by M. E. Eadie
Chapter Nineteen: The Return
Darkness, a reflection of how he felt inside, surrounded him as he made his way back to Horwood House. Even the streetlights could not dispel the foggy gloom that had settled on him. Like when he first found out he had a Nix inside, it was as though he was looking down a long tunnel; the only things that were in focus were the objects directly in front of him. Everything else was obscured, lost in a thick, dark fog. The Nix waited contentedly in the background, biding its time. From somewhere behind him, emerging from the sports complex, he heard a voice calling out. He began to run away from Rhea’s voice.
He smelled it long before he got there: Smoke! Not waiting to reach the entrance, he scrambled up the stone wall surrounding the house and was greeted by a horrific sight.
Yellow-helmeted firemen, clad in thick, dark clothing edged with reflective tape, wrestled with water hoses as they attempted to put out the last of the fires. There was nothing left of the caravans except smoldering remains. One of several large, red fire trucks on the lawn stood amidst the ruins; a few blackened caravan skeletons remained, tottering on the rims of their tragic wheels. The obscenity was that within every caravan there had been a distinct world. Now they were gone, burned to a charred ruin: Holdfast’s desert, Magenta’s pirate ship and all the ones he had never seen. Then he noticed that the fire truck was parked where Maestro’s caravan should have been.
As he climbed down from the wall he felt something above, watching. He looked up, and out of the dark haze, in the branches of a tree, he saw two green glowing eyes. Picking up a nut from the ground he hurled it at the black squirrel that deftly dodged it. The squirrel rained down on him a chorus of irate chatter. A hand closed painfully around his arm.
Grizzelda was glaring at him. Her hair was a wild tangled mess about her head, her eyes so wide that she looked as though drunk deep from the cup of insanity. However, it was the smile, the grin--of joy or pain or both, he couldn’t tell-- that stopped Colin from pulling away. The Marcus doll was stuffed into a big purse at her side, its expression peeking out at him looking almost apologetic, and somewhat frightened.
“I’m so glad you’ve decided to drop by. Your timing couldn’t be more appropriate,” she said politely, but she was anything but kind. There was a ferocity about her that threatened to consume them both. Colin knew it was the Nix in her speaking.
“Let go of me,” he said, gaining back his senses. His aunt, even though everything around her was chaos, seemed clear and terrible. He wanted to get as far away from her as possible. He wrenched his arm out of her grasp. His spirit guardian suddenly became aware of the threat.
“Oh, excuse me,” said Grizzelda holding her hands up mockingly, then her face melted into a vicious snarl. There was spittle shining on her lips. “I forgot; I can’t make you do anything!” She smiled insanely. “Now, if you don’t mind, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the tower?” She held out her hand. It was shaking.
There was no way he was going to hold her hand, but the Nix leapt to life inside him and jerked a nerve string causing his hand to involuntarily grasp his aunt’s. Her fingers closed tightly. Colin almost panicked at the thought of losing control of his own body. The Wind began to gather about him. Not yet, not yet, he thought, only when there is absolutely no hope.
“You burned the caravan’s didn’t you?” said Colin, hoping for more time, time to do what, he hadn’t a clue. Maybe rescue was on its way, and maybe, it wasn’t.
“You are observant, aren’t you?”
“Why did you do that?”
“Why? Surely, we’re past ‘why’! I’d much rather tell you ‘how’! It was easy! After all, I am the Mayor of Rivertown, and these, these vagrants had disobeyed my eviction notice, so, I simply had my fire department come to my home for a nice little bonfire.”
“They burned the caravans?” asked Colin incredulously.
“Of course, you didn’t think I would do it myself? Use the fire department for what they were meant to do – start fires.”
“Well, you didn’t get Maestro now did you,” he shot back and felt a painful tug on his arm that pulled him nose to nose with his insane aunt. He didn’t know whether this was true or not. Her face was so close to his that she looked as though she had only one eye.
“Now, listen here, you little rat! No, I didn’t get Maestro. I sent him on a little trip, far, far away. So, I would advise you to keep your mouth shut until you are more educated, which should happen soon.” She sprang away and gave his arm a tug nearly pulling it out of its socket. He had no intention of going without a fight, and he knew now, without a doubt, that Grizzelda was totally under the influence of the Nix.
He waited until he stepped into a puddle of water before he tried to escape, to slip into the very essence of the water, to become small, to slip away in the diminutive. Even if his body couldn’t escape maybe his mind could. But even before he attempted, he knew it was futile. The Shadow Nix inside him stepped out from behind one of the water molecules, a smirk on its face. The Nix shook his head and wagged its finger scornfully at him. The figure looked distinctly like Jaeger. Jaeger was the Nix inside him? How was that possible?
“There’s no escape for you. I suggest you turn around and go back,” said the Nix.
“And if I don’t,” said Colin defiantly
Jaeger shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me what you do, or where you go, I’ll be there with you, and when she wants you, I’ll drag you to her.”
