Diane Duane - Young Wizard's 07 - Wizard's Holiday

Wizard’s Holiday

By Diane Duane

* * * *

Diane Duane’s

Young Wizards Series

So You Want to Be a Wizard

Deep Wizardry

High Wizardry

A Wizard Abroad

The Wizard’s Dilemma

A Wizard Alone

* * * *

For Virginia Heinlein

* * * *

Unending stairs reach up the mountain above you,

And you keep climbing, while the welcoming voices

Cheer you along. They make the long climb easier,

Though the gift you’re bringing may to you seem small.

Don’t worry, it’s what they need: For all the cheering,

See how empty the streets are? Take your time.

Make your way upward steadily toward what waits,

Through day’s blind radiance to the city’s pinnacle,

And fall up the last few steps into empty sky....

—hexagram 46, Sheng

“Onward and Upward”

“With me, a change of trouble is as good as a vacation.”

—David Lloyd George (1863-1945)

What, can the Devil speak true?

—William Shakespeare,

Macbeth, I, iii

* * * *

That Getaway Urge

It was the Friday afternoon before the start of spring break. The weather was nothing

like spring. It was cold and gray outside; the wind hissed unrepentantly through the

still-bare limbs of the maple trees that lined the street, and in that wind the rain was

blowing horizontally from west to east, seemingly right into the face of the girl, in

parka and jeans, running down the sidewalk toward her driveway. Except for her, the

street was empty, and no one looking out the window of any nearby house was

close enough to notice that the rain wasn’t getting the young girl wet. Even if

someone had noticed, probably nothing would have come of it; human beings

generally don’t recognize wizardry even when it’s being done right under their noses.

Nita Callahan jogged up her driveway, unlocked the back door of her house,

and plunged through it into the warmth of the kitchen. The back door blew back and

slammed against the stairwell wall behind her in a sudden gust of wind, but she

didn’t care. She pushed the door shut again, then struggled briefly to get her

backpack off, flinging it onto the kitchen counter.

“Freedom!” she said to no one in particular as she pulled off her jacket and

tossed it through the kitchen door onto the back of one of the dining room chairs.

“Freedom! Free at last!” And she actually did a small impromptu dance in the

middle of the kitchen at the sheer pleasure of the concept of two weeks off from

school... though the dancing lasted only until her stomach suddenly growled.

“Freedom and food,” Nita said then, and opened the refrigerator and stuck

her head into it to see what was there to eat.

There was precious little. Half a quart of milk and half a stick of butter; some

small, unidentifiable pieces of cheese bundled up in plastic wrap, at least a couple of

them turning green or blue because of the presence of other life-forms; way back in

a corner, a plastic-bagged head of lettuce that had seen better days, probably several

weeks ago; and a last slice of frozen pizza that someone, probably her sister,

Dairine, had left in the fridge on a plate without wrapping it, and which was now

desiccated enough to curl up at the edges.

“Make that freedom and starvation,” Nita said under her breath, and shut the

refrigerator door. It was the end of the week, and in her family, shopping was

something that happened after her dad got home on Fridays. Nita went over to the

bread box on the counter, thinking that at least she could make a sandwich—but

inside the bread box was only a crumpled-up bread wrapper, which, she saw when

she opened it, contained one rather stale slice of bread between two heel pieces.

“I hate those,” Nita muttered, wrapping up the bread again. She opened a

cupboard over the counter, pulled down a peanut butter jar, and saw that the jar had

been scraped almost clear inside. She rummaged around among various nondescript

canned goods, but there was no soup or ravioli or any of the faster foods she

favored—just beans and other canned vegetables, things that would need a lot of

work to make them edible.

Nita glanced at the clock. It was at least half an hour before the time her dad

usually shut his florist’s shop on Fridays and came home to pick up whoever

wanted to go along to help do the shopping. “I will die of hunger before then,” Nita

said to herself. “Die horribly.”

Then she glanced at the refrigerator again. Aha, Nita thought. She went to the

wall by the doorway into the dining room and picked up the receiver of the kitchen

phone.She dialed. The phone at the other end rang, and after a couple of rings

someone picked up. “Rodriguez residence...”

Behind the voice was a noise that sounded rather like a jackhammer, if

jackhammers could sing. “Kit? How’d you beat me home?”

“My last-period study hall was optional today... I was finished with my

homework so I went home early. What’s up?”

