the station, spraying them all with rainwater. Ray just wiped his face again and followed her into the train.
O O O
The invisible wall now contained more than fifty fairy godparents. Froister had stopped counting. He had too much else on his mind in coordinating their capture. The apprentice djinni were enjoying themselves almost too much. Armed with only a list of names, they were using resources they probably had not bothered with in all their lives, such as libraries, post offices, telephone books, to track down the membership of the FGU. Speed Guthrie would have been worth a fortune to any general as a reconnaissance man. When this was all over, Froister was going to recommend that he should go and hire himself out to mercenaries in South America, or someplace where they would be shooting at him.
“I didn’t have an idea that there were this many fairy godmothers in all of the city,” McClaherty said, standing next to Froister as the two of them peered into the warehouse from the showroom door.
“Nor did I,” Froister admitted. “When I saw the list I was amazed. If I had realized, I might have let Gurgin enlist more of our young friends to help us.”
“They’re enough,” McClaherty said grimly, his ruddy face set. “Why aren’t you keeping them here in between assignments, Albert? They’re trying to ruin the whole city.”
“They are serving their purpose,” Froister said. To tell himself the truth, that he was overwhelmed by the gang members, and wanted as little sustained contact with them as possible, would be to admit that he was failing at his dream of unrestrained power. If it hadn’t been for the absolute control of the lamps, he’d have been unable to cope with their personalities. He was also having to keep a careful rota of which senior member had rubbed which lamp, so as not to run beyond three wishes per wisher. He couldn’t afford a magical backlash on top of the buildup already occurring in his guest corral. The FGU was already enough of a headache. But it meant that all seven of the senior djinn were having to stay around his shop day and night to put each apprentice under control as needed. That was making them short-tempered as well. He had had the young members blink up luxurious accommodations in the back of the warehouse area for the seven of them, but they were beginning to feel as much a captive force as the Fairy Godmothers Union.
Its members had so far shown no signs of capitulating. The young thugs wanted to use physical force on them to make them give up the precious brownie points. Froister could not do that. What was wrong with today’s parents that they raised their young without scruples? he asked himself. Violence was abhorrent to him. Let psychological torture do the work. If this worked, he would be rid of the damned lamp, and the damned guild. Wasn’t that all that mattered?
By the way that each new addition reacted to his request for brownie points, he had come to the conclusion that it would take more than the combined total of the Local 3-26 resources to break his oath. The chairwoman refused to acknowledge it, but each of them unwittingly confirmed it to him. Well, logic dictated that if one fairy godmother could “borrow” from another’s spare magic, then one federation could borrow from another. All it would take for him to get what he wanted was one fairy godmother who was willing to act as a conduit. So far he had no takers. They were showing damnable solidarity. All he could do was raise the level of emotional tension, something the young thugs were doing already.
A couple of youths who belonged to the Backyard Wolves suddenly flew in through the walls. Between them, they were carrying an old woman. They came in twenty feet above the ground, running down a slope of air like a jet coming in for a landing, and dumped the crone into the arms of a few of the men and women already there. They helped to dust her off and calm her down. Shaking his head, Froister straight-armed the door and went after his apprentice djinni.
“Carmichael, Gallega!” he shouted, and pointed to the ground. The two, who had flown up into the rafters with the others to smoke and laugh, stiffened. They couldn’t not obey, but they appeared before him wearing sullen expressions.
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“I want them in a mood to cooperate,” he hissed angrily, “not ready for a cardiac crash cart. Do you understand?” The youths raised their eyebrows, which maddened him, but he would not let the ire show. And yet, the woman was not hurt, and a few of the fairy godmothers huddled in the corners of the enclosure were looking more wary as the two apologized and floated back up to join their friends.
He turned to survey his unwilling guests. The apprentices had brought nearly all of the membership here within the space of only forty-eight hours. Some looked frightened; others, angry. None of them came forward to offer assistance. He wanted to get them out of his nice, clean warehouse. His watchman was on vacation, so he had a week before anyone else came through here, and he wanted the FGU gone before then. That was very little time. Since it was impossible to coerce them physically, he had to rely upon psychology.
