by Tom Deitz
Calvin smacked himself on the forehead. “Oh yeah, right! That all-day concert she won one ticket to.”
“You got it!”
“Leavin’ you and McLean to slave over finals—the bitch.”
David’s reply was a mute, resigned shrug. In the lull, Calvin scanned the room, noting piles of books and CDs; the quarter-scale poster of the new Bugatti EB 110; a wooden nail-keg full of umbrellas and swords, both metal and rattan, as well as a bokken. “So, what about the big Mach-One, anyway?”
“Huh? Oh—he went on a pizza run with— Oops! Never mind.”
Calvin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who?”
“Never mind.”
“Dave!”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Gimme a break, Sullivan, I don’t have time for this shit!”
David checked his watch and smiled smugly. “Au contraire, Red-Man, if you’re here for the reason I think you are, you’re on your way to south Georgia to fulfill a certain bargain you were fretting about on the phone last week. Only you’re not actually supposed to meet the kid until tomorrow. And since ground zero’s less than five hours away, you’ve got plenty of time. Therefore—”
He did not finish—or if he did Calvin couldn’t hear him because his ears were suddenly full of fabric, as David launched himself across the room and stuffed a pillow into his face. Calvin pushed it back immediately, but by then, David had hauled him off the chair and was sitting astride his belly, pinning him to the floor. Calvin writhed and twisted, but could not escape nor protest, for his mouth was still half-clogged. David promptly dived in, tickling him unmercifully. Eventually, however, Calvin got a hand free, but that only left his side more unprotected. David tickled harder, Calvin kicked and giggled—and swore. Once he managed to reach David’s side and got in a counterattack, but David twitched away. Calvin grabbed his leg and yanked hair—hard.
“Jesus Christ, Fargo!” David yipped, as his start allowed Calvin to get his other arm free.
“Get off me, you asshole,” Calvin gasped. “Dammit, man, I’ve got three cracked ribs!”
“You’re kiddin’!”
Calvin yanked up his T-shirt, exposing the Ace bandage. “Not hardly.”
David scooted backward to lean against the bank, looking very contrite. “Oops! I, uh, thought you felt funny down there. But Jesus, guy…what happened?”
“Got ambushed by a bunch of white boys.”
“Accidentally? Or—”
“Anetsa.”
David nodded sagely. “I…see.”
“Well I don’t!” came a deliberately deep voice from behind him. Definitely male, but disguised. There was also an obvious aroma of oregano, tomato sauce, and cheese. But before Calvin could twist around to investigate, he found his ribs assailed again.
“No!” David shrieked.
Which was all the opening Calvin needed. As whoever it was hauled him back, simultaneously digging into his armpits, David shot past him. And then, with a flip and a thump, it was Calvin’s turn to find himself sitting athwart someone’s thighs, while David knelt on the would-be assailant’s upper arms and the two of them tucked up his shirt and attacked both ribs and belly.
Alec—for so it was: David’s longtime best friend and much-suffering roommate—was mortified.
The smell of pizza grew stronger—and then, abruptly, another face swung into view behind Alec’s: female, pretty, framed by blond hair—
“Sandy!” Calvin managed between grunts, gasps, and guffaws, as he sought to disentangle himself and rise. She held, he could hardly help but notice, two boxes from Domino’s Pizza.
“Do I know you?” she inquired distantly.
“I hope you—” (embarrassed giggle) “—know somebody—’cause otherwise these two assholes here are gonna be mighty pissed.”
“’Cause a good-lookin’ woman brought pizza?” David interrupted, releasing their victim. “Not hardly!”
Alec simply rose, dusted himself off, secured his shirttail in his cut-off cammos, and looked put-upon. “There’s beer, too,” he muttered.
Calvin could only grimace helplessly. “Christ, gal, what’re you doin’ here?”
Sandy deposited the pizza on the nearer desk and eased around to look him square in the eye. “Maybe I do know you…or would if you told me what you’re doing here. Or possibly explained why you think it’s cool to head off into the wild blue with no more than a very cryptic note of explanation.” She propped herself against the bunk, looking at Calvin with a mixture of amusement, irritation, and perplexity. Khaki hiking shorts and a sleeveless black T-shirt added to her air of determined competency. David, obviously familiar with most of what was happening, tactfully investigated the pizza.
