The Magickers (35 page)

Trent tossed a look back at Jason. “Shall we show them how it's done?”

Jason countered, “On the count of one-two?”

Trent nodded. “One,” he called out, stroking strongly from the front of the canoe.

“Two,” called Jason, paddling. And so they worked, one, two, one, two, the canoe shooting away from the beach and the other canoers. It glided smoothly across the water, creating a breeze as it moved that ruffled their hair and cooled their skin. In moments they were beyond earshot of Jefferson, and even the gleeful shouts of the other campers seemed faint. Lake Wannameecha flowed under them like glass with scarcely a wave or ripple except for that trailing from the rear of the canoe. Jason felt the pull in his shoulders as he paddled behind Trent, but it felt good and in short order, they sailed into a part of the lake they'd never been, beyond the silvery beach coves of the campground. They kept paddling to where the water was deep blue and clear, and they were all alone.

Of a single mind, both of them put their paddles across their knees, and let the canoe skim to a halt. It bobbed gently on the tiny waves. Trent leaned out of the bow to point. “That's all wilderness,” he said. “I don't think we've even hiked back in there.”

Jason eyed the thick greenery and rugged coastline at this end of Lake Wannameecha. The wonder of open land, still relatively untouched, struck him. Anything could be in there. Perhaps even the Iron Gate that bothered the Magickers so much lay hidden in there, its whereabouts waiting to be discovered.

Something splashed behind them. Both turned to look at the deep-blue water, where circles of ripples spread out, then faded. “Fish,” said Trent. “Jumping at a bug.” Tiny lines spread across the lake. Trent dipped his hand into the water. “Don't you wish you could see underneath? Like with a waterproof camera? All the stuff happening down there we have no idea about?”

Jason carefully leaned his weight the other way to keep the canoe balanced. He eyed the lake. “Proba bly,” he said slowly, “just a few fish. Grasses. Maybe a turtle or two? Water isn't clear enough to see through very deep. Not like a crystal or anything.”

He looked up.

“Maybe.” Trent nodded. He played his fingers through the water. “I guess we'd better get back before Jefferson has a cow. We're not supposed to be out of sight of the beach.”

Jason's hand ached. He lifted it to look for blisters from the paddle, but it was the back, the scar that burned. He dropped it back into the soothing water again. Something stirred below, and there was another splash, louder, from behind them.

“I wish I had my pole with me!” Trent turned around in the canoe, and squinted over the lake's surface, looking for the fish wistfully. “They sure are jumping.”

Jason peered back, his arm up to his elbow in the water. Something cold and slimy tickled past his fingers. He jerked his hand out with a yelp and peered down.

“What's wrong?”

“Something . . .” Jason said. He looked at his fingers. They seemed fine. “Something touched me.”

“Cool.”

“And . . . icky.”

“Just a fish. Or maybe some lakeweed.” Trent picked up his paddle. “You city boys are wusses. You should have caught it with your bare hand! Tickled it close and snatched it up.”

“Me? Are you calling me a wuss?”

“If it doesn't have concrete or plaster at the bottom, you don't want to swim in it!” teased Trent.

“Yeah, well, if it doesn't plug in and surf the Internet, neither do you!” He plunged his arm back into the water, leaning over. Tickle a fish into his hands! Who did Trent think he was, Henry Squibb? He wiggled his fingers in annoyance. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a long, dark shadow moving under the canoe and then, something caught his arm and YANKED! Jason was pulled overboard.

He hit the water with a very loud splash and went straight down, his arm in the grip of two cold, wet hands. Water bubbled up around him. He tried to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut but neither seemed to work the way he wanted. Bubbles flew all about his face, and the dark lake water, as something towed him under, lifejacket and all, tugging hard before his jacket stubbornly refused to let him be dragged under any more. He had a wild glimpse of the lake surface and canoe overhead, bubbles flowing upward from his nose and mouth, and something . . . someone . . . pulling at him.

