Curse of the Spider King (39 page)

“I had a wonderful time,” said Kiri Lee to Edward back inside the castle.

“I can't wait to come back.”

“Thursday, correct?” asked Edward.

“That's right,” said Mrs. Sherman.

“Excellent. Then we will visit those roons yu spotted from the tower. Very good view from up there, aye.” He was quiet while he escorted them down the castle's front steps. “You know, Miss Yuen, I'm part of a string quartet. We're playing for some special guests who are flying in on Thursday, as a matter of fact. I wonder, Mrs. Sherman, would it be permitted to let Miss Yuen sit in with us? I'm a cellist myself, remember. I'd gladly give up my seat for Kiri Lee.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Sherman. “The festival isn't until Saturday, and we will already be here. Kiri Lee, what do you say?”

“I say yes, absolutely!” Kiri Lee clapped and bounced on her heels. “And you don't need to give up your seat, Edward. I much prefer the violin anyway, though everyone knows me for my cello. Miss Sherman, could you get me a violin?”

“Of course, dear,” she replied. “There are several back at the palace.”

Kiri Lee looked back to Edward and she said, “What shall we play?”

“I am fond of Mozart,” said Edward.

“Me too!” said Kiri Lee. “Mozart it is.” Kiri Lee knew by memory every note of every piece Mozart ever wrote.

“Ah, Miss Yuen, yu've made me very happy today,” said Edward. “You have no idea what a special night this will be.” As the two ladies walked farther away, he muttered, “No idea indeed.”

“Goodbye, Edward!” Kiri Lee waved once more as she and Mrs. Sherman made their way back to the parking lot. Just as their driver was climbing out to open their doors, the class with the falcons let out and entered into the parking lot to the right. Suddenly, kids were everywhere, talking about their field trip and how cool it was handling the raptors. Mrs. Sherman tried to steer clear, but Kiri Lee got knocked over by a young man a head taller than she.

“Ouch!” she cried out as she landed on her rear.

“See here, young man!” Mrs. Sherman scolded.

“I'm so sorry,” replied the boy, instantly kneeling beside Kiri Lee. He reached out his hand. A woman knelt beside Kiri Lee, too, offering to help her up.

Kiri Lee hesitated, both her backside and her pride a bit sore, but eventually she took hold. And when she did, it was as if an electric current rippled through her body. She looked up at the young man, shocked.
What is this?
Kiri Lee noticed his red hair and pale complexion. “Do I know you?”

Jimmy felt terrible for knocking a stranger over. But not just any stranger, a girl! And worse, a
pretty
girl who was clearly from a rich home. Her chaperone and driver now eyeing him, he felt completely ashamed. He thought they would be justified in whatever they were about to say. Miss Finney was by his side in an instant.

“Are you all right, Miss Yuen?” asked the woman with the girl.

“I'm fine,” Kiri Lee said brushing off her clothes.

“As for you, young man—”

“I'm horribly sorry, mum, honest I am,” Jimmy said, his face now the color of his hair.

“Are you sure you are all right?” Mrs. Sherman asked. “And your hands?”

“Yes, Mrs. Sherman. My hands are both okay. It was just an accident.” She turned to the boy. “My name is Kiri Lee.”

“Jimmy Gresham,” he said. “And this is my teacher, Miss Finney. I can't say as I know yur name, but I do feel like I've seen yu before.”

“Perhaps you've seen her onstage,” piped up the driver.

Jimmy looked to the man, then back to Kiri Lee. “An actress?”

“A world-famous musician, my good fellow,” corrected Mrs. Sherman. “Now then. Off we go.” Mrs. Sherman ushered Kiri Lee back toward the car.

“Sorry about all this,” Jimmy replied, certain he had met her before.
But where?

“It was nice meeting you!” Kiri Lee said over her shoulder.

Before he knew it, Jimmy called to her. “Perhaps we'll meet again.” Then his face turned red.
I can't believe I said that,
he thought as Kiri Lee looked back at him and smiled.

37

Deadly Proof

QUIETLY SIPPING a glass of sweet tea with lemon, Mr. Spero sat in an armchair in the Greens' family living room. Jett, sitting on a couch just a few feet away, was as nervous as he'd ever been. Of all the teachers to make a house call, Jett would have never expected Mr. Spero. Mrs. Genresset, the math teacher, maybe. Mr. Midgley, the civics teacher, sure. But English was Jett's favorite class, and Mr. Spero was one of those cool teachers who made things easy to understand.

Did I forget to make up a paper . . . a test?

Jett couldn't recall anything. Jett's parents sat on an adjacent couch. Their questioning eyes bounced back and forth between Jett and his teacher. Feeling inexplicably guilty, Jett looked away. He stared at the trees swaying outside the living room's expansive picture window.

“This is terrific tea,” said Mr. Spero. “Old family recipe?”

“Instant,” said Mrs. Green.

Mr. Green spoke up. “Look, Mr. Spero, you're keeping us in a little bit of suspense here. What's this all about?”

Mr. Spero placed his glass on an end table. “I'm sorry about that,” he said. “It's just not the easiest thing to talk about with—”

“Oh, he failed a test, didn't he?” said Mrs. Green, glaring at her son. “See, Austin, I told you Jett was hiding something.”

“Ma, I didn't fail anything!” Jett protested.

“No, no, Mrs. Green, that's not what this is about.” Mr. Spero removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his brow. “Jett continues to be one of my best students. He's remarkable, really.

