Moon Dreams (The Jeremy Moon Trilogy Book 1)

by Brad Strickland

  “You have ruined me,” Kelada said. “I will never be a thief again.”

  “Liar,” Jeremy said. “You will steal men's hearts.”

  “There is only one that I care to have.”

  “It is yours already.”

  She traced his scars, now unbandaged and healing. “Your poor face. These will go without a trace, I think, but this one here on your right cheek will leave a mark. And your beard just here, below it, is growing a white streak.”

  “I could spell it brown again.”

  “No. I like it.” She kissed his cheek.

  He pulled her to him and gave her a longer kiss. Her arms went around him. Next to them the water sang, and far away the chop-chop-chop of the woodsmen went on uninterrupted. There came a time when he looked at her body and marveled. “I'm a better magician than I know,” he said.

  She crossed her arms. “Don't stare at me that way.”

  “Once you didn't mind.”

  “Well—now I do.”

  “Then come closer, so that I can see only your eyes.”

  Later that afternoon, Barach met them as they came back through the gates, after Jeremy had settled a squabble between the stone guardians Fred and Busby. Fred maintained that the Hag's castle had been built from marble quarried in the southern part of the Wolmas Mountains, while Busby held that the material was northern granite; when Jeremy and Kelada described the stones, Busby grinned fiercely, even for a gargoyle, and Fred lapsed into stony silence. Barach stood just within the gates, his hands behind him. “Well,” he said, smiling. “And did you young people have a good day?”

  Kelada looked down and blushed. Jeremy said, “A fine day, Master. A perfect day.”

  The council came when apples were still green on the trees but beginning to show a hint of red about them, when the bees were still fat and lazy, droning from flower to flower as if the burden of pollen they bore were almost too much for them on such a warm and pleasant morning. For days they closeted themselves alone, and at great length they sent for Jeremy.

  The atmosphere in the Great Hall was decidedly warmer than it had been on Jeremy's first visit. Jondan, the youngest of the magi, rose and held a chair for Jeremy this time, and as he sat he felt all eyes warm upon him. Barach, across the table, beamed and winked. “They come late, young man,” motherly Mumana said, “but all of us wish to add our thanks to those of Tremien. You did not know it, but the Dark One had other curses, and lesser ones, at work in our lands as well as here, and when the Hag failed, so did the Dark One's spells.”

  Altazar of the high-pitched, querulous voice smiled at him. “You honor our council by being one of us. And if you decide to stay, from henceforth your seat will be among ours at every consultation.”

  “I have little choice.” Jeremy smiled.

  “Not so.” Imperious Wyonne looked to Tremien. “Tell Jeremy of our decision.”

  Tremien clasped his brown hands before him. “Jeremy, some months ago I devised a spell that communicated with your world. Not all its virtue is gone, and I could reopen the pathway. In view of your services to Thaumia, the members of our council have agreed to use their powers to hold the passage open and to send you home. But you must send Sebastian back to us in exchange.”

  “Why? What will you do to him?”

  “It is not vengeance, Jeremy,” Barach said. He held his hands out, palms up, as an illustration. “It is a question of balance. You and Sebastian are mirror-images. It is right that one of you be in your world, one here in Thaumia. What would happen if the balance were broken, we do not know, but we cannot chance upsetting the natural laws of either universe.”

  Jeremy blinked. “But I had just resigned myself to living here for the rest of my life. I—could I have some time to decide?”

  “Unfortunately, you cannot,” Altazar said. “I have made some study of what we know of your world, and of Sebastian's spells. He chose a time of exaltation to enter your universe, our day of midwinter. I believe it is the twenty-first day of one of your months.”

  “Yes. December 21.”

  “And now we approach the day of High Summer. In the scraps of lore that Sebastian left behind him, he has identified June 23 as the equivalent day in your part of the Earth. That day is tomorrow. It is another time of exaltation, and if we do not make the exchange then, we will never be able to do it. Tremien cannot hold the virtue of his spell for much longer, and after that has gone, we lose all hope of sending you home.”

  “You must decide,” Barach said gently. “The magi must begin preparations at once.”

