Portals Heather

by Leslie Edens Copeland

  But as a mortal, I had some advantages in this world. If I could get free of Bruce, I could simply call my friends for a ride.

  Bruce dragged me down the bus steps. I felt then how sore my legs were. How long had I been dancing? It felt more like three days than one night. I tried to yank away from Bruce, who had my ring off by now. His face had turned a dangerous shade of red.

  "Where have you been?!" he screamed. "We haven't seen you since yesterday morning! I heard noises on the bus. There you finally were, just talking up a storm all to yourself. What the hell is the matter with you, anyway?"

  He popped the ring off and held it close to his eye, admiring the black stone.

  "I've never seen a jewel like this," he said, awed. "I bet it's stolen. No kid could afford this. Unless you're seeing someone older. It ain't that, is it?"

  "Give it back, now!" I said through clenched teeth. "I'm warning you. If you know what's good for you, you'll return that ring!"

  Furiously, I flexed my free hand to pull in spectricity, force him away. Nothing happened. Astonished, I tried again. No spectricity gathered in my hand. Where was it? I felt so empty, so dry and devoid. I couldn't even make the smallest spark.

  "You're on my property, and I'll do what I please!" Bruce yelled. He squeezed my wrist until I yelped. "Sounds like you've got yourself a drug dealer boyfriend. Guy throws a bunch of money around, brings you a fancy ring. Think he's going to protect you? Think again!"

  What ridiculous—! Oh, that was it. I let Bruce have it—not with spectricity. With words.

  "Who's going to protect you?" I shouted. "I know about the body hidden under the bus. You ran Sam off because he found out about it! But it's like you say. I'm weird and I'm getting weirder. You can't hide from me. Whatever you do, wherever you go, I will find you. And now, Emmett will find you too."

  "Who's Emmett? That the guy's name?" Bruce popped my ring into his jeans pocket and twisted my arm, shaking me roughly. I struggled, but my body felt so weak. I was fading by the minute. What was wrong with me?

  "So that fool Sam told you about the wetback body we had to hide out here," Bruce said in an ugly voice. "I knew that little whiner wouldn't keep his mouth shut. But you will. I'm taking this ring. You're going to keep quiet. And if your boyfriend shows up here, he's dead meat."

  I reached again for spectricity, but not a crackle remained. No Emmett, either. Weren't we supposed to protect each other?

  "You won't be telling anybody about that body," Bruce snarled at me.

  Above us, darkness spread across the sky like black ink in clear water. I drew in a breath.

  "Bruce! Give me back my ring. Now!" I said, my voice tightening with fear. Never remove the ring, nor let anyone else remove it . . .

  "What the—?" Bruce had finally looked up. He released me, staring at the black sky above. Not the black of night, but of a deep, dark cavern where no light could penetrate. A thick, wet mist rolled across the desert and filled the junkyard. Soon we could hardly see ten feet away. Bruce peered into the darkness, fidgeting.

  "Must be an eclipse. Never seen a fog roll in so fast like this," he said.

  "It's a warning!" I said.

  "What? That's stupid. This is just a little weird weather," he said.

  "Emmett is an otherworldly spirit. He gave me the ring, and he will not be pleased that you took it. Return it—now!" I shouted.

  A crackle of lightning arced across the sky and struck the bus behind us. Thunder blasted our eardrums. Then a loud creak. We turned to see the school bus door sliding open on its own.

  "I'd do what she says, Bruce," said a disembodied voice. From the bus stepped Emmett in a crumpled black velvet suit, his face as pale as the lightning strike, his hair and eyes dark as the sky above.

  His movements were stiff and rapid, blue crackles rippled across his form, and he hummed with spectricity, supercharged with it. He advanced solemnly toward Bruce.

  Bruce howled with laughter. "This tiny fellow gave you the ring? He's precious. Been hiding on that bus long, junior? Nice Halloween costume."

  I'd never seen Emmett so angry. I sensed great wrath in the blue bolts that traveled across his person and arced out of him. He moved closer, until Bruce inhaled sharply and pointed with one shaking finger at Emmett's changed form.

  Emmett held out skeletal hands, his face withered, the flesh melted away. His head became a skull, his eyes black sockets. Fire burst from his chest, engulfing the corpse boy in flames.

