The Magickers (22 page)

With a last pulse of their fading flashlight, the boys disappeared into the weathered boathouse. Jason glanced up at the overhead string of tiny white lights, barely enough to outline the building. He crept to the door that hung permanently ajar, its wood warped by many summers and winters near the lake. The light inside was pale and rippled as though underwater. He scrubbed at his eyes to see more clearly. Rich was tearing off string and paper, exposing the long, deep cardboard box.

“Wait,” he said, his copper hair gleaming in the half-light. “Wait until you see these babies!” Paper crackled about his ankles as he dropped the box and leaned over it.

Stefan let his breath out in a long hiss. “Oh, man,” he breathed. He hunched his heavy shoulders as he squatted down, broad face split in a wide grin.

Jason squinted, unable to see into the box. What was it they had?

Rich rummaged around and then brought up a string of tiny cylinders hooked together. Jason blinked. Firecrackers?

Rich grinned. “I'd like to set these babies off now . . . right under Rainwater! Snap, crackle, bang!” He gave a low laugh.

“Bottle rockets, fountains . . . and—
sweet,
cherry bombs!” Stefan sounded as if he could hug the box. “You've got a treasure here.”

“One we need to hide.”

Jason watched the two as they continued to paw through their booty until even he could smell the faint aroma of sulfur from the fireworks. The two he watched drew closer together and their voices became muffled as they discussed their plans. He leaned a bit more. He could almost . . . but not quite . . . hear.

Something spidery brushed against him. Jason spun around! He sucked his breath in as he looked—and saw nothing.

But something had been there. Maybe for the barest of moments. He breathed in slowly. Could he smell it, if it had been animal? Nothing but the vaguely sweet smell of the night-blooming flowers, and the crushed scent of the needles and greenery about him. He inhaled again, and pressed himself back to the building. Suddenly the door swung open.

Jason dropped. Chin buried in the dust, fighting to keep from sneezing, he lay on the ground as the door banged wide open in front of him. All he could see of Stefan and Rich were their battered shoes.

“That's agreed, then?”

“Best place to hide something is under their noses,” Rich said smugly. “And no getting into it early. Either one of us sets 'em off early, we'll get caught. I've plans,” he cautioned. “Big plans.”

Jason watched them shuffle past. So did he. He got to his feet when they were just out of earshot and followed quickly. Something snatched at the pockets of his shorts as he brushed past a gnarled tree and he dropped his hand to shake off the branch, only to find nothing there. With a frown, Jason hurried to catch up.

With the strung lights growing ever more dim as if the night itself were trying to snuff them out, the three boys made their way back to Lake Wannameecha Hall, Jason only a few steps behind and still in hiding. He caught his breath as he saw them enter the hall near the rear offices. Should he warn them? Should he follow them in, knowing the wards that stood on guard duty?

After a long second, Jason ducked inside warily. He heard the crisp sound of paper and headed in that direction, rounding a corner nearly skidding into them, but he caught himself in time. Scarcely breathing, he plastered himself to the wall. The brown, paper-wrapped package crinkled again, echoed by a grunt.

“There,” Rich whispered loud enough for Jason to catch. “In the emergency supplies. Unless there's an emergency, no one would even think of looking there.”

“Good enough.” Another grunt, then the creak of a door being shut stealthily. “I can hardly wait!”

“Me neither. Let's get out of here. This place is giving me the creeps.”

Jason slipped down the hall and around another bend, into the shadows. He waited until they had gone before creeping out. With a quick look around, and the dread of the wards on him, he found the supply closet marked “emergency” and opened it slowly. The plain brown package had been shoved all the way into the back, on the bottom shelf. He crawled in on hands and knees, opening it carefully. Four strings of firecrackers lay among the goods. He eased one out, tucked it inside his shirt, closed the box up again, and crept back out.

Low words caught his attention. He hesitated, knowing that he could be caught at any moment. He dipped his fingers in his pocket, to stroke the crystal that had already become like a friend to him, and found his pocket empty. He caught his breath, then remembered he'd left it out to switch it to clean clothing in the morning. Another word, louder, and one he knew: Bailey.

