Finding the Eye

By Hunter Morrison

Using a peculiar camera she found, Maxine Nutbeam photographs her cousin’s life-sized horse sculpture and it comes to life. Coming from a long line of Nutbeams possessing erratic, careless magical abilities, Maxine encounters the camera’s owner Dante, whose supernatural skills as a Time Mage surpass even Maxine’s vivid imaginings. Rushed headlong into sorcery, danger and chaos, Maxine uncovers her mother’s secret and the mystery of her own birth. She is having the time of her life, but time is running out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J Z Morrison Press
• Release date: Sep 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310607011

Book preview

Finding the Eye

by

Jill Zeller writing as Hunter Morrison

SMASHWORDS EDITION

******

PUBLISHED BY:

J Z Morrison Press

Finding the Eye

Copyright © 2014 by Jill Zeller

Cover art by http://depositphotos.com

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Chapter One

The Metal Steed

Spinning on the ice like an Olympic skater, the minivan threw Maxine and her mother against their seatbelts. Airbags punched Maxine’s chin as the car came to rest against the West Seattle Bridge guardrail. It was over in seconds.

Maxine listened to the tick of hot metal cooling in the cold October air, barely heard under the thunder of her pounding heart.

Pushing the airbag away from her face, Maxine rested her forehead on the steering wheel. This accident had to be, she thought, all part of the same spiral sucking her and Mom deep into a gravity well. The gravity pulled on her now, gluing her to the driver's seat, her body heavy and leaden.

Maxine, are you all right? Mom's oxycodone high had evaporated quickly when the minivan spun out.

MMMMph

OK, honey, get out of the driver's seat. Now. Mom kicked open the passenger door. We have to change places.

But, we can't do that. They'll put you away. Maxine's breath caught in her throat. This would be Mom's second DUI. She could go away for a long time. I’ll be going to Aunt Cherry's to live. The first though filled her with sorrow, but the second brushed a good deal of it away.

Maxie, listen. Climbing out of the car, Mom leaned in through the open door. Headlights cast her in golden light as a car pulled up behind them, making it look like there was a light bulb under Mom’s skin. Maxine tried to blink the eerie image away.

Mom said, You would be in far worse trouble if the police knew you were driving. Your record is clean. Mine not so much. Mom pushed a hank of tangled cinnamon hair from her face. Her green eyes sparked with purpose, a look Maxine had not seen in a very long time. "Please, honey, shove over. You were not driving, OK?"

***

Weary and aching and heart-sick, slouched between Aunt Cherry and Uncle Roger in Aunt Cherry's chili-pepper red El Camino, Maxine Nutbeam tried to tune out Aunt Cherry's harangue about how Claire Nutbeam, Maxine's mother, ruined their lives once again by popping four Percocets, deciding she needed to see the Sound from the Smith Tower, and making Maxine, who was only 14, drive her there.

Aunt Cherry had stuck twelve chopsticks in her brillo-y orange hair. Her hands never touched the steering wheel as the car took them down the slopes of the West Seattle hills to Georgetown, a sprawling South Seattle neighborhood of airplane and cement factories amid quirky bungalows like Aunt Cherry and Uncle Roger's house. The El Camino could drive itself. It was a demi-mage thing.

Aunt Cherry sounded especially irked, her voice sharp and quick as the car bounced into their driveway. And not only that, we're throwing a party tonight, and I haven't cleaned the house yet!

Aunt Cherry and Uncle Roger had planned one of their numerous famous parties, with Roger creating mountains of astonishing edibles and Cherry flying around making everything harder for everyone, particularly Maxine.

Staring at the bouncing hula girl glued to the leopard-print dashboard, Maxine brooded under a mountain of loneliness. She felt sorry for everything, particularly herself. She had not been able to talk her mother out of the car trip. She was responsible for ruining Aunt Cherry's day. She could do nothing to stop Dad leaving her and Mom three months ago and ending up dead.

Touching her shoulder lightly, Uncle Roger gave her a smile, long creases in his black-stubble cheeks deepening. All the way home, he had said nothing at all. But Maxine knew he understood how she felt.

They had already stopped at the trailer park for Maxine's things. Aunt Cherry insisted on stuffing two suitcases full of clothes Maxine hadn't worn in a year, even though all Maxine wanted was the backpack of books she hadn't read yet, her ball cap, and her mirror. By the time they arrived at the bungalow, it was already dark and the party was soon to get underway. Uncle Roger schlepped the suitcases into the house, following Aunt Cherry stomping in. Moving slowly, the air become molasses soup, Maxine plodded into the living room.

