Advanced Mythology (23 page)

Putting his phone in his pocket, Keith pulled on his gloves and got out.

“Are you folks all right?” he called, heading toward them.

Lit by the red glow from his taillights, three of them stood hunched against the cold in short leather jackets and jeans. The tallest man, pale-skinned and pale-eyed, dressed in an expensive overcoat, turned toward him.

“Come here,” he said in a nasal, flat voice that sounded Australian or something.

In one horrible moment Keith recognized him. It was the guy from Buckingham Fountain who’d had the advance copy of the ad. Automatically, Keith started to back away. The tall man stuck his left hand into the front of his coat and brought it out again. Even in the gloom Keith realized he was holding a gun. “Come eeyeh! Naow!”

“Now, wait a minute,” Keith said, alarmed. “I don’t want any trouble. I haven’t got anything you want. The ad’s out. Everyone knows about it.”

“To hell with the ad!” the man yelled. “Where did you find the lingo in the middle?”

The lingo…? The elves’ language? “No place,” Keith said, defiantly stopping where he was. The tall man’s three companions swarmed around him, roughly taking hold of his arms and shoulders. “I made it up.”

“Liar,” Beach said, narrowing his eyes at the boy with a leering grin. “You feel you have something to defend. Now we’re getting somewhere. Maria!”

A slender, black-haired woman appeared from near the car, swathed to the chin in furs. She had dark, intense eyes that even in the gloom bored into Keith’s like diamond drills. Oh, no. He’d watched enough spy movies to know that he ought to be afraid when they brought out the spooky lady. They were going to make her bend his mind until he told them all about the elves and their language. Well, they didn’t know everything about
him.

“Maria,” said the tall man, “has he got any of the glamour on him?”

The woman moved closer. Her eyes seemed to glow. “Yes,” she said. “A power, growing … growing … growing …”

The men holding him obviously weren’t too crazy about the spooky lady or her pronouncements either. Keith could feel their grip loosen involuntarily. Good.

With a wiliness borne of years wrestling with a stronger and larger younger brother, Keith ducked down and slipped out of their grasp. At the same time, he used Holl’s favorite trick on them, one the Big student had wheedled his friend into teaching him. He jumped away. They flailed for him, and ended up windmilling their arms, unable to follow because their feet were stuck to the ground. Keith stood just out of reach, panting from the exertion, as they swore at him. Three at once was a lot to deal with, and not a single river of power anywhere to draw upon. He had to do it again, though, because the tall man himself was coming at him now, gun pointed at Keith’s head.

“Come back here, young man,” he commanded. “We haven’t finished our conversation yet.”

“Beach, we are stuck!” the dark-eye-browed man cried.

Keith wasn’t waiting to see what else this Beach had in mind. Summoning up every erg of energy from the depths of his soul, he threw another sticky-spell at the man’s feet and ran for his car. He jumped into the waiting Mustang and gunned it out onto the snowy road.

He didn’t dare turn around and head south again, not here. The charm couldn’t last long on his limited ability, and they’d be after him pretty soon. That is, if their car was drivable. With a sigh Keith reached for his cell phone. No matter if they were trying to pry secrets out of him, they were still people. He couldn’t let them freeze on the Illinois tundra in the middle of the night. He called in the accident to the state police, pulled off on the first secondary road, and began to wind his way slowly toward Hollow Tree Farm.

* * *

“No, we did not foresee the incident,” Holl said, offering Keith hot cider in his unicorn mug at one thirty in the morning. Keith’s frenzied pounding on the door had awakened most of the household. Everyone had gone back to bed but Holl, Keva and Dola, who was sitting next to her granduncle with wide eyes. “But you are right: it is a good thing that Dola was not with you.”

“We’d just be coming back from her commercial shoot,” Keith said, taking a long, deep sip. Ah. The icicles in his bloodstream began to thaw. He slumped with his elbows on the table. Exhaustion weighed down every limb. The drive along unfamiliar, narrow lanes steadily clogging with snow had shredded his nerves. “If we’d been talking I might not have paid attention to those people until they’d run me into a fence. It’s bad enough they banged up my bumper. That’s going to have to be pounded out. So, it’s better you didn’t come, sweetheart.” He reached over and tugged a lock of her blond hair.

