Thomas released his hands from the teenager’s neck. The boy fell to the grass next to Mavis, gasping for air.
The scent of wet wood surrounded them, and then the man was gone. In his place stood a large German shepherd. The dog walked over to where they lay on the ground, bared its teeth, and began to bark violently, its spittle landing in their hair.
The pink-haired boy started to cry and shake, unaware of the growing wet spot in the crotch of his pants. Mavis threw her hands above her head.
The dog turned and ran off into the woods.
A few moments later, a woman in a turquoise jogging suit, with a small poodle on a leash, ran over to them.
“Do you need help? Can I call someone?”
The poodle began a low series of growls, the fur on its back raising as it stood over the middle-aged fat woman and the skinny teenager, both of whom inched away until they were blocked by the park bench.
“Amber. Amber sweetie, stop that. You’re never this mean. Stop it!”
“Get out of here! Get the hell away or I’ll give you some real nightmares, lady!” Mavis wheezed through her clenched teeth.
The woman’s horrified expression was small reward for the pain in Mavis’s gut. All she could do was lie on the grass and watch as the stupid jogger pulled her snapping dog back down to the running path.
CHAPTER 17
The Bleachers
THEY WERE WAITING FOR CHARLIE. He had just walked out of the gym, hair still wet from showering after PE, and was heading up to the main school building for lunch. Julio, Dave Giraldi, Randy, and some other guy he didn’t recognize. He had taken the shortcut underneath the bleachers.
“Hey, faggot boy, you been bumping it with the Diegster? He been giving it to you good?”
Charlie froze. They had him cornered in the perfect place. Nobody could see him from here.
He turned to walk away, but a hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him around.
“Don’t walk away from us, you shit. You California shit. We want to have a little talk. Rumor says you and Butt Pirate are an item. Maybe you give it to him?” Dave Giraldi said, raising his eyebrows and making a kissing shape with his mouth.
“Leave me alone,” Charlie said, his voice shaking. He put his head down and tried to shove past them, but they surrounded him.
“‘Leave me alone, leave me alone,’” Randy teased. “Look, faggot bitch, the minute you came to this school, you became our problem. You haven’t left us alone with your goddamn googly eyes at Diegster. We’re here to tell you to leave us alone.”
“That’s right,” said the fourth guy. “You’re disgusting. Your faggot-ness bothers us every day. You’re gonna stop. You hear me?”
“He asked you a question, boy,” said Julio. “Answer him.”
“Just leave it, all right? Why do you have to make such a big deal out of …?”
Julio boxed him in the ear. Charlie stumbled back against Dave, who grabbed his shoulders and kept him from falling. White lights flashed across his eyes, and the hot pain on the side of his head was accompanied by a booming sound, then a dull ringing.
“Why do we have to make such a big deal? Oh yeah, right. As if we’re the ones parading around school, going to GSA meetings, and wearing frickin’ pink on Pride Day. You faggots taking over the world, marrying each other, and turning kids gay is making a big deal out of it. You make me sick, you know that? Doesn’t he make you sick?” Julio asked the other boys, who nodded.
Then he leaned back and punched Charlie straight in the stomach.
The agony in his gut was singular and brutal, forcing him to bend over and clutch at his midriff as all the air whooshed out of his mouth. He couldn’t catch his breath and was vaguely aware that his insides had sloshed together when Julio punched him.
“That’s right, bend over. Bet you’re real good at that,” someone said. Charlie was having trouble seeing. The pain made him forget where he was, or even what was going on around him. He knew he was in trouble and was pretty sure he was supposed to be able to do something about it, but he couldn’t remember what. Something about words. Saying words. Saying Words?
Someone grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up. A face swam into view. He could smell rank swampy breath and heavy cologne. He saw something silver and realized the face had a hand and the hand had a knife. An image of Grace flashed in his mind, with her crazed expression while she choked him, a knife held above his head …
“You keep quiet about this, Charlie boy, or we’ll make sure you stay quiet. It’ll be our little secret, okay, faggot? Nod your head if you understand.”
Charlie nodded. He felt wet lips on his cheeks.
“Atta boy. Remember, tell Principal Wang or anyone else about this, and you’ll make things really rough for yourself.”
“Yeah, Charlie boy. We’ll come find you on Washington Street,” someone else said. And then they were gone.
Charlie’s legs gave out, and he collapsed backwards until he was lying flat on the ground. As his vision cleared, he could see strips of gray sky through the bleacher slats. The wet cement felt cool on the back of his head. He wished he could turn over so that the coolness would touch his stomach. But for the moment, he couldn’t remember how to turn over. He stayed under the bleachers for a long time. If the pain hadn’t been so terrible, he might have even enjoyed the quiet.
* * *
“Hold still. Let me look at you,” Rose Patchke said, as she examined Charlie at home in the living room.
“Of all the God-forsaken …” said Randall, walking in circles.
Charlie had managed to pull himself up into a standing position after lying under the bleachers for a while. He had started walking home, thinking that he could manage the short distance but had to sit down on the sidewalk several times so that he wouldn’t pass out. He had called Randall, whom he knew had the day off. In the short time while he waited for Randall’s car, no one had bothered him or asked if he needed help. He was glad. He just wanted to go to bed.
