“Huh?” Claire said.
“Oh, I was talking to Sherlock, sorry.”
Claire shook her head. “If you and Joe end up going out, you really gotta ditch the dog. Hey! Why is he all over me like that?”
Sherlock was up in her face sniff-sniffing.
Oooh, eggs. Sunny side up, and wheat toast with strawberry jelly on top.
Maria repeated what had come into her head by telepathy, by magic.
“Huh?” Claire said.
“It’s what you had for breakfast. Sherlock just told me.”
The color in Claire’s face drained. Now she looked like a piece of blank computer paper. “What—how? How did you know that?”
“I just told you. I. Can. Talk. To. My. Dog.”
“You must’ve been spying on me or something.”
Maria took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m gonna show you firsthand. And everything that happened to us last night will make sense. Well…as much sense as it can make.”
“I’m scared,” Claire said, brushing her dark hair out of her face. It didn’t sound like she was kidding.
Suddenly, Maria brought her hand up and flicked Claire in the ear. The sound it made was a meaty thump.
“OW!” Claire said. She grabbed her ear. “What the fuck was that for?”
Maria didn’t answer. Her hand came up again, and she flicked Claire in the neck, then under the chin, and then on her arm.
“Seriously, stop it!” Claire said, moving her hand from one spot to the other. Her neck was beginning to turn red. She didn’t have enough hands to cover all the targeted spots.
Maria sighed. She hadn’t wanted it to go this far, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She flicked Claire in the spot. Right in her chest.
Claire wailed and, finally, Maria got the reaction she wanted.
Claire lashed out and smacked Maria full on the face.
Slap!
It stung like hundred bee stings.
Maria expected it and took it. Her face grew hot.
Claire’s face was twisted into something gruesome. She looked like that last girl in Friday the 13th,, after she’d been put through the ringer.
Now Maria felt her arms growing as hot as the smack on her face. A humming vibrated throughout her body.
The bright sunshine streaming in through the Kia’s windshield disappeared, and was replaced with the blue glow of Maria’s skin.
Claire’s mouth opened and her jaw dropped. “What…what the fuck?”
Maria grinned despite the pain in her face.
“What is happening?”
Maria closed her eyes. She felt time and space run over her and through her. She felt the magic.
Suddenly, a harsh movement came from Maria’s left. Claire had the car door handle. She couldn’t take what she was seeing.
My best friend has turned into something out of DC Comics, Claire thought, freaking out. She wanted to scream, but the fear of the situation, the surprise—all of it—closed her throat.
“Wait,” Maria said. And even her voice sounded different, Claire realized. It was deeper, commanding. The type of voice someone like Wonder Woman would have.
“You know you’re glowing?” Claire found herself saying.
“Yeah. It’s called magic.”
Claire’s mouth opened to say bullshit, but how could she say that? The proof was right in front of her. She needn’t look any farther than the glowing blue skin of Maria Apple, sitting in the front seat of her Kia Rio.
“Magic?” she said instead.
Sherlock barked from the backseat, as if in agreement. That was weird, too weird.
When Maria finally stopped glowing, Claire had forgotten all about her shift at Sephora.
“So you’re a magical alien?”
“At least partly,” Maria answered. “You know how my grandpa is a little…off?”
“A little?”
Maria rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, all that stuff about a planet called Oriceran is true.”
The reality of the situation had started to settle over her. Pictures of dollar signs, bags of money, bars of gold, the TV appearances, the memoirs (My Best Friend is a Magical Alien: The True Story of Midwestern Weirdness), and everything else that came with the fame of knowing an honest-to-God extraterrestrial hit her.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Maria said.
Claire started. She felt like she’d been caught doing something bad. Exploit my best friend? No, I could never do that. Maria was more than a friend, when it came down to it. Maria was part of her family.
“You’re thinking you should call the police or the government, and they should lock me up in Area 51 so they can run tests on me, or whatever.”
“Not exactly,” Claire allowed.
