my bed just as the sun’s dawning rays crept through my window as though we had been racing. I was exhausted but my mind was back its flurry of activity I had lately grown accustomed to. I rubbed my face against my pillow, then buried my head under its comforting fluff in an effort to block out the instrusion.
Ms. Neally’s voice, the swoosh of Dragon’s wings, the warm glow of the aquamina stone, all the events of the last hour swirled around in my brain. Around and around they went on a bizarre carousel of critical thought. Each event, each idea, bobbed up and down on candy-striped poles and whizzed past my mind’s eye like a carousel’s colorful horses. Ideas from books I’d read bounded on to the ride, strange theories and Uncle Seb explaining interdimensional travel took their places on the garish platform. The carnival ride sped up, events and ideas and feelings zipping around and around in a frenzied blur.
I threw my pillow off my head and thrashed around onto my back, breathing heavily. I must have been pretty loud or grunting or something because my mom suddenly popped into my room, startling me.
“You ok? Oh, Eve! Are you sick?” she asked from the door, then started forward.
“I’m just tired,” I snapped. “Do I look that bad? I … I had a nightmare. Er, yeah. A bad dream. Sorry.”
“You look perfect. Just … sweaty … and maybe a little pale … and maybe kind of smelly …if I squint, I can see cartoonish squiggly stink lines emanating from your bed….” her voice trailed off.
I looked up and saw she was smiling. Darn her and her disarming humor. I wanted to just be cranky and confused under my covers, and she comes in with her love and concern and wit and ruins my introspection.
“How about this,” she said gently, “if you’re not sick, you need to go to school. And Phil needs to drive more; she has a late start today so she’s still home. She can take you to school! Then you have a little more time to … do whatever it is you do to prepare for the day. Everyone wins!”
I slid slowly and reluctantly out of my bed. Without moving from where I landed, I shimmied out of my pajama bottoms and pulled on the nearest pair of jeans from my floor. I pulled my fingers through my hair and looked at my mom.
“Ok. I’m ready.”
She just stared at me as she held back a kind of sideways grin.
“Um, perhaps brush your teeth? Deodorant? A clean freaking shirt?!” her voice rose in laughter as she left me in my room to further prepare myself.
“What, like I’m meeting the queen or something?”
“Maybe! Who knows what this day holds!” she called from down the hall.
I puttered about my room, waiting for a clean shirt to catch my eye somewhere on my floor rather than going through the strenuous task and opening my closet and pulling open a drawer. As I shuffled around, wholly unmotivated, it wasn’t a shirt but a shadow that caught my eye. Dragon! My gargoyle was still at his post outside my bedroom window.
Keep Aquamina safe, Evechild. Baert and I are tending to Sebastian’s aircraft.
“Keep who? Oh, right,” I shuddered, remembering the confusing meeting. “What’s wrong with Uncle Seb’s plane though?”
Suddenly a jolt of music shot into my brain, drowning out Dragon’s voice. I jumped.
“Aaahhh! What is that? It … it sounds familiar,” I paused, looking down to concentrate on the sound as I regained my balance and whatever composure I was feigning that morning.
Oh! Sincerest apologies. Ever since I discovered how to internally tune into radio frequencies, I’ve found the grandest playlists for night watches.
“Is that … is that ‘Strawberry Fields’?”
Indeed! The Beatles is the best music I’ve found in seven dimensions and four millennia! And to think, I was hooked on Druid chants prior.
I left Dragon chuckling outside and went to fetch my backpack. Great. Now I was humming “Strawberry Fields.” Not that I minded this; it’s just that I knew this song would now be stuck in my head for, I don’t know, eternity.
Philippa was waiting for me by the front door. She was wearing sunglasses even though the morning had turned overcast. They didn’t exactly go with her usual argyle sweater and neatly pressed collar. She had one loafered foot upon the small entryway bench; she leaned her elbow on her knee theatrically as I walked toward her. With her other hand she pulled her glasses down so I could see her eyes blinking.
“You ready for the ride of your life or what?” Philippa said in a low, dramatic voice.
“Are you trying to wink? Why are you so weird?” I giggled and pushed into her shoulder.
She narrowly avoided losing her balance.
“Watch it! These sweet loafers aren’t made for activity!” Philippa shot back, laughing. She shuffled in front of me in red leather oxfords.