Dola was not mollified. She tossed her head, tilting one pointed ear toward her uncle. “I might have been able to help you, Keith Doyle. You say you nearly ran out of strength.”

“Just about,” Keith admitted. Circles were etched in the pale skin under his eyes, which were muddy green with exhaustion. “I was woozy for the next twenty miles, and driving through a blizzard, that’s not too smart.”

“You did amazingly well for a Big Person,” Holl said seriously. “Holding down four grown men, one with cold steel in his fist, is a worthy accomplishment.”

“Shucks, it was nothing,” Keith said, pleased at the compliment. “So when this man, Beach, came up to me in the park it wasn’t about the ad itself. I shouldn’t have had to worry about PDQ or my job. That’s a relief. But this is worse!” he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. “This guy could be after
you
!”

Holl nodded. “But they cannot find us. Our land is surrounded by many protections, not the least of which is the ‘electric fence’ you like to complain about. But there will be those who will say you’ve given us undesirable exposure to the public, by publishing your invitation.”

“I know,” Keith said, his shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry. It just seemed like the easiest thing to do. But it’s working! I’ve gotten about twelve responses so far. From what, I have no idea, but I’ve got the RSVPs. The Niall sounded really happy about it. I thought you guys liked it, too.”

“We do.” Holl smiled. “Pay the growlers no mind. They also believe we will bring down all of modern civilization on our heads by putting out a mailbox on the main road. But I’m curious: How did those Big Folk come to associate our written language with … what did the man call it, the glamour?”

“An old word for magic,” Keith acknowledged. “He didn’t say, and I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. But this Beach isn’t going to leave me alone. Following me over a hundred miles from Chicago to ask me a question means he’s serious. What can I do?”

Holl tilted his own head to regard his friend. His carroty coloring was distinctive enough, but his native enthusiasm drew the eye regardless. “You
are
difficult to lose in a crowd. Ah, well, you were asking Enoch for a lesson. He won’t mind if I take this task on myself.”

In spite of his exhaustion, Keith perked up. “What is it?”

“Our means for avoiding sight. It’s a skill of misdirection more than invisibility, so don’t get your hopes up, you overexcited infant.” Holl grinned at him. Working at the sink, Keva let out a sharp exclamation. She came over to stick a dripping forefinger in her younger brother’s face.

“Don’t you dare teach him about the pulses of the earth,” she said in their own language. “It’s not appropriate for a Big Person to know!”

“He may need to know it one day,” Holl argued. “I thought you trusted him.”

Keva smacked a tray down on the table and dried it with rough strokes of a towel. “To a point! He’s still a Big Person!”

“He kept our secret despite the risk to his own safety,” Holl said. “We owe him what protection we can give him.”

“I don’t like it. I wouldn’t do it.” She spun on her heel and went back to her dishes.

Holl scowled at his sister, then turned to Keith, who had been watching them curiously. He probably guessed that he was being discussed, but was too well-mannered to say so. “In any case you’re in no shape to absorb the information now, Keith Doyle,” he said in English. “Go to sleep. You’ve got your classes to attend in the morning.”

Keith groaned and looked at the clock. Only six hours until he had to be awake again. “I’ll call and tell them I died,” he said.

“Not yet,” Holl assured him, taking the mug out of his hands. “Come on. Do you need help getting down to the barn?”

Keith made a face. “I’m not dead yet. Wait until morning.”

* * *

Beach sat in the cab of the wrecker, waiting for the two men in boiler suits to winch his car out of the ditch. Though they weren’t pleased to have to come out to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, they showed the concern of decent people for the four passengers who needed help. They had been sent by the highway patrol, they told him, who were informed by an anonymous phone call. Someone had seen them go off the road. The boy, Beach thought. His mind went back over the events of three hours before, replaying them again and again. He still could not believe what seemed to have occurred. The four of them had been glued to the ground while their quarry ran away.

“What did he
do
?”
he asked Maria for the fiftieth or sixtieth time.

The psychic was huddled against the door, staring out into the snowy night. “I do not know. Suddenly there was a feeling. My spirits tell me the earth is his friend … but I know no more than that.”

Beach frowned. He wanted to know more, and right that very minute, preferably with illustrations and footnotes. “But what is it? A hereditary skill? Or did he learn it somewhere? How? And from who?”

