I?”
It was strange. She really looked like Trina., but as she turned I saw the blur of crosshatchings shading under her brow and cheekbones and chin, umber, sienna, ochre; Jasper’s technique, excellent, like most things he did. Her copper curls shone with spots of white highlight.
“What is this?” Jasper asked.
“Why are you asking me?”
“It’s your chalk.”
“Yeah, sure, like I’ve ever done any of this before.”
“Is Trina really here?”
“I don’t know.” I shook his arm. “How should I know?” My voice sounded desperate and scared.
Jasper knelt. “What’s the last thing you remember, Tre e?”
“Sitting at the Bismarck with a beer in front of me, waiting for the music to start, wondering where you were. Did I fall asleep? This is a really weird, uncomfortable dream.” She glanced coward Beryl’s bush, which was growing bigger by the minute. It sprouted curly tendrils. Some of them had already clamped onto the porch; the plant spread across the front of the house, its giant flowers budding and blooming like ink dripped into clear water. The plant reached toward us, then sprouted new branches closer to us.
I held my hand out to the plant. A tendril curled around my gloved palm, a strange cool clasp, and a branch sprouted above it; a huge pink bud swelled, opened right beside my face. Its pistil brushed pollen across my cheek with sticky little fingers. I smelled exotic perfume: Hawaii, whorehouse. The pollen sizzled against my skin. The giant flower wilted. The plant shot out another tendril, gripped my other arm before I could back away, grew more leaves and flowers across my front. The branches curled around me, weaving me into a basket, but they weren’t tight. It was only when I tried to move that I knew I was trapped. They reached past me toward Trina.
“Gotta be a dream,” she said. “So surreal.”
“Beryl, go get some branch cutters from the gardening shed,” Jasper said. Beryl ran. Jasper batted branches away from Trina’s head, but tendrils locked around his arms, too, and then his legs. More and more of them, until he couldn’t move. Flowers burst out all over him.
It was one of many moments when I wished like hell I had a camera.
“Flint,” Jasper said, turning his head to dodge the kiss of a flower, “do something, will you?”
“Like a time twist?”
“No!” I yelled.
“What, then? Hey, I drew plates and forks and a cake-cutting knife. They worked out great the first time. How surprising is that? Boy, this cake tastes great!”
“Don’t eat that,” I said.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. It’s your celebration. I should have given you the first piece.” He brought me a plate with a huge piece of frosted cake on it. “Here’s a corner. Hey.” He realized that the plant had handcuffed me and grown around me until the only thing I could move was my head. He cut off a bite of cake with a fork and held it out to me.
I shook my head. “Flint, you made a knife?” Jasper said, his tone exasperated. “Could you maybe bring it over here and do something with it?”
“It’s really good,” Flint told me, “almost as good as cake you make.” He ate the bite.
“But it’s cursed,” I said.
“I don’t get that part.” He ate the rest of the cake. “It’s an expression of power, right? You did the chalk, I channeled the power of the chalk and
drew the cake, what’s not to like? Tastes fine.”
“Flint!” Jasper struggled, but the plant had wrapped all the way around him. He had no more mobility than I did.
Beryl came back, carrying pruning shears and flower clippers. “Should I cut it?” she asked.
Branches reached for her.
Weird, but none of them were interested in Flint.
Beryl dropped the pruning shears and unhooked the safety latch on the clippers. The blades sprang apart. “Don’t come any closer!” she told the branches, snipping the air with a harsh noise of metal sliding past metal. The branches curled away from her.
“Hah. Come
It was strange. She really looked like Trina., but as she turned I saw the blur of crosshatchings shading under her brow and cheekbones and chin, umber, sienna, ochre; Jasper’s technique, excellent, like most things he did. Her copper curls shone with spots of white highlight.
“What is this?” Jasper asked.
“Why are you asking me?”
“It’s your chalk.”
“Yeah, sure, like I’ve ever done any of this before.”
“Is Trina really here?”
“I don’t know.” I shook his arm. “How should I know?” My voice sounded desperate and scared.
Jasper knelt. “What’s the last thing you remember, Tre e?”
“Sitting at the Bismarck with a beer in front of me, waiting for the music to start, wondering where you were. Did I fall asleep? This is a really weird, uncomfortable dream.” She glanced coward Beryl’s bush, which was growing bigger by the minute. It sprouted curly tendrils. Some of them had already clamped onto the porch; the plant spread across the front of the house, its giant flowers budding and blooming like ink dripped into clear water. The plant reached toward us, then sprouted new branches closer to us.
I held my hand out to the plant. A tendril curled around my gloved palm, a strange cool clasp, and a branch sprouted above it; a huge pink bud swelled, opened right beside my face. Its pistil brushed pollen across my cheek with sticky little fingers. I smelled exotic perfume: Hawaii, whorehouse. The pollen sizzled against my skin. The giant flower wilted. The plant shot out another tendril, gripped my other arm before I could back away, grew more leaves and flowers across my front. The branches curled around me, weaving me into a basket, but they weren’t tight. It was only when I tried to move that I knew I was trapped. They reached past me toward Trina.
“Gotta be a dream,” she said. “So surreal.”
“Beryl, go get some branch cutters from the gardening shed,” Jasper said. Beryl ran. Jasper batted branches away from Trina’s head, but tendrils locked around his arms, too, and then his legs. More and more of them, until he couldn’t move. Flowers burst out all over him.
It was one of many moments when I wished like hell I had a camera.
“Flint,” Jasper said, turning his head to dodge the kiss of a flower, “do something, will you?”
“Like a time twist?”
“No!” I yelled.
“What, then? Hey, I drew plates and forks and a cake-cutting knife. They worked out great the first time. How surprising is that? Boy, this cake tastes great!”
“Don’t eat that,” I said.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. It’s your celebration. I should have given you the first piece.” He brought me a plate with a huge piece of frosted cake on it. “Here’s a corner. Hey.” He realized that the plant had handcuffed me and grown around me until the only thing I could move was my head. He cut off a bite of cake with a fork and held it out to me.
I shook my head. “Flint, you made a knife?” Jasper said, his tone exasperated. “Could you maybe bring it over here and do something with it?”
“It’s really good,” Flint told me, “almost as good as cake you make.” He ate the bite.
“But it’s cursed,” I said.
“I don’t get that part.” He ate the rest of the cake. “It’s an expression of power, right? You did the chalk, I channeled the power of the chalk and
drew the cake, what’s not to like? Tastes fine.”
“Flint!” Jasper struggled, but the plant had wrapped all the way around him. He had no more mobility than I did.
Beryl came back, carrying pruning shears and flower clippers. “Should I cut it?” she asked.
Branches reached for her.
Weird, but none of them were interested in Flint.
Beryl dropped the pruning shears and unhooked the safety latch on the clippers. The blades sprang apart. “Don’t come any closer!” she told the branches, snipping the air with a harsh noise of metal sliding past metal. The branches curled away from her.
“Hah. Come
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