The Magickers (9 page)

Jason nodded. He put his hands on the rim of the well, the cold stone clean and firm to his touch. Dark water lapped below and reflected back the thin gleam of the moon.

“Now repeat after me,” Hightower said quietly, and gave Jason the lines one at a time. He took a quick breath and blurted them out to the well. His voice echoed very faintly.

The last echo dropped away and for a moment, there was total silence. Then, breathily, in a voice that was neither male nor female but very odd, it answered:

Jason sucked in his breath at the eerieness. Maybe someone was hiding in the trees behind them talking, maybe someone wasn't. He looked down into the well. The waters seemed to stir, and then the voice sighed a word he was not sure he caught.

He looked up. “S-starwind?”

“Good choice, lad! Nice cabin.” Hightower thumped him on his shoulder. “Go get your gear, I'll be taking you and the others going that way in a bit.”

Halfway back, Trent bumped into him. “What was that, d'you think? Throwing their voices?”

“I dunno. I'm just glad to get a place to sleep. Where are you going?”

“Someplace named Starwind. You?”

The chill of the cold from the Wishing Well warmed instantly. “Me, too!”

Trent pushed him slightly. “Now I know it's a put-up deal.” But he grinned broadly.

Henry rushed past to roll up his sleeping bag in a hurry. They called after him, “Where're you going, Squibb?”

“I got Cabin Skybolt, with Jonnard!” He let out a chuckle before ducking off and tackling the mountain of gear he'd brought with him.

Jon, a tall shadow against the darker night, waited silently outside the hall for Henry to join him before heading down the pine-edged pathway toward the boys' cabins.

Their cabin, when they reached it, crested a small hill. From its front porch, Lake Wannameecha could be easily seen. Carved into the front porch eave was a large shooting star, with an immense comet tail, STARWIND etched under it.

“Too cool,” Trent said. He lifted the latch and went in, Jason holding the flashlight behind him. It was deserted, dusty, with leaves littering the floor despite the shuttered windows, but no varmints lurked there as far as they could tell. They threw their bags on bunks.

“In the morning,” Trent muttered, “I'm going to find out who was going through the stuff.”

“Right.” Jason slipped his shoes off. The two of them shook out the sheets, blankets, and towels they had rolled in their sleeping bags and tried to pull their cots into some kind of order. He threw his bag down like a comforter over the top and slipped in. He smelled faintly of woodsmoke as he drifted into sleep. The campfire Parting song had been neat, all the counselors chiming in and wishing them safe till morning. The morning would bring a shower, breakfast . . . and a mystery.

The cabin had grown very quiet when Jason woke. He lay there uncomfortable with the knowledge he should have hit the restrooms before he went to sleep. He tried ignoring it, but there was no way he was going to get back to sleep if he didn't hike down to the bathroom. And there was no way he was going to wake Trent or anybody else to go with him, despite the counselors' instructions to be careful at night.

Jason crawled out on hands and knees. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness and he found the doors easily, slipping outside, flashlight in hand. He twisted it on. Nothing happened. He shook it. Batteries rattled dully inside. He twisted it on and off a few times. Nothing. His body ached, and he decided to forge into the night anyway!

Down through the path of evergreens, the halo of lights surrounding the Gathering Hall and facilities drew him. He paused as he heard the soft murmur of adult voices head his way.

“It's not what I expected.”

“It'll be fine. It's worn out, but there's magic in it. There is no doubt there's an Iron Gate about. If we can find that, can a Haven be far behind?”

“That's the good news, and the bad news. The Dark Hand will be as attracted as we were. We've time, but not much.”

“We've done more with less.”

“True . . .” the voices moved off.

Jason rubbed at one eye. Nothing they said made any sense. He waited three long heartbeats until his bladder told him he could wait no longer, and then he walked quickly, desperately across the grounds. The facilities were dark and chill, and he danced about a bit trying to stay warm, finishing as quickly as he could. Coming out, he breathed a sigh of relief that he had not been detected.

Halfway across, Jason stopped as he heard something nearby. He turned and saw a glint of moon reflected in green eyes. A large form moved through the shrubbery, leaves crackling. Something large and hot and wild growled. He froze.

He could see it slink past the wall of the mess hall, pause, and then trot his way.

Furred. It snarled, and Jason caught a flash of white teeth. Coyote? No. He stared at it and it stared back as it slunk closer. It crept forward a step at a time on clawed paws, eyes fixed on him, glowing green in the night. It looked like an immense jackal, ivory fangs dripping. His yell of disbelief stuck in his throat. He tried to force it out. Help! He needed help! He could smell the creature's hot breath as it growled menacingly.

Then it sprang. Jason fell back, the thing covered him, and he felt a sharp pain in his hand. Its weight forced him down into the soft dirt, and he did two things instinctively. He kicked hard at the underbelly. His hand, caught in the beast's jaws, tore open as he shoved it, punching deep into the mouth.

The beast gave a strangled, surprised snarl as Jason forced his hand deeper into its throat. It let go abruptly, leaping aside, and Jason struggled to his feet. He could feel the hot spit sting as it rolled down his torn hand. With a growl it circled, and Jason knew it would leap again.

White light floated across the ground. FireAnn stood in the mess hall doorway, a broom in her hands. “Who goes there?” she called out, her red hair a mass of flames licking about her head.

The creature sank back on its haunches in the shadows. Its green eyes flickered as it turned away. It paused. With a low growl, it said, “You're mine!” and then disappeared into the deep shadows by the lakeside.

Jason stood stock-still in shock. He shuddered after a moment. “It . . . it's just me.”

