My skin was damp and I was panting loudly, sucking desperately for air to inflate my lungs. Moonlight streamed in through the slats of my blinds, but my walls remained ink and oil.
You’re awake. I breathed deeply, trying to correct my frantic gasping. Just a dream. Let it go.
But it wasn’t all a dream, was it? Babbit was still gone. And that thing still lived across the river. And Emma still needed a solistone.
Sitting up in bed, I lost countless minutes staring into the shadows, wondering. Everybody thinks their dreams mean something, especially people who just lost somebody. Some sort of message from beyond the grave. It usually isn’t, but it helps to think it could be.
Logic aside, I wanted to know what my dream meant.
The key. What did the key mean? I tried to remember if I’d seen it before, maybe hanging from Babbit’s belt, or tacked up on the wall in the maintenance shed? Babbit had a lot of keys, sure, but not like this one.
Where is it? I wondered. And what does it open?
Just to change up the view, I glanced out the window. The dormitory courtyard was dark velvet glossed over by the moon. It was late, obviously, but I wasn’t positive what time it was. Everything out there was perfectly still.
Save for a lanky silhouette slinking across the grounds. A stick figure trying to hide in a lunar spotlight.
“Tristan,” I hissed.
I don’t care how creepy and shadowy the thing was, I’d know that puffy vest anywhere. While I was kind of curious where he was headed at this hour, I wasn’t about to chase after him. But then some blunt realization hit me—Tristan had been practically nonexistent since Babbit’s death. He hadn’t been there in the lobby with everyone else that first morning, and he was missing from the funeral.
All summer I couldn’t round a corner without bumping into the kid and now he was completely absent. And I knew he knew Babbit. You didn’t work that close with Babbit and then not care when he’s gone. Not possible. The old mage and I weren’t even in the same department and we’d struck up a friendship my first week.
So what was Tristan’s deal? Too cool for funerals? Too good to show a little respect to a great coworker? A great friend?
I was fired up. I don’t even remember pulling on a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. I just remember suddenly being outside, a chilly breeze trying to cool my burning skin.
I headed straight for him. “Hey!”
Tristan’s head swiveled against me, and he flashed me those surprised orbs he was famous for. “Quinn?”
“Yeah, caught you again,” I told him. “Let’s move past it.”
He registered the heat in my voice. “What’s the matter?”
I considered just barreling into him, palms-first. Knock him right to the ground like they do in the movies. A good old-fashioned tussle.
Instead, I just crossed my arms and sniffed. Looked at the ground. Shrugged. “You weren’t at the funeral.”
Tristan’s lip quivered. “I don’t really do funerals.”
Part of me wanted to punch him square in the face. “You don’t do funerals? Nobody does funerals. You knew him, didn’t you? Babbit was your boss, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” I threw back at him. “So how ’bout showing a little bit of respect? Or do you not really do that either?”
“Can you just—” He glanced at the woods, through them, towards the lake. Back with me, he asked calmly, “Are you busy right now?”
I leered at him. “Are you serious? It’s like three in the morning.”
“It’s barely midnight, Father Time,” he snickered. “Seriously, I need some help. Can you spare a few minutes?”
I was so disarmed by his asking. Tristan knew exactly how to cut my green wire. “I guess.”
“Aces,” he said. “Thanks, man. Follow me.”
And I did just that. First to the maintenance shed.
“What are we doing here?” I whispered.
“Need-to-know basis,” he replied cryptically, quickly ducking around the side of the shed. Was that just his thing? See a building, dart around it? I shook my head. Whatever gets this done faster, I figured.
I couldn’t help but stare at the maintenance shed, looking even more ominous in the dark than it did during the day. I hadn’t realized how much it was shaped like an old farmhouse. A creepy old farmhouse.
But that wasn’t why I was staring. My mind still hung onto remnants of the dream.
“The key,” I whispered to myself. The one from my nightmare I couldn’t turn over—was it in there? Waiting coldly in the dark? I found myself approaching the door. I could see the lock was secured tightly in the latch. I flicked it and it clinked in the night air but didn’t let go.
“Come on, come on,” Tristan’s voice found me.
I followed it around the building. As I came closer, I found him hunched over the rigid frame of a golf cart, one of the many used by housekeeping.
Tristan was rooting around in the dash compartment. “Got it!” he cried, and withdrew a pair of tiny, silver keys. Planting himself casually into the driver seat of the little cart, he brought the vehicle to life with a less-than-impressive roar.
Still, to my law-abiding ears, it sounded like a vuvuzela blaring into the night, warning everyone on property a crime was being committed.
“Get in,” he said.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Are you crazy? I’m not stealing a golf cart with you.”
Tristan’s eyelids shuddered. “It’s not stealing. We’re … utilizing. It’s company property. And we work for the company.”