***

Chapter 21

“Not like that,” Holl said sternly, early the next morning. “I can still see you. You want to lead my eye away from you.” Keith, flattened against the wall of the farmhouse living room, thought harder about not being there. He edged slightly to the right, and was pleased to see Holl’s gaze stay fixed on the same spot.

“Now I can see you,” Enoch said. Keith shifted back the other way, and Holl looked him straight in the eye.

“This doesn’t work so well on more than one person,” Keith complained. Holl reached up and tapped him on the chest.

“You’re concentrating on the wrong thing. Don’t think of
you
. Make something else the focus of all attention. Use your strength to make an object so attractive that no one will be able to resist looking at it. It can be anything. The lamp. A scrap of paper. A vase of flowers. A pigeon.”

Keith grinned. “I can see having these guys run after a flying pigeon. They’ll wake up wondering why they’re miles across the city.”

“It’s momentary,” Enoch said sternly. “That’s why it can be such a strong effect.”

“I get it,” Keith said. Marm came through at that moment, carrying a ball of twine and a pair of scissors. Evoking all the energy he could, Keith applied the attraction to the plump brewer. Involuntarily the other two elves’ heads turned toward their fellow as he stumped toward the basement steps.

“What are you two looking at?” Marm asked, puzzled. Keith took the opportunity to scoot across the room and seat himself on a footstool near the fireplace. When Holl and Enoch came around to face him again, Holl was smiling and Enoch had his brows raised.

“Well,” said Enoch at last. “No one should be surprised any longer by your proficiency.”

“Not bad for a shirt-tail relative, huh?” Keith asked, grinning so wide he could have swallowed his ears.

The two elves looked at one another. “If there was ever a Big Person I’d consider being related to …” Holl began.

“Don’t push too much,” Enoch said, interrupting his brother-in-law but looking at Keith.

“Oh, well,” Keith said cheerfully. “A guy’s got to try.”

“You need more practice,” Enoch said. “One more time.”

“Have a heart!” Keith said, trying to look pathetic. “I’m starved. I can smell breakfast from here.”

Holl looked at him slyly. “If you can sneak out into the kitchen without us seeing you, you can eat.”

“Ah, yur a turrible, turrible hard taskmaster. Both of you.”

Tiron stuck his head into the room.

“The orders are ready,” he said, with a wink at Keith. “Is the delivery van ready to roll?”

“Saved by the bell,” Keith said, wiping his forehead with an exaggerated gesture of relief. “How are the samples coming?”

“Ready for you when you go home,” the Irish elf declared positively. “And you’ll never see finer.”

“I bet,” Keith said, looking at his watch. Everyone seemed cheerful that morning. It was such a pleasant change from the last several weeks. Keith felt good, too. Despite his long drive the night before and the worries that followed he felt refreshed. “Oh, boy. I’d better get going. I’ll be late for class. I’ll get them later, Tiron. Thanks again for taking the time to show me, guys. I was just too excited to wait for Sunday.”

“It’s a small thing,” Enoch said as Keith went out the door. The two males heard a squawk of protest from one of the morning’s cooks as the Big student filched three muffins out of a basket about to be set on the table.

“Vhy do you denigrate his accomplishment?” the Master asked from his big chair near the window.

“Well, he never saw you, did he?” Enoch countered. “You’ve been here throughout, and he didn’t sense you once.”

“But that vas not the subject of this lesson, vas it?” his father asked mildly. “He understoot the teaching very vell, and made use of it most creatively.” The Master smiled. “He took advahntage of the arrival of Marm to show you vhat he had learned. I gif him high marks for that. But to be able to mislead your eyes at all—who vould haf expected that vun of the Big Folk could efer haf done it? He has advanced farther than efen I vould haf thought possible vitout training, or the assistance of a device. He is extraordinary among his kind.”

Enoch shook his head. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want to make a fuss. If that notion was anywhere in the back of his mind, he might freeze at a time when he needs to use the skill. I want him to think anyone who studies hard enough can do it.”

“Ah. Misdirection.” The Master’s eyes twinkled. “I hope that your purpose does not backfire and leaf him helpless vhen he most needs the skills.”

Holl laughed. “Keith Doyle? He’s as resourceful as a backwoodsman. If one thing doesn’t work, he’ll try another. When have you ever known him to give up?”

