by Mink, Jason
"Hey, Zak. High on life again, it seems."
"Ah, don't be a pussy, Bax! It's Friday night. Get up here! There's punch and pie!" Baxter could hear laughter from the other end of the line. Zak started speaking to someone, then cursed as the phone slipped from his grasp. There was a great crash and breaking glass, followed by more laughing.
"Zak? What the hell, man?" There was more muffled commotion, then the line cleared.
"Baxter? Are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here, James."
"It seems Zak has found the fastest route to the floor."
"Christ."
"Don't worry, he's in good company, as he's taken a lovely young lady down with him. Are you coming by?"
Baxter imagined the chaos Zak might generate if left on his own. His roommate was a charming novelty to Ashton and his people, but it was only a matter of time before he said the wrong thing and got his head kicked in. Like it or not, Baxter needed to go to the goddamn party. "Yeah, all right. It'll take me a while to get up there, though."
"Don't worry about that, Bax; there's a car waiting outside."
In spite of the dorm's forced-air heating Baxter suddenly felt very cold.
~*~
"Ah, Baxter. Glad you could make it." Ashton was waiting in the foyer, drink in hand.
"Well, Zak makes a convincing argument," Baxter said, shaking off the snow. "Where is he?"
Ashton smiled broadly. "He… adjourned to one of the upstairs bedrooms. I expect he'll be awhile. Please, take off your coat. Have a drink."
Reluctantly Baxter shed his parka and hung it among the other coats. To his relief he found Ashton had already melted back into the party. Baxter strolled into the living room. Surprisingly, only a handful of people were there. They sat in groups of two or three, quietly chatting and smoking. It was a marked difference from previous party, and entirely unexpected. Baxter recognized someone from his physics class, but the rest were strangers to him. He moved on.
The dining room was a bit more active, as it contained the food. People ate standing, vigorously consuming odd and expensive-looking delicacies. Baxter marveled in spite of himself at the sheer variety of edibles before him; origami-like pastries folded into improbable shapes, wedges of vibrantly-colored exotic fruits, plates of musky cheese, shrimp stuffed into just about everything imaginable; it bordered on the grotesque.
Baxter wandered into the kitchen. There were no kegs of beer this time. A noticeably higher quality of liquors was being offered, along with an impressively dusty selection of wine. "When in Rome..." Baxter had a whiskey and Coke because it was the only drink he knew how to make. While he usually didn't consume anything stronger than beer, the liquor was a pleasant change of pace. It had a nice kick and he savored the expensive spirit; only hours ago he was eating flavorless ramen noodles and drinking tap water. Obviously there were a few perks to knowing James Ashton after all.
To his surprise Baxter had the kitchen to himself. From the doorway he marveled again at how much smaller this party was compared to the last; he felt a bit more relaxed for it, but still found himself wishing Zak would appear. Just hanging around the liquor all night wasn't very social, yet he didn't see many familiar faces on his first pass. He lingered, unsure, but then the decision was made for him.
The door blew open. She stepped inside and brought the cold, a bitter wind across his bare face. A nameless sensation washed over Baxter then; nostalgia co-mingled with longing, awe tinged with fear, desire shot through with some other nameless thing. She tossed her hair and for one disorienting moment Baxter felt as though they stood within a great snow-globe. Silvery flakes swirled all about them, an endless moment of frozen wonder broken only when the door closed behind her.
"Hello."
Baxter nodded in response, finding himself unable to speak. Taken aback by his seeming rudeness, the beautiful woman glared at him. A chill fell over Baxter, a deeper numbness than drink could bring. She swept past him then, vanishing through the arch into the dining room. Baxter leaned back against the counter, brushing a stray flake from his left eyebrow. And though he had only just seen her, he found he was unable to picture her face, or remember what she wore. Instead, his head was filled with snow.
