by David Graham
Well, that’s an original way of doing it, Steve thought. “Nurse Elliott mentioned you had something to show me. Was this it?”
Joseph jumped to the floor. “Er, not exactly, Officer,” he said. He inspected Steve’s face close up. “Yup, I thought so.” The teenager reached into a stack of canvases and withdrew one measuring about 18 inches square. “I hope you like it.” His hands were shaking as he handed it over.
Steve reversed the canvas and rotated it through 90 degrees. He’d had plenty of photos taken of him over the years, but Joseph’s pen and ink drawing was a first. Somehow the boy had recalled how he’d been sitting on his first visit, and had caught his thoughtful posture and half-amused look as he’d watched Joseph draw the 3D peanut with its Dali-esque ears. He’d even added a couple of realistic-looking moles.
“See, I remembered that,” Joseph said. “So, whaddya think?”
Steve realised he’d been touching the mole beneath his right eye. Dale used to kid that it made him look like Enrique Iglesias. Steve glanced at the teenager. His bright-eyed keenness reminded him of how easily his enthusiasm had been dashed by some teacher’s smartass put-down. But the drawing was unnerving in its precision. Creepy, in fact.
“It’s awesome, Joseph,” Steve said. “But I don’t get how were you able to draw that having only met me the once. Surely you must’ve taken a photo on a cell without my knowing?”
The teen looked shocked. “I’m not stupid enough to risk that again, Officer. And, anyway, they’ve all been confiscated.”
Big feet in mouth strike again, Steve thought. He slapped himself playfully across the cheek. “I’m such an idiot, Joseph. Will you ever forgive me?” He dropped to one knee with his hands held up in mock piety.
Joseph giggled. “Yeah, but only if you let me show you something else, although you’ll have to promise not to tell anyone.” He bounded over to a larger stack of paintings and extracted a canvas that was double the size of the previous drawing.
For once in his life, Steve was lost for words. Rather than a black and white drawing, the canvas was a photorealistic painting, and Joseph had somehow been able to visualise him without any clothes on. It was also uncannily accurate – with the exception of the six-pack abdomen the teenager had given him. “Jeez, Joseph,” he said, sweeping his hair back from his forehead.
Joseph looked deflated. “You don’t like it, then,” he grumbled, staring at the floor.
Steve put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Joseph, it’s quite probably the best painting I’ve ever seen in my life, but – ”
“Okay, okay, I know I exaggerated parts of you,” Joseph said blushing.
“Er, no, not exactly – ” Steve felt blood incriminating its way towards his face, “ – it’s just a bit weird drawing someone unclothed without seeing them naked.” X-ray vision had to be a first for the art world, with the exception of the guy who dreamed up Superman for DC Comics.
“It’s a painting,” Joseph corrected.
“Okay, it’s weird painting someone naked,” Steve said. He sighed. “And it takes way too much explanation. I mean, I can’t exactly show that to my partner.”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna give it you, anyway,” he said with a toss of his head. “But it might go in my first exhibition,” he added with a grin.
“You dare!” Steve said.
Steve caught up with the nurse as he was leaving. “I see he’s given you the drawing,” Nurse Elliott said.
“Yeah,” Steve said. He wished he didn’t blush so easily. “It’s amazing. How the hell does he do it?”
“The brain damage seems to have liberated an artistic ability. That sometimes happens with people who’ve had strokes. He’s also developed a photographic memory. Some of that might be due to the meds, but we’re not sure.”
“Has this happened with any of the other patients?” Steve said, already thinking of expanding his write-up.
The nurse nodded. “Yeah, we’ve seen something similar in other kids, although not to the extent of Joseph. One girl is writing symphonies. She was tone deaf before. Another is writing poems. The guys that developed the medication are crowdfunding the drug as a cognitive enhancer. They’ve named their company ‘Cogniz’.”
“Cool name. So, what do Joseph’s folk think about his talent?”
Nurse Elliott sighed. “Well, they’re not exactly over the moon. He was all set to go to Harvard Law School and follow in his dad’s footsteps. But they’ve come round to it. Shit, they should be relieved he’s pulled through! Anyhow, he’s taking a year out studying art in Italy. So plenty of life classes, I guess.”