  For long moments Jeremy sat in silence. At last he looked up. “Send me back home,” he said. “The Earth is my world, not Sebastian's. I should go where I belong.”

  A sigh went up around the table, of mingled relief and regret.

  “I hate to break a promise,” Jeremy told Nul.

  The pika, his legs still heavily splinted but now able to hobble about with the aid of two short crutches, shook his head. “Nah, nah. Of all here, I know how you feel. I lost my world, too. Well, go with my friendship. Think of Nul now and again.”

  “I will. And I hope you find your family.”

  Nul sniffled. “Pika-man cannot cry,” he said. “No water in eyes for it. But my heart cry.”

  “I know,” Jeremy said. “Mine too.”

  To Barach, Jeremy said, “Find yourself a student, teacher. Find yourself a young man with power that he cannot control or understand. And tell him every one of your stories, even if he doesn't get the point of any of them.”

  “I will never have a student like you, Jeremy. But I will do what I can.”

  “And will you say my farewells to Gareth and Melodia? Tell them I wish for them every happiness.”

  “They know already. But I will tell them.”

  Jeremy embraced the old man. “Grandfather,” he whispered, too softly for Barach even to hear.

  “How can I leave you?” Jeremy asked Kelada in the depths of the night.

  She kissed him. “You will do what is right. I know you now.” The bed creaked, and she was gone. In a moment she had returned. “Here. Take this with you, if you can.” She put something small into his hand.

  “What is this?”

  “It is the potion you made for me. I never took it.”

  “You never—but you—”

  “The potion did not transform me. You did. Your love did. Before, I never loved myself, but now I do, because you do. Not all magic is to be found in potions and spells.” She sobbed. “Damn. I never thought I'd have to cry about you again.”

  He held her until the sun turned the sky outside the arched windows rosy with dawn.

  The Great Hall had been cleared of all but the magi of Cronbrach. Again a five-pointed star had appeared in the center of the room, on the stone floor, and a mage stood on each point of the star: Altazar, Wyonne, Mumana, Jondan, and Tremien. From the corner Barach, bereft of his magic, watched quietly. Jeremy, as he had been bidden to do, dropped his robe and walked naked to the center of the star.

  The magi began to sing then, a song wordless, or else in a language older than song. Jeremy clutched in his right hand the tiny teardrop vial that Kelada had returned to him: otherwise he had nothing to take back with him.

  The room faded from his eyes, and he had the impression of rushing through untold distances of space, of cold and heat, light and dark, and of galaxies dancing to the silent music of time. Then he was behind a mirror once more, looking out, but this time the mirror was the one behind the sink in his own bathroom back in Atlanta. He leaned forward, felt the glass become soft, and slipped through.

  Once in his apartment, Jeremy unclenched his hand. The vial and the potion were no longer there. He turned: his naked reflection faced him, bearded, hair long and unkempt, eyes somehow older than they should be.

  “Sebastian,” he said under his breath, “I'm coming for you.”

  But Sebastian wasn't at home. Jeremy padded naked through the whole apartme
nt, and on the dinette table he found a disarranged newspaper, the remnants of eggs and toast, and thirty-five cents. The paper was the Atlanta Constitution for Tuesday, June 23. The clock on the kitchen wall said it was 10:15 a.m. Sebastian was at work already.

  Tremien had warned Jeremy that he had only about four hona—that would be roughly four and three-quarters hours here—to send Sebastian back and be sure of his arrival. Jeremy went back into the bedroom and opened a bureau drawer. He expected underwear. What he found were socks. He grabbed a pair, tossed them onto the bed (neatly made, a habit he had never formed), and opened the next drawer. There, beneath a fresh layer of red, blue, and even wilder-colored nylon bikini briefs, Jeremy discovered some plain white J.C. Penney undershorts, size 34. He pulled them on. From the closet he took a familiar old pair of lightweight gray slacks, a blue shirt, and a new navy blazer. The shoes were mostly new, but in the back of the closet he found a battered pair of L. L. Bean boat shoes, old companions, and he slipped them on.

