by Obert Skye
More and more students packed the hall, all of them trying to catch a glimpse of those who had picked on them now picking on each other.
“I can’t stop,” Jonas cried.
“My face hurts,” Adam cried back.
Someone had alerted the police officer out front and he had come running. The crowd of onlookers parted, and the officer dashed in. Just before he reached Adam and Jonas, they stopped punching each other and spun around to look at the cop.
Both boys were bruised, scratched, and sobbing.
“What’s going on here?” the officer demanded. “You two better have a good explanation for what—”
Instead of giving the cop his attention, a sobbing Adam reached out to the nearby wall and pulled the fire alarm.
The entire gathering gasped.
The policeman grabbed Adam’s arm and took hold of Jonas as the alarm created a new sense of panic throughout the school. Everyone began loudly running to the exits.
Sigi glanced at Ozzy with a look of amazement.
“You’ve gotten way better at that.”
“It makes my brain hurt.”
“I’d feel bad for you if the result wasn’t worth it.”
“Should we go?” Ozzy asked. “I want to break in my new pants.”
Mixing with the crowd of students and teachers, Ozzy and Sigi worked their way out the front doors and easily slipped into the trees and away from the noise and confusion.
The hills near Corvallis, Oregon, were slathered in a fat blob of mist and fog—one big body of gray that dressed the landscape in a drab and dreary outfit. No birds were singing, no brooks babbled, but there was some movement. Near a tall hill with few trees, the fog, in a very unfoglike manner, began to pull itself apart, opening a rift that widened until a wizard stepped out.
Rin’s presence divided the haze into two separate but unequal parts. A strong string of wind pushed through the divide and opened the view even further. The short yellow robe Rin wore was tied closed, making his torso look bulky. The gray felt hat on his head was wilted, the tall point hanging limply over the right side of his face. His appearance suggested that he had been through something rough, but he walked through the trees like a man with more confidence than his looks warranted.
Rin stopped and stood in the open space between the two large sections of fog. He was on the side of a long slope. His brown eyes gazed down at the small bits of landscape he could make out. Below the fog he saw the edge of civilization—houses, roads, vehicles, and movement.
The wizard took a deep breath and took out his list. He studied what was written on it and then put it back into the pocket of his robe. He pulled open the front of his robe a bit and spoke down into his chest.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” Clark said, “but I’d be better if you weren’t so sweaty.”
Rin walked down the hill, around a few trees, and past numerous stones that jutted up from grassy soil and wet ground.
“Reality feels funny under my feet. Much squishier than Quarfelt.”
Before long, the wizard arrived at the edge of an asphalt-covered road. Rin turned north and hiked into town, directly to the address he had written on his forearm.
“Remember,” Rin said, whispering into his robe, “don’t come out.”
“Seems like such a waste,” Clark tweeted.
“This group wouldn’t know how to handle it.”
When he reached 811 Fieldstone Drive, Rin stood on the street and stared at the small, boxy church at that address.
A thin woman with bony shoulders and arms was in front of the church pulling weeds from the cracked sidewalk. She was perched on a small wagon that she shuffled back and forth with her feet to reach various spots of growth.
“Doesn’t look very magical,” Rin complained.
“Excuse me?” the woman asked.
“The building,” he clarified. “It doesn’t look very magical.”
“You must be part of the group that’s already arrived,” the woman said with disdain. “I don’t know what you all are, but I trust you’ll not disturb anything.”
“I try very hard not to be a disturbance,” Rin said with a smile. “If things get out of line, I am always the first to scold myself.”
The woman stared at Rin with a look of painful bewilderment. “I don’t understand society,” she confessed.
“And I’m bad at math,” Rin said.
The wizard walked past the woman, entered the ugly building, and found the community room at the back end of the church. As he stepped into the space, he was happy to see that everyone had already arrived. There were four people—two women and two men—sitting on five folding chairs that were placed around an oval table. A large man with wild eyebrows (and a behind that required the use of two chairs) waved Rin in.
“Just like a wizard to be late,” one of the women pointed out.
“I’d say sorry,” Rin said with a smile, “but the trip I just took wasn’t easy—and wizards don’t need to apologize. On occasion we have been known to explain, but we never apologize.”
Rin took a seat on an empty folding chair.
“You looked chewed up,” the large man who was taking up two chairs commented. “And a bit soft in the middle.”
It was a pointless comment; Rin was chewed up and worn out. He also had a bird shoved down the front of his robe. Still, he sat like he had a fused spine—straight up, rigid, and focused. He let his brown eyes move around the oval table and get a good look at all of those gathered.
Rin smiled.
The weed-pulling woman out front had no idea what the community room in her church now held. Rin and the others were the Perennial Five, a powerful group of magical beings unnoticed by most of reality. Or if reality was aware, it didn’t take them seriously. There were five members in all: two wizards, Rin and Bill; two witches, Flora the Older and Gemi the Younger; and one alchemist, Jayson. They were called the Perennial Five because they were eternal . . . and there were five of them.
