Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  “Milkshake?” Gelbus asked.

  Sherlock suddenly pounced into the arcade with slobber streaming from his mouth, and his ears flopping all about.

  “Yes, I did say ‘milkshake’,” Maria rolled her eyes at Sherlock, “And no, you can’t have one. It’ll just upset your stomach, and I don’t want to have to clean up after you. Gary got super pissed last time,” she reminded him.

  Sherlock whined.

  “Oh, man up, you big puppy! Go pester Gary for some more fries. What? He ran out? God, I hope you told him to put it on our tab. We’ll pick that up before—no, not ever, Sherlock! If Gary could hear the way you talk, he probably wouldn’t think you were so cute,” she admonished.

  A couple of the people in the arcade looked over at the girl who was exchanging conversation with her dog as if it were perfectly normal, and Agnes raised a hand and shrugged at them.

  Sherlock left not too long after, heading back to the bar, where the old man was waving him on, a fresh basket of stringed meat in his hand.

  “Ugh, now he’s giving Sherlock chicken tenders,” Maria moaned.

  Gelbus turned away from the greasy, fried aroma despite being quite hungry. He wanted that milkshake, whatever it was. It sounded delicious.

  “Let’s do this!” he shouted, catching both Frieda and Maria by surprise.

  “Calm down, my little friend,” Maria said. She put her coins in, and the ray gun shot a bolt of lightning.

  The clashing sounds of monsters growling, aliens babbling, and dinosaurs roaring filled the arcade’s atmosphere. It was wonderful. The game was so much fun. It took a few minutes for Gelbus to get the hang of it, but once he did, he couldn’t stop. The ball bounced back and forth off of the rubber mushroom-looking things, and the numbers on the screen climbed. Green, yellow, and orange light bathed the Gnome’s face. He didn’t blink over the course of the entire game. When the final ball rolled past the paddles and the dinosaur roared ‘Game over,’ Gelbus realized his eyes were burning beyond belief, dried out from staring.

  He also realized that Maria, Frieda, and Agnes, among others he didn’t recognize, stood behind him with their mouths open.

  “What?” he asked, his voice muffled by the hoodie. He was sweating beneath the fabric and wanted nothing more than to unzip it, but he knew that would risk a panic from those who’d never seen a real live Gnome before, so, he suffered instead.

  “Holy shit,” Maria said, quietly.

  None of the onlookers had blinked; none dared to. Gelbus was starting to feel a bit worried that he had done something wrong. Maybe the people in the fun center were onto him.

  Oh, no, what does that mean?

  You know what that means, Gelbus, he answered himself. It means Trevilsom Prison, where you’ll rot and come out crazier than you already are.

  Suddenly, lights danced around the room—red, blue, green, yellow, silver—and an alarm went off that sounded both scary and pleasant. Gelbus jumped at the sound of it, nearly falling off the chair he stood on.

  Then, surprisingly, the onlookers started clapping. Now Gelbus really didn’t know what the hell was going on.

  Maria smiled at him with her thumbs up in the air, Frieda looked just as confused as Gelbus felt, and Agnes shook her head in disbelief.

  The crowd parted as the old man who’d been feeding Sherlock food came up the middle of the room toward Gelbus. In his hands, he no longer held stringy potatoes or strips of fried meat that smelled of grease and deliciousness (not to mention clogged arteries…even a Gnome from Oriceran knew what those were), but a small black box with a glass disc on the end.

  “Damn, young man, I never thought I’d see the day!” Gary said. “That high score has been there for nearly twenty years. Your old grandpappy owned it,” he said, leaning toward Maria.

  “Oh, wait until he hears about this, Gelbus! He’s going to be so happy,” Maria said. “And probably mad…but mostly happy. I hope.” She grabbed the crystal around her neck, and it instantly lit up at her touch. Agnes saw this and stayed Maria’s hand, shaking her head.

  “All right, young man. Go ahead and enter your name into the game, and we’ll get your picture by it. As a newly anointed high score possessor, you get everything free until someone breaks your score. ‘Course there’s some stipulations to that one; like you can’t come every day, because I ain’t made of money, and as winter approaches and the youngins like you go back to school, my profit sorta shrinks—but still, a few times a week beats having to pay, don’t it?” Gary said.

