The Curse of Arkady (10 page)

“Maybe it's not here at all,” she said.

“No.” Bailey shook her head vigorously, ponytail bobbing. “I can feel it!” She reached out and took Ting's hand in hers, startled to find it was icy cold! “Hey, zip that jacket up. We can't have fun tomorrow if you're sick.” She paused. “I bet I can light it up.”

“Without holding it?” Ting stared at her.

“I think so. Sure would make it easier to find. I've gotta get closer, though.”

They were not close enough yet for Ulysses to perceive them as a threat. Another few feet, though, and his sharp ears and nose would catch them trespassing on his sidewalk, in front of his yard. Both girls took a deep breath and began to tiptoe closer.

A car swept past with blazing lights, dazzling them. Bailey blinked a few times, then whispered, “Okay.” She squeezed Ting's hand a little to comfort her. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the amethyst as if she had it in her hand, remembering the glowing spell that would evoke a soft, sure light from it. If it worked, it would surely be visible in the twilight, wherever it was. Thinking hard about what it felt like in her hand, Bailey remembered its edges and ridges and rich purple color. . . .

Bailey jumped. A soft white light flared from the corner of the fencing, then fluttered out. “There!”

“What? I didn't see anything.” Ting cast her gaze about. Although her hand felt warmer in Bailey's grip, she shivered.

“There!” Bailey darted forward, dragging Ting with her. She slid into the metal fence, reaching forward into an even darker corner of the yard, filled with old wrappers and crackled leaves and other debris, caught and held by the twisted wire prongs at the fence's bottom edge.

Alarm! Ulysses bounced to his feet. WOOF! He spun around, button nose wrinkling. WOOF! Trespassers! Robbers! Another bounce and he was after them, head down, barreling at the corner of the fence where Bailey shoved her hand through. She began to fish around wildly. The rough links caught at her wrist and jacket. She combed her fingers through the leaves quickly, finding pebbles and harsh sticks . . . nothing. She pushed through, leaning her shoulder into the fence, felt it sag a little under her weight. Then . . . something. She reached for it, stretching, even as Ulysses charged down on her. Alarm! Alarm! Burglars! He woofed.

The hard edge of her crystal teased her fingertips. Bailey leaned into the fence, trying to wriggle her thin arm through farther. “Almost . . . got it,” she said, with a grunt.

“Bailey!” shrieked Ting, as Ulysses tore toward them. His jowls flapped and spittle flew as he tried to growl and bark simultaneously.

Bailey found something angular and hard. She closed her hand about it triumphantly. “Got it!”

Ting jerked on her other hand. “Come on!
Run!
”

She tried to pull her arm out. The fence clamped down around her. She was stuck, and stuck fast! She could feel Ulysses' hot and heavy breath on her as her ears rang from his loud protests.

AWOOF! Woof!

He snatched at her, sliding to a stop in a shower of gravel and dirt and leaves. His teeth clamped down on the hand holding the crystal, and he froze, growling, eyes narrowed.

Ting let go of her other hand and screamed, but covered her mouth, so it came out a strangled, thin noise.

Bailey stared into Ulysses S. Grunt's beady eyes. His ivory teeth held her tightly, and hot drool ran over her knuckles. He would not let go, but neither had he actually bitten her, his great jaws simply holding around her. She took a shaky breath.

“Let go,” she whispered.

Ulysses stared at her. He braced his thick, stumpy body, ready for tug-of-war. She had no doubt he would win.

Her crystal warmed slightly in her fingers. If she'd let go, she probably could have pulled her arm and hand back through the fence, but then—what would the point be? It was the crystal she needed! What to do?

It seemed as if her summer flashed by. Dark-haired Eleanora, floating gracefully across the ground, lecturing on the power of naming. Bailey tried to breathe. It didn't seem to be working.

Then she got it out, her voice tight and squeaky. “Ulysses S. Grunt. Let me go.”

The dog flinched. His jaw worked a bit on her hand and crystal, mouthing her. He almost let go, but then Ting started tugging frantically on the back of Bailey's jacket.