  Bruce backed up, bumping me to the side, as the fire expanded, and Emmett became a human flame ball. A deep voice from within said, "Release the Ring of Esperance unto my protégée, or I will visit your house with destruction!"

  "I say you've made some deal with the devil. Have the idiot thing, then!" said Bruce, his voice quaking. He held the ring out to me with his unsteady hand.

  "You can't put it back. Emmett and I have to do it together!" I took the ring. I can't explain how I knew what to do. I only knew I had to get to him.

  I walked straight at the searing flames of the fireball that held Emmett within. Closer and closer I walked, the heat blasting my face and singeing my hair, but I kept going. I held my hand before my face, took a deep breath, and walked into the fireball.

  The raging heat vanished. Safe inside the fireball's aura, I held the ring before me. Emmett, levitating in his death form, touched the ring, and a charge rippled down his arm and passed into me. I once again sang with spectricity, my exhaustion gone. Together we placed the ring on my finger, our energies in sync, as one. Something pure had aligned between us and all was right with the worlds.

  We clutched hands, the surrounding flames dying down to embers, and Emmett's flesh returned. He manifested once again as a pale young man in a dark, ragged suit. I linked arms with him and led him past Bruce, who sprawled on the sand, his face frozen in horror.

  Emmett's mind hummed in sync with mine, an open book to me. Like with Sam, we didn't need to speak in this moment. But Emmett's thoughts were ornate—elegant and strange, so unlike Sam's abrupt messages.

  In a high voice, I said, "Bruce, you must never take the ring again. This is Emmett. He's too furious to speak right now. He might accidentally kill you in his fury. I'm speaking for him."

  Bruce croaked and stammered. My feet felt so light . . . and then I realized Emmett and I were floating ever so slightly above the ground.

  "Promise him you won't remove the ring," I said.

  "Oh, Lord Almighty." Bruce shook violently. "I promise I won't remove the ring! Please, please, leave me alone!"

  Emmett stretched forth his hand to touch Bruce's forehead. When he drew his hand back, a mark stayed behind.

  Then Emmett dematerialized from my grasp. His ghostly form passed through me, burning and searing, all heat and fire. He swept upward, drawing the darkness and mist away, leaving behind a few smoking embers and a normal, sunny day.

  ***

  I leaned over my stepfather, inspecting the mark on his forehead. He lay in his lounge chair, rolling his eyes and whimpering.

  "It's not that noticeable. Looks like a scar," I said.

  "What is it? What's it mean?" he whined.

  I considered. "It's the letter E. For Emmett, I assume. He branded you for what you did. I think you're lucky to get off with only this."

  "Oh gawd," said Bruce, staring at himself in a tiny mirror. "This is awful!" He struggled up and grabbed a six-pack of beer from his cooler. He held one out to me, anxiously, as if it might placate me. I pushed it back at him. "I'm fifteen, remember?"

  "Oh—right." Bruce took a giant gulp of beer. His eyes shifted around at every sound and movement. "That Emmett, that thing—will it be back?"

  "He will if you mess with me," I said, smirking. I was fibbing a little. I was pretty sure only one thing would produce the torrent of fury and retribution we had just seen: taking off the Ring of Esperance.

  Bruce turned white and took an extra-long gulp of beer, then threw away the can. "Heather
, I been meaning to find out if you want to go live with your brother. He called me up this morning asking for you." Bruce lowered his eyes.

  I glared down at Bruce. My hands buzzed in my anger. After Emmett terrified Bruce, I'd decided it wasn't for me to punish the man. Now, I was reconsidering.

  "This is the first I heard from him, since I . . . since he run off. We was going to move that body, give it a proper burial. Sam saw us digging it up. He got scared. Heather, I didn't mean no harm. Sam run off on his own." Bruce's eyes looked red, almost teary. "I know I done wrong to hide that man's body, but he was a wetback. Nobody knew where he came from, and it was a huge embarrassment to the city that he got hired to drive a school bus. People, real Americans, could have lost their jobs over a mistake like that! Now, if you and your brother decide to tell about this, I'll have to take what's coming to me. But please, for the love of all that's holy, don't let that thing come here no more!"

