by Ed Masessa
“My guidebook.” Henry frowned. Immediately after the accident, he’d put the book away, wishing he’d never set eyes upon it.
He thought back to the day he’d received the guidebook. He remembered the way his imagination had run rampant with the possibilities of wielding a magic wand. But the accident had changed all that. “What do you want me to do with it?” he asked.
“There is something inside that belongs to you.” Coralis opened the compartment that held Henry’s first wand. “Once a Wandmaker has infused a wand with his power, he must never allow it to leave his possession. This wand is now as much a part of you as your left foot.”
Henry carefully extracted the simple, purple-stained wand and felt the familiar tingle in his fingertips. “Thanks, but—” He was about to ask what good the wand would be to them now, but he was distracted by a leather-bound tome on the floor. “Coralis, what is this? It looks like it’s been burned.”
Coralis took the book from his hands and sniffed it. “Hmmm … not good.” He mumbled something softly and ran his thumb over the brown edge. Tiny fingers of sparks spat and popped on the page. “Not burned. Scorched. And not from a match. You saw the sparks. They are a reaction due to residue from elemental energy.” He saw the puzzled looks on their faces. “Someone was looking for something. And not just any someone. Only someone with the skills of a Wand Master could do this. Whoever it was used a Conscindo Wand. It is designed to destroy—the Latin definition literally means to tear apart. As you can see, it works.”
“But who would do this?” Henry asked.
“And why couldn’t they look without making such a mess?” added Brianna.
“To answer your question”—he addressed Brianna—“I believe the intensity of this mayhem was intentional. It is entirely possible that whoever did this found what they were looking for and created this mess to throw us off. But it is also possible that he could not find it and threw what you might call a temper tantrum.”
“You said ‘he.’ ” Henry moved to face Coralis. “Why did you say ‘he’? You know who did this, don’t you?”
“Allow me to answer a question with a question, Henry. The last time you saw your father, was there anything odd about his behavior?”
“Yes,” Henry answered. “It was right here in this room, too.”
“Describe in as much detail as possible everything you can remember about the night you spoke to him in this room.”
Henry closed his eyes and forced himself to recall that frightening night. It should have been so easy. He thought he would never forget the look on his father’s face, but his recollection failed him. It was all fuzzy around the edges—like looking at a 3-D photo without wearing the special glasses that would bring it into focus.
He frowned in concentration, then absentmindedly reached into a pocket. As his fingers contacted his wand, a surge of energy flooded his body and his eyes shone with clarity. Suddenly the room was just as it had been that night. The desk was upright in its proper place, the books were on their shelves, and most shocking of all, his father was sitting at his desk. Henry gasped, almost releasing the wand.
“Tell me what you see.” Coralis’s voice was inside his head, urging him on.
“He’s here!” Henry was startled by his own voice.
“Henry, do not be afraid,” Coralis whispered as he cupped his hand around Henry’s. “I am with you now.”
And indeed he was. Henry could clearly see Coralis standing behind his father, but even more remarkably, Henry saw another Henry standing beside the desk. The entire scene replayed itself just as it had happened that night, right up to the point when his mother charged into the room.
Coralis released Henry’s hand and the room reverted to its state of disarray. “What just happened?” Henry’s voice crackled and he coughed, his throat dry and mouth parched.
Coralis said nothing as he led Henry into the kitchen, where they managed to find an unbroken glass. It wasn’t until his fourth glass of water that his thirst was quenched.
“Young man, are you quite sure you have had no formal training?” Coralis asked.
“No, sir.” Henry righted a chair and sat heavily, his body drained of energy. “I’ve pretty much memorized the Guidebook, but … wait!”
He bolted from the chair and raced out the back door, Coralis a half step behind. Into the garage and up the pole to his loft in record time. “It’s still here!” he shouted. He slid down the pole and jubilantly waved his notebook. “He didn’t know about my private room!”
