The Night of the Solstice (7 page)

“—is in Morgana's sink,” said Charles. “So are the mortar and pestle.”

“All right, but we still need the ‘red girdel of pleached corde,' and the blue shoes—that's what ‘shodde in blue' means, you know. According to Janie's book, the ‘girdel' isn't an eighteen-hour girdle, it's just a belt. And
‘pleached' means braided. So it looks like we have to buy red cord to braid. Plus, the book says that pure virgin garments are clothes that have never been worn, and although I suppose we can dig up one set of new clothes between us, the shoes we have to buy.”

“I've got blue tennis shoes,” offered Claudia.

Alys shook her head. “They've been worn. And we also have to buy green silk to make the bags, and silk isn't cheap.”

Charles sighed heavily. “All right, all right,” he said. “Dr. Foster did ask me if I could watch Kevin and Amy this afternoon so they don't have to stay in day care. I wasn't going to do it because that dog of theirs makes a break for freedom every time I open the door, and usually Kevin bites me. But if we really need money I will.”

So after school Charles rode his bike to the Fosters', which was on Center Street, almost at the foot of Morgana's hill. Professor Foster, who taught at the University of California at Irvine, promised to be back by dinnertime. He also warned Charles—as if Charles needed any warning—not to let Zochimilcho, the
Great Dane, into the house while the cat was inside.

Kevin and Amy gave no more than the usual trouble, and by six o'clock Charles began to look for the professor's return. He'd promised to meet Alys and the others at the old house. By six-thirty it was clear that the faculty meeting was running late, so Charles gave the kids a choice of bologna sandwiches or Wheaties for dinner and settled down with the cat to watch TV. At seven Janie showed up, looking cross.

“It's not my fault,” said Charles. “He said he'd be home by now. A lot of thanks I get for spending the whole afternoon with two screaming kids and a rabid dog.”

Janie shot a critical look at Zochimilcho, who was testing the stress factor of the sliding glass door by hurling himself headlong against it. “Hyperactive,” she commented, and went to study a collection of Aztec artifacts in a glass case on the wall.

“He's an anthropologist, isn't he?” she asked.

“The
dog
?”

“Never mind. Where's the bathroom?”

“First door down the hall after the professor's study.”

Janie was gone for several minutes. Charles flicked the TV from channel to channel.

As Janie returned he heard a car outside. “See?” he said, turning off the TV and going to the window. “He's back already. If you—what's wrong?”

“Charles—are you sure he's back?”

“Yeah, and he's got some other people with him. Want to help me clean up Kevin and Amy?” He stepped into the playroom, but Janie stood quite still in the middle of the living room floor. Nor did she move when Charles herded Kevin and Amy out, and Dr. Foster and his guests came in.

“Sorry to be late,” said the professor to Charles, and, “Hello, you're Charles's sister, aren't you?” to Janie.

“Yes,” said Janie. She was making queer agitated movements with her head and shoulders. Charles had the feeling she was trying to convey some message to him, but he had no idea what.

“What do I owe you?” resumed the professor to Charles. “Let's see, I've got some small bills in the study.” He moved off, with Kevin and Amy trailing behind. The guests stood in the entry hall. Janie, to
Charles's surprise, walked over to the sliding glass door.

“Go with him,” she hissed at Charles.

“What?”

“Keep him
occupied
.”

Bewildered but obedient, Charles headed for the hall. An instant later he froze, horrified, as he heard the unmistakable sound of a glass door opening. There was a terrific baying as Zochimilcho exploded into the house and promptly crashed into the dining room table.

“What the—” From behind Charles, Dr. Foster came running. Charles, still paralyzed in the hallway, blocked him long enough for Zochimilcho to gain the living room. There was a wavering feline howl and then another crash.

“Bad dog! Zochi! No! I said, nooooo!” Dr. Foster pushed past Charles into the living room. He could hardly be heard above all the other sounds. Charles turned furiously on Janie for an explanation, but she was elbowing her way past Dr. Foster's guests.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said, although no one seemed to be listening.

“Bad dog! Be quiet, Zochi! Who let him
in
?” Dr. Foster was roaring from the living room. Charles hastily went to help him drag Zochimilcho into the yard.

