“That was the people’s decision, not mine.”
“Some are saying otherwise.”
“Who is saying otherwise?” Feenie’s eyes narrowed to slits as she took a step toward him. “Give me their names.”
Isaiah backed toward the door. Mull, that ceiling-clinging freak, was directly over Isaiah now, holding a slender bamboo straw to his mouth. Isaiah grabbed the umbrella and popped it open just as orange dust exploded from the end of the straw. The whoosh of the umbrella made the dust fly back into Mull’s face, then float harmlessly down past Isaiah under the protective plastic bubble of the umbrella.
“Oh, no!” Feenie’s hands slapped her cheeks as she gazed at the ceiling.
Mull’s lids began to droop. One set of fingers let go of the ceiling, then the other, and then his toes. Isaiah jumped out of the way just as Mull hit the tile floor with a thud.
“Magus!” Feenie cried out and rushed to the humanoid’s side. Blood was coming out of his nose. “You did this!” Feenie’s eyes flashed with anger at Isaiah. The blue teardrop stone on her forehead began to glow.
“Logus Ordinus…”
“No, Feenie, no!” Barrett hollered. “Get out of here, Isaiah.”
Isaiah leapt over Mull, flung open the door, and tore down the hallway as fast as he could. When he glanced back, Feenie was standing in the doorway with a ball of orange light rolling between her palms. He flattened himself at the last moment. Heat seared his skin as the ball skimmed past him. It slammed into a guard instead, seeming to go right through the man’s back and into his body. He began to gyrate. Soot came out of the man’s ears, nose and mouth. His eyes turned into spent coals. The smell of singed hair and cooked flesh filled the hall.
Gagging from the smell, Isaiah shot out the front doors and dashed across the wide landing. Down the steps he went, taking them three and four at a time until he hit the square. He needed a place to hide, but the city was locked down. Galatia was surrounded by enemies on every side—including the inside.
Knowing Aunt Feenie was gunning for him, he fled down the street, then dodged into a back alley. He found himself at the side entrance of the hospital. His nineteen-year-old cousin Ruby Penn, Uncle Mike’s daughter, ought to be sitting with Grandma Elizabeth right now. In private, Ruby had expressed a vehement dislike for Feenie, so he knew she’d take his side. Perhaps she could get a message to the rest of the family about what had just happend.
The halls were empty. Isaiah bee-lined to Grandma Elizabeth’s room, but when he peered inside there was no sign of his cousin.
Crap. What if Feenie had already taken Ruby out of the picture?
Perhaps the hospital wasn’t the best place to hide.
Then again, it might be the last place anybody would look.
He gazed at Grandma, laying there with her hands folded over the blanket, the top of the sheet folded down neatly.
Her hair was still black in places, with gray radiating from her temples like rays of light. Isaiah gently removed a strand from her face, leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and lingered near her ear.
“Grandma, things have spiraled out of control since you left us. Uncle Barrett needs the kind of ass-whooping that only you can deliver.”
He watched his grandmother’s face intently, half hoping she would respond. One of her hands slipped off of her abdomen to fall to her side, which was more movement than he had seen out of her since she landed in Hopewell.
“Grandma?” he asked hopefully.
A few minutes of nothing confirmed what he already knew. She was just shifting in her sleep. A noise in the hall caused him to flatten himself on the floor between Grandma Elizabeth’s bed and the outer wall of her room. Galatian soldiers-in-training had just brought in one of their own on a stretcher. Apparently, he had fallen off the earthen wall and landed on his own knife.
The hospital staff was running back and forth, ruining Isaiah’s chance of a getaway. At least the bed blocked him from the view of anyone who walked through the door, so he decided to stay there until the hallway cleared.
..............................
Isaiah hadn’t realized he fell asleep on the cold hard tile floor. He was dreaming of the gymnasium at the bunker, playing basketball after school, when Grandma appeared on the court in front of him, catching the basketball neatly mid-arc as he shot a basket.
