Green Cheese and Stardust
by Evelyn Puerto
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
conclusion
Argus smiled. He picked up the bottle of champagne and poured it out, while holding one hand under the stream. A four-inch-long cylinder fell into his palm. He grinned. “Your aunt was clever to put a label on the bottle and use it to hide the sheath. Every year, she’d open the bottle and drink the champagne. I suppose Linda’s aged well, drinking champagne infused with stardust.”
That explained my aunt’s preternatural youth. “But the bottle was full when I uncorked it.”
“Of course it was. Linda refilled the bottle and replaced the cork and seal. All she needed to do was ensure no fool opened it at the wrong time.”
And that doofus would be me.
I stared at them, more refusals on my lips. As much as I wanted to write this off as a delusion caused by a head injury, I couldn’t deny the fact that I had been transported from Aunt Linda’s kitchen to the middle of a riot. And just witnessed a mass killing. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth? That you’re not tools of power-hungry dictators?”
The woman sighed. “You ask good questions. All I can say is we’re not the ones shooting people on the street. And that your aunt trusted the people we work with.”
“She met those people sixty years ago.”
Saga laughed. “Of all the people Linda would send through, she’d pick a clever one.” She rummaged in her pocket. “Every five years, one of us visited Linda. She’d tell us the names of the next seven of her relatives who’d come through.” She pulled a photograph from her pocket and handed it to me. Argus was standing next to my Aunt Linda, a 2019 calendar on the wall of her kitchen visible over their shoulders. “Turn it over.” Taped to the back was a list in my aunt’s precise, looping handwriting. Phillipa’s name was the third, mine the fourth.
I let my head sag. “OK. I’ll do it. Just climb the stairs and put the sheath in place, right?”
Both of them beamed. “Right. Do your best,” Saga said. “That’s all we can ask. If you’re about to be captured or killed, smash the bottle. That will send you home.”
I clamped my lips shut before the words “How hard could this be?” left my mouth. That was asking for trouble. Part of me wanted to fling the champagne bottle to the ground and go home. But something tugged on me. I didn’t want to let Aunt Linda down nor disappoint these people who had rescued me from the riot. Most of all, I didn’t want the destruction of a world on my shoulders.
But what should I do? If I chose wrong, I could doom both worlds. My ribs felt like a cage around my lungs. All the awful decisions I’d made swirled through my memory. Letting Philippa talk me into “borrowing” a neighbor’s horse. I’d ended up with a broken arm. Disastrous boyfriends who shredded my sense of trust and self-worth. Good judgment certainly wasn’t one of my strengths. Now I had to make the biggest decision of my life.
I sucked in a long breath. Every time I made a terrible decision, my gut told me not to do it. I was torn. Part of me wanted nothing more than to flee this horror. Another part wanted to help. I couldn’t allow power-hungry magicians to terrorize this world. Or permit the moon to be eaten by dragons.
I had gone insane; that’s what had happened. That thought decided things for me. I might as well do the right thing and free these people. If this was a hallucination, then nothing horrible would happen. If it got scary, I’d bail. No doubt about it.
* * *
After memorizing my instructions and wishing for several glasses of wine in place of the water they offered me, my new allies, if I could call them that, ushered me to the street, pointing in the direction I should go.
Saga slipped the bottle into a canvas shoulder bag and handed it to me. I slung the bag over my shoulder, stiffened my spine and strode off, pretending I had every right to be there.
The street was poorly lit by irregularly placed streetlamps. Vacant storefronts lined the sidewalk, most of them boarded up, the wood decorated with graffiti.
A group of uniformed guards stood at a corner under a streetlight. My mouth went dry, and I tightened my hand on the bag that held the champagne bottle. One wrong move, and I was out of there. I wasn’t cut out to be a hero.
Blood thrummed in my ears, and I struggled to breathe. I forced myself to maintain a steady pace with my eyes straight ahead, muttering a prayer that I didn’t pee my pants. With a tightly clenched jaw, I walked past the guards, barely able to keep from running.
One step, five steps, and I had left them and the street light behind. My heart skipped a beat when I heard shouts behind me. I didn’t stop walking. The guards were arguing with a woman. Only when I had reached the next corner was I able to breathe normally. Argus hadn’t lied to me. The guards ignored me.
A gust of wind stole my breath away. The only time I’d felt a blast of air like that was in Chicago.
