by Ira Bloom
The Silver sisters sat rapt for the next half hour while Norm described how his father had frozen him cryogenically at the moment of death in a procedure that maintained his cells at just below zero while supplying his brain with enough oxygen and nutrients to avoid damage from deterioration. In the meantime, his body was disassembled, the individual parts and organs scoured for any traces of cancerous growth and treated with radiation or microsurgery. A lot of the body parts were too cancerous and had to be discarded, including some major organs, left arm but not hand, entire left leg, parts of his pelvis, the right eye … Norman did not iterate the entire list. The sisters all had queasy looks on their faces. The next step was replacing the missing parts with organs and limbs of a like scale, no easy task given Norman’s size. The leg and arm were harvested from another giant, who’d died at age twenty-six from massive coronary failure. Norm’s skeleton was reinforced with titanium at this point, as he’d always had a tendency to bone breakage due to his superhuman musculature.
“If a body builder or athlete wanted to inject himself with as much growth hormone as I produce on a daily basis, it would cost him a fortune,” Norman explained.
“Are all giants as strong as you?” Katy asked.
“We tend to be pretty strong, just because of our size,” Norm replied. “But I’ve always worked at it. Physical therapy, working through the pain. I get in a zone and just keep pushing myself. And again, while I was in cryogenics and somewhat disassembled, my bones knit, so since I woke up, none of the growth hormone is going to growth. It’s all going to muscle. Well, we are lengthening my left leg, to get it the same length as my right.”
“Is that why you have the brace?” Esme asked.
“Yeah. They break the bone and create a gap. The brace holds everything in place. Then bone cells fill the gap. They keep adjusting the gap, stretching it, until they get the length they want. In my case, the whole process is accelerated, because of the growth hormone. They never were able to fix that. I mean, you can’t exactly go in and remove someone’s pituitary gland. Anyway, the brace should be off in another month. I can’t wait.”
Veronica rose. She rounded the table and stood in front of Norman. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. “You are definitely the most interesting person I’ve met at Middleton High School,” she told him.
“Hear, hear,” said Esme, and Katy chimed in her agreement.
“So does that answer your questions?” Norman asked.
“I think so,” Esme said.
“One quick follow-up,” Katy requested. “How old are you, on your driver’s license?”
“Twenty-one. They use your birth certificate for ID. Why?”
“Nothing,” she mused. “You could have bought us wine, is all.”
Esme swirled her tea reflectively. Norman’s story made him even more fascinating, and she was already a fan. She resolved to meet his father—what could be more interesting than a conversation with a man with such a mind? She had a thousand follow-up questions.
“I have one more question,” Veronica said. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Why, are you interested?” Norman returned. His face was as red as a matador’s cape. He’d just been describing most of his vital organs in detail to the three sisters, but suddenly the conversation had grown all too intrusive.
“No, but I might know somebody,” she said, glancing conspicuously at Esme.
If Esme’s eyes had been lasers, Veronica would have been a pile of ash.
“I, uh … I-I-I mean … ” Norm stammered.
“Don’t pay attention to Ronnie,” Katy cut in. “She’s a wicked witch.”
“But you like girls, don’t you?” Veronica pressed.
“Cut it out, Ronnie,” Esme said.
“No, it’s okay,” Norm said. “I do like girls. In fact, my dad and I are building one in his lab, so I’ll have a prom date.”
Veronica’s jaw dropped. But Norman couldn’t keep a straight face, and Katy gave Norm a hand to high-five. “Good one!”
Esme, though, could only laugh self-consciously. She would give Veronica a piece of her mind later for putting Norm on the spot like that. “Norman, you’re a great guy,” she said. She had to say something. “A girl would have to be stupid not to see all your qualities. And anyone who can’t, doesn’t deserve you. There’s a girl out there for you somewhere.”
“Maybe right under your nose,” Veronica proposed, again with a glance at Esme.
“Everyone is under his nose,” Katy mentioned. “His nose is seven feet off the ground.”
“It’s getting late,” Esme mentioned, stifling a fake yawn.
