The Time Fetch (10 page)

“Let me remind you, my dear young friends, that you will soon inherit the guardianship of our beloved planet, a planet that is in the midst of a mass extinction event such as has not been seen since the Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction event sixty-five million years ago when the dinosaurs were wiped out. There are predictions that if we continue in our greedy and shortsighted ways, half of all currently living species will be extinct within a hundred years. Remember what I have said to you many times. Entropy is one of the busiest and most powerful of forces at work in the world around us. Entropy, anybody?”

Robert answered in a bored voice: “The tendency of systems to move from order to disorder.”

“Right. All the things in a closed system—cars, people, animal species, the solar system—everything tends to run down, fall apart, die, lose available energy. Human beings, in their willful ignorance, generally seem eager to help the process along. But think about it, my young seekers. There may be ways to slow entropy down. Even reverse its progress. You can align yourself to fight alongside the powers of order and creation. You can battle to keep things going, even join the ranks of those who devote their lives to making greater harmony and knowledge. Or you can sit back and allow things to run down.”

There was one of those long pauses where everybody waited for something to happen. Only Edward and Danton and Brigit knew that they were all waiting for Feenix, who no longer existed, to interrupt and send the discussion shooting off on some other tangent. Since she couldn’t do this, the silence grew until Mr. Ross suddenly remembered that they were actually supposed to be talking about rocks.

“So,” he said. “Back to mineral formations. Let’s turn to chapter four.”

Edward’s locker was on the other side of the building from Danton’s. Perhaps he could give him the slip. It had really been an exhausting day. He used a side door and kept his head down. He exited out into the gray afternoon and immediately slammed right into some dingbat who was standing still in the middle of the sidewalk.

The person made no sound, merely stood there, unmoving, blocking his way. When he looked up he was somehow not particularly surprised to see that it was Brigit. It wasn’t quite freezing, but the wind was cold. She had pulled up the hood on her down jacket and wound a very long green scarf around her neck several times. She looked directly into his eyes. He knew that this was hard for her to do, so he refrained from making any sarcastic remarks.

As he stood there, pinned in place by her clear gaze, someone else came bounding along and then braked to a stop by Edward’s side.

“I figured it out, Eddie! It’s the rock.”

Edward turned and found Danton bouncing excitedly up and down.

“What?”

“It’s that crazy rock you found.”

“What do you mean?”

“We all touched it. That’s why we remember her and nobody else does. And the reason she’s disappeared has something to do with the rock, too.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“None of this makes any sense. But we’ve got to find her.”

“Why?” Edward said crabbily. “She was a ten-foot headache.”

“What if she’s in some kind of trouble?”

A little gust of wind came curling around the corner. It carried some old leaves with it and a restaurant flyer and a beat-up baseball hat. It dropped the hat at Edward’s feet. He bent down to look at the hat more closely.

“Hey!” he said, outraged. He picked it up and brushed it off. “This is mine. I don’t believe it. I lost this the other day when—” He stopped himself just in time.

“When what?” Danton asked.

But Edward knew he needed time to think this over. “Never mind. It’s not important.” He shook out his hat and put it on his head. He looked at Danton and Brigit. They looked at him.

“Fine.” He gave in with a sigh. “Fine. But where are we going to look for her?”

“In the park,” Danton said without hesitation. “Let’s go to the place where we last saw her. Maybe we’ll find some sort of clue.”

As the threesome headed up Ninth Street, Edward asked Danton what exactly he planned to do once they got to the park.

“Well, we’ll have to see if we can find any traces of her. Ask people if they’ve seen her. That kind of thing. But we’d better hurry. It’s already starting to get dark.”

When they reached the park, Brigit went right to the spot where the boys had last seen Feenix.

“Hey,” Danton said suspiciously, “how did you know—?”

But, of course, she didn’t wait to make an answer. She climbed up on the park bench and jumped over the stone wall. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but the light was rapidly draining from the day.