“Oh. I know what you’re thinking…” Maria tried again.
Claire found herself hiding a smile. Once the initial shock of the situation wore off, they were best friends again, and Claire wouldn’t hold the flick to the chest against Maria. They laughed again.
“Real nice,” Maria said, “thinking of banking on my gift.”
“More like deformity,” Claire said.
“Don’t make me flick you again.”
Claire flinched. “Okay, so how does the fact that you glow blue sometimes play into you almost crushing Kaylee and her gang of hyenas with a clown sculpture?”
“Hey, I don’t think it would’ve crushed her—maybe given them a concussion, or something, but definitely not killed them.”
“Too bad,” Claire said.
Maria hit her playfully.
“Well, from what I’ve been able to glean—”
“English, please,” Claire said.
“Read a book or something, geesh.” Maria raised a finger. “And don’t you dare say ‘LOL’.”
Claire motioned with her hands, making an ‘L’ shape, then an ‘O’ shape, and finally another ‘L’ shape.
Maria sighed, and then explained, “What I’ve been able to understand is that the magic only comes to me when I’m angry. Though Gramps said I’ll be able to control it eventually.”
“Is that what you want?”
“To be different?” Maria asked. “I guess I’ve always been different and I haven’t noticed it.”
Yeah, you can talk to your dog, Sherlock said.
Maria ignored him, a smile playing on her lips.
“Yeah, it’s what I want. Ignatius Apple raised me the right way. And that’s to always help out when you can. Right now, I can.”
“What do you mean?”
“Long ago, there was a battle fought between the village I came from and creatures of the Dark Forest.”
Claire held her hand up. “Whoa, Dark Forest? What’s next, a trail of bread crumbs and a house made out of candy?”
Sherlock barked. Yes, please.
“Yeah, I thought the same,” Maria said to Claire. “But the people of that village were tucked away into a world in between our worlds.”
“By that, you mean Oricer-e-an and Earth?”
“Oriceran,” Maria corrected, “but yes.” Her skin was back to its usual peachy color, although the buzz of magic in her head hadn’t subsided. “It’s a purgatory, I guess; a place where the dead and the living can get stuck. There was a Queen Witch who used this,” she pulled out the music box that she had tucked away in her pocket, “to open the way into this world in between.”
“Wait, Queen Wi—”
“Don’t,” Maria interrupted. “It’ll get weirder. Apparently there are Gnomes and Elves, and all kinds of magical creatures Tolkien or the Brothers Grimm made famous. And some of them live right here on Earth!”
“Like that movie Men in Black with Will Smith, back when he was a total knockout.”
Maria thought about the movie, about the aliens hiding in plain sight. “Yeah, kind of like that. Except, from my understanding, most of the Oricerans seem like they’re on the good side.”
Claire looked at the cl
ock on the radio, its numbers roughly translating to, ‘YOU’RE LATE, GETTING CLOSE TO BEING FIRED’. She tried to speed the conversation up, but, naturally, there was no speeding up Maria. She’s just like her grandfather when it comes to telling tales.
“Except for one,” Maria went on. “His—or its—name is Malakai, and he was a double traitor.”
“And, let me guess,” Claire jumped in. “He’s out there and he’s after you.”
“Close.” Maria paused dramatically. “He’s after the music box. Gramps and Salem think he wants to find his old crew in the world in between.”
“Salem?”
“An old wizard my grandpa hangs out with at that ice cream shop.”
Claire nodded. “Oh, yeah. Bunch of weirdo old people hang out there, I forgot. Wizards and witches, who knew?”
The concept of another world full of magical beings was far from sticking in Claire’s brain, but she chose to go along with it for her best friend’s sake.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought,” Maria said. “But I hung out with them last night —talk about a nineteenth birthday bash—and they’re actually really cool. You should come hang sometime.”
“Maybe I’ll take a raincheck on that one,” Claire hedged. “But cut to the chase. If I don’t get back in the store, I might have to have Sherlock here escort me back just so he can pee on Jody’s leg.”
