“I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to stop your momma from running off, hon. I never thought she’d do what she did, but now I’ve got to deal with these skunks, and I can’t protect you at the same time. I’m just miserable that I couldn’t save her.”
“But . . .” Missy began. Gram shook her head firmly.
“Nope. You need to go with Allie back down to Houston. That friend of mine . . . his name’s Don . . . he’s got a school there. They’ll teach you more about your threads and a lot of other stuff to boot.” Missy snuffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, don’t let it be like that, puddin’. It won’t be long, and you’ll get to meet a lot of other kids, and Allie here won’t let anything bad happen to you, will you Allie?”
Gerard jerked back in surprise, glancing between Gram and Missy in panic. “Becca,” she started out reasonably, “you know I’m in acquisitions. I’m not exactly a babysitter.”
“I’m no baby!” snapped Missy. “And I don’t want to go to Houston!”
Allie held up her hands to fend off a further protest.
“Look, Missy, Becca has a point. She can’t have you trailing around behind her or hiding in her house while she’s out picking a fight. You’re better off at the Haven school for a bit while she fixes things.”
Missy looked back and forth between the two, trying to find a chink in either woman’s armor. A siren sounded in the distance.
“Time’s running out, Allie.” Gram’s voice seemed more tired than Missy had ever heard it. “I’m asking you to watch out for her as a friend, not offering you a contract. She needs you more than you could know, and I have a sneaking suspicion it’d do you some good, too.”
“Becca . . .” Allie started to say, but the old woman held up a hand, cutting her off.
“For your Grandpa’s sake, Allie. Please.”
In that moment, Missy thought that Gerard was going to explode. Allie’s face had gone all still and flushed with her mouth working up and down silently as her brain apparently tried to come up with a suitable remark to release the pressure. Then the young woman’s eyes fell to the right of Gram and the flush faded.
“All right,” she said softly. “I’ll do it, but you’d damn well better not dawdle.”
A pair of matronly arms reached out to drag a startled Gerard into a none-too-feminine bear hug that squeezed Missy between them.
“Good girl!” Gram told her as she pounded on Allie’s back. “He’d be proud of you.”
Gerard pushed out of the embrace like a cat. “All right! All right! No need to get soppy about it. Jeez!”
The sound of the siren drew nearer and was joined by another. Allie glanced toward the street meaningfully before looking back at Gram and Missy. “I think we need to git.”
Gram nodded, then bent down to kiss Missy on the cheek. “You be good for Don and Allie. I’ll be along as soon as I can get things straightened out.”
Missy wrapped her arms around the old woman and squeezed as tight and hard as she could. Her eyes burned, but the tears seemed to have run out. “I will,” she said into the raincoat. “Just hurry.”
Strong hands pulled her away to where her Gram’s own twinkling eyes could look down at her. “It won’t be long. I promise.” Then she put Missy’s right hand into Allie’s left, touched the side of her nose, and disappeared.
A pregnant pause ensued as Missy tried to accept that her grandmother had just vanished. A jerking motion shook her hand as Gerard broke free.
“She just . . .” Missy started to say.
“Yeah, I know, the show off,” Gerard muttered.
“Doesn’t even need to form a portal. Those boys won’t know what hit ’em.” She shook her head and started back into the alley away from the street, Missy following in her wake. Their quiet steps filled the silence, the clinking of O.G’s paws on the pavement providing a soft counter-cadence.
“Well,” Allie said as they neared the Tommy’s body, “let’s get out of here before the cops come looking.”
Gerard raised a hand, and Missy felt a surge through her whole body as Tommy’s body disappeared with a pop.
“Where’d you send him?” she asked.
“Back to the Haven,” muttered Gerard. “There’s a place in the building where they can take care of him.”
“It sounds big.”
“Nah, it’s just an old hotel. Lots of rooms, though.”
“Do you live there?”
“Hmph! As if. I’ve got my own place.”
“Will you come visit?”
Gerard sighed.
“I think I’ll be staying there for a while. Seems as though I’ve just been forced to adopt a little sister.”
She gestured toward the far end of the alley, and an oval of black rimmed with multicolored threads appeared before them. Missy’s left hand crept up nervously to slip back into Allie’s right palm. Right before they stepped through the portal, Gerard squeezed, gentle but firm.
“Change is always scary,” Allie said before they slipped into the black, “but having friends helps.”
NIGHT OF THE WOLF
John Lambshead
THE bus stank of diesel, and the seat dug uncomfortably into her slight frame. She got her compact out of her bag and examined her face in the mirror.
The same Rhian as always looked back at her, but she did what she could to improve upon nature. Every few minutes, she checked her watch. She was ready by the door when the bus stopped, diving out before it was fully open.
Rhian ran the length of the road and up the High Street. A tall boy in denim waited by the café door.
His smile lit up the road when he spotted her. She threw herself at him and he enveloped her.
“Sorry I’m late, James. They time when you switch the computer off, and the traffic was bad and—”
He stopped the flow of words with his mouth on hers. “Come on,” he said, coming up for air. “I’m starving.”
