“Oh, I’m sure it will,” Grace said, sipping the cocktail. “Lovely. Just lovely. Tell me, what’s your name, handsome waiter?”
“Jason.”
“Jason,” said Grace, drawing out the word as if it were a good idea she was considering. “Wonderful. Tell me Jason, would you like to join my friends and me for a little fun later tonight?”
He answered immediately. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Excellent. We’ll be leaving after I finish my drink. You’ll come with us?”
It wasn’t a question. The others knew that she sometimes liked to soften even the most vicious of blows with a façade of mutuality, or even subservience. This was when she was at her most dangerous.
“Good. Then wait over there in the corner against that wall, okay Jason? Just stand there. No one else will know. It’ll be our secret.”
He nodded, then walked over to the shadowed corner where Grace had made her entrance and stood stock-still, facing the wall.
Tony, Claudia, and Thomas the Dog Man smiled their hungry smiles. In spite of the edge on which Grace always kept them, they were excited. Jason was a very good choice. They were eager to learn what she had in mind for him.
––-
Grace’s driver drove them to her house in the Town Car. She kept Jason bewitched enough to relax him, but alert enough so that that he could respond to stimulus. He proved to be an excellent sport.
––
Grace’s home was located on the shores of Lake Washington. Claudia had once said that it deserved to be described with a verb, not an adjective. “It sprawls,” she’d said. It was a far cry from the three-bedroom, mid-century house with the moldy basement that Grace had purchased in the nineties, when she had been starting out.
Grace kept her hand on the small of Jason’s back as they walked into the house. She needed to maintain contact with him in order to keep him docile.
Thomas started to gather bags from the trunk of the Town Car.
“Leave them be,” Grace ordered over her shoulder. “The people will handle them.”
“The people” referred to an entire class of workers, assistants, helpers, and in some cases, slaves, who inhabited the residence. Some of them were echoes who ran errands and such for Grace, in the hopes of learning more about their stunted abilities. Others were paid workers who kept the grounds, cleaned the house (except the basement; they were never to go in the basement) and prepared meals. Another group of them were Grace’s go-fers. They were people like Mavis, kitchen witches who showed enough talent, or seemed useful enough, for Grace to pop and then use as her eyes and ears in the city. Most of them never came near where Grace lived, though occasionally one might be seen in the living room.
Thomas was always relieved when Grace referred to “the people.” It meant that she still considered Claudia, Tony, and himself as a separate, superior class. He also knew that her ranking system was capricious at best. The three of them were too far in to ever leave on their own, even if they’d wanted to, so they had to be always on the lookout for ways to prove themselves useful to Grace. Being in her inner circle gave them status over the others, more power than they’d ever imagined, and slightly more margin of error than, say, the ones who cleaned the toilets.
But the trio had no illusions that she kept them around out of the goodness of her heart. Grace had no heart.
“Go find out if the people know anything new. I want to see what Jason’s made of before we, well, before you-know-what,” Grace said, leading Jason upstairs.
Chapter 67
Mavis sat next to a sullen-looking teenage boy with a shock of pink hair, on a bench up in the old-growth part of Seward Park. The sun was just starting to rise, turning the gray expanse of grass at their feet into a mint-green carpet.
“Don’t be fresh with him the way you are with me, and don’t ask him questions about what else you can do, and don’t, well, just don’t talk, okay?”
“Okay! Jeez, I’m not some little kid, you know.”
“That’s exactly what you are. So just shut up and…”
“Hello, Mavis.”
The woman jumped a foot, yelled, “Whatoofy!” and landed with a jowl-shaking thud back on the hard seat of the bench.
The pink-haired kid started laughing at the older woman’s reaction, then stopped short. A man with blond curly hair was standing a few feet away from them, dressed in a pale-colored, fitted suit. He walked over to the park bench and sat down. The hairs on the back of the kid’s neck stood up. Even in the faint dawn light the man’s expression reflected that he was here for nothing other than business. And by the looks of things, it would be dangerous business. The boy had no trouble following Mavis’s directions to keep his mouth closed.
