by Sam Cheever
Sebille gave Rhonda’s eyelids another roll. “There’s got to be another way to get rid of this hex.”
I remembered what Lea had told me. “This is a Fae spell, right?”
Lea and Sebille nodded. “Then maybe your mother could reverse it,” I told Sebille.
She shrugged. “Maybe, but how are we going to contact her?”
I hadn’t considered that. In Rhonda’s form, she couldn’t work the communication mirror. I couldn’t do it either. “Who has our real forms?”
I looked around but didn’t see Sebille’s green-and-red-clad person. Lea was still standing in front of the dividing door, though.
Make that crouching. She looked ready to spring, and her tongue was sticking straight out of her mouth as if she’d been caught in the midst of trying to snatch a fly from the air.
“You’re Mr. Slimy,” I said, my gaze sliding to the parrot.
“Gah!” SB said, with swashbuckler disgust.
“Yeah, we have a problem with that plan,” Sebille Rhonda said. “Even if we could figure out a way to get Faux Lea to contact Queen Sindra, we’d have to release everyone from the Banshee scream to do it.”
“And with a dragon and a giant ready to rip everything apart, there’s no way I’m doing that.”
I contracted my fat squishiness into a despondent puddle in the bottom of the tank. We were doomed.
“Why do you suppose whoever it was used this particular spell?” Grym asked.
Sebille Rhonda shrugged. “Probably because we have no idea who’s here and who isn’t.”
The truth of her words sank deep. I looked at her, feeding my horror through my gaze.
It probably just looked like Slimy’s normal blank gaze.
“Someone’s in the artifact library doing something bad.”
She nodded. “Whoever it is will have your magic and your muscle memory on how to use it.”
Slimy slug slippers! We needed to reverse the spell.
“Does the frog have any inherent magic?” Grym Peabody asked.
I thought about his question. Slimy had once had magic, when my friend Rustin the ghost witch was driving the squishy green bus, a.k.a. squatting inside the frog. Madeline Quilleran, a powerful witch and Rustin’s aunt had explained that the frog had soaked up some of that magic from Rustin being inside him.
But Slimy hadn’t spoken since Rustin disappeared after we’d captured Margot Quilleran.
Sebille threw me a speculative look. “You might as well try, Naida. Maybe Slimy soaked up some of your magic too. He seems to be a magic sponge of some sort.”
She was right. It was worth a try.
7
Sifting Magic Through the Squish
I closed my eyes, instinctively searching for the core of magic where I usually found it.
It wasn’t there.
But something answered my call. Something flared in the amphibian shell I was wearing. A silvery light sifted through me, reaching through the outer shell of the frog and coloring the air in a shifting glow that filled the tank.
I tested the power, seeking familiar magic within the mix, and felt an answering swell of energy that rose to flare inside my mind.
With a start, I realized I could see the artifacts in my mind. Not all of them. The power wasn’t fully realized, but it was there, in a nascent form that felt as if it could grow.
What if I could access the magic from the artifacts? Maybe I could burn the invading spell away with that.
Unfortunately, I was afraid to try. I wasn’t a Sorceress in my current form. I was a tiny amphibian. My control over the magic was limited at best. I’d only used the full force of it a couple of times. And if I pulled too hard…took too much…I risked exploding Mr. Slimy into a thousand teeny green parts.
I couldn’t risk that.
But maybe there was something I could do.
I tugged on the edges of the small window I had, expanding it until I could see the main area of the artifact library. I slid my internal gaze along the rows of artifacts, finding a hole in the spot where Blackbeard’s sword usually lay. No surprise there. It was probably stuck in the door between the spaces, trying to meet up with SB in the store.
I ran my internal vision over the rare book area, along the larger artifacts stored in the center of the open space. Then, with some trepidation, I slid it toward the toxic magic vault.
The vault door was closed, the telltale glow of the magical locking system still in place.
That was a relief.
I scanned each massive row of shelves looking for anything that was out of place.