  Gelbus didn’t know what to say or do. He was frozen on the chair while everyone looked at him. People in the crowd were asking one another how old he was, why he covered his face, if he was all right because he looked terrified, and so on and so on.

  “Here,” Maria said, pushing through the wall of people. She took hold of the buttons, nudging Gelbus out of the way. “Since you technically don’t know English,” she whispered with a smile and wink.

  Gelbus was thankful; she was about to save him again.

  “There, GTG.” Maria leaned over to him and whispered, “GTG. Gelbus the Gnome.”

  “Well, GTG,” Gary said, “take off that hoodie, and we’ll get your picture by the high score. You can have a copy and everything. All your friends at school will be so jealous!” He raised the black box with the disc on the end of it. Gelbus thought this was called a ‘camera’—another item he’d learned from his studies—but he wasn’t one hundred percent certain.

  Maria put an arm on Gary’s shoulder and whispered into his ear. How he could hear over the clamoring of the people packed into the arcade, Gelbus didn’t know, but Gary’s smile deflated, and he nodded with sympathy and understanding.

  “Okay, friend,” Gary said solemnly.

  “Look at the lens,” Agnes urged.

  Gelbus did, and a flash of lighting exploded, nearly blinding him. He wobbled, and before he knew it, the chair went out from under him, and he was falling, falling, falling—

  He landed with a thump on a padded but firm surface. Dazed and nearly having a heart attack, Gelbus looked down to see Sherlock looking up at him with his teeth bared in that canine smile that looked more like a growl. His eyes said, ‘I got your back, old friend’.

  Though Gelbus technically had his back.

  Everyone in the room collectively gasped, then laughed and clapped their hands once they realized Gelbus was okay.

  “Let’s go get that milkshake,” Maria suggested.

  Gelbus nodded. Sherlock walked forward, the crowd parting for them. Many people whistled and yelled, ‘Good job!’ when they passed, and for the first time in a long time, Gelbus felt like he was important. It had been a rough couple of months. First the drinking and the removal from his station at the Light Elves’ library, then the wandering and more drinking, and then the abduction and imprisonment, then the battle where he had to step up or die…

  It was good to finally win one, for a change.

  Chapter Eight

  “Good job, Gelbus,” Frieda said once they were clear of the crowd.

  Gary gave them the back room that was usually reserved for large parties. Gelbus unzipped his hoodie, taking in the sweet, cool, grease-filled air. In front of them all—even Sherlock—were milkshakes. Frieda and Gelbus had three small glasses in front of them, one of each flavor: chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. Maria said it would be easier to find out what they liked this way.

  Each milkshake was topped with whip cream and a small red fruit that was sweet and juicy when Gelbus bit into it. It was called a ‘cherry.’ Gelbus realized, after he’d tried all three flavors, that he loved them all, and would’ve been fine with any single flavor by itself—but he kept sipping them, nodding, and making grunts of approval or distaste, as if he were still weighing the options.

  Hey, I deserve it, after all I’ve gone through. Not to mention he was the new pinball champion at Low Way Family Fun Center.

  They all sat around the table with smiles on thei
r faces. Sherlock was near their feet, lapping at the bowl in front of him. His flavor was vanilla. Maria had said that chocolate was poison to a normal dog, but a laxative to Sherlock, and right now wasn’t the time to be ruining Gary’s carpets.

  Agnes had laughed.

  They talked of everything but the impending war that was floating above them like an anvil ready to drop…at least for a time.

  When the lively conversations died down, they all went quiet and stared at their empty milkshake glasses. Maria nervously fingered the crystal around her neck.

  “It’s all right, Maria,” Agnes said. “Ignatius is not one to lose, and with Salem there, they’ll be fine. If you want, if it’ll make you feel better, go ahead and use the crystal to contact them.”

  Maria thought of the side effects, the craziness that stole over one’s mind when using the communication crystals, and she hesitated for a moment. Until she remembered all the craziness she had already been through. Compared to all that, using a communication crystal is nothing.

