by Sam Cheever
I followed Art to his room and watched him disappear inside. I heard the covers on his bed rustle and the springs creak as he climbed inside. A moment later, I heard him sigh as he did when he was settling into sleep. I closed the door and went back downstairs, relocking the basement door to hopefully keep Boyle from wandering down there.
Then I went back to my room. Boyle had thrown off the covers and was twitching like somebody was poking him with a finger, but his lips were turned up in a smile and he was laughing softly. I grinned at the silly baby and tugged the covers over him again, knowing it was probably a lost cause. He was too active of a sleeper to keep them on.
Still, the room was cold.
I shivered, stretching out next to Boyle. But I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts swirled around the possibilities of what I’d seen.
Had my brother been sleep-walking? I’d never known him to do it. And, if so, why had he come down the stairs? And how had he gotten past the extra lock I’d put on the door?
I should have boarded it up. I’d meant to, after finding out that Boyle was playing downstairs. But things had happened and I’d…
I sighed. I was boarding that door up first thing when Boyle woke. I didn’t want to wake him with the pounding. And, if I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to leave him alone in Victoria with Art while I went to get the stuff I’d need.
A stab of pain sliced through me at the thought. I didn’t trust my own brother. How pathetic was that?
I resettled myself, seeking the perfect position that would allow me to sleep. Shivering, I pulled the covers up under my chin. Burrowing into the soft mattress, I trembled until the warmth of the covers chased away the chill of the room, and tried to wipe my mind of worry.
I didn’t think I’d be able to manage it. In fact, I spent another hour lying there trying to push my whirling thoughts away. But I somehow fell asleep.
And dreamed of terrible things.
My jaw cracked on a yawn that nearly broke my face. I flipped the eggs I was frying and took another sip of my coffee. I’d eschewed my usual cup of tea and broken out the coffee pot, hoping the caffeine would help me wake up.
Behind me, sitting at the table, Boyle bounced energetically in his seat, his busy fingers slashing crayons across paper to create pictures he’d have to decipher for me later.
Whatever the baby gargoyle was going to become when he grew up, I sincerely doubted he’d be an artist. Though, what did I know about such things? For me, art was a painting of fruit or vibrantly colored flowers, with maybe a bee or two buzzing around them.
“It smells good in here,” Artur said from the doorway.
I slid a look his way. “There’s coffee on the stove.”
I’d long ago given up on the luxury of fast coffee when Victoria had fried my fancy coffee brewer for the fifth time. There was way too much magical energy flooding the house for most electronic gadgets to work.
The television worked if I only used it every few days. But, I was lucky the lamps and heating unit somehow managed to keep plodding on. Though I had to replace the lamps every few months, so I didn’t have very many of them.
Grams had left me a decent stash of gold and silver coins to keep Victoria running. I bartered with the people in Render and the surrounding areas for most of what I needed. A man came through town with a horse-drawn wagon selling household items and non-perishables once a month. And I sold home-canned vegetables and fruits twice a year to add to the coffers. But without sustainable work in the area around Render, I’d had to be frugal with my funds.
If I really needed something I didn’t have, there were several small towns like Render within an hour’s walk that sometimes had what I needed.
I’d found the French drip pot buried in a cabinet a couple of years earlier and had figured out how to use it by trial and error. It took forever to make a cup of coffee. But the output was delicious.
Art eyed the hourglass-shaped metal pot. “Fancy.”
I shook my head. “Practical. The electric brewing machines kept dying. Victoria’s too hot for them to handle.”
My brother and I shared a grin.
He rubbed a hand over Boyle’s orange tuft and the baby looked up, giving him a shy smile. “What are you drawing, Boyle?”
Boyle gave him a long-suffering look. “Bananas.”
I enjoyed the look of consternation on Art’s face as he cocked his head one way and then the other to try to pull the form of a banana from the slashes of purple, brown, and green covering the center of the sheet. “Ah,” he finally said. “A Picasso banana. I get it.” He nodded, grinning at Boyle, and the baby looked pleased.
Hunh, I thought. Lying worked. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
“You want eggs?” I asked Art. He sipped his coffee, his expression lightening in surprise. “Mm, this is good.” A beat later, he seemed to realize for the first time that I was waiting on him to respond and nodded. “I’d love some if you have enough to spare.”
His comment was intended to be polite. It wasn’t his fault I took it as an assault on my ability to provide. I frowned at him.
He shifted uncomfortably. “I mean because you weren’t expecting a third mouth.”
I lifted a brow.
He sighed. “I’d love breakfast. Thank you.”
He said it so primly that I couldn’t stay ticked. I laughed, shaking my head. “The eggs come from my friend Sissy’s chickens. We always have lots of them.”
He nodded, taking another sip from his coffee.
I set the plate of eggs in front of him and settled a basket of warm, freshly baked bread in the center of the table. “Eat while everything’s warm.”
Boyle took that as an order and reached for the napkin covering the bread. He tugged it off and started to grab a piece.
I cleared my throat.
He stopped and gave me a startled look, then smiled, offering the basket to Art. “Would you, um, likes bread?”
