“Oh, God,” Jasper muttered.
“You said you could ward against curses,” I said. I felt tired. It had been a long day. I relaxed in the embrace of the plant, and it was strong enough to support me.
He smiled. “Sure. Kind of helps to know what form the curse will take ahead of time, though.”
“Chalk.”
“Actually, that part is great. I hope Trina’s okay. I can’t tell if that’s really her spirit inside my picture. I hope not.”
“What else could it be?”
“My idea of her spirit?”
“Wish I hadn’t drawn such big flowers,” Beryl said. A flower grew right in front of her face, eclipsing her. “Oh, well,” she muttered, muffled. She sneezed.
“You can’t ward against curses after they’re cast?” I asked Jasper.
“Not that I know of. I could cast spells of my own, maybe burn the whole plant to the ground, but I keep hoping it will disappear on its own.”
“That would sure be nice.” I would love to know that my curses had a short shelf life.
“It’s so lively and happy.” He frowned. “A curse mixed with a blessing. I hate to hurt it.”
“There,” Flint said. “I’m done.”
We turned.
A new plant shot up from the walk. Its leaves were darker green, and its flowers were different colors from the ones Beryl had drawn—lavender, white, soft pink with crimson hearts, stamens dusted with yellow or purple pollens.
Its branches reached for Flint. He jumped up and ran across the lawn.
Then the new plant became aware of the older plant. They sent branches toward each other, tangled tendrils, waved flowers at each other. The plant holding me shifted and rustled, and then it pulled away from me, and I fell on my butt on the lawn. Jasper and Beryl dropped beside me. Flint’s plant and Beryl’s plant interwove, a slow fireworks of exuberance, pressed pollen kisses into each other’s flowers, and paid no attention to us anymore. They even left Trina’s head alone.
“Wow,” Beryl whispered. “Flint did something that worked!”
Flint strolled back. “I heard that. And you’re wrong. I did two things that worked in one night. Cake, and the plant.”
Jasper stooped next to Trina’s head. She still looked and sounded like she was sleeping. He glanced back at Flint. “What would you do about her?”
Flint straightened. Jasper never asked for his advice. “She was talking about dreams, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Go where she really is and wake her up.”
Jasper studied Flint, then slowly smiled. “Couldn’t hurt,” he said. “Gyp, you want to come?”
“Thanks, but I’m too tired. Besides, maybe I should watch all these things. Not that I know what to do about them.”
“Here’s what you do,” said Flint. “Have some of my cake.”
I smiled at him. “Okay.” Maybe the cake would make me sick or make me change. Maybe it wouldn’t. That would be worth knowing. I had permanent gloves, and my best dress had a new color scheme, but so far my own curses hadn’t hurt me. Was that a rule, or just chance?
“I still have two corners left. Beryl, you want some celebration cake?”
“I’ve got a big history test tomorrow,” she said. “My teacher gave me special permission to take the test late because I was sick last week. I mean, my whole class started Christmas Break last week, but Mrs. Walker is coming back just to let me take a makeup test. Don’t want to get sick again and miss it.”
“Chicken,” said Flint.
“So true!”
Flint got me a piece of cake. Feeling fatalistic, I took a big bite. He was right. It tasted delicious. The cake was dense and moist and vanilla-lemon, and the pale frosting was orange buttercream, fresh and wonderful. “Wow!” It might just be the best cake I ever tasted, including my own. No wonder Flint had eaten six pieces. “Thanks! You do good work.”
“Told ya.” He got another piece himself and sat next to me to eat. “Happy transition, Gyp.”
“Thanks, buddy. This definitely helps.” I took small bites, savoring the taste as it melted on my tongue, and waited for the curse part to kick in.
Nothing happened. Beryl stood up. “I have to study,” she said. “You going to be okay out here?”
I checked the plants. Now that they were involved with each other, their growth had slowed, though they were still inching across the front of the porch. I stood up for a better view. Yep, they had flowed up and over the porch walls, and their furthest branches were approaching the second story windows. “I’ll call you if it gets bad, I guess.”
