Saxifrage & Starshine

by Megan Kempston

  Our debate? About whether it was only proper to fall in love in the spring, or whether it was acceptable year round?

  Yeah, I was totally winning that one.

  ***

  It was a good twenty minutes before Mr. Hayes crunched through the underbrush, looking worried. His hair and clothes were dry despite the still-pouring rain. Being a wizard has its perks.

  “Hey boss,” I drawled from my perch on a nearby rock. “False alarm. No black magic. Uh, I’m pretty sure, anyway.”

  Mr. Hayes seemed to relax a little, but he still peered at me closely. “Martin said you were injured?”

  I grimaced. “I just twisted my ankle. I don’t have a strong desire to run stadiums or anything right now—”

  “Stadia,” Mr. Hayes corrected absently.

  I made a face at him. “—but anyway, I’m fine. Where’s Martin, though?”

  “He’ll be along shortly. He had to explain to Ms. Lopez why he changed forms without permission, and he mentioned something about finding pants as well.”

  I sighed. “I didn’t mean just pants.”

  Mr. Hayes raised his eyebrows. “Just pants?”

  “Never mind,” I said hurriedly. “Uh, how’s the pumpkin carving going?”

  “Mmm,” said Mr. Hayes, his eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “A madhouse, as per usual. But, black magic or not, I understand you’ve found something interesting.”

  “Shep did,” I said, wanting to give credit where credit was due.

  “Shep?” said Mr. Hayes. Then he spotted the spellhound sitting patiently next to me, and the corners of his mouth drew up in what looked like an involuntary smile. “I wasn’t aware I’d named any manifestation of the sentinel spell. Shep, is it?”

  The spellhound thumped his tail enthusiastically against the rock I sat on.

  Mr. Hayes’ smile widened. “Come here, boy.”

  Shep bounded over towards his master and frolicked in two complete circles around him before settling down and leaning his weight against Mr. Hayes’ leg. It didn’t look like Mr. Hayes even had to think about it to rest his hand directly on the spellhound’s head. He scritched the dog’s ears, a faraway look on his face.

  I got up and hobbled closer to my homeroom teacher.

  “I take it you had a Shep when you were a kid,” I said softly.

  He nodded, his gaze still off in memory-land. “My first dog. Perfect in every way, at least according to the eight-year-old Harold Hayes. Of course, the original Shep was a little Sheltie.” He glanced at the huge spell manifestation of his small childhood pet and smiled fondly. “I suppose this one grew along with me.”

  I grinned.

  Then the peahen squawked again, and we all jumped, looking in her direction.

  Mr. Hayes raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Right,” I said. “So, Shep treed the peahen. She hasn’t done anything threatening—except squawk at us a few times. Loudly.”

  From a branch near the white bird came a lot of angry chattering from a certain chickadee.

  “I see,” said Mr. Hayes. He murmured under his breath as he waved one hand through a series of gestures while the other stretched out towards the peahen, his palm forward in a warding motion. He stared intently at the bird for a solid minute.

  Then he dropped his hands and frowned at me. “I’m not picking up any dark magic or other hints of danger in the peahen’s presence.”

  “Could Shep be miscalibrated somehow?” I asked.

  “Unlikely,” he said, but he turned to run a series of tests on the spellhound. Which may or may not have been one big elaborate excuse to pet his pup some more. I grinned and kept my mouth shut.

  “No,” he said, rising from his crouch, a note of pride in his voice. “Shep is performing perfectly. Can you converse with the peahen? Inquire into her purpose and plans?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. I just thought it was better to wait for you.”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Hayes with a firm nod and an approving note in his voice.

  Then I reached out and touched my homeroom teacher lightly on his wrist with one finger.

  Besides, I said telepathically, I didn’t want to interrupt Romeo over there.

  Mr. Hayes looked back towards the peahen, spotted Hip Hop where he was still crooning softly to her, and smiled.

  Ah, a man in love, he replied. I recognize that look. She is a beautiful creature.

  A wistful note entered his voice on the word “beautiful,” and an image of curly red hair and bright green eyes swam into my mind.

  I yanked my hand away.