Norman glanced at his watch. “Ten o’clock,” he noted. “Guess I should go get my beauty sleep. Uh … let me just ask one question, then, okay? To Esme?”
“I have a test tomorrow,” Esme hedged.
“It’s okay,” Norman said. “It’s an easy one. I was just wondering, what’s that book?”
“What book?”
“The one you have hidden on top of your bookcase, pushed up against the wall.”
“I … don’t … uh … what are you talking about? What book?” Esme stalled, all the while thinking Idiot! I’m an idiot! The perfect hiding place, on top of a seven-foot bookcase, pushed all the way back, entirely invisible from anyplace in the room. Except to a seven-foot-nine-inch boy.
Norman rose and strode quickly to the bookcase. “You should dust up here,” he mentioned, retrieving the book. He brought it back to the makeshift table.
“You’re not supposed to have this!” Veronica accused.
“You stole it from Mom’s cedar chest,” Katy charged. “She’ll kill you when she finds out.”
“Why?” Norman asked. “What is it?”
The tome on the table was bound in leather. Obviously, it was quite old, and the condition was not excellent. There was a raised pentangle on the cover. A strap was sewn around the spine, so that the book could be closed with a lock. There was no lock on the book, however. There was a musty smell to it. Norman opened the book and fanned slowly through the pages.
“Don’t open that!” Katy snapped, slamming the book shut and pulling it to her side of the table. “It’s for family only!”
Norman had only taken a quick glance, but the pages were hand-written on parchment, with hand-drawn illustrations. “But what is it?” Norman insisted again.
Esme rescued the book back from Katy, and hugged it to her chest. “It’s a family … like a family Bible,” she improvised. “It has our history, going back more than three hundred years.”
“I’ll bet I can guess,” Norman said. “It looked like an old recipe book, with pictures of herbs and lists of ingredients in Latin. But from the way you’re all acting, I’d say it has something to do with Wicca. Except, I think Wicca only goes back a hundred years or so, and this looks much older. A spell book? Or potions?”
“Yeah,” Esme admitted. “Something like that. Before our family adopted Wicca, we were witches, going back to colonial times. But there are too many negative connotations to the word, so we don’t use it in public. If it was just my thing, I’d tell you, but this concerns family secrets. We can trace our direct lineage through at least sixteen generations. There’s some apothecary stuff, holistic remedies for treating warts and injuries, and herbal liniments, stuff like that. That’s about all I can tell you. You see how upset my sisters are that I even have the book in my room.”
“Okay,” Norm agreed. “I can respect that.”
“It’s getting late,” Katy noted. She rose and went to the door and flipped on a light switch, illuminating the room.
After Norman left, Katy and Veronica confronted Esme. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing with that book,” Katy accused, “but you’d better put it back where you found it.”
“Mom never said we couldn’t use it,” Esme argued weakly.
“That’s because she thought we had enough sense not to mess with it,
after all those warnings she drilled into our heads since … since forever,” Veronica said. “Especially you, Esme. You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”
Alone with her thoughts and her guilt, Esme slumped into her comfy chair with a sigh. The wick smoke of a dozen extinguished candles thickened the air. Maybe if she sat for a while, she’d gather the energy to clean up.
Kasha appraised Esme from the ottoman. “What a specimen,” he said. “You gonna tap that?”
“Excuse me?”
“That boy. You should lock that in, before your sisters cut you out of the action. Though it looks like there’s enough of him to go around.”
“Norman?”
“Try to keep up.”
“We’re just friends,” Esme disclaimed. What the hell did a cat know about boys?
“He’s into you, I can tell,” Kasha argued. “The biggest, strongest human I’ve ever seen, and you could get him.”
“Kasha, size isn’t important for humans. There are other factors.”
Kasha stepped onto the chair and walked up the arm, so his eyes were level with hers. “So what’s more important than size?”
“I don’t know, brains maybe? Personality? Sense of humor?”
“How’s he rank for brains?” the cat challenged.
