Chapter 2: Grrrrrrr

When I went back upstairs, Mom asked, "Did you want a ride to the music store today?" For a Christmas present, she and Dad had put enough money on account at Hank's Music Emporium for me to pick out a good electric guitar.

"I don't know," I said. "I was thinking that the members of my supposed band might want to get involved."

"Why do you say 'supposed band'?"

"I refuse to believe we have an actual band until we play an actual gig, and performing for family members doesn't count."

"Your friends seem to be taking it pretty seriously."

"Yeah, I'm especially impressed with Mike and Terry. They never stick with anything this long."

"Maybe you've helped them find something they like."

"Maybe. I thought I'd go over to Danny's. Mike and Terry are supposed to be there." They had come by earlier while we were working on the basement and had said that was where they were headed.

"I don't want you to go any farther than that by yourself, and remember to let me know where you are."

"Having to come home every time I change location is going to be mighty inconvenient."

"Tough shit. There's a killer running loose, and I want you to be safe. Make sure you stick together with your friends."

"I read the newspaper article, too. The Guzman guy who got killed had two bodies in a freezer and he was about to make a human sacrifice out of some teenager. It sounds like the guy who offed him did the world a favor."

"Maybe. If so, why did he leave the scene? He rescued that girl; he would have been hailed a hero. Maybe he's mixed up in this Satanic shit himself."

See Arthur, I thought. Mom's a bit confused about why we split, but she thinks that saving that girl was heroic.

We didn't go there to save the girl, he replied. We went there to kill the diabolist.

Ursus mentally interjected, and he was angry, We killed Guzman in defense of ourselves and your family. Saving that girl was a wonderful side benefit.

While Ursus took up the argument with Arthur, I turned my attention back to Mom. "I don't know any more of the details than you do. He could have been anyone." Actually, I knew lots more details than she did. I fled the scene after killing Guzman because I didn't want to try to explain how a not-yet-twelve-year-old managed to take out an adult male in good health. The local cops already knew me as the kid who had somehow beaten the hell out of four other boys around his own size, and my life didn't need the drama. If I got caught anyway, I had acted, presumably, in the defense of an innocent. If things went bad and I got in trouble for leaving the location of a homicide, or some similar violation, I was chronologically not yet a teen and could get away with pleading youth and stupidity, I hoped.

"My ass! Are you telling me he just happened to arrive just in time to hear the screams of the damsel in distress--in the wintertime, through closed windows?"

She had an excellent point. It was time to make a strategic retreat. "Yeah, it does sound like she got really lucky. I'll make sure you know where I am." I headed for the door.

"I still don't like you playing around with this magic shit. Some evil bastard less than a mile away is supposedly sacrificing people to demons in his basement while at the same time my own son is performing God knows what kind of black magic in mine. Is this horseshit some kind of new fad going around?"

Mom saying "black magic" ended Ursus and Arthur's argument and brought their attention back to her. Ursus was already angry with Arthur, and I felt him become toweringly pissed off. I hoped he didn't gain control of our tongue. I said, as calmly as I could, "One, to the best of my knowledge, it's not a fad, just a coincidence. Two, accusing someone of black magic is a serious insult, and in certain times and places, the charge has led to people being executed or lynched. I'm sure you've heard about the witch hysteria in Europe."

"Then why in hell are you frigging around with it?" I noticed Mary walk out of the hallway. When Mom started yelling, Mary scooped up Susan, turned around, and went back the way she had come.

"I've done nothing that can be called 'black magic,' Mother, and I kind of resent you saying that I have. Magic is like any other tool. You can use it for good or bad. My attempts have all been for good."

"I'm not sure the Bible makes that distinction." Ah, there was the essence of her concern. Mom's Christianity was eccentric, but it was there.

I was on somewhat shaky ground. In truth, most of my knowledge of the Bible came from movies and a kid's storybook. I said, "The Bible has good men channeling miracles, casting out demons, and receiving prophesies. Those are all acts of magic. I don't claim to be a biblical expert, but I'm pretty sure it makes an implied distinction between magic used for good and magic used for evil."

That made her pause. "I'll think about it."

"Thank you." I felt Ursus calming down. "Can I go now?" I forced some of the tension out of my body.

