February Thaw (7 page)

"Hey, be glad he's not wearing the tinfoil helmet anymore."

"I'm just glad he's gone." Feeling nothing but relief – the thought of getting Fred out of the building unseen had tied her stomach in knots – she headed for the terrace door. "Tell him I'll see him after school."

"He's expecting you to join him."

That stopped her cold. Turning, she frowned down at Godfry. "What now? Are you nuts. No way I'm cutting. My dad would kill me."

"And the shadows will what? Lecture you on responsibility?" He preened immaculate breast feathers. "Still, it's your choice, you can learn to be a wizard or you can put on that little fetish outfit and learn to be a productive member of society for as long as you manage to survive."

"Fine. I'll join Fred. But he'd better teach me the spell that makes lame excuses sound convincing."

*

Apparently, it was too much to ask that the elevator be empty on her way out.

"Mrs. Harris."

Wearing her default expression – disapproval with a touch of disdain – Mrs. Harris glared at Isabel's clothes. "You're not going to school today?"

Isabel glanced down at her jeans. "Casual Friday."

"It's Thursday."

"Okay, casual Thursday then."

"I heard men's voices on your terrace last night
and
this morning. I thought your father was in New York."

"He is. You probably heard one of my CDs."

"No." A thin lip curled. "I know what
they
sound like."

"Can't think what it might have been then."

"Can't you?"

The elevator door whispered open. "Have a nice day, Mrs. Harris." Isabel charged through and across the lobby.

Half a block away, Godfry dropped out of a tree and landed on her left shoulder. He weighed a ton and his claws hurt even through her jean jacket and he was still the most obnoxious creature she'd ever met, but it was so cool to be walking around with a crow on her shoulder Isabel didn’t care.

"Who's the old broad with the pickle up her butt watching us from the door?"

"Mrs. Harris. She's always watching. She's totally bent out of shape that my dad's gay."

"Yeah? I'm usually pretty cheerful myself."

*

They found Fred back at the Second Cup at Bloor and Brunswick. He rose up out of the garbage as they approached, holding two half eaten blueberry muffins. "Good morning, apprentice. Breakfast?"

"No, thanks." She flexed her shoulder as Godfry dove for one of the muffins. "I'll get my own. Then can we go somewhere less noticeable? My school’s just north of here."

They ended up sitting in the concrete doorway of the TransAc Club, half a block south on Brunswick, Fred assuring her that they'd be undisturbed for a while. A while lasted two and a half hours by Isabel's watch. Two and a half hours spent chasing the sizzle under her skin while Fred gave lectures to passing ants.

They moved on just before the lunch shift showed up, heading south, then east along Dundas. Fred walked slowly, hitting up almost everyone they passed for change. When they got to Dundas and Yonge, he dropped what he’d collected in the battered old box sitting in front of an equally battered old man playing the harmonica.

"I don’t need money," he explained. "And the world needs music."

"Even bad music?" Isabel winced. Behind them, the harmonica wailed painfully.

"Yes."

"Is that the third lesson?"

"Sure. Why not."

"Do you have
any
idea of what you’re doing?"

"Put your sizzle in your hands."

"Now?"

"The shadows don't ask so many questions."

It was hard to concentrate with the traffic and the people but, after a moment, she managed to herd the sizzle down her arms, past her wrists... "Okay."

"Put your palms together and pull them apart slowly."

Isabel rolled her eyes, but did as she was told. For a heartbeat, three pale lines of light connected her palms then they were gone.

Fred held up his hands. Even in sunlight, the multiple lines were a brilliant white. "This is control. This is what you need to be able to do before you can learn what to do
with
it. So, to answer your question..." The lines disappeared as he whirled to face a passing suit, grimy hand outstretched. "Spare some change, mister?"

*

Godfry caught up with them in the small park behind the Eaton Center. Isabel vetoed a garbage can lunch and bought the three of them takeout. After they finished eating, she lounged back, the crow on the grass by her head, while Fred talked loudly to one of the spindly trees.