“Hey,” exclaimed Danton again, “wait up.” And he scrambled after her.

Edward followed them, grumbling to himself.

The playground, when they got to it, was empty. All of the little diaper-wearers were safe in their nice, warm homes watching cartoons, while Edward was out here in the damp cold chasing after a missing person no one missed.

They walked past the swings, which all hung perfectly straight and still. Then suddenly, one of the swings began to creak gently back and forth, as if someone on soundless feet had run swiftly by and given it a quick push.

Brigit went over and stared at it, her head tipped thoughtfully to the side. She put her hand on it and it stopped moving.

“Hey, look at that!” yelled Danton. He was pointing to something standing outside the back gate of the playground. The other two followed him to take a closer look.

They stood there staring at a plaster gnome dressed in green. It was strung all around with little white holiday lights, which were just beginning to shine out now that the daylight was nearly gone. He looked like he’d been put there to catch people’s attention as they went in and out.

Around the statue’s neck was hung a sign with some red letters neatly printed on it:

Volunteers needed.

Time is nearly ticked out. The short end of the year draws near.

Meet at the Fallkill Bridge.

“Must be a park clean-up thing,” Danton said.

“At this time of day?” Edward said. “It’s got to be a joke.” But
the short end of the year.
Hadn’t he heard that one too many times in the last week?

“Look!” Danton said. He was pointing across the ball fields, over in the direction of where the pond and the dog beach were. A shadowy crowd of people was bustling around. Some appeared to be holding flashlights.

“See. There they are. The volunteers. Let’s go talk to them. Maybe they’ll have seen some sign of Feenix. And if they haven’t, well, maybe we can give them a hand or something.”

“Are you serious?” Edward moaned. “You want us to go help a bunch of green peacenik hippies pick up aluminum cans in the dark?”

But Brigit had already set off in the direction of the flickering lights and Danton was close behind. Edward, muttering curses under his breath, followed slowly.

Across the main road they all went. They hurried over the frozen ball fields, not speaking much. Only Danton, every now and then, would say aloud, “This way,” or, “There they are—over there.”

It was getting late and all color had drained from the sky. The park lamps began to come on, pale and wan at first, but gradually growing stronger.

The crowd over by the dog beach seemed to keep getting bigger. But now you could see them only by their flickering flashlights. They looked like a very enthusiastic bunch, constantly moving and weaving about. Edward wondered what they could be doing. How many aluminum cans could there be lying around over there at this time of year? Maybe the dogs had been having a beer party.

“Come on, Eddie, speed it up a little,” Danton said. “They’re on the move.”

It was true. Now the crowd was breaking up. The flashlights scattered into the woods. In and out of the trees they wove, some up the hill, some twinkling around the edges of the pond.

The three young people reached the dog beach just as a last beam of light went flickering along the ground and disappeared into the shadows.

“Oh, no,” Edward announced, coming to a full stop. “I’m not going up into those creepy woods now. There are all kinds of voodoo worshippers and ax murderers in there.”

Brigit did not even pause. She turned and stepped onto the path and dove into the trees without checking to see if they followed.

“Wow,” Danton said. “She’s awesome, isn’t she?”

Edward looked at him sharply to see if he was kidding. No. Apparently he wasn’t.

“C’mon,” Danton urged him. “We can’t let her go in there alone.” He leaped onto the path.

Edward gazed back longingly at where they’d come from. But the ball fields were deserted and it would be a long way to travel all by himself. A white, unblinking moon was rising over the trees. It stared at him. It stared at him the way his aunt would sometimes stare at him when he was trying to chill out on the sofa and she wanted him to do some completely pointless chore like pick up his clothes from the floor or do his homework.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.
He sighed and trotted up the hill after Danton and Brigit.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Bridge

Feenix was off and running before the door had clicked shut behind her. She did not take time to enjoy the view. The wide open space of the Nethermead stretched out around her. It was twilight. Darkness was approaching quickly.

