Gramps smiled. “We will need to use the magic there to open the portal. It will not be an easy task; Salem and Agnes will have to help us.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you there at…how does eleven sound?”
Gramps nodded. “Give me the music box, though. I don’t want you losing it while frolicking with your friends.”
Maria squinted at her grandfather and said, “Ew, Gramps, we don’t frolic. Whatever the hell that means.” She pulled the music box out of her bag. It weighed more than before…again.
She handed it over, and then turned and headed for the door, patting her thigh in an unconscious gesture for Sherlock to follow her and, equally unconsciously, Sherlock did.
“Maria,” Gramps called after her.
“Yeah, Gramps?”
“Keep that sword close, and keep your eyes peeled. Evil is afoot. I can sense it. It aches in my old bones.”
Maria nodded. “Don’t worry, Gramps. I got this.” But as soon as she turned away and went out the door, she patted the hilt of the sword, hoping it would give her courage.
It didn’t.
Evil was afoot. She could sense it, too.
Malakai had swung by the ice cream shop and, before he was twenty-five feet within its entrance, someone said, “Hey, Felah! Hey! Where have you been?”
Malakai ignored it and kept walking, but the voice got louder.
“Hey, where you been? We’ve been missing you down at the shop! That Tone still giving you trouble?”
Malakai stopped and turned around. It was daylight…barely. He wore the guise of the Silver Griffin named Felah Fyre—not only the clothing, but the skin and face, too.
“Felah? You feeling all right? You look a little gray.”
The man crossed the street. He was an old man. For a moment, Malakai, the one who’d died on Oriceran, thought it was Ignatius Mangood, and his still heart seemed to kick; but it wasn’t. This man was too short, too weak in the jaw.
“Don’t you recognize me?” the man asked.
“I’m sorry. Not feeling well,” Malakai answered, but it came out in Felah’s high-pitched tone, a perfect imitation. The amazements of magic knew no bounds. He gripped his belly and said, “Womanly troubles.”
“Ah, geesh, I don’t want to know that,” the man said. “I get enough of that at home. Well, I hope you feel better.”
Malakai nodded and began to walk in the direction of the ice cream shop again.
“Oh, hey, wait! One more thing,” the man said.
“Yes?”
“Tonight’s the night, okay? I know you covered for Ig after his granddaughter blew up that damn clown figure at Downview, but we need you to cover for us just one more night, okay?”
Malakai tilted Felah’s head.
“They found marks on Ig’s door. They think that putrid Arachnid is coming for the music box. We are sending the two of them back to Oriceran tonight, so you guys down in the Griffins will detect a pretty big influx of magic. Keep Tone and the hounds away from here until you know for sure they’re gone. We can’t have any attention drawn to us.”
Felah’s memories flooded Malakai’s brain. It was a thunderstorm inside of his head. Salem. That was the name of the wizard in front of him. Salem. He knew, because the witch he had overtaken knew.
Play it cool, a voice warned. Play it cool, or I’ll disembowel you.
It was the Widow’s voice. For the first time in a long time, Malakai felt fear. He shouldn’t have, but he did.
“Yes,” he said in Felah’s same sweet voice. “No problem, Salem. I’ll keep you guys safe from prying eyes.”
“Great. Thank you so much, Felah. We of the Old Farts’ Society owe you one.”
Malakai forced a smile, and it burned his face, his true face. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” he found himself asking. Instinct. That was what it was. Instinct overtaking his body and mind.
“Well, I’m not supposed to say,” Salem said conspiratorially. “But since I like you, I’ll tell ya. I’m guarding the shop. Looking out for giant spiders and the like. There have been some sightings of it in Ohio. Mostly popping up in the whacky sections of the paper—you know, the pages no one reads. But Malakai’s here; I can smell his stench. Arachnids can stink up a whole corner of the continent.”
Malakai’s knuckles cracked as he squeezed his hands into fists.
“So far, though…nothing,” Salem said. “Just as well. First sign of that eight-legged freak, and I’m gonna blow him back to hell with the rest of those creatures.”
Malakai’s smile wavered and he closed his eyes, grimacing.
“Oh, wow, you really don’t feel good, do you?”
Malakai didn’t answer. He just walked off, willing himself not to kill the wizard where he stood, and reminding himself that waiting would be worth it. The music box was mission number one. Once he had that in his possession, the blood of the vermin could spill into the streets. Tonight. He knew it would be tonight. He would make sure to come back, and he’d be ready for the kill. For the victory.
Salem watched Felah go, and a wave of worry bubbled in his gut.
Felah turned the corner and was lost behind the old antique store.
“Poor gal,” he said. He pulled his pipe out of his breast pocket and lit it. He sat back down on the bench and watched the street.
Waiting.
Maria arrived at Claire’s, wearing the sword, and moving with a talking Bloodhound at her heels. She caught her reflection in Claire’s glass storm door. God, she looked ridiculous wearing that thing, but she couldn’t will herself to take it off. Not only was her grandfather’s voice in the back of her head saying, ‘Keep the sword close,’ but also another voice—a voice warning her about the oncoming storm.
“Oh, hey, what’s up, Conan the Barbarian?” Claire said as she came out the front door. “I’m sorry, have you seen my friend Maria anywhere lately? Turns out she’s a witch and, after that, things just got even crazier. I’m worried someone took her to the insane asylum.”
“Har-har, real funny,” Maria said.
It actually was, Sherlock
