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The Woods
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Chapter 19:- The Woods
Two days later, Jack, Lydia, Howard, and Tiger were sitting at long, rectangular table in the library. Tiger had reluctantly agreed to put on a harness and act as a “service dog,” and Howard had slipped on a pair of heavily tented sunglasses, so Tiger could join them. Howard was loving it. He kept saying things like, “I’m sorry, I don’t seem to be able to see what you mean,” and once to the librarian, “Oops, it looks like I’ve accidentally knocked over your entire display on modern medicine! If only I could see where I was going…” Of course, Howard could see exactly where he was going; he just didn’t believe in modern medicine. Tiger had dutifully pulled him along, away from the befuddled library staff, and to the table where Jack and Lydia were waiting.
They had agreed to meet at the library that morning to do some studying. It was a Saturday, so Lydia’s mother wouldn’t have to go to work. She also had a serious head-cold, one that Lydia said she mysteriously got every year around March’s staff report deadline, and would be staying home to rest all day. So Lydia’s house was not the best place to convene. The rest of the centers were doing a bit of spy work out in the forest.
Bill, Martha, Brise, Tillibrun, and Alice were watching over the Uprising, while the rest of the group was trying to get close enough to the palace to find anything out. Occasionally Bill would call in and report their latest findings. Most of it was useless—things they already knew or would actually rather not know.
“I think I’ll just turn the phone off for a while,” Jack whispered after Bill’s last call, letting them know that Warlock Daemn still slept with a teddy bear. “After all, we are in a library!” He added pointedly as he turned off his phone. Howard was speaking to Tiger in a voice that seemed to echo throughout the building.
“You’re blind, Howard; you’re not deaf.” Lydia said as she reached into her backpack for a book. Their little town’s library was actually reasonably stocked, and seemed to be broadening its horizons every day. Recently, a small section of shelves had been devoted to “The Supernatural,” where there were books on everything from Hinduism, to evolution, to alien sightings. This organization frustrated Howard terribly, but since he “couldn’t read” the titles, he had to sit and sulk in silence. Of all the books the library did have, no matter how misplaced, it did not offer much on Faean history, or the members of the Uprising. Hence the ten or so books they’d brought with them.
“This one says that Lady Gayle is actually more powerful than her husband,” Lydia said as she pointed to a spot on the very old, yellow page.
“‘As has occurred in monarchies throughout history, the Lady Gayle is widely known to be the more powerful of the Faeans in Maine. This is not only due to her fairy blood (The Lady is half-fairy and her husband, Sibian Faean is mortal; see page 20)…’ So that could be useful, right?”
Howard was peering at a very old book with tiny, scrawling text. He didn’t look up when he spoke to her, just continued reading, moving his finger along the page.
“Could be useful if we didn’t already know that. Everybody knows the Lady Gayle wears the pants in that family. What we need to know is how to get to her. That woman doesn’t listen to anybody; there is nobody above her, I promise you that.” He moved his face closer to the book, his nose nearly pressing against it.
“Howard, you’re supposed to be blind,” Jack whispered into his ear, nervous that the librarians would start to suspect and ask Tiger to leave.
“If there is nobody more powerful than Gayle within the Faeans...” Lydia began. She was staring off in the direction of a small group of teenage boys, her eyes glazed. Howard and Jack knew this was her ‘pre-brilliant idea’ face, but the boys in the corner seemed to think she was looking at them. They began talking loudly about weightlifting.
“If there is nobody more powerful than Gayle, and if Gayle won’t listen to anybody else, and if nobody else will listen to anybody but Gayle… We’ll just have to become Gayle.”
Jack started to doubt the reliability of the ‘pre-brilliant idea’ face, but before he could question her sanity audibly, she shook her head quickly a few times, probably rattling some gears back into place. She looked back and forth between Howard and Jack with those brilliant green eyes.
“If we are going to pull this off—if we’re going to get the Faean leaders from around the world to gather here—the order needs to come from the most powerful Faean. Not Sibian, but Gayle.” Lydia held up a finger, silencing the questions nobody was even asking, and dove into her backpack once again. She pulled out a book, only just bigger than her hand. It was maroon, leather-bound, and hand-written in fine cursive. She opened it immediately to a page marked with a sticky note that said, Jack’s mom?
