by Blair Drake
Henry’s head a was a million miles away, along with his stare.
“Henry, listen to me,” Dylan said. “I need to know what else I can do.”
Henry’s faraway look quickly came back to the here and now. “What else can I tell you?”
Woli jumped out of her chair. “Oh, holy guacamole, he’s a lippy, too!”
She seemed excited, but Dylan felt lost.
Henry groaned. “I hate lippies.”
“What’s a lippy?” Dylan asked.
Woli’s wings fluttered. “You can, oh, how should I say this? You can persuade people with your words.”
Henry leaned across the table and grabbed Dylan by the throat. “You ever get lippy with me again, and I’ll abandon your skinny red head at the gates of Queen Gaanne. And she’s too powerful for a measly lippy. Got it?”
Ready to pass out, Dylan said, “Okay. Please let go.”
Henry loosened his grip. “That’s better. Ask or speak nicely. Don’t ever get lippy again.”
“Please, Queen Gaanne isn’t powerful, but she commands many powerful people.”
“Think what you will,” Henry said.
“It’s not what I think. It’s what I know. Queen Gaanne doesn’t even perform magic,” Woli said.
“I don’t know anything about queens, chamelemans, or lippies. I still don’t know.”
“That’s what Henry is for. He’s an expert with weanlings, though I don’t think he’s ever had one as clueless as you are. Didn’t your parents tell you anything?” Woli relaxed and her wings stopped fluttering.
Henry leaned his elbows on the table. “We can’t stay here. Portly is coming back soon.”
“Is Portly dangerous?”
Woli blinked.
Henry swallowed hard. “He works for Queen Gaanne. She doesn’t like new mages coming into her territory. I haven’t lost a mage yet, and I don’t intend to this time, either.”
“What’s your plan?” Woli asked.
“I don’t know, but I usually have a mage for at least a week before Portly catches wind. This makes things a lot more difficult.” He got up and started pacing.
“Just send me back,” Dylan said. “I don’t want to be here anyway.”
“It doesn’t work like that. The portal you came through is closed. You need to hone your abilities and find the grimoire belonging to you in order to open a new portal.”
“Grimoire? Like a book of spells?” This was getting more surreal by the second.
“Yes,” Henry said. “Magic is a fickle mistress. There’s a book of spells only you can use—a grimoire. The path of every new chameleman is to find his magic then find his way back. This isn’t a safe place for a mage. And you are a special mage, or they wouldn’t send you here.”
Dylan crossed his arms and put them on the table, then laid his head on his arms. “I just want to go home. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be a mage. I feel like I woke up in some video game.”
Woli got up and came over to pat him on the back. “Oh, don’t be such a momma’s boy. Suck it up and be a man, not the boy who walked in here.”
Woli wasn’t the mothering type. She was the tough love type. Dylan’s dad was a tough love guy. He didn’t need to be coddled, and he sure as heck wasn’t going to be coddled by Woli and Henry, that much was obvious.
“The only way to get home is to find the grimoire and learn to work your magic. And when you return, you’re going to realize your world was filled with smoke and mirrors.” Henry stopped pacing long enough to offer his form of wisdom.
“Smoke and mirrors,” Dylan said quietly. “Like the darkness surrounding the island? And closed wings of the school?”
He saw Woli and Henry exchange glances.
“Well?”
Henry sat back down. “Tell me about the darkness.”
Dylan could almost see the darkness in front of him. He told them about the black sky and perpetual fog, about the craziness of the moments before he landed in Craydusk. “Are they in danger?”
Woli nodded slowly and almost imperceptibly.
Henry turned on her. “Woli, stop.”
“Well, he needs to know sooner or later. And sooner is better than later. His world may depend on it.”
Dylan stood, and now he was the one pacing.
“Get away from the window. And don’t sweat, they’ll smell you,” Woli said.