I froze in place. That’s why this city looked familiar. I was on the parallel universe’s version of the Magnificent Mile. Only instead of upscale shops and crowds of shoppers, there were abandoned businesses and heaps of trash.
On the next corner, a group of police officers were beating three old women, a pair of children cowering in fear nearby. This has to stop. I resisted the urge to quicken my pace and attract unwanted attention. I could do this.
After passing four more groups of guards without incident, I let my jaw unclench. I checked a street sign. East Delaware Street. I rounded a corner and spotted my destination. I halted. No. Seriously? They wanted me to go to the top of the John Hancock Building?
* * *
I gulped and mentally repeated my instructions: Take the elevator as far as you can, climb the steps, and slip the sheath into place. Easy peasy. So they said.
I pushed through the glass revolving doors. A security guard with three chins sat behind a desk equipped with monitors. A second guard, who seemed to be all muscle, towered over him, holding what looked like an AK-47. Per my instructions, I ignored them and strolled to the elevator. Within seconds, I was on my way to the fifty-third floor.
The elevator door whooshed open. I exited to a tiled corridor. Dark paneling on the walls created a somber atmosphere, while a half dozen silk fichus trees stood like sentinels between the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I turned left and walked around the corner to a second bank of elevators. I summoned one and ascended to the one hundredth floor. So far, I hadn’t met a soul. I crept down the corridor past the darkened restaurant to the door marked “No Entry.” Up to now, I wasn’t breaking any rules. But this? What if someone caught me?
The answer jumped to the front of my brain. I’d break the bottle and be gone. I winced, thinking of leaving this world in the condition it was. Not to mention allowing the dragons to eat the rest of the moon. No, I couldn’t bail.
With a deep breath, I pushed open the door and saw a gray staircase with the number 100 painted on the opposite wall. Okay, then. This shouldn’t be too hard. Just climb the stairs.
I let the door close behind me. A sudden impulse made me try to open it. Locked. Now I was trapped. I clapped a hand over my mouth, stifling a scream along with my rising panic. No, I wasn’t stuck. I could always walk to the bottom. Or better still, break the bottle and go home. I put my right foot on the first step and straightened my shaking knee.
Puffing and panting, I climbed ten flights of stairs. Somehow, in this world, the John Hancock building had a few extra floors. The final door was marked “No Entry.” I pushed on the bar and the door swung open. Artic wind blew my hair from my face and dried the sweat on my forehead.
No one had said anything about venturing onto the roof. My knees shook. I had trouble on balconies. Here, over one thousand feet above the street, this would be worse.
My heart galloped, and my hands broke into a sweat. I shuffled onto the flat roof and pressed my back against the stairwell door. Where did they say the sheath went? On top of the amber beacon.
I cast my eyes around. The only illumination was the moon and the scattered lights from the city below. In one direction, jagged silhouettes of skyscrapers pierced the dark sky. To the other side, all was inky black. That must be Lake Michigan. But where was the sheath?
I took a step forward. Then I saw it.
* * *
In the center of the roof, a structure loomed about four stories tall with a spiraling staircase inside its metal frame. At the very top, a yellow light glowed, a light that leered at me, daring me to climb up to it, knowing that my fear of heights would keep my feet glued to the asphalt of the roof.
A sob threatened to burst from my mouth. I would never forgive my sister for this. She should be the one climbing this tower, fearless Philippa. Fearless about everything except confessing she couldn’t fulfill the family obligation. I clenched my fist.
Then I sagged against the wall. I was just as bad, not telling Argus and Saga I had privately decided to bail if things turned the least bit scary. That I’d considered dashing their hopes. It was only the horrors I’d seen in the streets that kept me going.
I should have told them the truth. But making decisions is like slipping and falling. A fall can’t be stopped halfway. And decisions, once made, usually can’t be undone. In either case, there are consequences that can hurt. Badly.
Head hanging, I stumbled to the metal staircase. Sucking in a deep breath, I began the climb. I’d passed the first landing when the door to the roof swung open. A guard ran out. “Stop!”
I gulped and sprinted up the steps. He was the muscular, tall guy from the lobby, still clutching his weapon. How did he find me?
He yelled at me. “Stop or I’ll shoot. We just want to talk.”