As always, the fresh, flowery smell of the bungalow pushed aside Maxine's mopey mood, at least for now. Shrugging off her backpack, she was able to file away her mother's red, tearful face as the police led her away, because now Maxine could look at the ceiling of Aunt Cherry's living room.

A city of arches and spires encircled the upper reaches of the walls, bordering a sky where a vestige of hidden sun could not penetrate the black, star-laced space directly above. Seeing this eased Maxine's worries about Mom and the more distant throbbing grief about Dad's death. Here was something she could look forward to. This mural had been painted by Dante Mandragora and he was going to be at the party tonight.

Picking up a red vase and moving it from one table to the next, Aunt Cherry told Maxine the thing she had heard many times before. He painted it all in one day. Or was it night? I really can't rely on telling time accurately when he's around. It's all very unsettling, having a Chrono-mage in your house. It makes the hours very odd, it does.

Aunt Cherry had a specific way of talking, and it sometimes took Maxine a few seconds to unravel what she had said. Picking up the vase again, Aunt Cherry hugged it to herself.

This is a very special party, you know, because it's Dante's birthday on Monday, so he's letting us throw him a party tonight.

Setting down the vase and picking up a stack of books, Aunt Cherry gave her a very Aunt Cherry look; one eyebrow up, one down.

Maxine, do you ever take that ball cap off your head? Have you even washed your hair in a week?

This was Dad's hat. He gave it to me. She stopped herself from rubbing her lower lip. She had just healed a very chapped lower lip, developed over the last several weeks. And I washed my hair last weekend.

Setting down the stack of books and picking up an intricate layered ashtray, Aunt Cherry glared at her. Well, I guess you better go wash it now. Once a week is not enough. I wash my hair every day!

Maxine thought Aunt Cherry's hair, bristling with chopsticks, looked as if it needed to be treated with Round-Up, but prudence meant not saying so.

The cat, whom Aunt Cherry named Ghoul, gazed at Maxine from one of the linen-draped love seats.

She is making me nervous, he said to Maxine, his voice making words in Maxine's head like subtitles in a French movie. When Maxine figured out that no other children in her many schools could read animal minds this way, it was a real blow.

We're having a party, aren't we? As soon as the first person comes, I am hiding the closet for the rest of the night.

Maxine nodded at Ghoul. Not me. I'll be here. I am not missing a chance to meet Dante.

She's not going to let you come to the part. At least you have your mirror If she makes you go to your room for the night, you can watch the party from there. Ghoul flicked the end of his tail as Aunt Cherry buzzed past carrying a stack of magazines.

Giving Ghoul a shrug, Maxine said to her aunt, Will you let me meet Dante? Dad never wanted me to meet him--he always made up some kind of excuse.

Approaching Maxine, Aunt Cherry pulled the ball cap off Maxine's head and looked at it. Her eyebrows crooked with sadness. My dear, crazy brother Malcolm. Your dad was so talented. He defended me against our parents, you know, when I discovered my skill with with cars. They were so disappointed when I drove home in my first talking VW. Your dad convinced them I was the best demi-mage with engines he had ever seen.

Maxine nodded. A wave hit the black pool deep inside, as black as Dad's motorcycle jacket that she so wanted to see again, that had disappeared when he did.

Aunt Cherry bubbled on. I guess the skill with mechanics runs in the family. Your cousin Jake just made the most fantastic mechanical cockroach.

Craning up to the mantle mirror to look at her neck, she continued, Well, anyway, Chrono-mages manipulate time as a way to make things happen. I wish they could erase years. They say we demi-mages are related to them, but I don't believe it. Dante is weirder by far than any of us, and we are a pretty weird bunch. Aunt Cherry put the magazines on a cluttered glass table top next to a stack of books, an ash tray full of spark plugs and wrench sockets, and an empty cat dish.

Turning, she looked at Maxine, eyebrows lowering as if she were evaluating a broken clutch plate in her magical El Camino.

I miss your dad, honey. All the girls liked Malcolm and he liked all the girls. Such fights used to break out at these parties. A smile raised one corner of Aunt Cherry's mouth. My Jake is just like that, too. A chick magnet.

Shaking her head, Aunt Cherry tapped Maxine's chin, a gesture Dad used to do. We'll see about you meeting Dante tonight. He often comes very late to the parties, or not at all. But maybe tonight, as it's his birthday party, he'll be here early.

Uncle Roger called from the kitchen that the first guests were arriving.

Oh shit! And I haven't had time to change! Aunt Cherry wore an apple green dress, tightly capturing her curves. She looked OK for a party, Maxine thought, comparing her own sleeveless t-shirt, torn jeans and red Keds.