The Master looked grave. “Nefer. But he has chosen much too heavy a schedule this year. I vorry that he is growing too tired to make intelligent choices.”

“Ah,” said Holl. “Now that I can do nothing about.”

* * *

“Well, well, strangers,” Ms. Voordman said, looking up as the bell hanging over the front door of Voordman’s Country Crafts jingled. Keith edged his other foot in the glass door and nudged it open far enough to carry in the huge box in his arms. Diane was close behind him with a small carton. The proprietress, a slim, well-groomed, dark-haired woman somewhere in her forties, gave Diane a peck on the cheek. “Welcome! Is this my holiday order?”

“Yup,” Keith said. “Everything. Plus, we’d like you to look at a couple of things.”

“I’m sure I’ll love them,” Ms. Voordman said. “Come on back. I have fresh coffee. Hot,” she added, glancing out the door at the falling snow. “This is getting ugly. I will either have a lot of business this evening, or none at all.”

“I’d love some coffee,” Diane said gratefully. “It feels like we’ve been driving forever, but it’s only been about an hour.” She held up the box. “Do you want me to stock these?” Diane had worked for Ms. Voordman during her freshman and sophomore years and knew the business well.

The shop owner shook her head. “If you’ll just help me unwrap them that would be fine. I’ll take care of the busywork after you go. How often do I have a chance to chat with you?”

Diane looked pleased. “Thanks.”

“I have to get the other two boxes out of the trunk,” Keith said, pulling the door open. “Be right back. Don’t wait for me.”

Few cars passed the small parking lot in the gathering gloom. Keith looked at the sky, hoping it would clear up before Monday. He didn’t relish another drive like the one the night before.

He hauled the second box out of the trunk and piled the third box on top of it. In order to carry both through the doorway he had to bend his knees slightly, but he made it. The doorbell jangled behind him. Ms. Voordman peered around the tower of cardboard.

“Very nice,” she said approvingly. She pointed at the floor next to the cash register. “Just set them down here.”

Keith rubbed feeling back into his hands and stamped snow off his shoes. “Where’s Diane?” he asked.

“In the back.” The shop owner paused, her normally sharp brown eyes studying him with worry. “Keith, we’ve known one another a few years. As a friend, I’d like to say something. You can tell me it’s none of my business.”

“Sure,” Keith said, concerned at the serious expression on the older woman’s face.

After a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being overheard, Ms. Voordman lowered her voice. “I think of Diane as my own daughter. I know how she feels about you.”

“Well, I feel the same way,” Keith said. “I mean, I love her.”

“Good. You should show it a little better than you have been. She’s feeling neglected. You ought to spend some more time with her.”

“I know,” Keith said with a sigh. He kicked the lower carton with the side of his foot. “I’m so busy this year. I wish I had more time.”

“Make some,” Ms. Voordman advised him, in the direct way she had. He raised his eyebrows.

“I must be in real trouble,” Keith said playfully.

“Don’t joke, young man. She’s worth taking care for.”

“I know,” Keith said, his narrow face serious. “I love her so much, I couldn’t imagine the rest of my life without her.”

“Don’t tell me, tell her!” Ms. Voordman smiled at Diane, who came out of the back room with two cups of coffee in her hand. She gave one of them to Keith. “Now, please let me see the specials you brought me.”

* * *

Keith took Ms. Voordman’s advice to heart.

After the bad start the weekend turned out to be wonderful. The weather improved so that the setting sun threw red and orange rays over a glistening, white landscape that raised Keith’s spirits and filled him with enthusiastic plans. A new restaurant specializing in Indian cuisine had opened up near the university. Keith took Diane there that evening. Though unfamiliar, the food was good enough to earn Diane’s critical approval. They lingered over rich, gooey desserts and sweet, milky tea, enjoying the exotic music that went so well with the food. Keith made sure that she enjoyed herself, taking care to defer to her, and let her do most of the talking. He felt rewarded by the pleasure shining from her eyes. Mentally, he thanked the shop owner for giving him a nudge to remember what was most important in his life. He didn’t mention the near-collision or the encounter with the man from Chicago, judging that the news would only frighten her and ruin a happy time. Nothing had happened, anyhow.

