Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  “You have a kind heart,” Maria finished, smiling.

  “Yes. Sometimes, apparently, too kind.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Maria said. “You did the right thing by taking him in.”

  “Did I? It is a choice I’ve had to live with for many, many years, across worlds and time and space. One that is proving to haunt me, even here on Earth where I thought I would be safe—where I thought you’d be safe, Maria.”

  “I am safe.”

  “Not as long as you have that.” He pointed to the music box. “I only wanted to give you something that belonged to your mother. I only wanted to see if you possessed any of her power. And it turns out I may have bitten off more than I could chew. Not only are you powerful, but you are the key to saving an entire village of people. I’m so sorry, Maria; so sorry for placing this burden on your soul.”

  “Gramps, don’t blame yourself. I’m fine. We’re fine. The village will be fine. We’ll save them.”

  Gramps hung his head. His hand absentmindedly stroked Sherlock’s fur.

  “Thank you, Maria,” he said. “Thank you for being so understanding. I know how odd all of this must be. You are handling it mighty well.”

  “It is…and it isn’t,” Maria decided. “Somehow, it feels…right.”

  “As it should. You are truly one of us.”

  Maria eventually ate her chicken sandwich. It was cold, though. She wound up giving three-quarters of it to Sherlock. He ate it in about one and a half bites.

  They left the coffeehouse and headed back to Gramps’s Firebird. Maria looked over her shoulder at the plaza and the violet sky behind it. Will it be the last time I see it? she wondered. She hoped not. Still, the allure of adventure was high. Getting out of Ohio had always been her ultimate goal. She was not only accomplishing it, but she was exceeding it by getting completely off the planet, which still seemed weird to her—and perhaps always would. Though there was no denying the fact that she felt like she was going home.

  Inside of the Firebird, Maria started the engine. Gramps didn’t protest when she went around to the driver’s side. In fact, he’d seemed quite happy to let her, this time around.

  “I want to go see Claire and Tabby before we go,” Maria repeated.

  “That’s quite all right.”

  Sherlock barked. He really liked Claire. Now that Maria could communicate with him, she had found out that Sherlock might’ve even had a crush on her best friend.

  “But there is one more thing I must give you before we go to Oriceran,” her grandfather told her.

  “What?”

  “It is a surprise, but I think you are going to be very happy.”

  Maria smiled. “You know I don’t like surprises, Gramps. Last time you gave me something, it made me sneeze magic and came attached with a giant spider creature who wanted to kill us.”

  “Oh, trust me, Maria, you are going to like this much better than the music box.”

  “Are you giving me the Firebird? Now, that would top every birthday present in the history of birthday presents!” Maria shifted into reverse and backed out of the Walmart parking spot very carefully.

  “No. I will be buried in my Firebird, Maria,” Gramps said. “You know that. It’s in my last will and testament.”

  Maria rolled her eyes.

  “No eye rolling while driving!” Gramps shouted, and then quickly offered a smile to let her know he was joking.

  “Well, if I’m going to like this surprise so much, maybe we should stop at home first.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Gramps said.

  Maria turned onto the road and headed back to their house. Sherlock snored in the backseat. The food coma had hit him hard.

  Maria pulled into the driveway not long after. Gramps was much more lenient on the way back. Too bad I can’t get the Firebird as a gift. I look pretty damn good in the driver’s seat; almost as good as I look on that little pink bike I rode to the ice cream shop yesterday. She laughed quietly to herself. Kidding.

  “Am I gonna have to close my eyes again?” Maria asked as they walked up to the house. Sherlock lagged behind, his stomach practically dragging on the ground. “And please don’t wear a party hat this time.”

  “No promises,” Gramps said. He opened the door. The familiar smell of vitamins and those weird Oriceran spices hit Maria full-force, comforting her. “Wait here. I’ll be down with it in a moment. I don’t think Sherlock wants to miss it.”

  Yeah, no way I can get up the stairs, Sherlock grumbled. Maria laughed and patted him on the head.

