The Magickers (27 page)

He nodded, then could not help smiling as FireAnn put two great gingerbread cookies and two tarts in a napkin, folded the ends over and handed the package to him. “Roommates,” she explained, “can sometimes get horribly grumpy if they find out you've been somewhere without them . . . and you've had good things to eat that they haven't.”

Jason tucked the package inside his shirt gratefully as he thanked her. They all left the building a bit cautiously, but other than the fact that the night was later and darker, nothing seemed untoward.

The doctor hugged him about the shoulders before letting him go into his cabin. She waited outside in the shadows until he dropped the latch into place, and he stood, listening to Trent's soft, deep breathing.

He should fall into bed and sleep, but he didn't think he could. More than anything, he thought of the Ghost. What had he heard the second time . . . “saves mine” or “you're mine”? And how could he tell Gavan his fears that the enemy somehow had a hold on him he didn't know about and could do nothing about? And what was the Dark Hand, and why was it the enemy, and what had happened to all the other Magickers, once upon a time?

And how could he help Bailey before she was lost to them all forever or the wolfjackals got her? When he finally drifted off, it was into a tangle of half dreams and nightmares, none of which he could escape from or wake up from, until he remembered none of them at all. Even the ones which might have held clues.

18

J
ASON woke to the sound of crunching. He couldn't quite place the noise as he craned his head from his pillow and rubbed his eyes. The night, as Gavan Rainwater had predicted, had been much too short. He yawned.

The crunching grew louder and as he sat up, he saw Trent at the table, elbows propped up, happily consuming one of FireAnn's cookies.

“If you're going to sneak out,” Trent stated, “at least you brought back goodies!” He imitated a contented purr.

Still muffled by sleep, Jason answered, “Glad you like 'em.” He swung his legs out and stretched. If FireAnn had beaten her pots or Sousa blown the camp-rousing melody on his cornet, he'd slept right through it. “Everyone else up yet?”

“Nope. Thought I heard something at the door, so I woke up.”

“Something?”

“Yeah, the screen door was rattling and bumping. Must have been the wind.”

Or . . .
Jason concealed a shudder. He didn't want to think what else it could be. He padded over to the table and sat down. Trent had already eaten the little tarts, according to the pattern of crumbs on the table. He stifled another yawn. “So . . . wanna know what happened?”

Trent licked a finger. “I figure you'll tell me sooner or later.” He hummed slightly.

“Maybe.” Jason leaned back in his chair, stuck his foot on the table, and looked at his ankle. Despite last night's doings, it seemed to be even more healed, the colors fading. He decided not to wear his air splints again.

“Do you
mind?
” Trent pushed his foot off the table. “I'm eating here!”

“You,” observed Jason, “are always eating somewhere.”

“True. So, did you catch the thief?”

“No, I ended up Ghost hunting instead.”

“Wow.” Trent sat up. “No kidding? I missed that?” Jason shrugged. “You didn't want to come,” he pointed out. “Anyway, I caught the camp leader and Eleanora and Dr. Patel and FireAnn doing some kind of ritual, to send the Ghost away. Only, it hit me . . . and I don't know why we didn't think of this before . . . Bailey is the Ghost!”

Trent dropped his cookie. “Bailey is dead?”

“Oh, no. No, no no. But she's neither here nor there. She's been leaving clues or trying to.” He frowned heavily, wondering what he was going to do to help her now.

“How can she be a Ghost? What did the crystal do to her anyway?” Trent left his cookie on the table and took out his own crystal. Cloudy, it looked more like a frosty snowflake than any of the other crystals Jason had seen. It could be looked into, Trent had shown Jason that, but it was like looking into a very dark, shadowy chamber.

“I don't know. They haven't told us much about them yet. I don't know how they figure she could have gone home either, unless . . .” Jason fished his out. “Unless . . .” He tumbled the crystal about in his fingers thoughtfully. His jeweler's loupe lay on the table, next to his sketches. He picked it up and held it over his gem, looking at it . . . into it . . . each facet of the quartz like a chamber or door, opening, leading. . . .

