Tea & Croakies

by Sam Cheever

  I took a bite, almost too weary to stand.

  Something shifted in the air behind me. I went very still as a whisper of sound warned me I wasn’t alone.

  I swallowed as the shadows emerged from the edges and corners of the room and boiled into a humanoid shape.

  Wicked lifted his head from his water bowl and turned toward the bedroom, his tail snapping. “Meow!”

  I squeezed the knife tightly in my fist, letting the banana fall to the counter.

  The shape inside the shadows shifted sideways and became clear. I realized I’d been holding my breath and let myself draw air as I recognized my intruder.

  The man from the clock tower lowered himself onto a chair in my small living area and stretched out his long legs, peaking his fingers and staring defiantly at me.

  “What are you doing in my home?” I asked as anger flared and replaced some of the weariness.

  His elbows resting on the armrests of the chair, he pressed the two index fingers of his clasped hands against his lips and continued to stare at me.

  I started to feel self-conscious. I picked up my banana and pretended to focus on that.

  After a moment he decided to respond. “You’re in very great danger.”

  I blew a raspberry, which would have been much more effective if I hadn’t blown a chunk of banana out with it.

  Wicked pounced on the banana chunk, happily mushing it into the throw rug and then looking at the bit stuck to one claw with obvious alarm.

  The goofy cat shot straight into the air and hit the floor running, apparently trying to outrun the mushy banana on his claw.

  I fought a grin at his antics.

  Mr. No Name didn’t bother fighting his. “He’s quite charming.”

  “Yes.” The word came out bathed in venom. “You haven’t told me your name. Not that I care. But I need to know what to call you. Unless you’ve grown fond of Mr. Slimy.”

  He blinked in surprise. “Rustin. Have I done something to anger you?”

  “Have you done something to anger me?” I mocked in his annoyingly snotty tone. “You mean, like bringing the wrath of the Quilleran family down on me, Rustin?”

  He frowned. “That wasn’t my intent, I assure you.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me what your intent was?”

  “Are you not the keeper of the artifacts?”

  The first niggles of doubt found me and I turned away to dump the peel into the trash as I avoided responding.

  “Naida?”

  “Yes.” I turned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “I wrangle artifacts by magical vocation.”

  He nodded. “I have brought you information on an artifact that needs to be corralled. I thought you’d be pleased.”

  I scrubbed a hand over my face so I wouldn’t snap at him. He was right to have brought me the information. I was being a witch. But not in the traditional sense. I only wished I had a witch’s powers. “Okay, what’s the deal with the frog and the book, exactly?”

  “The book is my gift to you. It belonged to an artifact keeper in the thirteenth century. It’s been in my…family since the turn of the century.”

  “A gift, huh? I believe it was in the artifact library before you and your frog showed up.”

  He pressed his long fingers into his lips for another moment, observing me. There was no judgment on his face. No emotion. He simply seemed to be trying to assess me in some way.

  Finally, he inclined his head. “If that’s what you choose to believe.”

  My pitiful stores of energy boiled up and shot to the surface of my fingers, sizzling energetically as I fought for control of my anger.

  It would feel so good to zap his hair into upright arrows on his head. I was pretty sure he was an ethereal being so he probably couldn’t pee himself. But it was worth a try.

  Unfortunately, retribution was an inappropriate use of my inadequate powers. Even horribly undercharged magic users faced energy rebound if they misused their powers.

  Reluctantly, I let the magic drain away. “Fine. Where can I find this artifact?”

  “The tea infuser is hidden somewhere on the Quilleran property.”

  My mouth fell open. “Somewhere? You do know their property spans hundreds of acres and includes everything from a volcano to a county-sized lake?” I said in deliberate exaggeration.

  He frowned. “I do.”

  “Can you narrow it down for me?”

  “I hope to be able to.”

  I tapped my foot, waiting.

  He finally realized I was waiting. “What?”

