Tamora Carter

by Jim Hines

  “I’m lucky too.” Tamora opened the lemonade and took a drink. “Mrs. Stewart, would you mind if I looked in Andre’s room?”

  Mrs. Stewart straightened, and her lips tightened.

  “Andre had been making a video for me,” she said. “A collection of some gaming walkthroughs he’d done. He said I was hopeless at Mario. He’s right. But mostly I just want to hear his voice.”

  “Of course, sweetheart. The police took his laptop and disks, but they brought everything back once they were done.”

  Her kindness made Tamora feel worse for lying. She drank the rest of the lemonade and turned away so Mrs. Stewart wouldn’t see the guilt in her eyes.

  Andre’s bedroom was near the back of the house. Across the hall, his other sister Stacy blasted a Beyoncé song from the room she shared with Beth-Ann.

  Mrs. Stewart opened Andre’s door and stood in the hallway, like she couldn’t bring herself to cross that threshold. “The police made a bit of a mess. We tried to put everything back how it was, for when he comes home. Take all the time you need.”

  Tamora swallowed and stepped into her friend’s room. Black smears covered the window frame where the police had taken fingerprints. Andre had gone out that very window, knocking the screen into the grass below.

  It was a small room, maybe two-thirds the size of Tamora’s. Andre’s bed was a futon couch with blankets strewn over the mattress. During the day, the couch was his spot for playing on his laptop or gaming console. He’d spent last summer mowing lawns so he could afford the small flat-screen TV on the wall.

  If everything was as it was when he’d left, it meant he’d never pulled the futon out into a bed. He’d probably stayed up that night, gaming.

  Against one wall, Andre and his dad had wired plastic milk crates together to create brightly-colored floor-to-ceiling shelves. Some held action figures, others comics and magazines. Many were stuffed with games and instructions and empty cases.

  The Dragon’s War IV case sat empty on the floor beside his gaming console. She switched on the television and powered up the game.

  Tamora had played the first three incarnations of Dragon’s War with Andre, though she wasn’t as good. She knew the gameplay, the history, and the music. The soundtrack that played through the startup menus was similar to what she’d heard before. Similar, but also off. The familiar rising trumpets led into the thunder of drums, with strings playing a foreboding melody.

  Beneath it all was a second, quieter tune, this one played on the flute or pipes. This was a simpler melody, in a slightly different key.

  She picked up the remote and increased the volume without thinking. Hoofbeats thundered past. The ground thrummed beneath her, the broken beat vibrating through her body, through her bones.

  The menu screen appeared. The music looped smoothly back to the beginning and pulled her deeper. Her muscles felt warm and pleasantly heavy, like she’d been skating in the sun all morning. Her thoughts were like cotton candy, wispy and fragile.

  The remote slipped from her fingers. She didn’t move. A series of heroic figures in outlandish armor paraded across the screen, inviting her to join them in battle.

  Tamora settled back in the futon. Her body melted into the cushions. For the first time in weeks, she was relaxed.

  Relaxed, but not content. As the music continued, a hollow ache grew within her chest. Emptiness and yearning. She blinked, her eyelids heavy and slow, and watched the characters on the screen. Warriors setting forth to prove themselves. Like Andre.

  She twisted her gaze from the screen. Her arms had fallen asleep. Numb, tingling fingers fumbled for the remote, eventually finding the mute button.

  The music ended with a jolt, like the time she’d grabbed the TV power cord after Appa had been chewing on it. Her lips and mouth were dry, her thoughts murky.

  Great thinking, Carter. A magic song that cursed Andre and trapped him in another world? I know, let’s sit down and listen to it! What’s wrong with you? Get your brain in the game.

  She turned off the television, sat back on the futon, and hugged herself. There was no desire to run off, no compulsion luring her to the willow tree in Karina Lord’s backyard.

  According to the alarm clock on the shelves, she’d been up here for forty minutes.

  Her hand shook as she ejected the disk. This wasn’t an official game disk. Scrawled in Andre’s handwriting were the words Dragon’s War IV Expansion Pack. The magic wasn’t in the game itself, but the expansion Andre had downloaded.

