Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  Maria didn’t answer. She waited.

  Gramps continued. “You may assist us when we get to Oriceran.”

  “Oriceran?”

  “Yes,” Gramps said. “The world in between is not a curtain. It is a tightly locked vault, buried beneath a ton of concrete.”

  “How will we get in? Is that why we’re at Walmart? Is the way into freaking purgatory at an Ohio Walmart? God, everything makes so much more sense now. That’s why this place is a haven for weirdos,” Maria said.

  Says the girl who can talk to her Bloodhound, Sherlock chimed in.

  “Can it! I’m only gonna tell you twice!” Maria shouted, turning around.

  Sherlock stuck his tongue out at her.

  “No, no,” Gramps said, and then paused. “Er, yes, Walmart is the entrance—one of many. Ask the Gnomes.”

  Again, Maria mumbled, “Gnomes?” to herself. “Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”

  “Because I didn’t want to scare you. We are at Walmart because we are preparing for our trip. What better way to prepare than at the same place we are leaving from? Two birds, one stone!”

  “But Walmart? Really? Shouldn’t we be going to Magics R Us or something like that?” Maria felt as if Gramps had made this up on the spot. But he wouldn’t lie to her… would he?

  Gramps shook his head, laughing. “Oh, how I wish it were that easy. Maria, we are not supposed to be known to the general public. If there was a store offering items to only magical beings, it would easily go out of business. Secondly, it would be scrutinized severely by the IRS. We could just make money appear out of thin air, you know?”

  Gramps got out of the Firebird. It was a low car, but he seemed not to struggle one bit. The usefulness of the kemana, Maria thought. All that ice cream somehow had a youthful effect on him. Isn’t that nice?

  Maria followed suit.

  She put the driver’s seat down and let Sherlock out. “Okay, buddy,” she said, “but I don’t think Walmart is going to allow dogs inside.”

  But they’ll allow that? Sherlock said. He raised a paw in a pointing like gesture to a man near the open back hatch of a minivan. The man sat in one of those electric carts.

  The guy's sagging sweatpants exposed a particularly deep and hairy crack. It was not a pleasant sight.

  I’m coming with you! Sherlock said again.

  Maria turned away from the man on the scooter and looked back at Sherlock. “Listen, man, I don’t make the rules. They let guys like him in because, even though he grosses everyone out, he buys a metric shit-ton of junk food. People like him keep Walmart in business.”

  Well, you shouldn’t worry about me, Sherlock said. You should worry about Charlie Chaplin back there. Sherlock tilted his head backward, ears and cheeks flopping.

  Maria hadn’t noticed, but the Firebird’s trunk was open, and Gramps was rummaging around. He threw plastic Halloween costume bags and hats and mustaches and wigs to the ground.

  “Gramps, what the fuck are you doing?” Maria asked.

  “No swearing, young lady!”

  “Aw, gimme a break. I’m apparently a magical alien; I think it’s perfectly all right if I curse a little here and there.”

  Ignatius looked at her over the trunk and rolled his eyes.

  “Really, though, what the heck are you doing?” She made sure to substitute ‘heck’ for ‘fuck.’

  “Disguises, my dear Maria. Disguises! Like you said, my picture is plastered all over that dreaded place. I don’t intend to get thrown out on my bottom by Spencer today!”

  “Spencer?”

  “He’s the security guard that should be working today’s shift,” Gramps answered casually.

  “Great, you got the security guard patterns memorized, and you’re on a first name basis.” Now it was her turn to roll her eyes.

  Gramps slammed the trunk close with, a stern look on his face. “Onward,” he said.

  But Maria cracked up with laughter.

  “What?”

  Sherlock fell to the concrete and rolled, barking softly. Inside of Maria’s head, she could hear his doggie laughter.

  “Gramps, you look like the oldest Italian plumber I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Gramps now wore a red shirt under his suspenders. He’d changed the checkered-patterned pants into blue jeans. On his face was a rich black mustache, and in his hand was the red hat with an M embroidered on the front.

  “What? Super Mario is a classic!” Gramps said.

