Emily and the Spellstone

by Michael Rubens

  “Ahh,” sighed Gorgo. “So cute.”

  Then he proceeded to forcibly stuff the dogg headfirst through the door, shoving it through bit by bit while the borders of the door bulged outward and the dogg growled and yelped and struggled.

  “When I get the last of it through,” said Gorgo, pushing mightily on the dogg’s rear end, “you close that apth, or it’s gonna try to come right back.” Then Gorgo gave one final shove and the dogg disappeared from view. “Close it!” said Gorgo, holding the doggy door shut. From the other side came howls and scraping as the dogg fought to return. Emily tapped the icon. The door evaporated and the night was quiet again.

  “Okay,” said Gorgo, slapping his hands together like a workman finishing a job. “That’s that.”

  “Where did the dogg go?”

  “Who knows? You heard the apth. Some random dimension.”

  “Do you think it’ll be okay?”

  “You’re concerned about it?”

  “It just somehow felt a little cruel.”

  “Sure, cruel to whoever lives on the other side of that door. It’s a dogg. It’ll be fine. Unless it runs into a doggg,” Gorgo added. “Then it’ll be in trouble. Anyway. What’s next?”

  What was next? The wedding! Her family!

  “I have to get back to the wedding!”

  “A wedding? Ooh! I love weddings! Is there dancing?”

  “You can’t come!”

  “Oh, thanks a lot,” Gorgo said, then fumed to no one in particular, “You know, would it have been terrible to have a master who was fun?”

  “Would it have been terrible not to have a supernatural servant who plans to eat me?” said Emily to the same no one. “Gorgo, I need to get back to the wedding reception, and to do that, I need to get up there.” She pointed to the top of the cliff.

  “Ooookay,” said Gorgo.

  “What are you doing? What are you dooooooiiiii—” said Emily, because now she was sailing straight upward along the cliff face, Gorgo having grabbed her around the waist and launched her above his head.

  “—​iiiiiiing,” continued Emily as the rock face raced by, and then thup! She landed gently on her feet on the edge of the cliff. Gorgo had thrown her with such accuracy that when she’d started coming down again, she had less than a foot to fall. A moment later he landed next to her with a barely discernible thud.

  “You could have warned me,” said Emily.

  “Uh-huh. If I’d said, ‘Hey, I’m going to throw you several hundred feet up to the top of this cliff,’ what would you have said?”

  “Um . . .”

  “Right. You need to learn to trust me.”

  “Trust you? You keep promising to eat me.”

  “Trust me, I will. Now, you’re sure I can’t come to the wedding?”

  “Absolutely not. You need to get right back in here,” she said, holding up the Stone.

  “Hold on. Before you force me back in there, can I make a suggestion?”

  “Does it involve the spices and seasonings I should use to make myself tasty?”

  “See, there you go! You’re starting to enjoy the humor of the situation!”

  “Believe me, I’m not. What’s your suggestion?”

  “My suggestion is this: Someone, or something, wants that Stone of yours. Someone powerful enough to send a shade through who knows how many dimensions to find it, and then a dogg to fetch it. You need to know who that someone is. Or what. Working an enchantment like that—​sending a creature to a world it shouldn’t be in—​leaves tracks, sort of like magical footprints. But they’re already starting to fade—​I can feel it. So if you want to figure out who sent the dogg, you’d better do it now.”

  “Why should I care who did it?”

  “Because I guarantee you, they’ll try again, and next time will be worse.”

  “But I don’t know how.”

  “But you’re a Stonemaster.”

  “Stop saying that! I’m not a Stonemaster. I’m Emily Edelman, and I’m twelve years old, and I didn’t ask for any of this, and I want it to go away!”

  Gorgo was quiet for a moment. “Yeah . . . how’s that working out for you?” he said.

  Emily stared at him.

  “All right, all right,” she said testily, and held the Stone up again. Apths swam before her eyes, a galaxy of them, overwhelming her. How would she ever figure out who sent the dogg?

  “You’d better hurry,” said Gorgo. “The smell is fading.”