Odors of garlic and herbs and spices curled through the bungalow--their effect was palpable, because Uncle Roger, also a demi-mage, shifted moods with his cooking. Maxine's sorrow about her dad ebbed away like a retreating wave, as Uncle Roger's aromas smoothed the vertical worry line between Aunt Cherry's eyes.

Pushing her hair around, Aunt Cherry stomped toward the kitchen. Guests at the bungalow never used the front door. They always entered the gate onto the front patio, concealed from the street by a hedge of black bamboo. Aunt Cherry paused before going through to join the laughter and hooting from the kitchen and patio beyond.

Ghoul blinked one eye and jumped off the couch. Rubbing her neck, Maxine shrugged.

I'm kind of sore, Aunt Cherry. I think I'll go upstairs and lie down for a while.

Aunt Cherry stared at Maxine, eyebrows shifting up and down and her lips pushing in and out. OK, sweetie. I'll come up and check on you. You want an ibuprofen?

Maxine shook her head. She had already snagged three from Aunt Cherry's purse and was feeling better all the time.

Maybe come and wake me when Dante comes?

Once upstairs in the little front room that would be her home for the next several months, Maxine carried her backpack to an equally tiny bathroom down the hall, and took out the mirror.

Dad gave her the mirror the night he died. This added to its value, even more than its magical properties. The ball cap with red, yellow and black panels radiating from a yellow top button was also Dad's, left behind when he went out that hot August night and never came back. Now it was October, almost Halloween, and Maxine wondered, as she did every time she used the mirror, if Dad had known what was about to happen.

Ball cap on the toilet seat, Maxine looked into the bathroom mirror. Her dad's green eyes gazed at her, set in a face constructed of her mother's strong chin and small ears. Freckles salted the bridge of her nose, a stamp of Nutbeam family membership that she detested.

Taking her dad's mirror from the velvet wallet, Maxine held it in her hand and looked into it. A little larger than a pack of cigarettes, a heavy ornate brass frame encircled its oval shape. She did not see her own face as she did in the bathroom mirror. Instead she saw Uncle Roger, enveloped by smokes and steams moving around the kitchen in a red t-shirt spattered with grease; from the mirror's diamond surface came the sizzle of saute and rhythmic chop-chop of onions. The aroma of garlic. Maxine's stomach grumbled.

A girl in a leopard-print hat entered the kitchen and gave Uncle Roger a kiss, leaving orange lipstick on his nose. Twins in white hair and black long-sleeved shirts helped him mix Manhattans. A woman with a cloud of purple hair who looked no younger than ninety, clutching a gold cane with a nob in the shape of an animal skull, laughed heartily at someone's stupid joke.

Propping the mirror on the back of the toilet, Maxine took a shower, washing her hair with Aunt Cherry's peppermint soap. After, tucking the mirror against her cheek like the cell phone she once had that no longer worked because Mom forgot to pay the bill, Maxine walked across the hall to her room and opened her window. Below in the patio people laughed and shouted at each other, passed bongs of bud, sipped pink cocktails and sucked at bottles of beer.

Mom never liked these parties, but Maxine was sorry Mom couldn't be here, that she was now sharing a room in King County jail with that special population of drunks and losers. Looking through the window at strings of colored lights illuminating a giant high-heeled shoe and an insect-like creature with eyes of hubcaps and legs made of axles, Maxine amused herself describing, aloud, Jake's magical metal sculptures decorating the patio. Maxine's favorite creation, a life-size metal horse, stood regally beside the hedge. The woman in the leopard hat was sitting on it; her tiny skirt rode up her thigh so high Maxine could see her pink underwear and so could everyone else.

Jake didn't seem to be around. He always came up to Maxine's room when she was staying here to show her his latest toy. He was seventeen now and maybe he thought Maxine was just kid-stuff now and a moment later Maxine understood perfectly well why Jake had no time for her tonight.

Jake stood very close to this girl on the horse. Maxine hadn't recognized him at first because his coils of sandy dreadlocks were gone and a thin buzz-cut covered his head.

What the--? Jake cut his hair!

Watching Jake fling his arms about, talking wildly, Maxine realized Jake had gone off his meds again. He did that every time he had a new crush, which was nearly every month and now here was this girl who was probably nearly 40. Or maybe not that old, but definitely older than Jake and a prick-tease.

This was why Aunt Cherry was so nervous.

Maxine thought she'd better go down there and rescue Jake fast, but as she put the mirror down a puzzle of voices floated up and she froze as she heard Aunt Cherry say a particular word.

