do we do?”
“We keep doing what we’re doing,” Delia announced. “Only now, we join forces.”
“Join forces?” Harold repeated, mystified. “You’d work with dorks like us?”
“Though it makes me dry-heave just thinking about it, yes. Three heads are better than one. We can cover more ground this way. Coordinate our efforts. Are we agreed?”
Dmitri and Harold exchanged a glance. After a moment of silent communication, they nodded.
“Okay.” Delia smiled fiercely. “There are two conditions.”
“What?” Dmitri asked.
“One: I’m in charge.”
“Okay,” Harold conceded. “The other?”
“You guys gotta get some deodorant. Really!” Delia grimaced. “I mean, come on. Grow up.”
“One question,” Dmitri said.
“What’s that?” Delia asked.
“What’s deodorant?”
“Are you kidding me?” Delia snorted.
“Yes,” Dmitri answered and grinned.
^ 42 Of course it’s unnatural. It’s the beginning of the Ward that will shield the island from Human eyes during the Clan Gathering. Duh!
^ 43 These days it’s hard to tell who is mad and who is talking on a cellphone. It’s not unusual to see people walking down the street and talking at the top of their voices to no one in particular. It used to be that you knew such a person was mad and they were best avoided. Now, people have these little ear thingies and they’re most likely holding a phone conversation, closing a big deal or planning dinner. I long for the old days when you knew whether a person was mad. Sometimes, just for fun, I put a little ear thingy in my ear and walk up and down the street saying strange things like, “Tell them we need it delivered to Atlantis by noon tomorrow!” or “The bears were completely covered in electronic strawberries!” I find it very liberating.
^ 44 Gelid means on the verge of freezing, for word fans out there.
PART 3
Preparation
Another Note from the Narrator
Well! If you like stories full of mystery and excitement, this is your lucky day! Brendan has once again surprised everyone with a new ability, but his friends and his evil sister have formed an alliance to spy on him. What a tangled web! What intrigue! What a twisted tale!
Certainly, Harold and Dmitri are more worried about their friend and less bent on his destruction than Delia is. They’ve all lost a day of memories, and one can sympathize with their confusion and desire to figure out what exactly happened to them on the fateful day that disappeared. I’d be worried if I lost a day, wouldn’t you? I mean, anything could happen in twenty-four hours. You could eat a bag of worms, dance naked in a shopping mall, grow a moustache and shave it off, mail it to your parents, and grow another one. I have done all these things, but I have the pleasure of remembering them: that’s the difference.
Some of you may think it’s a little harsh to insist that Delia is bent on Brendan’s destruction. All right, maybe his sister is not evil in the strictest sense. There are many gradations of evil. At the top of the Evil Food Chain are the Evil Dictators who hold their people in an iron grip of fear. Below the Evil Dictators are the Criminal Masterminds who plot the downfall of society to advance their own evil agenda. The next tier is the Corrupt Official who exploits the public for his or her own evil gains. Then there is the average murderer, although murder is hardly average. Finally, there is the Big Sister bent on destroying her sibling in retaliation for the borrowing of a sweater unasked or in revenge for an imagined slight.
Of all of these, the Big Sister is the most unpredictable and terrifying. One may never know when one will become the target of her wrath. One must cringe through life in a constant state of ulcer-inducing fear.
I remember once, when I was twelve, I accidentally spilled a glass of milk on my sister’s favourite woollen skirt. She accepted my apology after a massive tantrum, but she never forgot. It took her twenty years, but in the end she got her revenge. She had me pantsed at the altar on my wedding day. She then posted the pictures on a website she created, entitled www.youruinedmyfavouriteskirtyoulittlecreep.com.
I never saw it coming. I’ll never live it down. I thought she’d forgotten but she hadn’t. Big Sisters are like elephants… with access to the Internet.
MUSIC
Brendan made it home late for dinner. He needn’t have hurried. A note was stuck on the fridge: his mother was out Christmas shopping, his father working an evening shift. Of his sister there was no sign. He was glad to have the house to himself. His mum had left a pan of lasagna in the oven. Peering in at the expanse of cheese and noodles, he was suddenly aware of how desperately hungry he was. Happily carving off a chunk, Brendan sat down at the kitchen table to enjoy a solitary meal. He was sore from the sparring and a bit light-headed. His mind was spinning with thoughts of how he’d broken Saskia’s circle and managed to knock the formidable Warp Warrior down.
Somehow, I did it. I have to figure out how to do it again. He tried to force his mind to recapture the feeling he’d had when the warp had taken him, but his tired mind rebelled.
“This is hopeless,” he said aloud to the empty kitchen. “I can’t do it!”
“Sure you can!” Charlie’s voice answered. He whirled, knocking his chair over. Charlie was leaning in the kitchen doorway, smiling cheekily. “What is it we’re talking about, exactly?”
“What are you doing here?” Brendan demanded. “How did you get in?”
“You left the door unlocked.” She walked over to the table and pinched a lasagna noodle between her fingers and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. Tasty.”
Brendan snarled and snatched the plate away from her. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“But I am.” Charlie shrugged. “What will you do about it?”
Brendan carried his plate to the counter. He plunked it down and turned to snap an angry retort at Charlie, but she wasn’t there. He looked around in confusion and then saw that the basement door stood open.
“No way!” Anger flushed through him. “That’s my dad’s place.” He stomped across the floor, fists clenched, and headed down into the cellar.
When he got down to his dad’s music studio he found Charlie playing a song on his father’s electric guitar. The original 1952 Gibson Les Paul was his dad’s pride and joy; he’d found it at a flea market and had lovingly restored it. Brendan would never have dared to touch the instrument for fear of damaging it in some way, but here was Charlie, uninvited, handling his father’s prized possession. She sat on a stool with her back to him, her attention focused on the guitar. Her dark hair, he noticed, was set differently today. Normally, it was teased up into a rooster’s comb, held in place by glamours or more mundane hair products. Now it hung in a curtain around her pale face as she concentrated on her fingers. Brendan was on the verge of yelling at her for coming down here and handling his dad’s stuff, intruding on his family’s space. But just as he opened his mouth, she began to sing and his anger was forgotten.
At first, he couldn’t understand the words. They were just sounds, surprisingly rich and plaintive. Brendan had always thought of her as a young girl, a teenager like himself. Now, listening to the emotion in her voice, he realized she was old, centuries old, and she’d seen a great deal of joy and sadness in that long span of time. She sang in French. Brendan had never been any good at languages, but as he listened the meaning began to come clear to him. The song was melancholy and reached into his heart, touching something inside him.
