by Amy Herrick
Feenix watched in fascinated horror, then threw up her hands and yelled, “To me! Throw it to me.”
The twister nearly upon him, Danton turned. He threw the Fetch up as high and far as he was able. Over it went, barely clearing the sucking vortex and then it dropped down, down into Feenix’s waiting hands.
“I’ve got it!” she yelled.
With a roar of fury, the wind funnel began to turn itself around, looking for its opponent. It was clumsy and slow in this form, but all of them felt how its pull was growing stronger, like a monstrous industrial-strength vacuum cleaner.
“I’m open!” yelled Danton, but the funnel shifted its bulk to block him and Feenix threw the stone back to Brigit.
Back and forth they went, back and forth, but the twister kept growing in strength and seemed tireless. Feenix knew that she, Danton, and Brigit were not. Just as she was wondering how much longer they could go on like this, she saw that the funnel had slowed itself to one spot. It was turning like a top, levitating just off the ground, and its sound had diminished to a low, unpleasant grinding noise. The Fetch was in Danton’s hand. He stood near the edge of the cliff, bouncing alertly on his feet, waiting for the funnel to approach him. But this time it didn’t. Instead it turned sharply toward Brigit.
“What’s it doing?” Danton yelled in alarm. “Watch out, Brigit! Get out of its way.”
But where could she go? In the next instant, the thing swelled itself out again and with a giant snort of glee, sucked Brigit right into its interior. For a moment Feenix could see Brigit’s pale, terrified face going around and around. Then she was sucked farther into the churning snow and dust. She disappeared from sight.
“No!” screamed Danton. “Let go of her!” He was already running toward the twister.
“Don’t!” warned Feenix. “It’s a trick. That’s exactly what he’s hoping you’ll do, don’t you see?”
Danton stopped and turned toward Feenix. “I have to go in after her. You take the Fetch and just keep moving. I’ve got to get her out.”
Before Feenix had time to object, Danton had tossed the Fetch in the air. Feenix caught it in her hands and Danton dashed forward and leaped right into the heart of the funnel.
The whirlwind paused for a moment, listing a little to the side, as if Danton’s weight had sent it off-balance. Then it righted itself and began slowly to turn again, making an uneven grating and grinding noise.
Was it digesting Danton? It teetered slowly from side to side like a top again, then began to pick up some speed.
It now turned its attention back to Feenix.
She moved slowly backward, clutching the Fetch. She felt how it had lost a lot of its hardness. It had a fuzzy ripeness to it, like a peach with a little give to the touch. It was warm, too, and smelled sweeter than ever. She glanced down and saw that it was giving off a faintly rosy glow.
Anxiously, Feenix turned to see what was behind her. She was approaching the edge of the cliff. She looked back at the funnel and saw only spinning wisps of dust and snow, but the thing was making its grinding noise, stuttering and stopping. She wouldn’t want to have Danton for dinner either. Was this demon sucker intending to devour her? Or just push her off into the Nothing? Feenix took another step backward. Probably either way would work just as well for it. She remembered the smooth and bottomless Nothing with a wave of nausea. No. She’d rather be eaten. At least she’d have a chance to fight. One more step and she’d be over the edge, but for now she could still feel the solid cliff beneath her feet. She dug in and stood her ground.
The wind rumbled gleefully as if tickled by her defiance. She felt herself being dragged inexorably into it.
“Eat my socks!” she yelled and held on tight to the Fetch as if its weight could keep her anchored.
Then she heard someone calling her name. The voice came to her only faintly through the screeching and rushing of the wind. Was it Danton? Or Brigit? The voice was saying something to her, but the wind picked up speed as if it were trying to drown out the words.
But now she heard it again, even louder. Someone was calling her name and whoever it was yelled, “Throw it to me! TO ME!”
Feenix stood frozen trying to understand where the voice was coming from, and then she saw a movement over to the right by the oak tree. She leaned forward peering through the dust and wind and blowing snow. She could just make out a figure waving at her, arms up in the air.
