The Demon Conspiracy

by R. L. Gemmill

  ***

  On the drive home Travis was still talking about Kurt Lazarus. “Brandon said Kurt’s nineteen and drives a Corvette. He gets into fights a lot and he’s been in juvie for selling drugs and stealing. What’s juvie?”

  “Juvenile detention,” said Angie. “Prison for kids.”

  “I don’t get it. Why’s he do that? His dad’s rich.”

  “Some people are born bad,” said Granny Price soberly.

  “Who are we talking about?” asked Angie. “Who’s been in juvie?”

  “This guy Brandon knows,” I said quickly, remembering that we’d agreed not to mention the fight. “A real loser.”

  “Yeah,” parroted Travis. “A real loser. Hey, Granny, I almost forgot. How’d your job interview go?”

  “It turns out Mike, the boss, wanted a bouncer for the place. And the only way to get the job was to beat him at arm-wrestling.”

  I laughed. “Mike’s a beast! His arms are bigger than my body. He can’t do that.”

  “He can and he did.”

  “How’d you do?” asked Travis.

  “Let’s just say you’re lookin’ at the new bouncer for Mike’s Pub.” Granny grinned big. “What’d you expect?”

  17

  FANG II

  TRAVIS

  Travis has gotten used to riding the bus to school and he’d gotten so he liked it just fine. He preferred riding with Jon in the Mustang, but since Jon was most likely possessed by a demon that didn’t know how to drive, Travis was content to hang out with his friends, Addie Stamen and Tony Valdez. On the way home he hardly noticed it when the bus dropped off some kids about a mile from where he lived. He was too busy telling Addie and Tony about how Jon had made the tennis ball appear and disappear.

  “He held out his hand and bam! It was gone!”

  “Did it really go bam?” asked a small third grader in another seat.

  Travis was irritated. He wasn’t even talking to that kid. “It didn’t make noise. It was just gone!”

  “He probably put it up his sleeve.”

  “He didn’t put it anywhere! I told you he didn’t move, you moron!” Travis didn’t have much patience with third graders. They were just too young to understand.

  “My mom made us do zombie escape drills last night,” said Tony.

  “What’s a zombie escape drill?” asked Travis, not even sure what a zombie was.

  “My mom drives her car really slow and me and my sisters practice getting in and out on the run. It’s kind of scary at first, but we’re really good at it now.”

  “Your mom thinks zombies are real?” asked Addie.

  Tony nodded. ‘Yeah. She’s kind of weird sometimes. She told me she’s seen real zombies and thinks they’re going to be a problem some day. She wants us to be ready, ya know?”

  Travis nodded like he did, but he really didn’t. What the heck was a zombie? He decided not to ask about it now.

  The bus stopped in the cul-de-sac. The door opened and everyone waited.

  “Hey, Travis,” said Addie. “Here’s your stop.”

  Tony laughed. “Didja forget where you lived?”

  When Travis realized they were in front of his house, he laughed too. “I kinda forgot I was going home. See you guys!” He got off the bus and ran inside.

  After a brief study of the chandelier with the lights both on and off, he went all over the house looking for Angie, but she wasn’t there. In fact, the only person he could find was Chris in the basement.

  “Don’t come down here anymore! No one can know my secret recipe!”

  “I don’t care about your stupid recipe!” Travis had never mouthed off at Chris before. But now Chris was working on his top-secret product and nothing else mattered to him. He didn’t seem to care what Travis said as long as he stayed out of the basement when he said it. Travis decided to check on his new rabbit, Fang II. But the rabbit’s box behind the couch was empty.

  “Fang?” Travis didn’t know how the rabbit had gotten out of the box, and he realized locating it could be a real problem, especially if it was hiding. Did Angie get a cage for it? Did she put Fang II back in his bedroom? Travis got hopeful and ran up the stairs.

  He knocked on his own door. It was his room, too, but he knocked anyway. There was no answer so he went in. Jon wasn’t there, but right off he noticed something was different. The big cardboard box was gone. Had Jon sold his swords and computer?

  The bookshelf and all the books that had been on it were gone, too; many of those books belonged to Travis. And the blankets, pillows and sheets from Jon’s bed were missing along with all the stuff from his dresser drawers and closet. Did he sell his clothes? He was getting pretty good at magic, but he still needed clothes. Was he planning to be the naked magician?

  Travis searched the room and couldn’t find Fang II anywhere. That got him worried. What if Jon had sold the rabbit, too? He hoped not. Travis was thirsty and went into the bathroom for a drink. As he gulped down a cup of water, something in the trashcan caught his eye. It was white and red and partly covered by toilet paper. He moved the paper out of the way and jumped back.

  The only thing left of Fang II was a mess of bloody fur in the bottom of the trashcan. Travis covered his mouth and backed out of the bathroom. He couldn’t take his eyes off the trashcan. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck tingled. Ghost fingers!

  Travis spun quickly.

  Jon stood there holding two overstuffed shopping bags. He set the bags on his bed and looked at Travis with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “What are you doing in my room?”

  Travis was scared, but he was angry with Jon, too. He inched toward the door. “It’s my room, too! Where’s Angie?”

  “She’s running errands while I sleep.”

  “You’re not asleep.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I have much work to do. I must work hard and fast.”

  Travis did his best not to cry, but it wasn’t working. Finally, he blurted out, “You killed Fang II! Why’d you do that?”