Art was chewing but he smiled, plucking a slice from the basket. “Thanks, buddy. Such nice manners.”
Boyle’s gray skin flushed with pleasure. “Tank tou.”
I placed a plate of butter on the table and a small bowl of jelly next to it. “You should spoon up some of that jelly before Boyle gets into it,” I warned.
Art didn’t argue, he placed a large glob on his bread. “Is he as messy as you were when you were little?” My brother’s teasing smile made a warm spot in my belly.
I laughed. “Worse. I don’t know how he does it, but he paints the whole table, the chair he’s sitting on, and a circle of floor beneath the chair in jelly every time.”
Art watched in wonder as Boyle used the jelly spoon to paint everything on his plate, including the eggs, with grape jelly. Watching him watch the baby, I thought about the discussion my brother and I needed to have.
I couldn’t talk about the basement episode with him in front of Boyle. But the kid was the duke of dillydallying, and it would be a while before he finished playing with and then eating his food. Then it would take me just as long to clean him up.
I sighed, realizing I’d have to settle for small talk.
I was terrible at small talk.
Fortunately, Art saved me from having to make the opening salvo.
“So, what’s the plan for today?”
I blinked at him, irritation flaring. Surely he didn’t expect me to entertain him?
He must have read my expression. “I mean, is there something I can help with?”
Okay, that was better. And it gave me a segue into the subject he and I needed to discuss. “Actually, there is. I’ve been meaning to batten down the door to the basement, and I keep getting distracted.” I watched him closely for a reaction but didn’t see any. He stabbed a last bite of egg and nodded. “I can definitely help with that. How do you want to do it?”
I glanced at Boyle, my brows lifting so Art would get my meaning when I said, “I need to remove access to the room completely. But every coupl
e of months I need to be able to go down there myself. You know…to do what needs to be done.”
He let his eyes go wide as he slid a look toward the oblivious baby. Boyle was painting the edges of his plate with jelly, using the back of the spoon as his paintbrush. “Oh. Oh no!”
“Right.” I was relieved he got my message without my having to tell him that Boyle had been going down there. “Nobody should be down there unless absolutely necessary.” Again, I watched him carefully. He didn’t react to my statement except to nod in agreement. “Does this have to be pretty?”
“No. I was thinking of just nailing some boards over it.”
“That works. Do you have the stuff, or do I need to go into town?”
Talk of the project consumed the next several minutes, until Boyle seemed to grow bored with playing in the jelly. “Can I go ou’side, Glynnie?”
“You can, if you stay on the roof. I’ll take you across the street to see Nicht in a little bit. Uncle Art and I have one thing to do first.”
He gave his long-suffering sigh that proclaimed me a too strict, overprotective parent, and then agreed. “Otay, Glynnie.”
Twenty minutes later, after I’d scoured grape jelly from his tiny hands, nose, ears, neck, and feet…don’t ask…Boyle scampered away with a shouted goodbye and I dropped, already exhausted, into my chair.
“He’s adorable, sis,” Art said.
His tone was sincere and it made me smile. “He is, isn’t he?”
To my delight, Artur had begun cleaning the table, chair, and floor as I’d scoured the baby, so we were able to head out to the garage much faster than I’d thought we would. As we exited the house, I looked up to Victoria’s highest peak, where Boyle clung invisibly in the darkness. “We’ll be right back, sweet boy,” I called softly. “You stay up there until we get back, okay?”
“Otay,” said a soft voice from above. “I watch for Hawk.”
The night was soft against my skin. The sweet scent of the roses planted along one side of the house wafted over me, warmed by the previous day, and I sighed, reveling in the moment.
“It’s so quiet out here,” Art said.
I realized he was right. I rarely gave it much thought anymore. The only sounds that broke the silence were the constant drone of crickets and the occasional croak of a bullfrog down by the pond. “It is.” I turned to him. “Did you have any trouble sleeping? I know you’re used to traffic noise and people shrieking outside your windows at all hours.”
He chuckled. “That’s an accurate statement.”
I knew because I’d gone to stay with Sissy’s parents once for a few days. Sissy’d had to be there for a family wedding, and she’d begged me to come along so she wouldn’t be bored out of her mind. The experience had been fascinating. The Valkyr’s lived in an enormous home…a mansion really…in the new part of town. During the magic wars that had initiated the pulling of magic into a single regional location that could be controlled and monitored, the entire northern quadrant of the city had been pretty much leveled. When the rebuilding began, the new construction had taken on a completely new footprint. One that was heavy on large, expensive homes for the newly formed managing body and low on “regular people” or the simple, homey restaurants and retail they preferred.
Like Sissy, I’d felt like a fish out of water in that part of the world. And by the time we’d left, I’d been vastly relieved to be getting back to Render.
Artur didn’t live in that exclusive neighborhood. But he lived as close to it as he could manage on his modest salary. And I suspected his aspiration was to one day own a mansion the equal of Sissy’s family home.
“What are you going to do while you’re here?” I asked my brother as I opened the door to the garage.
He shrugged. “To be honest, I’ll probably sleep a lot. I’d like to spend some time with Boyle and you,” he gave me a shy smile that was surprisingly endearing. “And help around the house if you’d like. I just needed some time away from it all.”
