I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass, but didn’t drink. “Did you do it? The love spell?”
“Ha!” Mrs. Kokesh said. “What do you take me for? This magic stuff is nothing to fool around with. It can’t be wasted on high school crushes.” She crooked one scolding finger toward me and leaned across the table. Up close, I could see every wrinkle on her face, the lines crosshatched like badly drawn artwork.
“So your magic is real. It works?” I said.
“Of course it works, but it’s serious stuff. Not to be trifled with.” Behind her, a gray tabby cat jumped up onto the kitchen counter, sniffing at the open pitcher of lemonade.
“Your cat?” I pointed and she turned to look. “Is he supposed to be up there?”
“He’s okay,” she said, shrugging. “Just curious.”
I tightened my grip on the strap of my backpack. It held all the money I had in the world. A lifetime of babysitting cash, Christmas gifts, and last year’s strawberry-picking money. “I came today because of Lucas.”
“You want him cured.” She raised one eyebrow. “You’re in love with him and you want the cancer gone.”
“Yes.” I couldn’t believe my luck. Here I’d been afraid to come and she’d welcomed me right in. I didn’t even have to ask. She knew immediately what I wanted and said it like it was no big deal.
“Can you do it?” I asked.
She tilted her head to one side, regarding me carefully. I held her gaze, keeping very still, afraid to break her concentration. Right now it seemed like I had a shot and I didn’t want to blow it. Behind her, the cat wandered to the end of the counter; I heard a soft thud as he landed on the floor. She tapped her fingers on the table for what seemed like the longest time, and finally she said, “There is a potion that can be used to save a person’s life.”
I exhaled in relief. “So you’ll do it?”
“I can do it, of course, but I’m seeing that something else is going on that might be a problem.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Mrs. Kokesh shook her head. “I’m not sure. It is out of my area. I’ve never seen anything like this before.” She smiled. “All of the universe is connected, you know. Every living being is part of the cosmic fabric and all of the energy is intertwined. I’m feeling something impending with your boy. A disturbance in the force, isn’t that what they call it?” She cackled as if she’d told a joke.
“I guess,” I said slowly, unsure of what she was saying.
“Okay, I’ll tell you what.” She slammed her hand on the table. “What the hell. I’ll do it. I have to warn you, though, he may not come back the way you want him to.”
“What do you mean?”
“He might not be the Lucas you know and love.”
“Like, what would be different?” I asked.
“You’re asking me? Ha! I have no idea,” she said. “People who’ve been near death, they come back different. Sometimes more serious, sometimes more careful. Or he might be more spiritual and want to become a priest.” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you prepared for that?”
I could tell she was messing with me now. I said, “Lucas would never become a priest. The Walkers aren’t even Catholic.”
Mrs. Kokesh shrugged. “Just an example. Don’t get so bent out of shape. People change even under the best circumstances. And when you pull them back from death’s door, well, that’s no small thing. Maybe he’ll be not so smart or not so strong. His brain has probably been oxygen deprived, so who knows what’s happened there. This potion has its limits. You still want to do it?”
“Yes,” I said. I’d take Lucas back any way I could get him. I unzipped my backpack and took out everything I’d heard she might need: a photo of Lucas, a lock of his hair, and a small vial with a rubber stopper containing a bit of his saliva. I took them out and lined them up on the table.
“You came prepared,” she said, nodding in approval. She held the vial up to the light. “His spit?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Mrs. Kokesh stood up abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping against the grooved linoleum. “Give me your phone number and I’ll call you tomorrow when I have the potion ready.” She grabbed my full glass of lemonade and poured it into the sink.
I stood up, zipping my backpack. “You can’t do it now? I can wait.”
“It’s not like making cupcakes,” she said gruffly. “You don’t just whip these things up. I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as it’s done.”
I pulled some paper out of my backpack, wrote down my name and cell number, then slid it across the table. Without even looking at it, she folded it and stuck it in the front pocket of her baggy dress.
“Okay then,” she said, taking my arm and pulling me out of the kitchen. “Off you go.”
Before I knew it, she’d guided me down the long hallway and pushed me out the front door. Once I was on the porch, the door slammed shut abruptly behind me. She never even said good-bye.
“Thanks,” I called out, picking up my bike. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The next day, I biked back as soon as she called. Mrs. Kokesh was ready for me, sitting on the top step of the front porch with a paper bag on her lap. When I approached, she handed the bag to me. “As promised,” she said, her voice grim. “But I have to warn you, I have a bad feeling about this.”
I opened the bag and saw that it contained an empty pickle relish jar, the label still on it. “I don’t get it.” I gave her a confused look. “What is this?”
“The potion is at the bottom,” she said. “There’s not much, but you don’t need much.”
I held it up to the light. Sure enough, a small puddle of clear liquid coated the bottom of the jar. For some reason, I’d been thinking it would be blood red. This looked like nothing. Like she was selling me water. I tilted it back and forth and watched it slosh from side to side. “What do I do with it?”
“Spread it over his eyes and put it on his lips,” she said. “Then press your lips to his and seal it with a kiss.”
