Before the Storm

by Claire Ashgrove

  Ugh. He was getting to me. I was the one who needed to focus and definitely not on Kale. My uncle was out there, my sister still residing in his house. I needed to be concentrating on that problem, not whether Kale cared if I hung around or not.

  “I’m just saying,” I said as I walked through the branches he held aside, “Three days is all I’m staying. No more. So don’t expect anything else from me.”

  He ushered me along with an impatient wave. “Fine. Would you hurry up now, please? I said I didn’t want to talk about it right now.”

  Resigned to the fact he seemed intent on blocking out the current situation, I followed him down a path of terracotta pavers, across the courtyard, and into the shade of a monstrous old oak. The place was so pristine, so beautiful I couldn’t help but reach out a hand and stroke the craggy bark. It was rough against my hand. Tiny ants wandered up and down the massive trunk. This was no illusion—somehow this magnificent old tree had found life in the bottom of a cave.

  Kale came to a stop, the toes of his boots brushing a clump of reeds. “The first of the Tovenar planted the sapling after bringing down dirt. The light spell is all they added. Everything else is what mother nature intended.”

  Mystified, I looked out over the water. When he’d said pond, I’d pictured something I might see above ground. Instead, I looked on crystalline water that pooled in a multi-color rock bed. Shades of red, cream, and grey all sparkled beneath the mirror-smooth surface. Tiny little minnows darted beneath the surface, seemingly playing tag between the long fins of four calico koi.

  “Those aren’t natural.” I pointed at the ornate fish.

  “Okay. Yeah. Someone bought koi and lugged them down here.” He pushed aside the reeds and moved closer to the water’s edge. “Come here. The ducklings are at the other end.”

  “And you had to have bought the ducks,” I mumbled as I crouched beside him.

  He nudged me in the ribs. “Stop taking the fun out of things.”

  I answered with a grin.

  Kale dipped his fingers into the water and swirled them in a lazy circle. “Here, ducks.”

  At the far end of the little pond, a pair of black and white ducks floated in the shade of an overhanging rock formation. Darting in between their plump bodies, four tiny ducklings that were just sprouting adult feathers dabbed their bills into the water and splashed around. They were all a blend of creamy-yellow, but one in particular made me suppress a giggle. On the top of its head, its feathers were arranged in a cotton ball-like cap, giving it a rather clownish appearance.

  I had to admit—they were adorable. And I wasn’t usually the kind of aww, cute! girl.

  “Duckies,” Kale called again, tapping the surface a little more forcefully.

  The largest of the duckling quartet pivoted until it faced Kale. It let out a purposeful quack then shoved its entire head beneath the water, only to surface again, much closer. On its tail feathers, the other three followed suit. Surprisingly, the hen and drake showed no interest in tagging along after their brood. Soon all four ducklings were bobbing on the water just in front of Kale’s hand, dark eyes looking up at him expectantly.

  “I usually have some bread crust for them,” he explained. He wagged his fingers over the top of the water, drawing their heads side-to-side like marionettes on strings.

  After a second or two of their little game, the tufted duck flapped ineffective wings and lunged for Kale’s fingertip. He drew back, narrowly avoiding the hungry yellow bill.

  I grinned at Kale. “That’ll teach you to forget the food.” Cautiously, I lowered my hand until my short nails touched the surface of the water. The same demanding duckling dipped its head and pecked at the back of my hand. It didn’t hurt, but the quasi-pinch startled me, and I drew back. Its little cotton ball top bobbed as it tried to follow my retreat.

  “What’s with the feathers on this one’s head?” Not wanting to lose a finger, I dried my hand on my jeans and lowered it to my side.

  “That one was store-bought.” Kale broke off a long piece of grass and pointed it at the tufted duck. It clamped onto the end, tugged it out of his grasp, then tossed it aside as if to say it found the offering insulting. I couldn’t blame it—after being given bread, grass had to be a terrible disappointment.