That gave him little choice. He
had
to know who was talking about the missing girl. Pressing close to the wall, he edged closer and closer to the speakers until he could distinguish the voices beyond just vibrating tones: Tomaz, Eleanora, and Gavan.

“. . . time is now the enemy.”

Jason peeked through the office window. The blind had been drawn, but there was a tiny slit of light showing through. He put one eye to it, seeing Tomaz's sleeve, and part of Eleanora's worried face, and the restless wolfhead of Gavan's cane, moving up and down and back and forth like his teacher might tap a pencil nervously.

“I'm open to suggestions.” Gavan sounded weary though his cane stayed active.

“I haven't any.” Eleanora rested her chin in her hands. It seemed to be her desk she sat at, the chair behind her was plum velvet and winged slightly. It fit her. “With every moment, we lose hope of tracing her through the amethyst.”

Tomaz said, “What if she does not wish to be found?”

Eleanora's face tilted up. “Don't even say such a thing.”

“It would explain why we can't.”

She shook her head. “Yes and no. The crystals are complicated . . .”

Gavan interrupted, saying, “That's why I asked your help, Tomaz. Because we're awakened, we know a bit more about the crystals. But you've spent your whole life as a Magicker, and you know this world—” He tapped his cane, “—better than we ever could.”

“I think she's gone home,” said Eleanora. “But she's afraid to show herself because she knows she hasn't got a good explanation. Bailey is sharp and Talented. And she loves her mother dearly. It's just the two of them.”

“So, then. I need to go and coax her out, it looks like.”

Eleanora said faintly, “If I'm right.”

“And if you're not?”

Eleanora had held something in her hand. She laid her hand on the desk and slowly uncurled her fingers. The amethyst lay on her palm. Its brilliant purple color had begun to dull. She tried to speak, choked, and could not.

“If she's trapped in the crystal itself, Ellie, I'll bring her back. You know that.” Gavan leaned into the tiny frame of Jason's view. He hugged Eleanora.

“But will it be in time?”

He shook his head. “We can't know that. All we know is if I go in there looking for her and she is
not
trapped within, with my strength, I could pull her in and she'd be even more lost.”

Tomaz said mildly, “Perhaps we should have introduced the crystals later in the summer.”

“No. No, if Magickers are to grow and learn how to protect themselves, they must learn their crystals. It comes before anything else.” Eleanora sighed. “And there are other matters. Two. One, there is a thief about the camp. A petty, annoying thief.”

“What?” The wolfhead cane was tossed in the air and caught by a tight-knuckled hand. “Why wasn't I told earlier?”

“Because virtually nothing has been stolen; things have just been rifled through . . . disturbed. Except for the Kittencurl and Rosebriar Cottages, which are on my side of the lake, right next to each other. Small personal items of little consequence were taken from each. The only thing of any real value was Ting's wristwatch, and it's an inexpensive one from what I understand.”

“Of no importance, then.” Gavan sounded impatient. “Set up a charm or two, the thief will be deterred.”

Tomaz shifted, and for a moment, his denim-clad back hid Eleanora from view. “I differ on that.”

“Why? We've worse problems to deal with.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Personal items can be used to make fetishes and such. That is a magic in the world I come from. It is like stealing a bit of yourself, to turn against you.” Tomaz moved again, and this time Jason could see Gavan, looking in Tomaz's direction, then biting his lip in thought.

“Interesting.”

Eleanora echoed, “Very.”

“Well, then. We can't have that.” Gavan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can it wait until after you look for Bailey?”

“As long as the thief doesn't leave camp, sure.” Tomaz nodded, his ponytail bobbing like liquid black smoke upon his back.

“All right. We'll deal with that, then. What else, Eleanora?”

“We've a Ghost.”

The cane thumped the floor like a gunshot. “Now that, I will not allow. Not here, not now. We're working hard enough to shield them from the nightmares, and their own stray abuses of Talent. I will not tolerate a noncorporeal presence here, leeching on them before they're strong enough to know what they're dealing with!” Gavan leaped to his feet. “That, you and I can deal with.”