Was it possible? It looked like Dweebo—the non-backward semi-grown-up Dweebo.
“Throw me the Fetch. I see what we have to do!”
What did he mean? Was he trying to trick her? What if it was another fake?
“Look! Over here!”
He was pointing up in the direction of the oak tree, at what she had no clue. Its branches were bare except for a raggedy bird’s nest with its bottom half fallen out.
“You see? It’s got to be the doorway. My thread goes right there.”
If it was him, he must have lost his mind.
But the funnel for just a moment seemed to hesitate and grow quieter as if it were listening.
“Are you working on your suntan?” the new Eddie yelled. “You are slower than cement! Throw it!”
She was slower than cement? How dare he? Now the funnel seemed to come awake again. As it moved toward her, its black mouth yawned open. For a second, Feenix thought she caught a glimpse of something or someone tumbling around inside, but she had no time to look closer. She lifted her arm back and blindly pitched the stone as high and hard as she could.
Up the Fetch flew. The funnel gave a roar of fury and jumped back, twisting to watch its prey flying into the air overhead. To Feenix’s surprise, the Fetch cleared the top of the twister—just barely—and then came tumbling down the other side. She could hardly believe it when Eddie caught it neatly in his open hands. She thought again of Mr. Ross and his story about improbable odds.
Only now did the funnel seem to realize what had happened. It gave an ear-splitting scream of frustration and gathered itself together again, shrinking, but growing denser and tighter. Then it began to skim rapidly over the ground in Eddie’s direction.
“Watch out!” Feenix yelled in warning, but he was paying no attention to her or the twister. He was staring upward. He held the Fetch lightly in his fingertips pulled close to his chest. He seemed to be waiting for something.
But what? What did he think he was doing?
Feenix followed his gaze up into the bare branched oak tree. Something was happening to the beat-up bird’s nest, which hung out over the void. It looked like a ribbon of golden flame was racing around its rim. The twister was fast approaching Eddie, but he continued to ignore it. He kept his eyes fixed on the nest. In seconds the whole thing was engulfed in the white-hot fire, and soon the branch it hung from was burning as well. The twigs and mud of the nest seemed to melt with the heat, while the branch crumbled into ash and fell away. In a few moments, all that was left was a molten golden hoop suspended high in the darkness, hanging over the Nothing.
Eddie, of all the improbable klutzes in the world, bent his knees, held the Fetch out in front of himself, and sighted toward the sky.
The twister was right there on his behind.
“Go for it! Shoot!” Feenix shouted at him.
He took no time to turn around, but she thought she saw him nod. He bounced slightly, as if testing his knees, then he jumped nearly straight upward, launching the Fetch into the air. The Fetch flew toward the sky, glowing brighter and brighter, a small fiery tail shooting from its back as it approached its destination. Up it arched. Then down it came on the other side. It dropped effortlessly through the golden hoop and vanished.
There was an immediate and deafening silence. The twister came to a stop right where it was. For a moment it shuddered and wobbled, and then it crumpled in upon itself. In the next instant, the little island they stood on grew as dark as the inside of a boot. Feenix couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.
&n
bsp; “You still there?” she called out to Eddie.
“Yes,” he called out. “I’m over here.”
The only thing still visible was the hoop hanging suspended in the air over their heads. It was shrinking rapidly. Soon it was only the size of a bracelet. Then a golden wedding ring.
The smaller it grew, the hotter and brighter it seemed to burn. In the next moment its rim was so shrunken that its sides had melted together. It was no bigger than a tiny golden bead, a bead that blazed so brightly it was burning a hole straight into the darkness.
“Watch out!” Eddie yelled.
Watch out for what?
The explosion that followed was unbearable—blinding and deafening and suffocating all at once. There was no time. Whether Feenix was thrown to the ground or up into the air, she had no clue.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Aunt Kit’s Party
When Edward finally gathered the courage to uncover his head and open his eyes, the sun was just beginning to lift over the eastern edge of the world. The sky was flushed gold and rose in that corner. The rest of the heavens were a tender robin’s egg blue.
