The Wounded World, a story of Mantra, Chapter 16

By Aladdin

Edited by Christopher Leeson

The Wounded World

Originally written 2006
Posted December 21, 2019

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Gang of Four

Four Mighty Ones are in every man.

A perfect unity cannot exist

But from the Universal Brotherhood of Eden

The Universal Man, to whom be Glory evermore. Amen

William Blake

"What, exactly, did War...? What did Strike tell you about what we're doing here?" I asked the ultra.

Hardcase shook his head. "Nothing much -- just that there was some grade-schooler running wild in Canoga Park packing super magic. But I thought that the guy I was fighting looked more like a circus dwarf."

"He's a kid all right," I said with a sigh. "Did you take notice of that story last spring, about something that happened in Canoga Park, something involving a local boy?"

He returned an uncertain glance.

"News about a boy who had been inexplicably changed?" I coaxed.

The blond man frowned. "Come to think of it, I did hear something about a youngster becoming disfigured. His name was, umm, August Blake." His face suddenly lit with understanding. "Oh, God! Your son?"

I nodded.

"But what happened? Those reports didn't say anything about the boy gaining magical powers."

"The magic just came on him suddenly, and I'm not sure how. But strange things are happening all over the world tonight. Whatever's ensorcelled Gus has affected his mind, too. He sees enemies in everyone and everything. He's willing to attack even members of his own family."

Hardcase shook his head. "And with powers like I've seen, he can really vent!"

"We've got to stop him from hurting people and causing damage," I said, "but even the two of us together aren't strong enough to butt head with a power like his. Strike is coming to join us, as you already know. Yrial of the Strangers has also promised to pitch in."

He rubbed his chin. "Yrial, huh? Yeah, I met the Strangers right after they first got their powers. The whole troop of them showed up in my Malibu house, asking for advice on how to become first-rate ultra heroes. I've been asked crazier things, so I took them out for a shakedown mission. We checked out an Aladdin facility at Groom Lake, Nevada. I still regret getting a batch of newbies into Aladdin's gun-sights.”

“Those people never forget and they never forgive,” I said.

“So you've taken Aladdin on, too?”

“Oh, yes,” I affirmed, “but it's a story that I can't go into.”

He nodded sympathetically. "By the way, where's that excitable fellow that you were with on the Godwheel? The one who wore a high-tech power suit? It seemed like the two of you were more than just friends. Lukasz he was called."

I hoped he didn't see me swallow. "We're not together anymore,” I told Hardcase. But then something made me say more. I had held it bottled up for just too long. “Necromantra came after us right after we returned to Earth.  I beat her off, but not before she'd killed him.” There was more to the story than that, but I didn't want to share it.

“But Necromantra was a disembodied spirit. Did she take over someone else's body after the Godwheel?”

“Yes, and the way she did it made the tragedy doubly bad. It's too painful to talk about.”

He knew better than to push his curiosity further.  “Eden, I'm left without words.”

I needed to change the subject. "'What's I've been hearing about you leaving UltraForce?"

He sighed. “I hated to do it. I was there from the start, you know, building that team up from nothing. We did a lot of great work.  But then people showed up saying, 'We're from the government; we're here to help you.' I was against it, and I told the group so. I argued myself red in the face, but the group couldn't seem to understand that this wasn't our grandfather's national government anymore; it was Deep State.  I found myself alone in my position, so I pulled out until they could come to their senses.”

I grimaced. “I was disappointed myself to hear what they'd done. Outfits like Aladdin begins softly, but they always suck their victims in and turn them into Stormtroopers. They'll regret it, sooner rather than later.”

"You know, Mantra, I could have used you on my side. Why was it that you didn't join the Force when we started up? Magic was something that the UF was badly in need of."

I shook my head. "Prime arrived with his invitation at a time when I was almost ready to get out of the hero business. But I wasn't in that mood for very long. I've done things I'm sorry for; having the ability to help people lets me make up for some of it."

"Well, maybe you can get a little moral support if you join the Paladins."

"The Paladins?"

"That's a working title for the new ultra-team that Strike and I are talking about. Choice suggested the name."

I knew that “Choice” was his super-heroine girl friend.  She was a multifaceted ultra with a shadowy and rather complex past.

"I'll have to give all my attention to my family for the time being,” I explained.  “Your offer interests me, but until I can get my life into better order, I'm locked out from any long-term commitments." Offhandedly, I added the question, “How is it that Choice didn't come with you tonight?"

Concern flicker in the man's eyes. "She shouldn't be overexerting herself -- especially not now."

I sensed that some subtext was hiding behind that comment, but didn't feel like prying. "I'm grateful for whatever help you'll be able to lend," I told him. “I'm sorry we haven't had the chance over the last couple years to become better friends.”

“Maybe that will change,” Hardcase said, then glancing back at the smoldering schoolhouse. "So, I take it that your boy suddenly got ultra powers and decided to burn down Canoga Park Elementary. That's a mean payback for getting too much homework!"

The joke fell flat with me. “Before that, he tried to kill me.”

The world's most famous ultra hero turned about, looking surprised.  “Why?”

"I'd confined him to his room for misbehaving."

"You're joking."

"My whole life would be a joke, except that it's so -- gut-wrenching." I took a deep breath and tried to brace up. “I should check in with Strike and Yrial. By the way, Hardcase, did you notice that there was an Aladdin squad at the school?"

He blinked. "No, I didn't. It seems like those guys alway turn up when you least expect them."

"They're with a new leader called Wrath."

His brows knit. "I've heard that name before."

"The name is being recycled. This is a different person."

"If he's Aladdin-issue, he can't be trusted."

"Probably true," I replied, “but I've seen him do a decent act or two.”

“Well then, I'll try to avoid taking him out, if I can.”

“Fine,” I said.  “But right now I've got to be doing some mind-to-mind communication."

He looked on curiously as went off a little distance. I touched my fingertips to my temples and projected my thoughts: "Mantra here, Strike. Whereabouts are you?"

I repeated the telepathic call twice more before an answer came:

"Mantra, I had to swing into one of my local hidey holes to pick up some equipment. By the way, Hardcase will probably be showing up soon."

"He already has. He's standing here beside me now. I don't know how to thank you enough."

"Normally, I could do plenty with a straight line like that, Mantra, but it's no time for jokes. Where should I meet you guys?"

"Runnymede Park. That's several blocks east of my house. We'll be waiting for you. If our plans change, I'll give you another buzz."
 
"Okay, Strike off."

Immediately afterwards, I sent out another probe, this one aimed at Yrial's mind. Quite quickly, I felt the contact.
 
"Mantra, I was just about to get in touch with you," the she-ultra responded. "I am somewhere north of of you, in what I believe is called Thousand Oaks. I wasn't able to reach Shadowmage."

“I hope it isn't because Shadowmage has gone back to the Godwheel.”

“Shadowmage?” echoed Tom Hawke.  “Strike told me that you were going to get into touch with her. She shouldn't be so hard to reach. I spoke to the young lady just last month.”

“Where is she?” I asked.

“She was in Arizona.  Lela Cho, the ex-captain of the Solutions team, gave me her number. I can dial it up for you.”

“Please do. Neither Yrial nor I have been able to connect with her telepathically – and that's worrisome because she's highly psychic. You should definitely give her a call, even if it is just to make sure that she's not in any trouble,” I said. 

Big man drew out his phone and I continued resumed my conversation with Yrial.  "We've gotten an unexpected lead on Aera's last whereabouts, Yrial.  We'll handle that. But for now, I'm glad you're almost here. Try to get a fix on my magical feed," I said. "It'll guide you to us like a beacon. Then we'll rendezvous with Strike."
 
"The mercenary for hire?"

"He's got a checkered rep, I know, but Strike is probably the best friend I have." I hoped I was right about that. This wasn't my world anymore and Tark was no longer the same man I knew. Even so, I was depending heavily on this version of Warstrike to help me bring Gus back from the brink. 

#

“It's strange,” Hardcase spoke up behind me, his cellphone gripped in one hand.  “I couldn't get a ring from the other end.  I called Lela right away to ask what she knew. She didn't know what the problem was, but went ahead and called Shadowmage while I waited.  She came right back to say that Aera isn't even answering on the special linkup that the Solution members have.”

“Well, this is a crazy night and a lot of people have been hurt.  Some have even been wiped out of the memory of man.  Like Contrary,” I added.

“Who?”

I saw what was an earnest question in his looks. “Ah, that's someone I know, but it's too complex to go into now.”  Incredible!  Hardcase and Contrary had both been founding members in UltraForce and had been serving together for a year!

“If someone's memory has been wiped out, how do you still remember them, Mantra?”

“I'll be glad to tell you later.  But right now we have to focus on saving Gus from himself.” 

He sighed and nodded. “I've got a bad feeling about Aera going  incommunicado,” he said.  “When we're done here, I should try to find her.  I'm pretty sure that Lela will be willing to lend a hand.”

“I hope so,” I said.  

Yrial arrived before Strike did. The magic-wielding Stranger looked just as I remembered, except that her ethnically-inspired costume was now a basic green color instead of violet. Tastes differed between universes, it seemed. It was hard not to get the willies from those rosy, pupil-less eyes of hers. They gave her otherwise comely face a demonic cast. I wondered whether this peculiarity was common amongst her tribe, or if it was unique to Yrial herself. At least by reputation, the ultra was not evil, though I knew her to be a practitioner of death-sorcery. I certainly wasn't at ease around death-sorcery. It had taken too much from me.

