RATManifesto - the blog

Chapter 9 (fin), Chapter 10 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-12-03T21:32:00.000-08:00

She found herself in a large hallway with a stone floor and a great wooden staircase facing her. It reminded her of the country houses of English nobility that you were always seeing in the movies. The balding man was standing halfway up the staircase, waiting on her. She asked him, “Where are we going?”
“We're going to invade Ms. Danwich's dreams,” he said conspiratorially.
Chelsea raised her eyebrows so high they threatened to disappear into her bangs. “OK, I'm no expert on this stuff, but don't you think that's a bad idea?”
“Nah, it'll be fun.” He was taking the stairs very quickly, and she had to step two at a time to keep up with him. “She'd do it to you.”
“I don't really consider that an incentive,” Chelsea said, almost slamming into him as he stopped at the top of the stairs. “What?”
“Just trying to find her,” he said, sniffing the air. “So many shields from the rest of us. She's so paranoid.”
“There's probably a good reason for that,” Chelsea said, trying to smell anything, herself. She couldn't detect anything.
“Yes, I suppose it's not actually paranoia when everybody really is trying to get you,” he said, taking off down the hallway. “Good point.” He skidded to a halt in front of an ornately carved door and motioned her to join him. When she did, he bent down and whispered to her, “This is her bedroom. Open the door.”
“She doesn't lock it?”
“No need,” he said twirling the knob freely in his hand. “If someone makes it in this far, a lock's not going to stop them.”
“OK.” Chelsea turned the knob and pushed the heavy door open. The room it opened into was small, which confused her until she saw that it was a sitting room, with a door leading to a bedroom beyond it. She crossed over to that and pushed that door open.
The enormous bedroom was dominated by a gigantic bed. It had a little wooden step to help you into it because it was so tall. The bedclothes were all in a deep burgundy, and the frame was dark polished mahogany. In the center of this monument to comfort was a woman with long, golden-brown hair, which was spread about her lovely face as she slept. She was wearing a thin white nightgown and had kicked off most of her covers.
The balding man went straight to the bed, skipped up the step and knelt at the side of Danwich's head. He waved an inviting hand to Chelsea, saying, “Come on, come on. She's just starting a dream now.”
“How can you tell?” Chelsea followed him and looked down at Elsbeth Danwich's peaceful face.
“Look at her eyes.” He pointed at Danwich's face, and her eyes under their lids were rocking back and forth.
“Oh, yeah, rapid eye movement.” She'd read about that before. She remembered that it didn't last very long. “What do we do?”
“This,” he said, grabbing her hand suddenly with his right and reaching with his left to Danwich's forehead.
In less than the blink of an eye, they were kneeling beside a pond. It was a midday in summer, but still quite pleasant; a nice covering of cloud kept the sun from scorching them. There were several people lounging about the pond, as well as a few dogs here and there. Chelsea looked around and saw a man that was unmistakably her father laying on a blanket next to Elsbeth Danwich.
“Ah,” baldy said, “she's dreaming of him again. She never did get over him, you know.”
“No, I didn't know,” Chelsea said as they approached the happy couple. There was something familiar about the other people around the pond, but it wasn't until she recognized Marcus Rousseau that she realized they were all members of the Council. She even saw Will and Arthur there.
As they got closer, they heard Mr. Perkins and Danwich speaking of plans for the future. Danwich wanted to take over the Council, but Mr. Perkins kept telling her he couldn't be part of that. She begged him, literally getting on her knees before him, but he still refused. The Councilors around them started pointing at her and laughing, which Chelsea didn't think was the best idea.
Danwich stood and screamed at the other people, “You will be silent!” She made an odd gesture with both hands and the balding man pushed Chelsea to the ground, where he joined her. The Councilors were not as fortunate – they became engulfed in a wave of flame and ran for the pond. Danwich then rounded on Mr. Perkins and demanded, “Either prove your love to me or join them.”
Chelsea's father was clearly torn. “I love you, Elsbeth, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone.” Sappy stuff; Chelsea had a feeling that Ms. Danwich had read the odd romance novel or two. Her father's shirt was even open and billowing in the breeze. “But, I am trapped by the Council's lies. Only if you destroy all of them can we be together.”
Danwich turned to the forms cowering in the pond with a hatred that Chelsea couldn't even begin to imagine. She staggered back, stunned, as Danwich walked to the water, pulling out a small velvet pouch dangling from a cord around her neck. “I command all of them to die in pain,” she said to the pouch, then cast it into the pond. As soon as it touched the water, all of the Councilors cried tortuously, then collapsed in silence. Danwich then ran back into Mr. Perkins's arms.
“Now, we get to have some fun,” the balding man said, skipping over to Danwich's side as she kissed Mr. Perkins softly on the lips. “He doesn't really love you,” he said to her, and she pulled away from Chelsea's father suspiciously. “There's someone else.”
“What are you doing?” Chelsea felt panicky about messing with this woman's head, even if it was only a dream.
She was even more alarmed to see Danwich pull some kind of needle out of her hair and throw it at her father. The needle struck him in the neck, and he cried out and fell to the ground. Chelsea ran over to him, but he pulled the needled out and stood back up, his eyes glassy. “I love you and only you, Elsbeth,” he said numbly to the witch.
Chelsea looked over at her and could see that this didn't satisfy her. “Who is she? Who is your true love?”
Chelsea's father answered, “You are my only love, Elsbeth, the only one I ever cared for.”
The balding man was hovering near Danwich's shoulder, cackling at her anger. He whispered into her ear, “The mother of his child – what about her?”
“What – stop that!” Chelsea ran over and pushed baldy away from Danwich, but the witch was already making another move towards Mr. Perkins. Danwich grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head backwards until he fell down.
She followed him to the ground and lay on top of him. “Who is she? Who?” She sobbed as she screamed at Mr. Perkins, scratching and pulling at him to hurt him in any way she could. But, nothing she did raised even the slightest protest from Mr. Perkins, and she gave up after a moment. She sat on his chest, tears streaking down her cheeks, looking miserable.
Chelsea felt a stab of guilt for this, and she said to baldy, “Let's go.”
Just then, Danwich stood up. Her eyes looked preternaturally alert, and she raked the area with them, looking for something. “Uh-oh,” baldy said, and pulled on Chelsea's arm.
They were standing at Danwich's bedside again, and the witch was writhing around on the covers as if she was having the worst nightmare in the world. Chelsea felt horribly disoriented. “Stop doing things like that,” she said to the balding man.
Just as she said that, Danwich's eyes flew open and met hers. She whispered, “Who are you?”
“Time to go,” the balding man said, and Chelsea woke up in Arthur's guest bed, feeling very worried.

Chapter 10

Chelsea looked out the window and saw that the sun hadn't risen yet. Looking around the room, she noticed that clocks shared Arthur's disdain along with pillows. Her watch was useless for telling what time it was in London, since it still told the time in Arizona. She got up, made sure all of her clothes were still on, and crept out of the bedroom.
The bedroom her father had been given was occupied by someone; she could hear the snoring. She slipped down the stairs and found a clock on the mantle in the living room. It read half past four, and she yawned involuntarily at the Amish feeling it gave her to be up so early. “I should be milking cows,” she muttered to herself. She went into the kitchen and turned on the lights.
Arthur had a nice enough kitchen, but his refrigerator, she saw, was in need of some stocking. He had a sausage, some cheese, two bottles of wine and some containers that she didn't want to open because she could see what was in them through the lids. She looked around at the appliances available to her and saw that Arthur had a microwave, so she took the sausage out and went in search of a plate. He had a few that were not either in the sink or the dishwasher, so she took one, set the sausage on it, and set the plate in the microwave. “I hope European microwaves operate the same way American ones do,” she thought, giving the sausage a couple of minutes to warm up.
When the timer dinged, her meal was hot, but not burned, so she took it out and set it on the counter. She then rummaged about the drawers and found a knife and fork. There was an island in the center of the kitchen with some chairs around it, so she sat there as she ate and tried to work out whether she wanted to tell her father about her dream-world encounter or not.
On the one hand, it seemed only common sense to tell her father that his mortal enemy had apparently glimpsed Chelsea. This was the kind of information that might upset all their plans. Everything that her father had told her had led Chelsea to believe that Danwich knew nothing of Mr. Perkins's little girl. Until last night, anyway.
On the other hand, the balding man didn't seem at all concerned about what was going on, and he was obviously related to Chelsea's father. If he thought it was all right to futz around in Danwich's dreams, surely there was no real danger. Maybe it was just a harmless way to get back at somebody who was, by all accounts, a really lousy person. Maybe Danwich didn't really see Chelsea, but just saw an after-image of her dream.
But, Chelsea had been so sure that Danwich had seen her that it had made her heart race. She was positive that a witch of Danwich's power and connections would be able to find out who might be poking their nose into her dreams, and be able to do something about it.
Chelsea downed the last bite of sausage, surprised that she had eaten so much, and looked down at her watch before rolling her eyes at this automatic behavior. She looked over at the microwave's clock, but it read a steady twelve. She set the dish and utensils she had been using in the sink with their brethren and went back into the living room to check the time there.
She was startled to see Arthur there, flipping through a newspaper. He looked just as startled when he noticed her. “Oh, Chelsea, sorry, love. Completely slipped me mind that I had houseguests.” He was wearing a dark red dressing gown and pulled it shut over his bare chest. Chelsea got a brief look at his body as he did this, and was shocked at how muscular this little man was. She tamped down the feelings that brought up before she could disgust herself, then tried to pay attention to what Arthur was saying. “I usually have breakfast on the way to the Council, you know, so maybe you and your dad can eat on your way to shopping.”
Chelsea nodded, then said, “I just ate the sausage you had in the fridge. Hope that's OK.”
He waved a hand, “Oh, that's fine, no problem.” A concerned look crossed his face. “You didn't get into any of the stuff I have in there apart from the sausage, did you?”
“No, that was it.”
He looked relieved. “Good. One of the first things you're going to need to learn about our ways, young lady, is to never trust what you find in another witch's cupboard.”
“Probably very sound advice,” she said to him, sitting on the couch opposite him and looking at the paper he had been reading.
It was The Sun, and she must have smirked a little, because he defended his reading material immediately. “It's not all rubbish, you know. We have a staff writer working for them, and she sometimes gives us news in code.” Chelsea's skeptical look made him add, “It's very good code. I'm not surprised you haven't cracked it.”
“Right.” Chelsea picked up the paper and flipped to a random page. “'Sex in the morning can be fatal',” she read out loud.
“See, that's not written by our girl.” His brow furrowed. “Or is it? Blimey, I think I forgot the code again. “Hang on half a mo.” He walked over to a bookshelf, took down a handwritten notebook and started leafing through it. “Globe, Times, Newsweek – here we go, The Sun.” He took the paper from her and compared what was written on it with the code he was reading from his notebook. One long confused look later, he said, “No, that's definitely not her.”
“Good to know.
“And, sex in the morning is most decidedly not fatal,” he added, winking at her. “I can tell you from experience.”
“OK, you do know that I'm twelve, right? Cuz, that's just creepy.”

Chapter 9 (more cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-30T20:54:00.001-08:00

Everyone kept glancing at her as they drove, and she felt a little uncomfortable, like she had just grown horns or turned red in front of their eyes. What made her the most uncomfortable, though, was how satisfied she had been as Danwich's assistant – how natural it seemed, how easy to contemplate killing a helpless woman to gain power. She was glad when they finally reached Arthur's apartment and they started talking to each other again.
The neighborhood Arthur lived in looked like it had been dropped in from Oliver Twist – the happy, rich place at the end, not the one where he had been part of the gang of young thieves. “This is where you live?” She couldn't keep the note of disbelief from her question.
“What, I can't have nice things?” He sounded only slightly insulted as he led them up a small flight of stairs. “I did say that I'd moved up in the world.”
“The Council must be paying better than they used to,” Mr. Perkins said, also somewhat shocked. “I could barely afford to keep myself in Ingredients when I was working for them.”
“Yeah, well,” Arthur stuttered as he looked around at Will, “a few clandestine procurements netted me a hefty sum a while back, and helped me buy this place.” He held up his hands to Will and said, “Nothing dangerous, mate, just rare and slightly outside the realm of legality, that's all.” Will shook his head, but said nothing. “Don't open the closet in the front hall, by the way. Fair warning.”
He opened the front door and led them all into a spacious, clean and well-lit home, with surprisingly tasteful earth-toned decorations. There was the occasional odd item peaking out from among the mundane furnishings, but otherwise, it was a model of Victorian elegance. A small calico cat walked out to greet them, mewing at Arthur as he bent down to pet and love on it.
Mr. Perkins stood there in a stunned silence, drinking it all in. “You have changed so much,” he whispered to Arthur.
“You got to move with the times, mate,” Arthur said. “Some of us actually interact with the world, rather than living like monks. Couldn't expect friends to want to pop by the old place, could I?”
“I never minded it,” Mr. Perkins said, a little hurt.
“Couldn't expect women to pop by, then,” Arthur said, slowly and clearly. “That more understandable?” Mr. Perkins and Will both had to nod at that. Arthur went into the kitchen carrying his cat and the men followed him.
Chelsea sat down on what proved to be the most comfortable couch she had ever sat on in her life. It was like sitting on a small firm cloud. She leaned her head back and the head rest proved just as good. “Oh, yeah. Now, this is the witch's life.” She thought that maybe she should inquire about how to get into Arthur's side business as she looked dreamily around at the trappings he was able to afford from it.
She was just starting to doze off when the voices of the three men became a little loud and startled her back to consciousness. “How in the name of all that's holy can you be seriously thinking of using that plan, Terrence?” That was Arthur, panic evident in his voice. “My god, you'll be leaving Chelsea to face Elsbeth all by herself.”
“She won't be by herself,” Mr. Perkins said, so quietly that Chelsea could barely hear him. She raised herself off the couch and tiptoed over to the kitchen door. “I told you that I saw a woman from the Council helping her. With the spell I'm going to perform, and the aid of a mature witch, she'll be more than capable of taking Elsbeth down.”
Will asked him, “Did you see who it was?”
“No one I recognized,” Mr. Perkins said. “I think she's fairly young, but competent.”
Will spoke up next, and Chelsea pressed her ear to the door to hear him. “The Council is sending an observer; that's probably who it is. Should I try to influence them to pick anyone in particular?”
“Like I said, I don't know the woman. She's tall, black-haired, not terribly striking, but carries herself with a sense of confidence - “
“Alma,” Will said, a little loudly. “There's a new witch in Special Assignments, Alma May Watson, and she matches that description. She's very good, from what I hear.”
The conversation paused while they all took that in, then Mr. Perkins asked, “Can you make sure that she's their choice?”
“I'll do my best.”
“Be subtle. They already know we're friends.”
“I shall be the soul of discretion, never fear.” Chelsea heard something being poured, then Will said, “To secret plans.” There was a clink of glasses and then she heard them walking towards the living room. She sprinted back to the couch and threw herself down, closing her eyes just as they entered the room.
Mr. Perkins walked over to the couch and bent down to touch her cheek. “Chelsea, honey, we can get you into a bed.”
She opened her eyes and faked a yawn. “Great,” she said, trying to act like she was still tired, but she was wide awake now. She hoped that she would still be able to eavesdrop on them. Too bad she hadn't looked up any spells to do that. She was going to have to see if her father kept any books on mystical stealth tactics in their library.
She followed Arthur and her father up a single flight of stairs to a second floor that had four bedrooms. “This one can be yours, Chelsea,” Arthur said, indicating a small room with a single twin bed in it. There was a thick comforter on the bed, but no pillow. Arthur noticed this and got one from a hall closet and handed it to her. It was a little stiff, but not too bad. “I'll be puttin' your father in this room next to you, so if you need him tonight, he's right there.” He pointed at a room with a slightly larger bed, also pillowless.
She couldn't resist asking, “What's the deal with the pillows, Arthur?”
“I sleep without one, so I never put them down unless people are staying over.” He nudged Mr. Perkins in the ribs. “And, they're usually stayin' over in the same room with me, so...” He broke off at a raised eyebrow from Mr. Perkins and a giggle from Chelsea. “Anyways, we're gonna be keepin' your dad up a bit longer, love, so you go ahead and lie down. We'll try not to make too much noise.”
“I'll be OK,” she assured him. “I sleep like a log.” She was just hoping that they would speak normally so that she could hear them better.
“Still, no need to be rude,” Arthur said, turning back to the stairs. “We'll be like church mice.”
“Sounds good,” she said, hoping the frustration wouldn't show on her face.
Her father hugged her and kissed her on the forehead, which embarrassed her a little bit. It was the most affectionate he'd been since she had moved in with him. “Good night, honey. Hopefully you won't have another vision tonight.”
“Hopefully,” she agreed. They waited until she had gone in and closed the door of her bedroom before walking down the stairs. She listened to see if any of the steps creaked, but didn't hear anything. She shucked off her shoes and tipped out to the top of the stairs and bent an ear over the side. All she heard was the sound of the three men moving to another room and shutting a door, after which she heard nothing. Disgusted, she went back to the bedroom and lay down on the small bed.

The circle of stones surrounded her again, but was again victimless and Elsbeth-free. Instead, the balding man with the paunch sat on the edge of the great stone bowl and smiled at her. He asked, “How's London?”
“Haven't seen that much of it, so far,” she said, leaning on the bowl next to him. “But, it's been a learning experience.”
“It was for Terrence, too,” the bald man said, his smile growing wider. “Especially in matters of the heart.”
She felt a little squiggly about that. “So I heard.”
“You can't blame him for falling in love with her,” he said, leaning over to her. He smelled strongly of cinnamon and cloves, for some reason. It was pleasant enough, just strange. “She's beautiful, and talk about fascinating? She's been everywhere and done practically everything. Who couldn't lose their heart to someone like that?”
Chelsea shrugged. “I dunno. It kinda wigs me out, honestly.”
“Sure, sure, no one likes to think of their parents being real people with real feelings,” he said, laughing. “Especially when it involves one parent and someone whose not your parent, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. She hopped up on the bowl next to him. “Hey, why am I seeing you here? It's not like this is the most pleasant place I've ever had a dream about.”
“This place is very close to where I am.”
“And, where is that?”
His smile drooped a touch, turning more Mona Lisa than Vanna White. “I'm not quite sure you're ready to hear that, yet.”
Chelsea sighed, a huge shoulder-shrugging exhalation. “God, when am I gonna stop getting answers like that?”
“Fairly soon, I'd say,” baldy said, looking at the storm clouds surrounding the stone circle. “Just a few more days. You'll be back at the Tree of Life.”
She looked at the side of his face, so much like her father's, and took a guess. “You're related to my dad.”
His eyes sparkled and he turned to face her again. “What makes you say that?”
“You look like him,” she said, starting with the obvious. “And, it sounds like you see the future, too.”
“Good guesses,” he said, and stood up. He held out his hand to her. “Walk with me?”
She took his hand and let him help her down. “Where to?”
“Just a short way away,” he said, leading her past the stones. They followed a narrow stone path for several minutes before entering a maze of hedges. “This is Ms. Danwich's estate,” he said over his shoulder to her as they threaded their way between the plants. “She fancies herself to the manor born, as they call it, but she's just as common as your father or you. She's used her magic to make a lot of Unbeliever money, and likes to show it off.” He pointed past the hedges to a large house. “That's hers, too. She doesn't stay there that often, because she likes to keep on the move. If she stays in any one place too long, the aura she generates allows her enemies to track her.” He chuckled. “One of the side effects of black magic, I'm afraid.”
“Why don't they just, like bomb this place, then?”
“Ms. Danwich has a lot of protective spells in place here,” baldy said as they came out of the hedge maze and approached the front of the great house. “Your father mentioned that to you before, I believe. She's very cautious about her personal safety.”
“But she's trying to bring a demon into the world?”
“Oh, that's not going to be harmful to her,” he said, eyes alight with humor. “Asmodeus will be quite grateful to her for his freedom. Also, there are dozens of protections against him that have been crafted over the centuries, and I'm sure she'll be armed with at least a few of them. No, she has nothing to fear if she is successful with this ritual.”
“Great. I don't even get the satisfaction of knowing that if I fail, she gets it next.”
“Sorry,” he said, walking straight into the house.
“Hey, uh...” Chelsea was very unsure if she wanted to follow him, but she didn't seem to be waking up any time soon, so she walked through the open doorway after him.

Chapter 9 (cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-29T20:41:00.001-08:00

“So, she's not some kinda lone wolf psycho witch, she's got connections?” Chelsea felt her tandoori chicken rising. “Will these other Councils be pissed off that somebody's trying to take her down? Am I going to have to worry about that, too?”
The three men looked at each other and seemed to not know the answer to that question. “I don't think so,” Will said, haltingly. “I really think they give her free reign just to get our goat. They're not really allies of hers so much as they're enablers.”
“Enablers?” Arthur sounded highly amused. “You've been watching those talk shows again.”
“They impart a lot of vital information about the world of the Unbelievers,” Will said, hotly.
“Can we get back to the crazy witch with the possible international repercussions, here?” Chelsea's squeaky shriek caused several other diners to look over at their table, and she hid her face in embarrassment.
“They've never done more than shelter her, Chelsea,” her father said, trying to soothe her. “When she attacked the Council in eighty-two, she did it alone. Same in eighty-seven and ninety-three.” He played with his curry, pushing an onion around the plate. “She doesn't trust partners, anymore.”
“Yeah, you seem to have that effect on women,” Chelsea muttered. She felt bad immediately when her father's cheeks reddened, but didn't really feel like apologizing for the truth. “I'm assuming she lost these three times she took on the Council?” All three of the men nodded. “And she's still breathing because...?”
“She's very powerful,” her father said, chagrined. “And, she's very good at contingency planning. I've never met anyone so fanatical about coming up with a solution to every possible situation that could arise...” He trailed at the worried look on her face. “But, I'm sure that she's not expecting you.”
“Yeah, that really makes me feel better.” Chelsea pushed her plate away. The enormity of what her father was asking her to do was finally crashing down on her, and it was giving her a migraine. “I have a headache,” she said in a quiet voice.
“I've got just the cure at my place,” Arthur said. He stood and picked up the check. “What say we trundle on over and let the little lady have a rest, gents?”
They all agreed, and after paying the tab, with a sizable tip for the pretty waitress, hurried back to Mr. Perkins's Thunderbird. Chelsea leaned her head back and shut her eyes. It was only early afternoon for her, but she felt exhausted. “Hey, dad, could I be having jet lag from our trip?”
“Not likely,” he said, looking back at her in the rear view mirror. “But, why don't you take a nap? It'll probably take us an hour to get to Arthur's.”
“OK,” she said, and let herself drift off. It was surprisingly easy, in spite of the noise from the road and the three men continuing to speak around her. She was just so tired...