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her into the café and found a table.
“What’ll you have, love?” asked the waitress.
“The all-day breakfast,” James said to the waiter.
“With tea.”
The waitress looked at Rhian.
“Um, some beans on toast.”
“No, you don’t.” James interrupted her.
“She’ll have the same as me,” he said to the waitress.
“Then you must let me pay my share,” she said “Nonsense, I earn more than you.”
He took her hand and chatted about his day. She wasn’t really listening to what he said. She just enjoyed hearing him. He slipped the button on her blouse cuff as they talked and worked the sleeve up.
“Do you want to see the other arm?” she asked, slightly nettled.
“No, as long as you are taking care of yourself,” James said. “I merely wondered why you were wearing long sleeves again.”
“I ran out of clothes.” She shrugged. “I have laundry issues.”
“Let’s go shopping tomorrow. We’ll get you some new sleeveless tops to show your beautiful arms off.”
He ran his fingers gently along the thin white scars on her forearm. They hardly showed at all now.
* * *
She and James sneaked into the hall via the back doors as they were late. Doctor Galbraith was already standing at the front.
“Order, ladies and gentleman, can we please come to order?” said Galbraith, running his fingers through a surprisingly thick head of gray hair. “I have exciting news. I have secured a sponsorship deal for us to carry out an archaeological investigation of the land by Rodomon Street.”
“The rat-infested wasteland by the canal?” asked a well-dressed lady.
“Um, yes,” said Gailbraith.
“Why would someone pay good money to dig up that dump?” asked a sharp young man called Mick.
“It could be an interesting site,” said Galbraith, defensively.
“The waterway is a canalized river.
We could find an historical settlement there, an Anglo-Saxon village or a Neolithic encampment, who knows?”
“Or a place that Elizabeth the First slept in,” said Mick.
“Yes,” said Galbraith, absentmindedly.
The society members laughed. Every second-rate rural inn in Southern England had a plaque on the wall claiming that Queen Elizabeth slept there. Good Queen Bess must never have spent a night in her own bed.
“Very amusing, calm down,” said Galbraith. “But seriously, this is a great opportunity to for us to do some practical work. We can write the dig up in The Ealing Historical Journal. Think what that might do for our circulation.”
“If circulation is the right word,” said Mick. Galbraith affected not to hear him.
James smiled at Rhian. The Journal was a laserprinted, stapled-together sheet that society members received as part of their annual subscription. Galbraith also gave it away free to local libraries whose staff put it politely on the periodical shelf. Rhian never read her copy, it was deadly dull, but James liked it. Galbraith used it as a vehicle to promote various ideas that had failed to get published in an academic journal.
“How much money are we talking about?” asked James.
“Ten thousand pounds,” said Galbraith, triumphantly.
“Who on earth wants to give a little local society like us ten grand?” asked James, astonished “Ah, the Rayman Property Development Company,” said Galbraith. “They intend to build a block of luxury apartments on the site and, very properly, want to check for any evidence of historical use first.”
“Are they not legally obliged to do that anyway?” asked Mick.
“I believe that is the case,” said Galbraith.
“And how much would a professional study by, say, London University cost?” asked Mick.
“Ah, I am a bit out of touch since I retired,” said Galbraith.
“Roughly,” said Mick, remorselessly.
“Perhaps a hundred thousand,” said Galbraith.
“So these Rayman people are getting one hell of a cheap deal,” said James.
When the meeting broke up, James and Rhian stopped for a few words with Mick who was lighting up a cigarette.
“I have heard a few things about Rayman,” said Mick, thoughtfully.
“Like what,” asked James.
“He’s supposed to have blackmailed a planning officer. People who cross him have bad luck. Their cars catch fire, that sort of thing. Just time for a pint before closing, I fancy,” Mick hurried off.
“Maybe we should keep out of this, James,” said Rhian, worried.
“I wouldn’t take too much notice of Mick. He likes to pretend that he is in the know but he’s just a law student, not Perry Mason,” said James.
* * *
Rhian pushed the wheelbarrow across the dusty archaeological site. She stopped halfway to wipe the sweat from her face and readjust the ring that held back her hair. It was one of those weeks when the wind came in from the east and blew hot, humid, continental air across London. Traffic fumes built up fast, and the air turned acrid. The city was in drought, again, and the short-lived showers of rain that had fallen were insufficient to wash away the pollution.
She could taste the acid in her mouth, and her eyes stung. She had abandoned any pretence of femininity for practical combat trousers and a crop top. Her feet felt hot and swollen in the heavy leather boots stipulated by health and safety rules.
Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handle and pushed the barrow up the incline to the earth dump.
Tipping out the excavated soil in the humidity exhausted her. She tottered back to the trench.
“You look beat, love. Let’s have a break,” said James.
“Oh, yes,” she replied.
They walked to the portable hut where they stored their equipment.
“Would you like water or Coke?” James asked.
“Water, please.”