  “You know what? I think I will.” She went outside, away from the others. If something had gone wrong—and she had a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach saying it had—then she didn’t want to be around the others, worrying them. Sherlock followed her, though. He seemed to almost always follow her, unless there was food waiting for him elsewhere. Currently, his bowl of vanilla milkshake was empty.

  “I’m not going to get anymore food,” Maria said to the Bloodhound as she went out the door. Sherlock didn’t stop.

  I know. I can hear, Maria. I’m curious, too, wondering what’s taking Ig and Salem so long.

  “You mean it? You’re not just using me to get to a dead squirrel or Gary’s dumpster?”

  Sherlock shook his head. Is that what you think of me, Maria?

  She shrugged.

  I’m appalled. I’ve told you, I’m a changed Bloodhound. I care about our family.

  Maria eyed him suspiciously. They strolled past the arcade, where Gelbus’s picture was already up on the wall. He looked quite silly in his dinosaur hoodie—well, technically her dinosaur hoodie—but it beat having a Gnome plastered there, scaring away all the customers.

  I should’ve been in that picture, Sherlock said, noting Maria looking at it. I saved the Gnome from a broken neck. Oh well, at least we all got milkshakes out of it.

  “Yeah, so much for that diet,” she teased, pushing open the doors.

  The weather was nice. Not too hot, not too cold. There was a slight breeze, and the sun hung in the sky without any clouds around it, its rays warming the two wanderers.

  It’s my cheat day! You knew that.

  “I did?” Maria chuckled. “How the hell did you expect me to know that?”

  Uh, I ate a floor waffle… Wasn’t it obvious?

  “You always eat floor waffles!” she protested. “Among other things from the floor. Pretty much anything edible…or non-edible.”

  I guess you’re right, Sherlock said, his claws clicking on the paved parking lot.

  Maria found a nice spot to the left of the fun center. There was a pavilion, and a row of picnic tables that were mostly used for larger parties when the weather was steadily warm enough to warrant Gary bringing out his inflatable bounce houses and various contraptions so cleverly dubbed ‘Gary’s Inflatable Madness’.

  There was no one under the pavilion, but it had been used recently, according to Sherlock, who sniffed madly around the trash barrels.

  Maria took the crystal in her hands and held it up to her mouth. Power thrummed within it, power and madness. It called to Maria, and she wanted to answer it, but she knew if she did, terrible things might happen.

  “Control. Control it, Maria,” she whispered.

  Sherlock heard her and replied, I don’t have control! Dammit, Maria, why do you have to make me feel so bad all the time?

  Because he held something in his mouth, his speech was still muffled once it reached Maria’s head. The thing in his mouth was either a moldy jelly donut or a flattened tube of cinnamon toothpaste. Two vastly different items, but that’s what it looked like to her.

  “I’m not talking to you,” she snapped.

  Sure sounded like it.

  He lay down and munched on the thing. Maria did her best not to look at it, but the sound was unavoidable.

  “I already know you don’t have any control. Why would I waste my time trying to get you to learn it?” she laughed despite the nervousness roiling in the pit of her stomach. “Not that I care about your lack of control. I think most dogs don’t have it, so that’s okay. You’re normal. Matter of fact, I think it’s quite entertaining—”

  You think I’m normal? How dare you?

  “No, not normal in a bad way. Normal in a dog way, which, to humans, is pretty damn abnormal.” Maria shook her head and brought the crystal up to her mouth again, feeling that power and madness more distinctly than before. “Okay, let’s drop it. You’re weird. I love you. Never change.”

  Sherlock smiled his awkward, baring-of-the-teeth smile, and Maria cringed away from him. Mainly because there was purplish gunk coating his front teeth from the toothpaste donut, or whatever the hell it was.

  Maria took a deep breath, trying to steady the hand that held the crystal. She whispered into it. “Gramps?” she called softly. “Gramps, it’s me, Maria. I don’t mean to bother you, but it’s been longer than I expected you to be.”

  She chuckled at herself. All those years her grandfather had spent worrying about her, and now the tables had turned.