“Okay. I’ll check back in an hour.” She edged around the plants and climbed the stone steps to the porch. The plants had sent fingers across the edges of the steps, too.
“When you get upstairs, could you toss me down my green jacket?” I called. Now that things had stopped erupting and I had time to notice how I felt, I was cold.
“Sure.” She went inside.
A couple minutes later a window opened upstairs. Beryl leaned out and dropped my green jacket and a blanket for Flint. She guided them through the air so they landed gently right on us.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Welcome.” The window closed.
Flint yawned and wrapped up in the blanket.
“You don’t have somewhere else to go?” I asked.
“Just to sleep. I can do that here as well as anywhere.” Flint was taking a year off between high school and college to goof off, so he didn’t have studies or work prep to worry about. Mama didn’t approve, but Dad said to let him do it. So far Flint hadn’t found anything like a calling. He tried various jobs. It was like a contest. How fast could he get fired? He’d lasted four days as a dishwasher at an upscale restaurant, three at McDonald’s, two as a clerk in a CD store, one on a construction crew.
Lately a few neighbors had asked him to babysit. Strangely, he was good at that; his reputation was spreading, and he had babysitting jobs lined up five nights out of seven. He was saving for a trip to Baja. There were lots of things he could manage with magic; he wouldn’t have to pay for food unless he wanted to taste local specialties, and he expected to be able to sleep fine outdoors. He might even be able to travel by magic, except he could never depend on going where he wanted. He figured he’d be better off taking the train.
Unlike the rest of us, he had never saved up for a motor vehicle, even though Mama and Dad offered matching funds. He took the city bus when he wanted to go someplace, or begged rides from us, or borrowed cars from friends.
His Baja plan was loose and constantly changing, like most of his plans, and might never come to anything. He had talked his friend Calvin into going with him, whenever they managed to go. Surfing. Gray whales. Desert. Nothing he couldn’t get locally, but he wanted to see it in another country.
“I wonder why this cake isn’t wild like the other stuff,” I said when I finished my piece.
“What did your drawing do?”
I opened my jacket and pointed to the splashes, smears, and splatters of color on my dress. His brows lowered. He leaned forward and touched the material. “You drew a dress?”
“No, I drew a deliberate nothing. It jumped off the walk and plastered itself onto my dress, and now it’s part of it.”
“Maybe you could design stuff. Wallpaper, towels, placemats.”
“You like this?”
“It’s interesting.”
“Do you ever think about design work?” I asked. He drew a mean cake. I hadn’t seen it before it turned real, but judging from the way other things were acting tonight, it must have looked pretty good even in the flat version. I could imagine placemats, kitchen towels, wallpaper with Flint-designed pictures of food on them. How did a person get into that field?
He turned away. “I never think about anything.”
“But—hey!” Trina’s head melted. One second it was there, curly and huge, a sleeping, smiling lump, and then it melted down
until nothing was left but what must be Jasper’s original drawing on the walk.
“Cool,” said Flint.
“I bet your idea worked.”
“Three things that worked in one night? How likely is that?”
I slugged his arm. “Come on. You have lots of good ideas.”
He glanced at me. Smiled, and looked away. “I’m a legend in my own mind. But nobody else is paying attention, Gyp. Admit it.”
I picked at blades of grass. Truth was, he was right. Flint had screwed up so many times we all expected him to do it every time. “Do you have any idea why your cake is good when you drew it with cursed chalk?”
“Sure, I have an idea. I always have an idea. Not necessarily a correct idea. Here’s what I think: I have this maverick energy that Tobias can’t help me train because he doesn’t understand it. Nobody’s recorded a power like mine in our family histories. While I was using your chalk, I called on my power, too, asked it to help me do something safe. Maybe it nullifies curse power, or something.”
“If that’s true, you’re going to be my favorite brother now.” I leaned against his shoulder.