“I was going to ask you that,” Nita said, raising her voice over the racket. “Is

your dad redoing the kitchen or something?”

She heard Kit let out an exasperated breath. “It’s the TV.”

“It’s acting up again?” Nita said. Kit’s last attempt to use wizardry to repair

his family’s new home entertainment system had produced some peculiar side

effects, such as the TV showing other planets’ cable channels without warning.

“Neets,” Kit said, “it’s worse than just acting up now. I think the TV’s trying

to evolve into an intelligent life-form.”

Nita’s eyebrows went up. “That could be an improvement ...”

“Yeah, but evolution can have a lot of dead ends,” Kit said. “And I’m getting

really tempted to end this one with a hammer. The TV says it’s meditating...but most

things get quieter when they meditate.”

She snickered. “Knowing your electronics, you may need that hammer.

Meanwhile, I don’t want to talk about your TV. I want to talk about your

refrigerator.”

“Uh-oh,” Kit said.

“Uh-oh,” something inside Nita’s house also said, like an echo. She glanced

around her but couldn’t figure out what had said it. Weird… “Kit,” Nita said, “I’m

dying here. You saw what lunch was like today. Nothing human could have eaten it.

Mystery meat in secret sauce again.”

“Fridays are always bad in that cafeteria,” Kit said. “That’s why I eat at home

so much.”

“Don’t torture me. What’s in your fridge?”

There was a pause while Kit walked into his kitchen, and Nita heard his

refrigerator door open. “Milk, eggs, some of Carmela’s yogurt drinks, beer, some

of that lemon soda, mineral water, half a chocolate cake, roast chicken—”

“You mean cold cuts?”

“No, I mean half a chicken. Mama made it last night. You’ve had this recipe

before. She rubs it with this hot-smoked paprika she gets from the gourmet store,

and then she stuffs it with smoked garlic, and then she—”

Nita’s mouth had started to water. “You’re doing this on purpose,” she said.

“Let me raid your fridge.”

“Hey, I don’t know, Neets, that chicken breast would be pretty good in a

sandwich with some mayo, and I don’t know if there’s enough for—”

“Kit!”

He snorted with laughter. “You really need to get your dad to buy more food

when he shops,” Kit said. “You keep running out on Friday. If he’d just—”

“KIT!!”

Kit laughed harder. “Okay, look, there’s plenty of chicken. Don’t bust your

gnaester. You coming over later?”

“Yeah, after we shop.”

“Bring a spare hammer,” Kit said. “This job I’m doing might need two.”

“Yeah, thanks. Keep everybody out of the fridge for five minutes. See you

later, bye!”

Nita hung up, then stood for a moment and considered her own refrigerator.

“You know what I’ve got in mind,” she said to it in the Speech.

And you keep having to do it, the refrigerator “said.” Being inanimate, it

wasn’t actually talking, of course, but it still managed to produce a “sound” and

sensation that came across as grumpy.

“It’s not your fault you’re not as full as you should be, come the end of the

week,” Nita said. “I’ll talk to my dad. Do you mind, though?”

It’s my job to feed you, the refrigerator said, sounding less grumpy but still a

little unhappy. But in a more usual way. Talk to him, will you?

“First thing. And, in the meantime, think how broadening it is for you to swap

insides with a colleague every now and then!”

Well, I guess you’ve got a point, the refrigerator said, sounding more

interested. Yeah, go ahead...

Nita whistled for her wizard’s manual. Her book bag wriggled and jumped

around on the counter as if something alive were struggling to get out. Nita glanced

over and just had time to realize that only one of the two flap-fasteners was undone

when the manual worked its way out from under the flap and shot across the kitchen

into her hand.

“Sorry about that,” she said to the manual. “Casual wizardries, home utilities,

fridge routine, please...”

The manual flipped open in her hand, laying itself out to a page about half

covered with the graceful curly cursive of the wizardly Speech. “Right,” Nita said,

and began to read.

