Chapter 3: The Jack O’Lanterns
Panthers in the park
Strangers in the dark
No, they don’t frighten me at all
--Maya Angelou, “Life Doesn’t Frighten Me”
Following her first encounter with Mr. Aitvaras, Grace started acting more cautious when visiting the park. While before her gaze rested on the ground (both to avoid eye contact and scope out worm treats) now she made a stronger effort to observe her surroundings. She used stealth when entering or exiting the hollow.
Chiaroscuro, of all creatures, volunteered as her lookout. The ancient raven kept his evil-yet-functional eye out for suspicious figures. Furthermore, he nested on a windowsill several stories above her family’s apartment, displacing several pigeons.
“Just because I happened to set up shop—temporarily, mind you—in the approximate place you call ‘home’ doesn’t mean I’m dropping everything to help you,” Chiaroscuro swore with practiced gruffness, “It’s simply for my own comfort and safety. The crows claim to make peace, but you can never trust a corvid. I’m one! Can’t leave entirely, though. Calling on the phoenix is the most interesting thing I’ve had to do in ages. The true meaning of life is battling boredom.”
Since it concerned him more than anyone, Grace made sure to tell Bennu about the incident with the black-suited stranger right away. Mrs. Tatters and Ol’ Hoary were also present. The Murder siblings, however, were sent away. They duly scattered to the rest of the park and the neighborhood beyond, finding food or playing pranks. Grace wished to join them.
“Aitvaras.” Bennu lacked eyebrows, but his rainbow crest furrowed well enough. “You’re sure that was what he called himself?”
“Yes,” said Grace. “Why, does that mean something?”
“Not at all. But if this man—or manlike thing—wants me, it’s unlikely for any pleasant purpose. He might be a poacher. He might even be part of why the fungus came to infect my home city. He could know I’m trying to put an end to that, and want to put an end to me instead! It’s best I heal quick and leave so none of you might be targeted as well.”
Mrs. Tatters patted Bennu with her wing, as if the much larger bird was something diminutive. Like one of her chicks. “None of this is normal for us, but we take your appearance as a sign, a holy one. Let your wing heal at its natural pace. My husband and I feel certain everything will work out.”
“And if feelings aren’t good enough, we’ll pray to our goddesses that it be so,” declared Ol’ Hoary.
The phoenix’s crest unfurrowed. Sunlight played along its glassy surface. “Good, because when I said before I thought it was only sprained…well, turns out I was wrong. It’s most definitely broken.”
Now, it should be common knowledge that crows and ravens have their own religion.
Corvids take few things more seriously than their beliefs. The body of legends they keep are full of mythical heroes, monsters, and beings that could not decide which they should be that day. For those humans lacking decent teachers on this subject, Grace explains it well.
One evening after supper, Grace’s mother washed dishes by hand, giving her daughter the clean ones to dry. Mechanical dishwashers were considered a luxury then. Grace felt proud she hardly ever dropped a dish, but the work proved a bit boring. To better pass the time, she happily launched into the basic points of crow theology.
“Crows worship Morrigan. She’s one goddess, but at the same time, three. It’s just like Reverend said last week about Jesus! Except, instead of being a dad, son, and some ghost, the Morrigan are sisters. One’s named Macha, and she represents the land a crow’s family is born on, and fer…fertility. The second sister’s called Badb, and she’s supposed to influence every crow’s destiny, whether on or against their side, ’cause she never forgets to pick. She makes a fledgling scared or brave. But the third sister is Nemain, and even birds are scared of her, since she stands for death. Because of her they have to fight just to find food. She decides battles, and controls who gets to eat, and who gets to be eaten.”
“Well, baby, I don’t think that’s exactly like Jesus.” Grace mother paused in the middle of washing. The faucet continued pouring over her soapy hands. “I want to know who told you this. Was it your grandmother?”
As if summoned, Grace’s Grandmam glided into the kitchen. “I’ll speak of pookas and banshees… for the sake of education, of course. But don’t think I’d ever mention that terrible war goddess by name, dear! Bad luck.”