“This isn’t the time for games, grandson,” she said. “There’s work to be done.”
The other players vanished and it was just him and Grandma. He had the greatest urge to hug her and he did. She felt weird—like a blanket of static electricity.
“Is this a dream, Grandma?”
“I bet you didn’t know that Galatians sometimes Mind Wander in their sleep. When they wake, they think it was all a dream.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes, but I’m hoping you’ll be the one who wakes up and knows that it was not a dream.”
“I’m you’re man, Grandma.”
“We will see.”
He blinked and the gym morphed into Grandma’s hospital room. She was there in the bed like she’d been for weeks now, eyes closed, and chest rising up and down. She was also hovering behind him, semi-transparent. Little beads of light twinkled in and out of her shadowy form. Holding up his own hand, he realized that he was semi-transparent as well.
“Thank god,” Grandma said. “You’re awake.”
“They say you’re brain dead, Grandma. How can we be doing this?”
“They are wrong.”
“Oh, Grandma, I missed you.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll stay cognizant, so excuse me if I seem abrupt. The night Feenie returned, while everybody was celebrating, I saw in her mind that she had come to put Barrett in Red’s place.”
“I can’t believe Barrett would be part of something like that.”
“He wasn’t—not at first anyway. Barrett had truly thought his wife was dead until the night she arrived in Galatia. Seeing her again overwhelmed him; he’s sick in love, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to please her. The wagon accident was staged. The story about her being a sex slave—a lie to explain her long absence and a ruse for sympathy. She’s been out in a place called Windmere, studying magic. She has her own coven now—those who have come to Galatia are part of it. They hope to turn our people on a path toward magic, creating a kingdom in which they can practice the dark arts unrestrained.”
“If magic can help us survive the battle—would that be so bad?”
“You have witnessed Feenie’s brand of magic. Tell me, was that so bad?” Isaiah shuddered. “I’m starting to fade, so listen good. Your Uncle Bryce used a green digital camera to record Mull’s magic in action. If those recordings go public, every witch and warlock will be run out of town.” Her voice suddenly broke up. “In hindsight, I realize that in protecting Bryce and Barrett, I have betrayed Red and Michael.”
Going over to the bed, he stared at her physical form, her placid face. She looked so frail. Who could have guessed so much was going on behind those closed eyes?
“You don’t look so bad, Grandma,” he told her spirit.
“My body won’t last more than a week or two like this. By the way, it wasn’t a stroke. The coven knew that my mind reading abilities could ruin their plans, so they poisoned my wine before I got a chance to rat them out.”
“Feenie,” he said her name with contempt. “How could such a beautiful woman be so ugly? Does Uncle Barrett know she tried to kill you?”
“No, but he’s quite aware that she’s practicing magic again. They were both practitioners under the tutelage of Mull when they lived in their own settlement. When things got out of control, Barrett had the good sense to quit, and he demanded that Feenie quit too. Hence, her fake accident and departure for Windmere.”
“I still don’t understand how the warlock fits into all of this.”
“I fear my son’s love for his wife has blinded him to her faults, to t
he evil of his own actions. Mull controls Feenie. Feenie controls Barrett. Barrett controls Galatia. And only God knows who controls Mull. So, hurry grandson, find that digital camera, or rather the files that were on it.” Grandma’s spectral form was dimming. “You’re looking for a very specific video—one taken in a woods at night. Several people were there, including Nora and Sam Harvey. It was taken before the rest of us came to Future Earth.”
“How will I know if I found the right video?”
“Trust me,” her form condensed into a pinpoint of white light, but her voice echoed a little longer, “you will know.”
Chapter Forty-Two
(Isaiah Wakeland)
The rain pitter-pattered on the darkened cobblestone streets as Isaiah stood in front of a row of identical studio-style cottages. Their foundations were formed of river stone. The clapboard siding was hewn from lostwood. Each cottage had a varnished wooden door flanked by two rectangular windows. This was the bachelor and bachelorette section of town, where single adults or retired couples were housed. The cottage to the left belonged to Uncle Bryce. Breaking in was a matter of turning the handle on the front door.
