The Zodiac Collector (14 page)

“Charge!” The Yellow Knight cries and the pair spur their mounts to a full gallop.

I imagine what it would be like to be in the arena, riding a horse, staring down my opponent. How awesome would it be to ride on the back of such a powerful animal, armed with a lance and shield, swelling with the pride of pre-battle adrenaline?

I close my eyes and the world melts away. Instead of an arena and bustling crowd of faire patrons, I see Castor and Pollux astride a pair of black stallions, manes and tails flowing in the breeze. The twins give each other toothy grins, more for sport than war. In unison, they lower their spears and charge at one another.

The sharp
thwack!
of the Green Knight's lance impacting the Yellow Knight's chest plate catapults me into reality. But the vision is enough to ignite an ancient call. Something surges inside me, tingling along my spine like ghostly fingers. My muscles tense.

The crowd shouts when the Yellow Knight collides with the ground. A plume of dirt rises in his wake and his horse skids to a halt. The Green Knight canters to the end of the tilt, raises his lance, and shouts, “Huzzah!”

“Huzzah!” I shout, shooting to my feet and thrusting my fist in the air.

Mary grabs a fistful of my skirt and tugs. “Sit down.” Alarm furrows her brow.

My butt smacks the bench. “What?”

“We've seen the joust a hundred times. What's got you so worked up?”

“This is way more exciting than seeing the Queen's gown, don't you think?” I slide my fingers across the edge of my flag and twirl it. “Castor and Pollux would enjoy this.”

“Huh?” She tips her head to the side.

A gust of wind taunts the trees and a wall of charcoal clouds advances across the sky. Lightning flickers between the puffy ridges. Half a second later, a peal of thunder rips the air.

The Blue Knight's horse whinnies and rears. The mare twists, knocking William over. He rolls out of the way, narrowly escaping her hooves.

She rears again, despite her rider's yanking at the reins.

“William!” I leap to my feet and run to the arena. He'll get stomped to death if he doesn't move. The folds of my skirt slow me down. I hike the fabric up around my knees.

Shequan dives around the animal, tackles William, and rolls both of them away from the horses. They land a few feet from the fence.

I drop to my knees and stretch my arm through the rungs, but I can't reach them. “Are you okay?”

William plunks his head on the ground and exhales. “Thanks to Shequan.”

Shequan hops to his feet and extends a hand to William. “No biggie, man.”

William claps Shequan's hand and grunts as he rises. Dirt cakes their costumes and dusts their hair.

Lightning cracks the sky, powering yet another drum of thunder. Fat water pellets smack my head. One, two, a thousand drop on us in an instant. Rain falls so densely it creates solid sheets.

The Knight dismounts and drives the mare toward the barn. The rest of the troupe does the same.

It doesn't take the crowd long to figure out the show is over. They disperse to nearby shoppes and tents. Doesn't matter. Everybody is soaked anyway. Storms can crop up fast, but this is ridiculous.

William stares down at me. Water streams over his hair and down his face, but he doesn't seem to notice or mind. Right here, in this moment, all his focus is on me. And I don't mind one bit. He curls his fingers around the fence rung between us. His dimples make an appearance.

“That was really scary.” I lay a hand over his. Our skin is slippery.

“That mare tends to spook.” He flips his hand over to lace his fingers with mine.

I shiver, not from the cold rain, but from his searing touch.

“Anne! Our dresses!” Mary slops to me. Her hair is plastered to her head and her lime-green dress appears several shades darker.

Crap. Mom is going to murder us. So much for a romantic moment in the rain.

“I have to help with the horses. I'll see you later?” William drops his hand from mine. He shakes his hair out and runs to the barn, stepping in the puddles as he goes.

Mary grips my arm. “We have to get inside.”

I nod, half-dazed.

We leave the fence and step onto the path, but there are too many puddles, so we shift to the grass. At the end of the street, a hunched figure in a hooded cloak darts in front of us.

“Hello, girls.” Zeena lifts the edge of her hood. The old woman blinks and I swear her pupils are vertical slits before they round back out.

I swallow a yelp.

Mary and I retreat.

The woman follows. “You've invoked them, haven't you?”