“Don’t get mushy.” He pushed me away.
“But seriously.” What if he was right? Maybe I could curse him and he could protect himself. I could use my curse power, and not cause harm. “Can I have another piece of cake?”
He jumped up and got me another piece of cake. “Should I save some for Mama and Dad?”
“And Tobias and Hermina? Unless you want to eat it all.”
“I’m full. I’ll put this in the fridge.” He lifted the platter. There was still lots of luscious-looking cake on it. “Be right back.”
I ate more cake and studied the effects of my second curse. Trina had flattened down into two dimensions. The plants didn’t move at all anymore. Where Flint had drawn his cake, there was blank walkway.
I checked the many-colored splotch on my dress. It showed no signs of giving up being part of my dress. I set aside my empty plate, wrapped up in Flint’s blanket, and lay on the lawn.
Six
“GYPSUM!” Startled out of sleep, I struggled to sit up. Mama’s voice always had a galvanizing effect on me.
My hair was wet, and my cheek itched from being against grass all night. My mouth tasted sour. I felt like I had slept in my clothes. Which I had.
“What are you doing out here? It took me fifteen minutes to find you! I had to resort to Search! Why is your car in front of the house?” Mama had a great voice, very useful on TV. Whatever she said always seemed more important than anything you were doing or thinking.
She had a great presence, too. Usually around the house she toned herself down, wore glasses and sweats and let her hair fall where it wanted. She was in full charisma mode. She wore a stylish red dress with gold buttons down the side, and her face looked luminous, her lips a red that matched the dress, her violet eyes outlined in soft black, her hair tamed from its natural wild waves into a glossy dark honey coronet.
Mama in full charisma mode. Me, a mess, out of place, guilty of illegal parking, and not properly awake. Recipe for trouble.
I rubbed my eyes. My skin didn’t feel like my skin. I peered at my hands. Black, with smears of chalk across the fingers and palms.
“Where did you get those gloves?” She stooped to stare.
I looked at the sky. It was barely daylight. “What time is it?”
“Six A.M.”
Six A.M. and she was already dressed and ready for the world! Mama never slept very well; she had night terrors, and was often up at five or six, but she usually didn’t gear up until later. She didn’t even have to go to work until three in the afternoon. Maybe she was really mad. What had happened while I was asleep? If those chalk plants ate the house—
I checked the walk beside me. No more plants making love all over the back of our house; the drawings had reverted to drawings, except there was no picture of cake, and no abstraction.
Mama followed my gaze and spotted the pictures. “What kind of party did you kids have out here last night?” She lifted one of my arms and studied my glove. “Where on Earth did you get this? The workmanship is amazing! But look what you’ve done! Haven’t I taught you to take better care of your things?” She tugged on the glove, and it slipped off in her hand.
“Whoa!” Exposed to morning air, my arm chilled.
“I don’t even remember who cleans gloves these days. Guess I’ll have to do it myself. Give me the other one.”
I held out my gloved arm, and she tugged the glove off. “Oh, this leather! You have to tell me where you got them. This is the softest, finest—” She stroked the gloves over her hand and muttered to them. “What is this chalk? It’s persistent!”
I touched my lips with my naked fingers. I had my own skin again. “A lot happened last night.”
“I saw. Half a cake in the fridge. When did you bake it? I don’t remember you in the kitchen last night except right when you got home from work, and there weren’t any baking smells then.”
Sometimes I forgot how many secret agent skills Mama had. When she was paying attention, she knew way too much. Another reason I tried to stay out of her way. “Right. Flint made the cake.”
“Flint!” She touched her stomach. “But I ate a piece. It was really good.”
“Yeah. Mama, Flint made me a celebration cake. I finally had my transition.”
Her violet eyes widened. “Oh, honey!” Then she hugged me, warm and comforting as flannel fresh from the dryer. “Oh, honey. Oh, honey,” she murmured in my ear. She smelled of jasmine. “I’m so happy. I’m so relieved. I’ve been so worried about you.”