  "You're lying," I said. "You tried to shoot Sam! And you were helping Ted Bells to hide what he did. He killed Valente, and you knew about it!" I seethed. To Bruce, Valente de los Santos was only an embarrassment to be hidden away. And the city agreed. They didn't want to acknowledge Valente's existence, never mind his bravery and sacrifice.

  Spectricity tingled my fingers. I'd gotten all worked up, tears blurring my eyesight, and if I didn't watch it, I'd be putting marks on Bruce soon, too. I lowered my palms. It was not for me to punish Bruce. The man was his own worst enemy.

  Bruce reddened at my words. "I wouldn't shoot your brother," he insisted. "Sam got confused. And that man Valente was a drug runner. His gang attacked him in broad daylight. He put those children in danger himself—working for the city. He was a liar, and an illegal, and he deserved what he got! Stealing our jobs . . ." Bruce growled something indiscernible.

  "Lies!" I roared. "I saw what happened to Sam. Bruce, you think everyone's a drug runner. And what's wrong with him working? If he wasn't working, you'd say he was lazy and worthless."

  "That's right." Bruce frowned until the E on his forehead furrowed. "And he had to be a drug runner. He was a Mexican. And he was taking our jobs!"

  I groaned. Why was I even talking to him? "Bruce, you make less than no sense," I said. "Are you going to call Sam or should I do it?"

  "If you leave, that thing won't come back?" Bruce's eyes darted around, watching for Emmett in every corner. I grinned. It was fun to be in charge, for once.

  "I can never be sure Emmett won't show up. He could be here right now. He comes and goes as he pleases, but he will always come for me. Emmett and I have a bond." As the words left my mouth, a warm feeling spread through me, centered around my heart. In a life full of uncertainties, I could be sure of Emmett. He would be around.

  So I said, "If you don't want him setting this whole place on fire—or worse—I suggest you be extra nice to me and my friends. Okay?"

  Bruce nodded, popped another beer loose from the six-pack, and knocked it back in three big gulps. He fished around for his cell phone, muffling a belch.

  All he said was, "I'm calling your brother."

  Chapter Eight

  The Origami Invocation

  Five minutes after Bruce called, an ancient black truck rolled into the driveway and Sam jumped out.

  "Sam!" I shouted. I ran to my brother. How did he get here so quickly?

  He looked at me with sad green eyes. "Why'd you come back here? You can't handle this on your own!"

  "Hey! You have no idea what I've been through!" I said.

  "I do know, Heather. I have foreseen it," said Sam, eyebrows arched in arrogance.

  Sam could be so infuriating! I glared up at him. The truck door creaked behind us. The Paranormals—Trenton, Oskar, Lily—crawled from the truck and stood there awkwardly.

  "What are you all doing here?" I asked.

  Trenton held up his hand. "Sam says we're needed here right now."

  "Isn't that Arturo's truck?" I asked. The same flames graced the fenders, and the grill resembled Dracula's teeth—pretty unforgettable.

  "Yeah, it's on loan," said Sam. "Come on. We're getting you out of here."

  "Fine by me," I said. I shivered with anticipation. Finally! I was getting out of this junk pile!

  We all trooped up to the double-wide door, where Bruce stood staring. Sam lurched at Bruce with a sneer, but Bruce backed off, holding up his hands in surrender.

  "Get your stuff," said Sam to me. He looked haggard, his face sporting dark circles under the eyes. Like he hadn't slept well for a week. Visions getting to him again.

  "Not that much to get," I said. I trotted to the teardrop to scoop up my things anyway—my notebook and a black garbage bag full of books and clothes. Sam was waiting, his arms crossed, when I returned. When Bruce came closer, Sam bristled.

  "You better back off, man. I don't need to start anything with you today," said Sam.

  "No—no problem there. You'll get no problem from me!" said Bruce, holding up his hands again.

  Sam scowled at my garbage bag. "That's it, huh? This bastard never provided for me, neither. But it's time to say good-bye to all that."

  We walked onto the porch of the double-wide together. I took a final glance at the junkyard: the teardrop trailer and the old school bus, the corridors dividing the junk piles. What if I never saw it again?

  I hugged Sam's arm. That would be fine with me.

  I whistled for Sybil, who burst out of the cracked bus window and flew at us. Then I saw the second bat-Chi, flying after Sybil.