  A couple moments passed, and she hadn’t gotten an answer.

  She looked at Sherlock crookedly. This isn’t right. He said he’d be there to answer my call whenever I needed him, but so far…nothing.

  You’re being crazy, Maria, she told herself. He’s fine. He’s strong, he’s powerful, and he knows what he’s doing. You’re letting the fear get to you, and you can’t. If you do, then the fear wins, and what does Gramps always say? ‘Never let fear win.’

  She spoke into the crystal again, this time slower and more deliberately, sounding out each syllable.

  “Ig-na-ti-us Ap-ple, where are you?”

  Sherlock nodded up at her. The light, he noted, the light is out.

  “What does that mean?” Maria asked, but she already knew what it meant.

  It meant that the connection had been severed between Gramps’s crystal and her own.

  Whether that connection was severed by him taking the necklace off, or by him going through a tunnel and getting spotty reception like you do with cell phones sometimes, or worse—by death—Maria didn’t know, and she wasn’t exactly sure that she wanted to know. If it were by death, though, her fear would mix with anguish and nausea, and so many other bad emotions that Maria probably wouldn’t be able to move again for a long while.

  Sherlock spelled it out for her anyway. The light is out, and that means the connection is severed. He spoke in a nonchalant voice as if he was asking Maria if she’d had the chance to try the garbage donuts yet. When he noticed the scowl and look of worry on her face, he tried to make it better. Doesn’t mean he’s hurt. Maybe he met another dark witch and he’s getting it on—

  “Stop!” Maria shouted. “Can’t think of my grandpa doing that. No, no, no, no, NO!”

  Sorry. Just trying to be an optimist.

  “I don’t think you understand what optimism is, Sherlock.”

  Yeah, I do. Optimism is when you think you’re going to find the perfect dead squirrel or trash burger only half-eaten. Or when you have to fight a hobo for said trash burger, and know you’ll win easily enough. That’s optimism.

  Maria took a deep breath, wondering why she put up with the Bloodhound.

  Because I love the damn dog, that’s why. He’s family. He’s blood. It was true; she’d put up with a million more dead squirrels and ripped trash bags if it meant she got to share her life with Sherlock a little longer.

  But Gramps was family, too, and right now sh
e was worried about him.

  Contact Salem, Sherlock suggested. He’ll respond, I just know it.

  Maria looked down at the crystal. How the fuck do I send out a message to just Salem? How the fuck did my last message reach Gramps, if it reached Gramps at all?

  You gotta believe, Maria, Sherlock urged. Believe in the magic.

  Maria scowled at him. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

  Hey, it’s worth a shot.

  She figured she had done odder things in the past few days. How weird could willfully believing in magic be? She closed her eyes and let the power thrum through her, the power from the crystal, from the nearby kemana, from the very fiber of her being.

  “Salem? Salem? Salem?” she said. “Salem, are you there? Answer me?”

  The crystal glowed brighter in her hand, and its heat baked into her skin so hot she almost let it go. Then there was silence. A long silence that weighed heavier than all the responsibilities resting on Maria’s shoulders—or so it seemed.

  Try it again. Could just be a bad signal, Sherlock said. He chomped down on the rest of his jelly donut (or toothpaste).

  “I feel like you have no idea what the heck you’re talking about,” she sighed. Regardless, she spoke into the crystal again. “Salem? Salem?” She took another deep breath. A headache was coming on like a massive thunderstorm. “Should I say ‘over’? Is this really like a walkie talkie? Oh, who cares. I can’t get ahold of Gramps. I repeat, I can’t get ahold of Gramps. Is everything all right?”

  A garble of static came from the other end. It really was like a walkie talkie. Then a voice followed, one very distant and very tinny: “Taken…they took him. Send Agnes.”

  Maria’s heart imploded. “Taken? Who? Salem, answer me!”

  “Arach…”

  But that was where the conversation ended.

  “ ‘Arach’,” Maria repeated after a few moments of shaking the crystal to try and get it to work.

  Deep down, she knew it wasn’t the crystal’s fault. There was no malfunction, or anything like that. Salem would have sounded weak no matter if he was another world away, or right next to her.