Grace’s mother sighed, and put a wet palm to her forehead. “Well, whatever gruesome things you talk about at night, I don’t think it’s right for children to hear. I lost too much sleep as a girl worrying about zombies and boo-hags. That’s why the only family stories I pass on are the ones that made me laugh.”
“Oh, but those Anansi stories are what really scare me!” said Grace.
“Well, I’m sorry, baby,” Grace’s mother finished washing. “But they aren’t meant to be.” She tried drying her soapy, pruny hands on an already soaked dishtowel. She absentmindedly looked through the cabinets. “Why are we suddenly out of cinnamon?”
“Sorry, that was me, dear,” Grandmam said while looking directly at Grace. “I was trying to bake some dessert this afternoon, but it turned out bad and I had to throw it away. I’ll be sure to get more when I visit the grocery tomorrow. I need turnips anyway.”
“This about carving Jack O’ Lanterns again, Mam?” asked Grace’s father from the living room. “Don’t see the point of that same silly tradition you did in the old country. Not like anyone in this neighborhood bothers to celebrate Halloween, anyway.”
“No need for extra things to fear.” Grace’s mother shut the cabinets.
“Ghosts and demons don’t just come out one day of the year, you know,” Grandmam directed this comment to her son. “My ‘silly tradition’ always worked back home. Can’t imagine crossing a little water would make monsters behave differently. If it works there, why not here?”
Grace’s father squinted. “Yeah, and Jack O’ Lanterns will do lots of help against evil forces, that’s such a load of…” Whatever else he intended to say, a look from his wife made him silent. It was that dreaded expression only mothers are capable of achieving, which sets an imaginary line nonetheless obvious to see. The gaze promised that, should the line be crossed, penalties would be terrible—to body, mind, and soul.
“I mean, at least carve pumpkins,” Grace’s father eventually continued. In a much softer tone. “They’re already hollow, and much bigger, so you’re less likely to cut yourself.”
Grace felt sure Grandmam knew she took the cinnamon, though probably not the reason. If so, the old woman mentioned none of that the next day while she put up not one, but three canisters into the kitchen cupboard. Her attention shifted to carving turnips.
“Okay, I know you carve Jack O’ Lanterns to scare away demons,” Grace said, approaching the table, “but why do other people use pumpkins when you use turnips?”
Grandmam had taken the largest knife to carve the grinning faces on the whitish-pink vegetables. Without looking up, she responded, “Well, back when our ancestors in Ireland started carving turnips, they didn’t have pumpkins. The gourds were being grown in America by Indians-Who-Aren’t-Actually-From-India. Europeans didn’t even know they existed.”
“The people or the pumpkins?” asked Grace.
“Both,” said Grandmam. Despite being frail, with paper-thin skin, her hands worked at a quick pace. Of the generous bag of turnips she purchased, she was already a quarter through, and apparently intended to carve them all.
Grace laughed. “They didn’t know about a whole continent? That’s silly. But they must’ve found out eventually.”
“It wasn’t so silly to the Indians-Who-Aren’t-Actually-From-India.” Grandmam inspected her finished work. A small grimace became a big smile, though it could hardly compete with the Jack O’ Lanterns. “But when people like the Irish eventually came here, they felt out of sorts. So, they performed the traditions of their ancestors, to remind themselves who they were. New surroundings inevitably forced them to also accept who they are.
“Traditions changed, a little bit here and there. Some forgot why the rituals were performed in the first place. But they were stubborn, and kept at it. The children of immigrants never knew a different environment. They thought the rituals which had been altered over time were always the proper way to do things. We’d call them ‘new traditions’ if that wasn’t a contradiction. When I was young, I used turnips for Jack O’ Lanterns, and that’s what I still use.”
“Does it make a big difference, Grandmam?”
“Not really. It’s more what’s inside the gourds that ward off bad spirits. Get the candles, dear.”
Grace found them in a drawer of ends and odds. “Should I carry some turnips, too?”