Damn, old man, you have a temper.

Sometimes. Did you think yours was purely a result of your environment?

I guess not. So much for age and wisdom, eh?

Wisdom helps one choose the things to get angry about.

"Are you going to call Kirsten before you leave?" Mom asked.

Kirsten Kennedy was about as impressive as a girl in grade six could be. She played several musical instruments--her mother, a former music teacher, had started her on piano at age five--was highly intelligent, and exuded self-confidence and charm. She was also, allowing for taste, one of the prettiest girls in grade six. She had wavy auburn hair, big green eyes, exquisite bone structure, a spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and a heart-shaped face. She was tall for her age, and she was already filling out. She wore glasses, but Arthur, a born nerd, thought they gave her an appealing air of intellectualism. Under normal circumstances, Arthur would have been terrified of her, despite knowing her since kindergarten.

Normal circumstances, however, had permanently ended for him when Arthur woke up with Ursus in his head. Because he had taken up residence uninvited in Arthur's body, Ursus felt indebted to him. Although Kirsten made Ursus feel like a pedophile, he had recognized how much Arthur liked her. Spotting a way to pay some of the interest on his debt, Ursus saved Arthur from himself during a few unfortunate incidents involving Kirsten. Kirsten got the message that Arthur liked her and sent the return message that she liked him back.

So at the tender age of not-yet-twelve, Arthur found himself with a girlfriend. The situation appeared to amuse his mother. Kirsten's mother was not so amused, but she realized that her self-assured daughter was going to do what she wanted to do. Therefore, Mrs. Kennedy aimed at containing any damage. She set out a list of firm rules for Kirsten and Arthur, and comforted herself with the thought that Arthur was a better choice for first boyfriend than most.

I, the slowly emerging third mind, hadn't been consulted in the least. Of course, when Ursus first showed up, I hadn't been around very much of the time, and when I was present, my original personality was a great deal like Arthur's. This, presumably, was a consequence of the fact that I had total access to Arthur's memories, whereas Ursus's memories were only fractionally present in Arthur's brain. When Kirsten was near, I usually thought in parallel with Arthur as a unified duo while Ursus tried to make himself as scarce as he could inside a shared skull. Unfortunately, Arthur was now in the throes of guilt, and I was going to be forced to work separately from him, lest he confess. I hoped it wouldn't be too awkward.

I dialed Kirsten's number. Mrs. Kennedy answered. "Hello, Mrs. Kennedy. This is Arthur Powyr. May I speak to Kirsten, please, if she's available?" Mom had drilled decent telephone manners into me. If I ever told someone on the phone, "Hi, is so-and-so there?" she would make me apologize and ask again, correctly.

"Hi, Arthur. I was just about to call your mother. Did you hear about the homicide not too far away from you?" For good or ill--I couldn't decide which--Mom and Helen Kennedy were becoming friends.

"Mom and I both read about it in the paper. It's been bothering Mom. Would you like me to put her on?"

"I'll let you speak with Kirsten first. You can put her on when you finish. Here's Kirsten."

"Hi, Artie." I felt a warm glow of affection arising from Arthur.

"Hi, do you want to go to the music store with me in a little while? The band of hoodlums might be present, if it's OK with you. I was going to ask them along, but I called you first."

"I'm not a hoodlum," shouted Mary, who had again emerged once the yelling had stopped.

"Correction," I said, "the band of hoodlums and Mary."

"I'll ask Mom." I waited. When Kirsten came back on, she said, "It's supposed to snow later, so Mom doesn't want me riding over on my bike. She doesn't want me to be alone, anyway, with killers running loose, so she said she'd drive me. Is it OK if I bring Pam along?" So far as I could tell, Kirsten had a bit of a loner streak, and Pam was her only close friend, if one didn't count Arthur.

"Sure. Pam is generally tolerable."

"I'm glad you approve of my friend."

"Hey, half the time I barely approve of my friends. Pam is practically golden."

"Hmmm, maybe I should tell her that."

"What? That she is a higher being than a band of hoodlums?"

"I'm not sure that's what I'd emphasize, no. Anyway, when should we be there?"

"How about a half-hour? Mike and Terry are probably at Danny's. I'll go check out Danny's Christmas loot and see if they want to come along."