Not a fish. He saw her—dark and shadowy, hair flowing about her like a storm adrift. Not human. Scales. Mermaid? No, she had legs, kicking to try to pull them both down to the lake bottom and failing. Slender, willowy form hardly taller than he was. He twisted his arm in her hands, but she was strong, far stronger than he. She let go suddenly, shoving him away and disappearing into the murky depths of the lake.

Like a cork, Jason bobbed to the top, sputtering and coughing. He rose to the surface like a breaching whale. Something slapped the water as he inhaled, coughed, spit, and inhaled again.

“Jeeez, doofus. I said to catch a fish with your hands, not your teeth!” Trent slapped the water with his paddle again. “Come on, grab it! Grab hold!”

Still choking, Jason thrashed over to the paddle and gripped it. Trent hauled him to the side of the canoe and braced his weight while Jason clung to the side and tried to breathe regularly. “Okay, that was not fun.” He inhaled and only gargled a little bit that time.

“No kidding. Warn a guy next time? Good thing you had your jacket on.”

“I saw . . . I saw . . .”

Trent looked down at him. “You saw what?” “The underside of the canoe, for one.” Jason wolfed down another gulp of air. He thought he felt a faint tug on his sneakers and did not dare look. He didn't want to capsize the canoe. She must be teasing him, because she was certainly—whoever and whatever she was—strong enough to yank him back under. And he had a feeling Trent would not believe him when he told what he'd seen.

“Breathing okay? Let's see if we can get you back in.” Trent took up the proper position as taught them by Jefferson and braced himself.

Jason shook his head. “No way we can try that.”

“Hang on, then. I'll head for the shore and pull you out there.”

Despite the heat of the day, Jason felt chilled. He didn't want to stay in the water, but knew he had no choice. The canoe might capsize and they would both be overboard if he tried to climb back over the side.

Trent grabbed a paddle and began to propel the canoe. Jason hung on as tightly as he could, but as the cool water of the lake pulled at him, he thought he could feel fingers around his ankles. Trent looked behind and yelled, “Something is there!”

“I know!” panted Jason. He hit the water around him, splashing wildly in hopes of scaring whatever it was away.

Cold fingers tugged at his sneakers. Jason felt as if he were going to be pulled under again at any moment.

Trent slapped his canoe paddle on the water. The loud noise echoed like a gunshot around the lake. White foam shot everywhere. But the tugging on his sneakers got harder. Jason held on for all he was worth. He kicked, struggling. She bobbed up besides him, blue hair wild in the spray, giggling and blowing bubbles. She thought he was funny! She disappeared under the canoe again and he felt her cold, wet arms wrap around his knees.

She'd drown him. He had no doubt of that. She didn't understand, or without Tomaz's fetish about his neck, he'd drawn something Evil. . . .

“Almost there!”

“Hurry!” gasped Jason. She pulled at him. If she was from the Dark, taking his life would mean nothing to her. His insides went cold. He could barely hang on. His hands burned with the effort, his arms and body were being stretched too far. Did his hand throb or was it all part of his desperation? She was pulling him under. . . .

Trent grunted with effort. The canoe skewed about wildly as Jason's weight threw it off-balance. His hand slid over the molded rim. “I can't hold on!”

“Almost there.” Trent panted, breathless.

Jason tried to kick, but she had a firm grip on his legs. One good yank and he would go under again—

Then he felt a tickling at the buckles on his life jacket. No . . . no . . . she was trying to free him from the jacket. One side suddenly slipped lose. “Hurry!”

Trent laid into it, paddle dipping strongly into the water. The canoe shot forward in spite of Jason's dragging pull on it. The water warmed slightly as it became shallower. Jason closed his eyes. His hands were slipping. His arms felt numb. She began to apply steady force. He was going to go under. . . .

The canoe bumped into the rocky shoreline. It rocked madly as Trent leaped to solid ground and then lay down on his stomach, grabbing Jason by the wrists. “Come on. Pull on me!”

He gave a twisting kick and then, suddenly, the hold on him broke away. The rocks on the shoreline met his feet and he scrambled up them, braced by Trent until he stood on dry land. Well, nearly dry land. Water streamed off him in an immense puddle. A huge strand of grass was tangled about his sneaker and ankle. Bending, it took him a few moments to unwrap it and shake it off. Was this what had gripped him? He turned and looked back at the canoe as he gulped to catch his breath. It waggled once, as if something struck or pushed at it, then it bobbed quietly in the deeper water near the rugged shore.