“I’d be grateful if you did, child.” To keep steady, the old woman had to descend the apartment steps at a much slower rate than her granddaughter. An elevator would have made things easier, but to this day, none was ever installed in the building.
While leading the way, Grace had a thought which made her shiver. “Grandmam, do you really think there are demons out there?”
The old woman stopped to pick up a turnip that had fallen from her arms. “I know there are demons inside people, a sickness of the mind causing them to see monsters in everyone else. It’s easier for them than having to look inside, where things are truly dark. But are there demons outside us? Devils, fallen angels. That’s what you originally meant in asking, right?”
Grace nodded. They resumed their walk down the stairs. Both had arms full of vegetables. Grace also brought a number of candles in her front overall pocket.
Grandmam was silent a while. “I was raised to think there were. Though she naturally experienced a completely different upbringing, I understand your mother was, also. From infancy we heard that inhuman forces egged us on to hate each other. Whether we looked, acted, or even thought differently. The problem your father had with this, even as a boy, was this thinking made it too easy to shirk responsibility for our own stupidity. With Satan, we always have something to blame.”
“I guess that wouldn’t be good,” Grace paused to hold the lobby door open. “You couldn’t really be punished for bad things you do, because it’s not your fault. But you also don’t deserve to be rewarded for doing nice things. ‘Good’ would just be what happens when demons aren’t around. Like…no choice.”
Grandmam took a breath of air, fresh off the breeze. “Most times, I think demons are born when people decide to hurt others. At some point, hate and ignorance take on lives of their own. It spreads like a sickness. More people act cruelly, so more demons are born. They’re always hungry. How sad it is that so many people are willing to feed them.”
Not for the first time in the last few days, Grace imagined a pair of blazing eyes. “But Jack O’ Lanterns keep them away, right?” They set to placing turnips on either side of the wide front steps.
Grandmam fussed a bit, making sure each hollowed-out vegetable got its own candle. “I might not know for certain, but everything I’ve witnessed in life shows evil can’t get near us. Long as we keep the lights on, whether on our doorstep, or in our brains.” She wrapped her knuckles on Grace’s forehead, but lightly. Even playfully. “Aren’t you glad to finally get to go to school? You’ll need to catch up some, but it shouldn’t be much trouble for you!”
“Ummm,” the noncommittal noise leaked out the girl’s mouth like air from a balloon. Rather than answering, Grace hugged her Grandmam by the waist, tight as she might. The Jack O’ Lanterns were arranged to the old woman’s satisfaction. Two neat rows, one on either side of the porch. Hopefully, none of the other tenants would complain.
Grandmam vowed to hunt some matches.
About midafternoon, when Grace revisited the crow hollow, she found Mrs. Tatters and Ol’ Hoary in a panic. Their children, even Waif, were also caught in some fearful hysteria. Bennu tried apologizing to all of them at the same time.
“That man you spoke of,” Ol’ Hoary said when Grace asked the matter, “Albumen spotted him moving through the woods.”
“You sure it was Mr. Aitvaras?” Grace felt a bit relieved she had not run into the black-suited figure while crossing the park.
Albumen gulped. “He matched your description exactly.”
“I spotted him first, actually,” clarified Dusky. “I’d been sunbathing, then I got this terrible chill. Nothing to do with approaching winter.”
“Guy didn’t look so tough ta’ me,” said Waif, though he looked away if anyone tried to meet his gaze.
“The good news,” Mrs. Tatters calmed herself down, though her feathers were still a bit more ruffled than usual (and they were usually quite ruffled), “is he didn’t find his way through the branches keeping us hidden.”
“Hidden and safe.” Ol’ Hoary sat beside his wife.
“Hope the manlike thing can’t fly,” said Chiaroscuro. “If I found this place from above, he might, too.”
“Personally,” said Jackanapes, who flew to Grace’s eye level, “I think he knew we were here. He just didn’t want to rip his fancy suit.”
“Yeah,” added Offal, “he’d be too fat to squeeze between the branches!”
“I can’t put it in words,” said Ragamuffin, who landed on Grace’s shoulder, “like when waking from a nightmare, you forget what it was about. But you’re still scared.”