Colin wanted to shout out, to yell at him, to threaten him with The Wind and annihilation, but thought better of it. The Wind must be his last resort. He smiled at Jaeger and nodded.
“How did you manage to take form for the match?”
“It’s a bit of a trick. Unfortunately, it’s temporary --ask your aunt, if you want to know--but none of that is going to matter soon, not after The Master is back.”
“Master? Oh, you mean Old Man Horwood?” said Colin irreverently.
Jaeger’s face blanched as his incensed fury simmered to the surface. “Be careful with your words, Wet Noodle.” The Nix came up to him and gave him a push in the direction he had come, back up into his body. There would be no hiding place even form his mind. Colin felt himself rising back into his own consciousness taking charge of his body along with the shadow image of Jaeger.
“You see,” said Grizzelda coldly, “escape is impossible. It’s best to resign yourself to your fate.”
They were moving to the front steps of the house, and the imitation Greek pillars there. The firemen, wielding large hoses and axes, were still putting out the last of the smoldering caravans, by chopping them to pieces. One man with the word Fire Chief emblazoned on a shoulder badge approached them, flanked by Blandish and Devonish. Devonish was wearing a long wildflower-print dress under her knee length Melton cape, and an ugly straw hat that flopped down over her face. Blandish was in black, looking like an emaciated raven. They came to an abrupt stop in front of Grizzelda, almost saluting. Colin felt their treacherous, gloating eyes on him.
“The last of the caravans have been burned,” reported the fire chief, his face streaked with sweat and grime.
“Good,” snapped Grizzelda, “after you’re finished haul everything to the dump and dispose of the trash.”
The fire chief nodded and returned to his grim work.
“You two,” she addressed Blandish and Devonish, who came to an absurd type of attention. “Bone won’t be able to delay the Circus for long, so it’ll be up to you two to hold them up. They’re bound to try to rescue this miscreant. Just keep them busy while I make the transfer, understand?”
Their eyes gleamed zealously as they nodded and faded off into the night. They entered the foyer to the house. Was there an empty plaque on the wall next to the head of the deer? Was that for him? The stuffed heads of the animals stared down at him pityingly.
They were approaching
the staircase leading to the second floor. She turned to him, her dark eyes flashing dangerously, a lunatic smile twisting her face unnaturally.
“You pretended didn’t you? You pretended to be protecting us from school by not sending us there, just because you wanted to keep an eye on us,” he accused his aunt, hoping this appeal would cause some part of the real her to rise to the surface.
She hesitated as though in conflict with herself. For a halting moment she looked unsure caught between the expression of soft sympathy and hard ruthlessness. The hard polarized on her face chasing the soft out, “Yes, of course.”
She flipped her long pale hand in the air and a green-eyed shadow appeared at the top of the banister. The shadow scampered down the banister, eyes glimmering eerily as it took up its post on the ball at the bottom of the stairs. The black squirrel chattered at him angrily, then leaped onto Grizzelda’s shoulder where it became a fur stole around her neck.
“My spirit guardian was able to report on your every movement. I knew what you were doing every moment of your little self-deluded life.”
“And feeling sorry for your sister, for Sarah?”
She flourished her hand, “An act. Had I to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Grandfather Thunder was wrong.”
“What do you mean, wrong?” Nervousness flickered behind her eyes when he used the name, as though the Grandfather Thunder might appear at the simple use of his name.
“He kept telling me that somewhere inside you there was something good.”
The temporary smile contorted into a snarl as she jerked on his arm and led the way up the stairs wrenching him painfully along. The squirrel, disturbed from its nervous repose around her neck, sprung away into the shadows. Colin resisted by dragging his feet, but he felt Jaeger inside trying to force him forward, trying to take control of his legs. At least he could still resist. At least there was some hope there.
“You think your precious Grandfather Thunder is going to save you? He’s dead, and the dead can’t touch the living!” she snarled vengefully.
Colin noticed that in their struggle, the Marcus doll was slowly working its way up out of her deep purse so that now a portion of his kilt flapped free, chubby legs sticking up in the air.
Outside, people were yelling. Over the growing tumult he heard Holdfast’s booming voice and the snarls of the invisible guard things. Inspired and fueled by hope, Colin struggled harder, but Grizzelda and Jaeger together, were just too strong, forcing him to succumb to their will.
“Horwood is dead!” he yelled out.
Grizzelda laughed hysterically, throwing her head back, her mop of wild hair flipping in one great tangle, her eyes wide with madness. There were flecks of white foam building up at the corners of her mouth.
“He’s not dead! He’s Inbetween. Come on, I’ll show you! He’s really anxious to meet you!” She cackled at this and Colin felt his resistance melt from exhaustion and was simultaneously pulled and shoved up the stairs.
She dragged him into her room to the large standing mirror. In its reflection he saw Grizzelda and his own terrified features. Within the mirror he saw their images melt, replaced by a picture of a vast, blank desert and a vast, blank sky. On the horizon, where the sky met the desert, he saw a dot. Growing rapidly in size, the dot gained arms and legs and a head. At first he had the hope that it was Grandfather Thunder, but this hope failed when he saw the gloating, arrogant expression of, none other than, Zuhayer Bombast Horwood.