  Sebastian didn't seem to have disturbed his junk drawer. He found his old wallet there, empty except for oddments, but in the back of the drawer was an envelope from the bank, and in the envelope was his spare magic card. He stuck it into the wallet and went downstairs.

  The branch bank was nearly six blocks away, and overhead the sky was dark with clouds grumbling thunder at him, but he made it into the computer kiosk before anything hit. The automatic teller accepted his card. As a precaution, he first asked for his checking balance. The computer pondered for a minute, then told him he had $8,291.43 in checking and wished him a nice day. Jeremy clenched his jaw. He had never had that much in checking. But he withdrew $200.00, the maximum limit. It came hissing out at him as ten twenty-dollar bills, crisp and so new that he half expected Andrew Jackson to have dark hair.

  Jeremy telephoned for a cab from the bank, using the change he had found on the breakfast table. It came for him only twenty minutes later, an ancient vehicle smelling of stale sweat, decomposing foam rubber, and rusting seat springs. The driver warned it would be a fifteen-dollar fare, complained about having to take him north of the perimeter, complained about the weather, complained about the city. Jeremy didn't mind. The cab rattled so much that he could hardly hear the man's voice.

  Outside of Taplan and Taplan Jeremy climbed out of the taxi. He opened his wallet and gave the driver two twenties. The man scowled at them. “Hey, is these things real?”

  “You're welcome,” Jeremy said, turning on his heel.

  Charlie, sitting his tour of duty out behind the front desk, looked up and nodded as Jeremy turned the visitor's sheet toward him. Charlie was working on the Jumble word puzzle on that morning's comics page. With a pencil he was pushing the letters G-I-C-M-A this way and that. Jeremy hesitated, signed the register “Sebastian Moon,” gave his own office as his destination, and turned the sheet back around. “It's ‘magic,’ Charlie,” he said.

  “Huh,” Charlie said. “So it is.” He looked at the register. “Mr. Moon? You a relation, huh?”

  “A cousin,” Jeremy said.

  “Down for the weekend, I guess. Go right on up. Elevators over there.”

  Jeremy wondered why he was down for the weekend. The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, and he made his way to his own cubicle. Glenda was away from her desk, which suited Jeremy fine. He walked in and said, “Hello.”

  And a bespectacled young man looked up with an absent expression. “Can I help you?”

  “Uh—I'm looking for Jeremy Moon. I thought he worked here.”

  “He does. Mr. Moon's office is on the other side. Number 412.”

  “Thanks.”

  Number 412 was the office of the department head. According to a discreet nameplate on the door, it was also the office of Jeremy Moon. Dixie, the chief's private secretary, smiled as he came in. “Yes, sir?”

  Damn the beard, Jeremy thought. It doesn't change me that much. But of course the people at Taplan and Taplan knew what Jeremy looked like. “I'm here to see Mr. Moon,” Jeremy told her.

  “Do you have an appointment, Mr.—?”

  “He'll want to see me.” Dixie smiled her barricade smile at him, and he added, “I'm family.”

  At that moment Sebastian opened the door, looking down at a sheaf of papers. “These will do fine, Dix. Copy them and—” He looked up.

  Jeremy smiled. “Hi, cousin,” he said. “Didn't expect to see ol’ Sebastian around today, did you?”

  Sebastian blinked once. “Ah—no. No. Here, Dix. Well—Sebastian. It's been a while.”

  “Sure has.” Sebastian, how would you like to return to Thaumia as a toad? I wonder how much mana I have left.

  “Well—ah, Dix, what's on for the rest of the day?”

  Dixie consulted a calendar. “You have a meeting with the department at one-thirty to talk about the new Moss account. Then at three you wanted to confer with the artist on the Pinella spots. Mr. Bush of Creative Consultants is due at four.”

  “Yes, well. Ah, postpone the department meeting until tomorrow, it'll hold. And can you call the artist, ah—”

  “Lakie.”

  “Right, and Bush, and reschedule? I think I'm taking the rest of the afternoon off.”

  “Surely,” Dixie said.

  “Come on, cousin,” Jeremy said, throwing his arm around Sebastian's shoulders. “We've got a lot to talk about.”