“Problem is…” began Albumen.
“This is daytime. Not a dream,” finished Ol’ Hoary. At this, even the most normally happy-go-lucky in the Murder fell into a downtrodden slump.
Chiaroscuro opened his beak to say something, but his usual sarcastic comments experienced delays. He tried catching Grace’s eye with his own evil one. Although they had become friends, the look still made her uneasy.
The next sound was Bennu sighing. Long and drawn out. “I realize I can’t stay here. Not when this mysterious stranger is so close to stumbling upon your family’s sole sanctuary.”
“Please understand, if there were any other way, we’d have you,” said Mrs. Tatters, who rubbed her wing on Bennu’s back. It seemed to soothe the much larger bird. If only a little.
“We truly are sorry,” said Ol’ Hoary, “but everyone agreed. The safety of our family comes first.” This time there came no chorus of objections from the siblings.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Bennu eventually nodded. “Hoarfrost, Tatterdemalion, I can’t thank you enough. I was at my lowest point, easy victim to predation or the elements, and you kept me comfortably warm within your domicile.”
“But where will you go instead?” asked Grace.
For an answer, Bennu spread his purple wings and prismatic tail. With a leap, he took off into the sky. For a gorgeous moment, the phoenix traveled high enough to reach sunlight. His entire body glowed! Then, he crashed to the ground, only a few feet from the crater where he first landed.
“Well, that was mildly disappointing.” Bennu’s rainbow plume drooped. Like a closing fan, his tail feathers folded together. He groaned.
Grace raced to him first, followed by Chiaroscuro and the Murder. The only good thing to be said was at least Bennu’s broken wing had not suffered any further injury.
“If I might make a helpful suggestion.” Chiaroscuro hopped from one branch to another.
“You can do that?” Waif asked sarcastically.
“Quite.” Chiaroscuro responded tersely. “I have seen the home of our Grace. Compared to this wooded region, it is nearly a fortress. If this manlike beast with blazing eyes is seriously after Bennu, he’d merely need a chainsaw to comfortably pass your branches. Then he’d have you! By contrast, I have it on good authority humans possess things called ‘locks’ they put on their doors, since they can’t even trust each other.” He winked at Grace. He had recently taught her about lockpicking.
“I could keep you in my room, Bennu,” Grace agreed. “But my family probably won’t believe you were a new pet I found.”
Bennu laughed so much he fell backwards. “No problem, Sweet Maid. To most humans, beings like me are all but invisible. In fact, they don’t bother noticing anything my kind does. Unless we want them to see us, or we’re too distracted to hide our presence.”
“Is that why no one in the park noticed the big explosion after you fought the metal bird?” Grace had been puzzling over that since it occurred.
“Exactly correct.” Bennu nodded his long neck with unnecessary vigor. “I can’t rightly have everyone coming up and giving salutations while I’m traveling the world, a-musing artists and inventors. Wouldn’t get any work done. I may live forever, but my subjects don’t. If they don’t get that key inspiration at the exact right moment, it’ll pass away forever. A cure for some malady? Now it’s gone!”
“Is it always so serious?” asked Grace.
“Not always. But I take every mission seriously. I decided in my youth, ‘Bennu, you’re not a three-thousand-year-old chick anymore. You can’t just sit around this Egyptian temple, being worshipped and revered all day! You ought to hold down a proper job.’”
“Sounds kind of boring.” Grace considered what awaited her after years of school. How she would then need to find a job, get married, have kids—ewwww!—grow all wrinkly, and die. This, she gathered, was the expected path of the average individual’s life. She wanted none of that.
“Not if your job is something you adore, and you get to help people.” Bennu was one of the few creatures outside of Grace’s family she had no issue making prolonged eye contact with. They showed the truth. If any mean thought went through the phoenix’s mind, it would show up clearly there. None ever did. Guessing the mental state of humans proved much more difficult.
“Okay, let’s go,” Grace said.