“My sister let him in, sir,” he said then, wretchedly. “She—well, I guess she didn't know any better.”

“Of all the stupid—next time you
tell
her! Oh, well, no real harm done, I guess,” he added, seeing Charles's face. “That was my dog, Zochimilcho!” he shouted to his guests. There seemed to be a certain note of pride in his voice.

The mention of Janie had made Charles look around apprehensively. Where was she? Not in the bathroom, he was sure of that.

“Good-bye, Charles,” chorused Amy and Kevin sweetly as Dr. Foster walked him to the door. To Charles's relief Janie reappeared at that moment.

“Good-bye, good-bye, professor,” she said, sidestepping Kevin. “Good-bye,” she said again, giving Charles a violent shove which landed them both outside before Dr. Foster could say a word. The last Charles saw of the professor he was standing in the doorway, shaking his head.

“What was that about?” he hissed at Janie, jerking his arm away. Her bike stood by his on the driveway.

“Shut up; we've got to get out of here,” she snarled back. “
Hurry
, Charles.” She was on her bike in a flash, launching herself toward the street, rising off the seat to put more muscle into her pedaling. It took Charles a minute or so to catch up with her—with Janie!—she was pumping at such a furious pace toward the hill.

“Are you crazy?” he shouted as he drew alongside her.

Janie glared at him, nearly ran into a parked car, and refused to answer. She was ahead of him all the way to Morgana's, and only when they were standing under the beams of the ancient, smoke-stained kitchen, with Alys and Claudia staring at them, did she speak.

“I've done it,” she said. “And he'll probably find out and send me to jail for it. I don't care. It's Claudia's fault in the first place. There!” With the last word she drew a packet out of her sleeve and threw it on the table.

Alys picked up the little package of toilet paper
and unwrapped it. Something like a piece of grayish yellow rock fell out.

“What—” began Alys, but then she stopped.

“I took it out of a glass case and chipped a bit off with his letter opener. I've ruined an archaeological artifact. I'm a vandal and a thief.
And,”
she added as Alys drew her into her arms as if she were as young as Claudia, “I'm proud of it.”

Charles was still gazing at the little chip of rock, perplexed. “What are you talking about? What did you do?”

“I vandalized the skull of an Aztec Indian. It was in a case in Dr. Foster's study.” Janie pulled away from Alys and gestured at the piece of rock. “That's human bone.”

It took Charles a moment to absorb this statement.

“But—bones are white. That thing's the wrong color.”

“Idiot. It's hundreds of years old. Your bones aren't going to look so great in six hundred years either.”

This struck Charles as exquisitely funny and he
began to laugh, Alys and Claudia joining in. They laughed until they were exhausted, the tension of the last few minutes dissolving.

“Oh, Janie, you're so funny,” said Claudia, and Janie flushed. No one had ever said such a thing to her before.

It was Alys who turned serious first. “We've got all the ingredients,” she said, “and with Charles's money I can buy the equipment. Tomorrow afternoon we'll get ready. And tomorrow night, at moonrise, we'll make it.”

No one was exactly sure when the moon would rise on Wednesday, so they all hurried that afternoon. Alys frantically hand-stitched four bags out of green silk bought at a fabric store. At four-thirty she placed the finished bags in her backpack, along with a small hammer, a needle and thread, a pair of scissors, and an X-Acto knife. She then added the belt which Claudia had braided and a pair of blue bedroom slippers purchased from the five-and-dime. It had been cheaper to buy slippers than to dye regular shoes blue.

She, Charles, and Claudia were halfway out the door when she remembered the virgin garments.

“Drat! I've got virgin underwear and virgin socks,” she shouted to the others a few minutes later from
behind her bedroom door, “and I suppose I can fit into the pink slacks Aunt Phyllis gave me last Christmas. But I'm darned if I can find a virgin shirt.”

“I've got that T-shirt I bought in San Francisco,” Charles offered. “The one Dad said I'm not allowed to wear on the street.”

“Is it virgin? Did you try it on?”

“Never got the chance.”