Without any more conversation, I led my two companions across Topanga Canyon Boulevard, widely avoiding the smoldering schoolhouse where there were still many firemen and police on duty. We were mostly concerned about being sighted by the highly dangerous Aladdin team. 
 

#

Yrial and I flew while Hardcase kept up by casually leaping more than a block at a time. We quickly intersected with Sherman Way, and this we followed to Runnymede Park.

"Even if we can temporarily subdue a sorcerer of such power," I addressed to my companions, "does anyone know how to control the boy without making him suffer too much?"

This question seemed to resonate poignantly with Yrial. "We are fortunate, Mantra. I was recently forced to control a loved one who had become an enemy. Do you remember Atom Bob?"

"Of course. Did he ever come back from his sabbatical?”

Indian woman mirrored sorrow. "There was no sabbatical; the Strangers imprisoned him. Evil had taken possession of Bob. He had become the bitter enemy of the rest of us."

"How did you subdue someone as powerful as him?"

"I placed him into a magical coma. Then we conveyed him to a remote European clinic where the doctors have had experience with supernatural problems. They have been committed to expunging his demons, but thus far they have reported only failure."

I shook my head. "What you say sounds a lot like what's happened to the boy we're looking for. If the coma spell becomes necessary, is it teachable? Or would you be willing to perform it?"

"Please allow me to do it, Mantra. My race has already been cursed by black sorcery and I would urge you not to follow after us. In centuries, we have not found our way back to the light.

I sensed her pain. Even Archimage, though he was at heart an S.O.B., had avoided using the necrotic arts, despite every temptation. Except for Yrial, all the necromancers I've met had been evil. I'd supposed that they'd gone into dark sorcery by choice, but having met the Amerind princess, I couldn't be sure of that.

"I would be willing to sacrifice myself, if it would make this terrible thing right!" I told her frankly.

“Do not attempt to do good by evil means, Mantra. That was the mistake that ruined my own people.” Then Yrial looked at me with heightened interest. "Why do you care so much about this unfortunate boy?"

"I -- I know his family," I explained lamely. "They deserve better than this."

She touched my arm lightly. “So do you,” she said.

Hearing an engine roar, I looked back. Some kind of custom-job was tearing up the turf of Runnymede Park. When the high-octane monster skidded to a halt under the lamplight, I could recognize it for a large, souped-up motorcycle. But the figure in the saddle didn't look like the man we'd been expecting -- or, more precisely, the one that I had been expecting.

He was of the same size and build as my friend Warstrike – not much smaller than Hardcase himself -- but I'd never seen him wearing that costume before. This edition of Tark retained his red-blond hair and showed a taste for Spandex, but under his long, green, unbuttoned coat I saw red-colored chest-and-shoulder armor. He was also masked, his eyes concealed by means of two-way lenses. I would have given him a hard time for wearing a fashion atrocity, but I found a cold, hard lump where my levity should have been. Actually, I appreciated that this version of Warstrike looked so unfamiliar. I needed to be cautious in dealing with the man – at least until I knew for certain that he was a true friend.

Strike dismounted; my two other companions greeted him, correctly, if not effusively. Tark apparently didn't know Yrial at all, and his acquaintance with Hardcase appeared businesslike. After brief amenities, the masked vigilante asked me to fill him in on what had been going on.

"Gus has already tried to burn down his own school," I told him. "When I tested his strength earlier, I couldn't stand up to him at all. Even though the boy has had no combat training, his instincts for defending himself are incredible."

"Do you have a plan, Mantra?" Yrial asked.

I gave a weary nod. "That depends. Strike, what did you bring?"

"Based on our short talk earlier, I've rustled up a cannister of knockout-gas and some other gadgets that my man Gizmo designed a while ago."

“Designed for what end?”

“To help me bring ultra-powered bad guys back alive -- instead doing what comes naturally."

I winced at this blunt jibe, imagining Gus's body tied to the fender of that monster cycle. But I didn't think the man was speaking in deliberate bad taste. That was just the blunt, bluff way that Brandon Tark talked when among friends -- unfortunately.

Strike gave us a run-down on the other equipment he'd brought. It seemed harsh and makeshift by the standards of Aladdin's ultra-subduing equipment, but they were all we had to work with. "Good," I replied with more affirmation than I felt. "We can pick a spot and make this park our battlefield. Here's my plan...." 

#

A few minutes later, with everyone in their place, I was ready to send out a telepathic call -- this time to myself.

"Mrs. Blake! Mrs. Blake, can you hear me?!"

I answered my own question: "I do hear you, ma'am. But how can I be hearing you inside my head?"

"I have many amazing powers, for I am Mantra!" 

"You're the famous ultra?! Thank you for helping my children so much! I've heard all about the wonderful things you can do! If anyone can possibly help us, it will be you! Have you found Gus yet? People say that he set fire to the school! Oh, Mantra! I didn't raise him to be such a bad boy. You have to bring him home to his family before the police catch him and put him in jail."

"You can count on us," I responded. "But what did you do to make him so angry?"

"It was just a silly little thing. I slapped Gus because he made his sister cry, and then told him he had to stay in his room until he apologized."

"A slap? Mrs. Blake, that was a mistake. A parent should be much more severe when it comes to childish misbehavior."

"I didn't want to be hard on him. Gus had always been a good son, until this terrible thing happened."

"Spare the rod, spoil the child," I told my alter ego. "Because of what he's done, Gus must now spend many years in reform school. Otherwise, he will just get worse and worse, harming people and stealing things."

"Reform school? That would be terrible! Wouldn't it be enough punishment if I have him take the garbage out whenever the basket gets full?”

"Well, yes, I suppose that could be sufficient rehabilitation. It is my instinct to always be firm with a villain, but we must all try to remember that Gus is a first-time offender. But that may change if he puts any more people in danger.  Here's what we'll do. The mighty Hardcase and I shall find your missing son and return him to you safely. It is important that we locate him before he learns that we're tracking him, because that way he could take us by surprise. After we return him home, you'll have to be very strict parent if he's ever going to become good enough to be invited to join UltraForce one day."

"I hope that can happen. But where are you, Mantra?"

"Hardcase and I are at Runnymede Park, quite close to your own home. We sensed strong magic somewhere near it, but it turned out to be no more than an ultra-powered robber whom we easily subdued. But don't worry, Mrs. Blake; we always get our man. No super-villain has ever escaped justice for very long. But I promise that if Gus surrenders peacefully, we will treat him well. The next time you see us, Mrs. Blake, we will have your son with us."

"That would be wonderful, Mantra. I so love him. I don't think he's eaten yet tonight and I want to fix him something nice for supper."

"You do that, Mrs. Blake.  Mantra out!" 

The charade was over. Gus knew where we were, and I'd given him a motive to come to us as soon as possible. I wasn't looking forward to the coming fight, but for the boy's own sake I had to be up for it.

A green flash overhead drew my attention upward.  The sky still crawled with unnatural illumination, making the night seem very unreal.

"How did it go, Mantra?"

I looked back at Hardcase. "I projected my thoughts directly at Gus, trying to make it seem like I was talking with his mother. I wanted to make the boy angry enough to stop hiding and come here looking for us, where we'll be ready for him."

I looked around. Strike and Yrial had already concealed themselves, so that Gus wouldn't know that we had reinforcements.  "Be alert and ready, everyone," I whispered.

Only a minute later, I heard a mental declaration – one that came with such strength that it made me lurch.

"Mom! I know you can hear me! I'm going to fix Mantra for wanting to be mean to me!
 
"And then I'll fix you, too!”


TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 17

The Belle of Eerie, Arizona - Chapter 5, Part 1

Posted 12-07-19

Revised 02-07-20

By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 5, Part 1

Saturday, December 23, 1871 Continued

Out of earshot of Talbot and Euler, Myra was telling her aunt: “Everybody's gawking at me. I look stupid!”

“No you don't,” Irene assured her. “It's just that people are wondering who you are.  And, by the way, they surely notice how well you're dressed.” 

“Stop saying that!”

Irene held her voice low.  “Isn't it better to be admired, treated like someone that they'd like to know, instead of as a person that they don't trust or are afraid of?”

“I'd rather make them them afraid. And I'd be glad to be homely if would make me fewer problems.”

“I doubt it would.  You'd still have a parcel of sorrows, only they'd be different ones.  I was considered pretty at your age, but I was too shy to really enjoy it, even before...Darby passed on. Don't make light of God's gifts.  What ever problems you're having, there's always someone, somewhere, who is having an even worse time of it.”

“So what?  I'm betting that there are plenty who're having things a lot better than I am.”

“Envy is a deadly sin, my dear.  Can't you at least be grateful that you're not starving in China?” Irene glanced to the side, at the tables arrayed with treats. “Think about it. When do all those hungry people over there ever get to eat their fill, like we can?”

“I don't see how me eating like a hog once in a while is going to help anyone in China,” Myra replied.

“I'm not sure about that either, but you should be using this opportunity to settle gracefully into the community. Mingle and let people know who you are. Act friendly and they'll be friendly to you, later on.”

“What's the point?” the girl asked. “I never had a friend who didn't end up stabbing me in the back.” She was especially remembering Ike Bertram -- the leader of the gang who'd accidentally shot her during the robbery at Stagecoach Gap. Worse, only a half-hour later, he'd threatened to finish her off, to keep her from talking to the law. The skunk would have pulled the trigger, too, she supposed, except that Myron had slipped away when Ike was busy burying the stolen strongbox.

“I shouldn't wonder that your friendships never seem to go well,” stated Irene, “since you're determined to quarrel with everyone close to you.  I'm trying hard to understand your way of thinking.”