He stood up and wondered why the ground looked so close. Then he realized, with a pang of regret, that he was shorter again. Feenix, not far off, was examining her arms and legs and grumbling.
“Rat crud,” he thought he heard her say. She stamped her boots and brushed off her long coat. Her dark hair was wild, and when she caught sight of him staring at her, she glared back.
He looked away and, to his enormous relief, saw Danton and Brigit untangling themselves from the pile they had landed in together. Danton unfolded himself and helped Brigit to her feet. She stood there, once again freckled and short, gazing quietly around.
Edward saw they were standing on top of a small snow-covered hill. The Long Meadow rolled away white and untouched in every direction. There wasn’t a footstep or birdtrack to be seen. Along every tree branch ran a sugary ruffle of glistening snow. Beyond the trees rose the still sleeping buildings of Brooklyn. The air had that clean, bright smell that comes the morning after a snowstorm, as if the whole world were new again.
For a long time they all just stood there checking things out, getting used to themselves again. Then finally, Danton spoke up. “Well, we did it, didn’t we? Looks like everything’s back in its place. Everybody all right?”
“Hunky dory,” Feenix answered.
“Eddie? You OK?’
“I’m good,” Edward told him.
Edward noticed how when Danton turned to Brigit, he hesitated for just a moment. “Brigit? Are you all right?”
Brigit couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the morning—the trees and the white-blanketed hills and the great arch of the blue sky, but finally she turned to him and she smiled.
Danton waited again, but still she said nothing. At last he smiled at her gently. “Well, let’s go home then. I’m starving!”
Down the hill they went and then across the open meadow, plowing through the deep powdery snow. It was slow walking. As the sun rose, the park glittered and glistened, but everyone seemed to be wrapped up in their own thoughts. Edward kept running over the night in his mind, trying hard to remember what it was that had happened.
At last, when they arrived at where the trees began, Feenix broke the silence. “Did you see—when that thing exploded—did you see that—?”
“Yes!” Danton exclaimed. “It was amazing, right? Like a giant circus tent without the tent. All those lights—”
Feenix interrupted in surprise. “No—that wasn’t what I saw at all.” She seemed to struggle with some thought. “It was a bird, I think, and it was on fire.”
She turned to Edward. “Wasn’t that it, Edward? Did you see the bird?’
Edward didn’t think what he’d seen was either a bird or a circus tent. It had looked something like a giant glistening spider web, but this image seemed mixed up with all the other memories of the night, and as he struggled to untangle them, a big blob of melting snow fell from a branch and landed on the back of his neck.
“Hey!” he protested, shaking his fist at the tree. Then, while Feenix was laughing, another heap of snow landed with a wet plop on her head. Edward started laughing at her and she picked up a handful of snow and threw it at him and, in a minute, they were all running toward the Ninth Street park exit, chasing one another and throwing snowballs.
When they tumbled out onto the sidewalk outside the park, they all stopped to catch their breath. No one seemed to look at anybody else and nobody seemed exactly ready to say good-bye and go home. It was then that Edward remembered his aunt’s party.
“You’re all coming tonight, right?” he blurted out, not knowing what had come over him. He had never invited anybody to this party before. “My aunt won’t let me hear the end of it if you don’t,” he added lamely.
When Edward walked into the kitchen, the pots were already simmering on the stove. The air tasted of cinnamon and confectioner’s sugar. His aunt stood with her back to him, stirring a pot. He had been working nervously on some reasonable-sounding story all the way home, but when she turned and he opened his mouth, she merely said, “Did you bring the vanilla beans?”
He stared at her in confusion for a moment; then he reached into his pocket and felt around. He pulled out the clear plastic tube with the two beans rattling around inside and handed it to her.
