“It’s because I was a late-bloomer, isn’t it?” Maria asked.
Ignatius paused in his madness and looked up. His heart had been slowly breaking since he heard of Malakai’s second coming, and looking at Maria now had almost fully broken it. No longer did he see the little girl he taught how to ride a bike, or to whom he’d sung his whacky Oriceran birthday songs. No longer did he see a little girl at all, but a full-grown woman—a full-grown witch.
“You wanted me to become a witch until you knew the stakes,” Maria deduced. “The villagers were all but dead after so many years, and when I didn’t show signs of any magic, you thought all hope was lost. Then here comes the giant spider guy, and you realize this is real. More real than you thought.”
Ignatius felt tears at the edge of his eyelids.
You mustn’t cry, Ig. You mustn’t cry. You must be honest and honorable. The Apple way. The way you taught Maria. Don’t contradict yourself now.
Maria got up and walked over to him.
She was so tall these days; he hadn’t seemed to notice it until now. She seemed to grow even taller still. Her hair shone dark brown in the overhead fluorescents. Her eyes burned with intensity, with magic… the color of a clear sky in the throes of summer.
“Now I’m coming into my own and I can save the villagers, and you’re at a crossroads,” Maria continued.
Ignatius stood up and hugged Maria. Sherlock maneuvered himself between them and stood on his hind legs to make a group hug.
“There’s no portal here, is there?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “You are my granddaughter, all I have left…and you remind me so much of Zimmy.”
“The Queen Witch,” Maria nodded. “My mom.”
Gramps nodded back and swallowed a lump in his throat.
“She was murdered protecting them, and now they are lost; I’ve forgotten some of their faces, Maria. I will not lie to you. But I have you here and now. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose Salem or Agnes or the Muffler twins.”
They parted.
God, you two are breaking my heart, Sherlock said. I need to go chew another shoe. Sherlock stalked off down the aisle, his head down, and his ears and cheeks drooping more than normal.
Maria looked back at her grandfather. She took his hands. “You don’t have to worry about losing me, or your friends, or even Sherlock,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to win. You’ve taught me time and time again that good beats evil. I’ve never lost faith in that belief. And I never will.”
Gramps smiled, his bottom lip quivering.
“You’re just like your mother,” he said, and then he sat down and took off the different colored boots. He threw them back on to the rack and waved his hands in a circular gesture.
Maria’s jaw dropped. She had never seen her grandfather perform magic before last night, at least not knowingly, and it still amazed her. The shoes that had been scattered all over the aisle rose on their own and started walking down the linoleum one step at a time, as if invisible men were wearing them. Each shoe found their respective spot on the rack, matching colors and sizes.
“Wow!” Maria said, her mouth still hanging open.
Sherlock whined as the loafer he had been chewing on was pried from his jaw by phantom fingers. A string of slobber hung from the sole, swinging like a pendulum.
“Don’t think anyone is gonna want that shoe after they find out where it’s been,” Maria wrinkled her nose.
“Nonsense! It’s Walmart!” Gramps announced as he walked to the end of the aisle.
“Yeah, it’s Walmart—so why are you being so nice? Wouldn’t it really stick it to them if they had to come clean up after you?”
Gramps looked back and shook his head. “Why, no, Maria. It’s not the regular employees of Walmart that I have a bone to pick with. The cashiers, greeters, stockers, and cleaners have done nothing to offend me. It’s the damn security!”
“Right. Well, get them back then.”
“All in due time, my dear grandchild,” Gramps said. He seemed more confident all of a sudden, more normal. “Now, Sherlock, come.”
Sherlock obeyed, which was a form of magic in and of itself.
“Oriceran awaits us. My home. And there we will discover the secrets only you can unlock, Maria.”
Maria smiled. “Let’s go.”
They got halfway to the Firebird before Ignatius stopped and grabbed his stomach. The worst flashed through Maria’s mind. Heart attack. Stroke. Ruptured bowels. It came with the territory of caring for a senior citizen, and, though her grandfather turned out to be a magical wizard warrior, her old fear did not go away.
