Stoneskin's Revenge (42 page)

It was warm, but not enough to provoke a sweat. And the humidity was as low as it ever got in Georgia, so that for once he didn't feel sticky when engaging in a moderate amount of exercise.

And there was the land itself. It was as though the whole natural world was thanking him for the destruction of some plague the best way it knew how: with bright light and clear weather, with oak leaves so transparently green they looked too fine to be silk, with palmetto fronds glossier than any wax candles, with tendrils of Spanish moss so delicate that the finest carded wool could never hope to match them. The very sky had a polished look about it, and the air was almost too fresh-smelling to be entirely real. Even the dragonflies flitting above Iodine Creek like tiny jeweled stealth-fighters seemed to sparkle more brightly in the slanting sun. And the animals, too, seemed to have abandoned their usual reserve, for on his trek overland from the hearings in town Calvin had seen three deer, including one with the rare piebald coat; more squirrels and rabbits than he could count; and even a sleek furtive flash of grayish-tan that he was almost certain was a panther, though there were officially none left in Georgia. Certainly he'd never seen cat tracks that large left by anything else.

As for birds, there were red-cockaded woodpeckers and pileated woodpeckers, great blue herons and green-backed herons, snowy egrets and bobwhites, blue jays and red-tailed hawks. And peregrine falcons, of course.
Lots
of those.

Yeah, it was a beautiful morning. All that was lacking was Sandy—but Calvin'd be seeing her soon enough; she was already on her way down to pick him up. After all, he still had a wedding to go to in less than twenty-four hours, and there'd be a few more days tying up loose ends down here after that.

Meanwhile, he had to retrieve some things from his campsite. He paused to rest on a fallen log and thought back over all that had transpired since Spearfinger's fall.

As soon as the authorities—mostly Police Lieutenant Robert Richards and coroner William Roach—had gotten affairs in order at the meadow, they had escorted Calvin and the runaways to town and put them up in a motel at county expense. He wasn't certain what had become of Robyn and Brock after that, but
he
had spent the remainder of the afternoon and a good part of the evening matching reasonable questions with unreasonable replies—and without hostility on either side, though what he told the very select number of state
and
federal investigators, some of whom had choppered in all the way from Atlanta, certainly strained their credulity and elicited lots of shrugs and whistles and sighs and upcast eyes. But every time the grilling threatened to get out of hand, good old Bill the coroner would simply run his tape again and inquire, very calmly, if there was any
other
explanation.

There was not.

And fortunately, no one had thought to inquire how Spearfinger had come into this World to start with—apparently the notion that such a being was from Somewhere Else and could actually be summoned (whether by accident or design) was beyond their comprehension. Calvin was just as glad, too, for that would have opened up far too large a Pandora's Box for even him to try closing. Telling the
exact
truth had saved him more than once, but he was tired of being forever on guard.

As for Abner Moncrief, he had been sent packing along with most of the rest of the sheriff's department once proof of the secret interrogation room had surfaced (its usual guests were low-life out-of-towners who'd never heard of either law or lawyers). There was even talk of opening it to the public, for it really had been used by the Underground Railroad two courthouses ago. Sheriff Lexington himself, already scrutinized by the Georgia Bureau of Investigation for nepotism, procedural violations, and general corruption, had been suspended pending further investigation, with Robert Richards swapping uniforms to assume his duties. There were advantages, it seemed, to the fast-moving justice of small rural counties.

But now, this morning, Calvin at last had time on his hands, and chose to spend it by resuming the quest that had brought him to Willacoochee County in the first place: the desire to get his head straight about magic.

Yeah, maybe a couple of hours by Iodine Creek would mellow him out enough that he could focus on the finer points of lycanthropy.

Or perhaps not. For now that he was near enough to see the flash of sunlight on the narrow strip of white sand just south of his campsite, he was sufficiently close to hear the low murmur of voices. He tensed, fearful the authorities had chosen not to trust him again, though they already had David's bow as further evidence of his forays into other Worlds, and he'd finally recovered the scale as well.
He
still had that.

But he need not have been concerned, for it was only Brock and Robyn, both looking clean and energetic and well-fed as a result of
their
twenty-four hours of alternating bed-rest, face-stuffing, and intensive interrogation. Calvin hadn't been permitted to see them during that time, nor Don either—a shame because he'd long since started regarding them as friends.

Brock looked up from cramming a handful of candy wrappers into a plastic garbage bag and grinned wildly. “Calvin!” he shrilled, sprinting straight toward him, only to recover himself at the last minute and finish his approach with the languidly self-conscious nonchalance he doubtless affected with his mall-haunting cronies.

Robyn simply danced over to hug him, and—to his utter amazement—planted a wet one right on his mouth.

“You guys movin' on?” Calvin wondered after they'd caught up on greetings and the happenings of the past day.

“Reckon so,” Brock replied sadly. “Mom sent us some money for airfare to England. She's gonna settle things with the lawyers once and for all, then call us back. They've already applied for a restrainin' order, or whatever you call it, on Dad. Seems they think Robyn's…problem may finally convince some folks of how serious things are.”

“What
about
your…problem?” Calvin ventured, looking at Robyn.

She shrugged. “Oh, I'm gonna have the kid, then give it up for adoption in England.” Calvin thought she was trying to sound casual, though he suspected that a lot of angst had gone into that decision. “They've got socialized medicine over there, so it'll be cheaper,” she added with unnecessary defensiveness.

