The Zodiac Collector

by Laura Diamond

  “You’re okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” She stays close as we walk.

  “I am Zeena, the Zodiac Collector,” the old woman tells us when we get to her little shack. It’s situated in the middle of a little clearing, on top of a small hill. With the sun beating on it, it almost seems quaint. Like the gingerbread house that Hansel and Gretel got lured into.

  Zeena opens the door. It creaks loudly. Inside is packed with all kinds of things, and a dusty, moldy scent occupies the empty spaces from months of non-use. If she opens the window and keeps the door open—and maybe lights a few dozen scented candles—the smell might evaporate by the end of the faire.

  She shuffles to a wooden chair and side table tucked into a corner. The floorboards moan and creak under her weight. Shelves line all the walls. Candles, jewelry trees filled with necklaces, pins, rings, and earrings, glass bottles of various colors and sizes filled with powders or liquids, books—you name it, she has it.

  She swings her arm in an arc, the sleeve of her robe billowing. “See something you like?”

  Mary and I scan the room.

  “You’ve got lots of stuff,” I say.

  “Here’s my favorite collection.” She pulls a velvet-covered, notebook-sized plaque off a shelf. On it are trinkets for each zodiac symbol—waves for Aquarius, an arrow with a line through it for Sagittarius, a circle with a curlicue tail for Leo. All of them are there except for Libra, Aries, and Gemini.

  “Oh, we’re not interested in buying anything.” Mary smiles sweetly, softening the blow of saying no.

  “I’m not selling these, dear. I’m collecting them.” Her eyes shift to my pin.

  I cover it instinctively. “This was a gift,” I blurt.

  “Are you Gemini?”

  We nod in unison.

  Zeena’s mouth quivers. “Do you know the original Gemini twins?” The room darkens, as if the sun has gone under.

  “Castor and Pollux. Our dogs are named after them,” Mary replies.

  A rush of wind comes up and swirls around the shack. It chatters under the pressure and the door slams shut with a bang!

  Mary yelps and clutches my arm tighter.

  The old woman’s gaze darts to the single window. “Such a smart girl.”

  “We should get going. Thanks for showing us around.” Mary edges toward the door.

  “Hold on. I want to give you girls something.” She cradles the plaque in one arm while drawing her fingers along a shelf of potions. She taps a bottle with her fingertip and picks it up. The white powder inside shimmers. “Here it is.”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “This is stardust. Sent from Castor and Pollux themselves.” She extends her arm.

  “No, we can’t take that.” I hold up my palm in a no thanks gesture.

  “Oh, but you must! Make an old woman happy.” She shakes the bottle and winks. “Wouldn’t want to upset the Gemini twins, either.”

  I accept the bottle. “Erm, thanks. What do we do with it?”

  “Sprinkle some on a candle the next time you light one.”

  “And then what?”

  “It’ll be a surprise!” She grins and claps her hands.

  Oh, good. Just what we need. More surprises.

  Chapter Eight

  “You sure you’re okay?” Mary frets over me as we head to the jousting arena, walking elbow to elbow with me.

  If there’s anything I hate, it’s someone hovering in my personal space during and after an asthma attack. As if I can claim all the air around me as my own. There’s plenty for everyone. “Yes, I’m fine.” I take a deep breath to prove it. My lungs seize a tiny bit, but I keep a smile plastered on my face, trying not to let it show.

  “That lady was weird.” She gives me a little space by putting a couple feet between us.

  “Beyond weird.” I shake the bottle of glitter, daintily labeled “Stardust.” White wax seals the cork. I’m tempted to sprinkle it on a candle or an offering during my next chant, even though stuff like this is totally fake. A real witch wouldn’t sell her magicks. She’d keep them secret. Unless it’s a front. But then that would still make the dust a sham.

  A flutter of stubborn belief tickles my stomach. Doesn’t hurt to try it, right? Mary won’t have to know. I’ll wait until she’s sleeping.

  “You’re not going to keep that, are you?” She eyes the bottle warily.

  I shrug. “Why not? It’s kind of pretty.”

