Strange Omens

by Jim Stein

  “Behind you!” Randy shouted.

  More water babies boiled from the mud. At a yowl from the cat-creature, they advanced with mouths gaping. My reserves were dangerously low. Without Quinn draining them, I didn’t have a way to deal with this second group. Another yowl split the babies into two groups that flanked me.

  “It’s controlling them.” Quinn beat at the furry paw hooked in her jacket.

  The thrashing popped her foot loose, and the cat heaved her back a pace. I lurched forward, ignoring the spray drenching my back. The water creatures might be too much for me to handle, but the thing pulling Quinn off was covered in thick fur. And fur burns.

  Clay engulfed my legs, stopping me dead, but my arms were free. Fire and guiding music leapt to my command. I used the song’s precise piano notes to focus the eager energy into a tight lance. Quinn realized what I was doing and shoved back with her legs, forcing her attacker to stand and giving me a clear shot.

  My thin jet of flame shot across ten feet and caught the thing in its left shoulder.

  “Burn,” I whispered to the magic, and it did—happily, greedily.

  The cat shrieked and clawed at the fire racing across its fur. Embers and sparks fell to sizzle in the mud. Clay encased my outstretched arms and torso, but my hands clenched, sending more heat into the spell. With one final yowl, the creature rushed to the water and threw itself in. It disappeared under the sluggish surface, an orange-yellow flicker moving downriver beneath the waves.

  Cold sapped my strength, and I sagged within the clay cocoon. Soft plops sounded from either side as the water babies sank back into the mud and disappeared. Quinn slid over to Randy and doused the drummer with more water. At least the muck covering him hadn’t hardened. I closed my eyes, out of energy. Someone was going to have to chip me out. Until then, I might as well take a little nap.

  ***

  “Public works swears none of their lines ruptured,” Officer Vance said. “This must have been a freak underground spring. You kids are lucky you didn’t end up in the drink.”

  The deputy showed up just after Quinn chiseled me free with the tire iron. Between our ruined clothes and muck-encrusted hair all three of us looked as if we’d been mud-wrestling. We struck a sharp contrast to Vance’s trim figure and crisp blue uniform. Calling us “kids” rubbed me wrong, but I was too tired to complain. He didn’t mean anything by it. At twenty-one and eighteen, Quinn and I were only ten years younger than Vance Cochran. Unlike the sheriff, his deputy seemed aware and attentive to details.

  “At least it’s drying fast.” I tried for upbeat. “Should make it up to the highway without a tow.”

  Quinn looked as tired as I felt, but she’d managed to discretely drain a bit of water from the ground in front of each car.

  “Must be drains under the roadway. Did an animal come through here?” Vance played his big club-of-a flashlight over the ground.

  He studied the footprints and skid marks that told the story of our encounter. Luckily, most were smeared and unrecognizable, but a distinct pair of wide, four-toed paw prints pressed into the dried mud.

  “Not that I saw. Maybe ran through ahead of us?”

  “And this stuff.” Vance followed the mud flow toward the river.

  He stopped among the shattered water babies and kicked at their remains. I tensed, but violent coughing from the Caddy drew our attention. Randy hunched forward, hawked, and spat out a slimy gray wad.

  “Looks like your buddy inhaled this muck.” Vance unclipped the radio from his belt. “I’ll get the paramedics to check him out.”

  “Nah, it’s okay.” I waved off the offer. “My mom’s a nurse at Bryn Mawr hospital. She can check him over.”

  “Oh right, Simone Johnson, and your dad’s a Census Bureau bigwig. Nice people though, even during last year’s nastiness. I guess that’ll be fine.” He let the radio settle back on his hip.

  The “nastiness” had involved witches, magic, and a host of characters the local authorities were oblivious to. In fact, most of the town remained clueless about the existence of magic and the strange creatures tending to infest my world. Quinn and I tended to take it in stride because we each had a magical being for a parent.

  Another coughing fit wracked Randy and ended with more disgusting spit. At the best of times, I never knew what was going on between the drummer’s ears. Explaining away the evening’s events wasn’t going to be easy, but we needed to get him checked out first.