“Bahtzen bizzle!” Coralis exploded. “Slow down! What do you have there?”
“My notebooks!” Henry danced happily, unmindful of Coralis’s growing irritation. “They’re my notebooks—the ones I used when I translated the big books.” The smile on his face stretched from ear to ear.
“Look!” He flipped through page after page of meticulous notes and definitions scribbled into the margins. “I didn’t have any training, but I must have learned something on my own!” He handed the notebooks to Coralis, bursting with pride.
Coralis scanned the pages, murmuring to himself. When he stopped, he slowly closed the notebook, looking a degree paler.
“What’s wrong?” asked Henry. “Did I do something wrong again?” His voice cracked, this time from worry. “I used the ulexite you sent me,” he said defensively. “Why would you give it to me if I wasn’t supposed to use it?”
“Are the books up there, too?” Coralis nodded toward the loft.
“They’re in my room. Come on, I’ll show you.” He ran back to the house and held the door open for Coralis.
But Coralis did not follow. Instead, he stepped from the garage and looked skyward, deep in thought. Henry slowly returned to his side. “They’re not there, are they?” he asked, but he knew. “That’s what he was looking for, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Henry.”
“They’re important, aren’t they?”
Coralis chuckled. “Yes, Henry. They are very important.”
Silence again as Coralis continued to search the heavens. “What does it mean?” Henry asked softly.
“It means … ” Coralis moved his thoughtful gaze to Henry. “We have work to do.”
Randall was faced with a most difficult task: to see without being seen. He could perch atop a tower and easily observe all that took place in the village below, but he did not want to draw attention to himself. He was fairly certain he had not been spotted by Dai She and desired to keep it that way. And he also had to be mindful of the sharp eyes of the vulture.
The bell tower in a church provided the refuge he needed while allowing him a clear view of Dai She’s misshapen form. It was almost comical watching the openmouthed stares of children as he rumbled past them on the crowded streets below.
Cuauhtémoc was a thriving municipality. It was apparent there were many different cultures at work here. Colorfully clothed schoolchildren and dark-suited professionals—doctors and lawyers—meandered the streets in equal numbers.
When Dai She entered a clothing store, Randall took the opportunity to look for the vulture. It would be as out of place as he was and probably tucked into its own hiding spot. As he scanned the rooftops, his stomach reminded him just how long it had been since he’d eaten. He had seen marvelously delicious apple groves on the flight in and promised himself he would get back there as soon as possible. Long flights sapped a lot of his energy, and he had taken entirely too many of them in recent weeks.
But his own hunger gave him an idea. He expanded his olfactory sense, seeking the scent of carrion. Even in a town like this, there had to be a rotting animal corpse somewhere that would appeal to a hungry vulture.
His acute vision pierced the alleys, methodically searching. Several rats in garbage bins sent his hunger instincts to the edge of flight, but he managed to squash the urge. His persistence was rewarded on the south edge of town, far in the distance, where he found Viktor tearing into an armadillo carcass. He was jealous
of his enemy’s feast, but realized it was one less worry for him. The vulture would be occupied for some time.
A short while later Dai She emerged from the clothier, and a sharp squawk resembling laughter escaped Randall’s beak. The tailor had probably done the best he could, but he obviously wasn’t used to patrons of Dai She’s unusual proportions.
The Wand Master now sported a pink shirt with ruffles down the front and a tan sport coat that had been “stretched” by adding a piece of green canvas that ran down the center of the back. The shiny black pants had been similarly stretched with vertical patches of paisley running from the waistline all the way down the legs. And topping it all off was a large gold sombrero.
He looked like a drum major from a hideous marching band. If his intent was to blend in with the locals, he would have been better off going to a costume shop.
But the comedy of the moment fell away as a large black sedan pulled up to the curb. A tall Caucasian man in a tailored suit stepped from the driver’s side. He met Dai She and shook his meaty hand firmly. Neither man smiled. It was a meeting of business more than pleasure. And there was a powerful presence about the man.