“You're just not listening carefully.”

“Here's some advice that I hope you'll listen to: It's easiest to get along when you're kind and respectful. Whenever you're able, be generous, too.”

“Is that what's made you so happy and successful?”

Mrs. Fanning sighed.  “I'm still learning the lessons of life, myself.  Above all, don't make trouble because it will usually come back to hurt you. Don't invite trouble, because you'll have more than enough of it through no fault of your own. While we're here, just be pleasant and avoid arguments.  If you're still miserable after about two hours, we can leave.”

“What am I going to do in this chicken coop for two hours?”

“Eat, make conversation, and enjoy the music. Also, you can do some dancing.  Kayley and Rosedale did their bet to prepare you, after all.  I'm sure that the two of them must be around here somewhere. If not, they'll soon be showing up. If I know that pair, they'll have plenty of cheerful topics for discussion.”

Girl talk!  That was the absolute last thing that Myra was looking for. Frustrated from talking to her aunt, the girl just stood there sullenly, until Irene drifted away, having noticed somebody whom she knew from church.

Two hours in this place! the farm girl thought again. The span of time that Irene was taking so lightly seemed to her as long as a life sentence. The only people that she'd needed to speak to was the Sheriff and Ozzie Pratt, the man from the newspaper.  Hopefully, they were wandering the room somewhere, guzzling whiskey and filling their faces with free food. But, if they weren't, she'd be putting herself through one hell of a mortifying experience for no reason at all.

Myra looked around and didn't like what she saw. People – the men especially -- were still eying her, like hunters determined to bring home a dead duck.  Grown men, old men, and pups still wet behind the ears.  She frowned and let everyone see the frown, sending out a clear message that she didn't want to speak to any of them.  But just when her glower was at its angriest, she realized that one of the men looking her way was Sheriff Dan Talbot!

#

Now that the lawman and the teenage girl were making eye-contact, the latter's resolution wavered. The faithful conversation, she realized, lay only minutes ahead in time, and she could hardly remember what all she intended to say.

Myra, in fact, couldn't have felt more daunted had she been squared off against a gunslick in the middle of a dusty street.  She wished that she could just leave.  Unfortunately, the girl had come here for a good reason, and had to see it through if she was ever going to set her mind at ease. 

It occurred to Myra that maybe Dan Talbot didn't actually know who she was.  So far, he hadn't met him face to face as a girl. Under better circumstances, she might have liked to trick him, lead him on, and then make a fool in front of everybody.  But there were two things wrong with that scheme.  First, she didn't want to do anything that would place her in a bad light in front of so many people, and, secondly, she needed his advice, not his anger.

Myra let out a resigned sigh and steeled herself for what had to be a grim encounter. Then, still jittery, she stepped toward the peace-keeper as if walking on thin ice.  The eyes of the crowd continued to be overly-interested in her, some taking a bead on her profile, some viewing something lower. She cursed the snug corset she was wearing, not just for leaving her short of breath, but for foisting on her such a noteworthy outline.

Close-up to Talbot, she at last said, “S-Sheriff.”

The tall man watched her approach with a look of interest on his lined, sun-browned face. “Miss Olcott,” I presume,” he said.

That address irked her.  As bad as it was keeping company with people who didn't know the truth, it was even worse being with those who did.

“Sheriff Talbot,” Myra pronounced carefully, “I came to this party mostly to speak to you. Any objection?”

“Speak about what?”

“Important stuff.  But it's too private to chew through inside this turkey pen.”

Dan regarded her quizzically.  “All right. Let's step outside.  There'll be a lot of open space under the stars, and we'll be losing the light fast.”

Myra nodded and followed Dan out the front door. They stepped into the winter darkness.  The breeze was  cool, but not uncomfortably so – not even with a good portion of her skin uncovered. There was not much left of the dusk and the people whom she saw in the torchlight were mostly clustered in groups and couples. There being no music as yet, no one was dancing. Pretty soon, she supposed, the band would come out of the schoolhouse and then the silly “skip to my Lous” would get under way.

“This good enough?” the lawman asked.

“A little farther out,” she urged.  “I don't want any of these busybodies eavesdropping.”

Dan humored the young lady and her ushered a little farther out, finally stopping by a hedge of bushes that marked the edge of the schoolyard.  “What can I help you with, Miss Myra?”

“Don't make fun of me. Without you, my life wouldn't have turned into a train-wreck.”

He smiled guardedly. “Did I wreck your life or save it?”

“This isn't the kind of life I ever could have accepted, if given a choice. I'm mad enough to shoot somebody, except for that damned magic. But I sure as hell ain't going to thank any person who's set me up for what feels like a life in hell.”

“I didn't have any part of what happened,” Dan told her, “except that I took your aunt over to see to Judge Humphrey.  And it isn't your Mrs. Fanning's fault, either; she only wanted to save you.  She must have thought that you were worth keeping around.  Maybe you'll prove her right someday.”

“Good; we'll both can be honest.  You never liked me and I never liked you.  But, for now, we've got business to discuss.”

“And what would that business be?”

“I've got to ask you about an important matter.”

“Is that so?  I expected that you were all set to rave and swear.  I was going to go along with it, since it might help you to settle down, once you got all that bile out of your system.  But if you hanker to talk civilly, I'm much obliged. What's bothering you?”

Myra looked down at her own feet, as if trying to find enough inner steel to brace herself up enough to seem formidable.  When that steel proved elusive, she took a hard swallow and met his glance sternly.

“I want to know if there was a serious crime committed a few years ago, one where you never caught the outlaws.”

Sheriff Talbot blinked. “Are you talking about some crime that you made happen?”

“No, not me.  But before I say anything more, I want you to promise that you won't repeat what I tell you.  Not to anyone.”

He gave back a serious look.  “If you're holding back information about a crime, and if the criminal can still be dealt with, I can't agree to let him off scot free.”

“The...the people who may have done..the thing... are dead.  But there are innocent folks who could still get hurt if a lot of loose talk got turned loose.”

“Who'll get hurt?”

“The...the family.  There's no one to arrest, and that's the honest truth, but if word escaped that somebody did something wrong, there might be plenty of disgrace to spread around.”

“All right.  Unless I have to arrest some guilty person, I'll keep things  confidential.” 

Myra felt she could go along with that, but hated to deal with the law. “And don't you say anything to Aunt Irene either, you hear?” she added. “I think it would hurt her most of all.”

“I won't, not unless I absolutely have to.”

“Shake on it?”  The ginger extended her hand.  Dan took it.

Myra then stood back, straightened herself, and seemed to grope for words.  “I-I found a letter sent to my mother the other day. It sounded like Ma had just told somebody that she'd done something bad.”

“Who did she tell, and what did that person say?” 

“I don't want to get into that.”

“That's not reasonable.  If you went to a doctor, I don't think you'd be so sly about fessing up to what was hurting.”

Myra frowned.  It surely did seem futile to be too coy. Anything that she tried to keep from Talbot he could probably guess, like some detective inside a story.  How had she ever gotten backed into a corner as this one?

With effort, she said, “I found out things from that letter.  It was written a little after the war, about the time that my folks started acting sad-like.”

Dan's eyes narrowed.  “So, are you going to tell me why they were acting so sad?”

“I-I don't know, exactly.  But I'm thinking that they might have been sorry about stealing something.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because the always talked about owing money before, but then they stopped.

“Well, what did they steal?”

“I don't know that either.  I'm not sure that they stole anything.  But if they'd gotten out of debt somehow, it should have made them happier. Instead, they acted like they'd plum lost the knack for enjoying life.”

“When, exactly, was this going on?”

“The letter was dated 1866 near the end of May.  But the way that the writer talked, the thing the folks did must have happened a couple years back.  That would be before the war was over.  Maybe a year before.”

The lawman frowned off into the distance, looking toward – but not seeing – a darkening row of locust trees.  “So, you're talking about 1864 or thereabouts?”

“As far as I can reckon.”

“What exactly do you remember from those days?”

“Not much.  I was only about ten in 1864 and they didn't talk business with me. We ate good eats, I know. They also started fixing the place up some, like putting in that windmill, digging a new well, buying more cattle. They even had money enough to buy me a few toys.”

Myra's expression made it hard for Dan to stay on guard. He'd always thought of Myron Caldwell as a shallow brat, a bad kid with no sense of right and wrong.  Maybe, though, beneath his former armadillo shell, there was a person with some ability to feel. If those feelings were still alive, he'd like to see them grow. He let the girl stand quietly for a minute, appreciating the pain that he saw in her face.

“Let me get just one thing clear...Thorn.  Are you wanting me to prove that your folks are guilty of something bad?”

“No!” she said sharply.  “I want you to prove that they didn't do anything.  I'm thinking that if no serious crime is known about from five years ago, I'd be able to sleep easier. Unless I know for sure how things really were, I'll never be able to think about them properly...the way used to remember them.”

The sheriff pushed up his hat brim; his lips were pursed with the heaviness of his reasoning.  “This is a funny business. Most of the time, I get a complaint about some crime and then I have to catch the parties that committed it.  Sometimes, I have to dig a little first, to find out who exactly was the culprit.  But here, you seem to want me to check around and see if any crime was committed, all the while hoping that I won't find one. Well, strange as the business sounds to me, I can take a shot at it. Would that make you happy?”

“Maybe.  I hope so.”

“But if I find something about your folks that doesn't smell right, how will you feel then?”

“About as bad as I'm feeling now. I don't want to go on suspecting that they did something awful, especially since I might be completely wrong about it.”