The room was large and brightly lit, and spotlessly clean, as befitted a successful upscale establishment, as well as complying with the fire laws. He looked around for an apprentice djinn.
“Barton!” he called. The chubby-cheeked youth dropped to the floor before him.
“Yes, sir?” he asked.
“The second wish: make this room less inviting for our guests, please. Use your imagination.”
The youth folded his arms and blinked. Suddenly, the lights dimmed. All the men and women looked up as gigantic spiderwebs formed over the skylights and drifted down to brush their faces with dust. A chill, dank wind flowed through, swirling bits of paper. The very walls appeared to turn decrepit and unstable. The rattle of bones or chains echoed from corner to corner, and a mysterious laugh welled up from the very bowels of the earth. The membership of the FGU fell silent. They looked solemn and wide-eyed.
“How impossibly tacky!” announced a woman’s voice. The youth making the spell looked disappointed.
Froister waved a hand angrily. “Take it away!” he commanded. The young man blinked, and the warehouse returned to normal. Froister was in a temper. Two wishes wasted!
“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to scare us,” said George Aldeanueva.
“Then I will,” Froister said. He turned to his magical facilitator and explained what it was he wanted. The boy nodded, and closed his eyes to concentrate. The power of the wish rose again. Instead of turning the room into a haunted slum, he made it even more austere. Suddenly the chamber appeared cold, remote, and barren.
That worked much better. Now women hugged themselves involuntarily, and men turned a wary eye on their juvenile guards. Hollywood stage props didn’t impress them, but the uninviting walls of the prison did. He might get cooperation from them soon.
“Get the rest,” Froister said. “Crowd them in together. The longer they’re away from their families, the more inclined they will be to cooperate. When they see that they simply cannot escape, they will have to give in, or be here forever. It’s that simple,” he said, turning to his guests. “Give up the brownie points and leave. You can make more. Or keep them and stay. Your choice. You are your own jailers.”
“You stink,” said a tall black man who had just been brought in.
“So you have all been telling me,” Froister said. He was keenly aware of the growing odor as his djinni committed sin after sin. He was hardly able to stand himself anymore. No amount of cologne seemed to cover the stink of inappropriate behavior. But it would be worth it if he could fulfill his dream to gain control of his own magic.
“You’ll yield the brownie points to me, drawing on the national, and even the international federation to get enough for our purposes, to release even one of us,” Froister said, trying to sound threatening. “That’s the price of your freedom.”
“You’re through when we get out of here,” George Aldeanueva said through clenched teeth.
“That’s assuming you leave,” Froister pointed out, as he turned to go. “I’ve spent two hundred years in a museum display case. I have more patience than anyone you’ll ever meet.”
Chapter 22
The rain stopped, but it hadn’t been troublesome to a genie who could turn into smoke and slip between the raindrops. What was really bothering Hakeem was his conscience. Innocent people were being snatched off the street and stuffed into a warehouse in pursuit of something that sounded impossible. If it was possible to have the magic without bracelets, someone would have had it long before now. The novelty had long ago worn off for Hakeem. He’d tried dematerializing his wrists to leave the metal bands behind, but it was as if they were part of his skin. When he turned to air, they turned to air. When he made himself solid, they were solid. Nothing but magic would set him free.
He sailed over rooftops, heading for the street where Ray lived. He had to hurry before he was missed. He and Zeon had a job to do. Froister got really nasty if they took too long, or if they failed, but Hakeem just had to talk to Ray. He knew he’d been stupid to let himself get sucked into the gang by the tough talk and the drugs. He laughed, too, when the guys ripped booze or smokes out of stores right through the walls, but he didn’t want to be involved with kidnapping, extortion, and assault! The guildmaster wanted them to go kidnap an innocent lady nurse. Hakeem had been naive. If he didn’t get a prison sentence for these crimes, Froister would probably just shut him up in his lamp for all eternity.