We walked out to her car, a white VW beetle with a license plate that said NITEHWK. My mom had bought this car used, and, even though it was exactly the car my sister wanted, she was more delighted with the moniker of Nighthawk gracing the plates than she was with the car itself. Dancing and giggling around her, Philippa had begged my straight-faced mom to pay extra to register the car with the same vanity plates. As luck would have it, no one in Oregon had grabbed such an incredible name. So NITEHWK continued on.
Philippa and I grabbed at the car doors at the same time. And we both tumbled back awkwardly at the same time as neither door handle conceded.
“Um, Phlee? Keys?”
“Oh. Right,” she frowned and dug into her bag, a giant leather satchel with a bronze buckle that looked more like something a 19th-century doctor who makes house calls would carry. But no; it belonged to a sassy teen girl in the 21st century.
I watched her jostle about books, gum packets, multiple tea bags (what?), and several hairbrushes, all the while humming. I don’t know if it was the lack of sleep catching up to me, or my stress about what awaited me at Beecher, or my confusion over who Ms. Neely is, or maybe it was my sister’s intolerably disorganized bag that really irked me … but I felt my patience waning and an anger slowly building. My jaw clenched. My fists clenched. My backside clenched. Just as I was about to implode, she looked up.
“Tah-dah! The little guys were in the outside pocket all along! Classic,” she pushed her sunglasses higher onto the bridge of her nose and unlocked the car.
“Miracle of miracles,” I muttered and grumpily slid into the passenger seat.
We drove up the road a little way, Philippa singing vocal warmups, me silent and seething.
“Doh-rei-mee-fah-so-lah-tee-doh-oh-oh-oh-oh,” she sang in a register that was obnoxiously high but especially irritating early in the morning, and most especially on this morning.
“Do you have to do that?” I snarled at her.
“Sing-a-song-so-simply-long—do what?—sound-a-symphony-so-drawn…Six-sheep-sleep-for-six-weeks-and-seek-sixteen-laaaaaaambs…”
Her coloratura expertly navigated intervals up and down scales. I looked at her – singing, driving, so smug in her freaking loafers and perfect test scores – and I felt overwhelmed with envy. Philippa had everything together, everything going for her. She didn’t have to worry about mythical creatures popping up and telling her what to do – her biggest problems were discerning Latin roots from Greek and selecting which blazer to wear with what belt.
“Phlee, would you just shut up? Shut up! What are you even singing about? Why would six sheep want 16 lambs!? Oh. My. Freaking. Gosh. Just shut up already!” I erupted, all my wary nerves flying out at my poor sister.
Philippa looked shocked but so meager. Her mouth hung open. Her hands tightened on top of her steering wheel.
“I … I’m sorry … I always warm up in the car … they’re just warmups … they’re not about anything …” she trailed off.
I felt awful.
“Phlee, er, Phil … Philippa, I didn’t mean it. I’m just, I don’t know. I’m a mess. Anyway, sorry,” I was earnest, but you wouldn’t know it from my sheepish mumbling. Suddenly my eyes brightened. “Hey, can you pull over? I’ve got to get out.”
An idea had popped into my head. A theory that needed testing was tugging at my brain.
“Philippa, pull over. For real,” I repeated, anxiety and questions teeming loudly in my mind.
“What? No! I’m not pulling over; we’re still like two miles away from your school,” Philippa sputtered incredulously. “And why would I oblige after you just freaked out on me?”
“Phlee, stop the car! I need to get out!” I practically screamed at her.
The little VW creaked to a quick stop, moaning in pain as the engine settled. I unlocked my seatbelt and hopped out and started running down the sidewalk, back toward our house. But that wasn’t where I was headed: I had to get back to the park.
“Eve! What are you doing? Your bag!” I could hear my sister yelling after me.
I caught the sound of the car door shutting and the engine firing back up. A squealing of tires trailed behind me; I was really picking up pace. The morning air was clean, and my lungs felt full and strong. I sprinted into the gated opening and took off down the gravel trail into the grove. The chirping of birds lessened as I approached my destination – they had been cheering for me. Now their drop in volume and presence seemed to be cautionary.
I slowed down to a jog and then a walk as I reached the massive grove of birch trees, thick like a pack of giant zebras adorned in green and yellow scarves. A whisper of wind passed through them, and all the leaves rustled anxiously. I peered upward, swallowing hard. A yellow glow slowly grew into a brilliant halo around a mighty angled orb suspended in the midst of the lovely birch trees. Peridiote!
