The Shaktra Page 2

  Farble shook his head. So did Paddy.

  “I’ve not got me pot of gold yet, Missy,” the leprechaun said. “You told me you would help me find it. Paddy cannot go back without it.”

  Ali nodded. “True, I told you I would help you get your gold. But it was wrong of me to make such a promise. The reality is, you’re going to have more success finding gold in the elemental world than here.”

  Paddy was unconvinced. He spoke in a wounded tone. “If Missy would use her fairy powers to help Paddy, he would have all the gold he needed in a single day. Then he would not mind being sent away.”

  “I’m not sending either of you away,” she said. “We’re discussing the idea. And I can’t use my fairy powers to get you gold.”

  “Why not?” Paddy asked.

  “Because . . . that would be unethical.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Ethics . . . they’re something most leprechauns probably don’t worry about. Look, this last month has been great. We’ve had a lot of fun together. But this world is not your world, it’s not your home.” She paused. “Don’t you want to go home?”

  Again, they both shook their heads. This time Farble spoke.

  “Love Geea,” he mumbled.

  Geea. The name she was known by in the elemental kingdom.

  None of them knew her as Alosha, except for Nemi.

  Alosha was her secret fairy name—a name, she had discovered, that possessed a power all its own. But who, or what, Nemi was continued to be a mystery. She had spoken to him only twice: once he had appeared as a tree, another time as a crystal-clear pond. Both times the communication had been telepathic. Although invisible to her eyes, his love had been unmistakable, and she trusted him more deeply than she could explain to herself. She missed him as well . . .

  Ali felt a lump in her throat. “I love you both, I do. But it’s because I love you that I think you should consider returning to your world.”

  “When does Missy want us out?” Paddy asked.

  “I’m not kicking you out. Stop saying that.”

  Paddy lowered his head. “Paddy just wants to know when he should pack.”

  Ali felt her eyes burn; she had to wipe away a tear. She spoke as gently as she could, but the words still sounded harsh in her own ears. “I’m thinking of going back up the mountain soon.”

  “How soon?” Paddy whispered.

  “Maybe tomorrow.” Ali hesitated. “Maybe tonight.”

  Farble sighed but did not speak. Standing, he walked to the basement door and disappeared downstairs. For his part, Paddy did not finish his last egg, just went to the kitchen sink and brushed off his plate. Like the troll, he didn’t speak, did not even look at her, but quietly stepped out the back door and walked into the woods. All the while Ali felt not so much like the queen of the fairies in human form, but like a monster who only thought about herself. It was not true, of course, but she had learned long ago that the truth did not always help.

  CHAPTER

  2

  To soothe her guilty conscience, Ali went to buy them food. During the walk to the market, she debated if she would be able to pack enough meat and hard-boiled eggs so that they would have a fresh supply when they entered the elemental kingdom. Her own needs had to be considered as well . . .

  For she planned to go with them.

  To find her mother. To rescue her from Karl Tanner—Drugle.

  “You’ll never find her!”

  Those had been the last words Karl had shouted, that magical night on top of the mountain, and the way he had said it right then, it was as if he had been taunting her. Ali, my dear foolish queen, look all you want in this world, in every town and building, behind every tree and under every rock, and you will not find her.

  His arrogance had been clear and, upon reflection, his reason had been obvious. Karl was positive she would not find her mother because her mother was no longer in this world. He had taken her out of this world and into the elemental kingdom. It was the only thing that made sense. Ali could not feel her near—and she could feel a great deal simply by reaching out with her mind. She could not feel her mother anywhere. Yet she had been sure Karl had not lied to her when he had said her mother was alive. Karl had been too frightened to lie; she had been about to kill him.

  “Maybe I should have,” she said aloud, as she walked.

  No, that would not have been wise, not if he had her mother tied up somewhere. Yet Ali regretted, more each day, that she had allowed him to go free. It was just that at the time she had felt she had no choice. The Yanti had been about to open; the elemental army was invading. She’d had her hands full, to say the least. Still, she feared she had let him go for the worst of all reasons: her own arrogance. At that critical moment, standing atop the mountain, with what she imagined was unlimited power in her hands, she had felt Karl was nothing; just Drugle the Fool, a cowardly and corrupt adviser from her elemental court; a bug in the mud, certainly not a decent adversary, hardly worthy of her scorn. She had figured, the minute she got home, she would use her powers and find her mother, and then they would all live happily ever after. . . .

  Until she had gotten home and had reached out with her magical mind and found . . .

  Nothing. Neither her mother nor Karl.

  He could not be around, not even in the state, she would sense it.

  He must be in the elemental kingdom as well, Ali thought.

  Or else . . . what? Shielded somehow? From her? Was that possible?

  “Anything is possible when nothing is clear,” she told herself.