  “Hmmph.” She puts another foot between us. It’s as if the distance marks the extent of her disbelief.

  “Come on. It’s not like it’ll spontaneously cause the earth to tilt off its axis and dive into the sun.”

  Her eyebrow arches.

  “It’s probably fake anyway.”

  “Oh, so that’s fake, but your Zodiac magick is real? You can’t have it both ways.”

  “All science isn’t true.” I tuck the bottle in my pocket and walk ahead.

  The smells of dirt, warm grass, and leather mingle together. Chatter from early faire actors and vendors caresses me. I soak it all in, filing away each sensation like a camel hoarding water. The faire only runs for two weeks, then I have to wait another fifty for it to return. This year is even worse because of the SAT. Bittersweet longing tarnishes my fragile happiness. One of these years, I’m going to enjoy the faire and just do what I want to do. No heavy dresses to wear in the hot sun, no marketing of Mom’s business, no exam to study for, and no ruined birthdays.

  William is at the stable behind the arena. He’s shoveling wood shavings into a wheelbarrow. Lord have mercy, he’s not wearing a shirt. His skin is darkened from the sun. Sweat slicks his chest, back, and arms. His hair is soaked at the edges. And, oh man, his jeans hang low on his lean hips. He’s all muscle.

  My tummy does the squee tingle—the funny nausea, swirly-gig thing that happens when an elevator comes to a stop and you’re weightless for a nanosecond. Except this is a million times stronger.

  “You’re drooling,” Mary whispers, nudging me with her elbow.

  “Shh.” I clear my throat. “Hey, William.”

  He stabs his shovel in the pile of shavings and turns to us. “Hi.” His dimples flash and I want to melt right there.

  “Whatcha doin’?” I dig my toe in the dirt and smile, but stop short of twirling my hair around a finger.

  He snatches a navy-blue kerchief from his back pocket and wipes his face. “Getting the stalls ready. Shequan’s dad is bringing the horses today.”

  “Awesome.” I try not to stare at his ripped abdomen. Jousting is one of my favorite parts of the faire. Horses are gorgeous animals, and the excitement of the knights charging full-tilt at one another jazzes me up every time. I keep telling myself I’m going to start riding lessons and join the knights. I don’t know if they’d “allow” a girl in the band, but whatever, I suck at taking “no” for an answer. A vision of me knocking the Red Knight off his chestnut stallion with a lance and the crowd bursting into cheers briefly takes over. It would be so cool.

  “Dude, hurry up, we still have four stalls to fill.” Evan jogs up to us. He waves at me and grins at Mary. “Hey.”

  Mary giggles. She does twirl her hair. “Evan. I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Yeah. This guy bribed me into it.” He tilts his head at William. His gray shirt has deep sweat stains around the neck, pits, and back.

  William laughs. “Bribe? You mean I’m splitting my pay with you.”

  Evan grabs the wheelbarrow handles and spins it toward the barn entrance. “Right. That’s what I said.”

  “You guys need help?” I ask.

  Mary kicks my heel.

  William shakes his head. “Nah, if I split my money any more, I won’t be left with anything.”

  “I don’t mind. I don’t need any money.” Gawd, how desperate do I sound?

  His mouth twitches with amusement. It’s the same look any boy gives a girl when they know the girl is totally into the
m. A flash of heat burns my cheeks and his grin widens. I’m like a slice of toast that’s fallen butter-side down—a complete and total loss. “Okay, well, do you want to put some hay in each of the stalls? There’s a rack. Just put a flake in each one.”

  Is it a pity chore, something to make me think he’s not rejecting me? I huff, following him to the stack of hay just inside the barn. At least he’s not taking full advantage and making me do all his chores. A lock of hair drops into his face as he bends to cut the double set of twine wound around a bale.

  He pulls at the edges with his long fingers, sectioning the bale. “See? The flakes separate on their own. Super easy.”

  Evan walks by with an empty wheelbarrow. “Need a refill,” he says, his gaze lingering on Mary more than anyone else.

