Frama-12

Winnie’s Mom dreams never ended with the soft whisper of “Windy,” her mom’s pet name for her. They usually ended in the cruelest of ways, with Mom gently fading out, leaving behind an empty porch chair facing a lake.

Winnie heard the name again. Or maybe a breeze through the seagrass outside her open window played tricks with her ears. Before she could drift back to sleep, a tiny hand jostled her shoulder. Her eyes blinked open to a dark room that smelled faintly of salt air.

“Windy?” The small voice belonged to her little stepbrother, Mikey.

“Hey, bud,” she said in a sleep-groggy voice. “Couldn’t sleep?”

The hint of moonlight that shone through her window showed Mikey’s silhouette, shaking his head. The little boy sniffled.

“Need some water? Or—” She swallowed hard, not really wanting to suggest it. “—do you want me to get your mommy?”

“Which one?” He sniffled again.

She had never expected that. “How many do you have?”

“Doesn’t matter. What I need is to get strong really fast.”

“Oh. Well.” She sat on the edge of her bed. “That might take a while.”

“It can’t,” he whined. “The oracle just sent me a message. Bad things are in the sea.”

Now she understood. The oracle was part of a fantasy game he’d invented called Frama-12. Late at night, though, anything seemed possible. Like her mom being alive or Frama-12 being a real place. Winnie gave him a side hug. “It was just a dream.”

He slumped onto the bed beside her. “The oracle promised I’d be bigger when the lurk in marched on the castle.”

Due to her warrior code, plus the fact the kid was cute, she often played Frama-12 with him. In the game, he played General Takka. She pretended to be the quarrelsome Queen Bogen. The object was for Takka to convince the queen to strengthen their army so they could defeat the evil lurkin. Obviously, the game had consequences. Winnie’s recurring nightmares of giant attacking spiders for example.

“The oracle foretold it,” Mikey said. “My human form was supposed to be taller, stronger, and smarter. But they’re coming sooner than she calculated.”

She gave him another hug. “It’s okay, buddy. I get confused when weird dreams wake me up too.”

He let out a huff. “Windy, this is for real, and I’m not strong enough to help. Or old enough. Or cunning enough. The oracle messed up.”

“How can oracles mess up? Aren’t they supposed to be, like, all-knowing and all-seeing?”

“The queen will never listen to me if I go to her in this form. She’ll think I’m a baby.”

“As your queen, I say—”

“You’re only the pretend queen. I meant the real one.”

She had hoped a few words of comfort would send him back to his room. At this rate she’d get no extra rest before her alarm went off. And she wanted to run ten miles today.

“I’m going to tell you a secret. I’m a warrior.”

“You are?” he said in an awed whisper.

“I don’t advertise it, but yes. When I’m called to duty, I fight. Since my form is bigger than yours, I’ll go to the queen and fight in your place.”

Skinny arms wrapped tightly around her. “Thanks, Windy!”

“But not right now, okay? I’ll go to war after lunch or something.”

“Not right now. When the time tear opens again.”

She laughed. “Whatever you say. Good night.”

****

Winnie had never visited a castle in her life. That’s how she knew she was stuck in another dream. How else could she explain standing in a high-ceilinged throne room with eerie candlelight flickering off its golden walls? She’d never dress like a warrior princess either, not even on Halloween. Yet she stood at stiff attention, wearing tights and a leather battle tunic. Not that she minded. Whenever she dreamed about the castle, she didn’t feel like gangly Winnie Harris, adjusting to a growth spurt. She felt like General Windemere. The Great.

Currently, though, she felt like General Windemere, the Annoyed. She gazed over the sea of shadowed heads at the raised platform on the opposite side of the room. Polo, the court’s wiry little jester, strummed his lute and sang, “Queen Bogen of the vogan, squatting on her throne. Eats her squires and wiggly thiggs, while spitting out their bones.”

Windemere nervously rubbed a thumb over the hilt of her side dagger.

“Our brave and noble queen,” Polo sang, “oft readies for the hunt. Seeking thrills and many kills of hoppers, wags, and glunt.”

