Magician's Merger

Updated: 7-2
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Chapter 36: Cold Blooded

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 36

Once the battle was over and my extreme focus receded, I again became aware of my surroundings. I was lying face down in snow, which wasn't surprising. I probably was in one of the filthy snow banks that lined both sides of the road. That thought grossed me out enough that I immediately tried getting up.

I heard a male adult voice say, "He's coming around."

At the same time, I felt a hand on my back and a different male adult voice say, "Don't move, guy, you might be hurt."

I turned my head sideways and back to see who was talking to me. He was wearing a fire department uniform and squatting down. I took stock of my physical condition. I felt cold from lying in the snow, but I didn't feel any pain. I kicked my legs a bit to make sure they worked and flapped my arms. "I'm fine," I said. "The snow broke my fall. Let me up."

"Wait until the paramedics check you out."

"I'll be a lot happier letting them check me out if I can get out of this snow."

"Stay put. The kids who came to get us said you were unconscious for several minutes."

"You were," said a female voice from behind me. I recognized it. It was the girl from the group of three kids I had played and sang for. They must have turned west when they got to the end of Weiner. I concluded that we had approached the corner of Cord and Silver at the same time. Because I had been traveling a lot faster on my bike, that was entirely possible.

"Yeah, dude," said the shorter boy. "You like drove right up into the snow bank and flew over your handlebars. At first we were laughing our asses off, but when you didn't move, we came over to check you out."

"We asked if you were all right," said the tall boy. "When you didn't answer, we went to get help at the fire station."

"These two dummies," said the girl, "were going to roll you over, but I told them they shouldn't do that."

"I feel fine," I said. "Hey! How's my guitar?" I started trying to reach behind myself.

"Your guitar is fine," said the fireman. "Just settle down. The paramedics are here." I decided to cooperate for the time being.

"What's your name?" asked a third male voice, presumably a paramedic.

We don't want these people to be able to identify us, thought Ursus.

"Tony," I said.

"Do you feel any pain, Tony?"

"None."

"Can you wiggle your fingers for me?" I wiggled. "How about your toes?" I wiggled them, too.

"Turn your head from side to side." I did it. "Was there any pain or discomfort?"

"No."

"Now move it up and down."

"No pain," I said as I complied.

He started poking around my back. "Any pain?" he asked.

"None."

"OK, I'm going to take this guitar off so I can check you out better."

I didn't want to give up custody of my guitar. I needed to get out of there, and I didn't want to have to abandon it. I waited until there were no hands upon me and surged to my knees all at once. "See? I'm fine," I said as I continued to get to my feet.

"Let me do my job, kid." He now had a grip on my arm.

I took the opportunity to look around. I had been in a snow bank by a driveway. The paramedics had driven the ambulance over from the nearby fire station. Two firemen were standing in the street. One paramedic had my arm. Another stood in front of me. The three teens were watching from the driveway. Someone had dug my bike out of the snow and put it up on its kickstand--the kids, probably.

The paramedic had given up on taking my guitar for the moment and was now probing the front of my torso. "Any pain?"

"Nope." I saw the two firemen turn and start to head back to the station.

The paramedic took out a penlight and was about to shine it in my eyes. Once he let me go, I took my opportunity. I screamed, "My brother's bike! He's going to kill me!" as I ran toward my bicycle. I continued to accelerate as I grabbed the handlebars and pushed the bike. Once I had a gap opened up between everyone else and me, I swung a leg over as quickly as I could, kicked the stand out of the way, and pedaled for all I was worth. I went south down Silver.

I heard someone yell, "Hey!" My actions must have taken everyone by sufficient surprise, because no one stopped me. I knew that as soon as the adrenaline wore off I'd feel weary from my battle with the demon, so I needed to keep the pump going as long as I could.

We have a hard choice to make, thought Ursus. If the demon managed to kill his minion, our best course would be to find a pay phone, call the police, and say we heard female screams coming from the magician's house and that there are a couple of bodies in his freezer. But if we do that and the magician isn't dead, he'll find a way to summon the demon again, even if he is in prison, and we'll be worse off than we were before.

So we need to make sure he's dead, I concluded.

That's right, Ursus said.

You mean we have to kill him if he isn't already dead, Arthur thought as we turned onto Sire.

I'm sorry, Arthur, Ursus thought.

After facing the demon and learning about the magician's crimes, I now agreed completely with Ursus. The law wasn't equipped to handle the situation. I felt sympathy for Arthur, though. He was only eleven. Eleven-year-olds shouldn't have to make such heavy decisions.

I turned onto Weiner and a few seconds later turned onto the magician's driveway and rode all the way up. Without hesitating, I got off the bike and pushed it along the walk at the side of the house. I then pushed it through the wooden gate into the backyard and right through the snow as if I had every right to do what I was doing. I didn't stop until I was behind the house. Fortunately, the magician had a redwood privacy fence around his entire backyard. All the better to conceal nefarious deeds, I supposed.

How likely is he to still be alive? I asked as I turned my guitar around front. It looked undamaged.

The demon was weakened when he destroyed our protective spell, thought Ursus, and we weakened him some more when we defeated him. He might very well have failed.

Shit. I began to play the guitar. You did a great job last time, Arthur. I need you to hold on to the manna again. Arthur collected the energy until I could contain no more.

I took off the guitar and hung it from the bike. I still had on my ski mask. I put my gloves back on and then took the bottle from the rack. I wiped any fingerprints off it before slipping it into a coat pocket.

I looked around the planting near the house until I saw a big flowerpot filled with dirt and the brown stalk of a dead plant. That should serve. I went to pick it up. Damn, it was frozen to the ground. I stood back and kicked it until it broke loose.

I lifted the pot up over my head and heaved it through the sliding glass door at the back of the house. I retreated several steps to make sure I was out of the way of the falling shards. Once they had quit collapsing, I pushed out a large piece that hadn't fallen on its own and then walked into the family room while trying to avoid the worst of the glass. I could hear a female voice crying and screaming for help.

When heading for a fight or a possible fight, it's best to bring a weapon. I had the pop bottle, but I wanted something better. I crossed the family room into the kitchen and picked up a chair by the back and seat. I then headed toward the girl's screams.

I had just about reached the basement stairs when the magician appeared at the top of them. He looked bruised and battered, was bleeding from several places, and he had a big knife. "You! You made my master turn against me!"

Before he quit yelling, I charged and speared him with two of the chair legs. Another rule for a fight: hit first.

He went tumbling backwards down the stairs. Unfortunately, he had grabbed on to one of the chair legs before he fell, so I either had to let it go or fall down the stairs with him. I released my weapon and followed him down the stairway on my feet.

The magician was on his back. He was still alive and moving when I reached the bottom. Both his knife and the chair had flown out of his grasp and were halfway across the basement. The girl I had observed in my scrying was tied naked to the altar. She was frantically trying to pull herself loose.

Yet another rule: don't give the other guy time to recover. I felt Ursus take firm control of our body. He felt utterly grim and determined. I walked up to the magician, jumped into the air, and came down on his torso with the heels of my heavy winter boots. It's a killing move.

I stumbled off his body, but I caught myself before I fell. Blood was running from the demon-summoner's mouth. To be sure, I kicked him in the temple and stomped on his skull until I felt something give. I heard Arthur screaming in my head, and he lost his control over our manna, but it didn't appear that we were going to need it.

I didn't want to use the magician's knife and thereby smudge his fingerprints. I dug my athame out of my trouser pocket and opened it with my teeth so that I didn't have to remove my gloves. I walked up to the girl on the altar and cut her loose. She covered herself with her hands as best she could and cowered away from me. Between sobs, she gasped out, "He, he was going to sacrifice me."

I forced my voice lower than it naturally was. "I heard your screams and came to help." That was yet another lie. I hadn't heard her screams until I was already inside, but if the police caught me, it would be better if the authorities believed I had acted to save an innocent. "Call the police, and tell them everything that happened here. There is broken glass upstairs. Be careful."

I turned around, walked back up, went outside, slung my guitar, and left. On the way out of the yard, I scuffed my feet a lot and tried to stomp on my bicycle tracks. Maybe no one would notice them. Leaving the girl alone was cold hearted, but she had appeared afraid of me--right then, I was afraid of myself--and sticking around or letting myself be identified would be bad. With luck, she would describe me as older than Arthur was.

I felt utterly exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to find some place to curl up. Keep going Ursus ordered. Head away from the fire station. I followed the subdivision streets east until I came to Wool, then I followed Wool north until I came to Cord. I crossed on the corner with the light, and some idiot making a turn almost ran me down. I was so tired I hadn't seen him. Even the close call, though, wasn't enough to wake me up more than a little.

I was sorely tempted to turn west and head straight back to Bradley, but I decided it was safer to go north. I rode on the sidewalk beside Wool until I came to Normal. Then I went west until I came to Bradley, and headed for home from the north rather than the south. When I went past Danny's house on Twine, I saw that Mike and Terry's bikes were there, but no one was outside.

I put my bike away in our garage. I fished the pointing device out of the pop bottle, breaking the toothpick in the process, but that didn't matter anymore. I put the bottle back in the case I had taken it from.

I didn't play any hiding games with my guitar--I was too tired for that--I just walked inside carrying it. No one saw me come in, anyway. I laid the guitar on top of the dryer as I took off my coat and boots. "I'm home," I called.

"How was your bike ride?" Mom asked.

"Fine."

"What did the junior high look like?"

"Much like a light-industrial factory, or perhaps a minimum security prison."

"Smartass."

I went downstairs, and Mary followed me. "The magician won't be bothering us again," I said.

She started to say something.

I interrupted. "No questions. No details. Ever. And never say anything to anyone. Ever."

Mary looked me in the eyes for a few seconds, and then nodded her head.

I reached out and gave her a tight hug. When I released her, I said, "I badly need to rest. Tell everyone about band practice, please, if you haven't already, and wake me a couple hours before supper. I want to spend some time with Aunt Kate and Andy before they go home tonight."

"OK," she said.

I flopped onto the couch and cried myself to sleep.

***************************************************

Author's Note: There is more to the story of Ursus and Arthur, but I'm going to try a new experiment in its telling. I plan to work in advance for volume 2 rather than posting as I write. I don't know just how far in advance I'll work, but I intend to post progress reports on my blog occasionally. Thank you for reading.

Chapter 35: Boxing Day

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 35

I woke up about seven on Boxing Day and went upstairs. Mom, Dad, Aunt Kate, and Andy were all sitting around the kitchen table drinking coffee. Everyone but Dad had some toast. No one else seemed to be up yet. I wished everyone a good morning.

"Did you sleep well last night?" Mom asked.

"I didn't have any trouble," I said.

"With the amount of napping you did yesterday, I didn't think you'd be able to sleep at all."

"I woke up once during the night. Other than that, I slept steadily."

"Are you coming down with something?"

"Not so far as I know. Anyway, I have to pee." I made my escape. Most of my stuff hadn't been moved downstairs yet, so before heading into the big bathroom, I quietly got some older clothing that Mom considered play clothes out of my former room. After relieving myself, I did the morning ablutions. Then I dressed warmly--long underwear, both top and bottom; a flannel shirt; wool socks; and khakis. I also had a pullover sweater that had passed into the ratty category, but it was too warm to wear in the house. I just carried it for the time being.

I moved my toothbrush to the small bathroom where it would be handier to the basement, and I took my pajamas downstairs. Now that I was dressed, I put my athame in my pocket. When I went back up to the kitchen, Mary was eating a bowl of cereal at the table and chatting with Aunt Kate. I got my own bowl of flakes and joined them. Mary was going on about the piano. I mostly ignored the conversation; I was already starting to concentrate my thoughts on the task ahead.

Have a piece of pie, Ursus thought, once I had finished the cereal.

For breakfast? Arthur thought.

"Everything in moderation" and "get it while you can" are both good principles, so we'll have a moderate slice of pie, Ursus replied. I fetched a small slice of chocolate pie.

Of course, Mom, who was putting cups in the dishwasher, remarked, "Pie for breakfast?"

"It's dessert. I had my cereal first." She shook her head but didn't say anything more.

When I finished eating, I went downstairs and got both the bike rack that Mary had given to me and the tools from Dad's workroom that I needed to mount it to my bike. I went back upstairs and pulled on the sweater before going out into the garage. With the big door shut, I figured the sweater would be warm enough while I installed the rack.

The rack came with instructions, so I didn't have any trouble. While I was working, Mary came out. "I like your gift a lot," I said. "Thank you."

"You mentioned a couple of times how handy mine was, so I thought you'd appreciate it. I like the gift you got me, too. Did you know Mom and Dad were going to lease a piano?"

"No, but I was confident you'd find a way to learn."

"You seem to have developed a lot of faith in me, lately."

"I've become less stupid and self-centered, and I started to see what a fine person you are. Or should I say, 'ek-skellent' person?"

Mary lowered her gaze. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I need you to do me a couple of favors today."

"So, you were just buttering me up?" She smiled when she said it.

"No, but it seemed like a good time to ask."

"What do you need?"

"I'm going to track down the demon summoner this morning. If I'm not back by about ten, call Danny, Mike, and Terry and tell them that band practice is after supper today. (Kirsten already knows.) More importantly, if I'm not back by dusk, you need to tell Mom and Dad everything that has been going on. I'd prefer not to endanger anyone else, but this guy has to be stopped. Emphasize how dangerous things are. I doubt if they'll believe anything about magic or demons, but it might at least make them cautious."

"I want to go with you."

"You can't. I have a protective amulet, but you don't, and I need someone here who knows what's happening if things go wrong."

"You almost froze to death last time."

"I'm using a different technique now. I won't freeze."

"Why didn't you use it last time, then?"

Yeah, why didn't I? I asked Ursus.

At the time, I mostly considered it a training exercise--something to build us up and increase the understanding of my young brain mates. I had no idea how serious things were about to get.

"I was just starting to practice scrying then," I said, "and I was already primed for using my scrying pan. Once things turned ugly, I needed to invent a more portable method. I'll show you before I leave."

Mary acted as assistant as I finished up installing the rack. When we went back into the house, no one saw us, so I left my boots on and grabbed my old coat and took it with me as we went downstairs. No one else was in the basement. I moved the new pointing device to where it was handy and took up my guitar. I played until I had gathered some manna and then picked up the pointing device and fed it a trickle of magical energy. "See, it's pointing to the place the goat was killed, which is most likely the magician's basement."

"That's so cool!" Her expression turned serious. "But I wish it wasn't pointing you toward danger."

"Yeah, but I don't have any choice. I'll show you on the map roughly where I'm heading." I dug out my sketch of the local area. "See where the two lines cross? The magician should live somewhere around there." It wasn't a half-mile away, just a little west and then south of Cord. I could cross Cord at the traffic light in front of Thompson High School.

"We're not supposed to go over there without permission," Mary said.

I was about to tell her to get some perspective, but then I thought better of it. "OK, I'll get permission." I gave her the map. "Hang on to that. You can show it to Mom and Dad if I don't get home on time." I put my coat on and carefully wound the string of the pointer onto the pencil and gently put it in a coat pocket.

I picked up my guitar. "You go up first and turn into the kitchen so that you're mostly blocking the view as I put my guitar in the garage. I don't want people asking questions about why I'm taking it with me."

"OK."

We did that. I was only in the garage long enough to lean the guitar against the wall on the hinge side of the door. I didn't necessarily have to bring my guitar with me, but I didn't want to start out, find that I needed to collect more manna, and not have it.

I went back inside and stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the little hallway that the laundry room, small bathroom, basement stairs, and backdoor all came off of. "Hey, Mom, I'm going for a bike ride. Is it OK if I go to the subdivision on the other side of Cord?"

Mom and the other adults were at the table with Susan and my brothers. Pretty much everyone was chattering at once. "Why do you want to go over there?" Mom asked.

Time to lie. "Well, the junior high is over there. I'll be attending next year."

"Are you thinking about next year already?"

"The solstice and the new year are natural times to think about the future, aren't they?"

"I guess. Is Mary going with you?"

"I don't think so. Mary has other things to do."

"Yeah, uh," Mary said. "I was going to read some and maybe practice the organ."

"You're really enthusiastic about music, aren't you?" Aunt Kate asked Mary.

I decided it was a splendid time for me to do a slow fade and headed for the garage. I put the big door up and waited a little to make sure Mom wasn't going to stick her head out. When I was satisfied, I took a glass pop bottle from one of the cases stacked against the wall and slipped it under the spring clip of the bike rack.

Even though I knew they were there, I felt to make sure I was wearing both my star amulet and my protective-circle amulet. I pulled on a ski mask, slung my guitar on my back, and walked the bicycle to the end of the driveway.

I turned the guitar around and played long enough to collect a little manna. Taking out my athame, I cut a symbolic door through the inner circle. I then went through it and redrew the circle while feeding it some energy. I did the same to the outer circle. Once I was outside the circles, I put the athame away, pulled on some gloves, and set out. I hoped that anyone who saw me just chalked my behavior up to typical weirdness.

I turned left at the corner of Dewey and Bradley and then right at the corner of Bradley and Cord. The snow along the main road had turned from white into a mixture of black and gray since the last snowfall. I pedaled down the sidewalk of Cord for several yards and then got off the bike, held my gloves in my teeth, and played long enough to collect as much manna as I could hold. Hang on to the energy, Arthur, I thought. He didn't argue. I could feel him focus his attention on the job.

I took the bottle from the rack, slipped the toothpick with the goat hair inside, and unreeled the pointing device. The bottle would protect the toothpick from the effects of the wind, and in extremis it would serve as a weapon that didn't necessarily look like a weapon.

Ursus started feeding the pointer a trickle of manna while chanting point, point, point. I turned the guitar back behind me, pulled my gloves back on, and then stood still long enough for the toothpick to quit moving. It pointed south, or nearly so, maybe a bit west, too. I slipped the bottle into one of my big coat pockets. Carrying a glass bottle that way wasn't the smartest thing to do, but getting the toothpick back out would be tricky, and I didn't want to put the bottle back on the rack with the toothpick still inside. Jostling along with it lying on the side of the bottle could mess it up.

I got back on the bike and pedaled until I was in front of the high school, a red brick ugliness on which all architectural niceties had been spared. I checked the pointer after Ursus started giving it manna again. It now pointed both south and east, so I had gone too far west. I went up to the traffic light in front of the school and waited for it to change.

The north-south street coming perpendicularly off Cord and almost in line with the driveway of the high school was named Silver Avenue. I needed the street one block east. I didn't yet know its name.

I crossed Cord once the traffic stopped. I was on the east side of Silver. A fire station was on the west. When Mike, Terry, and I were younger, we used to run to the corner of Dewey and look down Bradley in hope of seeing a fire truck go by when we heard the warning horn on the fire station. To Arthur, those days felt long ago.

I went back east along the sidewalk. I learned that the street I needed was named Weiner Avenue. I waited at the corner while Ursus fed the pointer manna as a double check. It more-or-less pointed down the street. I headed south on Weiner.

I hadn't gone far when three kids, two boys and a girl, walking north on the sidewalk saw me. I guessed they were a bit older than Arthur. "Hey, kid," the girl called. I wasn't going fast, and I slowed some more. "Why are you riding around with a guitar?" She had dark blonde hair hanging out from her winter hat.

My first impulse was to ignore them, but that might piss them off, and I couldn't afford trouble at that moment. I stopped. More lies were needed. I felt a little sick to my stomach, but I didn't want kids involved with the situation. "Have you ever heard of busking?" I asked.

The girl shook her head, but one of the guys said, "Isn't that, like, when you go around playing on street corners and stuff in the hopes that people will give you money?" He was fairly tall.

"Yeah," I said.

"You picked a hell of a day to do it, dude" said the other boy, who was shorter.

"On the bright side," I said, "most people are off work." Only emergency workers and those providing essential services worked on Boxing Day, by law.

"Good luck on finding them outside," the tall boy said.

"Perhaps I'm overly optimistic," I said.

"Play something," the girl said.

"What's in it for me?"

She pulled a package of candy from her pocket. "I'll give you a licorice stick."

I shrugged. It would probably be the quickest way of ending this without unpleasantness. I got off the bicycle, shoved my gloves in the pocket on the other side of the coat from the one with the bottle, turned the guitar around front, and began to play. I strummed "Up in the Air" while I sang the words. Arthur took the opportunity to gather manna until I was again holding as much as I could.

The three of them started to clap when I was finished. "You're really good," said the girl. "Play another."

"Do I get another piece of licorice?"

"Sure!"

I sang them "The Paragon's Parade." They clapped again.

"One more?" wheedled the girl.

"I need to get going," I said. She looked disappointed for a second, but then she smiled and handed over the candy. I didn't really have any place to put it where it wouldn't collect fuzz. Oh, well. I unzipped one of my smaller pockets and shoved it inside.

"How much have you made so far?" asked the shorter boy.

"Two pieces of red licorice," I answered as I climbed on my bicycle.

"Good luck," said the girl. The two guys echoed her. I gave them a wave and pedaled down the street. It was a nicer subdivision than Arthur's. The homes were older, but they were all different shapes and sizes rather than uniform tract housing. The trees were bigger, and the yards were about twice the size of those on Arthur's block.

After a several seconds, I checked behind me. The teenagers weren't looking at me, so I got off the bike and pulled out the bottle. Ursus fed the pointer manna while I sighted along the toothpick. It was definitely pointing west of south, now. We were getting close. I looked at the most likely houses and reached out with my senses for magic. It wouldn't do to go blundering into someone's magical trap. It would be even worse if the demon or his magician caught us. All three of my consciousnesses felt scared.

I didn't get back on the bike but chose to walk it. Arthur controlled the manna. Ursus worked the pointer and gave slivers of his attention to help both Arthur and me. I felt for magic. We walked along until Ursus thought, This is the house. He took note of the address and memorized it using one of his mnemonic techniques.

I spared the house a piece of my attention. It was ranch style with white aluminum siding. It looked normal from the outside and well maintained. As I walked, the toothpick turned so that it kept pointing directly at it.

Well, that settled that. The pointer had served its purpose. I clipped the bottle back onto the rack and started to mount up. Then I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. A trim looking man was glaring at me from the picture window of the house. He looked to be about medium height, and he had curly gray hair. Shit.

Stay calm, thought Ursus. Try not to look suspicious. I felt Ursus lift our hand and give a wave. I was concentrating on getting on the bike and getting the hell out of there. Arthur, bless him, still had a firm grip on our manna.

As I pedaled off, Ursus thought, Go a normal speed until we're out of sight. I kept my magic senses extended, but mostly I paid attention to riding and steering and let Ursus worry about everything else.

The magician's house was three doors away from the next cross street, called Sire Avenue. I turned west on Sire and sped up. When I came to Silver, I turned back north and sped up even more. I badly wanted to be home, within the protection of the two circles.

I had almost made it back to Cord when the demon attacked. When he hit the protective circle provided by my amulet, the impact felt somewhat physical. It also felt somewhat mental. Mostly, though, it felt thoroughly unpleasant, like stepping into a pile of reeking shit while a gangrenous pack of hyenas drag their claws over chalkboards while crushing bones in their jaws and blowflies grown fat on rotting human flesh fly into one's eyes and attempt to lay their eggs--but a whole lot worse than that.

Ursus immediately took over primary control, and I lost all awareness of my body and surroundings. A picture formed within my mind. It was an empty space, black, except for a single circle of light. Within the circle stood a demon and a bear facing each other.

The demon looked clichéd. No doubt the vision--a red-colored man with horns, a goatee, obscenely large genitals, goat's legs, hooves, and a pitchfork--had been dredged out of Arthur's subconscious.

The bear stood rampant. He was larger than a grizzly, larger than a polar bear. His hair was black with white highlights on his muzzle and ruff. His claws were silver. His eyes flashed blue and shined with power. I knew that Ursus and Arthur and I were the great bruin, and the tripartite being that we formed was joined together in a common purpose. With the realization, my point of view shifted, and I was seeing through the eyes of the bear.

I concluded that the demon had broken the protective spell of the amulet and was now inside my mind. He pointed his pitchfork at me. "Yield, peasant, and your death will be painless."

I chuckled, a humorless growl. "Your kind does nothing without agony. Yield, demon, or your defeat will be painful."

I knew that in facing the daylight and in breaking the amulet's spell, the demon had weakened himself, so the contest was much closer than one might have guessed. I dropped to all fours and began to circle to the outside of the demon's stance.

The demon turned to keep his weapon between us. Part of my mind watched the evil spirit, part tended manna, and part began to visualize a spell: the demon's pitchfork shattering in his hands.

The slow circle continued as I fed manna to the vision, but the demon took action of his own: The roots of every strand of fur on my ursine body began to itch. Then they began to burn. It started to feel as if I were on fire.

I forced my concentration to deepen. One mind began to address the manna: "Come to me, you that I have loved, you that I have served, you that I have put before all others. Come to me. Come to me. Come to me." As the mantra continued, I could feel our supply of energy begin to replenish.

Another mind continued the spell: It visualized the pitchfork shattering, its splinters tearing off the demon's hands and arms, shredding its body. The scene became more real, little by little.

The third mind focused on my opponent. Watching. Waiting. Circling. With the increased concentration, the pain all over my body began to recede.

The demon broke first. He lunged with the pitchfork. I batted it away with one paw while stepping closer to my enemy. I reared and raked him with the claws of my other front paw. The demon stepped even closer and clinched. He had claws of his own and began to tear at my back. I bit him between the shoulder and neck and began to shake. His blood burned like acid in my mouth, and I clawed him some more.

For an unknown amount of time we were again at stalemate as we ripped and tore, blood and flesh flying. But then I concentrated my will and hugged the demon to me with one foreleg as I lifted the other. I extended a claw and drew the pentagram for air while feeding it manna. I growled, "I ask that the elemental power of air bless this circle and contain the demon within."

I agonizingly turned to the right while forcing the demon within my grasp to turn with me. As I rotated, I pictured the line of air coming from my claw gradually turn into a line of earth. I drew the pentagram for earth. "I ask that the elemental power of earth bless this circle and contain the demon within."

I turned more. The struggling of the demon became even more vicious as he tried to break my grasp. The line of earth slowly became a line of fire. I drew the pentagram for fire. "I ask that the elemental power of fire bless this circle and contain the demon within."

I continued to turn. The line of fire transformed into a line of water. The demon became more frantic. He bit and clawed and pissed and kicked and puked. I held on. I drew the pentagram. "I ask that the elemental power of water bless this circle and contain the demon within."

The demon's struggles became weaker now. I began to close the circle, visualizing the line of water turning again into a line of air. I didn't close it all the way, though. I pushed the demon away from me and then stepped back through the gap.

The demon lurched for the opening, but I closed the circle. He was too late. "You are circled, demon, yield." I dropped back to all fours.

"Never!" He spat at me, but it bounced off the barrier.

The manna gathering mantra had never wavered. First things first, I thought. I visualized myself healing. I repaired the burns to my mouth, muzzle, face, and chest. I healed the cuts on my back, belly legs, and groin. I then repaired my minds by forcing myself to forget just how utterly horrible the ordeal had been. My pain, both physical and mental, eased.

"I'll give you another chance to end this, fiend." The demon didn't deign to answer. "So be it," I said.

In my inner vision, I could see the imprisoning circle clearly. I began to feed it manna until it glowed with power. The demon stood huddled in the center.

I began to will the circle to shrink. Slowly, ever so slowly, the walls of the demon's prison drew closer. He began to howl. His screaming caused me pain in more than my ears, but I was undeterred. I continued to tighten the circle until the demon barely had room to stand.

He fell to his knees. "I yield, master! I yield!"

"Swear it on your seal," I growled.

The demon drew a complicated glyph in bloody flames upon the floor. "I swear on my seal that I yield, master!"

Something wasn't right. "That is not your seal," I said. I willed the circle to shrink some more.

"I'm sorry, master! I'm sorry!" The demon erased his first glyph and drew another. "I swear on my seal that I yield, master!" Blood was running out of his eyes like tears. This time it felt right.

"Swear on your seal that you will never attack me again."

"I cannot."

I again started to shrink the circle. "Please! Please! I can be summoned and compelled to attack. Such is my nature. I swear it on my seal."

I thought for a minute. "Swear on your seal that you will never attempt to harm me or anyone else again, including my family and friends, unless you are summoned and compelled to do so."

"I so swear on my seal."

"Say it all."

"I swear on my seal that I will never attempt to harm you or anyone else again, including your family and friends, unless I am summoned and compelled to do so."

"Swear on your seal that you will never, either through action or inaction, attempt to induce someone to summon you."

He looked displeased. "I swear on my seal that I will never, either through action or inaction, attempt to induce someone to summon me."

"Swear on your seal that you will never, either through action or inaction, attempt to induce someone to compel you to harm me or anyone else again."

"I swear on my seal that I will never, either through action or inaction, attempt to induce someone to compel me to harm you or anyone else again."

"Swear on your seal that you will never induce, either through action or inaction, another entity to attempt to harm me or anyone else."

"I swear on my seal that I will never induce, either through action or inaction, another entity to attempt to harm you or anyone else."

Given my limited time to consider the matter, I figured that should cover the issue. I thought some more. "Demon, you will swear by your seal to answer truthfully any and all of my questions."

"I swear by my seal to answer truthfully any and all of your questions."

"Why did you attempt to hurt me?"

"I wanted to protect my minion, plus hurting someone is always pleasurable."

"By 'minion' do you mean the magician who summoned you?"

"Yes, master."

"Does he live at--" I recited the address Ursus had noted.

"Yes, master."

"Why did this minion need protecting?"

"He has committed what humans deem crimes." The sneering tone in his voice let me know what he thought of humans and their crimes.

"What crimes has he committed?"

The demon started to rattle off a list, beginning with speeding tickets.

"Stop," I commanded. The demon stopped. "Do you understand what humans consider serious crimes?"

"Yes, master."

"What serious crimes did this minion commit?"

"He has murdered, raped, tortured, stolen--"

"Stop, that is enough," I said. "Why did you feel the need to protect him from me in particular?"

"You were scrying him. You might have seen evidence of his crimes and reported him to other humans or attempted to stop him yourself. Your kind is foolish that way, master."

"What evidence?"

"You saw him commit rape yourself. There are the remains of two human bodies in his freezer. There--"

"Stop," I said. "The girl I saw being raped, was she involved with your minion beforehand?"

"Oh, no." The demon smiled. "He saw her and wanted her. It amused me to compel her to go to him. Watching him break her was so sweet. He--"

"Stop," I said. "Is she with your minion now."

"She was when I last saw him."

"Loyalty is not a property of demons. Why is the minion of which we speak so important to you?"

He hesitated before answering. I willed the circle to close a little more. "In these times," he said, "there are many humans who long to summon my kind, but few remember the proper rites. We have learned to value those who still do."

Did I want to know the rites? No, absolutely not. "Demon, I am about to give you an order. You will swear by your seal that once you carry it out, you will immediately return home to your metaphorical dimension and never come back to this current physical dimension, unless a summoner compels you to do so."

"I swear by my seal that once I carry out the order that you are about to give me, I will immediately return home to my metaphorical dimension and never come back to this current physical dimension, unless a summoner compels me to do so."

"Demon, you will swear by your seal that you will strive to your utmost, expending every iota of your being in the attempt, that while harming no one and nothing else, you will now kill your minion, the magician who lives at--" I recited the address.

He glared at me and spittle flew from his mouth as he recited my order. "I swear by my seal that I will strive to the utmost, expending every iota of my being in the attempt, that while harming no one and nothing else, I will now kill my minion, the magician who lives at--" He recited the address and disappeared from the imprisoning circle.

Chapter 34: More Christmas

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 34

"That's what Mary told us." Mike said. "I thought she was shitting us."

"Well, you could think of it as me sitting there staring at a wooden disk, if it will make you feel better." I was slouched down so that my head rested on the back of the couch. I had trouble keeping my eyes open.

"OK, why were you doing that?"

"I was enchanting it."

"So you really believe in magic, then?" Terry asked.

I started humming a little tune about believing in magic that was popular when Arthur was younger. "Guys, I'm feeling really punchy right now. That spell casting stuff takes it out of me." I began humming again.

"Man," Mike said. "I never thought you'd believe in something so off the wall, Art."

"Have you seen anything that makes you think it actually works?" Terry asked.

"Before I tell you guys any more, you have to promise not to tell anyone what you saw or heard this afternoon." It was worth a shot. Still, I didn't think they would be good at keeping the secret. They both enjoyed telling weird-Artie stories too much, and Terry liked to gossip. Nevertheless, I had to try.

They looked at each other. "You're not including Mary in that, right?" Terry said.

"Right."

"Fine," Terry said.

"All right," Mike said.

I wanted nothing more than to drift off. "I'm sure magic is effective," I said. "If you want an example, it's one of the reasons I managed to beat those four guys in a fight."

"Did you, like, hex them, or something?" Terry asked. Mike had a small smirk on his face.

"No, I put a protective spell on myself. It made their strikes miss more often than they would have otherwise and weaker when they did hit."

"Damn," Mike said. "You almost have me thinking that you're not putting us on about believing that shit."

"As long as you keep your mouths shut about this, I don't much care if you believe me or not," I said.

"Well, that's a fine attitude," Mike said in straight-laced voice.

I grinned, but I said, "I really need to get some sleep before dinner. We can discuss this some other time, if you want."

"We brought our new instruments over for you to give them a fine tuning," Terry said. "Could you do that before you crash? I think we got them pretty close using Mom's piano, but we wanted to double check."

Part of me wanted to tell them to shove them sideways, but another part of me wanted to check out their new stuff. "Yeah, get some kitchen chairs out of my new bedroom, and take them over to the chord organ. I'll be with you as soon as you set up."

I must have drifted off, because the next thing I remember is Mary giving me a shake. "They're ready, Artie."

Mary helped pull me up, and I lurched over to the empty seat near the organ. "Jeez," Mike said. "You look like you're about to fall down."

"Magic is energy intensive," I said.

"Will you show us something, sometime?" Terry asked.

"You already saw what it looks like, at least from the outside. It's not that flashy," I said. Ursus amended to me, It can be, but we haven't yet experimented with magic on this node enough to know what all it can do.

Mike handed me their new guitar. It looked good. It had a sunburst finish going from light yellow near the center of the single-cutaway body, through orange, to dark red near the edge, and reddish brown right on the edge and back. Unlike their brother's guitar, which had three single-coil pickups, this one had two twin-coil humbuckers, each with separate volume and tone controls.

I strummed it. "Nice sustain. What are the woods?"

"Solid mahogany body, maple neck, rosewood fingerboard," Mike said.

"Those are good materials," I said. There were other good options, but from my reading and Ursus's experience, I knew that what they had were solid choices without being overly costly. Mrs. Prestor was a smart woman. I was sure she had done the research to get the most for her money.

I brought the tuning in as close to perfection as my ears and Ursus's skill could get, and then played a selection of chords and about a minute of the melody to "The Shepard's Lament" before handing it back. "Beautiful," I said. Their new guitar amp was small and mostly suited just for practice, but it didn't sound bad. "Do you have the whammy bar?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's in the case. I've learned that the one on Jeff's guitar messes up the tuning."

"'Tis the price of cool," I said. Terry passed me their bass. It, too, was a handsome instrument, but not as flashy as the guitar. It had a double-cutaway body painted reddish brown, lighter in the center and darkening toward the edge. A pickup was near the bridge and another by the neck, each with separate tone and volume controls.

I knew that the standard bass tuning was the same as the standard tuning for the four lowest strings on the guitar--E, A, D, G--but one octave lower. I fine-tuned the bass and finger picked it a little before giving it back. Unlike the guitar, the bass caused serious sympathetic vibrations around the basement. "That thing is really going to mess up your hands at first," I said. "I suggest only small doses of bass practice while they toughen up."

"What in hell was that?" Mom yelled down the stairs.

"That was Mike and Terry's new bass," I called back.

"Well, if you're going to be playing that thing around here, you're going to have to figure out some way to tame it."

"We'll work in it, Mrs. P.," called Terry. "Although I don't know how," he said much more quietly.

"Thanks for the help," Mike said. "Which guitar do you think is better, this new one, or Jeff's old one?"

"Both sound good and look well built. I couldn't say which one was better, overall. They do have somewhat different tones, though. Personally, I'd just use whichever one had the tone I was looking for on a particular song. I think you both should practice on each guitar, maybe alternate every day.

"And now, I must sleep," I said. I got up and headed straight for the couch.

I heard Terry ask, "Are we going to practice tomorrow?" but I don't think I answered.

I don't remember anything between then and when Mary shook me awake for Christmas dinner. "Dinner's ready, Artie."

"Just hold the pillow over my face until I quit moving."

"Come now." Mary took my arm, tugged me up, and herded me upstairs. I ducked into the bathroom for a couple of minutes.

I still felt sleepy. When Mom saw me enter the kitchen, she asked in a scolding tone of voice, "Were you asleep all afternoon?"

"Yeah, I didn't sleep much last night."

"He was dead to the world when we were down there playing pool," Rich said.

Mom shook her head. "You're going to mess up your sleep schedule."

"I have no excuse, ma'am," I said.

"Smartass," Mom said.

"Agnes, Agnes," Aunt Kate said in a rueful tone.

Mom thumbed her nose at her and then grinned. She said to me, "I hope you aren't going to go around like a tranquilized sloth all evening."

"Why's that?"

"Mrs. Kennedy invited us all over for dessert later. I told her that there were seven of us, plus two more for company, and convinced her that the three of them should come here instead."

I was mostly glad that Mom and Mrs. Kennedy seemed to be hitting it off so well, and Arthur was happy to see Kirsten, but I really wanted to get more sleep. "Oh. You and Mrs. Kennedy must be becoming friends."

"Is there any reason we shouldn't be?"

"Not that I know of. You just don't seem that much alike."

"Helen says I'm 'refreshing.'"

"I suppose that's one way to put it," said Aunt Kate.

Dinner was a big turkey, baked ham, squash, sweet potato, maize, stuffing, wild-rice casserole, deviled eggs, poppy-seed rolls, mixed vegetables, and whipped potatoes. Aunt Kate had helped Mom prepare it. They were both good cooks, so we all ate too much.

The Kennedys were scheduled to arrive at 7:30, so I slipped away right after we were finished eating to get a bit more sleep. Part of me felt bad about that, but there was a demon after me, and I had to be rested enough to do what I had to do.

The next thing I knew, Mary was shaking me awake again. "Kirsten's here."

"Wake up, sleeping beauty," Kirsten said. She bent down and gave me a kiss. It was a hell of a lot better than an alarm clock.

"Merry Christmas," I said as I got up. Arthur took over primary control, as he usually did when Kirsten was around.

"Merry Christmas."

The two girls helped me put the afghan over the back of the couch neatly. When I sat back down, Kirsten sat beside me. I put an arm around her, and she immediately snuggled right in. We had held hands a lot, but we hadn't got quite so cuddly before. As Mary sat down at the far end of the couch, she said, "I'm sorry, but both Mom and Mrs. Kenney forbade me to leave you two alone. I can go over to the far corner and practice the organ, though, if you want."

"That's OK," said Kirsten. "Tell me what you got for Christmas." So Mary told her while I mostly listened. Then Kirsten told Mary. I zoned out. "What do you think, Artie?" Kirsten asked.

I immediately replayed their last few lines of conversation in my head. They were talking about her outfit. Kirsten was wearing some of her Christmas gifts. "Stand up and spin around," I said. She gave me a skeptical look, but complied. I noticed she was wearing the little heart I had given her. She had on a snug, dark-gold sweater and a pleated burgundy skirt that fell to just above her knees.

"Spin around again, this time faster."

She smirked. "You're just trying to get my skirt to fly up."

"Well, yeah. You look terrific," I said.

"Thank you." Kirsten sat back down. "What did you get for Christmas?" I told her and fetched the calculator for her to look at.

"Come up for some dessert," Mom yelled down the stairs.

I went upstairs and exchanged greetings with Kirsten's parents. The Kennedys had brought a selection of fruitcake slices, frosted Christmas cookies, and a lemon pie. Mom had made a butterscotch pie, a chocolate pie (Andy's favorite), and an apple pie (Dad's favorite), plus she had put out some of her own fruitcake and Aunt Kate's shortbread cookies. Life is good, thought Ursus.

Aunt Kate lifted me a piece of butterscotch pie, and I snagged a few pieces of fruitcake. "Try one of the Christmas cookies," said Kirsten. She had a small slice of lemon pie and a small slice of chocolate pie.

All the chairs around the table were taken, but that was OK, because it left the family-room couch open for us. Kirsten and I snuggled together. "Lemon pie is my favorite," she said, "but the chocolate looked really good."

"You eat your pie like Mary," I said.

"How's that?"

"If there's more than one kind available, she can never decide." Mary was sitting in one of the armchairs, and I saw that she has slivers of lemon, chocolate, and butterscotch.

"What can I say?" Mary said. "Variety is good."

"Try a piece of my mom's lemon," Kirsten said as she offered it to me on her fork.

I took the bite. "It's good," I said after I swallowed. "Try a piece of my mom's butterscotch." I fed it to her. She gave me a bite of chocolate pie after that, and I popped a piece of fruitcake in her mouth.

I tried the cookie. Kirsten asked, "How do you like it?"

"It's good."

"I made them."

"Oh. That makes it even better."

She smiled at me. "This is really nice," Kirsten said. "My family seldom has much company during holidays, and when we do, it's never so many people."

"No relatives?"

"My dad's parents are in New Cornwall, and my mom's are in California. Dad has a brother in New Yorkshire, and Mom has a sister in Trimountaine. It can be difficult for anyone to get together."

The evening passed pleasantly. The kids all had too many sweets. The adults had a few drinks. There was a lot of talking and laughing. Rich lobbied to play a game. "Only if I don't have to move," I said. We decided on Effusion, a word game that required minimal fiddling with equipment and no fixed seating. Those who were interested in playing gathered in the family room. Kirsten and I got in some good cuddle time.

The next thing I knew, I heard Mr. Kennedy say, "Time to go home, Kirsten." I opened up my eyes.

Mrs. Kennedy said, "Those three look so cute, falling asleep like that." She was holding a camera. I suspected that we had been recorded for posterity. Kirsten was leaning against me. She turned to face her parents and blinked several times. Her glasses were askew. Susan was still asleep with her head in Kirsten's lap. Aunt Kate scooped Susan up and carried her toward the bedrooms. Kirsten fixed her specs.

"Are we going to have band practice tomorrow?" she asked.

I thought for a moment. Finding the home of the demon-summoning magician was priority one, and I didn't know how long it was going to take. But if the demon didn't kill me within the next few days, the band was an outstanding way to keep the Arthur part of me close to his friends. I looked at Mrs. Kennedy, "Would it be all right if we practiced after supper for an hour or two?"

"I suppose," she replied. "Mr. Kennedy or I will bring Kirsten over."

Along with my parents, I saw them to the door. Kirsten and I shared a hug and kiss before they left. It was a little after ten o'clock. "I don't know how you're going to sleep tonight," Mom said when she saw me checking the time.

"I won't have any trouble."

With all the people crossing them, the protective circles would be nearly destroyed. I needed to redo them, and I wasn't going to play around with going back and forth to use my guitar. I went downstairs and got it. When Mom saw me putting on my winter gear, she asked, "What the hell are you doing now?"

"I'm going to go sing a song under the stars. I'll be back inside in a few minutes."

"That sounds like a damn idiotic thing to do."

"I don't know. It might be inspiring."

"Weird-ass kid."

"I know. Where do you suppose I get it?" I went out. I realized that chances were I'd be watched out the windows, so I kept the knife concealed and my movements minimal as I redid the circles.

When I went back inside, Mom asked, "Did the stars enjoy your performance?"

"Well, they twinkled at me." I got ready for bed and went downstairs. I set the execrable alarm for one o'clock and racked out.

It went off as scheduled. I knocked it over on my first attempt at shutting it off, but on my second attempt I held it with one hand so that it couldn't escape while I silenced it with the other.

Something wasn't right. I reached out with my senses for magic, and they recoiled. It felt revolting. The demon was out there. I could feel him near my outermost protective circle. Don't get rattled, thought Ursus.

I don't want my family hurt, thought Arthur.

I took my protective amulet in hand. Do you think he'll attack? I asked.

I hope he does, Ursus replied. A single circle drove him off last time. If he tries to go through a double, it might put him out of commission all day tomorrow.

Ursus took control of our body. I pulled on a pair of slippers and went into my bedroom. I took my guitar and played until my three consciousnesses had all the manna we could hold. Ursus visualized a mighty taunt: a pie in the face, a slip on a banana peel, a withering glare, a raspberry, a thumbed nose, a stuck out tongue, a contemptuous sniff, an extended middle finger, a fart in one's general direction. We released it at the demon.

My magic sense could feel its fury, but the demon didn't attack. Well, it was worth a try, thought Ursus, but we can't expend any more energy on him. Let's get to work.

What? thought Arthur. We're just going to ignore him?

I'm open to suggestions, thought Ursus.

No one had any, so we began our preparations for the next day. We needed something more portable than a pie pan full of water. I took a new pencil and carved a shallow notch around its center. I then carved two stylized eyes, just arcs between the legs of sideways "Vs," near each end. I tied a piece of the braided string around the notch, and then carefully balanced the toothpick with the goat hair within a knot at the other end of the string.

After setting up for a spell and casting and purifying a ceremonial circle, I gathered more manna, anointed the eye glyphs and the string with blood drops, and began visualizing the spell as I deepened my trance. I pictured the scene with the goat until it was as clear in my mind as I could make it, and then I pictured the toothpick pointing at it.

I fed the spell manna steadily. My trance deepened. My concentration focused until I perceived nothing but the spell. Then I knew I was finished.

Before releasing manna, I tested the new pointing device. It indicated a reasonable direction, given the rough triangulation I had already done, so I broke the circle. Instead of dismissing the powers, I again asked them to strengthen the protective circles outside.

I headed for the couch and went back to sleep. Tomorrow, I would track down the servant of the demon.

Chapter 33: Christmas

Previous  -  Next
Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 33

At about 6:30 am, I heard Mom-type noises in the kitchen. A few minutes later, she came downstairs. I put down the book, made the quiet sign, and then pointed to Mary still asleep on the couch. Mom whispered to me, "Having trouble sleeping?"

"Something like that."

She smiled. "Excited over Christmas?"

"Something like that." I forced a smile of my own.

"I just wanted to see where Mary was. I need to get the turkey ready."

"Do you want help?"

"No, thanks, it's mostly a one-person job right now."

Mom went back upstairs, and I returned to reading. By seven, I heard other adult noises, and by 7:15, the rest of the kids were up. Shortly thereafter, I heard Mom yell, "You can goddamn well wait until I get the goddamn turkey in the goddamn oven." About fifteen minutes later, Rich was fetching Mary and me to come open presents.

I tried to act excited and happy, but I couldn't pull it off, so I aimed for neutral. All three minds in my head were concerned about the demon and his pet magician, and an orgy of materialism was no match for a living symbol of condensed evil. At least the coming of daylight should weaken the demon somewhat, as should the symbolism of the solstice and Christmas.

I snagged a kitchen chair as I passed--Mary followed my example--and we all gathered in the living room. The kids, including me, were still in their pajamas. I found a place mostly out of the way to put my chair down. Mom and Aunt Kate appointed themselves head present passers. In the chaos of tearing paper and excited children, it was hard to track what everyone else was doing.

Despite my Christmas letter, Mom and Dad gave me only one piece of clothing, a new coat to replace the one that had been torn when Donbo caused me to wipe out. The new parka was inoffensive beige, long enough to cover my butt, had a hood, and had lots of pockets. Whoever had picked it out, probably Mom, had taken into account my preference for functionality over appearance.

Aunt Kate gave me a hand-knitted tuque--she had made one for everyone in the family--and she and Andy gave me an electronic calculator with a memory key and a square-root function. I was touched that they had spent so much on me. Mom and Dad also got me all of the books, in paperback, that I had listed at the end of my Christmas letter. Mary gave me a heavy-duty rack, with spring clip, for the back of my bike.

I thought I had received a pretty good haul and was helping bag up the dead wrapping paper when Mom handed me another gift. It was a long package and weighed a few pounds. All eyes were upon me as I unwrapped it. It was a rectangular, hard-shell guitar case. It felt solid, had strong-looking hardware, and probably could take a beating. I opened it up. It was well padded and covered with a fuzzy material that would be gentle on a guitar's finish. It most likely was worth more than my guitar.

"Thank you. This is a really nice case." Unfortunately it was meant for an electric guitar and too thin to hold my acoustic. I didn't say anything about that, though. I could either tell Mom and Dad later in private, or say nothing and just hang on to it for when I eventually bought an electric.

"Look in the cubbyhole," Mom said.

I opened up the accessory compartment. Inside were a set of replacement strings, some finger picks, and some papers. "Thank you, I've been wanting to try finger picks, and a spare set of strings is always handy."

"Read the note." Oh. I had figured it was just something declaring the wonderfulness of the case and explaining its care and feeding. I opened up the note--it was in Mom's writing--and began to read it to myself.

"Read it out loud."

Pushy, pushy. "Dear Arthur, Mary told us that Hank of Hank's Music Emporium treated you right when you bought your guitar from him, so we've put some money on account there for you to pick out an electric guitar to go with your acoustic. Love, Dad and Mom." Attached to the note was a due bill for forty pounds.

"Wow," I said. "You guys shouldn't have gone to such expense." The Arthur part of my brain was somewhat excited, but I was mostly too worried to feel much happiness, and part of me felt guilty that they had spent so much. I hoped they took my somberness as me being stunned by their gift.

"Bullshit," said Mom. "You've impressed the hell out of us with the amount of work you've been doing."

"If you keep practicing like you have been," added Dad, "we'll pay for two half-hour lessons per week, too--either at Hank's or wherever you think is better."

"Thank you so much," I said. Given Ursus's vast knowledge, I didn't need lessons, but I wasn't going to argue about it, then.

Fortunately, I was soon out of the spotlight. Mom handed Mary a package. It was a book, Easy Piano Songs , with a note attached to it. Mary didn't need prompting to read the note aloud. "Dear Mary, your actions have proved to us that you really want to learn how to play the piano, so a leased piano will be arriving Thursday. We'll pay for two piano lessons per week, and if you practice faithfully for a year, we'll buy a piano. Love, Dad and Mom." Mary started to bawl and gave them both hugs.

Trying not to let my worry show, I went back to picking up garbage. When the living room was just about as straightened up as it was going to get, at least until we all found places to store our new stuff, Mom said, "You can have the room in the basement, too, you little shit."

Thank Bog. I would finally have someplace private to do magic, and other things. Often. Maybe every day. Maybe twice per day. Rich heard and said, "That's not fair! Why should Artie have his own room when the rest of us can't?"

"He's the oldest, and life's not fair."

Rich complained some more. I ignored him and took my presents downstairs, except for my new winter hat and coat, which I hung in the coat closet after making sure it fit. I then took a shower and got dressed. With all the people wandering around the house, there wasn't any point in renewing the circle I had cast from the basement, but I could renew the one outside and put another one between it and the house.

I went back to the basement and played guitar long enough to fill myself with manna. Arthur and Ursus kept a hold on it while I went upstairs to pull on my winter gear. "Where the hell are you off to?" Mom asked when she noticed what I was doing.

"I'm just going to walk around the yard a bit. It'll test this coat for winter worthiness."

"I want you to keep your new coat nice and use your old one for play."

"Fine, but I'm not going to be playing." I went out and renewed the first circle with some manna and cast a second one inside it. I had spread the manna too thin, so I went downstairs and gathered some more.

When Mom again noticed me getting ready to go outside, she said, "In out, in out--what are you, a lunatic?"

"It's true that living in this place has pretty nearly driven me insane," I said.

"Smarta--" she caught herself. "You're right. This joint is an asylum."

I put on my old coat, went out, and poured the manna into the second circle. After that, I went back inside and retreated to the basement. I considered the information I had gathered from the old grimoire. The book described complex rituals employing several variations of the name of the Christian God and his assorted titles. Supposedly, they could force a demon to yield to a magician's will. In truth, much of the book seemed to be made-up nonsense.

To the extent that it wasn't, Ursus doubted that its techniques would work for us. I'm not a Christian, he said, and you two don't seem that religious.

I've never received much religious training, said Arthur. But how religious can someone who summons a demon be?

Being religious and being righteous are two different things, replied Ursus. A man who summons a demon to fetch him nubile girls can do so while at the same time believing his actions are a sin.

Why would God help him do something like that?

Religious fervor, the kind that becomes a type of trance, can attract and manipulate manna directly. No gods have to be necessarily involved. Of course, in some cases they are involved, but they don't have to be.

I put aside The Demon Prince and took up The Book of Hermes , the library book that had been written by a ceremonial magician, one Theodoros Raven. Ursus assumed control of our body and looked through the book until about ten o'clock, when we were called to come get something to eat. At least this Raven joker understands the importance of visualization and concentration, Ursus thought, but he is overly fond of obscurity. I don't believe his book will be of any practical use.

I went upstairs. "How do you want your eggs, Artie?" Aunt Kate asked. She was in charge of the eggs, and Mom was making pancakes.

Don't say "poached," thought Ursus.

Why not? thought Arthur.

They're already busy as hell. Why make them dirty another pot?

Sunny side up, then, thought Arthur.

Over easy, thought Ursus.

I like soft yolk.

So do I. You get more soft yolk with over easy.

Really?

"Over easy, please," I said.

You'll see, thought Ursus to Arthur.

What can we do about the magician, then? I thought.

Unless we have more time than I think we do, Ursus replied, we're going to have to use techniques that we already know work on this node. For instance, perhaps we can trap the magician in a restrictive, rather than protective, circle.

What's to stop him from just walking out of it, like people can walk through our ceremonial circles? Arthur asked.

Well, with our current strength, it's true that we can't physically contain anyone, but we could make a circle strong enough to neutralize, for a time, his magical power if he crosses it.

Will a restrictive circle control a demon? I asked.

Circles work better on metaphorical entities than they do on physical ones, and our ceremonial circle drove off a demon last night, so a restrictive circle should work on this node. Of course, we can't be sure without actual testing.

What did you just say about using techniques that we know work?

Point taken, but we at least know that cast circles have been useful in some circumstances. Believe me, I like acting without careful research and testing even less than you do.

It's a shame we don't have a friendly demon to experiment on, I said.

We need to cope with the situation as it is, and right now, we have no choice other than to take considered risks.

So what do we do?

Today, we build up our defenses. Tomorrow, we need to find out exactly where the magician lives. If we have the opportunity, we also should find out if the girl is a willing participant or a victim.

We pondered the problem as I ate. When I was finished, I quietly told Mary that I needed her downstairs. She followed me to the basement. "The literal solstice will be at 12:34 local time. It's an excellent opportunity to cast a more powerful than usual spell." I handed her the wooden disk with the new glyph carved upon it. "Once I charge it, that will be an amulet to help protect me and the people physically close to me from demons and hostile magic."

"You want me to run interference again," Mary said.

"You got it. It's especially important that no one interrupts me this time. I've got an angry demon on my trail."

"What should I tell someone who gets pushy?"

"Try just emphasizing how I told you that I really didn't want to be interrupted. If that doesn't work, tell them that I'm casting a magic spell and will likely be more cantankerous than I've ever been in my entire life if it gets messed up. As a last resort, tell them I'm trying to stop a demon from getting me. Don't use that option unless you have to, because it's liable to backfire and land me in the care of a psychiatrist."

"OK, I'll do my best."

"Thank you. I'll be starting the ritual at about 11:30. I hope I can get at least one of the amulet's sides charged as close to 12:34 as I can."

"How about moving the table into your new bedroom?" Mary asked. "I'll be able to protect your circle a lot easier if all I have to guard is the door."

"That's an outstanding idea." Ursus, why didn't you think of that?

Hell, I don't know. Maybe I assumed you weren't allowed to abscond with the table.

Mary and I cleared off the table, moved the chairs out of the way, and carefully maneuvered it sideways through my bedroom door. Getting the legs around the doorframe proved to be tricky, but we managed. We then rearranged some of the accumulated junk in the room so that I could set up my ritual area, which I did.

"Thanks for the help," I told Mary. "Until I need to start the spell, do you want to practice holding manna?"

"That would be great," she said with a smile. Whether she managed to hold on to it or not, manna passing through one's body felt good--a natural high, as certain warriors against recreational pharmaceuticals were wont to extol.

We relocated to the couch. Mary sat to my right, where she would be out of the way of the guitar's neck. I put my left foot up on a stack of old magazines and touched Mary's left foot with my right. "You know the drill; just keep experimenting until you figure out how to grab on."

I played the guitar and sometimes sang along. As I collected manna, I passed it to Mary. When 11:30 approached, I was just about to call time when I felt a surge of magical energy come to me through my connection to my sister. Could it be?

I think so, thought Ursus.

At the same time, I glanced at Mary. Her brow was wrinkled and her lips pursed. She looked as if she were concentrating powerfully. I played for another five minutes and felt several more pulses of manna come from Mary as I did so.

When I stopped passing her manna, Mary said, "I did it!" She stood up and started bouncing on her toes in excitement.

"You sure did," I said. "I'm proud of you." I got up and gave her a quick hug. "Now, though, I have to start my spell."

I did the usual preliminaries but took extra care casting the ritual circle. I then collected more manna, deepened my trance, pricked my finger, anointed the glyph with blood, deepened my trance some more, and began imagining demons bouncing off the protective circle created by the amulet. By "I," I mean all three of my minds working together for our common goal.

What had the demon felt like when he had collided with the ceremonial circle the night before? What did it sound like? How had he smelled? What was the sensation when he went away? Will myself to feel, over and over again, a generic demon colliding with the amulet's circle and then fleeing. Picture a representative demon bouncing off the circle. Imagine a different demon being foiled. Again, with a different demon. Again. Now do it for smell, and for sound. Can I manage it for taste? Finally, try to experience all the senses at once, including the magic sense. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat

Now, imagine a spell being stopped cold and dispersed. Picture it as air, then earth, fire, water. Think of it as lightning, rocks, confetti, little stars, lines of force, rain, hail, bullets, sparkles, glitter, light, laser beams, lava, winds, tornados. Don't just see them. Feel them. Hear them. Smell them. Taste them. Keep in mind that they represent spells , not the actual things. Heck, imagine a spell as mental telepathy. Repeat. Repeat some more.

I felt a sense of completion for the first side. Although I stayed in a light trance, I let my concentration ease somewhat. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was about 12:34. Don't decide something is a coincidence when magic is at work, thought Ursus. We picked up the guitar, collected more manna, flipped the amulet over, deepened our trance, and repeated the entire charging process for the other side.

We finished at about quarter after one. I threaded the same kind of braided string through the eyehook of the new amulet as I had used on the star amulet, then I hung the protective talisman around my neck with the other. I hauled myself to my feet, cut the circle, thanked the powers, and asked them to reinforce the circles outside the house. I had no idea if my request would work, but it was worth a try. As usual after a major spell, I felt exhausted. I went out the door of my new bedroom with every intention of shuffling over to the couch and collapsing until I was called to eat Christmas dinner.

Mike, Terry, and Mary were all in the sitting area. New amplifiers and guitar cases were on the floor around them. Mike was holding a new electric guitar. Terry had a bass. "When they came over," Mary said, "Mom just sent them down. I kept them out of your room, at least."

"What in hell were you doing?" asked Mike from the armchair.

"They looked through the doorway," Mary said.

"It's like you were hypnotized or something," Terry said. "You didn't hear us at all."

Shit. I staggered toward the couch. Mary scooted over to give me a place to sit near the arm. Terry immediately scooted closer to her from the other side and theatrically batted his eyelashes. Mary showed him her fist.

Once I had more-or-less fallen into my spot, I said, "I was casting a magic spell."

Chapter 32: Defending Against Demons

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 32

I began to hear footsteps walking around above my head and voices. The whole household was probably awake. At the moment, the only light in the basement was coming from the candle I'd used to represent fire. I picked up my athame, closed it, and dropped it into the pocket of my pajamas.

All three of my minds were concentrated marvelously. I turned on the light over the sitting area, snuffed the candle, hastily slid all four chairs under the table, and headed for the stairs. I noticed that Harvey's fur was puffed out.

On my way up, I heard Mom say, "Did something explode?" When she saw me, she asked, "Did something blow up in the basement?" Mary was standing beside her, and Audrey was hiding behind her legs.

"Not that I saw," I replied.

Aunt Kate came from the hallway. She was carrying Susan, who was crying. Dad appeared from behind her, and then Andy with Rich and Charlie. Dad had taken the time to pull on a pair of pants; he normally slept in his underwear. Charlie hadn't been crying at first, but seeing Susan doing so apparently set him off, and he began to wail, too.

I couldn't tell which consciousness was in charge of my body. We were all working together without comment or dissent. I headed for my bedroom and pulled on a pair of khakis over my pajamas. I transferred the athame to a trouser pocket and then put on a sweater Mom had knitted. I went back out and headed straight for my boots. I didn't see Dad and Andy, but I presumed they were checking the basement.

"Where in hell are you going?" Mom asked.

"I'm going to look around outside," I said as I continued dressing. Mom wasn't in any mood to argue, apparently, and turned her attention back to calming Charlie. Mary had an arm around Rich. He wasn't crying, but he looked upset. I pulled on my coat and went out the back door into the garage. As soon as the door shut, I began softly singing a Christmas carol.

My star amulet, of course, hung against my chest. I only took the talisman off to bathe. I started trying to call manna while at the same time singing. The Arthur part of my brain took up the song while the "I" part began to chant internally and to picture the manna flowing in: Please come to me. I need you. Please come to me .

I went out the side door to the east and then walked around to the front of the house, the north. It had to be cold outside, but I didn't feel it. My body was on automatic as I walked. Music without my guitar hadn't yet been enough alone to call manna, so the Ursus part of my mind was focused on achieving a light trance in record time. I walked to the end of the driveway and turned around as if I were examining the roof. My gaze, however, was all internal.

Arthur's song was not yet finished when Ursus achieved a timeless moment and filled us with as much manna as we could hold. Ursus and Arthur both turned their attention upon maintaining our grip on the magical energy as I took out and opened the athame and walked closer to the house. I held the knife deep in my hand so that only the point stood out between my thumb and forefinger. It would not do to have someone look out a window and see me waving it around.

I faced the north. While visualizing a line of air flowing from the tip of the athame, I drew the pentagram for air and fed it manna as I did so. "May the elemental power of air bless and protect this circle, this home, and its occupants."

I continued to the east. As I walked, I pictured the line of air slowly turning into a line of earth. I passed through the gate to the backyard. When I reached the approximate center of the east side of the house, I drew the pentagram for earth. "May the elemental power of earth bless and protect this circle, this home, and its occupants."

I continued to the south, crunched through the snow, fed manna, and slowly changed the line pouring out of my athame from earth to fire. At the back of the house, I drew the pentagram for fire. "May the elemental power of fire bless and protect this circle, this home, and its occupants."

I walked to the west while changing the line of fire to water. I drew the pentagram for water. "May the elemental power of water bless and protect this circle, this home, and its occupants."

The other gate hadn't been cleared of snow, but I managed push it open a little and squeeze through while maintaining my concentration. I continued back to the north while visualizing the water turn into air. When I closed circle, I felt Ursus strengthen it with the rest of our manna. That should slow the demon down if he decides to come back, he thought.

At about that time, Dad appeared around front. Presumably, he had come from the same door I had used. "Did you find anything?" he asked me.

"I went all around the house, but I didn't see anything that could have made the house shake."

"Thunder can sometimes happen this time of year, but the sky is clear, so that wasn't it," he said.

Dad, of course, needed to make his own inspection, so I left him to it and went back inside. I hoped he didn't tromp over the protective circle too much and weaken it. As soon as I was through the door, Mom asked me if I had found anything, and I gave her the same answer I had given Dad.

Aunt Kate was rocking Susan in the family room. Andy was with her. Mary and my two brothers were gone. I guessed that Mary was putting them back to bed.

"Why don't you go see if you can get some more sleep?" Mom said.

"That sounds like a fine idea." I went back downstairs. I took off my outer clothes and lay back down on the couch in my pajamas, but there wasn't much chance that I was going to fall back to sleep any time soon. Besides, there were things I had to do yet, once the household settled back down.

Did you noticed what happened outside? Ursus asked.

It was difficult for one of my minds to keep something from the other minds if they wanted to know it, but it was easier to just ask, What?

We managed to think of three different things at once.

Cool! Arthur thought.

Interesting, I thought. Did you know something like that might eventually happen?

I never considered it, but it certainly will be a useful benefit of our condition. We spent some time musing on the possibilities as we waited for the lights to go off upstairs and the human noises to stop. Harvey gave an inquiring mew and jumped up on me. I petted him while he purred.

How dangerous are demons, Ursus?

This is a new node for me, so I can't answer for sure, but the usual answer is "very."

What are they? Like what's on TV or in books?

Demons, in the way you mean--as you know, the classical Greeks, for example, had a different idea--are a metaphorical embodiment of evil.

"Metaphorical" in the language sense or the magical sense?

Both. The metaphorical dimensions often reflect the concepts of the physical dimensions.

Are you saying human beings created them?

In a way. In a way, the metaphorical dimensions are entirely created by the intelligent forces of the physical dimensions. Mind you, that's my belief about how the multiverse works. Others disagree. Many people believe the exact opposite of what I just said and say that the metaphorical creates the physical. Of course, complex feedback loops are involved either way.

Thanks, that cleared things right up.

You're welcome.

This magician is a bad guy, then? asked Arthur.

He's calling the wicked type of demon "lord." That's decisive. If he wasn't a bad guy when he started trafficking with demons, he is now.

And we have him thoroughly pissed off at us, thought Arthur.

Indeed, thought Ursus, the demon, too. Consider this a teaching moment. Magic can be dangerous business, and I suspect that being in such a young body has rendered me less cautious than my wont. I underestimated the effective magical techniques known on this node and let us go blundering around. Now, we are in deep shit.

Blame it on hormones! I said.

What are we going to do? Arthur asked.

Ursus, justifiably, ignored me and answered Arthur. For now, we need to shore up our defenses, as we've been doing. Next, we need to get rid of the demon and stop the bad guy from summoning it again, or others like it.

That's reassuringly vague, I thought. Do you mean something like an exorcism? I had seen a movie on television about such an event.

It could be. Or maybe we can kill the demon or trap it in something. All three are possible actions on various nodes. We need to find out more, and fast. Damn it! I haven't felt this foolish in years.

That's the demon. How do we stop the magician? I asked.

I could feel Ursus hesitate before answering. We have to find a way to cut him off from his power, or we have to kill him.

I'm not a murderer .

I could feel Ursus get angry. Neither am I! He sent a demon after us. That's deadly business. If we take him out, it's self-defense.

The law says it's self-defense only in the heat of the moment. You can't calmly plan to kill someone and call it self-defense. That's plain murder.

Bullshit! Your law has no conception of how to deal with magic. Once that crazy bastard loosed a demon on us, this became wizard business. My business. We were then treated to several minutes of Ursus actively recalling incidents wherein he acted outside the law without a shred of guilty conscience. It appeared that old Ursus had a strong sense of ethics, but laws held no moral weight with him, at all.

I've always tried to be good, thought Arthur.

Arthur, I don't want to be condescending, but you are young. You are growing up fast, but still, you are young. For young people, simply obeying the law is a good idea. You don't yet have the life experience to know when the law is inadequate for the situation. I, however, am a wizard, and old. Normally, I'm a powerful wizard and one day will be again. As a man of power, I sometimes have to do what is necessary, whether it is legal or not. You, also, will be a man of power .

So you feel free to take the law into your own hands? I thought.

You're making an unwarranted assumption, Ursus thought. If I violate the self-determination of another sapient being, it has nothing intrinsic to do with the law. It simply is necessary .

What if you're wrong?

Everyone, always, bears full responsibility for his or her actions. A police officer who guns down a robber brandishing a gun is neither more nor less responsible for his actions than I will be if I have to kill this rogue magician. With free will comes responsibility, always. The short answer to your question is--don't be wrong.

That sounds so arrogant, thought Arthur.

It does, at least when one is first exposed to the concept. It might help if you think about it this way: Men can create laws, but laws are abstract concepts. The actions of sentient beings, however, are concrete. If you act in free will, you are responsible for those actions--concretely. Everything else is abstract justifications or rationalizations for why you freely chose to act.

What about reflexes? asked Arthur.

Don't nitpick.

Each of my minds spent several moments thinking to itself. Ursus continued: I don't kill lightly, fellow brain-mates . We were given a few minutes of recollections of times Ursus had killed sapient beings. If I can, I'll try to find some other way to stop this demon conjuror. But he has to be stopped, and we're the ones on the spot.

It was impossible to argue with that. We knew of two demonstrably potent magicians in the world, and we were one of them. We can't let him hurt us, or anyone else, I thought.

Indeed not, thought Ursus. I'm especially worried about the girl. He was thinking about the beautiful young brunette we had twice scried.

You don't believe she is in league with him? I asked.

Perhaps she is, but it's at least as likely that she's one of the reasons our magician summoned a demon in the first place.

Ew, thought Arthur, and that pretty much summed up that.

The light had gone off upstairs, and people had quit moving around. We had to get back to work. I softly played the guitar to collect manna and cast an additional protective "circle" around the perimeter of the basement. Ursus assured us that, by visualizing the circle going up in a cylinder, it would help protect the upstairs as well. Unfortunately, I had to follow the outline of several of the internal walls of the basement. Because the upstairs internal walls were different from the basement internal walls, the circle would quickly be degraded once people again started moving around.

I then purified the circle around the basement. I did my best to vividly recall what I had felt when the demon was near, the nauseating sense of evil, and visualize the elemental air, earth, fire, and water destroying it. I longed to purify separately the upstairs as well, but there was no practical way to do so.

When I was finished--emphatically not dismissing the elemental powers--I noticed Mary sitting on the end of the couch. When she saw that I had recognized her, she asked, "Do you know what happened tonight?"

I wasn't going to lie to her, especially if Ursus intended to make her an apprentice. She deserved to know what she was getting into. "It was a demon. I woke up to scry the magician who killed the goat, and he sent a demon after me. My circle stopped it."

Mary looked scared shitless. I sat down beside her and put an arm around her. She hugged me back. We sat silently holding each other of a couple minutes. "We need to tell someone," she said.

"Who would believe us?"

She thought for a moment. "You said you've been learning magic from books. We could tell the authors of the books and ask for help."

That was an intelligent idea, especially for a ten-year-old who didn't have the advantage of being attached to the mind of an ancient wizard. Unfortunately, neither the books Ursus had learned from nor their authors were on this node. "Some of the authors are dead, and I don't know how to get in touch with the others," I said.

"We could go through the publishers." That was another relatively smart idea.

"We're pressed for time, and it probably takes a while for publishers to forward messages, especially during the Christmas season." That statement was purposefully misleading, but I wasn't ready to reveal the presence of Ursus to anyone.

"What will we do?"

"I'm working on it. I put up a protective circle outside the house, too, so for now, we're in a double circle. A single circle stopped its first attack, so we should be safe for a while. I'm going to do some more work, now."

"Do you want some help?"

"There's nothing for you to do for a while. Try to get some sleep; I might need you in the morning. You can stay down here, if you want. Use the couch."

Mary looked unsure, but she stretched out under the afghan. I used the guitar to collect manna and drew a protective circle around the couch as she watched. "There, you're really well defended, now."

I went into the storage room to select a piece of the wood we had gathered. Ursus decided the ash pole was metaphorically our best choice, so I took it. When I came out, Mary said, "Leave the light on." I nodded and went into the workroom. Harvey followed me in. He was sticking close.

Fortunately, the workroom was on the east end of the house while the bedrooms were on the west. Nevertheless, I cut a disk off the end of the pole with a handsaw so that I made as little noise as possible. I put the disk in the wooden-jawed vise and somewhat equalized the thickness with a rasp. Then I gave it a quick sanding by laying a piece of sandpaper flat and rubbing the disk on it.

The attack by the demon had decided for my brain collective which spell we were going to work on the solstice. We needed increased protection from magic and demons. Ursus had quickly designed in our head an appropriate glyph. I used drafting tools to lay it out in pencil on both sides of the disk.

I drew a circle fairly close to the edge of the disk. On the top, bottom, and both sides of the circle I left gaps. Following the map conventions of the node, I put a symbol representing air in the top gap. The right gap got earth, the bottom gap fire, and the left gap water. I knew from the witchcraft books I'd been reading that many magicians on the node believed that earth should be north and air east, but Ursus disagreed, and in matters magical, he was the boss.

Multiple symbols exist to represent the various classical elements. I used the simplest; carving in wood was difficult enough without getting fancy. Fire was represented by an upward pointing triangle, water by a downward pointing triangle, air by an upward pointing triangle with a horizontal line near the upward point, and earth by a downward pointing triangle with a horizontal line near the downward point.

In the center of this miniature protective circle, I drew a simplified version of the sigil that the brain collective had designed several days before to represent ourselves. During the casting of the spell, I would be sure to visualize the circle also protecting people near me, at least those I wanted to protect.

I got out the smallest gouge and began carving, using only hand pressure. The ash was noticeably tougher than either pine or green willow. Nevertheless, I took my time to minimize slip-ups; beauty counted in glyph magic. When that was finished on both sides, I stripped the bark from the edge of the disk, rounded the corners with a file, and gave everything a more careful sanding.

When I came out of the workroom, Mary was asleep. Everyone in my head felt touched by the faith she was putting in us. I wanted to find a place to stretch out myself, but I needed to keep going. I went to the basement table, found the other tiny eyehook I had bought, and screwed it into the edge of the disk near the sign for air. I had now done everything to the new amulet that I could until it was time to cast the spell.

I picked up the library book that was supposed to be the translation of an ancient grimoire, The Demon Prince, settled into the armchair near the couch, and began to read. Harvey jumped into my lap. Morning was going to arrive too soon.

Chapter 31: Oops

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 31

As we rode home, I explained to Mary what I had seen during my inadvertent scrying session. I didn't mention Ursus's speculation about the chain and collar.

"So he's really another magician, then?" Mary asked.

"It looks all but certain. I want to get home and try scrying his place some more."

"Why are you so concerned about this man?"

"I don't know, but I keep seeing visions of him and his house even when I'm not trying to. Something about him is important."

When Mary and I got home, I left my pack in the garage and we went in. Mom said, "Where have you two been all this time?"

"Just around," I said. "We never went far."

"I'm surprised you haven't frozen your asses off." I looked behind myself as if checking for the presence of my buttocks. Mom continued: "The phone has been ringing off the hook."

"Why is that?"

"People calling to see if band practice is at one."

Oh. I hadn't known anything about a band practice at one. "What have you been telling them?"

"I've been saying that you never told me anything, but to show up then if they don't hear from you."

"I didn't really have band practice in mind. I just figured Mike, Terry, and I, and maybe Mary, would be practicing today after supper."

"If you're going to be a bandleader," said Mom, "you need to communicate with your troops better."

"Who elected me leader?"

"You're the one they all seem to listen to."

Shit. "All right, I'll straighten things out."

"Don't tie up the phone for very long."

It looked like my plans were about to change. I called Danny's place first, because I knew there was a good chance that Mike and Terry would be there. They were, and so was Sean. Since they already expected a practice, I told them to show up at one. Then I called Kirsten's house.

Kirsten answered. "What have you and Mary been up to all morning?"

"We were on a top secret mission involving espionage and black arts. Mom said you were concerned about band practice."

"Is it at one, as usual?"

"I guess. I hadn't really thought about it, but that's when everyone is going to show up."

"I don't want to be mean, so please don't take this the wrong way, but if you're going to be band leader, you need to make sure everyone knows the schedule."

"Mom already said much the same thing. I didn't know that I was leader until a few minutes ago."

"Who else would it be?"

"Well, Danny's usually the leader in most stuff our little group does together."

"He seems to be deferring to you during practice."

"I guess. Anyway, I've been forbidden to tie up the phone. I'll see you in a few minutes. I have just enough time to grab a sandwich."

Mary handed me a plate with a salami sandwich and some chips on it. I had seen her working at the kitchen counter, but I hadn't really been paying attention to what she had been doing. "Thank you," I said. "You're a good sister." She smiled at me.

After we ate, I fetched my backpack from the garage and went downstairs to put my magic equipment away. That done, Mary and I moved the old kitchen chairs over to the chord organ and got out some folding chairs, in case Pam and Sean showed up with the others.

Sean, Mike, Terry and Danny arrived first. Danny had brought the pedal car, so Mary and I slipped on our coats to give it a quick look. Until Danny got his hands on some windshield material, the car was basically finished. It had red bicycle lights in the back and on each side and a bicycle headlamp centered in the front. A pair of six-volt batteries, wired in parallel, powered the lights. It also had two reflectors in back and three down each side. "It looks really good," I said.

"Thanks," said Danny. "Think it'll get me an 'A' in shop?"

"Is that why you made the battery holder so fancy?"

"Yeah, I wanted to show some woodworking skills along with metal and welding."

"If I were a shop teacher, I'd give it an 'A,'" I said.

"Are you going to decorate it any?" asked Mary.

"I was thinking about a narrow orange pinstripe down the side."

"No flames or anything?" said Terry, who had come out of his house with the guitar while his brother Mike carried the amp.

"Nah, those are tacky on anything that isn't a race car. Even a pinstripe has to be narrow so that it doesn't look like I built the car for Halloween."

We went inside. Kirsten and Pam arrived while we were setting up. I heard Mrs. Kennedy talking to Mom upstairs. Pam lent Sean her claves, and we were soon down to work. Sean was pretty good at keeping time, and he was a musician himself. The summer before the previous, he, his older brother, and his father had all taken up the Scottish bagpipes. They didn't have full sets of pipes yet, but they had practice chanters that they blew into directly. Even without the drones, they sounded plenty scary.

We went through the three folk songs we had been practicing and then got ambitious and added a fourth. Why not? Mike, Terry, and I had all become good at switching between open chords, and Kirsten and Danny could pretty much instantly play all of the easy stuff that we were working on. We chose an upbeat song in four-four time, "The Paragon's Parade." The chord changes were faster than anything we had tried so far, so it would stretch the skill of the beginners.

I kept passing Mary manna, and occasionally Kirsten. I planned to test all of the band members, eventually, to see who could accept magical energy, but not just yet. I was willing to begin training Mary just as soon as she could maintain her grip on manna, and I hadn't decided when or if I was going to start confiding in Kirsten about true magic, but I flatly doubted the maturity of Danny, Mike, and Terry.

On the other hand, I might be able to use their hypothetical manna collecting and transmitting abilities without their knowledge. I had no ethical problem with this, for manna itself was good for one's disposition and was neither dangerous nor addictive. The use of manna to work magic, however, could be both.

We practiced as a group until about 2:30, when Danny had to go home and take over Jenny-watching duty, because his brother Tommy had to go to work. Sean decided to go with him. Before they left, I announced to everyone, "There will be no practice Christmas day." I saw Danny and Sean to the door, and Mom handed them each a wrapped gift, plus one for Jenny.

"I take it you knitted them something." I said to Mom. I recognized what her creations looked like when they were wrapped.

"Of course. Haven't you noticed all the stuff I've been making?"

"Sure I have."

The rest of us split into two groups when I went back downstairs. Mike, Terry, and I went to the other side of the basement to work on guitar scales while Kirsten and Pam taught Mary how to play the melody of "The Paragon's Parade" on the chord organ.

My dad got home about three and soon headed into the basement with Mom, Mrs. Kennedy, and the rest of the kids. He mixed the adults drinks at the bar. "Play some Christmas music," said Mom. So we did. When Mrs. Kennedy started to sing along, Mom decided to sing, too. She couldn't really sing in tune, but who cares? Being in tune isn't always the point.

At about 3:30, Mrs. Kennedy said to Kirsten, "Dad should be home by now, and I have to start supper. We need to go." Pam, of course, went with them. Mom handed them each a handmade creation, plus one for Mr. Kennedy. We saw them to the door, and I collected my parting hug and kiss from Kirsten.

"Merry Christmas," she said, and gave me another.

Mary remained upstairs to help Mom. Mike said, once I was back, "Kirsten's mother is pretty hot, you know, for an old lady."

"I try not to think about it," I said.

"I wonder if Kirsten is going to end up as well built as she is."

"It looks like she's heading that way," Terry said.

I changed the subject. "You know what you guys should do?"

"What?" Mike said.

"You both should sign up for choir."

"Why in hell would we want to do something like that?"

"You both want a band. Choir will teach you how to sing better."

"Wouldn't signing up for band be even more helpful?" Terry asked.

"Guitar isn't exactly a school band instrument, is it?" I asked. I really wasn't sure.

"They use it in jazz band," Mike said.

"I didn't know they taught jazz in school," I said.

"Sure do."

"In your school?"

"Not little Saint Dionysius, but most high schools."

"Can anyone just sign up?" Terry asked.

"I'm pretty sure you have to pass an audition," Mike replied. "Do you think I'll be good enough next year?" he asked me.

"I have no idea at all," I said. "It must have a lot to do with the level of competition. If you keep practicing like you've been doing, though, and your mother gets you lessons like she said, who knows?"

"Well, I'm not going to join choir if I can join jazz band," Mike said.

"That's fine," I said. "Let me rephrase: you two should sign up for music training in school, whatever it may be."

"I can sign up for choir next year," said Terry. "I don't want to play any of the instruments they use in St. Dio's band."

"What about percussion?" Mike asked.

"I want to play either guitar or bass, or both. Besides, Danny has his heart set on being the drummer for our group, and he can always hang his harmonica from one of those neck things to play it, too."

"Fine, don't get your shorts twisted," said Mike. "I was just pointing out options. What about you, Art? You going to sign up for band or choir next year?"

"Choir, maybe. I don't think Lager Junior High has a jazz band. Remind me to ask Danny."

We practiced scales for another half hour before they went home. Mom gave them each a gift. I'm really glad my friends are falling so in love with music, I thought as I walked back downstairs, but is it ever time consuming.

It is, Ursus thought, but it's something the Arthur part of us badly wants, and he deserves to have as normal a life as we can manage.

Now that I've started, Arthur thought, I want to play the guitar as much as I've ever wanted anything.

I promise I'll do everything I can to get you that opportunity, Ursus said.

Fine, I thought. I like it, too. How could I not, considering I'm the combination of you two? Do you think we have time to scry the goat killer?

It won't hurt to try, but your little brothers are playing pool.

Well, I haven't been hiding that I've been working magic down here, but I haven't been advertising it, either, I thought. Do you think they'll freak out if I start setting up to cast a circle?

Bog knows, but it isn't wise. They're sure to talk about it if you do. Right now, your parents are writing our magic work off as kid's stuff. If we do things to draw attention to it, they might start looking at it more closely.

Damn it all.

Calm down. We'll probably get a chance to try sometime after supper, and there are many more things in life besides magic. It's a lesson I often forget myself, but we need to grow-up this body and brain. It simply will not do to become obsessed right now. Let's read a book.

So we read more of the Norse mythology book. It was good stuff, full of heroes and giants and monsters. It had a gravity to it that most of the Greek myths lacked. The Norse gods knew they were going to lose in the end, but they were going to put off the day as long as they could and try to take their enemies with them when the inevitable happened. The attitude appealed to me.

Mom held off dinner until Kate and Andy arrived, so we ate somewhat later than normal. After dinner, Aunt Kate distributed chocolate bars to the kids, several each. She usually brought us something like that. Mom said, "I don't want any of you eating more than one bar tonight, especially on top of all that Christmas cake you just crammed down your gullets."

"I'll go get our bags from the car," Andy said. In warmer weather, they drove their camper over (or caravan, as they say in the Mother Country) and slept in it. In cold weather, they slept in the house, and we needed to find places for them.

"Andy can sleep in my bed," I said. "I've been falling asleep on the basement couch half the time lately, anyway." I called Andy "Andy" rather than "Uncle Andy" because he hadn't been married to my aunt when I had first met him. In fact, they had been engaged for several years and had married the summer before.

"Aunt Kate is sleeping in my room," Susan said.

Aunt Kate looked amused. "Don't you think your sister should have some say in that?" she asked Susan.

"It's OK," said Mary, as easygoing as ever. "I sleep just fine on the family-room couch."

"Do you want help with your bags?" I asked Andy.

"I can use some. We brought a great pile of stuff this time."

I put on my shoes and coat, as did Mary. The three of us trooped out to the car, and I saw what he'd meant. They had brought gifts. Andy loaded up Mary and me, "Go ahead and put those under the tree."

Mom was never sure where the best place in the house for the Christmas tree was, so its location tended to move around from year to year. That year it was in the living room, which we never used for much. I kicked off my shoes after coming in the door. Dad saw Mary's burden and relieved her of most of the packages. Mom took a bunch of mine, and Aunt Kate took the rest. I shrugged.

"You shouldn't have bought these kids all this stuff," Mom said.

"It's my money, and I'll do what I want with it," Aunt Kate said.

"You're going to spoil the little shits."

"That's my privilege as an aunt, and you need to watch your language." Aunt Kate didn't look it, but she was eight years older than Mom and still sometimes played big sister.

"Oh, horse shit," said Mom. Dad and Andy started to laugh.

"You're just encouraging her," Aunt Kate said.

After everyone settled down, Dad said, "Who wants a Christmas belt?" Neither of my parents drank much alcohol, just a few times per year. Christmas was one of those times. The adults agreed that it was a fine idea, so Dad and Andy went downstairs to fetch them. They came back with bottles of vodka and rum and some mixers.

"Did you know that Art has been learning the guitar and Mary the organ?" Mom asked.

"Just the chord organ," Mary said.

"Are you taking lessons?" Aunt Kate asked.

"No," I said.

"They've been teaching themselves," Mom said. I could hear the pride in her voice.

"You two will have to play for me," Aunt Kate said.

"We could do it now," Mary said. Aunt Kate's wish was pretty much any of Mom's kid's command.

"They had a long drive," Mom said. "Let Kate rest for the night."

"I'm not a doddering old lady, Agnes. Lead on, Mary."

So Mary and I took Aunt Kate downstairs. Of course, the rest of the kids had to follow, along with three cats and a dog. Once Mary had seated herself in front of the chord organ, I said, "Play the chords to 'The Shepherds Lament,' Mary, and I'll play the melody."

At Aunt Kate's urging, we went through all four songs we'd been practicing. "That's wonderful," she said, "especially if you've been teaching yourselves."

"They sing, too," said the ever helpful Rich.

"Do you?" asked Aunt Kate. "Why don't you sing something, then, please?" Aunt Kate's wish, etc. I played the chords to "Up in the Air," and Mary and I sang it together. I didn't think we were half bad.

"I'm impressed," Aunt Kate said. "It looks like the talent in the family skipped a generation. Papa could play the fiddle, you know." She was referring to her father.

"I've heard that," said Mary. "But I never heard him play when he was alive."

"It's a shame. Mama got angry one day and broke his fiddle. He never played much after that, just sometimes when someone lent him one."

We went back upstairs, and the rest of the evening was spent listening to the adults talk, mostly. The younger kids competed for Aunt Kate's attention.

By about nine, Susan and Charlie were nodding, and Rich wasn't much better. Mary put them to bed without being asked. That was my opportunity to head for the basement. I got my pajamas on, brushed my teeth, said my goodnights, and went downstairs. I was happy to see Kate and Andy, but I'd had a long day myself.

I dug an old wind-up alarm clock out of the storage room and set it to ring at midnight. I didn't have any trouble falling asleep.

Alarm clocks are one of the evilest inventions of the human mind. They rank near poison gas, lawn darts, and dribble cups. Nevertheless, they are effective. The clock went off like a hound from hell, and I knocked it over when I reached for it. I found the clock again in the dark and silenced it, restraining myself from throwing it. Then I lay still, listening. I didn't hear anything, and there was no light coming down the stairs.

I pulled my feet from underneath Harvey and carefully made my way to the old kitchen table. I turned on the small lamp upon it but left the rest of the basement lights off. Then I set up my ritual area. Softly using my guitar as necessary, I cast the circle and did the other preliminaries. I settled down to gaze into the water, trying to picture the basement of the other magician's house. Ursus had primary control.

Falling into trance kept getting easier, and it didn't take that long for an image to form in the water. Instead of seeing his basement, I again found myself looking from the magician's viewpoint. He was standing up, looking down. A young brunette was kneeling at his feet. She couldn't have been any older than Mike and Terry's sister Colleen, if that, and she was pleasuring him with her mouth. She had huge brown eyes that were gazing up at him. I saw that he had a trim and muscular torso, but there was gray amongst his pubic hairs.

"I told you to stay the fuck out of my head!" he yelled. "Lord Amorlax! Lord Amorlax! Your loyal servant begs assistance."

Ursus broke the vision, and I felt him feed our entire supply of manna into the protective circle. Ursus was scared, which meant that everyone in our head was scared. "Shit," he said aloud.

Less than five seconds later, I felt something slam into the protective circle and break it. Whatever it was, it let out a yelp of pain that echoed in my head. It felt evil, but it also felt as if it was moving rapidly away and fading into the distance. It was so foul that I felt like throwing up, and I almost did.

At the same time, the entire house shook, Audrey began barking, and the lamp burned out with a pop. It destroyed our circle , Ursus thought, but the circle was strong enough to drive it away before shattering. We hurt it.

What was it? I asked.

I believe it was a demon.

Chapter 30: Perilous Events

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 30

Monday, the twentieth of December, Christmas Eve--the Arthur part of me was still young enough to be excited about Christmas being nearly there. Ursus simply noted it as an example of a solstice festival. I got up and started going through my morning routine.

A solstice is an in-between time, Ursus thought; thus, it's metaphorically potent. It will increase the effectiveness of a magic ritual performed at that time, especially anything to do with transformation .

What do you have in mind?

It would be a shame to let such an opportunity pass without casting a spell. We should come up with something good.

I'm all ears, I thought.

I'm not complaining, mind you, but the problem is, we have so many things about our life that could use improvement, the possibilities are nigh endless.

So, just pick something, and we'll get one thing off the list.

Wisdom from the mouths of babes, Ursus thought.

I like to believe that I come by it inherently .

Indeed. We'll let the problem rattle around in our subconscious for a few hours before we make up our mind .

Do we have to work the spell at the exact moment of the solstice to get the magic bonus points?

The ideal would be to time the peak of the spell with the instant of the solstice, but that is seldom possible, and getting close still yields benefits, which is good, because we don't know the exact moment of the solstice.

The newspaper might have it, especially with it being tied in to Christmas and all.

We'll check this morning.

How about a muscle-building spell--become a burly beast, strike fear into the hearts of my enemies?

I can see the appeal, especially for an eleven-year-old, but is it really a high priority? We already cast a health and fitness spell, and this body naturally gains muscle fairly easily.

How about a memorization spell? It would help with the homework.

We'd have to attach that one to an amulet, so we could put it on and take it off. It wouldn't do to have an enhanced memory for every bit of random crap we encounter. Still, it's not a bad thought.

We continued thinking over spell possibilities as we did a little exercise, some guitar practice, got cleaned up, and poured some cereal and milk. Mom, Mary, and Rich were at the table when I sat down. I reached for the front section of the newspaper.

"Are you already looking for your vocabulary words?" Mom asked. "You have two weeks off."

"I've got hooked on reading the thing. Besides, I'm curious about the exact time of the solstice tomorrow."

"It's in there, in a little box on the third page."

"Thanks." I looked. The solstice was 12:34 pm, local time.

We'll open presents as soon as the younger kids rouse everyone I thought. Then we'll have brunch somewhat later. We'll have to slip away to work the spell and take a nap to recover in time for supper. Mom will have a turkey, and maybe a ham or something to go with it, and we'll be eating leftovers for a week.

At least they'll be good leftovers.

"I have some good news," Mom said. "Kate and Andy are coming over tonight for Christmas." Kate was Mom's older sister. Andy was her husband. They lived a four-hour or so drive away. Aunt Kate couldn't have children, but she spoiled her nieces and nephews.

"That's great!" Mary said.

"Yay! Aunt Kate!" Rich said.

"Wouldn't you have preferred more notice?" I asked.

Mom gave me an unreadable look. "From most people, but this is Kate and Andy. Don't you want to see them?"

"Sure."

"Kate is welcome in my house any time. Besides, we talked this over earlier. They weren't sure they could make it, and I didn't want to get your hopes up, so I didn't mention it. You kids usually get so wound up when you hear they're coming over." She looked at me. "Usually."

"Don't mind me; I'll be glad to see them." Rich was now excitedly marching around the table. "I guess my eagerness levels just aren't what they used to be."

"Are you OK? You've been acting strange lately."

"You mean stranger than normal?" I grinned.

"Yes, smartass." Mom grinned, too, but I could tell she was bothered.

"How so?"

"You've been keeping to yourself even more than you usually do. You seem calmer, but you don't get as happy. It's not all bad. You don't get as cranky or as downright belligerent, either. But you've been different."

"Maybe I'm just growing up."

"Maybe." She looked a little sad. "Mary, Rich, excuse us for a few minutes." She waited until they were gone. "Artie, I need to ask this one more time. Are you sure you aren't on dope? If you confide in me, I won't punish you. I'll just try to help."

"Mom, I swear I'm not on any drugs. If it will make you feel better, search all my stuff. I forgive you in advance, and there's nothing that I'm worried about you seeing."

What about your porn collection? asked Ursus.

I don't have a porn collection, answered Arthur.

Why not?

That's a good question, I said.

I didn't want to be bad, and I didn't want to get caught, Arthur answered.

Mom was talking again. "You know that I trust you to tell me the truth, but you've been so different lately. There have been so many small changes that they add up to a big change. Is something bothering you? Are you worried about something?"

"You know I'm a worrywart, but it hasn't been that much worse than normal. I get a lot of homework. I've acquired a girlfriend, almost by accident. I've been in a few fights, but I seem to have all my foes but Carol wary of me, at least."

"Are you worried about that little bastard?"

"You shouldn't talk about Kirsten like that!" I said in a mock shocked voice.

"Cut that out. You know I'm talking about the mean little shit head."

"Carol doesn't have me especially upset. I figure he's going to keep after me until I give him a good pounding, but I don't get the impression that he'll attack with a gang again. His self-image requires that he proves he's tougher than I am, so a gang won't cut it."

"'His self-image requires…' You've always been a smart little bugger and liked to show off your vocabulary, but since when have you talked like that?"

"What can I say?"

"You seem older than you used to be."

"Everyone is always older than he used to be, continuously."

"You know what I mean, you little shit."

"Yeah, I do. Maybe sleeping for a week aged me."

"Did something happen to you while you were asleep?"

I nodded my head. "Yes, but I don't want to talk about it."

"Have you quit trusting me?"

"It's really private, Mom."

She had a thoughtful look on her face. "When I was a girl--I guess I was thirteen--my great aunt, Kate, had a stroke and became paralyzed. (Both my Aunt Kate, my mother's sister, and your Aunt Kate, my sister, were named after her.) She couldn't talk. She couldn't take care of her herself. We girls had to take turns watching over her and helping clean her up. Mostly, we were trying to keep her comfortable as she died.

"Now, my father was an Irish Catholic, and my mother was a Scottish Presbyterian. Before they were married, they hadn't agreed on which church they were going to rear their children in, and we kids were put under a lot of pressure. I tried to please both my parents by attending both churches.

"Times were different then. In the Catholic Church, I'd hear how Protestants were misguided heretics who were doomed to hell if they didn't see the light. In the Presbyterian Church, I'd hear how Catholics were misguided papists who were doomed to hell if they didn't see the light. As you might imagine, I became confused and upset.

"I used to talk to Great Aunt Kate when I was looking after her. She couldn't answer. I didn't even know if she could hear me. Still, I talked to her. One Sunday afternoon, after again listening to how one group or another was doomed to hell, I broke down crying while I was watching Great Aunt Kate and told her how frightened and confused I was. I had trouble eating, sleeping--you name it. I thought I was going crazy.

"With God as my witness, I swear that she spoke to me. She said, in her Scots accent, 'Have faith in God. That's all that matters.'

"She never spoke to me again after that. So far as I know, she never spoke to anyone again at all. She died a few days later. Ever since she talked to me, though, I've had faith in God and haven't worried about the details." Mom had some tears in her eyes and took a paper napkin to wipe her face.

I didn't know what to say after a story like that. Is it possible? I asked Ursus.

I've found, in the vast multiverse, that lots of things are possible. I'm pretty sure your mom, at least, believed everything she just said.

"Mom, if you're asking if I met God or witnessed a miracle or achieved enlightenment or something, nothing like that happened." I paused. "There was, however, this giant bipedal rat." I made a gesture with my hand to show how tall it had been.

She made one of those unwilling chuckles. "Get! Get out of here, you!"

I got up and told Mary she could come out of her room. I went to my room and saw that Charlie was now up, too. "You guys can come out, now."

"I gotta pee," said Charlie as he squeezed by me.

"Hey, Mary," I said. "Do you want to go for a bike ride later?"

"Where?"

"Magic," I whispered.

"OK."

I went to the basement. I wanted to repeat in another place the location spell with the goat's hair, but finding that place was going to be tricky. I couldn't think of anyplace inside where I could set up and execute a magic ritual, so it was going to have to be outside. It needed to be out of the wind so that the toothpick didn't get blown around and I didn't freeze to death while I was in trance. It had to be some ways away from my house so that the triangulation had a chance to be accurate, and I needed privacy.

Outside the high school had some sheltered spots, but it was too close. Jewel Staid Elementary School was a good distance to the north, but it wasn't that far away in a westerly direction. I decided that my best bet was Grove Elementary, the school that was somewhat closer than the one I attended. There was a courtyard where I could avoid the wind, and no one was likely to be around on Christmas Eve.

Before I left, I needed to tape a couple sheets of paper to my sketch map and draw in more stuff. I took my time and made sure I had the scale about right. As I was working, Mary came downstairs. I explained to her what I intended to do.

I packed my new bowl (or wide cup, depending how one looked at it), the bell, candle, salt, scrying pan, and so on into my backpack. I filled a plastic bottle with water from melted snow and packed it, too. I didn't want my guitar exposed to the weather, so I didn't take it. I'd collect manna by going into trance. I said to Mary, "You go upstairs first and tell Mom we're going for a bike ride. I'll be right behind you and head into the garage for a second. I don't want Mom seeing my pack and asking questions."

When I got to the garage, I took a couple garbage bags so that Mary and I had something to sit on. Then I put my pack down beside the hinge side of the door in case Mom stuck her head out.

I went back inside and put on my winter gear. "Dress very warmly," I quietly told Mary.

When we went back into the garage, Mom did stick her head out behind us. "I don't want you two near any main roads today. There will be a lot of office parties this afternoon, and people will be driving around drunk. Be careful, even on the side streets."

"OK. If anyone comes weaving down the road, we'll get out of the way. We're just going to be around the neighborhood. Maybe we'll say "hi" to Kirsten if we get too cold to stay outside."

"Don't go causing work for Mrs. Kennedy. She has to get ready for Christmas, too."

"We won't." We got on our bikes and started down the driveway. Once Mom shut the back door, I turned around and quickly fetched my backpack.

Andrew M. Grove Elementary School was less than a mile away, so it only took us a few minutes to get there, even riding at a pace that would keep us from breathing hard in the cold air. I led Mary to the courtyard that I planned to use. It was enclosed on three sides and blocked the wind. Fortunately, it had been cleared of snow.

I explained Mary's role to her as I set up the ritual area. "I'm going to cast the circle with you inside it with me. Your job will be to keep me from freezing to death."

"How will I do that?"

"Once I achieve trance, you can get up and move around a bit to keep yourself warm, just as long as you don't break the circle. If you see me fall asleep or close my eyes and not open them, wake me up and force me to move around. If I won't wake up, first hide my ritual tools and then go get help."

"Who should I get?"

"It probably won't come to that, but if it does, just go get Mom. It takes a while to freeze to death. You'll have some time."

I put water in the bowl and the pie pan and some salt in its dish. Mary and I sat beside each other on the garbage bags while I prepared myself to go into trance. After about ten minutes, I thought, Maybe I should have brought my guitar after all.

It's a new ritual space, and uncomfortable. Both make trance more difficult. Ursus took control of our body and led us through the relaxation ritual again. This time, I finally felt us slipping into trance. I called the manna and it came.

I got to my feet and cast the circle, speaking the words fairly loudly for once. I remained on my feet as I renewed my concentration and gathered more manna. I did the purification ritual and then settled in front of the scrying pan. I poked my finger and put in a drop of blood and the toothpick with the hair.

As my trance deepened, I lost track of time and my surroundings. I again began to visualize the scene of the sacrifice, just before the goat was killed. When it formed in the water and the toothpick quit moving, I marked the direction on the edge of the pan.

Without my volition, the scene changed again. I recognized the tile floor from the place of the sacrifice, but the picture was of a greater area. I willed the view to move around. The room looked like a partially finished basement. There was a pentagram, point up, painted on the wall with silver paint. An altar stood before it.

What looked like a little shrine was in one corner. The shrine had small statues on a shelf. A couple of them looked like people. Most of the rest were bipedal, but they looked rather monstrous. One had the head of a goat, which disturbed me because of its satanic references.

Another wall had a big eyebolt set in it. Attached to the eyebolt was a heavy chain with a metal collar. There was a rug on the floor underneath the chain. It looked like a place where someone might keep a dog, but the chain was far heavier than anything a dog would need. It's probably for people, thought Ursus.

Prisoners?

Could be. More likely, it's just for kinky sex.

I felt the Arthur part of my brain get a little embarrassed, but I ignored it. I continued looking around. I found the stairs. I tried to force my vision up them, but I lost concentration and felt the manna start to slip away.

"Artie!" Mary said, "you have to get up." She was shaking me.

I was shivering so violently it hurt. I tried to acknowledge her, but my teeth were chattering too badly. I nodded my head and began to stand. Mary helped me get up. I tried to jump up and down, but I landed on the garbage bags and slipped. I fell on my butt, but Mary prevented me from falling farther and smacking my head.

"C'mon, you need to get back up." She helped me again to my feet and kept a grip on my hands. Mary kicked the garbage bags away, and we both began jumping up and down. Because of the pain, it felt like a long time, but it probably was only a couple of minutes before I had generated enough body heat to move around without shivering.

"Thanks Mary. Without you here, I probably would have died."

"You're welcome. I was just doing the job you brought me for."

I picked up my athame and cut the circle with no ritual. "I thank and dismiss the elemental powers.

"Mary, did you happen to notice where I had put my finger on the pie pan?"

She walked over to the pan. "About here."

"OK," I said. "I remember the same place." I pulled out my sketch and put in a light line in the proper direction. I'd make it longer and straighter with a ruler after I got back home. Mary helped me pack things up. The ride home finished warming us.

Chapter 29: Scrying, Making, Cooking, Playing, Spying

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 29

Sunday morning, after doing about a half hour of exercise, I got out the willow burl I had cut off the tree Saturday and put it in the wooden-jawed vise. Taking a medium-size gouge and a mallet, I began carving it into a small bowl or noggin. I didn't worry about making it round; I just followed the natural contour of the burl. It was going to be the replacement for my ritual cup. Because I was making it from material I had collected from nature myself, my spells should thereafter be somewhat more efficient and powerful.

It didn't take long to make an adequate hollow in the wood. I replaced the gouge with a smaller one and smoothed out the rough cuts. Then I replaced it again and smoothed some more. By the time Mom called me for brunch, I was in the process of giving the interior of the bowl a rough sanding. I had decided to leave the bark on the outside; I liked the rugged appearance.

As we were eating, Mary said to me, "Kirsten invited me over to go ice skating at the school with her and Pam. Did you want to come along?"

"Nah, no thanks. I'd sooner take some tweezers and yank out my nose hairs."

"Chicken."

"Bawk, bawk, bawk. Have fun."

"Band practice is at one, right?"

"Yep. Try not to break anything you use for music." We helped clean up and then Mary took her skates and left on her bike.

Before it was time to practice, I had really wanted to perform the location spell in another place, which would allow me triangulate the rough position of where the goat had been sacrificed. Unfortunately, my assistant had just gone ice-skating, and I couldn't think of any place with the requisite privacy to work the spell that wasn't also out in the cold. Going into trance under conditions such that freezing to death was a real possibility simply wasn't something to do alone. Familiars are useful for such situations, thought Ursus.

Do you think we could find one?

I don't know anything specific yet about the spirit realm of this node, so I haven't any idea. That said, I'm not ready to go looking for a new familiar. I hope to someday be reunited with my old one.

Can we scry for her?

We can, hypothetically, but we don't yet have the strength, control, or the tools needed to scry across nodes, so it wouldn't actually work.

Could we try scrying the local spirit realm, just for practice?

Getting a bit addicted, are we?

I admit that I find magic the ultimate coolity.

Coolity? I think you just made up that word.

Perhaps. What about scrying?

Practice is good, and we might learn something about the local metaphorical dimensions. Be aware, though, that scrying metaphorical space is inherently more dangerous than scrying physical space. We're more likely to run into something that both takes offense and can do something about it.

I'm still game, if you are. Arthur, what about you?

I'm in, if you both are.

All right, thought Ursus. The same rules apply as last time, but even more so. You two better let me be in charge.

We set up, used the guitar to gather manna, and cast and purified the circle. Instead of the old cup I had borrowed from the kitchen, we used our new willow noggin, even though it wasn't yet finished, to hold the purification water. We gathered more manna with the guitar, put a drop of blood into the scrying water, and began deepening our trance while staring into the pie pan.

I lost track of time, and visions began to form. They were inchoate at first, but I eventually began seeing--and sometimes hearing, feeling, and smelling--things that made sense. I saw a forest that was greener than anything on earth. I saw a rocky desert with a line of humanoid figures walking across it. Although they were wearing long robes, I say humanoid, because they were taller and skinnier than a line of humans could be. They were chained together at their ankles.

I saw something that I originally took to be a bird, but then it came closer and I discerned a long tail. Then it came even closer and landed upon a crag. It was a dragon. The vision drew in even closer and I knew that he knew that we were watching him. He winked, and I felt Ursus relax. Greetings, sky brother, Ursus thought at him. The dragon nodded his head once in acknowledgement, and our vision shifted.

We saw a great many things, some that made no sense, and many that were boring--just landscapes or seascapes. Once we saw a sea serpent for a few moments.

Suddenly, a new vision felt much closer, more immediate. It was the back of a young woman, brunette. She was naked and bent over a chair. A man was taking her from behind. We were seeing the vision from his point of view. An angry feeling enveloped us, and the man said, "Get out of my head!"

The scene shifted, and our concentration almost broke, but Ursus managed to maintain our hold on manna. He picked up a toothpick and dropped it into the scrying water. "Where, where, where," he began to chant while trying to re-envision what we had just seen. Arthur and I soon joined our efforts to his.

For a moment, the vision formed again, and the toothpick quit drifting and pointed in a fixed direction. Ursus marked the spot on the pan with his finger--the toothpick was pointing in the same direction as the location of the goat sacrifice--and then ended the spell.

I was aroused and embarrassed about it. Don't worry about that, thought Ursus. We are in a pubescent eleven-year-old body. It gets aroused with a shift in the wind.

Don't worry about it? thought Arthur. Old man, I'm going to go take care of it . We hastily broke the circle, thanked the powers, snuffed the candle, and pretty much ran upstairs into the small bathroom.

After a certain tension had been relieved and we were again in the basement, Ursus thought, as we cleaned up the ritual area, I take it you both felt the change during that last vision?

It felt much closer than the visions from the metaphorical dimensions, I said. I can't explain it any more precisely than that.

Indeed, I'm almost sure it was nearby, and I strongly suspect that we again saw the same man who sacrificed the goat. It's not absolutely certain, but it's the way to bet.

He knew we were there, thought Arthur. And he didn't like it one bit.

Yes, we seem to have discovered someone else with genuine magical ability. As for being angry with us, wouldn't you be?

Of course, no one wants to be spied on at a time like that.

Agreed. When one is randomly scrying, it's usually considered good ethics to "turn away" from any private moments one stumbles upon. What intrigues me in this case, however, is that we were drawn to a scene here in physical space while we were actively trying to scan metaphorical space.

What does that mean? I asked.

Something about the vision was special, Ursus replied.

Could it simply have been my adolescent horniness?

Hmm, maybe. It has been a long time since I've been in a body so constantly aroused. It could be that this brain simply is showing its naturally intense interest in sex. On the other hand, any sex scene should have satisfied that urge, yet we found someone who has at least some magical capacity and knowledge. I don't think it's a coincidence.

Maybe he was singled out because he was a magician and he was having sex .

I suppose that could be it, thought Ursus, but I don't really believe it. Anyway, if we're going to be practicing scrying, we should improve our tools.

I flopped down on the couch. I felt pleasantly tired and wanted to relax a bit before band practice, which was--I glanced at my watch--in about five minutes. I was starting to doze off when I heard Mary say, "Hi, Artie. Kirsten and Pam are getting a ride and will be here in a few minutes."

I didn't open my eyes. "Did you have fun?"

"Uh-huh. After we got tired out, we went to Kirsten's, and Mrs. Kennedy made us hot chocolate. Then we sat on Kirsten's bed and talked. Did you know that Mrs. Kennedy was a music teacher before she had Kirsten?"

"No. That's never come up, but it helps explain how Kirsten started learning the piano so young."

"What did you do this morning?"

"I practiced scrying."

"Did you see anything?"

"I saw lots. I saw a dragon, and I'm pretty sure I again saw the guy who sacrificed the goat."

"Was he killing another one?"

"Not so far as I could tell."

"And you saw a dragon. Wow! I wish I could see a real dragon."

"Once you learn how to hold manna, you might be able to."

Mike, Terry, and Danny arrived at about the same time as Kirsten and Pam. We practiced for a couple hours. Both of the Prestors were getting good at open-chord changes and picking out simple melodies. As circumstances permitted, I passed manna to Mary. I also gave some to Kirsten a few times.

Mrs. Kennedy must have decided to stick around and talk to my folks, because she and my parents came down to listen to us for a while. Oh, well, there was no point in worrying about what they were getting up to. Kirsten's and my mother had been talking on the phone regularly, after all. Thank Bog, my hoodlum friends were on good behavior.

Mike, Terry, and Dan cleared out about three. They wanted to go add lights and reflectors to the pedal car. Except for the windshield, it was just about finished. Danny was thinking about adding a removable canvas roof, but he wasn't sure yet that he wanted it. Terry said, as they went out the door, "We're leaving Art all the pretty girls to himself."

"That's as it should be," I said.

Pam, Mary, Kirsten, and I went back downstairs. Pam was the percussion section while Kirsten gave Mary tips about playing melody on the chord organ. I played accompanying chords whenever they attempted a song. At about four, Mrs. Kennedy called down the stairs, "Let's go home, girls." Kirsten and I had a longish hug and kiss before we went upstairs and briefer ones when I showed her to the door.

"I went downstairs earlier today," Mom said, once our guests were gone, "and you were staring at that damn pan of water so intently that you didn't even notice me. And what's with the crap you had sitting on the chairs surrounding you?"

"Those are my ritual purification tools."

"What in hell is that?"

"Once I cast the ritual circle, I use those to drive off any malign influences."

Mom stared at me for several seconds. "You are so full of horse shit."

"Says the person who reads the horoscopes in the newspaper every day."

"That's just for fun."

"Who says I'm not having fun?"

Mom shook her head and said, "You can help make supper, if you want."

We made hamburgers with homemade French fries. Mom peeled while I sliced the potatoes. Mary cut up some onions to cook with the hamburgers. Mom didn't want Mary and I anywhere near the hot oil, so she deep-fried the spuds herself. I got to cook the burgers, though, when it was time. We made Rich help clean up the mess.

After supper, everyone ended up in the basement to shoot pool, except for Mom, who didn't like the game. I didn't play but sat on the couch designing a new glyph to scribe into the bottom of my scrying pan. It should make the process more powerful and efficient. Ursus and the brain collective eventually came up with a circle, in the center of which would be back-to-back stylized eyes made from sideways "Vs" with arcs between their arms. Immediately above and below the eyes were simple sketches of ears. Above and below the central figures would be circled pentagrams. To the left and right would be circled hexagrams. Representing manna, inward-pointing arrows went between the stars.

The thin aluminum-foil pan couldn't accept a deep etching, so I intended to just scratch it in lightly with a pin. Because everyone but Mom was downstairs, I took the pan and my drawing tools and headed to the desk in my bedroom. No one said anything as I left the basement.

Neatly scratching everything in took some time, so I wasn't finished until just after I heard everyone come back upstairs from the basement. As I walked out of the bedroom, Charlie asked, "What's that?"

"A magic pie pan."

He looked skeptical. "Does it make magic pies?"

"I don't know. I think we'd have to bake a pie in it to find out."

"So, you going to do that?"

"Not any time soon. I'm just going to fill it with water."

"Why?"

"To make magic water, of course."

I went back downstairs and set up and performed the charging ritual. Because of the shallow scratches couldn't hold much blood, tracing them over was sloppy, but I still got the finished feeling at the end of the ceremony.

It was no longer a cheap pan. It was a magical tool. I felt a lot of satisfaction as I pondered that.

I noticed Mary sitting on the couch reading when I got up to break the circle. She helped me clean up and climb the stairs. As usual, I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed.

Chapter 28: Searching and Finding

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 28

Saturday morning, I woke up on the basement couch again. I didn't remember walking over to it. The last thing I remembered was my feeling of elation that the glyphs had worked. I must have been asleep on my feet. Harvey was now lying upon them, and I was under the afghan. I hadn't taken off my robe before hitting the couch, and part of the robe was balled up underneath me. It wasn't too comfortable.

I pulled my feet from underneath the cat and sat up. I felt pretty good. My watch, which I hadn't removed before falling asleep, said it was 8:34. I gave Harvey a couple of pets and headed upstairs to use the bathroom. Once I came out and went into the kitchen, I saw that Mom and Dad were both at the table. Dad must have decided to take Saturday off.

We exchanged good mornings. Dad said, "I went downstairs last night to tell you to get to bed, but you were already asleep on the couch, so I left you there."

"I must have been tired right out," I said.

"You guys really went at the music yesterday," Mom said. "I'm impressed with your progress."

"Thanks. Is everyone else still asleep?"

"Mary's up. I think she's taking a shower in the big bathroom."

As I munched down a bowl of cornflakes, Ursus and I formed our morning plans. I want to find some dead wood that's still on the tree, he thought.

I know quite a few places where we can look . Several vacant lots were nearby, some of them pretty big.

By the time I finished eating and got dressed, all of the kids were astir. I took Mary aside, "Do you want to go for a walk?"

"Where?"

"The vacant lot with the garage in it." I whispered, "Magic stuff."

"Oh, OK."

We put on our winter gear. Before we left, I filled a bucket full of packed snow to provide water for my rituals and put it aside. I took a folding pruning saw and an aluminum stepladder from the garage with me. As we walked, I explained what we were after.

The property in question wasn't that far away. We went down Dewey to the south end of Bradley, along three suburban lot widths to Cord, turned west and went one suburban lot length to the southeast corner of the undeveloped chunk of land. It was a good size, at least ten acres, over twice the size of the even closer vacant lot we called "the field." There was an old garage standing on it. The house that had gone with the garage had been torn down farther back than my memories went. I had decided to check this lot first because it had quite a few older trees growing on it.

The snow had developed a hard crust, and crunching through it was tiring. The first place we stopped to check was a clump of four old willow trees. Underneath the trees, the snow wasn't quite as bad. "There's some," Mary said. She pointed to a dead willow branch I should just be able to reach from the top of the ladder. I climbed up and cut it down. It was about two-and-a-half inches across at its widest.

There was also a knot sticking out of the trunk. It's still green, but cut it anyway, Ursus thought. It was harder to cut off than the branch had been, but I managed.

Ursus wanted a variety of woods, so I handed the branch and the knot to Mary and we tromp-crunched over to the remains of a hedgerow that ran along most of the west side of the field. Over there, it was adjacent to the yard of the high school, separated by a fence. As one might expect, the old hedgerow was a popular place for teenagers to consume illicit alcohol, and we saw several empty beer and wine containers.

Mary and I were methodically searching the narrow expanse of trees and bush. Branches kept snagging the damn ladder, but we managed to find good poles of maple and elm and about three feet of inch-wide ash. I head Mary say, "Ew, gross," and I looked where she was looking. It was a dead goat, partially concealed by a dense part of the hedgerow.

"I'm pretty sure that's the goat I saw when I was scrying."

So am I , Ursus thought.

Animals had been at work on it. Ursus took control of our body and walked over to it. He bent down and pulled a few hairs out of the carcass. Mary asked, "What are you doing?" She sounded disgusted.

"Killing something creates a powerful bond between the killer and the killed. I might be able to use these in a spell that will help me find the person who made the sacrifice." Finding the goat had ended our desire to search more in the hedgerow, so we went home. We had enough materials to make a bunch of wooden amulets and maybe some other types of tools.

I didn't want my parents questioning what I was doing with the stuff we had collected, so we took the wood and the bucket of snow down to the basement without making any fuss. Because the stairs were near the back door, doing so unobserved and unimpeded was easy.

We had just finished stashing the stuff in unobtrusive parts of the storage room when Mom called down the stairs, "Mike and Terry were by. They were heading over to Danny's to work on his pedal car and wanted to know if it was OK to postpone practicing until after lunch."

"OK, thanks. I guess I'll head over there to see what's up." I didn't really want to go over to Dan's that much, because I had a lot of magic stuff I wanted to start. On the other hand, I expected to derive considerable benefit from the pedal car, and I hadn't been doing much of the work.

Go help your friends, Ursus thought. There's going to be a lot of time in your future to let magic take over your life . I accessed memories of long hours of solitary work.

Is it worth it? I asked.

Worth it, not worth it--it's what we are.

Mary opted to stay home and practice on the chord organ rather than go to Danny's with me. When I got there, the super tricycle was looking good. The heavy-duty basket was welded above the axle. Danny had cut slots in the basket for the chain and gears to pass through, and he had brazed on a few attachment points at strategic locations for the fairing. He had also found some long brake cables--meant for tandem bicycles--and had mounted caliper brakes on the rear wheels. Thank Bog , thought Ursus.

The fairing for the front of the pedal car was finished. Danny's mother had a hot-glue gun for crafts, and Dan had borrowed it. All of the seams in the fairing were glued together on top of narrow strips of corrugated plastic. He had also added several stiffener strips so that the fairing was self-supporting but entirely of plastic. Thus, it only weighed a few pounds. It was attached to the frame with zip ties so that it was easily removable.

The top half wrapped around the front wheel and came about halfway down its height. At its highest point, the fairing attached to a bent piece of conduit that ran across the width of the car and came about chest high on a man. Dan planned to mount a plastic windshield on top of the pipe at a future date, but he had not yet acquired the materials.

The bottom half came to within an inch of the front wheel, ran underneath the seats and all of the support structure, and attached to the tube the axle ran through. It was lower to the ground in the front than in the back, and had a seam to accommodate the change in height.

When I arrived, Dan assigned Mike and me to mounting the rear fairing while he and Terry worked on making chain guards. The rear fairing simply ran from roughly the outside edge of the seats--it was left unattached to the seats so that they remained adjustable--and attached to the sides of the basket and part of the frame.

Mike said, "Is the pedal car not totally kick ass?"

"It is. I thought we had established that."

"It's going to be great for picking up chicks."

"How so?"

"They see it and immediately want a ride."

"I guess I can see how that would work."

"Yeah. When Danny brought it home from school yesterday, he told me a hot girl asked him for a ride before he had it out of the schoolyard. He drove her home and got her phone number."

"I now see your basic motivation for making this thing," I said to Dan.

"Money and chicks are what make the world work," he said.

"What about art?"

"Most art is either about chicks or a way of attracting them."

Danny had made working doors from the corrugated plastic. We put those on after mounting the rear fairing. The hinges were zip ties, and the doors were held shut by cabinet magnets hot glued onto the fairing. When noon came around, the four of us had the pedal car almost completely faired. The chain guards weren't quite finished, and Danny still wanted to make covers that attached to the body and came halfway down the rear wheels. He also wanted to make fairings for the spokes. Still, it looked good. We took a couple of turns around the block and adjourned for lunch. The plan was to meet in my basement for band practice at one o'clock.

After I had eaten a handful of potato chips and one of the fried baloney sandwiches Mom was making with Mary's help, I gave Kirsten a call. After I had spoken to her father for a few minutes, he put her on. "Hi, Artie."

"Hi. The band is going to practice after lunch. Do you want in on it?"

"How serious are you about having me as a member?"

"Danny is dead serious, and I want you to be part of it, whether or not we ever become a real working band. No one else has raised any objections, and I don't think they will."

"I don't object," Mary yelled.

"OK, I'll be there. Do you mind if I bring Pam along? She's been my best friend for a long time, and I don't want to start abandoning her."

"That's fine. Do you want someone to come pick you up?"

"Hang on a sec." I heard her talk to someone in the background. "No, that's OK. Mom will give us a ride."

After we hung up, I helped clean up the lunch mess. As I was doing that, Mom asked, "Just how intent are you on forming a band?"

I thought before answering. "I don't have any problem with the idea. I'm going to play the guitar whether I'm in a band or not, but Dan wants to form a band. Mike and Terry will usually go where Dan leads. I will, too, for that matter, as long as it's not criminal, dangerous, or immoral; Danny usually comes up with fun ideas. So if being in a band helps motivate my friends to do something constructive, why not?"

"What about your sister?"

"It's clear that everyone considers her in, if she wants to be."

"I want to be," Mary said. "I like making music with you guys." Mom had an unreadable expression on her face as we finished cleaning up and headed downstairs.

Mary and I had a few minutes before others started to arrive. We took up position by the chord organ. "I want to try something," I said. I began to play "The Shepard's Lament." "I'm going to brush your foot with mine when I start collecting manna so that I can pass it to you. I want you to learn how to hold it. You're going to have to do so by trial and error." I passed her manna until the end of the song.

"I couldn't keep any of it," she said.

"I didn't expect you to. It's going to take a while. If I touch you during practice, don't draw away. I'm going to be giving you manna. Just keep trying to hold it when I do."

Mike and Terry arrived first. After they had set up their amp and I had helped Mike get their guitar in tune, he said, "I hope we get another guitar for Christmas. Having to pass it back and forth all the time sucks."

"Think of it as an opportunity to learn a little about drumming and keeping time."

We managed to get through "Up in the Air" once before Kirsten and Pam arrived. Kirsten had her flute and sax. Pam was carrying maracas, claves, and a tambourine. We played "Up in the Air" again with Kirsten playing the lead this time, Mike, Mary, and I playing chords, and Terry and Pam on percussion.

Mom shouted down the stairs, "Danny brought his pedal car." This induced general excitement and chaos for about a half hour. All of the Powyrs wanted rides, including Mom and Dad. Fortunately, Danny had mounted the bench seat he had made for the purpose into the wire rack, so four people could ride at a time. Mike and Terry's older sisters, Colleen and Janet--who was home from university--also turned out for a ride.

At one point, Danny gave a ride to Colleen, Kirsten, and Pam. "I see what you mean about picking up chicks," I said to Mike.

Finally, things settled down again and we used up the rest of the afternoon practicing. We spent a lot of time working on "Up in the Air" and "Bob Dobson," but we also worked out the chordal accompaniment for several Christmas songs and sang them in honor of the season. Colleen and Janet both listened in for a while, as did my parents and siblings.

As we played, I frequently fed manna to Mary. We were crowded near the chord organ, so we were pretty much all sitting close enough that incidental touching was to be expected. I also tried passing manna to Kirsten. I was happy to see that she could accept it. She smiled whenever I gave her some magical energy, much like when I first tried the experiment with Mary.

Despite our hard work at learning new stuff, we were all surprised when five o'clock came around and Kirsten's mom showed up to collect her and Pam. Danny offered Mrs. Kennedy a ride in the pedal car, and she accepted. She was co-pedaler while Kirsten and Pam rode in the back.

Everyone headed home for their various suppers after that. When I was finished with my own supper, I asked Dad, "Do you have a map of the neighborhood?"

"I have a street-level map of the county, somewhere."

"Can I borrow it, please?"

"Why?"

"Why not? I live in this neighborhood."

He gave me that kids look that parents do so well, but he got the map for me. I took it downstairs and used it to help me make a larger sketch of the immediate area. Mary must have been curious about what was up, because she soon came down and watched what I was doing. "If he lives nearby, this will help me locate the person who killed the goat," I said.

I set up my ritual area, filled the pie pan with melted snow, and tied a hair from the sacrificed goat to a toothpick with a thread. Ursus warned, Make sure you are clear in your mind which is the front of the toothpick and which is the back .

Instead of using a trance to call manna, I softly played a tune on the guitar and hummed. I still had to maintain concentration so that I didn't lose the magical energy once I collected it, but it nevertheless was quite a bit faster. I cast the circle with my athame; called some more manna; purified the circle with the bell, water, fire, and salt; and called some more manna again. I took a seat in front of my scrying pan.

I pricked a finger with the athame and let a drop of blood fall into the water. I floated the toothpick with the goat hair on the surface. I began working my way into a trance. We need to be careful, now, said Ursus. The magician who sacrificed the goat might not want people tracing him, and he might have set up active measures to prevent it.

Why are we doing this, then?

Curiosity. I want to learn about the state of magical practice on this node. I'm in your head, so don't you deny that you're just as curious as I am.

I thought you were supposed to be the cautious one, thought Arthur.

I am, but curiosity is my greatest vice, and I don't think we're in much danger. We're working in a well constructed, if weak, protective circle, and I don't think the magical practice in these parts is that sophisticated or powerful. Still, many a wizard has met his end sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, so care is indicated. In short, if you feel me trying to break our contact with this magician, help me break it, and if I try to guide things, don't fight me, either of you.

We went into trance and pictured in our collective mind the place where the sacrifice had taken place. Because none of us really wanted to vividly see it again in our head, we stopped short of the sacrifice itself. When we had the scene just before the killing of the goat as clearly visualized as we could make it, we started to will the toothpick to point in the direction of the sacrificial spot. I found myself softly chanting "point, point, point."

The toothpick began to move. Before Arthur and I became too excited, Ursus calmed us. Once our improvised pointing device came to rest, I put a finger on the edge of the pan on the point at which the toothpick indicated.

I felt a jolt of fear come from outside myself, and Ursus immediately broke our trance. The toothpick again began to float normally. That fear , Ursus thought, was most likely our victim feeling an unseen presence with him. It is indeed a creepy feeling.

I marked on the pan the place my finger was resting and then lined up the sketch of the neighborhood as well as I could with my present orientation. I used a ruler to draw on the sketch a light line that ran from my house along a direction somewhat south of west. "See, Mary," I said. She had taken a seat on the couch and was still watching the proceedings. "The goat's hair pointed to the place where he had been killed. Now, I need to do this spell again in another location, and draw another directional line. Where the two lines cross will be the approximate place where the sacrifice happened. That is, if the spell is actually working." Mary got up to take a closer look.

"I don't mind you crossing the circle now," I said, "because I'm about to dismiss it. But you shouldn't cross it unless there's an emergency. If my magic were stronger, it might actually hurt you. In any case, it badly degrades the circle, so don't get in the habit."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault if you've never been told. Have you been practicing going into trance?"

"Yep, every night before I go to sleep, and a little every day."

I broke the circle and thanked and dismissed the elemental powers. The location spell, one step removed from scrying, wasn't exhausting. It did leave me feeling a bit tired, though. What are we going to do if we find the unknown magician? I asked Ursus.

Who knows? Perhaps we will be able to observe him. If so, and he looks OK, perhaps we'll make contact. Perhaps we will do nothing. In any case, it's good practice for you. I cleaned up my work area, and Mary helped me put the chairs away.

Other than my now habitual brief pauses for guitar practice, I spent the rest of the evening reading Spells for the Modern Witch . Mary borrowed Witchcraft in the Contemporary Empire and claimed the other end of the couch. Dad and Rich came down to shoot a game of pool shortly before Rich's bedtime. If Dad took note of what we were reading, he didn't say anything. It had been a good day.

Chapter 27: Exchanges and Gains

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 27

Friday morning I got up somewhat early, restrung my guitar, and gave it a rough tuning. Thursday night I had worked a little past my bedtime to get the carvings almost finished. They still weren't sanded quite enough to meet my standards. I'd have to give them another hit before doing the charging ritual.

The roads were finally clear enough to render riding our bikes non-idiotic, but we were planning on bringing Kirsten back with us in the van after school, so Mom drove Mary, Sean, and I again. I wasn't sure how to handle giving Kirsten her gift. Now that we were allowed to see each other again outside of school, I no longer had to give it to her there. In case she brought a gift for me, though, I carefully put Kirsten's present away in my backpack so that the wrapping wouldn't tear. I had taken to carrying the pack even when I wasn't riding my bike to school. It was much handier than carrying my school stuff loose.

After Kirsten and I shared our greeting hug and kiss, the morning rapidly got less pleasant. As we waited for the door to be unlocked, Carol was telling whoever would listen how I had run from him in the mall. I'd learned that I couldn't give him an inch. "I like the mall, Carol. If I had let you force me to kick your ass again, they would have banned me from the premises." I said it loud enough that much of the surrounding crowd could hear.

"Any time, Powyr."

"You're just not getting it. I don't get any jollies out of hurting people, not even you. If you attack me, I'll defend myself as necessary. Otherwise, if you leave me alone, I'll leave you alone."

"My mother thinks you're an asshole and your mother's a bitch," he said.

"My mother thinks you're a shithead and your mother's an imbecile."

He got in my face. I said, "Are you really looking for this kind of trouble just before winter break?"

"Take it back."

"If I took it back, it would only be to shove it up your ass."

I guess that was too much, because he swung at me. I deflected the punch with my left arm, stepped inside even closer, and hooked my right elbow into the side of his head. The fight was over after that.

Unfortunately, it wasn't because my elbow to the head had ended it. I hadn't had that much on it. Instead, Kirsten had taken control of Carol's deflected arm. She now had it twisted behind his back in what amounted to a standing hammerlock.

Whereas it reflects well on Kirsten's character that she so quickly came to your assistance, Ursus thought, I perceive that having a girl defend you probably makes you look bad among your age group.

Yeah, likely. "Carol," I said loudly, "how many times do I have to tell you that Kirsten can kick your ass?" People laughed at that. Perhaps the situation was salvaged.

Through the big windows, I saw Miss Gorse going down the hallway toward the door. "Teacher!" I said. At my warning, Kirsten released Carol with a little push. He whirled to face us. "Teacher!" I warned again. It sunk in that time, and he turned toward the door as it was being unlocked. He glared at me while we were hanging up out coats, but he didn't say anything more.

As we were walking inside the classroom, Ursus thought, That one isn't going to give up until we fight him again .

With our protection spell in force, I'd feel really bad about agreeing to meet him somewhere.

Indeed, it hardly makes for a fair duel, but I've always disdained the dueling culture. Unless I'm at war, I fight only when I have to defend myself. Along with his statement came memories about dueling.

Novi Orbis and the English Empire haven't had a real dueling culture in around a hundred years.

I think that's to their credit. Mind you, having the option to duel has the societal advantage of inducing people to be polite. As a disadvantage, though, it tends to degrade into being a way for young hotheads to prove their manhood.

Before class, Mr. Dean gave my term paper back. I had scored one hundred percent, and he had written, "Excellent job!" Considering that I now had an ancient scholar in my head who was increasingly influencing my thoughts and actions, I didn't take as much pride in the accomplishment as I might have. It was much like a professional athlete defeating children.

"What did you get," Kirsten asked.

"One hundred percent. How did you do?"

"Ninety-eight."

"I received ninety-nine," said Debbie Taylor. She got up and posted another book report. "I've caught up, Arthur."

At least I could still have some fun with that competition. The amount I was reading was actually less with Ursus in residence. "You better keep it up over break, Taylor. I'm going to have some time to read." I smiled when I said it.

"As you say, 'May the best bookworm win.'"

"Nerds," Sean muttered.

I decided to give Kirsten her Christmas present at lunch. "Why are you taking your books with you?" Kirsten asked once class was dismissed and we got up from our desks.

"I have something in my pack."

"What is it?"

"You'll see when we get to your house."

"Oooo, mysterious."

Once we were inside and our winter gear was off, I took my pack over to one of the counter stools and opened it up. "I got you a Christmas present," I said as I handed it to Kirsten.

"Thank you!" She had a big smile.

"Are you going to make her wait until Christmas to open it?" Mrs. Kennedy asked.

"I thought about it. My mom is firmly in the no-opening-until-Christmas camp, but I want to be there when Kirsten sees it. So go ahead."

Kirsten tore off the wrapping paper and opened the box. Her eyes got big, and I suddenly had an armful of happy girl. After she hugged me, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. She kept kissing me. Until then, all of our kisses had lasted a few seconds, at most. Kirsten didn't slip me her tongue or anything like that, but she didn't seem eager to stop any time soon. Finally, Mrs. Kennedy loudly cleared her throat, and we broke our clinch.

"I'm going to be watching you, boy," Mrs. Kennedy said to me. She smiled when she said it, but I had no doubt that she meant it.

Ursus replied to her. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Help me put it on," Kirsten said. She gave me the necklace and turned around as she lifted her collar-length auburn hair out of the way. I passed the necklace around front and then fastened it behind her neck. "I have to go look at it in the mirror," she said. Her mother went with her.

That was a big hit, I thought.

You do realize that you've pretty much just declared your love for her, right?

In fact, I hadn't entirely thought through the full implications of giving her a gold heart. Of course, as soon as I realized that, Ursus realized that I'd just realized that, etc. I thought, Well, she's certainly a lovable girl, and special.

She is. Try not to break her heart.

Kirsten and her mother came back. Kirsten was carrying a wrapped gift. "I was going to bring this with me when I went to your house after school, but I might as well give this to you now." She passed it to me.

It was fairly heavy. When I unwrapped it, I saw it was a large book, 250 Songs for the Guitar . Like the book I had from the library, it had both tablature and standard notation. I put it down and gave her a hug. "Thank you."

The exchange of gifts over, Mrs. Kennedy dished out lunch--homemade chili and cornbread. "This is good. It's a lot like my mom's," I said.

"It's your mom's recipe," Mrs. Kennedy said. "She said it's one of your favorites."

"It is. Thank you for going to so much trouble."

"You're welcome, but it wasn't any more trouble than normal."

"It's better than your old recipe," said Kirsten.

"I'm tempted to say something sarcastic," Mrs. Kenney said, "but I agree with you."

When we got back to class, Kirsten showed her necklace to Pam and some of the other girls. They gave me looks I couldn't interpret. I think the looks mean that they now consider you a higher form of life than they once did, thought Ursus, but don't quote me on that.

When the school day was over, Mr. Dean wished us all a good break. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Dean," a lot of us said. I was actually starting to kind of like him. Kirsten, Sean, and I met Mary part way. While Mary and Sean went to the van, I gave Mom a wave and walked to Kirsten's with her.

I stood inside the door while Kirsten made her preparations. She soon came out carrying both her flute and saxophone cases and a collapsible music stand. I took the saxophone. "Be good," her mother told her as we left. As I had waited for Kirsten, Mom had driven over and pulled the van into the Kennedy's drive. Kirsten and I climbed into the back seat with Mary. Kirsten sat in the middle.

"I am so glad to be away from that place for a while," I said.

"I don't mind school, but I can really use the break," Kirsten said.

"The place is too prison like for my taste."

"Two weeks of freedom," Mary said. "Too bad it's winter."

"I like the winter," said Kirsten, "except it gets dark so early."

"You don't mind the cold?"

"Cold means skiing and ice skating."

"Artie absolutely refuses to ice skate," Mary said.

"So he's told me. Do you skate?"

"Yeah, it's fun. There's a low spot in the vacant lot by our house that collects water. Once someone shovels it off, it makes a good ice rink."

"I can use the one at school." There was a dirt ice rink that the city flooded every winter at the southeast corner of Jewel Staid Elementary's yard.

"That one's bigger than what we have, but it isn't as handy."

"You can come over to my house with your skates during break, if you want."

"That would be fun. Just tell me when."

"I'll double check with my mom, but any time other than Christmas day or the New Year weekend should be good."

Once we were inside and had our winter stuff off, Kirsten went up to Mom and showed her the heart necklace, "Did Artie tell you what he got me for Christmas?"

Mom looked at me. "No, he didn't, but his sister mentioned to me what he'd bought."

"Mary, Terry, and I were shopping together when I saw that."

"Did you help him pick it out, Mary?" Kirsten asked.

"No, that was entirely Artie's idea."

We headed downstairs, and everyone but Mom decided they needed to go with us, even Susan.

I fetched my guitar, and Mary, Kirsten, and I dragged chairs over to the chord organ. Once we were there, Kirsten began looking at the band picture. "That's a Dan Lukowski original," I said.

"There's Art, Danny, Mike, Terry, and Mary," Kirsten said. "Is that me?"

"Yep, Danny, apparently, wants to draft you into our band, such as it is. It's a pretty good likeness, given that he drew you from memory."

"I guess. I see he's dressed me in a miniskirt."

"The guy has good taste." That earned me a playful slap on the shoulder.

I used the chord organ to do the fine-tuning on my guitar that I hadn't time for in the morning. As I did that, Kirsten set up her music stand and got her flute ready. I then let Mary have the chair by the organ and carried the kick-drum over by my chair. "We've been practicing 'Up in the Air' lately, let's try that first." I opened the songbook to the right page and put it on Kirsten's stand. "Why don't you do the melody, Kirsten, and Mary and I'll do the harmony."

So we played it. I also kept up a simple ONE-two-three rhythm on the drum. Then we played it again, but this time Kirsten did some jazzy variations. Mary said, "Why don't you two try singing it? You sounded really good when we were caroling."

The Arthur part of my brain was still afraid of singing, but the Ursus part thought, Don't be chicken . So Kirsten and I sang the melody instead of her playing the flute. A clapping came from the top of the stairs. Once Rich, Charlie, and Susan heard that, they joined in. "Thank you," Kirsten said.

Mom came down. "Do it again."

"Only if Mary joins us," I said.

"C'mon, Mary, you sang with us when we were caroling," Kirsten said.

"All right," she sounded nervous, but she joined in. I thought we sounded pretty good. So, apparently, did everyone else. We got another round of applause.

"Let's try something else," I said.

Kirsten flipped through the songbook. "How about 'Bob Dobson?'" the old folk standard. Mom soon went back upstairs to finish supper. The rest of the afternoon sped by. Mary even played a couple of the songs she had been practicing on the chord organ. I was surprised when Dad called us to come eat.

Mike and Terry came over after supper. "Why hello, Kirsten," Terry said. "You look lovely, as always."

"Thank you."

"What a nice surprise. Arthur didn't inform us that you'd be here."

"I didn't want to give you two time to plan," I said.

"Plan what?" Mike asked.

"Bog only knows what your warped imaginations might produce."

"We're no more warped than you are."

"Remember last winter when the two of you polished the ice on the corner with brooms in hopes it would cause cars to spin out?"

"Yeah."

"I rest my case."

"What's warped about that?"

We played "The Shepherd's Lament" for Kirsten. "I've never heard that before. Where did you guys find it?"

"Art says he got it from a voice inside his head," said Terry.

Kirsten looked at me. "You're weird, you know."

"Everyone keeps telling me that."

It wasn't too long after that when Danny came thumping down the stairs. "Look what I managed to get hold of." He was carrying a hi-hat cymbal. "Oh, hi Kirsten. You add class to this place."

"Thank you. Your picture is nice, but I'm not sure I approve of the way you have me dressed."

"What? Oh, yeah, artistic license."

"Cool," said Mike as he took the hi-hat. Terry slid him the kick drum, and he passed Terry their guitar.

"Do I want to know how you got that?" I asked Dan.

"I traded the conduit I didn't use on the pedal car for a walnut plank. I know a guy who makes his own rifle stocks, and I traded him the walnut for a single-shot twenty-two. Then I traded the twenty-two and a bike for the hi-hat and this drumstick." Danny slid the drumstick out from behind his belt and gave it to Mike.

"Amazing," Kirsten said.

"He is," I said.

We worked on music until about 8:30 pm. At one point, Danny and Kirsten got into a harmonica vs. saxophone duel while the rest of us tried to keep up. When everyone started to clear out, Dad drove Kirsten home. I went along and saw her to her door. She gave me a hug and quick kiss. "Thank you for having me over for supper. I had a great time."

"So did I. Do you want to do something tomorrow?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"I have no idea."

"I have jujutsu practice in the morning. Give me a call after lunch if you want."

When Dad and I got back home, Ursus thought, If we can achieve trance quickly, we might be able to get the charging ritual done before eleven. At any rate, we should have time to charge at least one of the glyphs.

I was learning, I put my pajamas and robe on before we started. I placed the guitar up on blocks on the basement table but didn't unstring it; I wasn't going to be cutting on it this time. I finished sanding the two stars, and then did the usual preparations.

The ritual went much like the one for my amulet, except this time I concentrated the visualizations on drawing manna into me. As usual, I felt both tired and buzzed when I was finished. My watch said it was 11:10 pm, but I had to try one more thing. I softly played "Up in the Air" while humming the melody. I didn't have enough strength left to sing. Nevertheless, not only was the manna close enough to touch, I touched it and drew it in. Victory.

Chapter 26: Loathing and Trembling

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 26

When Mary and I went in, Mom heard us and said, "There they are now. You two come out here, so we can talk to you." She sounded angry.

"We'll be right there," I said, "just as soon as we take off our winter stuff."

Once we walked into the kitchen, I saw that Mrs. Pullik had brought along her husband, Hal. He was a big guy--about six-foot-four-inches, more than 300 pounds--with a jowly face. Everyone present was looking at us. I just stood patiently. Mary, apparently following my lead, stood beside and slightly behind me. Mom eventually said, "Sit down." There were empty chairs on both sides of Mom, so we took them. Dad's chair was on my other side.

"What happened?" Mom asked.

I could actually feel Ursus working at keeping me perfectly calm. "Well, I suppose the most important thing is that Mrs. Pullik assaulted Danny."

"Jesus Christ!" Mrs. Pullik yelled. She pronounced "Christ" as if it were spelled "Cripes." "You're a goddamn liar!"

"My son almost never lies," Mom said.

"He is now."

"Son," said Mr. Pullik, "tell us what really happened." I detested that he called me "son," but I refrained from protest.

I remained silent until Mon said, "Go ahead."

"Mrs. Pullik tried to kick Danny several times. He avoided her, and she eventually slipped and fell in the snow."

"Did he, or did he not, call me a "silly old bitch?" I noticed Dad cover his mouth.

"He did. Right after that, you assaulted him."

"Kicking at him is not assault."

"Did he hit you first?" Dad asked, "or at least try to?"

"He was a disrespectful little smartass. So is your son."

"You can't kick someone for being a smartass, Gertrude," Dad said.

"The law says I can't hit him with my hand, but I can kick him."

"Where did you get that idea?"

"Hal's lawyer." Mr. Pullik was a draftsman who moonlighted as a freelance checker. I supposed he consulted a lawyer for his business.

"Hal, you better get a new lawyer." Dad laughed as he said it.

"You don't think he knows the law?"

"If he told you it's all right to kick someone for being disrespectful, and he's a lawyer, he was either pulling your leg or incompetent."

"When did you go to law school?" Mrs. Pullik asked. Dad ignored her. I waited silently.

"Start from the beginning," Mom told me.

So I did. I told it from the beginning, in nearly full detail, but used circumlocutions for all the words my mother considered bad. The only part I left out was when Danny told Mrs. Pullik to mind her own business. I had barely made his mutter out, so I sincerely doubted that Mrs. Pullik had. I also emphasized that I had heard something that sounded like a snowball hitting a car, but that I hadn't seen anyone throw a snowball or one hit. Mrs. Pullik interrupted me several times as I spoke. When she did, I sat silently until Mom told me to go on.

When I was finished, Mom turned to Mary. "Is that what happened?"

"Danny also said something that made Mrs. Pullik really mad, but I couldn't make out what it was."

"Other than that, did Art tell everything you heard and saw?"

"Uh-huh, Artie told it all."

Mom looked at Mrs. Pullik. "I can see why you might be upset with Danny, but why are you upset with Arthur?"

"His smartass mouth and his goddamn attitude."

"He can be a damn smartass--I know that better than anyone--but where was he a smartass with you?"

"The way he spoke to me and his better-than-you attitude. You just heard him yourself."

"Artie, how did you talk to Mrs. Pullik?"

"Just like I was talking to you now, except a little louder because we were outside."

"What's wrong with that, Gertrude?"

"Can't you hear him? If my kids talked to me like that, I'd smack their mouths."

Mom looked genuinely puzzled. Dad, bless him, decided to extract Mary and me. "There's school tomorrow. You two go to bed."

After I crawled under the covers, and Harvey moved to my feet, Ursus said, That woman is one vile human being.

Oh, yes. Maybe I opened Mom's eyes about her.

Don't count on too much. Despite all her rough talk, your mom tends to look for the good in people.

At least cutting the evil hag down to size some was fun, anyway. I had a good day, old bear. Thanks for all the help.

You're very welcome. Disturbing those who deserve disturbing is indeed fun. He began the relaxation ritual.

Thursday morning, I got up a little before the other kids. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table eating toast and drinking coffee. She looked at me for a moment and then cracked up. "I can't believe you suggested that Mrs. Lukowski call the cops on Gertrude."

School was routine. During lunch with Kirsten--macaroni and cheese--the topic turned to winter sports. "Do you ice skate, Artie?" she asked.

"No. I tried it once. I put on the skates, hobbled out onto the ice, slipped immediately, and landed flat on my back, giving my head a hard smack. Once the pain was under control, I crawled off the ice, put my boots back on, and have flatly refused ever since to try it again."

Ursus, do you ice skate?"

Hell, no!

"That's a rather defeatist attitude," said Mrs. Kennedy.

"I suppose, but coming down on my head like that scared me."

"How about skiing?" Kirsten asked.

"I've never tried it."

Ursus?

Cross country, when I needed it to get around. Not my idea of fun.

"Skiing is one of my favorite things," she said.

"I've never had the opportunity."

"How about tobogganing?"

"I've never been on one."

"Sledding?"

"I've been on Mike and Terry's a couple of times, but it's pretty flat around here. We just took turns pulling each other."

"Are there any winter activities that you do?"

"Snowball fighting." Kirsten grinned at that.

"It looks like," Mrs. Kennedy said, "we're going to have to expand your horizons."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not too much."

"Oh, before I forget," I said, "Mom said that Kirsten is invited to our house for supper tomorrow. She's making pot roast."

"May I go?" Kirsten asked her mother.

"Yes, you may."

"Mom said she'd wait after school while you went home, and then give you a ride."

"She doesn't have to do that," Mrs. Kennedy said.

"It's only a few minutes extra wait."

"I'll give her a call later," Mrs. Kennedy said.

"Would you like to bring one of your instruments and play with our band?" I asked Kirsten.

"That would be fun. Do you want to come over here after school for a while today?"

"I want to, but I need to buy Mary a Christmas present after school, and I'm running out of time."

She looked a little disappointed but said, "That's OK. We'll have a lot of time over winter break to do stuff together."

"Does your family have any big plans?"

"We're going skiing up north over New Year's weekend, but I think that's it. Isn't it, Mom?"

"Other than Christmas, that's all we have scheduled."

"Is your family doing anything?" Kirsten asked.

"So far as anyone has told me, Mom's making a big Christmas dinner for the family. We sometimes have relatives over, but I don't think so this year. We'll also have corned beef and cabbage on New Year's Day."

"Mom does that too! I've told that to some people, and they look at me funny."

"It's an Irish custom, dear. Is your mother Irish, Arthur?"

"She's half Irish and half Scottish."

"I'm three-quarters Irish and one-quarter English," Kirsten said.

"A fine blend," I said. Kirsten smiled.

We held hands on the way back to school, and the rest of the school day passed normally. Once I got home, I took Mom aside and said, "Do you think we can have Mary watch the other kids while you take me to the mall right now?"

"I need to make supper. Can't your father take you after?"

"I don't want to miss two practice sessions in a row. If Mike and Terry start believing that I don't take it seriously, they'll start skipping out." I paused to assume a pleading look. "I know what I want to pick up. It's a Christmas present for Mary."

She looked thoughtful. "All right, but we can't take too long."

"I'll be in and out. I saw it when we went to the mall, but I couldn't get it when Mary was there."

I changed clothes and fetched my money. When I came out of my room, I heard Mary say, "But why can't we all go?"

"Why do you think?" Mom said.

"We're only going to be gone a few minutes, Mary. I want to get your Christmas present," I said.

"You don't have to get me a present."

"I want to get you one."

"Oh, that's kind of you."

I almost didn't do it, but I gave her a one-armed hug. "Why wouldn't I get such a great sister a present?" She hugged me back.

When we arrived at the mall, Mom asked, "Which store are you going to?"

"The bookstore."

"I want to stop in that gift store--what's its name?"

"Skip's?"

"Yeah. I want to get a poster frame for Danny's picture. I'm going to park as close to Skip's as I can. While I go there, you go to the bookstore. You're young; you can walk. Deal?"

"That's good." The shops were pretty much at opposite ends of the mall, but as she said, I was young.

Given the season, we didn't get that close. Once we were inside, Mom said, "We'll meet at this bench." She pointed at it.

"All right, I'll see you in a few minutes."

I put it into high gear and weaved my way through the crowd. Christmas songs were playing over the PA system. Some guy was standing in the center of the aisle demonstrating a stunt glider. I spent a couple of seconds watching the thing do loops.

Cool, thought Ursus.

Cool! thought Arthur.

Yeah, but if that's all it does, I imagine it gets boring after a few minutes, I thought.

No doubt. It doesn't look like we could play catch with it, Arthur thought.

I didn't say it was a wise purchase; I said it was cool, Ursus thought.

I continued on to the bookstore. Fortunately, they still had what I wanted. It was a three-volume set, wrapped together in plastic, imaginatively titled Learn to Play Piano! I bought it and started walking back to the designated bench. I was again watching the stunt glider when I nearly walked into Carol Flagler.

"Watch where you're going, nimrod," he said.

He was with his mother. "You're the boy who hurt my son, aren't you?" She must have recognized me from the massacre scene near the Beauchamp residence on Cabin Drive.

"Yeah, I guess that's true," I answered.

"You're also the boy who got him in trouble for throwing snow."

"I suppose that's technically true, too."

"You're a bully, and I want you to stay away from him."

"I do my best, I assure you." I tried to escape.

"Don't turn your back on me when I'm speaking to you."

I wanted to speed up, but I put on the brakes. That was a mistake, thought Ursus.

I turned back around. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm listening."

"Why have you been picking on Carl?"

Ursus was laughing in my head. Arthur was swearing. "I haven't been picking on him. He's been picking on me."

"Are you trying to tell me that you put him in the emergency room, but that he's been picking on you?"

"Yes, that's it exactly." I turned and started to go. This time, I wasn't going to let anything stop me.

She grabbed the sleeve of my coat, right on the place that was patched from the damage done by my slide on the pavement. "I told you: don't turn your back on me."

"Mrs. Flagler, let me go. I already can see that talking with you will do neither of us any good."

Carol actually gave me a bit of a shove. "You treat my mother with respect, Powyr."

"You kids these days are getting so ill mannered," his mother said.

I took a deep breath. "Mrs. Flagler, please release my coat." She let it go. I turned to face her again. "We have a drastic difference of opinion over what has been happening between Carol and me. I don't see any way of bridging it here in the mall."

"Are you trying to tell me that my son has been lying to me?"

"It looks like it from here." Carol reached for me this time, but I maneuvered away and put a clump of shoppers between us. He worked his way through them while I went behind a kiosk selling paintings on velvet. Carol came after me, and we played ring-around-a-rosy for a few seconds.

"You're such a chicken shit," he said to me.

"Carl! Get back here," his mother said. Carol ignored her.

We were only about half way to Skip's Gifts, but Mom must have been looking for me, because I heard her say, "What in hell is going on here?" I went over to stand beside her.

"Is he your son?" asked Mrs. Flagler.

"Yes. Is that your son who was chasing him?"

"He wasn't chasing him."

"It surely looked like it to me."

"He was just being a high-spirited boy."

"I see. Artie, what's going on?"

"This is Mrs. Flagler," I said, "and the ruffian there is her son, Carol."

"The little bastard who has been giving you all the trouble?"

"Yeah."

"What did you just call my son?"

"I called him a little bastard, but if that's inaccurate, how about little son of a bitch?"

Mrs. Flagler looked shocked. "I see where your son gets his disgusting behavior."

"I see why your son gets away with murder."

"I'm not going to mince words with you," said Mrs. Flagler. "You keep your child away from mine. If he harms my son again, I'm filing charges."

My mother was actually speechless for a moment. "I can't believe this bullshit! The little bastritch repeatedly attacks Arthur, and my kid's the one who is going to be up on charges?"

"Your son has been bullying Carl incessantly."

"Your son and three other boys attacked Arthur."

"They did not! Carl and his two friends were merely defending themselves from your hoodlum and that huge Beauchamp boy."

Mom looked at me with an open mouth. I shook my head. She took my arm. "Let's go, Arthur. There's obviously nothing to be done here."

As we were walking away, I heard Mrs. Flagler shout, "Mark my words. Keep your young bully away from my son."

I could feel Mom's hand shaking. "That goddamned shit-for-brains bitch and her bastardly hell-spawn. I can't believe the nerve of her! File charges my ass. I'll take her charges and shove them up her festered rectum. Arthur, if that little shithead attacks you again, I want you to thrash him good."

"Aye, aye, ma'am."

That got her to grin. "Stupid, idiotic bitch."

The walk out to the van seemed to cool her off a bit. "Are you OK to drive?" I asked.

"Don't you start." She smiled when she said it. She muttered a few more times on the way home, but the main storm had passed.

When we were in the driveway, I asked, "Will you wrap this for me, please?"

"Yeah. Give it here. I'll carry it into my room. Go fetch Danny's picture so I can put it in the frame."

I fetched it, she framed it, and we went downstairs to hang it. "Where do you think we should put it?" Mom asked. The rest of the kids were with us.

"We've been practicing over there," Mary said.

"How about over the chord organ?"

"Looks like a good spot to me," I said.

Mom tacked up a hanger and hung the picture. "Is this straight?"

"It looks good," Mary said.

Mom stepped back and looked at the picture herself. "That Danny is quite the artist. Too bad he's such a bad little bugger."

After Mom had taken Susan upstairs, Rich and Charlie started a game of pool. Mary sat at the chord organ to practice. I took up my guitar on the other side of the basement. I had become pretty good with the basic open chords, but I still needed to develop my left hand to do barre chords, and I had a lot of practice ahead before I would be skilled at picking with either a plectrum or my fingers.

Do you feel how close the manna is? asked Ursus.

Almost close enough to touch.

I think we should carve a pentagram and a hexagram into your guitar.

What!

Around back where it won't affect the soundboard, in the spot where the finish is already worn off. I quit practicing, and we looked at the spot in question. Once we charge them, it might be enough to let us gather manna as we play.

Part of me was horrified by the idea, but most of me wanted to try the experiment. In my heart of hearts, I was a nerd before anything else. OK, but I want to be really careful when we carve.

We'll take our time and make shallow cuts. We'll do the carving today and the ritual tomorrow, after Kirsten goes home. The eleven o'clock bedtime dispensation for winter break will give us time.

When I was done practicing, it was too late to go to Danny's, so I did my arithmetic homework and looked at the two witchcraft books until supper. When Mike and Terry came over after, Mike said, "Danny's poster does pick up the atmosphere."

"It gives us something to dream about, anyway," Terry said.

"It's going to take a long time," I said.

"Some of the rockers from the Mother Country turn pro when they're sixteen," Mike said.

"Most of us go to school longer, on this continent," I said.

"Hell, if we ever get a recording contract, I'll drop out of school."

"You're getting way, way out in front. Today's agenda includes reviewing our first song and continuing to learn our second."

We practiced for over an hour. Once they left, I unstrung my now-beloved instrument and set it up face down on several scrap blocks of wood. I used mechanical drawing tools to lay out the two symbols as precisely as I could. Then I picked up Dad's smallest gouge, took a deep breath, and made the first gentle cut.

Chapter 25: Insufficiently Obsequious

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 25

Everyone seemed to be in an upbeat mood as we walked home. We were joking around and playfully throwing handfuls of snow at each other. I thought everyone had experienced a good time, and I silently congratulated myself for thinking of inviting them. As we were ambling down Bradley, a shit-green car pulled up beside us. I recognized it. It was just my most favoritest person in the whole wide world, even more favoriter than Carol.

The window rolled down. "What are youse doing out so late?" It was Mrs. Pullik. She lived across the street from the Prestors and my family. Dewey Drive was more-or-less L-shaped. The Prestors and my family had the outside-corner lots. The Pulliks had the inside corner. They had a daughter in the same grade as Mary, but Mary did her best to avoid her.

"We were out behind the elementary school playing doctor with Mary," Danny said.

"We were not!" Mary said.

"We were Christmas caroling," I said.

"Don't you smart off to me, Danny Lukowski," Mrs. Pullik said.

Danny muttered softly, "Then mind your own business, you stupid bitch."

"What did you say?"

"I said, it's cold out here, and if it's all right with you, we need to keep moving."

"That's not what it sounded like to me."

"What can I say?" Danny started herding the group of us forward.

"I'm going to tell your mother what a smartass little punk you are."

"My mom knows all about my bad qualities, but knock yourself out."

"I'm not kidding, you foul-mouthed little creep."

"I didn't think you were." Danny still resented her for getting him in trouble several months before over his wandering around the neighborhood at night. It had cost him the privilege of sleeping in his family's tent-trailer over the summer.

Mrs. Pullik moved her car forward to keep up with us. "Artie, what are you doing out so late with this hooligan?"

I didn't mind it when my friends or family called me Artie. "Call me, Arthur, please."

"Arthur, then, damn it."

"Thank you."

"Well?"

"Well, what, Mrs. Pullik?" I started us moving forward again."

She moved forward with us. "Answer my damn question."

"I require clarification, Mrs. Pullik."

Why are you riling this nosy bitch? thought Ursus.

I hate her guts.

"Don't you get smart with me. I'll tell your mother." My mother, normally full of good sense, actually liked the woman.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Pullik. What is it you wanted?" I shouted this last back over my shoulder.

She pulled her car forward. "Stand still when I'm talking to you."

I quit moving. "It's really starting to get cold out here. Perhaps we could have this conversation at another time?"

"It's not that goddamned cold!"

"I'm sorry to differ with you, but I can hear your car heater running from here."

"You're getting as bad as that damn Danny, and I'm going to have a word with your mother about it."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm sure you'll do as you see fit."

"You're goddamned right I will." She rolled up her window, and her car started moving forward. I started walking again, which put me in front of our little group. Just then, I heard the sound of a snowball hitting a car. Due to my position, I hadn't seen the culprit.

She stopped her car again and got out this time. "Which one of you little bastards threw that?"

Everyone started shrugging. "Threw what?" Mike asked.

"I didn't see anyone throw anything," Mary said. Because she was right behind me, I was pretty sure she really hadn't seen anyone. Besides, Mary wasn't the type to bait someone like Mrs. Pullik.

"You know goddamned well what someone threw." She was glaring at Mike. "Was it you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know one of you damn punks just hit my car with a snowball."

"It wasn't me," Mike said.

"Me neither," Terry said. Danny just laughed.

"Are you going to tell me who did it, Artie?"

"Call me Arthur, please."

"Jesus Christ! I'll call you whatever I goddamn well please. Now, who threw the goddamn snowball?"

"There is no need to get verbally abusive, Mrs. Pullik." I said it in a totally flat tone of voice.

"It's not up to a little shit like you to correct me. If you were my kid, I'd slap the smart-mouthed hell right out of you."

I felt Mary grab my arm. "I've been nothing but respectful to you." I knew it was Ursus's influence that allowed me to keep a perfectly even tone during our whole exchange. Since waking up from my long nap, I had rapidly learned the value of staying calm when those in a dispute with me became upset. I was now learning that such calmness annoyed a certain type of person.

"Like hell you have."

"I've been completely polite."

"You can take your disrespectful tone and your superior air and shove them up your ass. We'll see what your parents have to say about this."

My tone wasn't disrespectful; it merely wasn't groveling. "Ma'am, I have nothing more to say to you until my parents are present." Oooo, nice jujutsu move, thought Ursus.

I tried to get our group moving forward again. We'd have to walk by the belligerent harridan, but there was a snow bank between us, and with a little luck, I had given her brain lock for long enough to allow us to effect our escape.

Unfortunately, Danny wasn't ready to go. "You know what, you silly old bitch, why don't you just go bite the big one?" I suppose he figured that if he was doomed to get in trouble with his mother, he might as well make it worth it.

The snow was reflecting enough of the illumination from the streetlights that I could see Mrs. Pullik's face. She's gonna blow, thought Ursus. Mrs. Pullik started heading for a driveway so that she could get up onto the sidewalk.

"Run, Mary," I said, loud enough for Mary to hear, but not yelling. I gave her a gentle push to get her moving. I followed along behind her. Mike and Terry must have thought it a good idea, because they came with us. Danny, however, had other plans. He stood there laughing at her.

After the rest of us had jogged perhaps twenty yards, we stopped to watch the show. Mrs. Pullik, cursing all the while, stalked toward Danny. Laughing at her, he backpedaled to stay just out of reach. After they had played that game for about ten yards, she started kicking at him.

"The law says I can't lay a hand on a child, but I can still kick the living shit out of you." Danny just laughed some more.

"That's not what the law says, is it?" Terry asked.

"No," I said, "but she has many strange ideas." This I knew from conversations I'd overheard between her and my mother.

Finally, the predictable happened. Mrs. Pullik tried to kick at Danny while her support foot was on a slick spot. She slipped and tumbled into one of the snow banks that lined both sides of the walk. It was deep enough, and she had enough momentum from her fall, that except for her legs, she disappeared into the snow.

Danny stood there in near hysterics for several seconds before jogging over to the rest of us. We were all pretty far gone ourselves. "This is one of the best nights of my life," Danny gasped. "It ranks up there with my first handful of warm teat." We started walking fairly briskly, but not running. Heavy breathing in cold air hurts. We heard a stream of foul language coming from behind us.

Ursus warned me, so I warned everyone else, "If you see her car coming, make sure you're not in a driveway. The crazy moron might try running us over."

We were almost to the intersection of Topiary and Bradley when a pair of headlights came up behind us. It was Mrs. Pullik. "I'm going to be talking to all of your parents." She was clearly furious.

"Go ahead," Dan yelled.

She rolled her window back up and took off.

"What are we going to say?" Mike asked.

"We'll just say she saw us out at night and started flipping out," said Danny.

"That won't be enough," I said.

We're going to be in trouble, Arthur thought.

No we're not. We did nothing wrong, I thought.

"Why not? It's what happened."

"It's just not going to fly. She's going to be there ranting about disrespectful smartasses."

"Then what do you think we should say."

"We're going to have to tell the truth."

"Fuck that."

"Why? She looks a hell of a lot worse than we do. She tried kicking you. That's attempted battery."

That caused a pause for consideration. "I did smart off to her, though," Dan said. "My mom won't like that. It's part of the reason I got in trouble from my last run in with the stupid bitch."

"Your mom knows you. She knows you smarted off. You're going to have to emphasize what Mrs. Pullik did and deemphasize what you did."

"Shit."

"Look, just let me do as much of the talking as possible. Your mom likes me, and I can't believe she has much more than contempt for Mrs. Pullik, even if she doesn't show it."

"You think you can talk us out of this?"

"I can try. Do you want me to?"

"Yeah, go for it."

"What about the rest of you guys?" I asked.

"All right," Terry said.

"Why the hell not?" Mike said.

Marry gave my arm a squeeze, but she didn't say anything. Of course, Mary was in no real danger of getting into trouble.

As we walked down Twine, I saw Mrs. Pullik's car in the Lukowski driveway, but as we got closer, I saw that Mrs. Lukowski had not let Mrs. Pullik inside the house. I took that as a good sign. The rant was still in full steam as we walked up the drive.

"Danny, get your ass up here and tell me what's going on." Mrs. Lukowski, with her two older sons behind her, was standing in the doorway while Mrs. Pullik stood on the front porch.

"Good evening, Mrs. Lukowski," I said fairly loudly.

"Hi, Artie."

"Have you considered calling the police?"

"About what?"

"About Mrs. Pullik's attempted battery upon your son."

"What in hell are you talking about?"

"I saw Mrs. Pullik attempt to kick Danny several times, and it wasn't in self-defense. He never raised a hand to her."

"That's my right, you little bastard," said Mrs. Pullik.

"You have no right to kick my son."

"I can't legally lay a hand on him, but I can kick him, and your son deserves a damn good kicking."

"Where did you get that idiotic idea?"

"He's a smartass."

"Not that. The kicking bullshit."

"My husband's lawyer told me."

"Oh, I doubt that. No lawyer would ever spout such garbage."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Lady, get the hell off my porch, or I will call the cops." I saw Mrs. Pullik tense up even more. Mrs. Lukowski must have seen it, too, because she said, "If you raise a hand--or a foot--to me, I'll deck you so hard you bounce." Russ and Tommy loomed closer to their mother.

We all waited while Mrs. Pullik stomped to her car. Just before she got in, she pointed a finger at me and shouted, "We'll see what your parents have to say, Artie." She slammed the door, pulled out too fast, and put the rear of the car into the snow bank across the street. Unfortunately, she didn't get it stuck.

"OK," said Mrs. Lukowski, "why don't you all come inside and tell me what trouble Danny has stirred up now." Russ and Tommy had big grins on their faces.

Once we were all in the house and had removed our snow-covered boots on the mat, I said, "May we call our parents so they don't worry?"

"Go ahead."

"Mary, let Mom know that Mrs. Pullik will soon be there in an unstable state, if she isn't there already. Tell Mom that as soon as I inform Mrs. Lukowski of what really happened, we'll be home to tell her, too." I said it loud enough so Danny's mom could hear everything I said.

Except for Mary, we all found seats around the kitchen table or on the stools along the counter. "Now, what is going on?" Mrs. Lukowski asked.

"We were walking home from caroling," I said. "You can see from the clock that walking home is all we had time to do." She glanced at the clock as I continued. "Mrs. Pullik stopped her car and asked what we were doing out so late. Danny made a joke. He said we were playing doctor with Mary. Of course, I immediately told her what we were really doing.

"Mrs. Pullik apparently didn't like Danny's joke, because she told him not to be smart with her. While it wasn't the wittiest joke I've ever heard, I think Mrs. Pullik badly overreacted. Danny then told her it was cold outside and that we didn't want to stand around. She ranted and raved some more--about like she was doing with you as we walked up--and used some foul language on us.

"She then turned to me and asked me what I was doing hanging around with your son. I found her question quite offensive. I don't believe it's any of her business who my friends are, but I didn't tell her that. I kept a civil tone. Right guys?"

There was a general assent. Mary, who was finished with her call, came over and sat down. "I was really proud of how calm Arthur stayed," she said. Terry got up to use the phone.

"I asked her not to call me Artie."

"I thought you liked being called Artie," Mrs. Lukowski said.

"It doesn't bother me, but it's a name my friends use."

Mrs. Lukowski got it, and chuckled.

"Mrs. Pullik proceeded to rant and curse some more. It was about then that Danny made his big mistake. He told her to 'go bite the big one.' Admittedly, he shouldn't have done that, but he had been severely provoked, as had we all. I kind of wish I'd had the guts to tell her that myself."

"Where does the kicking come in?"

"Right after that. She got out of her car, came up on the walk, and tried to kick him several times. Danny avoided her, and Mrs. Pullik eventually slipped as she was kicking and fell into a snow bank." Mrs. Lukowski smiled. Danny's brothers laughed. "Danny never touched her. After that, we walked home. She stopped one more time to yell at us. You saw the rest."

"Who threw the snowball?"

"I saw no snowball, nor did I see anyone throw one."

"Did anyone see someone throwing a snowball?"

"I didn't," said Mary. Everyone else shook their heads.

"Does anyone have anything to add?"

"Art covered it," said Mike.

"All right. Thanks for clearing things up. Danny, your mouth is going to get you in big trouble one day. What have I told you about smarting off to adults?"

"Yeah, I shouldn't have done it, but she was really asking for it."

"I don't care. If it's an adult yelling at you, you take it. If it's bad enough, you tell me, and I'll deal with it."

I got up. "Mary and I need to get home. Mrs. Pullik is no doubt harassing our parents as we speak."

Mike, Terry, Mary, and I put our boots on. Just before we left, Mrs. Lukowski said, "Artie, you're one unusual kid."

"I know. I'm told that a lot." We went out.

"That was smooth," said Mike.

"I hope you were taking notes, in case she goes to your house. I'm pretty sure she's at ours right now."

"She is," said Mary. "I heard her in the background."

"I've never heard you lie like that before," Terry said to me.

"I didn't say one thing that wasn't true."

"No, but you left a lot out."

"I summarized in places, but I told the relevant parts. The nosy moron butted in where she had no business, used abusive and insulting language to us, and physically attacked our friend."

"You left out a lot of what Dan said."

"He just used words on her; she used her feet. And I did indicate that he was somewhat disrespectful."

"You also left out that you were disrespectful."

Did I say one bad thing to her?"

"No, you didn't, but your attitude was a bit--I don't know what to call it."

"My attitude was of one free individual speaking to another. I never raised my voice, I remained reasonable, and my tone was kept neutral. Mrs. Pullik, however, was insulted that I wasn't sufficiently servile."

"I guess. You also left out the snowball until it was brought up."

"I saw no snowball, and if you did, I don't want to know about until next summer, at the earliest."

We were in front of our houses. "I'll see you guys later." Mary and I went inside.

Chapter 24: Sights and Sounds

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 24

"Artie! What's wrong?" Mary asked.

"He cut its throat. Blood was everywhere."

Mom yelled down the stairs. "Is everything all right down there?"

It took me a couple of seconds to come to myself. I called back, "Everything is fine. I was only startled."

"Well, don't scream like that unless you've cut off a hand, or at least a finger. You scare the shit out of everyone when you do that."

"Sorry."

In a quiet voice, Mary asked, "What happened?"

"I saw a man in a black robe. He took a big knife and killed a goat. The blood sprayed out." I hadn't seen his face, but the size and build made me believe it was a man.

"Ew. You saw that in the water?"

"Yeah." It had taken place inside a building. The goat's blood had landed on tile.

It was probably an animal sacrifice, thought Ursus. They are metaphorically powerful, but I don't like them, and I don't do them.

"How horrible!" Mary said.

"I didn't like seeing it, and I'm sure the goat didn't like it."

"Is that something that just now happened?"

Ursus took over answering. "Probably, scrying the present and the recent past are easiest."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"I don't think slaughtering an animal is illegal. The people down the street kill their own rabbits all the time, you know."

Mary looked upset. "I don't know if this magic stuff is for me."

"That has to be your decision," I said. After a few moments, she turned off the chord organ and went upstairs.

My concentration was gone, so I called it a night as far as magic was concerned and settled into the corner of the couch with the Norse mythology book. Why did I see what I saw?, I thought.

You were specifically looking for something interesting. That was interesting, wasn't it?

Technically, I guess, but I'd rather not have seen it.

Scrying isn't that easy to control. It takes a lot of practice, and some luck, to see exactly what you want to see.

Could the guy with the goat have been up to something evil?

Sure, but he might have been making a sacrifice in an attempt to cure a sick child or any number of other good things. There is no way to know, given the small bit we saw.

I'm sorry for losing it like that.

You're a beginner, and I'm pleased with the rate you're learning. It takes a long time to train yourself to remain unfazed when confronted with the unexpected, and no one can do it all the time.

Did the sacrifice happen around here?

Probably, nearby in time and space are the easiest things to see. The next time such a situation arises, there are tests we can attempt to learn such things, if you can maintain control of your collected manna.

Sorry.

I'm not scolding. I'm just stating the facts. As I said, you're doing a good job.

I read until bedtime.

Other than my learning that Sean was grounded as well as banned from the cafeteria, Wednesday was uneventful until it was time to go to Kirsten's for lunch. Of course, we walked over holding hands. Mrs. Kennedy was friendly. She wanted to hear about the great snowball incident, so I told her about it in full, only editing for language. She put hoagies, potato chips, and milk in front of Kirsten and me as I talked.

When I finished with my story, she got down to the reason I'd been invited to lunch. "I know that Kirsten has told you that she is again allowed to see you outside of class."

"Yes, the news made me happy."

"As it did her. And, with reservations, I approve as well. Let me talk about those reservations. Kirsten's father likes you. I like you. You seem like a nice, intelligent young man. Mr. Kennedy was wary for a while about the violence the seems to be surrounding you of late, but I talked with your mother, and Kirsten and I eventually convinced him that recent events are atypical for you. We also pointed out the fact that a boy able to defeat simultaneously four other boys, all around his own age and size, was someone probably safer for Kirsten to be around than not."

"I really don't get in that many fights, at least, not until lately."

"I believe you. But the fighting wasn't the only issue. What thrills neither Mr. Kennedy nor I is that our young daughter is showing such interest in the opposite sex at her age. We had hoped that we wouldn't have had to deal with this issue until she was a year--or perhaps two--older. But I'm a realist, and I know that hormones start having their way with us at varying ages. She is interested in boys, and as her parents, it's up to us to deal with it."

"I understand," I said. It seemed the safest thing to say.

"It's my life," Kirsten said. "Shouldn't it be up to me to deal with it?" It sounded like she was taking up an old debate.

"It is, but you aren't even twelve years old yet. Your father and I still have a responsibility to supervise you closely for your own protection, and for ours, for that matter. Letting you run loose could be construed as a form of child abuse."

"I'm not asking to run loose. I just want to have a boyfriend in peace."

"And within certain limitations, that's exactly what we're letting you have."

Mrs. Kennedy turned back toward me. "If our daughter weren't so supremely self-confident, her father and I might have tried simply forbidding her to have anything to do with boys. She is self-confident, however, and most of the time we're glad of that blessing. But roses come with thorns, and in this case I'm firmly convinced that Kirsten will do as she wills rather than as she is told." She paused. "May I ask you a question, Arthur?"

"I don't promise to answer."

"When Kirsten's father told her she wasn't allowed to see you, did Kirsten tell you that she wasn't your girlfriend?"

Thank you for putting me on the spot. I knew where my strongest loyalty lay in this situation, at least. "Is it OK with you if I answer that, Kirsten?"

"Go ahead." Her body language looked neutral.

"No, Mrs. Kennedy," I said. "She more-or-less assured me that I was still her boyfriend."

"So that is the reality of the situation. Here are the rules that I expect you and Kirsten to follow. If either of you violate them, you will lose my support for your relationship, and I will ground Kirsten until she is fifteen, if I have to. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Rule one: you will be going on no one-on-one dates any time soon. If you're still together when Kirsten is fourteen or fifteen, ask for a revision then. The exception is for things that kids near your age normally do: school dances, roller-skating, the ice-cream parlor, and so on. Am I clear?"

"Crystal."

"What about in groups?" Kirsten asked.

"Yes, you may do anything with groups of friends that people your age normally do. I will be the final arbiter of what is normal."

"Rule two: you will not pressure Kirsten for any physical contact for which she does not feel ready. Do you understand?"

"I understand, and I would never do that anyway." Indeed, I had someone living in my head that I suspected would assume control of my body and beat the hell out of me with it if I tried.

"Rule three: when my daughter is with you, I expect to know where she is and whom you are with at all times. I will be providing her with a supply of coins for the telephone so that she can inform me of any change in plans, and I am charging you, Arthur, with the responsibility to remind her to call me if she forgets."

"I understand."

"Finally, I don't want to embarrass you both by bringing this up, but as a responsible parent, I believe I have to do so. When I talked with your mother yesterday, Arthur, I received her permission to say this." She had my attention. "You two are much too young to be having sex. You might think you are, but if you believe me about anything, believe me that you aren't."

"Mother!"

"Don't 'Mother' me. I can see how smitten you two are with each other."

"But I know I'm too young for that."

"I know you do, right now, but reason has a tendency to fly out the window when passions are high."

"We'll be careful, Mrs. Kennedy. I never want to hurt Kirsten."

"Please, see that you don't."

After that, lunch returned to normal. After everything cooled down I said, "You're still going caroling tonight, right Kirsten?"

"Oh, yes. I love caroling."

"My husband and I are the parents Mr. Dean drafted as adult supervision," Mrs. Kennedy said.

"Cool. Are you going to sing?"

"Perhaps."

After school, I reminded Mom that I was going caroling with my class after supper and remembered that I hadn't informed Mike and Terry of that fact. I changed clothes, did fifteen minutes of guitar practice, and asked her, "Is it all right if I go to Danny's?"

"Go."

The street was still ugly looking, but the sidewalk was clear, so I rode my bike over on the walk. The usual suspects were all in Danny's garage. "Where's the pedal car?"

"I took it to school yesterday to show Mr. Wertson my progress. I needed to weld the basket I'm making for the back, too."

Basket. That brought to mind the second question I had upon entering the garage. "Where did those shopping cart remains come from?" Some pieces were lying about from what clearly had once been two shopping carts.

"I swiped them from Roger's parking lot the other night," Danny said. "I figured I could make a few cuts and I'd have what I needed to weld together a basket for the pedal car."

I needed to learn not to ask him such questions. "Didn't your shop teacher recognize that you had brought in a couple shopping-cart baskets?"

"Yeah, I told him I bought the carts at a flea market."

"He bought that?"

"He didn't question it." He was doing the final touches on what appeared to be a bench seat made from bent conduit and covered with the same mesh he had used on the pedal car seats.

"Is that for the pedal car, too?"

"Yeah, with a heavy-duty basket mounted on the axle, I figured it would support a rear-facing seat that could be clamped inside it when I wanted to carry passengers."

"Isn't that the most kick-ass idea?" Mike said.

"Cool. Who thought of it?"

"I did," Mike and Terry said simultaneously.

"You just inspired the idea," said Mike.

"That's not the way I remember it."

They bickered a bit. When they wound down, I said, "I won't be able to make guitar practice tonight, guys. My class is going Christmas caroling."

"What is this you said about committing to the guitar?" Mike asked.

"You and Terry have been doing great, and I'm impressed as hell, but this is a school function." Before anyone could say anything, I had a thought. "Why don't you all come along?"

"Why would anyone want to do that?" Danny asked.

"You want to form a band. Caroling is practice singing in public."

"I figured we were going to make you be the singer."

"If I have to sing, everyone has to sing--at least backing vocals."

"I thought I was going to be lead singer," Mike said.

"My argument remains the same," I said.

"What in hell does Christmas caroling have to do with a band?" Danny asked.

"It's a lot easier singing with a big group in from of a small audience than it is singing with a small group in front of a big audience. Think of it as getting our feet wet."

"Won't your teacher be pissed off if you show up with a bunch of people not in your class?" Mike asked.

"I'm pretty sure he'll have a more-the-merrier attitude. It's for charity. And if he objects, we'll just walk home."

"It sounds like it could be fun," said Terry. "What time?"

"Seven to nine."

"Is Mary going to be there?"

"I didn't think of inviting non-class members until now, but I'll ask her at supper."

"I'll have to ask my mom."

"Are you going to let your little brother show you up, Mike?"

"Hell no. If Mom lets us go, I'll come along."

"Are you going to give in to peer pressure, Danny?"

"I don't give in to peer pressure; I provide it."

"So? It's something different to do, and it's in support of winos, junkies, the destitute, and the insane."

"How?"

"Our cause is a homeless shelter."

"Shit, why didn't you say so? I'll see what my mom says."

And so at about 6:30 pm, Mike, Terry, Mary, and I first stopped at Danny's, and then the five of us walked to Jewel Staid Elementary School. As assured, the fire door was unlocked and we all went in. Mr. Dean said, "Introduce your friends, Art."

Not too long before, I would have felt self-conscious being put on the spot like that. "This is Dan Lukowski. He goes to Lager. This is Mike Prestor and his bother Terry. They both attend St. Dionysius. And this is my sister Mary. She's in grade five here."

Dan pulled out a harmonica. "Would it be OK if I played this?"

"That would be great," said Mr. Dean.

People nodded greetings or said hi. I noticed that some other students in Mr. Dean's class had brought some apparent siblings along. Kirsten and her parents were already there. Pam was with them. When I walked over to Kirsten, her father stuck out has hand and said, "No hard feelings, Art?"

"None, sir. You were trying to protect your daughter."

"I'm glad you feel that way."

Kirsten took my hand and said to my friends, "It's nice seeing you all again." Sean--allowed out for the charitable cause--and Chris came ambling over.

Terry, the genetically driven flirt, said, "How could we not be thrilled to see you again, Kirsten?"

Kirsten smiled and said to the group with me, "These are my parents, guys." More hellos were exchanged. At seven sharp, we all set forth to harass the locals. The only person in the class who I noticed hadn't shown up was Carol, which suited me fine.

Just before we went out the door, Mr. Dean spotted something on his desk and held it up. "Does anyone want to play the tambourine?"

"I do," said Terry. "I've been getting lots of practice keeping a beat lately."

"How's that?" Mr. Dean asked as he handed over the instrument and then pushed open the door.

"Artie, his sister, Danny, my brother, and I are forming a band."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we're learning to play our second song."

"What's the first?"

"Something Art came up with called "The Shepherd's Lament."

Mr. Dean got the mob moving forward. We'd go up to a house in mass, ring the doorbell, and begin singing. If someone showed up at the door, Mr. Dean would pass him or her a leaflet explaining our cause. If they gave some money, we sang another carol. If no one opened the door, we left after one song.

Kirsten sang beautifully in tune, as did her parents. I decided to do my best, and Ursus helped me control our shared vocal cords. Danny, of course, played our accompaniment. Mary and the rest of my friends must have been inspired by something, because they all tried to stay on key and sang loud.

Mike actually could sing when he wanted to do so. Over the course of our childhoods, I'd heard him sing a lot, but that night was the first time I'd heard him when he was actually trying. If we ever actually did form a band, we were going to be able to harmonize.

Mr. Dean led us in a big loop, and by nine o'clock we were back at the school. Everyone began to disperse. Kirsten gave me a quick kiss right in front of her parents before they made their short walk home. Sean was picked up by his father. Mr. Dean said, "Hang on a minute Art, I want to talk to you for a second." We were standing on the sidewalk, under a streetlight, in front of the school. My group waited while Mr. Dean finished up thanking people for coming.

"First," he said, "thank you for bringing along some more people who can actually sing. That always helps." Mary and my friends nodded in acknowledgement of the compliment. "Second, notice that the school function is officially over, and we aren't on school property. You promised me you'd answer my questions if we ever found ourselves in such a situation."

"So I did."

"My first one is, what actually happened the afternoon you came into class with a fat lip?"

"Al Gallo attacked me. I'm pretty sure it was jealousy over Kirsten."

"I thought something like that was the case. You guys never made up?"

"No. At least he ignores me now, rather than walk away or scowl."

"Losing friends is sad."

"It is."

"Question number two: did you really defeat four guys without a weapon?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I fought really dirty, and the timing was such that I managed to badly hurt two of them right at the start of the fight."

"OK. Next question, you've changed a lot from the guy who was in my class at the beginning of the year. You did great written work right from the start, but I used to have to pull teeth to get an audible mumble out of you. Now, you're speaking up in a normal tone of voice, participating in class, have attracted the interest of Kirsten Kennedy, and I hear you're in a band. What happened?"

"Sleeping for a week affected me. It's hard to go into it beyond that."

"You mean you reassessed your life or something?"

"In part. In part I changed my attitude. It was all around a life-altering experience."

"All right then, I suppose an experience like that would be hard to explain. One more thing: the big snowball fight. Rumor has it that you started it. True?"

"Well, Carol threw the first snowball, but I suppose I escalated the situation." I was smiling when I said it, and Mr. Dean grinned. I gave a fast summary of the story.

"Why do you call him Carol?"

"That's his name."

"He prefers Carl."

"I know." I smiled again.

"Well, folks, I'll let you go. Thank you all again for coming. Mary, if you're in my class, feel free to bring them all along when we do this next year." Mr. Dean headed for the school parking lot, and the rest of us headed toward home.

Chapter 23: Questions and Questing

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 23

We are so going to be in trouble, thought Arthur.

Calm down, thought Ursus. It was a snowball fight. Even bureaucratically constipated minds can overreact only so much.

"Mr. Dean, sir," I said, "I cannot tell a lie. I have nothing to say that I believe you need to know."

I could see him repressing a smirk. "Let me rephrase. What do you know that I believe I need to know?"

"As you heard, a massive snowball fight took place during lunch."

"And what do you know about this snowball fight, Mr. Powyr?"

"I was there, Mr. Dean. I saw it all."

"I see. Did you, by any chance, participate in said snowball fight, Mr. Powyr?"

"Mr. Dean, sir, I cannot tell a lie. I have nothing to say that I believe you need to know."

He actually let a brief chuckle escape. "I believe you just told me everything I need to know. In any case, patrolling the playground after lunch is not part of my responsibilities. All right class, get ready to copy down the vocabulary words for the week after break."

Alas, I did not dodge the bullet. About fifteen minutes later, Carol returned and Sean MacDougle, Michelle Palermo, John Marcello, Chris Townshend, and I were summoned to the office. We got up out of our seats to the traditional calls of "busted" from some of the other students. Unfortunately, this time they were correct.

It looked as if the evil snow-fight perpetrators were being called in a few at a time, which I suppose kept people from missing too much class as they waited around for their meeting with the principal. The secretary sent Sean in first and told the rest of us to take a seat in the waiting area. Having both Ursus and Arthur in my head was an even more surreal experience than normal in this case. One was faintly amused, while the other was worried sick. I didn't know whether to chuckle or throw up. I tried to settle into calm neutrality.

"What do you guys think will happen?" John whispered.

"No talking," said the secretary, who was in late middle age and gave the impression that she was sick of children.

In a few minutes, Sean came out, but before he could say anything the secretary said a peremptory, "No talking." Sean just shrugged and left. John was next, and then Michelle. Finally, it was my turn.

I went in and waited in front of Mr. Gattison's desk. He had black hair with a bit of grey and wore glasses.

"I've been informed that you took part in the snowball fight during lunch period."

"I understand."

"Well, what do you have to say?"

"I have nothing to say, sir."

"Do you deny the allegation?"

"I neither deny it nor confirm it, sir."

"Are you being smart with me?"

"No, sir, certainly not."

"Then answer my question. Did you take part in the snowball fight?"

"According to the Student Code of Conduct, sir, I cannot be compelled to give testimony against myself." I wasn't sure if what I'd just said was correct--Arthur had only skimmed through the Code once--but between Ursus's experience and Arthur's brief read through, I figured it was a good bet.

Mr. Gattison glared at me. "Very well, sit." He pointed at the chair across from his desk. I sat. "I want you to telephone one of your parents." He pressed a button on the phone and handed the receiver to me. I began dialing. "Which parent are you calling?"

"My mother." Mom picked up. "Hi, Mom, this is Arthur. Nothing seriously is wrong," that earned me another glare, "but the principal, Mr. Gattison, wants to speak with you. Here he is." I gave him the phone.

He went through the snowball fight allegation. I heard Mom talking, but I couldn't make out what she said. "No he hasn't admitted to taking part; he has chosen to remain silent, as is his right." More Mom. "He is the first student I've had stand on that right in years." Mom. "Yes, I had his record pulled. He does appear to be a smart boy.

"In any case, we need to take snowball fighting seriously. Children might be hurt." Mom. "Yes, the school also might be sued." Mom. "I propose suspending Arthur's cafeteria privileges for the rest of the week." Mom. "Yes, you will be expected to come get him." Mom. "Yes, that is the same penalty the other students are receiving." Mom. "Very well, here he is."

He gave me the telephone back. "Yes," I said.

"I'll see you after school, smartass."

Mr. Gattison dismissed me. The nurse's office was right next door to the main office. On impulse, I stepped inside. The nurse was on duty. She had a pleasant face. "May I have two aspirins, please?"

"Why? Have a headache?"

"Muscle pain from snow shoveling."

"When did you last have aspirin?"

"About eight this morning."

"How old are you?"

"Eleven, twelve in February."

"I'll have to take your temperature." She shook the alcohol off the glass rod and stuck it in my face. After a minute or so, she glanced at it and gave me a couple pills. "There's a water fountain just outside the door."

After school, Kirsten wanted to hear about the big snowball fight she missed. I told her about it in graphic detail. When I emphasized how thoroughly I'd managed to pelt Carol, she laughed. "I can't eat at school the rest of the week, but I still should be able to eat lunch at your house tomorrow."

We began walking toward the van with Sean. "Maybe you can eat lunch at my house for every day this week and save your mother the trouble of picking you up. I'd have to check with my mom, but I'm pretty sure she'd be fine with it."

"Given recent history, are you sure you want your mother to know that I'm a snowball-flinging desperado?"

"I don't think she'll be too upset about you being the instigator of a snowball fight."

"I wouldn't emphasize the instigator part."

"Leadership qualities are supposed to be a good thing, right?" she said.

"I'll rely on your judgment," I said.

"I'll tell you tomorrow if Mom says it's OK."

"My mom was pissed off," Sean said.

"Mine sounded more amused than anything," I said.

Kirsten gave me a quick hug when we parted at Mom's van. Because I sat in the back corner, Mom didn't try to ask me anything. She just shook her head. When we got home, Mike and Terry were just leaving their house. "Do either of you want to walk to the mall with Mary and me?"

"Nah," said Mike, "I think I'll go to Danny's."

"I'll go to the mall," said Terry.

"Arthur, I want to talk to you," Mom called.

"We'll see you in a few, Terry. Or would you rather step inside?"

"I'm all right. I don't want to get overheated in my winter clothes."

I went in. Mom asked me about the great snowball battle, and I answered her fully. Of course, all the kids listened. When I was finished, she said, "You knew you weren't supposed to throw snowballs."

"Yes I did. I'm so sorry. Next time Carol comes at me, I'll give him another sound thrashing instead."

That made her think. "Get out of here, smartass."

"Mary and I were going to walk to the mall with Terry."

"You can have a ride after supper."

"The crowd will be worse then."

"I really don't want you walking home after dark from that far away."

"Can you have Dad pick us up right before supper, then?"

"That'll work. Be at the main entrance at 5:40 sharp. Don't keep your father waiting; he puts in a long day."

I changed my clothes and stuffed my money into my pockets. All the coins made my trousers hang somewhat strangely, but I didn't much care. As Mom had recently pointed out, I was the opposite of a fashionable clotheshorse. Mary and I set out with Terry.

Infinity Mall, located on the southeast corner of Cord and French, was about a mile away from our house. It wasn't large for a shopping mall, but it was handy and kid friendly. My friends and I visited it every once in a while. The walk started out painfully, but as I got moving, my muscles lost a lot of their stiffness.

"Do you know what you want to get Kirsten?" asked Mary.

"Not really. I was hoping you could help."

"Well, what does she like?"

"Music, reading, drawing, teasing me, Small People--"

"The comic strip?"

"Yeah, it's even the topic of her term paper."

"You two do have a lot in common." I had several Small People collections on my bookshelves.

"She's not at all shy, and she likes to dance, though."

"If she were as shy as you are, you two probably wouldn't have got together, and most girls like dancing."

I gave a theatrical shudder. "I can't imagine why."

"You're just graceful as a gimpy rhino with the blind staggers," Terry said.

"What, do you like dancing?"

"It's OK. I imagine I'd like it a lot if I could do it with Kirsten."

"There is that."

"What kinds of books does she like?" Mary asked.

"I've never seen her bookshelf, but from things we've talked about, I think she likes fantasy and historical fiction, especially"--I deepened my voice--"daring tales of the Empire spreading enlightenment to the world."

"Patriotic, is she?" Terry asked.

"Yeah, she loves the Empire, and Novi Orbis."

"She's not one of the 'rah, rah, rah, we're number one' types, is she?"

"I'm pretty sure she's more complex than that. I think it's more an appreciation for what the pax Anglia has done for the world."

The mall was crowded, and we didn't have a lot of time. Fortunately, we passed a jewelry store, and I immediately saw what I wanted to get Kirsten. It was a necklace with a little heart outline in gold with a few diamond chips. It cost five pounds. A total cliché, to be sure, but sometimes things are clichéd for good reasons. Mary asked, "Isn't that a pretty serious gift?"

"I think she's really special," I said.

I went in and bought it. When I came out, Mary asked, "Are you buying Christmas gifts for anyone else this year?" This was the first year we had money of our own.

"I thought about it, why?"

"If you are, we could go in together for the family."

We hit the toy store. As Mary and I Christmas shopped, Terry looked at the board games, which he liked playing. Rich and Charlie were easy. They liked O'Connor's Commandos action figures. Because I was occasionally dragooned into playing with them, I had a good idea what equipment they already had. Susan was almost as easy. Mary picked out some doll outfits for her.

The parents were going to be hard. Finally, we just decided something. Dad liked looking at the birds that came to the feeder, so we got him a bird identification book with color photographs. Mom liked knitting and crocheting, and pretty much did it on automatic pilot whenever she watched television, so we got her a bag of yarn. Mary pointed out that we had to be sure the dye lots matched for any given color.

We were almost out of time. As we passed the hobby shop on the way to the main door, I said, "I want to go in here for a minute."

"You can't take long," Mary said.

"I won't."

I went up to an employee that wasn't already working with a customer and showed him my amulet. "Do you have a tiny eyehook that will fit this without cracking it."

"We should, over here." He led me to a rack that had small bins of miniature hardware. The small eyehooks were two for a centipound, so I had to buy two.

Terry wanted to check out the amulet. "Did you make this?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. Are you going to paint anything other than the carved places?"

"I haven't decided yet. Maybe I should buy a bottle of model paint." I picked out a small bottle of blue.

We made it outside on time, and Dad picked us up in less than a minute. "Doing some Christmas shopping, eh?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Everyone was telling me I needed to get something for Kirsten."

"Girls are expensive."

"I don't think I'm expensive," said Mary.

"It's better than being cheap," said Terry, who was riding shotgun. Mary gave him a slap on the back of the head.

When we got out of the car at home, Mary said, "I'll run interference, you bring everything to the basement and hide it for now."

So that's what we did. On my way downstairs, Mom called, "Supper's ready."

"I'll be right there." I stashed everything in the back of the walk-in closet that made up one side of the basement non-office.

When I took my seat and scooped out some meatballs in gravy, Mom said, "Guess who called while you were out?"

"Who?"

"Mrs. Kennedy. It appears you'll be eating lunch at Kirsten's house for the rest of the week. The little turd falls in a barrel of shit and comes out smelling like a rose." She then told the snowball-fight incident from her point of view. Of course, I next had to tell it from mine.

"Got yourself caught breaking the rules, eh?" Dad said. He was laughing.

"Technically, but I broke a small rule so that I didn't have to break a bigger one."

"Sure you did."

I was about to respond when Ursus thought, Drop it. He's just yanking your chain. So I dropped it, and the dinner conversation soon moved on to other things.

After supper, while I was waiting for Terry and Mike to show up, I zipped through my arithmetic homework. Daily arithmetic was the only thing that was going to be due until after winter break. Soon, Mary led the brothers downstairs.

"You know what this dumb ass just did?" Mike said as he gestured at Terry.

"What did he do?" Mary asked.

"He hit our amplifier with a snowball."

"I wasn't aiming at the amplifier. I was aiming at you."

"That's all right, then," I said. We all practiced for about an hour. I noticed that the manna seemed even closer. So close, but still not quite gatherable.

The nearness is most likely the work of the amulet, thought Ursus.

Once everyone had cleared out, I was just starting to set up for a little scrying when Mary returned with a bunch of wrapping paper. I was assistant while she wrapped all the presents we had bought, including Kirsten's. I reminded myself that I still needed to get Mary a present.

Finally, I returned to setting up for the ritual. Mary asked, "Can I practice on the organ once you go into trance?"

"Sure, just give me a half-hour or so, first." Before I started any magic work, I turned the small eyehook into the amulet so that it would hang with the points of the stars pointing up. I threaded a woven cotton cord through the eyehook, tied it around my neck, and hung the amulet under my shirt.

Achieving trance became a little easier every time I did it. I cast and purified the circle and then sat staring at my pan of blood-enhanced water while deepening the trance and feeding the water manna. I believed the amulet was helping, both with the quantity of manna I could draw and my control of it.

My first vision formed: my family, except for Mary, upstairs watching television. As a vision, it was boring, but because I managed to accomplish the feat at all, I became excited enough that I felt Ursus take control and calm us down.

I studied the properties of the vision. It was dreamlike. Unlike sight, where the parts of the scene one isn't focusing upon are still there, the parts I wasn't focusing upon disappeared in a haze.

After an indeterminate amount of time, I grew bored with watching our family room. I tried opening myself to the wider world. Something interesting. Something interesting. Something interesting. I made those two words a mental mantra while I gazed into the water.

Another vision formed. Someone was wearing what looked like a black ceremonial robe, like something a college professor might wear, or maybe a priest. I concentrated on bringing him into focus. Then I screamed, and my concentration shattered.

Chapter 22: Snow Follies

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 22

Tuesday, 14 December 1973--I woke up on my own about twenty minutes before Mom normally called us, as I had been tending to do ever since I started sleeping well at night. My muscles were stiffer than when I had gone to bed, but I at least didn't have the feeling of impending death that I'd had the morning before.

Once I climbed out of bed, I saw that I had been sleeping on my amulet. I took it with me and grabbed some clothes as I eased my way into the big bathroom. I let a hot shower work out some of my soreness and massaged myself a bit as I washed. I didn't yet have a way to hang the amulet around my neck, so I put it in a pocket of my trousers. By the time I was out of the bathroom, Mom had awakened the rest of the clan.

"Are you feeling any better this morning?" Mom asked.

"A little. Stiffer than I was last night, though. I'm going downstairs for a while to see if I can work out some of it." Once there, I cleaned up my mess from the night before, practiced guitar picking for about ten minutes, and did some gentle stretching.

Over breakfast, Mom said that trying to bicycle to school would be a bad idea, and I didn't argue. After I finished eating, I called Sean to tell him that we'd pick him up in the van.

We arrived at the grade-six door before Kirsten. Carol hawked and spat when he saw me, but it wasn't in my direction, so I ignored him. I had just finished telling Sean why I was moving so stiffly when Kirsten slipped around me and gave me a hug. I returned it and added a brief kiss. "I have great news!" she said with a huge smile.

"Tell me."

"Dad has given in. I can start seeing you again outside of school."

"That's wonderful!" And it was worth another hug and kiss.

"Get a room," Carol yelled.

Kirsten looked at him and said, "Shut up, asshole."

Carol seemed taken aback, and wonder of wonders, he shut up.

Kirsten snuggled back in beside me and said, "Dad wants Mom to talk to you first, though, so can you come over for lunch tomorrow?"

"I don't see why not. I'll double check with my mom."

"Great. I'm so glad things are starting to work right again."

"Yeah, it was like being punished for something we didn't do."

"Exactly. It took a while, but Mom and I finally made him see our point."

As I predicted, thought Ursus.

Indeed, O wise one.

"I'm really glad he did." That earned me another smile. "Do you think we could play together sometime soon?"

"Hmmmm, what kind of play?"

"Something that involves big instruments."

"Well!"

"You know: organs--and mouth organs--and guitars, drums, and the like."

"I see that someone is starting to lob my BS back at me. I think I like it. And, yes, I'd love to play with you sometime soon."

"Hmmmm, what kind of play."

She slapped my shoulder.

"Danny, Mike, Terry, Mary, and I have managed to work a song into good enough shape that everyone says it sounds pretty good, and we've started practicing another."

"Mary, too?"

"Yeah, she's been playing some chords on that old chord organ in our basement. She's been trying to teach herself."

"That's great. I hope she can get piano lessons like she wants."

"I hope so, too. I don't think Mom or Dad ever thought music was that important, but they seem impressed with what I've been able to accomplish."

"They should be."

"I just hope my example makes it easier for Mary to get her way."

"Uh-huh, she's a nice person and deserves nice things to happen to her."

We chatted with Pam and Sean until Miss Gorse let us in. As we were hanging up our coats, Kirsten asked, "Why are you moving so stiffly?"

"I badly overdid the snow shoveling."

"Oh, poor baby." She kissed my cheek.

When we went into class, Mr. Dean said, "You appear to be in pain, Mr. Powyr."

"Snow shoveling--lots and lots of snow shoveling."

"Did you go door-to-door clearing drives?"

"Yep, my friends and I cleared several too many."

"I used to shovel drives when I was a kid, and I managed to overdo it a time or two myself. DOMS can be brutal."

"What's DOMS?"

"Delayed onset muscle soreness."

"That's a good name for it." I dug out my term paper and handed it to him at his desk.

"First one in. I'm impressed."

"It weighed heavily on my spirit, and I just wanted to get it done."

"Heavily on your spirit, I see."

I sat back down. About then, Debbie Taylor came in and carefully extracted her own term paper. It was in a fancy plastic folder. When she gave it to Mr. Dean, he said, "Second one in. Thank you. I like to spread out the grading of these things if I can."

"Who was first?"

"Arthur."

She looked at me. "Hmph!" She made the noise in such an exaggerated way that it was clear she intended it to be humorous. She then almost marched back to her desk, extracted a book report from a folder, and posted it on the wall. "I'm catching up to you Art." She now had four.

"I was too busy to read very much this weekend."

"Did you do anything good?"

"Removed snow, watched siblings, and practiced guitar."

"You play the guitar? I didn't know that."

"I just started."

"I've been playing the piano for a few years."

"So have I," said Kirsten.

"Me, too," said Lisa Springer, Debbie's best friend and another of the excellent students who had chosen Mr. Dean's class. She had been tied for second place with Kirsten in the first marking period's book-report contest.

Mr. Dean, sitting just a few feet away, had heard all of this. "We should have a room talent show."

"That would be fun!" said Debbie.

"It would!" said Kirsten. Several other girls voiced their approval of the idea. I didn't notice that the boys said anything.

It would suck rocks, I thought. The Arthur part of my brain found the idea horrifying.

It would allow you to show that you are more than a dangerous nerd, thought Ursus.

I remember back in second grade, thought Arthur, there was a mandatory in-class talent show. I didn't have any talent, so I played a pencil. It was humiliating. With Arthur's internal dialog came the memories, flooding all three of us who shared the brain.

Ursus "sounded" gentle when he thought to us: It's not going to be like that, now.

"We'll see what we can do after winter break," said Mr. Dean.

After the Oath, Mr. Dean said, "Remember, tomorrow the class is going Christmas caroling, those who are interested should show up at school at 7 pm. May I see a show of hands from those who plan to participate?" Just about everyone stuck up an arm. "Outstanding. I'll leave the fire door to this classroom unlocked. Just walk in." We were raising money for a homeless shelter.

During recess after lunch, Carol was again a pain in the ass. The temperature was slightly above freezing, so the snow was packing well. A bunch of kids were trying to roll the biggest snowball that they could. I was too sore to join in, but watching the ball grow to gigantic proportions was fascinating. They had managed to get it bigger than grown-man high, but they were having trouble getting enough people around it to roll it any farther. I felt the unmistakable impact of a snowball.

Throwing snowballs was against school rules. I turned around to see who had plugged me, and Carol was standing there laughing. "So, you're hiding behind your girlfriend, now, Powyr."

Ursus looked around carefully to make sure of Pat Hughes's whereabouts. It wouldn't do to have him sneaking up behind me. He was on the giant snowball crew. Good. As Ursus was controlling my head and eyes, I said, "I don't need to hide behind Kirsten, but I'm sure she could kick your ass."

"Why don't you come over here and say that to my face?"

"You heard me."

He mimicked me in a high voice, "You heard me," and then said, "candy-ass pansy."

"If you want to get close so badly, Carol dear, why don't you come over here?"

"Fag!" Nevertheless, he started walking toward me.

I felt Ursus readying for combat. Wait! Wait! I really didn't want to get in a fight, especially out in the open where I was sure to be caught. Not planning, just acting, I waited until Flagler was about eight feet away. I turned around, bent over at the waist--my sore muscles screamed--and began shoveling handfuls of snow between my legs like a dog digging. Most of them caught Carol right in the face.

While he was temporary blinded, I circled around him about ninety degrees, scooped up a loose snowball, and hit him in the head. I started to move again.

Who taught you how to throw? Ursus asked.

No one.

It looks like it. Here, like this. Ursus took temporary control of our body. He scooped up some snow and quickly formed a ball. Hold it closer toward your fingertips and give it some backspin when you release. He hit Carol, who had apparently lost track of where I was, right between the shoulder blades.

I was already moving again before it hit. Sean had been working on the giant snowball, but he noticed what was happening between Carol and me. Sean made a snowball, took a running start, and heaved it at Carol. That distracted Carol long enough for me to get in another clean shot at his back.

Al Gallo still considered Sean a friend, but I guess he couldn't see himself siding with me. He made a snowball and hit Sean. Chris Townshend saw that, and both he and Sean hit Al.

I managed to hit Carol again, but he finally spotted me. Instead of charging me for a fight, he made his own snowball and threw it at me. I felt relieved.

Good inspiration, thought Ursus.

Yeah, the penalty for a snowball fight is a hell of a lot less than for a fistfight.

We have ourselves a fine brain, here.

Shortly after Ursus's internal boast, the melee began. Kids began throwing snow everywhere. Even several girls took part. The playground ladies soon saw what was happening and began blowing their whistles, but they were ignored. Carol and I focused our attacks on each other, but as far as I could tell, most people were throwing at any target of opportunity. Carol missed a lot, so I knew my protection spell was still working.

My sore muscles were going to make me pay a stiff price as soon as the adrenaline wore off, but all three consciousnesses in my brain were having a great time. For a while, we quit being separate personalities and just became I again.

The fight felt like it went on for a long time, but it probably lasted only five minutes or so. It didn't break up until actual teachers started coming outside. I did a slow fade and got over by the grade-six door. The teachers didn't look too happy, but there were huge smiles on the faces of the kids.

Now, we get to see what the penalty is, thought Ursus.

Indeed.

As I sat in my desk after being let inside, I was definitely feeling a self-generated penalty. The pain was bad enough that I didn't want to move much. We found out the general penalty about five minutes after class started for the afternoon session.

Mr. Gattison, the principal, spoke on the public address system. "It has come to my attention that a snowball fight involving at least fifty--and perhaps as many as one hundred--students, primarily in grades five and six, took place today during after-lunch recess. As you are all well aware, and have been reminded recently, the throwing of snowballs is prohibited at this school.

"It is now clear that many students cannot responsibly use the privilege of having fun with the snow. That privilege is hereby rescinded. Any touching of the snow with hands is now prohibited. Students seen handling snow by a faculty member or other school employee are to be sent to this office for disciplining.

"As for the current incident, I will be conducting an investigation to determine those who participated." He then read off a list of students being summoned to the office. Carol Flagler was one of them.

"Nice going, Powyr," he said loudly enough for everyone in the classroom to hear as he got up and left.

"Mr. Powyr," Mr. Dean said, "is there something you need to tell me?"

Chapter 21: The Agony and the Amulet

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 21

I woke up, and I hurt all over. Some light was coming from around the blinds. When I tried to move, it hurt worse. I was thirsty and starving. At least my stomach thought so. I had to pee.

I'm dying, I thought.

So am I, thought Ursus.

This is as sore as I've been since I broke my toe, thought Arthur. And that was only in one place.

We need to get up, thought Ursus.

It feels like every muscle in our body is pulled.

We still need to get up. Try again.

I rolled out of bed and landed on the floor. I bit off a scream. I don't think this is an improvement.

No, no it's not.

You're supposed to be the wise one. Why did you let me do this to myself?

One, I could feel how badly you wanted the money. Two, it has been a long time since I've made a mistake of this kind. Three, my old body had enhancements that would have protected me from this.

I grabbed the bed frame and pulled myself into a sitting position, groaning as I did so. Ursus took control of our body and massaged our arms and legs for several minutes. He then used the bed to pull us to our feet. Slowly, I made my way into the hall and then the bathroom. I relieved myself, washed my hands, and took a drink from the bathroom faucet.

When I made it to the kitchen, Mom was at the table drinking coffee. "You overdid it yesterday, I see."

"I hurt really bad."

When she saw that I wasn't exaggerating, she said, "Go sit in the soft chair in the family room, and I'll bring you some aspirin."

I did as I was told with a whimper, and Mom brought me two aspirin and a tall glass of milk. I could see through the sliding glass door that a lot of snow had fallen after we called it quits the night before. None of the other kids in the family were up yet. "Did Dad make it to work?"

"Yes, he managed to get his car out, although he would have walked in if he had to. You know how seriously he takes his business."

"It's four miles."

"You and your sister walked considerably farther than that yesterday. Would you like some poached eggs on toast?"

"Yes, please." Mom brought me a tray. As I was eating, Mary came limping out. She looked like I felt.

"Mommy, everything hurts."

"Go sit in the family room with your brother." Mary soon was getting the same treatment I was.

"What possessed you kids to do this to yourselves?"

"We really wanted the money," Mary replied. "I guess."

"Do a few pounds mean that much to you?"

"I like having money of my own," Mary said. "I hate having to beg whenever I want something."

"Is that how asking your dad and I for something feels to you?"

Mary nodded her head.

I knew that there was still plenty of cleaning up to do outside and, therefore, lots of money to be made, but it wasn't going to be done and made by me. After I finished my eggs, I said, "Can I have some cereal, too, please?"

"You must have worked up quite an appetite."

"It sure feels that way." I munched down a big bowl of cornflakes and then slowly got up to take my dishes to the sink.

Mom took the tray when I was about half way there. "What are your plans for today?"

"I think the aspirins are kicking in, and I feel a little better. I think some non-strenuous movement might work out some of the pain."

"Probably, as long as you don't overdue it."

"I thought I'd do some light woodworking. I have an idea for a wooden medallion."

"'Wooden medallion,' that sounds like it's contradictory."

"What else would you call a wooden disk that's meant to be worn around your neck?"

"Eliphino."

I eased my way to my room to put on some old clothes and limped to the basement. Mom said, "Be careful," as I descended.

"I won't be doing anything that can cut off a hand. Maybe a finger."

"Smartass."

I went into Dad's workroom. The scrap box should have what I needed. Slowly squatting down, I dug out a chunk of one-by-two lumber. I used a compass to layout a circle and a height gauge to scribe a line a half-inch high around the edge.

I wasn't allowed to use any of the power saws other than a little jigsaw, but it was good enough for what I was doing. I split the chunk of scrap in roughly half through its thickness so that my work piece was now somewhat less than a half-inch thick. I put it on the belt sander until the saw-cut side was again flat, being careful not to sand it wedge shaped.

I went back to the jigsaw and cut out the circle, leaving a little bit of stock all around the edge, then I clamped the disk in the wooden-jawed vise and used a rasp to work my way down to the line.

Take your time, thought Ursus.

Aren't I?

I wasn't so patient when I was your age.

With you in my head, I'm pretty sure I'm not my age anymore.

True. It would have been better to make this out of wood we collected from nature ourselves. Preferably dead, dry wood still on the tree, so that it was neither green nor rotten.

There is almost certainly wood like that to be found in some of the vacant lots around here, I thought, but I'm in no condition to go tromping through deep snow today.

I agree. This will serve as proof of concept, anyway.

Once I had the disk filed circular, I gently rounded the corners and then sanded it all over with two grits of sandpaper. I searched until I found Dad's smallest gouge and took it and the disk over to the basement table. I had some old newspapers for my vocabulary word search, and I spread one of them out several pages thick for a working surface. I gratefully got off my aching legs.

Mary was practicing at the chord organ. "Am I going to bother you?"

"Not at all."

"Are you doing magic stuff?"

"Yes, this is going to be an amulet."

"Cool. What will it do?"

Ursus took over our tongue. "I'm not entirely sure. This is an experiment. Anyway, five- and six-pointed stars are common magical symbols," all over the multiverse, he added for my benefit and included a wash of memories. "They have scads of symbolic interpretations. I'm hoping that making them into an amulet will allow me to attract manna easier and maybe hold more of it. Maybe it will increase the efficiency of my spells. Heck, maybe it will bring good luck."

"Will you make me one?"

"When you learn how to hold manna, you should make your own. Magical tools are more efficient and powerful if you make them yourself."

"Oh, OK." Mary went back to the organ.

Working slowly and carefully, I laid out in pencil a pentagram within a circle on one side of the disk and a hexagram within a circle on the other side. Working even more slowly and carefully, using only hand pressure and taking shallow cuts, I dug out the lines with the tiny gouge. Finally, I bent little pieces of sandpaper in half and gave the lines a gentle sanding.

It was almost noon when I finished, and I had got in about ten minutes of guitar practice when Mom called Mary and me for lunch. The three youngest kids were already at the table eating macaroni and cheese with poppy-seed rolls. I brought the amulet with me because I was sure Mom would want to see what I had been working on all morning.

"It's kind of pretty. Is it a present for Kirsten?"

"No, it's for me." Of course, everyone wanted to see it, and it got passed around.

"Are you getting Kirsten a Christmas present? You tell me she still considers you her boyfriend. She'll have one for you."

"Yes, I've already figured that out." (Thanks, Ursus.) "Yesterday, I was planning on walking to the mall today, but human weakness got in the way."

"For such an important cause, your father or I will drive you over tomorrow after supper."

"Thanks. Tomorrow I might feel good enough to walk after school. If I don't, I'll take you up on your offer."

Shortly after lunch, Danny, Mike, Terry, and to my surprise, Colleen showed up. Mike and Terry were lugging their guitar and amp. They were all walking a little tentatively, too. Mom said, "Behold! The mighty snow shovelers are all laid low."

"I could barely get out of bed this morning," said Colleen. "The two monsters have been bragging about how good they are getting, so I decided to come over to hear for myself how they were doing."

I looked at Danny. "I take it you got out of Jenny-sitting duty today."

"Tommy said he'd watch her until 2:30."

So after shedding their winter gear, they followed Mary and me downstairs. Mike and Charlie also came along. Colleen was wearing a tight sweater that didn't quite reach the belt of her snug jeans. She had a nice figure, and by all indications liked showing it off. Ever since puberty, I had liked looking at it, and in my innocence, had never really tried too hard to hide the fact. She had never seemed to mind.

We set up over by the organ. I started on rhythm guitar so Mike could take lead. Terry played the drum. Mary doubled the harmony on the organ. Danny did whatever he felt like doing. We played through "The Shepherd's Lament," and I think we sounded good. I didn't hesitate at all when I switched chords.

It's finally happened, observed Ursus.

What?

The knowledge in your head has made connection with your fingers.

"I'm impressed," said Colleen. "Do you guys know any more songs?"

"Not yet," said Mike, "but I think it's time we start practicing a new one."

We played it again with Mike and Terry switching jobs, then with me playing lead, and then Danny on his harmonica.

"Does the song have any words?" Colleen asked.

Everyone looked at me, because I was the one who had taught it to them. In fact, it did--but not in English nor any other language of this node, so far as Ursus knew. "Not that I know of," I said. Although it was not quite true, it was true enough, but I still felt guilty.

"Where did you learn it?"

"Would you believe a voice in my head?"

"Are you saying you made it up?"

"He sometimes talks about having a voice in his head," Terry said.

"You are one weird kid."

"So I've been told."

Colleen left soon afterwards. The rest of us began working on a new song. This time I made sure I took it from the book I had checked out. It was the old folk tune called, "Up in the Air," and it had a three-four beat rather than the four-four beat of "The Shepherd's Lament." The version I had used chords A, D, and E7, so we would use three more of the ones we had been practicing in actual songs.

"When are we going to play some rock?" asked Mike.

"When we're all lots faster." I was familiar with "Up in the Air" from hearing is several times in Arthur's life. Ursus thought nothing at all of strumming the needed chords for accompaniment while singing along with the lyrics in the book:

Up in the air, dear,
I fly like a bird
When your sweet love words
I lately have heard.

And so on. When I was finished, six people were staring at me. "Shit," said Mike. "You sing pretty good when you want to."

"Hell, yes," agreed Terry.

Mary looked astonished. "Why have you been hiding this from us?"

"Yeah, why?" Charlie asked.

Mom called down the stairs. "Was that Arthur singing?"

"C'mon, guys, it's nothing special," I said. What have you got me into now?

Sorry. I didn't know they'd never heard you sing.

They've heard me sing, but not well.

"It's not opera quality or anything," said Mary, "but it was good." I heard Mom coming down the stairs, and it sounded like she was bringing Susan.

"Opera sucks," said Mike.

"Do it again," Mom ordered.

So I did it again. The young part of my brain was by then feeling horribly self-conscious, but Ursus took primary control and kept us from fleeing with stage fright. Everyone applauded when I was finished. I felt my face heat.

"Can we all get back to learning the song?" I asked.

"You've got really fast at making chord changes," said Terry.

"It's become easier for me lately. Now, let's figure out how we can play the melody on guitar."

Danny left at 2:30. The rest of us practiced until just before supper. When Dad came home, Mom made me play and sing for him, too.

After my friends had gone and we sat down to eat, Dad said, "The snow is piled everywhere out there. Some of the parking lots have eight-foot mounds beside them. If it snows again, there won't be anywhere to put it."

"Cool," said Rich.

"Literally," said Mary.

"Do you have any idea how much it costs the province when it snows like this?" Dad asked.

"You can't change the weather," said Mom, "so we might as well take what pleasure in it we can. I swear, Warren, sometimes I think you never were a child."

I decided to finish the amulet after supper. I did my fifteen minutes on the guitar, and then I set up the table and chairs, the bell, the dish of salt, the candle, and the cup of water. I went into trance, and cast and purified the circle.

I cut myself with my athame just enough for blood to start oozing and then used a toothpick to brush it along the lines of the pentagram. Ursus made sure to brush the blood in such a way that we didn't accidentally make one of the elemental pentagrams.

That done, I deepened my trance again while staring at the pentagram. I visualized all the things I hoped it would do. I imagined what it would feel like if manna came to me easier and how it would feel to hold more of it. I thought about having to use less manna to achieve the same result in a spell.

The pentagram could also be a good luck charm, so I pictured it deflecting bad things away from me: germs, fists, rocks, evil spirits, and so on. I visualized ways that it could bring me good fortune: finding money, catching myself before I fell, picking up a royal flush in poker, etc. How would I feel when good things happened? How would I feel when I avoided bad things?

I went back to concentrating on magic. After what felt like a long time, I had the it's-finished feeling. I then flipped the disk over and repeated the process with the hexagram.

When I finally, broke the circle, my watch said it was 9:31. I thought to Ursus, is magic always this exhausting?

No, but this body is just developing its capacity, so we push it to its limits a lot, which is good for us in the long run.

I blew out the candle and shoved the table back against the wall, but I didn't have the energy to do a good clean up. I just hoped that neither of my parents would go downstairs before I got up in the morning. I felt like I was climbing a mountain as I went up the stairs, but at least I was still feeling the pleasant aftereffects of the manna. I took my new amulet with me. I didn't want to let it go.

Chapter 20: Music and Money

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 20

Mom and Dad were staying home; forcing Dad to go shopping three nights in a row was unnecessarily cruel. At dinner, Mary had talked excitedly about Danny's pedal car, and I believe everyone in my family was disappointed when he didn't drive it over. "Sorry," he said, "my mom won't let me take it out in the dark until I put some lights on it."

He did bring three harmonicas in different keys, and we went downstairs to play. I said, "Mike and Terry will be here in a few minutes." I taught Danny the melody and harmony of "The Shepherd's Lament," and we went through it a couple times with each of us taking lead once. Dan also kept the beat on his bass drum.

Mary and all three cats came down when Mike and Terry arrived. We picked up where we had let off the evening before, except sometimes Danny played along with the harmony, sometimes the melody, and sometime he just blew the occasional accent here and there. He also suggested that Mary double on the keyboard part of the organ the bass note of each chord in addition to pressing the chord buttons.

I thought we were sounding passably good, and we must have been, because after we had worked out the kinks for hour or so, the rest of my family members came down and went over to the sitting area where they could listen.

Once we had an audience, Ursus reached out for the manna. It was close. Come to me, he told it. Come to me. It was difficult to play the rhythm correctly and also coax the manna, but I managed. Still, we couldn't quite draw it in. Maybe when everyone got a little better, or maybe when we had a bigger audience, or maybe the problem was something else entirely.

I noticed that my friends seemed to be getting somewhat bored, so I said, "There are other things the rhythm guitarist can do besides just playing four strums on the beat. One is to provide an alternating bass line. On every other beat, instead of the chord, play the bottom note of the chord on one of the two lowest strings." I demonstrated, and we worked on that a while.

Everyone cleared out around 8:30. "Mary," I said, "it looks like once I achieve trance, it's hard to bother me, so why don't you wait about a half-hour and then come back and practice with your lesson book on the chord organ. You can also run interference for me if anyone else comes down."

"OK. I'll keep the volume low."

I did the setup rituals and began tracing over my money-finding glyph with blood and feeding it manna. It was a bit before ten when I finished, and I was still in trance and holding some manna. I deepened the trance and filled myself with as much manna as I could hold.

Mary, at the chord organ, had her back to me. I didn't say anything, but I rapped on the table to get her attention while I struggled to maintain intense concentration. Mary looked up, and I made a "come here" motion.

When she crossed the circle without ritual preparation, I lost about half the manna I was holding. Still, once she was close enough to touch, I passed her more than I ever had before.

Her eyes opened in surprise even as she smiled with pleasure. "What did you just do?" Of course, she didn't know how to actually maintain a hold on magical energy yet, but she had felt it pass through her.

"That's what manna, feels like. To put it crudely, it's the fuel that makes magic work. If you want to be a magician, you need to learn how to get manna and hold on to it."

"It felt really good."

"It does. It has been helping me feel better lately."

"I've noticed you've been happier and, well, nicer."

"I'm sorry that I was so hard to get along with for so long."

"It's OK. I'm just glad you've been treating everyone better."

"So am I."

I was tired and went to bed. Before we went to sleep, Ursus thought, I think we should try making an amulet soon.

How do we do that?

Lots of ways are possible. One is to carve or mold a sigil into something durable. One pours as much manna into it as possible during creation, and then keeps it on one's person.

I thought about that. Why don't we make all of our sigils into amulets, so we don't have to destroy them?

There are tradeoffs. For a given level of magical ability, the initial power of a sigil-sacrifice spell is larger. When one makes an amulet, one is trading peak power for durability. Too, amulets do need to be recharged occasionally, the frequency in part depending upon the material with which they're made. The more amulets you carry, the more of your time you need to spend recharging them.

I guess that makes sense.

The next morning, I woke up about eight. Mom and Dad were going shopping, so there was no way for me to cast the money spell. In any case, Ursus had warned that it was going to be more powerful than before, and thus take more out of me, so I was going to have to work it before bed. Sunday, therefore, was going to be money-search day.

I went downstairs and worked on the final copy of my term paper. I had it finished, in my neatest handwriting, just before Mom and Dad left at about ten. I would look it over again and have Mom, Dad, and Mary each read it later.

Shortly after my parents left, Danny, Mike, and Terry all came over to work on music. I noticed that they seemed both more mellow and happier than normal. "Are you guys high?"

Rich, Charlie, and Susan had dug a big box of blocks out of the storage room and were paying us no mind. Danny looked at Mary. "Are you going to narc on us?"

I had been letting her hang around with my friends more than before, and she seemed to like it. Her face looked troubled, but then it firmed. "No, no I won't. What you guys do to your brains and lungs is your own business."

"Yeah," said Danny, "I scored a little sin semilla, and the three of us smoked it before coming over."

As long as they weren't lighting up in the basement, I didn't much care. I said, "I hope it doesn't interfere with practice."

"We didn't have that much," said Mike.

I believed we actually sounded somewhat better than the previous evening. On the rhythm parts we concentrated on alternating bass lines. I tried calling manna several times--still, no joy.

During one pause, Danny said, "I believe we could use a high-hat to go along with the kick drum."

"Ek-skellent idea," Mike agreed.

"Do you know where you can get one?" Terry asked.

"Other than at a store, you mean?"

"Of course. You're the sultan of swap."

"I might be able to get one the same place I got the drum, but I'd need to find something he wanted."

"More weed?" suggested Mike.

"Then I have to find something the person with the pot wants. Don't worry about it; I'll work on the problem."

Everyone got ready to disperse at lunchtime. Just before they left, I said, "Guys, I'm not going to be available at our normal time tomorrow. Do you think we could delay practice until three o'clock or so?"

"What's up?" Mike asked.

"It's Christmas related, so I don't want to talk about it." The explanation was true enough that it didn't activate my conscience.

"We'll see what we can do, I guess," said Terry. My friends planned on spending the afternoon working on the pedal car.

Mary and I made some sandwiches and warmed up some soup. As the five of us Powyr kids sat around the table eating, Rich said, "You guys are starting to sound good."

"Great!" chimed in Charlie.

"Thanks."

"So, are you going to form a band?" Rich asked.

"No one has said much about it, but you never know." I knew we weren't good enough for that, yet.

"You should."

After we cleaned up the lunch mess, Rich and Charlie were getting antsy over being stuck inside, so we all went out in the backyard and threw a Fliskus around for a while. When Susan began looking cold, Mary herded us inside, and we played board games for the rest of the afternoon.

It was getting late when Mary said, "What should we do about supper?"

"My guess is the folks are going to bring some carryout home."

"What if they don't?"

"I can't believe that Mom would expect us to make supper. Our kitchen skills aren't up to it." Actually, Ursus's were, but Arthur's weren't. Fortunately, my prophecy was correct, and Mom and Dad soon arrived with pizza.

"Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!" yelled Rich and Charlie until Dad told them to "be still." They even had managed to get Susan to chime in a few times.

After supper, I gave my term paper to the parents to read. "If you see something wrong, please mark it very lightly with this pencil." I then went to the basement to finish up my homework for the weekend.

That finished, I went up and borrowed the example money from Mom again. "You say you use this to train yourself to find money?"

"It worked the first two times, didn't it?"

"Yes, but it's such a weird-ass idea."

"I'm not going to change my method at this point. If it works because it actually works, or if it works because it just gives me more confidence, I don't really care for now."

Mom turned over the loot with a shake of her head, and I took Mary downstairs. I told her to bring something to read with her. "I'm going to cast the money-finding spell now. I need you to make sure no one interrupts, or we're going to have to wait until next weekend to cast it, and there might be snow on the ground by then."

"I'll do my best, but I can't run off Mom or Dad if they want to come down."

"Don't try with them. Just tell them my method of training myself is a magic money-finding spell, and it will be ruined if I break concentration. With luck, they'll just assume it's kid nonsense."

The spell went much like the previous two times I had cast it, except this time I finished by meditating upon the sigil and feeding it manna until I simply knew it was complete. When I broke the circle and thanked and dismissed the elemental powers, I felt as if I had been dragged through a marathon. "Mary, help." I leaned against a support post.

She came over and assisted me by opening the window and giving me a shoulder to lean on as I burned the sigil. I burned my original voodoo portrait as well. After that, I flopped on the couch, and that was it.

I was still on the basement couch when I awoke with a start. Someone had covered me with the afghan that normally hung on the back. Harvey was on my feet. That answered the question of whether it was my bed or me he preferred to sleep upon.

I immediately began scanning the basement for money. The tied coin was around my neck, and I tucked it inside my shirt. Mary had cleaned up the mess from my ritual. She really was a nice person and a good sister.

I could smell brunch cooking, and I slowly made my way up the stairs and slipped into the bathroom before anyone noted my presence. To minimize my family's exposure to my odd spell-induced behavior, I used up some time by taking a quick shower. Before I was finished, I had scanned every crack between the tiles covering the stall.

"There's the sleepy head," Mom said as I came out. "Mary said you fell asleep on the couch downstairs last night and that she had covered you up."

"Thanks, Mary. I appreciate it." I helped carry the food to the table--bacon, sausage, pancakes, and eggs. Once we had all sat down, I began to scan the table for lost money.

"What are you looking for?" Dad asked.

"Any syrup?" My response was close enough to lying that I felt guilty.

"It's right in front of you."

"Oh." I gave my head what I hoped looked like an embarrassed shake.

Mary and I got ready to leave soon after eating. Mom and Dad weren't going shopping, nor were they going for a Sunday drive. Keeping their children cooped up all weekend would have resulted in a spontaneous revolt of one kind or another, most likely a mass fit. We were a pretty well behaved bunch as kids went, but there were limits.

"Can we cross Wool Road? We haven't checked over there yet."

"Go. Be careful."

Mary kept me out of trouble, and the spell seemed truly to be working better than ever. We had a big find that morning. Part of our search area was a cemetery surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. We didn't walk the cemetery, but we went along the outside. Wrapped around one of the fence posts and partially hidden by a bit of poorly trimmed grass was a five-pound note. Mary let out an excited squeal when I found it.

Our success motivated us to search for an hour longer than our two previous excursions, and we were trying to limp on both feet at once by the time we made it home. "Artie, we made a lot of money, and I'm really glad you're including me in stuff and teaching me about magic, but I think I'm going to die."

I unwrapped the coin around my neck, thus breaking the spell. "Dividing up the loot will make us feel better." We limped through the backdoor and dumped our gleanings on the table. Mom and Dad watched as we counted and divided it up. It totaled out to thirteen pounds, six cents.

"Damn, you two did good," said Dad. "Maybe I'll take up scavenging for a living."

"Your methods are weird," said Mom, "but I can't fault the results."

"Have you two looked over my term paper?"

"I didn't see anything wrong with it," Mom said.

"It looks good to me," Dad replied.

The haunted feeling that the damn thing had been giving me eased some more. Now, I had to get it safely into Mr. Dean's hands, and I would be free--at least until I had to start the second term paper of the school year.

Don't think about it for now, advised Ursus. We've had another successful day. Enjoy it.

Mary and I had about a half-hour to rest before my friends arrived. We collapsed on either end of the family-room couch and rested our legs on top of each other. All three cats soon joined us. When the knock came at the door, we let Mom get it. "Mom," I said. "Don't tell them about the money."

"Hello, Mrs. P.," said Danny. I think he genuinely liked her. He wasn't shy about his disdain for adults he didn't like. I saw through the opening for the counter that Danny was carrying something rolled up. Mike and Terry were behind him with their guitar and amp. Mary and I helped each other up.

"What have you got?" I asked, recognizing his large-size drawing paper.

"Check it out." Danny unrolled it on the kitchen table and weighted the corners down with the salt- and peppershakers and the paper-napkin holder. It was a pastel drawing. Mike and I were holding guitars. Terry had a bass. Danny was behind a drum kit. Mary was behind a keyboard, and so was Kirsten.

"Kirsten hasn't been playing with us," said Mary.

"Artie says she's some kind of musical genius."

"I don't know if she's a genius," I said, "but she plays several instruments and intends to keep learning new ones for her entire life."

"Then we can use her in the band," said Danny. "Wouldn't she look great on stage?"

"What band?" Mom asked.

"The band we're forming."

"I didn't know you were forming a band." Neither did I.

"What else would you call what we've been doing," said Danny. "This is for the wall in the basement, for inspiration."

"It's nice work," Mom said. "How are you planning to hang it?"

"Can I tack it up?"

"It's too good to punch holes in. I'll buy a frame."

"We need a name," said Mike.

"We have a long time to think about it," I said.

We went downstairs. Danny gave me his poster for safekeeping. It must have been inspiring us already, because we practiced with a will until after five. As I was showing everyone out, I noticed it was starting to snow--big fluffy flakes, and lots of them, shining in the streetlights.

"I've got a errand to run before it gets too deep," Danny said.

"What's that?"

"Just over to Roger's," the grocery store a short walk away on the northeast corner of Chord and Wool.

"Quit letting the cold air in," Dad yelled.

"I better let you get to it."

When everyone was gone, Mary said, "Maybe Danny isn't as bad as I thought."

"Yes, yes he is," I said.

"But he's your friend."

"He is, and I trust him, because I stay on his good side, and he's loyal. You, though, can never let your guard down with him, and I don't want you two ever to be alone."

"Why not."

"You're a girl. He might try something."

"But I'm three years younger than he is."

"Danny has unconventional morals, and you're pretty as heck and starting to fill out." She blushed at that.

"Oh. Thank you, I guess. But if he's so bad, why is he your friend?"

"He's not bad to me, and you've seen him in action: He shines with talent."

She thought for a moment. "Is that why you like Kirsten so much?"

"You're getting disturbingly insightful. But, yes, it's one of the reasons. She also has enough self-confidence for two people, and you know how nice she is, and pretty. The pretty, though, wouldn't mean much to me without the rest."

"I didn't think it would. I've never thought you were shallow."

"Thank you."

Mom must have been listening to us, because she said, "You pay attention to your brother about that Danny. I can't help liking him, but don't you ever trust him, young lady."

Supper was homemade beef stew with dumplings, one of the family's favorites. When we were done eating and cleaning up the mess, I looked out the window. "It's still coming down."

"Do you think we'll have a snow day?" Rich asked.

"If it keeps up like this, almost certainly."

I went to the coat rack in the laundry room and started putting on my winter gear. "What are you doing?" Mom asked.

"Shoveling. There's already a couple of inches down."

"Good boy."

Mary got her stuff, too. A few minutes after we started, Rich joined us, and a few minutes after that Mike, Terry, and their sister Colleen came out and began clearing their driveway next door. When we were all as done with our respective drives and walks as the rate of snowfall allowed, the Prestors went over to do the drive of the old couple who were their neighbors on the other side. Mary, Rich, and I went to help.

As we worked, Terry said, "This is a good opportunity to make some money." Terry liked making money.

Mary and I were tired, but it was an outstanding chance. Mike said, "You mean shoveling drives?"

"Yep."

"I'm in," said Colleen.

"So am I," said Mike. "What about you guys?"

"We'll have to ask our parents, but if it's OK with them, I'm in."

"Me, too," said Mary.

"What about me?" Rich asked.

"If you think you can handle it, come along," I said.

"Do you think we should get Danny?" Mike asked.

"Give him a call," I said. "There's going to be more work tonight than we can handle." The last was an insight provided by Ursus.

After we all gave our own drives another fast hit, I went in to check with Mom. "We want to go around shoveling driveways."

"That's ambitious of you."

"An opportunity this good seldom comes along, and it will take a miracle for there to be school tomorrow."

"Fine. Make sure you do a good job."

"We will. Can we stay out until eleven?"

She had to think about that. "Don't ring any bells unless the lights are clearly on. Are you bringing Rich with you?"

"For as long as he can take it."

Danny showed up as the six of us were working on our first drive, two houses down. Rich held on for about an hour before he went home. The rest of us easily found work right until the eleven o'clock deadline. We noticed that the kids around the block, whom we never really hung out with, had the same idea that we did, but as Ursus predicted, there was more than enough work to go around, and we all cleaned up in more ways than one.

We started out charging two pounds per drive. As the snow got deeper, we charged three. Finally, when it was almost eleven, someone offered us four. We sent Terry as runner to tell our parents what was happening. Just when we were about to quit, someone offered us four again. After taking care of his drive, we had to call it a night no matter what. My earnings added to what I'd found that morning was now more money than I ever had before.

About midnight, with Mom's blessing, Mary and I gave our own drive another cleaning, and then collapsed into bed to sleep the sleep of the utterly exhausted.

Chapter 19: Winning and Spinning

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 19

Wednesday morning--was it not great to be alive? Arthur was happy. He was having regular contact with his friends, learning guitar, and his girlfriend had decided that she was going to keep him no matter what her father said. The homework problem was under control, so he was happier with school. The bullies and ruffians were at bay, at least for the time being. Most importantly, regular magic use was ameliorating his depression, and his self-confidence was growing.

I was happy. I had survived my physical assassination, discovered one way to access manna on this node, and I had strong hopes that I could develop another. I enjoyed regular meals, a warm place to sleep, and was sharing a healthy body. I had every expectation that I was going to slowly regain my wizardly abilities and power.

On the downside, I had lost access to a lifetime of accumulated tools and augmentations, and I missed my familiar spirit badly. For centuries, she had been a friend that I could count on without reservation and had entrusted with my life more than once, and I hoped that she had survived whatever it was that had destroyed by body. But all things considered, life was good.

The clock said it was about twenty minutes before Arthur's mother usually rousted us to get ready for school. Let's get this body up and do some exercise, fellow brain mates.

I said, "Good morning, Mom," as I passed her on the way to the basement.

"Good morning. Aren't we chipper this morning?"

"I don't know about you, but I certainly am."

"Are you sure you're not on drugs."

"I swear on all that's holy in all the multiverse."

I did about fifteen minutes of calisthenics and then claimed the big bathroom just before Arthur's mother woke the rest of the kids. Hot water in the morning was wonderful. Breakfast was wonderful. The newspaper was wonderful. (I found three of Arthur's vocabulary words.) I had to restrain myself lest I burst into song. Oh, what the hell? "There's nothing better in the morning/Than a red-haired girl adorning/The longing space between your arms…"

The weather was bad, but that was to be expected given the time of year. The bike ride into school was uneventful. Riding a bike was wonderful, far better than those speeding deathtraps of which the people of this society seemed so insanely fond.

I said goodbye to Mary, and then Sean and I moseyed over to the grade-six door. Kirsten was waiting there for Arthur. When she came over for her morning hug, I discreetly withdrew, and Arthur took primary control. They certainly made a cute couple.

"Good morning, Artie. You rode your bike. Have you been released?" We hugged each other.

"Good morning." I loosed my hold on her, but I didn't quite let her go. We hadn't kissed on the lips since the time in her garage, and I felt a nearly overpowering urge. I leaned in, and she didn't draw back, so I kissed her--nothing extreme, just a couple of seconds. She smiled at me.

"They finally let me out," I said. I told the brief story. "I wish you could have been at my house yesterday."

"I wish I could have been there, too, but why in particular?"

"Mike, Terry, and I actually managed to play a song as a group."

"It feels great, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, like you're creating something bigger than yourself."

I heard a hawking noise and looked just in time to see Carol Flagler land a goober near my feet. My preferred method of dealing with him would have been to ignore him as a primeval slime mold beneath my notice, but I had learned the hard way that he took such behavior to be a sign of weakness. "Keep you excrescences to yourself," I said.

"What are you going to do about it if I don't?"

"Man, I think I've discovered a form of mammalian life that is completely incapable of learning." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sean move to where he could watch my back.

"You sound like a fucking pussy."

"You sound like a braying ass, but I'm trying to make allowances for your mental deficiencies."

He gave me a medium-hard push. I didn't try to block or avoid it, because I knew the ritual. "C'mon, Powyr, right now."

"Listen, Faggler, I know you don't have an academic record to protect, but I'm not going to get suspended over you."

"Where and when, then?"

"You going to bring more friends along? Maybe five or six this time?"

"Just me and you."

"You're nuts."

"Chicken-shit faggot pussy." He gave me another push.

"What part of getting your ass kicked didn't sink in?"

"You never kicked my ass. You fought like a pussy and took me by surprise." So that was how he was rationalizing this.

"Yeah, right. I took four guys by surprise."

"You fought like a sissy faggot and got lucky."

"Listen good, Carol, I'm not going to meet you anywhere at any time. If you attack me again, I'm going to put you in the emergency room again--at the very least. If you come after me with your catamite buddies again, I'm going to get my friends to help, and they are a hell of a lot meaner than yours." I didn't think he knew what catamite meant; maybe he would look it up later.

Making threats where others can hear is not good legal strategy, observed Ursus.

Do you have a better idea?

Given the young age of this simpleton, and your social circumstances, I suppose not.

"Dickwad." Carol went to push me again, but this time I was waiting for it. I brushed his right arm aside with my left, but I actually hit his left with a sword hand to the inside. Delivered with a man's strength, an edge-of-hand blow to the forearm can crack the bone. I didn't yet have a man's strength, but Carol hugged his arm and bent over it as he took a couple steps away.

"Wow, is he ever an idiot," said Kirsten, who had been standing beside me during the entire confrontation. Pam had come over to stand beside her.

"I'm not looking for trouble with the guy, but I've found that turning the other cheek to him just gets it slapped, and he invites his cronies along to urinate on me for good measure."

She gave my arm a hug, and in less than a minute Miss Gorse opened the door.

Carol didn't even look my way at lunch. During after-lunch recess, I checked on my new bike, and I remained where I could keep watch on the rack. I didn't want anyone to damage my bicycle as a way to get back at me. I thought, maybe I need some junk wheels to ride to school.

You need to get some more money before you can do that, thought Ursus, and on a not unrelated note, what are you planning to get Kirsten for Christmas?

Oh, man, I might have forgotten!

I bet she has a wrapped present for you on the last day of class before break.

Damn, it wouldn't surprise me. I have to get some more money.

There's always our money finding spell, and lots of places you and Mary haven't checked yet. We can even sigilize and re-do it to make it more powerful.

Yeah, this weekend, for sure.

When we got home from school, Mom announced to Mary and me, "Your father and I are doing some Christmas shopping after supper. You two are going to be watching the three youngest tonight."

"OK," said Mary, in her usual agreeable way. I just nodded.

Mom turned to me. "You still have a few hours to amend your Christmas letter."

The Arthur part of my brain was feeling much better, so I took the opportunity. I listed several books that I wanted to read and then at the end, in a what-the-hell moment, added "The room in the basement."

I headed downstairs. If I was going to have to baby sit, I needed to get my homework done now. First, though, fifteen minutes of guitar. I had just started when I heard, "Arthur, you little shit, get your ass up here."

"What?"

"What's this horse shit about the room in the basement?"

"With the amount of homework I have to do and guitar practice, I'm already spending most of my time down there, and the room upstairs is mighty crowded with three in it."

"I think it's illegal to let a child sleep in the basement."

"Who's going to know? And Danny's brother Tommy does it."

She paused for a few moments. "I don't know if it's a good idea. Dad and I are going to have to talk about it."

The conversation actually had gone better than I had expected, so I dropped the subject to lock in my gains. The seed had been sown, at least. "OK."

I changed my clothes and went back downstairs, where I steadily did homework, with guitar breaks, until suppertime. I would have liked to go help out with the pedal car, but my imposed schedule interfered. At least I could do some of the next day's homework, too.

Mom asked Mary and me to take care of the after supper cleanup, and she and Dad left. Mike and Terry came over for guitar practice about ten minutes after we were finished. We herded all three kids downstairs, where Rich and Charlie immediately began a game of pool. Susan sat on Mary's lap by the chord organ and pressed random keys and buttons.

"Where are your parents?" asked Terry.

"Christmas shopping."

"What did you ask for?"

"Clothes, books, some guitar paraphernalia." I didn't mention the room in the basement, in case my scheme fell through.

"That's not very much."

"Why, what did you ask for?"

"Another electric guitar and a bass."

"That's a lot."

"Yeah, but Mom and Dad have been impressed with how much Mike and I have been practicing, and they are especially impressed with how well we've been sharing Jeff's guitar without fighting."

"That must be a nearly unprecedented event," Mary said.

"Pretty much," Mike said. "We said we'd share the guitar and bass, too."

"We've even been doing our homework," Terry said.

"Horrors, no!" I said.

"See, you guys just needed sufficient motivation," Mary said.

"How would you like to motivate me, Mary?" Terry said. He actually batted his eyelashes at her. Terry was a born flirt. He'd been behaving that way since before he was old enough to go to school. Most older females thought it was cute.

"Ew. I think I might hurl," said Mary, who wasn't older.

Mike ignored them and said, "Mom plays the piano and organ herself, and she's always been willing to invest in our musical education, but she hasn't been willing to throw money away if we didn't practice."

With Mike's statement, I had a bolt of inspiration. "Do you think your mom would be willing to work out a deal with Mary? Maybe an hour or two of chores for an hour of piano instruction?"

"I don't know; Mary would have to ask."

"I don't have anything to practice on," Mary said.

"Maybe you can work out a deal with Mrs. Prestor for that, too. She has a piano and an organ right there in her living room."

"I don't want to be a pest," Mary said.

"It doesn't hurt to ask. Think about it." With that, we got down to a solid hour of practice. As we had noted before, just sleeping on it made us somewhat better on whatever we'd been working on the day before. After everyone had a chance to play both the harmony and the melody a couple times, I added in another chord for the rhythm guitar part, the F.

Open F is actually a fairly tough chord, because it's only partly open. The two highest strings need a partial bar. Having three chords to switch between, one of them tough, significantly added to the challenge, but everyone hung in without getting too upset.

When Mike and Terry left to do homework, Rich asked us, "Want to play a game?"

"What?" I didn't actually want to play anything, but I couldn't hole up in the basement and also perform my kid watching duty.

"How about Cutthroat Capitalism?" So we went upstairs and played the board game at the kitchen table. Mary helped Susan make her moves until the little one began to doze off, and then she put her to bed. Mom and Dad arrived shortly after nine and banished Charlie as well. I was already eliminated from the game.

"You have until 9:30," Mom told Rich.

I headed for the basement. It was too late to start anything with magic. Should I begin the final copy of my term paper, or should I read this fine book on Norse mythology? The book won, and I read until bedtime.

Thursday was mostly a replay of Wednesday, minus the drama. Carol had gone back to glaring at me, but his buddy Pat didn't seem interested in me at lunch. Maybe one of them had some smarts. Donald didn't do anything out of the ordinary, either, but he was still on crutches.

Al simply ignored my existence. I supposed that was an improvement over him walking away in disgust. Sean had been dividing his time between the two of us. That week Sean also started hanging out with Chris Townshend, a quiet little guy who shared Sean's interest in woodworking. Chris always went around with a benign half-smile on his face, as if the world was providing him with private amusement that the rest of us were missing.

I had talked to him before. He liked woodworking and his motorcycle, and his ambition in life was to be a rough carpenter. Sean, really, had more in common with Chris than he had with me.

Kirsten, of course, made the day brighter every time I saw her, and we now had a brief kiss added to our morning greeting and our end-of-school-day goodbye. I tried not to press her about the situation with her father. Ursus assured me that if both she and her mother were in favor of me, it was just a matter of time before her father gave in. Our society, he observed, simply wasn't one in which the man of the house was king.

I did an hour of homework after school and then designed the money-finding sigil. It still featured a crude self-portrait, but now it was going to be the head of a human figure, the body of which was the sigil.

Mom and Dad went shopping again. Practice was good. Instead of Cutthroat Capitalism we played Imperial Ambitions after. I had the opposition finished off by 8:55. In my free hour before bed, I drew the sigil out neatly in pencil.

Friday started with a cold rain, and Mom drove us in. "Pretty soon, you aren't going to be able to ride your bikes."

"We might be able to manage it when the roads are clear," I said from the back corner.

"That can take days after every snow. They don't plow the side streets around here, you know. They just dump some salt and say to hell with it." She had a point.

The rain had stopped sometime in the morning. It being Friday, I headed for Danny's after school rather than do homework. Before I left, Mary said, "You know, I think I'm going to go see Kirsten." I found this announcement somewhat surprising, and from the look on her face, so did Mom. Mary and Kirsten had got along well the times they were together, though, and I didn't see how a friendship between the two of them could hurt me, so I said, "You probably should call before you ride all the way over there."

Mom said, "I don't know if I like you going that far by yourself."

"You let Art go that far on his own last year." That was not an argument I needed to hear, so I split.

The pedal car now had its rear axle installed. It was looking impressive. The cranks, sprockets, chains, and shifters were hooked up. The passenger side had fake handlebars to hang on to and mount crap on. When I arrived, Danny was finishing up sewing the mesh onto the passenger seat. Mike and Terry were installing the driver's seat. Not only did it clamp onto the support for the bottom bracket, it had a bar coming down from the center of the backrest to hold up the back.

Because my legs were about the same length as Danny's, they had me sit down so they could get the adjustment right. "Some chain guards wouldn't be remiss," I said.

"We'll make those when we make the fairing," Danny said.

"What's a fairing?"

"It's another name for the body. I didn't know the word, either, until Mr. Wertson told me." Mr. Wertson was one of the junior-high shop teachers. Danny actually liked him.

Danny finished the passenger seat, and it was installed forthwith. The pedal car was now drivable. Unfortunately, Danny didn't yet have the long cables for the rear brakes, so it only had the front one. There was no way in hell, of course, that such a minor defect was going to stop anyone. We would have driven the thing if it had no brakes at all. Danny steered, and he and Mike took the first ride around the block. Terry followed on his bike and beat them home slightly.

Danny and Terry were next. Mike minded Jenny, and I followed on my bike. The pedal car moved pretty well on the straight portions of road and on gentle curves, but the bike was a little faster. The bike could beat it handily, though, at taking sharp corners at speed.

When we got back to the garage, Danny said, "Damn it," I thought this thing would go faster."

"With all the framing," I said, "it has a least four bikes' worth of materials in it, but only two pedalers."

"Maybe it'll go faster with the fairing. Mr. Wertson said it would, despite the extra weight."

"What are you going to make it out of?"

"This stuff." He got up and took me over to where several four by eight sheets of plastic were standing against the garage wall. It looked like corrugated cardboard.

"This stuff is so cool," I said.

"Yeah, this is something new my mom saw at work." She was a secretary for a large office-supply company. "When I told her about wanting to build a body for the pedal car, she thought of it and got me some with her employee discount."

He headed back to the suped-up tricycle. "Hop in, Art."

Are you sure this is a good idea, thought Ursus.

Hell yes.

We headed out. Neither Mike nor Terry bothered to pace us. Instead of going around the block this time, Danny took a right on Bradley. Once we were around the hump at the intersection of Topiary, it was a straight shot all the way to Normal. We went all out. Each rider had ten speeds, and by the time we neared the end, I was in the highest.

Danny wasn't just going to blow by the stop sign, was he? I started to downshift. Danny clamped down on the brake, and the pedal car made a beautiful fishtail. It was too bad Ursus was screaming our head off.

"Yes!" I yelled, hoping to save some face.

Damn it, thought Ursus. We're lucky that young maniac didn't roll this monstrosity. I think it went up on two wheels.

Danny was laughing his ass off. "I'm going to love this thing." We were almost facing the other way. Danny finished the turn, and we headed back at a somewhat more sedate pace.

Jenny got the next ride, even though she couldn't reach the pedals. "Keep your feet out of the chain, Danny warned her.

We all spent the rest of the time until dark taking turns being driver and shotgun rider. Mary came by just before then and got the last ride. When she got back, I asked, "Did you and Kirsten hang out?"

"Yeah, we had a good talk. I talked to her mother, too." I restrained myself from asking, but Mary volunteered the information. "Her mother likes you, and while she would have preferred Kirsten to be older before she became interested in boys, she thinks you're better than most, given that Kirsten is interested."

I appreciated the vote of confidence. We were still there when Mrs. Lukowski arrived home. We all greeted her. "Do you have that damn thing going yet?" She gestured at the pedal car.

"Yep, I'll give you a ride." So in spite of it being dark, Mrs. Lukowski climbed into the passenger seat and Danny took her for a spin.

She was laughing when they got back. "I don't want you riding this thing in the dark, unless you give it lights."

"I'll put them on the to-do list," Danny said.

Mary and I had to get going. Before we left, I said to Danny, "Why don't you come to rehearsal this evening? Mike, Terry, Mary, and I actually have a real song we've been working on."

"They told me about it. Sounds fun. I'll see if I can make it."

Mary and I stayed on the sidewalk on the way home. "That pedal car is the coolest thing," said Mary.

Hmph, thought Ursus.

Chapter 18: Metaphor, Music, and Manna

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 18

Mom looked nervous when Mary and I told her our plan. "Are you sure you'll be safe?"

"How can I be sure of something like that? But I'm not going to cower at home while the band of morons who decided to pick a fight with me roam freely. I just hope they've learned to leave me alone."

Mom look troubled but finally said, "Look out for your sister."

I got to ride my new bike for the first time, other than up and down the driveway. I liked it, and Mary no longer had to hold back when we were riding together. She also had graciously taken the two guitar books I was returning and put them on her spring rack. A rack was going to be the first thing I added, I thought. Even though they weren't exactly cool, they certainly were handy.

We took the slight detour to go by Kirsten's house. She wasn't out, but Pam was, so we said hi and talked for a couple of minutes. Was it my imagination, or was she looking at me more attentively than she used to?

Could be, thought Ursus. You certainly have raised your status within your tribe, and it's a big change in image for you.

Before, I had the image of nerd. Now, I have the image of dangerous nerd.

Don't knock it. That's exactly what we magicians are. A wizard who isn't a nerd at heart is a dead wizard, at least eventually. As for dangerous, you used your ability righteously, not to threaten or intimidate. Everyone will have noted that.

I have the strength of ten, for my heart is pure.

I wouldn't go that far.

At the library, I returned my books and found another guitar book, one that wasn't on the shelf my last trip to the library. This one had the music for hundreds of songs in both standard notation and a notation especially for guitars, called tablature.

Ursus wanted to find some information about contemporary magical practice, if there was any. The magic described in The Iliad and The Odyssey had intrigued him, and he hoped to learn if anyone was currently writing about magical techniques that actually worked.

The card catalog indicated that there were a number of books on magic tricks, but only a few on actual spell casting. We went to the single shelf. The library allowed one person to check out no more than four books at a time on a given topic, so we selected one called Witchcraft in the Contemporary Empire and Spells for the Modern Witch both by the same couple, who claimed to be practicing witches themselves. We also found The Book of Hermes by a man who said he was a ceremonial magician. Finally, we selected The Demon Prince, supposedly an English translation of an ancient grimoire.

This looks like it's all about summoning demons. Do they actually exist?

Ursus accessed his memories for our benefit. He also examined Arthur's conception of a demon. He thought, there are many beings that inhabit the metaphorical dimensions. Some of them are by our lights evil or treacherous and fit your concept of a demon.

Arthur asked, what's a metaphorical dimension?

As Ursus answered, we gained access to his memories. Every node has a variable number of physical dimensions and metaphorical dimensions. The nodes that humans can visit always have three spatial dimensions. They usually also have multiple metaphorical dimensions that are not physical. If, for example, the Elysian Fields described in the Odyssey actually exist or existed, they would almost certainly be or have been located in a metaphorical dimension.

Faerie? Arthur asked, thinking about some of the fantasy that he'd read.

Yes, you get the idea.

Do you think the Elysian Fields might really have existed?

They might have, or they could just be a story.

Could we go there, like Odysseus?

You now are talking more along the lines of shamanism, rather than wizardry, but I have some skill in that, too, and I have visited metaphorical dimensions.

We were treated to another flood of memories as Ursus recalled highlights of some of his journeys. He continued: One can often go to a metaphorical dimension physically, but usually only for a relatively short period of time, because the human body is primarily physical. One can also leave one's body behind and go on a visualized journey in an imaginary body, which often works just fine for traveling in metaphorical dimensions.

Anyway, thought Ursus, getting back to the topic at hand, I don't have a lot of hope for any of these books, but they might help me guess how close the magician's on this node are getting to effective practice. Of course, magic is often secretive business. Those who are actually able to accomplish something might not be publishing anything.

Is there any way to detect if anyone other than us is using real magic?

There are many things we can try, but we have to build up this body's magical endurance, and I have to integrate many years of ingrained techniques with its nervous system. Perhaps, though, we can try a little simple scrying tonight before bed, if you're game.

I'm more than willing. I love this stuff.

I was sure you would be, and I know you do. It's in the genes. While we're here, we should get another book on mythology, something other than Greek. Myths are a powerful source of metaphor.

I found a book on Norse mythology and another on Egyptian before I went in search of Mary. She had a couple novels in her hand, and she was looking at a book on how to play the chord organ. "I thought that if you can learn guitar from a book, maybe I could learn something about music, too."

"Check it out and try."

At the checkout counter, the librarian gave me an inquiring look, but she didn't say anything. I guessed she didn't see too many kids signing out spell books.

We had too many books to fit on Mary's rack, so I carried some of mine in one hand. As we passed Danny's place, he called out to me. "Hey! They've let you out." He, Mike, and Terry were working on what I presumed was the pedal car. I was eager to see it.

"Yeah. I'll be back in five minutes," I called.

I dropped off my books and told Mom my new destination. "Is it all right if I stay out until supper?"

"Be careful coming home in the dark."

"I'll stay on the sidewalk." Mary came with me.

When we arrived at Danny's, I told my friends that no one was being charged with anything. "I would throw their asses in the juvie home," said Danny.

The pedal car was already looking impressive. It was going to be a three-wheeler with a single wheel in front. Each seat was getting its own chain, crank set, and individually adjustable gears. It looked like he had cut up at least three bicycles plus some electrical conduit--I reminded myself not to ask where he got it--to get the materials he needed for the basic frame. He was still building the rear axle in shop class.

"Are you getting class credit for this?" I asked.

"Sure am."

"It must be nice, getting credit for what you were going to do anyway."

"I get credit for some of my art projects, too."

"Lucky."

"Superior planning. The shop teacher said he'd give me an A for the marking period if I did a good job, plus, he's been giving me advice."

They were currently making the seats from carefully bent conduit. Later, Danny planned to cover them with mesh. The seats were going to be attached to a welded conduit bracket that could slide along the tubes connecting to the rear of the bottom brackets. Secure them with hose clamps, and the pedal car had adjustable seats. "Slick as greased weasel shit," said Mike.

"Have you been hanging around with my mom?"

"Not lately. Why?"

"That sounds like something she might say."

I helped a while by being gofer and auxiliary holder. Mary took over Jenny watching duty. When the time to leave drew near, Danny said, "Hang on a second." He went into the house for a minute and came back carrying a base drum and a kick pedal. "Keep this in your basement."

"Where did you get it?"

"I traded a bong I made from a quart beer bottle plus some homegrown."

"You growing weed?"

"Not Lately."

"Then where did the weed come from?"

"I reupholstered a bike seat for Tommy Labatt."

Oh, of course. I should have learned not to ask Danny those types of questions. "Are you sure you want me to take this home?"

"Yeah. I figured we could use it when we jam." Mike and Terry were looking pleased.

"Ek-skellent," said Mike.

"Thanks a lot, man," I said. "It ought to beat the crap out of smacking billiard balls together."

I balanced the drum on my bike seat and slowly walked it home. Mary walked her bike with me. "You guys are really getting into music," she said.

"Yeah, I'm glad. It's a lot better than sitting around trying to think of something to do."

I was far enough ahead with my homework that I didn't bother doing any that night. When Mike and Terry came over to practice, Terry said, "Mom is impressed with the dedication we've been showing. She said that if Mike and I keep practicing every day for a month, she'll get us lessons."

"You already have about two weeks in. Two more to go."

Mary came downstairs with us and sat in front of the chord organ while she looked at the book she had borrowed. Mike, Terry, and I by then had gone through the fifteen basic open chords and were now working on speed while maintaining precision. Because of the presence of Ursus, I was making faster progress than my friends were. They were learning things from scratch, whereas I was just training the connection between my brain and fingers for something I already knew. Consequently, I had been working on melody and barre chords on my own a little, but had not yet taught them much about the subjects.

"You need to fret all of the stings at once with your index finger." I showed them. "It hurts at first, and I still can't consistently press down on all of them."

Terry, who had their guitar, tried it. "Ow."

"Yeah. We're going have to build up the muscles in our hands and stretch them out some before we can play barre chords." I demonstrated, not that well, the E-shaped barre chord and the A-shaped barre chord. "Don't expect for them to sound good for quite a while, but you should add them to your practice sessions so that you can start strengthening your hands."

We worked on barre chords for several minutes. "Let's try a song." Mike currently had the Prestor's guitar. "Terry, keep a slow beat on the drum." I counted if off for him. "One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.

"Mike, just use the C and the G7 chords. Four strums on the C followed by four strums and the G7, and then just keep repeating. If you miss a switch, just skip a chord and catch up with the beat.

"Mary."

She looked up, "Huh, what?"

"When Mike is playing the C chord, you hold down the C button on the chord organ with your left hand. When he is playing the G7 chord, hold down the G7 button."

I let them play through a few measures, and then started in with a simple melody I had been practicing that Ursus knew, called "The Shepherd's Lament," if one translated the title into English. It used just the two highest strings and sounded weepy. Mary looked happy to be participating with the rest of us.

We went through it several times with Mike on the electric and several times with Terry on the electric. I then showed them the two-string melody until they had it memorized. We slowed the song even more, and I did the chords while they did the melody.

Ursus asked, do you notice anything?

What?

The manna is closer.

Oh, wow, it was. Our mental collective tried calling it in as we played the chords. The manna came nearer, but we couldn't quite reach it and draw it in. Still, it was exciting.

There must be some way to exploit this, thought Ursus. We're going to have to begin experimenting.

We managed to practice for about two hours before the Prestor's went home. "Thanks for letting me take part," Mary said.

"Now that we're actually starting to learn some songs, you can participate whenever you want. Practice what's in your book, and maybe you can do more than play chords.

"Will you do me a favor?" I asked.

"What?"

"I'm going to be attempting some magic stuff. Will you call me just before 10:00?"

"No problem."

I did about twenty minutes of stretching before I went upstairs to find something to put water in. I dug out an aluminum-foil pie pan that someone had saved. Mom came into the kitchen when I was filling it at the faucet.

"What nonsense are you starting this late at night?"

"I'm going to try scrying."

"What in hell is that?"

"I'm going to stare into this water and see if I have visions."

"You have some weird-ass ideas. You know that?"

"I do."

She looked at me a moment before she asked, "Are you on drugs?"

"Nothing other than my morning vitamin."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

She shook her head. I carried the pan downstairs and sat it on an old rag on the table. It was easier to go into trance every time I did it. Once I reached the state, I called manna and cast and purified the circle. Then I pricked my finger and put a single drop of blood in the water. I went back into trance, called manna, and slowly fed it into the water while I gazed upon it.

Some vision was trying to form, but it never clarified enough to reveal what it was. I kept concentrating and feeding it manna, though.

Someone gave me a shake. "Arthur, it's almost ten." It was Mary. "I called from the top of the stairs, but you didn't answer."

I hadn't felt the time pass. "Thank you. I was far gone in trance." I felt tired, but not as tired as when I cast a major spell for my current level of ability.

"You were just staring at the water. Did you see anything?"

"Not really, but I think there is something to see. I just need to practice."

I had a tiny bit of manna left and gave it to Mary as I brushed past her heading for the stairs. She smiled. The magical energy did make one feel good.

We had a productive day, thought Ursus. I'm highly interested in exploring the manna calling properties of music on this node.

Have you seen that happen before?

Yes. Music and chanting can attract manna. Things that draw people into a group with a single shared focus often do so. Religious ritual can, for instance, even when no apparent god is listening. A focused group can accomplish some powerful magic.

Possibilities started to run through our brain. Ursus felt pleased as we drifted off.

Chapter 17: Confinement Summary

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 17

Mom called me for lunch shortly after my friends left. She had made a pot of homemade beef barley soup and had warmed a couple loaves of crusty bread in the oven. Part of me didn't have much of an appetite, but part of me knew I should eat. I stared at my food for about a minute.

Mom apparently intuited what was going on. She broke off a hunk of bread, stuck it in my soup, and held it near my mouth. "Just try a little." I opened up, and she popped it in. Once my taste buds started functioning, the despairing nausea in my innards backed off enough to let me eat.

On the couch in the basement, I settled in after lunch with the same notebook I had used to design the protection sigil. I wondered if I could come up with something to change the mind of Kirsten's father.

Manipulating people against their will is an unethical use of magic, thought Ursus. At least it is in matters that aren't clear cases of self-defense or the defense of others.

Keeping Kirsten and me apart is against our wills.

As the parent of a child, his responsibility is to protect her. You might think he's overreacting, but he has no choice but to use his best judgment. Who else's can he use? In any case, it's still wrong to use magic that way.

Why?

If it's wrong to do it physically, it's wrong to do it magically. It's like walking up to someone and beating him with a stick. Except using magic that way is even worse, because you can often do it covertly. Using magical force against someone is still using force.

I sat thinking it over. I didn't really want to see his point, but I saw it nonetheless. Being good can be hard sometimes.

Indeed, but you can sleep well and look at yourself in the mirror. Besides, life is more enjoyable when people trust you.

I thought that over for a little while, too. What should we do, then? I'd like to get more practice with magic.

Well, we've come up with a way to make a little money, and we've devised a way to increase our safety. How about a health spell? It won't be perfect, but it ought to make us at least somewhat healthier.

We were of one mind that it was a good idea, so I started designing a sigil. Health is an abstract concept rather hard to visualize. I began with the letters in the word and then turned to my health textbook for help. I made rough sketches of healthy hearts, blood vessels, lungs, bone, skin, kidneys, and so on. I drew a generic germ with a slash through it. Getting into the spirit of things, I drew a sketch of a kid in bed with a thermometer in his mouth and put a slash through the picture. I drew a sketch of a healthy me--slender, straight, muscular. None of it was good art, but it didn't have to be at this point.

I started the iterative process of combining and simplifying. Part way through, Mary came over and sat on the end of the couch. "Watcha doin'?"

I showed her the notebook and explained the idea behind sigil making. "Magic is controlled by visualization--purposefully imagining things vividly in your mind--and metaphor. You've learned about metaphors in reading, right?"

"That's using a comparison to show your meaning. 'Quick as a wink' or 'He was a giant of a man.'"

"Yeah, like that. But they can be other kinds of symbols rather than just words. A sigil is a type of concentrated metaphor."

"You can make one of these sigil things and it does magic?"

"Not by itself. You need to use them in a ritual. You saw me doing one of those last week."

"So you can do magic with a sigil and a ritual?"

"Yeah, but not everyone can do magic, and for the ritual to work, you first have to gather magical energy, called manna."

She was starting to look a little frustrated. "And how do you do that?"

"So far, the only way I've figured out how to do it is by putting myself into a trance and calling the manna to me."

"OK, how do you do that, then?"

"That takes a lot of practice, but I can tell you how to begin learning." I taught her how to do diaphragmatic breathing and then the progressive relaxation technique. "A way to start is to relax like I showed you every night before going to sleep. If you're still awake at the end of it, try to pay attention to your deep breathing and nothing else. Once you get good at doing it before you fall asleep, start trying it sitting up so that you don't fall asleep. When you can get to the point where your head starts emptying out of stray thoughts, you're ready for more."

"This magic stuff sounds hard."

"It's good that it is. Can you imagine what someone like Carol Flagler would do if he was able to do magic?"

She thought for a moment and then gave a little shudder. "That would be awful."

I got back to making my sigil. Mary sat on the end of the couch and practiced relaxing and breathing. For a first effort, she kept at it longer than I would have if I hadn't had internal help. Her ability to suppress boredom was better than mine, but she did wander off after a while.

When I was satisfied with the rough sigil, I sat at the table and reproduced it neatly in pencil. I wouldn't finish it in blood and charge it until closer to bedtime, because it was sure to make me tired, although not nearly as much as the actual spell on Sunday. In the meantime, I practiced guitar and read The Iliad, which I had been halfway through when I'd started the guitar books.

I got my pocketknife athame back from Dad, who had absentmindedly left it on his dresser when he had cleaned out his pockets Friday night. "Do you carry that thing in school?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that against the rules?"

"Yes, but as long as I never take it out, I won't get caught."

"If you can't use it, why carry it?"

"I might need it on the way there or on the way back here."

He gave me a skeptical look and said, "You're full of old rope," but he dropped the subject.

Sunday was much like Saturday. I decided to work somewhat ahead in my social studies text; I could pretty much guess where we were going next in the book even if it wasn't yet assigned. Danny, Mike, and Terry came over for a couple of hours in the afternoon to play music.

Sean arrived while the others were still around. The grapevine had reached him, and he wanted to hear what happened from the source. I thoroughly filled him in, knowing he could be counted upon to spread the word. "Beating up four guys, that's totally flipped out."

After everyone left, I read and practiced guitar. I even made three of the damn stupid book reports for the two guitar books and the Iliad, which were the only books I'd finished since the recent beginning of the second quarter.

The spell before bed went fine, and Mary quietly observed me working it. She helped with the cleanup, which I much appreciated as I staggered around in exhaustion.

The big event of the weekend as far as I was concerned, though, wasn't the spell. It was a resolution I made with myself: I wasn't going to let Kirsten go without a fight. I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but I liked her too much to just give up.

Considering that I was on parole or its moral equivalent, Mom insisted that I ride to school with her. When I arrived in front of the grade-six door on Monday, 29 November, Kirsten walked straight up to me and gave me a hug. She whispered, "Dad can keep me away from you after school, but he can't do a thing about school hours. Besides, Mom's on my side."

I immediately felt better than I had since Friday evening. No, that is an understatement. I felt terrific knowing that Kirsten wasn't going to give up, either. I held on to her long enough that some of the other students began making "woo hoo" noises and wolf whistles.

When I released her, she immediately grabbed my hand. I looked around some, now that my eyes were able to look upon more than Kirsten. Carol and Pat were in the crowd and had several people surrounding them. They weren't looking at me, but a lot of the people with them were. Sean had gone over to talk to Al. Donald wasn't around, but he seldom arrived before the doors were unlocked.

When Miss Gorse opened the door, I looked back and caught a glimpse of Donbo slowly getting out of a car. His leg was in a cast, and he had crutches.

Maybe it will be the beginning of wisdom, thought Ursus.

As we were hanging up our coats, I saw Pat's face. He was wearing a plastic shield that covered his nose, and he had two black eyes. As news spread, a crowd started surrounding me asking about what had happened. I continued into Mr. Dean's room and saw that Carol was wearing unfashionably baggy pants. I thought to Ursus, could it be?

Certainly. They can swell up, and I imagine his got badly bruised.

I felt ashamed over the amount of satisfaction I took in that information.

The bruises on my face clearly indicated that I had been in a fight, and the rumors were flying about Friday evening's events. Most of the students in the class wanted to know what had happened. So I told them. Ursus helped me keep any bragging tone out of my voice. I spoke with normal loudness and made a report much like I had given the police officer. I left nothing out but the bad language, because I knew Mr. Dean was listening and bad language was basis for punishment. Ursus kept me from lowering my voice out of shyness. The only student who wasn't looking at me was Carol Flagler. When I looked at Mr. Dean, he raised his eyebrows at me.

The bell rang and we rose for the loyalty oath. As usual, I didn't recite it. Ursus told me that if I felt loyal when I was of adult age, I could take any oath that I wanted, but he wasn't going to be any part of extracting such a thing from a child.

Mr. Dean returned our note cards as the first order of business. "I'm very disappointed in the amount of progress many of you have made. In light of this, and because I don't want half the class to fail, I'm extending the deadline for the paper to the day after winter break. Those of you who still want to turn your papers in by the original deadline--and thereby get it off your minds--are encouraged to do so. Those who turn them in early will get them graded early." At least I had 100% on my note cards.

Ursus thought, with the amount of worrying you do about that paper, we're going to finish it as soon as possible, and there is no better time than when you are under house arrest. I supposed he was right.

At lunch I was the center of attention. Carol, Pat, and Don joined Al in sitting as far away from me as they could get. I hoped they weren't forming an alliance. I again told the story while following the same stick-to-the-facts procedure I used in the morning, and I had to repeat it all on the playground after lunch. Perhaps everyone would decide that it was a bad idea to fight me.

After lunch I posted my three book reports on the wall and immediately took the lead in the contest. The most anyone else had so far, so early in the quarter, was one. Debbie Taylor said to me as I passed her desk, "I see I'm going to have a challenge this marking period."

"Yep. May the best bookworm win."

By Tuesday the fight was old news. Not much exciting happened through the week. My assailants all stayed away from me, which was just fine. Mike and Terry came over to practice every day after supper, and they kept me informed about the pedal car they were building with Danny. He was taking parts into shop class to weld.

During school hours, Kirsten treated me like her boyfriend, but we didn't see each other after school. I read The Odyssey and posted a report about it. Debbie posted another report, too. I started the rough draft of my term paper.

The police interviewed Danny, Mike, Terry, and even little Jenny. Mom called the prosecutor's office to office to ask them how long everyone was going to dawdle before I could again leave the house. A friendly source told Mom that the stories of my attackers didn't match when the police first interviewed them. I finally learned that Pat's last name was Hughes and that Nameless's name was Brian Onken. He was in seventh grade at Lager Junior High, and he had two cracked ribs from where I'd kicked him.

Kick them when they're down, Ursus thought. It makes it harder for them to get back up.

On the magic front, I encouraged Mary in her attempts to attain trance, and Ursus and I created and cast a weight-loss spell and a physical-fitness spell to go along with the health spell. Dad came wandering down the basement when I was engaged with the fitness spell. "What in hell are you doing?"

"I'm casting a magic spell."

"You get some weird-ass ideas."

"So I've been told, often."

"Do you really think such silly nonsense will work?"

"I don't see why not."

He looked at me for a few seconds. "Carry on, I guess."

Unfortunately, his interruption had totally destroyed my concentration, and I had to retry the spell the next day.

Thursday was the last day of the square-dance unit in gym. Of course, Kirsten and I were partners again. It was nice. Dancing still didn't do much for me, but Kirsten made it better. She told me that she was making it quite clear to her father that she was very unhappy with his decision.

Friday after school, Ursus started showing me a number of stretches. He knew a whole bunch of them. I also did some knee bends, pushups, and crunches. I stretched again on Saturday and repeated Friday's routine on Sunday. I noticed that I felt less resistance toward exercising than before I had cast the spell.

Saturday and Sunday, Danny, Mike, and Terry again came over to play music and lighten the burden of my imprisonment. We were noticeably better from the week before.

Danny also delivered the bike he had built for me. It had ten speeds, thumb shifters, straight handlebars, fenders, and a conventional saddle. Because I had no interest in taking it off road, he'd given it slick tires. We decided that with my friend-of-Dan discount, a fair price was my old bike plus a pound.

I finished the rough draft of my term paper. I also, for the sixth time, read the classic novel Badinage and Bloody Steel. I did a book report on it and posted it Monday morning before class started, giving me a total of five reports. Mr. Dean noticed. "You're reading a lot this marking period, Mr. Powyr."

"I suppose so. I read about the same amount last quarter."

"Really? You didn't write up any reports."

"No, but I usually read one or two books per week when school is in. In the summer, I read more."

"So why no reports? They aren't that much work."

I didn't want to tell him the reason was that I had no desire to win the contest and have to eat lunch with him. "I have a lot of interests and prefer to spend as much time on them as I can."

"So what's so different about this marking period, then?"

"I'm trying to impress Kirsten's mother." Pretty much everyone who heard chuckled a little at my response, including Kirsten.

"Ah. I believe I see. Watch it, kid, or you'll find yourself washing her car and wearing a necktie. You might even end up with a haircut." I theatrically covered my hair with both hands and returned to my seat.

Finally, on Tuesday, 7 December, on the way home from school, Mom said, "The good news is that you aren't going to be charged with anything."

Despite lots of assurances from just about everyone that I had acted in self-defense and was unlikely to be prosecuted, I felt great relief.

"The bad news is neither are the little bastards who attacked you. The oldest of them isn't yet thirteen, and there isn't much interest in prosecuting anyone so young. You got special treatment because the results of your attack were so strange that no one believed your story, except your old mother."

"Yes, Mother, you're a very good mother. I don't deserve you."

"Smartass."

There was still a chance that some parents might sue, but their case didn't look good. I was to inform her immediately if one of the little bastards tried anything at all against me.

When we got home and changed into our play clothes, I said, "Hey, Mary, you want to go to the library?"

Chapter 16: Balm

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 16

Dad didn't say much on the short drive home. I just sat and thought. Now, at least, I understood what had Carol all worked up. One, the fight with Al had hurt my reputation. To the majority who hadn't had a clear view of the action, it looked as though I had run away, rather than the truth that I had shown Al mercy. When Al bragged that he'd kicked my ass and I hadn't bothered to correct the impression, most people assumed it was true. Aggravating the other two erroneous conclusions was the fact that I was bigger than Al. Two, I had a large vocabulary, and I was willing to use it. That immediately made my masculinity suspect. Three, in the lunchroom when I had abruptly halted our argument, Carol assumed that he had intimidated me rather than that I was trying to avoid the attention of the lunchroom ladies.

So when I flipped him off, he concluded that someone who was lower than worm shit was challenging him. He couldn't let that stand and keep his reputation as a tough guy, could he? Then, of course, when I fled and then hid behind my friends, that annoyed him even more. He was eleven or twelve; he didn't necessarily consider that my actions were the only ones that made sense given the odds against me. I was an effeminate coward and needed to be shown my place.

Tonight's fight ought to do wonders for your reputation, at least, thought Ursus.

I suppose I should be willing to tell whoever asks what happened.

It probably wouldn't hurt, and it might keep the young savages off your back and out of your way.

Do you think the loss of face will inspire Carol and his buddies, and Don, to attack me again?

Do you think they're that crazy?

You’re the one with centuries of experience. I'm asking you.

Well, a basic principle is never to do one's enemy a small hurt. But we put a big hurt on those guys. Let's hope they're afraid of you now.

Hope?

One thing I've learned is that individual humans are contrary and unpredictable. Mobs tend to follow certain patterns. Individuals, however, can do things for reasons that are hard to guess or understand.

Dad pulled into the garage, and we got out. "Damn, there's blood all over the seat," Dad said. Oops. Neither of us had thought to put something down. "I'll have to get that out before it sets."

As soon as I walked in the back door, Mom said, "How badly are you hurt?" Dad started collected cleaning supplies.

"I'm scraped up in a lot of places, and I'm probably bruised all over, but everything seems to work."

She looked at Dad. "Why in hell didn't you call? I was worried sick."

"Where was I supposed to find a phone?"

She noted what he was doing. "What are you looking for?"

"I need to get blood out of the car seat."

The kids started gathering around. Mary started to bawl. Apparently, someone had given her a ride home. "I didn't want to leave you behind, but you told me to, and I was so scared that they were going to hurt you…" and so on. Hearing Mary, Susan started to cry, too. It looked like Charlie might start in next.

"I'm all right, everybody." I opened my arms, and Mary rushed in for a hug. "You did the right thing," I said.

"Don't get blood all over your sister," Mom said.

I ignored Mom for a couple of seconds and then pushed Mary away gently. "Sorry, Mary, you better go soak your shirt."

"Go into the bathroom and take off your clothes," said Mom. "I want to see how badly you're injured."

"I can take care of it myself," I said.

"I want to take a look at you."

"Please, Mom, let me do it. It's embarrassing."

"I've seen your bare ass a million times since you were born."

"Please."

"Have it your way, you little shit." She headed for the laundry room. "Wait a second." She came back carrying an armful of clean rags. "Put these down so you don't get blood all over the bathroom."

I noticed Dad escaping into the garage as I escaped into the small bathroom. I put down the rags and took off my clothing. I doubted if any of it was salvageable, even as play clothes. I climbed into the shower and started cleaning out my scrapes. Given the speed I had been going when I wiped out, the scrapes weren't that deep. I assumed I had the protection spell to thank for that.

I was indeed bruised all over as well as scraped. The soap stung. Ursus encourage me to scrub well and get out all of the grit. The water had a red tinge as it swirled down the drain.

Using a rag that happened to be an old towel, I dried off and dug the first-aid supplies out from under the sink. Given that the family had five kids, we had lots of patching material. I put antibiotic salve over everything that bled, and then bandaged myself up, using gauze for the bigger wounds.

I hadn't brought any clean clothes in with me. "Would someone go get my pajamas, please," I called. Mom shoved my pajamas through the crack. I pulled the bottoms on.

"Let me take a look at you before you finish getting dressed." I opened up the door, and she inspected me. "Pull up the legs." She shook her head. "I heard you beat the hell out of the boys who did this."

"Yes."

"Good. The little bastards deserved it. Your supper is staying warm in the oven." She took a look at the floor. "Damn it! Those were school clothes."

Dad was already at the table eating. I had a seat and Mom put a pork chop, scalloped potatoes, and stewed tomatoes in from of me. As I ate, I again told the story in full detail, leaving out only Ursus and the magic parts. Everyone was at the table listening. Dad told what he saw, and then Mary.

"What in hell do the cops think they're doing?" said Mom. "You were clearly defending yourself."

"They didn't believe my story."

"It sounds damn improbable, but if you say that's the way it happened, I believe you." Thank Bog, Mom believed me. She knew how much I hated lies. I had been that way as far back as I could remember. We had long ago reached the understanding that if she wanted me to keep up my practice of never lying to her, she had to respect my limits when I told her that I didn't want to talk about something. I got up and hugged her. She looked surprised, but pleased.

"Why didn't you tell me those boys were laying for you?"

"I didn't want you to tell me I couldn't go to Kirsten's anymore."

She shook her head. "I--" She interrupted herself and looked thoughtful. "I guess I might've done that. I worry a lot about you kids."

Talking about Kirsten reminded me. "I should give Kirsten a call. I'm sure her dad told her I was all right, but she probably would appreciate hearing it from me."

"Go ahead." That time she used her approving tone of voice rather than the uninterpretable tone that was her norm.

"Hello, Mr. Kennedy, this is Arthur Powyr. May I speak to Kirsten, please?"

"I'm afraid not, Arthur."

"Oh. I guess you've already told her that I'm OK. I just thought she might like to hear it from me."

"That's a kind thought. Arthur, you seem like a nice boy, but you've been in two fights over the last few days, and one of them was a bloody mess. I believe you're living a life that's too dangerous for my daughter's safety."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I am forbidding her to see you outside of school. In any case, she is very young to have a boyfriend."

"Oh."

"May I speak to one of your parent's please?"

"OK"

Mutely, I handed the phone to Mom. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to cry. I walked past the living room and into the hall.

OK, tears were running down my face. I wasn't going to sob. I wasn't going to sob. I wasn't going to sob.

I walked into the big bathroom and locked the door. My heart felt like someone had mashed it up like raw meatloaf and shoved it down into my guts.

I knelt in front of the toilet and began throwing up. Then I started to sob. Then I threw up again. In between heaves, I head Mary yell, "I sounds like he's throwing up."

I kept retching and sobbing until the point of dry heaves. When my body quit trying to puke and the tears dried up, I rinsed my face, washed out my mouth, and brushed my teeth. Ursus didn't try to think anything at me; I just felt his support. My other two consciousnesses felt like they were dying.

I opened the door and looked. No one was in the hall. I looked in my room. My brother's weren't there. I collapsed face down in my bed.

I few minutes later, I heard Mom say, "Dad went out and bought you some ginger ale." Mom was an avid believer in the stomach-settling powers of ginger ale. I sat up. She gave me a glass and then sat beside me.

I took a sip. She said, "It's too bad that you had to go through that so young." I didn't have anything to say. I felt totally wrung out. We sat together for a few minutes. She rubbed my back a little and said, "If you want to talk, I'm here."

I nodded, and she left. I drank my ginger ale. After a while, I crawled under the covers and slept.

I woke up about five in the morning. I put on a robe and slippers and headed downstairs. I quietly practiced guitar for a half-hour and then started in on my homework. I kept up the routine of spending ten or fifteen minutes of every hour on guitar, but by 8:30 I had everything done that I knew about except the damn term paper, which I couldn't work on because Mr. Dean had my note cards.

I went upstairs. "How are you feeling?" asked Mom. The other kids were watching cartoons in the family room. Dad, who had stayed home from work that Saturday, was watching with them. He liked some of the classics.

"Like someone yanked my heart out through my rectum."

"You have a way with words."

"I come by it naturally."

She made me some poached eggs on toast, another sovereign cure.

After I got dressed, she said, "Because of your heroic battle yesterday, we are sticking around in case the police or someone calls, instead of going shopping. I'd still like to have your Christmas letter, though." I got out a sheet of notebook paper:

Dear Father Christmas,

I have been a confused, surly, pugnacious, sarcastic, and rather obtuse boy this year. Everything considered, all I deserve is clothes. Bearing in mind both my recent growth rate and propensity toward fighting, I suppose that is just as well.

If you can see fit to give me some small thing extra, I would truly appreciate a spare set of guitar strings, and maybe thumb and finger picks.

Sincerely Yours,

Arthur Teagan Powyr

PS: Mary has been very good this year. Please make sure she receives something nice.

I stuck the letter with transparent tape on the designated part of the dining-area wall and headed back downstairs. I was about to pick up my guitar again when I heard, "You little shit, get over here."

I walked over to the bottom of the stairs. Mom was looking over the half-door at me. "What in hell kind of Christmas letter is this?"

I just shrugged at her.

"I know for a fact that never in your life have you given two shits about clothing. If I want you to look nice, I have to tell you what to put on."

I shrugged again. "I feel like eel gleet." Mom was the daughter of a fisherman, and as far as she was concerned, eel gleet was one of the worst things in the world. I wasn't entirely sure what it was, but I knew it was slimy.

My statement appeared to calm her down. "Oh. I'll leave this out. If you get feeling better, go ahead and add some things to the bottom."

"OK." I didn't think I was going to be feeling better any time soon.

Mike and Terry came over and were sent down. The evening before, they had come over for our after-supper guitar practice when the police were still questioning me. Mom had told them what she knew, and they had called later, when I was puking up my guts, to find out if I was all right. Mary had given them a fuller version. Of course, now they wanted to hear it all in my own words.

Conscious now of the value of getting a reputation, I told them in graphic detail. I knew they would spread the word.

"Man, you grabbed his nuts?" Mike asked.

"I was desperate."

"Wow, you beat the crap out of four guys," Terry said. "Are you sure you didn't use a bat?"

"I swear."

"That is so cool." They spent some time enthusiastically congratulating me. I had to show off my battle wounds.

"You know," I said, "the police might want to interview you guys to confirm that Carol and his buddies were chasing me the other day."

"We'll be glad to tell them what we saw," Mike said.

"It totally sucks that you can't leave your house," Terry said.

"I think I can go into the yard, too," I said.

"Maybe Kirsten can come visit you in your captivity," Mike said. "That would sure make the time pass quicker."

That hurt like a punch. "Her dad said she can't see me anymore."

"What? Why?"

"He said I get in too many fights."

"Shit. That sucks donkey dick." I now had to endure several minutes of commiseration.

They left after a while but came back in about fifteen minutes with their guitar and Danny, who didn't have babysitting duty on weekends. He had brought his harmonica. After he heard my retelling of the events of the day before, the four of us tried to make music for the next couple hours.

Danny played the melody. Mike, Terry, and I tried to accompany him. Both Danny and Ursus had suggestions about good chords for the harmony. The guitarists, unfortunately, couldn't keep up with the chord changes, but we eventually arrived at the trick of each guitarist playing alternate measures so that the one not playing had time to get his fingers set. The guy who didn't have a guitar during a particular song helped keep time by tapping billiard balls together.

Danny knew a large selection of folk songs, from Novi Orbis and from England, Scotland, and Ireland. All of my various family members came down to listen at one time or another as we went through them. Finally, those of us on guitar had our fingers hurting enough that we had to quit, even though said digits were rapidly toughening up.

My three friends wanted to get to work on Danny's pedal car. (Drawing up plans? We laugh.) I gave Danny money for bike paint. Dad said, once we were all upstairs, "You guys don't sound too shabby." I knew most of the credit belonged to Danny, but we clearly were making progress.

After they headed out, I observed that although I had a gaping hole in my chest, life was not without balm.

Chapter 15: Roll Out the Barrel

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 15

When I woke up Friday I no longer felt exhausted, but I did feel spacey, like reality had become somewhat less real. Ursus assured me that my stamina would grow with practice.

The weather wasn't exactly good, but it was good enough to ride our bikes. Before I left for school, Mom asked me, "When are you going to get the shit out of your drawers and write your letter to Father Christmas? Your brothers and sisters finished theirs a week ago." Writing letters indicating what we wanted for Christmas was a family tradition. This year, Mary had helped the two youngest.

"I'll write it tonight."

"Your father and I will be starting our shopping tomorrow. If you don't get it done, you'll be getting sheep shit and a shovel."

The big school event of the day was the collection of the note cards for our term papers. Other than that, it followed the lately established pattern. Al avoided me. Carol glared at me. Donbo kept to himself at post-lunch recess. And Kirsten didn't hide the fact that she liked me. The last item on the list counteracted the first two and made me feel warm inside.

During our end-of-school-day hug near the coat hooks, I got a kiss on my cheek, too. I had a happy thought. "Would you like to come over to my house after school?"

"I'd love to meet the rest of your family, but I have to ask my mom."

"We can tell Mary and Sean the plan. I'm sure they won't mind stopping by your house long enough for you to check."

The four of us headed to Kirsten's. On the way past Mom's van, I confirmed my assumption that having Kirsten over would be fine.

Kirsten went in her house for a few minutes. I noticed that she had changed and was now wearing jeans. She never wore them to school. I wondered how her butt looked in jeans, but her coat was too long to see. As Kirsten was getting her bike, Mrs. Kennedy stuck her head out the door. Mary and I waved. "Hi, Mrs. Kennedy."

She looked at Sean. "I don't believe we've met."

I motioned with my head, and we went into the garage. Kirsten said, "Mom, this is Sean MacDougle. He's a friend of Arthur's and is in our class at school. Sean, this is my mom."

"Hi."

"Pleased to meet you, Sean."

We were all getting back on our bicycles when Kirsten noticed that her friend Pam Derbyshire, who lived across the street a couple of doors down, was out. "Do you mind if I ask Pam to come along?"

"Not at all." I was being honest. I knew that with my friends and family, there was zero chance that Kirsten and I were going to get any privacy, nominal or otherwise, so the more the merrier.

When Pam got her bike, I noted that I was no longer the only one present with a short bicycle. Finally, we headed down Dale Lane, Kirsten's street. As we crossed Regard, the street Jewel Staid Elementary School was on, I thought I saw Carol Flagler and his buddy Pat heading perpendicularly toward us, but I didn't acknowledge them, and they said nothing. A few seconds after we crossed, I looked over my shoulder, but I didn't see them.

I don't like that, thought Ursus.

Neither do I, thought Arthur. They both live west of here.

They could just be visiting a friend, I thought. The other voices in my head agreed, but none of us felt confident.

As we approached Sean's place on Bradley near Topiary, I asked, "You coming over later?"

"It depends if my mom needs me for anything."

As we rode down Twine, I saw that Danny was out. "That's my friend Dan. We'd better stop and say hi." We turned into the drive. Danny had bicycle parts spread all over the garage floor. Jenny immediately headed for Mary.

"Dan, this is Kirsten Kennedy, and this is Pam Derbyshire. They're both in my class at school. This is my friend, Dan Lukowski. He goes to Lager Junior High."

"Hey." He looked at Kirsten. "So you're the fox that has my man Artie feelin' all squishy." Gee, Dan, thanks.

"I don't know about the fox part." Kirsten looked at me. "Do I make you feel squishy?"

"Something like that."

She took my hand and looked at Danny. "I guess so, then."

"Cool. Artie, do you still want me to build you a bike?"

"Yeah. I'm feeling the need for something taller."

"I'm trying to sort out my parts to see what I can use to build a pedal car, and I want to set aside the parts for your bike. You want something faster, too, right?"

"What, you starting a new project?"

"Yeah. If I make it right, a pedal car with two riders and a plastic covering to cut the wind ought to be able to go faster than a bike, and it would kick ass."

"Flipped out." The Arthur part of my brain thought it was a splendid idea.

"Anyway, let's pick out the parts for your bike. I have some almost new 26-inch wheels over there, and I can make you a ten-speed." So we spent a few minutes picking out bike parts.

"Pay for the paint, and I'll make it any color you want."

"Flat black. Do you need the money now? I'd have to go home to get it."

"Nah, tomorrow's good."

"I need to get going, Dan, or my mom's going to start to worry."

"See you later, then."

After we were moving, I said, "Sorry about the delay, but when Dan is in the throes of creativity, it's best not to derail him."

"I know the feeling," Kirsten said.

Mike and Terry were out, so we had to go through another round of introductions. Terry said, "Amazing! Artie in the company of three pretty girls."

Pam looked embarrassed. "I don't think I count," said Mary.

"Don't sell yourself short," said Mike.

"I just meant that I'm his sister. There's nothing amazing about him being seen with me."

"Oh, so you accept the pretty part. It sounds like you're getting a swollen head."

"And I see you agree with being amazed about the pretty girls, too" added Terry.

"I didn't mean anything like that!"

"Sure you didn't. We know that you secretly think that it's amazing that Arthur's in the company of non-relative females," said Mike.

"And we've also learned that you're getting conceited," said Terry.

"You two are awful. Horrible. Despicable."

I stepped in. "Yes they are, and you should know better than to mess with them when they're managing to work together." I said to the Prestors, "I'll see you guys later. You should go talk to Danny about his latest plan."

We put our bikes in the garage, and I brought Kirsten and Pam in to brave the clan. By the time we hit the kitchen, the mob had formed. "Pam, I don't think you've met my mother. Mom, this is Pam Derbyshire, she's in Mr. Dean's class, too." I then introduced the mob.

"Rich says you're Artie's girlfriend," said Susan.

"I don't know," replied Kirsten. "We've never really said."

I would have preferred better circumstances, but I didn't see a way to delay the issue gracefully. "Kirsten, do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"I guess I'm going to have to think about it." My face must have looked awful, because she immediately grabbed my hand and said, "I'm so sorry, Artie. Of course I do. Will you be my boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's official," said Mom. Mary actually bounced on her toes and let out a little squeal.

Susan looked at Pam. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Don't be so nosy," Mom said as she picked Susan up. "You're getting heavy."

"Before we do anything else," I said, "Kirsten has to see my bear." She smiled. So literally everyone headed into the bedroom I shared with my brothers. I shut the door so the poster-size pair picture was visible.

I thought it was a fine piece. Danny had sketched it out in pencils and then had gone over it in pastels. A rampant polar bear, seen from three-quarters, was standing atop a peninsula of ice. It looked as if he was snarling his defiance at something just beyond the edge of the picture. A couple of birds were in the sky and a seal's head could be seen sticking out of the water. "It's called Kayaker In Trouble."

The title earned a couple of chuckles. "That Danny guy we just met did this?" Kirsten asked.

"Yes, he drew it for me when I told him that "Arthur" meant bear."

"That was nice of him. He's good."

"Be careful of him, girls," Mom said. "Danny is a purveyor of bullshit and dangerous to know. The only reason I let my son near him is that Artie is cantankerous, stubborn, and thinks for himself. Someone more tractable could get into trouble."

Wow, that was almost a compliment, sort of. Did Mom actually trust me? Sounds like it, thought Ursus. We admired the picture for another minute. "We have a rec room downstairs," I said. "Do you want to see it?"

So everyone but Susan and Mom tromped downstairs, with Mary taking a detour to drop off her schoolwork in her bedroom. I put my pack full of homework on the old kitchen table. "Would you like to shoot some pool?"

Mike and Charlie declared that they were going to play, too. In the past, I might have argued with them, but Ursus's influence was continuing it's mellowing effect. We ended up playing eight ball with teams of Kirsten, Charlie, and I versus Pam, Mary, and Rich.

Kirsten broke and sank five balls before missing one. She was a better player than Mary, who was better than I. Charlie sank the eight in that game. Sean showed up about then, and I let him take my place on the team. I fetched my guitar from the non-office and ran through the nine chords I'd practiced so far and a couple of scales.

"You are making fast progress with that," said Kirsten. "I'm impressed."

"Thank you, I've been working on it steadily."

"Keep it up, and we'll be jamming in no time."

"I've started to teach Mike and Terry, the two smartasses you met next door, too."

"Isn't that the blind leading the blind?"

"Perhaps. Mostly, we're just working on open chords. Anyone can hear if a chord is sounding cleanly."

"I want to learn the piano," said Mary.

Wonder of wonders, Rich volunteered to sit out the next game. We played pool and BSed until Kirsten said, "The sun will be going down soon, and my mom doesn't want me out after dark."

"All right, I'll ride home with you," I said.

"I'll come, too," Mary said.

So the three girls and Sean and I headed out. As we passed Danny's house, I noticed the Prestor's bikes outside. It was then that I made my big mistake. I was wary already about Carol and his buddy hanging around outside their natural environs. I should have stopped and requested an escort from my friends, but I was lazy about it and, to be honest, a little afraid of losing face. Ursus didn't like it, but he let the younger part of me have its way.

Sean dropped out of formation at his house to shouted, "see yas," and the rest of us continued on to Pam's and Kirsten's without incident.

When we got to Kirsten's, she said, "Come here for a minute, Arthur."

I wheeled up on my bike.

"Get off your bike." Oh.

She gave me a hug and then stepped back a little with her face turned up.

Kiss her, Ursus said. She's inviting you to kiss her.

I suppose there are far more romantic settings for a first kiss than standing in a garage with one's sister in the driveway. On the other hand, we had declared each other girlfriend and boyfriend an hour or so ago. I was nervous, and it wasn't particularly impassioned. Still, when we gently brushed lips for a few seconds, my heart soared.

We stepped apart. Kirsten looked a bit flushed, and she was breathing hard. I suppose I was in the same state. She gave me a huge smile, said, "See you, Artie," and went inside.

I managed to get on my bike without hurting myself. If Mary said anything to me, I didn't hear it. We headed south on Dale toward home, riding beside each other.

I was jolted out of blissful reverie when we got close enough to the intersection with Normal road to see who were sitting on their bikes in the back corner of the high school yard. (The high school's grounds were huge, stretching a half-mile from Cord to Normal.)

"There he is!" Pat yelled. Carol Flagler and their other buddy looked up.

My second mistake was not doing any scenario planning. The Arthur portion of my brain couldn't have been expected to be familiar with the concept, but Ursus knew better. We really should have had some pre-made plans about what to do if it hit the fan at various places between Kirsten's house and mine. I desperately needed a plan. I didn't have time to figure out the optimal plan. I needed the right-now plan.

The first priority was making sure Mary didn't get hurt. There was no way we were going to get past Carol and his crew if we tried to make it to Bradley, so going left was out. Turning right was faster that turning around, so turn right. "Turn right, Mary."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it. Those guys want to kick my ass." We turned right. There was just a short stretch until the intersection of Normal and Cabin Drive. Cabin ran parallel to Dale. "Go up Cabin." We turned right again to head north on Cabin, increasing our speed all the while. I could hear Carol and his friends hollering as they chased us.

"Go as fast as you can," I shouted. "Head for Kirsten's house and get help." Cabin led to Regard, and we could take Regard back to Dale. I really, really didn't want to get Kirsten's parents involved, but Mary's safety was paramount, and I had no idea what Carol and his friends would do to her. If they were crazy enough to attack me when my sister was present, they might just go ahead and smack her around, too. How could I be sure they wouldn't?

I was in high gear and pedaling as hard as I could. Mary was just ahead of me. If she were going as fast as she could, she could easily outdistance me on her bigger bike, as I knew from our impromptu races. "Don't hold back. Go!" She still held back. "Go! Go! Go!" Finally, she went.

I had an excellent chance to make it. Mary and I were already moving, and Carol and his friends had to go from a standing start. They were farther behind me than the last time they tried to catch me.

Unfortunately, Cabin was Donbo's street. Doubly unfortunately, he happened to be in his driveway shooting baskets. Triply unfortunately, he did, indeed, want revenge. He made a perfect throw with the basketball.

He put it right under my rear wheel. The damn ball even managed to get partially by the whirling pedals before it was hit. The wheel went over the ball and into the air, and the bike jackknifed. I hit the pavement as the bike went spinning and tumbling. I came to a stop when I slid into the curb. Fortunately, I had managed to keep my head from striking anything.

Please, Mary, don't turn around. I shouted as loudly as I could as I took in the situation, "Keep going, Mary." My bike had spun into the other curb. Donbo was walking across the street toward me. I wasn't yet feeling any pain.

We have to get to our feet, thought Ursus, as he took over primary control. I rolled up to my feet--OK now I was starting to feel pain--just as Donbo closed. I could see Carol and his friends coming to fast stops behind him. Four against one were potentially fatal odds. I had no room for mercy. Even though they were just punk kids, I had no choice but to cut loose totally. I hoped to hell that the protection spell was working.

Donbo threw a right at my head. I ducked as I half-spun outside to his right. I feinted an eye poke with my two left middle fingers, and then side kicked his left knee with my right foot, passing it right behind his leading right leg. I shifted some weight behind the kick, and my feint had forced Donbo to put most of his weight onto his left leg. Knees don't bent sideways. Donbo shrieked and went down.

I used the impetus from the kick to speed my move toward the first of my pursuers. It was the guy whose name I didn't know. I didn't even consider running. My body simply wasn't built for speed, and they would catch me from behind like a pack of dogs.

Nameless threw a right at my ribs. I threw a straight right palm jab at his nose. My protection spell must have been working, because his punch missed my ribs and grazed across my back. My jab hit, but he manage to partially dodge it so that it struck on his forehead above his left eye. Palm strikes concentrate force to a smaller area than a fist. He went stumbling back.

At about that time, Carol threw himself on me in a high tackle. I was distracted by my brief battle with Nameless, so I didn't handle Carol's attack as well as I might have. "No chicken-shit faggot is ever going to disrespect me," he yelled as I again skidded across the pavement. My head struck the pavement this time, but it didn't hurt much. I also had a brief moment of enlightenment from Carol's words, but I was too busy to think about it.

My right arm was pinned between our bodies, but my left was free enough so that I could cup my hand and slam it against Carol's right ear. I noticed the blood running down my arm from the scrape in my palm. The angle wasn't quite right for his ear to receive full force, but that blow hurts--a lot--and can puncture an eardrum. He reflexively turned his head and drew up his shoulder to protect his injured ear.

That movement freed up my right arm slightly. I yanked his curly hair with my left hand and crushed his balls with my right. He screamed and did his best to roll to my left.

My position exposed part of my back and right side, and Pat kicked me in it. Without the spell, there would have been a good chance for his strike to be disabling. With the spell, it hurt, but I could continue fighting.

Pat was drawing back for another kick. As soon as Carol cleared my body, I rolled through Pat's supporting leg and forced him to stumble. I used my momentum to help get me back on my feet.

Nameless was back in action. I backpedaled to make sure I could keep my two effective opponents in view. Pat was just getting to his feet. Nameless was approaching cautiously. Donald was writhing and screaming. Carol was writhing and whimpering. My hands were scraped. Blood was running freely from the hole eroded through the right arm of my coat and shirt. The knee was torn out of my pants, and a bloodstain was spreading down the right leg. My right butt cheek felt like it was burning.

"Leave!" I shouted. They didn't leave, but they didn't charge. I had at least put fear into them. Pat assumed a classic boxer's stance. It looked like he knew what he was doing. Shit.

I moved laterally to get out of the street. If I could keep them intimidated long enough to get to a house, I'd either run inside or at least ring the doorbell.

Nameless must have guessed what I intended, because he moved to intercept me. He was a big guy, but he wasn't a good fighter, or at least the spell made him look bad. He threw a left cross at my chin and missed. I stepped toward him and countered with a right-hand palm strike right on the button. His chin was tucked in, so I couldn't put any upward lift to it, but it still was enough to put him down. I kicked him in the side for good measure just as Pat closed.

He landed a combination to my torso, a left hook to the side of my head, and dug his right fist into my ribs. I backpedaled and felt the wind from another left as it passed my face. I had little doubt that I would have been in bad trouble without the spell helping me. His near miss unbalanced him for a second, though, and I tried a low left kick to his lead leg. He dodged it and threw a straight right when he was little off balance.

That gave me the opportunity to circle inside to my right. He threw his left again, but I managed to deflect it by hitting the inside of his arm with a right sword hand. I followed up with a left palm strike to the bridge of his nose as he was throwing right cross at my head. I could feel his nose break. His punch landed with no force, and he staggered away holding his nose with both hands.

I surveyed the situation. Three of my opponents were down, and the other looked like he was out of action. I was somewhat battered, but all my body parts felt functional. My breathing was hard, and as the adrenaline surge started to wane, the pain began to wax.

Oh, fuck it all, thought Ursus.

We seem OK, thought Arthur.

We'll be physically OK, but my study of this society leads me to believe that the shit hammer has fallen and we are about to be splattered.

I took a look at Donbo's house. Should I go ring the doorbell, or should I just split?

The cleanup from this little disaster has just begun, thought Ursus. If we leave, it will look bad. Go get help.

I walked a bit slowly over to the door. Every time my knee rubbed against the material of my pants, it hurt. Damn it! I was still in my school clothes. I was about to ring the bell when a car stopped in the street, blocking it. Carol and Don were still in the road. Mr. Kennedy got out of the car. "Arthur, what is going on?"

"These guys attacked me."

"All four of them?"

"Yes."

"What did you use on them, a bat?"

"No, I was lucky not to be badly hurt. I was just about to fetch one of their mothers." I rang the bell. Don's mother came to the door. School rumor said that she was divorced. "Don is hurt," I said as I pointed in the right direction.

"Ohmygod!" She ran over to him. Mr. Kennedy was crouched down beside Carol. I stayed where I was and took a seat on the edge of the porch.

Say as little as possible, thought Ursus. There is no way the authorities are going to stay out of this mess.

About a minute later, Mrs. Beauchamp--or whatever her name was--came rushing toward me. I stood to get out of the way. "You little bastard!" She gave me a push as she hurried by to get into her house. I guessed she was calling an ambulance.

About another minute after that, my dad pulled up in his car as he came from the opposite direction as Mr. Kennedy. I went to meet him. After he got out, Mr. Kennedy approached him. "Mr. Kennedy, this is my father, Warren Powyr. Dad, this is Mr. Kennedy, Kirsten's father."

They shook hands. "Call me Fred," said Mr. Kennedy.

"Warren," said Dad.

Dad looked at me, "Your mother just received a telephone call from a frantic Mary. Are you hurt?"

"I have several scrapes, but nothing seems badly damaged."

"What in hell is going on here?"

Mr. Kennedy went back to comforting the fallen. I told Dad everything, starting with Carol's and my altercation at the lunch table, continuing through the first time he and his friends chased me, and ending with the fight. Of course, I left out Ursus and magic. As I was talking, Don's mother ran back out to her son.

"You took on four guys and won? Did you use a bat?"

"No, I didn't have a weapon."

He looked skeptical. I could see the pain in his eyes when he said, "Arthur, let me look at your coat." I handed it to him, and he went through all the pockets and then squeezed it all over. "Turn out your pants pockets." I did so. The only thing in them was the small pocketknife I had consecrated as my athame. I always carried it with me ever since. He put the knife in his own pocket and patted me down.

"I'm sorry I had to do that, but it's hard to believe that all by yourself you beat the living shit out of four guys in a fight. Did you have help? Did they leave?" He gave me back my coat. I noticed that Pat was now sitting on the lawn beside Nameless, who had regained consciousness and was holding his jaw.

"No, it was just me." Dad looked around the street and lawns. I was hurt that he didn't believe me, but I understood how unbelievable my story was. A car came up, and the driver blew the horn. Mr. Kennedy briefly spoke to him. The car turned around and left.

It was almost dark before the ambulance showed up. It had its lights on but not its siren. The medics checked on the four boys. A few minutes later, parents started showing up, then another ambulance, and finally a police car with two officers. The officer's started taking statements. The older one walked over to Dad and me.

"Are you his father?"

"Yes, officer."

He asked for ID. Dad gave him his driver's license. I didn't have any ID. My school didn't issue cards. After writing things down and asking a few question of my father, he said, "I need parental permission before I can question a juvenile your son's age. May I do so?"

"Go ahead." Ursus didn't think it was wise to talk to the police, but none of my consciousnesses knew the local rules. Ursus thought to us, you do the talking so we sound more like a normal eleven year old, but pay attention when I warn you. Stay calm, and stick just to the facts. Give no opinions.

The other parents had moved their cars. The officer said to Dad, "Is that your car?"

"Yes."

"Go clear the road please." The police officer guided me so that we were underneath a streetlight, but he didn't ask me any questions until Dad came back.

One of the medics came over and shined a light on me. "Are you badly hurt?"

"Just scrapes."

"May I check out your son?"

"Yes."

"I'm not that hurt," I said.

The medic ignored me and did a fast check, lingering a bit on the bloody spots. He addressed my father. "He seems OK, but I can call for another ambulance to be on the safe side."

"Dad, I'm just scraped up."

"No," said Dad. "That's all right." The other ambulance left. The parents with hurt kids had apparently cleared out with their children, but Mr. Kennedy was still talking to the younger officer.

The older one said, "Tell me what happened here, Art." Ursus kept me calm, and I told the officer all the facts but refrained from editorializing or name calling. He took notes. He then went through them and had me confirm everything he noted.

"Where did you put your weapon, son?"

"I had no weapon, officer."

"Do you expect me to believe that you severely beat four boys and didn't have a weapon?"

"I can't control what you believe, sir, but I had no weapon."

"Have you had any training in unarmed combat--karate, maybe?"

"No," said Dad. "He's never studied anything like that."

Mr. Kennedy got in his car and left. The two cops stepped away and conversed briefly. The younger one got a big flashlight out of the police car and began searching the ground.

The older one made me go through the story a third time in great detail. I told him exactly the same story. He addressed Dad, "May I search your son?"

"I already did that."

"I'd like to do it myself."

"All right."

He put me against the police car, just like on television, and searched me thoroughly. When he was finished, he asked Dad, "May I search your car, Mr. Powyr?" Dad told him to go ahead. He didn't find anything there, either.

The younger one came back and talked to the older one again. Finally, the older cop said to Dad, "I don't believe your son's story, and it will be compared to those of the other boys once they have received treatment. Given your son's age, though, we won't be taking him to juvenile hall for the night, and I'm releasing him to your custody. Until the prosecutor's office decides if he is to be charged, he is not to leave your premises, other than to attend school or to receive medical treatment. Do you understand?"

Shit, I was being grounded by the police. "Yeah, I understand." The officer gave Dad some documents to sign.

When we were free to go, Dad and I loaded my bike into the car trunk and went home. Shit hammer, indeed.

Chapter 14: Second Spell

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 14

"Oh ho, just under the wire," said Mom as I came in the back door. Dinner was being put on the table. I washed my hands and sat down in my usual place.

"How was your visit with your girlfriend?"

"You shouldn't call her that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Nothing is official yet."

"OK, how was your visit with Kirsten?"

"She was her usual charming self, although her and her mother did torment me a bit."

"How's this?" Mom had keen interest in tormenting me.

I encouraged the Ursus section of my brain to take over my tongue. He didn't go overboard and make me sound too much more sophisticated than my normal eleven-year-old self, but he shaded things to make it entertaining and not let on I had become as embarrassed as I had. There was no point in giving my family additional ammunition.

Mom had made meatloaf. She made great meatloaf, and whipped potatoes, and baby carrots in garlic butter, and rolls. I went to work on supper. I was still feeling rattled, but a belly full of good food did much to calm me down.

I didn't mention the Carol incident at all. I feared that Mom, especially, would count the number of enemies I had accumulated between our house and Kirsten's and refuse to let me go over there without an escort of tanks supported by air cover. I figured if she and Mrs. Kennedy kept talking to each other, Mom would eventually hear about the rumor, but she wouldn't hear about the pursuit.

I got right to work after supper. There were more things to do than time to do them. When Mike and Terry arrived for guitar, I pushed to get down to business, and then firmly quit after an hour. "I got to get back to work, guys. I spent all afternoon with Kirsten, and now I have a ton of things to finish."

Mike made a fake sob and said, "Now he's putting women before his friends."

"Do you blame me?"

"Hell no. If I had a chick as hot as her, I'd throw you to the wolves."

"I'd throw you and my brother to the wolves," said Terry. "Just to make sure me and her got away."

After the Prestors left, I did just enough homework to get by the next day, and then I started preparing for the spell. Ursus wanted to try out sigil magic on this node. If it worked as intended, it would encourage my subconscious to help carry out and maintain the spell. The idea was to create a symbol--a more concrete manifestation of the metaphor that controlled the spell--to go along with my inner visualization. Visualization primarily used imagined sights--hence the name--but it was best to involve all senses as much as possible.

First, I needed a symbol to represent myself. Ursus long ago had created his own identity sigil, and he sketched it out. Now, we had to make one for Arthur, and then we had to combine the two to create a sigil to represent the new self that was arising from the merger of Ursus and Arthur.

I sat on the couch with a notebook and a pencil to sketch out ideas. Arthur was the consciousness primarily in charge. A place to start was simplified drawings of things Arthur liked and that interested him. Artistic quality didn't matter for now. By the time I was done, every thing would be boiled down to an abstract representation in any case.

Arthur made a drawing of a shelf full of books, the outline of a guitar, a rocket, a calendar to represent the future, a brain, and stick figures to represent family and friends. He wanted to include something to represent Kirsten, but Ursus warned that the relationship was far too new for her to be a core feature of his identity.

How about girls in general?

Fine. Upon consideration the outline of the guitar could be slightly modified to represent both guitars and females.

Next he wrote out the letters of his full name, Arthur Teagan Powyr, all in capitals. Those along with the sketches of likes and interests would provide plenty to work with. After that, start combining the various symbols so that they shared as many lines as possible in common. Aesthetics counts!

"T," "P," and "R" can all be attractively combined one atop the other. Put in a backwards "E" so that it comes out the other side. Hmm, an "H" can be put atop the whole works. An "A" can be put right inside the "W," and the bottom points of the "W" can stand atop the arms of the "Y." Wow, that looks pleasantly tree like. Move the first clump of letters down so that the right leg of the "H" is on top of the trunk of the tree. Cool. Combining "U" with the "H" is a snap. A diagonal line forms the "N."

Now we have something to start with. The arms of the "E" could easily be bookshelves. Sketch in a few books. Let's drop some feminine curves down from the arms of the "W." Those represent both guitars and girls. Put an abstraction of a brain on the point of the "A," and drop vertical lines down from the legs of the "A" to make an outline of a rocket. Put in a few grid lines to represent the calendar.

OK, forget about the stick figures; there are too many lines in this thing already. It's damn ugly. Get rid of some lines. Simplify and abstract. Simplify and abstract. Mirror a few things for pleasing symmetry. Put it all in a big circle.

That looks pretty good, but something is missing. Arthur drew a few lines radiating from the circle, spines, he thought.

Now we have a sigil for Arthur and a sigil for Ursus. We have to unite the two. Remember, combine lines as much as possible, and simplify and abstract. I worked on the sigil until I had something acceptable. Ursus assured us that we could refine it over time, but for now we should keep moving forward.

OK, I have a sigil to represent myself--Ursus Arthur Teagan Enlil Powyr. We'll use that as the base figure for the sigil that represents the controlling metaphor of the spell. The plan is to draw my identity sigil and surround it by a wall to protect me. Then, for anything that gets through the wall, we want it slowed. Let's imagine a thick gel between the wall and me. We can represent the gel with these wavy lines. Finally, let's put a few curves around the wall to represent a "deflector shield" to possibly guide some stuff away from the wall altogether.

That was the basic concept. I went to the table and copied it using a ruler, protractor, and compass so that it was neat and attractive looking as possible. Beauty mattered when dealing with the subconscious. I was just finishing up when Dad yelled down the stairs, "Arthur, get your ass in bed." I looked at my watch, 10:10 pm. Oops.

I got my ass in bed. We hadn't done any genuine magic, but we at least finished some of the prep work.

It was cold and raining Thursday. Mom insisted that Mary and I ride in with her. She had me call Sean and tell him to wait at home for her to pick him up. The day was same old, same old. It was still raining at lunch, so the kids had to stay inside. At least the fight between Al and me was old news. I found myself actually looking forward to gym. Dancing still sucked, but Arthur was young and unjaded enough that just touching Kirsten was still a big thrill. I got a hug when we left school for the day, and I risked kissing her cheek. She smiled at me, so I guessed that was OK. Right about then, I realized that the lingering apprehension I had around her was gone.

When we got home, I asked Mom to take a message if anyone called, and I went straight to the basement. I didn't skip my after school guitar practice, but after I did fifteen minutes of that, I finished up all the homework I needed for Friday. I was strongly motivated to get back to work on my protection spell. It would be done in two steps. The first step was to charge the sigil.

I achieved a state of trance. Gathered manna. Cast and purified the circle. Improved the trance. Gathered more manna. And while constantly feeding it magical energy, traced over in my blood the pencil sigil I had drawn the night before. It wasn't that magic required blood, far from it. But Ursus was cut off from several centuries of acquired tools when he got blasted on his tower, and blood was the most metaphorically potent substance with which we had to work. The only other thing we had that approached it in effectiveness was semen, and I didn't feel like going there.

I broke the circle and thanked and dismissed the elemental powers. Ursus didn't yet know if the classical elements had any actual existence in this node, but they were still potent metaphors whether they had any "concrete" reality or not. It was close to suppertime by then, so I just practiced the guitar until the noises coming from the kitchen indicated the food was ready. I went up to help set the table.

Mike and Terry came over for an hour of guitar lessons and practice. We decided that we would add one open chord per day to their practice list until each of the basic fifteen was added. Of course, they also wanted to talk about the great standoff of the day before. The glory of it had grown overnight. Had that Carol dude hassled me at school? No, in fact, all he had done was glare, but I didn't think I had seen the end of the situation yet.

When they left, I finally got down to the final phase of the spell. Again: trance, circle, and purification. Then I reinforced the trance and gathered more magical energy. The rest was an exercise in visualization. Imagine someone throwing a right-hand punch at my head. Hear it whistle through the air. Imagine the punch being deflected away from me. Feel the breeze of the near miss. Now imagine a left-hand punch. Keep gathering manna and feeding the spell. Imagine punches to my midsection, my throat, my crotch, the back of my head, my neck, my kidneys. See them turned aside. Now imagine kicks to all those places. Rocks, bullets, baseball bats, baseballs, sticks, hammers, chains, knives, swords, arrows, axes--a whole vast list of example items.

Now, what happens if they get through my deflector shield? They are going to hit the wall and bounce off. Imagine my whole example list bouncing off the wall. What do they sound like? And if they get through the wall, they are going to be slowed by my protective gel. Visualize it all again.

When the visualization was complete, I stared at the sigil that was the condensed representation of all that I had visualized. Slowly the sigil filled my entire awareness until it was all that was in my awareness. An indeterminate amount of time passed, and then suddenly I had a feeling of completion. The spell was finished. I simply knew it.

When I finally broke the circle, I was feeling the buzz of manna, but I also was wearier than I'd ever been before. It was almost bedtime. I had to force myself to finish my final tasks. I got an old pot from the storage room. It was one of those things that are too good to throw away but still something that no one ever uses. I dragged a chair beneath a basement window and moved the clear plastic ceiling panel out of the way so I could stand on the chair and open the window.

Fetching the sigil, pot, and still burning candle, I stood beneath the window, lit the sigil, and dropped it burning into the pot. I blew out the candle. Once the sigil had burned. I closed the window and replaced the panel and the chair.

Just one last task to perform: I staggered over to the bar sink, washed out the pot, and took a long drink. I put the pot away and almost crawled up the stairs.

I didn't bother to put my pajamas on. I just shed most of my clothes and crawled into bed. I passed out immediately.

Chapter 13: Turn in the Barrel

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Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 13

I was feeling somewhat better by Tuesday evening. When Mike and Terry showed up with their guitar and amp, whoever answered the door just sent them to the basement without shouting for me to come get them. Mike took one look at my face and said, "What does the other guy look like?"

"The same as always, although he might have a stiff neck."

"What happened?"

"Al decided that I needed some color added to my face."

"And why would he do that?"

"I'm guessing he was jealous."

"About?"

"Kirsten Kennedy."

I could see the gears turning in Mike's head. Terry asked, "Isn't she the girl that Al is always going on about?"

"Yeah," replied Mike. "She's that stone fox who lives over by Jewel Staid Elementary." Mike seemingly knew the approximate location of residence of most of the attractive girls in grades six through nine within a four-square-mile area. "Arthur, are you getting it on with Kirsten Kennedy?"

"What? No! We're just holding hands and stuff."

They both had huge grins now. "Way to go!" Mike shook my hand and Terry gave me a couple of thumps on the back. "We all figured you would be the last of the bunch to get a girlfriend."

I couldn't help smiling along with them, but then I sobered. "It cost me Al's friendship."

"It sucks, but he wasn't doing anything about her."

After a few more words of wonder and congratulations, they set up the guitar, and we practiced for more than an hour with them passing the guitar back and forth as their fingers got sore. I taught them C major and A major, which I had started that morning. By the time we were finished, my own fingers were throbbing.

"When do you think we'll be able to play a song?" asked Terry.

"We should be able to start doing backing harmony for simple songs when we can smoothly change between three chords, so keep practicing several times per day."

Terry looked puzzled. "Any three chords?"

"No, they have to be the chords in the song. Lots of songs just use three chords, though," I replied.

"Dolt," said Mike. He was a connoisseur of insulting epithets.

"C'mon Mike," I said. "This is new stuff. Anyway, one of those books said that there are fifteen basic open chords that tons of popular songs use. I figured those are what we'd concentrate on for now."

"What's the difference between an open chord and a, what, closed chord?"

"They're called 'barre chords.' You have to lay your index finger across the strings to play them, and they are harder to do. I'm saving them for later."

Mike and Terry left. I was happy to see that they were maintaining their enthusiasm. Because I was ahead of schedule on my homework, I spent the rest of the evening reading while still practicing the guitar a few minutes every hour.

At the end of one of the practice pauses, Ursus thought, you read so much that you should enter the book report contest.

Why?

To impress Mrs. Kennedy, of course. Kirsten doesn't seem to be the kind of girl who automatically dislikes everything her parents like, so having her mother on your side is all to your benefit.

I'll think about it.

Another thing: we should create a protection spell for our body.

What?

I used to be surrounded by layers of them. In fact, they're probably what saved my life. We're nowhere near ready to do anything as complicated as those, but we might be able to come up with something that turns grazing hits into misses and lessens the impact of hits, now that you're going around getting into fights.

I didn't start either of those.

No, you didn't, but you still seem to be collecting enemies. Let's get ready for bed, and I'll explain what we need to do.

Al had a group of admirer's around him Wednesday morning. Kirsten gave me a hug and said quietly, "Please don't get mad, but he's been bragging about how he kicked your ass. But I know what really happened: You chose to turn away rather than beat the crap out of him when you had him hurt." "Ass" and "crap" were the two harshest things I'd ever heard Kirsten say.

I knew my response was partially informed by my continuing merger with Ursus: "It's OK; his pride was badly injured when you turned him down. More, he was a friend for several years, and if thinking he defeated me helps him feel better, it's OK." Kirsten gave my hand a squeeze.

Another thought came to me. "Let me know if he starts bugging you."

"Why would he do that?"

"If he thinks he kicked my ass, he might also think that he's vanquished a rival for your affection."

Kirsten frowned. "If he thinks he can win me by beating on you, I'll kick his ass myself. I am not that kind of girl."

I looked at her.

"I take jujutsu lessons every Saturday morning, and I have been since I was eight," she said in answer to my unspoken question.

I didn't get called to the principal's office that morning, either, so it looked reasonably certain that there would be no ramifications from the school over the fight. Lunch was a drag, though. Al sat at the end of the table farthest away from me, and he was still bragging.

Carl Flagler was sitting about halfway between Al's location and Sean's and mine. He leaned toward me and said, fairly loudly, "I heard Al Gallo kicked your ass. Man, I wish I hadn't missed that fight." Flagler didn't like me much. The feeling was mutual. His real first name was "Carol," but the kids had made fun of his seemingly feminine name.

"No, no," I said. "He didn't kick my ass. He punched my head several times."

"You're a fucking faggot; you know that?"

"I'm sure that would come as a surprise to Kirsten Kennedy, Carol."

"Are you saying that you're fucking her?"

"What? No! Nothing like that." It had honestly never occurred to me that someone might try to spin my statement that way. I was just thinking about the now-common knowledge that Kirsten and I were a budding item.

"Then shut your asshole, faggot." I decided to shut up; we were attracting attention.

The afternoon passed without incident until Kirsten pulled me aside on our way out of class. "Are you telling people that we've been having sex?"

I was surprised for a second, but then I remembered lunch. "No. No way." I then explained my altercation with Carol in full detail.

Kirsten looked relieved, and then she said something under her breath. I wasn't sure, but I thought it was, "That asshole." She spoke louder: "Would you like to come over to my house?"

"Right now?"

"Yes, if that's OK."

"I'd have to ask my mother."

"You can use our phone."

"Actually, Mom drives my two younger brother's back and forth. She parks her van on the way to your house. We can just go ask her." So we went over to the bike rack to get my bike and tell Sean and Mary the plan.

Well, thought Ursus, I guess the protection spell can wait until tomorrow. After all, this is Kirsten. I walked my bike, and we got to the van before it left.

"Mom, this is Kirsten Kennedy."

"Nice to finally meet you Kirsten. I've been hearing a lot about you lately."

Not from me, I thought. "Kirsten invited me over to her house. Can I go?"

Mom looked me up and down. Please, please, I thought, don't say anything about needing to change into my play clothes. "It's all right with me. Are you sure it's all right with your mother, Kirsten?"

"It's fine. I already checked."

"Are you positive you really want this big oaf around? He has a tendency to get in the way and jam things up."

Kirsten smiled. "He's been tolerable so far."

"All right then. Arthur, be good." I cringed internally when she said that. Then she noticed my schoolwork. "Would you like me to take your books home with me?"

I handed her the sack. "Thank you." After we started walking away, I said to Kirsten, "You can put your books on top of my bike seat."

"No, thank you, it's not that far. Your mother seems to have a sense of humor."

"She does. It tends to be rough, but it's certainly present."

"My mom mentioned that she seemed 'spirited' when they talked on the phone."

"I suppose that's accurate, too."

Mrs. Kennedy, of course, needed to make her own inspection of my face. "What are we going to do with you, Arthur?"

"Maybe a helmet," I said, "one with a faceguard."

"I don't think I'd like that," said Kirsten. "I wouldn't be able to see your face."

"Perhaps transparent plastic," said her mother.

"We'd have to make sure it isn't brittle," said Kirsten. "I'd hate to have it break and put out an eye, or scar his face."

"Oh, no, that would be tragic."

"Even a transparent faceguard, though, would prevent me from kissing him." I felt my face heating.

"Darling daughter, are you already thinking so far ahead?"

"Are you sure that 'ahead' is the right word to use?"

Mrs. Kennedy put her hands on her hips. "Well! Have you been kissing him?"

"No, I haven't, but sometimes it's so tempting. Like right now, for instance."

"Indeed. You weren't exaggerating when you told me how cute he is when he blushes."

They both totally lost it then. I felt horribly embarrassed, but a small part of my brain noted the fact that Mrs. Kennedy hadn't thrown me out of the house when her daughter talked about kissing me. Perhaps she deemed me within hailing distance of being worthy of her daughter.

After a minute, they took mercy on me. Kirsten gave me a half hug and then guided me toward the family room. As we passed through the kitchen, she put her books on the counter. She then steered me to the couch, sat beside me, and immediately sought out my hand. She held feet, too. My mood started to improve immediately. "I'm sorry," she said. She still had a big smile on her face, but if I wasn't mistaken, it was an affectionate smile.

You're not wrong, commented Ursus.

Mrs. Kennedy arrived with glasses of milk and cut up apples. Kirsten then told her a sanitized version of my lunchtime exchange with Carol and the resulting nasty rumor.

"This Carl sounds like an unpleasant person."

"We've never really got along," I said.

"Why did he see the need to drag my daughter through the mud?"

"I can't answer that."

"Perhaps I should talk to the principal about him."

"No, Mom, don't do that. The other kids take it badly when parents get involved."

"I don't want to see you hurt."

"I won't be. Arthur never said any such thing about me. I'll tell the girls who mention it to me, and I'm sure Art will tell the boys."

"I immediately corrected him at the lunch table," I said.

We talked about the social deficiencies of boys near puberty for a little while, and then Mrs. Kennedy retreated to the kitchen to give Kirsten and me a little nominal privacy. It wasn't actual privacy, because it was easy for her to look over at us, but at least she couldn't hear every word we said.

We talked about this and that--our favorite books, what kind of music we liked. When the topic turned to music, I convinced Kirsten to play a song on the piano in the living room. The time passed quickly, and when her father came home, I noticed that it was turning dusky outside. "I need to get going. I'm not supposed to ride my bike in the dark, and you folks will be eating supper soon."

I stood up. "Thank you for having me in, Mrs. Kennedy. Thank you for inviting me, Kirsten."

"It was nice having you," said Mrs. Kennedy

"It was nice to see you again, Mr. Kennedy."

"Likewise, Arthur."

Kirsten led me to the door and gave me a medium-long hug. Bog, did she ever feel good.

I set out. Kirsten's street didn't lead directly into the street I required to get home, Bradley Drive. I needed to take a short ride down a perpendicular street, Normal Road. As I was headed down Normal, I saw three kids coming toward me. One of them yelled out, "Faggot!" It was Carol's voice, so like the upstanding citizen I was, I gave them a good look at my middle finger before I turned down Bradley.

I had really thought that was the end of it, an unfriendly exchange of insults, but nothing serious. Not even Ursus's survival instincts flared up. I continued down Bradley at my normal pace for perhaps thirty seconds, when I heard someone yell behind me, "There he is!" I looked over my shoulder to see the three boys, and they were already moving at high speed.

Oh shit! I shifted into high gear and stood on the pedals as I pumped. Raw fear made me accelerate as fast as I ever had, but I could still hear their voices coming closer as they shouted encouragement to each other and mockery at me. I was starting to get a stitch in my side.

I went up on the sidewalk to cut off the jog in the road where Topiary met Bradley, and then made the turn onto Twine at a definitely unsafe speed. I almost wiped out.

They were right behind me. Please be out Danny! Please be out! I forced myself to push a little harder, and I decided I was going to look for help at Danny's house no matter what. I'd run inside without knocking if I had to. My pursuers would catch me if I tried to make it all the way home.

The slow curve in the road finally revealed Danny's house. His mother's station wagon was there. Danny, Mike and Terry were talking in the driveway. The Prestors were probably getting ready to head home. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I didn't try to yell for help; I didn't have the breath.

Making the sharp turn into the drive was out of the question. Instead, I made a shallow turn across the bottom of the drive, and headed into Danny's next-door neighbor's front lawn to help kill my speed as I braked. Nevertheless, my sudden arrival made my three friends look up. They quickly took in what was happening and moved to get between my pursuers and me.

Because of my sudden stop, Carol and his buddies actually overshot Danny's drive and continued down the street before turning around and heading back. Carol had made an impressive sweeping donut when he turned. They were all breathing hard, but not as hard as I was. "Chicken-shit faggot!"

I didn't try to answer but concentrated on regaining some wind. I still might need it in a couple of seconds. Danny made a big show of counting, pointing a finger at Carol and his buddies in turn. "One, two, three." He looked at me. "One. It looks to me like three against one. Tell me again who the chicken-shit faggots are."

"He flipped us off." I recognized one of Carol's friends, Pat somethingorother from Miss Gorse's class. I couldn't place the third.

"You seem to be the kind of asshole who should get flipped off regularly, but Art isn't the kind of guy who gives people the finger for no reason, so tell us what you did to deserve it."

No one replied.

"What's wrong? You have your tongues up your fuck-boys' asses?"

"Fuck you," said Flagler.

Danny's voice turned colder. "Get the fuck out of here, or you'll be digging your teeth out of your asshole." I knew he wasn't bluffing. Danny would run if he thought that was the best course, or compromise, but once he decided to take a stand, he wouldn't back down, and he had the same philosophy of fighting as Ursus: dirty as possible. Carol and his buddies either left now, or it was going to get bloody. I saw Mike's hand go into his coat pocket, the one where he kept the brass knuckles Danny had made for him. Apparently, Mike had concluded the same thing I had.

Ursus was sending me simple messages: steady, stay alert. I got ready for action. Did I feel shame at fighting four against three? Hell no. Not only was I receiving Ursus's influence, I'd always had a ruthless streak when it came to people who wanted to hurt me. Perhaps it was genetic. Nevertheless, I'd prefer it not come to that.

Carol looked at me. "Another time, fuckwad." He motioned to his friends with his head. "Let's go." They rode off.

I was still breathing hard. "Thanks guys. Danny, do you think we can do something about getting me a faster bike?" Danny was constantly scavenging parts and buying, rehabilitating, selling, and trading bicycles.

"No problem."

"All right," said Mike. "Tell us what the hell is going on."

So I had to tell the story, starting at lunch. Danny also wanted to hear about Kirsten, but I had to beg off. "Can't say anything now, I'm going to be late if I don't get going." Mike and Terry rode with me as they excitedly talked about the standoff.

As I put my bike away, I said to Ursus, what is going on? Why is everyone wanting to hurt me all of a sudden?

This is going to have to take some thought. You don't seem to be looking for trouble or doing that much wrong, but I've perhaps forgotten what it's like to be a kid. Or maybe it's just your turn in the barrel.

The visual image that accompanied that last expression embarrassed me. Ursus continued: nevertheless, you seem to have acquired at least three, and perhaps five, enemies in eight days. We're going to have to start work on the protection spell tonight.

Yes, sir. And I wasn't being sarcastic.

Chapter 12: Friends and Their Loss

Previous
Magician's Merger

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 12

After supper, I was downstairs working on homework when Mary yelled down, "Mike and Terry are here." I went up to collect them and led them to the basement. Mike was carrying a guitar case, and Terry had an amplifier that looked to be about knee high. Mary came with us. Puff, who seemed to like Mike a lot, followed him downstairs and proceeded to rub against his legs.

We pulled chairs over to the chord organ. Mike handed me "his" guitar, and Ursus began tuning it unplugged while Mike and Terry fussed with the amplifier. "Don't turn it up very loud," I said. "We don't want my parents to ban us immediately."

Once he was finished, Ursus turned the volume control all the way down on the guitar and said, "Let's hear how it sounds plugged in." Mike gave Ursus the cord. After it was connected, he turned the guitar up to a respectable, but not obnoxious, volume and checked the tuning. He made a couple of fine adjustments, and I played the three chords I had started with on Saturday and then the C major chord that I had added to my repertoire that morning. I gave the guitar back to Mike.

Ursus picked up mine and fine-tuned it, but then he purposefully put the high e string out of tune slightly. He plucked both the low E and the high e so that they sounded together. "Do you hear how lousy they sound, that beating noise?" Ursus brought the high e back into tune and sounded both strings again. "Those notes are both Es, but two octaves apart."

Mike tried it on his guitar. "How do you know this stuff?" he asked.

"I've been reading these books," I replied while pointing at them. "Plus, you know, there's this voice in my head."

What! What are you doing?

It's all right. They're used to me saying weird things.

Terry picked the books up and began leafing through them. "You mean like a conscience?"

"Yeah, sorta."

"I bribe mine to shut up," said Mike.

Ah, hiding things in plain sight. Good work.

Ursus fretted the low E on the fifth fret and then plucked the string beside it. "These are both As." He continued his tuning lesson for a time. Mike was starting to look a bit frustrated, so I said, "Let's try a few chords." I demonstrated the open E, Em, and Am.

Mike began working on them. "Your fingers have to come down straighter," I said. "You only want to touch the strings you are fretting."

We worked on the chords until Mike was able to get them to sound cleanly. "Yeah, now you're getting it. The idea is to practice them until you can fret them without having to position each finger separately. I've been advised, though, not to practice too much all at once for the first week or so, or you're liable to hurt your fingers bad enough that you can't practice at all the next day."

"You seem to have picked up a lot really quickly. How much have you been practicing?"

"Five to fifteen minutes at a time, several times per day. That's better than one long session, especially at first."

We did chords some more until I saw Mike wince. "Fingers getting sore?"

"Yeah."

"They toughen up fast. Why don't you let Terry have a shot?"

"He might contaminate it," Mike said, but he handed the electric guitar to Terry, and we went over the three chords until he was able to sound them cleanly, too.

"If you guys practice them a few minutes before going to bed, and then a few minutes in the morning, and then a few minutes after you get home from school, that would be great."

"Maybe Mom and Dad will get us lessons," said Terry to Mike.

"I don't know; Mom was really pissed off when we dumped the clarinet and cornet last year."

"Guitars are cooler."

"No doubt."

"I want to play the piano," said Mary.

Mike counted on his fingers and said, "Piano is fourth coolest."

We talked about guitars and music for a while. I eventually said, "I need to finish up my homework, guys."

They took the hint, and I showed them out. On his way through the door, Mike said, "Thanks for all the help, Artie. I always knew you were smart."

On my way back downstairs I thought, thanks Ursus.

You're welcome. I agree with you about keeping friends, and I don't want to mess up your life. I just wanted to survive.

All things considered, I replied, I like having you in my head just fine. I'm already a better person because you're around.

We worked on homework until bedtime as we tried to make a major dent in my vocabulary words, but we made sure we took a break and practiced the guitar ten or fifteen minutes out of every hour, though.

That night as I lay in bed, just before we began our relaxation ritual, I thought, Ursus, do you miss your friends?

Yes. I suppose my best friend was my familiar spirit, and I miss her a lot. I hope she wasn't hurt when my body was killed.

What's a familiar spirit?

A magician's familiar is an incorporeal spirit that assists him and generally watches his back. Traditionally, they possess the body of an animal. Mine inhabited a large dog. Ursus was showing me relevant memories as he "spoke."

"What was her name?"

It sounded very close to "Emily" in English. You weren't married or anything?

Not at the time.

Tuesday started normally enough. I found several of my vocabulary words as I read the newspaper. My bike tires were still good in the morning, so I decided to ride in.

"Are you sure about that?" asked Mom. "Those bikes apparently don't get watched."

"It's been getting me some needed exercise, it makes me more alert when class starts, it's not exactly a new bike, and Mary's is even older."

"Fine."

The school day started by following its new pattern. Kirsten greeted me warmly. Al avoided me. The event of the morning was Mr. Dean announcing that for science we had finished the unit on plants--exam tomorrow--and would be starting a unit on animals, the grand finale of which would be the dissection of a frog.

Well, that just thrills me all to shit, I thought.

What?

I don't have anything against frogs.

It's for educational purposes.

You've been hanging around with sixth-graders for a few days. How many of them do you think will learn anything from a frog's innards?

You never know. Some people learn best from hands-on experience.

Plus, it's gross.

I can't argue with that.

Kirsten and I walked hand-in-hand over to her house for lunch. I was nervous, but not horribly so. Her mother seemed nice enough. My big fear was that she would decide that she needed to keep Kirsten away from me.

"Do you know why my mom invited you for lunch?"

"I assume because she wants to grill me."

Kirsten smiled, and my heart sped up even more. "Yep, that's pretty much right. I'm an only child, and my parents are protective. Don't worry, though. If she grills you, she still won't eat you."

I made sure I held the door for Kirsten when we went in. Mrs. Kennedy said, "Hello, Arthur, you can hang your coat on the rack and have a seat at the counter."

Kirsten and I climbed up on stools at the bar section of the counter. Mrs. Kennedy put a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup in front of us. "Would you like a glass of milk, Arthur?"

"Yes, please."

Ursus told me to wait before eating, in case the Kennedy's did a religious ritual over their food, but Kirsten took a bite of her sandwich, so I did, too. Kirsten hooked her left ankle around my right. What would one call that? Holding feet?

"How's the guitar coming?" Mrs. Kennedy asked me.

"It seems to be going well. I've been working on four chords, so far, plus a little picking."

"Are you taking lessons?"

"Not yet. For now, I'm seeing what I can do on my own, and I have a couple of books from the library."

"Learning a musical instrument from books is the hard way to go, but Kirsten tells me you like to read."

"Yes, I read all the time."

"Are you taking part in the book report contest? Kirsten was tied for second place in the first quarter's."

Ah, the book report contest. We were required to write a two-page book report each quarter, but interested students could write additional, shorter, reports and post them along a wall in the classroom, one row per student. First prize was lunch with Mr. Dean at his favorite hamburger place. Debbie Taylor had won the first one.

"I'm pretty sure I read more than Debbie, but I didn't write any reports. The prize was lunch with Mr. Dean."

"Surely he's not that bad."

"I've been slowly changing my opinion about him, but during the first part of the year, I could barely stand him."

"All the homework?"

"That, yes, a bit, but outlining the social studies book and copying definitions was so boring I could hardly take it. I'm becoming more resigned to it, lately."

And so it went. Mrs. Kennedy was nice about it and listened politely to my answers, but she asked a lot of questions. Ursus clued me in. Her physically maturing, beautiful young daughter--the light of her and her husband's lives--is suddenly showing intense interest in a boy from school and is not making any attempt to hide the fact. Of course she is worried and wants to know what kind of person I am. I didn't take offense. At least she was talking to me directly.

As we walked back to school, Kirsten said, "I'm sorry about that. Mom usually doesn't come on so strong."

"It's all right. She's trying to protect you, and I don't blame her a bit." That earned me another smile and a hand squeeze.

We were holding hands and chatting by a wall while we waited for the door to be unlocked. I heard a person shout, "I can't take it anymore."

Someone slammed into me and shoved me against the wall hard enough to smack my head. It was Al. He had his head down in my chest like a bull while he swung his fists blindly. Able to see or not, he landed four blows on my head before I reacted. A couple of people started screaming, "Fight! Fight!"

I was an introvert. So was Ursus. We focused more of our attention internally rather than externally, and the entirety of my external focus had been directed on Kirsten. In other words, Al had taken me completely by surprise, and I was going to get severely pummeled if I didn't do something quickly.

Ursus assumed body control. My position left me poor leverage and little room to accelerate a strike, but Al's position left the back of his neck vulnerable. Ursus formed "sword hand" with our left--palm and fingers rigid, thumb strait up--and struck the back of Al's neck with the side of my hand between the wrist and the base knuckle of my little finger, thus concentrating the force into a much smaller attack area than a fist.

It was enough to stun Al and cause him to reel to his right, a movement I aided with a shove. I noticed that it looked like Kirsten had been in the process of grabbing onto Al, but she had let him go when I pushed.

Ursus was setting up to launch a series of follow up blows when I seized control back from him. (I had no idea how our body or brain decided which consciousness was in charge at any given time.) Arthur was frantically shouting internally: No! No! No! Don't hurt Al!

Instead of moving in on Al, I grabbed Kirsten's hand and pushed through the crowd toward the door. As luck would have it, Miss Gorse unlocked the door at about the same time as we arrived in front of it. When she pushed the door open, she took a look at my face and asked, "Have you been fighting?"

I hated telling lies, seriously hated it. Sometimes, though, significantly greater evil is caused by the truth than would be caused by a lie. If I got suspended because Al attacked me, it would be a huge injustice, and I didn't care what the school's guidelines for standard operating procedure said. "No. I tripped and stumbled into the corner of the building."

"Your lip is bleeding."

"I'll take care of him," said Kirsten, and she pulled me into Mr. Dean's classroom. Miss Gorse followed us in, and Mr. Dean got up from behind his desk to see what was going on. Of course, the students were still excitedly talking about the fight, and the teachers weren't deaf. Kirsten dragged me over to the classroom sink. She looked upset, but she didn't hesitate. She got some paper towel from the dispenser, wet half of it and washed off the blood. Then she handed me the dry bunch and told me to hold it against my lip.

"Is there something you should tell me, Mr. Powyr?"

"I was just being my normal klutzy self, Mr. Dean."

"I see." It was starting to dawn on the rest of the kids in the class that they should shut up. "If you change your mind, come see me." Miss Gorse didn't look like she approved of the way Mr. Dean was handling the situation, but she gave her head a small shake and left. Mr. Dean said, "Art, Kirsten, you better hang up your coats. Class is about to start."

The rest of the school day was anticlimactic after the post-lunch disaster. At the end of the day, Mr. Dean said, "Mr. Powyr, please see me after class for a minute. The rest of you are dismissed." I walked up to his desk and waited for him to speak.

"Just between the two of us, Arthur, will you tell me what really happened this afternoon?"

"Between the two of us, Mr. Dean, I really have no comment. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry that you don't trust me."

"If you ask me sometime not during school hours and off school grounds, and it's just you and me rather than teacher and student, I'll tell you everything you want to know." I realized the old Arthur would never have uttered that sentence; he would have just mumbled something.

Mr. Dean looked at me. "I guess that's fair enough."

Mary and Sean were waiting for me at the bike rack. Sean was excitedly explaining the fight. At least my bike hadn't been tampered with. Mary examined my face for a minute. "Do you think we should go over to the van and show Mom?"

"I'd rather just wait until we get home." Once home, I managed to slip into the bathroom before Mom saw me. I looked at my face. I had a fat lip and a partial black eye. Time to face the music.

As soon as I walked into the kitchen, Mom asked, "What happened to you?"

"Al attacked me after lunch. I think he was in a jealous fit over Kirsten."

Mom guided me to the window and looked me over. "I guess you'll live. Should I be expecting a call from the school? Are you going to get suspended?"

"So far, no one has said anything about suspension, and I've been refusing to talk about it. I don't think Al has said anything, either, or I would've been called to the principal's office before the day was over."

"Thank God for small favors. What does Al look like?"

"He looks unmarked."

I was heading for the basement stairs with my books when Mom said, "Wait a minute. You took down that huge Beauchamp kid, but Al gives you a beating?"

"He took me by surprise."

On my way down, I heard Mary say, "What about Beauchamp?" Oops.

I put down my books and practiced guitar for fifteen minutes before I went back up to change my clothes. Mom was talking on the phone with someone. "Yes, he's fine, just some surface wounds. I'll tell him you were concerned about him."

I headed for my room. Rich and Charlie were there with questions of their own. I was getting tired of this. A person who used to be my friend had attacked me, and I felt shitty about it. Losing the friend felt far worse than a couple of punches to the head. "Al hit me a few times, guys, end of story."

Rich started to say, "But--"

"I'm not going to talk about it."

As I passed back through the kitchen, Mom said, "That was Mrs. Kennedy. Kirsten told her about your fight, and that Al started it. She wanted to make sure you were OK."

"That was nice of her. I'll be doing my homework." I had originally intended to go to Danny's, but now I just wanted to be alone, the voices in my head an unavoidable exception.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 36: Cold Blooded

Chapter 35: Boxing Day

Chapter 34: More Christmas

Chapter 33: Christmas

Chapter 32: Defending Against Demons

Chapter 31: Oops

Chapter 30: Perilous Events

Chapter 29: Scrying, Making, Cooking, Playing, Spying

Chapter 28: Searching and Finding

Chapter 27: Exchanges and Gains

Chapter 26: Loathing and Trembling

Chapter 25: Insufficiently Obsequious

Chapter 24: Sights and Sounds

Chapter 23: Questions and Questing

Chapter 22: Snow Follies

Chapter 21: The Agony and the Amulet

Chapter 20: Music and Money

Chapter 19: Winning and Spinning

Chapter 18: Metaphor, Music, and Manna

Chapter 17: Confinement Summary

Chapter 16: Balm

Chapter 15: Roll Out the Barrel

Chapter 14: Second Spell

Chapter 13: Turn in the Barrel

Chapter 12: Friends and Their Loss