  Had Kevin and Lizzy received similar songs, either through a video game or other methods? She sent a quick text to Karina.

  Tamora: Was Kevin listening to music the night he disappeared?

  She checked the clock again and frowned. Mrs. Stewart had obviously wanted to give Tamora privacy, but she wouldn’t have left her alone this long without checking in. She stood and grimaced at the tightness in her limbs.

  “I found the video,” she called out. Nobody answered.

  Her feet made no sound as she crept to the door and cracked it open. Stacy’s music had stopped. The whole house was silent.

  Had the Dragon’s War soundtrack affected the rest of Andre’s family somehow? She’d kept the door closed. They shouldn’t have heard it…which meant something else had happened. If someone had followed her…if she’d led them right to Andre’s family…

  She glanced over her shoulder, searching Andre’s shelves for anything she could use as a weapon. Why couldn’t he have played hockey? Or baseball. Even golf. But the only sports Andre played were virtual.

  She yanked open Andre’s dresser drawers, grabbing all the sweatshirts she could find and pulling them on one after another. It wasn’t armor, but the thick padding was better than nothing.

  A small black tool case sat on the floor behind Andre’s laptop. Those were the tools he used for messing with computers. She unzipped the case and grabbed the two largest screwdrivers. Gripping them like plastic-handled daggers, she returned to the door. “Who’s out there?”

  When nobody answered, she put one screwdriver between her teeth and checked her phone. Nothing from Karina. She started a new message, this one to her father. Her thumb hovered over the screen. If she said she was in trouble, he’d come get her, no questions asked.

  But she didn’t know what had happened to the Stewarts. What if the same thing happened to Dad? Even if she tried to warn him, he wouldn’t believe her. Goblins and magic and cursed video game soundtracks? She swallowed and returned the phone to her pocket.

  The window behind her beckoned. It would be easy to sneak out the same way Andre had. But she couldn’t leave Andre’s family. She opened the door again and readied her screwdrivers. The instant she stepped out, a sound like a bumblebee with a megaphone made her spin to the left. Something shot at her from the corner of the floor.

  Tamora yanked her arm up instinctively. A small dart buried itself in the sleeves of her borrowed sweatshirts. She threw one of the screwdrivers at the shadows where the dart had come from.

  A figure a foot and a half tall sprang into the air, hovering on buzzing wings that blurred into arcs of gray. Like the goblins, this creature appeared to have scavenged for clothes on this world, but where the goblins had settled for garbage, this thing had gone a different route.

  He—Tamora was pretty sure it was male—had crafted armor from an old Coke can, cutting and shaping pieces of aluminum into a red and white breastplate and leg guards. The can’s silver bottom formed a round shield on his forearm. He held a small bow in his shield hand. A quiver of tiny arrows hung from his belt, along with several knives.

  He flew away before Tamora could do anything more. She hurried across the hall and opened the door to Andre’s sisters’ room. Stacy lay unconscious in a pink beanbag chair.

  Another of the creatures flew up from atop the dresser. This one looked like he’d been getting into Beth-Ann’s makeup. Gold eye shadow masked his face. He was armored in a dirty Orange Fanta can. He
’d cut the orange slice from the back of the can and turned it into a little crown.

  He flung a bottle of nail polish at Tamora’s face, then raised his bow. Tamora dodged behind the door and heard an arrow thud into it.

  Tamora yanked the door open, lowered her body, and charged. Another arrow hummed over her head. She hit the dresser with a hard J-block. In roller derby, the move could knock a larger skater to the ground. Against Beth-Ann’s bedroom furniture, it created an avalanche of makeup, hair products, deodorant, empty drinking glasses, and dirty clothes.

  With a whoop of manic laughter, Fanta flew between Tamora’s legs and disappeared into the hall.

  Tamora slammed the door and dragged a chair over to wedge it shut, then turned to check on Stacy. She was still breathing. A tiny arrow jutted from her neck.

  Tamora tugged the arrow free. A drop of blood dripped down the side of Stacy’s neck. The wound was no worse than a wasp sting, but Stacy didn’t wake up. Was the arrow enchanted? Please don’t let them be poisoned.