Directly across the meadow she was sure she could make out the two boulders that marked the entrance to the path. Once she got there, it would be a short run up the hill to the bridge. Ten minutes should be more than enough time.

How many days had she been cooped up in that nursing home for the criminally senile? She had forgotten what it felt like to stretch her arms and legs. Oh, joy, to have escaped their creepy clutches. The last frost had turned the grass brown and the ground was hard. It was perfect for running on. Over the rolling meadow, she flew. Her coat billowed out behind her as she raced toward the hill and the line of trees.

Around the edges of the meadow ran the necklace of streetlamps. Each one cast a steady soft dandelion head of light out into the falling darkness. She reached the two boulders in no time. The path sloped up to the left and disappeared into the dark twilight beneath the trees. She turned back to check on the house. It sat there, its jewel-like colors shining poisonously. There was no sign of movement. She leaped onto the path.

It was a steep climb and she was out of shape, but as she neared the top of the hill she clearly heard the sound of the little brook. Hooray! The bridge could not be far ahead. Panting and sweating, she leaped forward and, to her surprise, the path took a sharp turn to the right. This was not the way she remembered it. She tried to stop so she could get her bearings and listen for the water, but to her horror, she found that her feet would not obey her. They continued to hurry along the path as if she were on a treadmill at the gym, forcing her forward.

Abruptly, the path hairpinned around and she realized that she was now trotting back down the hill.

“No!” she screamed. “No way!” In the next moment, the path became slick as ice. She skidded and her feet went out from under her. Down she went onto her butt and she began to slide. It was like a nightmare game of Chutes and Ladders.

Faster and faster she slid. Desperately she tried to grab on to something, but the branches she took hold of broke off in her hands. She closed her eyes not wanting to see what she might be about to smash her skull into. Down she went, bouncing, bumping, scraping helplessly along. The path spit her out at the bottom of the hill. It took her a few seconds to understand that she had come to a stop. She opened her eyes. She was back where she had started.

The empty Nethermead lay in front of her. Up from behind the tops of the trees a nearly round yellow moon came into view. It was huge. It looked like a moon you would see in a play. Across the open space, the door of the house stood wide open. Not good. She remembered with a sickening lurch what Old Baba had said about the spell they had put on the paths.

She crept back into the shadows and searched the area, but didn’t see any sign of the witches.

Blast the old loonies. There was no point in climbing up the path again. She was going to have to cut straight through the woods.

Making as little noise as possible, Feenix rose to her feet and stepped into the underbrush. She hesitated only a moment and then began to make her way up the hill again, this time picking her way through the trees. The temperature was dropping and she pulled her coat tightly around herself. Under her feet the blanket of fallen leaves hid treacherous stones and frozen ruts, but she made her way as quickly as she could, staying on the lookout for any signs of movement in the forest around her, and always listening for the sound of the brook.

The moon kept showing up here and there between the branches of the trees. She was happy to have its light, but she didn’t like the way it made the shadows slide and shift. All around her were small noises—rustlings, patterings, creakings. In the corner of her eye, something seemed to run by. She turned, but there was nothing there.

Would the witches have spread out, she wondered? Or would they hunt her in a pack? She climbed upward, stopping now and then to look and listen. There was no sign of them, though once she peered upward and caught sight of what she could have sworn was a tiny face, all wrinkled like a crushed paper bag, staring down at her from a tree trunk. The face didn’t move, and it certainly didn’t look like any of the witches. She hurried past it quickly. She looked behind herself once or twice, but nothing seemed to be following.

How long it had been since she left the house, she had no idea, but she felt pretty sure she had gone past the ten-minute count. She stopped to listen and she thought she could hear faintly, a little off to the right, the sound of running water. She adjusted her direction and found her way blocked by a fallen trunk and a tangle of branches and leaves. A storm must have knocked this tree down and there seemed no good way around it, so she climbed up and over, panting and sweating, stopping to get her scarf untangled from a brittle old branch.