“What’s new?” asked Thomas.
“Why do you people always have to sneak up on me?” Mavis said, clutching at her heart.
“Because the results are so satisfying,” the man replied.
“What do you know?” he asked, his words clipped and quiet.
“Not much,” Mavis said, trying not to sound frightened. “Seems like there was a kerfuffle over at Beverly’s house tonight. Witches coming and going. We can’t get anyone close enough to scope it out, and there are so damned many cats!”
“It’s all right. We don’t expect you to get around the cats. What else have you heard?”
“The kid’s gay,” Mavis shrugged. “But Grace already knew that. The police report on Todd Laramie was filed as Missing Persons. No one has linked him yet with the two girls from Rainier Beach, or that punk out in Maple Valley. Russ Yamada at SPD moved some things around so the connections are harder to make. He has Daniel Burman to worry about, but…”
“Keep him on Burman. Bring in more reinforcement if need be.”
“We got Gracie Guerrero downtown too, so we shouldn’t have to…”
“I don’t want to hear ‘shouldn’t have to,’ Mavis. Track Burman and report his every move to us. She won’t like it if she hears you’ve been lazy. And you won’t like it if she doesn’t like it. ¿Comprendes?”
“Sí, comprendes.”
“It’s ‘comprendo,’ for ‘I understand,’ Mavis. See, you even get to learn Spanish by associating with us, not just more ways to trick people into buying your hand creams.”
“Gee thanks, Thomas. My world is expanding so broadly.”
He was on her in a flash, sitting astride her, his legs surrounding her ample hips and squeezing tightly, his face inches from hers. The pink-haired kid scooted to the far end of the bench, his eyes wide.
“Don’t be cute, Mavis. I don’t like cute. Claudia may be more forgiving than I am. Trust me, you don’t want to push it.”
He slapped her hard in the face. Then he hopped off and punched her, once, in the gut. She doubled over and fell to the ground, clutching her stomach.
Thomas was behind the teenage boy before he could do anything. The man’s hands clamped around his neck. The boy thrashed on the bench, kicking at the air, beating uselessly against Thomas’s hands.
“You work for us, kid. End of story. All those fun things you can do now? They mean nothing. You do what we say, you do all of what we say, and maybe you’ll live long enough to enjoy bossing people around with your new bionic superpowers.”
Thomas released his hands from the teenager’s neck. The boy fell to the grass next to Mavis, gasping for air.
The scent of wet wood surrounded them, and then the man was gone. In his place stood a large German shepherd. The dog walked over to where they lay on the ground, bared its teeth, and began to bark violently, its spittle landing in their hair.
The pink-haired boy started to cry and shake, unaware of the growing wet spot in the crotch of his pants. Mavis threw her hands above her head.
The dog turned and ran off into the woods.
A few moments later, a woman in a turquoise jogging suit, with a small poodle on a leash, ran over to them.
“Do you need help? Can I call someone?”
“Amber. Amber sweetie, stop that. You’re never this mean. Stop it!”
“Get out of here! Get the hell away or I’ll give you some real nightmares, lady!” Mavis wheezed through her clenched teeth.
The woman’s horrified expression was small reward for the pain in Mavis’s gut. All she could do was lie on the grass and watch as the stupid jogger pulled her snapping dog back down to the running path.
Chapter 68
They were waiting for Charlie. He had just walked out of the gym, hair still wet from showering after P.E., and was heading up to the main school building for lunch. Julio, Dave Giraldi, Randy, and some other guy he didn’t recognize. He’d taken the shortcut underneath the bleachers.
“Hey faggot boy, you been bumping it with the Diegster? He been giving it to you good?”
Charlie froze. They had him cornered in the perfect place. Nobody could see him from here.