"Half-hour it is."

"All right, I'll see you in a few. Your mom wanted to talk to mine." We said our goodbyes, and I got on my winter gear to go to Dan's. I left the coat and ski mask I had worn during the incidents of the day before at home. It would be bad if I were recognized from my clothing. Instead, I wore my new coat and the tuque Aunt Kate had knitted for me, both Christmas gifts. For the same reason, I left my bike at home and walked. Perhaps I was being paranoid, but the girl I had cut loose from the altar had surely given the police my description.

As expected, Mike and Terry were there, as I could see from the presence of their bicycles. Danny's oldest brother, Tommy, answered the door and followed me to the basement. Danny's mother was at work. Danny; Mike; Terry; Danny's second oldest brother, Russ; their little sister, Jenny; and Russ's friend Shane were all there. I soon learned that Russ had received a weight set and bench for Christmas, and they were all, except Jenny, engaged in trying it out.

"Who got the speed bag?" I asked after I noticed it mounted from the ceiling.

"I got that, too," said Russ without looking at me. He was spotting Shane, who was doing bench presses. "Try it out, if you want.

"C'mon, two more," he said to Shane, who was breathing hard. Both Russ and Shane were shirtless. They were in excellent shape. Both wanted to join the commandos when they graduated from high school.

There was no way I was going to hit a hard leather bag with my unprotected fist. Then again, Ursus's fighting style, my body's fighting style by default, seldom used fists. I gave the bag a series of heel-of-palm strikes and edge-of-hand (sword hand) blows.

"Have you been studying martial arts, Art?" asked Russ, who had finished spotting Shane. Tommy was getting on the bench.

"Nah, I just read a lot."

"I heard you kicked the asses of four guys around your age," said Shane. He was breathing hard, but not gasping.

"I got lucky, and I fought dirty," I said. I also had help from a magic spell, but I didn't say that.

"That's the only way to fight, if it's serious," he said. Russ started counting out Tommy's reps. I smacked the bag several more times, trying to build up a rhythm while attacking it from every possible angle. I ended with an upward palm strike to an imaginary chin.

"Hey, Art, want to give it a try?" asked Dan, gesturing at the weights.

"All right. Break it down to whatever Mike was using."

I got on the bench and did one rep. "Add about ten pounds," I said.

"Oooo, tough guy," said Terry, as Dan and Mike complied with my request.

"Nah, I'm just a bit huskier than Mike." I did nine reps. The last one was getting difficult.

"C'mon," said Russ. "One more." I forced out one more for ten. My arms burned.

I don't think lifting to failure is a good idea, thought Ursus.

I'm not in the mood to start arguing with these guys, I thought back.

When I got off the bench, I was breathing hard. I was in better shape than I had been before Ursus took up residence, but I still had a long way to go. I gasped to my friends, "I came over here to see if you wanted to go to Hank's music store in a few minutes. I was going to look at the electric guitars."

"Got some Christmas money you want to spend?" asked Tommy.

"My mom and dad put some guitar money for me on account there."

"Tolerant parents, buying you a guitar," he said.

"Mom just got me some drums," Dan pointed out to his big brother.

"Yeah, but Mom is gone when you get home from school. It's the rest of us who are going to have to suffer."

Danny flipped him off, and was immediately put in a headlock.

I remarked on Tommy's observation to me. "They were leery at first, but I bought an old acoustic with my own money and started learning. Once they saw how serious I was, they became pretty supportive."

"I can only go if we can get back by 2:30," said Danny, still secured by his brother. "Tommy and Russ are going to work then." He left unstated that it was his job to watch Jenny when everyone else was gone.

"All right," I said. "Kirsten and Pam will be at my house in a little bit. Then we can go."

"Who are these girls?" asked Tommy. Russ and Shane started setting up the weights, this time on the floor.

Mike answered for me. "Kirsten is Artie's girlfriend, and Pam is Kirsten's buddy."

"No shit?" asked Tommy, as he let Danny go. He was grinning. "I didn't even know you were interested in girls yet, Art."

"What can I say? It was kind of an accident."

"How does one get a girlfriend by accident?" asked Shane. "This technique, it intrigues me."

