The bus pulled up to my stop and I boarded, feeling increasingly irritated at having been abandoned in Northern Kentucky of all places, even if it was right across the river from my condo. I shifted uneasily into a seat, wondering why I didn’t call for a cab or a car by app. That regret increased even more as a bulbous man that resembled a living couch cushion took his place in the seat next to me, filling the air with a sour smell like German sausage.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and swung my head around. No one was behind me. I returned my attention forward, hoping I didn’t get touched again—but there it was. Another tap. I looked again—no one there. I heard a slight giggle and looked up.
A tiny creature hovered in the air above me: no larger than my own palm, nude, and with tiny gossamer wings that flittered excitedly. It seemed very amused at its prank. “Hey! Hey wizard! Hey wizard!”
“I’m not a wizard,” I hissed and looked around. No one else seemed to be able to see the creature.
“You work for wizards?” The creature was doing mid-air somersaults.
I didn’t answer the question, thinking it was another kind of trap. Instead, I busied myself with my phone’s headphones and pretended to make a call with the ear bud in my ear, so I would look just slightly less crazy. “What are you?” I asked quietly.
“Pixie!” the thing chittered, dropping down into my lap.
“What do you want from me?”
It crawled around in my lap making me mildly uncomfortable. “You have something that’s not yours!”
I gulped. “No I don’t.”
The pixie dove into my pocket in an instant, and before I could even react it had yanked the Drachma free of my jeans. “Ha! Here tis!”
I tried to grab at the pixie, but it dodged me effortlessly. I looked around again to see if anyone had noticed me acting strangely, and then swatted again. The pixie only moved higher and further out of my reach. Gently, I set my bags down and stood up, gripping the bus’s silver handrail as I eyed the pixie cautiously. I reached out, very slowly, only to have the pixie swoop down and rank something sharp, like a pin, across my knuckles. “Dammit!” I hissed. “You asshole!”
The pixie only laughed again. I wondered why it hadn’t yet escaped and continued playing with me. I glanced around to see the bus’s windows were all closed; perhaps it had to wait for the next bus stop like the rest of us. Keeping this in the back of my mind, I took a tentative step closer. At that moment, the bus jerked as it came to a rather abrupt stop at a red light. I lost my balance, and fell forward in a heap, catching the pixie off guard.
As I tried to recover from my daze, I found a lump in my throat and I sputtered. In my fall, I had caught the pixie—right in my mouth. I felt tiny legs kicking at my teeth and tongue, and as a reflex I spat forward onto the metal grate of the bus floor. The pixie fell to the ground in a wet heap, and the coin rolled off to the side. The bus, having stopped, now opened its doors.
I only had a moment. Grabbing my shopping bag, I dashed for the coin and snatched it from the floor before the pixie had a moment to get up. I hopped off the bus and took off, hoping the doors would close before the creature could manage to fly again. My lungs began to burn as I hustled down the street in the direction of Central Avenue, not even thinking to stop until the bus was long out of sight and I was sure the pixie hadn’t caught up.
I leaned against a stone wall and sat down, shaking from the unexpected exercise. I coughed slightly, still trying to get the nasty pixie taste out of my mouth.
Someone knew about the coin. And worse, it was important enough that someone was trying to recover it. I opened my hand to see I had been gripping it tight, and it had left an impression on my hand. The smooth and shiny surface glittered in the afternoon light, and I felt a strange sense of familiarity as my thumb stroked over its surface.
Get up, Andy, I told myself. Get up. Now. I pocketed the coin securely back in my pocket and stood up. My lungs still burned, but I felt rested enough to at least get home. I fought the urge to just curl up and stay here, though; my anxiety was stinging my head like a wasp between my ears, and the idea that someone had attacked me over this tiny piece of metal made my heart race in the worst kind of way. I started to shake and had to force my legs to start moving.
I took out my phone and debated on who, if anyone I should text. Apollo? No, he was probably working. Killian was off doing whatever she was doing. No, this afternoon I was on my own and I’d have to deal with it.
