The Night of the Solstice

by L. J. Smith

“Alys!”

  “Take a deep breath and try again. Count to three.”

  Janie clutched her by the shirt and towed her to the wall. “Alys, look. Look, Alys.” she said in a terribly controlled voice. “They’re not labeled. No labels. Do you know what that means?”

  “Sweet heavens,” whispered Alys, sitting down on the floor.

  Everyone looked at the rows of shelves that towered above them, each shelf bristling with unlabeled containers.

  “There must be a million of ’em,” said Charles.

  “Probably only a few thousand. But it might as well be a million,” said Alys.

  Claudia’s lower lip trembled. Alys gathered her into one arm, shaking her head. They had come so close. Numbly, she took a bottle from the nearest shelf, one just off the floor. Inside the dusty glass she could see the wink of greenish powder. It could have been peacock coal for all she knew, or ground elephant’s ear, or essence of deadly nightshade.

  Charles, across the room, was whistling aimlessly. He took a bottle, shook it, peered at it, then replaced it. He looked up at the next shelf, and the one after that. He slapped his thighs a few times with open hands, flexing his knees. He picked up another bottle.

  “Don’t breathe it,” said Alys automatically, as he tried to take the stopper out. “It might be poisonous.”

  “I can’t even open it,” said Charles, struggling. “The cork’s in tight.”

  Alys twisted the glass stopper of her own bottle. “Mine, too.”

  “Vacuum packed,” said Charles with a weak grin, and he bent to rap the bottle on the stone floor. “That’s got it,” he said as the stopper came free.

  “Good idea,” said Alys, rapping her own bottle.

  “Stop!” shrieked Janie. “Don’t anybody move! Charles, don’t put that bottle back!”

  “Janie,” began Alys mildly.

  “Hold on to those bottles! Don’t forget which ones they are! Oh, don’t you see?” she cried as the others stared at her. “They’re sealed. They’re vacuum-packed. None of them has been opened in five hundred years. Except—”

  “Holy cripes!” said Charles, astonished.

  “Janie,” said Alys, “you are a genius. Claudia, do you understand? All we have to do now is try all the bottles, and the ones that open are the ones holding what Morgana put into the amulet. We did it. We actually did it!” She hugged Claudia hard, and Charles shouted, and even Janie smiled.

  “But now we’ve got to work,” said Alys briskly. “We need some chairs to reach the higher shelves—”

  “I’ll get them,” said Charles.

  “—and some candles, too. It’s so dark that—omigosh! It’s dark! Dinner!”

  There was a mad rush for the stairs.

  * * *

  They ate dinner in a daze. Their parents were more than a little bemused by their sudden urgent desire for one another’s company. It had been years, commented Dr. Hodges-Bradley, since all four of her children had spent an afternoon together.

  “It’s—it’s a surprise,” said Alys. “You know, Dad’s birthday is coming. We’re working on it again tonight.”

  Mr. Hodges-Bradley looked pleased.

  “Why, darlings, how nice of you,” said their mother. “But even so, I don’t want Claudia out late.”

  “Late, late, what’s late?” gabbled Alys, seeing Claudia’s mouth open to its widest in preparation for a yell.

  “You know her bedtime is eight o’clock.”

  “Eight? Eight? How about eight-thirty?” Claudia was now as purple as a beet. Charles was doing something to her under the table to keep her quiet, but he wouldn’t be able to restrain her long.

  “It’s only this one night,” continued Alys feverishly. “I’ll take care of her, Mom. Please, just for one night.”

  Dr. Hodges-Bradley blinked. “Well … if it’s that important to you. But, remember, tomorrow’s a school day.”

  So Claudia went with them back to Morgana’s secret storeroom. They brought from home the emergency candles from the kitchen cupboard and Claudia’s Santa Claus candle that had never been lit and Alys’s camping flashlight. Alys and Charles stood on chairs and tested the upper shelves; Janie and Claudia took the lower ones.

  Alys made the first find, a bottle of bright golden feathers, whose stopper yielded easily to her hand. Triumphantly, she passed it down to Janie. Then Claudia found a bottle full of red crystals. Then Alys found another bottle, then Charles. Soon they were flying through the shelves.