“A Ritual?”

“A Ritual indeed. There will be nothing left of that Ghost when I'm through with him!” He tucked his cane under his arm. “Tomaz, come with me to my office. I'll give you the particulars on Bailey, and the sooner you leave the better.” He kissed Eleanora on the forehead. “I'll see you in the morning, and we'll have the Ghost done for by midnight tomorrow.” Gavan began to stride toward the door and Jason.

He sprinted for the exit door of the Hall, and gulped for breath once outside. Now he had a hiding place of his own to find.

Ducking his head, Jason hurried back to the cabin. He ran with the strength of old, his ankle barely tender, swift and sure through the darkness. It felt good to stretch out, as though he had been cramped and contained for a long time. His footsteps fell in a quiet rhythm and he imagined himself a ghost, running unseen through the cooling summer air.

Fingers pinched at his sleeve. Jason twisted his head, swerving. Nothing but air around him, and evergreens with heavy-needled branches. He swerved again, with a cold shiver snaking down his spine. What was it? Was Ting right? Did a ghost indeed haunt this camp? A ghost powerful enough to worry Gavan and the others? He spun around and saw nothing, not a thing. He gasped for breath and stood very still, shivering.

Then, off to his left, toward the lake, he spied the gleaming reflection of a green eye. Jason inhaled, turned, and ran for his life. He gained his porch in one leap. His ankle gave a slight tweak as he fumbled at the latch and then shut the cabin door heavily behind him. He thought he heard and felt a thump as a heavy body hit the door after him. Panting, he dropped the latch bolt into place and waited to see if anything else could be heard.

A shuffling, dragging sound came across the porch. It stopped. Started. Stopped again. Rather like Jason's heartbeat. He took a deep breath, went to the nearest shuttered window, and opened it.

It did not notice as he looked out, a gray-and-silver possum, with two tiny babies clinging to her underbelly. She had part of an orange clutched in her front paw, and her crabbed movement across the porch was hampered by her treasure. He heaved a sigh of relief as he fastened the shutter back into position.

Trent stirred in his bed. Jason quickly pulled the string of crackers from his shirt, and tucked them between the mattress and platform. Depending on what Gavan and Eleanora did, his theft might be useless. Or it could be just what the doctor ordered.

He fell onto his bed and slipped into a long, dreamless sleep.

 

In the morning, Jefferson took over the canoeing class. He waded into the lake, his skin shining darkly in contrast to his white shirt and shorts, and picked Henry Squibb up by the scruff of the neck at least twice, righting the canoe and putting him back in. Then, with a splash and a laugh, Danno and Henry finally managed to paddle away from shore without capsizing. Trent grinned and led Jason in a circle with their canoe, the two of them paddling gracefully in tandem in their craft, while Henry and Danno, laughing, flailed about in theirs. At the last, Henry discovered he could splash with his oar, if not guide the canoe well, and everyone ended up as drenched as if they'd capsized, too.

Jefferson stood on the beach, his muscular arms folded across his chest, and smiled.

Then they had another Crystal Class.

Eleanora paused at the front of the tables. “First,” she said, “I would like to talk to you about the care of your crystals and quartzes. We had selected a wide variety for you to choose from. Most are rock crystal, which gives you a nice arrangement of planes and facets to focus through. Like anything you use constantly, they can get dirty, oiled from coatings on your hands, and so on. We recommend using only plain water to clean them. Occasionally, water with sea salt. Nothing stronger or different. Your crystals can react with certain other liquids in some cases, or even be dissolved by them. Understood? Plain water, a soft cloth.” Eleanora smiled.

Rich's hand shot up, and she nodded at him. “Can we be allergic to our crystals?”

“Not in this state, I believe. Are you having any reactions?”

He shook his head slowly, looking dubious.

“No welts or itching?”

Rich shook his head again.

“Then you're fine. Any other questions?”