The Book of Dares for Lost Friends (20 page)

Since his voice trailed away, she finished his sentence for him. “Unless you have to work. Because you always work on weekends. And if you have to go play golf or to the theater or out to brunch, then it's still work, isn't it, Dad?”

He made a strange sound. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I meant, unless you don't want to go.”

“Don't want to?” She staggered backwards and bumped into the chair. She sat down on it. She held the phone in front of her so she could shout at it. “Like I have a choice?”

“But, honey, you
do
have a choice. You only think you don't. But you do. You don't have to go to Greywacke. All you have to do is…”

She hung up.

She looked at her feet. Her toenails were painted silver. The color of the actual shoes that Dorothy wore in the book
The Wizard of Oz
. The ones that had given her the power to get her wish. The ones that she had been wearing for practically the whole story before someone finally thought to tell her what the shoes could do.

Lanora clicked her heels together.

Nothing happened.

Then her mom came in. “I should have bought the blouses before. They didn't have your size so I had to go to a different store. It was much more expensive. So I called your father because you know how he is about things like that.”

“Yes. I know.”

Lanora went into her room. She took the box of Fruit Loops out of her suitcase and put it in the trash bag with all the other things she wouldn't be needing at Greywacke or ever again.

 

Thirty-three

All during the soccer practice on Saturday, Val had to keep retying her shoes. She was much more nervous than before a big game. With good reason. There had been no practice for the ceremony tonight! No game simulation. No drills. No endless repetition of the corner kick. She had never gone to the obelisk in the middle of the night with just a few scraggly feathers, a smelly cigar, an old bowl (if Tasman found it), and some other object she hadn't even figured out yet.

She said good-bye to her teammates and walked home. The sun shone so brightly, it seemed impossible to believe that in just a few hours, they would be at the mercy of the moon. Now the sky was blue. The leaves were green. The colors of the kids' clothing seemed to dance before her eyes. This world was so crowded with sights and sounds and smells; there didn't seem to be space for demons and spells.

What if the ceremony didn't work?

What if it did?

*   *   *

After a dinner she could hardly eat, Val went into her room to pack. She tried to stick her sleeping bag inside her backpack.

Drew handed her a small, fuzzy purple rabbit.

“What's this for?” Val said.

“Just in case you miss me. I know I'm irreplaceable, but I held the bunny under my armpit for thirty seconds. That should be long enough for some of my powers to be stuck in its fuzz.”

“You mean your smell?” She taunted him with it.

“Don't wave it around. It's losing strength. Stick it in your bag.”

She hugged the rabbit. She wondered if she could bring something from her parents, too.

Her mom knocked and came into the room. “I just talked with Helena's mother.”

Val turned away to put the rabbit in her backpack. Her mom couldn't have spoken with Helena's mom. She was dead. Val should have remembered that her mom would call Helena's mom. Now Val was trapped by her lie.

“She sounded quite strict,” Mom said.

Val sighed with relief. Helena's sister must have pretended.

“I hope she's not so much of a worrier that you won't have any fun,” Mom said.

Val smiled. No one worried more than her own mom. So Val hugged her.

“What's this? You're not nervous about going, are you?” Mom said.

“Are you nervous?” Drew said.

“I started spending the night with kids when I was eight,” Val said.

“I know. But it's different than going to Lanora's, isn't it?” Mom smoothed Val's yellow hair behind her ears. “You won't know where the bathroom is.”

“Mo-om,” Val said.

“Well, you won't,” Mom said.

“They might not even have a bathroom,” Drew said.

“Everybody has a bathroom,” Val said.

“Astronauts don't. They wear diapers!” Drew rolled on the floor laughing.

“I better finish packing,” Val said.

“Aren't you done?” Mom said.

“Not quite.” Val hadn't chosen the third thing. “Maybe you could find us some cookies?”

“Yes, maybe you could find
us
some cookies?” Drew said.