"He's got special sauce all over himself."

"Saving it for later."

"Gross."

"Hey, you're seeing him at very nearly his best. He's really into this whole master/apprentice thing."

"Master," she snorted. "As if. Godfry, how..."

"Did one of the nine end up a loony who sleeps on subway grates and talks to trees? Well, the other wizards think he couldn’t cope with being so different but me, I think he couldn’t cope with not being able to change things."

"What do you mean?"

Godfy studied her with his left eye then his right. "When you get control of your power, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know; I haven't really had time to think about it." Plucking a few pieces of grass, she dropped them onto the wind. "Travel, I guess. Find a matching Queen Anne vase to replace that one of my grandmother's I broke."

"Fred wanted to make the world a better place, but you can't do that with power, you can only do it one person at a time. Even if you change the outside crap, easing droughts, ending wars that sort of stuff, you can't change the way people behave and that's where the problems really come from. After a while, the frustration just got to him."

"So he's too good to be a wizard?"

"Essentially."

"And I’m not?"

"Apparently."

"I'd be more upset about that but..." She waved at hand at the topic of the conversation who was methodically sliding lengths of folded newspaper down his pants.

*

They spent the afternoon down by Lake Ontario, freaking out a scattering of tourists and condo owners. Isabel kept expecting someone to call the cops but apparently these buildings had no Mrs. Harris. Lucky them.

Toward sunset, one of the waves rose higher than the others and half turned toward them, a translucent, but nearly human face momentarily under the crest.

"Water elemental," Fred told her when Isabel squeaked out an incoherent question. "Don't trust them – most of the time, they work with the under-toad. But good eyes on your part. You saw what was really there."

"Rule one."

He nodded. "If that's your toaster."

Another fast food meal and an evening spent wandering slowly through alleys and access roads back toward Bloor. By the time they reached her building, Isabel could hold a single string of light between her palms for almost fifteen seconds. It wasn't much, but for those fifteen seconds she knew what she was doing and she knew
that
was the feeling she had to capture and keep.

She'd have been happier about it had a previous attempt not arced up and plunged three city blocks into temporary darkness.

"No shadows tonight?" she asked as Fred dragged out his sleeping bag and unfolded it under the table.

"Now they know how much power they need to use to take yours so they're building it. Tricky for them. If they wait too long, you'll know what you're doing. They'll be back sooner than later." Hanging his
CATS
jacket neatly over the back of a chair, Fred smiled up at her. "But that's why
I'm
here."

Isabel was surprised to find that comforting. It was the only thing that had surprised her in days.

"One of the reasons I'm here," Fred amended thoughtfully. "Because you're my apprentice. That's the other reason. Not that I wouldn't protect you if you were. Or weren't."

"Good night, Fred."

"Okay."

*

There was no way the clock in her bedroom was right. Except that it was the same time as her watch. And the microwave. And the VCR. And her computer. One oh five. AM. An hour and five minutes too late to call her dad – who'd left three messages.

He didn't sound happy.

*

Until five in the afternoon, Friday was pretty much a carbon copy of Thursday. At five, Isabel managed two lines of light for twenty seconds and was so close to
knowing
what she was doing that not being able to do it was driving her crazy.

She wanted to yell and curse and throw things.

"Why are we hanging around here?" she demanded, leaping off the concrete retaining wall that separated the parking lot from the alley. "What is he
doing?
"

"What's it look like he's doing?"

"Sorting through a dumpster!"

Godfry spread his wings and methodically folded them again. "Good girl."

"He's not teaching me anything! I'm learning all by myself!"

"Hey, a few less exclamation marks and a little more remembering who taught you what you were supposed to learn in the first place."

"And has he taught me anything since? No." A snicker pulled her attention off the crow to two boys about her age crossing the parking lot. "What?"

"Weirdo," said one.

"Brain fried," snorted the other.