I closed my eyes, focusing my thoughts on Ms. Neely, Dragon, Baert. Squeezing my eyes shut as hard as I could, I took a deep breath and raised my left hand straight out. I felt a familiar warmth pulsate through my body. A wave of drowsiness rippled over me, but I shook it off, physically shaking my head and concentrating harder on Ms. Neely, on her voice, on her giving me Fortis Librae, on her entrusting me with Aquamina. I concentrated then on Dragon, on the first time we were here, on his delight and reverence that I could see and feel the peridiote stone.
My eyelids relaxed but stayed shut. I felt my hand rising higher. Warmth overtook my outstretched arm. My fingertips began to burn; but I kept them erect. I winced. But my fingers moved unerringly and slowly upward until my arm was straight above my head. A weird heat flooded down upon me; a brightness radiated about me. I was certain I’d be blinded if I looked now.
The warmth all the while seemed to produce a roar; indiscernible decibels of sound spun around me in a blizzard of heat. I heard voices … a chattering that was foreign but agreeable – thankful, almost – to be under my control. Another voice entered, but a shrill, familiar one.
“Eeeeeeve!” Philippa’s soprano shriek cut through my concentration like a fist pummeling through drywall.
Startled, I spun around and opened my eyes. My sister panted and stared above my head, her mouth gaped wide and her eyes even wider. She trying to point, but her index finger just shook a little in front of her.
“Phlee, it’s alright, I’m controlling it,” I said, my arm still straight above me. My shoulder trembled in stress.
“Control what?!” Philippa shrieked back.
“It has to answer to me,” I yelled back.
I don’t know if my saying this angered the peridiote, or if I broke concentration enough to lose whatever control I thought I had. But at that moment, the warmth burned even hotter and the glow flared even brighter. The orb, directly above me, began to turn, gyrate, and then spin.
“Ooooooh, that’s not good,” I said, backing up. I felt that drowsiness washing over me again. “Phlee, I might need your help, here …”
I shuffled backward, thrusting my arm out in front of me again. But trying to keep the mighty stone at bay was futile. Now it was angry and in charge, and I was weak and unfocused.
“I can’t … Philippa … where’d you … go ….” I gasped. I searched for wakefulness, I tumbled away from the birch grove toward my sister. But she wasn’t there.
The orb roared closer. As my eyelids dropped and my head drooped, I swear it was mocking me. Somewhere distant – no, close now – tires squealed on gravel. I could smell burnt rubber. Someone grabbed me around my waist. And then … darkness.
I came to in the back of Philippa’s car, the musty leather seats greeting me first with their decades-old aroma. Groggy, I sat up gingerly and caught Philippa frowning at me in the rearview mirror.
“So, I just rescued you from some weird yellow tornado thing,” she snapped. “And now I’m late to chem. And I can’t stay after to go over what I missed because I have auditions.”
I tried to roll my eyes but even the slightest movement of my eye sockets shot pulses of pain through my pounding head.
“It was a rock, er, a gem; not a tornado,” I said. “Oof. I do not feel great. Phlee, can you just take me back home?”
Philippa stepped on the brake, hard. I rolled forward and hit the back of the passenger seat. I popped up and shot my face up to check the rear window.
“Geez, Phlee! What if there had been cars behind us!” I squawked at her.
“There weren’t. Aren’t. Whatever. Why were you trying to control a yellow freaking tornado?”
“It wasn’t a tornado. I told you. It probably just looked like that because you can’t see it. Not fully anyway, but I guess it was bright and made some wind happen or something,” I frowned, wishing I had been brave or strong enough to open my eyes and see what was happening.
Before Philippa could contest further, I held my hand up to her. She frowned.
“It’s called a peridiote. It’s an ancient stone. And it’s evil. I don’t know why it’s here, or why I can see it, but I have this weird relationship almost with it … like I think I can control it. Otherwise it, well, it, um,” I floundered under the scrutiny of Philippa’s gaze, “and it wants to control me. I guess.”
It occurred to me then how little I knew about this orb. Philippa said nothing. She just nodded and reapplied her lip gloss in the rearview mirror.
“Phlee?”