I kept looking around over my shoulder as I made my way down Central Avenue as quickly as I could speedwalk. The sight of my building made me speed up as I drew closer, to the point where I was nearly back to running. I don’t know if it was some kind of unseen sense or just my anxiety kicked up into high gear, but I felt like I was being watched or followed and all I wanted at that moment was to be safe behind the brass and glass doors of the condo building. I hammered my card key against the lock and as soon as I heard its telltale click I slipped inside, slamming the door behind me and squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to catch my breath.
“Andy?”
I popped open my eyes and was met with a familiar pair of deep mocha-colored ones right in front of me? “Apollo?”
He pulled me away from the door and looked out the glass. “I saw you coming down the street. Looked like you were being followed.”
I sputtered. “I…I don’t know, I think I might have been. Th-there was a p-pixie on the bus and it almost got my d-dad’s coin—”
“Breathe.” He looked so determined as he gazed out the door. He had spotted something. I crept up and looked through the glass at what he had seen. Across the road, on the opposite sidewalk, a goblin was pacing up and down the pavement. It looked like it was searching the ground for something.
Apollo tore his eyes away from the window and started looking at the floor and walls as if he was searching for something. “Do you still have that scry stone?”
I nodded and pulled it out of my back pocket. It was still glowing lightly with the magic from the previous night’s activities. I passed it to Apollo, who began to sweep up and down the walls and floor. Finally, he stopped, the light from the crystal finally having revealed something: a glowing sigil directly above the door. It was circular, and I could make out a stylized D and some other sorcerous-looking symbols. “What is that?” I asked.
“That’s a mark of secrecy—a protection spell. It repels intruders and hides you from being found by anybody who wants to hurt you.” He looked at me. “Really well done, too. I’m guessing this was put here by your dad.”
I took in a deep breath and looked again out at the waiting goblin. It appeared to get frustrated and then took off down the street. “They must be after the coin.”
“Maybe. In which case, maybe you should leave it here when you go out. It must be undetectable as long as it’s in here, which is why they only started looking for it now.”
I took the tiny silver thing from my pocket again. “But what is it? Why is it so important?”
“No idea. But until we find out, you should probably just leave it here. Hide it somewhere.”
I nodded and tried to catch my breath again, looking up at Apollo curiously. “Wait…why are you here?”
He relaxed a little and gave me a grin that instantly made me feel a little safer. “I…uh…I have a surprise for you. Come on.” He started up the stairs and I followed, dropping the coin back in my pocket and picking up my bags again.
At the top of the stairs, I found my suite door open. “What the f—”
Apollo hushed me up with a wave of his hand. “OK, so your apartment being empty is super depressing and probably bad for your mental health so…” He gestured inside, and I crossed over the threshold into the condo.
In the living room, which had previously been completely bare, now sat a large plush couch, loveseat, and a coffee table. There was an end table against a far wall, decorated with tasteful accoutrements and a small music player that was
currently plugged into Apollo’s phone and was softly playing Frank Sinatra’s Pennies from Heaven. The air smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and the simple but contemporary lamps that lit the room cast it in a warm and inviting glow.
Apollo shooed me into the kitchen, where implements of deliciousness-creation hung from hooks near the stove, and a set of “WHO’s cooking?” over mitts (complete with winking owls) hung over the top of the burner. The oven seemed to be the source of the vanilla and cinnamon smell, where a pan of toasted almonds was currently cooking.
I spun on Apollo, completely at a loss for words. I tried to formulate some kind of grateful-sounding noise, but I think it came out unintelligibly. Apollo leaned against the kitchen archway. “Had a feeling you’d like it. And really, don’t worry about it. You have bigger things to worry about than basic decoration.”
“I can’t…I don’t have the money to—”
He shook his head and grinned mischievously. “I got a major deal by seducing the furniture salesman. So don’t even worry about it.”
I dropped my shoulders, feeling a wash of emotions filling my stressed and jumbled head. “I don’t know what to say. I’m just…I don’t know. Thank you.”