“Someone's coming,” hissed her friend. “The office lights just came on!”

“You don't want to do this!” Bailey told the dog. Ulysses S. Grunt made a stubborn noise and planted his thick body even more firmly.

He left her no choice. She'd have to bespell him. Words rattled out of her with hardly a thought.

Ting groaned. “Bailey, that's awful!”

“It's all I could think of on short notice.”

Ulysses S. Grunt stared at her. Then, he let out a low whine. He went to his belly, jowls quivering. But he didn't let go. Instead, he seemed intent on imprisoning her hand so that he could lick it to pieces! Heavy footsteps came their way. Ting tugged on her jacket again.

“Let go!” Bailey commanded the dog.

Ulysses snuffled. He let go and rolled over onto his back, begging. She pulled her hand free, crystal still in her palm. He watched her mournfully. She took a step away from the fence, and he let out a forlorn howl. It echoed sadly about the lot.

“Good grief.”

The dog rolled over, got to his feet, and lifted his head, howling again. She stuck her arm through and patted him. “Quiet down!”

He snuffled her fingers happily. Bailey pulled her hand out.

Ulysses howled.

She stuck her hand back in, and he grunted in contentment.

“You've created a monster!” Ting accused. She danced up and down in real discomfort from the cold. “I'm going to freeze out here and someone's coming. Let's go!”

Bailey pulled her hand back and straightened.

Aoooooooo!

“Hey . . . you kids! Stop teasing my dog!” Light gleamed as a flashlight snapped on, and a great, hulking man lumbered over to the dog, glaring at Bailey and Ting.

Ting froze. Bailey backed up and felt her friend as stiff as a post stuck into the sidewalk. She wasn't going anywhere unless it was in drag mode. Words ran through her mind but failed to tumble out of her mouth. “Umm . . . ummm . . . We were just making friends.”

Ulysses rolled over onto the thick boot of the man. Startled, the man looked down. Ulysses drooled happily. “He was just howling up a storm.”

“L-lonely, I think,” Ting managed to say.

The man, who more than slightly resembled the dog, frowned heavily at them. “You do anything to him?”

“Ummm . . . no,” said Bailey. She shoved her crystal into the pocket of her jacket.

The man reached down and rumpled the dog's ear. “Wow. Maybe he's beginning to come around! We got him from a rescue. He was mistreated. We've been working with him, my brother and I.” A slow smile spread across the man's face. He thumped his leg. “Come on, Ulysess! Dinnertime!” The dog gave a doggy snort, bumped his muzzle against his owner's leg and, after one longing look at Bailey, trotted off happily.

“Lucky,” said Ting.

“Yeah,” answered Bailey, more than a little amazed at Ulysses' transformation.

“That's your Talent, Bailey, it has to be. You're . . . some kind of animal tamer.”

Bailey wrinkled her nose.

“Look,” said Ting earnestly. “Lacey came to you. Even the wild animals at camp would come close to you.”

“You don't think . . .”

“I do.”

“Wow,” said Bailey, thinking. “Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe it's just luck . . . and we're going to need a lot of that if we don't get home right away!”

They ran.

F
RESH from sleep, the man sat straight up in his narrow bed. He put both hands out, palms down, to the white silken sheets around him, and took a deep breath, remembering his troubled dreams. One Gate open and another being rattled. The movement in the forces of Magick troubled him. It felt like being caught in a maelstrom unaware at first, then growing ever more certain you were being pulled to your death by drowning.

His chamber filled with a handful of followers alerted by his stirring. One helped him to his feet while another straightened his robes and brought him shoes and a longer, heavier robe against the chill. Another brought him a tray holding a carafe of dark, bitter coffee scented heavily with cinnamon, accompanied by a small pitcher of fresh cream, and an empty mug. He poured the coffee and liberally doused it with cream, then took a long draft of the steaming brew. Its heat went through him like a lightning bolt.

If he could not stop Gates from being opened, perhaps he could find some advantage in the energies released by the happening.