  “Any time now would be awesome.”

  “I need to come with you to the property. Once there, I believe I can use sense memory to find it.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have any choice if you want to find the artifact.”

  I shook my head. “I’ll find it. I always do. It just might take a little longer since the knowledge came to me through…non-traditional…means.”

  I flipped my fingers at him. “You can go now. I’m very tired from cleaning up after your relative’s magical tantrum.”

  His blue gaze went wide. He was surprised I knew he was a Quilleran.

  “Yeah, I know. What did you do to make them turn you into a frog?” I asked him.

  He scanned a quick look toward Mr. Slimy. “You’ve met them, right?”

  I thought about his question and then nodded. “Point taken.” Another question occurred to me. “Have they done this to anyone else?”

  He stood up, shrugging as if the question didn’t interest him. “I think they might have done it one time before me. An opera singer I think. Poor guy. I heard he still tried to sing the song that had turned him famous after his essence was injected into a frog.”

  “Help me, goddess,” I murmured. I needed to tell Lea she was providing room and board to a deposed male opera singer.

  At the very least, she needed to know she shouldn’t get naked within bulgy black eye range.

  I was dragged from a restful sleep the next morning by the feeling of being watched. My poor sleep-deprived brain went from sub-zero to a hundred in the beat of my opening eyes.

  I shrieked and shoved backward, bumping into Wicked on the next pillow and sending him spitting to the end of the bed.

  “What are you doing?” I asked the good-looking specter perched next to my bed. Unlike the night before, Rustin the displaced, with a frog clinging to his aura, sat on the air, not bothering to pretend he was corporeal. He sat Indian-style, his long legs crossed and his elbows resting on his knees.

  “We need to get going,” he told me. “The Quillerans just left the property. They’ll be gone for several hours. It’s the perfect time to search for the artifact.”

  I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart and shoved the covers back. I hesitated, realizing I was wearing Disney Princess boxers over an old, one-piece bathing suit. My sleepwear of choice ever since I’d been set afloat on the lake at Camp Wantapottyme in sixth grade.

  Long story.

  I gritted my teeth and swung my legs out, daring Rustin with a glare to comment on my attire. I glanced at the clock, groaning. It was only six o’clock in the morning. Beyond the window over the kitchen sink, the sun was a pink and orange promise on the horizon. “Where on earth are they headed this early in the morning?”

  He shrugged, not speaking, which I took to either mean he knew and didn’t want to tell me, dang him for being a Quilleran, or he didn’t know and didn’t want me to know he didn’t know.

  I stopped, closed my eyes, and tried to untangle that last thought from around my brain so it didn’t strangle it.

  Then I headed, yawning, toward the bathroom. “Don’t snoop while I’m getting dressed.”

  Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of the magic mirror waiting for Queen Sindra to appear. When she did, she looked as if she’d already been up for hours, her beautiful features smooth and unlined. A smile was like sunlight on
her tiny face. “Good morning, Naida. What can I help you with today?”

  I quickly filled her in on my predicament and she looked suitably intrigued. “How many do you need?”

  “All of them. As many as you can spare today. It’s a monumental task.”

  She nodded. “I understand. We’ll be happy to help. To tell you the truth, I’ve been looking for an excuse to infect the Quilleran’s garden anyway.”

  Grinning, I signed off and turned from the mirror.

  Rustin hovered a few inches from the ground behind me. I hadn’t seen his reflection in the mirror. He was frowning.

  “Do you want to find this artifact, or not?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to risk others. Queen Sindra’s people will be in danger.”

  “The Elves and Fairies are well equipped for danger. And the Sprites have a unique ability to sense rogue magic. I need them if we ever hope to cover all that ground, Rustin.”

  After a beat, he nodded. “It’s actually a good plan.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  He smiled sadly.

  “Let’s go. I want to grab something to eat along the way.”

  “Wait!”

  I turned at the door, frowning a question at him. “What?”

