Magic, Madness, and Mischief

by Kelly McCullough

  The Free School was big on service learning, and on taking responsibility for things that had to get done. Anyone who spent any length of time at the school quickly learned that the answer to the question “If not me, then who?” was almost always “me.” It was another aspect of our whole Freedom Is Responsibility motto.

  “We figured we could do a bit of cleanup before we started reading, right, Dave?” Dave nodded rather bemusedly as I reached into my half-open backpack and pulled out a plastic bag from the convenience store. “You know, if we were sneaking off school grounds to read a book during the open period at lunchtime, which, of course, we’re not going to do … and not just because we got caught.” I grinned another fiery grin. “No, because it would be wrong.” I made the puppy eyes of innocence.

  Aaron actually chuckled now. “That’s probably the most charming lie I’ve heard from a student in the last ten years—Evelyn is an excellent acting teacher, and I can see why you’re one of her favorite students.” He turned his gaze on Dave. “Did you have anything you wanted to add?”

  Dave just smiled that big smile of his and shook his head. “Not right at this moment, no. I think Kalvan’s got it covered.”

  “Wise move.” Aaron assumed a stern expression as he shifted his attention back to me. “However, I can’t countenance your leaving school grounds. While the Free School might encourage you to make use of open periods to do whatever most appeals to you in hopes of producing a more well-rounded human being, the State of Minnesota frowns on students leaving the grounds during school hours without a specific educational purpose in mind and written permission.”

  “I understand that, Aaron.” I felt as though I were filled with a fire that warmed without consuming.

  “Good.” Aaron nodded. “So, I’m going to continue my walk around the building now, and I would like you two to tell me that you are not going to be off to the hedge as soon as my back is turned. I would also like you not to drop off that bag filled with trash from the slope in the trash bin out in front of my office no later than the end of sixth period. Do you understand me, Kalvan, Dave?” He didn’t smile, but there was a certain light of mischief in his eyes as he spoke.

  “I believe that we do.” I nodded. “It’s been nice talking with you, Aaron. Thank you for helping keep us out of trouble, and we are absolutely not going to sneak away once you’re out of sight and carefully cross the street behind the school with the walk signal and go read on the slope, are we?”

  “Not a chance,” agreed Dave.

  “And not pick up trash,” added Aaron.

  “Definitely not.”

  “Excellent, then we all understand one another.”

  “Perfectly.” I nodded, and Dave echoed me.

  Without another word, Aaron walked around the corner of the school, leaving us alone.

  “What just happened there?” demanded Dave.

  “No idea.” I wasn’t ready to share the sense of being filled with fire. Dave looked like he wanted to argue, but I shook my head. “Let’s at least get clear before we talk about it.”

  As we ducked into the hedge, I tried to sort it out for myself. I’m pretty good at talking my way out of trouble with adults, but I’m not that good. It felt almost like magic. I was confused, but I didn’t let the wonder I was feeling or the fire roaring away in my soul prevent me from quickly heading for the hill, with Dave trailing closely behind.

  As soon as we got to the base of the slope, we ducked into the undergrowth. There was a narrow slot of a path that we followed upward. Maybe twenty feet along, Dave bent and picked up a plastic soda bottle and handed it to me. “Get the bag out.”

  I nodded. “I should have thought of that.”

  “I don’t know what happened back there with Aaron, but if we don’t drop off that bag of trash, we’ll be in deep weeds.” His words came out a bit wheezy from the climb, and he pulled out his asthma inhaler to take a brief hit.

  As we finished filling the bag and settled into the little dell below the brow of the hill, Dave gave me a curious look. “Speaking of which, what did happen back there?”

  I paused for a long time before answering that because I didn’t want to lie to Dave, but the truth was going to sound pretty crazy, and crazy was not a thing to talk about lightly between Dave and me.