The spell went as spells usually did—the workaday sounds of the wind and

the occasional passing traffic outside, the soft hum of the fridge motor and other

kitchen noises inside, all gradually muting down and down as that concentrating

silence, the universe listening to what Nita was saying in the Speech, came into ever

greater force and began to assert its authority over merely physical things. The

wizardry itself was a straightforward temporospatial translocation, or exchange of

one volume of local space for another, though even a spell like that wasn’t

necessarily simple when you considered that each of the volumes in question was

corkscrewing its way through space-time in a slightly different direction, because of

their differing locations on the Earth’s surface. As Nita read from the manual, an

iridescent fog of light surrounded her while the words in the Speech wove and

wrapped themselves through physical reality, coaxing it for just a little while into a

slightly different shape. She said the spell’s last word, the verbal expression of the

wizard’s knot, the completion that would turn it loose to work—

The spell activated with a crash of silent thunder, enacting the change. Silence

ebbed; sound came back—the wind still whistling outside, the splash and hiss of a

car going by. Completed, the spell extracted its price, a small but significant portion

of the energy presently available to Nita. She stood there breathing hard, sweat

standing out on her brow, as she reached out and opened the refrigerator door.

The fridge wasn’t empty now. The shelves looked different from the ones that

were usually there, and on one of those shelves was that lemon soda Kit had

mentioned, a few plastic bottles of it. Nita reached in and pulled one of those out

first, opened it, and had a long swig, smiling slightly: It was her favorite brand, which

Kit’s mom had taken to buying for her. Then Nita looked over Kit’s refrigerator’s

other contents and weighed the possibilities. She had a brief flirtation with the idea of

one of those yogurt drinks, but this was not a yogurt moment; anyway, those were

Carmela’s special thing. However, there was that chicken, sitting there wrapped in

plastic on a plate. About half of it was gone, but the breast on the other side was

intact and golden brown, gorgeous.

“Okay, you,” Nita said, “come here and have a starring role in a sandwich.”

She reached in, took out the roast chicken, put it on a clean plate, and then

unwrapped it. Nita pulled the sharpest knife off the magnetic knife rack by the sink

and carved a couple of slices off the breast.

She contemplated a third slice, then paused, not wanting to make too much of

a pig of herself.

“Uh-oh,” something said again.

Nita looked around her, but couldn’t see anything. Something in the dining

room? she thought. “Hello?” she said.

Instead of a reply, there came a clunking noise, like a door being pulled open.

“Kit,” said a female voice, “what’s wrong with the fridge? All the food’s gone. No,

wait, though, there’s a really ugly alien in here disguised as a leaky lettuce. Hey, I

guess I shouldn’t be rude to it; it’s a visitor. Welcome to our planet, Mr. Alien!”

This was followed by some muffled remark that Nita couldn’t make out,

possibly something Kit was saying. A moment later, Kit’s sister Carmela’s voice

came out of Nita’s refrigerator again. “Hola, Nita, are your phone bills getting too

big? This is a weird way to deal with it...”

Nita snickered. “No, ‘Mela,” she said into the fridge, “I’m just dying of

hunger here. I’ll trade you a roast chicken from the store later on.”

“It won’t be as good as my mama’s,” Carmela said. “But you’re welcome to

some of this one. We can’t have you starving. Hey, come on over later. We can

shop.”Nita had to grin at that, and at the wicked twist Carmela put on the last word.

“I’ll be over,” she said.

Clunk! went the door of Kit’s refrigerator, a block and a half away. Or three

feet away, depending on how you looked at it. Nita smiled slightly, put the chicken

back in the fridge, and closed the door. She’d left a verbal “tag” hanging out of the

wizardry she’d worked, like a single strand of yarn hanging off the hem of a sweater.

Nita said the word, and the spell unraveled itself to nothing.

She went back to the bread box, got those two heel pieces of bread, which no

longer looked so repulsive now that the chicken was here, and started constructing

her sandwich, smiling in slight bemusement. “Welcome to our planet, Mr. Alien,”

Carmela had said. Nita absolutely approved of the sentiment. What was unusual was

that Carmela had used the Speech to express it.

Nita shook her head. Things were getting increasingly strange over at Kit’s

house lately, and it wasn’t just the electronics—his family, even his dog, seemed to

be experiencing the effects of his wizardry more and more plainly all the time, and no

one was sure why. Though Carmela’s always been good with languages, Nita

thought. I guess I should have expected her to pick up the Speech eventually, once

she started to be exposed to it. After all, lots of people who aren’t wizards use it—

on other planets, anyway. And at least the lettuce didn’t answer her back...Of

course, the fact that it hadn’t suggested that it should have been in the compost

heap several days ago. Nita got up, opened the fridge again, and fished the lettuce

out in a gingerly manner. Carmela was right: It was leaking. Nita put the poor soggy

thing in the sink to drain—it would have to be unwrapped before it went into the

compost—rinsed and dried her hands, and went back to her sandwich.