She quivered with frustration. This ballad had twenty-seven very long, very tedious verses. She leaned toward the knight on her left. His head barely reached her elbow. She lightly thumped his breast plate.

“Sound the trumpet,” she murmured from the corner of her mouth. “I have an urgent message for the queen.”

The knight peeked through the narrow slit in his fishbowl-shaped helmet. “Begging the good general’s pardon,” he whispered back, “but our queen is never disturbed during her evening’s amusement.”

“She will be now,” she said through clenched teeth. “We’re being invaded.”

The knight turned his back on her. A general. Not just any general. A great and mighty general with critical news. Windemere did what any offended general would do. She shoved the insubordinate soldier into the guard beside him. Metal clanked against metal. Both frail men crashed to the floor in a creaky heap.

Polo stopped singing. He shaded his eyes with a tiny hand and peered toward the back of the throne room. “Does someone think he’s more important than our queen’s entertainment?”

Ignoring him, Windemere strode forward, head held high. “Your Majesty, the lurk in are about to attack the castle.”

A thunderous boom sounded outside.

She cried out, “They’re through the gate!”

None of the shadows moved.

“Don’t just sit there,” she commanded. “Defend yourselves.”

“Vogan do not fight,” spoke a pompous female voice from the front of the throne room. “We are royalty.”

The ornately carved door behind Windemere crashed open. She spun around. An army of mandible-snapping spiders, fifteen feet tall, lumbered inside. They were accompanied by the boisterous strains of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.”

“That can’t be right,” she murmured.

Her mother appeared at her side. “Windy, you’re a warrior. You need to help these people.”

An eight-legged creature scuttled toward them. Winnie jumped awake. Two more bars of “Ride of the Valkyries” sounded from the smart watch her dad had given her. She pressed a side button, stopping the alarm, then took a deep breath to settle down. Something had to be done about those spider dreams. She fumbled in the dark for her clothes, thinking less-than-stellar thoughts about a certain little stepbrother and his fantasy game.

Uncool. After changing into a T-shirt and running shorts, she gripped her sneakers by the laces and tiptoed in stocking feet through her dad’s beach house. Halfway through the living/dining room area, her left foot landed on a small, sharp lump. Not expecting to be stabbed in the foot so early in the morning, she let out a gasp and leaped straight up. On the way down, she landed on it again. She wanted to howl at the injustice but refused to wake everybody in the house.

She puffed and removed the offending object. By the feel, she’d been poked by one of Mikey’s homemade fantasy toys. It was part man/part horse, but in a way mythology had never intended. He called it a “palum.”

He kept a whole herd of them in a plastic bag. He’d created them by cutting up little plastic horses and green army men, then fusing the pieces together with hot glue. Winnie had supervised, never guessing she’d get speared by one.

Good thing Mikey was cute or she would’ve exacted revenge. She limped to the kitchen area and slid her feet into her shoes. As the pain faded, her thoughts switched to her fantasy of one day qualifying for the Boston Marathon. Today was day three of her training.

She took two gulps of orange juice directly from the carton. After four lunges and six hamstring stretches, she scampered down the wooden steps and onto the deserted beach. She jogged in semidarkness across dry beach toward the water. Once she reached the damp sand, she pumped her legs in time to the hiss and roar of the surf. She breathed deeply, savoring the cool salt air, and soon relaxed into an easy rhythm.

The crazy idea of jogging all the way up the Eastern Seaboard to New England made her grin. Four hundred and fifty miles. Now that was a long-distance run.

She might have kept going till she wore out if she’d had her cell to call Dad for a ride. Unfortunately, he’d made her leave her devices at home. She got to keep the smart watch after promising she’d only use it for the alarm and to tell time.

“We’re going on an electronics-free vacation,” he’d said. “It’ll be fun,” he’d said. What kind of fun involved living two weeks with no phone, no internet, and no TV? Sounded like child abuse to her.

A wave splashed onto the beach, sending foam over her feet. The distraction of glancing down cut off her negative thoughts. She looked up but not soon enough to avoid a weird column of sparks straight ahead. She plowed into it.