  "That's weird," I said, as flying dogs flapped around my face, giving me licks. "Emmett left Elvira behind. I guess he forgot. Hmmm. Doesn't sound like Emmett."

  "Doesn't sound like Emmett at all!" Sam laughed, letting the bat-Chi's sniff at his jacket.

  Tossing my bag into the truck, I pocketed my notebook. Sybil sat on the edge of the truck bed, panting at me. A flash of white drew my attention—something was attached to her collar by ingenious folding.

  "Is that origami?" asked Trenton as I unfolded it. Spectral script skittered across the paper. A touch of the decryption wheel, and the words . . . the words stopped me cold.

  "Everybody back in the double-wide. Now!" I said.

  Sam jumped. I'd forgotten how easily he picked up my thoughts. "She means it. Back! Now!" He rushed us to the porch steps.

  "Let me see it!" whispered Trenton, who could not control his curiosity under any circumstances.

  "Shhh! Not now!" I said.

  We all piled into the cramped family room, and Sam drew the blinds on the large window that overlooked the junkyard. I tended to the smaller windows.

  "What? Did you forget something?" Bruce shouted in his anxiousness to get us out of his house for good. He lurched back in fear when the two bat-Chi's shot past him. I whistled to them and made them sit.

  "Something's come up—something dangerous. Be very quiet," said Sam. For once, Bruce cowered under Sam's gaze, only his eyes moving around the room, fearful of ghosts.

  It took five minutes of nail-biting and eye-popping, but Trenton suddenly realized he could write his questions out. He flung a paper napkin at me that read, "What's going on?!!! What are we hiding from????!!! Who wrote that note???!!!! Why are they so good at origami??!!!!!!!!!"

  He would have continued, but I snatched the napkin before he could add another exclamation point. I whispered, "There's a bad presence in this junkyard. It has Emmett." I showed Trenton the note, with Emmett's spidery handwriting.

  Dire circumstances! Malevolent one has entrapped me in the school bus! Please, please, my little protégée, hold a séance. If you summon me, I must preside. —E

  The Paranormals passed the note around, watching me with big eyes. Sam held his head, trying to sense something, anything. Bruce sat down hard, his hand moving to the mark on his brow.

  "Okay," said Sam with authority. "I can't sense one damn thing. But I did get a vision earlier. It told me we are all needed here, so be brave, and whatever you do
, stick together."

  I peered out at the old bus. The windows were blacked out with filth or smoke or . . . evil.

  "Before I obey this . . . origami invocation, I need a view into that bus. Search the closets for something clear I can use. Since Sam can't see—I'm going to try to make a crystal ball." I figured if I was any kind of medium, I could use it.

  Sam growled. The Paranormals scattered to the bedrooms, probing under beds and digging into closets.

  "Whatever it is over there, it's blocking me," said Sam.

  "We'll soon find out," I said. When I tried to focus on the bus, I felt a tangled clot of horror that gave me vertigo and pain behind my temples. I put my hand on Sam's arm, until he met my gaze. Relief coursed through me. He'd never shied away from my eyes. A lot had changed, but our connection remained. I sent my thoughts to him.

  —Emmett told me you're an infallible seer. That's incredible power, Sam.

  But Sam's mouth turned down in a sneer.

  —Says the girl who can join worlds. I don't want to talk about it.

  He shut down, leaving me bewildered.

  "Heather! Try this!" Trenton plopped a round, heavy bag before us. We unzipped it, revealing a clear, plastic orb about the size of a human head.

  "Perfect," I said.

  "That's my bowling ball," whined Bruce.

  We encircled it, gazing in.

  "It needs an incantation," I said. I bowed my head, placing my hands on the clear sphere. Words, out of nothing, trickled into my mind. Like writing in my journal. I recited them over the orb, quickly, before I could forget.

  "One chant crosses two worlds,

  Between darkness and the Dead Sea,

  Into a junkyard school bus,

  Paranormals wish to see!"

  Faint shapes moved within the bowling ball, resolving into Emmett's black-and-white form, and that of a much older gentleman. Inhumanly tall and skeletal, he hovered in shadow.

  "It can't be! The Bellum!" I said. "He's back! I so hoped I defeated him."

  "Guess you didn't defeat him enough," said Sam.

  "Maybe the All really is the only being who can do it," I said.

  Up from the orb drifted sounds of their conversing.