The tank is empty, Sherlock said. The remark caused Maria to laugh.
“What?”
Maria smiled. “Inside joke.” There was no denying how good she felt. The magic that had coursed through her body when Claire hit her felt like cold lemonade on a scorching hot summer’s day. Refreshing. Deep down, it also felt right. And a little weird, but Maria wasn’t complaining. She didn’t think she would be complaining until she set her sights on a giant man-spider. Until then, she’d take it as it came. After all, it was pretty cool to learn her life was so much more than normal.
Yeah, Maria, you’d better hurry, Sherlock said, sniffing the air. I smell bitchiness on the horizon. Jody can’t be far off.
Maria continued. “So it’s simple really. Well, ‘simple’ in terms of summing it up. I have some sort of mental bond to the world in between, since I’m directly related to the Queen Witch, and the dead boy who visited me last night was there to let me know that the villagers are not lost. They’re still alive, and it’s up to me to get them out.”
“Uh-huh,” Claire said, nodding. “Why can’t you and Macaroni—”
“Malakai,” Maria corrected.
“Yeah, Malakai—talk about a badass villain name, by the way—just share the music box? You get the villagers out, and he can get his old crew out. Win-win.”
“No,” Maria said firmly. “We can’t let evil win.”
“Now, I normally would agree with you, Maria,” Claire said, “but you’re apparently dealing with something complex and completely out of your realm.”
Literally, Sherlock added.
“It might not be a bad idea to hand over whatever the giant spider wants. He’s from another world; how much can it really affect us here?”
Maria got out of the car. She had a smug look on her face. Claire followed, waiting for an answer.
“No,” Maria rejected the idea. “No. That’s not the right thing to do. I’m an Apple. We don’t roll over and let evil win. We kick evil right in its evil ass.”
Claire nodded. “Worth a shot, I guess. Seeing as how I’m your best friend, you know I can’t let you do this alone, right?”
Maria shook her head, surprised Claire would offer her help when so much oddness had just been shared. Plus, Maria didn't want to put Claire in danger.
“Yeah, too bad. I’m here to back you up…right after my shift ends.” Claire turned and headed for the mall’s Employees Only entrance. “Stay safe,” she hollered over her shoulder, her red and black uniform dress flowing in the wind.
Maria watched her go and then looked down at Sherlock, who was sniffing at a smashed piece of already chewed gum. “She probably thinks I’m crazy.”
Well, I, on the other hand, know you’re crazy.
“Thanks, Sherlock. You’re such a good boy.”
He barked.
“I guess you can understand English fine, but when it comes to sarcasm, it might as well be Mandarin.”
They walked out of the mall parking lot, back toward the center of town. Maria’s body buzzed, and the world seemed brighter, more vibrant. There was a pent-up rage inside of her; one she needed to work out.
She knew the perfect place.
Chapter Twelve
Bodybuilder’s Gym was a haven for meatheads. Dirty. Grimy. Reeking of sweat.
Maria entered through the front door, which was an open garage. The sun beamed, glinting off the old weights, and shining off of glistening biceps and pectoral muscles.
She had dropped Sherlock off at home—he wanted a nap. Gramps wasn’t there, meaning he was probably at Salem’s.
Maria had been a member of the gym since her junior year in high school. Coach Smith cut her from the wrestling team. Not because she wasn’t any good—she’d pinned John Grand in almost record-time, and he’d gone on for the rest of his high school days known as ‘the guy who got beat by a chick,’ and he’d always say he wasn’t trying his hardest. Bullshit. Maria knew he was. It wasn’t easy pinning him to the mat, but she’d done it, and it should’ve cemented her place on the team; perhaps even have earned her a co-captain spot. Instead, she was cut.
Because she was a girl.
She was sad at first. She’d gone home to Gramps and told him all about it, and in Gramps’s infinite wisdom, he said only one thing. There was no picking up the phone and calling the school district. No threats of lawsuits or anything of that matter. All he said was: “Prove them wrong.”
