Wandmaker

by Ed Masessa

  “Come on, Dad,” Charlie pleaded. “I want to look for chupacabras.” He bounced several more times and flipped back around to face Dai She.

  “There’s no such thing,” his father said firmly. “Now, stop your foolishness.”

  Dai She had no intention of engaging anyone in conversation, least of all a happy child. But something in the father’s dismissive tone struck a nerve. Dai She knew what it was like to be belittled.

  “You’re very mistaken,” he told them. “Chupacabras are most certainly real. I’ve encountered one.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Now hold yer horses, fella. Don’t go fillin’ the kid’s head with nonsense.” The man’s pride had been pricked enough that he put the phone down.

  Dai She stared at him for a brief moment. A sneer curled the corners of his mouth, his thin lips taking on the appearance of a hungry reptile’s. “Intelligent life-forms such as the chupacabra rely on the ignorance of people like you. It will wait until it finds you alone, perhaps hiking along a secluded trail. And at the most unsuspecting moment it will show itself.

  “Your measly brain will have only seconds to process the terror of bristling fur and blood-drenched teeth. The end will be painful. It prefers its meals alive. Your terror will add seasoning to your flesh. And you can die knowing you have made it happy.”

  “Cool!” the boy shouted.

  “Charlie!” The father quickly gathered their belongings and hustled Charlie into the adjoining car, but not before the eager child gave Dai She a thumbs-up.

  Dai She sat back, savoring the man’s discomfort. Much like the chupacabra, he relied on the ignorance of humanity.

  Suddenly it occurred to him that the facilities of the train station promised to be more hygienic than those on the train. He roused his bulk out of the seat and hastened out onto the platform. For the first time since this miserable trip had begun, he was truly happy.

  But the happiness was short-lived.

  He emerged from the restroom.

  The train had departed.

  Part of Dai She’s problem was that being dastardly and diabolical doesn’t make you many friends. You’re required to keep your plans to yourself. Trust is not part of your vocabulary. Consequently, he had no one to turn to for help.

  He had two choices: wait twenty-four hours for the next train, or find another means of transportation. Forced into a vigorous negotiation with a cabdriver, he eventually left Creel in the confines of a battered green-and-gold taxi.

  The cab, as could be expected at this point, broke down on a remote dirt road. Dai She was a large man with active sweat glands. The lack of air conditioning had turned him into a sopping wet mess. Not even the breeze blowing through holes in the floorboard could help. However, there was one small consolation. As soon as he stepped out of the cab, road dust clung to every pore of his exposed skin. For the first time in his life, Dai She looked tan—enough so that he had no problem hitching a ride on a passing bus.

  By the time Viktor realized he was flying in the wrong direction, he had more than doubled the time it should have taken to rendezvous with his master. He knew that Dai She would punish him in some way—probably by withholding a few meals.

  Even so, turning around was out of the question. Viktor wouldn’t risk another run-in with the condor.

  So he headed inland, hoping to find another route to his master—and perhaps some fresh roadkill to tide him over.

  Dai She giggled, high and shrill. A very sound sleeper, he was gradually awakened by a tickling sensation on his left foot. His giggle died. The goat that was licking his toes didn’t stop until Dai She had given it a sound kick. He slumped back against a stack of crates that held a variety of fruits and vegetables in various stages of decay, wondering if this journey could get any worse.

  Besides the decaying fruit and vegetables, the bus also contained goats, chickens, and a single dirty brown goose that gazed at him over a warty orange beak. If the goose had half the brain it was born with, it might have thought it was looking into a distorted carnival mirror. Instead, it waddled up next to the tan man in the mottled yellow suit with the blotchy orange nose and settled in for a cozy nap.

  To the casual observer, they could have passed for siblings.

  Viktor had flown for hours without finding a single morsel of roadkill. Exhausted, lost, and very hungry, the vulture decided to rest his weary wings. He settled on a rusted brown bus, which was kicking up a trail of dust mixed with gray smoke from a failing exhaust system. With a loud THUMP he landed on its roof and skidded to a grinding halt in the dead center.