I flipped the switch and the watery fall of light illuminated the center of the big space. Turning on the flashlight I’d brought, I played it around the edges until I spotted the boards I wanted to use. I pointed them out, following Art toward the back of the big building with the flash. “Is there something going on at the Body that’s worrying you?” I asked him.
He examined the boards, selecting two that would work perfectly and tucking them under his arm. “Nails and a hammer?” he asked.
“This way.” I picked my way carefully through the clutter to the tool bench Grams had built against the sidewall.
“Nothing specific,” Art responded. “Just the usual jockeying for position and power.”
I glanced his way in time to catch a frown. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m getting tired of it all.”
Something about the way he said it made me wonder if someone hadn’t hurt Art personally. He’d always loved the jockeying and power-grabbing in the past. I grasped a metal toolbox and we headed for the door. “Well, there’s certainly none of that in Render.”
We shared a grin. But, as we stepped back out into the night, his expression turned serious. “You love it here, don’t you?”
“Of course…” I began, finding his question odd. I’d always loved Render. Though, if someone had asked me why, I’d be hard-pressed to explain it. The beautiful, quaint little town of my childhood no longer existed. What had once been a place of old-fashioned beauty, lifelong friendships, family, and comforting tradition overlaid by useful and safe magic, had become a place of deprivation, decay, and loneliness with an underlayer of fear that affected every thought and action.
But the small group of people who’d clung to the town watched out for each other. We all used our individual energies to create a protected whole. And despite it all, we’d managed to carve out our own little haven in the midst of all the ugliness that stained Render’s history.
“Glynn?”
I realized Art was waiting for me to finish my thought. “Sorry, I was woolgathering.”
“You’re happy?”
His question felt oddly specific. As if he thought I might have reason not to be. Like he’d been worried about me.
“I am.”
A weight seemed to leave his shoulders and I was glad. Something was going on with my brother. Something had interfered with his perfect life…intruded on his plans in a big enough way to bring him back to his childhood home, despite the ugliness he no doubt saw on its broken and untraveled streets.
Still, whatever it was, I decided I was glad he’d come. And maybe, if he’d be willing to share it with me, I could find a way to help.
We rounded the front of Victoria and something drew my gaze skyward. I flinched back with a cry as a huge, dark creature swooped down on us, enormous bat-like wings pounding the air almost soundlessly above us. I gave a sharp cry and grabbed Art with one hand, shoving him toward the house. “Run!”
Yanking magic from the air, I focused my siphon on the creature hovering eight feet above my head.
The demon’s eyes were a throbbing ruby glow in the night, its fangs painted in their terrifying illumination as if bathed in blood.
The thing jerked as I yanked magic from its core and, lifting its veiny black wings, it plunged from the sky with a blood-chilling shriek.
Diving right at me.
14
The demon’s scream was immediately followed by a second call. I dove to the side and rolled, feeling the creature’s too-sharp talons ripping the air inches from my hip. I shoved to my feet and threw out a hand, hitting the demon center mass as it changed direction and headed for me again.
Cool night air wafted over me as something flew past overhead. To my horror, I realized it was Boyle, his tiny wings working overtime to keep him in the air.
He gave a shriek that was too small to be scary but managed to terrify me anyway. “Boyle, no!”
The baby shot toward the demon, somehow staying out
side the range of its claws and raking his claws over its chest.
Still stunned from the wash of my power, the demon made a grab for him and missed. Unfortunately, that was the last piece of luck the baby was going to get. The creature shifted in the air and swung its wing, smashing it into Boyle and sending him flying on a breathy cry of pain.
“No!” I screamed, blinded by my tears and barely able to move as my heart pounded against my ribs. I was dizzy with horror, immobile with pain. “Boyle!”
Enraged, I threw both hands into the air and let everything I had fly, sending a boiling wash of uncontrolled energy into the beast.
It hit the demon like a wall of fire, sending the creature flying toward Victoria on a scream of pain. He smashed into the house and a wall of answering magic shot away from Victoria, its power feeding the flames trying to engulf the creature.
The demon was immune to its own magic. Fire was its element. I’d only hoped to overwhelm it into fleeing. But Victoria’s magic was a foreign thing, as deadly to the demon as its magic would be to me.
The demon blasted away from the house, shooting toward me like a bullet, and hit me head-on before I could dive away.
The impact knocked me off my feet, sent me flying toward the street, and we hit the broken asphalt so hard we skidded several feet before we came up against the curb on the other side.
Bones cracked in my back and fire ate at the hand I was using to keep his deadly fangs away from my neck.
A scream ripped through my throat, leaving it feeling bloody and torn but doing nothing to save me from the demon’s determined attack.
The monster screamed too, the red glow of its eyes fading to black. Victoria’s magic ate at its wings, creating black lace from their leathery surface as it nibbled holes in the ugly, slick surface.
Something warm slipped down my cheeks—either tears or blood. I couldn’t tell which.
I was going to die, but my greatest fear was for Boyle.
I had to help him.
I tried to lift off the ground, but the demon’s weight pressed against my hand and my arm gave way.