The Curse of Arkady (24 page)

San Francisco was hazy and cool, with a stiff wind coming in over the bay where the airport sat, far outside the city actually. Her uncle and his family came to meet them, and they rode to the city in his van, filled with his children and their conversation, mostly in English with an occasional string of Mandarin wrapped around it. Ting sat, surrounded by it all, smiling when she could. Her mother seemed cheered by her brother's presence and attitude. It was not, as Ting had feared, like going to a funeral. Grandmother might be seriously, dreadfully ill . . . but no one seemed to think they were going to be burying her soon. That made everything something to look forward to.

When the van finally neared the city and its neighborhoods, they all grew a little quieter, only her uncle and mother in the front seats talking, their voices pitched so softly that it was very hard to hear them. When they neared her grandmother's address, it was impossible not to know. Asian faces filled the streets. Chinese calligraphy lettered shop windows and billboards, even the great banks at the corners, as well as small eateries. She could smell delicious, smoky odors as they drove by . . . garlic, ginger, other spices she couldn't name. She thought of FireAnn, the Magicker cook and herbalist with the fiery red hair, and how she could probably reel off every aroma floating from restaurants and home kitchens alike.

She saw many elders walking the streets in their quilted jacket and trouser outfits, very Old World, and yet not at all strange here. Then, at last, they pulled up to the house, hidden behind its circular driveway. When Ting got out of the van, she tilted her head back and stared briefly at the bronze dragon coiled along the roof's edge. The chrysanthemums were a brilliant orange-red, like the ripest of persimmons.

Her uncle paused next to her, his arms full of baggage. “I painted the flowers for her birthday,” he said. “Enameled them, actually. You like?”

Ting beamed at him. “I do!”

He nodded. “So did she. Come inside. I imagine she has lunch waiting.”

They entered the house. Actually, with Uncle and all the nieces and nephews, it was more like an invasion. Her grandmother appeared in the small, very formal living room, dressed in a flowered Chinese red dress that made her appear very tiny, very pale, and very old, her formerly dark hair now almost entirely silver. Ting could not remember her grandmother's glossy black hair going gray, but it obviously had.

Pleasure spread over her grandmother's face as she opened her arms to embrace them.

And indeed, she had luncheon ready. The great, round kitchen table was spread with two kinds of rice, duck, Buddha's delight with tofu squares in vegetables and brown sauce, two green bean dishes, and one big heaping platter of chicken cooked in a gingery, garlicky sauce. Ting's stomach growled in spite of herself as she sat down, and her grandmother smiled. She sat next to Ting and hugged her shoulders.

“I am so glad you could come to help me.” Little was said beyond that as everyone took out their chopsticks and practically fell on the lunch.

Ting noticed that her grandmother ate little, although she nursed a cup of egg drop soup, and a fine porcelain cup of tea throughout the meal. She looked up to meet her mother's gaze and realized Jiao had caught that as well. She shook her head slightly at Ting. Now was not the time. There would be many days ahead.

After the meal, Uncle Han took his boisterous family and left them alone. She helped her mother put away the leftovers and clear the table. Then they cleaned the kitchen. Grandmother lapsed into a silence, her lips pressed in a pained line, as if exhausted by it all. They worked around her gently, trying not to disturb her, and then Jiao fixed a pot of fragrant jasmine tea, and they gathered together again.

She took her mother's hands in hers as Ting poured them all cups.

“I am glad you came,” the old woman said, her voice very thin and tired.

“I am glad you told us we could come.” Jiao kissed her mother's forehead. “We will see this through.”

“My fortune and house is a strong one.”

Ting sat down quietly.

“As for you.” Her grandmother's almond eyes turned to her. “I am sorry to take you from your school and friends.”

“I'm happy to be here. And I can go to school here, and well . . . I can help here.”

“But still . . .” Grandmother signaled Jiao to sit. She took up her teacup. “Ting. I have only seen you once since the summer, but I know you have changed. You have begun to walk a new path.”