He knew he would probably be leading a dangerous life if he joined the Jackals, but he was afraid not to say yes when they asked. For the longest time he thought Ray was stupid to keep saying no to the gangs, because they got violent with people who refused them. Hakeem never thought what would happen to him after he finally said yes. The peril and humiliation of gang life were multiplied a dozen times over with the djinn. He had certainly never pictured eternal servitude to household appliances.
“I’ve got to talk to Ray,” he kept saying over and over again to himself like a comforting mantra. “He’s the smart one. We can figure a way out of this situation together.” At the very least Ray could go into the lamp shop to rub his lamp and wish him free.
At first it had sounded like fun, being able to grant three wishes for anything, but it was much more hassle. The distrust the gangs felt for each other made it impossible for anyone to let anybody have any fun. He wasn’t at liberty to do anything on his own anymore. It would be no trouble to leave the magic behind if he could just get out. He felt a pang at the thought of not being able to turn to vapor. Maybe he’d show Ray just once before Ray got him out, but oh, man, Ray had to help him!
He made his feet solidify as he dropped to the pavement in front of the Crandall house so he wouldn’t sink straight through the ground. As the rest of him was still taking shape, his feet were running up the concrete steps. Keeping an eye out for Zeon and the other Jackals, he knocked on the door.
No one answered. Impatiently, he hammered with his fist. Throwing his scruples aside in his desperation, he smoked out and passed under the door and into the house. He ran up the stairs to Ray’s room. It was empty. He checked all the other rooms, listening for voices. Sunday was family dinner day at the Crandalls’. Where was everyone?
He became aware of a discordant thread of rock music drifting up from the backyard. From the kitchen window he saw a stout, bronze-haired figure in a housedress sitting on a folding chair on the wet grass, tapping her fingers on her knee and nodding her head in time with the music. Grandma Eustatia was listening to Bobby’s garage band wailing away. The Voice Dancers sounded middling good; they must have been practicing a lot. Mostly the adjective that applied to them was loud. Hakeem let himself out through the back wall of the house, and went to talk to Grandma Eustatia.
She seemed to know Hakeem was behind her before she turned toward him. As he got closer, she pulled the cotton out of one ear and smiled at him.
“They’re improving a ton, aren’t they, honey?” she said. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Uh, no, ma’am,” Hakeem said respectfully. “Is Ray home?”
&n
bsp; “No, honey, but he should be back soon for dinner. Why?” She stood up, approached him in that smooth gliding walk of hers, put a gentle hand on his, and squeezed. “You look worried. Are you in some kind of trouble, dearest?”
Hakeem took a deep breath to tell her, then felt all the blood in his body turn cold as something new and unexpected struck him.
“Um, no, ma’am,” he said, shocked. “I’ve gotta go. I’d better go. Sorry!” He shook loose from her hand, backed away and ran out of the yard, even forgetting to turn into smoke. He had to get away from there before Zeon found him. She watched him go, with a puzzled look on her face.
Not Grandma Eustatia! Hakeem thought desperately, running down the street until he started to fly. He spread himself out on the air, heading as far away from the Crandall house as he could. He couldn’t believe it, but the fresh air scent was unmistakable. Grandma Eustatia was a fairy godmother, just like all the other people he and the gang had been rounding up for two weeks. He was horrified. Here was a woman he had respected, and occasionally feared, all of his life, his own best friend’s grandmother. Any minute he could be expected to kidnap her, too.
As a djinn, he ought to report her location to Froister, but no matter what consequences he faced, he would not do that. Hakeem had seen the list of names the guildmaster had of all the members of the Fairy Godmothers Union, but no addresses. Thank heavens none of the other Jackals knew that Ray’s Grandma Eustatia was Mrs. E. Green. Even he hadn’t associated the name with her when he had seen it, not until now. So no one else knew there was a fairy godmother in the neighborhood. He was going to make sure it stayed that way. He’d fallen pretty far from grace in the last weeks, but he wasn’t going to go all the way down if he could help it. Loyalty ran deeper in him than fear. He must not let any of the Jackals know who she was.
The Magic Touch Page 25