“Well now, maybe the best way to move ahead is for you to tell me who knows more than you do.  Who sent that letter accusing your mother?”

“I don't see why you need to know.”

“You're protecting somebody, I reckon.  Your aunt maybe?”

Myra looked away.

It was obviously to Dan that a family concern was affecting Myra, and he didn't feel like poking that kind of wound.  “You haven't told me much,” the Sheriff said. “As for crimes, there've been robberies and killings hereabouts long before I ever took the badge. I wasn't even Eerie's town marshal as far back as 1864.  The best way to clear your parents' name is to prove that they didn't have a motive for doing whatever may have happened.  Tell me, were your folks carrying debts with the bank, or with the merchants in town? I mean, was there anything that might have made them desperate for money?”

The girl looked back, nodding slowly. “They surely had a peck of things.  Like I said, after a while they stopped fussing about what they owed. But I was still pretty young at the time; I saw and heard a lot that I didn't understand.”

Talbot frowned thoughtfully. “Banks keep good records, and most merchants do, too.  I can ask Dwight Albertson about the Caldwells' finances, and also question the store owners that were here that long ago.  Most farmers tend to be in and out of debt over the whole course of their lives.  That's normal for honest people. But, all too often, there's somebody who gets out of debt sudden-like, and stays out of debt. That could be a bad sign.”

“I – I guess so.”

Observing Myra in her present state of mind, it was hard for Dan to see the Myron that he'd known.  She seemed younger than the young hellion had, so much more of a child.  “Ordinary folks might not notice if a neighbor comes into money,” the sheriff began again, “not if the person keeps to himself and is careful about not spending too much, too quickly.  For now, for your own good, you ought to stop investigating. You could open an old wound, and a scandal would make it harder for you to settle down into a new life. I can look into things without drawing so much attention to myself.  People expect a sheriff to be asking strange questions and they usually don't expect him to explain himself.  The first thing I'd do in this case is to pick people's minds about any unsolved crimes they know of, going back a few years. If I need to mention the Caldwells by name, I'll say as little as possible.”

Myra raised her chin. “Just don't let any polecat wheedle more than that out of you, Sheriff. I don't trust anybody with that kind of information.”
 “You're right to be careful, but I'm used to working with matters like these.” 

“You're right to be careful, but I'm used to working with these matters.” 

“Should I keep clear of Ossie Pratt, too?  Wasn't he living in Eerie back then?”

Dan's brows knitted.  “Yes, he was, but it's always risky to talk to a newspaper man.  Their job is to print things that people don't want printed.  Let me handle Ossie Pratt, if he needs talking to at all.”

Myra nodded slowly.  “So, where does all this talk leave us?”

“My advice is to put your troubles out of your mind as best you can.  You should just settle back and enjoy the party.”

When Myra made no reply, Dan continued, “Like I said, I'll do what I'm able, and let you know right quick what I find out.”

“Thanks,” the girl replied faintly.

Dan stood where he was, watching the potion girl move off.  He had always felt sorry for Myron Caldwell. The boy could have been so much better, except that he had lost both his parents at the same time. That was a terrible mule kick for a kid so young. Thorn had been left broken inside; for him, being broken meant growing up mean and sour. Starting over again as Myra was the best chance he had to change for the better. The lawman had seen such a thing happen with the Hanks gang. If this new hammer blow tore open all of Myra's wounds again, she might lose her chance.  The right elements might never come together again, and young Caldwell might never fix what was a messed up life.

#

Although the talk with the sheriff hadn't gone as badly as she had feared, Myra didn't like leaving something so important to someone else, especially to a lawman. The tin-star men were always looking for someone to blame, guilty or not.  Usually, a bucker could get a better shake from almost anyone else, even an outlaw.

“Myra!” someone shouted.

She turned to see Kayley and Rosedale running from out of the crowd. Miss Grimsley had on a burgundy-dress and her expression was bright-eyed and excited. Rosedale was dressed up, too. Miss Olcott wished she could turn invisible, being in no mood for company.

“Oh, Myra!” exclaimed Dale.  “Now I see why George admired your dress so much! It's almost perfect! It makes me embarrassed to be seen in the faded thing I have on!” The Severin girl's frock was light blue cotton and patterned with small red blossoms. The thing didn't look so bad to Myra's glance, though it had clearly been washed a good share of times.

“I didn't pick it out myself.  A friend of Irene's did,” said Miss Olcott.

“Do you mean Molly O'Toole?” asked Kayley.

Myra scowled.  “I guess George doesn't leave out very much when he gets to gossiping.”

Dale glanced back at the school.  “Pretty soon the band will come out and the boys will be asking the girls to partner up.”

“Maybe they'll ask you two,” Myra replied, wanting to change the subject. 

“And you, too!” chirped Kayley.

The ginger shook her head. “Who'd want to dance with me, anyway?”

“Don't be so modest!” said Dale. “You're as cute as a chickadee, and that dress makes you look even better.  A lot of boys will be wanting to swing you around the play-yard, mark my words.”

“But if you're not used to young men,” advised Kayley, “you'll be surprised how shy most of them are. The best way to get a shy boy to dance with you is to start talking to him – about anything all all, except dancing.  Like, do you know anything about fishing?  If he's already been admiring you, your being friendly and going easy might be enough to make him ask the question.”

“It seems to me that the braver person at a dance should ask the question,” observed Myra.  “Who set the rules that girl's shouldn't speak their mind?”

“Mama says that only a hussies will ask boys straight-out to dance,” explained Miss Grimsley.

“So what's wrong with hussies?”

“I'm not sure,” replied Kayley, “but no one wants to be called one.”

“Too many people are too quick to make up rules for everybody else to follow,” adjudged Myra.

“I know,” agreed Rosedale.  “But when we're their age, we'll be the elders making up the rules. We'll just have to be careful to make up much better ones.” 

“By the way, it was awful that pa and the others couldn't find Thorn,” put in Kayley.

Myra looked at the golden-tressed blonde, trying to think of a reply. “No,” she finally said, “it was better than having him found him dead. Maybe it means that he got away.”

“Pa said you were thinking that,” spoke up Dale.  “Thorn wasn't very nice, the Lord knows, but it would surely make your aunt feel better if he came back someday fit and fine.”

Myra shook her head. “There was nothing wrong with Thorn, except that he wanted to live the way that he wanted to live, without everybody else telling him what to do.”

“But he wanted to be an outlaw,” said Dale.

“So was Robin Hood,” Miss Myra replied.


TO BE CONTINUED IN Chapter 5, Part 2

The Wounded World, a story of Mantra, Chapter 15

By Aladdin

Edited by Christopher Leeson

The Wounded World

Originally written 2006

Posted November 21, 2019






CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Blackbird"

"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair."

 
                                                        William Blake 

Evie and I hurried away from the magic shop. Around us, the strange play of lights across the sky was still making the shadows of the night pulse strangely. A little way from Mrs. Fisher's door, we paused, cloaked by the darkness of a moon shadow.  

The way I saw it, protecting Evie meant everything , but if I knew magic, Gus could psychically hone in on his family's location. He could arrive at any second and, unable to give ground for my daughter's sake, it would lock us into a power duel -- and that hadn't worked out so well for me before.  In the midst of my quandary, a van came from west to east -- a van that looked disconcertingly familiar.

It was Aladdin again!

As much as I wanted to avoid its agents, it wasn't a good idea. The Company, I knew, had come into Canoga Park to check on me. To give it credit, Aladdin protected its own.  In a crisis like this one, I had to think of what was best for Evie.

I sprang out of the darkness waving my arms. The vehicle skidded to a halt; a bald young black man leaned out the window. "What is it, lady?" Greg Tunney asked.

"You're from Aladdin, aren't you?" I inquired, pretending not to recognize him.

"From where?"

"Please! I know what the A-Team's van looks like," I explained, trying hard not to show agitation.

"A-Team? Do you mean that old TV series?" Wrath was stonewalling, like a good company man.

"Can the comedy, fella. We've never met, but we work for the same organization. Maybe you've heard the name 'Eden Blake'."

He frowned. "Eden Blake?! Well, if that doesn't.... We were heading for your house."

"Why?" I asked ingenuously.

He shrugged. "There was some kind of energy spike at this end of Canoga Park. I guess it was pretty unnatural. Colonel Smekes knew that you live around here and so gave you a call for an on-site report. When neither your land line nor your cell phone would pick up, he got worried.  We all know that Aladdin agents have been targeted by hostiles before.  He knew you'd made a lot of enemies in Europe. How did it feel when the surge hit?"

"Surge? I didn't feel even a tickle. But if something weird came down, it might explain what happened to my son Gus."

I hated bringing up Gus's name, but what choice did I have? The boy was running wild, something that Aladdin would find out soon enough. Then, once they knew the score, they'd be suspicious as to why I hadn't come clean from the start. 

"What do you mean? What happened to your boy?"

"All I know is what I saw. He turned violent, like he'd gone out of his mind. He was angry at everybody. He started using world-class magic.  That's when I grabbed Evie and ran for it. We were looking for some place safe, just in case he came after us. That's when we saw your van."

“You should have called in for help!”

“Unfortunately, I didn't have my cell on me, and how does a person find a public phone in this day and age?”

"Well, magic or not, I don't think there's any kid alive who'll be able to stand up to the A-Team."

"Easy, Wrath," I admonished. "It's my son we're talking about, not some super-criminal. He's just a grade-schooler. Something we don't understand took hold of him and he can't help himself."