  Look, I don’t have a problem with Mr. Hayes having a crush on Ms. Munro, my science teacher. I just don’t want to know any details, thanks.

  “Let me ask her a few questions,” I suggested, not meeting Mr. Hayes’ gaze.

  “Good idea,” he said, not looking at me either.

  ***

  It took us half an hour, but we learned a few things.

  The peahen’s name was Argie and she had no idea why Shep would be barking at her. She’d gone to sleep in the nice warm room she’d grown up in, along with her brothers and sisters, and had woken up alone out in the dark scary wet forest.

  Also, she was lost and cold and wet and alone and scared. All of that came through loud and clear. Repeatedly. And squawkily.

  “I understand you don’t like being out here in the rain,” I said, some of my frustration at the delay coloring my voice. “We’ll fix that as soon as we can. But first you need to come out and let us get a closer look at you. Or, you know, we can all just stand around and be cold and wet together.”

  Hip Hop, who had been monitoring the exchange closely, chirped angrily at me.

  “Then you convince her,” I retorted.

  Hip Hop fired off a few choice insults in my direction, turned to face Argie, and began cheeping softly to her.

  My face heated in a blush.

  Mr. Hayes touched my shoulder and his voice came into my head. What is he saying?

  Something about how gorgeous her feathers are, I said. If we could only see them closer, we’d recognize her beauty as much as he does, and so on. I snorted. And that’s only the PG stuff.

  Oh, my, came the reply.

  But the peahen grudgingly moved out of the shadows and into the light at Hip Hop’s urging.

  I had to admit, she was beautiful, especially perched among the dark green oak leaves. That crest, those gleaming white feathers, that scarlet ribbon around— Wait a minute, I thought, leaning forward. What’s a lost peahen doing with a red ribbon around her neck?

  Mr. Hayes had spotted it too. “Very interesting.” He reached a slow, cautious hand towards Argie. She flinched away at first, but she held her ground after Hip Hop chirped encouragement to her.

  Gently, Mr. Hayes rotated the ribbon half a turn, revealing a faceted red stone.

  “That’s not a ruby,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “The shine is too sullen. It’s manufactured. Magically.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means we need to find the proper reference materials,” he said. “I’m quite sure that I have some relevant books in my classroom, and if not, the library is just next door. Can you please tell Argie that I’d like to put a shield spell around her for the journey back to the main building, for our protection—and hers as well?”

  Hip Hop balked, chattering in annoyance.

  “And,” Mr. Hayes added with a sidelong glance at me, “so she’ll be spared the indignity and discomfort of spending more time in the rain?”

  Hip Hop settled his feathers on his back, though he still looked skeptical. Argie, though, was amenable. Mr. Hayes nodded and waved a hand. A translucent green sphere, the same color as the light that made up Shep’s outline, surrounded the peahen. She fluttered her feathers, looking pleased to be sheltered from the weather.

  Mr. Hayes gestured again and the sphere levitated off the oak branch and moved in front of him. Hip Hop looked f
rom my homeroom teacher to me, obviously torn.

  “It’s okay,” I told the chickadee. “I’m sure Mr. Hayes doesn’t mind if you ride on his shoulder.”

  Hip Hop made a rude noise and fluttered to the tree branch nearest the peahen instead, watching her carefully through the shield sphere.

  “Suit yourself,” said Mr. Hayes.

  Just then, Martin ran up, dressed in an exercise shirt and track pants. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “You’re precisely on time,” Mr. Hayes assured him. “We’re adjourning to the main building for some research.” He pointed a thumb back over his shoulder towards me, and then strode off down the path. “Why don’t you give Zie a hand?”

  “Sure,” Martin said as he walked over to me. He shot me a smile. “Fireman’s carry or piggyback ride?”

  I glared at him, mostly to hide the rush of warmth in my cheeks. “Neither, thank you very much. I am perfectly capable of walking back unassisted.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “You talk like Mr. Hayes when you get annoyed. It’s cute.”

  I snorted and walked three steps forward. Then my ankle gave way, and I pitched forward into Martin’s arms.

  “Whoa, there,” he said, still smiling. “You sure you don’t want help?”