  “I was hungry.”

  Travis couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “You ate Fang II? I hate you!” He screamed it at the top of his lungs. All Jon did was smile and take things out of the bags.

  Travis ran down the hall certain that Jon would try to skin and eat him next. He couldn’t hold back the tears anymore as he wept for that poor rabbit. But he also wept for his brother, Jon Bishop. How had he changed so much? The old Jon wouldn’t have hurt the rabbit at all, let alone eaten it! But this new Jon…he probably didn’t even cook it first! Only a demon or a crazy person would do that. Travis stopped in his tracks. Was Jon really possessed by a demon? Or was he just plain crazy?

  When Angie got home Travis told her about the rabbit. “Angie, Jon’s gone crazy! He sold everything he owns and he ate Fang II!”

  “He ate the rabbit? He cooked it and ate it?”

  “He didn’t cook it.”

  About that time Jon came into the room. Angie was on fire.

  “Jon Bishop! I can’t believe you killed that poor rabbit! Why would you do such a thing?”

  “I was hungry,” said Jon in a steady voice.

  “That’s what happens when you skip breakfast. Why the rabbit? He was Travis’ pet!”

  “I let Travis play with it. The rabbit was mine.”

  “Normal people don’t go around eating their pets! And you sold your clothes! The swords, okay. They were yours. The computer, too. But your clothes? What do you plan to wear to school? And the bedding was mine, buddy boy! You didn’t pay for any of it! You owe me money! Don’t even think about leaving the house for the entire week. You’re grounded!”

  Jon seemed to ignore her as he fiddled with a magic card set he had bought. Without looking up he asked, “How much do I owe?”

  “If I remember correctly the sheets, blankets and pillows were about a hundred dollars! How could you do such a thing?”

  Jon looked at her. He put one hand out, palm up, to show that it was emp
ty. Next he turned it down and waited a few seconds. When he turned it over again, he was holding a one-hundred-dollar bill. Angie gasped.

  “We are even,” he said, giving her the money.

  “How’d you do that? Is this even real?”

  “It is magic, and it is real. Soon I will be the greatest magician in the world.”

  “I didn’t know you could do that. Is that what you spent the money on? Is all this for your show? Are these magic tricks?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh. Well, keep practicing. That was really pretty good. But you’re still grounded and I’m still mad at you.” When Angie left, she seemed completely dumbfounded. Travis hung his head as he followed her out. Angie wouldn’t even think about poor Fang II again, not with Jon getting to be so good at magic. He could do almost anything he wanted and nobody would care as long as his magic worked.

  Travis closed the door behind him and looked up at Angie. He could tell she was feeling better, but was confused about some things. She held the hundred-dollar bill in front of his face.

  “Did you see that?” she asked. “Did you see what he just did?”

  Travis nodded. “It’s like the tennis ball.”

  “Yes it is. Let me tell you something, Travis. If this is something teenagers go through, well, fine. Is that the money he got selling his stuff?”

  “I don’t care about money. What about Fang II? Jon ate him!”

  “I grounded him for a week for that, and I might go for two. I’m sorry, Travis, I’m new at being a parent. I’m not really sure what to do about a teenager who eats pet rabbits.”

  18

  SATURDAY MORNING MANNERS

  GRANNY

  Granny Price had worked at Mike’s Pub for a week and was getting used to coming home after three in the morning, especially on the Friday night shift. She’d done bouncer work before, and Mike’s place was typical. She’d broken up two fights and tossed out an obnoxious drunk who kept spilling his beer on people he didn’t know. Basically it was another day at the office, only this weekend she got her first paycheck. She could finally give Angie and Chris rent money and not feel like a moocher. She was thankful to have the work, especially when her labor skills were somewhat limited. But a vague inner torment had churned in her gut since she’d started the job and tonight she finally figured out what the problem was. Because of her late-night hours she rarely saw her new family, and she missed them.

  The revelation had come as a complete shock. Before Matilda had transformed into Granny, she’d looked out for herself and had done everything her own way in her own time. She’d spent most of her life as a confirmed bachelorette who’d gotten set in her ways and wouldn’t tolerate intrusions from family or friends. When she eventually figured out how selfish she was being, the loneliness set in. Soon after that she suffered an emotional breakdown. It wasn’t easy to admit she’d been a worthless mother. At that point Matilda knew something had to change in her life or she was going to die alone, her heart ruined by guilt.

  That’s when she decided to find her family and give them a try. Now that she knew them the family bug had bitten her. She really liked the kids and she wanted to connect more with Angie and Chris, too. But because of her work hours she’d hardly seen them since they met. It was kind of a slap in the face, really, because in a way, her life hadn’t changed. Here she was living in the same house with the family she wanted to know, but their paths rarely crossed. She was asleep when they went to school or work, and they were asleep when she got off, except for Chris, who spent way too much time in the basement and not at work. He had to be running out of sick days. She wanted to speak with Angie about it, to find out if everything was okay between them, but she saw her daughter about as often as she saw the kids, which was practically never. The few times they did meet, especially recently, Angie had been upset and distant. Something had happened to Chris and Jon during some cave adventure, and Granny knew nothing about it. Kelly had told her it was a long story. Matilda decided to take the time to hear it out, every last word.

  Matilda, when you wake up you’re going to talk to everyone in this house until you’re completely caught up with all the good stuff.

