by Sara Hanover
I’ve been practicing, albeit with a garbage can lid. I mean, I’m ready to use anything I can get a hold of in my defense. I can use a shield edge well, and I don’t lose control of this new emanation. I smacked Joanna with it even as she raised her katana for a third wicked slice, having already blocked the second one, and I drove her back as she gave off a fox’s yelp. She hopped back a step before doing a twisting leap in the air that was sheer kung fu poetry—and she did it without wires.
I could see her face in the gloom of her manifestation, her brows tight in concentration, her lips thin, her dark hair drawn back in a ponytail, and she looked not a day older than when Malender had vanquished her. She would forever be twenty, I realized, while I would grow older and older and someday slower.
I intended to make an impression. I charged forward with my shield, to meet her when she landed, and took a leg off just above the kneecap with a swipe. It didn’t feel like I hit a shade, and it sounded like the ripe thunk of maimed flesh but without the blood as a spray of charcoal ash hit the air. She let out a sound of pure anguish and while I hesitated, feeling bad, she pivoted on the leg she had left, and whipped her katana around. I braced myself and blocked the sword’s edge, but it knocked me to my rump.
She must have expected me to react as I had earlier, by rolling out of the way, but I kicked back onto my feet and caught her off-balance as she prepared to dispatch a target that wasn’t there. She’d already grown a near transparent, shadowy leg back.
I wasn’t there, cutting my shield through the air, its leading edge between her head and shoulders, hitting home. Her head rolled.
Three tails twitched at the rear of the shadow, and then Joanna disappeared.
The lamppost swallowed her up as it had before. Then it, too, faded from view.
I didn’t drop my hand though I did manage to take three deep breaths. Not like that wasn’t too weird for words. Holding the shield close to my chest, I took a sideways step and then noticed the sound hadn’t yet returned to the evening. Nothing had resumed being normal.
Tilting my head, I said, “All right then. Bring it on.”
Invited, he stepped into a bright arc of natural, real, streetlight illumination and it haloed about him, emphasizing his unearthly looks and his pretty decently built body. He did not carry that vicious-looking, oily miasma of a cloud surrounding him, but shadows hid him and I didn’t know whether that was good or bad. Malender smiled, crinkles at the corners of bright blue eyes. “Happy Birthday. You’re doing well.”
“I’ve got salt on me.” I never went anywhere without one of those mini shakers in a spare pocket.
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you do. I hope you didn’t mind my little . . . test . . . to see how you are faring.”
“What’s a little attack between friends?” I tightened my left hand on my shield and pushed my right hand into my pocket, seeking the salt shaker. He either hadn’t really been in my dream or decided not to mention it. I decided not to, either.
He laughed. “I am pleased to be called friend.”
“Just a saying.”
“My apologies for Joanna slipping her leash, as it were.”
“I’m sure it was an accident.”
“Of course.” Malender took a small step backward, his eyes squinting a bit as if looking at something too bright. “I will see you again?”
“Not if I see you first.”
Laughing, he slipped away, disappearing into wings of darkness that folded about him.
My stone let the shield slip away, but my nerves stayed tight until I turned the corner for home, our weathered old house with its porch light on and—glory be—a nearly equally vintage car sitting in the drive.
With a bright red bow on its hood.
CHAPTER FOUR
BEEP! BEEP!
I PLOWED TO an astonished stop. Our porch light shone thinly as the old bulb toiled valiantly though it was due to burn out any day now, and I wondered if I looked at a mirage. True, mirages were generally found in the desert and involved people dying without water and seeing things, but I could have been imagining this red, shiny, ancient Corolla . . . couldn’t I? After all, I’d seen Joanna pop in and out of a lamppost not two blocks from here.
And it had a suspicious resemblance to a car I’d noticed about and around Professor Brandard’s house before it had been hauled away and disappeared when he’d been a regular customer on my meals route. Before the burning of nearly everything else he owned. So, if the past owner had been the professor, it stood to reason the current owner would likely be Brian. He didn’t have a license yet; in fact, he had little in the way of authentic ID except a passport we’d found in a safe deposit box that had assumed his picture the moment he held it and opened it up. I was highly dubious a magical passport would give him the skill or right to drive. Still, here sat the car. I was even more dubious the impound yard would have sent it with a saucy bow crowning the hood. I scarcely dared to breathe as I crossed the yard to our driveway and stood next to the vehicle, which had been waxed and polished within a micron of its little metallic hide.
Cupping my hands around my disbelieving eyes, I leaned to the window and caught the odometer: 32,306 miles. Practically brand new. I stepped back and kicked a tire. Lots of tread on those babies, and plump with air. I would have popped the hood, too, but that entered the realm of the ridiculous as I had no idea what to do with a car engine beyond adding water and oil to the appropriate places. Oh, and I have a good idea where the battery sits, too. Beyond that, though . . .
The porch light flickered as the front door clanged open and multiple figures ran onto the porch, crying, “Surprise!” They surrounded me, and we jumped up and down in a group hug, with Mom saying, “Isn’t it great?! It’s yours, all yours. I am paying half the insurance, the other half is your job, and Carter got it from the impound, and Brian paid the fees, and everyone contributed to getting it tuned up and polished . . . do you like it?”