  “I’m trying!”

  She did her best to focus her mind. Who sent the dogg? Who worked that magic?

  “Hurry . . .”

  “Gorgo.”

  An apth floated forward.

  “Gorgo, have you ever heard of an apth called Snifftr? There’s just an image of a big nose.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Wait, it says . . .”

  Emily squinted at the runes, then rolled her eyes. “Pick me.”

  “So pick it!”

  “Okay, okay,” said Emily. She touched the image and the nose expanded into three dimensions, the way the cat had done. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Emily muttered, and inserted a finger into one of the nostrils. The instant she did the nose disappeared—​and suddenly she heard loud snuffling and sniffing and had the impression that she was being gently attacked by two vacuum cleaners, one on each side of her face.

  “Hey, what’s—”

  Then her vision was briefly blocked, and for an instant she thought she was looking up two enormous nostrils, one covering each of her eyes, and then she could see again and the snuffling noises were moving away from her.

  “I must have screwed up again,” she groaned.

  “No—​hee hee!” said Gorgo. “I think it’s—​hee hee!—​the spell—​hee hee hee! Stop it! Hee hee hee! That—​hee hee—​tickles—​HEE HEE HEE!”

  He was dancing in place, giggling, swatting ineffectually at something.

  “They are nostrils!” said Emily.

  And indeed they were: disembodied nostrils with no nose, busily sniffing up and down Gorgo’s body, flitting back now to take more sniffs of Emily, each nostril about the size of a saucer. Emily could see now that they were visible only when they were positioned so that you were looking up them—​but once they started sniffing the ground, which they were doing now, they couldn’t be seen. Emily could still hear them, though, and detect the movement of the leaves and dirt with each in- and exhalation.

  The nostrils were moving away from them now, and then they disappeared over the side of the cliff. “Is that it? Are they gone?” said Emily, but a moment later the snuffling noise returned, and she caught a glimpse of the nostrils as they crested the cliff. Then the sniffing got closer again and Emily got another unwanted view straight up the enormous nostrils. They appeared perfectly three-dimensional. They also appeared disgusting.

  “This is so gross,” said Emily.

  “What’s gross about it?” said Gorgo. The nostrils were sniffing him again. “You complain too much. I don’t find it gross at all.”

  Then suddenly the nostrils sneezed: “AAAACHOOO!” Massively. Directly on Gorgo.

  Gorgo looked down at his midsection. “Yyyyyyuck,” he said. “It is gross.”

  The nostrils and sniffing had disappeared. But the evidence of the giant sneeze remained, in a gloppy, glistening blast pattern on Gorgo’s chest.

  “You’re right,” he said. “You must have screwed up. Blech.” He reached to wipe off the mess.

  “Wait!” said Emily.

  “What? Why?!”

  “I see something!”

  She drew closer to him, brow furrowed, staring at the glow that was beginning on his chest. And then suddenly, there it was: a moving image.

  “It’s like looking at a screen,” she said.

  “Great. A screen made of magic snot,” said Gorgo.

  “Shh!”

  The image wavered, blurred, then resolved. A torrential downpour. Nightt
ime. Emily could hear the rain. Lightning crackled, illuminating a structure, a terrifying building.

  “Is there a thunderstorm happening on my chest?” said Gorgo.

  “Quiet!”

  Emily was inside the building now, peering into the darkest and gloomiest and least comfortable room she had ever seen. There was an overabundance of spiky objects and drippy candles and portraits of people with expressions on their faces that said, I may be long dead and gone—​but I’m still watching you and I don’t like you! A fire flickered in a freestanding fireplace made out of the massive blackened skull of some monstrous creature. The flames were greenish, a shade that reminded Emily of the dogg’s eyes. All the furniture maintained the spiky and uncomfortable theme and was upholstered in what Emily hoped was animal hide and not something more sinister.

  “What do you see?” said Gorgo. “In your mucus-vision.”

  “Some sort of scary room. Wait—​I’m moving closer to what looks like a desk. There’s something on it. It’s . . .”