The stone bowl held its victim again, bound and gagged, waiting for the tortures soon to come. She looked over her dispassionately, even a little annoyed. She demanded of the woman, “Why did you let yourself get caught?” The woman tried to say something, but the bag covering her mouth muffled whatever she said. “Idiot.”
“That's right,” a deep, feminine voice said to her. A hand touched her shoulder in a matronly fashion, guiding her over to where a knife sat on a wooden platform. “She didn't show the slightest caution, and she knew I was looking for her. She deserves this.” Chelsea picked up the knife and looked down at the woman. A small tear was leaking out of her eye, falling into her ear, and another ran right after it. Chelsea only felt annoyed. She looked over at Elsbeth, who was smiling proudly down at her. “You have your father's eyes, but my spirit,” the older woman said, and Chelsea beamed. Chelsea raised the knife to strike, but Elsbeth stayed her. “In order, dear, in order. The spell must be performed properly, or it does us no good.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“You're still learning,” Elsbeth said, caressing Chelsea's cheek. “And I will teach you all I know.” She took a pair of scissors from the platform. “The secret of this spell is that the Ingredients are out of order. Remember that, Chelsea. Out of order, and two of them come from the same object.”
“Out of order, and two are the same,” Chelsea repeated.
Elsbeth's face shone with affection. “That's my girl.” She opened the scissors and walked over to the victim's head...

“Chelsea, wake up!”
Will was shaking her gently, while Arthur and her father leaned over the front seat, looking concerned. They were parked haphazardly against the curb of some residential neighborhood; the tail fins of the car were still, technically, in the thoroughfare. She said blearily, “What is it?”
“You were saying some fairly awful things there, deary,” Arthur said, his voice and hands shaking. “A spell that I would have thought your ol' dad would never have taught you.” He and Will looked very accusingly at Mr. Perkins.
He drew back, indignant. “I never - “
“Is that why you needed The May Sacrifice, Terrence?” Will's shocked voice was almost a whisper. “What are you teaching this girl?”
“He didn't teach me that,” Chelsea said, pushing herself up and away from Will. “That was coming from his old girlfriend.” They all looked puzzled by what she had said, so she cleared it up for them. “I can see the future, too. I've been seeing her. She's going to kill somebody. I have to stop her.” She looked into her father's eyes. “Right, dad?”
He nodded glumly, but he was still concerned about what they had all heard her say. “You saw the whole spell, Chelsea? You saw her perform it?”
Chelsea shuddered a little. “Yeah. It's pretty grisly.”
Mr. Perkins whipped around and opened the glove compartment. “Do either of you have a pen?” He pulled out an envelope and thrust it into Chelsea's hands. Will gave him a pen and he gave that to Chelsea, too. “Write it down exactly as you saw her do it, honey. Get everything as close as you can.”
Both Arthur and Will looked like what Mr. Perkins had said had given them a huge revelation, so Chelsea tried to write down exactly what she had seen Elsbeth Danwich do and heard her say. “Out of order, and two are the same,” she mumbled, and wrote that down. “Fur, bone, breath, flesh, blood, egg and seed. Out of order, and two are the same.” She looked up at them. “I don't understand any of this.”
“That's why she failed before,” Will said, awed. “It's not in order.”
Mr. Perkins nodded. “But now, she's figured it out. She just needs the Ingredients to become available.” He turned his attention back to Chelsea. “Honey, can you tell us anything about the victim?”
“She's sad,” Chelsea said, remembering the tear in the victim's eye.
“Yeah, well, I'd be, too,” Arthur said, chuckling. He shut up when Will and Mr. Perkins narrowed their eyes at him.
Chelsea tried to recall the image of the poor young woman who had been strapped into that bowl, but the only face she could clearly recall was Danwich's. “Sorry, dad, it's all fading away from me.”
“Too bad we don't have Marcus here,” Will said, lip half-curled upwards. “His mind-reading could be put to good use for once.”
“When we get back,” Mr. Perkins said, patting Chelsea on the arm, “we'll start training on retaining the images you see in your visions.”
“Makes sense,” she said, smiling at him. She let out a huge sigh and said, “We're not gonna stick around here all night, are we?”
“No, let's be on our way,” her father said, turning back around and starting the car up again.

Chapter 8 (fin), chapter 9 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-27T20:22:00.000-08:00

By the time they were done collecting all the volumes that Mr. Perkins needed, both of them felt the need for lunch. Will, who had accompanied them the entire time, said, “It's almost dinner time. Why don't I take you out to an Indian restaurant I know a few kilometers from here?”
Mr. Perkins looked at Chelsea with a bemused grin. “What do you think, Chelsea? Ready to try something exotic?”
She didn't exactly know how she'd like Indian food, but her stomach's growling settled her mind. “Whatever we can get. I'm hungry.”
“All right. We'll stop at the Ingredients store and pick up whatever you need there. How are you getting everything back to the Tree, Terrence?”
“I have my car. You remember the Thunderbird from fifty-seven?”
Will's grin showed a mouth full of dazzlingly white teeth, and made Chelsea sigh a little bit. “That was a good year. You held that 'special assignments' position, right?”
“Right,” Mr. Perkins said, his grin matching that of the seneschal's. “You remember the coven at Beckhurst?” They both laughed heartily before Mr. Perkins looked guiltily down at Chelsea. “We'll, uh, we'll have to reminisce about that later, Will.”
Will stifled another guffaw and agreed. “Maybe after Chelsea goes to bed.”
“I don't know. I'll probably need the sleep, too. I'm not fifty, anymore.”
“Who is?” Will sighed and clapped Mr. Perkins on the back good-naturedly.
That made Chelsea a little suspicious of Will's true age. Without really wanting to know the answer, she asked him, “How old are you, Will?”
Will thought for a moment, then said, “It's 2006, right? That makes me, what, one-fifteen?”
“I thought you were only ten years older than I am,” Mr. Perkins said, looking sideways at Will.
“We didn't keep records that well back then,” Will said, obviously not troubled by the discrepancy. “And mum and dad aren't around to ask anymore.”
Chelsea felt very odd having such urges for a man who had been old before her Grandpa Rudy was even born. She was really starting to regret puberty. She resolved not to look at him anymore; at least, not to linger on him.
They rolled out of the library and down to a room that looked like the world's ultimate garage sale. Strange items filled this room from top to bottom. She saw stones of every imaginable mineral, seeds, flowers and plants of all varieties, the odd animal here and there – some living, some not – and still couldn't take in but a small percentage of what was in the room. Will and Mr. Perkins walked down one of the small paths carved through the junk to a man who looked barely older than Chelsea. “I suppose he's a thousand,” she muttered under her breath.
“Perkins,” the younger man said, his voice high and challenging. “I understand you have quite the shopping list for me.”
“If you don't mind being asked to do your job for once,” Mr. Perkins said, challenging the apparently younger man back. The two stood staring each other down for what seemed like hours before Mr. Perkins broke up and pulled the man into a bear hug. “How've you been, Arthur?”
“They're old friends,” Will said to Chelsea out of the corner of their mouth. “Terrence used to treat the Ingredients store like his second office when he worked here.”
“Let me introduce you to my daughter, Arthur,” Mr. Perkins said, pulling Arthur back to where Chelsea and Will stood. “Chelsea, this is Arthur Merriweather. Arthur, my daughter, Chelsea.”
“Such a lovely young girl,” Arthur said, bowing to Chelsea. “Your mother must be a looker – you certainly didn't get anything from this lunk over here.” Mr. Perkins nudged him in the ribs. “Come see me in ten years, maybe we'll scandalize your dad.”
“You keep your lecherous eyes off my little girl, Arthur,” Mr. Perkins said, pulling him back and standing between them.
Chelsea couldn't keep herself from asking, “Are you over a hundred, too?”
Arthur's boyish face looked shocked. “What, old as these codgers? Nah, I'm a spring chicken compared with them. Barely in me sixties.”
“You're seventy-two,” Will said, bursting the 'young' man's bubble.
“Man,” Chelsea said, unable to keep the disgust from her voice, “do all you guys rob the cradle?”
“Well, deary, it's hard not to,” Arthur said. “See, we can never really tell how old all the other witches around us are, so we sometimes ignore the rules of more polite society. And Unbeliever birds our own age are in rest homes or cemeteries, my love, so we're stuck with the younger chickadees there.” He put his arm around Mr. Perkins's shoulder. “Now, your father, he's always been an honorable bloke. I thought he was gonna be a monk, meself, until I saw him put his rather rusty moves upon an older woman - “
“We can talk about that later,” Mr. Perkins hurriedly interrupted. “Why don't you get my Ingredients now, Arthur?” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head at a far-off corner of the room.
“All right, all right,” Arthur complained. “I never get any love around here.” He took a list from Mr. Perkins and walked off into the vast cornucopia of junk.
“He hasn't changed,” Mr. Perkins said, his eyes twinkling.
“So, who was this older woman, dad?”
Mr. Perkins pursed his lips and both he and Will avoided eye contact with Chelsea. “We'll talk about that later.”
“You know, we don't have much later with each other,” Chelsea said, and instantly regretted it.
Will looked sharply over at Mr. Perkins. “What does that mean?”
Mr. Perkins answered him, “Chelsea's made noises about returning to her mother once the crisis with Elsbeth is over.”
Smooth, Chelsea thought. Will seemed to buy it, too. He leaned over to her and said, “Trust me, Chelsea, once you really get into magic, you won't want to go back to the Unbeliever's world.”
“I haven't really made up my mind, yet,” she said, as nonchalantly as she could manage. She was just glad that he wasn't able to read her mind, like that Rousseau guy. “And, it's all I know.”
“Well, you're going to know a lot that you didn't once you get through the books that Terrence has planned for you,” Will said, smiling and touching her on the shoulder. In spite of the fact that he was a century older than her, a little shiver went through her whole body, and she fought hard to suppress a giggle. She cursed her hormones and wished they'd show a little more common sense.
Arthur returned with a cart of his own, laden with strange treasures from the depths of the store room. “All right, that's the lot. I can't believe they're letting you have the only pteranodon egg we have.”
“I suppose they figure they won't have anything left if Ms. Danwich succeeds.”
Arthur looked a little dumbstruck. “I suppose that's right.” He cast his eyes over his great store of Ingredients with a worried expression on his face. “Maybe I should think about alternate storage sites.”
“Hey,” Mr. Perkins said, insulted, “have I ever failed before?”
“The coven at Beckhurst,” Arthur said, and all three of the men laughed heartily. Chelsea was feeling like she did when her mom got together with her sisters and starting talking about old boyfriends. “But,” Arthur said, his eyes darting over at Chelsea, “I suppose you don't want to talk about that now.”
“No, not really. But, I meant to ask you,” Mr. Perkins said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, “would it be all right if we spent the night at your flat? There are some non-standard acquisitions I wanted to make tomorrow.” He looked over at Will. “You didn't hear that, right, Will?”
Will looked quizzically at him and asked, “Did you say something?”
“Good man,” Mr. Perkins said.
“Well, I've moved up in the world,” Arthur said, a little proudly. “I've got a house, now. Plenty o' room for you and the young one.” Disappointment shaded his smile a bit. “Just one night, did you say? That'll barely give us any time at all for pub crawling once the tot's a bed.”
“I can't go on a pub crawl, Arthur,” Chelsea's father said, holding his stomach. “I could barely keep up with you 40 years ago. Listen, Will's taking us out for Indian food, what do you say to joining us for that?”
“I could do with a nice curry,” Arthur said, nodding. He looked over at Will and asked, “Dharne's?”
“The very place.”
“I'm in, then. There's a lovely bird who waits tables there.”
“Just so you guys don't forget,” Chelsea interjected, “you've got a twelve-year old girl along for the ride. Sorry to interrupt the testosterone flow, but I don't want to end up at a strip club with you tonight.”
Will and Arthur raised eyebrows at each other. “You know, she's got to go to bed eventually,” Will said to Arthur.
“All right, you two,” Mr. Perkins said, laughing. “Let's get this stuff out to my car, then we can head off for this restaurant.” He lowered his voice. “We'll talk about the strip club later.”
“Dad!”
“I'm kidding, I'm kidding,” Mr. Perkins said, fending off a slap from Chelsea. He winked at Will and Arthur, and they all left the storage room, followed by the library cart. Once they got to the Thunderbird outside, Mr. Perkins popped the trunk and they started carefully laying the Ingredients and books into it. Mr. Perkins took a small box out of the back seat and approached The May Sacrifice with the air of a man going to clean up a nuclear spill without a hazmat suit.
Arthur noticed this and looked at the volume that sat all by itself on the cart. “Good God, Terrence, what in the name of all that's holy is that doing here?” He sounded utterly horrified, without any of the jocularity he had possessed since they had met him.
“It's necessary for what I have to teach Chelsea,” Mr. Perkins said, scooping the book carefully into the box without touching it and shutting the lid. He quickly shoved the box into a corner of the trunk that was unoccupied and breathed heavily.
Arthur's eyes were narrowed, and he kept looking between his old friend and Chelsea. Once they had unloaded the cart, it rolled back into the Council building, and the four of them piled into the Thunderbird. Arthur and Mr. Perkins sat in the front seat, while Chelsea and Will took the back. Before the engine started up, Arthur asked, “What are you teaching Chelsea, Terrence?”
“Whatever is necessary, my friend,” her father said, catching her eye in the rear-view mirror. His expression made it clear that she wasn't to divulge any of the details to these two, no matter how friendly they were to Mr. Perkins. “This is for the life of the planet.”
Arthur lowered her voice. “But, what about the cost to her soul, man? How can you possibly be thinking of using human sacrifice?” He placed a hand on his friend's arm. “Are you just going to be replacing Elsbeth with a miniature dark witch you can control?”
Mr. Perkins shrugged off Arthur's arm as he started the car up. “I can't answer all your questions, Arthur, but I will tell you that the answer to your last one is no.” He and Chelsea looked at each other in the mirror again, and she nodded.

Chapter 9

Arthur let the matter of the forbidden book drop once they reached the Indian restaurant, Dharne's, and he regained his good humor on finding that their waitress was the 'bird' he had been speaking of earlier. Will, however, was very thoughtful throughout the meal, only laughing when Chelsea mistakenly tried a bit of the curry that her father was eating and nearly drowned herself in the water pitcher.
“And, my lovely, I hear that it's the best show playin' on the West End,” Arthur was saying to the pretty Indian waitress. “What do you say?”
She coyly looked down at him and smiled, her teeth dazzling white and perfect. Chelsea felt jealous. Not of the attention she was getting from Arthur, of course, but of her stunning good looks. The young girl felt all too acutely aware of how unformed her body was. The Indian waitress was asking, “Would you pick me up, or would we meet there?”
“I would pick you up, of course, my dear.” He reached out for her hand, and she let him take it. “What do you say?”
“All right,” she said, very sweetly, and wrote down something on her pad. “Here's my number and address. Call me before you come.”
“I shall,” Arthur said, pocketing the slip of paper. As the waitress moved to another table, he turned to Mr. Perkins and boasted, “Still got it.”
“I didn't remember you ever having it,” Mr. Perkins said, and they both laughed.
“You're one to talk. If it hadn't been for Elsbeth - “
A silence fell across the table. Chelsea's mouth was open. “Did he – did you... dad, what is he saying?”
No one was able to look Chelsea in the face, and Mr. Perkins sat staring into his plate. Will finally answered her. “Your father and Elsbeth Danwich had a relationship in the fifties and sixties. It was generally accepted that they would be married one day. Until...” he broke off, unable to say why this relationship ended.
Her father picked up the thread. “Until she turned more completely to the dark forces. Not that she was ever completely pure; my dear Elsbeth was always fascinated by the ancient powers of this world, and always had a lust for power that far exceeded her passion for me.” His voice was filled with a bitterness and sense of loss that Chelsea had not heard until now. It reminded her of how her mother spoke of him. “I was going to tell you about this, Chelsea, but not just yet.” He glowered at Arthur across the table, who shrank a little from the heat of that painful gaze.
Will went on with the story. “As a special assignments operative of the Council, Terrence had been bound by oath to inform the Council of Elsbeth's descent into the Stygian depths. He resisted the oath for a long time, with her help, right?” Mr. Perkins nodded. “But, she left him for a trip to gather some of the more odious Ingredients that her kind uses, and the Council broke down the protections she had cast on Terrence. He told them everything, and they banished her from our community. Even spoke against her to other Councils that are friendly to us.”
“There are Councils that welcome her, though,” Chelsea's father said. “And she's used them to increase her power and knowledge of the blackest magic. All that's led her to where she is today.” He finally looked into Chelsea's eyes. “Where we'll have to fight her.”

Chapter 8 (cont.) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-24T21:16:00.001-08:00

“Excellent,” Rousseau said, and the entire Council relaxed. “We shall take a few days to consider who would be best suited to work with you and your father. Once we have made our decision, our representative will be sent to the Tree of Life.” He looked past her at Will and raised a hand. “Please let Terrence in, Mr. Burke.” Will nodded and opened the great oak door.
Mr. Perkins walked in quickly and took his place by Chelsea's side. He whispered to her, “How did it go?”
“I may have agreed to something I shouldn't have,” she whispered back. “Sorry.”
“Terrence,” Marcus Rousseau said, “it is the decision of the Council that you may have the Ingredients and texts you have requested, and engage in an accelerated training program for young Chelsea.”
Mr. Perkins looked pleasantly surprised for a second, then suspicion overtook him. “What do we have to give up in return?”
Virginia answered him, somewhat gleefully. “A representative of the Council will monitor your teachings and report to us.”
“That's what you gave up?” Mr. Perkins didn't look terribly disappointed, so Chelsea was relieved when she nodded. “Very well. As long as this representative doesn't interfere with our lessons, I'm all right with it.”
“That's good, since we've already made the agreement with Chelsea,” Virginia said, still smirking at Mr. Perkins.
“It's not a lot to ask,” Mr. Perkins said, calmly. “Considering what we're getting in return for it.”
Virginia looked unpleased that he wasn't more upset, but said nothing more. Rousseau spoke, instead. “As we told young Chelsea, we shall choose a compatible representative to send to you; we have no wish to disrupt your lives. We shall send the agent within the next few days.”
“All right,” Mr. Perkins said. “And the material I need for training Chelsea?”
“You may take that with you when you leave London.”
“Excellent,” Chelsea's father said, still in a slightly surprised state. “Do we have your leave to go, then? There's a lot we need to sort through before we leave.”
“Yes, of course. Monsieur Burke, if you would assist the Perkins's in their acquisitions?” Will nodded from the door. “Tres bon. Good day then, Terrence. We trust it shall not be so long before you inform us of the next crisis.”
There was some mirthless chuckling from the Council table about that dig, but Mr. Perkins didn't reply. He just nodded to Roussea and the rest of the Council, and then swept from the room, his arm around Chelsea. As the oak door closed behind them, he said to her, “That went a lot better than I thought it would.”
“We've got a spy watching us now,” Chelsea said regretfully.
“It's OK, honey, really. As long as she's not also a spy for Elsbeth Danwich, we're golden.” He winked at her. “And, I have a couple of ways of finding out if she is, so no worries there.”
Chelsea felt very relieved that her father didn't blame her for failing at the negotiations, and didn't seem to think that she had failed at all. Her mood lightened even more when they were escorted to the Council's library. If the portraits in the hallway of the Council Chamber had spanned centuries, this room obviously spanned millennia. Covering one immense wall were two huge storage cabinets comprised of hundreds of holes into which were stuck scrolls of parchment and papyrus. In the center of the vast room were dozens of large stone tables surrounded by surprisingly comfortable-looking chairs, and several people were already in here, studying books and scrolls. One young woman even had a laptop computer, that she was apparently transcribing a medieval tome into.
Chelsea was prevented from going over to compare notes with her by her father, who dragged her to an area that was separated from the rest of the library by a steel bars. A stern-faced elderly woman sat by the door of the cage reading a scroll. She didn't look up as they approached, but went on with her reading. Will cleared his throat, but she continued ignoring him. Finally, the seneschal said, “Margarita, the Council has granted permission for the loan of several books from Special Collections to Terrence Perkins and his daughter, Chelsea. May we enter?”
The woman raised her head slightly and a single gray eye fixed on Chelsea. For the second time today, Chelsea had the distinct impression that her mind was being read, but Margarita wasn't polite enough to acknowledge the girl's suspicions. There was a small contest of wills before Margarita at last said, “The policy of Special Collections has not changed since the last time you were here, Terrence. Do you remember it?” Mr. Perkins nodded. “Have you informed the young lady of it?” She had a heavy Spanish accent, and Chelsea had to concentrate to decipher what she was saying. Her father shook his head, and Margarita spoke directly to Chelsea. “All of these books, child, all of them – they are one of a kind. No copies exist. No copies may be made. For most of them, their power lies in their rarity. You write down on a piece of paper a spell from these books, you dilute the power of that spell forever. So, you practice the spells, you commit them to memory – but you write nothing down. Comprende?”
Chelsea nodded. “Yeah.” She then asked, “You said that was the case for most of the books. What's the deal with the others?”
The slightest smile crossed Margarita's face. “The other books, my sweet, are here because we don't want anyone to use them. We would dearly like to have their power diluted, but we can't. That shelf is very clearly marked.” She glanced up at Mr. Perkins. “I doubt your father has any plans for using those.”
“One of them, actually,” he said, his voice quiet.
The smile vanished immediately from Margarita's face, and she demanded of him, “Which one?”
“The May Sacrifice and Other Rituals of Death.” At the mention of this book, both Will and Margarita paled, and the old woman's eyes bored into Mr. Perkins' face. “I don't really have time for you to try to break down my defenses, Margarita. The Council was informed that I would need the book and they have approved my request.”
“I keep the Special Collections,” the old woman said, her thin voice rising in indignation. “My permission should have been asked.”
“You would have said no, like you have every other time someone has requested May Sacrifice,” Mr. Perkins said, impatiently. “That's why I went over your head.”
“How did you know - “ she began, then disgustedly said, “seers. Always think you know best.” She looked at him for a long time, then said, “Listen to me, Terrence Perkins. Your family is old and powerful, and I know that your sort becomes very comfortable in their knowledge and abilities. But, the temptations of the May Sacrifice are beyond anything you have ever dealt with.” She pointed a long finger at Chelsea. “Don't let this child anywhere near the book. Glean what you need of it and return it immediately.” She reached down to a bag beside her chair and pulled out a small velvet pouch. “I will even give you the means to do so.” She placed the pouch in his hand. “Trust nothing in the book but its malevolence.”
“I will do as you ask, Margarita.”
“See that you do.” She turned her attention back to Chelsea. “Mark my words, girl. Do not go near that book.”
“I won't,” Chelsea said, shaken.
Margarita stood then, shaking her own head. “What times are these,” she muttered to herself. More loudly, she asked “How much of my work are you taking today, Terrence?”
“Eight books and two scrolls,” Mr. Perkins answered. “Will, do you have the list?”
“Yes,” Will said, producing a short notepad. He tore off a page and handed it to Margarita.
The old woman scanned the paper and told them, “You'll need a cart. And, The May Sacrifice cannot touch other books.”
“I know.”
“All right.” She whistled a sharp, high note, and a library cart rolled over to her of its own accord. She said to it, “Follow the Perkins's and assist them with their loans. Use every means at your disposal to keep the volume entitled The May Sacrifice and Other Rituals of Death from touching other written works.” She patted the side of the cart, and it rolled over to Mr. Perkins. Margarita then walked to the cage door of the Special Collections and bent down to it. They all heard her back crackle as she did it, and she let out a small whimper of pain. She whispered several words to the lock, and the door popped open. She swung it out for the Perkins's to enter, then followed them inside and shut the door. Chelsea heard the click of the lock securing itself and felt her heart beat a little faster. The old woman cackled a bit as she walked past them towards the first book that Mr. Perkins needed.
They followed her around the large cage as she extracted the volumes that the Perkins's needed, handed them to Mr. Perkins, and then moved on to the next. Her final stop was the book that she had given him such a hard time about, and Chelsea saw that it was, indeed, in a section that was very clearly marked 'Dangerous – Forbidden Works'. It wasn't alone in not being able to touch other written works, apparently; several of the tomes on this customized cabinet were separated from others, sometimes by thick panes of glass or blocks of wood. One scroll was encased in what Chelsea was pretty sure was the largest diamond she would ever see in her life.
Margarita looked reluctant to even touch The May Sacrifice. “I implore you again, Terrence. Whatever you feel you need from this accursed book will come at a price that will be hideous to pay.”
“I know the price already, Margarita, and I'm prepared to pay it.”
“Seers,” she muttered in disgust. She looked over at Chelsea and said, “Do you know this price, as well?” Chelsea nodded. “Is it a fair price?”
Chelsea didn't look at her father as she said, “No.”
“At least one of you is being honest.” Margarita caught up a fold of the dress she was wearing and used it to cover her hand as she grabbed the book and quickly placed it in the cart away from the other books. “Remember,” she said to the cart, “every means you have at your disposal.” She then looked up at her two 'customers'. “Try to touch it as little as possible. Do you still live in the Tree of Life?” Mr. Perkins nodded. “You'll need to keep it from touching the tree directly. Do you have something to keep it in and set it on when you're studying it.”
“Yes, I've already arranged that.”
“All right.” She glared at the book for another few seconds, then told them, “Well, off with you, then.” She led them out of the cage, whispering to the lock to open it and set them free again. The cart rolled cautiously in front of them, making sure that The May Sacrifice didn't get jostled. Margarita slammed the steel bars behind them and reminded Mr. Perkins, “As soon as you're done, Terrence, use the powder. Please.” the fright in her voice made Chelsea want to hand the book back to her right now, but her father merely nodded and bowed.
As they moved into the main library, Mr. Perkins said to Chelsea, “So, you've figured out what I needed that book for.”
“From the title and what you think you have to do for me, yeah.”
“It's what I know I have to do, Chelsea.”
Chelsea sighed. “Let's not get into it here.”
He agreed, and they roved around the library gathering together more books and scrolls. They were very careful not to let anything touch their forbidden book, but the cart did have to roll away from Chelsea once when she almost pushed another book into it. This library was just slightly more organized than the one back at the tree, and Chelsea made a mental note to introduce the Council to modern library techniques at a later time.