She took it with a nod. “Just in time for the custard. You’re a mess,” she said. “Take off your wet clothes and then come take over here. You’ll stir the pot while I get the pie crusts going. When the custard is done, you’d better go out and shovel.”
Edward was extremely relieved that she wasn’t going to make him explain where he’d been. He wasn’t exactly sure he knew.
She kept him hard at work all morning and afternoon—shoveling the sidewalks, helping in the kitchen, moving furniture around, bringing out plates, bowls, and silverware. It felt like too much effort to try to think about what had taken place, and he was actually glad to have so many little ordinary tasks to attend to. He kept expecting something to happen. But nothing did. Everything was back to normal. An hour before the party, she released him from bondage and let him go upstairs for a shower and a nap.
When he awoke, he could hear that things were already in full swing. The front doorbell kept ringing, and scraps of music came floating up to his room. His aunt always asked anyone who played an instrument to bring it, and he could hear someone with a fiddle and someone banging on the piano and a not very good harmonica player trying to keep up.
Halfway down the stairs Edward stopped, reluctant to go any farther. There would be all that chitting and chatting. He gazed at the scene. The house was filling up fast. His aunt kept up an exhaustingly busy social life. There were friends and neighbors from the block, students and cooking colleagues, people from her book group, her African Dance class, and the chorus she sang with. Probably half the Park Slope Food Co-Op was there, too.
Every spare inch of the house was hung with sweet-smelling pine boughs. The tree, with its bizarre collection of ornaments, was lit from top to bottom. Edward stuck his head out over the banister and saw the long table draped with the red tablecloth. Every inch was covered with platters and bowls and baskets of food. On this one day in the year, his aunt permitted friends to bring fish dishes and even roast turkeys or chickens if the proper thanksgiving prayers were made. These forbidden dishes were always tempting to Edward, but then there would also be the potato pancakes and the blintzes, the roasted pumpkin soup, blacked-eyed peas, and collard greens. On the table right beneath him he could see the plates of cheeses and hummus and jeweled arrangements of pineapple, berries, and sliced melon. Next to them were the loaves of homemade bread, the fresh butter, and the hot little puffed triangles of spinach and feta. And, of course, there would be the desserts, a mountainous bowl of whipped cream encircled by pies—cherry, apple, pumpkin, and pecan. Beside these were the pfeffernusse and the lemon squares an
d the plates of special solstice sugar cookies in the shapes of moons and stars, babies and kings, and reindeer.
Edward caught a brief glimpse of his aunt flitting and bubbling, kissing and commanding. The mistletoe ball hung from the passageway between the dining area and the kitchen, so people were constantly stopping there to kiss and embrace, friends and strangers alike.
It seemed to Edward that everything was as it always had been. He drew a long breath of relief. It was wonderful to think tornadoes were not going to appear from out of nowhere and drag him in, that no rivers of darkness were going to open up at his feet.
When the doorbell rang again, Edward saw Danton come in and hang up his coat and begin to make his way through the mob.
“Hey, Danton, man! Over here!”
Danton spotted Edward and waved, then came up the stairs two at a time. He sat down on the steps next to Edward. “This is some party! Thanks for inviting me.” Then he caught sight of the food in the dining room. He let out a gasp. “Don’t pinch me, anyone. If I’m dreaming I don’t want to ever wake up.”
The doorbell chimed again and there was a rush of fresh cold air as a small group of people came in. Brigit was right in the center of them. Must be her parents and her grandfather, Edward thought. He remembered something about his aunt saying she was going to invite them. Brigit was holding what looked like a plate of fresh-baked brownies. They all stood there a little awkwardly and then his aunt went sailing over. She threw her arms around the elderly man and began talking to him excitedly, though Edward couldn’t hear what she was saying over the noise. When she was done, she stopped and introduced herself to the other two, and then she took the brownies from Brigit and kissed her. She pointed up to where Edward and Danton sat on the stairs. Shepherding the adults in front of her, she left Brigit standing there alone.