“Well, the news isn’t all good. My gift is a dark power.”
She sat back and stared into my face. “Gyp?”
“The power of curses,” I said.
“Oh, Gyp.”
“I’ve got a lot to figure out,” I said.
Mama hugged me again. With my cheek pillowed on her breast, I felt like a kid again. An urge to cry rose in my throat. I swallowed it.
Still, when she let me go, and stared meaningfully into my eyes, I sniffed. I fished a Kleenex out of my coat pocket and blew my nose. “I made those gloves. My first curse.”
She frowned. She drew the gloves over her hand. “This quality leather is a curse? I’m not sure I understand.”
“Well, they wouldn’t come off until you took them off.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes narrowed.
“The chalk was my second curse. I cursed a rock into chalk.”
She grinned.
“So we drew pictures with it to see what would happen. They came alive last night.”
She shook her head. “Gyp, this doesn’t sound like a curse. It sounds more like playtime.”
“In retrospect,” I said. I yawned and looked around. “Where’s Flint? I thought he was going to watch with me.”
“Look.” She pointed to an outline in the dewed grass near where I had lain. “Maybe he got up earlier. Somebody made coffee before I got to the kitchen. It was really bad coffee, too.”
We both smiled. Flint’s kitchen skills were so bad they were legendary. I used to figure he was just doing it to get out of work. But he cooked the same—badly—whether he was alone in the house or there was someone around to notice.
“I threw it out and made a new pot. Would you like some?” Mama asked.
“Uh, sure.” Six A.M.! The middle of the night! I had my schedule set up the way I liked it: no classes before eleven in the morning, and my three-day-a-week schedule at the center was an evening shift, three to eight. And anyway, this was finals week, and I’d finished my finals. I didn’t even have to go to campus today. All I really wanted to do right now was go back to sleep, but I knew I’d feel better if I got out of my crumpled day-old clothes, brushed my teeth, and showered before I did.
As I crawled to my feet, I realized that I never wanted to sleep on a lawn again, either. I had creaks and crooks in muscles I had n
ever noticed before. I felt like a badly treated antique.
“You have the most interesting rash on your face,” Mama said.
“Thanks.”
“Is there more of your cursed chalk? I’ve been thinking about these gloves. If the chalk doesn’t come off, maybe I can fix them by sprinkling chalk all over them. I could pick colors that would match several outfits.”
“Those are my gloves, Mama.”
“Oh, you want them back? Really, are you ever going to wear them again?”
Would I ever put them on again, knowing that they tended to cling? I would be scared to wear them. On the other hand, they were the product of my first conscious act of power. On the third hand, when Mama really wanted something, it was hard to resist her. Sometimes she got things through sheer force of character, and sometimes she cheated and used hidden persuasions. She really liked my gloves.
“Uncle Tobias says I have to use my power every day or I’ll hurt myself,” I said. “Couldn’t I just, kind of, curse you a new pair of gloves?”
Her eyes glowed. “Oh! Let’s try it! Can you make them red to match my dress?”
“I’ll see.” How had I made my gloves? I held out my hand and Mama put the gloves into it. I rubbed one against my cheek. I had seen the gloves on my power self, and wished for my own pair. “I wish you had a pair of gloves like these, only the color and style you want,” I said. A snake of fire uncoiled inside me and struck. A flash shot from my chest and bathed Mama’s arms in red light. Then she was wearing red elbow-length gloves.
A faint tension in my shoulders that I hadn’t even noticed relaxed a fraction.
“Yes,” she whispered. She held her hands out in front of her and relished. “Ohhhh.” She brushed gloved fingertips down her cheek. “Smooth as water. So thin! I bet for sure they can pass the dime test.”
“The dime test?”
She blinked, realized I was still with her. “The true test of a good pair of gloves is whether you can pick up a dime while wearing them. This is fine, fine work, Gyp.”
A Fistful Of Sky Page 9