"I'm with you, ma'am; we'll be careful. But how did you know my code-name was Wrath?"

Sharpen up, Lukasz. You're making mistakes.

"Well, you've heard about me. It so happens that I've heard about you, too. Your evaluation reports are impressive, by the way." A little flattery can sometimes sweeten an otherwise sour situation. I hoped that Wrath was no by-the-book type that who'd be looking to nail every leaker he came across.   I had no one I could name as my informer.

But Tunney remained amiable. "Yeah? Then I guess the suits aren't half as good at keeping secrets as they think they are."

I hurried to change the subject. "I'm worried. It was like Gus's liked and dislikes have been turned upside down. He talked like he hated us. This is bad. Some ultras can automatically find people, you know. Even a police station wouldn't be a safe place, not against that kind of power. Remember that precinct-house that got trashed in the Terminator movie?"

He nodded. "Street cops aren't trained to face down ultras, but we are. You and the little girl can ride with us."

"Yes, by all means take Evie, but as for me...."

"Why not you? You surely can't go home; that's the first place the boy'll look."

"I know the risk, but maybe if I found him alone he wouldn't feel so threatened. I might be able to calm him down." I didn't believe that, but I wanted to be out of Aladdin's sight before Strike and the other ultras showed up looking for me.

"We came this way to find you, Mrs. Blake, but now taking that youngster of yours off the street has to be our new priority. For the little girl's sake, you should come with us. When we meet up with your son, you might just be able to talk him into surrendering quietly."

"What do you plan to do with Gus?" As if I didn't know.

"Get him some medical attention, of course."

Yeah, by strapping him down and letting mad scientists experiment on him. But the way that he'd tendered his appeal made it hard to argue -- without arousing suspicion.

"And if the lad does want to come looking for his family," Tunney went on, "that's good. It will save us the trouble of scouring the city looking for him."

That was cold. "So Evie and I will be the Judas goats?"

He stepped down to the asphalt opened the van's rear door. "Mrs. Blake, you know how the Company works and you know what it expects of us.  Besides that, think about the boy's welfare. If he's got ultra powers and he's out of control, sooner rather than later someone is going to start sending bullets his way. It'll come down to kill or be killed for one of them. Think about it. We've got to take the little fellow out of the line of fire." He patted the van. "Come on now; you and the tyke should get inside. That's an order."

I raised my chin. "I'm not sure you're authorized to be giving me any orders, mister."

He grinned. "Whatever the pecking order, the A-Team has a job to do, and you two seem to be in serious danger.  This is one hell of a time to stand around arguing."

That was logic I couldn't talk around. I cursed myself for not switching into my Blackbird outfit before stepping into view. Blackbird, as a mystery ultra, could have left Evie in Wrath's care and then flown off to do whatever she needed to. As things stood, I was pinned down. The best idea seemed to be to go with the flow, and then slip away as soon as possible.

The red-garbed ultra helped Evie and Mr. Paws into a passenger seat. I got in after them, noting that the vehicle held five agents besides Wrath, all of them, except the driver, wearing toe-to-neck body armor. They were obviously armed for war, toting along an impressive array of weaponry fitted into compact racks. Compared to Wrath, the soldiers were silent types. The woman among them and one of the men gave us nods of welcome, but neither said anything.

Evie wriggled in close against me, intimidated by the fiercely-caparisoned warriors. Her eyes were full of worry, full of hope. I put my arm around her and touched my cheek to hers. It was so easy to forget that this wasn't my own Evie.

The driver spoke up, saying, "Wrath, we've just intercepted a police call. There's a flying ultra burning down the Canoga Park Elementary School, and -- get this -- he's doing battle with Hardcase!"

My heart did a double-flip.

"Get the coordinates and take us there fast!" the team leader barked. Then he looked back at me. "Elementary school? Does that sound like something your boy might want to do?"

"Maybe. I --"

Words failed. He would very well like to burn down the school. Gus had  been lonely, ostracized, and resented the way that the staff, the child psychologists -- and even the students -- didn't want him attending regular classes.

"Ow, Mommy!" Evie blurted. "You're squeezing too hard!"

I let her go and stared ahead, into the darkness beyond the headlights.  Out there, my son was locked in a duel against one of the world's most seasoned ultras. Would Hardcase realize that he was up against a boy of twelve?

Gus versus Hardcase? The world really had gone insane.

#

Hardcase had been one of Gus's favorite heroes. He claimed to have all of the man's collector cards, and had coaxed me into buying him the most expensive action figure to boot. But the boy wasn't in his right mind and he'd probably be throwing out all stops to defeat and destroy the famous crime-fighter.

How hard would Hardcase fight back? I hoped that he had gotten enough information from Strike to know what he was up against.

Hardcase -- Tom Hawke -- and I were not well acquainted. At the time that I'd shared a case with the UltraForce, Hawke had been away on a mission of his own. One difference between this local Hardcase and the one back  home was that he had quit the UltraForce in anger, opposed to its growing involvement with the federal Deep State, the same power block that had had the President besieged in the White House for years. I would have given the members the same advice, too, if anyone had asked.

"If Gus burns down the school, where will I go on Monday?" Evie suddenly asked. "And aren't the people at school getting hurt?"

I hugged her close. "Easy, Button. The school let out hours ago.  If anyone was inside, janitors or somebody else, we'll just have to pray that they were able to escape in time."

She looked up into my face. Those big blue eyes were the very image of Eden Blake's.  “I think I should pray for them, Mommy,” she whispered.

“That's a very good idea,” I said.

She placed her fingertips together, her head bowed. I did likewise, but it was hard for me to find the words I needed with so many  sirens sounding off from the direction of the school. If Gus was responsible for arson, it was much worse than anything he had carried in the other time-line. My earnest attempts to keep him from making trouble had -- so far -- been very disappointing.

#

The wide, two-story building was blazing furiously. Squadrons of emergency vehicles were drawn up close-in; their crews were setting up frantically. Sensation-seeking throngs were already pouring out of the surrounding neighborhood, pressing avidly against the emergency cordons. The van slowed to a roll and our driver started honking rhythmically, warning the crowd to get out of our way.

A policeman hailed us to a stop and demanded identification. Wrath shoved some sort of document at him -- which had to be a phony, seeing as how Aladdin was a secret agency. But whatever nonsense the thing imparted, it did the trick and the uniformed man backed off. Just then, a bolt of green energy streaked to the ground from somewhere overhead. Looking up, I made out a stubby, manlike being outlined by a lurid emerald luminescence.

My fists tensed. Now that we had found Gus, my next question was, where was Hardcase?

"Stop here," Tunney ordered his driver. The vehicle turned into the curb and its tires met it with a bounce. Wrath was first out, with the rest of the heavily armored A-Team, except for the driver, clattering after him. I whispered to Evie, telling her to remain inside the van. “If I don't come right back, stay inside with the nice policeman until I return for you.” Then, with a dash, I followed in the wake of the other Aladdin agents.

I knew that the anti-ultra  hit squad would be less interested in combating the fire than in capturing the arsonist. That would put Hardcase himself in danger, considering the list of grudges that Aladdin bore against him. I doubted that Wrath would order an assassination on his own authority, but these hardcore agents with him had been trained by others -- black ops scoundrels through and through. Would they let an opportunity shot go by?

When no one was looking, I ducked down and rolled under a television news van, flashing into my “Blackbird” garb. Hardly anyone on Earth had ever seen me wearing that an outfit and local observers wouldn't know who I was -- as long as I wasn't too obvious about doing Mantra-type things. Out of sight, I ghosted away through the subsoil, coming up a couple of blocks away. Without my magically-charged, burlesque-style golden armor, I wouldn't be so powerful.  But I'd mess myself up if I appeared as Mantra in front of Aladdin agents.  Mantra was supposed to be in lock-up.  I was in need of a new public identity.  Let them open up a file on someone called Blackbird, if they wanted to.

Ignoring the noise, smoke, and fire all around, I kept my mind fixed on the game.  It was dangerous to get attacked by Gus while in an under-powered state. The boy could probably crack Blackbird's best defenses like a chocolate Easter egg. If he got me cornered, I would have to switch costumes and power-up, regardless of who saw me afterwards.

The air above the burning school was bad and so I summoned up a force-field to serve as an air filter to help myself breathe.  Suddenly, I again spotted the glowing outline of my deranged son. He was ignoring the firemen teeming below, while concentrating on something else, something I still couldn't see due to the smoke.

"Look! Is that Mantra?!" someone shouted.

Not wanting Gus to be alerted, I cloaked myself under a dark mist to stop people from talking. It was then that I caught sight of Tom Hawke – darting around the cluttered, hose-strewn ground, dodging like a ricocheting pinball. The fight with Gus was still in progress and the ultra looked like he was playing it defensively. The boy, all spleen and aggression, was shooting magical blasts, as if the world was his video game. Did the pipsqueak wizard even grasp the enormity of playing with the life of another human creature -- one whom he had actually hero-worshiped not so long ago? I wondered how Hardcase could have spared with him for so long with no magic of his own.  Was the boy going easy on his opponent because this fight was a dream of a lifetime and he didn't want to end it too quickly?

Nonetheless, Hardcase was a formidable gladiator -- as strong as Hercules and possessed of an astounding leaping ability. The ultra was holding a four-foot-wide hunk of sidewalk over his head and this he hurled at Gus with all his strength. My heart skipped a beat; it was all I could do to keep from knocking that slab out of the air. But if I interfered, it might throw Hardcase off his game and let Gus take him out. If I didn't, how could the child fend off that kind of hit? What was I supposed to do when I didn't want either one of the combatants to be injured? Fortunately, before the concrete weapon struck its mark, the youngster intercepted the thing with a magical flash, instantly pulverizing it into a spray of  sand and lime. The debris rained down on the fire-fighters beneath us.