  “Uh-oh,” said Charles once, and Alys looked at him.

  “An empty,” he said.

  Janie moved to his side and Alys went on testing bottles. She had a terrible feeling about that empty. Maybe it had contained something easy like quicksilver or flyclub—but she didn’t think so.

  Janie told them when they had gathered thirteen bottles, but they went ahead and tested the rest anyway. Janie said it would help prove their hypothesis. Alys was hoping they would find another bottle to make up for that empty.

  All the other stoppers were in tight. At last, with a crick in her neck, Alys stepped down from her chair.

  “Well?” she said to Janie.

  “We have exactly thirteen bottles. Problem: Twelve are full, one is empty. Question: Which one?”

  At Janie’s suggestion, they took the bottles to the kitchen and let her sort them. “Because,” she said, “if we can figure out what we do have, we can tell what we don’t have.” Janie opened every jar, and when she was satisfied she’d identified one she made a check on the master list of ingredients. At last she’d examined all the bottles.

  “It’s just what you’d expect,” she said wearily, sitting back. “I can’t be sure of telling those plants from one another, but I do know we’ve got all four. The feathers and the mercury are easy. The minerals are easy. These little brown things I think are flyclub, and the bright things are sunfish scales. Which leaves …”

  “The human bone. Naturally.”

  “So we’re back where we started,” said Charles.

  “Not exactly,” said Janie. “We have twelve out of thirteen ingredients.”

  “Yes, and how are we going to get the thirteenth?”

  “There are ways,” said Janie, but she didn’t say it very loudly.

  After that, conversation languished.

  Early the next morning Charles knocked at the door of his mother’s darkroom.

  “Come on in.” His mother was bent over the sink, her fair hair coppery in the red light. “What is it?”

  “Mmmm,” said Charles, studying the ceiling with elaborate casualness. Then: “Say, Mom, do you get many broken bones at the office?”

  “A few,” said his mother, amused.

  “Well,” said Charles, “I mean, like, do you ever get people whose bones are sticking out of their skin? And maybe little splinters breaking off?”

  “Cases like that go straight to the emergency room of a hospital. Why on earth do you want to know?”

  “Oh, I just wondered,” Charles said vaguely. He wandered out again. He knew perfectly well what Alys would say, but he mentioned his idea to her anyway over breakfast.

  Alys said it. “We are not going to lurk around any hospitals looking for injured people. You’re as bad as Janie.”

  Charles shrugged.

  Chapter 7

  A SHARD OF HUMAN BONE

  On the way to school, Alys said, “We need money.”

  “Don’t tell me. We’re going to hire some grave robbers,” said Charles.

  “No, I’m serious. Even if we don’t have the you-know-what there’s plenty of other equipment we need to actually mix up the amulet. The crucible of gold, for instance—”

  “—is in Morgana’s sink,” said Charles. “So are the mortar and pestle.”

  “All right, but we still need the ‘red girdel of pleached corde,’ and the blue shoes—that’s what ‘shodde in blue’ means, you know. According to Janie’s book, the ‘girdel’ isn’t an eighteen-hour girdl
e, it’s just a belt. And ‘pleached’ means braided. So it looks like we have to buy red cord to braid. Plus, the book says that pure virgin garments are clothes that have never been worn, and although I suppose we can dig up one set of new clothes between us, the shoes we have to buy.”

  “I’ve got blue tennis shoes,” offered Claudia.

  Alys shook her head. “They’ve been worn. And we also have to buy green silk to make the bags, and silk isn’t cheap.”

  Charles sighed heavily. “All right, all right,” he said. “Dr. Foster did ask me if I could watch Kevin and Amy this afternoon so they don’t have to stay in day care. I wasn’t going to do it because that dog of theirs makes a break for freedom every time I open the door, and usually Kevin bites me. But if we really need money I will.”

  So after school Charles rode his bike to the Fosters’, which was on Center Street, almost at the foot of Morgana’s hill. Professor Foster, who taught at the University of California at Irvine, promised to be back by dinnertime. He also warned Charles—as if Charles needed any warning—not to let Zochimilcho, the Great Dane, into the house while the cat was inside.