The party went their separate ways. Mrs. Tatters and Ol’ Hoary intended to stay vigilant, sleeping in rounds so one was always awake to guard the hollow. Just in case Mr. Aitvaras came back. Though there was more than a dull roar of complaining, the Murder siblings would stick to the grounds, with no individual leaving on their own. At any hint of danger, they would shelter under the moss bridge.
Chiaroscuro felt he now had the run of the rest of the park, and the neighborhoods beyond. He declared his intention to “borrow” hot dogs from some inattentive street vendor.
Since she had not brought out her worm bucket in several days, Grace only had Bennu to bring home. While large (and what’s more, long), the phoenix felt surprisingly light. Likely due to the all-cinnamon diet. None of the other pedestrians gave a second glance to the girl carrying the foreign bird with a wing bent at a strange angle.
“You really are invisible to them,” she whispered.
“Not necessarily all of them, Grace. Magical beings typically choose who can see them, unless we lose focus, as during my struggle with the Stymphalian bird. It’s sad, but most humans in this day and age find a firebird too shocking a sight to handle.”
“Can see that, I guess,” Grace reasoned aloud, “They might worry your fire could get out of control, and they’d need firefighters to come save them, until you started singing.”
“It’s safer for mortals if we keep them at wing’s length,” said Bennu. “Except when we go about our work as muses.”
Grace casually eyed others on the street. A few put up Halloween decorations, but this was hardly the kind of neighborhood where children were encouraged to trick-or-treat. Or go out at night in general.
“What must it look like to them? Me sticking out my arms wide to hold thin air.”
“Hm, I suppose most adults would pass it off as some strange new game kids are playing. I’m not too heavy, am I?” Bennu only resumed speaking once Grace assured him this was not so. “Good. Been trying to watch my weight. Anyway, adults are more liable to tolerate unexpected behavior in the young than their own age group. Lucky, too. If you were grown and they came close enough to hear you conversing with me, well…”
“They’d think I was crazy, right?”
“Didn’t want to put it so bluntly, but yes. Adults who traffic with us Invisibles are nowadays seen as sick. Possibly even dangerous.”
“Uh-huh,” Grace had to swallow something in her throat. “Sometimes, when my mom takes me on errands, we’ll go by folks who…it’s like they’re not paying attention to the rest of the world. Lots don’t even dress properly, or stay clean. Last month, we nearly pass this man with clothes covered in dirt. He mumbled the whole time, but not threateningly. Mom grabbed my arm so rough it hurt, and dragged me clear to the other side of the street! Like we could catch whatever was wrong with him, like the flu.”
A thought forced Grace to stop in her tracks. Luckily, this happened on the sidewalk, not the middle of the road. She looked down at her overalls. As usual, covered in dust. “Do you think that man in dirty clothes was talking to a creature like you?” What would make him different from me? she refused to ask aloud.
“Possible, but unlikely,” Bennu glowed slightly to see the relief on Grace’s face. “The city I’m from is named Nephelokokkygia, part of something called the Astral. It’s a bit hard to explain, but easy enough to understand. It’s another world, existing beside the regular world you can physically see, hear, touch, taste, and smell. It extends from here to the stars. Any place in the universe with life. Like the stars, though, Astral is typically observed at night, as in dreams. A long time ago, some humans were attuned to it all the time, but only a few are nowadays. The ability died out, since they weren’t treated very well by others.”
“‘Attune.’ Like a radio station?” That was the only context Grace had for the word. Not that her family kept a radio in the home.
“Right. Some people you’ll meet are tuned to a different radio station than what everyone else seems to be listening to. Some are always dreaming, even with their eyes open. Who’s to stop them from finding happiness that way?”
“Isn’t it better to be in the real world?” Grace finally resumed walking.
“What is real?” was Bennu’s cryptic answer. Then, “You mean the waking world, as opposed to the infinite worlds available to dreamers. Perhaps ‘crazy’ people—to use your culture’s term—are making contact with muses or other Invisibles. Or they’re just picking up on some details most pass over. Sometimes I’m a bit envious I can’t sleep to find out myself. But the fair fowls of Nephelokokkygia rarely visit Earth, unless it’s considered necessary. The city’s so far up in the sky—even higher than some clouds! I don’t just mean fog.”