Chapter 7 (fin), Chapter 8 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-21T20:38:00.000-08:00

He closed the book and set the plate down in its place. “Eat up. We have to leave in a few minutes.” He took the book back to the shelves, half an eye on his daughter while he did it. “So, what were you looking up in the compendium?”
“Just different things,” she said, eating the fruit and eggs on her plate. “This is really good.”
“Thanks, but you didn't really answer my question.”
She gulped down the mouthful and asked, “Can I have some juice or milk or something to drink?”
“Stop stalling.”
She sighed, then said, “I'm looking up different ways to enhance your natural abilities. OK?”
Mr. Perkins scratched his head and almost smiled. “That's your mother's stubbornness, I just want you to know. You don't get it from me.”
“She always told me I got it from you.”
“She would.” He shook his head and looked over at the compendium. The half-smile stayed on his lips, and he was obviously playing back some fond memory in his head. He sat down opposite her and said, “I'm going to have to give in on your extra-curricular studies, since I can't watch you twenty-four hours a day. But, don't exhaust yourself over it, all right?”
She nodded. “I've only been staying up a little late before this. I just felt really lucky at finding that compendium last night, and thought I should write down as much as I could for looking through your library later.” That reminded her of her conversation with Sylvia. “Hey, dad, how much work do you think it would be to get cable here and grow a computer the way you grew that radio? I would totally do the work, if you could just show me how.”
“I did tell you it wouldn't be that hard, didn't I?” He looked over at the shelves and pulled out a small notebook that looked like it could have come out of any college town's textbook supply store. He opened it and flipped a few pages, then set it in front of her. “Took me three months to get the telephone cable working, but that was mainly because it was a lot of trial and error. I bet you anything I could get a television cable working much more easily.”
“Sweet.” She looked down at the procedure. It looked like three spells: one for summoning the cable to the tree, one for entwining with the tree's roots, and one for growing the radio. “So, are the Ingredients hard to come by?”
“A little, but they're doable. We should probably be able to find any I don't have in London.” He looked down at his watch. “Speaking of which – we need to get going.”
Chelsea swallowed one more bite of fruit and grabbed the plate to take it into the kitchen. “How are we getting there? Do we teleport or something?”
“No, we're driving.” He was already walking towards the front door. “I packed you a small bag. We'll stay overnight so that we can do some shopping.”
“All right,” she said, excited about the trip. She ran to catch up with him, and he opened the front door for her. The sun was just starting to rise, and the light made her squint. She saw a small fire burning next to the tunnel, and Mr. Perkins walked over to it and stomped it out.
“That was to change the tunnel's destination. I built it to go to America, not England,” he told her, climbing into the car. She slid into the front seat and fastened her seat belt. “Oh, that's right.” He fastened his own. “When I learned how to drive, we didn't use seat belts a lot.” He gave her an embarrassed grin, then fired up the engine. A quick turn of the wheel, and they were facing the tunnel again. Mr. Perkins muttered something under his breath, his eyes half-closed, and then he took a small white stone from his shirt pocket and threw it at the tunnel. It flashed and he drove quickly forward, the smoke enveloping them both.
Chelsea coughed and spluttered. “Was that really necessary?”
“Yes,” he said, coughing a bit himself. The darkness of the tunnel was giving way to a new light at the end of it, and soon they were pulling out of what Chelsea was sure was a non-existent tunnel into the streets of London. The sun in the sky looked close to noon, and Chelsea wished for a pair of shades. She squinted against the glare and could barely make out the famous clock tower.
“Cool, can we see Big Ben?”
“Maybe tomorrow.” Mr. Perkins glanced at his watch, then returned his eyes to the road. “Wish I'd studied the road map a little better,” he mumbled. “Tell me if you see Ripper Circle, OK?”
“OK.” She shaded her eyes with her hand and drank in the city around her. A street sign caught her attention and she shouted, “Ooh, Ripper Circle! Right there!”
“Damn.” Mr. Perkins slammed on the breaks and twisted the car over as quickly as humanly possible, bringing on irate beeping from the horns all around them. “Sorry, stupid American,” he shouted out his own window. He bumped the curb as he turned into the narrow road and threatened to lurch onto the sidewalk several times as it twisted unexpectedly several times. “I hate this street.”
After several harrowing minutes, he turned from Ripper Circle onto Crowley Lane, and the driving was much easier. This seemed to be a small residential neighborhood, with many a garden in the front yard and people out tending them. There was a faint smell of fresh-mown grass in the air, and Chelsea breathed it in contentedly. The street dead-ended at a two-story, gray building sporting an ornate sign that read 'Council' over its double doors. Mr. Perkins parallel-parked in front of this building and got out.
“This is it?” Chelsea was less than impressed as she followed her father out of the car. It looked very much like a 1950's Soviet government building had been stolen from its Russian homeland and dropped unceremoniously in the south of England.
“It gets better inside,” he told her, walking up to the double doors.
“I sure hope so,” she said to his back. “It couldn't get much worse.” She trotted a few steps to catch up with him and they both stopped at the doors.
“They're going to want to search you,” Mr. Perkins said in a normal tone of voice. More quietly, he added, “Hide the tige.”
It took her a second to remember what he was referring to, but then she dropped her head and whispered “Cachez.” She felt the chain sink into her flesh, out of sight. She looked back up at her father and smiled.
“So, don't worry when they do,” he said, as if his entire intent had been to calm her. He looked back down the street they had come from, satisfied himself that no one was watching, then took a pouch out of his pants pocket. He untied the top, then dipped his thumb and forefinger in gently to pinch something. He pulled his fingers out and then blew on them, facing the doors. A cloud of golden vapor bursting from his hand seemed to eat the door away. He walked through the gaping hole and gestured for her to do that same. Chelsea ran through, not very confident that the vapor would keep the door open long. “Don't worry, the opening remains till you do this,” her father said, blowing at the golden cloud. It vanished, and the door was back again. Mr. Perkins tied up his pouch and put it back in his pocket.
Chelsea turned around and almost laughed at the contrast between the outside of the building and the inside. There was an artistic flair about the entire lobby they found themselves in, from the delicate woodworking of the walls to the massive painting that covered the floor. It was a creation scene, but one in which many gods and goddesses took part, and dizzying in its detail and scope.
“Sorry, Chelsea, we can't take time to admire the floor,” her father said, and she groaned. A tall, beefy man was approaching them, his hands holding a white baton.
“Good afternoon, Terrence,” he said, his voice smoothly upper-crust British. Chelsea felt a little tingle as he spoke, and hoped they would converse more. He was as finely-wrought as any of the figures on the floor, and had the advantage of being far more animate.
“Afternoon, Will,” Mr. Perkins said. “The Council wants to interview Chelsea.”
“Yes, that's what they told me.” He looked Chelsea in the eye, and she giggled a little. She stopped herself, embarrassed. But, he had the most beautiful green eyes she had ever seen, and she finally understood what her mother had been telling her about how her body was going to be a mass of rushing hormones. “Hello, Miss Perkins. My name is Will Burke, and I'm sort of the seneschal of the Council Chamber. Do you know what a seneschal is?”
She nodded vigorously. “You're like the chief of staff; you run the place.”
Will gave her a lopsided grin which made her knees weaken. “In a manner of speaking. What I'm here to do with you is make sure you're not carrying anything dangerous, and then announce you before the Council.” He looked over at Mr. Perkins. “Do I have your permission to search her?” Chelsea's father nodded, and Will looked back at her. “Do I have your permission to search you?”
She cocked her head to the side. “What if I say no?”
He shrugged. “Well, you don't get to see the Council.”
“I guess I better say yes, then.”
“All right, then.” He gestured over to a door by the entrance. “Please come in here.” He led her into a small room with one chair and a coat rack. He gestured at the chair and it scooted over to Mr. Perkins. “Have a seat, Terrence.” He pointed at the door and it shut; they all heard the click of its lock falling into place. Then, he turned his attention back to Chelsea. “Try to hold still until I give you instructions to move, Miss Perkins.” He touched the white baton he was carrying to the top of her head, and Chelsea held herself motionless. He closed his eyes for a few moments, then said, “All right, Miss Perkins, please hold out both of your hands, straight in front of you.” Chelsea did so, and he touched the baton to her fingers. After another few moments of quiet, he withdrew the baton. “Thank you. Now, lower your hands and stand straight with your feet together.” She assumed this position and he knelt down and touched the baton to her feet. He again concentrated silently for a moment, then stood back up. “Excellent. One last thing, Miss Perkins, and then we can go in to the Council.” He held the baton lengthwise in front of her face. “Blow on this, please.” Chelsea looked over at her father with raised eyebrows, but he only nodded. She blew on the baton, and Will withdrew it. “Thank you very much, Miss Perkins.” He stuck the baton into his belt and the door opened for them.
“That was odd,” Chelsea said to her father.
“It could have been much worse,” he told her. “You got to keep your clothes on for this one.”
Chelsea's face went pink. “At what point do I get strip-searched?”
“When the Council isn't pleased with you.”
Will led them out of the small room and down a corridor that was lined with dozens of portraits. They spanned centuries, apparently; the first few portraits they passed had medieval clothing, and the people in the portraits at the end were wearing modern dress. Mr. Perkins gestured at one as they came to the end of the hall. Chelsea immediately recognized the long haired woman. “Elsbeth Danwich,” she said under her breath. Seeing this woman outside of a dream gave Chelsea the shivers.
Will stopped them in front of a large oaken door and said, “I'll go in and announce you, Miss Perkins. Do not enter until you are asked in, understand?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding.
“Am I going to be allowed in, Will?” Mr. Perkins sounded very apprehensive.
“Not at first, Terrence. Just be patient.” Will opened the great door and Chelsea caught a glimpse of a large semi-circular table with seven tall throne-like chairs arrayed around it. The chairs were occupied by men and women in clothes that wouldn't have looked out of place at a corporate board meeting, except for the man at the apex of the table's arc. He had the tallest chair, and around his head was a glowing circlet of silvery thread. He looked past Will as the door opened, and locked eyes with Chelsea. She got the very distinct feeling that he was able to read minds, which was confirmed by him nodding slightly as she thought it. “Miss Chelsea Perkins,” Will intoned, “of the Perkins/Clark line of America, England, Wales and Brittany, wishes to be presented to the Council of Wisdom for her entrance into the company of her fellow witches.”

Chapter 8

The man who had read Chelsea's mind replied to Will, “Please allow the young lady to enter.” He had a very slight French accent, and his voice was a melodic baritone. Chelsea looked over at her father, who gave her a thumbs-up. She walked forward to Will, who took her hand and escorted her to the center of the chamber. The door closed behind them with a solid thump, making Chelsea wish she had used a better deodorant. Once she stood surrounded by the huge table, Will bowed and walked back to the door, where he stood at attention. The gentleman with the circlet spoke again. “Miss Perkins – Chelsea.” He smiled, and his face was not unkind. He reminded Chelsea of a teacher in the fourth grade who had been tough to those who acted up in class, but always nice to her. “Chelsea, my name is Marcus Rousseau. I am the Chief of Council; Head Witch, if you will.” There was a small murmur of laughter around the table. “My six colleagues and I are charged with governing those witches who have pledged their allegiance to us, and speaking for them to the other councils of the world. Now, while this may sound very high and mighty, as your generation might say,” he said, chuckling at his own joke, “we are actually quite a small people by the standards of the Unbelievers that you have been raised amongst. We liked to greet each new member of our community, and have a hand in her upbringing. That is why we are concerned about the fact that we are just meeting you today.” There were nods and small affirmations from around the table. “By the time most witches of our Council reach your age, we have a very clear idea of where they fit in our community, of their abilities, their temperament, of who they are. We would like to find out who you are, Chelsea.”
Chelsea tried to swallow, but her mouth had become very dry. “Um. I'm, uh, I'm just starting to learn the magic, so I don't really know - “
A woman two seats down from Rousseau turned to him and hissed, “I'm getting nothing extraordinary from her at all. I think Terrence has lost his touch.”
Chelsea didn't have too much time to get angry over this, because the elderly man opposite the rude witch said, “Patience Clark was one of the finest seers I ever met, and she always said that her son outshone her like a roaring fire to a candle. I think Terrence has earned the benefit of the doubt.”
The rude witch snorted. “Cutting a child off from all her learning will make her stronger? I said then that Perkins had cracked, and seeing this little girl before us only provides more evidence that I was right.”
“S'il vous plait, Virginia, let us not descend to personal insults,” Rousseau said, a small edge in his voice. Virginia slumped back in her chair, several choice words obviously still on her tongue, ready to spring out if she was allowed the opportunity. “Forgive Virginia's harsh words, Chelsea. I'm not sure if you can understand why she feels so strongly about this issue. Elsbeth Danwich, you see, has caused much harm to the followers of our Council, as well as harm to the world at large. Terrence, your father, has requested access to various advanced Ingredients and texts in order to give you an accelerated training, and we are wondering why he didn't simply train you from birth.”
“He has a reason,” she said, quietly.
“And this reason is?”
“Personal,” she said, as defiantly as she could bring herself to sound. “I've seen the same vision he did. I know what I'm supposed to do.”
“Indeed,” Rousseau said, raising his eyebrows as the other Councilors muttered at Chelsea's impertinence. “And, how are you going to accomplish this feat? How are you going to defeat one of the most powerful witches in our hemisphere?”
“A lot of hard work and sacrifice.” She added, “And you guys not interfering.”
Rousseau's lips curled into something like a smile. “Except by granting you a carte blanche to use banned Ingredients and forbidden spells, eh?”
Virginia spoke again, this time to Chelsea. “Girl, I know the sort of temptations that accelerated training can open up to you. I'd rather not trade a victory over Elsbeth Danwich now for the rise of another dark witch when you reach adulthood. We can welcome you into the fold, but there is no way that you will be able to face Danwich without trading your soul in the bargain.”
“We disagree,” Chelsea said. “We have a plan.”
“What is this plan?” Rousseau merely sounded curious, but all the Councilors scooted forward to listen to Chelsea.
“I can't tell you.”
Virginia shouted, “Because it doesn't exist!”
“Because we think someone on the Council is talking to Elsbeth Danwich.” That stunned them all. Even Virginia was dumbstruck by that accusation.
Marcus Rousseau was the first to recover his voice. “Chelsea, please give us a moment.” They all closed their eyes and Chelsea knew that they were having a conversation that she would have found it impossible to eavesdrop on. After a surprisingly short time, they all opened their eyes again. “Very well, Chelsea. We agree to your father's requests. However, we have a condition we wish to place on this.”
“Shouldn't my father be in here for this?”
“No. We would like you to agree to this.” Rousseau's quiet voice was hiding that steel edge again. “We would like to send one of our teachers back with you, to assist you in your lessons. Is that acceptable?”
A spy in their midst, so that she and her father wouldn't be able to speak freely. She wished her father was here to negotiate this, but that was probably why they were insisting she agree to it – she was, no doubt, easier to manipulate. “All right,” she said. “I agree.”

Chapter 7 (cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-19T20:43:00.000-08:00

He turned and walked up the stairs, and she sat digesting what had just happened for several minutes. This would make it difficult to go back home, or anywhere in the United States, because her father might get picked up if he was with her. Even if he wasn't, she might be detained in order to be returned to her mother. Half of her was angry at her father for being so secretive that he couldn't just approach her mother and ask for this visitation, but she knew that her mother would never have agreed to it. Destiny had really messed them up.
She got up and walked into the library. She had found a book in English that had some disguise spells listed in it. It kept referencing a book in Greek, though, and her Greek was fairly non-existent at the moment. She went through it anyway, to glean as much information as she could on the subject and see if anything made sense.
An hour after she had started, she wished for the thousandth time since her arrival at the Tree of Life for computerized records. If her father could tap into phone lines, surely he could get into the Internet, as well. Power shouldn't be a problem, as long as she adapt the plug of a computer to run off of the geothermal energy that Sylvia was pumping through the rest of the tree.
She decided to talk to Sylvia about that. She went to the kitchen and climbed into the dumb waiter for the ride down to the 'basement'. When the door opened, she staggered out and called out, “Sylvia? Got a minute?”
The nymph appeared after a moment, smiling broadly. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Chelsea?”
“I just had an idea, and I wanted to ask you about some modifications that have been made to the tree.”
“Very well,” Sylvia said, sitting on the floor.
Chelsea did likewise and asked, “How do you connect to the phone lines?”
“In much the same way that your father built the tunnel that allows him to drive back to the unbeliever's highways, he drew a great cable from their world here, and I entwined one of my roots into it. This allows us to speak to the unbelievers as if we were using their own telephone lines.”
Chelsea nodded. “Cool.” She thought for a minute, then said, “Do you think you could do that with a different kind of cable? Back in the Un world, we have something called TV, and it lets us connect to a source of information called the Internet. I think that would be really useful to have here.”
“As long as I was allowed to meld with the cable, I see no reason why I could not do the same as I did before.” She leaned over and touched Chelsea's leg in a motherly way. “It is a lot to ask of your father, though. The spell which brought forth the telephone cable took him almost three months to prepare, and he had many failures during the process. It would have to be a great benefit in order for him to endeavor a feat like that again.”
“I think it would be,” Chelsea said, confidently. “It'd make it a lot easier to find spells, for one thing.” She looked into the nymph's soft brown eyes. “Hey, how did you make the radio? Did my dad figure that out?”
“He gave me the general idea of what function I was to create, and fed me with the Ingredients,” Sylvia replied. “I drew much knowledge from the signals coming from the cable itself. They sang to me, telling me how to translate them into speech that could be understood by the human ear.”
Chelsea grew excited. If Sylvia could interpret any electronic signal, she should be able to convert TV signals, Internet signals – anything. “Maybe we could get HBO,” she whispered, only half in jest.
“I'm sorry?”
“Never mind. Just talking to myself.” She had a good idea of how computers worked, but wished that she had taken hers apart more often to get a better one. She would have to put some thought into it, so that she could describe it in enough detail for the nymph. “I'm going to work on a design for something I need you to grow in my room, Sylvia. Would that be OK?”
“And it harms no one, I will do what ye will,” the nymph said, chuckling quietly.
“Great,” Chelsea said, thinking that she had just missed a joke. “It'll take me a while to work it up, but I'll get it to you as soon as I can. This'll be cool. And, I'll try to get dad to show me how to do the cable thing, so he doesn't have to.”
“I believe that he would appreciate that.”
“Awesome.” She stretched her legs out, unkinking them before she stood up.
Sylvia stood in one fluid motion and held her hand out to Chelsea. The young girl took it, and the nymph swung her up on her feet. “It is good to have another feminine spirit within me, Chelsea. It has been many years since the death of Terrence's mother.” She looked a little misty-eyed. “I had always hoped that I would know Terrence's spouse, that she would live within me and that her children would grow to their adulthood under my branches. I regret that was not possible; but I am gladdened by your return to our family, my dear.” She kissed Chelsea on the cheek, and Chelsea blushed.
“I'm... I'm glad to be back, too.”
“I can feel that. It is a hard adjustment to make, from what I have been told, and you are doing quite well at it.”
Chelsea didn't think her cheeks could get any redder. “Thanks, Sylvia.”
“You are welcome.” She turned back to the doorway that led to wherever Sylvia spent most of her time, then said over her shoulder, “Any time you need to speak with another female, feel free to come see me.”
“I will. Thanks.” Since Sylvia was apparently done with their conversation, Chelsea went back to the dumb waiter and up to the kitchen. She snacked a little on bread and butter, then went back to the library to research enhancement spells.
After the third book she tried turned out to be a dead end, she cast her gaze around the library for anything that might be an index. “First thing I do with the computer,” she muttered, “is make a database of all these books.” She shook her head at the lack of organization. “He could at least use Dewey Decimal.”
Her eyes lit on a tall leather volume that was embossed in gold and had three languages on the spine. One of them, fortunately, was English, and it read, 'Malcolm's Compendium of Works in the Magical Genre'. She pulled it down and opened it carefully on the desk. “This looks promising.” It did, indeed, have a list of magical books and fairly detailed descriptions of their contents. It was even arranged logically, which practically made Chelsea jump for joy. A lot of the compendium's space was given over to multiple entries for each book in different languages, but it was easy enough to skip over the non-English versions and still get what she wanted. She looked up the entries on three books she knew were in her father's library, and saw that they matched what she knew of those books perfectly. Now, she could trust the book.
She found the section on books about ability enhancement after an hour's worth of reading, and then it was just a matter of seeing if the book reported on contained the information she needed, then seeing if the book sat among her father's collection. This was the slow part. The compendium entries gave physical descriptions of the books in question, but it still took her a long time to look over all the shelves to be certain that book wasn't there. And, there was no real guarantee that a later edition of the book might not look different than the compendium's description. She decided that it would save her time and effort to just write down all the books in the compendium that looked promising, and then do one sweep of the library at the end.
She was in the middle of writing down her fifth book when she dropped her head to the desk for just a moment, just to rest her neck, when she fell asleep.