"Well, first she caught me staring at her, and then later in the day, I asked her to dance during the square-dance unit in gym. After that, the rest just sort of fell into place."

"Man," said Tommy, "I hated that unit when I was your age."

"Yeah, I would have said it sucks, but I can't complain about the Kirsten part."

"Let that be a lesson," said Shane. "For some unnatural reason, chicks love to dance."

"We're going to do dead lifts next," said Russ, bringing the discussion back to the business at hand.

"Do we have time for another set?" asked Danny.

"Yeah, but then we should head out," I replied.

"Hold the bar like this," said Russ, "one hand over and one hand under. Before you lift, tighten your stomach muscles. Keep your back straight and the bar right next to your legs." He demonstrated with a light weight on the bar. When he had again put the weight down, he said, "Put the weights right back on the floor between reps, pause, and re-flex your abdomen before lifting again. Don't drop them! We don't have a platform built yet, and Mom will shit if we crack the floor.

"You go first, Terry. See how that feels."

Terry tried it. Russ watched his form and said, "Keep your back straighter. Try keeping your eyes locked on a point on the wall in front of you." We eventually all did a set of dead lifts. While we weren't taking our turns, Dan showed me his new drums. It was a basic set: snare, kick drum, high hat, two tom-toms, and a crash cymbal. Two stacked milk crates with a cushion on top were behind the kit.

"I still need to get a throne and a floor tom, at least," Dan said.

"What?" I asked as I mentally pictured a king's chair.

"A stool. Drummer's stools are called thrones for some reason."

"Ah, OK."

"I figured I'd leave this set here to practice with and keep building up another kit at your house. I'm not going to say anything to my mom, but the stuff I've been trading for is better quality."

"Sounds like a plan to me," I said.

Arthur's three friends and I were about to head upstairs and leave, when Dan said, "I think I'll grab a fast shower. I'll catch up with you guys."

Mike and Terry walked their bikes beside me as we headed home. "This is ek-skellent," Mike said.

"Hmmm?"

"We are actually forming a band. Chicks. Weed. Maybe even groupies."

"Is that some kind of fish?"

"What? Oh, hell no. They're chicks who put out for musicians."

Ursus was familiar with the concept, if not the word. "I think we are a long way from that, and my girlfriend is in the band. And my sister."

They both laughed at me. "You can still have the drugs, Art."

"I don't want drugs."

"Man, why is it you want to be a musician again?"

"Maybe I like music," I said.

"That's fucked up," said Mike. He was grinning.

"You need to work on your priorities, young man," said Terry in an unnaturally deep voice. I just shook my head and laughed. At about the same time we arrived home, Kirsten's mom pulled into our driveway with Kirsten and Pam.

Kirsten and I had a quick hug and kiss, but it felt incredibly awkward without the Arthur part of my brain in charge. Ursus and I were more or less willing him not to take over. Arthur said to us mentally, Look, I promise not to say anything about killing Guzman when Kirsten is around, OK? Being in the same head, we could tell he wasn't lying, so Ursus and I relaxed with more than a little relief.

Kirsten gave me a funny look as I let her go. "Is everything OK, Art?"

"It's--all right," I said as I held the door for everyone as they went inside. Of course, the topic of conversation instantly became the "Satanic" murders.

Chapter 3

Chapter 1: Movement and Strife

"Yield, peasant," commanded the demon.

A shiver went down my back. "No!" I screamed in defiance.

I ran away. The demon chased me. It wanted me to make obeisance to him, to be his minion. I ran until a gray-haired man blocked my escape. I was terrified, but I couldn't let the man stop me.

I leaped into the air and kicked him in his face. He fell to the ground, and I stomped on his head until his skull shattered. Blood and brains stained the earth and my boots. I felt my stomach begin to turn.

Then I awoke from the nightmare with a start. My heart was pounding, and my fright was bad enough that I decided I didn't want to go back to sleep, so I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

It was Thursday, 23 December 1973. Wednesday, Boxing Day, I had killed a man. All three minds in my head were upset about it, the youngest one, Arthur, to the point of constant guilt and nausea. The oldest mind, Ursus, didn't feel any guilt, but he wasn't immune to the nausea, and taking a human life still upset him. My third mind, the resultant of the merger of Arthur and Ursus, was somewhere in the middle.