“And so, in Nefell…Nafeal…Na…that city you’re from, there are lots of magical birds like you?” Grace wondered what they might have to talk about. She had fun with the crows, but pigeons, ducks, and geese often said the same tired things over and over. How exciting, then, to speak with creatures from different worlds!
“I hope there’s no one exactly like me. But yes, there’s all manner of avians in Nephelokokkygia humans might consider ‘magical.’ Think of every bird from every make-believe story, myth, legend, fable, fairy tale, tall tale, parable, poem, song, ballad, joke, pun, plain misunderstanding, advertising campaign, flat-out hoax, long-nosed lie with trousers aflame, dream, nightmare, hallucination, outright fantasy, wish upon a star, and a couple riddles. Now you’ve got a pretty good grasp on what beings you might find roosting above the clouds.”
Grace tried imagining all that at once, and before she was halfway done, said “It sounds amazing. I’d love to see that place. Even more, to hear what they have to say.”
“I’d invite you there myself, but even if my wing wasn’t broken,” Bennu glanced at the offending limb and sighed, “Nephelokokkygia still wouldn’t be safe for visitors. Not with the fungal spores spreading throughout it.”
“I meant to ask, a fungus is like a mushroom or a mold?” Grace paused. “You said talking to Mrs. Tatters that its spores made birds sick. But you never mentioned the details.”
Bennu turned his looks to the middle distance. “They become very…suggestible. Doing everything they’re told.”
“My mom calls that ‘obedience.’” This did not sound so terrible to Grace.
“It’s more than that, Grace. The bird’s personalities disappear. Whatever virtues or flaws—when exposed to spores, they eventually have no will of their own. If they’re not ordered to eat, they starve. The thought no longer occurs to them. Or any thought. Plus, the infected follow everyone’s orders, not just birds who mean them well. For example, enemies of the victims might say ‘jump off the edge of the city’ and the sick birds would plummet to their deaths because nobody told them to also fly. And, when orders disagree, well…”
“What happens?” Grace pressed, though she knew it made Bennu uncomfortable. She thought it better to know the truth.
“I really shouldn’t tell.” Bennu craned his neck away from her.
“Nothing scares me. Except spiders.” Grace slowed her walking pace just as her apartment building came into sight, but she did not stop entirely.
“When the birds afflicted by spores get confused, their…heads explode.”
“What?!” Grace nearly dropped the phoenix.
“Well, really most of their bodies explode. But it starts with their heads. Now you see why my mission’s so important. All our hopes,” Bennu shook the leg with the gold capsule attached, “ride on this scroll. Granted, it might not even hold the cure. But it’d be just like Henry to send it right when we need it. Not that I know him very well.”
“He’s the scientist,” Grace figured. “The one who’s a friend to Ne…your city. Is Henry his first or last name?”
“Last. But of course, the problem is we can’t translate it. The ogress who left it at our city gates—we’re always getting each other’s mail by mistake, you see—never mentioned there were any instructions. I was searching out places Henry once frequented until that stinking metal bird butted in. The only upside to my broken wing is it gives me time to remember more places worth looking into.”
Grace interrupted to tell Bennu they had made it to her home.
The phoenix ignored the middle distance to twist his long neck up and down, taking in the full scope of the building. “Oh, what a lovely set of tenements!”
“It’s not a magical city full of birds in the clouds,” Grace pointed out.
“Ah-ah, decent homes may differ, Sweet Maid.”
The florid nicknames had returned. Grace could only groan in answer. It was late afternoon by the time she properly situated Bennu at the foot of her bed. Her sleeping space lay on one side of the room, with her Grandmam’s bed on the opposite wall. The old woman was there, but took no notice of the phoenix in her presence.