  “You have to take the frog.”

  I grimaced. “Are you sure I have to?”

  “Yes. I’m…” anger sparked in his blue eyes. “…tied to him. If you don’t take him I can’t come.”

  That had to be a humiliating situation. I almost felt sorry for him. Quilleran or no. “Okay. I’ll go get him.” I started toward the stairs but stopped as I had a sudden thought. “Do you know how to reverse the spell once we get the infuser?”

  Even in his ethereal form I could see the spark of doubt in his gaze. “Yes. I believe I do.”

  Hm. Why didn’t I believe he knew how?

  9

  Bibbidy-Bobbidy-Boom!

  I popped the last bite of breakfast sandwich into my mouth and rubbed greasy fingers over my jeans. I glanced over at Sebille, still wishing she hadn’t come. “Your mother’s going to kill me if anything happens to you,” I told my assistant.

  She shrugged in her characteristic way. “If that happens, you have my word I’ll stick you into a frog so you can live beside a pond for the rest of your squishy, bug-eyed life.”

  “Very funny. I’ll come back from the dead and haunt you.”

  She grinned. “I think I’ll name you Slick.”

  I stepped out of my car, an ancient Volkswagen bug that was a faded green color where the rust didn’t mar its perfection. I’d pulled the car into the woods at the side of the road and we planned to travel to the house on foot. The driveway was inaccessible unless one had a way to get through the massive iron gate. And, though I could probably use my displaced Quilleran to do that, I’d then be trapped inside and they’d have a nice eight by ten photo of Sebille and me entering the property from the cameras scanning the entrance.

  I’d rather go on stealth mode, thank you very much.

  Besides, I always looked fat in pictures. And my nose got bigger. What’s up with that? How does a camera make my nose grow?

  Shaking my head to remove the disturbing thought, I grabbed my frog-in-a-box and motioned for Sebille to follow me.

  She rolled her eyes and, in a burst of pink light, disappeared. A beat later, a dragonfly buzzed past and Sebille’s voice, tiny and indistinct, said something that sounded like, “I see your backside.”

  I’m fairly certain I misheard her.

  Turning partially sideways to hide my backside as I followed (just in case), I broke into a run, heading into the dense woods surrounding the Quilleran home.

  On the way there, Sebille and I had discussed the best methods of egress into the house. She’d told me that only the driveway and a quarter-mile on either side of the drive had an actual physical barrier. To the naked, untrained eye, the woods was barrier-free.

  However, the miles and miles of acreage around the home, including the woods, was protected by an array of magical barriers. These protections ran the gamut from repelling wards, to blast traps, and even a laser warning system that could only be heard inside the house if triggered.

  I was counting on Sebille and Rustin to keep me from triggering any traps, and on my own determination to get me through the mind-altering repelling wards.

  And speaking of Rustin…

  I glanced down at the frog-in-a-box and frowned. “Are you going to join us?”

  “Ribbit.”

  My frown deepened. “Any day now…”

  “Ribbit!” Mr. Slimy gave a little sideways hop that caused him to bounce off the grease spot at the side of the box and then settled back onto his moss.

  I sighed. “Okay then, the ghost is a no-show. Awesome Possum.”

  A tiny projectile buzzed past my ear and I lifted a hand to swipe it away. Just in time, I remembered why I shouldn’t immediately swipe at any bug-like critters in the air. At the moment, some of my best friends were bugs.

  A long tongue snaked out of the donut box and snagged the buzzing intruder.

  I grimaced. “Hopefully, you didn’t just eat Sebille, Quilleran.”

  A tinny voice sounded to my right and I turned to find Rustin, sort of, blipping in and out like a bad hologram.

  I stopped, trying to read his lips as his voice faded in and out, his hands moving as he spoke.

  “Yeah, I’m not getting any of this,” I told him. “What’s up with the short-circuiting act?”