  “The hen and drake had four ducklings originally. One drowned early on, and the hen was crazy distraught. Wouldn’t leave the dead duckling for us to dispose of it properly. Someone had the idea of replacing it with a duckling that looked the same.” A wry grin curved one corner of his mouth as his gaze slid to me. “At a couple days old it didn’t have the crest.”

  “I guess the idea worked, huh?” I tipped my head to the side, studying that surrogate duckling.

  “Surprisingly. More luck than anything is my guess.”

  Fascinated by the little creature that stared at me intently, I extended my hand once more, lowering it just close enough the duckling could tap me with its bill once more. Instead, it merely cocked its head side-to-side curiously, adding to the cuteness factor. The giggle I’d held in slipped free.

  “Here’s a fun trick.” Kale leaned back on his haunches and gestured at the duck. “Touch it and say calndre.”

  “Touch it how?”

  “Oh, he’s friendly enough. Just reach behind his head.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “What’s it going to do?”

  Kale chuckled. “Just try it out.”

  With a shrug, I did as directed and reached behind the duck to brush my fingers down its back, at the same time repeating the command Kale instructed. The same warmth I’d experienced while coloring on the tunnel walls slipped into my veins. My fingertips began to tingle, sending another burst of excited, anticipatory energy through my body. Magic again—I was really using the gift that had eluded me for so long.

  I barely had time to relish the sensation before the creamy-yellow feathers beneath my fingertips shifted in color. Onyx feathers now tipped each wing and mottled down the underside of its long neck. Jerking my hand back, I gasped.

  “Shit, Kale, I’m sorry!”

  His chuckles deepened into rich laughter. Shaking his head, he reassured, “That’s supposed to happen. Don’t worry, it’s superficial. Just an appearance thing.”

  The duck didn’t seem to mind. Didn’t seem to even notice he was now a bi-color bird instead of the soft and muted earlier color. He dipped his bill beneath the water, brought it out and craned his neck, taking a long sip.

  “You could have warned me,” I grumbled. “What good is magic like that anyway? It certainly can’t do anything useful if it’s just superficial.”

  Kale shook his head. “Wrong.”

  “Wrong how?”

  “That little spell is the foundation for something much larger, a spell that can disguise your appearance.”

  “My appearance? I can really change it?” What a perfect way to sneak in on my uncle. I could even take Aunt Peg’s form, and he’d never see anything coming until it was too late.

  Kale nodded. “It’ll take a while. It’s a very powerful spell, and you’re not ready for those yet.”

  Damn.

  Before I could lament the fact I wouldn’t have that nifty trick in my arsenal, Kale stood and dusted his hands on his jeans. “I better show you to your room. I need to get back out in the field. You can hang out down here wherever or wander upstairs later, if you want.”

  Out in the field—I didn’t want to consider what all that might mean, nor the possible outcomes. In fact, I’d nearly forgotten about the blood and wounded upstairs, and I didn’t really care for the reminder. All it did was solidify my resolve that I didn’t want to be tangled up in all of this. Particularly not when people might die. People like…Kale…who surprised me at every turn.

  I took a step back the way we’d come from.

  “This way, Halle.” Kale halted my march, his words, swinging me around in the opposite direction.

  T
hree steps down the gravel path, rustling behind me caught my attention. I turned over my shoulder to find the crested duck following two feet behind my heels. It tipped its head, tiny onyx eyes fastened on me, and let out a muffled quack.

  “Heh, look. I made a friend,” I mused aloud to alleviate the tension that hung in the silence.

  Kale glanced behind him, but made no sign the duck’s behavior was out of the ordinary. I shrugged it off as well, decided I’d bring a treat later, and continued down the path.

  The duckling followed us all the way out of the garden, down the courtyard aisle, and into an off-shooting, narrow hallway lined with four doors, three of which had wooden nameplates displayed: Samson, Maude, Art and Helen, and Ben.

  “Um. Kale?” I looked behind me again, confirming the duckling was still waddling along behind. “Should this duck be following us?” Behind us, no doubt from the pond, high-pitched loud calls began to ring out. “I don’t think its mom likes the idea.”