I tried to get a read on her expression. “Really? Or are you kidding?”
“I never kid about magic.” An orange cat came around the corner of the house and jumped up next to her. She absentmindedly stroked his head. “The eyes are the windows to the soul. The lips are the doorway to the body. You need both.”
“Do I say anything after I do it?”
“What would you say?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” Mrs. Kokesh cleared her throat, aggravated. “Just wipe it over his eyes and lips, then kiss him,” she repeated impatiently. “Why does everyone want to make it more complicated than it is? You can follow directions, can’t you?”
“Yes,” I answered, and then remembered something. “You said you had a bad feeling?”
Mrs. Kokesh nodded. “Something’s not right about this whole situation. I don’t know what it is, but I’m getting a sense things may go haywire.”
My hopes, once so high, were getting lower by the minute. After all her talk, it sounded like this might not even work. “But I can still try it, right?”
“Of course. Wait, I’m seeing something odd now.” Her nose wrinkled as she concentrated. “I’m seeing you in the belly of the whale. You and Lucas both.”
“The belly of the whale? Like Jonah in the Bible?”
“Not quite.” She shook her head. “It’s gone now. I can’t tell you what it means. Just be careful.”
“I will.” I mean, I wasn’t planning on not being careful. I dug into my backpack and took out my money. “How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“No charge.” She stood up, brushing off the front of her dress. “I wish you the best of luck, Emma. You’re gonna need it.” She went into the house and the orange cat followed her, scurrying in just before the screen door clattered shut.
That had been earlier today. Ever since, I’d been waiting to be alone with Lucas, but someone was constantly ho
vering. First the visiting nurse came (not Nancy, thankfully) with more morbid talk, and then both of Lucas’s parents hung around on and off all evening. I’d taken to sitting in the recliner off to one side of the room, but as soon as we were alone, I always moved and sat on the bed right next to him. Eventually, I knew, they’d go upstairs to bed. Lately, Mrs. Walker seemed to not sleep much at all, coming down several times a night to check on Lucas, and offering to relieve me so I could go home.
As much as I disliked Mrs. Walker, I kind of respected her too. She stayed up later than anyone else, checking on Lucas during the night, and getting up at dawn to join her husband out in the barn. Mr. Walker had a job during the school year, but over the summer, both of them were all about the farm. They’d hired an extra man to help out so they could be with Lucas throughout the day, but still, Mrs. Walker had to be exhausted. I couldn’t wait for her to finish up and make the trek up the stairs, but first she let the dog out, and then she busied herself in the kitchen. When she finished emptying the dishwasher, I heard her wiping off the kitchen counters, scrubbing at a stubborn spot and sighing. From past experience, I knew this would be the last of it. Next she’d open the back door to call Mack back inside, lock up for the night, and head for bed.
But before that could happen, we heard a noise from outside: a huge thud followed by an echoing ricochet. I lifted my head trying to figure out what it was. Fireworks? A shot gun? No, it was more muffled than that. Almost like something vibrating. Mrs. Walker stuck her head in the doorway. “Did you hear that, Emma?”
“Yeah, I did. It sounds like it was near the barn.”
“What was it?” Her forehead furrowed.
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “It was almost like something hit the ground.”
“I hope that dog didn’t get into anything.” She left and I heard her open the back door and call out, “Mack? Where are you? Get back here now!” Mack barked in return and she waited a couple seconds before hollering for him again. Her voice was harsh, and I knew if he didn’t come quickly, she’d leave him out for the night. Once or twice, I’d let him in even after she told me not to. He had to pay the price for not listening, she said. But I was too tenderhearted to leave him outside. He was Lucas’s dog.
Luckily, Mack came back inside before Mrs. Walker gave up on him. I heard her scold him for not coming right when she’d called. Before long, he wandered in by me, taking refuge on the floor between Lucas’s bed and my recliner. I reached down to pat his head. Mrs. Walker came in to give me one last set of instructions. “If anything changes with Lucas, come and get me,” she said. “Right away.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And don’t you let that dog up on the bed,” she said. “I found dog hair on the blanket yesterday.” Her eyes narrowed at me like an accusation.
“It must have been on someone’s clothing when they leaned over the bed,” I offered.
She softened. “Well, maybe. Good-night, Emma.”
“Good-night, Mrs. Walker.”
She left to go upstairs. When I heard the water running in the bathroom above me, I prayed to God again, this time promising anything if he’d bring Lucas back. After Mrs. Walker padded down the hallway to her bedroom, I lifted Mack onto the bed, where he nestled into the space between Lucas and the railing, resting his head on Lucas’s shoulder. He knew the drill, the right way to lie so he wouldn’t hurt Lucas. Mack was a mutt, all black with a white spot on his belly. The only thing we could tell for sure was that he must be part border collie. Lucas said that the border collie part was what made Mack so smart.
