by Shae Hutto
Claire bit her lip and shuffled her booted feet. “It’s not all that important. I just hope he doesn’t get pulled over for speeding on the way here.” Roger gritted his teeth audibly. “Nothing like that,” insisted Claire. “I just told him I and a few friends were hanging out where the dragon roasted the library and Amanda and I were asking if he was going to be here. He was confused by the dragon thing. Looks like the official story is this was a terrorist attack. Long story short, he’ll be here soon.”
They didn’t have to wait very long, enduring the incredulous and slightly fearful questions that Lieutenant Gardener kept asking about the lights and vehicles outside. An old Saturn pulled into the library parking lot, brakes squealing and exhaust rattling. Even in the darkness, it was obvious that the paint on the ancient car was in terrible shape. An unsettling amount of white smoke came out of the tail pipe as it sat idling.
“Surely it is the work of the devil,” muttered Gardener.
“Why is he just sitting there?” asked Roger.
“Probably thinks it’s a prank and nobody’s here,” said Claire. She flicked the lobby light switch on and off a few times, totally freaking Gardener out. The dilapidated old jalopy shuddered to rest and stopped belching oil smoke. Both front doors opened and two figures emerged and stood in the darkness, looking apprehensively at the library doors.
“You didn’t say there were two of them,” said Roger with a slight note of accusation in his voice.
“Paul probably brought Stan with him,” said Claire, slightly irritated. “He didn’t mention it, but I can’t say I blame him.” She flicked the lights on and off again, then opened one of the doors, letting in a waft of fresh air that smelled of recently burned things. She waved to the two figures who immediately started walking toward the library doors. Claire came back inside. “I’m not sure that we should bring both of them. I’m a little worried about attracting another of those death-bot thingies.”
“How exactly were you planning on getting him to come with us, anyway?” asked Roger. “If you tell him the truth, you’ll sound like you’re off your nut, like.” Roger started speaking in a falsetto voice with his approximation of an American accent which made him sound like a cross between a Valley Girl and an Australian with a speech impediment. “So, like, you know,” he said, making fun of Claire. “There’s this elevator and, you know, it goes to another world. And we were hoping you could, like, come play a magical saxophone? And there’s a dragon and stuff.”
“Bite him, Weenie,” she said while trying not to laugh. “Bite him hard.” Weenie looked at her and then at Roger. He looked back at Claire as if to ask if she was serious. “No, it’s ok, boy,” she responded to his questioning look. “I’ll bite him myself.” Claire bit Roger on the arm.
“Bugger!” yelled Roger, pushing at Claire who was gnawing playfully but painfully on his arm. Paul and Stan opened the library doors and stood looking at the strange scene before them.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” said Gardener with a polite bow, “to Bedlam, or perhaps the threshold of Hell, itself. I’m not entirely clear on which it is, myself.”
Paul was tall, gangly, white and pimply. He wore wire framed glasses that made his eyes look larger than they were. He was wearing jeans and a collared shirt. A ridiculous fedora was perched on his head. Stan was not as tall as Paul, but wasn’t short, either. He was much less gangly and much more black. He had no glasses and no ridiculous fedora, making him look the cooler of the two. He also wore jeans, but was sporting an old X-Files t-shirt that proclaimed, ‘The Truth is Out There.’ Both of them edged back a couple of inches when they saw the strange tableau in the library lobby. Paul looked like he was about to make a run for it.
“I think he’s about to leg it,” remarked Roger who had succeeded in disengaging Claire’s teeth from his arm and was rubbing the affected area. Claire was busy wiping her own slobber from her chin to answer right away.
“It’s all right,” she finally managed to say and offered her damp hand to Paul for shaking. He looked at it dubiously. She dropped it and rubbed it on her pants. “Hey, guys, what’s up?” she asked in an upbeat voice.
“Uh, not much,” replied Paul as he looked around at the murky lobby. “Where is everybody?”
“This place looks like it got roasted. Is this where the terrorists were?” asked Stan as he too peered through the darkness. Speaking revealed slight buck teeth and a tiny bit of a lisp to go with them.