  Finally, I just plunged in. “You know about my mom.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was one of the things that had drawn Dave and me together after we got to know each other. I don’t like to use the word crazy about my mom, but it saves a lot of time. My mother is more than half-crazy. Or mentally ill, if you prefer the technical term. Dave gets this in ways that most people simply can’t because his dad is bipolar and pretty intermittent in taking his meds.

  Dave’s mom had kicked his dad out because she was afraid he might hurt one of the kids, but he still tried to be a part of their lives when he could. My mom might not have a formal diagnosis, but Dave had eaten a number of meals at my place, and he knew the score. There were conversations we could have together that neither one of us could have with someone who hadn’t been in the same place.

  Dave nodded. “And…”

  “When Aaron caught us, I suddenly felt … like, well, I could talk my way out of anything. It was like I was full of fire and I just knew that whatever I said was going to be the right thing to say and that it would work. Does that sound crazy to you?”

  Dave looked a little sick. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Kalvan, but actually it does. My dad can get like that when he’s in one of his up phases.”

  I felt like he’d kicked my stomach, and I must have looked it, too, because Dave quickly held up both hands, like he wanted to soothe me. “On the other hand, when my dad’s up and starts spinning lines, he isn’t half as smooth as you were back there. Heck, I’ve heard you spin a few in my time, and you’re not usually that good. Also…” He frowned and trailed off.

  “Also what?” I demanded. That was part of our deal. If either one of us started to go the way our parents had, the other was supposed to play the voice of reality.

  “Well, what you did was weird. I could kind of feel it in my guts. That patter wasn’t aimed my way, but it felt like you were … I don’t know, projecting convincing more than being convincing. I could see it affecting Aaron and felt the edges of it, but I didn’t feel the need to buy into it.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Kal, the whole thing was hinky.” He sighed. “Why don’t we talk about something else?”

  “All right, but you’d tell me if you thought I was going like my mom, right?”

  “That’s the deal we shook on.” He nodded solemnly.

  “Thanks, Dave. I need that.”

  “Hey,” said Dave, “you getting pressure from Evelyn to start thinking about what you want to do with your life? She bugged me about it this morning.”

  It was an awkward change of subject, but I was happy to move away from the shaky ground of the previous topic. “Yeah, what’s up with that? We’re barely thirteen.”

  Dave laughed. “But this is the Free School, land of making your own path in life, and it’s never too early to start exploring the possibilities. Am I right?”

  I had to laugh then, too, and nod, because yeah. All the choose-your-own-adventure stuff could get a little old. “I told her I was mostly thinking about lunch at that point in the day, and she gave me that look.”

  And here Dave mimed looking at me over a pair of imaginary glasses. “Yeah, I bet she loved that. I told her I’d gotten as far as thinking that maybe I wanted to be an actor, and since that’s her thing, I was totally off the hook for a while.”

  “I could see doing that.” Acting was my favorite class.

  On the other hand, and especially given my morning, what I most wanted in life at the moment was to grow up to not be like my mom. Acting was cool, but it wasn’t exactly a normal kind of career, and sometimes what I really wanted from life was a little bit of normal.

  Only, that wasn�
��t really true, either, because every time I tried to do normal I got bored, and I didn’t do well with bored. Not at all. It gave me too much time to think, and then my brain went weird places and … I shied away from that thought. When I had too much time to think, I started to think too much like my mother.

  That’s a lot of why I skip so much. Free was better than any of my old schools because I got to take at least some of my classes with the older students, and that pushed me a lot harder. But not all the time, and not all my classes. Reading helps, and exploring or doing something physical helps. But even at Free they expect you to pay attention and participate when you’re actually in class. It’s just easier to get out of my own head when I’m alone or hanging out with one or two people.

  Neither Dave nor I mentioned it again over the next half hour, but the fact that he’d said I was sounding a bit like his dad lay heavily between us until his phone beeped from the depths of his pack.

  “Ooh, I gotta go. I can’t miss this next class.” He hopped to his feet. “Are you coming?”