She stood in that horrible circle of stone, but the bowl was empty, and Elsbeth Danwich was nowhere to be seen. The sky was more pleasant, too, sunny with a few clouds blowing around. The breeze brought with it the scent of wildflowers, which she breathed in deeply, smiling contentedly.
“You're on the right track,” a masculine voice said to her.
It was an unfamiliar voice, but she didn't fear it. In fact, it enhanced the happiness she was feeling. “What track is that?”
“Looking for enhancements. Terrence, your father, he's always been a single-track thinker. He's interpreted his vision, and that's the only interpretation possible.” The voice sounded highly amused at Mr. Perkins' idiosyncrasies. “Your strength is your flexibility, Chelsea. You don't know our world, so you're unaware that something's supposed to be a limitation. Keep trusting your instincts.”
She looked around, and finally saw the man behind the voice. He was an older man, balding, with a slight paunch and a pronounced resemblance to her father. “Who are you?”
“Somebody you can trust,” he said, smiling. His eyes were like sapphires twinkling at her. “Trust yourself, honey. And come back, soon.”

“Chelsea? Wake up, honey.”
Her father was shaking her shoulders gently with his left hand, and holding a plate of breakfast in the other. She straightened up and wiped her mouth. “Sorry, dad. I guess I got a little caught up in my research.”
He looked suspiciously down at the book she had been reading and nodded. “I can see that.”

Chapter 7 (cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-17T19:32:00.000-08:00

Found it in a phrase book of yours and thought it sounded cool.” Chelsea unfolded the radio on the wall of the living room and made the adjustment to tap into the telephone lines. It was easy enough to do, after watching her father do it several times. She folded the radio cover back into place and said, “Ready, Sylvia?”
The nymph answered her, “Yes, Chelsea. Your mother's telephone number?”
“Yes, please.”
There were two rings, then the phone was picked up. “Hello?”
“Hi, mom.”
Her mother's voice brightened immediately. “Hi, baby. How was your day?”
“It was fun. We did a science experiment today that was really fun.” She grinned over at her father.
“I really wish that you were going to a real school. I don't think home-schooling is healthy at your age.” Chelsea could tell that she wanted to add 'at least, not when your father is the teacher,' but was politely keeping that to herself. “Listen, have you made sure about your father's telephone number? I've left 2 messages for you and you guys haven't called me back.”
“Sorry, mom. We haven't had a lot of time to check the messages, and we aren't near the phone that often.”
“Wish I'd gotten you a cell phone,” Mrs. Perkins muttered, her voice tinged with the slightest note of guilt. “I never thought you'd need one at your age.”
“It's OK, mom, I don't think one would work out here, anyway.” She looked over at her father, who shook his head in agreement. “What were your messages about?”
“I wanted to see if you could come back for the weekend.” Chelsea looked at Mr. Perkins triumphantly. “Grandpa Rudy is coming into town, and I'd love it if you were here to see him.”
Chelsea felt both guilty and annoyed about it, but said, “I'm sorry, mom, but dad and I are going to have to spend this weekend seeing some specialists.”
Her mother's voice became very stern. “You shouldn't have to be there for that kind of stuff, Chelsea.”
Chelsea steeled herself to match her mother. “I want to be, mom. There's a lot of lost time we're making up for.”
“And whose fault is that?” Mrs. Perkins couldn't restrain her accusing tone anymore. “If he'd been any kind of a good man, I'd be right by his side, now.”
“I know, mom. He really regrets that.”
“Good. He should, after all he put us through.” She took a moment to calm herself down, then said, “But, I didn't want to turn this into another conversation about him, so let's drop that, OK?”
“OK.”
“Grandpa Rudy will miss you, though.”
“I'll miss him, too.” Chelsea decided that if this conversation was going to change direction, she was going to have to be the one who steered it. “How was your day?”
“Eh, you know, the usual. I dropped a couple of deals, but closed one.” Her voice dropped a little. “It's hard for me to concentrate right now, baby. I'm so worried about how you're doing.”
Mr. Perkins bowed his head, his face shadowed. Chelsea said, “I'm really fine, mom, and there is absolutely no need to worry.”
“I can't help it, baby. You're all I have.”
There was just the slightest tremble in her voice as she said that, and Chelsea had to blink her eyes a couple of times to keep the teardrops at bay. “Have you thought about getting back into the bowling league? You don't have to sit home with me for the next few months, after all.”
“No, my wrist hurt too much after the last time.”
“You could wear one of those funky wrist-guard things they have now.”
“They throw off my aim.”
Chelsea was distracted by the entrance of Sylvia into the living room. She nudged her father, and he looked startled, also. The nymph beckoned him over, and they walked back into the library together.
“Honey, are you still there?”
Chelsea reluctantly brought her attention back to her mother. “Sorry, mom, just saw something in a book that kinda took me away.”
Her mother tutted, “Is that all you two are doing? I hope he's letting you have some fun.”
“A lot of what we're doing is fun, mom. The experiment today - “
“You should be around other kids your own age.”
“There'll be time for that next year. After dad's...” She couldn't finish the thought.
Her father walked back into the room and went straight to Chelsea's side. He whispered in her ear, “Someone's trying to trace this call.” She looked up. “Not a witch.” He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at the radio.
“Mom,” Chelsea began, still trying to gather her thoughts. “Mom, is there somebody there with you? I just heard something.”
There was a moment before her mother replied, “No, baby, I'm here alone.” There was a marked stiffness in her voice, and Chelsea's cheeks flushed with blood.
“Are you sure, mom? Cuz I know I heard something.” She struggled mightily to keep the anger out of her voice.
“Baby,...” Now, they both heard the sound of a hand over the receiver and muffled but very distinct sounds of argument. “Chelsea, I've got a federal agent here, and he's trying to trace your father's phone.”
Mr. Perkins shook his head angrily and paced around in high irritation. Chelsea maintained a small measure of calm as she said, “He's my father, mom.”
“He gave up any right to be called your father when he left us, Chelsea,” her mother said, her voice rising. “Now, he's just a kidnapper.”
“Damn it, Eileen, can't you just let this go, considering the circumstances?” Her father was terribly angry, and Chelsea shrank away. “Just let me have these next few months, and you'll never have to deal with me again.”
A gruff male voice came on the line and spoke very deliberately and carefully. “Mr. Perkins, your former wife has no real proof that is the case, and considering the fact that you've lied to her about such a large portion of your past, I think you can understand why she doesn't believe you now.” The agent put on his best good-cop voice and said, “Look, why don't you just bring your daughter back now? If you actually are ill, I'm sure that a deal can be worked out to where you'll avoid prosecution.”
“What do you mean about me lying to her?”
Mrs. Perkins shouted out to Chelsea, “That's right, Chelsea, the cops don't even think his real name is Terrence Perkins. They traced his Social Security number to a man born at the turn of the 20th century.” She furiously asked him, “Who are you, really, Terry? What's your real name?”
Mr. Perkins whispered to himself, “I knew I shouldn't have signed up for that when FDR came up with it.” To his ex-wife, he said, “That's my real name. And my condition is for real, too, Eileen.”
“Mom, please believe him,” Chelsea pleaded. “Call off the cops.”
“I'll call them off when you're back with me, baby,” her mother said, her voice surprisingly gentle.
“Mr. Perkins,” the federal agent said, “if you care for your child at all, please bring her back now. This is still in the early stages, and she probably isn't permanently traumatized yet. But, if you continue this way, it won't end well. It's all in your hands. Do the right thing.”
Mr. Perkins sighed deeply. “Sir, that's exactly what I'm trying to do, whether you believe me or not.” He turned to Chelsea. “I'm hanging up, now. All right, honey?” She nodded reluctantly, and he reached a hand out to the knob.
“Wait, Terry!” Mrs. Perkins' voice was so pitiful that Mr. Perkins' hand stopped of its own accord. “”Please, Terry, just bring my baby home.”
“She'll come home, Eileen.” He gripped the knob. “And, she's not a baby.” He turned sharply, and phone disconnected. “I'm so sorry,” he said, quietly.
Chelsea wasn't sure if he was talking to her or her mother, but decided to answer him, anyway. “Destiny really messed us up, didn't it?”
“It sure did.” His shoulders slumped and Chelsea felt that she could see the energy draining from him. He stepped over the stairway and leaned on the wall. “I think I'll turn in a little early. It'll be a long day tomorrow.”
“I'll come up soon,” Chelsea said. “I just wanted to do a little reading in the library before I go to bed.”
He nodded and held her eyes for a few seconds. “I love you, honey.”
“I know, dad,” she said without thinking.

Chapter 6, 7 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-16T21:35:00.000-08:00

Chapter 6

A weight hung over Chelsea's head the rest of the day, and she found it impossible to concentrate. She started to bring up the subject again several times, but each time, she found herself unable to finish her thoughts. Each time, her father simply said, “We just have to see what comes, honey. Try to put it out of your head for now.”
She had a small hope that if she really applied herself, really worked hard for this year, she might have some innate ability that made her more powerful than Elsbeth Danwich. She brought that up toward the end of the day. “Dad, you said that she was really powerful. Maybe I have some untapped potential, and all I need is like the basics, and I'll be able to take her out.” It sounded stupid when she said it out loud, but she dared to hope that her father would agree.
However, he just shook his head. “Power is almost always measured by how much you know in magic, honey. There are very few ways to cheat.”
“So, there's more than one way?”
“Yes,” he said, his face resolute, “but most of them take more time than we have, or use Ingredients that are extraordinarily hard to find. Unicorn horn, basilisk eyes, that sort of thing. I mean, I know a demon who could boost you, but it would ask a pretty high price in return – probably more than just one of our lives.”
She sunk down, dejected. “I can't believe you've come back into my life just so that you can die.” She closed the book she had been studying.
“Destiny plays some horrible pranks on us,” Mr. Perkins agreed. “But, we'll just have to see what comes. Try to - “
“Put it out of my head,” she finished for him. She checked her watch and looked up at him. “Mom should be home, now.”
“More pleasantries for our day,” he muttered, putting their books back up on the shelf. “Well, let's get this over with.”
As they walked back into the living room, she asked him, “What are we going to tell her?”
“The truth won't do,” he said. “If she actually believed it, she would call an exorcist as well as the police.”
Chelsea told him a plan she had been thinking about for the last couple of hours. “I was thinking that maybe I could say that you were dying, and I decided to spend your last few months with you.” Her voice choked a little at the end of the sentence, but she soldiered on. “Which is sort of the truth, right?”
“Right. I still think the police are going to be involved, though.”
“Yeah, me too, but I think that's the best shot we have.”
He breathed deeply and agreed. “OK. Do you want me to talk to her at all?”
“Yeah, she's gonna need to hear that it's you just so that she doesn't think that I've been kidnapped by some loony pretending to be you.”
“It's been twelve years. I don't know if she'll still remember my voice.”
Chelsea barked out a small laugh. “Oh, she'll remember. Believe me.”
Mr. Perkins' cheeks reddened, and he turned to the radio on the wall. He unfolded it again and made the adjustment to tap into the American phone system. He then folded it back into place and said, “Sylvia, could you redial Eileen, please?”
“Certainly,” Sylvia said, and they heard the rings of Mrs. Perkins' phone in Jackson.
After the third ring, they heard Mrs. Perkins' pick up and say, “Hello?”
“Hi, mom, it's Chelsea.”
“Chelsea, where were you today? The school called me to tell me that you didn't show up.” Her voice took on a stern tone. “Couldn't these Sydney people take you to school? I'd hoped they were responsible.”
“Mom, I have something to tell you.” Chelsea's voice was very serious, very calm, and it obviously scared her mother.
“Oh my God, honey, was there an accident?”
“No, mom, nothing bad happened.” Chelsea let out her breath slowly and said, “Mom, I've been with dad this entire time.”
There was a very long pause, and then Mrs. Perkins said, “Chelsea, where are you?”
“I'm not in Jackson, but I'm safe. I wanted you to know that nothing is wrong, and I'm fine.”
“You are not fine,” Mrs. Perkins said, her voice rising. “You've been kidnapped and probably brainwashed by that man, Chelsea. You tell him that if he doesn't bring you back immediately, I'm going to the FBI, and I'll put him in jail for the rest of his life!”
“Mom, dad doesn't have long to live.” Chelsea thought it best to bring this up now, to try to forestall the legal consequences her mother was contemplating. “He's probably going to be dead in a year.” A tear escaped from her left eye as she said this, and she rubbed it away ashamedly. “He wanted to spend the time he has left with me.”
Mrs. Perkins didn't respond to that immediately. Chelsea almost thought that she had set the phone down, but then her voice came back on the line. “How do you know he's not lying?”
“I'm not, Eileen,” Mr. Perkins said. “I probably have less than a year. Please let me have that time with my daughter.” Chelsea nodded and reached out a hand to his. He squeezed it tightly.
“Damn you, Terry,” Mrs. Perkins whispered. “Chelsea, I don't trust him. I'd want to see the doctor before I believe any of this.”
Chelsea looked at her father and shrugged. “I have, mom. It's true. Please believe me.” She thought the appeal to believe her rather than her father would probably work better at swaying Mrs. Perkins.
She was right. “Chelsea, baby...” Mrs. Perkins was at a loss for more words. “It's not contagious, is it?”
“No, Eileen, it's cancer.” In for a penny, in for a pound.
“Terry, do you have someone to take care of you towards... towards the end?” She sounded almost concerned.
“Don't worry, Eileen, I'll make sure that Chelsea isn't burdened by that.”
“Well...” Mrs. Perkins thoughts were her own for a few moments. “Well, you call me every day, Chelsea. You understand?”
“I love you, mom.”
“I love you, too, baby.” Her next sentence was directed at her former husband. “Terrence Perkins, if you allow any harm to come my baby, you'll never be dead enough for me.”
Chelsea stepped back from the radio, a little shocked. She'd never heard her mother threaten anybody for real before. Her father wasn't fazed by it, though. “I'll guard her with all the life I have left, Eileen.”
“See that you do. Can I have a minute of privacy with Chelsea?”
“I'll hang up the extension.” He pointed at himself and then the kitchen to let Chelsea know he was going to actually give her and her mother some time alone.
Once he had walked out of the room, Chelsea said, “OK, mom, he's off.”
“I know that your father can be very charming and persuasive, Chelsea, but he's also the jerk who left us when you were just a baby. I want you to remember that.”
“I will, mom. He's done a lot to make up for that already.”
“Hm.” Mrs. Perkins sounded less than convinced. “Is there any way you can visit me, maybe on the weekends?”
“I'll see. I don't know how easy it's gonna be, though. It's kind of hard to get out of... dad's home.”
Mrs. Perkins tried to press for a little more information. “Where are you, honey? And, what's the phone number there?”
“We're pretty far away from Jackson. Dad lives in the country.” That wasn't too much of a lie, at least. “I'll have to get the phone number from dad and let you know.”
“All right.” Mrs. Perkins sounded very alone, and Chelsea's heart stabbed with pain for her. “I really wish you weren't doing this, honey.”
“It's the right thing to do, mom. Don't worry.”
“If he needs you for any organ transplants, you say no, OK?”
“OK, mom, OK,” Chelsea said, laughing. “Look, I gotta go. We have dinner on. I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby. Goodbye and God bless.”
Chelsea had no idea how to hang up with the radio, so she was grateful that her mother hung up first. She said, “Sylvia, are you there?”
The nymph's voice answered, “Yes, Chelsea?”
“You're disconnected, right?”
“Yes, your mother is no longer on the line.”
“You wouldn't happen to know the phone number here, would you?”
“Yes. It is - “
“Wait, wait, lemme get something to write it down on.” She grabbed pencil and paper from the desk and put them together. “OK, shoot.”
“555-555-5555.”
“Really?”
“Really. Your father found it to be the only number no one had any chance of taking.”
“OK.” She didn't bother writing it down. “Hey, can I talk to you from anywhere in the tree, or only here at the radio?”
“I can sense you anywhere within me, but I can only respond in a few places, such as here or near my roots, where I may manifest in my human form. I can sometimes make myself understood by the movement of my leaves, but Terrence tells me that it takes many years of practice to comprehend me when I communicate that way.”
“That'd be cool. Can you teach me how to understand your leaf-talk?”
“Of course. I believe your father wants you in the kitchen now, though.”
Chelsea turned to walk away from the radio, then turned back. “Do I need to turn off the radio or anything?”
“If you wouldn't mind. It's the knob on your right-hand side. Turn it all the way to the left.”
Chelsea did as she was told and heard a click, then silence. “OK, then.” She walked over to the kitchen and found her father pulling a loaf of freshly-baked bread from the oven. “Hey,” she said to him.
“So, did she warn you about me some more?” He smiled ruefully as he said it, but his voice carried little humor.
“Yep.” Chelsea sat herself at the table and watched him fuss over the bread. “I told her not to worry, which was pretty much a lie, because there's a lot to worry about. Just not the things she expects.”
Mr. Perkins nodded. “Right.”
“She wants me to give her your number, too. Is that OK?”
A mischievous smile crept across his face. “She'll probably think it's a fake.”
“I know, Sylvia just told it to me. You don't give it out much, do you?”
He rolled his head to the side. “I don't really hang out with people who use phones.”
“I guess not. So, is it OK?”
“Yes, of course.” He started slicing and buttering the bread, so that the butter melted quickly into the hot loaf, and Chelsea's mouth started watering. When he was done with that, he went back into the oven for a pan filled with roasted vegetables and a couple of browned chicken breasts. Chelsea's stomach growled loudly, and he laughed. “Ready to eat?”
“Hand me a plate,” she said, jumping up and sniffing deeply. “Man, that smells good.”
“One of the side benefits of being a witch is that you learn how to cook all right,” her father said, pulling a couple of plates out of a cabinet. “Silverware's over in the drawer, honey,” he said, pointing to a drawer by the sink. He spooned out some chicken and vegetables onto her plate and handed her a slice of bread, which she started eating while she walked back to the table. He fixed himself a plate and joined her.
“Hey,” she said around a mouthful, “how does the stove work? I was wondering last night how to use it without burning the tree down.”
He grinned and finished the bite he was eating before speaking. “Sylvia's appliances won't harm her, so don't worry about using them, all right? The heat comes from geothermal energy below us. She's got a root that we reinforced magically and grew all the way down to a layer of magma. It gives us heat for the water, winter and oven.”
“Cool.”
“My mother's idea, actually. She saw a volcano erupt in the Pacific before I was born, and always thought there had to be a way to tap into that.”
“She was a witch, too?”
“All of our family on my side are witches.” He leaned over to her. “But, pretty much anybody can learn how to do it. We're not born with powers or anything like that. We've just taken the time to learn how to use spells.”
Chelsea frowned. “So, a witch can be an Un, too, if she isn't trained?”
Mr. Perkins blinked. “A what?”
“Oh, I was thinking about a better name for the unmagical, and since they're also called unbelievers, I figured Uns was good. What do you think?”
“OK.” He didn't look spectacularly impressed. “Anyway, right, a witch that doesn't receive training is an 'Un', just like anyone else who doesn't use magic. Although, there are some abilities that turn on by themselves.”
She took a guess. “Like visions?”
He nodded. “Uh-huh. There are others, like physical peculiarities that our family is thankfully spared, and they're harder to hide.”
“Why would you need to hide?” She gestured at the tree around her. “I mean, god, dad, look at all the cool stuff you can do. Can't you protect yourself from the Uns without hiding?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “But, magic takes a lot of prep time. You have to gather Ingredients, you have to prepare them, you have to mix them, and then you have to make sure the results work right. An angry peasant with a pitchfork has run you through a dozen times by then.”
“Oh.” She looked a little disappointed. “So, what do you do, then?”
He spread his arms out to the tree around them. “You find a place to hole up and you do a lot of work to make sure it's safe. You keep your secret and only reveal it to those you trust.” He pulled a short rod of what looked like a white wood from a chain around his neck. “And, you carry a few things that'll help you out in the crunch.” The rod was capped by a silver hoop that the chain was looped through. He whispered something softly into the hoop, and it let go of the rod. “Your great-great-grandmother made this after she narrowly escaped from a young French lord who wouldn't take non for an answer. She gave it to her daughter, who gave it to her daughter, who gave it to my mother. Mom didn't have a daughter to give it to, but she knew that I would, so she gave it to me so that I could pass it on to you.”
Chelsea grinned widely. “Your mom could see the future, too?”
“Oh, yes. Our special curse, she called it.” He held the rod out to her.
Chelsea gingerly took the rod in her hands and held it at arms' length. “So, is this some kinda wand?”
“Kinda,” Mr. Perkins said, smiling. He took the chain from around his neck and draped it over her. “To put it on or take it off the chain, you whisper 'agrafe' to the hoop. Go ahead and try it.”
She took the chain in her hand and touched it to the silver hoop. She placed her lips right next to the hoop and breathed “Agrafe.” She was surprised at the speed with which it leaped back onto the chain, and jumped. “Whoa,” she said, laughing.
“Yeah, it took a while for me to get used to that, too.” He pulled open a cabinet door and took out a small glass jar that held a black paste. He unscrewed the cap and dipped his finger in the paste, then set the jar down on the counter. “This will smell for a few minutes, but it'll be OK after that.” He rubbed the paste vigorously onto the chain, whistling an odd tune while he did it. The tune sounded like something you heard at a Renaissance fair, and she swayed a little as he started. Them, the odor of the paste hit her – it was like rotting vegetables mixed with engine grease, and she almost gagged.
“God, dad, what is that stuff?”
“Bonding gel,” he said, finishing up his coating of the chain by touching a small amount to the rod and its cap. He turned to the sink to wash his hands, then said to her, “Put the chain under your shirt, and the rod, too. Make sure it's all touching your skin, or else it won't bond right.”
She scooped the rod up and tucked it under her clothes, then patted the chain into place on her neck and chest. She got some of the gel on her hands and shuddered.
Mr. Perkins was already drying his hands off. “Come here and wash. Try not to touch anything else till you do.” He screwed the lid back on the jar and replaced it in the cabinet. “That'll make sure that the chain and the rod stay with you and only obey you. You're going to need to wear it for the next two days solid. You can take a shower in the morning, but leave the chain on.”
“OK,” she said, scrubbing her hands as hard as she could.
He looked a little uncomfortable for a second, then said, “If a situation arises where you're about to be searched, or you have your clothes off, you can make the chain part of your skin by telling the chain 'cachez'. The same word will make it come back.”
She winced. “Do I really want to do that?”
He spoke slowly and carefully. “There may come a point where it's necessary, honey. I've had to do it more than once.” He looked her straight in the eye as he said, “The element of surprise is going to be very important for you. People aren't going to expect a 12-year old to be able to do the things that you're going to do, Chelsea. You're going to shock the hell out of them all.” She raised her eyebrows, and his face broke into a proud smile.
She returned the smile and patted the rod where it sat resting on her sternum. “So, what does it do?”
“The tige du defense,” he said with an impeccable French accent, “provides you with the effects of four spells: Disable My Enemy, Shield My Body, Shield My Mind, and Conceal Me. The Ingredients for all of these spells were incorporated into the rod itself, but it's powered by your life force. You'll feel yourself grow weaker if you use it too often, so it's best for emergencies only.”
“Emergencies only. Got it.”
“To use one of the spells, hold the rod in your hand and think the name of the spell you're invoking. You remember the spells?”
“Uh, Shield Me, Disable The Enemy, Conceal My Mind...”
“Close.” He spoke carefully as he repeated, “Disable My Enemy, Shield My Body, Shield My Mind, and Conceal Me. Say them.”
“Disable My Enemy, Shield My Body, Shield My Mind, and Conceal Me.”
“Right.” Mr. Perkins put his hands on her shoulder. “Now, these spells are not for beginners, so you're going to need to study for a while before we start practicing with the tige, OK?” She pouted. “I'm sorry. I just don't feel like healing one of us for a few weeks because you didn't quite understand the concept of disabling your enemy.”
“It can cause that much damage?” She looked down at and patted the rod. “Sweet.”
“Bloodthirsty child,” he said, shaking his head and laughing. He returned to his plate of food, and motioned for Chelsea to sit down again, too. “In a couple of weeks, if you're ready, we'll start using it on a few things we don't mind getting hurt. I can arrange sparring partners who won't mind a little injury.”
Chelsea munched down a few bites in silence, feeling the rod on her chest as she ate. It was warm, but not unpleasantly so. The chain, too, had a very pleasing feel on her skin. Her father noticed the look on her face as she stroked the chain and raised an eyebrow. She dropped her hand and said, “Sorry.”
“Don't sweat it.” He looked down at his plate and pushed the food around a bit. “So, how do you really feel about this boy Neal?”
She almost choked on the bite she had taken. “Jesus, how do you know about him?”
Mr. Perkins tapped the side of his head with his finger. “Visions, remember?”
Chelsea indignantly shoved her plate away. “I need a tin-foil hat or something. How am I going to have any privacy?”
“You can give up on that, now. I've got the kind of spying ability that other parents can only dream of.”
She fumed at him. “Man, this is gonna be no fun at all.”
He waved that off. “We'll have plenty of fun. Just don't think you're ever getting away with anything.”
“That's part of the fun,” she said, crossing her arms and frowning. She then completely broke the effect by giggling. “OK, OK, Neal.” She sighed deeply. “He's a little cute, I guess. But he's so needy, and he's always wanting to do things for me, like I need to have anything done for me, you know? I can take care of myself. I don't need a guy to do that.” Her father nodded approvingly. “But, he's, like, the only friend I have at school, and he is pretty sweet. Even if he is a doofus.” She pulled her plate back and resumed eating. “I'm a little confused,” she said, sheepishly.
Her father put his hand on hers. “I know. It doesn't get any clearer when you grow up, either, unfortunately.”
“You're just full of good news, aren't you, dad?”