  Gramps disappeared up the steps, whistling the birthday song from the music box. Maria still had it in her bag. It progressively felt like it was getting heavier and heavier. Maybe that was just the weight of the situation.

  Upstairs, Gramps hardly made any noise. He isn’t trying to find something long forgotten…? The thought alone unnerved Maria.

  Soon, he came back down the stairs. They creaked under his weight, and he no longer whistled. He held something in both hands, holding it out in front of him. Each step was careful, as if he was too afraid of falling and dropping whatever it was. Maria couldn’t see what it was; it was covered in a velvet sheet, the edges fringed.

  Maria stood up and wiped her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans.

  “This right here is very dear to my heart,” Gramps said.

  “Was it my mother’s?”

  Gramps shook his head. “No. This one is mine.”

  “Oh, boy,” Maria said under her breath. She could only imagine what it was. The eye of a newt, some weird Oriceran voodoo doll; maybe a necklace of garlic to protect her around the giant, bloodsucking spiders…or was that only for vampires?

  Gramps took a knee. He looked like an ancient quarterback trying to run out the clock during the Super Bowl.

  “Take the cover off,” he instructed. “But be very careful. Very careful.”

  Maria hesitated. “It’s not going to bite me, is it?”

  “No. Go on.”

  She grabbed the velvet and pulled it away. The silver blade caught the light above, reflecting it. The room lit up like the Fourth of July.

  Maria put a hand to her mouth.

  “Gramps, is that—?”

  She couldn’t believe it. Duke had shown her in his vision: Gramps had wielded this sword like a freaking Jedi wielded a lightsaber.

  “Yes, Maria. It’s my sword.”

  The hilt was wrapped leather, oily black, almost brand new, and golden brass. It ended in a circle, where a creature that Maria had never seen before was emblazoned in the metal. The cross guard formed a T, and the ends flared outward. They were also carved. It reminded Maria of Excalibur, the sword wielded by King Arthur.

  It was beautiful. It was breathtaking. It was—

  “Yours,” Gramps said softly. “It is all yours. I can no longer wield it. Take it.”

  Maria reached out for the hilt.

  Just don’t poke your eye out! Sherlock added. I can totally see you poking your, or my eye out with that thing.

  As her hand wrapped around the hilt, visions of Oriceran exploded in her mind. Tall mountain ranges. Two moons. The Dark Forest. A drooling maw full of sharp, crooked fangs.

  Still, it felt right, like driving the Firebird had felt right.

  “Are you s-sure?” Maria asked.

  Gramps nodded. His eyes gleamed as bright as the smooth metal of the sword. “It is only destiny. Your mother would kill me. She wanted you trained in the ways of magic. But, Maria, I see something else in your future. I see you conquering all facets of the magic that runs through our homeworld. You will be more powerful than either me, or the Queen Witch. You will avenge your father and all those lost in that great battle so many years ago, and you will save those trapped in the world in between.”

  “Geez, talk about a lot of pressure,” Maria muttered. She lifted the sword. It was surprisingly light, for how large it was. A cool confidence bolted through her. She was no
longer Maria Apple, the girl who spent her days at Rolling Hill Mall serving popcorn, and who spent her nights with her nose in a book. Now she was Maria Mangood, heir to the Queen Witch, Avenger of Dominion, Bridge Between Worlds.

  You actually don’t look as ridiculous as I thought you would with the sword, Sherlock said, sounding surprised. You actually look…cool.

  “Gee, thanks,” she turned to face the Bloodhound.

  “Sherlock, be nice to Maria,” Gramps added.

  “Yeah, be nice to the girl who has the sword and the ability to use it,” Maria grinned.

  Did I mention that I love you, Maria? And you’re the most awesomest person I’ve ever had the honor of conversing with.

  “I’m the only person you have had the honor of conversing with.”

  Sherlock did the canine equivalent of a shrug and said, It’s the thought that counts.

  “Here, there’s more,” Gramps said. He produced a scabbard and a belt from one of the staircase’s steps. They were stitched together, the color of the brass hilt. Maria put it on and cinched it around her waist. It fit perfectly.