The sound of the rain faded away as Isaiah shut the door behind him.
Standing in the pitch-black living room, he ran the beam of the penlight he had swiped from the hospital over the dark outline of the bed. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Uncle Bryce sleeping on the sofa. He was a deep sleeper, but Isaiah didn’t feel reassured.
How heavily was Uncle Bryce involved in Dad’s imprisonment? Isaiah had the urge to shake him awake by the neck, demanding some answers. But no, he was on a mission for the camera. He aimed his light around the room.
Furnishings were sparse—a table for two, a long park bench with removable cushions, some kitchen cabinets, soapstone counters, and a big dresser. The wood floor creaked with every step, making Isaiah wince. Everybody in the family knew that Uncle Bryce kept his video collection in the top dresser drawer. Slowly opening it, he scanned the contents with his pen light.
There was the green camera Grandma told him about.
Isaiah slid it in his jacket pocket.
Now for the SD cards.
He scooped up the small plastic box meant for 3 x 5 recipe cards where Uncle Bryce stored his SD cards and tiptoed out of the cottage and back into the night.
..............................
(Isaiah Wakeland)
In the past, Isaiah had caught Gizmo rolling his eyes behind Uncle Barrett’s back. It wasn’t a lot to base such an important decision upon, but he decided to chance it. When Isaiah showed up at Gizmo’s apartment building, not a soul was in sight. He knocked several times before the door swung open. There was Gizmo in a plain white T-shirt and pair of Spiderman boxer shorts. He wiped his glasses off with the hem, then readjusted them on his nose.
“Isaiah Wakeland?” He squinted, no doubt surprised by the unexpected visit. The two men barely knew each other.
Isaiah stepped inside the apartment without being invited. Glancing left, and then right, at the shelves of electronic equipment, blinking lights, and books—stuff that had come off the convoy of trucks that escaped the bunker.
“Did your father send for me? I assume this means he’s been released from jail.”
“No,” Isaiah’s voice broke slightly. “But I’m hoping you can help him out.”
“Uh, okay.”
Gizmo offered him a seat at his bistro style table as he flitted through the kitchen cupboards.
“Would you like some Razzle Dazzle Punch or Mellow Melon Fizz?” Gizmo offered. “If I don’t use it up soon, it’ll probably go bad.”
“Razzle Dazzle, please.”
Isaiah watched him scoop purple powder from a jar and mix it with water. A minute later, Gizmo handed him a mug marked with the words How about a nice warm cup of shut the fuck up? filled with purple punch that used to be a bunker staple.
“Tell me what’s so pressing that it brought the mayor’s son to my door in the middle of the night?” Gizmo inquired as he settled in with his own mug of Razzle Dazzle.
Stories he hadn’t intended to share were tumbling out of Isaiah’s mouth—the doctor removing Grandma’s feeding tube on Barrett’s orders, the animosity between his father and Barrett, how he had walked in on the threesome and was attacked by Feenie, the Mind Wander with Grandma and more.
Gizmo had remained quiet and attentive through every word.
“Sorry to burden you with my troubles,” Isaiah said, glancing sheepishly around the studio apartment. “But I didn’t know where to turn, who I could trust, so I took a chance with you.”
Gizmo got up to pace around the apartment, hands clasped behind his back, muttering to himself, leaving Isaiah to wonder if he had made a mistake in bringing him in on the plan. Finally, Gizmo sat down at the table again to share a story of his own.
“When I was about ten, I overheard Barrett call my parents sand niggers behind their backs. Other people might be fooled by his charms, but not me. Whatever you want me to do to stop him, count me in.”
Relieved at having made a good choice in Gizmo, Isaiah handed over Uncle Bryce’s camera and SD cards.