~*~
Somehow it was midnight. Baxter finished his third drink and decided he'd had enough. While the party had proven to be a pleasing distraction he found himself wearing down, the general weirdness of the past few days at last catching up to him. He said goodbye to a few of the people he'd made small talk with over the course of the evening and tried to hide his disappointment at not seeing the woman from the kitchen again. He'd been told she disappeared into one of the upstairs rooms upon her arrival and had not been seen since. Probably with Ashton, he mused sourly. That would make sense.
Baxter went back for his parka. To his surprise it was gone. He pushed the other coats aside, checking around and beneath them, but the old thing simply was not there. He shivered. Though it was a crusty piece of shit, the old parka was the only winter coat he had. Had it been taken by accident or had someone decided to swipe it as a joke? While both scenarios seemed equally unlikely, Baxter was unable to imagine what might have happened otherwise. Either way, he was screwed; it was a long walk home. He returned to the party, cruising the rooms in quick succession, but no one flaunted his parka. Feeling stupid, he slipped into the kitchen and tried to decide what to do.
The young woman who stood there was both stranger and strangely familiar. Baxter struggled to place her face.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
Baxter opened his mouth but no sound came out. She looked disappointed. "Never mind then. Forget it." She turned and walked out of the kitchen. Baxter followed her with his eyes, his creaky brain failing to fire. It was the eyes, he realized; those sea-green eyes…
"Oh! Hey, wait!" He followed, just catching a glimpse of her back as she left the dining room. Baxter bobbed and weaved between Ashton's guests, catching up with her in the coat-hall. "Hey."
She turned and looked at him blankly. "Yes?"
"I, uh… I remember you."
Her face remained blank. "And?"
"Uh…" he stammered; this was not going as he'd anticipated. "I wanted to talk to you… about the bird. The, uh…"
"Cardinal?"
"Yes! Yes, that."
"What about it?"
"Well, I thought it was a really cool thing to do, burying it and all. Well, not burying it but, you know… interring it."
"Oh," she said quietly. "Well, thank you for your help."
"My pleasure. I mean… well, never mind. I was just glad to help." They stood there in the hall. From the living room came the sounds of laughter and popping corks. Ashton was back. "So, how do you know this Ashton guy?" Baxter asked, hoping he didn't sound too snoopy.
"James?" she said, for the first time smiling. "Oh, god, I've known James forever. My father works for the company."
Baxter didn't bother asking which company. "He throws one hell of a party"
She stopped smiling. "Yeah, I guess. What's your name?"
"Bax. Baxter Knowles."
"Annie Guthrie."
Baxter stuck his hand out gamely and immediately regretted it. She looked at it, at him.
"C'mon, take a chance," he entreated. He focused all his charm into a smile; it caught and spread across her face.
"Mr. Knowles, I believe it a faux pas to try and shake hands with a lady," she said in a mock-scolding tone.
"Well, maybe I was going to bite it; you never know."
She laughed again and the sound made Baxter giddy. She took his hand and he raised it up, not biting but instead gently brushing the back of it with his lips. "See? I'm civilized despite my gruff exterior."
"Well, that's good to hear. How do you know James?"
Baxter chuckled. "That's a good question. He's kind of forced himself on me."
She looked at him quizzically.
"Yeah, I don't know how else to ex
plain it. One day he just began to take an interest in me and my friend Zak…"
Annie blinked. "Zak? You know that guy?"
"Well, yeah, he's my roommate, actually. Why?"
She laughed,. "Oh, he was all drunk and hitting on me, trying to impress me with his encyclopedic knowledge of everything."
"Yeah, that's our boy. Any idea where he ended up?"
She shook her head. "No, I didn't really follow his progress. He's probably upstairs."
Baxter glanced up the staircase. "Yeah, I was wondering about that. What goes on up there?"
A cloud passed across Annie's face. "I wouldn't know."
There was a lull, which was not unexpected; they were standing in a closet. Baxter struggled to think of something to say, but Annie beat him to it. "Well, I was just leaving."
"Can I walk you?"
Annie looked away uncomfortably but assented. Baxter glanced at the rack; his parka was still missing. "Let's go." Turning away, he swung the front door open and a blast of icy air filled the hall.
