Dark Arts by Randolph Lalonde Page A

you just let him keep
believing what I told him. He hasn’t peaked yet. Oh, and did you
get the shit back from him?”
    “Yeah, but,” the guitarist started to
explain.
    Max gently pushed Miranda away, then turned
to Darren and jammed his hands down both his pockets and forcefully
fished out a clear vial with an eyedropper. “None of this, thanks,”
he said as he uncapped it and dumped the contents onto the grass.
“Lots of older teens looking to make new mistakes here this
weekend, and I’m not going to have you selling or doing this shit
here,” Max recapped it and carefully put it in his pocket. “Not
even leaving you with residue.”
    “Man, I wasn’t going to share, that’d be so
stupid,” Darren said.
    “Now the only stupid thing you have to avoid
is letting Zachary off the bus for about six more hours. This isn’t
the kind of thing where you let stoned morons like him walk
around.”
    “Fine,” Darren said. “Anything you say,
Master, swell.”
    Maxwell put his arm around Miranda’s
shoulders, she put his arm around his waist and they started
towards the main house. “Beach,” she said.
    “I’m knackered,” Max retorted. “You can go
swim though.”
    “Nope, beach,” Miranda said, pulling at him.
“You can sleep on a towel down there. Catch a nap before dinner
with me.”
    “Just make sure nothing falls on my head,”
Max replied, changing his direction towards the road leading
through the farm, down towards the shore, the cabins and the
beach.
    Bernie couldn’t help but notice the faint
smile on Susanne’s face as she started to follow them. He caught up
to walk beside her.
    “There are sparks above them, and trailing
behind them,” Susanne said so only Bernie could hear. “He is a good
man though, isn’t he? The destiny does not guarantee that.”
    “He’s my best friend,” Bernie answered, it
was the most honest response he could give.

V
    Maxwell was faced with a choice, try out his
new guitar, or to get to know Miranda that afternoon. The guitar
lost by a surprisingly large margin.
    The cabins on the way to the beach were well
kept, despite Bernie and Max’s absence for most of the previous
three summers. Allen had a lot of helpful neighbors who traded days
at the cabin during the summer for services, and their work was
better than anything Maxwell, Bernie or Scott could do.
    The year round and summer cabins were
arranged in two large half circles. Most of the smaller summer
cabins were in the outer ring with tree and foliage coverage
between. The larger, year round cabins were in the inner circle,
and some of them were large enough to have a small yard.
    The largest of the cabins, number fourteen,
stood apart entirely, closest to the lake. It had two full storeys,
and Max was still surprised that he and the band would be staying
there with their guests. “Is there a bathroom down here, or is it
all still outhouses?” Miranda asked as they passed through the
heavy front door. It was made of thickly varnished medium sized
logs, Max remembered putting it in with the help of Bernie and
Scott while Allen put the hinges on.
    “This cabin’s more a house,” Max said. “The
john’s just down there at the end.” He pointed down the hallway
past the kitchen.
    “Okay,” Miranda said, walking towards the
hall. “I remember getting into big trouble when we were kids for
getting caught in the cabins. Whatever they thought we were doing
must have been so much worse than the truth, I couldn’t visit for a
week.”
    “High cost for hanging out away from the
parents,” Maxwell agreed. He remembered stealing keys in the
off-season and sneaking off to a cabin with all his friends. It was
the first time they really got time away from their parents without
supervision, close by, but no one knew where they were. Nothing
really changed, Maxwell still had an acoustic guitar, Miranda still
played flute back then, and that was taken into the cabin, and
Bernie and Scott were right behind.