The flickering lights merged into a glowing web that wound around her, squeezing her breath. She gnashed her teeth and clawed at the snare. The hold tightened. She fought harder, lungs burning for air. A warrior never gave up. She’d learned that from her mom.

Through a growing buzz in her ears, distant voices said, “Live long our Mighty Queen!”

The snare let go. Her legs buckled. Before she collapsed, she saw eyes without a face, gazing back. If they hadn’t been such a bright emerald green, she might have thought her mom was watching.

In time, Winnie’s brain ambled toward consciousness. Light seared through her closed eyelids. She knew by feel that she lay on her back. Warm granules prickled her neck. More grit had attached to her elbows and bare calves. It had to be sand. Where am I?

She became aware of the sound of waves splashing against the shore. Seagulls squealed overhead. The beach? With effort, she sat up. She rubbed her aching head. Something weird and dangerous had tried to suffocate her. Her eyes snapped open. Was it still out there? She warily peeked through her bangs. Nothing. At least she didn’t see any glowing specks or hear electric sparks. She tentatively raised her right arm. Only warm sea air tickled her skin. She took a deep breath and stood on wobbly legs.

Two female joggers, dressed in matching pink tank tops and black shorts, glided gracefully past. Farther down the beach, an old man in a floppy hat watched his black Lab frolic in the surf. A typical morning at the beach had begun. Typical if Winnie ignored the memory of the invisible snare.

She moved cautiously toward home. At the bottom step of her cottage porch, she paused. Had she imagined the electric web? Had it been some bizarre trick her brain played on her for jogging on too little sleep? Trying to figure it out on an empty stomach made her head hurt. She gave up on the mystery and entered the screened porch. Through the cottage’s open doorway, she saw Dad and Mikey sitting at the table, eating toast and cold cereal.

Mikey said to Dad, “I told Kip I’d show him my people today.”

Winnie’s stepmother, Maria, plump body wrapped in a pink bathrobe, stood in the tiny kitchen area, pouring coffee into two mugs. Everyone else wore shorts and T-shirts.

“Windy!” A loving glow shone from Mikey’s wide-set brown eyes. “You can meet Kip too!”

She smiled back. She didn’t even mind that she didn’t know who Kip was. Mikey always lifted her spirits.

“You’re a little late, aren’t you, Win?” Dad stared more closely at her through his black-framed glasses. “Is that sand on your arms?”

She blinked down at the grit she’d forgotten to brush off. “Maybe. A little.”

“Hon, did you fall?” Maria asked.

Winnie clamped her lips together. Be civil, be civil. You promised Dad. Still, she couldn’t help frowning. Only librarians and old people were allowed to call her hon. She shrugged. “Sort of.”

“What?” Maria set the two steaming mugs on the table and fluttered to her. “Let’s see. Are you hurt?”

Winnie ducked away. “I’m okay, honest. Thanks. Just need to, you know, have a little breakfast.” She slid into the chair opposite Mikey and grabbed the box of Oatie-Ohs. She dipped her hand inside.

“Get a bowl, Win,” Dad said.

“Did you twist your ankle?” Maria handed a coffee mug to Winnie’s dad and sat opposite him with hers.

Winnie shifted her shoulders. “Think I fainted.”

Dad eyed her with concern. “Did you eat breakfast before you went out?”

“Orange juice.”

“Oh, well, there we go, then,” said Maria. “Low blood sugar.”

Dad frowned at Winnie. “If you want to train for a race, you have to give your body the proper nourishment.”

“After breakfast,” Maria said, “you can sweep up the sand you just brought in.”

Her sympathy sure didn’t last long. All Winnie needed were a couple of nasty stepsisters, and she’d be living in a fairy tale. She took a few slow breaths, reminding herself that, as stepmoms went, Maria wasn’t that bad. She simply wasn’t Mom. Don’t go there. She had bigger things on her mind anyway. Like that strange web that had grabbed her.

“Dad.” She helped herself to another handful of sweet, crunchy cereal. “Ya know that wall runners hit when they do marathons?”