“Of course, sweetie. I didn't want to assume that Helena's mom—or dad—didn't bake. I'll go get some right now.” Mom patted Val's arm and steered Drew to the kitchen.

Val looked around her room in a panic. She hadn't wanted to leave the third thing until the last minute. She just couldn't decide. What was a gift from her own heart? What was the origin of the ministering wind? What was a ministering wind? Most winds seemed cold, and not the least bit caring.

“Are you ready? We're going to walk you,” Dad called.

“Walk me?” Val stuck her head out of her room.

“It's already getting dark,” Mom said.

So it was. Val had to hurry. She yanked open each of her desk drawers. What could it be? A picture of her and Lanora? The orange butterfly dangle? Neither of these things seemed important enough. Books, drawings, jewelry she never wore, socks, shirts, what could it be?

A golden soccer medal hung from its red ribbon on a hook. Val took it down and read the inscription: Most Valuable Player. She had won it last year for saving the most goals. She carefully wrapped the ribbon around the golden disk and put it in the small pocket of her backpack next to the cigar.

As she came out of her room, Drew shone a flashlight in her face and then his own. “See or be seen?”

“He's not coming, too, is he?” Val said.

“Of course he is,” Drew said.

“Nighttime walk,” Dad said.

Drew raced down the stairs. The rest of the family took the elevator because of the sleeping bag, the backpack, and a large canvas bag.

“I just said a few cookies,” Val said.

“I know, but I had a lot of fruit. And a big bottle of green tea. It isn't cold, but you could pour it over ice,” Mom said.

Dad nudged Val.

“Thanks, Mom,” Val said.

Drew shone the big light in their faces as the elevator door opened. “Beat you!”

He ran outside the lobby. The beam of his flashlight attacked the side of the building.
“Bam bam pshooo pshoo argghhhh.”

“It's too bad we have to have all these streetlights,” Mom said.

“You want it to be dark?” Val's voice cracked a little.

“Wouldn't it be nice to walk outside at night and see stars?” Mom said.

Val looked up. The clouds moved above her at a dizzying pace.

“Would one night a year be too much to ask?” Mom said.

“On that night, it would probably be cloudy,” Dad said.

“Drew, wait at the corner!” Mom called.

Drew turned back and held his flashlight under his chin.

Val gasped. The sculpted shadows revealed an entirely different face. Old and ghoulish, and maybe even evil.

Drew shone the flashlight on his family as he danced impatiently from foot to foot. “Hurry up. They're waiting.”

Val wondered why he had said “they.” He must have meant the girls at the party. He couldn't know about Tasman. Or the spirits that they were intent upon summoning out of the dark.

She moved around her dad to be near the hand that wasn't holding the sleeping bag, just in case she needed to grab on.

As they got closer to Helena's building, Val kept a lookout for Tasman. She was worried that Drew would see him and spoil everything. Then she worried when she didn't see Tasman. What if he had been unable to get the incantation bowl? What if he wasn't going to come? Would she dare to go into the park by herself?

“Is this it?” Dad said.

Mom marched toward where the light spilled out from the lobby.

Val stayed on the sidewalk. “You don't have to go up.”

“It's only polite to say hello,” Mom said.

“We won't embarrass you,” Dad said.

“It isn't that,” Val said.

“What's wrong, honey?” Mom said.

Val wanted to tell them everything. Everything! If she did, they could all go home, and Dad would make jokes and Mom would make popcorn and Drew would make trouble.

“I can go the rest of the way by myself,” Val said.

Her parents exchanged the look that meant, She's not our little girl anymore.

“Okay, then.” Dad put down the sleeping bag and hugged Val.

Then Mom hugged Dad hugging Val. “I know you'll be polite and helpful.”

Would being polite and helpful keep Val out of danger?

Drew didn't join the sandwich. He waited so that he could whisper in Val's ear. “Good luck.” As if he knew what she hoped would happen that night.

“Call us in the morning when you want to come home,” Mom said.