“Invoked who?” I counter.

“The Gemini twins, Castor and Pollux,” she hisses.

Thunder rattles my eardrums. The ground vibrates.

“You don't know what you've done.” The old woman lunges and clamps her sinewy fingers around my wrist. Her grip is stronger than I expect. “Playing with such power is dangerous for an untrained witch. But I could teach you.”

A tugging sensation draws me closer to her. It presses against my chest and squeezes my lungs. I struggle to suck in air. Pulling away, I cry, “Let me go!”

Mary swats Zeena's arm away. We dash toward the main path, fleeing the old woman's blood-curdling cackle. Lightning flashes like a strobe light.

“Let's get to Dad's smithy!” I wheeze, glancing over my shoulder to check if Zeena is following. I slip in the mud, landing on my knees and grinding more mud into Mom's dress. Mary catches me so I don't faceplant.

By the time we reach Dad's building, we're chilled through, covered in muck, and sobbing.

Dad rushes out of the back room. “What in the…Girls? What're you doing here? You're soaked! Mom's dresses.”

I sit on the wood floor while Mary rests her hands on her knees. We're both panting. I'd say, “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” but there's no way my mouth can manage words.

I paw around my coin purse and my fingers latch onto my inhaler. Dark spots crowd at the edge of my vision. My chest burns and body shakes. I need to stop this asthma attack.

Dad rushes over to me. “Anne, take slow, deep breaths, honey. Imagine the air going into your lungs. You can do it.”

I nod, opening and closing my mouth like a guppy. My insides twist and tumble, rubbing raw from friction. It's hard to hear Mary and Dad over the pounding of my heart and the rain beating on the tin roof.

“Get her some warm water,” Dad barks. He rubs my back as if that'll make my lungs more efficient.

Mary scurries to the other room. She reappears with a bottle of water in seconds. She holds it to my mouth, but her hands shake so badly that she spills water down my chin.

“I'm okay,” I manage to squeak out the words.

“Freak storm, eh? Triggered an attack?” Dad leans back on his heels, still pressing a hand on my shoulder.

Mary caps the water bottle. “Um, we, uh…” She looks at me, eyes round.

My tongue feels like stone. I open my mouth to say, “An old lady attacked us,” but my lips won't form the words. My voice box won't produce sound. And it's not because of asthma. I literally can't say anything.

Mary claps a hand over her mouth. Is she mute too?

Holy crap.

Chapter Twelve

“
Y
our mom's dresses are ruined. She's going to be furious.” Dad's patience disappears into the frown lines fracturing his face. Apparently, my inability to breathe doesn't worry him, but whatever we did to Mom's dresses does. Negotiating with a dragon is impossible, after all, and trying it will leave you a charred mess.

“Sorry, Dad. We…we got caught in the rain and Anne's asthma flared when we ran.” Mary twists the water bottle in her hands. The plastic crinkles and pops.

Wait. She can talk?

Mary looks at me wide-eyed. I shake my head. What's going on?

Dad stands. “Good luck telling your mom that, though.”

Oh sure, leave it to us to tell her. Thanks, Dad. I suck on my inhaler. “The s-storm came out of n-nowhere. It's not our fault. We were at the joust, handing out cards—doing our
job
. We can't control the weather, for cripes sakes.”

Mary shakes her head.

Dad heads to the counter and I glare at her. “What?”

“The weather does weird things whenever you mention…” her eyes dart from left to right. “The
twins,”
she whispers.

Outside, streaks of sun slip through the clouds, highlighting the rain so it shimmers like glass beads. Murky puddles dot the dirt path and slick the stairs.

I match her hushed tones. “It was just a storm. They're called pop-ups for a reason.” I tug at the sleeves of my dress, suffocating from the humidity, the weight of the soaking fabric, and from the crazy idea that I have, in fact, caused this weirdness. It's becoming harder to ignore Zeena's accusations.

Mary huffs. “You either believe this stuff or not. You can't keep changing things to fit your argument.”

“I'm not changing things.”

“Yes, you are. One minute, you say it's real, and the next you back off and say it's just a storm.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Her lips thin.