Chapter 7

The next few days were filled with more reading than Chelsea had ever done in her life, as well as the beginning of her language lessons. “You need to at least be able to read the French books from my mother's side, and Celtic and Latin are important for the older books. Oh, and Greek – that's always good to be able to read. Hebrew, too. Probably a little Chinese; just Mandarin.”
As the weekend approached, she felt the need for some choice goofing-off time. “Man, I can't wait to sleep in tomorrow,” she said to him over her latest practical experiment. It smelled wonderfully like freshly cut grass and fragrant flowers, a welcome change from the last few spells she had put together under her father's eye. She thought he probably wanted the change, too, because he kept coming over and sniffing the bowl as she mixed the Ingredients.
“What do you mean?”
“Tomorrow's Saturday,” she said, as if it was transparently obvious, then hoped that it was with all her heart.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice lowering and a guilty look crossing his face. “I don't think you'll be able to do that, Chelsea.”
“Man,” she said, pounding the stone bowl a little too vigorously. “Don't tell me I have to study every single day.”
“No, no, we're not studying tomorrow,” he said, a little absentmindedly. “We'll be taking a road trip.”
That didn't sound so bad, so she eased up on her mixing. “Is this about done?”
“Twenty-four more turns counter-clockwise, and then 3 turns clockwise.” After Chelsea resumed her mixing, he said, “We'll be going to London, actually.”
She nearly dropped the spoon. “England?” It took a supreme effort of will to return to the spell. “Oh my god, I've always want to go there!”
“Don't get too excited,” he told her, dashing cold water on her hopes. “It's official business. You have to be introduced to the Council of Wisdom.”
“Council of Wisdom,” she mumbled. “They're in your book. Sound important.”
“The Witches Councils are like our governments,” he said to her, looking into the bowl again. “The Perkins and Clarks have always been guided by the Council of Wisdom, which is the largest council in the world. Over a thousand witches are part of it.”
“Twenty-three, twenty-four.” Chelsea went through three quick clockwise turns in the bowl, then turned to her father. Tentatively, she mouthed the phrase, “Clear the air?” He nodded, so she said it out loud. “Clear the air.” A great puff of lavender smoke erupted from the stone bowl and expanded quickly throughout the tree. After a few seconds, it dissipated to the point where they could see again, and it left behind a sweet smell that they both breathed in deeply. “Ahhh.”
“Well done.” He walked over to the wall and looked carefully at a corner. “The fungus is completely gone.” He patted the wood tenderly. “Taking care of your place of power is always important, even though it may seem trivial at the time. If you let it fall down, it won't be long before you follow.”
She nodded and took off the apron and gloves she had been wearing. “So, is that it for today?”
“Sure,” he said, carrying the stone bowl to the sink. “I think we'll ratchet you up to some more difficult spells next week, and start getting you into Ingredient preparation.”
“Cool,” she said, storing the apron and gloves in the small broom closet. “So, what am I gonna do tomorrow, when I get introduced to the Council?”
He looked everywhere but directly at her as he said, “Well, they're a little concerned that you're twelve and just now getting started with your lessons. They'll want to ask what you've learned so far, how good a teacher I am, how confident you feel in your destiny, things like that?”
A thought hit Chelsea which made her feel sick. “Do they want to take me away from you?”
Now, her father met her gaze. “They're not convinced that I've made the right decisions by you.”
“Well, they'll be preaching to the choir there, but you've explained why you did everything you've done.”
“Not to them.” He started water running into the stone bowl in the sink. “I don't think we can tell them everything, either. I think that someone on the Council is giving Elsbeth Danwich information. I haven't been able to see who, so I figure it's someone who'll be found out after I'm dead.” He looked back at with a rueful smile. “Probably by you, if I had to hazard a guess.”
Chelsea had become a little more used to the idea of her father's death, so she ignored the joke. She was still looking for a way to prevent, unknown to him. She'd lost a lot of sleep searching the library after he went to bed. “Could they take me away from you?”
“They won't,” he said, confidently. “We'll convince them, one way or another, honey.”
She took three breaths to calm herself and fixed an image of a small kitten in her head. It was a trick he had taught her to still fears, and it worked amazingly well. She was cheerful again after a moment. “Is there anything I can do to prepare?”
“Not really. The whole point of this kind of meeting is to catch you unawares. Just try to keep your head.”
“Easier said than done.” She checked her watch. “Oh, I gotta call mom. She wanted to talk to you, too. Wanted to see if we could come there this weekend, sometime.”
Mr. Perkins groaned. “I wish I hadn't agreed to let you talk to her every day.”
“Miribalya ko ye nimissa,” she said.
“Think before you act. Thanks.” He pushed her shoulder. “Your accent is getting better.”
“Thanks, I've been working on that one.

Chapter 5 (fin) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-10T21:28:00.001-08:00

Chelsea felt good at the success and the cessation of her cramps, but something occurred to her. “Dad, uh, I know it's a little late to ask this, but, um, I'm not going to Hell for this, am I?”
Mr. Perkins shook his head and chortled. “I've got several books on religion that I'll let you read later. I've talked to people in the spirit world, and I'm pretty sure nobody goes to Hell that doesn't intend to.” He dried his hands off on a small towel and placed his hands on Chelsea's shoulders. “There's a lot you're going to have unlearn, Chelsea, and that's one of them. We're not in league with Lucifer. The entire reason you were brought into the world is to keep a demon from entering it; if that's not being on Heaven's side, I don't know what is.”
That quieted a lot of fears that Chelsea was subconsciously carrying. She then asked a less pressing question that she had nonetheless been thinking about since cracking open her father's book. “So, the Ingredient thing – is that the only way you can do magic? What about, like, wands and incantations and stuff?”
She could it was taking him supreme effort to keep from rolling his eyes and sighing. “It's fairly common to create items that are imbued with great powers, but it takes a spell cast with seven Ingredients to make them. I have a pretty useful item here, a three-wish bag, that can grant three wishes. Most things I'm going to make wishes about I could probably also perform a spell to do, but the three-wish bag saves me time and Ingredients. So, you could make a wand that might be able to perform the same functions as a spell, sure. But you're not going to make anything happen just by chanting. One of the fundamental principles of magic is that a price must be paid for supernatural abilities.”
“OK, sorry I asked,” she said, grimacing. She decided to change the subject, since this was obviously a sore spot. “So, you made a three-wish bag and haven't used it? No wishes you'd like to see come true?”
“They're hard to make, so you really have to be desperate to want to use it.” He smiled. “I've heard that some witches have passed them down as a legacy. Wishes can be dangerous, so I can see why somebody might never use theirs.”
“Wishes can be dangerous?”
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded vigorously. “Come here, let me show you something.” Chelsea followed him into the library, where he went straight to a worn and shabby-looking book. “I'm going to have to rebind this soon,” he mumbled, turning pages rapidly until he found what he was looking for. “Here we go,” he said, putting the book down on the desk closest to him.
She looked at the pages he was pointing at, and they were titled, “Disastrous Wishes.” Over the next few pages, there were illustrated misadventures of witches who had failed to properly implement their wishes. Some had lived to tell the tales themselves, while others were told by their next of kin or eyewitnesses of the consequences of their actions. One particularly gruesome illustration showed a witch who had wished for 'eyes that could go through anything'. Her eyes had ripped out of her head and were indeed able to go through anything. The picture made Chelsea regret seconds at breakfast. “So, it's like the monkey's paw story? Wishes always end up twisted to where they don't do you any good?”
“Oh, no, as long as you prepare yourself and discipline your mind beforehand, a three-wish bag will grant you the wish as you intend. So will most wish-granting items. The trick is to be disciplined and think of the right intentions.” He tapped the poor eyeless witch's picture. “Let yourself get distracted, and you end up like this unfortunate woman.”
Chelsea giggled and said, “Practice safe wishing?”
Her father nodded seriously, oblivious to the joke Chelsea was making. “Yes. Odd way of putting it, but that's right.”
She figured there were probably going to be a lot of phrases she knew that were going to go completely over her father's head. She liked that. It was a small way she could make him feel stupid, which she felt she was going to relish. She had an idea that he was going to be making her feel pretty ignorant during her stay here.
“So, as long as I'm focused, I should be able to make a wish without losing any major limbs or creating zombies?”
“That's right. Of course, you should take care when using any magically-created item, because you never know if the witch who created them did it well,” he lectured. “You can usually trust your own items and abilities, but there's no real way to be sure about other people.”
“Like parachutes.”
Her father stopped in mid-lecture mode. “Excuse me?”
“You always wanna pack your own parachute,” she said. “So that you know that it's done right. Or, I guess, so nobody else can be blamed if your chute doesn't open.”
He thought for a minute, then had to agree. “Yes, that's the same principle. Good analogy.”
“That's why I said it,” she said, smiling.
“Don't get too impressed with yourself,” he said, shoving her gently back over to her desk. “You still have work to do.”
She sat down and picked up the Ingredients book again. “Is this how our day's gonna go from now on?”
“For a little while. Once you have the basics down, we'll move on to the more advanced aspects of magic.”
“How long do I have before I have to face down your lady friend?”
He took a deep breath and collected himself. “Probably less than a year. You were about this old in my vision when you were facing her.”
“Less than a year.” That knot in her stomach was back. “And how old is she? How long has she been doing this?” She maintained great control of the panic that was threatening to make her voice squeak as she asked that.
“She's my age, trained since birth.”
“I think I need to lie down.”
He rushed over to her and took her hand as she lay her head down on the desk, hyperventilating. “Chelsea, I know it sounds impossible, but you will be able to do this. I saw it in my vision. You have to believe that you will win this fight.”
“You said that none of the stuff you see in visions is set in stone,” she moaned, not raising her head. “You said it can all be changed.”
Her father cursed himself silently. “You just have to make sure that this one doesn't change.”
She whipped her head up, suddenly inspired. “Hey – the three-wish bag. We can just use that. We can wish her away.” His face turned sheepish, which instantly drained the confidence she had just found. “What?”
“She has a protection spell in place against wishes.” He raised his voice, a defensive tone creeping into his words. “Hey, she's very good, and she anticipated a lot of the tactics that would normally be used against someone trying to summon a demon.”
“But, somehow, I'm gonna beat her.” She whimpered.
“You are.” He took her chin in his hand and turned her face to his. “You're going to have an edge that she can't anticipate.”
She couldn't think of what that advantage might be, so she said, sarcastically, “What? The goodness and purity of my heart?”
He let go of her chin and turned away. “You know that Elsbeth is using a human sacrifice to free Asmodeus. Well, human sacrifice can grant power, too. Great power.” He turned back to her, and his face had lost some of its color. “I know that you'll have the power to face Elsbeth Danwich, Chelsea, for the same reason that I won't be there to face her. I'm going to provide you with the power to beat her. I've seen how you acquire it.” She felt the blood leave her own face. He sat down at his desk and opened his book again. “We have less than a year. We should get busy.”

Chapter 5 (cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-09T20:59:00.001-08:00

“Right. Well, you often have to be creative in your interpretation of what constitutes each of these things. What is the flesh of a rock, for instance, or the breath of a highway? Building that tunnel out there was a bear, let me tell you. Six months of digging, laying tar and gravel, figuring out what to use for Ingredients, and hoping I didn't crack the car up when I drove in the first time.” He shook his head, his eyes focused on that moment. “I was scared to death I hadn't done the spell right, and then I was through and driving back in the real world.”
“When did you build it?”
He scratched his chin. “Fifty-two? Maybe fifty-three. Ike was president, I'm pretty sure, so it had to have been fifty-three.”
“Wow.” Chelsea again felt a little stunned at the age of her father. “That explains the car, then.” She started leafing through the Ingredients book and then looked up at her father. “Did you commute back and forth from here while you and mom were together?”
“No, I lived there the entire time. I got in touch with some old friends and...” He trailed off, and looked a little embarrassed. “It's such a cliché. They lent me a building they weren't using and I opened a magic shop.”
Chelsea laughed, as did he. “Not the real thing, right?”
“No, magician's tricks only. We try not to proliferate our knowledge out among the unbelievers.”
Chelsea looked a little disappointed. “Is that what you call people who don't practice magic? Just 'unbelievers'?”
He looked a little puzzled. “Sometimes we refer to them as the unmagical. Why?”
She turned a little red. “Well, I just thought there might be a cooler name for them, is all. There's this writer who calls them - “
“Oh, her.” He couldn't hide the pained look on his face. “Yes, I know about her and the cute and funny names she has for all the things her little witches can do.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “We don't do that. We're fairly literal in our naming procedures and I haven't written in Latin since I was a little older than you. The less you think this is going to be like a children's book, Chelsea, the better.”
She was sorry she brought it up. She turned her blushing face back to the book. “OK. So, this book tells me what Ingredients I can use to make magic?”
He let his annoyance drop and leaned over her shoulder. He flipped pages back to the table of contents. “This is one of the few books that I'll be teaching you with that has one of these, so don't get used to it,” he said. “But, it's a godsend. Most witches keep using their copy of Ingredients until the pages fall apart, and it wouldn't be as useful if it didn't have this.”
The table of contents showed that the book was broken down into several generic sections with such alarming titles as Poisons, Damnations, Bindings, Enslavements and others that made Chelsea's eyes widen. There were also some positive section headings; the book spoke of Love, Fertility (sexual, animal, agricultural), Inspiration, Fortune and Prophecy, as well. There was also a section entitled Development of New Ingredients, which led her to believe that there was room for experimentation, such as her father's building of his tunnel.
“This book is mainly there to let you know the basic Ingredients. For more advanced spells, I have my own work, which you were just looking at, and books that were written by our ancestors, as well as books and notes gathered from other witches over the centuries.” He spread his arms out to indicate the whole library. “I haven't read everything in here, and I've been trying for most of my life. There's knowledge you haven't dreamed of in these volumes, Chelsea. It's all just a matter of finding and applying it.”
It all made her very eager to start. She turned to the first chapter of 'Ingredients' and began reading. “The practitioners of the mystical arts have, over millenia of experimentation, discerned that 7 Ingredients are necessary for the successful working of any spell. These Ingredients are referred to basely by the familiar singsong of 'fur, flesh; blood, bone, breath; seed and egg'. This tome will assist you in the naming of the more common Ingredients and their uses, as well as providing suggestions for the research, identification and development of Ingredients that are entirely new.”
It went on for several pages, discussing how to identify and procure Ingredients, and then it went into the practical chapters. Chelsea looked up to see her father scribbling in his book again, and she cleared her throat. He looked up from what he was writing and she asked, “What should I start with for my first spell?”
“You always want to do something small and easy for your first one,” he said, closing his book and standing. “Do you want to give it a shot?”
She nodded vigorously and stood, herself. “What are we gonna do?”
“Come on in the kitchen.” Chelsea followed him into the kitchen and he opened up several cabinets and pulled out a large stone bowl and several smaller items. “This one is one of the easiest. You add the Ingredients in the order of the saying, there's minimal mixing, and if you mess up, the only bad thing that happens is the bowl gets filthy.” He spread out the Ingredients on the wooden counter. “OK, the other nice thing about this spell is that the Ingredients are all fairly easy to understand and identify. The fur is actually fur,” he said, pointing at a small clump of hair, “the flesh is really flesh, the blood is blood, and so forth. As you add each item in, you stir it once completely around the bowl and say what it is. When you add the egg in at the end, you stir it once, then pronounce the area of your body that is in pain, and give one final stir.”
Chelsea's stomach lurched a bit. “I don't have to drink this when I'm done, do I?”
Her father chuckled. “No, the Ingredients should all disappear. Now, since you're having your period, I'm pretty sure that there's an area of your body in pain.” She didn't bother admonishing him about bringing up her period again, but simply nodded. “All right, then, to conclude the spell, you would say, 'my vagina', or 'my reproductive organs', something along those lines.” Chelsea's face was burning a hot pink, and he finally noticed. “There is nothing wrong with having menstrual cramps, Chelsea. It's perfectly natural. Once you get this spell down, you'll find that they don't bother you at all.”
“That'll be nice,” she said quietly, trying to stamp down the embarrassment.
“There's also spells for birth control, but we'll get into those later.”
“DAD!”
“It's always good to be prepared for these things, Chelsea.” He went down the line of Ingredients with her. “Fur, flesh; blood, bone, breath; seed and egg. Put the Ingredient in, stir; when you get to the egg's stir, say the name of the area in pain, stir one last time, and poof. The Ingredients should disappear and you should immediately be out of pain.” He smiled at her, his own face almost as eager as hers. “You ready?”
“As I'll ever be.” She limbered up her arm and picked up the spoon. She picked up the small hairy clump and dumped it into the bowl. “Fur.” She stirred it once around the bowl, scattering its hairs across the stony surface. “Flesh,” she added as she dropped in a small piece of white meat. It soon became very hairy. “Blood.” A small trickle of red added color to the hairy chunk of meat, and “bone,” brought a clunking noise with each swipe of the spoon. “Breath,” turned out to be a small bottle of smoke which she had to fight to stir around. Once she did, though, it stayed in the bowl. The seed she popped in next looked like a peach pit, and the final egg was a blue speckled affair that cracked as she stirred it. She then whispered, “My uterus,” and gave one last stir to the goop.
She was startled backwards as everything in the bowl whirled around and shot up, then straight at her midsection. She braced herself for what she thought was going to be a hard thump, but didn't feel anything. She looked around, and the glop she had been mixing was entirely gone, except for a little sticky stuff left in the bowl.
And, she was entirely cramp-free. She felt great.
Mr. Perkins was beaming. “That's my girl,” he said, pride saturating his voice.
“That was easy!”
“Sure, because you had the Ingredients here, and someone told you how to mix them and call out their powers.” He took the spoon from her hand and put it into the stone bowl. “The hard part is gathering Ingredients together. That's what takes time and effort. Once you get them, though, the spell should be able to work itself out, provided you don't have to do anything too complicated to the Ingredients.” She followed him as he carried the bowl over to the sink and let water run into it. “Now that you've got that one under your belt, what I'd like you to do is start reading through the Ingredients book and start identifying spells you'd like to attempt yourself. Don't get cocky, though. Try to keep it simple.” He patted her on the shoulder. “You're off to a good start. I'm sure it's only going to get better for you from here on out.”