“He’s brilliant,” she admitted. “Great personality, good sense of humor … really kind, too.”
“Ah,” Kasha said. “I can see why you’re not interested.”
“You wouldn’t understand. I’m not saying looks are important, but he’s … kind of hideous, to be honest. All the scarring, and the asymmetry … ”
“Are you kidding me? The battle scars are the best part. Females go crazy for that stuff, it’s sexy as hell. You know that earless Tom out by the neighbors’ barn? One eye scarred over, face mauled, neck as big around as your leg? Thick with ticks and fleas? Believe me, he does very well for himself with the ladies.”
Esme rose and started cleaning up the teacups. Kasha jumped up on the table and sniffed at the ancient book. “So how long have you been keeper of the grimoire?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The grimoire. Your great-aunt Becky was the keeper, when I knew her. Then it passed to your mother. It should probably go to Katy, you know. She has the most talent.”
“Wait … you knew my great-aunt Becky? But she died, like, twenty years ago.”
Kasha pawed open the cover. “I was her familiar. Look, here’s one that makes your boobs bigger. I bet Norman would like that. Where it says Solomon’s seal, don’t just use the leaf. That’s an amateur mistake.”
Veronica saw him first. It was a Monday before school, in front of the main hall. A large black Mercedes with dark tinting pulled up to the curb and sat for a few minutes, motor idling. Veronica had been talking to Carly and Michaela and Karina, but they’d all been standing in a circle facing each other, and she’d been facing the street, so she’d seen him first, before anybody else in the entire school. So everybody else could just back off.
The car door opened a crack, and an umbrella jutted out and opened up over the passenger door, so when he stepped out of the car, he was entirely covered. Odd, as it wasn’t raining. He wore white gloves and a bowler hat and goggles with very dark lenses. He wore a fitted tailcoat over a ruffled shirt. His pants were slim and tucked into boots.
Veronica knew a thing or three about fashion. Steampunk was a joke, a sad little cosplay cry for help, but on him it was pure genius. She knew it was good by the quality, by the detail. The little buttons on the kid gloves. The pearl cufflinks in the ruffled cuffs, peeking out from under the jacket sleeves. The fit of the jacket over the black, studded leather vest, accentuating his perfect physique: slim waisted, broad shouldered, tight in the butt, lanky in the leg, just how she liked them. Boots with big, industrial-looking buckles. Bangs over one eye. Handsome, even at a distance, with his face partly covered by goggles. Extremely handsome.
There was only one girl at Middleton High who was good enough for this boy, Veronica decided. She was very certain of this, as she spent a lot of time every day with that girl’s face in her mirror. The boy walked toward her, and Veronica tried to play it cool, but Michaela had caught wind of him, which drew Carly’s and Karina’s stupid, gawking stares. There was no way Veronica could play it cool and pretend to ignore him while laughing at something funny Carly had just told her, because Carly was presently a goo-goo-eyed fool.
Veronica looked at her iPhone as he passed, not the coolest pose, but not bad for a quick improvisation. She caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, and she was sure he smiled at her. She looked up, intending to appear uninterested, but got caught up in his smile and ended up ogling him like an idiot. He smelled amazing.
Katy was the first to talk to him, and it was all from her easy nonchalance and a fluke of dumb luck. Because Katy had chosen that particular Monday, of all days, to go to school dressed in full Gothic Lolita, which went with steampunk like a cherry on a sundae.
Katy was wearing her brown hair straight with newly shorn bangs and a mid-thigh-length frilly black princess dress over stockings with a pentangle design. She had black lace-up boots to the knees, and elbow-length black gloves, and a punkish black leather choker with spikes. They met in the hallway, between second and third periods, and stopped to regard each other.
Katy had natural aplomb in situations like this. She was no stranger to coincidences working out in her favor, the result of an unconscious vibe she put out into the eldritch cosmos. She offered an arm. “Shall we?” she invited.
