Hunt the Moon

“We don’t need to postpone. I’m not going out with—with that man,” I sniffed, trying and failing to recall the guy’s name.

Jonas regarded the mage, who was standing by the kitchen door, looking about the way you’d expect. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

The man twitched.

I sighed. “Nothing.”

“Then perhaps a late luncheon—”

“No!”

“Tea?”

“Jonas!”

He sighed and gave up. “Handsome boy . . . very good family,” he muttered, reentering the living room.

I blew my nose and followed. And almost ran into an old-fashioned blackboard that was taking up most of the space beside the new sofa. I blinked at it, because it hadn’t been there a minute ago.

“Well, in that case, perhaps you could help me with a few small matters,” Jonas said, feeling around in his coat for something. “I used to do this with Agnes, you know. We had tea every Thursday, and I would go over any affairs of interest in the magical community, in case she saw something of significance.”

“I haven’t seen anything lately,” I said, eyeing the blackboard suspiciously. I poked it. It was solid.

“Which is rather the point,” Jonas said. “Agnes sometimes had dry spells, too, and other times she had visions about all sorts of things, but most were entirely unrelated to what we needed to know. But if we’d recently discussed something . . . well, it seemed to help focus her energies. I thought it might do the same for you.”

“Okay.” I edged around to the sofa.

“Good, good.” Jonas had been turning out his pockets as he spoke, one after another, leaving him looking like he had little gray tongues all over his suit. But I guess he hadn’t found what he wanted, because he made a gesture and plucked a small package out of thin air.

I stared at it, because I’d never seen anyone do that before, except on TV. But I didn’t think Jonas had used sleight of hand. Particularly not when he had trouble getting the cellophane off whatever it was.

“Now, I realize that visions can’t be made to order, as one might wish,” he said, fiddling with it.

“What is that?” I demanded.

He looked at me from behind heavy glasses. “What is what?”

“That.” I pointed at the package.

Jonas peered down at it. “This?”

“Yes, that! What is that?”

“Chalk.”

“Chalk?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“For the chalkboard,” he said, looking a bit bewildered.

“But . . . where did you get it?”

“Where did I get what?”

“The chalk!”

His forehead wrinkled slightly. “Ryman’s. They had a sale.”

I opened my mouth to say something else and then closed it abruptly. I wasn’t doing this with him. Not again. Not today. I sat down on the sofa and crossed my legs. “All right.”

Jonas regarded me warily for a moment, as if I were the one acting strange. But in the end, he didn’t say anything, either. He just fished out a piece and started scribbling on the board, like a more than slightly batty professor.

“Now, as I was saying, visions can be a bit . . . dicey. Agnes often described them as less of a narrative than a kaleidoscope or puzzle, with pieces here and there that, without context, made little sense. Would you agree?”

I shrugged. “I’ve had both kinds. The jumbled ones are the most irritating.”

He nodded. “Yes, so she said. She also told me, however, that having a starting point, some clue as to what she was seeing, often went a long way in helping her sort them out. And once she knew to focus on a particular piece, the others that went with that puzzle often presented themselves.”

“So what puzzle piece do you want me to focus on today?”

“One I’ve been working on for some time now. I’ve been doing some fascinating research into the—”

He stopped and looked at something over my shoulder. I turned my head to see the mage peering around the chalkboard. He looked back and forth between the two of us. “I, er, I was wondering—”

“No, no, we’re past all that,” Jonas said.

The man looked at him for a moment and then decided to focus on me. “Are we having lunch?”

“No.”

“Dinner?”

“No.”

“It’s just . . . I haven’t eaten.”

I just looked at him.

“Could I have my chocolates back?” he asked after a moment.

I silently passed them over. He disappeared back behind the blackboard. Jonas looked at me. “Where were we?”

“I have no idea.”

He thought for a moment. “Oh yes. I was telling you about my research into the old Norse sagas—the mythology of ancient Scandinavia. Have you read them?”

“Uh, no.”

“You’d like them, Cassie.” He waved the hand with the chalk in it. “All sex and violence.”

I frowned. “Why would you think that I’d—”

“And in a real sense, they’re very like visions, in that they give us pieces. Not necessarily the best pieces, you understand, nor in the right order, nor with the right emphasis, but pieces nonetheless. It’s up to us to decode what those pieces mean.”

“Pieces of what?” I asked, trying to figure out where he was going with this.

“Our current situation, I hope. As we recently had demonstrated somewhat . . . vividly, many of the world’s ancient myths have a basis in real events. Take the ouroboros legend, for instance.”

“The ouroboros?” I repeated faintly. Artemis’s protection spell wasn’t my favorite topic of conversation.

“Yes. As with most cultures around the world, the Norse have a legend about a giant snake who grasps its own tail, and in doing so somehow protects the planet. In their case, the snake was Jörmungandr, one of three children of the god Loki, who could shape-shift into a reptile.”

He stepped away from the board so that I could see what he’d been drawing. Only that didn’t help much, because what I saw looked a lot like a lopsided soccer ball with eyes. Or maybe some kind of deformed squid—

“The legend states that eventually Jörmungandr grew so large that he was able to surround the Earth and grasp his own tail. He was believed to be holding the world together, and that when he let go, it would end.”

He added a line across the top of the board and wrote “Loki” in the middle. Then he made three branches coming down from it, like an abbreviated genealogical table. The soccer ball was attached to one of them. He underlined it helpfully.

“That’s Earth?” I asked, just to be clear.

“Yes.”

“And that thing wrapped around it, that’s Jor—whatever?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “Can’t you tell?”

“Not really.”

He leaned over and did something to the drawing. “Is that better?”

I didn’t see any difference. Until I looked closer. And saw that the thing with eyes now also had a tiny, forked