"Where's your coat?" Annie asked, pausing.
Baxter shrugged. "Good question. It was here a while ago, but seems to have vanished. Someone's idea of a joke, I guess. Doesn't matter; let's go."
She looked at him unbelieving. "You can't leave without your coat; that's foolish. You really should go find it."
"Will you wait?"
"No. Goodnight, Mr. Knowles." She pulled her scarf taut and vanished into the night.
~*~
There was a knock at the door. Baxter rose from his bed, taking the blanket with him. He'd been sick for the past two days, unable to get warm.
"Yeah?"
On the other side of the door someone cleared his throat. "Baxter Knowles?"
"Speaking."
"I have something for you."
Baxter furrowed his brow. "What kind of something?"
A pause. "Please just open the door, Mr. Knowles."
Baxter warily complied, peering through the crack.
James Ashton's snow-dusted driver waited there, a large parcel in his hands. "Here you are."
Baxter opened the door and cautiously took the package.
"It's heavy."
Wordlessly, the driver left him and Baxter closed the door. Walking to the bed he plucked the small envelope from the parcel. With amusement he noted it was sealed with a wax mark. "Oh, you gotta be kidding."
He tossed the parcel down on the dingy coverlet and opened the envelope. The card within read:
Baxter,
Sorry about your coat vanishing the other night. Obviously a prank by one of my jack-ass friends. If you had told me I surely could have hunted it down, or had my driver take you home. Hell, you could have just crashed here (like Zak and about a dozen others!) Anyway, as your parka never turned up here is something to replace it. Hope you find it a suitable substitution.
James Ashton III
Baxter tossed the card aside and began to untie the binding. It was an odd knot and he had to work at it. As he did he felt an overwhelming sensation of being watched. This was foolish, of course; the dorm-room he shared with Zak only had a single window and it was unlikely anyone could see him on the fifth floor. Still, the sensation persisted. He finished undoing the curious knot and the parcel fell open.
"Holy shit."
It was a handsome dark wool topcoat, similar to Ashton's own, but navy blue in color. After a moment's hesitation Baxter tried it on. At first, it seemed to be too small - he noted several inches of bare wrist protruding from the sleeves. Baxter was disappointed but not surprised. He always had a hard time finding clothes that fit right. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to gather more fabric around his lower arms and tugged at the jacket's lapels. The feeling of being watched intensified as he walked over to the full-length mirror. "Yes?" he asked loudly; there was no response but the sensation abated somewhat, seeming to back off.
Baxter considered his reflection: the coat didn't appear as small as before. He noted more room at the shoulders, as well as a better, more tapered fit at the waist. Not only that, but the sleeves seemed to have adjusted, as well. They were no longer short, instead ending just past the wrist. It was odd - the longer he had it on, the better it seemed to fit him. "You realize you can't possibly keep this thing" Baxter said aloud. The coat was obviously quite expensive, easily worth ten of his parkas. There was no way he could accept such a lavish gift, especially coming from James Ashton. And while Baxter still didn't quite trust him, he found his opinion softening a bit towards the guy. Even though it was totally over the top, the coat was a nice gesture. Ashton certainly didn't have to send it but the regret he expressed in the note seemed genuine and Baxter appreciated that. Made the guy seem almost human. Baxter took off the coat and hung it carefully on the back of the door. He decided to return it later on in the evening, after his French class. "Au revoir, beau manteau."
~*~
The sun had broken free. At large in a cloudless sky it shone down hard, bringing warmth to the frozen world. Baxter savored it's light upon his face. He made his way across the wide lawn, his shadow falling long across the snow. It was a fine day. The campus was quiet, nearly empty. Baxter enjoyed the solitude, walking briskly against the wind. His coat fluttered around his ankles with the sound of the sail, billowing out like a bell. Though he'd tried to return the expensive garment Ashton wouldn't have it.
"Nonsense," he'd stated emphatically. "The cost of this rag is nothing next to my embarrassment at you being robbed in my house. And here I'd thought I'd weeded out all of the riff-raff."
