No Quest For The Wicked

Rod wiped sweat off his brow with a shaking hand and said, “I’m good, I’m good. But I think I’ll go stand over there.”



When we returned our attention to Earl, the madness was on him again, and he rushed at us. “Rod, now would be a good time to help us,” I said desperately. “You know, a little protective magic? That is, if you can draw your attention away from the brooch.”



Before Earl reached me, he jerked and flinched as Granny’s cane connected with his back. “Snap out of it, son,” she said. “Honestly, I’ve never seen such a weak-minded group of people in my life, and that includes the biddies at the beauty shop back home who believe everything they see on the Internet and then forward it to everyone.”



Earl hung his head and said sheepishly, “Sorry, Granny.” Then he slunk back into the crowd, keeping his distance from the stone.



All the while, the fairies and elves kept singing as they danced in circles around us, which added an odd contrast to the events. I waited for Lyle and the others to go on the attack, but instead they, too, joined the chorus. “Let’s get out of here,” I muttered to Owen, who resumed his protective position on my right side as we headed toward Fifth Avenue.



I worried that the procession of singers and dancers following me would attract even more unwanted attention. This was about as far as I could get from stealthily sneaking through the park. I felt like I was in an old musical, where suddenly everyone in town joins in the song-and-dance routine, knowing the words and the dance steps, even though they’re total strangers. Only, I didn’t feel like dancing, and I didn’t have the energy to sing.



I turned out to be right about drawing attention, but it wasn’t the kind of attention I’d expected. The park’s true wildlife was emerging from its hiding places. Birds flew overhead, and small furry things came out of the bushes and hedges. I didn’t want to think about what kinds of things lived in the city park, but I doubted they were all cute and cuddly.



“I feel like I’m in some demented Disney movie,” I said to Owen. “If they start making little outfits and singing to me, I may join Sylvester in la-la land.”



“They must sense the raw power of the Eye and be drawn to it instinctively,” he said.



“Then we have definitely got to destroy this thing. If it’s doing this on its own, without anyone directing it, then what could it do if someone actually tried to use it to gain power?”



“Merlin said it started wars.”



“That is not reassuring. I never imagined myself as a Helen of Troy type who could be the cause of a war.”



“It wouldn’t be about you. It’s all the stone. You just happen to be holding it at the moment.”



“That ‘at the moment’ disclaimer isn’t reassuring, either.”



A loud “ribbit” stopped me just before I put a foot down on a frog. Then I saw that there were several sitting expectantly at my feet. “I’d bet you’ve found the enchanted frogs,” Rod observed. “They must be transformed wizards who sense the power.”



I sidestepped the frogs and hurried away, trying to move quickly enough that they couldn’t keep up with me. “Uh uh,” I said, shaking my head. “Been there, done that, and I’m not doing it again. I know too much about what that can lead to. Besides, I’ve already got my prince.” I favored Owen with a smile, which he returned.



“Seems cruel to leave them like this, though,” Granny said. “I suppose I could help them out.” She bent to pick up one of the frogs, but it let out a horrified croak, and then all the frogs fled. “Suit yourself,” she called after them. “It’s your choice.” She snorted, then added, “You’re probably older than I am.”



That was funny enough to make me laugh in spite of the dire circumstances. “You know, in the morning, I’m going to wonder if I dreamed this whole thing,” I said. “This is the kind of nightmare I have where it’s so vivid that when I wake up, I think it really did happen until I remind myself of all the absurd, impossible details. Only this time, the absurd, impossible details are real.”



“You’ll have enough bruises to prove it was real,” Owen said.



“Oh, yeah, that one on my hip will be especially vivid. Can a bruise leave a scar?”



A cry of pain nearby told me that Rod had tried to creep up on me again, and Owen had knocked him aside. “He’ll have a few bruises, too,” Owen remarked.



“Sorry!” Rod called out.