The Curse of Greg Read online

  “How can you be so sure?” he challenged.

  “Well, because . . . I mean, stopping a vapor, a gas, from coming back all over the globe all at once is—well, impossible.”

  “Just like how people turning into Mountain Trolls was thought to be impossible before you saw it with your own eyes?”

  I shook my head, thinking he couldn’t actually be right.

  “But this is different,” I said. “I mean, Dunmor told me how the Fairies banished magic.”

  “Oh, did he?”

  “Don’t be condescending, dude.”

  “Okay, then, just tell me about it,” Edwin said. “What did Dunmor say?”

  “He said they used some special amulet or something,” I said. “But it’s gone now, the Fairies either destroyed it or hid it in some magical forest that can’t even be accessed until magic comes back, by which time you’d obviously be too late to stop it.”

  Edwin seemed to consider all of this and his expression was hard to read. But then he smiled and made another chess move, putting me into check in a way I hadn’t seen coming. His board was so chaotic it had been hard to keep track of all the moving parts. And that was probably his plan all along: to distract me with unusually bold moves while he developed a real attack strategy right under my nose.

  “Okay, fine,” I said, forgetting about the game—it hardly mattered just then. “Let’s say, theoretically, there’s another way to strip the world of magic again that nobody knows about except you. How? How are you going to do it? I mean, such an absurd plan requires an explanation.”

  “This isn’t one of those cheesy superhero movies,” Edwin said with a grin, “where I reveal everything to you before I’ve actually pulled it off, giving you a chance to stop me. You’ll just have to trust me: I know a way. And I don’t trust you enough to say what it is.”

  I wanted to be hurt and offended. But deep down I didn’t blame him. Why should he trust me? I wouldn’t if things were the other way around. After all, suppose Edwin did tell me his whole plan and I somehow escaped. Would I really go back to Chicago and not tell the Council, or anyone, about what Edwin was planning?

  Of course I would tell them, especially if it was the same plan Stoney had talked about. Because the truth was I didn’t fully trust Edwin anymore either—at least not like I used to. He claimed he wanted to save the world, but could I truly know that was the case? And even if his motivations were pure, would banishing magic once again really be better? Or could it somehow only make things worse now that it had already started?

  “You know, Edwin,” I said, “my dad told me the return of magic was the only way to bring the world to peace. Let’s say you actually stop it from coming back. How can you be so sure it’s the right thing to do? He was, let me remind you, one of the only people who correctly predicted its return in the first place. Are you positive he’s wrong about it also bringing peace and not destruction?”

  “Definitely,” Edwin said so confidently that I almost believed him right then and there.

  He made his next move and I realized the chess game was now out of reach. So I laid my king down in defeat. Edwin grinned, but it faded seconds later.

  “What has the return of magic actually brought us so far?” he asked.

  “Well, I mean, there’s bound to be some growing pains until we figure out how to use it for the greater good.”

  My own words didn’t sound very convincing, even to me.

  “Now you’re talking like an Elf, Greg,” Edwin said sharply. “At least, like my parents. Always willing to overlook little cases of misery for some greater cause. But I’ll tell you what magic is really bringing: death and destruction. So far it has led to the death of, in no particular order: my parents, our friendship, an eons-old peace treaty, who knows how many unsuspecting Humans who have crossed paths unwittingly with a dangerous fantastical creature, and it’s in the process of turning the earth into a violent, postapocalyptic hellscape populated by even more magical monsters.”

  It was hard for me to argue against any of that. So I didn’t.

  “Magic has to go,” Edwin reasoned. “For the sake of all living creatures. Banishing it once again will save the world, whether you want to admit it or not. Your dad is a brilliant, kind, and amazing person, Greg. I always liked him, even for a Dwarf. Or maybe even more so because of it. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be wrong about some things. He’s not perfect. Nobody is.”

  I nodded.

  Edwin was right again. But at the same time, I still truly believed in my dad’s vision. That magic could unite the world and lead to peace. But me thinking he was right didn’t mean he actually was right. He very well could be wrong. And my nearly blind faith in my dad would be exposed for a son’s simple admiration of his own father.

  It made it even worse that I couldn’t ask him about it. I’d tried no less than a dozen times, and each time had resulted in an increasingly absurd Kernel of Truth, the last one being: Peace is a tricky thing. I mean, they’re small and green and can turn to mush in an instant. But I really like my peas best covered in cheese. And when I’m wearing boots with red laces. Cowboy boots with laces.

  “Speaking of my dad,” I said, figuring this was as good a time as any to finally ask the question that had landed me here in the first place. “He’s . . . well, I found the antidote to the poison. Right where you said it’d be.”

  “I noticed that stuff was all gone when I finally went back to my parents’ house,” Edwin said. “You’re welcome.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, and it probably didn’t matter either way.

  “Anyway,” I said. “It, or the poison, or something had a side effect. He’s not the same anymore. He’s gone a little mad. For real this time. And I was hoping that . . . well . . .”

