Secrets of Yden (22 page)

****

Davy Thyssen was finally given a clean bill of health, and was so elated he decided to throw a big Halloween block party for all his neighbors and friends. He thrust a flier into Jon's hands after school.

"Bring January, if she's free," he said.

Jon glanced at the flier. The event was on a Saturday, the day before Halloween.

"Thanks. I'll ask her if she can come."

Several yards away, Kira waved at them as she mounted the steps to the library.

"I'll be straight with you, Davy," Jon said after she'd disappeared inside. "I'd like to go out with Kira."

"I'm not surprised. She told me we were never going to be anything more than friends."

Jon couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face. "Yeah?"

"So, you wouldn't mind if I take January out?" Davy asked. "We kind of hit it off at homecoming."

"Go ahead, but don't be surprised if she has to get permission from her agent first."

Although Jon had been on his way home, he headed for the library instead to do his math homework. Engrossed in a textbook, Kira didn't look up when he took a seat at her table. Jon pulled out a pencil and wrote "Will you go to the party with me?" on Davy's flyer, and slid it over. She picked it up, read it, and gave Jon a slow smile and a nod. Afterward, he could barely concentrate on quadratic equations.

The only thing keeping him from being completely happy was the missing section of prophecy and the fact he was still helpless to prevent the next anomaly. If Casey's theory continued to hold up, it would be a long one — around sixteen hours — the first week in November.

At least I will have had a date with Kira before everything falls apart.

****

The next day, everyone at school was talking about what they were planning to wear to Davy's Halloween bash. Over lunch, Casey declared he was going as Tesla.

"The heavy metal guys?" Fred asked, confused. "How does one guy go as a whole band?"

"No, Nikola Tesla, the Serbian inventor. He was a genius," Casey replied. "I'm going to be studying his work at M.I.T. next year."

"That's great, but how is anyone going to know who you are?" Jon asked. "I mean, I don't know many kids who are into science."

Casey seemed at a loss. "I'll wear a name tag, I guess."

"Well, I'm going as a pirate." Fred thumped his massive chest. "Aargh, ye mateys. Gimme yer treasure."

"Sorry, dude, fresh out of treasure," Jon said. "But you can have my fries."

Fred took a couple of French fries and stuck them under his upper lip, like fangs. "How about a vampire pirate from Transylvania?"

"That would be… original," Jon said.

Pleased, Fred ate his fangs.

"What're you going as, Jon?" Casey asked just as Kira and Brett sat down at the table.

"I don't know yet.
"

"My costume is a surprise, even to me," Brett said, wiggling with excitement. "I was going to be Pocahontas this year, but my mom said she's sending me something else from Paris."

"What about you, Kira?" Jon asked. "You picked out a costume yet?"

She laughed. "I don't understand this ritual. Why do Yrthlings wish to dress up as other people?"

Fred helped himself to more of Jon's fries. "It's not always people. I went trick-or-treating as a thumb once."

"Were you a right or a left thumb?" Casey asked.

"Is there a difference?" Fred asked.

"Halloween is fun," Brett said. "I'll help you, Kira. We'll find you something fabulous."

As for Jon, he secretly wanted to pick a costume that made him seem debonair, dashing, and sure of himself — in short, something as far from reality as possible. When Sela heard he was going to a costume party, she had a few suggestions. Maybe she meant well, but he just couldn't picture himself as a Power Ranger, Elvis, Tarzan, or Lancelot.

He finally settled on the masked swordsman, Zorro. Like Jon, Zorro had two identities.
Unlike me, he's suave and sophisticated.
The Zorro costume would also be pretty easy to put together, another big plus. In fact, Jon planned to conjure most of the pieces on Dragon Isle over the weekend.

The party must have been on his mind as Jon went to sleep that night because he immediately had a bizarre dream.
He was at a festive gathering inside the tavern at Wyckcrest. A couple of cygards were tending bar, dressed in silk Spanish Calypso costumes with long ruffled sleeves. The cocktail shakers in their hands served as maracas as they moved to the beat of the colorful Latin band in the corner. Several members of the Executive Council were leading a long conga line in between the tables. Chairman Lux was there, first in line, and impressively spry for such an elderly man.

Jon sat in the back of the tavern clad in his pajamas, nursing a nearly empty tankard of Ubbliton ale. He drained the last swallow, noticing for the first time the tankard had a smiley face at the bottom. Just then, a girl dressed as a serving wench plunked a full tankard down on the table and snatched the empty one out of Jon's hands. As he glanced up at the wench, Jon gasped.

"January! What're you doing here?"

She rolled her eyes toward the rough-hewn beams overhead. "Don't ask me, Jon, it's
your
weird dream. My agent warned me against taking this gig." January balanced the empty tankard on a tray and mamboed toward the bar.