“Uh-oh,” said that small voice again.

Wait a minute, I know who that is...Nita stood in the doorway between the

kitchen and the dining room, with half the sandwich in her hand, looking around.

“Spot,” she said, looking around. “Where are you?”

“Uh-oh,” Spot said.

She couldn’t quite locate the sound. Is he invisible or something? “It’s okay,

Spot,” Nita said. “It’s me.”

No answer came back. Nita glanced around the dining room for a moment or

so, looking on the seats of the chairs, and briefly under them, but she still couldn’t

see anything. After a moment she shook her head. Spot was an unusually personal

kind of personal computer—he would speak to her and her father occasionally, but

never at any length. Probably, Nita thought, this had to do with the fact that he was

in some kind of symbiotic relationship with Dairine—part wizard’s manual, part pet,

part...Nita shook her head and went back to her sandwich. Spot was difficult to

describe accurately; he had been through a great deal in his short life. The part of

this that Nita knew about—Spot’s participation in the creation of a whole species of

sentient computers—would have been enough to account for the weird way he

sometimes behaved. But he had been constant companion to Dairine on all her

errantry after that, and for all Nita knew, Spot had since been involved in stranger

things.There were no further utterances from Spot. “Okay,” Nita said, straightening

up. “You stay where you are, then...She’ll be back in a while.”

She sat down at the table and called her manual to her again. Two weeks of my

own, she thought. Yeah! There were a hundred things to think about over the school

holiday: projects she was working on with Kit, and things she was doing for her own

enjoyment that she would finally have some time to really get into.

She opened the manual to the area where she kept wizardries-in-progress and

paged through it idly, pausing as she came to a page that was about half full of the

graceful characters of the Speech. But the last line was blinking on and off to remind

her that the entry was incomplete. Oh yeah, she thought. I’d better finish this while

the material’s still fresh.

Nita sat back and eyed the page, munching on her sandwich. Since she’d first

become a wizard, she tended to dream things that later turned out to be useful—not

strictly predictions of the future, but scenes from her life, or sometimes other

people’s lives, fragments of future history. The saying went that those who forgot

history were doomed to repeat it; and since Nita hated repeating herself, she’d

started looking for ways to make better use of the information from her dreams,

rather than just be suddenly reminded of them when the events actually happened.

Her local Advisory Wizard had given her some hints on how to use “lucid”

dreaming to her advantage, and had finally suggested that Nita keep a log of her

dreams to refer to later. Nita had started doing this and had discovered that the

dreams were getting easier to remember. Now she glanced down at the page and had

a look at this morning’s notes.

Reading them brought the images and impressions up fresh in her mind again.

Last night’s dream had started with the sound of laughter, with kind of an edge to it.

At first Nita had thought that the source of the laughter was her old adversary, the

Lone Power, but the voice had been different. There was an edge of malice to this

laughter, all right, but it was far less menacing than the Lone One had ever sounded

in Nita’s dealings with it, and far more ambivalent. And the voice was a woman’s.

Then a man’s voice, very clear: “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time,”

he says. His voice is friendly. The timbre of the voice is young, but there’s

something behind it that sounds really old somehow. Nita closed her eyes, tried to

remember something more about that moment than the voice. Light! There was a

sense of radiance all around, and a big, vague murmuring at the edge of things, as if

some kind of crowd scene was going on just out of Nita’s range of vision.

And there was barking, absolutely deafening barking. Nita had to smile at

that, because she knew that bark extremely well. It was Kit’s dog, Ponch, barking

excitedly about something, which wasn’t at all strange. What was strange was the

absolute hugeness of the sound, in the darkness.

The darkness, Nita thought, and shivered once as the image, which hadn’t

been clear this morning, suddenly presented itself.

“Record,” she said to the manual, and sat back with her eyes closed.