Something moved along the floor. Two somethings, actually. Small and lithe and quick.
Hex and Wicked were pressed against the base of the shelves, moving slowly and silently.
Stalking something.
My pulse sped.
I scanned my internal vision up the end shelving unit and saw that everything seemed to be in place. Then the next section. And the next one. And finally…
There I was. Clambering up the shelving units like a giant, brown-haired spider. Whoever had taken my body was using my magic in a way I’d never known it could be used. I marveled for just a moment, examining the possibilities, and then shoved the thought aside to deal with our current problem. Faux me was scanning the shelves with something. It looked like an oversized book light that shed a soft purple glow over the items on the shelves.
A seeking rod. I recognized the artifact because I had one like it in the library.
The imposter appeared to be searching for a particular artifact.
Something flashed across the top of the shelving unit in the window of my mind, weaving an impression of red and green on the air as it shot past.
Was that Hobs?
Faux me stopped suddenly, gaze darting upward.
I held my breath, praying to the goddess that the imposter wouldn’t investigate the movement overhead. I couldn’t afford for faux me to see who was stalking them.
I had an idea.
I thought Wicked’s name, pushing it through the magic in his direction.
Wicked paused in his stalking. His head came up as he felt the magic.
Distract, I told him through the same energy channel.
Wicked hesitated another beat, his tail snapping with uncertainty. Then he moved out of the shadows and yowled, lifting all the hair on his back and hissing as faux me looked down on him.
I need that seeking rod, I told my cat. Find Hobs.
The magic faltered, my window into the library folding in at the edges and growing black. I came out of it with a sense of frustration I could only dispel by flinging myself at the smeary glass.
Being a frog was a Gargoyle’s stony, pointed elbows. “Ribbit!”
“Did you get anything?” Rhonda Sebille asked. “Yeah, fake me is climbing the shelves like a spider trying to find something. The cats are stalking her/him/it, and I think Hobs is there too. I saw something flash by overhead, leaving a Looney Tunes kind of cartoon trail behind.”
“What do you think they’re looking for?” Grym asked.
“I have an idea,” I said. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it to myself for now. I don’t know who’s who right now, and I don’t even trust myself.”
He nodded, frowning, clearly taking my caution personally. I didn’t really care. He’d betrayed me before, squealing about me to the Société of Dire Magic. I wasn’t going to give him any more ammunition.
“We need to go get my mother,” Rhonda Sebille said.
“I’ll go,” the parrot said.
“There’s no way you’re flying through that mess out there,” Grym Peabody responded. “You’ll lose your way in seconds and freeze to death.”
I shook my head. “SB’s already dead. But there’s a better than average chance she’ll be disoriented and lost until the snow stops.”
Silence fell between us as we all stared out the window. We were under total white-out conditions, and I could see snow
building above the sill of the big window. At the rate it was falling it would soon cover the windows and doors.
“The Book of Pages!” Sebille said. “It will take us right into the greenhouse.”
“Great idea!” I agreed. “But how are we going to get it? We don’t know where you are, and fake me is inside the library.”
She shrugged. “It’s been like a sieve all night. Maybe it will just open.” Without warning, she reached into the tank and scooped me up.
I screamed, “Ribbit!” as the firm surface dropped out from under me, and my stomach twisted with instant Vertigo. “Give a frog some warning!” I snapped out.
Rhonda’s eyes traveled ’round the world again. The Banshee was going to wonder why her eye muscles were sore if she ever got them back.
Rhonda Sebille carried me to the door and reached for the handle. It refused to turn. “No good. You try.” She held me up to the knob and I looked at it. I was pretty sure frogs couldn’t just reach out and touch something. My legs didn’t feel like they’d extend in that direction. “Move me closer.”
She held me right over the handle, lowering me so that my back feet rested on the handle. I tried to tug the residual string of keeper power forward.
Nothing happened. “I got nothing.”
