The Golden Thread (7 page)

I knew I could not afford that now.

Mom also laid a shopping list on me for tomorrow afternoon, when she had to be in her office to take calls on a book auction she was running for one of her authors. I was too feeble and confused to point out the inconsistency of worrying about my rest on the one hand and loading me with chores on the other.

Mom in love was not always Mom at her best. At the moment, Mom was definitely in love with Manley the author. Maybe that was what kept her from noticing that I was more or less expiring from exhaustion and extreme fear no matter how much sleep-time I did or did not get.

I crawled under the bedspread and forced myself through three chapters of my history text until my head felt like a boiled cauliflower. If there's one thing I've learned from experience, it's that when magical stuff gets into high gear, there are no time-outs. It also felt like a vote for my personal future to make an effort to avoid falling totally behind in my assignments. My future as a human being, that is, rather than whatever weird animal Bosanka might turn me into.

It was a long evening, without a call to Barb. When I couldn't stand struggling with any more history questions, I sewed up a hole in the sleeve of my Sir George Williams University sweatshirt that Mom had brought home for me from a publishing convention in Montreal. Then I went into the kitchen and washed dishes.

Mom and I had this ongoing wrangle about getting a dishwashing machine, and how it was wasteful of energy and water for only two people living together, but on the other hand it would lighten the chore load on both of us, mainly me.

That night I was happy to stand over the sink and let my mind wander while I soaped and scrubbed and rinsed.

It wasn't Barb or Joel or even Mom I needed, really. It was Paavo Latvela.

Paavo the wizard was growing dim in my memory, which made me feel sad and scared and disconnected from myself, too. Certainly from the self that had joined with Paavo, Joel, and Gran to fight a monster. That monster-fighter had been one heck of a terrific Valentine Marsh. I missed her.

Now I was older, and more scared.

Mom stuck her head into the kitchen and said, “Doing the dishes? Sweetie, I appreciate the impulse, but it's late. That stuff can wait til tomorrow. It's not going anywhere unless the roaches run away with it all.”

I thought of roach-burglars skittering away with clanking pillowcases full of swag slung over their beetley shoulders and I started to laugh, and next thing I knew I was bawling. I hated getting all soppy so suddenly, like a baby, but I didn't have as much emotional control these days even when I wasn't scared to pieces.

Mom came and patted my shoulder. “Okay, let's start again,” she said. “Just tell me, first thing, are you, personally, physically all right?”

“Sure.” I snuffled.

She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and steered me into it, and then she sat down across from me with her elbows on the table, waiting. I would have to tell her something. My mom has no tolerance at all for the family talent, but she's good at waiting.

“I don't know if you want to hear this,” I said.

“Whatever's got you this upset, I'd better hear it,” she said. “I'll try not to blow up. Oh—my God, Val, it's not anything like what happened to that Stowers girl, is it? Because if it is, I probably
will
blow up.”

It took me a second to realize she meant Beth Stowers from eleventh grade who had gotten pregnant and been sent off to stay with some relatives in Ohio. Mom had this look of comical dismay. She knew me better than to really suspect me of anything so incredibly dumb. It was just on her mind because of course the parents must all be talking about Beth, too.

I said almost gaily, “Heck, Mom, it's nothing like that!”

“Better tell me what it is, then,” she said.

It was all so homey and regular and comfy. I blurted out, “Mom, you must remember something from growing up with Gran. I need to talk to somebody who
knows
something. I need some magic.”

Mom's face went grim. “Oh, no, Val—not again! All right, come on, out with it—I want the whole story!”

So then I had to tell her all about Bosanka. Well, almost all. I left out the leaf-taker, in the spirit of self-preservation.

Mom jumped up and attacked the dirty dishes herself, flinging angry words at me over her shoulder. “I kept hoping,” she said fiercely, “that it was over, finally, after the last time. Jesus. Give me a break!”