I kept running, my breath coming in pants. This was no time for conversation. I must have shown up on the security cameras. Naturally, they wanted to know why I was there, and why they couldn’t track me. Equally naturally, I didn’t trust them to be gentle when they tried to extract the information from me.
He sprinted for the tower and bounded up the steps. It figured he was the fit one, not the tubby one who looked like he couldn’t outrun a rolling doughnut. The metal steps shook under his pounding tread. I gripped the handrail to keep from slipping.
My legs ached and I couldn’t run anymore. The steps were getting smaller, and it was hard to gain any traction. Another rotten decision: to wear stilettos for drinking champagne with my aunt. I should have opted for my tennis shoes.
The wind picked up, tossing my hair around me. The guard’s steps grew closer. Rounding a bend in the stairs, I reached the top and stared up at the amber beacon.
I snatched the sheath from my pocket, its silky surface cool in my sweaty fingers. I placed it on the top of the beacon. It wouldn’t slide on.
The guard’s fingers circled my ankle. I shrieked and kicked him in the face. I flipped the sheath over. Maybe the other end was bigger. Nope, it was smaller.
He cursed and lunged for me, grabbing me around the shin. I slipped to my knees and slithered down the steps. I kicked him. He shouted a curse when my foot connected with his nose. He let go. I scrambled up the steps, wincing, my knees throbbing. I jammed the sheath onto the beacon and pounded it into place. The amber light vanished.
“What have you done?” the man roared. “Now we’re doomed.” A massive explosion lit up the sky so brightly I could see the beads of sweat on my assailant’s face. The building trembled, shaking the ladder. I clutched the side-rails, praying I didn’t lose my grip and tumble to the roof. Wailing sirens and the smell of sulphur filled the air. Another explosion, this time closer, rocked the building. I choked on the smoke-laden air.
My heart sank, and my stomach churned. Had I helped the wrong side? No one had said anything about explosions.
Whatever was going on, I couldn’t change it. I pulled the champagne bottle from my bag and smashed it on the metal railing. The last thing I saw was the guard shielding his face from the falling glass.
* * *
I tumbled to the floor in Aunt Linda’s kitchen, gasping.
She slid a hand under my elbow and helped me to my feet. “Did you put it back?”
I stared at her. “Yes, and I’m fine, thank you.”
She patted my shoulder. “Of course you are, dearie.” Her kitten ambled into the kitchen, purred, and rubbed its head on my legs.
I was about to retort when I realized I had no pain. Even the scratch the kitten had given me earlier had vanished. “Is the moon still there?”
Aunt Linda smiled at me. “You’ll just have to stick around until it rises. But I think it is.” She picked up an ornately painted wooden box about five inches long and opened the lid. Inside, a small crystal glowed cerulean blue. “They said that would happen if the spell was broken.” Her grin broadened. “Congratulations! You did it.” She pointed to the counter where two bottles of champagne and two glasses stood. “Drink?”
“How long was I gone?”
“Five hours.”
I gasped and rested a hand on my throat. I was tired enough that I would have believed five days. But I was in the right world, that was the main thing. Suddenly I felt like celebrating. A smile twitched the corners of my lips. “Champagne it is.” I eyed the bottle. “But you should open it.”
Aunt Linda laughed and held out her hands to me. “I’m afraid not. My arthritis won’t let me.” She paused. “But before you do, there’s one more favor I have to ask of you.”
“Oh?”
“I have another trip to go on. I have some friends I haven’t seen in decades. And who know, their world may be in need of aid. Want to come along? I’d love the company.” She turned to the refrigerator. “Care for something to eat?”
Why not? Visiting an alien world with Aunt Linda could be fun. “Yes to both.” I grabbed the bottle, wrapped it in a towel, and eased the cork off. It flew off with a pop and knocked a framed picture of mountains in the Kara Kum desert the from the wall. It fell to the floor with a crash, the glass shattering.
I winced. “Aunt Linda, I’m so sorry.” I filled a glass and held it out to her.
“Nah, don’t worry. I hated that picture.” She hesitated. “But you shouldn’t have touched that one.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” she said, sliding her hand under my arm, “it’s the one that opens the portal.”
Oh. The room tipped and darkened. “In that case” — I downed the champagne as a rushing sensation filled my ears — “here’s to green cheese and stardust.”
Copyright © 2022 by Evelyn Puerto