“I was looking at this after that day at the theater. I wanted to find out how they’d done it.”
She removed the sticky note, which blocked almost half of the text, and they saw that the page was entitled “Idem Furtum.”
“Identity theft?” Howard asked, finally looking up from his book. “You’re proposing that one of the centers attempt this spell? Willingly risk his own identity to temporarily turn into on of the most despicable, vicious, rapacious devils on the planet?” Howard was whispering, but in his anger, it was almost more alarming than if he’d been shouting. Several people looked at their table. Tiger tugged on Howard’s pant leg, leaving a large slobbery mouth print behind.
“What happened to living in peace with the enemy?” Jack asked. They were all leaning over the table now, whispering conspiratorially.
“Of course that’s what I want, but Lady Gayle and her sister are exceptions… they are abominations… they… you know what that woman did to my daughter!”
Lydia glared at Jack for upsetting him so terribly; especially when she needed him to be rational just now. Many other people were glaring at Jack, too. Apparently he looked the most likely to be causing all the noise.
“Howard I’m not suggesting one of the centers pose as the Lady Gayle.”
“Thank god…”
“I’m suggesting that I do it.”
Of course Jack protested loudly, which she had expected. Unfortunately, several of the other library patrons had not, and were a bit startled by the stream of cuss words coming from their table. Howard’s reaction, though, she had not seen coming. He leaned back in his chair and took off his sunglasses, and put them quietly down on the table. His mouth was a mere thin line, covered mostly by his bushy mustache, and he did not say a word. He just leaned back in his chair and studied Lydia. Finally he looked away. She felt like she had been dismissed. He had looked her over, decided she wasn’t worth it, and looked away.
Well that’s just fine, she thought.
The librarian chose that moment to bustle over, pushing a cart of books in front of her. She glanced critically at the ancient, tattered books strewn across their table; took in the old man, staring off like an insolent child, with eyes as clear and bright as a sunrise; and saw the tire-sized puddle of drool that had formed on the floor near Tiger’s mouth.
“I think you all need to leave,” she said to Jack.
So Jack and Lydia gathered up their books and pushed in their chairs. Howard remained seated.
“Howard, we’re leaving,” Lydia said impatiently. The old man was behaving like a child.
He just sat there.
“I think I am going to stay for a bit. I have some things to think about… research… you know. Take Tiger with you; he’ll keep you out of trouble.” Tiger also seemed to be creating a large, dog-shaped indention in the floor the longer he laid there; so they took his leash, which was purely for show, and the three of them walked out of the building.
When Jack, Lydia, and Tiger had left, the librarian continued to stare impatiently at Howard. He patted around the table, as though feeling for something he may have lost, and looked up at the woman in dismay.
“I-I’m sorry about that,” he stammered, “I just get so confused these days. I thought I might just stay here quietly and get my wits about me…” His lower lip began trembling.
“Oh, dear! Of course you can stay. I’m sure it was those kids making all the noise earlier. I suspect they thought it would be funny to pretend granddad was blind and bring the family dog to the library. Well, I’m sorry you’re so rattled sir. Take all the time you need!” The woman patted him lightly on the shoulder and then continued on her way.
Howard got up and began perusing the sections of the little library. He saw “Fiction,” “Non-Fiction,” “Poetry,” and even “Sci-Fi,” but that was about it. It may have been one of the biggest buildings in town, but in Augusta, he could walk through the library for hours, for days, and still not find all the sections of books. The little town’s library was cozy, but a little bit outdated.
As though to prove his point, he found himself facing a large, illustrated book entitled The Magic of Magyk: How to Become a Wizard! The thing looked like it had been published in the 60’s, but it was one of the only few books on the subject he’d seen. He looked up and found that he was in the new, small “Supernatural” section. Nobody else was there—they seemed to be congregated in the study area and “Non-Fiction,” so he plucked the book from the shelf and flipped to one of the first pages.