  She had a plan and decided to set her alarm clock an hour earlier than the usual one P.M. It wasn’t a big difference, but the kids weren’t in school and Mike had closed the bar because of plumbing problems that couldn’t be fixed until Monday. She had a rare Saturday night off, so there’d be plenty of time to become reacquainted with the family. First she needed a good night’s sleep, because nobody wanted to be around Matilda Price when she hadn’t slept enough. When she was tired, she could be downright dangerous.

  Granny washed down a peanut butter sandwich with a glass of warm milk and dragged herself to bed. She was eager to see her family, but right now she was exhausted and nothing—absolutely nothing!—would get her out of bed before noon.

  PARRISH

  Dr. Parrish arrived at his old house a little after seven in the morning and began unloading tools and lumber right away. He noticed Angie’s minivan was gone next door, which meant they’d probably left early for the chess tournament. Good, their place was empty. He would have liked to see Kelly play, especially after she trounced him three times in his classroom, but he didn’t want to bother anybody with his noise.

  Parrish carried a bulky miter saw with one hand and a stack of eight-foot-long trim under his other arm. He set everything on the porch and wondered if anybody had broken into the house while he’d been gone for the last two years. What if all the materials he’d left inside had been stolen? He hoped not, that would cost a fortune.

  Returning to the truck he felt a twinge in his shoulder and glanced back at the porch. The mitre saw wasn’t that heavy. He rubbed the sore spot, then realized he’d let himself go weak. That settled it. He could either get back to the gym soon and start working out again, or just admit he was getting old.

  None of his friends knew it, but Parrish had been a terrific athlete in high school and college, playing football and throwing the shot put and discus in track. In his youth he’d had tremendous power and speed, but now, at age fifty-six, he had trouble recalling exactly how powerful and how fast he’d once been. He could still remember his forty-yard dash times and the distances of his throws, but the feeling of extreme fitness was pretty much gone.

  Parrish leaned on the hood of his old red Toyota pickup truck and studied the run-down house. When he and Colleen had purchased the place they couldn’t wait to fix it up and move in next to their friends, Angie and Chris. But when Colleen got sick, they forgot all about the house. And when she died, well—

  This was the first time he’d seen the place since before the funeral. The memory brought back vivid images of his wife dressed in her blue jean coveralls and red baseball cap. Something about that outfit had really attracted him. He hung his head sadly. He’d never find another woman like Colleen.

  In spite of his sadness, seeing the old place again brightened his spirits. He stood up straighter than he had for the last two years with a new look of determination on his face. If he remembered correctly the hardwood floors needed refinishing and tile still had to be laid in the kitchen and bathrooms. He also had to put underlayment in the kitchen and trim out the bedrooms. He shook his head as the jobs came back in a wave. He needed to make a list.

  Twenty minutes later Parrish had made up his mind what to work on first. As soon as he got started memories of his late wife arrived in a flood. At one point he broke down and cried. But he gathered his emotions, wiped his eyes and forced himself to keep going. Soon enough the hard work made him forget about his grief, at least temporarily. His primary tools of the day were the loud, screeching miter saw, an air hammer, and a claw hammer. Parrish actually enjoyed the noise because to him, noise meant progress. He was amazed at how much progress one person could make when he had the right tools.

  GRANNY

  Granny rolled over in bed and squinted sleepily at t
he ceiling. What in the world woke her up? She normally slept like a dead person, so it must have been something really loud and unexpected, like a jet engine or an atomic bomb going off. She lay there a few minutes, pondering the possibilities and slowly drifted back to sleep.

  Suddenly, a power saw screamed from the house next door. Granny nearly leaped out of bed. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried her best to ignore the irritating sounds. Moments later a mind-piercing, rhythmic hammering occurred, which was followed by another blast of that fingernail-on-a-chalkboard-screeching saw. She reluctantly opened one weary eye and glanced at the alarm clock. It was only half past eight.

  “No way. Somebody needs a lesson in Saturday morning manners!”

  Wearing only her tattered gray warm-ups, Granny left the house and walked barefoot across the dew-sodden lawn. She passed an old, red pickup truck and marched up the front porch of the house next door. She knocked, perhaps a little too hard, as the force cracked one of the stained glass panel windows. Several pieces of glass tinkled across the floor inside. A moment later the door flew open.

  A huge man towered over her, his face red and sweaty from work. She glared up at him fearlessly, daring him to say a thing about his stupid broken window. They stepped toe to toe, both ready for a fight.

  “You broke my window!” he said angrily. “What’s your problem, lady?”

  “What’s my problem? What’s your problem? You’re out here at this ungodly hour makin’ all that racket! Some of us work late, you know! I need my sleep!”

  In her anger and readiness for a fight, she hadn’t really looked at him. All she knew was this big lout was keeping her awake. Either he remedied the situation, or there was going to be trouble. But when she met his gaze for the first time, determined and angry, something quite unexpected happened. Matilda’s anger melted in a sudden, measureless moment. She covered her mouth with one hand, completely surprised by her new feelings, but also to stop herself from saying anything else that would upset this big, beautiful man. She didn’t want to admit it, but she’d fallen in love with him at a single glance. If her heart hadn’t turned to jelly, she would have been embarrassed.

