TwoSpells

by Mark Morrison

“I dare ya’ ta’ come in me home! I dare ya’!” Grandma cried. She scooped up a candlestick and brandished it threateningly. “I’ll brain ya’, I will!”

  The Collectors glanced at each other, grinned and stepped into the doorway at the same together, wedging themselves snugly in the hole. They squirmed and fought one another to get through, groaning and grunting. Amidst the chaos, Grandpa slipped away silently, headed for his bedroom.

  Jon raised an eyebrow at Sarah. “They’re kinda oafish.”

  The Collectors grumbled and struggled forward, beginning to get angry. The walls began to shake and creak and masonry began to crumble. Suddenly, the wall buckled and gave way. The two creatures crashed inside with a burst of plaster and splintered wood. Sarah ducked as a hunk of wall zipped past her head.

  “The text,” Thirty-seven grunted, extending a dusty hand.

  “There be no text!” Grandma shouted, shoving her nose into the Collector’s barrel chest.

  He gently scooped Grandma up by her armpits. “Come for questioning.”

  Grandma kicked, squealed and smashed her walker against Thirty-seven. Grandpa re-emerged from his bedroom with an old, rusty shotgun. He stuck it in Thirty-eight’s face. “Tell your Golem friend ta’ get his filthy hands off me wife or I’ll send ya’ back ta’ the workshop that built ya’.

  The Collector looked curiously down the two steel barrels and then casually plugged two fingers into the barrels.

  “Are ya’ makin’ f-f-fun ah’ me?” Grandpa stammered, holding the shotgun firmly under his armpit for leverage.

  Number Thirty-eight grinned.

  Grandpa grunted as he tried to pull the shotgun back, but the huge fingers stuck firmly. “Don’t ya’ go and get me mad ya’ bloody ape.”

  The Collector raised his arm, lifting Grandpa off the ground, kicking his feet and howling obscenities. Both Collectors backed out of the opening, one carrying Grandma by the armpits and the other hoisting Grandpa’s shotgun up and around, carrying him along with it.

  Grandma continued pounding on her captor’s enormously muscular body. Grandpa held his gun tightly, his body waving to and fro. The Collectors opened the trunk of their car and deposited Grandma and Grandpa inside. Thirty-seven jerked the shotgun away, tied the barrels into a knot and tossed it aside.

  “That’s gonna cost ya’, mate,” Grandpa snapped as Grandma’s walker was plopped into the trunk alongside them. “I ain’t through with either of ya’. I got both your numbers, ya’ know!”

  Sarah tossed Grandpa’s walking stick inside just before the lid closed.

  Grandma poked her head up. “Don’t ya’ kids forget the hall closet!”

  As the car pulled away, Sarah and Jon stood in the gaping hole utterly baffled by what had happened.

  “What now?” Sarah asked. She wiped her stinging eyes.

  “I don’t know,” Jon replied. “Call the police?”

  “This doesn’t seem like something the police would be able to help with,” Sarah said. “Or even believe.”

  A familiar raspy voice came from somewhere outside. “What in the bloody hell?”

  Clyde hobbled around the corner of the house and through the hole in the wall cursing up a storm.

  “What’ve you two done?” Clyde roared, eyeing them up as he leaned against an upturned table. “What’s the meanin’ behind this? Where’re your grandparents?”

  “The C-collectors,” Jon stammered. “They were taken!”

  “What are you doing here?” Sarah asked Clyde as he limped over the shattered door. Debris crunched beneath his wooden leg.

  He sneered. “Ya’ might say I live here. And since I’m the maintenance man, I’m here ta’ see what needs maintainin’.”

  “Oh. Right,” Sarah said sheepishly. As Clyde shambled closer, she caught a whiff of stale body odor and alcohol. She pulled out the handkerchief that her Grandma had made her and covered her nose.

  The three of them cleaned up as much as they could, given the circumstances. After a while, Clyde paused for a break, leaning on his broom.

  “Who’d ya’ say took ‘em?” Clyde asked. Debris crunched beneath his feet as he surveyed the damage.

  “Two great big things,” Jon explained. “They were huge and had numbers on their forehead. Thirty-something, I think.”

  “Thirty-seven and thirty-eight,” Sarah added. “Like the ones that picked mom up the other day.”

  Clyde turned sharply. “Collectors for sure then. Did they say anythin’ to ya’?”

