"We okay back there now?" asked Word. "We're almost to your house."
"I had a dream," said Mack.
"In three minutes?" asked Ceese. "That's quick dreaming."
"He's an efficient dreamer," said Word from the front seat. He pulled back into traffic and a moment later turned right on Coliseum and then left on Cloverdale. Both Mack and Ceese looked at where Skinny House was hidden but from the street, of course, they saw nothing.
When they got to the Smitcher house—Mack's house—Word got out of the car to help Ceese get Mack out.
"I'm okay," Mack insisted.
"You just fainted. That suggests you're not exactly okay," said Word.
"I had one of my dreams," said Mack. "Not a sleeping-type dream. A different kind. And somebody was trying to kill Bag Man."
"Who," said Word, laughing. "My dad? I'd believe it!"
Mack just looked at him.
Word stopped laughing. "Oh, come on. I don't really believe it."
"Your dad knows which hospital he's in," said Mack.
"My dad's not a murderer."
"I don't want him to be," said Mack. "But the things I see in dreams like this—sometimes they come true."
"Like Tamika Brown dreaming she was a fish and waking up inside the waterbed."
That knocked them both for a loop. They stared at Mack for a long moment. "You mean Tamika's dad wasn't crazy?" asked Ceese.
"Or lying?" asked Word.
"Like you, Word," said Mack. "Who could I tell?"
"Weird shit's been going on for years, and I never had a clue," said Ceese.
"So you think my dad might just magically appear in Bag Man's hospital room?" asked Word.
"I don't know what might happen," said Mack. "But when these dreams come true, it's always the thing the person wants most in all the world—only it happens in the ugliest way. If your dad gets his wish to have Bag Man dead, then I bet your dad gets caught. Or maybe shot down by the police.
And all of us arrested as accomplices, probably. All part of a big setup."
Ceese and Word looked at each other.
"I'm going back," said Word. "It's crazy, but so is everything else. I've got to stay there until... or I could call my father."
"No, let's go back," said Ceese. "But not you, Mack. It's too dangerous."
Mack just looked at Ceese with heavy-lidded eyes.
"Oh, don't give me that vulture look," said Ceese. He turned to Word. "But he's right. We got to take him, because he's more in tune with this weird stuff than either of us."
So they piled into the car and headed back for the hospital.
"I'm blowing off an exam to do this," said Word as they pulled into the hospital parking garage.
"So what do we do? Sneak into the emergency room? They know us there."
"He won't be there now," said Mack. "They move them out of there after an hour or so."
"Where will he be?"
"I'll find out."
It was easy, as long as they didn't go through Emergency, where they would all be recognized.
Instead, Mack went to an ordinary nurses' station where he was recognized only as Ura Lee Smitcher's boy, and nobody even noticed when he looked up the John Doe who had been admitted to Emergency as an indigent about two hours before—had it already been that long?
Mr. Christmas was still asleep, but now he was on a hospital bed and there wasn't a tube anymore.
"So what do we do," said Word. "Wait for my dad to appear?"
Ceese looked around. "Move the old man?"
"This isn't The Godfather," said Word. "We can't just move him. They'd notice. And besides, if he comes here by magic, we can't fool the magic, can we? He'll come to whatever room Mr.
Christmas is in."
They were interrupted by Mr. Christmas whispering from the bed. "Come here."
They all turned. The man was holding up a feeble hand. He was reaching for Mack. "Hold my hand."
Mack took a step toward him.
"You trust him?" asked Word.
"Don't do it, Mack," said Ceese.
"Help me," said Mr. Christmas.
Mack looked at Ceese and Word, then turned back to Puck. "The doctors already did what you needed."
Mr. Christmas glanced at Ceese and Word, and suddenly they smiled and began pushing Mack gently toward the bed.
"It's all right," said Ceese.
"He needs you," said Word.
And Mack knew right then that Puck was doing to them the thing he had done to Word Williams thirteen years ago. Making them want to do something they didn't want to do. Encourage Mack to obey Puck's command.
The thing was, Mack didn't want to do it. Didn't want not to, either. It's as if Puck had no power to make Mack want or not want anything.
"I touched you before," said Mack to the man on the bed. "I... carried you. It didn't help you."
Mr. Christmas responded by wiggling his fingers. Give me your hand, his fingers were saying.
his pocket.
Mr. Christmas still wiggled his fingers.
Okay, so I proved I could do it. But now as I take my hand out of my pocket and reach out to him again, is that because I want to or because I...
I could keep going back and forth on this all morning, and in the meantime, Professor Williams might pop out of thin air and blast eight rounds into Puck's body.
Mack took the man's hand.
His grip was weak. But the longer he held, the stronger it got. Until Mack said, "You're hurting me."
"Sorry," said Puck. But now he looked stronger. And when he let go of Mack's hand, he sat right up and pulled the bandages off his head and his body. "That really hurt."
"What happened to you?" asked Mack. "Was it the—"
Puck put up a hand to stop him from saying more. Then he stood up and looked down at the cast on his leg.
"Mack," said Puck, "can I lean on you to steady me?"
Mack came closer. The man leaned on him. He took a step. Another.
And then Puck wasn't leaning on him anymore. Mack looked at him, and now he was fully dressed as a homeless man, with grocery bags hanging out of every pocket and looped over his arms.
"No reason to hide these from you now," said Puck to Mack. "Now that Word here has told you everything."
And with a nod to Word and Ceese, and a wink to Mack, Puck flung open the door and strode boldly out into the hall. Nobody challenged him.
"You healed him," said Word.
"He healed himself," said Mack. "He's the magical one, not me."
"But he had to hold your hand to do it."
"That's crazy," said Mack.
"And when he was leaning on you," said Ceese, "his cast just disappeared, and he was wearing those clothes."
"We saved your father," said Mack. "From committing a murder and going to jail for it."
"If he was coming."
"Now we'll never know," said Ceese. "But isn't that better than knowing because we didn't stop him?"
"Yes, it is," said Word.
"Now let's go home," said Ceese, "before the nurses catch us here and demand to know what we did with the old man."
As they approached the car, Word pushed the button that made the Mercedes give a little toot and blink its lights. "You know what I don't want to do now?"
"What?" asked Ceese.
"I don't want to spend a lot of time trying to figure all this out. I spent years trying to make it make sense and I decided long ago that the best thing for me to do is act as if it never happened, just as my dad does, because there's not a damn thing we can do about it and it's never going to make sense. In fact, not making sense is why we call it magic instead of science, right?"
"Right," said Ceese.
Mack didn't like it. He had finally found not one but two people who believed him, and Word might have even more information about Mack's origins. "I got to talk about it," said Mack.
"Fine," said Word. "With each other, not with me. Because if you start telling people this stuff, and they come to me for corroboration, I'll tell them I just drove you guys home in my dad's car and I've got no idea what you're talking about. I'm not letting magic ruin my life."
"I understand," said Ceese. "That makes sense."
"Like hell it does," said Mack.
"Watch your language," said Ceese.