“You shouldn't have asked if you don't want to know,” I said. It had been a mistake to say anything, of course;
that
hadn't changed. Would I ever learn?

“Of course I want to know!” said Mom.
Bam
went the pots and pans. “Thank God this time I'm not going to be kept in the dark until it's all over and the damage is done. Your grandmother should be ashamed of herself, luring you into danger again!”

“
Gran?
” I was outraged. “She has nothing to do with it! She's in intensive care, for cripe's sake!”

“These things only happen to you because of her,” Mom insisted, slamming down a handful of silverware into the drainer. “None of your friends have—these
incidents
erupting into their lives, do they? You don't see Lennie Anderson getting mixed up with magical strangers all over the place! This stuff finds you because you're receptive, Valli. You attract it.”

What could I say? My head echoed with the impact of Bosanka's attention crashing into our New Year's comet, attracted by my family gift.

“It's all because of Gran,” Mom added. “She's dazzled you.”

“I'm not dazzled,” I objected.

“Yes, you are!” Mom said. “Everybody's always been dazzled by her, everybody but me! Her and her ‘gift'!” She calmed down and tried reasonableness again. “Tell me, Valli, what good does it do Gran to be so ‘special?' She's in the hospital and she may never come out again. So what's the point?”

“I don't know,” I said miserably.

“Do you know I had actually managed to forget the family curse?” she went on, “until you brought it all back again last spring, with the statue and the monster and that street person with the fiddle you were careering all around the city with like some homeless urchin? Even then, at first I wasn't sure. It was like remembering a dream. Or a nightmare that comes back over and over, turning everything upside down!”

I said, “Magic doesn't go away just because it scares you. It's in our blood, Mom. And Paavo Latvela wasn't some street bum, either. How would you know, anyway? You never even met him.” I shoved my chair back and stood up. “I'm going to my room. I don't want to have this stupid argument again.”

“Stay there,” she said through her teeth. “We're not arguing, we're having a discussion.”

She turned around and stood trying to stare me into submission while she had me sitting down so I was shorter than she was for a change. “Valentine, you are a babe in the woods. You have no idea of what you're up against, do you? This—this girl, wherever she's from, is making demands you can't begin to understand, let alone meet. Whatever your Gran is,
you
are no sorcerer!”

“I wish I were,” I mourned.

“Well, you're not. What will this person do when she realizes you can't do what she wants? You think you're invulnerable? Valentine, this is not a jolly adventure, it is a perilous situation!”

As if I didn't know, after this afternoon! But one word about the leaf-taker and I would have total mom-hysteria on my hands, and my own hysteria was all I could handle, thanks. I said, “I'm
okay
, Mom.”

Mom dried her hands as if she were wringing the dish towel's neck. “I don't have a chance, do I? I've never had a chance. You're caught up in the romance of this ‘magic.' And even if you survive again, somehow, every time this happens it makes you more of a misfit, a—a weirdo! Is that what you want?”

Not that again.

I said, “You're always saying I should have the courage to do my own thing regardless of what other kids do. Or does that only go for my clothes and my hair, and not smoking and things, but not for something as basic as the family talent?”

“A lawyer,” Mom said, “as well as a fearless magician.” She hurled dry pots into the oven where we store them.

But all her protective fury was useless, pathetic even. I knew it, even if she didn't.

I started to blubber again. “I'm scared out of my wits, if you want to know. I didn't ask for this, but I'm stuck with it, and you won't even try to help me! Well, I don't need your help!”

“Nevertheless, you're going to get it,” Mom said. “This Bosanka is a student in your school, right? I don't have to be a witch to handle that, just a grown-up—your mother, in fact, and a member in good standing of the Thomas Jefferson Parents' Association. I'm calling Mr. Rudd first thing in the morning. I'm going to get you out of the clutches of this crazy girl and have her investigated.”

That was all I needed! What if Bosanka turned my mom into one of those leaf-taker things?