  Right off she knew she’d blown it. Here was a man—her man—the man of her dreams, and his first impression of her was a brutal, angry old bat with the compassion of a Nazi storm trooper. She knew he would curse her all the way to hell, and she would stand by and take it, helpless to stop him or even to want to. If he hit her in the head with a two-by-four, she wouldn’t have minded. She almost wished he would, so they could restart their relationship on even ground. Then she noticed his expression had also changed. The anger was gone from his voice. His gaze softened.

  “Uh…uh…perhaps I was being a bit thoughtless,” said the man, groping for words. “I’d be happy to start later in the day. Maybe after lunch?”

  “No,” said Granny. “No, really, it’s my fault. You have a lot of work to do here all alone. I’m being selfish. I apologize, it’s the way I am. I’m trying to change.”

  “Mark Parrish,” said the man, holding out his hand to shake.

  “Matilda Price,” said Granny. “I’m Angie’s mother. I’m staying with her and Chris for a while.” Out of habit she squeezed his hand as hard as she could. He didn’t flinch. He even seemed to hold back so he wouldn’t hurt her. He smiled and held her hand a bit longer than was required for a handshake. She was happy to let him.

  “Matilda,” he repeated. “Lovely name. Chris and Angie never mentioned you were staying with them. Uh, would you care to tour the house?”

  “I’d love to, Mark.”

  They finally released each other’s hand and walked into the foyer, careful to avoid any broken glass on the floor. As she tiptoed around the glass, Granny realized that nothing else in the world mattered. She could only ponder how they’d found each other in this huge, often unforgiving world, both lonely and perhaps a little angry at life. But now life seemed okay again. Parrish and Granny smiled at each other as he went on with the tour. Granny remembered how she was dressed and got embarrassed.

  “Oh, my. I’m sorry, Mark. I have to go freshen up a bit. I haven’t even brushed my teeth. Excuse me.”

  She walked off at a faster pace than normal, leaving Parrish staring after her as she crossed the chilled, soggy lawns again. A barrage of questions flew through her mind as she went. Was Mark Parrish fixing up the house because he owned it and was going to move in? Or did he work for somebody else who owned it? He’d gotten very polite all of a sudden. Did that mean he liked her, at least a little? Would he mind some help from a total stranger?

  It appeared there was plenty of work to do on the house and Granny was just the person to help him finish up. All at once it became perfectly clear why she’d spent seven years of her life working construction in a man’s world. She’d done it so that some day—today!—she could help Mark Parrish work on this house. Nobody was better suited for the job than Matilda Price. She knew how to swing a hammer.

  PARRISH

  Parrish finished placing the baseboard in the master bedroom and stood up to admire his work. At least he hadn’t lost any skill while he’d been away. He could still trim out a house. He set his hammer in a tool bucket while he took a seat on a portable workbench. Colleen Parrish had chosen all of the trim and design points of the master bedroom. She’d had a decorator’s eye combined with incredible good taste. Parrish studied the window seat they had built together and nodded approvingly. But he wasn’t just thinking about the window seat.

  He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Colleen,” he said aloud. “But I think the time has come for me to move on. She seems nice, you know? It’s what you wanted, remember? I don’t know where she came from, but I think she likes me. I know I like her.”

  When he heard a light knock at the front door, Parrish rushed down the stairs. He opened the door and saw Matilda Price standing before him dressed in denim coveralls with a red plaid work shirt and a New York Yankees ball cap. She also wore work boots and a tool belt with a hammer dangling in the strap.

  “Chris had some tools in the garage, looked like they’d never been used. I’ve come to work,” she said, looking very pretty with makeup and her hair in a bun. She became a little shy. “That is, if you need the help.”

  “I can always use help,” said Parrish emphatically. “Especially from such a lovely helper. Shall we continue the tour?”

  “That’d be grouse.”

  Grouse? Parrish was a little confused. What the heck did that mean? “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  As they went into the living room Parrish watched her. There was something special about a woman wearing work clothes. The accentuated curves and rugged beauty really caught his eye. Especially this woman.

  19

  THE TOURNAMENT

  KELLY

  My feelings were hurt because Jon and Chris had both refused to come watch me play in the Halloween Classic Open Chess Tournament. I understood Chris, he’d gotten so weird lately he never left the basement. I’d tried several times again to read his thoughts and had come up empty. How could that be? I’d never had any trouble doing it before the cave, though lately he blocked me the same way Jon did. Then I remembered I couldn’t read the minds of crazy people. All at once it was clear. Chris may not be possessed by a demon, not at all. He’d gone crazy! Unfortunately, that meant whatever was on his mind these days would stay a secret.

  But Jon was my brother. He’d always been proud of my game, even if he wasn’t much of a chess player himself. With Jon it was always about family. Not this time. Not while he was having head problems. My first tournament ever and he’d stayed home to practice magic. At least Angie, Travis and Melissa were here to support me.

  My first opponent had been a novice teenage girl who’d entered the tournament on a dare. I beat her fast. But my second challenger, an elderly woman with green-dyed hair and purple contacts in her eyes, was much tougher. I have a thorough understanding of the game and of course I
like to read an opponent’s thoughts to know what moves they might be planning. But that didn’t work on this lady. This woman was insane, though nobody knew it yet except me and I couldn’t read her mind at all. She was a good player, too—but not good enough. I put her away in twenty minutes.