Chapter 4 (fin), Chapter 5 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-08T20:12:00.001-08:00

Chelsea did her best to keep her eyes focused on Sylvia's face.
Mr. Perkins noticed Chelsea's rather pinched look and said to Sylvia, “I think Chelsea would prefer it if you manifested in a leafier state.”
Sylvia looked down, which almost made Chelsea look, too. “Ah, that's right, some humans feel that nudity is only for sexual situations. Forgive me, Chelsea.” She closed her eyes and the leaves in her hair started sprouting siblings and inching down her body, covering up all the naughty parts. “Better?”
“Much, thanks.” Chelsea smiled at her, and she smiled back. “So, how many generations of my family have you had living in you?” It was an awkward question, but it was all she could think to ask.
“Five, Terrence?” She looked over at Chelsea's father, and he looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “I was planted sometime in the 1500's, I believe.”
“The 1500's?” Chelsea looked over at her father, believing the nymph must have made some mistake. “Those are some long generations.”
Her father looked ill at ease. “Well, there's a certain fringe benefit that comes from being a witch, Chelsea. There are spells that let you live a very long time, and keep a fairly youthful appearance most of your life.” He spread his arms out. “How old do you think I am?”
She didn't like where this was going. “35? 40?”
“I was born in 1905.”
Chelsea felt a knot at the pit of her stomach tighten. “You're like, sixty years older than mom? That's gross!”
Sylvia laid a hand on Chelsea's shoulder. “Your father could not have mated with a non-witch his own age and produced a child, Chelsea.”
“God, you both make it sound like you were doing some kind of breeding experiment.” Chelsea stumbled over to the dumb waiter. “How do you make this thing go back up?”
“Forgive me,” Sylvia said to Mr. Perkins. “I should have obfuscated my own age.”
“It's all right, Sylvia. She had to learn eventually.” He walked over to the dumb waiter and opened the door.
“Mom's grandfather was born after World War I.” She looked at him disgustedly. “You're older than him.” She climbed into the small box and waited for her father to close the door.
“Destiny plays some strange tricks on us, Chelsea.” He almost climbed in after her, but thought better of it. “You go up and wait in the library. I'll be up in a minute.” She nodded, looking away from him, and he closed the door.
The dumb waiter lurched up and she was back in the kitchen in a couple of seconds. She hopped out and walked to the library, flopping down at one of the desks. “What other yucky things am I going to learn about this man?” She looked around at the library, and her eyes fell on a book that was sticking partly out from the shelf. She recognized it as the book her father had been writing in as she went to bed. She stood and looked down the hall; her father had not come up into the kitchen yet. She pulled the book out and opened it on the desk.
The handwritten title page read, “The Works of Terrence Howard Perkins, of the Perkins/Clark Lineage of America, England, Wales and Brittany, Supplemental to Studies Decreed Essential by the British Council of Wisdom.” Chelsea looked up and made sure that her father was still not about to pounce on her, then flipped through a few pages. Most of the book seemed to be recipes of some kind, with very odd ingredients, but she saw a few personal notes here and there.
She also saw that he wrote down some of his visions, including one about a woman named Elsbeth Danwich. “So, that's how you spell her name,” Chelsea mumbled. She read the passage where he seemed to have first had the vision about her.
“In my dream, I saw Elsbeth Danwich, a powerful witch that I met when I was studying in northern England, performing the rite to free Asmodeus. A woman lay spread upon the great stone bowl in Elsbeth's circle of power, a woman from the Council, I think, and she was in the Rare Condition, when she constituted all the necessary Ingredients for the most potent of human sacrifices. Normally, I would think that I would be there to stop the ritual; the Council has always entrusted me to handle the troubles that I have visions about. But, I wasn't.
“Instead, there was a young girl who slightly resembled me, and a young woman who was unfamiliar to me. The girl was the important figure in the dream – she would stop Elsbeth, I could tell. I knew that I needed to find out who this girl was, or will be. I will perform a vision quest later to tell me more about her. I have some connection to her, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Chelsea thought. She skimmed ahead until she found the results of his vision quest.
“The spell produced one of the clearest visions I have ever had. I must leave the safety of the tree and find a Hispanic woman in Arizona named Eileen Morales. We have to marry and have a daughter, and then I have to leave them. The immorality of this pains me, but my daughter will be the only one who can stop the return of Asmodeus. I don't know if I can do this. This woman is young enough to be my own granddaughter, and we will love each other very much – until I leave her. Then, she will hate me with a passion that will be impossible to describe. And my daughter; I have to leave my daughter's care to someone else. The Perkins' have always cared for family above all else. I have to leave everything I believe in behind me in order to save the world, but how can I? How can I leave my own daughter?”
“It was a very hard decision, Chelsea,” her father said, making her jump halfway out of the chair. “When I held you for the first time, I considered letting the world go hang. There are ways I could protect us from Danwich and Asmodeus.” He closed the book and put it back on the shelf. “But, I looked around that hospital, at all those other babies, and I knew that I couldn't let all of them die just to protect my own. There are plenty of people I wouldn't mind leaving to Miss Danwich's tender mercies, but there are none I can leave to Asmodeus.”
“Who is Asmodeus?” She had no idea who this person was, or why it was so bad that he be freed.
“Asmodeus is a demon, one of the oldest of the Fallen Angels. He was bound thousands of years ago, at great cost to humanity and its allies. I don't think we have the power to bind him again, so it's vital that he not be let out.” He sat down at the desk opposite her. “Remember when I was talking about how this is Armageddon stuff?”
Chelsea's face felt numb. “I'm supposed to stop a demon?”
“No. You have to stop Elsbeth Danwich. If Asmodeus gets out, it's too late.”
“Not that there's any pressure.”
He smiled. “No, no pressure.” He got up, walked over and took her in his arms. She was grateful just to be a child and be held for that moment. “There's more – a lot more. But, do you want to know everything going into this, or have you had enough shock for the day?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “I've had enough. Tell me the other awful things later.”
“Fair enough.” He pulled away and looked down into her face. “I expect you not to pull a 'when were you going to tell me' later on, now.”
“I'll still do it,” she said, pressing her hand to a moist eye. “I'll just know that I'm being irrational.”
“As long as you know,” he said, and they both laughed. “I wish I had seen you grow up, honey.”
“Me, too.” They let go of each other, and Chelsea composed herself. “Sucks to be the hero, I guess.”
“Yep, it usually does.”
Chelsea sat back down and looked around the library. “So, what are we going to start with?”

Chapter 5

Mr. Perkins pulled down a thick tome that was titled, “The Ingredients of Magic and Their Myriad Usages” and plopped it in front of Chelsea. “That's the first one. Magic is conjured from 7 base Ingredients – fur, flesh; blood, bone, breath - “
“Seed and egg,” she finished. “I got that from the vision about the sacrifice.”

Chapter 4 (cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-07T20:53:00.000-08:00

He placed the clothes on the bed and told her, “I've got breakfast cooking downstairs. Come down when you're ready.”
“OK.” He left and she examined the clothes he had for her. The panties were cotton, the bra had a very stiff underwire, the shirt was a rough brown fabric, and the pants were a rigid denim that felt like they had been carved rather than sewn. She examined the other clothes in the dresser, but these seemed to be the pick of the litter, so she took them down to the bathroom with her.
The shower was a strange experience. It was a little like being washed off by a fire hose. The force of the huge nozzle was invariable – it was either off or on. At least it was a pleasant temperature, even though it did knock her back a couple of feet when she first turned it on. It also tasted very sweet, which disconcerted Chelsea; it made her think that she was bathing in the tree's sap for a second. Still, she came out refreshed and clean, not sticky, so she didn't complain too much. It also imparted a natural perfume to her, which explained the lack of soap in the shower itself. She dried off and dressed, discarded the bra as far too uncomfortable to wear, and adjusted the shirt until it didn't scratch anymore. She looked at herself in the mirror, shrugged, and went down to the kitchen.
Mr. Perkins had the bread and butter she had sampled last night on the table, along with some scrambled eggs and bacon, a juice she didn't recognize, and a large hunk of melon. “All right, I'm starving. Sit down and let's eat.” He made a plate similar to hers and sat down at the table. He had a cup of tea rather than juice, and he sipped at it as he ate.
She cleaned everything on her plate and looked around for more. “That was delicious,” she said sincerely. “Can I have seconds?”
“Sure, help yourself,” he said pointing at the stove. “There's a couple more strips of bacon, and plenty more melon.”
She scooped up more of the bacon and munched at it while she selected another chunk of melon and brought it back to the table. “What kind of melon is this?”
“Israeli Melon. They're good, aren't they?”
“Mm-hmm.” She gobbled down the food and then leaned back. “Man, I never do that at home.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we're usually in a big rush at breakfast. School, work, you know.”
“Not so much,” her father said, smiling. “The pace of life here is a little more mellow.”
She shrugged. “Well, we can't all be hippie witches, I guess.”
He leaned forward and touched her arm. “You can.”
She pulled back and looked around. “Let's say I agree to help you with this Danwich woman,” she started. “What does that mean? Am I going to be coming here after school all the time, what?”
He looked down for a moment, then back up into her eyes. “Chelsea, if you agree to help with Danwich, it means staying here and learning my ways – our ways. The magic of all your ancestors on my side.”
“Staying here. Staying?” She shook her head. “Like, not going back to my mom, who raised me alone since you abandoned us, you mean?”
He was unperturbed. “Yeah, that's what I mean.” He got up and walked over to the sink, carrying his plate. “Look, I'm sorry that you grew up without me and that it was hard. I'm not going to apologize about that any more. It was necessary.”
“Why was it necessary?” She was not going to give up on this until he explained it more clearly. “Why did I have to grow up without a father?”
He kept his back to her, talking with great emotion. “There are decisions you're going to make soon, and they would be very different if you knew me better, or had been trained by me from birth. It's very important that you make those decisions the way you will now, rather than the way you would if you had been raised by me.” He turned around to face her, and his face was determined. “You have a responsibility to the world, including your mother. If you don't stay here and learn what I have to teach you, she'll be in as much danger as everybody else when Elsbeth Danwich succeeds because you weren't there to stop her.” He flailed his hands around, his voice rising. “I'm talking end-of-the-world, rapture, Armageddon, here, Chelsea. You've got to stop it.”
Chelsea was already convinced that she needed to give in, but wanted to pry a little more from her father before she said it out loud. “What decisions am I going to make?”
“I can't tell you that,” he said, shaking his head. “That would color your thought processes and produce a different result; quite possibly a bad one. We have to let events take their own course.”
“You sound like somebody on Star Trek.”
He looked puzzled. “What?”
She rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Tell me this, at least – am I going to be the one that Elsbeth Whosits sacrifices?”
He looked a little relieved. “No. That's definitely not you.”
That lifted a weight from her. She had been worried about that ever since the dream, and had almost thought that her father might be grooming her to be that victim. With that settled, she asked him, “Should I tell mom?”
His entire body tensed. The struggle in his head was visible across his face. “She'll find out you're not in school before too long,” he said, finally. “And, occasionally I do have to go back to the U.S. As long as we stay out of Jackson, I think we can avoid any legal problems, but...” He looked down at her, clearly worried. “I suppose we should. I have a feeling she's going to call the cops, but if we tell her now, it might not escalate too badly.”
“Way to be positive, dad.”
He looked at her with a humorless smile. “Do you see any positive way to spin this?”
She had to admit she couldn't. “No, but it's best to tell the truth, right?”
Now, he laughed. “Since when?”
She laughed, too. “Abandonment, lying, kidnapping – you're shaping up to be one heck of a role model, dad.”
“Glad I'm doing my part.”
They cleaned up the kitchen, then went back into the living room, where Mr. Perkins opened the radio again. “This is how I turned it into a telephone,” he said, showing Chelsea the inner workings of the machine. It was a fascinatingly organic creation; she saw veins that must be acting as wires, flowers with their petals tightly closed that resembled vacuum tubes, and stranger things that she couldn't identify. One of the veins seemed to have been recently spliced in with tape, and he massaged it until it glowed, then folded the cover closed. “Are you there?”
“Yes,” said the feminine voice from last night.
“Do you still remember the number?”
“480-555-6781.”
Mr. Perkins looked at Chelsea, who nodded. “Please call it again.”
Chelsea looked down at her watch. It was almost eight. “She might not be there,” she told her father.
“We'll see.” The phone rang four times, and then a voicemail message came on. Mr. Perkins shook his head and said, “Sylvia, please disconnect.” The sound went dead immediately.
Chelsea looked at him oddly. “Sylvia?”
He smiled back at her. “The tree's given name.” He walked over to the door that led to the kitchen. “Would you like to meet her?”
Chelsea felt a little non-plussed. “Huh?”
“She doesn't do it very often, but I'm sure that Sylvia would like to send her nymph out to meet you.”
“Nymph, huh?” Chelsea pursed her lips. “So, you weren't exactly lonely without mom, were you dad?”
He laughed out loud. “It's nothing like that, although Sylvia is quite good company. Come on, let's introduce you.” He walked back to the kitchen and Chelsea followed. There was a large cabinet door that Chelsea hadn't opened the night before that her father walked over to and opened. It was a dumb waiter, and he climbed inside. “It'll be a tight squeeze, but I think we'll both fit.” He extended his hand out to her, and she crushed herself in beside him. There was barely room to breath. “Don't worry, it's a short trip.” He closed the door and they dropped slowly down a few feet. He opened the door and they spilled out and stretched.
The room they were in was a large oval, with a soft fungus covering everything. Besides the dumb waiter, there was an opening leading out of the room that sloped down. Walking towards them from that opening was a female figure. “Hello, Chelsea,” she said, and her voice was the same as the one that the radio had spoken with. “I am Sylvia. It is a pleasure to have you living within me.”
“Well, uh, thank you for giving me the place to live.”
Sylvia laughed, the sound like the rustling of leaves on a very windy day. “I have nurtured and been nurtured by many generations of Perkins, Chelsea, and I love and protect your family as my own. As long as I live, you have a place within me.”
“Thanks. That's good to know.” She looked over at her father. “At least I have someplace to come when I run away from home.” Sylvia and her father laughed heartily.
Sylvia came closer to Chelsea and looked her over carefully. Chelsea examined her back; the nymph was brown-skinned, with eyes as green as the leaves of the tree, and hair to match. Her green hair was dreadlocked, and each lock had a small golden leaf hanging from the end. She was also completely naked, which made the setting quite awkward for Chelsea. “She has the look of her great-uncle, Terrence.” The nymph leaned over to whisper in Chelsea's ear. “He had a great destiny, too, dear. He fulfilled it well. I have a similar faith in you.”
“Thanks.”

Chapter 3 (fin), Chapter 4 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-06T20:08:00.000-08:00

Wanting to be just the tiniest bit nosy, she tiptoed over to the stair and carefully made her way down to the bottom floor to see what her father was doing. It was hard going, with the stairs being so smooth, but she inched along and made it down without making any noise. She ended up in the bottom room, the living room, she supposed, and poked her head around the corner.
Her father was sitting at the desk, with the radio softly playing some big-band number. His head was bowed over a large, leather-bound book that he was scribbling in with an ornate black fountain pen. He was left-handed, she saw, just as she was. Now she knew where she got it from. Whatever he was writing must be serious; she stood watching him for several seconds and he didn't stop once.
He finally lifted his pen from the page when the song on the radio ended. He looked up at it, then reached a hand out and pulled one of the knobs completely out of the box. A strange static issued from the speakers. The other end of the knob was a long, corkscrewing stick, and she could hear it humming even from across the room. He pulled out a small knife and set it on the desktop, then opened a drawer and pulled out a small vial. He ran the knife across the back of his hand, then wiped the knife on the corkscrew. “Fur, flesh,” he muttered, dipping the knife into the vial. “Blood, bone,” he continued, wiping the knife on the corkscrew again. “Breath,” he said, blowing on the strange mixture that he had been applying. He used his fingers to coat it thoroughly across the stick, then inserted it back into the radio. “Seed and egg.” He twisted the knob again, and the sound quality had improved. He put the vial back in the drawer he had pulled it from and took a cloth out to wipe off the knife. When it was clean, he set it and the cloth in the drawer with the vial, then went back to his book.
Fur, flesh; blood, bone, breath; seed and egg. That had been in her dream about the sacrifice. There was something terribly important about those seven things. Chelsea felt like those seven parts constituted a whole that she should know about. But, it was all just playing around at the edges of her perception, teasing her. Mildly frustrated, but unwilling to disturb her father, she turned back to go upstairs.
“I'll explain it all, Chelsea,” her father's voice said, stopping her mid-step. “But, get some sleep, first. I'm going to need your full attention.”
She didn't know whether to reply or not, but thought it would be more rude not to say anything. “OK,” she said, then hurried up the steps as quickly as she dared. She shucked off her shoes, but left the rest of her clothes on as she dived under the covers and shut her eyes. The bed was imminently more comfortable than her own, and she was soon fast asleep.

Chapter 4

Elsbeth Danwich's golden-brown hair wafted along in the wind behind her, and she shook her head to clear it out of her face. “Don't worry, my dear, it will all be over soon,” she cooed down at the woman strapped to the great stone bowl. Clouds were moving in overhead, whipped by the wind. “We just have to wait for the night to come, then we can begin.” She caressed the other woman's face almost lovingly. There was a crazed look in her eyes, which sparkled like opals. There was a visible field of power around her; sparks arced from her fingers to the victim's face. “Forgive the small tortures,” she said, “but, he prefers the souls he drains to be tormented as they come to him.” She looked up at the sky, and the sun was almost completely set. “Good. We can begin the preliminaries.” She pulled out an odd strap that held a leather bag and fastened it tightly around her victim's mouth so that the bag caught her breath. Danwich then turned to the ring of stones guarding her and began drawing old runes on each of them. When she was done with the guardian stones, she turned her talents on the stone bowl, encircling it with the ancient signs of power.
Chelsea felt the bowl heat up, and knew that there was now a fire beneath it, burning her as she lay strapped to it...

Her eyes opened as she gasped awake. The unfamiliar room disoriented her for a minute, but she was comforted by the fact that she wasn't lying naked in a stone sacrificial bowl. She sat up and looked around. The window was dark, so she figured she had been sleeping for a few hours, at least. She felt a need to visit the bathroom, so she got up and padded softly out of the room. Her father's door was closed, so he must have gone to sleep, as well.
Once she was done in the bathroom, she felt a little hungry, but didn't know where the kitchen was in this tree. She figured there had to be one, since her father was so far away from everything. She thought for a moment, then decided that it was probably on the ground floor. She slipped down there and started looking around.
One of the nice things about the tree was that it lit flowers up for her as she passed and dimmed them as she left, so that she didn't have to search for light switches. She found a library off of the living room, then what looked like a workshop of some sort, and then the kitchen.
Like everything else in the tree, all of the appliances and furniture grew directly out of the walls and floor. She was a little surprised to see a stove, and wondered how it worked. Probably not by setting anything on fire, Chelsea guessed. There were two pantries, one of which was quite chilly when she opened it. She had no idea how that was possible other than, “Magic.” Her voice startled her and she looked around just to be sure that no one else had heard her. After assuring herself that she was alone, she pulled some bread out of the warm pantry and butter out of the cold one, then found her father's dishes. She decided not to try making toast because she didn't want to burn the tree down, so she just smeared some butter onto a slice of bread and put the loaf and butter back.
Her father had several projects in various stages of completion scattered around the kitchen. There was a large glass jug with what she was certain was beer – she could smell it from here – bubbling by the warm pantry. There were also two doughballs proofing next to the stove underneath a towel. Something was simmering in a sauce pan on top of the stove, but she didn't see the heat source and didn't move anything around too much to try to find it. It smelled slightly of tomatoes, so she hoped it was food. There were also things she couldn't identify at all – some strange brownish liquid was being chilled in the cold pantry, and there was a large ceramic bowl in the oven, both of which gave off odd odors she had never smelled before.
After finishing her bread and butter, Chelsea took one last look around the kitchen and then went to the library. This room wasn't very large, but all of the walls doubled as shelves from floor to ceiling, and they were stuffed with books. None of them were titles she was familiar with, and quite a few were in languages that she couldn't read. Most of them looked hand-bound, too, and very, very old. There were two desks growing in the center of the room, with the springy chairs like her father had at the desk in the living room. She looked around for several minutes to try to find the book he had been writing in earlier, but had to give up because of the sheer number of books on those shelves.
Yawning, she trundled back to the stairs and creeped up to her room again. Her father's door was still closed, so she didn't have to explain her snooping around, thankfully. Although, now that she thought of it, he probably already knew she'd done it. He didn't need eyes in the back of his head – he could see the future.
She lay back down, but sleep didn't come as quickly as it had before. She had to accept the reality of the magic she had been shown, and that was very disturbing. This Elsbeth Danwich woman was also very disturbing, and not least because she had been the sacrificial lamb in this last dream about her. She hoped that was just her subconscious feeling put upon and not a prophecy that she had to keep from coming true.
The moonlight from the window played across the room as clouds passed by overhead. It was a very snug feeling, surrounded by this heady wood scent on a huge soft bed, and it became easier to dismiss her fears with each passing moment. She burrowed her head into the pillow and was soon deeply asleep again.

Her father gently shook her awake. “Chelsea, honey, it's time to get up.” She opened her eyes and he smiled down at her. “Bad dream, huh?”
She gaped at him. “Do I have any privacy?”
“Not a lot,” he said, turning to the dresser. He pulled out some underwear, socks, pants and a shirt. “I'm pretty sure all these will fit you, but I have a few other sizes in here, just in case.”

Chapter 3 (cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-05T19:50:00.000-08:00