When she reached the other side, she stopped again to listen. She could have sworn the sound of the water was now coming from her left. How had that happened? She must have lost her bearings when she climbed over the tree. She adjusted her direction. Up she went and up. But now, when she stopped to make sure she was going right, the water seemed to be coming from behind her.

It wasn’t possible. She hadn’t even reached the top of the hill.

It had to be the old phelgm wads trying to confuse her, but no way was she going to start going back down. She would ignore the sounds and just climb. Sooner or later she would reach the top and find the water or another way through the woods. She took a deep breath, plunged forward, and then stopped short.

Someone was standing in front of her, giggling and snuffling.

“Ahh,” snortled a familiar voice. “Sweet victory. That I should be the first!”

Feenix tried to dart around her, but young Piggy Face was swifter than any ball of witch lard had a right to be. Feenix faked a turn to the left and then reversed direction and tried to dive past her the other way. No good. No matter what she did, the doughball was always standing right in front of her, laughing and thoroughly enjoying herself.

“Did you really think you could outrun us, foolish girl? Even in our old age we would eventually have caught up with you. In the end none escape. Stop wasting your energy. I merely await my sisters. It is best to do the rending together.”

Feenix stared at the greasy creature. The getting younger thing was not an improvement in her case. She had a moist, big-pored complexion and her skin shone whitely, like one of those mushrooms that springs up in the park after the rain.

“Do you know how different you look now?” Feenix asked her. “I love your hair.”

The bloated Gorgo patted at her hair. It was tangled in dark curly rats’ nests all around her head.

“And you look almost young,” Feenix went on. “Why, another drop or two of that stuff and you’d definitely be the prettiest of the three.”

Gorgo frowned and narrowed her eyes.

“Right now, of course, Skuld is the winner. But that’s not because she’s a natural beauty like you. It’s because she stole an extra sip.”

“You are lying. She had no chance to do so.”

“Sure she did. When you and Baba were looking at yourselves in the mirror, she took a couple of nips. You know what she’s like. She thinks she’s the big queen of everybody.”

Doughball got even redder in the face. “She is a thieving, two-faced, maggot-breathing deceiver. It is always thus with her. When she arrives here I will—I will—”

“You’ll what? There’s really nothing you can do. The only thing that would really give you the power would be if you could get hold of that bottle.”

“Yes. When we have completed the ritual and returned to the house I will find a way to get hold of it.”

“That won’t be possible.”

Gorgo frowned. “What do you mean? Why not?”

“Because it’s not in the house anymore.” Feenix took the bottle out of her pocket.

Gorgo started toward her with a yelp, but Feenix held the bottle higher and uncorked it. “Stay where you are. If you come a step closer, I will turn it upside down and spill the stuff onto the ground.”

Piggy Face stopped moving. Again, a wonderful smell filled the air. Curiously, the smell was completely different than it had been before. This time it made Feenix think of turning leaves and crisp apples. It filled her with courage like a strong cup of coffee and renewed her spirits.

Gorgo eyed her furiously, but stayed where she was.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Feenix said calmly. “You undo the spell on the woods so that I can reach the bridge. Then I will give you the bottle.”

Gorgo thought about it. “How do I know you will keep your side of the bargain?”

“You don’t, but you’ve got five seconds to undo the spell and then I spill this stuff onto the ground. One . . . two . . .” Feenix started to tip the bottle.

“Stop!” Gorgo said. “I want that bottle before the others get here. I will do what you ask.” She held her palms out flat over the ground and spoke three unpleasant sounding words in a language Feenix did not recognize.

“Done,” said Gorgo. “Now give me the nectar.”

“First tell me the way to the bridge.”

The witch pointed. “Right up there, beyond that ridge.”

In the stillness, Feenix was positive she heard the water.