“What’s not to like!” I disentangled myself and hugged the car a moment. “But, Brian, are you sure?”
“It couldn’t be in worthier hands.” He smiled. “You’ll be needing it.”
That held an ominous echo and put a slight chill in my warm and fuzzy happiness. I pushed it away. “Thank you, guys! This is awesome.”
Carter stood back, not indulging in the hug, but allowing himself a crooked grin, and he tossed me the keys. I immediately opened the door and slid in. The smell of new leather hit me. How did they manage that when the professor had been smoking either his pipe or cigar in here for the better part of ten years? Obviously, magic had its good points. If we couldn’t get him restored, maybe we could go into the car detailing business, getting rid of tobacco smoke, and baby sour spit up, and dog accidents.
I popped the trunk and hopped out to see it.
Nice and clean, except for a small canvas duffel. I opened the flaps to see a baker’s dozen of Steptoe’s famous flash-bangs waiting inside. Ammo! “Fully equipped, too!”
“A distinct advantage,” Brian noted, “unless you get rear-ended, and they go off. In that case, well, that’s why you have insurance.”
My face hurt from smiling so wide. “Wow.” I closed the trunk (carefully) and went to retrieve my bow. “This is getting hung on my bedroom wall.”
Mom told me, “We’ve cake and ice cream waiting.”
“Where’s Steptoe?”
“He delivered his duffel and said he had a spot of business to take care of.”
“Oh. Well, he’s already wished me a happy birthday. We’ll save him cake.”
Mom’s smile wavered. “I had trouble convincing him of our good intentions. He wanted to take a piece with him, to be sure.”
“That cad!” I laughed at Mom’s expression and locked an arm with her as we walked back to the house. “What’s insurance going to run?”
“Not much, actually. We can handle it.”
“That’s good.” I hugged her. “This is absolutely the best. You know how much I wanted a car.”
“I know. I wanted to get you one sooner, but two cars in the family seemed expensive. The university has been nagging me to get my paper finished. The dean has been dangling a full-time job in front of me, but only if I get my PhD finished, and until then, well, money is tight.” Her expression thinned out, and I got the impression she hid her worry from me.
I knew she wasn’t nearly as close to that goal as she needed to be. “You can go to that writing boot camp they hold.”
“I can, and should, I know. It’s the time, honey. I just never seem to have enough time.”
“Well, now I can drive myself places and do the grocery shopping and banking.”
“You have college to think about.”
“Right. I’m sure I said ‘go to classes’ in there somewhere.”
She hugged my shoulders. “We’ll see,” she said, sighing a bit as we entered the kitchen and then she stopped cold. “He didn’t!”
The beautiful cake, white-frosted with chocolate underneath, stood on its platter, with a large piece clearly missing.
“It looks like he did,” Carter said as he followed us in.
“This is absolutely—I told him to trust me—we wouldn’t forget him—and look what he does!” She marched to the counter in outrage and pulled out her cake knife, gripping it with white knuckles as if she would hack up Simon Steptoe if he dared make an appearance. Mom inhaled deeply. “We’ll just have to make do with candles on what’s left.”
It sat as a fairly ginormous cake, as cakes went, and I suspected we’d all have more cake than we could eat, even with the trespass. She put the cake knife down firmly and reached in a drawer for a box of candles.
As soon as she brought them out, the vision of the cake wavered. Then, with a poof! the missing piece reappeared with a “JK” iced in thin chocolate drizzle as the cake stood restored. She began to laugh. “That scoundrel.” She began to plop twenty candles into place.
So we blew out candles and sang silly songs (Brian knew a few from ages past about getting older that made all of us blush) and ate cake and ice cream till no one could move from their chairs and still have enough for the now infamous Steptoe and maybe a surprise visitor or two.
I stood up reluctantly.
Mom tilted her head at me. “Where are you going, hon?”
“Downstairs. In case Dad is around.”
“Want company?”
“Not tonight.”
She said softly, “Tell him I love him.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will.” Because I knew she still did, despite all that he’d put us through.
The stairs had, at one time, been hidden and incredibly creaky when discovered. Illumination came from the massive hole in the floor when Hiram fell through to a forgotten cellar. Old shelves had held mysterious jars floating with viscous liquid and objects too vague to be identified. Then there had been the cupboard in the corner where I’d unearthed the maelstrom stone.
Now, of course, it looked bright and glossy, like a modern day ice cream parlor, and the only shadows left were stark silhouettes in the corners. It still smelled a little musty, though. Aunt April had never told us about this old cellar and I wondered what she’d think if she knew it had been renovated. I didn’t think she’d mind. When we moved on, which we would someday, it would only make the old place more valuable.
Unless, of course, we’d laid a new floor over more family secrets. That might perturb Aunt April.
I sat down on the bottom step. “Hey, Dad. I know time is a little distorted down here, but it’s my birthday, so I came down to say hi and thank you.” I folded my hands, absently stroking the new glove over my left hand. Good thing Steptoe had given me two pairs; I’d almost lost the one glove tonight already.