Dad picks up a yellow legal pad and scribbles something on the page. “Maybe there's a rainbow somewhere. That'd be a pretty picture, Mary. Your mom would like it.”

Mary nods, but looks at me with a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me expression.

“Dad,” I start.

“Feeling better, Anne?” He circles around the counter and lays out some pieces of metal.

“There's this old wo…wo…” Again, my tongue folds in on itself. I look to Mary for help. Why can't I tell him about Zeena?

She shakes her head as if to say, “don't bother trying.”

Dad scratches his head and points his carpenter's pencil at each piece, counting. “Something's missing,” he mutters.

I ease off the floor and stumble to the wall. Lack of oxygen always makes me dizzy. At least there's a handy shelf here to steady me.

Mary gloms onto me, but it's way too hot and sticky. I wave her away. She sighs, but gives me space.

“If you girls want to be helpful, you'll grab some tools I need from home.” He reaches into a box on the counter, pulls out a notepad and pen, and scribbles a list of items. He hands it to Mary. “Don't take too long, okay?”

“Sure.” Mary folds the paper and stuffs it in her coin purse. I hope to heck she knows what he wants, because I can't identify a wrench from a ratchet. Fine, so I'm exaggerating, but Mary's the detail person and has a ridiculous memory.

Dad heads into the back room where he keeps other tools and supplies, leaving us to carry out his mission.

“Something stopped me from telling Dad about the old crone. Not that he was listening anyway.” Caught up in his own smoke-filled, smithy world, he's so freaking clueless that he has no idea what we're going through. I press my hands against my cheeks as if manipulating the muscles will free my mouth.

“Yeah, me too. Totally bizarre.” Her eyes dart back and forth. “What happened?”

“I don't know.” I fiddle with my inhaler. My body tingles, jonesing for a hit I don't need. Too much albuterol jacks me up like a kite with a jetpack. “Maybe Zeena jinxed us.”

Mary's eyes narrow. “Or it could be our chant.”

“How? Our chant had nothing to do with her and she doesn't have anything to do with our birthday party. We should be able to talk about her, unless she's done something.”

“Listen to us, talking like this magick stuff is real.” She fluffs her hair, spraying me with water.

“Hey, watch it.” I wipe droplets from my face. “Magick
is
real, you know.”

Mary smirks.

“Zeena's real. You can't deny that. Didn't you see her eyes? They were totally weird.”

Thunder rumbles overhead at the mention of her name. I want to yell at the sky and tell it to just stop it already.

“She's old. All old people have strange eyes.” She falls into practicality.

“Vertical
slits for pupils are different from
old people eyes,”
I counter.

She puts up a hand. “Just stop it, Anne. That woman was creepy, but it's the Renaissance Faire. She was in character. She probably wears contacts or something.”

“Now who's changing her story?”

“Oh, none of this makes sense.” Mary cups her palms on either side of her face and runs them over her hair. With Mary, it's all logic and reason, order and science. Magick is the opposite. It's more fluid, circular instead of linear, misty instead of solid, and volatile.

“Back to the question at hand. Why can't we talk about Zeena?” Another blast of thunder breaks.

Mary shivers. “Stop saying her name.”

“Good thought.” I nod. “Maybe we were misinterpreted. We asked for magick and for it to be kept secret…”

“We? This was
your
idea, remember?” She stomps her foot.

“But you said the spell with me. We couldn't have invoked the Gemini twins otherwise.” I say it like I'm an expert on magick spells. Then again, there was that little chant with the stardust. But that was for William.

“So, she was right. We
have
invoked Castor and Pollux.” Lighting flashes. She cringes.

Guess I need to accept the evidence as much as she does. No more explaining things away. No more flipping back and forth between rationalizations. I gulp down the cold, hard pill of truth. “There's your evidence for you.”

“Lightning?”

“Yep.” I drag my fingers through my matting hair. It's like I've superglued thick layers of felt to my head. Acceptance is the final stage. Maybe we can move forward from here.

She nods, wringing a hand around her wrist. Her lids droop shut. “Anne, what have we done? Chanting, invoking the twins, talking with Zee—” She catches herself before the whole name spills out. “Oh, what are we going to do? Especially since we can't talk to anyone about it.”