  She paused, her expression confused.

  “It’s what? What is it?”

  “It looks like . . . a catalog. Like a normal catalog you’d order stuff from. But . . . weird stuff. Wait—​now I can see the mailing address: ‘The Venomüch Family.’ Uh-oh—​someone is coming in!”

  The image snapped back to a wide view of the room.“. . . the dogg should be back by now!” a man was saying.“The Stonemaster must have defeated him,” said the woman with him.

  Emily watched the Venomüch family enter the room. She didn’t need to be told that she should be afraid of these people.

  “Now how will we find the Stone?” said the boy.

  “It may be beyond our power,” said the father. “Perhaps we—”

  He stopped suddenly, as if he was listening. Emily caught her breath.

  “Dad?” said the girl, but the father held up a hand for silence. Then his head turned until he was looking directly at Emily, and Emily felt a burst of terror.

  “I see you,” he said.

  The wife was looking at her too. “Yes,” said the woman. “Yes, I see you too . . . Emily Edelman!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “We’ll get you, my prett—”

  Emily shook her head and waved a hand as if she were brushing away a hornet, and the image vanished.

  “You’re shaking,” said Gorgo. “You okay?”

  “No,” said Emily. “I don’t think I am.”

  When Emily returned to the wedding reception, her mother saw her and nearly screamed. “Where have you been? What have you been doing?” she exclaimed. “Rolling in the dirt? Look at your clothes! They’re ruined! Honestly, Emily, and you want us to treat you more like a grownup.”

  Emily didn’t say a word the whole way home.

  Emily lay in bed that night with the light on again, thinking. Then she got up, sat at her desk, and made a list, carefully considering each item as she wrote it down. When she was done, she summoned Gorgo. He unfolded, spotted the paper in her hand, and said, “Uh-oh.”

  “I have a list of rules,” she said.

  “Oh, boy.”

  “First off: I command you to always be honest with me.”

  “Okay. You’re too old to have superhero bed sheets,” he said. “What? You said I have to be honest.”

  “You know what I mean. And the sheets are ironic.”

  “Of course they are. But yes, fine, I’ll be honest with you.”

  “Two: you have to protect me.”

  “I am. I’m trying to protect you against foolish bedding decisions. Okay, okay,” he added when she glared at him again. “Didn’t I protect you against the dogg?”

  “You said you would have let me fall.”

  He thought about that.

  “Okay, that’s true. Yes, I pledge to protect you.”

  “Okay. Three: no hurting or eating anyone.”

  “Anyone? What if they’re trying to hurt you?”

  “Then you must endeavor to protect me without harming them.”

  Gorgo reached out and took the paper from her. “I thought so. You actually wrote that out: ‘You must endeavor . . .’”

  “Yes I did,” Emily said, and snatched the paper back from him.

  “And what else?” he said.

  “That’s it. For now.”

  Gorgo nodded, evidently reviewing the list in his mind. “That’s pretty good,” he said. “You went with general rules as opposed to specifics, which can be easier to twist. Well done, Stonemaster.”

  “I’m not a—”

  He held up a hand. “I know, I know. But on that topic, I’ve been thinking. I have an idea of someone who might be able to help you.”

  “What? Who?”

  “You’re not going to believe me.”

  Chapter

  Eight

  “You were right, Gorgo. I don’t believe you,” said Emily in a low voice as they walked through the school halls. He was in the Stone, which was in her backpack, which was slung over one shoulder. It was Monday. Classes had just ended, kids pulling belongings from their lockers and getting ready to head home. The day had been full of odd stares and fake burps and vicious smirking from Kristy Meyer. At lunch Emily had sat alone at a table. She saw Angela Rodriguez, holding a tray, approaching her uncertainly. No way, thought Emily. She got up and left.

  “Gorgo,” said Emily now, “are you sure about this?”

  “It’s worth a try,” Gorgo said.

  “I guess. But I’m not exactly sure how I’m supposed to start the conversation. ‘Hi, I’m Emily, and I have this problem . . .’”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  Oh, no. Kristy’s voice, coming from right behind her.