The two of them spent the rest of the night sifting through video files. The earlier ones were kind of amusing—videos Uncle Bryce had taken of women’s butts and chests as they walked through the entertainment district back in the bunker. Seeing their old home brought sighs of nostalgia, but the videos grew more disturbing— high school girls back in the bunker, including some in the locker room. Holy crap! Bryce had hidden a camera in there?
Gizmo flicked off the video in disgust. “And the mayor is the one in jail?”
“Grandma said we’re looking for something that took place on Future Earth, maybe five or six years ago. These appear to be filed in date order. Let’s try the ones in the middle.”
They found tons of videos from the old Fade Brothers settlement outside of Regala D’Nora. At first, it was mostly just scenery, and images of the Regalan archers on the hunt. In typical Bryce fashion, the camera eventually zoomed in on the female Regalans’ body parts. Isaiah could relate to the breast and butt infatuation, but Uncle Bryce bordered on obsessive stalker.
As they went through the videos, Gizmo fast forwarded through most of it, stopping only when something unusual came onto the screen. As soon as Magus Mull began to appear in the videos, the subject matter took on a different flavor. Instead of focusing on women, Uncle Bryce began to film the magician and his tricks. Some of the stunts were amazing—levitations, fireballs produced at will, and brewing potions. Then the videos became instructional, showing Magus as he taught Uncle Barrett and Aunt Feenie incantations. Many of the spells involved draining the blood from animals. Some required the magic user to eat raw innards and even bugs. One showed a young couple having intercourse on the table in front of the classroom, while the rest of the students used the sexual energy to coax flower buds to open up before their eyes.
There was even a video of Uncle Barrett pulling the wings off a struggling bird in front of the classroom. The animal’s fear enabled the other students to combine their powers and float a delighted and squealing Feenie up to the ceiling.
“Off the Creep-O-Meter,” Isaiah commented.
“Your uncles and aunt are three depraved sons-of-bitches.”
“And Magus Mull is the devil,” Isaiah replied.
“We have to stop them from taking control of Galatia.”
“But how? All of the people who supported my father have vanished.”
“I have an idea.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been putting together the equipment for a public radio station...”
Both went silent when the images of Sam and Nora Harvey came onto the screen. The couple had been beaten and were being dragged through through a forest by figures in hooded cloaks, not stopping until they came to a clearing lit by tiki torches. Thrown to the top of a stone altar like slabs of m
eat, both Sam and Nora were tied down with their limbs splayed out upon the stone. Their eyes were already blackened. Their swollen and bruised bodies moved Isaiah to tears. The camera zoomed around hooded figures circling the altar. Most of their faces were too shadowed to identify, but not all. Magus Mull raised his knife over Nora’s heart. As Sam screamed his wife’s name, the cloaked figures tore into him like a pack of hyenas, eating him alive.
Gizmo couldn’t shut the video off fast enough.
After a long stunned silence, Gizmo found his voice.
“H-h-how could they do that to other human beings?” He shook his head, trying to make sense of it. “Sam was a friend of mine back in high school.”
“They’re animals,” Isaiah said. “We have to do something.”
“Where there’s a will,” Gizmo held up an index finger, “there’s an engineer with a plan.”
The two young men spent the next couple of hours bouncing strategies off of each other as they schemed to bring down the Fades. And their nasty little warlock, too.
Chapter Forty-Three
(Isaiah Wakeland)
Isaiah waited for nightfall before climbing to the roof of Zena City’s jail. The world looked kinder and gentler from up high with stars flickering against a velvety black sky and silvery clouds floating over a winking yellow moon. On the streets below the buildings cozied together like a colony of gentle chinchillas. Out in the distance, torches were blazing in Moore Park—strange, but there was no time to investigate.
It had taken him and Gizmo several trips up and down the rope to bring up all the electronic equipment. Isaiah slid down the rope to make one final trip. Just as his feet touched the ground of the back alley, someone tore around the corner of the building and crashed into him. Heart thumping wildly, he whipped out his dagger, but the figure had frozen.
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