They strode down the hallway like a Victorian couple strolling through a park, and people parted before them. Katy had been taking crap all day off her classmates for dressing like an undead baby doll. By the next day, half the girls in the school would be dressing the same way. The boutiques in downtown Middleton that afternoon would sell out of black lace and leather.
“I’m Katy,” she said, walking slowly with the handsomest boy she’d ever seen. She didn’t know what she was feeling, but she was giddy. Love, she supposed. What a kick.
“Zack,” he replied. “It’s me first day. Dead brill, your outfit.”
He was English. Katy had never thought about it before, but an English boy was definitely what she’d been waiting for her whole life. “You too,” she replied. “I love the goggles, the boots, the little details. And the English accent.” She was usually cleverer than this, but Zack had her addled. “So what brings you to our little hick town, Zack? You strike me as a city boy.”
“Oh, me dad. Business. I was raised in England, but I’m actually an American. Not that I ever admitted that to me mates.”
Katy laughed. He was so funny. So interesting. So perfect, in every way.
“Well, this is me, here,” he said, halting in front of a classroom door. “Room 142, Algebra 2.”
Katy didn’t want to relinquish Zack’s arm, but could think of no excuse to keep it. Could she audit algebra, just this one period? “I suppose I’ll see you around,” she suggested wistfully.
He bowed and kissed her gloved hand. “Thank you, for making me feel welcome at your school,” he said. “Until our paths cross again?”
“Don’t be a stranger,” she said, but by then he was in the classroom, hunting for a desk.
“Look at those whores,” Veronica said at lunch to Esme. Carly, her soon-to-be-ex friend, and a couple juniors, cheerleaders, and assorted shallow airheads had him hemmed in at a lunch table halfway across the cafeteria. “Don’t they know how ridiculous they look?”
“New boy?” Esme asked, looking up from her AP world history textbook. She was luxuriating over feudal Japan. The toughest class in the school, and the most fun. Ton of homework, though. There had been some commotion earlier among the girls in a couple classes about a new boy from England, a junior. As if she were interested. She looked over her shoulder at the table. She could make out a boy in black with his back turned, and some clamo
r of girls laughing. “No thanks, I’ll pass.”
Esme scanned the cafeteria for Norm, usually easy to spot. They’d been talking on the phone and texting, consulting on homework. They’d Skyped occasionally, though that sort of ruined the fantasy for Esme. Norm was the perfect unofficial platonic boyfriend, as long as she could forget what he looked like. He was smart and funny—sometimes she reread the particularly clever texts over and over again. But Norm had been eating lunch off campus the past week or so. He had a car, and Wilson and his muscle-bound friend had been hanging out with the giant, working out in the weight room after school and going out for pizza and burgers to bulk up. Not that Norman needed any more bulk, but it was nice that he’d found some social acceptance.
Katy entered the cafeteria, searching the tables. Esme waved, but Katy walked right past them as if they weren’t even there, and made straight for the table with the new boy. Esme watched in fascination as her kid sister strode right up behind him and hung her arm over his shoulder. He leaned back and draped his arm over her hip and gave her a very familiar hug, like they were the dearest of old friends. The boy gestured with his arm to the girl next to him, and she slid over on the bench, already fairly crowded, allowing Katy to take her place in the most coveted spot in the cafeteria, thigh to thigh, elbow to elbow with the object of their affections.
“Look, Ronnie,” Esme said. “Katy has the inside track. Score one for the Silver sisters.”
Veronica stood abruptly. She was crying. “How could she do this to me?” she blurted, running out of the cafeteria.
“Oh boy,” Esme said, to nobody. She was alone at her table. Ronnie had left her lunch and her backpack. As if Esme didn’t have enough stuff to carry already. Things were sure going to get ugly, soon. Katy, with her talent and personality, could pretty much have any boy she wanted, if she set her mind to it. But it would be a mistake to count out Veronica so easily. Sure, she was only fourteen, but she looked older, and Esme had learned never to underestimate Ronnie. Ultimately, the whole boys thing usually boiled down to a beauty contest, and there was no way Veronica was going to lose a beauty contest, not to Katy. Not to anyone.