In any event, I didn't have much appetite as I went through the morning routine. Nevertheless, after I left the bathroom, I got a big bowl, put in a little cereal, and forced myself to sit at the kitchen table and eat it. Mom had noted my lack of appetite the evening before, and if she thought I was off my feed--in addition to the unusual amount of time I had been spending asleep the previous few weeks--she was sure to put two and two together and conclude that I was ill. I didn't need the restrictions on my movements that such a conclusion would bring, especially over winter break. Especially now that I had killed a man.

I had the morning newspaper in front of me. I had already established the precedent of reading the paper, so that in itself was not notable, despite my body being not yet twelve years old. I saw that my crime had made the front page, below the fold.

"Are you reading about the Satanist murder?" Mom asked me. We were the only ones at the table. Dad had gone to work. Mom's sister and her sister's husband had gone home the evening before. My younger siblings were not yet out of bed.

"I just started the article," I replied.

"You were over that way yesterday. Did you see anything?"

I felt a stab of guilt. "Nope, not a thing. I just checked out the junior high school and rode around on my bike."

I'd had to tell a lot of lies over the previous few days, a fact that distressed all three minds in my brain. We loathed telling untruths, but sometimes a lie was the lesser evil--by a large margin. In fact, though, I had seen everything that had happened at the crime scene, because I had done much of it.

"What if you had wandered into that place and got hurt?" Oh-oh, her mother instincts were kicking in, and her blue eyes looked worried.

"I didn't, and I wasn't," I said. After a second, Mom nodded and gave me a little smile.

I returned to my reading. During mid-morning Wednesday, in a middle-class neighborhood of the suburban city of Packard, Michigana, an unidentified male wearing a ski mask had broken into the home of one Joseph Ernesto Guzman and pummeled him to death. Packard, a peaceful suburb of mostly peaceful Detroit, didn't have an exceptionally high crime rate, so any local murder was news, but the lurid details had moved the story from the front of the community section to the front of the entire newspaper.

A fourteen-year-old girl, name withheld to protect a juvenile's privacy, had called in the homicide. She alleged that Mr. Guzman's assailant had heard her cries for help and saved her from being sacrificed in propitiation of a demon. She also alleged that Mr. Guzman, with the assistance of said demon, had been forcing her to sneak from her home to his, where he had sexually assaulted her on a recurring basis for the past several months. She thought her alleged rescuer was possibly a teenager, but she could not be sure. His ski mask had rendered him unidentifiable.

The girl described Mr. Guzman's basement as having an altar, a shrine dedicated to demons, and a wall-mounted chain to which she was regularly secured. Police sources confirmed her general description. She also alleged that Mr. Guzman habitually practiced animal sacrifice--killing chickens, rabbits, sheep, and goats.

The newspaper had no knowledge of whether she was under the influence of drugs or had a history of psychiatric problems.

Even more shocking, according to department sources, police investigating the homicide had found the dismembered bodies of at least two women in Mr. Guzman's basement freezer. One woman remained unidentified. The other had been confirmed as Mr. Guzman's wife. Authorities were trying, so far unsuccessfully, to locate her relatives.

The article went on to collect the usual quotes from the neighbors: Isn't it shocking? Something needs to be done about crime. He was such a quiet man. Demon summoning? The end days must surely be coming.

Most important, from my point of view, no one had heard or seen anything unusual at the Guzman residence on the morning of the crime. Unless the information was being withheld, no one had seen me enter the Guzman backyard or house. Of course, the police were eager for any leads to the whereabouts of Mr. Guzman's killer.

I was that killer. Ursus, the consciousness of an ancient wizard, believed that our murder of Mr. Guzman had been pure self-defense. To his mind, calling a murder "self-defense" was not paradoxical in the least. It was true that our killing of Mr. Guzman met the definition of murder under the laws of our current home. It was also true that these laws prescribed no method for dealing with a magician both willing and able to summon demons. Killing him had been the only way available to prevent his sending another demon to kill us, and maybe Arthur's family in addition.

Arthur, the consciousness of a sixth grader, did not yet understand that whereas illegality and immorality could overlap, they weren't necessarily the same thing. He felt terrible, evil. On the one hand, he longed to confess. On the other, he feared the penalty that would result. Worse, he felt like a coward for fearing righteous punishment. He was the main reason our appetite was suppressed.