“Well, throw it in to me, then,” said Alys. A moment later she gave a snort, and when she emerged she was wearing her jacket buttoned up to her chin. Charles took one look at her pants and began to laugh.

“So why do you think I've never worn them before? Come on, we're keeping Janie waiting.”

At the old house Janie had the mortar and pestle on the kitchen table along with the gold crucible and the bottles.

“I've got everything ready,” she said. “I'll read the ingredients to you. Those are awful pants.”

“Thank you,” said Alys. “Start reading.”

As Janie unfolded the spell Alys removed her jacket
and wound the braided red cord about her waist. She kicked off her shoes and put on the slippers. Then, clad in fuzzy blue bedroom slippers with pom-poms on the toes, pink pants a size too small, red belt, and Charles's black T-shirt with the indecent slogan, she took up the mortar and pestle.

In went the deadly nightshade, the wild elephant's ear, the bladderwort, and the stinking smut. Blobs of mercury slid over the powdered herbs as Alys poured quicksilver from the bottle. The minerals she pounded with the hammer before grinding them into the consistency of coarse sand. Then she dropped in a pinch of falcons teeth, a handful of glittering sunfish scales, the flyclub, and a single phoenix feather snipped into pieces with the scissors. Finally, with a brief pause for ceremony, she pounded and ground the shard of human bone.

“Stir widdershins,” said Janie, as she poured the mixture into the crucible. “Counterclockwise.”

Alys stirred carefully, and presently the contents of the bowl resolved themselves into a multicolored mixture, mainly greenish brown because of the herbs,
but with the brilliant glints of minerals through and through.

“Now for the blood and spit,” she said, and reached into her backpack.

“What,” said Charles, “is
that
?”

“This,” said Alys, “is an X-Acto knife. Well, we need blood, don't we?” she added, as everyone stared at her.

“I was thinking of maybe a safety pin,” Charles muttered.

“We can't sit here all night squeezing blood out of pinpricks. Come on, I've had first aid at the Y.”

“So if you sever an artery you'll know how to apply a tourniquet?” But Charles allowed her to make a small jab at the tip of his finger. After an instant blood welled out.

“Drip into the bowl,” instructed Alys, and she turned to prick Claudia. Claudia joined Charles over the crucible, and soon Alys was bleeding companionably along with them.

Janie hung back.

“It doesn't hurt—much,” said Claudia.

There was a pause.

“I don't want to,” said Janie.

“Get over here,” said Alys impatiently. “You're not afraid of a little cut, are you?”

Janie's nostrils flared and she tightened her lips. But she held her position by the door.

“Look,” said Charles. “You were practically willing to let Claudia sacrifice her whole finger, and now you're making a fuss about a few drops of blood. Coward!”

“Don't,” said Alys. It was dark outside by now. “If she doesn't put her blood in, she can't go through the mirrors, that's all. We'll have to leave her here.”

After another moment of deadly silence Janie yielded. Alys tried to be gentle, but somehow Janie's cut was deeper than the others', or else her blood was thinner, because finally her finger had to be wrapped in a dishcloth to stop the bleeding. Janie was once again wearing her killer-frost expression by the time they had finished.

After they each spat into the bowl, Alys stirred again.

“And now we'd better go outside,” she said. “We have to let the first ray of moonlight shine on the crucible.”

“I don't suppose anyone noticed,” said Janie in a polite, expressionless voice, “but it doesn't say the first ray of moonlight. It says the
reflection
of the first ray. As in mirror reflection.”

“Hey, she's right,” said Charles, checking the battered sheet of paper.

Alys wanted to shake Janie. “Couldn't you have mentioned this before?” she demanded angrily. “Instead of waiting until the last minute to show off how clever you are?”

Janie's purple eyes blazed. “There are dozens of mirrors in this place! We can use any one of them!”

“Any one small enough to carry. Claudia, run and find one while we take this stuff outdoors.”

The grass was damp under Alys's slipper-shod feet as they walked out to the garden behind the house. Beyond this flat space the ground sloped steeply away, and the wood-covered hill stretched down to the lights of Villa Park below. They had barely reached
the spot Alys had chosen when Claudia's voice came to them faintly.