  “We’ll get him straight to my mom,” I promised.

  Quinn sucked in a sharp breath as Vance stooped to pick up one of the larger pieces of debris. He turned the big wedge over in his hands, frowning. It was the head of a water baby.

  2. No Telling

  “D O YOU think Deputy Vance really believes the flood kicked up a random garden statue?” I pitched my voice low while Mom finished checking Randy.

  The drummer sat in a kitchen chair, clutching a bucket between his legs. Mom hovered and thumped his back to coax up more goop. He hardly coughed at all now, which seemed to be a good sign. Quinn and I leaned against the sofa and watched from the next room. A hot shower and change of clothes at my place next door made both of us feel half human again. The thought made me snicker because half was all the more human either of us was.

  “It’s not funny,” Quinn said. “The cops let themselves get fooled all the time. Compared to last year, this one is easy. Most of the remains looked like broken pottery, so instant plausibility. He just kept the head as a curiosity.”

  “Maybe, but Vance is sharp.” I wrung my hands, realized I was just borrowing trouble, and let out an explosive breath. “Nothing to do about it anyway.”

  The real question was why had we been attacked? After six months of quiet normality, the ambush was a shock. Except for my father popping into my dreams and pushing me to practice my spells, things had grown downright mundane. Well…discounting the forest sprite living in my closet.

  It had been so easy to get used to normal. The band’s first album went viral in New Philadelphia and plans for a second shaped up nicely. High demand for the A-Chords kept Quinn busy, but we managed to steal the odd moment for ourselves. As our relationship grew ever more interesting, I wanted to give her a meaningful gift, a token of how much I cared for her.

  This evening’s attack increased the urgency of finishing the ring I was making. If the dark forces had finally tracked me down, they might go after Quinn again, though for wholly different reasons. More than a simple token of esteem, my design would also provide real protection.

  “He’ll live,” Mom declared, interrupting my thoughts.

  She whisked the bucket away and gathered up her medical supplies. Quinn and I stepped into the kitchen. Randy gave me a goofy, open-mouthed smile and thumbs up. He hadn’t showered, but Mom cleaned him up decently while waiting for him to cough up all the muck. He wore an old pair of my jeans and a tee-shirt that no longer fit my broadening shoulders. His stringy blond hair was the worst part, but the dirt played into a nomad look.

  “Think you can play?” Quinn asked. “The club said we can start late. The gig is still a go.”

  “Sure thing,” Randy rasped. Lucky he only occasionally sang backup. “Thanks, Mrs. Easton. You’re the best.”

  “Oh, stop.” Mom actually blushed. “Take these antibiotics every day for the next week. We don’t want an infection or pneumonia setting in.”

  Mom handed him a blister pack of pills, pinched his cheek, and tidied up the supplies strewn across the kitchen table.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I handed the drummer an old jacket I’d snagged, then turned to Quinn. “Why don’t you ride with Randy and keep an eye on him.”

  Quinn was ready to drive solo, but I wanted my car back. If Randy let her drive, the monster Caddy would be a whole new experience. Quinn’s rough childhood aside, it seemed odd she learned to ride a motorcycle but not to drive a car.

  “Drink plenty of water,” Mom called after us. “Go straight to the
hospital if you have any trouble breathing.”

  My worry about the drummer proved unwarranted. I was the one who could barely keep my eyes open during the A-Chord’s first set. The magic left me wanting to sleep for a week, but Quinn and Randy performed like pros. Randy whaled on his drums with wild abandon, sweat and bits of dried mud flying in all directions. After the show, we cornered him in the break room. With the band’s increased notoriety, the Bullfrog’s owner no longer made them stand by the fire exit between sets.

  “So, Randy…” Quinn bit her lip. “What do you think about tonight?”

  “Tonight?” He pulled a chair in front of his spot on the couch, sticks clutched in one hand. He separated them, pointed the right at Quinn, and rapped the left down sharply on the vinyl seat cushion to emphasize each word. “You…were…awesome!”