Ting looked into her dark, rosy tea. What did her grandmother mean? She didn't want to think. Was she going to have to sit here and listen to a lecture about growing up? She peeked at her mother. Jiao gave no sign of anything in her expression. Ting tried not to sigh, and settled on the hard rosewood chair, prepared for a lesson she was not even sure she would understand, steeped as it would be in old Chinese proverbs.

Her grandmother said firmly, “Look at me, please.”

Embarrassed, Ting raised her gaze.

“We know,” her grandmother said, nodding to Jiao and then looking back at her. “We know your secret.”

“Know what?” Ting felt totally baffled. Then it began to creep in fearfully. Know . . .
what?

Her grandmother stretched out a hand. It was still an elegant hand, for all the age showing in her knuckles and slightly wrinkled skin. She moved, and a fan filled her fingers, snapping open with a second graceful movement. She dropped the fan, made another gesture, and her hand filled with silk flowers. She dropped that bouquet on top of the fan. “On the mainland, my father was a magician. He was known for his talent and his wisdom, but as you know, true wizardry is not sleight of hand.”

Ting thought her heart would stop. Oh, no! The Oath of Binding crept into her throat. Even if she wanted to, she could not speak! She stared at her mother desperately.
Oh, please, don't ask me anything!
she begged silently.

Her grandmother waited, watching her face. Then, after long moments in which Ting thought her heartbeat ticked as loudly as the old clock on the wall, she sat back in her chair. She reached out and took Ting's wrist in her hand, and turned it, showing plainly the bracelet with its caged bit of crystal in it. She tapped the crystal.

“We know,” her grandmother repeated quietly.

Now there was no doubt about it. Ting's secret of being a Magicker was no longer secret!

 

Henry and Bailey were walking the mall near the pizza restaurant when McIntire dropped the two boys off. Jason and Trent bailed out of the truck, waved good-bye after a few instructions on when and where to be picked up.

“Is she here yet?”

Bailey shook her head. “Any minute now, I bet.” The evening sky had begun to darken, and shoppers thinned out as dinner elsewhere called them. The atrium ceiling of the mall showed stars already, their silvery blue twinkle bright in a dark October sky. Only the costume shops were still doing a brisk business, their storefronts filled with mannequins in wizard and witch costumes, and satin cats with sequined masks. There was a werewolf in the far corner, fake fur costume bristling in gray-and-black stripes. Henry let out a shudder as they passed it, and Trent and Jason swapped glances.
Test
, mouthed Trent at Jason, and Jason nodded. If Bailey noticed, she didn't show it. She paced up and down the mall, her face scrunched up. Finally, she disappeared into the public phone kiosk.

She came out, flailing her arms in exasperation. “She's not coming.”

“What?” Henry's round face collapsed in disappointment and he rubbed his nose. “Not coming?”

“She's not even in the same county any more.”

“Ting?” chorused Jason and Trent together.

Bailey gave an emphatic nod. “How,” she demanded, “can we have a surprise party without the honored guest?”

“T
ING'S gone?”

“She's already left for San Francisco. In fact, she was up there by lunchtime.” Bailey crossed her arms over her body. “I talked to her older sister, who says she called and left a message at your house yesterday, Jason, but somebody forgot to pass it along.”

He winced. “I didn't get it.”

“Obviously.” Bailey tossed her head.

The only one he could think of who might have thoughtlessly forgotten it would have been Alicia. He made a mental note to ask her about things like that more often. Just in case. “Sorry.”

Henry let out a discouraged sound, drawing Bailey's attention. Jason kept his mouth shut, happy the other distracted her.

Bailey nudged Squibb, softening. “Hey, it's not like we can't talk to her when she gets her computer set up again! After all, we've been e-mailing Danno even though he's an ocean away from us now.”

His round face brightened a little. “True.”

“Well, then. We're all here anyway. Let's go order a pizza and talk. You guys can tell me all about the game you've been running.”

Henry fell into step with her, Jason and Trent trailing behind. “It's been great. You ought to join. Hey, guys,” he threw back over one shoulder. “We can fit her in, can't we? Pick up an elf along the way or something?”