To become a Wizard, one must first know what this word, “Wizard,” truly doth mean. “Wizard” comes from the early Greek word “Wizaro,” which meant “Man who can train lizards.” As we all now know, in ancient Greece, there was a terrible problem with large, violent lizards, so it was up to the Wizard to use his powers to train the lizards! Today, there are few lizard trainers left…
Howard chuckled as he closed the book, dust rising from the page as he did. He walked further down the aisle, passing books on his left about things like Big Foot, ghosts, and Chupacabra; and on his right, subjects like Buddha, Ganesha, and Taoism. He sighed at the book’s misplacement and decided to get out of this section. Just as he was rounding the corner, though, he paused. Somebody was walking down the aisle behind him. This would have been unremarkable—he was in a public library after all—but whoever it was, was trying very hard to tread lightly. He hid behind the display of books at the end of the row and watched the aisle behind him. Nobody seemed to be there.
Perhaps it was just somebody trying to be quiet in the library, he thought and moved on. He wasn’t actually doing any research; he just wanted to be alone for a while, clear his head. He knew it was pathetic, but Lydia was the closest thing he’d had to a daughter since his own was taken away from him; he felt protective of her. She simply could not do the spell; he wouldn’t allow it. Not only would she be facing magic that was way out of her league, but she’d have to come face to face with real evil in order to do it. The thought of Lydia and Lady Gayle in the same room, even for the moment it would take to accomplish the spell, was just unthinkable. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, he—
He heard the footsteps again. He knew he was being followed now, because whenever he stopped, so did they. He spun toward the sound abruptly, and still saw nothing.
“I still can’t believe Howard reacted like that,” Lydia said for perhaps the tenth time. They had left Jack’s car behind that morning, and had walked to the library. The sun had been shining, birds were chirping, and despite the cold, a walk had seemed ideal. Now that it was growing cloudy, windy, and even colder, they were really wishing they had the car. Then at least, Jack would have been able to drown her out with music.
“I mean, did you see the way he was looking at me?” She went on, staring at Jack in disbelief. “I mean, he—”
“Lydia, stop. I know you’re just trying to get me to agree with you; to say something like ‘I can’t believe it either, Lydia!’ or ‘Howard was wrong; he should have been more supportive.’ But the thing is, I don’t think Howard was wrong at all. He cares about you, Lydia. I care about you. You can’t just expect us to jump on board when you say you want to risk your life for some spell we don’t even know would work, or even be helpful if it did.”
Lydia stopped walking, pulling Tiger’s leash taut. He made a hacking noise and turned around indignantly.
“You don’t think it would be helpful if the most powerful Faean leader in this area, perhaps even in the whole country, were to order the others to group here? If I’m not mistaken, our whole plan was to get all of the leaders in one spot, and, if I’m not mistaken, she is the only one they’ll listen to. Howard even said ‘nobody is above her.’”
Jack put his hand on Lydia’s shoulder and began tugging her along. The wind was really picking up and he was only wearing a jacket.
“Yes it would be helpful if that just happened, but you’re suggesting putting yourself in real danger. You know you’d have to be in her presence to do the spell.”
“I know.”
“And you know there is a possibility that something could go wrong. You could die, Lydia; or worse, you could turn into Lady Gayle forever!”
They were coming up on Lydia’s house now; this argument would have to end soon and Jack was determined to have the final word. He stopped her just before they reached the driveway, earning a reproachful look from Tiger. He was not used to walking on a leash.
“If it was anybody else, Lydia, I’d say let’s go for it. I’m sure one of the magical centers would do it. Hell, I’d do it, if it wasn’t my soul they were after in the first place. I just… I care about you too much to let you do something so risky.”
“What was that?”
“I said… I care about you too much…”
“No, I heard you. What was that, over by those trees? I could have sworn I saw something moving.” Lydia was pointing to a long line of trees that bordered her driveway. Jack didn’t see anything and would have suspected that she was just trying to change the subject, if it weren’t for Tiger’s sudden stillness. He was standing with his head held high, snout twitching in the air as he sniffed. He turned toward Lydia and Jack.