  “You want me to help you?” Edwin finished mercifully, sparing me the hard part. “Give you access to ancient Elven books on potions and poisons and such? Help you figure out what’s wrong with him? Is that it?”

  I nodded.

  “It might be the key to unlocking the truth behind magic,” I said. “If he could get his mind fully back, he might be able to tell us why he thought magic would bring peace and not destruction like you say it will.”

  “Why should I help you?” he asked. “You still have your dad. Don’t you think it’s better to have a crazy one than no dad at all?”

  The obvious answer was yes, but I didn’t think he’d listen to me if I tried to explain how curing my own dad wasn’t even related to his parents anymore, so that shouldn’t be a reason not to help.

  “If not for me, then for him,” I finally said.

  Edwin shrugged.

  “I doubt there’s anything I could do,” he said. “I’ve got bigger problems on my hands. I don’t really have time to be sitting around reading old books about even older potions.”

  “So you really don’t know what’s happening to him?” I asked.

  “No, why would I?” Edwin said. “I never meddled with my parents’ stuff. And I have no interest in ancient poisons that were only meant to hurt people.”

  He stood up now and motioned at the guards to take the table and game away. He headed toward the open cell door.

  “Maybe there’s an Elven doctor or alchemist here, or back in New Orleans, who might know—” I started, but he pivoted back toward me at the entrance to my prison cell and cut me off with a wave of the hand.

  “I’m not going to devote any resources away from my main goal, Greg, I’m sorry,” he said. “Look, I enjoyed our chat, but I’ll be away for the next little while now. At least a few days, probably longer. I’ll be sure you’re fed and watered. And I’ll send someone to take you outside to see the sun and breathe fresh air every once in a while. Don’t say I never showed you any mercy.”

  He turned and left as the guards collected the che
ss game and table and took them away. I sat there feeling dejected, yet torn. On one hand, any hopes of working together with Edwin to save the world seemed farther away than ever, especially since his plan involved something that by all accounts was impossible—and directly contradicted what my dad had been working toward (before he’d lost his mind). But at the same time, I’d seen a glimmer of the old Edwin I knew back at the PEE. Even though he’d said he couldn’t help me with my dad, there was still an undeniable humanity and kindness underneath his new bitter and cynical exterior. He was definitely different, darker, since his parents’ deaths, but he was still a good person. I didn’t think he could or would fake his sincere desire to keep the world from collapsing into magical chaos.

  And for the first time, maybe ever, a Dwarf’s optimism actually grew.

  CHAPTER 29

  Ways to Make a Dwarf Smell Even Worse

  For almost two days I had nothing but my own thoughts for company.

  The guards brought me three meals a day, but always dropped them off and then picked up the empty trays without a word. I wasn’t sure what had happened to Edwin’s promise to let me get outside once in a while, but for those two days I lay in my cell without reprieve. Dwarves were already known for their fairly potent body odor, but after nearly four days of lying in bed with no showers or changes of clothes, I was starting to suffocate in my own musk.

  Two days is also a long time without someone to talk to. Without even a book. I spent as much of it sleeping as I could. But that had its limits, especially on the small, uncomfortable cot built for making criminals miserable.

  I constantly tried calling out to the Bloodletter. But there was only mental radio silence. Less surprising now that I knew just how far away I was from both Chicago and New Orleans. I wasn’t sure how our magically telepathic link worked, but distance probably played at least some role.

  The alternative wasn’t something I wanted to consider.

  I missed my ax. Almost as much as I missed my real Dwarven friends. Which really surprised me. I hadn’t realized just how used to his relentless chatter I’d become. But at the same time, there was something sort of liberating about his absence. Constantly being reminded that an ultimate conflict lay in your future, that it was your destiny to defeat enemies in battle, was stressful to say the least. Having a voice in your head that craved violence in the name of justice and revenge was a dark thing to carry around with you. Of course I knew a confrontation was still probably in my future, but without the Bloodletter reminding me of it several times a day, my mind could actually pretend otherwise for a few rare, fleeting moments.

  It felt nice to hope for peace rather than be preparing for conflict—even if the latter was still the more likely outcome.

  But most of my waking hours were filled with concern for my friends. Had they made it out of New Orleans alive? Were they back in Chicago? Had they gotten themselves captured or injured or worse by sticking around trying to find me? Could I end up being responsible for their deaths as well (like the Moonwraith’s green fog had showed me)? Should I officially change my name to Grimsley Reaper, Master of Death?

  But in the better moments, I distracted myself from those worries by thinking about what Edwin had said.

  I pondered the possibility that he might be right. Maybe we all would be better off returning to the way things had been before the discovery of Galdervatn. Sure, Dwarves had been relegated to relative poverty (not that we really cared), while the Elves used their powers of persuasion and manipulation to amass most of the world’s wealth. But at least the planet wasn’t about to be besieged by monsters and magical wars that would kill who knew how many people.

