“The air is different,” Ignatius said. His gaze swept the darkening blue sky. He put his index finger on the tip of his tongue then put it above his head, as if testing the wind.
“What?” Maria started to ask.
Let him go. He’s just being weird. I don’t smell anything besides a few dropped French fries over by that Five Guys burger place, Sherlock said. And those damned seagulls. What I wouldn’t do to get my teeth in—
“Whoa, calm down, killer,” Maria admonished. She turned back to her grandfather and put a hand on the small of his back. “You sure you’re okay?”
He blinked. Realization came over his features and he shook his head. “Yes, yes, I’m hungry. You see that little coffee shop over there? They have the best sandwiches.”
“Gramps, I know. We used to go there all the time.” Dementia was on her mind. Is Gramps losing it?
“Humor an old man and share one with him, please, dear?” Ignatius made his best sad face, with his lower lip jutting out and his eyes wide and gleaming with tears.
“Fine,” Maria said. “But after that, we have to prepare for our trip. Really prepare for our trip.”
Sherlock jumped up on Maria and licked her.
“Blah! What did I tell you about licking me, Sherlock?”
Gramps laughed as Maria wiped the slobber from her cheek. He put his arm around her and they walked across the street to The Big Cup Coffeehouse.
The air had changed. Ignatius was right. Whenever a soul leaves a body on Oriceran, it is not meant to come back to the vessel that housed it previously.
Yet Malakai walked the Earth in the same suit of skin that he had worn on Oriceran. In that skin, Malakai had turned on the village of Dominion and spilt the blood of Duke, the child soldier who had shown him mercy. All for what?
Was I meant to be loyal to the Arachnids because I was born one, despite them murdering my mother at the time of my birth? Despite all the torture and torment the Arachnid army put their soldiers through?
The answer did not matter.
What was done had already been done.
Malakai looked to the dark sky with his eight eyes and sniffed the air. He smelled the garbage set out by the curb in front of all the houses, except for the one to which he’d tracked Ignatius Mangood and the music box.
The key.
He cleaned up the mess he’d left the previous night. Now he waited for Ignatius’s return. Then he would not only get his key, but he would get revenge.
He did not know how the box was the key to the world in between, but that didn’t matter. Malakai didn’t care one way or the other. When he was brought back to life, he had lost all his emotion, all basis of right and wrong—‘for the better,’ the Widow had said; her with the red hourglass emblazoned on her back. Now Malakai was programmed for only two things—to get back the music box, and to kill anyone who dared stand in his way.
He would make sure Ignatius stood in his way.
Although devoid of emotion, Malakai hadn’t been drained of his brains. He knew he was in a foreign land. He knew the sight of a giant creature such as himself would send the locals into frenzy.
The Widow, time and time again, had instilled an image of a mob of angry humans equipped with pitchforks and torches, hellbent on killing what they would never understand.
Malakai had slipped up a few times in his pursuits, but he couldn’t slip up around the wizards and witches in hiding.
He wouldn’t, either. Not with her wand.
Time passed, and Ignatius never showed. Malakai would have to take matters into his own hands. He would have to force the issue.
The cloaking spell changed him into his last victim—a new inductee to the Order of the Silver Griffins by the name of Felah Fyre.
Felah Fyre had suddenly developed a sweet tooth. The only thing capable of satisfying the sweet tooth—besides the blood of wizards and witches, of course—was ice cream.
Chapter Fourteen
Ignatius ordered a mint cappuccino. Maria grimaced at the strong smell of the steaming cup. It was like hot gum. Sherlock’s nose wiggled curiously. Once he got close enough to it, he gagged.
“Yeah, not my cup of tea, either,” Maria agreed. She was still waiting for her vanilla milkshake—an odd order in a place that was famous for its coffee.
Not a cup of tea, Sherlock said. It’s coffee. Is your nose broken, human?
“Don’t you mean ‘witch’ now?” Maria said.
Gramps laughed and shook his head. “Oh, you two. You warm my heart.”
“Skip the sentimental stuff, Gramps,” Maria said.
The waitress came with a tall glass. “Whip cream?” she asked.
“Leave the can,” Maria said with a grin, motioning to the Ready Whip in the waitress’s apron.
“Um, I’m afraid I can’t do—”
Ignatius mumbled something Maria couldn’t hear, and the waitress’s eyes changed. She looked like someone who’d fallen into a deep daze riddled with the most pleasant dreams.
“Here,” she offered. “It’s all yours.” She grinned from ear to ear.
“Thank you…” Maria said hesitantly, and took the can.
“You’re most welcome. Will you be having any food to go with your drinks? Perhaps one of our world-famous chicken club sandwiches? I can have the cook make one up special for you, Maria,” the waitress said.
“Uh, yeah…that’d be nice. Wait—how do you know my name?”
But the waitress only nodded and walked back to the kitchen through a swinging door.
She was still confused until she looked up and saw Gramps smiling.
“Magic?” Maria determined. “That’s not fair. You can’t magic people for your own gain!”
Can it, Miss Morality, Sherlock advised, and let me get a spoonful of that milkshake!
“Oh, please, Maria. It was a harmless charm. Besides, this may be our last visit here for a good while. We must make it count!” Gramps said. He brought the cappuccino up to his lips and took a sip. “Ah, the best. Not even on Oriceran can