  “Stacy?” She grabbed Stacy’s shoulder and shook gently. “Can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  Tamora returned to the door. “You out there with the wings. Do you speak English?”

  “What’s an Eng, and why would we be speaking their language? We speak Pixish, human!”

  Whatever. “What did you do to my friends? If they’re hurt—”

  “Ye’ll what? Hide behind a door and shout at us?” Fanta laughed again.

  “You’re helping the elves, is that it? You’re here to kill me for finding the portal?”

  “Elves?” screeched Fanta. “Those stuck-up, uptight, traitorous, smelly, yellow-bellied, dung-brained—”

  Tamora stepped past Stacy to the window. She could climb down into the side yard and circle around.

  “—arrogant, tree-kissing, gluttonous, sanctimonious—”

  She tugged the pegs holding the screen in place, pulled it free, and set it on the floor.

  “—ill-bred, dismal-clacking, gammorous, sheep-prattening, gairn-spozzled—”

  There were no pix within view. Tamora swung her legs through the open window. “Those aren’t even real words!”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever been spozzled by a gairn!”

  Tamora dropped to the grass, leaving the pix’s insults behind. Keeping close to the wall, she crept toward the front of the house and peeked around the corner. She spotted a pix perched on the porch light, clad in the green and yellow armor of a Vernors can.

  They’d propped open the screen door with a stick. Vernors was the first pix still enough for Tamora to get a good look. It had two sets of wings, like an oversized dragonfly. Its armor was the same shape as the others, but the narrow, more oval-shaped face made Tamora think of this one as female. Though for all she knew, that could be completely backwards, or maybe pix didn’t have gender. Or maybe they were like insects, and these were all drones or workers. They certainly had the stingers.

  They could probably fly faster than she could run, and sooner or later one of their arrows would pierce her sweatshirts or strike her unprotected face or hands.

  “Sometimes the best defense is a good offense,” Thorne always told them during roller derby practice. “The best offense is also a good offense.”

  Tamora crawled toward the garden hose coiled next to the porch, using the flowers and shrubs for cover. She stretched out a hand and tugged the hose toward her. Mrs. Stewart was always watering her flowers, and she had one of those fancy nozzles with all the different settings. Tamora just hoped she’d left the water turned on.

  An arrow jabbed the shoulder of her sweatshirts. Vernors swooped from the porch light. “The human’s outside!”

  Tamora aimed the hose and squeezed. A gentle mist clouded the air in front of her.

  The pix cocked her head, then fitted another arrow to her bow. “Drop it, or I put the next one in your eye.”

  Tamora changed the nozzle from “Mist” to “Soaker.”

  A blast of water tore the weapons from Vernors’ hands. The pix flipped backward in mid-air and dropped onto the porch, sounding like a discarded pop can.

  “Archers, to the roof!” That was the first pix who’d tried to shoot her, the one in the Coke can. He appeared to be in charge. Captain Coke, then. He and a handful of other pix flew up to take cover in the gutters.

  Tamora unwound the hose, trying to get some distance from the house. Vernors was pushing herself to her feet and shaking the water from her wings. Tamora hit her with another blast of water, sending her spinning across the porch, then twisted to blast the pix on the gutter.

  “Stand and fight, ye overgrown, elf-cursed, dirt-bound demoness!” Fanta burst through the front door and charged, shooting wildly.

  “Get back,” yelled Captain Coke. “She’s got—”

  Tamora sprayed Fanta hard enough to bounce the pix off the siding. He dropped into the petunias.

  “—whatever that thing is,” Coke finished wearily.

  “I’m not elf-cursed,” Tamora yelled, pointing the hose toward the roof. One of the pix loosed an arrow, but the spray knocked it out of the air.

  Captain Coke gave a sharp whistle. “Ye don’t understand, lass. There’s a cursed tune, one that’ll—”

  “Help the elves control me,” Tamora finished. “Just like they did with the other three humans.”

  “The first tune softens the thoughts, allowing the second to take root and enslave their minds.” Coke shouldered his bow and stood. “How d’you know about that?”