I didn’t see anything either, but something certainly smells off. Again, his dark lips were pressed together, not moving, but his voice was as clear as thought. It could have been one of ours, though. Why don’t you call Bill and see if any of them decided to venture over here for some reason?
“They can’t just show up at my house; what about my mother?” Lydia looked frantically toward the front porch, as though just by looking at the house she would know if something was amiss inside. It just looked like a house.
Lydia, if it turns out to be somebody we don’t know, your mother will have bigger problems. Jack, call Bill. The big dog turned again toward the trees and sniffed.
Jack pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen was black and he thought for a minute that it had died, but then he remembered turning it off in the library. He turned it on, silently praying that he hadn’t missed any important calls. So, of course, when the screen finally came on, he saw that he’d missed five calls and had three new voice messages, all from Bill. Perhaps he’d just called to warn them they were stopping by; but Jack found himself casually stepping away from Lydia and Tiger, in case it turned out to be worse. And of course it did.
“Jack, it’s Bill. We, uh, just overheard some of Daemn’s guards out here, and it sounds like they’re planning some kind of attack. We don’t know any more details, but I’d sure feel a lot better if you could call me back. So, uh, yeah. It’s 555-BILL. Give me a call.”
Jack smiled reassuringly at Lydia and Tiger as he stepped further away. Nothing too bad; Bill was just checking in really...
He listened to the next message.
“Jack, it’s Bill. We’ve got a situation here. It sounds like these guards are planning an attack today,” Bill was whispering quickly and Jack could hear other voices in the background. “We are going to try and bring down one of the guards, get some more information…” Jack heard a man shouting in the background, movement, and then it sounded as though the phone fell to the ground.
Then Bill was back on the line saying he’d call back.
By the third message, Lydia and Tiger had grown impatient with Jack’s evasiveness and demanded he put the phone on speaker. So they all heard the terror in Bill’s voice.
“Jack! Pick up your goddamn phone! We’ve got a guard here telling us that the warlock sent milk to Howard this morning. I don’t know why you’re not picking up, but we are heading to the library right now.”
The line clicked off.
Jack didn’t know why sending milk to Howard was such an emergency, but with one look at Lydia’s ashen face, he knew something was terribly wrong. She had dropped the leash and Tiger was already running toward the car.
“He didn’t say milk, did he?” Jack whispered.
Lydia shook her head and walked toward the car.
Howard was in a dark corner of the library labeled “Vegan Cooking.” It must have been a relatively new section, as many of the books were still in plastic and there were large boxes strewn about on the floor. He had a feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be in here, but he had more pressing things on his mind.
“Who’s there?” He moved toward the corner so his back would be protected and he could see anything approaching. As he shuffled over, he stepped on some bubble wrap, which exploded like gunfire under his feet. He cursed himself for creating such a din, and then for being frightened by it.
“Who’s there? Why don’t you come out, you coward? Come on…” Howard taunted his invisible pursuant and was forcefully reminded of when he was in school and the children bullied him; called him a chicken. He remembered how puerile he’d thought it was, even then. He decided to stop.
He heard the footsteps again, much closer, and realized that they were not human at all. He couldn’t tell earlier on the carpet, but now it was clear that the creature was walking on two legs, and was doing a great deal of scratching. Oddly enough, it sounded an awful lot like a large bird—not unlike a chicken—and it also sounded like it was moving quickly along a wooden surface. This baffled him. The entire library was covered in thick, blue, 1980’s carpet. He crouched down, peering at the box-covered floor, the plastic wrappings sticking out of the books on the shelves…
The shelves.
He looked up and sure enough, there on top of the wooden shelf along the wall, was the most terrifying bird Howard had ever seen. It was about three feet tall and its body was covered in oily, mismatched, black feathers. Its leathery black wings were stretched out, at least six feet from tip to tip, not including the long, curved claw each wing boasted at its end. Its face seemed to be made of the same, tarlike skin. Instead of a beak, though, it had an elongated mouth, like an alligator’s, lined with rows of pointed teeth. It seemed to be smiling. Before he even had time to utter a scream, the Mulk was upon him, its talons ripping into his stomach.