“Upstairs,” replied Claire with extreme duplicity. “Party’s upstairs. We came down to let you in.”
“Cool,” said Paul, buying it wholesale.
“Who’re these guys?” asked Stan who was quite a bit less easy to gull.
“Oh, this is Mr. Gardener,” she answered as she pointed at the marine lieutenant. “He’s Amanda’s uncle and he just came from his job. He’s an actor.”
Lieutenant Gardener looked at Claire like she had lost her marbles. “I say,” he began in indignation.
“Hush, Mr. Gardener,” said Claire. “This is Roger,” she continued as she took Roger’s hand in her own. “My boyfriend,” she said as matter-of-factly as she could, but it sounded strange. “He’s Irish,” she added. “And this is Weenie,” she said indicating the Dalmatian. “He’s not Irish,” she finished. Weenie dutifully padded over to Stan and nuzzled his palm, looking to be petted. Stan and Paul came in far enough for the doors to swing shut. Stan bent down to obliging pet Weenie.
“Nice to meet you guys,” said Stan slowly. Weenie was distracting him from his suspicion.
“Boyfriend?” said Paul with apparent disappointment.
“This is Paul and Stan,” she introduced them to her pals. “They play in the Alex Clancy High Jazz Band. You both play sax, right?”
“I’m alto,” said Paul. “Stan plays the tenor.” Claire nodded although she had no clue what that meant.
“Who all is upstairs?” asked Stan who had recovered from Weenie’s attempts to distract him with fuzzy canine cuteness.
“Uh, you know,” stammered Claire. “People. Amanda was asking about you guys.”
“I must object,” declared Gardener. “If your intent is to lure these two boys into that box using innuendo and lies, then I find your behavior most uncouth.”
“Box?” asked Stan in a startled squeak. Paul took a step backwards toward the door.
“Idiot,” muttered Claire. Paul had his hands on the door and a look of deep concern on his face. Claire knew they were seconds from bolting and she didn’t know where they were going to find another saxophone player. She spread her hands out in front of her in the universal ‘I’m harmless’ gesture. “Look, guys,” she said. “I’ll level with you. Nobody from our school is upstairs.”
“I knew it,” said Paul.
“Amanda’s not here?” asked Stan, almost plaintively.
“Well, actually, Amanda is upstairs,” she amended. “Sorta.”
“I’m outa here,” said Paul as he slipped out the door. Stan hesitated for a second.
“Stan,” pleaded Claire. “We need you. Actually, we need your saxophone skills.”
Stan looked puzzled and then contemplative. He looked out the glass doors to where Paul was opening the driver’s door to his hunk of junk. “You’ve got ten seconds and them I’m gone, baby,” said Stan in what he clearly thought was a cool voice. The slight lisp ruined it. Claire took a deep breath.
“There was no terrorist attack. It was a real, live, fire-breathing dragon,” she said in her most no-nonsense tone. “Amanda is with the dragon right now. There is an entrance to other worlds in this library and we are in a war with a queen in one of those worlds. We needed an extremely powerful artifact to beat her and it took us forever to get it. We have it, but it turns out we need someone to play it. It’s a saxophone.”
“Yeah, right,” said Stan. He turned to go out the door when Weenie clasped his pants cuff in his jaws, stopping him. Claire snapped her wand into her hand and used it to launch a mach
ine gun stream of snow balls at Paul’s car through the broken glass of the now open door. Stan leapt to one side, ripping his pants on Weenie’s teeth and uttering a strangled croak of surprise as he fell onto the pavement. The snowballs impacted the Saturn with thunderous force, breaking windows and denting fenders. They heard Paul give a wail of terror as the Saturn’s little sewing machine engine sputtered to smoky life. Claire looked down at Stan with a smug smirk.
“Need more convincing?”
“I’m not sure what that was,” said Stan as he stood up and dusted off his jeans. “But it’s hardly proof that you’re on some sort of dragon fighting quest with a magical saxophone.” The words were barely out of his mouth when Claire used her wand to send a bolt of lightning into a nearby transformer on a power pole, which exploded spectacularly, leaving blazing afterimages in their vision and starting a small grass fire with its sparks. “Yeah, ok,” said Stan with awe. “I’m your man. Let’s go.”
