Duck Boy (9 page)

Steve got up late the following morning. Aunt Shannon was hurrying around
the kitchen, but when she saw him, she smiled. Christmas knickknacks flooded
the counters: snowman salt and pepper shakers, plastic elves, a sleigh-shaped
napkin holder with a full set of reindeer pulling it. A glass crèche
illuminated by a colored light.

Christmas crap is here.

“Ah, the dead have risen,” she quipped. Steve nodded. “I’ll make you some
porridge.”

“Thank you,” Steve mumbled. His first words of the day. “Please don’t make
as much for me this time.”

“Of course, Deary. Uncle Edward is off this morning. He’ll be back after
lunch.”

After finishing his porridge and placing the bowl in the dishwasher with his
spoon and glass, he attempted to leave the kitchen, hoping to hide out with the
Internet again.

“Ahem,” she announced, clearing her throat and blocking Steve’s path.

“Thank you for breakfast, Aunt Shannon.”

“You’re welcome.” She didn’t move. “Don’t we have work to do?”

“Um… I don’t know,” Steve replied.

Aunt Shannon pointed to a kitchen chair. Steve sat down. Aunt Shannon joined
him. She was working on finishing another pot of tea.

“Don’t we need to find your mom?”

“I didn’t know she was on my ‘to do’ list.”

“She is now.”

“I don’t know what to do. You’re the magic expert.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she said, rebuking him. “This is alchemy, a sort of science,
not magic. Most people tend to get magic and alchemy mixed up. They’re nothing
like one another.”

“It sounds like magic.”

“Magic means that a supernatural force changes things. For alchemists,
things change because it’s in their natures to do so.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, working hard to sound like he had understood what she’d
just said.

“As I said to you earlier, I think your mom may have accidentally traveled
somewhere.”

“You mean got sucked into the vortex?”

“Perhaps.”

“Wouldn’t she be dead then?”

“I don’t know, dear. I haven’t been able to figure out whether that energy
is deadly to humans or not.”

“So, you think we should try to see if it is?” Steve said incredulously.
“Couldn’t that kill someone again?”

Aunt Shannon pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “No one said that
experiments were for cowards.”

“Well, I don’t have my stone.”

“We need to help you find it.”

“And then what?”

“Then you start to experiment, like your mother… like me.”

“How ’bout I help you experiment?” Steve suggested.

Shannon looked at the ceiling as she considered his offer. “That’s probably
a good way to start. Sure, we could—”

A heavy knock on the door interrupted them.

“I wonder who that could be?” Aunt Shannon wondered. She set down her
teacup, crossed the hallway, and trundled down the short set of stairs to the
front door. Steve stayed in his seat, studying the decorations on the table.
The Christmas sleigh filled with napkins was about to hit three child-shaped
candles, skating on the table top in front of the sleigh.

Call the Christmas ambulance.

Aunt Shannon unlocked the deadbolt, but left the door chain in place. She
pulled opened the door and peeked out through the crack.

“You again!” she said angrily. “I’ve told you. I’m not interested in talking
to you. My experiments are my own business.”

A body slammed against the door, ripping the chain out of the doorframe and
whacking the door into Aunt Shannon, knocking her to the floor.

“Stop!” she yelled at the top of her voice. The commotion drew Steve from
the kitchen to the top of the stairs leading to the front door. Two men stormed
through the door and slammed it closed. A thin weasel of a man stood beside a
thicker man, both sporting suits. “You can’t just march into my house. I don’t
want you here,” Aunt Shannon shrieked from the floor. She slowly crawled to her
knees and climbed unsteadily to her feet.

“We are not here to harm you.” The thin man smiled sweetly. “Not yet,
anyway.” He glanced up the stairs and noticed Steve. “Oh, I see you have a
guest. You must be Steve.”

Steve didn’t respond. An icy feeling froze his feet and began to work its
way up his legs, locking him to the ground.

The thin man paused and inspected Steve carefully. “My name is… well… you
can call me Mr. Gold,” he decided, directing his words to Steve.