Rhonda Sebille sighed. “This is a fluttercluck.”
I would have nodded in agreement, but frogs couldn’t nod. So I croaked instead.
Being a frog was slug-slurping fun in a spin cycle.
SB flew over and landed on Theo’s upright, unmoving hand. “We need to find your body, Sebille.”
“Where could it be?” Grym Peabody asked.
All eyes slid to the closed bathroom door. Then back to Sebille Rhonda.
She paled. “I don’t remember. I might have been in there. If I am, I don’t want the whole world to know what I was doing.”
I really wished I could roll my eyes. “Let’s go check. Tell Peeping Peabody over there to stay back.”
Sebille shared my message, with an edge of violence in her tone that had been distinctly missing in my original instructions. And she and I headed for the bathroom door.
It was locked.
“Porcupine poop!” Sebille screamed. “What else could go wrong? This is the worst holiday party ever. We’re cursed. We’re mismatched. And we’re about to be smashed, fried and eaten by two gigantic mythical creatures. It’s worse than my last blind date.”
A small, bent piece of metal appeared in front of Sebille’s raging face. She blinked at Grym Peabody, who was trying really hard not to grin.
“Blind date wasn’t good, huh? Let me guess, he tried to steal a bite of your dessert?”
Sebille snatched the slim metal bar from his fingers, rage wafting off her like heat off a summer highway. “I mean, who does that?”
Grym laughed softly. “Did you turn him into a cockroach?”
She inserted the metal into the doorknob, jiggling. “Nah. It was my favorite restaurant. I didn’t want to get it closed down by the health department. So, I stabbed his hand with my fork instead.”
He nodded as if that made perfect sense.
Sebille tugged the bathroom door open and squealed, slamming it shut again. “We aren’t ever going to be able to unsee that, are we?” she asked.
I stared blankly in her direction. “Eye bleach, please.”
“Well, at least we found Earline.”
The front door slammed open and a short, round figure covered in white stumbled through, falling flat on his face a few feet from the door. He lay there quivering as Grym ran over and closed the door, then knelt beside him. “Sir? Are you okay?”
The small figure shuddered violently. His bright red fingers twitching against the rug.
Grym turned him over and brushed snow from his face.
The skin of his round face was bright red like his fingers, the bulbous nose nearly purple from the cold. He opened his lips, trying to talk, but nothing came out.
“It’s Eattle. Earline was right. He did go outside.” I felt guilty knowing that we could have maybe brought him back before he nearly froze to death. “How in the world did he stay alive out there?”
Grym felt the Elf’s skin under his thick red coat. “He’s cold but not frozen. He hasn’t been out there that long.”
He must have taken shelter somewhere.
Sebille set me down on the floor and hurried over to the coat closet. She came back with several coats, draping them over the man. “I’ll make him some hot tea,” she said.
Eattle’s lips opened and he forced out a single, shaky word. “Eerrliine?”
I grimaced.
“She’s um, fine,” Sebille Rhonda said.
He seemed to relax, closing his eyes. He didn’t say anything else. In fact, he appeared to be asleep.
“Can this night get any crazier?” Grym asked.
I squatted, miserable and silent on the rug. I was pretty sure it couldn’t.
8
Everybody’s Mixed up and It’s all so Confusing
When I’m wrong, I like to do it up big. Like world-ending level wrong.
A shrill screaming rent the air, its terrified tones bringing the hairs up on the back of my neck. Scratch that. It would have brought the hairs up if I wasn’t trapped in a frog suit.
I cast my bulgy black gaze toward the source of the sound and found a Gargoyle flailing around, mouth open wide and dark eyes filled with terror.
“What’s happening? What’s happening? Why am I built like a retaining wall?”
Oh, oh. The Banshee’s scream spell was breaking.
“Ribbit! Ribbit! Ribbit!”
More shrieking sounded from behind the bookshelves.