Randall stretched his senses the way Coralis had taught him. This stranger was powerful, and he was hiding something—Randall could feel it.
The stranger had an air of familiarity. Randall had never laid eyes on him before, but he had seen those facial features. The shape of the mouth, the curious expression. So similar to … Henry? Could it be … ?
A sharp, sudden cry shattered his concentration. Close by. Too close!
Viktor raced into his field of vision. The two men jerked their heads toward the vulture’s war cry as Randall tried a last-second lunge to evade his powerful opponent.
The last thing he remembered was a shout from Dai She as Viktor crashed into him.
The bell rang a single ominous note when Randall’s head collided with it.
“She is quite good.” Coralis looked from canvas to canvas, examining the extensive collection of paintings that had occupied the majority of Henry’s mother’s time.
“Do you really think so?” Brianna probably had never given it much thought. The few times she and Henry had ventured into the basement studio, they weren’t encouraged to stay. “Do be a dear and give your mommy a few minutes” was a typical dismissal of any intrusions.
“Yes, indeed. You can tell from the extraordinary detail that she truly immersed herself into the painting.”
While Coralis and Brianna bantered aimlessly, Henry paced the floor like a monkey in a cage. This wasn’t right—at all! They should be doing something. Coralis should be using his skills to locate the books so they could get them back. But even if Henry was the only one concerned with the urgency of their situation, something else wasn’t right. Finally he blurted it out. “Why is this the only room in the house that wasn’t trashed?”
Coralis did not answer immediately. Instead, he cocked his head like a dog that doesn’t understand a “go fetch” command. “Didn’t you feel it as you walked in?”
“It?” Henry glanced back at the doorway. Unsure of what “it” was, he scanned for evidence of something hanging from the ceiling or protruding from the floor.
“Hmmm.” Coralis scowled. “There is still much you need to learn. Come over here,” he said as he stepped closer to the door. “Now hold your wand out at arm’s length and trace the outline of the door.”
“Oh!” Henry jumped as the wand tugged at his hand as if it were magnetized. “What is it? What’s making it do that?”
“That, dear boy, is a protection spell.” Coralis smiled, enjoying the moment as teacher.
“Protection for what?” Brianna asked. “There’s nothing here but paint.”
“Not from what … from whom. Put your wand away, Henry.” Coralis took a seat, rubbing his knees. “Do either of you happen to know your mother’s maiden name?”
The question was answered by a blank look.
“Your mother’s name before she married your father,” he clarified.
“We never met anyone from Mom’s side of the family,” said Henry.
“And she never talked about them either,” Brianna said. “Even though we’d always ask why we didn’t have a grandma or grandpa like a lot of our friends.”
“But there was that one time,” Henry continued. “Remember when that old delivery van pulled up one day and how Mom flew into a panic?” he asked Brianna. “We asked what was wrong but she told us to stay put as she ran out the door. I could have sworn she said ‘Mom’ as the van pulled in, but the way she yelled at the old woman I thought I must have heard her wrong.”
“But if that was her own mother, why would she yell at her?” Brianna angrily nudged Henry’s foot. “She wouldn’t do that! You must have messed that up, too.” She nipped at his shoe.
“Hey, cut that out! I didn’t mess anything up. I know what I heard. And I also know she told the woman to never come back.”
Coralis growled softly, just enough to get their attention. “What kind of van was it? Can you recall the color? Any markings? What was she delivering?”
“White!” “Green!” They responded simultaneously.
“It was white with green letters,” Henry stated emphatically.
“Oh yeah?” Brianna’s fur bristled with agitation, not wanting to be outdone. “It had a pretty picture of something like fruit or vegetables.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Henry argued. “It was wheat or something. Why else would it say Granoble’s Granary?” His eyes bulged. “Wait! That’s exactly what it said! I remember now because I had to look up the meaning of granary after she left.”