  The biggest grocery store in town was on Breakwater’s largest street, which was called, fittingly, Main Street. The street was also the address of the city’s only barbershop: Harry’s Haircuts. Ali was walking by the shop when she saw Harry Idaho passed out in the chair near the door. His mouth was wide open, he was snoring loudly. Had Harry been eighty years old and a habitual napper, she wouldn’t have been surprised. But Harry was forty and fit—she had never seen him lying down on the job before. What made the sight even more peculiar was that there was a customer in the shop, near the back, an old guy with long white hair and a white beard. He was sitting patiently, staring at himself in the mirror, and appeared to be waiting for Harry to wake up. Had the old man not been dressed entirely in white—which gave him a vague resemblance to a wizard—Ali would have continued on her way without stopping. But her curiosity was piqued. She stuck her head inside.

  “How long has Harry been asleep?” she called over, hoping her question would wake Harry up. His position was far from flattering; he had drooled on his shirt. He was out cold and did not even stir with her remark.

  “He was asleep when I got here,” the old man replied, glancing over. She noted his pale blue eyes, how old and young they looked at the same time.

  Ali stepped inside. She was tempted to shake Harry, but kept thinking he would wake up any second. “Never seen him passed out like this before,” she said.

  “You’ve known him a long time?” the old man asked in a soft voice.

  “Long as I can remember.” Ali stepped closer to the old man. “You from around here?” she asked.

  “Just passing through.”

  “I love your hair and beard. I hope you don’t cut too much off.”

  The old man played with his hair for a moment. “It’s more trouble than it’s worth. People tell me it makes me look like Santa Claus.”

  He was way too skinny to be a Santa Claus, she thought. Indeed, his arms were so bony they hardly had room for skin. His face was austere, starved—if he ate more than once a day she would have been surprised. His long-sleeved white shirt was oversized and it hung from his narrow shoulders like a short robe. He did not look sick, but he did not look well, either. Mostly, he looked like no one she had ever seen before in her life. Obviously, she had never seen him before.

  He appeared to study her, as she did him.

  “Where are you from originally?” she aske
d.

  “I don’t think you would know the town. The name . . . it’s just a place.” He paused. “What’s your name, may I ask?”

  “Alison Warner. Everyone just calls me Ali.”

  “I’m Shane Bumpston.” He offered his left hand; it was wrapped in a white glove. “Pleased to meet you, Ali.”

  “Same here.” They shook, and his hard grip squeezed the blood from her fingers. She nodded to his gloves. “Those look cool.”

  “I don’t wear them to keep warm or cool. No, I hurt my hands some time ago, burned them actually. Now I have to wear these to keep away infections.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Do they hurt?”

  “Yes, they often do.” He paused. “You wouldn’t happen to be a friend of Ted Wilson, would you?”

  She nodded. “I go to school with his daughter. You know him?”

  “We talk now and then. That was a bad accident he had up there on the mountain. I’m so glad he’s up and walking around. When I saw him the other day, he looked fit as a fiddle.” The man added, “It was like nothing had happened to him.”

  “That’s great,” she said. The reason Ted Wilson had recovered so quickly, and completely, was because she had healed him after turning back the elemental army on top of Pete’s Peak. But no one—other than Steve and Cindy—was supposed to know that. Ted himself did not remember what she had done. At least, that’s what she had thought. The old man’s next remark caught her by surprise.

  “Ted told me how you helped him. He said you were a remarkable young lady.”

  Ted had been in a coma when she had zapped him. “What did he say exactly?”

  “He said there was more to you than met the eye.”

  Ali frowned. “How do you know him? Since you’re not from around here.”

  “I know a great many people all over the world.” He added, “Now I know you.”

  “What Ted said about me—it’s flattering and all that—but I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m no healer.”

  Shane Bumpston stared at her with his strange blue eyes. The color was so faint around the pupils it was as if they had been removed, bleached overnight, and then put back in place. “Are you sure about that, Ali?” he asked.

  She felt the need to meet his gaze. Indeed, she felt a surge of power run the length of her spine, and was surprised he did not turn away as she focused on him. Most people would have; they would have been forced to. But this man did not even blink. It was as if he challenged her with his eyes.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said coldly.

  In response he tugged on a string around his neck, and pulled out a gold medallion that had been hidden under his shirt. The emblem was a small inverted triangle, and it had an odd jagged line through the center of it. The piece was the same size as her Yanti—the triangle matched the shape of one aspect of the Yanti—but it was still something that could have been bought in a jewelry store. Nevertheless, she found it a coincidence that he wore it. She backed up a step as he stroked the medallion.

  “I’ve had this for some time. What do you think of it?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “It’s pretty.”

  He glanced up. “May I see yours?”

  A chill shook her. “My what?”

  “I see the string. You must be wearing . . . something. Please, Ali, let me see it.”

  His voice was oddly persuasive. She found her hand reaching for the Yanti, and had to will it back down. “Why should I show you anything of mine? I don’t know you.”

  He grinned; he had a mouth of perfectly white teeth. “Are you sure about that? I think we’ve met before. Yes, now that I consider it, I’m positive we met a long time ago. Don’t you remember?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “When? Where?”

  “It wasn’t here, in this city. It was somewhere else.”

