Amulet of Doom (3 page)

“No!” exclaimed Marilyn. “I just don't know what to say.”

“How could you,” muttered Zenobia. “I'm rambling like … like an old woman!” She laughed—a dry, harsh sound. “I'm sorry I bothered you. I had a nightmare, and I wanted to talk to someone.”

Marilyn nodded. She knew what it was like to wake up in the middle of the night with terror ripping at your heart. She supposed even the bravest people in the world had nightmares. “Tell me about it.”

Zenobia shook her head. “I don't think I want to.”

“Then tell me about Egypt. Tell me about Solomon and Suleiman, like you said you would.”

Zenobia looked at her suspiciously. “Why do you want to know about that?”

“Because I love your stories,” replied Marilyn truthfully.

Zenobia nodded. “Solomon and Suleiman,” she said. “History and myth. Reality and magic.”

She had a faraway look in her eyes, the same look Marilyn had seen when they were on the porch.

“The thing is, people get them confused,” said Zenobia. “Solomon and Suleiman, that is. They're not the same person, as a lot of people seem to believe.”

Marilyn, who had never heard of Suleiman, and only remembered Solomon vaguely from some long-forgotten sermon, nodded wisely.

“Solomon came later,” said Zenobia. “He's the one you'll find in the Bible—Solomon's Temple, Solomon and Sheba, and so on. The Koran says he had power over the winds; he would put his throne on a huge carpet made of green silk, and he and his army could fly all over the world that way. The jinn were supposed to be at his command.”

“Jinn?”

“Genies,” explained Zenobia. “At least, that's how you've probably heard of them. I suppose all that might have been so. But I doubt it. Magic was well on the way out by that time anyway.”

“You talk as if magic was real once.”

Zenobia shrugged. “Who's to say? When you've traveled in as many places as I have, wild places, primitive places, you see things that can't really be explained. Is it magic? I don't know. It might be. But not great magic. The great magic is all gone.”

“Why did you want to tell me about Solomon?” asked Marilyn.

“I didn't. You asked.”

“But you mentioned him on the porch,” persisted Marilyn. “Egypt, and Eldred Cooley, and Solomon. Or was it Suleiman?” She shook her head in frustration. “Now I'm totally confused!”

“It was Suleiman,” said Zenobia at last. “Egypt, and Eldred Cooley, and Suleiman. Egypt is the most important place in the world, at least to me. Eldred Cooley was a friend. Not a particularly good friend, but the most interesting one I ever had. He died late last year.”

She shivered, and Marilyn sensed a story, another story hidden behind the one she was being told. She wanted to interrupt, but Zenobia had started again.

“Suleiman made this amulet, which Eldred gave me shortly before his death. It has nothing to do with Egypt, other than the fact that Eldred found it there. How it got to Egypt I have no idea.”

As she was talking, Zenobia pulled the amulet from her nightgown.

Marilyn caught her breath. It was unbelievably beautiful.

Zenobia stared down at it for a long time. “Take it,” she said at last. “I want you to keep it for me.” As she spoke she began to draw the golden chain over her head.

“I can't do that. It's too precious! Besides, it's yours. Your friend gave it to you.”

Zenobia snorted. “What sort of a friend do you suppose he was, giving me this?” Suddenly she reached forward and grabbed Marilyn by the wrists, her grip so hard it was almost painful. “I'm
not
giving it to you,” she added fiercely. “That's important for you to know. I just want you to guard it for me.”

“Aunt Zenobia, you're hurting me,” whispered Marilyn.

Zenobia looked startled and released her hold on Marilyn's wrists. Marilyn shivered. It wasn't the strength of her aunt's grip that frightened her so much as it was the look in her eyes—the same look they had held when Zenobia first entered her room; the look of fear.

“I'm sorry,” said Zenobia hoarsely. “Please—take the amulet and keep it safe until I can figure out what to do about it.”

Though her voice was neutral, her eyes were filled with desperation. They pleaded with Marilyn, and there was no way she could refuse her aunt's request.

“All right,” she said, her voice reluctant. “I'll take care of it for you.”

