The Time Fetch (11 page)

She stared at the bridge in front of her. If only she could get herself over and across the middle of it, she felt sure all enchantments would be called off. She grabbed hold of the railing, and straining and heaving, she managed a step forward. The railing was a thick wooden log, damp and slippery in the cold. With both hands, she held on as tightly as she could and tried to drag herself forward. She was able to win a few inches, but then whatever was holding on to the chain gave a long hard yank and she lost the ground that she had made.

They were playing Tug-of-War with her.

Her heart sank. Even if it was just one of them, she knew she could never hope to win. And then she saw that it wasn’t just one of them, because now a hooded figure slid out of the darkness on the other side of the bridge, the side she had been trying to reach. They had surrounded her. The figure walked toward her with silent purpose.

Well, she would not go down without a fight. She had her teeth. She had her boots. She got ready.

The dark shape drew nearer without a word and Feenix, stuck where she was, made herself steady her breathing. When the shape was within kicking distance, Feenix kicked. Her boot met bone and the shadow wordlessly retreated for a moment. Then it came toward Feenix again, this time with one hand outstretched.

Feenix lifted her foot for another good kick, then stopped. What was it about the way that this hand was held out?

The world seemed to turn upside down and then right itself again.

“You!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”

Behind the small hooded figure came another one, very tall and gangly. Then, unmistakably, bringing up the rear was Dweebo.

“I do not believe this,” Feenix said in a strangled voice. Then she screamed, “I’m stuck! Pull me over! Hurry or I’m dead!”

Brigit asked no questions, but grabbed hold of Feenix’s outstretched arm and pulled. Danton grabbed hold of Brigit. Dweebo hesitated, but then grabbed hold of Danton. The three leaned backward and heaved and strained and pulled. Feenix slid forward a few inches. The bracelet dug into her arm, making a ring of fiery pain. She knew the witches would never let go. They would rip her arm out of its socket and eat it raw.

Well, then, fine. Let them have it.

“Pull, you guys! Pull!” Feenix yelled.

“All right, everybody,” Danton commanded. “We’re going to pull together on the count of three. Eddie, brace your feet where the plank sticks up there. That’s it. Everybody ready? Altogether then—one—two—three!”

They gave a tremendous heave.

“That’s it!” Danton yelled out. “One more time. Keep it up, Brigit. You’re magnificent!”

They gave another enormous pull. Feenix screamed from the pain. She slid forward another few inches. She thrust her leg out. She stretched it and stretched it and somehow got the toe of her boot over the middle plank of the bridge.

The moment she did so, there was an angry
pwopping
sound and the bracelet let go of her arm. It was like the sucker of some evil creature releasing itself. It slid off her arm.

As the chain went slack, Brigit, Danton, and Dweebo all tumbled backward in a heap on top of each other. Feenix wasted no time, and in a single, furious leap landed safely on the other side of the bridge.

The bracelet fell to the ground and rolled away like a hoop into the darkness.

Part Two

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Disappearing Pumpkin

“Little Bird, Little Bird, are you awake then?”

Brigit opened her eyes and saw her grandad standing by her bed with a mug of tea. She smiled at him. How happy she was to be in her nice, warm bed. She stretched and made half an effort to remember what it was that had happened last night. There was a scary, unpleasant part, but there was something very nice, too. Something someone had said. She went after it, but it darted off like a dragonfly into the leaves.

The scary, unpleasant part didn’t move. It stayed half-hidden, but she could see its head sticking out. She made herself go after it. It seemed like it was important to remember. She went back in her mind to yesterday at school. Slowly it came to her how Edward, Danton, and she had decided to look for Feenix, how they had walked up the hill and through the park. She shivered at the memory. When they had found Feenix caught on the bridge, Brigit had known right away that the other girl was in great danger. She couldn’t have said how she knew this, but she was sure that there was something hungry and not human trying to pull Feenix back into the shadows. It took all three of them heaving together to drag her forward. Then, as soon as she crossed the middle of the bridge, the thing on her arm—a bracelet it looked like—went flying away. From the way she screamed you could tell that it hurt her terribly.

Afterward, Feenix went around kissing everybody. Brigit felt herself turning red when it happened, but she didn’t think anybody could see that in the dark. When Feenix got to Edward, he pulled back the way he always did when she got near him. Brigit understood, although under the circumstances she thought it was a little impolite. When Danton asked Feenix to tell them what had happened, she said it was all too horrible to think about right now. She’d tell them the story tomorrow. The rest of the trip home was still fuzzy in Brigit’s mind, but it seemed to her they’d all been very quiet and in a hurry.

Her grandad handed her the tea and let her take a sip. The sweet, milky warmth spread through her and she took another sip and looked at him over the rim, trying to decide if it was going to be one of his good days or one of his bad days. He was in his red tartan flannel robe and his little wisps of white hair stood up uncombed from his head. He put his fingers to his lips. “Up with you, lassie,” he whispered. “Time is running out. Let today be the day. You must look for the doorway.”