“It's not about school,” said Mr. Spero. “I've been thinking about it for a while, but when I saw you at Jett's football game this afternoon, then I knew I—”

“Oh,” said Mr. Green with a huge smile. “Ohhh, I know what this is about, heh, heh, heh.” He got up and went to a drawer. “You're a big Panthers fan, aren't you?”

Mr. Spero cocked his head sideways. “Uh . . . yes, I . . . uh, follow the Panthers, but that's—”

“Don't say another word,” said Mr. Green, taking a large permanent marker from a drawer. “Back in my playing days, I used to do this all the time. What do ya want me to sign? A football card? We could do a picture together and print it on the computer, if you like?”

“Mr. Green,” the English teacher said, holding up a hand. “With all due respect to your playing career, I'm not here for an autograph.”

Jett's father's cheeks burned red. With the marker still in his hand, he sat hard on the couch. “Oh. Well, I guess just say your piece then.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Green, I believe Jett's life may be in danger.”

“WHAT?!” Mrs. Green exclaimed. “My baby?”

Jett's father mouthed, “What on earth?”

“This afternoon, after the game, I met Jett on the other side of the visitor's tunnel.”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Jett. “There was this creepy guy watching me. Did you blast him?”

Mr. Spero swallowed. “No, I didn't blast him. I don't think he expected to see me there, and he ran off.”

“Jett, why didn't you tell us about this?” asked Mr. Green.

“Mr. Spero, did you call the police?” asked Mrs. Green.

Mr. Spero shook his head. “In this matter, the police will be of no use.”

“What . . . what do you mean?” Mrs. Green had her hands on her hips now.

Uh-oh, Mr. Spero,
thought Jett.
You better do some explaining. Ma's
getting upset now.

“Okay,” said Mr. Spero. “Here it is. Someone is stalking your son, but . . . he's not human.” The English teacher held up his hand. “He is a Drefid, an assassin sent to murder your son because of who he is.”

“That does it,” said Mr. Green, standing up. “I'm calling the cops.”

“Dad, wait,” said Jett.

“Naw, Son, I don't know what kind of drugs your teacher's on, but he's as cra—”

“Mr. Green, do you know why your son's fatal accident did not kill him?”

Mr. Green froze.

Mr. Spero waited.

Jett's father sat down.

Mr. Spero went on. “I spoke to one of the paramedics. He told me Jett's neck was broken, said he was sure of it. Broken ribs, pelvis . . . he was paralyzed. He should have died.”

“Don't you say such things!” said Mrs. Green. “The Lord healed my baby.”

“I believe you,” said Mr. Spero. “But it was not a momentary healing. Jett was born with . . . certain gifts. He's always been a special ballplayer, but have you ever seen him play like today? Have you ever seen any teenager play like Jett did today? Jett just about knocked Brickhouse into the next zip code. He carried eight young men over that goal line.
Eight
.”

“What are you saying?” asked Mrs. Green.

“This is not going to be easy for you to believe. But short of leaping off the Empire State Building or being burned alive, Jett is nearly indestructible. He has superhuman strength as well because . . . he's not human, either.”

“Get out of my house right now!” Mr. Green shot up and towered over the English teacher.

Mr. Spero stood and faced the ex–Carolina Panther. Then he reached up and tore away the rounded tissue above his ears. He lightly scratched at the tips of his pointed ears that were now revealed. “You have no idea how good this feels.”

“Oh my!” Mrs. Green looked like she might faint.

“Mr. Spero, you got pointed ears!” Jett exclaimed.

“What in the wor—what are you?”

“I am an Elven warrior,” Mr. Spero replied. “But I am nothing compared to Jett. He is one of seven Elven Lords, stolen from our world and left here to be forgotten.”

“Hazel, call the police,” said Mr. Green. He stood menacingly close to the teacher. “Elves? You've lost your mind!”

“No, Mr. Green. Though I cannot fault you for disbelieving me, I insist it is the truth.” He paused. “What do you know of Jett's birth parents?”

“Birth parents? We're his rea—” Mr. Green stopped short. Mrs. Green's hands flew to her lips.

Jett looked back and forth. “Ma? Dad? What . . . what's he talking about?”

Mr. Spero closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “You haven't told him.”

“How dare you come into our house—” Mr. Green leaped to his feet. “Get into our family's business—”

“No, Austin!” Jett's mother cried. She was on her feet and between her husband and the teacher in an instant. “Don't raise your fists in our home.”

Mr. Spero stayed out of Mr. Green's reach but continued explaining, “I am sorry. I didn't know any other way to tell you. Jett is the son of Elven Lords from a world called Allyra. He is now one of seven living Elven Lords. If he doesn't come back to his real home, our race may perish forever. These Drefids, they are deadly, and I don't know how many there are—”

At that moment, several things happened. Mrs. Green lost hold of her husband. In a blind rage, he flew at Mr. Spero and slammed him into the living room wall.

Surprising them all, the picture window exploded.

Glass flew everywhere.

Jett tackled his mother to the floor just as a massive, dark tree limb reached into the room through the window. It flailed about, smashing picture frames and keepsakes on the mantel and slashing the couches.

A massive tear opened in one corner of the ceiling. Timber, drywall, and debris fell, and the crack opened wider. A cartwheeling piece of wood cracked Mr. Green on the head. For a moment, a twisted face with huge, dark eyes appeared in the crack.

“There . . . you . . . are,” came a voice like the wind and cracking timber.

Just as Jett got to his feet, the first dark limb closed like a vise around his waist.