“Thank you,” whispered Zenobia. “Thank you, Marilyn. I'll pay you back, somehow. I promise.”

Then she rose from the bed and hurried out of the room before Marilyn had a chance to ask any of the dozen questions vying with one another in her mind.

“Wait!” she called, reaching out anxiously. It was too late. The door swung shut, and Zenobia was gone.

Marilyn sat for a long time, staring at the amulet. It was made of a polished blue stone she couldn't identify. Set in its center was a blood-red gem.

She cupped the amulet in her hand, staring at it curiously. It was wonderful to hold something so beautiful, and she felt a surge of possessiveness rising in her, a feeling that she never wanted to give it back.

But when she extended her finger to touch the sparkling scarlet jewel, she cried out and drew back her finger in surprise. The jewel was hot, so hot that it hurt to touch it.

Even stranger, it sent a tingle like electricity racing up her arm.

3

NIGHTMARE

“Marilyn! Hey, Marilyn, wake up. Class is over!”

Seeing that the words failed to rouse Marilyn from her trancelike state, Alicia Graves, a short girl with spiky blond hair, gave her a jab on her upper arm and shouted, “Hey, Sparks! Red alert! The aliens have landed and we need every able-bodied woman to keep them from carrying off our men!”

Marilyn came out of her trance with a jolt, knocking three pens and a pencil to the floor.

“Nice work, Airhead,” said Alicia sardonically. At the same time she bent to pick up the items Marilyn had knocked over.

Marilyn rubbed her hands over her face. “Sorry, Licorice. I'm kind of out of it today.”

Marilyn had been dubbed “Airhead” and Alicia “Licorice” eight years ago, on the first day of third grade, which was when the two girls had first met. The names had been given during a playground squabble. They had patched it up the next morning and been best friends ever since.

“It's all right,” said Alicia, depositing the pens on Marilyn's desk. “I suppose it's not easy being a dip. I'll keep the pencil, though. I could use one.”

“Spoken like a true dwarf,” said Marilyn, tucking the pens out of Alicia's reach, in case she should decide she also needed one of those.

“Hey, short people got rights,” said Alicia, drawing herself up to her full five feet one and three-quarter inches.

“That's true,” said Marilyn. “They got rights, and they got lefts. They also got tops and bottoms. What they don't got is much in the middle.”

“You die, flame-brain,” said Alicia, who had (much to Marilyn's astonishment) long envied Marilyn's bright red hair. “But not until you tell me why you're doing such a good imitation of the walking dead today.”

Marilyn shrugged. “I didn't get much sleep last night.” That was true, as far as it went, though it didn't say much about why.

Alicia knew her friend well enough to make a good guess anyway. “Whassa matter? That crazy aunt of yours keep you up all night telling stories?”

“She's not crazy!”

“Well, she ain't normal.”

“Who is? Come on, we'll be late for gym.”

*  *  *

As it turned out, they were late for gym anyway. Marilyn, half-undressed in front of her locker, fell into a trance and was still standing there when Alicia came back from delivering a note her doctor had sent to the instructor.

“Oh, give me a break,” she sputtered when she saw Marilyn staring into space. “What is it with you today, Sparks?”

Marilyn looked down at her half-dressed body and shook her head. “Just showing off, I guess,” she said, forcing a laugh.

“Save it for someone who can appreciate it. Me, I'd rather go stare at the wrestling team. Finish getting ready before we both get in trouble.”

Marilyn changed in silence. But her mind was racing. Her aunt's strange behavior, and the mysterious amulet, had been dominating her thoughts all day, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation in her bedroom, and the fear in Zenobia's eyes.

Part of her wanted to tell Alicia about the conversation—and the amulet. But she knew her friend would merely claim it was her famous imagination at work and tell her to wise up. Another part resisted telling her anyway. Especially about the amulet. That just felt like a wonderful secret that she wanted to keep to herself.

But if she couldn't start concentrating on something else, she was going to end up in big trouble before the day was over. Teachers at Burton-Speake High were not partial to daydreamers.