Chelsea reached out and touched the radio. It felt warm to her fingers. It was one of the old-style kind like you saw in movies from the 30's and 40's, with ornate carvings on the front. She also saw what looked like hinges on the sides, where her father must have unfolded it. They were seamless; she only thought they must be hinges because they bulged out from the wood and were in the right position to open. It grew right out of the wall itself, at about chest height for her father.
Chelsea tore her attention away from the radio and turned back to her father. “You lie really well,” she said, and he threw up his hands.
“I had to lie to get you to come here. You've already shown me that you don't believe in magic.”
She flopped back onto his couch and said, “You know, this place is cool and all, but I don't see any reason why this is supposed to make me believe in magic. You're an inventor or something, and you're really into organic stuff. That explains all this stuff you've got. Magic doesn't even have to have anything to do with it.”
He looked around for a second, obviously marshaling a reply. He held up a finger, said, “Wait a minute,” and left the room by a spiraling staircase. After a moment, he was back, holding a mirror. It was square and framed in dark wood. The frame was carved with tiny representations of different creatures and people. “Pick one of the figures,” he told her.
Perplexed, she looked at an image on the corner of the frame nearest her for a moment. As she did, she noticed that the mirror clouded over, as if someone had blown on it. Then, she saw the mirror clear and the image of an older man appeared in it. He looked much like his representation on the frame, except with a few more years on him. He was sitting in a private library, reading a book in a very comfortable-looking easy chair. As she stared, he looked up, directly at her, and smiled. He set the book down on the table next to him and pulled a tablet of paper over. He scribbled briefly on it with a pen and then held it up. “Hello,” it said, “whose are you?”
The simultaneous sensation of wanting to faint and laugh out loud fought for time in Chelsea's mind. Her father looked down and said, “Ah, Gerald. You have to write something down for him – sound doesn't travel through the mirror.”
“Where...” She was trying hard to keep herself together. “Where's paper?”
“The desk by the radio.”
Chelsea held up a finger, then ran over to the desk and rummaged till she found paper and pencil. Her father swung the mirror over to her, and she wrote back to Gerald, “I'm Chelsea Perkins.” She looked at her father over the mirror and asked, “What's your first name, dad?”
“Eileen never told you?” He rolled his eyes. “Terrence.”
Chelsea added onto her message, “Terrence Perkins' daughter.”
Gerald's face lit up and he nodded. He wrote down quickly, “It must be your birthday. Welcome to the fold, my dear.” He was a thin man, but looked very kindly and his smile was very infectious. His hair was mostly gray with a few small streaks of red still clinging on.
She wrote back, “Thanks.” She didn't mention it not being her birthday because she didn't think it was important. “This is really strange.”
He gave a huge belly-laugh when he read that, and wrote back, “I'm sure it must be. Don't worry. Before too long, this will seem the most normal thing you're doing.”
She smiled and answered him, “Thanks. That really reassures me.”
He laughed delightedly again and told her, “Well, I'm sure that you need to do some studying. This time of your life will seem hard, dear, but persevere. It all pays off in the end.” He waved after giving her a few minutes to read that, then walked right up to the mirror. She just had time to wave back to him before he swiped his hand across the mirror, returning its image to her own reflection.
Mr. Perkins looked down at the mirror to see that Gerald was gone, then up at Chelsea smugly. “Does that convince you?”
Chelsea could feel her heart beating very fast, and the light-headedness that had threatened to make her faint was back. Part of her - a very small part, she had to admit – was still trying to come up with an explanation for what just happened. “You hypnotized me,” she mumbled, but she didn't really believe it.
“In that case, you might as well move forward as if everything I'm telling you is the truth, because I'm the greatest hypnotist in the world.” He set the mirror down carefully and sat on the desk next to her. “Look, Chelsea, I know that it's hard to accept, but I need you to get over it and start working with me here. I don't have a lot of time to get you up to speed.”
She shook her head to clear it and decided that she didn't want to talk about magic just now. “Who's Gerald?”
“Old friend of the family,” her father said. “Lives in Ireland. Behave, and I'll take you to see him one day. His castle is pretty impressive.”
“You've got friends who live in castles?” He nodded. “And I live in a crappy apartment?” He shrugged. “I've got a lot to make you pay for, dad.”
“Well, you're off to a beautiful start.” He stood, grabbed the mirror, and walked over to the stairs. “Come on, I'll show you where you're sleeping tonight.”
She followed him up the stairs. They were smooth, so she had to step carefully, and wished for a rail to hold onto. After passing two landings, Mr. Perkins walked off the third one towards one of four doors leading off a central hall. “This place is really roomy,” Chelsea said behind him.
“It grows as the family does. My father had to share a room with his brother. Now, we have extra space for visitors.” He hung the mirror next to the door. “This is your room, Chelsea.” He swung the door open and she looked into a small but comfortable room decorated in subdued earth tones. Nothing frilly was in sight, which she was thankful for. The large bed had a dark red comforter and looked very soft. Like everything else in this tree, it grew out of the wood around her, as did the dresser across from it.
She yawned loudly and suddenly realized how tired she was. “Sorry, dad.”
“No problem.” He softened and said, “I've thrown a lot at you today. I'm sorry. Why don't you turn in, and we'll talk some more in the morning?”
She nodded and turned back the sheets on the bed. A practical consideration made her ask, “Where's the bathroom?”
“The landing right below us, first door on the left. It's got sanitary pads in it already.”
She gave out a mortified, “Dad!”
“There's no need to be ashamed of your body and its natural functions, Chelsea.”
She refused to meet his eyes as she walked back to the stairs. “It's not something normal girls talk about with their fathers, dad.”
He put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “You're not normal, Chelsea. And neither am I.”
She grinned. “You can say that again.”
He laughed, dropping his hand. “I'm going to be staying up a little while longer. I'll be on the first floor, but my bedroom is right here,” he said, pointing to the door next to hers, “so if you need anything, just let me know.”
“OK.” She walked down to the bathroom, and he went back to the bottom floor. She shut the door and looked around. He had pads within easy reach of the toilet, which was a large, dark wooden bowl rising up from the floor. There was a wooden chain next to it, which she assumed was what you used to flush the thing. She tested it out, and sure enough, when she pulled the chain the water in the bowl whooshed down into what she assumed were the roots of the tree. “This is really taking environmentalism too far,” she whispered.
After utilizing the facilities and cleaning herself up, she looked into the tub. It had a shower head, which she was grateful to see. She hated baths. The nozzle resembled the elephant's trunk in those old Flintstone's cartoons. She started wondering where the water came from, and then wondered where the light was coming from. There were windows in most of the rooms she had been in, but this one didn't have any. She looked up, and in the center of the ceiling was a large, golden flower. Light dripped down from it like sap from a willow, and she had to force herself to look away before it blinded her. “Wow,” she breathed. In spite of her exhaustion, she was seized with a desire to run up and down the stairs, examining each room inside this massive tree. She wanted to see what other wonders her father lived with every day.
But then, her mouth split open in another huge yawn, and she knew she would have to wait till after she slept. She opened the door and looked around for the switch to turn off the overhead flower, but didn't see one. When she stepped outside the bathroom, it dimmed itself. “Sweet.”

Chapter 3 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-04T20:13:00.000-08:00

Chapter 3

She refused to get out of the car. She shouted at him, “Have you lost your freaking mind?” She couldn't believe that he had kidnapped her and drove all night to this stupid tree. “Did you slip me some kind of drug? Is that why I slept so long?”
“You didn't sleep that long, Chelsea. The day and night are reversed here from Jackson is all.” He was still holding his hand down to her, his eyes pleading. “C'mon, Chelsea. You've seen the tree in your dreams. You know this is the same one.”
She had to admit, if only to herself, that the tree she had been dreaming of had looked a lot like the one before her. It was gigantic. It was a hundred feet tall if it was an inch, and at least half that around. The branches were like enormous pipes sprouting out of the top and bursting green for yards and yards around its crown. It provided shade even over where the convertible sat, a good thirty or forty feet away from the trunk. And, what was really odd, what made her think that she must have been given some kind of drug, was the tingling all up and down her spine that let her know this thing was alive; she could practically feel the photosynthesis taking place right now.
But, none of that really changed the fact that she had been taken here unwillingly. “I want to go home. Take me home, now.”
He dropped his hand and looked away. “I can't do that, Chelsea. You saw what Elsbeth Danwich is going to do. It's your job to stop her.”
“I quit. I don't want the job.”
He chuckled. “I wish I could let you quit,” he said, softly, then turned and started walking towards the tree. There was a door in the side facing them, and she could make out windows above and beside it. “There are some jobs you have to do whether you want to or not.”
“Like being a parent?”
That halted him, and it was several seconds before he could compose himself to turn and face her. “I deserved that. But, you're not going anywhere without me.” He pointed behind her, and she turned to see a small dirt road leading into a tunnel that sloped gently into the ground. Around them, for miles stretching into the horizon, she could see nothing but green fields. “It takes a very specific spell to make that tunnel work. I know it; you don't. If you feel like striking out for Jackson on foot, be my guest. It's about three thousand miles that way,” he said, pointing off to his right. “In another dimension. Good luck with that.” He continued walking towards the door in the tree. “I'll be setting up the guest bedroom.”
She watched him walk through the door and close it behind him. She didn't know how to drive, and cursed herself for not paying more attention when her mother drove. She could tell that this car was a standard transmission, too, so it wasn't going to be as easy as steering and stomping on the gas. She checked her watch, and was a little puzzled that it showed the time as just a little past nine at night. Maybe he'd done something to it, too.
She stepped out of the car and slowly circled around, scanning the fields for the slightest hint of life other than the two of them. There was nothing. No buildings, no smoke drifting up, no sounds, nobody walking around. Nothing. Just this huge tree, an old car, and her.
She slumped down on the grass and wished for a cell phone.
After several fruitless minutes of feeling sorry for herself, she stood back up and grabbed her backpack from the car. She slammed the door shut and stomped up to the tree. “Dad,” she shouted at it, “I'm going now. If you feel like not being crazy for a while, you can come get me and drive me back home. I'm heading east.” She knew that the sun rose in the east, so she pointed her face towards the huge orb the she figured was just starting its climb up the sky.
After she had walked a few football fields away, she heard a voice call out to her, “That's not east.”
She turned around and saw her father hurrying towards her. She looked back up into the sky, and saw the sun did seem to be setting rather than rising in the direction she was walking in. “How long was I asleep?” That ticked her off even more. “Cripes, dad, what did you do to me?”
“Kidnapped you.” He ran up to her as she waited. “But, I didn't use any drugs. We really are in another dimension. It's magic.” She tried to make the scorn on her face as withering as she felt that statement merited, but he just smiled at her. “Yeah, save that look for when you're a teenager. Look, just come back to the tree and I'll be able to explain everything. Stay the night. If you still want to leave in the morning... we'll argue about it some more.”
She looked back over her shoulder, and the sheer lack of civilization made her realize that she didn't have much choice but to give in. She wanted a concession, though. “I need to call mom and let her know where I am.”
Mr. Perkins looked like he had just swallowed something very sour. “That's gonna be a little difficult, sweetie. I may be able to tap into the phone lines, but it might be best if you didn't let Eileen know that you're with me.”
“So, you want me to lie.”
“Yeah, you're going to do real well as a teenager,” he muttered. “Yes, I want you to lie to her. Tell her you're spending the night with a friend.”
“And what if she wants to talk with the friend's mother?”
He got a sly look. “I can imitate a few voices.”
She crossed her arms and tapped her fingers a couple of times before agreeing. “OK, but I need to call her before it gets too late.”
He had turned and was already running back to the tree. “Just give me a few minutes.”
Chelsea followed more slowly, still fuming. This was definitely going into her diary as the worst birthday week ever. But, she was starting to accept that she wasn't anywhere near Jackson – she couldn't think of anyplace in Arizona that looked like this. It made her think of Scotland, or Ireland; someplace where they were always going on about the heather on the hills and the beauty of nature. That tunnel bothered her, too. That had to be the one that they came out of. But they were only in it for a few minutes – how could she have been in Jackson at one end of that tunnel and here at the other end?
She gave up speculating once she reached the door into the tree. She decided, for the most part, that her father was a world-class hypnotist and was just making her see things that weren't really there. She'd give him the night to explain himself, then she was going to try to shake herself out of this trance and find her way home.
She opened the door and gasped.
Just inside the door was a hallway that looked like it had been made by the tree creating a giant hollow knot right there. The floor wasn't very flat or smooth, but it felt nice and springy under her feet. The smell of fresh, living wood was everywhere, and it made her a little light-headed. The hallway curved into a larger room that was deeper inside the tree, and here she saw furniture that seemed to be growing out of the wood around them. There was a couch, a table, even a radio, all springing from the walls or floor. Her father sat at a desk that melted into the wall behind it, on a chair that sprouted up from the floor below him and swayed slightly as he worked. He was fiddling with the radio, doing something she couldn't see to its insides.
“I think that'll do it,” he said, folding the radio back together. It didn't have any screws, and she hadn't seen anything metal while he'd had it open; it all just seemed to fit together like wooden origami. “What's your mom's number?”
“480-555-6781,” Chelsea said. She didn't know if he needed the area code, but thought it was better to include it, just to be safe.
“Did you get that?”
He had addressed the radio, and she started when a clear woman's voice replied to him, “Yes. One moment, please.”
They heard the familiar buzz of a telephone line ringing, then Chelsea's mother's voice said, “Hello?”
Mr. Perkins indicated that Chelsea should just speak to the radio, so she said, “Hi, mom. Sorry it's so late. I just got carried away with,” she fumbled a moment for the name she had chosen that morning, “Orelon, and she's invited me to stay over for the night. Is that cool?”
“Honey, that's great. I'm so glad that you made a new friend.” Chelsea felt a twinge of guilt about how happy her mother sounded. “I really should talk to her parents, though.”
Chelsea looked over at her father, who nodded. “Sure, here's her dad.” She mouthed the words Mister Sydney at him, and he shrugged.
He turned to the radio and started to speak in a completely different voice. Chelsea was stunned at the change. “Hello, Mrs. Perkins - “
“Please, call me Eileen. I only keep the Perkins in my name to avoid confusion with Chelsea's school.”
Mr. Perkins chuckled in that odd voice and said, “OK, then, Eileen. And you can call me Carl. The girls were just having too good a time to let it end, I suppose. We can take her to school in the morning with Orelon if you don't mind letting Chelsea sleep over.”
“I don't mind at all.” Her mom sounded genuinely happy, and Chelsea felt like a complete heel. “And maybe Orelon can stay over some night soon.”
“That would be fine with us, I'm sure.”
“Wonderful.” There was a small pause, then Mrs. Perkins said, “Carl, if you don't mind me asking, I thought that Chelsea said you were from Australia.”
Mr. Perkins looked over at Chelsea, who made a small “oops” noise. “My wife is. We met over there while I was employed with an Australian company, and decided to move back here so that Orelon could enjoy some of her American heritage.” Chelsea gave him a thumbs-up.
“You must tell me about Australia some time,” Mrs. Perkins said. “I've always loved the movies.”
“We'll do that. Well, I'd better let you get to bed yourself, now. Thanks for letting Chelsea stay over.”
“No problem. Thanks for having her. Bye.”
There was a click, and Mr. Perkins reached over to the radio and twisted a knob. “Magic can work wonders, honey.”

Chapter 2 (cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-03T20:28:00.001-07:00

He did have a huge knowledge of ancient myths, history and philosophy, though, and it was kind of fun to hear him talk about the Spartans at Thermopylae. When she brought up the movie 300, and how heroic they were, he laughed disparagingly. “They were the smallest force of even those who were left behind to cover the retreat; the Thespians outnumbered them 2 to 1, for god's sake. Free men, my a – I mean, they were just as bad as the Persians in almost every way.”
Chelsea looked down at her watch and saw that it was 8:30. “Oh my god, I've gotta get home.” She looked up at him and said, “You did say you'd drive me, right?”
“That's what I said.” He flagged the waitress down and pulled out a wallet. It was an old, brown strip of leather that didn't even fold anymore, but had an odd symbol burned into the hide. It looked like a bracket dropped on its side above a straight line, a rectangle, and a cross inside a square. It was outlined in gold, and looked very Asian.
She had to remark on it. “Dad, did you get that in China or something?”
He looked at the symbol and smiled. “Oh, yeah. Remind me to tell you the story about that when you're older.”
“If it involves you and sex, I really don't wanna hear it.”
He barked out a laugh. “No, no, far from it. Just not the kind of thing you tell your twelve-year old daughter, is all.” The waitress plodded over to them and handed Mr. Perkins the bill. “Thanks, hon.” He pulled out what looked like a hundred-dollar bill and handed it over. “This cover it?”
The waitress' face lit up. “Sure. You, uh, you need change on that?” She was obviously trying not to sound too hopeful.
The smile he gave her, Chelsea thought, looked kind of sad, and she didn't understand it. Mr. Perkins just patted her hand and said, “No, I don't.” He slid out of the booth and stood next to her for a second. He leaned close and whispered, just loud enough so that Chelsea could hear, “That'll help, right?” The waitress nodded, and he patted her hand again. “Good to know.” He moved over to Chelsea's side of the booth and extended his hand to her. “Let's go, honey.”
Chelsea took his hand and pulled herself up, but kept looking at the waitress as they left the diner. She was holding the hundred like it was the answer to a prayer, and it looked like there was a small tear on her cheek. “Dad,” she started, but he held up a hand.
“We can talk about it outside,” he told her, and walked them briskly out of the diner to the parking lot. There, he headed to an old 50's-style convertible that was sitting across two parking spaces.
“You do realize that only jerks park like this,” she said, disapprovingly.
“It's very important that this car not be damaged,” he told her, hopping in and opening her door. “So, about the hundred - “
“If you can flip that kind of cheddar around, I really want to know what I'm doing living in a crappy apartment,” Chelsea sound, only half-joking.
“I can't do that all the time,” he said, fastening his seat belt and staring at her till she did the same. “I told you how I have visions of the future, like you do. Well, I have a few items that let me do something about what I see. The wallet is one of them.” He fired up the car, and the roar of the engine forced him to speak louder. “When there's someone in true need, it can provide enough to cover their need.”
Chelsea smirked. “You're saying your wallet can make money magically appear?”
He nodded, then put a hand over the back of the seat and turned his head around to look behind them. “The only real problem with it is that it can't provide any personal profit to me. It can only cover my expenses, and it can be pretty stingy about those.”
Chelsea found herself laughing out loud. She couldn't help it – it was just too ridiculous. “Your wallet tells you how much you can spend. Must be tough.”
“Yeah, it's left me high and dry more than once. That's why I always carry some mad money in my pocket. Can't tell you how many times that's saved my bacon.” He had pulled them onto the street now, and was accelerating into traffic. He flipped on the radio and a big-band song wafted out of the speakers. “Let's see, you live off the highway, right?”
“You were just there,” she said, a little annoyed. She didn't know if she would be able to give him directions from here.
“I didn't drive last night.”
She cocked her head at him, puzzled. “How'd you get there, then?”
His mouth worked for a couple of seconds; it looked like he was trying to figure out what to say to her. “It's complicated,” he finally settled on.
“Wow, that explains everything.”
“I didn't think you were a teenager yet,” he said, laughing. His teeth sparkled in the light from the other cars, and his eyes had a merry twinkle in them which made her smile in return.
“You are one strange guy, dad.”
He nodded. “That I am,” he said, sincerely. “And you've only talked to me for a couple of hours. Wait till you really get to know me.”
The cars were thinning out as they drove, and the street lights didn't provide much illumination, so she looked out at the city to her right and watched the lights for a few minutes. The music and the heat wrapped together around her and her eyes drooped.
A woman with long, golden-brown hair was tying someone to what looked like a great stone bowl in the middle of a circle of stones. The stones stood like huge giants, guarding her as she tightened the straps about her squirming victim. There was something covering the mouth of the victim, but she was naked, otherwise. It's a woman, Chelsea thought, and for some reason, that made sense. A phrase popped into her mind, then. Fur, flesh; blood, bone, breath; seed and egg. The victim would provide all of those, Chelsea could sense.
The long-haired woman started sawing off the hair of the victim with a sharp brass knife, and terror exploded from the victim's eyes. It was so strong that Chelsea could feel it, too, and she looked wildly around for the cause. She saw a hole forming in the air, a doorway that she knew someone was about to walk out of...
Her gasp alerted her father to the fact that she was awake. He patted her on the shoulder. “The woman performing the sacrifice is named Elsbeth Danwich. It's very important that you stop her from completing that ritual.”
“How,... how...” She was babbling, unable to distinguish between what was real and what wasn't anymore. She didn't know how he knew what she had just seen.
“I know a lot, Chelsea. Especially about Miss Danwich.”
She was struggling to put some reason behind this, some rationality that she could grasp onto to keep from going crazy. “Did you hypnotize me or something?”
His face was grim. He turned the car down an exit ramp and sped into what looked like a tunnel. “No, Chelsea. Everything you've seen is either already real or will be. But, you have the power to change the outcome of the visions. Never forget that, honey. Even though it'll usually cost you a higher price than you're willing to pay, these things can be undone.” He looked over at her as they entered the tunnel, and they locked eyes. “There's going to be some very high prices that you're going to have to pay, honey. I'll try to help you figure out which ones are worth it, but it's going to come down to your own judgment before too long.”
Just as he finished speaking, he reached up to the shade and flipped it down. A pair of sunglasses slid down the visor and he slid them onto his nose. She looked forward and saw that the end of the tunnel was coming up brightly. Much brighter than it should be.
And that's when it occurred to her that there were no tunnels anywhere around Jackson.
Light flooded them both, and she threw up her hands to cover her eyes. She heard the car's tires crunch onto dirt, then felt them pull to a stop. She slowly pulled her hands away from her face and squinted out the windshield at the largest tree she had ever seen in her life.
Her father, who had exited by his door as soon as the car stopped, opened her door from the outside and put his hand down to her. “Welcome to the tree of life, Chelsea.”

Chapter 2 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-02T20:05:00.001-07:00

Chapter 2

Chelsea's jaw dropped a little, but she made herself snap it shut. He was joking, obviously. "Don't say things like that," she whispered to him. "Especially not when I just asked if you were in a cult or something, cuz that sure makes it sound like you are."
"Sorry," her father said, looking around the diner. He had that look that all suspicious people get when they're doing something that they shouldn't. "We should probably get out of here and go back to the tree. It'll be much easier to explain from there."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she said, leaning back in her seat. A couple of people were looking over at them, and she had the distinct impression that the pair of them looked one of those Internet perverts and his victim. She hoped that no one was thinking about calling the cops. She lowered her voice again and leaned forward. "Look, I agreed to see you, but I'm going home after this. I'm not going to... did you say the tree?" She faltered slightly. "The tree I've been dreaming about all day?"
"That's the one."
She was confused. Part of her wanted to believe that she had some kind of psychic powers, but most of her was not buying any of this. He had been gone too long, and this was all far too weird. "Is this some kind of scam?" A very horrible thought occurred to her. "Are you just setting me up for some kind of sick porn thing or something?" She didn't know him at, really, and his interest in her period, of all things - he was sure sounding like some kind of sicko.
"It's not the kind of thing that you can do in front of a lot of people, Chelsea," he said, and immediately thought better of it. "That makes me sound like a pervert, too, doesn't it? Look, I know that you don't really have a reason to trust me. I know that I've been gone too long. I know that all you really want to do is slap me in the face, then have me give you a pony so that you can ride away from me forever." She started a bit when he mentioned the slapping and pony, but recovered herself. "I also know that you know about the tree, and that you've been able to see the future before; like the test you knew about today."
That just blew her mind. "You knew about the test?"
He nodded. "I know a lot about your life. I've seen it, even though I wasn't there. That's what I can do." He grinned, embarrassed. She could see why her mom had fallen for him - he was kind of cute when he did that. "I'm sort of well-known for this ability."
"So, what, I'm supposed to get well-known for it, too? Join the family fortune-telling business?"
He nodded. "Sort of. There's a little more to it than that." He looked out the window at the sky. "Chelsea, I need to get you back to the tree before nightfall. Will you come with me?"
"No," she said, surprising herself with how emphatically she said it. "Come on, dad. How can you possibly expect me to go someplace with you? Look at it from my side - you're a total stranger to me, and you're asking me to go someplace I've just seen in a dream?" She slumped into the booth and looked out the window. If she hurried, she might be able to catch the bus and get home just a little after dark. She slid to the end of the booth and said, "I'm sorry, dad, but I'm gonna go now. Maybe if you and I could talk some more..." She found that she didn't want to cut him off entirely. All those little-girl fantasies of having her daddy again came back to hit her right in the heart. "I mean, I need to get to know you, OK? I don't know you." She didn't mean that last sentence to come out as an accusation, but it did, and his face fell as if she had struck him.
"And that's my fault. I'm sorry, honey." He reached across the table to her and touched her hand. "Will you at least let me get you dinner?"
"I need to catch the bus, dad."
"I'll drive you home. We need to talk about getting to know each other." He let go of her hand. "I need you to trust me, Chelsea. Very much."
She looked over at the door, then back at him. It was odd, but she thought about Neal; her father had that same pleading look on his face. She checked her watch. Her mom wouldn't expect her home till later, anyway. She slid back to the center of the booth. "OK, dad."
His smile was so genuine, she almost felt guilty at the gladness it sparked in her. He waved over the waitress and ordered them both a plate of something greasy and bad for the heart, and when it arrived, she tore into it. It was delicious.
While they ate, she tried to engage him in some small talk, but it was odd how little he knew about anything. He apparently didn't follow politics, and knew nothing about television or recent movies. She asked him, jokingly, "Don't you get cable in your tree?"
"No, actually, I don't." He shrugged, then added, "Maybe I could rig something up. I bet it wouldn't be that hard."

Chapter 1 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

2007-11-01T19:26:00.000-07:00

Here we go with another NaNoWriMo, my first since leaving Today In Alternate History, although I am using a story line from TIAH for this one. Here's the first chapter - enjoy!