In his mind Colin felt as though he was swimming in endless water, and now, was about to be dashed to pieces on the rocks surrounding the shore. He turned inwards in resignation and summoned The Wind.
The figure of Zuhayer Horwood was like the image of the statue in the courtyard, like the image in the painting in the parlor. He was dressed in a suit of dark enameled armor, red sash cutting diagonally across his chest. His eyes were like two black holes that threatened to pull everything into them.
The Wind was beginning to stir around them.
“So, you have managed to bring him. Good. You have finally managed to do something right,” Horwood said derisively.
Aunt Grizzelda fell to her knees, pulling Colin down with her.
“I am sorry, Lord,” she said in a quivering voice on the edge between crying and shrieking.
“And Maestro, and the others that plotted to trap me, where are they?”
“They are coming, my Lord, so, if you will, perhaps we should affect the exchange as soon as …,” said Grizzelda, but was interrupted abruptly.
“You presume to advise me?” Horwood said incredulously. “Do not try my patience, girl! You’re just like your mother.”
Colin glared at the pompous image of his great grandfather, feeling The Wind as it began to build behind him. He had no idea what it would do once it emerged, but he hoped it would sweep them all away, even if it meant being killed himself.
“What are you doing?” demanded Horwood, the dark holes that were his eyes dilated, changing from disdain to an expression of shock. His hand flicked out, a white finger pointing at him. “Stop it! Stop him!” he commanded.
The Wind, seething with fury, faltered, suddenly unsure of its progress. Colin felt something being pressed down on The Wind, as though a lid had been placed over it. His head felt as if it was about to explode. He closed his eyes in pain.
A smash, followed by the sound of thousands of glass shards falling to the hardwood floor, brought Colin’s eyes wide open again. In front of him, the glass had turned to sand, and Grizzelda was desperately running her fingers through the tiny grains. The mirror frame stood empty. The pain in his head was suddenly gone and The Wind was again sleepily sinking back down into his subconscious.
Standing beside the mirror--a raven-headed staff in his hand much like the one Grandfather Thunder carried--was Frederick, his father.
“This will stop!” he said forcefully, “and it will stop now!”
As Grizzelda flew at Frederick, her fists flailing wildly, the Marcus doll fell from her pocket. Colin deftly picked it up and stuffed it under his coat.
“You have no right!” she screamed at him, struggling to free her arms from his grasp. “You – have – no – right,” she protested, seeming to expend the last of her wild energy. She sagged against him and began sobbing.
“Millicent, you have no right to do this to the boy,” said Frederick gently, tenderly, as he sat her down on the edge of the bed. “Millicent, what’s the matter with you? Why are you like this?” He glanced at Colin to see if he was alright.
She stared angrily up at him through her ragged black hair. His soft words hadn’t reached her. “You can’t stop him from coming back. Nobody can stop him!” The hesitance in Frederick’s face gave her encouragement. “You really didn’t think we’d wait around for your little trap tomorrow! You couldn’t possibly think that The Master would fall for such an obvious trick?” she said mockingly.
“I hoped,” said Frederick haplessly, “he would, but obviously, he hasn’t. Listen, I was meaning…”
“I know something that will hurt you, make you hurt so much you will want to cry, make you hurt like you hurt me.” She was taking great painful pleasure in what she was about to do. “He’s yours, you know, he’s your son.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Frederick in a surprised quandary, caught unawares.
“The boy is your son! Ask him, he knows. He knows who his mother is, too. You never knew that she was pregnant did you? That you shamed Sarah! That you turned the Old Man against her.” Each word that flew out of her mouth struck Frederick as if it was a physical blow. Frederick staggered back from Grizzelda who seemed to grow stronger. “You abandoned her and she drowned herself!” she said, exalting in Frederick’s visible pain.
“You are my son?” he asked, looking at Colin with wide eyes, and then with horrific disbelief he said, “She drowned
herself? I thought it was an accident, a terrible, terrible accident?”
“She’s lying!” shouted Colin, his outrage finally rushing out in an uncontrollable torrent. “My mother didn’t drown herself! SHE could’ve saved her, but she didn’t because she figured that with her out of the way she could have you! She’s a liar!”
Frederick seemed not to hear anything he had said, or perhaps it didn’t matter, because all he kept saying over and over again was, “You’re my son?”
Grizzelda reached for something under the bed. The blur of a black club hit its target and Frederick fell limp to the ground.
Immediately she wailed out, “What have I done!” and crouched down to examine him compassionately, and then she pulled away sharply, shaking as she stood over him. “You, you’re so much like my sister, so sanctimonious, so dedicated to doing the right thing! It’s not over. There are other mirrors! He is coming back! He has made promises to ME – and I’m so very frightened!” She inadvertently felt her pocket and noticed that the Marcus doll was no longer there. “Where is he?” she cried desperately, “What did you do with him?”