The thin man waited for Steve to speak. Steve stood, iced up, not knowing
what to do. His own thoughts yelled at him.

Duck Boy. Duck Boy.

“We are alchemists, too. I want to talk to your great aunt. We want to trade
alchemical secrets.” Gold squeezed out another big smile. “All we want to do is
talk.”

“You’re a thief and a scoundrel,” Aunt Shannon said, spitting each word out
in a righteous tone. “You coward.”

Gold pretended to ignore Aunt Shannon’s words and continued speaking. “If we
don’t talk in the next few days, you never know…” He grabbed Aunt Shannon’s
boney arm and squeezed it viciously in his fist, then pushed her against a
wall.

Steve stood motionless. He wanted to do something—defend his Aunt.

Duck Boy. Duck Boy.

Mr. Gold held her against the wall for a moment without speaking, as winter
air robbed the house of its warmth. “If you don’t cooperate,” he growled
through gritted teeth, “something worse might happen.” He released Aunt
Shannon’s arm.

“You bully, picking on an old woman. What kind of man are you?” Aunt Shannon
yelled. Gold’s calm exterior shook with rage for a moment. He raised his hand
and Aunt Shannon winced as she waited for his hand to connect with her face.

“You know, Shannon, someone needs to slap you,” Gold said. “If you aren’t
careful, it might just be me. And,” he added, “it won’t just be a slap.” He
nodded to the other man, and the two wrenched open the door and left.

“Coward,” Aunt Shannon yelled towards the man as he stalked away. In
seething anger, she slammed the door with such force that the house shook. A
splintered piece of wood swung at the end of the door chain. Aunt Shannon swung
around, intoxicated with anger.

Steve took a step backward from where he stood at the top of the stairs, and
prepared to run away to be alone until he saw some of the fire fade from her
eyes.

Chapter 7

“Are you all right?” Steve wondered in a shaken voice from the top of the
stairs.

Aunt Shannon rubbed her arm where Mr. Gold had grabbed her. She frowned, the
frown slowly turning into a sob. She brought her boney hands to her face and
began to blubber.

Steve looked around the room and fiddled with his hair for a moment.

Tissue! he thought triumphantly.

He darted into the kitchen and grabbed another three tissues from the box on
the top of the refrigerator. Tissues extended, he slowly stepped down the front
stairs to where she stood.

When he was within arm’s reach, she grabbed him and clung to him as if he
were a life preserver in the middle of the Atlantic. Waving the tissues behind
her back like a white flag, he surrendered and returned her hug.

After a few moments she released him.

“Help me up the stairs, please,” she requested. She teetered up the stairs
on his arm to the kitchen, and sat down in front of her teacup.

Steve set the tissues on the table and plunked down beside her. “Whenever an
old lady cries,” she sniffed, “she needs a tissue or two.”

Steve nodded.

“What a bunch of dunderheads,” she added, as she blew her nose.

“I made the mistake of telling a reporter that I thought your mother
disappeared because of an alchemical experiment gone wrong. The reporter asked
me to explain a bit about what might have happened. Of course it wasn’t just
Edward who read the article.” She turned and gestured towards the door. “Those
thugs have been bothering me ever since.”

“Why don’t you call the police and charge them or something?” Steve asked.
“You don’t have to put up with that, you know.”

“Well, I’ve tried, but it’s kind of tricky. First, his name isn’t Mr. Gold,
so I really can’t say who’s doing this to me. I’ve tried getting the license
number of his car, but his plates are all unregistered, so that’s pretty much a
donut. And the police don’t really believe my story, like the reporter who
quoted me. They’re much more amused by my theory than anything else.” She blew
her nose fiercely. “In other words, the police won’t do much about it unless something
very bad happens first.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do anything,” Steve said. “I wanted to help but I got
stuck.”

“What could you do against those men?” she asked.

“I dunno.”

