The Magickers (24 page)

Caught up in his own thoughts, he scarcely noticed the first few rich bites of the Mulligatawny stew. Then, his mouth bursting with the flavor, spicy and rich, and the warmth of the tender meat and gravy, toned down by the rice, he noticed his dinner and dug in. The chilled salads cooled his tongue back down, but he decided he liked this markedly different food.

While they were all eating, Sousa appeared at the doorway, cornet in his hand. “No campfire tonight,” he announced, much to the dismay of everyone who enjoyed the nightly meets. He put his hand up to quiet the protests. He looked about the mess hall. “It's important tonight that you be safely in your assigned housing so we know where you are. I promise you that tomorrow night, we'll have a tale of adventure to tell you and I think FireAnne promised fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and brownies for all.”

The campers cheered at that. Sousa tooted a cheery bar or two in return and left, while the murmurs of the curious rose again.

“What do you think that was all about?” Trent mopped up the last of his Mulligatawny with a slice of bread.

Jason thought he knew. The Ritual that Gavan had promised Eleanora . . . by midnight, and whatever that Ritual was, it must be dire, even dangerous. He couldn't say, “I don't know,” so he just ducked his head and concentrated on finishing his carrot and raisin salad.

Ting chewed on a fingernail. “You two are still coming by, aren't you?”

Trent and Jason swapped looks. “Sure,” Jason returned even as Trent said, “Better not.”

They looked at each other again.

“But—” they said in unison.

Her face crumpled slightly in worry.

“All right,” they said together.

Ting managed a smile.

 

Outside, after dinner, Jason punched Trent in the shoulder. “What was that about? I thought you were fearless.”

Trent screwed up his face a bit and shrugged. “I've got my reasons. This isn't just any camp, you know? This is one you can't afford to get thrown out of, if you want to know who you are and what you can do.” He stopped in his tracks. “Listen, I'll see you later. I've got some laundry to do before bedtime.” He headed off in the opposition direction, leaving Jason standing baffled and alone.

He was still alone when the time came for Lights Out, because Trent had come in and gone to bed without a word and now snored lightly. Jason fidgeted a moment, remembered what he had promised Ting, and withdrew the string of firecrackers from under his bunk, tucking them inside his windbreaker jacket. He took the box of matches from the window seat drawer, left there to light candles in an emergency. How long they'd been left there, he had no idea. He hoped they would still strike and light quickly.

Like a slim shadow, Ting waited for him in the corner of the porch, her back to the cottage outer wall. “Where's Trent?” she asked quietly, her eyes turning down a bit in disappointment.

“Fell asleep. I couldn't wake him.”

“Oh.”

“Hey. I'm here.”

She smiled slightly. “Yes, you are!” She dropped her voice to an even lower whisper. “Sessions were cancelled tonight, Jennifer is reading. What do you think is going on?”

He shook his head. “All I know is . . . you need to go to bed, with Lights Out. Everyone needs to be quiet and seemingly asleep before he makes his move. I'll be out here. I've got something guaranteed to scare off your Ghost . . . and probably your thief, too!”

“What?” Her eyes widened.

“Don't worry about it. But I guarantee, you'll know it when it happens, and it's in the best Chinese tradition.”

Eyes still wondering, Ting moved back inside the cottage and there was a faint click as she slid the bolt into place. Jason moved around to the rear of the cottage, where he sat down in a bush and tried not to think about the various things that crawled about, whether it was night or day, and waited. Even as he tried to ignore it, it felt like a dozen of them were crawling over his ankles or arms. He fought not to scratch. Instead, to keep his mind off the tiny creatures tickling across his skin, he began to think about the thief, the Ghost and the strange things that had been happening.

He heard the Magickers as they came up the back slope of the cottages, chanting. Jason bit his lip. They would catch him, for sure. He wasn't certain what they'd do for catching him a second time, but it couldn't be good. He hugged his arms around his legs and tried to feel invisible.