  In my next to last game, the semifinal, my opponent was a doctor from a local hospital, Dr. Winthrop. He was a handsome, white-haired man, and perfectly sane, but he’d played very little chess and it was amazing he’d gotten as far as he had. I beat him in four moves without reading his mind. Dr. Winthrop was shocked and embarrassed. Here he was, a medical doctor, a surgeon no less, blown away by a thirteen-year-old girl!

  “No offense, young lady,” said the doctor after our match. “But I’ll never play this game again for as long as I live.” He shook my hand and told me good luck, but he left the tournament clearly shaken. Word spread fast about that match and from then on and a lot of people were talking about me. I’ll admit it made me feel a little cocky. But I also felt badly for him.

  Now I was in the championship game against a gray-haired man with a medium-length beard. When I read his thoughts before the game, I knew that he’d lost only four times in his life, all to his father when he’d been young and still learning the game. After that he’d won every game he’d ever played and this wasn’t his first tournament.

  I forgot about being cocky and became really nervous because the guy, Dr. Morris Leach, planned everything he did at least four moves ahead. In addition to that he also kept a vast number of counter moves in his thoughts, and even had counter-counter moves for many of those. He was a genius with a fierce memory. I had a great memory, too, and I knew the game just as well as Dr. Leach. I also knew he’d beat me unless I understood his strategy, so I made a point to stay inside his head during the game.

  In short, I cheated. Yeah, I know. It’s like being able to see an opponent’s letters in a game of Scrabble. Cheating bothered me on several levels, but that was how I’d always played. I was really good at two things in life: playing chess and reading the thoughts of others. And I wasn’t able to do the chess thing without including the mind scans. It would have been like driving a car with my eyes closed.

  Every now and then I sent a little message to Travis to let him know how things were going.

  He’s gonna move his bishop next, isn’t he?

  I’m opening up a huge trap. He’ll never see it coming.

  He’s falling for it!

  I tuned in to Melissa’s thoughts once as she and Angie watched the final game on a big-screen television that gave the audience an overhead view of the pieces on the board. I was surprised to learn that deep down Melissa found chess a little baffling and boring. But she was pulling for me with all her heart.

  All at once Melissa looked around suspiciously. She knew! I quickly backed off and stayed out of my friend’s mind. Melissa may not have been telepathic, but she sure was sensitive to anybody who was.

  Back at the game I made what I figured to be my third-to-the-last move. Two more moves and Dr. Leach would be toast. Sure enough, though he hesitated, Dr. Leach moved his rook in front of my pawn. A safe and smart tactic, but it would doom him in the end. I concentrated on him very hard. I let him know what a great move he’d just made.

  Dr. Leach smiled slightly at the mysterious compliment that came from somewhere inside his head. But he remained tense and alert. I had to be very careful in the way I controlled him. He was much too intelligent to take lightly.

  She’s going to win it, thought somebody in the audience. I looked up in surprise. My mind had wandered since his last move. I didn’t mean to pick up the personal thoughts of people around me, but sometimes it happened. Just for fun, I tuned in to some others.

  She’ll be the scholarship winner, for sure.

  She could be the next Bobby Fisher!

  I’ve never seen anyone play as well as that girl. I wonder where she came from?

  I fought off a smile. It felt awesome to be admired. All I had to do was make the next move with my bishop (ironic huh? Bishop wins with her bishop. That’d be a good headline!) and Dr. Leach would realize he was beaten. There’d be nothing he could do at all. Then everyone would think I was the most amazing chess player in the world. Or at least in my part of the world.

  Somebody compared me to Bobby Fisher! Oh, yeah, I’m cool!

  And I was, too. Except for the guilt that had welled up inside me since I beat that very first kid. It was one thing to beat my friends and family once in a while, but it was something else entirely to win at this level, and keep on winning. I reached for the bishop, then pulled my hand back. All I had to do was make the move and fame and glory would be mine. But technically I’d cheated. These people didn’t know I could read their thoughts, not that it would have mattered. They certainly couldn’t read mine. That wasn’t just playing the game, it was fixing the game.

  I reached for the bishop again. Dr. Leach’s eyes got big as saucers, when he realized what I was going to do to him. He knew he’d lost the match and there was nothing for it. But I did the unexpected. I left the bishop where it was, and slid my queen to one side. It was still a good move, if I’d been a novice.

  “Check,” I said calmly.

  Dr. Leach nearly collapsed with relief. Whatever had made me change my mind had completely opened up his chance to win. He moved his own queen to the space directly beside his king, blocking my queen. But the move was more than that.

  “Checkmate,” said Dr. Leach, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

  I tried to look as if I hadn’t seen it coming, but in fact, I’d set up that one, too. I’m not bragging, it’s just a fact. When I smiled, it was genuine. I turned over my king in submission and shook Dr. Leach’s hand. The audience was mostly disappointed, but they still applauded for both of us.

  “Good game,” I said.

  “Great game!” he cried. “You’re the toughest opponent I’ve ever had!”

  “Thank you. You’re really a great player.”

  I left the stage and met the family. Melissa and Angie hugged me.

  “That was an amazing display of strategy,” said Angie. “If you practice some more, I think you can beat that guy. He knows it, too.”

  Travis hugged me because I was his sister. But he didn’t say anything out loud.

  What went wrong?

  Nothing, I replied. Nothing went wrong.

  But you had that guy. I could tell.

  I made a mistake, all right? I did my best.