The tavern door suddenly burst open and Fred leaped inside, dressed in tattered buccaneer-style clothes, eye patch, dreadlocks, and a two-week's growth of beard. Jon recoiled at his authentic pirate smell.

"Aargh, ye mateys, gimme yer French fries!" Fred yelled.

Jon realized there were platters of crispy, hot French fries on each table. Fred moved around the room, scooping all the fries into a large grocery store paper bag.

"Nice dreads," Jon told him when Fred reached his table.

"Thanks," he replied. "I paid extra for the wig."

He moved on and Jon felt someone plop down on the bench to his left. When he saw it was Moala the Merchant, Jon nearly fell over with shock. Since Guinn Tanner had killed him months ago, Moala was in an advanced stage of decomposition.

"The costume works for Halloween and all," Jon said. "But you're going to scare the kids."

Moala ignored that. "You looking for something, Dragon Wizard?"

It was a little hard for Jon to decipher Moala's words since the merchant didn't have much in the way of lips anymore and the party music was cranking. Nevertheless, Jon got his meaning. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"All wizards come to me sooner or later. You're almost too late."

Fred finished collecting his fries, chortling in victory as he held up the grease-stained bag. "It's been a pleasure doing business with ya.
"
He lifted his pirate's hat in farewell. "Aargh."

The Latin band changed tempo and Fred did a smart little Calypso number on his way through the tavern door. Jon's jaw fell open in surprise since he didn't realize Fred knew how to dance. Moala's jaw dropped too — right off his face and onto the table. Jon shuddered, the music stopped, and then he realized the light coming from the door wasn't daylight… .it was the portal. Everything else disappeared then, and it was just Jon and the portal. He tried to run in the opposite direction, but the portal yanked him to the ground and dragged him closer. With nothing for Jon to hold on to, his fingers clawed at nothingness.

As he slid into the light, Jon jerked awake. He sat up in bed just after midnight, his heart beating like a bongo drum.
What's wrong with me?
He'd been prone to weird dreams his whole life, but the one he'd just had was a total creeper. His mother had baked a new kind of pumpkin spice cake for dessert that night, and it made him wonder if there hadn't been something freaky-deaky in the mix. Since Sela had eaten two pieces of cake, Jon would have to check with her in the morning.

****

As Sela spooned oatmeal into her mouth, Jon checked to see whether or not she had dark circles under her eyes. She caught him staring.

"What?"

"How'd you sleep?" he asked.

His sister gave him a suspicious look. "Fine."

So the cake couldn't have had anything to do with his dream. Since he'd enjoyed the cake, Jon was relieved. "Can't I express concern for your well-being once in a while?"

"No," she said, slathering butter on a flaky biscuit. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

Jon drank orange juice and tried to shake off the dream imagery. So, it had just been his head, playing games with him.
Good one, brain
.

"When are you going to finish my staff?" Sela asked.

Sela was trick-or-treating this year as Bo Peep, and Mrs. Hansen had spent weeks sewing ruffles on a baby blue and white costume. Jon had been making his sister a hooked staff from wood, paper maché, and chicken wire.

"It's finished, but I have to paint it. Has anyone ever told you you're demanding?"

"I'm not demanding; I'm
assertive.
A girl has to know what she wants these days and be prepared to get it."

Jon stared, taken aback. Sela was eleven years old, going on thirty. "Who are you and what have you done with my sister?"

Over at the sink, his mother giggled.

****

Jon called January to follow up on his email regarding Davy's party.

"Good timing!" January said. "I found out today I made the cut for the spring musical at school. I've got a second audition Friday afternoon."

"That's terrific! Pacific Prep is notoriously serious about their drama program, but you'll ace it."

"We'll see," January replied, uncharacteristically cautious. "It's not like I need the credit for my résumé or anything, but it would be fun."

"Speaking of fun, can you make it to the party on Saturday? I'm taking Kira, so we can all go together."

"That'd be great. I have to check with—"

"Your agent, yeah." Jon laughed. "Listen, have you had any strange dreams lately?"

"Yeah! How did you know?"

The hair on the back of Jon's neck stood up.

"Just the other night I dreamed I was nominated for an Academy Award," January continued. "I mean, I had a couple of good scenes in
Immortal Soule
and all, but an Academy Award? That was weird."

The hair on the back of Jon's neck relaxed, and he let out the breath he'd been holding. "It's not unusual to dream about what you want." It
was
unusual to dream about a buccaneer-clad Fred Spencer doing the Calypso while holding a purloined bag of French fries, but he wasn't about to mention it.

"Listen, what are you wearing?" she asked.

He glanced down. "Sweatpants and a T-shirt. Why?"

"No, silly, to the party! What's your costume? We'll coordinate."

Jon felt stupid. "Oh. I'm going as Zorro."

"Okay, that's cool. Maybe I'll go as a
señorita
or something.
"

"
Olé.
"