The words sang out and caught Jason, pulling at him. He could hear Gavan's pleasant tenor tones, and the lovely voices of Eleanora, and Dr. Patel, and the slightly off-key and deeper voice of FireAnn. They paused a moment, and then Eleanora said, pleased, “That wards the cottage. Nice harmony. The girls should sleep right through.” They ringed the clearing nearest Kittencurl, and then the dark seemed to mask them from sight. He rubbed his eyes as they began to recite strange words again. Their chanting made him sleepy and he fought to listen, to keep his eyes open. When he finally understood their words, what he heard chilled his blood.

The Ritual was irresistible. It tugged at his own thoughts and soul, threatened to send him away—except he belonged here,
he did,
and Jason anchored himself to that while a cold, hard Banshee wailed about and plucked at him. Tugged at his collar and sleeve, promising, then threatening to take him away, or to banish him.

He blinked, hard, as they stood in a circle, candles in their hands, their voices growing louder and faster. He tried to breathe, and could not, unless it was in time to their chanting. He felt dizzy.

“Be gone!” commanded Gavan.

Jason's heart thumped hard in his chest. He put a hand out to the ground and dug his fingers in. He was no Ghost! Yet . . .

Eleanora began chanting again. He was able to take a breath. He curled his other hand about his crystal, and as its edges pressed roughly into his skin, he felt a bit better.

“Be gone!” commanded Gavan again.

Jason's whole body quivered, in spite of himself. And then, and then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pale scrap. A wavering glimpse of . . . something . . . being pulled out by the Ritual.

He stared as he saw it flicker.

“Come no more to this reality, this plane, this time, this earth!” recited Gavan. He took a deep breath. He was going to chant, “Be gone!” for the third and last time. Jason knew it. And that would be the last of the Ghost.

He blinked as it paused by him, stretched out an imploring hand. He knew that wisp, that scrap of existence!

His body felt like lead, fastened to the earth, anchored there so the Ritual could not sweep him away. He'd chained himself there. Jason took a breath, tried to stand, and couldn't.

“Wait!” He gulped for breath and yelled again. “No! Wait!”

Then, as the Magickers turned to look at him, and Gavan Rainwater frowned in a thunderous expression, he blurted out, “Stop! Bailey's the Ghost!”

16

“
W
HAT?” Eleanora turned on him, candlelight re flecting her pale, shocked face.

But nothing was as pale as the wispy being before him. He grabbed at it, feeling something spidery tingling across the skin but not Bailey's hand . . . if it was Bailey, and it had to be, he could think of no one else!

“Gavan! Quickly, the crystal! Before we drive her into the other plane and lose her entirely.” The flame on her candle shook as Eleanora's hands trembled.

“Don't be taken in, Eleanora. Haunts can be very devious.” Gavan frowned heavily.

Jason stood still, watching the ethereal mist gather round him. “Bailey?” he asked quietly. The wind sighed around him.

“If it be our lost lass,” FireAnn said softly, “she might be forgettin' who she is. A Ghostly existence is not an easy one.” She reached over and gently took Eleanora's candle from her, adding, “Before you spill wax all over or burn yourself.”

Dr. Patel watched Jason with a slight frown. She wore her sari with a matching shawl covering her sleek head, its edge hemmed in silvery thread that sparkled in the moonlight. “Are you all right, Jason?”

“Yes. It—it just made me feel very weird for a moment or two.”

“Understandable. This is not a Magick for the unprepared.” She smiled slightly, and he felt a comfort emanating from her, cool and dry and efficient. “You'll let me know if you worsen?”

“I will.” He thought a moment, then dug his hand into his windbreaker. A chocolate chip cookie came back out. Slightly stale, from dinner before last, he'd forgotten he'd put one aside for later. He held his hand out, palm flat. “Bailey, I know you've gotta be hungry.”

“Jason—” Eleanora said in warning, then halted as Gavan unwrapped the amethyst crystal from his silk handkerchief. He took her hand and cupped it with his, their warm flesh enveloping the purple stone. She let out a soft sound of dismay.

Gavan shook his head as he looked into her face. “I can't tell if it's her, and we can't afford to be wrong. To stop the Ritual now means we may not be able to deal with the Ghost later, it will have grown too strong.”