  “I don’t think you did your best,” said Travis irritably. “I don’t understand. If you’da moved the bishop like you started to, you woulda beat ‘im!” Travis stormed off without us.

  “Beaten him,” I corrected automatically. Of course he never heard me.

  Melissa was bewildered. “For a little guy he’s pretty intense about winning.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, embarrassed. “He gets it from Jon.” There was no way I could explain it to anyone but Travis, and I wasn’t even sure he’d understand.

  “I think you did just fine, sweetie,” said Angie as she hugged me again. “I’m proud of you.”

  20

  SPIES

  KELLY

  Like everyone else in the house I’d grown sick and tired of the way Chris treated us whenever we went near his personal domain—the basement. All we had to do was start down the stairs and he’d yell and threaten to clobber us if we didn’t get out fast.

  “Stay away from my secret recipe!” he’d shout at the top of his lungs. I guess being demonically possessed or crazy, whichever, could turn people into jerks.

  I didn’t like the way he was acting, so I decided to find out what I could about his “secret recipe.” I did it the easy way first, by reading his mind, but it was like trying to run through a stone wall. I was so frustrated I wanted to cry. My telepathy wasn’t working with him, so I just gave up trying. If I was going to find out about that recipe, I’d have be very sneaky. That, plus Ch
ris would have to stay out of the basement for a while, which he rarely did these days. I finally got my chance that Saturday after the chess tournament.

  I tiptoed through the kitchen, avoiding places where the floorboards might creak. I opened the basement door and stood at the top of the stairs, listening. The house was deathly quiet. The only thing I heard was the wall clock ticking in the foyer. The basement was empty.

  I lightly snapped my fingers. A second later Melissa popped out from behind the kitchen doorjamb. Her dark eyes were alert with the thrill of being a spy in action.

  “Are you sure Chris isn’t here?” she whispered, as we started down the stairs.

  “Angie took him to the grocery store ten minutes ago. This might be our only chance to find out about his stupid recipe.”

  “Where’s Travis? Doesn’t he want in on the action?”

  “He’s in the den watching TV. We’d better leave him out of this in case we get caught. I don’t want him to get into trouble since it’s our idea.”

  When we got into the basement I couldn’t believe how neat it was. Except for a small area around the workbench where Chris was developing his product, there was hardly anything else in the room. In a far corner he had left a pair of steel utility shelves against the wall that were loaded from floor to ceiling with buckets of paint. Adjacent to the workbench he’d arranged some smaller bookshelves and an old metal desk that was covered with papers and colorful spills from whatever he was trying to invent. Some test tubes, beakers, a mortar and pestle, and an alcohol Bunsen burner were also on the desktop. The rest of the room was empty.

  “He’s really cleaned this place. The last time I was down here junk was stacked to the ceiling!” Of course that meant my bedroom was the only messy room left in the house. I began to have guilt pangs about picking up my clothes.

  “Come on,” said Melissa. “Let’s see what’s cooking.”

  We went to the workbench and found measuring cups, spoons, a blender, more beakers and test tubes, and a dozen tall jars full of strange liquids. Some of the liquids were clear and some looked like muddy soup. But most contained bright colors, like red, orange, blue or green. I leaned over a container and sniffed the contents cautiously.

  “That smells good! Kind of fruity. This one’s good, too.”

  Melissa smelled one. She made a face and backed away. “Whew! That smells like rotten oranges!” She sniffed again. Another face. “That’s even worse! There’s fruit flies everywhere.” Melissa pointed at a jar containing a clear, blue liquid that was full of almond-sized, brown objects with legs. “Are those cockroaches? Yuck!”

  “This place is gross. What do you think he’s making? Some kind of fruit drink?”

  “If he is I’m not drinking it! Maybe we should get samples of everything? We could get them chemically analyzed.”

  “How much would that cost?”

  Melissa shrugged. “Probably too much. Hey, is that a hairbrush? And it’s full of hair, gross! What’s that doing down here?”

  “Who cares? Let’s go, I’ve seen enough.” At that moment I spotted a stack of legal pads at the end of the workbench. “This must be his recipe!” We each took up some of the pads and tried to read what was written on the sheets. But the markings were strange, like some foreign language with a weird looking alphabet. Even the numbers were difficult to read, though it was clear enough that they were numbers because of the way they were arranged.

  “What language is this?” I asked, unable to decipher the mysterious scribbling. “Is it Greek?”

  Melissa shook her head. “I know a few Greek letters. It’s something else.”

  “We should take one of the pages and try to figure out what it says later. Maybe the letters are on the internet.” I was about to tear off a page when Melissa grabbed my hand.

  “You should take a sheet off one of the bottom pads,” she suggested. “He might notice if something on top is missing.”

  “Good point.” We moved all the pads out of the way except for the bottom one, where I tore off one of the sheets from the middle. “This is good.” I folded the paper and stuffed it into my pocket. “It’s got lots of different symbols on it.” We re-stacked the pads and stepped back to make sure they looked okay. “Let’s go.”

  “But we still don’t know what he’s making,” said Melissa. “Let’s take some samples. We can worry about how much it will cost to analyze them later.”

  “Well, okay.” I checked the time on my cell phone. “What can we put them in? Test tubes?”

  Melissa looked around. “There aren’t any clean ones, but that beaker looks clean. Which jar should we sample?”