Grace already knew her parents would be working late that night, so it was no surprise dinner was just the two of them. Thankfully, it was not turnips. They were used up. The main dish was lamb stew, featuring potato, kale, and onions. Desert was a raisin fruitcake. Grandmam claimed to have baked a ring in it by accident.
They had intended to light the Halloween Jack O’ Lanterns together, but in the middle of washing up, Grandmam’s hand started shaking uncontrollably. She complained of pain in her joints while Grace helped her to the couch. The girl promised to light the turnips on her own.
It would only take a couple minutes. And, after all, it was not even dark yet. The matches Grandmam previously hunted up did their job. Soon enough, Grace had both rows of carved vegetables lit. None of the Jack O’ Lanterns seemed frightening enough to scare away demons. In fact, they looked rather ridiculous. But she was going back inside anyway.
“Hi there, Gracie,” someone said behind her. It was not Chiaroscuro.
Quick as a snap, Grace turned to face Mr. Aitvaras. He either wore the same black suit from before, or one identical. He looked the same in every other regard as well: same black trilby, same wide yellow grin. Except, he had lost his almond-shaped sunglasses.
“Good to see you again.”
Chiaroscuro liked playing jokes, but on one subject, the old raven spoke only the truth. Instead of eyes, Mr. Aitvaras had two blazing fires in otherwise empty sockets. Coupled with the grin, he did not look too far off from the lanterns a few feet in front of him.
“Grace, that’s your little name, right? Amazin’ Grace. That’s what I’ll call you. Boy, do I have the kinda’ deal you won’t get for the rest of your life. Guaranteed.”
“What?” Grace scanned the other figures going about the street. Though not as clogged as in the morning, the stretch of road could hardly be called empty. Adults were coming home from the dayshift, or setting out for the nightshift. Children and teenagers went their own ways, despite their elder’s discouragement.
None paid heed to a man with fire for eyes. Not consciously. Pedestrians did avoid him, though. All while looking anywhere else. One woman stepped out into the street rather than get close to him, and tramped into a puddle that soaked her skirts. Whatever ability Bennu possessed to help him go unawares must also belong to Mr. Aitvaras. Grace would normally envy that privacy.
“Know what this is?” Mr. Aitvaras pulled a shiny disk out of a pocket, and held it between his thumb and index finger.
“It’s a coin,” Grace said after a deep breath. While she faced him, she had her back to the front door of her apartments, her right hand on the knob.
Mr. Aitvaras’ smile went even wider. “Not just any coin,” he ambled in a way that seemed casual on the surface, but each step brought him away from the sidewalk and nearer the steps, “Genuine gold! It’s all yours. All you need do is tell me that information I asked for. Regarding the firebird.” He slid closer, then stopped short. On either side of the black-suited figure were rows of carved turnips. A wind blew across the street, but the candles continued burning. “If you do more to help—say, lead me to the place he’s at—your reward might be even greater!”
“Didn’t you say you were a G-man, with J. Edgar and all them?” Grace asked rhetorically. She already figured that was a lie. “Why do you need to bribe me, then?”
“Now, now, Amazin’ Grace, I hate that word.” Mr. Aitvaras wagged the index finger of his other hand. “It soils the name of fair trade. The lodestar of any child’s education ought to be on learning the value of money. You give me that, I give you this. That’s the way of every profession, even government. Otherwise, we’d only have charity.”
At both churches she attended, Grace always heard about the virtue of charity, and how you could not be a good Christian without it. Mr. Aitvaras, on the other hand, spoke the word as if it were some particularly obscene curse. However they came to exist, the girl felt ready to believe in demons.
Still keeping her increasingly sweaty hand on the cold metal doorknob, Grace stood up straight. She put her left hand on her hip. Though it made her dizzy, she bore into the balls of fire Mr. Aitvaras apparently had little trouble seeing with. No matter how much the weaker, meeker, side of her demanded otherwise, she kept glaring. Trying not to blink.
“Oh well. Guess nobody will be earning gold tonight.” Mr. Aitvaras made a cross between a sigh and whistle. The coin morphed from gold to blue, then it became a blur, at last dissolving into vapor. All within a minute’s span. While no ashes were visible on his suit or person, the smell of charcoal surrounded the manlike figure.