  He stopped trying to talk to me, his shoulders slumping. He flashed away and reappeared right in front of me.

  I gave a girly little scream, my cheeks immediately heating with embarrassment. “Don’t sneak up on a girl,” I scolded.

  He frowned back at me, pointing down at the ground beneath his shadowy feet.

  I followed the direction he was pointing and saw nothing. But he seemed so insistent that I squinted at the spot, finally seeing what looked like an anthill underneath the leaves and scrub grass.

  I crouched down, placing my hand above the hill, palm down, and felt the magical energy throbbing off of it.

  “Blast trap,” I said, straightening. “Thanks.”

  Rustin nodded and disappeared again.

  I walked on. The woods were quiet except for the occasional buzz of a hapless bug, some of which succumbed to the mighty tongue of my frog-in-a-box when they buzzed too close.

  I was starting to think I should dip that thing in gold when Slimy passed and hang it on my wall. That long, sticky tongue was a more effective killing machine than any magic I’d ever seen.

  A deep, stomach-clenching feeling of foreboding filled me as I moved closer to the house. My steps slowed. My heart rate picked up. More and more, I found myself snapping fearful glances around the area as I walked, my mind creating monsters based on nothing other than my fertile imagination.

  After a while, I realized I must be feeling the effects of the repelling ward. I pushed past it, despite the greasy fear-sweat coating my face and the reluctance dogging my steps. Finally, I stepped through a tree line and the world opened up in front of me.

  Literally.

  The green, rolling grounds were the antithesis of the forest I’d just traversed. Open, breezy, and beautiful beyond reality.

  I recognized magic-enhanced beauty when I saw it.

  The repelling ward snapped away with a soft ping and my lungs expanded on the first, good breath I’d taken since entering the woods.

  I felt good. Too good. Remembering the task ahead, I tried to shove my optimism back a few notches. All was not as good as it currently felt.

  I was probably just suffering magical buoyancy from my repelling ward reprieve.

  I glanced around, looking for Rustin.

  No Rustin. His family must have warded against his forays outside the frog. I sighed. I’d brought the stupid frog for nothing.

  I started jogging toward the house, feeling
silly carrying my donut box with me. But I couldn’t leave it behind. I had no idea which way I’d be going when I left.

  There was no way I was giving the Quillerans their frog back. Accidentally or on purpose.

  I was halfway to the house when my foot landed on something that crunched loudly and I jerked to a stop as a sulfurous fog lifted from the ground.

  I had an instant to consider what had just happened before I felt the energy rising along my legs and suddenly knew. “Caterpillar whiskers!” I screamed, flinging the donut box as far away as I could, just as the explosion hit.

  Scalding energy boiled up from the earth, scraping across my legs and burning me through the heavy denim of my jeans. I felt the canvas in my sneakers giving out and my toes flaming up like roman candles through the breach.

  The energy gathered beneath me until the pressure was too great and then it propelled me into the air, sending me airborne for a dozen yards before disappearing with a squeaky whimper of dying power. I hung in the air for half a breath, and then dropped like a bad souffle, smacking into the ground.

  I lay there groaning as an insistent ringing sound filled my ears. The sound pinged through my auditory channels, pressing into my brain like probing fingertips.

  I felt the vibration of my groans in my chest and throat, but I couldn’t hear them.

  All I could hear was that damnable ringing.

  My face was smashed into the grass. My bones felt like dust as I lay there, agony filtering up from my firecracker toes and sweeping over my legs.

  A deep, rhythmic booming sound slowly entered my auditory sphere and I realized it was the sound of my heart beating.

  Well, that was a positive at least.

  I moved and agony razored through me.

  Maybe it was a positive. The jury was still out.

  The booming receded and other sounds slowly took its place.

  Birds sang happily in the sky above my head. Bugs buzzed. Frogs croaked. Bugs buzzed.

  Bugs…buzzed…

  I swatted in irritation at the frantic whirring above my ear.