“I’ve got this.” Grym Peabody took off toward the sound of shrieking, diving into the bookshelves and disappearing. I started hopping in that direction but discovered the muscle memory in the frog suit wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I must have pushed harder with one back leg than the other because I veered wildly off course, doing a full belly splat against the side of a shelf and sliding down to the rug with a muffled croak.
I lay on the carpet for a beat, imaginary horseflies circling my head, and then uncrossed my eyes and pushed back to my webbed feet.
Let’s try this again, I thought. What I actually said was, “Ribbit.”
I did a small, tentative hop and hit hard, falling over. I mentally adjusted my technique and tried again, gaining a bit more distance and staying on my feet.
I smiled inwardly. I could do this frog thing. But I had a new respect for Rustin.
It wasn’t easy being green.
I hopped again, testing my limits and then tried stringing two hops together. I was gearing up for a massive finish when something goosed me and I was suddenly clamped inside a pair of giant hands, hurtling skyward.
Whoa! “Ribbit!”
“Sorry,” Sebille Rhonda bellowed into my sensitive froggy ear canals. Then she grimaced and my green face turned pink.
“You peed on me!” Sebille exclaimed.
I tried to fold into a tiny, green and pink-cheeked ball in the center of her hand. But there was no place to hide.
Ahead of us, in the central seating area, Grym stood with a hand on a sobbing Hobs.
Worry filled my chest. If Hobs had been affected by the spell, what had I seen skimming stealthily across the shelves in the artifact library?
By process of elimination, I figured out that the creature who looked like Hobs was probably Claudette Baxter.
The woman eyed me with a level of disgust before lifting her oversized blue Hobs eyes to Grym. “Has someone been turned into a frog?” She lifted her small hands, flexing the spidery fingers as a fresh spate of tears slid from her eyes. “I never believed in witches until today.” She turned to Grym, whom she no doubt thought was Mr. Peabody. Wrapping the extra-long fingers around Grym’s wrist, she leaned close, speaking in an urgent, fear-filled voice. “Who is it? Who’s the witch?”
Grym Peabody covered her hand with his own. “There are no witches. It’s just a bad dream. You’re going to be fine.”
The woman shook her head, clearly not buying what Grym was selling.
A whoomph sounded on the air. I turned my beady gaze to Grym Peabody. Fortunately, I didn’t have to tell him what I was thinking. Sebille Rhonda screamed it for me.
“The dragon’s breaking out of the spell.”
Grym and Sebille took off running, screeching to a stop as Lea Slimy hopped from between two shelves and stopped right in front of us. She turned her blank gaze in our direction and worked her throat, her tongue snapping out to snag a spider from the wooden end wall of the shelf.
Ew! I decided, when it was all over, I wouldn't tell Lea what she’d done as Mr. Slimy. It would be a kindness.
We dodged around her and started running as another whoomph sound throbbed on the air.
My innards bounced up and down and my brain felt like it was in a blender as Sebille clomped heavily along the carpet as if she was still wearing her Wicked Witch of the West shoes.
Hm. I’d always blamed the ill-fitting shoes. Maybe it had been Sebille all along.
We rounded the front shelving unit and Sebille screeched to a stop, Grym barely stopping himself before barreling into the back of us.
The dragon’s head was turning, its beautiful gaze taking in its surroundings as if it was still half asleep.
The giant’s back was to us, but I thought I’d seen his head move a titch. It was going to be a race to see which of them gained full capacities first.
“See if you can talk to her before she goes off again,” I told Sebille.
My assistant clomped over and stood in front of the dragon, the elegant head swiveled in our direction, a pair of opaline eyes, almond-shaped and exquisitely beautiful, focused on me first and then on Sebille Rhonda. There was fear in the eyes.
“Ask her who she is,” I told Sebille.
The Sprite reached out and touched the dragon’s quivering silver side. “It’s okay. We’ll fix this. You’ll be fine as long as you stay calm.”
The eyes closed briefly, the small ears twitching. “What’s happened to me, dear?”