“‘A Mulk is a talking bird with a terrible sense of humor. Its main form of nourishment is the misery of living beings, but it also has a favorite treat: human blood. The Mulk makes its home in the forest, but many argue that the vile creature must be from the depths of Hell itself.’”
Lydia closed The Creatures of the Wood and put it back in Jack’s bag with shaking hands. In nearly the time it had taken her to take out the book, find the right page, and read the short description, they had already reached the library. Jack didn’t say anything. He just pulled into a few parking spaces, jumped out of the car, and ran for the building’s front door. Luckily he’d at least had the presence of mind to put the car in park. Lydia took the keys from the ignition, opened the back door for Tiger, and ran up the steps behind Jack. As soon as he reached for the handle, though, the door swung open violently, and jammed three of his outstretched fingers straight back into his hand.
“There’s a fire! Get to the street!” The librarian screamed as she roughly pushed men, women, and children out of her way to be first in the crowd; and a crowd it was. It appeared as though the library had filled up even more while they’d been away, and every one of its patrons were stampeding out the door and down the steps.
Jack shook his broken fingers impatiently, willing them to mend. He hadn’t expected them to actually mend, but they did. He moved them around, one by one, marveling for a moment at the power high emotion had on magic. They’d have to be careful.
“Jack, let’s go!” Lydia shouted. She and Tiger had already fought their way through the last of the thinning crowd and were inside the entryway.
The door closed behind them, pitching the building into darkness. The only sources of light were the dim, fluorescent emergency lights along a few of the walls, and the two glowing red EXIT signs at the front and back of the library. The three were bathed in the fiery light as they tentatively moved further into the building and away from the entryway.
When they got into the main part of the library, they found that the emergency sprinklers were silently spraying the shelves, books, computers, and anything else people had left behind. Jack thought that this fine mist would be a sorry defense against a fire, but so far, they didn’t see any sign of flames.
“I don’t think there is any fire in here…” Jack whispered into the silence as they moved down an aisle. The shelves were too high to see around, and Jack had the uneasy feeling of walking further into a maze. A very dark, wet, and cold maze.
Tiger stopped, suddenly tense. The fur in between his shoulders stood up like quills.
“What is it?” Lydia whispered, crouching down next to the dog. All they could hear was the faint hiss coming from the sprinklers.
Then there was a blur of movement from the other side of the aisle. In one bounding leap, Tiger was at the other end, looking left and right for whatever had darted by. He stuck his nose into the air and then turned right into a wider aisle that ran down the middle of the rows of shelves. Jack and Lydia were no match for his speed and by the time they reached the wide aisle, they only caught a glimpse of his tail, turning left in between two rows of shelves. They heard a yelp, and then scratching footsteps moving off to their right.
“Come on,” Jack grabbed Lydia’s arm, slick with the constant spray from above. Just as they were about to turn into the little aisle Tiger had taken, they heard a noise like a child crying. The noise was coming from their right, where the footsteps had gone, and there was a moment of confusion: Help Tiger or follow the noise? They heard the cry again.
“Daddy! Make it STOP!” it shouted between sobs. They continued to their right along the main aisle, crouched down and as silent as possible. It wasn’t until they reached the back wall of the building that they heard anything again.
“I’ll do anything. Please, just leave them alone!” They could barely recognize the strained, whimpering voice as Howard’s, but that was enough to get them moving. They moved cautiously along the back wall of the building to the right.
Ahead of them a woman was speaking. Her voice was jagged and came out in bursts before it faded away again. And then the child began to scream, a high keening like a dying animal. They ran the rest of the way, mindless of the noise they were making, toward the dark back corner: Vegan Cooking. The screaming had stopped and was replaced by a confusing chorus of whispering, from every direction, and a drip, drip, drip like a leaking faucet.
There were no emergency lights nearby, so it was hard to tell what they were approaching. Dark shapes littered the floor: boxes, plastic wrap, all the evidence of a newly renovated area. But no Howard.
“Look,” Lydia whispered, pointing to where the two shelves met along the wall. In the corner, splattered across the books and plastic wrap, was a thick line of blood. It was about as thick as a person’s midsection, and, strangely, it seemed to taper off as it went up.