“Sorry,” Calvin sighed as he sank back into the chair from which he had been so gracelessly evicted. “I guess things just reached a head, and…I didn’t want to tell you ’cause I knew you’d want to come along, and I— Well, mostly I just thought it was too risky.”
“Well, you’d better think again!” But Sandy’s expression, though still dangerous, held a note of humor. She’d won so far—or at least established parity. Now came the bargaining.
“Mind tellin’ me how you found me?” Calvin asked. “I mean even with educated guesses, you were playin’ pretty high-stakes odds.”
Sandy grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I don’t mind telling you if you don’t mind telling me what’s going on with you—besides this business with Brock, I mean.”
“What makes you think there’s business besides Brock?”
“Your cousin.”
Calvin’s mouth dropped open. “You talked to Churchy?”
Sandy nodded, sparing a smile for David, as he passed her a slice of pizza. “Actually, he called me—I think it was right after you left. He told me some stuff, but wouldn’t be real precise—except he let something slip about you going to Athens.”
Calvin rolled his eyes. “But how’d you get here ahead of me?”
“I hadn’t finished unpacking from my trip—or that camping trip we took week before last, for one thing. I live closer to here than your cousin does, for another.”
A sidelong glance. “How long’ve you been here, anyway?”
Sandy grinned. “Long enough to get these lazy asses out of bed and make one of ’em point me to a pizza place. Would you believe they were still sacked out at noon?”
“Late night partyin’, huh?” Calvin wondered, lifting an eyebrow at David.
David shook his head sadly. “Late night at the science library readin’ ’bout plate tectonics.”
“Punctuated by a trip to the 40 Watt,” Alec added, with a grin.
“That was research, too.”
“It was?”
“The La Brea Stompers were playing, which were named for a set of tar pits out in California. And plate tectonics is responsible for those tar pits—sort of.”
It was Alec’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Okay,” Sandy said primly. “You’ve had my explanation, short form. I want yours.”
“I’m goin’ to see Brock. I don’t have any choice.”
“And what’re you doing here?”
“Visiting friends.”
“And?”
“Solicitin’ advice from friends who know more about mojo than I do.”
“And?”
“What?”
“Any other problem?”
Calvin sighed. “You’re not gonna take no, are you?”
Sandy shook her head.
Another sigh. “Okay, folks, let’s eat, and then…I guess it’s time I told you about the ghosties.”
*
The ground-beef-and-onion pizza was gone, and the supreme-with-extra-cheese seriously depleted, along with five-sixths of the six pack of Dos Equis Sandy had brought, when Calvin finished. He’d told it all, too—as much as he could remember—as much as seemed relevant. Not that he’d wanted to, exactly, but once he began—trying to gloss over as muc
h as possible—first Sandy, then Alec, and finally even David had seemed compelled to stop him every two sentences for an elaboration or clarification. Eventually he’d given up and laid out the long version—there was time for it after all, much as he hated to admit it. And somehow the more deeply into it he got, the easier it became to explain. It was catharsis, he realized, when, after nearly an hour, he paused for a sip of the orange juice Sandy had thoughtfully provided. And catharsis, much as it hurt to undergo, in the end felt mighty good.
“So,” David said when Calvin fell silent, “I guess the next question is what can we do about it?”
“By which you mean…?” Alec asked, looking startled. “I mean, which we?”
David glared at him. “You and me, of course.” Sandy raised an eyebrow in challenge.
“And Sandy,” he added, blushing. “Uh, sorry, it’s just that me and Alec are used to this sort of thing, and sometimes we get hidebound about thinking other people might either be involved or want to be involved.”
“I don’t want to be involved,” Sandy broke in quickly. “But it doesn’t look like I have a choice. It involves Cal, therefore I have no choice.”
“Sure you do,” Calvin muttered. “You could stay home like I wanted you to.”
“Like a good little housewife? Which I’m not!”
