fire, I am fire."
Alynne shoved the bucket back under the laundry room sink. "Then why'd I have to wait until you moved out of the way?"
"Carlene didn't want to get wet."
"But you're Carlene."
"I know."
"Girlfriend, you need help."
"That's why we're here."
"Right." Shoving the door open with the toe of her boot, Alynne moved cautiously into the workshop.
"You can turn on the light. This room has no windows."
The four banks of three foot fluorescent bulbs temporarily blinded human eyes, but had no effect on Carlene. She swooped slowly around the cluttered room, lightly touching down on the worn chair pulled up close to the furnace vent, on a coffee mug still holding an inch of cold liquid, and on an old, stained apron.
"You miss your mom, don't you?" Alynne asked softly from the threshold.
"Yeah." This time she didn't protest the relationship. "It's funny; in spite of all the junk in here, this room seems empty without Beth puttering about, or sitting reading, or blowing something up. She summoned me back in 1859, when she needed a really hot and precise burn and we got to talking, you know the way you do, about combustion rates and stuff, and then the next time she summoned me, it was just to talk. I think she was lonely. I was her only companion for over a hundred years before she gave me flesh."
"Why? Was she was the last of her kind?"
"No, there's other wizards. They just don't get along." Carlene snorted, a tiny tendril of flame flicking in and out. "A group of wizards together is called an argument."
"Like a flock of geese?"
"Amazingly similar."
Carefully picking her way around stacks of ancient tomes, worn copies of Reader’s Digest, and piles of boxes labelled, National Geographic: HEAVY! Alynne made her way to the stained wooden table in the centre of the room. Unlike every other horizontal surface in the workshop, it held only two things; an enormous crystal ball on a gleaming brass base and a bulging loose leaf binder. "It looks like Beth wrote everything down," she said, flipping the binder open. "Hey, in 1968 you could buy a loaf of bread for twenty-seven cents and you could exchange six ounces of virgin's blood for a quarter pound of dragon's liver. Probably not at the same store..."
Picking up one of the loose pages, she squinted at the crabbed handwriting. "So what do you want me to do? Find her original recipe and follow it again?"
"I don't think it's going to be that easy." Discovering that the old steel brazier had been set up for use, Carlene settled into it.
"Why not?"
"First of all, you couldn't follow a recipe unless it lead you to Chinese take-out. Second, you're not a wizard and these things are a lot more complicated than they seem."
"Well, duh." Tapping the edges more or less square, Alynne closed the binder and turned to face the pale flame slowly consuming charcoal briquettes. "So why am I here?"
"I need you to summon the other wizards."
"Cool." She grinned and reached for the crystal ball. "I always wanted to take one of these babies out for a spin."
"Not with that." Carlene flared briefly blue again. "We have to find her address book."
*
The metal utility shelves along one wall of the workshop weren't as much crowded as they were stuffed. Old margarine tubs of troll parings were pressed up against tubs of gooseberry jam were pressed up against tubs of...
"Whoa! This is not oregano." Pulling a surgical glove from her pocket, Alynne filled it, tied off the wrist and stuffed it back out of sight. "I always wondered why your mother was so mellow."
"I think it may be more pertinent to wonder why you're wandering around with a pair of surgical gloves."
"Not a pair, just one."
"Oh, well, that's different." Wishing she still had eyes to roll, Carlene continued her own search.
"Hey, can I have this unicorn horn?"
"If you promise not to use it on Richard."
"Cross my heart."
"Or David, or Amend, or Bruce."
Pouting, Alynne tossed the two foot long, spiralled horn
Alynne shoved the bucket back under the laundry room sink. "Then why'd I have to wait until you moved out of the way?"
"Carlene didn't want to get wet."
"But you're Carlene."
"I know."
"Girlfriend, you need help."
"That's why we're here."
"Right." Shoving the door open with the toe of her boot, Alynne moved cautiously into the workshop.
"You can turn on the light. This room has no windows."
The four banks of three foot fluorescent bulbs temporarily blinded human eyes, but had no effect on Carlene. She swooped slowly around the cluttered room, lightly touching down on the worn chair pulled up close to the furnace vent, on a coffee mug still holding an inch of cold liquid, and on an old, stained apron.
"You miss your mom, don't you?" Alynne asked softly from the threshold.
"Yeah." This time she didn't protest the relationship. "It's funny; in spite of all the junk in here, this room seems empty without Beth puttering about, or sitting reading, or blowing something up. She summoned me back in 1859, when she needed a really hot and precise burn and we got to talking, you know the way you do, about combustion rates and stuff, and then the next time she summoned me, it was just to talk. I think she was lonely. I was her only companion for over a hundred years before she gave me flesh."
"Why? Was she was the last of her kind?"
"No, there's other wizards. They just don't get along." Carlene snorted, a tiny tendril of flame flicking in and out. "A group of wizards together is called an argument."
"Like a flock of geese?"
"Amazingly similar."
Carefully picking her way around stacks of ancient tomes, worn copies of Reader’s Digest, and piles of boxes labelled, National Geographic: HEAVY! Alynne made her way to the stained wooden table in the centre of the room. Unlike every other horizontal surface in the workshop, it held only two things; an enormous crystal ball on a gleaming brass base and a bulging loose leaf binder. "It looks like Beth wrote everything down," she said, flipping the binder open. "Hey, in 1968 you could buy a loaf of bread for twenty-seven cents and you could exchange six ounces of virgin's blood for a quarter pound of dragon's liver. Probably not at the same store..."
Picking up one of the loose pages, she squinted at the crabbed handwriting. "So what do you want me to do? Find her original recipe and follow it again?"
"I don't think it's going to be that easy." Discovering that the old steel brazier had been set up for use, Carlene settled into it.
"Why not?"
"First of all, you couldn't follow a recipe unless it lead you to Chinese take-out. Second, you're not a wizard and these things are a lot more complicated than they seem."
"Well, duh." Tapping the edges more or less square, Alynne closed the binder and turned to face the pale flame slowly consuming charcoal briquettes. "So why am I here?"
"I need you to summon the other wizards."
"Cool." She grinned and reached for the crystal ball. "I always wanted to take one of these babies out for a spin."
"Not with that." Carlene flared briefly blue again. "We have to find her address book."
*
The metal utility shelves along one wall of the workshop weren't as much crowded as they were stuffed. Old margarine tubs of troll parings were pressed up against tubs of gooseberry jam were pressed up against tubs of...
"Whoa! This is not oregano." Pulling a surgical glove from her pocket, Alynne filled it, tied off the wrist and stuffed it back out of sight. "I always wondered why your mother was so mellow."
"I think it may be more pertinent to wonder why you're wandering around with a pair of surgical gloves."
"Not a pair, just one."
"Oh, well, that's different." Wishing she still had eyes to roll, Carlene continued her own search.
"Hey, can I have this unicorn horn?"
"If you promise not to use it on Richard."
"Cross my heart."
"Or David, or Amend, or Bruce."
Pouting, Alynne tossed the two foot long, spiralled horn
Similar Books
Dead Right
Brenda Novak
Dear Irene
Jan Burke
The Reveal
Julie Leto
A Night to Surrender
Tessa Dare
Wish 01 - A Secret Wish
Barbara Freethy
Tales of Arilland
Alethea Kontis
Vermilion Sands
J. G. Ballard
Flashback
Michael Palmer