  A cadence flowed from Randy’s last slap, sticks flying with familiar ease. “The way you plucked the intro for my solo, then faded in as I finished? I’m–” he broke into a cough, scooped up a napkin, and spit. “I’m not crazy about people playing over top of me, but that was genius! Really tight.”

  “She’s talking about the…car trouble?” I clarified.

  Randy stared into the napkin before folding it with a shrug. “That was cool too. Your mom is tops.”

  He might not have seen as much as we feared. I replayed the attack. Randy fell and for the most part was covered in muck. Maybe the warning he shouted when the water babies appeared had just been so I didn’t get washed downhill. Between the dim moonlight and gurgling mud, footing had been treacherous. I let out a sigh of relief, happy we didn’t need to explain ourselves, then frowned as another coughing spasm took hold.

  “Sorry, still cleaning out.” Randy cleared his throat and shifted to a Latin back-beat, using the chair’s metal frame in place of cymbals. “Thanks for fighting off those little alligators and the cat monster. You witches?”

  “No!” Quinn recoiled at the statement, a natural reaction given how cruelly she’d been treated by her mother. “Not witches, just…”

  “Small magics,” I supplied in response to her desperate look. “Just some helpful tricks to handle problems. I know it’s insane.”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” Randy waved his right stick and counted himself in to a new riff with the left and head bobs. “We all gotta groove.”

  Keeping the man’s attention was like herding kittens in a blizzard—white kittens. His lack of curiosity was astounding, but at least it let us off the hook.

  “You won’t tell anyone?” Quinn asked.

  “Nah. I just want you there the next time the beasties come hunting.”

  3. The Gift

  “G IVE IT a rest,” Piper called from her spot by the cold fireplace. “You’re making Max nervous.”

  My sister turned back to her notebook and penned a few more items, pointedly ignoring any response I might have mounted. As big sisters went, Piper was a winner, but her temperament lately had been as fiery as her long red hair. The way she badgered me about my magic made me feel like I was twelve again, instead of eighteen.

  “I’m almost done.”

  I caught the refrain from the rock ballad, hummed under my breath, and turned back to my project. Thin tendrils of power wrapped the thrumming bass line driving the Earth spell. The silver ring vibrated against the dark wood of my dining room table as music and magic coiled around the metal. Honing my skills on something so small was tricky. I started last week with an old silver dollar and a penny, nudging and coaxing the music to realign the metals into their current ringlet. The spiral design around the flat surface was simple, but I hoped the shiny copper highlights made my gift elegant.

  I pushed more music and Earth element into the grooves of each spiral, infusing more salt and tying off the spell. I’d experimented and was reasonably sure the metals and salts wouldn’t start a corrosive reaction. The coppery highlights glistened with the final addition, infusing the ring with protection—at least in theory. The table shook once, twice, a third time as Max’s tail slapped the table leg. He let out a whine, eyebrows shifting in concern.

  “It’s okay, boy.” I grounded the spell and ruffled the massive black head that dropped painfully onto my foot.

  I swear the big doofus groaned. His tail eased back to a more relaxed wag. Some spells upset my half-mastiff, half-lab, half-rhinoceros hound more than others. He especially didn’t care for Earth, but Spirit was a close second. Oddly, Fire casting hardly bothered him at all.

  “He wants you to stop using so many spells,” Piper mumbled without looking up.

  “No, that’s what you want, oh queen of the occult.” I plucked my creation off the table and held it in the sunlight angling low through the bay window. “Think she’ll like it?”

  “All I’m saying is to slow down. Pina agrees something just doesn’t feel right. Even Max can sense it. Plus, you’re obsessed. Do you do anything by hand anymore?” Piper waved her notebook, round face flushing so freckles stood out along the bridge of her pert nose and beneath those dark green-amber eyes. “That ring is a perfect example. You could have just slipped into the ruins and grabbed a nice piece of jewelry. Old Philadelphia is still a treasure trove. Things have been quiet since we got rid of the witch, why push so hard?”

  Jealousy was an ugly emotion I never thought to see in my sister. But I’d tripped up her passion, the one thing she lived for: the supernatural. Piper and I had great adoptive parents, but it thrilled her to learn my birth father was Kokopelli, a Native American god who fell in love with my Hopi birth mother. Magic and fairies were real, and Piper knew all too well there were indeed bad things that went bump in the night.