“Like a brilliant physics teacher who could get in over her head—and who would be missed if she went AWOL.”
Sandy stared at Calvin incredulously, conflicting emotions chasing each other across her face. “You mean to tell me,” she said with an effort, “that you think you wouldn’t be missed?”
“Not by as many people as you,” Calvin shot back. “I’ve kept my name out of paperwork deliberately.”
“As is your right,” Sandy replied. “But are you even listening to yourself, Cal? The way you’re talking, it sounds like you’re afraid you might not…come back.”
Calvin shrugged helplessly, feeling outnumbered. “That is a possibility—and more so now. Back when it was just me gettin’ together with Brock—”
“And you’d actually have put yourself in a situation you might not return from with no more word to me than one cryptic note?” Sandy interrupted, close to shouting.
Calvin had never seen her so angry. Her earlier good humor—which he’d thought a bit forced—was obviously shredded completely. “I…honestly didn’t think of that,” he said at last. “I mean, I knew it was dangerous—or that once I saw the ghosts it was. And I knew that I didn’t want you mixed up in it—’cause whatever else you say, two people dead or vanished or crazy is worse than one. But I guess I never really thought not comin’ back was a possibility.”
“You wouldn’t,” Sandy muttered, her eyes misting. “Cocky son-of-a-bitch.”
Calvin looked at her helplessly. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I played the whole thing wrong by tryin’ to play it right and spare as many people as possible.”
“Which you haven’t done, if what you said about what happened up at your cousin’s place is true.”
“Which I concede,” Calvin sighed. “But remember, he’s better equipped to deal with that kind of thing than you are.”
“Barely.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Let me go with you, of course. No, let me rephrase that. I want you to try and stop me from going with you! You thought Spearfinger was bad? You ain’t seen nothin’, baby.”
Calvin shifted his gaze toward his friends, seeking silently for support. “Dave…?”
“Don’t look at me, man,” David said, wide-eyed. “I already volunteered.”
Alec looked uncomfortable. “And me, of course.”
Calvin shook his head. “No, folks, look: it’s not that bad—not yet, I don’t think. Besides, don’t you guys have finals?”
Alec shot David a knowing look. “There…is that.”
“Which could screw up your whole future if you miss.”
David shrugged. “There’s always incompletes.”
Again Calvin shook his head. “No guys, I can’t let you. One, it really is my problem. Remember what Uki said? That I have to be responsible for my actions? Well, that’s what I’m doin’. I brought Spearfinger into this world, remember? I’m the reason my dad and those kids got killed. I’m the one who made that stupid, rash, conceited promise to Brock. I’m the one who played in a stupid ball game with my shirt off, so that the whole friggin’ world could see what the world doesn’t need to know exists!”
“All of which you did for completely altruistic reasons,” Sandy countered, her former anger dispersed as quickly as it had erupted.
“All of which involved me showin’ off,” Calvin shot back. “I mean, if I’d been really good at what I was fakin’—good at woodcraft, and all—I could’ve shot a real deer, without havin’ to conjure up Awi Usdi, and none of the rest of this would’ve happened.”
“But it has happened.”
“Right! And I’m the one who has to set it straight!”
“Which is not to say you can’t have help,” David noted.
“Which is to say that nobody’s gonna risk anything important to them for my sake—not that can’t be fixed.”
David gnawed his lip. “Still, we don’t have any tests until Thursday, which gives us three days. I mean, what’s the difference between an A and a B, really?”
“Dean’s list,” Sandy replied instantly. “Magna cum laude versus summa cum laude, maybe. Possibly scholarships.”
“Which, in the larger scheme of things, hardly seem important.”
“Speak for yourself!” Alec snorted.
“No,” Calvin said finally. “You guys aren’t goin’, and that’s that! And if I wasn’t afraid of messin’ up the best thing in my life, I wouldn’t let even Sandy go, no matter what she says. But if you guys really do wanta help out…well, it would be nice if Alec could fire up the old ulunsuti.” He cocked a brow at Alec hopefully.
