couldn’t tell the exact moment when the beautiful song ended and the silence of the corridor began.
A long moment passed, during which neither he nor Mrs. Russet spoke.
Then a pair of legs dropped down into Billy’s view.
He looked up to see a kindly-faced old man floating down from the maelstrom in the ceiling, landing gently in front of Mrs. Russet. The man seemed to be around the same age as Mrs. Russet, but neither stern nor sour as she could be. Rather, he seemed more like Billy had always imagined Santa Claus: eternal youth clothed in an old and happily chubby body.
The man wore clothing, Billy was sure, but he couldn’t see exactly what kind of clothing it was, because from the neck down the man seemed to be dressed in wind: a swirling cloud of gray and gusting air that obscured what he was wearing and made him seem larger than he actually was. The man wore a piece of the storm above, and had brought it down into the hall with him.
The instant he landed before Mrs. Russet, the old man grinned, deep gray eyes twinkling. “Lumilla,” he said, and bowed a sweeping bow before her.
“Tempus,” replied Mrs. Russet, nodding her head.
“I’d ask if I might kiss your hand, but my ears are still ringing from the tongue-lashing you gave me last time I dared that question,” said the wind-clothed man, Tempus. He turned to Billy. “And who have we here?”
“Who indeed?” whispered a voice. Billy, Mrs. Russet, and Tempus all turned to see another man enter the hall, this one stepping out of the wall of flame to Billy’s right. Like Tempus, the man was clothed. And also like the wind-wreathed Tempus, the newcomer’s clothing could not quite be seen. He was ringed in flame up to his neck, but the fire light dimmed as he stepped away from the wall and approached them. At last, it seemed to extinguish completely as he moved away from the wall, though Billy could still see the barest hint of a spark in the man’s piercing eyes.
“Hello, Vester,” said Tempus, holding out his hand in greeting.
Vester ignored Tempus’s outstretched hand. He knelt next to Billy. He looked like a young man, in his early twenties perhaps, good looking and tall, with wavy brown hair of the kind that Billy wished he could have. The man was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that said “Los Angeles Fire Department” across it, and just as Billy wished he could have the man’s hair, he also looked longingly at the man’s thick arms and muscled chest which fairly exploded through his t-shirt. Someday, he thought. Someday I’ll look like that, and I won’t need Blythe to protect me anymore. Instead, I’ll protect her .
Then on the heels of that thought came another: Who am I kidding?
The man who had walked out of flame looked at Billy for a long time, then the corners of his lips perked up ever so slightly before he stood and took Tempus’s hand. “Sorry, my friend,” said Vester to Tempus. The fireman looked at Billy. “I was surprised to see Billy here, that’s all.”
Both Billy and Mrs. Russet started. “You know him?” asked Mrs. Russet in surprise.
“No,” Vester said to her. “But I work with Mr. Jones, who is a paramedic in the fire department.” He looked at Billy. “I was in his ambulance once. Did you know he has a picture of you taped to his dashboard? You’re swimming in the picture. In the ocean, as I recall.”
Billy’s eyes widened. He remembered his mom taking that picture just the last summer, on a family trip to the beach. His father hadn’t been able to be there, working as he so often was. His mom had taken a picture of Billy flying head over heels in a crashing wave, laughing as he struggled to his feet, covered in seaweed. “For your father,” she had laughed.
Billy didn’t know what surprised him more: the fact that this strange young man who could walk through fire knew his father, or that his often distant-seeming father had a picture of Billy in his ambulance, where he could see it
A long moment passed, during which neither he nor Mrs. Russet spoke.
Then a pair of legs dropped down into Billy’s view.
He looked up to see a kindly-faced old man floating down from the maelstrom in the ceiling, landing gently in front of Mrs. Russet. The man seemed to be around the same age as Mrs. Russet, but neither stern nor sour as she could be. Rather, he seemed more like Billy had always imagined Santa Claus: eternal youth clothed in an old and happily chubby body.
The man wore clothing, Billy was sure, but he couldn’t see exactly what kind of clothing it was, because from the neck down the man seemed to be dressed in wind: a swirling cloud of gray and gusting air that obscured what he was wearing and made him seem larger than he actually was. The man wore a piece of the storm above, and had brought it down into the hall with him.
The instant he landed before Mrs. Russet, the old man grinned, deep gray eyes twinkling. “Lumilla,” he said, and bowed a sweeping bow before her.
“Tempus,” replied Mrs. Russet, nodding her head.
“I’d ask if I might kiss your hand, but my ears are still ringing from the tongue-lashing you gave me last time I dared that question,” said the wind-clothed man, Tempus. He turned to Billy. “And who have we here?”
“Who indeed?” whispered a voice. Billy, Mrs. Russet, and Tempus all turned to see another man enter the hall, this one stepping out of the wall of flame to Billy’s right. Like Tempus, the man was clothed. And also like the wind-wreathed Tempus, the newcomer’s clothing could not quite be seen. He was ringed in flame up to his neck, but the fire light dimmed as he stepped away from the wall and approached them. At last, it seemed to extinguish completely as he moved away from the wall, though Billy could still see the barest hint of a spark in the man’s piercing eyes.
“Hello, Vester,” said Tempus, holding out his hand in greeting.
Vester ignored Tempus’s outstretched hand. He knelt next to Billy. He looked like a young man, in his early twenties perhaps, good looking and tall, with wavy brown hair of the kind that Billy wished he could have. The man was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that said “Los Angeles Fire Department” across it, and just as Billy wished he could have the man’s hair, he also looked longingly at the man’s thick arms and muscled chest which fairly exploded through his t-shirt. Someday, he thought. Someday I’ll look like that, and I won’t need Blythe to protect me anymore. Instead, I’ll protect her .
Then on the heels of that thought came another: Who am I kidding?
The man who had walked out of flame looked at Billy for a long time, then the corners of his lips perked up ever so slightly before he stood and took Tempus’s hand. “Sorry, my friend,” said Vester to Tempus. The fireman looked at Billy. “I was surprised to see Billy here, that’s all.”
Both Billy and Mrs. Russet started. “You know him?” asked Mrs. Russet in surprise.
“No,” Vester said to her. “But I work with Mr. Jones, who is a paramedic in the fire department.” He looked at Billy. “I was in his ambulance once. Did you know he has a picture of you taped to his dashboard? You’re swimming in the picture. In the ocean, as I recall.”
Billy’s eyes widened. He remembered his mom taking that picture just the last summer, on a family trip to the beach. His father hadn’t been able to be there, working as he so often was. His mom had taken a picture of Billy flying head over heels in a crashing wave, laughing as he struggled to his feet, covered in seaweed. “For your father,” she had laughed.
Billy didn’t know what surprised him more: the fact that this strange young man who could walk through fire knew his father, or that his often distant-seeming father had a picture of Billy in his ambulance, where he could see it
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