  Piper probably knew more about magical elements and theory than I did, but she wasn’t descended from a god. Heck, she wasn’t even free of the C-12 virus. She dove into studying everything available, including Pina, the adorable sprite who shared our home and was Kokopelli’s most ardent admirer. Aside from being the embodiment of music and fertility, Kokopelli was a renowned trickster and seducer. He’d single-handedly undertaken the redemption of mankind, so I and a bunch of half-siblings I’d never met could have kids someday—way in the future—helping reverse the population crisis. Piper didn’t get to have children or magic, and the fact colored her green.

  “I need the practice. The witch is gone, but her mistress and other dark things lurk out there. I have to be ready when they find me.” I stopped myself short of throwing accusations and held up the ring. “Will Quinn like it?”

  “I guess.” She huffed. “But couldn’t you start with a barrette or something else that doesn’t scream commitment? A few months ago, she was your mortal enemy.”

  “It’s just a friendship ring.” Though the flat design did make it look like a wedding band. “The witch was my enemy. Quinn just happened to be her daughter. Without Quinn’s help we all would have been owl bait.”

  “Fair enough,” she conceded while still managing to give me a look that said I was the one being unreasonable.

  “I’m gonna go work on the fountain. Last chore for the weekend.”

  “If you see Pina, tell her I have a question.”

  “Sure thing.” I dropped the ring into the coin pocket of my jeans, and Piper returned to her precious manifesto.

  The usually helpful sprite was probably hiding. Pina was as outgoing as she was loyal, but I suspected she’d had enough of being grilled about mystical realms, her powers, and magic in general. It wasn’t unusual for her to disappear for a couple of days to visit with the other forest people or check in on her lord, Kokopelli. But Koko had been in my dreams lately and hadn’t seen the sprite, so I suspected she was just dodging my sister.

  Outside, a chill crept in with sunset. Late spring gave New Philadelphia beautiful days once we were past the threat of ice storms, but the evenings could still get damned cold. Not a problem since our little community had stable power and infrastructure—well, except for the crappy cell service.

>   My job at the radio station helped me see how badly off other areas of the country were. The C-12 epidemic had really done a number on the world population over the past fifty years. The rampant virus sterilized nearly everyone. Numbers in the United States were down where they used to be in the early eighteen hundreds. Three percent were carriers still able to bear children, but couldn’t do it fast enough to stabilize the declining population. Humanity was in a world of trouble.

  It was early enough in the season to look down the cement drive in front of my brick colonial and see a bit of the broken Philadelphia skyline through the trees. As the leaves filled in, our view would disappear and make it easy to imagine we were just a little corner of suburbia instead of the only functioning town for a hundred miles.

  Piper was right to an extent; I was doing as much as I could with my magic. The fountain was a work in progress. I’d used air currents to sweep out the debris and Earth magic to patch the circular wall. The effort uncovered old piping and a hatch to a little equipment locker set in the base of the center pedestal. My best friend, Pete Easton, helped replace the plumbing and even installed a solar-powered pump. Whatever statue spewed water was long gone, so I fashioned a stylized guitar from granite. It was simpler than a trumpet—my own instrument of choice—and looked awesome.

  I filled the basin last night with four inches of water and was surprised to find it had all drained out. There were no wet patches outside the fountain, but the water must have drained out of a handful of odd cracks splitting the bottom nearest the drive. Strange little plants poked through each of the fissures, some diamond shaped with concentric patterns closing to a tight center, others with squiggly arms like mint-green octopuses. The succulents had fat juicy leaves—odd weeds for New Philly. Perhaps some ornamental greenhouse had accompanied the fountain. Cleaning out decades of debris probably let the old seeds sprout.

  I jumped in and pried up the juvenile plants. Reflowing the stone to fill the cracks shouldn’t be too difficult with the right music and a good dose of Earth magic. The fountain was about eight feet across, and it would take a hefty dose of power to feel my way and ensure a proper seal.