“Son of a biscuit eater, I need to think, and I don’t have time to think.” Henry ran his fingers over his head, then adjusted his goggles.
“I can take you to the treehouse,” Woli said.
Dylan didn’t understand. She didn’t seem to like Henry when they first walked in, and now she was offering to help. It didn’t seem like she was offering because of him, but he’d gladly take her help. And while he was trying to get back to the school, he could listen to her lovely voice and watch her purple hair bounce around on her head. He would have to avoid looking her in the eyes because the blackness there made his skin crawl. He thought for sure she was hiding something behind those eyes.
“Are you a fairy?” Dylan asked.
“A pixy.” She rolled her eyes. “Stupid weanling mage, can’t even tell the difference between a fairy and a pixy.”
“Like they aren’t similar,” Dylan said under his breath.
“And how are we going to get up in your treehouse?” Henry flapped his arms.
“You can become a bird, you doofus.” She flopped her arms right back at him.
They reminded Dylan of two siblings who appeared not to like each other, only they really did.
“Magic isn’t that simple, and you know it,” Henry said.
Woli flittered her wings and came off the ground about a foot.
“Magic is even more difficult when you don’t know what the heck you’re doing.” Dylan felt like he needed to add to the conversation.
Henry glanced at him. “Magic comes with a price. Every time I change into something not human, it drains my energy something fierce. I need all I have to help you on your journey.”
“Then we can go to the house on the rock. Tantana isn’t afraid of the queen,” Woli’s wings moved so fast they reminded Dylan of a hummingbird.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Woli frowned and said, “Sure, why?”
“You seem awfully nervous.”
Her wings slowed, and she settled softly to the floor. “I’m just excited. I love journeys, and Henry said I could help him with the next one.”
Henry said, “I know what I said, but not this time, girl. We’re in a bind. But I do think the house on the rock would be a good place to start.”
“You’re only going to Aunt Tantana’s if I get to help.” She stood firm with her hands on her hips. “Besides, it might buy you some time, as long as no one sees you on the street. And how am I going to take over for your old wrinkly butt if I don’t learn the bad with the good?” Woli had a point, and Dylan wished she was already the one to take over. Crotchety old Henry made him nervous.
“And how are we going to get from here to there? We aren’t transporters,” Henry said.
Lippies, transporters, queen, pixies, it was all too much. Dylan’s head was spinning.
“But he is.” Woli pointed to the far wall of the café.
Just then, a man of average height appeared where a second ago there was only air. He had a long, thin nose, large almond-shaped eyes with dark circles around them, a smallish mouth, and ears that looked like they belonged on an elf. Only he didn’t really look like an elf in his long gray coat, and tall, narrow gray top hat with white hair stuck out at odd angles from under it. If not for his kind eyes, he’d look sinister with his white tuxedo shirt, dark gray ascot, white trousers, and white gloves. Sinister and intimidating.
Then it hit Dylan; he looked like an owl.
The man gave a slight bow but didn’t speak.
“Strix, you’ve been in here the whole time?” Henry asked.
“Ye
s, my good man, I have,” Strix replied.
Dylan did a mental dance. A strix was a type of gray owl, and that’s exactly what this man looked like. He didn’t dare say anything though, for fear of being wrong and the man doing some magical trick on him.
Strix walked up to them. “I was here to observe, not be observed.”
Dylan leaned in to whisper in Henry’s ear. “Is he a chameleman, too?”
Henry let loose with a hardy laugh. It looked good on him and took at least a hundred years off.
“No son, I’m not a chameleman. I’m much more, but that’s our little secret.” Strix walked around him, his hands clasped behind his back, looking him up and down. “You’re a chameleman, though, aren’t you?”
Dylan’s head nearly twisted off as he watched Strix observing him.
Strix stepped back and bumped hard into Henry.
“Hey, watch it,” Henry groused.
“Don’t be in my way next time, old man,” Strix said. Then he stood completely still. His ear twitched, and he said. “Out the back door, now.” He turned to look at Woli, “You, too.”