“They won’t know what hit them.”
The nurse chuckled. “Yeah, he’s certainly got a knack with his brushes.”
Dilys was all ears when Ceri told her about the chat she’d had with her mum. She said her parents had always suspected there was something strange about the Queen. People didn’t reach the age of 88 without their fair share of gammy legs, cancer of one sort or another, going doolally and a bedside table covered with pills. Dilys thought that if it wasn’t witchery, then it had to be a pact with Satan, which was almost more exciting. It had also been her idea to use her mum’s kitchen for their second attempt with Granny Betty’s cauldron. Dilys thought moving the cauldron to somewhere without so many memories might make it behave itself. She’s a bright spark that one, Ceri thought.
“Are you sure your mam won’t be back until later?” Ceri asked, looking out of the window at the bicyclestrewn front path. She’d almost dropped the cauldron on her right foot dodging the spare wheels and other cycling detritus.
“Of course, silly. It’s her bridge club afternoon and she never leaves until she’s had tea and scones,” Dilys said with a sniff. She’d just tried lifting the cauldron and couldn’t budge it from the floor. That had made her sweat like a pig, which didn’t do much for her complexion. In fact, she’d been blushing an awful lot ever since she saw that poster in the library.
Ceri took over and hoisted the cauldron onto the solid oak breakfast bar as if it was an empty saucepan.
“I don’t understand,” Dilys said, shaking her head, her arms crossed sternly over her chest. “I mean, I’m just as strong as you, Ceri bach.”
Ceri looked at her friend. As long as she wasn’t toppled by her ample bosom, that was probably true, but the cauldron clearly had different ideas. “That’s the variable mass I told you about. Don’t know how it works, though,” Ceri said with a shrug.
Dilys switched on the halogen spots and the two of them peered into the brightly illuminated interior of the pot. Ceri had expected it to reflect something back, but it remained a dull black that got darker the more she looked. She touched a finger tentatively just below the rim and immediately withdrew it, uttering a yelp.
“Jiw, jiw! It’s boiling, Dilys bach.”
“No way,” Dilys said, extending an inquisitive digit towards the mysteriously self-heating vessel. “Gosh, you’re right! It’s scorching!” She frowned. “I don’t get it. How can it be so hot? It’s only a lump of mangy old iron and it’s not even on the stove.”
They heard a sound like metal grating against metal. It was brief but insistent and came from the cauldron. It could even have been someone rattling their chains before they had their head chopped off. Ceri enjoyed a bit of horror when she’d finished her homework.
“You hear that?” Ceri said, peering cautiously into the pot. “It sounds like it’s groaning.” She could feel warmth on her face. There was a curious smell, too. It reminded her of the spices her mother put in a curry, but there was something sharper as well. She coughed to clear her throat.
“That’s odd, that is,” Dilys said, shielding her eyes and squinting in concentration. “Perhaps it’s the light. Mam’s always going on about the halogens giving her a headache.” She took a sniff and her face suddenly lit up. “Wow, that’s like chicken tikka masala!” Her stomach rumbled loudly. “So, are we going to
try the hex or not?” she said. “I’m getting hungry.”
“Look, I don’t need the pressure. Let me think, Dilys bach.” It was only a day until Dai’s wedding and Ceri wanted to find out more about the Palace’s involvement. According to her mother, the Queen had arranged it herself at a nearby church, which seemed unusual. She must have had more important things to do on a Saturday afternoon. The Queen was definitely meddling.
Ceri had been surprised to be included on the invitation list. Dai had said something about bygones and burying the hatchet – or maybe that had been her mother’s interpretation. Her mother had said she could go if she promised to be on her best behaviour. Well, really! She was 15, after all.
And she also had to practise her witchery on something. So, she’d come to the conclusion that one more attempt couldn’t do any harm. She wouldn’t do the whole divination hex this time. It would just be a gentle peek into what went on in the Palace. She reached into her school satchel and extracted a photo. She’d obtained it from the Pontypridd Observer offices. It wasn’t the most flattering picture and showed her mother talking with the Queen at the opening of the new medical unit. The photographer had caught her with her mouth hanging open.
