The Magickers (3 page)

Jason scratched his head, the only part of him which did not itch abominably. He muttered quietly, “I've never won anything. And I am locked out with a thousand bloody scratches all over me, thanks to you . . . stupid bird.”

He squinted. It must have been ripped off some junk mail contest entry, thrown in someone's trash, gilt edges attracting the bird's eyes. He shoved it in the pocket of his pajamas. He had no luck. His present predicament proved that.

Jason stared at the rain gutter again. Well, there was no sense putting it off any longer. He would have to ring the doorbell and awaken someone to get back in. With any luck, it might be Alicia. She could be bribed.

Jason limped to the corner of the house. A slow, dark cloud moved over the face of the golden moon, plunging the whole neighborhood into immense, purple shadows. He stumbled into the hedge (Ow!, again) and it exploded with a splitting hiss. He sprang back as leaves flew in all directions. A great ginger tomcat burst out, green eyes gleaming and bounded off, his crooked tail flipping in disgust with every leap. The cat stopped, turned, flashed a defiant flag of his tail, and dodged into a hole under the fencing.

With a deep breath of resignation, Jason sidled around the corner of the house. The front door opened as soon as he touched it, and Alicia stood on the threshold, looking at him, framed in glaring light.

“Oh,” she said with a smile. “Are you going to owe me.”

2

“
A
LICIA crossed her arms and said, ‘This had better be good.' ”

Sam danced in the early morning light as he hiked his backpack up on his shoulder. “She said that? Really?” His best friend stood, alert, awake, and listening.

Sam had been patiently waiting at the corner just before school. He'd dropped his battered backpack and was playing with a Hacky Sack, bouncing it up and down between his hands and his feet. He snatched it out of midair as Jason joined him. Sam was small, wiry, and brown all over—brown hair, brown eyes, and a dark brown tan. He made up for it by wearing bright yellows and reds.

“Oh, she said that and more.”

They stood in a river of students making their way toward Jefferson Middle School. The sun, which had seemed incredibly bright earlier, now hid behind a clump of hazy, smoggy clouds. Leaves skittered and scattered away from his shoes as if worried they might be crunched underneath. Skaters boarded past, their wiry bodies poised in sleek balance over their skateboards, despite their baggy shorts and often untied sneakers. Jason watched them soar past, surfing the concrete walkways. He'd been trying to learn on his own, difficult to impossible without a decent skateboard. Anything with wheels could be guaranteed to draw a concerned look from Joanna. Even headgear and elbow pads would not appease her.

“Really,” Jason answered. He paused and shouldered his books as a skateboarder whizzed by, nearly careening into both of them. By the time he struggled back into balance, the skater was long gone, around the corner, snaking in and out between other walking students. Voices rose in laughter. A group of girls passed, bursting out in giggles as they swung by, and he wondered if it was aimed at him or not. He watched them. A pack of girls? A gaggle of giggles?

“You're road kill.” His best friend tugged at his pack again, the lumps and bumps and weight of his folded-up scooter bulging from inside.

“Well, not exactly.” Jason had recounted the same story to Sam that he'd blurted out to Alicia. The difference had been that Sam had listened, believing, while Jason's stepsister had watched him with a mocking light in her eyes.

“A bird at the window, a big crow or something. It kept pecking at the glass. It wouldn't stop! I opened the window to get a look at it . . . and I fell out.”

“You fell from the attic window?” Her eyes had widened, then narrowed.

“Right into the hedge,” he had answered, limping forward.

“Right.” Her eyebrow had raised slightly. “Two stories?”

“I tried to shinny down the rain gutter.” She still had not let him past and his body itched, his hands moving everywhere scratching. “Give me a break, Alicia, okay?”

She'd moved over then, letting him in, saying, “You owe me, big time.”

Sam sighed as he pocketed his Hacky Sack. “That's bad.”

Jason nodded. They started forward again. A small shadow darted overhead. He looked up. The crow winged its way into a neighboring tree, then vanished after giving him a yellow-eyed stare for a moment. A shiver went down his spine.

“What are you going to do?” asked Sam.

“With any luck, Joanna will make brownies this week. If I fork over my share, I should be off the hook.”

“Man. And I thought
my
sister was a monster.” He grinned. “What about your parents?”

“Nothing much.” Jason shrugged stiffly. Everything hurt, but not as much as it had when he first woke to morning light clobbering his eyelids, streaming in through the window like a flashlight aimed directly at his eyes. He had rolled over in his creaking bed. There was nothing in his body that did
not
hurt. And the tryouts for soccer camp were today! It was bad enough he didn't play on the local teams yet, like most of the guys, or that he had chicken legs in PE shorts, but now he was going to have scratched chicken legs!

Jason had punched his pillow before getting out of bed, wishing he didn't have to face this day at all! With a sore grunt, he had grabbed a pair of jeans and started to dress. He wasn't very good at telling lies. He didn't believe in it, and he wasn't quick enough to think of good ones. Honesty served him best, even if it could be painful.

Sam's face scrunched up. “You're kidding? You came downstairs looking like you lost a cat fight and no one said anything?”