  “Good thing I’m tall,” she said.

  “Just like your mother and father,” Gramps said.

  She put the sword in the sheath, and then drew it fast. It came easily and smoothly from its scabbard, almost as if it was propelled upward by…magic.

  “We will work on many techniques in Oriceran. There are old friends to visit and places to see, but you must never neglect your training, Maria.”

  “Great, it sounds like school all over again.”

  “I’m serious, dear. The art of the sword is not one to take lightly. When we go through the portal—”

  “Portal?” Maria interrupted. “Not lying this time?”

  “How else did you think we were going to arrive on Oriceran? Did you think we could drive there?” Gramps barked laughter. “Portal, yes. We will take a portal to Oriceran, and things will be much different for you there. You are in touch with your magic side already, but on Oriceran, you will be surrounded by magic. You may feel a sort of sensory overload.”

  “Wonderful,” Maria said,sarcastically. She sheathed the sword again. It felt like nothing around her waist and she began to take it off.

  “What are you doing, Maria?” Gramps asked, his eyes bugging out.

  “Well, you can’t expect me to go driving around Akron with a sword around my waist. The cops will shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “Never mind the law. They will look the other way, I will make sure of it.”

  “Magic?”

  Gramps smiled slyly.

  “Okay, I’m going to say my goodbye to Claire and Tabby. Do you want to meet up here, or…?”

  “Not here, no. At Salem’s.”

  “Oh, right. It’s a kemana. Or katana. Whatever that word was.”

  Gramps smiled. “We will need to use the magic there to open the portal. It will not be an easy task; Salem and Agnes will have to help us.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you there at…how does eleven sound?”

  Gramps nodded. “Give me the music box, though. I don’t want you losing it while frolicking with your friends.”

  Maria squinted at her grandfather and said, “Ew, Gramps, we don’t frolic. Whatever the hell that means.” She pulled the music box out of her bag. It weighed more than before…again.

  She handed it over, and then turned and headed for the door, patting her thigh in an unconscious gesture for Sherlock to follow her and, equally unconsciously, Sherlock did.

  “Maria,” Gramps called after her.

  “Yeah, Gramps?”

  “Keep that sword close, and keep your eyes peeled. Evil is afoot. I can sense it. It aches in my old bones.”

  Maria nodded. “Don’t worry, Gramps. I got this.” But as soon as she turned away and went out the door, she patted the hilt of the sword, hoping it would give her courage.

  It didn’t.

  Evil was afoot. She could sense it, too.

  Malakai had swung by the ice cream shop and, before he was twenty-five feet within its entrance, someone said, “Hey, Felah! Hey! Where have you been?”

  Malakai ignored it and kept walking, but the voice got louder.

  “Hey, where you been? We’ve been missing you down at the shop! That Tone still giving you trouble?”

  Malakai stopped and turned around. It was daylight…barely. He wore the guise of the Silver Griffin named Felah Fyre—not only the clothing, but the skin and face, too.

  “Felah? You feeling all right? You look a little gray.”

  The man crossed the street. He was an old man. For a moment, Malakai, the one who’d died on Oriceran, thought it was Ignatius Mangood, and his still heart seemed to kick; but it wasn’t. This man was too short, too weak in the jaw.

  “Don’t you recognize me?” the man asked.

  “I’m sorry. Not feeling well,” Malakai answered, but it came out in Felah’s high-pitched tone, a perfect imitation. The amazements of magic knew no bounds. He gripped his belly and said, “Womanly troubles.”

  “Ah, geesh, I don’t want to know that,” the man said. “I get enough of that at home. Well, I hope you feel better.”

  Malakai nodded and began to walk in the direction of the ice cream shop again.

  “Oh, hey, wait! One more thing,” the man said.

  “Yes?”

  “Tonight’s the night, okay? I know you covered for Ig after his granddaughter blew up that damn clown figure at Downview, but we need you to cover for us just one more night, okay?”

  Malakai tilted Felah’s head.

