Chapter 6: Frost and Stone

Pwyll answered the phone while pushing his younger brother away with one arm.

"Pappa's Pizza Place," the twerp yelled at the top of his lungs, then ran off laughing like a hyena.

"Sorry about that," Pwyll said, "Jones residence."

"I need to speak to Paul," the woman on the other end said.

"That would be me," Pwyll said, saving the lesson on Welsh pronunciation for another day, she seemed pretty upset.

"Have you seen Siobhan?" the voice said, and he recognized the voice as Siobhan's mother. "Is she there? Are you hiding her?"

"I just got home from school," Pwyll said, "I haven't had a chance to look under the bed yet."

"Don't get smart with me, kid," she said, "I know you've been out walking with her. She has to be there."

Pwyll worked on another smart ass reply. He didn't like Siobhan's mother. The only time they talked was when she was lecturing him about something.

"Please, God, she has to be there. What have I done?" Her voice went from bossy to a wail and he heard weeping at the other end of the line. Pwyll stuffed the smart ass reply back into his head.

"Look, maybe I should come over," he said. "Give me a few minutes." He went looking for his little brother.

"Pete," he said, "I have to go out. Go over to Grandpa's for a bit."

"They don't have cable-"

"Remember that night?" Pwyll asked and started putting on his boots. His brother looked at him and nodded.

"A friend is having a night like that."

"OK," Pete said, "I'll text you when I get there."

The punk was a nuisance, but sometimes he got it. Pwyll figured he was lucky on the whole. He put on his coat and hat. The blizzard swirled through the door as he opened it.

"Do you need me to walk you?" Pwyll asked.

"Nah, I'll go through the back," Pete said, "I'll be fine."

Pwyll shrugged and closed the door behind him. It was faster not to argue. He put his head down and followed his sense of direction to Siobhan's front door. Her mom yanked it open and pulled him in before he had a chance to knock.

"This is all my fault," she said and fell into a chair. "I should have known I couldn't escape it. Why did she have to choose my daughter to be the one for this generation?"

"I'm not following you, Mrs. O'Hullan," he closed the door and felt immediately too hot in his parka, but he didn't want to take it off in case he needed to make a quick escape. "Chosen for what?" She didn't answer, so he wandered over to the table where some papers were crumpled. He hated to see anything with writing abused, so he flattened them out without looking at the writing until he got to the top page.

Dear Siobhan, it said.

"Don't touch that!" Mrs. O'Hullan yelled from where she was sitting. She ran over and snatched the letter from the table. She looked like she was going to tear it in two.

"No!" Pwyll said. "I mean, what if she needs something in the letter?"

"What could she need from my witch sister?"

"You mean witch like Harry Potter?"

"No, I mean witch as in giving your soul to the devil!" She tried to shred the letter, but the paper refused to tear. It looked and felt like ordinary paper, but no matter what Mrs. O'Hullan did, it would not rip. She finally pushed it at Pwyll.

"You're going to hell anyway, so what does it matter?" she said. Pwyll wanted to be insulted, but her voice came from some deep pit of despair. "What do the young know of evil?" She staggered into the living room and fell on the couch weeping like his mom had that night. Pwyll took the letter and went back out into the storm. He was more comfortable with wind and snow than tears. At least with the storm he couldn't be expected to do more than endure.

He walked back to his house with his hands in his pockets. He kept touching the letter in his pocket. It didn't feel like magic paper. It felt like crumpled paper and yet a full grown woman couldn't tear it apart.

He unlocked the door and stepped into the house before he thought to check his phone. No message from Pete, the punk had promised. Pwyll dialed his Grandpa.

"Hey, Pete was supposed to walk over there, then message me," he said, "can you tell that- what do you mean he isn't there? He promised he'd go straight there. Sorry Grandpa, I don't mean to yell. I'll find him." He tried to ignore the beast clawing at his gut. How long had he been at Siobhan's place? How far could a punk like his brother go in that amount of time?'

"I have to go," he said, "I'll call when I find him. No don't call the police, they'll be busy. I'll take care of it."

He put everything but Pete out of his mind. He'd done this before. That night, when everything had gone to pieces. He'd found his way to what he'd needed to do. It didn't make sense. He should be out in the storm yelling the little twerp's name. He put that aside. Mom would be upset; it was bad when Mom was upset. He pushed that away. He would have him back before she got home. He was sure he'd cleaned out the house. He let go of that. Only Pete mattered, only Pete, then step by step he'd find the kid. And if he was still alive he'd kill him.