Peter Beagle - The Line Between

Angie dampened a paper towel and tried to do something with her hot, tear–streaked face. «Name two.»

«Okay, I will! You remember which mailbox you put it in?»

«Under the door," Angle mumbled. «I put it under the door.»

Marvyn snickered then. " Aww, like a Valentine.» Angie hadn't the energy to hit him, but she made a grab at him anyway, for appearance's sake. «Well, I could make it walk right back out the door, that's one way. Or I bet I could just open the door, if nobody's home. Easiest trick in the world, for us witches.»

«They're gone till Sunday night," Angie said. «But there's this lady next door, she's watching the place like a hawk. And even when she's not, she's got this immense dog. I don't care if you're the hottest witch in the world, you do not want to mess with this werewolf.»

Marvyn, who — as Angie knew — was wary of big dogs, went back to scratching his head. «Too easy, anyway. No fun, forget it.» He sat down next to her, completely absorbed in the problem. «How about I … no, that's kid stuff, anybody could do it. But there's a spell … I could make the letter self–destruct, right there in the house, like in that old tv show. It'd just be a little fluffy pile of ashes — they'd vacuum it up and never know. How about that?» Before Angie could express an opinion, he was already shaking his head. «Still too easy. A baby spell, for beginners. I hate those.»

«Easy is good," Angie told him earnestly. «I like easy. And you are a beginner.»

Marvyn was immediately outraged, his normal bass–baritone rumble going up to a wounded squeak. «I am not! No way in the world I'm a beginner!» He was up and stamping his feet, as he had not done since he was two. «I tell you what — just for that, I'm going to get your letter back for you, but I'm not going to tell you how. You'll see, that's all. You just wait and see.»

He was stalking away toward his room when Angie called after him, with the first

glimmer both of hope and of humor that she had felt in approximately a century, «All right, you're a big bad witch king. What do you want?»

Marvyn turned and stared, uncomprehending.

Angie said, «Nothing for nothing, that's my bro. So let's hear it — what's your price for saving my life?»

If Marvyn's voice had gone up any higher, only bats could have heard it. «I'm rescuing you, and you think I want something for it? Julius Christmas!» which was the only swearword he was ever allowed to get away with. «You don't have anything I want, anyway. Except maybe…»

He let the thought hang in space, uncompleted. Angie said, «Except maybe what?»

Marvyn swung on the doorframe one–handed, grinning his pirate grin at her. «I hate you calling me Ex–Lax. You know I hate it, and you keep doing it.»

«Okay, I won't do it anymore, ever again. I promise.»

«Mmm. Not good enough.» The grin had grown distinctly evil. «I think you ought to call me O Mighty One for two weeks.»

«What?» Now Angie was on her feet, misery briefly forgotten. «Give it up, Ex–Lax — two weeks? No chance!» They glared at each other in silence for a long moment before she finally said, «A week. Don't push it. One week, no more. And not in front of people!»

«Ten days.» Marvyn folded his arms. «Starting right now.» Angie went on glowering. Marvyn said, «You want that letter?»

«Yes.»

Marvyn waited.

«Yes, O Mighty One.» Triumphant, Marvyn held out his hand and Angie slapped it. She said, «When?»

«Tonight. No, tomorrow — going to the movies with Sunil and his family tonight. Tomorrow.» He wandered off, and Angie took her first deep breath in what felt like a year and a half. She wished she could tell Melissa that things were going to be all right, but she didn't dare; so she spent the day trying to appear normal — just the usual Angie, aimlessly content on a Saturday afternoon. When Marvyn came home from the movies, he spent the rest of the evening reading Hellboy comics in his room, with the Milady–kitten on his stomach. He was still doing it when Angie gave up peeking in at him and went to bed.

But he was gone on Sunday morning. Angie knew it the moment she woke up. She had no idea where he could be, or why. She had rather expected him to work

whatever spell he settled on in his bedroom, under the stern gaze of his wizard mentors. But he wasn't there, and he didn't come to breakfast. Angie told their mother that they'd been up late watching television together, and that she should probably let Marvyn sleep in. And when Mrs. Luke grew worried after breakfast, Angie went to his room herself, returning with word that Marvyn was working intensely on a project for his art class, and wasn't feeling sociable. Normally she would never have gotten away with it, but her parents were on their way to brunch and a concert, leaving her with the usual instructions to feed and water the cat, use the twenty on the cabinet for something moderately healthy, and to check on Marvyn «now and then," which actually meant frequently. («The day we don't tell you that," Mr. Luke said once, when she objected to the regular duty, «will be the very day the kid steals a kayak and heads for Tahiti.» Angie found it hard to argue the point.)

Alone in the empty house — more alone than she felt she had ever been — Angie turned constantly in circles, wandering from room to room with no least notion of what to do. As the hours passed and her brother failed to return, she found herself calling out to him aloud. «Marvyn? Marvyn, I swear, if you're doing this to drive me crazy … O Mighty One, where are you? You get back here, never mind the damn letter, just get back!» She stopped doing this after a time, because the cracks and tremors in her voice embarrassed her, and made her even more afraid.

Strangely, she seemed to feel him in the house all that time. She kept whirling to look over her shoulder, thinking that he might be sneaking up on her to scare her, a favorite game since his infancy. But he was never there.

Somewhere around noon the doorbell rang, and Angie tripped over herself scrambling to answer it, even though she had no hope — almost no hope — of its being Marvyn. But it was Lidia at the door — Angie had forgotten that she usually came to clean on Sunday afternoons. She stood there, old and smiling, and Angie hugged her wildly and wailed, «Lidia, Lidia, socorro, help me, ayudame, Lidia.» She had learned Spanish from the housekeeper when she was too little to know she was learning it.

Lidia put her hands on Angie's shoulders. She put her back a little and looked into her face, saying, «Chuchi, dime que pasa contigo?» She had called Angie Chuchi since childhood, never explaining the origin or meaning of the word.

«It's Marvyn," Angie whispered. «It's Marvyn.»

She started to explain about the letter, and Marvyn's promise, but Lidia only nodded and asked no questions. She said firmly, «El Viejo puede ayudar.»

Too frantic to pay attention to gender, Angie took her to mean Yemaya, the old woman in the farmer's market who had told Marvyn that he was a brujo. She said, «You mean la santera," but Lidia shook her head hard. «No, no, El Viejo .You go out there, you ask to see El Viejo. Solamente El Viejo. Los otros no pueden ayudarte.»

The others can't help you. Only the old man. Angie asked where she could find El Viejo, and Lidia directed her to a Santeria shop on Bowen Street. She drew a crude map, made sure Angie had money with her, kissed her on the cheek and made a blessing sign on her forehead. «Cuidado, Chuchi," she said with a kind of cheerful solemnity, and Angie was out and running for the Gonzales Avenue bus, the same one she took to school. This time she stayed on a good deal farther.

The shop had no sign, and no street number, and it was so small that Angie kept walking past it for some while. Her attention was finally caught by the objects in the one dim window, and on the shelves to right and left. There was an astonishing variety of incense, and of candles encased in glass with pictures of black saints, as well as boxes marked Fast Money Ritual Kit, and bottles of Elegua Floor Wash, whose label read «Keeps Trouble From Crossing Your Threshold.» When Angie entered, the musky scent of the place made her feel dizzy and heavy and out of herself, as she always felt when she had a cold coming on. She heard a rooster crowing, somewhere in back.