I had to stop underestimating Gus. My son was appallingly good at being bad.

At that instant, while the lad's attention was fixed on Hardcase, I threw my mightiest burst of force at his back -- meant to stun, not kill. It struck home and Gus tumbled earthward. On impulse, I dove in close, hoping to soften his landing if he was too stunned to react.

That was a mistake. Gus's changed his trajectory by force of will and alighted on the grass, feet-first. He veered my way, his fists clenched, his brutal face a mask of rage. As quick as thought, incandescent bolts arced between his hands and the boy seemed primed to unleash a megabolt of death.

At me!

#

That's when another cement projectile glanced off Gus's protective shield, its impact startling the boy enough to spoil his aim. His laser-like attack sizzled past my face, but the assault redirected the child's attnetion toward his other foe.

"You're cheating!" Gus shouted at Hardcase. "Two on one isn't fair!" Unhappy with the odds, he launched himself into the sky, leaving behind a viridian trail of flame. I could have followed, but didn't want to force a serious confrontation with his caliber of super-wizard until I had my backup. Anyway, the most pressing concern had to be controlling the fire, which blazed so close by my family's home and neighbors.

A quick bio-scan of the inferno warned me that there were still living people inside the school building -- firefighters and maybe even trapped victims. Still cloaked in mist, I projected force capsules into the worst parts of the conflagration, isolating several of its centers, while yet leaving paths open for the human beings to escape. The areas I'd sealed up would be starved for oxygen. Time was not on my side; to speed things along, I drew down the air pressure within my barrier. For a couple minutes, I maintained what amounted to a mystical "death grip" on the combustion, until its most threatening parts started to go out.

It looked like the firemen had taken heart from the smothering of a large part of the fire and were rallying. But my intervention had cost me a good part of the extra "umph" that I'd acquired through vampirizing Lauren. I had to link up with Hardcase, and so darted toward the source of his bio-trace – making a wary approach upon what was Earth's senior and, arguably, most famous ultra.

I really didn't want him to mistake me for an enemy, so I thinned my smokescreen enough to let him see “Blackbird.” Whatever his reaction, he at least didn't throw any concrete my way.

"I've been waiting for you,” I said as I alighted in front of the muscle-bound ultra.  “We can't talk here. Can I carry you off to some place that's more private?"

"Okay," he said, warily – no doubt at a loss to know what to make of me.

He was a hard mass of muscle in my arms. I negated enough gravity to make the two of us as light as helium balloons. Then a conjured air-stream swept us swiftly away from the smoke and steam.

A dozen blocks away, I brought the two of us down in some local resident's backyard. When I released Hardcase, he backed off.  I noted that he still wore the same costume that the god Ogma had conjured for him back on the Godwheel. One difference, fortunately, was that the face-mask that he'd been using to cover his scarred features was discarded. His movie-star good looks had made a triumphant comeback. I'd earlier learned that one of his abilities was fast-healing.

"T-Thanks," I panted, the smell of smoke making me want to choke, “for not swinging a hay-maker at me when I first dropped in."

He smiled tightly. "I always try to avoid hitting pretty ladies. Anyway, I was guessing that you might be Mantra in disguise.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It's complex. While I'm dressed this way, you can call me Blackbird.”

“Nice code name. Strike told me that this get-together was your idea, Eden." His grin grew more genuine.

I did a double take. How in hell had he come across my real name? My real inherited name, I mean. Where was the leak? The Warstrike I knew would never have outed me, not to anyone.  Did this mean that Hardcase and Mantra were better friends on this world than we had been back --?

Then the stark truth dawned on me.

During the Godwheel incident, I had thoughtlessly blurted out Mantra's identity in front of witnesses. The incident had slipped from mind, mostly because so many trials and tragedies had dogged me during the months that followed. Now I was choking down a big gulp of dread.  It hadn't only been good guys within earshot back then.  Unknown to any of us until later, there had been a very evil enemy lurking nearby, mingling among the rest of us in disguise -- a superior being who stood high on my short list of most-dangerous foes. I'd been left vulnerable to a surprise attack without even knowing it.  The danger was still real. I would have preferred to go up against Boneyard, or even NM-E, than to be cornered into another death-match with that monster from a realm of evil.

If he came after me again, no one anywhere around me would be safe.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 16



AFTERWARD by Aladdin

I want to thank Christopher Leeson again for the fantastic job he's been doing as an editor-polisher of my old novel. But Christopher has asked me to explain to the readers the reason why Hardcase appears in a Black September story, though most people who remember the BS (which is an apt anagram) would say that he was one of the characters that ceased to exist, just as Contrary had. My reason for bringing in Hardcase is to illustrate a theory I have about how the world of Black September really works.

The issue arises from the fact that few of the great Malibu writers (mostly long-standing professionals with years of experience elsewhere) were able to remain after BS. Mantra's Mike Barr stayed on for 5 issues, but for good reasons soon left.  After Steve Englehart's NIGHTMAN miniseries was finished, he departed, also. The continuing comics were mainly written by newcomers and unknowns -- and edited by people who had not edited Ultraverse books before. A discerning reader will soon decide that these new people lacked any detailed knowledge about the Ultraverse. They apparently didn't even know the minutia regarding the details that had been established for the world after Black September. 

As it turned out, many favorite heroes like Hardcase, the Jimmy Ruiz Prototype, and the Strangers lost their comics. But clues in the stories indicate that most of the missing still existed post-Black September. Hardcase's footprints, for instance, were pictured after BS, set into concrete at the TLC Chinese Theater (or a similar place). But later stories dropped all reference to Hardcase, until there was a very late UltraForce story where the hero returned. He told people that when the disaster had struck, he had been hurled into an alien dimension. When he came back, he found that people couldn't recall that he had ever existed. What is this?  How can he exist but not exist at the same time?

Why was the internal history of the Black September universe done in such a sloppy manner? Well, as we have said, everyone who knew the Ultraverse inside and out were gone.  A fan writer needs make sense of this tangle. But I haven't wanted to pick and choose what is real. Instead, the author has preferred to treat everything that appears on the pages of Malibu comics, even after BS, as being true. But trying to make sense of the senseless has forced us to be bold. 

For example, before BS, Gus was a normal boy. In the changes of BS, he became a strange-looking dwarf. But, get this, not his mother, his sister, or his baby sitter ever react to seeing that the child has been grotesquely transformed. Why not? This was a puzzle that I had to solve. [In reality, according to my information, Mike wrote the story and its dialogue w/o a change in Gus, but the artist was told by his editor to jazz up the story by making Gus into a freak.] I decided that the heroines didn't see Gus's change as something surprising, because it had happened months earlier. Their history had been changed. I allude in “Wounded World” to an unwritten back-story about how "trolls" captured Gus months before and magically changed him to look like themselves. (Chris has encouraged me to write that story, suggesting the name “The Garden of Eden” and also offering to collaborate with me. "Maybe we can do that," I've told him).

But back to Hardcase. Clearly, if history is continually changing inside the “wounded world”, then everything about that reality has to be unstable. As I see it, from one hour to the next, the inhabitants can't be sure what the world will be like; they won't notice any change, because their memories will change along with the reality. The Hardcase presented in "Wounded World" I believe really was on Earth after that terrible night. But he would be fated to be erased from the memory of the world some short time afterwards (as reality makes another hiccup).

Despite the slick razzle-dazzle that this author has been forced to perform, he is the first to admit that the world of the post-Black September is a hot mess not worth saving. Everything new that was introduced into it was bad (look at the pathetic new characters instantly added to Ultraforce), and everything that was preserved from the great original Ultraverse was cheapened and corrupted (like exchanging the real Mantra for Lauren? Ugh.) To fix this ruination, people who love the Ultraverse have to step forward and do something really major. And that is what Chris and I intend to do soon, in our sequel to Wounded World, “The Twilight of the Gods.”

The Wounded World, a story of Mantra, Chapter 14 - repaired, Nov. 9, 2019

By Aladdin

Edited by Christopher Leeson

The Wounded World

Originally written 2006

Posted October 21, 2019

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"The House of the Coven


Why art thou Terrible
And yet I love thee in thy Terror
Till I am almost Extinct
And soon shall be in a shadow in Oblivion,
Unless some way can be found
That I may look upon thee and live.... " 

 
                                                        William Blake 

 

After Strike signed off, I stood there for at least two minutes, sending out intense mental summonses to the sorceress Shadowmage, but to no avail. I'm able to tell a "dead line" from an unanswered "ringing phone" and, to my frustration, Shadowmage, definitely, seemed to be outside my service area. Flummoxed, I switched my appeal toward another ally whom I knew.

"Yrial! This is Mantra. Are you reading me?"

After about thirty seconds, I heard, "Mantra? Is it you? I didn't know that you possessed such a power!"

"I'm discovering new talents all the time," I explained hastily. "My friend, I'm undergoing a crisis! Can you rally the rest of the Strangers and give me some help? A lot of bad stuff is going down in Canoga Park. There's a possessed boy using powerful magic. Right now, he's holding his little sister hostage. Their mother seems to be -- missing," I added belatedly.

"A child? Can one so young be a match for you, Mantra?"