  “I found the portal,” said Tamora. “I came here to learn how the elves were controlling my friend Andre. I want to set him and the others free and bring them home.”

  Captain Coke flew down to land on the porch railing. His bare arms revealed a yellow tattoo of what looked like six-legged badgers fighting over a blue potato. His eyes were black like marbles, with no whites or irises.

  “You’re saying the humans in this house aren’t in league with the elves?” he asked. “They weren’t trying to enchant you?”

  “No!”

  “She’s not acting enspelled,” said Vernors, shaking water from her wings. “I’m for shooting her anyway. Better safe, eh?”

  Tamora’s wet fingers tightened on the nozzle.

  “Ye caught me by surprise once, human,” snarled Vernors. “Don’t think it’ll happen twice.”

  “We didn’t follow her all this way to shoot her if we don’t have to,” said Coke. “And I’m not seeing any elves to play the second part of the spell.”

  “You followed me?”

  “Aye,” said Coke. “Assuming you’re the one the blue-skin calls Queen Tamora.”

  “That’s right.” Tamora took a step back. “What’s your name?”

  “Names are power. I’m not fool enough to give mine to a human.” He chuckled to himself. “Queen of the goblins, is it? Don’t let it go to your head. It’s more of an honorary title, only without the honor. Last week, they tried to make a garbage truck their king.”

  “Are the goblins all right?”

  “As all right as the foul-smelling beasties get.” That was Fanta. The water had poofed his hair into spikes, like a black dandelion. It had also cut streaks through the glittering makeup on his face. “You know, most folks aspire to something better than ruling over a bunch of mud-crawling, backstabbing, trash-eating goblins.”

  Before Tamora could respond, a familiar figure in an equally familiar purple and sequined T-shirt crawled out from beneath the porch. “Maybe we should eat stupid pix!”

  “Gulk?” Tamora laughed with relief.

  More goblins emerged from various hiding spots. One from beneath Mrs. Stewart’s SUV in the driveway; another from inside the trash can next to the garage. Pukwuk peeked around the front door. She clutched a long bread knife in one hand, stolen from the Stewarts’ kitchen.

  “How did you get here?” Tamora asked.

  Captain Coke snorted. “Carried ’em.�
�� To her expression of disbelief, he added, “Pix are stronger than we look. Four of us working together can haul a full-grown buck back to the village. Gulk showed up glubbering. Said Queen Tamora had found the portal. That means the elves will be working to do away with you. We’ve been keeping tabs on you since early this morn. When we heard that cursed tune, we figured they’d gotten their magical claws into you.”

  “I’m all right,” said Tamora. “The Stewarts have nothing to do with any of this. The only danger to me right now is you.”

  “That’s not exactly correct.”

  The voice came from inside her head, like she’d jammed her earbuds in so deep they touched her skull. From the way the other pix and goblins were looking around, they’d heard it too.

  Vernors scowled and readied her bow. Fanta let out a war whoop that sounded like the song of a drunken canary.

  “Looks like we weren’t the only one to follow you, lass.” Captain Coke adjusted his shield and grabbed an arrow from the quiver at his hip.

  “Don’t be frightened,” the voice said. “I don’t plan to kill all of you. Just…most of you.”

  “Oh, dung,” whispered Pukwuk. “Don’t eat goblins! Eat humans and pix instead”

  “Thanks a lot.” Tamora squirted the hose at her. Pukwuk didn’t even notice. She and the other goblins backed away, their eyes wide.

  “What is it?” asked Tamora.

  Captain Coke whistled. The other pix took to the air. “That, lass, is a dragon.”

  Chapter 10: Honey Badger vs. Dragon!

  A low rumble rolled from the street through the yard.

  “I’ve come for the human and the escaped goblins and pix. The first to tell me where they’ve taken refuge will live. The rest…will not.” There was an oily tone to the dragon’s words that reminded Tamora of a bully playing nice in front of the teachers.

  “I’ve waited my whole life to bag myself a dragon,” crowed Fanta, slashing a toothpick-sized sword through the air. “I call dibs on the beast’s treasure!”

  “You’ve all the tactical sense of a goblin,” said Vernors.