"—custody, Roger. Claire obviously can't care for Maxine any more. She's my brother's daughter. I think Maxie needs to come live with us permanently."

Maxine caught her breath and held it. She wondered how many other times this conversation had taken place behind her and Mom's back. Did Mom even know this was going on? It wasn't fair, with Mom stuck in that horrible place and not able to defend herself.

But there was no time to think about what to do. Heads turned and everyone stopped what they were doing as through the gate below Maxine's bedroom window walked an extraordinary man.

Is this the famous Chrono-mage, Dante Mandragora? The tall man wore a scruffy p-coat-like jacket and pants that were too short. He looked up toward the house as if he knew he was being watched, causing Maxine to back away, but she caught a glimpse of square dark brown-lensed glasses. He had no hair on his head, and arcing black eyebrows that looked like they were tattooed on.

Jake spun away from the leopard-hat girl and began to introduce the man around. Maxine couldn't quite hear what his name was.

This was her chance to meet Dante and she'd better get down there.

But before she got the window down, erratic movement in the street caught her eye. A man on a bicycle too small for him, knees pumping up and down as he wove unevenly past parked cars, coasted into Aunt Cherry's driveway. He wore an old-fashioned men's hat and his coat-tails flapped like an injured crane. But even more interesting, beside him trotted a dog almost as big as a pony, all muscle and fawn-colored with a black mask. Maxine's breath caught in her throat.

The hairless man, standing amidst a group of people, turned toward the sound of the squeaky bicycle. Fascinated, Maxine watched as he nodded to everyone around him, turned, and disappeared around the side of the house, where a little walkway would take him into the backyard. It clearly looked to Maxine that hairless man didn't want to run into bicycle man. Intrigued, Maxine watched bicycle man swing a long leg over the bike and lean it against the fence.

A soft scream issued from the mirror on Maxine's bed. Looking into it, Maxine saw Aunt Cherry in the kitchen about to take a photograph of something with a small camera. Uncle Roger had grabbed Aunt Cherry's arm, and that was when she gave the yelp.

"Get rid of that thing. He's here!"

Maxine stiffened. She never heard Uncle Roger speak that way to anyone.

The color drained from Aunt Cherry's face. She stood stricken for a few moments, then opened the refrigerator, muttered a short spell, and flung the camera inside just as bicycle man walked in.

Maxine's heart tumbled in her chest and she groped for her bed. It was as if a shock wave went through the house and burst through the floor of her bedroom.

Yellow smoke issued from the Mirror's frame. Maxine's jaw dropped. It had never done this before. The entire house seemed to shudder and settle; talk and laughter and arguing faltered, dimmed, gained strength again.

Maxine waited frozen on the bed. She heardtalking, the clink of glasses and music banging from the speakers. What the hell had just happened?

Picking up the mirror—it was very warm but had stopped smoking—she lay on her bed and focused on bicycle man.

He was taller than anyone else. The Nutbeams were a tall clan, and Maxine had already reached a respectable height of 5' 7", but this man towered over everyone, even Aunt Cherry's hair and heels. Pale skin, black hair pulled back in a short pony tail, cleft chin, blue-tinted square glasses like the ones John Lennon used to wear. Maxine could see lights behind the blue lenses, as if she were looking at a fire through tinted windows.

People seemed nervous around him, like he was a famous movie actor or musician they all adored but couldn't relax around. Could this be Dante? If so, who was the other weird guy?

Jake was the only one who seemed natural around bicycle man, giving him a beer, slapping him on the chest and pulling his hair. But Jake wasn't acting naturally at all tonight. Jake climbed on one of the garden tables and swung from the branch of the gnarled old tree in the center of the patio yelling, "They say it's your birthday. it's my birthday to, yeah!"

Maxin's gut tightened. So bicycle man is Dante Mandragora. He leaned against the doorway of the kitchen French doors, a half-smile on his face, watching Jake. Other's joined in the song, their voices floating up from the patio as Uncle Roger brought out an extraordinary-looking cake made to look like a big gold clock. It was lit with sparklers.

This is your chance, dork. You can meet Dante Mandragora. Get up. Get downstairs! But oddly she just lay there, staring at him in the mirror. A sweet smell of chocolate and raspberries and pepper blew through her room.

***

Checking her round-faced clock, Maxine saw that it was exactly 3:30AM. How could the clock be so wrong? A minute ago she was staring through her mirror at Dante Mandragora and it was barely 11:30 and the clock says 3:30 in the morning?