As there was no sense arguing the point, Baxter shut up and enjoyed his coat. He was surprised at the difference in his demeanor when he wore it. His walk changed, his usual slouch replaced with a straighter, more poised carriage. Instead of looking down as he walked he found himself looking up, out, face towards the wintered world. It was as if the coat were exerting its own influence, bolstering his self-confidence while exuding an air of inclusion. In truth, he hardly recognized himself. Baxter noticed he was being treated differently, as well. Before, he found people cast a wary eye his way when he went into a store or restaurant; now he was given a pass by most, treated like a normal person. In the dark he might actually pass as a peer of the esteemed Mr. Ashton.
Zak explained to Baxter that he was using one of the basic principals of magic. "Crowley defines magic as 'the Science and Art of causing change to occur in conformity with one's will.' When you wear that expensive coat you are defining yourself as successful, powerful. It changes your perception of yourself and, subsequently, everyone else's perception of you. The coat becomes a talismanic object of power."
"Is this what you and Ashton talk about when you hang out?" Baxter had asked, laughing.
"Among other things, yes," Zak had replied, an odd glint in his eye. Baxter put the thought out of his mind. His roommate had been around less and less of late. When he did return it was usually at odd hours, often waking Baxter in the middle of the night. Some nights he would be eager, almost desperate to talk, while others he would simply drop into bed and immediately fall asleep. Baxter was sure Zak was missing classes but was reticent to question his friend. Whatever he was up to was his own business.
Baxter opened the doors to the student union and was greeted with a welcome blast of warmth. He quickly slipped through the foyer and into the long hallway. The smell of fried food tantalized him, making his mouth water. He forced himself on. It was painful; he was wearing a four hundred dollar coat and didn't have forty cents in his pocket. He wondered idly just what the coat might actually be worth; transforming it into a month's worth of hot food was a tempting thought. His meal card wouldn't refill for another week and a half… but pawning his coat? He couldn't do that, or at least he wouldn't.
Stomach grumbling, he walked past the food court. Students sat leisurely, eating from plates piled high with fries, chicken and macaroni salad. Baxter watched them jealously, as they talked and laughed throug
h half-chewed mouthfuls. Even the garbage cans smelled good to him. Biting his tongue he moved on. He noted idly there was a new issue of The Charioteer on the magazine stand. Lacking the $2.95 to buy one, he reminded himself to steal the faculty lounge copy. It had become a ritual, his theft as much to read the thing as to pull an issue out of circulation. Sour grapes, perhaps, but they were the only grapes Baxter had. He returned home.
"Hey, Bax. How's tricks?"
"Crispy in milk. What're you doin' here? Aren't you supposed to be in Physics right now?"
Zak smiled slyly. "I wanted to be here to see your face."
Baxter looked at him quizzically. Zak tossed him a magazine. It was the new issue of The Charioteer. "Page thirty-one," he volunteered. Baxter flipped the magazine open. The title of the story was Remember Tomorrow; the author was Baxter Knowles.
"Zak, why is my story in this magazine?"
"Why?" Zak asked, incredulous. "Because it's great, that's why."
Baxter looked at his friend. "That's not what I mean and you know it."
Zak shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it seems the editors had a change of heart."
"Bullshit. You know how much they hated that story. Professor Milo said it was the single most objectionable thing he'd ever read in his life. Hell, I wrote it just to offend him. There's no way they would have willingly…" Baxter trailed off, the color draining from his face.
"People are already talking about it, Bax," Zak said enthusiastically. "It's gonna be huge."
"It was Ashton wasn't it?" Baxter asked, tossing the magazine aside. "Damn it. How did he get the story, Zak?"
Zak kept smiling. "I gave it to him."
Baxter groaned. "Aw, FUCK, man! Why?"
"Well, you kept forgetting to give it to him. One afternoon he'd stopped by and asked, so I printed him out a copy. What's the big deal?"
"Zak, I didn't forget to give it to him. I didn't want him to have a copy. I didn't want the guy doing me any favors. Is that so hard to understand?"