FireAnn stood in the glowing doorway. His teeth clattered. “I . . . I . . . it bit me!”

“What?” She came out and bent over him. “What happened?”

His hand stung, and he could feel the blood dripping off it. He didn't think he could stay on his feet. “Something . . . big . . . it bit me. . . .”

She shook his hand gently, cradling it. Blood dripped into her palm. “Take a deep breath now. You're going to be all right. What happened?”

Bush prickles stuck all over his pajamas, and he felt their dull stings. “Am I gonna get rabies?”

“Did you fall in the bush? Coming out of the bathroom?”

He nodded. “It jumped me and I fell, and it went for my hand and . . .” He could hardly talk, his teeth chattering.

She smoothed his hand out in hers, eyes narrowed, looking closely at it in the golden rays of light falling from the kitchen doorway. “It doesn't look like a bite. Are you sure?”

“I . . . it . . . it said . . .”

“It said?” Her eyes looked into his.

He clamped his jaw shut tight. She didn't believe him. Or if she did, she'd think he was crazy. He shivered.

“Go wash it, and come into the kitchen, and I'll have a better look. I've some ointment, too.”

He could feel her eyes on him as he scuttled back to the restrooms.

Water felt good on the bite. He scrubbed it with soap for long minutes, wondering what to do, leaning heavily against the sink. The beast had spoken. Could he tell anyone? Would they even believe him?

He patted paper towels over the back of his left hand a few times. Jason took a deep breath, trying to push away the sick feeling in his guts.

On the way back, FireAnn waved him in. He stepped into the warmth, still shivering, still scared. She took his hand again, saying quietly, “Ever been camping before, Jason? Out in the wilderness?” Her voice had a slight Irish lilt to it.

He shook his head. She smoothed her fingertips over the wound. He stared at it in disbelief. The ragged tear had already settled into place, sealing, looking more like an angry red welt. “This is no animal bite,” she said. “I think maybe one of my kitchen varmints frightened you. The bush tore into you when you fell. Bites look entirely different, you see. You should not worry yourself.” She smiled in reassurance and spread some salve on it. Instantly, the fiery hurt faded. “You'll be fine. But you should see Dr. Patel, all right?”

“But—but . . . rabies . . . ?”

“Bushes canna carry rabies, but believe me, if they did, my ointment would kill it.” FireAnn gave him a reassuring pat. “Now, off to bed with you.” He stood, feeling wobbly, and headed back to Starwind. He turned once and looked back to the mess hall. Beyond, in the bright kitchen, he could see a great, deep shiny steel cauldron and FireAnn over it, stirring. The smell of fruit and sugar being cooked wafted toward him. Then, as he passed Lake Wannameecha Gathering Hall, she closed the door.

He crossed the darkness quickly, every hair at the back of his neck standing up. Was it following him? Did it trail him? Would he make the cabin in time?

Finally, hardly able to breathe, he tore up the steps of waiting Starwind and threw himself inside. Trent stirred, mumbled something, and rolled over. Jason took a deep breath, then latched the cabin door and lay down on his bunk. How could the wound seal up so quickly? Why the strange crescent? It had bitten him, hadn't it? Hadn't it?

His hand on his chest, sore and throbbing slightly, he fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

6

G
ET out! Get out! GET OUT!”

Lids clanged like gongs. Pans thundered like drums. Shrill cries of fury pierced the morning.

With a yelp, Jason sat bolt upright in his sleeping bag. Images of feral eyes glowing in the dark still danced in his mind as he ran out the cabin door. Were they under attack? Across the way, Henry Squibb had not only gotten to his feet, still wrapped in his immense sleeping bag, he ran around trapped inside it, wailing. Others milled around.

But it was not Henry's loud cries that shook the camp.

“Out, I say! Out, out, OUT! And stay gone!” the loudspeakers bellowed.

“Something's wrong with breakfast!” Trent cried. He lit out for the mess hall, Jason at his heels. Doors to the building flung open, campers shooting off in every direction.

As they peered at the commotion, FireAnn appeared in the mess hall kitchen. She brandished her broom, laying about her with every cry. Her hair lashed around her as she danced in anger. A small herd of chipmunks bolted from the kitchen. In a wave of chitters and chatters, they dodged across the open ground and into the grasses and tall trees down by the lake's beach. A raccoon lumbered out of the kitchen, a pot lid caught on a hind paw that it kicked aside, and then it broke into a gallop just ahead of FireAnn and her broom. Its bandit face mask looked squinched up unhappily.

Trent rolled against Jason, laughing so hard he could barely stand. Behind them, other campers pushed forward to see what was going on.

“Excuse me.”

Jason turned as he heard Eleanora Andarielle's soft voice at his ear. She passed by as he moved aside and he blinked in confusion. She was taller than he was, wasn't she? He seemed to have remembered that from yesterday. But today the top of her softly curled hair would have brushed under his chin. Before he could think any more about it, she had joined FireAnn, just as two more raccoons left the mess hall kitchens in a lumbering hurry, grumbling unhappily at being woken up. Eleanora bent over to collect pot lids, and joined FireAnn clashing them. “Well done! I'd say the enemy is in retreat!”

The cook gave a last triumphant wave of her broom in the air before disappearing into the kitchen. Her voice then wailed in dismay, “What a mess!”

Eleanora turned, her skirt swirling in a dark cloud about her ankles. “I'll need five campers this morning to help FireAnn clean up, so breakfast can be made.” She pointed quickly, catching a sleepy-faced but already dressed Bailey with the sweep of her hand.