“Never experienced it personally,” he said. “Win, get a bowl.”

“Do you have to run a whole marathon, or can you hit it at any distance?”

“It was the time tear,” said Mikey.

“A bowl?” Dad raised his eyebrows at her. “How far’d you go?”

“Windy,” said Mikey, “it was the time tear.”

She put down the cereal box. “The what?”

“The distance, Win,” Dad cut in. “How far did you run on an empty stomach?”

“Tear in the time fabric,” Mikey said in a casual tone. He took a dainty bite of toast. He always did that to avoid the crust. “Think of time as a great big blanket covering the universe.”

“That’s so creative!” Maria’s dark eyes glowed with pride. “Maybe I should have named you Michelangelo.”

Winnie rolled her eyes. She still remembered the time Maria had gushed over Mikey’s creativity when he pushed a box of Band-Aids across the table and made car noises.

“Everybody knows blankets cover the universe,” Winnie retorted. “I saw it on the Science Channel. I think it was called, ‘In Search of the Cosmic Bedspread.’ ”

“I’d like to watch that one.” Obviously, Mikey hadn’t learned how to recognize sarcasm yet. “They’re right. The universe is like a bedspread.”

“I never know what you’ll think of next.” Maria affectionately tousled his shiny black hair. “I can’t decide if you’re going to be a scientist or a novelist.”

“Or be totally made fun of when he starts first grade this fall,” Winnie mumbled.

“Windemere,” Dad said, “let’s have a little less attitude.”

Winnie let out an annoyed breath of air. “I happen to know stuff. And I know kids pick on kids they think are different. I’m trying to protect him.”

Mikey held up his skinny arms. “Guys, listen. Bedspreads and the time fabric can get holes. But if you catch a time tear before it closes, you can jump into a whole nother world.”

“Like Frama-12?” Winnie mentioned his game as a joke. His solemn nod took the fun away.

“Mikey,” Maria said, “speaking about those bedspreads with holes in them. Didn’t I notice a rip in yours at home?”

The little boy shrugged. “Maybe. Sharp things can tear regular bedspreads.”

Winnie froze. She had hoped nobody would notice that.

Maria and Dad turned toward her. “What kind of sharp things?” they asked in unison.

“Oh sure.” Winnie frowned at them. “Everybody look at me now.”

And Maria did with a raised eyebrow. “Who had a better way to cook spaghetti sauce and ended up splattering it everywhere when the lid blew off the pot?”

“And who decided,” Dad chimed in, “that the best way to get rid of dryer lint was to stuff it in the back of Mikey’s closet and tell him it was a dirt-making machine?”

“That one worked, Clive,” Mikey said to Winnie’s dad.

Winnie folded her arms. “What does everybody do? Keep a list?”

Dad shook his head. “When there’s a mishap, you’re usually nearby.”

“I tore the bedspread,” Mikey blurted.

Dad’s and Maria’s heads swiveled toward him. So did Winnie’s.

“Well,” Winnie said, recovering first. “It was probably an accident.”

It definitely had been. Back home, a slip of the scissors had made the tear. She’d been cutting out a magazine article on marathon training. Her solid navy bedspread was identical to Mikey’s. Since she just received a lecture for tracking muddy sneakers across the kitchen floor, she’d thought it prudent to secretly switch the bedspreads.

“Accidents happen,” Mikey said.

Maria and Dad exchanged glances.

“Be more careful next time, champ.”

Mikey bobbed his head up and down. “I will, Clive. Sorry.”

Winnie’s shoulders stiffened with indignation. Dad never called her champ when she wrecked things. Although she had to admit Mikey had just saved her from a lecture. That was why, when he invited her to meet his new friend, Kip, she accepted. She owed him a favor. Kip was probably imaginary anyway.

If she’d been keeping track, that was when the real trouble started.