He turned to walk away, but a hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him around.
“Don’t walk away from us, you shit. You California shit. We want to have a little talk. Rumor says you and Butt Pirate are an item. Maybe you give it to him?” Dave Giraldi said, raising his eyebrows and making a kissing shape with his mouth.
“Leave me alone,” Charlie said, his voice shaking. He put his head down and tried to shove past them, but they surrounded him.
“’Leave me alone, leave me alone,’” Randy teased. “Look, faggot bitch, the minute you came to this school, you became our problem. You haven’t left us alone with your goddamn googly eyes at Diegster. We’re here to tell you to leave us alone.”
“That’s right,” said the fourth guy. “You‘re disgusting. Your faggotness bothers us every day. You’re gonna stop. You hear me?”
“He asked you a question, boy,” said Julio. “Answer him.”
“Just leave it, all right? Why do you have to make such a big deal out of…?”
Julio boxed him in the ear. Charlie stumbled back against Dave, who grabbed his shoulders and kept him from falling. White lights flashed across his eyes, and the hot pain on the side of his head was accompanied by a booming sound, then a dull ringing.
“Why do we have to make such a big deal? Oh yeah, right. As if we’re the ones parading around school, going to GSA meetings and wearing frickin’ pink on Pride Day. You faggots taking over the world, marrying each other and turning kids gay is making a big deal out of it. You make me sick, you know that? Doesn’t he make you sick?” Julio asked the other boys, who nodded.
Then he leaned back, and punched Charlie straight in the stomach.
The agony in his gut was singular and brutal, forcing him to bend over and clutch at his midriff as all the air whooshed out of his mouth. He couldn’t catch his breath, and was vaguely aware that his insides had sloshed together when Julio punched him.
“That’s right, bend over, bet you’re real good at that,” someone said. Charlie was having trouble seeing. The pain made him forget where he was, or even what was going on around him. He knew he was in trouble, and was pretty sure he was supposed to be able to do something about it, but he couldn’t remember what. Something about words. Saying words. Saying Words?
Someone grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up. A face swam into view. He could smell rank, swampy breath, and heavy cologne. He saw something silver, and realized the face had a hand and the hand had a knife. An image of Grace flashed in his mind, with her crazed expression while she choked him, a knife held above his head…
“You keep quiet about this, Charlie boy, or we’ll make sure you stay quiet. It’ll be our little secret, okay, faggot? Nod your head if you understand.”
Charlie nodded. He felt wet lips on his cheeks.
“Atta boy. Remember, tell Principle Wang or anyone else about this, and you’ll make things really rough for yourself.”
“Yeah, Charlie boy. We’ll come find you on Washington Street,” someone else said. And then they were gone.
Charlie’s legs gave out, and he collapsed backwards until he was lying flat on the ground. As his vision cleared, he could see strips of gray sky through the bleacher slats. The wet cement felt cool on the back of his head. He wished he could turn over so that the coolness would touch his stomach. But for the moment, he couldn’t remember how to turn over. He stayed under the bleachers for a long time. If the pain hadn’t been so terrible, he might have even enjoyed the quiet.
–—
“Hold still. Let me look at you,” Rose Patchke said, as she examined Charlie at home in the living room.
“Of all the God forsaken…” said Randall, walking in circles.
Charlie had managed to pull himself up into a standing position after lying under the bleachers for a while. He’d started walking home, thinking that he could manage the short distance, but had to sit down on the sidewalk several times so that he wouldn’t pass out. He’d called Randall, whom he knew had the day off. In the short time while he waited for Randall’s car, no one had bothered him or asked if he needed help. He was glad. He just wanted to go to bed.
“Randall, please. I can’t concentrate with you pacing back and forth like that.”
Rose looked into Charlie’s eyes. She held up a cup of something warm and asked him to drink it. The liquid was thin and tasted like raspberries. He drank it all in one large swallow.