  “Yeah. They asked about an overdue book,” Jon said.

  “Did they say what particular book?”

  “A special text,” Sarah answered.

  Clyde stood quietly for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought. There was a loud ringing sound that broke the uncomfortable silence. It rang three times and then went silent. It began to ring again.

  “I think that’s your phone, Mr. Clyde,” Sarah said.

  He seemed to be ignoring it. “I didn’t hear anythin’, lass.”

  Sarah looked to Jon as it continued ringing. This time, Jon spoke up. “Mr. Shyfoss, I think it’s important. They keep calling.”

  “Ya’ think?” Clyde said as he picked through the remains of the front door. “Probably just ah’ solicitation.”

  “But it might be Grandma and Grandpa needing help!” Sarah said.

  Finally, Clyde reached into his back pocket to retrieve his phone. He answered and listened, limped a few feet away, and murmured something into the phone. After a minute or so, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket and hobbled toward the backdoor.

  “Mr. Clyde, was that them?” Sarah asked, following him.

  “I’ll be back in ah’ jiffy,” he said, flinging the backdoor open and heading for his truck.

  “Are you going to get them?” Sarah shouted after him.

  Tornado barked loudly as he passed, but didn’t follow. Sarah and Jon stood at the backdoor watching as Clyde jumped into his truck and sped away, kicking up gravel and dust.

  Sarah faded in and out of sleep, unable to get comfortable. White lights washed across her bedroom walls and the familiar sound of tires crossing loose gravel roused her. She jumped out of bed and checked the window. It was Clyde’s truck returning. She ran into the hallway and rapped loudly on Jon’s door.

  “Jon, are you up?” Sarah whispered before she entered his room. “Quick! Clyde’s back.”

  Jon rolled over. “Huh?”

  “Come on!” Sarah said, shaking him. “Clyde’s back!”

  “Oh, yeah!” Jon leapt out of bed. As usual, he still had his dirty clothes on from the day before. “I’m ready!”

  Sarah looked him up and down, disgusted by his dirty clothes.

  Jon grunted, throwing his hands up. “What?”

  She just smirked before they both trotted to the backdoor, cracked it a bit and watched Grandma and Grandpa step out of Clyde's truck.

  “He did it! He went and rescued them!” Sarah whispered.

  Jon wriggled his way closer to get a look. “Awesome!”

  Sarah pulled the door gently shut. “Now act natural.”

  “At one in the morning with a truck-sized hole in the wall?”

  “Whatever. Just don’t ask any goofy questions about warlocks. I’m sure they’re too tired for all that.”

  They plopped down at the kitchen table just before the backdoor opened. Grandma and Grandpa hobbled inside with wide smiles. Sarah and Jon hugged their grandparents while Clyde stood watching uncomfortably.

  “God bless ya’ be,” Grandma cried. “I thought we was goners for sure.”

  “Us too Grandma,” Sarah cried, hanging on tightly. “We were worried sick.”

  Grandpa looked about. “Ya’ kids did ah’ dandy job ah’ cleanin’ the place.”

  “And in ah’ jiffy,” Grandma said.

  “Mr. Clyde helped too,” Sarah said, nodding to him.

  Grandma and Grandpa both acknowledged him with pats on the back and left the roo
m to examine the damage. Tornado wailed loudly until Clyde limped out the backdoor to join him.

  “Well, we can’t do anymore tonight, Granny,” Grandpa grumbled, wrapping an arm around Grandma. “We can deal with this in the mornin’.”

  Sarah awoke to the sound of Grandpa and Grandma shuffling about in the kitchen. She rolled out of bed, half-asleep but anxious to hear about what happened the night before. As she entered the kitchen, she heard Clyde complaining loudly about having to repair the front door.

  “Good morning, child,” Grandma beamed, pouring a cup of coffee and sliding a plate of French toast toward Sarah. “Are ya’ ready for ah’ big day?”

  Sarah wiped the sleep from her eyes. “Grandma, aren’t you upset about last night?”

  Grandma paused for a moment. “Ya can’t cry over spilled tea, ya’ might say. What’s done is done.”

  “But they trashed your house,” Sarah said. “And roughed you guys up.”

  “Aye, they left the house in shambles,” Grandma said. “But they didn’t hurt us.”