  Kevin and Amy gave no more than the usual trouble, and by six o’clock Charles began to look for the professor’s return. He’d promised to meet Alys and the others at the old house. By six-thirty it was clear that the faculty meeting was running late, so Charles gave the kids a choice of bologna sandwiches or Wheaties for dinner and settled down with the cat to watch TV. At seven Janie showed up, looking cross.

  “It’s not my fault,” said Charles. “He said he’d be home by now. A lot of thanks I get for spending the whole afternoon with two screaming kids and a rabid dog.”

  Janie shot a critical look at Zochimilcho, who was testing the stress factor of the sliding glass door by hurling himself headlong against it. “Hyperactive,” she commented, and went to study a collection of Aztec artifacts in a glass case on the wall.

  “He’s an anthropologist, isn’t he?” she asked.

  “The dog?”

  “Never mind. Where’s the bathroom?”

  “First door down the hall after the professor’s study.”

  Janie was gone for several minutes. Charles flicked the TV from channel to channel.

  As Janie returned he heard a car outside. “See?” he said, turning off the TV and going to the window. “He’s back already. If you—what’s wrong?”

  “Charles—are you sure he’s back?”

  “Yeah, and he’s got some other people with him. Want to help me clean up Kevin and Amy?” He stepped into the playroom, but Janie stood quite still in the middle of the living room floor. Nor did she move when Charles herded Kevin and Amy out, and Dr. Foster and his guests came in.

  “Sorry to be late,” said the professor to Charles, and, “Hello, you’re Charles’s sister, aren’t you?” to Janie.

  “Yes,” said Janie. She was making queer agitated movements with her head and shoulders. Charles had the feeling she was trying to convey some message to him, but he had no idea what.

  “What do I owe you?” resumed the professor to Charles. “Let’s see, I’ve got some small bills in the study.” He moved off, with Kevin and Amy trailing behind. The guests stood in the entry hall. Janie, to Charles’s surprise, walked over to the sliding glass door.

  “Go with him,” she hissed at Charles.

  “What?”

  “Keep him occupied.”

  Bewildered but obedient, Charles headed for the hall. An instant later he froze, horrified, as he heard the unmistakable sound of a glass door opening. There was a terrific baying as Zochimilcho exploded into the house and promptly crashed into the dining room table.

  “What the—” From behind Charles, Dr. Foster came running. Charles, still paralyzed in the hallway, blocked him long enough for Zochimilcho to gain the living room. There was a wavering feline howl and then another crash.

  “Bad dog! Zochi! No! I said, nooooo!” Dr. Foster pushed past Charles into the living room. He could hardly be heard above all the other sounds. Charles turned furiously on Janie for an explanation, but she was elbowing her way past Dr. Foster’s guests.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said, although no one seemed to be listening.

  “Bad dog! Be quiet, Zochi! Who let him in?” Dr. Foster was roaring from the living room. Charles hastily went to help him drag Zochimilcho into the yard.

  “My sister let him in, sir,” he said then, wretchedly. “She—well, I guess she didn’t know any better.”

  “Of all the stupid—next time you tell her! Oh, well, no real harm done, I guess,” he added, seeing Charles’s face. “That was my dog, Zochimilcho!” he shouted to his guests. There seemed to be a certain note of pride in his voice.

  The mention of Janie had made Charles look around apprehensively. Where was she? Not in the bathroom, he was sure of that.

  “Good-bye, Charles,” chorused Amy and Kevin sweetly as Dr. Foster walked him to the door. To Charles’s relief Janie reappeared at that moment.

  “Good-bye, good-bye, professor,” she said, sidestepping Kevin. “Good-bye,” she said again, giving Charles a violent shove which landed them both outside before Dr. Foster could say a word. The last Charles saw of the professor he was standing in the doorway, shaking his head.

  “What was that about?” he hissed at Janie, jerking his arm away. Her bike stood by his on the driveway.

  “Shut up; we’ve got to get out of here,” she snarled back. “Hurry, Charles.” She was on her bike in a flash, launching herself toward the street, rising off the seat to put more muscle into her pedaling. It took Charles a minute or so to catch up with her—with Janie!—she was pumping at such a furious pace toward the hill.

  “Are you crazy?” he shouted as he drew alongside her.