“Catch,” she said, and she tossed the bottle to the waiting hands.

Feenix knew she shouldn’t hang around—the other two could show up any minute, but she couldn’t help herself. She just had to see what happened next. Piggy Face lifted the bottle to her mouth.

What happened, happened fast. The witch took one swallow and immediately she began to grow younger. First the lines in her face changed. Now there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight and her face grew tight and pink like an almost too-ripe peach. Her mouth was a bright fat strawberry. Feenix thought she must have been around seventeen. She had big shoulders and ginormous breasts and she looked strong. She was looking down at herself with excitement.

She decided to take another another sip. Big mistake. In the very next moment she began to shrink. It was like a
Twilight Zone
–Discovery Channel nature film run backward. She went right from being a round-faced teenager to being a piggy-faced kid. Before Feenix’s eyes, she grew shorter and shorter until her long black gown swam around her. Her face shrank into a childish moon and her mouth turned into a little button. Her eyes filled up with terror. Her hair, which had been long and scraggly, tightened into short greasy curls. Now she was only as high as Feenix’s waist and then she was only up to her knees. She tottered forward in her way-too-big black witchy shoes and fell to the ground. She landed on her hands and knees. She tried to crawl forward, and immediately got tangled in her robes. The doughball baby flopped down on her belly and let out a long howl of fury.

Feenix turned and plunged up the hill in the direction that the witch had pointed. The sound of the water grew louder and louder. In just a few yards she stepped out of the woods and there was the wooden bridge.

“Yes!” She leaped onto the path. In a few moments, she would be back in the “real” world, running through the park’s ball fields, passing regular non-witch people walking their dogs. The little stream chattered to her, encouraging her to keep moving.

As she was about to step onto the wooden planks, a glinting down near her foot caught her eye. She bent down to see what it was.

She drew in her breath. It was a bracelet.

And what a bracelet. She could tell, even without touching it, that it was real gold. It was a wide, heavy looking hammered band with some sort of dark engraving running around its surface.

Why did she hesitate? What could be the harm? She’d pick it up and put it on and she’d be over the bridge in two shakes of a rat’s tail. And standing here undecided like this was certainly the stupidest thing she could be doing.

She looked around to make sure that there was no one watching and leaned down and picked up the bracelet. She slid the hoop up her wrist. The thing was so heavy. Awesome. She examined the engraving curiously with her fingertips, but couldn’t make out what it looked like in the dim light.

Then, at that moment, she heard a sound—a faint whispering and scuffling carried along in a stray snatch of wind.

No. There was no way she was going to let them catch up with her. Just a few steps and she would be over. She lifted her foot and brought it down. Her boot made a satisfying hollow
thunk
on the first plank of the bridge.

Next step. But now a dreamlike feeling came over her limbs. She tried to bring her next foot forward, but before she could do anything, she felt something take hold of her wrist and yank her backward.

No! Had the other two caught up with her already?

She prepared to bite and kick and scream.

But when she whirled around, there was no one there.

What the . . .
She looked down. It must be her sleeve caught on a branch or something.

She gave an experimental tug, and something tugged back. She pulled harder and whatever it was pulled back sharply. Anxiously feeling with her fingertips, she found what seemed to be a slender chain attached to the bracelet. It was being pulled straight and taut into the darkness behind her.

She knew with an absolute dead certainty that someone was holding on to it at the other end, playing with her, preparing to reel her in.

The Old Flea Bags again! They had set a trap and she had fallen straight into it.

Furiously, she yanked at the chain, trying to snap it, but whatever it was made of, it wasn’t snappable. And now when she tried to slide the gold band off, she found it was so tight it was digging into her arm. It had seemed so big when she pulled it on.

She gripped hard at the thing, trying to force it back down. But the harder she pulled, the tighter the bracelet seemed to become. It bit painfully into her flesh. This was no good; her circulation would soon be cut off.