A slight chill swept over the stairs. I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear a thin and reedy voice in my ear. “How old?”
“Twenty. Can you believe it?”
The breezy tone whistled slightly. “I’ve missed so much.”
“Mom says for me to remind you that she loves you.”
“And I love the two of you.”
“I haven’t found the way to bring you back yet, but I’m working on it.” I looked around the basement. “Maybe I could bring his books and stuff here after all. The professor needs to clear them out.”
“Dangerous.” The cold gust touched the side of my neck.
“You’re probably right on that one. We could rent a storage unit, but I haven’t got the money, especially now that I have to pay insurance—oh! They got me a car!”
“Nice.” The word, long and drawn out and weary sounding. I could tell that my father had just about reached the limit of his communication tonight. I hadn’t talked to him in weeks, so I wondered for a moment what he’d been doing that drained him so much.
“Go rest, Dad. I’ll be back after a while.”
“Gooooooo.”
And then the chill evaporated, and I stood up and made my way back to the kitchen where the dishwasher hummed with a load of dessert plates and forks and dinner plates and everything had been tidied. An heirloom cake lid, slightly dinged and silvery, rested over the leftovers. Guests had gone and family was treading lightly in the rooms upstairs and I could hear the wood flooring creak softly as they did. I went to join them.
* * *
• • •
The next morning I fell out of bed again.
I huffed a long breath, irritated with what seemed to be a habit, but no rainbows and stars greeted me. Instead, the whole house moaned and groaned and shook as if gripped by an earthquake. The windows shuddered and the eaves rasped. Quake? Really? I felt and listened for a moment as my home moved uneasily, and then I grinned. I threw clothes on, washed my face, and wrestled my hair into a ponytail before thundering downstairs while the house settled, its joints still scraping uneasily. As I’d passed the tell-tales sitting in their vase in their niche, I could see their flower faces were all aimed downstairs, letting me know the center of the house’s troubles. But I already had a fairly good idea.
“Hiram!”
Mortimer’s somewhat taller, just a tad thinner, and much handsomer son turned in the foyer and smiled up at me as I leaped down the last of the stair steps. “Well met, and I am sorry I missed your birthday.” The house settled as he steadied his Iron Dwarf mass.
“That’s all right. We still have cake.”
“Cake sounds desirable this morning. Might you have a stout cup of tea to go with?”
“If we don’t, I’ll make you one.”
I squeezed past Mom to the stove where the kettle made little puffs of steam, getting ready to whistle, as she’d already put it on to heat. “I’ll get that.”
She took a plate, fork, and napkin to Hiram as he sat down carefully. The chair complained a little as he made certain to center his bulk upon it. I made a note to watch yard sales and see if we could get him his own stout perch. The Iron Dwarf swung a twine-wrapped package onto the tabletop.
“For you, lass. The clan wanted this for you.”
I made sure the tea held nearly the color of coffee before I set his cup and the sugar bowl in front of him. He didn’t take milk in it like Simon did, and he smiled as he reached for his drink. “Go on. Open it, then.”
The package nearly opened itself as I unknotted the colored twine and pulled the heavy paper open. What lay inside took my breath away. “What . . . are these . . . they look . . .”
“Bracers,” he said. “Wrist cuffs, aye. Won’t turn bullets away . . . well, they might, but I wouldn’t depend on that. They will turn away most blades and keep you safe. If you put them on a windowsill in the sun, those yellow gems there will soak up the light and glow in the dark
for a while, at need.”
I looked at them, nearly speechless. “What? Really? Get out of here!”
“Really.”
I picked up the bracers and examined their beauty. “Not gold.” They couldn’t be. Bronze, maybe.
“Not exactly,” Hiram smiled around a forkful of chocolate cake.
I tried one on and flexed my arm about. “I look like a freaking superhero!”
“Aye, that’s the thought of it. Not for the looks but for the use of them. They’re armor, and they’re meant to help keep you safe, and to aid you in the art of war.”
My mother sat down too quickly. “War?”
“Well, not war, Missus Andrews, forbid that, but encounters. Of a magical and other sort. At need, as it were.” Hiram quickly devoured two more forkfuls as if to shut himself up as much as enjoy the dessert. His cheeks puffed out.
I put on the other bracer and stretched my arms out to test their weight. Definitely could feel their presence, but it wasn’t like carrying a bowling ball in each hand, and I considered them thoughtfully. “Thank you, and thank everyone for them. They have an old look to them.”
“They have a history, that’s for certain, but not one I can relate here and now as I’m not much of a scholar.” He’d swallowed hastily before answering and now reached for his napkin. “I’ll ask around and get the stories for you.”
More than one story? “Cool.”
Hiram beamed. “I am pleased you like them. It would be advisable to wear them as often as you can. They need to learn their wearer; that much I know.”
“Interesting.”
“Necessary,” he countered, before looking away from my mother’s hard glance and busying himself with his tea.
“Did you see my new car in the drive?”