Feeling sick, Maxine st up. The party was over. Quickly she scanned the house through the mirror. Everyone gone, including Dante. Damn! She had missed her chance--had she fallen asleep? But no, it was seconds, the blink of an eye.

Someone had messed with time.

Maxine dressed, grabbed her fleece jacket, donned the ball cap and tucked the mirror into the hiding place under a loose floorboard where she kept it when she didn't need it and went downstairs.

Glasses and plates littered the counters. Several slimy and sticky substances filmed the kitchen floor. Picking up one of the beer bottles, Maxine was happy to find an inch of brew in the bottom. She quickly drank it before opening the refrigerator.

She did not expect to see the camera Aunt Cherry was so nervous about but she knew it was in here somewhere. After searching the vegetable drawers and shoving everything around, she stood and considered. What in here was big enough to conceal a digital camera? The only object that had not been partly consumed was a bowl of tomato aspic. Of course!

The aspic was slimy and cold but when Maxine pulled the camera from the aspic she found it perfectly dry. Maxine didn't really know how to make things like this happen, but she planned to learn. The camera was smooth and had no dials or buttons or wheels, just a lens and a screen—whose surface was deep black like polished obsidian. Maxine aimed it at the kitchen table where someone's cowboy hat crowned an improvised tower of plates, spoons and glasses. Next she framed Ghoul who was on the table licking the butter, and then swung the screen around and aimed through the partly open patio doors.

She wished she could get a camera like this for Mom, who loved to take pictures.

At first she saw nothing on the screen except black night bereft of stars, but as she squinted a shape began to emerge: the metal horse sculpture, neck arched, right leg elevated, looking at her through a ball-bearing eye ringed in wire lashes.

That is so cooooool. Maxine sighed. Could someone be in love with a metal horse?

The camera made a purring-whirring sound, followed by a soft click. Maxine had done nothing, just looked into it. Sweat broke out on her palms.

An image flashed on the screen. Maxine stared at it, her mouth going slack. This was certainly the horse, only the horse on the camera screen looked real: a bay with four white socks, a tail whose tip brushed the patio and a short spiky mane running along its massive neck. It stared at her with the same focused attitude as the sculpture horse: from under a pointed forelock, lashes thick and curled.

As she examined it, the image vanished from the black screen. She prayed she could retrieve it. Then, she heard a worrisome and disturbing noise.

A fluttering whoosh, followed by flapping and a thud. Maxine's blood ran cold as she raised her eyes from the camera and stared across the patio.

In place of Jake's metal stallion now stood a full-sized, very alive, bay horse.

Chapter Two

The Girl in the Boots

.

Maxine looked at the camera, and then at the horse, who bounced his muzzle up and down.

Oh—my—god!

Maxine couldn't move, just as if she had become one of Jake's sculptures.

Head down, the horse took a few steps toward her, looking at her through one of his huge gray eyes. Hugging the camera to her chest, Maxine pushed it up until it was under her chin. Heart thundering, she could see the horse's coat, damp from the same mist coating her cheeks.

She thought, How do you like the name Drizzle?

Always have. How did you know?

Maxine pressed her hand against her mouth to stop herself laughing out loud. Magic is in the air I breathe, Dad used to sing when he festooned all the homes in the trailer court with Christmas lights without a ladder or leaving the street where he stood holding Maxine's hand. Mom used to stand in the trailer doorway and ask him why he couldn't make money appear the way he could restore burnt-out light bulbs.

Drizzle's mane, sheared short in a sort of a equine Mohawk, waved back and forth as he tossed his head. You wanna go for a ride?

Having never been on a horse in her life, except listless ponies in a zoo pony ride , Maxine pushed her heart back down from her throat at the thought of sitting on that high, broad back. Not to be called coward, especially by a horse, she pulled a chair over and climbed up. Drizzle's back was warm and comfortable. Even though Maxine had no clue how to ride, being on Drizzle's back thrilled her. Somehow she knew this horse would take her anywhere she wanted to go and deliver her there safely.

Who knew that in less than twenty-four hours Maxine had gone from crawling from a wrecked minivan to the back of a real, live horse?

To the Hat and Boots, Drizzle.

This was Jake's horse, so may as well go to the place Maxine and Jake had played when they were younger. Muscles moved under Maxine's thighs as the horse left the patio; his hooves, shod in gold-sprayed shoes, made no sound until they were several blocks from Aunt Cherry's house.

As they went, any anxiety Maxine had felt about riding bareback for the first time in her life floated away on the cold night air. A pewter sheen coated everything and mist born on a frigid breeze bit her face. They passed unnoticed through a sleeping neighborhood of