“That’s why you let me drive the Firebird! Oh, my God! You were trying to butter me up before you let me down, weren’t you? Gramps, I’m disappointed.” It was nice being on the other end of the dreaded, ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ statement.
Gramps just shook his head.
“So I’m old and wise enough to drive Sheila, but I’m too inexperienced to go save my family, right?”
Maybe if you wouldn’t have called me a fatty…Sherlock said.
“Can it!” Maria shouted, her voice rattling the windows.
Sherlock slunk into the backseat.
“You must understand that I’m only doing this because I love you, Maria. Your service to the village will not go unnoticed. You will be lauded as a hero—”
“I don’t care about being called a hero!” Maria clarified, cutting him off. “I care about the well-being of those people. I care about doing the right thing.”
Her grandfather smiled. There was a twinkle in his eyes.
“You are your mother’s daughter, that much is true.” He pointed to Maria’s face. “When she was angry, her nostrils would flare just like that.”
Maria pulled away.
“Don’t try to be sweet to me, old man!”
Her skin glowed; she could see the muted blue beneath her jeans. Wouldn’t be good to go all magical fireball inside Gramps’s sacred Pontiac…or would it?
There was a pause, a moment of silence in which Maria and Ignatius stared. Who will blink first?
Gramps did. He looked toward the stickshift.
“Okay, Maria,” he said finally. “I give up. Like your mother, you are hardheaded.” He knocked on his forehead twice. It made a deep thunk. “And like your mother, you are tenacious. That is a good trait, Maria, but it can get you killed. You must be careful.”
Maria didn’t answer. She waited.
Gramps continued. “You may assist us when we get to Oriceran.”
“Oriceran?”
“Yes,” Gramps said. “The world in between is not a curtain. It is a tightly locked vault, buried beneath a ton of concrete.”
“How will we get in? Is that why we’re at Walmart? Is the way into freaking purgatory at an Ohio Walmart? God, everything makes so much more sense now. That’s why this place is a haven for weirdos,” Maria said.
Says the girl who can talk to her Bloodhound, Sherlock chimed in.
“Can it! I’m only gonna tell you twice!” Maria shouted, turning around.
Sherlock stuck his tongue out at her.
“No, no,” Gramps said, and then paused. “Er, yes, Walmart is the entrance—one of many. Ask the Gnomes.”
Again, Maria mumbled, “Gnomes?” to herself. “Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”
“Because I didn’t want to scare you. We are at Walmart because we are preparing for our trip. What better way to prepare than at the same place we are leaving from? Two birds, one stone!”
“But Walmart? Really? Shouldn’t we be going to Magics R Us or something like that?” Maria felt as if Gramps had made this up on the spot. But he wouldn’t lie to her… would he?
Gramps shook his head, laughing. “Oh, how I wish it were that easy. Maria, we are not supposed to be known to the general public. If there was a store offering items to only magical beings, it would easily go out of business. Secondly, it would be scrutinized severely by the IRS. We could just make money appear out of thin air, you know?”
Gramps got out of the Firebird. It was a low car, but he seemed not to struggle one bit. The usefulness of the kemana, Maria thought. All that ice cream somehow had a youthful effect on him. Isn’t that nice?
Maria followed suit.
She put the driver’s seat down and let Sherlock out. “Okay, buddy,” she said, “but I don’t think Walmart is going to allow dogs inside.”
But they’ll allow that? Sherlock said. He raised a paw in a pointing like gesture to a man near the open back hatch of a minivan. The man sat in one of those electric carts.
The guy's sagging sweatpants exposed a particularly deep and hairy crack. It was not a pleasant sight.
I’m coming with you! Sherlock said again.
Maria turned away from the man on the scooter and looked back at Sherlock. “Listen, man, I don’t make the rules. They let guys like him in because, even though he grosses everyone out, he buys a metric shit-ton of junk food. People like him keep Walmart in business.”
Well, you shouldn’t worry about me, Sherlock said. You should worry about Charlie Chaplin back there. Sherlock tilted his head backward, ears and cheeks flopping.
Maria hadn’t noticed, but the Firebird’s trunk was open, and Gramps was rummaging around. He threw plastic Halloween costume bags and hats and mustaches and wigs to the ground.
“Gramps, what the fuck are you doing?” Maria asked.
“No swearing, young lady!”
“Aw, gimme a break. I’m apparently a magical alien; I think it’s perfectly all right if I curse a little here and there.”
Ignatius looked at her over the trunk and rolled his eyes.
“Really, though, what the heck are you doing?” She made sure to substitute ‘heck’ for ‘fuck.’
“Disguises, my dear Maria. Disguises! Like you said, my picture is plastered all over that dreaded place. I don’t intend to get thrown out on my bottom by Spencer today!”
“Spencer?”
“He’s the security guard that should be working today’s shift,” Gramps answered casually.
“Great, you got the security guard patterns memorized, and you’re on a first name basis.” Now it was her turn to roll her eyes.
Gramps slammed the trunk close with, a stern look on his face. “Onward,” he said.
But Maria cracked up with laughter.
“What?”
Sherlock fell to the concrete and rolled, barking softly. Inside of Maria’s head, she could hear his doggie laughter.
“Gramps, you look like the oldest Italian plumber I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Gramps now wore a red shirt under his suspenders. He’d changed the checkered-patterned pants into blue jeans. On his face was a rich black mustache, and in his hand was the red hat with an M embroidered