He was a commanding presence for an average-sized man, and they all darted for the kitchen door at the same time.
Strix moved in front of them when they got to the back door. He flipped his hand in the air, and when the back door opened, a long gray boat of a car rolled up, the trunk popping open. Dylan thought maybe this was some new technology his world hadn’t gotten yet, but no one would ever make a car this big and heavy. It was a cross between a Studebaker and a Rolls Royce. The trunk looked big.
“Get in,” Strix pointed to the trunk. “You too, Woli.”
Woli darted in front of them and climbed into the trunk. Dylan would swear it looked as though she climbed down some stairs. Henry shoved Dylan forward and followed close behind. Damned if there wasn’t a ladder at the edge of the trunk. He climbed down quickly and looked up to make sure Henry made it.
Just before the trunk slammed shut, he heard Portly yell, “Strix, get that damn car out of the alley. You know the rules.”
Then next thing Dylan heard was the engine roar to life, and he was standing up straight, in the trunk of a car.
Chapter 5
Dylan finally stepped onto solid ground after going down so many steps he finally stopped counting. This should have surprised him, but he now realized it was best to just go along and not get too frazzled.
Henry stepped down on the ground only moments after Dylan. “Oh, how I hate this.”
Dylan looked around. They were standing on a black and white tiled floor seeming to extend for miles. Dylan couldn’t actually see the end of the tiles. Squinting, he could see wrought iron railings on both sides of the long, narrow floor. At least it didn’t extend forever in all directions, and they only had one way to go.
“Where are we?” he asked. “I thought we climbed into the trunk of Strix’s car.”
Suddenly, Woli stood beside Dylan. “We did, but the trunk of his car is one of the passages to the underground. Granted, it’s not always a passage. Only when he decides it is. Strix is a clever one.”
“Deceitful one is more like it,” Henry said. “Strix only does things that benefit Strix.”
Things were bad enough when they were above ground, but now they were deep in the bowels of the city. How deep, Dylan wasn’t sure. But he felt less safe than he did when Portly was standing in the café. And he was really hungry now. Looking around and down the dark passage, he wondered if they’d ever get to eat. And how he was going to get back home?
Henry had yet to tell him how he was going to get his grimoire and learn what he needed to know to get back home. He wanted to ask, but Henry looked really mad at the moment.
“Where to from here?” Dylan asked. “I’m starving.”
Henry grumbled, “Me too.”
Woli waved her arm then took off down the dark corridor, her wings illuminating a small area. She lifted off and flew in front of them. “This way. Hurry.”
The light emanating from Woli’s wings only illuminated about five feet in front of them. He felt mesmerized by the light. He also felt like he was in a carnival haunted house ride, only he wasn’t in a car on rails, he was on foot. With every twist and turn of the checkboard path, Dylan felt as if they were being watched. Maybe because they were. He thought he could even see the walls around them moving. Or was it just the light?
He lost track of time but knew they must have been walking for days because his feet and knees hurt, and Henry had taken to griping again. To make matters worse, Woli’s light was fading.
“Woli, are you okay?” Dylan asked.
She lowered her feet to the floor, stopping. “I’m fine, why?”
“Your light is fading,” he said.
“That’s okay, we don’t need it much longer.” She pointed.
Dylan stared into the darkness and saw what might be a light. “The light at the end of the tunnel?”
Woli giggled. “No silly, but it’s our exit. The underground goes on and on. It’s just a matter of where you enter, and where you want to go, as to how long before you reach an exit. Just be glad it isn’t quitting time at the mines, or this place would be full of trolls and dwarves. They aren’t always so nice, or nice smelling.”
“Where would they come from?” Dylan asked.
“The trains.”
Henry said, “I’ll bet they are tired and mean after slaving the day away in the mines for the queen.”