"Oh yeah, like you two are going to rule the world some day. You know, I don't need him to teach me how to be unpopular," she pointed out when the boys were gone. "I can do that on my own. I'm done for today. When he gets out of the dumpster..."

"It's time."

The crow and the wizard’s apprentice turned to see Fred holding an empty laser printer drum and staring north.

"Time for what?" Isabel asked, searching the gathering shadows for flecks of red.

"Chinese food. There's great garbage behind the noodle shop."

"Forget it," she sighed. "I’ll pay."

*

By the time they finished eating, it was dark. Godfry had devoured half a bowl of noodles and left while he could still see to fly. They were walking through the tiny park on Bellevue Avenue, arguing the merits of egg rolls over spring rolls when the shadows attacked.

"Fred!"

Darkness reached for him, wrapped around him. He screamed and Isabel echoed it although none of the shadows had gone for her.

"...they want everyone’s power but you’re the only one they can find."

And Fred was with her.

So they could find Fred.

She could barely see him inside the shifting darkness although she could clearly see a dozen or more glowing red eyes swirling around him. He was confused. He'd expected her to be attacked and Fred didn't change gears quickly. By the time he did, it would be too late.

She was his only chance.

And when they finished with him, they'd be after her.

Hands ten centimetres apart, Isabel fought to control her breathing.

Find the sizzle. Find the sweet spot. Find where it works.

Two strings of light stretched from palm to palm.

Oh, that’s a lot of help.

How did Fred do it? He never concentrated on
anything
this hard.

Duh.

Power snapped into place with an almost audible click. Half the shadows turned as a hundred strands of light formed between her palms.

Too late.

She smacked her hands together.

It was still nothing more than a crude release of power, but this time she was doing it on purpose. With a purpose.

"Fred!" Blinking away after images, she dropped to her knees by his side. "Are you okay?"

After a short struggle, he focused on her face. "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain."

Isabel grinned. Suddenly, her dad's appallingly cliché interest in musical theatre was actually useful. "Could you possibly mean, by Jove, I think she's got it?"

"Huzzah."

*

"We rule. We rock. At the risk of sounding like the end of every bad sports movie ever made, we are the champions and champions deserve ice cream. There's a pint of Cherry Garcia in the freezer." She flashed a smile at a still wobbly Fred and reached for the condo door. "Technically, it's dad's but he's not.... Dad!"

"Isabel."

Hurrying out of the living room behind her father were Mrs. Harris, a police officer, and two large men dressed like ambulance attendants. Isabel was suddenly very aware that behind
her
stood a skinny, grimy man who looked like he'd just been bounced across a park and who still had folded newspaper down his pants.

Anger and worry showed about equally on her dad's face. No, wait, anger seemed to be winning.

"I didn't want to believe what Mrs. Harris was telling me, Isabel, but when you weren't home last night and then I got the message from the school about you not being in class, and then you wander in... Do you even know what time it is?"

"Uh, ten?"

"Three."

She checked her watch. Three. AM. In the morning.

"Time flies when you’re having shadows."

"Thanks, Fred. You might have told me that!"

Fred shrugged. "Iceberg."

Which was either an enigmatic Titanic reference, or he was gone again.

"He's probably her dealer," Mrs. Harris snorted.

Isabel ignored her, stepping between Fred and her father. "Dad, I know this looks bad, but Fred's my..." Quick, a word for what Fred was that her father would understand. "...friend. Okay, I cut school and I let him sleep on the terrace, but he needs me."

"Needs you?"

"Yes! And he's teaching me so much."

Mrs. Harris pursed her lips. "I can't imagine what."

"Try compassion," Isabel snapped. "And I'm sure you can't imagine it!"

"Isabel..." Her dad sighed and began again. It looked as though worry had won the final round. "Izzy, your friend has run away from a facility in Scarborough. The police have been searching for him for weeks. They recognized him the moment Mrs. Harris gave them a description. These men are going to take him to the facility and see that he gets back on his medication."