“Randall, please. I can’t concentrate with you pacing back and forth like that.”
Rose looked into Charlie’s eyes. She held up a cup of something warm and asked him to drink it. The liquid was thin and tasted like raspberries. He drank it all in one large swallow.
“Good job. I think you’re going to be okay. That tea will tell us if there’s anything wrong with your head.”
“Always something wrong with my head,” Charlie said, trying to make a joke.
“Yes, well, I can’t do anything about that,” Rose smiled, winking at him. “Just sit back and rest on the couch, all right?”
“We need to go tell Principal Wang,” Randall said. “That school has a no-tolerance policy. Which he upholds!”
Charlie shook his head. “They said they’d make trouble for me if I told.”
“Trouble?! You think those boys could get away with causing trouble? Look who they’re talking about! Look who surrounds you, Charlie. Witches who would be their worst nightmare, not the other way around.”
“Randall,” Rose chided. “You already know this. The witches will do no such thing. We won’t interfere like that. It’ll draw attention to us. If Beverly weren’t out running errands, she would tell you the same thing.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know, I know, I know! But what good is it all if you can’t use it when you need to?”
“This isn’t a case where we need to. Charlie’s growing into a fine young man. You’ll think of a way to deal with this, won’t you? Without using the craft, I mean?”
Charlie nodded again, feeling like all he was doing today was following instructions. What he really wanted to do was to go to each guy’s house, ending with Julio’s, whisper Words, and make things happen that would scare them half to death.
But he knew he wouldn’t. Not after his solo flight that had nearly gotten the other witches killed. He wanted to rationalize things, saying that this was a different situation, that these were just stupid senio
rs, not Grace, and that he could clearly handle himself with them.
But he was gun-shy of his witchcraft. He had used it improperly, with dangerous results. He didn’t trust himself yet to try anything, let alone give payback to Julio and the other guys. Who knew what could happen?
CHAPTER 18
Folding Chairs
THE WITCHES CROWDED INTO Beverly and Randall’s basement. Some sat on couches or on the folding chairs that Randall and Charlie had pulled out. Others stood around in groups of twos and threes. All told, there must have been over fifty people, including some of the kids who had been trained up at Malcolm’s cabin. The atmosphere crackled with tension.
A middle-aged couple stood off to the side, surrounded by several witches offering comfort. Charlie watched as the woman alternated between wringing her hands and running them through her hair. The man stood stock still, his eyes dull, his mouth open, arms hanging at his sides.
“But what about all of our children? How do we protect them? June and I have two who are still unpopped. Who’s to say they won’t be taken too?” a stocky man asked. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans, the same thing that every man in the Pacific Northwest seemed to start wearing once the weather turned cold and damp.
“Bob, I understand your concern,” said Beverly, standing with her back to the large flat-screen television mounted on the wall. “We’re all worried about the same thing. But we honestly don’t know what to do.”
“That is not acceptable! You are our leader! Figure it out! In your father’s day …”
“In her father’s day,” snapped Sean Crenshaw, crossing his arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes, “her father was busy giving away our secrets to Grace, so don’t wax nostalgic on us, all right, Bob?” He paused, then winced and looked over at Beverly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …”
“It’s okay, Sean. No need to tiptoe around the fact that my father did unscrupulous things. And I’m afraid that what he did has helped Grace to be able to infiltrate us today. That’s why we’re here. Grace has the upper hand, and we need to figure out how to get it back.”
Randall had explained to Charlie what happened. The grieving couple, Les and Ginger Nickerson, called Beverly to report that their daughter Suzette had disappeared in the middle of the night. She had gone to bed when she normally did, but she wasn’t in her room the next morning. Daniel Burman went over to their house and, upon investigation, discovered traces of witchcraft, which had him rule out a runaway situation. He sensed the presence of Grace and one or more of her witches.
The Nickersons had brought pictures of their daughter with them tonight. Charlie didn’t recognize her. She looked to be about eight or nine years old. She had a mousy look about her and reminded him of the girl with the wispy hair and thick glasses from the warehouse the day they had been popped, the one who had asked how long it was going to take. Charlie wondered if Suzette was the girl’s younger sister.
“I’m sorry, Beverly. He, uh, we didn’t mean to be ungrateful,” said the woman sitting next to Bob. “We’re just worried is all.”
Charlie watched his aunt. Warring emotions played across her face. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Opened it again, then shut it again. Everyone waited, willing to let Beverly find her words. Finally she spoke.
“Les and Ginger, I am so sorry. You must be out of your mind with worry. Twice now there have been attempts to kidnap my nephew.”
Several people in the crowd gasped. All eyes turned to Charlie. He dropped his head, wishing that he could be invisible. His hand automatically went to the cut on his neck, nearly healed, where Grace had cut him with her fingernails.
“What?”
“When?”
“How did …?”