  In the parking lot, Jeremy stared in disbelief at the red Porsche. “Why?” he asked.

  “Cassie liked it,” Sebastian said. “And you could afford it. You had enough in savings to pay cash for it.”

  “But my Civic—”

  Sebastian smiled sheepishly. “I broke it. I didn't know driving was so difficult.”

  “Get in,” Jeremy said. “Let's see how your driving is now.”

  “It's better,” Sebastian said as he slid behind the wheel. “I used my magic to learn it.”

  “And the language, and my job?”

  “Yes. But it's gone now. I've lost all of it. Spells are hard to work in this universe, and it took tremendous power.” Sebastian started the engine. “Where to?”

  “I don't know. Just drive for now. Downtown.”

  Sebastian grimaced. “Making me drive in downtown Atlanta. You must really be pissed off.” But he pulled the car out of the lot and headed south. “What happened back in April?” he asked suddenly.

  “When?”

  “You appeared one night, remember? Then my mirror exploded, and Cassie had hysterics. I finally convinced her she'd had a nightmare and blamed the broken mirror on a sonic boom.”

  Jeremy looked out the window. “It's too complicated to go into right now. But the Hag is dead, and the Great Dark One's power is broken.” He shook his head. “Jesus, do you realize how crazy that sounds while we're driving past the Doraville GM plant?”

  “How did you do there?”

  “Well enough. I was the one responsible for killing the Hag and breaking the mirrors.”

  Sebastian gave him a look of frank respect. “There was more about you than I suspected.”

  “Good Lord,” Jeremy said. “What's that?”

  “Oh, they finally finished the new interchange.” Sebastian turned off onto I-85. They merged with steady traffic and headed in toward the city. “So what happens now?”

  “I'm supposed to send you back in my place.”

  “Bob Escher was fired, did you know that?”

  “How could I?” Jeremy demanded in a querulous voice. “You seem to have made out well yourself.”

  “Uh-huh. Just took a little drive and determination, that's all. People here are bizarre, Jeremy. They'll believe anything. You should see the package of ads I put together for this rinky-dink wine company. Tripled their sales in the last quarter! And I got an award for the ads, too. That cinched the promotion, I think. Oh. You've been head of copywriting since April first.”

  “No fooling.”

  “No, honest.”

  Ahead of them the towers
of Atlanta showed suddenly, etched against a background of dark clouds. Lightning ripped through the sky. Three miles farther south, Jeremy sat up very straight. “Turn here. This exit.”

  At the top of the ramp, Sebastian said, “Which way?”

  “Left. Turn in over there.”

  Sebastian looked aghast at the sign, red letters on a white background, and at the restaurant under it. “What?”

  Jeremy glowered at him. “I want a Varsity chili dog, French fries, and a large Coke. It's been a long time.”

  After lunch (Sebastian didn't eat; he just looked on in horror, once muttering, “Do you know how much cholesterol is in that junk?"), Jeremy checked the time on the car clock: 12:17. “Drive some more,” he ordered. “Downtown.”

  Atlanta had not changed very much in six months. The wind still whipped dust and stray newspapers high in the cross streets off Peachtree, and the MARTA buses still went anywhere they wanted while smaller cars cowered away from them. “Do I have any money left?” Jeremy asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw the suits in the closet. And this car. I was saving up in case—”

  “Don't worry about it. Mom—your mother, I mean—is living with Bill now, in Baltimore.”

  “What?”

  “Look, your brother Bill—”

  “Bill and Mom never got along! They'll tear each other apart!”

  “No, no, you don't understand—”

  “My God! Bill's a bum, but I wouldn't wish Mom on—”

  “Jeremy!” When Jeremy fell quiet, Sebastian said, “Look, Bill's been in the wrong job all his life. He was never meant to be an engineer, I don't care what Georgia Tech said. I've got some investments in a sporting-goods company, and they needed a sales rep for the D.C. area. Bill was out of work in February, and they took him on, on my recommendation. He's going great guns. He's always been a salesman; he just didn't know it. And all Mom wanted was for him to settle down, which he has. You should see them together. You'll want to vomit.”