  “I don’t know, maybe the red one there. It’s kind of pretty and…” I stopped mid-sentence and looked up at the ceiling. I felt the blood drain from my face.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Melissa.

  “He’s coming!”

  We started for the stairs, but the back door rattled and began to open. I froze with Melissa at my shoulder. We gawked at the door, eyes wide with fear.

  Hide! I shouted into Melissa’s mind. But where?

  The back door swung open. Luckily, Chris was loaded down with bags of groceries and kept his back to us as he tried to close the door with his foot. Melissa ducked under the old desk. I looked to join her, but there was only room for one. I was trapped in the open. My feet were stuck to the floor. I was so frightened I nearly screamed. I saw the tall metal shelves stacked with paint in the far corner of the basement. I slipped behind one shelf and pressed my body against the wall. A moment later Chris closed the door and set the shopping bags on Melissa’s desk. I watched it all through a space between paint cans, afraid even to breathe.

  Suddenly, Chris looked up. “Who’s in here?”

  I nearly swallowed my tongue. My heart pounded so loud I was sure half the neighborhood could hear it. Chris scanned the room suspiciously. Then he relaxed, apparently satisfied it was a false alarm. I watched him move the stuff out of the shopping bags and set everything on the workbench. I saw boxes of cough drops, all different brands and flavors. And there were several quart-sized jars of cranberry juice and some cans of navy beans.

  Chris began to mix the ingredients into a large pot. Next, he mashed it all into a runny, red paste. He scooped out a portion of the paste and dropped it into another pot, where he added three cherry cough drops and poured in a measured amount of tonic water. He constantly stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, and taste-tested it every so often. Whenever he added something to the pot he wrote it down on the top legal pad.

  Chris nodded to himself and looked around the workbench. He took up the hairbrush and started vigorously brushing his hair. I looked on, puzzled. I’d never seen him brush his hair so hard before and he seemed to be shedding because the brush filled up rapidly with thick, dark hair, which wasn’t easy considering he was going bald.

  Chris stopped and pulled enough hair out of the brush to make a toupee. He dropped the whole mess into the pot. I gagged and covered my mouth. Was he going to eat that?

  Chris took the jar of fruity-smelling red juice and poured it into the mix. He stirred it some more before dumping the contents into the blender, which he ran for several seconds before shutting it off. Finally, he took off the lid and sipped the mixture.

  I couldn’t watch. I closed my eyes and turned away. Chris was drinking his own liquefied hair!

  For the next few minutes Chris paced the room, deep in thought. Something wasn’t quite right. I tried to scan his mind to see what he was thinking, but again I couldn’t get a reading. It was so frustrating. He didn’t look like a demon, and if he were possessed wouldn’t he be floating above the floor or vomiting pea soup across the room? He did hit his head; he’d had that big lump on his forehead when we were in the cave with him. Would that make him crazy?

  Chris paced in my direction. He turned and marched toward the stairs. A moment later he did an about-face and came toward me again. This time he kept walking. He we
nt right up to the wall and paused next to my shelf. I couldn’t move. I didn’t dare. He was in front of me less than a meter away. If he glanced to his left we’d be face to face.

  Abruptly, Chris turned to his right and hurried back to the blender. I let out a long, low sigh of relief. He went to the workbench and took down a rubber mallet from a hook on the wall. He reached into the blue mixture and removed several dead cockroaches. Setting the cockroaches on the workbench, he proceeded to smash them into tiny, mushy pieces with the mallet. He scraped up the roach guts and measured out a specific amount on the electronic scale. He dumped it all into the red mixture in the blender and turned it on high. When it was done, he tasted it.

  Chris smacked his lips.

  “Very good,” he said, nodding to himself. “Yes, very good.”

  He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and took out a gold chain from around his neck. I’d never seen him wear anything like that before. Hanging from the chain, like a necklace, was a solid black cylinder, which looked a lot like a lipstick case. Chris removed the top, revealing the end of a thin silver tube. He held the tube over the mixture in the blender and touched the base. The tube lit up.

  I had a good view of the blender and its contents as I strained to see what was going on. Clearly, the liquid wasn’t disturbed at all by anything he did with the cylinder. Did something happen when it lit up? I couldn’t tell, but the entire act seemed terribly important. Maybe Chris had some magic of his own.

  Chris stirred the ingredients with a dirty spoon, then tasted it. He got very excited. He danced about the room and jumped up and down, clapping. He abruptly made himself stop.

  “I have much work to do! I must work hard and fast!” His eyes were wild as he went about the room emptying all the other jars into one gigantic pot. He carried the heavy pot to the rear exit, where he struggled to find the doorknob. Finally, he opened the door and stepped outside.

  “Kelly! Let’s go!” Melissa came out from under the desk. We started for the stairs again. But Chris was only gone a moment. When he came back, we were in the middle of the basement. We barely had a second to duck behind Melissa’s desk.

  Chris hadn’t seen us yet, but this time we weren’t hidden. And he was coming our way. If he set the pot on the desk he’d notice us for sure. Somehow I had to stop him.

  Chris! Go back outside! Hurry! It’s your recipe!

  My blast of mental commands had no effect on him whatsoever. He never even heard them. He continued to approach and I couldn’t stop him.

  TRAVIS

  Travis turned off the TV and followed Angie into the kitchen to help her put away the groceries. Whenever she went to the store he liked to help put things away so he could keep his mental inventory up to date. He was about to hang a roll of paper towels on the rack by the sink when he got a distress call from Kelly.