Alec, in turn, looked troubled, his face shadowed, his expression firm. “Well, gee,” he began in a quiet voice, “this…seems to be a day for honesty, so I guess I’d better be. I wish you hadn’t asked me that, Cal. I hate using that thing, not from fear, but because—well, just because it really freaks me. It can’t exist and do the things it does, and yet it does. And I’m into science and logic and rationality, and it circumvents those things. I mean…jeeze…I’d walk through hell with you, man, bear any kind of physical hardship or discomfort. But that thing fucks with your mind! And I’d like to at least keep that under my control.”
“Which means you won’t do it?”
“Which means I want you to know what I’m risking when I do.”
“When?”
“Oh, I’ll do it, of course. I just wanted to lay out the facts first. Except—”
“What?”
Alec looked exceedingly uncomfortable. “Could I ask, like one favor?”
“Sure—I guess.”
“That we ask it just one question. I mean, this thing freaks me enough as is, and…well, frankly, I don’t even know what would happen if we tried to ask more than one question at a hit.”
“That sounds fair,” Calvin agreed, after a pause.
“Right,” from David. “So…what do we ask?”
Calvin scratched his chin. “Well, there’s no point in askin’ it about Brock. That’s the least of my worries and could be solved in a positive way—like by showin’ him how to ward, or find things, or something. The only thing to ask there would be to see if the ulunsuti predicts any unforeseen negative effects from whatever I teach the kid—and I don’t think it works that way. You have to be specific, don’t you?”
Alec frowned, followed by a long sigh, then a nod. “It won’t work to ask it what to do about a situation because it mostly shows places and…events.”
Calvin gnawed his lip. “Well, that certainly narrows the field. I can’t ask it about what to do about the ghosts—or about what kind of threat this Snakeeyes guy is—if
he even is one.”
“Could you maybe ask what the most immediate threat is, though?” Sandy suggested.
“Even that might be stretching it,” Alec replied hesitantly. “I mean, I’m not trying to hedge or anything, but that’s kind of a multiple-choice question.”
“Would it help if I did the asking?” Calvin wondered.
Alec shook his head. “Not really. It was given to me, and I think it’s kinda bonded with me now—I guess ’cause I…feed it and all. And yeah, I know we’ve all linked together and used it, but I used it so much back during the war in Faerie that I can kinda—I dunno—tell what it likes, I guess. And I don’t think it likes anybody to use it except me and Liz—and she’s not available.”
A shrug. “Whatever.”
Silence.
Then, from Alec: “Actually…it works best if you just sort of worry at it, and let it show you what it wants.”
Calvin exchanged glances with Sandy. “Not what I wanted, exactly, but worth a try, I guess.”
“It’s your call,” she told him.
“So,” David said brightly, reaching for the penultimate slice of pizza, even as he eyed the remaining beer speculatively, “when do we begin?”
“Twilight’d be best,” Calvin replied. “That’s the next between time.”
“Besides which, it’d give us time to crash for a spell,” Sandy yawned. “Which I, at least, need to do.”
“And would give these fine lads a chance to study some,” Calvin added.
“As if we could,” Alec muttered.
But that settled it. Calvin and Sandy shed their boots (Calvin also his shirt and jeans) and slid into the lower bunk together. David and Alec claimed opposite corners and went through the motions of reading. To Calvin’s surprise, he slept.
*
“I guess I can’t put this off any longer, can I?” Alec asked from the open door roughly five hours later. The sun, visible through windows at the end of the hall, had just touched the horizon. The shadows were long on Reed Quad. Somewhere a stereo was playing Jesus and Mary Chain.
“No time like the present,” David told him, in mid-fidget.
Alec grunted, padded barefoot to his closet, and rummaged around inside. Eventually he produced a hiking boot, from which he withdrew a small clay jar, tightly stoppered with bark. Pausing to lock the door on his return, he studied the group for a moment. “I guess you guys remember the ritual we’ve used with this thing before.” He sighed. “You’re bound to, Cal, seein’ as how you came up with it. Anyway, it seems to work, so I reckon we oughta stick with it. But there’s also the—uh—small matter of priming it with blood….”