  “Cool.” William follows him outside. He pauses just beyond the threshold and peers back at us. His gaze locks onto mine and the heat in my cheeks intensifies.

  I go into full on nuclear-core meltdown when he flashes his dimples at me.

  Mary watches until they’re out of sight, then sighs. “Thanks for volunteering us.”

  “It won’t take long. Besides, you can earn points with Evan for being here to pitch in.”

  “Is that why you offered to help? To ‘earn points’ with William? You don’t need to do that, you know. He already likes you.” She pulls her hair into a low ponytail and then grabs two flakes. Bits of loose hay shake off to the floor as she walks to the first set of stalls.

  “We’re just friends.” It’s a good thing her back is turned to me. Even I can’t pull off the lie to myself, let alone someone else.

  “Yeah, right. And I’m the High Queen.” She circles around for another load of flakes.

  We fall into silence. There’s twelve stalls and it only takes us a few minutes to distribute the hay.

  The guys have one stall left to prepare by the time we’re done. Mary and I linger while William fills the barrow with shavings.

  Evan sidles up to Mary. He leans against the barn, super casual. “I had fun last night.”

  Mary tries to mime his posture. “Me too.”

  “We should hang out again some time.”

  “Totally.” She yanks the elastic from her hair and shakes out her curls. Definite mating behavior.

  A buzz of pride tingles along my spine. This is a big step for her.

  He smiles so sweetly my teeth ache. “Cool. When?”

  She twists her mouth in thought. “It’s kind of lame, but do you want to study for the SAT together?”

  He angles his body toward her and I want to cheer like Marcy Stucky did after her quarterback boyfriend scored a touchdown during overtime at the All Stars game. The girl nearly peed her pants, and several people around her had to clamp their hands over their ears. “No, it’s not lame. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Okay.” Mary gives him a time and location and seals my fate as the third wheel.

  I angle away from them and toward William. He’s almost finished filling the wheelbarrow.

  “Hey, Anne. I’m heading in. Walk with me?” He lifts the handles.

  “Sure.”

  When we get to the last stall on the right, he says, “They’re getting along.”

  I chuckle. “Evan’s nice. I like him.”

  William nods, driving the wheelbarrow into the stall and lifting the handles to tip it forward. “He’s had a crush on Mary the entire year.”

  “You’re kidding!” She’s had a crush on him, too, but I keep that to myself.

  “Yeah.” He walks backward, shaking the wheelbarrow along the way to distribute the shavings.

  I grab a rake and spread them out some more. “I’m glad they’re finally talking, then. Although I may have lost my studying partner.” Without Mary prodding me along, I might not be able to focus enough on studying for the exam.

  He drives the barrow out of the stall and gestures for me to give him the rake. “We could study together.”

  I dig my nails into the stall door as I shut it. Hanging out with William would make studying less like torture. On the other hand, it’d also be harder to concentrate. But, heck, I’m willing to risk it. “I’d like that.”

  * * *

  Dad’s smithy shop is kitty-corner to the arena. Its vertical clapboard siding is painted black. Above the entrance is a wooden sign. Its iron lettering reads: Devans’s Forgeries.

  A silly play on words, but it gets Dad a lot of comments.

  Shequan and his dad, Marcus Whitaker, are inside when Mary and I arrive.

  “One horse already threw a shoe. She balked at the trailer and hit her foot just right on the edge. Bent the metal.” Marcus is dressed in a white T-shirt, jeans, and boots. Over six feet tall, he towers over everybody. He yanks a misshapen horseshoe out of his pocket and shows it to Dad.

  “No problem. I’ll come fix it right now, if you like.” Dad’s leaning against the counter that runs parallel to the far wall of his shop. A couple beer cans are at his elbow. As usual, his clothes are stained with soot and dirt. He wears a thick leather apron when he works, but it doesn’t seem to keep him clean.

  “That’d be great. Thanks, Dan.” Marcus claps Shequan’s shoulder. “Ready?”

  Shequan lifts the front of his orange button-down shirt to stuff his hands in his jeans pockets. “Bet the horses are ready to get off the trailer.”

  All the guys notice us when they turn toward the door.