“Where are the scissors?” Ceri asked, looking around.
Dilys was busy stuffing a packet of chocolate digestives into her mouth. In between handfuls, she passed Ceri some scissors from a drawer next to the stove. Ceri trimmed the photo to remove her mother from the picture. The cropped image looked as if the Queen was talking to a vacant space. Ceri peered closer and noticed that there was something green hanging from Her Majesty’s lower lip. “Look at this, Dilys,” she said, pointing at the photo. “The Queen’s got a blooming garden growing in her mouth!”
The two of them cracked up laughing. Ceri wondered what counted as treason these days. “Shush,” Dilys said, her voice collapsing back into giggles. “The cauldron might tell tales on us. She might feed us to her corgis.” Dilys spluttered bits of biscuit all over the breakfast bar.
“C’mon, let’s get on with this, Dilys bach,” Ceri said, brushing away tears of laughter. “I’ll put the photo in the cauldron and give it a stir. What’ve you got to put in it, then?”
Dilys reached into a cupboard and took out something that looked like a small doll. Ceri took one look at the miniature version of the Queen and tears streamed again. Dilys wound the key at the back of the figure and its gloved right arm waved jerkily up and down.
“Oh, that’s wicked, that is,” Ceri said. “Where did you get it?”
“Dad brought it back from one of his business trips. It’s like one of those waving cats in Japan. He said it’s meant to bring good luck so long as you keep it wound up. Of course I’m always forgetting. That’s why I’ve put it in the cupboard with the biscuits.”
Ceri added the doll to the cauldron with its arm still wagging. She tossed in some freeze-dried eye of newt and toe of frog for good measure. She consulted a slip of paper she’d taken out of a pocket. “Here’s the incantation. It’s just two lines, so I reckon it’ll do the divination without causing any damage.”
Dilys raised an eyebrow. “It’d better, Ceri bach, or my mam will never forgive me.”
Ceri glanced around the pristine kitchen. “Better fill a saucepan with water just in case. That’s how my mother got rid of the orb on All Hallows’ Eve. She said it just fizzled to nothing.”
The two of them started reciting the incantation while Ceri stirred the cauldron with an ancient wooden spoon:
She is the one who led Dai astray
She is the one whose home we open up
According to Ceri’s great grandmother’s book, the sound of the words did the trick by making the cauldron resonate. Female voices were said to be more effective than male voices, which explained why good male witches were rare. Inhaling helium was one way of getting around that, but chipmunk voices made cauldrons get up to way too much mischief. Another option was castration, but that had gone out of fashion apart from in the transgender witchery community.
At first, nothing seemed to be happening in the cauldron, but then they saw something like fog creeping over the bottom of the vessel. The temperature had dropped, too. As the vapour climbed up the sides, they could make out the doll’s hand moving. But was it waving hello, goodbye or saying, ‘Help, I’m drowning!’? Ceri wondered. The vapour formed into a peak in the centre, then became a ball that rose until it was just above the cauldron. It started spinning with a whooshing sound and turned translucent. Ceri and Dilys chanted louder, willing it to turn into a window looking in on the Palace. Perhaps it’ll open up inside the Queen’s bedroom, Ceri thought. It was definitely becoming clearer. Then they saw an eye whizzing around inside the ball. Or it could have been many eyes; it was hard to tell. It felt as if they were being watched. The eye blinked once and disappeared. The ball regained its vaporous quality and sank back into the cauldron. Then the mist vanished altogether.
“What the fuck was that?” said Dilys, all wide-eyed.
“Dunno,” said Ceri, equally dumbstruck. “The hex definitely wasn’t bloody meant to do that. Let’s look in the cauldron and see what’s been left behind.”
They leaned over the cauldron until their heads were almost touching. The two objects they’d put in the pot were still there. Ceri cautiously plucked out the photo with some tongs and put it onto the counter. At first glance it didn’t look any different, but then the sharpeyed Dilys noticed something.
“Look, Ceri bach, she’s signed it!”