  “They found marks on Ig’s door. They think that putrid Arachnid is coming for the music box. We are sending the two of them back to Oriceran tonight, so you guys down in the Griffins will detect a pretty big influx of magic. Keep Tone and the hounds away from here until you know for sure they’re gone. We can’t have any attention drawn to us.”

  Felah’s memories flooded Malakai’s brain. It was a thunderstorm inside of his head. Salem. That was the name of the wizard in front of him. Salem. He knew, because the witch he had overtaken knew.

  Play it cool, a voice warned. Play it cool, or I’ll disembowel you.

  It was the Widow’s voice. For the first time in a long time, Malakai felt fear. He shouldn’t have, but he did.

  “Yes,” he said in Felah’s same sweet voice. “No problem, Salem. I’ll keep you guys safe from prying eyes.”

  “Great. Thank you so much, Felah. We of the Old Farts’ Society owe you one.”

  Malakai forced a smile, and it burned his face, his true face. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” he found himself asking. Instinct. That was what it was. Instinct overtaking his body and mind.

  “Well, I’m not supposed to say,” Salem said conspiratorially. “But since I like you, I’ll tell ya. I’m guarding the shop. Looking out for giant spiders and the like. There have been some sightings of it in Ohio. Mostly popping up in the whacky sections of the paper—you know, the pages no one reads. But Malakai’s here; I can smell his stench. Arachnids can stink up a whole corner of the continent.”

  Malakai’s knuckles cracked as he squeezed his hands into fists.

  “So far, though…nothing,” Salem said. “Just as well. First sign of that eight-legged freak, and I’m gonna blow him back to hell with the rest of those creatures.”

  Malakai’s smile wavered and he closed his eyes, grimacing.

  “Oh, wow, you really don’t feel good, do you?”

  Malakai didn’t answer. He just walked off, willing himself not to kill the wizard where he stood, and reminding himself that waiting would be worth it. The music box was mission number one. Once he had that in his possession, the blood of the vermin could spill into the streets. Tonight. He knew it would be tonight. He would make sure to come back, and he’d be ready for the kill. For the victory.

  Salem watched Felah go, and a wave of worry bubbled in his gut.

  Felah turned
the corner and was lost behind the old antique store.

  “Poor gal,” he said. He pulled his pipe out of his breast pocket and lit it. He sat back down on the bench and watched the street.

  Waiting.

  Maria arrived at Claire’s, wearing the sword, and moving with a talking Bloodhound at her heels. She caught her reflection in Claire’s glass storm door. God, she looked ridiculous wearing that thing, but she couldn’t will herself to take it off. Not only was her grandfather’s voice in the back of her head saying, ‘Keep the sword close,’ but also another voice—a voice warning her about the oncoming storm.

  “Oh, hey, what’s up, Conan the Barbarian?” Claire said as she came out the front door. “I’m sorry, have you seen my friend Maria anywhere lately? Turns out she’s a witch and, after that, things just got even crazier. I’m worried someone took her to the insane asylum.”

  “Har-har, real funny,” Maria said.

  It actually was, Sherlock said. You do kind of look like Conan…minus the Arnold muscles and stuff.

  “Shush.”

  “Mom, would let you come in, but she said you look borderline crazy, and she has a strict rule about weapons in the house,” Claire said. The two girls and Sherlock walked around to Claire’s backyard. She had a semi-enclosed patio where they liked to sit when the sun was going down. The sun had already gone down, though, so they walked to the swing set instead. Sherlock bounded up the plastic slide off to the right while Maria and Claire sat down on the swings. They were both too big for them, and Maria’s sheathed sword dragged across the dewy grass.

  “So what did you want to talk about, Jack Sparrow?” Claire quipped.

  “Jack Sparrow doesn’t have a sword, does he?”

  “I don’t know, but you are one eyepatch and metal-hook-for-a-hand away from going full pirate, my friend.”

  “Really, you’re so sweet,” Maria said, a fake smile on her face. “When’s Tabby getting here?”

  “Should be here any min—”

  Near the front of the house, they heard a car door slam shut.