There was the sound of clicking on wood, and then something heavy landing on the ground in the darkness.
Jack looked up and saw Howard laying flat on top of the wide shelf. Blood was trickling down like little waterfalls, dripping lightly into a pool on the floor. Where his belly should have been, there was only a jagged hole, with vital pieces of him sticking out. Jack just stared at first. He couldn’t comprehend it. He could see Howard’s face turned toward him, white, almost glowing in the darkness, and he was saying something.
“Run!”
Jack turned around and saw Lydia, petrified with fear; but she was not staring at Howard. She was looking down the aisle at the approaching Mulk. The creature began to laugh, a terrible cackling noise.
“Well, well, well. They send me in to kill the old man for protecting the boy, and then here comes the boy himself! And now you have no protection!” The thing threw its head back and laughed through a mouth dripping with blood.
Jack and Lydia didn’t hesitate; their spells were unleashed, and deadly powerful, before the thing even had time to snap its neck back. They hadn’t said their spells out loud, so they had no idea what the other had done until the Mulk reacted. Where Jack had focused his energy, a thick slash appeared, from the bottom of its jaw down to its right hip. Blood sprayed immediately and violently from the artery in the thing’s neck, but his spell alone was not enough to take it down; not quickly anyway. It staggered toward them, its eyes wide, and its jaws open in laughter.
They backed up instinctively, only to reach the sticky corner where the two shelves met.
From far off, they heard a child scream again, but this time, the voice was unhurt, in control, and authoritative.
Alice.
There were responding shouts from the others and it was clear that they were moving quickly through the library.
The bird stretched its thin, leathery wings, trapping them in the corner. They could vaguely see the shapes of bookshelves and faint, fluorescent emergency lights through the black membrane; but no movement otherwise.
Just die already, Jack thought. He wondered what had gone wrong with Lydia’s spell.
Blood streamed continuously from the long slash in the bird. The wound was surely fatal; it was just taking an awfully long time to do its job. Jack turned to ask Lydia why her spell hadn’t taken hold, and with one look at her hate-filled face, he knew that this was just part of it. She was prolonging its suffering.
Lydia stepped forward, still staring at the creature, and the Mulk’s taloned wings suddenly shot to its tiny little ears, ripping at its own flesh.
“No! NO! NO!!!” It writhed on the floor, violently thrashing around, covering the shelves and the boxes in blood. “Please, make it stop!” It screamed.
Lydia just continued to stare at the Mulk with glassy eyes, her mouth hanging slightly open.
And then something huge hurled itself on top of the Mulk, and with a sickening crack, the bird stopped crying and was still. When Tiger stepped off, his white fur was covered in the creature’s blood.
Bill and Martha moved Howard’s body from the top of the shelf. He was still alive, but unconscious. His hands were pressed deep into his stomach, literally holding himself together.
“We’ve got to get out of the library,” Bill was saying. Jack was vaguely aware that he might be talking to him, so he tried to pay attention.
“There are cops and firemen lined up down the street to get in here,” he went on. “We’ve been keeping them out with protective spells, but we’re going to need all the energy we can get if we want to have a chance at saving Howard. Tiger?”
Tiger had been watching Lydia warily. He turned at the sound of his name.
“Go out front and tell Brise to let down her spell. We need her to take us to the forest immediately. Tell Tillibrun to maintain his until the very last second. We don’t need a bunch of humans coming in here with the place like this. Alice, Martha, Jack, and—” he stopped abruptly when he looked at Lydia. She was still standing over the Mulk, her lips slightly parted, and her chest rising and falling slowly.
“Well, you three, help me clean this up. And make it look like there was a pretty substantial fire in here.”
The academic side of Jack wanted to protest, What about the books? but he knew this was unreasonable. They used simple spells to clean up the evidence of the fight, and more complicated ones for the ‘fire’s aftermath.’ It wasn’t until Jack muttered “Abeo,” and the Mulk’s body disappeared, that Lydia even moved. She blinked a few times and turned toward the group.
