The Curse of Arkady (12 page)

“A lot of running. You two boys look like you're being chased. Any trouble?” Finch's cold eyes watched him. Judged him.

“No, sir,” Jason said, finally. His hand itched to curl around his crystal, for comfort if nothing else, but he resisted. This was one man who must never, ever, find out what he was made of. This was a man who might believe in Magick for all the wrong reasons and try to turn Jason inside out over it. He said carefully, “We're just out getting some extra practice.”

“Cross-country? Track team?” Finch's gaze stayed on him. “Exercise is as good for the mind as it is for the body.”

Jason shifted uneasily. The man knew what team he was on. Why ask?

“Soccer,” offered Sam. “Sorry we didn't see you. Hardly anyone bicycles here.”

“It
is
a bicycle path.” Finch stood, mountain cycle in hand, with scrawny legs looking as if they'd never heard of a tan, let alone had one, sticking out from his bicycle shorts and bicycling shoes on his feet.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam agreed. He did a cooling off stretch.

“Everyone all right, then? You both seemed in a big hurry.”

“Yes, sir, and yes, sir. Breakfast is waiting at home!” Jason put on what he hoped was a starving look. He didn't like having the fellow watching them. His left hand twitched and he put his right hand over the crescent scar for a moment. Nor did he want Statler to see him twitching.

“Hard work gets you what you want.” The man smiled at both of them, but the contortion of his lips did nothing to warm his eyes. They stayed cold and dark, and Jason couldn't look at him for long. Finch made him feel like a formaldahyde frog in bio lab.

Finch put his helmet back on, distracted by having to cinch the straps down again tightly. “Well, I won't keep you boys. I remember the days when one breakfast hardly seemed enough!” He laughed, again without warmth and without caring that neither Jason nor Sam laughed with him. He straddled his gleaming vehicle, hands encased by trendy biker's gloves. He kicked off, and began to pedal away, his thin calves knotted with the effort.

Sam watched him cycle around the curve and disappear. He scratched his head. “He's creepy. Who is that?”

“The new school psych I told you about.”

“Ick.” Sam shuddered. “I wouldn't even tell him my name, if I could help it.”

Jason stared thoughtfully after the disappearing man. “I may not have any choice,” he answered. “School has decided it's not bullies who are a problem, but the victims. But I'm not telling him anything.” The scar under his fingers gave a single, painful throb.

“You have to go see him?”

“Looks like. Unless my parents say no.” Somehow, he didn't think that would happen. They were very anxious he be all right . . . sometimes too anxious even though he wasn't theirs. What he did need, he wasn't sure. Maybe a little more trust on their part. He sighed.

“Okay, now that's crazy. We're the bad guys 'cause we're getting trash canned?”

“Something like that.” Jason's stomach growled faintly, as if the mention of food did indeed wake up hunger pangs.

“That's just wrong.” Sam did another stretch before flashing a grin. “Race you home?”

“You got it!” They bolted like streaks across the pathways and out of the park, toward Sam's neighborhood.

 

Bailey adjusted the brilliant gold, red, and brown harvest garland at the corner of their booth. She peered across the gym. “Wow, a lot of people already. Looks like they picked a good day for this.”

Ting straightened her outfit a bit nervously, flinging her black hair over her shoulder as she sat down and brought out her tray of charms and talismans. She and Bailey had been working on them all morning. Bailey perched on the stool beside her.

“Don't worry, Ting, our stuff is going to sell like hot muffins.”

Ting giggled. “Hotcakes!” she corrected.

“Better than that. You can't eat hotcakes with your hands, but you can muffins.” Bailey tossed her head, ponytail swinging. She look over the tray of simple jewelry they'd made up. Small bluish crystals and quartz in the wellness area, pink for friendship, clear for studies and wisdom, hanging in simple twisted wire cages for necklaces or attached to clips for charms. The cages—free-form and pretty—were harder to make than they looked.