“As you can see, Charlie is safely with us here today. But if he wasn’t, I would be crazy with fear and worry myself. It’s time for us to band together to protect our children. We cannot, will not, let any more of them be taken.” Charlie wondered why his aunt hadn’t said anything about the fight with Grace.
“But what’s going on? Why is she trying to take our children?” someone in the far corner shouted.
Beverly looked around her, trying to find words once again. There was a shuffling from the back as Daniel Burman made his way to where Beverly stood.
“At first I wondered if Grace were doing it to try to get at us,” Daniel said, “to use the kids as bargaining tools. But there have been other kidnappings in the greater Seattle area, and that tells me it might be something else.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ginger Nickerson.
“Well, there have been four other teenage kidnappings in the last month. The higher-ups at the Seattle Police Department seem to think they’re unrelated: one might be connected to drugs and gangs, another could be teenage prostitution, and the last one seems to be for reasons unknown.
“However,” Daniel continued, his ice-blue stare holding authority over the crowd, “I believe that they’re related. Or I’m suspicious that they might be. Kidnappings don’t tend to happen as much at this time of year, when school is newly underway. Parents and teachers are more on guard. Kids too. Security is tighter. It’s in the late winter and early spring that kidnappings tend to increase. So the fact that at least four teenagers have gone missing, or five, now that we’re considering Suzette’s disappearance in light of the others, has me suspicious. As I’m sure you all know, we have reports that echoes in the area have an increased skill level, and Beverly can attest to the fact that our local bookie and potions-and-lotions witch, Mavis, has considerably more abilities than ever before.”
Daniel looked over at Beverly, who nodded back to him.
“I suspect that there are a few in the upper echelons of the Seattle Police Department who may be part of a local echo network, people who have somehow acquired new abilities and are in cahoots with Grace. And that somehow, the kidnappings are related. And that this network is trying to make it look like the they are random, individual events.”
The basement was quiet as everyone digested this new information.
“I agree with Beverly. Grace has the upper hand right now. But we’re working on finding a connection.
“In the meantime, I think it would be best if we applied new wards to our homes, used more talismans for our children’s safety, and accompanied them to and from school. I don’t think Grace would be stupid enough to attempt a public kidnapping during the day, while someone is at school or soccer practice. But the fact that she’s able to get into our homes at night tells me that what we thought was effective at keeping intruders out isn’t working.”
“What I want to know is, where’s Malcolm?” asked Bob, the flannel-wearing guy. Others nodded and voiced similar questions. “Shouldn’t he be here?”
“You know him. He’s out popping kids. I think this time he’s in the Midwest somewhere,” said Beverly. Charlie looked at his aunt. He knew her well enough now to know that there was something she wasn’t saying, something she was keeping from the crowd. He watched the faces of those around him. No one else seemed to notice.
A few committees were formed. One of them took on the task of resetting stronger wards and other spells that would be used to protect people’s homes from invasion. Another set about acquiring protective talismans for the children. A third agreed to help Daniel with his investigation. The meeting broke up soon after.
On their way out, several people asked Charlie about the kidnapping attempts. The first one was easier to talk about, since he had been in bed asleep when it had happened. The second one, though, made him uncomfortable to explain. Remembering how Beverly hadn’t told the group about the fight with Grace, he left those details out too, though he wasn’t sure why he was doing it.
“One of the witches tried to get me when I was out alone one night,” he said, deciding that this was true, if only partially. “Beverly found out that I was missing. I guess she used a scrying bowl to find me, before, uh, before anything bad happ
ened.”
His answer seemed to satisfy people, and none of them asked if it had been Grace or someone else who tried to kidnap him. But it left Charlie with a hollow feeling inside. The fact that he had been out on a broomstick by himself because he thought Beverly hated him being gay and that the witches had been forced to come to his rescue, narrowly escaping with their lives, was still very painful to accept.
Charlie had begun to think of the attack beneath the bleachers as something he deserved, something that had happened to teach him a lesson. True, he had wanted it to stop when it was happening. But the more he thought about everything, the more shame he felt. His actions put people at risk. Maybe getting beaten up by the guys at school was something he had coming to him.
He wanted to help Beverly and Daniel stop Grace and find the kids who had gone missing. But he was worried that he would cause more trouble and put more people at risk.
He had also been thinking again about what Grace promised to tell him, about why that Dog Man had gone to all the trouble to come find him in California.
Why hadn’t he told Beverly and the others about this, about the information she offered to him? Maybe he was worried that they would overreact and do something foolish, like go after Grace, all the while lacking the strength or ability to escape unscathed.
More likely you’re ashamed of yourself for listening to her, for hoping that she could give you something good, he said to himself. This seemed true.
He was conflicted enough about it that he decided not to mention it for the time being.
Was it connected to the other kids disappearing? Why had there been two attempts to kidnap him? He couldn’t really have anything that Grace wanted, could he?
These thoughts troubled him as he helped Randall and Beverly, as well as some of the stragglers, clean up after the meeting.
* * *
The Boy Who Couldn’t Fly Home: A Gay Teen Coming of Age Paranormal Adventure about Witches, Murder, and Gay Teen Love (The Broom Closet Stories Book 2) Page 13