  “It’s not Halloween yet. Don’t you think you look a little suspicious?”

  Gramps shrugged. “It’s the only outfit in the trunk I haven’t tried yet,” he reasoned. “I really need to visit the costume shop again.”

  Maria said nothing. All she could do was shake her head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Walmart greeter was a woman probably not much older than Ignatius—in terms of appearance, that was. Ignatius was much older than his driver’s license stated, which was seventy-six, in case you were wondering.

  He had slain scores of Arachnids as easily as if they were the common household spiders found here on Earth, but when it came to sneaking into Walmart, Ignatius was scared shitless.

  “Stay cool, Gramps,” Maria said. She walked on the right side of his body, covering most of him. “Well, as cool as someone dressed as a Super Mario Brother can be.”

  Sherlock was on Gramps’s left side, and Ignatius had a leash on him. He wished he had thought to throw one of those service dog vests in the back of the Bird; that would’ve made the operation less risky. At least I have this great outfit. If Spencer threw them out, he thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to hit up a bar, pick up some ladies, throw back a couple of drinks…

  No, you old fool. Maria would never go for that. The time for fun has passed. We have to save the village. The fun can wait until we do that, can’t it, Iggy?

  If you can save the village, you old fool. You’re not as strong as you once were, and the magic on Earth is nothing like the magic of Oriceran. Might be that Malakai has your number. He’s been brought back from the dead. You know what they say about those that don’t stay dead. They’re stubborn. Refuse to lose—

  The Walmart greeter stepped forward. Ignatius’s heart did a loop in his chest. He read the name: Mary or May, he wasn’t sure which, since he’d left his glasses in the car. The picture on the costume package didn’t show glasses, and Ignatius wanted to be as authentic as he could, aside from the obvious weight gain he was needing.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the greeter said.

  Maria stepped forward, shielding Ignatius even more. “Yes?” she said.

  “You can’t have your dog inside.” The greeter pointed to a sign right beyond the merchandise tag detectors. It said you couldn’t come in without a shirt or shoes, or if you had a skateboard, bike, or rollerblades, and there were no animals allowed.

  Racist, Sherlock accused.

  “Cool it,” Maria whispered.

  It was time for her to step up. If Gramps opened his mouth, there was a chance the woman would recognize him and call for security. Then they’d be thrown out on their asses. Sure, they could get rubber galoshes somewhere else, but they couldn’t as easily get to the world in between from somewhere else. Gramps knew what he was doing. Maria wasn’t worried.

  “You’ll have to leave the dog in the car,” the greeter continued. She frowned pitifully, but her expression was laced with sarcasm. Maria would’ve slapped it off of her if she didn’t glow blue every time she got pissed off. Fucking blue, she groused silently. Always taking the fun away.

  “No,” Maria said. “My grandfather here is diabetic, and this is Skip, his service dog.”

  Skip? You couldn’t come up with something more badass? God, first Sherlock, and now Skip? You are the worst at naming animals. I feel sorry for your firstborn. Better hope the father has a say in the name.

  Maria ignored him.

  “Skip here may be a tad overweig
ht, but he’s one of the best service dogs this side of the Cuyahoga.”

  The greeter eyed them warily.

  “Do you have some sort of identification to prove that, ma’am?”

  “Some asshole stole it, along with Skip’s cute red service dog vest. You probably thought he grew out of it because he’s been stress eating so much, but nope. Stolen. Can you believe that? I think someone just wants to sneak their dog into Walmart or something,” Maria said.

  You’re the worst, Sherlock said.

  “I’m sorry, but without proper identification—”

  Suddenly, the alarm wailed. A teenager clutching his stomach power walked through the front doors.

  That was enough to distract the old woman. She turned her head up to him and crowed, “Excuse me, sir!?”

  When he didn’t answer or stop, she walked after him. Heads of incoming and outgoing customers turned in the direction of the new development.

  The kid was long gone, halfway across the parking lot and dropping various stolen items as he got farther away.

  Gramps tugged on Maria’s sleeve.