They had joined together a year before because they wanted to be a part of something bigger than themselves—though to be honest, it would be hard for anyone to get much bigger than Bill. They had had no regular meetings or much communication, but now they were gathered around an oval table and Jayson was calling the meeting to order.
Rin nodded, cleared his throat, and smiled. He took off his gray hat and put it on top of the oval table. Without his hat it was easy to see Rin’s full head of long, dark hair. His beard was equally long but growing in the opposite direction. Both his beard and hair were salted with bits of gray. He was wearing a black T-shirt beneath his robe, and he had on green crushed-velvet bellbottom trousers. The other members of the Perennial Five stared at him, waiting for him to say something.
“Thanks for coming,” Rin finally said.
“How could we not come?” Flora, the older witch, said. “You made it sound urgent.” Flora was wearing a black beret and black turtleneck, both covered in cat hair. She was older than Rin by ten years, but her thick dark hair didn’t show a strand of gray. Her trousers were rust-colored corduroy and her black shoes were more rounded at the toes than most traditional witches would dare wear. Flora sat on her folding chair, her knees together and her palms on the table. “Your message said the fate of the world depended upon us gathering.”
“It does,” Rin replied, almost proudly.
“Well, then, get on with it,” Flora said. “I’ve got things brewing that I need to check on.”
“And why are we meeting here?” Gemi asked with concern. “In this place?” The younger of the two witches was thirty, but she didn’t look an hour over twenty-one. She had red hair and blue eyes and skin the color of buttermilk. Her magical specialty was putting curses on things and people. Gemi wore a one-piece jumpsuit that was purple on top and silver at the b
ottom. The outfit looked like something any mechanic with a sense of pride or fashion would refuse to wear. “I mean, why here? This building is so blah.”
“It was cheap,” Rin explained, “and available.”
All five members of the Perennial Five had magical and interesting pasts. Each one of them had stories about impressive and imaginative places they had seen or been to. But they were in reality now and reduced to meeting in the community room of a boxy-looking church. Some churches are a joy to look at, but this one wasn’t. It wasn’t the kind of building that inspired others to be better, it was a church built in the 1970s with little budget for an architect with imagination—or for quality building materials. There were no stained-glass windows or spires. Just single-pane windows that let in a harsh, yellow light which exposed the fact that the janitor didn’t like to dust. The church rented out the community room to anyone who was willing to pay and promised to not make a mess.
“Aye,” Bill moaned, “this room lacks personality.”
“And we’ve only paid for a half hour,” Rin reminded them.
“Fer a half hour, you say?” Bill was an incredibly large man whom most people seemed to love. Not only was he a wizard, but his size and personality drew people to him. He was close to Rin’s age—somewhere between forty-five and fifty—but he insisted he was well over three hundred years old in wizard time. He had a patchy gray beard and blotchy skin that looked rubbery and in need of smoothing out. The features on his face were almost lost in his putty-like cheeks and chin, but with a bit of staring, people could make out a kind smile, a wide nose, and a single right eye the color of lavender. Since few scales were large enough to weigh him, it was difficult to know just how much Bill weighed, but on a scale of small to large, he was enormous. His legs resembled water drums, his arms pickle barrels, and his stomach an over-inflated blimp. The T-shirt he was wearing was so tight that the printed image of a smiley emoji on the front of it was stretched beyond recognition. His trousers were tweed and fit perfectly. Despite his size, Bill was remarkably agile and quick. He wore an eye patch over his left eye even though both eyes worked perfectly, and he spoke like a pirate who was attempting to master an English accent for his role in a community theater’s take on My Fair Pirate.
“Coursing, if we run out of time in this room,” Bill added, “we can always gather in the back galley of Arby’s. There’s a right nice one just down the street.”
Everyone but Bill shook their heads.
“What?” Bill asked with confusion.
They all knew there was an Arby’s down the street. They also knew that Arby’s offered no breakfast items, and magical beings were drawn to the food of the a.m.
“Ahhh,” Bill groaned. “So, they don’t have ye breakfast. Maybe we can get them to make a hash out of some curly fries.”
Jayson the alchemist spoke up. “I can help with that. As you know I’m quite adept at changing something into something else. Melding a hash should be no problem.”
It was no secret that the Perennial Five thought Jayson was the worst. They tolerated him, but he was annoying and intrusive—like a door-to-door salesman who had a habit of pushing open doors and demanding that others listen to what he had to offer. Plus, what Jayson had to offer was up for debate—his powers seemed weak at best. He was good at mixing food and drink, or melting wax to form small balls, but he had yet to impress any of them with anything epic. In appearance, Jayson was thin, like a straw, and none of his clothes fit him right—they were too big, or too long, or too loose. He had brown hair that he combed straight back, and ears large enough to catch the wind and spin him when he was standing still.
“Not all of us like breakfast,” Bill protested. “I’m no less the wizard because of that.”
