He continued babbling nonstop at a very high volume while running around, jumping up and down on the sofa, heedlessly knocking over a lamp.
“. . . and it was totally cool and awesome and canIhaveasnackI’mhungry!” And he ran into the kitchen.
His parents and Hilary stared after him. There was a smashing noise in the kitchen and then the distinct sound of a milk carton hitting the tile floor, followed by the glug-glug-glug of milk pouring out of the container. “Oops! MOM! I spilled something!”
Mrs. Edelman began to laugh, a slightly hysterical titter. Mr. Edelman started to laugh too, also with a manic edge.
“I think—hee hee hee,” said Mr. Edelman, “I think he’s better.”
There was another smash.
The parents began laughing harder.
Then they both turned to Emily and their laughter died and their worried expressions returned.
“Emily,” said Mr. Edelman cautiously, “how do you—oh.”
The “oh” because Emily had stepped forward to hug the both of them tightly, an arm around each, her head burrowed against Mr. Edelman.
“Well,” said Mrs. Edelman, exchanging a glance with Mr. Edelman, their arms around Emily.
“Are you okay?” said Mr. Edelman after a bit.
“I’m just happy to be home,” Emily murmured. Then after a bit more hugging she released them and stepped back. “Okay,” she said, “I’m going to go wash up.”
They watched her climb the stairs.
“I guess she’s better too?” said Mrs. Edelman.
Upstairs, Emily scrubbed and rinsed her face, sighing happily. Then she went into her bedroom and collapsed on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. It wasn’t such a bad room after all. She didn’t even mind the way the house smelled. It smelled like . . . well, like home, she thought.
Tonight, she figured, she’d charge the Stone in the moonlight and use the apth she found that would make Dougie think everything that had happened was a dream—some apth called Deus Ex Cinema or something. Not that her family would pay any attention to what he was saying, but still. She wondered how it had been with iDougie and iEmily. A bit weird, she guessed, judging by the way her parents had been looking at her.
“Hey.”
She sat up. Hilary was standing in her doorway. She had an odd, wary expression on her face.
“Hey,” said Emily.
“How are you?” said Hilary. “Are you feeling okay?”
Emily tried to remember the last time Hilary had shown any concern for her.
“Yes—why?” said Emily.
Hilary nodded, but she didn’t move. Emily could see her thinking about something. “I’m going to tell you a story,” said Hilary.
“A story,” said Emily.
“Yes. See, there’s this girl, Anna? And she dumps this guy Theo, except she doesn’t know that Theo is—hey. Did you just roll your eyes?”
“What?”
“You did! You just rolled your eyes!”
Emily brought her hands up protectively as Hilary came stomping toward her—but instead of hitting her, Hilary grabbed her sister and hugged her fiercely.
“You rolled your eyes!” said Hilary, and it sounded as though she might be crying a bit. “You rolled your eyes. You’re you again.”
After a moment Emily hugged Hilary back too.
They sat and hugged each other a bit longer, and then Hilary let her go, stood up, and straightened herself out, wiping at her nose. “Okay, just to be clear—I’m never doing that again,” she said, and marched out of the room.
Emily smiled. Hilary was herself again too.
Evan Petersen heard the doorbell ring and sighed. What now, he thought, and dragged himself to the front door, anticipating yet another strange turn in his life that would make him doubt his grip on reality.
But when he opened the door, he found a dark-haired, cheery-faced young woman—an attractive woman, he thought—with a clipboard standing on his front step.
“Hi!” she said. “Are you Evan Petersen?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Truly Wilshire from International Insurance Inc.!” she said.
“Oh, Miss Wilshire! How wonderful to meet you! I’m so sorry about the other day on the phone!”
She told him not to worry about it and explained that she was there to discuss the issue of his car, and he invited her in, and soon they were having another wonderful conversation, and then she noticed the mug on his mantelpiece—the mug made by the werewolf, remember?—and exclaimed, “What a lovely mug!”
“You like it?” he asked.
“It’s wonderful,” she said. She sounded thrilled.
“Well,” he said, noting how pleased she seemed, “I’ve always loved a good piece of pottery!” and her smile grew even warmer and they sat there beaming at each other.
She did not reveal to him that she had always told her friends that her ideal life partner would be kind and gentle and interested in the arts and, above all, someone who appreciated pottery.
So let’s skip the suspense: the two of them fell madly in love and were soon married and moved to another state and lived as happily ever after as could be reasonably expected.