“That was easy,” remarked Roger. “We didn’t have to kill anyone or knock this berk on the noggin and drag him.”
“Son,” said Gardener to Stan. “I suggest you think about what you are doing. I have seen this dragon with mine own eyes and it is terrible. And it is not the only menace we shall face. I have seen giant metal men that shoot death from their hands. I have engaged in combat and, I am sad to say, was not victorious, but forced to flee by otherworldly might.”
“Awesome!” said Stan.
Gardener looked irritated. “So be it,” he said and turned to follow Claire who was pressing the elevator button. Outside, they could clearly hear Paul’s rattle trap car creak and clank its way down the road until distance and elevator doors attenuated its din.
“What kind of music am I going to play on this mystical sax, anyway?” he asked as the elevator doors closed.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Claire. Roger snorted. “What kind of music would you play to wake someone up?”
“I don’t know,” said Stan. “But I might have an idea.”
Roger groaned. “I hate it when people say that.”
“What’s your idea?” asked Claire.
“This is a library. Can we get to the music section? I’ll grab a bunch of books full of sheet music and we can try lots of stuff.”
“That’s actually a really good idea,” said Claire.
“Finally, someone with a bleedin head on their shoulders,” said Roger.
The elevator opening on a different floor confused Gardener. The rows and rows of books awed him. The electric lights freaked him out and the computer that had replaced the card catalogue years ago reduced him to a sweating heap of anxiety. Roger was increasingly concerned for his well-being. By the time Stan had located and taken all the sax arrangements he wanted, Roger was practically leading Gardener by the hand as he tried to explain modern technology and assure him none of it was satanic sorcery.
When they got to the corridors, Stan looked around him and grinned widely, exposing his large front teeth. “Far out,” was all he said as Claire led them into the maze of doors. Gardener seemed to be recovering his wits now that they were in the more familiar corridors. Weenie helped by making his furry head available for petting. Roger had to stop Stan from opening just about every door they passed.
“No time, bud,” he kept saying as he practically dragged Stan down the hallway. When they all trooped through the door into the fairy tale world, Stan’s eyes were huge.
“No way,” he said in wonder as they emerged into a world where it was daylight when they had just left one in the middle of the night. Birds sang sweetly. A massive dragon munched contentedly on birds that wandered too close. He stopped and stared at Connix in instinctive animal terror. Claire grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him past the dragon and toward the cottage.
“BOO!” shouted Connix at the terrified jazz saxophonist who screeched and jumped behind Claire. Gardener leapt back as well. Roger flinched. The dragon burst into smoky laughter sending sparks flying from his nose as he snorted in amusement. They went into the little hut and Claire closed the door on the cottage, blotting the evil flying reptile from view.
“I think I liked it better when he wasn’t on our side,” commented Claire.
“To be fair,” remarked Amanda who was looking at Stan in frank appraisal. “He isn’t really on our side. He’s just temporarily affiliated due to contractual obligations, so to speak.”
“Hey, big words are my responsibility,” said Claire. “You stick to kicking butt and taking names.”
“I can multitask,” said Amanda absently as she turned back toward the kitchen. “This place is kinda creepy, you know,” she said to Claire as she held up a pair of kids’ shoes. “I found a whole buttload of stuff like this in a cabinet in here.”
“Put that down!” she nearly screamed and Amanda dropped the shoes in shock at the unexpected outburst. “Sorry,” apologized Claire. “We had a stressful time here a while back. This place was the lair of a plump little old lady who ate children. She drugged us and the only reason we didn’t end up on the menu is Span… I mean Ramses saved us.” She pointed to the psychic alien who bowed from the waist in imitation of Gardener.
“That’s awful,” said Amanda as she edged away from the kitchen with distaste. “I hope she got what was coming to her.”
“Claire pushed her arse down the well, like,” said Roger offhandedly. “Meet Stan,” he added by way of changing the subject.