“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, her face twisted into a grimace that matched Ignatius’s. Even Sherlock had stopped eyeing the gulls that were looking for lost food in the parking lot.
“The air is different,” Ignatius said. His gaze swept the darkening blue sky. He put his index finger on the tip of his tongue then put it above his head, as if testing the wind.
“What?” Maria started to ask.
Let him go. He’s just being weird. I don’t smell anything besides a few dropped French fries over by that Five Guys burger place, Sherlock said. And those damned seagulls. What I wouldn’t do to get my teeth in—
“Whoa, calm down, killer,” Maria admonished. She turned back to her grandfather and put a hand on the small of his back. “You sure you’re okay?”
He blinked. Realization came over his features and he shook his head. “Yes, yes, I’m hungry. You see that little coffee shop over there? They have the best sandwiches.”
“Gramps, I know. We used to go there all the time.” Dementia was on her mind. Is Gramps losing it?
“Humor an old man and share one with him, please, dear?” Ignatius made his best sad face, with his lower lip jutting out and his eyes wide and gleaming with tears.
“Fine,” Maria said. “But after that, we have to prepare for our trip. Really prepare for our trip.”
Sherlock jumped up on Maria and licked her.
“Blah! What did I tell you about licking me, Sherlock?”
Gramps laughed as Maria wiped the slobber from her cheek. He put his arm around her and they walked across the street to The Big Cup Coffeehouse.
The air had changed. Ignatius was right. Whenever a soul leaves a body on Oriceran, it is not meant to come back to the vessel that housed it previously.
Yet Malakai walked the Earth in the same suit of skin that he had worn on Oriceran. In that skin, Malakai had turned on the village of Dominion and spilt the blood of Duke, the child soldier who had shown him mercy. All for what?
Was I meant to be loyal to the Arachnids because I was born one, despite them murdering my mother at the time of my birth? Despite all the torture and torment the Arachnid army put their soldiers through?
The answer did not matter.
What was done had already been done.
Malakai looked to the dark sky with his eight eyes and sniffed the air. He smelled the garbage set out by the curb in front of all the houses, except for the one to which he’d tracked Ignatius Mangood and the music box.
The key.
He cleaned up the mess he’d left the previous night. Now he waited for Ignatius’s return. Then he would not only get his key, but he would get revenge.
He did not know how the box was the key to the world in between, but that didn’t matter. Malakai didn’t care one way or the other. When he was brought back to life, he had lost all his emotion, all basis of right and wrong—‘for the better,’ the Widow had said; her with the red hourglass emblazoned on her back. Now Malakai was programmed for only two things—to get back the music box, and to kill anyone who dared stand in his way.
He would make sure Ignatius stood in his way.
Although devoid of emotion, Malakai hadn’t been drained of his brains. He knew he was in a foreign land. He knew the sight of a giant creat
ure such as himself would send the locals into frenzy.
The Widow, time and time again, had instilled an image of a mob of angry humans equipped with pitchforks and torches, hellbent on killing what they would never understand.
Malakai had slipped up a few times in his pursuits, but he couldn’t slip up around the wizards and witches in hiding.
He wouldn’t, either. Not with her wand.
Time passed, and Ignatius never showed. Malakai would have to take matters into his own hands. He would have to force the issue.
The cloaking spell changed him into his last victim—a new inductee to the Order of the Silver Griffins by the name of Felah Fyre.
Felah Fyre had suddenly developed a sweet tooth. The only thing capable of satisfying the sweet tooth—besides the blood of wizards and witches, of course—was ice cream.
Chapter Fourteen
Ignatius ordered a mint cappuccino. Maria grimaced at the strong smell of the steaming cup. It was like hot gum. Sherlock’s nose wiggled curiously. Once he got close enough to it, he gagged.