“Everything okay?” Brise’s voice asked gently from somewhere above them. The plastic fluttered on the ground, a miniature whirlwind, and then Brise’s gleaming outline was there. She crouched down next to Howard’s head and motioned for Bill, Martha, Tiger, and Alice, who were all standing in a small group, to join her.
Bill stood awkwardly for a moment, looking from Jack to Lydia.
“Jack, why don’t you two head back to Lydia’s house? It’s getting late and her mother is probably worried; I’m sure she’s heard about the fire at the library by now.” He licked his lips nervously and Jack saw his eyes dart to Lydia, then quickly away. Lydia was just staring indifferently at the ground.
“Keep your phone on, and we’ll update you on how he’s doing. I know you want to help, Jack, but you two need to get some rest. We need lots of concentrated energy for this spell; and you guys seem about spent.”
Jack was about to protest. He felt fine and according to Howard he was sheer wealth of energy; but Bill shook his head imperceptibly and glanced at Lydia again.
Bill squatted next to Howard’s body with the others. First, Brise’s shimmering outline disappeared, and then the others simply faded from solid, to tiny little moving particles, to nothing.
“Speak to you soon,” Bill’s voice echoed.
There was loud banging on the building’s front door, and then a crash. Gray light flooded in from the broken down door. The firemen were shouting to one another, heavy boots marching through the aisles, fanning out quickly. They could see their flashlights bouncing off of the walls and the shelves.
“Come on,” Jack grabbed Lydia’s hand and dragged her beneath the red glow of the EXIT sign, and out the door into the alley.
Jack led Lydia down the alley and behind the large, blue dumpster. Her hand was still cold and wet from the sprinklers, but she walked, ghost-like, beside him, and did not try to slip away.
“Okay, we need to get cleaned up,” Jack said once they were concealed. He looked everywhere but her face for a long time. From her tennis shoes up to her shoulders, she was drenched in water and blood; her arms hung limply at her sides, but he noticed that her hands were shaking; her neck was splattered with liquid so red it was almost black. But her face—he couldn’t look at her face. He started cleaning her up.
He went over each section of her body methodically, logically, so he wouldn’t have to think about what had just happened. He crouched down at her feet and held his hands about an inch away from her shoes, muttering “Abluo,” over and over. It was a simple spell and he didn’t need to say it aloud, but he couldn’t stand the silence. So he moved up her legs, his hands hovering inches from her body, chanting “abluo, abluo, abluo.”
Her hands were shaking violently as he moved from her wrists up her arms, to her shoulders, her neck…
And then he looked at her face. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting exactly—perhaps the intense hate he’d seen while she tortured the Mulk, or the blankness that followed. He couldn’t decide which would have been worse, but as the tears streamed hot and fast down her blood-spattered cheeks, he thought he would have preferred anything else.
She made no motion to wipe the tears away, and they rolled down her face, mixing with the blood, down her neck, and then splashed onto the ground. Jack was reminded sickeningly of Howard’s body on top of the shelf.
Drip, drip, drip.
Lydia shook with each sob. She was making a low moaning noise in the back of her throat, though he doubted she realized it. She sounded like a dying animal. Like the Mulk…
Please, make it stop!
Jack felt the heat rising from his fingertips to his face, everything was spinning. He took a few steps away and was violently ill. When he turned back, Lydia still stood there with her arms at her sides.
He was weak and still dizzy, but he walked over and wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders. He buried his face in her red hair, not caring about the blood, and just held her shaking body.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…”
Finally he felt her hands join loosely behind him.
He leaned back and she looked up at him, her face looked muddy with the old blood and water.
“Jack, I killed that thing,” she whispered.
“I know.”
They stood silently in each other’s arms for a while, and then she broke away and faced the other direction, looking out into the alley.
“I didn’t mean for it to go so far. I was just so angry when I did that spell; I hated it. And then I just couldn’t stop; just couldn’t…” She spun toward him suddenly angry again.
“Did you see what it did to Howard? Did you hear those voices?”
Jack nodded.
“It was torturing him—it ripped him open and let him think that his daughter and wife were sitting there with him! Do you know what it’s like to have your worst memories play over and over in your head, Jack?”