It was 1993, so the young girl was named Chelsea, after another young girl who had just become famous. It was ironic, actually, because her mother turned into a Republican shortly afterwards. The girl's father, (who was the one that chose the name), had been a Democrat, and when he abandoned them, her mother felt that anything associated with him was to be spurned. So, she switched political parties, she dyed her hair, she moved to a different city; she thought about changing Chelsea's name, but the paperwork involved depressed her, so her daughter's name remained the only thing her ex-husband left permanently in her life.
Chelsea grew up without her father around, and with a mother who grew increasingly more resentful of her daughter every year. Chelsea was nothing like Mrs. Perkins had been as a young girl, and this caused Mrs. Perkins no end of worry. Chelsea always had her nose in a book, reading or writing, and, after 2001, tapping away at the computer. She had begged Mrs. Perkins for weeks to get that, and it became the friend that she didn't have at school. Mrs. Perkins, who distrusted anything you had to plug in, watched her for a few days to make sure that she wasn't chatting with child molesters or murderers, then let Chelsea have the computer in her room.
Chelsea was always very sensible about these things; she had a way of knowing what was safe and what wasn't. She could tell when a chat on the Internet was turning into something she didn't like, and was quick to cut it off. She loved all the things you could find out using the computer, without having to deal with people at all. It just did what you told it to, which she liked most of all.
Chelsea was a straight A student, which made her mother both proud and worried. “Boys don't like smart girls,” Mrs. Perkins would say to Chelsea after another aced report card would be brought home. “Maybe you shouldn't stand out so much in class, sweetie.” Chelsea hated when her mother tried to give her advice about boys. If boys didn't like smart girls, then she was going to be doing without them, because Chelsea was a very smart girl.
When Chelsea turned 12, she got her first visit from what her mother called “her little friend.” She had researched it very thoroughly on the web, and was completely prepared – almost. The reality of her menstrual cycle turned out to be a little more intense than she had anticipated, and she was irritable all day. After her birthday dinner with her mother, she took a handful of Midol and went to bed.
Later that night, she thought that the Midol must be affecting her brain, because she was having the strangest dream; something was rapping the side of her head, and wouldn't stop. It got so bad that she woke up, and then she realized that it wasn't a dream. Something was tapping at her window. She sat up and looked over at it.
A face peered into her room.
She almost screamed, but something about the face was familiar. It was a man's face, with a small, trim beard and dark eyes shining behind a hook of a nose, and a mouth full of bright teeth that were now smiling at her. “Chelsea, let me in,” the face was saying. “I'm your father.”
Chelsea blinked. Yes, now that she thought about it, the man did look like the few pictures that had managed to survive her mother's wrath, and her own eyes were practically clones of his. But, she didn't quite trust that. “How do I know that?”
“I know your name.”
“You could be some creepy stalker who's heard my mom call me.”
He seemed a little non-plussed at that, then recovered himself. “I named you after the president's daughter.”
Although that could have just been a good guess, she was convinced enough. She got out of bed and walked over to the window. She threw aside the pink, girly curtain that her mother had decorated the window with and that she detested with deep and sincere passion, and opened the window. Mr. Perkins crawled inside and opened his arms to her for a hug. He lowered them a moment later after seeing the look on her face. “I suppose I deserve that,” he said.
“You suppose?” She didn't even try to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“Yeah, well...” He looked around the room, trying to gather his thoughts, and pulled the chair out from her desk and sat down. She sat down on the edge of her bed. “Look, honey, there's a lot we need to talk about, but I don't think we can do it here without waking up your mother. I don't think she'd take very kindly to me coming through your window in the middle of the night.”
“Why didn't you come to the front door? During the day? About 12 years ago?”
He winced. He was clearly uncomfortable about abandoning her, which made Chelsea brighten a little bit. She had fantasized about her reunion with her father for years. It usually involved face-slapping, tearful apologies, and promises of vast inheritances. For a few years there had been ponies. It had never involved him barging through her window in the middle of the night.
“I'm not really a front-door kind of guy, Chelsea, and I needed to see you when your mother wouldn't interfere.” He looked nervously over at the door to her bedroom. “Look, can you meet me at the waffle place on 6th tomorrow after school? I can talk to you about everything then.”
Chelsea crossed her arms. This was too weird. “If you can't talk about it now, I don't think I need to hear it.”
“Chelsea, honey, please. If your mom hears, there'll be a restraining order on me faster than you can say 'police brutality'. Just meet me tomorrow, ok?”
She sighed. “This better be good.”
He smiled brightly. “Not necessarily good; but important, yeah.” He stood, walked over to her and kissed her on the forehead. She wasn't prepared for that, and it made something catch in her throat for a minute. “I'll see you tomorrow, then. Don't be late, all right?”
“I won't, dad.” She chastised herself for sounding so dorky. She got a grip on herself and gave him a surly, “Bye.”
“Goodbye.” He walked over to the window and lowered himself out. “Don't forget. It's really important. I love you.” He blew her a kiss, closed the window and then was gone.
It wasn't until she was almost asleep that she thought about the fact that their apartment was on the third floor and she hadn't seem him using a ladder.

“You're gonna be late for school,” Mrs. Perkins yelled at her, pounding on the door. Chelsea thought very seriously about staying home sick, but didn't think that her mother would stand for that. If you weren't coughing up a lung, Eileen Perkins didn't think you were sick enough to stay home from school. She was very proud of the fact that she had never missed a day of work in her life, something else which greatly irritated Chelsea.
Chelsea dragged herself out of bed, showered and dressed. By the time she was out, her mother had eaten and was reading through some loan papers. She sold real estate to people who probably shouldn't buy it, and was always looking over loan papers. Chelsea flopped down in front of the bowl of cereal at the table and mumbled, “Morning.”
“I know you don't feel like it, sweetie, but you can't let your period slow you down.”
“Mom,” Chelsea whined, stretching the word into three syllables.
“You'll be all right. Believe me, it's no big deal after a while.”
“Easy for you to say,” Chelsea griped into her cereal.
Mrs. Perkins set down her loan papers and frowned at Chelsea. “Yeah, it's not like I actually know what I'm talking about. You know, being a grown woman and all.” Chelsea reddened a little. “You know, boys don't like it when girls talk back as much as you do.”
“Mom...”
“I'm just saying, you could be a little nicer. Boys like nice girls.”
“Well, I'm gonna be single forever, then.”
Mrs. Perkins tapped her papers on the table and put them into a briefcase. “That's what I'm afraid of. Just like your father.” She shook her head and Chelsea tried to hide her face by gulping down the milk in her bowl. “He was a sarcastic son of a... I mean, you couldn't say anything to that man without some snappy comeback cutting you down.” She looked at her watch and started. “Cripes, it's late. Leave the bowl and grab your bag, we've gotta hustle.” Chelsea slammed the bowl down on the table, grabbed her backpack and followed her mother out of the apartment and down to the parking lot.
They had just moved into this apartment complex last year, and it was a vast improvement over the ones that Chelsea had spent most of her childhood in. Their car was hardly ever broken into, the apartment hadn't been robbed once, and her mother felt safe enough in the neighborhood to let Chelsea occasionally walk down to the corner convenience store. The money from the real estate job that Mrs. Perkins had been at for a couple of years paid for this, and the lack of money Mrs. Perkins had endured as a suddenly single mother 12 years ago had been the fault of Chelsea's father.
Chelsea was having mixed feelings about the man; in a corner of her mind, she had always wanted the father she had never known to show up and whisk her away to some wonderful place. In her rational side, she felt more like punching the man who had forced her to grow up hungry and poor. She knew that her mother would be cheering on the rational side.
Still,... he had sounded so sincere last night.
Mrs. Perkins' car was about 8 years old, but still ran well because she was friends with a mechanic who would fix the car cheaply for her. She kept it clean and looking nice, and it gave her the illusion of being a well-paid professional. They hopped in, pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Chelsea's school. “Say, mom,” Chelsea said, haltingly. “Um, this girl asked me if I could help her study for computer science this afternoon. Big test on Thursday. Would that be ok?”
Mrs. Perkins smiled. “I didn't know you had a friend, sweetie.”
Chelsea shrugged. “Not really a friend, mom, just somebody who wants help with school.”
“Still a good way to make a friend. Why don't you bring her to the apartment?”
Chelsea sweated a little. “Uh, she wanted me to come over to her place. They can drop me back home when we're done.” She hoped that her father could actually get her home after their meeting at the waffle place. She didn't like the idea of walking home from there.
Mrs. Perkins looked a little disappointed. “Well, ok, if that's what you've set up. Funny you didn't mention this yesterday.”
Chelsea looked away; dang mom and her penetrating observations! “Well, see, I, uh, I forgot.”
Mrs. Perkins nodded, temporarily distracted by another motorist that she flipped off. “All right, then. Be sure to invite her to the apartment for the next time you two study together. You don't want to get a reputation of being rude. Boys - “
“Don't like a rude girl, I know.”
Mrs. Perkins frowned. “They don't like uppity girls, either.”
“I'll try to be a little more downity.”
Mrs. Perkins gave her a gentle shove on the shoulder, and they both laughed. Chelsea felt a little guilty about the lie; she had lied to her mother before, but this one seemed different. “So, what's this girl's name?”
Chelsea hadn't thought that far ahead. The after-school-studying lie was a spur of the moment thing. She didn't want to use a real person's name, because someday her mother might meet a real person... “Orelon Sidney. She's an exchange student from Australia.” Inwardly, she winced at how lame that was.
Her mother didn't seem to notice, though. “Neat. You've got to invite her over soon, then. Are her parents in the states?”
“Uh, I'll ask. I don't really know.”
“I always loved Mad Max. Those Aussie men...” Her mother drifted off into a private fantasy and let Chelsea relax from the interrogation.
They finally arrived at school and Chelsea got out and waved goodbye to her mother. A couple of girls that she detested were coming over to her, so she made herself scarce, ducking inside the school ahead of the crowd. She hastily made her way to her locker and stowed her backpack in there, just taking out the book she needed for first period. She slammed the door shut and walked down the hallway to her first class, ignoring all the people around her. Details of the night before were swimming in her head and making it throb. She thought about how easy it would be to ditch school now that her mom was off to work, but didn't know if they would call her there to ask where her daughter was. Safer to just live through school today.
Of course, school had its own dangers. Diane Kensington, whom she shared three classes with, caught up to her outside her first class. “So, Perkins, are you gonna give me the answers to the test, or not?”
“I told you that yesterday.”
“I was giving you time to come around.” She took Chelsea's arm. She was a slightly larger girl than Chelsea, and worked out quite a bit. “You're gonna give me the answers to the test today, or you're gonna eat dirt after school, understand?”
Chelsea tried to shake her arm out of Diane's grip, but she might as well have been trying to shake a wall. “I understand plenty.”
“You better not be thinking about narcing me out to the teacher, either,” Diane said, her grip tightening. “Cuz if I have to spend some time in detention, you're gonna be hurting.” She let go of Chelsea and stalked off.
Chelsea walked into first period and sat down at her desk. Neal Barret, who had a bit of a crush on her, leaned over and asked, “You ok, Chelsea?”
He was a sweet enough boy, but she didn't really like him that much. He was too prone to telling people his every thought and deed, and Chelsea liked to keep a lot of things private. “I'm fine, Neal. I just had a visit from Diane the Hun.”
“You want me to take her for you?”
Chelsea looked back at Neal; he was an average guy, and probably had a couple of pounds on Diane, and maybe an inch or two in height, but she just didn't see any kind of killer instinct in him. She patted his hand, which made him smile, and said, “That's ok, Neal. I'll handle it.” He went back to his books; she had made his day. She shook her head and faced the front of the class, where the teacher was writing the morning's lesson. Chelsea normally paid attention and did quite well in this class; math was her second-favorite subject. Today, though, she was distracted and Miss Jefferson had to tell her to keep her mind on her work a couple of times.
Neal noticed this, too, and he followed her out into the hall after class. “What's up with you? Are you sure you're not worried about Diane?”
She shook her head. “I'm fine, Neal.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but bit his tongue. “OK, well, I gotta get to English. See you at lunch?”
She nodded, and he ran off to another wing of the school. She went back to her locker and traded books for biology, her next class. Diane was waiting for her outside class when she got there. The two girls exchanged looks, and Chelsea sighed and shrugged. Diane smiled triumphantly and followed her into class, where they sat down next to each other.
There was a pop quiz that day, which Chelsea had made the mistake of saying she knew about a couple of days ago within Diane's earshot. Chelsea could occasionally tell when these things were coming; she could read some teachers like an open book. Mr. Berger was one of those teachers. She was never surprised when he pulled out a quiz, and this time was not an exception. She whipped through the test, not really thinking about the answers, and only Diane's grunt kept her from flipping the paper over when she was done a few minutes later. When Mr. Berger looked up at the sound, she looked down and pointed her pencil at the paper as if she was still taking the test.
When Diane was done, Chelsea flipped her paper over and looked out the window. It was a nice day, with a slightly-brisk breeze blowing across the field and autumn coloring the trees on the school campus. She rarely thought about being outside on a school day – she wasn't much for the outdoors – but today, she thought about how nice it was out there. She could almost feel the breeze in spite of the sealed windows; could just smell the grass and the scent of the trees.
“Maybe you should get some more sleep at night, Chelsea,” Mr. Berger was saying as people laughed around her. She shook her head to clear it and saw Mr. Berger standing beside her desk, looking annoyed.
“Sorry, Mr. Berger,” she said, looking mortified. “I didn't sleep very well.”
His expression softened a little. “Don't let it happen again.” He turned to the rest of the class and went on. “I know my lectures aren't that scintillating, but do try to pay attention, people.”
When biology finally let out, she hurried to her locker, switched books, and then ran into the bathroom to splash some water on her face. She hadn't even been tired when she dozed off; something about the trees outside had just lulled her to sleep. She felt a little better after she dampened her face. The coolness on her skin helped her concentrate.
English was next, and she breezed through that. If there was one thing she could do, it was read. They had to read a story and write a report on it. She was done in 15 minutes and spent the rest of the class reading ahead. The English book this year had some good stories in it, and she enjoyed getting a chance to just sit and read in class. Even Diane Kensington's presence in the class didn't hurt when she could lose herself in a good story.
She startled awake to see the other students streaming out of the class. The bell must have rung. She stumbled out of her desk and went off to her locker. She felt like she was dragging a pile of bricks around with her. After switching books again, she took another trip into the bathroom for another splash of water. She barely made it to history class before the tardy bell rang.
Mr. Simons couldn't keep her attention on a good day, and so she was soon daydreaming again. Fortunately, she sat in the back of this class, and was able to prop a book up to hide her from everyone else. As she drifted off, she smelled the trees again, and the sweet odor of something baking. Something was cooking in an oven close by, and it smelled delicious. She could feel herself lifting out of her body and following that aroma, its delightful fumes filling her head with spice and -
“Miss Perkins!” Chelsea jumped at the sound of Mr. Simons' voice. “Sleeping will be done on your time, not on class time.”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded and looked around. The rest of the class left the room. “Class is over, sir?”
Mr. Simons raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Miss Perkins, class is over. Get out before I decide you need a detention to sharpen your concentration.”
She scooted out of the class and dropped her books off at her locker, where Neal was waiting impatiently. “Where've you been?”
“Asleep.” The pair hurried off to the cafeteria. “I don't understand. I didn't miss any sleep last night; well, hardly any. I've barely been able to keep my eyes open today.”
“Drugs,” Neal offered.
“Oh, yeah, I pop pills like a maniac,” she said, a little too loudly. A teacher turned his head to watch her when she said that, and she ducked her head down. “No, it's like... you ever just fall asleep in the afternoon because it's warm and you're super-comfortable and your mind's wandering?” From Neal's shrug, she gathered that he hadn't. “Well, that's what it's been like today. I just get this real peaceful feeling and the next thing I know, teachers are yelling at me.”
Once they had gotten their meals and found a place to sit down, Neal asked, “Did you deal with Diane Kensington?”
“Yeah, I let her copy. I just didn't have the energy to fight it today.”
“There you go,” Neal said, stabbing the air triumphantly. “You were worried about her, and the relief after just letting her copy sapped all your energy away.”
She shrugged. “Maybe.” She was pretty positive that wasn't the case, but it made Neal feel good to be right about something, so she let him be right. She chastised herself a little for it, because that was the kind of thing her mom would have suggested she do to make a boy feel important.
They got their lunch and sat down to eat. They had a table to themselves; neither of them was very popular. Neal tore into his food like a rabid wolf, while Chelsea picked at hers gingerly. Neal noticed and asked, “Not hungry?”
“Not much of an appetite.” She pushed the tray away from her and leaned back. She was getting that drowsy feeling again. She closed her eyes for a second, and drifted away. For a moment, she saw a huge tree, with someone living inside it, someone who was worried about her...
Neal was shaking her awake. “Chelsea, wake up.” When she opened her eyes, he said, “Man, you were out. I shook you for, like, 2 or 3 minutes.”
“I saw a tree,” Chelsea said, still a little groggy. “There was somebody in it.”
Neal looked a little concerned. “Maybe I should take you to the nurse.”
“No, I'll be ok.” She shook her head and stood up. A cramp hit her right about then, but she gritted her teeth through it. “I'll be fine.”
“Want me to walk you to history?”
“No, you can go on.” She had disappointed him again – he had wanted to walk with her for more reasons than one. She didn't care too much about that at the moment, though. She stopped off at the bathroom before heading to her next class. While she was in the stall, she leaned her head against the wall for just a minute.
She saw the tree again, only this time she was inside, surrounded by the living wood. She could feel squirrels and birds burrowed into the bark outside, taking life from the tree and adding to its life with their own. She could feel the branches swaying in the wind, the leaves drinking in the sunlight and turning it into energy. She could see the man who was connected to the tree, who tended it and nurtured and loved it -
The ringing bell startled her, almost causing her to fall off of the toilet she was sitting on. It was a shock to be in the school; she had felt like she was really inside that tree. It took her a minute to calm down and reorient herself. She cleaned herself up, washed her hands, and left the bathroom.
Students were streaming outside. She looked up at the clock in the hallway and it read 3:30. 3:30! She ran over to her locker to find Neal waiting there for her, pacing around. “Where have you been?” He looked like he was about to have a fit.
“I don't know what happened,” she said, opening her locker and piling her books inside. She slammed the door shut and started walking off. “I was in the bathroom, and next thing I know, the bell's ringing.”
“Did you fall asleep again?”
“Yeah.”
He was shaking his head. “Whoa, that's it, Chelsea, you need to see the nurse, or a doctor or somebody. People just don't fall asleep without a reason.”
“I'm just tired, that's all. I didn't sleep well.” She liked Neal well enough, but she wasn't going to tell him why she didn't sleep well. “I'll be ok tomorrow. I'll just go to bed early tonight.”
He still looked doubtful. His dark face was lined with worry, and she thought, for just a second, that he was kind of cute. Then he said, “You should at least tell your mom,” and that turned him back into a complete dork.
“She has enough to worry about.” She was glad that Neal didn't know her phone number, because she was pretty sure that he'd be calling tonight if he did. “Look, Neal, I'll be ok. It's just, uhm, I'm having female problems now. Understand?” He looked blankly at her. “I've become a woman, Neal. Get it?”
Blood rushed to Neal's cheeks. “Oh,” he choked out. Health class had taught him something, at least. “Oh, well, I guess... I guess... I'll see you tomorrow.” He rushed off.
She was going to have to remember that excuse.
Outside, the sun was much too bright, and she shaded her eyes with her hand. She started walking off towards 6th Street, which was a few blocks away. She avoided as many of the people coming out of school as she could; she didn't want to answer any questions about where she was going, or have somebody notice that she wasn't walking home.
The traffic was pretty light, and she made good time, getting there in about 20 minutes. She was a little winded because she had been pushing herself, so she took a moment to rest before going in. In spite of her misgiving about all this, she still wanted to be at her best when she talked with her father.
She entered the small diner and looked around. It was the kind of place that every 50's road movie was filmed in; counter with the big blousy waitress, booths with a couple of truck-driver types, a little cigarette smoke in the air – the place was brimming with atmosphere. And there was her father, right in the middle of it, waving her over.
She walked over to his booth and slid in across from him. He smiled broadly at her and reached out a hand to touch hers. She held his hand for a second, then pulled away. His smile dropped a little in brilliance, and he said, “Thanks for coming, Chelsea. This means more to me than you know.”
“Is this gonna be about why you left us?” She hadn't wanted to start with that, but it just blurted out of her mouth before she could stop it.
He looked down at the tea in front of him. “Yes, partly. It's also about why I came back.” He looked up at her and his bright blue eyes glinted in the sunlight from the window. “Mostly, it's about you.” He took a deep breath, and asked, “Have you had your first period?”
Her face flushed a bright red, and she whined, “Dad!”
He nodded, saying, “It's time, then.”
She looked around the diner, unable to meet his eyes after that question. “It's time for what? To embarrass your daughter to death?”
He chuckled a little. “There's a lot more embarrassment coming, believe me. You asked why I left. Let me start with why I got with your mother in the first place.” Chelsea looked up and met his eyes again. “I married your mother because I knew that she would have you.”
Chelsea shook her head, confused. “Huh?”
Mr. Perkins frowned. “I'm explaining it badly. I don't talk with people that much, so it's a little hard for me to put things into words.” He took a sip of his tea and thought for a moment. “Chelsea, have you ever had a dream, or a daydream even, where you saw something very clearly, and then that something happened?”
Chelsea was taken aback. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Last week, I dreamed about my birthday party, and I saw the cake; when mom brought the cake in, it was just like in my dream.” She slumped back in her seat. “And, there was this dream that I've been having all day about a tree...” She stopped, unwilling to finish that thought. “But, what's that have to do with you and mom?”
“Well, about 13 years ago, I had a – vision, I guess you could say, of meeting your mom, of having you, and of your future. Then, when I actually met your mom, I knew that the vision was real, and I was going to have to go through with everything I saw in that vision, including leaving you until now.”
“Right.” Chelsea smirked at him. “What are you, some kind of wacko cultist?”
“Not quite.” He looked over at the waitress at the counter. “Chelsea, look at her.” Chelsea looked at the waitress. “She's about to scratch behind her left ear.” The waitress' hand reached up and scratched behind her left ear. “Now, a man's going to come in the door and she's going to hug him.” The ringing bell of a man walking through the diner's door startled Chelsea, and the waitress ran over to hug the man who came through. “Now she's going to sit him two booths from us.” The waitress led the man to the booth Chelsea's father had indicated.
Chills were running up and down Chelsea's spine.
“How did you know that?” She was whispering, but she felt like she had just shouted it out at the top of her lungs.
“The same way that I knew I had to marry your mother, that we had to have you, and that you had to grow up without me.” He leaned forward and his eyes were locked on hers. “The same way you knew about the cake, and about my tree. There are certain abilities that run in our family, Chelsea. It's time for you to learn how to use them.”
Chelsea's mouth dropped open. “What?”
"I'm sorry that I didn't stick around to tell you about this, but your personality had to be formed outside of the world that I live in," he said, almost conversationally. "It was important that you come back to us with a fresh perspective."
"Come back?" Chelsea felt those chills down her spine again, and it wasn't pleasant. That sounded a little permanent. "What are you talking about?"
"Chelsea, you need to start learning how to control your gifts. There's something very important that you're going to be doing with them, soon."
He was gazing into her eyes, and she could swear that he was reading her mind. She forced herself to turn away from him and asked, "What's the big important thing that I'm going to be doing?"
The corner of his lip turned up, just barely. It was not enough to really be a smile, but it was enough to make her think he had to be kidding when he said, "Kill me, for starters."