“Well . . . Joanna didn't have her contacts in. And the Dozer . . . he sat behind his paper and read her the sales ads and then . . . he looked at me.” Jason stopped on the sidewalk. His breakfast did a flip-flop in his stomach as it had then, William McIntire looking at him over the top edge of the newspaper, and then his stepmother considering him vaguely.

“Jason, I have told you time and time again. If you have good manners, you can sit and eat with anyone in the world. Even the Queen of England. How can you come to breakfast without combing your hair and washing your face?”

Jason's teeth clicked as he closed his mouth.

The Dozer let out a low rumble that could have been in agreement or just clearing his throat as he looked, really looked, at Jason. He felt his scratches grow hot and itchy.

“Son,” vibrated William slowly. He leaned over. His brown eyes squinted as he stared into Jason's face. “If you think you need to shave, come and see me. Dull razors hurt. I know this is the sort of thing a father should show you, but I'll stand in as well as I can.”

“Oh, my.” Joanna glanced at her husband.

“Don't worry.” The Dozer squeezed her hand tighter. “I've got it handled.” He nodded at Jason. “You might want to splash some of my aftershave on your mug. It'll sting, but you'll heal faster.”

 

Jason exhaled.

Sam exhaled, too. “Man, you're only eleven. And he thinks you were trying to
shave?
”

“At least he didn't ask me what happened.”

“So you're still going to tryouts for soccer camp?”

“You bet.”

Sam heaved a sigh of relief. “Partners, right?”

Jason slapped his hand. “Definitely!”

The fact he'd been okayed to try out for soccer camp had faintly surprised him. Evidently his stepmother thought that shin guards would protect him, although she had questioned him a few days ago about the difference between rugby and soccer, as if to reassure herself she'd made the right decision. She'd looked at him, her sunglasses tilted back on her forehead like a hair ornament, repeating his words now and then, faintly ending up, “And no tackling?”

“No, ma'am. No tackling. This is soccer.” He pressed his mouth shut firmly on what was not exactly a lie.

“Well.” She put her reading glasses on as she pulled out her organizer. “Work hard and make the team! You know we approve of summer camps. They build character.”

 

Early bell sounded through the air as the stucco buildings of the school loomed in view. The flow of students had slowed to nearly a trickle, Jason's tale delaying them. The bell's echoes faded as two snickers came from behind.

“Partners, huh? Well . . . partner this!”

Movement too swift to duck grabbed him up, pulling his sweatshirt jacket over his head, blinding him. As he kicked and fought to get free, his feet and body suddenly left the ground. For a moment he was flying blind, hands on his arms tossing him through the air. He hit with a fragrant thump, Sam letting out a grunt beside him as he landed also, and then a thunderous clang as the dumpster lid slammed shut over them. Darkness fell even as Jason clawed his sweatshirt off his head.

“Oh, man,” said Sam. “I'm going to stink all day.”

They both struggled to stand on the heaps of garbage under them, and push up on the heavy metal lid overhead. It wouldn't budge. The noise of students moving past had stopped as everyone now was probably inside the classrooms, or at least the school gates.

Something tapped at the metal lid. Tap, tap.

Sam tilted his head. “Hello? Get us out!” He knocked and rattled loudly. There was silence. Then something walked across the lid: tick, tick, tick.

Jason listened. What on Earth . . . ?

They held their breath, listening. Someone was teasing them, toying with them.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then, “Kerr-awww.” And a rattling “CAW!”

A crow! He'd had it with crows!

Jason made a fist and punched at the dumpster lid. There came an explosion of wings and caws as the crow took startled flight off the top. It came back with a heavy thud, CAW-ing even more loudly.

Both Jason and Sam put their hands up and rattled the dumpster lid, yelling at the top of their lungs.

Bright sunlight flooded in as the lid suddenly opened. Mrs. Cowling, Jason's English teacher, stared in, her big, fluffy brown hair in a sunny halo about her round face. “Goodness,” she said. “What are you two doing in here?”

She helped Sam out and then Jason. The stench of the dumpster floated about them like a cloud, and then slowly faded. Jason looked back in the trash bin. They were in luck, it seemed, most of the rubbish seemed to be old boxes and dry stuff. The reek must be a permanent odor stuck inside. He shook himself, pulling his backpack and sweatshirt jacket down.

“We got thrown in,” Sam answered sulkily. His dark hair stood out in wild thatches.

“Do you know who?”

“Didn't see a thing.”

Jason traded looks with Sam. He had a wild guess who it might have been, but it wouldn't do any good to say anything. He shrugged. Mrs. Cowling nodded. “Well, off with you, then. Tardy bell is about to ring.” The two sprinted off to the school gates and their first period classes.

Overhead, a crow rattled another raucous “CAW!”

SPRING, nearly summer, sang hotly through the late afternoon air, muted by the schoolroom window. The cries of boys already suited up for soccer team tryouts and running around the green field could barely be heard. He could see Sam's blazing red jersey and more than once, the faraway figure had turned and looked toward his building. He had to be wondering where Jason was.

Jason's fingers cramped around his pencil. If he looked at the wall clock one more time, Mrs. Cowling would spot him. Outside of cheaters, there was nothing she hated more than clock watchers. It would hurt her feelings that he wasn't paying attention, especially after her rescue of the morning.