“Although…it might not be gone forever.” While empty, Mr. Aitvaras kept his thumb and finger in the same position. The vapor returned. Somehow, he held the gas between his fingers like it were solid. In a flash of blue light, the gold coin returned to his hand. He held it flat in his palm, presenting it to Grace. “Neat trick, huh? Bit better than Houdini, I think. I can make other things disappear, too. But that’s not important yet.”
Having heard the magic in Bennu’s song, this did not impress Grace. She was not about to tell Mr. Aitvaras that, though.
“Coin’s still yours if you want it. But first blow out these awful Jack O’ Lanterns!” The fire in Mr. Aitvaras’ sockets began yellow-orange, but now transitioned to a hotter red. “It’s just they’re terribly hazardous. Call me a worrywart, but fires can happen any number a’ unexpected ways. Even one candle is dangerous if used the right…wrong way. I want you to think real hard—least, hard as you’re able—about what damage a firebird can cause. Definitely not something for helpless little girls to play with.” He offered the gold coin again, but his hand never passed where the turnips continued flickering.
Grace lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, sir, I couldn’t hear you. Maybe if you came closer and told me again?”
At her words, Mr. Aitvaras’ smile dropped so his mouth resembled a heavy beak. He lunged as if to rush up to her, but the hunch Grace nursed early into this encounter proved correct. Mr. Aitvaras could not physically cross the Jack O’ Lanterns!
“Well, ya’ know, Amazin’ Grace, I think it’d be simpler if you came down here!” Mr. Aitvaras voice expanded to a shout. “I don’t want to impose anyone’s hospitality, a’ course. That would be very rude, and I hate rudeness. Esp-ec-i-al-ly that of young people to their elders!” For some reason he made sure to individually pronounce each syllable of “especially.” The blaze in his eyes turned white, then blue.
Grace knew this was the hottest color a fire could burn. Though she could keep him away now just by doing nothing, it was probably best not to provoke him. Nothing seemed to make him angrier, though.
“Fine, fine, fine, I can come back at a more convenient time.” Mr. Aitvaras returned the coin to his pocket.
“You need a warrant for that, don’t you?” Grace was sure she heard her father mention something like that. “Legally. You are a real G-man, right?”
“Yes! Of course.” Mr. Aitvaras put on his almond-shaped sunglasses, which hardly seemed smart, as it was now dark. “I just happened to leave my badge at home, but I will re…” At this point, a highly localized rain of white droppings fell on his black suit, his hat taking the brunt of the storm.
Grace did not need to look to know it was Chiaroscuro who landed on her shoulder. She had learned to recognize his harsh laugh.
Again cursing in a foreign language, Mr. Aitvaras kicked his way across the street without bothering with a crosswalk. Cars previously speeding down the road—driven by people eager to get to either home or the morgue—stopped at once. They resumed their breakneck pace only after he crossed.
“Boy, that was intense!” Chiaroscuro started, but suddenly squawked and flew away.
Grace glanced back where she last saw the blazing-eyed man, but he was already gone. Still, something had frightened her raven friend away. She did not have long to figure it out.
Something soft rubbed against Grace’s leg. It was a tabby—the fattest she had ever seen. It was rare to find stray cats in the neighborhood, but not entirely unexpected. Usually, they purred when showing this level of affection. This tabby kept silent. Grace would typically stay to pet the animal, but instead rushed into her apartment building.
Her knees knocked together, and when she stuck out her hands to balance on the stair’s railing, they slid due to a layer of sweat. It took some deep, wet, heavy breaths before she felt strong enough to walk up. When Grace finally returned home, Grandmam claimed her joints felt much better. She asked why it had taken so long to light the Jack O’ Lanterns, and if anything was the matter.
In her life, Grace had three great regrets. Mistakes that, had she chosen to act any number of different ways, would have spared her some truly miserable consequences. Her third greatest mistake was not telling any adults about these first two encounters with Mr. Aitvaras.