  Ali glanced toward the door. It was twenty feet away and it looked like a mile. Harry continued to sleep as if he had been injected with a drug. Shane Bumpston—she doubted that was his real name—never took his eyes off her face.

  “It would help if you were more specific,” she said.

  “Let me see it,” he repeated.

  “Let me see your wallet, your ID.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see who you really are.”

  His grin widened. “You see me, don’t you?”

  The question was odd; she felt the layers hidden inside it. He was asking more than the obvious. Again, she felt him challenge her, as well as mock her. He not only looked like a wizard, it was as if he were trying to cast a spell over her. On the other hand, she did not feel he was trying too hard. He was just playing with her.

  “You see me, don’t you?”

  Did she? Suddenly, Ali had the urge to turn around. To look in the mirror.

  She started to move. The man jerked. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Show me your ID, Mr. Shane Bumpston,” she insisted.

  He let go of his medallion, leaned forward in the chair. All of a sudden, he did not look so old and kind, and for the first time she felt a stab of fear. The sensation was alien to her. Since returning from the mountain she had assumed nothing on Earth could harm her. But her stab of fear swelled into a spike as she stared deeper into the man’s eyes.

  There was much more to him than met the eye.

  “I know you have it,” he whispered, and with that he stood.

  Ali’s left hand went to the Yanti under her shirt, and she raised her right palm to erect a force field if necessary, which she was quite good at. Yet what was she trying to repel? She needed to look in the mirror, she just knew it, but she feared to take her eyes off the old crow. Nevertheless, she tried a quick peek, but the instant she turned her head there came a sharp flash of light. It could have been lightning; it was white, alive with a blistering charge. It stunned her so badly she dropped to the floor, banged her head on a row of drawers beneath the mirror that ran the length of Harry’s shop. The blow to her skull, or else the flash itself, blurred her vision. The room was momentarily filled with red, yet there was no blood in her eyes. But she did not black out, she was pretty sure she did not.

  When her eyes cleared, though, the old man was gone.

  “God,” she whispered, slowly getting to her feet, taking a seat in the chair he had just vacated. It was warmer than it should have been; the brown leather felt as if it had been stretched out in the sun in a harsh desert. Plus there was a smell of ozone in the air and something else she could not identify, a faint odor of decay. Her heart was pounding, and she was afraid to let go of the Yanti. Perhaps it had saved her life. He had known about it, that’s for sure. He had known about her.

  Ali sat for a few minutes, trying to catch her breath.

  She did not realize that the snoring had stopped.

  Harry called to her. “What’re you doing here, Ali? You know you don’t like me cutting your hair.”

  “I stopped by to say hi, you were snoring.” She added, “Did you fall asleep in your chair?”

  Harry shook his head. “Must have.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There was a man here with long white hair and a long beard. Did you see him?”

  “Someone came in the shop, I remember. But I couldn’t say what he looked like.”

  “Why not?”

  Harry frowned. “I must have fallen asleep the second he got here. That’s odd, don’t you think?”

  Still shaken, Ali could only nod.

  CHAPTER

  3

  At the store, walking the meat aisle, Ali ran into Steve Fender. Well, ran into might have been pushing it—he had obviously come to the market to find her. She had spoken to him earlier in the day and had told him she needed to pick up a few groceries.

  He might have run to the store, however, a physical act Steve was not known to indulge in very often. He was struggling to catch his breath. Like h
er, Steve was thirteen years old, on the cusp of high school, but unlike her he was plump and out of shape. He had a bit of troll in him—food was his first priority in life. Yet he had more refined tastes than Farble. Steve was discerning when it came to coffee and pastries and he seldom had one without the other. Paddy and Steve did not particularly get along, but when the leprechaun craved a great beverage, he always turned to Steve.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Steve said. “I finally did it.”

  “Did what?” she asked.

  “Broke into Karl’s computer.”

  Ali felt hopeful. The night she had returned from the mountain, a month ago, with her human friends and elemental buddies in tow, she had immediately gone to the hospital to heal Ted Wilson, then had returned home to reassure her father that she was okay. But when all the excitement had died down, and she had laid in bed and tried to find Karl and her mother in her mind, and failed, she realized she might need a backup plan. Clearly magic was not going to solve all her problems.

  Yet she had known she had to act fast, before Karl was reported missing. That same night she had snuck over to his house and climbed into his bedroom through an open window, and had searched his desk and drawers for . . . what? Any clue of what he might have been up to since he had kidnapped her mother. Unfortunately, she had found nothing useful and in the end, partly out of desperation, she had swiped his computer, knowing Steve was a genius when it came to hacking into computer systems. But Karl’s files had been protected by an encrypted password—like there was another teenager on the West Coast who would bother with such a thing. That password had stumped Steve until, apparently, this morning.

  Karl’s parents had noticed their son’s computer was missing. They had told Officer Garten about it, and the last time he had confronted her, he had told Ali. It was possible the lot of them believed she had swiped the computer, although Ali was confident no one had seen her enter and exit Karl’s room.

  “Find anything interesting?” she asked.

  Steve caught her eye. “Several interesting things.”