Kip Skyler drifted on the calm sea, arms and legs splayed over the black rubber of a borrowed inner tube. A gentle breeze wafted by. Wispy clouds overhead softened the sun’s heat. He had to admit he didn’t feel half bad. True, he was still grieving the tragedy of finding Randy stiff in his cage two days ago. At least he didn’t want to chuck all his props and give up magic forever. Even without his beloved rabbit, he still had the look, the talent, and the patter. He even had the exotic accent…well, exotic enough. If only he could conjure the courage to tell his dad he wanted to pursue magic as a career.

His inner tube rolled with the soft waves. Kip closed his eyes, relaxed by the gentle motion. He was on the verge of sleep when a high-pitched voice called his name. He gazed toward shore. A tiny boy and a tall girl stood together on the private beach. The boy waved frantically at him.

He waved back, recognizing the little chap from yesterday. What was his name? Mickey? No, Mikey. As a lark, he had shown him his vanishing and reappearing coin trick. The little kid’s wide-eyed wonder reminded him why he liked performing. Mikey had even called him a wizard.

Kip paddled back to shore and ambled to his beach towel.

Mikey raced toward him. “I brought my people.” He swung a small plastic bag. “Remember? I told you I would.”

Kip slid into his T-shirt, vaguely recalling the offer. At the time he’d had no idea what the kid was on about. What captured his attention now was the athletic girl who joined them. She seemed closer to Kip’s age than Mikey’s. And they looked nothing alike. Maybe his babysitter?

“Who’s your friend?” he asked the boy.

Mikey swayed his bag in the girl’s direction. “That’s my sister, Windy!”

She rested her long fingers on Mikey’s shoulders in a possessive way. “And you’re Kip?” She sounded surprised but not pleasantly so.

Clearly, she didn’t fancy him. Yet. He flashed a confident smile. The one he’d practiced in front of the bathroom mirror. No smile volleyed back. The only movement came from her short brown hair when a gust of warm air whipped through it.

He tried again with a deep bow. “Pleased to meet you, Windy.”

“It’s Winnie.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is Kip short for something?”

“Stage name.”

His full name was Kenneth Paul Skyler. Not that he’d admit that to her. He loathed his given name. It sounded like he had a lisp. Hi, my name ith Kenneth. Ken was a doll’s name. Kenny sounded infantile. Five years ago, on his tenth birthday, he’d dubbed himself Kip. He’d been answering to it ever since. When he performed magic, he became Kip the Amazing.

At five foot seven, he was taller than most of the girls in his class at school. This girl stood eye to eye with him. She gave him a superior stare that made him feel awkward.

Mikey broke the silence. “Want to see my people now?”

He turned toward the little boy. Anything to avoid the girl’s scrutiny. “You’ve got people in the bag, mate?”

“Toys,” the sister clarified.

“Ready?” Without waiting for a reply, Mikey knelt and upended the bag.

An assortment of plastic horses and green army men bounced onto Kip’s beach towel. At least that’s how they first looked. He bent over to examine an unexpected collection of oddities. Some appeared to be a combination of man and horse. “Coo, Mike! Whatcha done to your horses?”

“They’re palum. Nobody makes palm toys. I had to make my own.”

Even the normal soldiers had been amputated at the knees. Kip lifted one. “What happened to this blighter?”

“That’s a mel-yew. Nobody makes them either.”

“Mel-what?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Don’t even ask.”

“Mel-yew. They’re the warriors in Frama-12. I call them Minute Men ’cause they’re shorter than a minute.”

“Characters from a game he created. When he grows up, he’ll make a fortune selling it. Right now, it’s in the planning stages.”

Mikey turned to Kip. “Windy’s going to save us from the lurk in by going to Frama-12 in my place to be the general.”

Kip straightened to attention. He grinned at her and saluted.

Windy nudged her brother with her bare foot. “Let’s not get into that with strangers.”

“It’s okay. Kip’s a wizard.”

The girl didn’t look convinced. Kip gladly accepted the challenge. Sunlight glinting off a delicate gold chain around Windy’s neck gave him an idea. His quick peek behind her back, while she focused on her brother, revealed the clasp. He smiled, recognizing it as one he could easily unfasten. He’d practiced multiple times on his Mum and Gran, and they never noticed. He rubbed his palms together to warm them. Just as his Mum and Gran had been fooled, Winnie would never feel it go. The moment he made it reappear, she’d be his friend for life. Little kids weren’t the only ones impressed by his sleight of hand.