“Even in my sleep,” he said to his silent followers, “I have set in motion a plan. Your parts will require accurate and prompt execution.”

“Your will is as good as done,” they answered in unison, bowing deeply. It pleased him because he knew they did not obey blindly. They obeyed because they respected his intelligence and power and foresight. He had gathered them because of that. Mindless obedience did no one any good. Here, he had the most powerful Magickers left in the lands, and their abilities and Talents were his. He smiled to himself at the thought.

“Tell us our part,” said a soft, gentle voice at his elbow. “And did you rest well?”

Resting was extremely important to him right now, as he gained strength, gained stamina, returning to his old self. He shook his head slightly. “The boy invades my dreams,” he said, “as I suppose I invade his.” He frowned then. “In addition to what I propose we do . . . I want the boy. He must be brought to me.”

“Your will is done,” they answered, the chamber caught in echoes of their voices.

He smiled tightly. “Far easier said than done,” he replied. “Trust me.” Then he drained his coffee mug dry. “Listen well.”

When he had finished detailing his plans and thoughts, he dismissed them, saying, “Send in Jonnard.”

The young man came in quietly. He brought in a tray filled with two fresh mugs of coffee, cream, sugar, and biscuits, although they were far too sweet and soft for Brennard's taste. Cookies. American cookies. Something cloying with melted bits of chocolate in them. Brennard took one, leaving the others for Jonnard. The lad was not so grown up that he did not crave sweet biscuits.

Brennard sat back. He waited for the other to finish half the offering in front of him before snapping, “Progress?”

“Slow.” Jonnard shifted uneasily. Dark shadows lined his cheekbones with bruises of fatigue under his eyes. “I am failing.”

“Never. You took on an unknown opponent, and nearly beat him. That is not failure. The drain . . .” Brennard set down his coffee cup. “We can handle that, if and when we have to, if rest doesn't restore you.”

Jonnard fisted a hand. “I should have taken him down!”

“He is more, and less, than a Gatekeeper. We had no idea of that till your encounter, and although your defeat smarts, there's no shame in it.”

Jonnard stood. “He had no training!”

“True, true. But he picked it up from you almost instantly, did he not? No one could have predicted that, but now that we know it, we can and will know how to face him. How Gavan located him, I don't know, but we need to find that out, as well. Are there more of him, lost in these states of America? Around the world?” Brennard leaned forward intently. “Untrained, they will squander the mana. They endanger us all. Use them or stop them.”

“I will stop Jason Adrian.”

Brennard considered the other: young, so steadfast in his anger that he practically shook, his fisted hand growing white-knuckled. “Good. But first I suggest you channel that energy into recovery. I need you to be prepared.”

Jonnard put his fist over his heart then, as had gladiators of old saluting their emperor, and murmured, “As you wish.”

J
ASON backed away from the computer, smiling after reading his mail. Only Bailey could get into trouble like she did. He remembered the troop of frogs which had followed her around camp one day, ribbiting in worshipful chorus, while she tried in vain to drive them away. Big frogs, little ones, even tiny ones who hopped in high leaps about her, chirping had carpeted her every step. Campers had stood around making comments about kissing the right one to break the spell. She'd been mortified until Tomaz Crowfeather had taken her aside and helped.

The early Saturday morning held its misty gray chill as he slipped out, heading for the park. He'd left a note behind to remind everyone that he and Sam were going to meet and practice, then have lunch at Sam's house. He shrugged inside his sweatshirt, hunching his shoulders as if he could keep his ears warm that way, and slow jogged to the park to get his legs going. Bailey hadn't said if Ting had talked with Henry Squibb yet, but he hoped so. Friendly, klutzy, round as an owl, Henry hadn't deserved to lose his powers and, worse, to be enchanted to forget the summer they'd shared. It wasn't right, and Jason had been horrified when Gavan Rainwater and the others had insisted. His protests went unheard. Even though it was to protect him from being further harmed by the Dark Hand of Brennard, it hadn't been an easy thing to see Henry change before them. The others wouldn't talk about him after that, but Jason couldn't forget him. How could anyone?