“You think Gorgo will ever come back?” asked Angela.
“Dunno,” said Emily. “It’s funny—I miss him. It’s weird how you can get used to having a huge carnivorous demon hanging around.”
It was after school. She and Angela were sitting on the swings at the school playground, which was empty except for them. It had been a week since Emily had rescued Dougie.
“Check it out,” said Angela. Emily followed her gaze. Ms. Hallgren was exiting the school holding an armful of books.
“You know, I was in the library the other day,” said Emily, “and she didn’t give me a second glance. Like nothing ever happened.”
“Same with me,” said Angela. “But that shelf is still there. I found the most amazing book about broccoli.”
They watched Ms. Hallgren walk to her car and deposit the books onto the passenger seat. Before she climbed in on her side, there was a moment when she seemed to be regarding the two girls. Emily wasn’t sure, because Ms. Hallgren was pretty far away, but she thought she detected a small nod. Then Ms. Hallgren got into the car and drove off.
“Oops. Now look,” said Angela.
Kristy Meyer was leaving the school, heading for a fancy car that was waiting by the curb. She climbed in and the car accelerated smoothly away.
“You know what?” said Emily. “I sort of feel sorry for her.”
“I guess,” said Angela. “But that doesn’t mean I trust her.”
The first day that Emily was back, she and Angela had been strolling together in the hall before class started and saw Kristy coming toward them. Kristy had turned white and fled in the other direction.
Then a strange thing had happened. Throughout the week, bit by bit, other kids had started saying hello to Emily. Nothing major, no one bursting into song, just a cautiously friendly nod or wave here and there, a bit of small talk in the halls or classrooms. As though Kristy’s malevolent influence had been broken, at least enough for some of the braver or friendlier kids to feel as if it was worth the risk to get to know the new girl.
“The thing about Kristy,” said Angela, “is that pretty soon she’ll recover. And I bet when she does, she’ll be meaner than ever.”
“Probably,” said Emily. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there are scarier things out there than Kristy. Hopefully I’ll never have to deal with them again.”
Angela was quiet.
“What?” said Emily.
“You’re a Stonemaster now, Emily,” said Angela.
“I guess so.”
“No, you don’t guess so. You know so.”
Emily sighed. “Yeah. Well, I couldn’t have done it without you. Thanks, Angela.”
“You’ve already thanked me.”
“
Thank you again.”
Angela smiled. “My pleasure. Just promise that I get to be part of the next adventure.”
“As far as I’m concerned, I’m done with adventures.”
“You might think you’re done with adventures, but I doubt they’re done with you.”
“No thank you,” said Emily. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for—”
BONG BONG BONG BOOOOONNNNNNG!!!!
The sound was deafening, painful in its intensity, as if they were sitting right next to giant church bells. They both clapped their hands over their ears.
“What is that?” shouted Angela, her voice barely audible over the racket.
Emily pulled the Stone out of her pocket. There were indeed bells clanging on the screen. Too loud! she thought. Too loud! At once the volume dropped precipitously, as if the bells had been moved a mile away.
“What’s going on?” said Emily.
“I think you’re getting a call,” said Angela.
“I think you’re right,” said Emily. “But who is it?”
She stared at the Stone. Angela watched her eyebrows go up in surprise.
“What?” said Angela. “Who is it?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” said Emily.
“Why? What does it say?”
“It says, ‘Adventure Calling.’”
“Well, Stonemaster,” said Angela, “what are you going to do?”
Emily had a sudden image of herself from what seemed an eternity ago, an angry girl gathering stones on a beach on her twelfth birthday. A girl upset with the world, a girl who hated adventures, with their disruption and discomfort and change. And right then she realized that while she was still Emily, she wasn’t that Emily.
The Stone was still ringing.
“Are you going to answer, or what?” said Angela.
Their eyes met. A sly smile spread across Angela’s face, mirroring the one on Emily’s.
“Yes,” said Emily. “Yes, I am.”
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About the Author
Author photograph by Gino Depinto
MICHAEL RUBENS is a former producer for The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, and he currently writes and produces for Full Frontal with Samantha Bee. His work has appeared in the New Yorker’s Daily Shouts, HuffPost Comedy, and Salon, and he is the author of two YA novels, Sons of the 613 and The Bad Decisions Playlist. He lives with his family in Brooklyn.
Emily and the Spellstone Page 17