“Good job. I think you’re going to be okay. That tea will tell us if there’s anything wrong with your head.”
“Always something wrong with my head,” Charlie said, trying to make a joke.
“Yes, well, I can’t do anything about that,” Rose smiled, winking at him. “Just sit back and rest on the couch, alright?”
“We need to go tell Principle Wang,” Randall said. “That school has a no-tolerance policy. Which he upholds!”
Charlie shook his head. “They said they’d make trouble for me if I told.”
“Trouble?! You think those boys could get away with causing trouble? Look who they’re talking about! Look who surrounds you, Charlie. Witches who would be their worst nightmare, not the other way around.”
“Randall,” Rose chided. “You already know this. The witches will do no such thing. We won’t interfere like that. It’ll draw attention to us. If Beverly weren’t out running errands, she would tell you the same thing.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know, I know, I know! But what good is it all if you can’t use it when you need to?”
“This isn’t a case where we need to. Charlie’s growing into a fine young man. You’ll think of a way to deal with this, won’t you? Without using the craft, I mean?”
Charlie nodded again, feeling like all he was doing today was following instructions. What he really wanted to do was to go to each guy’s house, ending with Julio’s, whisper Words, and make things happen that would scare them half to death.
But he knew he wouldn’t. Not after his solo flight that had nearly gotten the other witches killed. He wanted to rationalize things, saying that this was a different situation, that these were just stupid seniors, not Grace, and that he could clearly handle himself with them.
But he was gun-shy of his witchcraft. He had used it improperly, with dangerous results. He didn’t trust himself yet to try anything, let alone give payback to Julio and the other guys. Who knew what could happen?
Chapter 69
The witches crowded into Beverly and Randall’s basement. Some sat on couches, or the folding chairs that Randall and Charlie had pulled out. Others stood around in groups of twos and threes. All told, there must have been over fifty people, including some of the kids who had been trained up at Malcolm’s cabin. The atmosphere crackled with tension.
A middle-aged couple stood off to the side, surrounded by several witches offering comfort. Charlie watched as the woman alte
rnated between wringing her hands and running them through her hair. The man stood stock still, his eyes dull, his mouth open, arms hanging at his sides.
“But what about all of our children? How do we protect them? June and I have two who are still unpopped. Who’s to say they won’t be taken too?” a stocky man asked. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans, the same thing that every man in the Pacific Northwest seemed to start wearing once the weather turned cold and damp.
“Bob, I understand your concern,” said Beverly, standing with her back to the large flat-screen television mounted on the wall. “We’re all worried about the same thing. But we honestly don’t know what to do.”
“That is not acceptable! You are our leader! Figure it out! In your father’s day…”
“In her father’s day,” snapped Sean Crenshaw, crossing his arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes, “her father was busy giving away our secrets to Grace, so don’t wax nostalgic on us, alright Bob?” He paused, then winced and looked over at Beverly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay, Sean. No need to tiptoe around the fact that my father did unscrupulous things. And I’m afraid that what he did has helped Grace to be able to infiltrate us today. That’s why we’re here. Grace has the upper hand, and we need to figure out how to get it back.”
Randall had explained to Charlie what happened. The grieving couple, Les and Ginger Nickerson, called Beverly to report that their daughter Suzette had disappeared in the middle of the night. She had gone to bed when she normally did, but wasn’t in her room the next morning. Daniel Burman went over to their house, and upon investigation, discovered traces of witchcraft, which had him rule out a runaway situation. He sensed the presence of Grace and one or more of her witches.
The Nickersons had brought pictures of their daughter with them tonight. Charlie didn’t recognize her. She looked to be about eight or nine years old. She had a mousy look about her, and reminded him of the girl with the wispy hair and thick glasses from the warehouse the day they had been popped, the one who had asked how long it was going to take. Charlie wondered if Suzette was the girl’s younger sister.
The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight (The Broom Closet Stories) Page 39