He took out a bottle of Evian and unscrewed the cap for her. Rhian drank and couldn’t stop. The water tasted of warm plastic, but she didn’t care. It was the best water that she had ever drunk. It reminded her of summer days as a child when she carried water in plastic bottles clipped to the front of her bike.
Mick wandered over to join them. “I see Galbraith has sloped off again,” he said. “ ‘Who’s with me?’ the man said. What a joke.”
“He’s old,” said Rhian. “Physical work in this weather must be difficult for him, especially as he never takes his tweed jacket off.”
“You see the best in people, honey,” said Mick. He prodded James in the arm. “You’re a lucky fellow.”
“I know,” said James. He put his arm possessively around her and she cuddled into him. He smelled of fresh sweat mixed with aftershave and male soap. On him, it smelled good.
“I reckon that we are wasting our time in that trench,” Mick said, cracking open a drink of cola. The sun-warmed can exploded in a spray of foam.
“The geophys equipment indicated a structure there,” said James, somewhat defensively.
“No offence, James, but I am past trusting cheap, clapped-out, rented equipment operated by a noveltycard shop manager who had read the manual in his lunch break,” said Mick.
“James did his best,” said Rhian hotly, leaping to his aid.
“Of course he did, honey,” said Mick. “I don’t blame him, I blame bloody Galbraith. I don’t see much evidence that ten grand has been spent on this investigation. He hasn’t even provided a poxy diesel generator to power a drinks cooler.”
“Let’s take the trench down just one more foot before abandoning it,” said James.
Mick grunted, which James obviously took as agreement. The boys went back to their shovels, and Rhian went back to her hateful barrow. She was on her way back from a trip to the dump, when she heard an excited yell from Mick.
“I’ve got something, bloody stone.”
“Stop digging and use trowels,” said James.
The other men joined him and scraped away frantically.
Rhian watched from the top.
“The stonework is completely discontinuous,” said James.
“We could be looking at the top of a smashed up medieval wall,” said Mick. “Keep scraping but be careful.”
Other boys jumped into the trench to help, and the work progressed swiftly. For the first time, Rhian understood why James found history interesting. This was like a treasure hunt.
“Hang on a minute,” said James. “These stones aren’t connected in any way. They are just jumbled together.”
He grabbed a spade and dug deeper. “There is bare earth underneath. The stones form a layer.”
“Like a Roman road?” asked Mick.
“There aren’t supposed to be any Roman roads here,” said James.
“So it’s a hitherto undiscovered Roman road,” said Mick, excitedly. Dreams of glory were clearly passing through his head.
One of the other boys started to laugh.
“What’s so funny,” said Mick, aggressively.
“The stones in that layer are smooth and rounded,” said the boy.
They gazed at him with incomprehension.
“I can see that you are city folk,” said the boy, in an exaggerated rural Norfolk accent. “That, there, canal was once a river, right?”
Rhian still did not understand. She was not the only one, judging by the uncomprehending expressions from the others.
“Streams run down into rivers,” Norfolk boy said.
“We have spent all weekend digging up a bloody dried-up stream bed,” said Mick, throwing down his trowel. “That effing does it. Get the metal detectors out.”
“We are not supposed to use them on an archaeological site,” said James.
“This isn’t an archaeological site,” said Mick.
“Right now, it’s just a wasteland that some poor bloody muppets have hand-dug a trench through.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” James agreed.
>
“You use the detector love; I will be your digger,” he said to Rhian. “You have done enough heavy work for one day.”
James had a modern lightweight detector with designer styling.
“You take that side and I’ll sweep this,” Mick said.
Rhian had to adjust the phones as she had a narrower head than James. She started the slow walk, swinging the detection ring from side to side. The machine murmured gently in her headphones. After half a dozen steps, the machine chimed.
“What do you reckon, love, a bottletop or a can?” asked James, digging carefully. He pulled something out of the ground. “It’s a beans can, super.”
They moved on, finding the metallic detritus of a consumer society. After half an hour, the most valuable thing that Rhian had discovered was a 50 pence coin, and Mick had found a broken fountain pen dropped by some ancient schoolboy from before the invention of the ballpoint pen.
“This is a complete waste of bloody time,” said Mick, switching his detector of with a decisive flick of his hand.
Rhian’s detector changed tone. She waved it back across the spot and it chirruped urgently.
“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” James said. “Fancy a swift pint?”
“I’m getting a reading of something large,” said Rhian.
“Sure do,” said Mick, ignoring her. “Shall we pop in the King’s Arms up the road or go to the Barmaid’s Breasts down on the river? It’s a bit of a walk, but it always has a fine flock of tourist chicks to leer at.”
Rhian took the shovel from James’ unresisting hand and dug down. Every so often, she ran the detector over the hole to get her bearings. When the tone indicated that she was close, she carefully removed earth with a trowel. A strange, tarnished, metal object stuck out of the ground. She pulled it free. It was shaped like a round half-dome attached to a spine of metal across the base.
“What have you got there, honey?” asked Mick. He examined the object carefully, brushing soil away from it. “What in the name of all that’s holy is it?”
Something Magic This Way Comes Page 25