Ting had been very patient showing her how to twist and bend the wire after warming it a little. Ting had bought several crystals and broken them into shards, and then they were put into the settings once she had worked her Talent on them, filling them with a soft glow, giving them luck. Just like rabbit's feet, although heaven knows she'd never thought a three-legged rabbit could really be lucky!

Canned music began to play through the hall, country style, and Bailey wrinkled her nose. At least it wasn't too loud. She leaned over the Lucky in Study tray and stirred the charms about a bit. In the hall's light, they didn't sparkle as much as they would outside or in stronger light, but they still had a nice glimmer to them, catching the eye. She saw a group of girls survey the hall, and then their gazes fell on the signs she and Ting had made to decorate the booth.

“Ooooh,” they breathed as one and headed toward them.

“Brace yourself,” Bailey said to Ting. “I think it's the Barbie clones.”

Ting laughed, then she whispered, “I think they're just customers!” She offered a welcoming smile as the girls came to the booth's counter.

The tanned blonde girl with very, very short hair bounced on her toes. “Jewelry,” she exclaimed, and beamed.

“Earrings? Toe rings?”

“Charms,” said Ting quietly, almost shyly.

Bailey stood up. “Three kinds,” she explained brightly. “One for friends, one for learning, one for happiness.”

“Friends?” said the blonde's number one clone, her yellow hair done in braids. She had dark brown eyes and a nice smile, and had not been born with blonde hair. She picked up one of the friendship charms. She looked at Ting. “How about . . . special friends?”

“A love potion?” chirped Barbie wannabe number three.

“Well . . . um . . .” Ting's face flushed a little and she threw an uncertain glance at Bailey.

Bailey leaned over, and lowered her voice a bit, drawing the three closer to hear her. “It can't be a Love Potion,” she said, “because it's not a drink, it's a crystal. Think of it as a concentrate.” And she nodded sagely.

Ting kicked her ankle under the booth counter, not hard, but Bailey distinctly felt it. She paid no attention. “The charm's purpose,” and she lowered her voice yet again, after looking side to side, as if revealing a great secret, “is to make sure your friend remembers and thinks of you. A lot.”

All three blondes bounced. Giggles erupted, which they fought back, and looked around to see if they were getting noticed.

“I'll take one.”

“And me!

“Me, too!” They all spoke nearly as one and for a few moments, she and Ting were very, very busy picking out just the right charm for each, taking money, and bagging the jewelry.

Bailey handed the money box to Ting after they left. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Love charms?” Ting practically stuttered.

“Well . . . not exactly . . . but kinda. Luck is mostly in the perception anyway.” Bailey leaned on her elbows. She watched the Barbie clones drifting across the hall, where they converged into another group and disappeared in a frenzy of greetings and hugs and bounces. “Uh-oh.”

“What? What is it?”

“I think we're about to be swamped.” Bailey watched the flurry of conversation across the hall, punctuated by looks and hands pointed in their direction. As one, the larger group started their way.

Within moments, Ting and Bailey sold more than half the jewelry they had made and brought. The two of them could hardly keep up with the chattering questions and orders, hands and fingers flying across the trays, gathering up two and three of the various charms at a time.

“After all,” said one of the last customers as she left, smiling happily, “You can't have too much luck!”

Bailey and Ting sat back exhausted on their stools. “Wow,” remarked Ting quietly. “We may not have enough to stay the whole afternoon.” She looked at the picked-over trays, reaching under the counter to take out the lunch bags with the few extras they had made and spread them out where they belonged. “That's all of them.”

“This is going to help the benefit a lot,” Bailey said with pride. Half their proceeds went to the fund, and the other half would just cover what Ting spent for crystals and jewelry wire and chain, with maybe enough left for an ice cream sundae each. Still, it was an unspoken Magicker creed, or seemed to be, that their Talents could not be used for profit, or at least not vast amounts of it.

A shadow fell across the gleaming charms, accompanied by a deep snicker. “Selling Lucky Charms? Where's the marshmallow treats?”