Again he waved a hand dismissively. “Really. No trouble. And if you want to swap something out because it’s not your taste that’s fine. But then again, I’m an incubus, so I think I have a little handle on what is your taste, hm? One of the perks of my species, I think. We’re good at making others comfortable.” But I wasn’t comfortable. I was downright uncomfortable with this huge show of kindness and I swallowed another gulp of overflowing emotions. Apollo seemed to sense it, and he took a step forward and hugged me. I sighed then, relaxing into a feeling of sudden security, and a moment later my friend’s arms were gone but I still felt their warmth. “Get some rest and relax. I’ll see ya on Monday, ok?” He grabbed his phone, ending the sound of Sinatra, and retired from the room, closing the door behind him with a click.
Feeling dazed and with a ball of feels tangled up in my stomach, I headed up the small set of stairs to my bedroom, which I found to be furnished with a large, comfortable-looking bed. A wooden dresser and escritoire were against the far wall, and my boxes of clothes I had brought from the East coast were stacked neatly in my closet. I sat down on the bed, part of me wanting to collapse immediately into a fit of panic, but another feeling was creeping up my limbs toward my chest that I could not push away. I got up and headed across the hall to the other room. The other room was unfurnished. I wondered briefly if Apollo had left this room alone on purpose, and I again felt some gratitude for having the foresight to do so. I pulled the scrying stone from my pocket and held it aloft, once again watching the shape of my father’s desk-bound form materialize. I took the coin out as well, holding it up. “What is this? What the hell did you get me into, dad?” I demanded of the shadow, knowing not to expect an answer from the silent image.
It didn’t move or respond. How much like my living father this shade was! “Argh!” I swept my arms and legs through the shade but still no response came. It ignored me just like the living one had. It didn’t recognize my existence any more than the living Tom LaFayette had recognized his child’s life. With as dedicated as this shade was, having blocked out the world in lieu of whatever important matter was on its desk, it might as well have been the genuine article.
I stopped as I heard something move behind me, and I spun on my heel, nearly losing my balance and falling through my dad’s shimmering image. At the door, barely visible in the low light, was the Moddey Dhoo.
“Have ya ever considered,” the Moddey Dhoo said in a surprisingly neutral tone, “that puttin’ out yer anger at shadows idn’t the best way ta handle yer feelin’s?”
I froze, unable to reply. I hadn’t thought much about my Silencer since our brief meeting earlier in the week. The glowing eyes, the matted fur…I wasn’t sure why it was here, but the sight of it made the blood in my veins positively freeze.
“Furthermore,” the Moddey Dhoo said, taking what seemed to be a threatening step closer, “Shadows can’t really reply to ya, now can they? Can’t be too cathartic, ya know, yelling at somethin’ that you know ain’t gonna talk back.”
I took a shuddering breath. “I just…I want answers…” I slowly lowered myself to the floor against the wall, my eyes never leaving the piercing glare of the mangy black dog.
The Moddey Dhoo nodded. “I know ya do, but this ain’t gonna get ya any, now is it? I told ya to be careful in yer investigatin’, now didn’t I?”
I nodded, feeling warm tears welling up at the corners of my eyes. “I got some…some things to protect myself—”
“Sure ya did, and that’s good. But yer biggest weakness is that ya keep jumping into trouble at the slightest chance ya might get some kinda answer and a half.” I said nothing in reply, knowing that as much as I didn’t want to admit it the Moddey Dhoo was right. The dog took another step to put himself in front of me, and then sat back on its haunches, fixing me with a gaze that I could not meet. “Yer looking too hard, and yer not thinkin. Yer not thinkin about who ya might be puttin’ in danger. Apollo? Killian? They’re supportin’ you for whatever reason, and now that ya’ve dragged them into this mess, ye have to be all the more careful. But most importantly,” he growled, and I felt myself genuinely recoil, “Ya have to stop chasing shadows!”
The Moddey Dhoo swiped its tail, slamming it through the father-shaped cloud of sparkles and causing them to suddenly disperse into nothingness. I thrust out my hands as if to try and gather the sparkles as they flickered out of existence. My hand just moved through them, and a small, helpless sound escaped my throat as the image of my dad vanished forever.