Jason stared deeper. He could, if he concentrated hard enough, see something. A crack. No, not a crack, an edge of something opening, like a door. An image forming. His own home's doorway inside, wavering, growing more distinct the harder he looked. Home . . . The doorknob turned as if he reached for it, the door opening inward slowly and he leaned forward, eager suddenly to see if it was home, eager to be back—he could feel the cold brass of the knob between his fingers, turning, turning, the tumblers clicking as the door opened wider.

“Jason!” Trent knocked the crystal out of his cramped fingers. It shot across the cabin, and Jason sat back, dazed and blinking. The feeling of being home faded slowly. “Man!” Trent glared at him. “They said not to do that! What were you doing?”

“I'm . . . not sure.” He stretched his fingers, got up, and retrieved his crystal, checking it over for nicks or fractures. Then, with a sigh of relief, he set it down on the tabletop, where it rested. It seemed a bit different, somehow, for all that. He poked at it. “What did you see?”

“You, staring like a geek, into that.” Trent seemed unnerved. He paced about the cabin, back and forth, back and forth. “I thought it was going to suck you in.”

“Suck me in?” Jason stared.

“Like a vacuum cleaner. I figured you were just going to get sucked in headfirst and disappear like Bailey.”

“I think I could have gone there. . . .”

“Where?” Trent threw his hands up.

“Oh.” Jason drew his crystal back and pocketed it. “Home. I thought I saw home for a second there. I could have walked through the front door. You know how there are planes inside? Just like doors.”

His friend stopped short. He shot a glance at his own crystal. “Transportation? Or, more correctly, teleportation? No brooms or magic carpets? Just walk through a crystal door?”

“Maybe.”

“Then what happened to Bailey?”

“She dropped the crystal? She hasn't been trained? The crystals don't really work that way? I would think that Gavan and Eleanora tried that already.” Jason got to his feet, and further words were cut off by the sound of brass bugling throughout the camp, Sousa's homage to morning. He snatched for the last half of a cookie, but Trent beat him to it. The sight of the disappearing cookie tickled his mind. He almost thought of something. Almost. Trent grabbed his bath towel and snapped him in the butt, before turning and running. Racing, they bolted toward the showers and breakfast.

 

Tomaz had returned. He stood in the hall posting the day's schedule, but looked up as Jason walked over, and their eyes met briefly. The man gave a silent nod, before returning to his chore. The turquoise and silver on his rings and heavy bracelet flashed in the light from the wide, mess hall windows.

“What was all that about?” Trent whispered.

“Darned if I know.” Jason felt as though something important had happened that he had no inkling of. Behind him, Jonnard and Danno and Henry shuffled into line, Jon looking more than ever like a scoutmas ter in charge of an unruly troop as they headed to the restrooms. He also looked quizzically at Jason, who could only shrug in reply.

Henry, however, fairly bounced in excitement. “I can't wait!” His rosy face glowed from the hot showers and the corners of his glasses steamed faintly. He took them off and wiped them dry. “I can hardly wait,” he said for a second time, no one having responded immediately.

“What's happening, Squibb?”

“Best news ever. The computer room is opening later. Three brand new 'puters. No Internet, but some good software, I hear.”

“Computer room?” Trent's face brightened. “You're kidding me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“That's great! I was beginning to have the shakes!” He put his hand up and high-fived Squibb who nearly dropped his towel and whose round face beamed in joy anyway. For the next few moments, going through the line, they swapped nearly incomprehensible statements about speed, memory, RAM, monitor sizes, and sundry other computer speak which Jason only understood vaguely and neither Danno nor Jon seemed to understand at all. In fact, Jason thought that Jonnard's eyes had glazed over slightly by the time Trent and Henry started discussing mouse types versus tracing balls and other devices.

By the time they got inside the building, the two were lost deep in the subject of computer gaming and the rest of the world might as well have disappeared.