“Yeah, not my cup of tea, either,” Maria agreed. She was still waiting for her vanilla milkshake—an odd order in a place that was famous for its coffee.
Not a cup of tea, Sherlock said. It’s coffee. Is your nose broken, human?
“Don’t you mean ‘witch’ now?” Maria said.
Gramps laughed and shook his head. “Oh, you two. You warm my heart.”
“Skip the sentimental stuff, Gramps,” Maria said.
The waitress came with a tall glass. “Whip cream?” she asked.
“Leave the can,” Maria said with a grin, motioning to the Ready Whip in the waitress’s apron.
“Um, I’m afraid I can’t do—”
Ignatius mumbled something Maria couldn’t hear, and the waitress’s eyes changed. She looked like someone who’d fallen into a deep daze riddled with the most pleasant dreams.
“Here,” she offered. “It’s all yours.” She grinned from ear to ear.
“Thank you…” Maria said hesitantly, and took the can.
“You’re most welcome. Will you be having any food to go with your drinks? Perhaps one of our world-famous chicken club sandwiches? I can have the cook make one up special for you, Maria,” the waitress said.
“Uh, yeah…that’d be nice. Wait—how do you know my name?”
But the waitress only nodded and walked back to the kitchen through a swinging door.
She was still confused until she looked up and saw Gramps smiling.
“Magic?” Maria determined. “That’s not fair. You can’t magic people for your own gain!”
Can it, Miss Morality, Sherlock advised, and let me get a spoonful of that milkshake!
“Oh, please, Maria. It was a harmless charm. Besides, this may be our last visit here for a good while. We must make it count!” Gramps said. He brought the cappuccino up to his lips and took a sip. “Ah, the best. Not even on Oriceran can you get a cup as good as this.”
“I would say ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ but I think I’m going to find out firsthand.” Maria spooned some of the milkshake onto Gramps’s saucer, and Sherlock lapped at it. He was like a crack addict in need of a fix. Better to shut him up than to have to deal with his sarcasm and veiled insults, Maria supposed.
“You have such a kind heart, Maria,” Gramps said.
Maria put her hand up. “No sappiness! I mean it!”
Gramps wiped away a tear with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Maria looked out the window and saw a group of friends walking in the parking lot, their arms draped through shopping bags.
“I’ll have to visit Claire and Tabby before we go.” She suddenly didn’t want the rest of her milkshake. Sherlock drooled looking at it. He looked so silly sitting in the small coffeehouse, so out of place. But it made sense now. Gramps had magicked Sherlock inside of a place where dogs were most certainly not allowed. Was it wrong? Probably, but Gramps was also right: This might be our last time together. The road ahead of us is long and treacherous, as a wise man once said. But why didn’t he do it at Walmart?
Because he wanted to drag out the time, she realized. He doesn’t want to go. He’s afraid…deep down, he’s afraid.
The waitress came back about five minutes later with the sandwich. Record time.
“Here you go, dear. On the house, of course,” the waitress said. She smiled a magic-forced smile. It was painful to look at.
“No,” Maria refused, glaring at her grandfather. In her pocket, she had a twenty-dollar bill. American money was no good in Oriceran, so she took it out and handed it to the waitress. The waitress just looked at it with the grin stretching her features. It was like she didn’t know what money was.
“Kill the charm, Gramps,” Maria said.
“I can’t. It has to wear off on its own,” he answered and took a drink of his coffee.
Are you gonna eat that? Sherlock asked, pointing his nose at the chicken sandwich.
Maria growled at him.
The waitress stood there awkwardly. Maria decided to just put the cash in her apron. When the charm wore off, she’d be twenty dollars richer. It was a hell of a tip.
“Okay, that will be all.” Maria concluded the transaction.
“Certainly,” the waitress said, and nodded. She turned around and walked away. The smile never left her face.
“Geez, talk about creepy,” Maria shuddered. “She looked like the Joker from Batman or something.”
