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.I think there are a couple of fires, too.”Axel gaped.“Good Lord.”“Bobby, I need to put you down, sweetie.Mommy’s arms need a break.”Shaking his head, the boy buried his face in her hair and clung tighter.“Bobby.”“No, Mommy.Bad things are out there.”“We’re safe now.Mr.Perry won’t let anything happen to us.”“Your mother’s right,” Axel said, not understanding any of this, but trying to sound brave for the boy.“Whatever’s going on, it can’t get you in here.”Bobby peered doubtfully at the old man from between his mother’s hair.Grinning, Axel raised the walking stick.“If it does, I’ll whack it with this.”“That’s just an old stick.”“Oh no, it’s much more than an old stick.You see, this walking stick has magic.”“No it doesn’t.”“Bobby,” Jean chided, “be polite.”“But Mommy, there’s no such thing as magic.It’s just make-believe, like in the cartoons and Harry Potter.”Axel winked at the boy.“Magic is more than just stories, Bobby.Where do you think the lady who made up those Harry Potter books got the idea from? I reckon magic has been around as long as human beings have, and that’s a long, long time.”He paused.Axel couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard somebody screaming outside.He wondered if he should go out and check, but then decided that Jean and Bobby were his primary responsibility now.“So what can it do?” Bobby asked, pointing at the walking stick.“I cut this branch off a magic tree a long, long time ago when I was just a little older than you.We lived way down in a hollow on the other side of Frankford, back near where the quarry is today.There was a cave at the far end of the hollow—more of a sinkhole, really.My daddy filled it up over the years because our cows kept falling into it.But next to the hole was a big old willow tree, just as gnarled and ugly as I am now.The tree’s name—”“Trees don’t have names, Mr.Perry.”Jean frowned.“Bobby, manners!”The boy stuck his bottom lip out and pouted.“But I called him mister.”“It’s okay,” Axel soothed.“Everything has a name, Bobby.Not just people, but animals and trees and even rocks.God gives everything a secret name.This old willow tree’s name was Mrs.Chickbaum.”“That’s a funny name.”“Aye, I reckon it is.But that was what my mother said its name was, and she knew about these things.”“Was your mommy magic?”Axel was surprised to find himself tearing up as he answered.“Yeah, she was.My mommy was magic.And so was old Mrs.Chickbaum.Not in a way that you’d probably understand.The tree couldn’t fly or turn people into salamanders.But you felt better in its shade.You rested easy underneath its branches.There was a little spring to the left of her trunk, and that water was just about the best I’ve ever tasted— clear and fresh and ice cold.”“So Mrs.Chickenbaum made things better?”“That’s right.Nothing bad happened around her.And this walking stick came from Mrs.Chickbaum and I’ve had it ever since, and it’s always brought me nothing but good luck, for the most part.So I reckon we’ll be safe enough here.Okay?”Bobby smiled, and then slowly relaxed.“Okay, Mr.Perry.”Jean lowered him to the floor and sighed.Axel heard her back crack and her joints pop as she straightened up again.“He’s not as light as he used to be,” she said, stretching.“No,” Axel agreed.“He’s growing quick.Gonna be a fine boy, Jean.You do good with him.”“Thank you, Axel.You’re good with kids.”He shrugged, blushing.She smiled then, and Axel saw some of the fear ease from her face.He motioned toward the couch.“Why don’t you two sit down?”“We’d better not,” Jean said, glancing back to the door.“It’s really bad out there.”“And you don’t know anymore than what you told me?”She shook her head.“Not really.But with the power and the phones out, and the dogs, and now all this screaming and such—I’m scared.”“Well, I don’t suppose we should be standing around here talking about it in the living room.I reckon we’re sort of exposed up here.Maybe we should head down into my basement for a while? I hunker down there when there’s a tornado warning or a really bad storm.We’ll be safe enough.It’s not finished—not much on the eyes.Just a concrete floor and cement block walls, but it’s dry.I’ve got a kerosene heater I can turn on to keep us warm.And the stairs are the only way in or out, so we’ll have plenty of warning if somebody breaks in or anything.”“That’s a good idea.”“I’ll get a few bottles of water and such from the kitchen.Can you help me carry it? This danged arthritis makes it harder for me to do things like that these days.”“Sure,” Jean said, and then turned to her son.“Bobby, come on.We’re going downstairs with Mr.Perry.”The boy was standing in front of the mantel, staring up at a picture of Axel and Diane in happier days.“Who is that?” he asked, pointing at the picture.“That’s my wife,” Axel explained.“Mrs.Perry
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