Jon waited patiently for both of them to take a deep breath at the same time, then interjected mildly, “Yes, but why do they have computers
here?
”

Everyone stopped and looked at him. “I mean, you can't expect they have them so that the two of you can play games, can you?” He paused while Henry and Trent sputtered a moment. “I mean. Think about it. Three brand-new machines, so that you can play super Gameboy on them? I don't think so.”

“This is technology supreme,” Trent argued. “What would a Magicker be using them for? I can only guess. For taping and editing the Talent Show, if nothing else.”

“Exactly,” Jon said as if he'd made a point. “We can only guess, and I suppose we'll find out soon enough.”

Somewhat disappointed, Trent and Henry quieted, but Jason for one was glad for the sudden silence. He had begun to drown in a sea of computerisms. Then a shadow fell over him.

Tomaz Crowfeather stood patiently, waiting to be noticed. The Magicker dropped his hand to Jason's shoulder with a firm pressure.

“I hear you have been busy,” Tomaz said.

“Ummm . . . I'm afraid so.”

Tomaz winked, his tanned face wrinkling about his eyes. “There is nothing wrong with a young Magicker casting a long shadow. Many of us here have been waiting years in hope for such signs of Talent. But you draw troubles as well. Wear this. It should help.”

He dropped a small bag in Jason's hand, a carefully plaited string of yarn to hold it. Blanket weave designs decorated the small, plump fabric bag.

Jason cradled it. It crunched slightly, and a fragrant but odd smell came out, as though the bag was full of herbs and leaves. He put it around his neck and dropped it inside his shirt. “What's that for?”

“That, young master, is for the wolfjackals.”

“Oh.” He looked around, afraid that the others might hear, but they did not seem to notice.

Tomaz stayed silently by his side, smiling slightly, and Jason realized that no one but the two of them could hear the words he spoke. “What's in it?”

“What you think is in it.” Tomaz smiled slowly. “Dried things. Powders. Herbs. Magic of my own. Do not get it wet, but wear it otherwise. Will you do that for me, young master?”

Jason nodded. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it. The touch of the little bag against the hollow of his throat helped lighten the worry about the crescent scar on his hand. He did not know how it did, but it did.

Tomaz nodded. “I will see you for canoeing,” he reminded Jason before he left. “But not wearing that.” He winked and strode away.

Jason touched the lump under his shirt.

Trent fidgeted as though waking up. He stared at Jason. “What's that?”

“Tomaz gave me something.” True to his impression, Trent had apparently not heard a word that had been said.

“Oh, yeah? What?”

Jason hooked his finger about the cord, withdrawing the bag from beneath his shirt and taking it off so Trent could get a look at it. Then he dropped it into his pocket so it would stay with his clothes and safely dry while he showered.

“A fetish. Cool.”

“A what?”

“Fetish. Like a . . . charm or talisman. Herbs, feathers, fur, made out of that sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Jason momentarily pulled it out of his pocket to look at it again. “It is cool.”

Then the line moved again, and Trent rushed him into the finally open showers. “Come on, I want a look at the computers before we have to go to another activity.”

Jason let the other's enthusiasm suck him in and draw him off after breakfast. True to Henry Squibb's word, there was a classroom lab open at the Gathering Hall. Inside it, computer desks, tables, and chairs reigned among the debris of many cardboard shipping boxes and a tangle of cords that looked quite complicated, leading from the various machines in stages of being unpacked. Trent walked among them, looking but not touching.

“They're going to be networked, apparently,” he said. He looked up to see Jason watching him, and grinned. “Hooked together. So I can, like, type a file on my machine and you can access that file.”

“Can't I do that anyway, if you send it to me?”

“Yeah, but that means I have to send it to someone outside like an agency or site which may or may not see it before he sends it to you. Or the cows may come home before traffic slows enough that he
can
send it. Networking is instantaneous. What's mine is yours, what's yours is mine. Straight from me to you.” Trent tapped a computer connecting cable.