  Once the offensive smells of burning oil cleared his senses, he detected a scent that was much more appetizing. It was coming from inside the bus. The odors of rotting fruit and fresh fowl renewed his hunger. The only sound louder than the rickety bus was that of his growling stomach.

  He was in the middle of planning a strategy for getting at his next meal when another odor came forth—one that was very familiar. Could it be?

  Keeping his balance on the moving bus was not easy, but he carefully made his way to the edge, gripping the smooth surface as hard as he could and peering over the side.

  Dai She squirmed uncomfortably on the floor. His makeshift seat had become unbearable, as had the stench. Surely walking was a better option.

  Something moved near the top of the dirt-encrusted window. A shadow? Curious, he stood and wiped the glass with a filthy, damp rag. A face looked back at him—a face only a mother (or a master) could love. A face he had never been happier to see.

  Viktor.

  Dai She opened the window and Viktor poked his head in. But any elation at seeing his companion quickly dissipated when the bus driver slammed on the brakes, then turned in his seat to vehemently voice his objection. Dai She’s translation skills weren’t the sharpest, but he understood the essence of the driver’s highly animated speech.

  Either it goes or you go.

  But there were limits to Dai She’s patience, and they had just been reached. He had not become the vilest Wand Master of all time by accident.

  The bus driver was in midrant when Dai She’s pupils narrowed to thin vertical lines—the eyes of a snake. He concentrated on the driver’s thoughts and sought out his personal fears.

  Spiders. Too easy. He smiled.

  The first indication the driver had that there was a problem was the distinctive sensation that something was climbing up his leg. Dai She expected some hysterical screaming, but the reaction was even better: The driver was paralyzed with fear, unable to move, unable to speak.

  Then Dai She made the large, hairy black spider disappear in a single puff of smoke. “Start driving,” he commanded.

  Either the driver thought he had imagined the feeling of a spider on his leg, or his mental capacity was too limited to connect the dots. He began to rant about Viktor once again, raising a hand and pointing at the vulture.

  This time, two spiders the size of dinner plates appeared out of thin air on the man’s arm. A gargled scream caught in his throat as he began to shake in fright. So that there was no misunderstanding about what was happening, Dai She waved his hand over the spiders, and again they disappeared. “I said,” he commanded menacingly, “drive the bus.”

  The driver slowly backed away from Dai She’s snakelike glare. But instead of returning to his seat, he made a mad rush for the door. A half-dozen hairy arachnids blocked his way and he flopped backward into his seat, blessing himself with multiple signs of the cross for divine protection.

  “Drive now, or I will tell them to attack. And when they are done, I will have a snake swallow you whole.” A large boa constrictor slithered across the floorboard, tongue flicking, eyes full of hunger.

  The driver started the bus and ground the gears in a panic.

  “Thank you.” Dai She smiled. The spiders and snake disappeared and his eyes returned to normal. It felt good to be evil, to intimidate the clueless and the helpless.
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  It had been a rough journey, and it wasn’t over. But he was beginning to have some fun.

  High overhead, a lone bird of prey soared in wide, lazy circles, a mere pinpoint of movement against a pale blue sky. Even if he had not possessed the keen eyesight of a falcon, Randall would have been able to follow the plume of dust that trailed behind the bus from miles away.

  It had taken a bit of an adjustment to slow down into a gliding pattern. As a rule, falcons prefer speed. But stealth was much more essential to this mission.

  He wondered if Coralis had any idea what was going on. As much as he wanted to return to his mentor and fill him in, he couldn’t let Dai She out of his sight—not until he knew what the evil snake was up to. He watched as a pair of pale hands reached out of the bus to take the vulture inside.

  Casting aside pangs of hunger and thirst, he continued his lonely vigil.

  Henry had finally fallen asleep. Coralis watched him curled up in the corner of Molly’s basement on a makeshift bed. The blanket moved slightly as Brianna shuffled into a more comfortable position.