Jack felt sick again as it slowly dawned on him: She knew what that was like. He remembered the mere seconds he had spent in her memories with the shadow beasts—the hopeless misery that had filled him. And those had just been seconds; those weren’t even his thoughts.
“I just couldn’t stand to think that those would be Howard’s last moments. I—I just wanted to make that thing feel what it was like… I didn’t mean it to go so far…” She finally reached a hand up to her face and wiped her cheek, though it was dry. She was done crying.
“Howard’s going to be just fine. He’s got some of the most powerful magical centers in the world helping him right now. He’s in the best hands he can be.” Even as he said them, he knew these words meant nothing. But he kept going, as people do when somebody is upset; he just couldn’t shut the hell up.
“And you know nobody blames you for what happened in there. That Mulk would have killed us all if it had the chance; you did what you had to. And Howard, I’m sure he’d be grateful. Howard loves you; he loves you like a daughter. He’d probably never say that, you know how Howard is…” He was very aware that Lydia was moving closer to him, her arms still folded in front of her chest like she was cold.
“But he loves you. We all love you. I mean, you know I love you. And that won’t ever change.” He saw her unfold her arms. She was so close; he could smell the sweet, salty stench of blood in her hair.
“No matter what happens…” He felt her bare hands on the back of his neck; they were surprisingly warm.
“No matter what…”
“Shut up,” she advised.
And so he did.
Long after their lips parted, they stood in each other’s arms. The little bit of gray daylight that was left was rapidly fading, and the little nook behind the dumpster was growing very cold.
“Lydia, my darling?” Jack said in his best debonair voice, though it was slightly spoiled as a stray strand of her red hair was blown into his mouth and he had to spit it out.
“Yes, dearest?” her teeth were chattering.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but… it’s fucking freezing out here.”
They both started laughing quietly, and found that once they’d started, it was hard to stop. They broke apart, bending over with crazy, howling, pent up mirth. Everything they’d been through that day, that week, for the past decade even—it was all too much, so they just laughed. They managed to finally get a hold of themselves, but then they took in each other’s ridiculous appearance, and it started all over again.
“You’re all bloody!” Lydia howled.
“Your head looks like it was dunked in mud!” Jack said, holding his sides.
“You just kissed me!”
“Gross!”
And they laughed and laughed, and before Jack knew it they were sitting on the filthy ground, leaning against the dumpster, their entwined hands resting on Jack’s thigh.
“Okay, let’s actually get cleaned up and go home. Your mom is probably freaking out.”
Lydia hiccupped in agreement.
They stood and cleaned themselves up. Jack noticed that Lydia was pretty worn out, and the simple spell was taking its toll. She steadied herself with one arm against the dumpster, mouthing “Abluo,” but nothing much was happening.
“I’ll finish you up; you seem a little bit tired,” Jack said as he moved over to her, holding out his hands. It was a mark of her exhaustion that she didn’t argue; she just stood there leaning against the dumpster with her eyes closed. When Jack was finished, he put his hand on her cheek and noticed how cold it was.
Partis, he thought, pouring some of his own energy into her. Her eyes fluttered open and she took her weight off of the dumpster, but she still looked pretty haggard.
“Alright, let’s get going,” he said, taking her hand once again. They walked out of the alley and around to the front of the building. There were still police cars and fire trucks parked along the curb, but there were no crowds of curious passersby or reporters, as there had been when his house had “exploded.”
Two fires in almost a month.
They could see his car parked carelessly in the lot; a few police officers were standing nearby in a group.
Two fires in almost a month, both involving him.
In this small, gossip-loving community, where it was big news when the reverend’s daughter was dating somebody in college, he wondered what people might start to think: Jack Nielson, the arsonist; Jack Nielson, the kid who burned down the library. He decided not to chance it. He closed his eyes and pictured, very clearly, what he wanted to happen, he concentrated on the spell, and then he opened his eyes and they walked on. The whole thing had only taken seconds, but it was successful. As they approached the car, nobody spared them a glance, and as they drove out of the parking lot, running over a few poorly placed cones on their way, nobody noticed.