“I know what it is!” shouted Alicia, interrupting her thoughts. “You're cooking up some lamebrained scheme to go off with your aunt when she leaves on her next trip. Well, cool your imagination, Airhead. Let's head for the gym before we get in more trouble than we're in already.”

Marilyn closed her locker and followed her friend's stocky form out of the room.
Cool your imagination!
indeed. Alicia must be really fed up with her daydreaming today or she would never have said that. She knew very well how tired Marilyn was of people telling her not to let her imagination run away with her.

Despite her indignation, Marilyn did try to concentrate on gym class. She wasn't very successful, though, and ended up being hit twice with the volleyball because she was too absorbed in her own thoughts to pay attention to the game.

“You ought to go out for the Olympics,” said Alicia as they left the locker room after class.

Marilyn was working on a suitable retort when the lanky figure of Kyle Patterson ambled around the corner. His shirt, as usual, was only half tucked in. “Hey,” he said cheerfully. “It's Sparky Junior!”

Marilyn considered punching him. Her brother, not surprisingly, was known as Sparky to all his friends. Equally unsurprising was the fact that about half of them referred to her as Sparky Junior. Even so, the words always activated a primitive instinct deep inside her: namely, the urge to kill.

Even when it came from Kyle.

“What do you want, Lurch?” snarled Alicia. Unlike Marilyn, she was not very fond of Kyle.

“Bug off, fireplug. I'm talking to your friend.”

Alicia grumbled something about biting him on the knee. Marilyn, doing her best to forget “Sparky Junior,” smiled sweetly and asked Kyle what he wanted.

“I was just wondering if your aunt told you any more about King Solomon last night.” He leaned against a locker. “You're really lucky, you know. Having someone like that for an aunt. She's fantastic.”

“I know,” said Marilyn. She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Why don't you have supper with us again tonight? I'm sure my mother wouldn't mind. Then you can ask Aunt Zenobia about Solomon yourself.”

“Do you think that would be okay?”

Alicia snorted. “Are you kidding? You eat over there so often now her father could claim you as a dependent on his taxes.”

“Yeah, but he'd probably rather have you,” retorted Kyle. “Then he could use the short form.” Turning to Marilyn, he said, “Thanks for the invite. I'll see you tonight.”

He walked away too quickly for Alicia to think of a comeback to his short joke. Marilyn watched him go, a dreamy expression on her face.

“I don't know what you see in that jerk,” growled Alicia.

Marilyn laughed. “He's adorable!”

“So are teddy bears … and
they
keep their mouths shut!”

Supper was a disaster. Instead of being fascinating and witty, Zenobia was cranky and out of sorts. Marilyn had never seen her aunt this way before, and she wondered if she was ill.

Kyle, sitting next to Zenobia, tried desperately to draw her into telling a story until finally she snapped at him. He withdrew like a whipped puppy for the rest of the meal, and Marilyn wanted nothing so much as to reach out and cuddle him and make him feel better.

As soon as they could politely manage it, Kyle and Geoff excused themselves and went off to shoot baskets, leaving Marilyn alone with Zenobia and her parents. After a while Marilyn headed for her room, preferring isolation to the tension that hung over the living room.

She sat on her bed, staring at the amulet, which she had taken from her dresser drawer. It had occupied her thoughts all day anyway. The funny thing was, now that she could really examine it, she didn't know what she was looking for.

Brick sprawled on her lap, purring loudly. Every once in a while he would bat lazily at the amulet, making it twist on the end of the golden chain. The first time he struck at it, Marilyn feared he would get a shock, as she had the night before. When he didn't seem to feel anything, she gathered her courage and touched the jewel again. She was almost disappointed to find that it felt completely normal.

She heard voices downstairs and wondered what was going on. In her usual imaginative fashion she pictured a dreadful fight between Zenobia and her parents. The talking stopped. She was still trying to imagine her aunt's triumphant final remark—her imagination was wild, but not wild enough to conceive of her parents winning an encounter with Zenobia—when someone tapped on her door.

Brick sprang up and bounded off her lap.

“Idiot,” said Marilyn fondly. Then she called, “Come in!”

It was Zenobia. When she saw the amulet in Marilyn's fingers, she smiled in relief.