Just off the point where they stood, a big boulder poked out of the waters like an iceberg. It was split, and in that crack, a tall pine grew stubbornly. Water frothed about it suddenly.

“What was that?” asked Trent. He stared at the lake water.

“I don't know.” Jason looked away. He did not feel like telling what he'd seen or felt. “Something.”

Trent dusted himself off. “Wanda.”

“What?”

“Loch Ness has Nessie. Lake Wannameecha has . . . Wanda.” Trent grinned. “Any tentacle marks on you? Sea dragon bites?”

Jason shot him a look and Trent just punched his shoulder. “Wuss.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He took a shaky breath. He put his hand to his throat, where the fetish bag usually snuggled. He thought of finding a way to wrap it, keep it dry, so that he never had to take it off again.

“Ready to head back?”

“Give me a minute.” Jason stood in the hot sun. Rattled, he hardly knew where on the lake they were. He began to dry out a bit. Something glinted in the woods a few paces away. “Where are we, anyway?”

“No idea. We could be inside or outside the campgrounds. I just know which way we need to go to get back.” Trent shadowed his eyes. “I don't think we've been this way with Sousa, though.”

“I'm turned around.” Jason spun on one heel as if to prove his point. “I can't tell north from west here.”

The sun, just about directly overhead, was no help that way although, soaked as he was, he felt grateful for its warmth. He looked at the almost spearlike glint shining through a patch of green. “I want to see what that is. You hold onto the canoe.”

Trent stared at him blankly. “Like the canoe is going anywhere.”

“If it drifts off, we've got a very long walk,” Jason pointed out.
Or was pulled out to the lake's center.
She could very well drag it off out of disappointment or spite. Or by design. He wasn't anxious to climb back in right away, either, but knew he would have to.

Trent reached into the bow and got the mooring line. He wrapped it around one of the heavy rocks edging the shoreline and then dusted his hands off. “If you're going to look at something, I'm going with you,” he said firmly.

“I can almost guarantee they don't have cookies.” But Jason grinned as Trent caught up with him. They cut through the deep piney forest in search of whatever the sunlight was reflecting. Branches reached and grabbed at them. After a very short trek, they bulled their way through onto a . . . road. A sagging overhead signpost creaked in the slight breeze, and a rusting gateway sat open on the land. Jason blinked.

Trent laughed. “It's the front gate,” he said.

Jason looked at the dark mountain range looming over where the road disappeared. He doubted that the tunnel they had come through was in those mountains. He doubted that their bus ride had taken them anywhere near those mountains, but he did not doubt that wolfjackals ranged them. He shivered, as his still damp T-shirt cooled on his torso. “Can't be. Would have to be the back gate, if anything. Let's get out of here.”

“Sure,” Trent agreed. “I think we've found enough trouble for the day.” As quickly as possible, they made their way back to the lake. Jason tugged his life jacket back into place, tightening the buckles. Trent waited till he was seated before casting off and jumping into the canoe. They brought it about quickly and started paddling toward the camp. Once, Jason looked back.

“Should we tell anyone about her?”

“Her who?”

“Wanda.” Trent grinned at him over one shoulder. “We never saw her, but something was there. She'd make a good campfire story.”

“You can tell it,” Jason said firmly, “but
only
if you leave me out of it!”

“Deal! You get too much glory anyway.”

Jason aimed a paddleful of water at Trent's back and managed to hit most of his target. Laughing, Trent said, “I'd get you back—but you're already all wet!”

“Just get me home. I'm probably grounded for the rest of camp.” Jason stretched his shoulders, then began to paddle strongly in rhythm with Trent. The canoe shot ahead, gliding silently over dark blue waters . . . and he thought he could see a darker, small shadow pacing them till it tired and darted away. He put his hand to his neck again, his left hand, and felt a dull pain knife through the back of it. He frowned.