What could he mean, she wondered? His watery blue eyes watched her. Then he seemed to be distracted by something over his head. He frowned and hit fiercely at the air, as if he were brushing away invisible flies.

Would they all be together again, the four of them? If they did come together, it would be because of Danton. That’s what his talent was, although he didn’t really know it. He thought he was an athlete and, of course, he
was
an athlete. But what he
really
was, was a Bringer Together. It was his gift. She’d been watching him since she’d started at the new school. It was hard not to watch him. It was amazing that he had noticed her at all.

Her grandad was speaking softly. “I cannot find your gran,” he told her in a whisper. “I’ve looked and looked, but she’s been misplaced. I want you to go downtown now and see what it is that’s keeping her. ’Tis the short end of the year. The days go shrinking smaller and smaller.
You know
the sort who will go wandering abroad and I’m afraid. Help me find my shoes.” He batted his hand at the invisible flies again.

She saw that her grandad was barefoot and she could feel the cold coming up out of the floor, although the sun was shining. She jumped out of bed to go look for his slippers.

In the hallway she nearly bumped into her mother, who was just emerging from her bedroom. She stopped where she was, looking only half awake.

“I was having the strangest dream,” she said slowly. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Brigit gave her a quick hug and then dashed into her grandad’s room and picked up his slippers. In the hallway, she passed her mother who was still standing there, maybe thinking about her dream.

When she got back to her grandad and bent over to help him put on the slippers, she glanced at the alarm clock. It was true! Eight fifteen! How had that happened? As she started to rise, her grandad grabbed hold of her braid.

“Your grandmother gave this to you, you know. Red as the devil’s tailcoat. Not many knew her well. She was meek as milk seven days of the week, but on the eighth day she was a great, brave fury of a woman, magnificent to behold.”

Brigit felt a shock go through her. That was it! The thing she couldn’t remember. This was what Danton had said to her on the bridge—that she was magnificent. Not that it meant anything, really. He was always saying things like that to people. He seemed to believe it was his mission to encourage everybody.

Her grandad was blathering on. “You’d better get yourself out there, lassie. We are all counting on you.”

Counting on her? Counting on her for what? It wasn’t going to be one of his clear days. But there was no time now. She kissed him and hurried into her clothes. Her mother was no longer on the landing and she assumed her father must already be at work. She decided she would have to skip breakfast. She ran nearly all the way to school.

She was still late.

Feenix woke slowly, too, rising up from her sleep, feeling oddly free and safe at the same time. She was aware of the drowsy pleasure of being able to stretch her legs and toes out to their fullest length. Mr. Pearlmutter, her orange and white striped cat, had snuck under the covers. He shape-shifted contentedly against her back. He was like a big bag of flour covered in fur. For some time she stayed behind her closed lids, not wanting to think about anything. When she did finally open her eyes, she was met with an unpleasant surprise. Her mother was standing over her bed, gazing down at her with a frown of confusion.

“What?” Feenix asked her, wishing she would go away.

“I thought—I thought you were—”

“You thought I was what?”

“I thought you were—sleeping over at—”

“Mom, let me sleep. Why are you here clogging up my airspace? Here I am.”

With her eyes closed, she could feel her mother’s suspicion. Almost all of her mother’s body mass and time was given over to worry about and criticism of Feenix. Right now she would be running down the list: Homework? Inappropriate friends? Test grades? Last meal taken? Constipation? Etc., etc.

“Mom, let . . . me . . . breathe,” Feenix hissed. “Go away.”

“You need to get up right now, Edith! Do you know what time it is?’

“Time for me to get five more minutes of sleep and don’t call me Edith! I’ve told you a million times. Nobody in their right mind would name their kid Edith. My name is Feenix.”

“Edith is a perfectly beautiful name. How can you dishonor your own grandmother like that? You will always be Edith to me. And it’s eight twenty.”

“What?” Feenix opened her eyes to see if her mother was lying.

“You think I’m kidding? Look.” Her mother lifted the alarm clock and pushed it right in her face. Sure enough, it said eight twenty. “You forgot to set it again.”

Feenix sat up with a loud groan. She felt Mr. Pearlmutter’s disapproval. He stayed under the covers. “Out! Please get out! I’d like to dress in private.”

Her mother stood there for a few more seconds running her paranoid gaze around the room and then up and down the part of Feenix that was sticking out of the covers. Then she shook her head and retreated with the words, “Five minutes! I’m going to make you some oatmeal!”

“Do
not
make me oatmeal. I will not eat it. I’m not hungry.”

But her mother had gone deaf, spurred by the certainty that her daughter would be dead of starvation by noon if she didn’t force oatmeal into her.

Feenix lay back down and felt around for Mr. Pearlmutter and took him in her arms. She tried to remember what had happened yesterday. She had the feeling it was important, but it lay just beyond her reach, and she kept drifting back into a soothing sleep.

“Are you moving up there, Edith?” her mother yelled. “I don’t hear anything!”