Space, with stars in it. Well, you would expect space to be dark. But slowly,

slowly, some of the stars seemed to go faint, as if something filmy was getting

between her and them, like a cloud, a creeping fog…

Slowly the dark fog had crept across Nita’s field of vision. It swallowed the

stars. Now that she was awake, the image gave her the creeps. Yet in the dream,

somehow this hadn’t been the case. She saw it happening; she was somehow not

even surprised by it. In the dream, she knew what it meant, and its only effect on

Nita had been to make her incredibly angry.

She opened her eyes now, feeling a little flushed with the memory of the anger.

Nita looked down at the manual, where the last line of the Speech, recording her last

impression, was blinking quietly on and off, waiting for her to add anything further.

She searched her memory, then shook her head. Nothing new was coming up

for now. “Close the entry,” she said to the manual, and that last line stopped

blinking.

Nita shut the manual and reached out to pick up her sandwich and have

another bite. It was frustrating to get these bits and pieces and not understand what

they meant; but, eventually, when she got enough of them together, they would start

to make some kind of sense. I just hope that it happens in time to be of some use.

For sure, something’s going to start happening shortly. The darkness had not

“felt” very far away in time. I’ll mention it to Tom when I have a chance.

Meanwhile, there were plenty of other things to think about. That Martian

project, for example, she thought as she finished her sandwich. She got up to go

into the kitchen and get rid of the plate. Now that’s going to be a whole lot of fun—

From outside the house came a splash and hiss as someone drove through the

puddle that always collected at the end of the driveway in rainy weather. Nita glanced

out the kitchen window and saw the car coming up the driveway. Daddy’s a little

early, she thought. It must have been quiet in the store this afternoon. But where is

Dairine? I thought she’d be back by now...

Nita ran some cold water from the tap into a measuring cup, filled up the water

reservoir of the coffee-maker by the sink, put one of the premeasured coffee filters

her dad favored into the top of the machine, and hit the on switch. The coffeemaker

started making the usual wheeze-and-gurgle noises. Outside, the car door slammed;

a few moments later, shaking the rain out of his hair, Nita’s dad came in—a tall man,

silver-haired, big-shouldered, and getting a little thick around the waist; he’d been

putting on a little weight these past few months. He was splattered with rain about

the shoulders, and he was carrying a long paper package in his arms. “Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi, Daddy.” Nita sniffed the air. “Mums?” she said. She recognized that

slightly musty scent before she saw the rust-and gold-colored flowers sticking out

of the wide end of the package.

Her dad nodded. “We had a few left over this afternoon ...No point leaving

them in the store. I’ll find a vase for them.” He put the flowers down on the drain

board, then peered into the sink. “Good lord, what’s that?”

“Lettuce,” Nita said. “Previously.”

“I see what you mean,” Nita’s dad said. “Well, that’s my fault. I meant to

make some salad last weekend, but it never happened. That shouldn’t have gone bad

so fast, though...”

“You have to put the vegetables in the crisper, Daddy. It’s too dry in the main

part of the fridge, and probably too cold.” Nita sighed. “Speaking of which, I was

talking to the fridge a little while ago...”

Her father gave her a cockeyed look. Nita had to laugh at the expression.

“You’re going to tell me that the refrigerator has a problem of some kind? Not

a mechanical one, I take it.”

“Uh, no.”

Her dad leaned against the counter, rubbing his face a little wearily. “I still

have trouble with this idea of inanimate objects being able to think and have

emotions.”

“Not emotions the way we have them,” Nita said. “Ways they want things to

be...and a reaction when they’re not. And as for inanimate...They’re just not alive the

way we are.” She shrugged. “Just call this ‘life not as we know it,’ if it helps.”

“But it is life as you know it.”

“I just have better equipment to detect it with,” Nita said. “I talk to it and it

talks back. It’d be rude not to answer, after that. Anyway, Daddy, it’s weird to hear

you say you have a problem with this! You talk to your plants all the time. In the

shop and here. You should hear yourself out in the garden.”

At that, her dad looked nonplussed. “But even the scientists say it’s good to

talk to plants. It’s the frequency of the sound waves or something.”

“That’s like saying that telling someone you love them is good just because of

the sound waves,” Nita said. “If you were from Mars and you didn’t know how

important knowing people loved you was, you might think it was the sound waves,

too. Don’t you feel how the plants like it when you talk to them?”

“They do grow better,” her dad said after a moment. “Liking...I don’t know.

Give me a while to get used to the idea. What’s the fridge’s problem?”