  Maria had turned toward the door, ready to chase after the kid. He’d stolen something and needed to be brought to justice. Stealing things wasn’t right, even if it was from a place that probably wouldn’t even realize they’d been stolen from.

  “Leave him,” Gramps said. “Our chance is now. Best we don’t lose it.”

  The three of them went into the store unnoticed. Ignatius led them back to the shoes, hoping they had a pair of size nine yellow rubber galoshes.

  “Security will be here any moment,” Gramps said. He squeezed Maria’s hand tight. “I don’t want to deal with that Spencer fella right at this moment.”

  “Don’t blame you,” Maria said. “Anyone named Spencer is probably a total asshat.” She was thinking back to high school. The star quarterback, prom king, and head of the student council was some blonde jerk named Spencer. He’d always called Maria ‘Mosquito Bites’ because of her lack of breasts. The dickhead.

  “There!” Gramps pointed. A couple of Walmart employees were standing by the electronics counter, chatting away. They didn’t look like they’d care if there was a dog in the store or not—they’d probably seen much worse—but Maria saw no reason to risk it. They cut through the toy aisle and went the back way to the shoe department.

  Suddenly, Sherlock barked. Maria’s heart dropped as she looked back. Sherlock, the big doofus, had found the ball pit: a towering wire structure filled to the brim with large rubber bouncy balls.

  “Sherlock, here, now!”

  You’re not the boss of me! A chorus of joyful laughter filled Maria’s mind.

  Gramps was already well on his way to the shoe aisle.

  “Sherlock!” Maria called again.

  The laughter continued. He weaseled a ball out of the pit and started knocking it around the aisle with his snout, his nails clicking on the linoleum. A few shoppers gave him wary glances. One woman, who looked like she had a stick very far up her ass, made a motion to the Walmart employee behind the photo section. The employee reached up for the phone, looking in Maria’s and Sherlock’s direction, and his lips started moving.

  “Oh, no,” Maria said. “Not good.”

  Sherlock’s leash dragged around on the floor, back and forth like a snake. Maria made a move for it and missed.

  “Shit!” she yelled, then, “Sorry!” as she almost took out a mom pushing a stroller. The mom snarled at her.

  “Sherlock! I’m going to cut off all sweets for you if you don’t get your ass back here!” she shouted. It was an odd thing to tell a dog, but it seemed to have worked.

  You wouldn’t.

  “I would.”

  You’re the devil.

  “I’m not there yet, but I can be. If you think getting housebroken was bad, wait until you get a load of my all-wheatgrass-and-almond-milk diet.”

  Blech!

  Sherlock turned around and bounded toward Maria.

  The Walmart employee came over with a manager type. He looked Indian and terribly pissed off as he crossed his eyes and scowled in Maria’s direction.

  “Service dog,” Maria said. “For my grandpa. He’s new, not fully acclimated for his duty.”

  Ha! You said ‘duty’!

  Maria did her best to ignore it. Then quickly, with Sherlock’s leash in hand, Maria took off toward the shoe aisle.

  The manager, Brijesh, turned to the employee, who said, “Well…that was kinda weird, huh?”

  Brijesh thought about calling Spencer, the head of security, but ultimately decided he didn’t get paid enough to put up with this crap. He left the photo counter employee standing there with his hands in his pockets, thinking, Always weird shit happening at Walmart. Why did I ever move to Akron?

  Grandpa had four pairs of galoshes out of the rack. There was no one in the aisle with them. Walmart shoes were apparently not too popular.

  “Why the galoshes?” she asked again. “Is Oriceran and the world in between, like, some kind of water world or something?”

  Gramps ignored her, ripped a blue boot from its box, and tried to slip it on to match with its mate.

  Sherlock lay down, nudged a loafer off of the rack, and began chewing on it.

  “I’m not paying for that, you know?” Maria said to him.

  Leave me alone, he pouted.

  “Gave you a bit of a shock, huh? No sweets, and all.”

  Not talking to you. La-la-la-la!

  “Stress chewing on synthetic rubber will murder your complexion.”

  Sherlock gave her his best deadpan look and went back to nibbling and slobbering all over the shoe.