“But…”

“Kid can't help who its father is, Calvin. And neither can Brock and me. Only difference is, we can do something about it.”

“What about the DNA test?”

“Gonna have it and split. We'll send taped testimony if we have to.”

“Sounds good. I—”

“Calvin?” Brock interrupted, looking very anxious. “Can…can I ask you somethin'?”

Calvin ruffled his hair. “Sure guy. You can't
possibly
ask me anything I haven't heard before.”

“I…would you teach me how to do magic?”

Calvin's face clouded. He took Brock by the shoulders and regarded him seriously. “Are you
sure
you wanta do that? You've seen what it can do. But one thing it
won't
do is make you happy.”

“But…”

“No,
listen
to me,” Calvin went on earnestly. “I know it looks like fun, looks like a way to get your heart's desire—but believe me, it's a lot more trouble than it's worth. For one thing, you have to be
really
responsible 'cause you can't always foresee the outcome of your actions, even when they're well-intended. Like when I opened the gate between here and Galunlati and called the Little Deer, I had nothing but good in mind, yet I let Spearfinger into this World, and that cost four folks their lives and several more major-league psychological trauma, and those are both things I'm gonna have to live with for the rest of my days. Worse, it's gonna cost a lot of folks their peace of mind, 'cause most folks don't believe in other Worlds, only a lot of 'em suddenly have evidence to the contrary, and
that
worries me a lot, 'cause info like that has always been privileged, always been guarded—only all of a sudden it's not guarded anymore. Suddenly me and my friends can't control who knows. And that's just
one
of the problems.”

“Yeah, but what about the neat stuff—shapechangin', and all?”

“Yeah, well, there
is
that,” Calvin admitted. “But I've been a kid too, Brock, and not that long ago, however old I may look. I know the temptations you guys are under. You wouldn't be able to help showin' off, wouldn't be able to resist hintin' to the guys that pick on you that you could top
them
if you wanted to, that you're somehow special. Except that that'll only get you in more trouble. Trust me, I've been special one way or another all my life, and it's certainly not a picnic.”

Brock's eyes misted. “Gee. Cal, I thought at least
you'd
understand.”

“Tell you what,” Calvin drawled after a pause. “I'll do this much: I'll meet you a year from now at this same place—or any place you choose. And if you still want to do it, I'll show you how to do
one
thing. Meanwhile, I'll try to talk to my teacher about you—I've got a feelin' he's gonna be gettin' in touch with me real soon. If he sounds interested, I'll pass you on to him. That's as much as I ought to do now.”

“Yeah, well…thanks.” Brock smiled tentatively and stuck out his hand, as if to say, “No hard feelings,” but Calvin could still see his disappointment.

“Sorry,” Calvin whispered, with another muss of his hair. “But remember, I didn't say
no,
just
maybe later
.”

“Later's a long time for a kid,” Robyn noted, but the relief on her face told Calvin that from her point of view, he had made the right decision.

“But a life's too precious to waste chasin' after things that won't make you happy,” Calvin replied.

“Yeah, and speaking of that, I can't help but wonder what might have been.” She glanced at him with a coy smile.

“Yeah.” Calvin grinned. “Like maybe if we'd met two years ago.”

“Yeah.” Robyn grinned back. “Like that.”

“There's better guys in the world for you than me, though,” Calvin assured her. “I'd be nothin' but trouble. And you never could tell who you were gonna get for company.”

“But it'd be really nice to have you around while we're working through this.”

“Got ears, got money, you've got my number, all you need's a telephone.”

“Thanks,” Robyn sighed wistfully. She took his hand, raised it to her lips, and kissed it, then returned to her packing, rather less energetic than before.

Brock was still hanging around, though, and Calvin realized suddenly that he was really going to miss the kid. That seemed to be a thing with him: he'd just start getting to know somebody and then lose them. That he'd actually managed to make friends with Dave was something of a miracle.

“Well, at least
your
problem's settled,” Brock mumbled awkwardly.

Calvin shook his head. “Not hardly! I've still got to go before the grand jury sometime,
and
talk to the district attorney. And somehow I've gotta try to keep this as quiet as I can, and get word to my friends about what's happened so they can be on guard. And I've gotta think about some dead people,” he added. “It's a hard thing, Brock, to have people's deaths on your conscience.”

“Yeah.” Brock said. “I know.”

Calvin regarded him curiously. “Yeah,” he echoed, “I think you do. Least you know it's not all Saturday mornin' cartoons and RoboCop and Rambo.”

“Yeah.”

“One thing puzzles me, though.”

Brock cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

“Why in the
world
did you choose
that
song to counteract Spearfinger?”

“It's the only one I could think of,” Brock admitted. “Scared me too, once I got started, 'cause I sure didn't know all the lyrics.”

“I noticed.”

“It saved your ass anyway.”

“Tisk, tisk, what would Robyn say?”

“She'd say—”

“Yo, Calvin!” a new voice broke in, and Calvin glanced over his shoulder to see Don Scott bouncing down the deer trail that served as a path almost all the way to his house.

“Enough of this foolishness,” Calvin told Brock hastily. “I kinda need to have a word alone with Don.” And with that he trotted over to meet the new arrival.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” Don told him. “Mom says thanks too—more or less. Well, she didn't actually say that, but I think she more or less understands what's goin' on. Robert's been talkin' to her a lot.”