“It’s been awhile since I’ve used that charm. If the Silver Griffins found out I did that…oh, boy, would I be in trouble.”
There was only one other customer in the coffeehouse. He sat on the opposite side of the small room, reading a newspaper. He kept throwing unamused glances toward Maria’s table. She was just about ready to tell him to take a picture because it would last longer when Gramps interrupted her.
“I suppose you want to hear more about your mother.”
Maria was shocked.
The old story went that she had died giving birth to her. Maria never knew what it was like to have parents, but it didn’t particularly bother her. Gramps had done a fine job raising her. He was always there for her, had taught her how to ride a bike, how to spell her name, how to stand up for herself. So when it came to having a mother, Maria felt perfectly all right without one. She wasn’t sure what she was missing.
But she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit curious. After all, it’s not everyday that you find out your mom is an alien known as the Queen Witch.
Maria nodded. “I do.”
“You two look so much alike. Her hair was much longer, though. It was a symbol of great power, to wear one’s hair as long as hers.”
“Kind of like the Dothraki in Game of Thrones?” Maria asked.
Gramps arched an eyebrow. “Maria, you know I only watch General Hospital and Days of Our Lives. I don’t bother with such fodder as Game of Thrones. A bid for power, for sitting on the throne, is not a game at all.”
“Okay, Gramps. Sorry, I forgot. But just know you’re really missing out on some good television.”
Gramps smiled politely. Maria knew he’d never get around to watching Game of Thrones. She’d tried really hard to get him to watch Breaking Bad, and he’d made the same argument. Oh well, his loss.
“Your mother was a brave woman. After the Arachnids attacked the first time, she stepped up when no one else would. Not even the king.”
“The one I saw dead on the floor of the throne room?”
Gramps nodded. “Your father.”
“Oh, my God. That was my father?”
“Yes. He was murdered in cold blood. For what? For power. See, Maria; it is no game.”
Maria’s head spun. Get ahold of yourself, Maria, she thought. You never knew them in all your nineteen years. You can’t be sad. You don’t get sad.
“All because of this,” Maria said, pulling the music box out of her bag. She opene
d it. The sweet music drifted along the air. Now it didn’t sound like gibberish to her; now it was dear to her heart. She may not understand the words, but she understood the melody’s importance.
“Wars have been fought for much less,” Gramps said. He brushed the wood with the back of his hand. A tear sliced down his cheeks, riding the wrinkles.
“Do you really think Malakai is after us?” Maria found herself asking, her head still spinning.
“It’s hard to say. Bringing someone back from the dead is no easy task. If anyone is capable of doing it, however, it is the Widow.”
“ ‘The Widow’?” Maria asked.
Sherlock’s lapping was the only sound between them for a moment. Gramps rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand.
“The leader of the Arachnids. The one who wants the box.”
“The leader? I thought you killed the leader; Korrin, or whatever his name was,” Maria said. Her chicken sandwich remained untouched in front of her, getting cold. She thought about pushing it over to Sherlock, whose brown face was now covered in whipped cream and milkshake, but decided not to.
“I killed the generals of her army, including Korion, but she is the one pulling the strings. Think of them like a colony of bees.”
“Bees? I thought they were like spiders.”
“They are. But bear with me. A beehive has a queen bee. The others do everything in their power to serve her. They work, they mate, they live for her. The same goes with the Arachnids. All of them live for her. And if Malakai has been reanimated, it will have been the Widow’s doing.”
“Malakai,” Maria found herself saying. The grip on her silverware grew tighter. “What happened to him? Why did he turn?”
“Ah, my dear, it is a long story. One I won’t bore you with. The short of it is that the Widow’s influence stretches further than I originally thought. I found Malakai on the edge of the Dark Forest, as if one of the Arachnids had birthed him and known he was different, but couldn’t bring themselves to kill him.” Gramps sighed. “Neither could I. The others in our village called me crazy for bringing an ancient enemy into our tribe. But, you know best, Maria, that—”
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