  “What did they do to you guys last night?” Jon asked, rounding the corner into the kitchen. He smacked his lips and sat down beside Sarah.

  “Jush ah’ few queshions ish all,” Grandpa replied. His false teeth bobbed in a glass of blue fluid at the center of the table.

  “What kind of questions?” Sarah asked, trying not to stare at Grandpa’s toothless smile.

  “Thomethin’ about ah’ book,” Grandpa said. “Got nothin’ out of uth though!”

  “Put ya’ teeth in already!” Grandma interrupted. She pushed the glass with his dentures toward him and the blue liquid sloshed over the sides. “Ya’ sound like a babblin’ old fool!”

  Grandpa reached into the blue cleaning fluid, scooped the false teeth out, and shoveled them into his puckered mouth upside down. He mushed his lips and face around as he adjusted the fit and grinned. “Ah, clean as ah’ whistle!”

  Sarah frowned. “But those Collectors. They tried to hurt you!”

  “Just doin’ their job,” Grandma said. “All they do is take orders.”

  “Why do they have numbers on their foreheads?” Sarah asked. “You know, like forty-two and sixty-eight or whatever they were.”

  “Easier to keep track ah’ them that way,” Grandma replied. “They built ninety-nine of the blokes, ya’ know.”

  “Built? What does that mean?”

  Jon interrupted her with a snicker as Grandpa flipped his teeth right side up.

  Grandma squinted at Jon. “How did ya’ hurt your finger?”

  Jon stopped giggling abruptly and stuffed his hand in his pocket. “I, uh—”

  “Cleaning,” Sarah jumped in to help him finish. “Cleaning up in here after the Collectors came for you.”

  “Maybe I should take a look—”

  Sarah changed the subject as quickly as she could. “Grandma, weren’t you going to tell us what kind of special we were?”

  “Aye. I was now, wasn’t I?” Grandma put a finger to her lips. “Well, the craft is in our bloodline. Bless it be!”

  “So what are we then?” Sarah asked.

  Grandma hesitated for a moment. “I believe ya’ be ah’ sorceress and ah’ sorcerer.”

  “Awesome!” Jon cried, waving his arms in circles like he was casting a magical spell.

  Grandpa straightened his dentures and cleared his throat. “You can’t let anyone else know your business. Not even those close ta’ ya’. It can be ah’ curse if ya’ don’t be careful.”

  “You mean our friends?” Sarah asked.

  “Aye, the Regulars!” Grandma replied.

  Jon was still busy flailing about as if he were a warlock. Grandpa watched, amused. “Does Percy know about this?” he asked.

  “Not a lick,” Grandpa said. “And we plan to keep it that way. Don’t we? We aren’t out of this yet. The powers are watchin’ still. Good and bad.”

  “The book’s been opened, ya’ see. They know it’s out there, but not exactly where. It’s what they’re after.” Grandma explained.

  Sarah fidgeted in her seat as she thought about the book they’d found. Obviously the Collectors knew that it was here. And now she was finding out that they weren’t going to stop until they found it. She nudged Jon, but he ignored her, focusing on his spell slinging and sound effects.

  “TwoSpells employs those with the seventh sense,” Grandma continued. “Ah’ special sense only ah’ few of our kind are blessed with. They can sense the aura of our kind, read their ideas and thoughts. And that text emits ah’ stronger aura than the lot of us put together.”

  A soft rap on the backdoor interrupted her. The door swung open and Clyde limped through. “Doesn’t seem to be any structural damage around back. Any more of that toast around?”

  Clyde snatched up a piece and sat down beside Sarah with a grunt. He was wearing an old dirty t-shirt and mud splattered shorts. His wooden leg knocked against the table as he shifted his chair closer.

  “Are ya’ ready for the winter already?” Grandpa asked.

  “What? Why do ya’ ask, mate?” Clyde grumbled.

  Grandpa nodded toward his wooden leg. “Sassafras. Ain’t that usually reserved for the fall?”

  “Sharp eye there,” Clyde said, patting the dark wood. He glanced toward Sarah and Jon. “Somehow all me legs got jumbled durin’ the night.”

  Sarah and Jon lowered their gaze.

  “I usually keep them in fine order,” Clyde said. “Could ya’ wee ones have ah’ thought?”

  “Wh-what? Us?” Jon stammered, pointing at himself and Sarah. “How would we know? Besides, you were passed out!”