“I have to do something,” Mom said, reading my expression. “Someone has to put a stop to this.”

“Fine,” I yelled, terrified. “Maybe you could really help, if you'd quit fighting the family talent and try using it for a change! Without it, well, good luck!”

I got up and ran to my room, put the Out Forever sign on the doorknob—Mom always respected that sign, it was one of the rules that kept life manageable between us—and made loud going-to-bed noises. I opened and shut the closet door, ran the water in my bathroom, and so on. Then I stood in the dark and listened.

In spite of what I'd said in anger, I couldn't risk my mom mixing into this with or without the family talent. Her rejection of our magic forced me into using it myself and keeping her safely out of it as much as I could.

When things quieted down out there, meaning that Mom had retired to her bedroom with Manley's manuscript, I slipped out of the apartment. But first I took something out of the top drawer of my dresser, from under the scarves and socks.

I went to Riverside Park, in goose bumps all the way. Any New York park can be dangerous at night. For the moment, though, all I saw was bundled-up people out walking their dogs or running themselves.

One thing Gran had taught me was how to make a wish and get what I wished for, a technique I reserved for emergencies. It's not the kind of thing you want to risk wearing out.

I ran down the steps to the metal railing beside the walkway along the bank of the river. It's not my favorite place. Dark rocks drop straight down from the edge of the path to the water. You sometimes see rats there in daylight. I thought I could hear them scuttling around down there now.

On the other hand, something's got to eat all the crud we fling around, and I needed the river, rats or no rats.

This is what my grandmother had taught me, not all that long ago: “Make a wish by running water and seal it with silver.”

In my pocket I had the first thing I'd ever bought for myself with babysitting money: a silver-plated mechanical pencil that was too precious ever to be taken to school where it might get lost or stolen. For running water I had the whole Hudson River, sliding along in overlapping coils with a soft seething sound.

On the way over I had worked out a wish that I figured was fair and not too likely to boomerang. The thing was to keep it modest and positive.

Like, Sorcery Hall, send help! If I couldn't turn to my Gran, maybe I could get some attention from the place where she had studied magic.

But I also needed protection against my mom's well-meant interference. Well, more like protection
for
her than
from
her. Last time I gotten into magical trouble, Mom was caught up in it too, helpless and ignorant. I'd nearly lost her, for good. I wasn't about to take a chance on that happening again. And I didn't think I could cover both of us with one silver wish.

I needed help with Bosanka, and Mom had to be protected. One out of two seemed reasonable to try for, so I concentrated on both.

Watching the lights of the buildings on the Jersey side and the glowing night sky beyond, I tried to clear my mind completely. I clutched the silver pencil in my fist and shut my eyes. My wish came to me in rhyme, which had never happened before:

 

“Sorcery Hall, Sorcery Hall,
Granny Gran, wizards, and Paavo and all,
Hear my petition of worry and need,
Come if you can and come at speed!
But if you can't come at my beck,
At least keep my mother off my neck!”

 

Not exactly the tone I was after, but I think my sincerity came through. I repeated this three times, including Paavo's name even though he was dead, and threw the pencil out over the water. I saw a little flick of white spume out there, and something that might have been a fish jumped and fell back in right where my pencil had landed.

When I got home, it was nearly midnight. I took a deep breath and walked right in, not trying to be especially quiet. I really hate sneaking around.

Mom came to the door of her bedroom and looked out at me with a puzzled expression. “Hey, sweetie, you look a little funny,” she said in a concerned voice. “Is there anything you want to talk to me about?”

I knew which wish I'd gotten.

 

6
Tears by Joel

 

 

I
N THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
the phone rang. I was too tired to talk to anybody, but suppose it was Barb and all was forgiven? I grabbed the receiver on the first ring. The fact that there was not a peep out of Mom's bedroom told me that my silver wish was operating nicely. She'd probably never even heard the phone ring at all.