With a great effort, Feenix made herself sit up. Why did she have the sensation that the morning was waiting impatiently, holding its doors open for her like a train in a subway station?

Danton’s little brother woke him by throwing a wet towel on his face and announcing that their mother had said he could have Danton’s share of the pancakes.

“No way!” Danton yelled.

“Yes way! You’re real late!”

Danton leaped out of bed and wrestled the little dude to the floor and made him say, “Eat my socks,” three times backward. When Danton let him up, Jay asked if they could shoot some baskets together later.

“It’ll probably be too late for that by the time I get home. I’ve got some people I’ve got to see.”

“Who?” his brother asked, disappointed.

“Some friends.”

“A girl? It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

“What? No way. A girl? Are you kidding?”

Jay shook his head and smiled knowingly. Danton grabbed him by the armpits, lifted him up, turned him upside down, and threw him on the bed so that he bounced. “We’ll play something when I get home. Stratego, maybe. But get your homework done and stay in the house. Help Mom. Be careful and stay out of trouble.”

Something in Danton’s tone seemed to catch at his attention. “Why would I get in trouble?”

“Because it’s the shortest day of the year today. A dangerous time.”

“Why? Why’s it a dangerous time?”

“Because Santa Claus is coming to town, that’s why, little dude. Stop asking so many questions.”

Danton dressed in record time and raced his brother to breakfast. He was in too much of a hurry to notice the cloud of bright things, smaller than gnats, flickering in and out of existence in the sunny kitchen.

Edward’s aunt woke him in five-alarm panic mode. She had overslept. Apparently the clock hadn’t gone off and she had a pie crust class at eight forty-five. She pulled the pillow off his head and flew around the room tweeting and screeching. Words fell like little scraps of paper: School! Train! Butter! Flour! Time! Armed robbery!

“What are you talking about? Give me five minutes.” Edward snuggled deeper under the covers. He was feeling very contented and pleased with himself, but he couldn’t remember why. As he sleepily searched for the answer, she yanked the blanket off of him.

“Don’t you understand? Your five minutes have been stolen right out from under your nose. We’re running out of time. I can feel it.”

“You can’t run out time,” he muttered. “It’s the fourth dimension.”

“Where did you hear such nonsense? Everything runs out eventually. But this is too soon. Doorways open at this time of year. Something’s been set loose that shouldn’t have been. You’d better get up.Your help may be needed.”

“What? Who’s going to need my help?”

“The battle’s going to be terrible this year. I can feel it.”

He was not going to ask her what battle she was referring to. When he was little he’d assumed this was the way everybody’s aunt talked, but now that he could see what a basket case she was, the thought of bringing anybody home after school had become mortifying. According to Aunt Kit, there were beings, forces, and influences messing around in everybody’s business everywhere. Some days there were fairies fiddling with the barometric pressure and making her cakes fall. Another day there were six-armed goddesses interfering with the Stock Exchange. Last month there was a planet in retrograde stirring up hurricanes. And she was always changing her story so he was never sure she was serious about any of it. He was visited again by the terrible vision of Mr. Ross meeting up with her. He’d never be able to show his face in science class again. He sat up with a groan and looked around. She was gone. Where had she got to? He glanced at the clock. It was eight thirty! How was this possible? American History started in twenty minutes, and Mr. Channer had threatened to fail him if he was late again. He was a dead man.

To Edward’s surprise, when he got to class, Mr. Channer wasn’t even there yet. There was an empty seat right near the door and he slid into it with a sigh of relief. He spotted Feenix, but she made no sign that she had seen him. A moment later, Mr. Channer arrived breathless and apologizing. Something had gone wrong with his alarm clock. He was all bent out of shape. How they had fallen so far behind he didn’t know, but in order to complete this section of the curriculum before the holiday break, they would have to move doubletime. For today, he would have to shelve all debate and discussion and simply move them through the material as quickly as possible.

“Please open to page one hundred and three. Elise, would you read the first section out loud and, Edward, in order to ensure that you stay awake today, we’ll have you outline the material at the board as she reads.”

Mr. Channer was a freak about outlining. He claimed it was the number-one most-important skill that you needed to learn to prepare you for college. Usually he just made the students do this at their seats, but every once in a while he selected a victim to experience the special torture of having to do it at the board in front of everyone else. Until today, he had never called on Edward, but Edward’s luck had run out. Edward quickly considered his options. He didn’t see that he had any unless he was willing to lie and claim that he had a sprained wrist, which he wasn’t willing to do. He rose and walked to the front of the room—a man going to his doom. Feenix, he knew, would be without mercy. She would keep up a running peanut gallery commentary about his handwriting, his clothes, and his general nerdiness. It would be worse than those dreams where you found yourself riding the subway without any clothes on. It would be worse because you weren’t going to wake up and the torture would seem to last forever. He steeled himself and picked up the whiteboard marker.

Elise began to read. Edward began to write:

THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR

I. Causes

a. the French and Indian War