She didn't have to look up to recognize Stefan and Rich. Stefan had a certain odor that, while not entirely offensive, definitely didn't come out of a cologne jar. She sat back on the stool as Ting piped up, “Hello, Rich, Hello, Stef. Ready for the game later?”

Even knowing who she was going to see, Bailey still blinked with surprise when she did look up. Stef had bulked up, standing square and big in front of her. “You could be a football team,” she blurted.

He grinned. He ran his hand over his flat top hair-cut that made his head look like a big, mean square. “You think?”

Rich, his thin, wiry, red-haired friend, rolled his eyes. “You look like a tank,” he said. “Okay?”

Stefan grinned. He hiked up his jeans and tapped his T-shirt with a big number 31 on it. “That's me.”

“Cool,” said Bailey. “I mean it, really. Good luck.”

“You guys coming? Your team is gonna get thrashed, Bailey.”

“Nah, I don't think so. We've been wanting to go to this movie for weeks, and today's our last chance, practically, before it comes out on DVD. I hear it should be a good game, though.”

“I had three solo tackles last week.”

“Four,” corrected Rich.

Stef look at him. “Four?” Another slow grin spread across his face. “Coolio.”

Rich also wore a T-shirt, but his had a zero on it. Ting tilted her head. “What do you play?”

“I'm the stats manager and I help the trainer. I get to tape wrists and ankles and stuff. And look after him.” Rich gave his friend a look that was only half scornful, the other half one of genuine concern.

“Has he ever . . .” Bailey lowered her voice. “You know.”

Rich shook his head quickly, a blaze of red across his pale skin. “Nope. Not without warning. Just twice since we got home.”

Stef grunted. Both girls looked at him, seeing the bear he could become in their memories. Not just any bear, but a gruff and roly-poly cub, one that listened to them like Stefan would, then went off and did whatever his own stubborn bearish mind wanted.

Ting let out a small sigh of relief. “Well, that's good.”

“That's training,” said Stefan. He patted his pocket, then took out his crystal and held it for a moment. “My parents don't even know.”

“They'll be at the game,” Rich added. “Along with mine.” He tugged on Stefan's elbow. “You need to chow some lunch down now or you'll get sick.” He looked at the girls. “Football stuff. Can't play on a full stomach.”

“Riiiight,” said Bailey. She didn't grin till the two had trudged off. Then she looked at Ting. “Who'd a thunk Rich would make a good mother hen?”

Ting chuckled. A family stopped at the booth, and Ting explained the blue wellness charms along with the clear crystal study charms to the mother who had an entire flock of small ones hanging onto her. After a few moments of consideration, the harried woman chose the most peaceful blue talisman she could find on the tray and bought it.

“Don't forget to put it to your forehead when you meditate,” Ting called softly after her. The woman nodded, amidst the chatter and crying of the little ones tugging on her and begging to go to the popcorn booth.

Bailey just stared and tried to hide a shudder.

Ting nudged her. “Just 'cause you don't have brothers or sisters!”

“That was a lot, though. Like a . . . a . . . pack.”

“Oh, they weren't all hers, I'm sure.” Ting looked after them, a sympathetic expression on her face.

The day slowed down. They ate their tuna salad sandwiches in the booth, and customers came by occasionally, but most people were more interested in the many food booths scattered around the hall. Food was clearly the fastest way to a teenager's spending money, Bailey observed. She brightened, though, when a familiar, owl-shaped face crowned by unruly brown hair came toward them, spectacles sliding down his nose.

“Henry! Henry Squibb!” she called out, and waved her arm.

The former Magicker turned slightly, and looked at them both closely. He had his arm full of squirming toddler, a girl in a frilly dress with a matching ruffled panty, kicking her dimpled bare toes against her brother's hip. He came over to the booth, a slightly curious and anxious expression on his face, which washed away when he said, “Oh, yes. I remember you. From camp. How are you?”

Sadly, he didn't really remember them the way they had been, having washed out dramatically from Ravenwyng. Bailey smiled cheerfully at him anyway. “Fine, and you? Remember Jason and Trent? Jason has a computer now, he could use help with. He wants you to e-mail him.”