  “Nah, I think I’m gonna stay here. I aced the entry test; I can afford to miss a few science classes.”

  “All right, catch you later.”

  “Back atcha.”

  Dave had been gone for ten minutes when I looked up from my book and saw a bright flash of red at the base of the lilac thicket that walled us off from the crest of the hill. My first thought was that I had spied a fox—I’d seen them in the city once or twice before. But a moment later I got a better look, and no fox ever born had ears that long or such a stubby little tail. A rabbit … no, it was far too big and rangy for that. A hare, then, but one of very unusual color.

  “Aren’t you fancy?” I whispered, not wanting to startle it into bolting. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful hare before. Would you like some of my muffin?” I’d decided to save it for later, and now I reached cautiously into my backpack.

  The hare cocked its head to one side. “Depends. What kind is it?”

  “Banana nut,” I replied, then froze. “Wait, did you really ask me what kind of muffin this is?”

  “Of course not,” the hare said in a masculine voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know as well as I do that rabbits can’t talk. Now, cough up the muffin.”

  2

  Burning Hare and Other Worries

  THE HARE WAS absolutely right. Rabbits can’t talk. Silently, I split the muffin and offered him half. I figured if we both pretended he couldn’t talk, we might both believe it, and then I wouldn’t have to panic about ending up like my mom.

  The hare took the muffin in both paws and bobbed his head. “Thank you, cousin. May the turning seasons bring you fair fortune.”

  Then he flared like a fresh-struck match, bursting into flames so bright I had to shut my eyes. When I blinked them open again, the hare was gone, leaving behind a blackened piece of muffin that crumbled to ash when I poked it with the toe of my shoe.

  Suddenly, hanging out on the hill didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. I quickly tossed my stuff into my bag and went down the slope at something just shy of a run. I half wanted to head back to school and pretend that most of today had never happened, but we were well past class change and that meant sneaking in would be much harder.

  Besides, I’d long since learned that class was not a good place for me to be when I was flipping out. Unless it was an active class or a topic I really loved, there simply wasn’t enough going on to keep me distracted. Without that, I’d just keep going round and round on the thing that was worrying me until I felt like my brain was eating itself, and that was no good. So, where to go that would give me something else to think about?

  I considered crossing one of the freeway bridges and heading down to the science museum, but that felt like too much work. It was most of a mile from my school to the Mississippi and the museum. I had a couple of bucks, which meant I could go down to the Doughboy bakery outlet and get about a bajillion week-old snack cakes and chocolate rolls. Yeah, that was exactly what I needed. A sugar buzz to amp up every mental twitch. Well, and … I looked at the half a muffin again and shook my head. I’d had enough problems with baked goods for one day.

  Then I had it: the capitol tunnels! Because of the Minnesota winters, most of the state government buildings were linked together by underground tunnels. No one would be down there on a sunny fall day, so I’d have the run of the place. And sometimes they left access doors open and you could get into some pretty cool spaces. It was the perfect distraction.

  I headed over to the court building. The security there actually made it easier to get in. Well, for a kid anyway. I marched in with my notebook out and started scribbling away as I wandered toward the metal detector, like I was doing some sort of class project.

  When I slipped my backpack off my right shoulder and dropped it onto the X-ray machine belt, the security guard cleared his throat and said, “Notebook, too.”

  “Oh, I’m really sorry. My teacher didn’t mention that.” I waved vaguely in the direction of the Free School—capitol security was used to Free School students wandering all over the place.

  Being this close to the state government apparatus meant we had a lot of kids doing internships or coming over to watch hearings and other “real world” learning experiences. Apologizing again, I stuck my notebook in the bag and went through the metal detector like I belonged there. A few seconds later, I took a flight of stairs down to the tunnels and I was home free. Well, more or less. There were still cameras and a few capitol police, but if you didn’t act guilty they’d usually leave you alone.