  I looked at him for a long moment. Then I hurriedly said, “Piggyback ride. And if you tell anyone, I will ask each and every tree in the forest to drop pinecones on your head every time you go for a run.”

  “Deal,” he said, turning around and squatting down.

  Feeling utterly ridiculous, I climbed onto his wide, muscled back.

  At least Hip Hop isn’t making snarky comments right now, I thought to myself. And this way, Martin won’t be able to see me blush.

  ***

  “Well, I can tell you this much,” said Ms. Munro. She and Mr. Hayes had their heads bent close—very close—together over Argie and her red necklace. “This isn’t a natural stone. It’s definitely synthetic.”

  Mr. Hayes nodded, his eyes dancing as he looked at her. “I’d reached the same conclusion. Gemstones, of course, can be powerful anchors for wizard-style magic spells, but creating a bespoke stone—that would indicate a spell, and a purpose, of some complexity.” He tapped his nose thoughtfully. “Can you ascertain a suspect profile given the composition of the stone?”

  “Hrm,” said Ms. Munro. “The striations do run in a particular direction. I might be able to tell where and how the stone was made—and, by extension, who might have made it—but it’s going to take some research.”

  “How unfortunate,” Mr. Hayes murmured. “Another research project to work on together.”

  Ms. Munro met his eyes and they smiled at each other. Then they seemed to realize what they were doing, and they looked hastily away.

  Mr. Hayes cleared his throat. “And the peahen herself?”

  Ms. Munro shrugged and then stretched, seeming to ignore her red cheeks even as her hands nearly brushed Mr. Hayes’ shoulder. “She seems like a perfectly normal, healthy, female version of the species. Her leucism is striking, but not otherwise concerning.”

  “Are Mr. Hayes and Ms. Munro always like this?” Martin whispered to me from our spot on the other side of the history classroom, where we’d been press-ganged into flipping through stacks of books about precious metals, avian species of Africa and Asia, and sentinel spells, all carted over from the school library next door.

  “What?” I asked in a low voice. “You mean nauseatingly flirty?”

  Martin looked at me, then back at them. “Are they flirting?”

  I closed my eyes and rested my forehead in my palms.

  “I meant speaking only in vocab words,” Martin clarified.

  I squinted open one eye. “He’s a word nerd and she’s a science nerd. Get them together and give them a research project, and… yeah, this is what they’re like.”

  “Oh,” he said. He was quiet as he flipped through a few more pages. “And hanging out on Friday night in Mr. Hayes’ classroom with a bunch of books is your idea of fun?”

  I snorted. “If I had my way, I’d be in a clearing somewhere, watching the stars come out.”

  He blinked at me. “But if you could see the stars… that would mean it would have to stop raining.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “So?”

  “So today was the first real rain of the year! It was awesome!”

  I frowned. “What about that big rainstorm a few weeks ago?”

  “Didn’t count,” he assured me. “Not nearly cold enough.”

  I eyed him. “You clearly left your reason somewhere out in the forest.”

  “You’re a warm-weather girl?”

  “Not necessarily,” I told him. “I can appreciate a good storm too—but did you see the sunshine earlier today? Did you feel it? How can you not like that?”

  “I do,” he said. “But the cold is so much better.”

  “You’re just like Hip Hop, insisting there’s only one right season to—” I bit off the word, trying to fight a sudden blush.

  “To what?” Martin asked. “Go running? Because he’s definitely wrong about that one. Running is great all year round.”

  “No, not running.” I said grudgingly. “We were talking about romance. Hip Hop thinks courtship is only appropriate in the spring. I think it’s fine in the fall too.”

  Martin gave me a long steady look. “Of course it’s fine in the fall. But it’s clearly the best in the winter.”

  I squinched my eyes shut and put my head down on the open book in front of me.

  “Come on,” he said. “Snow, super crisp air—how can you not love winter?”

  “I don’t have any problem with winter,” I told him. “I just don’t think it’s required for romance.”

  He grinned. “It’s not required. Romance is just better in the winter.”

  “You do know we live in temperate California, right?”