  Perhaps the magical drive of the vengeance of the Blood-letter had blinded me somewhat to the reality of what was actually going on? Without the ax by my side, things seemed a lot murkier. I wasn’t really sure what was right or wrong anymore. Whereas before, the Bloodletter usually convinced me he was right no matter what. Which had made things simpler, in a way, but maybe not always correct. For instance, the Bloodletter had convinced me that the return of magic was a good thing. That it would help Dwarves finally put the Elves back in their place. Or something like that. Which wasn’t too different from what my dad had preached before he lost his mind. But in my dad’s version, magic would unite everyone and bring about world peace for the first time since . . . well, pretty much ever.

  Either way you looked at it, I’d been convinced that the return of magic was ultimately good.

  Now all I could wonder was whether that was actually true. Would magic coming back, bringing with it monsters and possibly a new magical war, really be worth it? Would it truly be good for the world?

  After all, Trevor Stormbelly wasn’t the same Trevor Stormbelly anymore. So he couldn’t tell anyone how magic could possibly create peace rather than obliterate it. Every time I had tried to ask him, the question automatically set off another spell of lunacy without fail. Like it was a trigger.

  But deep down I still trusted my old dad, and his vision for the world. And if I fought for that in the end (assuming I ever got out of here), what would happen if he turned out to be wrong? If peace through magic was impossible, as Edwin claimed, then I would be fighting for a future that involved battling horrible monsters until the end of time (or until magic brought about the end of all life on earth the way the Fairies once predicted).

  Could I really take that chance?

  CHAPTER 30

  I Get Taken for a Walk Like a Dog (Except Without the Leash)

  Sometime during my third (or fourth?) day of captivity, an Elven girl around my age arrived outside my prison cell.

  “I’m here to take you out for a . . . well, a walk, I guess,” she said awkwardly. “Not that you’re a pet or anything . . .”

  I actually laughed. Not so much because her referencing taking me for a walk like a dog was funny, but more out of pure elation that another living thing was talking to me for the first time in days.

  “Please,” I said, standing up from the bed, moving toward the prison bars. “I’d love to get out of here. Even if it’s on a leash, I don’t care.”

  She didn’t laugh at my joke, but instead took several steps back and held her sleeve to her face.

  “Um, maybe I’ll have the guards take you to the shower room first,” she said, her voice muffled by a sweatshirt sleeve.

  After I’d showered (in a positively ancient and creepy prison shower room), I was brought fresh clothes. I put on a pair of jeans and a purple Star Wars sweatshirt with a vintage design on the front that made it look like it’d come from the 1970s.

  The Elven girl came back a short time later. She had long dark hair that was pulled back into a haphazard bun with several wild strands escaping like tentacles. She had light brown skin and was tall, taller than me anyway, and wore green skinny pants and an oversize gray sweatshirt that draped off her like a dress. I thought she looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t quite figure out why.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Do I smell better?” I asked.

  “Slightly.”

  I laughed although I wasn’t sure if she was actually kidding or not. The cell door clicked open and she motioned for me to follow her. I almost felt giddy with excitement at finally getting out of my cell. In fact, I might even have been skipping as I followed her through the empty hallways of the prison.

  “No guards?” I asked, when I first noticed that we were alone.

  “You don’t think I can take care of myself?”

  “I didn’t say that . . .”

  “You implied it,” she said with a sly grin. “Besides, let’s say you did attack me, manage to defeat me, and get away. Where are you going to go? We’re on an island.”

  I shrugged. She had a point.

  We kept walking, passing a few Elves in another room who were tightening the strings on their bows. Th
ey glanced up as we passed then did a double take at the sight of me. They looked more surprised than disgusted or angry.

  Eventually we were outside, on the ground level of the prison island. Podiums with placards dotted the concrete walkways, containing all sorts of historical information for tourists, who, it seemed, were no longer allowed out to the landmark island.

  “So where to now?” I asked.

  “You tell me,” the girl said. “This is your recess.”

  I looked around. Several Elven guards were posted on the old prison’s roof. A few other Elves walked the grounds with purpose, appearing to be on their way to or from a meeting, as if they were all working on something important. And according to what Edwin had said, they were working on something important: banishing magic from the earth.

  Several of the passing Elves stared at me. Some sneered or made faces. But most walked by without anything more than a curious glance.

  “So what’s your name?” I finally asked. “Or am I not allowed to ask that?”

  She laughed. It sounded musical, almost like it was coming from a strange instrument that hadn’t yet been invented.

  “Why wouldn’t you be able to?” she said.

  “Well, I guess because I thought I was a prisoner or something.”

  “That doesn’t mean common decency has to stop,” she said. “Lixiss Lurora.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s my name,” she said. “My friends call me Lixi. But you can call me Your Elven Highness the Great and Lustrous Princess Lurora. For now.”

  Everything she said had a mischievous subtext—like she was always poking fun at herself (and me). As if nothing should be taken at face value. It was so different from what I was used to, having interacted almost exclusively with Dwarves the past few months—Dwarves, who were virtually incapable of subtlety or misdirection of any kind, for better or worse.