  I wandered aimlessly for twenty minutes or so before passing a half-size door in a passage under the capitol. I’d noticed it on previous trips and always wondered where it went, but whenever I’d checked the knob it was locked. This time, it was slightly ajar. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any adults looking my way, I quickly tugged it open and ducked through.

  The low-ceilinged tunnel beyond was half full of thick cables and conduits and only dimly lit by a series of bare red bulbs mounted in little cages on the wall. It was surprisingly clean and very warm, and the walls and floor were covered with a thick coat of slick gray paint. I had to practically bend double to keep from banging my head on the pipes that crossed the ceiling every twenty feet or so, and I put my backpack on both shoulders to keep it from slipping off. But that was fine. I actually really like tight spaces. This was going to be a great adventure!

  I followed the low tunnel for what felt like blocks, periodically passing doors in the walls or hatches in the ceiling before coming to a downward bend where I had to descend a narrow metal ladder to continue. Beyond, the construction went from cement to huge limestone blocks, which didn’t hold the gray paint very well.

  The passage opened up below, and I could almost walk upright, though I still had to watch for low-hanging pipes. It widened out as well, though part of the space was taken up by stacks of waxed boxes along the left side. Each was marked with a big red stencil that said CIVIL DEFENSE SUPPLIES.

  Maybe fifty feet on from there, I came to a huge steel hatch in the floor, like something you’d see on a navy ship in a movie. It opened onto a ladder descending into darkness. I wished I’d thought to bring a flashlight along, because it looked interesting and there was no way I could climb down there without one.

  I pulled an empty soda bottle out of my trash sack and dropped it into the hole. I counted as I waited for it to hit bottom, but after hitting thirty without a sound, I figured it must have landed in something soft. Oh well. I started to move past the hatch, then froze about ten feet later when I felt a sudden and overwhelming sense of presence, as though something enormous had just awakened and noticed my existence. I pressed my back against the nearest wall and froze.

  My heart started to pound like it wanted out of my chest, and my mouth prickled like I’d stuffed a whole handful of Pop Rocks in there. I had never wanted to be someplace else more in my e
ntire life, but the only way that I knew led out went right past the hatch and the hole it covered—the hole that centered that feeling of presence.

  My feet were all for running down the tunnel away from the hole. And, frankly, I was with my feet on that. There was nothing in the world I wanted more than to get away from that hole, but a little voice in the back of my head kept saying What if.

  What if it’s a dead end? What if you still have to come back this way, but with a lot more time to think about it? What if what’s ahead is worse? What if IT wants you to run that way?

  I didn’t know what IT was, and I didn’t want to find out, but the surest way out was the way I’d come in. Slowly, I inched my left foot closer to the hole in the floor. It took all my will to move my body after it and get the other foot to follow, but I did it. One dragging step at a time I edged closer and closer to the hole.

  When I was finally passing the hatch, I didn’t dare look in for fear of seeing something looking back at me. Maybe a gigantic dragon eyeball peering through the hole like a person at a keyhole, or one of those horrible, twisted faces you see in dreams, or something so much worse I couldn’t even imagine it. I fixed my gaze on the ladder up to the newer tunnel section and forced myself to keep moving.

  Maybe five feet farther on, I broke and bolted for the ladder. That was when I heard the laugh, a harsh chuckle that rumbled like an avalanche. It came from deep within the earth. Or perhaps deep within my head. I couldn’t tell the difference in the moment. All I knew was that it belonged to something that hated me.

  Run, child of fire. Run far and fast, but never free. No. I know you now, and you are marked. Then the chuckle broke into a full, rolling laugh I half expected to bring the stones down around my ears.

  I banged a knee and skinned a knuckle climbing the rusty old ladder to the upper tunnel, but that didn’t slow me down. I took the rest of the low hall in a hunched-over run and burst through the door at the end as though I had a whole tribe of demons on my heels.