When he returned to the farm Sunday morning it was with fresh orders in hand. One was from Ms. Voordman. She’d been very impressed by the original sculptures, and put in an order for three small pieces valued between $100 and $300 to put in the glass case she reserved for special items. A couple more of their old clients asked for one each, but even a single art piece made the little cash register in Keith’s mind go
ka-ching
!

“They’ll really be thrilled about this,” Keith kept telling Diane. At the back of his mind he mulled over the shop owner’s words about his girlfriend, watching her face out of the corner of his eye as he drove. She seemed perfectly contented to share in the Little People’s good fortune. He began to think ahead of things he could do to please her. She liked yellow flowers. Maybe he could have a surprise bouquet sent to the food service facility where she worked, to arrive in the middle of the week.

More good news awaited them at the farm. Marcy must have heard the Mustang crunching up the drive, because she and Enoch were waiting for them at the kitchen door. Her milk-white face was flushed with pink. Enoch, as usual, looked dour but grimly pleased.

“My folks called,” she said, her eyes dancing with excitement. “They want to meet Enoch.”

“That’s great!” Keith exclaimed.

“How wonderful!” Diane said, hugging Marcy. “I’m so happy for you.”

Marcy returned the embrace, and turned to give Keith a shy hug. He put an arm around her awkwardly, aware of Enoch’s gimlet eye on him.

“Thanks,” Marcy said. “Dad said it was after you came to see him the second time that he really started thinking. He’s all set to approve, I can tell. They’re coming down here this week. We want to get married around Christmas. Will you come?”

“You bet,” Keith said.

“Try and stop us,” Diane said positively. “This is
terrific
news.”

“We’ve got so many plans to make,” Marcy said, as though she still couldn’t believe her own words. “They’re going to come to dinner—should they meet everyone at once? Would that be too much?”

The Master gathered them up for class, causing the question to be tabled in favor of the musings of Aristotle.

* * *

By the time they finished with the session in the quiet corner of the barn, the sky was clear and blue with a few wisps of cirrus cloud pointing in the direction of the departed storm. Keith pulled his hat down over his ears, but the wind didn’t seem as cold as it had before.

“Look at that,” Tiron cackled. He, Enoch and Holl were helping Keith carry armloads of swaddled sculpture up the slope to his car. Marcy and Diane trailed behind, picking their way carefully. “The gods are so eager to see the back of you that they’ve cleared the weather to speed your departure.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Keith said, concentrating on not slipping.

“You’re permitted to let any of the galleries keep these works to sell,” Catra said, trotting beside him in the snow. She offered a sheaf of papers in a manila folder. “Here is one invoice for each piece so that they all do not have to go to one place.” Her face and ears were pink from the wind, but she was so absorbed in her task that she didn’t realize she had come out without a coat. “I am keeping a central list, but here is a copy for you. Tell us who takes what. And we will accept commissions.”

“Gotcha,” Keith said, sticking out two fingers to take the folder.

“I’ve got it,” Diane said, accepting it for him. She pulled the hood of her parka tighter around her face. “Go inside! I’m freezing just looking at you.”

Keith stowed the packages in his trunk with a blanket tucked around them so they wouldn’t roll around. He slammed the trunk lid. “There! Ready to take to the snooty side of town.”

“Our thanks, Keith Doyle,” Catra said. “I would like to hear all details of your discussions with the buyers, and any comments they have.”

“I’ll even tape record them, if you want.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Enoch said sourly.

Diane huddled into her coat and moved her feet. “It’s too cold. I’m going to go. Call me?” she asked Keith.

“Of course,” he said, gathering her into his arms. “Soon as I get home. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Diane said. She glanced over his shoulder at Marcy, standing a little way off with Enoch, and felt a touch of envy for their happiness. “Promise me something?”

“Sure,” Keith said at once. He raised his right hand. “I solemnly swear I will buy a black Armani shirt when I get home and wear it to the galleries.” He leaned down into the circle of her down jacket’s hood to kiss her.

“Good,” Diane said. She paused a moment, thinking she might say something more, and decided not to. “Bye.” She went to her car and got in.

Keith noticed the troubled expression on her face, and thought of running after her. Was she still worried about her schoolwork? He thought they’d made real headway on Saturday. He shook his head. She’d be all right. He’d write her a long, loving letter as soon as he got back to Chicago. But why wait? He could dictate it on the way. He patted the little tape recorder in his coat pocket.