The Moddey Dhoo reached out and touched me with a paw. It was cold, and wet, and sent a chill through my skin but it got my attention and I swiveled to look the creature in the eye. “I don’t…I feel like I’m…”
“Drowning? Over yer head? Lost in the woods? Stumbling in the dark?” I nodded to all of these. “Of course ya do. Yer adjusting. And yer exploring a brand-new world full of dangers ya don’t even know while dealing with the fact that yer damn dad is dead. That ain’t an easy bucket to carry, kid. Yer gonna wear yerself out.”
The Moddey Dhoo was right in every sense of the word. The last few days had been a major roller coaster of emotions that had started to feel like it was leaving me with whiplash. I swallowed hard, finding my mouth and throat dry. “What do I do?”
He pointed to the door with his tail. “Bed. Rest. Get ready for Monday.”
I groaned in protest but slowly pulled myself up the wall to a standing position. My head felt fuzzy as I trudged across the room toward the bedroom, my muscles sore like the stress in my body had manifested as a sack of bricks hung across my back. I numbly made it to the bed and dropped into it, curling up against the pillow with my eyes closed tightly and leaking warm tears.
I didn’t hear the Moddey Dhoo leave, but I felt its breath briefly over me while I laid there, and I swear I felt the blanket get pulled over me by a set of powerful jaws. I did drift off into sleep eventually, and when I awakened the black dog was gone.
Shapes
Ugthak was destined to be strong. It was part of his blood, and his father’s blood, and his father’s blood, and so on as far back as Troll’s records allowed. Ugthak was the fourth son of the eldest brother of the strongest Troll in the den, Chief Bogbug. Ugthak had lost his father early in life and had become the Chief’s ward.
Ugthak learned to use a club when he was young. He learned to run fast. He learned to hit hard. But what confused the den elders the most was that Ugthak also learned to think and consider the strategy of a fight. He was one of those “thinkers”, who used their mind along with their body.
Troll society was not about the mind. It was about the body. Once, they had been creatures of war, but now they focused on strength in its many forms: the body, the community, the soul. One needed to be strong not
just for his own well-being but for the well-being of the den.
Ugthak grew into a fine young troll, muscled and dignified, and though he held no claim to even be chieftain of the den, he held his family’s name and reputation in high esteem and he did well by his legacy. He was strong, both in body and in mind.
Until, one day, Ugthak met with Chief Bogbug for midtime meal, and spoke something very unusual. “Chief,” he addressed his uncle with respect, “I wish to go out into the world and gain knowledge. I wish to bring this knowledge back to my people and make them stronger. Then, maybe I will have pleased my people and my chief, and I will receive the Mark of Glory. Not for fighting, or blood, or strength, but for service to the world beyond.”
“The Mark of Glory is not for the world beyond the den,” Bogbug snarled. Ugthak protested but Bogbug quieted him with a slam of his fist on the table. “The Mark of Glory is for strength given in service to your people!” Bogbug was unhappy. Leaving the den was not forbidden, but those who did rarely returned. They would pick up those shiny things and take homes in big buildings and find other, different lives that Bogbug did not want to think about. If Ugthak were to leave, it would likely be for good.
But Bogbug was also not a harsh troll. He was strong and powerful, but he saw in his nephew’s eyes a yearning. He knew that forbidding this course of action would do one of two things: it would either drive him to leave of his own accord, or it would break the young troll’s spirit. And then, the Mark of Glory would never be granted—and what a dishonor that would be!
In times long ago, before Bogbug, chiefs forbade leaving. But the den suffered and grew restless over time. It wasn’t long before some snarky young troll ran away and went on a huge adventure, complete with a talking animal companion, before returning having learned some valuable lesson about family. It was not the best solution to this problem.
“If you must go, you will go!” Bogbug said, with as much kindness as he could muster, “But you will return and devote yourself to strength, and service to your people. Then, maybe, you will receive the Mark of Glory.”
The Wizards on Walnut Street Page 12