  “It’s fine.” He stopped before the unmarked door and set his palm flat on the surface. Something clicked within the doorframe.

  “It can find its way back?”

  “It won’t.” He grasped the knob and opened the door, throwing it wide so I could enter. “Your room.”

  I stepped into the threshold, one quietly peeping duck toddling behind. “What do you mean it—” My feet stopped as understanding crashed on my shoulders. That spell that changed its wing colors. I’d done something else to this duckling.

  And Kale had known it would happen.

  Slowly turning in the doorway, I squinted at him. “Undo it.”

  All the proof I needed that he’d deliberately orchestrated something resided in the humored twitching of his lips and the dancing light behind his eyes.

  “Kale! Undo it! I can’t have a duckling underfoot!”

  He gestured across me, pointing inside the room at a floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with a variety of books. Tiny little pocket readers to huge tomes sat neatly in line, their spines an array of color. “Answer’s in there.”

  “Which one?”

  Shrugging, he backed out of the doorway. “Guess you’ll have to figure that out, won’t you? I’ve got to meet with my warriors.”

  Annoyance and exasperation altered my voice by at least an octave as I protested. “There’s got to be fifty books in there!”

  “Sorry. Gotta run. I’ll check in on you later.”

  With that, he pivoted on his heel and jogged down the hall, leaving me standing toe-to-webbed-foot with the bright-eyed duckling. It shifted its weight, pecked at the laces on my left sneaker, and whuffled another muted quack. From the pond, the agitated calls doubled in volume.

  Oh. Hell. No. Kale had not deliberately stuck me with some duck and left me to find the solution on my own. How was I supposed to read fifty books on magic by morning?

  Another bolt of wisdom struck. One I should have anticipated all along. He’d been so damnably unresponsive about my declaration to leave. This was why. All along he’d been planning to waylay me.

  As fury overtook my anger, I stepped into the hall and bellowed in the direction he’d fled, “Sticking me with a duck isn’t going to change anything!”

  Quack-quack.

  I glanced down at the duck. Scowled. “Sorry, little guy.” With the toe of my shoe, I gently nudged him aside enough I could shut the door. “Hang tight,” I muttered to the closed barrier. “We’ll get this resolved.”

  The instant the latch settled into place, my friend in the hall began protesting at the top of his lungs.

  Nine

  It was bound to happen. After several hours of incessant racket and no sign of Kale, the little peeper in the hall pissed someone off. Perhaps because peeping put things mildly. What had begun as a few demanding, rapid-fire quacks escalated into non-stop noise, until the poor duck’s vocal chords began to suffer and he started sounding like someone stuffed cotton down his throat. While he became more and more pitiful, I did my best to ignore the cringes that spasmed through me and frantically skimmed indexes, pages, and references. The one spell I found that might have relieved the little guy of his predicament linked back to several others that made absolutely no sense. The good news was, I’d been so preoccupied that I couldn’t dwell on what Kale might be doing.

  Around midnight, a masculine voice bellowed through my door, “Shut that critter up. We’re trying to sleep across the hall!”

  Nothing like antagonizing new neighbors, even if they were temporary.

  Sighing, I pushed to my feet and stepped over the pile of books surrounding me. What the hell was I supposed to do with a duckling? Sleep by the pond? Not hardly. Magical oasis or not, the dirt was real enough, and I felt certain it came with its own set of real bugs.

  I tightened my ponytail, cursed Kale beneath my breath for the hundredth time, and went to the door. When I poked my head out, Tufty looked up at me and let out the sound that was my undoing. A soft, contented chirrup thrummed in his throat. And those bright, dark eyes seemed to say, “How can you possibly ignore me, you cruel human?”

  Since seeing me seemed to do the trick in silencing him, I opened the door. He waddled inside as if he’d grown up in human confines, those same soft sounds trilling with each step. Burden that he was, it was damned hard not to find him adorable.