  My life is so weird, Maria thought.

  Gramps threw the blue boot down the aisle. It bounced and cartwheeled until it hit the back wall and reverberated off.

  “Chill out, Gramps,” Maria whispered. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, remember? Already had another run in with Loopy the Ball-Loving Dog, here.” She cocked a thumb toward Sherlock, who looked up from his dinner of a men’s size 12 loafer.

  Maybe if I still had my own balls, I wouldn’t want to play with rubber ones!

  Maria laughed. “I think there’s a an official term for that.”

  Yeah, it’s called ‘Don’t touch a dog’s family jewels!’

  Gramps looked at Maria, his face flustered. “Is Sherlock complaining about being neutered again?”

  “Yep.”

  “Suck it up, Sherlock! We couldn’t have you marking your territory all over the house. Dog pee is a pain to get out of carpet.” He turned back toward the boots, setting his sights on the out-of-season winter ones.

  “If you just tell me what the boots are for, maybe I could help you,” Maria suggested.

  “The world in between. If folklore is right, it’s not a dry place.”

  “You mean rain?”

  “I mean jelly.”

  Maria shuddered. “Jelly? Geez, why can’t anything be normal? I guess when you’re dealing with witches and wizards and giant spiders and talking dogs, jelly is pretty tame.”

  Gramps threw another boot down the aisle in disgust.

  “Just pick a boot so we can get to the villagers,” Maria said. “How about this yellow pair? Perfect. Totally classic, like the Firebird.”

  “No! No!” Gramps said.

  “Isn’t this the reason you got kicked out of Walmart in the first place?”

  She sat down. Her feet were hurting and her blood pressure was high. She felt no magical tingle, though, and her skin was a normal peachy color.

  Maybe I’m learning how to control it, she thought. No more blown-up clown heads.

  The temper tantrums, it's because he’s scared, Sherlock said. He tilted his head down at the now ruined shoe. Like me. When I’m scared or nervous, I revert back to my puppy days and chew stuff up or pee everywhere. Thank God Ignatius isn't doing that.

  “Like every time someone runs the vacuum cleaner?” Maria
said.

  Precisely.

  “So you’re scared of the world in between and giant spider-men?”

  No, I’m scared of not having any sweets in my life.

  “Aw, Sherlock, you’ll still have me.” She read no obvious amusement on the Bloodhound’s face. He looked at her like a stone statue, unmoving. Then he got up and walked over to where Maria was sitting. He put his head in her lap. Reflexively, she began petting him behind his big floppy ears.

  Okay, don’t laugh, Sherlock said.

  Gramps now had two different colored boots on, one red and one yellow. He looked like an older version of Ronald McDonald, about to be caught in a rainstorm.

  Maria arched an eyebrow at Sherlock. “Laugh? At you? Never.”

  I’m being serious, Sherlock said.

  “Okay, fine, Sherlock. I’ll let you have your sweets. I understand no sweets is the bane of your existence and all that.”

  No, Maria. I’m stressed because of all of that’s going on. All the change.

  “You mean the magic?”

  Everything. I don’t want to go to another world. I don’t want to go to a world in between those worlds, where the dead and the living alike walk around like everything is A-okay.

  Maria’s heart sank. For the first time since Sherlock had been able to communicate with her, he was being honest.

  “We have to. We practically grew up together, Sherlock. You know how Gramps raised us.”

  To do the right thing, yes; but it’s not the right thing if it means your death.

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “Eureka!” Gramps said, breaking the somber moment.

  He’s the same way, Maria, Sherlock added. He’s stalling. Who needs rubber galoshes when you’re able to conjure up things out of thin air? If he really needed them, he’d just alakazam them—

  “I don’t think that’s how that works,” Maria said.

  Whatever. Point being, he’s scared. As much as he wanted you to come into your powers, he’s not ready to let the girl he raised go.

  Maria turned and looked at her grandfather with different colored lenses—these lenses were tinted with understanding. Gramps had never been the finicky type. He may have been a bit kooky, and even more rambunctious, but he’d always had his affairs in order.