  “Hi, girls.” Dad greets us with a smile.

  “Anne, Mary, hey.” Shequan gives us a nod. “Ready for the SAT?”

  Shequan is one of the few students giving Mary competition in the grades department. Evan is the other. William and I, well, we’re happy to be second-string as long as we’re doing well enough to keep our parents happy and to score into a good college.

  Mary and I groan in unison. Mary doesn’t have problems acing exams, but they rev her nerves and she hates the feeling, hence her uber-study schedules.

  “Me neither. It’s too bad the faire runs at the same time,” Shequan says.

  “Yeah, if the test was later, we’d be able to enjoy it more.” I should work on a spell that could alter time. It’d be so awesome to create a portal to another dimension so I had time to study and do boring stuff, but could spend as much time as I wanted here, at the faire, or with William. I’d have to check the Zodiac spellbook for a time-weaving spell.

  “Right?” He scratches the back of his head. “History is going to kill me.”

  “Math will annihilate me,” I mutter.

  He snorts. “Annihilate. That’s funny.”

  “Coming to see the horses, girls?” Dad carries his farrier tools in an open wooden box with a handle.

  “Sure.” Mary takes his chaps from him and folds them over her arm.

  “I’ll meet you at the barn. Gotta bring the truck around. It has the anvil and forge in the back.” He heads outside with Marcus.

  Shequan leads the way to the horse trailer, chatting about how much it sucks to memorize dates and people and events that’ll have no impact on his future. I can’t say I disagree, but memorizing is easier than finding your way through a math problem, in my humble opinion. With my warped sense of mathematical direction, I take the wrong turn at Albuquerque every time and end up somewhere in the Netherlands rather than Santa Fe.

  The size of a semi truck, Marcus’s livestock trailer carries up to fifteen horses. Sunlight reflects off the shiny metal like a lens flare. I hold a hand over my brow, creating some shade for my eyes.

  Dad is already there, firing up his forge. Marcus drags the anvil off the truck bed and drops it nearby. Shequan unlocks the trailer door and extends the ramp so the horses don’t have to hop. The scent of tangy horse sweat and manure oozes out.

  I peek into the windows, catching glimpses of velvety noses and watery eyes. One pale horse flares its nostrils and snorts. A moment later, her face disappears. I bet it’s the one who threw a shoe.

  A steady stomp ro
cks the trailer and Shequan appears with the buckskin mare in tow. She has a white blaze down her nose and stocking feet. Her white mane is super long, almost reaching her chest.

  The poor thing rushes down the ramp and spins around Shequan. He holds fast to the lead while reaching up to pat her neck. “Easy, girl.”

  Marcus helps Shequan attach the lead to a fence post. “Grab some hay. It might distract her.”

  Shequan jogs to the barn and appears a moment later with a flake. The mare’s ears perk up, locking onto him. She paws at the ground.

  Dad’s able to approach her and pick up her right front foot without too much protest. He examines her hoof and files it a bit. “This’ll be no problem to nail back on.”

  “Good.” Marcus pats the mare’s hind end. “This is her first joust. Should be interesting.”

  Her tail flicks at the flies and she chews in a steady rhythm, pulverizing the hay strand by strand, previous anxiety forgotten.

  “She’s beautiful.” I run my fingers along her smooth neck and fiddle with her mane.

  “You should come to the stable sometime. Take her for a spin.” Marcus grins.

  “That’d be great…if I knew how to ride.” I scratch under her chin and she extends her neck, closing her eyes with contentment.

  Dad heats the horseshoe in the forge and pounds it into shape. Fixing the mare’s hoof between his legs, he sets to nailing the thing on. “Girls, how about I pay for some riding lessons with Marcus? It’ll be an early birthday present.”

  “Really?” I bounce like a five year old getting a megaton of her favorite candy.

  Mary hands the mare another handful of hay. “Sounds fun.”

  I’m not sure I believe her, but she’s too polite to disagree.

  “What’re you guys doing for your birthday?” Shequan runs his fingers through the mare’s mane, loosening the tangles.