“Yes.” Val would be so happy to call in the morning when it would, in one way or another, be over. She walked toward the lobby and then stopped. She gripped the handle of the canvas bag so tightly that her fingernails dug into her palms. It took all her courage to stand there as she watched her family get swallowed by the night.

 

Thirty-four

Mau stretched. She felt each vertebra shift back into its proper place, like a chromatic scale on a Steinway grand. She hopped up onto the windowsill. She curled into a ball without knocking over any of the statues and stroked her fur with her tongue. She did not neglect the tip of her tail. After these rituals had been performed to her satisfaction, she was ready. The sounds of the city in the distance only made the shop seem quieter. The clock ticked. The Captain snored gently as he dozed in his chair. She closed her eyes. Tonight of all nights, she needed to commune with the universe.

And then she heard a scratching noise.

Who was disturbing her? Mau opened one eye. It was early for mice, but if they wanted to meet Mau sooner, she was happy to oblige.

Her nostrils quivered. No, not mice. Human. Tasman, to be specific. He wasn't near the food, so she shut her eye—but only for a moment. Curiosity got the better of her. She had to see what he was doing.

She crept down off the windowsill and padded softly between the aisles, past the sleeping Captain, past the glass cases where the Captain displayed his more valuable items. The shop was dark, but she could see Tasman bent over a wooden crate. He was using a metal stick to cut through the tape. Then he poked at the corner.

Mau sat down. It amused her to watch Tasman. Humans were so proud of the tools they had created. Cats, however, came equipped with everything they needed to survive. Mau licked her paw, carefully extending her sharp claws, as if to say, Now these are worth admiring.

Tasman was too busy to notice. After he removed the staples from each end of the crate, he carefully placed the slat on the floor. He felt through the small gap. Whatever he touched pleased him. He smiled and whispered, “Yes.”

He quickly got to work on the second slat. He was excited now. His movements were not as deliberate. His breathing was louder.

Mau sighed. He was making a mistake. Humans often did. The closer they got to their prey, the less they could control themselves. She took a step closer, as if to lend him her own powers of concentration. As if she knew what he was after.

But Tasman ignored her. He was in such a hurry to remove the second slat that he let it drop to the floor. He reached into the crate.

The lights blazed on. The Captain's voice shouted, “I got a gun!”

Tasman wasn't as clever as a mouse. He didn't scurry away. He took something wrapped in cloth from inside the crate.

The Captain lurched along the aisles until he saw Tasman. “You!” He slammed the antiquated pistol on top of a display case. “Didn't think you'd be stealing from me again. Did you want another present for that girl?”

Tasman stood taller. “I'm not stealing. It's mine.”

The Captain saw what Tasman was unwrapping. “So you found it.”

Tasman held the earthenware bowl closer to his face. He blew gently into it. Scraps of straw floated on his breath and then drifted to the ground. He slowly twisted the bowl in his hand, following the spiral of words that led to its center. No matter which way he turned the bowl, the demon with its rock teeth and unbalanced eyes grinned up at him defiantly.

“How did you know where it was?” the Captain said.

“The box was labeled in my grandfather's handwriting.”

The Captain picked up a piece of the crate. “How do you know?”

“I read his journal entries. I read how he found the bowl in Nippur, Iraq.”

“He had to write things like that to establish a provenance. Had to have a paper trail for the collectors. The bowl could still be a fake—even if it's a very old fake.”

Tasman hugged the bowl against his chest. “He didn't think so. He believed in its powers.”

“Bah.” The Captain threw down the slat and lumbered over to sit in his chair. “I should have sold it when I had the chance.”

“Why don't you want me to have it?”

“I don't want you to be like all those superstitious fools. Of course I shouldn't complain about them. They've kept us in business for years. Why just the other day I got a letter from a lady. Let's see. Where did I put that? I want to show you. You'll get a chuckle.” The Captain pawed through some papers on his desk.

“I'm going to take the bowl,” Tasman said.

The Captain stood up again. “You can't do that. It's dangerous.”

“How can it be dangerous if it's just an old bowl?”