  The procedure had been painful for the boy. His aura was strong and protective—Coralis had rarely seen the potential for such power in one so young. But it also meant that a higher concentration of energy was needed to extract the moonbeam. Stubborn tendrils of light had held on to Henry like a desperate man clinging by his fingertips to the edge of a cliff. Despite Coralis’s efforts to lessen the pain, Henry had cried out. He said it felt like pliers pinching and pulling at his skin. When the angry moonbeam had finally snapped free, Coralis had trapped it within a rutilated quartz ring he wore on his left hand—a gift from a Mayan high priest.

  He held the ring up to examine it once more. Light pulsed briefly, almost in contempt over its imprisonment. A bad sign.

  Normal moonbeams are docile, eager to be absorbed and easily acclimated to their new environment. The moonbeam Henry had absorbed was something else entirely. And if it was any indication of what was in store for them, then Coralis had every right to be concerned.

  Randall and Bella were right after all: A bad moon was on the rise.

  And it had nearly claimed its first victim. Given enough time, the moonbeam might have completely overtaken Henry’s aura. It would not have been the first time a promising young apprentice had been lost to the elements of evil.

  The creases on Coralis’s face softened as he scrutinized Henry from across the small table. It occurred to him that he had just thought of the boy as an apprentice.

  Henry awoke to Brianna’s gentle nudging.

  “What is it?” he mumbled.

  “I smell breakfast,” she said excitedly.

  A moment later the door opened and Molly entered the room carrying a tray of tea and fresh-baked cranberry scones.

  “Breakfast is served,” she announced, rousing Coralis from his slumber. The Wand Master grumbled unhappily.

  “Thanks, Molly. I’m starved,” said Henry. He crossed the room to help, taking the tray from her and arranging place settings at a folding table.

  “Such a polite boy,” she said admiringly. Then she winked at Coralis, who scowled. “Oh come on now, Coralis. Henry has shown remarkable character for a boy his age. Especially in these times, when good manners and common courtesy have been all but abandoned.”

  Coralis selected a scone, silently acknowledging her comment with a thoughtful tilt of his head, and Henry blushed. As the Wand Master popped a bite of his scone in his mouth, he seemed to sense two beady eyes boring into his back. “Is something bothering you, young lady?” he asked Brianna without turning to face her.

  “Speaking of manners!” Brianna snapped. “Do you always talk to people with your back to them?”

  Coralis did not try to hide his annoyance as he turned, glaring menacingly at the hedgehog. “Feeling rambunctious, are we?”

  Her spikes bristled. “I’ll show you ram … whatever!”

  “Brianna!” Henry shouted. She had seen the extent of Coralis’s power the same as he had. Did she honestly believe that getting under his skin was a wise move?

  “First of all,” Coralis growled, “rambunctious means wild and unruly—like you. And secondly, if you have a question, just come out with it. With some respect,” he added.

  Brianna’s face turned purple as a flush of red anger blended with her blue coloring. Henry saw the tiny digits of her paws move as she counted to ten. He turned away as the beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips. It was good to see her trying to control her temper tantrums, and given Coralis’s mood, it was a wise choice.

  “Fine.” Her voice shook slightly. Counting to ten hadn’t worked. “You’ve taken care of him; now what about me? All he had was a lighting problem. Look at me! I’m an eight-year-old girl. I used to have beautiful auburn curls, not blue spikes!” A sob crept into her voice. “Why don’t you use some of that hocus-pocus on me?”

  “There, there.” Molly reached out to pet her but drew her hand back quickly when Brianna bristled and snarled at her.

  “No!” she yipped. “Do not pet me! I am not to be petted—ever again! It’s my turn, Mr. Wizard—or whatever you are. Wave your magic wand in my direction. Or aren’t you up to it?”

  Henry had seen many of Brianna’s outbursts in the past, but he’d never witnessed the kind of venom she spat at Coralis just now. He wondered if the moonbeam had affected more than just her physical appearance. “Brianna!” he hissed in warning.