  Travis! Help us! We’re in the basement! Hurry!

  Travis looked up confused. It had to be Kelly, but what was she doing in the basement? She had definitely said, help us. So who was down there with her? And why were they there? She must have been crazy to go in the basement.

  “Where’s Chris?” he asked, as Angie left the room to get the rest of the groceries from the minivan.

  “He went to the basement,” she said back to him, disappearing out the front door.

  Kelly needed a diversion. Somehow Travis had to distract Chris so she could escape. He had to do it fast. But what could he do?

  Desperate, he took up a roll of paper towels and got the new cell phone out of his pocket. He flipped open the phone camera and got ready to take some pictures. Then he charged down the basement stairs, yelling like a maniac.

  “Aaaaaaah!” Travis stomped his feet as loud as he could all the way down.

  Chris was so startled he dropped the big pot he was holding. It clanged loudly and rolled across the concrete floor. He spun around and stood there, glaring. Travis snapped a picture of him.

  “Get out of here!” said Chris angrily. “My recipe is a secret!”

  “Your recipe is stupid!” said Travis. “And so are you!” He threw the roll of paper towels as hard as he could. To his surprise, it struck Chris right in the face. Travis snapped a photo when it hit him. Chris picked up the roll and crushed it with one hand. Travis snapped another photo.

  For a moment they just stared at each other. Travis was scared and Chris was so furious his eyes flashed bright green. He didn’t even look human. Travis took two more snapshots. Chris got madder and madder, but he still didn’t do anything. Somehow, Travis had to get him out of the basement or Kelly might have to spend the night down there. Finally, he did the one thing that always seemed to tick off adults, even though it was totally stupid.

  “Nanny-nanny boo-boo!” Travis danced in place and shook his butt at Chris. That did it. Chris’ face grew scarlet. He tossed the paper towels at Travis.

  “I’ll get you!”

  Travis ducked the towels and ran for his life up the stairs. He sprinted through the kitchen and blew past Angie as she set a final bag of groceries on the counter. Chris was right on his heels, but Angie caught Chris by the arm and jerked him to a halt.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Chris shoved her away. “He was in the basement! He hit me in the face!”

  “He hit you?”

  “With this!” Chris picked up the crushed paper towels. “Wait till I get my hands on him!”

  KELLY

  Melissa and I were half way around the block when we met Travis going the other way.

  “You got out!” said Travis, breathing hard.

  “You did great, Travis!” I said. “He never even noticed us. We went out the back door as soon as he went after you.”

  “You’re pretty fast, Travis,” said Melissa, impressed.

  “I took pictures of ‘im when he got mad!” Travis grinned. “Look.” He showed us the pictures he took of Chris on his cell phone. We laughed so hard.

  “Oh my gosh!” said Melissa. “We need to put them on the internet! How come his eyes are green?”

  “It’s the flash, I guess,” said Travis, not really knowing.

  “But don’t most people’s eyes look red? It’s called red-eye. I’ve got software that removes red-eye on my computer. I don’t have anything for green-eye.”

  “Maybe it depends who you are?” I said it with a shrug.

  “Thanks a lot for saving us, Travis,” said Melissa. “How did you know we needed help?”

  “Kelly told me,” he said, grinning. “It’s a good thing she can read minds, or you guys would be dead now.”

  As soon as he said it I gasped. Melissa looked at me, then at Travis. Travis covered his mouth, helpless. “Oops.”

  “You are telepathic!” said Melissa. “I knew it!”

  “How did you know?” I asked, totally distressed.

  “Because I’ve heard you thinking, though I was never sure if you were speaking with your mouth or your mind. That is, until back there in the basement when you told me to hide. I was looking right at you and you never opened your mouth.”

  Melissa, you’re my best friend. Please don’t tell anyone.

  Melissa lit up excitedly. “You did it again! This is so cool! Kelly, don’t worry.” She stopped in midsentence. I’ll never tell a soul, unless you make me.

  I got the message loud and clear. I smiled. I knew Melissa was telling the truth. “I was going to tell you eventually. But nobody else on the planet knows except my big mouth brother here. Not even Jon knows, though, for some reason he can completely block me out of his head.”

  “Sorry, Kelly,” said Travis really feeling bad. “I never slipped before. Melissa’s like part of the family. I didn’t even think about it.”

  I glared at Travis, then softened. “We’ll let it slide, little bro’. Besides, we both owe you.” Be more careful next time!

  Travis nodded like he meant it. His expression became distressed. “Do you think Angie‘ll be mad at me?”


  “I wouldn’t worry about Angie. It’s Chris who’s ticked off. Maybe you should apologize to him right off, it might calm him down. Let’s go home.”

  As we started back to the house, Melissa asked the same question that had been on my mind since I’d seen it. “So what’s with that thing around Chris’ neck? What do you think it does?”

  “How did you see it?” I asked. “You were under the desk.”

  “There was a hole in the privacy wall. I saw everything he did.”

  “What thing?” asked Travis.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe it kills the germs in those pots. But it doesn’t matter because I am never drinking any of that nasty stuff. Never.”

  “We didn’t do very good detective work,” said Melissa. “We didn’t get any samples at all.”

  “No,” I agreed. “I guess his secret recipe is still a secret.”