I, the third consciousness, didn't really have a name. I was the result of the merger that began the day Arthur woke up several weeks before and found Ursus in his head. Much of the time, all three of us went along in harmony, all thinking of ourselves as "I" and working in unison. At other times, we divided. During some of those times of division, we disagreed. I could have genuine conversations and arguments with myself. I also could think of three things at once, an ability that had proved useful.

It's hard to say what age the merged part of me should have been considered. Sometimes I thought and acted more like Arthur--especially when I had first come into existence. Sometimes I thought and acted more like Ursus. Furthermore, I had all of Arthur's memories at my figurative fingertips (cerebral folds?), but still only some of Ursus's. Ursus still had only some of his own memories. Their installation into Arthur's brain had turned out to be an extended process, mostly happening when we were asleep, with no end in sight. I supposed I had a long way to go before I developed a final personality.

At any rate, I agreed with Ursus's conclusion. I'd had misgivings at first, but my--our--fight with the demon summoned by the diabolist we had killed had convinced me. The demon summoner had needed to be stopped, legally or illegally. I felt shaken up over killing someone, but I didn't feel guilty, not really.

Ursus and I kept working on Arthur--comforting, distracting, and reasoning with him--but it wasn't something we could do without his realizing it. Because he was in the same head with us, he knew our program. He also understood that the two of us were determined to keep him from confessing to murder. Unfortunately, none of us understood how our body decided which consciousness had control over it at any given time. (It might have had something to do with who wanted it the most, but we weren't sure.) It was possible that one day he'd be in charge of our tongue and spill the beans.

I supposed we'd burn that bridge when we came to it. In the meantime, I was pleased that the article never mentioned that at roughly the same time the homicide had taken place, a boy wearing a ski mask, carrying a guitar across his back, and riding a bicycle had fallen unconscious into a snow bank. Emergency workers had been summoned to help him, but he had fled before they had completed their evaluation. Either no one had made the connection, or the police were keeping it close to their vests.

Actually, I hadn't been unconscious; I had been fighting the demon in my head. Once I had defeated the demon, I sent him back with orders to kill his summoner. Doubtless, it had looked like unconsciousness from the outside, and I didn't blame the three teens who had gone for help. Still, they had increased the peril I was in an unknown amount, and had made it necessary for me to evade the paramedics before I had gone to Guzman's house and finished him off, the wounded demon only having hurt him.

I turned to the comics in an attempt to please Arthur. He liked the comics. So did Ursus, who hypothesized that there was more truth in the cartoons than on the front page. Mom must have seen that I was done with the news story, because she said, "Terrible, isn't it? What this world is coming to?"

"I couldn't say. To me, this world seems like it always has."

She sighed. "I suppose. It's easy to forget that things have been buggered up your entire life. When I was a girl, you never heard anything about people worshipping Satan or conjuring demons. At least, I never did."

"I don't hear much about it now," I said.

"I do. I've heard about people becoming pagans and heathens, and I saw someone who claimed to be a witch on television last week. Shit, if you haven't been pulling my leg, you've been dabbling in magic yourself, and I've seen some of the books you've been getting from the library."

Danger, Ursus thought to me.

"Mom, I promise you I'm not a pagan, heathen, witch, Satanist, or demon worshipper."

"How serious are you about this magic bullshit?"

"I've done some stuff, and it has seemed to work. You saw for yourself how well the money-finding spell went," I said, referring to a successful spell I had cast more than once.

"'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.'" She said it in a musing tone, not as a commandment. Her religious beliefs were complex and probably heretical, as far as I could tell, but she was approximately an eccentric Christian. "Are you leaving yourself open to Satan?"

"I'm not a witch, and I have nothing to do with Satan," I said.

"Can you be sure?"

"Yes."

"How?" Mom asked.

"I don't ask for the assistance of evil spirits, and I've done nothing evil myself." Arthur laughed hysterically in my head. I forced myself to remain calm. "I don't believe the Bible equates magic and witchcraft, anyway. It's full of magic done by supposedly good people. Moses was obviously a magician."

"I wonder if she was on drugs?" Mom asked.