“Is this your saxophonist?” asked Amanda as she gestured with one hand at Stan. Stan had noticed the sax on the table. He was drawn to it like a moth to a flame and it was softly glowing in the growing gloom of the cottage. It had acquired a golden halo that seemed to grow in intensity as Stan slowly walked toward it like someone under hypnosis. His unblinking eyes locked on it and never moved. Everyone else in the room was watching Stan’s approach with some tension. As he reached for the instrument, his fingers just inches away from the inlaid bone keys, Amanda grabbed his wrist just before he touched it. He let out a low groan of disappointment.
“Not sure that’s a good idea,” said Amanda. She looked at Claire. “You saw the way he was looking at that thing. And it’s freaking glowing.”
“Yeah,” replied Claire. “But we’re going to have to let him play it or it’s no use.”
Amanda scowled but let go of Stan’s wrist. She pulled out a metal circlet and placed it on her hair, giving her a slight appearance of royalty. She also pulled out her phone and started her playlist. Stan picked up the sax with reverence and gently put the reed to his lips.
Unlike the horrific honking that Roger had produced, the first note that Stan urged out of the Minotaur’s horn was as smooth as wet paint. Stan began to play and from the first phrase of Unchained Melody that filled the air and vibrated the windows with power, it was obvious that, with practice, the horn was going to be a very powerful tool in the capable and talented hands of Stan. The notes of the sax stole into their minds and took over. The music was all there was. They could even hear the ghostly accompaniment of an orchestra that wasn’t there. Nobody who could hear the music realized just how rapt they were until Amanda grabbed the mouthpiece and pulled it out of Stan’s mouth, ending the hypnotic melody. They all blinked as they came out of their trance-like state. Even Spanky shook his head to clear it and his eyes started back to their normal sickening whirling motion. Amanda pulled the sax from Stan’s grasping hands and put it back on the table where it glinted and glowed with powerful, malevolent potential.
“That was beautiful,” said Gardener in wonder.
“Bloody dangerous is what it was,” said Roger vehemently. “I think if he wanted to keep playing, I woulda stood there till I fell down dead, like.”
“That’s precisely what would have happened,” said Amanda triumphantly. “Even Connix couldn’t resist that horn. Anyone who can hear it is vulnerable.”
“But it was so hauntingly beautiful that I want to hear it again,” said Claire
in awe. “I can understand Odysseus roping himself to the mast so he could listen to the sirens, now.”
“I’ve never played like that in my life,” whispered Stan. “This thing is wicked.”
“Yes, wicked is exactly accurate,” said Amanda emphatically.
“Woof,” agreed Weenie.
“It’s a weapon,” said Claire. “And we’re going to use it.”
“What’s the next stage of your plan?” asked Roger.
“Well, that depends on how many people we can fit on Connix’s back,” she mused thoughtfully. “And what the range is on that thing. I wonder if that Mad Mike’s Miscellaneous Muck place has a microphone and an amp.”
“Mad who?” asked Amanda.
“Mad Mike and his brother Maniacal Marvin run a shop in town,” answered Nick unexpectedly. “It’s kind of like a dollar store, a pawn shop and a magical oddities emporium all rolled into one. They’re always fighting about what their sign should read.”
“Well, that explains why the shop is never the same two days running,” said Claire.
“And it wouldn’t matter if they had one,” continued Nick. “There’s no electricity to run it, except for in that shop. I don’t have a clue where they get their power.”
“Let’s talk to our guest,” suggested Claire. She sat down on the floor next to the painfully contorted female twin. “Do you have a name?” she asked pleasantly. The woman spat a bloody loogy at her. Calmly, Claire wiped her sleeve on the twin’s back and managed to get rid of most of the offending substance.
“You have a choice to make,” she told the woman on the floor. “I’m going to ask you some questions. Not hard questions. You can answer and I promise we will let you go or you can not answer and I will let Amanda turn you into a tortured wreck of a person.” The woman just glared at her. Claire shrugged.
“We know you were working for the Queen and that you have the ability to follow Connix from world to world. I figure you were probably after the Eye. Was that the entirety of your mission or was there more?”