I stroked Lucas’s cheek. “Hang in there, Lucas. It’s all going to be better soon.” He didn’t bear much resemblance to the boy who’d stolen my heart the very first time he smiled my way. I could still picture him leaning against his locker, talking to the head cheerleader, Madison Walinski. She was talking frenetically, flipping her hair back, and doing her fake laugh. Her usual self-absorbed routine. Lucas was nodding like he was listening, but anyone could see from the trapped look on his face that he was just being polite. When he glanced my way, we locked eyes and an understanding passed between us—sympathy from me, resignation from him. He flashed me a smile and it was like the heavens opened up and cast a beam of light my way. Such a beautiful boy. Impossibly beautiful. From that moment on, I wanted him. And then, I got him. And that, I thought, was the end of the story. My own personal happy ending, which turned out not to be so happy when cancer interfered.
The chemo had taken away his beautiful curls and only a bit of fuzz had grown back. The lack of hair made his face look even thinner, like skin stretched over a skull. His hands and feet were always cold now and almost bluish. It didn’t matter what he looked like, though. I loved Lucas more than I’d ever loved anyone in my life. I couldn’t live without him.
I found the relish jar in my backpack and unscrewed the lid, then tilted it and dipped two fingers into the potion. Please, God, let this work. Mack whined like he knew something was up. He lifted his head to watch as I wiped the potion onto Lucas’s eyes. The movement of my fingers pushed Lucas’s eyelids up a little, and they stayed open a crack. Was I supposed to actually put the liquid in his eyes? I wasn’t sure. I added a little more, carefully moistening the open space below his lids. Then I dabbed the rest on his lips. Curious, Mack worked his way forward on the bed so that his muzzle was right alongside Lucas’s face.
“Yeah, Mack,” I said. “I know this is weird. Don’t worry. I’m not hurting him.” I screwed the lid back on the jar before leaning over to kiss Lucas on the lips, then pulled back nervously to see what would happen. Lucas still laid flat on his back, his hands exactly where they’d been positioned by the nurse after she’d turned him. His breathing was still shallow and there was no expression on his face. I watched carefully and then gave him another kiss. “I love you, Lucas.” Absolutely nothing had changed.
For some reason, I’d been thinking the potion would work immediately. It didn’t have to be a total cure. I would have settled for a twitch or a smile. Anything that told me he’d made the turn away from death and back to me. Disappointment overwhelmed me and I felt my eyes fill with tears. The kiss had left a bit of the slippery potion on my lips and I went to grab a tissue out of my backpack. Mack whined a little bit while I cleaned up my face. “It’s okay, boy,” I said. I still had some liquid left in the bottom of the jar. “We’ll try again later.”
CHAPTER THREE
When the main ship was hit, the scout knew he was going to die if he didn’t act quickly.
The mission had started off well enough. All of the scouts knew their jobs and followed standard protocol. His small craft was one of twenty attached to the underside of a much larger circular ship, the Seeker. They traveled through space that way, the scouts in their crafts, secured around the bottom rim, along for the ride.
The mission was the same each time. Together they traveled from their galaxy to other worlds. Once they reached position over the surface of the targeted planet, the Seeker would give the order for them to disengage. At that point, they’d drop down and hover over the planet’s outer crust to acquire data: assessing the ground for mineral content, and sending out pulses that would survey the inhabitants in the surrounding area to see how highly evolved they were. They’d been visiting some of the planets for many lifetimes, each time monitoring how advanced the citizens had become, how prone to aggression they were, how quickly they were evolving to the higher path. The scouts kept a low profile, avoiding areas that were densely populated, and purposely timing their visits for the least visibility.
This planet, the one they called Earth, was a curious one. A certain percentage of the inhabitants were so highly evolved some of the elders thought they could be contacted directly and invited to join the coalition. But the evolved inhabitants were few, and didn’t seem to hold any power over the masses, who were, by all accounts, brutal. If they couldn’t be trusted to treat each other well, how receptive w
ould they be to outsiders from another world?
This scout didn’t care either way. He was new to the job and took pride in doing such important work. Back home, his physical body lay dormant, waiting for his return, a shell without a spirit. Many years earlier, the elders had discovered that, with atmospheric variances from planet to planet, it was easier to separate their consciousness from their body and send just that part along, rather than try to physically adapt each time. Each scout’s consciousness fit within a tiny craft, which required less space and fuel, but their intellect and other senses were still there, which was all that was needed. The mother ship powered their minicraft, but navigation fell to them. They maneuvered using their thoughts and intent, following a prearranged route, but able to deviate if need be.
When the main ship broke through the atmosphere and reached the targeted position, all twenty of the scouts in the smaller crafts waited for the drop-down signal, ready to cover their assigned areas. The scout had been to Earth before, the last time scanning an arid environment. A “desert,” the inhabitants called it. Although not as abundant in life forms, it had a certain stark beauty. The landscape on this mission was very different. He’d been told they’d encounter different forms of foliage, as well as creatures big and small, but probably not the most highly evolved inhabitants. If they did encounter one of these “people” (as they were known in the local language), they were to leave the area immediately.
If everything went according to plan, all twenty scouts would return to the original ship at a prearranged time, latching onto their spot against the ship until they reached the next location. Most of them had done this type of mission many times before. It was all very routine.
At least, that was the plan.
From a Distant Star Page 2