I was confused by the apparent non-sequiter. "Who?"

"The girl who claimed she was going to be sacrificed."

"If you find out who she is, you could ask her."

"Smartass."

I tried changing the subject. "Will you help me carry my bed downstairs today?" I had been given permission to turn an unused room in the basement into a bedroom.

"I guess. Wait until everyone is up."

"OK. I'm going to go get cleaned up." I rinsed out my cereal bowl and headed for the bathroom.

Before I could make a complete escape, Mom said, "There's a killer loose. I don't want you to go far from home, especially alone, and I want to know where you are when you go out."

"OK. I'll make sure you know where I am."

"And I want you to quit playing around with magic."

"I told you, I don't do anything bad. I certainly don't traffic with demons."

"Reading about a girl claiming she was about to be sacrificed to one makes it not such a joke."

I headed for the bathroom without saying anything more.

"Get your ass back here," Mom ordered.

I stopped walking. "I can't make any such promise," I said.

"Is that nonsense so important to you?"

"If it's nonsense, why are you worried about it?" I went into the bathroom.

I'm not going to promise her that I won't do magic, I thought.

Indeed not, Ursus replied. Promises involving magic tend to be self-enforcing in unforeseen ways.

Maybe it would be for the best, Arthur thought.

Could you really give it up? I asked Arthur.

I don't know, but all it has done is cause us problems.

How can you say that? It has made us some money, got us into better shape, and saved us from a severe beating. In addition to a money finding spell, I had cast a physical protection spell that had allowed me to beat four boys in a fight without getting badly hurt myself. I had also performed various health and fitness rituals, and I was indeed losing weight and gaining muscle and endurance.

Arthur had no answer to that, and he went back to brooding over the killing. I showered and did the rest of the standard morning cleanup. When I came out, all my siblings were up. Susan, the youngest; Charlie, the next youngest; and Rich, the kid in the middle of the pack, were watching a cartoon in the family room as they ate their cereal. Mary, the second oldest, ate at the table. Mom was putting on the wash.

"I'm going to get started cleaning the accumulated junk out of my new room," I said.

"Don't move it to the storage room yet," Mom said. "Just move it out to the middle somewhere; a lot of that junk can be thrown away. I'll be down in a few minutes to give you a hand."

I did what I had been told and worked at it steadily for a while. When Mom arrived with Susan in tow, I had everything moved out except the contents of the walk-in closet and the old kitchen table I had recently moved in. Mom was carrying a couple of large corrugated boxes and a roll of garbage bags.

We proceeded to spend the entire morning cleaning out the basement, Mom occasionally going upstairs to work on the wash. She didn't say anything more about magic. Rich and Charlie escaped to a friend's house, but huge-hearted Mary came down to help out and wrangle Susan. In the end, besides general cleaning, we had thrown out a bunch of junk, moved everything out of the walk-in closet in my new room, and rearranged the storage room.

Finally, we started putting things back into my bedroom. "Are you going to leave this table in here?" Mom gestured at the old kitchen table that had been downstairs for as long as the Arthur part of me could remember.

"I've been using it as a place to study. I figured I'd keep it until I had a desk, or at least a better worktable." Mom nodded at that. We then took a big rug that would cover most of the floor and worked around the table to put it down.

A tall chest of drawers--about five feet high--came out of the storage room. It didn't match any of the other bedroom furniture in the house. Mom and Dad had bought it used when they first got married. Stained a light brown, it completely lacked ornamentation, but it was made out of a hard wood--probably white oak--and sturdy. It appealed to my tastes, and it and the big closet would easily hold all of my stuff from the old bedroom I had shared with my brothers, except for the books.

"Well, let's go get your bed," Mom said. We did that, and then Mom and Mary made lunch while I carried all of my clothing that still fit downstairs. I gave the clothes that I had grown out of to Rich. It was all too big for him, but he eventually could use it.

After lunch, I put a small table beside my bed to use as a nightstand and hung the poster of a polar bear my friend Danny had drawn for me onto my new door. I still needed a bookcase, and the walk-in closet lacked a door, but finally having some privacy would be wonderful. For a few minutes, at least, all three minds in my brain were happy over our new bedroom, even Arthur.

chapter 2