“And I guess your friend the dragon can help you sort this out?” she said at last. She punched the gas unexpectedly.
“Yes,” I said, relieved she finally mentioned Dragon! We hadn’t spoken of him really since their first encounter, and I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up.
“Then let’s go find him.”
“You know how to get to Uncle Seb’s airplane hangar?” I asked suspiciously, remembering that Dragon had told me this morning he’d be aiding in repairs.
“Sure. Mom took me out there to practice driving. How do you think I learned those sweet evasive maneuvers I pulled off at the park? Oh yes, your sister is quite the .. uh … you know, fast car driver.”
“Are you trying to say racecar driver? And when it’s in the dirt it’s called rally driving. Duh.”
Satisfied with being able to correct her, I stretched my legs out in the cramped space of the back seat. The floor was littered with tea bag wrappers, hair ties, and … was that a flosser?
“Gross! Phlee! Are you flossing in your car? Use a garbage can every now and then!” I flailed around in the back enough to make the old Volkswagen rock side to side as we drove.
“Yeah, like I’m going to go to class après-poppyseed muffin without flossing,” Philippa responded glibly.
I shook my head. I closed my eyes, trying to relive my attempt at controlling peridiote. Only control didn’t seem like the right word. Commune, maybe? Connect? I felt the thrill of possibility fizz in my veins. I was on to something important, I just knew it.
“I can’t believe you’re taking me to find Dragon. You. Skipping class. To rendezvous with a dragon,” I smirked.
I laid a hand across my forehead; my hands were always cold and after an adrenaline-pumping encounter with a floating evil rock, my head felt hot with overwhelm.
“Well, it’s not like I was going to be able to concentrate after all of that anyway. And don’t use the word rendezvous. You sound ridiculous,” Philippa said coolly. She combed her dark hair with her fingers and raised her eyebrows coyly at herself in the rearview mirror.
With the car moving steadily, I started to crawl out of the backseat, wedging my body awkwardly between the front two seats. Philippa’s palm pressed against my forehead hard and pushed me back, straining my neck and making me wiggle like a stroppy turtle.
“Owww! What gives?” I whined
“You think you can be cranky and bossy all morning, then make me save you from an evil yellow cloud of crap, and make me miss chem, and you get to ride shotgun? No way. You stay back there,” Philippa was trying to be stern, but her voice broke into a little giggle as she swatted at me some more.
I flopped back onto the tiny backseat bench and crossed my arms in a pout. I stared out of the small triangular window at the world sitting in blissful ignorance. Scenes shuffled past the car like a deck of cards, each scene as inanimate and unsuspecting as the queens and jokers in a deck. That woman back there checking her mailbox didn’t know an evil rock-wielding overlord was plotting against her in another dimension. That man setting out a sandwich board advertising the day’s punny coffee specials didn’t know magical books that allowed you to travel via its charmed pages existed. That cyclist signaling left, in his smart lycra suit and matching helmet, didn’t know a dragon could easily outpace him. I sighed and looked forward, catching Philippa’s quizzical brow in the car’s little mirror.
“Phlee,” I started, then drifted off, trying to compose my thoughts.
“I don’t answer to that naaaaaame,” she sang back.
“Phil-ip-PUH,” I enunciated idiotically, “how did you … er, what I mean is, why are you …um….”
“Geez, Eve the incredible wordsmith has no words? I better pull over so I can record this.”
“Ugh! It’s just that … well,” I coughed uncomfortably, searching for the right words. “I don’t understand how you’re being so … so cool with all of this.”
Philippa pursed her lips and breathed in loudly through her nose.
“I’m always cool,” she said simply.
“Oh my god. First, no you’re not. Second, you met a dragon. And a dwarf. In our kitchen. And then you pulled me from the grips of an evil orb trying to control my brain, and you just, like, did it, and now we’re here, and you’re skipping class, and … and … I just don’t get it! How are you not freaking out?! Like anyone – including the coolest people in the universe – would lose their cool.”
Philippa quietly adjusted the mirror and stared ahead. The clicking of the turn signal startled me. As she turned the little white car left down a familiar road, Philippa cleared her throat a few times. A sense of dread washed over me. Clearing her throat was my sister’s tell. Nervous, anxious, scared, diarrheal … cue the throat clearing.
“Eve, I have to tell you something,” she said finally.