“I don’t think the two of us together could do too much. So don’t worry
about it.” She sipped some cold tea from her cup, studying the saucer. “I’m
afraid I’ve dragged you into this situation now, Steve. That man knew who you
were, so I think you need to keep an eye out for him. Next time you see them,
run. I certainly don’t expect you to defend me. I’ll take care of myself, but
make sure you stay away from them at all costs. Don’t let them threaten you or
sweet-talk you.” Aunt Shannon began to massage her arm again, then sipped her
tea. “Ach,” she cursed. “It’s absolutely cold.”

The two of them sat silently for several moments. “I would like to ask you,”
Aunt Shannon looked up towards Steve, “not to mention these hoodlums’ visit,
especially to your Uncle Edward.”

Steve nodded. “I won’t say a thing. But won’t he wonder about the door?”

Shannon nodded glumly. “My glue gun will patch things.”

“Just blame it on me, if you need to,” Steve suggested. Shannon smiled.

“Thank you, Steve. You’re a good man.” She patted his hand. “Can we discuss
the clock-lock thing again?” she asked suddenly.

Steve poured himself a glass of juice, while Aunt Shannon topped up her cup
with now cold tea from the teapot. She took a stiff swig.

“Sure,” Steve agreed. “That sorta rocked.”

“I know you think it’s impressive, and I guess it is. Mr. Gold would
certainly think so.” Aunt Shannon pointed her cup of tea towards Steve. “But,
as I told you earlier, it’s not as great as it looks.”

“What do you mean?”

“I first transformed clocks and locks several years ago. I really haven’t
been able to find a practical use for it yet.” Aunt Shannon waved her cup of
tea as she talked. “I can turn a clock into a lock, but so what? I have a few
ideas as to what might be happening, but otherwise I’m really not sure. I
haven’t been able to do much else for several years. I’m stuck. I know it’s
important, but I can’t figure out how. I need to do something with it. I think
your mother may have gone beyond where I have. That may explain what happened
to her. If that is the case, we need to work until we find out what she was
doing and bring her back.”

Steve felt some of his heart thaw, and he cringed. Somehow, the ice felt
safer. But, he couldn’t squelch Aunt Shannon’s words and the warmth they
brought.

“Do you want to give this stuff a try, Steve?” Aunt Shannon asked, with a
hopeful expression. “Honestly?”

He paused. “Yes,” he replied. “I think I have to.”

“Great.” She clapped her hands together. “Before you can begin, we need to
discover your prima materia.” She glanced at Steve, who must have looked lost.
“I mean, discover your Benu stone.”

“OK, Aunt Shannon,” he interrupted. “I need to ask a bunch of stupid
questions before I understand what you’re talking about.” Aunt Shannon nodded
with a smile, so he pursued, “Here’s stupid question number one: What is prima
materia? Here’s a bigger stupid question: What is a Benu stone? What does it
do? Do I have to find somebody’s ashes so I can do stuff? I hope it doesn’t
have anything to do with experiments using human body parts.”

Aunt Shannon smiled. “I always knew you were a true adept.” She stopped
herself. “Oh, excuse me, I’ve got to stop using the jargon or explain myself,
at least.” She covered her mouth as if she’d burped. “I knew you’d step up to
the alchemical challenge. Let me see.” Aunt Shannon set her tea down to think
for a moment. “Prima materia universalis, mercurius universalis, materia
remota, materia tertia—they’re all names for the same thing. They’re old names
because so many before you and me have looked for it. Prima materia is Latin
for ‘prime material.’ In olden days, alchemists believed that this was some
kind of common material, like one of the elements—say iron—something easily
accessible that could be purified or perfected and made into a Benu stone. Back
then, most everyone thought that if you found this element, you could refine it
into a Benu stone.”

She hoisted her teacup. Another sip; a slight shudder. “But I haven’t
answered your biggest question yet. The Benu stone… a Benu stone is the one
thing that can help you transform things into other things. That’s the only
definition I know that matters.” Her teacup clinked into its saucer as she set
it down to gesture with both hands. “But this is only a working definition. To
be honest, I really don’t know what a Benu stone does except what you saw
today. It could do other things—what those things are, I’m not sure.”