Ceri looked at where Dilys’s finger was pointing. It was the Queen’s signature. “Gosh, you’re right! But how ... Let me check the doll ...”
Ceri extracted the doll with the tongs. It had stopped waving its arm, but otherwise it looked like it did before they’d put it in the cauldron. Dilys turned the key to wind it up. The arm didn’t wave, but the head rotated through 360 degrees and then stopped. It could have been a trick of the light, of course. As Dilys’s mother had said, those halogen bulbs were far too bright. Ceri wondered what sort of lights the Queen had in Buckingham Palace. Perhaps she’d find out tomorrow. An icy draft had entered the kitchen and was lapping around their feet.
“You’re kidding!” Steve said, yanking at the recalcitrant zipper on his bag.
Dale paused his packing and stood with his hands on his hips. It was meant to look butch, but it failed abysmally. He had the same problem when he attempted line dancing. “Dude, do you think I’d kid about ovenroasted digits served up to Chief Scanlon with authentic Kansas City barbecue sauce?”
Steve considered that carefully. “Possibly, but it’d depend on whether I’d been restricting your diet recently.”
Dale rolled his eyes. “Okay, but you gotta admit it’s a pretty mean trick to play on the department.”
“You think it was all planned, then?” Steve said, still tugging away at the bag.
Dale nodded. “You might say that I knew it.”
“What ...” Steve couldn’t quite get the words out, but at least the zipper had finally come unstuck.
“In fact, he’d left the trainers in a hidden compartment in the closet and Ma Bell let me see my finding them.”
“Shit, you’re kidding me!”
Dale shook his head. “There’s more. He’d left a note saying, ‘It takes one to know one.’”
“Jeez! So he knew that you’d go looking for them before you knew you would yourself.”
Steve could see that Dale was pondering the logic. “That kinda sums it up,” he said.
“Fuck! But how?”
Dale shrugged. “I was thinking of phoning the doctor to find out, but you know what he’d say.”
“Yeah. Yet more entangled particles or something.” Steve rubbed his eyes. “Jeez, that’s just so weird. Still, the chief must be pleased you nailed the creep. Shame he’s dead, though.”
Dale cleared his throat. “Er, he may not be.”
“What ...?” Steve’s jaw had hit
the floor.
“The body went missing somewhere between his condo and the ER.”
“Jesus!”
Dale chuckled. “Yeah, it’s a tad too like Lazarus for comfort. Anyway, the chief isn’t blaming me for the fiasco. In fact, ...” Dale dug into his jacket and extracted a sheet of folded paper, which he unfolded and handed to Steve.
Steve couldn’t believe his eyes. “Wow, business class seats!” The surprise sank with a thud. “Fuck – you haven’t sold the car, have you?”
“Let’s say the chief and I reached an amicable agreement,” Dale said with a wink. “Actually, I promised to do overtime through Christmas. I also mentioned we’d be meeting the Queen. He almost prostrated himself at my feet.”
At least Dale hadn’t offered to do extra shifts over Thanksgiving. Meeting his folks was still the next big step in their relationship. “So, what d’you think she’ll be like?”
“Hmm, a bit like Rose in Golden Girls. But with pearls and a tiara. And not so ditzy.”
“So, we’d better be on good behaviour. No kissing coppers T-shirts this time.”
“And we’re taking our IDs. I guarantee there’ll be no detours to custody suites on the way to the church.”
Dale continued with his packing while Steve watched. He was surprised how methodically Dale approached the task. “Hey, did you hear about Staley High and Virginia Ironside?” Steve said.
“Nope, should I have? Has she been arrested for abusing minors?”
Steve laughed. “No, better. She got the axe along with Principal Davies after he was videoed at Missie B’s with his hands in some guy’s pants. She seems to have vanished off the face of the Earth.”
“I always thought she was an alien. Jeez, those hornrimmed glasses!”
Steve actually thought that Virginia Ironside’s glasses were a positive feature. But Dale’s quip about her abusing minors wasn’t far off. She seemed to take a sadistic delight in belittling students who’d been summoned to Principal Davies’s office. Still, it couldn’t have been easy for the school dealing with the aftermath of the Marshall case.