  “I’m just talking to myself,” said Emily.

  “You’re so weird,” said Kristy, drawing even with her. She was alone this time. Emily wondered how long Kristy had been following behind her, listening. “Why are you so weird? Is it because you’re such a loser? Or are you a loser because you’re weird? Probably both, right?”

  Smirk. Kristy turned to go, her mission accomplished.

  “Well, at least I’m not an awful excuse for a human being who uses cruelty to cover up her own insecurities.”

  It was Gorgo, in a pretty fair approximation of Emily’s voice.

  Kristy spun back, her face reddening in fury. “What did you say?” she demanded.

  “Nothing!” said Emily.

  “Oh, you are so going to get it! If you think life is rough now, just you wait!” said Kristy, and stalked off.

  “Gorgo!” said Emily in a strangled voice. “Why did you do that?”

  “What? You said to protect you!”

  Gorgo kept defending himself, Emily shushing him, until they came to their destination. Emily paused outside the door. LIBRARY, said the sign.

  “Are you sure about this?” said Emily again.

  When Gorgo had told her he knew of someone who might be able to help her, she hadn’t expected him to say, “You have to talk to the school Librarian.”

  “How is the librarian going to know?”

  “Not the ‘librarian.’ The Librarian.” Just like when he said “Stone,” Gorgo said “Librarian” in a manner that made the capital letter unmistakable.

  “Fine. How is the . . . Librarian going to know?”

  What followed was a long explanation about how libraries—​particularly school libraries—​are magical nexus, neutral territories for all the different domains in the multiverse.

  “And Librarians are the masters of these neutral territories,” said Gorgo. “In fact, I’ve heard of one Librarian who’s an orangutan, but who can—”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind. My point is, we should talk to the Librarian.”

  Now, standing outside the library door, Emily was feeling foolish. The library had been her favorite place in her old school. She loved to search the shelves for new books, then curl up in one of the chairs or just sit on the carpeted fl
oor and read. So yes, a school library had always seemed like a magical place to her, but that kind of magical?

  “You going in or what?” said Gorgo.

  Emily went in.

  The Clearview School library looked like most school libraries: walls lined with shelves; rows of standing shelves that were themselves like walls; an area with a motley collection of comfy kid-size chairs for reading; a few long desks surrounded by less comfortable chairs. The comfy and noncomfy chairs were about half-occupied by students with their noses in books or homework.

  The librarian—​or Librarian—​sat at her desk, which itself sat toward the back of the room, giving her a commanding view of the long desks and reading area. She was younger than Emily had expected, and prettier, an African American woman with very dark skin and close-cropped hair who Emily guessed was in her early thirties. Despite her apparent youth, she had reading glasses perched on her nose, her head tilted back slightly so she could see through them as she perused a book.

  Emily went and stood in front of the Librarian’s desk. There was a nameplate on it that said MS. HALLGREN. Ms. Hallgren did not seem to notice her.

  “Um . . . excuse me,” said Emily shyly.

  Ms. Hallgren, without glancing up from her book, said, “Yes?”

  “May I speak with you?”

  “Listening.”

  When Emily didn’t say anything, Ms. Hallgren looked up.

  “You don’t seem to be talking.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Ms. Hallgren examined Emily more closely, inclining her head so that she could see over her glasses.

  “You’re the new girl, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Emily. Then she quickly added, “I didn’t try to burn down the auditorium.”

  “Yes, I heard that was quite a magic trick.”

  Emily paused, wondering if she had detected a bit of emphasis on “magic” or had imagined it. She looked around at the kids sitting at the desks and in the chairs. Then she leaned in a bit closer and said in a low voice, “Ms. Hallgren, can I talk to you in private?”

  “In private?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t just leave the library. Or kick everyone out.”

  At that moment, Gorgo’s irritated voice came out of Emily’s backpack, loud enough that Emily was afraid the other kids would hear it: “Hey, could we speed this up, already?”