“It hates being empty. A fridge’s nature is to have things in it for people to

eat! But there’s hardly anything in it half the week, and that makes it sad.” Nita gave

her dad a stern look. “Not to mention that it makes me sad, when I get home from

school. We need to get more stuff on Fridays!”

“Well, okay. But at least—”

“Uh-oh,” said a little voice.

Nita’s dad glanced up, and both of them looked around. “What?” he said.

“It’s Spot,” said Nita.

“What’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t know,” Nita said. “He’s been doing that every now and then since I

got home.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. I looked for him before, but I couldn’t see him. Dairine can

probably tell us when she gets back. So, Daddy, about the shopping...”

“Okay,” her father said. “Your mom was such an expert at judging what we

needed right down to Friday afternoon. Maybe I didn’t pay enough attention. You

probably did, though.”

“Uh, no,” Nita said, “but I saw her do it often enough that I can imitate what

she did until I start understanding the rules myself.”

“Fine,” her dad said. “That’s your job now, then. Let me get out of my work

clothes and we’ll go out as soon as Dairine gets back.”

“Uh-oh,” said that small voice again. “Uh-oh. Uh-oh!”

“What is it with him?” Nita’s father said, looking around in confusion. “He

sounds like he’s having a guilt attack. Wherever he is...”

The uh-oh-ing stopped short.

Nita’s dad looked into the dining room and spied something. “Hey, wait, I see

where he is,” he said, and went to the corner behind the dining room table. There

was a little cupboard and pantry area there, set into the wall, and one of the lower

cupboard’s doors was partly open. Nita’s dad looked into it. “What’s the matter

with you, fella?”

“Uh-oh,” said Spot’s voice, much smaller still.

“Come on,” Nita’s dad said, “let’s have a look at you.” He reached down

into the bottom of the cupboard, in among the unpolished silver and the big serving

plates, and brought out the little laptop computer. It had been undergoing some

changes recently, what Dairine referred to as an “upgrade.” In this case, upgrading

seemed to involve getting smaller and cooler looking, so that a computer that had

once been fairly big and heavy was now not much bigger than a large paperback

book in a dark silvery case.

Spot, however, had equipment that no other laptop had, as far as Nita

knew—not just sentience but (at least sometimes) legs. These—all ten of them,

silvery and with two ball-and-socket joints each—now popped out and wiggled and

rowed and made helpless circles in the air while Nita’s dad held Spot up, blowing a

little dislodged cupboard dust off the top of him.

“Some of that stuff in there needs to be polished,” her dad said. “It’s all

brown. Never mind. You got a problem, big guy?”

It was surprising how much expression a closed computer case could seem to

have, at least as far as Spot was concerned. He managed to look not only nervous

but embarrassed. “Not me,” Spot said.

“Well, who then?”

“Uh-oh,” Spot said again.

Nita could immediately think of one reason why Spot might not want to go

into detail. She was reluctant to say anything: It wasn’t her style to go out of her

way to get her little sister into trouble. Besides, since when does she need my help

for that?

“All right,” Nita’s father said, sounding resigned. “What’s Dairine done

now?”Despite her best intentions, Nita had to grin, though she turned away a little so

that it wouldn’t be too obvious.

“Come on, buddy,” Nita’s father said. “You know we’re on her side. Give.”

Spot’s little legs revolved faster and faster in their ball-and-socket joints, as if

he were trying to rev up to takeoff speed. “Spot,” her dad said, “come on, it’s all

right. Don’t get all—”

With a pop! and a little implosion of air that made the dining room window

curtains swing inward, Spot vanished.

Nita’s dad looked at his empty hands, then looked over at Nita and dusted his

palms. “Now where’d he go?”

Nita shook her head. “No idea.”

“I haven’t seen him do that before.”

“Usually I don’t see him coming or going, either,” Nita said. “But he can do

that kind of stuff if he wants to. He’s got a lot of the manual in him; wizardry is his

operating system, and Spot can probably use it for function calls I’ve never even

thought about.” She went into the kitchen and got her backpack off the counter,

bringing it into the dining room and dropping it on the table. “He and Dairine aren’t

usually far apart for long, though. When she comes back, he will, too.”

“Did she have a late day today?” Nita’s dad said.

“Choir practice, I think,” Nita said. “No, wait, that was yesterday. She should

Diane Duane - Young Wizard's 07 - Wizard's Holiday

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