  Janie glared at him, nearly ran into a parked car, and refused to answer. She was ahead of him all the way to Morgana’s, and only when they were standing under the beams of the ancient, smoke-stained kitchen, with Alys and Claudia staring at them, did she speak.

  “I’ve done it,” she said. “And he’ll probably find out and send me to jail for it. I don’t care. It’s Claudia’s fault in the first place. There!” With the last word she drew a packet out of her sleeve and threw it on the table.

  Alys picked up the little package of toilet paper and unwrapped it. Something like a piece of grayish yellow rock fell out.

  “What—” began Alys, but then she stopped.

  “I took it out of a glass case and chipped a bit off with his letter opener. I’ve ruined an archaeological artifact. I’m a vandal and a thief. And,” she added as Alys drew her into her arms as if she were as young as Claudia, “I’m proud of it.”

  Charles was still gazing at the little chip of rock, perplexed. “What are you talking about? What did you do?”

  “I vandalized the skull of an Aztec Indian. It was in a case in Dr. Foster’s study.” Janie pulled away from Alys and gestured at the piece of rock. “That’s human bone.”

  It took Charles a moment to absorb this statement.

  “But—bones are white. That thing’s the wrong color.”

  “Idiot. It’s hundreds of years old. Your bones aren’t going to look so great in six hundred years either.”

  This struck Charles as exquisitely funny and he began to laugh, Alys and Claudia joining in. They laughed until they were exhausted, the tension of the last few minutes dissolving.

  “Oh, Janie, you’re so funny,” said Claudia, and Janie flushed. No one had ever said such a thing to her before.

  It was Alys who turned serious first. “We’ve got all the ingredients,” she said, “and with Charles’s money I can buy the equipment. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll get ready. And tomorrow night, at moonrise, we’ll make it.”

  Chapter 8

  THE MAKING OF THE AMULET

  No one was exactly sure when the moon would rise on Wednesday, so they all hurried that afternoon. Alys frantically hand-stitched four bags out o
f green silk bought at a fabric store. At four-thirty she placed the finished bags in her backpack, along with a small hammer, a needle and thread, a pair of scissors, and an X-Acto knife. She then added the belt which Claudia had braided and a pair of blue bedroom slippers purchased from the five-and-dime. It had been cheaper to buy slippers than to dye regular shoes blue.

  She, Charles, and Claudia were halfway out the door when she remembered the virgin garments.

  “Drat! I’ve got virgin underwear and virgin socks,” she shouted to the others a few minutes later from behind her bedroom door, “and I suppose I can fit into the pink slacks Aunt Phyllis gave me last Christmas. But I’m darned if I can find a virgin shirt.”

  “I’ve got that T-shirt I bought in San Francisco,” Charles offered. “The one Dad said I’m not allowed to wear on the street.”

  “Is it virgin? Did you try it on?”

  “Never got the chance.”

  “Well, throw it in to me, then,” said Alys. A moment later she gave a snort, and when she emerged she was wearing her jacket buttoned up to her chin. Charles took one look at her pants and began to laugh.

  “So why do you think I’ve never worn them before? Come on, we’re keeping Janie waiting.”

  At the old house Janie had the mortar and pestle on the kitchen table along with the gold crucible and the bottles.

  “I’ve got everything ready,” she said. “I’ll read the ingredients to you. Those are awful pants.”

  “Thank you,” said Alys. “Start reading.”

  As Janie unfolded the spell Alys removed her jacket and wound the braided red cord about her waist. She kicked off her shoes and put on the slippers. Then, clad in fuzzy blue bedroom slippers with pom-poms on the toes, pink pants a size too small, red belt, and Charles’s black T-shirt with the indecent slogan, she took up the mortar and pestle.

  In went the deadly nightshade, the wild elephant’s ear, the bladderwort, and the stinking smut. Blobs of mercury slid over the powdered herbs as Alys poured quicksilver from the bottle. The minerals she pounded with the hammer before grinding them into the consistency of coarse sand. Then she dropped in a pinch of falcons teeth, a handful of glittering sunfish scales, the flyclub, and a single phoenix feather snipped into pieces with the scissors. Finally, with a brief pause for ceremony, she pounded and ground the shard of human bone.