  But Coralis surprised them all. “The girl has a point,” he said slowly. He stroked his chin in thought as he paced to the door and back. “Her situation is more … complex.”

  He reached down to pick her up. To Henry’s surprise, she let him. “There are powerful forces at work here, the likes of which have not been seen for hundreds of years. In order to undo what has been done to you, I will need to understand all the forces that were involved. Otherwise, I could make things worse.”

  “How could it be worse?” She whimpered sadly.

  “I once saw a young man changed from a box turtle into an ordinary rock. No longer able to speak, he will spend eternity alone, forever encased in stone. Think of this the next time you toss a stone into a lake.”

  “Was there nothing you could do to help him?” Henry gulped.

  “Nothing. By the time I got involved, the forces that were responsible had been twisted beyond recognition.” He turned back to Brianna. “Sometimes we should leave well enough alone.”

  “You mean I might stay like this forever?”

  “I mean we gain nothing from rushing the matter.” Unexpectedly, he smiled. “Besides, judging by your quills, I can see you are a remarkable little princess in any form.”

  Brianna ran a paw over her face, accepting the compliment, yet slightly embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry, young lady. We’ll get you straightened out.”

  Henry had heard the word “ransacked” before, but it wasn’t until he stepped through the front door of his home that he could appreciate what it meant. What started with a few pieces of overturned furniture in the living room rapidly escalated. Cabinet doors in the kitchen had been yanked off their hinges and their contents tossed violently onto the floor. Very few pieces of his mother’s china had survived the onslaught. Herbs and spices, their bottles shattered, dusted the mess with a fragrance Henry would forever think of as the scent of anger.

  “Wow! Somebody hated this kitchen worse than Mom did!” said Brianna.

  It was true that their mother could never have been accused of loving to cook, but what they witnessed here went beyond a mere dislike.

  Henry had a brief panic attack when he thought of what might have happened to his cat. But he knew from past experience that she couldn’t be caught if she didn’t want to be. And she was very efficient at raiding the neighbor’s cat dish for food, as well as making meals of the prolific rodent population. The cat would be fine.

  Surveying the wreckage of the kitchen, Henry was suddenly very relieved tha
t Coralis had accompanied them from New York. The old Wand Master had grumbled most of the way, as they traveled by subway train and bus and chartered car. But he’d insisted that they needed to do this together.

  Before they’d departed Molly’s tavern, Coralis had chosen a coat very similar to his own from a closet full of strange apparel and given it to Henry. He explained that it was constructed from very special fibers and was the preferred garment of Wandmakers. And to someone who liked pockets as much as Henry, it was a dream come true.

  Molly had bid them a tearful good-bye. Unaccustomed to physical displays of affection, especially from someone as pretty as Molly, Henry had blushed furiously when she’d squeezed him in a tight hug. Brianna had teased him about it for hours.

  “Bahtzen bizzle!” Coralis’s shout pulled them away from the horror of the kitchen to a worse horror—their father’s study. The large immovable desk had been upended and now leaned at such an extreme angle, it looked like it should topple over. But the gaping gash it had wedged into the wall held it like a clenched fist. Every book had been ripped from the shelves, and in some cases torn in half.

  “What about our rooms, Henry?” Perched in Henry’s pocket, Brianna looked up to him with moist eyes.

  “No need to bother,” said Coralis grimly. “I’ve already looked. They are in no better shape than this.” He smiled cagily. “And yet, amid the rubble, the intruder missed this.” He tossed the gold nugget to Henry, who, for the first time in his life, caught something without dropping it.

  Henry immediately flipped it back to Coralis. “Yikes!” He had seen what that gold was capable of doing and his mind reflexively screamed Danger!

  “Relax.” Coralis pressed the nugget into Henry’s palm. “It’s quite dormant for the time being. We may need it later, so it’s best that you hold on to it for now. I also found this.” He reached inside his coat, where he had tucked a book away.