I was gratified; only a year before, this same Yrial had rated me as “powerful, but amateurish,” though she hadn't stated things quite so bluntly. "Whatever's going on in my home town,” I said, “is very...unnatural. How are things with you?”

“I would say that everything is very unnatural here, too.' People are fleeing a zombie rising. I come from the Caribeaan and know that zombies are very real. But, for some reason, there is a mortuary in Oakland where the dead are walking away to feast on the flesh of the living."

“I was afraid that there was trouble all over, too, but were I am I'm faced with a wizard who has me completely outclassed. I've been trying to put together a battle-hardened ultra squad that can overwhelm him without anyone getting hurt."

"Mantra, terrible forces are sweeping the entire world. None of us here understand it.”

"I don't either, but I need magical backup right away, or else children might be injured. Even if the other Strangers are fully engaged, can't you come down here by yourself? If you do, I'll owe you big time."

After a brief pause, the shamaness replied, “No.” Before my heart had time to sink, she continued: “If children are in danger, you will owe me nothing. I have heard of Canoga Park. It is near Los Angeles, isn't it?"

"It's a suburb on the north side of L.A,” I told her. “I'm going to keep watch on what the boy is doing until you arrive. Send me a thought message when you get close and I'll be able to guide you in."

"I shall make all haste. 

"Just one more thing, Yrial. Have you heard whether or not Shadowmage is still on Earth? I haven't been able to reach her."

"I have heard naught of Shadowmage, not for months, I am sorry to say. Her team peacefully dissolved last winter. But I shall do all that I can to contact our sister in sorcery, even while I am hastening to your aid."

"Fantastic. Strike's also agreed to join us. Maybe he can bring in Hardcase, too. See you soon."

#

Having signed off, I didn't dare let grass grow under my feet. If I didn't act swiftly, the monster Coven would soon appear and add to the chaos. Accordingly, I made haste to Heather Parks' address, fearing that I might already be too late. When I caught sight of the Parks' two-story clapboard home, nothing appeared amiss. The domicile seemed at peace and there was no hole in the wall, such as the one that Lauren had described. Ether I was arriving earlier than Lauren did, or else I was in a slightly different parallel world. I was hoping that the latter was not the case, because I wanted help people whose suffering I had already seen.

Heather's upstairs window was lighted, so I flew closer to investigate. Through the parting of the drapes I saw all four of the Mantra fan-club devotees, each wearing their cosplay gear -- replicated pieces of my action costume. The teens looked at ease and very normal, but I was determined to act quickly to keep them that way.

The girls squealed alarmedly when I came ghosting in through the closed window, but the instant they recognized me their yelling turned to ah's and gasps.

"Mantra!" exclaimed Heather, "Why didn't you knock? You scared us." 

"We don't have a second to waste," I told the quartet. "I'm -- I'm here to rescue you -- I think."

"Heather!" a man called from downstairs. "What's all that screaming about?"

"Nothing, Dad," Heather yelled back. "We're just watching a spooky video on TV!"

I shook my head. Teens seemed always to be quick with credible excuses. Sometimes – as in this occasion – that could be a good thing.

The girls, still excited by my sudden appearance, were quietly waiting for me to explain myself. I glanced at the clock. Not even a half hour had passed since I'd fled from my own home, though it felt much longer. Apparently, the green bolt hadn't struck this house as yet. But it could hit soon and I didn't want either the girls or myself to be on the receiving end of it. We needed to evacuate immediately.

It was only then that I noticed something on Heather's small table, half-covered by a magazine opened to a Mantra-themed article.

"Have you girls been playing with a Ouija board?" I asked sternly, keeping my voice low for obvious reasons.

"We were just about to," Miss Parks replied diffidently, picking up on my censoriousness tone. She was probably remembering my past admonitions against kids getting involved with mysticism. "It's only a game," the schoolgirl protested weakly.

"No, it's not!” I told her. “Ouija boards are tools for necromancy. And necromancy is a dark art and only bad wizards want to have anything to do with it. It's too dangerous to play around with.”

"But we've read the instruction sheet," the girl protested. "Anyway, they sell them in hobby stores. I got mine at Mrs. Fisher's magic shop at the strip mall."

I shook my head. "I like Mrs. Fisher, but she's into all sorts of silly New Age ideas. Some of the things she sells are dangerous and she doesn't even know it. I once had to help a little girl who got a magic charm from that shop. It granted one of her foolish wishes that almost got her mother killed. Worst of all, wild magic is loose tonight. This room is dangerous because you girls once summoned a demon here. That sort of thing turns a room into a birdhouse for bad spirits. You all have to get far away from this place for the rest of the night, and it'ld be best if you separated. Do any of you need help getting home? Who lives the farthest away?"

"Me!" said the one named Trisha. She recited the address.

That was east of Canoga Park, in Winnetka. "How do you usually get home?" I asked.

"My parents'll pick me up at nine."

I shook my head. “That isn't soon enough.”

"I'm closer. It's a short trip by bike," put in Jessica.

"Heather,” I said, “can you make up some excuse to your parents and go with the other girls to Jessica's house? As soon as possible, you should each call your folks to come and get you from there. Except you, Heather. You should stay away until morning. The danger should be over by then. Uh, Jessica. You haven't been casting spells at your home, have you?

The schoolgirl threw up her hands. “Are you kidding? My folks won't even let me bring The Lord of the Rings into our house. I had to argue and pout for weeks before they'd let me join your fan club."

I nodded, satisfied. “Heather, do you think that Jessica's folks would let you overnight with her?”

“I think so; they've let me do it before. But we'll need to think of a good excuse.”

"Mantra," said the one named Samantha, "you're frightening us. What's going to happen?"

"I'm not sure," I fibbed, "but random magic is going through this area like a storm. It's already hurt a little boy who lives not far from here."

"Will my parents be safe?" Heather asked urgently.

“They should be,” I said, “if they stay out of this room and haven't been practicing magic themselves. But when you talk to them, don't say a word about sorcery. They just won't understand.”

"Okay, Mantra," Heather muttered bemusedly. "I'll tell them that Jess forgot to bring along her new CD and we want to go over to her place and listen to it."

"Fine. I'll wait out back until I see you come outside, and then I'll protect you along the way. But remember, once you're at Jessica's, separate quickly. You four have been acting like a coven, and if you stay side by side it could draw in bad magic like a magnet."

Without another word, I phantomed away.

For the next few minutes, I waited high in the boughs of a backyard maple tree. Hopefully, the measures I was taking would prevent the creation of Coven. If that bothersome monster did not spring into life, I could concentrate on helping Gus.

#

It took only minutes for the four girls to emerge. Over our heads, the eerie violet glow still loomed, as did the snakelike green bolts. Despite the atmospheric instability, the air felt very still. Nature seemed to be gripped in a state of suspended animation.

"Mantra?" Heather whispered, looking around.

"I'm up here," I said. "Head for Jessica's house. I'll stay aloft and keep a lookout for trouble. How soon do your folks want you to come back, Heather?"

"I can stay all night with Jess, but Sam and Trish are going to call home for their rides."

"That'll work out," I said. "Just be sure that they get on the phone right away. Have your parents to come right away. Okay, move it!”

The four of them took off. Jessica led the way, riding her bike slowly; the others came after her at a brisk walk, frequently stealing uneasy glances upward.

It bothered me that Jessica and Heather would have to stay in the same house, but I didn't have time to take extraordinary precautions.

Just before Heather went inside Jessica's home, she waved me goodbye. I waved back. Having done all I could think of for the members of my fan club, I made an aerial U-turn and sailed back toward the Blake house.

#

I settled down on the rooftop of the schoolhouse again. The neighborhood still looked deceptively normal, but I knew that Gus, whom I was still sensing inside the house, was a ticking time bomb. I directed a cautious telepathic probe toward my endangered daughter.

 "Shhh. Evie. Can we talk?"

 To my relief, she made reply. "I think so. Oh, Mommy, Gus is scaring me. It's almost like he's stopped being Gus."

"I know, baby. Why did you end our talk so suddenly before? Did your brother hear us?"

"He started to. He said, 'Mom's around here somewhere!'"

"Well then, Buttercup, I can't tell you what I'm planning, since we don't want Gus to know. But if he acts like he's about to hurt you, just think the magic word Hogwarts really hard and I'll come save you, no matter what."

"Is Gus tougher than you, Mommy?"

"I think may be. He's probably the toughest sorcerer in the world right now."

“Like Voldemort?”

“Yeah, a lot like that.”

"How did this happen?"

"I think he was hit by some bad magic from outer space."

"Oh, no! Be careful, Mommy. I don' t want you and Gus to start fighting and hurt each other."

"I don't want that either, Button. I'm going to do all I can to make us a happy family again."

"We weren't too happy before, she said. “Doesn't Gus have any magic to make himself look like he used to, before those fairies got him?"

"I don't know, Evie, but..."

Suddenly, a green jet of light came shooting up through the Blake rooftop, like a miniature comet.

"Mom! I know you're hiding somewhere out here," Gus's thoughts yowled. "You hit me and I'm going to get even. Then I'll go back and fix Evie for talking to you without asking me first."

To prevent him from doing the latter, I leaped into the air and fixed his attention on me by creating my an eye-catching green flare.

"Your mother's not here," I informed him. "I've been tricking Evie, talking to her as if I were her mother. I knew you'd overhear us. I wanted to lure you outside -- so we could speak privately," I said. This explanation didn't make a whole lot of sense, not even to me, but Gus was just a kid. If I said confusing things, he might think that I was simply too smart to be understood. That could make him more wary of me and put him at a psychological disadvantage.