  But what to do with a duck now? I was hungry; he’d been out there a good three hours. Maybe food would do us both some good. I wandered to the kitchenette, assuming since they’d anticipated I would be arriving, someone had stocked me with food. What I found in the fridge filled me with despair: milk, eggs, bottled water, a package of hot dogs, and a hunk of cheddar cheese. The cabinets weren’t much better: dishes, silverware, pans, oatmeal—not even the instant kind—granola, and a loaf of honey wheat bread.

  People seriously needed some diet help. What kind of moron stocks a twenty-two-year-old’s kitchen full of health food? Let alone when she’s been living on the street.

  Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the bread and the milk and plopped down onto the couch. Tufty waddled over, glanced at the seat, and made a heroic leap for the cushion beside me. Unfortunately, his bill connected with the cushion long before his feet ever came close, and he toppled in an awkward heap, somehow managing to not land on his head.

  Resigned to my predicament, I bent over, scooped him up, and tucked him near my thigh. Then I tore off a chunk of bread, dipped it in my milk, and passed him a bite. He gobbled it up like duck crack. One quack!, and he managed to score another chunk.

  We sat in companionable silence for a long while, both of us mowing down on what was likely the healthiest snack I’d had in years. Though, admittedly, Tufty held a higher opinion of the cuisine.

  I didn’t really know what to do with him when we finished our meal. He seemed content enough to sit beside me while I did whatever came to mind. Mostly, I stared at the books and silently cursed Kale. At some point I turned on the television. But when even the cable channels started playing reruns, I decided Kale wasn’t returning and shut everything off for a shower and bed.

  Tufty followed me to the bathroom. I made the initial mistake of thinking I could keep him locked in the hall while I quickly soaped off. Ten seconds of a closed door, however, and he was screeching in full force again. In an effort to keep the peace with my neighbors, I consented to let the little duck inside. No harm, really. I mean it wasn’t like he was going to shower with me.

  At least that was my thought…until the minute I stepped inside the spray and the little guy started in with that damned quacking again. I stuck my head out from behind the vinyl curtain. “Are you kidding me?” Kale was so dead for this crap.

  Tufty shook his tail feathers.

  “Just cool it. I’ll be out in a minute. Just want to soap and rinse. You know, clean up a bit?”

  He shifted from foot to foot, watching me expectantly.

  I closed the curtain, completely aware I was
naked and holding a one-sided conversation with a duckling. While some people might find that rational, I had never owned a pet and tended to believe those who treated them like miniaturized humans were a little nuts. Yet there I was, chattering to a duck. A duck that was bonded to me.

  Because of some spell I cast.

  Some spell I didn’t know how to undo.

  “Damn it!” I snatched the washcloth off the bar and quickly scrubbed down. What if this magic trick did irreversible damage to the guy? Girl. Did it matter?

  I skipped washing my hair—the tiny bottle of hotel room-type conditioner absolutely would only turn my tangles into a waist-length rat’s nest. Surprisingly, my little friend stayed relatively quiet throughout. I could still hear him peeping around, but the full-out duckling meltdown seemed to have passed.

  When I stepped out, that ball of white and black down virtually attacked my toes. Hopping from foot to foot, I managed to towel dry while shooing him off at the same time. I suspected my neon green toenail polish was the culprit. Guess even ducks can’t resist a bit of the bold and wild.

  Only, as I finished and stepped toward the sink to investigate whether the day’s events left any marks on my face, Tufty proved my assumption wrong once again. In a flurry of ineffectual fluttering and excited calls, he proceeded to try and throw himself over the edge of the shower’s tub.

  Water. D’oh!

  Before he could turn himself inside out and launch into the racket he’d created in hall, I spun the faucet back on, scooped him up, and deposited him in the deep basin. He rushed beneath the water and threw his head back, alternately dousing his cotton-top and trying for a drink.

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. And despite my annoyance over the entire situation, I was drawn to the scene in a way I couldn’t fully explain. There was just something innocent and sweet about his simple fascination. Something so natural, even if I was damn near close to a fit of giggles.