“Sure,” Rin said nicely, “just like not all wizards need to wear robes.”
“Here we go,” Bill argued. “I’ve told you—I don’t like wearing a robe. I run hot!”
Flora banged the oval table with her right palm. “Please,” she begged. “We all know that Bill would wear a robe if he could find one that fit.”
“Thank you, Flora,” Bill said.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she informed him. “It’s also not important. I want to know why Rin summoned us.”
“You were summoned?” Bill asked her. “I just got a text.”
“You can summon by text,” Gemi argued.
“I don’t—”
Rin held up his hands and silenced his four magical friends.
“I called this meeting as a precaution. There are things happening that I believe will require your assistance,” Rin said. “I need to know that when and if the time comes, I can count on you.”
“What kind of things are happening?” Flora asked.
“Dangerous things,” Rin answered.
Jayson looked excited. “Like an ill wind?”
“Worse.” Rin placed both of his hands on the table and tapped his long fingers. “You see, I am in the process of trying to solve something. I have discovered a secret that could change the course of all humanity. I hope to take care of this problem on my own. But as things have unfolded, I can see that I might need help. It will be dangerous, but it will be for the good of all humanity.”
“I do like dangerous things,” Flora said. “I don’t get many chances to fight evil, and I’m not going to pass up a chance to do so. If I’m needed, I’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” Rin said, trying to sound gracious.
“All right,” Gemi sighed. “If I’m not busy when things go down, you can count me in too.”
“I have no choice but to help,” Jayson said proudly. “My gift has been bestowed upon me and I will bear the responsibility of it.”
The rest of the five groaned.
“What?” Jayson protested. “I am an alchemist!”
“Great,” Bill said, ignoring Jayson. “When we formed this cluster a year afore, we all made a promise—a promise that we would all be there when needed. I don’t feel any different now than I did then. If you need me, Rin, and if there be a comfortable seat—or several—that fit me, I will be there for ye.”
“I knew I could count on you,” Rin said with a smile. “When the need arises, you will all be summoned.”
“Summoned by text?” Gemi asked. “Because I don’t always keep my phone with me.”
“You might want to start,” Rin suggested.
“And you promise it’s dangerous?” Flora asked again. “A few weeks ago, Jayson called me to help him balance the chemicals in his pool.”
“I have a hard time figuring out parts per milliliter.”
“Right.” Flora grumbled. “But you said you were in trouble and needed the magic of a witch.”
“I didn’t say witch,” Jayson complained.
“Don’t worry, Flora,” Rin said compassionately. “I’m not going to go into what specific trouble we’re facing, but I promise you it’s dark.”
“Good,” Flora said happily. “When it gets darker, let us know. I’d love to light something up.”
“Why don’t we just help you now?” Gemi asked.
“It’s not necessary yet,” Rin said humbly. “I’m still lacking a little information. But I’ll get it. I have a secret weapon I haven’t used yet.”
“An unbreakable spell?” Bill asked excitedly.
Rin shook his head.
Jayson raised his hand.
“Yes?” Rin said impatiently.
“Does your secret weapon involve some precious metals that need mixing?”
“In a way.”
“Is it a powerful new wand?” Flora asked.
“Something much better,” Rin assured them.
“Better than a wand?” Gemi asked.
“Let’s just say I have a dragon.”
Nobody was impressed.
“Just be ready in seven days,” Rin insisted.
Gemi put the date into the calendar on her phone.
The five of them then sat quietly around the oval table looking amazed, worried, and excited about what might lie ahead. It was a full four minutes before Bill finally spoke.
“So . . . no takers on visitin’ Arby’s?”
All of them got up and left the boxy room. Four of them headed off to Arby’s, but not Rin. He would have joined them, but he had things to do. The rest of the Perennial Five were on call, but Rin was already actively in the thick of it.
The wizard moved behind the church and back past an Ace Hardware store. At the edge of the parking lot, he stopped.
“Did you hear all that?” Rin asked down the front of his bulky robe.
“They didn’t sound impressive.”
“Voices—and looks and behavior—can be deceiving.”
The wizard took out his to-get-done list and checked something off.
“The next stop will be more difficult,” he told the bird inside his robe.
“Bring it on.”
The wizard took seven more steps and disappeared into a heavy patch of fog.
Ozzy walked along the chipped and freckled Salem sidewalk with Sigi beside him. The day was gray, but long wands of sunlight were poking through some clouds and giving the blah a few bolts of glow. The two of them had taken an Uber from Otter Rock to Salem.
The driver dropped them off near a bus stop directly across the street from the Marsh and Meadow Motel.
Once the car had motored away, Sigi pointed.
“There it is.”
The Marsh and Meadow Motel wasn’t much to look at. It was an outdated two-story motel with forty-four rooms, all with brown doors. In the front of the motel was a small square building with a steeply pitched roof. The square building had a green door with the word Office painted on it. Above the green door, hanging from the edge of the pitched roof, was a white banner with blue letters that read: