Fairy Metal Thunder (Songs of Magic, #1) (2 page)

“You can’t go now,” Dred said. “We have the
audition next week.”

“Erin! Yo! Orphans! Stuffed animals!” Zach
shouted.

“I’m coming!” Erin grabbed her backpack.

“You guys want us to play at the benefit?”
Mitch shouted to Zach. “Cause we could do that. We can just pack it
up into Dred’s van and follow you to the Cities.”

“Um…thanks anyway, Mick!” Zach said, with a
wink and a thumbs up. “Stuffed Animals for Orphans appreciates your
support. In fact, if you guys want to make a donation, I’ll pass it
along. There are lots of orphans out there who don’t have stuffed
animals.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Erin said. “Does
anybody want to donate?”

Mitch grumbled something under his breath as
he took out his wallet and gave Erin a couple of dollars. Dred
donated a five-dollar bill from her money clip.

Erin smiled at Jason as she walked toward
him, holding out her hand.

Jason searched all his pockets. He came up
with twelve cents.

“Sorry, I don’t have more on me,” Jason said
sheepishly. That’s me, he thought, no money and no car.

“That’s okay. Thanks.” Erin gave him a quick
half of a hug. “I’ll be back here for rehearsal tomorrow.”

Jason watched her climb into the car with
Zach, kiss him, and drop into the passenger seat. He felt a little
despair as they pulled out of the driveway and drove away.

“You know, I like that guy,” Mitch said.

Jason nodded. Everybody liked Zach, of
course. Perfect Zach.

Jason sat at the dinner table, where his
father read the newspaper, and his six-year-old sister Katie was
sculpting what looked like a hippopotamus out of her mashed
potatoes.

“George, stop reading at the table,” Jason’s
mom said as she placed a platter of bratwurst and sauerkraut on the
table. “Katie, stop playing with your food. Can’t we have a nice
family dinner here?”

Jason helped himself to a brat and spooned
mustard onto his plate.

“What’s wrong with you, Jason?” his mom
asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You look so sad.”

“I’m okay.” Jason shrugged and poked
listlessly at the bratwurst. On the inside, he was beating himself
up for not showing Erin the song, for being stupid enough to
actually put her name on it, and for letting Mitch embarrass him in
front of her. The song was still folded in his pocket, unseen by
anyone.

“You know—George, would you
please
stop reading that paper?—we talked about you at the Lutheran Ladies
meeting yesterday.”

“Me or Dad?” Jason asked.

“You, Jason. Do you know Mrs. Dullahan, over
on the east end of town?”

“The witch?” Katie asked.

“Katie! She is not a witch. She’s just a very
lonely old woman with nobody to help her. I can’t believe you would
say that.”

“Everybody knows Mrs. Dullahan’s a witch!”
Katie said. “If you trick-or-treat at her house, she’ll turn you
into a toad.”

“That is not true, Katie,” Jason’s mom said.
“Don’t say such awful things about people.”

“She is scary,” Jason said. “Kip Ericson
threw a football over her wall one time, and it came back all flat
and burned up.”

“Kip Ericson shouldn’t be harassing old
ladies,” Jason’s mom said. “Anyway. Jason. She lives all alone in
that big house of hers, and she’s so elderly. It’s obvious she’s
having trouble keeping up her yard.”

“Good thing most of it’s hidden behind that
wall,” Jason’s dad commented, without looking up from the paper.
“What you can see is an eyesore.”

“She can hardly be expected to do yard work
at her age,” Jason’s mom said.

“How old is she, anyway?” Jason asked.

“A hundred and fifty!” Katie volunteered.

“Nobody’s a hundred and fifty, Katie,”
Jason’s mom said. “But she’s very elderly, and she clearly can’t do
for herself. That’s why I decided to volunteer my capable yet
unemployed son to go and help her around the house.”

“You said what?” Jason asked, startled.

“Just little things,” his mom told him. “Mow
the lawn, trim those wild shrubs, maybe do something about all that
moss on her wall.”

“Those don’t sound like little things,” Jason
said.

“She’ll turn you into a toad!” Katie
said.

“Katie, enough! Jason, it would be nice if
you would do a few things to help out your elders. It builds
character. The poor woman’s completely cut off from everyone.”

“Maybe she likes being cut off,” Jason said.
“How do we even know she wants help?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” his mom asked.

“Anyway, I’m busy with school.” Jason hated
the idea of going to Mrs. Dullahan’s house. Every kid in town
learned to fear her. Terrible stories were whispered about her.
Jason was old enough to know that she wasn’t really a witch or
anything supernatural, but he couldn’t help feeling scared of her
anyway.

“School didn’t stop you from working at the
car wash,” his dad said. “Might as well find something useful to do
with yourself, now that you quit your job.”

“Dad, I told you, I only got that job so I
could save up for my guitar. Now I don’t need to work anymore.”

“Must be nice,” his dad said, returning his
attention to the paper.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you with
that guitar,” his mom said. “You hardly ever practice your clarinet
anymore. You’ll have to work a lot harder if you want to be first
chair in the school band next year.”

“I’m not too worried about that,” Jason
said.

“You’d better worry about it. That Laura Wu
is going to be serious competition for you,” his mom said. “I want
to see you working hard.”

“I don’t really like the clarinet. I like the
guitar.”

“What’s not to like about the clarinet?” His
mom looked scandalized. “You used to love your clarinet.”

“I wouldn’t say I loved it.”

“Well, I was first chair clarinet in my high
school band,” his mom said. “If I can manage it, you can, too. And
your father’s right, we can’t just let you loaf around with your
friends all summer.”

“We’re not loafing, we’re rehearsing.”

“What you’re not doing is
working
,”
his dad said. “You know, at a job? If you want to come to Bill’s
House of Tractor with me, Bill might be able to find work for you.”
Jason’s dad sold farm equipment at Bill’s, a large retailer in Eau
Claire.

“Um…” Jason said. The idea of having his
dad for his boss wasn’t quite as terrifying as the thought of going
to Mrs. Dullahan’s house, but it was up there.

“Why don’t you drop by Mrs. Dullahan’s
tomorrow afternoon?” his mom said. “Introduce yourself and
volunteer to help out? That would be so nice.”

“She’ll probably think I’m trying to scam
her.”

“A nice young man like you?” his mom asked.
“Besides, you’ll be bringing one of Dotty Schuler’s famous muffin
baskets. That should settle any of her concerns.”

“I can’t tomorrow,” Jason said. “We have
rehearsal. There’s an audition at The Patch in Minneapolis next
week.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” his mother said. “I don’t
like the idea of you going into the Cities with you friends. That’s
a rough area. You could get into trouble.”

“There aren’t any rough areas in
Minneapolis,” Jason said. “You make it sound like Las Vegas.”

“Don’t smartmouth your mother,” his dad
said.

“I’m not, Dad!”

“Don’t yell at your father,” his mom said. “I
don’t want to hear any more nonsense about this. You’re going to
Mrs. Dullahan’s tomorrow, and you’re going to be pleasant and
useful.”

Jason sighed and stirred his mashed
potatoes.

After school on Friday, Jason picked up a
cellophane-wrapped, ribbon-topped muffin basket from Mrs. Schuler,
who ran a small gift shop in town. He pedaled over to Mrs.
Dullahan’s, whose house was several streets away from his own, at
the dead end of a road just outside town. It was atop a small hill,
surrounded by huge old trees whose limbs gnarled together to form a
dark canopy. The weeds under the trees were thick as
cornstalks.

Jason rode his bike up the short length of
driveway and stopped at the gate. A high brick wall, thick with
moss and mold, blocked most of Mrs. Dullahan’s lawn from view. He
could see one wooden turret of her house beyond it, with its single
narrow window shuttered tight.

The gate itself was a massive pair of wooden
doors, inscribed with strange floral and geometric designs, and
these were full of moss, too. The whole area around her house felt
chilly, though the rest of the town was warmed nicely by the May
sunlight. It was nearly summer.

A rusty metal box, with little speaker holes
and a single unmarked button, was built into the brick wall by the
gate. Jason felt uneasy as he pushed the button.

He stood there for a minute, waiting.
Apparently, she wasn’t going to answer, and that was a relief. He
turned his bike around.

“Who’s there?” a raspy voice clicked out from
the rusty box.

“Oh!” Jason said. “Um, hi, Mrs. Dullahan. My
name is Jason Becker. My mom and the Lutheran Ladies sent me over
here.” The lady didn’t say anything, so he added, “Yeah…They said
I should help you with yard work or something.”

“Go away,” the lady’s voice replied.

“Okay,” Jason said. “Should I just leave the
muffin basket by the gate, or….?”

“Go away!”

“All right, sorry!” Jason started to put the
muffin basket down, but then reconsidered. If the old lady didn’t
want it, he could bring it to band practice for everybody to eat.
Maybe Erin would like that.

He pedaled to Mitch’s house with the muffin
basket dangling from his handlebar. Dred’s van was in the driveway,
and the garage door was wide open, but no music was roaring
out.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked as he parked his
bike just outside the garage. He set the muffin basket on the
workbench. “Can’t play without me?”

Mitch, Dred and Erin were in the garage, but
they weren’t touching their instruments. Instead, they were moving
boxes aside and looking carefully at the floor, searching for
something.

“I lost my necklace,” Erin said. “The gold
one with the little emeralds on the pendant? Have you seen it
anywhere, Jason?”

“No, sorry. You lost it here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Erin’s eyes were glistening like she was wanted to cry, but she was
holding it back. “I’ve searched at home, at school, at The
Creamery…”

“We’ll find it,” Mitch said. He looked around
the base of the drum kit.

“I already checked there,” Dred said.

“I’ll help.” Jason knelt and peered under the
workbench on one side of the garage. He knew the necklace Erin was
talking about. She wore it almost every day. It matched her green
eyes. “When was the last time you saw it?”

“A couple days ago. I don’t really
remember.”

“We’ve been looking for fifteen minutes. I’m
pretty sure it’s not here,” Dred said.

Erin frowned and turned her face away from
everyone. She crossed her arms. “Never mind. I’m sorry for wasting
everybody’s time. Thanks for trying.”

“I’ll check out in the yard.” Jason walked
outside to look over the driveway and the grass.

In the garage, Dred tapped impatiently on her
drums.

“Thanks, anyway, Jason,” Erin said. “Let’s
just play.”

“You sure?” Jason asked. “I can keep
looking.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Erin shook her head and
tucked a lock of green hair behind her ear. “Forget I said
anything, okay? We have to practice for the audition.”

Jason took his guitar out of the case, which
he’d left in Mitch’s garage the previous night. “I meant to tell
you guys, I can’t come tomorrow night, either. I have to babysit
Katie.”

“That’s two days in a row,” Mitch said. “The
audition is next week, Jason. I told you when you joined, you have
to take the band seriously.”

“I do take it seriously! My parents don’t. I
can’t help it.”

“You miss practice today, you miss it again
tomorrow—” Mitch said.

“I didn’t miss it today, though. Mrs.
Dullahan didn’t want me at her house any more than I wanted to be
there.” Jason held up the muffin basket. “Who wants a muffin? Erin,
chocolate chip?”

“Thanks! I could use some chocolate.” Erin
smiled at him, and he suddenly felt soft and warm inside.

Jason punched through the cellophane and
handed the muffins out. Mitch took both raspberry muffins and
stuffed them in his mouth, puffing out his cheeks like a
chipmunk.

“So, no more missing practice,” Mitch said to
Jason, spraying wet muffin bits as he spoke. “Got it?”

“I have to stay home tomorrow,” Jason said.
“I’ll be lucky if my parents even let me go to the audition. My
mom’s still not sure. It’s a school night.”

“Dude, you’re seventeen already,” Dred said.
“You should be able to go anywhere you want.”

“Okay, just call my mom and tell her that,”
Jason said.

“You’re not going to make the audition?”
Mitch asked, looking alarmed.

“I’ll make it. I can handle my parents. But
that means staying home tomorrow.”

“Work it out,” Mitch said. “Don’t miss
another practice after tomorrow. And don’t mess up this
audition!”

“I won’t,” Jason said. He looked at Erin.
“Are you feeling better?”

“Yep, don’t worry about me. I’m the happiest
girl in the world.” Erin said. She blew cheerful notes on the
harmonica. “Let’s play.”

Saturday night, Jason sat at home in his
living room, his guitar in his lap, trying to pick out the music
for “Angel Sky,” the song he’d written for Erin. He was having
trouble getting the music and lyrics to flow together.

His mother had dragged his father to a
collectible ceramics convention in Minneapolis, an hour away, and
they still weren’t back.