“Not at midnight we don’t,” I reasoned.
“You said you’d help,” Tristan reminded me. “Super best friends, remember? Now come on, we have still have to get a canoe.”
“A can—” I chirped.
Tristan didn’t let me finish. Instead, he just yanked me into the passenger seat and tore off back up the hill.
I’m going to level with you. Riding shotgun in a stolen—utilized—golf cart while trying to balance a full-size canoe was not the easiest thing in the world. I felt a little like Fred Flintstone right before the brontosaurus ribs tipped over his caveman car. No amount of meta was going to save me now—it was do-or-die.
“Slow down!” I yelled to Tristan as he took a hairpin corner onto the main road that lead down the mountain.
He shook his head. Without looking at me, he said, “Did Chewie tell Han Solo to slow down?”
“This isn’t the Millennium Falcon!” I replied. “This is an Erector set on wheels!”
I was starting to regret not asking Tristan where we were going in the first place. Surely it wasn’t just a joyride.
“Just let go, man,” Tristan said coolly. “Enjoy the ride.”
I didn’t.
Down, down, down we took the sorry excuse for a civilized road. A roller coaster gradient snaked its way down the road before finally leading us to the highway. The road was clear and quiet as the golf cart hummed at the stop sign. Tristan’s head panned left and right, checking and double-checking for traffic. I was fixated on the stars.
Up there you could actually see them.
“Where to now, Captain?” I muttered. “Left or right?”
“Neither,” Tristan replied flatly. He punched it—as much as one can punch a golf cart—and we jerked into motion right across the highway. We were heading straight for a large, yellow sign which indicated there was nowhere to go but left or right.
A sign Tristan was promptly ignoring.
Before I could stammer any kind of rejection, we passed right underneath the traffic sign, barely fitting through. I cinched up the canoe just in time. At first I thought we might just drop right off into Superior, but apparently there was a little dirt path that took us right down to a makeshift landing. The endless expanse of blue lapped and swished at the shore. I’d seen plenty of Superior, but never at night. At least not this close up. It was an entirely different experience because the glistening waves and majestic views were gone. Now it was just a void, and I couldn’t tell which stars were real and which were reflections.
Tristan killed the engine, leaving us with nothing but a muted whoosh, and hopped out. “Let’s go.”
“We haven’t stopped going,” I grumbled. “Have I reached need-to-know status yet?”
He was already dragging the canoe to the lake. He stopped and pointed to a splotch of blackness unrecognizable from any of the others. “There’s an island.”
I caught up to him, helping him with the canoe. “An island?”
“Just a little one.”
I shook my head. “We should get flashlights or—”
“No!” Tristan shouted, nearly dropping his end of the canoe. “No lights.”
“Okay, okay,” I whispered, shushing him. “No lights.”
Without any pomp, we were in the canoe, paddling nearly parallel to shore. As we got closer my eyes seemed to adjust to the sea. I could make out surface ripples, and gentle crests of white. Occasionally a small pod of flametail krill would ignite and swim from the blades of our oars.
My eyes also began to make out Tristan’s island. Thankfully it wasn’t a large, ruin-covered one like the one in Willow Bay. It wasn’t much more than a big lump covered with scarce trees and vegetation. Hardly an island, but technically.
The closer we got, the more I could see a pinpoint of white light between the trees. I thought maybe it was a star, or a light from shore, but now I could tell it was emanating from the island.
And it was moving.
“What is that, Tristan?”
“It’s a fox.”
At first I assumed this was a blow-off answer. Totally bogus. But then my mind registered something, something from a long time ago. A nature book I’d thumbed through at my grandpa’s house.
There was a fox that could glow. One so rare it was almost a legend.
A Celestial fox.
“Tristan,” I said in awe. “Is that seriously—”
“He’s been stuck out here awhile,” Tristan answered. “Haven’t got a clue how he managed to make it from shore, but, well, he’s there.”
“A Celestial fox,” I spoke aloud.
“I’ve been coaxing him to me, little by little,” Tristan went on. He turned so that I caught part of his face in the moonlight. “We have to bring him in, Quinn.”
I gulped. Wild animals weren’t my forte. But I’d gone this far. And a Celestial fox? I couldn’t believe it. If there was a chance to see one, I had to take it.
Tristan and I made contact with the island. I couldn’t avoid getting wet as we exited the canoe, but soon we were safely up and out of the lapping water. I took a moment to stare back at shore. We weren’t out too far, but it was the furthest I had been.
A rustling of plastic stirred me back into the moment. Tristan was loosing a portion of a leftover cheeseburger from a sandwich bag.
I smirked, putting my hands on my hips. “Coaxing, huh?”
Tristan shrugged. “Coaxing with treats.”