Woli put her finger over her lips. “Don’t mention her down here. Ever.” She looked back to where Dylan saw the light. “Exits are known to close at the sound of her name.”
Henry whispered, “I didn’t say her name.”
Woli stopped talking and lifted into the air. Dylan thought the rest would make her wings brighter, but the light continued to fade as they neared the exit.
And just like Dylan saw in movies, a metal ladder leaned against the railing, heading to the light above.
“After you,” Woli said.
Henry stepped back. “No, ladies first.”
His politeness didn’t ring true. He sounded more like he didn’t want to be the first person peeking out from the underground.
Woli pushed him aside with a pronounced impatience. “Boys,” she said.
As Woli climbed the rungs of the ladder, Dylan stepped in behind her, trying really hard not to look up. Then Henry followed close behind. All the while, Dylan swore someone was watching.
They came out of the underground exactly how Dylan imagined it. They removed a grate from a gutter and climbed out. Henry put the grate back, and they stood on the side of the street in a neighborhood that looked like San Francisco’s attached houses.
Gothic Revival and Tudor homes with ornately carved bargeboards painted in soft pastel colors lined the street. A woman pedaled a penny-farthing down the sidewalk and nearly rolled right over Woli. The woman looked straight ahead, as if she had a pressing matter and was focused on her destination.
“Hey, watch it,” Woli called after her.
The woman didn’t even acknowledge Woli.
“Where to now?” Dylan asked.
“We aren’t anywhere near the house on the rock,” Henry said.
“No, but we are only three houses from the corner, and that’s where Professor Tully lives.”
Woli walked off, expecting them to follow.
“I never trusted that man, with all of his books,” Henry called after her.
Without looking back, Woli said, “Try to bring more attention to us, if you can.”
Dylan snickered.
“Shut up,” Henry said.
The three of them walked up the narrow sidewalk, as miniature Victorian homes rolled by on four wheels like horse drawn carriages. Only there were no horses, and the houses moved along at a good clip. No one waved. No one even looked at them. It was as if they were invisible.
Only Dylan knew they weren’t invisible because when the elephant pas
sed by again, one of the monkeys playing chess stopped mid-move to look at them, moving only his eyes. It was as if he didn’t want anyone to know he acknowledged their presence. He looked back to the chess board and finished his move. The monkey he was playing with smiled and winked at Dylan.
They liked to wink at people here: first the moon, then Woli, and now the monkey.
Dylan immediately looked away, wishing Woli would pick up her pace. The girl could fly, for goodness sake, so if she flew faster they would have to keep up.
When they reached the corner, Woli pointed and said, “See? He’s in the library. He’s always in the library.” She sounded so happy about it.
The house on the corner had the same style as the other homes on the block, but it didn’t have the same siding. This house was stucco and cement, and it was painted off-white, not a lovely pastel.
A huge picture window took up most of the front of the home, with delicate concrete frames in an intricate pattern Dylan didn’t have the time to discern. And right in the middle of the window sat a tall, thin man. He could have been a younger version of Henry. Behind him was a full wall of books.
Upon closer observation, Dylan realized the man had on no pants. He sat in the chair with his legs spread wide, and only his shirttails covered his crotch. Dylan almost looked away. Over his long white shirt, the professor wore a harlequin print vest and a bright red bowtie. He wore large, round wire-rimmed glasses low on his nose, and had the long hair of a man covering his bald pate. What hair he had was carrot orange.
He looked up as they approached the walkway to his house, then looked right back down. Seconds later, a young man, or maybe he was a boy, opened a door beside the window and stood waiting. He had longish hair pulled back in a ponytail with a ribbon as red as the professor’s tie. He wore no bowtie, but he dressed similar to the professor with a puffy-sleeved white shirt and vest; however, the boy’s vest was striped. At least he wore pants.
They climbed the stairs to where the boy stood.
“Hello, Strial. Is the professor busy?” Woli said.