Bailey waved her hand. “No, no. My mom won't let me on-line that long. We have to keep the phone line clear, in case she gets a call from work or something. Sounds like fun, though. So what do you play?” and she ducked her head, listening intently, as Henry happily told her all about his halfling alter ego, filled with cheerful larceny. She laughed as they made their way to the pizza parlor.

They ordered two, because all three of the boys professed to being starving, and Bailey wanted to make sure she'd have some for herself. And a pitcher of root beer to go around for everyone but Henry. “I don't drink soft drinks any more,” he apologized. “Not since I got back from camp. Something about sugary, fruity tasting things . . .” He quivered. “Water or iced tea, no sweetener, for me!”

The Draft of Forgetfulness had been a berry concoction FireAnn stewed for days at the back of Camp Ravenwyng's kitchen. No one knew what it was at first. Henry had been one of the first to drink it, and seeing him go . . . blank . . . had been devastating. Later, the other campers being sent home because of the Brennard attack would drink it, too, except for the handful Jason had rallied and hidden away. He'd had plans of his own! Jason had thought the Draft incredibly harsh, but the others had insisted it was best. He still didn't think so.

By the time the pizzas arrived, bread crust steaming on round aluminum pans dripping over with melted cheese, they had their table covered with maps and graphs and character descriptions, and lists of treasures and magic items recovered so far. They talked of orcs and dragons and enchanted swords and crafty adventurers. Curious onlookers from nearby glanced over from time to time, smiling, as tales of a fantasy world swirled around their table.

Only once did Bailey sigh and sit back, saying she wished Ting were there. Henry reached for her hand to pat it, and instead found himself holding a furry creature as it darted down Bailey's sleeve. He let out a squawk, and then shut his lips, face reddening in embarrassment.

Bailey grabbed for Lacey who had evidently decided she'd waited long enough for pizza crumbs! The little kangaroo mouse chittered in annoyance as Bailey stuffed her back in her pocket.

Henry reached for his water. He gulped down half a glass and nearly choked on an ice cube. He lowered his voice. “You picked up a rat!”

“Mouse!” hissed Bailey back. “Well, kangaroo mouse . . . a pack rat. Don't you remember my pack rat from camp?”

Henry shook his head as Trent and Jason muffled their amusement and each reached for another slice of pizza.

“Well, she haunted our cottage. Stole things right and left, much like your halfling. We found her, though, and she was just too little to put back in the wild. What if something ate her? So she's mine now.”

“And hungry, too, it seems.” Henry scrubbed at an eyebrow. He pinched off a bit of cheesy dough and passed it to Bailey. “Maybe that'll help.”

“Couldn't hurt!” Bailey said cheerfully and stuffed it down her pocket. Her shirt rumpled and rippled and there was a tiny, contented chirping sound. Henry's eyes grew a bit rounder behind his circular glass lenses.

Trent pushed aside an empty pizza tin, gathering up some of his papers. “Enough about D & D. How about some truth and dare?”

Jason leaned on his elbows. “Secrets?”

“Sure.” Trent waited while everyone stored away the paperwork they had brought. “Everyone has secrets. Like Lacey.”

“Well . . . okay.” Bailey wiped off the table in front of her carefully, poking another small bread crumb or three down into her pocket and settled down, watching Trent.

Henry took off his glasses solemnly and cleaned them. Trent nudged him, saying, “Relax! This is supposed to be fun.” Henry bobbed his head, brown hair waving up and down. “Who wants to go first?” Trent looked round the table.

“Me,” Bailey said with a definite nod of her head that sent her golden-brown ponytail bouncing.

“Okay. Hmm. Let me confer with my associate.” Trent grinned and leaned over to Jason. They talked for a moment. Trent straightened up. He gazed at Bailey a moment before saying, “Is it true you prefer Brad Pitt over Justin Timberlake and would kiss either to death if you had the chance?”

“Trent!” Bailey gasped, her face glowing pink.

“Truth or Dare?”

She babbled for a moment, then shut her mouth and said firmly, “Dare.”

“Ooooh.” Trent grinned. “Gotta be a good one.”