“Right,” I laughed. “So what’s the plan here, Ace? Hope the fox is a sucker for a Big Mac and then pull the ol’ snatch-and-grab?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Tristan whispered.
And just like that the Celestial fox appeared. Glowing a searing white, the creature looked like a pencil sketch of a fox somebody drew on a lightbulb. It wasn’t a sold glow either; the radiance dimmed and brightened like a flickering candle.
“Tristan,” I managed. “You’re …”
“It’s okay,” he assured me from the ground, sitting cross-legged with a glowing fox in his lap. One of his hands was smoothing back the creatures coat as it munched on bits of burger. “Like I said, I’ve been coaxing it.”
“Since when?” I asked.
“All summer.”
“Wow.”
I’d never seen anything like it. Not even the candilisk conjured this much awe. The candilisk was metaphysikal, but the fox was magic. And Tristan was holding it in his hands.
“How are you doing this?” I asked him.
“Good with animals,” he responded simply. “You wanna pet him?”
“Pet him?” I echoed. I had to laugh. The idea just seemed preposterous. You don’t just pet legends.
“Yeah,” Tristan answered. “Just be gentle, okay? No sudden movements. And don’t press too hard.”
He was serious. When in Rome, I guess. I knelt to the ground, slowly, making sure my legs ached so long as I didn’t startle the fox and ruin Tristan’s summer-long quest.
The moment I put my hand on the fox it jerked upward, nipping at Tristan’s face. In that quick second, the glow of the fox ignited tears that traced Tristan’s cheeks. I pulled my hand away slowly, as he fought to soothe the critter.
“Tristan?”
“What?”
I fumbled for the words. “What’s wrong?” I thought maybe he was hurt. That maybe the fox had actually bit him and he was trying to play it off.
Tristan came off a sniffle. A loud, sad one. “You know that sculpture I’ve been messing with? Turning it to silver?”
“Yeah,” I said with a confused scowl. “Your car fund?”
“It’s not for a car. I have a car. Back home,” he admitted. Then he looked up at me, eyes catching the fox’s glow like little moons. “It’s for my mom.
“My dad’s sick. She had to quit her job. They both did.”
“Your dad,” I whispered, letting the words taper and stretch.
“Yeah, so don’t worry,” Tristan said. “In a few months, I’m going to have all the funeral I can handle.”
There it was. That’s what this was about. I suddenly felt like a major jerk. Storming out of my dorm in the middle of the night and demanding why Tristan wasn’t at Babbit’s funeral. What was I trying to prove anyway? That I was some kind of saint compared to him for going to my friend’s funeral?
Of course Tristan had wanted to go. But it probably hit way too close to home.
Watching him trying to subtly dry his cheeks while handling a wild fox, I realized too that I was looking in a mirror—more or less.
Minus the wild animal, I was seeing a reflection of myself a little over a year ago. Another kid, another perfect crystal world that the universe just had to drop from a balcony. I knew exactly what he was feeling.
“I’m sorry,” I offered. I thought about telling him about my mom, but what would it prove?
I don’t know why I said it, but I blurted, “I guess you can smoke if you want.”
“Gee, thanks,” Tristan snickered. “I’m okay though.”
“Okay.”
“Look, I didn’t drop this on you to get pity or something,” he said after a few seconds, looking me square in the eye. “It’s just … that’s why I didn’t go, okay? I know he meant a lot to you—I saw you guys over the last couple summers. But he meant a lot to me too. He was a good listener. A good friend.”
I nodded. “That he was.”
“Was he, you know,” Tristan tried. “Was he sick or something?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He was old.”
Tristan scoffed. “He wasn’t that old.”
“Well, for a mage he was.”
“What’s that mean?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. Nothing. It’s just this dumb thing my grandpa used to tell me. About the universe … or whatever. Balancing great power with great loss. Mages get to be the Jedi, but they pay for it, you know? Checks and balances. I don’t think I believe it anymore though.”
“No?” Tristan asked. “Not even after this?”
I shrugged. “You’re not a mage, and you lost—”
“I haven’t lost anything!” Tristan snapped, shutting me up. He lowered his voice. “Not yet.”
“I know. Sorry.” I tried not to think about my mom. About hope, and the truth of it. “Things can always turn around, right?”
Tristan sniffled again, nodding. “Yeah. Sure.”
I had to change the mood a little. “So what was the master plan then? Turn the ugly statue to silver, crate it up, and ship it home?”
He gave a quick laugh. “It’s a plan.”
“It’s not a golf cart,” I shot back. “You can’t just utilize it.”
“Yeah, well,” he said. “I don’t know what I was doing, man. Guess I was just seeing if it was possible. An endless supply of silver? Has to be worth something, right?”
Worth.
“We should get your fox back to shore,” I said, standing. “There’s something I want to show you.”