Coralis’s lips twitched in a half smile. “It’s amazing what the mind can recall if you just stop thinking.”
“And I’ll tell you what else I remember.” Henry was on a roll. “It had Arizona license plates.”
“Do tell.” Coralis leaned forward.
“And … and … well, I guess that’s it.” Henry’s shoulders slumped. “That’s not enough, is it? It doesn’t tell us anything.”
“On the contrary.” Coralis walked to a series of paintings on the far wall. “Have you ever been to Arizona?”
“No.” Brianna jumped in before Henry could answer.
“Did your mother ever talk about it? Perhaps she spent some time there. Did she like southwestern artifacts, perhaps an occasional cattle skull?”
“Ew, gross!” Brianna wrinkled her nose.
“No, she didn’t,” said Henry, but he leaned into a painting as he began to understand Coralis’s line of questioning. “That’s what all these paintings are. They’re of Arizona, aren’t they?” And for the first time, Henry witnessed the extent of his mother’s talent. The flowers, the cacti, the reptiles, the rock formations: Every painting was of something best described as southwestern, and though he’d never been there, the images captured a sense of place brilliantly.
“Why would she paint these?” Henry asked, but it was of himself. He leaned in closer and squinted at a tiny black vertical line in the bottom right corner. A mistake? But the paintings were perfect—even Coralis thought so. Why wouldn’t she cover over the mistake with a dab of brown paint to match the rest of it? Startled, he swung back around to face Coralis. “It’s not a mistake!”
“Of course it’s a mistake if you thought of it,” Brianna said, bristling.
Henry didn’t acknowledge her. He quickly went from painting to painting, locating other ones with marks on them. “Look!” He anxiously grabbed canvases from walls and easels and stacked them along a baseboard. “They’re numbers!”
“They’re not any numbers I ever saw,” Brianna countered.
“They’re Roman numerals!” Henry clarified. He quickly rearranged the paintings in order from I to IV. The effect was incredible. The four paintings formed a single tremendous landscape. “Ha! Look at that!” He turned to gloat at Brianna on the floor, but instead found her cupped gently in Coralis’s p
alm, dumbfounded and speechless.
Henry looked back at the mural. “Whoa,” he whispered.
“Indeed.” Coralis stood next to him.
“Is that, like, one of those optical illusions?” Brianna asked.
“Something like that.” Henry knew what he was looking at but couldn’t make any sense of it. There were four paintings and three seams between them. Along the right edge of the first painting was what looked like a fluffy cloud or possibly a windblown dust devil. Along the left edge of the second painting was a continuation of that cloudiness. But what it actually formed when the paintings were pressed together was a mushroom cloud. The kind an atomic bomb would create.
Similarly, between paintings two and three was a large snake riding on the back of a long-horned goat. And between paintings three and four was a man’s face, so lined with wrinkles it almost blended into the mountain range behind him. Henry rubbed his head. None of it made any sense. Was his mother just being creative, or was she trying to tell them something?
He was about to ask Coralis when he saw how intently the Wand Master stared at the face in the painting. “Joseph,” he said softly.
“You know him?” Brianna asked.
“Yes.” Coralis frowned. “It would appear pieces of the puzzle are coming together. And it is imperative that we finish the puzzle before anyone else does.”
“So you never suspected a thing? She never told you anything about her lineage? Never discussed anything like natural elements? Never took you rock hunting or exploring for herbs? Nothing like that?”
Coralis had been peppering Henry with questions from the moment they left the studio. Now in the kitchen, he foraged for a bite to eat while Henry sat at the table with his head in his hands.
“No, nothing at all. Not even a hint.” He thought hard. Until the day he was given the Guidebook, all he knew about another side of reality was what he read in books about magic and wizardry. He had never suspected he would possess any kind of special power within himself. But then events had spiraled quickly. And now, not only did he find out he had his own special powers, but his parents did as well.