"Mantra! I hate you even more than I hate Mom and Dad!" the boy hollered, verbally this time.

I could feel the power of his aura like spiders crawling over my skin. Dark magic was rippling through every fiber of his being, keeping him in a state of perpetual rage. So far, he hadn't done any fighting, and that meant that the lad would still be near the peak of his vigor. But I couldn't fight him like a super-wizard; if he fumbled his defense, I could hit him too hard. I needed a distraction to help me slip away. Facing him him head-on was out of the question, at least until my ultra allies arrived. But for the time being I had to decoy him away from Evie, make him so mad that he'd give me chase. With that in mind, I created a sudden burst of light, bright enough to dazzle him and cover my escape.

I let a jet of wind carry me away by like an autumn leaf. "Evie!” I called out mentally, “I'm keeping Gus busy trying to catch me. Run and hide with that nice Mrs. Fisher at the magic shop!"

Even though I wasn't sure that Evie had heard my cry, I didn't dare risk Gus overhearing if I tried a second contact. The boy had already collected himself and was coming after me, propelled through the air on a blast of verdant fire, like an Independence Day rocket.

At that juncture, I went phantom to protect myself from the blasts I knew he was capable of. At ghost-density I unfortunately lost the ability to ride the air currents, since the wind would blow right through me. Flight while in phantom-form requires of me a form of magical propulsion that I've found to be quite draining. I needed to make Gus think that I had turned chicken and was only fleeing because I was afraid of him. I skated through the air erratically, making myself a hard target for a novice marksman.

But the barrage of magical shots under, above, on either side, and through my ghostly body was putting me into the role of a target in a shooting gallery. I felt safe for the moment, but Lauren had mentioned how quick Gus was at learning the use of his new powers. Fortunately, over the last two years, I'd learned a few fancy tricks of my own.

Just then, one of my son's mega-bolts hit me a glancing blow. I felt like I'd been bashed by an ogre's club. Gus might not have been any great shakes at doing school lessons, but he was showing a real flare for super-villainy. What shocked me most was the way that he had so quickly intuited that I was out of phase with the material world. He had, accordingly, compensated by adjusting his bolt-density. How could one so young and inexperienced be so clever? If a demon wasn't running the show inside his head, he had to have internalized too much mayhem from those violent anime cartoons he'd been watching!

How could Gus channel so much power through such a youthful body? Were the goblins to blame? Had they made him over into magical fairy being like themselves? Even so, energy on such a scale couldn't all be sourced by his personal energy aura. He had to be getting input from some outside reservoir. I myself draw magic from the biosphere; on a dead world such as the moon, with no living auras to tap into, I found myself running down quickly. I had only survived in such an environment by taking life-energy from my comrade Prime, who had power enough to spare. But what exactly was empowering Gus? Was it that aberrant celestial energy field that had Earth in its clutches? Fortunately, I knew that the anomaly, whatever its origin, was fated to fade away with this awful night. When it finally dissipated, would his sorcery be reduced also?

I turned my protective shielding up to full power and opted for the old killdeer trick, letting myself plummet awkwardly, feigning both weakness and injury. A precipitous drop without the use of evasion tactics would make me an easy target, but I was banking on the wicked nature of small boys. Hopefully, Gus would want to hold off from the kill shot long enough to see me bounce off the solid ground, like a real-life Daffy Duck.

I gave the risky ploy a try. By finagling the angle of my descent by a couple of degrees, I plunged into a dark mass of trees and hedges, putting myself out of his line of sight for just a moment. Being still in ghost-mode, I fell painlessly through the branches and down into the subsoil, which I intended to be my refuge of concealment. I checked my plummet once the turf had swallowed me up, chose a direction, and slipped away using magical propulsion.

The downside of this trick was that Gus might trace me by sensing my use of magic. Wanting to avoid this, I exited the earth only a few streets away, banished my force shield, and abruptly stopped channeling sorcery. Such a move would, I hoped, cause the lad to lose my "scent." This was, in fact, the way that I had kept my presence secret from Boneyard on the Godwheel while I was preparing to confront him. But Gus could also have located me at any time just by homing in on his mother's familiar bio-signature, something that he would surely have the talent to do. I could only hope that the boy still didn't know that Mantra and his mother were one and the same person. Without that knowledge, he would have no incentive to try such a ploy.

Though not actively using magic now, I remained sensitive to Gus's expenditure of it. Interestingly enough, instead of getting closer he seemed to be drawing off. Thank Providence for the short attention span of children! But if the boy was heading away on a tangent, what new mischief might he be concocting? He wasn't steering in the direction of Mrs. Fisher's magic shop, which was a relief.

I thought about trailing after him, but first had to reassure Evie. Events were moving very quickly now; Aladdin agents were due to show up before long. Although having the A-Team on my side could be an asset, I couldn't allow Gus to fall into their hands. If that should happen, he'd be hard to rescue and his fate might be dire.

As I stepped into the light of the street lamps, someone remarked, "Nice Mantra outfit." I looked back to see a couple of teenage boys sauntering up nonchalantly, despite the chaos of the night. Apparently, except for the unusual sky color and the halo around the moon, most people on earth were unaware that anything out of the norm was occurring.

“I'd love to see you dressed that way again this Halloween!” said the other one. “Where's the party going to be?”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I'm the real Mantra!” I said.

“Don't give us that! We know there's a Mantra fan club near here. But nobody ever told us that there were any adults in it.”

Ignoring the hormonal juveniles, I used my wizard sense to renew my bearing on the errant young warlock. To my consternation, I felt two "blips," their "flavors" distinctly different. One magical trace had to be from Gus, and the other, I feared, was Necromantra. Trouble always comes in pairs, it seems, but Gus was presenting the more pressing problem. Lauren had found the witch-bitch hunkered down within her hideout. She might have been lying low because of the magical anomaly that she could sense outside. If Necromantra was left undisturbed, she might remain quiescent all through the night. That would keep a little more trouble off my plate.

Where, exactly, was Gus going? Maybe he'd zeroed in on his dad. That could be tragic. Though August Blake could be a neglectful father, his children loved him very much. His death would devastate his daughter Evie and Gus might never forgive himself, if he should regain his reason. But all I knew for certain was that Evie would be frightened and confused. I needed to go to her. Consequently, I took off for the magic shop, riding on a whirlwind.

With that kind of velocity, the strip mall lay only seconds away. I saw that Mrs. Fisher's magic shop's "closed" sign was already up, but I knew that she was fated to be inside at this hour. Anyway, the main lights were still showing in the rear windows. Such was my state of mind that I almost knocked on the door without pausing to think about what I was wearing. I reflexively flashed back into the same clothing that I'd lately shed -- a black dress suit.

Then, hoping I looked presentable, I knocked. An instant later, a worried face peered through the lace door curtain. Mrs. Fisher seemed relieved to recognize me. She hurriedly fumbled the lock open.

"Mommy!" yelped Evie, now able to see me. She ran my way and sprang into my arms. I picked my little girl up; her excited grip about my neck was almost a choke-hold.

"Oh, honey, I was afraid for you," I gasped. "W-Were you awfully scared?"

"Yeah, I was! Is Gus...is Gus...?"

"Shhh, darling. I'll tell you later. We don't want to alarm Mrs. Fisher."

"I didn't 'larm her, Mommy,” the tyke whispered, “I just said that a bad person came into our house and I ran away!"

 The proprietoress spoke up. "Mrs. Blake, what's been happening? The child tried to tell me, but I didn't understand it all."

"E-Evie got frightened by a burglar," I said with a deep gulp, having loosened the youngster's tight hold. "He must have slipped into our home to rob it. I saw him leaving just as Mantra showed up. Maybe she'd been on his trail; I don't know. I ran through the house looking for Evie. Then, hoping that she'd gotten away, I came down this way trying to find her."

"Is...the bad person still outside?" asked the little girl.

“Maybe," I said. “We have to be careful.”

"You know,” Mrs. Fisher put in. “I had a feeling that this was an evil night. Did you ever see a sky like that?”

"Never,” I said, easing my daughter down to the floor. "Thank you for taking Evie in, Mrs. Fisher. She was lucky to find your shop open."

The proprietress nodded. "I was doing the accounts after closing time. I heard your little girl rapping on the door."

The girl was again nudging me, this time holding out her teddy bear. "See, Mommy, I saved Mr. Paws, too! I was afraid that -- that the bad person -- might torture him, to make him say where I went."

I touched her cute little nose. "That was quick thinking, darling! You rescued your best friend just like a real ultra would." Then I said to Mrs. Fisher, "I'm taking Evie to a motel. I'll call the police and report the break-in from there."

"You're welcome to stay until the sky clears up. I don't want to even walk home until it does. I could use the company. I can't get rid of the feeling that something is terribly wrong."

It sounded like Mrs. Fisher was slightly psychic. That might have been the reason why she had gone into the mystical merchandise trade. I felt for her, but I needed to get clear of witnesses and prepare for the arrival of my ultra team. "Thank you, but I'm so shook up that I need to be where there are a lot of people. Maybe after a good night's sleep I can come out of the shock of having someone intrude into our home," I said.

"I understand," Mrs. Fisher sighed. "May the good Lord watch over you both." Then she added, "Evie has a brother, doesn't she? Will he be all right?"

I didn't want to say too much. "Gus went to a ball game with his father. He was going to spend the whole night at his dad's place."

"That's lucky," the shopkeeper murmured distractedly. She was looking out one of the windows, staring up at the haloed moon that glowed so ominously against that weird, violet sky.


TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 15