And Maria did.
She’d gotten a membership specifically at Bodybuilder’s Gym because John Grand worked out there. He and his meathead friends would always skip leg day, and it had gotten to the point where they looked like a couple of barrels on stilts.
Maria trained hard and she trained with a purpose. John Grand quit working out there last summer. In fact, he’d quit working out in general after high school. Maria saw him walking around the mall with his girlfriend one day, and John had easily put on thirty pounds. It wasn’t muscle.
“Hey, Maria,” Gus Cheney greeted as she strode in, her gym bag over her shoulder. Gus weighed about three hundred pounds, all muscle. He was hammer-curling eighties like they were made of cardboard.
“Hey, Gus, how’s it going?”
“Swole,” Gus answered. “You?”
“Could be better.”
“Rough day?”
“Almost always.”
“You still working up at the mall?”
Maria chuckled. “About that…”
Gus set the dumbbells down with an earth-shattering clank. Is he magic? Maria wondered. How else could he pick up such heavy stuff? Steroids? No. Gus isn’t one to cheat. Sheer hard work and determination, that’s how. Maria knew it.
Gus flexed in his tank top, the stitches stretching to their maximum. Somewhere behind the pair, a man grunted as he racked the barbell at the benching station. Ah, what a sweet sound.
“Eh, you don’t need them,” he assured her. “That mall is going to hell, anyway. I won’t even shop there.”
“Gus, the only place you go shopping is at GNC.”
Gus shrugged. “Still shopping. But the missus won’t set foot in Rolling Hill; she says all the good stores have moved.”
Maria nodded. It was true. In the last three years, the mall’s business had been slowly deflating, like the tires of a bike left in the shed for a few years.
“We go up to Summit. That place is awesome. You know they have a Cinnabon?”
“Carbs, Gus,” Maria said. “Carbs.”
“Good point,” he said. “Better do an extra set. I’ll get fat just thinking about that gooey delicious
ness.” Then he winked and picked up the dumbbells again, grunting while he curled.
“Aerobic room open?” Maria asked as she walked away.
Gus chortled. “Almost always. Aerobic exercise and us meatheads go together like ham and peanut butter. You need to blow off some steam?”
“Yep.”
“Have at it, killer. But if you bust another punching bag, you’re paying for it.”
Maria said, “Sure thing, Gus.”
She left him and walked into the heavy, odorous cloud of sweat and vitamin supplements. She head-nodded to a few of the regulars, caught eyes with a few of the casuals (people whose workout regimen consisted of showing up at the gym maybe three or four times a month), and set her sights on the aerobic rooms. They were secluded, featured hardwood floors, and one wall was made entirely out of reflective glass so you could see how lame you looked doing crunches or jumping rope instead of hitting the iron.
Maria didn’t mind.
She liked the punching bags and stands in the room. She liked blaring the radio and going to town. Her locker inside the room was marked ‘APPLE,’ and it contained a pair of boxing gloves that smelled like sweat and blood from her knuckles.
Anything to take her mind off of what happened at the mall. Stupid Ted. She was honestly glad she didn’t work there anymore. Ripping off old ladies and serving old popcorn wasn’t what Maria thought would be her ticket into heaven.
Heaven. Death.
She’d always pictured herself dying of old age while she slept in a big, comfortable bed, maybe with a husband and her children and grandchildren at her side; everyone’s picture-perfect idea of passing on to the next plane of existence.
Except it didn’t look like that would be the case for Maria. Getting mauled by a giant spider was more up her alley. She, like most sane people, hated spiders with a passion.
Her gloves were on now. They felt right against her fist. She tightened the left one with her teeth, tasting the sour material of the string. The stereo blasted Metallica’s “Enter Sandman,” and blasted it loud.
She took her swings. Left. Right. Left. Right. Right. Right. Kick. The terribleness of the day, the realization that a giant spider-man was hunting her started to melt away.
Midwest Magic Chronicles Boxed Set Page 12