  He shrugged. “That’s what Tahoe is for. Bigger mountains, lots of snow, plenty of opportunities to snuggle together for warmth on a ski lift…”

  “Let’s get back to work,” I said hastily.

  ***

  Dinnertime had come and gone before we found the answers we were looking for.

  Well, most of them, anyway.

  “It’s a surveillance spell!” said Mr. Hayes excitedly, shattering the silence in the classroom and making the rest of us jump.

  “The ruby was cloaked by a magical shield,” he continued. “A fascinating variation on the Mukherjee Obfuscation Theorem, which—”

  Ms. Munro cleared her throat.

  “Which explains why I wasn’t able to ascertain its purpose earlier,” he finished instead, with a wry look at Ms. Munro.

  “So Argie’s a spy?” Ms. Munro asked.

  “Argie!” Mr. Hayes and I both said together, looking at each other and grinning.

  “The name fits,” Mr. Hayes added.

  Next to me, Martin shook his head. “I’m so lost.”

  “Argus was a character from Greek mythology, tasked by Hera to guard Io from Zeus,” Mr. Hayes explained.

  “Still lost,” said Martin.

  “Zeus and Hera were married,” I said, “but Zeus liked to flirt with other ladies too. Including one named Io.”

  “Oh,” said Martin. “So Zeus was like Devon?”

  “Devon?” asked Ms. Munro, sounding dismayed.

  “Yes,” I told Martin. “Tell you later,” I added to the teachers.

  “I don’t want to know,” said Mr. Hayes.

  “Anyway,” I said, “Argus was a giant with a hundred eyes that always stayed open.”

  “And it’s said that, after Argus was killed by Hermes, Hera put his eyes into the tail feathers of her totem bird, the peacock, in memory of her loyal subject,” Mr. Hayes added.

  Martin frowned. “Okay, now I’m really confused.”

  “Never mind,” I said. “Trust us—the name Argie makes sense for a peacock wearing a nanny cam around her ne
ck.”

  Ms. Munro cleared her throat, her expression worried. “Yeah, but what doesn’t make sense is why she’s here. And who sent her.”

  The teachers looked at each other, and then at me.

  They had that look on their faces that said we need to talk about possible black magic without anyone overhearing so we need you to convince Martin to leave. With a bit of and don’t even think of arguing on this one, Zie thrown in.

  I sighed dutifully and turned to Martin.

  “Hey, we should probably skedaddle. Don’t you have an early workout tomorrow?”

  He shrugged. “Seven o’clock. Not too bad.”

  I shook my head at his notion of a reasonable wake up time. “Well, in any case, I think we’ve done enough to help. Mr. Hayes and Ms. Munro can take it from here.”

  The adults nodded vigorously.

  Martin frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” I said, getting up, grabbing him by his (unfairly muscle-y) arm, and towing him in the direction of the door. “Besides, aren’t they having that pie-eating contest in the dining hall in a few minutes?”

  He kept frowning. “Yes, but…”

  I held up a squishy bag of formerly frozen peas that had been taped to my ankle. “Plus, I think I might need some more ice.”

  “Oh!” he said. “Yeah, you definitely don’t want to mess around with the RICE protocol.” I let him pull me towards the door.

  Thank you, Zie, came Mr. Hayes’ voice in my head. I don’t wish anyone else to know about the recent dark magic unless it’s strictly required.

  Yeah, yeah, I replied, shooting a look over my shoulder at my homeroom teacher. You want to protect people and stuff. I get it. You just better not solve this mystery without me!

  Mr. Hayes smiled.

  ***

  They didn’t.

  I knocked on the door to Mr. Hayes’ classroom the next morning. Ms. Munro opened the door, looked at me, and tilted her head towards Mr. Hayes.

  My homeroom teacher was muttering rapidly to himself as he drew sketches and runes and words in languages I didn’t know on his whiteboard.

  “No progress, huh?” I asked as I walked in.

  “Not yet,” Ms. Munro replied, closing the door behind me. “He’s trying to figure out who might have built the recording spell or the obfuscation spell on top of it. He thinks the flavor of the spellcasting feels familiar.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever that means.”