“I really am a wizard.” Under the guise of pulling a quarter from her ear, he snatched the necklace. It only took a flick of the wrist. An unexpected heart-shaped locket was attached to the chain. Luckily, it fit snugly in his palm.

He held out both closed fists to Mikey. “Where’s the quarter?”

The little boy pointed at Kip’s right fist. He uncurled his fingers to show an empty palm.

“Then it’s over there!” Mikey pointed at Kip’s left hand.

He slowly opened one clasped finger at a time for effect. There lay the girl’s gold chain and locket.

Her right hand flew to her throat. Her cheeks reddened. Kip expected that. Surprise, disbelief. Any second now, she’d laugh. Yes, Kip was the master.

Instead of smiling, though, she clenched her fists and scowled.

Kip cocked his head, confused. She wasn’t supposed to snatch the locket out of his hand. He intended to give it back. She wasn’t supposed to spin on her heel and run away either. In all of his years performing, he had never frightened away an audience. At least her brother remained.

Kip faced Mikey. “What was that all about?”

The little boy stopped sifting through his playthings to squint through the sun’s glare at him. “That’s just Windy. She gets like that sometimes. There’s a picture of her mom inside her necklace. She showed me once.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mikey gathered the horses and dropped them into his bag. “That’s a memory you almost stole. Her mom died.”

Kip slapped his forehead. How could he have been so stupid? “I should go to her.”

“I wouldn’t. She had a rough morning. See that?” He stood and pointed to a section of beach fifty yards away. “That’s where she got tangled in the time tear.” He took six giant steps away from the ocean and poked a piece of driftwood into the sand. “This is where the time tear will rise late tonight. It shifts a little.”

Kip looked from the girl’s retreating back to Mikey. “The what?”

“The doorway to my home world. I marked it so you’ll know where the time tear will be when it starts to rise. The queen doesn’t have a court wizard. And Windy might like the help.”

Kip wasn’t sure what the little blighter meant. At the moment it didn’t matter. His nagging conscience focused on Windy. The poor girl was an orphan. He had to put things right.

“Wait for us by the towel, right? I need to speak with your sister.”

“She might not want to talk to you.”

Who wouldn’t want to talk with me? Kip signaled to Mikey to stay, then dashed after the long-legged girl. She had a hefty lead. He lowered his head and sprinted to catch up. Despite giving it his all, he still lagged behind by a good ten paces. If she didn’t stop soon, he’d never reach her. “Wait,” he called out.

Windy skimmed to a halt. She spun around, hands on hips. “What do you want?”

Kip hunched over, gasping for breath. “To apologize. Mikey explained about the locket.”

“If your mom’s still alive, you’ll never understand. My mother died when I was nine.”

He choked on his own breath. That young? To cover how startled it made him, he coughed a few more times and thumped his chest.

“Do you have asthma?” she asked.

Was that a note of concern in her voice?

The girl frowned. “We didn’t run that far.”

Maybe not. “Swallowed a bug,” he lied. Now that his breathing had returned to normal, Kip straightened. “I’m sorry. Ya know, about your mum. I never meant for my trick to upset you. I pinch watches mostly.”

“Who do you think you are? The Artful Dodger?”

“I’m a magician, actually.”

“You’re a menace.” She unclenched her balled fist, exposing her locket. “This was the last present my mother ever gave me.”

“I’m truly sorry, Windy.”

Her jaw tightened. “That’s not my name. I told you, it’s Winnie.”

“Thought that’s what Mikey called you.”

“He’s allowed.” She glared from Kip to the area directly behind him. “Where is Mikey?”

“Waiting by the towel.”

“He’s only six. We can’t leave him alone!” Winnie raced back the way they’d come.

Kip sucked in a deep breath of air and hurried after her. He panted, barely keeping up. In the distance, he saw his inner tube and beach towel. As they got closer, he could tell that Mikey’s toys were missing. So was Mikey.