  Sarah elbowed him in the ribs. “We were in our rooms all night.”

  Clyde stared down at them, rapping his leg. “Just askin’. Cause ya’ kids was the only ones about the lot and the light was left burnin’ in the cellar last evenin’.”

  Sarah gulped and shook her head. “I don’t know how that would happen.”

  “And how do ya’ suppose this got left on me doormat?” Clyde reached into his pocket and pulled out a large brass key. “Quite a curiosity, huh?”

  “All of that without a peep from Tornado?” Grandma asked.

  Clyde didn’t respond. He ground his teeth, shoved the key back into his pocket and made for the back door. Before he stepped through, he tossed a balled up piece of dirty cloth onto the kitchen table.

  “I suppose ya’ might be right. It was all in me head. Have a good rest of the mornin’ then,” Clyde snarled before slamming the door behind him.

  Grandpa picked up the balled cloth and held it up. Dried blood dotted the cloth above a two-headed dragon with Jon’s name embroidered under it. Sarah swallowed hard, careful not to make eye contact with either of her grandparents.

  CHAPTER 13

  EVERYONE SAT IN SILENCE FOR SEVERAL MINUTES.

  “Didn’t you say we needed to help clean out the hall closet yesterday?” Sarah asked, quickly getting up from the table. “We should get started.”

  “Good idea,” Jon said, jamming the last bit of his toast into his mouth before leaping up beside her.

  Grandpa didn’t budge an inch, still staring down at the blood stained handkerchief. “Do ya’ kids have any idea where the book might be?”

  Sarah froze. “The book?”

  “Aye. Ya’ know the one.”

  “It wasn’t our fault!” Jon blurted out. “We found it while exploring, that’s all.”

  “Sure ya’ did,” Grandma said, grinning broadly. “Will ya’ kindly retrieve it and join us?”

  Sarah’s heart sank. She did as she was told and brought the book back to the kitchen and plopped it down hard on the table. Grandpa was at the back door, locking it.

  Grandma slipped on her glasses and ran her fingers over the spine. “Ya’ found this in the root cellar?”

  “Yeah,” Jon answered. “Remember, Grandpa told us to fetch some sweet pickles?”

  “Aye. That explains why Clyde was a
ctin’ out of sorts,” Grandpa said. “It be me own fault, I’d say. With that out of the way, let’s see what the Collectors wanted so badly.”

  Jon leaned over the table. “Is this the same book that you—that you—”

  “Nicked?” Grandpa finished with a smirk. “Aye. But I don’t recall anythin’ bad about the innards.”

  Sarah watched her grandparents’ faces as they stared down at the book.They ran their hands across its cover, their fingers touching the strange eyes. Grandpa looked to Grandma.

  “Can you read it?” Sarah asked.

  “No, it’s an old language lost to our kind,” Grandpa answered. “But there are still those out there that can.”

  Grandma suddenly pulled the book away from them. “We should put it aside till your mum returns.”

  Grandpa pulled it back to the center of the table. “First we have ta’ see what’s so special about it.”

  “I don’t think that’s ah good idea,” Grandma spat, holding the cover down. “It must be dangerous.”

  Grandpa suddenly looked to the empty seat next to him and snarled, “I told ya’ to leave it be!”

  Grandma frowned at Sarah and Jon. She seemed alarmed.

  “It’s okay Grandpa,” Jon said. “Let Grandma decide.”

  “I’ll be makin’ the decisions in me own house!” Grandpa roared, tugging on the text.

  Grandma reached over and touched his cheek softly, humming a soft tune. A fine blue mist drifted from her fingertips easing the anger in his eyes. “Go ahead then,” she said, releasing her other hand from the cover. “You’re gonna do it sooner or later anyway.”

  Grandpa appeared content as he unlatched the cover. “I guess I’ll do the honors.”

  He slowly opened the book and a strange red glow bled into the room. The tart smell of aged parchment and ink wafted across the table. The temperature of the room seemed to drop a few degrees. Grandpa suddenly reached out with a shaky hand and slammed it shut, sending a small puff of dust into the air. Sarah and Jon leapt back in surprise.

  “Why’d ya’ go and scare us like that?” Grandma snapped, swatting at him.

  “Cause the ones with the seventh sense will know,” Grandpa said. “The book has changed. This isn’t the book we read years ago. It changed. It fights against the very fabric of our world.”