“But if it's Bailey, we can't banish her!”

The pale fog shimmering around Jason seemed to thicken, gathering, until the outline was about his height, and definitely that of a person. He bounced the cookie on his palm. “It's chocolate chip,” he coaxed.

The night gave a soft moan.

The sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight, and he fought not to shiver.

“Poor dear,” said Anita Patel, looking about with concern. She pushed her shawl from her head, dropping it around her shoulders. “I think the boy is right. I can sense her aura.”

FireAnne held her two candles high. After a moment, disappointment rode her face. “I canna tell.”

Gavan took a deep breath. He looked down into Eleanora's face as she wavered a bit, bobbing slightly up and down as if her strength were taxed. “I'll do it,” he said. “But if it is not Bailey . . .”

“I'll do what I can for you,” she said quietly.

He nodded. Then Gavan Rainwater closed his eyes, and tightened his hands over hers and the crystal, and a look of intense concentration crossed his face. The tiny lines at the corners of his eyelids deepened, as did the ones near his mouth. His jaw tightened.

A wind picked up, off the lake, chill and brisk. The trees around them ruffled. Jason stood uncertainly, as the fog near him seemed to grow colder and colder as the night breeze whirled around it. It grew thicker, too, but instead of becoming more distinct so that he could see Bailey's face, it did not. It flapped its arms at him, and he felt an icicle touch on his face.

Gavan jerked suddenly, one hand flying off the grasp of the crystal. His eyes flew open in surprise and dismay. He reeled back almost as if he had been hit. Eleanora cried out, and Jason could see she tightened her grip on the amethyst crystal. He staggered back another step, his one remaining hand on the crystal shaking, his arm outstretched to its fullest length. He brought his other hand up, and, gritting his teeth, once again cupped his fingers about Eleanora's hand and the stone. “There is more at work here than we know,” he managed to say, his voice tight in his throat. “I'm not sure I can . . .”

“Don't even think that, Gavan!” Eleanora tilted her face up to look into his eyes.

Jason shivered. The Ghost wavered again, and this time when it moaned, he could see the cloud of its head open, dark night shining through, as it wailed in eerie tones. Its eyes shone like two dark spots. The Ghost floated nearer. Its chill struck him to the bone, and his teeth began to chatter in spite of himself. Dr. Patel shrugged into her silk shawl while FireAnn chafed her hands. The temperature continued to drop until his nose went numb and frozen.

“Bailey . . . take the cookie?” His hand shook as his whole body seemed to dance with cold shivers. He thought the cookie would surely pop off. Something even icier touched his fingers and slid off his skin. The cookie lurched sideways suddenly and he pinched his hand shut to keep from dropping it.

“Keep trying, Jason! Don't let her think we've given up on her!” Eleanora called to him, even though her gaze remained locked on Gavan, who had grown paler even than the ghostly apparition before them.

He took a breath, expiration frosting on the air as though it were the deepest of winters, and held the cookie back out. Something slimy ran across his hand again, a wispy tendril, and he tried not to make a disgusted noise. He held steady and, instead said, “Come on, Bailey. You can do it!”

The wind died suddenly. The air all around them grew still and frosty. Gavan shuddered.

Through tight lips growing blue, he said, “Come to me, Bailey. You've got to find the way to do it. Come . . . NOW!”

A sound split the clearing, like that of a scream, yet almost too high to hear. Jolted, Jason felt his hand, his whole body jerk. The cookie flew into the air as he staggered back on his heels. Gavan dropped as though he had been pole axed and, unbalanced, Eleanora nearly toppled over on top of him. The candles FireAnn held snuffed out. With a cry, she dropped them in surprise.

Only Dr. Patel seemed unmoved. Her almond eyes fixed on the cloud of white as if she could see what moved there.

With a tremendous WHOOOSH the fog left.

Jason grabbed for the cookie, out of habit, and found . . . nothing.

“I've lost her,” Gavan said, as he rolled over onto his back and took a few deep breaths. “Eleanora, she's gone.” As soon as the color came back to his face, he stood, and steadied Eleanora.